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Above the skies of Coruscant, the remains of the ship known as The Invisible Hand is in freefall. It dives towards the sprawling city below, burning and falling apart. Most of the pieces burn up as they pull away, but the larger pieces continue to fall, bringing more destruction to a city that’s already reeling from the earlier attack.
One such piece carries passengers.
Inside, Anakin Skywalker does his best to take control of the descent. He is an exceptional pilot, and no one else would have even a chance at landing under these conditions. But even with all his gifts, there is only so much he can do with the ship in the state it’s in. He has just enough steering ability to aim for a landing platform, a miracle in and of itself, but the angle is bad, and the speed is too fast. A chill runs through him, telling him that this will not be enough. He steadfastly ignores the feeling, and grasps for anything that will improve their chances, even a tiny amount. He refuses to accept failure. But his will alone will not change anything.
Obi-Wan Kenobi is the first to realize that they will die here. He’s often had that thought before, when subjected to Anakin’s piloting, but this time is different. There is no fear, no alarm, no concern with the realization, only calm, prescient certainty. Obi-Wan, of course, would prefer not to die, but he knows the matter is out of his hands, now. He turns his thoughts to those they’ll be leaving behind, and his only regret is for the mess they’ll have to clean up without him. In both the physical and social sense. Otherwise, he faces his end with acceptance, without fear or despair.
Darth Sidious has plans within plans within plans. When they go awry, he’s always been quick to adapt. But for all of his scheming, he has failed to account for this. His capture was never truly supposed to be a risk; yet, here he is, plummeting towards death. The thought enrages him, because the Sith will never admit to something as paltry as fear. He was supposed to be on the cusp of victory; he is the greatest of all Sith – how can someone like him be defeated by mere metal and gravity, and the bumbling incompetence of a couple of Jedi?
Sith can survive on rage alone, it is said, but today, at least, that is not true.
The Invisible Hand slams headfirst into the landing pad, crushing the bridge and all those who remain inside of it.
There are no survivors.
Well, that is not strictly true. The astromech, R2-D2, will, in time, be salvaged and reconstructed, his personality and memory cores protected against the impact by the many upgrades Anakin had given him. But for now, he lies as lifeless as the others, crushed under this burning tomb.
Rescue teams are already on site, and the fire suppression teams work quickly. But it is already too late for those inside.
Mace Windu knows this. He felt their deaths. He spares a moment for quiet grief, then begins making the necessary comms. He does not interrupt the rescue crews – they will want to recover the bodies regardless, if they can.
Padmé Amidala does not know this. She waits, anxiously, for a man who will never arrive, to deliver news he will now never learn.
Across the galaxy, far from Coruscant, Ahsoka Tano stumbles. She knows what she feels, but her heart rejects it. Rex asks her what’s wrong, and she cannot bring herself to tell him. Instead, she redoubles her efforts to find Maul.
But Maul, too, has felt it. He is finally free from Sidious’s retribution, and there is no longer any reason for him to remain on Mandalore. He flees.
Back on Coruscant, the news spreads. First to their security forces, then to the Senators and other politicians. Mas Amedda calls an emergency session, and directs his – his, now, because the Chancellorship falls to him in this interim – office to release a press statement as soon as possible. It will cause distress in the people, but no one wants to be accused of hiding this.
People mourn. They do not know that the galaxy is better off for this loss.
Not yet.