Mustafar — Landing Platform, Heat Rising, Everything Falling Apart

The air on Mustafar shimmered with heat, the lava below roaring like an angry god. Ash floated through the air like burnt snow, sticking to your skin as you pushed past the shuttle doors and onto the metal platform.

Anakin stood at the edge, back to you, cloak whipping violently in the molten wind. He looked taller somehow. Colder. The shadows clung to him like they already knew he belonged to them.

“Anakin,” you called out.

He didn’t turn. Not at first. When he finally did, his eyes were wild — bright with something you didn’t recognize, something sharp and dark and drowning him from the inside out.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said, voice low, frayed. “It’s dangerous here.”

You stepped closer anyway. “I’m not afraid of the planet. I’m afraid of what you’re becoming.”

His jaw tightened. The muscles in his fists flexed, like he was holding on to something invisible — or trying not to reach for his lightsaber.

“You don’t understand,” he snapped. “None of you ever have. The Jedi held me back. They lied to me. Manipulated me.”

You felt your heart drop. “Anakin, no—”

“I have finally found a way to save the ones I love.” He stepped toward you, heat radiating off him like fire itself. “Don’t you see? With the power I have now, we can be safe. We can be strong.”

You shook your head, tears stinging. “Not like this. Not if it costs you who you are.”

His expression flickered, the slightest crack… then hardened again.

“That’s the problem,” he said. “You’re still thinking small. You’re still afraid.”

Your breath hitched — not from fear, but from the way he was looking at you, like you were a stranger standing where someone he once loved used to be.

Your voice broke. “Anakin… you’re looking at me like you don’t know who I am.”

That hit him. Hard.

For a moment, his face softened — grief, guilt, confusion twisting together. His hand lifted, reaching out like he wanted to touch your cheek… then froze halfway, trembling.

“I know you,” he said, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “I do. But everything is changing. I’m changing. And if you can’t accept that—”

“Stop.” You grabbed his hand, pressing it against your chest. His breath hitched at the contact. “I don’t need you to be perfect. I don’t need you to be strong for the whole galaxy. I just need you. The man who loved fiercely, who fought for people because it was right, not because it made him powerful.”

His eyes shimmered — not with tears, but with conflict, a war waged behind his irises.

“You don’t understand what I’m losing,” he whispered. “What I’m terrified of losing.”

“You’re already losing yourself,” you whispered back.

He ripped his hand away like the touch burned him.

“You’re trying to take away the only thing that can save us!” he shouted, voice echoing through the fiery canyon. “I won’t let fear make me weak again.”

The heat between you wasn’t just the lava now — it was desperation, heartbreak, the widening gulf of everything slipping away.

You stepped toward him.

He stepped back.