The galaxy was cracking.
Newsfeeds across Coruscant screamed of systems breaking away, of the Confederacy of Independent Systems swelling by the day. The Republic argued while worlds armed. And now—on the very heart of the capital—Padmé Amidala's decoy lay dead, shattered on polished stone.
The elevator rose smoothly through the Senate district spire.
Inside stood three Jedi and two droids.
Qui-Gon Jinn rested his hands in his sleeves, posture calm but alert. Obi-Wan Kenobi stood near the railing, expression composed, eyes thoughtful.
And beside them—
Anakin Skywalker.
He was no boy now.
He stood tall—six foot six, broad-shouldered beneath layered robes and armor that echoed ancient designs. Revan's mask was still there, dark and unreadable, a hood shadowing its edges. Twin lightsabers rested at his hips, silent but unmistakable.
K-2SO loomed behind him, posture rigid, while HK-47 stood far too comfortably, head tilted as if already bored.
Qui-Gon glanced sideways.
"You're tense."
Anakin's shoulders shifted slightly.
"I haven't seen her in ten years."
K-2SO turned his head with exaggerated precision.
"Correction: You have not stopped talking about Senator Amidala for ten years."
Anakin's head snapped toward the droid.
"I have not—"
"You have," K-2SO said flatly. "Extensively."
Obi-Wan cleared his throat.
"Try not to let your feelings guide you."
Anakin let out a short, mechanical snort.
"Funny advice, coming from someone whose feelings were clouded by Satine of Mandalore."
Obi-Wan froze.
"What?"
Qui-Gon chuckled under his breath.
"That is not Important right now." Obi-Wan said stiffly.
"You wrote poetry," Anakin replied calmly.
"I did not—"
"We are here on official Jedi business," Qui-Gon interrupted, amusement clear in his voice. "Try to remember that."
The elevator slowed.
Doors slid open.
And standing there, grinning ear to ear, was Jar Jar Binks.
"Yousa back!" Jar Jar exclaimed. "Yousa allsa back!"
"Jar Jar," Qui-Gon said warmly.
Obi-Wan nodded. "Good to see you."
Jar Jar's eyes widened as he spotted Anakin.
"Ooohhh—who dis big scary fella?"
Before Anakin could respond, Jar Jar waved enthusiastically.
"Heya Padmé! Dey here!"
From the far end of the corridor, Padmé Amidala approached, flanked by security.
She greeted Qui-Gon first, relief softening her expression.
"Master Jinn. Obi-Wan. Thank you for coming."
Then her eyes moved—
—and stopped.
She looked up.
And up.
The masked figure before her was nothing like the boy she remembered—except in the Force, where the same familiar warmth flickered beneath layers of restraint.
"…Anni?" she said.
His voice came through the mask, deeper now, steady.
"Hello, Padmé."
She smiled slowly.
"You've grown."
"Apparently," he replied. Then, before he could stop himself: "You've grown more… beautifully."
There was a half-second of silence.
Anakin stiffened.
"I mean—I—"
Padmé laughed, the sound light and genuine.
"It's good to see you too," she said.
HK-47 stepped forward abruptly.
"Statement: Senator Amidala is one of my favorite meatbags. Probability of emotional attachment: High."
Padmé blinked.
"Oh."
K-2SO followed immediately.
"Additional statement: Master Anakin has referenced you in approximately forty-seven percent of his personal anecdotes."
Anakin hissed something sharp and fluid—ancient syllables in Old Sith, low and commanding.
K-2SO straightened instantly.
"…Understood," the droid said, falling silent.
Padmé covered her mouth, laughing again.
"Have they always been like this?"
Qui-Gon smiled.
"Yes."
Obi-Wan sighed.
"Unfortunately."
Padmé's gaze returned to Anakin, softer now.
"I'm glad you came."
Anakin inclined his head slightly.
"So am I."
Padmé's smile lingered as she studied him more closely.
The armor-like robes.
The hood.
The mask that hadn't changed in ten years.
She tilted her head slightly, amused.
"So," she said lightly, "you're still wearing that silly mask, Annie?"
The nickname hit him harder than the assassin's bomb ever could have.
Anakin stiffened for half a heartbeat.
Then—soft laughter, filtered but unmistakable.
"Some habits stick," he replied.
Padmé turned her gaze toward Qui-Gon Jinn, curiosity sparking.
"Does he ever take it off?" she asked. "Even now?"
Qui-Gon folded his hands into his sleeves, thoughtful.
"Rarely," he said honestly. "It isn't something he does for many."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.
"Or for me," Obi-Wan Kenobi added dryly.
Anakin angled his helmet slightly toward him.
"You never asked nicely."
Obi-Wan scoffed. "I absolutely did."
Qui-Gon smiled faintly.
"Anakin chooses when he is seen," Qui-Gon said. "That choice matters to him."
Padmé absorbed that.
She looked back at Anakin—not at the mask, but through it.
"I guess I should feel honored, then," she said gently. "You didn't hide from me."
Anakin's voice softened.
"I never would."
That earned him a look—surprised, warm, and just a little dangerous.
HK-47 leaned closer to K-2SO.
"Observation: Emotional tension increasing. Recommendation: Leave the room or escalate dramatically."
K-2SO did not respond.
Obi-Wan cleared his throat pointedly.
"We should focus," he said. "You were nearly killed in an assassination plot, and whoever is behind it may try again."
Padmé straightened, slipping back into her role with practiced ease.
"You're right," she said. "Which is why I'm grateful the Chancellor sent you."
She glanced at Anakin again.
"Especially you, Annie."
Anakin nodded once.
"You're not leaving my sight."
HK-47 perked up.
"Enthusiastic statement: That includes murderers."
Padmé blinked. "I… appreciate that."
Qui-Gon stepped forward, voice calm but firm.
"We'll begin immediately. Obi-Wan will investigate the attack. Anakin and I will remain here."
Obi-Wan frowned slightly.
"Together?"
Qui-Gon met his eyes.
"Yes."
Obi-Wan understood what that meant—and didn't argue.
Padmé exhaled slowly, tension easing just a fraction.
"Then I suppose," she said, offering Anakin a small, knowing smile,"I'm in good hands."
Anakin inclined his head.
"You always were."
///
Night settled over Coruscant like a held breath.
Traffic lanes still burned bright beyond the transparisteel windows, rivers of light flowing endlessly through the cityscape, but inside Padmé Amidala's quarters, the lights were low, deliberately so. Curtains drawn. Security reduced to what looked like negligence—by design.
Padmé lay beneath silken covers, eyes closed, breathing slow and even.
In the other room, Obi-Wan Kenobi stood near the wall, arms folded, posture relaxed but alert. Years of discipline kept him perfectly still. He intended to leave at first light, follow the trail of the assassin personally.
Near the doorway, Qui-Gon Jinn leaned against the frame, eyes half-lidded, listening to the currents of the Living Force rather than the city outside.
And in the shadowed corner of the room, almost invisible despite his size, stood Anakin Skywalker.
Mask on.
Hood up.
Still as a statue.
Qui-Gon broke the silence first.
"You disabled the cameras."
Anakin didn't look away from the window.
"Yes."
Obi-Wan frowned slightly.
"That's a rather large security risk."
Anakin shrugged once.
"Padmé insisted."
Qui-Gon's gaze shifted to Anakin.
"And you were comfortable with that?"
Anakin nodded.
"R2 is with her."
"If anything comes near her," Anakin continued, "he'll scream loud enough to wake the planet."
Obi-Wan sighed quietly. "I don't like relying on chance."
Anakin finally turned his helmet slightly.
"It's not chance."
Qui-Gon studied him for a long moment, then nodded once.
Hours passed.
The city outside dimmed as traffic slowed. Even Coruscant slept—at least as much as it ever did.
Then—
The Force tightened.
Anakin felt it first.
Not danger.
Intent.
His hand snapped to his sabers.
"Now."
He moved before the word finished echoing.
Anakin crossed the room and ran into the bedroom like a bullet.
Sabers igniting in twin snaps of sound—purple and black-red light painting the walls. He slashed once, twice.
Two small shapes burst apart mid-air, hissing as they died before they could reach the bed.
Poisonous insects—darting, lethal, engineered.
Padmé sat bolt upright.
R2 screamed.
Obi-Wan was already moving.
"Assassin!"
The window exploded outward as Obi-Wan jumped through it, latching onto the droid.
"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon shouted.
The droid surged forward, dragging Obi-Wan with it into open air.
Wind screamed past him.
Coruscant dropped away beneath his boots—thousands of meters of nothing.
Obi-Wan wrapped one arm around the droid's chassis, the other gripping tight as the machine weaved violently through traffic lanes.
Inside the apartment, Anakin was already at the window.
He didn't shout.
Didn't hesitate.
He turned and bolted down the building, trying to find a suitable speeder to catch up.
///
Obi-Wan gripped for dear life onto the droid; the force powered him, but as he looked forward, he saw what the droid was doing. There on a terrace stood a figure with a long blaster.
A bolt of red hurtled towards him and shredded the droid, throwing Obi-Wan into a free fall.
As Obi-Wan let go of the droid, he began to free-fall into the depths of Coruscant. At least he would have if not for Anakin. Skywalker zipped just in time, catching him in a racing speeder and continuing the pursuit of the bounty hunter.
"That was too close," Obi-Wan said, rebuking Anakin.
Anakin's eyes never left their target.
"I would say I was right on time."
Obi-Wan groaned
"Just catch up to her."
The speeders weaved through the skyline of Corucant, the bounty hunters' speeders taking them through the energy grid, eventually losing them in a tunnel.
Anakin stopped the speeder, slamming his fist into the dashboard.
"Calm yourself, Anakin." Obi-Wan raised his hand. "Clear your mind."
Anakin took a deep breath, calming himself, then a tightening pull of the force snapped.
He slowly rose from the speeder, surprising Obi-Wan, then he unexpectedly jumped, free-falling into the depths of Coruscant.
Obi-Wan looked over the edge, sighing.
"I hate it when he does that."
Anakin landed on the bounty hunter's speeder. Trying to break the glass and apprehend the suspect.
The speeder swung back and forth, trying to roll Anakin off and lose the armored Padawan.
Anakin finally had enough of the maneuvers and ignited his Purple blade, driving it into the speeder, hitting the controls, and driving it down into the sprawl of the city.
///
The speeder hit hard.
Metal screamed as it skidded across the platform, sparks spraying into the night. Anakin rolled as soon as they hit ground, coming up in a crouch with impossible smoothness, cloak snapping behind him. Obi-Wan landed the speeder nearby, already catching up to Anakin.
"She's still ahead of us," Obi-Wan said, pointing.
They ran.
Coruscant at night was a different world—layers of neon and shadow stacked endlessly upward and downward, the air thick with sound and motion. Zam Wesell disappeared through a wide entrance glowing violet and gold.
A nightclub.
Bass thundered through the durasteel walls, vibrations rattling bones. Holo-signs pulsed above the doorway in looping alien script.
Anakin didn't slow.
The doors slid open and swallowed them whole.
Inside, chaos reigned.
Music pounded like a second heartbeat. Smoke curled through colored lights. Bodies pressed together—Humans, Twi'leks, Zabrak, Rodians—dancing, drinking, laughing. Twi'leks in shimmering silks moved with practiced grace, skin painted with luminous patterns. Glasses clinked. Credits exchanged hands. Someone shouted something joyful and incoherent.
And then—
Two Jedi walked through the middle of it.
Conversations faltered.
Eyes followed them.
Anakin moved like a shadow given purpose, mask reflecting fractured light, metal glinting from behind his robes. People felt him before they understood why. Some stepped aside instinctively. Others stared, unsure whether this was part of the entertainment.
Obi-Wan leaned close.
"She's good," he said. "Knows how to disappear."
Anakin's head tilted slightly.
"I can still feel her."
They pushed deeper into the club, weaving through bodies, brushing past dancers who barely noticed until the chill of the Force lingered in their wake. A Twi'lek woman reached out to Anakin playfully—
—and froze when she looked into the mask.
She pulled her hand back slowly.
Anakin didn't notice.
His focus was razor-sharp.
"There," he said.
Zam slipped through a side corridor.
"Split up," Obi-Wan said immediately.
Anakin nodded once and vanished into the crowd, his presence melting away with practiced ease.
Obi-Wan moved to the bar.
He leaned casually against it, as if he belonged there, ordering nothing. The bartender—a Besalisk with four arms—eyed him warily and decided not to ask questions.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes.
Listened.
The music dulled. The crowd blurred. The Force sharpened.
Behind you.
Obi-Wan turned—
Lightsaber igniting in a flash of blue.
Zam Wesell lunged, blade raised—
—and screamed as Obi-Wan's saber cut cleanly through her arm.
The limb hit the floor.
Panic erupted.
People scattered, shouting, overturning tables. Zam staggered back, clutching the wound, her face twisted in fury and pain.
Anakin was there instantly.
He grabbed her, wrenching her forward, the weight of his presence crushing.
"Move," Obi-Wan ordered.
They dragged her out into the night as alarms blared behind them.
The air outside was cold and sharp, the city's glow stretching endlessly in all directions. Zam struggled weakly between them, blood dark against her clothing.
"Who hired you?" Obi-Wan demanded.
She laughed—a wet, broken sound.
"You Jedi… always think you're in control."
Anakin leaned closer.
"You were paid," he said quietly. "By who?"
She hesitated.
Then, grudgingly—
"A bounty hunter," she hissed. "Name's—"
Thwip.
A dart struck her neck.
Zam's eyes widened.
She gasped once.
Then collapsed.
Her form shuddered—and changed.
Skin rippled. Features shifted. The human face melted away, revealing her true form beneath.
A changeling.
Anakin let her fall.
Both Jedi looked up simultaneously.
A figure stood on a nearby platform—armored, visor down—jetpack flaring to life.
A Mandalorian.
The figure blasted upward into the traffic lanes, vanishing into the endless streams of light.
Anakin took a step forward.
Stopped.
Something twisted in his chest.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
Obi-Wan knelt beside the body, pulling the dart free carefully.
"Poisoned," he said grimly. "Professional."
Anakin stared into the sky where the Mandalorian had vanished.
"…I've seen that style before," he said slowly.
Obi-Wan looked at him.
"Someone you know?"
Anakin's hand curled into a fist beneath his cloak.
"I don't know," he said.
But deep down—
He already did.
And whoever had ordered Padmé Amidala's death had just drawn the attention of people who did not forget faces, armor, or debts.
The hunt had truly begun.