The sky was dark.
They were standing on a ridge, overlooking formations of clone troops; ranks upon ranks of white in neat lines, extending so far that they became nothing but uniform specks. There was no paint in yellow or blue or red or gray marking their armor, marking their individualism, telling stories only they knew; in their rows, they all looked the same.
Obi-Wan’s robe stirred around his legs, as he looked over the army. “All turned out,” he said, all of his own colors washed out -- desaturated -- in the dismal, iron gray daylight.
They were all turned out; thousands. Tens of.
Something wasn't right about this.
The sky was dark. Behind the troops, it boiled black, an approaching storm. Some distant, detached part of Maul’s mind wondered why they weren’t moving for cover; some less distant part only knew that this didn’t feel right.
“Something’s happening,” he said, almost more to himself than the man he was standing with, unease creeping through his bones, the entirety of a skeleton that he should only rightfully have half of. He narrowed his eyes at the distant lines, little spots of white, stark against the encroaching darkness. “Something’s wrong.”
“How could it be? We’re all here,” Obi-Wan answered, gesturing to what seemed to be the entire Grand Army, waiting in formation.
Maul didn’t know how to answer that; how to describe what was wrong. Could only watch as the storm rolled over the troops, towards them on the ridge, the neat white lines disappearing into darkness in a strangely silent cascade.
A cold wind ran ahead of it; hit his skin and ran up his spine and then it burrowed its way into his skull like an icy drill, instantly familiar, and
There was light, dazzling, bright enough to make him flinch away, head spinning for a moment before reality started filtering back in, albeit slowly. When he did manage to pry his eyes open again, squinting against the dance of light and shadow above his head, he realized he was looking at trees and sunlight, high overhead.
His hearts hammered hard enough that it made breathing hard, and he felt for a moment the phantom sensation of fight-or-flight tension in legs he no longer had, and the far less phantom sensation of the same across his shoulders and down his arms and through his chest.
A leaf, dark violet, drifted down to lay against the angled window for a moment. Beyond it, others; reds and oranges, some still green, some brown, more violet. And the sun, sparkling between them.
Alderaan. He was on Alderaan.
The leaf stirred and blew away, and Maul huffed out a hard breath before turning to curl up on his side, dizzy, head in his hands, to wait for the trembling to stop.