Chapter Text
“I’ll be heading out for my next assignment in three days,” Mace tells the gathered Council members as they look over the galactic holomap, all current ongoing skirmishes marked out in red and all Republic fleets and troops in green.
“I’m afraid I’m a bit behind with the updates regarding other battles than those of my own fleet. What system will you be heading towards?” Plo Koon asks, eyes on the holomap, one finger idly and gently tapping against the map frame.
“I—” Mace gets no further.
The Force seems to wail. It shudders through him, startling in its clarity—he hasn’t felt something like it in years. It disappears as quickly as it came, but leaves him feeling wrung out and as if there is a thick lump of ice in the pit of his stomach.
All the gathered Jedi masters freeze and stare at each other, just briefly, before they shake themselves out of the stupor.
What was that?
“Happen, something did. Cry out, the Force did.” Master Yoda’s ears droop.
“Yes, I think we all felt it. But what was it?” Master Fisto looks troubled, his hand scratching his chin distractedly.
“Know that, I do not. Muddled, the Force still is. Drawn somewhere, I feel.” Master Yoda closes his eyes and tilts his head to the side—as if he’s trying to listen for something.
Mace closes his eyes, and reaches out for the Force. It’s twisting in turmoil, but too shadowed for Mace to truly make out what it is that has it in such disarray.
The Senate…
Like a whisper—sounding almost horrifically similar to Qui-Gon Jinn—reaches him through the Force. His eyes snap open and he finds himself staring straight into Master Yoda’s now open eyes.
“To the Council chambers, we must!” Stabbing his gimer stick in the floor, making a loud noise that makes everyone flinch, Master Yoda sets off. Mace follows him without hesitation, and the other Masters soon follow.
Rarely would one find the Masters of the Council running in a large cluster like this. But this is not the time for calm walks filled with contemplation and discussion, as is their norm, this is an emergency.
The Chambers are highly situated in a tower; from its windows they can see far across Coruscant. Mace knows they’ll be able to ascertain the truth of the whisper from the Force from there.
It doesn’t take long to reach the rooms, but Mace still feels almost out of breath when he reaches them, as if the air around them is heavier than usual. As if he’s not capable of drawing enough air into his lungs. He glances around to find the right direction, temporarily disoriented. He turns around almost a complete turn, and there it is, the Senate district.
Dark smoke is billowing toward the clear Coruscanti sky.
“On fire, something is, in the direction of the Senate.” Master Yoda’s ears droop and the Force in the room seems to grow almost stale and cold. They’re all almost certainly thinking the same thing.
It’s Master Tiin who voices the thought, “Master Kenobi.”
“Hurry, we must!”
“—and that’s when Master tripped on his robe and fell over straight into the mud!” Ahsoka laughs uproariously, and the troops listening to her story soon follow. The noise echoes through the mess hall and Anakin rolls his eyes and crosses his arms across his chest.
“Yeah yeah, laugh it up, Snips,” he mutters. “How about the time you got your boot stuck in that vent, huh? You had to leave it behind and run around with only one boot for the rest of the mission because you also forgot to pack a spare pair!”
More laughter; Ahsoka looks at Anakin with a betrayed expression. The smugness of his face seems to radiate a feeling of ‘that’s right, two can play this game!’ She narrows his eyes at him.
“You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone!”
Master Anakin looks even more smug now. “No, I promised I wouldn’t tell Obi-Wan, and he’s not here, is he?”
Ahsoka mutters into her cup as she takes a drink. That’s definitely cheating. Just for that, she’s gonna tell everyone about Anakin and the time he blew off the entire back of his robes and his pants.
“Well, what about—” she starts to say, but stops suddenly, breath caught in her throat. A cold feeling washes over her, the Force wails. Her eyes widen and she draws a sharp, shuddering breath. She looks at her Master and gets an identical look back, wide-eyed and worried.
Something is wrong.
Their troops immediately sober, they can tell something has happened. They cannot sense it themselves, but they recognise the signs in her and Master Anakin. She sees it in their ramrod straight backs and the subtle glances they cast around the room—as if they’re searching for danger.
“Is something wrong, Commander?” Rex says to Ahsoka, eyeing her and Anakin both with open worry. She opens her mouth to answer, but gets no sound out. She closes it again and wraps her arms around herself.
“Yeah, something is wrong, Rex. I don’t know what, but something is very wrong,” Anakin croaks.
He’s right. He is. She can feel it in her very bones. The Force is still now; cold. But the lingering feeling of something being wrong makes her stomach churn with dread.
“It felt like the Force screamed… and now it’s cold,” Ahsoka whispers and closes her eyes.
She trembles.
Padmé’s reading a piece of legislation when it happens.
The explosion seems to rock the entire building; the sound is deafening and everything shakes. Her plants fall over, her datapads and flimsi become a huge mess and her handmaidens soon form a tight cluster around her, even as the shaking dies down. One of her favourite vases has fallen to the floor and is now in a million pieces.
She stares at it, uncomprehending of what has just happened.
“We must leave the building, my lady!” Motée’s voice cuts through her stupor. She gets to her feet when the loudspeakers in the hall crackle to life.
“There is a fire in sector 23B-42H. All building occupants are requested to leave the building immediately.” The speaker repeats the message over and over as sirens begin to wail.
The Explosion.
A fire.
An attack on the Senate office building.
But why…?
Padmé considers the events even as she and her handmaidens hurry towards the outside, Motée’s hand clutching Padmé’s in an almost sweaty grip. These clothes were not made for running.
Padmé has never really considered the distance between her office and the nearest exit before, but now as they run, it feels as if it takes forever. The crowd of panicked beings pushing and struggling against each other all around her is almost claustrophobic, and she’s thankful for the barrier her handmaidens form around her.
“To the left, my Lady!” Dormée takes Padmé’s free hand and starts steering the group toward the exit.
As the cool air of a cloudy Coruscanti day washes over her, Padmé is struck by a sudden thought and a feeling of dread spreads through her stomach.
Obi-Wan…
Close enough as he is, Palpatine hears the explosion. He steps out on his balcony and watches the smoke rise from the Senate office building.
He smiles.