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dankmyfarrik · 3 years ago

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The The Faults Below Our Skys | Chapter 12: The Obligation

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Summary: After accidentally winning the Dark Saber from Moff Gideon, Din begrudgingly finds himself the ruler of Mandalore. He has to do many things to appease the warring clans including marrying a beautiful bride. | Post Season Two.

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Individual Chapter Warnings: Sex and alcohol (not in a malicious way), but I know this is a trigger, so stay safe! FLUFF is very sweet and self-indulgent, p in v, oral (female receiving).

Word Count: 4.8k ish

Authors Notes: I know this took a bit… I wasn’t really in the mood to write a few bits but one rewatch of Narcos season 2 episode 3 and here we are! Enjoy!

"Another shipment will be dropped tonight," the man bowed, "My Manda'lor."

Din nodded; glancing at Celeste next to him, she sat up straight, listening intently as if her own life were on the line. Every time he sees her, he hates himself just the slightest bit more. She actually cared about the world around her, and Din has just been using her to 'get off' as quickly as possible instead of showing her the pleasure she deserved. She didn't deserve to be used. All for what? A baby that will be just as unhappy as her? It made him sick; his hands balled into fits as he directed his anger at the man in front of him.

A man who would not stop talking.

"Thank you, Admiral," Din interrupted, hoping he would finally take the hint and leave.

With loud steps, the Admiral eventually left the meeting room, leaving them alone with Bo.

Not that that was necessarily any better.

"It looks bad you two have not visited Keldabe since your marriage."

Celeste's eyes lit up. Din smiled below the helmet, she did not speak of her old home often, but he could hear the passion behind her words when she did.

Bo continued, "When it is more stable, I will arrange a visit."

"Thank you," Celeste all but whispered in disbelief.

A smile creased Bo's eyes but was promptly replaced with a grimace, "Don't thank me yet. We have to take care of Wren and the miners first."

Din looked down at the mass of papers and holo letters in his hands and got to work.

—-

Celeste looked down at the negative test in her hands. She let out a shaky breath.

She didn't know why she denied herself in sex - why she requested him to hurry. It was stupid and not the way the world worked but… she felt as though it would make it real, not that it wasn't already, but that if she allowed herself to enjoy something, for once—enjoy him—then she would surely be looking down at a positive test instead.

As if that would make a difference.

And she knew she wasn't ready for a baby yet. Sex yes, she was mostly uninvolved. But a child? A living, breathing human that she would have to be responsible for and watch suffer through everything that happened to herself? Because the child wouldn't be treated any differently than her.

Her child also wouldn't be able to marry for love.

No. She doesn't want that to happen. So she shouldn't have a baby, and she shouldn't enjoy sex.

At least she recognized her emotions were misplaced. People like Bo were completely blinded by their feelings. Like when Bo told her she loved her when that obviously wasn't true - even if she let her go back to Keldabe for a trip.

Celeste's gaze had wandered to the window, past the ivy which clung to the frame, past the city below the palace, but to the concrete wall sky. She tore her eyes away, never wanting to be reminded of the dome for long. She rarely thought of it, but when she did, she missed Keldabe all over again; at least their dome was glass.

At least she could see the sky in Keldabe.

A knock at the bedroom door thankfully pulled her away. When she answered it, she was staring straight into the 'T' of his visor.

"Good Evening." Celeste cast her gaze downwards, "How is Keldabe?"

Maybe she felt terrible; she didn't ask him about his day after she had left the meeting, how he was doing, or any of the things a good partner should ask their spouse: she just wanted answers.

He stepped further into the room and removed his helmet to better eye the dish left for him. There were bags under his eyes, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked exhausted.

"Intel says the resources we are sending are subduing the immediate need, but… I don't know how long we can keep it up."

A lengthy silence then, "Celeste, I know you love them, but- we are trying to single-handedly feed an entire city."

Unspoken: Trying to feed a city, hundreds of miles away, with no substantial political support.

She felt a weight sink deep into her bones. Celeste wanted to scream, cry, make him understand that he promised her. He promised her he wouldn't let them starve.

Her husband was the Manda'lor, king of the kriffing planet! Why was this not accomplished with a snap of his fingers!

"But I will try," then softer, "I promised."

Celeste vehemently shook her head. Why was he so kind to her? She had little to offer him in return.

"Thank you. Really, thank you for everything."

He gave her a sad smile with those soulful eyes.

—-

He ate while they carried on a small conversation.

She was just waiting for her opportunity to tell him. Until finally, he finished the plate.

"Still no, baby," she murmured. Celeste could tell he was thankful she sprung it on him twice now after he had eaten.

He scanned her face intently. "Okay."

Then her husband stood up, walked to a cabinet with an assortment of drinks and glasses, and haphazardly grabbed the closest one. He set it down in front of her, where she was sitting at the table with a startlingly loud wobble.

"Drink."

"What?"

"Half the bottle- we're going to make the most of it."

He had mentioned alcohol before, saying it would make their situation… easier.

"Our bodies aren't our own, and you want to make the most of it?!" She blurted before stopping herself, probably hurting him again, but it was the truth. And it went for him too, which she had rarely considered in her self-loathing.

"I want you to be satisfied."

"You want me to get plastered, so I relax and enjoy sex."

"Yes - I'll do the same." Celeste didn't know if both of them drinking would be a smart idea. Her experience with the drink mostly revolved around champagne or wine at fancy parties with fancy glasses to soothe the egos of the rich. Like at her wedding. Now in real parties, where the volume was noisier than a murmur above a piano, she had no familiarity with. But she had heard about them from outside the palace - when drinks were involved, fights broke out. Repugnant, Bo had called them.

"You don't strike me as someone who drinks."

"I don't," he nudges the bottle slightly, eyeing its contents with a judgemental gaze.

"Not ever?" That seems hard to believe, even if he didn't come across like a rambunctious party goer. "When was the last time?"

"I don't drink." He sounded almost defensive.

Celeste was determined now, he must have, rarely, but still, she wanted to know. Warriors drink to distract themselves from the pain; surely, he was similar. Celeste wanted to learn more about him, and this may be a good start.

"I'll take a sip if you tell me."

He hesitated for a while weighing his options, "Alright."

A long pause. She counted his breaths, one, two… five… eight. Without the helmet, she thought she could discern his emotions. She was wrong; this was too complex to interpret. Frustration, sadness, longing - it was all a complicated mess to untangle.

"The night I won the Dark Saber."

The day he became the Manda'lor?

She looked back at him blankly, "And?"

"Drink - I gave you your answer." His sudden smug grin in contrast to the sadness made her furious.

"You have to give me more details! Or at least ask me a question now."

He nodded in acceptance but pushed the bottle over to her; the drink smelled sweet and sickly. It was an amber color, which she was thankful for. She had seen glasses of electric blue and green in the cabinet, which made her stomach churn. Celeste took a sip, feeling the burn on her tongue. It was not as sharp as she had expected despite the look of it. Mostly sugar. Not that she had a plethora of knowledge to differentiate. She assumed this 'game' was supposed to be done with something stronger, but neither of them appeared to have any real form of tolerance, so the results would still be the same.

"Why do you prefer Keldabe?"

She answered honestly and bluntly, a response inspired by him, "It's not plastic."

He looked as though he understood but was equally as frustrated with her unresponsiveness as she had been. He took the bottle from her and had a sip as uncertain as hers. His brows furrowed, and he gave a look of distaste before setting the bottle back in the center of the table.

Now she had her opportunity for him to elaborate: "Why was the last time you drank the night you won the saber?"

With a long-drawn breath, he shakily released it. His eyes locked to hers.

Celeste learned about the bounty gone wrong— Grogu— the same baby which made him renowned for saving from the empire. Recalling the memories, he took the bottle from her again, breaking the rules of their stupid charade, and took a long swig. And another. Before speaking, the pain evident in his voice.

"I loved him."

The Manda'lor loved a little baby. The same Manda'lor, which thrust the blade of the Dark Saber through a man's throat the moment they met, loved a little green child.

"And I gave him away to a stranger."

Celeste reached her hand out to where he was still gripping onto the bottle: resting her hand on his. She didn't know what to say, so she did not say anything at all - from what she could tell, he preferred the quiet: moments to connect with people through actions instead of words.

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

Losing his child was possibly the worst thing that had happened to him. And here she was throwing a fit because she didn't want a baby. Maybe it was an unfair comparison, but she couldn't find the will to care.

He lightly squeezed her hand from where she was holding it.

How could she have ever thought he was a monster?

"Why is Keldabe your home?"

She smiled, warm and genuine, and he did too. She told him how she could run and run without hitting a dome for what felt like miles. She told him how the air was fresh, and the water was crystal. There were mosses of all kinds and trees that stretched as far as the eye could see, and there was warmth from the real Mandalorian sun.

A quick tear fell down her cheek, blushed from the drink. He quickly swiped it away with his free hand.

She told him how Leo loved it.

How there were animals there. Animals that belonged there.

No trimmed bushes. No artificial lighting. No imported marvels to display.

"We will visit soon," he assured with a smile.

She echoed, "We will visit soon."

The bottle slowly emptied as she learned more about him.

His favorite color is green, not the color of his child as she had teased but a deep, forest green like Keldabe.

He knows three languages but is working on improving his Jawaese.

He had a pet Massiff when he was young, which reminded him of Leo. She would have loved to meet her.

He lost track of how many planets he had been to after 200.

He had seen deserts, forests, jungles, oceans, tundras, wastelands, salt flats, asteroid fields, and warzones. The last of which was at far too young of an age.

He had a spear.

He didn't have a favorite song.

He prefered the meals and hot showers at the palace but hated the crown, cape, title, and saber.

He would have done anything to keep his Grogu safe.

He was nothing like she, or anyone, had assumed.

He was kind.

——

Din opened a second bottle just to learn more about her.

She preferred the rain.

Her favorite season was spring.

She hated corsets but still wore them anyways - it made him furious. But she said it was expected.

She read out loud to Leo when no one was around.

She sometimes sang in the shower.

The next bottle was forgotten to the side. Her hand still fit perfectly in his.

She liked moths more than butterflies.

She preferred stories with bittersweet endings.

She also liked the food at the palace.

Her favorite animal was a fox but he thought he should have asked anyway.

She genuinely loved the ring.

She had never seen the stars without glass in the way. He was going to change that.

She wasn't just a sad, scared girl with a pretty face. She was passionate about the world around her.

She cared.

Din's eyes drifted across her face, her cheeks almost the color of her hair. For her 'turn,' she asked, "What's my last name?"

He held his head with his free hand, "hmmm?"

"Everyone still calls me by my family name… Kryze. I never s'found out what it was changed too when we married."

Oh.

She must have seen the shift in his expression or the way he lifted his hand from his palm. Trance ended. She tried to correct herself - fidgeting slightly.

"If you don't want to tell me, or wait till we're sober—"

"Djarin."

A breath.

"Your last name is Djarin."

Her eyes widened along with her smile, and in her burst of excitement, "What's s'your first name?!"

Then the same regret as moments before flashed across her features.

"I ask the next one, remember?"

She nodded in acceptance. That question had clearly been in the back of her skull for a while now, and he had some he wanted answered from her.

It was only fair.

"Was I your first kiss?"

She shook her head dramatically, the drink evident in her mannerisms, "No, you got beat by a servant boy a s'few years back. You were the second, though."

She leaned closer to him. He could see her freckles better.

The sudden curiosity of his first name was momentarily set aside, which he had expected.

"Was I your first kiss?"

"Yes."

He didn't give her time to process before he closed the gap, pressing his lips to hers as soft as he could muster - always afraid he might break her.

She kissed back.

Din almost lost it when she lightly squeezed his hand, which they were still holding on the table.

But he pulled from her for a moment, like leaving heaven. Because he had one more question, he needed the answer to.

"Why did you tell me to hurry?"

He needed to know this wasn't a sick way to appease him since he was her 'Manda'lor.'

If she would let him show her a world of pleasure.

She broke from him further, avoiding his gaze, and leaned back into her chair.

"It's stupid."

"No. It's not."

"I feel like," she looked down, "like if I… let myself have this. Even for a moment. There will be a baby."

Their eyes locked, hers red in the corners, "I'm not ready for a baby."

The promise of an heir is the only thing keeping either of you alive. If they see no future by using you, they won't hesitate to—

Din didn't know for sure what Bo was going to say after, but he had assumed the worst. A realistic assumption.

His heart broke all over again.

But she kept staring into his eyes. Searching. Seeing something he did not think was possible without words.

"But we have to." She didn't ask it as a question. It was something she saw. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe she knew the wife of the Manda'lor was not given a choice. He wanted to burn this place to the ground.

And give her everything.

"Celeste, you are allowed happiness."

She gave him a faraway look as if she did not truly believe his words.

Oh well, he supposed he was just going to have to show her instead.

In a flash, his hands locked to her hips, and he pulled her up to his lap. He kissed her cheek, nose, and lips as she adjusted to the new positioning.

The kisses were desperate and rough, but he craved the closeness.

They paused for air; there was a moment she just looked at him, doe-eyed. Eye's that saw him for who he was without the helmet. He pressed their foreheads together, noses touching.

"What's your name?" the whisper of her lips touched his own.

"Din."

She kissed him this time. Desperate.

Their mouths moved together, and she never complained about the sure scratch of his facial hair or how he was probably too rough or how—

"Din," she broke from him, breathing heavily, "would you kiss me in that spot where I told you not to before?"

When she says his name, how could he ever say no?

Din picked her up by her hips and hauled her onto the nearest thing he could find: the liquor cabinet. Although, really, it was just a fancy dresser.

He shoved a bottle out of the way, and it clattered to the ground, forgotten.

She opened her legs to accommodate him as she sat on the dresser. He kissed her lips one last time before promptly dropping to his knees.

Her dress was white, ruffled, and lacey.

Easy access.

Din ran a hesitant hand underneath and hooked a finger on her underwear. He looked up at her, and their eyes met. If he thought her eyes were big before, it was nothing compared to now. But now, her pupils were blown.

And he didn't want to think about how they hadn't been like that before when they had tried.

He tugged, and in one motion, the undergarment dropped from her legs.

Din kept eye contact, wanting to be sure, as he nudged the dress out of the way. He ran a finger along her, and a tight grip found itself on his shoulder. He opened his mouth to ask, but she nodded and gripped him harder.

The helmet prevented him from a lot of opportunities, this being one of them. But they were both inexperienced and he was hoping he could make up for it with enthusiasm.

Maker, he has always wanted to try this.

He kissed her inner thigh. Then the other one. And closer and closer.

Celeste's gasp was very audible.

He hummed in encouragement - wanting to give her some comfort since he currently couldn't see her. Celeste was soft and tasted like honey and morning dew. He ran an ungloved hand along her thigh, slowly drawing to her center.

Her soft whimpers became more frequent; the senses were overwhelming. Touch, taste, sound. He couldn't get enough.

His hand drew closer, and with a long lick, he slipped two fingers inside.

——

Celeste didn't realize her body was capable of feeling this good.

Her hands gripped onto his shoulder, knuckles white.

She couldn't control her pants and gasps - it was embarrassing, but he seemed to relish the noises.

And, well, frankly, she was too drunk to care.

Celeste strained her head to look down, legs shaking and vision blurred in the edges. But she couldn't see him because of the stupid dress in the way.

With great strength, she yanked her grasp from his shoulder, removing her bearings but with a purpose.

Celeste pulled the light white fabric upwards to reveal the scene hidden below, and she nearly sobbed. Pleasure shot straight deep inside of her. He sucked that spot she secretly loved while his fingers pumped in and out of her and then curled.

"Din," she inhaled, wanting any excuse to use his name again. He hummed, and the vibration speared right through her.

Her hands dropped the dress and flew to his hair. Maybe tears were falling. The fingers curled again. "Maker, yes, do that." They had always been nearly silent before and now she wasn't able to control herself; the gibberish pouring out of her without Celeste really thinking, "Oh, kirff that's nice."

It was better than nice.

Her legs were shaking, and perhaps her whole body was shaking as a hand grabbed for something on the cabinet to hold but nothing was quite as delightful as his hair.

He sucked even harder, and his hands curled in harmony. Celeste let out a choked off cry, tears streaming from her eyes and her back involuntarily arched - head flung back. Stars streaked her vision, the most brilliant and bright she had ever seen. Free from a lense.

Celeste stayed in the stars and clouds for a perfect moment.

Until she was brought back down to Sundari and into his arms.

"Maker," she whispered, boneless against him, "what was that?"

"You've never…"

She shook her head, and his eyes widened. He kissed her forehead and brought his arm against her, holding her and running his fingers through her hair. Although Celeste couldn't see him she felt his chest expand, the cold beskar pressing against her. "I apologize I would have—"

"No!" she cut him off, "Don't do anything differently s'that was…nice."

But she already knew it was so much better than nice.

He nodded against her and kissed her, tasting herself on his swollen lips. His nose found its way to the crook of her neck, and his hips rolled… there was a hardness there - he must have been aching for her. Pleasure once again found its way deep into her bones and she wondered how that was possible when she had been exhausted moments ago.

But Maker, he was still hugging her and fingers subconsciously in her hair, despite his own need: helping her recover from being in the stratosphere.

This was the first time she knew without a doubt - if none of the obligations existed, she still would have wanted him.

"Din!" She grabbed his hand, pushing off the dresser, "Let's go for a walk."

She loved his name on her lips; it felt so natural, she wanted any excuse to say it again.

Celeste picked up his helmet where it was tipped over on the table and pushed it on his ruffled hair, hiding the dazed, confused look he was giving her. But before it was on all the way she pressed the lightest kiss she could muster on his bottom lip.

She was giddy from the alcohol and the high as she walked them both out the door.

—-

Din followed her like a lovesick puppy.

But the guard at their door was somewhat confused. More accurately terrified to repeat what happened last time they had left their room at this hour. Only now, they were actually tipsy rather than pretending, and instead of taking a direct left to the hanger, they were bumbling in the direction of the library.

Or maybe the guard noticed the way Celeste's dress clung to her legs slightly more than earlier, with her slick nearly at her knees. Or maybe his length, which was bulging in his flight suit, making his pants unbelievably tight.

Either way, they were left undisturbed.

She brought him to a place only around the corner he had not yet seen before. There was a small fire burning with a couch, a bookshelf, and windows to see the city below.

She pulled him closer and whispered where his ear was behind the beskar, "Din, would you have me against the window?"

His cock jumped. The drink definitely made her more forward.

"Nebula?" He rasped, but she seemed to understand. Nebula was supposed to be holding a blaster to his neck every second of every day, right? Surely she would see. And the guard down the hall, the servants in their quarters, the city below them…

Well, frankly, he was too drunk to care.

And it wasn't exactly like Celeste was protesting.

"Helmet on or off?"

"Whatever you are more comfortable with." Despite her smile, Din knew she preferred it off because he did too.

Kirff Nebula, he wanted to kiss his wife.

Din hooked a finger under the rim and pulled upwards, his hair was a mess, but she ran her fingers through it anyways. She smiled, taking him in as if it was the first time she had seen him.

With one hand on her hip, he pushed her backwards until she bumped up against the glass. She inhaled sharply. Din's other hand, still clasped on the helmet, dropped it by his side as he met her lips once more.

One palm was placed on the window above her head, and he felt the cool glass in contrast with his burning skin.

She wrapped both her legs around his waist - her hot core now brushing his infinitely tight flight suit. He yanked his pants down, allowing their skin to touch. She was still dripping from her orgasm, the memories of which gave him a wicked smile: Din had always wondered if he was talented with his tongue.

He pressed their foreheads together, "Is this still okay?"

She nodded profusely and wrapped her arms around his chest - clinging to him.

He pushed inside, their foreheads still together as she welcomed him without a hitch. His eyes clamped shut as they stayed like that for a moment before he gathered the will to move - gently rolling into her. Each time she let out these wonderful small gasps that he kept trying to pull out. He hated how she didn't do any of that before.

She made a louder noise and tried to muffle the sound between his pauldron and neck. A wonderfully failed attempt to be quiet.

To any onlooker, it would be obvious what they were doing; but the details of which were completely hidden behind his cape and her dress.

She clung to him even tighter now and whispered his name mixed with a gasp. He should have given her his name sooner if this is how she uses it.

Her breaths quickened, and her whispers grew louder. He rolled in a specific way he knew she liked, and that threw her straight over the edge. Her back arched against the glass, and more tears came from her.

The pace quickened, and the way she came back to her senses and tightened around him -nearly a strangle- pulled noises from him too.

Even if he was close: it still wasn't fair yet.

He had used her twice before this. She came once with his mouth and then again. They needed to be even.

"One more."

"Wha—"

Her perplexed expression left her immediately as his hand circled - her jaw unhinged, brows pulled together, and her eyes squeezed shut.

And just like magic, her back was arching off the glass again. Celeste resurfaced to his quickened rolling hips and a smug smile.

Her slick and warmth were inescapable, and he felt the draw.

Then in the calmest voice he had ever heard from her, "You did show me the stars."

Shit.

She deserved to see the real stars too.

But how could she when she was stuck here with a baby she was terrified to have?

I'm not ready for a baby.

Kirff.

And he would be responsible.

Blinded by the drinking and the high on the fringes of his vision, he refused to think about Saxon or Bo. If someone was stupid enough to go after the Manda'lor's wife - they would get the Dark Saber through their skull. She was scared to have a baby, so that's that. Fuck anybody who thinks otherwise.

His hips stuttered, and he pulled from her - stroking himself, one, two, three times. And then saw the stars she was talking about.

Din collapsed onto her; her legs dropped from where they were around his hips. The warmth gone.

They were both breathing heavily when he fully returned - still holding himself in his hand.

"Wait, why. Why did you just do that?!"

For a second, he doubted himself. What if he was wrong - and now he would have to subject her to this all over again.

"I thought you weren't ready… and I… I'm sorry," Din rarely ever apologized, but he felt he couldn't do anything right when it came to her. He took his cloak to wipe it away. He had dirtied her.

But when he looked back up at her, she was smiling from ear to ear.

"So we just had sex to have sex. No baby?"

"Yeah," the thought occurred to him too, "Yeah, I guess we did."

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crxwflowerwrites · 4 years ago

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Maybe I'm Alive Cuz I Really Didn't Wanna Die

Chapter One of Nutshell | Anakin Skywalker x NB!Reader

Fate: (1) : the will or principle or determining cause by which things in general are believed to come to be as they are or events to happen as they do, (2) an inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end. Can fate—destiny—be avoided? That is the age-old question. When a unique opportunity presents itself, granting a second chance at life in exchange for trying to unravel the events leading to Anakin Skywalker's downfall, questions will be raised regarding accountability, compassion, metal health, and destiny. Can Anakin be saved from himself? Or was he always destined to bring ruin to the Galaxy?

---

"I'm a freak, I am afraid that All the blood escaping me won't end the pain And I'll be haunting all the lives that cared for me I died to be the white ghost Of the man that I was meant to be."-Ghost, Badflower Sounds of blaster fire and people screaming in pain fade dully in the background. All I can hear are my own ragged breaths as I desperately try to calm my thundering heart. Sweat rolls down my face, drawing lines on my soot-stained skin while ash falls peacefully to the ground amidst a battle where people are getting blown apart by incendiaries and innocent civilians are cut down where they stand. If I didn’t know any better, I would think it was snowing. Darkness splotches the edges of my vision, and my trembling hands feel clammy as I clutch my lightsaber pathetically. Only enough focus remains to block the blaster fire beaming in my direction. My knees are weak and my stance is poor. I cannot do this much longer. I’m tired.

I’ve always hated fighting. As a padawan, I wanted to dedicate my life to helping people with my force healing abilities, or maybe discovering ancient secrets through psychometry. I even considered being a teacher and working with the younglings. But this? War? I could have never foreseen the destruction of the Jedi Order. I never fathomed the return of the Sith. I never thought that Anakin Skywalker would betray us all.

He was our Chosen One. Our General. Our Hope.

But he was none of those things, only our downfall. His anger, his arrogance, his fear; it killed him and now it’s killing us.

I shouldn’t know any of this. The official story is that our beloved General was killed during Order 66, but I know the truth. After Padme’s death, Obi-Wan reached out to me to aid him in hiding away her twin children—Anakin’s children. My reputation for having a gentle heart and cool discretion made me an easy choice for the mission and I was more than happy to help protect children from the terrible fighting that began spreading like a contagion across the galaxy. I didn’t know the whole story, but I noticed that Obi-Wan had Anakin’s lightsaber. Out of curiosity, I touched it and...and I wished I never had.

It’s been months since then. I took shelter on this unnamed planet, hiding from those who hunt down the last remaining Jedi. There was peace in helping the common folk; healing them of their ailments and protecting them from wildlife, but the Empire found me. Found us. I put these people in danger, and now I must watch them succumb to the horrors of the invasion while I try, and fail, to protect them.

I know my life is over when I hear a lightsaber blaze to life behind me. With leaden feet, I turn in the mud to face the man who has come to kill me: Darth Vader. Anakin Skywalker. Dog to the Empire. My former friend. A traitor. A puppet. A murderer.

“Don’t do this,” I plead, my voice a pathetic croak.

“It is already done,” Darth Vader replies ominously.

There is barely any time to raise my lightsaber before the Sith Lord begins swinging blow after blow. The heat from the sabers singes my skin as he forces all his strength down upon me. I’m not strong enough to withstand this, so I roll away just before the red saber slices into the ground where my body was just moments before.

I shouldn’t try to talk, but I am going to die. I know it in my bones, so I might as well ask my questions why I still draw breath.

“Why are you doing this?” I dodge to the right, tripping in my fatigue.

“Because you are weak.”

“The Anakin I knew wouldn’t do this!”

“You didn’t know him. Nobody did—” he lunges at me, and I’m too slow. The red saber blazes through sinew and bone, severing my hand from my body. I think I scream. I’m not sure. All I see is my hand still clutching my saber as it plummets to the ground, lodging itself in the mud.

“—Anakin was weak, so I killed him, just as I will kill you.”

I watch in slow motion as Darth Vader brings his lightsaber over his head and brings it down over me. All I can think about is how he separates himself from the man he used to be. Just as the energy from the weapon kisses my skin with a magnificent, terrible burning, I am overwhelmed with the realization that I don’t want to die . There are still so many unanswered questions. I want to know how we got to this point. I need to understand the moment Anakin stopped being the hero and started being the villain. I think...I think I feel guilty. I should’ve seen the signs. All of us in the Jedi Order should have noticed all those little red flags. Why didn’t I say anything? Why did we do anything to stop him?

My thoughts are filled with wishes to start again, to have a chance to make things right. I want to save myself. I want to save my friends. I want to save Anakin from himself. I think a silent prayer, pleading for just one more shot to discover where it all went wrong. But it doesn’t work. I am dying, and the Force is silent. My destiny is to die here, kneeling in the mud as I stare back and forth from my dismembered hand to my former peer. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think of something hopeful. I am aware of my body splitting apart in searing agony when something incredible happens.

The world falls silent. No more screaming. No more humming of the lightsaber. I open my eyes and see...nothing. The world is no more. All I can see is empty blackness; an absence of light and life. It’s unlike anything I have ever experienced before, and yet I’m not scared. Stunned, I blink. Perhaps I was expecting a clearer image to emerge from that darkness, but my eyes open to the sight of my quarters at the Jedi Temple.

What?

I lurch forward with a ragged breath. My lower body is tangled in the sheets, clothes from earlier in the day strewn on the floor with the rest of my dirty laundry. Confusion and panic claw at my heart, strangling in my throat. I inspect my hands: both intact. No scar where my severed hand was reattached. No jagged line where Darth Vader sliced through my body as if it were water. I suddenly realize that many of my scars I obtained through padawan training and my eventual knighthood are missing. Upon further inspection, my body appears much younger than it was just moments ago when I was on the brink of death. It’s softer, rounder without all the hardened muscles—unmarred and unbroken.

I stagger out of bed on unsteady legs, moving on instinct into the adjoined bathroom. A cold shiver whispers down my spine when my gaze meets my own in the mirror. The truth strikes me like blaster fire to the heart. I am a padawan again.

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