Author's Note:

So… it's been a while.

I want to say thank you to everyone who's enjoyed and supported this story for all these years. I am blown away by how broad the audience for this series has become, and even though I'm horrible at responding, I never grow tired of seeing all of your thoughtful comments and reflections on the story—the fact that some of you have been reading this entire time, some multiple times over, astounds me! I always think one day the comments will stop, that people will forget this story ever existed as it sinks further and further into the endless pages of Ao3's Star Wars collection. Somehow this hasn't happened yet, and your continued enthusiasm means more than I can say.

This story will be TEN YEARS OLD this coming fall, which I personally find horrifying. I thought I'd be done with this years ago, but… life happens. I hope I can keep your attention long enough to (eventually) reach the story's conclusion.

Remember that time I said Reprise IV will be the last installment? Yeah, so, about that. This will be the final chapter of Reprise IV, but it's not the end of the series—the next update, whenever that happens, will come in the form of Reprise V, so make sure you have your alerts turned on if you're interested. The division of the story into so many parts is completely arbitrary on my part, largely implemented to preserve my own sanity when I inevitably forget what I wrote in previous chapters and have to go guess my way through the chapter index. Hopefully, it makes for a slightly more manageable reading experience.
Looking at the story as a whole, I know more or less how it will end, and much of what will happen in between, although there are still several large plot points I haven't quite figured out. In any case, my best estimate (and we've seen where my estimations get us) is that Reprise V will be somewhere around 20–25 chapters, so approximately the same length as existing installments.

Warning: Reprise V will begin with a time skip. There will be other time skips involved later on in the story, and I'm sure I'll skip or skim over some things that you might want me to cover in more detail, but I hope you'll be able to stick around and enjoy nonetheless.

It's impossible to say how often I will update, but to be transparent, I doubt it will be super often. Life has been beating me up for a while now (I've been having major battles with my health for a few years, but, fingers crossed, I think I may be through the worst) and somewhere along the way I lost, or at least lost track of, the parts of me that fell in love with this strange AU we built together. I'm trying to find it again, because this story still means a lot to me.

Oh, and you know what's wild? I was only 22 when I started writing this. I'll turn 32 this year, and honestly, it's helped me sympathize with Obi-Wan 3000% more. The man deserves some antacids and a spa day. Unfortunately for him, I can make no promises.

Onwards.

In his younger years, if Obi-Wan had been forced to stay on Coruscant and forbidden from joining the active roster, he would've been liable to steal a speeder and escape off planet disguised as a civilian, playing hide-and-seek with the Council just to keep himself occupied. Now at the doddering old age of thirty-five, he found himself sitting in his Temple apartment as exhausting as anything. He rubbed at his eyes, as if to massage the cramps out of his brain.

"So," he began, free hand fiddling anxious patterns around the rim of his teacup, "Find and protect former Jedi, use the data we gather on their movements to map out likely spots where the Sith have set up camp, root them out, and hope to the Force itself and every shred of luck it's ever granted us or our forebears that Palpatine doesn't figure out what we're doing and send us to our deaths—again—and weaken him enough to retake control of the narrative regarding our so-called 'schism' and—in our ample free time—begin compiling evidence to turn the senate against Palpatine himself." He dropped his hand to the table and made eye contact with the Master of the Order. "Have I got that right?"

Mace Windu's face was taciturn as ever as he absorbed Obi-Wan's summary and ran it against his own mental checklist. "Yes," he confirmed.

"The resolution isn't even binding, Mace," Obi-Wan bemoaned, leaning back in his chair to stare, despondent, up at the ceiling. "It's a bylaw, it's not worth a single iota outside of the Order. We can't hang our entire defense, should it come to that, on our own bylaws. Palpatine would have a field day."

"We've waited too long. If we show our hand now… Do you have a better idea?" Mace asked seriously, a frustrated bite behind his words. Obi-Wan continued staring at the ceiling, examining a cobweb he'd not noticed before. The room was quiet, and the younger master could feel Mace's eyes on him.

"No, damn it," he closed his eyes, feeling useless. "But Force Mace it's so…" He brought his gaze back down to the man across the table. "Saying it's farfetched is being kind. It's nearly the very thing—it is the very thing we've been doing this whole time, the same thing that landed us in the mess to begin with, except now we'll be lying to his face. He's going to be watching us more closely than we watch ourselves!"

"Would you rather we do nothing?" Mace spoke up, moving his teacup aside so he could lean his elbows on the table and fix Obi-Wan with an unnerving stare. "Would you rather bide our time for an opportunity that will never come? The only good opportunities to face him are long gone, Metellos has made that clear enough. But the longer we sit and wait for a miracle, the stronger he becomes, the more Jedi and former Jedi we throw to their deaths, or worse." Obi-Wan absorbed this in silence, dread and exhaustion pooling in his belly in equal measure.

"Palpatine is not like the Sith of myths and legends," Mace continued quietly, "the Rule of Two is no more. We've managed to rob him of his armies twice now, he knows better than to let us have an honest go at his third—we've hardly begun to understand the scale of it. He wants to take over the galaxy, and if we don't start doing some truly stupid things, we're going to give him exactly what he wants. Should I bring Ben up here to remind you how it could happen?" Obi-Wan winced, stung by the blunt reminder. Images flashed in his mind's eye, borrowed memories from a different life.

"No," he said, not meeting Mace's eyes. A long silence passed between them, neither in the mood to finish their tea, or to get up and make more. "I can't imagine what he feels, seeing us fail to right the wrongs of the galaxy he knew," Obi-Wan said. It was still such an odd thing to consider that Ben was him, born in another galaxy with such the same, incalcitrant problems. He huffed out a laugh, which took Mace by surprise. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I miss the days where we had to interrogate him for information. At least he had some sense of what was going on. I have a feeling this has all gone too far off the rails for his insight, now."

"We've hardly failed yet," Mace told him. 'Yet' stuck in Obi-Wan's mind as he chewed the inside of his lip.

"Where exactly are you intending to start with this, anyway?" the younger man asked after a while. "If we're going to go after former Jedi before the Sith get to them, the last several years of intelligence are going to be useless. The data that Anakin's droids pulled from Alderaan was our best clue as to how the Sith run their little operation, and that was sucked dry months ago."

Mace said nothing at first, pressing a finger over his lips in the way he usually did when he knew Obi-Wan wasn't going to like what he would say next. Obi-Wan squinted at him. "Our best source, yes, but not our only source," the Master met Obi-Wan's eyes, and crossed his arms tightly across his chest. "I've given Master Dooku permission to consult the holocron Ben recovered from Alderaan."

"What? Why?" Obi-Wan startled himself with how loudly the words came out. "Mace, that's—he's—" he leaned over the table to hiss, "I realize things have changed from Ben's time, but Dooku is still as grey as they come."

The Master of the Order gave him a firm look. "You of all people should know better than to judge a person by who they were in another life."

That was a low blow, Obi-Wan thought, not so quietly that the sentiment didn't show on his face. He sat back with a huff. Mace sighed.

"I am not saying it presents no risk for him, or us. Had someone suggested it a few years ago, even a few months ago, I would've refused. I can't tell you how much sleep I've lost over it." The late afternoon light from the window cast Mace's face in deep shadows, new wrinkles joining the old to criss-cross the Korun's face in dark lines. Mace has been shaving his hair for a long time, but it occurred to Obi-Wan than if he were to grow it out again, it would almost certainly be grey.

"We have three options," Mace said. "First, do exactly what we have been doing, out in the open, knowing that it will be mass suicide every time we leave the Temple. Second, give up entirely and let Palpatine have his way. And third, to continue our work with the Sith trainees, but in new, secretive, subversive ways so stupid and so remorseless that even Palpatine won't expect it of us. It will require us to lie not only to the Chancellor's office, the Senate, but to the Council of Reconciliation and their allies."

"It's going to get people killed," Obi-Wan said quietly.

"All of our options will get people killed, Obi-Wan," Mace replied, even more quietly. Obi-Wan ducked his head and rubbed at his brow. After a while, he inhaled deeply, and forced himself to exhale slowly, trying to reign in his emotion. At length, he raised his head, eyes watery.

"So, it's war, then?" He asked. It took a long time for Mace to answer.

"Of a kind, yes, it is."

There was little to say on the matter after that. They finished their tea in silence as the sun set, right on time. The Coruscanti night quickly took over, casting cool neon lights into Obi-Wan's apartment in place of daylight. At length, Mace placed his teacup aside and stood, offering a cursory farewell before he donned his cloak and left. The door hissed closed, Obi-Wan sighed, and that was that.

A floorboard creaked.

Obi-Wan looked up to see Ahsoka by the 'fresher door, looking just as surprised at the noise as her master.

"Padawan," Obi-Wan said, sitting up straight. It still took him by surprise, sometimes, sharing his space with someone who was not Qui-Gon. "I'm sorry—I didn't realize you'd returned from classes."

Ahsoka stepped into the small kitchen, finding a drinking glass, though Obi-Wan doubted it was her real reason for coming into the room.

"You were talking about the Sith, weren't you," she asked, opening the fridge to find the pitcher of water. Obi-Wan watched her, biting the inside of his lip. It wasn't until she met his eyes that he said,

"Yes." He'd lied to her once as a youngling; he didn't plan on making it a habit. "How much did you hear?" Ahsoka didn't reply, only finished pouring her glass and came over to the small table on the other side of the kitchen. She sat, cradling her water glass between her hands as though it were a mug of tea.

"Metellos," she said, not meeting her master's eyes, "one of them was still a padawan. She was in my clan." Obi-Wan was sure that in normal days, his heart would've broken for her, and some fraction of it did. But he'd spent days reading all the horrible details, swimming in the implications. He'd grown up alongside some of the dead, and had helped train others. It alarmed him how little Ahsoka's news moved him.

"I'm very sorry, Ahsoka," he said despite himself, surprised when his voice cracked minutely. "I didn't know."

"We're going to do something about it, right?" She asked, looking up at him.

"About the Sith?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Yes."

Obi-Wan had almost said we will try, but had an intrusive memory from his youth of Master Yoda smacking him upside the head.

"Yes," he said. "But we have to be careful—very careful. Things are… complicated."

Ahsoka nodded, taking a few sips of water. The duo sat in silence, the apartment growing dim, neither one moving to switch on the lights, not even through the Force.
"You said, before, that the Sith had every chance to kill you, but stopped to gloat. I just… I know it's messy, but… I worry, sometimes, that we'll miss an opportunity to stop them if we're too caught up in thinking about it."

Such insight took Obi-Wan by surprise, and his eyebrows raised slightly. Broken memories of Kamino flashed before his eyes. Sometimes he forgot to remember what a miracle it was that he was even here, sitting with his apprentice, having this conversation. A small smile found his face, despite his heavy mood.

"You are wise beyond your years," he told her fondly. "We will trust in the Force, and keep all our senses open." He paused, checking the time. It was getting late, and he longed for a quiet moment to meditate. "If I begin to grow even more blind than I already am, you ought to let me know."

"I will," she agreed far too quickly, making the master snort quietly.

"Good."

Padme was no stranger to disguises—in her youth, wearing a disguise had been as commonplace as breathing. Even so, it was difficult not to fidget with the wig she wore, golden blonde replacing her natural brunette.

"Another tea, love?" asked the old, exhausted theelin waitress, hip cocked to one side to support the large tray of dirty dishes she carried.

"I'm fine, thank you," Padme assured, giving her a smile which faded as soon as she moved on. The lower levels of Coruscant were an unsettling place. She'd visited only a few times before, once or twice on clandestine meetings such as this. It wasn't an occasion she'd ever intended on making a habit. Though it was daylight far above, the diners and shoppers of this district relied on garish lights to illuminate their midday meal.

"You did not have to go through all this trouble," a man whispered, slipping into the seat across from her. Bail Organa looked unlike himself; hair disheveled, beard unkempt. She knew it was intentional, to break up whatever features people might recognize, even down in these depths. It seemed unreal, the lengths they'd gone to see each other now, when just days ago they were speaking in the halls of the senate with dozens, even hundreds as audience.

"Neither did you," she replied, waiting for Bail to settle in, casting cautious glances here and there before he met her eyes and asked:

"What's the worst of it?"

"Adan, as I'm sure you know," Padme said, and Bail nodded. "And Garm." Bail leaned back in surprise.

"When?"

"Same time as you," she said, keeping her expression as neutral as possible. "We must assume they know you're connected. It's just Mon who's left," she said. Though shaken, Bail didn't hesitate to say,

"And you."

Padme drew in a deep breath and sighed it out again, shoulders square. "And me," she agreed. Silence reigned for a moment while other diners milled about. Sirens echoed some ways away, and there was an infant crying a few booths over.

"That isn't why you asked me here," Bail said.

"Mon has received word from Adan," Padme told him, ignoring it when Bail looked alarmed. "Through secure channels. It seems he has an idea for how to proceed."

"Proceed how?" Bail leaned forward, keeping his voice low.

"Have you met his advisor, Echo?"

"Once or twice. A clone, isn't he?"

"Exactly," Padme confirmed. "You have a few in your employ, do you not?"

"Here and there," Bail demurred. They both knew a great deal of the Kaminoan clones had settled on Alderaan, owing in part to Bail's involvement with the legislation that granted them their freedom, and a handful were employed by the palace. "You know Rex, of course."

"Yes," Padme replied quickly, looking down at her tea. "I was hoping you might deliver a message to him, actually."

"Oh?"

Padme glanced out of their booth, waiting for a waitress to pass by before she produced a folded piece of flimsi from her bag. She slid it across the table to Bail, who after confirming permission with a look, unfolded it. He read it, one eyebrow twitching upward before carefully refolding it and stashing it in an inner coat pocket.

"I'll let him know," he told Padme, offering the barest of smiles. "Do they have any way to remain in contact with our friends?"

"Well," Padme finally took a sip of her tea, grimacing when she realized it had gone cold. "One of them has a very close relationship with one of our friends, and considering he was the one to co-sign on Echo's idea, it should not be a problem."

"Really?" Bail asked.

"You've met him. Has a problem with his leg."

"Ah," Bail's face lit up in recognition. "A close relationship," he smirked, "I suppose it's good we know they're used to keeping secrets." Padme allowed herself a smile, though there was little real mirth in it.

"Yes. We can only hope his brothers will be as discrete."

"And they want Rex involved?"

"If he's willing. I'm telling you first in the hopes you can see to it that he, and any others who may join, are protected. Mon and myself are far too close to the matter to move independently in their interests."

"Of course," Bail agreed. A clatter came from the kitchen, followed by shouting and arguing. "I should go," he said, standing. "I regret I can't stay longer. Breha sends you her best. We both look forward to the day when we can visit again—under more… comfortable circumstances." Padme stood as well, smiling.

"May it be sooner rather than later," she said, and hesitated only slightly before asking, "is Shmi still living on Alderaan?"

"Yes, of course. Why?"

"If… if she speaks to her son, I would appreciate it if she could apologize on my behalf. I did not explain before I cut off contact, and knowing him… well. I wish I could tell him it's nothing that he did, and that I wish things were different. He doesn't understand the full situation."

"I'm not sure he'd be willing to accept it, if you told him," Bail offered. Padme pressed her lips into a worried line.

"Yes, I know," she sighed, not making eye contact.

Bail gave a slow, sympathetic nod. They'd never spoken about Padme's relationship with the young Jedi, but it didn't take a clairvoyant to see how they looked at each other. "I'll let her know, and send them both your best," he promised.

"Thank you," Padme said softly. She gave Bail a brief hug before sitting back down; they would stagger their departures, just in case. After the disgraced Senator looked around to ensure they were not being watched, he paused, stepping nearer to Padme to ask,

"Out of curiosity, who came up with the name?" He tapped his breast pocket for emphasis.

"I'm not sure if it was Echo or his… colleague," Padme admitted. "But they were quite insistent on it. I gather they're all quite fond of naming themselves, even in groups." Bail smiled, heartened by the spirit of the Kaminoan clones.

"A heartening sentiment, in these times. It's very poetic. Let us hope that they live up to their namesake. May the Force be with you, Senator."

"And with you," Padme replied, equal parts affection and worry in her voice. The prince gave her a respectful nod and, just as quickly as he'd arrived, disappeared into the crowds of Coruscant's underbelly. Padme waited for a while after he'd left before she messaged her escorts that it was time to leave.

"You sure you don't want another tea, hon?" the same old waitress had circled back around, looking even more tired than she had previously.

"Yes, actually I was about to leave," Padme stood, brushing herself off before handing the theelin far more credits than the tea was worth. "Keep the change—I appreciate your discretion." The other woman nodded, expressionless as she pocketed the credits. Clandestine meetings were a way of life down here; disinterest was how she earned her living.

"Anytime, hon," she shrugged, loading the unfinished tea onto her heaping tray of dishes and continuing onto the next table. Padme raised her hood and left, disappearing into the strange world that went unseen by the sun-washed city above.

Anakin had never felt so distracted before, feeling almost disconnected from his body as he went through the motions of commuting to the Legislative district. The Chancellor had, once again, requested Anakin's assistance. He hadn't offered many details in his message, but considering the level of tension between the Chancellor and the Order that Anakin called home, the padawan wasn't necessarily surprised.

This was the first time that Anakin had been truly annoyed by the Chancellor's favoritism. There were many other pressing matters that demanded his attention, and playing dogsbody (or bodyguard or representative or whatever else he was wanted for) seemed trivial in comparison, regardless of Palpatine's high office. Still, he'd accepted. At very least, he felt he ought to explain himself to Palpatine in person, after everything the man had done for him. Ben had, as ever, expressed misgivings about the decision.

"Anakin," Ben said, and Anakin knew that tone. It was the tone his master used every time he agreed to meet with Chancellor Palpatine. Where Ben couldn't see, Anakin rolled his eyes before turning to face his master, who was standing cross-armed by Anakin's bedroom door. A retort was already on the padawan's breath until he saw his master's face. Ben usually looked annoyed. Today, however, he only looked worried. Worried, and weary, and old.

He didn't like it when Ben was worried. Annoyed? Easy. Bossy? Sure. But worried—worried made something rush down Anakin's spine like a thousand invisible eyes watching from every direction. When he blinked, memories of dreams—of visions—flashed across the darkness. He tried to focus on his master's face. Before he could find his tongue, Ben continued:

"You ought to spend your time resting, preparing—the Chancellor's whims can wait until you're back, surely."

"It'll be quick," Anakin promised. It would probably take him three hours for the evening traffic alone. "I just want to tell him in person so he doesn't come pestering you about me. I know you don't like him," it had come out colder than intended.

"Padawan, my opinion of the man has nothing to do with this," Ben dismissed, "the make-it-up-as-you-go strategy has served you well for many years, I'll grant you, but this is not the sort of mission you're used to, you have no idea what's waiting for you out there. You need to rest and prepare. No one can do that for you."

'I cannot do that for you', Anakin was sure he'd tried not to say. He couldn't think of a smart comeback. Ben was right, but Anakin had already made up his mind. Guiltily, he said,

"I'll be back before dinner." Before Ben's face had finished falling, Anakin explained: "I've already done most of the packing and mapping—Artoo has it all ready to go. Hanger 23, 0400. I'll be there on the dot." His explanation hung in the air for a few too many beats. They both knew Ben was not talking about logistical preparations.

"Fine," Ben said, resigned. "But do an old man a favor, and meditate with me tonight, before you go."

The thousand invisible eyes bored into him, and when he blinked the visions returned for a nanosecond. He knew there was very little comfort he could offer at this point. Ben would be worried sick regardless of how he spent his day. Even so:

"Of course I will, master," he agreed without hesitation. He knew it was unlikely to soothe his master's anxieties, but he would never pass up the opportunity to try. He hated to see Ben worry.

Someone slammed on their horn and broke Anakin away from his ruminations.

"Oh, calm down," he griped. He peeled away from the skylanes and descended toward the senate building.

Finding his way to Palpatine's office felt almost like sleepwalking, but he couldn't help it when he slowed to a stop when he realized he'd walked right past Padme's office. He looked back over his shoulder. Her door, darkened by days of disuse, mocked him. Feeling like he was wading through mud, he made himself continue onwards.

It wasn't until Anakin was physically standing in the Chancellor's office that he seemed to come back to himself.

"Thank you, 4P-1," the Chancellor said, and Anakin realized belatedly that a protocol droid had escorted him to the office. He must've been more distracted than he thought. "Anakin," Palpatine smiled at him, "It's always good to see you. Please, come in. How are you?"

"Well, Chancellor, thank you," he answered, not sure if he was lying. "I admit I was surprised by your invitation today," he said, not bothering to specify that he'd been surprised specifically by how little detail the invite had included. Palpatine seemed to catch on regardless.

"I apologize for how vague I was in my message. I'm afraid I have no exciting quests for you today, only an old man who can't organize his thoughts. You've always been an insightful soul, and not bound to the petty politics of this district. I hoped you might humor my ramblings today and, perhaps, offer some insight where you can."

Anakin frowned, he couldn't help it. Insight was not his forte. Anyone who'd ever been tasked with teaching him anything could've said as much. Insight was the purview of the Bens and Yodas of the galaxy. Anakin, on the other hand, existed to do stupid things in the present and be assaulted by insight afterwards. Although Palpatine had not known him for an incredibly long time, it was almost insulting that he understood him so little. Then again, Anakin supposed it was a stupid thing to be insulted by a compliment. Perhaps he was insightful, when not measured against his master. Unsure of what he could possibly offer the leader of the Republic, Anakin shrugged and said,

"I'll do what I can. What's on your mind?"

"Oh," Palpatine chuckled, "this and that. But there's no need for me to bore you holed up in this office. Walk with me, won't you?"

"Of course." Anakin waited for Palpatine to lead the way, and was surprised when the Chancellor rose from his seat and approached not the main door, where Anakin had entered, but to a different door disguised in the ornate panels behind his desk. Anakin knew that this door existed as a concept, but it was his first time actually seeing it. It was a way for the Chancellor to travel uninterrupted to the Senate floor, and, beyond, a clandestine escape route out of the district altogether, though so far as Anakin knew, no one had ever had to use that route in many hundreds, if not thousands of years.

"Come along. We're out of session, so there will be no one to bother us."

Anakin hid his surprise and followed after the Chancellor. There was a lift behind the door that took them deep into the building, perhaps even below it. From there, a long, plain hallway led to another lift, which emerged at the base of the Senate chamber, leading directly to the Chancellor's empty booth.

"Here we are," Palpatine said, words echoing off the distant walls. The vast chamber was mostly dark, only a smattering of safety lights illuminating the spiraling columns of senators' booths. The ceiling was so far above that Anakin couldn't make out the highest ring of booths in the dim lighting. "My office is a comfortable place to work, of course," Palpatine said as he stepped out of the lift and onto the seldom-seen floor of the chambers, moving aside so Anakin could follow, "but it is also, unfortunately, where people go looking for me. When I need a good think, I often come here."

"Hiding in the biggest room in the building?" Anakin teased. "Clever."

"Quite," Palpatine chuckled. "Come. You might enjoy the view; usually it's only cleaning droids who get to see it from down here."

The floor always looked so small when viewed from far above, but it was much larger when crossing it on foot. They walked side by side around the circumference of the circular room, not speaking for several minutes while both took in the scenery. They'd barely covered a quarter of the room when Palpatine finally said,

"I have many advisors from all over the Galaxy, you know, some far older and far wiser than I. But even with so many brilliant minds to consult, some things I must consider on my own." His voice echoed slightly in the chambers, reinforcing the feeling that they were completely alone. After a few contemplative moments, Palpatine said, "I've been unable to close the reports that came in from the Jedi mission on Metellos." The name hung in the air. Last week, a backwater. Today, a headline. "The scale of the tragedy is unlike anything the Order—much less my august office—have witnessed in living memory."

Anakin felt as though he was back in his apartments with Ben, with his entire lineage, watching the Chancellor decry the Order and its actions; the very same man that stood beside him now. Anger bubbled up inside of him and he had nowhere to put it. Was he really angry with Palpatine, or the Jedi Order? Or both?

"I saw your proclamation last week," Anakin spoke, and blushed when he heard how accusatory he sounded. "I'm not sure if I agree it is a religious schism, as you said, but it has certainly shaken us all."

"Oh," Palpatine demurred, "talk of schisms is for the press, for simplicity. The citizens of this Republic demand answers, and we must give them ones they can easily comprehend. You and I both know the truth is too complicated for primetime news."

Anakin had interacted with plenty of Republic citizens in his young life, and certainly couldn't fault the Chancellor's logic. Still, the flippant explanation did little to quell his rising anger. As if reading his thoughts, Palpatine turned to look at him, calculating and calm.

"I understand you must be angry nonetheless. I'm glad you are—stars only know someone should be."

Anakin's eyebrows twitched in surprise, unused to being praised for any unbridled emotion, least of all anger. He faltered in his step, but continued on beside the chancellor, eyebrows knitting confused lines across his forehead. Palpatine seemed too absorbed in his thoughts to notice.

"The tragedy, unfortunately, has exposed a raw nerve. The Senate and the Jedi Order, we want the same things—to safeguard the Republic. But…" the older man sighed, sounding exhausted. "For millennia, the Jedi Order has operated at the end of a very long leash. There's been no reason for a leash at all, not in our lifetimes, but this current threat lies beyond the power of the Jedi. This is not an isolated incident that can be smoothed over by Jedi diplomacy. It pains me to say it, but the Order's determination to face these Sith alone has put all Republic worlds at risk. Metellos was just the start."

A dark feeling fell over Anakin and he let his gaze drift to the floor. He knew that the Chancellor hadn't meant it to sound like a threat. It was only the truth. His head ached, ears ringing as they had been ever since he'd begun having visions. He closed his eyes tightly and willed the feeling into submission. It was just the truth.

"It's an impossible situation," he found himself saying. "For the Order and for the Senate—and for you." Anakin shrugged. "But… Chancellor," and surely Anakin would never have the gall to say such things to the supreme leader of the Galactic Republic if he had not spent so much time under the man's wing, "You've not made it any easier for yourself by ruffling feathers at the Order. Everyone I know was surprised by your resolution, and most of them alarmed by the apparent loss of trust between the Senate and the Order," Anakin's eyes traced the curved lines of the floor's design. He didn't want to look up at Palpatine, fearing the look of disappointment that was sure to be waiting for him. "The Jedi do not oppose you," he said carefully, "but auditing the High Council, introducing an arbitrary veto… I mean no disrespect, but pulling on that very long leash you mentioned may do more harm than good right now. We've not even finished cremating our dead."

Palpatine hummed and nodded softly, absorbing the information with his hands clasped pensively behind his back. The duo continued walking together in silence. Eventually, Palpatine inclined his head slightly and asked,

"And you, padawan Skywalker?" It took Anakin a moment to understand what he was asking. He thought for a moment before speaking.

"I admit, I was so taken aback by everything—Metellos, your declaration—that I still don't know what to think," Anakin replied, frowning in thought. "I know we want the same things. I don't disagree with your assessment of the threat, but I don't disagree with Order leadership, either. Some of their misgivings, I believe, are warranted."

"And therein lies our solution," Palpaltine abruptly came to a stop, allowing Anakin to take a few more steps forward before he turned back to face the Chancellor, a confused expression on his face. "The Jedi and the Senate both are too encumbered by centuries of bureaucracy to respond cohesively to such threats. We will bicker with each other until the stars fall. We need someone with a foot in both worlds to galvanize both into action."

Anakin did not understand.

"And what of the Council of Reconciliation?" he asked, recalling again the broadcast of Palpatine's resolution just days before, "Isn't that their entire purpose? To go between the Senate and the High Council? Isn't that who will be conducting audits of High Council decisions?"

"On paper, yes," Palpatine agreed. "But that body has become so entrenched in process and procedure that much of the time, information about the Order's actions take weeks to reach us here in the Senate, and vice versa. We no longer have the luxury of time. I need someone—we need someone—who can augment that function, if only temporarily, for this acute crisis. We need a single voice, a single source of information so that both bodies can take action without delays."

Anakin was nodding along, and opened his mouth to ask who or what exactly the Chancellor had in mind, but he faltered when he saw how Palpatine's eyes were lingering on him, gaze boring into his with intensity. The floor dropped out from under him.

"Wait," the Jedi forestalled, watching the Chancellor for some change in expression, some shift in posture that might clarify the situation, but the older man remained steadfast. "Wait, no, that's not—Chancellor, you're not asking me, are you?!" It was such a ludicrous idea that Anakin was blushing. This could not be happening.

"Why not?" Palpatine asked, and Anakin's eyes went wide. "Who else in your Order could I possibly ask? You've been one of my closest allies in the Order, Anakin, and have, time and time again, proven yourself both to your Order and in my own humble estimations. What other Jedi could I call upon for such a task?"
"I-I don't know," Anakin said, looking around, wishing Ben would materialize to save him from whatever the hell was happening. He stood alone with the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, his padawan braid weighing more heavily on his shoulder than it ever had. "I'm only an apprentice," he said, resisting the urge to reach up and touch the length of hair. "There are hundreds, thousands of knights who are better suited," he said.

"None that I trust as much as I do you," Palpatine said earnestly. Anakin glanced behind himself, as if he were standing with his back to a yawning abyss, heel perched on a cliff's edge. He looked back to Palpatine, and for an infinitesimal moment, the Chancellor's face was different, as if he himself were from the vision that had plagued Anakin for so many weeks, the very reason he was even standing here in the first place.

You ought to be flattered, part of him said. What greater honor could you ask for? But it wasn't an honor he could possibly accept—he'd come to say goodbye, for Force's sake!

"Have you spoken about this with Master Windu? Master Yoda?" he asked, and hated how it sounded like begging.

"Of course," The Chancellor said easily, taking a single step closer. "Many times, even since last week. But we cannot agree on how to proceed. That's why we need someone like you, Anakin. You're a third party, an outside set of eyes. You've seen firsthand the kind of dilemma these last several years has brought before myself and the Senate—Senator Amidala speaks highly of you, you know, as do others."

Anakin felt warmth rise to his face upon the unexpected endorsement. He hadn't spoken to Padme in what felt like an entire era, but he hoped she still thought well of him.

"Do they know you're asking me to do this?" Anakin asked, watching Palpatine closely. "No, I know they don't, because they… I'm so sorry, Chancellor, I can't possibly—I came here to tell you that the High Council has approved my progression to the Trials, I leave tomorrow."

It was as if Anakin had tossed a bucket of water over the room, his words reverberating off the walls of the Senate chamber for a long, heady moment. Silence prevailed and the Chancellor only stared at him. The stillness in his face made something in Anakin's gut twist uncomfortably. Then, the older man blinked, the moment passed, and Palpatine's mouth gently spread into a smile. Anakin couldn't help but notice that it didn't fully reach his eyes.

"Truly?" The elder man asked, clearly blindsided but cheerful nonetheless. "Why, how wonderful," he continued. The way the Chancellor spoke to him was…different. Gone was the kindly old man who'd taken a shine to a promising young Jedi. He was now Chancellor Palpatine, lifelong politician with a mask to match. "Well, you've taken me quite off guard, but this is excellent news, congratulations, Anakin."

"Thank you," Anakin responded, rote, still struggling to read the Chancellor's sudden shift in body language.

"If I hadn't been talking your ears off, perhaps you could've told me sooner, but nevermind. You will make a fine knight indeed—knighthood will make you all the more suited for the role of intermediator, I should think."

"Chancellor, I don't think I'm—"

"I don't need your answer right now," Palpatine interrupted. "I should not have burdened you with the decision on the eve of your departure. But promise me you'll consider it, hmm?"

Anakin's voice was trapped in his throat, mouth stuttering for a moment before he could say,

"I'll think about it." It wasn't a lie. He would be thinking about it, because what the actual hells was he supposed to do?

But you really ought to consider it, a familiar voice said in his head, the sanguine baritone of the young man from his visions. You're the Chosen One. There is no one else more deserving of the role. It would be a disservice to the galaxy to turn it down.

"I need to go," Anakin said suddenly, voice ringing in the silence. "I'm so sorry, Chancellor, it wasn't my intention to—"

"No apologies needed," Palpatine gestured dismissively. He was still smiling, politician's mask firmly in place. "We will speak more once you return. I wish you a safe journey, young Skywalker."

Anakin made his final farewells and departed as quickly as polite manners would allow. A cool breeze greeted him as soon as he stepped out into the dusk, and he gulped in the fresh air gratefully.

Once in the relative privacy of his speeder, Anakin pressed his fingers firmly into his eyes, geometric constellations flashing against his eyelids. He took several deep, measured breaths in an attempt to collect himself. He couldn't let any of what had just happened distract him. Perhaps Ben had been right, perhaps it had been a mistake going to see the Chancellor so soon before his Trials. But he felt he couldn't be blamed. How was he supposed to know that the Chancellor would propose installing him, an apprentice, as intermediary to the actual Jedi High Council? How was he supposed to respond to that?

He resolved to worry about it only after he'd returned from his Trials. It wasn't as though the Chancellor would appoint him to some made-up position while he gone, and even when he got back to Coruscant, the Chancellor wouldn't appoint him to anything without his permission, or the permission of Master Windu.

…Would he?

The shapes behind his eyelids suddenly exploded into vivid scenes from his visions—those burning eyes bored into his soul, perched above the same sort of smile Palpatine had been giving him just moments ago.

It startled Anakin so badly that he let out an involuntary shout, eyes flying open. He was still in his speeder, parked in the Senate hanger. He took a few more steadying breaths—with his eyes open, this time—before taking the controls and setting a course for the Temple. He tried to leave his headache behind, but it dallied in the back of his brain, following him all the way back to his apartment.

Master and apprentice shared their evening meal in relative quiet. Anakin could see in Ben's face that he knew something was amiss, but Anakin did his best to ignore it. There was no way he would discuss the day's events with anyone in the Order, even his own master, and certainly not right before he left for the uncharted edges of their galaxy.

He joined Ben for meditation as he had promised, but struggled to remain focused. Eyes closed, fragments of visions came back to him like a fever dream, scenes of a strange planet and strange figures, all of it cloaked in an aura of raw power that Anakin felt unequipped to comprehend.

As if sensing his difficulty, Ben quietly rose and moved to sit closer to Anakin. The apprentice focused on the sound of his master's breathing and tried to time his own breaths to match Ben's unhurried pace. The visions did not stop, but he relied on Ben's steady presence and tried to remain passive, even as a sense of foreboding grew over him like ivy.

"There isn't much time," a woman's voice echoed in his mind, flashes of her marred face appearing and disappearing amongst the amalgamated visions. Her voice was strong, but he could hear the desperation in it. "Anakin Skywalker, you will find me." Anakin felt as though she were not commanding him, but demanding it from the universe itself. Her face appeared again, one eye the color of silver, the other replaced by an orb of solid gold. "You will find me," she said again, quieter, the invocation of someone facing their last hope. "You will."

Ben was unable to sleep, and meditated in the solitude of his bedroom the whole night. He'd spent twenty long years in this life, in this time, but he wasn't sure he'd ever felt so uniquely helpless. To see his apprentice achieve knighthood once again was a gift he fully embraced, and he'd known for some time that Anakin was ready for it. But that was before the boy had started having visions. That was before he'd shared those visions with Ben.

He had never anticipated that Mortis would find him again, not in this life. His memories of Mortis were like a fever dream within a nightmare. It had brought him to his knees, but it had broken something in Anakin. He still remembered the look on his face when they finally escaped. He'd looked so profoundly lost. Forever after, he refused to speak about Mortis.

Looking back on it now, knowing what he knew, knowing what came of Anakin's life, Ben's eyes began to water with grief for what must've happened to Anakin in that place. He was terrified to see that death behind his apprentice's eyes again. Not after everything. Not again. Not this time. But Ben knew that even if he were to follow his apprentice to Mortis once more, in the end, Anakin would walk his path alone.

"Please," Ben whispered to the silence around him, "keep him whole." His chin trembled as he fought against his fear. He wasn't even sure who he was talking to. He tucked it against his chest and tried to even out his breathing.

Later, in the dark of the pre-dawn, Ben traveled with his apprentice to the hangar where his assigned ship was waiting for him. Artoo was already inside, bobbing foot to foot in what Ben could only interpret as excitement. Anakin, for his part, seemed both determined and anxious. Ben let the apprentice work alone, merely watching as the boy—no, man—went over his final checklist. When he was done, Anakin looked up at the ship and let out a breath, face flush with uncertainty. He turned to look to Ben, as he had for most of his life.

They exchanged no words as Ben approached to embrace him. At length, they parted, and Ben stepped back, forcing a smile that he hoped looked genuine. Anakin slowly stepped onto the ship's ramp, hand resting near the button that would raise the ramp and leave him, for the first time in his life, utterly to his own devices.

"May the Force be with you, Anakin," the master bid him. Anakin gave a wobbling nod.

"You as well, master." He hit the button, and the ramp began to rise up into the hull, taking Anakin with it. Before it could close, Anakin ducked his head down to say through the shrinking opening,

"Try not to have too much fun without me." This made Ben laugh, which both of them knew was the intent.

The ramp closed with a hiss, and soon the engines hummed to life and carried Anakin and Artoo out the hanger doors.

It was only after the ship was completely out of sight that Ben let himself release the trembling breath that had been burning in his lungs. He watched the sky for a bit longer, before sighing again and turning back to the temple.

It'd taken a while for Anakin's Trials to be approved, mostly because half of the high Council was under the impression that the Chrelythiumn system no longer existed. Anakin could hardly blame them. Before the visions started, he'd never heard the name at all. But his dreams had been too vivid for him to forget the words, whispered like an ancient memory. When the visions had become more frequent and intense, his certainty had only grown. It was a miracle that Master Nu had found records of the system that included coordinates.

It was only now, alone in hyperspace on a days-long course set for the middle of nothingness, that Anakin had doubts. He distracted himself by disassembling and reassembling his lightsaber, sitting atop the cramped bunk inset into the hull while Artoo managed the ship. The disassembled hilt of his blade floated in organized pieces above his splayed palm, slowly expanding and turning as Anakin considered each part of the whole.

In the center of the intricate design was, of course, the kyber.

The blade is the heart of the Jedi, and the kyber is the heart of the blade, Huyang had told them, years ago. With his free hand, Anakin reached out to gently brush the unpolished edges of the crystal. Power, like electricity, tingled along his fingertips, a sensation he'd come to enjoy.

"What sort of heart are you?" He muttered, frowning at the small kyber. Blue, red, black, white. He pressed his fingers more firmly against its surface, enjoying the electric feeling that raced up his arm. He sat back to admire it for a moment, before carefully willing the pieces back into their places. He let the complete hilt fall into his open palm, turning it over a few times to check that all was in order.

"Well," he said quietly to the weapon, "I guess it's time to find out."

Author's Note: I never really liked the character designs used on Mortis, so I've changed them completely, along with some other Mortis-related plot points. It will be quite different from canon.