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The window shattered. Electricity coursed through him. Blinding pain. And then sky, wind, spiralling into nothingness.
Mace Windu opened his eyes.
Sunlight streamed into the room. Outside, Coruscant traffic throbbed. His hands (two of them, whole and unharmed) lay on his knees in a meditative pose. He breathed in, slow; that, he knew, had been no vision.
He stood, and took hold of his lightsaber. Its beautiful Hurrikaine crystal hummed on the edge of hearing. He rolled his shoulders and headed for the Chancellor's office.
This time, Mace swore, he would not be so merciful. The Jedi would be saved.
It was not enough; the Chancellor was faster than thought. Master Fisto fell. Master Kolar. Master Tiin. The Chancellor’s lightsaber flashed blood-red, and Mace felt despair at the edge of his mind.
He awoke to the sun-filled room. He placed a hand on his chest, where the lightsaber had left a burning hole, and felt his heart beating steadily.
The Force was giving him another chance. Why? Master Yoda might know, but he was on Kashyyyk. This was a task for Mace Windu alone.
Again, he stood. Again, he took his lightsaber in hand. This time he would go alone.
Dust motes danced in the sunbeams. Mace remembered Skywalker’s darkened face as he ignited his lightsaber. Palpatine’s laugh. The Force moved strangely around this moment: fractured, warped. A shatterpoint, as it had been with Dooku. Mace had failed, then.
He closed his eyes and let his mind follow the Force, testing each link, looking for the moment that could change things.
Again, he stood. He rested a hand on his lightsaber but did not draw it. The Force pulsed warmly at the back of his mind.
Something must change. Mace rolled his shoulders, and went in search of Anakin Skywalker.