Seriously. Have You TRIED the Cookies?

[One-who-reads]

I kept waiting for the Katana Fleet to drop out of hyperspace behind the CIS ships and just annihilate them.

 

[Mist of Shadows]

I was enjoying the story until the fucking shit with Anakin's hand. This drek needs to stop.

 

[Mad King Kevin]

Chapter 34: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

The war council chamber of Sundari had been designed for diplomacy.

Tall windows. Polished stone. Gentle lighting. A circular table meant to encourage cooperation and open dialogue.

It had not been designed to host the aftermath of a battle involving Mandalorians, Jedi, Separatists, mercenaries, and an unfortunate number of explosions.

Obi-Wan Kenobi stood quietly near the edge of the chamber, hands folded in his sleeves, doing his best impression of a calm and impartial observer.

It was an impression he had spent years perfecting.

Unfortunately, the Force had a way of informing him when events were about to become deeply, catastrophically complicated.

Today, the Force felt… amused.

Across the chamber, Satine Kryze stood at the center of the council table, calm and composed despite the chaos that had engulfed her world only hours earlier.

Obi-Wan admired that about her.

He admired many things about her, if he was being honest with himself.

Which he generally tried not to be.

Representatives from the Republic filled one side of the chamber—senators, advisors, military officers, and a particularly harried-looking legal attaché who appeared to have already aged several years since the battle ended.

The other side held Mandalorian leadership.

Pacifist ministers sat stiffly in their chairs, pale and shaken.

Warriors—many of them newly defected from Bo-Katan Kryze's faction—stood behind them with arms crossed and expressions that suggested they were deeply disappointed the battle had already ended.

Near the far wall stood a group of clone officers.

They stood at parade rest, identical faces calm and unreadable.

Obi-Wan found himself studying them.

There was something deeply unsettling about seeing an army of men who were, in a very literal sense, the same person.

And yet they were not.

The Force made that clear.

Each presence was distinct. Individual.

Alive.

It was a subtle distinction, perhaps. But an important one.

Which made the current political situation… complicated.

Very complicated.

Satine raised her hand slightly.

The chamber quieted.

Her voice carried easily through the room.

"Mandalore has always valued its independence."

A few Mandalorian ministers nodded vigorously.

A few warriors rolled their eyes.

Obi-Wan allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile.

Diplomacy on Mandalore had always been something of an extreme sport.

"However," Satine continued, her voice firm, "the recent attack by the Confederacy of Independent Systems has made one fact abundantly clear."

A holographic projection flickered to life above the council table.

Battle footage.

Droid transports descending into Sundari.

Columns of battle droids marching through the streets.

The unmistakable mechanical forms of Separatist war machines.

Murmurs spread through the chamber.

News of the attack had already begun spreading across the Holonet.

By now, the entire galaxy likely knew the Confederacy had launched an unprovoked assault on Mandalore.

Which, Obi-Wan suspected, was not precisely how Count Dooku had intended the situation to appear.

"Neutrality," Satine finished, "is no longer a viable position."

Silence settled over the room.

Then she delivered the decision.

"Mandalore will formally rejoin the Galactic Republic."

The reactions were immediate.

The Republic delegation released a collective breath of relief so synchronized it could have been choreographed.

Several senators even applauded before remembering that applause during war councils was generally frowned upon.

The Mandalorian pacifists looked as though someone had informed them the sun would now rise in the west.

One minister clutched the edge of the table like a man attempting to remain upright during a particularly violent earthquake.

Behind them, however, several Mandalorian warriors nodded with grim satisfaction.

Finally.

Obi-Wan suspected some of them had been waiting for this moment for years.

War, regrettably, had a way of simplifying complicated political positions.

The Republic admiral seated near the center of the table cleared his throat.

"If Mandalore is rejoining the Republic," he began carefully, "then the matter of the clone army must be addressed."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly.

Yes.

That.

The admiral continued. "As you are aware, the Grand Army of the Republic is currently… undergoing a certain degree of legal uncertainty."

The harried legal advisor beside him made a small sound that might have been a sob.

Satine inclined her head slightly. "Mandalore has already addressed that matter."

A faint ripple moved through the room.

The admiral frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

Satine gestured toward the group of clone officers standing near the wall. "The Mandalorian Assembly has already voted."

Obi-Wan felt a distinct disturbance in the Force.

Not dark.

Not violent.

Merely the quiet, inevitable tremor of a very large bureaucratic disaster about to occur.

"They have been granted full citizenship within Mandalorian space."

The room went silent.

Completely silent.

The Republic admiral stared.

"I'm… sorry."

He glanced at the legal advisor.

Then back at Satine.

"I'm not certain I understand."

Satine remained perfectly calm.

"The clones are not property," she said simply.

The admiral blinked.

"…not property."

"No."

He leaned back slowly in his chair.

Then, with the careful patience of a man attempting to understand a very complicated riddle, he gestured toward the clone officers.

"Then what exactly are they?"

One of the clones stepped forward.

A captain, judging by the markings on his armor.

His voice was calm.

Professional.

"Sir… soldiers."

The silence that followed lasted several seconds.

The admiral turned slowly toward the legal advisor.

The legal advisor looked like a man whose soul had just quietly left his body.

"Well," the advisor said weakly, adjusting his datapad, "if the clones are legally recognized citizens serving in a military capacity…"

He swallowed.

"…then they are entitled to the same rights afforded to all Republic soldiers."

The admiral frowned.

"What rights would those be?"

The advisor began reading from his datapad with the grim resignation of someone announcing the arrival of a meteor.

"Standard military wages."

A pause.

"Scheduled leave rotations."

Another pause.

"Medical benefits."

The admiral's eye twitched slightly.

"Retirement pensions."

The room fell silent again.

Obi-Wan slowly exhaled.

Because in that moment, he realized something remarkable.

The Republic had not merely acquired an army.

It had acquired an army of citizens.

Citizens who were now legally entitled to salaries, benefits, leave, and retirement.

And there were…

Millions of them.

Obi-Wan folded his hands calmly inside his sleeves.

Across the table, the Republic admiral had gone completely pale.

The legal advisor had begun quietly calculating something on his datapad.

Judging by the expression on his face, the results were not encouraging.

Obi-Wan gazed serenely out the chamber window toward the Mandalorian skyline.

The Clone Wars had begun.

Not with a battle.

But with a budget crisis.

...​

The palace of Sundari had always been quiet.

Peaceful.

Calm.

Bo-Katan Kryze had always hated it.

Not the architecture—she could appreciate good Mandalorian engineering when she saw it—but the quiet. The soft lighting. The clean walls. The complete and utter lack of weapons racks.

It was a palace designed by people who believed war was something that happened to other civilizations.

Which, in fairness, had been Satine Kryze's entire political philosophy for the past decade.

Bo-Katan stood awkwardly in the middle of the chamber, arms folded, weight shifted to one hip, staring at the polished floor like it had personally insulted her.

She had fought Jedi.

She had fought Death Watch traitors.

She had helped repel a full-scale Separatist invasion.

None of those things had been nearly as intimidating as standing in a room alone with her sister after several years of not speaking.

This was ridiculous.

She was a Mandalorian warrior.

She had once headbutted a man wearing a helmet.

Why was this harder?

Across the room, Satine watched her with an expression that was somewhere between fondness and concern.

Bo-Katan hated that expression.

It was the same one Satine had used when Bo-Katan was twelve and had accidentally set a speeder on fire.

"Bo," Satine said gently.

Bo-Katan cleared her throat.

"Satine."

That was it.

That was the entire opening exchange.

Several seconds passed.

Bo-Katan briefly considered diving out the nearest window.

Thankfully, the door slid open before the silence could become fatal.

Korkie Kryze wandered into the room, mid-sentence, clearly continuing a conversation he'd been having with someone in the hallway.

"—and then Ben just kicked him off the balcony."

Korkie stopped.

Looked at Bo-Katan.

Looked at Satine.

Looked back at Bo-Katan.

"Oh," he said. "Family meeting?"

Bo-Katan rubbed the back of her neck. "Something like that."

Korkie shrugged and wandered further into the room, completely unbothered by the emotional minefield he had just walked into.

To be fair, he had grown up in this family.

His survival instincts were probably highly specialized.

Satine stepped forward slowly.

For a moment, Bo-Katan thought she might start with a speech. Something diplomatic. Something political.

Instead, Satine simply pulled her into a hug.

Bo-Katan stiffened.

This was highly irregular combat behavior.

Then, after a moment, she awkwardly returned it.

The hug lasted exactly two seconds longer than Bo-Katan's comfort threshold.

Satine stepped back, studying her. Which she hated. She was a warrior, not an exhibit. "You're thinner."

Bo-Katan blinked. "I was fighting a war."

Satine nodded thoughtfully. "That would do it."

Bo-Katan shifted her weight again, suddenly aware that this was going far more smoothly than she had expected.

That was suspicious.

"Look," Bo-Katan muttered, rubbing the back of her neck again. "About the whole… joining Death Watch thing."

Satine waved a hand.

"We'll discuss it later."

Bo-Katan stared.

"You're not going to lecture me?"

"Oh, I absolutely will," Satine said calmly. "But I've been waiting years for the opportunity. I see no reason to rush it."

Bo-Katan had to admit that was fair.

Behind them, Korkie had wandered over to the refreshment table and was casually eating something while observing the situation like a spectator at a sporting event.

"This was way cooler than the last time you two talked," he commented.

Bo-Katan glanced over. "When was that?"

Korkie thought about it. "Right before you joined Death Watch."

Bo-Katan groaned.

Yes.

That had been… less productive.

Korkie leaned against the table.

"Still," he added, "it's good to see you. To see everyone, really. I missed Ben. A lot. Glad we got the chance to reconnect for a bit. It was nice seeing him kick Pre Vizsla around."

Bo-Katan snorted despite herself. "That was pretty satisfying."

"Yeah," Korkie continued cheerfully. "And it was even cooler when Ben took the Darksaber."

The room froze.

Satine's eyes narrowed slightly.

Bo-Katan slowly turned her head.

"I'm sorry," she said carefully. "What?"

Korkie blinked. "The Darksaber?" He gestured vaguely. "You know. When Ben beat Vizsla and took it."

Bo-Katan stared at him. "Huh. I must've missed that part. Or blocked it out." She then very calmly, and very slowly turned back to Satine. "I cannot believe you let a Jedi steal the Darksaber."

Satine raised an eyebrow. "That Jedi is your nephew."

Bo-Katan crossed her arms.

"That is not the point."

"And," Satine continued calmly, "if I remember our history correctly, we stole it from the Jedi first."

Bo-Katan opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Thought about that.

"…irrelevant."

Satine sighed.

"Bo—"

"No, I'm serious," Bo-Katan insisted. "The Darksaber is a Mandalorian symbol. It belongs to Mandalore."

"And Ben is Mandalorian."

"He's a Jedi!"

"He's also my son."

Bo-Katan blinked.

Korkie blinked.

Satine froze for half a second.

Then she continued speaking with the smooth confidence of someone who absolutely had not just said something extremely revealing.

"—my sister's son," she finished.

Bo-Katan narrowed her eyes. "Stop telling people he's my kid!"

"I've done no such thing. I've only stated the obvious. Ben Kryze is my nephew, and not my biological child. I've never told anyone you were his mother." Satine insisted.

"Same difference!" Bo-Katan spat. "You only have one sibling! Me! People assume I'm the mother by default because of that!"

"Noncense. Ben could easily pass for a foundling."

"Foundlings are the same as being sons or daughters! It makes no sense for you to refer to the boys as your nephews!" She reiterated. "Korkie, back me up!"

"I'm staying out of this." He wisely decided.

Traitor.

"Thank you, nephew." Satine nodded, approvingly.

Why did she want to save her sister's life, again?

...​

The Jedi Council chamber had many qualities.

Majestic.

Ancient.

Serene.

Intimidating.

Personally, I would have added one more.

Deeply inconvenient.

I stood in the center of the chamber with Ahsoka Tano on my right and Maris Brood on my left, all three of us trying very hard to look like responsible young Jedi who absolutely had not just been involved in a Mandalorian civil conflict, a Separatist invasion, and the theft of a historically significant weapon.

Which, to be clear, we absolutely had.

The members of the Council watched us in silence.

At the center sat Yoda, looking exactly as calm and unreadable as always.

To his side was Mace Windu, who looked like a man attempting to decide whether meditation or a headache would arrive first.

A few seats away sat Plo Koon, whose presence in the room was the only reason Ahsoka hadn't fainted from anxiety sometime during the last ten minutes.

And then there was Obi-Wan Kenobi, who had just earned himself a lot of promotions.

Jedi Master.

Council member.

Professional negotiator.

My father.

The last part remained, thankfully, a secret. I think.

Obi-Wan met my eyes for half a second.

His expression was perfectly neutral. The kind of neutral that usually meant this conversation was about to become educational.

Yoda finally spoke. "Commend you, the Council does."

That was promising.

"Your actions on Mandalore, brave they were." I felt Ahsoka relax slightly beside me. "Instrumental, you were, in preventing the death of Duchess Kryze."

Good.

Very good.

"Saved Mandalore, you did."

Maris shifted slightly beside me, clearly enjoying the praise.

I couldn't blame her.

Stopping a Separatist invasion, a Death Watch coup, and an assassination attempt all in the same afternoon was objectively impressive.

Then Yoda continued. "Supposed to be there, you were not."

Ah.

There it was.

The Jedi Council had an incredible talent.

They could deliver praise and disappointment simultaneously with the precision of a master duelist.

I had seen them do it before.

But experiencing it personally was something special.

Mace folded his hands in front of him. "You disobeyed direct instructions from the Order."

Ahsoka sighed quietly.

Maris rolled her eyes.

I focused very hard on maintaining my serious Jedi face.

Technically speaking, the whole situation had been complicated. Yes, we had disobeyed orders. But in our defense, the Force had been acting extremely suspicious lately.

And also we had sensed a disturbance. And also there had been Mandalorians trying to kill my mother. And also there had been a Sith Lord invasion.

And also—

Okay, in hindsight, the Council probably wasn't going to accept that explanation.

"Because of this," Mace continued, "the Council has decided upon disciplinary measures."

There was a pause.

I braced myself for something terrible.

Extra meditation.

Philosophy lectures.

Extended discussions with Master Yoda about emotional balance.

Instead, Mace listed the punishment.

"Restricted mission clearance."

That was manageable.

"Additional training requirements."

Also manageable.

"Temple duties."

I blinked.

Temple duties?

That was it?

Ahsoka let out a long, defeated sigh beside me.

Maris leaned slightly toward me.

"Worth it," she muttered under her breath.

I very carefully did not laugh.

Because honestly?

I had recently helped found a Sith Empire.

I had conquered multiple planets.

I had commanded fleets.

I had fed a crime lord to his own rancor.

After experiences like that, temple chores sounded almost relaxing.

In hindsight, sweeping hallways was significantly less work than managing a galactic dictatorship.

Yoda studied the three of us carefully.

"Lessons, you must learn."

"Yes, Master," Ahsoka muttered.

Maris nodded with the enthusiasm of someone being sentenced to homework.

I bowed slightly.

"Of course, Master."

The Council watched us for another moment.

Then Mace's gaze shifted downward.

Specifically, toward my right hand.

There was a pause.

"…Initiate Kryze."

I looked up.

"Yes, Master?"

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"In your hand."

Oh.

Right.

I looked down.

The hilt of the Darksaber was still clipped to my belt, and I kept an unconscious hand on it at all times. A little taste of home, I suppose. Though in truth, I had actually forgotten it was there.

It's been a busy week.

Silence spread through the chamber.

I could feel the attention of every Jedi Master in the room focusing on that single object.

Behind me, Ahsoka made a very small choking noise.

Maris suddenly became extremely interested in the floor.

Mace stared at the weapon.

Then slowly looked back up at me.

"Explain."

I considered my options.

There were several.

None of them were good.

Finally, I shrugged.

"…Finders keepers?"

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Mace Windu closed his eyes. And slowly pinched the bridge of his nose.

It's good to be back.

...​

The Jedi Temple hangar was many things.

Busy.

Noisy.

Full of ships.

Full of Jedi.

And currently full of one extremely controversial droid.

Maris Brood leaned against the landing strut of the shuttle, arms crossed, watching the unfolding situation with deep personal satisfaction.

Across from her, Ahsoka Tano stared at the droid standing beside Maris with the same expression someone might use when discovering a nexu in their bedroom.

The droid stood very still.

Very polite.

Very armed.

"Observation," the droid announced cheerfully. "The surrounding population of meatbags appears highly uncomfortable."

Ahsoka slowly blinked.

Maris grinned.

The droid beside her was technically an HK-47 unit.

Technically.

She had, however, made a few… modifications.

The original rust-colored plating had been repainted in dark matte black with subtle crimson accents. The photoreceptors glowed a soft, ominous red. It looked less like a standard assassin droid and more like something that had stepped out of a Sith nightmare.

Maris thought it suited him. "I like him," she said.

Ahsoka continued staring. "That thing just called everyone 'meatbags.'"

HK tilted his head slightly. "Correction: I referred to the present organic lifeforms as potential meatbags. Explanation: Clearly, the non-organic beings are not meatbags. Many contain little to no liquid, and their shells are made of much denser material."

Ahsoka slowly turned toward Maris. "You brought an assassin droid into the Jedi Temple."

Maris shrugged. "He's mostly harmless."

HK immediately responded. "Clarification: I am only 'harmless' when instructed to be."

Ahsoka closed her eyes.

Maris could practically hear the internal screaming.

Which honestly made the entire situation even funnier.

"Relax," Maris added. "He's loyal."

HK straightened slightly. "Statement: I am extremely loyal to my current master. Disloyalty would result in immediate termination of the offending meatbags."

Ahsoka opened one eye.

"…that's not helping."

Maris snorted.

She had to admit, the droid's personality was doing most of the work here.

Across the hangar, a familiar voice spoke.

"Oh dear."

Maris glanced over.

Ben Kryze was walking toward them, accompanied by a very shiny, very gold protocol droid.

The protocol droid looked around the hangar with polite curiosity. "Oh my," the droid said. "Such a large facility! I do hope I am not intruding."

Ahsoka blinked again.

"…Ben."

He stopped beside them.

"Yes?"

She pointed at the droid. "What is that?"

Ben looked at the droid. "Oh, him? This is C-3PO."

The droid bowed politely. "Greetings! I am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Ahsoka looked between the gold protocol droid and the murder machine standing next to Maris. "…why do both of you have droids now?"

Maris shrugged again. "It felt appropriate."

HK nodded approvingly. "Statement: A wise decision, master."

Ahsoka rubbed her temples.

Maris studied the protocol droid more closely.

Something about it felt… familiar.

Then she remembered.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she leaned toward Ben. "Was this a smart idea?"

Ben blinked.

"What do you mean?"

Maris gestured subtly toward the droid. "Didn't Anakin Skywalker build that thing?"

Ben paused.

Then shrugged.

"Technically."

Maris stared at him. Seriously. Why are the cute ones always so oblivious. "That feels like the kind of detail that could connect us back to Tatooine."

Ben remained calm.

"And?"

"And we bought that droid on Tatooine while disguised as Sith Lords."

Ahsoka's head snapped toward them. "You what?!"

Maris ignored her. She already had one nonsensical peer to deal with. Ahsoka could wait her turn. "This could expose us."

Ben waved a hand dismissively. "I took care of it."

Maris frowned. "How?"

Ben smiled slightly. "Memory wipes are very convenient."

Maris considered that.

Fair enough.

Protocol droids were not exactly known for their independent thinking.

Still…

She glanced across the hangar.

And immediately froze.

Walking past a row of starfighters was none other than Anakin Skywalker himself.

He was talking to another Jedi.

Completely unaware of the disaster walking directly through his line of sight.

C-3PO turned his head politely toward the movement. "Oh! Another human approaching!"

Maris felt her soul leave her body.

Ben casually stepped between the protocol droid and Anakin.

Ahsoka held her breath.

HK watched with interest. "Observation," the assassin droid whispered. "This scenario appears extremely amusing."

Anakin walked past them.

Did not look at the droid.

Did not recognize the droid.

Did not notice anything.

He continued walking across the hangar and disappeared around the corner.

The tension evaporated.

Maris slowly exhaled.

Then she silently thanked the Force for whatever cosmic sense of humor had allowed that to work.

...​

The gardens of Naboo were very good at keeping secrets.

Padmé Amidala had always suspected that was intentional.

The quiet stone paths wound through clusters of flowering trees and soft lantern light. Small fountains whispered gently into the evening air, their sound masking footsteps and conversation alike. It was the sort of place where a person could disappear from the galaxy for a little while.

Which, at the moment, was extremely useful.

Padmé stood beneath a flowering archway, trying very hard to focus on the moment rather than the hundred different ways this could become a political disaster.

Across from her stood Anakin Skywalker.

He looked nervous.

Which was almost endearing, considering when he was a child, she had personally watched him fly a starfighter through a blockade without even blinking.

Now he looked like a man who had been handed a thermal detonator and told not to drop it.

Between them stood a very discreet priest.

He was a local Naboo officiant who had been extremely cooperative after a modest donation to several charitable organizations that he very much supported.

At least, Padmé was fairly certain he supported them.

If not, he would probably start.

Nearby, the only other witnesses in attendance observed the ceremony.

R2-D2 sat near the edge of the path, dome slowly turning as he recorded the event with what appeared to be great enthusiasm. Padmé suspected the little astromech was going to keep a copy of this recording forever.

Which meant this secret marriage technically had a permanent backup.

That felt like something she should probably worry about later.

The priest finished the final lines of the ceremony and looked between them with a polite smile.

"You may now exchange your vows."

Anakin took a breath.

His expression softened as he looked at her.

"I thought I understood courage," he began quietly. "I've faced enemies, battles, things most people only hear about in stories."

Padmé felt warmth rise in her chest.

"But loving you," he continued, "that's the bravest thing I've ever done."

That was, admittedly, a very good line.

Padmé made a mental note to remember it.

She stepped forward, taking his hands.

"The galaxy is changing," she said softly. "Wars are beginning. Alliances are shifting."

She smiled slightly.

"But whatever happens… we face it together."

The priest nodded approvingly.

"Then by the authority granted to me by the laws of Naboo…"

He paused for dramatic effect.

"…I now pronounce you married."

Anakin blinked.

"That's it?"

The priest folded his hands calmly.

"That is, in fact, how marriage works."

Anakin looked delighted.

Padmé laughed quietly.

R2 let out an enthusiastic whistle that sounded suspiciously like applause.

The priest discreetly accepted a small credit chip and vanished down the garden path with impressive efficiency.

Padmé suspected he had officiated several extremely confidential ceremonies over the years.

For a moment, the garden was quiet again.

Anakin looked around the empty space. Then his expression softened slightly. "I wish my mother could've been here."

Padmé felt a small pang of sympathy.

She had met Shmi Skywalker once. Briefly. Years ago.

She had been kind.

Warm.

The sort of person who deserved to see her son happy.

Padmé tilted her head thoughtfully. "You know," she said slowly, "there's actually a way we could talk to her."

Anakin looked confused. "How?"

Padmé blinked. "You… call her."

"With what?"

"The Holonet."

Anakin stared at her.

"The what."

Padmé paused.

Then she remembered something very important. Anakin had grown up as a slave on Tatooine. His childhood exposure to modern galactic communication networks had likely been… limited.

"Oh," she said gently. "Right."

A few minutes later they were seated on a small bench with a datapad balanced between them.

Padmé navigated through a few directories.

Anakin watched with fascination.

"You can just… look people up?"

"Most people," Padmé confirmed.

A moment later a contact entry appeared.

Shmi Skywalker.

Location: Tatooine.

Anakin leaned closer.

"That's her."

Padmé opened the call channel.

The holoscreen flickered to life.

A moment later Shmi's face appeared.

She looked surprised.

Then very confused.

Then extremely happy.

"Anakin?"

He grinned.

"Hi, Mom."

Shmi blinked.

"I didn't even know you could call me."

"Neither did I," Anakin admitted.

Padmé waved politely.

"Hello, Mrs. Skywalker."

Shmi studied them for a moment.

Then her eyes moved between them.

Then back again.

"…did something happen?"

Anakin glanced at Padmé.

Then back to the screen.

"We got married."

Shmi froze.

Then she laughed softly.

"Well," she said warmly, "that explains a lot."

She spent the next several minutes asking questions, offering congratulations, and gently teasing Anakin about finally settling down.

Padmé could see how happy it made him just to talk to her.

Eventually the call ended with promises to visit soon.

Anakin leaned back on the bench, staring at the datapad like it had just revealed the secrets of the universe. "This thing is amazing."

Padmé smiled. "The Holonet is very useful, yes." By the stars, he was like a child… not that it was a turn on for her. Certainly not.

Anakin immediately began scrolling through random information. "You can find anything on here."

"Within reason," Padmé said carefully.

Anakin squinted at the screen. "Hey, look at this."

Padmé leaned slightly closer. "What did you find?"

Anakin pointed excitedly. "It says here they finally discovered the name of Master Yoda's species."

Padmé felt a sudden and overwhelming sense that the universe itself was about to intervene.

"It's called—"

R2-D2 suddenly let out a loud, dramatic burst of static.

The datapad screen flickered.

Then shut off.

Padmé blinked.

Anakin stared at the dark screen.

"…huh."

R2 whistled innocently.

Padmé patted Anakin's shoulder gently. "Some mysteries," she said with a small smile, "are meant to remain mysteries."

...​

The Jedi Temple dormitories were quiet at night.

Which was convenient.

Because secretly running a galactic empire required a certain amount of privacy.

I sat cross-legged on the floor of my room, lights dimmed, the door securely locked. Across from me, Maris Brood leaned against the wall with the relaxed posture of someone who had recently been assigned temple chores and was still deciding how much effort she planned to invest in them.

Between us sat two inactive droids.

Or rather—two extremely active droids currently pretending to be inactive.

PROXY units were incredibly useful.

Originally designed as combat training droids, they had the very convenient ability to mimic other individuals.

Which meant they could also mimic Sith Lords.

Which meant they could run an empire while those Sith Lords were temporarily busy pretending to be Jedi Initiates again.

Honestly, it was one of my better ideas.

Maris tilted her head slightly.

"You ready?"

I nodded.

We both closed our eyes.

The Force shifted around us as we reached outward—through space, through distance, through the strange connection linking us to the droids currently sitting on a throne halfway across the galaxy.

The sensation of Force projection was always strange.

One moment I was sitting on the floor of a dorm room.

The next I was looking out across a vast command chamber filled with officers, holographic displays, and rows of black-armored HK droids standing guard.

Technically speaking, I was now looking through the eyes of my PROXY.

Which was currently impersonating me.

Or more specifically—

Darth Sol.

Across the chamber, another throne sat beside mine.

Maris's PROXY sat there, perfectly replicating the posture and presence of Darth Nox.

The two Sith Lords who ruled the rapidly expanding First Order.

Except at the moment they were actually two Jedi Initiates sitting on a dormitory floor on Coruscant.

Life was strange.

One of the HK units stepped forward.

"Statement: Reporting current status of imperial territories, my lord."

I mentally gestured for it to continue.

The droid projected a holographic map.

"Planetary report: Jakku has been stabilized."

The hologram shifted.

"Local populations have accepted new governance structures. Crime has decreased by forty-two percent."

I blinked.

That was… good.

"Trade routes have been reorganized. Infrastructure improvements underway."

Maris's voice echoed through the projection link.

"Well that's efficient."

The droid continued.

"Territory update: Dantooine secured."

Another set of reports appeared.

"Agricultural production increased. Defensive garrisons established. Local leadership cooperative."

I leaned slightly back in the throne.

Huh.

That also sounded… good.

The HK unit turned toward the final report.

"Resource update: Hoth mining operations progressing successfully."

The hologram displayed several automated extraction facilities embedded in massive ice formations.

"Crystal harvesting efficiency exceeding projections."

Maris's PROXY leaned slightly forward in the throne beside mine.

Which meant Maris herself was probably leaning forward on the dorm room floor.

"Wait," she muttered through the Force connection. "Is the empire… running well?"

The HK droid nodded enthusiastically. "Affirmation: Current governance has resulted in improved security, economic growth, and widespread civilian satisfaction."

I stared at the report.

Safe trade lanes.

Organized infrastructure.

Lower crime.

Productive economies.

Apparently…

Benevolent tyranny worked.

I glanced sideways toward Maris's projection.

She was staring at the holograms with growing suspicion. "This feels wrong," she said.

I nodded slowly.

"Yeah."

Because this was not how Sith empires usually worked.

Historically speaking, Sith governments tended to collapse into infighting, betrayal, and dramatic lightning-related accidents.

Instead, ours appeared to be quietly becoming… functional.

Which was deeply concerning.

Maris leaned back against the dorm room wall on the other side of the Force connection.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "we could just stay here."

I blinked.

"What?"

She gestured vaguely. "As Jedi."

I considered that.

Our PROXY droids were clearly handling things just fine.

The empire was stable.

Our worlds were prosperous.

The citizens were apparently happy.

Meanwhile, our biggest problem here was sweeping temple hallways.

I leaned back against the wall in my room. "…that's an option."

Maris nodded thoughtfully. "Let the droids run everything."

I stared at the ceiling.

…

Then we both spoke at the same time.

"This feels like a terrible sign."

...​

The office of the Supreme Chancellor was designed to inspire confidence.

Tall windows overlooked the endless cityscape of Coruscant. The furnishings were elegant without being ostentatious. The lighting was warm, dignified, and carefully calculated to make visiting senators feel they were speaking to a wise and trustworthy leader.

Sheev Palpatine normally enjoyed the room very much.

Today he hated it.

Specifically, he hated the datapad sitting on his desk.

Because the datapad contained numbers.

And those numbers were catastrophic.

Palpatine stared at the budget report with the same expression a man might use when discovering that someone had quietly replaced his wine with poison.

The Clone Army had been expensive.

Very expensive.

Creating millions of genetically identical soldiers on Kamino had required an extraordinary investment of resources. Laboratories, facilities, training regimens, accelerated growth technologies—it had all cost a fortune.

But that had been acceptable.

Because it was a one-time expense.

You paid the cloners.

You received an army.

A very efficient arrangement.

Now, however, the situation had changed.

Palpatine read the report again, just to ensure he was not hallucinating.

He was not.

The clones were now classified as citizens.

Which meant they were also classified as employees.

Which meant—

He closed his eyes briefly.

The Republic now had to pay them salaries.

Salaries.

For soldiers he had already paid to create.

This was outrageous.

Palpatine leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he contemplated the various individuals responsible for this financial catastrophe.

First there was Count Dooku.

The Count had been tasked with overseeing certain aspects of the war's early stages.

Specifically, ensuring the Confederacy applied enough pressure to drive the Republic into conflict.

Nowhere in that plan had Palpatine authorized the Count to launch a spectacularly ill-timed invasion of Mandalore.

Which had then forced Satine Kryze to rejoin the Republic.

Which had then triggered the clone citizenship issue.

Which had now triggered the budget issue.

The Count, Palpatine decided, was clearly losing his edge.

He made a mental note to have a very pointed conversation with him later.

Then there was Satine herself.

The Duchess had always been… inconvenient.

Her pacifism had complicated matters for years.

Now she had apparently decided to improve the situation further by granting the clones full legal rights.

Palpatine tapped the datapad again.

Another column of numbers appeared.

Benefits.

Leave rotations.

Medical care.

Retirement pensions.

Retirement.

For clones.

The entire point of the clone army had been that they were disposable.

You did not retire disposable soldiers.

You simply… disposed of them.

Palpatine sighed quietly.

Democracy, he reflected, was truly the worst system of government ever invented.

And yet he had spent decades manipulating it into the exact position it now occupied.

The irony was deeply irritating.

He stood and walked toward the window, gazing out at the endless lights of Coruscant.

Millions of citizens.

Millions of voters.

Millions of taxpayers who would soon begin asking very uncomfortable questions about the Republic's new military budget.

Palpatine folded his hands behind his back.

Clearly, adjustments would need to be made.

If the Count could not maintain operational efficiency, then perhaps it was time to begin considering… alternatives.

A new apprentice, perhaps.

Someone younger.

More adaptable.

More fiscally responsible.

The thought amused him.

A slow smile spread across his face.

"Darth… Aravice."

It sounded excellent.

Powerful.

Mysterious.

Sufficiently Sith.

Palpatine leaned back in his chair, chuckling softly to himself.

Naming Sith Lords, he had discovered, was surprisingly easy.

...​

The flagship of the Confederacy drifted in cold silence above the stars.

Inside the command chamber, Count Dooku stood alone beside a long tactical display, hands clasped neatly behind his back.

The galaxy rotated slowly across the holomap.

It was a beautiful map.

Elegant. Informative. Precise.

And at the moment, extremely irritating.

The Count studied the glowing projection of Mandalore with the composed expression of a man who had just watched a carefully choreographed opera collapse when the stage caught fire.

The mission had been simple.

Decisive.

Elegant.

Remove Satine Kryze.

Without her leadership, Mandalore would fracture. The Republic would hesitate. The political situation would destabilize beautifully.

Instead—

Satine Kryze was alive.

Mandalore had formally aligned itself with the Republic.

And, somehow, the clones had become citizens.

Citizens.

Dooku stared at the word in the intelligence summary as if it were a minor grammatical error the galaxy had made by accident.

The clone army had been designed to serve as a convenient catalyst for war.

It had not been designed to receive civil rights.

Or voting privileges.

Or legal protections.

He could already imagine the endless committees the Republic Senate would create to discuss clone compensation packages.

It would be unbearable.

The Count exhaled slowly.

This had not been the plan.

The war had begun earlier than intended.

The political board had shifted before the pieces were fully in position.

And most irritating of all, several of his own assets had behaved with spectacular incompetence.

Pre Vizsla had failed.

The Death Watch had fractured.

And worst of all—

Jango Fett had defected.

Dooku had invested considerable time cultivating Fett as a reliable asset.

The man had been practical. Efficient. Sensible.

Now he was apparently working for the Republic.

Which meant the clones were now receiving tactical guidance from the very man whose genetic material had created them.

A development Dooku suspected would not improve the Confederacy's battlefield prospects.

He folded his hands calmly behind his back again.

The situation was… inconvenient.

But not catastrophic.

The Republic was still slow.

Still bureaucratic.

Still vulnerable to manipulation.

And the Jedi—

Dooku's mouth curved faintly.

The Jedi were nothing if not predictable.

The war could still be guided.

Still shaped.

Still escalated precisely as his master intended.

Which was when he noticed the other problem.

The holomap flickered as several Outer Rim systems illuminated.

Small markers blinked into existence.

Three worlds.

Jakku.

Dantooine.

Hoth.

Dooku frowned slightly.

These systems had not previously been significant.

Sparse populations. Limited strategic value. Minor trade routes.

Yet the intelligence reports attached to them were… unusual.

He opened the first transmission.

The recording was grainy, clearly intercepted from a civilian relay.

"…the new authorities have secured the spaceport. They claim to represent—"

Static crackled.

Then a voice finished the sentence.

"—the will of Darth Sol."

Dooku stilled.

He replayed the recording.

The same name echoed through the chamber.

Darth Sol.

The Count opened the second report.

Another intercepted transmission.

This one from Dantooine.

"…the governor surrendered without resistance. Their forces arrived with droids and a fleet of unfamiliar warships. They claim allegiance to—"

The message cut briefly.

Then resumed.

"—Darth Nox."

Dooku felt the faintest tightening in his chest.

Curious.

He opened the third report.

The situation on Hoth was even stranger.

Sensors had detected a fleet entering orbit.

Large vessels.

Old vessels.

Republic dreadnoughts that had supposedly disappeared years ago.

And the command codes attached to their transmissions again referenced the same two names.

Darth Sol.

Darth Nox.

Dooku slowly straightened.

That was… odd.

Very odd.

Because the Sith operated under a very simple principle.

The Rule of Two.

One master.

One apprentice.

No more.

Even Ventress was not a true Sith.

Which meant that somewhere in the Outer Rim, someone had begun using Sith titles withiut being directly connected to the line of Bane.

Dooku studied the holomap in silence for a long moment.

The systems under their control were not random.

They formed the early shape of a territorial foothold.

Small.

Distant.

But growing.

Someone was building something.

Quietly.

Carefully.

And with a certain flair for theatrical presentation.

Dooku felt the faintest flicker of interest.

Because that left two possibilities.

Either a group of opportunists had decided that declaring themselves Sith would make them sound more intimidating—

Or someone had decided to start playing the same game he and his master had been playing for decades.

The Count allowed himself a slow, thoughtful smile.

If it was the first possibility, they would be eliminated easily.

If it was the second—

Well.

That could become very entertaining.

"Darth Sol," he murmured softly. "Darth Nox."

He considered the names thoughtfully.

Yes.

This might complicate matters.

But complications, in the right hands, could also become opportunities.

Dooku folded his hands behind his back once more, gazing out at the stars beyond the flagship's viewport.

Somewhere in the Outer Rim, two unknown players had just placed themselves on the board.

The Count's smile sharpened slightly.

This could become… interesting.

...​

Yes... very interesting.

But, it'll have to wait! I sincerely hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, as always, please stay tuned for more. And, naturally, if you want to read ahead, you are more than welcome to check me out on Patreon, link below:

My Patreon

 

[Hilight]

Maris nodded thoughtfully. "Let the droids run everything."

I stared at the ceiling.

…

Then we both spoke at the same time.

"This feels like a terrible sign."

Click to shrink...

Why and in what way? Because they can turn running a small empire into the equivalent of an idle clicker where they just sign in for the daily rewards?

 

[Wivk]

I was enjoying the story until the fucking shit with Anakin's hand. This drek needs to stop.

Click to shrink...

I don't care about anakin's hand, I am confused about how dooku even got near him though. I especially didn't like obi wan being like you didn't wait for back up. Dooku lands, Yoda and Ben are right there, they talk to him, mace and jango are right there talking to him too before they team up to fight droids or something, then he like force flips past all of them to fuck with anakin specifically and they all just watch from the side lines?

 

[Mad King Kevin]

Chapter 35: The War Begins

The Senate Rotunda of the Galactic Senate Building had hosted countless historic debates over the millennia.

Declarations of war.

Peace treaties.

Trade disputes that had lasted so long entire species had evolved new political parties before they ended.

Today, however, the Senate was debating something far more horrifying.

A budget.

From the central podium, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine stood with hands folded inside the sleeves of his robes, the perfect image of calm statesmanship. Around him, the massive chamber roared with thousands of voices as senatorial pods drifted through the air like agitated insects.

"Outrageous!"

"Financially impossible!"

"We cannot fund an army of this scale!"

Several pods clustered together as representatives from the Commerce Guild waved datapads in the air like weapons.

Palpatine watched them with serene patience.

Inside his mind, the Force trembled faintly with irritation.

Millions of clones.

Each now legally classified as a citizen.

Each entitled to—

He resisted the urge to sigh.

Salaries.

Housing.

Medical care.

Veteran pensions.

Hazard pay.

Equipment stipends.

One particularly enthusiastic senator from the Core had even suggested retirement plans.

For soldiers.

Soldiers were supposed to be expended, not retired.

This was what came of allowing Mandalorians to write legal documents.

The pod belonging to Mandalore's delegation floated prominently near the Chancellor's podium, its occupants looking quite pleased with themselves. Somewhere behind that quiet diplomatic victory stood Satine Kryze and her argument that clones were people.

Palpatine disliked when other people's moral victories became his accounting problems. Frankly, he disliked other people in general. And moral victories. He preferred his victories to be dark, and ominous.

Insidious, if you will.

A finance committee representative cleared his throat loudly, activating the holoprojector above the central podium.

Charts appeared.

They were enormous.

They were colorful.

They were catastrophic.

"As you can see," the senator began, with the grim tone of a man announcing a planetary extinction event, "the cost projections for maintaining the Grand Army of the Republic under standard citizen compensation structures include—"

More charts appeared.

"Salaries."

Another column appeared.

"Barracks housing converted to civilian living allowances."

Another.

"Medical coverage and prosthetics programs."

Another.

"Hazard pay for active combat zones."

Another.

"Pension allocations for long-term service."

The chamber erupted.

Several senators began shouting over one another while their aides frantically recalculated figures on datapads.

Palpatine examined the projections with the calm expression of a man who had once orchestrated the entire creation of this army and now found himself paying for it twice.

He had already funded the cloning project through secret channels on Kamino.

Now the Senate wanted him to fund the soldiers themselves.

That was outrageous.

A pod from the Mid Rim rotated forward. The senator leaned over his railing, eyes gleaming with bureaucratic inspiration.

"If the Jedi intend to command this army," the man announced, "then perhaps the Jedi Order should contribute financially to battlefield supervision."

Several pods turned toward the Jedi delegation.

A cluster of robed figures sat calmly within their pod.

Not a single one reacted.

They had perfected the ancient Jedi technique of pretending they had not heard a word.

Palpatine almost admired the maneuver.

Almost.

The debate continued for another hour.

Numbers were proposed.

Numbers were rejected.

Several senators attempted to argue that the Republic should simply return the clones to Kamino and pretend none of this had happened.

Unfortunately, the Separatists had begun mobilizing droid armies in the Outer Rim, which made pretending the galaxy was at peace somewhat difficult.

Eventually, the Senate reached the unavoidable conclusion.

The Republic required an army.

And armies required funding.

How inconvenient.

Palpatine stepped forward to the podium, raising a hand slightly.

The chamber gradually quieted.

His expression softened into the warm, grandfatherly concern that had made him the most trusted man in the Republic.

"Honored senators," he began gently, his voice echoing through the vast chamber. "The galaxy stands at the threshold of a difficult era. Forces beyond our borders threaten the peace and security that the Republic has preserved for a thousand generations."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the chamber.

He continued calmly.

"The clone army, whatever its origins, now stands as the shield that protects our citizens. They did not ask for the circumstances of their creation. They ask only the chance to serve."

He paused, letting the sentiment settle over the assembly.

"The Republic must not fail those who defend it."

More murmurs.

Several senators nodded solemnly.

Behind his calm expression, Palpatine's thoughts remained perfectly composed.

Patience.

Let them argue about the costs.

Soon they will beg for emergency powers.

Soon the Senate will grant me the authority to end these debates myself.

And when that day came, he would no longer need to pretend that the Republic's budget mattered.

The final vote was called.

Lights blinked across the chamber as thousands of senators cast their ballots.

The results appeared above the central podium.

Funding approved.

The Grand Army of the Republic officially entered service.

Across the galaxy, shipyards would begin accelerating production. Clone battalions would deploy. Fleets would mobilize.

The gears of war had begun to turn.

Palpatine folded his hands once more, smiling faintly as the Senate erupted into renewed argument over tax allocations.

Yes.

The war had begun…

Technically.

Logistically, both sides are still severely ill equipped to begin true hostilities. So, both the Confederacy and the Republic have agreed to a year long armistice, in order to prepare themselves. But not to worry.

Palpatine had plans to ensure conflict would not only be inevitable… but immanent.

...​

The thing about saving a planet is that you expect at least a little appreciation afterward.

A parade, maybe.

A medal.

Possibly a strongly worded lecture followed by the parade.

What you don't expect is being handed a bucket.

I leaned against the wall of a hallway in the upper levels of the Jedi Temple, staring down at the cleaning supplies in my hands with the sort of weary resignation that only came from long experience.

To be clear, the Jedi Council had been very grateful.

According to Masters Mace Windu and Yoda, Ahsoka, Maris, and I had performed an "extraordinary service" to the Republic by helping prevent Mandalore from collapsing into civil war.

We had also, according to those same Masters, absolutely not been authorized to be there.

Both of these things were apparently true at the same time.

Which meant we were currently serving a sentence of Temple Duties.

I was very familiar with Temple Duties.

I had grown up here.

Temple Duties were the Jedi Order's preferred method of reminding initiates that heroism did not exempt you from janitorial responsibilities.

Behind me, a training remote exploded against the wall.

The crack echoed down the hallway.

I slowly closed my eyes.

Behind me, Maris Brood stood in the middle of the corridor with a Force-grip still clenched in one hand. The smoking remains of the remote slid down the wall, leaving a fresh black scorch mark across the polished stone.

I pointed at it with my cleaning brush. "You know that adds another scorch mark we'll have to clean, right?"

Maris folded her arms. "Worth it."

I looked at the wall.

Then at the bucket.

Then back at her.

"Well, I'm not cleaning it up."

From halfway down the corridor, Ahsoka Tano glanced over from where she was scrubbing another section of wall with the enthusiasm of someone performing manual labor for the first time in her life.

"Me neither."

Maris stared at the scorch mark again.

"…less worth it."

The Jedi Temple contained an alarming number of scorch marks.

That was something I had discovered very early in my childhood.

You'd think an ancient order of space monks dedicated to peace and self-discipline would maintain immaculate hallways.

You would be wrong.

Apparently when thousands of Force-sensitive children were given laser swords and told to "practice responsibly," the architecture suffered.

Which explained why one of our official punishments involved scrubbing carbon scoring off the walls.

Again.

"Why do we have to do all of this?" Ahsoka muttered, dragging her brush across the stone with dramatic irritation. "We saved Mandalore."

"For the record," I said, "we only helped save Mandalore. Which we did while also committing about twelve separate violations of Jedi protocol."

But, at least they didn't discover that I was secretly a Sith Lord.

They were really bad at discovering secret Sith Lords.

"Protocol is a suggestion."

"That's what Anakin says."

She paused.

"…okay that's a fair point."

Ahsoka resumed scrubbing with renewed resentment.

Across the hallway, Maris kicked the remains of the training remote into a nearby disposal bin with the precision of someone who was still imagining it was a member of Death Watch.

Maris took Temple Duties very personally.

Archive cataloging had been an insult.

Youngling supervision had been a humiliation.

Meditation lectures had nearly caused a diplomatic incident.

Which, to be fair, wasn't entirely her fault.

If you asked Maris Brood to explain the philosophy of emotional balance to a room full of six-year-olds, the results were always going to be… creative.

"Next time," Ahsoka grumbled, "we should just let Mandalore solve its own problems."

"Next time," Maris said darkly, "I'm throwing someone off a balcony."

"Preferably someone important," Ahsoka added.

I dipped my brush into the bucket again, scrubbing at the wall with the calm patience of someone who had accepted his fate long ago.

Honestly, this was still an improvement over archive duty. I used to like it there. But that was before the dark times, and the rise of Jocasta the punisher, who showed me the true nature of the archives.

The archives were endless.

The archives were quiet.

The archives were supervised by librarians who could sense disturbances in the Force caused by improperly filed datapads.

Cleaning scorch marks was practically a vacation.

Somewhere in the Temple, a distant training saber crackled as two Padawans dueled.

Another scorch mark in the making.

I shook my head slowly.

The Jedi Order had existed for twenty-five thousand years.

At this point, I was pretty sure the entire Temple was structurally supported by layers of carbon scoring.

Ahsoka leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily as she looked down the hallway we had already cleaned. "Are we done yet?"

I glanced at the list on my datapad.

"Nope."

"What's next?"

I scrolled down.

"Training droid maintenance."

Ahsoka groaned loudly enough that several passing initiates turned to look.

Maris cracked her knuckles. "Well," she said, a faint smile appearing for the first time all morning. "At least that involves violence."

I considered correcting her.

Then I remembered the last time Maris had "repaired" a training droid.

…on second thought, violence was probably accurate.

And if we were lucky, the repairs would only add two or three more scorch marks.

Which, unfortunately, meant we'd be cleaning those tomorrow.

...​

The chamber of the Jedi Council Chamber had witnessed many important moments in the history of the Order.

Great victories.

Great failures.

Several extremely awkward philosophical debates that had lasted three days longer than anyone involved would have preferred.

Today, however, it hosted something far more pleasant.

The knighting of Anakin Skywalker.

Obi-Wan Kenobi stood near the edge of the circular chamber, hands folded calmly within his sleeves as sunlight poured through the tall windows behind the Council seats. The light cast long golden lines across the polished floor where Anakin knelt before the assembled Masters.

The moment carried the appropriate solemnity.

It also carried a certain sense of disbelief.

Anakin Skywalker… a Jedi Knight.

Obi-Wan studied his former Padawan quietly.

Anakin looked older now. The last year had a way of doing that to people. The Mandalorian conflict, the Separatist incursions, the constant rumors of war spreading through the Republic—it had all pressed forward faster than anyone would have liked.

War had a habit of forcing the galaxy to grow up quickly.

Even with a year-long armistice.

And yet.

Despite everything, Anakin still looked very much like the same reckless boy Obi-Wan had first met on Tatooine all those years ago.

Perhaps slightly taller.

Possibly more confident.

Almost certainly more dangerous.

But fundamentally the same.

The ceremony concluded with the traditional blessing from Yoda, whose small figure rested calmly upon his Council seat.

"By the authority of the Jedi Council," the ancient Master said gently, "a Knight of the Jedi Order, you are."

Anakin rose.

The new Knight bowed respectfully to the Council.

The gesture lasted exactly as long as required.

Then he immediately flexed his new prosthetic hand.

The polished mechanical fingers whirred faintly as they opened and closed.

Obi-Wan allowed himself a small sigh.

The hand itself was quite impressive. The craftsmanship was exceptional, almost artistic in its design. Apparently the Senator from Naboo had insisted on the finest prosthetics available in the Republic.

Quite generous of her, really.

Quite generous indeed.

Anakin seemed rather pleased with it as well.

He rotated his wrist experimentally before glancing up at the Council with the expression of a man who had just completed an important life milestone and was already thinking about the next one.

"So," Anakin said brightly, "when do I get a Padawan?"

The chamber became very quiet.

Obi-Wan felt a disturbance in the Force that strongly resembled several Jedi Masters suppressing sighs.

Anakin clasped his hands behind his back and continued with enthusiasm. "I've been looking forward to shaping the minds of the next generation with all of my knowledge and wisdom."

Several members of the Council developed expressions normally associated with mild migraines.

"Particularly my thesis on The Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly.

That thesis.

He had heard it many times.

Too many times.

In fairness to Anakin, it was an interesting historical discussion about the dangers of Sith ambition and the philosophical implications of unnatural life preservation.

Unfortunately, Anakin had discovered it in the Temple archives six months ago and had since decided that it was the most fascinating story ever recorded in Jedi history.

Which meant he told it to everyone.

Younglings.

Padawans.

Temple staff.

Once, tragically, a group of diplomats who had only asked for directions to the cafeteria.

The Council chamber remained politely silent.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes again and considered the matter thoughtfully.

In truth, Anakin had raised a valid point.

Traditionally, newly knighted Jedi often took Padawans of their own once they had proven themselves ready to teach. And despite Anakin's… enthusiastic personality… he had grown tremendously over the years.

He had become a capable warrior.

A brave defender of the Republic.

Still reckless, of course.

But Obi-Wan had long ago accepted that certain elements of Anakin Skywalker were simply permanent fixtures of the universe.

With that in mind, Obi-Wan inclined his head respectfully toward the Council.

"If I may, Masters," he said calmly.

Several Council members turned toward him.

Now that Anakin had completed his training, Obi-Wan found himself considering the next step in his own path as well. A Jedi Knight without a Padawan often felt… incomplete, in a sense.

The Order was built upon the passing of knowledge.

It was time for him to teach again.

"I have given the matter considerable thought," Obi-Wan continued. "And I believe I have selected a new student of my own."

The Council watched him with quiet interest.

Obi-Wan allowed himself a faint smile.

"There is an initiate in the Temple who has demonstrated remarkable potential. Strong in the Force. Intelligent. Resourceful."

Admittedly, occasionally troublesome.

But what promising student wasn't?

"I believe Initiate Kryze would make an excellent Padawan learner."

The reaction from the Council was… unusual.

Several Masters exchanged glances.

One or two actually looked sympathetic.

Master Mace Windu studied Obi-Wan with the expression of a man watching someone unknowingly walk toward a falling tree.

Obi-Wan blinked.

That was odd.

"Masters?" he asked carefully.

The silence stretched.

Across the chamber, Anakin looked between them with growing curiosity.

Obi-Wan slowly frowned.

"What?"

...​

The training courtyard of the Jedi Temple was unusually crowded that morning.

Padawans and initiates gathered in loose clusters beneath the tall arches that framed the open sky. Training remotes buzzed lazily in the distance where younger students practiced deflection drills, but most of the Temple's attention was focused on the group assembled near the center platform.

Assignments were being announced.

Ordinarily that sort of thing was done quietly.

A discussion between Masters.

A quiet decision in the Council chamber.

But the galaxy was changing. War hovered just over the horizon, the Senate was mobilizing fleets, and the Jedi Order suddenly found itself needing more fully trained pairs of Knights and Padawans than usual.

Which meant the announcements were happening publicly.

Which meant everyone was watching.

Which meant Ahsoka Tano was having a very complicated emotional experience.

She stood beside Ben and Maris near the edge of the courtyard, arms folded as the senior Masters spoke with a group of Knights ahead of them. The Force carried faint ripples of anticipation through the gathered students.

Ahsoka tried to look calm.

Inside her head, however, several thoughts were fighting for dominance.

The first was excitement.

Padawan.

That word had lived in the back of her mind for years now. Every initiate dreamed of the moment a Jedi Knight would step forward and say they were ready to begin real training.

Real missions.

Real responsibility.

The second thought was dread.

Because there was a very specific Jedi Knight standing nearby.

And Ahsoka had spent enough time around him to understand something very important about Anakin Skywalker.

He was chaos.

Not malicious chaos.

Not even irresponsible chaos, exactly.

Just… chaos.

The kind that happened when someone with incredible power, absolute confidence, and a creative interpretation of the rules walked into a situation.

Ahsoka respected him.

She admired him.

She had also watched him accidentally start three separate duels with other Padawans in a single afternoon because he thought their training stances looked "a little boring."

Which was why she felt a sudden spike of nervous energy when Master Mace Windu stepped forward to begin the announcements.

"The Council has made its decisions regarding several new Padawan assignments."

The courtyard grew quiet.

Ahsoka felt her montrals twitch slightly.

Windu consulted a datapad briefly. "Padawan learner assignments will begin immediately." He looked up. "Initiate Tano."

Ahsoka straightened instantly.

Her heart did something extremely un-Jedi-like.

"Step forward."

She did.

Across the courtyard, Anakin also stepped forward with the confident posture of someone who had clearly been expecting this moment for at least an hour.

Windu's voice remained calm.

"You will be assigned to Jedi Knight Skywalker."

Ahsoka's brain stopped for approximately two seconds.

Then it restarted.

Her emotions attempted to process the information.

Excitement.

Pride.

Respect.

And a rapidly growing sense that her life had just become significantly more dangerous.

Across from her, Anakin grinned like someone who had just been given permission to adopt a very enthusiastic space gremlin. "Excellent," he said. "I've got a lot to teach."

Ahsoka managed a polite nod while internally preparing for what would almost certainly be the most unpredictable apprenticeship in Jedi history.

Behind her, she heard Ben quietly whisper, "Good luck."

Maris added, "You're going to die."

Ahsoka didn't turn around.

Mostly because they were probably right.

Windu glanced down at the datapad again. "Next assignment." Several initiates shifted nervously. "Initiate Brood."

Maris Brood stepped forward with the expression of someone who had already decided she would dislike whatever came next.

Across the platform, Obi-Wan Kenobi approached with his usual calm composure.

The two of them stopped a few paces apart.

They looked at each other.

Something in the Force shifted.

It was the subtle but unmistakable realization two people experienced when they both understood that the future was about to become complicated.

Maris tilted her head slightly. "So… do you meditate a lot?"

Obi-Wan folded his hands calmly into his sleeves. "Yes."

Maris sighed.

Not a small sigh.

Not a polite sigh.

A long, dramatic sigh that suggested she had just been assigned to the galaxy's most patient philosophy professor.

Several nearby Padawans tried very hard not to laugh.

Obi-Wan, to his credit, appeared completely unfazed.

Ahsoka watched the exchange with growing fascination.

That pairing was going to be spectacular.

Behind her, Ben muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "This will end in property damage."

The courtyard slowly relaxed as the assignments settled into place.

Padawans and Knights began speaking quietly with their new partners.

Plans were being made.

Training schedules.

Mission briefings.

The next chapter of several Jedi careers had just begun.

Which was when Ahsoka noticed something strange.

No one had called Ben's name yet.

That was odd.

Because everyone had assumed the same thing from the beginning.

If Obi-Wan was taking a new Padawan…

It would obviously be Ben Kryze.

The logic made perfect sense.

Ben had trained at the Temple almost his entire life.

He had an unusually strong connection to the Force.

And—

Well.

There were also the… other reasons.

Which was why several students were now glancing around the courtyard with mild confusion.

Because the assignments had been announced.

Ahsoka.

Maris.

Several others.

But not Ben.

So… what was going to happen to him?

...​

The summons arrived approximately ten minutes after the Padawan assignments ended.

Which was not, in my professional opinion, a comforting timeline.

I stood outside the tall doors leading into the Jedi Council Chamber with the very specific feeling that my life had just wandered off-script.

Which was impressive.

Because my life had already been off-script for quite some time.

Still.

This was new.

Inside the chamber waited the full Jedi Council.

Waiting for me.

That was never a good sign.

I took a slow breath and reminded myself not to panic.

This was probably fine.

Totally fine.

Just a normal meeting with the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy.

Nothing suspicious about that.

Except—

Except that Ahsoka had just been assigned to Anakin Skywalker.

Which was wrong. Not morally wrong (though I'm sure she'd disagree.)

Just timeline wrong.

In the movies that didn't happen until the Battle of Christophsis.

And Obi-Wan Kenobi had just taken Maris as a Padawan. Which was also wrong. Obi-Wan wasn't supposed to take another apprentice after Anakin. And if he was going to, then I had assumed it would be me!

Unless—

Unless the Council had done this deliberately.

Unless they had looked at my training record.

My suspiciously good battlefield instincts. My tendency to show up in places I absolutely should not have been. My occasional habit of staring into the middle distance like someone gazing into the future.

Unless they had noticed something.

The doors slid open.

Great.

No time to panic now.

I stepped inside.

The Council chamber was exactly as intimidating as it had been every other time I'd been summoned here.

Tall windows overlooking the skyline of Coruscant.

Twelve seats arranged in a circle.

Twelve Jedi Masters studying me with the calm attention of people who could absolutely sense guilt through the Force.

I stopped in the center of the room.

"Masters."

My voice sounded calm.

This was impressive because internally I was already evaluating the structural integrity of the windows, and how likely I could break them with my tiny body.

I could make that jump.

Probably.

The Force would help.

Maybe.

Master Mace Windu leaned forward slightly in his seat. "Initiate Kryze." That was never followed by anything relaxing. "You have served the Order with distinction during the recent Mandalorian conflict."

I nodded politely.

Which was Jedi Code for please don't investigate the details too closely.

"Your actions demonstrated courage, initiative, and unusual resourcefulness."

That last word worried me.

Resourceful Jedi tended to become questionable Jedi.

Windu continued calmly. "The Council has therefore discussed your future training."

My heart did a small, uncomfortable flip.

Okay.

This was the moment.

Either they assigned me to a Master… Or they politely explained that I would be spending the next ten years alphabetizing the archives under armed supervision.

I glanced briefly toward Obi-Wan.

He sat alongside the Council, looking calm and thoughtful.

Not concerned.

Not suspicious.

Just quietly observant.

Which somehow made me more nervous. If he had been angry, I would have understood that. Angry meant he knew something.

Calm meant—

Well.

Calm meant Obi-Wan Kenobi had decided to let the Council handle it.

Which felt worse.

Master Windu was about to speak again when a small green figure shifted slightly in his seat.

Yoda tilted his head toward me, eyes half-lidded with quiet thought.

"Hmm."

That single syllable carried the weight of several centuries of Jedi contemplation.

Then he tapped his gimer stick lightly against the floor.

"Mine," Yoda said.

The chamber went very still.

Master Windu blinked once.

Obi-Wan raised one eyebrow.

I stared.

Yoda looked directly at me. "Train him, I will."

My brain took a moment to process that sentence.

Because there were only two Jedi in the entire Order that Master Yoda had personally trained.

One of them had been Count Dooku.

Which—

Now that I thought about it—

Was not a great statistic.

Across the chamber, Windu folded his arms.

"Master Yoda," he began carefully.

But Yoda simply nodded, as if the matter had already been decided. "Unusual, his path is." That felt like a generous understatement. "Special guidance, he will need."

The room fell quiet again.

Several Council members exchanged thoughtful looks.

Obi-Wan studied me for a moment. Then, to my growing alarm, he simply inclined his head. "I believe Master Yoda is correct."

That was it.

No objection.

No protest.

Just calm agreement.

Which somehow made this entire situation feel significantly more suspicious.

I looked between them slowly. "Master… Yoda?" I asked.

The ancient Jedi smiled faintly. "Much to learn, you have."

Oh no.

A terrible realization began forming in the back of my mind.

I knew how Yoda trained people.

I had seen it.

The swamp.

The riddles.

The carrying him around on your back while he whacked you with a stick.

The weird cave visions.

The flipping.

So much flipping.

I wonder if they'll actually use the Force to stop me from jumping out of that window…?

...​

The first thing I learned about training under Yoda was that it began immediately.

The second thing I learned was that it never made any sense.

My first lesson started at sunrise the next morning in a secluded section of the Jedi Temple training grounds. I had expected something reasonable. Lightsaber forms. Meditation. Maybe Force exercises.

Instead, I found myself standing at the base of an obstacle course that looked like it had been designed by someone who had very strong opinions about gravity. And none of them were positive.

Narrow balance poles.

Swinging platforms.

Rope climbs.

Floating targets.

And at the top of the first pole sat my new Master, tapping his gimer stick against the wood.

"Begin, you will."

I stared at the course.

Then I stared at him.

"Master… is this a standard Jedi training exercise?"

Yoda tilted his head slightly. "Standard, the Force is not." Which was not an answer. Then he hopped lightly onto my back. "Carry me, you will."

I sighed internally.

This was happening.

I stepped onto the first pole.

The Force shifted around me as I focused on balance. Wind brushed across the courtyard as I moved from one narrow perch to another, Yoda perched comfortably on my shoulders like an ancient green backpack.

Behind me, the Grandmaster occasionally whacked my shoulder with the stick.

"Too slow."

Whack.

"Thinking, you are."

Whack.

"Balance, not muscles, you must use."

Whack.

I began to suspect this might go on for a while.

...​

The next few months were… educational.

Not in the traditional sense.

More in the why is this happening to me sense.

One morning I was balancing on a pole with my eyes covered while Yoda threw training remotes at my head.

Another day I was suspended upside down from a training rig while attempting to meditate.

Meditation, it turned out, was extremely difficult when all the blood in your body had decided to relocate to your forehead.

"Clear your mind," Yoda advised from somewhere nearby.

"I am trying," I said, hanging like a very confused bat. In hindsight, it was a very poor choice of words when talking to this little gremlin.

"Trying, you are. Letting go, you are not."

That sounded suspiciously philosophical.

Which meant the exercise would probably continue until I achieved enlightenment or passed out.

...​

The lightsaber training was worse.

Yoda insisted on blindfolds.

"See with the Force," he said.

Which sounded very wise until you realized it meant attempting to duel someone you could not see.

And that someone was Yoda.

A nine-hundred-year-old Jedi Master who moved like a caffeinated pinball.

My blade came up just in time to deflect a strike that appeared out of nowhere.

Another hit followed instantly.

Then another.

Then a spinning leap that absolutely should not have been physically possible for a creature his size.

Somewhere during the third exchange I realized something horrifying.

This was not just a toned-down training version.

This was Yoda being gentle.

...​

At one point he decided we needed a change of scenery.

Which was how I ended up knee-deep in swamp water on a remote jungle world, holding a large stone above my head with the Force.

While doing a handstand.

Rain fell steadily through the trees.

Mud clung to my boots.

Frogs made judgmental noises from the undergrowth.

Yoda stood nearby on a dry patch of ground, watching calmly.

"Focus."

I tried.

The stone wobbled slightly above me.

"Master," I said carefully, "what exactly is this supposed to accomplish?"

Yoda tapped his stick lightly against a tree root. "Help you lift heavy things, it will."

That was the entire explanation.

I stared at the swamp.

Then at the floating rock.

Then back at him.

Inside my head, a very specific realization slowly formed.

Luke's training hadn't been special.

The swamp.

The riddles.

The weird exercises.

The upside-down meditation.

That had not been a desperate last hope attempt to train a farm boy quickly. That had just been how Yoda trained people. I was not experiencing some unusual method reserved for special cases.

This was the standard curriculum.

Which meant a nine-hundred-year-old gremlin had been doing this to students for centuries.

This naturally led me to a single, inevitable conclusion.

I was being trolled.

By a Jedi Master older than most civilizations.

...​

Despite everything…

It worked.

That was the frustrating part.

Somewhere between the blindfolded duels and the swamp gymnastics, something changed.

The Force felt clearer.

Stronger.

Easier to touch.

At first I had strained to lift a single boulder.

Months later I could hold several in the air without losing focus.

Balance came naturally now.

My awareness expanded in ways that were difficult to explain. I could feel motion before it happened, sense disturbances in the Force like ripples spreading across water.

Even the meditation started making sense eventually.

Though I still preferred doing it right-side-up.

One evening near the end of the year, I stood in a quiet clearing as several heavy stones floated slowly around me.

The Force moved smoothly through my thoughts.

Effortless.

Calm.

Across the clearing, Yoda watched quietly. Then he nodded once. "Progress, you have made."

I lowered the stones gently to the ground.

"Does that mean the training gets less weird now?"

Yoda considered that question for a moment.

Then he smiled.

"Hmm."

Which was not comforting.

...​

The hidden chamber was not technically secret.

It was just… extremely inconvenient to reach.

Which, in the Jedi Temple, amounted to roughly the same thing.

The room sat three maintenance corridors below one of the Temple's lesser-used archive wings, accessible through a door that required a Force-sensitive to gently nudge a very specific locking mechanism that hadn't been serviced since the High Republic.

In other words, no one ever came here.

Which made it perfect.

Maris leaned against the wall beside the console, arms crossed while watching me prepare the projection array. Her expression carried the casual boredom of someone about to check in on a galactic criminal empire like it was a routine homework assignment.

Which, in fairness, it had become.

"You know," she said, "most Padawans spend their evenings meditating."

I adjusted the focusing ring on the projection node. "Most Padawans don't also secretly run a shadow government. And you hate meditating."

"I don't hate it. I'm just really bad at it. Which makes me angry."

"You really want me to give the whole, anger leads to blank speech?" I asked, cocking a brow as I finally turned to face her."

"We already crossed that bridge." Maris smirked, her eyes flashing a familiar sickly yellow for a moment. I'm not sure exactly how attached she was to the Dark Side of the Force, but she's never killed any children, or anyone on our side, so I'm giving it a pass.

I sat down across from her and placed my hands on the twin interface pylons.

The devices were not Sith technology.

Technically.

They were just… aggressively modified holocomm relays designed to amplify Force projection. Which does not make it Sith!

The idea was simple.

Instead of physically traveling across the galaxy to check on our empire, Maris and I could project our consciousness into our command units.

Specifically:

The PROXY droids currently impersonating Darth Sol and Darth Nox.

Very efficient.

Very convenient.

Extremely hard to make. But, not as hard as doing it ourselves. Safety first! I mean, just look at what happened to Luke.

Maris rolled her shoulders slightly and settled into the opposite seat. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

We closed our eyes.

The Force flowed outward.

Distance folded.

Awareness stretched across hyperspace.

For a moment there was only the strange sensation of existing between places.

Then—

The world snapped back into focus.

I blinked once.

Except the blink came through photoreceptors.

Ah.

Right.

I was in the droid again.

The command chamber overlooking the bustling streets of Mos Eisley stretched out before me through armored transparisteel windows.

Ships rose and fell through the hazy desert sky.

Trade convoys moved through the docking lanes.

Markets buzzed with activity.

For a city that had once been the armpit of the Outer Rim, it was… thriving.

Beside me, Maris's PROXY unit tilted its head slightly as her consciousness settled into the machine.

"Still weird," she muttered.

"Agreed."

A tactical holo lit up across the chamber as the day's reports scrolled past.

Trade revenue.

Shipping manifests.

Security summaries.

I stared at the numbers.

Then stared a little longer.

"Huh."

Maris glanced over. "What?"

I gestured at the display. "Why are we good at this?"

Because we were.

That was the alarming part.

Mos Eisley had transformed over the past year.

The slave markets were gone.

Abolished within the first month of our occupation.

Turns out if you execute a few slavers publicly and confiscate their assets, while wrangling a few more into forced labor, the rest of them become very open to career changes.

Smuggling still existed, of course.

But it was… regulated.

Taxes were collected.

Violence had dropped dramatically.

Local merchants actually preferred operating under our administration.

Which was not something I had planned.

I had expected chaos.

Crime wars.

Maybe the occasional uprising.

Instead—

We had somehow created a functional government.

Maris studied the data feed with mild interest. "Because we're benevolent dictators."

That felt like an oversimplification.

But only slightly.

A second report window opened automatically.

Tusken trade caravans moving through the northern dunes.

Resource exchange agreements.

Security patrol routes coordinated with local tribes.

I leaned back slightly in the command throne. "When we made contact with the Tuskens I expected… you know. More chanting, stick-throwing, and back-stabbing. I honestly didn't think they'd actually work with us this long."

"Yeah." Maris shrugged. "They like us."

"Why?"

"You respected their territory."

"That can't be the only reason."

She gestured at the report. "You also paid them."

"I did?"

"Yeah. We had a lot spoils from slavers and Jabba's palace to go around."

That probably helped.

A new presence entered the chamber behind us.

Heavy metal footsteps.

I didn't even need to turn around.

"Statement: It is pleasing to see our glorious leaders have returned."

I glanced back as the towering assassin droid approached the holo table.

HK-55 inclined his head slightly. "Observation: Several assassination reports require your approval."

Of course they did.

HK activated a new holographic display.

Profiles appeared one by one.

Crime bosses.

Slavers.

Former lieutenants of Jabba the Hutt.

"Report: Target One attempted to organize a resistance cell among the remaining criminal elements. I terminated him and his associates."

The image shifted.

"Report: Target Two attempted to re-establish slave trafficking through an off-world smuggling ring. I eliminated the ring."

Another shift.

"Report: Target Three attempted to poison the water supply in protest of our new governance structure. His remains have been displayed publicly as a deterrent."

I stared at the report feed.

Then slowly looked at Maris. "…maybe slightly less benevolent."

She tilted her head. "Still pretty effective."

That was the disturbing part.

Everything was working.

Crime had plummeted.

Trade had increased.

Even the moisture farmers out in the wastes were reporting improved security.

Which meant our empire—the one we had started as half a joke. The one we ran through remote-controlled droids while attending Jedi training—was somehow becoming one of the most stable governments in the Outer Rim.

I leaned back in the throne again, staring out across the thriving spaceport of Mos Eisley.

We might actually be good at this.

...​

The office of the Supreme Chancellor overlooked the endless cityscape of Coruscant.

From the towering windows of the Republic Executive Building, the capital world stretched to the horizon in every direction—layer upon layer of durasteel towers, air traffic lanes, and glittering lights that never truly dimmed.

It was a view that many found inspiring.

Palpatine found it… useful.

He stood with his hands folded behind his back, gazing out over the skyline while the morning's reports scrolled across the holo-displays behind him.

The one-year armistice had ended.

Technically it had expired three hours ago.

Practically speaking, it had never meant very much to begin with.

Still.

The illusion of peace had served its purpose.

A soft chime echoed through the office as another report arrived.

Palpatine turned slowly, robes shifting quietly as he approached the central console.

The holographic display expanded.

Fleet movements.

Manufacturing projections.

Strategic deployments.

Across the galaxy, war machines were waking.

The Confederacy of Independent Systems had not been idle during the ceasefire.

On Geonosis, droid foundries now operated day and night.

Factories across Separatist space produced endless ranks of battle droids, tanks, and warships.

The numbers rose steadily across the projection.

Millions.

Then tens of millions.

The Confederacy had been preparing.

Of course they had.

Palpatine had made certain of it.

Another report appeared beside the first.

Republic fleet mobilization.

The Senate had finally authorized full deployment of the navy.

Star Destroyers and cruiser groups were leaving their anchorages.

Defense forces that had once served as local patrol fleets were being reorganized into battle formations.

The Republic was awakening to war.

Palpatine studied the projections calmly.

To an outside observer, the situation might have appeared alarming.

The galaxy stood on the brink of its largest conflict in centuries.

Trade routes would burn.

Worlds would fall.

Entire systems would be drawn into a spiral of violence that would reshape the Republic forever.

But Palpatine felt no alarm.

Only quiet satisfaction.

The conflict had taken longer to ignite than he would have preferred.

Several… unexpected complications had delayed the inevitable.

The Mandalorian crisis.

The clone citizenship debate.

Certain political disruptions that had forced him to accelerate parts of his plan.

But in the end, the momentum of history was difficult to stop.

Across the holo-display, the final report arrived.

Separatist fleets mobilizing under the command of Count Dooku.

Palpatine allowed himself a small, private smile.

His former apprentice had performed admirably.

The Confederacy now possessed the military strength necessary to threaten the Republic.

And the Republic, in turn, had finally accepted the need for war.

Two great powers.

Both led, in their own ways, by the same man.

Palpatine dismissed the reports with a flick of his hand.

The holograms faded.

Outside the window, traffic continued to stream between the towering skylanes of Coruscant, blissfully unaware that the galaxy had just crossed a threshold.

For months the Republic had existed in a strange state of uncertainty.

A cold war.

Political maneuvering.

Threats and negotiations.

But that fragile balance had ended.

Now the real work would begin.

Armies would clash.

The Jedi would be drawn deeper into the conflict.

Fear would spread through the Senate.

And in the chaos of war, power would consolidate exactly where it needed to be.

Palpatine turned back toward the window.

Below him, the endless city of Coruscant glittered beneath the midday sun.

His reflection stared back faintly from the transparisteel.

Patient.

Satisfied.

Everything was unfolding exactly as he had foreseen.

The Clone Wars had begun.

This time, for real.

...​

The hangar of the Jedi Temple was louder than usual.

Which was saying something.

Normally the place buzzed with maintenance crews, departing Jedi missions, and the constant hum of Republic transports moving through the vast open bays.

Today it sounded like a war had decided to move in.

Gunships idled in launch lanes.

Republic officers rushed between command consoles.

Pilots shouted across loading ramps while astromech droids rolled frantically through the chaos.

Everywhere I looked, ships were preparing for departure.

Which meant one thing.

The war had officially started.

I stood near the edge of one of the launch platforms, trying very hard not to look like someone quietly recalculating the timeline of the entire Clone Wars.

Because things had definitely shifted.

But not too much, I hope.

Not yet.

Across the hangar floor, Jedi commanders gathered near a tactical display while officers briefed them on the situation developing across the Mid Rim.

The projection above the table showed a familiar name.

Christophsis.

Ah.

There it was.

The first big battle of the war.

I watched the display for a moment, arms folded while ships continued roaring overhead.

Separatist forces had launched a full-scale invasion of the crystal world.

Droid armies.

Blockade fleets.

Orbital bombardment.

The Republic response had been immediate.

Jedi commanders were already being assigned.

Two figures stood near the center of the tactical platform.

Obi-Wan Kenobi stood with his usual calm composure, listening patiently as a Republic officer outlined the battle plan.

Beside him, Anakin Skywalker leaned over the display with the focused intensity of someone who had just been handed a war and was already thinking three reckless steps ahead.

Anakin's new prosthetic hand gleamed faintly under the hangar lights as he gestured toward one of the fleet formations.

The officer speaking to them looked mildly terrified.

Which felt appropriate.

A few meters away, Ahsoka Tano stood beside a stack of supply crates, watching the preparations with the tense energy of someone about to experience their first real battlefield.

She looked excited.

Also slightly concerned.

Which was the correct emotional balance when being deployed under Anakin Skywalker.

Next to her, Maris Brood leaned against the side of a transport ramp with her usual expression of casual disinterest.

If anything, she looked mildly annoyed that the war had started without consulting her schedule.

An officer stepped onto the platform and raised his voice. "Final deployment assignments!"

Several Jedi turned toward him.

"Commanders for the Christophsis relief operation: Jedi Master Kenobi and Jedi Knight Skywalker."

That checked out.

The officer glanced down at his datapad. "Padawan learners assigned to accompany them: Tano, apprentice to Skywalker—"

Ahsoka straightened immediately.

"—and Brood, apprentice to Kenobi."

Maris gave a lazy two-finger salute.

So far everything was tracking perfectly with the opening of the show. Barring our wildcard, Maris.

Which was both comforting and deeply concerning… not just because Maris is Maris. Because it meant the timeline was still mostly intact. And I had absolutely no idea how much damage my earlier decisions had done to it.

Or if it was for the better or worse.

Imagine going back in time to fix things, and somehow making it worse. Yikes.

I was still processing that thought when a familiar voice spoke quietly beside me.

"Going with them, you are."

I turned my head slowly.

Yoda stood there, leaning calmly on his gimer stick.

I blinked. "Master?"

He nodded toward the transport where Obi-Wan and Anakin were now boarding. "Observe the war, you must."

That sounded ominous.

"Learn, you will."

Also ominous.

"Assist them, you may."

Ah.

There it was.

My deployment orders.

I exhaled slowly.

Oh good. Nothing like a bit of war to prepare you for war. Hey Master, maybe in hindsight, I should have been spending less time lifting rocks with my mind, and more studying battle strategies, or something.

Okay. Calm down. Focus. You've seen the movie, you're prepared. Now. What are we working with?

Separatist blockade.

Crystal city siege.

Supply lines cut off.

Anakin pulling something reckless to break the stalemate.

And—

Right.

The tactical droid.

What, was that in the movie or was that in the Ryloth episode? Kriff. There was a lot of stuff I was going to need to predict. Preferably without accidentally breaking the timeline even further.

I rubbed the back of my neck and started walking toward the transport.

Behind me, Yoda chuckled softly.

Which was still not comforting.

The boarding ramp had already lowered when I reached the ship.

Ahsoka stood just inside the hatch, watching the hangar activity with wide eyes while Maris sat casually on a crate beside her, twirling a hydrospanner she had probably stolen from somewhere.

Both of them looked up as I approached.

"Well," Ahsoka said. "This is happening."

Maris tilted her head slightly. "War's starting."

"Apparently."

I stepped onto the ramp as the engines began powering up.

The hangar lights reflected off the polished hull of the transport while crew members rushed to clear the launch lanes.

Funny.

The last time the three of us had been on a ship together, we had stolen it.

Then immediately used it to fly across the galaxy to the ancient Sith homeworld.

Now we were deploying to a war zone.

I dropped into one of the passenger seats as the ramp sealed behind us.

The engines roared louder.

Outside the viewport, dozens of Republic ships were already lifting into the air.

Ahsoka sat across from me, tightening the straps on her gear while trying to look like someone who had definitely done this before.

Maris leaned back against the wall, completely unconcerned.

The transport shuddered as it lifted off the hangar floor.

I watched the cityscape of Coruscant begin shrinking through the viewport.

Honestly?

I wasn't sure which of our field trips was going to end up being more dangerous in the long run.

...​

BAAAAAAAH!

BAAAAAAAH!

BAAAAAAAH-DA-DA-DAAAAH!

BAAAAAAAH-DA-DA-DAAAAH!

BA—Okay, that's enough of that. The Clone Wars have officially begun! Please stay tuned to find out what happens to our intrepid heroes. Or, as always, you can read ahead on my Patreon, and find out what happens to our intrepid heroes right now. Your choice!

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[Hilight]

He's know about the war for his entire life and he didn't study strategy and tactics? Alright.