War Drums

DEATH STAR II, 4 ABY

Darth Vader was dying. 

His last act, restraining the Emperor and throwing him to his death, had taken all his remaining strength. The Emperor’s Force lightning had scorched his organs and irreparably weakened his heart. His helmet flashed and chirped with unnecessary warnings; it was no surprise to him that his life-support was failing. 

Vader could feel the Force eddy and pool around him, drawing him closer and closer to oblivion. 

He’d begun to crawl toward the lip of the abyss, thinking to follow his Master into death—be burned and cleansed, and disappear forever into the black—but Luke, his son, his son, had grabbed and yanked him away from the pit, both of their bodies trembling with aftershocks of the Emperor’s rage.

Luke made a soft, determined noise and pulled Vader’s arm over his shoulder, dragging him up and toward the hangar as best he could, struggling with his weight. Vader tried to help walk, but could barely move, barely comprehend. The Emperor, his Master, was dead, and he’d killed him. He’d finally done it, was finally free. 

All it had cost was his life. 

The Death Star began to burn around them; chaos surrounded their retreat. The rebellion was striking hard and fast, causing severe damage to the vulnerable, unshielded surface of the battle station. Imperial troops were sprinting past them, their terror bubbling in the Force as explosions rocked the decks. It was loud, and smoky, and yet growing ever more remote to Vader’s perception.

Luke’s heavy breathing gradually replaced all other sounds—his son’s determination glowed like a twin sunrise in the Force. He was so beautiful, his son; the fact that he lived at all was an absolution, one monstrous crime wiped from Vader’s ledger. He hadn’t actually killed his child in the womb. His children. It was still incredible, still impossible. 

Vader struggled for oxygen, his lungs were wrecked, his suit broken—his physical senses were waning, but his mind was oddly clear and growing clearer. The Force was murmuring to him, surrounding him, embracing him. His flesh was failing, but his spirit was strong, somehow stronger than ever before. Memories, long buried, were rushing through him like a bright, cleansing torrent. 

Anakin, he used to be Anakin.

His mother had loved him; Padmé had loved him; Obi-Wan had loved him too. Rich memories of laughter and adventure streamed past eyes growing blind to the burning hallway—seeing happy moments long forgotten, intentionally repressed, too painful to even consider in his years of darkness. The faces of those he’d loved had only ever appeared in his nightmares, rarely and to his shame.

He saw them all now, and it didn’t hurt. Their eyes filled with fondness and patience, humor and joy.

Light, he was bathed in light. 

Luke gasped for air and tugged him along. Vader tried to help, tried to move his legs, but they were sluggish and heavy. He was losing his grasp on the physical, falling further and further inside and past himself. Memories of horrors were speeding past his mind's eye too now, hot lava and burning flesh, screaming and suffering, visions of the terror he’d spread without hesitation or regret. 

He felt regret, now. 

His whole body trembled with it, the shaking, aching void of inadequacy at remembering who he was, and what he was supposed to do. The Chosen One, restoring the balance. One man, one sickeningly powerful and evil man, had been killed, and with his death fell the Sith—but it was not enough. It never could be enough. Not for what he'd chosen to do, the billions and billions dead or in agony because of his choices, a galaxy enslaved and afraid.

Luke finally stumbled under the strain of carrying Vader’s dead weight, collapsing near one of the last remaining Imperial shuttles, and Vader knew that the end was near. “Luke,” he motioned his son, his son, closer, the helmet’s vocoder failing to disguise the weakness of his voice. “Help me take this mask off.”

“You’ll die!” Luke’s eyes were wide, and he shook his head, emotions surging in the Force. Love, endless, boundless, love. Vader recognized it, marveled at it, and returned it. He didn't deserve it, he'd failed him, failed the galaxy.

“Nothing can stop that now. Just once… let me look on you with my own eyes.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Luke removed the mask from his father's face. Vader wondered what he saw to make his eyes fill with tears—his scars were exposed and certainly hideous. A pathetic ruin of a man—not like Anakin, when he had been Anakin. His own retinas were damaged and his vision dim, but Luke’s eyes were so blue, and so kind, and for a moment it was Obi-Wan's eyes, giving him love he didn't deserve.

Vader couldn’t hold focus on Luke's face for long, and he smiled for what he was sure would be the last time. Obi-Wan was in the Force, he would see him soon, thank him for protecting his child, his children. His voice was very weak without the amplification of the mask. “Now… go, my son. Leave me.”

Luke shook his head again, emphatic. “No. You're coming with me. I can't leave you here. I've got to save you.”

“You already have, Luke. You were right about me. Tell your sister…” Vader exhaled one final time. “You were right.”

“Father… I won't leave you.”

Vader's eyes closed. He couldn’t respond, the ability lost to him as his body finally and completely shut down. In that liminal moment, he was overwhelmed with so much grief. He'd made so many mistakes, and caused so much pain and suffering to ripple out throughout the entire galaxy. He'd spent so much of his life weak and enslaved. He was supposed to destroy the Sith, not join them!

He'd spent more than twenty years indulging his rage, obsessively seeking power—craving it, lusting for it, and for what? There'd always seemed to be a limit that he couldn’t breach, an endlessly frustrating barrier between him and infinite power. He had never been strong enough to kill his Master and seize his Empire—but he hadn't really wanted to. He'd wasted his life, wasted his potential, a dog on a leash, and no single act, no simple apology would be enough to redeem his mistakes. It was impossible for him to make right.  

He was the fucking Chosen One—nothing should be impossible for him, merely difficult. 

Suddenly, it felt very much as if the wellspring of power that he’d sought so long was now seeking him. The ambient darkness left swirling in the vacuum with the Emperor’s death had been ignited into some kind of Big Bang, and that rushing light came to him as he fell into the Netherworld of the Force, encircling him, embracing him, asking in a voice that sounded oddly like Master Qui-Gon: What do you want, Chosen One? What have you learned? What do you need? 

Anakin’s heart cried out: Let me fix it!

And the Force smiled. 

NABOO, 32BBY

Obi-Wan Kenobi couldn’t sleep. 

Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was red; the sound of lightsabers crashing in heated combat and then going quiet replayed in his mind, always just out of reach. 

His Master was dead, and it was because he hadn’t been fast enough—he hadn’t had the concentration to use Force-assisted speed to run through the final gate and fight at his Master’s side. He’d watched, trapped and shaking, as his Master was cut down instead.

It still didn’t feel real—a nightmare from which he couldn’t wake. His lifetime of training kept his breathing mostly steady and slow, his emotions contained, but he was restless. Sitting meditation had proved impossible, so he’d moved to the next best thing. 

He studied the humming blade in his hand, moving slowly through basic forms. Qui-Gon’s lightsaber was the color of life, of growth—a rich, vibrant green—so different from his own icy blue blade, lost forever in the pit on Naboo. Qui-Gon’s saber crackled and sparked in his hand, its distinctive, familiar hum filling his palatial bedroom. As long as the blade was active, he couldn’t hear the echo of the earlier battle. 

He rolled his wrist, spinning the blade in a looping arc, feeling the strange gyroscopic effect of the energy, and allowed his thoughts to slide away in moving meditation, until the blade and the flow of the Force were the only things that were real. 

It was late at night, and Theed Palace was utterly quiet around him. 

A gentle summer breeze blew in the large windows from above the waterfall. The evening had been pleasantly warm, and the sunset had been beautiful. An ornate four-poster bed filled the corner of the room, and the other expensive and beautiful furniture did precisely nothing to make Obi-Wan more comfortable. 

He instinctively moved through a familiar series of Form I, his focus a tenuous thing, his breathing intentionally slow. The positions were ones he’d learned as a youngling, postures mastered before he was old enough to hold a real lightsaber. It was second nature to fall back into these exercises, and usually was enough to steady out his breathing, soothe his anxiety.

It was not enough that night. 

He abruptly stopped moving and stood up straight, retracting the blade and setting it aside with deliberate care, a frown on his face. He sat down heavily on the bed, defeated, and stared vacantly at the wall, giving up all formal attempts at meditation. He now had two objects that reminded him of his Master—a small stone sensitive to the Force that Qui-Gon had given him as a thirteenth birthday present, and Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, dropped from his hand as he lay dying.

Those two things marked the beginning and the end of his time as a Padawan. 

The years between were full of shared adventures, and there would be no new ones. The memories of his Master that he currently had were all the memories of him that he was ever going to have. Qui-Gon was gone. He’d died.

Obi-Wan had failed. 

What was going to happen to the rest of Qui-Gon’s things at the Temple? Would they be stored in the Archives? Jedi did not, as a rule, have many possessions, but most Knights accumulated small tokens from missions throughout the galaxy, and over time their rooms grew to reflect their personality. Qui-Gon had loved local arts and crafts, seeing beauty as much in a child’s roughly hewn carving as an intricately woven tapestry. His rooms were full of beautiful things, and so many plants—an oasis of the living Force. 

Obi-Wan had adored his Master’s quarters. Would he be allowed to take them over? Keep all the memories? Or was that too much attachment, too much clinging to how things used to be, and aren't anymore? Should he let it all go?

Qui-Gon had once told him that his largest flaw as a Jedi was that he wanted too much to please him. Obi-Wan had wanted his attention and approval, seeing him as a father and a role model, an authority figure that he respected as much as he despaired of his unconventional opinions. It had stung when Qui-Gon had tried to replace him, claiming he had nothing left to teach him.

Capable. 

That had been what Qui-Gon had called him. He is headstrong and he has much to learn about the living Force, but he is capable. There is little more he will learn from me.

Obi-Wan knew he was ready to take the trials, and had been a senior Padawan for years—but was he ready to be a Master? He was only twenty-five, far too young to take on a Padawan learner, and the boy was too old, that much he knew. It would be a near impossible task to impart the discipline that he himself had learned in the creche before he even knew how to walk, talk, and read.

He clenched his fists and released them, staring fixedly at his hands. He had promised Qui-Gon that he would train the boy, so he could, he would, do it. It was the most important thing to him, a commitment and bond that he refused to give up. He had promised his Master as he lay dying because of his failure. His father’s last words had been about the boy, the Chosen One.  

Without the distraction of the forms, he was flooded with sense memories of cutting the Zabrak in half. He could see the stunned expression on the hideous, tattooed face, hear the sound of the halves of his body separating and falling away. He tugged on his Padawan braid absently, and then jerked his hand away with a swell of pain. Qui-Gon would never cut his braid.

The Zabrak’s yellow eyes, wide and disbelieving, once again flashed through his mind. It was hardly the first time Obi-Wan had killed anyone, but it was certainly one of the most brutal, violent methods. He’d been in the Force when he’d done it, releasing his emotion and his ego, letting the Force propel him out of the pit and call Qui-Gon’s saber to his hand. He hadn’t cut the Sith down in anger, but still with incredible violence.

He probably shouldn’t feel quite so satisfied.

The disturbance in the Force around the Sith had been unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Not merely in the living Force, but in the cosmic, unifying Force as well. Reality had seemed to burn around him, the magnitude of his anger and his arrogance rippling out in waves. It had been sickening. Obi-Wan still felt sick. 

He still felt sick.

Obi-Wan froze, his breath catching and eyes going wide. His heart began to pound with fear as he looked around him. He wasn’t going crazy; he wasn’t having a flashback. He jerked up, his socks sliding slightly as he scrambled to his feet.

The memory of the dark side wasn’t only a memory. The Force was trembling, quivering, leeching cold in waves that crested and retreated, growing stronger and stronger, alternating with pulses of brightest light. It felt like the Sith was back, just outside the door, but the presence flickered somehow, present and absent, over and over. How was that possible? How? What?

Obi-Wan, without another thought, pulled Qui-Gon’s lightsaber to his hand and clipped it to his belt, stepping clumsily back into his boots and rushing to the door to investigate. His heart was pounding, his horror growing at the idea that the Sith wasn’t actually dead. But that was impossible! He’d cut him in half! What was happening? Was it another Sith?

He’d always heard it said that there were always two: a Master and an Apprentice.

Was the Apprentice here? The Master?

Obi-Wan paused for a moment at the door, swallowing thickly and trying to pull himself together. He felt terribly alone, and he was afraid; he could acknowledge that to himself and release that fear. He needed to focus on solving the problem and learning more. The Council wasn’t here yet. He had no back-up, no help. It was up to him. His emotions wouldn’t help him—they would only cloud his judgment, make his concentration sloppy and his choices reckless.

A memory of his Master's calm voice rose up in the back of his mind. Focus, Obi-Wan. Resting his hand on the hilt of Qui-Gon's saber and taking a deep breath, he carefully opened the door to the hallway. He closed his eyes and reached out with his feelings, clenching his jaw with frustration when the dark side remained pervasive and elusive. Present, absent, present, absent. The Force was making him feel seasick, but there was nobody in the hall, no obvious threats. 

He took another steadying breath and tried again, reaching out with a hand and focusing harder on finding the source of the disturbance. His feet began to move before he’d consciously decided on a direction—he followed the waves toward their source, moving faster and faster down the hall as he realized with a pang of dread where they were coming from.

Anakin’s room.

The Sith was in Anakin’s bedroom, he had to be. Obi-Wan took the final few steps at a run, his visceral need to protect the boy he’d promised Qui-Gon to train, the one thing he had left, the one thing.

He threw open the door, igniting Qui-Gon’s saber and preparing to defend himself and the boy from the threat inside. 

There was nobody, no obvious enemy. The room was quiet and dim, equally ornate as his own bedroom, beautiful and empty. The dark side crested and retreated in faster and faster pulses, alternating with scorching light, making Obi-Wan feel even more sick—but there was only Anakin. 

The Force was curling and twisting around the small form of the boy, who was thrashing and whimpering as if in a nightmare, tangled in the sheets. 

Obi-Wan blinked, trying to reconcile what he was seeing with what he was sensing so clearly in the fabric of the unifying Force. He straightened his spine and made himself move toward the bed, approaching warily, his blade still humming in his hand. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. His voice was unsteady as he whispered, “Anakin.”

The boy didn’t wake, and whimpered again, louder, so Obi-Wan tried again, clearing his throat and speaking with more force. “Anakin!”

The icy darkness became almost too strong to bear for a moment, making his stomach turn and his chest ache, and then it was so bright that he felt Force-blind. Anakin went completely still on the bed, his eyes no longer flicking beneath eyelids, chest no longer moving with breath. He wasn’t breathing. Obi-Wan’s breath caught in sympathy, and he reached out to shake him awake. 

Anakin wasn’t breathing, wasn’t moving, he looked… he looked dead, still and empty, just like his Master. He wasn’t breathing!

A sudden shockwave in the Force almost knocked Obi-Wan back onto his heels; intangible heat and light radiating out like the heart of a nuclear blast or a stellar core. The boy had been noticeably bright in the Force before, but now he was a singularity. Darkness collapsing and exploding, sparking and radiating energy. Heat being generated inexplicably from the frozen black—but he still wasn’t breathing.

Obi-Wan watched, his hand frozen in midair, as Anakin’s eyes snapped open.

They were burning gold.

Darth Vader had been nowhere, everywhere, and now was suddenly somewhere.

The sensory details of having a body confused and paralyzed him, his mind meshing imperfectly with foreign-feeling flesh. He instinctively reached for the dark side of the Force, his confusion and fear overwhelming at the sudden change in his perception. His brain screamed that he needed oxygen, but he had forgotten how to breathe. 

After a moment, or an eternity, his eyes flew open. He gasped on instinct, chest heaving, sucking air into desperate lungs. He was thrust into the fullness of consciousness with a jerk as his mind and body fell suddenly into alignment. He stared at a painted ceiling, so different than the burning hallway he’d been in just a second, or an eternity, ago. 

The room was dark, he suddenly realized. Dark with flickering green light—there was a familiar humming. Vader realized that he could hear—but his eardrums had been melted on Mustafar, and the artificial replacements delivered sound but it had never been the same—how could he hear?

Was that a lightsaber?

Fear swelled again, the threat associated with the sound when he was so vulnerable bringing the full weight of the dark side to his fingertips, ready to defend himself in this strange place, and then he remembered with a swell of excitement. Luke’s blade had been green! Was he here? Where was he? Were they safe?

With effort he looked at the source of the light and sound, seeing wide blue eyes, Luke’s eyes, in a young, pale face. No, not Luke. That was…

“Obi-Wan?” Vader asked, voice strangled as he tried to remember how to talk. It sounded high and childish, had his voice been this high before his vocoder? He couldn’t remember. 

Obi-Wan—because it was Obi-Wan, somehow, impossibly, Obi-Wan—beardless, cropped hair, Padawan braid—so young, he looked so young, so scared—did not reply, merely stared at him, eyes wide and jaw slack, lightsaber clenched with white knuckles.

They stared at each other, neither moving, frozen in a moment that stretched out. Vader kept forgetting to breathe and remembering, caught by the sound of his gasps and the humming lightsaber. He tried again, “Obi-Wan?”

“What?” Obi-Wan whispered, and then brought his blade into a defensive position, apparently on instinct. His voice was thick, his expression growing panicked. “Who are you?”

Vader blinked, and then felt his forehead furrow. “Do you not recognize me?” His voice was so high, so childish. He forced himself to look away from the threat of the blade down at his body, and blinked again, trying to reconcile what he was seeing with what he expected. “What?”

“That is Anakin Skywalker’s body.” Obi-Wan said, voice shaking. “You are not Anakin Skywalker.”

Vader let his head fall back onto the pillow, and exhaled hard, mind spinning. He was in the past, he must be. He remembered dying, and his desperation to try again—and now he was here. He felt his fear ebb away, replaced by an overwhelming crush of understanding and purpose. He was not Anakin Skywalker, that was true, and yet now he was Anakin Skywalker again. 

He tried to speak, and it was so easy, there was no pain as he shaped the words in his mouth.  “That depends on your point of view, Master.”

“Master?” Obi-Wan stepped back, lightsaber dropping. “But…” His voice trailed off, his face pained. “I don’t understand.”

Vader nodded indulgently, trying to formulate a response that Obi-Wan would accept. He was hardly more than a child, the same age as his son. It was difficult to think—Obi-Wan’s young face was triggering so many of Vader’s oldest memories, making him oscillate between overwhelming hate and affection, and it was hard to focus. 

He realized that he was still pulling on the dark side like a scared child clutching a blanket, and consciously let it go. Obi-Wan’s posture relaxed a fraction, and Vader smiled at the unconscious motion, letting all of the power go, accepting where he was and dismissing his fears. 

He was in no pain, for the first time in twenty-four years.  

He sat up awkwardly, making Obi-Wan flinch and raise his blade again, and Vader’s eyes were drawn to the hilt. “That is Qui-Gon’s lightsaber.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked down to it and then looked back up at Vader, seeming to feel no need to confirm it. A horrifying thought struck Vader like lightning. 

“Where is the Chancellor?” Vader swallowed down a surge of dread, his voice urgent. “Is he here? What day is it?”

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly. “You haven’t answered my question. Who are you?”

“My question is much more important.” Vader reached out a hand and focused, his face screwed up in concentration. He probed and tested the Force, and then relaxed, sighing with relief. “He is not here, I would feel him.” 

“What are you talking about?”

Vader studied the frustrated incomprehension of Obi-Wan’s face, and felt an impossible swell of fondness that looped into resentment and back in a heartbeat. The idea of revenge against the Emperor was a sweet one, and would prevent so much suffering. “When is he arriving? I have the element of surprise.”

“Surprise?” Obi-Wan’s eyes widened, looking even more alarmed. “You want to assassinate the Chancellor?”

Vader’s eyes fixed back on the lightsaber in Obi-Wan’s hand, considering his options. 

Obi-Wan pulled himself up, indignant, clutching the hilt closer to his chest. “A Sith will touch this lightsaber over my dead body.”

Vader tried to get out of bed, and found himself clumsy and far too small. Obi-Wan made a small noise of protest at his movement that Vader ignored. He tripped over his feet and then shrugged, resigning himself to the inevitable. He would need to train and adjust his fighting style, and could not be around Sidious until he was ready. “I cannot fight in this body anyway. We will leave immediately.”

Obi-Wan almost growled, gesturing forcefully with the lightsaber. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Sith! I don’t even know who you are and how you are possessing Anakin’s body! Get out of him!”

“I cannot,” Vader smiled as he wiggled his fingers and toes. He really was in no pain. “It is permanent.”

“You stole this child’s body?” Obi-Wan’s usual, studied cool had long since passed into a kind of muted hysteria. 

Vader shook his head. “It’s not stolen, it’s mine.” He touched his toes and then stretched for the ceiling, getting used to the limits of his body, reveling in the feeling of having all four limbs back. “I am Anakin’s future. I am Darth Vader, or I was, and now I never will be. Like I said, it depends."

“But—”

Vader talked over Obi-Wan's interruption. "From your perspective, I have received a very detailed vision of the future from the Force. From mine, I have moved backward in time after my death.”

“But that’s...” Obi-Wan stared at him, face pained with confusion. “Impossible.”

Vader nodded, comfortable with the idea of impossibility, and then hopped back up on the bed, sitting cross-legged and thinking about what needed to happen next. He gestured at the lightsaber in Obi-Wan’s hand. “Put away your blade. You have no need of it.”

Obi-Wan scoffed, sounding cornered. “I’ll be the judge of that. You really expect me to believe that you’re Anakin, and you’ve what… travelled in time? That’s completely preposterous!”

“I expect you to believe exactly that, for it is the truth, Master.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows despite himself at the thoughtless way the word ‘Master’ was appended to his speech, almost sounding like a form of verbal punctuation. It was a familiar, unconscious verbal tic of a Padawan of long standing, and it was extremely surreal for it to be addressed to him. He wasn’t a Master, not yet.

The small boy’s eyes were no longer shining gold—the frigid dark side had mostly ebbed away—but it was still like standing next to a Force-nexus, and it was making Obi-Wan feel dizzy.

“I know you don’t believe me yet, but…” Anakin’s cherubic face was serious, his eyes intense. Obi-Wan couldn’t look away. “Listen to me, Obi-Wan. I suspect the Sith Master can feel my presence in the Force, though weakly, because of a decades long training bond between us. The only thing strong enough and old enough for me to break it would be if you allow me to bond myself to you again. I need an anchor other than him. It is essential that it be done, or I fear I will be found and taken easily. That cannot happen.”

“You can’t rush a training bond,” Obi-Wan said uneasily, mind racing. Was this Sith telling the truth, impossible as it may seem? Was he really some future version of Anakin? The Force was acting so strange; there was a disturbance like he’d never felt before, and hadn’t imagined was possible. 

But, if he was telling the truth, and they had a bond, and he’d trained him? If that was true, and if Anakin Skywalker had fallen and become a powerful Sith Lord… 

Obi-Wan felt like the ceiling was falling in on him, the floor collapsing beneath his feet, the world crashing down around him. His eyes were fixed on Anakin’s face, desperately seeking a sign that he was lying. He hadn’t imagined that it would be possible to fail Qui-Gon more than he already had, letting him die through his incompetence, but he had somehow managed it. 

He’d turned the Chosen One into a Sith. 

“Focus, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said sharply. “I see you are beginning to understand, but you are focusing on the wrong things.”

Obi-Wan wanted to cry, wanted to leave, wanted to hide away and die. His hands were shaking, and he felt numb. Of course he’d failed. Of course.

His arrogance that he could carry out Qui-Gon’s dying wish and train the boy had been a mistake. He wasn’t capable enough apparently, wasn’t good enough. He’d failed Qui-Gon—more than that, he’d failed the Jedi, failed everyone in the galaxy. 

“Stop!” Anakin glared at him, the dark side coiling around them both. “If we do not bond fast, he will notice and discover my presence. That cannot happen! You must let me bond with you. Stop thinking about yourself and focus!”

Obi-Wan shuddered and retracted the blade of Qui-Gon’s lightsaber. He clipped it to his belt and let his hands hang limply at his sides, defeated. The room became dim again, but he preferred the shadows than to see the look on the boy’s face clearly. He spoke, voice quiet and small. “It takes years of proximity to develop the understanding for a training bond. I don’t think it can be done.”

“Will you allow me to try?”

“You… you think it’s necessary?”

“Absolutely essential.”

“Very well.” Obi-Wan felt the Force approve of his choice, or perhaps all he felt was Anakin's approval. He was so powerful. Was he telling the truth? Obi-Wan was so tired and overwhelmed, all he could do was give in. “What must I do?”

Anakin smirked at him. “All you have to do is meditate, Master.”

“Why’d you say it like that?” Obi-Wan snapped, feeling defensive. “Am I that bad at it?”

Anakin’s expression softened. “No, Master. You’re the best. Calm down.”

Obi-Wan gave him one last skeptical look, and settled into a cross-legged position next to him on the bed. He straightened his spine and opened his shoulders, his weight relaxing into stability. He closed his eyes and opened himself up to the Force with an abundance of caution. The roiling sea of emotion around Anakin was no less overwhelming—he felt so afraid. 

“What are you afraid of?”

“This has to work,” Anakin muttered. “You cannot allow the Emperor to find me.”

Obi-Wan yelped, his eyes opening wide. “The what?”

“The Sith Master, Darth Sidious,” Anakin corrected hastily. “He can’t find me.”

Obi-Wan tried to calm his heartbeat but it wasn’t easy. Emperor, emperor, emperor. His eyes kept opening to stare incredulously at the boy‘s round, innocent-looking face, screwed up with concentration. There would be a Sith Emperor, because he’d failed as a Master, unleashing the most powerful Sith he’d ever seen. 

Qui-Gon, I’m so sorry.

“Focus, Obi-Wan.”

Focus. 

Obi-Wan tried to meditate, letting his eyes fall closed and reaching out into the Force with his feelings, opening himself up to the waves of information crashing against his mind—a dizzying rush of images, sensations. 

Focus.

Suddenly, there was Anakin—flashes of Anakin’s face, flashes of insight. He fought like this, walked like this, spoke like this. Obi-Wan saw his own face, reflected back, older, sterner. Anakin’s trust, Anakin’s frustrated obedience, Anakin’s wrath.  

The vision exploded into pain and anger, and Obi-Wan snapped his head back. “Anakin—”

“Sorry, Master. Again. Focus.”

The same rush came again, slower. Faces, places, actions. A decade together. Peacekeeping missions gone wrong. Diplomacy missions gone right and then wrong again. More and more strife, anger, clashing blades, fury. 

“What…” Obi-Wan trailed off, breathing hard, eyes still closed. He had no idea how much time had passed, and was surprised by how tired he was. He’d learned so much that could never be put into words, a kind of know-how, rather than knowledge. He shook his head, trying to calm his heart rate. “What happened?”

“I fell.” Anakin’s voice was matter-of-fact. He sounded exhausted. “We fought, I lost. You disappeared. After that… it doesn’t matter. I fell. The galaxy fell.”

Obi-Wan felt a surge of desperate fondness for Anakin that hadn't been there before, a sense of closeness and intimacy, that made the very idea of them fighting abhorrent. Anakin had fallen. It seemed impossible. He asked, somewhat dumbly. “You’re really a Sith, then? Or you were? You really…”

“Yes,” Anakin said crisply. “I was. I’m not anymore. I won’t be ever. Depends on your point of view.”

He said the last phrase with long familiarity. The training bond tugged, and Obi-Wan knew him, knew them. 

“So it would appear.” Obi-Wan shook his head, and fought a yawn. He needed this day to end, the worst day of his life, worse than anything he could’ve imagined. “Were we successful? Are you safe from the Sith Master?”

Anakin looked thoughtful, and then grinned. “I think so, Master.”

The word made Obi-Wan cringe. “Should you call me that? I don’t know if I’m really your Master.”

“You’re my Master, always.” Anakin was adamant. “I am your Padawan. You feel this to be true.”

“So I do.” Obi-Wan said lightly after an extended pause. “I feel slightly cheated of the experience of your training. I’m not the man that you remember, Anakin.” The name slotted itself into the end of his sentence like it belonged, verbal punctuation of his own, like he’d said it thousands of times.

Anakin smiled, a sense of peace radiating out at the sound of his name. “You already are. You will be.”

“I wish I shared your confidence.”

Anakin yawned widely and then slumped back. “My body is very tired. I wish to leave immediately and erase any trace of my presence in the Force before Sidious arrives, but I…”

“Sleep.” Obi-Wan’s voice came out more gentle than he expected. It was so hard not to think of the cute little boy as a sleepy child. “We can speak in the morning.”

“Will you stay?” Anakin asked, sounding very young.

“Yes, I will stay.” Obi-Wan agreed easily. He didn’t imagine he’d be getting sleep if he’d gone back to his own palatial bedroom. “I will meditate.”

“Good,” Anakin breathed, snuggling himself back into his pillow and pulling the covers up to his chin. “Thank you, Master.”

Obi-Wan nodded and sat formally, relaxing all of his muscles individually, allowing his spine to stack and his arms and legs to rest without tension. Anakin’s breathing sounded much easier once it was outside his conscious control, sleep offering a steady rhythm. Obi-Wan listened, trying to process the day and utterly failing. His mind churned with the earlier battle, Qui-Gon’s dying words, Anakin’s golden eyes, the flashes of a terrifying decade that he’d yet to live.

He broke meditation to stare at the wall again, vacant and horrified. He was a failure in every way that mattered. Anakin made a frustrated clucking noise in his sleep and turned over, making Obi-Wan smile despite himself. He shook his head and returned his face to the wall, murmuring with inexplicable fondness. “Sleep well, Padawan.”

It was darkest night on Coruscant. The expensive, ornate apartment was only illuminated by the lights of the infinite city pouring in through the large windows. In that soft darkness, a momentous transition had occurred, ringing like a bell in the Force.

Darth Sidious stood over the corpse of Hego Damask, feeling exhilarated at the death of the old Muun. Darth Plagueis was no more—killed in his sleep, suffocated and eliminated. Sidious had inherited the mantle of the Sith Mastery, and his spirit soared with the power of the dark side. He was the beneficiary of the Grand Plan, and would soon enough rule the galaxy. 

His ascendancy had been intoxicating. His election to the Chancellorship was all but assured, and he’d been feeling proud and gleeful, untold political power was at his fingertips, but it was the act of killing his Master that had triggered an earthquake in the Force. The dark side was his to command, a thousand years of the Rule of Two accumulating and concentrating it until he was the most powerful being in the galaxy. 

Now, and for eternity. His rule had only just begun. 

He kicked the corpse of his Master to the side and turned to the window. The day was breaking after a long night of celebration, and he felt eager anticipation for the confirmation vote later. Something nagged at him, some sense of awareness of a power beyond and greater than himself, making him frown. It was unacceptable. He focused and sought the source of it, but the trail was weak and he was unable to follow it. 

Was it Plagueis, rebuking him from the beyond? Who else was there to challenge him, a new god, recently apotheosized and untouchable? The galaxy was his, and always would be. Smirking with satisfaction, he pulled the shades across the window, blocking out the noisome light, and turned to pull out his comlink. He took a deep breath and arranged his face to summon enough distress into his voice to call the medics to attempt to heal a dead man. 

Appearances had to be maintained, after all. He was going to be the Supreme Chancellor of the galaxy. The Emperor. He quivered with satisfaction.

Soon.

Obi-Wan blinked awake and immediately frowned. He didn’t remember falling asleep. One moment he was sitting in the dark, his thoughts a hazy mess of memories and regrets, the next he was abruptly thrust back into consciousness, the room illuminated by soft morning light. 

His frown deepened as he realized he was trapped. He had somehow ended up on his back, covered not by a blanket, but by the warm body of Anakin, who was clutching him like a monkey on a tree. One of his small hands was wrapped around Obi-Wan’s Padawan braid, and he resisted when Obi-Wan tried to pull himself free. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan grumbled, trying again. “Let go.”

“No,” Anakin’s sleepy child’s voice sounded sullen. He pushed his face into Obi-Wan’s chest and held on tighter. “Comfortable.”

“I don’t care!” The events of the previous day were rushing through Obi-Wan’s mind, each successive disaster an additional hit of adrenaline. He tugged his braid from Anakin’s grip with more force and sat up, pushing him off.

Anakin made a displeased noise and scrunched up his nose with frustration, his eyes still closed and voice drowsy. “I can still hear the dawnhoppers. We don’t have to be awake yet.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan laughed, slightly manic, rubbing his face with his hands. What the kriff was a dawnhopper? “We absolutely do have to. I can’t believe—”

“Can’t we do this later?” Anakin whined, and if Obi-Wan didn’t remember the small fact that this was apparently a Sith Lord of indeterminate age, he would sound exactly like a bratty ten-year-old. “Have your panic attack later. I’m sleeping.”

“No, you aren’t!”

“Fine,” Anakin opened his eyes to slits, giving Obi-Wan a death glare that would probably have been intimidating on a grown man’s face, but did very little to inspire fear with his chubby cheeks and messy blonde hair. “Have it your way.”

“How old are you?”

The glare relaxed into confusion. “What?” 

“I asked you, Darth…” Obi-Wan searched his memory, his recollection of the entire conversation from the previous evening muddied by the intense emotions he’d been feeling at the time. “Vagar, how—”

“It was Vader,” Anakin corrected immediately, giving Obi-Wan a condescending look that made him want to wring his tiny neck. “But you will call me Anakin.”

“As you say, Darth.” Obi-Wan scooted to the edge of the bed, and began to put his boots back on, an escalating sense of panic and anger making him move quickly.

He suddenly felt a comforting wave from a training bond that shouldn’t exist, and for a moment missed Master Qui-Gon so badly it hurt. A Sith killed Qui-Gon; Qui-Gon was dead, dead, dead. He shot a dark look over his shoulder and snapped, “Don’t do that.”

Anakin’s heightened presence in the Force faded, but did not disappear. Obi-Wan felt his eyes on his back like an itch as he stood up, and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Sleep to panic in seconds—Qui-Gon would say this was almost a new record, after that time on Ejick VII, and the baby serpent-lizards, but Qui-Gon was dead, and he would never tease Obi-Wan about that again. 

Obi-Wan paced several steps away toward the door before turning back, and he felt marginally better after putting distance between himself and the Sith. He pulled Qui-Gon’s saber off the bed with the Force and clipped it to his belt. The reassuring song of the kyber crystal calmed him somewhat, and he felt more confident with a weapon at hand. 

The boy blinked up at him, sleep rumpled and deeply unimpressed. The Force whispered that he was dangerous, but not actually a threat to Obi-Wan. Not yet, anyway. “Ask your questions, if you must.”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips unhappily at his patronizing tone. He didn’t even know where to start with this boy who was not a child. “How old are you then, Darth Vader?”

“I’m 46.” 

“And how long have you been a Sith, Vader?”

“I fell when I was 22. You do the math.” He sounded annoyed. Good. Obi-Wan knew he had an unwise habit of being irritating when under pressure, but he couldn’t stop—it was too satisfying, and it helped him feel something like control.

The Sith had been younger than Obi-Wan was now when he fell. Obi-Wan couldn’t tell why exactly that mattered, but it did. “Are you planning on killing me, Darth?”

“What?” Anakin scoffed, alarmed, his lingering presence in the Force hastily retreating behind obfuscating shields. “No! Of course not. I wouldn't do that! Why would you even ask that, Master?”

“Just wanted to check.” Obi-Wan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Because that wasn’t a suspicious response at all. “You… died then? In the future?”

“We all do,” Anakin shrugged. When Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows in expectation of a better answer, he continued with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I killed my old Master, and he killed me too, causing a large disturbance in the Force. Seeing my son made me regret… things. I woke up here, in the past. With you.” 

“Sith hells,” Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to clear the last of the sleep away. His son? “How is this even possible? Why?”

Anakin shrugged again, seeming to answer both questions at once. “I am the Chosen One.”

“That’s not an explanation!” 

“Would you prefer for me to say that I don’t know, and I don’t care?”

“How can—”

“I wanted things to be different, and now they will be! It’s that simple, Obi-Wan.”

“That’s insane! It sounds incredibly dark and dangerous, Vader. You either…” Obi-Wan trailed off, thinking rapidly. Anakin pulled himself to sit on the edge of the bed, yawning and kicking his feet, waiting for Obi-Wan to finish. “Did you unmake 36 years of reality to get here? Or did you kill this dimension’s version of your ten-year-old self? Kriff, it’s too early for this.”

“I told you that it was.”

“Shut up!” Obi-Wan glared. “I guess the more important question is why? What are you planning? Whose side are you really on?” He bit off the rest of what he wanted to say. I need to turn you over to the Council!

Anakin sighed as if he’d heard the unspoken words, and Obi-Wan realized that he very well could have sensed them. He felt a swell of indignation that his thoughts were no longer private. The Sith knew him too well, could read him at a glance, and he didn’t know this Sith at all. 

Anakin though… he knew Anakin. The bond had given him Anakin. Not Darth Vader. How had Vader even done that? Who was he? What did he want? Why had Obi-Wan even let himself bond? Why had he inexplicably trusted the Sith? Because he felt guilty that he’d failed Qui-Gon? Because he looked like a little boy, who was afraid of the same person that Obi-Wan was? Because he’d reflexively called Obi-Wan ‘Master?’ Why hadn’t he been THINKING?!

“Darth Sidious is Sheev Palpatine.”

Obi-Wan blinked, pulled abruptly out of his spiralling thoughts. “The Senator from Naboo?”

Anakin shook his head, an unshielded expression on his face that was somewhere between pity and disdain at Obi-Wan’s ignorance. “He was just elected Supreme Chancellor, or will be today. I’m still not sure what day it is. When is the Council arriving?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

Anakin nodded with grim satisfaction. “Today then. He will be confirmed today. We need to leave as soon as possible.”

Qui-Gon’s funeral was in three days. Obi-Wan couldn’t leave before then, he just couldn’t. He desperately needed to talk to Master Yoda. “But, the treaty negotiations, I‘m—”

“Darth Sidious is dangerous, too dangerous for me to fight now, and he would destroy you if you tried.”

“But, he… he wouldn’t know, if—”

Anakin’s laugh was a hideous thing. “You’re wrong. He would know everything in an instant. You do not understand the magnitude of his power. He can sense your thoughts, rip memories from your mind. He can turn his rage to lightning and burn you alive.”—Obi-Wan stared at him, the sense of being in a nightmare returning, stronger than ever. Wake up, please let me wake up.—“The Senate and the courts were already under his control, and now so is the Chancellorship. In approximately thirteen years, if left unchecked, the Jedi and the Republic will no longer exist, all because of him.” Anakin’s pronouncement of doom was creepy in his innocent, childish voice. “We have to leave today, and get as far away as we can—off-planet, out of the sector.”

Obi-Wan sat down heavily on an embroidered bench near the door, and put his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. He was terrified; he wanted to scream. The Jedi had thought the Sith were extinct, now Qui-Gon was dead, the Republic had been lost, the boy was possessed, and they all had no idea. Obi-Wan wanted Qui-Gon’s advice very badly. He had no idea what to do. But Qui-Gon’s cold body was in a Nabooan morgue, and Obi-Wan helped put him there with his failure. He was completely out of his depth, a Padawan without a Master. He would never be a Knight now. He didn’t deserve to be one, let alone a Master. He couldn’t handle this. 

Qui-Gon, what do I do?

“And you really…” Obi-Wan stared across the room at the boy, and tried to see the Sith as a man. A dangerous, powerful Sith Lord, not a child. “You actually want to change any of that? You’re a Sith. How do I know you’re not just…”

“Going to take his place?” 

Obi-Wan nodded mutely, and Anakin sighed. “I had hoped that the bond would reassure you of my good intentions, Master, but it seems you’re not in a mood to listen to it.”

Obi-Wan scowled, his stomach twisting into knots. “You mean how you tricked me into trusting you implicitly without actually doing anything to deserve that trust? You took advantage of my… emotional state… last night! You’re using me! I can’t trust that!”

“Yes, fine.” Anakin rolled his eyes. “I did. I am using you and the bond to hide from Sidious, and anchor myself in the light. I need you at my side, and you would be able to sense my sincerity about being the Chosen One returning to destroy the Sith if you just calmed down.”

“But—”

“Obi-Wan, Master, listen to me. I want to save the galaxy, I don’t want to rule it. I never did.”

“What does that even mean?! Save the galaxy? What does a Sith like you know about saving anyone?! I thought you’re only interested in your own power!”

Anakin stiffened, and his eyes abruptly became so cold and cruel that Obi-Wan wanted to back away, despite the fact that his back was already against the wall. “I know that I will slaughter the Emperor and every other Sith before they can rip your idiotic Republic apart in civil war. I will burn everything that Sidious hoped to build to ash, and the galaxy will be better for it. Is that selfish enough for you, Master?”

Anakin’s high voice was glacial. An accompanying swell in the dark side made the hair lift on Obi-Wan’s arms, and a shudder ran down his spine. 

“I…” Obi-Wan struggled to breathe, his panic attack returning at full force. “I need to contact the Council. I can’t… I’m not….” He bit his lip, trying to get a grip, giving Anakin a wide eyed look. “That all sounds more like… revenge! It’s… it’s not… it’s not really about saving anyone! I can’t…”

“It’s a good start!” Anakin snapped, the dark side surging again, making Obi-Wan’s bones ache with cold. “I have to strike while he’s relatively weak, Obi-Wan, which means he must not know before it’s too late! He and all his allies must be eliminated. Only then will the galaxy be made safe. He’s the Sith Master! I would have thought you would share my goal for Qui-Gon’s sake, at least!”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t…” Obi-Wan jumped up, and began to pace anxiously. “You don’t get to say… you can’t just… You can’t just assume I’ll help a-assassinate the Chancellor because Qui-Gon… died! If he really is the Sith Master, it’s still not my… it’s not my place or my… my job! I’m just… the Council, you need to… I can’t…”

Anakin’s eyes followed his movement, and he tried to soften his expression, without much success. “It is not my intent to antagonize you, Obi-Wan. I need your help, not the Council’s. You cannot contact them about this.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “But I’m not the person… I’m just a Padawan. I can’t… You need to tell the Jedi Council about all of this and… and leave me out of it! The Council would be better—”

Anakin laughed derisively, his annoyance washing over Obi-Wan in the Force. “The Jedi Council serve the Senate, who serve the Sith!”

Obi-Wan threw up his hands, frustrated on the Council’s behalf. “They serve the Force first!”

“And the Force sent me here, with you! Not the Temple!” Anakin shouted back. He hopped off the bed, and looked around for shoes. He took a step and stumbled, as if he had missed a step on the stairs. He shot Obi-Wan a sour look. “If you really serve the Force, you’ll let me do my job. You’ll help me!”

Obi-Wan scoffed loudly, and all his panic had pivoted into a flush of hot anger. He couldn’t keep his volume down, all his suspicions pouring out at once. “How do I really know you didn’t violate the Force to make this happen, Darth Vader?! You would never have been able to travel in time without the dark side, let alone generate a bond between me and someone you used to be and aren’t anymore! That’s unfathomable, unnatural! How do I know any of this is actually the will of the Force and it’s not all some horrifying abuse of power by the most dangerous Sith Lord the galaxy has ever seen? The Council—”

“If I were, you would already be dead.” Anakin cut him off, his tone infuriatingly cool and final. “You will just have to trust the Force, Obi-Wan. Calm down and listen to it.” 

“But—”

Anakin shook his head, his tone pointed. “You have to stop yelling, and be mindful of the living Force around you. Don’t focus on your anxiety like this. You know better. I understand you are grieving, but you cannot let it make you this… irrational.”

“Irrational?!” Obi-Wan growled dangerously, fists clenching, and he felt an almost irresistible urge to punch the Sith, ten-year-old body or no. Qui-Gon, I can’t do this. I just can’t. He made himself sit back down jerkily on the bench and breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth, over and over, until his heart rate slowed. Anakin nodded in approval, and Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, staring past him.

Anakin sighed. “If you tell the Council who I am and what I know, you’ll be delivering that information to the Sith Master, Obi-Wan. He will torture me either to death or into obedience. He’s done the latter multiple times. His learning about the future would do the galaxy and the Jedi no favors.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, trying to sense the truth in the Force. Anakin was not lying. “He tortured you frequently, then?”

Anakin gave him an incredulous look. “I was a dog on a leash, what do you expect? Of course I had to be yanked to heel.”

“So…” Obi-Wan’s mind was racing, and he rested a hand on Qui-Gon’s saber, letting the kyber crystal ground him. Qui-Gon, what would you do? You wouldn’t turn to the Council right away, would you? Is this how to honor your dying wishes? Going along with him? Follow the Sith, try to fight the darkness inside him?

Obi-Wan took a deep, shaky breath. “So the most important thing now is to keep you out of the Sith Master’s hands, or you either die or become his weapon.”

“Correct.”

Obi-Wan felt a swell of resolution, and straightened his spine. “The second most important thing is to keep you from being a weapon at your own discretion.”

“You want to hold the leash?” Anakin hissed, suddenly furious. The Force grew colder, and the color of his eyes flickered.

“Apparently you need one, Padawan!” Obi-Wan spread his arms, defiant, and the title made Anakin’s head snap back as though struck. “I’d be better than nobody.” He pointed at Anakin, eyes narrow. “I’d certainly be better than you.”

Anakin’s jaw was set, his nostrils flared. He put his hands on his hips, and gave Obi-Wan a long, measuring look. He stood like someone in authority, someone used to being obeyed without question. It looked very incongruous with his small, soft body. Eventually he sighed and relaxed his posture, warmth returning to the room as the threat of the dark side retreated.

“Yes, you are better. I’m glad that you understand, Master. You will come with me, not return to the Jedi. You will protect me while I regain strength, and you will help me kill Sidious and prevent the fall of the Republic.”

The sunlight was suddenly very bright, and the room was very quiet. Obi-Wan was hyper-aware of his body, the tremor in his hands and his pounding heart. Was he really going to do this? “Yes.”

“You will not tell the Jedi what you are doing or who I am.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I can’t agree to that. They need to know that they’re in danger.”

Anakin looked like he wanted to stamp his foot. “You will not tell them yet.”

“Fine, but I get to choose when they get to know!” Obi-Wan crossed his arms, stubbornly. “If I think it’s the right time, you will let me tell them.”

“Fine, but you need to listen to me when I say it’s not the right time now.”  

“Fine.”

“Great.”

Vader’s stomach rumbled, and he touched his whole, healthy chest with something like wonder. He let out an involuntary laugh. He would be able to eat food, real solid food, and satiate his hunger, for the first time in so long. “I’m hungry!” 

Obi-Wan huffed with annoyance, and Vader ignored him, gleeful. Thank the Force. “Chocolate! Do you think there will be any of those powdered donuts with the sour jam? Sausages?” 

“Why are you this excited?” Obi-Wan grumbled, standing up and opening the door with slightly too much force, gesturing a hand for Vader to lead the way into the hall. “It’s just breakfast.”

Vader stumbled forward, and Obi-Wan’s lips twitched at the sight of his awkward steps. Vader focused as hard as he could on walking normally, and shot a glower up at Obi-Wan when he coughed over a laugh. “I haven’t had a working tongue in 24 years, you’ll excuse me for being excited about the taste of food.”

Obi-Wan’s face went blank. “What?”

Vader cursed and shook his head, marching past Obi-Wan. “Nothing. I’m just hungry. Are we going to the kitchen? I don’t remember where we ate last time. It was a long time ago for me.”

“You’re not telling me the truth, Anakin.” Obi-Wan didn’t follow after him, and Vader turned back, a sense of dread growing. He suddenly missed his mask very much, and hated that Obi-Wan could see his face. He missed his armor and how he felt untouchable inside it. He was too exposed. 

“That wasn’t a lie.” Vader smiled awkwardly. “You’re the one who taught me to never avoid the truth with a lie, Master. You have to say something at least mostly true. I am hungry.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said slowly, and he sounded almost dangerously annoyed. Vader felt a swell of nostalgia. He didn’t think that he missed this, but he did. “It’s not the truth. The whole truth, if you please.”

“I’m being tactful, Master. You don’t need to know everything at once. It would just upset you.”

“I’m already upset,” Obi-Wan shot back, and crossed his arms. “I insist. If you want me to trust you, you’ll answer my questions honestly. What did you mean?”

Vader sighed, and tipped his head from side to side, cracking his neck. Mobility was an incredible thing. Breathing was incredible. 

For a moment earlier, hanging between sleeping and waking, he had been back on leave from the 501st, curled around Padmé in their bedroom at Varykino, listening to the chirping of the Nabooan dawnhoppers and knowing that they had hours more to be lazy in bed, nobody to see and nothing to do. He’d been so comfortable—warm, safe, and happy. 

Obi-Wan’s panic attack had been an unpleasant wake up call, and he regretted that he’d lost his temper with him, but there was no taking back what had been said. Obi-Wan had agreed to his plan, and that was all that mattered. He had to keep him happy. 

Vader spoke carefully. “I was more machine than man after I fell. Many of my organs had been replaced, including my stomach. My lips, tongue, and throat were very damaged. I spent the rest of my life either in bacta or a life-support suit. It was just easier to have a liquid diet.”

Obi-Wan’s blue eyes were so wide as he processed Vader’s words, his cheeks growing ashen. “Why?”

“Why was it easier?” Vader said, intentionally slow. This was not the right time to do this. Obi-Wan was not ready to hear this. Fuck.

“No, why were you… why were you so damaged?”

Vader sighed, running a hand down his face. “I really don’t know if it’s a good idea to—”

“It was my fault, wasn’t it.” Obi-Wan’s voice shook, and Vader wished he wasn’t quite so clever. Let it go. “You said we… we fought, last night. You said we fought and that you lost.”

“Yes.”

“More machine than man? What did I…”

Vader’s shoulders dropped as he gave up. “Well, Master, if you insist on knowing the truth, I won’t lie. You cut off my limbs and then left me to burn alive on the bank of a river of lava.” 

“I did what..?”

Vader attempted another smile that was probably closer to a grimace. He viciously suppressed the wave of hatred associated with the memories, keeping the dark side at bay with an effort of will. He had to keep Obi-Wan happy. “It was… it was a proportionate response to…”

“To what?” Obi-Wan’s voice tinged toward hysteria again, and Vader felt helpless to prevent it. Using the bond to communicate his feelings would only make Obi-Wan angry. “What could possibly warrant that?”

“We will not get into that now. Please, Obi-Wan. I do not wish to discuss this. I want chocolate.”

“Very well. I need to… I think I need the ‘fresher first. Excuse me.”

Vader watched helplessly as Obi-Wan backed away from the door and disappeared toward the small bathroom attached to Vader’s bedroom, the door slamming closed. He looked with longing toward the stairs, toward food, and then headed back inside. He sat on the bench near the door, and studied his hands. 

He had a birthmark on his right palm. He’d somehow forgotten about it. It was shaped like a tiny bird with spread wings. He kicked his feet and sighed. He’d never been good at waiting, no matter how much Obi-Wan had stressed it as a core competency of a Jedi Knight. 

Darth Vader was not exactly known for his patience, either. 

“Obi-Wan?” He called out after a few minutes of silence. “Master?”

He frowned at the lack of response, and tentatively dropped his shields, reaching out with the Force and trying to sense Obi-Wan’s emotional state. He hissed and rocked his head back, immediately overwhelmed by pain.

He hopped down, marched deliberately to the door, and knocked crisply. “Master?” No answer. “I’m coming in.”

He focused and used the Force to unlock the door, poking his head inside. “Obi-Wan?”

Shit. 

Obi-Wan was sitting on the tile floor between the sink and the bathtub, his knees drawn up to his chest, his face in his hands. His shoulders were shaking slightly. Now that Vader was open to the Force, Obi-Wan’s grief radiated out in thick waves.

“Obi-Wan?” Vader said tentatively.

Obi-Wan looked up at him, expression bleak. It surprised Vader that Obi-Wan was an ugly crier, cheeks red and blotchy, eyes wet and nose running—everything about Obi-Wan had always seemed controlled, clean, and civilized. This was too… human. Too flawed. 

Vader suddenly felt a strange kind of double perception. He remembered being ten years old, and looking up to Obi-Wan, seeing him as an adult with all the answers, an authority figure, almost a father. Now, he saw his son, just barely more than a boy, lost and unsure.

He wondered what Yoda must see when he looked at them all from the perspective of hundreds of years. We must all seem like children to him. 

How could he have allowed Obi-Wan to train him—this grieving boy, as a teacher? No wonder things had gone so wrong. It wasn’t Obi-Wan’s fault, it was the Council’s fault. For all that they forbade attachment, allowing Obi-Wan to train him just encouraged it, indulged it. 

Obi-Wan had loved him; not that he’d seen it at the time, but he had. He only confessed under extreme duress, but he’d still confessed it. He’d loved him, more than his Code. 

And this was why. This grieving boy, who’d loved Qui-Gon and vowed to fulfill his promise beyond the grave. No matter how much of a perfect Jedi he’d appeared to everyone else. He’d always been Anakin’s.

Vader pulled a towel from the rack and ran it under the sink briefly, making it damp. He shuffled to Obi-Wan’s side and handed it to him, making him sniff an embarrassed, “Thank you.”

“I apologize for upsetting you.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan repeated quietly, his voice thick. “But really… it’s Master Qui-Gon. I… I need him. I wish…” Vader sat down next to Obi-Wan and pressed up against his side reassuringly. Obi-Wan huffed a laugh, despairing. “Why couldn’t you have come back two days ago? Three? Warned us, warned him?”

“I don’t know,” Vader said apologetically. “I think Sidious becoming the Sith Master was kind of a bookmark in the Force, a massive surge in the dark side. It… pulled me to it. He’s what I need to fix. I’m supposed to destroy the Sith. I didn’t have a choice about when I came back.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan sighed, rubbing his face with the towel again. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t, really.” Vader smiled tentatively. “But I appreciate you saying so.”

Obi-Wan laughed weakly. “I’m trying to… I’m trying to pretend things make sense. Otherwise I would just want to go home to the Temple and hide in the creche and never come out. Pretend this all never happened. Pretend I’m not the kind of person who would grow up to… to cut Sith Lords in half, and… burn my Padawan alive… or whatever else. I didn’t know I was capable of that, but I don’t doubt you. That horrifies me.”

“You did what you thought you must.”

Vader felt Obi-Wan shrug, and studied his profile, how he was blinking back fresh tears, and wished that he was bigger, in his adult body, so he could gather Obi-Wan up in a hug and hold him, take care of him, and make things better. He awkwardly reached out and hugged Obi-Wan’s neck, and Obi-Wan slid his legs out straight, letting Vader move into his lap and curl up against his chest, holding him tight. He reached to grab Obi-Wan’s braid, and frowned.

“You cut it off.”

Obi-Wan swallowed thickly, and nodded once, tipping his head to the side to show the braid coiled neatly beside Qui-Gon’s lightsaber on the floor beside him. Vader had no words, he had no idea what to say, how to make things right, so he just held him tighter. Obi-Wan hugged him back, and started to cry again quietly into his hair. 

Vader let him. 

Master Yoda had been meditating in the extensive gardens outside the palace when one of the queen’s handmaidens finally tracked him down. It was late in the evening after their arrival on Naboo, and the Jedi Master had sought the peace and comfort of the living Force among the green maze of hedges and running fountains. 

His sense of the Force was trembling with hints of something eventful having transpired in the city of Theed. Whether or not it was only related to the recent death of the Sith was unclear. The veil of the dark side, which had come up so slowly over the last few hundred years, had grown closer to twilight, and it did not give up its secrets easily.

He reflected on the death of Master Qui-Gon, acknowledging the sense of loss he felt in his heart, and let it go. Grief was an inevitable side effect of his extended lifespan; he’d long since grown accustomed to its weight, and knew how to carry it. He’d learned not to cling to any person, or he would have been driven mad with sorrow. 

Over his years, he’d watched the lives of many excellent Jedi wax and wane, from childhood, to flourishing adulthood, to wise old age, to rejoining the Force. He regretted that he would not see the rest of Qui-Gon’s journey—not get to see him as an elder. For all that they’d had disagreements about doctrine and practice, Qui-Gon Jinn had been a great Knight, a skilled though somewhat fickle Master, and a beacon of understanding in the living Force. 

The unexplained absence of his apprentice caused Yoda no small amount of concern. 

Young Obi-Wan had been missing since their arrival, and no information was forthcoming about his location. Yoda was worried—the boy from Tatooine was missing too, and he was a dangerous enigma. Oh, Qui-Gon. Causing chaos, even after joining the Force.

“This way, Master Jedi,” the handmaiden said gently, guiding him toward the queen’s suite of rooms. Yoda followed after, intrigued by the hushed secrecy of this nighttime meeting. He moved as quickly as he could, his gimer stick tapping a steady rhythm on the marble floor.

He was shown into an elegant parlor, and saw that Master Windu had been summoned as well. Mace’s expression was slightly pained, adding severity to the lines of his stern face. He’d been reporting migraine headaches the last few days, as his vision of the structure of the unifying Force had shattered and reformed. 

He was not the only Jedi sensitive to the recent alteration in the pattern of the Force. None of them knew why it had happened, only that something significant had changed without warning—or perhaps they had been warned by Qui-Gon: first a Sith Lord, then a Chosen One, and then a detonation in the Force. 

“Feeling well, are you, hmm?” Yoda inquired, coming to hop up on the long couch next to Mace, sitting with crossed legs. The handmaiden stood near the door, her hood obscuring her face. 

Mace grimaced at him, but nodded. “Do you know why we’re here?”

“Know this, I do not. Hopeful, I am, to learn more. Young Obi-Wan is…”

“Yes,” Mace acknowledged when Yoda trailed off. “And the boy.”

“The boy, too, yes.”

Yoda took a slow, steady breath, and released the lingering tension in his body. He wanted answers, but the Force was evasive. The boys were alive, he felt that to be true, but beyond that—nothing.

The Chancellor had expressed his disappointment in not being able to thank the heroes of Naboo personally, and had asked many pointed questions, to which the Council had no answers. The royal staff at the palace had uniformly denied any knowledge of their whereabouts; there had been no security holograms of them leaving, and no communication from them at all. 

It was like they’d vanished into thin air. 

Master Yoda and the rest of the Council had watched the hologram of young Obi-Wan’s battle with the Sith with interest, and had been impressed by the Padawan’s demonstration of skill in the Force. He’d acted with focused intent and without emotion, slaying a Sith while in harmony with the Force, despite all the temptations of the dark side.

If he were still there, they would have Knighted him on the spot—an archaic form of the Trials, defeat of a rival Sith in single combat—but he wasn’t there.

“Masters,” a fresh-faced young woman greeted them respectfully as she entered the room, her expression grave. The queen—young Padmé Amidala. She exchanged a meaningful glance with her handmaiden and sat down on a couch opposite them, spreading out the skirt of her deep purple dress. “Thank you for coming.”

“Information, for us, have you?” 

She nodded, making the intricate hanging loops of her glossy brown hair sway, and reached into a hidden pocket of her dress. Yoda sucked in a breath when she pulled out two objects: a familiar lightsaber, and a braid. Mace met Yoda’s eyes for a moment, a flash of concerned recognition passing between them, and she set them down on the low table between the couches for both to see. 

“I was entrusted with these, in the hope that they would be placed among Master Jinn’s belongings.” 

“They will be,” Mace said. 

Queen Amidala nodded her thanks. “I was further asked to apologize to you both on behalf of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker for their absence.”

Yoda hummed thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on the hilt of Qui-Gon’s lightsaber—Obi-Wan had left it behind. Mace shifted beside him and spoke, his tone controlled. “When did they leave?”

“The morning after the battle,” she said, her presence in the Force radiating concern and confusion. “I was having breakfast, preparing to meet with the leaders of the Trade Federation and discuss the terms of our new treaty. Padawan Kenobi requested a meeting, and said that it was urgent.”

She pulled out a handheld holoprojector, and placed it on the table next to the lightsaber, activating it with her thumb. Two figures appeared, and Yoda shifted forward in his seat at the sight of the flickering blue forms of Obi-Wan and Anakin.

So there were recordings, but they had all been wiped from the palace archives. Interesting. 

The two boys both appeared exhausted. Obi-Wan was already shorn of his braid and ponytail; his eyes were hollow with grief, his posture guarded. Anakin was staring at the floor as though it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. 

“Troubled, they seem.”

Queen Amidala nodded. “That was my first reaction as well. I assumed that it was grief about Master Jinn, and offered them my condolences. I asked if there was any way we could repay them for their service to the people of Naboo.” She began the recording, and sat back, letting it play.

“Your Majesty, thank you for seeing us on such short notice…”

Yoda listened as Obi-Wan spoke, but couldn’t look away from the shadowed face of Anakin; his posture was unnaturally stiff, his eyes fixed down. He didn’t so much as fidget as Obi-Wan explained that the Council had not approved Anakin’s training as a Jedi Knight, and that if left alone, the boy would be in danger of abduction by the Sith because of his gifts. 

Mace exhaled hard, and Yoda tipped his head to the side, considering. Obi-Wan was telling the truth, but not the whole truth. He was using his dissembling voice, long familiar to Yoda from Obi-Wan’s somewhat rowdy childhood.

The small blue form of Obi-Wan solemnly reported that he had promised the dying Qui-Gon that he would take care of the boy in his place—while the boy would not be trained as a Jedi, he still needed to learn control. His natural abilities were too strong to simply fade away, as was usually the case with untrained Force sensitives. Again true, but somehow false. 

Obi-Wan’s expression became increasingly grim as he explained that he was leaving the Jedi Order and going with the boy into hiding, in order to protect him and watch over him until the threat of the Sith had passed.

Yoda’s ears twitched as Obi-Wan stressed the need for complete secrecy in their departure, suggesting that the Sith could already be watching them. It was certainly a paranoid assertion, but not an unreasonable one from a Padawan who’d lost their Master to a Sith the day before. 

Obi-Wan requested immediate passage for both of them to Tatooine, and enough currency to free the boy’s mother from slavery. He bowed slightly in gratitude when these requests were approved.

“The R2 unit,” the boy abruptly said. His eyes flicked up for only a second before dropping them. “The one that flew with me to destroy the control ship. May I please have it?”

Obi-Wan frowned down at him, but shrugged slightly and looked forward with a question in his eyes. His expression softened with gratitude when Queen Amidala agreed. Anakin’s posture remained stiff, a small smile crossing his face before it returned to its previous blankness.

Obi-Wan had bowed again, requesting that the queen apologize to the Council for leaving before the funeral. He placed first his braid and then Qui-Gon’s lightsaber down on the table, and was asking her to pass them on when the boy spoke up again. 

“No!”

“What?” The flickering blue Obi-Wan muttered at him, his eyes narrow. 

“You can’t be without a lightsaber. You need that! You can’t just leave it here!”

Yoda exchanged a look with Mace. The boy’s domineering tone was new, as was the amount of emotion in Obi-Wan’s voice as he replied. “I’m leaving the Order, like we discussed, Anakin. You know I can’t continue to carry the weapon of a Jedi, especially not this one. I will not use it, and neither will you.”

“But—”

“No, Anakin!”

Anakin grumbled inaudibly and then went quiet at a sharp look from Obi-Wan. He mirrored Obi-Wan’s hasty bow to the queen and then marched out of the range of the holoprojector.

With a tired smile, Obi-Wan said, “Thank you, Your Majesty. I appreciate you and your handmaidens’ total discretion on this matter. The Sith truly could have eyes inside the palace, the delegation from the Republic, or even the Jedi Order. Be wary.” He froze in place with the end of the recording.

Queen Amidala reached forward and turned off the projector, slipping it back into her pocket. Yoda opened his mouth to request it, but held back, remembering Obi-Wan’s sincere request for information security. Be wary.

The parlor was silent for a long moment, and then the queen looked toward the door. “Sabé? Did you bring…”

The handmaiden immediately stepped forward, and placed a piece of flimsiplast next to Qui-Gon’s lightsaber—a ship’s manifest. 

Her voice was low and competent. “We sent them on an old humanitarian shuttle with trusted crew to keep a low profile, and they should have arrived on Tatooine by now, barring any unforeseen difficulties.”

“Good, thank you,” Mace said, bowing his head to her in appreciation. He looked between her and the queen. “Is there anything else you can tell us?” Sabé shook her head regretfully, and withdrew back to the wall.

Queen Amidala shook her head too. “I’ve told you all I know for sure. Padawan Kenobi… Obi-Wan… seemed upset at leaving the Order, and at missing the funeral for Master Jinn. Ani seemed different, much less open and carefree. I don’t know if someone told him that there had been people on the ship he destroyed, or if he took the death of Master Jinn badly, but he could barely make eye contact.”

Yoda rolled his stick between his fingers. Something was awry, but he couldn’t sense what it was.

“Thank you,” Mace said again, tone sincere. 

“We owe a great debt to your Order. It was a privilege to help them both. I wish we could have done more.” The queen rose gracefully, giving them a final smile before leaving, her handmaiden falling in beside her. 

Yoda hopped off the couch and picked up Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, listening to its kyber crystal sing for a moment before clipping it to his belt. He handed Mace the flimsi and then carefully tucked Padawan Kenobi’s braid in his pocket. He felt a swell of pain and regret that the boy had left. Memories of a bright eyed child in the creche, a stubborn, talented adolescent. 

He acknowledged the sense of loss, and let it go, following Mace to the door. They walked in silence back to their rooms, both unwilling to discuss anything openly, and not yet ready to share their thoughts. Yoda didn’t know what to make of it all, and the Force wasn’t offering him enlightenment. 

The door finally closed behind them in Yoda’s room, and Mace sighed. “Do we have anyone near Tatooine?” He ran a hand down his face, running through his mental inventory of active missions in the Outer Rim. “Knight Vos?”

“Knight Vos, yes.” Yoda said, moving to the window to look out over the waterfall. “On Tatooine, he already is. More information, we need. Contact him, we should.” 

Mace pulled out his datapad and sat down, his brow furrowing as he typed. “Should we inform the rest of the Council?”

Young Obi-Wan’s voice echoed again in Yoda’s mind, his loaded and sincere warning: be wary. “Between us, for now, this should stay. Encrypted frequency, you must use.”

“He’s undercover,” Mace agreed, and then winced, his face betraying a spike of pain—the shatterpoints in the Force still weren’t stable. Yoda could feel the living Force sing and the future whisper, but Mace was the true master of the unifying Force. That blessing seemed more like a curse at the moment.

Mace sighed, returning to his typing. “I can’t decide if taking the boy like this was courageous of Obi-Wan, or if he is just running away. That wouldn’t be like him, but then again I would have expected him to wait for the Council before making any big decisions. This is Qui-Gon’s legacy, I think.”

Yoda hummed in agreement. “Expect this from Obi-Wan, I also did not. Foolish that was, perhaps, yes. Left the Order before, he has.”

“His Padawan years certainly were… eventful.” Mace rubbed his forehead, and looked up from his datapad. “It is very traumatic to lose your Master in the way that he did. His time in the Order has certainly put him through many trials. Perhaps he’s simply had enough.”

Yoda’s ear twitched. He tapped his stick against his hand thoughtfully, and took a deep breath of the fresh night air. The Force whispered something and laughed, just beyond the edge of his perception. 

“His trials, I think, have just begun.”

Obi-Wan’s attempts at meditation were consistent only in their failure. 

They’d left Naboo earlier that day, and their ship was in hyperspace en route to Tatooine, well out of the Chommell sector and safe from danger. There was no reason that he shouldn’t be able to relax and breathe in harmony with the Force, and yet here he was, sitting cross-legged on a cold metal floor, restless and unfocused. 

Anakin had said that he was the best at meditation, which seemed more like a cruel joke than an encouragement at this point. Obi-Wan didn’t feel like he was the best at anything, and never would be. Peace and serenity eluded him—without Master Qui-Gon’s steadying anchor in the living Force, he struggled to stay present, and grieved at the awareness of that struggle. 

He hadn’t realized just how used he was to their bond, how much he depended on Qui-Gon’s gentle presence in the Force, even though he shouldn’t. 

The bond with Anakin lingered in the back of his mind, always available, waiting for Obi-Wan to use it, but he stayed closed off to Darth Vader. Obi-Wan didn’t want to become dependent on a bond with a Sith, didn’t trust it, and really didn’t want to know what it felt like to have it open. 

It would probably feel good; the connection might patch over the raw, lonely part of him that had ached since his decision to leave the Order, the only family he had ever known. The familiarity of the bond might make him feel, grounded, stable, and safe. It would certainly be a lie. Anakin didn’t really exist anymore. Anakin, his Padawan, the one that the bond made him care about so deeply, had been lost to the dark. There was only Vader now. He had to remember that.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, and fought the urge to huff with frustration. He wished he still had Qui-Gon’s saber and its soothing kyber crystal, but it had felt essential to get it away from Vader. Obi-Wan hadn’t been lying when he said the Sith would touch that blade over his dead body, but now he needed a focus, something to aid in his meditation, anything at all. He desperately missed the river stone that Qui-Gon had given him, but it was in his old Padawan room at the Temple—what had happened to it? Was it stored, or was it thrown away?

He should probably just sleep, but that was eluding him too.

Obi-Wan looked around the small cargo bay for a distraction. The hold was full of cartons of water, to be distributed to those in need on Tatooine. It was a good excuse for the trip, and Obi-Wan silently acknowledged the cleverness of the queen and her handmaidens who had arranged this escape. Nobody at the Theed port would suspect anything was off at all. 

Anakin’s new R2 unit was in the corner, and it seemed to be watching him. Obi-Wan glared at it and then shook his head at himself. Glaring at droids now, are we? Is this really where you are as a person, Obi-Wan?

He stood up and stretched, cracking his back and rolling his neck. He decided that there was enough space, and began to move through basic forms with open hands, using the rhythm of the motions to regulate his breath and pull himself into a calmer state of mind. His awareness of the droid dropped away, and the Force finally seemed within reach. 

Obi-Wan relaxed into harmony with it as best he could. The Force itself seemed slightly unsettled, which disturbed Obi-Wan on a deep level. He wondered if he was still perceiving ripples of the shockwave that had accompanied the arrival of Darth Vader’s consciousness. Had he really changed things so much? What would the Sith Master make of it? 

Vader’s arrival hadn’t only been dark, Obi-Wan reminded himself. It had been a fluctuation between dark and light. He’d focused on the dark at the time, because of the threat implied—the danger of it triggering too-fresh memories of a tattooed red face and Qui-Gon’s limp body in his arms—but there had been so much light too, and the light seemed to have won. 

The final surge of power had belonged to the unifying Force, an incandescent, harmonic explosion. If Vader was really the Chosen One, could he have been given the gift of insight in this fashion, so that he could restore the balance? If the Sith Master was truly as powerful as Vader claimed, it would take great light to fight great darkness. 

Was it possible to get light from darkness, good from evil? Should he trust the Sith? Could he? Qui-Gon, what should I do?

“You’re up too, then?” Anakin clattered in, taking a bite of a candy bar and chewing it with an open mouth, making Obi-Wan wince—Anakin apparently knew exactly how to rile him up. He’d been driving Obi-Wan insane on purpose all day, punishing him for leaving Qui-Gon’s lightsaber on Naboo, probably. Obi-Wan couldn't imagine what else about the meeting with Queen Amidala could have bothered Anakin quite so much, but he'd been impossible to deal with since.

Obi-Wan stopped moving through his forms and crossed his arms across his chest, needling Anakin back before he could help himself. “Gorging yourself on food is not going to make you grow faster, Padawan. You’re going to be small for years, you might as well get used to it.”

“First of all,” Anakin said with relish, hopping up on a large water canister and kicking his feet. His motion was looking more and more natural. “I’m enjoying myself, Master. Second, I’ve just come up with a plan for fixing that. I’ll be myself again before you know it.”

Obi-Wan groaned, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do I dare ask what it is? Does it perhaps involve the dark side?” Anakin shrugged, his eyes twinkling. Obi-Wan did not trust his air of gleeful satisfaction at all. “That’s not a no, Anakin.”

Anakin waved a hand dismissively. “It’s complicated. Don’t worry, Master, I’ll tell you more when I’ve worked out all the details.”

“I would prefer to be involved at every stage.” Obi-Wan’s voice came out more than slightly waspish. 

Anakin rolled his eyes, and popped the last of the candy in his mouth, speaking with his mouth full. “You would, you micromanaging busybody.”

“Excuse me?” Obi-Wan snapped, crossing the hold to stand closer. “Care to repeat that?”

“No, you heard me just fine.” Obi-Wan glared at him, and Anakin smiled winningly, sliding down from the water canister and moving to sit beside his R2 droid. He popped open the casing, looking inside with a softer, more genuine smile. “Hey, buddy. Looking good.” 

The droid chirped, sounding too happy.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, putting disappointment in every syllable. “Vader, you—”

Anakin looked up from the droid with a frown. “Don’t.” 

It was Obi-Wan’s turn to roll his eyes. “It’s your name.”

“Not anymore,” Anakin insisted. “Not to you.” He studied Obi-Wan’s face for a long moment and then abruptly changed the topic, returning to his refrain that he’d been saying all day. “I still can’t believe you left the lightsaber.” 

Obi-Wan sighed, exasperated. He sat down on a canister, and rubbed his face with both hands. He needed to go to bed. “Will you just give it a rest?”

“No!” Anakin glared. “You needed that.”

“There are other weapons, Padawan, if we’re in a situation that calls for violence.”

“The Sith has fucking lightsabers, Obi-Wan!”

“I’m so sorry,” Obi-Wan said sarcastically. “I thought the plan was to avoid the kriffing Sith in the first place, and that if it came to lightsaber combat we would be dead anyway, does that sound familiar?”

Anakin frowned, visibly thinking through Obi-Wan’s words. “Well, we’re going to need it before we fight the Sith, eventually!”

“Eventually is very different from now. We don’t need one now. Anyone who is not a Sith doesn’t require a lightsaber to fight. We have the Force and we can… we can buy blasters or something on Tatooine if you cannot stomach being unarmed.”

“You hate blasters,” Anakin grumbled, and closed the R2 unit’s casing with a gentle click.

“I…” Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed. “I don’t have that strong of an opinion about them.” 

Anakin stood up and adopted a parody of his Coruscanti accent, putting a hand on his chest as though offended. “They’re clumsy, random, and uncivilized, Ah-na-kin.”

“Well, yes. I suppose that’s all true.” Obi-Wan stood too, beyond tired of this topic of conversation. “It has no bearing on whether or not it’s permissible for me to carry a lightsaber after leaving the Order. I’m not Xanatos.”

Anakin looked at him sharply, very interested. “You never talked about him.”

“What?”

“I know the name but not the story.”

“He…” Obi-Wan blinked at him, confused. He never talked about him? “He was a Padawan of Qui-Gon’s before me. He left the Order and fell to the dark side. He carried a lightsaber when he had no right to the weapon. I am not him.”

The memory of Xanatos dissolving in acid, the sickening horror of it, made Obi-Wan turn away, unwilling to continue the conversation. It suddenly made sense to him that he wouldn’t have talked about him—if he’d been more collected and contained now, he likely wouldn’t have. He needed to sleep. He moved toward the door to the crew cabins, determined to yield the cargo bay and get some sleep. 

He frowned as Anakin tagged along after him. “Can I sleep in your room?”

“What?” Obi-Wan scoffed, incredulous. “Absolutely not.”

Anakin blinked up at him, eyes wide. “But I had a nightmare alone. I slept well on Naboo. I am tired and want to sleep, Master.”

Obi-Wan looked at the ceiling, pulling on his limited reserve of patience. “It was one nightmare. Sleep somewhere else.” 

“But…” Anakin’s lower lip pouted, and he gave Obi-Wan an imploring look as if he knew he was cute and was determined to use it. “Master, do you want to guess how long it had been since I’d even touched another person?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “24 years?”

“24 years.” 

“That’s not my fault.” Obi-Wan exhaled hard with relief at reaching his small cabin. He opened the door, and then barred it with his hand, making Anakin meet his eyes. “I didn’t do it, and I don’t care. You have your own cabin. Use it.” 

Anakin crinkled his nose, and gave in, his voice sulky. “Fine.”

Vader woke up for two reasons. First, and most importantly, he’d been shoved off the mattress and onto the floor. The second reason was probably the cause for the first—someone was knocking on the door to Obi-Wan’s cabin. 

“When did you get here?” Obi-Wan’s voice was sleep-rough and indignant. 

Vader opened his eyes, blinking up at Obi-Wan, who was frowning down at him. Vader shrugged, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. He scooted off the bed and stepped over Vader on his way to opening the door a fraction. “Hello?”

“Good morning.” The kind, quiet voice of Jobal Naberrie came in from the hall. Vader pulled himself up to sit on the bed, rubbing his shoulder where it had hit the ground. “We’ve landed in Mos Espa.” 

“Really?” Vader jumped to his feet, rushing to Obi-Wan’s side and looking up at his once-mother-in-law, ignoring the pain that came from any reminder of Padmé. Mos Espa. They were in Mos Espa! “We’re really here?”

“Yes,” she said, looking amused. “You can go find your mother in just a moment.”

Vader swallowed down a deeply instinctual and very embarrassing impulse to say, “Yippee!”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, accepting a small bag that she offered him. “What—”

“The aurodium,” Jobal said with a smile. “Republic credits are often not accepted out here.”

Obi-Wan smirked, and put the bag in his pocket. “I’ve heard as much, yes. Tell the queen and all the handmaidens that they have our sincere gratitude.”

“No, you have ours. Thank you both again for all you’ve done for Naboo, and my daughter.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head slightly, and Jobal took her leave. Vader watched her walk toward the cargo bay, and assumed she was going to oversee the distribution of the water and fulfil the humanitarian mission that they’d ostensibly come here to do. 

“Can we go now?” Vader looked up at Obi-Wan, almost bouncing on the soles of his feet. He couldn’t believe this. He couldn’t wait to see her. He missed her so much.

Obi-Wan sighed, and grabbed the neatly folded piles of fresh clothes left for them by the handmaidens. He shoved the child-sized bundle against Vader’s chest. “Put these on.”

“My clothes are fine!” Vader whined, taking the clothes before Obi-Wan dropped them. “I’m not the one who looks like a Jedi.” 

Obi-Wan glowered, and pushed past him toward the ship’s ‘fresher. “It’s basic hygiene, Padawan.”

“Whatever, Master,” Vader said to his back, and then closed the door. He dressed quickly, rolling up his old clothes in a bundle and tucking it under his arm. He stepped into the hall and stood next to the door to the ‘fresher, almost quivering with impatience.

The air on the ship was warmer and drier, he was sure of it. If they’d opened the main doors even once, the moisture of the recycled Nabooan air would have been sucked away. 

“Blast!” Obi-Wan exhaled sharply, opening the door to find Vader standing directly in front of him. “Don’t do that.”

Vader smiled, satisfied at seeing Obi-Wan jump. He’d rediscovered one of his favorite pastimes the day before—bothering Obi-Wan. He’d forgotten how enjoyable it was to make Obi-Wan’s blue eyes narrow and cheeks flush with indignation. 

Better to have him spluttering and furious, than sobbing with grief. 

He looked up with studied innocence. “If you were in harmony with the Force, I wouldn’t be able to startle you. Don’t get lost in your head, Obi-Wan. Listen to the living Force around you.”

“Shut up,” Obi-Wan groaned, walking past him. “You’re insufferable.”

“I had to put up with years of that from you,” Vader said with a grin. “I’m blessed now to be able to return the favor, Master.”

“You cannot pretend to be my Master, and then call me Master. It’s absurd.”

They stopped by the cargo bay to get Artoo and then waved goodbye to the Naberries, stepping off the ship into the noisy port of Mos Espa. The midday suns poured down over them, and Vader paused for a moment, overwhelmed by emotion. 

“I thought we were in a hurry.” 

Vader shook his head and took a deep breath of the hot, dry air—the deeply familiar scent of it, the faint grit of sand against his skin. He blinked back tears, looking up at Obi-Wan, who was studying him worriedly. “I remember the first time I came here, did you know that?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, kindly not pointing out that there was no possible way he could know such a thing. 

Vader swallowed, and pushed forward, leading Obi-Wan and Artoo toward the door to the main corridor out of the docking bays and toward the city core. “I was three, I think. The ship had dozens of slaves on it, all destined for sale. I remember…”

“What?” Obi-Wan had to raise his voice over the loud noises of a busy port. 

They wove their way between a diverse, hectic crowd of people, apparently composed of all the major species from around the galaxy. Obi-Wan and Artoo both had to hurry to keep pace as Vader slipped around a group of mean looking Dugs. 

Vader tugged on his sleeve once they reached the main road, pulling him toward the slave quarters on the edge of town. “You know how all slaves have implants that allow for them to be blown up?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said slowly, and it sounded very much as if he did not like the way this story was heading. 

“Well, one of the others tried to run for it. I remember making eye contact with him, and seeing the look in his eyes, the desperation. He ran, and…” Vader’s mouth was so dry, he swallowed, trying to keep his tone steady. “He exploded. It was close enough to me that I saw… I saw it.”

“Force,” Obi-Wan whispered. He put a hand on Vader’s shoulder, that Vader leaned into for a moment before shrugging him off. “I’m very sorry that happened.”

“It’s my oldest memory,” Vader said, making his tone matter-of-fact. “I wish I didn’t remember it.”

“I’d imagine.”

Vader felt so strange as they came closer and closer to his old home. The streets were so familiar; it was uncanny, almost like a waking dream. The smell of it all—the scent of his own sweat, mixed with the frying meat from street vendors, the bantha shit everywhere—it was so right. 

They came around a final corner, and Vader sucked in a breath at the familiar warren of slave housing. He sprinted forward, leaving Obi-Wan and Artoo behind. The soft sand gave way beneath his feet as he ran, making each step take extra effort, and his legs burned. 

He slid to a stop and pounded on his old door, sending a prayer to the Force that she would be there. 

The door opened, and she was. 

“Mom!” Anakin cried out, jumping forward and hugging her, clinging tight. She caught him, confused. 

“Ani?”

“Mom…” Anakin began to sob, pushing his face against her chest, catching her familiar scent. He’d forgotten how she smelled, the smell of home. “Mom.”

“I’m here, Ani, baby, what’s wrong?” Shmi directed her next question to Obi-Wan, who was hanging back. “Where is Master Qui-Gon? What’s happened?”

Anakin heard Obi-Wan sigh. “I’m afraid that’s a very long story.”

“Mom,” Anakin tipped his head back, and studied her face, her kind eyes. “I love you so much.”

Shmi kissed his forehead, and hugged him tightly. “I love you too, Ani. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Anakin whimpered, and went limp in her arms, an itch inside him that he’d been unable to scratch for 36 years was finally soothed. He sobbed again in relief. Mom.

“Then Qui-Gon tried to claim Anakin as his apprentice before the Council, but they refused to allow it, on the grounds that he already had a Padawan.” Obi-Wan smiled tightly, and took a sip of blue milk before clearing his throat. “It is against the Code to have more than one at a time.”

“I see,” Shmi said, voice full of compassion. She was carefully measuring spices from a small row of unlabeled clay pots into the mushroom terrine. “He had an obligation to you first.”

“He did.”

Vader absently adjusted servos in Threepio’s chest and watched his mom and Obi-Wan talk through the open doorway—he’d been exiled to his old bedroom after being underfoot as Shmi tried to make lunch. Just like old times.

Threepio had been overjoyed to see him, and Artoo had immediately begun provoking the fussy protocol droid. Vader had fondly listened to them bicker for a moment before deactivating Threepio and taking him apart.

“The issue of Anakin’s training was ultimately left undecided, as there was a pressing need for us to return to Naboo. The queen had decided to personally liberate her people after failing to get the Senate’s intervention.”

Vader smiled, and inhaled the scent of baking haroun bread buns. Padmé had been so fearless, even at 14. His heart felt so full, anchored in the Force signatures of the people he loved most in the world. After decades of aching loneliness, decades of the icy and empty life of a Sith, it felt again like an impossible dream that he didn’t deserve.

Shmi hadn’t had a chance to clean his bedroom yet, or perhaps hadn’t wanted to, so it was a familiar, comfortable mess around him. Anakin’s bed, Anakin’s tools, Anakin’s droid parts; Anakin’s home. He brushed up against the edges of Obi-Wan’s closed mind, a semi-conscious habit of Anakin’s that Vader had rediscovered, like worrying a tooth. Anakin’s Master.

Vader hadn’t felt closer to being Anakin in decades, but also had never felt further away from the innocent boy who had once slept in that room.

“We left for Naboo that same day, and then made it through the Trade Federation blockade around the planet, putting the ship down in the swamps…”

Vader smiled again softly; Obi-Wan’s voice was so soothing as he explained the sequence of events. Vader had given him the task of this part of the story, as his own memories of those days were too faded to be completely accurate. It seemed important to give Shmi context before dropping the nuclear bomb of his time travel.

She listened with growing concern as Obi-Wan described how Qui-Gon had taken Anakin into an active war zone. Obi-Wan grew slightly pink at the look on Shmi’s face when he admitted bringing a ten-year-old on an infiltration mission of the occupied capital city of Theed.

“I was safer with them than I would have been with the Gungans!” Vader called out, trying to back Obi-Wan up.

Obi-Wan studied him for a moment, his gaze unreadable. He’d been giving Vader those looks all day, and Vader hadn’t bothered to ask. It was worse when Obi-Wan didn’t look at him, when his eyes went distant and empty. Vader didn’t like it when Obi-Wan looked lost. So young, so hurt.

He couldn’t help but imagine Luke in Obi-Wan’s place, and remembered what he would’ve done to fix Luke’s problems for him. He’d wanted to give him the galaxy. He could give Obi-Wan the galaxy, but Obi-Wan wouldn’t like that. Luke probably hadn’t either, but there’s nothing Vader could do about that now.

He wondered if Leia would have wanted the galaxy. Probably not. She’d been so strong during her interrogation, so dedicated to fighting for democracy. It had frustrated him at the time, but in retrospect all he felt was pride. Just like her mother.

“Then the Sith that Qui-Gon had fought before on Tatooine revealed himself. Qui-Gon ordered Anakin to hide in the cockpit of a starfighter, which in retrospect was foolish of him.”

“Hey!” Vader said, indignant. He dropped Threepio’s chest on the bed and came to stand by the door, hands on his hips. “I saved everybody!”

“He…” Shmi’s hands stilled on the counter, and she gave Vader a worried look. “You flew a starfighter? Into space?”

Vader nodded seriously. “The Force was guiding me, mom. I was more than fine. Nobody else could have destroyed the droid control ship. It was just like podracing, I promise.”

Shmi looked distinctly unconvinced. “That was so reckless, Ani.”

“It was necessary. The Force willed it.”

“He is…” Obi-Wan sighed. “Lucky doesn’t begin to describe it.”

“That, I know,” Shmi murmured, and shook her head, returning her attention to finishing the food.

There was a silence as Obi-Wan fiddled with his glass of blue milk on the table, as if unwilling to speak the next part aloud and make it real. Vader asked, “Do you want me to—”

“No,” Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed up, and then dropped. He took a deep steadying breath, shifting in his seat. “Master Qui-Gon and I then engaged in lightsaber combat with the Sith. We were separated, and Qui-Gon was... wounded. Fatally.” Shmi made a low, sympathetic noise, and Vader frowned; Obi-Wan’s pretty, blue eyes were full of so much pain. “I defeated the Sith, and Qui-Gon asked me to train Anakin before he died. I promised that I would.”

The idea that Obi-Wan was only training him because of a promise—not because he’d actually wanted to—had been a thorn in Anakin’s side when he was young. He hadn’t understood how important he was to Obi-Wan, how much Obi-Wan had needed him. Obi-Wan had masked all his weakness, and hadn’t let younger Anakin see.

“Will you train him, then?” Shmi asked, setting down the terrine and the bread on the table, and taking a seat.

Obi-Wan blinked and looked at her, his expression slightly cornered. “I—”

“He already did.” Vader slid into a chair next to Obi-Wan and grabbed a bun. He took a large bite, moaning when it tasted exactly right, exactly like it was supposed to. “He did train me.”

“What?” Shmi sounded so confused, and then shook her head fondly. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, darling.”

Vader swallowed. “He trained me, and he did it very well.” Obi-Wan flushed, and his expression became so very skeptical, that Vader repeated himself more forcefully. “He was a good Master—the best. I was not always a good student.” 

“I don’t understand,” Shmi said softly. She was so used to his moments of oddity, so patient with him. “What do you mean, Ani?”

“My body is ten, but… mom, my mind is… older. He doesn’t need to train me, because he already has. It’s the reason we’re here on Tatooine, and not returning with the Jedi to the Temple. I lived a life in a future that was… terrible. I came back in time to fix it, and the first thing for me to fix is to free you, and take you somewhere safe.”

“What?” Shmi’s fingers were loose on her fork, her eyes wide. 

“I’m the Chosen One, mom. There is a prophecy about me, and I don’t think I fulfilled it last time. So the Force sent me back when I asked it to. I have another chance to make things right.”

She blinked rapidly, looking down at her plate. The small dining room was very quiet, and Vader took a bite of his terrine, the subtle, warming mix of spices making his eyes flutter closed with satisfaction.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat awkwardly. “It seems difficult to believe, but I think he is telling the truth. He knows things that he couldn’t possibly know. He has skills that are inexplicable.”

Shmi squared her shoulders, and studied Vader with a desperate intensity. “The future was terrible?”

“Yes, and… I was on the wrong side, mom. I made things worse, not better. I betrayed the Jedi, joined the Empire.”

“Why?” Shmi looked heartbroken.

Vader crossed his arms across his chest, holding himself tightly. “You… died badly. There was a war. I fell in love and got married, and…”

Obi-Wan looked slightly surprised by the word, and then sighed. “Your son?”

“Two children,” Vader corrected. “Twins. A boy and a girl, though I didn’t raise them. They were hidden from me.”

“Why?” Shmi asked cautiously.

Vader couldn’t meet her eyes. “I… I had done things that… It was for the best. I wish you could have met them. They won’t exist this time, and I’m sorry for that.”

“What were they like?” 

Vader’s lips twitched up despite himself. “They were wonderful, mom. You would have loved them. Luke, the boy, he was… so good. Obi-Wan trained him.” Obi-Wan’s eyebrows went up, and Vader laughed. “I could see so much of your influence in him, and now I see so much of him in you.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, looking baffled. 

Shmi smiled gently. “And your daughter? What was she like?”

“Well, you’ve both met her mother. Leia was very much like her.”

“I have?” Shmi said, surprised. “Who?”

Obi-Wan thought things through and then his eyes widened. “Is that why you were such a nightmare yesterday? I thought it was because of Qui-Gon’s lightsaber.”

“Not only the lightsaber. I’m still furious about that too, make no mistake. But mostly because…” 

“You…” Obi-Wan was looking at him like he’d never really seen him before. “You had children with the Queen of Naboo?”

Shmi’s eyes widened too, understanding who they were talking about. “Padmé was a queen?” 

Vader nodded, flooded with memories long repressed—white lace, smooth skin, and the smell of roses. “We married while I was still a Padawan. You didn’t know.” He shrugged apologetically at Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. 

“Like hell I didn’t. There is no way I wouldn’t have known, Anakin. You’re not exactly a subtle person.”

Vader shrugged again, and took a drink of Obi-Wan’s milk, smiling when Obi-Wan didn’t notice. “It doesn’t matter now, Master.”

“And why not?” 

“It won’t happen again. Seeing Padmé was…” Vader trailed off, pushing down a swell of pain. “It was much harder than I expected, and I didn’t expect it to be easy. I thought somehow that she would look like my wife, but she’s younger now than our daughter was when I… came back. The idea of waiting for her to age is… disturbing. My wife is still dead.”

“How did she die before?” Shmi asked, voice quiet. 

Vader took a bite of his food, avoiding the question, and swallowed thickly. “She’ll be much safer and happier far away from me.”

Obi-Wan tipped his head to the side, voice skeptical. “You’ve truly let her go?”

“In the ways that matter,” Vader said defensively. “I would do anything to make her happy—she’s like family to me—but I don’t need to consume her happiness for it to matter.”

“It’s not about you.”

“Not this time.”

“Good.”

It was quiet for a long moment, and they turned their attention to their food. Obi-Wan eventually looked back at Vader. “You said there was a war?”

Vader nodded, drinking the rest of Obi-Wan’s milk and then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, earning a stern look from both Shmi and Obi-Wan. He repressed a smile, and then grew more serious.

“Darth Sidious led the Republic, and his apprentice, Count Dooku, Darth Tyranus, led a Separatist movement, supported by business interests—the Banking Clan, the Techno Union, the Trade Federation. They ripped the galaxy apart to give the pretext for creating an Empire.”

Obi-Wan looked horrified. “Master Dooku fell to the dark side?” Vader nodded with a grimace, remembering how much that had bothered Obi-Wan last time. “That’s impossible.”

“I assure you,” Vader muttered, cleaning his plate with the last of his bread and popping it in his mouth. “It happened.”

“Is that why you wouldn’t let me tell the Council about you?”

“Among other reasons.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said softly. He still appeared to be reeling from the information that Qui-Gon’s Master, one of the most respected and successful members of the Order, a former Council member himself, could fall and betray the Jedi.

“What are your plans now?” Shmi asked, filling the silence. 

Vader put his chin on his hand, and swung his feet. “I’m going to free you, and then Obi-Wan and I are going to kill Sidious and his allies.”

“We’ve talked about this,” Obi-Wan said, giving him a frustrated look. “That is not the plan.”

“You’ve failed to present a reasonable alternative. It would work.”

“The means matter just as much as the end, Anakin!”

Vader rolled his eyes. “There is no arguing with a Sith, Obi-Wan, or a fascist for that matter. The only language they understand is violence.”

Obi-Wan sighed and rubbed his temples. “We can cut the legs out from under Sidious without giving into a series of preemptive and premeditated murders, Anakin. There are many ways to win a war before it even begins. We need to seek allies, and use the galaxy against him. There are good people out there. People who would want to help, Padawan. We need to let them.”

“He’s right, Ani,” Shmi said quietly. “You need to listen to him.”

Vader scowled at her for a moment, and then remembered who she was. Her gentle face, her bright eyes, immediately softened him. “Okay, mom.”

Obi-Wan set the bag of aurodium on the table, and slid it toward Shmi, distracting them both. “Will this be enough to free you?”

Shmi looked in the bag, and then her eyes widened. She closed it quickly, as if it were dangerous to have in the open. “More than. I still have the wupiupi from the sale of Ani’s podracer. I will only need half of this, at most.”

“I have an idea of what to do with the other half,” Vader said, perking up. Shmi and Obi-Wan gave him an identical look, skeptical and concerned, and he grinned widely at them both. “Don’t worry about it! I’ll double our money, you’ll see. It’ll be easy!”

They looked, if possible, even more concerned. 

Obi-Wan lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the glare. He wished that he was wearing a hat, or at least a hood. The twin suns were oppressively hot in the late afternoon, and he could feel the pale skin of his nose and the tips of his ears beginning to burn. 

He had hesitated for a moment about coming with the Skywalkers to see Watto about freeing Shmi, wondering if it was a thing best left for the family, but a suspicion in the back of his mind about Darth Vader’s impulse control brought him along. 

“I’m not actually going to kill him,” Anakin said, giving Obi-Wan a knowing look. “I can feel in the Force how much you want me to keep him alive, and I’ll do it to keep you happy, but he does deserve to die.” 

“Why?”

“Beyond owning and using slaves?” Anakin scoffed, his cherubic face twisting into a scowl. “He beat me as a small child, Master. I learned early how to take punishment without making a sound.”

“What?” Obi-Wan felt sick. “That’s heinous. I’m so sorry that happened, Anakin.”

“He’ll never experience consequences unless I give them to him, you know?” Anakin’s high voice sounded slightly wistful, and he kicked at a pile of sand. “The Hutts don’t care. They’re worse.”

Obi-Wan fixed his posture, reminding himself about his own values for what felt like the thousandth time that day. “The punishment for child abuse is not summary execution, as much as you would like it to be, Padawan. Unless he fires a weapon at you, you can’t attack him. It’s not the Jedi way, and I will not be party to Sith excess. His fate is best left up to the Force. Who are you to decide what he truly deserves?”

Anakin smirked at him. “The Chosen One.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed, exhausted.

“I already told you that I wouldn’t.” Anakin shrugged, leading Obi-Wan and Shmi inside Watto’s shop. “I can think of a use for him, anyway.”

Obi-Wan felt a swell of relief at the sudden drop in temperature inside the store, even if it was still many degrees above cool. At least there was shade. “Forgive me if I don’t just trust your word about that. Your first instinct always seems to be murder, Vader.”

The name made Anakin glare at him fiercely before he could control himself. “Stop doing that. I don’t like it when you do that.”

“Apologies,” Obi-Wan said, not feeling excessively sorry. 

He reinforced the barriers around his mind, specifically pushing away the easy sensitivity to Anakin’s feelings that was continually beckoning him into the state of heightened mutual awareness and understanding that was a training bond. It was unnaturally easy, and Obi-Wan didn’t want it. He wanted Master Qui-Gon back, or at least the privacy to grieve him in peace. 

The distinctive sound of a Toydarian’s wings pulled him out of his head, and he watched as Anakin began haggling intensely in Huttese. Obi-Wan was naturally gifted with languages, and had even spent time studying Huttese specifically, but he could only grasp a fraction of the words. 

Watto seemed initially wary, then interested, and then excited. Obi-Wan didn’t trust the greedy glint in his eyes when he looked at the small form of the boy, but he trusted that the Sith would be able to protect himself and his own interests. 

Obi-Wan looked around for Shmi, and saw her standing near the counter. He came to join her as she watched the negotiation unfold, her expression wary. Watto and Anakin abruptly shook hands, and the Toydarian flew into the back of the store. 

“Anakin, what—” Obi-Wan began, but cut himself off at the soft, wondering sound that crossed Shmi’s lips. Watto had returned with a small box, and he handed it off to Shmi almost casually before turning back to Anakin, the rapid fire Huttese picking back up. 

Shmi opened the box, and her eyes filled with tears. Suddenly Anakin was at her side, leaning against her and hugging her tightly around the waist. She picked up the control for her transmitter chip, and deactivated it with shaking fingers. The red light on the device went out, and she started to cry. Anakin hugged her even more tightly. 

The sound of the Toydarian’s wings disappeared as Watto went out the back into his scrapyard, muttering to himself. 

Obi-Wan felt the relief radiating off Anakin in the Force so clearly, his joy and satisfaction rolling off in waves. He remembered the various periods in his own life when he’d been enslaved, brief as they were, and knew well that there was no comparable emotion than freedom’s release from slavery’s pervasive fear. It was like a boot being lifted from your neck, and you were finally able to breathe again. 

When the explosive collar had been taken off him when he was 13, he’d cried with relief despite himself, and Qui-Gon had been kind enough not to notice. For all that Obi-Wan had been ready and willing to sacrifice himself to save the others, he didn’t actually want to die.  

“Will you remove the implant?” Obi-Wan asked quietly, looking between them. “Is that something that can be done here on Tatooine?”

Anakin nodded. “As long as Watto goes with us, there are medical droids capable of it. I’m going to insist we go as soon as he comes back from checking the parts.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan nodded, ignoring for now whatever parts Anakin was talking about. “May I have some of the wupiupi? All three of us need new comlinks and I would like a change of clothes.”

Shmi smiled, wiping away her tears and regaining her equilibrium with admirable speed. If only Anakin shared her steady temperament. “Of course.” 

Anakin watched the transfer of funds with a furrowed brow. “Be back at home before dark, Obi-Wan.” 

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, sending a plea to Qui-Gon in the Force for patience. Shmi laughed at them, and he couldn’t help but return her smile. “I will be back before then.”

Obi-Wan left the two of them and stepped back into the open street, exhaling hard in disgust at the wall of heat. He wandered toward the city core, heading toward the marketplace. It felt good to have some space from Anakin, for the first time since he’d woken up as a Sith, and he wanted Shmi to have some private time with her son. 

He made his purchases from various vendors, taking his time and keeping an ear out for news. The HoloNet was playing in a cantina he passed, and he paused when it loudly announced that Sheev Palpatine had been elected Supreme Chancellor. He checked the location of the suns in the sky and then shrugged, following the sound inside. He deserved a drink. Or two. Or twelve. 

The cantina was mostly empty, and he ordered two shots of liquor from the tired looking Twi’lek man tending the bar. He’d just knocked the first one back when somebody dropped heavily on the barstool next to him, snagging and drinking the second shot. Obi-Wan looked over, indignant, and then felt the indignation melt away.

“Vos! What the kriff are you doing here?”

Quinlan Vos, a dark-haired Kiffar with distinctive yellow tattoos on his face, was a Jedi Knight only a couple years older than Obi-Wan. “I could ask you the same thing, man.”

“Ah, yes,” Obi-Wan grimaced, looking away. He motioned to the bartender for two more shots, and then changed the number to four. 

“Ah,” Quinlan mimicked back, giving Obi-Wan an unimpressed look. “Yes.”

“I’m…” Obi-Wan didn’t know what to say. He tipped the bartender extra and slid two over to Quinlan, changing the subject. “What are you doing on Tatooine?”

“Me? I’ve been here for months on assignment. Undercover, infiltrating a drug cartel.”

“Should you even be talking to me?” Obi-Wan threw back a shot, intentionally not thinking about the fact that ‘months’ meant that Vos had absolutely been here when they’d been stranded before, and could probably have helped them, and then they never would have met Anakin, and…

“The Council thought it was worth the risk.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, stomach twisting. “The Council?”

“Yeah, Obi-Wan. The Council. Master Windu said you left the Order.”

“Well,” Obi-Wan rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, I did.”

Quinlan sounded exasperated. “Why?”

Obi-Wan was quiet for a long moment, weighing his promise to Anakin to keep the Jedi in the dark with his sincere desire for them to know. “I’m not…”

“Is this about Master Qui-Gon?”

Obi-Wan ducked his head, hiding his face and grateful for the excuse. “Mostly.”

Quinlan sighed. “I heard what happened. I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan toasted him with his last shot, and drained it, exhaling hard at the harshness of the alcohol. “I’m sorry too. It never should have happened.”

Quinlan hummed thoughtfully, finishing his own shot with slightly more grace, long since used to the local rotgut. “A Sith did it?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan sighed. “I killed him.”

“Good.” Quinlan clapped him on the back hard, and Obi-Wan winced. “What’s this I hear about a boy?”

He’d promised not to tell. He wouldn’t break that promise. He couldn’t. 

“Qui-Gon asked me to look after him. I’m not going to train him, he’s too old, but…” The alcohol was finally beginning to sand the rough edges off the day, and he relaxed slightly. “I’m going to watch over him.”

“Why?” Quinlan asked, baffled. “Why leave the Order for that?”

“He’s… special. Very powerful.” Obi-Wan felt the familiar lie tripping off his tongue. ”I’m here to keep him invisible, essentially. He would be a great asset to the Sith if they could find him.”

“You’re saying he could be dangerous?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “He’s just a boy. Qui-Gon believed he was the Chosen One, but I don’t know about that. I just don’t want to see him hurt.”

“So you’re going to hide here of all places? This is not a safe part of the galaxy, Obi.”

Obi-Wan gave him a dirty look at the name but let it go. “His mother was still a slave here, so we freed her. The Sith would’ve been able to track him here and use her to get to him, if they wished. We’ll move on soon. We have a plan.”

Quinlan gave him an indulgent look, as if shouting that he knew Obi-Wan well enough to know when he’s lying, but also he knew him well enough not to bother calling him on the lie. “What do you want me to—”

In an instant, the Force went icy, and the back of Obi-Wan’s mind was flooded with rage. 

Obi-Wan looked over sharply as Quinlan’s words were choked off, and then his head snapped back to stare at the door of the cantina. Silhouetted against the bright day outside, a small black outline with burning gold eyes was holding up a hand. 

“Betrayed me already, Obi-Wan?”

“No!” Obi-Wan shot up, standing between the Sith and his choking friend, and the Force grew even more hostile. “I didn’t tell him anything, Anakin. Stop!”

Vader’s high voice was laced with menace. “Did the Council send him? Did you message them? When? What do they know, Master?”

“Nothing, Anakin!”

“Liar!”

“No, I’m not, I’m—”

Vader sneered at him, his fingers pinching closer together. “I should have expected treachery from you the instant I asked you to go against your precious Council.”

The sound of Quinlan choking was the only thing Obi-Wan could hear, his heart pounding with terror. He didn’t know what to do. He ripped down the shields he was using to push Vader out and yanked on the bond instead.

If his mind had been flooded with emotion before, now without his shields, he was truly drowning in it—the icy maelstrom of all of Vader’s hate and fear. Obi-Wan forced himself forward into it, shoving his assertion of calm and reassurance in Vader’s face. 

Vader blinked, and lifted his hand.

Quinlan gasped in a large, clear breath, and the sound made Obi-Wan slump with relief, but he didn’t turn to check on him, instead looking around the mostly deserted cantina with growing horror. He shakily used a mind trick to convince the few drunks that they’d seen an ordinary fight, and then another one to make the bartender forget about the exchange entirely. 

“Kept a few things quiet, huh, Kenobi?” Quinlan said, rubbing his throat, voice rough and wry.

Obi-Wan finally looked at him, and bit his lip. He apologized sincerely, “I’m so sorry. There were things I thought it would be safer for you not to know.”

Vader relaxed his posture, relieved by Obi-Wan’s apparent loyalty. He’d been wandering the market for a while, trying to track Obi-Wan down and tell him the good news about his plan. He’d been annoyed, because it would have been so much easier to find Obi-Wan if he wasn’t shielding so fucking much.  

Then when Vader had finally stumbled across this cantina, he’d wanted to rip it in half. 

It was bad enough when he’d initially thought Obi-Wan was just chatting up a local. He’d always done that everywhere there was alcohol and many places without it—flirting was as natural as breathing to him. Anakin had always found it very annoying in the past, and now Vader had found it intolerable. 

Then the Kiffar had turned, and Vader knew him. Fucking Quinlan Vos. Always two steps too close to Anakin’s Master. Nobody else should have been able to irritate Obi-Wan like Anakin, it was his job.

Vos had always been a threat. 

Vader tried to stop glaring, but found it difficult. Obi-Wan was still open to him in the Force, and Vader appreciated the reassuring feeling of connection. He pulled on Obi-Wan’s light, and let it help him release the dark side more easily than he ever could alone.

“Well, Master? What are we going to do with him? It’s not the right time to tell the Jedi. You know they can’t know.”

Obi-Wan almost tripped over his words in his haste to speak, raising his hands defensively. “Quinlan can keep a secret. You don’t have to kill him.”

“Hmm,” Vader said dubiously. He shifted his gaze to Vos’s familiar, stupid face. “Will you tell the Council about what you’ve seen?”

Vos was still rubbing his neck and looking fascinated. “I don’t know what I’ve seen, to be honest. I just know that the boy is apparently a Sith Lord, and am attempting to draw my own conclusions.”

“Are you going to tell?” Obi-Wan asked, slightly frantic. “You can’t, Quin.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Why not?” Vader glowered.

Vos smiled widely. “I’m coming with you!”

Vader saw Obi-Wan’s eyes brighten, his presence in the Force shining like the sun moving out from behind a cloud, and he sighed. With Obi-Wan’s shields down, Vader could easily feel his loneliness, his anxiety about who he was and what he was doing. The idea of having a friend, a real friend, was so deeply appealing to him. “You want to keep him?”

“I hate to say it,” Obi-Wan said, as though he didn’t hate it at all. “But he’s an excellent Shadow, Anakin. His psychometric skills make him a powerful tracker, and he knows the underworld.”

Fine. If it makes Obi-Wan happy, Vader will let him have it. “You have to watch him. His behavior is your responsibility.”

Vos scoffed, slightly indignant. “I’m not a stray lothcat.” 

Obi-Wan dropped a hand on Vos’s shoulder, squeezing tight to shut him up. He gave Vader a serious look. “I will.”

Vader pulled his eyes away from Obi-Wan’s hand. “Fine. But if he betrays us…”

Vos looked thrilled at the threat. “You’ll kill me?”

“Yes,” Vader said, his tone matter-of-fact. “I will kill you, Quinlan Vos, and I will take great satisfaction at seeing your corpse dumped on the steps of the Temple.”

He turned back to Obi-Wan, returning to the errand he’d originally come to complete. “Come on, then, Master. Come see the pod I bought. It needs some work, but it’ll be even faster than the one I built last time.”

“A pod?” Obi-Wan said dubiously. “You’re going to race again?”

”Well,” Vader smirked, unable to keep down his excitement. “I’ve got some advances in tech to apply, and Watto has the parts I can improve. Plus I’m still enough of an unknown that the odds are going to be amazing! I’m going to win us enough credits for a real ship.”

“Great,” Obi-Wan said. He signaled for a last shot, and knocked it back. “Where are we going?”

Quinlan sat alone as the suns set, staring out absently at the wide vista of a Tatooine sunset, enjoying the last of the light’s warmth. 

He’d found a seat on one of the stairways tucked between hovels leading down to the communal backyard of the slave quarters on the edge of Mos Espa. The uneven stone made it impossible to find a truly comfortable position to sit, but the view was worth it. The sand was a vibrant glowing gold under the two setting suns. There was no firm boundary between the backyard and the desert, so the sand stretched out into infinity. 

He’d been on Tatooine for about three months at this point, and he would not rate it as one of his favorite places in the galaxy—but he had to admit that it possessed a harsh beauty of its own. His last mission had been on a planet with dense swampland, humid and crawling with predators. At least there were no bane back spiders on Tatooine. 

Quinlan sighed, and kicked out his legs in front of him, trying to get comfortable. Infiltrating a cartel had almost been a vacation of a mission, a gift of the Council for him to have time to heal and regain his strength after he’d almost died badly.

Anakin Skywalker—Darth Vader—was working on his new podracer in the backyard. The engines were in pieces around him, and his R2 droid was welding under his careful instruction. The two of them were chatting about the highly technical details of the project, half in binary and half in a high childish voice, and it was very strange to listen to. 

Obi-Wan had just told him everything he knew about Vader and the future, and Quinlan was quietly wondering at the power of the Force. Everything he’d heard had only reaffirmed his decision that this was more important than one spice cartel. The Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic was in fact a Sith Lord, and the Jedi had no idea.

He sympathized with Obi-Wan’s fierce desire to warn them, but found himself unexpectedly agreeing with Vader about the importance of timing the release of information, though he agreed because of different reasons. It wasn’t due to any distrust or resentment of the Council, like Vader seemed to carry—but rather out of respect for the power of the Sith. If Darth Sidious could hide himself in a room full of the most powerful Jedi Masters, and had tendrils of corrupt power reaching out throughout the galaxy, including inside the Temple itself. What Jedi secrets could possibly be safe from him?

Quinlan had no desire to find out what contingency plans Sidious possessed if his identity was discovered this early; it was much better to allow events to unfold as they did before in the wider galaxy, at least for a while. It was the best way to leverage the information later.

Obi-Wan was right about gathering allies and building a coalition, but choosing those allies and crafting their plan would take careful consideration. It couldn’t be rushed, and Darth Vader was going to need to be managed in the meantime. 

He couldn’t go around using the dark side like he’d done at the cantina, or the secret would collapse under the weight of too many witnesses. Jedi mind tricks could only do so much, especially in the face of the Sith’s unnatural ability to find and siphon true memories from their victims. They either needed to get him under control, or get him away from population centers. 

Quinlan was not optimistic about how well Vader would take to being managed in any way. Decades of selfishness and wanton violence would not just be erased in an instant. He figured he could try to make Vader feel human again, tease him like an equal and pull him back to the light with acceptance, but his impact would always be less than the person that the Sith had already claimed as his person.  

For all that Obi-Wan complained about the training bond that Vader had imposed on him, Quinlan could only see it as a positive. He’d pushed Obi-Wan to keep it open, and keep Vader tethered. 

He’d felt a moment of sympathy for the exhausted look in Obi-Wan’s eyes, but having a project for him was better than letting him stew in his grief. He’d been too attached to his Master, but Quinlan was hardly going to use this as a lecture point. Seeing your Master as a parent was part of the private journey of every Padawan. Quinlan had gone through the same thing with Master Tholme.

Usually Padawans would be able to grow out of it with the separation that came after the Trials, and there were a series of Jedi traditions that eased that process. There were ceremonies to first celebrate and then begin to release the bond; the ritual structure of events like formal braid cutting helped provide closure to both the Padawan and the Master. 

Watching a Sith cut down your Master was the opposite of that process. It was deeply traumatic, and Quinlan could sense that Obi-Wan was lost and hurting. He blamed himself unfairly, like always. He’d always taken things too personally and too seriously.

Not that events weren’t serious, but a Jedi had to learn to carry them lightly.

Obi-Wan had to absolve himself of the need to control the outcome of events, and refocus on the moment. For all that he lectured about the means mattering just as much as the end, he didn’t necessarily live up to his lecturing. Force bless him for that. Quinlan was endlessly fond of him, no matter how fussy or pompous he was feeling at any time. The fussier the better, in Quinlan’s opinion. It only made it easier to rile him up. 

He knew that no matter which Jedi had been given a time-traveling-Sith-Lord as a companion, he would have dropped everything to join them—the fact that it was Obi-Wan just made it better. 

The sand was a deep burnt umber now, and one of the suns had dropped beneath the horizon. Lights were turning on around him, and he could hear gentle domestic sounds picking up as the slaves began returning from their labor. It was rapidly growing cooler, and Quinlan stood up, making his way down toward the Sith Lord. 

Vader had wiggled under one of the engines, his short legs sticking out, and Quinlan was struck again by just how small he was. With a pang of regret, he thought of little Aayla—the last time he’d seen her, how he’d made the promise that he would train her. How big her eyes had gotten, the twinkle of mischief. He’d felt a bond with the young Twi’lek girl from the moment he’d met her on Ryloth. 

Doing this, leaving the Order, would make him forfeit the opportunity to be her Master. The thing he’d been working for, all that effort, washed away in an instant—he had been doing mission after mission these last few years since he’d been Knighted, back to back, racing the clock to gather enough experience for the Council to support his taking a Padawan before she aged out. She was almost thirteen now, it was almost too late.  

This was more important, remember?

“Hey, Vader!” Quinlan called out, coming to stand next to R2-D2 and patting the droid on the head. It chirped welcome, and he smiled down at it.

“Anakin.” Vader’s unimpressed voice was slightly muffled, and he pulled out from beneath the engine and repeated himself. “You will call me Anakin.”

“Right,” Quinlan said with a shrug. “Hey, whoever! Can I have my comlink back? I need to contact Master Windu.”

“And say what, exactly?”

“That I’m pulling off my mission to go with you.” Vader opened his mouth, his brow furrowing, and Quinlan gave him an exasperated look. “I can’t just go dark after getting private instructions from Master Windu. You realize that contacting them would draw less attention than me just disappearing. They’d want to know why. They’d send Jedi to investigate.”

“If you—”

Quinlan rolled his eyes. “I won’t say anything about you they don’t already know.”

“Do not defy me in this, or you will not like the consequences.”

“I know, buddy.”

“Don’t call me that.” Vader crossed his arms and scowled, menacing more for his chilly presence in the Force than any threat of his actual body.

Quinlan wasn’t sure if the slight tightening he felt in his throat was actually the Sith or just a very vivid memory. The cantina was hardly the first time he’d been choked with the Force—Ros Lai’s red hair against a red sky, her face twisted with rage. His vision tunneling, the searing pain of it.

He coughed. “Obi-Wan would be mad at you if you killed me.”

Vader sighed and looked away. “The fact that you are still breathing is a good indication that I am aware of that.”

“Give me my comlink then, kiddo, and I’ll get out of your hair.” Quinlan enjoyed watching how the small boy’s fists clenched, his eyes flashing for a moment as he swallowed his anger and let it go. It was good practice.

Vader pulled out the circular puck of Quinlan’s Jedi-issued comlink, fitted as it was with a handheld holoprojector, and weighed it in his hand. “I forgot how heavy these are. They will be much improved in the next few decades.”

“Are you sure that it’s actually heavier, or are you just weaker?” Quinlan asked dryly. He caught the device when Vader chucked it at him with a glare. “Thank you.”

“Were it not for Obi-Wan—”

“Yeah, man, I know,” Quinlan waved a hand dismissively, walking a few paces away and fiddling with the controls, attempting to open up a real-time connection to Master Windu on Naboo. He was very aware of Vader’s eyes burning a hole in his chest, waiting to pounce the instant it seemed as though Quinlan had disobeyed his orders. His Force signature was frigid and ready. 

A flickering blue hologram of Master Windu appeared, looking concerned and walking quickly. “Vos, you’re currently breaking about seven mission protocols.”

“Yes, Master. Apologies. Are you in a secure location?”

Windu gave him a dirty look, his cloak flaring out behind him as he walked. “Obviously not.” 

“So how’s the weather?”

“It could be cooler,” Windu said, deadpan. He appeared to shut a door behind himself and take a calming breath. “What do you need, Vos?”

“I have made contact with Obi-Wan and the boy on Tatooine—his mother has been freed from slavery. They’re all in good health, and are planning to move on soon to a more secure location.”

Windu’s voice was a fascinating mixture of curiosity and exasperation. “They’re so sure the Sith are coming for him?”

“They are convinced of it.”

“Why?” 

Quinlan shrugged. “They believe that the Sith have learned about the prophecy and know about the claims made by Master Qui-Gon in front of the Council. I think they’re right to be concerned. The boy is very powerful and dangerous—you denied him training for a reason.”

Windu rubbed his forehead, and sighed. “Why not return him to the Temple? We can protect him best there.”

Quinlan felt a wave of icy amusement wash over him and he looked up to see Vader leaning against the pod and laughing to himself. “They do not believe that it is safe for him there.” 

“Why?” Windu’s exasperation only intensified. “Do they have a reason for that? What do they know that we don’t?”

Quinlan shrugged again. “It’s just too visible, Master. The galaxy is big, there are lots of better places to disappear.” 

Windu looked very unimpressed. “Is that it? They really just think the Sith want to take the boy, and they should hide? That’s what you violated protocol to tell me?”

Quinlan grimaced slightly. “No, not entirely. I am going with them, Master. Obi-Wan doesn’t have a lightsaber, and he needs help defending the boy.” 

“You think this is more important than your mission with the cartel?” Windu sounded incredulous. “You’ve spent months getting inside. Many lives are at stake.”

“Yes, Master. Believe me when I say that the stakes of this are higher.”

Windu scowled, his suspicion that he was not being told everything seemed to be intensifying. “You’ll be going absent without leave in the eyes of the Council. They’ll probably move for suspension from the Knighthood, unless you actually plan to leave the Order entirely as well?”

“Let’s stick with suspension for now, Master.” 

“Vos,” Windu began, his tone serious. “What—”

“Will you pass on a message to Master Tholme? I had promised to take on a Padawan after this mission, but now I can’t do it. Aayla is a great candidate and would be a phenomenal Knight. He owes me one; will you ask him to be her Master in my place?”

Windu glowered at him. “It’s a bit strange to be making demands immediately after informing me that you’re deserting your post.” 

Quinlan bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the point. “Will you pass on the message?”

Windu sighed, and ran a hand down his face. “I will. For the initiate’s sake, if not for yours. She’s a bright girl.”

“Thank you, Master.” 

“Keep in contact with us, as much as you can.” 

“Of course, Master. I will check in soon.” Quinlan bowed and ended the transmission.

The holoprojector flew out of his hand immediately after it went dark, slapping into Vader’s outstretched palm. He dropped it on the ground and crushed it with his foot. It didn’t break, and he scowled at it, raising a hand and crushing it with the Force instead. He shot Quinlan a warning look, and Quinlan smiled back indulgently. He didn’t need to make the joke when Vader was so aware that he was one.

Vader kicked the crushed device away and leaned back against one of the pod’s engines with a sigh. The vast silence of the desert at night engulfed them both, the small noises of the slave housing seemed very far away. With both suns down, the stars overhead were growing brighter. Vader gave Quinlan a long, considering look. “Have you gone to Dathomir yet?”

Quinlan blinked, discomfited by the child having information that he shouldn’t. Obi-Wan was right. That does feel uncomfortable. “How do you know about that?”

Vader shrugged. “You would’ve told me in a few years—or, I guess, you told Obi-Wan, and I was there. You came for dinner one night at the Temple between missions, and you both had too much Corellian. I wonder how much of that story was actually true. It was pretty unbelievable.”  

Quinlan laughed fondly. “Sounds like a good night.”

“For you maybe,” Vader frowned at him. “As I recall, you didn’t let me have any whiskey, and then you made me leave early, so you could spend time with Obi-Wan alone. I didn’t like that.” 

“Sounds like it was a very good night then.” 

Vader glowered at him. “Don’t—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Quinlan said with a laugh, raising both hands in a defensive gesture. “I won’t, I promise.”

“Good,” Vader said sullenly, kicking the sand with the toe of his shoe. “An unnecessary distraction from the plan.”

“Sure,” Quinlan said easily. “It’s been years anyway since—”

“I didn’t ask,” Vader snapped, his eyes flashing. “And I don’t want to know.”

“All right,” Quinlan fought a grin as he changed the topic. Interesting. “Why do you ask about Dathomir?”

Vader sighed. “Did you really kill one Matriarch and then kidnap the next one?”

“Well… arrested is usually the term we use, not kidnapped, and it was technically her daughter that killed her, but yeah, I helped.” Quinlan absently rubbed his throat, and then pulled his hand away when he realized what he was doing. “They’d just named the daughter Matriarch when she attacked Coruscant. I used their weapon against them, and all of the Nightsisters present died. I don’t think anyone who knew that Ros Lai had been named Matriarch survived.”

“So you took Ros Lai to Coruscant and left… who? In charge?”

“I don’t know, I think there were a few clans vying for power.”

Vader made an annoyed noise. “Does the name Talzin mean anything to you?”

“Nope,” Quinlan said, popping the ‘p’.

“Interesting.” Vader gave Quinlan a small smile that he very much didn’t like. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Quinlan said warily. “Why?”

Vader shrugged, and moved to turn on a bright spotlight, illuminating the chaotic mess of parts surrounding the frame of his pod. It looked like he was planning to work into the night, probably aware he only had a couple days to prepare for the next big race. Quinlan turned to leave, but Vader called him back. 

“Can Obi-Wan train with your lightsaber?”

“What?” Quinlan frowned. A lightsaber was a very personal object, and it was the equivalent of asking him to share underclothes—especially with his psychometric senses being so sensitive to the residue of the past clinging to an object in the Force. Obi-Wan’s grief would probably cling to it like a bad smell. “Why?”

Vader began tinkering with a control panel, avoiding his eyes. “He needs to do forms. It’s how he copes.”

Quinlan hummed, seeing a rush of memories of a young perfectionist in a corner, running through drills until exhaustion mixed with satisfaction at his improvement made him relax. When Qui-Gon had seemed unwilling to accept Obi-Wan back after he’d somewhat recklessly left the Order, he’d been in the dojo for hours and hours every day. 

“Yeah,” he nodded eventually. “Good idea. I don’t have it here, it’s at my place. You know I’ve got a couch for him to stay on, if there isn’t—”

Vader cut him off. “He’s staying here.”

“Is he?”

“Yes.”

“Where? Your room?”

Vader waved off the question, as if it didn’t matter. “Be here tomorrow. If I discover you’ve betrayed me—”

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

Vader barked a laugh, shooting him a dark look. “I absolutely do not trust you. I know you.”

“I’m wounded,” Quinlan said lightly. “Obi-Wan trusts me.”

Vader made a dismissive noise, looking him up and down for a moment, and then turned back to his work, saying in a low voice. “I know where to find Aayla, Vos.”

All of Quinlan’s good humor disappeared in a flash. He felt himself puff up, a hot surge of anger making him step back toward the pod. “Excuse me? Was that a threat?”

“Don’t contact the Council.”

“I won’t, but… mention Aayla again, and we’ll have problems.”

Vader scoffed. “We already have problems. Go home, Vos. Obi-Wan stays here.”

Quinlan pivoted on his heel and walked quickly back toward the stairs. He heard R2 beeping something like a rebuke, and Vader muttering defensively in reply. He jogged up and around, finding the door to the Skywalker home and bursting in. 

Shmi and Obi-Wan were drinking tea at the table, and both looked up, alarmed, at his dramatic entrance. 

Quinlan threw himself into a chair. “He’s insane. He just threatened a child.”

Shmi made a low, pained sound, and Obi-Wan looked furious. “Who?”

Quinlan accepted a cup of tea from the tottering protocol droid, and ignored its chattering. “Aayla.”

“He actually threatened her?” Obi-Wan asked, voice dangerous. He looked like he was a second away from getting up. “He knows full well what she means to you.”

Quinlan raised a hand to keep him in place, and took a sip of tea, letting the mix of spices distract and calm him. “There was no specific threat, just the implication that she would be in danger if I betrayed him. He’s threatened by my presence, and trying to assert dominance.”

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, sitting back in his chair carefully. “I’ll talk to him about that.”

“Well, you’ll have a chance tonight. He refused to let me ask you to come stay on my couch, and insisted you were staying here.”

Obi-Wan exhaled hard with annoyance. “He says he gets nightmares unless I’m there.”

“He’s got issues. I’m sorry, ma’am, but…”

Shmi smoothed her hair down anxiously. She’d been watching their conversation with a deeply concerned expression. “No, I know. Whatever happened in the future has traumatized him deeply. We need to help him—I need to help him. He listens to me.”

Quinlan met Obi-Wan’s eyes, and raised an eyebrow. Obi-Wan nodded in confirmation that Vader did, actually, listen to his mother, and he gave Shmi a somewhat desperate smile. “We need all the help we can get.”

“No,” Vader said, feeling a spike of irritation. They’d been arguing about this for days, and she wasn’t letting it go. “Absolutely not.”

“Ani—”

“No, mom!” Vader almost shouted, and then made himself calm down. They were in the middle of the crowded hangar beneath the Mos Espa Grand Arena, preparing for the weekend race. It wasn’t as big of an event as the Boonta Eve Classic, but the gambling was almost as good. He took a controlled breath. “I’m taking you to… Chandrila. Or Alderaan? Somewhere quiet and safe.”

“Nowhere is completely safe, sweetheart.” Shmi said kindly, resting a hand on his shoulder.

Vader grumbled, and checked the diagnostics on the engines. The start time for the race was approaching, and he needed to move the podracer out onto the starting grid as soon as possible. “Some places are certainly safer than others.”

Shmi repeated what she’d been saying consistently over the last few days, as if she expected her argument to win in the way that water wore down rock. “Don’t you have to stay hidden as you regain your strength? You wouldn’t have to protect me more than you’d already be protecting yourself and Obi-Wan.”

Vader huffed with annoyance. She wasn’t wrong, but she also definitely wasn’t right. Was it safer for her to be close to him, or as far away as she could get? The diagnostics check all came back green, and Vader pulled away from her hand, signalling for Artoo to come hook up and help move the podracer. “Agree to disagree, mom.” 

“Good luck,” she said, smoothing his hair back and kissing him on the forehead. “Be safe.”

Vader couldn’t help but smirk up at her. He’d fought battles in space beyond her wildest imagination, survived more dangerous swarms of enemy fighters than she could ever dream of, and here she was concerned about something as small as a podrace. “I promise, I’ll be fine. I love you.”

“Don’t kill anyone,” Obi-Wan said, finally saying something. He’d been looming frequently over the last few days, watching Vader with a faint hint of constant disapproval that made Vader’s skin itch. He’d let him keep Vos, what else did he want?  

“Stop antagonizing Vos,” he’d said. “You don’t need to worry about Vos. Vos can be trusted. Vos isn’t a threat. Vos this. Vos that. Vos, Vos, Vos.” 

Vader shook off the annoying memories, and looked up into Obi-Wan’s intense, blue eyes. “Yes, Master.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan said crisply, nodding once. He moved out of the way with an affronted huff as an eopie dragging another racer’s pod out of the hanger pushed past him. He gave the eopie’s driver a disapproving look before returning his attention to Vader. “Best of luck.”

Vader smiled at him fondly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Obi-Wan laughed, cheeks dimpling as he smiled, and Vader felt warm. “See you after the race. I’m going to see if Quin has made the bets.”

“I’ll go with you,” Shmi said, kissing Vader one last time on the forehead. “Be safe.”

Vader watched almost wistfully as they were swallowed by the crowd, and then returned his focus to his pod. As he moved with it out onto the starting grid, the roar of the crowd awoke something deeply primal inside him—the familiar rush of adrenaline, the thrill of competition, the glory of being the best.  

He hopped up into his seat and strapped himself in, getting ready for the race to start. He grinned at the purring sound of the engines—he’d never really stopped daydreaming about his ideal podracer, even after falling to the dark side and swearing to the Sith. It was one sliver of Anakin that failed to die, his love of engineering and reckless lust for speed. 

He’d spent the last couple days in the backyard rebuilding the pod from the ground up, incorporating everything he could from his four decades worth of advanced engineering knowledge. The result was a thing of beauty, in his opinion. It might not look special, but once the race began, he knew that everyone would see it for what it was. Perfection.

Sebulba didn’t stand a chance this time.

Three, two, one… Go!

Vader shoved the controls forward, and the rapid acceleration slammed his body back against his seat. The Force began to sing about the next five seconds, and he released his focus into the flow of the race. His awareness of his body expanded out, until every piece of the pod was part of himself, all working in seamless harmony. He shot forward across the desert plain, and all his cares fell away. 

The flashing alternation of bright sunlight and the shadows cast by the tall red-rock pillars began to play tricks with his depth perception, and he let the Force guide him as he wove between the cluster of mesas and other pods. It was so loud, the wind burning his cheeks. By the time they reached the narrow canyons, he was jockeying with Elan Mak, Gasgano, and Sebulba for the lead. He remembered the course exactly, executing perfect lines through the Whip, the Coil, the Corkscrew.

He couldn’t help laughing and grinning, easily threading his way through the deeply familiar obstacles, pulling ahead so far ahead that nobody could touch him. It was probably good that nobody was there to see him as he giggled like a naughty child as he flipped the pod on its side to pass through the Devil's Doorknob.

Podracing really was just as much fun as he remembered. Very fast, and very dangerous. He arguably almost died twice, and definitely almost killed someone else three times. 

But he didn’t.  

He hoped Obi-Wan would appreciate that. 

He ended up winning by an even larger margin than he’d been expecting, without a single scratch on his pod. He ripped off his helmet and shouted with joy, pumping his fist in the air. The roar of the crowd was deafening, and he could hear the faint echoes of the incredulous voices of the announcers. The local boy! Anakin Skywalker! Anakin Skywalker!

“Fuck,” Vader whispered, and then shrugged it off. Sidious already knew he was from here, and wouldn’t be surprised that he was podracing for credits. It would make perfect sense to him—using his skill in the Force for profit. 

He would buy a starship today from one of the Hutts’ impound lots, and then leave tomorrow morning, before Sidious could send someone to collect him. It was really fortunate that his old Master was between apprentices at the moment, and hopefully a bit distracted by taking over the Chancellorship; it gave Vader a little room to breathe. Soon, he would have Dooku on his tail, he was sure of it. 

And wouldn’t that be fun.

It was late, again, and Obi-Wan’s mind wouldn’t turn off. He had always hated unsolved puzzles and riddles, and always felt unable to stop working the problem until the knot was untied and he’d found the solution. He didn’t have nearly enough information to even begin to work out the cipher of Darth Vader. 

They had left Tatooine that morning on a ship purchased by Vader from the Hutts. It must have been impounded from a smuggler who had dropped cargo or otherwise displeased the gangsters, because it was very clearly a spice freighter. It had cabins for a small crew and up to six passengers, a large cargo bay, and several smuggling holds. 

It also happened to have heavy blasters, rotating laser cannons, and concussion missile launchers. 

Vader had been very pleased, far too pleased. He declared that its name was the Twilight, and Obi-Wan had a deep suspicion that Vader must have owned another Corellian G9 Rigger-class light freighter at some point in the future. He was far too familiar with the engine room for anything else to be the case. 

Engineering savant that he undoubtedly was, there were certain things that you could only learn about a ship from experience—the implicit understanding of where all the control panels were, and the easiest way to access difficult to reach systems. He’d made annoyed noises about the hyperdrive, but declared that it was fit for travel. 

They were going to the other side of the galaxy the long way, avoiding the Core, skirting around Hutt Space on the Triellus Trade Route, hopping to the Perlemian Trade Route to connect to the Salin Corridor, and then out on the Celanon Spur to Ord Mantell. It would take several days, and they would have to refuel twice, but luckily Vader’s remarkable performance in the podrace had left them flush with credits. 

The winning pod was currently sitting in the cargo bay, gleaming in the low light. Vader had a habit of patting it fondly when he went past it, always touching and tinkering with it. He was proud of it, but Obi-Wan couldn’t sense malice in the pride. It was closer to joy—not an emotion Obi-Wan associated with the Sith. It was Anakin’s pod, not Vader’s.

Whoever Vader was, that part of him at least was pure Anakin, and Obi-Wan felt viscerally relieved to see it.

Over the last few days, he’d slowly grown accustomed to having the bond open, making himself be continually aware of Vader’s Force signature, and letting Vader feel him too. The oscillating peaks and valleys of Vader’s emotions certainly did a good job of anchoring Obi-Wan in the present and keeping his mind from wandering too far; a surge of wrath was usually enough to jerk him back to check on whatever was happening. 

Making himself look at Vader clearly in the Force had finally been enough to override Obi-Wan’s lingering memory of the bright-eyed and kind child whose body he wore. Watching him choke and threaten Quinlan had killed Obi-Wan’s last shred of delusion that the boy was his Anakin. Both the child Qui-Gon had given him, and the memory of a Padawan that Vader had given him, both were gone. 

He knew that Vader wanted to be called Anakin, and kept him happy by indulging that request, but Vader also wanted Obi-Wan to be somebody who didn’t exist anymore and never would—his Master. It bothered Obi-Wan that Vader would acknowledge that his wife was dead, and then look at him as if the same weren’t true of him.

Whatever… Obi-Wan would play the part of his Master, support and reinforce all the fragments of Anakin that he found, and then maybe the Sith could actually do some good in the galaxy.

Obi-Wan, Quinlan, and Shmi had all agreed to let Vader decide the destination, as much as it pained Obi-Wan to act with incomplete information. He didn’t know why Vader had insisted they go to Ord Mantell, and hadn’t been overly excited about the prospect. It was a criminal shadowport; he’d been there before on a mission with Master Qui-Gon, and knew that the planet was basically owned by the Black Sun cartel. 

The Republic had a small foothold in the capital city of Worlport, having arrived with the Corellians who settled there thousands of years before, but the rest of Ord Mantell was functionally outside their jurisdiction—the inhabitants of the planet preferred it that way. 

Vader had made excuses about the sprawling junkyards on the outskirts of Worlport, and perhaps he was telling the truth about wanting to find parts to upgrade their ship—but Obi-Wan knew that his older self had taught Vader to lie with the truth, and he wanted to tear his hair out with frustration at his lessons being used against him like this. 

Fortunately for Shmi, the lie that Vader was using gave her a perfect reason to accompany them. She had years of experience salvaging parts in Watto’s junkyard. Vader hadn’t been able to come up with a valid reason why she couldn’t help him fix up the ship. Obi-Wan suspected that for all his protestation, the idea of leaving his mother alone and vulnerable on a strange planet was difficult for Vader to accept. 

Padmé Amidala, on the other hand, was a queen of a planet, and had an entire security force dedicated to keeping her alive. That surely must have been a factor in Vader’s willingness to leave her behind, added to the fact that the Sith had no idea of her importance. Obi-Wan also suspected that Vader had been involved in her death in a way that he had not been in Shmi’s. Why else would he think she was safer away from him, and yet simultaneously think that Shmi was safer close to him?

So many puzzles about his choices, and Obi-Wan didn’t much like the shape of the answers.

He spun Quinlan’s lightsaber hilt in his hands absently, reaching out with the Force to feel the gentle humming of the kyber. He had no skill with psychometry, so the lightsaber told him no secrets, but it was a reassuring presence in the Force nonetheless. He’d been surprised when Quin had offered it to him to do forms, and had tried to refuse, but had been forced to take it. 

He was grateful that Vos remembered how much drilling with a lightsaber meant to him. It was kind of him to offer up something as personal as the saber, but Obi-Wan figured that they had passed the limits of propriety many years before. Master Qui-Gon and Master Tholme had worked together on a mission, and he’d had enough free time with Vos for him to become Quin. 

Sometimes. When he wasn’t being irritating beyond belief. 

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and ignited the blade. The flickering green light illuminated the cargo bay, the deeply familiar sound of humming and crackling filling the space. He was transfixed by the beauty of it—he’d never taken the weapon for granted, not ever.

It was the symbol of everything he’d dreamed of being for as long as he could remember: a Jedi Knight, a Jedi Master, a respected and valuable member of the community that raised him. A lightsaber was a Jedi’s life, its heart and mission wrapped in one elegant object. 

He rolled his wrist, sweeping the blade in a looping arc, and felt a swell of guilt. He had lost his right to this weapon with all his failures, but it still felt like an extension of his arm, a piece of his heart, a facet of his identity.

The green blade was slightly more yellow than Qui-Gon’s rich emerald, and it suited Quinlan. Obi-Wan wondered at the fate of his own saber, fallen to the bottom of the pit to rest beside the halves of the Sith. It was fitting, he supposed. His life as a Jedi had died the same day he lost it. 

He began moving through a sequence of Ataru, working up slowly to the acrobatics that were characteristic of Form IV. His muscles warmed up slowly, and he began to feel more and more in control of himself, and his future. The Force embraced him, and propelled him effortlessly through the Force-assisted flips and leaps. 

Qui-Gon had been a master of Ataru. He’d kept Obi-Wan drilling the basics of Form I long beyond the time any of his peers had moved on to specialization. It had made Obi-Wan insecure, but it turned out that the reason was not because he was remedial, but because Qui-Gon believed that he could rely on those fundamentals to become truly excellent.

When he’d finally taught him Ataru, it had been the biggest validation of his progress as a Padawan. If he’d been faster, better, stronger, he could have saved Qui-Gon’s life. Maybe he should’ve defended him, not attacked recklessly and gotten knocked so far away. Trapped behind a red barrier, a lightsaber in Qui-Gon’s chest, the sound of him hitting the floor. Yellow eyes. 

Obi-Wan’s concentration broke, and he landed sloppily from a flip. He heard a displeased huff, and froze. He turned his head slowly, and discovered that Vader was sitting on one of the engines of his pod, watching him. He had been so quiet in the Force, Obi-Wan hadn’t noticed him come in at all. 

“Is it helping?” Vader asked, his eyes searching Obi-Wan’s face. “The lightsaber?”

“It was,” Obi-Wan said, catching his breath. He was slightly annoyed at the interruption, and retracted the blade.

Vader turned on the lights with the Force and frowned at him. “Why are you stopping? Your footwork on the last sequence was mistimed, and you dropped your left shoulder.”

“I’m aware of that,” Obi-Wan said, both shoulders rising, immediately defensive. “I am tired.”

“No, you aren’t. You’re distracted. You need to keep working.”

Obi-Wan dropped his eyes back to the lightsaber, and rolled it in his fingers. “I shouldn’t be doing this at all.”

“What?” Vader scoffed. “Don’t be absurd. You’re just overthinking. What you really need is to spar with a partner.”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, assuming this was again about Qui-Gon’s saber. 

Vader ignored him. “It’s too bad that Vos doesn’t do Jar’kai, or I would’ve told him to give us both blades and attacked you myself. Get you out of your head.”

“Told Vos?” Obi-Wan frowned slightly, and his hand tightened on the metal hilt. “You asked him to give me this?”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you can’t stop. You need to keep practicing.”

“Why are you so obsessed with my skill with a lightsaber?”

“That’s a foolish question.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” Vader said shortly. “That weapon is your life.”

The words slapped Obi-Wan, and he stiffened. For all that he had thought them, it was another thing to hear them. He swallowed thickly, and his eyes felt unexpectedly hot. He carefully set the lightsaber down on a crate of tools and stepped back. “Not anymore.”

“Obi-Wan,” Vader sighed, and hopped off his engine to come closer. His voice was extremely gentle, his presence in the Force warm and possessive. “Master, you must destroy this false belief that you’ve lost a right to a saber by leaving the Order. You are still worthy of carrying one.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I left for a reason!” Obi-Wan snapped. Many reasons, all of them in essence the same—failure. “I’m not a Jedi anymore.”

“Stop with that,” Vader said, waving a hand like he was clearing smoke from the air.  “Leaving the Order doesn’t matter. You don’t have to belong to the Coruscant Temple to still be a Jedi. You are a Jedi. You always will be, and you need to keep up your skill with a lightsaber.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked back to Quinlan’s hilt and two puzzle pieces in his brain fit together with a snap; he felt a wash of understanding and dread. “Why are we going to Ord Mantell, Anakin?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“There are a million junkyards in the galaxy. Why that one?”

Vader looked up at him, and tipped his head to the side. “I sense that you already know the answer to that question.”

“It’s nine-tenths of the way between Tatooine and Ilum.”

“Correct.”

“No!” Obi-Wan felt a flush of sudden heat. He paced away and then turned back, slashing a hand down. “I can’t let you trespass on sacred ground and steal kyber!”

“Master—”

“No! We don’t have any right to go there! You’re a Sith! I’m not a Jedi! How are you even going to find it? It’s not listed for outsiders like us to find, because it’s protected and sacred territory of the Jedi Order!”

Vader crossed his arms, expression flat. “Are you actually interested in the method by which I am going to acquire the coordinates for the planet, or do you want to keep yelling at me about meaningless rules?”

“Meaningless?!”

“Pointless, irrelevant, unimportant—”

“Stop!” Obi-Wan swallowed down his anger, trying to slow down his breathing. “I will not allow you to violate Ilum.”

“Do you want to know what the Empire did to the planet?”

“No!” Obi-Wan blanched, and then shook his head fiercely. “Their crimes wouldn’t excuse ours! We still don’t belong there!”

Vader looked at the ceiling, and his annoyance felt like pins and needles in the Force. “I knew you would be like this. You need a lightsaber, Obi-Wan. We both do! I don’t care if you even carry it at this point, but you cannot stop practicing! It is only a matter of time before you will need it.”

“You’re not listening to me! We have no—”

“Stop delaying the inevitable and attempting to put yourself and the galaxy in danger! The Force gave us permission to go when it sent me back! I… we… have a mission to fulfill!”

Obi-Wan laughed without humor. “I will absolutely not use stolen kyber to become an assassin with you. We both have no right—”

“For fuck’s sake, Obi-Wan. Stop classing us together. We are not the same. You are still a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan felt a rush of anger that he would say that, after everything. “No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!” Vader scoffed and threw his arms up in frustration. “What are you so afraid of? Are you going to use the blade in a way that would dishonor Qui-Gon? No! You would never! Why? Because you’re a Jedi!”

“Giving you kyber for murder would be dishonoring him!” Obi-Wan said loudly, the invocation of his Master’s name pushing him off the edge. “You are going to dishonor Qui-Gon!”

“Not with you by my side!” Vader snapped, and Obi-Wan was surprised by the intense spike of pain in the Force that his words had provoked. “The Force sent me to you, and it did so with his voice. With your help I won’t dishonor that. I realize I should’ve known better than to ask you to kill preemptively, because I know you won’t!”

“Vader, that’s—”

Vader made a hurt noise at the name and clenched his small fists. “I was problem solving the best way I knew how! The Sith Master has to die, so I thought we had to kill him! His allies killed billions and billions, I thought we had to kill them to stop it! That’s how the galaxy worked where I came from, Obi-Wan. All I knew… all I know is death. I need your help.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, unable to put the magnitude of his doubt in Vader’s sincerity into words. 

Vader sighed, and rubbed his face for a second, calming his breathing in a pattern that Obi-Wan recognized intimately. After a moment, he looked back up at Obi-Wan, his anger in the Force melting away. 

“I won’t take any kyber if you don’t want me to, Obi-Wan. I don’t want to change you, make you worse. I need you, and you need a lightsaber to be yourself. It’s your heritage, your area of expertise. You’re beautiful with a blade, Master. The true master of Soresu.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, confused and distracted despite himself. “Soresu?”

“Yes, Master. You switched forms while I was a Padawan. I never knew why, but I thought it had to do with Qui-Gon.”

Obi-Wan felt a wave of memories slide past him in the Force—a glimpse of Anakin’s Padawan years, how he’d felt watching Obi-Wan train. The amount of glowing adoration and respect woven through the memories made Obi-Wan blush with embarrassment. 

“As I was learning, I watched you practicing—repeating the katas over and over, adjusting your posture a fraction of an inch, and doing it again, rebuilding your muscles to perfectly execute the moves. I saw you become magnificent, Master. It was hard to fight beside you sometimes, your grace and strength were so impressive to me; it was a distraction. I worked so hard to live up to your example.” 

Anakin was looking up at him, his blue eyes so intense and focused on Obi-Wan. Having Anakin’s presence in the Force so entangled with his own, it felt as though he were intentionally flooding all of Obi-Wan’s secret pockets of shame and insecurity with reassurance.

Obi-Wan’s voice was slightly strangled. “Anakin…”

Anakin stepped closer, tone fierce and gentle. “Master, your form was perfect for defending groups of innocents from blaster fire. You saved so many lives. You became one of the most famous and respected Jedi Generals during the war because of your skill. You defeated me when I was at the height of my power, because you used a perfect defensive form, reflecting my aggression against myself. You don’t understand how good you are now, and how perfect you can become, Master. You become the Master.”

“I…” Obi-Wan opened and closed his mouth, no words coming to him. He felt very warm.

“Master, please,” Anakin laid a hand on his arm, a reassuring and grounding touch. “You aren’t you without a lightsaber. You’re a Jedi, the ultimate Jedi. I know I’m asking a lot of you, and you’re hurting and fragile now, but—”

Obi-Wan frowned at him and pulled his arm back, the warm feeling ebbing away. “I’m not fragile.”

“No,” Anakin sighed, and dropped his hand. “I suppose you aren’t. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. I keep trying to take care of you because you’re hurting and you look… young.”

Obi-Wan stared at him incredulously, and then huffed a laugh, ruffling the hair of the small boy in front of him. “You’re one to talk, Anakin.”

Anakin smiled up at him, his happiness at the contact shining in the Force, almost intoxicating as it spread. After a moment, he sobered slightly, and gave Obi-Wan a hesitant look. “You need to be armed for what’s coming, Obi-Wan. I know you’re not comfortable, but surely you understand—”

“I do,” Obi-Wan confirmed quietly. “I’m sorry I’ve been fighting it. I…”

“You don't have to explain yourself to me, Master. It is fine. I understand. Are you… can we go to Ilum?”

Obi-Wan squared his shoulders and let his eyes fall back on Quinlan’s lightsaber with intent. “Yes, Padawan. We can go.”

“I think that sounds like a great idea, personally.”

The sound of Quinlan’s amused voice made Obi-Wan jump, and Vader looked annoyed. They both turned to see him leaning against the doorway to the cargo bay, holding a steaming mug of caf. He took a sip, and then smiled. “So I take it we’re slicing into the ExplorCorps base in Worlport?”

Vader sighed deeply. “Good guess.”

“Wait, what?” Obi-Wan looked between them, feeling a swell of concern. “We’re doing what?”

Quinlan slurped his caf, eyes twinkling. “Don’t worry about it, man. You’re not invited.”

“Anakin?”

“Hmm.”

“I can’t believe they just left without saying anything.”

“I think it’s very good they’re working together,” Shmi said, trying to keep a smile off her face at the put out sound of Obi-Wan’s voice. He was very cute when he was pouting. 

“But they didn’t tell me.”

“Because you insisted that you were going.”

“I wanted to go,” Obi-Wan sighed. “I don’t trust either of them alone, but together? The city might burn down.”

“Or it will work smoothly, and the tension between them will decrease as they rely on each other as members of a team.” Obi-Wan barked a laugh, and Shmi couldn’t keep a straight face. “It could happen.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Distinctly unlikely. I guess they’re the ones missing out on the real fun.” He held up a broken power compensator hopefully. 

Shmi looked at it, and then shook her head. “See how the corrosion has broken through the shielding there? That one isn’t salvageable.”

“Pity,” Obi-Wan said, and tossed it over his shoulder. “It was the right kind.”

“Get used to disappointment,” Shmi laughed. “That’s 90% of the job.”

“And what a job it is. With a view like this, who wouldn’t be envious.” Obi-Wan spread his arms in an expansive gesture, and Shmi looked past him out over the Scraplands. 

The familiar, filthy hue of salvage pits spread out as far as she could see. The horizon was hazy, the air filled with an unpleasant smog that blew in from the city of Worlport, and the smoke of thousands of trash fires. She adjusted her breathing mask and goggles, grateful at least to be protected from the environment. The Scraplands must have been the biggest and dirtiest dumping grounds in the galaxy. 

She had ridden the hovertrain out that morning with Obi-Wan, searching for a list of parts that Anakin had left behind. He and Quinlan had disappeared early, having hatched a plan to infiltrate the base of the Jedi Exploration Corps and slice into the network to download coordinates for their next destination. 

Obi-Wan complained, but Shmi was secretly glad that Anakin had decided she needed a partner to explore the Scraplands. It was dangerous, and she wouldn’t have been comfortable alone. She still would have gone—it was important to her to contribute to the repairs. She didn’t know much about starships, but she did know a lot about individual parts and how to find them.

“If you know what to look for,” Shmi said, walking carefully past Obi-Wan toward a different section of the scrap pile, having spotted a large, bent coolant coil. “You could make a fortune out here. It’s the richest trove of scrap I’ve ever seen, and it’s hard to imagine richer. There are entire abandoned shipyards, entire starships left to decay. Other people’s trash is always far more valuable than they assume.”

“As soon as people reach a certain level of prosperity, they become indifferent to the waste they leave behind. They are always looking forward to the next new thing.”

“Yes,” Shmi said quietly. “That sounds right.”

Obi-Wan sighed and checked the list, looking back at the hovercart he was in charge of maneuvering through the mess. “We’ve made much more progress than I had expected. All due to your expertise, Shmi.”

Shmi felt warm. “It’s good to know that I learned something of value.”

“Anakin inherited his engineering talents from you, I think.” 

“You are very kind.” Shmi added the coolant coil to the hovercart. “One of my former masters thought that I would be more valuable if I had technical skills. I am grateful for the education she gave me, no matter how limited it was. She’d planned to free me at her death, but her will was unclear, and a relative sold me to the Hutts instead.”

Obi-Wan made a low sound. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry that happened.”

Shmi dipped her head in thanks. “I’ve been a slave for more than thirty years, and wouldn’t have survived if I’d allowed myself to hope. Anakin brought me both hope and fear that I’d never let myself feel before. I was so happy when he was freed, even though I knew I would never see him again. He deserved better than a slave’s life. Seeing him now…” She cleared her throat. “It saddens me to see what he did with that gift.”

“He is trying to make things right,” Obi-Wan said gently. “I think he made the wrong choices before when he was too young to think clearly. From what I’ve gathered between the lines of what he’s said, the Sith Master had access to him from a very early age. I don’t know how I would have allowed that, but I suppose he is the Chancellor and I had no idea he was Force sensitive.”

“It’s probably wisest not to say that out loud.”

Obi-Wan looked around sharply, remembering where they were. There was nobody around that they could see, but that wasn’t a guarantee there was nobody there at all. “Of course, you’re right.” He raised one hand, and Shmi guessed he was sensing for people with the Force. After a moment, he sighed with relief, confirming they were alone.   

Shmi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and turned back to her work. “It’s hard to imagine my child spending time with someone like him. Out on Tatooine, the Republic seemed more like a story people told, rather than a real thing.”

“That should not have been the case,” Obi-Wan said, turning over a large metal panel with a frustrated huff. “The fringes of the Republic have been crumbling for generations. Nobody has prioritized policing them. The Jedi tried to help, but we are so few in number and the galaxy is so large. The Senate was always requesting help for crises closer to Coruscant, and the Council always found it nearly impossible to turn them down. We are the sworn guardians of peace and justice. I feel as though we all failed you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Shmi shook her head. “Something must have rotted a long time ago.”

“I think it had help,” Obi-Wan grumbled. “The Sith did this, this… sabotage. They’ve undermined us for longer than we knew.”

“Anakin’s going to fix it, I know he will.”

“I hope so.”

Darth Sidious sat in the large desk chair in the office of the Supreme Chancellor, his fingers steepled as he listened to the hologram of Gardulla the Hutt. Loathsome creature.

“Then he bought a ship and left.”

“He left Tatooine?” Sidious clarified. “With his mother and the Jedi?”

“There were two men with him, I don’t know if the Jedi was one of them.”

Sidious raised an eyebrow. “Two?” 

“Yes,” Gardulla confirmed. “My spy said there were two. A human and a Kiffar.”

“Have you forwarded their ship’s identity beacon to my office?”

“Of course,” Gardulla smiled grotesquely. “Any friend of Hego is a friend of mine. It is such a pity about his passing.”

“Yes,” Sidious sneered, and closed the connection with a negligent wave of his hand. “Truly a pity.” He spun his chair, looking out his large interior window over the cavernous Senate Arena. The concentric circles of repulsorpods dominating the room were all empty; it was very late. He turned his head to his guard and ordered. “Get me Pestage. I have a new job for him.”

The guard bowed silently and left. 

Sidious pulled up his schedule, and began looking for places to insert free time. He needed to set up another meeting with Master Dooku. It was becoming rather tiresome to be without an Apprentice. Sate Pestage was a conniving little man, and would probably be able to track a ship if given its identity beacon, but there was no replacement for a Sith. 

Pity Maul had been so weak.  

Sidious had been misled by the cursed witch Talzin about his value. Her son was just another failed acolyte, not worthy of the name he had been given. Sidious had spent far too much time training him. He would never forgive the Nightsisters for this inconvenience at such a critical moment in his career.

Anakin Skywalker, on the other hand, was not weak. Sidious had seen the boy’s midichlorian count, and after his exploits on Naboo, felt a possessive craving. He was a worthy Apprentice. He belonged to Sidious. He would be his soon.   

“Yes, Chancellor?” Pestage had entered the room silently, as usual. “How can I help?”

Sidious offered him a datapad with the information about the identity beacon. 

“Find him.” 

Vader was pacing back and forth in Obi-Wan’s cabin on the Twilight. It had quickly become a habit since the addition of Vos to their group. He drove Vader insane. He pivoted on his foot and marched the other direction with a huff. There was room for five of his small steps before he had to turn and pace back in the other direction—seven steps if he was feeling controlled, three steps if he was agitated. 

The narrow, grey room had once belonged to the captain of the ship, and had a double bed half tucked into a niche. There were drawers built into the walls, and a desk that folded down. The chair was currently covered in the unsorted pile of clothing Obi-Wan had picked up for them both on Tatooine. 

Vader was attempting to change while he paced, not a particularly dignified activity, but he was feeling too unsettled to stop moving. He tugged a soft sleep shirt on, pushing his head through the neck and scowling at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan had already changed for sleep, and was sitting on the side of the bed, datapad in hand. He was watching Vader move back and forth as though he was observing the schools of fish in the aquarium beneath the Room of a Thousand Fountains—the garden of the aquatic levels had been full of a colorful array of fish. That entire section of the Temple had been drained and remodeled when the Temple became the human-centric Imperial Palace, and Vader would never have admitted it, but he thought that was a shame. 

“He just went for it! Without checking with me first.”

“Tragic,” Obi-Wan said, deadpan. 

Vader scrunched his nose and made a face at Obi-Wan. “Yes, yes, very amusing for you, I’m sure.”

“I’ll admit that seeing you suffer the same that my future self must have suffered never gets old.”

Vader huffed, and moved to the small attached ‘fresher, brushing his teeth and hair quickly. Obi-Wan was surfing the Holonet, looking for news events that would have seemed insignificant without the context that Vader had provided. If pacing was Vader’s new hobby, that was Obi-Wan’s. 

Vader returned with a fresh scowl. “Stealing a Jedi identity beacon for this ship was not what I planned.” 

“It was a good idea,” Obi-Wan said, looking up from his datapad with a raised eyebrow, defending Vos as usual. “We don’t know if the Jedi have any probe droids around Ilum that report back to the Temple.”

“We’re going to read as an unscheduled, unsanctioned visit no matter what beacon we have!”

“It might not flag in the system,” Obi-Wan sighed. They’d already had this argument. Twice. “Your idea of a Black Sun identifier would have been guaranteed to get flagged.”

“Black Sun ships have unregistered beacons! I could have spoofed us and erased us completely. We have to get out of the view of the Hutts as soon as possible, not leave a data trail for them to find. I wanted Ord Mantell to be a dead end!”

“You think the Hutts were still tracking us?” Obi-Wan scratched his chin, and Vader noticed he had day-old stubble. Combined with his messy hair that was in the process of growing out of its Padawan cut, he looked slightly scruffy. Anakin had always thought that it looked good on him to be a bit untidy. 

“Of course. Sidious has good friends among the gangsters and lowlifes in the galaxy, but I had a plan. Black Sun is no friend of Sidious, and they wouldn’t report a missing beacon to anyone outside the cartel. Kriffing Vos just snuck off, and put us all in danger.”   

“Well, there’s nothing that can be done about it now.” Obi-Wan stretched, clearly sleepy. He gave Vader an inquisitive look that immediately made him long for his mask. “Why don’t you sleep in your own cabin?” 

“What?”

“We have plenty of rooms. Why are you still sleeping in here with me?” 

Vader began sorting the clothes on the chair, avoiding looking at Obi-Wan on the other side of the room. He had no desire to admit that staying with Obi-Wan made him feel safe, and that he was addicted to that feeling. “Nightmares.” 

“How can you know that if you don’t sleep elsewhere?” 

Vader grimaced, and shoved some pants in a low drawer. He was not separating their clothes, and he could tell that Obi-Wan was aware of that fact. “I just know. Why are you trying to get rid of me?” A thought struck him, and slipped out of his mouth before he could censor himself. “Making room for someone else?”

Obi-Wan looked baffled and slightly offended, easily intuiting who he meant. “No? It’s been years since—”

“I don’t want to know that.” Vader cut him off, immediately regretting the question. He didn’t want to think about that. He never had.

Obi-Wan eyed him strangely. “All right. Isn’t it strange though? You’re a 46-year-old man.”

“So?”

“Did you sleep with your Master before?” 

The question made Vader blink, his brain stuttering to a halt. Sleep with his Master? He'd been stuck on picturing Obi-Wan and Vos together, and the scene shifted without permission to include himself instead of Vos. The idea was deeply confusing, because he had thought of his Master as a father. Right? He saw a vivid cascade of memories of Obi-Wan partially dressed or flushed after sparring, moments when he saw him and looked away, refusing to process what he’d seen. “What do you mean?” 

“Before? Did he let you sleep with him? If you had nightmares?”

Vader shook his head slightly, clearing his mental vision. He thought back to being a ten-year-old, waking up to young Knight Obi-Wan sitting on the side of his bed, looking at him with so much concern. His nightmares had been strong enough to disturb him through the bond, summoning him all the way from where he lived in Qui-Gon’s old apartment down to Anakin’s room in the Padawans’ Hall. He’d let Anakin stay in the apartment until he’d acclimated. He’d looked just like he did now, and that was so soothing. 

He smiled fondly. “A couple times, when I was new to the Temple. Coruscant was very overwhelming to me in the Force at first. Leaving my mom was hard.”

“Why don’t you sleep with your mom now?”

“What?”

“She’s here, you don’t have to seek comfort from me anymore.”

Vader closed a drawer with a bit too much force. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

“Why?”

“It’s just not. I spent more of my life with you than her. I don’t remember her like I remember you. And…” Vader struggled to articulate it. “I don’t want to bother her.”

“But you’ll bother me?”

Vader felt a wave of sadness, and sought Obi-Wan’s eyes. “Am I really bothering you?”

Obi-Wan swallowed, and then broke eye contact, looking down at his soft sleeping pants and picking at the fabric. “No, not really. I guess not.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s just strange, Anakin.” 

Vader took a deep, shaky breath and tried to be vulnerable and honest, like Obi-Wan had requested. He reached out with the bond, seeking connection. “Please, Obi-Wan. Don’t kick me out. I’ve just been alone for so long.” 

Obi-Wan sighed, and caught him in the Force, opening himself up to Vader’s mind and offering back the warmth of acceptance. “I’m not kicking you out.” 

“Thank you, Master.” Obi-Wan’s face did something interesting that Vader couldn’t parse, it was there and gone too quickly. 

“I am, however, going to sleep now,” Obi-Wan said quietly. He scooted back on the bed and got under the covers. 

“Oh, of course. Me too.” 

“Right. Hit the lights when you’re ready?”

“Sure.” 

Vader crawled onto his side of the bed and snuggled under the covers, escaping the inevitable chill of a starship in space. He used the Force to bring down the cabin light into shadow, and he heard the soft familiar sound of Obi-Wan shifting around until he was comfortable and then letting out a little sigh of contentment. Vader was very fond of that little sigh.

They went to sleep back to back, but Vader knew he would end up holding Obi-Wan somehow, clinging to his back or to his chest. Obi-Wan was always soft and gentle in the Force in the morning, so open before he woke up completely and closed himself off. He’d stopped shoving Vader off since that first morning, just rolling his eyes and sighing at him, detangling himself. 

The idea brought a small smile to Vader’s face, and he closed his eyes, finally drifting off. 

Obi-Wan stood between Vader and Vos in the snow, and shuddered. He’d bought coats and gloves for them all on Ord Mantell, but he should have picked up thicker clothes too—when he’d originally been getting clothes on Tatooine, he hadn’t exactly thought they would be going to an ice planet, and they were all suffering the consequences to some degree.

He looked up at the sheer face of ice that stretched up toward the sky, a hundred feet tall. The wall of ice extended as far as he could see in either direction, the cool blue sheen of it in the morning light was beautiful and forbidding. The ice directly in front of them looked no different from any other stretch in the wall, except for the way that the Force hummed. 

“Ready?” Vos asked, and raised a hand. 

Vader immediately mirrored him, and Obi-Wan raised his hand too, closing his eyes and reaching out with his feelings. Together they brought down the sheet of ice that served as a natural door for one of the oldest Jedi Temples. There was a large crash as tons of ice shattered and fell, revealing a stone facade carved with geometric patterns characteristic of ancient Jedi architecture. 

The open doorway showed only darkness, and it had a lethal-looking row of ice stalactites hanging like teeth. It looked like nothing more than a devouring mouth.   

Obi-Wan remembered the first time he’d come to Ilum, for the Gathering, a Jedi tradition for Initiates to build their first lightsabers. He'd found the gaping mouth terrifying then, though he had been desperate not to show it. The fear was familiar and comfortable now. He knew that the danger faced inside was only the danger of self-reflection. 

He stepped forward, leading the way into the Temple. Vos followed him in, and Obi-Wan turned his head to look back as Vader stayed behind. The flurries of snow blowing in the wind already made it hard to see him, and Obi-Wan raised a hand in farewell. Vader waved back, and then turned to walk back to Shmi and the ship. Obi-Wan felt a small tug of guilt, and then set it aside. 

No Sith would set foot in this sacred place while he was alive to defend it. 

He entered the central nave of the Temple, and exhaled hard. The scope of it took his breath away, the stillness of it. He looked up at the ceiling, walking to the center of the large circular hall to stand on a stone geometric pattern that sung with harmony. The chamber was a hundred feet tall, the walls were engraved with the same style of art as the outer door, with rows of stone columns holding up story upon story.

Obi-Wan’s heart felt full of so many conflicting emotions—it was like he was coming home, and like he was trespassing. 

The Force was so clean and pure here, resonant with the cosmos and full of the vibrant living Force, both weaving themselves together to become crystalized into kyber. The crystals in the caves below were the physical embodiment of agency for the Force, and were the tool of the Jedi to change the galaxy.

Obi-Wan couldn’t shake the idea that he didn’t deserve one—he didn’t deserve the gift and the responsibility of that power. He was not a worthy steward of a blade. 

Quinlan coughed, and Obi-Wan stopped investigating the room, giving Quin an awkward smile. “I’m ready, I think.”

“Good,” Quinlan clapped a hand on his shoulder, pressing down for a moment in a grounding touch. “You deserve to be here.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said quietly, and tried to believe it. 

Vos raised his hand again, focusing on manipulating the stone of the chamber. He used the Force to open one of the closed clerestory windows high above eye level, and let the sunlight flood in, striking a large crystal suspended for this purpose, focusing the beam of the light again with a second, smaller crystal to point it on the interior ice door to the caves. 

The sheet of ice melted quickly, the water flooding down over the stairs and flowing away into channels carved into the floor. The spectacle of it was beautiful, the Force singing with the rightness of it. Obi-Wan wondered for a moment how old the chamber was, how many generations of Jedi had passed their way through that door.

Who was he, in the face of such a legacy?

“Better get moving before the door freezes over again,” Quinlan said gently. “You really do deserve to be here, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan gave him a grateful smile and squared his shoulders, moving forward toward the inner door. He felt the warmth of the sunlight hitting his back, the blessing of the light, and stepped through the doors into shadow. In order for a Jedi to carry a blade, they had to prove to themselves that they were worthy of it—they must face their fundamental flaws and overcome them. 

It was terrifying; it was essential. 

The tapping of his footsteps on the stone floor was very loud in his ears, competing in volume with his heavy breathing. He moved quickly through the inner sanctuary, through the forest of columns carved with more of the same geometric patterns that transitioned smoothly into the natural rock of the caves. There were small glimmers of light, tiny crystals strewn along the walls, but Obi-Wan knew that his crystal would be deeper inside.

He came to the first junction, the tunnel splitting in two. He was faced with a decision, and reached out with the Force, searching with his feelings for the correct path. Left or right?

“How could you let me die, Padawan?” 

Obi-Wan stiffened, his heart stopping and then beginning to pound, his eyes going wide. The voice of Master Qui-Gon had come faintly from the left, full of reproach.

He took a step to the left before he could catch himself. It was impossibly alluring—Obi-Wan wanted to see his Master more than anything, to apologize to him, to tell him how hard he’d tried to save him, but something held him back.

He stopped and listened to the Force again; Qui-Gon’s voice repeated itself harshly, summoning him to account for his failure. “How could you let me die?”

Obi-Wan set his jaw, and began down the right passage instead, because that was not Qui-Gon. 

His heartbeat kept pounding stubbornly, and he did one of his breathing exercises to calm down as he walked. He went steadily deeper into the caves, his footsteps echoing, surrounded by walls glinting with kyber shards. He felt a complicated mix of regret and relief. Qui-Gon’s death was not his fault. He knew that, and accepted it, for the first time.

It was either five minutes or five hours until he came to a second junction; time was a plastic concept inside the caves. The tunnel was again split in half, and he paused, reaching out with the Force for his kyber, seeking its distinctive voice among all the singing crystal around him. 

“How could you let me fall, Master?”

Obi-Wan was not surprised this time by a voice coming from the left, though his stomach immediately twisted into knots—it was Anakin’s voice, not the young child outside the caves, but the smooth, husky baritone of his voice at 22. It was the voice that the bond had woven inside his consciousness like it belonged there, part of himself. 

Anakin sounded desperate. “How could you do this to me?”

Obi-Wan shuddered. The knowledge that he’d trained a Padawan who'd fallen to the dark, the intimate understanding of that Padawan, how strong, beautiful, and kind, he had been before he’d fallen, and Obi-Wan had chopped him to pieces— 

He went right, because that was not Anakin. Anakin didn’t exist. He’d never met him, and never would. He was a ghost, and his fall was not Obi-Wan’s fault. Not now, and not then. 

The next hallway seemed shorter, and Obi-Wan quickly reached a third junction. He stood up straight, pushing his shoulders back, ready for whatever the Force offered him. He heard a voice from the left, and it was his own, filled with icy judgement. “How dare you come here?”

How dare I?

Obi-Wan paused, and the enormity of his doubt about his right to be in the caves crushed him. Failure, failure, failure. He took a deep breath, and forced himself to walk forward, going to the right, answering himself silently: because this was the right thing to do.

The last hallway opened up into a large chamber filled with glittering crystals, embedded in the walls and ceiling, studding the sides of stalactites and stalagmites in a forest of stone. Obi-Wan could feel the Force whisper that he was close. He looked around, seeking the correct direction, and a voice came from his right. 

“Will you train the boy?”

Obi-Wan whipped to look, and it was Master Qui-Gon—his shimmering blue form cast a gentle light around him. He looked just as he did the day of his death, but his face was filled with immeasurable peace. 

Obi-Wan took a step closer. “Master! Is that really you?”  

Qui-Gon just smiled, one of those secret smiles that he had for Obi-Wan’s folly—all the moments when he appreciated Obi-Wan for his innocence and good intentions, and knew that he had teaching to impart. His eyes were warm, his posture open and welcoming, and he repeated himself. “Will you train the boy?”

Obi-Wan felt on the verge of tears, and knelt down, looking at the floor. “I cannot, Master. He is not truly a boy; he is older than I am.”  

“His training is not complete.”

Obi-Wan looked up, seeking Qui-Gon’s wise, steady gaze. “How can I possibly trust him, Master?”

“The Force sent him, and it was an action of the light, in rebuke of the dark. He is the Chosen One.”

Obi-Wan breathed shakily at the confirmation that it had not been a violation of the Force, warping the galaxy around the will of one Sith. He felt a swell of concern that he’d not seen that truth before, that he hadn’t trusted the Force. “How can I possibly trust myself?”

Qui-Gon smiled at him again. “You are capable and cautious, Obi-Wan. I believe in you. He needs your steady devotion to right action. He has the right goals. Together you will find moral balance, and make the right choices.”

Obi-Wan felt a wash of understanding. “You want me to let him get a crystal?”

“He needs to face himself, Obi-Wan.” 

Obi-Wan bowed his head. “Yes, Master.”

The blue shade of Qui-Gon faded away, and Obi-Wan felt the grief of his passing a second time—but he felt a deep appreciation of the privilege of this visit, that the Force had given him this gift. Qui-Gon believed in him, he didn’t judge him, hate him, resent him. He was happy in the Force, resting peacefully in death.  

Obi-Wan blinked, and then saw a crystal that he hadn’t noticed before, directly in front of him. It was a deep, rich blue shard of kyber that called him. He moved toward it, and wondered—it wasn’t the same color as his last crystal, as if the color had matured in complexity. He felt Qui-Gon’s blessing, and reached out. 

It was warm in his hand, the Force singing with partnership and intention. He closed his fist around the crystal, and brought it to his chest, next to his heart, taking a moment to center himself and bond with the kyber. He remembered the traditional words: 

The crystal is the heart of the blade. The heart is the crystal of the Jedi. The Jedi is the crystal of the Force. The Force is the blade of the heart. 

All are intertwined: the crystal, the blade, the Jedi.

You are one.  

Vader was pacing around the kitchen of the Twilight, waiting impatiently for Obi-Wan to return. Vos was passive-aggressively loading the dishwasher, antagonizing Threepio, and had some caf distilling on the counter. They’d been sniping at each other about how things happened on Ord Mantell for long enough for Shmi to return to her room after lunch. 

She’d been tinkering with a compensator for hours before they’d eaten, and making sympathetic noises whenever either of them appealed to her judgement. Vader felt bad about driving her away, but then Vos would say something, and he was immediately distracted. It was somehow worse that he could tell that Vos was having fun. 

Vader wanted Obi-Wan to come back, and pivoted, reaching out with the Force to see if he was close. He froze when the feeling of Obi-Wan returned in the Force, moving steadily closer. He’d done it. Vader could feel Obi-Wan’s sense of peace and resolution. He hurried down to the cargo bay to greet him, excited to see the kyber and watch Obi-Wan assemble his lightsaber.

They could spar then, if Obi-Wan would lend him his saber. Vos, for some unfathomable reason, wouldn’t let him near his own. 

He grinned when he saw Obi-Wan walk quickly up the ramp, his gloved hand wrapped around a glowing crystal. “You did it!”

“You need to hurry,” Obi-Wan said, his cheeks pink and eyes bright. “The inner door is half frozen. You’re running out of time.”

“What?” Vader said, stepping back in surprise. He searched Obi-Wan’s face, desperate to understand. “Are you saying—”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan grinned at him, his cheeks dimpling and his Force signature shining out clearly. “Master Qui-Gon said that you were allowed.”

“Really?” A smile spread on Vader’s face, mirroring the one he saw, hope rising in his chest. He hadn’t thought; he’d given up hope; he’d been resigned. “I can go?”

“You better hurry, kiddo,” Vos teased, coming up to clap Obi-Wan on the shoulder. He gave Obi-Wan a fond look that made Vader’s skin crawl. “I told you so.”

Vader turned and hustled back to where he’d thrown his coat and gloves, wrapping himself up against the cold. He’d gotten permission; he could go; it was really happening.

“Good luck,” Obi-Wan said, taking off his own coat. He was cradling his crystal, as if he still couldn’t believe that he was holding it. 

“Thank you, Master,” Vader said earnestly, passing by him toward the ramp. He paused for a moment when his words made Obi-Wan’s Force signature flared in an interesting, new way. He looked back and brushed him with a farewell in the Force. Obi-Wan smiled and reached back with his mind, filling him with his confidence that Vader could do it. 

Vader felt his cheeks flush, and turned away, stepping out into the chilly morning, the temperature change causing his face to feel so warm. He hurried toward the Temple, following Obi-Wan’s tracks as best he could with his shorter legs.

He paused for a moment outside, trying to find his center and not just blunder forward into the sacred space. He regulated his breathing, and tried to open himself up to listen to the Force, making himself as quiet as he could. He walked inside the soaring Temple, and felt very small. The room was so old, so lofty, so serene. 

The inner door was indeed closing as the sun moved out of the window, the line of ice descending in the shade. He paused for a second time before the inner door. He had to release his incredulity and excitement at the opportunity—he knew what waited inside would be a trial. Looking inward for him had always been an extremely dangerous activity. 

He straightened his spine, holding on to the knowledge that he had been invited inside, and stepped across the threshold into the inner sanctuary. The change was immediate and overwhelming—hostility radiated at him from every tiny shard of crystal embedded in the walls. 

Vader nodded as if it made sense to him. The Force doesn’t forget, even when time is rolled back. 

He pushed forward, intentionally not fighting against the feeling of rejection, but rather seeking it, following it, and trying to find the source of the hostility and soothe the anger. He had a feeling that his crystal would be there. 

It was excruciating. 

Every step seemed to emphasize how much his actions in the past had rendered him unfit to walk these halls. Every shard of kyber embedded in the walls screamed in indignation at him as he passed, every tiny voice adding to the choir of judgment. 

“I know,” Vader said tightly, swallowing down a sick feeling. It was so hard not to argue back, rebel against the feeling, assert himself and his story. He knew that the Force wasn’t interested in his excuses, disdained him for clinging to them, and was testing his resolve. 

He followed the thread of anger through junction after junction, deeper and deeper into the cave. It felt like the planet was trying to swallow him whole, consume him in the dark and keep him in the prison to haunt the visits of future Jedi. Time seemed to stretch and eddy, every passage looked the same and stretched out for miles. 

He pushed and pushed, the intensity of the hostile feeling increasing with each step. It felt like a humming ache in his bones now, growing ever stronger. He felt like he was going to be shaken apart by it, but he refused. One more junction, one more, one more. 

He turned left, and almost walked into a wall. He reached out a hand and laid his palm against the dark stone—it was a dead end, a wall of rock devoid of crystal. 

A wave of hopelessness brought him down to his knees, his hand sliding down the wall, feeling how smooth and blank it was. The source of the disturbance was on the other side, but he was not being allowed through. The caves were denying him, after all that; it hadn't been enough; it would never be enough.  

He felt like crying, and took deep breaths. He pleaded to the Force about his intentions, for the first time arguing back. Please, Force, please.

Abruptly, he shuddered, the hair lifting on his arms—he was not alone. 

There was a slow, deep rasping breath behind him, mechanical and terrifying and familiar. He twisted so fast he fell back against the wall, looking behind him at a looming specter in the shadows.

The impossibly tall form of Darth Vader was monstrous. He scrambled to his feet, and looked up, and up, at the figure from nightmare—his gleaming black mask was like a distended skull, leering at him from the dark. Had that really been him?  

He realized with a sudden pang of horror that he was looking up at Vader from the exact perspective of all the younglings he’d cut down, and that number was not insignificant over the decades he’d been a Sith. He remembered one blonde toddler on another desert planet, who had been clutching a blanket, and looked so scared. He’d tried to make his death swift and painless. Did that make it better? Could anything? 

The steady, relentless sound of Darth Vader’s breathing had rendered him mute. He jumped slightly when Darth Vader ignited his lightsaber, the icy caves filling with vivid crimson light and a crackling hum that was familiar bone-deep. It was his old saber, and he could hear the kyber crying out a familiar lament at what had been done to it, and what it had been made to do. 

“The kyber crystals are the Force.” Darth Vader said, and the familiar deep bass of his vocoder seemed impossibly loud. His words dripped with disdain. “The Force remembers well what you did with the crystal of Master Infil'a—how you poured it full of your malice, bled it until it screamed. You hunted him from his seclusion and devotion to the Force. You slaughtered him without concern or regret, and what you did to his crystal was monstrous. Why would you be given another?”

“Because I am sorry!” Vader said with as much power as he could, but his voice seemed very small and childish.

“No apology is sufficient.” 

“It’s not just words. I’m trying…” Vader found his footing, and squared his shoulders, trying to fight his fear. “I’m trying to be better.”

There was silence filled by a deep rasping breath, and Vader felt the impossible weight of his task. “You’re pathetic, crawling like a worm back to the light.” Darth Vader said coldly, and took a step forward, making Vader flinch.

“The Force sent me back here! The Force is giving me another chance.” He shook his head, trying to stay grounded. “You’re not real! You’re just in my head.”

Darth Vader sounded almost amused. “I am very real. I am the real you.” 

“No, you’re not. I am…” Vader bit his lip, and then asserted something he didn’t quite believe. “I am Anakin Skywalker, not Darth Vader! I’m not you!”

“You are me.” Darth Vader said, voice forbidding and final. He pulled off his helmet, and Vader gasped at his unscarred young face beneath it. He looked 22, his eyes were so gold, so full of disgust. “You have always been Anakin Skywalker. You still think of yourself as Vader because you haven’t given up that fiction. We are the same. There is no difference between us.” 

“Yes, there is! There must be!” 

Vader thought back to the moment of his death, and how Anakin’s heart had come back to him; it had been different and good. He remembered the explosion of light that followed—that brilliantly radiant moment of overwhelming, thwarted, remorseful love for life, for his family, for his friends, for all those he betrayed and murdered and loathed so strongly. 

It was the love behind that had made Vader’s hate so strong—it had always been too big to handle. He’d cared so much, too much, and his fear and anger had always surpassed what his mind was capable of containing. It was endless, boundless, the unfairness of the galaxy, the cruelty of it. 

Vader accepted the truth in his heart, then, that Anakin had never been killed, only silenced and ignored. 

The part of him that was Anakin had been an impotent witness to his every crime, unwilling and despairing. Anakin was the part of him that knew what was right, the kindest part of him, the purest. Anakin was the light hidden and hated, a silent shadow that Vader never truly escaped nor was ever truly aware of. The guilt was so pervasive as to be ignored like the air he breathed. 

That guilt was Anakin.

And Anakin was back. 

All of the emotions for a lifetime of mistakes, all the agony of shame and regret that he should have felt at each crime, lingering unprocessed, crushed down into the dark part of him where he stored all the things he hadn’t wanted to feel since he’d been a slave on Tatooine—he felt them now, in this moment, the Force humming and purring.

Light, he was bathed in light, and it all came from within. 

Anakin looked up at Darth Vader, and spoke defiantly. “I was there the whole time, but we were not the same! You silenced me!” 

Darth Vader laughed at him, cold and cruel. “You say you were there, then why didn’t you stop yourself? Your compliance, your cowardice, proves that there is no difference.” 

“There is a difference, because I have decided there is! I am not you. Not anymore. You’re not real.” 

A glint of light caught his eye, as though it was shining through Darth Vader’s chest. Anakin felt a swell of understanding, and walked forward, directly toward the humming red blade of Vader’s lightsaber. He could feel deep in his bones that the crystal beyond was calling him, that it was his.

He walked through the apparition of Vader, and it disappeared as though it was never there at all, immaterial and illusory. The sound of Vader's mechanical breathing disappeared, and Anakin was grateful for the reprieve. He never wanted to hear it again. 

His crystal was resting on top of a small stalagmite, its heart pulsing a song in rhythm with his own—an irresistible drumbeat pulling him forward. He was mildly surprised at its color, because he had thought that Ilum crystals were all blue and green, but this one was a bright yellow with just the faintest shadow of green; it was the same color as Ahsoka’s shoto blade.

Anakin took the kyber, and blinked back tears, thinking of how the sparkle of light had pulled him forward and through. He gripped the crystal tightly, holding it close.

“Thanks, Snips.”

Obi-Wan waited until the navicomputer beeped, and then pushed the primary lever forward, engaging the hyperdrive. He watched with a sense of peace as all the bright points of light scattered in the black turned to streaks. He exhaled as he felt the difference in the Force as the ship jumped away from Ilum into hyperspace, the place that hummed between places. 

Hyperspace was quiet, but not silent—like the sensation of being in the sensory deprivation tanks at the Temple, when all you could hear was your heartbeat, your breath, being in hyperspace meant all that you could feel clearly in the Force was your ship, and the luminous living Force embodied in the people on board was so bright. 

He reached into his pocket, and wrapped his hand around his kyber crystal. It brought him a sense of harmony and balance that he’d been missing since the Plasma Refinery Complex on Naboo. He hated to admit to himself that Anakin had been right about him, and what he needed. He’d been so afraid, so ashamed, and Anakin had pulled him through it. 

He was grateful, and embarrassed. I’m trying, Qui-Gon. I’ll keep trying.

“Do you want a cup of caf?” Quinlan asked, already carrying one for him. Obi-Wan accepted it gratefully, and took a sip.

“Thank you,” he said with extra emphasis, making eye contact and making sure that Quinlan knew exactly what he was being thanked for—how much Obi-Wan had needed a friend in the Temple, how grateful he was that Quinlan had dropped everything to help him.

Quinlan’s eyes softened, and he punched Obi-Wan gently on the arm, making him almost spill his caf. “Of course, man.”

Obi-Wan laughed, taking the hit and keeping all the liquid in the mug. He squeezed his kyber again, and Quinlan noticed the movement, smiling crookedly. “You know he bought saber components on Ord Mantell. He’s working in the kitchen, and has the box out. He wants you to come work with him.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, and grinned. “I can feel that in the Force, he’s practically yelling at me to come. He needs me very badly sometimes.”

Quinlan let him pass and walked with him down the hallway, chuckling to himself. “Big bad Sith. He’s such a baby.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “A mildly terrifying one.”

Quinlan rubbed his throat, and conceded the point. “I’m going to keep bothering him. It’s fun, and I think it’s good for him. The way people react to you can help you define who you are. If we don’t act afraid, he won’t perceive himself to be scary.”

“Surprisingly insightful,” Obi-Wan said, giving him an amused look as he opened the door to the kitchen. “As usual.”

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin perked up when Obi-Wan came in, pointedly ignoring Quinlan. He gestured at the mess in front of him. “I have lightsaber components.”

“I can see that,” Obi-Wan teased. He avoided Threepio’s flustered chatter and took a seat next to Shmi, who appeared to be reading about the properties of kyber on her datapad. He placed his caf and his crystal gently on the table in front of him, setting the kyber next to the glowing yellow-green crystal that Anakin had brought back from the caves. 

Anakin pushed him the box of lightsaber parts, and then returned to his work, eagerly intent on building his saber. Their bond hummed with his sense of resolve and relief, and Obi-Wan gave him back his own relief, meeting him in the middle, settling and relaxing into his presence. Anakin smiled gently, reaching for a focusing lens. 

“Why is it yellow, and Obi-Wan’s is blue?” Shmi asked abruptly, looking up from the datapad with a slightly perplexed expression. “Do the colors mean anything?”

“Yes, and no,” Anakin said thoughtfully, setting down the lens and picking up his crystal, studying it. “They all function the same regardless of color. I think they are all actually colorless in the cave, but when a Jedi is paired with a crystal by the Force it changes to harmonize with their personality.” 

Obi-Wan hummed negatively at the partially correct answer, and Anakin straightened at the noise, giving him a wide eyed look. “The different colors traditionally belonged to different schools of thought within the Jedi Order about the Force and the role of the Jedi in society. Personality is a reductive way to describe it.”

“Yes, Master,” Anakin huffed a laugh and relaxed. Obi-Wan had a sense that he’d given Anakin a powerful feeling of deja vu, and that he didn’t mind it at all. 

Quinlan pulled out his own lightsaber, and began to disassemble it with the Force, showing off a little for Shmi and pulling out his green crystal. Anakin gave him an annoyed look. “Put that away.”

Quinlan just smiled. “Green is, of course, the best color, and is associated with Jedi who follow the living Force. They prioritize using diplomacy,”—Obi-Wan snorted, and Anakin grinned at the sound—“diplomacy,” Quinlan repeated himself, smirking. “I’ve investigated the use of the dark side and done other covert work for the Council of First Knowledge. Spywork takes a great deal of diplomacy.”

“Master Qui-Gon also had a green blade, and he was no spy,” Obi-Wan said, thinking back to the rich, vibrant color. The feeling of grief inside was mixed with a sense of pride and humor. “He followed the living Force to a degree that frustrated other Jedi. He trusted that the Force would offer the solution to a conflict, if you let it, even if it came in the form of a dream or a prophecy, or an unexpected ally.” 

Anakin gave him a small smile. “He was very dangerous when he was pushed to it, though. He was a formidable warrior.”

“He was,” Obi-Wan agreed quietly. “The best.”

The small kitchen was quiet for a moment, the memory of Qui-Gon was very present. Obi-Wan remembered the peace on his face when he’d seen him in the cave, the confidence he’d had in him. He began to work on his lightsaber again, and it was like Qui-Gon was there. He picked up his crystal, studying the rich sapphire color, and spoke absently. “I suppose that if they are followers of the living Force, I’m a follower of the cosmic Force.” 

“Cosmic?” Shmi asked. 

“Or unifying,” Obi-Wan amended. He held his kyber, listening to the complexity of its song in the Force. “I feel the structure of things, the natural rules and order that they follow, or are supposed to. I’m very aware of the ways that things diverge from the way the Force wants to flow, and feel called to fix it when systems are out of balance.” 

“With a lightsaber,” Anakin said with pride. “You always knew when you had to defend the weak and uphold the laws with your blade, and you were the best swordsman in the Order. My first lightsaber was blue too, I wanted so much to follow your example.” 

“Aww,” Quinlan interjected.

Anakin ignored him, his eyes still fixed on Obi-Wan, so full of affection that Obi-Wan felt almost too seen. “You want nothing more than to police the entire galaxy, and make everybody play by the rules of—” He switched to his imitation of Obi-Wan’s Coruscanti accent, which had not improved, and Obi-Wan had a sense never would, “—symbiosis, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan scowled at him, but felt the warmth of Anakin’s regard in the Force, and knew that it was meant well. “Yes, well. I suppose I’m glad you remember that term at least.”

Anakin laughed and Shmi gave him a fond look. “And why is your crystal yellow?”

“My Padawan’s lightsaber was this color,” Anakin said affectionately, running his finger along the uneven edge of the kyber. “It was her off-hand blade. She fought Jar’kai. When I needed her in the caves, she was there.” He repeated himself quietly. “She was there.”

Obi-Wan locked eyes with Quinlan for a moment, and then they both turned to look at Anakin. “You had a Padawan at 22?”

“20,” Anakin corrected him blithely, like that wasn’t the most insane fact Obi-Wan had ever heard. He pulled his finger away from the kyber, and frowned, his good humor fading. “This color is fairly rare among Knights though. The… the Temple Guards are the ones who carry yellow lightsabers…”

“The Temple has guards?” Shmi asked curiously, when Anakin trailed off. 

“Yes. It did. It does.” Anakin swallowed thickly and Obi-Wan caught a flurry of negative memories in the bond—his blade crossing theirs, cutting them down in anger, one after another, to get inside, to cleanse—Anakin took a bracing breath, letting the memories go. “I hope it means the Force sees me as one of them this time.”

“Yellow blades are service-oriented, generally,” Obi-Wan said, noting the frisson of fear he’d felt at the unintentionally shared memory, and trying to accept it. Vader had done monstrous things, he knew that, but was one thing to know and another thing to see. He cleared his throat, and continued. “Yellow is associated with how the Force is embodied in the acts of service of the Jedi, wherever they are. It’s about concrete action and application, not philosophy.” He looked back at the lightsaber components and picked out the correct power cell and pommel cap, only one step away from finishing his hilt. Just had to assemble it and add kyber.  

The kitchen was quiet again, and Obi-Wan felt Anakin’s persistent discomfort in the bond at the memories that the topic of conversation had unintentionally roused. He studied his young face, still slightly downcast, the yellow kyber in his hand, as if he was holding back from finishing his blade, as if he didn’t know if he should.  

Obi-Wan spoke gently, “I think the Force felt your desire to serve the galaxy, and make it better, Anakin. It gave you the tool you needed to accomplish that goal.”

“You think so?” Anakin looked at him with wide, imploring eyes. 

Obi-Wan nodded seriously. “It was not given to you by mistake, Padawan. You proved something important to the Force, and I hope to yourself.”

Anakin nodded back, mirroring his posture and exhaling hard. He closed his eyes and lifted a hand, visibly concentrating. Obi-Wan’s breath caught as Anakin finished his lightsaber swiftly, like a Master. It was a beautiful, controlled use of the Force, the expertise so incongruous with his child’s body. The small hilt of his completed saber was like Master Yoda’s, tiny and perfect for his hand.

He looked at it with an amused smile, and then back at Obi-Wan. “Are you ready?”

Obi-Wan smiled, and then closed his eyes, raising a hand. He felt all the parts before him in the Force, and began to knit them together, joining them at an atomic level into one solid piece. His kyber slotted neatly into place, and the blade returned down to the table. 

“C’mon, I want to see,” Quinlan whined. “This is taking forever.”

Obi-Wan laughed. He picked up his lightsaber, and raised an eyebrow at Anakin. They both ignited the sabers, and the kitchen was immediately full of the resonant hum and crackle. The play of the colored light was so eye-catching, so beautiful. Anakin’s blade was bright and warm, like a summer sun, and the blue of Obi-Wan’s was so rich and vibrant. The hilt felt just right in his hand, and holding it was like coming home. 

“Nice,” Quinlan said, tipping back in his chair and enjoying the view. 

Shmi leaned forward, fascinated. “They are beautiful.”

“Thanks, mom,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan smiled at the amount of love and pride woven into those two words. “I always wanted to show you, before. The first time. I was so proud of it, and I was sure you would be too.”

“I am,” Shmi said, infinitely gentle. She opened her arms. “I always was.”

Anakin retracted his blade, and carefully set it on the table, and rushed into a hug. Shmi kissed his hair, and held him for a moment. 

Obi-Wan looked away, feeling that it was almost too private to witness. He mirrored Anakin in retracting his blade and setting it down with care. He stared at it, feeling its heartbeat in the Force, hearing its encouraging, almost demanding song. “What are we going to do with them?”

“What?” Anakin surfaced from his hug, his voice slightly thick. 

“What now, Anakin?” Obi-Wan gestured toward their finished lightsabers. “What are we going to do with them?”

“For now?” Anakin hopped back up in his chair, and held the hilt in his hands like he was warming them. “Train, mostly. I need to get my body back, and we have to travel a long way for that to happen.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Will you explain how? I’m very tired of not knowing how this supposed miracle is going to occur.”

Anakin grimaced. “It’s more a question of explaining who.”

Quinlan looked up sharply and swore under his breath. He gave Anakin a knowing, dirty look. “Is that why you were asking about Dathomir?” 

“Dathomir?” Obi-Wan’s jaw dropped slightly. “The Nightsisters use the dark side, Anakin.”

Anakin shifted in his seat, his expression cagy. “Their Force tradition is different, yes, but it‘s in harmony with its environment, Obi-Wan! They are in symbiosis with their planet. It’s just when they look off their planet that things go wrong.”

Obi-Wan stared at him. “We’re from off planet.” 

“They hate men.” Quinlan sounded like he knew from experience, and Obi-Wan frowned at him. Quinlan waved off his concern. “They might listen to Shmi, but they will not waste a drop of their Magick on a male. They view us as disposable slaves. Breeding stock at best.” His voice was bitter. 

Anakin nodded quickly. “I know that. I know. I’m going to bring a lost Nightsister as a bribe. Bringing her will hopefully get me an audience.” 

Quinlan sounded extremely dubious. “A lost Nightsister? They don’t just get lost.”

Anakin nodded again, hopping up from his seat and beginning to pace. “Because of… events… in the future, I know that Mother Talzin was forced to give a baby girl to a pirate as a slave in order to buy the Clan’s safety. I know where she is and can get her. That should buy me some goodwill, I think.” He turned to face them, shrugging hopefully. “Enough not to get killed on sight.” 

Quinlan looked very much as if he wanted to mutiny. Obi-Wan cut him off with a repressive wave of his hand. “Where is she?”

“Rattatak.” 

“Where the kriff is that?” Quinlan asked sullenly. 

Anakin looked apologetic for the first time. “Western Reaches.”

“That’s on the other side of the galaxy! That’s literally as far from here as it is possible to get!”  

“I know,” Anakin sighed. “But we have to give Talzin time to consolidate her rule, apparently! You said so yourself. So that is fine. We have years before the Separatist Crisis even begins! I’m not in a hurry. We have to let Sidious move his pieces for now, remember?”

Quinlan put his face in his hands, his elbows on the table, burying a scream. Obi-Wan laughed, and patted him on the back in consolation. 

“As you can see, Masters,” Chancellor Palpatine said gravely, gesturing toward the frozen holo on his desk. It was clearly an image of Quinlan Vos and Anakin Skywalker running. “This report that I received from the Senate Bureau of Intelligence was quite distressing to me.”

“On Jedi property, they are,” Yoda said carefully. “Discover this image, how did you?”

Mace noticed his tone, and kept his face neutral. He’d been summoned with Yoda and half the Council to the Supreme Chancellor’s office in order to talk about the unrest in the Andoan system, and the weapon smuggling that was causing a significant threat to the demilitarization of the sector. Why was this the final point? Yoda’s caution was well warranted.

“That is a long story,” Palpatine said, sitting back in his chair. As usual it was impossible to tell if he was lying. Politicians. “I admit that I was worried about the fate of young Anakin, after he did so much for my home planet and then disappeared. It seems I was right to be concerned. He podraced illegally on Tatooine and is currently being pursued by the Hutts.”

“Illegally?” Mace clarified. “I was under the impression that podracing was legal there.”

“My sources tell me that racing in the Hutt circuit is much like gambling at casinos—you cannot be Force sensitive and participate. It’s an unfair advantage. The Hutts found out that he’d been to see the Jedi, and have unfortunately put out a bounty on his head. He lost them all quite a bit of money.”

Mace made sideways eye contact with Yoda, communicating their mutual confusion in a flash. He turned to study Palpatine’s face and asked, as if it didn’t matter, “Were you keeping track of Anakin when he returned to Tatooine?”

Palpatine looked genuinely surprised. “Oh, no! When I was informed by my liaison in Queen Amidala’s office that a bounty had been posted, I asked the SBI to look into it further. They discovered this evidence of him participating in a burglary with this man on Ord Mantell.”

“This man,” Ki-Adi-Mundi scoffed. “That’s—”

“An internal Jedi matter, this is.” Yoda raised a hand, and sounded final. “Of no concern to the Senate. Take care of it, we will.”

“Very well,” Palpatine said, his eyes sad. He stood to walk them to the door. “Do hurry. I would hate to see him hurt. He’s quite the hero to my people.”

“Of course, Chancellor,” Mace said, smiling politely. “We will do our best to resolve this situation quickly.”

“Hmm,” Yoda said, in agreement, and led the way out. 

The small Jedi was moving quickly, his stick tapping, his expression intent. Mace just tried to keep up, grateful that Yoda seemed for once to be in a mood to walk fast. They did not speak, but communicated a great deal. Someone was looking for Anakin, and using any means necessary to do it, from the Hutts to the Jedi Council, the highest levels of the Republic government to the deepest reaches of its intelligence community. 

The group of Jedi Masters talked quietly among themselves as they moved through the Senate Rotunda back to their shuttle. Mace appreciated the way the crowd of people parted before them, otherwise they would have never made it through. There was a recess between sessions, and the hallways were full of staffers hustling between delegations, making deals and trading favors to pass legislation.

Mace had a very limited amount of patience at the moment, and the crush of people was trying. He almost wanted to snap at Master C’baoth, the Order’s expert on Andoan demilitarization, who was happily holding them up greeting the freshman Senator from Alderaan. Mace did breathing exercises, and smiled at Bail Antilles for a moment before passing by toward the door leading out to the docking area. 

Yoda was waiting for him inside the Jedi shuttlebus, his ability to slip through crowds made Mace slightly jealous. “Troubling this is,” Yoda said, voice hushed, peering up with a worried expression. “A tool of the Sith, the Chancellor is. Doing their bidding, he is. Important, this boy is. Too important.”

The rest of the Council slowly filled the shuttle, and they pulled away from the dock, returning to the Temple. Mace stared out at the infinite cityscape of Coruscant and considered his options about how to proceed. If the Sith were really after the boy like this, if Obi-Wan and Quinlan weren’t just being paranoid, if they really knew something the Jedi didn’t, if the Sith had plans for the boy that were this important… After a few minutes, he muttered, “We need to find them.”

“Yes,” Yoda said quietly, and then poked him with his stick. “You do.”

“Me?”

“Leave Coruscant, I cannot now. Just returned from the Wookies, I have. Your turn, it is.”

Mace looked intentionally at the other Council members, directing Yoda’s attention. “Should we..?”

“Not yet,” Yoda shook his head, his ears twitching. He seemed very disturbed, and Mace understood why. “Not yet.”

Mace nodded slightly. “I’ll get them.”

The spaceport of the capital city of Cuipernam was located just outside the city, where the urban core transitioned into the open, rolling plains that made up much of Ansion’s landmass. The wind blew fiercely, and over the millenia it had shaped the hills to look like ripples from above. The grass was thick and looked like waves as the wind blew through it. 

The sky was very large under such an open landscape. It was a lovely spring day on the planet, and the sun was warm, though the wind made it a bit chilly. Anakin shifted the box of meiloorun fruit in his arms, and looked up at Obi-Wan. “Yeah, we came here before.”

“Did we?” Obi-Wan was pulling the handcart stacked with boxes of supplies, and seemed slightly distracted by pulling it without hitting anyone else on the crowded road. “Why? When?”

“Late in the Separatist Crisis. I think it was actually our last mission before the war began. The whole planet was like a powederkeg, and it was tied by alliances with forty other systems. If they’d seceded, the Republic would have lost all of them.”

“Seriously?” Obi-Wan made a face. “This world cannot possibly have that much strategic importance. It’s barely Mid-Rim, almost in Wild Space, barely even developed enough to have a spaceport.”

“Master, it’s at the junction of the Namadii Corridor and the Murgo Choke.”

“But those are… minor routes.”

Anakin shrugged. “It’s the center of a web of alliances out here. The Separatists wanted to excise this whole section of the New Territories from the Republic. You know the Republic is crumbling on the edges. This is the edge.”

“Blast,” Obi-Wan swore quietly, and apologized to the Ansionian he’d almost bumped into with the cart. “Sorry!”

The Ansionian laughed it off, pushing past them. “No problem! Busy day!”

“I’ll say,” Obi-Wan grumbled. He gave Anakin a sideways look. “You shouldn’t have come, you know that right?”

“You’ve said so approximately fifty times, Master.” Anakin scowled. “Like you said, it’s barely anywhere. I’m fine.” Obi-Wan just didn’t understand how nice it was; Anakin had discovered it in the markets of Ord Mantell. After decades of being Darth Vader, it was just so nice to feel invisible, a normal person among people.

He hadn’t understood before exactly how alienating it had been to be met with a sea of fear everywhere he went as a Sith Lord. Or he had known exactly how alienating it was, and had enjoyed and appreciated it. In Vader’s eyes, all subordinates had needed to be motivated out of their natural lazy cowardice—fear was a powerful motivator, and he was above all of them. 

Vader was the Emperor’s strong right hand, the extension and enforcement of his will. Fear was the point.

Darth Sidious had taught Vader to hold everyone else in contempt for their weakness, their unimportance. It had been addictive to be the most important person in every room—whenever the Emperor was absent, anyway. Vader had enjoyed how the world stood at trembling attention for him, and shaped itself around his will. 

He didn’t want that anymore. 

There was nothing like strolling around an open air market with Obi-Wan on a sunny spring day, buying food he would be able to eat, just another person in a crowd. Vader would have hated it, and Anakin would have been bored, probably, the first time. We never truly know the value of what we have until we lose it. 

“It’s the closest refueling point from Ilum,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “It’s likely that—”

“Master!” Anakin shouted, and dropped his box, jumping to push him to the side. The Force surged with danger, and Obi-Wan barely dodged a blaster shot. 

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan said sharply, in his I-told-you-so-look-how-I’m-right tone of voice, and Anakin huffed a stressed laugh. 

The shots continued, and the crowd began to panic. Anakin ducked behind their hovercart with Obi-Wan, and reached out with the Force. “I sense there are two!”

“Ouch!” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin’s eyes widened. He wasn’t carrying his lightsaber, or even a blaster—Ansion was not that kind of spaceport, he'd barely touched his saber, hadn't felt ready, hadn't thought he'd needed it. Obi-Wan had just gotten a graze from a high-energy blaster bolt that had punched through their cart, and Anakin felt his control begin to slip away. 

The visual of Obi-Wan twisting to cringe around an injured arm was burned on his retinas; he could see it with his eyes closed; it was all he could see. His emotions were so strong, the dark side so close, he felt himself begin to draw on the power before he realized what he was doing.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan shouted, and Vader ignored him. He stood up and began brushing aside the blaster bolts like they were flies. He stepped around the cart, walking directly forward toward the source of the fire, letting his reach in the Force extend out to the hands holding the blasters—two bounty hunters had been hiding in the main entry door to the spaceport, a Twi’lek and a Rhodian. 

Vader broke their arms with a twitch of his fingers, and then tossed them back against the wall hard enough to break their necks. They slumped to the ground like broken dolls. 

“That’s certainly one solution for the problem,” a stern, deeply familiar voice said from behind him. 

Vader whipped around to see Master Windu standing in the middle of the road, looking untouched by the chaos around him, his face extremely unamused. It was like a nightmare he’d had before, and his hand jumped to where his saber should be, but it wasn’t there—the ghost of the man he’d killed before him, the avatar of judgement.

Windu’s eyes were sharp and his own hand moved to his saber. Vader raised his hand defensively, the dark side coiling around him—and then was suddenly moving. Obi-Wan had picked him up and was physically carrying him away from Windu. He made a hurt little noise, adjusting Anakin in his arms, and then hissed angrily. “Sith hells, you idiot.”

Vos was running toward them, and Obi-Wan tipped his head back toward Windu behind them, and Vos nodded. “We’re fueled up.”

“Great,” Obi-Wan huffed. Anakin squirmed, and Obi-Wan just crushed him against his chest harder, not letting him move. His injured arm was wrapped around his back, his other beneath his knees. Anakin huffed at the indignity of it, his hold on the Force sliding away. 

“What the kriff was that?” Obi-Wan spoke in a clipped, angry voice.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin said, and slumped in his arms, letting him carry him the rest of the way through the chaotic spaceport. “I lost control.”

Obi-Wan scoffed loudly, his arms tightening. “I’m well aware of that.” 

“I killed him, before,” Anakin whispered, remembering the moment vividly—the wind, the fear, the lightning. “It was the one I couldn’t take back. After that, I couldn’t turn back.”

“Good to know,” Obi-Wan said, voice tight. He set Anakin down roughly on his feet, having arrived at the ramp of their ship. Shmi was standing at the top, looking worried. Obi-Wan pushed him up the ramp like a misbehaving child, and Anakin didn't fight him, letting himself be herded back up into the ship.

He reached out in the Force, sensing a flash of Obi-Wan’s fear, pain, and frustration before Obi-Wan noticed his presence, and shoved a wave of calm-down at him, flooding the bond with a tranquilizing sense of security. Anakin looked up at him to see Obi-Wan studying his face, a line between his eyebrows as he frowned.

“I’m ok,” Anakin said, blushing and looking away, beginning to feel very embarrassed. The repercussions of his loss of control began to spin through his mind, playing out all possible results. “I know. I know I messed up.”

Obi-Wan sighed deeply, his I-told-you-so so loud in the bond that it wasn’t necessary for him to speak. They headed to the ship’s small medical bay, and found Shmi activating the 2-1B medical droid. Obi-Wan sat down on the examination table, carefully rolling up the sleeve of his tunic and exposing the small wound from the graze.

Anakin looked at it closely, and then sighed with relief. It was a minor wound, and bacta would fix it up quickly. He’d been so afraid—he hated the sound of Obi-Wan in pain, he always had.

“I’ll be fine, Anakin,” Obi-Wan reassured him, his presence in the Force still laced with a suggestion for Anakin to be calm. Anakin didn’t resist the instruction, but rather clung to it, leaning into it in the Force, breathing it like fresh air. 

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“Master?” Windu was standing in the door of the medical bay, watching him. Anakin didn’t jump, but only due to Obi-Wan’s interference. “What is going on?”

“Umm,” Anakin said blankly. 

Vos pushed past Windu and came to examine Obi-Wan’s arm too. “I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Yes,” Windu agreed with a glower, crossing his arms. “He was completely unhelpful.”

Anakin huffed a laugh despite himself, and allowed the medical droid to push him aside to reach Obi-Wan. “I guess you have some redeeming qualities, Vos.”

“What is going on?” Windu repeated, more emphatic. “What did I just see? Why have you been running? Why did you illegally visit Ilum? Why?”

Obi-Wan, Vos, and Shmi all looked at Anakin, and Anakin grimaced. He looked up at Windu’s frustrated face, and tried to come up with the right amount of information to pass on. “I’m… I’m from the future, Master.”

“What?” Windu shook his head, as if that was completely absurd. “Explain.”

Anakin picked at the fabric of his sleeve, unable to look at him anymore. “My body is ten but my mind is older. I was trained as a Jedi, fell to the Sith, died repentant, and then the Force sent my consciousness back to Naboo so I could make things right.”

“What?” Windu processed the information for a long moment, and then rubbed his temples with finger and thumb, exhausted. “That was all your fault?”

Anakin’s eyes widened. “What was?”

“Apparently you shattered and remade the shape of the Force by coming back.”

Anakin looked worriedly at Obi-Wan who shrugged in apology, and then winced as the movement tugged on his injury. “I thought the disturbance in the Force was just me, that I was not a neutral observer.”

“No,” Windu said dryly. “Not just you.”

“Fuck,” Anakin whispered, and rubbed his face with his hands, slumping back against the nearest wall. “Sidious probably knows something’s wrong. He doesn’t know what, but he knows and is suspicious. Of course he is.” 

“Sidious?”

“Darth Sidious, the Sith Master.”

“You know where he is?”

“Yes, and I’m not telling you.” Windu made a very unimpressed noise, and Anakin shook his head emphatically. “You cannot know. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

Anakin opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to figure out how to explain. “Because it’s not time yet.” 

“But—”

“Dathomir.” Obi-Wan interjected, and then hissed as the medical droid finished the bandage with a small tug. He looked at Anakin intently. “Once you have your body back. You will tell them then. You promised I could decide. I decide on then.”

Anakin did some mental calculations, and then sighed. “Fine.” 

“Excuse me,” Windu said, indignant, “but—”

“Here’s a compromise,” Anakin said, standing up straight and making direct eye contact with Windu. “I won’t tell you who the current Master is, but I will tell you who the last one was—that way you will understand how precarious our position is, and how much damage a mistake could cause. Do not use this information to investigate. Do not use this information at all. Only know it, and understand the scope of the problem.”

Windu nodded reluctantly. “Who?”

“Hego Damask.”

“The Muun?” Windu blinked, processing the information. “The corrupt Banking Clan—”

Vos cut him off, his voice disgruntled. “Turns out it wasn’t bribery like we thought.” 

“But Damask Holdings…” Windu trailed off. “The Banking Clan is a private empire. They own half the galaxy.”

“You begin to understand.” Anakin nodded once, and put his hands on his hips. “The Sith are more powerful than you can possibly understand at the moment—the damage they have done over generations has pushed the Republic past the brink of collapse. It no longer functions. The Sith Master has a plan to rip it apart, slaughter the Jedi, eradicate the Order, and declare it an Empire. In my last life, he succeeded. This is the scale of what we are working on here.” 

Windu stared at him, and the medical bay was very quiet. Shmi turned off the medical droid, putting it away, and Windu sat down on a stool by the door, his face blank. Eventually he asked, his voice subdued. “Can it be saved? If the Master is killed?”

“Good luck,” Anakin laughed at the idea. “He’s untouchable. Don’t bother trying to find him.”

“But the Republic,” Windu repeated, intent. “Can it even be saved? Reformed?”

Obi-Wan scoffed, and began ticking off a list on his fingers, as if each item was an impossibility. “You’d have to rewrite the constitution, move the capital off of Coruscant, purge corrupt officials, hold elections, and enforce the laws, for a start.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, startled. He hadn’t mentioned any of that before. “But you hate politics.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan admitted readily, shifting in his seat. “Because I understand it. I’ve been thinking ever since I learned about the scale of the problem.” 

Windu stared at him, reading between the lines. “You want there to be a coup? You want the Jedi to seize—”

“Not necessarily.” Obi-Wan said quickly, and then winced. “But maybe.” 

“That’s…” Windu was at a loss for words. Anakin felt a small tug of sympathy for him, and it surprised him. “So your plan is what, exactly?”

Anakin grimaced. “At the moment? Do nothing. Business as usual. We have years and years, Master.”

“But…” Windu looked very unhappy. “You want us to just ignore the Sith? Serve an irredeemably corrupt Senate? Do nothing?” 

“You’ve done a good enough job so far!” Anakin snapped, and then he sighed, and spread his arms in a gesture of hopelessness and apology. “You cannot in any way signal that the Jedi think there is anything unusual going on. At all. Anything. The Sith would see it, and view it as a threat. They think they have you cornered, weak and arrogant. You must continue to let them think that. I am trusting you not to investigate this now, Master. Please.”

Windu’s face was blank, but Anakin could sense his inner turmoil in the Force. It was shockingly out of character for the controlled Master Jedi, who only ever lost his temper while he was fighting, and even then it was on purpose and directed. Anakin had never sensed a reaction from him before, never like this. Eventually he stood up from his stool, straightening his tabards with a sharp jerk. “Can I tell Yoda about you? Who you are, and what you know?”

“That I have travelled in time? Yes. Anything else? No.” 

“Dathomir.” Obi-Wan interjected.

Anakin rolled his eyes. “He can come to Dathomir. We’ll have a nice little summit.”

Windu raised an eyebrow, unamused. “And when might that be?”

“A few months probably? We will contact you.”

“Very well,” Windu said, as if the words tasted like ash in his mouth. “We will do nothing. I will return to the Temple and tell them that… I’ve assigned Vos as your handler, and there was miscommunication but no burglary. I will attempt to prevent you from being wanted by the Republic.” 

Vos perked up, grinning, and Anakin rolled his eyes, bowing slightly in gratitude. Windu sighed, turning to go. He paused by the door, giving Anakin a last, shrewd look. “By the way, the Hutts have a bounty out on you for podracing while being Force sensitive. That’s probably who those two were, you know, the ones who you killed in a worrying display of the dark side of the Force.”

“The Hutts?” Anakin stiffened, and then wanted to throw something. “Fucking Sidious. Pain in my ass.” 

“We’re working on the dark side,” Obi-Wan said quickly, giving Anakin a disappointed, repressive look. “The caves at Ilum accepted him. He’s doing better.”

Windu hummed, skeptical. Anakin felt himself flush under his observation, and hated how the Master’s cool gaze could still make him feel like a small child, flawed and needy, not good enough for the Jedi Order. 

“You’ll need a new identity beacon as soon as you can. Not that I’m endorsing any particular crime,” Windu clarified, “but they’ve clearly been able to track you, as I have. You need to do a better job of disappearing. Everyone is looking for you. I mean everyone.”

Anakin glared at Vos who shrugged. “We will, Master.”

Windu just shook his head and sighed, defeated. “May the Force be with you all.” 

“May the Force be with you too.” Anakin bowed again, watching him leave. 

“I’ll go take off,” Vos suggested, turning the statement into a question. 

“Yeah,” Anakin said, sitting down heavily on the stool that Windu had vacated, and put his head in his hands. “You do that.”

“Anakin—” Obi-Wan began, his tone admonitory. 

“Don’t, Master. I know.” Anakin swallowed, mind racing. “I know.”

It was sunrise in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. 

Yoda paused for a moment by the heavy wooden doors that framed the entrance to the long hall. He inhaled the familiar combination scent of flowers, lush greenery, and wet soil. The air was warm and humid, full of the sound of running water, and it was growing brighter. 

He looked up to appreciate the sophisticated holoprojection suspended above, seven stories high, that created an illusion of a day-and-night cycle in the room, and was capable of mimicking the skies of a hundred worlds. It was a soft, dusky pink that he associated with the sun rising behind the mountains of Alderaan. 

Several walking paths of dirt, gravel, and ornate cut stone diverged in front of him, leading away from the doors out toward the waterfall in the heart of the chamber. The paths wound between dense copses of trees and crisscrossed between displays of exotic foliage, and were lined with benches that encouraged meditation. 

Yoda chose a dirt path, and slowly made his way toward a gazebo tucked in the back corner of the hall favored by the Council when they chose to meet in this peaceful place. He’d received an early message from young Mace, and had been awake—both of them were disturbed by the information that he’d shared upon his return from Ansion. 

He discovered that Mace was standing next to the gazebo, staring into the pool of a small waterfall, and appeared lost in thought. Yoda came to stand next to him, and made eye contact in the reflection of the water. 

“Good morning, Master,” Mace said quietly. “Thank you for coming.”

“Troubled you are, if the garden you seek.”

Mace nodded in acknowledgement, and then led the way into the elegant gazebo behind them, settling down onto one of the meditation pillows provided. “I admit I am feeling lost.”

“An attachment, you have,” Yoda said sternly, settling down onto a pillow of his own, laying his stick on his lap. He gave Mace a pointed look. “A secret love.”

Mace’s expression didn’t change. “What do you mean?”

“The Republic, your love, it is. Do anything you would, to preserve it.” 

“You are right.” Mace rubbed his face thoughtfully. “I would give anything and everything, including my life, for the Republic.” 

Yoda processed his words, listening to the Force as best he could. There was a hard line to Mace’s face, an edge to his presence in the Force, that Yoda didn’t much like. “An extremist, you have become, willing to violate Jedi philosophy on its behalf.” 

Mace frowned, his eyes challenging. “You think trusting Anakin was a violation of Jedi philosophy?”

Yoda hummed. “Use the dark side, he did. Killed with it, he did.” He gave another pointed look, and Mace nodded in acknowledgement. “Let him go, you did. Why?”

“I was… I admit I was emotionally compromised by what he said.” 

Yoda pointed at him with his stick, poking it forward slightly in accusation. “Because of your attachment to the Republic.” 

“The Republic is civilization.” Mace stressed the last word, his hands unsettled on his lap. “Jedi fight for civilization, because only civilization creates peace. Without civilization, peace is not possible.” 

“Peace at all costs, then, hmm? The Republic at all costs?”

Mace frowned at him. “The fall of the Republic means the fall of the Jedi Order too. I would do anything to preserve the Order. Wouldn’t you?”

“Anything?” Yoda’s ears twitched, and he felt taken aback. “Dangerous that is. The Jedi Order, made of Jedi, it is. Behave like Jedi, we must. Lose our values, we cannot.” 

Mace stood up, no longer able to sit still. He paced away, and then turned back. “Behaving ‘like Jedi’ has let the Republic slide into decadence on our watch! We’ve been blind and passive for too long, Master! We didn’t see what was right in front of us.” 

Yoda stiffened, his grip tightening on his stick. “Blame the Jedi for the machinations of the Sith, you should not.” 

Mace exhaled hard, and rubbed his face again, smoothing his expression. “Of course, Master. I am sorry. But if we make every right choice, and it leads to our annihilation, doesn't that mean that our criteria of what is a right choice is wrong?”

“Our criteria, a thousand years of peace, it has maintained! Too young, you are. Forgotten, the galaxy has, the thousands of years of war between Jedi and Sith.” 

“You can’t keep trying to prevent the last war, Yoda. We have to prevent the next one. We have to stop the one that’s already begun.” 

Yoda was silent, rolling his stick in his hands. He dipped his head forward, accepting the point. “Meditate on this, I will. Time I have, it seems until meet with Anakin, I can.” 

Mace sat back down on his pillow, his body heavy. “I’m grateful Vos miscalculated about the beacon. The mystery of why they ran is settled at least.” 

Yoda hummed agreement. “Right Vos was, about Ilum. Know they were there, we did not, until gone they were.” 

Mace laughed without humor. “We wouldn’t even have known to check the logs if the SBI hadn’t been able to look at internal Jedi security holograms and alert the Chancellor that they’d been on Ord Mantell.” 

“Aware of the theft, the local ExplorCorps was not. News to them, it was.” Yoda sighed, disturbed by the sequence of events. “The missing beacon, taken it was, from a ship that had not been serviced in weeks. Strange, this is, that the SBI would know what the Jedi did not.”

Mace grimaced, equally disturbed. “The SBI knew to look at the ExplorCorps on Ord Mantell, and that could have only happened if they had tracked the ship there—but the only ones who could have tracked him were the Hutts, and he left days before they put out their bounty. How did the Hutts know to track him?” 

“Knew where he was, the Sith did, but know where he was going, the Sith did not.”

“You think the Sith is the link between the Hutts and the SBI?”

“Lucky to see this link, we are.” Yoda chuckled, feeling a swell of fondness for the troublesome Knight. “Lucky we were, that foolish Vos was.”

“You idiot,” Obi-Wan laughed, and kicked Quinlan in the back of the knee.

Quinlan staggered, but didn’t fall. He’d sneakily added an additional motion to his attack, slapping Obi-Wan in the back of the head. He giggled and turned around and opened his arms in challenge. “Is that all you’ve got, Oafy-Wan?”

Obi-Wan inhaled, his eyes filling with fire. How dare he use that nickname, Obi-Wan hated that name! He dropped his lightsaber, and jumped him. 

Quinlan yelped as Obi-Wan easily took him to the floor, grappling him and getting him in a headlock before he began to fight back. Lightsaber practice quickly devolved into a wrestling match full of unsportsmanlike conduct. 

“Hey!” Anakin shouted from across the cargo hold, annoyed. 

Obi-Wan huffed and regained his advantage, escaping Quinlan’s hold and reversing their position, pinning him to the floor. Quinlan squirmed for a moment, but Obi-Wan held him down until he grumbled, “Solah.” 

Obi-Wan laughed victoriously, and rolled off, staring up at the row of lights on the ceiling of the cargo bay and catching his breath. 

Quinlan hopped up, wiping his brow with his shirt and grimacing. He offered a hand and pulled Obi-Wan up.  “I’m done for the day.”

“Lazy,” Obi-Wan chastised him. 

“Tired,” Quinlan countered in a similar tone of voice. He looked at Anakin and did a falsely formal bow as if to a supervising Master. “May I be dismissed?”

“Get out of here,” Anakin huffed, waving a hand. 

Quinlan bowed again, and shot Obi-Wan a smirk. Obi-Wan kicked at him again, and Quin danced away, laughing. He left, and Obi-Wan turned back to Anakin, an exasperated look on his face.

“You were doing very well before Vos decided he was done,” Anakin complimented him. 

Obi-Wan felt a swoop of warmth, flush with pride. He figured it was even true—he could feel that his form was getting better and better each day. 

Anakin had been watching them do partner practice, a paired kata, Obi-Wan defending in Form III. Quinlan had been drafted into attacking Obi-Wan as he drilled, because Anakin wasn’t confident enough in his body yet to be able to move quickly and accurately enough to keep up with Obi-Wan in Soresu. Quinlan barely could, whenever Obi-Wan lost the pace of the drill and began to move too fast. 

Anakin had stopped his own practice to watch them work. Obi-Wan was impressed with his progress too—he’d been getting better every day, drilling in Form IV, Ataru, which was the form used by Master Yoda. It was the best for his tiny, agile build. He flipped and spun extremely quickly. He had a Master’s understanding of manipulating the Force, and a clumsy child’s body. From what Obi-Wan could discern about Darth Vader, he’d been very tall, strong, and heavy. 

Anakin was currently none of those things.

Over the last few weeks, as they snuck around the galaxy, he’d become more and more accustomed to his body, but not enough to spar with Obi-Wan. He was currently sulking, sitting on one of the engines of his pod, and attempting to coach Obi-Wan in Soresu instead. 

Obi-Wan came to stand by his pod, catching his breath. Anakin looked at him curiously at his approach. Things had been slightly awkward since Ansion, but the weeks had softened it. Obi-Wan knew that Anakin hadn’t meant to lose control, execute the bounty hunters, and almost attack Master Windu, but still—Obi-Wan had rarely felt a swell of fear as strong as when he saw the golden eyes shining from the furious face of the small boy, so saturated in the dark side, his hand rising as if to attack. 

He smiled slightly. “We’ve gotten through movements one through three. We should do four through six now.”

“Sure.” Anakin smiled at him. He hopped off his pod and followed Obi-Wan over to the area that had been turned into an informal dojo in the cargo hold. He had been giving Obi-Wan all the modifications to the kata that Obi-Wan had discovered in the future, all the subtle improvements to the movements that improved flow and power of the strikes. It felt like cheating, but it also was the most satisfying thing Obi-Wan had ever done. 

He’d drilled Form III since he was a young teen, and had a solid mastery of the traditional stances and motions. He knew well that Soresu was all about building momentum through constant blade movement, while maintaining economy of motion with tight moves, subtle dodges, and efficient parries. It was about endurance and survival more than anything else.

Anakin was showing him tiny things—a shift of weight here, a shoulder down there, a slightly tilted wrist and a new breathing pattern—that cumulatively functioned like a revelation. The form opened up before him, and it felt so right. He’d always wanted to outlast and outwit his opponents, but the offensive form he’d studied was full of invitations to give in to his sometimes-hotheaded impulses. 

Modified Soresu made him truly feel like the eye of the storm that he’d heard his instructors droning on about for years. He understood how to create a circle of shelter in a new, intuitive way, his tailored breathing pattern pulling him easily into the moving meditation. It was right for him, because it had been designed for him. 

Obi-Wan felt a surge of gratitude and respect for the man he would have become, and a sense of wonder. The Force was so kind to give him this. He didn’t need to feel jealous or intimidated, because it was him. It was how he’d found to be strong. 

Anakin was a surprisingly patient teacher, but a demanding one. Obi-Wan recognized himself, and heard his voice in Anakin’s, his own teaching methods echoed back. He could tell that he’d had high expectations for his Padawan, and his Padawan was holding him to exactly the same standard, if not higher. 

Obi-Wan was slightly surprised how well Anakin remembered the minutiae of the form, if he’d spent decades using a highly aggressive form of his own. They must have spent thousands of hours sparring before he fell, with those hours together carving those memories deep inside him. 

“First three,” Anakin said calmly.

Obi-Wan took a moment first to find his breath, returning his focus from the loose, chaotic moment before. He moved into the opening posture, and then with extreme slowness and precision, moved into left posture, blocking low, out through the straight thrust, then to the right, lightsaber rising to protect his face, blocking outward, cocking his wrist at an exact angle.

He froze in place, and Anakin walked around him, tapping him on the stomach to make him remember to hold in his core, his spine straight. “Good. To four.”

Obi-Wan turned his hips, slashing down across his body. “Five.” He stepped forward, spinning the blade, and using the momentum to strike high. “Six.” He pivoted and blocked, freezing in place with his lightsaber in neutral position.

“Good. Again.” 

Obi-Wan fell into the flow of practice, handing the control of his actions over to the voice of his instructor, repeating over and over, adjusting, and repeating again. Anakin was relentless and exacting, and he noticed everything. His calm repetition of the word again was so soothing to Obi-Wan even as it drove him closer and closer to exhaustion. 

“Again,” Anakin said, implacable. “You are still putting too much weight on the front foot between five and six.”

Obi-Wan’s muscles were trembling, his breathing coming hard. He kept in rhythm, sliding through the forms, letting the gyroscopic property of the lightsaber blade guide the linking of the motions. 

“You are overcorrecting. Again.”

Obi-Wan tried to keep himself from projecting his swell of irritation at himself and his mistake at Anakin for being too perceptive, too unforgiving. This is what he wanted, what he needed. Perfection, the pursuit of it, never there, but always closer. Seeking excellence, without compromise.

“Again.”

Obi-Wan took a moment to collect his breathing, and then let his body perform the movements without thinking, getting lost in the dance of it, reaching into the Force, balancing himself and his environment, aware of everything but not self-conscious. He stopped in the final stance, full of a sublime sense of satisfaction. 

“Good,” Anakin said, his voice warm. “Very good, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan dropped his arms, and turned off his lightsaber, exhausted. He couldn’t help but grinning at Anakin, and Anakin flooded the bond with approval. Obi-Wan did a bow that was halfway between mocking and serious. “Thank you, Master.”

“Stop,” Anakin huffed, growing slightly pink. “I’m just telling you what you told me, Master.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but patronizingly ruffle Anakin’s hair, making him squawk in indignation and then launch himself at Obi-Wan’s waist. He succeeded in knocking over an exhausted Obi-Wan, flipping him and leaning on his back, a small arm holding him in a headlock. “How embarrassing for you.”

Obi-Wan used his superior strength to roll on his side and reached back, making a frame with his arm across Anakin’s neck and pushing hard until he could swing his legs up and around, wrapping his knees around Anakin’s hips and pulling him off, pinning him to the ground and sitting on his chest in one smooth motion. He exhaled a laugh in victory, ruffling Anakin’s hair again. “I’m so glad I’ve learned fifty ways to incapacitate a feral child.” 

Anakin bit his hand as it withdrew. “Ouch! You…” Anakin laughed, and attempted to escape, making Obi-Wan scramble a bit to grab his arms and restrain him. “You insufferable little gremlin.”

“Boys!” Shmi was standing in the doorway, looking incredibly amused. “We’re going to revert to realspace in about 10 minutes.”

Anakin squirmed out of his hold, grinning at Shmi. “Thanks, mom!”

Asajj Ventress was running along the rim of a narrow canyon, the sun rising behind her. It was a summer morning that threatened heat, and it was already warm enough for her to sweat in her leggings and tank. She deepened her breath and then leaped over the curve of the canyon in front of her, heading out onto the plains.

She smiled with satisfaction at the Force-assisted leap. There was nothing better than feeling the Force, using it and belonging to it. It was her birthday, and Master Narec said that she could’ve taken a rest day if she’d wanted, but she had too much energy to just sit around. It wasn’t really her birthday, anyway, just the day that her Master had discovered her and taken her in.

She had a vivid memory of being six, defending herself from the pirates who’d killed her master with the Force, shoving them away, and then a man with glowing swords coming in and killing them. Master Narec had saved her from further slavery, and offered her an incredible gift—becoming his Padawan, and studying the ways of the Force.

It had been thirteen years, now. 

These morning runs were for her physical conditioning, but also so that she could do a quick survey of the desert canyons that extended out from where her village was hewn into the stone foothills of the mountains. The red rock of the plateau evoked the unfortunate hue of spilled blood, and the canyons were as familiar to her as the winding streets of her village.

She’d heard in the market earlier that pirates shot down a starship over the Geribun plateau, and knew that the wreckage would attract scavengers. She and Master Narec were the sworn protectors of the innocent on Rattatak, and she felt a duty to go check if there were survivors from the crash and fight the pirate menace that was a blight on her world. 

She saw smoke in the distance, and ran in that direction, a hand resting on her lightsaber for a moment to check it. She finally got close enough to see that there were three speeders full of pirates parked around the ship, which was in surprisingly good condition, for all that it was smoking. 

It swiftly became apparent that the pirates were losing, and Asajj came to a halt, breathing hard and deeply confused. A small figure with a yellow lightsaber was reflecting blaster bolts back and jumping around between the speeders with Force-assisted speed. A Jedi? Why? 

She jogged forward, coming closer, and began to frown, feeling something off in the Force; it was a sensation she’d noticed before, but much more concentrated—a cold and creeping trickle down her spine, a sense of wrongness that came with cruelty and domination. Places like slave markets, and pirate courts, were wrong in the same way. 

It made her feel slightly sick, her heart pounding and stomach twisting. The Force was warning her off, but she only ran faster. What was that feeling? Was it the dark side?

She finally arrived, and saw a small human boy with blonde hair and golden eyes Force-choke a pirate, his lightsaber slashing quickly and cutting off the pirate’s arm that was holding a blaster, and then he was tossed back into what Asajj could see was a pile of similarly wounded people. 

They were all alive, but missing arms. What the kriff?

The boy looked around in satisfaction at his victory over the pirates and then he noticed her presence. He retracted his lightsaber and jogged over in her direction, ignoring the screaming and crying behind him from the incapacitated pirates. She could have sworn his eyes had been gold, but they were blue—what the kriff?

“Ventress,” the boy greeted her, coming to a stop in front of her, and then looking behind her as if he was looking for someone else. He looked up at her, confused. “What are you doing here?”

Asajj blinked, completely taken aback. “How do you know who I am?”

“Where’s Obi-Wan?” 

She shook her head in incomprehension. “Who?” 

The boy looked up at her with equal confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Asajj didn’t know why she was the one being interrogated, but still felt compelled to answer. “I was patrolling, and saw smoke. Who are you?”

The boy laughed, and shook his head. “My name is Anakin, and I’m here to rescue you.”

Asajj made a face. “Rescue me? From what?”

“This planet?”

“This is my home?” 

“Just a moment.” Anakin pulled out his comlink, and opened a connection, voice only. “Obi-Wan?”

A polite, accented voice came back. “Yes?” 

“Have you found Master Narec yet?” 

Asajj’s eyes widened slightly, and she realized she was beginning to feel very creeped out by this boy who didn’t feel like a child in the Force, his bearing at odds with his appearance, his uncanny knowledge about her and her Master. 

“Yes, we’re waiting for Ventress here.” 

Anakin gave her a look that was not annoyance and not fondness, but a kind of knowing that only added to how creepy he was. “Well, she’s here, not there. There have been pirates attacking the ship. They’ve all been…” he grimaced slightly, as if in apology for the pun, “Disarmed… but there may be more coming. I can’t leave.” 

“We’ll come to you.”

Anakin tucked away his comlink in his pocket, and then turned to look at the mess of bodies, severed arms, and speeders behind him. He grimaced, and looked up at her. “Help me?”

Asajj looked at him like he was insane. “With what?”

“We need to take care of the mess. Obi-Wan really cares whether or not we take care of the injured properly. I’m going to go get the ship’s medical droid to make sure none of them die. Obi-Wan would want me to do that. Let me get my mom, she can help.”

“O-kay?” Asajj shook her head, and then decided to just go with it. She pushed her slightly sweaty purple hair out of her face, and headed over to the pile of pirates. Realizing what needed to happen, she made a disgusted face, and began collecting the severed arms.

It was a long, slightly disgusting process. She recognized many of the pirates from gangs in her village, and felt a small thrill of satisfaction that they might actually be able to arrest and imprison them. They were so hard to pin down, usually. The boy had done her a tremendous favor, but the way that it had been done was… questionable.  

He was checking out the speeders, selecting the two largest to carry the wounded back to town, and summarily deciding to steal the third one. Asajj didn’t bother protesting. It seemed like fair salvage. He was parking the speeder next to a podracer in the cargo hold of his ship, and making annoyed noises about repairing the starship’s auxiliary stabilizer, whatever that was, when Asajj felt her Master arrive in the Force. 

She smiled a farewell at Shmi, who had been practical and kind, and jogged out of the ship, waving a greeting. Master Narec was not alone, but there were two men with him instead of one. She came to a stop before them, and suddenly became very aware that she was in sweaty, revealing exercise clothes, and was slightly smeared with blood. 

Asajj looked up at the two strangers, and felt a swell of annoyance. She was tall, but they were both taller. One was a pale human man with striking blue eyes set in a serious face, his copper hair far messier than his tidy tunic, pants, and cloak. The other was a handsome Kiffar, with brown skin and dark, coarse, shoulder-length hair pulled into locks. He had a yellow band tattooed across his face, and was giving her a speculative look.

She frowned at them both, and looked back to Master Narec. “What’s going on, Master? Do you know these men?”

Master Narec smiled at her wryly, and shook his head. “They have come to take you offworld, if you wish.”

“What, me?” Asajj looked back at them, trying to read an explanation in their faces. “Just me? Why?”

Anakin came to stand with the group, and the pale man frowned at him, raising an eyebrow and tipping his head toward the speeders loaded with bandaged pirates. Anakin shrugged, his face full of apology and defiance. She knew what he was saying. Look, I didn’t kill them, are you happy? That must be Obi-Wan, then.

She looked back at her Master, who was giving her his most gentle expression. “We’ve never known how you came into Hal’Sted’s possession. I rescued you when you were young, and you didn’t know. I could tell that you were a child of a Zabrak and a human, and guessed that you were from Dathomir, but it was always only a guess. These men know where you are from, and can take you back there, if you wish.” 

Anakin looked up at her, his eyes intense. “You are a Nightsister of Dathomir, Ventress. Hal’Sted forced the clan to give him a baby girl to guarantee their safety.”

Asajj shook her head, processing his words. So what? “They gave me away? I don’t want to leave. This is my home.”

Anakin frowned at her. “Don’t you at least want to know where you came from? I promise that I will bring you back if you do not wish to stay.”

She looked back to Master Narec, feeling completely unprepared for this option to be dropped in her lap, when she’d never dreamed that it was possible. Why was this happening? A swell of suspicion made her look between them. They’d never clarified who they were. “What is in it for you? Why are you doing this? Why are you here?”

Anakin rubbed the back of his neck, his voice slightly awkward. “I had a vision of the future. In that vision, you fell to the dark side after the death of your Master. You left this planet, and became a great enemy of the Jedi, and committed many atrocities. I am trying to help avoid that future for you.”

It was very quiet for a moment, and she had no idea how to respond. “I did what?”

Anakin shook his head, and looked almost apologetic. “I will not detail the crimes unless you truly wish to hear them, but I think it is better not. Just know that you hurt a lot of people, and I’m trying to make sure that you don’t.”

Master Narec spoke quietly. “I think you should go, Asajj.”

“What?” Asajj’s jaw dropped, and she almost felt betrayed. “Master, I can’t leave you.”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand, Asajj. I failed my task as a Watchman with you. I’m here on Rattatak as a choice—Watchmen choose to stay in one place and protect our assigned star system or planet. Peace and protection for the innocents of Rattatak is my life’s calling as a Jedi. I took that choice away from you.”

She looked between all the strangers, and her Master, wishing they were alone for this conversation. “What?”

He grimaced, his eyes full of a complex emotion she couldn’t parse. Guilt? Apology? Fondness? “Watchmen are supposed to oversee the testing of any Force-sensitive children in our sector, and we’re supposed to report positive results to the Jedi’s Acquisition Division. When I found you, I knew you were too old to be trained as a Jedi Knight, but you still could have found a good life far from the poverty and desperation here in one of the Jedi auxiliary programs. I was selfish, and decided to train you as a Padawan instead, without the knowledge of the Council.”

Her heart felt full, and she smiled at him, close to tears. He was like a father to her, and she knew why he hadn’t reported her. He’d chosen to keep her, and that meant everything to her. “Master, I understand.”

His eyes were suspiciously bright, and he clapped a hand on her shoulder, pulling her away from the group of strangers, his voice soft. “You have been like a daughter to me, Asajj. I am very proud of you. You should seek your biological family, and learn about your birthright.”

She nodded slowly, feeling the strength of his blessing, the warmth of his unconditional support. “Yes, Master. You’re right. If I don’t like it, I’ll come back.”

He smiled at her. “I’ll always be here.” 

“Alright.” She took a steadying breath, allowing herself to regain her control. “I’m going to go process these,”—she gestured back at the injured pirates—”and pack my things.”

Anakin chirped, interrupting their conversation. “No rush! We have repairs to do!”

She gave him an annoyed look, and then smiled as a weary looking Obi-Wan put a hand on his small shoulder and directed him forcibly back to their ship. She exchanged an amused glance with the dark haired Kiffar, and then turned away quickly, repressing a flush, and hopped up into the driver’s seat of one of the speeders.

It was a short trip back into town. Master Narec drove the other speeder, and they dropped off the pirates at the village’s small jail. It was extremely satisfying to close the bars and then activate the ray shields and trap them inside. It was a fitting end to her time as a protector of the people of Rattatak, even if she hadn’t been the one to incapacitate them. 

They returned home for a last dinner, her Master cooking her favorite meal as she packed her bags with her few possessions and then hit the ‘fresher. It was nice to clean off the blood, and change into something fresh and clean. She dropped the bags by the door and sat down, eating and chatting. It was so comfortable, her home, she would miss this. This would always be home.

After dinner, she tried to return the lightsaber that she’d grown so used to carrying on her hip. “You’ll be able to fight Jar’kai again, Master.” 

“I won’t,” he said gently, returning the saber to her hand. “It’s yours, Asajj.”

She tightened her grip on the hilt, her eyes wide. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Padawan.” He smiled at her, so warm. “You’re a Knight. It may not be recorded in the official records of the Temple, but in the Force and in my eyes, you’re a Knight. Go help people.”

She bowed her head, humbled at his trust in her, despite whatever vision the strange boy had had. “Yes, Master.”

He waved goodbye as she left, and she tried to memorize his face, the precise lines of his wrinkles, the warmth of his smile—spending one last second trying to capture everything, make her memory of this moment as vivid as possible, as she knew in her bones that she would revisit this, when she needed strength and resolve. She was a Knight in his eyes.

Asajj swallowed down her emotions and turned away. She put her bag over her shoulder and walked out through the familiar narrow streets of her village, heading out to the plateau as night fell, walking into the light of the setting sun. She appreciated the red rocks in a new way, now that she was about to leave them. It took both too long and not long enough to reach the ship, her nervousness about leaving growing with every step, despite her efforts to stay strong. 

The starship appeared ready to fly by the time she got back, and she thought that was probably impressive, even though she knew absolutely nothing about starships. This would be the first time that she’d been on one—that she remembered, anyway. Apparently she’d come to Rattatak on one as a baby. From Dathomir, and the Nightsisters. She had family, somewhere, and they’d given her away. Would they even want her back?

“I’m Quinlan,” the handsome Kiffar said, welcoming her and leading her up into the crew quarters of the ship. “Quinlan Vos, Jedi Knight at large.” He smiled at her, his expression open and welcoming. “I’m very glad you decided to come with us.”

“Thanks,” Asajj said, feeling slightly overwhelmed. “I hope it’s the right choice.”

“It is,” he said, full of confidence. She wished she shared it. He began to point to doors. “This one is Shmi’s room, this one is Obi-Wan and Anakin’s, this one is mine, and this one is yours!”

She paused halfway down the hallways, looking at Obi-Wan and Anakin’s door in confusion. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah, don’t ask,” Quinlan laughed, slightly ruefully. He made a face, and lowered his voice. “Don’t look directly at Obi-Wan for too long, unless you’re trying to piss off a little Sith.”

Her eyes widened, thinking back to stories that she’d heard. “Sith?”

Quinlan opened her door for her, and sighed. “Oh, yeah. Long story. We’ll fill you in. Go ahead and get settled, meet me in the kitchen when you’re done. Take two lefts, and then a right, and you can’t miss it. We usually spend our free time there.”

Asajj nodded, and dropped her bag on the narrow bed. “Sure.”

He grinned one more time, and left her to unpack. She didn’t have many belongings, and had no long how long it would take to get to Dathomir, but it still felt good to put her clothes in drawers and her toiletries next to the small sink in her room. Eventually she had no more excuses, and headed out, following Quinlan’s directions toward the kitchen at the heart of the ship. 

Shmi smiled at her warmly when she entered, and then looked back at the complicated looking piece of machinery that she was fixing. Obi-Wan was sitting next to her, engrossed in a datapad. Quinlan and Anakin were playing sabacc, and glaring at each other across the table. She sat down at the foot of the table slightly awkwardly, and Quinlan pushed a mug toward her, and the pot of caf. 

“We’re waiting for Anakin to tell us where we are going next,” he said, eyeing the boy. “The kid has so far failed to tell us anything useful.” Anakin scowled at him, probably annoyed by the name.

“I thought we were going to Dathomir,” Asajj said, slightly confused. 

Obi-Wan looked up from his datapad, and gave Anakin a piercing look. “We are, aren’t we?”

“We have one more stop first,” Anakin said awkwardly, setting down his sabacc cards and looking evasive.

“Where, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, his tone demanding an answer.

Anakin cleared his throat, looking extremely uncomfortable. “Well, you’re not going to like this next part.”

“No!”

Anakin held out a hand, impotently trying to keep Obi-Wan in his seat. “Obi-Wan—”

“He’s? The..? ” Obi-Wan cut him off, backing away from the table, almost tripping on the chair that he’d tipped over when he’d stood up abruptly. “I cut him in half!”

Anakin grimaced, hating the ashen look on Obi-Wan’s face. “I know, you did. But—”

“You knew?” The ashen look was beginning to flush into a rage, and Anakin felt Obi-Wan reject their bond, pushing him back in the Force so hard that Anakin’s head snapped back. Obi-Wan looked livid. “You knew he was alive this whole time?”

Anakin swallowed thickly, and looked back at his sabacc cards on the table, touching them with a finger. “Yes, Master.”

“Don’t you dare call me that! Just don’t.” Obi-Wan ran his hands through his hair, and looked so overwhelmed. Anakin glanced around at Vos, Ventress, and his mom, and found them all staring at him with varying expressions of horror and confusion. Fuck.

Obi-Wan righted the chair he’d knocked over with deliberate, precise motions containing so much anger. He placed his hands on the back of the chair, knuckles white, and gave Anakin a disgusted look. “So you want to what, rescue him? Take him with us to Dathomir?”

“He’s Mother Talzin’s son.” Anakin said earnestly, an apology and an explanation wrapped together. “Returning him is a big part of the bribe.” 

Obi-Wan laughed once, a high, tight, and humorless sound. “So you want to reward him! Bring him home to his mother!”

Anakin shook his head, imploring. “No, Obi-Wan, I don’t—”

“I refuse to help him. I refuse.” Obi-Wan began to back away toward the door, his shoulders up, fists clenched. “I killed him. He was dead. He should be dead!” 

“Obi-Wan, wait!” Anakin said desperately, standing up too. “Do you want to know what happens if we just leave him there? I assure you. It is not good!”

“I don’t care. I won’t. I can’t.” 

Obi-Wan turned and stalked away, leaving the kitchen, and it was suddenly very quiet. Anakin dropped back down into his chair heavily, and put his face in his hands. He wanted to scream. This is exactly what he’d wanted to avoid. The silence was ringing, the faint sound of air circulating was very loud. 

Ventress spoke quietly, her young, angular face filled with suspicion. “There’s another reason you’re taking me to Dathomir, isn’t there? If you’re bribing Mother Talzin with her son.” 

Anakin sighed, rubbing his face and looking over at her distractedly. “I wasn’t lying about needing to get you off Rattatak before you fell, but yes. I was hoping the Nightsisters would talk to you…”

“They despise men,” Vos clarified when Anakin trailed off, and gave her a small, forced smile. “They might listen to you.” 

“Good to know I’ll be useful.” She slumped back in her chair and pushed her short purple hair behind her ears, muttering discontentedly, “Just wish I knew what I was really being used for.” 

“I… I’ll explain later.” Anakin looked up at Shmi desperately. “Mom, he’s so mad at me.”

“Anakin,” Shmi said sternly, setting down her tools and giving him an admonishing look. “You should have told him sooner.” 

“But…” All Anakin’s memories of the moments where he’d come so close to telling Obi-Wan flashed past. He clenched his jaw, looking down and beginning to toy with his cards again. He couldn’t meet her eyes. “I couldn’t. I tried, but… It made him so happy not to know, and I wanted him to be happy…” 

She sighed, and shook her head with disappointment. “It was selfish of you to decide that for him.” 

“Was it? I was trying to help.”

“Why are you even still here?” Vos asked sharply, and pointed at the door. “Go apologize to Obi-Wan.”

“What?” Anakin blinked, taken aback by the venom in his tone. 

Vos leaned forward, and poked Anakin’s chest hard enough to hurt. “Go fix this.”

Anakin cringed away from his finger, rubbing his chest, eyes wide. “How?”

“Go apologize. Go fight about it, I don’t care. Fix it.” 

“But…”

Vos poked him again, and Anakin let him. “I don’t want more awkward weeks where you manage to argue without talking to each other about the problem. You need to make this right, and you need to do it now.” 

Anakin felt too exposed—impotent, incapable. He didn’t know how to make things right, he never had. “You really think I should go after him? He doesn’t want to talk to me.” 

“He doesn’t, but he needs to.” 

“You understand why—”

Vos shook his head, and sat back, pulling his mug closer with a sense of finality. “I’m not the one you need to convince right now.”

Anakin looked back over to Shmi. “Mom?”

“Talk to him and tell him the truth, Anakin. The whole truth, this time, and then you do need to apologize.”

“Okay,” Anakin said, swallowing down his anxiety. He stood and squared his shoulders, giving Vos a hard look. “Don’t lie about me to Ventress.”

Vos raised a disdainful eyebrow that he must have learned from Obi-Wan. “No promises, man.”

Anakin took a steadying breath and then made for the door. He heard Vos lean over to Ventress and say in a low, conspiratorial tone, “I would say it’s usually much calmer, but that would be a lie.”

Obi-Wan had only recently stopped seeing the shocked look on the Sith’s face as his body separated into halves every other time he closed his eyes. He had only recently stopped hearing Master Qui-Gon’s last rasping breath. He’d finally accepted what had happened, and had begun to look forward. Seeing Qui-Gon in the caves had felt like resolution.

It had all been over.

The slightly-guilty sense of peace and security that had come from the fact that he’d slain his Master’s killer had just been robbed from him, torn from him in seconds and a handful of words. Darth Maul, the Sith you fought on Naboo, is still alive.

Obi-Wan gasped and realized he’d stopped breathing entirely. He focused on his breath, reaching for the deep, steady rhythm taught to him by his crechemaster as a toddler. He kept slipping out of the familiar pattern into hyperventilation, his breathing becoming shallow and quick as his mind raced. He’d killed him. He was dead. Anakin had known the whole time. 

Anakin had known.

Obi-Wan’s eyes felt hot, his chest tight. Anakin had known that Obi-Wan was living in a state of delusion. He’d known that Obi-Wan hadn’t succeeded, and was taking secret pride in a feat that didn’t actually exist. 

Obi-Wan felt like a fool, a worthless, incompetent fool. Even cutting someone in half wasn’t enough to kill them if Obi-Wan was the one who did it, nothing he did ever seemed like it was enough, failure compounded on failure.

He sniffed and opened up the top drawer, beginning to rummage through the mix of his and Anakin’s clothes, separating them and dropping his own into a pile on the bed. He was absolutely sure that Anakin would not leave the room, so he was going to.

He should have done this a long time ago. There was no reason for this to have gone on for so long. Anakin could keep the kriffing captain’s room, if he was going to act like he was in unilateral command, and not share all the information that Obi-Wan deserved to know.   

“Obi-Wan?” He heard a knock on the door, tentative at first and then stronger when Obi-Wan did not reply. “Obi-Wan, please let me in.”

Obi-Wan took a steadying breath, making his voice level with an effort of will. “No, go away.”

“Please,” Anakin said forcefully, his voice muffled by the door but still too clear. Obi-Wan could feel him reach out in the Force, and scowled and retreated further back behind his natural shields, refocusing on his task; he closed out the feeling of awareness of Anakin’s mind, muting and pushing him away. Anakin made a noise of protest in the hall. “Stop ignoring me, please! We have to talk.” 

“Not right now!” Obi-Wan snapped over his shoulder, and then turned toward the tiny attached ’fresher, going for his toothbrush. 

“Yes, please, right now.” Anakin’s presence in the Force was so impossibly loud, his emotions spilling and pooling around with sincerity and fear, drowning Obi-Wan in his need to make things right. “I will come in there.”

“Don’t you dare—”

“He kills Satine!”

“What?” Obi-Wan stilled, his heart pounding, ears ringing. He shook his head, and repeated himself louder. “What?”

“Duchess Satine!” 

Obi-Wan swallowed and set down his toothbrush on his pile of clothes. He walked mechanically to the door, opening it and crossing his arms. “He does what?”

Anakin was looking up at him, his eyes so wide and full of emotion. “He kills her, Obi-Wan. If we leave him there… the Duchess dies in your arms because of him.”

Obi-Wan felt like a statue, the enormity of the horror too much to process—she was his friend, he’d loved and lost her once already. Dead in his arms?  

Anakin pushed past him into the room, and made a sad noise at the pile of clothes. He turned back to Obi-Wan, his voice so sincere. “I promise, I have no moral objection to leaving him there to rot in hell, Obi-Wan. You know me. You know what I’ve done to better people, for far more trivial reasons, but he hurts you.”

Obi-Wan swallowed thickly, and repeated himself, unable to think of anything else to say. “He does what?”

Anakin came closer, reaching out a small hand to grab the fabric of the long arm of Obi-Wan’s tunic, tugging emphatically and staring up at him, begging him to understand. “If we leave him there for a decade, he goes insane with the idea of revenge against you. He targets you and everything you care about. I will not let him hurt you or someone you love like that this time. He is a problem. We have to solve it.”

Obi-Wan tore his arm from Anakin’s grip, pacing across the room to get away from him. His mind was catching up, and he pictured involuntarily holding Satine in the same way that he’d held Qui-Gon, imagining the rasping sound of another last breath, her bright eyes going blank. He felt so angry at Anakin, angry at the Sith, angry at the future. He snarled despite himself. “Well, let me kill him then. For real this time. I’ll make it stick.”

Anakin made another soft, hurt noise. “Kill him? Obi-Wan, no, that’s… that sounds like revenge, Master. Don’t you… don’t you want him to go to trial?” 

Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, wiping away angry tears. He reminded himself to breathe—to let the anger pass through and past him, and not let his emotions blind him. “No, of course. I do. but… I killed him, Anakin. He killed Qui-Gon and then I killed him. It was done. It was over. Now it’s not.”

“I am sorry, Obi-Wan” Anakin looked helpless and guilty. “Beyond using him to get a body, I thought… I thought maybe that he’s one of the only ones who can testify about Palpatine’s true identity.” 

Obi-Wan exhaled harshly. “What?”

Anakin took a step forward, eyes wide, so eager to explain himself—his presence in the Force was lapping at the walls of Obi-Wan’s mind like an apologetic baby lothcat. “I know that he was taken from Talzin as a child and raised to kill by Darth Sidious. If I can take my own time as Sidious’s Apprentice as a fair comparison, Sidious must have abused him terribly, and it must have been worse for him as a boy than for me as an adult. Maybe we can get him to turn on Sidious, like I did.”

Obi-Wan wiped his eyes again, voice rough and skeptical. “You think so?”

Anakin nodded quickly, stepping forward again. “I am sure that he was regularly punished with pain and humiliation. He’s barely in his twenties, Obi-Wan. All he’s ever known is pain. He might be open for revenge on his Master, and… don’t you want him to face Republic justice for what he did? I’m not planning on letting Talzin keep him forever. He will face justice, I promise.”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan shook his head, struggling to communicate how it didn’t feel like it was enough. He sniffed again, eyes wet. He should be dead. “He killed Qui-Gon.” 

“I know, Obi-Wan. I know. You don’t even have to see him, I promise.” He took one more step forward, and threw his arms around Obi-Wan’s chest, hugging him tightly, speaking into the fabric of his tunic. “But I cannot let you kill him. You don’t really want to, I know you. You wouldn’t kill in cold blood, and this would be murder, Master.”

Obi-Wan pushed him away, and squared his shoulders, making himself stop crying with an effort of will. “You lied to me, Anakin. You didn’t tell me. I deserved to know.”

Anakin shook his head, holding his hands out to the sides in a gesture of incapability. “When did you want me to have told you? When you told me you killed him and sighed with relief, like it was the only thing keeping you going?”

“Yes! Rather the truth than a comforting lie.” Obi-Wan began gathering up the pile on the bed, and gave Anakin a judgemental look. “I thought you would have known that about me.” 

“I didn’t want to tell you.” Anakin looked so chastened, so sorry. “I knew it would hurt you to know. I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

“Good job,” Obi-Wan laughed without humor, and moved to the door with his arms full of his things, opening it with the Force. “It hurt me more to find out like this.” 

“Please don’t go,” Anakin said, mournful. “I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan just shook his head and left for another cabin, and as the door slid shut behind him, he heard a very small, defeated. “Fuck.”

Darth Sidious’s private shuttle flew low over the Works, and he observed the dismal expanse of burned out, abandoned factories with irritation. It was a short transit between the Chancellor’s Office in the Senate District to Sidious’s suite in the LiMerge Building at the heart of the Works, but any delay in his day felt intolerable. 

He was running late, which irked him. He was scheduled for a meeting with his new apprentice, Master Dooku, now Lord Tyranus, but had been unavoidably detained because of trivial Senate business that he hadn’t been able to avoid. He couldn’t wait to be Emperor and never have to deal with the Oversight Committee again.

His entire day had been ruined by the Jedi, as usual. They’d so far completely stonewalled him in his search for Skywalker, and he knew that he had no cards left to play in that matter with them. None that would keep his secret identity intact and his goals occluded.

Master Windu’s blithe reassurance that the Order had him under their protection and that the boy was safe from harm was not sufficient. Sidious wanted to know names, locations, dates. He needed more information than they were giving him, especially since the latest SBI briefing yesterday. Force damn them.

The shuttle finally pulled into the open hangar of the LiMerge Building, and Sidious threw his black cloak around his shoulders, striding out without a second glance at the guards. They were loyal retainers who knew their place and knew the routine. He exhaled hard with relief as he pulled the hood of the cloak over his head, the shadow on his face an instant balm on his soul. 

This suite of rooms was perhaps the only place on Coruscant where he could really be himself. 

“Master,” Darth Tyranus said, bowing his head gravely as Sidious entered the communication center. There was a holographic map of the galaxy spinning before him, and Tyranus collapsed it. “I have just returned from the moons of Bogden. I’ve selected Jango Fett, the human bounty hunter, to be the genetic template for the clone army.” 

“Good.” Sidious nodded once in approval at another task completed, and then inserted an encrypted SBI datastick into the holoprojector. As it decrypted the recording, he took a moment to study Tyranus’s face and presence in the Force. “I have transmitted the additional instructions about the control chips. The new orders have been added.” 

The new Sith Lord only smiled with satisfaction, no hesitation, no lingering concern for his old family and friends. Oh, how quickly they fall. “They are walking into a trap, their mindless compassion will leave them blind to the true threat around them.”

“Indeed,” Sidious agreed amicably. A readiness indicator on the holotable flashed, and he turned to engage the projector. “I have a new project for you, my Apprentice.”

Tyranus turned his attention to the shaky, partial security hologram from the entrance to the busy spaceport of the capital of Ansion. It was reconstructed from corrupted data by the SBI and had only been handed over the day before, weeks after the events had been captured. Unacceptable. 

Sidious moved quickly forward through the recording to pause it at the most critical moment. “I have mentioned before that there is a boy of interest to me, a young Anakin Skywalker.”

“I am aware of the boy,” Tyranus said, eyes sharp. “I took special interest in the circumstances surrounding the death of Qui-Gon Jinn, a former Padawan of mine. The boy’s actions, and Qui-Gon’s claims about him, are an open secret among many in the Order.”

“Not all his actions,” Sidious murmured, and pushed play. They both watched as shots were fired into the crowd, and there was chaos for a moment, before the small blue figure of a boy stepped around a laden cart, and began deflecting blaster bolts with his hands, reaching out with a scowl, doing something outside the range of the recording that abruptly ended the blaster fire.

“What—” Tyranus began, and Sidious held up a hand.

“Wait.”

The boy in the recording turned around, and Sidious heard Tyranus inhale with surprise at the appearance of a man who looked distinctly like Master Windu entering the frame. Words were exchanged that the silent recording didn’t capture, and then the boy was carried off by Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Quinlan Vos escorted Windu out of frame. 

“Windu lied to my face again today,” Sidious said, rewinding back and freezing on the moment that Windu and the boy were looking at each other. “Or at least he failed to report that he’d left Coruscant, even when asked directly. The boy is clearly using the dark side here—the Hutts say that he killed two men. Windu has neglected to mention any of this.”

Tyranus huffed a small disapproving laugh. “I’m not surprised he thinks he can lie without detection. Mace Windu was an arrogant little Padawan. Putting him on the Council when he was 28 did nothing for his ego, I think.” 

Sidious went back and watched again as young Skywalker manipulated the Force with enough skill and sensitivity to redirect blaster bolts in flight—not an easy feat, even for a trained adult. The boy had reached out and crushed the obstacles before him, his cherubic face contorted with loathing. It was beautiful; Sidious wanted him as an Apprentice so very badly, a craving to possess all powerful things and make them his own. 

He glanced back up at Tyranus, who seemed similarly fascinated. “We will get no further help from the Jedi on this matter. They’re hiding him. They haven’t entered any reports or mission assignments for Vos in their records, though he is no longer listed as suspended.” 

Tyranus raised an eyebrow. “That’s unusual. They are usually arrogant enough to assume their systems are completely secure.”

Sidious snarled slightly. “The SBI managed to discover that Skywalker’s ship left Ansion after this and went back to Ord Mantell, and then they proceeded to disappear. I don’t think they would risk flying dark, that’s much too suspicious and would draw too much attention at any port they visited.”

Tyranus hummed thoughtfully. “You suspect that they stole a smuggler’s beacon from Black Sun?”

Sidious nodded once. “I don’t have sources inside the heart of that cartel to confirm it. I want him found, Lord Tyranus. That boy belongs to the Sith.”

“I think I will go to Ord Mantell,” Tyranus said, implying the question about his instructions. “Black Sun will perhaps have an answer about how to find him.”

“You should leave immediately, the trail has already gone cold enough.” 

“Yes, Master.” 

Sidious accompanied Tyranus back out to the hanger, considering what he’d seen and musing out loud. “I’d previously thought the disturbance in the Force that I’ve been aware of since the death of Darth Plagueis was associated with my assumption of the mantle of the Sith Mastery, but I have lately grown suspicious; there is something else going on, and we must find out the truth.”

“I will not fail you,” Tyranus dipped his head, and Sidious raised a lazy hand, sending him off. He watched for a moment as the ship flew out into the rusty red sunset over the Works, before turning back inside. He’d better not fail him in this. It was too important.

Tyranus would hopefully be a satisfactory Apprentice, with his years of experience as a Jedi Master and his surprisingly vast preexisting knowledge about Sith lore—a result of many years of independent research. It was refreshing to Sidious to not feel like he was walking a rancor on a short leash, and not feel like his Apprentice was a near-constant risk to his carefully laid plans.

He would admit that Tyranus didn’t have quite the same admirable bloodlust for revenge against the Jedi as Maul had been trained to possess, but his disdain was much more powerful. He would lead armies and governments for his Master, act the part of a rival savrip on the dejarik board, something Maul would never have been able to offer him.

Tyranus was so much more than a mindless assassin, defeated by a mere Padawan. 

Yes, Maul had done well to die on Naboo. He had outlived his usefulness, an Apprentice of a previous era of skulking in the shadows. Lord Tyranus was the future.

Darth Maul had lost track of time.

He stared at the ceiling of his lair, carved out in the bowels of a mountain of industrial waste, and hummed to himself a little tune. “Far above, far below, we don’t know where we’ll fall.” His voice echoed strangely in the dark labyrinth that had become his home.  

Time seemed like a meaningless concept for him, when his suffering was without end. Infinity was impossible to measure, and it was pointless to try. He had no way to know how long it had been since he’d arrived on the hellish industrial graveyard planet—days, weeks, months? It didn’t matter. 

He had lost track of time, and was beginning to believe that his Master was not coming. He finished the mantra, once taught to him to help him focus on his anger and hate, to help him endure. “Far above and far below, what once was great is rendered small.”

How accurate that was. 

Curse Kenobi—curse that sneaking, sniveling Jedi. 

Curse himself—curse his own moment of hubris, how he’d paused to look down at his dangling prey, enjoying the sight of Kenobi at his mercy, without his lightsaber, without hope. 

Was it really a weakness to revel in such a kill, to savor the suffering of your opponent at the dawning realization of their imminent demise? There was no finer pleasure in the galaxy than killing Jedi. Nothing would surpass the pleasure of killing Kenobi.

Kenobi.

The desolate planet on which the waste ship had dropped Maul seemed to him like fitting punishment for his failure to kill the detestable Padawan. The stench of the low-lying, yellow fog was inescapable, the acid rain burned his skin, and the heat rising from the pools of toxic waste made him feel feverish and diseased. 

He was barely holding on to life; the protections that his mother had imbued in his flesh as an infant in Nightsister tradition had initially held him together with a shimmer of the green mist of their sacred ichor. It was the slight advantage that he’d needed—beyond that, his grasp on the dark side was enough to sustain himself. His rage made food and drink irrelevant, and his flesh was made strong on the nourishment of his hatred. He had healed to a point of stability, a mere head, torso, and arms, awaiting his Master’s ship.  

The ship that he was beginning to think was not coming. 

Why would it? Why would Sidious want such a weak failure of an Apprentice? He must think that he’d died, or must have cast him off as a waste of effort. Perhaps he was not even wrong to do so—Maul had certainly failed. No one was coming for him. 

No one was coming.

Maul screamed, and then adjusted his position on his bed with a pained whimper. He beat a hand against his chest, seeking the pain as a reinforcement of his anger, and his anger as a reinforcement of his strength in the dark side. All his rage did was heal him, all his lust for revenge did was make him stronger. 

Kenobi had cut him apart, and he would pay for that crime. Maul would make him pay.

It was fortunate that it was not the first time that Maul had felt that particular sensation; it had diminished the shock he’d felt as he fell. He’d been well prepared by his Master for this fate. Sidious had once taken him to Malachor, to the site of an ancient battle between the Jedi and the Sith, and he’d made Maul inhale the ashes of Sith warriors slain by an ancient weapon—burnt where they stood, immortalized statues of their final agony. 

In a vision, Maul had felt the burn of a thousand lightsaber cuts, enduring slash after fatal slash, and experiencing the deaths of a thousand Sith at the hands of the cursed Jedi. 

Maul loathed the Jedi. Why had they not come for him as a child? Was he weak in their eyes, unimportant and unworthy of their time? He could have been one of them, one of the weak, mindless servants of the Republic. They were all cowards, wallowing in the corrupt facsimile of peace that they enforced, with all the smug humility and loathsome arrogance of the privileged few. 

Oh, how he longed to render them small. 

He remembered well how his Master had given him a gift to sate his bloodlust. Eldra Kaitis, a beautiful Twi’lek Padawan who’d been auctioned off after being captured by pirates. Maul had been flush with the dark side, full of fear and anger, but it was the desire to cross blades with her, the anticipation of the kill, that had driven him forward. He’d needed to prove to himself that he could—that he was strong, and that the Jedi were weak.

He’d initially underestimated her spirit, her tenacity, and her skill. She’d taken advantage of his overconfidence, and defended herself fiercely against the Sith. She could have fallen to the dark side, if pushed, he was sure, but he couldn’t have witnesses to his skill with a lightsaber. Sidious had forbidden him to reveal himself. She was clever, beautiful, and dead at his hand. 

A worthy challenge.   

Killing her wasn’t enough. He needed more. He had an emptiness that he’d been trained to fill in only one way—killing Jedi. Splitting the Master from the Padawan on Naboo and driving a lightsaber into the old man’s chest had only deepened the sense of craving for more, and that emptiness was aching again, but his focus was more limited. 

Kenobi.

Maul knew that he would get off this Force forsaken rock somehow, and be set free to seek his revenge. Someone would come eventually. Someone would come. They had to.

And on that day, Maul swore to himself, Kenobi would pay.  

“Go away, idiot.”

“C’mon…”

Asajj scowled, and dropped her lightsaber from ready position. “What do you want?” 

“I’m bored,” Quinlan said with a crooked smile, settling down on the hood of the speeder to watch. Asajj was pretty when she was annoyed. She’d been running through forms for a couple hours already, and was flushed and sweaty despite the chill of the cargo bay, her purple hair pushed back with a headband. 

He pulled his lightsaber off his belt and tossed it to her. “Do Form III Jar’kai.”

She caught it, and raised a brow at him. “I’m not a performing Kowakian monkey-lizard.”

“C’mon,” Quinlan said encouragingly. “You know you want to.”

“Fine,” she agreed with a sigh, igniting the green blade and pointing it at him. “But if you mention the fifth movement—”  

“Hey,” Quinlan cut her off, raising his hands defensively. “I’m not saying you’re wrong or that Master Narec was wrong! Just that the Temple instructors—”

“The Temple instructors,” she mimicked him sarcastically, and then adopted the ready stance for a Jar’kai Soresu kata, her motions graceful and precise. “I’m so tired of hearing about them.”

“Too bad,” Quinlan said, admiring the way she kept her posture correct and the strength of her long, slender limbs as she began to move through the complicated series. She was about to reach the controversial fifth movement when Anakin came into the cargo bay. He was leaking unhappy energy in the Force, enough that Asajj stopped moving and looked over with concern. 

Anakin cleared his throat. “May I speak with you both?”

Quinlan and Asajj exchanged a meaningful glance, and then she shrugged at Anakin, retracting her blades. “Sure.” She grabbed her water bottle and came over to sit next to Quinlan on the hood of the speeder, handing him his lightsaber back. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Quinlan smiled at her, and then returned his focus on the small boy, who had begun pacing back and forth in front of the speeder, his steps heavy, his hands clasped behind his back. It was another of the incongruously adult mannerisms that made the former Sith slightly uncanny in his small body. He just moved wrong sometimes.  

Asajj gave Quinlan a dubious look, and he just shrugged. She’d taken the news of Anakin’s time travel fairly well, all things considered, but was still a bit wary about the fact that the boy had apparently murdered countless beings. Quinlan didn’t blame her for it at all—while he’d made a conscious decision to see and reinforce Anakin as opposed to Vader, he never forgot being Force choked for getting on his bad side, or the broken bodies of the bounty hunters on Ansion.

He studied Anakin's face, and was concerned by how tired he looked, how gray and withdrawn. A ten-year-old should not appear that… haggard. It had only been a couple days between Rattatak and Lotho Minor, but Quinlan didn’t think Anakin had slept at all, which probably wasn’t good for his mental health. 

Nothing to be worried about there, Quinlan thought, slightly wry. This was a totally regulated and sane individual in front of him. 

He had considered a few times asking Obi-Wan to relent on the separate bedroom directive. He would normally say it wasn’t any of his business, except there was a nonzero risk of a cranky Vader losing his shit and killing people, specifically the people who he found annoying, and even more specifically on their ship, Quinlan.

The cargo bay was very quiet, except for the soft shuffle of Anakin’s feet. He was silent as he paced, apparently collecting his thoughts, and Quinlan exchanged another loaded, confused glance with Asajj. He looked back at the boy, prompting him to speak. “What’s up, little man?”

Anakin stopped moving, and turned to face them, giving Quinlan a disgusted sneer for a moment before sobering again. “We are close to the planet. I am hoping to sense Maul’s location in the Force, and then be dropped off nearby by Obi-Wan. He will stay in the ship with Shmi and fly off the surface during our meeting to keep them both safe. I am hoping both of you will come with me to the ground.”

“Need us to protect you?” Quinlan asked, amused.

“No,” Anakin scoffed, and then made a face. “Or not in the way you think.”

“What do you mean?” 

Anakin sighed, and began to pace again. “I suspect that Maul only respects power at this point. He’s a mad dog—in pain and trapped in a corner. I’m going to have to assert myself as Vader to get him under control. It is not always easy for me to let that power go. I’ve found that it is significantly easier to do when I’m not alone. I can do it otherwise through time and meditation, but it can be… difficult.”

“Do the Sith usually meditate?” Quinlan asked, always interested to learn more about the secretive order. In some ways, it felt a little like getting to talk to one of the historical figures he’d learned about as an initiate. The Sith had been history, and their Code had been studied academically at the Temple.

Speaking to a real, live Sith, was still slightly surreal. 

Anakin just shrugged. “If you don’t learn to control the dark side, it controls you, and that’s one of the most important early lessons of the Sith—how to hold the reins. It’s perhaps the largest difference between a true Sith and the usual type of fallen Jedi who goes insane with the power. They will not survive long, but a Sith can endure.”

“Huh,” Quinlan said blankly. “I had no idea.”

Anakin smiled at him, but it was more of a pained grimace than a true smile. “What you need to know is that it is difficult—more difficult than either of you can possibly understand at this point—to let the power go. I usually rely on Obi-Wan’s light to guide me out of the dark, but…” 

Guiding him out of the dark? Quinlan couldn’t help himself. “Aww.”

“Focus, Vos!” Anakin snapped at him, and Quinlan raised his eyebrows at the ferocity of his voice. Anakin pointed at him, his eyes intense. “You need to understand this before we get there. The dark side is not exactly contagious, but it is corrosive and addictive. Bringing Maul back on the ship will be risky enough, but on the ground, I need you both to be on your guard, and keep each other centered and balanced. You’re both going to see me do things and feel things in the Force that I have not shared before.”

“Are you asking us to keep it secret? What we see?”

Anakin shook his head at him, annoyed. “I’m warning you so it doesn’t take you by surprise. It’s essential that you are prepared. You’re both at risk. Vos…” He trailed off, and then squared his shoulders. “There is something I haven’t told you about your future that I think is now relevant to share.” 

“What is it?” Quinlan looked between him and Asajj and felt a thrill of dread. 

Anakin’s gaze was steady, the faintest hint of apology on his face. “You already know.” 

Quinlan swallowed, his stomach twisting into knots. He tipped his head toward Asajj, and spoke slowly. “She fell in the future. You’re trying to prevent her from falling now.” 

“Correct.”

“So did I, didn’t I?” He felt almost dizzy with the horror of it, nauseated, terrified. He’d thought he wouldn’t. He was sure that he wouldn’t. He knew he could, yes, but had been sure…

Anakin’s nostrils flared for a second as he inhaled, setting his jaw. “Yes.” 

“How?” Quinlan felt a supportive hand on his shoulder, and looked over at Asajj who was giving him a sympathetic smile. He forced a smile in return, and turned back to Anakin. “Do you know?”

“The Council, in their infinite wisdom, sent you on an assassination mission late in the war. You went undercover as a Sith acolyte to get close to Dooku, and then fell for real.” 

“Oh.” 

Anakin came closer, his volume dropping, something like respect entering his voice. “I am telling you both this, and I’m willing to bring you with me at all, because you are some of the only people I’ve ever known who voluntarily came back to the light.” 

Quinlan’s jaw dropped slightly. That was not a thing that was possible. That never happened. Vader was the exception that proved the rule—the Chosen One can do it, not just anyone.

“Really?” Asajj said, equally surprised. “We both did?”

Anakin nodded, looking between them seriously. “Yoda says that once you start on the dark path you can never come back, but you both are proof that he is wrong. I don’t want you to have to do it again. It isn’t easy.”

Quinlan licked his lips, and then swallowed thickly. “How?”

“How, what?”

“How do we avoid falling?” Quinlan asked, as if it was obvious. “You said we needed to keep each other centered and balanced?”

Anakin nodded once and resumed pacing. “It is easier to keep perspective when you have another person to keep you accountable, and remind you of who you are. You both need to ask Obi-Wan for additional training in meditation and the Jedi Code while Maul is on board, and afterward on Dathomir.” 

Quinlan instinctively broke the tension. “You’re encouraging us to spend time alone with Obi-Wan?” 

“Vos,” Anakin said, rubbing his forehead, exhausted. “Please take this seriously. You need to learn, and… he needs to teach.” 

“He needs to teach?” Quinlan asked. Was this another of Anakin’s private insights about how to manage Obi-Wan’s emotions, another of his attempts to surreptitiously take care of Obi-Wan? 

Anakin sounded slightly defensive. “He likes it, and it’s good for him, and with Maul nearby? He’s… I need him to cope and he doesn’t… He doesn’t want me around right now, so I can’t help.” 

Quinlan hummed thoughtfully. Anakin was often heavy-handed and overreaching, but he clearly cared so much about Obi-Wan, almost more than anything else, and that was both concerning and reassuring. “Sure, I’ll ask him.”

Asajj cleared her throat, and sounded concerned. “Will you keep him sedated on the ship?”

“Who, Maul?” Anakin looked over at her in surprise, and then pulled a face. “It is almost certain that the dark side is the only thing keeping him alive. His hatred for Obi-Wan is currently nourishing him.” He laughed, but there was a hard, cruel edge to it that Quinlan didn't like. “Keeping him on the same ship but denying him revenge will act almost like medical care. Putting him in a coma would kill him.” 

She shifted, uncomfortable. “Shouldn’t you try to… make him stop?” 

“Stop hating Obi-Wan? The strength of his hate is what is keeping him alive—there is no way that I could change his mind about revenge.” Anakin’s eyes went distant, and cold, the Force rippling out a warning that made the hair on Quinlan’s arms stand up. 

“I can only make him more afraid of me.”  

The dull, grimy orange of the surface of Lotho Minor filled the Twilight’s cockpit window, but Anakin did not have his eyes open to see it. The indistinct landscape was spread out under the thick, dangerously unstable atmosphere—there were no established approach vectors to the planet, so he had to take the ship in manually. His hands laid lightly on the controls, and he let himself steer with his instincts.

He was lost in the Force, stretching out with his feelings and surveying the planet, sensing for Maul. The magnitude of his innate power and the sophistication of his training meant that he had a nearly unparalleled sensitivity to disturbances in the Force. With enough time and effort, he could feel farther than anyone else, and feel more. 

He was currently hovering in a perspective of reality that was unavailable to most other sentients, aware of the planet below in a way that transcended normal human consciousness. He could see the shape of the Force; he could feel the few pockets of living Force glowing in the wasteland, and he could track the ripples of the dark side.

Actually exerting the full scope of his power like this, which required all of his attention and tapping all of his reserves, was not something he did very often. Even when he was a Sith Lord serving Sidious, he did it sparingly. He knew even then that opening himself up this much, accessing so much power, and enmeshing himself in the Force was dangerous. 

It was as addictive as a drug, intoxicating and deceptive. It was the siren call of the madness that came with the dark side, and Sidious had taught him that it was possible to resist. There was some irony in the fact that it took Anakin falling to the dark side before he learned how to meditate, but he did learn, eventually. 

He was alone in the cockpit so he could focus, and had been sitting in the Force for the last hour before their arrival, preparing himself. It had been hard to scrape his focus clean enough to cast his attention outward. He was tired. He missed Obi-Wan’s presence in the bond. He resented how much he needed him. 

The personality of Anakin felt weak and thin, a gossamer facade on top of the person that was Darth Vader—the dark side felt close to the surface, snapping at his heels. A loud, vicious part of himself looked forward to having an excuse for dropping the veneer of Anakin. It craved dominance and control, it demanded to be recognized and feared for his power. 

He wanted to punish Maul for hurting Obi-Wan, both for all his crimes against his Master in his first life, but also for how hurt and sad he’d made his young Master. He’d just spent weeks feeling Obi-Wan’s aching grief in the bond, and he wanted to make Maul feel every single second of that pain. But, he had a plan, and also wanted to prove to Obi-Wan that he listened to him about killing. 

The first instinct was calling louder than the last. Obi-Wan wouldn’t even be that mad if he killed him, he’d wanted him dead, he could do it. Would it really be so bad to return the corpse of Maul to Mother Talzin, blame Sidious for what happened to him, and maybe gain an ally for revenge that way? Or would she know who had dealt the final blow somehow? He couldn’t risk it, Talzin was too important.

Anakin came back to himself, and realized that they were hovering over the source of the disturbance in the Force. He paged everyone, and landed the ship gently in a valley between mountains of trash. He hopped up, making his way quickly toward the ramp, paranoid about having Obi-Wan and his mom on the ground for a second longer than necessary. 

He passed Obi-Wan in the hallway headed the other direction toward the cockpit. Obi-Wan said nothing, looking tired and grim, but he gave Anakin a tight nod farewell. Anakin began to jog, and found Vos and Ventress bickering and negotiating the ship’s new hovercart down the ramp to act as an ad hoc stretcher. “Good, follow me.”

He led them, still bickering, across the dirty plain, toward a mountain of industrial waste. Massive, corroded starship parts formed the skeleton of the pile, the rest of it filled with the junk of a hundred planets and thousands of years. The scent of the damp, sweltering air was awful, and Anakin resisted gagging. 

“This one,” he said, finding what looked like a cavern entrance, leading away into the dark underbelly of the mountain. “Stay out of sight behind me.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Vos said, giving him a sarcastic salute.

Anakin rolled his eyes and turned back to the cavern, facing the dark, and took a moment to center himself before he let himself go. The dark side swirled around him and caressed him, the energy licking at his hands and begging to be used. He heard a small exhale of breath from behind him as the ripples of his power washed over Ventress and Vos. He felt them reach for each other in the Force, and nodded once. Good.  

He stepped forward into the dark, and became the darkness. It was so easy to slide back into the mind of a Sith—the frigid emptiness, the all-consuming disdain for the weak. Darth Vader was the apex predator of the entire galaxy, the most powerful, the most dangerous being. He stalked his prey, following the twisting corridors down, and down, and down. 

Maul’s signature in the Force was agitated. He could doubtlessly feel that he was no longer alone on this planet, and that someone was coming toward him, full of wrath. He probably assumed it was his Master coming to claim him, and Vader looked forward to disabusing him of that notion.

He noticed the scent of burning trash, and followed the smoke down the last of the maze. The flickering light of the fire illuminated a small hollowed out chamber. Vader pushed a warning to Ventress and Vos to stay back, and moved forward, hand on his lightsaber. The room was empty, but he could feel Maul in the Force, his terror, his rage.

He looked up, and saw that Maul was hanging from the ceiling above him, his eyes glowing, reflecting back the light, a savage sneer on his face. “Where is Kenobi?”

Vader smiled. Ah, he had sensed Obi-Wan. No wonder he was disturbed. “Not here.”

Maul growled. “He is nearby, I felt him. Where is he?”

“Maul,” Vader said, his tone almost conversational. “The question you need to be asking right now is, who am I?”

Maul sneered, and Vader let the dark side flare and pulse, reaching up with one hand. He effortlessly grasped Maul with the Force and smashed him to the floor. Maul yelled in pain, and then gasped for breath. He tried to crawl, and Vader caught him again, crushing him to the ground. 

Maul glared at him, voice livid. “Who are you?”

Vader walked slowly closer, keeping his hand out and the dark side around him like a mantle of power, until he stood over Maul, looking down with disdain. “My name is Darth Vader.” 

“A Sith Lord?” Maul growled, and tried again to crawl away, but Vader easily kept him pinned. Maul panted with the effort, and snarled. “Are you my replacement, here to kill me? Did Sidious send you?”

Vader laughed once, sharp and cruel. “As if Sidious cares enough to kill you.”

Maul’s face filled with so much rage; Vader watched indulgently as he tried to focus on the Force, pulling on the dark side to free himself. He gathered his strength and launched himself up at Vader, all glowing eyes and bared teeth, his hands like claws, lashing out ferociously. 

Vader caught him easily with the Force, holding him up and choking him for a moment before throwing him back against the wall, pinning him there as he twitched and gasped for air. Vader walked closer, crushing him harder against the wall as he approached. “Pathetic. Your attempts to defeat me are weak, like you are weak.”

“I am not weak!” Maul hissed. “You are just a child!”

“I am no child, Maul, son of Talzin, child of Dathomir. I am the one who kills Darth Sidious.”

Maul stopped struggling, and Vader let him breathe. “Sidious is dead?” 

Vader shrugged, and released Maul, letting him slide to the floor and scream again in pain. “Not yet. I killed him once in the future, but I have yet to defeat him completely. I’ve returned through time, so that I can destroy everything he sought to create.” 

“Such power…” Maul shuddered, shifting his weight on his arms to get his bandaged torso off the floor. He seemed split between rage and respect. “You truly killed my Master?”

“Your former Master,” Vader corrected mercilessly. “He has a new Apprentice.” 

Maul went still, and for a moment, he looked very young. Sidious raised him, and must have been like his father. “He’s replaced me already?” 

Vader let his words cut him down, feeling nothing but satisfaction at the detonation of pain in the Force. “You were always temporary, Maul. He’s been grooming Tyranus for years in anticipation of casting you aside—he is far more powerful than you and more useful. You were never going to live to see the fall of the Republic and the end of the Jedi, and neither was Tyranus. Both of you are temporary and disposable, mere placeholders for me.”

Maul’s pain warped immediately into a demand, an overwhelming want. His voice was eager, “Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“See the end of the Jedi.”

Vader huffed with annoyance, and tossed Maul back against the wall, and let him slide down again with another pained whimper. “Is that what will get your respect? Yes, Maul, I cleansed the Temple, from the elders to the younglings. I led the Great Purge and hunted down all known survivors. I erased the Jedi from the galaxy, destroyed their reputation and their property. I presided over the fall of the Order personally.”

Maul was panting up at him, fascinated, jealous, breathless with his eagerness. “How was it?”

Vader sneered. “You know the empty place inside you, the one that feels like it can only be fed by more death, more slaughtered Jedi?”

Maul’s eyes widened, and he exhaled hard. “Yes.”

“That hunger only grows; it is never satisfied. It is a weakness. Sidious has made you too weak to see the truth.”

“I am not weak!”

Vader’s voice was hard. “You have been made weak. Darth Sidious made you weak. You were tortured and humiliated, broken down, and then cast away. Does that make you angry, to know that he never bothered to come for you? Last time, you rotted here in madness and squalor for a decade until you were rescued by someone else. You lived out the rest of your life as a pathetic cockroach, scuttling around the Rim of the Empire, a mere nuisance. Sidious abandoned you to your fate.” 

“But…” Maul appeared lost, his ferocity gone like a snuffed candle. “If I am not a worthy Apprentice. Why have you come for me?”

Vader crossed his arms across his chest, surveying the broken body before him. It really was impressive that he was still alive. “I have a deal for you. Sidious made you weak, but you needn’t always be weak. If you join me, I will take you to Dathomir to Mother Talzin for healing. I will make you strong, and together we can take revenge on Darth Sidious for the pain he caused us.”

“Yes,” Maul nodded rapidly, pulling himself up. “I accept.”

Vader held up a repressive hand, grasping Maul with the Force and holding him still, his back against the wall, his head kept at Vader’s eye level. “There is one complication. You currently are facing a choice. Agree to my condition, and live to join me, or refuse, and I kill you now.”

Maul didn’t struggle against his restraint, his physical agony leaking in the Force. He’d reached the end of his strength to fight. Good. “What is it?”

Vader stepped closer, getting and keeping eye contact. “You will never get revenge on Kenobi.” 

Maul gaped with surprise, and then he snarled, brow furrowing, eyes flashing. “Why?”

“Because he’s mine.” 

“You want the right of revenge?” Maul pointed aggressively at his missing lower half, and argued. “What did he do to you that could possibly compare to—

“He cut off three of my limbs and left me to burn alive next to a river of lava.” Vader replied, deadpan, and Maul was silent, taken aback. “But you misunderstand what I mean by ‘mine.’ I don’t need more revenge. I’ve already killed him once, and let me tell you—it solved nothing. I felt emptier inside the moment it happened.”

Maul made a stubborn face. “Revenge on Kenobi wouldn’t make me feel emptier. It would make me feel complete. Why can’t I—”

Vader cut him off, his hold on Maul in the Force tightening until he had his full attention. “He is ‘mine’ in the sense that he is under my protection. Your quest for revenge against him ends here, Maul. It ends now. It will never happen.” He had drawn close enough to whisper the threat now, poking a finger hard into Maul’s chest for emphasis and making him flinch. “Attempt it, and die.”

“Why?” Maul whimpered back, pained. “Why are you protecting him?”

Vader smiled at him, a dangerous, predatory leer. “Because he is my Master.”

Maul inhaled sharply, confusion and fear blooming in his eyes. “Kenobi is a Sith?” 

Vader laughed at the very idea. “He has looked the dark side in the face and laughed many times.” 

“Because he is too weak,” Maul sneered, beginning again to struggle against Vader’s Force grip. 

Vader effortlessly held him still, choking off most of his air, making him listen. “He is too strong. He is too wise. He is too skilled. He is under my protection because he is everything to me, Maul.” He poked the finger again hard, making Maul flinch and whimper. “Hate him as much as you like, but know this: he’s like my father, my son, my brother, and my best friend. You touch him, and you die. This is the only requirement for your rescue and your continued existence. You will not touch my Master. Swear to me.”

Maul struggled until his strength gave out, screaming with frustration. He slumped in Vader’s hold, breathing hard. He spat the words. “I swear.”

Vader dropped him, and Maul fell back to the floor with a pained sound. “I don’t believe you are sincere, but I pray you have the sense not to seek death at my hands. Attacking Kenobi is asking for death. You will not succeed, and you will die. If I don’t slaughter you, Kenobi will happily cut you in half again, the other direction this time.” 

Maul sneered. “I understand.” 

“Good,” Vader sighed, satisfied at Maul’s submission for now. He would need constant, active guard on the ship. He took a deep breath, and tried to slip back into the mind of Anakin. He closed his eyes and reached out in the Force, following the small candles of light that were waiting back in the hallway. He called out, “Ventress, Vos, come in.”

He felt them arrive in the Force, and shed the dark side as best he could, leaning on their examples of how to exist in the Force without disturbing it, abusing it. Anakin opened his eyes, and relaxed. Vos was looking at him like he’d never seen him before, and Ventress was even more wary,  but he’d expected that. He’d tried to warn them.

Anakin heard Maul’s sharp inhalation of breath, and looked over to see that his eyes had gone wide at the sight of Ventress. He coughed, and pulled himself up. “My lady, what are you doing here in this terrible place?”

Ventress exchanged a confused glance with both Vos and Anakin, before turning back to Maul, a frown on her face. “We are here to get you?” 

Anakin was almost amused at the way that Maul’s childhood training on Dathomir had apparently resurfaced at the sight of a Nightsister. He only had eyes for her, and they were filled with stars. “You’re really taking me to Talzin?” 

“Yes,” she frowned at him again, and began to work with Vos to maneuver the hovercart closer, so that he could get on the stretcher. “Get on.”

He obeyed quickly, muffling a pained sound as he climbed up and laid back. He ignored Quinlan, all his attention on Ventress. “Thank you, lady. What is your name?”

“Asajj,” she said shortly, and looked at Anakin. “Can we leave?” 

He nodded, and Maul sighed. “Lady Asajj, thank you.” 

“Sure,” she said, pushing the cart with a slightly revolted expression. “Don’t mention it. Please.” 

Vos laughed at her discomfort, and Anakin just sighed. He instinctively reached for Obi-Wan in the Force, tugging on their bond, craving his light and calm, but found only silence. Great.  

Obi-Wan startled when Shmi laid a supportive hand on his shoulder. He’d been lost in the Force—the difference between the icy waves of Vader, and the clumsy, eager touch of Anakin in the bond was so stark, so unsettling.  

“Are you alright?” Her expression was kind and concerned. Obi-Wan laughed quietly, and shook his head. She squeezed her hand gently, and let him go. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you,” he said, as warmly as he could, trying to cover up the numb emptiness that he felt inside. He turned down the sound of Quinlan laughing on the comm, some tension releasing in his stomach at the normality of the sound. How could he be laughing?

Quinlan had left his connection open to the ship so that Obi-Wan could listen in to what was happening on the ground, if he wanted to. He’d said that Anakin had warned him that he might say things that he hadn’t shared before, and Obi-Wan hadn’t wanted to listen, but he did it anyway. He wasn’t sure if it had been a mistake or not. 

He’d wanted to know, and now he had to live with that knowledge.  

Shmi sat down next to him in the co-pilot’s chair, and sighed. Obi-Wan began landing the ship, and the cockpit was filled with a slightly strained silence. What Anakin… Vader… had said…

“He killed me,” Obi-Wan said quietly, his knuckles turning white on the controls for a moment before he intentionally relaxed his hands.

Shmi smiled at him sadly, her voice knowing and kind. “Is that a surprise to you?”

“No,” Obi-Wan admitted, adjusting the ship’s trajectory. “I had suspicions before, but…” He trailed off, and shook his head, unable to articulate how it made him feel.

“It is different to hear.”

“It is, yes.” He nodded crisply. “What he said about the Temple, the Purge… I already knew about the Temple, in abstract, but…”

“The details are… horrifying,” Shmi agreed, voice slightly strained, and then silence returned to the cockpit. Obi-Wan was grateful for her steady company. He could tell that she was much more disturbed than she was acting, and that it was her natural instinct to help others and swallow down trauma to process alone. He wished he could comfort her, but it was beyond him at the moment.  

The stormy, desolate surface of Lotho Minor filled the window before them, the strong winds and acid rain buffeting the ship and adding difficulty to the landing. The dirty, orange-brown fog was thick, an opaque blanket of smoke and pollution, making it almost impossible to see the ground.

“Sometimes…” Obi-Wan said uneasily, adjusting the descent again based on the sensor data. “I can’t believe the Force is giving him a second chance. Sometimes I’m afraid of him. What he’s capable of being and doing.”

Shmi nodded. “I’m grateful he loves us.”

“Grateful?” Obi-Wan frowned at the idea, pulling his eyes away from the dials for a moment to look over at her. “His obsessive, possessive love is dangerous—inherently unstable. We should be encouraging him to let us go, not cling on tighter. What if something goes wrong?”

She tipped her head to the side, studying his face in return. “You don’t think it’s good that he loves you? He’s trying to be a better man for you.”

“Is it for me?” Obi-Wan gestured toward himself, feeling his stomach twist. He returned both hands to the controls and his eyes to the dials when the ship swerved. “Or is it for his old Master, the one he killed? Is this all… all the clinginess, the dependency… is that about his guilt for that?”

“I’m sure it was part of it, especially at the beginning, but…”

“But, what?” Obi-Wan focused on the controls, taking the ship down the last few hundred feet to the small level plain they were using as a landing pad. “What happens to me the day that he realizes that I’m really not and never will be him? Will he kill me again?”

Shmi shook her head as if he was being ridiculous. “He won’t. I know he won’t. You aren’t the Master he killed, but also you are, Obi-Wan. He loves you and he needs you. I think he would be lost without you.”

Obi-Wan flipped three switches, and released the landing clamps, setting the ship down gently between waste piles. He remotely opened the ramp, and sat back in his chair, waiting, trying to process everything. “I’m not sure if I’m capable of being who he needs me to be, and I’m terrified of what he is capable of doing if I fail him.”

“He trusts you.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan said quietly, rubbing his face with his hands. “I know he does. Too much.”

Shmi’s voice was gentle. “Maybe you should trust that trust.”

“Easier said than done, I’m afraid,” Obi-Wan sighed, his awareness of Anakin in the Force was growing stronger, which also meant that Maul was getting closer. It had been so strange to hear the voice of the monster from his nightmares—he’d been a silent terror before, always accompanied by the sound of lightsabers and his own scream.

He reached out with the Force, and brushed against the hideous, familiar disturbance in the Force that was Maul. He felt nauseated, and stood up quickly. “Excuse me.”

He rushed to the crew ‘fresher, and threw up. His heart was pounding, and he felt so shaky and weak, almost feverish. Vomiting did nothing to erase the wrongness in the Force, and he heaved again, but nothing came up. He slumped from kneeling to sitting against the wall, wiping his mouth with the back of his trembling hand and staring ahead blankly. 

He made himself feel Maul’s presence, really feel the dark side rippling off him in waves, and forced himself to get accustomed to it—he was going to be living with it, until they reached Dathomir. Weeks. It felt a bit like sticking his hand in ice water, feeling the sharp agony of the cold, the throbbing ache of the adjustment, and the numbness that followed.

That numb, hollow feeling allowed him to stand up and go to the sink. He cleaned his teeth and rinsed his mouth with water, staring into the mirror. He really did look like hell, with his dark circles and gray skin, stubble that needed a shave, and hair that desperately needed a cut. He hadn’t been sleeping particularly well on his own, which was absurd. 

Anakin was the one with the dependence on Obi-Wan for sleep, not the other way around. Obi-Wan was fine alone, or Obi-Wan should have been fine alone—but he hadn’t been able to sleep or meditate, except for moving meditation with a lightsaber. All the progress that he’d made in healing from his grief seemed undone, and he felt undone. 

Quinlan had requested meditation teaching and Code instruction from him earlier, doubtless on Anakin’s orders, which was so absurd; Quinlan was a Jedi Knight, and Obi-Wan had only been a Padawan. Quinlan had insisted on a lesson, though, and Obi-Wan had found it slightly easier to find peace through teaching than to find it alone. Hopefully he could do that again, he needed help.

He felt Anakin move up the ship from the medical bay on the floor below, and tensed as he walked past the ‘fresher. He relaxed as Anakin didn’t stop or try to talk to him, just passed by and went into his room in silence, leaving Obi-Wan alone. 

His presence in the Force was tremulous and anxious, and Obi-Wan could feel as if it were his own mind as Anakin tried to cycle through some structured meditations and bring down the energy around and inside him. Anakin wasn’t actively reaching out for Obi-Wan, but he was surrounding him in the Force and looking toward him like he was a campfire. 

The fact that Anakin needed him like this, that he relied on him, and trusted him, was something that just concerned Obi-Wan. He had seen glimpses of the man he would have become in Anakin’s mind—the man Vader had killed, apparently—and he understood perhaps how Anakin could need him, but he wasn’t him. 

He was barely holding things together. 

Obi-Wan knew he needed to set his feelings of doubt and inadequacy aside, in order to give Anakin the support he needed—even if he was a liar and a murderer, or perhaps especially because he was. The bond existed to keep him tied to the light, right? That’s what he’d said about it on Naboo. It was an attachment that might be healthy for Anakin to have. 

Obi-Wan just had to be careful that it wasn’t an unhealthy one for himself.  

He took a moment, trying to center himself in the living Force like Qui-Gon had taught him to do when he was panicky and stressed. He made himself include and then ignore the presence of Maul in the scope of his awareness. He could tell that Anakin’s mind remained unsettled. His earnest attempts to meditate back to a state of balance were struggling, but he just kept trying.

He was trying. 

Obi-Wan felt an unexpected, irrational swell of something like fondness, and thought back to Qui-Gon’s serene face on Ilum, and the mandate he’d received, the blessing. He squared his shoulders, and crossed the hall, quietly knocking on the cabin door. “Anakin?”

“Master?” Anakin opened the door rapidly. He looked up, his wide, blue eyes so full of concern. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Obi-Wan blinked, taken aback. He was there for Anakin, not the other way around. 

Anakin stood away from the door, a nonverbal invitation for Obi-Wan to enter. “You don’t feel okay in the Force, and you look sick. Can you feel him?”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said, and swallowed. “Yes.” He stepped inside the room and let the door close behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. “His presence in the Force is… rather clear.”

Anakin was still observing him closely, both in person and in the Force. He winced at Obi-Wan’s words. “I’m so sorry. He’s locked up, I have Vos and Ventress guarding him, and—”

Obi-Wan lifted a hand to halt his flood of words. “What you said on the planet…”

Anakin looked tired and resigned, but not surprised. His presence in the Force drew back away from Obi-Wan as if chastened. “You heard that?” 

“Was it all true?”

Anakin turned away and went back over to the unmade bed, sitting down heavily. He looked at his hands, as if he couldn’t look at Obi-Wan. “Yes.” 

“You… killed me?” 

Anakin swallowed, his words precise and flat. “Perhaps it is more accurate to say that you committed suicide on my blade as a distraction.”

Obi-Wan stepped closer. “Why?”

“To keep me away from my children.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, his chest aching. The emotion he was feeling was too big to name, too complicated.

Anakin finally looked back up at him, his eyes haunted. “I’m sorry, Master.” 

Obi-Wan exhaled hard, almost a laugh. “For killing me in the future?”

“For not telling you about Maul. For bringing him with us at all. I think I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway, because I was only thinking about how useful he would be for my plan to kill Sidious.”

Obi-Wan processed the apology, and nodded. He sat next to Anakin on the bed, looking at him sideways. “Do you want to know something that Master Qui-Gon told me in the caves on Ilum?”

“What?”

“He said something like that you have the right goals, the right intentions, but I have the dedication to right action. He said we need to work together, or we’re out of balance.”

Anakin rubbed his face with his hands, and exhaled hard. “I guess it’s the opposite of what happened with Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, but worse. Your insistence on the Code when I thought the ends justified keeping it. I’m grateful you went to Ilum.”

“I know I’m sometimes…” Obi-Wan swallowed, searching for the right word. “Inflexible… but I’m not entirely incapable of compromise.”

“I know, Master. I’m grateful you are allowing me to bring Maul to Talzin. If you want me to space him, I promise I will.”

“Tempting,” Obi-Wan laughed, knocking shoulders with him in gentle rebuke. Anakin flashed a grin up at him, and he felt warm in the Force. Obi-Wan tentatively relaxed some of the walls he had constructed, opening up and giving Anakin back some more warmth in return. Anakin went still and then leaned against him, grabbing and holding him in the Force.

Obi-Wan breathed deeply and slowly for a few moments, getting used to the slightly overwhelming sensation of Anakin’s mind again and thinking through what he wanted to say. “You need to talk to me about the choices you’re planning on making in the future, Anakin. I’m not…” He struggled to put it into words. “I’m still learning how to deal with my emotions. I’m not a wise old Master who can take any shock without blinking. I need time to handle things your Master could probably shrug off.”

Anakin leaned against him harder. “You’re better at it than you think.” 

“I’m trying as hard as I possibly can, Anakin, but I… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I’m sorry, Master. I don’t either. Not really.”

Obi-Wan wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and Anakin slumped bonelessly against him, whispering, “Will you come back, Master? I’m so fucking tired.” 

Obi-Wan squeezed him gently for a moment. “Okay.” 

“Thank you, Obi-Wan.” Anakin sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

The medical bay of the Twilight was small, even with the medical droid stored away. The humming of the ship’s life support systems continually cycled, and the low level of background noise only served to make the quiet of the room more noticeable—it turned the extended silence slightly awkward. Asajj had no desire for conversation, and thankfully Maul was compliant with her whims most of the time. 

She sat in a lotus posture on the bench by the locked door, eyes closed and face relaxed. It was her turn to supervise the prisoner, and she was using the time to do some of the meditation exercises that Obi-Wan had described. Her breathing was slow and measured, her mind like a still pond. The Force surrounded and embraced her. There was no emotion, there was peace.

She’d been meditating more recently than she had ever done with Master Narec, and over the weeks of dedicated, daily practice, she had begun to understand the ways in which she was fragile and vulnerable to distorted thinking. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but listening to Obi-Wan’s lectures and watching his example had painted a grim picture to her of just how easily she could have fallen to the dark. 

Cruelty was not inherent to her nature, but neither was the inherent discipline that Obi-Wan exuded. Even on his bad days, when his emotions were agitated and his focus sloppy, he automatically regulated himself in a way that Asajj realized had been trained into him from early childhood. He had an advantage that she could never match, but she could try. She had to try. The stakes were too high.

Falling to the dark was not an acceptable option.

It bothered her that she could easily imagine herself feeling satisfaction in violence, if she thought it was merited. She’d felt shivers of satisfaction before, when administering justice on Rattatak. If she lost perspective without her Master’s wisdom to anchor her, if that anchor had been cut away violently by the pirates she already despised, it was easy to imagine forgetting her moral reservations and seeking out that sense of righteous satisfaction in their suffering. 

That’s what Obi-Wan had been lecturing about, and Anakin had warned about—how easy it was to lose sight of your values and restrictions once the moral line has been crossed. Limitations would begin to seem irrelevant or infantilizing, and your own judgment of when violence could and should be used would be what mattered instead. She would begin to enjoy and expect the fear and suffering instead of abhorring them. 

Thank the Force, it wouldn’t happen this time. This time she was prepared. 

She heard Maul shuffled a bit on the table and sigh loudly, and felt his eyes on her, but allowed those observations to register and flow away. Maul had never made an attempt to leave, but Asajj did not trust him enough to leave him alone. Nobody on the Twilight trusted Maul–it was impossible to trust anyone who felt the way he did in the Force. 

He was subsisting on anger and his twisted sense of purpose in revenge, so there was no abatement to the disturbance. He was always tugging on reality, twisting it to suit his will, and the ripples of that violation shivered out. Even Shmi disliked walking past his room, even if she couldn’t say exactly why it felt wrong. Asajj found him more irritating than impressive. 

He chatted her up when she was on duty, even though he was supposed to be working on meditations set for him by Anakin, who had been functioning like Maul’s Master. Maul had not resented him at all for his domination, which was strange to Asajj. Anakin had been right about Maul’s respect for power and his desire to align himself with the most powerful person—if Anakin defeated his old Master, he deserved to be his new one. 

When Maul asked if Anakin ever had an Apprentice before, Anakin had seemed sad for a moment, and said that he hadn’t had one while he was a Sith. Despite that, he wasn’t an inexperienced teacher. He had apparently run an entire program to find and train Sith acolytes for the Emperor, and had a lot of vicious training methods that worked to drive Jedi to the dark. He seemed really talented at being able to see the cracks inside someone, identifying what would push them over the edge, and then shoving them there. 

Asajj could admit to herself that she was terrified of him half the time, whenever Obi-Wan wasn’t around and even sometimes when he was. His presence in the Force was mostly restrained, but she could never forget the hints of his true capacity for darkness she’d seen. She was glad to know him now, not when he’d been an unrepentant Sith lord. 

She ran a hand on her smooth scalp, feeling a momentary surge of regret for her purple hair. She hadn’t thought to buy more dye in her village, and so her roots had been growing in, the pale blonde was very obvious and annoying, so she’d shaved her head. She liked what it did for her silhouette, how it could make her look long, lean, and dangerous—or so she thought in the privacy of her own mind, if she’d said that out loud to Quinlan she was sure that she would never hear the end of it. 

“You changed it.”

“Hmm?” Asajj opened her eyes, meeting Maul’s yellow ones. “What?”

“Your hair…” He gestured at his own scalp, at the bald, tattooed skin under his crown of vestigial horns, where she had hair instead. “It is gone.”

Asajj raised an eyebrow, and cracked her back. “What about it?”

Maul dropped his eyes, his icy presence in the Force losing some intensity as his meditation slipped. “Many Nightsisters do the same.”

“I’m not a Nightsister.”

“You are,” Maul said emphatically and Asajj sighed—it was an argument they’d been having for weeks. “You will see.”

She gave him a sour look at his pleased tone. His respect for them made no sense. “Don’t they kill men?”

Maul shrugged, repeating on rote, as though it had been ingrained in him in childhood as true and good: “Their loyalty must always be to the clan of sisters first. Keeping around a lover and raising children with them? Divided loyalty.”

“So you would just want to die?”  

He sighed dramatically. “We all die somehow. Life among the Nightbrothers is… harsh. It was the highest honor, the one most feared and most revered, to be chosen.”

“You’re not a very good salesman for the culture.”

“The power,” he said softly, his eyes refocusing on something beyond her that she couldn’t see. “You will see. The entire planet is rich with the dark side. The power of the Nightsisters comes from nature, they are one with it and can bend it to their needs. Together with their sisters they can cast truly powerful magicks.”

“Like growing somebody into an adult.”

“That is the goal,” Anakin said, and Asajj jumped. She felt a swell of frustration at the fact that her focus had slipped to the degree that she’d missed him opening the door. He strode in and put his hands on his hips, staring hard at Maul for a moment, unimpressed, before turning his attention to Asajj. “You may go, thank you.”

Asajj felt Maul’s reaction to the presence of Anakin in the Force, and how it changed when Anakin let Vader rise, the room getting even chillier and more hostile. Maul leaked a trembling combination of fear and awe. “Please, can—”

“Stop asking,” Anakin said, exasperated, and his disgust and disdain in the Force made Asajj shudder as she slipped past. “Until Dathomir, until you are healed, I cannot teach you anything beyond focusing your rage, refining it and tapping it. Sidious betrayed and abandoned you. Think how much you want to see him laid low.”

“More than anything…”

Asajj let the door slide shut behind her, and took a steadying breath, trying to shake off the clinging tendrils of the dark side. She headed toward the kitchen and found Shmi and Quinlan playing holochess. The warmth of the two of them in the Force quickly helped her feel balanced again—helped her remember what was good and right. She sought the power of the Force with her friends to help, not power for herself or a bunch of women she’d never met and who’d given her away. 

They were only days away from Dathomir and she was growing increasingly nervous. It felt like time was running out, even if she couldn’t say what exactly would be ending when they arrived. It was supposed to be a new beginning, but she couldn’t fight the trepidation. She wasn’t a Nightsister. She wasn’t. 

Anakin woke up when they reverted to realspace. He was always alerted to the change by a somewhat jarring sensation in the living Force as they came into sudden proximity with a planet, especially one as steeped in the dark side as Dathomir. He slowly blinked awake and suppressed a shudder as the darkness reached out to touch his feelings. 

The darkness here was not icy, but hot—there was an angry, living ferocity woven through the planet in the Force. All of its creatures and plants were influenced by the darkness to some degree; there was a reason the planet was the home of rancors and dark witches. Anakin felt the allure of the power, but steadied himself as best he could. 

It was easy to do when he was this close to Obi-Wan in the Force. He relaxed his head against Obi-Wan’s chest for a moment, feeling the slow, rhythmic inhale of his breath as he slept. It was nice—for once he was awake before Obi-Wan, and he was enjoying it while it lasted. Obi-Wan had complained in the past about how noisy Anakin’s mind was sometimes, so he would probably wake up soon.

Anakin didn’t generally mind getting woken up by the soft, hushed sound of Obi-Wan's indignant grumbling, and his gentle pushes, rearranging their limbs until he was able to extricate himself from Anakin’s arms. After so many years of sleeping alone, furiously suppressing his craving for human contact, it was one of the things that he appreciated most about coming back. More than chocolate, as much as breathing. 

No matter how much he tried to be calm, the disturbance of the dark side of the Force reminded him of all the things he needed to do. He relaxed his head back against Obi-Wan’s chest and took a deep breath, trying to muster the willpower to leave and the energy to move out of the comfortable warm bed. His arms squeezed unconsciously—he didn’t really want to go anywhere.

Obi-Wan’s breathing pattern shifted, waking up with a start, and Anakin sighed with disappointment, letting the moment pass away. Obi-Wan blinked down at him, his eyes hazy and soft. “We’re here?” His voice was drowsy and raspy, still full of sleep, and it made Anakin smile. Obi-Wan huffed and pushed him off, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “How long have you been awake?”

“Just a minute,” Anakin shrugged, snuggling down into Obi-Wan’s warm, abandoned pillow. “Can you feel the planet from here?”

“What?” Obi-Wan looked down at him, still waking up. He cleared this throat and tried again, voice slightly clearer. “No. Can you?”

“Yes,” Anakin shrugged again. He could never tell what was possible for other people—what he could do and feel that they could not. Everything was as easy and obvious as breathing for him. Now that breathing was easy again. “It is strong in the dark side. I am more attuned.” 

“Fair enough,” Obi-Wan sighed and scooted off the bed, standing up and stretching. He exhaled hard with relief when his back cracked, and he gave Anakin a much sharper look. “You’re sure about this?”

Anakin groaned with exasperation. How many times were they going to have this conversation? Once a day, at least, day after day, for weeks? “Yes, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, and began to gather his clothes. “All right, can’t blame me for asking. I have a very bad feeling about it.”

“Do you really? Or are you just saying that to be contrary.”

Obi-Wan scowled over his shoulder at him. “Shut up, I do too have a bad feeling.”

Anakin pulled himself up to sit on the side of the bed, legs dangling over the edge. He was so tired of being short. “This is necessary, Obi-Wan. Do you remember why?”

Obi-Wan huffed. “Don’t quiz me like a youngling, Anakin.”

“Stop acting like one!” 

“Can we not?” Obi-Wan gave him a dirty look, and headed to the tiny ‘fresher attached to the room. “At least let me get dressed first.”

Anakin waved a hand magnanimously. “Fine.” 

The door to the ‘fresher closed with a firm click. Anakin instinctively reached out with the Force, checking in on the ship and its passengers. There were no disturbances other than Maul, who actually appeared to be deep in one of his assigned meditations. Anakin wondered if he could sense the planet yet. Probably not. He’d be much more agitated if he could.  

Obi-Wan reappeared, much more put together, his hair brushed neatly and face shaved, to Anakin’s mild disappointment. He hopped down from the bed and took his turn in the ‘fresher. A quick sonic and brushing his teeth made him feel slightly more human and presentable. He put on his brown boots and blue pants, white shirt and brown vest, perpetually annoyed that Obi-Wan had refused to buy him anything black. 

He came back into the room, buckling on his leather belt and attaching his lightsaber, and turned to see Obi-Wan doing the same. He was dressed in a similar fashion, and they both looked more like smugglers than Jedi, which suited Anakin just fine. It might have been the light, but Obi-Wan looked strangely older, and for a moment he reminded Anakin of Luke’s friend, the one he’d tortured on Bespin. He’d been older too, more jaded. 

Anakin felt a surge of protectiveness and concern, wanting to make sure Obi-Wan ended up less bitter. He knew he’d severely disturbed his life with his arrival, but he didn’t want to ruin it, ruin him, turn him into someone he was not. Obi-Wan was a Jedi Knight, even if he didn’t believe it.

“Ready?” Obi-Wan asked, voice still laced with disapproval. 

He gave Anakin a friendly poke in the Force, though, letting him know that things between them were okay. He’d taken to doing that over the last few weeks, having noticed it usually calmed Anakin down. Anakin smiled at him gratefully in return, and followed him to the door. 

He didn’t remember his Master the first time being so casual and frequent with his use of the bond, he’d been so much more closed off and cool. He had been trying to push Anakin off, make him stand on his own, wean him off relying on him for support. His priorities had been wrong. All he’d done was push Anakin into Sidious’s lap instead.

The mental image made his lip curl involuntarily, and he shuddered. It was his fault for falling, not Obi-Wan’s, he reminded himself sharply. His fault, his choice, no one else’s. “Let’s go find the others.”

Obi-Wan ruffled Anakin’s hair absently as they walked down the hall, obviously aware that Anakin was still brooding, but he let his hand drop before they entered the common area. Anakin went straight for the counter of the kitchen and poured himself caf, having long ago won the argument about whether or not he was allowed to drink any. 

Asajj was awkwardly pacing, radiating anxiety in the Force. Quinlan was leaning against the door, eating a snack in his sleeping clothes, and was quietly teasing her, trying to calm her down. He refused to leave the ship on the surface of Dathomir, which was fair, after what happened to him last time, when he’d been enslaved and almost killed. She punched his shoulder, and then smiled, looking more relaxed. 

Quinlan pushed off the door frame and turned away with a wave, using the Force to toss his trash into the compactor. He headed back down towards the medical bay, back to guarding Maul. Anakin was handing over Asajj as a show of good faith, but he would be handing over Maul only if Mother Talzin agreed to terms. Obi-Wan would be staying back as well as a pilot, but was ready to come fight as backup. 

What was surprising was that Shmi was lacing up her own boots, a look of determination on her face. She cut off Anakin before he could ask. “I have a feeling I should go, Ani.”

Anakin frowned and reached out into the Force, not sensing what she was sensing. Could she even sense anything? “Are you sure?”

“Anakin,” Shmi said quietly. “Trust me.”

Anakin scowled and looked at Obi-Wan, checking his reaction. “But it might be dangerous!”

Obi-Wan was rummaging through a mostly empty box of ration bars, but looked up, feeling Anakin’s eyes. He frowned, gaze flicking between Anakin and Shmi, and shrugged, looking back into the box. “They probably wouldn’t hurt a woman.” 

“Anakin,” Shmi said firmly, making him look back and meet her serious eyes. “It’s my choice.”

Anakin wrestled with the idea for another moment, but gave way beneath the intensity of her gaze. He shrugged reluctantly. “Okay, mom. Promise you’ll stay close to me.”

“I promise,” she said softly. “We will stick together.”

Obi-Wan left with his ration bar to the cockpit to land the ship, giving Anakin a last nudge of good luck in the Force. Anakin smiled tightly and put a hand on his lightsaber, harmonizing as much as he could with the kyber, trying to find and shore up his natural defenses against the dark side—he couldn’t give in to the environment, and let his worst, most feral self out. He had to be on his best behavior.  

The planet grew louder in the Force until the ship touched down, and Anakin sighed, knocking back the rest of his caf before standing up. Shmi stood and put a supportive hand on Asajj’s shoulder, stopping her pacing. Asajj smiled at her gratefully, and they left together for the ramp off the ship, heading out into the swamp. 

Anakin’s feet touched the ground and he felt a sense of deja vu. He didn’t like how the light from the system’s star was red, and how it seemed to drench everything it touched in blood. The red light only seemed to exist in order to make the darkness seem even darker in comparison. It didn’t feel like day, only a slight concession of the night to visibility. The darkness would roll back soon, and the redness would remain. The swampland and the twisted vegetation was all red itself too, the forest with its sinister tall trees with large, cocoon-like fruit, all of it was red. 

It was like being back inside Vader’s helmet, the view display all filtered through shades of red, which had been easier on his damaged eyes. 

Anakin suddenly realized how much he had already taken for granted the ability to see color since his return, and how precious it was to him. He tried to think of blue, of green, and remind himself that he could and would see it all again. Memories of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, Quinlan’s. He steadied his breathing, letting his emotions slide away. 

This redness was temporary, the illusion of his mask just an illusion. 

He picked a direction at random, leading their group out through the swamp. He knew well that it wasn’t about trying to find the Nightsister’s village, but rather about waiting for them to find them instead. It took about twenty minutes until he felt them coming in the Force, and thirty before they were surrounded. He stopped with his hands up, and allowed the Nightsisters to encircle them. 

Asajj’s breathing was unsteady, and Anakin could tell that Shmi had returned to her side in support. He looked around at the women, who were all wearing the tight red uniforms of their tribe, some with hoods and masks, others with faces exposed, all brandishing weapons. Their expressions were a mixture of curious and cruel.

Anakin smiled with satisfaction as Mother Talzin suddenly stepped forward, as if she had been there the whole time. They’d gotten the right kind of attention. Talzin was tall, her robes flowing crimson, her face tattooed dramatically white and black. Her voice echoed strangely inside the ear, the Force woven through her words. “Who are you?”

Anakin began to speak, “I am—”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, not sparing him a look. “Silence, maleling.” She repeated her question, drawing even closer. “Who are you?”

Asajj spoke flatly, her nerves hidden well behind a wall of chill. “My name is Asajj Ventress, I was—”

Mother Talzin cut Asajj off as well, but with much less disdain. “We know who you are, child.” Asajj’s head tipped back slightly in surprise, but her face remained neutral. Talzin’s resonant voice was almost soft. “It is a pleasure to see you come home to us. It grieved us greatly to part with you.”

Asajj swallowed and shifted uncomfortably, as if she didn’t know what to do with her hands. “Thank you.”

There was a moment’s silence, and Anakin realized that Talzin’s eyes were fixed on Shmi, and had been the whole time. He bristled, moving to stand in front of her as Talzin repeated herself again, eyes alight with curiosity. “Who are you?”

Shmi laid a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, and it was trembling slightly, but her voice was steadier than Anakin expected. “My name is Shmi Skywalker. My son, he knows things. You should meet with him.”

Mother Talzin finally lowered her eyes to Anakin, and Anakin swallowed. He felt her tremendous pool of power in the Force rise, swirl, and settle as it probed and tested him. She looked surprised, betraying her first visible emotion, and Anakin knew that was a rare feat. 

She gestured a hand out in a welcoming move, pointing them in the direction of the village. “Very well. Follow me.”

Shmi’s hand squeezed on Anakin’s shoulder and then she let go with a sigh. They all followed in silence as Mother Talzin led them to the village, guiding them inside a large natural cave, filled with stone buildings carved ornately into the tall stalagmites. Water dripped down into shallow pools between the elevated stone paths, and the dripping sound in the vast cavern provided a strange, uncanny background sound. 

The dark side was strong here, and Anakin took a steadying breath, moving through the power without touching it. The stone pathway was illuminated with a ghostly green light that was radiating off spheres enchanted to glow. At least it wasn’t red. Shmi squeezed his shoulder again, and he touched her hand in acknowledgement. At least she didn’t seem to be in danger.    

Mother Talzin led them inside a large, central structure, guiding them up the ornately carved stairs and into a room with a large stone table. The crowd of Nightsisters around them had melted away, leaving just the three of them and Talzin. Anakin reached out with the Force as they sat down, testing that illusion. “Are we alone?”

“You may speak freely.” Talzin’s face was neutral, and her voice was even deeper, richer, and more complex within the walls of the cave. 

Anakin swallowed the urge to demand she actually answer the question, and reached for his sense of equilibrium. He had to be polite. “The Nightsisters are in danger of annihilation. I have information that would help you prevent this fate.”

“Who are you to make such a claim?” Talzin studied him again, her eyes alight with curiosity. Anakin felt her test his Force presence again, and endured it with jaw clenched. Her magic felt as sickly green as the lights. “The Force clings to you strangely.”

He nodded stiffly. “I am not truly a boy. My name is Darth Vader, and I was the last Apprentice of Darth Sidious, Emperor of the future Galactic Empire.” 

Talzin’s face betrayed a surprising amount of emotion, and she spat the name with contempt. “What does Sidious do?”

Anakin met her eyes steadily. “If you agree to help me return to an adult body, I will tell you.” 

“That is not something that I can do,” Talzin said severely. She looked between Asajj and Shmi, returning her attention to Anakin. “What you are asking for cannot be done. Request something else.” Anakin could feel the implied, or else I will take the information by force, and I might do so anyway, maleling.  

He glowered, unimpressed. “I also have your son.” 

Talzin studied him for a moment with head tipped to the side. He could feel her sink slightly back down into the Force, her presence in the room fading as she cast her attention out through the living channels of the planet, pulling on the natural dark side to reach further and see more. The Nightsisters and their planet were truly one symbiotic being. He felt her surprise viscerally when she examined their ship. 

Her full attention snapped back into the room, and it was as if her body became much more vivid and real than it ever had before. “Maul.”

Anakin nodded confirmation. “He is in desperate need of medical care—cut in half. Darth Sidious tossed him aside like trash.” Mother Talzin snarled, and Anakin smiled mercilessly. “If you agree to help me, I will bring him to you. You were able to heal him last time, maybe you will this time too.”

An old woman materialized from the shadows in the corner, making Shmi startle in surprise, and Anakin glowered in her direction. Not alone after all, what a surprise. The Nightsister was tall, with stooped shoulders, white hair, mottled skin and shrunken eyes, her voice deep and raspy. “The son of darkness, Talzin.” 

“Old Daka,” Talzin said, her tone surprisingly wary. “You think…?”

The Nightsister’s voice took on a strange resonance as she quoted. “The end of times has already happened, the end of times is about to begin.”  

She gave Anakin an intent stare that made his skin crawl. “That is the beginning of the prophecy at the end of the Book of Shadows, passed down through the generations.” Her voice took on that strange register again: “With a lost daughter and half a son of darkness, with green light, blue light, and two suns’ light, comes the pearl of the Force and the krayt who bore him.”

The silence after she finished speaking was very loud. Anakin felt numb and exhausted, rubbing his forehead, turning the words over and over in his mind. The pearl of the Force. Kriffing hell, Quinlan could never find out about that.

He absently summoned his lightsaber from his hip, and flicked his thumb to ignite it, making everyone flinch. The yellow light from his blade fought against the murky green around him, making the skin of the Nightsisters’ faces seem grayer, and the red of their scarves, robes and hoods all lost saturation. They seemed more mortal, less sinister. He retracted his blade, and their power returned.  

Old Daka was insistent at Talzin’s side. “It’s time.”

Anakin shook his head, refusing to forget why they were actually there. “Can you give me an adult body? Through some kind of rite?”

Mother Talzin looked between Old Daka and Anakin, her face stormy as she stressed each word: “I cannot help him.”

“What?” Anakin growled. “Then—”

Daka gave Talzin an intent look, her raspy voice full of something like excitement; it made Anakin extremely suspicious. “There is someone who can.”

“Who?” Anakin said loudly, drawing both of their attention. “I will not surrender your son if…” Talzin and Daka’s eyes left Anakin, flicking right and fixing on Shmi. Anakin trailed off, turning his head and looking up at his mom beside him. “Mom?”

Shmi startled as though shocked by faulty wiring. “Me?” 

Daka’s smile showed too many teeth. “You.”

Shmi had been turning over the word krayt in her mind, her focus on the conversation fading in and out. She was very familiar with the legendary dragons in the deserts of Tatooine, and had heard tales of their pearls, their beauty and rarity, though of course she had never seen one. Had she borne Anakin in a similar way?

She had felt a jolt of something like fear when everyone turned to stare at her. Why her? She didn’t understand what she could possibly do to help.

“Mom,” Anakin was staring at her, brow furrowed with confusion and incredulity. “Are you Force sensitive?”

Shmi shook her head slowly, equally confused. “I can’t do the things that you do.” 

The elderly Nightsister approached Shmi around the table, and her eyes gleamed green in the dim light of the room. Anakin tensed as the old woman raised a hand to touch her forehead, wiping it with green vapor that appeared beneath her thumb. It felt like a river of power coursed through her, a circuit with the planet suddenly connecting—an overwhelming current of energy flowing through her. The Force, this must be the Force.

She blinked, gasping, and the sensation disappeared. The old woman’s voice was raspy and satisfied. “How does a krayt generate pearls?” 

Shmi shuddered, looking up into her ghostly green eyes. “Over time, it builds up inside.”

The Nightsister nodded and traded a glance with Mother Talzin. “You kept all your power inside to keep yourself safe, I presume.” 

“I…” Shmi licked her lips, her heart racing. She looked to Anakin for support, and he grabbed and held her hand. “I’ve never thought about it.” 

The old woman returned to stand at Mother Talzin’s shoulder, but Shmi could feel her presence lingering somehow, clinging to her beneath the skin. She shuddered again, but it didn’t help.

Daka leered at her. “You were never trained, but you have such potential. Such a conduit. The dark side of the Force calls to you.” 

Anakin’s voice was dangerous. “You’re saying she’s—”

Daka’s focus reluctantly shifted to the boy. “Shared blood is one of the strongest conduits for magick. Mother Talzin could heal Maul in your future because he is her son, flesh of her flesh. Your mother is the only one who can draw you into your older body without the cost being higher than can be paid.” 

“What does she—”

“I can speak for myself, Ani,” Shmi said, and laid a hand on his arm gently. “Thank you for trying to protect me.”

“Of course,” Anakin blushed. “I’m just…”

“I know. Thank you.” Anakin nodded reluctantly and Shmi returned her focus to the old woman in front of her. “What would this require?”

Daka nodded in approval. “You must learn how to wield our magicks, prepare our ichors, and act in our rites. It will take some time for you to study, but it cannot be rushed. This is the only way your son will be able to hasten his body through time.” 

“This is acceptable to me,” Mother Talzin said, the deep, strange resonance of her words laced through with satisfaction, her dark eyes fixed on Anakin. “It will give you plenty of time to discuss the end of times with me.” 

Anakin looked momentarily conflicted, and then sighed, his shoulders dropping, making Shmi aware of just how much tension he had been holding in his body. His voice was resigned. “Maul’s rage has not been as powerful since we landed. He needs healing soon, or I suspect that he will die.”

Talzin stiffened, something like real concern passing across her face. Shmi felt a momentary thrum of sympathy as a mother, about to see her wounded son. “Bring him to me. Bring the other malelings hiding on your ship as well. They will attend the feast that we will hold in their honor. We will not harm them.” 

“Do you swear that?” Anakin’s high, childish voice had steel underneath. “I will slaughter you and everyone in this village if the slightest harm comes to them.”

Talzin waved a hand, dismissing his threat. “They are safe as long as they stay under the supervision of Asajj.” 

Shmi smiled at the baffled expression on Asajj’s face, and she heard Anakin laugh once. “Get them, and make sure they know that Mother Talzin put you in charge, but also make sure… make sure that Obi-Wan is comfortable coming along. He doesn’t have to see Maul, I promised him that.” 

Asajj stood up, smoothing down her tunic. “I will ask him.”

“Thank you, and, Asajj…” Anakin’s voice trailed off awkwardly. 

“What?”

“You can let them know that they’re in the prophecy, but keep the pearl of the Force part to yourself.” 

Asajj smirked at him as she passed to the door, eager to leave. “Quinlan is going to find out eventually.”

“I know,” Anakin sighed heavily. Shmi smiled at him fondly, and he smiled back weakly. 

“Come with me,” Old Daka said, suddenly standing at her elbow, and it made Shmi’s stomach drop in surprise. Daka laid a hand on her shoulder, and she braced for more of the overwhelming sensation of the Force, but there was none. 

Anakin looked extremely displeased. “Where are you going?”

Daka flicked him on the forehead in rebuke. He rubbed the spot and glared at her as she explained slowly. “I am taking her for her first lesson. You are not in charge here, maleling. She has no need of your protection here. We have been waiting for the Krayt Mother for hundreds of years.” 

“Why?” Anakin’s eyes narrowed, and he stood, puffing himself up. “Why is she so important to you?”

Shmi kissed his forehead and murmured, calming him down. “Let me find out. I trust that they will keep me safe. I seem to hold some importance to them.”

Anakin rubbed his face with his hands, exhaling hard and letting go of whatever frustration he had at not being in control of the situation. He sat back down with a soft thump. “Good luck, mom.”

“Be safe, Ani. I will see you later.” 

“Yes,” he said pointedly, eyes fixed on Talzin. “You will.”

Shmi kissed his hair one last time and then nervously followed Daka away, giving one look back before she left the conference room. Mother Talzin was sitting across the table from Anakin, her fingers steepled, both of them studying each other seriously in silence. Anakin’s incongruous maturity had never been more apparent to her. 

She followed Daka into the dim light of the cave, still reeling from the prophecy and from touching the Force. As they walked between the shallow pools, and things sank in, she began to feel a blooming sense of incredulous excitement. She might be able to help, really help. 

Maul inhaled deeply, the hint of the familiar scent of the swamps of Dathomir had begun cycling through the air on the ship. He was very aware that they had landed on the planet and that his fate was being bartered for by forces outside of his control. This was not unusual for him—it was how each transition in his life had occurred so far. 

He’d only ever had one choice: to lean into the new power that controlled him, or perish. He had chosen to live, again and again, boiling with indignation at every new slight and injustice done to him. He’d learned to direct his anger, channel his rage, and see the Jedi as the true authors of his fate, but that was no longer possible.

Darth Sidious. 

It had been Sidious all along—his true enemy. He remembered well how Sidious had once courted Mother Talzin as an apprentice, seducing her into betraying her child and sending him away to be beaten and starved in the name of discipline. Sidious had whispered in her ear, and Maul’s childhood had ended. 

No matter how much he sobbed, begged, and pleaded, his mother had turned cold to him. The man he’d been given to had slapped him for resisting, and had taken him to the colony of males on the far side of the planet without allowing him to say goodbye to his brothers or collect any of his belongings, dragging him painfully by the arm across the village and throwing him into a deep pit behind his new home.  

In many ways, it seemed like Maul had never really crawled out of that pit. He was still there, weeping and snarling, pounding his fists against the walls. The man and his sons had starved, beaten, and broken him, little by little, into something fierce and hungry. His hate and rage opened up the world to him in a new way, where as a small child he would sit among the trees and feel how life ebbed and flowed around him, now he could pull on that power, harness and channel it to serve his will.

Sidious had returned to watch a trial by combat among all the boys, and Maul had seized the opportunity to kill the ones who had beaten and taunted him for so long. He’d unleashed his rage to grab their throats and choke the life from their twitching, gasping bodies. Sidious had approved, and chosen him as his apprentice. 

Mother Talzin had been betrayed, dismissed and passed over in favor of her child. She’d been a means to an end, never a true candidate to be the Sith apprentice. If she hadn’t been so blind, proud, and flattered, she would have realized that, and would have kept Maul safe. But she’d been weak, and he hated her for that still. He took a deep, shaky breath. 

Sidious turned her against me. Sidious is to blame. Sidious did this to me. The roiling swell of anger inside refreshed him, the meditation that Darth Vader had provided steadied him. He struggled to hold on to the rage for a moment, keeping himself strong for a moment, but huffed with frustration as he lost mastery of his rage. He hurt so much, so badly.

He could feel Nightsisters approaching, but relaxed when he felt Lady Asajj was among them. They collected him and took him outside, and Maul caught sight of Obi-Wan Kenobi for the first time since Naboo. He’d felt his presence in the Force, of course, but there he was in the flesh, the loathsome Padawan. Obi-Wan was staring back at him, and his face was tight with disgust. 

Maul snarled at him, and Obi-Wan took two steps forward, hand drifting to his lightsaber, until Quinlan stepped between them, whispering fervently. Obi-Wan tore his eyes away, staring blindly at the ground, and he steadied his breath, pushing Quinlan off and walking a few paces away into the trees. Maul enjoyed the sensation of his suffering in the Force—the closest he would get to revenge without Vader killing him. Let him suffer me. 

Asajj coughed pointedly, and Maul turned his attention to her extremely unimpressed expression. The other Nightsisters’ faces were unreadable as always as they began to navigate his hovercart away. Their beauty was sharp and cruel, and Maul’s heart felt full of a twisting mass of longing and disgust. He used one of Vader’s meditations to pull and coil his rage inside, and allowed them to transport him to the village, to his mother.  

He inhaled deeply again, staring up at the familiar canopy of red trees, and then savored the familiar, damp scent of the cave air as they brought him inside. He felt irrationally safe for the first time in over a decade. The sting of betrayal was momentarily smoothed over by the unexpected satisfaction of return, and just for a moment, he let his anger go. He was home. 

Quinlan sincerely hated being on Dathomir. 

He still had nightmares from his last mission there, mostly from the time when he had been strapped down to a vertical bed and injected with the artery worms. That agony had surpassed anything he’d ever felt before or since. It was beyond torture, and it would have killed him, if he hadn’t been rescued at the last moment by one of the Nightsisters. She’d betrayed him in the end, but she’d saved him first. 

He shook his head, trying to separate himself from the memories that intruded forcefully. They were walking back through the swamp at dusk back to the ship, having refused to stay in the village after the feast celebrating the fulfillment of the prophecy and the return of Maul and Asajj. Quinlan was not thrilled at being referred to even obliquely by a Nightsister prophecy. He wanted to get off this kriffing cursed planet.

The raw, vicious power of the dark side was woven through everything, the whole planet tainted by the dark Force nexus in the subterranean pools below the Nightsisters’ lair in the mountains. Obi-Wan and Asajj both agreed that the planet was deeply uncomfortable. Asajj especially seemed troubled, though Obi-Wan was less composed than usual as well, especially after seeing Maul. 

It made Quinlan’s stomach twist to see both his friends struggling, and that sense of impotence only opened an invitation to the dark side to creep into his thoughts, driving him toward anger. His temper was short, and he wanted desperately to meditate to manage the clinging tendrils of desperation. Ironic, that.

He hurried his pace, and led the group the last quarter mile to the ship. He was glad that he didn’t have to wait for Anakin’s small legs to keep up. He had refused to be parted from Shmi, and Mother Talzin had wanted to keep him close, so he wasn’t with them. He probably wanted to witness the rite to restore Maul’s health too, but Quinlan, Obi-Wan and Asajj had bolted at first opportunity. 

Quinlan wanted to be back in the artificial light of the ship, safely ensconced in the small kitchen with a chocolate ration bar, at least four shots, and his sabacc deck. Staying inside the ship so far had been the only thing helping him keep himself from sliding back into his trauma. Being surrounded by Nightsisters, in their village, only made things worse. 

Everyone was safe. He reminded himself, doing a breathing exercise. We are all safe. 

He checked the expression on Asajj’s face, noting with displeasure that she was looking lost and absent. Going back to the ship as soon as possible had been for her benefit too, in order to give her some space from a situation that was obviously distressing for her. She’d met her mother at the feast, and her mother had failed to apologize for giving her away. 

“The safety of the clan is the most important thing, Asajj. You must understand that the clan must always come first.” Quinlan had felt something worryingly like rage at how listless Asajj had seemed after that.

He sighed with relief when they finally reached the clearing with the ship. Without discussion, they all went straight to the kitchen after boarding. Obi-Wan went to the small cabinet beneath the conservator, and pulled out one of the emergency bottles of Corellian whiskey, spinning off the cap and taking a long drink straight from the bottle. 

Quinlan huffed, and put down three glasses on the table. “Save some for us.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, taking another swig before he exhaled hard and wiped his mouth, handing it over. “I really should tell you to get your own.”

“Don’t die of alcohol poisoning, it’s a waste of my alcohol,” Asajj said archly, making grabby hands at one of the glasses that Quinlan filled. She knocked it back and sighed, slumping back into her seat. “That was awful.”

“I’m so sorry,” Obi-Wan said sincerely. Quinlan dropped into the seat beside him with three ration bars, kicking his feet up on the opposing chair and tore one open with satisfaction. He wouldn’t eat Nightsister food if you paid him a million credits. 

Asajj shrugged much too casually in response to Obi-Wan’s sympathy, accepting a refill. “I didn’t really expect much else, after talking with Maul, but it still…”

“Still hurt,” Quinlan finished, and she smiled tightly. 

“It did.”  

The kitchen was quiet as they all decompressed further from the evening, drinking in silence. It had all been terrible. Obi-Wan had seen Maul, Asajj had seen her mother, and Quinlan was literally living a nightmare. This kriffing sucked, man. 

“Why do we have to be here?” He asked, knowing he was voicing the question that had been the bantha in the room for weeks. “Why can’t he wait and grow naturally?”

Obi-Wan sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He doesn’t think there’s time. He thinks we need to hurry, or Darth Sidious will thwart us.” 

Asajj huffed, staring down fixedly into her glass of whiskey. “It seems absurd that one man could be so powerful.” 

Obi-Wan pursed his lips, annoyance flickering before fading into the Force. “Sidious is standing on the shoulders of giants. Anakin told me that he’s the inheritor of a thousand years of Sith research and decay.”

Quinlan felt a swell of fondness of the way Asajj tipped her head back with unconscious disdain, looking down her nose at Obi-Wan. “What does that even mean?” She noticed Quinlan watching her, and made a face at him, sticking out her tongue. 

Obi-Wan swirled the amber liquid in his glass pensively. The alcohol was beginning to hit him, and his cheeks were flushing slightly. He must not have eaten much at the feast either, and was drinking without his usual restraint. His shirt had been opened, as if he were hot, and the blush went down his neck, to the hair on his bared chest. 

Anakin would have made him close his shirt, Quinlan thought with a snort. He took another long drink, and shamelessly took advantage of Anakin’s one night of absence to actually look at his old friend. Obi-Wan was oblivious to his observation, too focused on the concept he was trying to explain to Asajj. The pedantic ass. 

Quinlan smiled. He could feel the alcohol was hitting him too, and everything thankfully was growing softer and less important. He tipped his chair back on two legs, looking up at the ceiling, half-listening as Obi-Wan worked himself up to Asajj’s minimal prompting. She was very good at making people feel like they needed to explain themselves.

“The Sith, you see, over time, the Sith gathered power by deepening their understanding of the… umm… the mechanics of the dark side, but more importantly, more importantly…”

Quinlan absently returned to his hobby of Obi-Wan watching, appreciating him stumbling over his words for once, not as contained and eloquent and whatever else he was these days. He was more like he’d been as a teenager, and it was pleasant to see. Quinlan missed this Obi-Wan.

“They also consolidated political power! Economic power, and we didn’t know! In secret backroom deals, loans, blackmail! They turned more authorities and institutions into puppets! Client states!” Obi-Wan said, gesturing broadly. “It’s the inequality, the exploitation, the corruption, the greed!” 

Asajj seemed increasingly incensed. “You think I don’t know what the galaxy is like? Do you remember where I’m from, what I’ve seen? Why haven’t the Jedi all stopped it before it got this bad? How can two Sith do more damage than the entire Jedi Order could fix?” 

Obi-Wan groaned loudly with frustration. “How the kriff are we supposed to keep the peace when there are no visible inter-system conflicts? We respond to the directives of the Senate, that’s our role. The Order isn’t free to just… just… intervene at will!”

“Why in Sith hells not?”

“It’s… we’re limited for a reason! We’re dangerous!” 

Quinlan interjected, giving Obi-Wan a repressive look. “Then what are we supposed to do about it, man?” 

Obi-Wan frowned, tracing a crack in the table with his finger. “We’re not the Order. We need power, but not for ourselves. We need to find people who can take it back for themselves. The rightful owners of the power.”  

Asajj scoffed. “And who are they?”

Quinlan and Obi-Wan exchanged a blank look, and then Obi-Wan stroked his chin, eyes squinting thoughtfully. “It might be easier to tell who isn’t right than who is. The Trade Federation and the Banking Clan, they are not right, I know that. If we investigate who is already against them…” 

Quinlan smiled, and raised his glass in a mock toast. “We may find our first allies there.”

“Exactly,” Obi-Wan said with abundant inebriated satisfaction. “Exactly.”

Shmi stood up from her small desk and stretched, cracking her back. She had been sitting in one posture for far too long reading, and had been doing this for far too many days in a row. She needed to get out of this small chamber where Old Daka worked her magicks and stored her books and get some fresh air. 

She had been avoiding Anakin to the best of her ability in the last few days. After weeks of intense study about sacred ichor and the gods, she had passed her trial and faced the Sleeper, and she’d finally come to learn something important about the upcoming rite, something that Anakin wouldn’t like to hear. 

He was already on edge. 

The planet itself seemed to continually test him, and his control was fluctuating more here than anywhere else she’d ever seen. Obi-Wan had stepped in to keep him level, intervening after he had almost lost his temper with Talzin, and he was still doing it, sitting in with Anakin during the debrief and keeping him steady. Shmi also suspected that Obi-Wan liked to have somewhere to be and something to do, and that he preferred to spend his time with Anakin than without him. 

Maul was healing in Talzin’s home, both of them having come through Maul’s rite of restoration weak and exhausted. Anakin’s debriefing had continued off and on throughout Talzin’s recovery. Asajj had taken to learning how to shoot an energy bow and hunting rathtars with Quinlan, killing time and avoiding the village as much as possible. 

Old Daka kept her busy reading the Book of Shadows and memorizing chants, opening her up to the Force and releasing the power she kept banked inside. It surprised her every day that she could do what the Nightsisters did. She didn’t have power in the same way that Anakin had power. She couldn’t do telekinesis, or leap great heights, but she could use the spirit ichor to heal the body, deceive the mind, and destroy enemies. 

The power was heady, but it was not intoxicating to her. She had seen too much and suffered too much to be easily taken in by the ideology of cruelty woven through the lessons. The Nightsisters were warped by the dark power that was readily available to them—it made them proud and disdainful of the weak. She would never really belong among them, and yet they kept her close. 

She knew why. She had read the sacred texts, and seen the next line of the prophecy in stark letters. The Krayt Mother will move mountains. 

Her training had been both painstaking and accelerated. She’d been pulled through the Book of Shadows quickly, working more and more complex spells, until Daka had decided she was ready for her trial: as a rite of passage, young Nightsisters were tasked with luring out the Sleeper, an ancient creature that lived deep in the cave pools beneath the village.

Its flesh contained a substance that was a necessary ingredient for the Water of Life, one of the most potent of the spirit ichors. The young Nightsisters used the dark side to control the beast and force it to remove a piece of its body. If they failed, they were usually killed. She needed some of its body to perform the rite on Anakin, but she had refused to take it by force, and the Sleeper had given her what she hadn’t taken. 

The experience had been admittedly terrifying. She hadn’t warned Anakin beforehand, because she knew that he would prevent her attempt or intervene if she were in danger. He had watched her learn to swim with suspicion, but had said nothing. Plunging into the deep, dark water, meeting a beast rising from the depths, it was an experience unlike anything she’d ever been able to imagine before as a slave. Shmi, cheap property, fighting dragons.

Nobody could agree what the creature really looked like—its hallucinogenic properties made it vary from person to person, forcing them to face what they would find most terrifying. The fear had not made Shmi cruel though. It had not made her angry. It had not made her hate the Sleeper for being terrifying. She knew somehow that it had not wanted to hurt her, that it was defending itself from a predator in the only way it knew how. 

The dark side, now that she knew what it was, gave it the power of Force illusions. She couldn’t hate something that was behaving according to its nature, and she was well accustomed to feeling afraid. Fear was something she’d mastered long in the past. Fear for herself, fear for her child, all of that was part of her: her compassion was a muscle she’d strengthened. 

She had been able to relax into the fear, to see past and through it, and the Sleeper had rewarded her for that. She’d obtained the ingredient she’d needed, and the time of the rite was fast approaching. Old Daka had only just revealed the final details that had been withheld until it was nearly time. 

Shmi felt slightly foolish for not realizing it sooner on her own, for not having applied the theories she’d learned to the rite she was about to practice. She knew that blood magick required sacrifice. Its spells were unnatural, bending the Force far beyond its usual flow. It would not be done without giving something equal and opposite to the power required. 

She also knew that she was willing to pay the price.

She was willing to do anything to help her son reach his full potential, even at high personal cost. Anakin was her child, a part and extension of herself. She loved him and wanted him to be safe, but more than that, she knew he was capable of so much. He was like her agency, her ability to fight. She wanted him to be strong, and good.  

She returned to the small room she’d been given and shared briefly with Anakin, until his nightmares drove him back to the ship. She was not overly surprised to find him inside, pacing and looking grim. There was so much age behind his eyes—the man visibly trapped inside the boy. He looked exhausted. 

“What are you doing here, Ani?”

“Hi, mom,” he said quietly, giving her a small smile that did not reach his eyes. “I had a feeling you wanted to speak with me.”

She sighed and sat down on her bed. He was not incorrect about that feeling, though she had hoped for a little more time to prepare herself for this conversation. She looked away from his tired face and tried to speak with the adult her son had become, not her child. “What is the reason you need an adult body? The real one, Anakin.” 

Anakin was silent for a long moment, as if weighing his words carefully. “An army won’t follow a boy.” 

She knew it. “You are going to raise an army?”

Anakin began to pace again, moving in and out of her field of vision. “It was either assassinate Sidious directly, my original idea, or assemble allies, Obi-Wan’s idea. He is too naive to see it, but allies mean armies when you’re going to war.” 

“You’re going to war?”

“We’re already at war, mom.” 

Shmi sighed again, and began to unlace her boots, setting them aside. “We are?” 

Anakin stopped in front of her, his arms crossed. “Sidious and the Sith have been waging war for hundreds of years. The Jedi were blind to the way they fought passively, how they designed systemic violence. Bloodless, invisible victories, all toxic to the Republic.” 

“And that means war?”

“Yes,” he said shortly, and resumed pacing, brow furrowed. “They’ve been shaping the battlefield to their advantage, so that the Jedi are facing a hostile galaxy. The odds have been fixed, and the Jedi are trapped in an environment designed to slaughter them. We have to alter the battlefield to defeat Sidious.” 

Shmi smoothed down her hair, trying to process the scope of what he was describing, and failing. “You are calling the entire galaxy a battlefield?”

“If you want to meet the Sith where they are?” He laughed without humor. “Yes. Sidious is a phantom menace, mom, pervasive and elusive. The Sith are everywhere.” 

“Everywhere?” She raised her eyebrows at him, unimpressed. “Peaceful systems?”

Anakin waved his hand in annoyance as if clearing smoke. “The peace you see is illusory. The conflict has been sown below the system level. Go on the ground, and see how the populations are treated in client states by oligarchs for the sake of profit. The local population would tell you there’s a war. You just have to listen to them to see it.”

“Why can't you wait until you’re older to lead this army?”

“Wait what, a decade? Fifteen years? Until I’m taken seriously? It will be too late. Sidious’s plans always evolve. He’s too smart. If we go and hide and wait… the risk is too great. He’s so close to winning everything. He’s already won in so many ways.” 

“Very well,” Shmi sighed. “I believe you.” She caught Anakin’s eyes, making him look at her and beckoned him to come sit. He sat down beside her curiously, allowing her to hold his hand. “There will be a cost to the rite, Ani. More than what Talzin and Maul paid for Maul’s recovery.”

“What do you mean?” Anakin tensed with worry, his words slow and controlled. “Cost? For me?” His eyes flashed dangerously. “For you?”

Shmi squeezed his hand, her voice quiet. “For me.”

“No,” Anakin ripped his hand away and stood up. She knew he’d hate this. “Absolutely not.”

“Ani…”

He shook his head quickly, his expression stubborn. “I’ll wait.” 

“You just said you couldn’t,” Shmi pointed out gently. “I am willing to give you what you need, but you mustn’t waste it.”

“Mom, what is the cost?”

Shmi picked at her sleeve, unable to hold eye contact. “Blood magick is made powerful by sacrifice.”

“Death?” Anakin’s voice was glacial. “Will it kill you?”

She shook her head. “Not death. Time. It will require some of my time.” 

Anakin growled. “No.”

“Ani, darling,” She caught and held eye contact. “This has to be my choice. Let me choose to do this. I can’t help you with your cause in any other way.”

Anakin chopped a hand down in a decisive, negative gesture. “I don’t need you to help me. I need you to be safe.”

“So you would deny me a chance to contribute to defeating the Sith? You freed me to keep me locked up?”

“I freed you to keep you alive!”

Shmi sighed. “I will still be alive, Ani. I am willing to do anything to help you do good. I need you to do good. If I give you this, you will appreciate it. Your power will be a gift, just as your life is a gift.” 

Anakin sounded choked. “But… mom.”

She opened her arms to him, inviting him in for a hug, and he held her tightly. She squeezed him back, and kissed his hair. “Let me do this for you. It’s my choice.”

“I don’t want you to be hurt,” he said, voice muffled in her shoulder. “Ever.”

“My choice.”

He pulled his head back, his eyes wet. “Thank you.”

“I love you, Ani. More than anything.” 

His face crumpled, and he curled back into her hug, sniffing and holding on tight. “I love you too.” 

Shmi held aloft a bowl of the Water of Life, initiating the rite. It was the darkest point in the night, on the darkest night of the month, and all four moons were absent from the sky. Anakin was lying on the stone table before her, wearing clothes much too large for his tiny frame. She appreciated the last moment of seeing Ani, her boy, her little baby. After the ritual, he would truly be gone.

She knew it would be better to see the man in truth, rather than seeing the haunted look of an adult in her child’s eyes. Her Ani had never looked so angry, so sad, so cruel. His gentle kindness had radiated from his cherubic face. Now she would be free to remember her little boy as he was before, rather than having those memories constantly challenged and undermined by what he’d become.  

A full cohort of Nightsisters were arranged in a harmonic pattern around her, radiating out from the altar in a complex spiral. They knelt as one, and the inner ring began to chant in Dathomirian, invoking the Winged Goddess and the Fanged God, the two aspects of the natural dark side of the planet, and requesting their power for their magicks. Two sisters took the bowl from her raised hands and held it before her, their heads bowed.

Geiss kan erde mak harden ob stein! 

Geiss kan lewf mak krig ob blitz!

Mother Talzin passed her a ritual dagger, and Shmi slashed her palm, swallowing down a small noise of pain. She allowed her blood to drip down into the Water of Life, gritting her teeth. The liquid had been subtly simmering with a haze of green smoke before, and its color intensified with the addition of her blood—her life force and essential self were now tied to it, and the effects of its use would be drawn from her. 

Her choice. 

Talzin took the dagger back, and she faded away into the mist. Shmi stroked her bloody hand through the Water of Life, collecting some of the viscous substance and anointing Anakin’s closed eyes. She poured some of the glowing liquid into his open mouth before drinking some herself, beginning to repeat the chant over and over. 

Geiss kan erde mak harden ob stein! 

Geiss kan lewf mak krig ob blitz!

The second ring of Nightsisters joined the chorus, reinforcing and supporting her words, binding her and Anakin together into one thing—all the flesh of her flesh. She placed her hands on the altar, feeding it her blood as well. She made a low, involuntary noise of discomfort as she felt more of her life force flowing out of her, bound to the rite.

Her choice. 

The Nightsisters bowed their heads in unison and raised their hands, palms up, their chant increasing in volume. The resonant sound of the Force that normally only underlay Mother Talzin’s voice began to weave in and through the sound of their combined voices, adding depth and intensity to their words. They were accessing the primal energy of the planet, binding it and bending it to their will. 

Geiss kan erde mak harden ob stein! 

Geiss kan lewf mak krig ob blitz!

The greenness intensified in her vision and the shimmering smoke began to swirl around them all, increasing in volume and opacity. She steadied her breathing, pushing down on the altar, feeding it more blood. The chant moved to its next section, increasing in loudness as all of the sisters joined in the chorus. 

Geiss kan pire mak blud loge raga! 

Geiss kan vass byn skol zum!

Anakin cried out on the table, writhing as the green smoke coiled around him, enveloping him. It was the last thing she saw before her vision was totally occluded, and she was lost in a green fog. The dark side of the Force was connecting her with Anakin, and she was beginning to feel his emotions, entering his mind as she entered the Force. She let the intensity of it seep into her, diving into it. 

The Force doesn’t forget, even when time is rolled back.  

Anakin’s older body still existed as an unmanifested potential in his mind, lingering as a kind of afterimage in the Force, the form of it echoing in the disturbances he’d caused. She had to seek those disturbances, find the shape of his body, and grow him up. This also meant seeing him at his worst, seeing him at his darkest, seeing the truth of his past. 

She had so much faith in his heart, and his sense of purpose. She was strong enough to witness his failures. She had to be strong enough. The chant was the only thing she could hear, and it was almost deafening as it entered its final phase.

Erde-blitz-raga-byn erde-blitz raga byn!

Erde-blitz-raga-byn zum!

The haze of the smoke abruptly coalesced around her into a flickering, surreal vision. She blinked, instinctively trying to make it clearer, but the scene around her resisted cohereing further. The edges of her sight remained blurry and shifting, both real and illusion, memory and potential reality woven together. 

She was standing in the middle of a vast barren field of stone under a slate gray sky. Beneath her feet, there were patterns of ancient flowing magma that had been solidified into rock like ribbons, spreading out and disappearing into the shimmering green fringes of the vision. 

With a blink, she was no longer alone. Two figures stood before her, frozen in a moment of conflict. She felt a pulse of Anakin’s intense fear, and focused on his small body. What darkness had this body contained, that was enough to pull her here?

Anakin only looked a few years older than the boy laying on the altar, suspended in an awkward moment between being a boy and a teenager, with a short braid hanging down behind his ear. She smiled softly for a moment, treasuring seeing this moment in his growth, and then allowed his emotion to flood in and through her—he was afraid.

Shmi turned her focus to the other figure that had emerged from the mist, a nightmare of a potential memory made flesh. It was a tall, insect-like creature that she had never seen before, with gold skin, glittering dark eyes and a beak-like nose. It loomed over Anakin, and she felt certain that it was threatening his life.

The insect attacked, swinging a long, lethal looking weapon, and Anakin screamed in fright, lifting his hands in an instinctive defensive gesture. Power leapt up, fueled by his fear, darkness rising up and through him, lashing out at his attacker in self-defense. He felt an additional bolt of terror as power that he couldn’t control and didn’t understand unleashed destruction.

The insect’s eyes turned white, and the flesh around his head and neck began to crack and bleed, dark orange blood dripping down his shoulders and out of his mouth. It slumped to the ground, dead, its blood pooling around it on the stone.

“No!” Anakin screamed again, feeling horror at himself, what he had done, swirling up and around him. Shmi reached for his heart, capturing and pulling his fear towards and through her. She could hear the boy on the altar begin to scream, his body changing and growing. The vision around her faded back into green mist as she siphoned the darkness. It hurt so much. 

Erde-blitz-raga-byn erde-blitz raga byn!

Erde-blitz-raga-byn zum!

She pushed forward into the mist, listening with her heart to Anakin’s emotions and following the thread of his potential life deeper into the vision, seeking the next pulse of darkness. She heard the chanting around her increase in volume to a deafening pitch, until the haze of smoke abruptly coalesced again into another location. 

She was standing on a shadowy landing platform next to the shimmering form of a ship. Two more figures appeared from the mist with a pang of fierce emotion. This Anakin looked like a full teenager now, he’d grown taller and his shoulders were wider. His face had lost much of its sweet boyishness, and his braid was longer, the end of it brushing his shoulder. She could feel his heart: he was afraid and furious.

A tall, blue-skinned terror with four arms stood opposite him, holding a vibro-ax and a blaster. He had two sets of gleaming red pupiless eyes, and a mouth full of razor sharp teeth. She felt a jolt of recognition—it was the infamous slaver Krayn. The T'surr pirate had done several raids on Mos Espa in the past, stealing slaves, including one of Anakin’s friends. 

She felt Anakin’s viciousness in that moment, how the memories of all the evil that Krayn had done were flowing through his mind and rousing his power, darkness leaping up at his bidding. She heard a shout, hazy and indistinct as though coming through water, and it was Obi-Wan’s voice calling out Anakin’s name, yelling, “Don’t!”  

Anakin, lost in the pure, righteous intensity of his anger, ignored him. He slashed with his lightsaber instead, cutting Krayn down, watching him fall and feeling only satisfaction. Shmi felt certain that this was his first kill that wasn’t done purely out of self-defense, and he didn’t regret it at all.

The dark side swirled around and through him, exultant and triumphant. Shmi felt that darkness, the growing iciness of it, and pulled his anger inside and through her. She heard the Anakin on the altar scream again, his body changing. It was twice as hard as before, and she felt her strength being tapped, exhausted. She grit her teeth and pushed forward, following the thread deeper. 

Erde-blitz-raga-byn erde-blitz raga byn!

Erde-blitz-raga-byn zum!

The haze of the smoke abruptly coalesced again, this vision much clearer than the ones before. There was so much more darkness here—it was more than a singular pulse of emotion, it was a detonation, and she grit her teeth and allowed it to flow through her. What could he have done to create such a disturbance?

Shmi looked around and knew at once that she was on Tatooine, surrounded by the structures of a Tusken village at night, illuminated by flickering firelight. She blinked and was inside one of the tents now, two figures appearing before her from the mist. It was an older Anakin and… 

She felt a strange moment of dissociation, staring down at her own dead body. It was so surreal, the knowledge of it so disturbing—in one version of reality, she had died here, and she had died badly. Her corpse was filthy, covered in countless injuries. They’d tortured her to death for their own amusement.  

She felt Anakin’s helpless despair in that moment, and her heart ached for his pain. It all made sense now: this is what he had been so desperate to avoid, why he’d taken her away from Tatooine at first opportunity. She tugged her eyes away from her corpse and focused on Anakin, reaching out for him with her heart.

He looked like a young man now, and she was so achingly proud of him. He was so handsome, her grown-up son, his lovely face contorting with grief. His braid was long enough to brush his collarbone. He had been so afraid as she struggled for her final breaths. He had sensed the moment of her death in the Force, and his helplessness to stop it had made him furious.  

He looked up from her limp body to where the guards stood outside at the door, and she felt as his heart filled with a boundless sea of hate. He laid her dead body down gently, and ignited his lightsaber. No!

Shmi watched with growing horror as Anakin began to kill, stepping out into the night to hunt and slaughter men, women, and children. The dark side flourished as he spiraled out of control, bending the Force to his will to trap and punish indiscriminately. The vision seemed to last for an eternity, and yet it moved by too fast to process. No…

Finally, the shadowy figure of Anakin stood alone before her in the swirling mist, retracting his lightsaber, the only living thing left in the village. In the flickering light of the fire, she saw his stricken face, the traumatized emptiness of his eyes. Standing among the strewn bodies, all those killed in retaliation for her death, Shmi realized with a sharp, painful twist that she still loved him. How could she?

The immensity of Anakin’s hate of the Tuskens filled her, the potent and eager darkness of it. She could not share the hate, but it still flowed through her, icy and corrosive. The rite was pulling his grown body from the Force, through her and out through her hands, pushing the form into the Anakin laying on the altar. He screamed, and this transformation was more than twice as hard as the one before. 

Erde-blitz-raga-byn erde-blitz raga byn!

The agony was excruciating, but Shmi couldn’t stop, not in the middle of the rite. She had to push through, she had to finish—they were so close. She screamed with pain as the darkness reached its nadir, it was so much, too much. Her whole body ached and trembled with the effort of channeling this much power. How could she? 

Erde-blitz-raga-byn zum!

Byn zum!

Unconsciousness swept her away on a gentle tide, pulling her back and down, carried away into a softer darkness than the one she’d left behind. 

It was over.

Anakin woke up in a foreign-feeling body. He inhaled, taking in the fresh scent of the night air. His lungs were larger, his chest stronger. He smiled, relieved that it already felt right, in a way that the child’s body never had.

He had been conscious as Shmi had anointed his eyes, and had fallen into a sort of trance after he’d swallowed some of the Water of Life. He had lingered in an in-between place, where time had stretched and compressed, feeling trapped in a green, shadowy void. He had felt pulses of fear, anger, and then hate, familiar emotions, and then bursts of pain, the kind of consuming, biting agony he hadn’t felt since the days of demanding the droids fix his suit without anesthetic. 

The last round of pain had been so intense, he assumed that he blacked out. Everything had faded into darkness, and then he opened his eyes to see stars. Without any moons, the sky was so clear over Dathomir. The galaxy spiraled out so brightly, the familiar arm of it glittering across the sky. Red light from the primary star was beginning to break over the horizon though, and he realized that the rite must have taken hours. 

He sat up, and felt a small sense of vertigo at being taller, his torso and arms much longer than they had been before. He studied his hands, appreciating that they were both his own, and then noticed the faint tickle of a braid brushing against his neck. It was a sense memory from so long in the past, feeling it again was uncanny. He tugged on the braid and shivered. 

This body must have been from right before Geonosis. That meant… the Tuskens? Is that what the hate was? Is that how she did it? 

She…

Anakin’s brain woke up all at once, lighting up with an explosion of concern that made him twist around, searching intently for his mom. All of the Nightsisters were clustered around the head of the altar, uncharacteristically showing their concern, and he couldn’t see past them. 

“Mom!” Anakin called out sharply, and then blinked with surprise, taken aback by the man’s voice that had come out of his mouth. He’d grown accustomed to the high, immature sound of a boy. “Is she okay?”

Nobody answered him, so he scooted to the edge of the table, trying to get a closer look. He didn’t know the details of the rite, as it apparently wasn’t privy to anyone who hadn’t taken the flesh of the Sleeper, or something, and so Shmi hadn’t told him. He didn’t know exactly how it would hurt her, only that it would, and that its weapon would be time.

He stood up gingerly, keeping a hand on the table for balance until he felt steady on his feet. He grimaced with frustration that he couldn’t see past the crowd to his mom, but at least he could see over many of their heads. It was nice to be looking down on most of the shorter Nightsisters, instead of looking up at them. 

He took a few steps forward, wobbling slightly as he adjusted, his stride becoming smoother and smoother. He pushed to the center of the mass, and walking gave him a rising sense of joy at the quality of the mesh between his mind and his body, and how much closer he was to being in alignment with himself. 

It felt like he had taken off a very restrictive piece of clothing and was able to breathe easily again and move without restraint. Oh yes, he could fight like this.

By the time he made his way to the center of the cluster of Nightsisters, Shmi was cradled in the arms of her teacher Old Daka, and being anointed with some glowing green liquid by another Nightsister. Mother Talzin stood by, her face unreadable as always. Anakin could see that Shmi was breathing, and felt in the Force that she was alive and uninjured, merely exhausted. 

The flickering light of the torches and the faintest red light of dawn was enough to see some of the places that age had come to her face, her body. He guessed that she’d gained twenty years, twice what she’d given him, aging from forty to sixty. The price was steep, and he was extremely glad that she’d stopped when she had and not tried to give him any more than that. 

This was already too much. She’d sacrificed enough for him, over and over, given him so much: life, strength, a strong sense of right and wrong. He’d wasted all of those gifts before. He wouldn’t waste them again. 

The Nightsister finished her anointing and stepped aside, and Anakin seized the opportunity. He moved closer again, asking them politely, knowing by now it was better to ask than demand, “May I carry her, please? To her room?”

Old Daka nodded, and Anakin bent down and scooped Shmi up, sliding an arm beneath her knees and another wrapping around her back, holding her to his chest. Her aging was more visible from up close, but it wasn’t extreme. Her hair was greyer, and she had some new wrinkles. He hugged her tightly, so grateful and pained that she had chosen to do this for him. 

He frowned down at her with concern as he walked—he couldn’t tell if it was distortion from the change in his body, but it felt like she was too light. It was strange to see her size as she truly was, a relatively short and small woman, after having looked up at her from the perspective of a child for the last few months. She was so strong; he still wanted to take care of her anyway.

The village cave was close to the ritual clearing, and it didn’t take long for him to carry her inside, hurrying over the stone bridges to one of the communal houses occupied by the Nightsisters. Mother Talzin had offered her a room there, and it had been more convenient for her than the ship during her studies. He headed there now, winding up a set of stone stairs to the right floor.

He used the Force to open the door and carefully stepped inside, taking care of her head. There was a dimly glowing green orb on the desk, but he had no idea how to make it brighter. He frowned with annoyance. He used the Force again to move her blankets aside on the bed, gently laying her down and covering her up, tucking her in.  

He sat beside her on the bed, carefully picking up and holding her hand. He watched her chest rise and fall steadily as she slept, her calm, sleeping face. It was so good to see her resting, and he couldn’t even imagine the ordeal that she had undergone for him. He wouldn’t waste it, he promised. 

He squeezed her hand gently, and swallowed, blinking back tears he hadn’t expected. He looked around her room, breathing slowly, appreciating the comfortable bed, the pile of books on the table, the tidy stack of notes. Her personality had already woven itself into the room in the Force. It felt like her, and like she was comfortable there. Comfortable and safe. 

He kissed her forehead and stood up, whispering quietly, “Thank you, mom.”

“Obi-Wan!”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened as the excruciatingly familiar voice reached his ears and then struck through him like lightning, all the hair on his arms lifting as he shivered. He sat up straight and turned his head, eyes pulled like a magnet toward the source of the noise. It was Anakin’s voice, his Padawan’s voice, the one woven in and through his consciousness by the fragments of their bond. 

He had woken up early to wait for the outcome of the rite. Quinlan and Asajj were both still sleeping, and the kitchen was dim, quiet, and cozy. He had a mug of tea and a datapad, and had been able to focus on reading the HoloNet and catching up on the news in peace. It was clear that he’d lost track of time, if Anakin was already back.

“Obi-Wan! There you are.”

A tall man slid into the dim light of the kitchen, and frowned at the shadows. He turned the lights on all the way before holding his arms out, inviting inspection. 

Obi-Wan swallowed. Kriff.  

He blinked quickly, adjusting to the brighter light, and desperately trying to process what he was seeing. Anakin’s face was almost painfully handsome, but it was his hair—it had darkened to a brassy gold, and was cut short, with a traditional Padawan braid and ponytail.  

Why in all Sith hells did he have…

Obi-Wan felt like he’d been slapped. Anakin’s thin Padawan braid coiled around an impossibly long neck, and came to rest lightly on his chest. The shirt that Obi-Wan had let him borrow was tighter on his shoulders, the neck pulled open wider. It was displaying the dip between his collarbones, and how his skin was a sun-kissed golden brown. 

The stupid, soft shirt advertised the shape of Anakin’s chest and arms so clearly, clinging to his narrow waist. His brown trousers were tucked into tall boots making his legs look impossibly long. Obi-Wan swallowed, aware that he hadn’t said anything for an awkward interval, and was obviously staring. 

He wrenched his eyes back up to Anakin’s face, and noted the sudden flush on Anakin’s cheeks, and the intense, curious look in his blue eyes. Making eye contact was a mistake, and Obi-Wan broke it, looking down involuntarily as Anakin licked his lips. He didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed his plush mouth before, but he found it impossible to look away now. His bottom lip was so full and slightly shiny, and Obi-Wan wanted more than anything to bite it.

He jerked his head away and took a deep breath, realizing that his heart was pounding. He felt a wave of sympathy for his older self, trying to imagine how it would have been to watch cute child Anakin grow into… that.

Maybe exposure over time would have made him blind to it. 

Obi-Wan wished he was blind to it.

“Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan coughed and ran a hand down his face to smooth his expression. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?” Anakin asked, sounding bemused.

“Of course. You surprised me.”

“Apologies,” Anakin said with a wide, bright smile. Obi-Wan’s stomach flipped over, and he felt a pang of dread. Anakin’s voice lowered into a pointed, teasing, “If you were—”

Obi-Wan cut him off and rolled his eyes. “More attuned to the living Force, yes, I know.” He felt a swell of relief as his annoyance replaced whatever mess of emotion he’d been feeling before. He didn’t want to label it. That would make it real.

Anakin began rolling the hilt of his lightsaber in his hand, and it looked comically small on his wide palm. He looked deeply amused at the disparity. “I need to remake my lightsaber first, but then we’re going to spar, Master.”

“Are we?” Obi-Wan asked, raising one eyebrow at his presumptuous tone, at the use of the title. It sounded different coming from the mouth of someone with that kriffing braid.

Anakin grinned again, and turned to leave, tossing over his shoulder. “Time to test how much you’ve learned!” 

Obi-Wan watched him leave, and stared out after him, slightly numb. 

This was… not good.

Asajj woke up, and immediately wished that she hadn’t. The too-familiar grip of a hangover held her consciousness hostage, and she was stuck between wanting to go to the ‘fresher to be sick, and never wanting to move or see light again. Zeltronian Spiced Wine was no joke. 

She groaned and shoved her face into her pillow. It was past time to get up, and she knew she could do it. She expanded and contracted her chest, focusing on her breathing. She did her best to greet all of the unpleasant sensations coursing through her, allowing them to happen without resistance, and in that way encouraged them to pass.

A small smile relaxed her face as the Force embraced and soothed her discomfort. Obi-Wan had taught her many things, from the profound to the functionally banal, and how to quickly heal yourself from a hangover was one of them. He’d spoken slightly wistfully about his travels with own Master, who had taught him the value of holding your liquor as part of diplomacy and information gathering. 

After a few more minutes of rest, she got up and stretched, shaking out her tense muscles, grimacing at the taste in her mouth. After a quick trip through the ‘fresher and a fresh set of clothes, she wandered into the kitchen, sighing deeply with relief at the scent of hot caf; someone must have brewed extra and left it for her. 

She took a sip, wrapping her hands around the warm cup and breathing in the scent, reaching out with the Force again to locate the others. Shmi definitely wasn’t on the ship, but it was abundantly clear that Anakin and the others were nearby. She wandered down to the ship’s hold, her curiosity about the result of the ritual stirring awake. 

Quinlan was sitting cross legged on the top of the ramp, looking out and drinking his own caf. The red morning sunlight was shining bright and the sky was clear, the air as fresh as it ever was in the swampy forest. She heard the distinctive crackle of lightsaber combat as she sat, following Quinlan’s eyes out to watch two men sparring, only one of whom was familiar. 

“Is that…”

“That’s the kid, yeah,” Quinlan murmured, his posture casual but his eyes sharp. “I hadn't really believed this would work.”

She made a low noise of agreement, and settled in to watch, taking in Anakin’s new handsome features, his tall, lean body, his strange haircut. The glowing, flickering yellow and blue of their lightsabers crashed and blurred together. Anakin looked dangerously happy as they fought, and Obi-Wan’s composure was beginning to crack with effort as Anakin pressed him back fluidly toward the treeline.

Quinlan slurped his caf. “They’ve been at this for a while.” 

“He seems…” She searched for a word to describe what she was seeing as Anakin switched fluidly from heavy overhand bashing attacks to a more rapid and agile series of strikes, catching Obi-Wan completely off guard, almost making him trip in his haste to keep up. “That’s all…”

“Yeah,” Quinlan agreed with her unease. “He’s very good.”

“It makes sense, I guess, he’s much more experienced.”

“He is.”

Obi-Wan ducked under and through an attack, darting back and getting some space. He was breathing hard, rotating his saber in his wrist, his expression fully consumed by the fight. Anakin smiled at him smug and wide, a flash of white teeth. He rapidly closed ground toward Obi-Wan, his stride long and heavy. He moved with all of the confidence in the galaxy, more like an apex predator than a Jedi. 

Asajj shuddered despite herself. “Sith Lord.”

“He really was,” Quinlan rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “That kind of arrogance looks different on a man than on a boy.”

“It really does.” 

She had found it slightly amusing to watch the child have the harsh mannerisms of a military leader, charmed by his cute face and sweet voice despite herself. He'd been dangerous the whole time, but she could dismiss him too, like a spitting baby lothcat. The full threat of the Sith Lord had been still in the abstract, and it was too easy to forget and ignore the truth. Now though… it would be impossible to ignore. 

“You were out late last night.”

“What?” She asked, startled and then processed the implicit question behind Quinlan’s statement, nodding reluctantly. “I was… there was a party at the village after the…” She gestured vaguely at Anakin, her eyes going hazy with memories of the night before, the spiraling debauchery of it, the cruel way the Nightsisters played with the men for their own pleasure. “A ritual with that much power… they celebrate it after. I think it’s like spice to them.”

Her discomfort was clear in her voice, and Quinlan leaned sideways to bump their shoulders together in a reassuring way, offering her support. “Asajj—”

She cut him off before he could really begin. “I’m grateful you all brought me here, but I can’t stay. Please don’t leave me here.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen.” 

“I just want to get off this kriffing planet.”

Quinlan laughed roughly, and it was reassuring to know how much he understood, and how much he agreed with her about leaving. “We’ll go soon. He’s got his body. We just need to find out what his blasted plans are first, and I, for one, really can’t wait for him to share with the class.”

They both looked back to the sparring just in time to see Anakin feint and then flip, effortlessly rolling over the top of Obi-Wan to strike lightning-quick at his back, and the move was barely blocked by Obi-Wan. The awkward angle of his wrist and elbow was all wrong, and Anakin easily disarmed him, beaming with his delight as he grabbed Obi-Wan’s saber and turned it off. 

She shared a look with Quinlan at the display of skill. He was just as uncanny as he was before as the menacing child, but far more dangerous. That handsome, smiling young man, with his silly haircut and swinging braid, had a strange intensity and magnetism to him. He radiated the unconscious, relaxed confidence of being the most dangerous thing around, the lethal kind of confidence that could make you feel safe—just as long as you weren’t his prey.

Obi-Wan pushed his sweaty hair off his forehead and grumbled something that Asajj couldn’t hear, taking his saber back with an annoyed swipe as Anakin tipped his head back and laughed. They separated and both fell back into ready position, and there was a pregnant pause as they eyed each other, before on some invisible signal, they both darted forward and the fight began again, faster than ever. 

It was past noon by the time Anakin made it to the village. He'd walked all the way instead of using a speeder, enjoying the use of his longer legs. His whole body was still humming from the earlier sparring with Obi-Wan, and he felt so alive. The Force was gnarled and twisted like the trees around him, vibrant but fanged, a cruel and predatory world. It had a hostile beauty, the red on red on red of the landscape unique and striking.

The swamp air finally cleared as he made it up into the hills, turning damp and cool in the cavernous interior of the occupied caves. The village layout had grown familiar in his short time on the planet, and he wound confidently along the narrow paths toward the residential areas, toward where he had left his mom. All of the sisters he passed gave him knowing and predatory looks that he ignored. 

He jogged up some stairs two at a time, both from his hurry and the sheer fact that he could easily extend his legs far enough to do it. He didn't know if his mom was awake, but he had to check. He desperately needed to know that her mind wasn’t damaged by the ritual and the exposure to the dark side. 

He exhaled with relief at finding her awake and sitting up in bed, with only some dark shadows beneath her eyes and a faintly haunted look on her face. The door was ajar and he paused for a moment, taking in the scene through the gap. The small bedroom was illuminated by the orb, and the green light made everything look slightly sickly to Anakin. 

Shmi took a small sip of tea and murmured something to a visitor he couldn’t see, but could feel clearly in the Force. Old Daka. 

He knocked and entered, reflexively ducking his head when both women looked intently over at him. Shmi’s gaze was unreadable, but the elderly witch leered, her small, gimlet eyes flicking up and down, satisfaction curling around her in the Force. He grimaced at her observation and she cackled at his discomfort, melting into the shadows without another word.

“Anakin,” Shmi said quietly, catching his attention. She gestured toward the chair where Daka had been just before. “Come sit.”

“Mom,” Anakin said, throat tight, crossing to her side and perching on the edge of the seat. “How’re you feeling?”

“Tired, some aches and pains. I will be fine after a bit of rest.”

“Good,” Anakin said emphatically. He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “I’m so glad.”

Shmi pulled the hand back, clasping them in her lap. She took a steadying breath, releasing it slowly, gathering her thoughts. “I saw things, Anakin. During the ritual, in the Force.”

“What things?” Anakin asked weakly, knowing already what she meant. 

“I saw my death. I saw what you did after. I felt your hate.” 

He was silent and frozen like a prey animal, unable to look at her. 

Shmi frowned at him, speaking very carefully. “I don’t know how to hold the memory of your crimes next to the love I have for you in my heart. The two things contradict each other. It will take me some time to come to terms with how much I love you.”

“I understand,” Anakin whispered roughly, sitting back slumped. “I do.”

She looked up at him, her dark eyes glittering with unshed tears. “Some things are unforgivable.”

“I know,” Anakin repeated dumbly. “I know, mom.”

“Unforgivable, but Anakin…” Shmi reached for his hand, holding it firmly. “Despite my… revulsion, you will always be my baby, my heart, a part of me. I’ve just had proof that there is nothing that you can do that breaks that bond. I love you so much more than anything you could ever do wrong, and that scares me.”

“Mom…” Anakin’s voice cracked as he tried to continue, blinking back tears. “I was so lost. You died in my arms. The Chancellor, he was the one who—.”

“No,” Shmi shook her head sadly. “Don’t try it with me, Anakin. There are no excuses for this. I know enough to understand that being a Knight of the Jedi Order requires dedication and work. You didn’t do the hard work to be prepared to handle your powers, and you lost control. You weren't prepared and that was your fault, no one else's.”

“I know. I won’t… Obi-Wan is helping me learn again, the things I’d forgotten.”

Shmi frowned at him, and he swallowed down his nausea at her judgment. He looked down at his hands, cringing away from it, and she demanded quietly. “Anakin, look at me.”

He pulled up his head, reluctantly meeting her eyes. Tears were clinging to his eyelashes and he blinked quickly, trying to clear his sight, and they tracked down his cheeks, his nose was blocked and he sniffed, trying to breathe around the lump in his throat.  

“Listen,” she said with a controlled intensity he'd rarely heard before, wiping his face with her sleeve. “Promise me you won’t make Obi-Wan responsible for your behavior, Ani. You cannot drop everything he tried to teach you if he leaves or disappoints you. You cannot put that on him. You must stand on your own.”

“I know. I do… I won’t let you down.”

“I cannot bear to hear of anything like this happening again.”

“I know. It won’t,” Anakin swallowed thickly and squeezed her hand again. “I promise you. I will make all this worth it. You've given me a chance. I won't waste it, mom, I promise.”

“Good,” she nodded sharply and finally relaxed back into her pillows, the fervor sliding away as her exhaustion made itself known again. “I need to rest. I’m going to stay here, Ani. I think there’s more for me to do here than I would have if I joined you.”

Anakin nodded, exhaling hard, trying to regain control. He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands and tried to smile. “I love you, mom.”

“I love you too. Don’t forget it. Don't forget what you've promised me.”

“I won’t.” 

Obi-Wan had meditated in the forest for most of the afternoon, but true serenity eluded him. He’d moved deliberately through a sequence of stretching postures before sitting cross-legged in the sun, his mind like a pond agitated in the wind. He was unsettled and uncertain, agitated with emotions he didn’t ask for and didn’t want. His body felt wrung out and sore from too much high intensity sparring in the morning. 

He opened his eyes with a sigh, soaking up the last of the burgandy light before it slipped away into night. He couldn’t wait to leave the landscape of shadows and blood, return to the bright lights and endless black of space. He wanted to watch the stars blur into hyperspace, to be moving forward, knowing where he was going and why.   

The news was filled with articles about the stymied progress of the prosecution of the Trade Federation for the invasion of Naboo. The Chancellor was doing a very good job of setting the narrative, complaining piteously in the media about the corruption and red tape that he secretly encouraged. He cast himself as a virtuous, beleaguered man, always fighting for the best interest of the people.

Obi-Wan really hated politicians. 

He looked up with interest at the spiky wave of Anakin’s approaching Force signature, a churning invisible maelstrom that lit him up like a beacon. It was followed shortly thereafter by the man himself coming down the path, returning from the village. His expression was oddly solemn and drawn for all his inner agitation, and he walked slumped as though all the weight in the galaxy was on his shoulders.  

Obi-Wan expected him to continue past and into the ship, but he stopped and dropped to sit next to him instead, brooding loudly for all that he was unspeaking. Obi-Wan tentatively reached for him in the Force and offered a share of his calmness, and Anakin’s gratitude was overwhelming, grabbing and holding Obi-Wan’s serenity close to his heart. 

“What’s wrong?” Obi-Wan asked after it became clear that Anakin wasn’t going to explain unprompted. “Is she unwell?”

Anakin shook his head slightly. “Mom’s going to stay here with the coven. She’s not coming with us when we go.”

Obi-Wan just nodded, not overly surprised. “How is she feeling?”

Anakin chewed on his bottom lip, his brow furrowing with concern. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, unable to fully sit still. “She… the ritual was rough on her. She saw… things from my past—things that I would’ve done anything to prevent her seeing. Horrible things. She remembers it all.” 

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said, somewhat blankly. The details of the ritual were obscure to him, and it hadn’t occurred to him that it would involve Shmi seeing Anakin’s past. The Force was a mysterious and powerful thing, and the Jedi’s philosophy certainly wasn’t the only way to commune with it, and yet he never stopped being surprised by what was possible. 

“She’ll never look at me the same. I don’t know if it was worth it.”

“Earn it, then,” Obi-Wan replied simply, resting a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently before releasing, a new and old gesture that felt oddly electric. “Make sure it was worth it. It’s up to you now.”

“I know.” Anakin straightened his spine, giving Obi-Wan a weak smile and turning back to the forest, his breathing falling into a rhythm taught to younglings. 

Obi-Wan sat beside him, as straight and steady as possible, offering Anakin an anchor in the Force to help him meditate. Meditation came easier to him when he was teaching than when he was alone. It was easier for him to step away from his ego when he was trying so hard to use his empathy to find out what another person needed. It made him extremely tethered to the present.  

He’d meditated with Anakin so many times that it was immediately remarkable how the experience was familiar but transformed after the ritual. Just like how Anakin’s high, childish voice had dropped into a lower and more mature register, Anakin’s mind itself had a wider kind of structural maturity and stability that it had been missing. It was still agitated, but it had more room to encompass the intensity of his memories and knowledge better than the child’s mind ever had. 

The sun finally slipped below the horizon as they sat in the grass, the shadows swallowing up the forest, strange chirps and distant roars came from the dark, noises that had grown all too familiar. It grew cooler before too long, they got up and wandered to the ship, so relaxed in each other’s company, they didn’t need to talk. 

Obi-Wan couldn’t stop watching Anakin out of the corner of his eye. The confidence of his walk was fascinating, his body and mind aligned in such harmony, it was as if he finally occupied exactly as much space as he always assumed he should. The agility of the boy and the heavy tread of Vader had met somewhere in the middle. While fighting he’d been surprisingly graceful and fluid, but aggressive and direct, brutally strong and relentless. 

He still had no idea about how to shield his facial expressions, his emotions were naked on his face, his surprise and delight at the sound, his fascination—it was all so clear to see. 

They reached the ship, stepping out from the shadows back into the reach of its artificial light. He wandered up the ramp, glancing over and realizing with a jolt that Anakin was looking back at him. His fingers were wrapped in his braid, and he tugged on it, drawing Obi-Wan’s eye to the long, glossy plait. “I can’t keep this. I shouldn’t have it.” 

“No, you shouldn’t,” Obi-Wan agreed. He felt a powerful swell of relief at the idea of getting rid of the… confusing thing. “For many reasons.”

“Will you cut it?”

Obi-Wan recoiled slightly, unconsciously coming to a stop. “What? Why would I?”

Anakin reached back and tugged him along into the ship. “For many reasons.”

“Such as?”

Anakin regarded him seriously, weighing his words with unusual consideration. “My time in the past would have spiraled into violence without you. Instead you taught me again. I know I cannot have the braid, but… I want to honor the meaning of it, what I’ve tried to do, and who you are to me. It's been decades since I cared about things like this, and it's nice to care. I think it's a sign I'm…” He sighed, rubbing a hand through his short hair. “I am not making sense.”

“I do think I understand,” Obi-Wan said quietly, unexpectedly touched by the sentiment. The Order and its culture were so fundamental to his identity, even separated from the Temple as he was. The appeal of a Jedi rite of passage made his heart ache, especially a rite of passage he himself had been denied by tragedy. “I would like that.”

“Thank you, Obi-Wan. Master.”

Obi-Wan nodded, resolutely ignoring how the musical caress on the title made him feel. “Did I cut it before?”

“No, you didn’t,” Anakin said, his eyes going unfocused as he looked into his memory, a complex emotional energy radiating in the Force. “You made sure that I had a traditional knighting ceremony at the Temple, even in the middle of the war. Yoda cut it, in front of the majority of the Council. Everyone who wasn’t deployed or under siege.” 

“I see,” Obi-Wan said, wrong-footed as always by casual mentions of the Clone Wars. The Order fighting a galactic civil war was difficult for him to imagine, and easy for Anakin to remember. 

Anakin smiled and leaned over to punch his arm, leaving his fist to press on his bicep for a lingering moment, his eyes too soft. “I did want it to be you who cut it then, Obi-Wan, but it did also make me proud to have the full ceremony. You knew that, knew me, knew what I wanted and needed. You tried so hard to make me feel like I belonged, so you made sure I got treated just like everyone else. But…” 

Obi-Wan had to look up at him slightly, and felt a heated spike of annoyance at his kriffing height. “But what?”

“It just didn’t work,” Anakin said apologetically, pulling away. “I never really belonged in the Order, as much as you tried. I only belonged to you, and then Palpatine and… well, not the Order.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was my fault, not anybody else’s. Certainly not yours.” Anakin sighed and bent down to greet his droid, listening to it babble and chirp in binary. “She was unhappy, Artoo.”

Obi-Wan leaned against the hood of the speeder parked in the corner. “Whose fault it was doesn’t matter, Anakin. I still wish you had felt like you belonged.”

“Too old, too angry, too scared.” Anakin shrugged. “I struggled and excelled at the same time. It drove you insane trying to figure me out, but I lived to defy you sometimes.”

Obi-Wan gave him a deeply unimpressed look at that, and Anakin’s face lit up. “That's it, exactly right.”

“Charming.”

“So will you cut it, Obi-Wan? I want you to cut it because you are my Master now. You have been.”

“It’s still strange to hear you say that.” Obi-Wan shook his head fondly. “You continually treated me like I was your apprentice, despite being half my size, like some twisted version of Yoda.”

“I was definitely cuter than Yoda, Master.”

“That’s debatable.”

Anakin laughed, a familiar musical sequence that made Obi-Wan feel like he’d won at the sabacc tables without having to cheat. He swallowed and refocused on their earlier conversation, turning his attention back to the Force damned braid. “Very well.”

“Here?” Anakin asked curiously, standing up straight. 

Obi-Wan surveyed the cargo hold and shook his head at the mess. He could feel Quinlan and Asajj in the kitchen nearby. The idea of including them in this occurred to him, but it all felt oddly private. “Let’s go to your room.”

Anakin frowned, following after him as they moved deeper into the ship. “My room?” 

“Don’t worry, you have the bigger one, so you can still pace around like a maniac without bumping into walls. Or me.”

“Obi-Wan…” Anakin complained quietly. “You moved again? Why? I thought we settled this.”

Obi-Wan made a pained face. He could easily visualize the size of the double bed in the captain’s room, and scoffed at how easy it would be to wake up tangled together with another adult man, and how differently his body would react to that. “Be serious, Anakin.”

“What’s different?” Anakin asked stubbornly. “It’s not like I’d…”

“No, of course,” Obi-Wan agreed with an awkward chuckle, cringing with horror inside at talking about this at all. “Nothing’s different, but…”

“But you still have to go.” Anakin looked unhappy, but nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Obi-Wan sighed with relief. He let Anakin lead the way to his room, following him in and closing the door behind himself. The air became thick and hushed, the significance of the moment sinking in. He moved forward to the middle of the room, expecting Anakin to stand still. 

His heart stuttered as Anakin gracefully dropped to a knee in front of him and looked humbly at the floor, as though in the Temple proper. Obi-Wan felt a thousand regrets ricocheting through his brain at once at the visual. It was too late to do anything but continue, so he detached his hilt from his belt and steadied his breathing, far too loud for the silence around them. 

Anakin blinked up at him through his long dark lashes. Obi-Wan pressed his thumb up the ignition switch and the sapphire crackle of his saber filled the room. It transformed the blue in Anakin’s eyes into an even more vibrant shade, and there was something almost inhuman about the sharp and soft beauty of his face. He blinked up at him, the Force trembling. 

Obi-Wan whetted his lips as he settled on words, debating within himself before clearing his throat, speaking roughly. “I have no authority to make you a Knight of the Republic, and I don’t know if I can really call you a Jedi, but…” he brought his lightsaber carefully down over one shoulder and then the other. “By the will of the Force, Anakin Skywalker, your training is complete.” He carefully flicked his wrist and severed his braid, letting it fall to the floor. 

Anakin smiled up at him, snagging the braid and offering it to Obi-Wan. “As is yours.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said quietly, retracting his blade and putting it back on his belt before accepting the braid with both hands, as though it were something fragile. Anakin stood up and it was easier to breathe, but the room still felt too small. Obi-Wan cleared his throat again. “I’m going to go eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Obi-Wan shrugged and turned to open the door, giving Anakin one last look over his shoulder. “We’ll get the message to Yoda in the morning.”

“Fine,” Anakin sighed. He flopped back onto the bed and reached for his datapad, letting Obi-Wan go. “Night.” 

“Good night, Anakin.”

Darth Sidious waved his hand and terminated the connection to Tyranus mid-sentence, refusing to listen to another moment of his dour apologies and complaints. It was disappointing that he’d lost track of the boy so completely, and had learned nothing on Ord Mantell. It was perhaps to be expected, as the Black Sun cartel was no friend to Sidious and the Sith, but regardless it couldn't help but make him think less of his apprentice. The utility of Tyranus had an expiration date, and he needed to train a superior replacement. Soon. 

There was something tilted and unclear in the Force, new twists and ripples that he didn’t understand, but he was too busy with making deals with key Mid Rim planets to secure the supermajority in the Senate, and protecting the pathetic Trade Federation officials from getting punished for Naboo. He couldn’t truly investigate the Force at the moment, which was only acceptable as it didn’t feel particularly urgent, but it did feel important.

Important, and related to the boy. He could sense that at least. He hoped that the sizable bounty on the boy would tempt some competent bounty hunters to scour the galaxy and deliver him. 

He frowned at one of the screens in his private office, reading a new meeting request from the Jedi Council. It came without an agenda attached, so it was unclear why the Jedi Masters wanted his time, which was deeply irritating, as they felt entitled to the most valuable time in the galaxy, but he could admit to himself that he looked forward to finding out. He sneered and directed the request to Mas Amedda to add them to his schedule. 

Over the previous few weeks, Master Yoda had seemed more sick and fatigued, moving slower and slower, his age showing. Perhaps he was missing Yaddle, who had been competently dispatched by Tyranus after the events on Naboo, and the Order was only just realizing was missing. Took them long enough.

Watching the little troll drag himself around was tied with the Mon Calamari opera as Sidious’s favorite form of entertainment. After all, to so many, Yoda was the Order. He’d been in a leadership role for hundreds of years, trained generations of Jedi, and was the public face that people knew. He carried the moral authority of the Order on his small shoulders, and it was deeply amusing and satisfying to see him stumble to his knees, as if crushed by the weight of his own self-righteous, sanctimonious moralizing.

He just couldn’t wait for the day when he would grind the Jedi under his heel. Soon. 

There was much work left to do. 

Mace fiddled with the old navicomputer of the ship, setting up the last in a series of four random hyperspace jumps to shake off any possible tail before meeting with Skywalker. It was imperative that the Sith not trail him on this mission, and he was taking every possible precaution. 

The ship was not standard Jedi issue; it was a small, rusty, out-of-date light transport from a random used ship salesyard. He’d switched ships on Corellia to one bought by a proxy droid with a stack of untraceable credits from the Jedi slush fund. It had been checked multiple times for any kind of tracking device, and all scans came back clean. 

He finished entering the meeting coordinates that had been written in ink on flimsiplast and hand delivered to him by a Nightsister on Coruscant. The masked woman had said nothing before fading into shadow, finding him while he was out on an evening walk through Monument Plaza. Organizing a private meeting for some of the most visible people in the galaxy was clearly something Skywalker was taking seriously too.

Despite it being a Nightsister who’d delivered the message and Mace hearing Obi-Wan mention the planet when they’d met on Ansion, they were not actually heading to Dathomir. He suspected that the planet was some kind of base that Skywalker didn’t want the Sith to find. It made sense to protect that information in case they were followed. 

Mace had been sure to compile a report of all the major planets in the entire Gordian Reach to hide his particular interest in the Yavin system, when looking in the Archives in order to learn more about the coordinates. The chosen meeting spot was a jungle-covered moon of a gas giant in the Outer Rim, notable only for its enormous ancient stone temples, and without any kind of local population, so hopefully they would avoid any prying eyes. 

He felt a twinge of curiosity, wondering why it had been chosen, and what the moon could mean to someone in the future. It was far from anywhere important, further rimward than Mandalore but not all the way to the Corporate Sector, far from any major hyperlane; it was also relatively close to Korriban and other Sith worlds. What events could’ve happened there? 

He looked up as he sensed Yoda entering the small cockpit, hopping nimbly up onto the copilot’s chair beside him, finished with his long meditation. The old Master seemed to be moving with more energy and focus than ever, and Mace couldn’t help but grumble. “I hope you’ve been enjoying this.”

Yoda chuckled in his most mischievous way, making himself comfortable in his seat. He had stowed away on several ships before meeting up with Mace on Corellia, positively thriving amongst the subterfuge; it was all by his own design at any rate. “Appear weak, we must. Know this, you do. The Chancellor, convinced he was, yes? Get back to the Sith, it will.”

“The Chancellor seemed very sorry to see you go,” Mace said, feeling as exhausted as Yoda had spent weeks pretending to be. “I almost felt sorry for him. He seemed quite under siege with the Oversight Committee tossing subpoenas everywhere, half his allies and more than half of his enemies are under investigation.”

“More noise than justice, I think.”

“As always,” Mace agreed. He initiated the jump, exhaling slowly as the lights of hyperspace illuminated the cabin, releasing his jaw before a tension headache built up. He had only recently stopped having the kind of headaches induced by disturbances in the Force, only to have them replaced by those of a more prosaic and irritating kind.

Yoda had withdrawn for an extended meditation, and returned resolved to hand over his responsibilities. Time it is for me to go… new hands we need… useful in other ways I can be…

The transition of power inside the Order with the Grand Master’s retirement from the Council and public retreat into seclusion had been both seamless and cataclysmic. Mace was under a great deal of pressure to maintain continuity both internally and externally, and finding a time to duck away from all that responsibility to go on a secret mission had not been easy.

He checked the time on the ship’s controls, thinking of events on Coruscant. “Master Oppo Rancisis should be addressing the Senate now.”

Yoda hummed in affirmation. “Ready, he is, to take over as Grand Master. Many years have we worked together. Trust him, I do. Trust him, you should too.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust him,” Mace defended himself, giving Yoda a sideways look. “I just hope the Senate trusts him. We don’t want to seem weak to anyone but the Sith. The galaxy needs to respect our power and trust our judgment. It will be much more challenging to make a difference in the future if we lose that trust.” 

“Know this well, I do.”

Mace pressed his lips together, trying to not sound too unhappy about the state of the galaxy, the corruption and rising darkness everywhere. “Yaddle is still missing. Dooku left the Order. Sifo Dyas never came back from Valorum’s negotiations with the Pykes. Qui-Gon Jinn was slain. We’re losing senior Jedi at an alarming rate.”

Yoda’s ears drooped, his expression disturbed. “Missing, Yaddle has been before, but survived she did. Return she will, I hope, with an explanation for her absence.”

“And if she does not?”

“Grieve her I will, but celebrate too that she is at peace in the Force.”

“And Master Dyas?”

Yoda’s face was pensive, his stick rolling between his fingers. “Dismissed from the Council he was, for the extremism of his demands, but his visions of war, prescient and accurate they were.”

Mace sighed. “I’ll connect with him when he gets back, if he does, and see what else he knows. All his talk of creating an army for the Republic was on the record, so it seems unwise to reinstate him. The Sith might care about his foresight. Maybe that’s why he’s missing in the first place.” 

“Possible, that is. Disturbing, it is, to imagine.”

“Indeed.” Mace steepled his fingers and visualized the round Council chamber, mentally surveying the seats around him, filled and empty. “We will have to replace Yaddle at some point, as well as fill your seat. Council seats cannot remain empty for long.”

“Master Trebor, a good candidate, he is. Master Shaak Ti, ready she is too, to join.”

“True, on both counts.”

“Decisions you will have to make, and difficult they are,” Yoda acknowledged. “Trust, I do, in your ability to lead. My responsibility now, to make these choices, it is not!” He wriggled cheerfully in his seat, adjusting his posture into sitting cross legged; shedding his title of Grand Master also shed a heavy layer of worry. “Perhaps in this meeting, knowledge will be shared, that will be relevant to guide you in this.”

“The Force will guide me,” Mace said sharply. “Not the boy.”

“Guide us all, the Force will. Listen to it, we must. Through the boy, the Force may speak.”

“I promise, Master. I’ll listen very closely.” 

Obi-Wan watched with trepidation as two of the most respected leaders of the Jedi Order, his childhood mentors and role models, and the persons whose judgment he had most fled from on Naboo, walked calmly down the ramp of their ship into the jungle clearing. It was a surprisingly sunny day on Yavin IV, the living Force lush and vibrant around them, but Obi-Wan’s chest felt tight, his jaw clenched. 

He just couldn’t really believe it was finally time, and the Jedi Masters were finally there. He’d been planning things to say to them for months, but all of that careful rumination immediately slipped away when faced with the reality of their familiar presence in the Force. 

Master Yoda’s eyes were sharp and his movements spritely as he approached. For all the breaking news about his age and infirmity, and the bombshell of his retirement from the Council, he seemed perfectly fine. It was a profound relief to Obi-Wan to realize it must have been a ruse. 

Anakin had complained endlessly that Yoda had made such a major choice without talking to him first. He hadn’t been worried about the truth of the news, as he’d felt in the Force as Yoda passed away about three decades in the future. But as far as Obi-Wan was concerned, for an 864-year-old person, 30 years was not a very long time. The shock of Anakin’s ill tidings might have moved up the clock. It was possible. 

Obi-Wan startled as Anakin dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezed reassurance, his grip surprisingly strong. He leaned in slightly, voice sweet and low. “It will be fine, Obi-Wan. Relax.” He walked forward, dipping his head with something approaching but not quite reaching the depth of a respectful bow. “Masters.”

Obi-Wan bowed a little too deep beside him to compensate, his heart racing and palms sweaty. He straightened his spine and rolled his shoulders back, taking a steadying breath and focusing on the thick, rich smell of green life that filled the air, and the calm energy of the Jedi Masters in the Force. “Thank you both for coming.”

“Good to see you, Obi-Wan.” Master Windu nodded at him, his eyes shifting to Anakin and staying there. “Skywalker.” 

Anakin opened his mouth, and Obi-Wan knew in his bones that he was about to say something stupid. His eyes were too bright, his posture too relaxed. “You can call me Anakin. Can I call you Mace?”

“No,” Master Windu said. “I think not.”

Obi-Wan sighed and flicked at Anakin in the Force through their bond. Anakin just shrugged, flashing a wide smile, gesturing back toward their ship. “Then come with me, Master Jedi.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes rather than obviously roll them, seeking patience, and turned his attention down to Master Yoda. It was good to see him smile warmly up at him; a snarled knot of fear that Obi-Wan had been carrying deep in his gut unraveled at the sight, making him smile softly in return. “It’s very good to see you, Master.”

“Good to see you too, it is, young Obi-Wan. Looked forward to this, I have, for a long time now. Concerned I was, when left Naboo you did, without waiting for us to meet.” Obi-Wan flinched, but Yoda tried to assuage his discomfort with a wave, brushing away any accusation associated with the words. “Understand why you did it, I do. The right thing, I think it was.” 

“Thank you, Master.” He turned to follow Anakin toward the Twilight where Quinlan and Asajj were setting things up in the kitchen. “I’ve been trying, but—”

“Come, come,” Yoda cut him off and pointed toward the edge of the jungle with his gimer stick. He walked steadily toward the shade instead of the ship. “Sit and talk, we must. Something I have to give you, before we begin.”

Obi-Wan hustled after him, sending a reassuring pulse toward Anakin in the Force in response to his tug of concern at their delay. “What is it, Master?”

Yoda hummed thoughtfully, and the familiar sound filled Obi-Wan’s chest with a warm swell of safety, making him feel like a small boy in the creche again. Yoda tipped his head to the side, looking up at Obi-Wan curiously, his voice gentle. “Doing well, are you, Obi-Wan?” 

Obi-Wan had no idea how to answer that, and he shrugged helplessly. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Yoda didn’t look fooled. “Difficult, these last months must have been, for you.”

They reached the treeline, and Obi-Wan sat down heavily on a fallen log. Yoda sat beside him, his presence so comforting in the Force that it loosened Obi-Wan’s tongue. “I admit it’s been… hard for me since Qui-Gon died, Master. I’ve felt lost. I’ve struggled to find the path forward. I’ve been doing my best with Anakin, but…” He swallowed thickly. “He’s been difficult too.”

“Difficult?”

“He’s…” Obi-Wan trailed off blankly, unable to summarize someone like Anakin. “He’s done so much, seen so much, and he keeps saying such devastating things. He’s so wise and so foolish, Master, and I can’t predict how he’ll react to anything, like a child, like a Sith, neither, or even both. It’s like I’m holding the reins and being dragged behind at the same time.” He stopped rambling, catching his breath. 

“Trust him, do you?” 

“Implicitly,” Obi-Wan said, and then shifted with unease. “But also no, not at all. I believe I know who he is and what he wants, but he still needs supervision and guidance. His motivations are good, but his instincts for execution are almost invariably… worrying.”

“I see,” Yoda said quietly. He allowed the silence to open a space for Obi-Wan to fill with more thoughts if he chose. The sounds of chittering and rustling life surrounded them, birds singing in the distance and small animals darting around the branches above. 

Obi-Wan found sitting next to Yoda to be deeply surreal, and also natural and easy. He was so light in the Force, warm and open, patient and kind. He was just as powerful as Anakin, but sitting next to Anakin could feel like sitting next to a hurricane, and Yoda was fresh, clear air. His discipline was complete and breathtakingly simple, everything Obi-Wan ever aspired to become. 

“I’m sorry I left the Order, Master,” Obi-Wan said abruptly, voice unexpectedly thick. “I didn’t really want to leave, not at all. The Jedi are my family, and I miss… I miss everyone so much, all my friends, all my teachers, everyone. I can’t come back, not now, but I wish… I wish it were otherwise.”

“Missed, you are too.” Yoda rested a reassuring hand on his forearm, radiating a gentle, total understanding. “Known, it is, what you went through on Naboo. Wish you well, do we all. Always welcome, you are, to come home to the Temple, and always part of us, you will be, no matter the path you take.” 

Obi-Wan’s vision blurred and he blinked fast to clear it. He swallowed several times until his voice would come out smooth. Yoda’s words were so full of care; it was almost overwhelming. “Thank you, Master.” 

“Brought this for you, I did.” Yoda fished for something small in the pocket of his robes, passing the object over to Obi-Wan carefully. “Sensed I did, that important it was.”

Obi-Wan froze with his hand still held out. The small, ordinary looking river stone rested on his palm, so warm and familiar in the Force. It was the gift that Qui-Gon had given to him at the beginning of his apprenticeship, and it was the only possession Obi-Wan regretted leaving at the Temple. He didn’t care about most of the standard-issue belongings he’d left there, but this was different, filled with so much private meaning.  

He wrapped his fingers closed around the stone, and held it close to his chest. He felt unsteady as the unexpected flood of emotions crested and retreated inside him. He coughed, finally meeting Yoda’s eyes, and they were infinitely compassionate. “Thank you so much, Master.”

“Know your heart, I do, young one. Worthy you are, of the blade at your side. Good things you have done, and will do.”

Obi-Wan smiled weakly. “I saw Master Qui-Gon, in the caves on Ilum. He was optimistic about what we can all do together.”

Yoda laughed, a fond and bright sound, his ears twitching. “Heard him too, I have, in the Force. Once or twice. Tenacious, he is.”

Obi-Wan huffed a laugh. “That’s a good word for it.” 

“Make him proud, you will.” 

“Thank you, Master.” Obi-Wan dipped his head, humbled by Yoda’s faith in him. “I will try.”

Yoda hopped down gracefully to stand beside the log, ending their talk, and Obi-Wan rose to his feet too, walking beside him toward the ship. He tightened his hand to squeeze the river stone, worrying it with his thumb like he’d done for so many years. He exhaled hard with relief at the amount of comfort it brought him to do so. 

Anakin tugged at him in the Force again, sharing a tangled mess of old and new emotions that came from speaking to Master Windu, and urging him to hurry. Yoda’s ears perked up, shooting Obi-Wan a curious look, and Obi-Wan just sighed, opening his mind and letting Anakin feel their approach. “He’s not very patient sometimes.”

“Sense that, I do.”

“His relationship with Master Windu in the future was… complicated.”

Yoda smiled. “Sense that also, I do, yes.”

Obi-Wan led them up into the kitchen, where Anakin’s astromech was projecting a swirling blue map of the galaxy above their heads. Quinlan was introducing Master Windu to Asajj, and he jerked his chin up at Obi-Wan, inviting him over to join them. Obi-Wan let Yoda greet Quinlan and instead turned his attention to the datapad he left on the table with all his plans. 

Anakin stood at the head of the table in parade rest, hands clasped behind his back. His face was solemn and focused, his years of experience visible in calculating eyes as he studied the map. Once Obi-Wan sat down at his left, and everyone else took a seat, he spoke quietly, knocking on the table with his knuckles. “Shall we begin?”

Obi-Wan nodded once, squaring his shoulders and preparing for the difficult conversation ahead. He looked at Yoda and Mace, and almost envied their last moments of ignorance. “Let’s start with the most important facts.”

“Very well,” Anakin said steadily. His voice was musical, not harsh, not domineering, but heavy with command nonetheless. “We must begin then with the Sith Master. I was reluctant to share his public identity because he is someone in a position of power, who you both know, and who you have to interact with frequently. It is a sign of deep trust in your acting abilities that I am telling you now. Do not make me regret this.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said quietly, as the two Jedi Masters exchanged a heavy sideways look. “Just tell them.”

Anakin had the audacity to smirk at him, and then looked Master Windu square in the eye, a lethal seriousness taking over his mien that sent chills down Obi-Wan’s spine. “Darth Sidious is more commonly referred to by his personal name, Sheev Palpatine.”

“What?” 

Anakin felt a frankly inappropriate pulse of pleasure at witnessing the shock and horror on the faces of the visiting Masters, and he continued without mercy, his gaze shifting down to Yoda. “His new apprentice, Darth Tyranus, is a fallen Jedi by the name of Count Dooku.” 

Obi-Wan took over delivering information with a stern poke in the Force. He’d lectured Anakin earlier about not being unnecessarily disrespectful or grim, but it was hard to resist. It was also difficult for Anakin to not smile at Obi-Wan using the bond so flagrantly in front of those who had shut it down last time. It felt like winning a game the Masters had no idea they were playing. 

Obi-Wan’s tone was the same gentle one that he used to tell family members that their loved one had died. “Dooku apparently fanned the flames of the Separatist movement that split the galaxy, and became the Head of State for the Confederacy of Independent Systems that he founded, collaborating with the Sith and committing many atrocities over the course of the Clone Wars.”

“Until I defeated him in combat, at Sidious’s request,” Anakin interjected.

“Until then, yes,” Obi-Wan agreed quietly. His eyes flicked between Yoda and Windu, gauging their reactions. “So now you know the identity of the Sith Master and his Apprentice. They are the agents working against us in making the galaxy a just and equal place. It’s our responsibility as Jedi to mitigate the harm done by splinter factions of our own tradition. We made a commitment to the Republic and the people of the galaxy, and I believe… we believe… it will take radical action to honor it.” 

Anakin felt warm as Obi-Wan spoke, his voice so clear and calm, his accent precise. Despite his unlined, beardless face, Anakin could clearly see and hear the Negotiator, the rising star of the Council, the man Obi-Wan became, and already was. He was content to watch him talk, detailing the things they’d hashed out in so many careful discussions and loud late night arguments. 

“Our purpose here today is twofold,” Obi-Wan continued. “Beyond agreeing on how to fix the imbalance in the Force by ending the line of the Sith, we also need to agree on the method by which we can address the corruption and injustice rampant in the galaxy. We must agree on what allies we can turn to and what battles we need to fight to prevent the galaxy turning to fascism to solve its problems. We can neither reform the government from the inside using the existing system, nor risk a widespread civil war. We must agree on how to craft a third path for the galaxy.”

Anakin nodded and tapped the table again to draw the Jedi’s eyes. “We hope to execute a clean coup and restore an older constitution of the Republic, the one from before the Sith and the Trade Federation stressed and broke the system. We are not going to keep absolute executive power for ourselves for long, just… borrow it for a while.”

He shut his mouth when one of Obi-Wan’s hands lying on his datapad twitched in a subtle repressive gesture that he knew well—Obi-Wan wanted him to slow down and give the Jedi time to process everything that he’d said. 

Yoda’s eyes were wide, his ears drooping, still grappling with the idea of his Padawan having fallen, let alone the scope of the implications and their call for action, and Windu was clearly stuck on the identity of Sidious, repeating somewhat dumbly. “Palpatine’s a Sith?”

“The future Emperor Palpatine, yes.” Anakin doubled down, his tone matter-of-fact. “Arguably the Republic fell the moment he took office. It is better for you to consider the galactic government now as a nascent empire that we must navigate through, rather than persist in the delusion that it is a democratic institution. Democracy died in the dark and nobody noticed or cared.”

Windu flinched, and Yoda looked over at him sadly. Obi-Wan’s face was also turned toward the Jedi, his presence in the Force coiled and guarded. Anakin put his palms on the table, leaning forward and resting his weight on them, intent on making them understand. 

“Do not be fooled by the current appearance of peace, Masters. I know you can feel the rising darkness on Coruscant, but you have no way to tell how far the darkness extends beyond your sight. The galaxy is not poised on the edge of a descent into brutality, it has already tipped over. You cannot stop the forces that have been unleashed.”

“But we can guide them,” Obi-Wan cut in firmly, leaning forward in his chair too. “We can guide and mitigate the harm. The hour is late, but thanks to the Force, we do have time to intervene, and have been given crucial information. We can make him think he is winning, but make it all happen too fast and get ahead of him. We can rally allies and attack from all sides, overwhelm him and interrupt his plans.”

Anakin nodded in agreement. “Sidious is powerful enough to sit in a room with the entire Council and escape notice, but that does not make him omnipotent or omniscient.”

“Thankfully not,” Windu said quietly. The kitchen was quiet as Anakin allowed the Jedi a moment to absorb the information he’d given them. The sink was dripping, and Anakin made a mental note to fix it. Obi-Wan fidgeted and Anakin shared his confidence in the Force, dropping as much warmth as he could like a blanket around his shoulders. 

Quinlan laughed weakly, shaking his head back to move his dreads over his shoulders. “All of this is why I went with them, Master Windu. Surely you understand now.”

“I do,” Windu said, his posture correct and Force signature firmly handled. “I understand your reticence to share any information as well. The combination of Palpatine in the Core and Dooku in the Outer Rim, with the pervasive legacy of the Muun banker Damask that you mentioned on Ansion, is… disturbing.”

Anakin nodded, looking up at the map, his eyes jumping through the major flashpoints of war. “The open violence that the Sith will instigate spreads fast and far, and the chaos of it all makes the people of the galaxy crave security. I’ve seen how they hand over more and more of their freedom to get it out of fear. They turn on the Jedi, and celebrate when they’re eliminated. They got their peace, but it was the peace of a silent desert than true civilization.”

“I thought Dooku was an idealist,” Windu said, looking at Yoda for answers, grappling with the truth. “I had no idea he’d ever fall like this. Palpatine always felt completely ordinary in the Force. The power and control he has is alarming, but he’s a foreign agent. Dooku is one of ours.”

“A problem, he is,” Yoda said cautiously. “Palpatine, a greater problem. On him, we must focus.”

“Yes,” Anakin said sharply, shooting Obi-Wan a grateful look that acknowledged the true source of what he was about to say. “But, we cannot directly attack Sidious; we cannot march into the Chancellor’s office and strike him down. Beyond the fact that he can defend himself better than anyone in the galaxy, it would also destroy the reputation of the Jedi to summarily execute such a popular elected official. We would be seen as murderers.”

Windu grimaced at that, clearly imagining the media narrative it would produce and not enjoying the picture. Obi-Wan cleared his throat, his tone apologetic in advance. “Also beyond the difficulty of killing him, according to Anakin, he is in the process of obtaining true immortality, so killing him is an important but not final step to his eradication from the galaxy. We’ll have to make sure he stays dead, but that’s a secondary problem, after we’ve solved the others.”

“Of course he’s immortal,” Windu said with a wry, overwhelmed twist of humor, his Jedi calm cracking apart somewhat. “Why wouldn't he be? This would all be too easy otherwise. How the fuck am I going to look him in the eye now?”

Yoda laid a hand on his arm, quieting him. “Grave news, this is. Glad I am, to be removed from his proximity, but faith I do have in your discretion. To no one else would I rather turn.”

“He always knows when you are lying,” Anakin said firmly, pointing for emphasis. “You must make sure to make him think you are lying about other things whenever you have the misfortune to be in the same room.”

“Right,” Windu said, still sounding put upon. “Sure.”

Obi-Wan turned his attention to Yoda. “We didn't know you were going to leave the Council, Master, but I can see the utility of the choice.”

“The Force, murmur to me it did. Warned me. Understand fully I did not, but glad I am, that I did listen.”

Anakin felt an unkind smile spread on his face. “If you wander the galaxy and pop up at random, you can drive Sidious insane hunting for you; keep him busy wondering what you’re doing. He’s loathed you for decades; he won't forget about you quickly. You evaded the Purge last time, and it was a thorn in his side that never was removed.”

Yoda chuckled at that. Windu opened and closed his mouth, seeming to think better of asking what had happened to himself in Anakin’s original timeline. Anakin didn’t feel like getting into that, and didn’t volunteer the information. Asajj and Quinlan were watching him, taking it all in with fascination, and Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow to prompt him to continue. 

Anakin centered himself and looked around the table at each of them seriously. “All of you can speak for a population exterminated by the Empire. The Jedi, the Senate,” he pointed at Yoda and Windu, and then at Asajj and Quinlan. “The disenfranchised citizens of the Outer Rim, the underworld cartels,” and finally landing on Obi-Wan. “Mandalore.” 

Obi-Wan made a slightly pained face and nodded. Anakin nodded back, and looked back at the Jedi. “I have spoken with Mother Talzin and can speak for the Nightsisters, who were also slaughtered by Dooku’s forces. I can also speak for all the future slaves of the galaxy, the Wookiees, the Twi’leks, whole populations of non-human species used for labor.”

“So many,” Yoda said sadly, looking at each of them in turn. “So much harm done. Such a different galaxy, the Empire would have become.”

“Correct,” Anakin replied. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, considering his words. “Finding allies eager to fight back will not be hard. There are many upset people, and we can leverage their grievances before Dooku gets to it. The Republic overextended itself and expanded beyond the limits of what it was able to govern effectively.” 

Yoda nodded gravely. “Ambitious we were, but close to ambition, arrogance is. The Jedi and the Republic, pushed back hundreds of years ago, we were. Many Outer Rim outposts were closed, yes.”

Quinlan spoke up, tracing a shape on the table with his finger as he talked. “The fringes of the galaxy fell into anarchy after that. We all know it, but nobody says it.” He gave Windu and Yoda a crooked, humorless smile. “Who had the monopoly on force out there? Who was going to enforce contracts? Nobody knew. Crime lords took over in some areas, warlords and pirates others, the Trade Federation others. There aren’t ever enough Jedi or judicials to enforce the laws beyond the Mid Rim. People have had to try to protect themselves, and they resent it.” 

“The Republic is almost totally absent,” Asajj agreed quietly. “Except to collect taxes. There’s a lot of legitimate grievances on the part of these planets. They’ve been waiting decades for representation in the Senate, if they get it at all, and hardly see any benefits when they do. It’s not fair to ask them to keep paying for a system that harms them.” 

“That is true.” Windu frowned thoughtfully, steepling his fingers as he processed the problem. “About a century ago, the Senate functionally handed over the responsibility of governing the Outer Rim to private corporations who were willing to do so at a profit. The Jedi played a part in negotiating the deal, in the hope of being able to expand our area of influence. The Trade Federation won representation in the Senate, as compensation for letting us collect taxes and regulate commerce in the old Free Trade sectors.”

Yoda nodded confirmation of the deal. “Perhaps a mistake, that was.”

Anakin remembered Obi-Wan reading the terms of that bill to him one afternoon a few weeks ago when they were in hyperspace. He’d struggled to pay attention and avoid falling asleep, but the gist stayed with him. “The Trade Federation got more out of it than we did.”

Asajj looked angry. “The taxes are going to the Core and not coming back. If the Senate was supposed to invest that money in governing, they failed.”

“Depends on whose definition of failure you are using,” Quinlan said darkly. “The Trade Federation, the Banking Clan, they’re all in bed with weapons manufacturers. They’re using the excuse of Outer Rim anarchy to buy private armies. It’s pouring money into the pockets of Senators and using their shiny new navies and armies to crush resistance to their exploitation.” 

“Like on Naboo,” Obi-Wan said, shaping the word like it hurt his mouth to say. “Hego Damask made sure the Trade Federation had an exclusive contract for transport and sale of the refined plasma that was mined from the planet. They held the entire Nabooan economy in the palm of their hand. Of course they squeezed that fist and demanded even more profitable terms.” 

The kitchen went quiet again, the dripping from the sink the only measure of time. Windu caught Anakin’s eye, demanding an answer. “What is the plan, then? What do you suggest we do about this? What do you need from me, and the Order?”

Anakin straightened his spine, looking at Obi-Wan. “We’ve got ideas for that.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “In essence, our plan is to do Sidious’s plan, but in a way that harms fewer people, and puts us in charge of the military doing the coup at the end, not him.” 

“I don’t like it,” Windu said uncomfortably. “Following the Sith’s plan?”

Obi-Wan grimaced, but persevered. “We need to encourage the Republic to make a military and willingly let the Jedi Order be drawn into participation with that force. Sidious wants to make the Jedi unpopular, and will be thrilled to associate us with a future civil war he knows will be deeply divisive.”

“So you want me to put the Order’s support behind a military creation act?”

“Exactly,” Obi-Wan said. “Sidious will help us infiltrate the positions of power we need to prepare for a coup. Once we have the army, we can kill him, and then we can reform the government and run new elections.”

“Do what, will you?” Yoda asked, tipping his head to the side and giving Anakin his most penetrating stare. 

Anakin put his hands on his hips, letting a smile on his face, showing his excitement with his part of the plan. “I am going to muster a navy to fight pirates and the Trade Federation and others like them. I’m going to fight crime until the Outer Rim looks like an actively unstable and dangerous threat to the Republic. Sidious will be happy to have an external enemy like me to use to drum up fear, and I will give him one, not let Dooku to do it.”

Windu raised an eyebrow. “How exactly do you plan to muster a navy?” 

Anakin turned his smile to meet Windu’s familiar, stern, disapproving stare. “I am going to use the Katana fleet.”

“What?” Quinlan and Windu said at the same time, in the same shocked tone of voice. They shared a vague look and then looked back at Anakin. Quinlan looked vaguely betrayed, and Anakin rolled his eyes. 

Yoda’s ears had twitched up, recoiling slightly with surprise. “Know where it is, you do? Lost it was. Never to be found, they said.”

“What is the Katana fleet?” Asajj asked, annoyed to be the only one in the dark. 

Obi-Wan smiled kindly at her, his teaching voice flipping on. “About 15 years ago, the Republic did launch a huge, expensive task force of about 200 heavy cruisers with the hope of policing more of the Outer Rim. The ships were designed to reduce the number of crew you would need to operate them, something like 2,000 instead of up to 16,000 per ship. They were advanced engineering, highly automated, and that proved to be a problem.”

Quinlan barked a laugh. “They slaved their ships navicomputers together and jumped blindly into hyperspace! Nobody knew why! Nobody knows where they were. It’s the smallest needle in the largest haystack ever. I cannot believe you know where they are.”

“I knew a person who knew lots of things,” Anakin shrugged. “She was a useful but highly irritating arms dealer and archaeologist. I don’t know how she found out where they were, only that she passed on the information to me when I wanted to organize my own forces without my Master’s knowledge.” He grimaced, a hand pressing on his sternum as he remembered the ordeal he’d been put through, the level of pain. “Sidious, of course, broke me before I could actually do that, but I never forgot where they were.”

“The cartels have nothing to match a fleet of that size,” Quinlan said, his tone shading bright with hope. “The Trade Federation might be able to take on a part of it, but they’d sure run home to mommy to beg for some more toys.”

“Who will you find to crew them?” Asajj asked thoughtfully. “2,000 people per ship is still a lot of people.”

“I’ll build it out slowly, not all at once, of course,” Anakin acknowledged. “But I don’t think it will be hard to find a crew.”

“What about on the ground?” Quinlan asked. “A navy is great for pirates, but if you want to fight Hutts and Pykes you’ll need an army, not just blockades.”

Obi-Wan coughed. “There is a Mandalorian paramilitary faction who are banished and preparing to wage yet another in an interminable series of clan wars, mining beskar and making armor. I think I can redirect their attention, if I do it right.”

“Interesting,” Windu said slowly. Asajj was rubbing a temple, her eyes distant as she processed everything. Quinlan was grinning and Obi-Wan was smiling back at him. 

Anakin and Yoda stared at each other, and Anakin wasn’t sure exactly what Yoda was hoping to see in his face, but he seemed satisfied. Tapping his stick into his hand, his eyes closed and Anakin could feel as the small Jedi Master reached out into the living Force and listened. 

“What about Sidious?” Windu asked eventually, and Anakin refocused on him. “Just leave him alone?”

“As much as possible,” Anakin replied fervently, gesturing to himself. “I’ll try to draw his eye. I don’t want him to pay attention to the Order. You need to be preparing everyone for the fight to come. You need to invoke the Guardian Protocols. Accelerate youngling combat instruction. Concentrate power on Coruscant. Recall the Knights quietly.”

Yoda opened his eyes and leaned forward. “Immortality, the Sith Master has sought. An offense to the Force, that is, an imbalance beyond all others. Unacceptable it is, to the Force, and destroy him, we must. Loud, the Force is, about that.”

Anakin smiled at that. He sometimes forgot that he was not alone in the experience of such a strong natural connection to the Force; Yoda was just as blessed and cursed by his sensitivity, but he had a level of discipline that Anakin despaired of reaching, even if he lived to 800 years old too. “I know how to destroy him. I know the location of his clones. I have a weapon to trap and bind his consciousness.”

“Tell me more, you will.” Yoda said authoritatively. “My task, I feel, it is.”

Anakin nodded, and all at once, felt very tired. Everything was in the open, the Jedi would or would not help, but it was no longer up to him to explain. He pulled out the chair and down with a sigh. Everyone looked slightly dazed, as was a daunting prospect to reach their goals, and the silence that stretched between them all only emphasized what they were trying to do. 

“Much, you have said.” Yoda said quietly. “Much, I have to consider.”

“I need some caf,” Windu said wearily, and Quinlan stood to attention, wandering over to the caf maker, a similarly tired expression on his face. He fumbled through the cabinet and finally, blessedly, turned the sink on and off, silencing the drip. 

“I’m going for a run,” Asajj said, already slipping away. “Be back later.”

Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Windu all watched the blue holo galaxy above them spin. Quinlan returned and joined their shared, quiet contemplation, taking in the vast expanse of territory, all the peaks of civilization and vast empty spaces between, like islands in the great galactic sea.

“We have much to discuss,” Windu eventually said. “I need clarification and contextualization for the things you are asking me to do, and suggestions of allies to seek among the Senate.”

Anakin cracked his knuckles and nodded, stealing Obi-Wan’s datapad and scrolling down through the meticulous notes until reaching the section on Sidious. Obi-Wan grumbled under his breath beside him at his theft, but he ignored him, looking back at Windu and Yoda. “Before I forget, I think you all should both start referring to me as Anakin’s older brother, if you speak about me with anyone else. Sidious will have a lot of questions if he realizes that I’m Anakin.”

“What should we call you?” Windu asked.

Anakin smiled. “Call me Luke.”