Anakin

The battle was raging across the canyon floor—dust rising in choking clouds, blaster fire painting streaks of red and blue through the haze. Anakin Skywalker was at the center of it, lightsaber in hand, cutting a path through the droid front line with the precision and fury only a Jedi Knight could summon. Around him, clone troopers advanced, pressing the Separatists back inch by inch. Ahsoka flanked his right, her twin sabers spinning in tight, efficient arcs. Every move was coordinated, fluid. Victory felt close. Then Anakin faltered. It was subtle at first—his swing a beat too slow, his stance shifting as if the ground itself had tilted. His brow furrowed beneath the weight of something unseen. He blinked rapidly, sweat trickling down his temple despite the dry heat. A sharp pulse throbbed in his skull. The Force, once so alive in him, suddenly felt like it was slipping through his fingers. “General?” Rex called out, noticing the stumble. Anakin didn’t respond. His lightsaber lowered slightly. The battlefield seemed to distort ar ound him—muffled voices, flashes of light, but no clarity. His knees buckled. Then he collapsed. His lightsaber fell with a hiss, deactivating as it struck the dirt. The battle didn’t pause for him—blasters screamed overhead, and the roar of droid tanks echoed off the cliffs—but for a split second, to those nearby, it felt like time stopped. “Master!” Ahsoka cried, rushing to his side. Rex was already moving, dragging Anakin back behind a ridge, shielding him with his own body. Blaster bolts scorched the rocks around them. Anakin lay still, face pale, breath shallow. His skin was cold with sweat. Whatever hit him hadn’t come from a droid. This was something deeper, something no one could see—but it had dropped the Hero With No Fear in the middle of open combat. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. He looked up at Ahsoka, dazed. “What…?”