Star Wars: Anniversary

Today is Empire Day.

Exactly one year ago, the newly crowned Emperor Palpatine declared that the day he turned the Republic into his New Order would be celebrated through the ages as Empire Day, a Galactic holiday to be remembered by all citizens. On every planet in every system within the grasp of his new regime, sentient beings would gather in celebration to commemorate this momentous occasion with grandiose patriotic displays and a series of mandatory parades and other events. Stormtroopers lined the streets in every major city across the stars, preparing for the festivities as beings woke up late, having the day free from their regular jobs as dictated by the Imperial Senate and the office of the Emperor himself.

Jedi Knight Kael Manta, however, has no reason to celebrate.

He remembers Empire Day as the marking not of some glorious and wonderful celebration of freedom, but as a reminder of the day all those he cared about, as much as a Jedi could care about such things, met their untimely end. The day that everything he believed in his entire life had come crumbling down: his order, his government, and his freedom had died alongside his friends.

It was morning on the planet Gant-Mooda, an Outer Rim world plagued by harsh winters with only a few months break for the spring season, where the snow was replaced by rain and the planet turned from beautiful white to muddy brown and green as the foliage desperately attempted to come to life while it could. The buildings in the capital city of Gantglora were covered in thick brown mud, the rains causing the sludge of the ground to rise upward and splatter on anything remotely close to land. Citizens already worked tirelessly to set up bandstands and massive holograms of the Imperial banner under the watchful eye of Stormtroopers whose armor had months ago been stark white, but was now covered in the same mess as the buildings. The parade grounds were nearly complete, and it was a matter of hours before citizens would file around the capitol to watch the Emperor's live Holonet broadcast.

Kael Manta watched it all from atop one of the short buildings built to withstand the harsh winds of winter. Exactly a year ago he had proudly worn the brown and tan robes of a Jedi, but had long since been forced to trade them in for something less conspicuous, simple grey and black civilian attire. He had been considered handsome then, too, but stress had seemed to age him a decade in that single year. Dark hair had become unkempt and greasy with rain and mud, a once clean shaven face now covered in patchy stubble; eyes that were once bright were red and baggy from a lack of sleep. He tried his best to avoid slumber and the horrible nightmares it brought, be it from memories of the past or visions of horror he believed to be from the Force itself. His belt had once held a lightsaber, the elegant weapon of a Jedi, but now only an old, rusted E-7 blaster rifle clinked with a hollow thud against his leg whenever he walked.

Stormtroopers began to take sniper positions on near bye buildings, and it was than he decided to move out. When he felt that thud against his leg, the secrets that simple looking weapon held, he was overcome by memory. It happened to him all the time, be it the will of the Force or merely dementia finally starting to set in, and he froze in place, his vision turning cloudy and replaced by a memory so real it may as well have been happening right there. During the Clone Wars he had been regarded as an expert in lightsaber combat, rivaling many who'd been in the Order decades longer than he had, but it had not always been so…

In one of the dozen sparring rooms of the grand Jedi Temple on Coruscant, Padawan learner Kael Manta stood on the safety mat that would ensure he did not hurt himself if he was knocked down. It wasn't falling he was worried about, though. The crowd of Jedi around him watched with wide, expectant eyes, he could feel his heart thumping though the exercise hadn't even begun. This was mainly because the eyes weren't focused on him at all, but rather his opponent who stood on the other side of the mat.

He was Anakin Skywalker. Kael was a good three years older than Skywalker, though he knew his experience would not matter in this fight. Anakin was still just a Padawan, like he was, and at fifteen years of age had only been in the Jedi Order for about five standard years. Why the Council had decided to break its own rules and let Skywalker become a Jedi at such an old age wasn't something they discussed openly, but even in the Temple the rumor mill was churning. Anakin Skywalker was the Chosen One. Destined to bring balance to the Force, to become the most powerful Jedi ever, to destroy the Sith and usher in an eternity of peace free of tyranny and oppression.

Most Jedi had never even heard of the prophecy before Anakin's arrival, but Kael certainly had. His Master, an aging Rodian named Saanbo, had long been a friend of the deceased Qui-Gon Jinn, and had well studied the more archaic tomes found in the Jedi Archives. He had made sure his apprentice did the same. "It is interesting," he had once said, "to see what the Jedi of old had to say about what would unfold in modern times. It is just as interesting to see how often wrong their predictions were. Through their failure we learn of what is perhaps the only substantial truth outside of the Force itself: that the future never quite unfolds as expected, and especially not as desired." The way Skywalker had already been performing with only minimal training, and the legends of his exploits at even such a young age, made both Master and Apprentice wonder if perhaps on occasion things went exactly as expected.

Many did not share their appraisal of the situation, at least not yet, which was why the sparring chamber was particularly crowded for such a routine exercise, filled with Jedi from every rank and walk of life, even many members of the Council. There had been rumors that the Chancellor himself had intended to view this exercise, but the Council had not allowed it. Non-Jedi were not allowed to participate in such practices, and even the most powerful man in the Galaxy was not exempt from their rules within the Temple. Palpatine had, supposedly, not taken this rejection very well.

Politics were the least of Kael's concern at the moment, though. The crowd didn't bother him either, they certainly weren't there to see him. The two of them were well beyond the age of using the low-frequency practice blades that Younglings used to train, their lightsabers were the real thing, of their own personal making. Failure in this mock-battle wasn't his greatest concern either, though Master Saanbo had often scolded him for taking such losses personally. Even within the Jedi Temple, surrounded by the most powerful Jedi of the Order, accidents could still happen. And when accidents happened at the Temple these days, Skywalker was almost always the one to blame.

He cleared his mind, worry was the same as fear, and such things were not the Jedi way. It was easy to find one's center here at the Temple, at the crux of all that was good and righteous. Almost too easy, many Jedi complained, which often caused problems for Padawans on their first missions away from the Temple. But the future, however much it interested him and his Master, was not to be concerned with at the moment either. Whatever happened would happen, it was merely his duty to show the others what he had learned since his last victory in the circle, as close of a call as it had been, whether they were interested in him or not.

"Ignite," this was the voice of Mace Windu, the most respected Jedi of the Order second only to Master Yoda himself, who had his own skeptical interest in Skywalker and had taken this day as a rare moment away from the Council chambers to oversee the duel personally. The silence of the crowd was shattered by the familiar snap-hiss of Anakin thumbing his lightsaber to life, adding a faint blue glow to the artificially lit combat circle. Kael simply stood there stiffly, watching the blade creep forward from the emitter of Skywalker's lightsaber for a long moment. "Ignite, Padawan Manta," Master Windu's tone was harsh, as it often was, and in an instant another soft hum sprang forth, a cylinder of green joining that of Skywalker's blue. "You are both familiar with the rules," Mace continued, "whomever causes the other to lose his footing or be forced from the circle first is the victor." He gave a long, sharp gaze toward Anakin. "This is not a test of strength, but a test of skill. If either of you should land a physical blow to the other, it will be cause for immediate disqualification and appropriate punishment, is this clear?" He couldn't help but note the grin creeping across the lips of the Chosen One as he nodded. Kael quickly followed suit, though his expression remained deadpan. "Good. You may begin."

As soon as Master Windu spoke the words Kael held his green blade horizontally across his chest, the most basic of Form I opening maneuvers. Skywalker, apparently, had no time for the basics. Anakin's booted feet instantly lifted from the ground, his blade pointed forward in a direct bee-line to Kael's neck. Kael twisted his blade upward, feeling resistance and seeing golden sparks as he caught the underside of Skywalker's saber beam, sending it twirling harmlessly to the right. Instinctually, most Jedi would back off after the failure of such a move, but Skywalker apparently didn't have time for instincts, either. He followed through, spinning around so quickly that Kael didn't have the time to take advantage of the moment his back was turned. The blue blade swung low, toward his knees, and with the aid of the Force Kael hopped into the air, in the same motion bringing his blade down like a hammer toward Skywalker's head. Somehow, Anakin's blade was already there to catch it.

"Predictable," Skywalker muttered, and in that moment Kael realized the grin had never left the Chosen One's face. Seemingly in the same moment, Anakin's blade slid up along the length of Kael's, applying pressure when it reached the tip of the blade, an almost inhuman amount. It happened so quickly, so surprisingly, Kael couldn't figure out if it was Skywalker's own strength of a push from the Force, but before he could react it was too much for even his two-handed grip, and the cylindrical weapon flew from his hands, flying off to his left. Padawans scattered as the green blade twirled through the air, but the emitter clicked off, the beam sizzling back down into the hilt to let it hit the wall of the sparring room noisily. Kael turned his head a mere fraction of an inch to watch his lightsaber fly away, and only when he felt a searing pain under his right arm did he remember his lessons about distraction. He looked down, almost in shock, to see Anakin's blue blade had tucked itself under his arm, the weapon instantly sizzling his robes there into nothingness, its outer edge just barely making contact with his flesh.

It felt like a lifetime, but to the observer it was less than a second. Kael yelped loudly, the pain from even such a minor contact was excruciating, crippling. He stumbled backwards, landing flat on his back just outside the circle. Everyone in the room remained silent, the only noise being the inverted hiss-snap as Anakin flicked his blade off, still grinning, and bowed toward his opponent. Much to his surprise, the pain that seemed like it would kill him only moments before had faded, though he could feel the gash in his armpit.

"Padawan Skywalker!" Kael couldn't see for himself, but the voice was clearly that of an enraged Mace Windu, "Did I not instruct you of the terms? Or has your arrogance once again blinded you even to the words of the Council itself!"

"I'm sorry, Master Windu," he could still only see the artificial lights above, but this was clearly Skywalker, who didn't sound particularly concerned, "but my opponent leaned into my blade himself, it's obviously not my fault."

"Once again you fail to take responsibility for your own actions," Mace's voice had turned from a borderline yell to the harsh tone one would take toward a youngling, "We will discuss your punishment in front of the Council… as usual. This exercise is over."

Kael could sense the presence of Master Windu leaving the room, and suddenly he found himself being helped to his feet by an unknown form. His head managed to turn and catch a glimpse of the rugged, bearded face of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Skywalker's master, giving him an apologetic look and patting him softly on the back.

"I do hope you can forgive young Skywalker," Obi-Wan's eyes flashed to his apprentice, narrowing to express his disapproval, "he does get ever-so carried away sometimes. There are healers on the way." Obi-Wan stepped up to his apprentice, shooting him the same disappointed look. Anakin hung his head and shame, but before leaving Obi-Wan turned back to the injured Padawan. "At the very least, I hope you have learned from this exercise. Come along, Anakin, we have much to discuss." Anakin didn't seem to mind Kenobi's scolding tone, and before he left to leave with his master, young Skywalker turned to flash Kael the same smug, lop-sided grin he'd held throughout their fight.

Kael wasn't sure exactly how long had passed when he came to, once more back on the planet Gant-Mooda, to reality. It must have been long enough, because the festivities had already begun. He shuffled his way forward, the mud seeping up to his ankles as he reached the back of the crowd, which was mostly human, though several Duro and Rodians were noticeably scattered throughout. A squadron of white-armored Stormtroopers stood at attention in front of a main hologram projector, a live HoloNet feed from Coruscant, where a small child, dressed in the fatigues of the Imperial Youth program, was singing.

Savior of a thousand stars,

Across our vast galaxy.

For freedom and justice he fought,

So that we all could be free.

Hail our beloved Emperor,

Our futures are bright as a star beam.

Hail our glorious Emperor,

Hail, Hail, his Highness Palpatine!

The audience both on Coruscant and Gant-Mooda, and across the entire galaxy, erupted into applause as the young man gave a low bow. Kael could feel his stomach twisting inside him, he had to close his eyes and maintain his focus just to keep from retching. When he finally looked back up and came to his senses, he could hear the roar of the crowd as the Emperor stepped onto a podium high above Imperial Plaza. Appearances by Palpatine had grown rare, and it was obvious why. The lighting and angle of the holocam did it's best to hide his gnarled, deformed visage in shadow, but those piercing reptilian eyes almost seemed to be glowing under his dark hood, looking out over the crowd, and in turn, the Galaxy itself, his hideous teeth twisted in what was an attempt at a smile.

"Citizens of the Empire," his croaky voice began, "it was on this day only one standard year ago the shackles of inadequacy and failure that defined the Old Republic were finally broken. Only with our sheer power of will were we able to overcome the treachery that had infiltrated our grand institution, and only with your support have we brought all traitors to justice!"

Kael almost keeled over again. He knew Palpatine would not speak the names of this supposed "traitors," the Jedi Order. To even speak the word "Jedi" was considered a crime in and of itself in the Empire. Even now, only a year after the clones turned on their masters, it seemed the Galaxy as a whole had forgotten the Jedi all together. Or perhaps they simply chose to, or worse, were forced to.

"And now we are truly free," Palpatine continued, "through the strength of my Empire at long last justice can be served, peace can be maintained, and freedom can reign!"

The Jedi closed his eyes. The words burned him, he could physically feel his frustration deep in his stomach. He didn't know the full story, no one did, but he knew all he needed: the Jedi had been betrayed by those closest to them, and the leaders of the Republic they had spent thousands of years protecting. Palpatine had turned an institution that was admittedly imperfect into one that was purely unjust. Worst of all, the citizens of the Galaxy had simply allowed it to happen, as if such a drastic change was necessary, as though they themselves wouldn't feel the wrath of the Emperor and the Sith.

Just thinking about it made him feel something he'd felt many times since the fall of the Jedi: anger, rage, hatred. It was the Dark Side, any Jedi would recognize that, and he'd done his best to simply push it aside, to replace his feelings of anger with those of hope. But after a year of wandering the Galaxy, all hope had died. There were reports of uprisings here and there, but all of them were squashed so quickly they may as well have never happened, and in the eyes of the Imperial media, they hadn't.

Kael couldn't bare any more, he turned from the crowd and began to walk away. Let them enjoy their ceremony; let them cheer for the man who would brought tyranny across the stars. When the stormtroopers came knocking at their door, they'd all realize what they'd done. If they were so quick to turn on the Jedi after all they'd done to protect them, they deserved what was coming to them.

He was so lost in thought, it took him a long moment to hear the clicking sound behind him. Kael didn't turn, he didn't need to. Through the Force he felt the presences of three figures behind him, simple-minded and purely instinctual in action: Imperial Stormtroopers.

"Citizen," the harsh voice was filtered through a helmet communicator, "participation in Empire Day festivities is mandatory. Return to the parade immediately."

Kael stopped, but did not turn around. His hand lowered to his side, reaching into his cloak and withdrawing the E-7 blaster rifle from inside.

"He's got a blaster!" another filtered voice said.

"Drop it!" from the leader.

"Alright, alright, I don't want any trouble," Kael loosened his grip on the rifle. It fell to the ground, landing with a loud thud. To the surprise of the stormtroopers, the handle of the rifle seemed to break off the moment it hit. The barrel skittered forward, sliding off into the alley. The main stock of the rifle split in two, a small, cylindrical object that had been wedged in-between it laying flat on the ground. Kael finished his statement: "…just revenge."

The cylinder flew from the ground and into his open right hand. The sound was unmistakable, a sharp snap-hiss followed by a soft green glow illuminating the alleyway. The troopers barked commands to each other, but Kael couldn't hear them. All he could feel was his rage, the Force, a new Force like he'd never felt, guiding his actions. He still didn't hear anything, but he could feel their rifles firing, crimson streaks shooting toward his turned back. He spun on his heel, raising his lightsaber in a fluid movement to send two bolts back at his attackers. The stormtroopers fell to the ground, smoking holes in their chest-plates. He lunged forward, slashing his blade upward and destroying the leader's rifle, then bringing it back down to chop at his white helmet like a vibro-axe to wood.

The crowd near bye began to fill with terror, screams and shouts that Kael still couldn't hear where let loose as everything turned to chaos. That chaos only fueled him. The crowd began to scatter for whatever relative safety it could find, stormtroopers running from their parade positions toward the source of the drama. A sniper attempted to fire on him from above, but he simply raised his blade and sent the bolt back at him. Another tried the same, this time from behind, and Kael's lightsaber found its mark as he brought it horizontally behind his back, the bolt once more screaming back toward a rooftop.

The stormtoopers came at him with single-minded purpose, and Kael charged. He knew the Dark Side was fueling him, whispering thoughts of revenge for his fallen brothers into his mind. He didn't care. The Jedi were no more, what difference did it make if he embraced his hatred and simply did what damage he could? His feet pushed off the ground, flipping through the air and landing directly in the center of the crowd of two dozen stormtroopers. The green blade cut a swath through those immediately around him, sending five bodies to the ground. Red bolts came at him from all directions, but he moved as if they were no concern. He moved again, relieving the nearest trooper of his head, then another of both his arms, a boot sending him falling back into another just as he fired, the blaster bolt cutting right through the chest of the amputee.

His right arm, clutching his lightsaber, blocked incoming fire, while his left raised with an open palm toward a massive hunk of duracreet holding the Imperial banner high. The pedestal shook violently, before finally falling free with a push from the Force, falling onto the crowd and flattening stormtroopers and a few unlucky civilians with a frightening crunch. The banner itself snapped free, and in a moment it was flying through the air, the pointed tip slamming through the chests of three stormtroopers who were attempting to hold a battle line, pinning their lifeless bodies against a thick wall.

Kael was kneeling in the parade square, surrounded by shattered white armor and the disturbing sludge of mud mixed with gore. It could have been hours or days since his rampage, time had lost all meaning. He was the only living being left in the square, the citizens had retreated to the safety of their homes. He couldn't feel their presences, he was focused on another. Something was approaching.

He'd never felt anything like it. Burning hatred surrounded by bleak darkness, like a fire that somehow cast shadow instead of light. His own rage, his own fury, fueled by the Dark Side as he knew it was, was nothing compared to this, even after his bloody rampage. There was only one being in all existence who could give such an aura.

There were many theories spoken in hushed whispers in the back rooms of cantinas as to who, or what, Darth Vader truly was. Some said it was Count Dooku, who in actuality never met his fate aboard the Invisible Hand, reconstructed from his injuries into a robotic shell. Kael had known Dooku, and he knew better. Others said it was the terrifying General Grievous, his biological remains made into something more efficient then the insect-like form he'd assumed during the Clone Wars. Kael had faced Grievous, and barely survived, and likewise knew it couldn't be true. Some theorized it was any of the hundreds of Jedi presumed dead during the last battles of the Clone Wars, twisted by the Dark Side and joining a new master to destroy their former brothers, perhaps the venerable Mace Windu, the fierce Plo Koon, or the noble Ki Adi Mundi. But this could not be true. He had felt their deaths, each and every one, like an explosion in the Force.

Kael was surprised to find his hearing had finally returned. He wished it hadn't. The only sound to break the monotony of the harsh winds was a sharp, terrifying hiss that echoed around him at a steady pace: breathing. Kael rose from his crouch, turning to face the direction of the sound. It seemed to be all around him, but standing only meters away was the unmistakable form of Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith. The fire of rage was so close he could feel it physically burning him.

The dark, shadowy form was enough to scare even a Jedi, and even one who had moments ago embraced the Dark Side. Blackness, a living shadow, covered in sleek, dark armor that conjured images of mythological black knights who would raid villages and kidnap the young as they slept. The dark monotony was only broken by lifeless, red-tinted lenses that served as eyes, and soft blinking lights on a square chest plate.

"Jedi Kael Manta," a booming voice, deep and completely inhuman, spoke. "Death surrounds you."

There was a long pause, enough time for Kael to look about his feet, to see the broken bodies of dozens of stormtroopers all around him. He'd done it, he'd given in, but he felt no regret. Perhaps the Dark Side had consumed him so completely he could feel no remorse, or perhaps he'd simply lost his sanity. It did not matter. All that mattered was the figure in front of him, that harsh breathing drumming in his head and heart. He wanted the sound to stop.

"And now," Lord Vader continued, "death has come for you, as it has come for all your kind."

Their lightsabers ignited in unison, exotic green and deep crimson. Kael did not speak. He wanted the sound to stop, to feel the peaceful silence he'd felt before. He charged. His lightsaber swung high, for an instant killing blow toward Vader's neck. The Dark Lord deflected it with ease, bringing his own red beam to block. A black glove outstretched, sending Kael tumbling backwards over his head with a push of the Force. He landed with what grace he could, in a crouch, slush and blood splashing over his robes. Pieces of shattered white armor were sent into the air, slashing his leg and adding his own blood to the pool. He felt no pain. All he heard was breathing.

Kael charged again. Vader blocked his furious assault, one after another, golden sparks pouring out as their blades clashed. He could feel his energy draining, the fire that had fueled him earlier being usurped by the intensity of Vader's own. It did not stop him. The green blade swung low, toward Vader's legs, but was met by crimson. Then high, toward his dueling arm, but was again easily blocked. He stabbed forward, toward that chest plate, the source of that hideous sound, but Vader simply sent it spinning away.

He did not know if Lord Vader could sweat, but if he could he certainly wasn't. Kael was giving this battle everything he had, and Vader just stood in place, an immovable wall of dark energy. Kael took a step backward, and leapt into the air, green blade swinging down at Vader's dark helmet. The crimson was there to catch it.

"Predictable," that booming voice came, and Kael found himself locking up. Vader's crimson blade slid across the length of Kael's, hissing sparks of energy. When it reached just the tip, there was insurmountable pressure, Vader's enhanced strength, fueled by the Dark Side, was just too much. The green blade spun free of his control, spinning off to clatter into the alleyway where it had all began. He stood for a moment, weaponless, as Vader continued the same motion. His lightsaber came up, under Kael's right arm. For a microsecond he felt an old wound reopen, but then felt no pain, and was too focused on that breathing to hear the sickening thud as his arm hit the ground.

Almost paralyzed, Kael stumbled backward, his reddened, baggy eyes wide with horror. Not the horror of pain, or of fear, but of recognition. "Y-You!" he stammered, "It can't be! You traitor! You're-"

All he saw was a flash of red slice toward him, and there was no pain at all. He again didn't hear any sound as his head fell free of his body, falling to the mud and rolling to the side.

In the last seconds his brain continued to operate free of its body, Jedi Knight Kael Manta could form just one thought:

He wondered if underneath that dark helmet, Anakin Skywalker was grinning.