Star Wars: Shadow of Skywalker

The lights in Anakin's quarters snapped on, a sharp contrast to the black void of sleep. He was awake before the hum of machinery reached him—he always was now. Sleep had become brief and shallow, broken by dreams that clawed at him, full of shadows and whispers. He sat up, pressing his hands to his face, his palms rough against the bruise that still lingered on his cheekbone.

It had been weeks. He couldn't recall how many. Time here felt thin, stretched taut like a wire ready to snap. Mustafar never gave him a sunrise, only this suffocating twilight and Maul's voice echoing in his head: Strength is earned, not given.

He rolled his shoulders, testing his muscles for the familiar ache. It was there—less intense than before. Pain had become his measuring stick. The weaker he felt it, the stronger he was becoming.

He didn't fully feel the Force yet, but it lingered at the edges of his awareness—like a distant echo, just beyond his fingertips. 'Soon', he told himself, 'I would grasp it'.

The closer he drew to understanding this mysterious energy, the more often that strange artifact from Tatooine came to mind. He could still sense its void-like presence. The sensation here, inside Sidious's facility on Mustafar, was weaker than on Tatooine—more diffuse—but unmistakable nonetheless. The artifact, whatever it truly was, felt like his personal safeguard if the Sith failed him, he would always have another way. Another power.

He thought this as he finished reading materials Sidious had provided: treatises on commerce and power dynamics within the galaxy. He learned of the colossal influence of the mega-corporations—the Retail Caucus, Czerka Corporation, the Banking Clan, the Trade Federation—all of which manipulated entire star systems. They were all pieces on a vast holochess board, and he realized that understanding them might one day give him leverage over galactic affairs. It was a day like any other—nothing to mark it as significant—but as he came before Sidious in their usual chamber, something was different.

Sidious did not begin by discussing what Anakin had learned. Instead, the Sith Lord surveyed him, dark robes and pale face lit by the glow of Mustafar's inferno beyond the windows. Then, with an almost paternal air, he said, "Oh, Anakin, please follow me, my boy. I think you are finally ready."

Anakin frowned, surprised. "Ready for what, Master?"

Sidious's voice, always so measured, was laced with satisfaction. "To use the Force, of course. Your training progresses exceptionally well. Now it is time you learn how to truly feel it—and to understand the way of the Sith."

Anakin inclined his head and followed Sidious out onto an exterior platform that jutted over molten rivers and jagged rock. The temperature rose immediately, the air thick and blistering. Below, lava coursed through blackened chasms, casting an infernal glow. The wind carried sulfur and ash. It was an appropriate stage for a lesson in the Dark Side.

Sidious stood at the edge, his silhouette stark against the backdrop of molten fury. He extended a hand toward the landscape as he began to speak. "Let me tell you about the Force, my apprentice, as we Sith understand it. The Jedi claim to serve the Force, to let it guide them, to act as its humble instruments. They believe in balance, in quiet devotion. But the Sith recognize the Force as something far more dynamic—a current of power that can be seized and shaped. We are not content to drift in the stream; we carve new channels and direct the flow. The Force is a tool, Anakin, a means to achieve your will. It responds to strength, determination, and passion. It does not bestow power upon the timid, but yields mightily to those who dare to command it."

Anakin listened closely, the words resonating with a hidden hunger inside him.

"Observe," said Sidious, his voice quiet yet carrying easily in the heated air. He raised his hand, and Anakin felt something shift, a tangible pressure all around. An invisible net seemed to tighten and snap. Suddenly, enormous rocks, each weighing countless tons, wrenched free of the canyon floor. They rose smoothly, defying gravity, as if held by giant, unseen hands.

Anakin's eyes widened. Then, with a casual flick of Sidious's wrist, the boulders hurtled away, colliding into distant cliffs with thunderous impact. The sound reverberated through the valley, and shards of stone and ash scattered into the molten rivers below.

"Focus, my apprentice," Sidious purred. "Recall all that has been done to you. Do not suppress your pain. Let it guide you. Anger, fear, hatred—these passions are not burdens, but keys to power. Do you remember your mother, the suffering inflicted upon her? The injustices that shaped you? Use them."

Anakin closed his eyes. He conjured the memory of Shmi, bloodied and broken. Watto's callous cruelty. The mercenaries who struck her. His own helplessness. Such memories brought sorrow and fury in equal measure. But now, he did not drown in grief—he channeled it. He felt the anger twist inside him, hard and hot, reshaping his pain into strength. The air trembled around him. Pebbles rose in erratic orbits.

But then something else stirred—something darker and older. He recalled the artifact he had touched on Tatooine, and the strange hunger he had felt in its presence. The emptiness that had reached into living things and drawn out their essence. As he let his hatred spike, he found himself drifting beyond simple telekinesis. The Force around him was not just matter to be influenced, it was energy to be consumed. On Tatooine, he had unintentionally learned to feed on that energy. Now, unconsciously, he repeated the feat.

Anakin exhaled slowly, and invisible tendrils of Force energy extended from him, latching onto the abundant web of life and power all around—small creatures lurking in cracks of basalt, hardy lichens clinging to hot stone, even the humming life-force within the lava itself. He siphoned that vitality, drawing it inward. He felt stronger, brighter, as though something essential was replenished within him.

Sidious's eyes narrowed at this unexpected display. The Sith Lord felt a subtle tug at himself. He immediately reinforced his mental barriers, stunned that this mere child could attempt to do such an advanced force technique . It was an advanced technique, one that few Sith ever mastered. Yet here was this untrained boy, manifesting it instinctively—albeit in a crude, unfocused manner.

Rocks and debris, animated by Anakin's building power, rattled and danced in the air. The sense of synergy intoxicated the boy. He opened his eyes, and for the first time, truly saw the Force as a tapestry of glowing threads woven through everything. He saw how he could pull on them, twist them, and now, even feed on them. A rush of exhilaration seized him, and he felt invincible.

Sidious, regaining his composure, suppressed his surprise. The sight before him was extraordinary: a child, five or six years old performing a rudimentary form of Force drain. Not refined, of course, but the raw potential was astonishing. The Sith Lord gave a soft, encouraging laugh.

"Good, apprentice," he said, stepping forward, voice as smooth as oiled silk. "Very good." He dared not betray his amazement, but inside he was already calculating how to exploit this talent. "Do you know what you just did ? That technique is one of many abilities granted by the Dark Side. We call it 'Force drain.'. Few can wield it with true mastery. In time, as your understanding grows and your will solidifies, I will show you how to refine it. But tell me my boy, how did you do it ?"

Anakin released the hold he had on the surrounding energies. He played the ignorant student well, widening his eyes in feigned innocence. "I... I don't know how I did it, Master. It just happened."

"Most intriguing," Sidious said, offering a thin, knowing smile. He could sense the boy's caution, but found it charming. Let Anakin keep his secrets for now. He, too, had his hidden layers—always two steps ahead of his apprentice. "It matters not. You will learn control in due time. Your rage and suffering provide excellent fuel, but they must be harnessed. There are countless abilities within the Dark Side: draining energy, subjugating minds, bending the elements of nature itself. You have only just begun."

Sidious paused, glancing at a distant shuttle now descending through ashen skies. "For now, I must leave this facility to attend important matters. Maul will continue your martial training. In five years' time, when your understanding of the Dark Side has matured, I will personally guide you further."

Anakin bowed, hiding his relief. "Yes, Master."

Sidious reached out and patted the boy's shoulder in a gesture that would appear comforting to an observer. "Good. Go now. Maul awaits. And remember: every experience—every pain, every moment of anger—is a step along your path to power."

Without another word, Anakin turned and walked back inside, toward the training hall. Sidious watched him go, a smirk playing on his lips. Soon, the shuttle's ramp lowered, and Sidious departed to tend to the grand machinations at play—to secure funds and influence from corporate titans like the Trade Federation and others. As the Sith Lord left, he considered the boy's future. 'Such potential, such darkness lurking beneath that innocent face.'

"Yes, the future is bright indeed." He laughed.

Inside the training chamber, the Zabrak waited with arms folded, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny. The heavy door hissed shut behind Anakin, sealing him within this harsh new world of lessons and pain. Maul's lips curled into a predatory grin as he addressed the boy.

"Your performance outside was acceptable—barely—but not enough," Maul growled, pacing a slow circle around Anakin. The air smelled of scorched metal and old sweat. "You've tapped into the Force now. That means we will push you further. Tell me: do you know how the Sith or Jedi differ from ordinary beings with swords in combat?"

Anakin swallowed, his throat dry. "They use the Force," he answered, voice tense.

"Indeed." Maul's tone was clipped, as if teaching a stubborn student. "More precisely, you can amplify yourself—your speed, your strength, your agility—through the Force. Force augmentation is the most basic skill any true Force-user must master."

He stopped, turning sharply. "Strike me."

Without hesitation, Anakin seized the training sword and rushed forward, blade raised. Maul did not shift his stance. He stood relaxed, almost bored, as Anakin approached. At the last possible moment, when the wooden blade hovered an inch from impacting, Maul twisted aside with inhuman speed. His leg lashed out, catching Anakin's ankles. The boy tumbled forward, hitting the ground hard.

"Too slow, boy," Maul sneered. "Focus. Direct the Force inward. Strengthen yourself."

Anakin spat dust from his mouth, his cheeks burning with shame and fury. He closed his eyes. The Force was everywhere—an intricate lattice connecting stone, air, and flesh. This time, he poured that energy into himself, willing his limbs to move quicker, his muscles to respond faster. He remembered the earlier sensation of power thrumming through his veins, how intoxicating it was. The memory alone spurred him on. He rose and lunged again, the world seeming to slow as he moved in a blur.

But Maul was faster still. The Zabrak's foot slammed into Anakin's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Pain flared white-hot behind the boy's eyes. He gasped, clutching his abdomen.

"You call that speed?" Maul barked, voice full of derision. "With such meager strength, you'll never have your revenge on those who wronged you. The first enemy you face would cut you down."

Anakin's jaw clenched at the mention of revenge. Of course, Maul knew what drove him—his mother's death, the cruelty he had endured. Rage flared within the boy, bright and scorching. He attacked again, blade humming through the air, only for Maul to catch it barehanded and slap him hard across the face.

"Weak," Maul hissed. "Did your mother die for nothing?"

The words lit a spark into a roaring blaze of anger. Anakin's vision swam red. He pushed himself up, teeth bared. He summoned the Force again, drawing more strength from raw emotion. Hatred, grief, and shame intertwined, fueling him. He struck a third time, blade cutting a savage arc.

Maul slipped aside as if dancing, snapping a kick into Anakin's back. The boy staggered, nearly falling. "Not enough," Maul commented, sounding amused rather than angry. "Useless. Perhaps you should crawl back into slavery."

Anakin cursed silently. He needed more power, more speed—more of everything. He pictured sliding his blade into Maul's gut, pictured making this bastard suffer. He lunged again, and this time Maul had to bring up an arm to parry, hissing slightly as wooden blade bit against him. But even that small success was cut short as Maul wrenched the sword from Anakin's grip and sent him stumbling.

"Better, but still insufficient." Maul sounded almost disappointed. "If you truly wish to be Sith, you must master yourself—and the Force within you. I tire of this. You aren't ready to face me directly. Starting now, you will train against droids daily. At the end of the day, if you've proven you're worth my time, I'll consider sparring with you again. Until then, you must become stronger."

He tossed a metal cylinder to Anakin, who caught it awkwardly. It was heavier than the training sword—an inactive practice lightsaber. "Take this," Maul ordered. "Your conditioning will continue, but it will not be as soft as before."

At his gesture, ten spherical training droids drifted into the room, their repulsors humming. Each was equipped with low-powered blasters, set to deliver painful, though non-lethal, stings. "Augment yourself," Maul said, folding his arms. His yellow eyes glittered with sadistic delight. "Deflect their bolts."

Before Anakin could protest or even fully register the command, the droids began firing. The room filled with sizzling yellow streaks of light. He flinched, struggling to ignite the training saber. Too slow: a bolt struck his shoulder, scorching pain flaring beneath his tunic. Another bolt grazed his thigh. He cried out, stumbling.

"How pathetic," Maul said, now openly smiling. "Does it hurt? Good. Pain is an excellent teacher. Embrace it."

Pain, humiliation, and fury mingled in Anakin's gut. He forced himself upright, remembering the rush of power he had felt outside with Sidious, and even more so when feeding off the Anoobas. Now he tapped into that inner reservoir again. His muscles tensed, perception sharpened. The Force surged through him, allowing him to see the bolts fractionally sooner, to move just a hair faster. He managed to deflect one bolt, then a second—but the third struck him across the cheek.

"Agggh!" He screamed, a raw sound of agony and frustration, and dropped to one knee.

"Pathetic," Maul mocked, but with the tone of a cat toying with a wounded rodent. "Get up! Stand on your hands if you must. You'll learn to endure pain, to accept it as part of your training. Only then will you rise above it."

For the next hour, the chamber became a crucible of torment. Maul ordered him through grueling conditioning exercises—push-ups, handstands, sprints—while droids circled and spat bolts of light. Anakin struggled to augment himself continually, to jump higher and dodge the deadly stings, or at least deflect them. He learned that he could amplify his leaps, his speed, even his reflexes, channeling his hatred into raw capability. But the effort drained him. Sweat drenched him; new welts and burns stung his skin. Each failure brought a fresh mark of pain.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Maul dismissed the droids with a casual wave of his hand. Anakin staggered, every muscle trembling, pain radiating through his body. He had survived—and that, perhaps, was all that mattered.

"Off to dinner," Maul said, voice cold. "Then meditate. You'll find it different now that you've tasted true power. Use your hatred. Strengthen your connection to the Force. Tomorrow we will see if you've learned anything."

Anakin said nothing. He did not trust himself to speak. Instead, he limped from the training room, mind churning. At least now he understood what was expected. The faint taste of the Force lingered behind his eyes, and he embraced the darkness that fed it. He savored the thought of growing stronger, of one day repaying this pain tenfold on anyone who dared stand in his way.

As he headed to his evening meal, sore and battered, he vowed silently: 'I will adapt. I will learn. I will become stronger, sharper, more capable. Every bit of power I gained would be mine to control. No one will stand in my way.'