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7-wonders · 7 months

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Between Wrath and Mercy

Sith!Ankain Skywalker x Rebel!reader (gender-neutral)

Summary: Finding yourself in a fight with Darth Maul, you quickly realize that you're way out of your depth. Unfortunately, no one's coming to save you. Aha, unless?

Word Count: 2.0k

A note from the author: Remember how I was like, "I'm having a lot of trouble writing the words aren't coming like they used to"? I think this helped to unclog a bit of the writer's block I've had. Maybe I just need to write for a different fandom for a bit. This takes place in my Rebel!reader fic-verse (gender-neutral reader!), but before What You Stand to Lose. As always, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round (especially the latter two), and I hope you enjoy!

How do I keep ending up in situations like this? you wonder as you dodge yet another Sith Lord’s lightsaber strike and immediately counter it with your own.

That’s a stupid question, because you know how. You decided to join the Rebel Alliance, to fight for a noble cause, and now your life is pretty consistently put in mortal danger. Still, when a mission to try and convince the head of Crimson Dawn that you were all fighting for the same goal was proposed, you were the first to volunteer. Maybe it’s a desperation to prove yourself as useful that made you do it, or maybe you need to remind yourself that you’re working for something good. Regardless, you had been stupid and self-assured, enough so that General Kessyk had given you a small team to command and sent you on your way to Corellia.

Said small team is now incapacitated, rendered useless almost the moment you had ambushed the Crimson Dawn leader who had turned out to be none other than Darth Maul—a surprise to you all, since Dryden Voss is the public face of the syndicate. This revelation completely turned your game plan on its head, as you’re now left to face his wrath alone.

And he has a lot of wrath.

“Look, if you would just listen for a moment,” you yell at him over the sound of electricity humming, “I think you would see that we all want the same thing!”

“And what thing is that?” Darth Maul snarls, raising his blade above his head and attempting to crash it down on top of you.

You meet it with your own, gritting your teeth under the strain as you attempt to hold him back. “The end of the Galactic Empire!”

He bears down harder in response, and your arms begin to shake. Knowing when to give up some yield is half the success in battle, so you adjust your strategy and drop to your knees, doing a quick roll to get some space in between you. He turns to face you once more, his yellow eyes so filled with hatred that it makes a frightened whimper get stuck in your throat.

“Please, we only came to talk. We can be allies!” you plead.

“What happens after the Empire is defeated? We part on good terms and go our separate ways?” Maul shakes his head, twirling his saber and stalking towards you. “No. At the end of the day, the Sith will always be an enemy. I will always be an enemy.”

“I’m sure that—woah!” He renews his attacks with vigor, clearly done talking. Unfortunately for him, you’re not done. “I’m sure that the Rebel Alliance would be happy to negotiate some sort of treaty.”

“I have had enough of arrogant little Force users thinking that they can change the galaxy with ‘the power of goodness,’” he mocks. “You are not the first to approach me with your misguided ideals.”

Maul kicks the center of your chest and sends you falling to the ground, a position you never want to find yourself in when fighting for your life. Attempting to scramble backward is made extra difficult with the lightsaber in your hand, and it’s only delaying the inevitable as Maul follows you slowly, a predator stalking his prey. With a firm smack, your saber goes flying out of your reach.

He holds his lightsaber to your chest and smirks down at you as it burns a hole through the fabric of your shirt. “But you will be the last.”

You raise both hands up in a last-ditch plea, though you know it’s for naught. This is it. You’ve lost. You’ll become just another name on the long list of lives lost as sacrifices for the fight for a better tomorrow.

Though you’d like to say that a sense of peace comes over you as you stare your impending death in the eyes, that’s not the case. You’re scared out of your mind, actually, and the only thing comforting you is the fact that it’ll be a quick death. With that in mind, you close your eyes and await the inevitable.

But the inevitable never comes. Where you were expecting pain and darkness, there’s simply darkness from screwing your eyes shut. After a couple of long moments, you hesitantly open your eyes. Darth Maul no longer looms over you. Instead, he’s a few feet away, engaged in battle with someone else.

“It was foolish of me to believe that Kenobi could actually finish the job and successfully kill somebody for once,” he spits, twirling his saber in his hand as another red saber clashes with his.

“You said it, not me!”

Belatedly, you realize that you know that cocky, annoying voice. Sure enough, Darth Vader is now Darth Maul’s opponent, and he’s faring much better than you had. His helmet is off, allowing you to see the arrogant grin he’s sporting, and his blond curls fly around his face as he swings his lightsaber through the air.

“Vader?” you call, still feeling like your eyes are deceiving you.

He looks over at you, his grin somehow getting bigger. “C’mon, get up and help me out!”

You stumble to your feet and call your lightsaber back to your hand using the Force, but remain back. Vader doesn’t need your help, because he’s very clearly winning. You would only be a hindrance if you were to join, so instead, you watch.

Even if you didn’t know that the two Sith lords had been trained for a very long time, their fighting styles would make it obvious. The way that they move, so fluidly and deadly, is an art form. It almost looks like a dance, if a dance could end in somebody’s death.

“Darth Sidious won’t be pleased when he finds out you’re helping out the Rebel Alliance,” Darth Maul taunts, bending over backward to avoid a swing.

Darth Vader curses at the near-miss. “Oh, but I’m not.”

“Then what do you call this?”

He looks over his shoulder and winks at you. “Helping the one particular Rebel that I have a vested interest in.”

“Pathetic!” Darth Maul spits.

Vader’s lightsaber makes contact with the palm of Maul’s hand, and he yells out in pain. He catches his saber with his other hand before it can fall to the ground, but he’s unable to grip it with both hands now. Though he could fight one-handed, against somebody as talented as Darth Vader, he wouldn’t be very successful. The light from his saber disappears as he extinguishes it, giving one curt nod before he backs off.

“This is not the end,” he promises.

“No, I don’t believe it is.”

Though Vader could very easily finish him, there are rules to a battle. When one willingly concedes, the fight is over, no matter how much the other wishes that it wasn’t. You and Vader both watch as Maul makes it to his ship and escapes, flying high above your heads and away from Corellia.

Vader turns his attention to you, wrapping his large hands around your upper arms and looking you up and down. “Are you alright?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“You were the one about to die.”

“I had it under control,” you claim, even though you very much did not have it under control. “And I didn’t need you to save me.”

“Oh, you didn’t? That’s not what it looked like to me.”

His fingers move to the open hole in your shirt left by Maul’s lightsaber above your heart. The skin there is shiny from a light burn—it’s nothing that will hinder you in the long run, but it does sting a bit, especially when Vader lightly touches this wound. You hiss through your teeth, but he doesn’t move.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” he notes, his voice soft from concentration.

Your cheeks burn at this because you know there are a couple of reasons for your racing heart, and only one of them is from the exertion of battle. Wiggling your hands up, you get enough of a space that you can lightly push yourself away from Vader.

“What are you—how did you know that I would be here?” you demand, having been under the assumption that everybody had done very well in making sure this was a top-secret mission.

“We received some intel that the Rebel Alliance would be making a rather stupid attempt at reaching out to Crimson Dawn. I was going to just let Maul have at it, but then I thought, ‘What are the odds that my Rebel would be involved in this?’”

“I am not your Rebel.” The way that he looks at you, like you mean something to him, makes your heart clench in a way that you don’t want to consider right now. Onto the next subject, then. “Why did you help me in the first place? You could have let him kill me. You should have let him kill me, actually. Would have saved you a lot of trouble.”

“I don’t want you dead.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course, you just want me to join you and go against every one of my morals.”

“I still have morals, Rebel. If you were willing to listen, to be open-minded, I think you’d find that the Dark Side is not evil. Where the Light Side wanted their Jedi to shirk all of their emotions and attachments, the Dark Side encourages those emotions. Anger, sadness, passion…love. Sith believe in a world where we’re all free to feel what we want, to allow that which scares us to be out in the open so that we may overpower it. You can’t tell me that this sounds evil.”

You remain silent, because you don’t know what to think. With how Vader puts it, the Dark Side doesn’t sound all evil. Actions speak louder than words, however, and you’ve seen the terror and devastation that the Empire and the Dark Side have unleashed on the galaxy. You’re not willing to dwell on it right now (or ever, really; just thinking about the possibility of Vader’s words having some validity makes you feel like you’re betraying the Rebel Alliance), so you force it to the back of your mind and refuse to think about it any longer.

“Well, I think my work here is done,” Vader declares with a sigh, clipping his saber back onto his belt.

You look at him in confusion. “Wait, you’re not…going to force me to be your apprentice? I mean, now’s kind of the perfect time.” You don’t want him to do so, but you were sure you knew what his end goal was, since he’s made it clear every other time you’ve encountered him.

“It is,” he agrees. “But I’ve decided that it does no good to have you join me against your will. When the time comes, you’ll give yourself to me—to the Dark Side willingly.”

He sounds so sure of this, like it’s a foregone conclusion. You’re about to argue, to insist once more that you’ll never join him, when you hear groaning behind you.

“Looks like your crew is starting to come to,” Vader notes. “I’ll see you soon.”

You don’t doubt that, but you won’t let him know that. “I sure hope not.”

He laughs, already walking to his own ship. “Make sure to get that burn checked out so that it doesn’t get infected!” he yells to you.

The groaning gets louder before you can tell him to not tell you what to do, and somebody calls your name sluggishly. Your pilot is trying to roll over onto his hands and knees, and the others aren’t far behind him in waking up. You get ready to help, as all good Rebels do—because that’s what you are, someone good and helpful and nothing at all like the Sith Lord that increasingly occupies your thoughts as of late.

You’re not like him, you tell yourself, and you’ll do everything in your power to ensure that you won’t ever be like him.

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #sith!anakin #sith!anakin skywalker #sith!anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #star wars imagine #star wars #rebel!reader #sith!anakin x rebel!reader #rebel-verse au

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spokewar · 4 months

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path to the wayseekers: order 66

Boil was choking on laughter. Waxer's pyramid had been reduced to a loose pile of helmets. Wooley was on the floor as Crys loomed over him with a repressed smile and a boot to his chest. Gregor and Trapper were encouraging them to fight. And Cody was watching Obi-Wan while Obi-Wan stared into the gaping chasm of infinite void. word count: 4,200 description: the world is ending and only about five people know why. one of them is also trying to decapitate a corpse.

This was how it happened.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was a busy man and more importantly, he wasn't an important one.

He wasn't privy to the investigation his more senior members of the Jedi Council and their trusted seconds had been conducting on Coruscant. He didn't know Count Dooku had betrayed the Confederacy and outed his Sith Master. He didn't feel Mace Windu nearly tear his mind in two while clawing and gnashing through the darkness that smothered all of Coruscant like an oppressing fog. He wasn't aware of the allegations that the good Chancellor Palpatine had took part in—if not orchestrated and funded—every aspect of the war.

He didn't see Grand Master Yoda adorn the battle armor he hadn't used since his own teacher's passing nearly a millennium ago. He didn't watch him tie his belt in loops that mirrored how Mace had learned and later passed to his own padawan in a carefully practiced repetition that stretched across time without care. He (nor anyone else) didn't notice the silent conversation between Commanders Wolffe and Fox as they impossibly spoke through eye contact and terse nods. He wasn't part of the terrifying entourage of Masters Mundi, Yoda, Windu, Ti, and Koon, along with Koon's equally terrifying Wolf Pack, that had swiftly evacuated the senate building and marched to a set of crimson doors which whispered promises of great battle and great death.

This was how it happened.

The 212th Attack Battalion hovered in orbit above Scarif, anxiously awaiting clearance to leave. Their last campaign was a nonviolent one, the only battle had been between a squad of Clone Troopers and several opportunistic carnivorous plants, but they still needed their coordinator on Coruscant to confirm their leave. Though, needed was a stretch of the term. They needed permission for takeoff as much they needed to take military strategy from a politician so aged his skin was slipping off in slivers and rarely left his faux throne.

Without information coming in, the Negotiator neatly folded itself into its own world; one where yelling ceased to exist, ranks thinned, tables were meant to be sat atop of, weapons were traded for cards, moonshine was cleverly brewed, and where training areas transformed into hubs of conversation, reunion, and mourning.

As it was with many things, this world was not one Obi-Wan was privy to and he instead spent his free time on the ship's bridge. Commander Cody stood diligently at side, despite his protests that he be anywhere else. Joining them were six other members of Ghost Company and the ship's navigation crew who had grown to appreciate the sparingly offered silence. Though, as the navigators lacked anywhere to navigate, they all watched as Waxer failed to stack all the Ghosts' helmets together in a pyramid from behind their own (which likely hadn't been removed so they wouldn't fall victim to his art project). They all seemed to be fascinated with how terrible it looked.

Meanwhile, Boil was busy looking disappointed he didn't need to make Waxer's attempts any worse. Wooley was leaning against Crys as Crys tried to lean away from Wooley. Gregor and Trapper were situated on the floor, facing the doorway in a corner which allowed them to keep watch of the entire area. And Obi-Wan was watching Cody while Cody looked like he was aching for something to fuss over.

They were content.

This was how it happened.

Horror was finite.

This came as a surprise to Plo Koon because prior to fighting a Sith Lord, he had felt sure horror was not quantifiable nor with limits. He had faced death before—been at its doorstep—with an enemy's blade to his throat and a hand prying away his face mask, his only way of breathing. Yet death had never felt as absolute as it did in the face of Palpatine, no, Darth Sideous. Death no longer seemed to mean the afterlife, but the lack thereof it. Being in front of a Sith felt like being undone, like his mind was being consumed and his body unwoven as if his veins were flimsy threads holding him together.

The absolute certainty of his death rendered fear irrelevant. Plo Koon had no way of knowing what the other Jedi or Clones were feeling and no time to wonder whether they had yet to find horror's threshold. He hoped they hadn't and right as he hoped, he saw a purple blade slicing through a flash of pale and decaying skin.

Two things then happened at once: two fingers fell to the ground and Sideous spoke into the communicator in his hand. It was a minute detail, but no one saw where the device had come from. Manifested wasn't quite what happened; it just hadn't been there one second and then appeared in the next. As if it had always been there. As if he had pulled it into the palm from the space between microseconds. It didn't make physical sense, but he supposed Sith had no reason to adhere to the laws of physicality.

It was such an odd sight that the spoken words hadn't registered until the air did something equally impossible and snapped.

"Execute Order 66."

This was how it happened.

Despite the nature of infinite voids, this one was also a maze and Obi-Wan was hopelessly lost within it. It had appeared so suddenly and nothing about it made sense. There was nothing, yet there were walls which stretched into the unseen ether; there was nothing, yet there chains around his body; there was nothing, yet there was the Force and it was consuming itself and him with it. He didn't find the void's lack of sense surprising, so he tightened the loops on his belt and took off wandering. He walked for a minute or maybe a year and he was having an awful headache deciding if he was too hot or too cold, if he was starving or without a body entirely.

Time rolled off him as water would a slick stone. He wished he had his commander. A map or a definite sense of self wouldn't have hurt either. What did hurt was the sudden roaring around him, in him, so loud it tore his flesh, boiled his blood, and swelled his tongue to the point of suffocating. It was a piercing rumble and in reverse, worse than any animal cry he had ever heard and he was sure if he had ears, they'd be bleeding.

Somehow, Obi-Wan opened his eyes. The void didn't exist. There was still laughter and light, but before he could consider where his mind had gone, one of the navigation crew (a pilot by the name of Crasher, Obi-Wan believed) stood from his seat and lunged across the room for him. There was no prompt, no anger, just hands around his throat until the two were ripped apart from each other. Crys had restrained Crasher in a headlock and Cody had Obi-Wan by the arm, his body angled to be just slightly ahead of him with fingers curled tightly around his bicep.

No one spoke—no one could speak—because in the next moment the other bridge members stood and, with an intensity never shown in his direction before, charged. It was as violent as it was uncoordinated, it looked like there wasn't thought behind the movement (and given what Obi-Wan could feel, or rather couldn't, there likely wasn't). Fortunately, some seemed to have enough mind to grab hold of their weapons, unfortunately, those weapons were then pointed at him and Cody.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" Cody's entire body shook and was now in front of him as he had seemingly forgotten Obi-Wan held a sword which blocked blaster fire much better than flesh could.

"Good soldiers follow orders." Crasher answered first. The words were clipped, disjointed, and broken. It was less of a phrase and more the sound of a varactly screeching simply because it was in its nature.

The crew raised their guns and Obi-Wan was quick to follow with his saber. Cody stood firm, clearly hesitating at the idea of fighting his brothers. Yet before any of them could act, five shots rang out from Gregor; he had used his previous position to hit every one of them expertly in the back with stun bolts and while everyone knew they wereunconscious, Crys checked their pulses regardless.

"General?" Wooley was back on his feet and flanking Obi-Wan's other side.

"I'm calling this in." Trapper spoke before Obi-Wan could find the words and grabbed his helmet from the pile before anyone could protest or even ask who he was calling. Everyone he should have been notifying was already within ten feet of him.

This was how it happened.

Plo Koon was blocking blaster fire from the Wolf Pack while the rest of the Jedi party continued their fight with Sideous who was laughing like a mad man that had already won and not just lost two of his fingers. The manic joy pressed Koon to stretch his consciousness further into Commander Wolffe, trying to find some semblance of the man he'd been wtaching after for months. It proved to be a fruitless effort because where there should have been a mind, there was only darkness and disorientation. There were heavy chains and clear signs a Sith had already been there and inflicted their damage.

Behind him, Master Mundi was collapsed on the ground and no one was able to feel if he was alive or not.

This was how it happened.

Master Shaak Ti had spent the past two years living out of her element in sterile labs and empty hallways where children bore stoic faces in place of mischievous grins. There was no sun to bask in, no tall grasses to run through, no soil to commune with the planet, and no Jedi she could turn to for guidance. She thought it would be a difficult assignment, but the Clones had quickly proved otherwise. They spent their time teaching each other, first how to be a soldier and then how to be a Jedi. Despite what the public thought (or perhaps in spite of), they knew how to be people. They had secret languages, they had ways of telling jokes and laughing in ways no one would suspect, they had identities, and siblings, and love, and such potential for greatness. It hurt to know greatness would not wait for most of them. So in the time between then and greatness, she learned. She learned their secret ways, she learned to shoot, to repair armor, to set broken bones, and what each tilt of an expressionless helmet truly meant.

She didn't know the Wolf Pack, but she had known who trained them. She knew why they had suddenly started firing at Plo Koon and why their presences in the Force had suddenly blanked as if they'd never existed at all. They weren't there. Their bodies were, but what occupied them were gone. To where, she had no idea, and Shaak Ti turned that ache into a ruthless rain of attacks, each one met with a red blade that had moved far too fast to be possible.

This was how it happened.

Darth Sideous was fighting three Master Jedi and the Grand Master of their entire people and he was winning. The loss of his fingers was inconsequential and since Windu had nearly severed a third from his hand as well, he did him the honor of tearing the rest of it off himself. The sinewy tenons, charred from his lightsaber, making an audible crunch as he did. There was fear and it was delicious.

The only ones not afraid were Yoda and Koon. Yoda who had never known fear and Koon who had just learned the extent of it.

Sideous knew his final battle would be a challenge and he'd always known it would come, just never when, nor where, nor who, nor why. His final battle had just been an ever-looming presence with no care for his accomplishments. Once, he'd thought his final battle had been slaying his Master, but his victory had meant nothing. The universe hadn't even blinked at the power he'd just consumed in a single strike. The ground had shook and people had screamed and wept, but the universe stood unphased.

He suspected, in some sense, Yoda would know the feeling. For people like them—beings of awful power—it was impossible to only look at one person in one place. They instead watched the world on a grand scale, their vision shifting from a time before to a time long after. People came and left so quickly he lost track of if it were the first or second time he'd watched them die. The merging of present and future made attacks easy to defend and plans all too easy to predict. It was his final battle and it should have felt glorious, yet the universe still whispered a wrongness in his ear. It whispered of a time that had come far too soon, yet correct in their linear perception of time.

The question was fleeting, but present: had he been here before? Had this battle already happened and played differently? Or had he witnessed it from a future yet to pass, one where his victory had been more decisive and swiftly won?

The question went unanswered. The universe learned in close to his hear and whispered one last final truth.

This was his final battle.

This was how it happened.

Commander Cody, Obi-Wan, Crys, and Wooley moved through the Negotiator's corridors as if they were a battlefield. Some men shot at them and some men were shot. Their ship was meant to be their safe haven and now it was tainted with their own spilled blood. He wished he had time to create a plan, but a solid quarter of his brothers were gunning down his Jedi and there was no time to think, only act. They ran fast and with purpose, Obi-Wan masking would would have been echoing footsteps with the Force and Wooley stunning anyone who stood in their path.

Cody had noticed it first, most every Clone without a helmet was unaffected by whatever spell had come upon those with. He'd ordered Crys to spread word to keep all helmets off and shut down all communications, internal and external alike (which was no easy task on a ship large enough to house a city).

Their group of three had just made it to the hangar when Crys joined them again, claiming removing the helmets did nothing to reverse the effects, but they seemed amicable to talk so long as their focus was kept on themselves or their brothers. He also confirmed Cody's suspicion about the communication devices. Wooley took this as good news and Obi-Wan didn't seem to have taken it as news at all because he was again blankly staring at something distant and unseen.

"Wooley." Cody spoke, his tone was something dangerous.

'Yes, sir." Wooley responded, his tone was wary of that danger.

"Take the general and go. Don't come back, don't land, and don't tell anyone who you are. We don't know what this is or the extent of it."

"Yes, sir."

"And starting now, don't take orders from me or anyone else."

"Yes, sir?"

Cody didn't like Wooley's hesitancy, but understood it.

Cody was himself now and while he would try to remain himself, there was no promise he would be in the next few hours or even moments. For now, there was one Commander Cody: the one who hadn't hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi. He didn't want that second version of himself, the one who had.

"Take him far away, fix him, he might be able to tell what's going on here."

Wooley, more certain this time, nodded. "Yes, sir."

This was how it happened.

There were two bodies on the floor of the senate building. One was floating in the spaces between life and death and one was actively being decapitated by a Torgruta with a hunting knife.

Plo Koon had very much done something with the Wolf Pack because he had convinced them to stop fighting. Though, it was more as if he had just stopped them entirely because each of his men now wore blank expressions and made no movement except for gentle swaying as their arms were experimentally tugged in either direction.

Mace Windu offered Shaak Ti a hand as she rose from her puddle of gore, looking all the part of the victorious predator. She delicately placed one hand in Mace's as the other tightly gripped the severed head of a Sith Lord.

This was how it happened.

Master Yoda's full unwavering attention was on the Coruscant Guard who had appeared sans half their armor and with a collection of weapons he had never seen in any Clones' possession ever before. He suspected they were contraband they had learned to arm themselves with between duties. It seemed the habit had made them dangerous, more dangerous than Sideous had expected because in one moment he had been standing and aiming to pierce his saber through the side of Plo Koon's head and in the next, he was nearly doubled over with some thick liquid akin to blood pouring from the jagged stump that had once been his elbow as one of the Clones reloaded his weapon behind him. Out of reflex, and before anyone could have stopped it, Sideous had raised his remaining hand and snapped the Clone Trooper's neck, nearly turning his head all the way around.

The Sith's weapon had powered off and fell. It was nearly an inch from the floor by the time Master Yoda had caught it with some strange part of himself insisting this be the blade to defeat the Sith. The kyber inside screamed for it, piercing and rumbling like a broken beast turning inside out. Its misery needed to end and in one final movement, Yoda had turned and plunged the aching saber into the heart of Darth Sideous. He sank it until its hilt hit burning flesh.

His body had hit the floor and Shaak Ti had screamed at it before plunging an unfamiliar knife into his neck.

Everyone then stared at the crumpled body of the Clone who had taken the Sith Lord's arm. His armor had no paint, no marks, and no one had to ask Commander Fox to know he had no name.

This was how it happened.

Obi-Wan floated back into consciousness sometime after midnight to the pleas of Wooley asking for directions. One glance out the window had told him they'd entered the borders of Mandalorian space, which was not his favorite place to be given the last place he'd been was the bridge of his ship.

He asked what happened and Wooley explained.

They had tried to kill him. The last person they'd spoken with was Cody who said not to trust him nor anyone else. They didn't know if every Jedi was in danger or just Obi-Wan himself, but given the fractured bonds inside his mind, he assumed the former. Quinlan, Bant, and Garen's bonds still felt present and glowing, but Siri Tachi's was missing and he felt too weak to go searching for it. It wasn't confirmation she was dead, but it also didn't mean anything good either.

In turn, Obi-Wan explained where his mind had gone. He had been adrift for years, he saw the death of Jedi, Clones, civilians. He watched life grow in impossible places and hope stay alive in the darkest. He felt his heart growing old and skin leathery from sunlight. Lastly, he'd felt his own death and was at peace with it. He explained how he used to be a Seer, how his visions of the future used to haunt him before disappearing for decades. He hadn't expected them to ever return.

Wooley didn't respond so much as just blink at him.

"But I'm sure it's fine." Obi-Wan was quick to soothe, still recognizing Wooley as the youngest of his Ghost Company. "We just need to gather all the Jedi . . . especially the younglings in the temple."

Wooley didn't question why. "We can commandeer a venator cruiser, but getting everyone there will be the hard part. The commander shut down all comms and probably ordered the other battalions the same."

Because, of course, he did. Cody was pragmatic and wouldn't have seen their situation as an isolated one. But he also knew Obi-Wan had a network of his own.

"My clan and I have a plan for sudden blackout situations like these. We will all meditate and coordinate from there. I will be unaware of the goings on out here, so if you have similar contingency plans with your brothers, I suggest you act on them while I am away."

This was how it happened.

All across the galaxy, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Quinlan Vos, Bant Eerin, and Garen Muln all burrowed themselves into the Force and met in a shared mind space. Siri Tachi was notably missing and no one mentioned it. They instead discussed the Clones, how to get all the Jedi in one defensible location, and how to keep the public from finding out. Lastly, Quinlan Vos told them that Palpatine was the Sith Lord, Darth Sideous, and Darth Sideous was dead. Collectively, they decided to let that revelation settle a little longer while they said goodbyes and good lucks.

This was how it happened.

Commander Cody stood in front of the brig where no less than fifty of his brothers, and counting, had been secured. When asked why they wanted the general dead, they replied with accusations that Jedi were traitors and the emperor ordered their execution. They seemed confused that Cody hadn't known and even more confused about why they were locked up and not helping.

He had given up trying to explain they were brainwashed hours ago and decided to leave it for the medical professionals to sift through when the dust settled. For now, he would do his part in keeping the Jedi and his brothers safe by keeping as much distance between them as possible. The ship became calm, almost normal, after word had spread that Obi-Wan had escaped. He had omitted Wooley going with him because he knew it would have angered his barely-calmed troops, thinking one of their own had been kidnapped.

Cody had never before wished he had access to the Force, but he would have given anything for the assurance that the two men were still alive. That their ship hadn't been shot down. That Wooley hadn't turned and killed Obi-Wan while racing through space. That if he did, Obi-Wan had fought back and not let himself be killed.

This was how it happened.

Despite knowing it was a bad idea, Wooley landed their ship on an uninhabited moon. They were met with Quinlan Vos and a handful of the Coruscanti Guard who seemed uneasy, whether it because it was they were off planet, their boss had been revealed to be a Sith Lord, or because their brothers had fallen insane was yet to be seen.

Obi-Wan and Wooley both guessed it was all three.

Planning sessions usually took hours, but their small group had condensed it to mere minutes. By the end, they agreed that, somehow, Quinlan and his crew would get them a venator class ship. The civilian contractors back at the temple would assist in smuggling the younglings and elderly Jedi away from Coruscant. Wooley and the Guard would return to the 212th, where they would tell Cody the Jedi would be safe, but not how.

They knew the Separatists would take this moment of weakness to attack and for the first time any of them could remember, they decided to let it happen. For the first time, they had to prioritize themselves and all they could do was hope the GAR had taught enough planets enough about defense to hold through the fire. And if they were really lucky, their sudden disappearance would stall any upcoming attacks while their enemy troops searched for them or prepared for an obscenely large ambush.

Next, they agreed the Jedi and the Clones would go to opposite ends of the galaxy.

After collecting all their people, the Jedi woud leave for Ahch-To where they would scatter themselves among the planet's many dense tropical islands, and the Clones would make way for Savareen. It was close enough to Kamino to run carriers to and from and its sparse isolated population wouldn't have the opportunity nor care to inform the Core planets of their new visitors.

No one knew how long their plans would take, how long they would have to spend apart from each other, but they would end the war and save each other. This was how it would happen.

#in which killing sith lords is a team sport and the clones are the mvp #also in which sith lords are kind of like eldritch horrors and time doesn't stick to them correctly #marci writes a thing #wayseeker verse lore #shaak makes sure the head dont stick too #I'm visiting my parents this weekend so have this in my absence

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