The Boundless Jedi (anakin skywalker)

Part 27

Ｂｅｗａｒｅ Ｙｏｕｒ Ｈｅａｒｔ
(Season 3, Episode 17)

⚠️⚠️WARNING⚠️⚠️
Graphic depictions of war.
Depiction of depression, PTSD

——─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆
——─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

The ground shakes with every colossal explosion, rippling through the planet of Coruscant. The once bright nature of this endless city has now been tarnished by a war overtaking the galaxy. Clone troopers with a slight change in uniform rush the streets, either shooting down citizens or taking them captive for organized slaughter.

I reach out for a little girl a couple feet in front of me, desperate to try and grab anyone I can and lead them out of this mass destruction. My hands weave right through her, and she runs to her mother being pulled away from another identical child, by a fleet of troopers. She claws at the shiny pearl white of their helmets, but her fingers only glide down without doing any harm.

I run towards them pulling out my lightsaber and slashing away, but they don't crumble into pieces. My sabers slice through the air as if there is nothing at all, and they continue with their torment. I'm left to watch like a holographic ghost, unable to help.

She fists her hands and wails them, doing her best to get out of death's hold. It only grasps her tighter.

One shoved her to the ground and aims his gun right at her head. I scream with every running step I take to put myself in front of her. I stand with the pointed gun right at my heart, the woman behind me.

He fires.

It hits her square in the head.

I don't hear the wails of horror that follow, nor the ongoing eruptions of fire. Instead, I'm merged into a new scene, though this one leaves me with hope.

Rebels scour the streets, checking for even the faintest of pulses while the others rush ahead, scouting for enemies along their path. The wounded are carried on stretchers made from scraps, some made out of hard metal parts while others woven together with thick leaves.

The same two little girls that watched their mother die are scooped up by a bearded man, two pistols strapped to his belt. He holds them close to his chest as if they were his own children, and walk with them through the pits of chaos. The twins look down at the blood stained ground, avoiding the fatally injured being carried on stretchers besides them.

"Phoebia! Agna!" A croaked voice calls out. A woman, laying on a stretcher with burn marks going up her arms and a vast space where her legs should be.

"Mai," one twin whispers with her thumb in her mouth. She looks up insistently where the voice called, and spots the injured woman. "Mai! Mai!" She screams and points towards her mother, and the man lowers them down to the ground. Now filled with a sense of new hope, they rush over to their other mother, smiles on their faces.

Their mai cries with hints of both relief and pain, smoke-filled air clouding her lungs. I can feel that she knows her one love was killed, and the rush of agony that radiates from her pulse causes me to stagger back.