Day One
The sun dipped lower behind Theed's vast domed horizon, bathing the city in a fading amber glow. Padme stood motionless before the door of her childhood home, feeling nothing but exhaustion – bone-deep, soul-weary fatigue. How had everything changed so drastically in just a few days? Her gaze drifted, unfocused, the colours of her beloved home blurring at the edges as she struggled to summon the strength to knock. But her arm remained at her side, heavy, lifeless.
Behind her, two Imperial guards stood like bloody shadows, stationed to follow her every step, their silent presence offering no comfort. Dorme and Teckla had demanded to remain by her side, but this was something she wanted to do on her own and her friends had begrudgingly agreed to go home until required again. Padme felt her shoulders slump as the familiar sounds of Naboo – the laughter of children echoing through the cobbled streets, the distant hum of passing cruisers, the rhythmic lapping of water – faded into a dull, meaningless murmur around her.
She stood there, hearing nothing. Feeling everything. Silently shattering.
Padme squeezed her eyes shut, so tightly that bursts of colour flared behind her eyelids as she willed herself to wake up – to break free from this nightmare… but it was useless. This wasn't a dream. It was real. It was happening.
She was here. Alone.
The space beside her felt cavernous, an aching void where he should have been. It loomed over her, vast and unfillable, pressing down on her chest like a weight she couldn't lift. Her gaze flickered to that empty place, just for a moment, and she hated it. Hated it more than anything. He should be there – right there, at her side, where he belonged. But the step beneath her feet held only her shadow.
She knew she wasn't the only one grieving today. And yet, as the world around her carried on – as laughter drifted through the streets and the sun bathed Theed in golden light – it felt like she was suffocating.
Like the whole galaxy had moved on.
Without him.
Without Anakin.
Padme began to tremble, her knees shaking beneath her. She would rather throw herself into the lake and let the gentle swallow her whole, never resurfacing, than step inside this house and face what awaited her. She'd had time to think on the journey here, too much time to imagine the hollow future stretching out before her. Just her, Leia, Artoo and Threepio in that big, empty house. Maybe Ahsoka would visit now and then. But it would always be just them. Alone with all of Anakin's things, his clothes, his books, the scent of him lingering in the sheets, reminders of a life he would never return to.
He wasn't coming home.
He wasn't coming home.
The words pounded through her skull, a relentless drumbeat of grief. She swallowed the scream clawing up her throat, willing herself not to cry yet. But her eyes burned as they drifted over the familiar yellow brick of her childhood home, tracing the ivy creeping up its walls, the domed rooftops gleaming beneath the fading light. She had always loved this house. It held a lifetime of warm, cherished memories – and now, she had to step inside and shatter her daughter's universe within its beloved walls.
Leia's father was never coming home.
Anakin wasn't going to see her growing up. He wouldn't be there for her birthdays, for school milestones, for her wedding. She would live an entire lifetime without him, and there was nothing Padme could do to change it.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms. How was she supposed to walk through that door and say the words that would break her little girl's heart forever?
Padme forced herself to take a long, shuddering breath. She stepped forward, finally lifting her hand to knock – only for the door to swing open before her knuckles could meet the wood. The sudden motion sent the potted blossoms on either side swaying precariously, their delicate petals trembling in the evening light. And then Jobal stood in the doorway, stricken. Her hand clutched against her mouth, trembling, tears streaming silently down her pale cheeks.
"Padme…" Her mother whispered, her voice breaking. "Oh, my darling..."
Padme collapsed into her mother's waiting arms, nearly dead on her feet. The moment she felt Jobal's embrace tighten around her, she nearly shattered. She wanted to scream, to sob, to let the unbearable weight inside her break free until there was nothing left. But she couldn't. Not yet.
Leia needed her to be strong for now.
Swallowing hard, Padme forced herself to gather what little remained of her strength, pulling free of her mother's desperate embrace. "I'm so sorry, Padme." Jobal wiped at her wet eyes, her voice thick with grief. "I can't even begin to fathom…"
She nodded, unable to bear another word. She didn't need anyone else's sorrow right now – her own was already crushing her, suffocating her beneath its unbearable weight. Saying nothing, Padme stepped inside, moving through her parents' house like a ghost, silent and drifting, until the sound of Leia's carefree chatter pulled her toward the living room.
The moment she stepped into view, Leia's beloved little doll slipped from her tiny hands, forgotten, as she let out a delighted squeal and ran toward her.
"Mommy!"
Padme dropped to her knees, the soft carpet sinking beneath her, and wrapped her daughter in her arms, holding on as if she could stop time itself. How was she supposed to do this? How could she shatter her little girl's whole world? She tightened her embrace, pressing Leia against her heart, clinging to this last perfect moment before everything fell apart forever.
From the doorway, her father stood stricken, his face pale as he wrapped his arm around Jobal. Leia began to squirm in her grasp, eager to wriggle free, but Padme just couldn't let go – not yet. Not when the next words out of her mouth would change everything.
Then, she felt them. The weight of so many grief-stricken gazes pressing down on her, each like a searing brand against her skin. Darred stood frozen, searching for words that just wouldn't come. Sola clutched her swollen belly, as if trying to shield the unborn life within her from the grief filling the room. Who could blame her? Near the bay windows, Ahsoka lingered, looking heartbreakingly small, her orange fingers resting lightly on Artoo's dome. Even the little droid seemed to sag, his usual chirps and beeps absent, his grief tangible.
Everyone in this room had loved Anakin. Everyone was drowning in the loss of him.
And she couldn't stand it.
Padme felt herself teetering on the edge of oblivion, barely holding herself together. The weight of her grief threatened to crush her, to send her crumbling into the cold stone floor where she could scream and sob until there was nothing left but an empty shell. Didn't the universe – didn't the force, the gods, or whatever cruel hands shaped fate – understand that she would give anything, everything, to have Anakin back? She would bargain with destiny itself, surrender her soul if it meant seeing his face just one more time. If she could only tell him how much she loved him – loved him with an intensity that no words could ever hope to contain.
How had she wasted so much time being angry and distant? How had she let their fights stretch on when she could have spent all of those precious seconds loving him? His messiness, his brooding, his ridiculous obsession with podracing, his reckless flying, the way he ate absolutely anything without complaint – every piece of him, every infuriating and wonderful thing, was perfect. Perfect for her. Perfect to her. He was the best husband and father in the whole galaxy.
And she would never get the chance to tell him any of it.
Because she'd looked away and then he was gone. Just… gone.
A terrible, frozen numbness spread through her, sinking deep into her bones, clawing at what remained of her shattered heart. How was she ever going to feel warm again without Anakin?
"Hi, sweetheart." Padme forced herself to smile, gently smoothing Leia's soft curls with trembling fingers. "I've missed you so much." She wanted to hold on to this moment forever – to freeze time and keep Leia's world untouched, her happiness unbroken. But time was cruel, and reality was relentless. Leia looked so small, so perfect in her favourite blue dress, her dark hair woven into the same braids Jobal once twisted into Padme's own as a child. She was still so innocent, still so happy and perfect. She deserved laughter and light, the warmth of childhood unmarred by sorrow.
But this galaxy wasn't kind. It never had been, and no matter how desperately Padme wished to shield her baby, the truth was coming. It would crash over them both, whether she spoke the words or not. Her throat tightened as she tried to piece together the impossible. Knowing was one thing. Saying it out loud was another.
She swallowed hard and steeled herself. She had to be strong – for Leia.
For Anakin.
For the life together she'd lost.
"Leia, my love…" Padme's voice trembled, already threatening to break. "Do you remember what we told you happens when someone's life is over?"
Her hands, unsteady and cold, grasped Leia's small ones. The warmth of her daughter's skin was the only thing anchoring her, the only thing keeping her from dissolving entirely. She could feel the weight of her family's eyes behind her, meant to be comforting but crushing all the same – pressing down, suffocating. But the thought of facing this moment alone was worse. So much worse.
Leia frowned, shifting on her feet, a flicker of unease passing through her bright eyes. "They go somewhere better," she murmured, her voice small. "Somewhere beautiful, like Grandma Shmi... Daddy's mommy. But I never met her before." She shrugged.
"Good – yes, that's right." Padme forced herself to smile, though her lips trembled at the edges. "It's a beautiful place, darling, so peaceful and full of all the best people there ever were. They watch over us and take care of us."
Leia's small face twisted in confusion, her brows knitting together, and Padme felt herself inching closer to breaking. Anakin shouldn't be in that place. He should be here, with them. This wasn't fair – none of it was fair! They still had so much life ahead of them… He was supposed to live it with her.
"Sweetheart, I…" Padme's voice faltered, breath hitching in her throat. "There was a bad accident while Daddy and I were away… and… and Daddy went to that place." The words felt like shards of glass in her mouth, each syllable cutting her apart deeper. Tears burned her eyes, slipping down her cheeks before she could stop them.
Leia frowned, her small hands curling into fists as she tore them free of her grasp. She glanced over her shoulder at her softly weeping grandparents, their sorrow pressing into the air like a suffocating weight before her gaze returned to Padme's, confusion darkening her wide, innocent eyes.
Her little brow furrowed deeper. "Well, when is he coming back?"
Oh gods, help her.
Padme shook her head, her breath catching as something deep inside her chest shattered beyond repair. She saw it – the exact moment Leia understood something was terribly wrong. The tears welling in her wide, innocent eyes carved fresh wounds into her already broken heart. This was unbearable… but she couldn't make it stop. "He isn't, Leia," she whispered, her voice barely holding together. "Daddy isn't coming back… I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so, so sorry."
Leia's tiny face crumpled. "But I want him!" she sobbed, her little hands clutching at Padme's tunic, as if holding on tightly enough might bring Anakin back to them.
"So do I…" She whispered. Holding herself together was like trying to catch sand in her fingers – all the fragile pieces of her slipping through no matter how desperately Padme tried to hold on. Her body ached with grief, her lungs burned, but she had to keep going. "I want him more than anything, sweetheart," she choked out, brushing trembling fingers over Leia's curls. "But he's in that beautiful place now, just like I told you. And he'll always, always be with us. No matter what."
How could she explain this? How could she make such a small child understand something so cruel? Leia was too young, too precious, to comprehend a world where her father no longer existed. And gods, how was she supposed to bear this?
"No! I want him to come home now!" Leia's small face twisted, her sobs breaking into raw, aching wails. "I want Daddy now!" Padme's desperate eyes flicked to her parents, silently pleading for help, but they had never faced a moment like this. No one here had. There were no right words, no guide on how to explain to a child that her world had just been shattered forever. "I want my daddy! Give me my daddy!" Leia's little body trembled, her cries escalating, her face contorted with pain and confusion.
"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry – but I'm here. I'm right here, baby, and –" Padme reached for her, voice cracking, but Leia wrenched away, panic flashing in her wide, tear-filled eyes. And then, something changed. It wasn't just grief consuming her now… it was anger. Raw, unfiltered, burning.
"Leia, Daddy wouldn't want to see you so upset…" She tried gently.
"I don't want you!" Leia shrieked. "I want my daddy!"
Before Padme could react, Leia lashed out. A tiny foot slammed into her ribs, knocking the breath from her lungs. Then, a small fist flew up, striking her cheek, sending a sharp sting across her skin. The room gasped, the moment frozen in stunned horror.
For such a little girl, the blow hurt like hell.
Leia collapsed into a heap, shrieking, howling, drowning in devastation, and all Padme could do was hold her throbbing face and fight to keep herself from breaking apart completely.
Another unbearable moment passed – a single heartbeat stretching into eternity – before her father snapped into action. Ruwee scooped Leia into his strong arms, holding her tight even as she thrashed and wailed, her tiny fists pounding against his broad shoulders. "No! Let me go! I want my daddy!" Her cries were quickly muffled as he pressed her against his chest, rocking her gently despite her violent protests. Padme could only watch, her body frozen, her heart breaking apart with every dreadful sob that wracked her daughter's small frame.
Eventually, Leia's kicking slowed. Her screams quieted into whimpers. "I'll take her to her room," Ruwee murmured, his voice thick with sorrow. He cast a mournful glance at Padme where she still knelt on the carpet, shattered, but he didn't wait for permission. He just went, disappearing behind the door, dragging the oppressive shadow of Leia's grief with him.
But Padme could still hear her through the door. Through the walls. Leia's cries seeped into the very marrow of her bones, an echo of the agony clawing through her own chest. The sound of her baby, hurting, lost, and hating her for something she could never undo. Her breath hitched violently. Her vision blurred. And suddenly, there was no more strength left to hold herself together. What was the point anyway? Anakin was gone. Leia despised her. And her heart… her heart was dying.
A sob tore from her throat, then another. Her body heaved, trembling as grief crashed over her, drowning her, tearing her apart piece by piece. She covered her face with shaking hands, tears spilling hot and fast.
After a moment, gentle hands touched her shoulders. And Jobal's soft words reached her ears, but they were nothing more than distant echoes, unintelligible, meaningless.
Nothing mattered anymore.
"This… this is all my fault…" The words tore from her throat, barely more than a breath, strangled between the violent sobs wracking her body. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think past the unbearable weight crushing her chest.
She had been so furious with Anakin. So angry that he wouldn't just listen, that he refused to leave the military, that he couldn't see what was for the best for them. But if she had just… if she had just been a little more patient, a little more understanding… none of this would have happened. He would have gotten on the right shuttle with her. He would be here. Right here, where he belonged.
A fresh, agonizing sob wrenched through her as her body shook violently. "I was – I was horrible to him! We…" Her breath hitched, her voice splintering as she clutched her arms, curling in on herself. "We were fighting, and now I – I'm never going to see him again!"
She hated this. Hated that their last words had been in anger, that the last thing she ever said to him was meant to wound. If she had known… if she had known, gods, she would have told him how much she loved him. How much she needed him. She would have begged him to get on the damned shuttle with her. Instead, the final thing she ever said to her bright, wonderful Ani was venomous, meant to cut deep. She'd wanted to hurt him, to make him as angry as she was, and she had succeeded, she was sure of it.
She looked him in the eyes and told him she preferred Vader's company, knowing full well how much that would hurt him.
And now he was gone.
Gone, and she could never take it back.
The pain was unbearable, a gaping, endless abyss swallowing her whole. It was too much. All of it – far, far too much.
"None of this is your fault!" Jobal's voice cracked, hoarse and raw, thick with her own grief. "The only ones to blame are those… those terrorists! You couldn't have known, my darling – no one could have known what was about to happen."
But Padme couldn't hear her. Not really. The words were just empty echoes against the roar of anguish in her head. It didn't matter. None of it mattered because Anakin was gone. Gone. And nothing in the galaxy could bring him back.
Another strangled sob tore from her throat as she turned blindly into her mother's arms, pressing her face into the soft fabric of her dress, clinging to her as if holding on tightly enough might stop the pieces of her heart from crumbling to dust. Jobal's arms wrapped around her like a shield, fingers threading through her hair, soothing, trembling just as much as she was.
Then, another set of arms surrounded her – warm, shaking, familiar and she realised Sola had knelt beside them, swollen with the weight of the child she carried, her round belly pressing against Padme as she held her just as fiercely as their mother did. Despite how difficult it must have been to lower herself, she stayed there, rocking her gently, cradling her as if she could protect her from the unbearable, suffocating loss.
Padme's body trembled violently between them, wracked with uncontrollable cries, her fingers curling desperately into Jobal's sleeves, into Sola's green shawl, grasping for any lifeline within reach as she shattered completely.
"I c-can't… I can't do this… I c-can't… " she gasped, her breath hitching, her entire frame convulsing under the weight of it all.
"Yes, you can," Sola whispered fiercely, her own tears hot and wet against Padme's hair. "But you don't have to do it alone. We've got you."
It only made her cry harder. Because Anakin should be the one holding her. He should be the one whispering reassurances, brushing the hair from her tear-streaked face, making ridiculous promises about how he'd tear down every star in the galaxy before he so much as thought about leaving her. But he wasn't.
And he never would again.
Jobal's hands cupped her face, pulling her away just enough to press a trembling kiss to her forehead. "We're right here, sweetheart," she murmured, her own grief breaking through her voice. "We're not letting go."
And they didn't. Even as Padme sobbed like she was dying, even as she felt like she was sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss, her mother and sister held her together, refusing to let her drown.
The throne room was dark, vast, and oppressive in the dim night light, a cavern of shadow carved from black stone and durasteel. The only illumination came from the enormous transparisteel windows behind Vader's throne, casting a dim glow of Coruscant's skyline across the chamber. The city stretched infinitely below, a tangled labyrinth of lights and movement, indifferent to the grief that clenched around his chest like a durasteel vice.
Vader sat hunched forward, his frame slumped against the high-backed throne, its cold, angular design pressing into his shoulders like a crown of thorns. Every limb of his body felt weighted, as if gravity itself had turned against him. His muscles ached, his head pounded but his mind remained sharp – too sharp. It clawed through the haze of exhaustion, unable to forget, unable to stop replaying the moment they parted, the split-second decision Anakin had made to switch places. The words still roared in his ears… but worse – so much worse… was the memory of Padme's screams. They echoed in his mind, raw and unending, cutting deeper than any blade.
His brother was gone. His twin. His other half.
The words felt unreal, an impossibility. But the emptiness in the Force, the gaping wound where Anakin had been, told him otherwise. Vader exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself, but the weight of his grief threatened to crush him. His brother had been the best of them. A soldier. A leader. A husband. A father. The kind of man who deserved to live. And yet, the Rebel scum had taken him.
They launched this attack to kill him… and they'd come damn close.
But their plan failed. It was Anakin who had burned. Anakin who had died in Vader's place.
And the galaxy was going to bleed for it.
The heavy doors of the throne room groaned as they slid open, and the Royal Council filed in, their footsteps hesitant against the polished black floor. They took their seats in silence, murmuring words of sorrow that Vader barely heard. He straightened, forcing himself to sit with the authority expected of him, but the beast in his chest roared for blood. For action. For retribution.
Grand Moff Tarkin was the first to speak, his voice crisp yet cautious. "The palace has been searched in its entirety for any additional explosive devices or threats. The Empress has been moved to one of your Majesty's private residences for the night to ensure her safety. No less than six Imperial guards will remain stationed outside at all times."
Vader barely registered the words. His eyes remained fixed on a window gleaming across the room, watching the city below, imagining the moment his vengeance would be unleashed upon the rebel scum behind this.
"I will return to my own private apartment when we're done here," he said at last, his voice rough as gravel. He could take no further risks. Not with his own life. Not now. Not until an heir secured the future of his Empire. Not until the galaxy was crushed beneath his heel where it belonged.
His black gloved fingers curled into fists against the armrests of his throne. "We cannot bring my brother, the Empire's Prince and rightful heir, back to life." He turned his gaze upon the assembled officials, eyes burning like embers in the dim light. "But we can ensure that his death is not meaningless." His voice dropped, lower, deadlier. "We will make them pay."
No one dared to speak. The only sound was the low hum of the city beyond, the Empire holding its breath before the storm.
Vader's grief was a void, endless and devouring. But rage… rage would fill it.
Rage would guide him.
They hadn't just struck at the Empire. They had taken from him. They had ripped Anakin away and for that they would die. Slowly. Painfully. He was going to make an art of their agony, stretching it beyond the bounds of mortal endurance, and when they begged for mercy… there would be none. There would only be blood.
"How would Your Majesty like to proceed?" Amedda's voice, carefully measured, barely pierced through the thick silence.
Vader did not hesitate. "We have intel on potential Rebel bases, yes?"
"Yes…" Amedda cleared his throat, shifting uneasily as he repositioned his grand staff. "Nothing as solid as we would like, but our spies have gathered that – "
"Find me the most likely location," Vader interrupted, his voice deathly calm, "and use the Death Star." The room seemed to drop into a suffocating silence. The Council members stiffened, some barely daring to breathe. Only the low hum of the city beyond the glass, distant speeders flashing like falling stars, filled the void. "I want the galaxy to shudder beneath the weight of my wrath," he hissed.
The words left his lips, final and unyielding.
"What?" The sharp cry shattered the tense hush like a dagger plunging into glass. It was not a voice he had expected, but he lifted his head slowly, his molten gaze locking onto wide, horrified brown eyes.
Sabe.
The aide stood at the edge of the chamber, her expression raw with disbelief, with horror, her hands curled into fists at her sides. Vader hadn't even realized she'd come here tonight. He had been too consumed, too lost in the abyss swallowing him whole. But his old friend's presence changed nothing.
"You can't do this!" she choked out, stepping forward. The disgust in her Force signature cut through him sharper than any blade and Vader sucked a in a breath through his teeth. "Millions of people will die! Vader, Anakin wouldn't want this! Please… Please don't do this!"
His chest tightened.
Anakin.
The name was a phantom, an echo from another life, his to claim just a handful of hours ago... A reminder of the man who had been warm and reckless, who had laughed, who had loved. A man who would have fought to his last breath for justice, not vengeance.
But that man, his brother, was dead. His opinions didn't exist anymore.
Vader forced steel into his spine, crushing the fleeting flicker of doubt that threatened to crawl through the cracks of his rage. He turned his gaze away from Sabe, cold and merciless once more.
"Anakin is gone." His voice was devoid of hesitation. "And the Rebels will burn for what they have done."
"But – " Sabe's voice cracked weakly, "You can't! Vader, you can't!"
Director Krennic, ever the opportunist, shot to his feet, his pristine white cloak piling behind him as he cast an indignant glare at Sabe. His voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy silence like a vibroblade. "You have no right to question your Emperor this way! You are an aide, nothing more, and quite frankly, you have no place in this room, much less a voice in our decisions!"
Vader did not bother to suppress the irritation curling in his chest. The man was a viper, always seeking favour, always angling for power, but his desperation clung to him like a stench, so thick he hardly needed the force to sense it.
"Sit down, Krennic," he hissed, his voice like the promise of a storm.
The man hesitated only a moment before sinking stiffly back into his chair, lips thinning in barely concealed displeasure. He exchanged a glance with Amedda, though neither dared to speak further. Vader barely acknowledged it. His focus was already shifted elsewhere.
"Sabe," her name tasted like ash on his tongue. "The Rebel Alliance has attacked us and cost us dearly. It cannot go unanswered."
He did not lift his gaze to meet hers. Could not. He wasn't strong enough to see the plea shining in her eyes, nor the condemnation he sensed.
A heavy pause. Then, at last, Tarkin's voice, cool and deliberate, cut through the tension. "Perhaps there is some middle ground to be reached." He laced his fingers together, speaking with the measured calm of a man who had weighed life and death too many times to be unsettled by it. "We need not use the full might of the Death Star to make our point, but a calculated strike will be more than sufficient. We would destroy the traitors and everything within hundreds of miles while preserving the remainder of the planet. The message would be clear to the eyes of the galaxy."
The words should have felt practical. Calculated. A measured response.
Instead, they rattled in Vader's skull like the echoes of all he had lost.
The dim glow of the throne room's tall windows cast jagged shadows across the polished obsidian floor, stretching toward where he sat upon his great, imposing throne. The cityscape of Coruscant sprawled beyond, endless and glittering, blind to the war raging within him.
A war between justice and vengeance.
Between duty and grief.
Between the man he so wanted to be and the Emperor he'd been born to become.
"I agree," Amedda murmured, stroking his cerulean chin as he considered. "A planet-wide assault risks turning public sympathy against us. But a precise, targeted strike will serve two purposes. It will demonstrate the Death Star's power and send an unmistakable message. A promise of blood for blood. The galaxy will know what fate awaits them should they dare to protect the traitors who stole our Prince."
"No! This is wrong!" Sabe's voice rose, raw and desperate. She pushed forward, eyes wide with horror as she looked directly at him. "Innocent people will die, Vader! You told me, you told me yourself – the Death Star is only supposed to be a shield, a deterrent to protect us, not a weapon of mass murder!"
Vader clenched his hands into fists against the cold durasteel of his throne's armrests. His own words turned against him… He hated that. When he'd made that promise, everything was different and now there was no going back.
"That deterrent has evidently failed," Krennic interjected with a sneer, rising to his feet once more. His pristine white cape flared as he gestured toward Sabe. "Prince Anakin is dead, murdered by the very people you seem so frantic to defend. Perhaps we should submit you for questioning? You were present on Alderaan. You are privy to the most sensitive movements of the Royal Family. Who is to say you have not been… compromised?" His lips curled into something cruel. "Or worse – were you always a sympathizer?"
"Oh, please," Sabe scoffed, her tone cutting despite the wet gleam in her eyes. "Spare me your theatrics, Director. We both know you're grasping for relevance."
Tarkin's thin, knowing smile flickered at the exchange. The old snake was enjoying their squabbling.
Vader, however, loathed it. This was a distraction and his patience was fraying. The air in the room seemed to thicken around him, dark and oppressive, as the towering windows behind him framed the neon sprawl of Coruscant below. The city thrived, indifferent, blissfully unaware of what had happened, while his own brother lay cold and lifeless somewhere they could never find him. If there was anything left to find…
Then Sabe looked at him again, her eyes pleading, her desperation cutting.
"Vader, please," she whispered, her voice trembling now, no longer defiant but aching. "You can't do this. If you must act, send the soldiers! Take the base, capture those responsible. Surely… surely that's enough?"
She had never looked at him like this before. Never so stricken. Never so lost. He wanted to avoid every unbearable twist of emotion in her lovely hazel eyes, but he did not. Vader steeled himself, this heartbreak was the first of many to come these next few days. There was no avoiding it…
Because he knew the answer.
And she wasn't going to like it.
"Launching an attack is a reckless and costly mistake – one we have made too many times before," Ameeda intoned, shaking his head as he waved a dismissive blue hand. His voice carried the dry finality of someone who had already decided the matter. "If our chosen target is indeed a base, we risk losing hundreds of clone troopers in the firestorm – perhaps even thousands – especially now, without an experienced Supreme Commander to lead such an assault. A Death Star strike is precise. It is efficient. It is the cleaner move."
"Cleaner?" Sabe's voice cracked, the word catching in her throat like a shard of glass. "How can you call it that?" Her hands trembled at her sides, fury radiating from every inch of her small frame as she whirled to face Vader. "And what of the innocents? The people who have no part in this war – who are just trying to survive?" Her voice rose, thick with desperation. "You are sentencing them all to death, and for what? To make a statement?" She took a breath, but it hitched painfully. "They will be children, Vader! Mothers. Fathers. Elderly! Families who have never held a weapon in their lives!"
She stepped closer now, her pleading eyes boring into him, desperate to reach the man he knew she believed was buried beneath Imperial armour, but that man was gone. He had to be. "You think this will make you look strong? That they will all fear you and fall in line?" Her voice broke. "They won't see an Emperor, Vader, they'll see a butcher. A murderer."
Vader clenched his fists tighter against the armrests, his breathing shallow. He knew he should silence her. He should crush her argument beneath the weight of his authority – especially while the Council were here, witnessing her audacity to question him… But he couldn't.
Because she was right.
His resolve wavered for the briefest moment, a hairline fracture forming in the dark armour of his fury. And then she whispered the final blow. "Is that really what you want?" The words struck something deep within him, a wound too raw to name, and he found himself unable to meet her gaze. Vader dropped his eyes to his boots.
He did not want to see the horror in hers.
"If I do nothing, both I and my Empire will be seen as weak," Vader murmured, his voice low, deliberate. "I send out a message that the Rebels – and any discontented planet with enough credits to fund an army – can strike at us without consequence. That they can take what they want, spill royal blood, and walk away unpunished." He exhaled, slow and steady, though the weight in his chest threatened to crush him. "This cannot stand. We must act. We must remind the galaxy who rules it."
Krennic nodded eagerly, the white of his uniform stark against the shadowed throne room. "Here, here!" he said, as if this were nothing more than a strategy meeting, as if they weren't discussing the potential annihilation of thousands.
"No!" The lone word cut through the room like a his lightsaber, burning, merciless. Vader lifted his gaze to Sabe where she stood trembling, but not with fear… no, it was fury that made her shoulders quake, anguish that made her breath come fast and shallow. "Anakin wouldn't want this," she rasped, voice thick with emotion. "He wouldn't stand for innocent people being slaughtered – especially not in his name!"
Vader allowed himself a moment, just a single heartbeat, to process the blow her words landed. Then he crushed it. He pulled the darkness around him, let it smother the doubt curling like a dying ember in his gut. The rage, the cold, calculating resolve – it was all he had left now. It was all that mattered. "Anakin is dead." He said. The words were like stone, heavy and immovable. "He isn't here to hate me, to offer judgment or forgiveness. Those people saw to that." His voice deepened, filling with something colder than grief and more consuming than sorrow. "Any innocent lives lost will be a stain on the Rebels' hands – not mine."
A strangled breath hitched in Sabe's throat. Her face paled as her horror bled into the force, thick and suffocating around him.
She took a step forward, through the narrow gap between Tarkin and Amedda's seats, eyes burning with a fury that rivalled his own. "Vader, if you do this…" Her voice shook, but her stance did not waver. "Then I quit. Immediately. I'll have nothing to do with this. Or with you."
Silence fell, thick and suffocating.
For the first time in years, Vader did not know what to say.
Years of memories surged through his mind, unbidden and relentless, each one cutting deeper than the last. He saw Sabe as she had always been – unyielding, fierce, dragging him and Anakin to wherever she needed them, her sharp tongue lashing them into line with promises of fury if they dared resist. He remembered their shared laughter, the easy, familiar way she fit into their lives, her presence as natural as breathing. Late nights spent drinking in the palace gardens beneath the stars, trading stories and dreams the three of them never spoke of in the daylight. He recalled the quiet moments when war and duty faded, and they were just three souls bound together by love, by trust and friendship.
Sabe had been the only one they ever let in. The only person who knew them – truly knew them, beyond the titles, beyond the burdens they carried. When the weight of the galaxy threatened to crush them, she had been their anchor. For so long, almost his entire life, Vader Skywalker had only ever had two friends. Two people he could love without question, without suspicion. Two people who had been his home when nothing else in the galaxy was.
And now, in the span of a single day, he had lost them both.
The weight of it threatened to break him. A void yawned open in his chest, vast and endless, swallowing what little remained of the man he once was. Anakin was dead. And Sabe was walking away. A piece of his past, of his family, slipping through his fingers like smoke.
And there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it.
Vader met Sabe's eyes and his shoulders sagged beneath the crushing weight of what he had just lost. She had made her choice. And he had made his. There was no undoing it now. He would find a way to live with it, as he had with every other loss and disappointment that had carved through his soul like a blade. His golden gaze shifted to the left, falling upon the Grand Moff, who sat poised like a predator awaiting command. "Tarkin," he growled, voice raw with exhaustion, "set it up. Communicate the details to me the moment they're finalized."
There was no turning back. The decision had been made.
Kill the Rebels. Kill the women. The children. The elderly. Let the galaxy drown in fire if it must. Anakin was dead, and someone – no, everyone – would pay for it.
His eyes flicked back to Sabe, and he let the betrayal in her gaze pierce through him, absorbing the sheer horror radiating from her force signature. She wasn't just shocked – she was shattered. It was written in the tension of her body, the ragged tremble of her breath, the silent plea lingering behind those tears trailing down her pale cheeks. And still, he let the darkness swallow the guilt. Let it twist, let it fester, let it fuel him. He had to.
"Whatever I must do to secure my Empire," his voice was quieter now, but no less resolute, "to protect Padme, Leia, and everyone else I care about… I will do it without hesitation." The words felt like shackles closing around him, but there was no other way.
The meeting was over. He rose to his feet, heavy with grief, and the others followed, bowing stiffly as they scurried from the chamber like rats. Force, he was tired. Tired in a way that even rage couldn't remedy. His heart was broken and there was no putting it back together. Vader looked at Sabe one last time, taking in the silent devastation on her face. The agony in her gaze gutted him, cutting deeper than any wound he had ever endured. They had been through everything together, and now – now she was leaving, and he had driven her away.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, finally, Vader stepped forward, unable to bear the silence pressing in on them. His voice, when it came, was quiet. Almost gentle. "Goodbye, Sabe." He didn't wait for an answer. He strode past her toward the door, leaving her – and whatever remained of the man she had once called a friend – behind.
"I will never forgive you for this!" Sabe swore behind him, her voice breaking like shattered glass. "Neither will the galaxy… or Padme."
The doors slid open, granting him an escape, a sliver of solitude before this night swallowed him whole. Vader forced himself to move forward, to block out the brutal weight of her words. He couldn't think about Padme right now. There was too much left to do – too much that demanded his focus. If he let himself dwell on her, even for a moment, he might crumble under the enormity of what he had just done. He might go to her and interrupt her time with Leia before –
"I wish it'd been you on that shuttle instead of Anakin!"
Her cry hit him like a physical blow, sharp and merciless, tearing through flesh and bone to carve out what little remained of his heart. His breath faltered. Pain – raw, searing, undeniable – flared through him like lightning striking the same broken ground over and over again. But he did not turn. Did not let her see how deeply she wounded him. Instead, he stepped forward, crossing the threshold and letting the doors seal the ruin behind him.
Many would make that same wish in the days to come.
Only when the darkness swallowed him whole did he finally whisper, voice hoarse and barely more than a breath…
"So do I…"