Chapter Text
The battle was supposed to be quick. The planet of interest, Katastar, was a decimated mining planet that had supposedly killed its inhabitants when the miners had struck close to the core and triggered massive earthquakes. That one moment… just the right strike into the heart of the planet had caused the tremors that would break the planet into pieces held together by a weak semblance of gravity. Few Katastarians had survived to tell their story. Anakin frowned as the planet came into view. The intact moon that orbited the shattered pieces looked about as dead as the mining resort. Why would the Separatists want this piece of bantha poodoo?
“Anakin,” a voice echoed in his head, bringing the young Knight to the present. “We’re nearly in range. The Separatists should show soon.”
Kenobi’s voice was confident. However, they had merely predicted this attack based on the pattern the army was presenting. All evidence pointed to the droid pests raiding Katastar for… whatever it had after hundreds of years of sitting dead in space. The topic of why was never brought up in the briefing, but Anakin could sense the uncertainty crackling like embers in the air. The Force hummed around him even now with ambiguity. He opened his mouth to let loose another sharp query, but the sound never came. A whirrrr erupted in the Force. Ships. Separatist ships.
Confusion curled in Anakin’s stomach. There were so many, more than they had predicted. Why? Why did they want this kriffing planet so bad? It no longer mattered. Soundless beams whizzed next to his ship, and the droid seated in the front of Anakin’s fighter communicated his concern. The battle for Katastar had commenced as anticipated.
“Easy, Artoo, we have this. You do your job, I do mine, and this’ll be an easy victory,” Anakin reassured the droid. He spotted Kenobi’s fighter above him to the left. Sensing Anakin’s eyes on him, Kenobi sent tendrils of trust, connection, overconfidence, perhaps, through their bond. Anakin smiled widely, letting out a breathy laugh as the fighter began to dodge and duck fluidly throughout the empty space. Whatever the Separatists had coming, the Team could easily take it.
The two fighters danced elegantly like eagles and were equally as lethal to the droid fighters. Despite almost brushing bellies and tapping wing tips multiple times, the timing of the pair’s fighters was flawless. Just as they broke off from diving downward and split off into different directions, Anakin’s fighter lurched violently. Something was wrong.
“Artoo, Artoo, what’s going on back there?” Anakin’s tone was laced with worry. Just a tad. Anakin was, of course, the greatest pilot in the galaxy at this point. Getting hit was never a big concern—
The fighter dove. Anakin’s heart leapt into his throat, and R2D2 screamed. They had been hit twice by a droid that had slipped into his blind spot. He was on fire—no, the engines were on fire. A hellish, scorching fire of fear and anger burned in the Knight. He would not crash, no, not in this lousy, quick battle. This wasn’t happening to the greatest fighter pilot in the galaxy. Anakin swore in Huttese, breath hot with the embers of the fire in the pit of his stomach.
Anakin purposefully dove and slowed himself in order to gain the upper hand and fall behind his attacker. Because of his swiftness, this was relatively easy to do, something he had done millions of times before and would do millions of times after. It was nearly muscle memory. The droid fighter swayed and fell with a soundless crunch as Anakin shot down his oppressor.
Artoo beeped, still worried about the condition of the ship. “Artoo, I have this completely under contr—”
He had tilted right, and the conditions became worse in the blink of an eye. The shriek of metal clawed at Anakin’s ears along with R2’s robotic screams. Kriff. No. No no. Nonononono. This did not happen to him. Kriff. If the fire eating away at the back of the fire were tangible, Anakin would have definitely felt it. His ship resembled a comet passing by. Desperate, Anakin grabbed at the controls. Tried absolutely everything. Everything he tried made conditions absolutely worse. Curses and cries spilled from his mouth, none of them sounded remotely human.
He had crashed before, right?
No. No, he wasn’t crashing at kriffing all. The general, as a last resort, mustered his remaining strength and attempted to Force lift the ship near—near where? Anakin felt another sharp pang of nerves. Anywhere but the kriffing gravitational pull of Katastar. Where was Kenobi? His eyes searched, but he wasn’t immediately in sight. Anakin’s strength was soon no more as panic had swallowed it quickly. The fighter plummeted towards the planet, pulled by invisible fingers. Anakin shimmered with a layer of sweat, his locks plastered to his forehead. R2 shrieked as the beak of the fighter began to glow golden with the heat of looming impact. Anakin’s shaking hands scrambled for the communications. If he were to crash—no, he was crashing—he’d rather someone know his location.
The communications were dead. Anakin paled. Of kriffing course. The tongues and teeth of the fire had chewed the wires and innards of the ship while he was attempting to land the ship elsewhere. All that time wasted…
Wait.
Anakin screamed into the Force, his voice reverberating against the invisible, intangible walls of space. Tendrils of his mind reached and grasped for Kenobi. Where was he? Where was he? Anakin’s voice was hoarse, weak from howling. Wherewashe? He felt another presence for a fourth of a heartbeat before Anakin lurched.
He wasn’t headed for the planet. A gray, cloudy mass lay before him. The pull was from the moon, Feng’vrochr. Moon of the tempests, in the Katastarian tongue. Tempests.
The ship, glowing like a yellow and white comet, had reached the atmosphere and was headed for the cloud line. Anakin braced himself, but it wasn’t enough. The ship wrenched downwards as the weight of a monsoon fell upon the metal. Anakin was thrown at the window, and a searing pain caused him to howl like an animal. Blood clouded his vision. Pain clouded his mind. R2’s screams cut short. White noise took the place of any sound he heard.
Anakin was freefalling. He was weightless as the ship plummeted further. A burning, metal raindrop. Simply a part of the storm. Another variable thrown into a nonsensical, jumbled equation. Nothing.
He is going to die, his mind tells him. He would never see his wife again or the children she had yet to bear. He would never see Kenobi, the man he loves like no other, his other half, the man who shared his mind.
No fire seared in his stomach. No screams left his parted lips. No anger or fear burned in his dull eyes.
The ship collided with the ground, softened by the rain. Anakin felt nothing as his body, pulled by pure inertia, wrenched through the window and struck the ground with a sickening crunch that he couldn’t hear. Simply a part of the storm.