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Chapter Text

𓇻

The last thing Anakin Skywalker wanted to remember were a pair of benevolent blue eyes, a faint smile, and a boy who reminded him so much of the one he once was. With his thread of life weakening, he couldn’t tell if it was his imagination or the last thing he was meant to hear:

“Father.”

And then, nothingness.

That was his end. The end of Darth Vader. The end of Anakin Skywalker.

𓇻

He drifted, conscious in the darkness—a state far removed from anything he had imagined death to be. Perhaps his sudden return to the Light Side wasn’t enough for redemption. After all, his deeds were beyond monstrous, beyond forgiveness. Maybe this was some form of Purgatory, a space where he was condemned to endlessly revisit and reevaluate his past decisions.

If he could, he would have laughed. Of course, this was fitting. The so-called Tamer of the Galaxy, the second-most powerful Sith Lord, the Chosen One destined to bring balance to the Force — what a farce! All he had done was tip the scales toward destruction. Balance? There was none. His life’s actions had weighed the scales to its breaking point.

And now, here he was, suspended in an empty void, destined to remain there for eternity.

Would he have made the same choices if he’d known what awaited him? Perhaps. At best, he might have gone even further in his ruthlessness, either out of acceptance or fear. With a first option, he would have nothing left to lose. In the latter, he might have tried to alter his destiny — a futile endeavor. Death cannot be cheated, nor the will of the Force defied.

If this was his fate, so be it.

Then came the sound: faint, like distant bells from Naboo’s Guido’s Tower, drifting closer. At first, he barely noticed. But the ringing grew louder, sharper, grating against his consciousness like a blade. If he still had ears, he would have covered them. If he still had a face, he would have grimaced. The sound was unbearable, escalating into a piercing screech that felt as if it was carving through him, body or not.

And when the noise finally overwhelmed him, bringing with it the sensation of being stabbed alive, all he wanted to do was scream.

𓇻

“Ah!” He jolted awake, the sudden brightness stabbing at his eyes.

Wincing, he quickly shut them again and raised an arm to shield his face, his elbow acting as a barrier against the intrusive light. It took several seconds before he realized something was off. Just moments ago, he had been in total darkness, dead and resigned to an afterlife of emptiness. Then came that strange ringing... and now this.

“Ani!” A woman’s voice pierced through his confusion, freezing him in place. His heart began to hammer, its rhythm like a starfighter engine firing up.

No. No, it’s impossible. It can’t be...

The woman approached, her dark hair tied back in a simple ponytail. Her skin was sun-kissed, bearing the unmistakable mark of twin suns, and her deep brown eyes were filled with concern.

She sat gently at the edge of the bed he found himself lying on, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead with the kind of tender familiarity he hadn’t felt in decades.

“You’ve had a nightmare, haven’t you?” she asked softly.

He stared at her, unable to move or speak. This woman…  looked exactly like his long-dead mother.

No. That’s not... that can’t be. That is… impossible. How?! She’s gone… 

Unbidden, his breathing quickened, spiraling into frantic gasps. The woman - his mother - frowned and leaned closer, her voice a soothing whisper.

“Hey, hey. Don’t worry, my love. It was just a dream. I’m here. Mom’s here.”

Before he could stop himself, his trembling hands reached for her, his vision blurred by tears.

“Mom,” he sobbed, the word escaping like a desperate plea.

Without hesitation, he clung to her, burying himself in her embrace. Even if this was some cruel trick of the Force, he didn’t care. If he could hold her again, alive and warm, with a heartbeat beneath her worn dress, then so be it.

“Mommy,” he choked, his voice cracking  - higher, younger - like it hadn’t been in decades.

Shmi wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly and gently patting his back.

“Don’t worry, Ani. Mommy’s got you,” she murmured, her voice as comforting as he remembered.

But his body wouldn’t stop shaking. The tears kept coming, flooding out decades of pain, guilt, and longing. He muttered “ Mom ” and “ Mommy ” over and over, barely able to form coherent thoughts. Shmi simply held him, whispering soothing words, as he tried and failed to comprehend what was happening.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, she pulled back slightly, her warm hands cupping his tear-streaked cheeks. Her smile was soft, like the petals of a flower.

“I wish we could stay like this all day, sweetheart,” she said, her voice filled with affection. “But I’m afraid Watto will cut our food rations again if we’re late.”

Her words hit him like a blaster bolt.

“Watto?” he repeated dumbly, staring at her in shock.

Watto had been long gone. Dead. Decayed. How...?

“You must’ve had quite the dream if you’ve already forgotten who your owner is,” she teased lightly.

She lifted him effortlessly from the bed, setting him on his feet. The moment his weight settled, he froze, looking down in disbelief.

Two legs.

Two normal, working legs.

Pinkish toes, tanned calves.

His hands trembled as he brought them up to his face. Two hands - no durasteel, no stumps. Whole. His limbs were intact.

But... smaller?

He took a tentative step toward the small, cracked mirror hanging on the wall. His reflection made his breath catch.

He wasn’t the scarred, middle-aged man encased in black armor.

He wasn’t the twenty-year-old Jedi Knight in his prime.

He wasn’t even an adult.

Staring back at him was the nine-year-old boy he once was - Anakin Skywalker, alive and unbroken.

Chapter Text

𓇻

It took several days for Anakin to fully grasp the magnitude of what had happened to him. Whatever had caused his rebirth - whether it was the cruelest joke of the Force or its greatest gift - had given him something he never thought might be possible: a second chance. A chance to redeem himself.

Still, he was haunted by the fear of losing it all. Each night, as his mother sang him a lullaby or told him a story before bed, he found himself afraid to fall asleep. What if, when he opened his eyes again, he would find himself back in nothingness? With a bitter-sweet aftertaste of the short life he had been given.

But every morning, the warm rays of Tatooine’s twin suns greeted him, and a small, cautious hope blossomed in his heart.

In his first life, Anakin had hated every second of being a slave - being treated as nothing more than an object to command, to use, and to discard. But now? Now, he found an odd sense of contentment working in Watto’s junk shop. He even began to enjoy tinkering with machines, throwing himself into building droids with a fervor. C-3PO was still a collection of exposed wires, half-finished circuits, and mismatched metal plates. The droid’s single functioning eye gave it a comical, lopsided appearance, but it was progress.

Through this work, Anakin found a way to mark time, calculating exactly how many days remained before they would arrive. The thought filled him with both excitement and fear.

Facing his mother, even with all his memories intact, had been manageable. She was not Force-sensitive, so she couldn’t sense the changes within him. As long as he acted like his nine-year-old self - something far easier said than done - she didn’t question him. True, he occasionally slipped, his words or actions betraying an adult’s mind behind a child’s demeanor, but if she noticed, she didn’t comment on it.

But Jedi? Those two Jedi? That was another matter.

First on them - Qui-Gon Jinn.

Anakin remembered him as the man who had almost been his master, kind and unyielding in his belief in the Force’s will. Qui-Gon had been the one to offer him hope, a promise of a life beyond slavery - a future as a Jedi, as the Chosen One. Anakin chuckled bitterly at the memory.

Oh, Qui-Gon. If only you knew. Your decision to take me to Coruscant was a death sentence for the Jedi Order.

The thought of meeting Qui-Gon again stirred conflicting emotions. But it was nothing compared to the sheer weight of the other figure who would be there.

Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Just the thought of seeing him again sent Anakin’s stomach into knots. The last time he had seen Obi-Wan, he was a weary old man, wielding his lightsaber one last time in a noble, doomed effort to protect the galaxy. To protect Luke. To protect new hope.

Now, he would see a younger Obi-Wan - Qui-Gon’s earnest, dutiful apprentice. A Jedi still unburdened by the weight of Anakin’s betrayal.

Anakin’s breath hitched. How was he supposed to face him? Part of him still held a grudge, remembering Obi-Wan’s unwavering loyalty to the Council and the Order. How it had frustrated Anakin. Back then, he had wished Obi-Wan could see the flaws in their ways and  see him - to truly see the pain and desperation that had consumed Anakin’s mind. But Obi-Wan never did.

And then there was Mustafar. The memory was seared into his mind as deeply as the burns that had scarred his body. He had begged Obi-Wan for help - not just to save him from the flames, but to save him from himself. But how could Obi-Wan have helped? What could one of his closest friends do to prevent him from going down the path of the Dark Side? He had no choice. Anakin’s subconscious knew that right away. But he was too focused on his anger, grief, and lost hope to realize it until it was too late - until he died and was reborn as his child self.

“Hey, hey! Don’t wet the electronics with your stupid crying, you little brat!”

Watto’s grating voice yanked Anakin from his thoughts. Only then did he realize tears were running down his cheeks.

“Sorry,” Anakin muttered, wiping his face with his sleeve. “The suns are too bright today.”

Watto grumbled something unintelligible but waved him back to work.

As Anakin returned to his tasks, the lingering memory of Obi-Wan’s voice stayed with him.

"You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you."

𓇻

Anakin felt them before he saw them. Or perhaps sensed was a better word to describe it - the two powerful presences lingering in the air. Without thinking and despite Watto’s angry voice shouting after him, he stepped outside the shop and looked up at the sky.

Far in the distance, barely visible, he spotted it - a Republic cruiser, its silver hull glinting in the light of the twin suns. It was descending, preparing to land a few miles from the city. As much as Anakin wanted to run there, he reminded himself they will be the ones coming to him. .

Taking a deep breath, he returned to his work, doing his best to ignore Watto’s endless cursing.

𓇻 

“ Gooddé da lodia ” Watto’s rusty voice made Anakin’s heart skip a beat, but he stayed where he was, waiting for the ideal moment. “ Hi chuba da naga? ”

“I need parts for a J-type 327 Nubian,” a long-unheard voice rumbled, and Anakin stopped breathing.

Qui-Gon Jinn was there. In Watto’s shop. Alive. His doubts lingered, but now... the puzzle pieces were falling into place.

“Ah, yes! Nubian. We have lots of that,” Watto replied, then added, “ Peedunkee, caba dee unko! ”

Pretending he hadn’t been lingering just around the corner, Anakin waited five seconds before stepping into the shop.

And then he saw her.

“Padmé,” he mouthed, staring at the young girl standing beside Qui-Gon, now dressed in civilian clothes.

His mouth went dry, and his heart began to pound. In all his worrying about meeting the Jedi, how could he have forgotten? This was the first time he met her. Padmé. His Padmé. His wife. Alive and healthy. Much younger than the woman he remembered - broken and in despair, on Mustafar.

Beautiful, amazing Padmé. Breathing, living Padmé.

“ Wermo! Stop dreaming! Coona tee-tocky malia? ” Watto’s voice jolted him, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

One thought echoed endlessly in his mind: Padmé, Padmé, Padmé, Padmé, Padmé.

He had forgotten what he was supposed to say. Something about fans, perhaps?

“ Chut! Chut! Gando doe wallya. Me dwana no bata. ” Watto snapped, before returning to his business.

But Anakin couldn’t focus on their conversation. His mind was entirely consumed by Padmé’s presence. How could he have forgotten she was here? Pretending to be her own decoy, she had accompanied Qui-Gon to Mos Espa. This was their first meeting. Their first conversation.

When Qui-Gon and R2-D2 followed Watto to the shop’s backroom, Anakin suddenly found himself alone with her. Well, mostly alone—Jar Jar was there too, but Anakin barely noticed him.

“Are you an angel?” he blurted out, inwardly cringing. 

Why that again? It had worked before, but now, with his adult mind, it felt hopelessly embarrassing.

“What?” she asked, and stars above, how long had it been since he’d heard her voice?

Clearing his throat, he stuck with the line.

“An angel. I heard the deep space pilots talk about them. They’re the most beautiful creatures in the universe. They live on the moons of Iego, I think.”

Padmé stepped closer, her innocent smile lighting up her face. He was doomed. Completely doomed.

“You’re a funny little boy,” she teased. “How do you know so much?”

A flicker of panic shot through him. Surely, she couldn’t see through him, right? She wasn’t Force-sensitive; she shouldn’t know...

Then she laughed, and it was like an angelic choir in his ears.

“Don’t worry. I’m Padmé,” she said with a sincere smile, and he was lost.

“How long have you been here?” she asked.

Clearing his throat to shake off his thoughts, he answered, “Since I was three, I think. My mom and I were sold to Gardulla the Hutt, but she lost us betting on the Podraces.”

Her delicate smile faded, replaced by confusion and then sadness.

“You’re a slave?” she asked, her voice laden with emotion.

He didn’t dare to reach out through the Force - not with Qui-Gon nearby - but even without it, he could see how upset she was.

He nodded. “But I’m also a person, and my name is Anakin.”

She smiled again, though it was tinged with sorrow, her brown eyes gazing at him with heartfelt compassion.

“I’m so sorry, Anakin. I don’t fully understand. This is a strange place to me.”

He looked at her, truly seeing her for who she was and who she would become: Queen of Naboo. Senator Amidala. A woman who cared more for the prosperity and welfare of others than for herself. The only person who had truly tried to help him, even when his mind was twisted and corrupted.

The only one.

And then Jar Jar had to be Jar Jar.

“Hit the nose,” Anakin sighed, watching the Gungan struggle with a droid.

Padmé laughed, and at that moment, the sound felt like redemption.

𓇻 

Then, things unfolded more or less as he remembered them. Jar Jar caused a problem with Sebulba, and Anakin stepped in to help. Afterward, he offered them shelter from the sandstorm. He showed Padmé and R2-D2 the partially assembled C-3PO, likely setting the stage for a longer, deeper friendship between the droids.

Over dinner, they talked, and Anakin made his offer - to help them get the parts they needed for their ship by winning the Podrace. That was probably the first time Qui-Gon truly looked at him - not just at him, but into him.

“There’s no other way. He can help you. He was meant to help you,” his mother said after agreeing to let him race. Anakin glanced at Qui-Gon, whose expression reflected both curiosity and hesitation. And to be fair, putting all hope on a nine-year-old was a big gamble. Even Anakin wasn’t sure he would have chosen himself back then. But things had to go this way.

Because if they didn’t, there would be no chance to change his future.

Right?

Later that night, Qui-Gon and Anakin sat on the roof. The older man took a blood sample to “check for infections,” though Anakin knew better. He was testing for midi-chlorians.

Anakin tilted his head back, gazing dreamily at the stars. It felt like centuries since he’d truly seen space for what it was - endless and empty, yet bursting with stars. Full of planets, full of life. Lives he once shattered.

“There are so many. Do they all have systems of planets?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. But he wanted to hear Qui-Gon’s gentle voice leading him.

“Most of them,” Qui-Gon replied while cleaning the small cut.

“Has anyone been to them all?”

Qui-Gon smiled and tilted his head upward, his expression contemplative as he looked at the sky.

Anakin had forgotten what kind of man Qui-Gon Jinn was. A wise Jedi Master, bold and steadfast, willing to fight for his ideals. Someone who didn’t follow the Jedi Code blindly, but still held the greater good close to his heart.

The kind of Jedi Anakin had wished he could become.

“Not likely,” Qui-Gon said.

Anakin smiled.

“I want to be the first to see them all,” he said with quiet determination. Qui-Gon returned the smile, his calm, encouraging demeanor as steady as ever.

Then came the prick of the needle.

“Just checking for an infection,” Qui-Gon assured him.

Anakin shrugged, as though it didn’t matter. He turned and headed back inside, where his mother was calling him to bed.

Let it be, then.

𓇻

He won the Podrace, which this time went much smoother - though not without problems. At least he came out of it unscathed, save for a few bruises and minor cuts. Overall, he was fine. Watto, not without his usual annoyed muttering and reluctance, handed over the parts to Qui-Gon, who almost immediately took them back to the ship.

And yet, as much as Anakin wanted to feel happy, the inevitable loomed closer. He knew the ship’s parts were only part of Qui-Gon’s bet with Watto. The other part was his freedom. But not his mother’s. She would have to stay behind in Mos Espa, remaining Watto’s slave until the day Cliegg Lars freed her, and then...

No. He couldn’t think about that. He still had time. It wouldn’t happen for another ten years. He would find a way to help her before the Tuskens even dared to lay their filthy hands on her. He wouldn’t let that tragedy strike again.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Moments later, Qui-Gon’s imposing yet gentle figure stepped into the room.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Qui-Gon said with a warm smile, “but I’ve got something for you.”

He placed a handful of credits into Anakin’s smaller hands.

“It’s from selling the pod,” he explained.

“Wow!” Anakin exclaimed, feigning surprise while knowing full well what was coming next. “Look at all the money we have!”

“My goodness! That’s wonderful, Ani,” his mother said, her soothing voice washing over him like a balm.

“And,” Qui-Gon added, his tone steady, “he has been freed.”

Anakin’s stomach dropped.

He knew this moment was coming. He’d been bracing for it. But still… seeing his mother’s face, her warm eyes, her gentle smile, her love radiating toward him - he suddenly felt an overwhelming sadness. But he couldn’t let it show.

“What?!” he said, perhaps a touch too theatrically, hoping they wouldn’t hear the slight crack in his voice.

“You’re no longer a slave,” Qui-Gon said simply.

Anakin turned to his mother, and her expression confirmed what he already knew. She had known, too.

“Now you can make your dreams come true, my love,” she said tenderly, though her voice was tinged with sorrow. “You’re free.”

She looked at Qui-Gon with a hint of unease.

“Will you take him with you?” she asked, her voice calm but heavy. “Is he to become a Jedi?”

Anakin already knew the answer. So did Shmi.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon replied. “Our meeting is no coincidence. Nothing happens by accident.”

The Jedi Master knelt before Anakin, his presence commanding yet kind. Anakin trembled under the weight of his emotions.

“Anakin,” Qui-Gon said gently, “training to become a Jedi is not an easy challenge. Even if you succeed, it’s a hard life.”

Anakin knew that all too well. He knew how thin the line was between being a successful Jedi and a fallen one. It was a never-ending battle - not just against enemies but against oneself. The Dark Side was always there, lurking, ready to whisper like a snake in the shadows.

Still, he tried to smile as sincerely as he could.

“I wanna do it.”

Chapter Text

𓇻

Even though Anakin knew this day would come and had tried to prepare himself, reality hit him like a crushing wave. The sad yet hopeful smile on his mother’s face sent an ache through his already broken heart. Visions of what might happen flashed before his eyes - those damned Tuskens.

After hugging her far longer than he should have, he made a silent vow to himself: he would find a way to save her before that tragedy could unfold.

His mom placed her warm lips on his cheek, and his eyes stung with unshed tears.

“Will I ever see you again?” he sobbed, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.

She smiled sadly, running her fingers gently through his hair, her touch as soothing as ever.

“What does your heart tell you?”

His heart screamed for him to stay, to protect her, to never let anything or anyone harm her. But deep down, he knew he couldn’t. Not yet. He wasn’t strong enough now, not until he becomes a Jedi.

“I hope so,” he answered weakly, his voice trembling. “Yes. I guess.”

She cupped his face in her work-worn hands, leaning in to kiss his forehead with all the love in the galaxy.

“Then we will see each other again, my love,” she whispered, her voice soft and full of certainty.

Anakin swallowed the massive lump in his throat, forcing down the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

“I’ll come back and free you, Mom. I swear.”

Her glassy eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she gently held his face, her hands shaking, but her smile still so full of love.

“Be brave, Ani,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “And don’t look back.”

With one final look at her, engraving her loving face into his memory, he turned away. Joining Qui-Gon, he walked forward, step by step, toward his destiny.

A destiny he desperately hoped he could change.

𓇻

Through the avalanche of emotions, he almost forgot about their first encounter with Darth Maul - the first of three... well, hopefully two in this life, Darth Sidious' apprentice.

When he and Qui-Gon were just a few hundred yards from the Nubian, he felt the disturbance in the Force a moment before Qui-Gon shouted for him to duck. As he dropped, a gust of wind rushed over him, and in his peripheral vision, he caught sight of a lightspeeder.

A figure cloaked in black, with a hood shadowing his red face and crown of horns, leapt from the moving speeder. Midair, he ignited his double-bladed lightsaber, just as Qui-Gon activated his green one. For a fleeting moment, Anakin could only watch in awe as the sabers clashed, each collision sparking a dazzling display. Witnessing it from the sidelines was mesmerizing, especially since it was Qui-Gon wielding the blade.

In their brief time together, Anakin had only glimpsed flashes of Qui-Gon’s skill with a lightsaber and his control of the Force. Those memories were faint, overshadowed by the tragedy of losing him too soon. Killed by that monstrous Zabrak - Darth Maul - who had haunted Obi-Wan even beyond his supposed death.

But not yet.

Watching the ferocious duel, Anakin felt an overwhelming urge to intervene. He wanted to raise a hand, to choke the breath from the Zabrak’s throat or hurl him into the rocky terrain. But he wasn’t strong enough - not yet. Since his rebirth, he’d tested his limits, only to find them frustratingly low. Without proper Jedi training, his abilities were limited to sensing emotions, foreseeing danger moments before it struck, and occasionally levitating small objects. Anything more was beyond him for now.

For a while, he simply watched the battle - the clash of sabers and the blinding speed of their movements - until Qui-Gon’s voice snapped him out of it:

“Go! Tell them to take off!”

Anakin scrambled to his feet and ran toward the ship. Padmé and a man - someone he didn’t recognize - were waiting for him.

“Ani!” Padmé called, her voice tinged with concern.

For once, he had no time to appreciate her beauty or her calm demeanor.

“Qui-Gon is in trouble!” he shouted.

Both Padmé and the man’s faces fell as they raced to the cockpit, Anakin close behind.

“Qui-Gon’s in trouble,” the man relayed as they burst into the room.

And there he was.

Anakin had prepared himself, but seeing the younger Obi-Wan was still a shock. His short auburn hair, accented by a single Padawan braid, framed a face full of youth and purpose. He wore a simple Jedi robe, and his blue eyes blinked with worry.

For a moment, Anakin felt a sinking dread. Right now, he was just a vulnerable child, while Obi-Wan was a skilled Padawan on the cusp of knighthood - soon to be one of the youngest Masters in recent Jedi history. If Obi-Wan had known then what Anakin would become, would he have hesitated to strike him down?

But all Obi-Wan did was glance at him briefly before turning to the pilot.

“Over there. Fly low,” Obi-Wan instructed, his calm, steady voice grounding Anakin at the moment.

It was startling to hear him. During their last battle, when Obi-Wan had sacrificed himself for Luke, his voice had been hoarse, weary - a voice of someone, whose life was an endless struggle. But this younger Obi-Wan sounded pragmatic, focused, and brimming with purpose.

Lost in thought, Anakin didn’t notice when they lifted off, skimming just above the ground. Only when Obi-Wan ran from the cockpit did Anakin snap back to reality and follow, finding Qui-Gon sitting on the ground, rubbing his arm.

“Are you alright?” Anakin asked, his younger self’s concern shining through. He knew Qui-Gon was unharmed, but his innocence momentarily overpowered his knowledge.

“I think so,” Qui-Gon replied with a grimace.

Both Anakin and Obi-Wan knelt beside him.

“What was it?” Obi-Wan asked, his tone calm yet probing.

Anakin, still reeling from hearing that familiar voice, had to bite his tongue.

It’s a Sith. Darth Maul. Darth Sidious’ apprentice.

But he couldn’t say it - not yet.

While awaiting the arrival of the Jedi, Anakin mulled over how much he could safely tell them. Revealing the full truth was out of the question. The idea of a child claiming to be a future Sith Lord, destined to destroy the Jedi Order and enslave the galaxy, was laughable. Truly, a spectacular plan. And if they did believe him? The possibilities of what they might do to him were chilling.

But withholding the truth also had its cost. If he revealed too much, he risked losing his chance to stop Palpatine - Senator Palpatine, for now - before he could seize control of the Senate and, eventually, the galaxy. Anakin was certain that Palpatine’s rise to power was inevitable, whether he played a part or not.

No, the full truth was not an option. At least, not yet. He could carefully drop hints when the time was right, but sharing specific knowledge - like Darth Maul's true identity - felt far too dangerous. Some truths would have to remain buried, for now.

“I think whatever it was, it was after the Queen,” Qui-Gon said.

“What are we going to do about it?” Anakin asked, a flicker of fear sparking at the thought of Padmé being the target.

Stars , he was so focused on himself, he forgot about her. Again. 

Qui-Gon sighed, his expression softening slightly. “We must be patient.” He then smiled faintly and gestured toward Obi-Wan. “Anakin Skywalker, meet Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan turned his attention to him, offering a small, tense smile as he extended his hand. Anakin shook it hesitantly, his mouth dry.

“Hi,” Anakin greeted, feeling unexpectedly nervous.

He had anticipated hostility toward his former Master, but it was replaced by unease. Was this how he’d felt during their actual first meeting? He couldn’t remember - it had been over thirty years ago.

“You’re a Jedi, too? Pleased to meet you,” he said, forcing himself to stay composed.

Obi-Wan didn’t respond verbally, only sizing him up with the same measured, restrained smile. His face bore no trace of the burdens Anakin had placed on him in another life.

𓇻

The flight to Coruscant was smooth, without any Sith or Separatist problems. Anakin used that time to think about what he needed to do next. Once they arrived, he and Padmé would go with Supreme Chancellor Valorum and Senator Palpatine to the Queen’s quarters, while Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan would head to the Jedi Council to discuss Darth Maul and, presumably, his case.

Part of Anakin wanted to accompany the two Jedi, eager to know what the Jedi Masters’ first impressions of him might be. Or if he could change their statement about not allowing him to become a Jedi, in the first place. Maybe if he will make a cute eyes…

But he knew the chances of Qui-Gon allowing him to accompany them were slim. Still, the thought of meeting Palpatin - still undercover and presenting himself as a benevolent, human figure - was far more unsettling.

“You all right?” Padmé’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to reality.

He glanced at her, now dressed in the traditional clothes of the Queen’s handmaiden.

Even in simpler clothes, she looked magnificent. Queenly.

“It’s cold here,” he admitted, suddenly aware of the chill seeping through his body.

She picked up a blanket and draped it over him with care.

“You come from a warm planet, Ani. A little too warm for my taste. Space is cold,” she said softly, her voice filled with a gentle warmth that seemed to shield him from the void outside.

Always putting others first.

“You seem sad.” Her face mirrored the sorrow she must have carried. He knew why. Her people were suffering, dying, and she was powerless without the Senate's intervention.

She smiled faintly, her hand brushing lightly through his hair.

“It’s okay, Ani. It’s nothing you need to worry about. It’s… the Queen’s problem.”

But he wanted to know. He wanted to help, to give her the peace she so desperately sought. He frowned.

“I don’t like it when people treat me like a child. I understand a lot more than you might think,” he said, his tone sharper than he intended.

If Padmé noticed, she didn’t let it show. Instead, she smiled - a gesture so disarming it left him feeling small and captivated all at once.

“I’m sure you do,” she replied with an understanding before rising to her feet. “Many things will change when we reach the capital, Ani.”

She disappeared behind one of the many doors on the ship, and Anakin was left with an eerie sense of something unresolved. It was as if a thread had been severed too soon, leaving a hollow ache behind.

Something important had been left unspoken.

Something significant not given. 

𓇻

The first look at Palpatine's human face was almost as shocking to Anakin as seeing Obi-Wan again. The older man’s face was worn but not ruined; his brown hair streaked with gray. His posture was always demure, slightly arrogant and presumptuous. His expression was kind when he greeted the Queen - or rather, her decoy - but Anakin, knowing what he knew, could see the vile glint hiding in those empty eyes. For now, Palpatine didn’t seem too interested in Anakin - he hadn't yet discovered his destiny. Anakin chose not to step out of line just yet.

As they walked toward a speeder, Anakin glanced back at the Jedi. Qui-Gon’s face was serious but still somewhat kind, as always. Obi-Wan, however, was looking at Anakin with far more scrutiny, concern etched on his features. The younger man was practically drilling a hole into Anakin’s skull with his gaze, as if trying to unravel the mystery of the boy Qui-Gon had chosen to bring from the desert planet of Tatooine.

Obi-Wan had always been observant, and if anyone might see through his facade, it was him. A swell of anger and fear built within Anakin.

“Ani!” Padmé called, pulling him from his thoughts. Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from his old Master’s younger version and walked with her.

Not again, Obi-Wan. Not again.

𓇻

Fake it till you make it , like they say. Anakin knew that this time, when facing the living body of the Jedi Council, he needed to play his cards differently. The first time, his fear and concern for his mother left behind on Tatooine had been too obvious. Understandable for a child suddenly separated from the only family he had ever known, but for the Council, it was an enormous red flag. His attachment and fear had been enough for them to hesitate to train him - a decision that, in hindsight, might have been quite wise.

“How feel you?” Yoda’s familiar, gravelly voice broke the silence, and Anakin steeled himself. 

He focused on suppressing any emotions that might betray him: fear, attachment, resentment. He needed to appear calm and in control.

“Cold, sir,” he replied, keeping his tone as neutral as possible.

Yoda’s eyes, ancient and knowing, seemed to pierce through him, searching for the slightest disturbance in the Force. The scrutiny made Anakin’s pulse quicken, though not from the childish fear he’d once felt for his mother. No, this time, he feared they might see too much - catch a glimpse of the truth he was desperately hiding about his true identity. Yoda’s connection to the Force was unparalleled. If anyone could sense something, it was him.

“Be mindful of your feelings,” Mace Windu said, his voice sharp and authoritative.

“You’re scared,” Ki-Adi-Mundi added, as if the obvious needed stating.

No kidding , Anakin thought bitterly.

“Afraid you are, mmm?” Yoda pressed, his probing tone making Anakin’s stomach churn.

Anakin mentally kicked himself. Why hadn’t he thought about Yoda earlier? The Grand Master of the Jedi Order, the one who had survived Order 66 and escaped the purge, was far beyond the likes of Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan in perception and wisdom. Fooling Yoda was a challenge he wasn’t sure he could meet. And now, standing here as a literal child, his chances seemed even slimmer.

Well, he was a child - or appeared to be, at least. Maybe he could chalk up his mistakes to youthful ignorance.

“What has that got to do with anything?” he retorted, playing the part of a naïve, defiant kid and hoping it would work. He didn’t forget about cute eyes, tho none of the Jedi Masters seems to be moved at all. Bunch of stiff morons. 

“Everything,” Yoda said, like he just offended his whole frog family, “Fear is the path to the Dark Side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.”

Anakin nodded mechanically, but his mind wandered. He glanced briefly at Mace Windu, his stern expression unyielding as always. If anger led to the Dark Side, how had he managed to stay on the Council all these years?

This, Anakin realized, was the crux of his frustration with Jedi philosophy. They preached detachment, the suppression of emotion, as the only way to remain on the Light Side. But how realistic was that? If emotions truly led to the Dark Side, wouldn’t it mean that sociopaths made the perfect Jedi? It wasn’t his feelings that had driven him to fall - at least, not entirely. It was the manipulation of those emotions by others. Jedi’s threats of falling to Dark Side because of them, causing him hiding his own marriage. The Emperor, who had weaponized his love for Padmé and his mother, using it to pull him into darkness.

The Council’s dogma failed to see that love wasn’t inherently a weakness. It could heal, not destroy. If they had let him love Padmé openly, without shaming him or warning him that it would lead to ruin, maybe things would have been different. Maybe Darth Vader would never have been born. Maybe the Jedi Order wouldn’t have been vanished. Maybe Palpatine wouldn’t have exploited his fears for his own ends.

He wanted to scream at them, to tell them how wrong they were. How their rigid code and their fear of emotion had paved the way for their own downfall. But he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to rewrite the future.

“I understand, sir,” he said instead, his voice calm, though he prayed they wouldn’t catch the faint trace of venom laced within it.

𓇻

“He will not be trained,” said Master Windu with his usual aloofness, and Anakin would be lying if he said he had expected otherwise.

Nevertheless, a flame of anger flickered in his gut. The faint spark of hope in his heart extinguished, just as it had the first time. Still, he managed to maintain his composure, suppressing the betraying emotions that threatened to surface. His nature pushed him to lash out, to tell Windu exactly what kind of narrow-minded fool he was - and perhaps to extend that sentiment to the entire Jedi Council. A darker part of him even entertained the idea of gouging out Windu’s stern eyes or tearing into his throat to silence his denials.

Yes, Anakin was certainly on the fast track to becoming a model Jedi.

“No?” Qui-Gon sounded genuinely perplexed as he turned to his fellow Master, reproach and disbelief etched into his expression.

“He is too old.”

Anakin bit his tongue and clenched his hands beneath his robes. Of course, they had to emphasize that particular fact, as though being born at the wrong time were some great crime - or, in his case, being reborn .

“He is the Chosen One,” Qui-Gon pressed. “You must see it.”

As much as Anakin wanted to focus on Qui-Gon’s battle with the Masters, an abrupt shiver ran down his spine. It was barely perceptible, a faint change in the Force. So subtle, he might have missed it had he not spent a lifetime drowning in such sensations. It was sorrow - a lingering shadow, ever-present yet intangible, clinging to him like an unwanted companion.

He glanced around the room, studying the Masters. Most were focused on Qui-Gon’s impassioned argument, though a few sent him reassuring glances or polite smiles. Others, however, turned their gazes away, as if afraid to meet his eyes. Perhaps they had reason to.

Finally, his gaze landed on Qui-Gon, who remained steadfast in his defense. The Jedi Master radiated frustration and determination, but these emotions barely skimmed the surface of his presence in the Force, dissipating as quickly as they arose. None of the others seemed to carry any lingering regrets or hostility. Their tension, while palpable, was unremarkable.

Anakin shifted his focus to Obi-Wan, and their eyes met for the first time since their arrival. Obi-Wan’s piercing gaze bore into him, unreadable and stubborn. A sudden weight settled in Anakin’s chest, and a lump formed in his throat. There was something in Obi-Wan’s look— - something deep and elusive, beyond Anakin’s grasp. Unlike the amiable smiles from earlier, Obi-Wan’s mouth now curved into a faint smirk, and his emotions were locked away behind an impenetrable wall.

It was Anakin who broke eye contact first, but he could still feel Obi-Wan’s gaze lingering, unsettling him in a way he couldn’t shake.

A cold shiver ran down his spine. This time, it was his own unease.

“I take Anakin as my Padawan learner,” Qui-Gon declared, placing a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts.

Obi-Wan’s face remained neutral, but Anakin was certain he noticed the faintest tension ripple through the older Padawan.

“An apprentice you already have, Qui-Gon. Impossible to take on a second,” Yoda said firmly.

“The Code forbids it,” added Mace Windu, his sharp tone as grating as ever. One look at Windu’s stern face nearly made Anakin forget the shiver altogether, replacing it with irritation.

“Obi-Wan is ready to face the trials,” Qui-Gon declared confidently, turning his gaze to his apprentice.

Obi-Wan looked momentarily stunned, his frown betraying him. But at Qui-Gon’s subtle nod, he straightened and cleared his throat.

“I am ready,” he said firmly.

“Our own counsel we will keep on who is ready,” Yoda replied, his tone dismissive.

Out of the corner of his eye, Anakin noticed Obi-Wan tensed again, his face momentarily darkened by a grimace before his usual calm expression returned.

Unease.

“He is headstrong and has much to learn of the living Force, but he is capable,” Qui-Gon said, looking at Obi-Wan. “There is little more he can learn from me.”

Master and apprentice exchanged a glance, a silent conversation Anakin could only envy. Obi-Wan’s shoulders relaxed slightly, his body language softening under Qui-Gon’s confidence in him.

But just like all those years ago, the Council dismissed Qui-Gon’s argument, their attention drifting back to political concerns rather than internal matters of the Jedi Order.

This time, Anakin and Obi-Wan shared a look of mutual displeasure toward the Council’s obstinacy.

No shivers this time, but the unease remained.

Chapter Text

𓇻  

“With no disrespect, Master, but I think they are right. The boy is dangerous, all of them sense it. Why can’t you?”

Anakin, walking behind Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, shot the younger Jedi a dirty look. Of course, this lickspittle rat would side with the Council, parroting their decrees like some obedient droid, just to spite him. It’s always been this way. The Council says one thing, Obi-Wan follows it, and somehow it’s Anakin who bears the brunt of the fallout. And how often were they wrong? Too many times to count on both hands and feet. But of course, the Jedi Council was infallible, never making mistakes. If something went wrong, it was everyone else’s fault - never theirs.

Anakin felt the anger simmering inside, and he knew he had to nip it in the bud, before someone ( Kenobi ) sensed it. No proving anyone point! His abilities were still limited, and so forming an impregnable mental wall wasn’t an option. He couldn’t risk jeopardizing his chance to become a proper Jedi, to redeem himself. He had a goal, a purpose, and no room for mistakes. Well, maybe just for a few.

He sighed resignedly, determined to push the irritation aside, though Obi-Wan’s words still stung like salt on a fresh wound.

Qui-Gon glanced back at him, his expression tinged with quiet understanding, before addressing his Padawan.

“His fate is uncertain, not dangerous. The Council will decide Anakin's future, and that should be enough for you.”

Obi-Wan looked like he wanted to argue further, his posture rigid, but he merely frowned at Qui-Gon’s words before heading to the ship without sparing a glance at Anakin - distant and prejudiced, as always.

Qui-Gon stopped, causing Anakin to pause in surprise.

“Anakin, I want you to know that even though I am not allowed to train you, I want you to watch and be mindful. Remember: focus determines reality. Just stay close to me, and you’ll be safe,” the older Jedi said with a gentle smile.

Anakin tried to reciprocate the smile, but his heart sank.

They were on their way to aid Padmé in resolving Naboo’s conflict with the Trade Federation. The plan was for her and her court to infiltrate Theed Palace and capture Nute Gunray, while the Gungans would stage a diversionary battle against the droids. Anakin remembered every moment that was about to unfold, including his first unintentional space battle. But one event overshadowed all others in his mind - Qui-Gon’s death.

Though he hadn’t witnessed Darth Maul deliver the fatal blow, he learned the truth years later when Obi-Wan finally told him. He had always known Maul was the killer, but the details had been a mystery. One moment, Qui-Gon had stood there, alive, with a fatherly smile, and the next, Anakin had seen his lifeless body on the funeral pyre.

Even with his faint connection to Qui-Gon, the thought of his death ached deeply. How different would everything have been if Qui-Gon had survived that day?

As they boarded the ship, a sudden thought struck Anakin, freezing him in his tracks. Qui-Gon glanced at him, puzzled.

“Ani?” the older man asked.

Anakin smiled to himself. Of course. How hadn’t he thought of this earlier? He had gone back in time. He knew what was coming. He could change things. He could stop the inevitable.

He could save Qui-Gon.

He could stop Darth Maul.

He could prevent Qui-Gon’s death and make him his Master - just as it should have been from the beginning.

It wasn’t that he resented having Obi-Wan as his Master. But he had always wondered how different his path would have been if it was Qui-Gon. What kind of Jedi might he have become? Would he have still fallen, knowing that part of what had led him to the darkness was his complex relationship with Kenobi? Their dynamic had been one of constant conflict - Padawan Skywalker causing problems and Master Kenobi cleaning up after him. Yet, over the years, they had developed a friendship, a steady bond that had kept Anakin tethered to the surface despite the darkness within, always threatening to rise.

But then… things happened. 

Anakin shook his head. No. This wasn’t the time to dwell on the past. He had a mission. He had to focus. No mistakes.

“Sorry,” he said, looking up at Qui-Gon with a bright smile. “I got caught up in my thoughts.”

𓇻  

During the entire journey to Naboo, and even after their arrangements with the Gungans, Anakin’s mind was consumed by his plan to save Qui-Gon. He vaguely remembered how quickly things had escalated last time, with Theed entirely occupied by droids. Still, if events unfolded as they had before, getting into the central hangar wouldn’t pose much of a challenge. While the Jedi and Naboo’s soldiers will be distracted fighting off the droids, Darth Maul would creep behind them, waiting for his dramatic entrance.

Anakin couldn’t deny his frustration. In his current nine-year-old body, he stood no chance against a Sith Lord in one-on-one combat. Facing Maul directly was out of the question. As much as he’d love to crush Sidious’s pawn and snuff out his last breath, he knew better. One strike from Maul would be enough to obliterate him.

Given the circumstances, the most sensible course of action was to follow Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, observe the duel firsthand, and figure out what had gone wrong before. If he could pinpoint the moment everything fell apart, he might be able to prevent it.

Once they reached the outskirts of Theed, Qui-Gon knelt in front of him, resting firm but gentle hands on his shoulders.

“Once we get inside, Ani, I need you to find a safe place to hide and stay there,” Qui-Gon said softly, looking him in the eye.

Anakin pressed his lips together, his small hands curling into fists.

“But… but I want to help,” he whimpered, his voice trembling with frustration.

Qui-Gon smiled at him, and there was something profoundly calming about that expression. It held a softness and warmth that Anakin had rarely encountered - a gentleness tinged with an unspoken sadness. Yet even in that trace of melancholy, Anakin found peace. Qui-Gon had a way of controlling his emotions, offering just enough for others to see his humanity without being overwhelmed. He was a Jedi through and through, but also unmistakably a person.

“I know, Ani,” Qui-Gon replied, his voice filled with patience. “And I appreciate your willingness. But you’ll help us the most by staying safe. Can you do that for me?”

Anakin pouted, but after a moment, he gave a reluctant nod.

Qui-Gon ruffled his hair with a smile before standing up, ready to face the challenges ahead.

When Naboo soldiers started creating chaos, they ran toward the central hangar, followed by the sounds of blasters and explosions. Inside, both Jedi deflected bolts with their lightsabers, while the rest of their small division hid. Anakin immediately headed toward the yellow starfighter, almost sure he'd flown it last time. The desire to fly far away from this place, into the endless space, sparked within him. Unfortunately, he extinguished the flame before it could pull him too far. This time, he needs to stay grounded.

He observed how both the Jedi and Naboo soldiers were fighting battle droids, but there was still no sign of the red-faced ghoul. Anakin ducked when a bolt hit a canister above him, fortunately empty, though the shot tore the container into pieces.

"Those damned droids, that’s why I deactivated them," he muttered to himself.

Characteristic beeps sounded from nearby, and Anakin spotted Artoo already attached to the starfighter. He grinned and climbed the ladder into the cockpit.

“Okay, Artoo, we can't leave this hangar, alright? I want us to stay inside, but we also need to get rid of those awful droids,” he said, forgetting to keep up his act. But since it was Artoo, he let it slip. Who else would he complain to? C-3PO? Anakin didn’t think either of them would notice anything odd, as Artoo whistled knowingly.

He looked at the battlefield. Padmé and her people were shooting at droids with blasters, while the Jedi focused entirely on deflecting bolts and dismantling droids with their lightsabers. Qui-Gon was still alive, and there was no sign of Maul. The other six starfighters had left the hangar, but one was immediately shot down and fell.

Suddenly, six wheel droids rolled out of nowhere, transforming into battle positions and cowardly shielding themselves with energy barriers. They began blasting the fighters.

“C’mon, Artoo, we gotta do something!” Anakin called to the droid, who almost immediately powered up the systems. Anakin quickly found the red trigger on the steering controls. “Position on them.”

With the droid’s help, the starfighter lifted slightly and moved, aligning the cannons on the wheel droids. Anakin fired, destroying both their shields and the droids in a single strike.

“Just how I like them. Disassembled and roasted.”

Within minutes, the soldiers had dealt with the rest of the droids, while Anakin remained patiently in the starfighter cockpit, occasionally firing at the remaining tin cans. He observed Qui-Gon and the way he danced with his lightsaber, deflecting blasters and wrecking droids. There was a grace in his movements that Anakin had never seen in any other Jedi. Even though Obi-Wan was his Padawan, his fighting style was much more rushed, abrupt, and aggressive - much like Anakin’s. The boy almost chuckled at the thought. Even though he and Obi-Wan had always seemed oceans apart, there was still an undeniable familiarity between them. He was curious if under Qui-Gon’s mentorship, his own fighting style would become more graceful or still remain aggressive.

Disturbance in the Force snapped him out of his thoughts.

The darkness was both familiar and unknown. Some long-gone sense welcomed the dark in a lovable embrace, and Anakin needed to breathe deeply to keep the Dark Side from clouding him. Even now, it was there. Even after his death and in an undamaged body and soul, it still loomed like a shadow, lingering near the surface of his mind.

During their first “meeting” on Tatooine, he had no time to truly focus on what Darth Maul's presence in the Force felt like. Anger, envy, eagerness, confidence, and determination. No sign of fear or uncertainty. Darth Sidious's pet was here for exactly what he was expected to do - nothing less, nothing more.

He got out of the ship, and Artoo beeped at him angrily.

“I know, I know. But I need to help. Slacking isn’t my nature.”

Hiding behind barrels of fuel and boxes of whatever, he sneaked to the entrance, where the Force shifted massively. The air here was as thick as butter, and he was surprised that the much more experienced Jedi hadn’t noticed it.

“Let’s go!” someone screamed, and the group headed toward the door.

Just before they opened, he saw both Jedi tense, finally sensing what lay on the other side.

The hooded figure stood before them in his red-faced glory.

“We will handle this,” said Obi-Wan, and Padmé led her people toward a different exit.

Anakin peeked from behind a wooden box just in time to see Darth Maul remove his hood.

He was even uglier than Anakin remembered.

When Darth Maul ignited his lightsaber, the metallic hum of the blades filled the air. Anakin held his breath. The double-bladed red hilt left an impression on his child-mind, and perhaps even now, an older part of him was intrigued. Yellow eyes flickered between the two Jedi, sizing them up with a cold, calculating expression.

Qui-Gon took a deep, steady breath, as calm as ever, his lightsaber ignited. Obi-Wan’s eagerness to attack was evident once again, though he managed to restrain himself. 

Darth Maul made the first move, swinging his lightsaber at the seemingly defenseless Jedi. His movements were fluid, strikes vicious and precise, even when spinning the saber in a wide arc. He flew through the air with acrobatic jumps and flips. Maul was clearly a skilled fighter, a soldier in his element. Qui-Gon deflected his attacks with effortless grace, his movements like a dance, allowing Maul to believe he was leading the fight. Obi-Wan’s aggression was far more visible, his strikes quick and hard, giving Maul no room for respite. Not that Maul needed it; he easily repelled both Jedi. At one point, he knocked Qui-Gon down, and Anakin bit his lower lip to stifle a scream. In mere seconds, the older Jedi was back on his feet, his movements slightly more abrupt now.

Anakin had to admit he hadn’t expected Darth Maul to be this skilled in combat. Of course, anyone who could kill Qui-Gon wasn’t just some random delinquent plucked from the streets of Coruscant, but he hadn’t imagined Maul would be this competent. Darth Sidious clearly knew how to choose his apprentices.

They moved into the next room, a vast open space filled with massive columns, glowing generators, and platforms suspended above a central power pit, with luminous conduits high on the ceiling. The constant buzz and hum of electricity added to the drama of the scene. Once all three had entered, Anakin waited several seconds before sneaking in after them, still trying to remain unseen. He hid behind a computer station, watching the battle unfold. The room was enormous, making it harder for him to track their rapid movements.

Now they were fighting on a bridge, Darth Maul standing between the two Jedi, deflecting and ricocheting their blows. Their movements were so fast that the lightsabers became a blur and gleaming as they clashed. Anakin couldn’t tell who was attacking or defending. It was mesmerizing - almost hypnotic. They moved to a platform surrounding one of the generators. From where Anakin stood, all he could see were silhouettes and the glimmering colors of lightsabers. The combat paused briefly as Maul crossed blades with Obi-Wan’s saber, then kicked him hard in the sternum.

Instinctively, Anakin reached out with the Force, but his connection was too weak, too distant to achieve anything meaningful. He felt a flicker of it, but it wasn’t enough to stop Obi-Wan’s fall. He ran to the edge of the platform and saw, in the distance, a vague figure clinging to the edge of a lower platform.

He exhaled, realizing he’d been holding his breath.

Glancing at Qui-Gon and Darth Maul, still locked in combat, Anakin thought: Worth trying. Moving to another platform closer to Obi-Wan, but still trying to stay out of sight, he focused his mind.

The Force is within me, and I am the Force.

A long-lost sensation stirred within him, spreading slowly and steadily from his toes to the crown of his head. He felt it in his bones, muscles, veins, and skin. It was a heartwarming feeling, embracing him like a parent embracing a child. Calmness, power, and unity - a part of everything and nothing, all at once.

A feather-like touch brushed his fingertips - a welcoming feeling.

The Force is within me, and I am the Force.

With effort, he lifted Obi-Wan and placed him on the platform beside his lightsaber. The Jedi looked around, puzzled, but Anakin hid behind a column. He wasn’t supposed to be here, after all. Obi-Wan’s confusion didn’t last long. Spotting Qui-Gon and Darth Maul fighting on a higher platform, he force-jumped into the fray. Anakin knew he needed to get there, too. His gut told him the critical moment was drawing near. Though the Force still hummed within him, Anakin knew a Force-jump was risky. Instead, he climbed the protruding fragments of the walls, hoping not to get electrocuted. He reached the platform just as Obi-Wan dashed through a narrow passage lined with flickering red energy fields, heading toward the smaller, suspiciously empty room ahead. From Obi-Wan’s story, Anakin knew this was the execution chamber - the place where Darth Maul had impaled Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had cut Maul in half, sending his remains into the melting pit below.

The two Jedi were now separated, not only from Darth Maul but also from each other. Obi-Wan was far too distant to reach Qui-Gon in time before the barriers separated them again. Anakin knew this was a matter of life and death.

But this time, he would make sure both Jedi faced that red-faced Sith together.

Focusing his mind, he let the Force flow through him, his body feeling distant, as if separated from him by a thick glass wall. The presences of the two Jedi and the Sith flickered before his closed eyes, gleaming like their clashing lightsabers - powerful, deadly, yet glorious and calm. But one presence outshone the others: sorrow .

He shivered, but pushed the uneasiness aside. The moment the shields disappeared, he reached out with his hand, pushing Obi-Wan with so much Force that dizziness knocked him and black spots filled his vision. He hadn’t meant to use that much power, but his untrained body struggled to handle the energy coursing through it.

The last thing he saw was Obi-Wan’s blue eyes, wide with disbelief, looking at him, before the Jedi reengaged Darth Maul.

Anakin collapsed.

𓇻  

He drifted, conscious in the darkness… 

Not exactly conscious. More like in a half-asleep state, where he felt but couldn’t quite grasp his surroundings and couldn’t really do anything. There were sounds, distant and muffled, as if from behind a thick glass wall. Was he… did he die? Again? So soon?

But the nothingness was much worse, the one he experienced after Vader's death. Back then, he felt calmness and came to terms with his fate. This time, it was an overwhelming feeling, crushing him with every second in that void. He felt like he was drowning.

It was terrifying.

“Mom,” he wanted to call. “Master Jinn? Master Kenobi?”

No one answered, just an endless silence and emptiness.

Anakin had a sudden urge to curl up and weep.

Was this really it? Did he lose his chance to reconcile with the Jedi Order just because he wanted to do one good thing? Did he die because he wanted to save someone?

The lump in his throat swelled up, and he sobbed.

“Poor thing,” either his imagination was playing a trick on him, or he heard someone’s soft, distant voice.

But he couldn’t focus, because he had no control over his soul or whatever he had become. He sobbed even harder, regretting the life he had barely started but already ended.

“Is he… is he okay?” the voice asked, almost sure it was a different one. But again, it wasn’t enough to bring his senses back.

Sigh.

“His body needs to recuperate from the amount of Force that flowed through him. He couldn’t handle this level of energy. It’ll be better if he stays in a coma for some time.”

Huff.

At this point, he was crying bitterly, like a small child taken away from their parent.

Mom.

Tongue click, and something almost ethereal, feather-like, touched him. Something sparked within him.

“He might suffocate from that ugly crying,” the voice murmured, and for a moment, Anakin felt like something – or someone – was lifting him high, high above the skies. He took a shaky breath.

But as soon as the feeling appeared, it disappeared. And the empty darkness was shown to him again.

He cried.

“You should rest too. You look like you’ve come from bloodshed.”

“Funny, Master Che. Next time, you handle the Sith Lord and the baggage of unconscious bodies.”

Laugh.

“I’m serious, Padawan Kenobi, go back to your quarters and sleep. If any of them wake up, I’ll immediately contact you.”

The voice faded, and Anakin cried again, before losing the rest of awareness.

Blinding lightness.

That was what hit him first, when he actually regained his consciousness. And well, all those dramatic monologues for nothing. 

He blinked. His eyes felt gritty, as if there were sand beneath his eyelids. He tried to swallow, and his throat ached from dryness. He coughed instead.  

“I see our little hero is awake.” He heard a low female voice coming from somewhere.

A Twi’lek woman came from behind a white curtain, and it took him a moment to recognize Chief Healer Vokara Che. He had met her more than once in his previous life after his risky escapades during the Clone Wars. At some point, he had spent more time in the Halls of Healing than in his own quarters or at Padmé’s apartment. In short, they were quite well acquainted with each other. One might call them friends - Anakin - but he knew the healer didn’t reciprocate his purely platonic feelings. Every time he stumbled into her care, more or less in need of medical help, her face was full of an expression that seemed to desire finishing him off rather than dressing his wounds.

This time, though, her gray eyes, like a clouded sky, were looking at him with fondness and concern.

“I am Vokara Che, the Chief Healer of the Jedi Order, and this place is the Halls of Healing,” she explained, as though he didn’t already know. Technically, he shouldn’t have.

“Wha– agh – wat-” he tried to speak, but the pain in his throat stopped him.

She handed him a glass full of water, which he drank practically in one gulp. She waited patiently by his side and refilled the glass from a jug.

“You were unconscious for the past two days,” she said, and Anakin looked at her with wide eyes. Just two days? He felt like he had been suspended in that limbo forever. Or at least a week.

He tried to remember what had happened before. They were on Naboo, in a hangar. Darth Maul appeared, and then…

“How is Master Jinn?!” he asked anxiously as dread formed in his heart.

He had used all the Force he could gather to push Obi-Wan, which had exhausted him completely. What if his effort was for nothing? What if he had failed again?

Master Che chuckled.

“Don’t worry, young Skywalker,” she said, touching his forehead with her inner palm. “He was injured, but nothing serious. Master Jinn woke up yesterday and is now recovering in his room. Though, Obi-Wan has been keeping a guard. His face when he saw you… I haven’t seen Qui-Gon this… wrecked in a long time. Almost sorrow .”

Anakin sighed with relief, though he couldn’t ignore a slight shiver. The word didn’t sit heavily on him since she was describing Qui-Gon, yet…

But in all good, Qui-Gon was alive. Anakin had saved him. Qui-Gon wasn’t killed by Darth Maul. They… won.

He grinned, feeling simply happy and fulfilled.

“There you go,” said Master Che, “I’ll do a quick check-up and let them know about your condition.”

“Them?” he asked, surprised. Qui-Gon being concerned about him was one thing, but considering all the reserve and ugly looks, and with the whole ‘The boy is dangerous’ sentiment, he wouldn’t have expected…

“Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she said with a small smile while taking a blood sample from his elbow. “His heroism was outstanding. He brought both of you from the power room to the hangar and didn’t let any Nabooian soldiers help him carry either of you until he got to the ship.”

Saying that Anakin was surprised was an understatement. He was dumbfounded. Obi-Wan being worried about him? Now?

They weren’t Padawan and Master in this life. Kriff, they weren’t even friends and barely knew each other. From Obi-Wan’s perspective, Anakin was just an annoying little kid with an unusual level of midi-chlorians, who would take his place as Qui-Gon Jinn’s Padawan. Anakin was almost sure that even if the older Jedi was willing to be knighted, he was definitely not fine with being replaced so soon - especially with Qui-Gon pressing the Jedi Council to let him train Anakin, while Obi-Wan still in the picture.

So why, under two suns, would Obi-Wan actually care about him?

He was about to find out when they came in the next quarter.

Seeing both men in the doorway was… interesting. Qui-Gon looked pale, holding a hand to his left side while resting the other on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He was wearing his classic Jedi robes but without a cloak. His hair was tied back in a long ponytail, and he had dark circles under his eyes and a bruised jaw. There was also a scar running along his right brow.

Obi-Wan physically looked much better, but Anakin wasn’t blind to the exhaustion written all over his face - red-rimmed eyes, dark circles, and a drawn expression.

Both of them looked at Anakin with a mix of confusion, concern, and maybe a little bit of irritation. He didn’t even need the Force to read them - they were quite obvious.

Qui-Gon said something to the younger Jedi, and they stumbled step by step into the room until they reached his bed. Obi-Wan helped Qui-Gon sit on the edge of it before staying at the foot of the bed.

“How are you feeling, Ani?” Qui-Gon’s voice was a little hoarse, but the gentleness was still there.

“I’m… tired,” Anakin answered honestly, searching the older man’s face for any clues about his fate - and whether his changed destiny had any lasting effects. Maybe he purposefully ignored Kenobi’s drilling eyes, too.

Qui-Gon sighed.

“You… I told you to stay safe,” he reprimanded Anakin, though his tone wasn’t too harsh. Anakin still shivered and looked at his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely remorseful, “but I couldn’t just do nothing. I really wanted to help.”

“Getting yourself passed out wasn’t very helpful,” Obi-Wan snorted.

Anakin had enough.

“If I hadn’t pushed you, you would never have reached that room in time!” he hissed.

Obi-Wan frowned and winced, turning his eyes to the wall.

“Of course, I could have. That array wasn’t that long.”

“Barriers opened in sequences, and it took them ten seconds to close again. You would have needed an actual lightspeeder to get there on your own.”

“You little-”

“Boys!” Qui-Gon growled, made them shut up. “This is not the time for a quarrel. I agree with Obi-Wan that what you did, Anakin, was beyond risky and put you in grave danger. But… it was also heroic, and it showed us how much potential you have,” he said with a smile, ruffling Anakin’s hair. His hand was rough, but his touch was gentle. Then he looked at the arms-crossed Obi-Wan. “I believe both of you have proven yourselves to be competent and skilled. I’ll be able to convince the Council to reconsider my request to knight you, Obi-Wan, and to make Anakin my new Padawan learner.”

The boys looked at him, then at each other. The tension between them was still visible, but something told Anakin that beneath the thick layer of angsty young Jedi, there was the Kenobi he once knew - adventurous, strong, and confident.

Anakin knew their paths in this life would go in different directions, and that thought caused some anxiety to raising in his stomach. But wasn’t this what he had wanted? To change this life from the one he had once ruined?

Subtly, they nodded in agreement - a ceasefire.

From now on, it would be a fork in the road for them.

They would no longer be Padawan and Master.

But maybe this was the way.

𓇻  

Once Anakin was well enough to leave the Halls of Healing, an avalanche of events began.

He was moved to Qui-Gon’s private quarters. They weren’t as large or splendid as Padmé’s apartment, with its simple yet practical decor. The room contained only a few basic pieces of furniture, no ornaments - unless one counted the lightsaber hilt hanging on the wall as decoration. It was minimalistic and ascetic, just as he had imagined Qui-Gon’s living space would be. This wasn’t his first time in these quarters. In his previous life, Obi-Wan had inherited Qui-Gon’s rooms, but the aesthetics had been completely different.

Despite being an orderly and disciplined man, Obi-Wan’s quarters had always seemed chaotic. The furniture had been just as simple, but Anakin vividly remembered papers scattered everywhere, dirty caf cups cluttering counters, a broken chair that had been haphazardly repaired, and Obi-Wan himself, lounging on the couch, still in his day clothes, unshaven and unshowered.

Anakin had often been amazed at how Obi-Wan managed to maintain his composed, stoic exterior in public while living in such disarray behind closed doors.

Meanwhile, Qui-Gon went to the Jedi Council once again, requesting Obi-Wan’s promotion to Jedi Knight and approval to take Anakin as his new Padawan. While Anakin could sense the Council’s hesitation, they ultimately granted both requests. Within days, Obi-Wan was formally knighted, and Anakin’s hair was trimmed, leaving a few strands to form his Padawan braid.

It still felt surreal to Anakin, like a dream he might wake from at any moment, returning to the endless void of nothingness. But hope and excitement burned brightly within him, keeping the fear at bay.

Shortly before the ceremony to present the Globe of Peace to the Gungans, Anakin slipped away from his new Master under the pretense of seeking a quiet place from the chanting crowd. His real goal, though, was to find Padmé - or rather, Queen Amidala. He's heading toward a tent prepared for the Queen and her court. Two guards stood at the tent’s entrance, their expressions impassive.

Unsure if they would let him pass, Anakin decided to take the risk.

As he stood before them, they exchanged a glance.

“And you are…?” one of them asked.

Anakin straightened his posture and puffed out his chest with pride.

“My name is Anakin Skywalker, and I would like… I mean, I wish to see Queen Amidala.” He tried to sound serious, but his high-pitched, pre-adolescent voice made the statement unintentionally comical.

The guards looked at each other, unsure, when a familiar voice called from within the tent:

“Let the boy in.”

The guards stepped aside, and Anakin entered.

The tent was surprisingly spacious, with two sofas and cushions on one side and a large table on the other, covered with makeup, jewelry, and other items Anakin couldn’t identify. Padmé sat on a cushioned chair in front of a mirror with a golden, carved frame, surrounded by handmaidens preparing her for the ceremony.

They all turned to look at him, some smiling, others surprised, but none showed any hostility. With a small gesture, Padmé dismissed her court, then smiled at Anakin - a smile that sent almost caused him heart attack.

“It’s good to see you’re okay, Ani,” she said, standing and approaching him in her full Queen Amidala gown.

Her appearance was overwhelming, even for the adult Anakin. The intricate embroidery of her dress, the ornate headpiece, and her perfectly applied makeup all took his breath away.

She knelt to take his hands in hers, and for a moment, Anakin forgot why he had come. He nodded absently, captivated by her beauty.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked, concern in her voice. “You look like you might have a fever. You’re all flushed.”

Anakin shook his head quickly, though his cheeks grew even hotter.

“No, I’m fine. It’s just… strange seeing you in your Queen clothes,” he managed to say, trying to sound casual.

Padmé laughed softly.

“I know. It’s a bit much, isn’t it? And even more difficult to wear.”

They both chuckled, and Anakin felt a flutter in his chest. But he remembered his true reason for coming here.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

She nodded.

“Could you… is there any way to bring my mom from Tatooine to Naboo? I know the Jedi won’t allow it because attachments are forbidden, but the thought of her, alone and still a slave on that horrible planet, makes me sick.”

Padmé’s expression softened, full of compassion, and she gently placed a hand on his arm.

“Oh, Ani. I’m so sorry about your mom.” She sighed, her gaze steady and determined, radiating the resolve of a true queen. “Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to help her.”

Relief washed over him, and without thinking, he hugged her tightly, his eyes stinging with tears.

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you.”

Padmé chuckled, hugging him back. For the first time in days, Anakin felt at ease.

Chapter Text

𓇻  

Early days of training with Master Jinn weren’t as different as Anakin had them with Obi-Wan. Although, he had to admit, Qui-Gon Jinn was a much more lenient teacher, who sometimes turned a blind eye to his… actions.

It started with training behind closed doors, where Master Jinn taught him meditation methods that were supposed to provide him with a better understanding and connection to the Force. But Anakin’s congenital hyperactivity wasn’t helpful at all. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to learn his new teacher’s ways; it was just against his nature. Sitting for hours with closed eyes, no thoughts, and letting the Force flow through him was unreachable. And he tried - really tried. The first time they did that, he actually wanted to be able to reach inner peace , so he kept his eyes tightly shut and tried not to think about anything. Technically speaking, it wasn’t his first time. Obi-Wan had also tried to teach him how to meditate, but he and Anakin shared a piercing temper, and his constant eye-picking irritated the older Jedi. So at some point, they suspended the meditation training. Master Jinn had much more patience, but the thing is - if you’re telling yourself not to think, you’re thinking even harder. 

After an hour or so, he growled and looked at Master Jinn apologetically. And that’s how he felt - apologetic because he was unable to do such a simple thing like meditating even now, despite all the knowledge that passed with him. How was he going to change the future if he struggled with such trivial things?

“I’m sorry, Master, but I can't,” he said, expecting a scolding and a disciplined look from the older Jedi.

But all his master did was a single puff.

“Don’t worry, Anakin. I never expected you to successfully meditate on your first try,” Master Jinn said, with his now-familiar gentle smile. “It will come to you with time.”

Anakin sighed in relief, with new hope in his heart and persistence in mind.

After a year, it didn’t come.

When Qui-Gon realized that just meditation wouldn't do a thing for Anakin, they started a more pleasant type of training - combat. Instead of a lightsaber, he used a wooden staff, with which Qui-Gon taught him the Shii-Cho - the first and most basic form of fighting with lightsabers. The moves were quite easy for him to catch up on, mostly because even if his body had no muscle memory, his mind knew how he needed to set his feet or how to turn his wrist. Master Jinn’s attacks weren’t vicious, and even after he saw how quickly Anakin got it, he was still a little overprotective toward Anakin. Not that Anakin minded, but it would be nice to actually have a challenge. He even asked if he could spar with other younglings.

“I don’t think that would be fair. The ones learning Shii-Cho are far younger than you, and those who are your age are already learning their designated forms.”

Anakin had to keep his mouth in a thin line, because he was actually well aware of their skills.

It was sometime later, when, after arriving at the sparring chamber, he spotted not just one but two Jedi Masters.

“Ah, Anakin, here you are!” Master Jinn called when he spotted him standing in the doorway, looking at the Nautolan.

He took a cautious step inside, observing the other Jedi with uncertainty. Kit Fisto was part of the Council, and he was one of many who wasn’t keen on Anakin’s presence in the Order. Not until the Clone Wars, when they had basically no relationship except occasional greetings. It pretty much changed once the Separatists became more violent and open in their tactics, but that was the natural course of events. Suddenly, all Jedi became soldiers, and there was no place for trust issues.

“Let me introduce you to Jedi Master Kit Fisto,” the Nautolan man greeted him with a not-so-well-hidden reserve.

“Your master mentioned that you’re feeling well enough with Form One to try it on a living being, not just on a dummy.”

Anakin perked up and, with a wide smile, in a few short steps was standing before them, nodding enthusiastically.

“I am. I’ve been practicing for the past two months, every day with a staff,” he bragged, and Master Jinn chuckled, trying to hide his amusement.

Master Fisto’s face shifted a little, looking almost like he was raising a brow.

“Good for basic. But are you ready to use a real lightsaber?”

Oh. Master Jinn hadn’t let him use those training sabers, and he hadn’t even questioned that. Anakin was more than willing to throw the staff away, but he also tried to be patient. That was what Qui-Gon Jinn expected from him, and he was prone to that.

He carefully looked at his master, who sent him an encouraging smile. With a deep sigh, Anakin puffed out his chest and looked straight into the black eyes of Master Fisto.

“I am.”

The Jedi smiled.

He got a training saber, which was designed for younglings to not accidentally kill someone or themselves. It was much lighter than a regular lightsaber, and its hilt was covered in worn-out leather. It felt a little inconvenient in his hands, unbalanced, and foreign. He hadn’t held a lightsaber since the fight with his son - not long before he took his last breath. It seemed like forever ago, and maybe it was. Who knows how long he’d been in Nothingness before the Force brought him back in time?

He clenched his fingers around the hilt.

To his surprise, Kit Fisto took his own lightsaber. Anakin frowned. Was there a little chance that the Jedi Council was conspiring to kill him “by mistake”? He flinched. They were hesitant about him, but to this point? To send one of them to kill him right in front of his master?
During this year, he’d tried to convince them that he was not a threat, just an ex-slave boy from Tatooine who wanted to be a Jedi. No hidden intentions. Maybe a little irritation, but who wouldn’t be when Mace Windu was glaring at him like he was just waiting for the moment he tripped, so he could kick him out of the Jedi Temple? Preferably, from the top of the stairs.

Master Fisto must have seen his uncertainty.

“Don’t you worry, young Skywalker. I’ve mastered Form One over the years. I know how to strike a blow that injures but doesn’t seriously harm.”

Well, that was comforting.

They ignited the lightsabers. The one Anakin got had a blue color, and at that, the corner of his mouth twitched. Not only any lightsaber, but the blue one. How long had it been? The last time he was holding a blue lightsaber was on that damned day on Mustafar, during which his life changed drastically. He’d been wielding red for so long that something writhed in him.
The Force just loved to make fun of him.
“Stand in position,” Fisto ordered, already preparing himself, standing directly opposite Anakin with one leg in front of the other and his green lightsaber held firmly in both hands.

Anakin imitated the position.

Master Fisto didn’t abruptly start swinging his lightsaber at him. His movements were moderate and balanced, letting Anakin try out his new weapon. They circled around each other in mirroring movements, like fencers sizing each other up before the first strike, every step deliberate, every gesture a silent challenge. They gradually picked up the pace. Anakin was thrown into a defensive position, his footwork stable on the ground, hands moving faster, eyes never leaving his opponent.

He could feel that the older Jedi was stopping himself from making ferocious attacks. Even though Anakin felt pretty confident with his skill around Master Jinn, Kit Fisto was the real challenge. He was towering over him, both in size and proficiency. Still, Anakin tried to break through his attacks, reflecting the green lightsaber’s velocity, but right before the hit, he skipped to the side and transferred his training saber to his right hand. Unfortunately, the unevenness of the saber and his untrained hands caused him to almost drop it, and Master Fisto used the chance to knock the saber out of his hands with his own hilt.

Anakin looked at the saber as it stopped right at Qui-Gon Jinn’s feet. He looked at his master with a pitiful grin. Master Fisto turned off his lightsaber and touched Anakin’s arm. The boy flinched as he glanced at him.

Kit Fisto was smiling.

“You’re ambitious, young Skywalker,” he said. “And eager. I can tell Form One isn’t meant for you. You’re bursting with energy, and this form wouldn’t let you release it.”

Then he let go of his arm and walked toward Qui-Gon.

“The boy is truly talented, but I can sense he won’t be satisfied with calmer and more composed forms.”

“I will train him in all of them until he finds the one that suits him best.”

Both men talked for a little more while Anakin picked up his training saber.

He set it on his inner hand, trying to find its balance. It was wobbling in his hand. Then he tried to repeat his hand movements from his fight with Master Fisto, transferring it cautiously between his hands. The training saber was visibly worn, and he felt no connection to it. Both lightsabers in his past life had been his. They felt his. They responded to his call and became extensions of his body. This one felt like he was holding a piece of damaged metal - soulless.
He sighed. Until Master Jinn let him go to Ilum to find his own kyber crystal, he was stuck with that crap.

𓇻  

For this period of time, the biggest problem for the Jedi Order was the Trade Federation and their silent cooperation with the Separatists. The situation wasn’t as intense as it would be once the Clone Wars began, but Anakin could feel and see the growing power of the Dark Side. And sadly, he couldn’t warn anyone.

Master Jinn occasionally took him on missions, but only ones he expected to be relatively safe - which, as always, was unpredictable. Even during their short visit to Takodana, where they were merely supposed to talk with Maz Kanata about the planet’s neutrality and her old friendship with the Jedi, an entire squadron of battle droids was airdropped. Qui-Gon promptly asked her to find a safe place for Anakin. Anakin wanted to argue, but for the small creature Maz Kanata was, she had a surprising amount of strength. She practically shoved him into the basement. The older woman closed the doors, securing them with who-knew-how-many locks. From the other side, Anakin could hear the mechanical voices of droids, blaster shots, and the unmistakable hum of a lightsaber.

Anakin began pacing around the basement, clenching his fists. He would be lying if he said he actually expected the mission to go smoothly, but his inability to act was eating at him.

“Your master is a skillful Jedi. A few droids are no problem for him,” Maz said.

Anakin sighed, glancing at Maz. Her species name completely escaped him, even though Qui-Gon had mentioned it on their way to Takodana. She studied him with her comically large glasses, her curiosity evident. He knew she was probably as old as Grand Master Yoda, which made him wonder if had they ever met? Her presence wasn’t as overwhelming as Yoda’s, but he didn’t dare ask. Unlike the frog-like Jedi, she wasn’t looking at him with hostility, and he wanted to keep it that way.

He didn’t recall meeting her in his past life. Takodana had no significance to the Empire, mostly because it was an uninhabited, wild planet. Even Maz’s lone castle wasn’t a concern, as the planet remained quiet throughout all thirty years of his regime.

“I’m not scared for him,” he admitted. “I just don’t like doing nothing.”

Maz approached him and took off her glasses. Anakin stifled a laugh as he realized they had magnifying lenses. She didn’t scold him or take offense. Instead, she scanned him with her now oddly small, dark eyes. It felt like hours before she spoke again.

“The Force is strong with you,” she said, putting her glasses back on. Her eyes, once again, looked proportional to her small body.

“Are you a Jedi?” he asked, a bit stupidly - of course she wasn’t. But his ten-year-old brain worked faster than his reasoning.

“I am not, fortunately. But the Force is within me. I can feel it. And see it, if that makes sense,” she snorted, moving to one of many doors in the basement. She pulled a keyring from her utility belt. “You have power none of them can even dream of,” she added, unlocking the door.

If only Maz knew...

Curiosity getting the better of him, Anakin followed her. The room was cluttered, with spiderwebs covering the corners. Shelves bent under the weight of boxes, crates, and other unidentifiable items, while the floor was littered with debris. Despite the mess, Maz moved freely, avoiding overturned cartons, hopping over crates, and climbing shelves with surprising agility. With a twist of her wrist, she dislodged a small box from the top of one.

“You know, kid… what’s your name again?”

“Anakin.”

“You know, Anakin, there was a time when Takodana hosted a Jedi Temple. For centuries, my planet was tied to the Jedi Order. Today, nothing remains but ruins,” she said, kicking the box toward him. “Wars and fights, inner conflicts, Dark Side, Light Side - all of it played a role in our history. Now, it’s just a shadow of former glory.”

Anakin gaped at her, blinking. He wasn’t the best at history, often focusing only on planets relevant to the Empire - those with wealth, natural resources, or rebel bases. Takodana was none of those. But now, he realized they’d overlooked something greater: history and tradition, long forgotten.

Maz opened the box. On top was a disk - if he was correct, a Kyuzo war helmet. Maz set it aside. Beneath were brown Jedi robes, folded sheets of paper, books crammed into corners, and something wrapped in dirty fabric.

“I tried to save what I could,” Maz said. “But a group of anarchists, the Nihili, destroyed the temple completely. At the time, Jedi Master Savina Malagán was stationed here. She fought like a true Jedi, protecting not just the building, because in the end, they were just walls that could be rebuilt, but the Jedi stationed here. Many of them were no older than you.”

She lifted the robes out of the box. They were worn and burned, with a large hole in the chest area that was impossible to miss. Maz sighed.

“No matter how fiercely you fight or how deeply you believe in your cause, you cannot escape your destiny.”

Her words struck a chord, touching the part of Anakin he wished to bury - the part terrified of failure. The part convinced his efforts were in vain, that his destiny was already set. No matter how much he tried to change the present, the Dark Side was still behind the corner, waiting for a moment to attack, to devoured him once again and let the past repeat itself again.

Sorrow.

Maz unfolded a piece of paper - a hand-painted picture of a stone building on a lakeshore, surrounded by forest. The sun in the painting cast a glint on the rippling water, reflecting the structure as if struck by lightning. In the background, rooftops peeked through the trees.

“That’s the temple, isn’t it? It looks nothing like the one on Coruscant,” he said.

The temple was simple and modest, more like a home than a grand monument. It embodied what the Jedi were meant to be: protectors, providing shelter and safety without elevating themselves above others.

“I’m not sure how the one on Coruscant looks, but yes, this was the Jedi Temple on Takodana. Now, only the foundations remain,” Maz said, folding the picture with care, as though it were sacred. Perhaps it was.

“Did you know that Jedi - Savina?” Anakin asked, genuinely curious.

Maz smiled sadly. “I did. All her life, she was exactly as she was in her final moments: fully dedicated to the Order, believing in its principles, and ready to protect those in need, even at the cost of her own life.”

She took the bundle from the box. When she unfolded it, Anakin gasped. Two silver-gold lightsaber hilts stared back at him, practically radiating with the Force.

“After Savina’s death, I made sure to keep them safe,” Maz said, smiling as she held them out. “But I think it’s time they return to where they belong.”

Anakin stared at the lightsabers. They were twin hilts: sleek durasteel bodies with golden electrum plating, black emitters, and golden protrusions for better grip. They were simple yet extraordinary, still in perfect condition. He reached for them but stopped, pulling his hand back.

“Why so timid, now?” Maz teased him. He looked at his feet.

“I- what you told me abut this Savine… I think she was a perfect example of what Jedi needs to be. Those lightsabers are proof of her devotion and faith in what is right. I don’t think I should touch them. It seems like a… sacrilege” 

Maz raised an eyebrow and laughed. 

“Sacrilege? You’re just a kid, but you talk like an old man. Master Jinn was right—you’re extraordinary. Don’t be afraid. My intuition tells me that the boy standing before me can change the fate of the galaxy. If anyone deserves these lightsabers, it’s you.”

Oh, poor, oblivious Maz Kanata.

With a trembling hand, Anakin touched one of the hilt - and suddenly, he felt as though the ground had disappeared beneath him.

When he opened his eyes, he somehow knew it wasn’t his body. He had no capability to move any part of it, yet he could see everything. He was standing on the roof of the temple, looking directly at the incoming ships. A double-bladed lightsaber was ignited, its blades purple. His body jumped and landed gracefully.

The vision changed.

Now, he was in the middle of a fight with a Togruta woman in a mask, equipped with a durasteel quarterstaff, which he cut in half with one of the blades. The other blade was sent straight to her throat.

The vision changed again.

He turned toward the Temple, where a group of different species were trying to force their way through. He knew the doors were safely barricaded. He threw a lightsaber, which flew, circling around itself, injuring some attackers. The rest, surprised and furious, forgot about the Temple and rushed at him.

Another change.

The Temple exploded. In the heat of the battle, he hadn’t noticed a new ship - a bombardier, that dropped a bomb on the Temple. He knew it should have been abandoned, all the students moved to Maz Kanata’s castle using underground tunnels, but he was still terrified.

The Temple was destroyed.

“No!” he screamed, his voice much higher and feminine.

With growing anger, he turned toward his current attacker and drove the lightsaber into his chest. Something dark loomed in his mind.

Change.

Someone caught him. He was so drowned in misery, sorrow , and fury that he didn’t realize someone had snuck up behind him. They drove a vibroblade all the way through his back and into his chest. He looked down. The tip of the blade protruded from his chest. With a single move, he turned his wrist and sliced the lightsaber into the assassin. They growled.

The ground disappeared beneath him. When he opened his eyes again, he was once more in Maz Kanata’s castle basement, holding the connected lightsabers. They were ignited.

Maz smiled at him.

“Like I said: I have intuition. Now, let’s go find your master. I think he’s gotten rid of those awful droids.”

Chapter Text

𓇻  

If Obi-Wan ever found out that his underage Padawan had received his first lightsaber - lightsabers - from an old humanoid woman during a peace mission on Takodana, he would be fuming. Anakin could already hear the long-ass lecture about how this was not the Jedi way, how he wasn’t ready for such weapons, and how he absolutely needed to decline Maz Kanata’s offer.

Luckily, Qui-Gon Jinn was far more relaxed. When he and Maz came out from the basement to find a literal graveyard of droids, his Master’s reaction was not anger but clear astonishment. Qui-Gon’s gaze flicked to the two lightsabers in Anakin’s hands, then to Maz, one eyebrow raised in silent question.

“The Force works in mysterious ways,” was all she said, smiling knowingly. To Anakin’s surprise, Master Jinn simply nodded, accepting it without protest.

Only after they had left the planet and were seated in the ship’s leisure area did Qui-Gon turned his eyes on Anakin with concern.

“I have faith in you, Anakin,” the older man began. Anakin immediately straightened, sensing this was more than just a casual compliment. He wished to dive straight into training, eager to wield his newly acquired lightsabers, but one of the many promises he’d made to himself in this second chance at life was to be a patient and thoughtful student.

“I believe in you and in the prophecy,” Qui-Gon continued. “But that doesn’t mean I intend to break your back in the process. You’re still young and have so much to learn. I can feel your eagerness, but please - don’t rush ahead of yourself. I will train you as I have trained all my Padawans, guiding you along the path I believe will help you find your purpose within the grand scheme of the Force.”

Padawans.

Anakin blinked. He hadn’t realized Qui-Gon had more than any Padawan before Obi-Wan. Kenobi had never spoken about his late Master beyond their shared apprenticeship. How many Padawans had Qui-Gon trained before them? Were they still in the Temple? If so, why hadn’t they been introduced to one another? It wasn’t forbidden for Jedi to meet their former Masters or Padawans who came before or after them. So where were they now? And where were they back then?

Qui-Gon’s stern voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“For now, we’ll stick with training sabers, and I don’t want you parading those around the entire Temple. It’s for your own good.”

Anakin sighed but admitted to himself that Qui-Gon was right. For now, he was too young to wield a proper lightsaber, let alone two, and the way in which he had obtained them was far from normal. Showing them off in front of the other learners could only attract unnecessary attention, not from the students themselves, but from their Masters. The Jedi Council was already wary of him. The last thing he needed was to give them more reason to doubt.

Patience and thoughtfulness.

That was what would reward him in the end.

“I understand, Master,” he said with quiet resolve.

𓇻  

Obi-Wan was, indeed, fuming.

The last time Anakin had seen him was not long after his knighting, when he was packing his things from Qui-Gon’s quarters. The Jedi Council had sent him on a long-term mission to the other side of the galaxy, as was required for all newly knighted Jedi until the Clone Wars began. It was meant to be a continuation of their training, teaching them independence. Anakin had never gotten the chance, having been knighted after the war had already begun. Not that he had time to dwell on it - there had been no shortage of battles to fight and experience to gain.

And now, after months away, Obi-Wan had returned to Coruscant and decided to pay his old Master a visit, not even an hour after they themselves had arrived back from their mission. No moment’s grace.

“Hello, Master,” Kenobi said politely when Qui-Gon opened the door to their shared quarters.

As his former apprentice, Obi-Wan still had access to the door’s electronic lock. Qui-Gon had never bothered to delete his data (or, more likely, had no idea how). Still, his sense of propriety won out, and he actually knocked.

“Obi-Wan, it’s so good to see you. It’s been too long,” Qui-Gon greeted him warmly, stepping aside to let him in. “Have you returned from your mission?”

Instead of answering right away, Kenobi glanced around the apartment with a nostalgic expression - the look of a man who had been away from home for far too long. Then, spotting Anakin sitting on the couch, he gave him a nod and a faint smile.

His hair was longer and lighter, his skin sun-kissed. He must have been stationed on a bright, warm planet. His robes, still the familiar beige and brown, looked a little worn and slightly snug over his noticeably more muscular frame.

Now, he was starting to resemble the man Anakin remembered, his old Master Kenobi.

They were not friends, far from it. But what had happened on Naboo had undeniably changed Obi-Wan’s attitude toward Anakin. There was still a hint of envy over being replaced as Master Jinn’s Padawan, but he had stopped seeing Anakin as a necessary evil.

Because Obi-Wan had been deployed soon after the Naboo invasion, they’d never had the time to weave any real bond between them. And thinking about it now, Anakin wasn’t sure there ever would have been an opportunity. After all, Obi-Wan was not his master in this life. Their paths had diverged.

Sometimes, he wondered if saving Qui-Gon had been the right decision. Some sentimental part of him wished things had stayed the same - that he had remained Obi-Wan’s Padawan. But for that to happen… Qui-Gon would have had to die. And that thought struck deep. To let the man be killed again. He had made countless terrible choices in his past life, ones beyond what any Jedi could imagine. But somehow, allowing Qui-Gon to die just to preserve his apprenticeship under Obi-Wan felt like the cruelest of all.

Hypocrite.

But would anything truly change? So many of the events in his past had been set in motion because Obi-Wan had been his master. Would that have been any different, even with his knowledge? Maybe, knowing the future, he would have viewed Obi-Wan’s teachings differently. Or maybe the old grudge would have clouded his judgment once again.

Anakin didn’t want to dwell on the past. He was here to rewrite history.

And yet, no matter how much he tried, old memories and distant emotions were carved into his very bones, fused with the soul of an old man.

 “Are you all right, Anakin? You look pale.” Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed, his voice pulling Anakin from his thoughts.

Blinking, Anakin looked at the younger version of his old master and forced a grin, shaking his head.

“No- yes. I’m just tired from traveling through space for hours. I think I need a nap. Night, Master Jinn!” His voice was cheerful, and he let out a theatrical yawn. He was absolutely not avoiding Obi-Wan.

He jumped up from the couch–

Clank.

Kriff.

Too lost in thoughts, he had completely forgotten about the lightsabers he wanted to examine. He had disconnected the hilts earlier, one still in his luggage, the other… now lying on the floor.

He reached for it quickly, hoping to grab it before anyone noticed, but Obi-Wan was faster.

The older Jedi plucked it from the floor before Anakin’s fingers could so much as graze the hilt. Anakin let out a small, dissatisfied noise.

Obi-Wan studied the lightsaber with interest, turning it over in his hands as he examined its refined craftsmanship. To outsiders, lightsabers were nothing more than deadly, mystical weapons. But to the Jedi, they carried a thousand years of history and tradition. Each lightsaber was a reflection of its wielder - a manifestation of their identity. That was why most Jedi built their own: to pour a part of themselves into the weapon, to make it theirs. Of course, some lightsabers were inherited. That had been the case with Anakin’s first saber, and he still felt strange about the fact that his weapon outlived him.

He doesn’t like to think about his past life because it causes an unpleasant pressure in his stomach and a heaviness in his heart. The thought of thirty lost years, never to be regained, weighs on him. But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t create them anew.

Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan, who was still carefully inspecting the unignited lightsaber.

“What an excellent piece of work, Master, but I don’t think giving your nine-year-old Padawan a real lightsaber for training is a good idea. May I ask how you obtained this?”

Anakin wanted to protest - he was ten already! - but the warning look on Qui-Gon’s face stopped him from arguing. Instead, the older man stepped toward his former Padawan, maintaining a careful distance - just far enough to avoid an accidental stab in case the weapon was ignited. Like Anakin, he clearly expected Obi-Wan’s reaction.

“It is not mine,” Qui-Gon said evenly. “The Chosen One obtained this during our mission on Takodana.”

Obi-Wan’s fingers tightened around the hilt. Then, the room bathed in purple light.

“I’m sorry, Master,” Obi-Wan said, voice eerily polite. “I must have suffered a mild concussion on my way from Moraband, because I could have sworn you just said that your pre-teen Padawan got his first lightsaber not from Ilum, but from Takodana.”

Qui-Gon said nothing. And that was all the confirmation Obi-Wan needed.

“HOW, IN THE SITH HELL, DID HE GET A KRIFFING LIGHTSABER AT NINE?!”

“I’m ten,” Anakin muttered under his breath, as if that would make a difference.

“Language, Obi-Wan, language,” Qui-Gon chided. “There’s a child here.”

Anakin was almost certain that would only make Obi-Wan angrier.

“Oh, right, Master,” Obi-Wan snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I forgot. Cursing around children is forbidden, but giving them a real lightsabe r is perfectly acceptable.”

Point taken.

Obi-Wan’s entire demeanor had shifted, his stance tense, his grip on the hilt white-knuckled. He was still holding his mental wall, but because of overpowering anger, the cracks were beginning to show. Anakin could sense it.

Fury. Jealousy. Concern.

At least… not sorrow.

Qui-Gon exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Obi-Wan, meanwhile, looked one moment away from combusting, gripping the saber so tightly that, for a second, Anakin almost believed he could crush it with his own will.

“Anakin, haven’t you wanted to take a nap?” Master Jinn asked but his eyes were fixated on Kenobi with serious expression. 

“I—” He wanted to protest, but seeing the silent request in Qui-Gon’s eyes, he simply sighed and went to his bedroom. Once the door closed, he pressed his ear against it. Just because he wasn’t welcome to stay in the room with them didn’t mean he couldn’t listen to their conversation.

If he were even a little like Obi-Wan, he wouldn’t eavesdrop. But he was Anakin Skywalker, and Anakin Skywalker absolutely would, and was eavesdropping.

For a moment, there was silence. Qui-Gon was probably giving Obi-Wan time to cool down, though the chances of that were nearly nonexistent.

“Sit down. I’ll make us some Tobisk tea.”

Since Obi-Wan hadn’t started yelling, he must have agreed. Several minutes passed before either of them spoke, interrupted only by the whistle of the kettle. When the conversation finally resumed, it was Qui-Gon who broke the silence, his calm, steady voice now filled with concern.

“Obi-Wan, I know you have your own prejudice about Anakin, but remember, even though I believe he is the Chosen One, he is still a child. A child whose childhood was stolen. We must treat him with deliberate care.”

Anakin grimaced at those words.

He didn’t want to be treated with care . He didn’t need to be wrapped in a bubble and protected from the outside world. He was neither an ordinary child nor an ordinary Jedi, but he had never seen that as a weakness. He was fully aware of how dangerous the galaxy could be, and more importantly, how treacherous people were. He had seen the cruelty and exploitation of the Hutts, the atrocities and primal violence of the Tuskens, the deceit hidden behind kind words, and had come far in the darkness himself.

He didn’t need delicacy.

Obi-Wan exhaled heavily.

“And that’s exactly the point, Master. I admit, I have my… doubts about Anakin being the key to all our problems, but that isn’t what concerns me most. Don’t you think this is too much for a child this young?”

Obi-Wan’s voice was calmer now, but there was heaviness in it and… sadness?

Qui-Gon sighed.

“Believe me, I struggle with it as well. I still believe he is the one meant to bring balance, but that doesn’t mean I want to rush him. I want him to have at least some sort of childhood and to be trained like any other Padawan.”

Obi-Wan snorted.

“If what you suggest is true, then we both know he is not like other Padawans.”

This time, Qui-Gon chuckled.

“No, he isn’t. His progress in Form One was surprisingly fast. Both Master Fisto and I noticed it won’t be his preferred form, but the way he moves… it’s as if someone had forgotten how to walk and only needed a reminder. His stance was so… natural.”

A droplet of sorrow poured in the Force. Anakin swallowed, a sharp tightness forming in his stomach.

Obi-Wan muttered something under his breath, too quiet for Anakin to understand. Another silence followed before Qui-Gon broke it again.

“I can sense something else is troubling you, my old Padawan.”

Anakin could almost feel the grimace on Obi-Wan’s face. The younger man cleared his throat.

“It’s-  It’s nothing, Master.”

Qui-Gon didn’t press further, but after a long pause, Obi-Wan sighed.

“It’s probably nothing, but… since our battle with Darth Maul, I’ve been having dreams. Disturbing dreams.”

Anakin’s breath hitched, and he instinctively stepped back from the door. His heartbeat accelerated, and the tightness in his stomach turned sharp. Why would Obi-Wan be having nightmares? He had never had them in their previous life. He had nothing to fear. Nothing to worry about, unless Anakin had done something wrong, and he needed to clean his mess.

Stop panicking. He reminded himself. Nightmares don’t necessarily mean anything.

“Tell me about them,” Qui-Gon said gently.

There was rustling, the sound of shifting fabric. Anakin held his breath.

“Actually, it’s just one dream, but with different outcomes,” Obi-Wan admitted, his voice suddenly distant. Anakin could see him in his mind, hunched over on the couch, his gaze distant. “At first, I thought it was just my mind processing what happened that day. But it keeps coming back.”

He hesitated before continuing.

“I relive our battle with that Sith Lord. And just when we’re about to win, something goes wrong and…” Obi-Wan stopped. Qui-Gon remained silent, patient as ever. Then, Obi-Wan exhaled. “You’re the one who suffers.”

Anakin stumbled back.

Not… no, no, no. That’s just a coincidence… right?

“Can you describe exactly what happens in these dreams?” Qui-Gon’s voice remained steady. He didn’t - couldn’t - see the deeper meaning. To him, these were just dreams. Just reflections of fear. He didn’t see them for what they actually were - memories of another life.

“It depends. In some, everything happens as it did, but somehow, cutted upper part of Maul still has enough strength to summon his lightsaber and… stab you. In others, we’re fighting on the platforms, and he threw you off. I’m trying to move, to do something, but I can’t. I’m frozen and forced to watch you fall.” Obi-Wan paused, his voice tightening. 

“But those aren’t the worst ones. Because when I wake up, I know they’re not real.”

Qui-Gon’s tone shifted slightly, more tense now. 

“Then what are the worst?”

Anakin swallowed, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might tear his chest apart. His hands trembling, his thoughts crashed over him all at once . Too much, too fast - visions of what had been. Darkness. Blood. The fading light in familiar eyes.

You were the Chosen One! It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not join them!

He slid down the door, unable to stay upright, Obi-Wan’s words haunting him. For the first time in decades, fear crept up from his toes to his head, entwining around him like relentless vines. It embraced his thoughts, wrapping him in darkness.

Obi-Wan inhaled deeply before speaking again.

“There’s no Anakin to push me forward. I’m trapped, unable to move, unable to help, just watching as you and Maul fight. It’s fierce, and I believe in you, Master. I know you can win. I trust you, the way you’ve always trusted me.”

Another pause. A sharp intake of breath. But Anakin wasn’t sure if it was him or Obi-Wan. Maybe both. 

“But then… he knocks you down, and he stabs you.”

Anakin bit his hand, tasting blood as he muffled a cry. The deafening whistle in his ears.

“And how is that different from the others?” asked Qui-Gon, still composed, still calm.

Anakin wanted to scream. How could Qui-Gon be so tranquil? He had just learned that in another world, another timeline, he hadn’t survived. That he had been defeated. That there was a reality where Anakin had failed him.

Oh, yes. Because he doesn’t know that it was reality. Even with that knowledge, Anakin still felt lost in a haze.

Obi-Wan exhaled shakily.

“When I wake up from those, it’s… different. I know they aren’t real. I know that didn’t happen, but…” His voice wavered. “They feel real. They feel like a memory.”

Anakin let out a strangled sound, his body trembling as the weight of it all crushed down on him.

Until now, everything had been fine. He had saved Qui-Gon. He had changed everything. His mother was safe on Naboo, Maul was dead, and Palpatine’s interest in him not immense, yet. He had done everything right.

And yet, the past was still chasing him. Always lurking. Always waiting to drag him back.

He didn’t realize he was crying until the door to his room swung open, and he collapsed onto his back. His vision blurred, but he saw Qui-Gon’s silhouette standing above him. He sobbed deeply, choking on his tears.

Your focus determines your reality.

He felt overwhelmed, but the sympathy in the Force was so immense that it was almost covering his fear. Almost. He turned his head toward the living room, but his vision was too blurred to see Obi-Wan.

“I wish to help you, my old Padawan,” Qui-Gon murmured, voice laced with regret. “But I think Anakin’s heightened sensitivity to the Force isn’t suited for this kind of conversation.”

Obi-Wan said nothing, but Anakin heard rustling and then the sound of a door closing. He tried to feel Obi-Wan’s receding signature. It was faint, just out of reach - elusive, unreadable. But at least it wasn’t sorrow.

The sympathy wasn’t as overwhelming anymore, either.

He wept.

𓇻  

They never brought up the subject of Obi-Wan's dreams again, at least not when Anakin was around. And honestly, he was more than grateful for that. Qui-Gon never reprimanded him for eavesdropping and instead, he tried to understand why Obi-Wan’s dreams had caused such an intense reaction from Anakin. But Anakin had no answer to give him. Or at least, not one he could share. Qui-Gon could have searched for the answer through their Master-Padawan bond, but he had assured Anakin he would never cross a line Anakin did not allow him to. And Anakin didn’t want him to cross any line. In the end, they simply assumed it had to do with Anakin’s deep connection to the Force. It was the safest explanation.

The next few months were filled with training, unsuccessful meditation sessions, and lessons on Jedi history, philosophy, traditions, culture, and other subjects he was never particularly fond of. He was a man of action, not a bookworm who would spend his days buried in the archives, reading ancient texts about old wars, studying maps of planets with long-destroyed temples, or memorizing the stories of Jedi who had died long before even Grand Master Yoda was born. He yawned, flipping another page, when a burst of laughter broke the library’s usual silence. He heard Jocasta Nu - the Chief Librarian - hastily shushing the group responsible for the commotion. Instinctively, Anakin looked up. A group of teenagers sat at a different table, joking amongst themselves, completely ignoring Master Nu’s irritated glare.

He sighed. 

He had never been one to make friends during his time in the Temple, even in his past youth. And now, with the unusual circumstances of being personally trained by Master Jinn, despite being much older than the other younglings, it certainly didn’t help. These kids had known each other their entire lives, and welcoming someone new into their groups, especially someone like Anakin, seemed more trouble than it was worth. Some might have been jealous of him, which was understandable. But the gossip about him being the Chosen One had spread quickly, and as a result, most treated him with a certain distance. Once again, fair.

He had never regarded this as a problem. He was far better off on his own, undistracted by foolish, childish diversions. He had a mission to accomplish. A prophecy to fulfill. He wasn’t bothered. He shouldn’t feel bothered.

It wasn’t as if he were some sort of outcast who didn’t know how to make friends. He had friends back on Tatooine - Wald, Kitster and also a few other slave kids he sometimes played with. And, of course, he had Obi-Wan and Padmé. Of course, one of them was his mater while the other his wife, but…

He put his head on the table, swallowing hard. Maybe he did have trouble making friends.

“Maybe I am an outcast,” he muttered to himself. And now, the idea of changing that felt even more unrealistic. Because even if, in their eyes, he was a gifted kid receiving special treatment, his mind and soul were old. How was a man pushing fifty supposed to make friends with a bunch of teenagers?

“If you're done with Chronicles of the Order’s Lost Age , I’d gladly take it,” a high-pitched female voice rang out beside him. He jerked upright.

Standing next to him was a young girl with brown hair tied back in a low ponytail. Her blue eyes, a stark contrast to her greenish complexion, stared at him expectantly.

He gritted his teeth, swallowing the tide of irritation rising in his chest.

Barriss Offee.

That Mirialan woman - girl, for now - had already gotten under his skin once, and just looking at her supposedly innocent, unblemished face made him sick. He snapped the book shut and handed it to her, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“Take it. I’m done,” he said sharply.

She blinked in surprise. Of course, because of course, she hadn't done anything wrong. Not yet. So his anger had no logical foundation. But that didn’t matter. The memory of her betrayal still flickered in the back of his mind like a wound that refused to heal.

His hands clenched into fists when she didn’t immediately leave. Instead, she tilted her head, watching him.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

There was no real concern in her voice, just curiosity. He didn’t want to answer. But he reminded himself: at this point, she was still a student at the Academy. No darkness in her heart. No friendships to shatter.

He exhaled sharply, forcing his anger down. They didn’t know each other yet. Right now, Barriss still believed in the righteousness of the Jedi Order.

“My head is pounding from all these texts,” he admitted, at least partially truthful. His head was aching, though the books were only part of the reason.

To his surprise, she sat down beside him. He stiffened, frowning at her. She raised her hand, reaching toward his temple. He caught her wrist.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he growled, a little too loudly. A few heads turned their way. Embarrassed, he let go of her, but she didn’t pull back. Instead, her fingertips gently pressed against his temple.

She closed her eyes and murmured something under her breath. Anakin frowned. A moment later, warmth spread through his head, seeping into the throbbing pain at his temple. The pressure slowly faded. He frowned even deeper.

By the time the pain had completely disappeared, Barriss withdrew her hand and gave him a tired smile.

“Better?” she asked, her eyes slightly watery.

Anakin stared at her, genuinely bewildered. In all his forty-six years of life, no one had ever healed him without complicated medical machinery or liters of bacta.

“What did you just do?” he asked.

She shrugged.

 “It’s nothing, really. I’ve been learning about Force healing. There’s not much information left on it, but thousands of years ago, it was a common part of Jedi training.”

“Why don’t they teach it anymore?” he asked, a touch of frustration slipping into his voice. 

How many of his problems would have been solved if he’d been able to heal himself? Or others?

Barriss sighed. 

“Like I said, a lot of knowledge was lost over the centuries - wars, internal conflicts and so on. But also, Force healing is demanding.” She rubbed her temple. “Exhausting, to be precise.”

Now that he looked at her properly, the exhaustion was clear. Watery eyes, slumped posture, both hands braced against the table as if to keep herself steady. He almost felt a flicker of sympathy for her. Almost.

“You shouldn’t have done it, then. I would’ve just taken a nap or asked Master Che for some meds.”

She smiled, despite her fatigue. 

“I don’t mind. Really. It’s also good practice for me.” She extended a hand toward him. “I’m Barriss, by the way.”

He hesitated, then, after a brief consideration, shook it. She had exhausted herself for him, after all. That didn’t erase her past-future mistakes, but for now… he could pretend.

“My name is Anakin.”

Barriss looked so drained that he practically had to drag her out of the library. She mumbled something unintelligible, half-hanging off his arm, and Anakin sighed. She was like a drunk Obi-Wan after a long night out, except instead of alcohol, Barriss was intoxicated by sheer exhaustion.

As they turned a corner between the towering bookshelves, a tall figure emerged from the shadows, and nearly bumping into them.

“Hey!” Anakin grunted as the person in a dark cloak, with a hood drawn low over their face, brushed past them.

They barely acknowledged him, shooting a short glance before slipping out the door and letting it slam behind them.

Anakin’s muscles tensed. A strange unease coiled in his gut. His senses bristled.

There was something… off about that person.

And even though he hadn’t seen their face, there was something familiar about them. Something unsettling.

Chapter Text

𓇻  

Somehow, in some way, Barriss had become an inseparable part of his Padawan life, one could call: a blessing in disguise. On the bright side, she was far more interested in the Jedi’s bookish teachings than he ever was. So instead of spending hours searching through ancient texts himself, she eagerly provided him with facts, anecdotes, and information. And if she didn’t know the answer to a particular question, she was more than happy to spend hours in the library searching for it. At times like these, Anakin couldn’t help but wonder if there was a way to stop her from falling…

He chuckled at the thought. How the galaxy’s greatest tamer had now become its newest mender.

“Don’t laugh to yourself, or people will think you’re a maniac,” Barriss remarked as she sat down beside him, a large, leather-covered book tucked under her arm.

Too late for that , he thought, pressing his lips together. She frowned at him, then sighed and opened the book, its engraved title reading: Ethics and Morality of the Jedi Order – From the Old Republic to the Present Day. Judging by the book’s worn state, the Present Day had already expired.

“When will Master Jinn be back from that stupid mission with Obi-Wan?” he complained.

A few days ago, his Master had informed him that he would be joining his former Padawan on a mission. Anakin had been surprised. It wasn’t forbidden for a Jedi Knight and their old Master to work together, but since Master Jinn had a new Padawan under his wing, his priority should have with been training him. Then Anakin asked where they were going. And suddenly, the puzzle pieces fell into place.

“We’re heading to Mandalore. It’s an independent system, but we’re working to maintain amity between them and the Republic.”

Anakin had barely stopped himself from grinning. With that bit of information, he immediately understood why Qui-Gon had insisted on accompanying Obi-Wan, probably to the younger Jedi’s dismay. Better to keep an eye on those two helpless… sweethearts.

Anakin knew all too well where unchecked love could lead.

He sighed at the thought, suddenly realizing how long it had been since he last saw Padmé. After the grand ceremony commemorating the Battle of Naboo and his desperate request to save his mother, they had never seen each other again. One day - maybe a month or two after their last meeting - one of her handmaidens had appeared on Coruscant, sneaking near the Jedi Temple. Rabé, Sabé, Moteé… he had never learned to tell them apart, not even in his first life. Too many, with names too similar. He and Qui-Gon had been heading toward a speeder when she suddenly emerged from the crowd near temple, pressed a small, rolled-up piece of paper into his hand, and disappeared before he could react. He caught only a glimpse of a red cape vanishing into the streets.

Chenini is in full phase , the note had read.

He had smiled at the encrypted message. But that was the last thing they ever shared. And it would remain so for years.

With a groan of frustration, he dropped his face onto the table. Why does he have to wait so long?!

“Stars, you are a maniac.”

He ignored her and stood up, stretching. Barriss arched a brow at him.

“Where are you going?”

Instead of answering, he strode toward the door. Behind him, Barriss let out an exasperated whisper-yell, earning another sharp look from Master Nu. Huffing, she shut her book, grabbed it, and followed him like a shadow. She was still nagging him as they walked, but he barely paid attention. All that studying had made him drowsy and restless, his thoughts spiraling into unwanted areas. He needed a distraction.

And what better distraction than a good lightsaber spar?

He made his way to the training area, the same one where he and Qui-Gon spent most of their combat lessons. The Coruscant Temple had several rooms dedicated to training - some larger, some smaller - each equipped with different tools: dummies, sandbags hanging from the ceiling, target plates, and a variety of weapons. There were wooden and durasteel staffs, dulled vibroblades, training sabers, and even sporting blasters loaded with blank ammunition.

The room they typically used was on the far side of the Temple, a good distance from the main dojo, probably a deliberate choice by Master Jinn. Not that Anakin minded. The lack of curious glances was an undeniable advantage. Speaking of curious glances…

Speaking of curious glances…

“Anakin! We’re not allowed to use the training rooms without our Masters!” Barriss hissed, glancing around anxiously.

He sighed, unimpressed.

“Not my first podrace,” he muttered, pressing his palm against the panel to open the door. If they didn’t want unauthorized usage of these rooms, they should have locked them better.

Barriss gasped as Anakin slipped inside. She took another quick glance around before reluctantly following him. He grinned.

“Well, since you’ve decided to be my partner in crime, let’s have some fun.”

He grabbed one of the training lightsabers and ignited it without hesitation. Barriss clutched her book tighter, her frown deepening.

“I don’t like this. I don’t think we should be here. What if someone sees us? I don’t want to be expelled from the Temple for sneaking around,” she mumbled, her knuckles turning white as she clutched the book tightly.

Anakin’s jaw clenched, his lips pressed together. Thoughts spiraled, dragging him into memories - a cold, dimly lit Court Chamber, the faces of people he once trusted, and the sad, betrayed blue eyes of a girl he had let down. His chest tightened, a weight settling there. 

Before he could stop himself, he grabbed a second training saber and threw it toward Barriss, blindly. She didn’t even try to catch it, just eyed him warily.

That was then, Anakin. She hasn’t betrayed anyone yet. You can change this.

His younger, innocent self - the one who had never been drenched in red, who still believed in second chances - urged him to let go of his resentment. But the old fury was still there, clawing at him. He tried to release it into the Force, but it kept coming back.

She trusted you, and you betrayed her!
I've learned that 'trust' is overrated. The only thing the Jedi Council believes in is violence!

He hissed through his teeth, closed his eyes, and focused. I am the Force, and the Force is within me. His anger had a foundation, but this Barriss wasn’t guilty. Maybe she never would be, if he was careful. Letting old wounds control him wasn’t the way.

Feeling how the knot begin to lose, he sighed, looking at her again. She was still confused.

“Please, Barriss. Just one round. I need a break from all these books,” he practically pleaded.

She bit her bottom lip, still hesitant, but finally set her book on the floor and picked up the saber. With a flick of her wrist, the blue blade ignited.

“Just one round, Anakin. And if we get caught, this is on you.”

He smiled, shifting into position.

Their fight was hardly a fight, since Barriss didn’t seem as proficient as she would one day become. Her movements were sloppy, her foot constantly stumbling, and her lightsaber was easily knocked out of her hand. They started really slow, like… excessively slow. Even his first lesson with Master Jinn wasn’t this tardy.

“Stars, you’re a slag. Even banthas move faster than you,” he howled, parrying her uncontrolled swing. The blades hummed in harmony, glowing turquoise on their faces.

A few strands of her hair had fallen out of her ponytail, sweat dripping down her forehead. Her eyes looked at him with a mix of annoyance and tiredness. She stepped back and unignited her lightsaber, taking a few heavy breaths.

“I am not a fighter,” she admitted, wiping sweat from her forehead. “And I’m not planning to be.”

This time he frowned, lowering his saber.

“We are Jedi, it’s part of our tradition.”

She huffed. “Traditions can be outdated. And we are not Jedi, yet, Anakin. Moreover, there can be more than one type of Jedi, don’t you think?”

Well… no. That wasn’t what he thought, especially knowing about the upcoming intensive wars. Things would only get worse, and almost every Jedi of age would be basically forced to become a fighter. A soldier. What happened on Naboo was just a planted seed of what the future holds. He could change some things, but he had no power to stop the major events of this timeline. But he could be prepared for them, better than ever. And he could prepare others.

“Maybe. Or maybe not. But you cannot avoid this for the rest of your life, Barriss. You see what the Separatists are doing now. But they won’t stop there. They’ll grow in power, forge new alliances, conquer new sectors, until their power eventually exceeds all our expectations. What are you going to do then? Hide behind your books?”

There was a silence, and Anakin knew he had let himself slip a bit too much, but it was too late to take back his words. Barriss already thought he was a maniac, so that probably wouldn’t change her opinion much. Maybe he’d freak her out enough to make her leave him alone.

“You- I-...” she stuttered.

“I think young Skywalker thinking is truly a mindful and forwarding.”

They both jumped simultaneously at the sudden low, male voice. They cautiously turned their heads towards the source of the sound, coming from the door.

Anakin’s heart sank for a moment before it started pumping rapidly, his legs suddenly weak and limp, and his hands shaking. He held his breath. Of all the people who could have caught them sneaking into the training rooms, doubtfully legal and without supervision, why did it have to be…

“Master Dooku!” Barriss squeaked, standing at attention, her head bowed, looking remorseful. “We are very sorry. We know we shouldn’t be here, but-” She stopped her torrent of words when the older man raised his hand.

Count… Master Dooku didn’t look exactly like Anakin remembered him from their last encounter. First of all, his head was where it should be - on his neck. His hair was dark, with silver strands scattered here and there, and his beard, the same color as his hair, was precisely trimmed. He stood tall in the threshold, hands behind his back, dark eyes piercing through Anakin, his face still and cold.

At this point, he should already have fallen into Darth Sidious’s clutches.

The man took a step into the room, still focused on Anakin. He swallowed, suddenly nervous. Dooku’s footsteps sounded loud and heavy, rumbling in Anakin’s head. They stopped abruptly when Dooku stood only a few inches from Anakin’s stooped silhouette. Without a word, he observed Anakin, but his face gave nothing away. Anakin tried to maintain eye contact, though he suddenly felt small, which sounded foolish, since it was him who had defeated that man more than twenty years ago… in some strange, time-twisted way. But that didn’t make the man before him any less intimidating, especially when Dooku was six times more skilled and powerful than he was now.

Before Anakin could react, Dooku summoned one of the training sabers to himself and ignited it.

“Let’s see how much of my old Padawan’s praise is accurate.”

Without waiting for Anakin to respond, Dooku struck immediately, barely missing his arm. Anakin ducked at the last moment, trying to regain focus as his fingers fidgeted. He ignited his lightsaber, managing only to see a blue flash before rolling on the floor.

“Stop running away, Skywalker. Show your friend that your speech wasn’t meaningless.”

The called-out friend cried out as another blow was aimed at him. This time, Anakin tried to block it, but the sheer strength Dooku put into the strike threatened to break through his defense. Still, Anakin managed to maintain his balance.

Qui-Gon had barely touched on Form II with him, focusing instead on basic moves. Unlike Form I, which he had mastered in his first life, Makashi was never something he truly embraced. Shii-Cho was the foundation every Jedi was expected to know, serving as a base for all other forms. He and Obi-Wan had trained in Makashi, but with its elegant, fluid movements - more like a dancer gliding across a ballroom - it never suited Anakin’s style. They had only covered the basics, and now, all that knowledge was long gone. And he was paying for it.

Master Dooku was still on the offensive, his strikes heavy and fast, his movements sleek and almost delicate, with little to distinguish one blow from the next. Anakin had no time to think, Dooku was attacking relentlessly, without even pausing for breath. Anakin was either trying, and failing, to block or to dodge. His knees burned from the constant collapsing onto them, his arms ached, his hands shook, sweat running into his eyes, blurring his vision.

He almost heard Barriss wailing, but the whistle in his ears was too loud to be sure.

With another hard strike straight to his chest, Dooku knocked Anakin onto his back, his blade inches from Anakin's neck. His own lightsaber fell from his grip and rolled across the floor. He could feel its heat. Training sabers wouldn’t kill, but they could leave a pretty burn mark.

“Do you yield?” Dooku asked, his expression serious, showing no sign of exhaustion. He didn’t need to try hard to beat Anakin - he was still a child, not trained enough to pose a real threat. That didn’t mean Anakin was helpless...

“No.” Anakin grinned, summoning the lost saber, igniting it, and striking Dooku’s wrist. Touché.

It didn’t cause much damage, more of a small burn than a wound, but it surprised Dooku enough to make him slightly move the saber away from Anakin's neck. Seizing the moment, Anakin slid away, jumping to his feet. Then, using the Force, he moved behind Dooku and summoned Barriss’s saber to his other hand. In his peripheral vision, he saw the shock on her face, but her eyes were gleaming, and Anakin could feel her excitement. He grinned.

Dooku recovered from his abrupt surprise quickly, his expression shifting ever so slightly, an arched brow betraying a flicker of emotion. But Anakin didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he pressed forward, determined to take the initiative. With his right hand, he struck at Dooku’s arm, and as the older man moved to block, Anakin used his left hand to drive the hilt of his saber into Dooku’s elbow. It barely made him budge, but it was enough. Seizing the opening, Anakin twisted his wrist, inverting his lightsaber and swinging horizontally toward his opponent’s arm. He almost landed the hit, but Dooku stepped back just in time, causing the blade to slice through empty air instead. Anakin grinned, emboldened.

“Master, you shouldn’t run away.”

Barriss gasped behind him, but he kept his eyes locked on Dooku.

The older man’s eyelid twitched, and so the corner of his mouth, yet his face remained still . Without a word, he resumed his attack.

But now, armed with two sabers, Anakin wasn’t as easily overwhelmed. He didn’t expect to win, unless Dooku would go easy on him, but he could feel something shifting. What’s more, Dooku’s attacks grew even more ferocious and forceful. But perhaps Anakin’s old muscle memory was resurfacing, his blocks, once aimless and frantic, were now more deliberate and instinctive. The Force was flowing through him more freely, like a wild river guiding his every move.

Dooku suddenly stepped back, gripping his hilt with both hands. Then, with a swift motion, he raised his saber high above his head and brought it crashing down.

Anakin crossed both sabers over his head, bracing himself against the impact. He clenched his teeth as Dooku pressed down harder, his strength immense, almost as if he meant to truly hurt him. Anakin’s right foot slid backward, struggling to maintain balance. Was the older man actually trying to kill him?

“That’s enough!” A new voice growled from behind them.

The pressure vanished in an instant. Anakin collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath as the training sabers slipped from his grasp.

Before he could turn around, a green hand lightly touched his arm. Barriss was beside him, helping him stand. When they turned toward the door, he realized their stunt had drawn an audience. And not just any audience - a group of younglings and a few Padawans he recognized stood there, their eyes gleaming, mouths wide open. The room buzzed with excitement and admiration. His cheeks grew warmer, his breath shorter, not from exhaustion, this time.

At the edge of the group stood Grand Master Yoda and Master Windu, their expressions unreadable. But Anakin was too drained to even try deciphering them.

“Padawan Barriss, to the Halls of Healing, take Padawan Skywalker. A checkup, on him, must be done,” Yoda said, his voice calm but laced with concern.

As they made their way out, younglings and Padawans crowded around, chattering excitedly. Their voices blurred into an indistinct hum, drowned out by the ringing in his ears. He ignored the three pairs of eyes still fixed intently on him.

He’d deal with the consequences of his boldness later.

𓇻  

“So what have you done that Master Jinn was immediately called before the Jedi Council?” Obi-Wan sounded a little too excited about the idea that his successor had done something so serious that their Master had to face the entire Jedi Council. He was probably thrilled at the thought that Anakin might be expelled.

Anakin rolled his eyes. They were sitting in Master Jinn’s apartment on the couch. Even though a few days had passed since his duel with Dooku, it still felt like a dream. Suddenly, he had become the center of attention for the other students, and, if he was being honest, he hated it. Barriss was already too much, but a bunch of students wanting to sit next to him in the library, during meals, or challenge him to sparring matches was overwhelming. After two days, he had stopped leaving Master Jinn’s quarters unless absolutely necessary.

“Nothing. I am a precious little angel who does nothing wrong,” he replied sarcastically.

Obi-Wan laughed, which surprised Anakin. He hadn’t heard the older Jedi laugh in years. A strange warmth spread in his chest.

Obi-Wan looked so young and lighter, without the weight of a Padawan’s responsibilities pressing down on him. Anakin wondered how much his presence in his past life had shaped the man Obi-Wan had become. The thought left a sudden heaviness on his shoulders.

“Not exactly in those words, but Master Jinn sees you the exact same way. Hopefully, that will change today.”

Anakin snorted just as the door to the quarters opened. Both he and Obi-Wan turned their heads simultaneously.

The weight on Anakin’s shoulders grew heavier.

Qui-Gon looked drained, his hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes, and his fingers rubbing his temples. Anakin sank into the couch. Qui-Gon wasn’t quite looking at Anakin, but the boy still felt like he was being judged. Qui-Gon took several moments before he spoke, his voice fatigued.

“Anakin, did you really duel with Master Dooku?”

The silence was immense. Obi-Wan’s mouth dropped open in pure shock as he looked from Qui-Gon to Anakin.

Anakin smiled lightly.

“Nooo… maybe… yes.”

Qui-Gon sighed heavily, but something shifted in his expression - something Anakin couldn’t quite grasp.

Obi-Wan huffed. “You fought Master Dooku?!”

Both of them ignored him.

“But in my defense, he attacked me first! I was only defending myself!” Anakin protested. "Not like I had any other choice, with how aggressive Dooku was. “I just went there with Barriss to train a little- "

Qui-Gon stopped him with a raised hand.

“I wouldn’t expect you to challenge a Master,” he said, though something in his tone suggested that he actually would. “Even less would I expect you to be able to resist against Master Dooku’s offense.”

Now, his mask finally dropped, and Anakin could sense that Qui-Gon wasn’t angry with him, but… pleased.

“So… I’m not in trouble?” he asked, a hopeful grin forming.

Qui-Gon chuckled softly.

“For fighting with Master Dooku? He admitted he was the one who started the duel, and both Master Yoda and Master Windu saw what happened.”

“But?”

“But you and your friend still snuck into the training room without permission or supervision. For the next two weeks, both of you will be cleaning the training rooms and helping Master Nu organize books in the library. Oh, and you have additional lessons on the Jedi Code, Order philosophy, and self-control meditations with Master Yoda.”

Anakin groaned, slumping back into the couch.  But it was more for keeping up with appearance than actual disappointment. Truthfully, it wasn’t that bad.

“Oh, and one more thing, Anakin,” Qui-Gon added, but he wasn’t smiling anymore. His face was stern, uneasy. “Master Dooku would like to assist in our lightsaber combat lessons.”

Anakin felt his stomach drop.

He kriffed up.

Being personally trained by another Jedi Master was one thing but being trained by Palpatine’s current apprentice was something else entirely. He should have fought back less. He should have yielded when he had the chance and avoided drawing attention to himself. His pride had failed him again.

He closed his eyes, reaching out to the Force for answers to his own stupidity, but all he found was…

Sorrow.

His eyes snapped open, and he turned to look at Obi-Wan.

The older Jedi was hunched forward, hands clenched into fists, his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. His face was tense. The light that had been there moments ago was gone.

Anakin swallowed. Why, Obi-Wan? Why?

As if hearing him, Obi-Wan slowly turned his gaze toward Anakin. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, there was something there - something deep, something dark, something barely noticeable to anyone else. But Anakin knew it too well.

He reached a hand toward the older Jedi, forgetting about Qui-Gon’s presence entirely, but Obi-Wan stood up abruptly and walked toward the door, slamming it behind him.

“Don’t mind him, Anakin,” Qui-Gon said. “I think he’s still too tired after our trip to Mandalore.”

They both knew it was a lie. Neither of them pointed it out. They simply pretended to live in blissful ignorance.

𓇻

He had expected his little stunt to leave an impression, but the number of Jedi students who wanted to spar with him was unbelievable. He never gave in to any of their requests unless it was under the supervision of master as a part of their trainings. And ever since the news spread that Master Dooku was personally training him, even more students were eager to become his friend.

By the end of the first week, he was completely done with it. Apparently, Barriss wasn’t such bad company after all.

But all of that aside, having Dooku as his personal trainer was quite an experience. He wasn’t as mindful and patient as Master Jinn. Every time Anakin made a mistake - his foot positioned wrong, his stance from a different form, his hand moving too fast, or too slow - Dooku made him repeat the entire sequence until he got it right. As irritated as he was after each session, he had to admit… he actually liked them. His time was finally being put to good use.

But having Dooku as his sort-of teacher also had its downside. The darker one.

It was Dooku, a few months into their training, who told Qui-Gon that the Supreme Chancellor wished to know how the young hero of Naboo was doing. Anakin hadn’t wanted to go, but since it was an invitation from the Chancellor himself, he had no choice.

At the first meeting, all three of them attended - Anakin, Dooku, and Qui-Gon. The Chancellor was warm and polite, listening attentively to Qui-Gon’s modest praises, occasionally glancing at Anakin with a kind smile. Anakin felt sick. Dread coiled in his stomach. But he played along, smiling innocently at the older man and answering his questions about how he liked Coruscant, what he thought of the Jedi and listening to his wishes that one day Anakin will grow into an important figure. His fingers clenched the armrest, knuckles turning white.

A few other meetings followed, this time with just him and Dooku. They went relatively smoothly, on the surface, at least. Palpatine showered him with praises, asked him invasive questions about the Order, about his Master. Anakin tried to dodge most of them, but having two Sith Lords watching him expectantly was… distracting. Sometimes, he slipped. He told them things they wanted to hear. And he wasn’t sure if they were lies or if a darker part of himself was starting to surface.

Fortunately, something had changed. Back then, in his past life, he had been summoned to Palpatine’s office every week, with the open invitation to visit whenever you need to talk to someone outside the Jedi Order. Now, it was once every two weeks. Sometimes less. Occasionally, he pretended he was sick or that he had an exam to study for, or that he needed to help Master Nu in the library. Excuses, yet Palpatine never minded his absence. Always so understanding, always so kind. Thoughtful. Anakin had to constantly remind himself exactly who he was dealing with.

But he couldn’t avoid those meetings forever, and that’s how he found himself walking through the red corridors of the Republic Executive Building, passing people in fancy political outfits. They either ignored him completely or nodded politely, by now, they all knew him as Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s Jedi, a frequent visitor. He wondered how none of them found it strange - a teenage boy regularly attending private meetings with the Supreme Chancellor - but perhaps, in the melting pot of Coruscant’s political culture, there was nothing unusual about it.

Qui-Gon was the only person who seemed to recognize that something about these meetings was off, but since all they did was talk, he took no action. Anakin had considered lying, which wouldn’t have been far from the truth - he did feel uncomfortable under the Chancellor’s watchful gaze - but the potential consequences kept him from acting on it. For now, Palpatine played the role of a kind, friendly old man whose only apparent desire was to make Anakin feel seen. There was no need to provoke his anger too soon.

He was just about to turn into the corridor where the Chancellor's office was located when a hooded figure darted around the corner, nearly colliding with him. They passed by in a hurry, without so much as a glance. Out of the corner of his eye, Anakin caught a glimpse of a ginger-blond strand sticking out from under the hood. A quick check through the Force confirmed his suspicion, he hadn’t mistaken their presence.

“Obi-Wan!” he called, spinning on his heels.

The hooded figure halted abruptly and turned toward him, pulling back the hood. It was Obi-Wan, indeed.

They hadn’t seen much of each other over the past five years - Obi-Wan was constantly off-world, rarely visiting his old master, if at all. And as for Anakin, their encounters had been even less frequent.

He had changed…

His hair was longer, his beard fuller, his frame broader, yet his face remained the same. Familiar blue eyes stared back at him, filled with confusion and something close to dismay. It took several seconds before recognition settled in, and Anakin grinned unconsciously.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked softly, almost as if he wasn’t sure. His gaze swept over him from head to toe, and for a moment, Anakin felt a little too exposed.

He knew he had changed too - he was taller now, his shoulders broader, his face having lost the baby-fatness, replaced by sharper, more mature features. He wasn’t the child they had found on Tatooine six years ago.

“One and only,” Anakin replied with a grin, taking a step closer.

Obi-Wan still looked stunned, his eyes scanning him as if he couldn’t quite believe the person standing before him was truly Anakin.

“You… grew,” he said, tilting his head up. Oh yes, Anakin had managed to end up a full head taller than him.

“Or maybe you shrank after all that time floating around in space,” Anakin teased

They both snorted, and finally, the tension in Obi-Wan’s shoulders seemed to ease. They stood there in the middle of the Republic Executive Building’s corridor in silence, but somehow, it wasn’t awkward. Obi-Wan had his arms crossed, watching Anakin with curiosity, while Anakin… was comparing this Obi-Wan to the one he had once known.

They were so similar, yet so different. The face and body were the same, but something about his posture, the brightness in his eyes, the way his smile crooked just slightly - it all told Anakin this was not the same person. This Obi-Wan was free of the weight of a Padawan, free of the burdens of mentorship, able to walk his path as a Jedi Knight without the responsibility of raising a student.

A twinge of remorse twisted in Anakin’s chest.

He had ruined this man before he had even had the chance to.

“Are you okay, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Anakin blinked and shook his head. 

“Sorry, got lost in thought. I’m heading to a meeting with the Chancellor, and-”

Obi-Wan cut him off with a raised hand. The concern cracked through his composed expression.

“You’re meeting with the Chancellor?”

Anakin nodded, raising a brow. 

“He invites me once in a while for private meetings. It’s mostly just him asking questions about my life here and me answering, like some sort of interview, but yeah.” He tilted his head. “By the way, what are you doing here?”

Anakin actually wondered what had brought Obi-Wan to the Republic Executive Building, especially running around with his hood up like he was trying not to be seen. This time, it was Obi-Wan who looked uncomfortable. His eyes suddenly dropped to the intricate patterns on the carpet, his hands clenching into fists.

Anakin frowned. Why is he acting so strange all of a sudden?

Meeting with politicians wasn’t anything unusual for Jedi, unless…

“Padawan Skywalker! The Supreme Chancellor is waiting for you!”

Both of them jumped at the sudden voice behind them. An Iktotchi woman approached from the corridor Anakin had been heading toward, her expression expectant.

With a sigh, he turned but glanced at Obi-Wan one last time. The older Jedi was no longer staring at the floor. Instead, he was watching Anakin directly, something deep and unreadable in his gaze. His face looked… tired.

Anakin swallowed and gave him a small wave.

“If you’re at the Temple tomorrow, I’ll be having a sparring match with Master Windu,” he called with a wide grin before following the Iktotchi woman down the hall.

Obi-Wan’s heavy stare followed him all the way.

      𓇻

Anakin was always a fast learner, grasping the basics of lightsaber forms quicker than any other student and nd it wasn’t just because he already knew them. Back then, it had been the same - always first, always the best, always on top.

His previous duels with masters had varied outcomes. He constantly lost against Dooku’s Form II. Master Unduli went easy on him with Soresu, letting him win (he suspected it had something to do with his friendship with her Padawan). Qui-Gon didn’t quite defeat him in Ataru, but Anakin was sore for a week after that duel. Plo Koon had practically wiped the floor with him in Djem So, though at least he’d seemed impressed by Anakin’s effort. With Niman, he faced Master Fisto once again, only this time, Fisto knew what Anakin was capable of and didn’t hold back. Still, he’d managed to disarm the Nautolan once. Just once.

So yeah, he was mostly losing. But none of those masters seemed to really hurt him (maybe Dooku did).

He wasn’t sure what to expect from Mace Windu.

Since the day he first crossed the threshold of the Temple, in both his lives, Windu had been at odds with him. And it wasn’t like Anakin hadn’t tried to change that. Around him, he was always on tenterhooks, keeping quiet as a mouse during lectures on The Role of the Jedi in the Galaxy or The Tempting Nature of the Dark Side (though he was more than eager to correct him on one thing or another). But no matter how obedient a student he pretended to be, Master Windu either treated him like thin air or asked questions no ordinary Padawan could possibly answer. But then again, Anakin wasn’t an ordinary Padawan.

"The best defensive techniques from Soresu against Makashi are keeping the guard up to minimize exposure, using quick but fluid defensive movements, dragging out the fight to tire the opponent, and changing pace to confuse them."

"The Higher Force is an impersonal aspect of the Force that exists beyond the Light and Dark Sides. Achieving harmony with it requires deep meditation and acceptance that it is a natural flow of energy that does not need to be controlled."

"Juyo is the original Form VII, based on aggression and unpredictable attacks, fueled by strong emotions. And as we know, emotions can lead to the Dark Side. Vaapad is a refined version of Form VII. It still relies on aggression, but instead of drawing from one's own emotions, the wielder channels the opponent’s darkness back at them without actually touching the Dark Side."

But no matter how right his answers were, Master Windu never seemed content with him. At some point, Anakin simply stopped pretending to care.

But today, he did.

Vaapad was a unique form of combat - one that is dancing too close to the barrier between Light and Dark. And so, for once, he felt genuinely nervous. The feeling had been lingering at the back of his mind since like ever, never fully surfacing - until now.

They had quite an audience. The Temple’s dojo wasn’t packed, but there were enough curious eyes watching his every move as he warmed up and took a sip of water. He felt… seen. Qui-Gon and Dooku stood near the entrance, their expressions unreadable. Jedi Temple Guards maintained their usual rigid stance. Tutso Mara and Master Unduli were whispering quietly, sitting on benches, while Master Fisto and Master Koon exchanged something almost imperceptibly. Stars, the only thing missing was for them to bet on the duel. A few Padawans he recognized were also present, but he paid them little attention.

There was no sign of Obi-Wan.

Not that Anakin had really expected him to come - Kenobi had no obligation to be there, yet… He shook his head. 

Stop overthinking. Focus on what’s important—don’t let Windu break too many of your bones or leave burns in visible places. Or invisible ones, for that matter.

When the Grand Inq Main Guard stepped into the center of the dojo, Anakin put down his water container, cast one last glance at the closed doors, and moved to his starting position.

Master Windu stood opposite him, his expression unreadable, not even a flicker of emotion crossing his face. But his eyes… his eyes struck like lightning. Anakin swallowed, a sudden, distant nerve-twitching sensation creeping over him. A memory of actual lightning.

“The test of Padawan Anakin Skywalker, apprentice of Master Qui-Gon Jinn, in his proficiency with Form VII, known as Vaapad.” The guard’s voice was low and emotionless - not quite the same as Mace Windu’s, though. This was the voice of someone whose sole duty was to keep the Jedi Temple safe. He sounded mildly like a droid.

“To evaluate his progress, he will engage in a sparring duel with Master Windu, master of Form VII.”

The guard took a step back, leaving them standing face-to-face.

They ignited their lightsabers and bowed respectfully to one another.

“Let the duel begin.”

Master Windu didn’t strike right away, and neither did Anakin. They circled each other cautiously, searching for any indication of movement - a subtle twitch of a finger, a flicker of tension in the jaw, the slightest shift in the pupils. These were details most Padawans wouldn’t even notice, but Anakin kept his nerves in check, watching closely. That’s how he caught it - an almost invisible flex of Windu’s foot.

The moment the first strike came, Anakin was ready. He parried, unable to stop the grin that tugged at his lips.

The fight truly began. Windu’s attacks were as vicious as expected - sharp, calculated, meant to shatter his defense. But defense wasn’t what Anakin was focusing on. He met aggression with aggression, countering blow for blow. Their training sabers clashed in rapid succession, illuminating their faces with blue light as sparks flew where blades met, the air buzzing with energy.

Channeling Windu’s emotions was difficult, because there were none. Mace was a wall, upright and unshakable, giving away nothing. There was anger, perhaps, buried deep in the way he moved, in the sheer force behind each strike, but that wasn’t enough. Anakin needed something raw, something strong enough to be redirected. And he was almost sure that his own posture was becoming less consistent, his feelings of irritation and helplessness more exposed.

He doubted he could win, but he could hold his ground for as long as possible.

Jumping back, Anakin tried to create some distance, just enough time to consider his next move. Windu didn’t allow it. He was relentless, closing the gap instantly. Anakin barely ducked in time to avoid a strike dangerously close to his neck. Taking advantage of his lower position, he aimed a sweeping strike at Windu’s legs. But Windu was faster, he countered with a swift blow aimed at Anakin’s wrist.

Anakin jerked back, barely maintaining his balance. Using the momentum, he rolled to the right, narrowly dodging another strike meant for his arm.

Windu used every possible moment to attack, and Anakin knew that the longer the fight dragged on, the more tired he would become. His blocks already growing slower, less precise. So instead, he called on the Force to float himself over the older Jedi, aiming a strike at the back of his arm. He grinned when the tip of his lightsaber grazed Windu’s robes, leaving a faint burn. But his satisfaction was short-lived - Windu spun on his heels and countered with such force that Anakin’s wrist twisted dangerously outward, a sharp flicker of pain making him wince.

“Fight fair, Skywalker,” Windu said, his voice harsh but not truly angry.

Anakin bit his tongue. Maybe you should listen to your own advice.

They exchanged a rapid series of swings, strikes, and, not entirely fair , hits with their sabers’ hilts. But the fight remained even. Of course, Anakin knew he’d be paying a visit to the Halls of Healing after this, but he had expected something… worse.

Then, with a crushing blow, Windu sent him sprawling onto his back. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, leaving him momentarily stunned. Windu stepped forward, the tip of his blade dangerously near Anakin’s exposed neck.

“Do you yield, Skywalker?”

He had planned to yield. He was exhausted, in pain, and slightly dizzy. He was already opening his mouth to admit defeat when, in his peripheral vision, he caught a glimpse of someone slipping into the room unnoticed - someone with ginger-blond hair.

A fresh surge of energy coursed through him. His gaze locked onto Windu’s cold, dark eyes.

“I do not.”

With a burst of movement, he sprang to his feet, attacking with renewed vigor - forcing Windu to take a step back.

The Jedi Master hadn’t expected him to keep fighting.

Anakin used Windu’s momentary confusion to seize the advantage, driving him toward the corner. But the older Jedi quickly regained his composure and didn’t leave the field open for long. His emotions remained tightly sealed, but Anakin could sense a subtle shift. Something had changed. There was a slight difference in Windu’s strikes, to his detriment. They were faster now, more vicious, more precise. And this time, Anakin truly struggled to keep up. His hands began to tremble, his legs felt unsteady, and each breath came harder than the last.

Yet, he refused to yield like a coward. He wouldn’t just throw in the sponge to Master We-Do-Not-Grant-You-the-Rank-of-Master.

He was Anakin Skywalker. A literal child of the Force. He was the Chosen One. He was here to bring balance. He was-

His knees gave up, and he collapsed, panting.

Mace Windu loomed over him, his training saber raised above his head.  Funny. He almost looked like Dooku that day. But Dooku had wanted to kill him. He doubted that was Windu’s real intention. Even if the man did hate him.

Anakin’s mind was foggy, too exhausted and sore to think straight. He was almost certain he was being asked if he yielded, but with the ringing in his ears, he couldn’t be sure. He wanted to confirm, but his body refused to obey.

Windu lowered his saber, aiming somewhere near his head and shoulders. He was probably just going to end the duel formally and "killing" him by striking the floor. Anakin didn’t expect Windu to actually harm him, but still - he closed his eyes. Just in case.

Suddenly, a breeze swept over him, and something hummed.

There were gasps, a sharp intake of breath. Someone choked.

And through the bond, he felt Qui-Gon's shock, a ripple of stunned disbelief.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi! What do you think you’re doing?!”

Anakin’s eyes snapped open.

There he was. A lone figure, standing like a statue in front of him, his blue lightsaber ignited, blocking Windu’s strike. His grip was tight, his posture rigid, his entire presence radiating intensity.

My master.

“Knight Kenobi, lower your lightsaber.”

Windu’s voice was colder than Anakin had ever heard. He was staring at Obi-Wan with an icy sharpness that made the air in the room feel heavy.

And then, something in Obi-Wan snapped.

His body slumped, his shoulders loosening. His head whipped around in frantic confusion. His gaze darted from Windu to Qui-Gon to the gathered onlookers before finally landing on Anakin.

He didn’t turn fully toward him, but in his eyes, there was…

Fear.

He turned to Windu again.

“I- I- ugh- ” His voice faltered, cracked, stumbled over itself.  Then, before anyone could react, he ran.

Bolted from the dojo, ignoring Qui-Gon's calls.

The silence left in his wake was deafening. The onlookers remained frozen, confusion on their faces. Even Windu, composed as ever, seemed momentarily at a loss.

But no one, no one, was as shocked as Anakin.

Still kneeling, his gaze drifted to the floor, but his mind was elsewhere.

That look in Obi-Wan’s eyes…

Fear.

Anakin swallowed, his throat dry.

"Obi-Wan, what is happening?" he mouthed to himself, but he…

He didn’t want the answer.

Because the truth would break him.

Chapter Text

To his utter surprise, it was he whom the Order asked to accompany Senator Amidala, more as a private bodyguard, after the tragic incident on the landing platform. And about that - at first, he had considered going there beforehand to stop the saboteur, but after some thought, he abandoned the idea for two reasons: firstly, with his luck, he might have gotten Padmé killed instead of her decoy, secondly, he wouldn’t have had the chance to swoon her once again on Naboo.

So when the High Council tasked him with protecting his old friend, he barely held himself back from acting too eager. Throughout the last ten years, he had learned to tune his emotions, though it was never easy, given how much he had always felt. Now and then.

“We do not want you to investigate the matter of the incident,” Master Windu warned him in a steady voice. “All you have to do is keep Senator Amidala safe and sound during her time on Coruscant.”

He bit his cheek. If things followed the same path they once did… things would become unsafe and loud.

“Yes, my master,” he nodded politely and was about to leave when the Grand Master's voice stopped him.

"Obi-Wan with you, go he will. Better than one, two heads are."

Anakin stopped abruptly and looked at the Grand Master in disbelief. Back then, Obi-Wan had accompanied him to Padmé’s apartment because Anakin was his Padawan, and they came as a package. But now?

Four years ago, Obi-Wan had stopped Master Windu from hurting him, even though there was no real danger, and then had basically disappeared. Anakin had asked Master Jinn about it, but the older man had only shrugged and assured him that Obi-Wan was away on missions and had no time to return to the Temple. But they both knew the truth: Obi-Wan was avoiding the Temple.

Still, Anakin was almost certain that, at times, he had caught glimpses of brown robes moving through the corridors. But he could never be sure.

And after four years of silence… they were supposed to work together?

“What about Master Jinn? Shouldn’t he…”

Mace raised his hand, but it was Master Mundi who answered.

“There are specific circumstances and concerns raised by Senator Amidala that led us to agree not to involve Master Jinn in this duty.”

This time, he couldn’t resist butting in.

“Pad– Senator Amidala thinks the person behind the attack is Count Dooku?” he asked dryly, grimacing.

Some things were inevitable - like Dooku turning to the Dark Side. For a time, Anakin had hoped his Grand-Master wouldn’t let Darth Sidious poison his mind even further, but it had already been too late. Anakin wasn’t sure how long Sidious had been feeding Dooku with visions of power and hatred, trapping him in a web of manipulation.

And so, two years ago, Dooku had turned his back on the Jedi. It had happened literally overnight, and Anakin still wanted to know - what had sparked the fire that caused the grapes of wrath to spill over?

The Council exchanged glances.

“We do not want to draw far-reaching conclusions,” Master Mundi said carefully, “but for the Senator’s safety, we are forced to take certain precautions.”

Anakin considered asking whether, as someone who had trained under Dooku for a time, he was the right person to be around Padmé. But maybe that was exactly the point. They couldn’t ignore the possibility that Dooku’s departure from the Jedi Order had major consequences, even if they had doubts. And since Anakin had trained under him, but not long enough to form an emotional connection, and he wasn’t truly his apprentice after all, that made him the perfect candidate to protect Padmé… just in case.

He nodded to himself, then to the High Council.

“Very well, masters. I will make sure that nothing happens to Senator Amidala.”

    𓇻

He found Obi-Wan at the Temple’s landing platform and stopped suddenly with a gasp. The man before him - the one he once knew all too well, the one whose betrayal had hurt the most - leaned against the wall, staring at a datapad, all nonchalantly, completely unaware of the stunned Anakin. His hair had grown to his shoulders, and the ginger beard enhanced his face and neck, giving him the appearance of a serious but still approachable lecturer rather than a fierce Jedi Knight who could cut you in half if you looked at him crookedly.

His attention was then drawn to Obi-Wan's robes. He was wearing brown - but it was a deeper tone than the one Anakin associated with him. His tunic and pants, instead of the usual beige, were a shade of dusty gray. The whole look was completed by a brown belt tied at his waist. The difference in his attire made Anakin feel a pressure in his stomach.

Obi-Wan’s head shot up when Anakin approached him, grinning stupidly, and something inside him exhaled with relief when he saw familiar blue-gray eyes staring at him with a raised eyebrow. 

Kenobi looked him up and down. Anakin’s lips hurt from constant smiling, so he cleared his throat instead, which rewarded him with Kenobi’s attention. The familiar eyes were looking at him with unexpected intensity, almost as if he were trying to read his mind, which, without the Master-Padawan bond, was basically impossible.

“Hello, Obi-Wan. Long time no see,” he greeted him politely, not really sure what he should say. The stare loosened, and so did his arms. When had he tensed so much?

“You’re late,” Obi-Wan said sternly.

Anakin snorted, rolling his eyes.
“Oh, come on, Obi-Wan. It’s been what? Five minutes?” he said jokingly, but Obi-Wan’s face remained serious, brows furrowed.

“Every minute is a lost minute. We should go.”

Then, Obi-Wan turned on his heels and walked toward the XJ-2 waiting for them on the pad. Anakin felt a little confused by Obi-Wan’s bizarre behavior, but he decided it wasn’t something he should be bothered with for now. After all, there was a damsel in distress waiting for her Jedi prince.

Grinning to himself, once again like an idiot, he jumped into the airspeeder, but instead of landing smoothly in his seat, his legs slipped on the floor of the vehicle, and half of his body slammed into Obi-Wan.

“I’m sorry!” he apologized automatically, straightening up and settling into his designated seat.

He smiled apologetically at Obi-Wan, but the older Jedi didn’t spare him a single glance. Instead, his eyes remained fixed on the space in front of them, his jaw clenched, knuckles white against the steering wheel, his entire body as tense as a string.

“Obi-Wan? Coruscant to Obi-Wan!” Anakin waved a hand in front of Kenobi’s absent gaze.

Without warning, Obi-Wan grabbed his wrist with remarkable strength. Anakin had expected him to simply push him away, but instead, his grip remained firm, fingers clenching so tightly that his palm turned pink.

“Obi, please,” he murmured softly, wincing as the pressure on his wrist became unbearable.

It worked. Obi-Wan shook his head and looked at him the same way he had four years ago - with fear. Quickly, he released his hand and returned his grip to the steering wheel.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Let’s go to Senator Amidala’s apartment.”

Anakin was left with a pulsating wrist—and no answers.

    𓇻

The moment they entered the lift to Padmé’s apartment, he felt his nerves rise. He was about to meet her for the first time in ten years - and decades from the time they last encountered as adults. An encounter he would rather not dwell on anymore. He had spent years reflecting on that moment - years of self-pity and remorse. Years of blaming everyone, lashing out, but mostly years of self-hatred and never-ending agony.

He could not let tragedy strike again.

And to prevent it, he had to keep her away from Darth Sidious’s sinister claws - which was quite the challenge, considering both of them were active members of the Republic Senate. It would be much easier if Palpatine didn’t associate her with Anakin, but it was far too late for that, considering an unfortunate attempt on her life. Even so, he had to keep his distance from the Chancellor. And that, unfortunately, meant he couldn’t rush into things with Padmé this time. He had to play it safe - to not let the Chancellor understand just how important Padmé was to him.

"You seem a little on edge," Obi-Wan interrupted, pulling Anakin from his thoughts.

Still in a daze, Anakin glanced at his mast- fellow Jedi. Obi-Wan’s face, as always, remained composed, but Anakin knew him too well not to catch the amused sparkle in his eyes, the slight upward twitch of his lips. Even after all these years...

"Who? Me?" Anakin snorted. "Not at all."

And to prove his words, he grinned, though even he knew the smile wasn’t convincing. His cheeks twitched, and he couldn’t quite meet Obi-Wan’s gaze. His former Master shouldn’t be able to read him like an open book anymore - this Obi-Wan didn’t even know him. And yet, his eyes studied him so intensely, as if peeling away every layer of his thoughts. Oh, dear Master - always so observant, so perceptive.

Though, in truth, Anakin was on edge - balancing on the edge of a very high cliff, with waves crashing against the jagged rocks below.

"Oh, come on. I haven’t seen her in ten years! Wouldn’t you feel at least a little excited if you met someone after years of separation?"

There was a subtle shift in Obi-Wan’s posture, and his gaze turned away, almost uncomfortably.

Anakin smirked. Of course, there was someone. From his current perspective, he wasn’t supposed to know about a certain Mandalorian royal yet, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun at Obi-Wan’s expense, right?

"Oh? So there is someone?" he teased with a malicious grin, which earned him an equally malicious glare. His grin only widened. "Who is she? Do I know her? Does anyone know her? Do- ouch! Obi-Wan?!"

His stream of questions was cut off by a sharp jab to the ribs. A pretty painful jab. He grimaced.

"How can you bully your Successor Padawan?!" he whined exaggeratedly.

Obi-Wan only rolled his eyes before the lift came to a stop.

"Obi? Obi! Mesa sooo smilen to see’en yousa. Wahoo!"

They were greeted by the familiar, clumsy Gungan senator's representative - Jar Jar Binks.

"It’s good to see you too, Jar Jar," Obi-Wan replied with a polite smile as they entered the apartment.

Anakin lost any desire to joke. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the familiar blue walls. His chest suddenly felt so tight, he forgot all about Obi-Wan’s blow.

This place… He hadn’t been here in years. And yet, instead of layers of dust, furniture covered in sheets, and the cold emptiness of an abandoned apartment, it felt... alive. He had thought that seeing it once again - lived in, warm - would make him happy. But instead, something coiled around him like thorned vines, constricting tighter and tighter.

I was so worried about you! Obi-Wan... told me terrible things. He said... you've turned to the Dark Side, that you... killed younglings!

"...but members of the Senate seem to prefer it."

Jar Jar’s voice reached him from a distance, struggling to cut through the ringing in his ears. But he was lost in unwanted memories.

I don't know you anymore! Anakin, you're breaking my heart! You're going down a path I can't follow!

The anger - the heartbreak - was rising within him, his mind overflowing with the urge to burn everything down.

"Noo?! Ani?! Little Bitty Ani?!"

A slippery, scaly hand grasped his arm and shook him. He blinked, shaking his head, and found himself staring into the familiar, stupidly smiling face of Jar Jar. Still a little dazed, he cleared his throat.

"Hi, Jar Jar."

The Gungan’s smile widened even more before he pulled Anakin into a tight hug, nearly knocking the breath out of him. With a weak laugh, Anakin patted Jar Jar’s back.

"Yeah, good to see you too, but please don’t crush my ribs. Obi-Wan already bruised them."

He heard a small snort from the other Jedi, followed by a ponderous apology from Jar Jar before the Gungan led them toward the common area.

"Senator Padmé! Mesa palos here! Lookie, lookie, Senator! Desa Jedi arriven."

Anakin clenched his fists, hidden in the wide sleeves of his robe, and took a shaky breath.

The elegantly dressed woman, with her hair pinned up high, walked toward them, and Anakin couldn’t take his eyes off her face. Her bright, warm eyes, her gentle smile - she was just… breathtaking. The closer she got, the more paralyzed he felt. It was as if he were nailed to the ground, his mind suddenly flooded with memories - Padmé in her regal Queen attire, Padmé in a flowy, delicate dress, Padmé in fitted gowns that accentuated her figure, Padmé...

"It’s a great pleasure to see you again, milady."

While Anakin was lost in his longing thoughts, probably drooling a little, Obi-Wan remained the stronghold of common sense.

"It’s been far too long, Master Kenobi," she said with a warm smile, extending her delicate hand toward him for a handshake.

But instead of greeting her politely yet distantly, Obi-Wan lifted her hand to his lips and… kissed it.

Padmé’s pale face turned rosy, and suddenly, Anakin wasn’t standing in her Naboo villa anymore - he was in her Coruscant apartment, watching his Master kiss the hand of his woman.

He stared at the back of Obi-Wan’s head in disbelief.

Did Obi-Wan… the chaste Obi-Wan… the Obi-Wan who would never… what?!

Padmé’s face was still rosy, her lips curled into a subtle smile as she looked past Obi-Wan’s arm and met Anakin’s eyes.

"Ani?!" she asked, utterly surprised. "My goddess, you’ve grown."

Anakin was still too shocked by Obi-Wan’s unexpected move, so it took him a moment to put on his mask of the Anakin Skywalker - The Chosen One. The best pilot in the galaxy. The best protector one could ever dream of. The man who was about to make a lasting impression.

He grinned at her, hoping it was convincing, because internally he was a mess.

"It’s been so long, Padmé. I half-expected you’d be running the entire Senate by now," he teased, earning a bright smile from her. Something fluttered in his stomach.

"Charming, Ani. Eloquent as always. But you’ll always be that little boy I met on Tatooine," she teased back, sparing him one last glance before turning away.

His chest felt tight, and his face felt hot.

Stars, I’m a fifty-year-old man acting like a love-struck teenager.

Which, technically, he was. But Padmé…

He felt a sudden push on his shoulder.

“Stop drooling, we have a job to do,” Obi-Wan whispered gravely as Padmé sat on one of those overpriced yet uncomfortable sofas he had always despised.

The couch in Qui-Gon’s temple apartment may have been worn out, but at least it was soft and cozy. The ones in Padmé’s apartment had that weird tactile material, the kind that made you sit on them like a wooden bench. When they were married, he had asked her once or twice to replace them with something people could actually sit on for more than five minutes, but they were apparently the most fashionable model and fit perfectly into the interior design. So, he had just endured his suffering.

Hiding his grimace, he and Obi-Wan sat opposite Padmé, Jar Jar, and… Sabé? Rabé?

“Our presence will be invisible, milady,” Obi-Wan said, his voice dipping into a low, almost flirtatious tone, though his face remained utterly impassive.

“We are grateful for your help, Knight Kenobi, Young Skywalker,” said the Naboo soldier, bowing his head slightly. One of his eyes was covered with a patch.

Padmé grunted, rolling her eyes.

“I don’t need more security. What I need are answers. Someone is trying to kill me, and I want to know who.”

Your dear friend, the Supreme Chancellor, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t. Not yet. It wasn’t the time. And who would believe him, anyway?

“We-” he started at the same time as Obi-Wan.

“We will find out who is behind all of this,” Obi-Wan said.

And for the second time that day, that hour, Obi-Wan shocked Anakin. The younger Jedi looked at his former master in confusion. He may not have remembered the exact course of this conversation, but he was certain Obi-Wan was never the type to disobey the Council’s instructions. Obi-Wan was the responsible one in their duo - Anakin was the one who rebelled, and Obi-Wan cleaned up the mess.

Why, all of a sudden, did he want to take charge of investigating Padmé’s potential murderer?

“Aren’t we here to make sure the Senator is safe, not start an investigation?” he found himself saying - was he suddenly the rational one?

Obi-Wan looked at him intensely, as if trying to communicate something. But since they didn’t share any bond, the stare was all Anakin got. He frowned. Obi-Wan’s behavior today was getting weirder and weirder.

“We will find out who is trying to kill you, Senator,” Obi-Wan added, but his gaze didn’t waver from Anakin for even a second.

Anakin didn’t move either. And so, they remained locked in this silent battle of stares, pinning each other down in a wordless conversation. The Force crackled around them, charged with tension - buzzing like an ignited lightsaber. Or two lightsabers clashing in an infinite fight.

You can't win, Darth. If you strike me down, I will become more powerful than you could possibly imagine.

How long they stayed like this, he didn’t know. And they might have continued indefinitely if not for an exaggerated cough.

It was enough to break whatever strange trance they had fallen into.

Distracted, Anakin turned away from Obi-Wan, heat creeping up his cheeks. When he looked at the others, he found all four of them staring, puzzled. Padmé had tilted her head slightly, her brows furrowed in mild confusion.

Stars, how must that have looked to their audience?

“As I said, milady,” Obi-Wan continued smoothly, “our assignment is to keep you safe. And I believe that finding the true culprit is the best way to achieve that. Am I right, Anakin?”

Obi-Wan didn’t look frustrated at all, even though he had been the one to start that ridiculous contest of stares. His face remained as composed as ever - no blush, no flickering gaze. The perfect, unbothered Jedi.

“Ye- no. That’s not what the Council instructed us to do,” said the definitely bothered Jedi, suddenly annoyed. He wasn’t sure if it was Obi-Wan’s indifference or his own frustration that irritated him more.

Obi-Wan shot him another glance, this one brief and unreadable.

Padmé must have sensed the tension, because she coughed again, deliberately drawing their attention.

“Perhaps, with merely your presence, the mysteries surrounding this threat will be revealed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will retire.”

They all stood and bowed as she, along with her decoy, made her way to the bedroom. The doors clicked shut behind her, leaving the room in a brief silence.

“With all honesty, I feel much better having you here,” the Naboo soldier admitted, though his expression suggested he hadn’t forgotten their earlier… something. “I’ll have an office on every floor, but you can find me in the command center downstairs.”

“Mesa busten wit happiness seein’ yousa again, Ani. Deesa bad times, bombad times,” Jar Jar added, his snout forming a sad pout.

Anakin patted his back comfortingly. “I know, Jar Jar. But don’t worry. We’ll make sure nothing bad happens to Pad- Senator Amidala.”

That seemed to cheer him up, because Jar Jar let out a loud laugh, right before slapping Anakin’s back a little too hard.

They spent the next few hours securing the place, checking every corner and possible hideout, even though Anakin was certain nothing would happen. On the other hand, something was definitely different from last time - Obi-Wan was different - and even if he couldn’t recall all the memories exactly, being extra cautious wasn’t such a bad idea.

With a grunt, he had laid down on the uncomfortable sofa, one leg resting on the backrest, the other on the ground.

“Captain Typho has more than enough men downstairs. No assassin will try that way… and I guess everything is fine here.”

The older Jedi’s voice shifted from serious and on duty to pathetic as he took in the sight of his Jedi colleague sprawled across the sofa. Obi-Wan sighed.

“At the very least, you could pretend you’re taking this seriously.”

Anakin snorted, cracking open one eye to look at him.

“And who’s saying that?”

Obi-Wan frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I want to understand where that sudden urge to find the Senator’s potential killer came from. No offense, but you don’t seem like someone who would disobey the Council.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head slightly, settling onto the opposite sofa.

“I thought, considering how you couldn’t take your eyes off her, you’d be more than willing to find the culprit.”

Anakin shot up straight, his face suddenly as warm as the twin suns setting over Tatooine.

“I don’t- ” he stuttered, but Obi-Wan’s intense yet amused gaze pinned him in place. Anakin was getting sick of those blue-gray eyes looking at him like that - like he was some delightful toy to be played with.

He didn’t even bother lecturing him about the “no attachments” rule, to Anakin’s sudden realization. Then again, since they weren’t responsible for each other anymore, Obi-Wan probably didn’t care. Or maybe… it had something to do with their bantering in the lift.

“Stars, stop being so perceptive, Kenobi.”

A light, almost malicious smile curled Obi-Wan’s lips, casting a cruel sort of brightness on his face. Anakin exhaled sharply.

“My infatuation with her is my own reason. But that doesn’t explain why you suggested it.”

The smile disappeared immediately, replaced by an averted gaze. His body tensed, and once again, Anakin was reminded of the day four years ago.

Anakin exhaled. “Why did you do it?”

He wasn’t talking about searching for Padmé’s assassin, and he knew Obi-Wan realized that too. His face contorted with unease, eyes darting even further away, lips pressing into a thin line.

Something clenched in Anakin’s chest - it wasn’t the warm, fluttering feeling he had felt when he first saw Padmé. It was like an invisible hand gripping his heart, tightening its fingers around him, relentless and cruel. His stomach dropped, his mind sending him unwanted scenarios.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Obi-Wan said. His tone was dismissive, but Anakin could hear the trembling.

I do, Anakin wanted to say. He was about to get up, cross the space between them, grab Obi-Wan’s hand - assure him that he did understand-

But suddenly, the Force shifted.

Something dark. Something dangerous.

In an instant, they were both running toward Padmé’s room.

Without a second thought, Anakin ignited one of his lightsabers - he wasn’t proficient enough in Jar’Kai to risk injuring Padmé by mistake and it’s not like he needed both of them. The room now bathed in purple light. At the back of his mind, he was almost sure he heard a gasp, but his focus was on saving Padmé.

He forced the door open by slamming his shoulder into it, and without hesitation, ignoring Padmé’s shocked expression, he jumped onto the bed and sliced the kriffing Kouhuns in half.

“What is happening?!” Padmé screamed, panicked.

Green light from outside the window flooded the room. And before anyone could react, what Anakin already knew would happen - happened. Obi-Wan jumped out of the window.

Padmé screamed, and Anakin placed his hands on her shoulders in a reassuring gesture.

“Don’t worry, it’s his specialty,” he said teasingly, though there was no room for joking. “Stay here.”

And so, he went looking for that kriffing airspeeder to save that kriffing ex-master of his.

The lift was moving too slow for his liking, so he used the Force to speed it up. Within seconds, he was in the garage, jumping into Obi-Wan’s speeder and taking off - probably scratching a few other vehicles on the way. A necessary sacrifice for a higher purpose.

The traffic on Coruscant's skylines was as frustrating as ever. His speeder zigzagged between other vehicles as he squeezed into empty spaces, occasionally clipping a rearview mirror and nearly crashing multiple times, all while furious honks echoed around him. His gaze remained locked ahead, scanning for a familiar figure dangling from an assassin’s drone. It took him a moment, his memory didn’t stretch that far back to recall the exact place where Kenobi would be, but whether it was instinct or his enormous connection to the Force, he found him.

Taking a few risky maneuvers - squeezing between two speeders while their pilots honked angrily - he nosedived, practically vertical.

He spotted a small fireball as the drone exploded and Obi-Wan’s body plummeted. Anakin sped up, catching him at the last possible second.

“What took you so long?” Obi-Wan asked, adjusting himself in the passenger seat, his eyes already locked onto another speeder charging ahead of them.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect you to jump from the kriffing 500th floor!” Actually, he did expect that, but there was a difference between Anakin, Obi-Wan’s Padawan and Anakin, We-Haven’t-Spoken-in-Four-Years-and-I-Technically-Don’t-Know-You, so of course he had to remind Obi-Wan of his recklessness.

Stars, he really had become the responsible one in this relationship.

“There he is.”

Completely ignoring Anakin’s complaints, Obi-Wan pointed at the yellow-green speeder speeding away. With a sigh and an adrenaline rush coursing through his veins, Anakin accelerated after the assassin.

He vaguely remembered the Clawdite woman - only that after Jango Fett shot her with some kind of dart, she had reverted to her true form. 

They chased after her, once again battling their worst enemy - traffic.

Anakin somehow managed to weave them through the chaos, flying over opposing lanes, skimming between buildings, and darting through an ongoing construction zone. They moved fast, constantly shifting the speeder’s position as the bounty hunter fired at them.

This time, he managed not to drag them through the power couplings, instead maneuvering over speeder banks and weaving through a narrow lane between buildings. A quick glance at Obi-Wan told him the older Jedi’s face was almost as green as Master Yoda’s, though his eyes never wavered from the assassin’s speeder.

Despite Obi-Wan’s evident displeasure, Anakin took a shortcut - one that, unfortunately, led them straight to a dead end.

Kenobi dragged a hand down his face.

“Great job, Anakin,” he snarked. “Your fantastic shortcut was really helpful.”

Anakin rolled his eyes but leaned over the edge of the speeder, scanning below. He saw the dense traffic below them, the abyss stretching beneath, and, just as expected, the bounty hunter’s speeder approaching.

Obi-Wan must have realized what he was planning because he immediately hissed.

“You do not.” His voice was edged with warning.

Anakin straightened and grinned.

“Yes, I do.”

He was just about to jump when a strong grip yanked on his tunic, holding him back.

“What the heck, Kenobi?!” he growled, twisting to glare at the older man. If he didn’t jump now, she would escape! He had a whole list of curses ready, but the words died in his throat when he caught sight of Obi-Wan’s face.

For a moment, he forgot to breathe.

At first glance, Obi-Wan’s expression was unreadable - set in stone, lips pressed into a firm line. But his eyes, now completely blue under the city’s dim lights, like the skies over Takodana, told another story. A crack in the stone.

“You are not throwing yourself into the abyss below,” he said gravely, his piercing gaze pinning Anakin to his seat.

Anakin huffed.

“Says the guy who jumped out of a kriffing 500th-floor window.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes still held that flicker of fear, but his lips curled mischievously.

“Exactly.”

And before Anakin could even process what was happening, Obi-Wan jumped.

For a heartbeat too long, Anakin just sat there, utterly stunned. By the time he snapped back to reality, Obi-Wan was already free-falling, plummeting fast toward the speeder below.

“Obi-Wan!” he yelled, as if the man could actually hear him.

What in the Sith-hell had gotten into him?! Since when was Obi-Wan so... frivolous? That was his job!

Gritting his teeth and cursing Kenobi thoroughly in his mind, Anakin wrenched the controls and sent their speeder diving straight after him.

He saw Kenobi’s silhouette on the bounty hunter’s ship, his robes fluttering in the wind and a lightsaber flashing in his hand.

“Force, was I this reckless too?” Anakin muttered to himself, but he tried to get as close and as quickly as possible, to the other ship.

He couldn’t see much of the clash, only the moment when the other speeder went down in a cloud of smoke and sparks. He dived right after them.

The streets below were just as crowded as the skylines, and he knew that flying right above the heads of passersby wasn’t the smartest idea. So, he left the speeder not far from the burning wreck of the bounty hunter’s vehicle and ran, pushing through the confused crowd. He could sense Obi-Wan’s signature somewhere ahead, but the number of people around him was distracting, and it took him a moment to find the alleyway where Obi-Wan stood.

Right in front of the entrance to the Outlander Club.

He was leaning against the wall, catching his breath. When Anakin walked up to him, he only shot him a quick glance.

“She’s in the club,” he said with a heavy gasp, resting his hands on his thighs.

Anakin looked at him, concerned.

“Are you alright?”

Obi-Wan waved him off.

“It’s nothing. I just… had to remind myself I’m not twenty years old anymore,” he said in a self-deprecating tone, but Anakin didn’t buy it. Unfortunately, there was no time for interrogation, not while Padmé’s assassin was still out there.

When Obi-Wan finally regained his strength, they entered the club.

Heavy music blared from the speakers, neon lights illuminated the dance floor, and the crowd pressed in around them. A completely drunk Gran female latched onto Anakin’s arm, blinking her three eyelids “flirtatiously” and mumbling something incomprehensible. He shook her off.

“You will leave me alone,” he said in a steady voice, raising his hand to the level of her three eyes.

“I-I leaf y-you all one…” she muttered drunkenly but actually turned away, stumbling toward a table where other Grans sat, completely wasted.

While he was dealing with the obtrusive woman, Obi-Wan had already made his way to the bar, using the Force to “convince” a Balosar boy sitting next to him to leave. Anakin scanned the club, searching for the bounty hunter. The place was packed with all kinds of species - Twi’leks, Grans, humans, Togrutas, Ithorians - all of them eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and interest. Well, it wasn’t every day that a man as handsome as him wandered into an establishment like this on Level 1313. And maybe the two lightsabers strapped to his belt had something to do with it.

As he continued looking around, he stole occasional glances toward Obi-Wan, but the older Jedi was just sitting casually on a barstool, chatting with the humanoid bartender, a lazy, knowing smile on his lips as he idly swirled a glass of blue liquor. Anakin wanted to roll his eyes, this was not the time for flirting, but before he could say anything, his attention was drawn to a helmeted figure creeping through the crowd toward Obi-Wan, a blaster aimed at the unaware Jedi.

Pushing through the crowd, Anakin kept his eyes locked on the woman. Just as she was a few steps away from Kenobi, he outstretched his hand and let the Force flow through him, sending a wave of energy that hurled her backward into the opposite wall. At the same time, Obi-Wan turned, igniting his lightsaber, but only managed to graze her shoulder before she crumpled to the ground.

They exchanged a glance before moving toward the fallen bounty hunter. This time, the crowd parted for them, watching with a mix of hesitation and fear.

“Jedi business. Go back to your drinks,” Anakin said, as Obi-Wan lifted the barely conscious woman.

No one really stopped them on their way out, but every pair of eyes was glued to them. Anakin just wanted to leave that place. They used one of the rear exits, and once they were outside, Kenobi unceremoniously threw the woman to the ground. Or more precisely, let go of her, causing her face to make a romantic duracrete acquaintance.

Anakin flinched. Mindless violence was his thing. His Obi-Wan would have tried to extract the truth amicably first, and if that didn’t work, then he’d let Anakin do his part.

But now Kenobi’s posture had changed drastically - arms crossed, face darkened, eyes shooting lightning at her.

“Do you know who your target is?” he asked, his voice cold.

Anakin’s heart started galloping, but he forced himself to focus, refusing to let stupid thoughts take root in his head.

“The Naboo senator,” the woman rasped, her voice hoarse and slurred, as if her jaw was broken.

“Who is your employer?” Anakin took over this time.

She spat blood onto the ground and grunted.

“It was just a job.”

Anakin almost rolled his eyes at her little game. He already knew who had hired her, and if not for Obi-Wan’s presence, he would have dealt with her long ago, doing Jango a favor in the process.

“Who hired you?” he insisted, because the show had to go on.

Her face twisted in a grimace, and she spat again, this time, right onto Anakin’s boot.

Okay, now he was getting pissed.

“The senator’s death is inevitable anyway. If not me, someone else will take my place and-”

Before she could finish, the alley filled with the familiar buzzing of a lightsaber and a sharp blue glow.

Anakin turned in disbelief to Obi-Wan. His face, illuminated by the blade, was grim. Eyes narrowed, mouth twisted in antipathy.

Anakin lost his breath for what felt like the hundredth time that night. His heart clenched.

“Stop playing games, or a broken jaw will be the least of your problems.” Obi-Wan growled, bringing his lightsaber closer to her face. The blue light reflected off her contorted expression. “Now, tell me: who hired you?” His voice softened, almost sweet, flirtatious.

The woman looked around in fear, but there was no one else in the alley. Just her and two Jedi, one of whom was holding a lightsaber dangerously close to her neck. She glanced at the ground, seeming to weigh her options.

“It was another bounty hunter, called Jen-„

But before she could finish, a dart hit her straight in the neck.

He and Obi-Wan turned simultaneously toward the direction the shot had come from, and - there he was.

Wearing full beskar armor, standing on the rooftop as if nothing had happened.

Jango Fett.

Wait… shouldn’t he be gone by now?

Jango loaded his blaster and aimed.

That definitely didn’t happen last time.

Everything happened in the blink of an eye, yet at the same time, Anakin felt as if time had slowed to a crawl.

The sound of a shot.

Someone screamed his name. 

A sharp, burning pain in his side.

And Obi-Wan lying unconscious on the ground, dart in his arm. 

“Master!”

Chapter Text

  𓇻

Whatever happened next was a hazy dream. Or a nightmare.

There were voices.

Other people.

Someone called for him.

He saw an illuminated river of lightsabers.

Who had called the Jedi - he? A passerby? He couldn’t remember.

All he recoiled was Obi-Wan Kenobi’s unconscious - lifeless - body lying in the dark alley. And a laugh. A distant chuckle, dark and screeching, harsh against the silence.

You did it, the laugh seemed to say, You killed him. This is a reward for your insolence.

I did it.

I killed him.

Obi-Wan is dead because of me.

Again.

Suddenly, the air was too dense to breathe, his body too weak to move. Someone, probably, grabbed his arm. There were voices, but they blended into a single noise, a blur of sound. They were here, behind the fog, the noise, the voices in his head - his own and the other, the familiar, screeching one that drowned all out.

It was your insolence. Your stubbornness. Your hopelessness.

I killed him. I killed him. I killed him. I killed him. I killed him. I killed him. I killed him.

Haze.

   𓇻

He felt fire - wide tongues of flame, devouring everything in their path, licking his skin like a longing lover. The sweltering heat, almost familiar, thickened the air, burned his lungs, and choked his throat. The air was heavy, reeking of sulfur and the sharp prickle of acid. His eyes stung, filled with unshed tears.

He wanted to scream, but he knew it would be agony - his larynx would sear, filling with acid and ash.

Yet, despite the fire and unbearable heat, the place was drowned in complete darkness. Not a single source of light. Not even the tiniest spark. And silence. A silence so dense he could hear a needle drop.

Almost… almost as if he were in a void. Nothingness. Death.

Again.

Maybe that’s what had happened. Maybe… he had ruined his chance. Maybe the Force had decided he was beyond redemption, condemning him to never-ending suffering - to the fire’s tongues licking his skin, searing his throat, suffocating his breath. Burning, but never quite consuming him.

His own, ceaseless hell.

I failed. I lost. I made a mistake. I was wrong. So wrong. I can’t be helped. I- I- 

I have failed you.

He fell to his knees - or tried to - and buried his face in his hands. His fingers dug into his temples, clutching his hair, his breath hitching, the scream caught in his throat.

I have failed you. I have failed you. I have failed you.

At some point, he began murmuring - an endless stream of self-hatred and remorse.

I have failed you. I have failed you. I have failed you. I have failed you. I have failed you.

Time lost all meaning. He was trapped in a limbo of whispers, suffering, regret, pain.

I have failed you. I have failed you. I have- 

“Liar! All you do is lie! That’s what you do best - lie and deceive!”

The voice struck him like lightning, yanking him from his own mind.

It was distant, muffled by the wall, but its intent was unmistakable - hatred, so much hatred. Pain. And… sorrow.

“You only think about yourself. About what benefits you! ” The voice was harsh, raw with loathing, thick with anguish.

“Look at me, Anakin. Look at me!”

A force tugged at his nape, invisible hands pulling him up. 

His eyes shot open, locking onto golden ones. Eyes filled with so much pain. So much hatred. So much sorrow.

Eyes unknown, yet familiar.

   𓇻

He woke up suddenly, bolting upright, immediately realizing it was a bad idea. A wave of nausea hit him hard, making his stomach funny. Within seconds, he managed to lean over the edge of the bed just in time to empty its contents.

“Easy, easy, my boy.” The familiar voice was soft, gentle. A warm hand rubbed soothing circles on his arched back - no harshness, no resentment, no anger.

“Master,” he croaked, his throat raw and burning with the acidic aftertaste.

“It’s okay, Anakin. You’re safe. We’re in the Halls of Healing.” Qui-Gon Jinn’s voice was steady, calming. Anakin let his eyes close for just a moment.

Fire.

Heat.

Hatred.

Sorrow.

The streets of Coruscant.

The bounty hunter.

The lifeless body on the ground.

“Obi-Wan!”

He tried to lunge out of bed, but Qui-Gon’s firm hands caught him, holding him steady, gently easing him back down.

“He’s okay, Ani. Obi-Wan is fine.”

Anakin must have looked unconvinced because Qui-Gon let out a quiet sigh before continuing.

“We’re still not sure if it was the concentration of the poison or the fact that he was hopefully only struck in the arm, but it never reached his heart. We managed to get it out of his system.”

That was impossible.

Anakin had seen what the toxin did to the Clawdite woman - how it ripped through her body in seconds, forcing her into her true form before killing her instantly. Obi-Wan was an incredible Jedi, but he wasn’t invincible. He was still human. And humans were fragile. So easy to break. So easy to kill.

“Don’t blame yourself for what happened, my young Padawan.” Qui-Gon’s voice was as comforting as his touch. He pressed a glass of water into Anakin’s hands, still rubbing his back.

But how could he not? If only he had learned from his past. If only he had been more focused, more careful, more…

“And what about Pad- ” He caught himself. “Senator Amidala?”

Qui-Gon’s soft smile was knowing.

“She is under the strict protection of Masters Koth and Billaba. Nothing will happen to her.”

“Oh.”

The tension in Anakin’s chest and stomach eased slightly. He was still troubled, but as long as Padmé was safe and Obi-Wan alive, he could breathe.

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, broken only by the steady hum and beeping of machines. Anakin let his mind drift, pushing aside thoughts of fallen Jedi, bounty hunters, fire, and golden eyes. He closed his eyes, again - no flames, no hatred. Just gentle, calming darkness.

There was a rustle of fabric and Qui-Gon’s hand squeezed his shoulder.

“Just rest, Ani. I’ll check on Obi-Wan.” At the doorway, Qui-Gon hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder.

“You know,” he mused, smiling, “I didn’t expect you two to bond so quickly.”

Anakin blinked, confused.

Qui-Gon chuckled. “Just like you, when he woke up from his narcosis, the first thing he wanted to know was: ‘How is Anakin?’’

And then, Qui-Gon was gone, leaving Anakin alone with a turmoil in his mind and a heartbeat too loud in his chest.

   𓇻

They kept him in the medical ward longer than necessary. He wasn’t even the one who got hurt. Anakin was more than ready to leave this place with its foul stench of chemicals, but Qui-Gon had all but shoved him back onto the bed, insisting there was no need to rush and that he should rest. The thing was, he had already slept enough. If they forced him to stay in bed any longer, he was convinced he’d be unable to sleep for another week or two.

“I’m fine,” he repeated as one of the medical droids took a blood sample.

“I know you are, Anakin. But caution is always better than carelessness.”

Master Jinn’s ever-calm tone barely concealed the overprotectiveness that had started to grate on Anakin’s nerves. He just wanted to leave.

They sat in silence until the droid finally left the room. Even then, Anakin wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, aside from his usual “Can I leave now?”

In the end, it was Qui-Gon who spoke first.

“After what happened, the Council is considering what steps to take next.”

At first, his voice was as steady as ever, but Anakin had spent a decade with this man, he could hear the weariness, the resignation beneath the words.

Council meetings tended to drag on longer than necessary in special circumstances. And sometimes, even in trivial ones - like why Anakin had built a podrace track in the Temple halls, why he had challenged Tutso to a blindfolded sparring match, or why he had reprogrammed one of the Temple’s cleaning droids to chase other Padawans. Truly, frivolous reasons to keep him kneeling before the Council all night.

Maybe he should start acting his soul’s age. Then again, why shouldn’t he take advantage of his second youth?

"It would be much easier to keep Senator Amidala safe on Coruscant, but it seems unlikely that the attempt you and Obi-Wan stopped was the last one."

His heartbeat spiked, and unfortunately, the monitor showed it. His face reddened as the beeping quickened, but Qui-Gon, either too lost in thought or choosing to spare his Padawan from further torment, gave no indication that he noticed.

Anakin knew what was coming next. And because of that, he had to remind himself not to grin.

Naboo - where his and Padmé’s romance had blossomed. Where, for a fleeting moment, they were just reckless, untroubled young adults, unaware of what lay ahead. Thinking about those moments turned him into a nostalgic old man, pressing against his heart like a weight. Before his eyes, memories surfaced, fresh as if they had happened yesterday, of Padmé, young and beautiful, devoted to her faith in the justice of the Senate. Untainted by politics. Untainted by him.

"The Supreme Chancellor suggested that she should return to her home planet."

Happiness and nostalgia vanished, replaced by a creeping sense of dread. Supreme Chancellor suggested… He didn’t like the sound of that. If Palpatine was involved, there had to be some sort of plot.

He frowned, the thought gnawing at him. Was the first time also Palpatine’s idea? He hadn’t questioned it then - why would he? Palpatine had been his “friend,” and the idea of spending time with Padmé had been too tempting to refuse. But now, with everything he knew, doubt settled in like a weight on his chest.

Qui-Gon must have noticed his unease because he placed a steadying hand on Anakin’s shoulder, rubbing it gently with his thumb.

“I’m not sure either. If someone wants to harm her, changing planets won’t change that,” he said. “But for now, it seems to be the best option.”

Anakin let out a frustrated breath and fell back onto the bed, eyes shutting. What a mess.

“The Council agrees that she still needs additional security,” Qui-Gon continued, his voice measured. “And the Chancellor wants it to be you and Obi-Wan.”

That… surprised him.

Back then, it had just been him and Padmé while Obi-Wan was chasing the mysterious bounty hunter. Did my interference really mess up the timeline that much? Because suddenly, he realized just how many things didn’t align with his past. And to his utter surprise (and horror) most of those changes seemed to revolve around Obi-Wan.

He swallowed at the thought. How is it possible that his attempts to make things right had such an impact on his former master? His past self had held a grudge against the older Jedi, but now, that bitterness barely lingered. It was as if the moment he woke up in his nine-year-old body, all those old resentments had dissolved. He hadn’t forgotten them, but they felt distant - more like echoes of another life than emotions he still carried.

Even when he first met Obi-Wan all those years ago on Tatooine, the strongest feeling hadn’t been anger, but fear . A fear that somehow, Obi-Wan would see him, see through him, and reveal to the world that this child was the future terror of the galaxy.

Had his past self simply made peace with his friend’s choices over time? Or was it that his younger self, untainted by hatred, had never held such darkness to begin with?

Whatever the reason, he didn’t want his decisions to affect Obi-Wan so drastically. Then again, saving Qui-Gon had already set enormous consequences in motion. He had freed Kenobi from the burden of becoming a Master too soon.

Whatever happened to him since then…was no longer in Anakin’s hands.

“What about the bounty hunter? Is someone going to track him down?”

That was another thing troubling him. If he and Kenobi were sent to Naboo, who would uncover the truth about Kamino?

“Yes, we have that covered as well,” Qui-Gon reassured him. “Master Che managed to retrieve the dart from Obi-Wan’s arm. The Council has commissioned Master Vos to investigate the matter.”

Anakin cackled, closing his eyes again. Well, if not Obi-Wan, Quinlan Vos was probably the second-best option to find the truth. Or to cause an interplanetary incident. At worst - both.

“How’s Obi-Wan?” he asked after a beat.

Master Jinn sighed. “Better than expected. He’s still weak, even though they managed to extract most of the poison, some of it still made it into his system. But Master Che says his life is no longer in danger.”

“Can… ugh… can I talk to him?”

Qui-Gon smiled. “Once your test results come back clear.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “They were already fine yesterday. And the day before.”

Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder lightly. “Better safe than sorry.”

   𓇻

Anakin hadn’t expected to feel this stressed just standing in front of a door. A snowy-white door leading to one of the rooms in the Halls of Healing. Staring at it, he felt as if he were about to come face to face with a truth he wasn’t ready to hear. His heart pounded violently against his ribs, and his palms were slick with sweat.

This is stupid. He knew that. And yet, somehow, facing reality felt impossible.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked.

“Come in,” said the familiar voice. It took him another few moments before he finally pressed the handle.

Obi-Wan was half-sitting on his bed, a datapad in hand. He looked pale - so much so that his disheveled hair appeared even more ginger than usual. Dark circles shadowed his squinting eyes, and his entire silhouette seemed… fragile.

For a moment, Obi-Wan only stared at him, dazed, before a soft smile brightened his face.

“I see you’ve been discharged. Lucky bastard. They want to keep me here for eternity, I guess.”

“Well, I wasn’t the one shot with a poisonous dart, after all.” Anakin tried to joke, but his voice came out surprisingly hoarse. He took a step toward the older Jedi, whose face twisted in discomfort.

“Sorry, I know it’s still fresh, but-”

“No, it’s okay,” Obi-Wan interrupted. “I just think it could have been worse if I hadn’t pushed you.”

Anakin grimaced as he stepped further into the room, approaching Obi-Wan’s bed. The older man visibly flinched but still observed him with a raised brow, curiosity flickering in his blue-gray eyes. At least they looked the same, still annoyingly sharp, still full of life.

“And I think we both agree that was really stupid of you,” Anakin said, his tone coming out harsher than he intended. He cleared his throat. “Along with some other things you did.”

Obi-Wan snorted.

“I’ll admit that some of my decisions that night were… questionable. I could have approached things from a different perspective,” he mused, then met Anakin’s gaze. “But saving you wasn’t one of them.”

Oh. Oh.

Anakin hadn’t expected that… such honesty, such directness. And the way Obi-Wan was looking at him, unwavering and certain… Kriff. It was overwhelming. He had to glance away, suddenly feeling as though the room was closing in on him.

Why did Obi-Wan always have to be this selfless, always willing to help him, even when there was no attachment between them?

“You’re ridiculous,” Anakin muttered at last, voice strained.

Obi-Wan only raised an eyebrow. “And you’re alive. So I’d say we’re even.” Then, with a sigh, his expression darkened. “I assume the real reason you came here is our departure to Naboo?”

Anakin frowned. Did he really seem like someone who wouldn’t check on an injured Jedi out of simple concern? Then again… he wasn’t exactly good at expressing emotions. Fine. He’d play along. Safe territory.

“I’m honestly amazed they’re letting us go after what happened,” he said, crossing his arms. “But as far as I know, there aren’t many skyscrapers on Naboo to jump off of.”

Obi-Wan smirked. “It’s a forested planet. I’m sure I can find a tree tall enough.”

Anakin let out a small sneer, but his head was boiling.

“You don’t actually believe this will solve anything, right?” Obi-Wan sighed, his frown deepening.

“I… I have my doubts that whoever is behind the assassinations will come after us on Naboo,” Anakin admitted, drawing from experience. “But that doesn’t mean there won’t be any incidents.”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips, brows knitting in thought.

“Perhaps I have to agree, but… it’s not like we have much of a choice.” Then his expression shifted into something… sinister. “Or maybe that’s not the only reason you’re so uneasy about going there. Maybe it has something to do with a certain Senator.”

Anakin, red as a beetroot, immediately lunged at him, clapping a hand over Obi-Wan’s mouth. His eyes darted around the room, as if expecting Master Yoda to materialize from the shadows and catch him in his “infatuation.”

Obi-Wan grinned under Anakin’s palm, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his amused eyes. Anakin growled.

“You’re such an asshole,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

Obi-Wan shuddered with laughter, his dry lips moving against Anakin’s palm.

“Don’t say anything,” Anakin warned, narrowing his eyes. “Or we’ll go back to the topic of your long-time-not-seen love.”

That shut him up. Obi-Wan visibly stiffened, his whole posture deflating in an instant. His fingers curled around Anakin’s wrist, carefully pulling his hand away from his mouth. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, heavier.

“You’ve won.”

Anakin blinked. He’d meant to tease, to throw Obi-Wan’s own mockery back at him, but he hadn’t expected that reaction. He took a step back, raising his hands in surrender. Obi-Wan’s narrowed gaze lingered on him - not cold, not angry, just… burdened. Then he looked away, fixing his stare on the wall.

“I- I’ll leave you for now. Need to prepare for our mission,” Anakin said carefully, backing toward the door with a lopsided smile.

Obi-Wan nodded but said nothing.

As Anakin slipped out of the room, he was left with a strange weight in his chest.

   𓇻

“I don’t like this idea of hiding.”

As they walked through Coruscant, Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged glances at the irritation in Padmé’s voice. Even without knowing her well, it was impossible to miss her determination and vigor. She wasn’t the type to sit idly by, waiting for a prince charming to rescue her - she was a woman of action, brave and strong.

These were some of the very qualities that had made him fall for her.

“We understand your reluctance, and I hope that, thanks to Master Vos, we will soon uncover the true culprit,” Obi-Wan said, his tone formal and polite.

Padmé scowled at him. “I haven’t spent a year fighting against the Military Creation Act just to run and hide when its fate is being decided!”

“Sometimes we have to put aside our pride and do what’s necessary,” Anakin added.

She growled, turning on him with irritation. He involuntarily lowered his gaze. The last thing he wanted was to upset her.

“Ani, you’re still young, and you don’t understand politics,” she said sharply. “Please, save your opinions for a more appropriate time.”

He slumped further, not expecting such a bite in her words. Padmé had always had a temper, and when she blew up, it was best to step aside. Fortunately, it was usually the endless bickering of politicians that set her off, not him, but he knew better than to add fuel to the fire.

Sensing the tension, Obi-Wan subtly stepped between them like a shield.

“I understand your frustration with this… passivity,” he said, “but until we’re sure you’re out of danger, Padmé, it would be best for you to stay out of the public eye for a while. And please, don’t take it out on Anakin. I know he can be annoying and speaks before he thinks far too often, but he’s not a punching bag.”

“Hey!” Anakin protested, though not entirely seriously.

Padmé sighed and shook her head.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Ani, I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just this whole situation…”

She looked troubled, her brows knitted and eyes narrowed.

“You’re stressed, I get that. And I really don’t mind being a punching bag. Ask Master Koon - he taught us hand-to-hand combat. After his lessons, I’d end up covered in bruises.”

Padmé laughed, and Obi-Wan grimaced.

“Don’t remind me of those lessons. My tailbone still hasn’t recovered from the time he threw me over his shoulder.”

Finally, they reached the landing pad, where their Nabuian starship awaited them - along with Qui-Gon Jinn, Captain Typho (yes, Anakin had finally learned his name), and one of Padmé’s handmaidens.

“Master,” Anakin and Obi-Wan greeted simultaneously with a shallow bow.

“I hope my Padawans haven’t caused you any trouble so far, Senator Amidala.”

Both Padawans grunted while the Senator chuckled.

“Not at all, Master Jinn. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with Dormé.”

The older man smiled at her before turning to his Padawans, his expression growing serious.

“I want the two of you to remember to stay put on Naboo. Do not attract attention, and do nothing without checking in with me or the Council first.”

“Yes, Master Jinn,” they responded in unison, like lectured younglings from the crèche.

A corner of Qui-Gon’s lips twitched, but his face remained stern.

“Why do I have the feeling the two of you will be the reason my hair turns gray?”

They both gave him innocent looks, prompting him to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I need to make a Thyssian Root Tea. A lot of it.”

They discussed the mission details, checked in on Master Vos’s progress, and received yet another warning not to do anything reckless - like jumping off the 500th floor of a building. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“There aren’t skyscrapers on Naboo,” he reminded them.

“Haven’t you mentioned something about finding a really tall tree?”

This time, Anakin was rewarded with a growl and a deep, resigned sigh.

“Just be careful. Not only with Senator Amidala, but with yourselves as well.”

Anakin straightened up and saluted.

“Don’t worry, Master. I’ll make sure Obi-Wan stays away from any heights.”

Anakin jolted with a scowl when Obi-Wan pinched his elbow.

“Unfortunately, I can’t make the same promise,” Obi-Wan said dryly. “Your current Padawan might return with one less limb or two.”

Anakin’s jaw dropped. A really low blow. And completely unintentional, of course (or perhaps). Obi-Wan merely shot him a smug glance and - a kriffing smirk. T h e  a s s h o l e.

Qui-Gon didn’t look amused in the slightest. He just stared at them sternly, probably wondering where he could find a container of Thyssian Root Tea. At that, Obi-Wan seemed to humble himself a little.

“Don’t worry, Master. I’ll keep an eye on both of them. And I’ll stay away from any tall buildings… or trees.”

Only a little.

  𓇻

Their journey to Naboo was uneventful, passing without a single disturbance. For most of it, the three of them remained in near silence. Obi-Wan had decided to spend the trip meditating, secluding himself in one of the compartments with a knowing smirk and a wink in Anakin’s direction before disappearing inside. Anakin rolled his eyes. Bastard.

Left alone with Padmé, he saw an opportunity to talk to her. She had spent nearly the entire trip focused on her datapad, but still, he tried. And in the end… It was awkward.

She smiled at him politely, spoke in that soft, familiar voice, and even chuckled at his foolish attempts at flirting, but it all felt… distant. Forced. Like she wasn’t truly interested in talking but didn’t want to be outright rude, either. He supposed it had to do with her earlier snap at him. Maybe he really should learn to keep his mouth shut sometimes. He hadn’t thought it was such a big deal, but clearly, it had left a bitter taste in her mouth. And the last thing he wanted was to irritate her even more. Sensing her reluctance, he made a half-hearted excuse and left her alone for the rest of the trip. Still, the disappointment and frustration lingered.

And so, the rest of their trip dragged on - Kenobi meditating in solitude, Padmé absorbed in her work, and Anakin… bored, staring out the window at the endless blur of hyperspace. The tension in the ship was suffocating, and he longed to be anywhere but stuck here for several more hours. Their ship wasn’t the fastest in the galaxy, and they had to take a few detours for security reasons, prolonging the journey even further. So when the captain finally announced they were about to drop out of hyperspace, he nearly jumped out of his seat.

Naboo was a stark contrast to Coruscant’s urbanized surface or Tatooine’s desolation. From space, its vast green landscapes and deep blue oceans stretched endlessly below them. With only a few cities, Theed standing as its crown jewel, the planet looked almost wild, untouched.

A familiar pang of nostalgia tightened in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Padmé lowering her datapad, gazing at her homeworld with an unreadable expression. She must have felt his eyes on her because she turned slightly, meeting his gaze - and this time, she smiled. A real, genuine smile.

Maybe not all hope was lost.

They landed about twenty kilometers from the Naberrie’s villa. Near the landing pad, a Nubian speeder awaited them, its chauffeur dressed in decorated haberdashery. The middle-aged man bowed respectfully, his face lighting up with a warm smile as he turned to Padmé.

"It’s good to see you, m’lady," he said, gently clasping her arms in greeting.

"It’s good to see you too, Korey," she replied with a fond smile before introducing him to Obi-Wan and Anakin. Korey shook their hands firmly, thanking them for keeping the senator safe.

As the speeder set off, Padmé engaged in conversation with him. He seemed to be some sort of long-time family servant or butler, but since she didn’t specify his role, Anakin decided it would be rude to ask. What mattered was that he clearly cared about her safety.

Not wanting to interrupt, Anakin turned his attention to Obi-Wan, who was gazing out at the Naboo landscape. His face expressed interest - eyes gleaming with quiet admiration, brows slightly furrowed, lips pressed together in thought.

Anakin nudged his ankle lightly. "Different from home," he mused with a grin.

"Yeah," Obi-Wan agreed with a small smile before his expression darkened slightly. "Unfortunate that the last time we were here, we were fighting that Sith."

Anakin exhaled sharply at the mention of the red-faced Zabrak, a tightness rising in his chest. His memories of that day were hazy - flashes of Obi-Wan falling from the higher platform, the overwhelming surge of the Force that had nearly crushed him under its weight.

"We all made it out alive. That’s what matters," he said, his voice rougher than intended. Even if Obi-Wan noticed, he chose not to comment. Instead, he simply offered him a small, knowing smile before turning back to the window.

They remained silent for the rest of the ride.

Padmé’s family house was an impressive piece of architecture - an immense, palace-like building surrounded by wild nature, towering over the smooth surface of the lake. Despite its obvious wealth and splendor, the house didn’t feel as obnoxious as her apartment on Coruscant. This was a place he had always remembered with nostalgia, warmth, and love. A place he had never dared to visit in his previous life after his betrayal.

The Naberrie family home was sacred ground - he wouldn’t have dared to touch it, too afraid of poisoning it with his darkness.

As they stepped out of the vehicle, he found himself momentarily lost in the view. It was exactly as he remembered. He blinked quickly to rid himself of the stinging in his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Ani,” Padmé stood next to him, gazing at the house with a soft smile. “This place is a treasure to my family. I remember spending entire vacations here as a child. My sister and I always wanted to swim across the lake, but nothing ever escaped our mother’s attention.” She laughed, and at the sound, Anakin’s heart fluttered. “I wish they could be here.”

“For now, you know it’s safer to keep them away, even if it hurts.”

She smiled sadly. “Yeah, you’re right. But having your family close is nice, don’t you think?”

He swallowed hard. He was a Jedi. The Chosen One. Being close to the people he cared about was bound to end in disaster. It was safer to keep them at a distance. He shrugged.

“Maybe. But keeping them safe should be the priority.”

Padmé tilted her head, studying him like he was a puzzle she was trying to solve. Not far from the truth, perhaps…

“Korey, is everything ready at home?” she asked, turning to the man unloading their, mostly her, luggage from the speeder’s trunk.

He gave her a professional yet warm smile. “Everything is set, madame.”

She turned back to Anakin.

“Ani, I suppose I can’t stop you from doing a security check around the house,” she said, her voice slightly high-pitched. “So I’d suggest starting on the second floor. There’s a parlor with a big, open terrace, probably the most obvious place for an attack.”

“There won’t be any attack as long as I’m here,” he replied, “but you’re right.”

He gestured to Obi-Wan, who started walking toward him, but before he could get close, Padmé tugged on his tunic.

“No!” she cried out, panicked, but soon cleared her throat and regained her usual senatorial composure. “I mean... it’s a big building. And I think Knight Kenobi can handle the outside check. I believe it would be safer to check both the inside and the outside of the house.”

He and Obi-Wan exchanged glances, both confused by Padmé’s uncharacteristically anxious attitude. In the end, the older Jedi shrugged and smiled at the senator.

“It’s a good idea, Padmé. I’ll check the gardens and then join Anakin later.”

They split up, and Anakin, following Padmé’s suggestion, headed for the second floor. Normally, he would have started in the cellar or the first floor, but since she had pointed out the room with the terrace as a potential weak point, he listened to her. It was a logical place to start, though a bit too obvious for his liking, and he really doubted any assassin would overlook it. But when Naboo’s Queen tells you to check the second-floor parlor, you check the second-floor parlor.

Jumping over every other step, he smiled to himself as he took in the familiar walls, reminiscing. This house was the very definition of family - welcoming, warm, a place you always wanted to return to after a long separation. The walls were adorned with photographs of Padmé’s family: her parents, her sister and grandmother in senatorial outfits, her as a child, as the Naboo Queen, her father embracing her pregnant mother. It was so obviously a family home, so painfully full of warmth, that Anakin almost felt like an intruder, looking at it all.

He could have been part of it... if he hadn't broken it.

His steps grew heavier as he climbed the last few steps, and he stood at the top of the stairs. To the left was a shorter corridor with two doors on either side. If he remembered correctly, one led to the storeroom, the other to the pantry. The right side was much longer, with only one door, while the rest of the wall was lined with family heirlooms and ornaments.

Trying to shake off the sudden weight on his shoulders, he moved toward the door. As he got closer, he noticed it was ajar. Instantly, he tensed and reached for his hips, where his lightsabers should have been. He cursed softly when he realized he had left them in his luggage. Kenobi had suggested it would be smarter not to carry them around at all times, and now here he was… kriff.

Shaking his head, he focused. The Force was still there within him. Lightsabers were just tools. He was the engine, the propeller.

He carefully approached the door, touching the handle, concentrating on the Force. There was someone inside. They weren’t strong in the Force, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be dangerous. With a final breath, he pushed the door open, positioning himself, ready to react.

He froze at the threshold, speechless.

Inside the room stood a woman - she was facing away from him, her hands clasped behind her back, wearing a long, loose dress in a soft plum color. Her dark hair, with a few gray strands, was tied up in a bun.

She slowly turned toward him, and as their eyes met, it took his breath away.

She looked both older and exactly the same. Her skin was lighter, with a few more lines around her eyes, and that smile - her warm smile that reached her brown eyes. A smile he would never mistake for anyone else’s.

“Ani,” she said softly, and at that moment, his legs gave way. His vision blurred, and the tightness in his chest returned.

“Mom” 

Chapter Text

He stumbled as his legs gave out beneath him, his gaze unfocused as he stared blindly at the woman before him. Her flowing dress weaved like leaves in the wind as she moved toward him. He saw her - a familiar face, now filled with concern - as she knelt in front of him, her hands cradling his face with a feather-light touch, her soothing voice calling to him. So familiar. So well-known. So deeply longed for.

“Mom,” he choked out, his voice barely recognizable. His chest tightened, and a knot clenched in his stomach, a million thoughts colliding in his mind at once. “Mom.”

Her soft hands moved from his face to his shoulders, then to his back, pulling him close.

“Ani, my little Ani,” she sobbed, wrapping him in her trembling, bony arms and burying her face in his shoulder. “I thought I would never see you again.”

He couldn’t fully comprehend what was happening - it didn’t feel real. It wasn’t like anything before. Not even something he had dared to dream of.

His mother was here. On Naboo. Safe and sound. Alive.

“Mom,” he repeated, his voice like a broken record, as if the word alone could anchor him at this moment. His eyes burned, and a shudder wracked his body. “Mom.”

With cautious movements, he hugged her back. She still felt so fragile, so vulnerable - yet she was here. His vision blurred, and perhaps, in any other situation, he would have felt shame. But it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered. He clung to her tighter, burying his face in her soft hair, and he cried.

Once again, he was that little lost boy on Tatooine, with his mother as his only shelter, the one he thought he had lost forever.

Anakin didn’t know how long they stayed like that - kneeling on the soft carpet, wrapped in each other’s embrace, locked in their own world where, for this moment, nothing and no one else existed. 

Shmi Skywalker pulled away first, her eyes rimmed with redness, drying traces of tears on her cheeks, and a sincere yet pained smile lighting up her face. Her hands delicately moved across his face, fingers tangling in his short hair as they drifted to his braid. Normally, he wouldn’t let anyone except his master touch it, but this was his mother - an exception to any rule - so he closed his eyes with a smile as her fingers tugged delicately on the braid.

“You’ve grown so much,” she said, looking up at him with a warm smile. “I still remember my little boy, coming to me at night after a nightmare. And look at you now, my love. You are a man now. A Jedi.”

She let go of his braid, but before she could pull her hands away, he took them in his own.

“I missed you so much,” he said in a weak voice, the lump in his throat never truly gone. “I- me- stars, it’s too much.” He chuckled, and so did his mother. One of her hands slipped free and touched his cheek. He took a few shaky breaths before he was sure he could speak again.

“H-how are you even here?”

Anakin had known his mother would be on Naboo - an oath once given - but he hadn’t expected to actually meet her again. He hadn’t planned for it. He only wanted her safe, that was all that mattered. Far away from slavery and monstrous animals.

“Your lovely friend,” she answered, stroking his cheek. “Ten years ago, a delegation from Naboo came to Tatooine, and they bought me from Watto. At first, I didn’t want to go, you know Mos Espa was the only home I knew, but they said the Queen of Naboo herself invited me to her estate. So how could I refuse the Queen?”

Anakin chuckled, shaking his head. Oh, Padmé really was an outstanding woman.

“I- she isn’t- I asked her to do that,” he admitted because there was no need to pretend he had nothing to do with it.

She smiled at him, lovingly. “I know, Ani. And I will be forever grateful for that.”

Then she leaned in and kissed his forehead, and Anakin sighed. He had missed her so much.

“And what are you doing here? Now?”

She moved away slightly, looking at him with a smirk and a gleam in her eyes.

“She invited me here, saying that an exquisite Jedi would be her personal guard.”

They both laughed and finally stood up. Only then did Anakin realize just how petite his mother was. He towered over her by a good head or two.

Shmi tilted her head back to look at him and smiled broadly.

“You’ve grown so much. What are they feeding you in that Temple?”

He had to thank Padmé, and with a hesitation, he let go of his mother, promising her that he would be back as soon as possible.

“Ah, my little Ani!” she laughed, her eyes watery as she massaged his shoulders. “Take your time. We have plenty of it to make up for those lost years.”

He smiled, embracing her once more.

“I know we do. We have all the time in the entire universe.”

His legs still felt wobbly, and his heart was beating a little too fast as he made his way down the stairs. He tried to focus, to let the overwhelming emotions drift into the Force, but no matter how hard he tried -+ he just couldn’t. Instead, he found himself grinning like a lunatic, which, honestly, he probably was.

When he reached the first floor, he looked down.

Padmé was there, standing with her back to him, speaking with Mister Korey. His heart pounded crazily as he practically flew down the stairs and ran toward her. Korey saw him first and gestured in his direction. Padmé had barely turned around before Anakin had her in his arms, hugging her tightly.

Her whole body tensed at the sudden contact, and he knew he must have looked ridiculous, childish, even, but he couldn’t help it.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he muttered into her shoulder, his voice trembling with emotion.

At that, she finally relaxed, responding with a chuckle as she patted his back.

“I guess the surprise was a success,” she teased, hugging him carefully.

“It is… more than I could have possibly dreamed of. You are… amazing, Padmé.”

She held him tightly for a moment before pulling back to arm’s length, looking at him with a gentle smile, warmth softening her deep brown eyes. There was something familiar in her gaze.

“Everyone deserves a moment of happiness, Ani.”

Stars, he could have proposed to her right then and there. And to think he had ever doubted her feelings.

He wanted to hug her again, to thank her properly for the gift he surely didn’t deserve. He wanted to pour all his emotions into that embrace - gratitude, remorse, hope, fondness. He wanted her to know how much this gesture had changed his life, how the mere whisper of that promise had, in some way, saved him from self-destruction.

He couldn’t put it into words.

But he could show her.

And then…

“Am I interrupting something?” Obi-Wan interjected wryly, carrying Padmé’s luggage in his hands. He raised an eyebrow, a grimace settling on his face as he looked at Anakin.

Anakin froze, suddenly too aware of his questionable emotional and physical state - and even more aware that Obi-Wan and his mother, with whom he was supposed to have no connection anymore, were in the same building.

“Are you okay?” Padmé asked quietly, glancing between him and Obi-Wan with concern.

“Force knows for how long,” he muttered, not taking his eyes off his former Master as Obi-Wan carried Padmé’s bags into the living room. Then he turned to her with a pleading expression.

“Could you please let me talk to Kenobi alone? I need to explain the situation to him.”

She furrowed her brows.

“I hope I haven’t violated the Jedi Code in any way. That wasn’t my intention.”

If anyone had - it was Anakin.

“No, it’s not that… I- it’s a little more complicated. I’ll explain later, but I need to talk to him. Please.”

She studied his face for a moment, troubled, before sighing and nodding.

“I’ll be on the second floor,” she announced, motioning for Korey to follow her.

As they disappeared upstairs, Anakin turned to Obi-Wan, who was casually surveying the living room. He didn’t seem particularly suspicious, more likely he was just giving Anakin time to gather his thoughts.

“Before I start, I need you to promise me that you’ll let me finish explaining before calling the Council.”

Obi-Wan smirked, mischief flickering in his supposedly innocent eyes.

“If I had any intention of reporting your infatuation with the Senator, I would have done so already.”

Anakin felt heat rush to his face and neck. He had to look away. Obi-Wan’s melodic laughter didn’t help.

“It’s not that,” he grumbled, still avoiding Kenobi’s piercing, amused gaze. “Could you stop being an ass for a moment? I really need to talk to you about the occupants of this house.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, amusement fading into suspicion. He sat down on one of the three cushioned sofas in the living room. Between them stood an elliptical coffee table resting on a plush carpet. The walls, painted in warm beige, were decorated with artwork Anakin had no interest in reflecting on.

Anakin sat opposite him, closing his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts and his courage. Obi-Wan was a proud man, a textbook Jedi, which made it difficult for Anakin to figure out how to approach the topic of his… attachment. Or rather, the source of it, which was now in the same building as them.

But he had to rip off the Bacta patch before Obi-Wan found out in a less-than-ideal way.

“Like I said, let me finish first before you do anything,” he finally said, resting his hands on his knees. They were shaking uncontrollably.

“The more you say that, the more I want to call Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan snickered.

Anakin shot him a pleading look, at which Obi-Wan sighed.

“Alright, I’ll listen first. Then I’ll decide if dragging him into this is a good idea.”

Anakin took one more deep breath.

“My mom is here,” he blurted out.

Silence.

Anakin hesitantly glanced up at Obi-Wan. The older man’s expression was unreadable - his brows furrowed, lips pressed tightly together, eyes staring at Anakin with an intensity he couldn’t decipher. Before Obi-Wan could say anything, Anakin rushed to fill the silence.

“Before you start, I know we’re not allowed to have attachments. And just so you know, it wasn’t my idea to bring her here. I mean, to this house, specifically. Maybe, just maybe, I had something to do with her being on Naboo. And yes, I know if the Council finds out, they won’t be happy. But that wouldn’t be anything new, right? Ha, I bet Master Windu is already counting my lapses.” He let out a shaky breath and continued before Obi-Wan could cut in.“I just… please, I’m begging you, in the name of sharing the same Master, don’t tell them. Not yet. I haven’t seen her in ten years, Obi-Wan. I- I need this. Please.”

He had hoped that a torrent of words would be a good distraction, but somewhere in the middle, a lump formed in his throat. His voice weakened, bordering on a sob. He had to look down, Obi-Wan shouldn’t see him like this. It was humiliating.

Obi-Wan still said nothing.

The silence stretched for too long, and Anakin was almost certain the older Jedi was contemplating how to break the news that he was about to report him to the Council.

He swallowed hard, fighting back the whimper crawling up his throat.

“Your mom is here,” Obi-Wan repeated slowly, as if testing the taste of the words on his tongue.

Anakin nodded, still staring at his trembling hands, willing himself not to cry.

“And… she is… alright?” Obi-Wan’s voice was hesitant.

Anakin risked a glance at him.

This time, Obi-Wan’s expression was different. Not anger. Not disappointment. But… bewilderment.

“As far as I know, she should be. We only spoke for a few minutes, and I don’t know how she’s been living here for the past decade,” he answered cautiously, unsure why Obi-Wan seemed so rattled.

“And by ‘here’ you mean…?”

“Naboo.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide and his face paled. His chest rose and fell, breaths coming quicker.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin called hesitantly.

But Obi-Wan had already stood up, pacing frantically around the room, muttering to himself. His gaze was unfocused, his usually composed demeanor crumbling before Anakin’s eyes.

The shift was jarring.

The surrounding Force buzzed with nervousness, confusion. This wasn’t like Obi-Wan. He was the most composed and level-headed Jedi Anakin had ever known, so seeing him this unbalanced was highly unusual. Yet, Obi-Wan seemed completely unaware of the worried look Anakin was giving him, still pacing the room and muttering under his breath.

Anakin’s concern deepened. He clenched his jaw and stepped forward, grabbing Obi-Wan’s shoulder to stop him.

“Obi-Wan!”

His former Master barely reacted.

Anakin tightened his grip, fingers digging in.

Obi-Wan winced and finally, his eyes snapped to Anakin’s, though they still seemed lost—like he wasn’t entirely there.

Anakin did the only thing he could think of. With one hand, he cupped Obi-Wan’s jaw, forcing the older man to look straight at him and sent a calming tendril through the Force, the same way Obi-Wan had done for him in his moments of weakness.

Slowly, Obi-Wan’s shoulders slumped. His breath steadied. His body relaxed.

He closed his eyes and nodded.

“Sorry, I just- ” He took a deep breath, his voice quieter now, his jaw working under Anakin’s fingers. “Sorry.”

Anakin hesitated before asking, “What happened?”

Obi-Wan sighed, shaking his head.

“Not now.” His voice was weak, almost… defeated. Then he looked up at Anakin, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “As long as this doesn’t interfere with our mission, I’ll let it slide. Don’t make me regret it.”

Anakin squeezed his shoulder once more and squeezed his jaw playfully, grinning, though his heart wasn’t in it. Obi-Wan glanced at him with an eloquent look, and squinted slightly.

Anakin quickly let go, raising his hands in surrender.

“Sorry, personal space, I know. And don’t worry, I won’t let my guard down. My connections to the women in this house are separate from my loyalty to the Jedi Council.”

Obi-Wan shook his head but finally, genuinely, smiled.

“I’m already starting to regret it.”

𓇻

For the next few hours, Anakin tried to focus on actually searching the house - not that he truly expected anything to happen, but just in case. In between, he kept checking on his mom, more for his own sake, still not fully comprehending that she was there, just behind the wall.

He felt high on all the emotions that seemed to radiate through the Force around him. Anakin had always been someone whose emotions poured out like a river - wild and disturbed. And he had learned to use that river to break dams and carve new troughs. His emotions were his drive. He had sworn to himself that, in this new-old life, he would allow a moment of respite before letting the current carry him away, but how much could he really change himself?

His mom's surprising appearance, Padmé's role in it, and of course, Obi-Wan. And he would be lying if he said that every time his thoughts drifted away from his mom, they didn’t shift to the strange treatment he was getting from his old master. It was concerning, and Anakin knew he should definitely start paying more attention to it. Whatever was going on with Obi-Wan, he had to put a stop to it before it was too late.

Around 6:00, all the villa’s guests were supposed to meet in the main dining room for dinner. And even though Anakin had informed Obi-Wan and warned his mom about the specifics of the Jedi Code, he was still stressed about their first meeting. Even Obi-Wan's assurances that he wouldn't report him to the Council didn’t ease his nervous pacing, practically stomping a hole in his mom’s room.

“Ani, please sit down, or I’ll get dizzy from your constant motion,” Shmi said, putting on her leaf-shaped earrings. His mom had never been a big fan of body alterations - especially with their meaning in certain slave spheres - and jewelry had always seemed to her like an unnecessary and bothersome obstacle.

“When did you pierce your ears?” he asked, partially out of genuine curiosity and partially to distract himself.

She looked at him through the mirror, smiling softly.

“Not pierced, these earrings have clips. I really didn’t want to do that, but I needed to blend into Naboo’s society. It’s so different from what we had on Tatooine. So lively, colorful, and loud. Not that Tatooine was a particularly quiet place, but this is a different kind of noise. This planet is so… alive.”

“But are you happy now? Here?” he asked, worried.

After all, he had practically torn her away from her home planet. He knew she could have found happiness in that forgotten place. She would have Lars there, the family who bought her from that disgusting Toydarian Watto and took care of her - gave her love and protection till the very end. And years later, they’d give the same to another Skywalker descendant.

She stood up from her ornate chair and stepped in front of him, gently touching his chin with her dainty fingers.

“It’s not the place that makes me happy, sweetheart. Yes, I am. But even if I’d stayed on Tatooine, the answer would still be yes. There’s only one source of my happiness, and it’s you, my love. As long as you’re safe and sound, I’m fulfilled and happy.”

Anakin had to take a deep breath, blinking quickly.

“Stars, Mom. You’re about to meet my Jedi peer. I don’t want him thinking I’m some plaintive mama’s boy.”

His mom snickered in response.

“But you are my plaintive boy,” she said on her way out of the room.

“Mom!” he groaned, not putting much effort into it, just smiling stupidly to himself. He was happy.

When they reached the dining room on the first floor, everyone was already there. Padmé was sitting at the head of the table, with Obi-Wan to her left. The two remaining places with tableware were set - one to her right, the other next to Kenobi. Korey had just emerged from behind a door, probably leading to the kitchen, and was the first to notice them.

“Ah! Mrs. Skywalker, beautiful as ever. And Knight Skywalker, I truly hope that unexpected surprise didn’t cause any problems for you, sir.” Korey’s voice was deep, colored by a heavy accent Anakin couldn’t quite place. He wore an elegant suit with a brown vest and trousers, a gray jacket embroidered with colorful patterns along the sleeves. His dark hair was slicked back into a short ponytail. He looked like someone from the higher spheres, and Anakin was really wondering how he and Padmé met. 

Speaking of whom, she set aside her inseparable datapad and smiled warmly at them.

“I’m glad I could reunite you two, even for a moment. And I’m sorry, Shmi, for such a late heads-up, but I assumed it would be the safest way, with everything going the way it is.”

“Do not worry, Padmé. It was perfect. I am eternally grateful to you.”

“Oh, don’t say that. I didn’t do this for praise, I get enough of that in the Senate. Family deserves to be together after so many years of separation.”

The two women exchanged warm smiles, and Anakin watched them with a wrinkle forming between his brows.

“Oh, wow,” he huffed. “I did not expect my mom to befriend a literal Queen of Naboo. I hope you didn’t spill all my embarrassing childhood stories to her.”

They chuckled, and in the choir of their voices, Anakin realized there was one person who didn’t share the moment. Obi-Wan was watching them with a raised brow and an unreadable expression. His and Anakin’s eyes met for a second, and it felt almost as if the older man was trying to say something with that intense gaze, but Anakin was unfamiliar with that language. There was no bond between them, so he couldn’t read or feel whatever was going on in Obi-Wan’s mind. He just had to hope he'd magically guess it.

Obi-Wan ended their little staring contest with a throat-clear and a disarming smile. He walked up to them and bowed elegantly to his mother. Anakin rolled his eyes without even trying to hide it. This cursed charmer.

“I’m honored to meet you, Miss Skywalker,” he said, gently taking her hand and… of course, pecking it lightly. Out of the corner of his eye, Anakin could see his mother’s face turning red as she smiled, clearly enchanted.

Is Kenobi’s role in this twisted timeline to charm every woman in my life?

“Obi-Wan, at your service, my lady. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the woman responsible for giving the galaxy such a... unique gift.”

Anakin looked at him, jaw open in disbelief. Seriously?! Even worse, his mom chuckled, clearly missing the subtle dig hidden in Kenobi’s deceitfully polite words.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Obi-Wan. I’m glad to finally meet one of my boy’s friends.”

We’re not friends, he wanted to say, but Obi-Wan beat him to it, again.

“Oh, you have no idea, Miss Skywalker. Since Anakin joined the Jedi, so many things have changed. But maybe let’s talk about it later, I’d love to hear those embarrassing stories about our little Ani.”

Anakin groaned as the kriffing Kenobi pulled out a chair for her on Padmé’s right side. Which, naturally, meant he had to sit next to Obi-Wan. The rest of the dinner was spent watching his old Master charming the life out of his mom, while Anakin sulked and stabbed at his purée like it had personally wronged him. From time to time, Padmé joined the cheerful chitchat, leaving him to his misery.

“Oh yes. I remember when Ani was three or four, he was so excited to see the 50th Boonta Eve Classic competition. But since we couldn’t afford actual tickets, he decided the only way to participate was to climb one of the hills near the canyon. And with all his luck, the exact hill he picked happened to be reserved for some very wealthy Bothan nabobs with a whole herd of lurca hounds.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Probably the fact that he was so small, and already knew Tatooine like the back of his hand, helped him escape them.”

“Shouldn’t you be more terrified by the fact I could’ve, I don’t know... died?” Anakin asked, half-amused, half-appalled.

“Back then? I was,” she admitted with a soft smile. “But now? Now I just think it’s incredible that of all the hills, you had to choose that particular one.”

Anakin sighed and swirled the wine in his glass, watching the dark red liquid coat the sides. After dinner, the conversation had moved into the living room, where his mom, Obi-Wan, and Padmé were still talking like old friends. Even though he wasn’t thrilled about being the center of so many stories, he decided to stay - at least to prevent his mom from revealing too much, especially now that alcohol had entered the equation. Only Obi-Wan had declined the fine Corellian wine.

“Is it a Jedi thing?” Shmi asked curiously, taking her own glass from Korey’s tray.

“Not at all,” Obi-Wan said, accepting a cup of tea instead. “The Jedi Code doesn’t forbid alcohol, but we’re encouraged to remain focused and clear-minded. Isn’t that right, Anakin?” He looked meaningfully at the glass in Anakin’s hand.

In response, Anakin sneered, met his gaze challengingly, and took a large sip.  “Don’t underestimate my power.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes but smiled fondly.
 

The rest of the evening passed quietly and surprisingly peacefully. His mom got along with Kenobi, who, from time to time, graced her with subtle compliments mixed with jabs at Anakin ( It’s amazing how well-adjusted Anakin is, considering he didn’t inherit your manners. Or You’re such a graceful, wise woman with endless patience. How on earth did you raise this man?). Naturally, his mom smiled and giggled, because of course she did.

At yet another backhanded remark, ( You’ll be pleased to know, Anakin is quite a pupil. Such passion, such stubbornness, and the occasional dramatic outburst. Truly, the Jedi Order's greatest tria l) he glanced at Padmé, hoping for an ally. But even she, though a little more subtle, only hid her smile behind her hand and gave him an apologetic look.
He was on his own. Again. When Korey brought another tray of wine, Anakin took two glasses. 

Still, it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected.

“You all must be tired after your journey,” Shmi announced after a while, and Anakin was silently, deeply grateful. He couldn’t stand another round of Obi-Wan’s teasing.

“You need to be well-rested to maintain your beauty,” Obi-Wan added smoothly, and then after a short pause: “For how long have you been awake, Anakin?”

“You are a menace,” he growled.

“Oh, give him a break, Obi-Wan,” Shmi said, patting the older man’s shoulder. Then she walked over to Anakin and pulled him into a warm hug, pressing his head to her chest.
“But you do need rest, Ani. You’ve got terrible bags under your eyes.”

“You’ve formed an alliance against me, haven’t you?”

Shmi just laughed and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. Then she and Padmé left the room shoulder to shoulder, chatting and giggling as they went. And Anakin wasn’t sure if he actually liked that. On one hand, seeing his mom on such good terms with his future wife should’ve made him happy, but not if it was built on bullying him . The whole thing left a bit of a sour aftertaste.

“She’s quite delightful,” Obi-Wan said, suddenly beside him, that mischievous smile still lingering. “I can understand your attachment now. I’m starting to think I should’ve been the one to bring her here.”

Anakin didn’t hold back this time. He gave him a firm nudge to the arm. Kenobi only grinned wider.

“You are such an ass. Not goodnight for you!” he added, and stomping like a child, he went to his designated room, accompanied by Kenobi’s vicious laugh.

In the end, the first day at Naberrie’s villa went pretty well, except for a surprise, and Anakin was really hoping that nothing bad would happen for the rest of their time there.

Well… he jinxed it.

Someone knocked on his door nervously, waking him up from a beautiful dream of flying in his Eta-2 starship through endless space, shooting from time to time at Separatist ships, which blew up like fireworks. At first, he wanted to ignore the irritating knocks, but the person on the other side wouldn’t give up. With a groan, he got out of bed and, dragging his bare feet across the soft carpet, went to the door.

He had to squint when the sudden burst of light hit his sleepy face.

“Yeah?” he asked, yawning and covering his eyes with an arm.

“Um… Ani,” the soft, too-well-known voice said.

With surprise, he looked at Padmé standing in her floral robe in the middle of the night, right in front of the door to his bedroom. For a moment, he thought he was still dreaming.

“Padmé?” he asked, still trying to wake up from his sleepy lethargy.

She looked troubled and abashed, not meeting his gaze. Though, he had a strong doubt it was her unusual attempt to seduce him in the middle of the night - she actually looked worried.

“We... I think we need your help,” she murmured. He furrowed his brow.

“What’s happening? Did the assassin find us?” He was almost sure it shouldn’t have happened, but the chances were never zero.

She shook her head.

“No, it’s not that. It’s... Obi-Wan. Please come with me. I’ll explain on the way.”

She didn’t have to repeat it twice. He left the room and took long strides toward Obi-Wan's bedroom, which was one floor down and across the hall from Padmé's. The woman had to jog to catch up with him.

“I woke up and went to the kitchen to get some water. On my way, I heard the… sounds coming from his bedroom. At first, I didn’t react, thinking… you know, male stuff, not judging. But as I was walking back, I actually listened to him. It sounded almost painful, agonizing. I went to him to check if everything was fine, but when I entered his bedroom... Ani, it’s awful. He was tossing around on the bed, mumbling to himself, and when I tried to wake him up… nothing. It was like he was in a trance. Your mom must have heard that too because she tried to help me wake him, but nothing changed. She sent me for you, thinking maybe you could help him somehow. Jedi things and all.”

Now Anakin was fully awake and absolutely worried. He covered the last few meters to Obi-Wan's bedroom in long strides. The door was ajar, and a soft light peeked out from the inside. Just like Padmé had said, the sounds coming from inside were wild - a combination of moans and groans and the rustling of the sheets. And somewhere in the background, he could hear his mother’s calm voice.

Without further ado, he opened the door wide. His mom was sitting at the edge of the bed with a concerned look, but he only spared her a moment; his eyes automatically locked on the figure tossing around on the bed. Kenobi’s face was tense - his forehead furrowed, his lips pursed, and his hair was in complete disarray. Every now and then, he threw his head violently onto the pillow, his body shuddering. He was also mumbling something, unclearly.

“What happened?” Anakin asked, even though Padmé had already explained the situation to him.

“I wish I knew,” his mother replied. “It looks like some sort of seizure. I tried to keep him calm so he doesn’t hurt himself, but every time I got closer to him, he moved away.”

Her voice was clearly filled with concern for whatever was happening to Obi-Wan.

“Should I call for a physician?” Padmé suggested. “It would be hard to get someone at this time, but I can try to pull some strings.”

“Let me try first,” Anakin said, his voice steady but full of uncertainty.

He carefully walked toward the unconscious man, swallowing hard. The closer he got, the more his nerves heightened. He could see Obi-Wan’s eyeballs moving rapidly beneath the thin skin of his pale eyelids.

“Hey, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said softly, keeping his voice low. “Obi-Wan, you’re here? It’s me, your favorite Jedi Anakin.”

His words seemed pointless as Obi-Wan continued tossing his head on the pillow, murmuring under his breath. 

Clearly, talking couldn’t produce any effect. He bit his bottom lip, hoping the idea would come to him out of the blue. His immediate thought was to contact the Council and maybe find someone who could actually help - Master Che, perhaps. But no, something was telling him that bringing the Council into this might not be the best idea, at least not for now. That’s why contacting Qui-Gon Jinn wasn’t much of an appealing option either.

Barriss was technically quite efficient in medical matters, but would she be able to help with... this? It wasn’t a physical injury caused by incorrect fencing technique or a surprise attack. It was… mental. Something was happening in Obi-Wan’s head and…

Head - exactly!

He turned toward the women. They were now standing shoulder to shoulder, looking at him with fear and confusion.

“I… I may have an idea, but it would be safer if both of you left us alone.”

“But, Ani!” Shmi tried to protest, but Padmé laid a hand on her fragile shoulder.

“It’s okay, Shmi. Our Ani is a skillful Jedi, I bet he knows what he’s doing,” she assured the older woman with a warm smile, then shot a glance toward Anakin. A glance saying: I really hope so.

He nodded.

 “Don’t worry, Mom, it’s… Jedi things,” he said lightheartedly, but the joke didn’t lift the dense atmosphere.

“We’ll be in my room,” Padmé added, leading his mother out and giving him one last worried look, which she then turned to Obi-Wan.

When their footsteps fell silent, he took a deep breath and turned to his former Master.

“Jedi things… yeah,” he muttered to himself.

Turning off all the lights in the room, he sat on the floor next to the bed, cross-legged, and closed his eyes.

Maybe years of meditation struggles will finally pay off.

Following all of Master Jinn’s and Grandmaster Yoda’s leads, he tried to redirect his overflowing thoughts into forgetfulness and focus only on the Force surrounding him. No emotions should guide him - neither fear, nor self-loathing, nor remorse. Which wasn’t easy at all. His body was basically unable to relax - long hours spent sitting in one position, trying not to think but to feel the living Force, were not his thing.

But he was also a man of action, and sometimes those actions had to take unforeseen turns. And so, he had to overcome the obstacles.

The Force is within me, and I am the Force.

The Jedi mantra echoed in his head, a familiar tune like birdsong - no words truly spoken - wrapping him in a domestic shroud. It resonated in him like a heartbeat, like the inhale of breath.

The Force is within me, and I am the Force.

He felt the gentle breath of the night breeze, raising goosebumps on his skin. He heard the delicate lapping of lake water, the distant howls and calls of wild animals, the silence and peace of the area - the Force was here like a calm and undisturbed river.

He tried to refocus on the current residents of the house - the signature of his mother vibrated with worry and uncertainty, dimmed with fear. Padmé wasn’t much better - fluctuating in the rhythm of a rapid, strong heartbeat. Korey’s presence also appeared, more calm but not without control, the older man must have encountered the frightened women.

And then he redirected his focus on Obi-Wan, and…

All at once, it hit him like a wave. So much, so suddenly, that he struggled to center himself, only his sheer will prevented him from toppling over or being rejected by the current of…

Fear. Fury. Concern.

Sorrow.

Oh, Obi-Wan.

There was some sort of thick material keeping Obi-Wan’s signature from anyone entering in, even someone as strong with the Force as Anakin. He grimaced and cursed under his breath. He would really have to outstretch himself to tear the material even a little bit. With a deep breath, he reached further through the Force, searching for any fold, hole, or loose thread in the fabric surrounding Obi-Wan’s signature. It was like a tightly wrapped silk cloth, enclosing him completely. Like an overprotective mother embracing her child in her arms.

He tried to tear the material off with brute force, but it didn’t budge. In fact, it seemed to tighten even more. Unconsciously biting his lip, he pushed harder, pulling with greater effort, gripping the thick layer, hammering metaphorical nails into it and jerking it with all his strength.

A familiar sensation stirred in him - warm, calm, and powerful. It spread within his body like a tsunami wave, covering him inside and out, uniting everything around him. A subtle touch brushed the tips of his gripping fingers, something almost eerie.

The Force is within me, and I am the Force.

He felt a pull, as if someone had grabbed his hand. A phantom touch around his palm, delicate fingertips gliding up. Two invisible fingers wrapped around his wrist and squeezed. Another tug, this time toward the shielded signature. The material shifted and creased like a blanket scattered haphazardly across a bed. Another hand was guiding him closer, still holding his wrist tightly, until he could touch the silky surface.

The Force is within me, and I am the Force.

With his other hand, he grasped it and pulled. It resisted, tightening further, clearly unwilling to be removed. He pulled again, and again, and again, fighting with an invisible force.

Come back, Obi-Wan , Anakin thought. Don’t get lost. You can’t get lost.

With one more hard pull, the material tore apart, and a dark cloud emerged from the wound. It was thick and suffocating. Almost sinister. He focused on pushing it away with the Force, and as the cloud began to fade, something luminous appeared from within the darkness.It was bright, strong, and warm - reminding him of the pictures of red dwarfs he’d once seen. He focused on that brightness, willing the darkness to retreat. As the cloud thinned into a grayish fog, the red light intensified, growing warmer, as if it were trying to reach him, or speak to him.

He reached his hand toward the warm red glow, and the bloody star began to move in his direction, like a celestial body pulled into a black hole. The red ray drifted closer, brighter, warmer - a dying star on the edge of collapse. He held out his hand further, but the distance between them remained.

The Force is within me, and I am the Force.
The Force is within me, and I am the Force.
The Force is within me, and I am the Force.

The Force is within us, and we are the Force.

The accretion stream encircled his fingers, then his hand, then his wrist. It flowed along his arm with a warm, tickling sensation. It moved slowly, wrapping his entire body - from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It felt like a long-lost, sincere embrace. Like comforting words whispered in the dark. Like a calm, compassionate voice.

It felt... cordial.

Wake up, Obi-Wan. Wake up.

The red stream tightened around him and then, all at once, it burst into dust and blinking points, decorating everything around him. It was beautiful, like another galaxy, a nebula full of young, barely-born stars. And he was in the middle of their creation. He looked around, mesmerized by the exquisite sphere that now surrounded him. He couldn’t move, not in the way he was used to, but it felt as though the stars moved for him, glowing in a full spectrum of colors and drifting through space toward him like living things.

One of those stars stood out. It was clearly brighter and slightly bigger, though it was impossible to determine just how large it really was. Nothing in this place followed the laws of reality.

The star approached him, and as it drew nearer, Anakin could swear he heard a faint, bell-like ringing - a pure tone, like light turned to sound. It stopped at eye level, hovering in front of him for a breathless moment.

Then it surged forward, flying straight between his eyes.

The ringing faded away, along with the stars, the dust, and the red aurora.

When Anakin opened his eyes again, instead of endless darkness, a thick layer of cloth, a star, or anything eternal… he saw the white ceiling of the Naberrie villa’s bedroom.

He blinked a few times, trying to reorient himself to reality. Not so easy when lying flat on a hard wooden floor. Still, he knew that if he stood up too quickly after such a… unexpected experience, it wouldn’t end well - for him or the floor.

So he stayed down for several minutes, letting his body and mind settle. The Force still hummed in his veins, ghosting through his nerves like fine threads. He could still feel phantom fingers brushing his skin and that red glow lingering somewhere just behind his eyelids.

It was too much at once, too intense and strange. He felt overstimulated. With a groan, he placed a hand over his eyes, already sensing the dull ache of a headache beginning to press at his temples.

He heard another growl, this time not coming from his mouth. He sat up, a little too suddenly, as his stomach lurched, and he had to swallow the sourness rising in his throat.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked hoarsely, looking at the stiff figure lying on the bed.

The older man flinched and slowly turned his head. His face was tense, and his red hair was in disarray. He looked at Anakin with squinted eyes.

“Hey, I see you woke up, finally. Had a good sleep?”

Kenobi’s lips tightened, and a wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows. He looked at him as if he didn’t recognize him. Anakin tilted his head, still concerned.

“Are you all right, buddy?”

In what felt like a nanosecond, something heavy pressed him to the floor, stealing his breath away. Fingernails dug into his shoulder, and a knee jabbed into his stomach.

"Obi-Wan!" Anakin shouted, despite the sudden pain.

He was attacked by his former Master. Just like that.

Hooking his left leg around Obi-Wan's right, Anakin tried to switch their positions, but the older man only growled, his, thankfully gray-blue, eyes staring at him expressionlessly. At that moment, Kenobi reminded him of a lifeless droid, whose only purpose was to serve its master and kill on command.

Trying to gather what little Force remained in him, Anakin pushed against the man. Somehow, the pressure on his shoulders eased. He seized the moment, using the leverage of his legs and hands to change their position, now towering over Kenobi. He locked the older man's hips with his legs and caught his wrist above his head with one hand, while the other grabbed Kenobi's chin, forcing the wriggling man to look at him.

“For Force’s sake, Kenobi! It’s me, Anakin Skywalker! Do you remember? I’m your Master’s new Padawan. That little boy from Tatooine who helped you kill Maul. I caught you when you jumped from the 500th floor, remember?”

The glassy eyes stared at him, and Obi-Wan stopped wriggling. The wrinkle between his eyebrows deepened, and there was something going on behind those blue eyes. Well, after closer inspection, they were more gray than blue - like rain clouds. Anakin loosened Obi-Wan’s grip on his wrists a little.

“You were quite mad when you found out I got my lightsabers faster than I should have. Then I had a little breakdown, but maybe that's not worth remembering. Oh, and you remember how you made fun of my ‘infatuation’ with a certain senator? Guess what? We’re in her house. And my mom is here. You already met her and made fun of it. You’re an ass, to be honest, but-”

Anakin stopped his rambling when a soft, feather-like touch grazed his cheek. He huffed, surprised, and looked down at the man beneath him. Obi-Wan’s lips were parted as he took a shallow breath. His eyes were darting around Anakin’s face, following the movement of the fingers that carefully explored his skin.

“You-” Kenobi muttered, “You’re here. You’re alive.”

Anakin blinked, his face warming. This sort of closeness was… what? Weird, kind of. Unfamiliar but also completely familiar? It brushed against parts of his mind he wasn’t sure he fully understood.

The door cracked, and before either of them could react, a head with brown hair tied in a high bun popped out from the other side.

“Hey, is everything all right? We heard… oh.” Padmé’s face went pale, her mouth wide open, and two pink spots appeared on her cheeks.

Oh, kriffing no.

Anakin already knew what she was seeing - two men, one basically sitting on top of the other, the other one touching his face in an almost romantic manner. Absolutely nothing left to the imagination. And probably their ruffled appearances didn’t help the situation either.

“Padmé, it’s not-” he tried to explain, feeling panic rising in his chest, but the older woman covered her mouth with her hand and started to back away.

“I’m so sorry. I see nothing!” she answered quickly, shutting the door. Anakin could almost hear the amusement in her voice.

He hung his head and groaned like a crying cub.

“Your thing for blondes is going to kill me- AUCH!”

And maybe he deserved to be thrown off Obi-Wan’s body. At this point, he just didn’t care.

Chapter Text

They both still needed some time before they could gather themselves enough to face the others. Anakin sat cross-legged a little distance from Obi-Wan and closed his eyes, trying to calm his… everything. He still felt shaken, his thoughts racing like podracers on an uneven Tatooine track. He took a few deep breaths, trying to steady his pounding heart. Still, a fragment of his mind clung to a nagging sensation - something pulling at him. It was strange, like a persistent pressure rubbing at the back of his head. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore it. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was enough to give him a dull headache.

On the other side of the room, Obi-Wan groaned. Involuntarily, Anakin looked at him, or rather at the pitiful figure sitting on the bed, his disheveled red hair hidden against drawn-up knees. Anakin’s heart sank - Obi-Wan looked absolutely miserable and vulnerable, his emotions drifting slowly through the room, clear and pure as the surface of the lake beneath them. He wasn’t hiding them behind the indestructible wall he always seemed to have, or maybe he wasn’t even aware of it anymore. His Force signature was fluctuating rhythmically, and, weirdly enough, Anakin found it reassuring. He focused on that feeling, taking slow, deep breaths, letting his heart cool as it fell into rhythm with it.

He heard the older man sigh, a sound of strained relief, and their eyes met. Blue to gray. The cloudless sky to the morning mist.

“I’m sorry.” Obi-Wan’s voice was weak, hoarse.

Anakin frowned. “For what?”

“This… whatever this is. This mess. We’re on a mission, and I got completely lost in… that.” He tapped his index finger against his temple. Anakin’s frown only deepened.

“You… you don’t have to apologize for the nightmares. You can’t control them. It’s not your fault.”

Something dark and dangerous flickered across Obi-Wan’s face. He turned his gaze away. Anakin’s fingers curled against his knees, his lips tightening.

“But what if it is?”

Anakin stood up and walked over to Obi-Wan, who was still sitting on the bed, stubbornly avoiding his gaze. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, giving Kenobi some space but staying close. Within reach, just in case.

The older Jedi said nothing but gave no indication that Anakin’s presence was unwelcome, so he stayed. A small part of him wanted to touch Obi-Wan - place a hand on his shoulder in reassurance - but, for once, reason won out. In Obi-Wan’s current state, Anakin wasn’t sure how he would react to that kind of closeness.

“What do you mean, ‘it is’?”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer right away, but his body visibly tensed. And although Anakin was itching to say something, anything, he stayed silent, waiting patiently. He didn’t push, even though he desperately wanted to know what lay behind Obi-Wan’s enigmatic words.

"I'm asking you to return the favor," he said after several minutes, still with his back to Anakin. "Like when you asked me not to tell anyone about your mom."

Anakin nodded so vigorously it nearly hurt his neck. "Your secrets are safe with me. I promise."

Obi-Wan gave a short chuckle, but there was no joy in it. He took another deep breath.

“Y-you… do… ugh. Have you ever dreamed about something that seemed too real to be just a dream?”

Anakin stiffened, feeling a sudden jolt run through his body. The visions surged back - vivid and alive, as if they were happening right in front of him.

His mother, dying in his arms after being horribly abused and beaten by the Tuskens, Padmé, dying in childbirth… and even after those events had come to pass, the visions hadn’t stopped.

In his previous life, when he was still a Jedi, he would sometimes wake abruptly in his bed, drenched in sweat, eyes stinging with tears, a single word on his lips: “Mother.”

As Darth Vader, he rarely slept. When he needed strength, he meditated. At times, he was put into forced rest - when the machinery that kept him alive needed replacing, or when he had to "bathe" in a bacta tank. But even in those rare moments of unconsciousness, he saw it. Like a holofilm on loop: Padmé and Shmi both dying in his arms. Because of him.

Sometimes it was the recurring nightmare of Padmé during childbirth. Other times, it was Mustafar - where he had wrapped his hand around her throat and choked her until her last breath.

And sometimes he was one of the Tuskens, wielding a gaderffii stick, mercilessly striking his own mother  - again and again and again - like a wild, untamed animal he was. 

Those were worse. Because deep down, some part of him believed they weren’t just nightmares. That he was the reason they had died.

That… no.

That was the past. A different past.
It hasn’t happened yet.
It won’t happen.

“You mean like… visions?”

Obi-Wan peeked at him with those cloudy eyes and nodded.

“You could say that.” His voice was quiet, weak, almost defeated. It sounded as if saying each word cost him his entire strength. “It first started years ago, right after the fight with Darth Maul.”

“I remember. You came to Master Jinn’s apartment, and your Force signature was so distressed it affected me.”

Obi-Wan flinched but gave him an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, I should have known better. You were still a child back then, connected to the Force in extraordinary ways, but not yet able to control it. But, that’s when this first dream, or rather nightmare, appeared. I saw Maul killing our Master, and me being unable to do anything to stop it. I knew it wasn’t real. I personally saw how Master Jinn had plunged his lightsaber straight into the Sith’s heart, and I cut him in half on top of that. He was as dead as anyone could be, and Master came out of it almost unscathed. Yet those nightmares felt so… real. More like a recollection than a figment of the imagination.”

Anakin swallowed hard, the sour aftertaste lingering in his mouth. There was genuine concern in him over Obi-Wan’s confession. The fact that he dreamed of something that could have happened - something Anakin had prevented this time - made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

“But they stopped eventually?” he asked, his voice weaker than he intended.

Obi-Wan nodded, but Anakin noticed the thin line of his lips tighten.

“They did… for a while. Until the next ones appeared.”

Oh, kriffing no…

“They aren’t frequent, but once they start, they feel like a never-ending story. And… well, one of them involved your mother,” he admitted. Anakin felt a cold sweat run down his neck. 

Kriff, kriff, kriff.

“And how… ugh, how do you know it was her? I’m pretty sure you haven’t met her before today.”

Obi-Wan nodded, still turned slightly away. At least Anakin could see the frown and burden etched on his handsome face.

“I-I… I’m not sure. It was like a premonition, I guess. The point is, I knew it was the mother of that child we brought from Tatooine. And… would you really want to hear what I saw about your mother? It’s… not pleasant.”

He didn’t want to hear it. And yet, he didn’t have to—he already knew, bracing for what would come from Obi-Wan’s words.

Brutality.
Hate.
Pain.
Death.
Sorrow.

He didn’t want to relive that day again. And yet…

“Please, tell me,” he said, almost begging, his voice barely above a whisper. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, waiting.

Obi-Wan remained silent for a while, and Anakin assumed he was gathering his thoughts. Then something heavy and warm touched his strained shoulder. He involuntarily accepted the familiar, soothing touch, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. A strong hand gently squeezed his arm in a calming gesture.

“Remember, Anakin, she is here, and she is safe. After all, it was just a dream.” Obi-Wan’s voice was as gentle as a morning breeze whispering through the trees.

And so it stayed, calm and steady, as he told it. How in his dream - in another reality - Anakin’s mother died at the hands of those animals, who should be thankful now, he thought, because he had saved her before tragedy could strike. Then he went on to tell Anakin about sparring with Master Windu, which, unlike reality, ended with Mace actually sticking him after the fight.

“It happened the night before the fight. I thought I was just triggered, but when I saw him about to swing… I couldn’t just watch and do nothing. Even if it was nothing.”

It was so unlike Obi-Wan, but also… completely like him.

“I always knew Master Windu isn’t the biggest fan of mine, but he is still a Jedi Master. Righteous as a judge in a trial. Mine, probably.”

Kenobi chuckled at the attempt to lighten the mood.

“I acted on instinct, without thinking. Logically, I knew if he actually wanted to kill you, you’d be long dead. Only an insignificant scorch mark on the Council floor.”

Well, it seemed the attempt was successful. Anakin’s lips curled into a small smile.

“Don’t underestimate my power with a lightsaber. I like living on the edge… of his blade.”

He wished the moment could last, but he knew this wasn’t the end of what Obi-Wan was hiding inside.

“All jokes aside, what else did you dream about?”

Obi-Wan sighed and closed his eyes, tilting his head back.

“It’s just… I don’t…” He tensed again, but only for a moment, this time. Then, with a deep, heavy sigh, he opened his eyes and finally looked directly at Anakin. An exaggerated smile played on his lips, but it didn’t reach his stormy eyes. “You don’t have to worry about that, Anakin. It’s nothing that should concern you specifically.”

Anakin gritted his teeth at the dismissive tone. He wanted to press, to force Obi-Wan to reveal all his secrets, to expose every mystery, to tell him about every dream he’d ever had… but this wasn’t the way. Who was he to demand such things from another Jedi? He shook his head, clearing away the intrusive thoughts. Obi-Wan wasn’t his master, nor his friend – they were barely teammates assigned to protect the senator. They hadn’t seen each other in nearly four years, much less worked together until recently. Obi-Wan Kenobi wasn’t part of Anakin’s life anymore, and so he had no right to ask for such intimate parts of him. Even if every cell in his body craved it.

“It’s already dawn,” Obi-Wan said suddenly, snapping Anakin out of his thoughts.

Baffled, Anakin turned toward the window. The golden rays of the rising sun filtered through the thin curtains, bathing the room in soft hues of gold, pink, and orange.

For a moment, there was no darkness. No horror. No never-ending nightmares.
Just light.

A bright new day.

𓇻

After making sure that leaving Obi-Wan on his own would be safe, Anakin stepped out of the room. Dragging his feet across the hall, he reached the staircase with a big, ugly yawn. That night couldn’t have been any worse. He had focused so much on Kenobi’s well-being, he hadn’t realized until now just how completely exhausted he was. Not only from being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, but also from the overwhelming experience of being inside Obi-Wan’s mind. He needed a break and a long, l o n g nap to sleep it off.

“Anakin!”

And there went his long, l o n g nap…

He turned stiffly and forced a wide smile at the worried Padmé standing in the doorway of her room. Somewhere behind her, he spotted the silhouette of Shmi.

“Oh, yes. Hello and good morning, Senator.”

“How is he?”

Anakin sighed and scratched the back of his head. How much could he say? He certainly didn’t want to bring up dreams or visions - they wouldn’t understand anyway. He had to say something…

“Conscious. A little overwhelmed. He needs some time to… get back on the right track. But overall, he’s good.”

She nodded, though her brows remained furrowed.

“I know I don’t have any knowledge of Jedi matters, but if I can help, I will.”

Anakin chuckled.

“Aren’t we supposed to be the ones helping you? How did the roles get reversed?”

Padmé smirked back.

“Help doesn’t have to be one-sided, Ani. If there’s anything I can do for you, I will.”

“Well, in that case, please keep an eye on him when I can’t. I don’t expect another episode like this, but better safe than sorry. And if something does happen, let me know immediately.” Normally, he would never have asked her for such a favor, but at this point he was barely standing. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lady, I need to gather some strength to defend you from assassins and-”

“Anakin!”

With a curse on his lips and sand behind his eyelids, he turned on his heels, only to see Obi-Wan’s tense and very, very serious face. Clumsily putting on his robe, the older Jedi balanced a holo-projector in one hand. A figure bathed in blue light loomed above it, a fierce expression on its face and a lightsaber clutched in its hand.

“Hey, Kenobi, Skywalker, I’ve got a bit of a situation here. My transmitter’s down, so I’m counting on you holiday-ready asses to forward this message to Coruscant. I’ve tracked the Fett guy to a droid factory on Geonosis. The Trade Federation has an entire droid army here, so basically - we’re kriffed. I believe the viceroy is behind the assassination attempts on Senator Amidala. But what’s truly important - Dooku is involved. So we- oh, fuck .”

Quinlan Vos’s message cut off just as a wheel droid blasted a barrage of cannon fire at him.

Anakin’s breath caught in his throat, and his right hand began to itch uncomfortably. The infamous Battle of Geonosis had marked a turning point - one that laid the foundation for the rise of the Empire. It was the first time the clones were introduced, appearing as much-needed allies against the Separatists, with no one suspecting the terrible fate that awaited them.

They were running out of time.

“I've already forwarded a message to the Council, but considering Naboo is closer to Geonosis, I'll have to-"

 “We have to, Kenobi. I’m not letting you go on your own.” 

Obi-Wan crossed his arms, looking between him and Padmé. “In the first place, we were ordered to keep the senator safe. If something happens to her while we are not-”

“That doesn’t mean you have to put yourself in danger!” he spouted, too late, realizing how weirdly his statement sounded. He could feel his face growing hotter, and all of a sudden, looking directly into Kenobi’s gray eyes was too much.

Padmé must have sensed the unusual awkwardness in the air, because she was the first one to interrupt the annoying silence.

“Okay, no need to get mad at each other. From what I understand, there’s so much more playing out behind the scenes, and somehow I’m the scapegoat in all of this. So how about I go to Geonosis with both of you?”

“NO!” he and Kenobi denied immediately.

Anakin knew she was more than capable of keeping herself out of too much trouble, but that didn’t mean he would risk her life. Not again.

“I’m sorry, Senator, but I’m afraid you don’t realize the seriousness of the situation. If what Master Vos said is true, then whatever’s going on there is more dangerous than we thought. We can't afford to take any risks. You're a senator, Padmé, one of the few who still puts her citizens first. The attempts on your life are just the tip of the iceberg,” Obi-Wan said.

“I do get that, Obi-Wan. But it’s just like you said - my people are my priority. I can’t just stay behind and watch as they’re devoured by this brutal machine. If the Trade Federation is involved, I have to be there. For them.”

Once more, Anakin was reminded what kind of person Padmé Amidala was - strong, self-confident, unshakable in her convictions, devoted to her people. A perfect politician. A woman who could turn her own cheek for the good of others. Someone willing to sacrifice her own life to save another. Even if her efforts were futile.

He glanced at Obi-Wan, who was clearly about to argue again, but Anakin raised his hand first.

“I think… it may be a good idea. Look, I know bringing the Senator with us is risky. But leaving her here on her own isn’t any safer. Potentially, if Padmé stays on the ship, she’ll be fine. Worst case scenario, she has to fly out quickly and leave us without a vehicle. You know how to fly, right, Padmé? Just in case, I’ll give you a quick tutorial. Besides, you know how they say - the darkest place is under the candle.” He grinned at the older Jedi, who actually seemed to be considering it.

Finally, with a big sigh, Obi-Wan said, “Fine. But as Anakin said, you stay on the ship, dear Senator. We can’t risk losing you.”

The surrounding Force vibrated with excitement. Anakin looked at Padmé and winked, which she answered with a soft chuckle.

Then he felt an irritating poke through his signature, followed by a growl. With an apologetic smile, he looked at Obi-Wan, whose expression clearly showed displeasure. In a moment of boldness, Anakin winked at him too, which only intensified the psychic poking as Obi-Wan, with a dramatic sweep of his robe, stormed down the stairs, leaving behind a laughing Anakin and Padmé, hiding her smile behind her hand.