Chapter Text
Darth Sidious, also known as Sheev Palpatine, Supreme Chancellor of the Republic and, if he was to have his way, soon-to-be Emperor of his own Galactic Empire, stood in front of a cauldron. Electric blue flames rose up from its rim, pouring over the sides, until they dissolved into an eerie mist that disappeared into the darkness. Around Sidious’s black-cloaked form, the Sith planet Malachor churned with the Dark Side, feeding into the concoction’s vile power. The perfect picture of Sith-style, galaxy-ruling, genocide-launching evil.
Never let it be said the Sith didn’t have a flair for the dramatic.
In fact, some might even argue that the success of a Sith ritual hinges on the dark practitioner’s adherence to a suitably villainous aesthetic—and if this is indeed the case, then Sidious was doing everything in his power to make sure his dark magics succeeded.
(Presently, as if deciding the picture wasn’t Sith-y enough, he let out a storm of Sith lightning from his hands, electrifying the mixture in the cauldron and cackling all the while.)
Yes, Sidious was indeed the perfect model of a Sith Lord. He had his plans perfected down to the minutest detail, and contingencies upon contingencies layered on top of these plans, until it was a wonder the man was even able to keep track of it all. But the nature of such a slavish devotion to power as Sidious possessed came with a weakness: insatiability. As the maxim goes, the more one acquires power, the more one craves power—and the more one fears losing this power. Sidious was not immune to this fear. No, despite the appearance he presented, despite his great strength, he was on this wise perhaps the most fearful individual in the galaxy.
Which leads us to his present occupation. A Sith ritual that, according to the records Sidious stole from his poor, dear, disposed-of Sith Master, was capable of revealing future demise. The paranoid old Sith Lord was willing to overlook the fact that the spell failed to specify exactly whose future demise would be revealed, feeling he’d be able to sufficiently bend the ritual to his will enough to reveal his own.
This oversight would prove to be his undoing.
The potion in the cauldron began to grow, spilling out of its confinement and out into the darkness. Sidious, of course, arrogantly took this as a good sign, and punctuated the sight with a few more cackles—but then the sickly blue light grew, and grew, and grew, and began to connect to the very Force frequency of Malachor itself. Sidious’s pleasure quickly morphed into fear, and he covered his eyes just in time for the concoction to explode, releasing a shockwave through the Force that rippled through the planet before making its way through the whole galaxy.
You see, the spell failed to specify whose demise it meant—because in fact, it revealed the demise of everyone. All throughout the galaxy, as the spell swept through, taking effect, words began appearing onto the forearms of every creature, burning with the heat of blue flame until simply their black, charred echo remained. On some appeared diseases, some accidents, some natural disasters. But on others—far too many—there appeared names. Killers.
At first, of course, the galaxy had not the faintest notion of what to do about the words. After all, without any background knowledge, the words appeared random, without rhyme or reason—
—but then, as occurs on any given day in the universe, people began to die. And the Holonet was quick to piece together that every word on the deceased’s forearms matched the exact manner of their deaths.
Word spread like wildfire, from planet to planet, from Separatists to the armies of the Republic, from the Senate to the Jedi Temple. And soon, nearly every being in the galaxy knew about the future manner of their own death.
Not Sidious, however. At least, not yet. Sidious never got to be the first to know the information he sought because he had the unfortunate indignity of being knocked unconscious by his own spell.
When he arose two days later, he returned to a galaxy in chaos.
***
Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Ahsoka Tano stood around a holotable aboard their Star Cruiser, staring in silent shock at the news.
Usually, the intrepid trio of Jedi did not really read or watch the news, since the nature of their job on the front lines of the war typically meant they were the news. But today, the Jedi Council had simply commed to tell them to turn on the news, now.
The three stood aghast at what they found.
Anakin was the first to move, pulling up his left sleeve in haste to stare at the words he’d found there that morning, as if in need of tangible confirmation that they were real. Darth Sidious.
Having never heard of a Sith Lord by that name, Anakin found it difficult to truly register the implications of such a demise. While he didn’t exactly desire to die, he found it less difficult to accept a death in combat with a Sith Lord than he might have expected. After all, such was his life leading troops in battle against a Sith-led army. However, he realized, frowning, it did not bode well that he had never heard of this Sith. That would possibly be an indication that the Jedi’s conflict against the Sith would last beyond the current war.
Lifting his head, Anakin stared at the Jedi Master to his left, who was frowning at the holo and stroking his beard in concentration, having come to a similar conclusion.
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin broke the silence. “What did—” He gulped. “What did yours say?”
Ahsoka, ever the curious padawan, stared likewise at Obi-Wan, who surveyed the two questioning pairs of eyes fixed upon him and sighed. “I’m not certain that’s wise for you to know.”
“But maybe if we knew, we could change it,” Ahsoka pointed out—to which Anakin added, sensing the momentum in his favor, “Exactly.”
Obi-Wan opened his mouth, about to provide a signature counter-argument, when his commlink began to beep, indicating another transmission from the Council. Opening the holo, the three were greeted by the faces of Grandmasters Yoda and Mace Windu.
“Back to the Temple, you must come at once,” Yoda announced, as gravely as is possible with such curious patterns of syntax as he possessed.
Mace Windu watched the three, his usual scowl etched more deeply into his features. “Many of the words we’ve discovered so far have been—most disturbing. It’s imperative we discuss them in person.”
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Would it not be safer to keep them to ourselves, as to avoid making such a potential future worse?”
Yoda shook his head. “Beyond that, the situation is. Act now, we must.”
Nodding in assent, Obi-Wan prepared to close the transmission. “Very well, then,” he replied, and the holo flickered out of existence.
For a moment, there was silence, and Obi-Wan turned to find Anakin and Ahsoka’s eyes still firmly fixed on his.
“See?” Anakin prompted, mature as ever.
Heaving yet another sigh, Obi-Wan rolled up his sleeve and displayed the words to the others. Darth Vader.
Anakin glared at the words. When he saw his own killer, he was almost indifferent, but this time, he was growing angry. Kriffing Sith, he thought. Who do they think they are? No one gets to kill my Master but me.
The author here pauses the story to note the sheer, unintentional irony of such a statement.
Still curious, Ahsoka interrupted the tension in the room by elbowing Anakin and fixing him with a pointed look. “Hey, I still haven’t seen yours, Skyguy.”
“Oh, right,” Anakin said, realizing that it was only fair he show his words, and rolled up his sleeve.
Glancing at the name displayed on Anakin’s arm, Obi-Wan’s concern deepened. The Temple was indeed right—such a proliferation of as-yet unknown Sith was a threat in need of being addressed. “Ahsoka?” he asked, curious for the first time.
“Oh,” she laughed, exposing her arm. “I’m better off than both of you.”
“Yeah, Snips just gets to die of old age. How glamorous,” Anakin jutted in, quick to keep the situation light for his padawan’s sake.
“Hey, at least I won’t lose to a Sith, unlike you guys.”
Obi-Wan turned and began walking back to his troops in order to prepare his departure, the sound of Anakin and Ahsoka’s bickering fading into the background.
He had an uncanny feeling this would be a very long day.