LEILANI SERENNO bridged the past and the present, born into a family of cruelty and then groomed to fulfil a role in the grand scheme of things. She was a puppet manipulated by her brother, ensnared in a larger narrative orchestrated by the Force. Y...
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Anakin's anger tore the galaxy apart.
It did not happen all at once. The moment Leilani fell, the galaxy did not immediately shatter, nor did the stars suddenly flicker and die. The war did not stop. The world did not mourn. But something fundamental, something unseen yet vast, broke in him. And just as after the formation of the Confederacy, the dominoes began to fall-one after another, each inevitable, each crashing down with the weight of something that could not be undone.
She had been his balance, his constant, his tether to a reality where he was not only a warrior, where he was more than his rage, more than his power, more than the unrelenting tide of war that had shaped him since the moment he had taken up a lightsaber. And now-now she was gone.
Anakin had lost people before. He had watched soldiers die under his command, had grieved for those he could not save, and had buried loss after loss in the depths of his soul until the weight of it became part of him. But this-this was different.
This was her.
The moment she was gone, something inside him turned to fire and ruin, something vast and unbearable. It was rage, but deeper. It was grief, but darker. It was a storm that had always been waiting beneath the surface, the same storm Obi-Wan had seen in his Padawan's eyes long before the war had given it reason to rise. And now, there was no stopping it.
The Senate still stood. The Republic still fought. The war still waged on, but Anakin Skywalker did not care. Not anymore.
Because the galaxy had taken her from him.
Because the Force had taken her from him.
Because he had taken her from him.
Dooku had died by his hand. That was not enough.
It would never be enough.
Not when Sidious still breathed.
Not when the Jedi had let this happen.
Not when Obi-Wan still looked at him with that same quiet grief, that same quiet failure, that same damned acceptance that Anakin had always hated.
He did not want to be saved.
He wanted justice.
He wanted revenge.
And the war-gods, the war-would give him every excuse to tear the galaxy apart in his search for it.
It started subtly at first. A shift. A quiet, simmering rage that hummed beneath every movement, every command, every mission. His attacks became sharper, faster, and more ruthless. He struck harder, killed without hesitation. The Jedi did not notice at first-or if they did, they pretended not to. The war had hardened them all.
