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In the bustling streets of Coruscant, Anakin wove his way through the crowded thoroughfare, his eyes scanning the towering skyscrapers that pierced the smog-filled sky.
He felt a pulling in the Force, something dragging down his mood. Despite his years of Jedi training, Anakin could never quite figure out how to shut off his emotions completely, and the burden he felt grew heavier with each step he took toward the gleaming Jedi Temple. His hand itched to grip the lightsaber at his side and feel the metallic hilt cool against his palm, but he refrained.
He didn't need the added reminder of the responsibility he bore.
Anakin was no longer the wide-eyed boy from Tatooine. He was a Jedi Knight, a guardian of peace, and today he was being called upon for his next assignment from the Jedi Council.
The temple loomed ahead, pristine and untouchable as always, with gleaming white stone rising above the haze.
He entered. Bowed when he stepped into the council chamber, heart tight and shoulders square.
“Knight Skywalker,” Master Windu said, without preamble. “We have intelligence on the Sith Lord Kenobi.”
The name landed like a physical weight in the room.
Obi-Wan Kenobi. Darth Vesper. The Jedi who vanished. The shadow behind so many fallen outposts, slaughtered missions, unexplained disappearances. A myth wrapped in blood.
“You want me to bring him in?” Anakin asked, already regretting his choice of words, the enthusiasm on his tongue.
Master Yoda’s ancient eyes bore into him from under those heavy brows. “Ruthless, Kenobi has become. Underestimate him, you do not, young Skywalker. The path of darkness he has chosen, and merciless he is with those who oppose him. Great caution you must exercise, for he will show no quarter to his former kin.”
Confusion washed over Anakin briefly before he swallowed hard, his jaw tight with realization. Of course. Kenobi had been Master Qui-Gon’s Padawan, once. The last student of a man Anakin had barely known, but who had changed his life. Who should have been his teacher, if fate had been kinder.
Anakin pushed the thought aside like smoke. “Masters,” he began, his voice measured and calm, everything Anakin was not. “I understand the gravity of the situation. But I assure you, I am prepared to face whatever challenge awaits.”
Master Yoda nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. “Prepared you may be, but fraught with peril, the path to Kenobi is. On the planet of Mandalore, we suspect he hides.”
Anakin’s pulse quickened at the mention of the war-torn world. Mandalore, the birthplace of the fiercest warriors in the galaxy, now occupied by the hatred of the Sith Lord.
Master Fisto spoke up, his deep voice echoing in the chamber. “He is no longer the man he was under the tutelage of Qui-Gon Jinn. He has embraced the dark side, and his power is unpredictable. His cunning is only matched by his ferocity in battle.”
Master Plo gave a slow nod. “He’s dismantled entire garrisons without triggering a single perimeter alarm. Imperial officers have gone missing mid-transport, only for their ships to arrive intact, but empty, with the bridges sealed from the inside.”
“There was the siege on Galidraan,” Master Windu added grimly. “He walked straight through a battalion of clone troopers. No survivors. Left a message carved into durasteel—two words.” He hesitated. “‘Hello, there.’”
A silence fell. Anakin blinked.
Yoda sighed, ears drooping. “Go, you must, Skywalker,” he said, his voice thick with warning. “But remember, you should, that one of darkness, the path you tread is. Consume you, you must not let anger or fear do. Balance in the Force, you must find.”
The council members nodded gravely, and Anakin felt their warnings like a palpable force pressing down on him. He took a deep breath to counter the weight of their expectations. “I will not fail you,” he said firmly, his eyes meeting each of theirs in turn.
Master Windu stepped forward, handing Anakin a datapad with the mission details. “Your ship is prepared. You leave at dawn. May the force be with you, young one.”
The tinge of softness coating Windu’s words was uncharacteristic, which did little to soothe Anakin’s trepidation.
The council members nodded in unison. As Anakin accepted the datapad, he felt the weight of their collective trust, a weight he couldn't afford to disappoint. He turned to leave, the Force wrapping around him like a solid blanket as the shadow of his anxieties trailed behind him.
***
The ship hummed softly, the steady glow of hyperspace casting flickering blue light across the cockpit walls. Anakin sat alone in the pilot’s seat, the datapad resting against his thigh. Outside, the stars were streaks, the Force alive and humming in his blood but simultaneously tight with warning.
He exhaled slowly through his nose and opened the mission file.
“Darth Vesper. Former Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Last confirmed sighting: Korriban. Local insurgents reported a cloaked figure dissolving a patrol with no visible weapon.”
The report continued in clipped military jargon, but the implications chilled him more than the frigid air recycling through the ship.
“Subject exhibited advanced Force manipulation. Four clonetroopers lifted simultaneously and crushed midair. Surveillance footage corrupted on playback.”
Anakin blinked. He reread that sentence twice. What in the Force—
The next image was a grainy still: a dark figure mid-stride in a rainstorm, red saber drawn but not ignited. The moisture clung to his cloak, to the ends of hair pushed back from his face. His lackadaisical stride implied that he was almost… bored.
Anakin rubbed at his temple.
He’d been taught by Dooku. Together, they’d chased Ventress halfway across a moon. But something about this, something about this Kenobi, a Sith Lord who carved “Hello, there” into steel and walked away whistling, seemed overwhelming.
What was he walking into?
Anakin shut off the datapad and leaned back with a sigh. The stars beyond kept racing, indifferent.
He was starting to feel a little out of his depth.
“All right, Darth Vesper,” Anakin muttered with a confidence he didn't feel to the cockpit, to the stars, to the shadow likely waiting on Mandalore, “Let’s see if you live up to the legend.”
***
The ship broke through Mandalore’s upper atmosphere with a shudder, the clouds parting in swirls of gray and rust-colored dust. The planet below was harsh and jagged, with red rock formations like broken teeth jutting out from scorched earth, as though the planet itself had suffered a great wound and never quite healed.
Anakin set the ship down just outside the ruined capital. Whatever cities had once stood here were now mostly bones, cracked durasteel, and scorched stone, remnants of a world that had never known peace. His boots crunched over rubble as he stepped out, cloak snapping in the wind.
The Force buzzed sharply beneath his skin.
He wasn’t alone.
He followed the pull down an abandoned corridor of what looked like an old war bunker, every step echoing into stillness. The air grew heavier the deeper he went, the signature in the Force pressing around him.
A low hum rolled across the silence.
“You're late,” says the man standing in the dark ruins. “I was beginning to think you didn't care.”
Anakin spun, hand already reaching for his saber, only to freeze.
Because of course the most dangerous man in the galaxy was gorgeous.
Cloaked in black, standing amid the rubble like it were his personal throne room, Obi-Wan Keno— Darth Vesper looked maddeningly composed. His beard was sharp and the lines of his face were elegant in the kind of way that made Anakin’s stomach swoop. The air around him shimmered faintly with heat, or danger, or both.
“Anakin Skywalker,” Kenobi drawled, stepping forward. “They sent you. I should be flattered.”
Anakin’s brow furrowed. “This is a retrieval mission.”
“Oh, I do hope you mean to retrieve me personally,” he said, voice like velvet wrapped around something sharper. “Because if they sent anyone else, I might have gotten bored.”
He circled closer, slow and loose-hipped, like a cat who knew its prey had nowhere to run. Anakin held still, unsure whether to pull his saber or throw the datapad at him.
“I have questions,” Anakin said finally, unsure if he actually did. Was it possible to lose the upper hand before the duel had even begun?
“I’ll give you answers if you take off the hood.”
“What?”
Kenobi smiled. “I haven't seen you in years. Not since the braid. The holos don’t do you justice, darling.”
Anakin’s brow furrowed. The words stirred something half-buried in his memory. He’d been nineteen, trailing behind Padmé through the upper levels of a Naboo consulate on Coruscant. Her hand had brushed his as they walked in an innocent but electric way, and he'd been so focused on her, on the heat and thrill of maybe, that he almost missed it. A presence. A flicker in the Force. He’d turned, just for a second, catching a glimpse of a cloaked figure on a distant balcony, watching. And then it was gone. No confrontation, no pursuit. He’d told himself he imagined it.
But now, he wasn’t so sure. He blinked. “I’m—what?”
“Stars, they undersold you,” Kenobi continued, as if he were discussing weather conditions and not rewriting Anakin's entire understanding of threat assessment. “It’s very distracting. I might have to fight you just to get my focus back.”
“…You’re insane.”
“Possibly,” Kenobi said brightly, cocking his head. “But charming. That’s the more dangerous bit, don’t you think?”
Anakin scowled. “Keep your mind games to yourself.”
Kenobi circled him slowly, hands clasped behind his back like he was giving a tour. “Oh, they're not mind games, sweetheart. Just facts. Observations. For example—” His gaze flicked down and back up, maddeningly slow. “—you lead with your right side, but you favor your left when you’re angry. And you’re angry now, aren’t you?”
Anakin’s saber hissed to life, blue light casting sharp shadows across the broken walls. “Say one more word and I’ll show you angry.”
Kenobi grinned, almost delighted. “That’s the spirit, dear one.”
His own blade ignited in a low, humming snap-hiss. It was red and steady, a sound that rumbled through the ruined chamber like a war drum.
They moved.
Blades clashed, flaring bright in the darkness. Kenobi fought with almost languid grace, like he was dancing, spinning out of Anakin’s strikes with maddening ease, occasionally stepping into danger just to whisper something close enough to burn.
“You move beautifully,” he said as their blades locked. “So much passion. I wonder what the Jedi council thinks of that.”
Anakin grit his teeth. “Shut up.”
A quick feint, a reversal, and Anakin’s hood fell, knocked back by the wind of a near-miss. Kenobi’s saber stopped just short of his neck.
Kenobi stilled.
“Well, well,” he said softly, voice thick with amusement. “I see the Council’s been keeping all the pretty ones for themselves. Is that part of their recruitment strategy now? Because if so, I must say, I’m thoroughly convinced.”
Anakin pressed forward, trying to force him into a corner. “You’re toying with me.”
“Of course I am,” Kenobi said, parrying with maddening grace. “It’s foreplay, isn’t it?”
Anakin choked. “It’s what?”
Kenobi’s saber nearly took his arm off while he was recovering. “Focus, sweetheart.”
Anakin’s lightsaber twitched in his grip. “Stop saying things.”
“Why?” Kenobi asked him, contorting his features into an expression of innocence, the biggest lie Anakin had ever witnessed. “Is it working?”
Their sabers clashed again, searing white heat at the meeting point. Kenobi leaned in close during the lock.
“I must admit,” he said in a conspiratorial murmur, “I didn’t think the Chosen One would blush so easily.”
“I’m not blushing.”
“You’re flushed, then. Even better.”
Anakin shoved him back with a growl, only for Kenobi to roll smoothly with the motion, flipping off a chunk of rubble and landing lightly on his feet.
“You are not taking this seriously.”
“Oh, I am,” Kenobi said, letting his saber spin idly in one hand. “I’m just very good at multitasking.”
Their sabers clashed again, sending up a shower of sparks. Kenobi was close now, unbearably close, eyes glittering with mischief or madness, Anakin couldn’t decide. The red of his saber arced in a sharp downswing toward Anakin’s shoulder.
Anakin twisted, expecting to feel the burn.
He didn’t.
The saber halted a hair’s breadth from his arm before sweeping sideways instead, neatly disarming him.
Anakin caught his breath, heart thudding. He had the angle. The opening. That should have taken his arm off.
Kenobi flicked his wrist, knocking Anakin’s saber wide. Anakin’s fingers slipped on the hilt, almost losing it, but he tightened his grip just in time.
Kenobi backed away with a wink, utterly casual. “Sloppy,” he said, voice light. “You’re lucky I have a soft spot for beautiful disasters.”
Anakin’s brow furrowed, mind racing faster than his body. Why didn’t he take the strike? Why did he hold back?
He charged forward again, trying to chase the confusion away with motion. Kenobi laughed, delighted.
“You're impulsive,” he called over the hum and clash of plasma. “It’s very un-Jedi of you, not to mention very becoming.”
Anakin said nothing. He didn’t have a retort. Not one that made any sense. Because Kenobi wasn’t fighting like someone determined to kill him.
He was fighting like someone having a bit of fun.
And that was... somehow worse.
“You're enjoying this,” Anakin growled.
Kenobi threw his head back into a breathy, slightly maniacal laugh before his eyes fixed on Anakin’s once again. “Oh, you're fun,” he purred. “The Jedi must have their hands full with you. You're made for chaos.”
Anakin lunged again, but Kenobi was already gone, slipping past him like smoke, like laughter on the wind. Their sabers clashed in a flurry of red and blue, heat crackling in the stale Mandalorian air.
Kenobi pivoted, spinning behind Anakin with such fluid grace it was like watching water change course. He didn’t strike, he pressed in close, the hum of his saber grazing Anakin’s side, not cutting, just reminding.
“I expected you to be angry,” he murmured near Anakin’s ear. “I didn’t expect you to wear it like perfume. Or for it to be so intoxicating.”
Anakin snapped his elbow back, forcing space between them, then swung hard. Their sabers met again in a searing arc. This time Anakin held the lock, their faces inches apart, breath shared in the thin air.
“You talk too much,” he growled.
Kenobi grinned, lips parted just enough to be dangerous. “So they tell me.”
Their blades hissed as Anakin shoved forward—but Kenobi didn’t fall back. He leaned in, their sabers crossed between them, bodies barely apart.
“You're so tense. I wonder,” Kenobi whispered, “what you’d do if you actually let go.”
Anakin faltered, not with his saber, but with his composure. His expression flickered. Just for a second. And Kenobi saw it. Drank it in.
That was the game. That was the real battle.
Then, Kenobi’s saber twisted, disarming him with a clean, practiced flick. Anakin’s lightsaber fled his grasp, skidding across the cracked stone.
Before he could react, Kenobi kicked it backward, out of reach.
This was the moment.
This was his death.
Anakin hit the ground hard, dust and pain blooming in tandem, and the air punched from his lungs. He blinked up at the red glow above him, cast from the blade now hovering by Kenobi’s side.
Time passed silently, save for his heartbeat thudding in his ears. The air around him stilled, brittle and sharp. Anakin stared up at the figure before him, the red blade thrumming with promise, of violence, of finality. Kenobi stood perfectly poised, expression inscrutable.
Anakin’s breath caught. There was nowhere to run. No weapon. No advantage. Just a flick of the wrist, and—
But it never came.
Kenobi didn’t even raise his blade.
He just looked at Anakin. Quiet. Watchful.
Then he reached out, slowly, retrieving Anakin’s lightsaber with his mind. He turned it over in his hands, studying the hilt with quiet reverence.
“Elegant,” he murmured. “Trying to impress me?"
Anakin didn't respond.
He held it out. “Take it.”
Anakin didn’t move.
“What game are you playing?” he asked, voice rough.
Kenobi stepped closer, offering the saber hilt like a gift.
“No game. Not with you.”
Their fingers brushed when Anakin took it back.
And then Kenobi was gone. Just gone. No sound, no swirl of cloak. Just air.
Anakin stood alone in the dust and wreckage, saber cold in his palm, his chest burning, one thought remaining in his head.
The Council was going to have a field day with this.