STAR WARS

EPISODE II

ATTACK OF THE CLONES

THE GALAXY TEETERS ON THE BRINK OF WAR. THOUSANDS FROM THE CONFEDERACY OF INDEPENDENT SYSTEMS ARE SECEDING FROM THE REPUBLIC, WHILE A MYSTERIOUS SEPARATIST LEADER RISES FROM THE SHADOWS.

IN THE HEART OF POLITICAL CHAOS, AN ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT ON SENATOR PADMÉ AMIDALA SENDS SHOCKWAVES THROUGH THE GALACTIC SENATE PROMPTING THE JEDI ORDER TO ACT. BUT DARKNESS MOVES FASTER THAN DIPLOMACY.

DISPATCHED TO PROTECT THE SENATOR, JEDI PADAWAN ANAKIN SKYWALKER HAS JUST RETURNED FROM AN OFF WORLD MISSION IN THE MID RIM—ACCOMPANIED BY AYDIA WHITELIGHTER, AN UNORTHODOX PADAWAN FORGED UNDER MASTER OBI-WAN KENOBI AND BOUND TO SKYWALKER SINCE YOUTH.

TOGETHER, THEY ARE A FORCE OF BALANCE AND INSTINCT. BUT EVEN THE STRONGEST BONDS CAN CRACK BENEATH THE PRESSURE OF DESTINY.

AS THE DARK SIDE STIRS IN SHADOW, A POWERFUL CONNECTION GROWS IN SILENCE—UNSEEN BY MOST, BUT UNDENIABLE TO THOSE WHO LISTEN.

SOON THE FATE OF TWO PADAWANS WILL BE FORCED TO CONFRONT THE TRUTH OF WHO THEY ARE. AND WHO THEY MAY BECOME AS WAR LOOMS ACROSS THE STARS...

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—22BBY
LOCATION: Jedi Temple Training Room —

Southern Spire, Upper Level 27, Coruscant

THE JEDI TRAINING ROOM WAS ABOVE THE TEMPLES SOUTHERN SPIRE. The transparisteel windows stretched from floor to ceiling in a wide, circular arch that offered an unobstructed 360• view of Coruscant's cityscape. The planet's surface shimmered like a metallic mirror, the glowing veins of traffic weaving between towers that rose into the artificial skies like polished stalagmites. Each skylane pulsed with ceaseless motion.

It was sacred in its stillness; a marriage of utility and serenity. Smooth durasteel walls framed the room in soft bronze with support columns that curved with the arc of the glass, giving the illusion of open air. The floors were made of polished wood, inlaid with subtle concentric patterns as training circles for movement drills and saber practice. It bore the scuffs and wear from the worn sole of boots. Marks left behind by generations of Jedi. Those who had been forged and risen long before her time.

While it was no ceremonial room, every element was chosen with purpose, one wall racked with weapons and training sabers. It was a place to hone the mind, discipline the body, and focus the soul.

Repetition.
Reflection.
Reforge.

Aydia Whitelighter found Anakin Skywalker exactly where she expected.

Diffused halos from the overhead lights caught the sheen of perspiration that glistened on his bronzed skin, the air already thick with a cloying heat. His linen tunic stuck to his form that accentuated lean muscle, corded with a strength unparalleled in its fluidity—the vivid sapphire of his saber carving the air.

It cracked, hard, against a holo droid projection.

Aydia paused just inside the threshold, the rich integument of a Hapan evident in her skin. With a soft swallow, she stepped onto the training floor, leather bandage bound from mid-bicep to thumb.

Anakin's blade cleaved through another droid with more force.

She arched a brow, lips parting, "Planning to take your frustration out on that thing all night, Skywalker?"Her voice remained subtly laced with challenge. "Or were you waiting to start a real fight?"

Anakin froze mid-strike, his Padawan braid snapping forward with the force of his momentum.

The VHT-PX1 model rolled back, its stabilizers humming low as the local emitter flickered. The hologram collapsed with a sharp hiss, leaving the droid's stocky form merely waist high.

Slowly he turned, chest rising in hard, rapid swells. The glow of his saber cast his features in cool shadow, the angular lines of his jaw tight and a split from his lower lip still visible from their last mission. Sheared curls clung to a broad forehead, damp from exertion.

Cobalt eyes seared and rooted her in place. "You're late,"

"You didn't say it was urgent," she replied with a shrug. "Or that you were trying to burn a hole through the floor."

He stalked closer, his mouth curved in a half-sneer, dragging the back of his hand over his jaw. "If I wanted an easy target, I'd call in a freshling. But I need something that hits back." He jabbed his chin at her. "You up for that, or you just here to run your mouth?"

Aydia didn't hesitate.

She rolled her shoulders back to loosen her stance. Outer robes were shedded to the sleeveless layered tunic fitted in the hue of softened sandstone, the hems falling past her hips. She pulled the lightsaber from her utility belt, the blade emitting a steady thrum once ignited. It refracted off the polished floors like a blade of starlight.

Her fingers tightened around the chromium hilt of her saber that reflected in eyes of sea-glass. At 5'6", her petite stature afforded her to be quite lithe and quick— her adaptability underestimated with a mind cunning as her tongue.

He stepped into her space, close enough she could smell ozone and sweat on his skin. "I'm not pulling your ass out of another grave, Whitelighter."

The memory tore at her like jagged shrapnel.

She could still taste the panic and desperation. Back on Ansion, the local nomads had sent them off into the wilds upon agreeing to keep allegiance to the Republic. But on a condition: a test of endurance; a demand Obi-Wan himself had accepted the terms of as part of their accord. He'd believed the trial would prove their strength together.

Aydia would fail miserably.

Her control would slip from frayed nerves while trying to wield the Force. Attempting to bend the creature into submission would backfire badly, sending her body hurtling into a cavernous wall and a crack to the skull that nearly snapped her vision. Anakin's arms had locked around her, his breath ragged, hands trembling with barely controlled fury as he'd struggled to keep her conscious.

Every hour. Every breath. Little did he realize how often that memory looped through her mind. It wasn't just the pain or the flash of failure. But the echo of every Padawan who'd labeled her the fragile Jedi and expelled her from day one.

"Well, thank you, Master Enlightenment, the holy saint of the Order," she snapped, stepping into a slow strafe to mirror his stance.

Anakin's hand twitched, readjusting his grip around the hilt of his blade. The vein along his temple throbbed. "Saint?" His eyes narrowed. "Yeah, right. I don't do halos, Ayd. I do what it takes. I'm not here to save my reputation. I'm here to keep ever the stubborn one breathing."

"No," she spat, blade rising to guard, "you're trying to remind me I'll never have the same strength as you possess."

"Keep mouthing off." He lunged reigniting his blade with a hiss. "I'll put you on your knees—see how strong you feel then."

Aydia grit her teeth and ducked low, twisting hard and bringing her blade up just in time as he came in high and fast, with an overhead strike.

She pivoted, swinging low toward his midsection.

He blocked fluidly before pressing forward.

Their sabers flashed in a flurry of punishing strikes, a violent blur as he drove her back. Each blow was fueled by the raw power of Djem So—to overwhelm and break her defenses.

She snapped her saber up and twisted into a tight, upward spiral—Shien—redirecting his blade and pivoting it back toward him, nearly catching his shoulder.

Grounded and powerful, each movement forged in strength and forward momentum, forced the fight to his pace. His brute endurance ruthless, Djem So suited him like a second skin.

They moved like fire and wind.

She was the wind. Fast, elusive, always shifting her footwork, honed from hours of sparring in temple courtyards. Soresu had taught her how to endure, how to anticipate. But it was Shien he'd shown her, reluctantly at first, but gave her the edge to strike when it mattered.

Her narrow frame slipped past his reach at the last second as he struck again. She feinted left, darted right, her white blade a streak of light that cleaved through the humid air.

Anakin countered instantly, stepping into the space she'd just vacated, saber crashing down toward her back—but she spun away. Her outer hand came up to parry, the other guiding her pivot from behind as her boot slid.

They'd trained like this hundreds of times.

She knew his reach.

He knew her rhythm.

He'd taught her how to strike with strength she didn't believe she had.

She'd taught him how to wait.

Anakin came again, driving her back with a brutal sequence—high, low, spin, slam—and she managed to block, her breathing shallow, every movement tighter.

He parried with a growl and spun low, sweeping at her feet.

She jumped back right when the pommel of his saber cracked into her ribs. The glancing blow knocked the air from her lungs.

He loomed, close enough she could feel the heat coming off his chest. "You move like you've got a weight tied to your ankles." His eyes narrowed. "Keep moving, Whitelighter."

"Easy, Skywalker. Obi-Wan would call that 'arrogance,'" she managed with a cough, stumbling back.

That struck a nerve, the Force between them pulsing. "Mouth off again, see how fast you hit the floor."

His saber arced diagonally in a rapid slash.

She caught it with a grunt, locking their blades together. The surge of energy rippled through the web of nerve endings in her arm like a livewire.

His face was inches from hers now, wild, breathing ragged. "You don't get to joke your way out of this." He shoved forward, the anger burning, hot, beneath his skin. "You think this is a game? I watched you go limp in my arms. I'm not letting that happen again. Even if I have to put you on your ass right now."

She surged forward, planting a swift, defiant kick to his hip. "And I'm still here!"

He grunted, the impact forcing him back a step, but only barely.

"Still favoring your right side."

"I am not!"

Aydia hit the floor, leather boots skidding across the polished surface in a backward slide. Chest heaving, her grip remained yet steady like he'd taught.

A tension echoed beneath her skin like an unspoken whisper. It tore through the threads of their bond like a snap of lightning, the revelation landing like a leaden weight in her stomach.

Wait...

This wasn't just about her.

He was punishing himself.

A deep-seated fear clawed at the edges of his psyche. A visceral storm threatened to break. It was similar to how he'd acted on Ansion, when his instincts had overrode sense. For one breathless second, when she'd gone limp in his arms, she felt how close to the edge he'd been.

Then he'd nearly spiraled after a transmission had come through regarding the senator from Naboo: Padmè Amidala, while en route to Coruscant.

The message forwarded had come from the Jedi Council as urgent. The words attempted assassination had landed like a detonator while spoken aloud in the cold, clinical tone of Master Mace Windu.

Anakin had become a ticking time bomb since their return.

It was in the way he snapped at anyone who spoke too slow, the way he nearly shattered a datapad against the wall. He'd been all sharp corners since. Aydia could see it clearly now: He was scared. Yet his fear—if left unchecked—was far too unpredictable.

She couldn't fall.

Even with her limbs starting to quiver with the toll this often took on her body. She grit her teeth and shoved the ache down. Past the captive tightness like a gaping chasm in her chest. To the bruised ribs that creaked with each breath she struggled to pull in.

She bit into the flesh of her lip and hardened her stance. She raised her blade, steady, even as her breath shook, "Again."

With focus, they taxed each other in a language only they knew, forged in years of sparring.

"Don't stop now," He launched into a vicious overhead assault before the blade came down with a clean slash.

The sheer impact jolted through every rivet of her spine like a shockwave through durasteel. "Don't be such an arse," she managed through gritted teeth, spinning back to create a barrier again.

Anakin usually teased during spars. He would mock her footwork, throw her off with one of his lazy smirks or his cocksure "come on, Whitelighter," that made her want to punch that pretty boy face.

Her boots scraped against the floor with an audible screech. The bed of her palm slapped against the floor with a thwack!

"Focus and hold yourself!" he barked, advancing again.

Aydia's temper flared, pushing off the weight of her booted heel and stood. "I am, you karking, egotistical—!"

She left the last of those words hanging in the air and launched. Her blade became a streak of white fire, driving him back with a flurry of unpolished strikes while sweated pooled down her back.

Anakin deflected each one as the tempo between them shifted. She ducked under his guard and drove an elbow—a scrappy move— into his ribs hard. "You done?"

A hiss slipped past his lips. Anakin countered with a low sweep that forced her into a backflip to avoid it. He coughed, laughter rough and pleased. "Not by a long shot. That all you got, Whitelighter?"

Golden-brown strands that had slipped free from her braid, slicked against her jaw in thick perspiration. The plait snapped over her shoulder as she dropped hard into a crouch, muscles tensed like a drawn bow.

There was no hesitation, she lunged.

The tip of her blade glanced off his collarbone, searing through fabric with a hiss.

The tunic recoiled, edges curled, charred.

The acrid scent of singed hair uncoiled into the air. A superficial mark. Proof she'd finally broken through his defense.

Anakin jerked back, surprise flickering across his face—a flash of something wild and alive. For a split second, his eyes burned, teeth bared. "There she is," he rasped his voice shot with adrenaline. He ran his fingers across the burn, winced, then let out a rough, breathless laugh. "About fucking time you grew a spine."

He deactivated his saber with a violent snap, clipping it to his belt in one hard motion. His hands flexed as if he could barely decide whether to pull her in or shove her away.

"That's enough for now," he bit out, voice having lowered, ragged, and sharp. The word wasn't surrender. It was a warning the storm hadn't passed.

It had just gone silent.

Aydia slowly rose from where she'd thrown herself into a roll after, still panting, tremors visible with her saber humming in her grip. She tilted her head, a bead of sweat trickling off the slope of her nose. "You... You good now?"

He turned his back on her with a sharp inhale through his nose.

His control was brittle yet.

Aydia wasn't about to leave him like this. She fastened the blade to her belt with a distinct click then took a bold step forward. "You going to tell me what this was?" The slight exhausted rasp felt scraped from her lungs. "We both know this wasn't just about Ansion."

His hand scraped through his hair, a habitual tic from frustration. It happened when he lacked the verbal words to express himself properly."Because I don't know what I'm walking into tomorrow." His gaze dropped for a moment. "I haven't seen her in ten years, Ayd. She probably doesn't even..."

His voice trailed off with a shake of his head.

"You want her to remember you."

He slowly turned on his heel looking directly at her now, eyes storm-dark. "I need her to. If she looks at me and sees a stranger, that'll piss me off more than any mission. I'd rather get shot again."

Aydia's breath hitched. She looked away, then back at him, eyes steady but harder now. "You still love her," she said.

It wasn't a question.

The words came reluctant and raw. An omen in itself—for Jedi, for her. Yet she'd never judged him for it.

He looked at her earnestly, brow furrowed. "I didn't survive all this shit to be forgettable." He bit out, "I'm not some background Jedi."

No hesitation.

Just that raw honesty of his that lodged itself in her throat. The ache in her chest seared, prickling like an exposed nerve. "So that's what this is," she said, voice quiet but pointed. "You're lashing out because you're scared."

"At least I don't hide it. You got a problem with me being raw, say it to my face."

The look in his eyes was worse than any rule they'd broken over the years.

"Anakin," she sighed, the words thick on her tongue. "I've seen you walk into assignments outnumbered while throwing a sarcastic jab in the same breath," She continued, trying—failing— to keep the irritation out of her tone. "But the thought of seeing her again? That's what finally shakes the Chosen One?"

He laughed once, bitter and soft. "Don't call me that. You know better. Don't start with the Chosen One crap—not you."

"You know I've never looked at you as the cosmic myth." She decidedly crossed the last distance between them, that tired weight he carried reflecting back at her.

The shadows he carried in those eyes were still there but his expression was open. For a moment she saw him: the boy from Tatooine. The boy who became infamously revered on Naboo for taking down an entire droid control ship that orbited the planet: a Trade Federation vessel, piloting an N-1 starfighter. The boy who walked into the Temple, older than the others, a chip on his shoulder with sunstreaked hair. Unshaped yet but burning with an unmatched passion to matter.

To prove himself.

He pressed his thumb hard into his palm, gaze flicking away. "I"m not good at this. All I know how to do is fight. Not talk. Not fucking... process this."

She knew those words hadn't come easy. Not for him."No, you aren't," Aydia said, eyes searching his earnestly. "You're just good at hiding until that fire within burns you through."

He huffed just short of a laugh."Wouldn't know how to stop if I tried."

Their gazes held, the moment suspended. She wanted to reach out to anchor him. But she couldn't bring herself to move. The feelings she harbored were far too vast, too consuming. It left her ill at ease within the Temple walls itself. The Code had been etched into her since childhood, ground into every lesson, every silence between commands: Attachment leads to fear. Fear leads to suffering.

And yet...

It was a struggle just to keep it tempered. From bleeding too much truth through a bond that pulsed between them, like the wavelengths of a heartbeat.

A constant.

A presence.

And a danger.

Because if she wasn't careful—if she slipped—that connection would expose everything.

She wasn't nearly equipped for that.

The cost was too high.

Her hand found his arm, the worn leather bandage now damp against his skin. "Hey, don't shut me out in your fear, Anakin."

His jaw tensed first, then relaxed, the words caught in his throat. His eyes, usually so bold and unflinching, flicked down for just a second before returning to hers. Finally that edge he wore like armor, keeping him on a razors edge with the Council—eased.

His hand came up, rough and callused, covering hers, tight, like he was anchoring himself to the moment. For a breath, his eyes stayed hard, "You're the only one who gets past the bullshit, Ayd," he muttered, voice raw but low, like he was confessing a crime. "Doesn't mean I know what the hells to do with it." Yet there was private gratitude in the slight curl of his lips. Reserved for her, was an old aching loyalty spoken in the softened lines around his mouth. This here wasn't the reckless Jedi others saw.

It was just Anakin.

A boy who'd known her most of his life. He could make her laugh even in the midnight silence, tapping coded messages through their bedroom walls when the halls were crawling with patrols. He could read the patterns of her breath, flaws, and could throw back a chaotic spar—verbal or blade— to match her wit. He felt the same fault lines she tried to mask and matched her chaos.

They both had given their Master a few stray grays over the years.

Aydia could practically hear her Masters words now. Those pale blue eyes glimmering with a stern reprimanding in the bow of his brow, exasperation in the steady exhale that would follow, "If Master Qui-Gon had been alive to see this..."

The room settled into stillness between them. The two felt the impending hours. It was no secret Anakin had long pined for the former brazen Queen. Tomorrow, they would be plunged into the heart of political turmoil.

The mission.

The burden of their oaths.

Unbeknownst to them, the subtle, unstoppable currents of fate had—already—begun to shift.

It didn't stop the bruised ache within.

She closed her eyes, voice hoarse from exertion. "Obi-Wan is going to kill us if he finds out we used our actual sabers." She opened one eye, leveling him with a look. "No live blades. No private matches. No Force-based cheating or broken ribs, Skywalker."

Anakin gave a half-hearted smirk, one shoulder lifting. "I didn't break a rib."

She scoffed, "Yet."

He let out a small laugh, "Yeah, well... Rule Six was thirty days of meditation with Master Yoda. No missions. No excuses." He glanced at her with a deadpan stare. "You think they'd go easy on us if we said it was therapeutic?"

Aydia snorted. "It's us, Anakin. Not unless Yoda's been replaced with a compassionate clone."

Anakin let out a low, amused chortle. He assessed the fresh scorch mark near his collarbone, fingers brushing the worn linen."Obi-Wan's going to see this," he muttered. "Gonna be lectured into next Centaxday. And if he says I'm a bad influence, he's just pissed he couldn't take us both."

He paused.

"Last time, he threatened to revoke both our sabers. Assign us to teach hand-to-hand drills with younglings for a month." He rolled his eyes, snorting. "Like that's punishment. Those little gremlins are more dangerous than half the Council."

Aydia groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "You mean those uncoordinated, feral crechelings, who use the Force to fling training mats and break sound barriers?"

Anakin raised an eyebrow. "The very same. He said, and I quote, 'If you insist on risking your limbs unsupervised, do it with foam weapons and a signed liability waiver.'"

The corner of her lip curled at Anakin's poor imitation of their Master. "We're the reason they made that waiver."

Anakin flashed a gleaming, brazen smile giving eyes glimmering, "You realize we've given half the High Council migraines?"

"Half?" Aydia laughed lightly. "We're the reason Mace Windu meditates in complete darkness. Pretty sure Plo Koon prays before every mission roster."

He bumped her shoulder, grin sharpened. "Yeah, well, we keep it interesting. You almost getting yourself killed every other week and me getting blamed for it."

Aydia grinned, devious, sweeping a strand of damp hair that had crusted behind her ear. "Poor Obi Wan has probably aged ten years because of us."

He looped his arm around her neck, tugging her close until she elbowed him in the ribs. "If Obi-Wan gives us hell, just tell him I corrupted you. Wouldn't be the first time." He dropped his mouth close to her ear. "We're gonna survive this shitshow, Ayd. That's what we do."

And in the tenuous quiet—where the Force itself seemed to ease their frayed selves—they were just two Padawans again.

Not the future the Council whispered about.
Not the prophecy and the problem child.
Not the chaos that kept Masters up at night.

Just them.

Standing in the calm before the coming storm.

Authors note:

I decidedly punched up Anakins character I'm liking this edge to him a lot better...

This will follow Attack of the Clones but I will be throwing in elements because I don't wish to follow the exact episode to a T. This is also a more adult version as you can see had Star Wars not been aimed for younger audience. So I hope you don't mind.
Much love

There will be flashback scenes to bridge the friendship between Anakin and Aydia.

Thank you for reading, if you've seriously enjoyed this please feel free to review or submit a vote. I would love to hear from you.
MTFBWY!🤍