Star Wars: Reforged Destiny

Anakin's growth continued at an unnatural rate.

His mastery of Makashi had elevated his dueling prowess, but he knew it wasn't enough. Makashi was perfect for one-on-one duels, but it lacked the defensive adaptability needed for battles against multiple opponents or blaster fire.

So, he turned to Form III: Soresu—the ultimate defensive form.

Soresu was the art of pure defense—the perfected shield, honed to outlast any enemy, deflect any attack, and create openings for the perfect counterstrike.

It was Obi-Wan's form, Soresu, and Anakin had dueled Kenobi countless times in his past life. He knew its strengths and weaknesses, and now, he would make it his own.

His days in the temple were filled with ceaseless drills, blocking blaster bolts from automated remotes at impossible speeds, refining his footwork, ensuring that not a single movement was wasted.

Qui-Gon was impressed.

Yoda was intrigued.

The Jedi Council was silent, yet watchful.

They had never seen someone improve this fast.

But Anakin knew theory was not enough. He needed real-world experience.

And that was where Padmé came in.

Slipping out of the Temple was laughably easy now. Force Cloak was second nature, and even the most perceptive Jedi Masters couldn't sense him when he didn't want to be found.

Anakin moved through the streets of Coruscant like a ghost, unseen, unnoticed. His destination? Padmé Amidala's private residence.

Ever since Naboo, they had kept in contact, their connection growing with every interaction.

At first, Padmé was unsure—she was a Queen, and he was a Jedi-in-training, but the way Anakin looked at her, the way he spoke, the fire in his presence—it was impossible to ignore.

And now, as Anakin knocked on her door, she answered almost instantly.

Her eyes widened. "Anakin?"

"Hey there, Angel," he smirked.

She crossed her arms, a playful grin on her lips. "You're not supposed to be here."

Anakin leaned in, his voice dropping to a smooth whisper. "And yet… here I am."

Padmé rolled her eyes but let him in. "You're impossible."

"I've been called worse."

She led him inside, the dim glow of Coruscant's skyline casting soft golden light through the windows.

They sat together on the couch, talking about everything and nothing—Naboo's rebuilding efforts, the politics of the Senate, how the Jedi were treating him.

And then, somewhere in the middle of their conversation, she reached for his hand.

Her touch was warm, her fingers delicate against his skin.

"You're different, Anakin," she murmured. "More mature. More… intense."

He smirked. "I take that as a compliment."

Padmé smiled, shaking her head. "You're dangerous."

Anakin leaned closer, his face just inches from hers. "Only if you want me to be."

Her breath hitched.

And then… she kissed him.

It was slow at first, tentative—until Anakin pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her waist. Passion took over.

For that moment, there were no Jedi, no Senate, no rules—just them.

By dawn, Anakin had snuck back into the Jedi Temple undetected.

He had no regrets.

Padmé was his, whether the Jedi approved or not.

And now, he threw himself back into training with renewed intensity.

Soresu demanded absolute control, an unyielding focus, a calm heart.

Anakin wasn't calm.

But he could fake it.

His training duels became relentless, pushing himself to the edge, forcing his mind to calculate every angle, every possible attack.

Droids, Jedi, even Yoda—none could break his defense. He was untouchable.

But he wasn't just learning Soresu.

He was perfecting it—molding it into something new, something greater.

A shield that could never be broken…

And a blade that would strike the instant an opening appeared.

This was just the beginning.

Soon, the Clone Wars would come.

And when they did, Anakin Skywalker would be ready.