===Dooku===
Count Dooku stood in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by a strange and unsettling landscape. Half of the terrain was lush with vibrant trees, thick vines, and an array of exotic plants that pulsed with life. The other half, however, was barren—scorched earth, with charred trees and jagged rocks scattered across the ground like remnants of a forgotten battle. The air was thick with an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of heavy footsteps.
At the center of this strange place stood a massive, armored Astartes. His imposing frame towered over everything around him, a dark and unyielding presence. He gripped a woman by the throat, lifting her off the ground with effortless ease. Her legs kicked in the air, struggling against the iron-like grip that constricted her windpipe.
At the feet of the giant, two bodies lay motionless—one old, one young. The older man's eyes were wide with horror, his frail body trembling as an unseen force drained the very life from him. The younger man was already lifeless, his eyes glazed over in death, a deep wound on his chest where the armored figure had struck.
"Do not do this!" The old man gasped, his voice barely a whisper as his strength ebbed away.
The towering figure, silent and emotionless, showed no sign of mercy. With a brutal stomp, he crushed the old man's skull beneath the weight of his armored boot, the sickening sound of bone cracking echoing through the silence.
The woman, gasping for air, could only croak, "No!" as she watched the life of the elder fade.
Without a word, the armored figure drew back the dagger he was holding, its blade gleaming under the dim light. He brought it up again and again into the woman's side, each strike precise and deliberate. Her breath quickened, her body jerking with each blow, but it was futile. She was powerless to stop the onslaught. Blood pooled around her as the dagger continued its savage dance, until at last, her body grew still, lifeless in his grip.
The figure casually tossed her corpse aside like a discarded object before turning toward an altar that stood at the heart of the square. The altar was simple, ancient-looking, and carved with symbols that pulsed faintly with a strange, arcane energy.
A low, triumphant laugh escaped the figure's lips. "Finally," he muttered, his voice deep and resonant, reverberating through the space. His optics gleamed with triumph as a glowing orb materialized above the altar, its light casting unnatural shadows across the landscape.
The moment he touched the orb, a sickening surge of dark energy radiated outward, enveloping his entire body in a cloak of chaos. His laughter grew louder, more manic, as his body twisted and contorted under the immense power flooding through him.
Dooku, a silent observer in this strange vision, gasped in horror. His connection to the Force was unrelenting in its pain. A scream, raw and unearthly, ripped through the very fabric of the Force, reverberating in every fiber of his being. It was as if the universe itself had been torn asunder.
He clutched his head, his body wracked with pain, his heart racing. He fell to his knees, the agony overwhelming him. His vision blurred as the armored figure—this creature—corrupted what Dooku knew as a Force nexus. He watched helplessly as the energy from the orb cascaded outward, a maelstrom of chaotic colors swirling violently into the sky.
The sky itself seemed to rend open, a massive tear in space itself, and from beyond it came the sound of a cackling woman, cruel and mocking before being joined by four other voices. Chaos's laughter seemed to echo across the dimensions, mocking all those who dared to witness this abomination.
Dooku screamed in agony as the corrupting energy tore through his consciousness. His grip on his lightsaber tightened involuntarily, the hilt cold and unyielding in his shaking hand. His mind was consumed by the chaos, by the agony of the event unfolding before him, and just as the darkness seemed to swallow him whole—
He was jolted awake.
His breath came in ragged gasps as he sat up, drenched in cold sweat. His surroundings were eerily familiar—the stark white walls of his quarters in the Jedi Temple. He blinked rapidly, disoriented, his body still trembling. His hand clutched his lightsaber, the hilt cold against his palm, though he had yet to ignite it. The darkness of the vision lingered in his mind, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something, something terrible, was coming.
The pain in his head throbbed, a ghost of the agony he had just experienced, as he tried to steady his breathing, struggling to separate reality from the nightmare he had just witnessed.
He struggled to push himself upright, his body trembling as he tried to stand. His legs felt like jelly beneath him, weak and unsteady from the lingering effects of the vision. The sheer force of the pain, both physical and mental, threatened to bring him back down, but he fought against it.
His mind was a whirlwind of images and emotions—of death, destruction, and an ominous presence that he couldn't yet understand. He needed to speak to Master Yoda. He needed to tell him what he had seen before it was too late. The sense of urgency was overwhelming.
With a shaky breath, Dooku managed to get to his feet. His knees wobbled, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse again, but he clenched his jaw, pushing through the fog clouding his mind. He quickly slipped into his robes, his movements jerky, but determined. There was no time to waste.
The halls of the Jedi Temple seemed unnaturally quiet as he sprinted down the corridors, his footsteps echoing off the smooth stone floors.
His mind raced as he navigated the familiar halls, hoping against hope that he would reach his former master before it was too late, before whatever he had witnessed came to pass.
Dooku's breath came in ragged gasps as he rounded the final corner of the Jedi Temple's grand hallway. The Force was still swirling with unsettling energy, as if the very air itself trembled with the remnants of the vision. He could feel it in every fiber of his being—the dark presence, the corruption, the looming danger. It seemed multiple sets of eyes gazed down upon him, but from where, he didn't know.
As he reached the entrance to Yoda's room, Dooku hesitated for only a moment. The doors were slightly ajar, and through the crack, he could see Master Yoda seated at the far end of the room. The ancient Jedi was meditating, his long ears twitching slightly, as if he were aware of Dooku's approach even before the younger Jedi had entered.
Taking a deep breath, Dooku pushed the door open. The sound of his footfalls was almost deafening in the silent chamber. Master Yoda's eyes opened slowly, his green gaze studying Dooku as he strode forward, his face tight with distress.
"Master Yoda," Dooku began, his voice strained, as though the weight of his words had to force their way through the fear still tightening his chest. "I—I've seen something. A vision."
Yoda's gaze deepened, his ancient eyes sharpening with concern. The weight of Dooku's tone, the urgency in his steps, told the small Jedi Master that this was no ordinary vision.
"Speak, you must," Yoda urged. "Disturbed, you are. The vision, troubling it is?"
Dooku nodded, trying to steady his racing heart. He could feel his pulse in his temples as he spoke, each word carrying the dread he could not shake.
Yoda's expression darkened as Dooku recounted what he had seen, his hands folding together in front of him. His lips were thin with concentration, and his eyes glimmered with ancient knowledge. He said nothing for a long moment, letting the weight of Dooku's words settle. When he finally spoke, his voice was slow, deliberate, carrying the wisdom of centuries.
"Powerful, this vision is," Yoda said, his tone grave. "Darkness, this presence. An omen it may be."
Dooku clenched his fists, his frustration growing. "What does it mean, Master? What is this figure? And who is the woman? I felt... something—something familiar, but I don't understand. It was as if the very fabric of the Force was being torn apart."
Yoda's eyes softened, a faint sadness creeping into his expression as he studied Dooku.
"What do we do, Master? How can we stop it before it's too late?" Dooku pleaded.
Master Yoda remained still for a moment, the weight of centuries of wisdom settling upon his shoulders. Then, he spoke. "The path ahead, uncertain it is. But find the answers, we must. Seek knowledge of ancient texts. The dark side of the Force, deep it lies. And a great danger, this figure represents."
"Unsure of what to do, I am. Meditate, I must. Answers, I will seek."
===Nira===
Nira let out a frustrated sigh as she sank into the plush cushions of the couch, the soft fabric pressing against her back. She crossed her arms over her chest, clearly displeased. The serene beauty of Naboo stretched out before her, lush and green, but it did little to ease her irritation.
"Hmph," she muttered under her breath. Her sharp gaze flicked toward the balcony, where Anakin and Padmé stood deep in conversation, their voices drifting to her on the gentle breeze. The two of them were so absorbed in their talk, seemingly oblivious to her presence.
"Why did I get stuck with you two?" Nira grumbled aloud, though she knew no one would hear her complaint. Her mission was simple enough—guard Padmé Amidala while she stayed on Naboo for her safety. But somehow, the presence of her ever-intense fellow Jedi and the ever-politically savvy senator only seemed to amplify her sense of isolation. The decision to send her with them had come directly from their masters, leaving Nira little choice in the matter.
She glanced again at Anakin and Padmé, their easy camaraderie only adding to her frustration. Here she was, stuck back on her home planet, surrounded by peaceful beauty and yet feeling like an outsider to the two's tight-knit world. If only she'd been assigned somewhere else—somewhere she didn't have to play the role of the third wheel.
Her gaze drifted towards the bustling city of Theed, her thoughts taking her back to a time when life had been simpler. A time before everything had changed. She could almost hear the echoes of her younger self laughing, running through the streets of her home, the worries of the galaxy far away. She remembered the way things had been before she'd become entangled in the greater conflict.
"I'm heading out for a bit!" she called out, her voice cutting through the peaceful afternoon air. She glanced at Anakin, who waved absently in her direction without looking up from his conversation with Padmé.
She rolled her eyes in exasperation but said nothing, instead deciding to take a walk. Perhaps some time alone would clear her mind.
As she wandered through the streets of Theed, memories began flooding back to her. She found herself standing in front of a narrow alleyway where, years ago, she had first encountered Maximus—the hulking, mechanical Astartes who had once been so terrifying to her. She remembered how her heart had raced with fear when she first laid eyes on him, his towering figure, blood red optics, and glinting armor looming over her like some sort of monstrous figure.
But then, just as fear had gripped her, the Federation ships had appeared overhead. At that moment, everything had changed. There was no way she could let the "Big Droid Man"—as she had called him—wander the streets alone, especially not with the chaos of battle looming in the skies above.
A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she recalled the memory. She could almost see her younger self, arms stretched up to tug at Maximus's leg, calling him a "Pile of Rusty Bolts" before he had begun to follow her around like a loyal protector. It was hard to imagine that same girl, full of youthful bravado and naivety, now walking these streets with a much heavier heart.
As she continued walking, the familiar sight of her childhood home came into view. It was a far cry from the sturdy structures of Naboo's more prosperous neighborhoods. The house was little more than a collection of rotting wood and crumbling stone, a testament to the years of neglect and the ravages of time. But to Nira, it still held the warmth of memories long past. It was here, in this dilapidated building, that her life had begun.
Her eyes softened as she remembered her mother—her gentle, loving mother who had worked tirelessly to give Nira a life worth living, even in the face of adversity. Though Nira had no recollection of her father, her mother had often spoken of him with fondness, telling her that he had been a good man. But even those memories felt distant now, like echoes from another life.
Something glinted in the debris before her, catching her attention. Nira crouched down, brushing away a few of the larger beams of wood that had fallen from the collapsed ceiling. Her fingers brushed against something cold and metallic. She shifted the debris aside, revealing a massive bolt rifle round, the kind used by the Astartes in their formidable weapons. Her brow furrowed as she examined it in her hand.
"Maximus must have left it here by accident," she muttered to herself, a faint chuckle escaping her lips. She slipped the bolt into her pocket and stood, her gaze lingering on the ruins of her childhood home one last time before continuing her walk.
Her feet carried her aimlessly, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and memories as she held her arms behind her head. Before she realized it, she found herself standing before a grave. The marker was simple, a plain stone that bore no extravagant carvings, only the name of her mother. Nira's breath caught in her throat as she approached the grave, her heart tightening with a familiar ache. She brushed a few stray strands of hair from her face, her fingers trembling as she stared at the headstone.
"Hi, Mom," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's… been a while. I miss you."
For a moment, Nira allowed herself to sink into her emotions, the grief that had long been buried rising to the surface once again. She closed her eyes, feeling the sting of unshed tears threatening to overwhelm her. It had been so long since she'd allowed herself to feel this much. But before she could fully lose herself in the memories of her mother, a voice broke through the haze of her thoughts.
"I thought we would find you here."
Nira opened her eyes to see Padmé standing beside her, her presence a quiet comfort. Anakin stood a few paces away, crouched in front of his own mother's grave.
"Thank you… for taking care of them," Nira said, her voice thick with gratitude as she looked at the freshly tended graves. The stones were clean, the area around them carefully maintained, a stark contrast to the ruins of her own past.
"Of course," Padmé replied softly, her gaze lingering on the graves with a mixture of respect and understanding. She then looked towards Anakin, who was placing a hand gently on the stone that marked the grave of his mother, Shmi Skywalker.
"Of course," Padmé repeated quietly, as though the words held a deeper meaning between them. She stood beside Nira, both women lost in their thoughts as the wind whispered through the trees, carrying the weight of the past with it.
"We've decided to travel to the countryside," Padmé said softly, her eyes flicking to Nira for a moment. "It's safer there." Her voice was calm, but there was a hint of concern beneath the words—an understanding that even the peaceful countryside of Naboo couldn't fully shield them from the dangers that loomed on the horizon.
"I suppose you're right," Nira said, her voice tinged with a quiet resignation. "It would be nice to be somewhere quieter for a while... away from all of this." She gestured vaguely toward the city behind her, its elegant buildings and bustling streets now seeming so distant, so irrelevant in comparison to the weight of her memories.
Padmé watched her for a moment, her expression softening. She could see the conflict in Nira's eyes, the burden of her past still heavy on her shoulders. She had her own scars, her own reasons for seeking refuge.
"I understand," Padmé said quietly. "But I want you to know, Nira, that wherever we go, you're not alone in this. We'll face whatever comes together." There was sincerity in her voice—something comforting about the promise, though Padmé knew full well the dangers they all faced.
Anakin, still kneeling at his mother's grave, looked over at them. His hand lingered on the cold stone for a moment longer before he stood, his face unreadable.
He met Nira's eyes, and nodded to let her know he understood her pain.
Nira looked at both of them, then glanced back at her mother's grave. She hadn't expected this—hadn't expected them to offer such understanding, such warmth, when she'd been so used to solitude. Maybe it was time to let herself rely on others, to stop shouldering everything alone.
"Thank you," she said finally, her voice quieter now, softer. "That means more to me than you know." She gave them both a small, grateful smile before turning toward the path that led out of the graveyard. "Then let's go. The countryside awaits."
Padmé gave a gentle nod, turning to follow Nira, but not before looking back at Anakin with a small, knowing glance. They were all searching for peace, each in their own way, and maybe, just maybe, the quiet of the countryside could offer them some respite. At least for a little while.
===
If you enjoyed this chapter, maybe consider leaving me with a couple of your power stones? I promise I'll take good care of them:)