𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎 𝐈, 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐎 𝐈

the ashes will be woken

( BENEATH A VAULT OF starlight rain, the ashes of fate roused to wake and a sun-born heart welcomed its eclipse. )

Dream became nightmare. Visions of fire—raging infernos fit to bring galaxies to ruin—with smoke rising and ash like snowfall descending. A clap of thunder in synchrony with phantom screams, a barrage of shattering glass and a haunting of modulated, mechanized breath. Flames then ebbed to smoldering gloom, fading embers charring her lungs and razing every vein with a sear not even the realm of waking could expel.

Slumber lost, Leyarra Solntsé woke not to fire, but to snow-white Jannalis blazing the silent night.

All but suffocating in place, Leya deserted silken sheets in favor of the open window and the kiss of ocean air. Wraiths of aurora subtly bloomed the crystalline waters beyond, ocean song like a siren's call as the final vestiges of Siagloré light danced along the shore. An aura of peace veiled the sleeping heart of Ílios, but she did not share in it. Wired veins lusted for a taste, but it seemed no wish upon the starry aether would dispel Mara's touch.

Seeking solace in the droves of flaming silver overhead, Leya counted in hopes the distraction would lessen the weight. Often it served as a remedy to cure all ills, but not tonight; it was around fifty or so that she acquiesced, accepting that such things would not so easily fade. The song of the stars was not enough this time. A walk amongst the gardens would have to do.

Much too lost in her own head to notice, the door to her bedchamber creaked open. As a blurry mass crossed the threshold uninvited, a shadowed astromech roused to life. Colored in shades of blue, silver and white, the R2-series droid—one transferred into her care four years prior—didn't waste a beat before striking the unknown with his electro-shock prod.

A sudden break in the silence—a sharp crackling, a wounded yelp and a deadweight collapsing—sent Leya's heart spinning sky high. Instinctively, she lunged for the aereolium electro-blade at her bedside and sparked it to life, but she paused when she caught a pain-stricken face in the pale light.

Her elder brother fallen against the floor, sprawled out like a child's discarded play thing, groaning as aftershocks pulsed through every vein. Had the intrusion not startled her half to death, Leya might've spared a laugh at his expense, but her poor heart still thundered in violence; beyond the door, however, her sister-in-law did not share such weakness.

Heaving in exasperation, the blade's light faded as it slipped through her fingers, clattering upon the floor as muscle and sinew quivered in relief. "Zvéla, Rhod, it's the middle of the night! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Rising up with quaking limbs, a glower cast over Rhodri Solntsé's dimly-lit features. "I'm about to turn that droid of yours into a pile of scrap metal, that's what."

Try it, I dare you.

"Like hell you are. Keep away from my droid or your hands are mine," she warned, cassiterite eyes like daggers and thorns. ( As if to taunt him further—for sport and pleasure alone—the astromech beeped raspberries as he returned to her side in victory. ) "Artoo is programmed to act in the event of an intruder—"

"I am hardly—"

"And I would say that definition is one you embody quite well with that stunt you just pulled," she rabbited on as if he hadn't interrupted at all. "So I will ask again—what the bloody hell are you doing sneaking into my room at this ungodly hour?"

Vexation softened as Rhodri's gaze held her own, but a new sort of tension had swiftly taken its place. "Vadré has requested our presence in the throne room. All of us, forthwith."

To summon an audience so late was frighteningly uncharacteristic—once in a blue moon, she would estimate. More often than not, such a call served as an omen of sorts. Something done in the event of unimaginable worst-case scenarios, such as terrorism or invasion. Her brows furrowed in concern. "I don't like the sound of that. Whatever for?"

"I really couldn't say." As he beckoned her forth, she wordlessly followed him into the hall. "Given the hour, my best guess is it has to do with the Senate, and the hour alone is what worries me. If this couldn't wait until morning, I fear what we're about to hear."

"Your optimism is a ray of hope, as always. Thank you so very much."

"Your droid nearly killed me," he reminded, narrowed eyes resting upon Artoo. "I hardly think you deserve my optimism."

And I'll do it again.

"Always the one for dramatics." At his side, the ever radiant Reysa Valar-Solntsé scoffed under her breath, her voice like the coo of a dove. "I tried to caution him, Leya."

Rose petal lips bloomed into a smile. "I'm sure you did, Rey."

Solitude and starry skies abandoned, the Zsara and her family made way through the sleeping citadel. Alabastrine eyes watched as they passed by, hand-sculpted likenesses of Kyemi sovereign supremes—of ancient and modern eras alike—frozen in time. All hailed blessings of Caim the Highest, born from Sorino's light and chosen to reign over all creation until the end of days. Honor and glory inherited by her father and time time, her elder brother would take his place among the chosen. The immortality of the Sun-born House was inevitable—a cycle never-ending.

"For you to rise so early before the dawn is quite unusual, Dormésa Belleia. What were you doing awake at such an hour?" A beat of silence followed and the playful gaiety of his expression bled into one more earnest. "Is there something troubling you?"

A touch of rose dusted her cheeks, eyes both thoughtful and unsure as she stared ahead. "Just a nightmare. One brought on by our world's fleeting sanity, no doubt."

"Ah. Worried about the vote, I take it?"

"More so than I realized," she admitted with a breathy chuckle. "The closer this day drew, the more I thought about it—more specifically what will come after. There hasn't been a full-scale war since the Republic's formation and I fear we're about to see one again."

"I think you might be right," he agreed, eyes flashing with sorrow and a touch of deeply-rooted fear. "It's in the Senate's hands now—if we're lucky, the majority will rule in favor of this military and in the event of conflict, the galaxy will have all the protection it could ever need."

He was unwavering in his beliefs, adamantine and without room for question, but her own seeds of doubt flourished into a weed-filled garden. "And what if the Senate's favorable ruling is taken as a declaration of war? What if that decision, even in good faith, is the catalyst?"

"There is much you do not understand about war, sestré," Rhodri dismissed; she fought tooth and nail to keep from rolling her eyes. "There will always be one that desires war—one who seeks discord and the wealth gained at the expense of others. It may not happen tomorrow, but I believe the outcome will be the same no matter how the vote turns out. At least the Republic will stand a chance with the military; there are simply not enough Jedi to defend all these star systems. Even if there were, I would not trust them to do it—they were trained up to be peacekeepers, not soldiers."

Reysa heaved a tired, sullen sigh. "I can't understand why it's even come to this. Why the possibility of war is even being entertained. If these systems crave separation from the Republic so much, why not let them have it and spare the rest of us all this trouble? Where is their freedom of choice? Why should we keep them shackled where they feel they no longer belong? It's only doing more harm than good."

"I don't think their desired separation is entirely the issue here. More the movement itself, the extremists and the leadership they're under. I can't imagine the Jedi Council and the Senate are too thrilled about a former Jedi spearheading a movement against all he once swore to serve."

Humming thoughtfully to herself, Leya fell back into silence. Disembodied whispers plagued every thought, listing the various paths set before them. How the fragility of the galaxy's balance could either shift in their favor or topple into ruin. ( What rises must also fall, they whispered, your republic is no exception. ) Fallen prey to one of many anxious ticks, her thumbnail scratched against the crescent-shaped scar along her wrist. Though transient, all negativity vanished once they reached the youngest's quarters, for his greeting proved to be almost as unpleasant as her own.

In his fourteen whirlwind summers, Soren Solntsé had never been an early riser or a lover of dayspring, and skies would fall before he ever would be.

Rhodri grinned devilishly. "Delighted to see us, are you?"

"I was sleeping soundly until you infernals cursed me with your presence," the boy grumbled bitterly, bleary eyes harshly narrowed. "The only delight I could find is in casting you lot into the Starsea and watch as you take a nice swim with the Siagloré."

Reysa spared a laugh at his empty threats, much to the boy's disdain. "Zvéla vyorai, Soren, it is my husband that woke you. What have Leya and I done to invoke your ire?"

"Guilty by association."

With one look at her brother, whose hair looked as if he walked through a midsummer storm and back again, Leya couldn't help but laugh herself as she combed her fingers through the unruly ravels. "If you were to cast us away, who would be left to fix this mess you call hair?"

Childlike features twisted into a pout as Soren slapped her hand away. "Can it, Leyarra. You're just jealous that even in this unruly state, my hair is still more kick-ass than yours will ever be."

"You caught me."

A faint smile lined the eldest's lips. "If that's your definition of kick-ass, then I fear the Academia has not schooled you well enough."

"Pot meet kettle, bassardo."

Though Leya wishes to cling to the respite a moment more, it slipped through her fingers like sand. The sound of her brothers' bickering became white noise and the closer to the throne room they drew, the more her anxieties grew. Suns roared within as the destination came into sight and her hands began to tremble.

In the chamber of stained glass, colorless and awash in ivory light, the children of the Crown were met with the somber eyes of their sun-born father. A lauded ruler who burned bright as midday's golden flames seemingly reduced to the last ember of a dying star. Leya's hummingbird heart vaulted to the clouds at the sight, and though a million questions clawed at her throat, all words swiftly died.

Tension shadowed the atmosphere, silent as a graveyard in the dead of night. Though young Soren often had a talent in doing so with little effort, his voice could not expunge it. "You summoned us, papé?"

"Indeed I have." Deep as oceans and regality incarnate, Sorel Solntsé's famed resonance carried through the chamber like thunder, sickly void of the joviality they knew so well. Stoic as stone—more so than his children had ever seen—he resembled the alabaster likenesses beyond the door more than he did their father. "I'm sorry to wake you at such an hour, but I'm afraid it was necessary. Something has been brought to my attention and I wanted you to hear it from me first. Not from the HoloNet, the High Council or anyone else."

Stepping forward into the moonlight, Rhodri's dark brows furrowed in concern. "Is this about the Senate? Has the majority voted to confirm?"

Where the Military Creation Act was concerned, the voices of father and son differed tremendously: the Zsar instructed his envoy to vote against the creation, whereas the Crown Zsari was much too brazen in support of its sanction. Like many things seemed to with age, their duality in politics often roused friction behind the closed doors of the Solntsé household.

"There has been no decision on the matter, nor will there be on this night." Azure eyes, solemn and worn, fell to a close beneath an unseen weight. "I've received word from your aunt Soraia this hour... and I'm afraid the vote has suffered a temporary hindrance."

"Hindrance?" An unexpected chill cleaved to Leya's bones. "What does that mean?"

Solemnity did not fade. "I regret to inform that just an hour before the Senate was due to convene, there was an attack at the very heart of Coruscant. Not upon the city itself, but on one of the Republic's own senators." For a heartbeat or two, Sorrel's gaze lingered upon his daughter. "As Senator Amidala arrived on Coruscant, the royal cruiser suffered a bombing—one where many were killed and even more wounded."

With a single breath, the world fell away at her feet. Lightning razed every nerve-ending, glass heart shattered, balance nearly forsaking her as the uncertainty of a loved one's fate reared its ugly head. Brown eyes stung with a rising storm. "Padmé and Jacen, are they—"

"They are unharmed, ashlai. They were not on board—previously warned of danger, decoys were sent in their place while they guised as security in the starfighters. They were lucky, others were not." The Zsar rose from his gilded throne, now the center of a glorious hand-painted mural ( a blazing sun, golden-kissed clouds and the brightest stars ) that, in the moment, seemed so dull. "This attack upon Senator Amidala was deliberate—an attempted assassination the Jedi Council have credited to spice miners in her system, but giving the timing... I'm told she believes otherwise."

Timing is never without reason. The mantra of truth echoed in an endless, deafening knell.

"Does she suspect a separatist stratagem?" Rhodri inquired, the night's exhaustion and banter replaced by regal ceremony. "Or a conspiracy among her colleagues?"

"She senses Count Dooku's hand in this. Immediately discouraged by the Jedi, of course. They aren't for taking one of their own over the coals, formerly or otherwise."

Heartsease was so far beyond reach now, and Leya craved that peace once more.

"Do you believe there's any veracity to her accusations?" Reysa asked of him. "And if so, what does that mean? If the spearhead of the resistance has been targeted, do you suppose anyone else involved could be subject to threat as well?"

Their gazing eyes followed his every move as he slowly paced the dais. "I can hardly believe her place in the resistance has made her a target. She votes against the creation of a military to avoid war, not to welcome it—"

"Or she could very well be voting to damn the Republic to ash."

A greater tension like a thunder head swelled with her brother's words, bleeding the atmosphere into one so suffocating, Leya, Reysa and Soren felt like they were lost at sea. Fleeting as they might've been, many a time had these aimless palavers sewn familial discord. In the wake of her friends' near deaths, to see two of the most beloved men in her life at yet another variance was the last thing she wanted to see.

Reysa echoed her sentiment; before Leya could utter a word, her sister-in-law stepped forward to reel him in. "Amorvia, this is not the night for political strife in this house. Leave it be."

Her words were lost on the wind, cast into the cosmic void, for Rhodri remained headstrong and unceasing. "You know I understand the resistance against this act and I respect you for doing what you believe is right—that is what I've always admired about you the most, even when we don't see eye to eye. Your intentions are pure—as is your heart—but we cannot say the same for everyone else, separatist or otherwise. We don't know what their intentions are, nor what is in their hearts; whether both sides seek peace or something more sinister is a mystery we cannot possibly uncover. There is nothing I want more than to avoid a war—I do not want to raise my son in that kind of violence and uncertainty—and yet I fear the rejection of this military creation and its repercussions. What if they declare war in us regardless of the outcome? What if that was their plan all along? What will become of our world should this military be withheld and the Jedi are left to fight in a war they aren't capable of winning?"

Panic illuminated young Soren's eyes in a sure sign such possibilities hadn't crossed his mind before that night, and though he tried to conceal, anyone could see how he drowned in them. "What do you think is going to happen, papé? Do you think there will be a war?"

Though Sorel Solntsé long reigned as Zsar Ocaius LXV—the sovereign supreme of a realm ripe with unsurpassed beauty now tainted with the curse of civil unrest—he was a father above all else. To see such fear woven into every fiber of his teenaged son's being left a terrible ache ricocheting from bone to bone.

War birthed carnage and ruination, so easily equated to the prophesied end of days, when the stars above would rain down in fire and ice. The brutality—crimson of blood and ebon of death—laying waste to the world as they'd forever known it was a sight he hoped his descendants would never live to see. If such power could be attained, Sorel would shelter them from such horrors forevermore, but it was not to be.

If only the universe were so kind.

"We live in uncertain times and I do not claim to know what the future holds... but come war or peace, each of you will always be safe with me. Of that, you need not worry."

"What of the people and Kyem?" Soren couldn't help but ask. "What will happen if there is a war and it comes here?"

Upon every celestial body the galaxy burned, Sorel once hoped a full-scale war would be avoided, but he worried such hope was becoming yet another castle in the air. Every since the first whispers of the Military Creation Act crossed the stars, he had taken the time to consider the very real possibility and plan for it accordingly. It was a burden, to put it lightly, and one he kept to himself; he worried about the effect such darknesses might have upon his children, regardless of their respective ages and wisdoms.

Some darknesses were better kept secret.

"That is a bridge we will cross should the need arise, but there's no use dwelling in the what-ifs when we haven't a clue what the future holds. Ease your minds for now; you will make yourselves sick otherwise."

A stillness descended the hall, so silent the flutter of a winged beast systems away could be heard, but pretty assurances and calming respites did little to soothe.

The ashes of fate roused to flame and whispered within: war is coming, the shadow of death lingers here, darkness waits.

Two besties ready to happily wreak havoc and oblivious to how horribly it will end for both of them!!!!

Attack of the Clones still and forever belongs to Miss Mé, but instead of hiding out on Naboo like in the movies, she'll be hiding out on a nice Kyemi island called Ilmestys with two star-crossed idiots. I don't want Skolntsé to be the Anidala copy-paste they almost were. Their story doesn't really begin in full until The Clone Wars—part two will be mammoth, I apologize. 💀

KYEMI TRANSLATIONS § TERMS:

Zvéla / Zvéla vyorai — stars / stars above

Vadré — father (hahahaha)

Papé — dad, papa

Sestré — sister

Siagloré — small, bioluminescent marine life

Dormésa Belleia — sleeping beauty

Bassardo — bastard

Ashlai — light, derived from Ashla, an ancient name for the Force.

Amorvia — love

Jannalis — the system's moon

Sorino — the system's sun

Mara — the deity of nightmare

Ílios — the capital island of Isol Kyem