Alright, another chapter on here and on P@treon. Anyways ill try to pump out two more by tomorrow. I have the ones for webnovel, but I don't want to fall behind on P@treon, so y'all will get 2 extra hopefully before Sunday.
This is the last of the Vel Astra Arc chapters, and the next chapter is a middle ground for the upcoming arc. It's honestly my favorite Arc so far.
Enjoy
Hermit47 P@treon
...
The Chancellor's office had always been too quiet.
Anakin noticed that more now.
Coruscant roared beyond the great curved windows, endless lanes of traffic moving through the golden afternoon light, towers rising like polished spears into the haze. Yet inside Palpatine's private chamber, the noise of the capital seemed to fall away, reduced to a distant murmur behind thick transparisteel and careful architecture. It was a room built for control. Warm enough to feel welcoming, grand enough to remind anyone who entered where power lived, private enough that secrets could be spoken there and never touch the air outside.
Anakin stood near the center of it without his mask.
That alone would have unsettled most who knew him.
The mask rested beneath one arm, its old metal face turned downward, hidden from the light. His hood was down, and the red of his skin stood clear beneath the office's warm glow. The changes Plagueis had forced upon him were impossible to ignore now. He was taller than before, broad in the shoulders, lean but denser, with a stronger severity in the lines of his face. The ridges of his species seemed sharper, the old scars more pronounced, his eyes brighter in a way that made them harder to meet for long.
Palpatine met them without flinching.
He had never flinched.
That was one of the reasons Anakin trusted him.
When Anakin had first revealed himself early in the war—his face, his blood, the truth of the species the Jedi had hidden from nearly everyone—Palpatine had not recoiled. He had not whispered of old enemies, old wars, old horrors. He had not looked at Anakin as if the word Sith made him a monster before he had opened his mouth.
He had listened.
He had been sympathetic.
More than that, he had seemed saddened by what Anakin had carried alone.
That had mattered.
It still did.
Now the Chancellor stood behind his desk with his hands folded lightly over the polished surface, his face lined with concern that appeared entirely genuine.
"You've done the Republic a great service," Palpatine said, his voice low and warm. "Vel Astra could have become a disaster beyond one planet. A lost formula, a compromised hyperspace lane, a government defecting at the height of war… we would have spent months recovering from such a wound."
Anakin inclined his head. "The traitors were removed. The formula is secured. The senator remains loyal and has already begun stabilizing the transition."
"And Master Unduli?"
Anakin's expression tightened slightly. "Angry."
Palpatine's mouth curved with faint sympathy. "Understandably, I imagine."
"She walked into the middle of an operation she was never cleared to know existed."
"An unfortunate collision of responsibilities," Palpatine said, moving slowly around the desk. "The Jedi were sent to protect what the Republic believed to be vulnerable leadership. Oblivion Cell was sent because the truth underneath that leadership was far more dangerous. These things happen in war, though that never makes them pleasant."
Anakin looked toward the window, watching a line of airspeeders drift between two distant towers.
"She contacted the Council?"
"She did," Palpatine said. "Master Windu informed my office of her concerns soon after. He was… firm, though not unreasonable."
That drew a faint, humorless smile from Anakin. "That sounds like him."
Palpatine chuckled softly, then let the humor fade.
"Master Skywalker, I won't pretend the arrangement is comfortable for everyone. It isn't. Oblivion Cell exists because there are threats the Senate cannot debate quickly enough, and dangers the Jedi cannot always approach openly without causing greater harm. That burden falls on very few shoulders."
His eyes lifted to Anakin's.
"And too often, lately, it falls on yours."
Anakin said nothing.
He had learned long ago that Palpatine understood when silence was an answer. Most people rushed to fill quiet with their own opinions. Palpatine let it breathe until the other person decided what shape it would take.
After a moment, Anakin said, "Unduli thinks I'm becoming something the Order should fear."
Palpatine's expression softened.
"Do you believe that?"
Anakin looked back at him. "I don't know."
It was an honest answer, and he disliked how easily it came.
Palpatine moved closer, not enough to crowd him, but enough to make the conversation feel less official.
"I've watched you serve this Republic since you were a boy," he said. "I've watched the Jedi ask impossible restraint of you, the Senate ask impossible victories, and the people ask impossible protection. You have given all of them more than they deserved, and still you question whether it is enough."
Anakin's jaw flexed slightly.
"Some of what I do isn't Jedi work."
"No," Palpatine admitted. "Perhaps it isn't."
That surprised him enough to make him look fully at the Chancellor again.
Palpatine did not shy away from the admission.
"But the Republic is not defended only by ideals carved in temple stone," he continued. "It is defended by those willing to act when hesitation would cost lives. Master Unduli is a noble Jedi, but nobility does not always stop a betrayal before it reaches the enemy."
Anakin's eyes lowered briefly.
Vel Astra's palace flashed through his mind. Dead nobles. Dead royals. Alpha-17 wounded against the wall. Ahsoka staring at him like she had seen a door open into a room she had never known existed.
Palpatine's voice softened further.
"You're not cruel, Anakin. That is why these things trouble you."
Anakin almost laughed at that, but the sound never quite formed.
"I'm not sure everyone would agree."
"Everyone need not agree for something to be true."
The old man smiled faintly, then seemed to look at Anakin more carefully, as though only now allowing himself to fully address what stood before him.
"You do seem taller."
Anakin glanced down at himself, then back up. "I am."
"How much taller, if I may ask?"
"Seven feet."
Palpatine's brows rose with precisely measured surprise. Not too much. Not theatrical. Just enough.
"The accident must have been more severe than your reports suggested."
Anakin's hand tightened slightly around the edge of his mask.
"The explosion triggered complications. Damask performed a procedure to keep me alive."
"Ah," Palpatine said, and the concern returned at once. "The accident. I confess, when I first heard of it, I feared we might lose you. I've had too many reports cross my desk since this war began, but few unsettled me as much as that one."
Anakin looked at him.
There it was again. That fatherly warmth. That sense that, beneath all the titles and politics and heavy robes, Palpatine cared about him rather than the war machine attached to his name.
"Thank you, Chancellor."
"No thanks are necessary. I would be a poor friend if your survival did not matter to me."
Anakin's expression softened slightly.
"The procedure worked," he said, though even saying it felt too simple for what had happened. "But there were changes. Unforeseen ones."
Palpatine studied him with gentle concern, though behind his eyes, thoughts moved faster than any ordinary man's should have.
"Changes beyond height and strength?"
Anakin nodded. "My body isn't the same. My senses are sharper. My metabolism is different. I'm still adjusting."
"And your health?"
"Stable."
"I'm relieved to hear it."
Palpatine turned slightly, walking toward one of the tall windows. Anakin followed at a slower pace, standing beside him as Coruscant glittered below.
After a moment, the Chancellor said, carefully, "May I ask a personal question?"
Anakin gave him a sidelong look. "You usually do."
Palpatine smiled. "True enough. I hope I've earned some permission."
"You have."
Palpatine's gaze remained outward. "Do these changes affect your lineage?"
Anakin went still.
"My lineage?"
"You are the last of your kind," Palpatine said gently. "That has always carried a sorrow I cannot pretend to understand. If this procedure altered you so deeply, I wondered whether it threatened—or perhaps complicated—the possibility of children one day."
Anakin looked back toward the skyline.
"I don't know."
"Has Damask said?"
"Not enough."
The Chancellor nodded as though that answer troubled him.
"And the Council?" he asked. "Have they reconsidered the question of marriage?"
Anakin's mouth tightened. "No."
Palpatine turned toward him now. "Still?"
"The war has made it worse. They see marriage and family as distractions. Attachments. Complications."
"How disappointing."
Anakin's eyes narrowed slightly, not at Palpatine, but at the familiar frustration the subject always stirred in him.
"They think they're protecting me from myself."
"Perhaps," Palpatine said. "But they also risk denying the galaxy the return of a people thought lost to history."
Anakin looked at him sharply.
Palpatine did not rush. He let the thought unfold.
"You told me once that the Sith Purebloods were not the monsters history reduced them to," he said. "That they were a people, with houses, traditions, warriors, scholars, rulers, failures, and triumphs. The Republic may fear the word Sith, but fear is often born from ignorance. If your people could return, even in part, perhaps the galaxy would learn to see more than old legends."
Anakin smiled faintly despite himself.
"You make it sound simple."
"I make it sound worthwhile."
"There are no Sith Pureblood women left," Anakin said. "Even if I had children, they'd be mixed. Half-breeds at most."
Palpatine's expression remained thoughtful, sympathetic, and just curious enough.
"Perhaps," he said. "But then again, your species was believed gone entirely, and yet here you stand. Biology has surprised the galaxy before. A human mother, perhaps, might not produce what expected theory would suggest."
Anakin glanced at him. "You're very enthusiastic about this."
The Chancellor gave a warm laugh. "Forgive an old man his hope. The Republic has lost so much to this war. I find myself drawn to any thought of restoration."
That was perfectly said.
Too perfectly, perhaps, but Anakin did not see it.
Instead he thought of Padmé.
Of Dromund Kaas rain against dark windows.
Of her hands over his chest, feeling both hearts beneath her palm.
Of the fact that she knew him without the mask, without the armor, without the legend everyone else kept building around him.
The thought warmed him, and because everything in him was still too amplified, too close to the surface, he had to force that warmth back into privacy.
Palpatine watched him with the care of a man who noticed everything and seemed to judge nothing.
Anakin looked away first.
"I should go," he said. "I'm meeting with Qui-Gon."
"Ah, Master Jinn," Palpatine said. clasping his hands together, "I imagine he has much to say after recent events."
Anakin huffed softly. "That's one way to put it."
"Do tell him I said hello."
"I will."
Anakin lifted his mask.
For a moment, he hesitated.
There were very few beings in the galaxy who had seen his face and lived with his permission. Padmé. Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan only recently and under circumstances Anakin still disliked thinking about. A few others from older, harsher parts of his life. And Palpatine.
The Chancellor had never made him regret it.
That was the danger.
Anakin placed the mask over his face.
The seals locked with a soft hiss.
When he spoke again, his voice carried through the old filter, colder and more distant than the man beneath it.
"Thank you, Chancellor."
Palpatine bowed his head slightly. "Always, my boy."
Anakin turned and left.
The doors to the office opened and closed behind him, and the chamber returned to quiet.
For several seconds, Palpatine remained by the window, hands folded before him, watching the endless traffic of Coruscant pass below.
Only when he was certain he was alone did the warmth fade from his face.
Seven feet tall.
Changed by Damask, by Plaguies
More volatile, perhaps. More powerful certainly.
And still foolish enough to confuse acceptance with loyalty.
A slow, thin smile touched Palpatine's mouth.
"My boy," he murmured again, though this time the words held no kindness at all.
Then he turned back toward his desk, already considering how best to use the future Anakin Skywalker believed he still controlled.