Anakin sat in the Council chamber, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at the assembled Jedi Masters like they were a pack of nerfs he had no patience for. His new mechanical hand rested against the arm of the chair, the soft hum of its servos still unfamiliar in his ear. He hadn't even had time to get used to the damn thing before they hauled him in here, expecting him to play their game.
"Knighted you shall be, Anakin Skywalker," Yoda said, his voice trying to be calm and wise, but it only grated on Anakin's nerves. "A general, the Republic needs. Lead a battalion of clones, you will."
Anakin stared at Yoda, then at the other Masters. His gaze fell on Obi-Wan, who sat in his new seat, looking all calm and collected, as if nothing about this situation was strange or wrong. The Council, the Republic, the clones, the war—it was all barreling ahead like a speeder with no brakes, and no one seemed to think that maybe, just maybe, they were heading straight for disaster.
The silence stretched, the air thick with tension. The Council waited for his response. They expected him to jump at the chance—become a Jedi Knight, a general, lead troops into battle. Save the Republic. Once upon a time, he would have jumped at the chance of being the hero.
But now, is not then.
"Yeah, no," Anakin said finally, leaning back in his chair like he was bored out of his mind.
The words hung in the air for a long moment. Mace Windu raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to figure out if Anakin had really just said what he thought he'd said. Yoda's ears twitched slightly, and even Obi-Wan's eyes widened a fraction.
"No?" Mace said, his voice low, the warning in it obvious. "You refuse the honor of becoming a Jedi Knight?"
"Damn right, I refuse," Anakin snapped back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thanks for the offer, really. But I think I'm gonna sit this one out."
The Council exchanged looks, and Anakin could feel the confusion rolling off them in waves. It was almost funny, watching them try to make sense of it. They were used to him being brash, reckless, impulsive. But this? This was something different, and they didn't know how to deal with it.
"Padawan," Obi-Wan said, his voice calm but with that edge of authority he always used when he thought he could keep Anakin in check. "You've been training for this. You've earned this. What's really going on?"
Anakin turned his head, meeting Obi-Wan's eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he felt… calm. Not calm in the Jedi sense, not that detached, emotionless calm they were always preaching about. No, this was more like he'd stopped fighting the storm inside him. It was still there, swirling and raging, but he wasn't drowning in it anymore.
"I don't want to be your pawn," Anakin said, his voice steady. "I'm done being a weapon for you to point at the Separatists. The galaxy's falling apart, and you think knighting me and giving me a battalion is going to fix it? Newsflash—it's not."
He could see Obi-Wan tense, but the other Jedi were still too stunned to say anything. They were so used to seeing him as the reckless hothead that they couldn't comprehend that he might actually be thinking things through for once.
"You're letting your emotions cloud your judgment," Mace said, his tone clipped. It was typical of Mace—always ready to accuse Anakin of being too emotional, too attached. As if the Jedi weren't constantly pushing their own agenda on the galaxy, pretending they were the arbiters of peace when all they were doing was fanning the flames of war.
Anakin let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Really, Master Windu? That's what you're going with? My emotions? The Republic's at war, the Chancellor's consolidating power like a Hutt hoarding credits, and you're worried about my emotions?"
Mace's eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything, Anakin leaned forward, his mechanical hand flexing. "Here's the thing," Anakin continued, his voice low, but cutting through the room like a lightsaber. "I've spent my whole life fighting—first as a slave, then as a Jedi. And for what? For a Republic that's falling apart from the inside out? For a Council that's too blind to see that their precious Order is cracking at the seams?"
"Careful, Skywalker," Mace warned, his voice tight.
But Anakin wasn't going to back down. Not this time. He was tired of the endless lectures, the constant pressure, the impossible expectations. Tired of being told he was special, only to be treated like a tool, a weapon to be used when convenient and cast aside when not.
"You think knighting me will change anything?" Anakin asked, his voice rising. "You think giving me a rank and some clones to command will fix the mess the galaxy is in? Wake up. This war is just the beginning. You're all so focused on winning battles that you don't even see the bigger picture."
The silence was deafening. Yoda's expression was unreadable, but Anakin could sense his concern, his doubt. Obi-Wan looked like he wanted to say something, but even he didn't seem to know what. And for the first time, Anakin could see it—see that they were all as lost as he was.
"Anakin," Obi-Wan started, his voice softer this time. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I don't want to be part of this," Anakin said, standing up, his mechanical hand curling into a fist at his side. "You want me to fight for the Republic? No way! I'm not going to be your puppet, and I'm not going to pretend that becoming a Jedi Knight is going to change anything. This war—it's bigger than the Republic, bigger than the Jedi. And if you can't see that, then you're more blind than I thought."
He turned, heading for the door. The Council was silent behind him, too stunned to stop him. And for the first time in a long time, Anakin felt a strange sense of peace. Not because everything was fine—not by a long shot. But because, for once, he wasn't letting the Council or the war or anyone else dictate his choices.
The Force swirled around him, still wild and chaotic, but now… it felt like an extension of him. Not a burden, not something he had to control or suppress, but a part of who he was. The storm raged on, but Anakin was at the center of it now. And for once, he was okay with that.
Anakin could feel the weight of their stares boring into him as he walked toward the chamber doors. He knew the Council wouldn't let him leave without one last attempt to reel him back in. It wasn't in their nature to let things go, especially when it came to him. And sure enough, just as he was about to cross the threshold, a voice rang out.
"Skywalker, wait."
Anakin stopped, turning slowly on his heel, his eyes settling on Ki-Adi-Mundi, who looked like he was one step away from throwing a temper tantrum—though, of course, the Jedi would never call it that. Anakin could already feel the lecture forming in the Master's mind, the way the man's brow furrowed in righteous indignation.
"The war is not senseless," Ki-Adi-Mundi said, his tone so full of self-importance that Anakin had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. "It is the Jedi's mission to defeat the Sith, who are behind the Separatists. Surely, even you can see that."
"Since when?" Anakin shot back, without missing a beat.
And just like that, the room went so quiet you could hear a gundark sneeze.
The question hung in the air, heavy and sharp, slicing through the Council's carefully constructed sense of purpose. Anakin crossed his arms, tilting his head as he scanned their faces, one by one. They all looked like he'd just slapped them, like it had never occurred to them that someone would even dare to ask that.
"Since when was it the Jedi's job to fight wars?" Anakin continued, his voice laced with sarcasm, but underneath that, there was a bitter edge. "Last I checked, we were supposed to serve the Force. Not the Republic. Not the Chancellor. And definitely not your never-ending political games."
Ki-Adi-Mundi's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, clearly scrambling for a retort. But he had nothing. They all had nothing. Because deep down, they knew he was right. The Council had been bending over backward to justify their involvement in the war, convincing themselves that they were still serving the light side, that the Republic's cause was righteous. But the truth was much messier than that.
Anakin could see Obi-Wan sitting there, looking like he wanted to say something but didn't know how. Maybe he was realizing it too—that the lines between right and wrong, light and dark, had been blurring for a while now. The war will turn them all into something they weren't supposed to be.
"The Jedi Order has always confused me," Anakin went on, pacing slightly now, his words gaining momentum. "When I first got to Coruscant, when Qui-Gon brought me here, I thought I was going to learn how to listen to the Force. How to be its servant. That's what Qui-Gon believed. He always trusted in the will of the Force, even when it didn't align with what the Council wanted."
He paused, his jaw tightening at the memory of his old mentor. Qui-Gon had been different—stubborn, rebellious, but in a way that made sense. He hadn't just blindly followed orders or traditions because that's how things were done. Qui-Gon had believed in something deeper, something purer.
"Qui-Gon taught me that the Force was bigger than any one person, any one system," Anakin continued, his voice quieter but no less intense. "He said the Force had a will of its own, and our job as Jedi was to follow it. But time and time again, whenever I've tried to do that, I get shut down."
Mace shifted in his seat, but Anakin wasn't going to let him speak. Not yet.
"I've lost count of how many times I've been reprimanded because I didn't follow the parameters of some mission," Anakin said, his frustration spilling out now, his eyes narrowing at the Council. "Because what I felt through the Force didn't align with what the Republic wanted."
Yoda's ears twitched, but the little green Jedi Master remained silent, his eyes sharp, thoughtful. Anakin wasn't sure if Yoda was actually listening or if he was just waiting for the right moment to dispense another one of his cryptic nuggets of wisdom.
"The message has been loud and clear," Anakin went on, voice rising again. "The Republic comes first. Not the Force. That's the lesson I've been taught ever since I got here. And the truth is, you don't want Jedi who follow the Force. You want soldiers. Puppets."
There it was. The thing no one wanted to say out loud. The war had twisted the Jedi Order into something unrecognizable, something Anakin wanted no part of.
Obi-Wan's eyes flickered with something—was it regret? Sadness? Anakin wasn't sure. He'd spent too many years watching Obi-Wan toe the line, following orders like a good soldier even when he knew something wasn't right. That's what the Jedi had become: enforcers for the Republic, peacekeepers in name only, clinging to their rigid codes while the galaxy spiraled into chaos.
Mace finally spoke up, his voice cold and unyielding. "We serve the Republic because it is the will of the people. The Senate is the voice of democracy. You would abandon that?"
Anakin gave him a look that was pure venom. "The Senate? Really, Master Windu? You're going to sit there and tell me that the Senate—the same Senate that's more corrupt than a Hutt crime lord's palace—is the beacon of justice we're all supposed to follow? Don't make me laugh."
Mace's jaw tightened, but Anakin didn't care. He was done with this charade. Done pretending that the Jedi were somehow above all the corruption and the power struggles that had poisoned the Republic from the inside out.
"This war isn't about the Sith," Anakin said, his voice sharp and cutting. "It's about control. The Republic wants to hold onto its power, and the Separatists want to tear it down. And you're all too busy playing politics to see that we've already lost."
The Council sat in stunned silence, no one daring to interrupt him. For once, they were actually listening. Or maybe they just didn't know how to respond. Either way, it didn't matter to Anakin. He'd said his piece.
"This war is senseless," Anakin finished, his eyes blazing. "And I won't be a part of it. Not like this."
Anakin's eyes were calm, but there was a storm brewing underneath, and for once, he wasn't the one drowning in it. He didn't continue speaking, though. Not yet. He just stood there, staring them down, waiting for the inevitable chorus of self-righteous indignation. They didn't disappoint.
Ki-Adi-Mundi shot to his feet. "You're out of line! You think you can just walk away from your responsibilities? From your duty as a Jedi?"
Anakin kept his mouth shut, watching as the Masters tried to regain control of the situation, like they always did. More scolding, more lectures. More fear. But there was something else now—something creeping beneath the surface of their anger. Something he could feel through the Force.
Panic.
They knew. Deep down, they knew he was right. And that scared them more than any Sith ever could.
"You would abandon everything the Jedi stand for?" Mace demanded, his voice sharp and biting. "You'd turn your back on the Republic, on the galaxy itself?"
Anakin didn't flinch. He could feel the weight of their words, their desperation to hold onto their fading sense of authority. But they were missing the point. All of them.
"You have no idea what the Jedi stand for anymore," he muttered under his breath. The Force vibrated around him, humming with a kind of strange harmony he hadn't felt in years. There was peace in the truth—something he hadn't known he needed until now.
Mace slammed his fist on the armrest of his chair. "Speak up, Skywalker. If you've got something to say, say it."
Anakin sighed, his mechanical hand flexing at his side. "I already told you. You're the ones not listening."
"You're reckless!" Ki-Adi-Mundi snapped, his face red with frustration. "You let your attachments cloud your judgment. Always have."
Anakin tilted his head, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "You sure about that?" He let the question hang, his voice so calm it felt like a challenge.
More exclamations, more outrage followed. Masters Plo Koon and Saesee Tiin tried to chime in, their voices growing louder, desperate to regain some control over the situation. But no matter how much they shouted, scolded, or lectured, Anakin remained silent, standing there like a rock in the middle of a raging river.
The more they yelled, the more the Force swirled around them, revealing something they couldn't ignore. The truth in his words. The Council might not have wanted to face it, but the Force had no such qualms. It echoed Anakin's calm, his clarity, amplifying it until it was impossible to deny.
Anakin could see it—the way their expressions shifted, from anger to confusion, to something more raw. Something like fear.
The Force resonated in the chamber, pulling at their walls of discipline and emotional restraint. Shields that had been carefully maintained for decades began to crumble. He could feel their fear creeping through the cracks, their panic as they realized they were losing control—not just of him, but of themselves. The Jedi Masters, paragons of serenity and control, were no longer hiding behind their walls.
And then, for the first time in what felt like forever, the room fell silent.
Anakin straightened, his blue eyes scanning the room. They all looked pale, shaken. Even Mace Windu—ever the stoic, ever the untouchable—had lost some of his color, his hand gripping the arm of his chair so tightly that his knuckles had gone white.
But it was Yoda, sitting quietly in his seat, who finally spoke.
"How?" Yoda's voice was soft but carried through the room like a bell. His eyes, sharp and wise, pierced through Anakin as if searching for some hidden meaning. "How, Skywalker? Fight for the Republic, we must. How is that not the same as serving it?"
Anakin almost smiled at the question, but it wasn't out of joy. More like disbelief that even Yoda, the supposed wisest of them all, didn't understand. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe none of them had ever really understood.
He took a deep breath, feeling the Force pulse through him. "The Republic," Anakin said, his voice steady, but louder now, cutting through the tension in the room, "isn't the Senate. And it's definitely not the Chancellor."
He paused, making sure his words sank in. He wanted them to hear this—really hear it.
"The Republic is the laws it stands for. The principles it was built on. Freedom. Justice. Equality." His eyes flickered over to Obi-Wan, who sat there, quiet, watching, his expression unreadable. "But the Senate doesn't care about any of that anymore. They care about power. About holding onto control, no matter what it costs. And the Jedi? You're not serving the Republic anymore. You're serving them."
A few of the Masters shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but none of them dared interrupt.
"Tell me," Anakin continued, his tone sharper now, more pointed. "What laws are the Separatists breaking by wanting to leave the Republic? They have every right to demand their independence. There's no law stopping them. If anything, the law protects their right to secede."
Anakin could see the way those words hit the Council like a punch to the gut. Their faces paled further, horror creeping into their eyes as the reality of what he was saying settled over them like a suffocating fog.
They were on the wrong side.
"The only law the Senate's enforcing right now is the one that says they get to keep their power," Anakin added, his voice full of disdain. "You think you're fighting for peace? For justice? You're just enforcing the Senate's will, not the Force's."
The silence that followed was unbearable. It was like the air had been sucked out of the room. The Masters sat there, trapped in their own realization, their own doubts crashing in on them like a tidal wave.
For the first time, Anakin saw the cracks in their composure, in their sense of righteousness. The fear in the Force was palpable now, swirling around the Council chamber, no longer something they could hide. It leaked through their shields, through the layers of control they had built up over decades of following dogma, rules, and politics.
Yoda's expression didn't change much, but Anakin could feel the weight of his thoughts pressing down on the room. The old Master sat still, hands folded in his lap, but his silence said more than any words ever could.
They knew. They all knew. They just couldn't bring themselves to admit it.
And that's when Anakin knew that he wasn't the one who needed to change.
The Jedi were.
"Anakin," Obi-Wan finally spoke up, his voice a strange mix of sadness and something that might have been pride—if Anakin didn't know better. "What are you asking of us?"
Anakin met his Master's gaze, the man who had been like a brother to him, but also the one who had been blind to the truth for too long. Obi-Wan wasn't like the rest of the Council—he wasn't afraid of Anakin's power, but he was afraid of what it might mean.
"I'm asking you to stop pretending the Jedi are the same as they've always been," Anakin said quietly, but firmly. "The Order is lost, Obi-Wan. You're all lost. And you're too busy trying to cling to the past to see that the galaxy has already moved on."
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence again. Anakin could see the weight of his words pressing down on Obi-Wan, on Yoda, on all of them. The Council had spent so long convincing themselves they were the guardians of peace, the protectors of the Republic, but that Republic wasn't the one they had sworn to protect.
It was gone.
The room was thick with tension, the kind that made it hard to breathe. Anakin could feel the weight of every pair of eyes on him, every mind scrambling for some excuse, some justification for what they had become. He'd thrown the truth at them like a thermal detonator, and now they were standing in the aftermath, trying to piece themselves back together.
"The Republic," Anakin started, his voice low but unwavering, "is supposed to stand for something. Freedom, justice, the kind of stuff we tell ourselves we're fighting for. It claims to be a community free from slavery, right?" He shot a glance at Mace, who shifted uncomfortably but said nothing. "But look at us now. The Republic's been exploiting the Outer Rim for years, turning a blind eye to corruption, treating entire systems like they're beneath its notice. And you all just went along with it because it didn't affect Coruscant."
He paused, letting his words sink in, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the room.
"Yet somehow," he continued, "now the Republic's decided it's okay to use a slave army. And you—" he gestured to the Council, "the great Jedi Order, guardians of peace and justice—are just fine with it."
More silence. No one dared look him in the eye. Anakin could feel the cracks spreading, not just in their composure, but in their convictions. He had them on the ropes, and they knew it.
"The clones are not slaves," Ki-Adi-Mundi finally spoke up, but his voice lacked the confidence it usually carried. "They were created to serve the Republic. They are soldiers, bred for war."
Anakin gave a harsh laugh, the sound echoing in the chamber. "Created to serve? You hear yourself, right? You're trying to make this sound like some noble cause, like they chose this life. They didn't. You all treat them like they're tools—just like the Senate does. You will send them off to die in battles they never asked to fight, and you call it duty."
He could see some of the Masters shifting in their seats, clearly uncomfortable but unwilling to admit he had a point. They were clinging to their ideals, their illusions of righteousness, but Anakin wasn't going to let them hide behind that anymore.
"They're not slaves," Plo Koon said, his voice quieter but still resolute. "They fight willingly for the Republic."
"Willingly?" Anakin shot back, his eyes flashing. "How can you be willing to do something if you were never given a choice? They were made to fight. They were bred to be soldiers, to follow orders without question. That's not free will. That's programming."
His words hung in the air like a challenge, daring anyone to contradict him. But no one did. Not yet.
Obi-Wan watched him closely, and Anakin could feel the weight of his old Master's gaze. There was something behind Obi-Wan's calm expression, something deeper. Guilt. Regret. Anakin wasn't done yet, though. Not by a long shot.
Even with the strong bond between them, it has always been hard for Anakin to read Obi-Wan's emotions.
"You wanna talk about whether or not the clones are slaves? Fine," Anakin said, his voice growing sharper, more pointed. "Do they have any rights? Are they treated like any other sentient beings in the galaxy? Do they get a say in their own lives? Did any of you ask them if they wanted to fight?"
He let that question linger, feeling the discomfort ripple through the room like a wave.
"No. Of course, you didn't," Anakin said, answering his own question. "Because you don't care. You don't want to care. It's easier that way, isn't it? Easier to pretend that they're just soldiers, that this is all part of some grand plan."
Mace Windu shifted in his seat, his jaw clenched. Anakin could see the frustration in his eyes, the way he was barely holding back from snapping. But Windu didn't speak. Not yet.
And that's when Anakin knew he had them exactly where he wanted them.
"They were bought," Anakin said, his voice quieter now but no less powerful. "Just like slaves. Bought and paid for by the Republic. You think that's different? You think because they were grown in a lab instead of captured on some backwater planet that it changes what they are? They were purchased, just like I was."
The silence was deafening. The Force swirled around the room, thick with tension, with the unspoken truth that none of them could deny anymore. They all felt it—the horror, the realization of what they had become complicit in.
"And they're chipped," Anakin added, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Just like slaves."
That was it. That was the final blow. He could feel the shock ripple through the Force, the way the Masters' defenses shattered all at once. The horror was palpable now, hanging over the room like a dark cloud. Anakin didn't need the Force to sense it. He could see it in their faces, the way they recoiled at his words.
Obi-Wan, especially. His old Master's face had gone pale, his blue eyes wide with something that looked an awful lot like guilt. It hit Obi-Wan harder than the others because he remembered. He remembered when Anakin's own slave chip had been removed.
The memory was there, lingering in Obi-Wan's mind like a ghost. Holding a nine-year-old Anakin in his arms, the boy trembling from the shock, the pain of having the chip removed. Obi-Wan had tried to comfort him, but what could he say? What could he say to a child who had grown up knowing that one wrong move could trigger a device that would end his life in an instant?
Obi-Wan had seen the fear in Anakin's eyes that day. And now, years later, here they were, perpetuating the same system, the same cruelty, on the clones. And Obi-Wan had done nothing to stop it.
Anakin turned to Obi-Wan, meeting his gaze, and in that moment, he saw the cracks in his Master's resolve. He saw the guilt, the shame, the realization that Anakin had always been right about this. Obi-Wan had always prided himself on being the perfect Jedi, on following the Code, on doing what was right. But now, he couldn't hide from the truth.
The clones were slaves.
And they had all been part of it.
Anakin's voice was softer now, but no less intense. "I didn't leave slavery to become a tool, Obi-Wan. I didn't escape one master just to become one."
Obi-Wan flinched, the weight of those words hitting him like a landspeeder crash. The memory of that young boy his master had brought back from Tatooine, the boy he had promised to train, to protect—it haunted him now. He had failed him. He had failed to protect him from the very thing he had sworn to destroy.
Anakin let the silence stretch again, letting his words sink in, letting the Council feel the full weight of the horror they had helped create. He wasn't yelling anymore. He didn't need to. The truth was enough.
He stood there, the storm still swirling around him, but he remained the calm center, the eye of the tempest. His emotions were there, raging just beneath the surface, but he wasn't letting them control him. Not anymore. He was in control. And the Force—it resonated with him, amplifying his words, his truth.
The Council sat there, stunned into silence. No one dared to speak. Not now. What could they say? They had been exposed, their hypocrisy laid bare for all to see.
Anakin turned to leave once more, the doors sliding open before him. He could feel Obi-Wan's eyes on him, heavy with guilt, with regret. He didn't need to look back to know that the Council had finally realized the truth.
They were not serving the Republic.
They were serving the very thing they claimed to fight against.
And Anakin Skywalker? He was no one's tool. Not anymore.
Anakin stopped just before stepping through the door, sensing the shift in the Force, feeling the weight of it pressing down on the room. The Council was silent, no longer trying to shout him down or force their will upon him. For the first time, they were listening. Not because they wanted to, but because the truth was so heavy, so undeniable, that it was suffocating them.
He turned back, eyes hard but calm. "You understand now, don't you?" His voice cut through the stillness like a vibroblade. "The Jedi are peacekeepers, not generals. That's what we're supposed to be. The moment we let the Senate—and the Republic—turn us into war machines, we lose. It doesn't matter if we win this war, if we defeat the Separatists, if we take down the Sith. The Jedi will be finished."
Mace Windu shifted in his seat, his face stony but cracking around the edges. Even he couldn't hide it anymore. The truth was too powerful, too raw. But he remained silent, his words stuck in his throat.
Anakin continued, his voice growing more intense, more forceful, as he stepped back into the center of the room. "The moment we become soldiers—commanders, generals, whatever you want to call it—the Sith would have already won. You all think the Sith are hiding in the shadows, pulling the strings, waiting for their moment to strike? Well, they don't need to hide anymore. Because we're doing their work for them."
The room was heavy with the weight of the truth. It hung in the air like a thick fog, choking everyone inside. The Jedi Masters—these paragons of peace and serenity—were crumbling under it, their composure slipping away, their hands gripping the arms of their chairs as if they could ground themselves in the face of their failure.
"Slowly," Anakin said, his voice quieter now, but filled with a cold certainty, "the Jedi Order will be corrupted. It starts small—justifying a few war crimes here and there because it's 'necessary.' You tell yourselves it's for the greater good. That it's the only way to defeat the Sith. But that's a lie. Because every time you cross that line, you lose a piece of yourselves."
He could see the horror creeping into their eyes, the realization that what he was saying wasn't just a warning—it was certainty. The Jedi, will compromise themselves, already started down that dark path.
"You think that after the war is over, you can just go back to being Jedi?" Anakin's voice rose, the frustration, the bitterness pouring out of him. "You think you can just stop being soldiers, stop committing atrocities, and return to being 'keepers of the peace'? It doesn't work like that. You can't undo what you've already done. You can't erase the blood on your hands."
Mace's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing, but he said nothing. He couldn't. There were no arguments left.
"Once the war is over, no matter who wins, the Sith will have survived." Anakin's gaze swept the room, his eyes burning with a fire none of the Masters had ever seen before. "They will have survived within us. Within the Jedi. Because we will have been corrupted by the dark side."
His words echoed in the chamber, bouncing off the walls and reverberating through the Force. The truth of it hit them all like a punch in the gut. The Jedi Masters, once so sure of their purpose, so convinced of their righteousness, sat there in stunned silence, unable to refute him.
"The only ones who win this war," Anakin said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "are the Sith."
Another silence fell over the room, this one heavier than the last. The Force thrummed with the intensity of Anakin's words, amplifying them, wrapping them in undeniable truth. The Masters shifted in their seats, looking like they were drowning in the realization of what they had become. Anakin had pulled back the curtain, revealing the rot festering within the Order.
Plo Koon, his usually warm expression now tinged with something like sorrow, finally spoke up, his voice soft but filled with confusion. "How… how did we not see this? Why have we been so blind?"
Anakin's gaze snapped to Plo, and he let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "Fear," he answered, his voice hard, but not without a touch of sadness. "You were blinded by fear."
The Council sat in stunned silence, the word hanging in the air like a dagger waiting to drop.
"Fear of the dark side," Anakin continued, pacing slowly now, his mechanical hand flexing at his side. "Fear of becoming like the Sith. So much fear that you let it control you. Guide your decisions. Qui-Gon was terrified of what happened to his old Padawan—Xantus, wasn't it? The one who fell. He was so afraid of it happening again that he projected all that fear onto Obi-Wan."
He paused, his gaze flicking to Obi-Wan, who sat there, his face pale, guilt etched into every line of his expression.
"Obi-Wan was the opposite of Xantus in every way," Anakin continued, his voice softer now. "He was by the book, disciplined, calm. And Qui-Gon, because of his fear, molded Obi-Wan into the perfect Jedi soldier. The one who would never stray, who would never question the path."
Obi-Wan's eyes flickered with something—regret, shame—but he said nothing. Anakin didn't expect him to.
"But that fear didn't stop with Qui-Gon," Anakin went on, his voice rising again. "The Council was so afraid of what I might become that instead of guiding me, instead of helping a nine-year-old slave who had only known fear his whole life, you rejected me. You pushed me away. You didn't want to deal with the risk. So, you ignored it. Ignored me."
The silence that followed was suffocating, the weight of the Force pressing down on them all like a heavy cloak. Anakin could feel their fear now—palpable, choking. They had spent so long trying to suppress it, trying to pretend it didn't exist, but now it was laid bare before them. The Force pulsed with it, resonating with Anakin's words, amplifying the truth he had spoken.
"You didn't understand your own fear," Anakin said, his voice quieter but no less powerful. "You didn't acknowledge it. And because of that, you remained blind. You let it guide you, let it warp your decisions. This will continue until you become something you never thought you'd be."
He stopped pacing, standing tall in the center of the room, facing the Council with an intensity that none of them could meet.
"You became exactly what you feared," he finished, his voice sharp, cutting through the room like a lightsaber. "You will become the very thing you swore to fight."
The silence stretched on, thicker than ever. The Jedi Masters sat there, their shields crumbling, their carefully constructed walls of detachment and serenity collapsing around them. For the first time, Anakin could feel their emotions—raw, unguarded. They were afraid. Not of him. Not of the Sith. But of themselves. Of what they had become.
And for the first time, Anakin didn't feel anger. He didn't feel frustration or resentment. He felt… pity. Because he knew, deep down, that they were as trapped as he had been. Trapped by their own fear, their own dogma. And now, they were finally seeing it for what it was.
The Force resonated with his words, vibrating through the room like a living thing, making the Council members shift, their knees nearly buckling under the weight of it.
"You let fear guide you. And in doing so, you've already fallen to the dark side. The question is, will you stay there?"
The silence that followed Anakin's words was heavy, suffocating. The weight of his words lingered, pressing down on the Jedi Masters like a burden they had never prepared to carry. Each of them was wrapped in their own thoughts, grappling with the uncomfortable truths he had laid bare, truths they had refused to see for far too long.
Then, Obi-Wan broke the silence, his voice soft, but filled with something new—a quiet pride that hadn't been there before. "Anakin… what should we do?"
It was a simple question, but it cut through the tension like a lightsaber. Obi-Wan, the ever-loyal Jedi, was asking his Padawan for direction, for clarity. It was a shift no one in the room had expected. Anakin paused in the doorway, turning slowly to face them, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something close to surprise. He hadn't expected Obi-Wan to ask. To trust him like this.
Anakin let out a small breath, his posture relaxing as he walked back into the chamber. "You want to know what you should do?" His tone was sharp, but not cruel. There was an edge of exasperation there, but underneath it was something more… something that felt like hope, maybe.
"You do what you were always supposed to do," Anakin said, crossing his arms and staring directly at Obi-Wan. "You be peacekeepers. You stop playing the Republic's lapdogs, stop letting the Senate twist you into soldiers and war machines. That's not who we're supposed to be."
The other Masters shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but none of them spoke up. Not yet.
"Senator Amidala and Bail Organa are still fighting for peace," Anakin continued, his voice gaining momentum. "They haven't given up, even when the rest of the Senate has. You can work with them. Remind the Senate—loudly, publicly—that what's happening is criminal. That the clones are being treated like property. That the Separatists aren't even breaking any laws by leaving the Republic."
Mace Windu, ever the pragmatist, frowned. "The Senate won't listen to a few Jedi Masters and some rebellious senators. They're entrenched in this war."
"Then make them listen," Anakin shot back, his tone sharp but deliberate. "Remind them who's really in charge. This isn't a dictatorship. Use the judicial system, the High Court. Expose the corruption. You're Jedi Masters, for Force's sake. You have influence. If you can prove the Senate is violating its own laws, some of those corrupt senators will lose their seats. Maybe even face prison."
Windu didn't respond, his jaw tight as he considered Anakin's words. The other Masters were still silent, but their expressions had shifted—from denial to uncertainty. They weren't fighting him anymore. They were listening.
Anakin took a few steps forward, the confidence in his voice growing. "You have to get the public involved. Make them see what's really going on. Use Senator Organa's contacts, Padmé's media connections. You all know how this galaxy works. Nothing gets the Senate moving faster than a scandal that threatens their power."
Now he had their attention. The idea of the Jedi Order working with the media, leveraging public opinion, wasn't something they'd ever considered. But Anakin wasn't wrong. If the people knew that their peacekeepers were being forced into battle, that the clones—an entire army—were essentially slaves, they'd demand action. The Republic prided itself on being a beacon of freedom. The moment that illusion was shattered, the Senate would have no choice but to act.
"And trust me," Anakin added with a wry smirk, "nothing catches the public's attention better than a scandal involving Jedi being used as generals, leading an army of slaves. When people realize what's happening, they'll be outraged. Parents will worry that their children will be next. Citizens will start to wonder if the Republic's any better than the Outer Rim, where freedom doesn't matter."
He let that thought hang in the air, watching as the Masters absorbed the weight of his words. The Jedi were supposed to be protectors of the weak, defenders of the oppressed. And yet, they were complicit in one of the most blatant violations of sentient rights the galaxy had ever seen.
Obi-Wan's eyes met Anakin's, a silent understanding passing between them. He had never fully understood the weight of Anakin's past, the trauma of his life as a slave. But now, he could see it—see how deeply this hypocrisy had cut his Padawan, how it had driven him to this point. And for the first time, Obi-Wan felt the full weight of his own failure.
Anakin took a breath, his gaze sweeping the room. "You keep talking about the Republic as if it's some pure, untouchable thing. It's not. The Republic is the people. The laws, the principles it's built on. Not the Senate. Not Palpatine. If you let the Senate chip away at those laws, at those freedoms, you might as well let the Sith take over. Because once they start with the clones, what's to stop them from targeting Republic citizens next?"
Plo Koon, ever the thoughtful voice in the Council, spoke up, his voice tinged with concern. "You're suggesting we push the Senate into a corner. That could create… chaos. If the Republic fractures more, the war could escalate."
Anakin shrugged, his expression hard. "The Republic is already fractured. You think this war is going to stop on its own? If you don't act now, if you don't force the Senate to fix this mess, there won't be a Republic left to save. You think the public will sit quietly when they realize that the people who are supposed to represent them have been enslaving soldiers to fight a war they don't even fully understand?"
He could see the Masters starting to understand, starting to really see the cracks in the system they had been protecting for too long. The Force thrummed around them, buzzing with the weight of what Anakin was saying.
"And when you expose that truth," Anakin continued, his voice low but intense, "when the public sees the chips, when they see that the clones are no different from the slaves in the Outer Rim—they'll demand change. You have to secure the clones' rights. You have to protect them. Show the galaxy what freedom really means."
The room was still, the Council members staring at Anakin as if they were seeing him for the first time. He wasn't just their troubled Padawan anymore. He wasn't the reckless, impulsive Jedi they had always tried to mold into something he wasn't. He was speaking the truth they had all been too afraid to admit.
Obi-Wan, still seated, his face a mix of pride and guilt, finally nodded. "You're right, Anakin. We have to act. We can't stay silent anymore."
"Much fear, there is, in your words, young Skywalker. But truth, too. Dark, the path of war is. Forgotten, the Jedi have." Yoda's eyes, sharp and wise, met Anakin's for a long moment. His ears twitched slightly, the only sign of the weight he felt from the conversation. "Act, we must. Serve peace, the Jedi will. Serve war, no longer."
Anakin didn't smile, but there was a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. He had done it. He had cracked through their armor, forced them to see the truth. But there was no time to celebrate. This was only the beginning.
"The Senate won't like it," Mace muttered, his voice low but resigned. "They'll fight back. Hard."
Anakin's smirk returned, sharp and laced with the old sarcasm that never left him for long. "Let them. Nothing the Senate loves more than a good scandal. And trust me, once the media gets involved, they'll fold faster than a podracer in a sandstorm."
Obi-Wan almost laughed at that, despite everything. For the first time in what felt like years, there was hope—a path forward. One that didn't involve more bloodshed, more war, more betrayal of the very ideals they were supposed to stand for.
The tension in the room had finally seemed to settle, but the air was still thick with the aftermath of Anakin's words. The Jedi Masters sat in various stages of reflection, some clearly wrestling with their guilt, others with the dawning realization that they had been wrong for far longer than they cared to admit. And then, of course, there was Mace Windu.
Windu, arms crossed tightly over his chest, had been studying Anakin with a mix of wariness and surprise since the moment the young Jedi had left the Council speechless. His brow furrowed, as if he was still processing the fact that Anakin had not only delivered a harsh truth but also, somehow, a strategy for the Order's next move.
"I have to say," Windu started, his voice carefully measured, "I didn't expect you to be so... adept at politics, Skywalker."
Anakin turned, raising one eyebrow as he eyed Windu with the kind of bemusement that suggested he'd been waiting for the Jedi Master to say something like that. "Yeah, well," Anakin shrugged, his tone sharp but lacking malice, "you never expected me to be anything but troublesome, did you?"
The comment hung in the air like the smell of blaster residue after a firefight—sharp, undeniable, and a little bit stinging. Windu flinched. Not because Anakin had said it in anger—he hadn't. It was more the opposite: the way Anakin said it so casually, like he was just stating the obvious, made it cut deeper. It wasn't an attack. It was just the truth. Windu had never given him a real chance, and they both knew it.
And that was the worst part.
Anakin didn't linger on the exchange, though. He'd said his piece. The ball was in their court now, and everyone in the room knew it. He could feel Obi-Wan's eyes on him, that familiar mix of pride and concern, but also something else—something that felt like hope. Anakin had never wanted to be a politician, but somehow, here he was, steering the future of the Jedi Order itself. Funny how the Force worked like that.
Yoda, sitting in his chair with his ancient, knowing gaze, watched Anakin with something close to curiosity. The old Master, who usually spoke in riddles and cryptic statements, seemed unusually direct when he finally broke the silence.
"What next, young Skywalker?" Yoda asked, his voice quieter but no less powerful. "Follow through, will you? Involve the senators, the media?"
Anakin turned to Yoda, one eyebrow raised as if the question itself was mildly amusing. "Master Yoda," he began, his voice cool but with a hint of his usual snark, "I'm still just a Padawan, remember?" He lifted his prosthetic hand, flexing the mechanical fingers with a small smirk. "You haven't exactly knighted me yet."
Yoda's ears twitched, and a faint murmur passed between the Council members. Anakin could feel the tension there, the unspoken weight of his unorthodox status. Here he was, technically still a student, but speaking to them like an equal—hell, sometimes more like a superior, given the way they'd been stumbling in the dark for so long.
"And besides," Anakin added, lowering his hand and stepping back slightly, "I think I'll leave the politics to you lot. You know, since you're the ones who keep insisting on serving the Senate." The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable, but there was a flicker of something else—trust. As much as Anakin distrusted the Council, as much as he had railed against them for years, he still wanted to believe that they could do the right thing. That they would do the right thing, now that they had no more excuses.
Windu, still watching him closely, uncrossed his arms, but didn't speak. The sting of Anakin's earlier comment still lingered, but even Mace couldn't deny that the young Jedi had struck at the heart of the matter. They had failed him. And not just him—every clone, every citizen of the Republic. It had taken Anakin Skywalker, of all people, to force them to confront their own hypocrisy.
Yoda tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. "And if we fail, hmmm? If change, we cannot?"
Anakin shrugged again, but this time there was something harder in his eyes. "Then I won't be part of it. I'm not fighting in a war that's built on lies and manipulation. I won't lead an army of slaves. And if the Council tries to force the Senate's will on me…" His eyes flashed, the intensity of his words cutting through the chamber like a lightsaber. "Well, then you're no better than the Sith."
There it was. The gauntlet had been thrown down, and he wasn't pulling any punches. The Council could no longer pretend they were neutral, that they were above the politics and corruption of the Republic. If they continued down this path—if they forced Anakin or anyone else to fight a war that violated the very principles, they claimed to stand for—then they were no different from the enemies they claimed to oppose.
Obi-Wan finally broke the silence, his voice soft but steady. "Anakin, no one is going to force you to do anything. You have my word on that." There was a deep sadness in Obi-Wan's eyes, a kind of understanding that had taken far too long to bloom. He had failed Anakin in the past, but now, maybe, they could begin to heal the rift that had grown between them.
Anakin didn't smile. He didn't relax. Not yet. But there was a flicker of appreciation in his gaze as he met Obi-Wan's eyes. "I'll hold you to that."
Yoda, who had remained mostly silent through the exchange, finally spoke again. "Difficult, the road ahead will be. But act, the Council must. Fear, guide us no longer, it will."
It was a small acknowledgment, but it felt like a seismic shift. For so long, fear had been the Council's driving force—fear of the dark side, fear of failure, fear of Anakin himself. But now, with everything laid bare, Yoda was admitting what none of them had been willing to say before. They had been wrong. And they could no longer let that fear rule them.
Anakin gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Good," he said, his voice quieter now, but still laced with that familiar edge. "Because if we don't change now, we're already lost."
He turned, heading for the door once more, the weight of his prosthetic hand still unfamiliar but lighter now, somehow. The Council might have been the ones who had to act, but Anakin had finally taken control of his own fate. He wasn't going to be their weapon anymore.
As the door slid open, he paused one last time, glancing back at the Council over his shoulder. His voice, sharp but not without a hint of dark humor, echoed through the chamber.
"And hey—maybe try listening to the Force this time, huh?"
With that, Anakin Skywalker left the Council chamber, leaving behind a room full of Jedi Masters who, for the first time in years, were truly questioning the path they'd been walking.
It was about time.
Anakin strode through the halls of the Jedi Temple with a sense of lightness he hadn't felt in years. His words to the Council still hung in the air behind him, but for the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn't weighed down by their expectations or judgments. The Force was clearer now, guiding him forward like a gentle current instead of a storm. It wasn't raging within him—it was in harmony.
The winding corridors of the Temple soon led him to the familiar hum of a training room. He paused in the doorway, watching as a group of initiates moved through lightsaber drills under the watchful eye of Master Quinlan Vos. The room was filled with the soft hum and clash of training sabers, the occasional grunt of effort, and the quiet murmur of instructions from Quinlan, whose relaxed, almost lazy posture made him seem like he was barely paying attention. But Anakin knew better. Quinlan Vos was sharp, even when he acted like he wasn't.
Vos glanced over, his dark eyes catching Anakin's as a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Skywalker," he drawled, his voice carrying over the buzz of lightsabers, "what brings you to the kiddie pool? You lose your way and stumble into an initiate class, or are you here to show off?"
Anakin smirked, walking fully into the room. "Actually, I thought I'd join in."
The reaction was instant. Quinlan blinked, clearly surprised. His usual smirk faltered for just a second before settling back into place. "Join in?" he echoed, folding his arms across his chest. "You want to spar with a bunch of initiates? What's next, you gonna challenge them to a speeder race?"
"Don't tempt me," Anakin shot back with a grin, as he stepped further into the training room. "Besides, I could use the practice."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the group of initiates. They stopped their drills, sabers dropping slightly as they looked up at Anakin with wide eyes, clearly baffled by the idea that Anakin Skywalker—the Chosen One, the infamous Jedi who always seemed to push the rules to their breaking point—was about to train with them.
A young Togruta girl with bright, curious eyes and a defiant tilt to her chin was the first to speak. "Why is a senior Padawan joining initiates?"
Before she could say more, her friend—a young Mirialan —nudged her hard, whispering, "That's rude, you can't just ask him that!"
Anakin, who had been biting back a laugh at Vos' earlier remark, looked at the Togruta girl, meeting her bold stare with an amused glint in his eyes. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let go. He let the joy bubbling inside him spill out, and he laughed. A full, unguarded, almost giddy laugh echoed in the training room, catching everyone by surprise.
The sound was so unexpected, so genuine, that even the initiates paused, staring at him in awe. Anakin didn't realize it, but the Force radiated from him in that moment, warm and glowing like sunlight breaking through dark clouds. It wrapped around the room, filling the space with a sense of joy, peace, and energy that hadn't been felt in the Temple for a long time.
Master Vos, usually the master of laid-back snark, raised an eyebrow as he watched Anakin. His usual easy grin softened into something more thoughtful, more curious. The other initiates stood frozen, unsure how to react to seeing Anakin Skywalker—who was supposed to be this intense, larger-than-life figure—laughing like he didn't have a care in the galaxy.
The Togruta girl, however, didn't back down. She was still staring at Anakin, a mixture of confusion and suspicion on her face, though she couldn't hide the small smile tugging at her lips. Her friend, meanwhile, looked like she was about to pass out from embarrassment.
Anakin finally managed to calm himself, still chuckling as he looked down at the bold little Togruta. "You've got spirit, kid," he said, his voice still light, but carrying a warmth that softened the usual edge. "I think I'm gonna call you… Snips."
The girl blinked, her confusion deepening. "Snips?" she repeated, clearly not sure if he was making fun of her or giving her some kind of nickname she hadn't earned.
"Yeah, Snips," Anakin said, grinning. "You've got that snippy attitude. Suits you."
The girl stared at him for a second, as if weighing whether she should be offended or amused, before her lips curled into a sly smile. "Fine. But if you're calling me Snips, then I'm calling you… Skyguy."
Anakin blinked. Skyguy? Oh, he wasn't going to live that one down. Behind him, Quinlan snorted loudly, barely holding back a laugh. "Skyguy?" Vos repeated, his grin wide and absolutely shameless. "That's perfect."
Before Anakin could respond, the Mirialan girl, who had been staring in horror at her friend's audacity, muttered, "Ahsoka, you can't just call him that!"
But Ahsoka, now grinning with that same boldness Anakin had seen earlier, waved her off. "Don't worry about it," she said, her tone casual but confident. "He doesn't mind."
Anakin, still smirking despite the ridiculous nickname, decided to roll with it. "She's right. I don't mind."
He looked around the room, feeling the warmth of the Force surrounding him, wrapping him in a kind of clarity he hadn't felt in a long time. It wasn't about ego, about rank, or about the war. It was about being—being in the moment, being part of something bigger than just the chaos of battle.
He lifted his prosthetic hand, showing it to the younglings. "I've got a lot to relearn with this," he said, his voice more serious now, but still carrying a note of lightness. "So, if I'm going back to basics with my lightsaber, why not start here? With all of you?"
Ahsoka and the rest of the initiates stared at him, wide-eyed but intrigued. The defiance in her earlier stance had melted away, replaced by curiosity and a kind of wonder. She wasn't seeing Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One. She was seeing Anakin, the Jedi who, despite everything, was humble enough to go back to the beginning.
"There's no shame in it," Anakin said quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. His voice was softer now, as if he was only just realizing the weight of his own words.
There was no shame in starting over. No shame in admitting you still had things to learn. No shame in going back to basics.
The room was quiet again, but it wasn't the heavy, stifling silence of the Council chamber. This was different. Lighter. Filled with possibility.
Anakin turned to Snips, a serene smile spreading across his lips. "Ready to teach me a few moves, Snips?"
The young Togruta stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then grinned widely. "Only if you can keep up, Skyguy."
The other initiates erupted into giggles, and even Quinlan Vos let out a hearty laugh. Anakin shook his head, but there was no denying the lightness in his heart. He felt free—freer than he had in a long time.
And for the first time in what felt like years, Anakin Skywalker was truly at peace with himself.