Chapter Text
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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.