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Chapter Text

Mace Windu felt… a presence he had not felt in a long time.

His head snapped up from the datapad bleeding sterile blue light into his tired eyes. They strained to meet a softer hue assembled into a human shape resembling a life-sized hologram of the impossible.

Of Qui-Gon Jinn.

His lips pulled into a frown. “What is this?” 

“Hello there, my old friend.” The hallucination was uncanny in how it resembled the late master. Even the clothes perfectly matched that of the body delivered on that fateful day, minus the smoldering hole in the abdomen. Had Mace not been in the heart of the Temple, he would have assumed he was facing a Sith attack. As it was, there was only one logical conclusion.

“And it's time to call it a night,” he mumbled, pinching his nose and shutting off the pad. Placing it on his work desk, he moved deeper into his quarters. Analyzing the Separatist movements on Felucia could wait until tomorrow. It had been a very long day, and this just made it all too evident he was at the end of his rope. Military decisions made under the haze of exhaustion were proven subpar.

“You should show some sign you are happy to see me, it is only courteous.” If the fantasy wasn't speaking directly over his shoulder, he wouldn't have known it was following right behind him.

“You are a sign I should sleep.” Mace already felt like a fool for responding to the exhaustion induced specter.

It was a long day, a longer week, and an eternal war. One that never stopped to let him catch his breath. One that required him to coordinate fleet movements in the nights following the first attack to occur against their Temple in a thousand years. Were it merely three years ago, the Fall of Barriss Offee and resulting mistake of Ahsoka Tano's trial and subsequent departure from the order would have been meditated upon for months. 

But no, the Separatists were pressing forward on Felucia and a million other fronts, spreading once in millennia tragedies to innumerable star systems the Republic over. The sole reason he was not wasting away on his pad till the first light of morning was the intimate understanding plans created under acute exhaustion invariably took more lives than they saved.

He would attend to it tomorrow, when he wasn't seeing ghosts. Hopefully.

“So concerned with the future you fail to see what is in front of you. I quite feel Master Yoda would have cured you of such behavior by now,” the figment of his imagination chortled. 

Initiates whispered Mace traded his sense of humor to a Sith spirit in return for his dueling skill, but apparently his subconscious was out to prove them wrong.

“Fine, let's pretend you're real,” Mace sighed, feeling his tenuous sanity slipping through his fingers. “Why are you here? I would assume Kenobi to be your first visit were you able to manifest to the living.” In spite of thousands of years of accumulated Jedi knowledge making the mere idea laughable, that was. 

Qui-Gon smiled forlorn. “Were it so, I would. But I was unable to master the technique allowing me to appear before my untimely end. For the last decade, I have found myself vexingly stuck in a limbo that confounds my attempts to navigate it unless the Force is acting generous.“ From his demeanor, his miserable state came across as devastating as a restaurant getting his order wrong. Jinn’s definition of a serious expression was magnitudes lower than a normal individual’s. 

“So the Force has given you its blessing?” Apparently his subconscious was more creative than he had been giving it credit for too. Maybe when the war was won, he would write a book. Presuming he wasn't drowned under a sea of metal.

“Quite,” Qui-Gon smiled infuriatingly. “It has brought me to your attention for a specific purpose.”

“That being?” Mace nearly snapped. Whatever this hallucination truly was, it had gotten Jinn’s insufferable personality down to a tee. The amount of times the Council had to pry crucial mission details to supplement his lackluster reports were too many to count.

“So I could pass on a warning. A grave one for all inhabitants of this galaxy.”

“And the Force deemed you its messenger?” Mace unleashed his skepticism. Of course the Force worked in incomprehensible ways, that was a given, but he would never think it would stoop so low as to make Jinn its prophet. No matter his fellow councilors thoughts on the matter, he was still somewhat unconvinced Skywalker was the Chosen One, to say nothing of Jinn’s antics.

Had the Force truly wanted to pass on a message of such import, it would have sent an incomprehensible tingling of dread or an infuriatingly vague vision. Hardly had it ever appointed a direct mouthpiece.

The false Qui-Gon Jinn took in his skepticism with grace, crossing his arms serenely. “You still think me the flight of fancy of a tired mind. Soon you will see that and many other truths lie ahead, for my warning comes in two parts.”

Mace turned to continue getting ready for bed. This nonsense could be sorted in the morning if it even deigned to linger that long. Hopefully it would follow the real Qui-Gon's tendency to disappear off the face of Coruscant at the first opportunity.

Qui-Gon followed beside him all the way, his footsteps making no sound. “I am not the only visitor you will receive tonight.” His voice lowered along with the temperature. A stiff chill entered the room.

Mace ignored it, the cycling air cooler must have activated. 

He reached the cabinet in his personal refresher and pulled open a drawer. From the corner of his eye, an ethereal breeze began to ripple Jinn’s robe. 

Mace felt nothing other than fatigue on his clammy skin. Inside the drawer rested the singular bottle of on brand sleep medicine he kept for special occasions. He pulled it out and pried open the cap. When the pill fell into his open hand, the air congealed to sludge.

“Three more beings will follow in my wake,” the words worked their way over his shoulder in a slithering whisper. He heard a trillion voices echo behind the late Master Jinn's. Cold breath puffed across his cheek connected to all the dead and dying of the vast galaxy. Mace was unable to turn as the pressure of the universe descended into the room, forcing him to listen. His hands barely shook as they clutched the bottle, but not for lack of trying.

“First you will be visited by the Daughter, manifestation of the Light, to show you the truth of days past. Next will arrive the Father, presider of Balance, to reveal the plight of the present. Finally, the Son, embodiment of the Dark, will emerge to unveil the shrouded future. Each will bring with them two visions. I only hope you witness their gifts with a more open mind than you have shown me. For all of us, Master Windu.”

The spell broke and Mace whirled around.

No one was there.

“The very fate of the galaxy depends on it.” The sound drifted into his ear from nowhere, carried by a nonexistent breeze. “I wish you the best of luck, my old friend.”

He decided to take two pills instead of one and went to lie down.

Soon enough, he entered the realm of sleep. His last thoughts were on visiting Master Che for a checkup in the morning.

The light of Coruscant's sun poked through his closed eyelids, stirring him to consciousness.

He sat up with a groan, scars new and old gathered from the dangerous life of a Jedi, and more recently, General, ached with accumulating age. 

It wasn't the sun.

Mace Windu flipped to his feet, adrenaline rushing through his veins at the sight of the shining woman standing at his bedside. At once, the purple blaze of his saber combated her ambient white glow.

Her features were fair and her proportions slim compared to her towering height. Gold trimmed robes with a deep neckline adorned her form, which stood at least three heads taller than his own. Her hair fanned out in flowing green, bobbing with a life of its own.

She was a breathtaking sight, but crude flesh was nothing compared to the vision of his third eye. The Force within her was a surging ocean with the calmness of a still lake, something he previously thought to be an innate contradiction. Not even Master Yoda had a presence so vast yet so docile. More than that, the light reflected off that endless ocean, a sun of gold water. A depth without darkness, extending for as long as time. Purity of which had never known pollution, existing in untainted crystal waves.

She leisurely moved towards him, swaying with ethereal grace. Shatterpoints shimmered around her, an otherworldly glitter. She was beside him by the time he blinked the sight away and refocused, like space itself had bowed before her and let her glide past.

She reached for his saber even as he pointed it at her defensively. “There is no need for this. I did not come for a fight.” Her hand touched the purple point and pressed the plasma back into the hilt. 

He stared at the weapon he had crafted himself in bewilderment. Contrary to everything he thought possible, his saber was completely undamaged. He knew this because he felt the very kyber inside its hilt purr in satisfaction like a Tooka being scratched behind its ear. In his heart of hearts, he knew the crystal had retracted on purpose. It responded to her desire like she was its true bonded partner, and he was merely borrowing it.

Goosebumps exploded across his arm. A storm of emotion blew inside of him he clamped down with the skill of a Grandmaster.

“Who are you?” He demanded, unwilling to fold before the being of untold power. This was the Temple, domain of the Jedi, and he was its representative. This intruder may have power on a scale beyond comprehension, but he would not bow. Not here.

“If I am not mistaken, the Emissary has told you that.” 

He sucked in a sharp breath. “The… Daughter.” Hallucination or no, something was occurring here beyond mortal scope. The Force was with them. “Why have you broken into our sacred space? Why come here?”

“That has been said as well,” she dismissed albeit not unkindly. If there was a word to describe her it would be poised. For all she was an ocean, her composure was a rock that would break any wave. Insults or slights could not hope to weather the smallest grain.

“A warning?” Mace echoed the words of Jinn. “A being of your power reduced to a messenger.” He didn't believe it for a second. The more likely explanation was that ‘Jinn’s ghost’ was an illusion crafted by her and the rest of her ‘family’ for some inexplicable reason.

“You are closer to me in status, than I to the Force,” she calmly responded. “But I understand your skepticism, there is a reason me and my brother do not wander the galaxy. Just know that I do not intend harm, and while here we cannot do it.”

Mace silently evaluated her, searching for lies with all his senses, albeit the chances the being before him shared the common humanoid associated tells was low. He hoped she did not think she was hiding the feathers and claws that threatened to break from her crafted shell of skin at any moment, nor the wings that strained to emerge from her back.

It was simultaneously awe inspiring and terrifying all her already towering frame yet concealed. He was markedly struggling to compartmentalize the parts he knew simple eyes like his weren't meant to see. In a Jedi's place, one bathed such as her in the purest light would have been above suspicion. An object of worship even.

But she was no Jedi.

He didn't know what she was. And nothing was more dangerous in these dark times than the unknown.

The Daughter took his reservations in stride and smoothly walked past him to the door. Her presence brushed against his, the shining ocean blew sea spray. It was like breathing a star. “Follow me, Master Windu, there is much I have to show you tonight.”

Left with little real choice, he followed.

When they stepped out of his room, it was not to the familiar halls of the Temple but a dusty desert heat. 

Adrenaline spiked as he took in his completely new surroundings. He wasn't even in a building. Somehow the Daughter had transported him to an entirely new location without a single ripple in the Force to denote the travel.

If he had a fraction of this capability, putting an end to this war would be all too easy. As it was, this ability being gripped in the hands of a nebulous, godlike figure would keep him up at night granted he survived what was to come.

An outcome more and more unlikely with every wave of the Daughter’s hand.

Together they drifted across sand, leaving no trace, until they came upon a populated city among the dunes. They wove through crowds who continued with their day, oblivious to their presence. Each individual set to collide with them altered their course minutely to just brush past, completely unaware they were doing so. It was vastly more unsettling than if they simply phased through them like the ghostly apparitions Mace suspected they were. 

Eventually they managed to break free from the crowd, which became scarcer with every step they took towards their destination. Before long, they came across a crumbling complex of hovels in a dismal area of the bustling town. 

Shadows lurked around every corner of the ramshackle neighborhood, both literal and metaphorical. Anyone they passed who wasn't malnourished to the point of decay walked with a violent danger to them, shaped by the poverty and abuse that no doubt plagued the area.

The Daughter drew them both to one abode in particular, indistinguishable from the rest. She waved her hand, and the hovel door drifted open in total silence despite the critically rusted hinges it rested on. The piled dirt lying at the top step was not disturbed.

Supernaturally silent herself, the Daughter gestured for him to look inside.

Steeling himself, Mace did.

The first thing he heard stepping through the doorframe was a quiet sniffling. He followed the sound on light footsteps despite his surety he was not physically here. The home itself was a charming brand of cozy, not in areas of wealth or comfort, but in the clear effort its occupants took to make it not like the rest of the town. Love lingered on the well-organized objects inside keeping out the spiritual cold better than the cracked walls did the sweltering desert heat.

In one of the smaller side rooms, Mace found the home's inhabitants, consisting of a crying boy, embraced in the chest of his haggard mother. At once, Mace felt horrid for intruding, but the Force's command, even buried under the immutable ocean of the Daughter, was clear. He was to witness this intimate moment.

“What if he does it, Mom? What if he really sells me away?” The boy trembled in her arms as if freezing, at odds with the musty air.

Tears glistened in the mother's eyes, but she did not let them fall, resolving herself to be the boy’s pillar. She held him tighter until she managed to blink them away, then she drew them apart.

Mace stifled a gasp.

“I won't let it happen, Ani.”

Mace knew her words were a lie as well as the young Anakin Skywalker did. He did not pay overly much attention to Anakin's personal life before coming to the Order, but he had seen enough sentients in bonds to know how much power they had under the awful institution of slavery. Families being ripped apart was a common occurrence in their circumstances, beyond their control.

“Why is Watto so mean? I hate him!” The boy snarled. Mace frowned at the depths of his rage. Understandable perhaps, but dangerous for one of his power. “I don't want to leave! I’ll never leave you!”

His mother's face twisted in well concealed pain. Her fingers hid their anxiousness by combing through her child's disheveled, shaggy hair. “Sometimes, Ani,” the words were slow, well thought out, and deliberate, “people feel unable to control their lives."

"Like us?" Anakin clenched his fists with a downcast gaze.

Tears swelled in his mother's eyes again. "Yes," she whispered, near inaudible. "But we handle our sorrow like this, with each other. Some truly unlucky people do not have anyone."

Anakin flinched at the thought.

"There is no one they are close to, to share the burden with, so they react by trying to decide the lives of others in order to feel just a bit more in control. On the inside, Watto feels he is a man of no importance, that his fate is left to the whim of the rainclouds. He threatens us because we are one of the few people who take him seriously.”

The angry tears in Anakin's eyes had stopped somewhat as he glared. “That's stupid!”

Miss Skywalker nodded. “It is. But Ani, something you need to understand is that we can't help parting. I wish we did not have this life; I wish I could provide you with more, but even were we free, we wouldn't be from that. Someday we will not be together, separated by circumstances beyond any one’s control. What you have to do in those moments is remember the things that cannot be taken away. Do you know what those are?”

Anakin sniveled and shook his head.

She tapped his chest, “Our bonds,” she tapped his forehead, “and our minds. Those are our most valuable possessions, hidden in our safest spaces. No one can touch them except ourselves. Right now, you are full of hate, but this is exactly what Watto wants you to feel, Ani. He cannot reach into your heart and change it, so he is tricking you into doing it yourself. Don't let him. Keep him out, for me.”

“I… I will, Mom!” Anakin promised with the steadfast determination of a child. 

She stroked his cheek, smearing away the tears, and kissed his forehead. “My brave boy.”

Beside him a new voice entered his ear. “Beautiful, no?” Mace bit down on his startled flinch as the Daughter appeared beside him. The odds were equal between her silently walking up or manifesting out of thin air. “Often I look to mortals like these and feel jealous. Such short lives, but they commonly exhibit wisdom superior to mine.”

“It is a wise philosophy,” Mace granted. “Were Anakin a normal child I would even commend it. But this flagrant devotion to attachment opens up danger in conjunction with the Force.”

“Does it?” The Daughter asked. Mace could feel nothing from her but simple curiosity, and not for lack of trying.

“It is a gateway to far worse things,” he replied. “You witnessed the anger Anakin felt at the prospect of losing his mother.”

Somehow the Daughter was able to make the barest nod of a head into a graceful dive. “I did, but I also witnessed her pull him back. Is he not more rooted in the light than ever now?” She gestured self-evidently.

Mace wasn't an idiot; he was beginning to see why this being brought him here. “And if she hadn't been there? If indeed this Watto had separated them? It is forgivable when he is young, but he will not always be. An angry child grows into an angry man, and the source of that anger is his attachment.”

The Daughter did not reply, and when he turned to look they were abruptly somewhere else. Acting on instinct, Mace’s hand ghosted over his lightsaber, only for it to drop from his side a moment later, rationality reminding him the action was useless.

Instead he surveyed. Their new location was opulent. Tall ceilings, expensive vases, lavish decor. The soft carpet was a stark contrast to the dusty floors he stood over moments prior.

Mace recognized the room immediately, how could he not? He had been in the Chancellor's office far too many times in the last three years to forget it.

The next thing he saw were the two individuals standing by the wide, sweeping window, gazing over the bustling traffic of Coruscant. The silhouette on the left was instantly recognizable on account of their outfit: a deep red robe with two puffing shoulder pads. Naboo fashion infamous across the galaxy for better or worse. It was little wonder to find the Chancellor entertaining a guest in his own office. 

The guest beside him was also unsurprising, if regrettable, too. Anakin Skywalker, around his early teens, young but not the frightened boy he was seconds ago. A Padawan braid swayed over his shoulder.

This was the Anakin Mace had a better approximation of. Undeniable potential bogged down by a brash and rebellious personality that had not received the tempering all initiates experienced growing up in the creche. When the Council had conceded to Anakin’s training, Mace dared to hope the boy would pick up the calm exhibited by his peers instead of the blaring supernova of emotions that coated him even then, but time dashed that against the rocks. Anakin was far from the only late entry in the Temple’s history, but he was unique in the way all their lessons seemed to bounce off his shell of stubborn defiance–and later, towering arrogance.

The teen he saw before him did not seem defiant or arrogant, only angry.

“I do not understand,” Palpatine looked shocked, pale with lips slightly parted. “You're telling me they just… left her?”

Anakin bit his lip and looked away. Fire burned in his gaze that he visibly tried and failed to suppress. He tersely nodded.

“My boy, I don't know what to say…” Palpatine placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “That is simply awful. May I ask their reasoning? For defenders of good to leave an innocent woman in chains is just…” trailing off, he shook his head with a slight grimace, displaying as much disgust as a politician of his status could allow themselves to show.

Mace huffed in annoyance, able to extrapolate what this conversation was about.

Anakin’s fists clenched. “The Jedi are not supposed to show favoritism to any one member. There are countless slaves in Hutt Space, diverting crucial Jedi resources to focus on a specific one not in dire need is a display of attachment.” His response was appropriate, but it was clear he was woodenly parroting what he was told without appreciation for the wisdom. His body language did nothing to conceal his real feelings on the matter.

“Jedi,” sighed Palpatine, then caught himself. “Forgive me! It is just, as Chancellor I expected the mystery of the Jedi to dissipate with my proximity to them, yet I find it harder to wrap my head around your code than ever. I did not mean to be disrespectful.”

“It’s alright, Your Excellency,” Anakin stiffly replied. “I find it… hard too."

Palpatine defaulted to the grandfatherly smile he presented the media, this time colored with empathetic sadness. “One moment they risk their lives performing daring heroics, the next, they sit and do nothing in the face of a tragedy like yours,” he said softly. “From my experience they always explain the incongruities away with that reasoning of attachment. Now, I am an outsider to the matter I admit, but I just cannot seem to see what is so wrong with getting attached.” His hands smoothed out his robes. “It was my understanding the bonds between us are our strengths, it is the foundation our Republic is built upon. To tell the truth, I think your worry for your mother is a noble endeavor, not worthy of the scorn your Order shows it.”

“You think so? You don't think I'm wrong for thinking about her?” Anakin quickly scrubbed his sleeve over his glistening eyes.

“I do not.”

Now Mace clenched his fists. As an outsider, Palpatine never understood Jedi philosophy. Although he tried to treat them with respect, it is no surprise his opinions on the matter would conflict. However Mace wished he did not voice them to a confused young man, it only served to muddle Anakin’s development. The Chancellor of all people should have understood the nuance inherent in their decision not to assist Anakin’s mother.

Green light creeped into view. “I cannot say I see it differently,” intruded the Daughter once again.

Mace grunted, putting aside the flare up of annoyance to calmly explain, “Every Jedi diverted to freeing her is an entire slave ring left to flourish, a war between planets ignited, or a terrorist left to their own devices. To say nothing of the Senate itself, which would never condone us performing such an overt, ad hoc provocation of Hutt Space. Sadly, the Order as a whole has to tread within the realm of politics lest larger disasters be left unchecked.”

“But why do those slave rings flourish, planets war, or terrorists attack? From what I have witnessed, is it not the Republic itself who drives them? Can the Republic create any solutions to their problems that do not require the Jedi?”

“They can, but they will not. More often than I would like we are performing triage, yet the alternative is losing our purview in Republic Space.” The Republic was the bastion of galactic civilization, that was a simple fact stretching back thousands of years to its very founding. Recently a virulent rot has infected it, yet as long as the Jedi stayed devoted, Mace was confident they could steer it to better times, and through it, the galaxy at large.

"But is Republic Space truly the one in most dire need of your help?”

“Perhaps not, but forsaking the Republic is putting the needs of the few before that of the many. Without the Jedi’s calming hand, an unchecked Senate would unleash suffering on the people. And all of this is irrelevant at present with the Separatists bearing down on innocent worlds, engulfing them in flames of war.”

“I see that you stand firm on the decisions made. Your self assurance is an admirable trait, Master Windu. I see the truths you will be confronted with ahead, and despite my goal, I wish for your resolve to stand strong and unbent. The weight of regret is a terrible thing, as my family has found.”

“I am a Master of the Jedi High Council. Countless beings look to me for guidance. My mindset has been accrued from a deep understanding of our lore and teachings. I do not know what you really are, but the truth of our Order’s philosophy will shine through your tricks.” 

“So they may.”

The Daughter returned her focus to the duo they came to witness, staring at them stare out to Coruscant in solemn silence. 

“There is more I can show you, but I will not.”

“Is that so?”

Light grew around her gradually, but Mace swore it flared all at once. Both were true in this paradoxical being. “Indeed, our exchange grows short.” Mace’s eyes widened in alarm as he realized the light was not the ambient glow she demonstrated during their time together. Slowly, she was breaking down into motes of light and floating away. “It would not be productive for either of us to drudge through the events of the past. Perhaps a more recent occurrence may affect you where this did not.” Her voice, as with her body, grew distant, even though her mouth was still next to him.

Mace was not letting her get away so easily. “Why are you doing this?” He demanded an answer, stretching out a hand as if he could grab the light and force her to reform. “What purpose is there in interrupting my sleep for a walk through time? I was promised to witness an urgent warning, but all I see are thinly veiled snubs at my person!”

The Daughter's face was the last part of her to go, and it smiled sadly, at odds with the way her eyes burned with such far reaching kindness it hurt to meet them. “Why?” She whispered back. “Because I am attached to this galaxy and cannot bear to see it in chains.”

Mace knew his stern expression cracked. “What does that mean!? Daughter!?” He called as the last of her serene beauty was swept into floating lights. They danced in the air, buzzing like fireflies, and wherever they shone the office melted with nothing to replace it.

Mesmerized by the oddity of reality unraveling before him, Mace Windu did not realize the ground he stood on disappeared until he was falling.

Chapter Text

Mace Windu flailed in an endless void.

Up, down, left, right: darkness. No escape. Nothing to escape from. Bereft of stars and air. Only the Force remained, so thick as to drown him.

To be in such a situation was to welcome death, yet despite the improbabilities, he breathed. Logic did not exist in the nebulous expanse he inhabited, his subconscious helpfully informed him with startling clarity. Talkative intuition appeared to be another symptom of the mystical realm the Daughter dragged him in.

It was only the crackle of lightning dancing in distant, arching storm clouds that let him know he had arrived somewhere real. Similarly, it was only the click of shoes on stone that let him realize he was standing in a wide field of fissured rock.

Whirling around, he was greeted by a new visitor, looming with such rigidity Mace understood it was he who entered their home, announced by the aged world itself, marked so deeply by the being’s presence any other form of life could feel the rejection. The inhabitant of this domain was a tall humanoid made taller by his pointed hat although Mace would hesitate to term what he wore clothes. To the eyes of the Force it was clear he was a being in totality, with the fabric and metal of his attire being as much an extension of him as his spindly fingers and sweeping white beard. 

Wizened lines brought age to his face instead of the other way around. Each crevice of skin carried a millennia lived, marked there because He allowed it so. His demeanor was not supremely gentle like his child–if he and the Daughter were indeed related–but austere. A mountain would bend around him if it came to be a contest between them. One glance showed that.

If the Daughter was difficult to look at directly, this ‘man’ was altogether too clear. His very self curved the Force around its gravity, a celestial phenomena deigning to grow legs. Once attention was placed on him, it was caught, to be released at his mercy.

If the Daughter was an ocean, the Father was a galaxy. Hosted within was a trillion planets with their own oceans, their own continents, their own skies, a reality all its own. Another history pervaded that galaxy with weight that rivaled their own. Old enough to make the ancient look young, and the young resemble a flickering ember set to shine and die in a solitary second.

If the Daughter was closer to Mace than the Force, this being was closer to the Force than his daughter.

“Greetings, Master Windu, I trust you are in good spirits,” the being rumbled with a voice strained by wisdom and the ages it took to accumulate, not too dissimilar from Yoda, in everything but grammar and immensity. 

Each syllable struck like a hammer, the gravely tones sanding Mace down like a stone in a river. Sound was nearly lost in the cacophony of his burning mind. Mace forced himself to tune down his awareness, trying to take in all the Father was laid a path of madness. He went against all the teachings that were hammered into him to say the crude matter he saw was all there was.

“I am as well as I can be, all things considered,” he ground out, trying to reign down a swelling headache.

“That is good. There is much more to show you.”

“Hold on,” Mace refrained from snarling, but only just. “I was told that the fate of the galaxy rested on what I would see here, but so far I have been shown nothing of importance. Everything I’ve seen has been trivial exchanges from years ago. I demand to know the point of these visits!”

He was at the end of his rope, pulled from sleep to gawk over intimate moments of little real value to the threats of the current Republic. He felt like his ‘guides’ were turning him into a voyeur, and he would not be the butt of their cosmic joke! Whatever purpose they had in degrading themselves and him, he would not play the hapless tagalong.

The Father was silent, stroking his beard in contemplation. Mace would say his mind was far away if he wasn't aware the man was everywhere at once. “Importance?” He slowly spoke; his eyes sharpened to daggers yet remained soft. “Now that is a grand word. Do you think the galaxy, so vast in scope, cares for the lives that fly among its stars? Deigns to worry over the troubles of Sith and Jedi? Do you think the lothcat, scavenging for scraps in an alley, registers the soldiers dying on distant worlds?”

He spoke each word with measure, significance woven into them by the sole reason they were chosen to come out of his mouth. “Importance is a matter of perspective, Master Windu. Our motives stretch far, but in essence, what we are here to show is paramount to you, not the galaxy, not the Jedi Order. You search blindly for corruption in everywhere but where it is,” he slowly pointed a long, spindly finger at Mace’s chest. “A foundation rotted cannot support anything save a tomb. You are walking to your death proudly, and we come here so it may be averted. Indeed, Master Windu, I quite believe you will find what we have to give important.”

Brow furrowing, Mace’s mind raced. “Save me? From what? If my life is under threat, just tell me! Why dance around it?” 

Buried under all the layers of what this creature was, Mace was unsure if the disappointment he spotted was real, or if it was even worth noting considering he embodied all that is and was. “Gods cannot save men from mistakes they insist on making. The threat you are facing is that of your own folly. Should you continue on the path you are walking after leaving our presence then there is nothing to say.”

Lightning flashed and Mace became cognizant of a structure, impossibly tall, yet also shadowed behind the Father’s figure. Constructed of black stone carved from night itself, its immense spire cut into the stormy sky above, reaching like a doomed hand for salvation. 

“Come, let us make haste. Time is a commodity, and there is little to be wasted when so much must be seen.” The Father whipped around seemingly turning the entire world with him, striding off with lengthy steps that cast it into orbit.

Mace was pulled along without even moving his feet, drawn by gravity. The entrance to the spire curved dark and wide, an inviting maw Mace wanted nothing more than to turn around and ignore.

Against his wishes he was swallowed by the black.

Soon, two figures joined, meshed together and woven in darkness, the central piece of the upcoming vision. 

Then color filled around them, adding context and life. Smell and sounds followed afterwards. 

He was able to take in his surroundings fully. 

Despite all the incredulous things he'd been witness to so far he almost couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Familiar opulence surrounded him; Mace found himself back in the Senate like he never left, only changed rooms. 

And what a room he entered! A front row seat to Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker and Senator Padme Amidala locked in a scandalous embrace. Tabloids had killed for less.

Profit was the furthest thing from the red plaguing Mace's mind. Truly he shouldn't have been surprised, but even he couldn't believe how flagrantly Skywalker would flaunt the code he swore to. The boy had always been a renegade, never precisely meshing with the Order, a trend that continued well into adulthood. Even discounting the visions shown by the Daughter it was obvious.

But… to so unabashedly disregard one of their most sacred tenets was beyond the pale! Mace knew the constant allowances they gave the Chosen One would come back to bite them. Bad habits had festered out of control in the cracks of their surveillance, spurred on by unapologetic attachment, and this man didn't have the excuse of childhood nor ignorance.

What he felt in that instant bordered dangerously on anger, but he rigorously exerted enough self-control to ensure it didn't bubble over. It instead teetering on supreme irritation.

The true brunt of the emotion was locked away for later examination and release. A task he would perform alongside construction of the disciplinary censure the Council would have to lay onto Skywalker. Provided a follow-up investigation showed what he was witnessing was real, and not an expertly crafted illusion well within the realm of possibility for these self-proclaimed gods. 

“You doubt,” The Father spoke behind him, not bothering with the surprise approach his child seemed fond of. There was never a moment Mace wasn't cognizant of that being's location. The lack of overt tricks was appreciated, but reading his mind certainly didn’t belay his worries.

“Not as much as I would like,” he opted to say. “This is all too believable for Skywalker.” His inner loathing poked through.

“You see a secret affair, I see a warrior returning home because his family was betrayed by those he trusted.”

“Family?” Mace repeated. “The Jedi are not family, we are protectors. We defend all without stipulation, follow the Force. We do not give in to selfish desires of the flesh, or let our judgement be manipulated by the flaws inherent to deep connection.”

“So blessed with peace you are, to condemn comfort.”

“You think this war has been peace for me?” He growled.

It was hard to say the Father backed down, but there was distinctly less bite in his words, merely a soft condemnation. “I think you are more fruitful in connection than you admit, and you do not ascribe love the value it deserves.”

“On the former we agree, but my love is different from this. My devotion is selfless, to the Republic and the people at large. Their continued wellbeing fuels me every day. I will not rest until the galaxy is safe for all, under the aegis of learned leaders and bright with light.”

“And if seeking that goal reaps the lives of your fellows too?”

“There is no greater end for a Jedi than giving their lives pursuing that dream.”

Oddly enough, reaffirming his beliefs to the Father calmed him down greatly. In the following silence, he forced himself to actually take in the scene he was brought to see.

Previously unnoticed sorrow leaked from the lovers. Touching–were Mace in the mood for sympathy. Tears tracks stained Senator Amidala's cheeks while Anakin shook in barely contained rage and sadness, a toxic mix he should have headed off like a proper Jedi. But Anakin was never a proper Jedi, was he?

Anakin was and always would be a hero larger than life, that Mace could admit, but fame and glory were not the tenants of a Jedi. Jedi participated in wars, yes, but they did so reluctantly. Anakin on the other hand dived in with little to no thought, eager to enact change without stopping to consider what form it should take, what cost it would ask. The delicate work of a Jedi could not be done brashly, a lesson Anakin seemed to have forgotten if he ever learned it at all.

“She's gone... She left me!” Anakin shook.

“She didn't want to leave you,” Padme laid a hand on his bicep. “She knows the only reason she was able to walk away at all was your efforts.”

“Then why couldn't she stay?” Anakin drew away despondently, concealing his trembling arms in his sleeves.

“Her trust was betrayed by the Order that raised her. I couldn't imagine how that feels. Staying after that? I'm not sure I could have either.” Padme muttered, hiding her quivering lip with her hand.

Upon hearing their topic of conversation, the anger at the edge of Mace's awareness twisted into something bitter and self-recriminating. Skywalker's failings aside, the unfortunate circumstances surrounding Ahsoka's trial were a ruthless test from the Force he wished he had not been chosen to administer.

It was a profound shame she took such a negative take away from the events. Throughout the debacle she had demonstrated resourcefulness and skill beyond her years. She could have been a celebrated knight renowned among her generation had she chosen to stay.

The Order was all the worse for her loss.

“The Council!” Mace could practically hear Anakin grinding down his teeth from here. “How dare they do that to her! It was unjust!”

“Ani, you and I both knew the entire time Ahsoka was innocent, but from their perspective she was the most likely suspect.”

“Even still, to give her up to that slime Tarkin without a fight!” He stormed to the suite's expansive window, his dark glower reflected in the glass. A nearby cup vibrated showcasing a dangerous slip in control.

Mace's lips curled at the sight. It was amateurish, completely unbecoming of a knight of Anakin's stature.

Padme walked up to him, placing a hand at her back. “You know the situation they're in.” It sounded sympathetic, but really it couldn't have come out more half-hearted if she tried.

Anakin bit his lip. “I just… even Obi-Wan…”

Padme's voice was small. “You know him, I'm sure he did all he could.”

Mace almost laughed out loud. He sure did, arguing until he was red in the face along Master Koon’s kel dor equivalent. It was only after he was narrowly out voted did the Council manage to regain civility and close ranks. During this war with enemies prowling at their door inside and out, it was more important than ever they gave the impression of a unified body. Weakness invited cracks for the darkness to slither in.

“Sure, but he still fell in line with all the rest when he knows me and Ahsoka would have done everything in our power for him. The entire Council too! After everything we did. The impossible battles we handed them together! They dared to suspect-” Shoulders heaving, Anakin banged his fist against the glass so hard Mace was surprised it didn't break.

Padme wrapped her arms around him and all the anger fled his system. His forehead slumped against the cool pane. “What if she needs me out there?” He whispered. “What if she gets in trouble and I'm not there to bail her out?”

“You taught her everything you could, every skill, every precaution. You just have to trust she can handle it, and that she'll contact us if she can't.”

They stood there, watching the city go by in hushed vigilance, as if they could spot the wayward Tano from there.

“Rather lamentable, isn't it?” Injected the Father. 

Mace put aside his warring anger and remorse to gather his reply. “My condolences go out for Senator Amidala; I was not aware they were this close. But Skywalker brought these difficulties onto himself. He should be able to let go of his attachments to his Padawan. They are unbalancing him.”

“Is it for the better that attachment is purged?” The Father asked, treading old ground he'd thought was put behind them. 

Mace scoffed, drawing his eyes away from the carefully tailored sight to turn to the Father. “Now who is the one throwing around loaded words? For a Jedi, attachment is a distraction from their duty. It causes them to act irrationally, put the few before the many when their sole devotion should be to the wider galaxy.”

“But it seems to have worked out for the better in this case. It was only Anakin's unflinching faith in his Padawan that uncovered the true culprit.” 

Shaking his head, Mace said, “Who is to say the Force wouldn't have cleared things up a different way? His attachment caused him to take several risks when he should have contemplated on the will of the Force.” Mace knew Anakin would lie and say he did, when Bariss’ inevitable trial rolled around, but it was clear to anyone with a passing knowledge of the man he went on his dangerous crusade guided by nothing but impulse.

An alien emotion sparked in the Father’s eyes, the closest substitute Mace could categorize would be anger. “This was the will of the Force?”

“The Force arranged this for her,” Mace explained somberly. “It was a test of her resolve.” What other explanation could there be? The Force had been clouded recently, but surely if it had not desired this ordeal Ahsoka would not have suffered it. Too many coincidences lined up for that not to be the case.

The Father was perfectly inflectionless when saying his next words, but they carried a crushing damnation nonetheless. “So you are saying she failed.”

Mace opened his mouth but nothing left. That… wasn't what he meant. “The Force works in mysterious ways. Perhaps what she accomplishes outside the Order will be more impactful than what she could have done in it.”

“Let us see then, shall we?”

“Pardon?” Mace's mouth went dry.

The Father responded rather flippantly, “I wish to see this divine purpose she has been gifted and imagine you do as well. We will depart at once.” His demeanor brokered no argument.

Unlike when he was dragged here, Mace stood still as they changed locations. It was as if it was the world that spun around them, surroundings flying by in a haze until snapping to focus. Mace was reminded once more he was a puppet on a string to these beings, they could either direct his movements personally or change the stage altogether. 

This time it was not as egregious as teleporting to new worlds thankfully. The sounds, smells, and sights of the new area told him he was still on Coruscant, merely lower, in both height and status.

They found themselves in a grimy alley. Abhorrent stains coated the cracking duracrete ground topped by a smattering of disgusting trash. Unseemly graffiti decorated the sides lit by distant neon light. Mace couldn't quite tell if they were on a lower level or if it was night out.

It hardly mattered, the streets of Coruscant were hostile to sentient life either way.

Upon first arriving the alley was empty, but that soon changed. Before long, a lonely figure stumbled down it, dressed in a ratty cloak, the top of which did well to conceal the face but little to conceal their species: togruta.

Mace didn't have to guess as to the lithe figure’s identity. He watched in a daze as Ahsoka took halting steps into the dark shadows of the backstreet and collapsed against one of its walls. She slid all the way until she was sitting, wedged between filthy trash bags.

All was silent, frozen in a way unnatural to the hustle and bustle of the planet, until the smallest whimper rang like a blastershot. A dam broke. Mace's heart stopped beating as he watched the indomitable Ahsoka Tano–the second hand to the Hero with no Fear, the girl who ran rings around the Coruscant Guard, the prospective Jedi knight who fearlessly stared the war tribunal charging her with treason down–descend into ragged, sweeping sobs.

With quivering hands, she drew the cloak around her in a pitiful embrace. Thick tears flowed from her cheeks. Grief clouded the alley, a miasma denser than even the cloying Coruscant pollution.

Mace wanted to be anywhere but there, viewing the strong young woman breaking down, yet he couldn't look away. Trapped in that snapshot of despair, each teardrop added to a growing weight in his chest.

Time passed until her sobs died down to sniffles, still she did not raise her head. She clutched her knees to her chest, buried her face into her knees, and shook in cold and sorrow. Watching on in disquiet, Mace anticipated the upcoming twist to occur any moment, the thing to break the sad scene and segway into the next scathing conversation topic. Except… that didn't happen. There were no visitors, no events of importance. No words exchanged because no one showed up.

Constantly, Mace expected someone to walk down the alley, talk to her, give some higher meaning to the gut wrenching display. This cold hall of duracrete couldn't be all that there was for them to see.

Mace craned his head, hoping to glimpse some newcomer drawn away from the throngs of Coruscant. Yet the crowds of Coruscant were famous for their callousness and one lone girl wouldn’t earn a blink from any native streetwalker. 

This couldn't be it, he reasoned–begged. There had to be… be some purpose-

Mace was breathing heavily without realizing it. A foul beast clawed at his chest demanding anything at this point! A topic to debate, a false assertion to rebuke. Even some manifestation of the Force descending from the heavens to personally list their grievances with him in plain Basic would have been fine!

Anything.

By the time he realized there was nothing, hours must have passed. 

Nothing other than a lost girl crying in a rank alley, curled into a ball wishing the Force wasn't so cruel. It was clear she would sleep here tonight.

A former Jedi with no money, trade skills, or outside connections let loose on an encumopolis of poverty and crime was left with little recourse, after all.

“Why does she not go to Padme?” He found himself saying, the thought flying past his lips before he could think to censure it. “They clearly…”

Care, was the word that filled the emptiness.

Having stood beside him in the silence without a complaint, the Father stroked his beard, ambivalent to the sight from the very moment they arrived. “Do you wish her to? For that matter, why do you care, Master Windu? Should you not let it go?” The questions stabbed into him like daggers. The Father threw his hand at her. “How is she different from the millions of others sleeping in the streets below our feet? Those lying in the elements of distant worlds? The few put before the many.

“Tell me, by your definition is this moment important?” 

“Of course–” The affirmation was his knee jerk reaction but the rest stuck in his throat like a bone. It is. It isn't?

“Not as important as ensuring the sanctity of Republic space, I presume. Rushed convictions are little matter compared to such lofty aspirations. There is not a Jedi alive who would not give themselves gladly for the cause. Especially when the Force will handle it all in the end.” 

Slapping Mace in the face would have hurt less than tossing his own words back at him.

“Allow me to give my opinion on the things I have shown, instead of asking for yours.” When the Father straightened his back, he towered over the skyscrapers. “The ideal galaxy you seek to protect is one without love. I am not my Daughter, I have no sympathy for your lack of it. You scorn attachment, blind to your own. Claim wisdom, yet bask in ignorance. My personal brush with failure leaves your's clear to me.

“You are being given a second chance to a mistake you have not yet made! There is nothing more valuable in the galaxy, you should treat it as such. Cherish it, Master Windu! I for one would reach out with both my hands, all my strength, to grasp the silver platter we are presenting you!”

Mace had not realized until the Father pulled back the being had advanced several steps forwards and he several steps back.

The Father paced away, rolling like a storm. “My apologies, how could I forget? The esteemed Grandmaster must embody poise!” He spoke his thoughts aloud theatrically, moving with vigor, like an ancient tree sprouting new leaves. “His back must remain straight as millions starve; his reputation impossible to tarnish with a bow!”

He threw his arms skyward, stretching over the cosmos, echoing to every star. “He must be wise! Surpassing the base concerns of those beneath his ivory tower lest his vision be clouded by such inconvenient things as empathy or compassion!”

Thunder boomed, jarring Mace to the bone. “Above all, he must be one with the great Force binding our galaxy together! So eager to sever his connections at every turn! So in tune with its will he sees the hidden truths of its trials and messengers!”

Mace lurched. The floor opened beneath his feet; another gaping maw set to consume. He scrambled for an edge to the crumbling duracrete and just grasped the end.

“I thank my good fortune to have had the privilege of meeting one so high as you.” The previously animated Father looked down at him without emotion, even as his grip slipped away, and he fell further into the depths of his waking sleep.

Chapter Text

Where there was nothing before, the void hosted darkness now. Deeper and deeper still, growing to consume him. Laughter of a beast, cries of a child, a thousand sounds of suffering and glee serenaded the fall of Mace Windu. 

His eternity ended on freezing stone, announced by a jarring, bodily thud. Cold seeped into his bones supernaturally fast, making him quickly stand, alert to his surroundings, the pain he thought he felt from the collision nowhere to be found.

Two lit torches framed a throne of white stone, their circle of faint light forcing form on the broiling darkness stalking his position, waiting at the edges to pounce. It was a living creature licking its lips at the last scrap of substance to remain solid, kept at bay by the whimsy of its lounging master.

Reclined lazily on that ornate chair with deliberate, decadent poise was a being that could be mistaken for a pau’un at first glance. The illusion quickly fell away at a second.

Anything more than a cursory look would show his skin to be unnaturally flawless as if the smooth stone he rested upon was harvested from it, lacking the distinct facial lines of the pau’un and several shades starker besides, viscerally bone white next to their milky tones. Evidently this was another being of his previous visitor's species, one Mace couldn't discern, even presuming evolution could diverge into such arcane paths where all the individual members had in common was their frightening power expressed in different ways.

Mace was warned ahead of time that he would meet the Daughter, Father, and Son, and it seemed he was saved the worst for last. Where the former two stretched the concepts of reality, the Son desecrated them, demonstrating an existence that shouldn't be.

Purely by first impression, the Son's aura was the polar opposite of his supposed sister. A hellscape in the magnitude of Mustafar, composed of fire and brimstone. Under normal circumstances fire itself would denote light, but there was not a speck of it to be seen. All the fire in his domain was black as night, flickering in malicious tendrils that wanted for nothing save the opportunity to turn the galaxy to ash and crackle on its corpse.

Its mere presence left Mace nauseous. Quickly, he pulled himself inward, gathering his will to become a monolith, afraid he had been infected by its fire simply by looking. Even that fear, he recognized, was an effect of his cursory glimpse into the heart of darkness.

It was all too easy to be taken in. His two eyes were one abyss, their pupils a viewport into a swirling red nexus, absent of light but glowing all the same. In those that fell the most obvious manifestation of dark side corruption were sickly yellow eyes. This creature demonstrated every color of the rainbow and many more buried in refractions of shimmering darkness.

Wrong ran through the Son’s veins to such a degree right appeared a taint to its purity. This was it: the outgrowth of the cancer that latched itself to the Force. The physical perversion of its wicked will given a face and voice to proselytize sin. 

The dark side was not strong in him, it was him. Were his eyes solely yellow they would be a corruption of the darkness, implying there existed some form of matter to his being not made of evil. Both his body and soul was a maelstrom of ill fate as far from uncaring as an arbiter of destiny should be. No, this monster was all too interested in others.

The fate the Son dictated was temptation made manifest, drawing the witless and innocent in to twist and break, a supernatural and malevolent will countless cultures wrote odes to in their times before spaceflight. A sweet siren song catered to prey on the desperate, promising more than it could ever give and expertly hiding all it would take away.

In many ways the Son was less than his father–in others, so much more. A contradiction each and every one of them. To try and pick apart the complete trinity was a fool’s errand better left to the insane.

Had he been forced to describe them he would say the Daughter was grace exemplified, the Father was eons amassed, and the Son was banality scorned. He acted not like a being of immense power, but a petty malefactor, delighting in any paltry reaction he could elicit. In line with his family only by the weight of his fearsome power, shed of their responsibility and control, reveling in any chance to sow chaos from wherever his family kept him constrained.

Their natures distilled made certain the Daughter would point to guide, the Father to show, and the Son to laugh.

“I am the Son,” his voice echoed not on walls but his own grandeur, eager to announce knowledge already known as long as it was about him. His tone was soft but conspicuously shallow. He could witness a world burn and continue to discuss the effect it would have on the weather. “My dear sister has forced me into this charade, so let us get on with it. I hear you are as eager to return to your doom as I am to watch it.” For all his magnificent power his slander rang like a common crook.

“I will be glad to be free of your presence as well, darksider.” His encounter with the Father left him shaky, unbalanced both literally and figuratively on nonexistent ground, but Mace pulled himself together. He was a representative of the Jedi. He would not quiver in the face of this unworthy being, god or no. Light would always shine through, it was a simple rule.

Were harm capable here he would give his all to smite this avatar of evil. The galaxy would be an unequivocally better place with his absence.

“And they say our two sides can never agree,” the Son smiled grotesquely and flipped his hand. Beside him the torches flared, the puff of their swelling fire rang like a scream.

It wasn’t the sudden brightness that blinded Mace so much as the disproportionately piercing pain that followed. When he blinked the spots from his eyes, they had returned to the Senate building: the hallway to the Chancellor's Office to be more precise. Somehow he wasn't surprised. It seemed the fate of the galaxy always orbited this building and turned to the will of this room, now was no different.

Barely had he taken in his surroundings when the elevator behind him dinged open. Mace spun around foolishly believing he was prepared for anything.

He was not.

A most surreal sight occupied the space behind the durasteel doors, one only possible in a dream.

Himself.

Hardly giving him any time to process, his doppelganger strode forward with grim purpose, flanked by Master's Fisto, Tiin, and Kolar. Mace watched this retinue enter the Chancellor’s Suite. The Force was thick with flavors of duty and significance, flowing with the impression that perhaps there was never a time more important than now.

Unbidden, it suffused an anxious dread into him, giving him pause. Whatever brought himself and his fellow masters here was not something he was going to like.

“Hurry now, or we might miss the show,” the Son ushered them forward by virtue of his eager steps, stalking in the shadow of the group. Foreboding glee spiked from him, embedding into Mace’s troubled psyche with the force of driven spikes.

Mace made to follow, intimately aware the Son would happily leave him behind if he stewed in his sudden worry.

Mace didn't know what he expected to see in the office as his fellow councilors fanned out from the entrance, bodies tense, clearly expecting combat, but it was not Palpatine sitting by his lonesome, emanating mild surprise.

Palpatine quickly composed himself. “Master Windu, I take it General Grievous has been destroyed then? I must say, you're here sooner than expected.”

Mace had to choke down a gasp. The defeat of Grievous would be a monumental victory for the Republic, and a balm for the scores of Jedi and civilians he had slaughtered. “When does this vision take place,” he hissed to the Son who had his eyes glued to the scene with manic fervor.

“Soon,” his lips curled in delight.

Mace actually had to choke down his next questions as he pulled out his lightsaber and said, “In the name of the Galactic Senate of the Republic, you are under arrest, Chancellor.”

But it was not him who said it, not currently.

The anxiety sprouting inside him coalesced into a sinking stone. “What is happening?” The viewing Mace questioned although he could not muster a voice above a whisper, no matter how he tried. He was uncertain if he even wanted a reply, too transfixed on the events playing out.

All throughout the Force was still, the inhale before a scream, the pause before the rush of adrenaline. The calm before the storm that would upend everything.

“The beginning of a reckoning, Master Windu,” the Son said.

Palpatine let stern anger cloud his face, “Are you threatening me, Master Jedi?”

“The Senate will decide your fate.”

“I am the Senate.”

“Not yet,” his future self pronounced and everything went wrong.

Palpatine stood, anger coursing through him. Like a violent beast awakening from slumber it grew and grew with every passing moment until it surpassed the heights a normal man should feel. 

Roaring to encompass the room, it blossomed into something hideous. 

Mace physically recoiled when the dark side snapped out a lightsaber from the beloved Chancellor’s sleeves and ignited blood red. The force with which Coruscant stopped turning nearly threw him to the ground.

“It's treason then,” Palpatine growled before exploding with a scream ripped straight from Corellian hell.

This couldn't be, Mace was barely able to track the speed with which the demure politician moved as he watched three of his fellow councilors fall within the span of just as many breaths, reaped by a pillar of red.

No… No, this was impossible! Mace attempted to deny what he was seeing, yet that was the true impossibility. As his future self was thrown into a life and death bout for the future of all he knew, he was not afforded the luxury of turning away in blissful ignorance.

The Republic they had been fighting for was under the control of a Sith Lord. Anakin’s affair was nothing compared to this, a revelation so sickening he was unable to dismiss it as anything except the cold, hard truth. It made too much sense, clarified too many loose threads. It was the ultimate worst-case scenario and Mace felt blind for not having seen it before.

“Rather brilliant, isn't it?” The Son was near breathless in awe. “I could scarcely have come up with a better ploy myself. To grind the Jedi to dust all while fertilizing one's own rise. One of the greatest pieces of art I have ever witnessed a mortal to make.”

And Mace could see it, a vivid tapestry of lies and horror. The twisted genius needed to architect the galaxy spanning conspiracy. Goading their ideals into fighting his hopeless war, stroking the fears of the populace and Senate to heap more power on his pile. How Palpatine played them to his tune like a master conductor, and it was only as his grip solidified were they able to see the writing on the wall.

“It will not be this way,” Mace mustered his shaking resolve. “It's over for Palpatine.” Or should he say Darth Sidious? “However much control over the Senate he amassed here, he will not reach it now that I am aware.” This, this made the entire night worth it. He would have slogged through any number of terrible ordeals for this knowledge, and all he had to suffer here was some pointed words.

“By all means, once you leave here go ahead.” The Son didn't seem to find the upcoming demise of his fellow darksider all too worrying, but something in Mace told him it was not the standard disregard for others that characterized the comment. Something in his tone implied it would be a mistake, that not immediately rooting out the cancer that had infected his glorious Republic was a blunder.

Mace hardened his heart and dismissed his misgivings. He would not let this abhorrent entity play mind games with him. The second he was free, he would march off to remove this blight on decency.

Around them the battle continued to flow. Mace himself could barely believe any version of him was managing to keep up with the Chancellor’s warped blitz. The fragile politician was no longer there, in his place was a freakish wraith who danced among red, striking from unnatural angles, streaming bends into jabs and strikes. It was unlike any foe he had ever faced, and Palpatine's skill with the saber put every master he could think of off the top of his head to shame. Surely Dooku, well versed as he was in the blade and the dark side, did not measure up to this.

It was the pinnacle of his life. Light versus dark, with him as the vector for the just path. The deliberate way the Force guided his movements to overcome an opponent he would be unable to face alone spoke to the folly of the Sith. Where he was one, Palpatine was divided along the lines of his selfishness. Vaapad was made to turn the darkness against its user, highlight the self-destructive nature of its perversion and Palpatine was nearly as steeped in it as the veritable god beside him. Its raw power simultaneously made Sidious supremely dangerous and assured his failure.

The battle between Sith and Jedi took them to the adjoining room, and furthermore to the wide window overlooking the winding skylanes of night lit Coruscant, which shattered amidst their wild flurry. Shatterpoints spread from their blurring clashes, phantom indications of the pivotal battle on the fabric of the universe.

Slowly a smile creeped over his face as he watched his future self deal the critical blow, disarming the Sith Lord by throwing his saber into the night. There was something immensely satisfying in watching Sidious scramble away from justice only to be unable to escape.

“You are under arrest, my Lord,” his future self said and Mace could taste the fulfillment. His life’s effort crystallized, bringing peace at last. A Jedi should not feel pride, but for him to personally triumph over the disease rotting the Republic felt good. Even if it was not him now, he vowed that it would be him later. Victory here was assured with a clarity surpassing any vague prophecy.

And then it was not just the two of them, light and dark, but a shadow inserted between.

Who else but Anakin Skywalker stormed in.

At once, Mace could tell there was something profoundly wrong with him. He was pale and haggard, deep bags rested under his eyes and his hair was tangled in clumps, barely presentable. His presence in the Force was a weak lighthouse, turbulent as if submerged in the raging sea it overlooked than illuminating the coast.

As Anakin approached them with stumbling steps it was Palpatine who spoke first, rushing out his words with weaselish desperation. “Anakin, I told you it would come to this– I was right. The Jedi are taking over!”

So focused was his future self he never took his eyes off Palpatine. “The oppression of the Sith will never return! You have lost.”

That’s what this was. That's what this scene was showing. It had to be. It must.

Yet doubt wormed its way into him.

“No. No! No! You have lost!” Palpatine gutturally growled, and the dark side streamed from his fingers in unending, jagged bolts. “He’s a traitor!”

“No!” His future self hastily threw up his guard, relying on their shared mastery of Vaapad to reflect the vile power back to its master. “He’s the traitor!”

For lack of a better word, Palpatine fried.

In front of him the Sith Lord was being unmade, but Mace felt nothing besides unease. It creeped over him, slowly strangling like a rope around the neck. “Why… why are we here?” The onlooking Mace asked over Palpatine's mad screams, unable to tear his eyes away. He wanted–he needed to know. The Son wouldn’t show him this. He wasn't the type.

“I have the power to save the ones you love! You must choose!” Palpatine pleaded.

To Anakin.

“Don't listen to him, Anakin,” His future self gritted out, exerting everything he had to keep the lightning at bay.

“Don't let him kill me.” The sustained onslaught of his own lightning was really showing its effect. The skin over his face began to melt. The stench was awful, ozone and charred flesh, a little of the snippet of the civil war brought to its mastermind. All his suffering was deservedly self-inflicted, but Mace did not find it amusing this time.

It was only pathetic. It was beyond what it should have been.

“I-I-I can't. I-I-I I’m too weak… Anakin…” The barrage of electricity dispersed, its evil caster slumping over exhaustion. “Help me. Help me!” He gasped. “I-I-I can't hold on any longer.”

It was over. Palpatine was done. The light won. Still, Mace's stomach twisted with apprehension. “Son, why are we-” He turned and froze.

The Son’s smile looked the same as ever if you could ignore the ghastly visage of a bat with its mouth split from ear to ear, warped eyes gleefully crackling over the corpse of a galaxy.

Everything narrowed to a point. The room spun as he turned back, shifting to view Palpatine from an impossible angle.

Above him, with his saber firmly gripped in hand, no longer separated by distance nor time.

Mace was no mere spectator, but the prominent actor in this laughable tragedy.

“I am going to end this once and for all,” He-he, not any conjured vision!-said.

“You can’t! He must stand trial!” Anakin protested, his waves cresting over the rocks. Mace’s mouth moved unbidden, disconnected from his will, spewing hypocrisy in line with the man he was seconds ago, the conviction to arrest thrown out at the earliest convenience. “He has control of the Senate and the courts! He's too dangerous to be left alive!” 

He was cast as comic relief. The one to doggedly drag an innocent Padawan to court but forgoe it for a beaten Chancellor. The one charged with the solemn duty of revealing to the Chosen One that the law was a plaything in the Council’s hands, molded specifically to whatever form it would hurt him most. 

In the moment, he could see it coming so clearly, the thing his future self had missed. 

He won. Palpatine lay at his feet defeated.

Yet the shatterpoints remained.

He was too engrossed in the age-old feud of Jedi and Sith to see they weren't theirs. So concerned with what was in front of him he had missed the true battle.

But Palpatine saw it clearly, oh, was his vision sharp. “I'm too weak. Oh--don't kill me. Please...” Palpatine wheezed weakly. It might have been false, but that shouldn't have mattered.

“It's not the Jedi way! He must live!” Anakin begged, his obvious ulterior motives doing nothing to offset the wisdom in his words. It was what Mace would have told a colleague in his place.

His opponent lay below him unarmed and defenseless, and he moved to strike the killing blow. In his aggression he missed all the signs. All too easily he saw how he made it to this point. Every step he took on the walk to this cliff.

“I need him!” Desperation cracked behind Anakin's facade, the one he kept up to hide his attachments, the one he had never let the Jedi see, for fear of people like Mace.

How well he poised the Chosen One to push him off.

Mace was forced to raise his saber, to undergo the movement he knew he would make.

“No!” Finally, with the ignition of Anakin’s saber every chance he had officially burned away. He was washed away in the dark waves of Skywalker's fateful decision.

He screamed at one with his future self, clutching his stump of an arm. It didn't hurt but if it did it would pale in comparison to the pain in his heart as his life crumbled.

“Unlimited power!”

Seizing from the current of dark energy, Mace Windu–the jester who snatched defeat from the jaws of victory–flew into the night.

A trail of smoke followed his trajectory, remnants of charred flesh that he did not carry. The only lasting injury was the tears of his soul. As the darkness of Coruscant gave way to that of the void, the smoke flashed, giving glimpses behind its ashen tones. Worlds bathed in battle and peace. Worlds with clones and Jedi.

A sound reverberated from every corner. It was all that was, in that immortal moment. Straight from the dark side itself, manifested in concentrated mass, screaming as the Force wept. “The time has come, execute Order 66.”

Such a simple sentence, to seal their fate.

“Yes, my lord.”

Addled with pain and sorrow, Mace could barely comprehend what he saw. 

There was a cavern in his chest, a vast, hollow expanse that had subtly grown over this nightmarish night without his notice. 

His scream echoed off its walls while his throat remained closed in horror.

He saw Master Kenobi riding an exotic animal. He saw the clones shoot him down.

He saw Master Mundi charging a Separatist line over a bridge. He saw the clones shoot him down.

He saw Knight Secura patrolling a fungal forest. He saw the clones shoot her down.

Soon it was not just one or two, they raced past him faster than he could register. The visions swirled around him a tornado of death, depicting distant planets occupied by Jedi and clones, each reciting the same tragic tale. Devoid of attachment, clones turned on their commanders under the order of a higher power. All the Jedi, all at once, gone. Tradition meant nothing, past victories meant nothing, good meant nothing. 

Taken off stage first, Mace was in the front row as their curtain closed. Their shining beacon a simple light to be flicked off by the Sith at their leisure. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw one more unimportant spark.

He turned and the next thing he knew he was prodding over snow and dirt. The bright sun overhead was a dichotomy of the choking darkness. 

He was running before his mind registered the sight.

Depa, his Depa, deflecting bolt after bolt from the sudden betrayal of her trusted troops. Grey would never. He loved her. Why was he–

He threw his entire body in front of a shot poised to hit her back, but it flew straight through him into her. She screamed but he didn't hear the words, only the pain.

“No!”

Depa took the hit valiantly but one moment of weakness beget another. The clones never let a mistake slip. 

He tried to catch her as she fell, but she slipped through his ghostly fingers and onto the ground. Mace fell to his knees in time with her, horror-struck face illuminated by the never-ending fire landing on his Padawan's back. 

“Depa! Depa no!” He covered her with his whole body as if the next time would be different and let him take the hit in her stead. A mantra repeated in his head; the Master should never go before the Padawan.

Why wouldn't they stop- Why wouldn't they-

The light was supposed to pierce through... Why was there only darkness here?

He drowned in it. Swam in it. It stood right beside him and gloated.

A chilled breath puffed against his cheek, freezing his blood solid. "Careful there, Master Windu," the Son's voice slithered into his ear. "This looks dangerously close to attachment."

“Be back, darksider!” he threw his hand out in surging rage, viscerally rending with all his mind. He would not let this fiend near her!

The Force blasted through his surroundings, bursting the grim illusions into smoke. The Son on the other hand was perfectly fine, the energy dispersing over him like it was smoke itself, a river passing a sturdy rock. 

Just the two of them across from each other, the Son looked down at him with derision. “Ah ah ah,” he tutted, breaking into a bleeding grin. “Lashing out? How unbecoming of one of your stature. You should be letting it go! She is only your Padawan, the girl you raised from child to adult! By what filthy relation is that for you to dare let sully your judgement!” The Son backed away, eyes jovially dancing over the remaining trails of smoke with childlike wonder.

“You really must straighten up, Master Windu,” he cackled. “This is clearly a trial from the Force. One you are undoubtedly failing! Dry your tears! Your vision must be clear for we are not done!” He descended to mad laughter.

Around them the blasted smoke did not dissipate, but inclined back towards like it was a living thing taking a breath. It gathered around Mace swirling faster and faster. In the blink of an eye, it was a maelstrom dotted with flashes of red, wildly blowing his clothes in whipping wind. The clear sky above was obscured by black as the vortex converged, smothering him in thick fumes. Mace stumbled up and out blindly, choking on ash. There was irony here, looking to the future and never seeing what was right in front of him.

He emerged from the black smoke to a hail of blasterfire dashing past his face, close enough to feel the burning heat. His head snapped first to their target, a Jedi he was unable to recognize on account of the volley breaching their defense and throwing them through the air, a tangle of robes and limbs on familiar marbled… floor.

He became cognizant of more.

No. No no no no no!

He was out of the smoke, but he couldn't breathe. He was dying alongside everyone he knew. The room swirled around him as if he was still in the vortex.

The Temple was a warzone. Younglings ran from slaughter, Jedi gave their lives to buy one more hopeless second, falling one by one to their closest allies. Despairing visitors in the last bastion of light erased like all the rest. Mere flickering flames in the Sith’s closing fist. How dare they imagined themselves a beacon–

Arrogance Mace didn't know festered in his chest clawed up and out as a ragged howl. The cavern in his chest, completely empty of all he was, threatened to collapse inward and take him with it.

His lightsaber was in his hands, a pillar of purple drifting dangerously close to red. He charged the nearest clones with a cry, willing to give his life for everything he held dear. All concerns were pushed aside, it mattered not if these clones were real, he had to- he had to.

His cry faltered into a despairing sob as his blade cleanly cut through the clone without leaving a mark. The clone passed straight through him, professionally taking point to pick off his next cowering victim. 

In the blur of his tears, he saw everyone at the end of their blaster. A constantly shifting figure. The clone gunning them down shifted too, colors dancing over the deathly white of their armor.

Rex, Cody, Gree, Ponds, all there, until there was no more to shuffle through. Every betrayal passed until it was a clone in callous armor and a Jedi in screaming robes. 

Then it was ash. The armor, the robes, the marble that had stood the test of ages. It dissolved under his feet into piles as far as the eye could see. Their grand sanctuary occupied by their wisest sages, crumbled to dust. He fell to his knees and wished it took him too. 

A light shone over his back, casting his vision into his own long shadow. “You have seen all we have to show tonight,” the Daughter said.

He was struck by despair beyond imagination. His fingers trembled as they struggled to hold him up on his hands and knees, weighed by a frightful realization: this was his fault. 

He was the Order's Grandmaster. He was supposed to protect and guide those under him. Instead, he served them to the Sith on a silver platter.

Mace was no fool, he understood most of the blame laid squarely at Palpatine's feet, but to say that was all there was turned the man into a scapegoat. It was impossible for one man to accomplish all he did without help.

And Mace, albeit unknowingly, was that help. He steered the Order and Republic he served to cataclysm using nothing but his own pride and ego.

His colossal failure pressed down on him. It made it impossible to breathe, its weight of such a scope it was nearly impossible to fully envision. A thousand years of heritage sundered at his hand. It smothered the light in him. All that stopped him from falling in this moment was a dangling thread of hope.

Slowly at first, then with increasing desperation, Mace turned and crawled on his knees before the Daughter, thoroughly humbled by what he had seen in a way he could have never believed. "Tell me…” he spoke breathlessly, searching her impassive face for anything at all. “Is this the future as it could be, or as it will become?”

She did not say a word.

“Tell me!” He burst. “Please,” clenching fists carved lines in the ashen dirt; it would have left bloody trails on anything harder, “this can't be the only path before us! The future is always in motion, it can't be set!" 

"...That will depend on you," she replied steadily. "And on what you have learned here."

"I've learned!" He shouted, voice cracking. "I see where I've gone wrong! The arrogance and pride within me will not live another day! I will give my heart to the galaxy and my fellow Jedi, never to shut them out as I have! Give me that chance! A chance to change…" his forehead hit the ground. His tears mixed with the ash staining his cheeks.

He'd give anything to avert the future he'd seen. Anything to right his mistakes.

Overcome with despair, the leftover ash flowed between his fingers and knees below him, and he didn't notice until he was flowing with it. A river, a tornado, both and neither, dragging him to and fro, from success to failure. A startled scream passed his lips as he found himself thrown by its uncaring currents, tumbling in the air and ash and smoke and sorrow and fear and anguish and he knew it all for it was his legacy. Around him, lightning cracked and thunder boomed, casting ruin in sharp relief.

All save a spot. It reflected on a glimmer, hidden amidst the suffering. So small it should have been lost but in that moment it was all Mace could see. His salvation.

Finally, he recognized the true face of the void he was dragged into. As he witnessed the Son's maelstrom from afar, he was experiencing the whirlpool of the Daughter's from within. Swirling him around, thrashing him against the rocks, all for the prize at the center. The impossible made real. A crystallization of the Force’s mercy, at the small cost of cut pride. 

The chance. His chance. He reached for it with all his strength–

In the stillness of death, glass shattered. Ten thousand screams of a future that would never be howled like wind past his ears, bidding him farewell, their final hope. "Go now, Jedi, walk in kindness with all you have confronted here.”

The dream spun inward; Mace Windu fell forever.

…

…

…

…

Except he didn’t.

Chapter Text

Mace Windu hit the bed with a strangled scream, heartbeat pounding thunderously in his chest, caught somewhere between waking and dream. Breath short, he scrambled off the bed like a man possessed, clumsily sliding into his shoes and ripping his robe from its hook. The gentle light of dawn poked through his window shutters, burning him with urgency.

Bursting from his quarters in a flurry, Mace grabbed the first person he saw, a redheaded human Padawan walking by. 

"What day is it!" His adventure felt like a lifetime; he had to be sure!

The Padawan's eyes became saucer sized as the esteemed Grandmaster of the Jedi Order wildly gripped him by the shoulders.

"I-I-It's Taungsday morning, Master Windu," he stammered out.

Taungsday morning!? Mace's jaw dropped.

But… he was certain he went to bed at Taungsday night!

The flow of his senses attuned to the world and felt out the emotions of the Temple, shocking him even more. He had not been bedridden for a week like he began to suspect, it was something more fantastical than that!

It was the same day! He knew it to be true. Ahsoka's trial hadn't happened yet! How could this–

"Cherish it, my old friend. This was the most I could do." The voice of Qui-Gon Jinn drifted by in the winds of change. When Mace snapped his head to look, there was no one there.

The boy trembled nervously in his grip. "I think you should rest, Master Windu."

"Rest?” Never was a thought more laughable! “There's no time to rest!" There was still time to make amends!

He let go of the frightened Padawan and tore down the halls, hastily throwing his robe over his sleeping clothes. Everyone he passed gave him frightened or worried looks in equal measure, but he rushed past them all, afraid focusing on any one would force a cascade of tears from his eyes. Contrary to their expectations, nothing but gratitude swelled in his chest. 

Every second mattered. Time had value he would never forsake again. It was funny, only his trip to a realm where it meant nothing let him realize how important it truly was.

His shoes skidded on the floor as he nearly passed the door leading to the Temple’s prison block only avoiding a miss by catching the frame. He took the seldom used stairs three at a time, forgoing the more conventionally taken lift as he would never have been able to stand still.

His status as Grandmaster was all that prevented the Temple Guards stationed at Ahsoka’s cell from barring his erratic way.

Although they might have to revise that rule seeing as he nearly lost his face stepping into the cell before the laser array fully retracted.

The air of the cell was still compared to his manic flight. A time capsule of anticipation, a held breath. To picture it in the mind was to see the sounding block waiting for the judge's gavel. In the center, Ahsoka Tano, resting in a meditative pose, looked up to him with an indomitable gaze. The oppression of her looming fate did nothing to quell her defiance. She was a girl who would struggle until the last ember of her flame died out and keep fighting past even that. Just like her master, just like the best of them. 

Mace should have done her the honor of admiring it, but all his attention was drawn to another facet of her display. Underneath those eyes of steel were deep bags so poorly concealed it would be his eternal shame to have not caught them the first time. Propped upon her unbent back were two slumped shoulders, tired from holding up the weight of her crumbling world. 

This was a girl who was courageously facing adversity in every second of her existence. 

Mace was that adversity: a loathsome fool doing his best to drag down her shining star.

Altogether it made him feel two inches tall. What a disgrace he was.

“That time already? Suppose you all want to put this past you,” she said calmly, fearlessly. She was a better knight than he ever was.

Mace knew he should reply, but all he could do was stare at her, breathing heavily, the image of her breaking down in an alley overlaying with her undaunted demeanor. His stomach rolled in self loathing, but a swell of conviction surged above the churning contempt.

No more would he play the fool.

“Get–” Gentler. “Stand up, Padawan Tano, we are leaving.”

“Padawan?” She raised an eyebrow without mirth, her expression cast in steel. “Thought I wasn't one of those anymore.”

Mace didn't miss a beat. “Would you like to be a knight?”

That certainly broke her antagonism, he could see her mentally stumble. “Um… what?”

“Thus far you have demonstrated emotional competence and ability beyond anything that could have been expected of a Padawan. You have earned the rank. Say the word and it will be yours.”

Ahsoka was unnerved. “I don't… understand. Why are you here?” She hesitantly asked.

Mace folded his hands in his robes to hide the shaking. “This situation you have been forced into is a grave mistake on our part. Worse than that, it is a miscarriage of justice, not fair to you or anyone.” He took a deep breath and the shaking stilled. There were shatterpoints around, but he didn't care for those, his sole attention was on the girl he wronged.

“I'm here to free you.” He could feel Tano and, amusingly, the two guards at the door jerk.

Ahsoka stood up hurriedly. “Wha– the Council dismissed the… huh!?”

“Not the Council, me,” he corrected. “This farce of a trial is something I can no longer tolerate.”

"You're going rogue?” Ahsoka pointed with an open mouth.

Mace’s lips twitched. That was a gross oversimplification. “Pardoning you is fully within my authority as the Order's Grandmaster.”

“And the Senate?”

“I couldn't care less what the Senate thinks of this,” he thundered. Anger leaked from his pristine mental fortress like a sieve, and he couldn't bring himself to throttle it. “This is official Jedi business, and it was only our grace that let them intervene in the first place. We are merely… revoking that permission.”

That of all things seemed to shock her the most. 

She obviously chose her next words with the utmost care. “Not that I'm not… grateful for the save, but… are you sure you're alright, Master Windu?” She asked with genuine, palpable worry. “You look pale.”

And Mace… cracked a smile and laughed which seemed to startle her out of her skin. “I assure you, I'm feeling better than I have in years!” He hadn't felt this elated since the day Depa was knighted. The Force itself deigned to give him a new lease on life in spite of all he’d done. The gratitude he felt threatened to burst out from his chest, but he did not let it go. He liked it where it was.

In the halls of the cell block, a new Force signature was rapidly approaching. It was familiar to Mace, matching exactly to that of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Quite frazzled, Obi-Wan did his utmost to refrain from storming into the room, plastering on a strained look of benign confusion. “Master Windu, whatever are you doing here? I had thought–”

Obi-Wan froze mid speech the second Mace turned to face him and showed off his beaming smile. Falling back on the full composure of the Negotiator, he forcibly restarted himself like a cycling air unit.

“T-thought any trial proceedings were scheduled for later.” Smooth, Kenobi.

Obi-Wan hid it well enough, yet no matter how he presented himself, he doubtlessly came to defend Ahsoka from whatever ‘threatening advances’ Mace was here to make.

Able to admit he would have absolutely done the same in his place, Mace softened. It was a display of solidarity that touched him, bringing to bear the real strength of their Order he was too stubborn to acknowledge previously. “They would if they were going to occur.”

“Pardon?”

Tano stepped forward, side eyeing him, as she sidled up to Kenobi, “He's… freeing me, apparently. You didn't know?”

Much like his Padawan in all but name, Obi-Wan stumbled then clamped down on the elation that threatened to bubble from him. It might have flown under the radar of a knight, but it couldn't be hidden from a Grandmaster. “I– excuse me? Why was the Council not informed of this? Has there been a new development in the case?”

“You could say that. But my main reason for doing this is because I have come to believe this entire trial a dire misstep. For too long have we bent to the knee to the Senate without question,” and that snake at the top, “and they have come to see our loyalty as subordination. We are allies, not master and servant. It is beyond time they were reminded of the fact. If they can't handle the reality of our arrangement,” he shrugged without a care, “then we will have no choice but to renegotiate our decisions at Ruusan.”

Flabbergasted at his emboldened proclamation casually insinuating the sunder of a thousand years of fruitful cooperation, Obi-Wan looked at him with his head tilted as if trying to decipher an enigmatic puzzle.

Rather self-consciously, Mace found himself smoothing out his ruffled robes.

Beside her second master in all but name, Ahsoka seemed positively dumbfounded. Following a slow blink, she muttered from the corner of her mouth, “Skyguy is never gonna believe this.”

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan mumbled right back.

The loaded nickname served to jolt Mace from the room’s strange stupor. In his race to release Ahsoka from her false imprisonment the plight of Skywalker had fled his mind. An inexcusable mistake. “Ah yes!” He exclaimed with such force Tano and Kenobi jumped. “Skywalker, we must notify him as well! Where is he?”

“Ah-” Obi-Wan put a lot of delicate stress on the sound, unconsciously twiddling the sleeve of his robe betwixt his fingers. “B-before that– I think it would be prudent to take a trip to Master Che’s.”

Mace smirked at his worry. “To tell the truth, I thought of doing the same before I went to bed last night, but I woke up feeling better than ever, so I decided not to.”

The man's lips pressed into a thin line. His reassurances didn't seem to be very reassuring. “I urge you to reconsider.” 

Clapping Obi-Wan's shoulder on the way out of the room, Mace said, “Trust me, my life expectancy is going nowhere but up. We don’t need to bother her over nothing.”

“Well the longer I stand here the more I find myself in need of her services.” 

Mace ignored his colleague’s trademark snark and reached out his senses, searching through the Temple and nearly fell to his knees at the scurrying lights of his people. Many described the Temple as serene and fought their more energetic members to keep it that way, but now he had seen it empty. Still and lifeless was no longer an ideal to him. What he saw here was beautiful, alive. A thousand lights in a radiant dance.

He powered through the urge to meditate the day away, basking in its glow, instead searching farther out. The Chosen One never hid himself, ergo Skywalker was not in the Temple.

Once the search radius expanded, it took no effort at all to zero in to his beacon shining inside the Senate. The edges of its strong light crackled with anger, broadcast to all who could feel it. Where Mace would have condemned the unsightly showing just yesterday, his heart beat in sympathy. It was not hard to substitute Depa into Ahsoka’s place, and the mere idea of the scenario sparked a similar rage.

Well they would just have to correct that now wouldn't they?

“So he's at the Senate,” he said aloud. “Just as well! We can get your charges formally dismissed at the same time.” Not giving them time to reply, Mace took off.

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan barely kept up with his pace as he rushed straight to the hanger bay with strong purpose. The sight of his entourage turned even more heads than his mad dash earlier with a wide spectrum of conflicting feelings flowing around them. Sympathy was the most prevalent. They did not agree with Ahsoka’s mistakenly perceived actions, but they did not fault the place they came from.

Ahsoka for her part didn't know how to process this considering the majority clearly believed he was taking her to trial. She opted to keep her head down, mildly embarrassed.

Mace would have to publicly announce her innocence later, after he got it formalized. Already he was planning out precisely how he would grovel for her forgiveness.

Once he procured a skycar and embarked from the Temple, pushing straight to the speed limit (and just a smidge above), Obi-Wan finally broke the bewildered silence they had followed him in.

“So,” he said slowly, flipping a hand from rubbing his forehead out to the passing traffic, “I'm still trying to wrap my head around the order of events. If I am understanding things correctly, you–rather suddenly and without prior notice–took massive exception to the ethicality of this trail?”

Ahsoka kicked his seat. “Don't make him change his mind!”

“That is indeed what happened,” Mace confirmed. “We Jedi are supposed to uphold justice, even when things seem their darkest. Last night I realized we strayed from that here, sacrificing due process in the name of expediency. The trail Ahsoka would have received would not have involved lawyers, evidence, or testimony but a show to assuage the public's fears with a preordained verdict. Nothing short of the true culprit being thrown on stage and confessing would have exonerated her.”

At odds with her prior words, Ahsoka couldn't seem to resist asking. “And how do you know I’m not the one who did it?” 

He absently smiled, mind drifting off. “The Force… showed me the error of my ways.” 

On the topic of the culprit, he would have to deal with Bariss Offee soon, but there was no need to make a spectacle of it. Her worries rang frighteningly true although her methods of rectifying them were inexcusable. That said, this was still a Jedi matter, and they would handle it internally, where a hurt Padawan could get the help she needed opposed to being strung up for propaganda.

A hole was steadily burning into his side. “That is an odd way to phrase that,” Obi-Wan said.

Mace snorted, ignoring him. “Even if I did believe you were responsible, Ahsoka, I would be canceling the trial regardless. There is no justice to be found here.”

With uncanny timing he pulled into the Senate docking bay. Parking egregiously crooked, he put aside the affronted revulsion emanating from Kenobi in favor of jumping out and striding to a nearby lift without a backwards glance.

His two followers barely caught up before it snapped its doors shut. It was mildly embarrassing to see he almost left them behind in his haste.

So close to Anakin, it was easy to pinpoint his location at the massive rotunda’s focal point, the Chancellor’s Chambers.

The lift, while perfectly fast, took altogether too long for his taste, leading to him sliding out of its doors before they finished opening and hurrying through ornate halls. Reaching the Chancellor’s room he burst into it, startling the four figures locked in heated conversation within.

In perfect synch, they swiveled to look at him.

Seated behind his desk, Sidious radiated placid shock, his presence in the Force reflecting exactly that of an old politician doing all he could to uphold a floundering Republic. His false skin was impeccable. “Master Windu? I must say you're here sooner than expected.”

For a beautiful moment, he imagined leaping over the pristine desk and lopping the head off the snake who had sunk so much poison into their lives.

But he didn't, he had something more important to do. Righting his wrongs.

Across the Sith Lord’s desk stood the enraged combo of Anakin Skywalker and Senator Amidala facing off against that ambitious officer Tarkin.

After getting over his initial surprise, Tarkin seemed to sag in smug relief. The palpable tension fully migrated from one side of the room to the other. “Ah, Master Windu, it is good you are here. Talk some sense into your Jedi compatriot, will you. He has done nothing but barge in here and reject patently overwhelming evidence!”

White hot anger flashed across Anakin's face before it straightened out into something calmer. The fire smoldering in his eyes told it was a poor facade.

Tarkin’s imperious air fled him right around the time the steps of Ahsoka echoed behind him, replaced by a confused expression mirrored on the face of every occupant.

“Wha- Ahsoka!?” Anakin sputtered.

“Hey, Master,” she sheepishly waved.

Palpatine straightened in his seat. “This is unexpected?” He’d bet. “Why bring former Padawan Tano so early? The trial isn't scheduled for several hours still.”

“I have brought her to notify you that we are not forfeiting her to the judgement of a military court. The Jedi Order is dropping all charges upon Padawan Tano and hereby declaring this an internal Jedi matter. The trial is canceled.”

Choking noises from several parties echoed in the room.

Of all people it was Tarkin who regained his composure first although it took a bit for him to gain coherence. “Why- I- This-this is an outrage! After her destruction of your home are you truly going to forgo justice in favor of closing ranks!?”

“It is you who is forgoing justice in your rabid pursuit of someone to blame,” glared Mace. It was no defense, but at least the Council felt saddened when turning over Ahsoka the first time around. Tarkin had never approached her conviction with anything but gleeful zealotry. 

“Master Jedi, please hold!” Sidious simpered. “I urge you to rethink your decision. What will the Senate think of this blatant display of irreverence?”

Mace paused then turned, meeting Palpatine's concerned facade with his best level stare. “I honestly don't care; we are not beholden to them. If you truly advocate for our interests, you will remind them of the fact.”

Like that would happen. He would have to devote a lot of effort to damage control in the following weeks, but no one ever said the right path was the easy one.

Some part of him looked forward to the challenge.

Spotting the web was trivial once one knew it was there. Each individual strand of cruelty and deceit glistened brightly when traced from the spider at its center.

“Let-let's calm down and discuss this more openly,” Palpatine said with a vaguely awkward expression. 

“Calm down!?” Tarkin was scandalized at the mere suggestion. “I cannot believe what I am hearing! This girl has destroyed Republic property! Hampered the war effort! And these monks are throwing around their weight to let her off scot-free!”

Skywalker banged his hand on the Chancellor’s desk seconds before Mace slammed his on the back of one of the reception chairs, cracking fine wood. “Ahsoka is–” His incoming rant was stopped in its tracks as Mace's movement registered.

But Mace was alright picking up the slack.

“First off, Ahsoka is innocent of this tragedy! You would know that if you performed any solid amount of investigation past the most obvious suspect. And second,” he stepped forward with a thunderous expression that had Tarkin cowering back, “the clones are not property, they are living, breathing people and you will treat them as such!” Because it certainly wasn't the destruction of the independent Jedi hanger craft he was referring to.

If there was one thing Mace could be certain of in that awful maelstrom of his final vision, it was that the clones would never do that of their own will. If Gray loved Depa even a fraction of the amount Mace did then willingly betraying her would be physically impossible. He didn't know how Palpatine managed to turn their closest allies against them, but he had his suspicions and they were going to be his first target once this ordeal was over.

Before then, and certainly after, he would stand no slander of their brothers-in-arms.

“Innocent? So you have found the real culprit?” Palpatine said, trying to pivot the conversation. Mace assumed he was doing damage control for the fallout of his little scheme. If he had no hand in assigning Tarkin as the overseer of this bogus trial then Mace would leave the Order then and there.

Anakin's fists clenched. “Who is it? Who framed my Padawan!?”

Mace maintained a steady calm. “Their identity has been discovered, but for their privacy I will say no more. Again, this is an internal Jedi matter. We will handle it ourselves.”

“Surely you cannot shut us out of this, Master Windu,” Sidious said admonishingly.

To that… Mace shrugged. “Watch me.” He nodded towards Ahsoka. “We're done here, Padawan. Let us return.”

Ahsoka had been doing her best impression of a fly on the wall and being so suddenly addressed had caused her to startle. “Oh! Um… yeah-yes I suppose we… are?”

“Indeed,” Mace bolstered her haphazard reply with his own gusto. “Skywalker, Senator Amidala,” he addressed the two, “if you wouldn't mind accompanying us there is more I would like to discuss.”

“Ah,” Amidala shuffled nervously, “sure… Master Windu. If you will… um… excuse us, Chancellor…”

“Wait a moment!” Palpatine floundered. “Master Windu, I will certainly do all I can to advocate your position, but the Senate will be irate at your disregard. I implore you to reconsider your brash act, in service of maintaining our fruitful cooperation if nothing else.”

Mace was already out the door. “That is not a problem I care to solve.”

Ahsoka was the only one who readily followed him out with the others following suite hesitantly, no doubt having exchanged a gamut of meaningful glances behind his back.

“We should take this conversation somewhere more secure,” Mace said. “Would it be alright if we continued in your office, Senator?”

“Yes, that is perfectly acceptable, Master Windu.” Amidala had already seen to correcting her momentary lapse from before. Any strain audible in her tone was relegated solely to her metaphysical Force presence, which indicated she was trailing him in somewhat of a daze.

With Amidala's blessing they made way to her office and firmly shut themselves in.

Mace believed brevity would be most appreciated in this situation, so before Amidala could begin he dispensed with the pleasantries.

“I know you two are having an affair.” 

Only in immediate retrospect did he see the pleasantries were not just dispensed but actively bombed from orbit into smoldering wreckage.

Perhaps that was for the best considering the atmosphere of the room suddenly made Hoth look like a bright and sunny vacation destination.

In between one blink and the next, Amidala became a pleasantly picturesque statue that might have saved them if her lover could lie to save his life.

Next to her, Anakin looked vaguely like a dying fish, opening and closing his mouth with no words to show for it.

Even still, Amidala valiantly soldiered on. “Is that what they're claiming in those raunchy tabloids this week? Master Windu, you have my guarantee there is nothing untoward in our relationship. He is merely a close friend and nothing more.”

“Ye- yes yeah, what-what she said,” Anakin said, face so pale it looked as if he had applied makeup in the seconds since entering the room.

“I know,” Mace emphasized, cutting their abysmal attempts at salvaging the situation short.

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Really, Anakin? There's a reason I discourage your false surrender stratagems and it's not because of ethics.”

Next Obi-Wan approached him with a solemn expression. “I beg you, Master Windu, do not be harsh on him. I have known of their relationship for quite some time and done nothing to correct it as was my duty. My failings as a Master allowed the situation to develop this far. Please forgive them and reprimand me instead.”

Skywalker clamored to defend his Master. “No! Obi-Wan is lying! He had no idea about our relationship! If you want to punish anyone it should be me!”

Feeling the utter sincerity of that statement Ahsoka winced in tandem with Obi-Wan. 

When Anakin looked to his Padawan in confusion, she hastily averted her eyes. "Um… I don't know how to tell you this, but… half the 501st knows and we weren’t the ones looking after you since you were a youngling.” 

Anakin choked. “Wait, Master, you weren't just saying that? You knew about our marriage the whole time?”

“Of course I knew about– marriage!?”

Senator Amidala–or he supposed he should say Senator Skywalker–pinched the bridge of her nose. “Really, Anakin?”

Obi-Wan rounded in on his Padawan like a hunting Rancor, gripping onto his shoulders with just as much force. “Do not tell me you two got married!?”

“Don't worry, I won't! That was a slip of the tongue, what I really meant to say was that we– um… ah…”

“They have my full support,” Mace emphasized, cutting their abysmal attempts at salvaging the situation short… again. Was this really the group responsible for half of this war's success?

They as an order needed to revaluate more things than he thought…

Every head in the room whipped around to stare at him in blatant shock.

“I think you shook something loose Master cause there's no way I just heard–”

For the love of… “I am fully aware you two are in a romantic relationship that goes against the Code; I am also accepting of it.” 

Lips pressed into a thin line, Skywalker said, “No offense Master Windu, but… when was the last time you went to the Halls of Healing?”

Mace’s eye twitched, but before he could reply his com rang.

Fishing it out from his pocket he saw the signal was from Depa. He instantly answered it.

The miniature hologram of his Padawan sprung to life from the emitter disk in his hand. Her arms were crossed and her brown creased in worry.

“Master, I'm glad you picked up. Care to explain what exactly you are doing? My com has been blowing up all morning from councilors to Padawans. Most of them are worried you caught some sort of illness?”

“Yes, that is becoming our concern as well although my personal theory is a stress induced mental break,” Kenobi chimed in from the side.

After Depa said that Mace checked over his missed coms on the side and discovered a long list of messages varying in franticness.

Oh… oops. It seemed he put it on mute before he went to sleep, and the only reason Depa was able to reach him is because he marked her specifically exempt from the blanket silent mode.

Even before his eyes were opened, he was able to see his blatant attachment to her in his casual actions.

Depa minutely relaxed. “Master Kenobi is with you? That's good. Master, if you aren't feeling well, you should have gone straight to the healers,” she chided.

That reminded him.

“Depa,” it came out more forcefully than he intended so he quieted down, “I know this is sudden, but it occurs to me there is something I never told you.”

Feeling the gravitas, Depa uncrossed her arms. She leaned forward in concern, “What is it?” 

He took a breath and released it. “I love you like a daughter. There is nothing I have ever been prouder to call myself than your master.”

There was a stretched moment of silence.

Depa broke it by shouting out, “Get him to a doctor, it must have reached his brain!” She frantically turned to someone offscreen, “Grey, charter a shuttle to Coruscant immediately! Hold on, Master, I'll be there as quick as I can! Hold on!” The holo blinked out.

Two ironclad arms linked with his. Anakin on the left, Kenobi on the right, as if they were afraid he might topple over without support. 

“Where is the nearest medical center!?” Shouted Obi-Wan, pale as a sheet.

Equally ashen, Amidala sprinted to a nearby terminal and began rattling off directions. Hustle and bustle exploded around Mace, but he tuned most of it out, content to let them drag him around. His attention was elsewhere. Locked on the horizon, where the blazing Coruscant sun fully entered the sky. 

Tears blurred his vision to the point he saw only light.

From that day forward, if one ever wanted to find Grandmaster Mace Windu between missions to distant worlds, they should look no further than the creche, where it was always possible to find him sharing a laugh with the younglings.

Although rumors of him suffering a mental break never quite left as countless Jedi would attest to him cheerfully conversing with thin air. Those onlookers became doubly concerned when it showed itself to be contagious, infecting the likes of Master Yoda, Kenobi, and eventually the legendary Chosen One himself. 

Some went on to claim this mysterious affliction lingered in the very Force, with many Jedi seen since talking to a Master Windu long passed. The validity of those conversations are still being debated by historians and Masters alike along with many other sections of his life recorded in the archives. 

However, the one thing everybody could agree on, was that by the time of his passing you would be hard pressed to find a more compassionate man.