yourneighborhoodporg

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 11: Alone (Part 2)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: ANGST (like, hella angst), non-canon character deaths, descriptions of violence, animal injury/death (I’M SORRY), Reader experiencing Trauma TM, Obi doing his best.

Summary: While leading a clone battalion through a routine supply delivery, you suffer a surprise ambush. However, with Obi-Wan away leading the rendezvous as he simultaneously investigates new elements surrounding your being, you are left alone to make the hard-hitting decisions expected of leaders during The Clone Wars. But when the present meshes with the past, how will you perform as deeply buried struggles are forced to the surface?

Song Inspo: Alone — Neil Finn

Words: 9.1K

A/n: Oh boy, this one is gonna be heavy y'all. And that's all I'll say. Enjoy 😈

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

You lose them a thousand times in a thousand ways. You say a thousand goodbyes. You hold a thousand funerals — Sara Seager

“80% of the containers have been secured in the port bay with the rest being carried in as we speak,” Boil relayed, pointed finger strictly scrolling through his datapad that hummed a striking cobalt glow amidst Lanos’s softer, earthy tones.

He stood at the ready to your left with his helm resting under an arm, taking in each and every two-to-three digit number emanating from the device while you surveyed the array of pale blue repulsersleds bustling atop the port’s grayed, metal landing platform. Ferrying tightly strapped cargo into the bay alongside their clone guardians like a flawless, tapered conveyor belt adhering to a strict timetable.

Most notable, however, was the way this living machine collectively dwarfed the sporadic bands of clone lieutenants who, toting their own Republic-issued datapads, coordinated delivery logistics with counterpart supply port stationaries. Though the brighter energies that rippled through the Force certainly haggled for a higher podium, as the latter of those two, similarity garbed groups seemed all the more enlivened by the marginal increase in activity on such an otherwise docile planet.

“The station Sergeant is currently off-base engaging another matter—,” Boil mentioned off-handedly. “—but sends his regards.”

“Thanks, Boil,” you hummed, silver orbs drifting beyond the organized fuss that circled like bees calculating predetermined patterns long ago inscribed in their very DNA.

Those same eyes flitted by the steel, square-cut terrace’s narrowed path which assumed the shape of a bottleneck in its stretch through the far, inner bay. Then, past the raised, blocky, metallic structure trading in checkered viewports for highly reinforced paneling. One that every day offered the station’s clones a welcome retreat from the planet’s emphatically beating, yellow sun. Just as it shielded them from any other element posing as a threat to the Republic’s mission.

To its perseverance through this war.

“I suppose the next step is to finish the delivery before regrouping to return to The Negotiator,” you evenly deduced. “Right?”

The sharp-eyed clone offered a slight nod. “Affirmative.”

But even foreign structures that cried Coruscanti architecture and hammered down brutalist design amidst Lanos’s creamy breezes and florid expanse did little to hold your attention. Those motionless, gray confines battling against any root or creeping vine that dared to snake under its foundation or slither across its walls failed to yank at your outer lip’s muscles.

At least, not with a vigor comparable to the involuntary jolt you felt strike those same nerves just from the swiping flash of a certain bunch of saffron fur scampering by the tree line.

Though, in spite of the curious, fox-like creature’s daring attempts to acquire the title ‘Honorary Republic Recruit’ from afar, the attentive animal still maintained a devoted caution as they steered a wide berth around the manmade metals which, like a disease, thinned the once lusciously stretching trees bordering its walls.

Instead, the well-groomed critter found temporary solace in nuzzling their tail with cheerfully squinted eyes amidst the deeper, healthier greens and sturdier trunks carrying thicker bark. A microcosm of the wider forest’s hilly character, which rolled around the entrenched, and fairly hidden, compound before flinging back out again for miles, like massive waves frozen in time millennia ago to house a countless abundance of life.

“If you’re worried about that animal interfering with platform operations, I can send a few boys to scare it off.”

“No, no,” you quickly assured with a flicking wave of your hand, dismissing the no-nonsense clone while silver eyes strung to distant, peering yellows.

“That’s alright. They aren’t hurting anyone. Just curious.”

“Understood,” he asserted quickly before stretching back into his planned briefing with a muscle memory akin to the dash of his head toward the glowing datapad.

“Because the storm has cleared it should be an easy takeoff. The shuttles will be able to meet us at port.”

“Sounds like our legs will finally get a break,” you teased lightly, sending the horseshoe-bearded man a knowing glance.

A deep, throaty chuckle fell from his lips as you lifted a few fingers to flit away another droplet of sweat rushing down your forehead from the increasingly belting heat and weakening gusts whose dying breaths failed to chill the air.

“I certainly hope—“

A sharp, singeing thread tugged at your prickling senses from within the Force, snapping your neck toward the source of the sensation before the flaring, scarlet bolt rapidly consuming your vision launched your nimble body, arms fanned out, to roughly shove Boil out of the way. Sending you both tumbling toward the unforgiving ground as the steaming blaze just barely hurled above each of your heads.

“Ambush!” You screamed after sorely rolling off the rather surprised clone and onto a less bruised back, primary hand clawing for your belt.

Your madly thrashing heart reigned into a steady chill with the initial pulse of adrenaline beginning to wean. And by pure chance alone, it was in that very brief second, as blood rushed past ear drums, that you began to feel an unexpectedly sudden heat center on your left wrist.

Thrusting that very arm up and into your vision, you spotted the sporadic, bubbling crackles and scarlet sparks of a damaged wrist comm whose drooping, dark metal structure threatened to melt into your already itching arm.

Quickly, you scrambled to your feet, right hand tightly wrapped around your unclasped saber as you levied it to thwack off the sizzling comm, permitting the decaying device to clatter across the dense platform as it sibilated into spare parts.

Having freed yourself of that discomfort, you swiftly ignited the saber’s buzzing, gray glow before angling toward the damage-inflicting direction. Yet even still amidst such a swift spin, you couldn’t help but absorb just how the landscape’s bright aura, which once overshadowed the rear port’s barren metallurgic twilight, now hung moodier as peaceful woods suddenly turned not so serene.

Emerging from the left side of a large hill positioned before the facility appeared an ever-growing array of creaking and whining metallic beasts.

With the prickling hairs atop the nape of your neck, you felt as the rear clones rushed to their assigned stations while a line of at least ten… twenty….. thirty and counting mustard yellow, beaked droids carrying stringy arms and legs jounced through the ground’s apex with grimy, heavy-duty blasters secured in hand.

Interspersed within their ranks and towering at least triple their size inched forward a darker, all-encompassing model whose pointed soles shredded verdant grass into marred, brittle soil. Colicoid-like droids that commanded three jointed legs, two weaponized arms, and a spine contorting into some sort of red-fanged face that curved inwards, all behind a spherical shield which quivered a transparent blue.

That’s what must’ve nearly hit Boil, you surmised, when another one of those cold, rigid arms blasted off a similarly behaved bolt toward a far cargo container. Shattering it into scattering, hot white-and-red shards, and sending a few nearby clones flying by some feet as a cacophony of shocked yells stalked their paths.

And, unfortunately, it appeared that second blast was enough to effectively signal the rest of the progressively expanding battalion to finally commence their full-fledged attack.

Streaks of thick, fiery crimson, slender orange, and harsh blue beams coated the sky like violent patchwork, darkening the planet’s once stilled and luscious atmosphere into one of rising, smoky death. Filling your nostrils with the noxious scent of burning plasma and battering your eardrums with strained voices that desperately shouted all around you.

“Men, with me!”

“I need help over here!”

“Medic!”

“Move back! Move back!”

“You two, blast ‘em Rollies!”

Their echoes careened over the sharp buzz of your saber as it swung through the air to collide with showering beams. And while, foregoing your long lost wrist comm, you remained relatively unscathed, you still struggled to afford the men fighting alongside you that same luxury.

Far to your left, a quintet of clones gradually retreated through a clean, V-formation as blue spires erupted from their phasers. Only for the incoming brigade’s ceaseless fire to clip the far right soldier’s arm, tearing at his upper plate which oozed a deep crimson athwart its snowy glaze.

Another profuse liberation of deadly rain, and an additional victim emerged as a flaming, hot bolt dug its way through the stepping foot of one of the middlemen, eliciting a pained groan while smoke sprang from the blackening wound.

You tried to help them. Mostly by tapping into their interlinkage with the all-encompassing Force as you’d discovered to do in recent weeks. Relying on this riddled tactic to empower your connection against insurmountable odds as you shoved pre-fired blaster heads into non-lethal directions and tugged out the legs from underneath yellowed battle droids while their brethren marched on unfazed and unfettered.

It wasn’t a chief, battle-altering tactic, but it was sure to meet at least one goal you had in mind: doing everything in your power to give the clones around you those precious, few extra seconds needed to seek cover from this overwhelmingly multiplying attack force.

But you only had so much to give.

No matter what, you couldn’t take your eyes off the eternal task of reflecting away each bolt that careened toward your person. And that was all while making every attempt to reduce the droid’s numbers with a deliberate swipe of your saber or a dexterous application of the Force. But it was when you considered the added responsibility of aiding any nearby clone struggling to defend against perpetually growing enemy numbers that the muddling task became quite daunting.

Suddenly, the corner of your vision caught a familiar, garish tone, drawing your gaze back behind the gradually receding quintet and toward a clone marked by an unavoidable, olive-green circle. A symbol that would’ve blended with the planet’s wider greenery had the billowing plasmic smoke been given enough time to clear.

However, unlike the rest of the platoon, this particular soldier chose instead to steadily march forward, soon passing the withdrawing V-formation like passing ships in the wildest of starless space sectors as he covered their retreat with an azure floodlight of bolts flying from his blaster.

“Get back, Getter!” You commanded, saber swinging elegantly in a controlled retreat as you sent an occasional hard glance toward the disobedient clone.

“I’m Forward Line!” He shouted through the muffled feedback of his sound-amplified helmet, failing to spare any glance away from the threat that marched head-on.

His feet crept forward, indefinite tone communicating his plans while the increasing barrage of bolts threatened your versatility.

“I’ll cove—“

A dense, blistering flare of plasma swiped straight through the eye of Getter’s helmet, leaving a charred, flaky perforation in its place that stifled his body like an off-switch.

He didn’t even tense.

Instead, the moment gravity recalled its birthright, he collapsed like a rag doll. Simply becoming a jumbled pile of arms and legs.

Your jaw slackened as a pinprick chill consumed your body.

“Silvey! Orders!?” Boil cried from close behind as his blaster ricocheted into the panoramic mob.

Row upon row unfurled across the hill’s peak, spilling into the valley’s depths like loose marbles from an endlessly deep bucket.

Though the frigidity that repeatedly ripped down your spine seemed to momentarily disconnect you from its horror as your mind focused on the present threat.

Those larger, curved ‘Rollies’ could transform into whirling spheres, empowering them to rocket down the hillside. Treating anything you were unable to Force shove away in time, be it scattered equipment or Front Line clones, like loose pins for the taking.

And it seemed, as your brain dizzied at the lives being ripped out of good men’s hands, that such a manipulation considered effortlessly simple by any Jedi was becoming too much of a task.

“Get a comm to Kenobi that we need reinforcements yesterday!—“ You yelled somewhat hazily as your mind desperately centered a connective blanket around one of the barreling Rollies so to redirect it into another speeding down beside it, coercing their shields to interact and combust into blue sparks and stinging flames.

You heaved in another gasp of chemically tinted, plasmic smoke.

“—And to bring any ideas on how to cut off this slope! Else we’re sitting ducks!”

“Copy!” He called before you sensed him spin on his heel toward the rear command center.

Until your next words stopped him in his tracks.

Because Getter’s sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.

And you needed to do something.

“I’m getting in the trenches to try to cut these rolling things off!”

You creaked your neck sideways as another hot blast whizzed past your tingling ear.

“You’ll need support!” He advised with a hand cupping his mouth. “I’ll redirect a few boys your way!”

Another bolt diverted toward an unsuspecting set of droids smashed a few of the batch’s heads together.

“No!” You slammed, fending off another wall of vivid fire.

No more men die today.

They can’t.

Not during your first command.

Not ever.

Not after—

No.

“You focus on getting that message to the General,” you continued with gritted teeth, saber spinning into a swelling, pallid fireball. “If I need help, I’ll ask. Now go!”

His boots squeaked against the once sun-dried platform, now spattered with occasional streaks of thick, deep-crimsoned goop. Smattering the sound of his voice as the subtle scent of copper trailed in the air like itinerant pollen that clogged your sinuses and sullied your tastebuds.

“Comm to me in the bay!”

—

Oh, Anakin.

That was the repetitive acknowledgment encircling Obi-Wan’s thoughts as he silently observed Master Yoda, Master Windu, and Chancellor Palpatine’s shivering, blue holocomms occasionally snap out of shape, all while he stood casually in one of the ship’s empty, gray conference rooms to ensure a private meeting.

Calling from such distances was sure to elicit additional signal disturbances, and, sometimes, would even cause temporary blackouts. But fortunately, or unfortunately, for the General, none of those occurrences prevented Kenobi from discovering his former Padawan’s unsanctioned change of plans through a similar comm exchange a few hours ago.

Of course, it was his responsibility to ensure the arrival of the escort in Anakin’s charge. Maybe that’s because, whether tied to the mission or not, Obi-Wan always seemed to be the first to learn about Skywalker’s impulsive decisions. This time being his insubordinate choice to rope his own Padawan into a patched-together rescue mission following ambivalent reports regarding Master Plo Koon’s fleet.

He certainly always found a way, didn’t he?

Yes, technically, because it was just Anakin and Ahsoka redeploying, then the convoys would be unrestricted in meeting the arranged rendezvous with the rest of the fleet.

But still, Skywalker was a General now. Could that chestnut-haired man not go off on his own without at least informing another Jedi tasked with this mission first?

Anakin could have told him.

And, honestly, while Kenobi knew he would’ve put up a bit of a fight at the suggestion of such a change of plans, the Jedi Master still fully comprehended that, in the end, he had the trust to watch his former Padawan go.

Because, deep down, Obi-Wan knew that, despite the potential strategic sacrifice, it was the right thing to do.

Not that he had much choice to do anything else since Skywalker had already arrived at the attack site.

And now, consequentially, in his station as both military General and Jedi Council member, Kenobi was the one required to deliver this pesky news to the necessary officials in his place.

“Twice the trouble, they have become,” Master Yoda sighed, rounded eyes dribbling toward the ground in contemplation. “A reckless decision, Skywalker has made.”

The weary Chancellor’s snow-white furrow deepened. “Let us hope it is not a costly one.”

Palpatine exhaled gradually, dipping gaze giving room for the three Jedi hovering subserviently in his presence a moment to absorb the flickers of combat fatigue that affected the deciding politician. Though, despite the momentary pause, the Chancellor was quick to recover, flicking his far-out stare toward the trio with a manufactured smile that struggled to assure that he was, in fact, quite alright.

“I do apologize, gentleman, but I have another meeting with the Senator from Kestos Minor shortly, so I must leave you.”

“Of course, Chancellor,” Kenobi acknowledged for the Jedi in attendance.

And with that, the former Senator’s unstable image evaporated into azure sparks before fading into the room’s wider darkness.

“An eye on your former Padawan, you must keep,” Master Yoda noted, motioning a hand clasped around his irregularly curved gimer stick toward Kenobi. “An update, I request, next we meet.”

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan assured. “I will keep track of him.”

But not before addressing the puckering questions that prodded his brain tissue all afternoon.

At least, ever since speaking with you.

“Do you have a moment, Master Windu?” Kenobi questioned, just as the Grand Master’s digital picture similarly flickered into cerulean specks of nothingness.

The older Master glanced at Obi-Wan out of his peripheral, torso still respectively angled toward the empty cavity where Yoda’s silhouette once stood before smoothly pivoting with a subtly tilted neck toward the inquisitive Jedi.

“I do,” he punctuated with taught features. “And what is this regarding?”

“Silvey,” Obi-Wan plainly replied, allowing his voice alone to carry him through the next few seconds so to disallow himself from failing to speak of these matters at all.

“I was made aware earlier today that they were not fully informed of their condition following the incident. As their Master, and the one tasked with notifying them in place of the Healer, I was hoping to inquire as to why?”

A blank stare of unreadable stillness crossed the thousand light years in a fashion only Mace Windu, complexion of secrets and answers, could achieve.

“As their advisor, I provided only necessary information,” he clarified simply with the gesturing support of his hand. “It was unnecessary to subject Silvey to the past when they successfully recovered.”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitched into an imperceptibly partial frown.

Perhaps Master Windu… knew more than he was letting on?

He talked of deeming certain details imperative to share, which could suggest that there were facts being kept secret, even from you, for reasons beyond the bearded Jedi’s current knowledge.

At least, that’s what Obi-Wan convinced himself.

It would be the only explanation for such a decision, he thought. For seemingly sending you on a mission without any concern for the unknown factors at play, and for this indefinite justification of why.

That would be the only thing that made any lick of sense.

And that also could’ve meant, maybe, just maybe, Kenobi wasn’t the only one beginning to sense remnants of your mind within the Force.

Perhaps Mace Windu already discovered this development. Or perhaps, it was even possible the elder Master had something to do with it.

That, as your ‘advisor,’ he was already a few steps ahead. And that, in your meditation sessions, he found something. Triggered something.

Knew something.

Either way, the General desired to understand.

“And how are we to know that?” Kenobi tested carefully, eyeing the strict Jedi’s cheekbones for any small, reflexive hint. “You yourself admitted to an inability to perceive their mind, the cause of these headaches, or the incident’s nature. By those facts alone, how can it be possible to assume that this is truly in the past?”

Pressing his lips into a thin line with arms confidently folded into themselves, Master Windu intrepidly spoke as broadened shoulders secured his stance.

“The Republic is in need of more Jedi on the field. You of all people are aware of that fact, Master Kenobi,” he stated. “I made the most reasonable decision given our circumstances. Such details are not of our immediate concern. We cannot afford it.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help the taught string of confusion and wiry cords of astonishment that knit across his forehead, muscling down the rest of his features like a sudden tug on the loose end of an interwoven thread.

Mace knew nothing.

And, with that in mind, Kenobi never expected such indifference to be applied to a situation deemed incomprehensible by even the Grand Master himself a few days earlier. Toward a state of affairs clouded by the ever-living Force in a plum of enigmatic readings, which, to the Council, was always a less than desirable sign.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

Said the Code.

So then to brush this all off? And dismiss its repercussions to his own mentee, no less.

Obi-Wan raised a hand, curling a few knuckles to provide his chin a thoughtful rest. All in an attempt to imbue the Force with interim civility as his mind rapidly flipped through Mace’s words.

And it didn’t take long for him to realize that all this… Every decision made concerning you…

It was this war.

It was changing Windu like it was changing all of them. All the Jedi. Causing them to lose sight of what was once important in the days before the Battle of Geonosis.

But this wasn’t right.

Something was clearly influencing you. And, despite the Republic’s shifting priorities, Mace needed to be reminded that this situation, no matter how diverting, was just as important to the Council’s overarching mission as its efforts in this war.

To the Jedi’s purpose.

To peace.

These headaches and their culminated crisis may have evolved into a creature of the past. But it was their state of unpredictability, and the Galaxy-altering implications of a Guardian thrown from commission, which convinced Kenobi that the Council mustn’t lose sight of such solemnity. Especially not during a decade in which the Grand Master sensed the Force to have grown, in some pockets, indecipherable.

And no matter what, you deserved to know the full nature of these incidents.

Obi-Wan’s jaw released, poking away the useless support of bent fingers as his arm fell to the side at a rate equal to the blooming resolution which consumed the bearded man’s blue-eyed countenance. A visual marker, or signature stamp, of the Master Jedi’s acceptance that no war would stymie him from making these very thoughts known to the glitching holocomm across from him.

So much so, that he nearly missed the echoing chime of the conference room’s automatic door as its mechanics whirred open.

“General!”

Kenobi’s neck snapped toward the urgent inflection shimmering from Commander Cody’s tensed lips, just as brightly as the orange embellishments accenting his trooper armor reflected the white lights streaming overhead.

He was leaned into a forward stance, a puff of air proving him not a still-life statue as he caught his balance. All in an effort to suddenly halt a spirited sprint into the conference room that eventually, from the exertion alone, impelled him to expel the rest.

“There’s been a surprise attack on the supply port and the platoon left behind on Lanos.”

A dryness consumed Kenobi’s tongue as another simply armored clone dashed through the same whirring, mechanical door. Sprightly stepping up to whisper a few quick words to his Commander just before the aperture behind him buzzed shut once more.

“Reports of heavy casualties,” Cody parroted with an ear leaned toward the newly arrived lieutenant. “And they are requesting immediate reinforcements.”

“I will leave you to address this more immediate concern, Master Kenobi,” Windu relayed from the twitching holocomm image strikingly emanating from behind; his expression stilled except for the subtle twinge of disappointment drooping the outer corners of his eyes.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan affirmed, clearing his voice as moisture coated a tickling throat.

At least enough for him to sign off with one final message aimed toward his fellow Council member.

“I will see you at the rendezvous.”

—

A burning ache entangled each limb’s muscles like winding vines as you fended off the coming onslaught. Centering yourself in the lowest dip of the valley’s crease wasn’t necessarily the most strategic move given your current predicament. Especially considering it labeled your dodging figure as prime target practice for the ropes of Rollies that erratically spun down the hillside at spine-chilling speeds.

But you didn’t have any choice.

Not if you hoped to become an unbreakable barrier of pure might and agility, impeding a near three-hundred mix of droids threatening the platoon’s lives who hastily regrouped behind you.

Various squad formations would mark the best vantage points atop the port’s landing platform from which to lay fire upon the siege. Though that was the extent to which the battalion could effectively participate. Joining you in the, quite literal, trenches was a death sentence to any non-Force Sensitive individual hoping to take a stand against an attacking strength of this magnitude.

It was your ability, and your ability alone, to navigate the rapidly shifting elements of surrounding energies that empowered you to fight in their place while dodging and manipulating droids who shot walls of steady fire or suddenly sprung at you with their dense, steel bodies.

Yet, no matter your resilience, you still possessed the same weakness every other living being faced in adrenalizing circumstances.

You were growing quite exhausted.

“Reinforcements are almost here!” You heard Boil yell from far behind while he used a nearby repulsersled flipped into a makeshift shield to traverse the compound drowned in chemical fires and bloodied chaos. “You can’t stay there forever!”

You wrapped your fingers around the air as invisible claws shimmied their way around a Rollie barreling toward your figure before rapidly thrusting that same fist to the side, leading the machine’s suddenly bouncing trajectory to hurtle into a group of about eight battle droids.

One in particular sluggishly swiveled its head toward the oncoming sight with subtle reservation as it expelled creaky, undulating words.

“Oh no.”

Until they became another scattered pile of far-flung, broken parts, an explosion colored by blasting crimson and cobalt sparks.

“I’m gonna have to!” You called back, the swing of your saber nearly transforming into a cloudy blur of heat before your very, watering eyes as you deflected bolt after bolt while sidestepping through the uneven hollow. “We’ll lose our only advantage!”

“Excuse me for saying, Silvey, but I think that losing a Jedi will be cutting our advantage!”

You knew he was right.

But you were quickly learning that in war, there was no easy choice.

You weren’t going to lose anyone else.

Maker… you couldn’t.

You just… couldn’t.

A scorching, slash clawed into your left calf, electrifying all the way down to your ankle as a surprised yelp was drawn from your lips.

And it wasn’t long before that very foot and sorely exercised knee buckled under the shocking pressure, slamming both roughly into the dirt as you felt another breeze graze the touches of your back exposed by rips in the fabric. All from those quick tumbles against newly jagged ground with raised rock shards and disturbed mounds formed by the ongoing conflict.

You briefly glanced down to assess the damage, relying on your senses' contextual intertwinement and the dancing light of your gray saber to defend against the ongoing downpour of bolts. Showers that fell from the hilltop with such magnitude that you could’ve sworn the sky was crying smoky tears.

Speaking of bolts, it appeared one had cut you down pretty good as a severely bloodied laceration oozing black, bubbling soot stingingly throbbed the bottom half of your leg. Consuming your vision with its strongly contrasting, dark tinge even amidst your armor’s shadowy undertones.

So much for those Republic-tested shin guards, you internally grunted.

And, regrettably, with one leg out of commission, it didn’t take long for your wearied body and continuously fogging gaze to make another mistake.

Even if it was only for a split second.

While desperately side-crawling toward the landing pad, in an effort to impede an enemy group from its newly-angled, swift approach, you missed an arbitrary bolt that collided with the hilt of your saber. Snapping it out of your hand as its protective covering took the brunt of the blast, but still flung it a few meters out from your grip all the same.

Your head spun back toward the main invading Force, only to be met with an inky black blaster whose cold body was levied mere centimeters from your forehead.

Dark spots crept into your peripheral like a predator surveying its prey as your palms dug into the disturbed dirt below.

“Wow, look guys!” The titillated battle droid exclaimed. “I got a Jedi!”

Shades of flaming red exploded before your very eyes.

But not for the reason you thought.

No, whatever that was, it wasn’t blood.

It was much more…

Much too…

Fuzzy?

Scrapping at whatever strength you had left, you focused your shaky stare above. Only to be met with the strikingly pigmented fox of before, wrapped around the battle droid’s torso like a constricting tendril as it gnawed with growling rage at the mechanical thing’s armed skeletal limb.

“Ah! What is this?” The off-yellow machine bellowed. “Get it off me! Get it off me!”

He spun in unsteady circles, flinging his targeted arm as if fire consumed its nonexistent nerves, drilled feet stumbling over each other while the fox laid savagely into their assault.

Until the droid hoisted its other revolving hand, slamming it down once, and then twice, across the creature’s wet snout. A sickening crack, and its shiny, fur coat slung from the machine before landing as a mangled heap onto the ground.

You thrust a hand toward your saber, scratching at the Force to coax it to your fingers as it catapulted into your grasp.

A reflection of the blaster’s barrel stung your eye.

One squealing pop flung through the air.

And then another.

“Good riddance,” the droid mumbled while it drearily kicked the still warm, but entirely lifeless creature left at its feet.

You were too late.

You were always too late.

Qui-Gon’s paled skin. His glazed, breathless eyes.

And then you saw it.

You swore you saw it.

A flash of that horned, devil face harshly stomped across the fox’s barren throat.

And your blood ran cold.

So frigid, that an icy film must’ve shielded your eyes while they blurred in contest with an increasingly congested mind. The resonating cries of commanding clones, marching mechanical feet, and rushing metal clamoring against loose bolts all melded into a muddled echo of the past. Even Boil’s distended calls, which freely rang around inching droids as he laid down fire, melded into the rest of the world.

Instead, a high-pitched tone displaced their existence, slackening your jaw and dangerously slowing your breath while a weight unlike any other yanked down at your sternum.

And amidst all that drowning havoc, you barely noticed the large, gray shuttle with faint red accents descend before you.

Almost immediately, and with growing intensity, its engines were able to sweep away any nearby battle droids as they flung and tumbled across the grass like loose scraps. Even the Rollies found their maneuverability stifled as they transformed back into a legged form before being tossed away like loose credits via their curvature alone.

Yet, even though the vehicle landed between you and the incoming fire, its rear door descending as a fluttering ivory robe and flashes of white armor darted down its ramp, it was still not enough to rip you out from yourself.

It was only partially, that your awareness sparked, and for a moment oh so brief, as a flash of auburn tufts poked a hole in that stunned cataract.

“Silvey!”

A distant echo among muffled blaster fire, but the ringing tone did seem to partially subside.

“Silvey! Can you hear me?!”

You swallowed, vision clearing just enough to recognize a familiar pair of widened, bright blue eyes.

Though you had no idea how he got here.

“Obi-Wan?” You questioned hazily with scrunched brows.

“Let’s get you to the ship!” He declared firmly, eyes drifting toward your mangled leg as a hint of displeasure creased his eyes.

But he hesitated for only a second before quickly wrapping his fingers around your free arm to tug you that away.

And, truth be told, it was that moment, that single moment, the warm feeling of his grip as plasmic fumes assaulted your senses, that became the last instant of Lanos you truly remembered.

You recalled the gentle pressure of Kenobi’s fingers releasing your arm into the shuttle just before it lifted from the ground while he sprinted off, pearly armor catching the sun’s smoke-scattered glare as he joined the fight. And you could remember the stinging weight that dragged at your muscles as you stood for the first time after the hull abruptly docked at The Negotiator.

A feeling that haunted you with each step you traversed from the shuttle bay to your temporary quarters.

You could even recall the taste of the stale ship air that reigned menial against Lanos’s essence of fresh vegetation and untouched atmosphere. Though that particular memory was hard to forget, considering those same elements pervaded your quarters.

What you couldn’t remember, however, was what anyone had said to you. If anyone had said anything at all. You couldn’t remember when your injured leg was wrapped, or who did it. You couldn’t remember whether the battle was won. You couldn’t remember entering the lift to the residential section of the ship. And you couldn’t remember the familiar whooshing creak of your quarter’s automatic door.

Oh Maker, no.

You couldn’t recall whether that faulty sound tolled when the aperture opened.

You could only trust that the door had, in fact, shut behind you as you ambled into your quarters, deactivated lightsaber falling from your bruised fingers before rudely clacking across the carpeted floor. You could only hope that the walls, too, were thick enough to deafen the sound of your falling knees as they collided with the itchy carpet’s prickling texture.

And you could pray that the falling tears wetting your cheeks and soaking your tunic, and the hiccuping breaths stopping your heart, would somehow ease the agonizing burden that crushed your chest with the bodies of all you had lost.

—

“And the facility was secured?” Master Kenobi inquired once Commander Cody concluded his cursory report on the impromptu attack.

Both general and soldier ambled down the curved, tubular hallway of one of the ship’s upper decks, lined with identically placed doors and overhead lights that perfectly reflected the Republic’s preference for uniformed architecture. Still though, Obi-Wan’s wandering eyes would soak up their every detail, down to the personalized wear of certain entry panels or noticeable scuffs decorating the steel floor whenever he participated in such debriefs.

It allowed his mind to focus on the task at hand. No matter the aeonian tumult that bled into their essence or bordered his thoughts.

“Yes, General,” Cody assured evenly as his long-barreled, black phaser, still warm from battle, patiently hung from a confident grip; swaying with each step that fell in line with his superior’s steady stride.

“And we incurred far less casualties than anticipated,” he continued, with a hint of optimism so subtle that even Kenobi struggled to detect it. “My men report that the General is to thank for that.”

An unconscious hand hovered toward Obi-Wan’s chin, gently stroking his beard’s loose tufts while the Jedi Master continued to absorb his officer’s words like a Bluebell squish would sunlight.

Though his gaze still dallied across the ephemeral doors.

“Had they not stood their ground in the valley’s trench…” Cody liberated. “I doubt much of the platoon would be left standing.”

Kenobi’s chest rose and fell with a gradualness that seemed to suspend time itself. Still, his legs carried him onwards, as a shuttle set on autopilot would transport its passengers by endless star systems, and the beauties in between.

You certainly took a huge risk, he noted. Pushing yourself to the very brink to protect the lives of his own battalion.

But did you know just how close you came to the point of no return?

The Master Jedi considered that even Anakin would’ve deemed the act of entering and remaining in the trenches terribly reckless.

And that was saying something.

But you were Qui-Gon’s Padawan, after all. And Obi-Wan knew better than anyone that drilled into your being was the desire to avoid violence at all costs. To preserve the manifestations of the Force by protecting any and all beings who necessitated aid.

Though you were never prepared for a war that coerced Jedi to conform to a changed Galaxy.

And it coerced him to consider…

Should he say something?

“Sir.”

The General need not rely on Force-attuned senses to notice the Commander slowed his gate into a standstill from the corner of an observant eye. Leashing Kenobi to do the same as he angled to face the solider whose mollified shoulders stimulated satiny brown orbs to soften.

“Some of the boys and I would like to thank the General in person for what they did today,” he expressed somewhat awkwardly, hand jolting up to scratch the back of his head as his eyes dipped off to the side. “Any chance you could share a heads up when they may be up for it, Sir?”

An involuntary twitch tugged at the corner of the General’s tensed lips. Though his revelation after the fact choked the sensation before it had any chance of crawling up to ensnare his bright, cerulean orbs.

No. Not yet, the bearded man concluded.

He couldn’t share his worries.

Because Kenobi dreaded that doing so would risk metamorphosis.

It would be, conceivably, like asking you to transform into a different breed of Jedi. One who’d fail to touch the hearts of men with such infectious reverence and unity.

You were a being who would, no matter what, sacrifice each and every far-off particle of themselves if it meant preserving just one more life, or to cease the wands of conflict indefinitely.

The Way of Qui-Gon’s age, that felt so long ago.

Before its prime was sullied by war…

Suppressing his former Master’s Renaissance teachings in favor of this changed Galaxy, like so many Jedi of late, like Mace Windu, would fundamentally alter you.

And it was that very concept that sucked away the energy of his mind, like a siphon draining liquid gold down through his stiffened spine, and out through his toes.

“Of course, Commander,” Kenobi expelled fluidly. “I’m certain they would valu—“

A gust of pressurized mass flung by the duo with the brawn of a rushing wave, consuming Obi-Wan’s senses and depressing the hairs along his arms like a sudden shift in gravity as his once drained neck flicked toward the impression’s oozing source, located somewhere farther down the hallway.

But while the piqued Jedi Master’s piercing eyes initially saw nothing of concern, it was only a mere second later when the feeling quickly morphed into a troubling array as a pointed hole the size of a marble appeared to form in his ribcage, deliberately expanding into a bleak vacuum that nearly caught his breath.

Then came the pain.

An intense jab whose sharp instrument seemed to pierce the air with progressively afflicting shocks that were surely impossible for any Force-Sensative being to ignore.

At least, for him.

And while this sensation’s source appeared to stray from his inner being, Kenobi could still perceive its utter potency, shattering his thoughts with one, unavoidable clarity:

That, no matter the impenetrability of mental blocks or molecular hints of presence within the Force, the only other being in this sector at all capable of emitting this kind of energy, was you.

And that could only mean one thing.

Something was very very wrong.

Given that you’d nearly escaped with your life not even an hour prior, Kenobi could only fear the worst as he mentally recounted your previously noted injuries.

Unless…

That earlier hesitation…

“General!” Cody alertedly yet curiously called after his superior officer as the auburn-haired man’s once composed posture devolved into a notably rushed jog, his white shoulder and shin guards doing little in the ways of stifling the whipping surge of his ivory robe as it caught the ship’s manufactured atmosphere’s resistance. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m not certain,” he replied with a leveled tone, though never assuaging his gate or turning his chin away from the path ahead as he rushed by door upon equivalent door. “I will comm you if not.”

It was quite fortunate, Obi-Wan realized, that he’d already been returning to his own quarters when he sensed the shift in the Force as they were situated a mere few doors down from your own. Otherwise, given your mind’s weak presence in its endless flow, he may not have caught onto the displacement until long after the fact. Still, he couldn’t help but assign himself preliminary blame for whatever it was he began inwardly preparing to walk into.

He was too distracted to check in with you until now. Too preoccupied with leading reinforcements to turn the tide of that bloody sea of an ambush. And too absorbed in the logistics of determining just exactly how that Separatist attack force landed on Lanos without a lick of intelligence soaring his way. All while the General simultaneously ensured an on-track fleet rendezvous in the background.

But now, stood before your door amidst the heavy rise and fall of a stunted chest in which breath clutched its heels, the Jedi Master gravelly understood once again, fist hovering before its grayed coating in fleeting hesitation, that he had no choice but to rectify another mistake made in his task of certifying The Guardian’s safety.

His knuckles resonantly rapped the cold metal sheen separating you both.

“Silvey?”

But that empty, weighted crevice slithering within his deepest senses persisted, its stinging ambiance threatening to crack open his skin. Quite enough to convince the Jedi Master, as he reached a few fingers toward the door’s panel to levy a couple overriding taps, that your current well-being transcended any and all swirling discomforts rooted in invading your personal space.

Yet, even with such logic secured as firmly on his belt as his lightsaber, nothing could’ve truly prepared Obi-Wan Kenobi for the sight that patiently awaited the mechanical entryway’s opening swish, as his subsequent few steps into your thinly carpeted and modestly furnished quarters delivered an image not easily unseen.

Kneeled just a few meters before the stilled, auburn-haired man was your sternly bent-over figure, back hunched as strikingly as a shadow in a room simply lit by the vast array of stars that glimmered unbothered beyond the far wall’s viewport. Your wears were the same, with the various splotched, grimy stains and ripped, sagging ends of disturbed cloth still hugging your body like fearful younglings. Just as they had during the battle’s peak when Kenobi’s shuttle first landed.

Their drying crackles. Their stretching tears. They caught his gaze as fiercely as a spark of fire with each subtle quiver of your spine, an action which took his mind a moment to register as the trembling quake bedeviling enervated lungs.

From your blood-soiled calf bandage, ruggedly stuck, tussled hair, and sweat-adhered, dirt-crusted arms, Obi-Wan could only assume that you’d remained like this since your arrival. Submitting to your dark surroundings while lacking the inspiration to flip on a light.

And, most eerily, in a muteness that heightened the slightest creaks and far-off humming engines of a periodically groaning ship.

A recognition that deepened the already cavernous void threatening to swallow whole every vein branching from Kenobi’s chest into the muscle of each motionless shoulder.

This was nothing like the incident of days prior, which meant that the General was uncertain of what would help. How to fix this. Or even, what was wrong.

But he veritably knew that dropping a pin in the uncanny silence engulfing you both like a gaseous cloud would shatter his eardrums just as savagely as he assumed it would spiral whatever affliction you were enduring into a perilous state.

And that meant that, for the life of him. The Master Jedi had no idea how to proceed.

He could not breathe for apprehension that it would burst like a spark within an invisible hypermatter leak. Let alone speak a few words, nor your name, unless he knew that, without harm, he could.

So, Master Kenobi did the only thing he dreamed acceptable.

After idling by the entryway in perpetual uncertainty, the cautious Jedi adopted a lissome tread, leading his troubled brows and downturned cerulean eyes to finally seize a glimpse of your collapsed head as he rounded your form.

Your blotched countenance of stained tears and drained listlessness. Loose strands of hair soaked from sweat or anguish he did not know. Still, even your radiantly silver eyes seemed to gray in their moribund stare straight ahead, as if to watch a tiresome scene a thousand parsecs away run its course.

And it was that utter and complete stillness, a feeling invoking time to recede into long-forgotten history, that remained for a tense, immeasurable while.

Unsteady breaths continued to shudder your torso while eyes strung wide enough to perceive the whole Galaxy struggled to maintain their shape following the long sered, torrential flood. The cogs of overflowing thoughts crowding their rusting gears before the speechless man’s very eyes.

It felt near an eternity into the future or past had elapsed for Obi-Wan since he met your distant orbs. Yet their departed state, it seemed, never reflected your true awareness.

You were not trapped within your mind again.

“I spent my entire life on that barren planet,” you suddenly relayed hoarsely.

Or, maybe, in some ways, you were, Kenobi amended, as the sound of your strained voice heightened the General’s alertness all the way up to his hassled brows.

“And a decade of it in complete isolation.”

Laggardly, your jaded orbs lifted toward his own, neck barely shifting while you held his pursed lips and tensed jaw in a vice grip by the anticipation of your slowly spilling words alone.

“And yet—“

A single tear seeped through the dam, etching another stain into your storied cheeks as your chest quickened its heaves.

It was more than enough to have impelled Kenobi toward you. With a hand outstretched and a pulsing drive to somehow bring you any sliver of relief.

But Obi-Wan refrained from all that.

He knew he needed to listen. To understand first. So to learn how best to fix this.

He just wanted to fix this.

“—I’ve never felt… quite… so alone.”

But with those six words, the Master Jedi’s temperance seemed to wash away with the second droplet that traced a serene path down to your chin, proving another chink in the levee.

Promptly, but still with great care, Obi-Wan neared your body, both sets of eyes never severing while he lowered to his knees. Mirroring your form in complete and utter stillness as he encouraged you to continue with a reinforced, steadfast expression.

A tremulous exhale escaped your lungs, silver gaze breaking the connection before sinking to the wayside.

“Not as I do now,” you breathed. “Not when Qui-Gon is gone.”

Those two syllables, Kenobi registered. Two knocks that brought that dam to ruins.

“He’s gone!” You croakily sobbed, a glare that could only reflect betrayal by the Galaxy itself rushing to perceive Kenobi’s affected countenance with an intensity that matched the gushing rain.

You raised a fist, tightening it in the air through a paled potency so sheer that Obi-Wan worried with stitched brows about the sharp damage your fingertips could be afflicting upon the contorted palm. All while silver eyes squeezed shut as if disgusted by the waves of pure agony that surmounted your figure.

“He’s gone for good,” you gnawed breathily. “And nothing will ever bring him back.”

While heaving gasps brimmed the once noiseless, dulled gray walls, amplifying the hollowed suffering emanating through the Force, Kenobi felt his tensed spine and rigid limbs ease with the surge of conviction that steadily overcame him.

Doubtlessness that, like a good Jedi, he felt the need to ease your misery.

More than that. Your pain happened to affect him in such a way, that it felt distressing to do anything but lift his wrist to reach out a bracing palm.

For someone he appreciated as an admirable individual.

And for a being he was beginning to consider a good friend.

Gently, his palm graced the side of yours, signaling him to carefully wrap warm fingers around your strikingly frigid, raised fist. A gesture which relaxed open your tear-brimmed orbs while Obi-Wan cautiously lowered your languishingly trembling clutch. So gradually, that as both your and Obi-Wan’s arms reached each respective knee, the clasped hand was spurred to wholly unfurl, giving Kenobi room to relax his thumb against your flushed palm while he eyed you meaningfully.

“You are not alone,” Obi-Wan firmly assured, his own voice eliciting a momentary shock as he heard its baritone timbre crush the presence of such prolonged and confounding silence.

“He’s gone,” you repeated mindlessly with an empty gaze barely supporting your head.

Yet Obi-Wan’s persistence was as boundlessly unyielding as the grip he maintained on you.

“But, you’re not alone.”

“Obi-Wan,” you wept, nostrils flaring as you shook your head with thinned eyes; swallowing harshly. “Pleas—“

Rapidly, with any fret of heedfulness tossed out the airlock, the Master Jedi brought his unchained hand toward your tottering jaw. Resting a loose knuckle under your chin to lift your searching gaze toward his.

You needed this, he excused. You needed to hear this.

And as your damp, sparkling eyes absently met his, he knew:

Distance be damned.

“You are The Guardian. Anakin is forever tied to you. And you will always, always have the Order. Thousands of Jedi ready to stand by your side because of who you are,” he declared with unshakable conviction.

Until his orbs softened below shattered lips.

“Silvey,” he whispered pregnantly. “Drink in my words.” His fingers tightened around your own. “You are not alone.”

And for a moment, Kenobi could note a subtle lift in your features. A slight lightening of your irises that indicated at least some partial unshackling of an invisible burden. A development that began to stitch closed the gaping crevice nestled within his sternum as it was reflected through the Force, stabilizing against your releasing shoulders and loosening throat.

Though your mind appeared to travel elsewhere.

Still, they were all gradual indications of your calming thoughts. Hints that whatever he was doing was mending something. And signs that first appeared when he touched your hand.

Another theory that added substance to the sealing emptiness Kenobi first experienced through the hall in what felt like eons ago.

So, he leaned into it, gracing his once stilled thumb across your palm’s supple skin as he, bit by bit, traced a messy oval to soothe your thoughts.

And it didn’t take long for your continually calming presence to uncontrollably elicit the soft smile that gradually adorned his lips.

But, as soon as his gentle finger uncovered the aplomb to supply a deeper, more sustained motion of solidarity, it seemed, instantaneously, that this very transference snapped you out of whatever distance your mind had traveled with an unforeseen start.

Your suddenly surprised gape jumped out at Kenobi while a once relaxed hand instantly recoiled out of his own. Chiseling an equally confused expression across Obi-Wan’s face as his brows furrowed at you uneasily.

Still, that did little in forestalling your hurried launch to stand, all done in an effort to put a few strides between you and the bearded Jedi before crossing deeper into the dark shadows enveloping your quarters, a back of tattered robes separating you from Obi-Wan’s probing stare.

The older Jedi felt that hallowed void dilate within himself once more as he observed your sheltering arms fold into themselves, a familiar, throbbing pain emanating into the surrounding Force while he too promptly rose to his feet.

Especially as there was no denying that it was a feeling, Obi-Wan gathered, he’d somehow caused.

A myriad of thoughts swirled his mind as your quarters adopted that familiar aura of soundless reticence. One that rivaled the emptiness of its dimmed lightning that somehow felt far more barren with the presence of two beings blending into its grayed walls.

And the silence was deafening. Thunderous enough to fester a chest-displacing emotion Kenobi sometimes experienced, but knew no Jedi should long entertain.

Guilt.

“Silvey?” He questioned with indecisively parted lips, phonating barely above a whisper.

But you never spoke.

Instead, the Jedi Master received his answer from the tautening cross of your arms and intensifying dip of your head.

The clatter of heavy footsteps and low conversation echoed from the hall, cutting the still air like an endless barrage of saber swipes. Their passing din muffled by your quarter’s steel separation as Obi-Wan partially sensed the handful of clones retreat down the passageway’s other end until their overlapping noise whispered into a distant memory.

And it was following that minor rattle, the long, interspaced stretches of pure stillness, and a timeless affair of observing your statued figure for any hint of an imparting thought, that the General reluctantly accepted the inevitable as pivoted on his heel toward the long gone entourage.

Although he now ambled toward the metal door, he only moved with stalling muscles, still in anticipation that he’d sense some shift, some indication of lightening impressions through the Force. At least, any idea that maybe, maybe you’d say something to him.

But once Obi-Wan’s fingers reached for the green-rimmed panel, releasing open the aperture with a whoosh, he began to come to grips with the fact that his presence would facilitate no locution, and, instead, only make things worse.

Stepping beyond the threshold, Kenobi’s eyes drifted to the side, as if to glance at your enigmatic figure staring out the viewport from far behind.

Though, despite the effort, he never dared to fully turn. Instead, Obi-Wan simply allowed his reluctant features to subdue against the throbbing remorse that struck through his mind like an unruly blaster spear as he murmured through uncertain lips one last time.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

A soft exhale, and the door hissed closed.

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[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 11: Alone (Part 1)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: Angst, description of night terror, descriptions of person and animal injury :/, violence, fluff, canon character death, and description of near-death experience.

Summary: Soon after losing yourself within your own mind, you are deployed to the distant planet Lanos to aid Obi-Wan Kenobi in his secondary mission of delivering supplies to a Republic supply port amidst his coordination of the primary fleet rendevous. But as you begin to dip your toes into the responsibilities that accompany becoming a General in The Clone Wars, you are quick to discover that lightyears of travel will do nothing to shield you from the consequences of being The Guardian.

Song Inspo: Widow's Peak — Neil Finn

Words: 8.2K

A/n: I'M ALIVEEEE. Haha, sorry for the long hiatus, but I'm back with Chapter 1 of Part II (of many). We begin with events running tangentially to Rising Malevolence. Also, I have to thank each and every one of you for your continued support. I can't put into words how much it means to me to receive your Kudoses and read your comments. It's what has really driven me to make this story as entertaining for y'all as possible. So thank you ❤️ So excited to be back! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this one in the comments below :)

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Series Masterlist

Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead — Benjamin Franklin

Squinting against the icy gale as loose flakes snagged your eyelashes, you steadied into a stiff crouch atop the snowy plain. One that stretched out for endless miles across the hostile planet’s pallid surface, but still allowed for enough idle traction with the dig of your determined heels into its niveous layers.

It wasn’t the easiest feat, considering your small body of just five years felt like loose parchment against the billowing gusts that howled past your ears and ruffled the furs of your Wampan cloak. But, no matter, you still did well for your age, relying on the Force’s converging stability to focus your body and mind on the far more interesting sight that lay ahead.

Sharp claws scurrying and scraping into the chipping frost below, the long, floppy-eared Ice Scrabbler continued its desperate search for the day’s meal. Your eyes graced its soft, brown coat, taking note of the progressive ruggedness that characterized the ends of its tail, and tight curls which twisted its cheeks into a perpetual frown.

What tugged at the muscles cornering your lips, however, was neither of those benign features. It was, instead, that pointed beak— a quite bulbous thing that greatly contrasted against the equally confused set of tiny button eyes dotting either oblivious side of the animal’s head as it remained affixed toward the ground.

You giggled.

Floppy ears spun like propellers, slapping against the small creature’s pointed mouth while those same, searching eyes locked cautiously onto your figure.

Sucking in the winter’s teeth-rotting chill, you held your breath, hoping not to upset the being any more than you obviously already had. Instead, you took comfort, simply by watching the miniature thing while your shoulders relaxed into the imperceptible numbing sensation the weather cast onto your grinning lips.

But the Galaxy had other plans, as the Scrabbler seemed to derive permission from your stilled expression to commence a slow approach. In which, placing one carefully lowered paw in front of the other, it rigidly prowled toward your figure crouched only a few feet away.

Still, you watched on quite happily, permitting the critter to carry out its nature during one of those rare trips you and your friend took across the planet’s surface.

Until the Scrabbler’s suddenly coiled spine launched like a flash of light toward your arm, levying a hefty scratch with sharp claws that plunged your knees into the sleet.

You cried out, thrusting a reactive fist toward the defensive, four-legged animal as the Force carried out your whim, sending its surprised limbs tumbling into the unfeeling embrace of a nearby, blackened rock that jutted ruggedly from the ice.

“Are you alright?” Qui-Gon asked calmly while swiftly approaching your squatting figure, having left behind his light scavenging efforts some meters away in favor of the sudden commotion.

You wiped a loose, crystal tear from your cheek as the wise-eyed man kneeled before you, gently grasping your small arm to assess the damage prior to loosening a travel pack off his back and down his shoulder so to leisurely rummage through its varied contents.

“That dumb thing attacked me!” You spit, eyes narrowed on the Scrabbler’s semi-distant form that softly limped beyond its disturbed landing spot, silent whimpers trailing paw prints which denting the snow.

That’s when the old Jedi’s gaze locked with yours. And without sharing a hint of anything but lifted features of neutrality and acceptance, your Master blindly grasped onto whatever he was looking for from his pack.

Soon, he revealed the mystery by raising a white bandage roll from its rear compartment before, once more, motioning for your arm, all of which began the gradual process of wrapping its red-streaked, mangled body that stung from the dissolving mess of descending flakes.

“Do you think they were unwise in attacking you?” The man questioned, circling the itchy white ribbon firmly around the inking, crimson wound.

You stared at him straight. “Yeah!”

“Even if they saw you as a threat?”

“But I wasn’t doing anything!” You complained, scrunching your nose in annoyance. “I was just… watching it.”

After tightly sealing your arm from any risk of leakage, the Master Jedi tied off the bandage. Embracing the seconds following that last, knotted loop to face you with his whole self, completely, before he settled to speak.

“Sometimes, we can do nothing at all, and everything right, yet still face the consequences.”

He rose to his feet, offering you a warm hand to firmly grab as you lugged yourself upwards, catching your sprightly feet to stand beside his articulate incarnation.

“But it is our responsibility as Jedi to face such circumstances without fear.”

Your eyes raised toward the warm, hue-scattered horizon, scanning the icy expanse for the animal before that same, conflicted stare grounded on a small brown ball of fur, quivering a few meters beyond the rock like a fleck upon a pearly white blanket.

“I wasn’t scared,” you defended meekly, a subtle pull tugging at your chest. “I was just… upset.”

But no matter how much you tried to hide it, Qui-Gon seemed to take clear notice of your gaze as his own subtly curious expression traced it to the nearby cramped creature struggling through a noticeable limp.

“It is fear that leads us to become upset. Fear that guides us to take it out on others.”

With deliberate leisure, the Master Jedi approached the trembling, small Scrabbler, leading you to follow in step as you steadily trailed along through suffocating snow banks. Their spilling bodies gliding like hands with tightening fingers as if ready to clasp your ankles before yanking you down into their underground world.

He hummed lowly, taking careful measure not to panic the tiny animal with intimidating noises. “But we must act compassionately to all. Even those who frighten us.”

Before long, the two of you reached the whining Scrabbler. And, with each successive movement that Qui-Gon made, from kneeling down to even extending a sedated, innocuous arm toward its wet snout, the being could only shrink in place at what they perceived as coming doom. With its left, front leg dreadfully abraded and slowly bleeding into reddening fur at the bend, that was all it could feasibly do.

Until the back of Qui-Gon’s hand graced those drooping ears, the gentle, kneading strokes progressively plucking out the Scrabbler’s surreptitiously affectionate nature. Most evident when the smoothly tranquilizing critter leaned into the Master Jedi’s palm with pleasurably squinting eyes, as if his rough skin held the only warmth found for miles.

Which was probably true.

Still, as was his timeless essence, Qui-Gon sourced the infinite prowess to calm the creature a significant degree. Enough, apparently, for your dear friend to feel comfortable gradually transferring that same roll of bandaging tape into your pocket-size palms. Tiny fingers which impulsively clutched onto the ruggedly thin material as your confounded gaze communicated every baffling, skeptical thought that flitted through your mind.

But all that only compelled the Master Jedi to respond with was a subtle, lighthearted beckon of the brows toward the faintly preoccupied, wild animal.

So, with equal prudence, and a healthy bout of watchful nerves, you gently wrapped your tiny fingers around the creature's leg.

Yet as those chilled digits graced bloodied fur bordering the Scrabbler’s wound, you were quick to earn a flick of its bulbous skull toward your now stiffened form, followed by a quiet, meaningful growl that seemed to sting your freshly wrapped wound the most.

This time, however, you didn’t react so rashly.

With Qui-Gon’s silent encouragement acting in tandem with his subsisted, distracting ear scratches, you carefully began wrapping the abrasion.

“To be their friend?” You questioned, eyes locked into the twirling, pearly fabric.

Qui-Gon lifted his hand from the Scrabbler while he considered your words, allowing the latter to curiously observe your actions with a regularly tilting head and clicking beak as the Jedi Master’s eyes graced the blue sky’s boundless existence.

“A Jedi is a friend to all who are imbued with the living Force.”

Your brows furrowed at the old man whose gaze had traveled elsewhere, though your hands remained steady. “But that’s… everything.”

His serene stare skipped back toward your patient expression.

“You are correct,” he smiled softly.

With a securing knot at the upper leg, you finished bandaging the creature, leaving enough room for them to bend their knee during the next few weeks of healing until the fabric dissolved.

The Scrabbler, too, seemed to approve of your quick handiwork, as they swiftly leaned over to swipe their beak past your cheek, offering a sloppy, wet lick of appreciation. All the while their sandpaper-like tongue roped a feeble giggle to fall past your lips.

And it was enough, too, to reel you back into the reality of your actions, like an air bubble shooting to the surface of any deep ocean.

“I feel bad,” you faintly admitted, averting your gaze from the only honorable man you’d ever known.

Instead, you focused your guilt by repaying the presently comfortable creature with a few scratches on their unfairly soft, browned back.

“There is no need,” he declared nonchalantly. “You have made your amends and were forgiven.”

A gentle, thrumming purr oozed from the Scrabbler’s belly— a sound so foreign yet entirely relaxing that it drowned out the echoing howls of swelling gusts that whipped your hair and numbed your cheekbones.

Still, nothing could ever stifle the way Qui-Gon’s subtle wisdoms stimulated your inner thoughts. Whether it was hours or days prior, once the gravity of his words set in, it was like rushing water to the crops of your mind.

You couldn’t help but drink it in.

“So… when I’m The Guardian, I’ll have to protect everyone else too? Why can’t I just help The Chosen One to keep balance in the Force?”

A sudden warmth enveloping your shoulder drew your gaze, along with your once stooped body, upwards. Empowering you to wonder up at the soft-eyed Jedi whose comforting grasp always reminded you that as long as he was around, you’d always be safe.

“Because all life is sacred, Young One. It is as meaningful as it is fleeting. It is when we accept this truth that we may find peace in the Galaxy.”

You grinned.

Until the wisp of glazed disorientation consuming Qui-Gon’s once bright, blue eyes drew it to falter.

“Qui-Gon?” You questioned nervously with wrinkled brows.

His jaw plunged open, orbs swirling gray as a sharp, red glow reflecting off their gloss caught your attention against the world’s white sheen.

You snapped your heed down toward a new heat, settled in the form of a blaring, red saber that burned your watering eyes. Sucking the life from your breath once your gaze traced its body from the hilt lying neatly in your palm all the way into Qui-Gon’s marred gut.

“Qui-Gon!” You cried. “I didn’t mean to!”

A maniacal hiss from just behind fluttered past your tingling ear, catching your heart in your throat as two fierce hands with sharpened nails dug ruthlessly into your arms to wheel you around.

A blood face lined by black streaks, craggy horns threatening to scratch out your skin, and eyes as yellow as the darkest side of the most rotten star.

“General.”

He grabbed your throa—

“General, sir.”

Shimmering silver eyes shot open, subdued shock heaving your once-lying chest upwards like a pebble stuck to the end of a string as you disjointedly adjusted to the warped, muggy cavern’s dimmed surroundings. That very instant in which your shoulders graced a higher altitude, you unconsciously scooted, palms scrambling your back to touch the rear, cold rock face while your mind caught up to the blood rushing in from your tingling extremities.

It was a brief existence of disorientation as disorderly thoughts gradually adjusted for the contrasting present. Allowing your senses to hone in on the fact that you were still within that happenstance cave on Lanos. One that you, Obi-Wan, and his Ghost Company of the 212nd decided to take short respite in, you quickly recalled.

Through that brisk remembrance, you found the blurriness of odd shapes soon cleared like melting ice into the curved lines and sharper cuts of clone troopers’ white and black uniforms, which graciously dotted your surroundings.

Some, like you, were resting against the cavern’s walls in various states of lying, sitting, and leaning, across or beside scattered Republic-marked cargo containers. A couple for shut-eye, and one group for, what looked like, a quick game of Card Commander, which you’d heard a bit about these last few days.

Others moved through the makeshift corridor manufactured by sporadically lounging bodies. Either in straight dialogues with one another or to strictly coordinate the transport of supply-riddled repulsersleds back out into the valley that formed this cave at least a millennia ago.

Most noticeable, however, was the clone trooper stood just in front of your once dormant figure. Presenting a silent disposition which dedicated his helmed stare to an existence of patient observation. All while you attempted to conceal somewhat erratic breaths emerging from that strange dream’s persisting sensation of bottomless emptiness as it settled within your chest like a voracious parasite.

Because it all just felt a little too real.

Nevertheless, you rammed that feeling down.

“Apologies for waking you, sir, but General Kenobi requested I inform you that we will begin moving again in the next ten minutes.”

You nodded, adjusting your spine against the rather uncomfortable, bumpy crag before glancing up at the bulkily masked trooper. One of the many soldiers in this Company tasked with acting as a defensive escort to a ground supply convo headed for the Republic’s Lanos supply port that still stood a few clicks out.

You recalled how the atmospheric electrical storm dancing beyond the skies forced the three cargo shuttles to land at least five clicks out from the compound in order to ensure a safe landing. Which, of course, left a quick trek as the only guarantee of a punctual supply delivery. All in hopes that this secondary mission would be completed in time for Kenobi to return the Negotiator.

He did have to coordinate an entire fleet rendezvous to protect the main supply convoys, after all. So, haste prevailed as the most important factor; no matter if Obi-Wan’s primary mission remained in the same system.

Speed, yes. A constant rush. That would explain why you felt so jostled when awoken. Particularly if you’d only been out for a few minutes.

Well, that among other factors.

“Thank you,” you croaked, throat dry from sleeplessness until you cleared it with a gruff cough. “And your name?”

“Designation CT-7212, General,” he straightened. “But the boys call me Boil.”

“Boil,” you hummed, tasting the vowels. “I like that. But call me Silvey.”

You climbed to your feet, reaching for your knees to pat off the dirt that had accumulated in your unconscious state.

“Sir?” He asked perplexed.

You glanced up at the man, and, were it not for the helmet, you would’ve seen a sharp, bundle of nerves stitch together his brows right about now.

“Close, but you’re missing a couple letters,” you teased, throwing a light smile toward the speechless soldier undoubtedly drenched in discomfort, until you adopted a more practical, commanding tone.

“No General, no sir. Just Silvey.”

Boil offered a curt nod. “Understood sir—uh—Silvey.”

You opened your mouth, loosened tongue primed to inquire about the approximate arrival time to the Republic port, when a vivid, repeating flash erupted from your wrist. Followed by a high-pitched beep and vibrating buzz that, in equal intervals, tingled like tiny Endorian ants up and down your non-dominant arm.

Your new wrist comm seemed to be aptly functioning, you thought while glancing down at the device. It was one of the few upgrades the Republic Army supplied for your wears. Much like the other handful of Jedi you’d seen dressed for battle, you bore forearm-length granite gray gauntlets and shin guards that blended well with your long-sleeved charcoal tunic and trousers. Even the sage shoulder guard did an excellent job extending into your similarly tinted robe’s design.

Though, in hindsight, it wasn’t the most appropriate clothing for such a humid cavern, considering how the cloth stuck to your skin and pulled droplets from your forehead like a desert heat.

All in all, you couldn’t wait to step outside into unfettered air.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” you informed Boil, who simply nodded before retreating down the passageway while you comfortably folded your legs to answer the comm.

Only to hear a familiar groan of annoyance as Anakin seemed to, once again, request that Ahsoka leave from whichever room he was currently occupying on a ship lightyears away. From what you could make out, he was suggesting to his Padawan that she inform the Admiral of their split approach tactic. Still, you couldn’t gather much else from the exchange as it was swiftly followed by the clear whoosh of a sealing door that prompted you to speak.

“Glad to hear that you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Sorry,” he huffed into the comm, a tin film separating the essence of his voice from you. “My Padawan has yet to learn how to talk with the Council.”

“Struggling with tact? Sounds like someone else I know.”

And the brief silence that followed suggested all you needed to adequately imagine the thin, unimpressed line characterizing the Chosen One’s frustrated lips.

Which was certainly enough to yank a healthy chuckle out of you.

Until a concerned edge cut you off.

“Obi-Wan dodged my question when I asked how you were a few minutes ago.”

Your jaw subconsciously tightened.

This is exactly what you were hoping to avoid.

Anakin worrying about you when he had much more on his mind to deal with.

You knew particularly well what it was like to lose someone you were close to. Including the dangers of tying another string to one more rattling tree so soon after a mother’s death. Which is why you didn’t want to complicate his potential endeavors of relying on the Force to forge ahead with your own, peeling branches.

Nevertheless, while you were sure Obi-Wan did his best in redirecting Anakin’s questioning, you were now close enough with The Chosen One to know that he was quite capable of catching someone, especially his former Master, in a subtle act of deception.

Although there was perhaps still a way to salvage this, you considered.

So, you feigned ignorance.

“Oh?”

“Are you okay?” He questioned without a lick of hesitation.

“I’m fine, Ana—“

“I know something is going on. That it has been for a while. But no one is tellin—“

“Anakin, drop it,” you stated tersely.

A perpetual silence seemed to cloud the comm line, interrupted by only the occasional pop of static that merely acted as proof of life.

Still, it supplied enough of a buffer for you to hopefully steer the conversation to something more… productive? Harmonious?

No matter the uncomfortable sheen that draped across your figure, that needed to happen.

He couldn’t have any distractions.

“Um,” you breathed deeply before releasing a noisy exhale. “If you heard from Obi-Wan, I assume it was during the Council meeting on that new Separatist weapon I’ve been hearing so much about,” you inquired somewhat smoothly. “Any news on your end?”

Another beat of complicated stillness crossed the communique before Anakin’s firm, business-oriented tone echoed through the line.

“Master Plo Koon’s fleet was in the Abregado System when we lost contact. Sensors say that this weapon may be why. But the Council ordered we redirect to protect the supply convoys.”

“Sounds like I’ll be seeing you soon,” you commented while your chest distended at the loss of life. “Who’s been tasked with rescuing the survivors?”

“Technically, no one,” he straightly remarked. “But… you also probably won’t be seeing me as soon as you thought.”

Well, that certainly tugged at the corner of your mouth.

“Bring support,” you advised.

“Don’t worry,” Anakin relayed, a slight unsettlement underlying his tone. “The Master Insubordinate herself is tagging along. Ahsoka was the one who wanted to go in the first place.”

“Like Master, like Padawan,” you remarked lightheartedly, hoping to relieve the Jedi’s mood.

“At least she’s learning something, I guess.”

Though, despite the levity of his words, you could still hear the steady unease buffering his voice like a decaying foundation, fracturing all the way up to its highest spires.

A nervous trill swirled in your gut.

He seemed to be in better spirits before. So then…

Was this your doing?

Did your earlier deflection infect him with this gradual rot of apprehension?

“I won’t tell Obi-Wan,” you revealed, hoping to seize some sense that perhaps his tense articulations were primarily rooted in that particular worry. “But please update him when he starts coordinating the rendezvous. Otherwise, he’s gonna turn gray because of us. Well, if he doesn’t figure it out by then.”

Silence spoke for your groundless optimism instead.

And, against every warring cell of your being that despairingly endeavored to justify the past month’s clandestine behavior, it suddenly forced you to consider:

Were you making things worse?

No. No.

The alternative of sharing these strange afflictions was sure to confuse your role as his protector. His Guardian.

Not the other way around.

… but

Hiding it? When he already knew something was going on?

And it was that very justification that seemed to lift some invisible veil from your radiantly, silver eyes.

You’d driven this secret to its farthest bounds, when scooping at its crumbling remains proved to just pour sand into unwanted places.

And the result?

Keeping such a lid sealed only allowed for the pressure to rise.

And if there was any hope of ensuring that Anakin would be able to focus on his mission, on himself, without undeniable questions regarding your being bouncing about his brain, it meant that it was time to crack it a sliver.

Lest it explode into a million, tiny shards.

You exhaled, quite desultorily.

He believed in you. At least, somewhat.

And you him.

Though you still couldn’t help but shake your head at yourself as this decision haphazardly knitted its way across your synapses.

It was time to rely on that trusting notion.

And although, given the tightly wrapped string already knotted around your branches, there was little other choice, you could only hope that this was, in fact, the right one.

No matter how compromising it felt to share.

“I don’t know what it was,” you lowly breathed with mindless abandon.

Another beat.

“Huh?” His tired voice crackled through.

“What happened to me,” you angled your head to watch a handful of clones secure the last two, red and white cargo containers lining the cavern’s walls on a large, gray repulsorsled for travel. “I don’t know what it was.”

Anakin could’ve yelled until his throat turned raw and it still would’ve sounded like a distant squeak in comparison to the rumble of his quickening heart. A beat you could sense from his uncontrollably stilled breath thousands of planets away.

“What happened, Silvey?”

“I’m not sure how much Obi-Wan has told you—“

“Nothing,” he tightly reminded.

“He’s not to blame, Anakin,” you assured, eyes lifting to the cave’s rugged ceiling. “I asked him to keep this private.”

You sighed, closing your eyes momentarily as you gathered your thoughts surrounding the peculiarity of recent events while the Jedi on the other side of the Galaxy lingered in quiet anticipation.

“Pretty soon after arriving on Coruscant, I started having these strange headaches. They weren’t great, but manageable. Until it got worse. One of those times being in the fighter cockpit, if you recall. Eventually, I found some kind of solution. Well, a few. It’s hard to put into words. But, that’s not important. I—“

You swallowed thickly.

“There was an… incident. I was meditating and then, I don’t know, the headaches came back and my mind went… somewhere else? A different land, I suppose. A deadly one.”

You exhaled through your nostrils, taking Anakin’s perpetual silence as permission to continue.

“Obi-Wan was nearby so he helped bring me back before… before it was too late. But whatever happened in there… it changed something. I don’t know. I just don’t feel like myself, I suppose.”

You shrugged, forgetting temporarily that this was, in fact, not a holocomm call.

“From what I was told by Master Windu, I passed out. Spent the rest of the day in the Infirmary before being declared fit for duty and shipping out the next morning. Nothing has happened since then so hopefully it’s all in the past.”

“What do you mean another land?” Anakin questioned, crossed brows and tensed teeth traveling as clearly as his voice through the gravely comm.

“Just that,” you admitted honestly. “Another land. Lots of black rocks, rough waters...”

You bit your lip.

“Well, Obi-Wan did say he sensed a darkness there.”

“Not in you?” Anakin nearly pleaded.

“No, no,” you confirmed quickly, shaking your head for no one in particular. “Just in this ‘place.’” Uneasily, you rubbed your moist forehead with the back of your chilled hand. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“No kidding,” Anakin huffed, before his voice softened into a realm that nearly made you question whether he believed someone was eavesdropping from the other end of that far-off door.

“But, you’re okay?”

You smiled gently to yourself, chin dipping into your chest as you sensed a waxing alleviation flood his side of the comm before you even had the chance to respond.

“I’m alright,” you verbalized, releasing that last bit of trouble pervading your mind.

Well, other than that strange imagery your brain concocted earlier.

That was no dream, you soon surmised once you allowed such thoughts to finally coalesce into a more, credulous form since awakening.

It was something else.

A corrupted memory, perhaps.

You recalled that particular scouting day on Hoth. How the Scrabbler mistook you for a credible threat. And how Qui-Gon, as always, used the experience for a teaching moment.

But that red lightsaber... laid in your hands…

Piercing your Master’s life force.

A trickle of guilt crawled down your spine.

That devil face…

You shuddered.

No.

This was something entirely new.

And, still, nothing with enough substance to be quite concerned about just yet.

Nothing worth sharing.

“You better get going,” you counseled, focusing your mind on the present. “People need you, Anakin.”

“That they do,” he chuckled, leading you to subconsciously shake your head at his oddly charming ego.

Until he abated to relay one last item.

“Thanks, Silvey.”

You cocked your head curiously at his sudden warmth. “For what?”

Another crackle of the comm.

“For trusting me.”

Your shoulders relaxed.

“I’ve always trusted you Anakin,” you breathed. “Just needed a little reminder.”

“Then keep a calendar, yeah?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Shut it, Smarty.”

And, somehow, you knew that even hundreds of parsecs away, The Chosen One and his Guardian were, in equal measure, smiling at their respective comms with an expression only either would recognize.

“Bring as many of those boys home as you can, Anakin. You hear me? I’ve heard countless stories about Master Plo over the years. And no Separatist ploy can cut him down.”

“I’ll be sure to share your praises when I find him.”

You could taste his grin as your teeth parted.

“You better.”

—

If Master Kenobi appreciated anything during this secondary mission, it was Lanos’s proclivity for far-reaching, grassy plains and vivaciously deep gales. An environment that, in some ways, reflected Naboo’s natural monuments, which the bearded Jedi had opportune time to take note of during its battle ten years ago. Though, while Lanos carried less staggering plateaus, its rolling hills had the power to eclipse the sight of any mortal being, effortlessly putting Theed to shame.

Still, his enjoyment of these notable planetary characteristics stretched far beyond aesthetic pleasures. They acted as a strategic advantage for the task at hand: delivering necessary cargo while remaining hidden from the visual sensors of Separatist ships dedicated to broad-band sector scans only parsecs away.

It was why the General chose this pathway in particular. A profound valley whose towering, dense rock walls and thick vegetation would do wonders in concealing about 36 armed clones, 27 repulsorsleds of cargo, and two Jedi from periodic sweeps. Especially during an electrical storm.

Maybe it was that self-assured sense of security, that peace of mind imbued by the presence of a large Republic fleet in the sector above, that beckoned Kenobi’s mind to wander beyond those scattered, nine clusters of steadily marching clones and hovering supplies.

He was instead drawn toward the far more compelling presence trekking about ten meters ahead. Locked in friendly conversation with a convo-guarding solider who carried a green, circular mark on his helm’s rear.

You.

You. You. You. That’s all that consumed the General’s mind.

And, for quite a logical reason, of course.

It had only been a few days prior when the two of you narrowly escaped the brink of death at the hands of your own mind. An experience that flooded the Jedi’s thoughts with seemingly unanswerable questions and unsettling speculations. All rooted in one, unmistakable conclusion.

Obi-Wan sensed a great darkness there.

Never before the incident, not since after, and, frankly, never within you.

Never a part of you.

Just, there.

It was such a nebulous, unfamiliar sensation that no Basic words existed to support its nature— a conception which bloomed childlike echoes of uncertainty within Obi-Wan’s very being.

But even that wasn’t a fair assessment. Kenobi felt immeasurably more well-versed while a young Padawan in the intricacies of the Force and their purport than he had in the previous days.

Much like your headaches, those murky energies were there for as long as your mind was trapped. Until freeing you compelled them to disappear, preferably for good.

But what occurred in order for you to rediscover your connection to the light, so to escape that nightmarish realm, he did not know. All he knew was that in some peculiar way, he felt it affect him as well.

In a process that compelled him to momentarily misplace his being within the Force while he rushed to find it again.

Though it was nothing compared to what Obi-Wan experienced when he nearly lost you too.

Your spirit-paled face. Those cold fingers that rivaled even the temperatures of your home planet.

Your once vibrantly silver eyes faded into a distant, stiff gray.

Thank the Maker he hadn’t waited for the Healer.

Against the stony judgment of Windu’s agitated brows and thinned lips, Obi-Wan decided that he couldn’t just kneel there. He couldn’t simply linger. Doing nothing to aid you besides propping up your slacked spine before it slammed against the rigid balcony amidst that sudden fall.

The Galaxy, the Order, and Anakin needed The Guardian. And the Master Jedi was going to carry out his Council-given duty to ensure that exigency was fulfilled.

So, with a firm verbal commitment to his fellow Master that Kenobi would be getting help, he scooped up your nearly lifeless body into contrastingly scorching arms before taking off sprinting.

He zigzagged around corners, down winding staircases, and through twisting hallways. Dashing all the way, and ignoring every inquisitive glance and curiously dragging foot until he reached the Temple Infirmary.

“Just in time too, Master Kenobi. I believe we would have lost them had you arrived a moment later.”

Master Nema’s words reverberated against his inner skull like the ticking of a bomb. One he’d only nearly prevented from shattering everything in its path. It rang the loudest amidst those timeless seconds in which the uneasy Jedi, powerlessly staring from a distant corner, followed the platoon of medical droids swirling around your body that drifted in and out of critical condition.

It was not until the Master Healer deemed you well on the way to recovery that Obi-Wan found greater ease in dulling those eery tolls. Chiming bells signaling a now distant reaper of peace and light that trailed him all the way to Master Yoda and Windu’s emergency meeting called to be held on one of the high spire’s windy private balconies after the fact.

“Darkness in them or not. There is no gray."

A concept every Jedi was taught from a very young age, the bearded man knew. So he certainly didn’t need a reminder from the Grand Master himself. Especially when the fact of Obi-Wan’s analysis still held true:

“Yet, I sense it no longer.”

“Still, that argument remains immaterial, Master Kenobi. As you may recall, I have engaged with Silvey in deep meditation to access her mind for the past month and have had little success. Perhaps, in their momentary weakness, you were able to sense what was present all along.”

“Coincidence, it is not, their headaches and loss of mind. More, there is to this story. But in the light, Young Silvey resides.”

And Obi-Wan wholeheartedly agreed.

Not just because he was now beginning to understand the Jedi you were, but also due to another salient development that sprouted with a subtlety akin to the budding petals of a Jade rose.

That, while uncomfortably idling in the doorway of your infirmary cubicle for news, only a few hours after the droids recorded a steadily strengthening heartbeat, did Kenobi discover with boggled irises the faintest sensation of your mind’s presence for the very first time.

A distinct vicissitude that only he himself seemed to perceive.

The auburn-haired man thought he’d have a moment to explore this development too. He needed time to understand, to discover, what it was that could’ve possibly initiated this change. Maybe meditation during the temporary separation from your being, which was bound to occur with your recovery taking place amidst Kenobi’s next-day deployment, would provide some answers.

Yet, come the following morning, as the General ambled down the Temple’s outer hall, he instead sensed a familiarizing presence. It wasn’t until he turned into the hangar bay to greet one of his platoons did he come to realize why the impression felt so novel, as he clocked a fully mended Silvey chatting amongst the clones.

Undeniably, he had an obligation to pull you aside.

“You should be recovering.”

“I’m as healthy as I’m gonna be, Obi-Wan. I’m cleared for duty, and Master Windu said that I’ve been assigned to your deployment. So you’re stuck with me.”

And he certainly was.

He was stuck with you, and he was stuck with these new perceptions that, even just a few hours ago, drove his mind into backflips after summersaults as he endeavored to decipher them.

It was a strange sensation. He barely felt it. A blip from your presence during the Company’s brief recess at one of the valley’s cave entrances a click back.

A weight. A brief pressure leaning on his chest.

But, just as quickly as it came, it was gone.

And what all that meant was that Obi-Wan Kenobi was also stuck with himself. Throughout this supply port journey, while he paced those same ten meters behind your conversational figure, the bearded man felt trapped within that gnawing, clawing realization that he was simply following in the footsteps of that same dreadful mistake he’d committed during the prior month.

Leaving you to your own when he knew that something was wrong. Observing from afar when he had the power to say something. All ignored in favor of his omnipresent trepidation that was primarily fueled by your history of swift withdrawals whenever faced with internal inklings of distress.

Well, no longer.

Master Kenobi nodded to the black-and-white helmeted clone sergeant leading the gradually hovering group of repulsorsleds beside him, signaling that there was no need to follow before picking up his stride through the caravan’s strict formation.

A Jedi learned from the past.

And this particular Jedi was quickly inferring that if he wished to certify that you were, in fact, ‘as healthy as you were gonna be,’ he had to personally confirm it:

At least, that’s what he told himself while he promptly neared your ambling figure still enraptured by deep conversation with a Corporal.

There was no more polite waiting until the last minute.

The Master Jedi recalled the impression of holding your icy, limp body. How it felt like a shutter from a sudden coil of wind chill.

And he didn’t like it at all.

“Silvey,” Obi-Wan projected, causing you to pause mid-discussion in favor of angling your neck back toward him with expectant brows.

The bearded Jedi continued. “A moment?”

Offering a faint smile toward his resolved gaze, Kenobi observed as you briefly turned back to the clone.

“Nice talking with you, Getter. Let’s catch up later.”

And with that, you eased your heels back to walk beside the older Jedi. An action additionally facilitated by a sudden gust that tugged equally at both your fluttering robes like a raised sail.

“Getter?” Kenobi questioned light-heartedly as a faint smile graced his lips. “I believe he’s a new addition to the Company, so I’ve yet to learn the root of that moniker.”

Obi-Wan watched your knowing eyes pass onto him an aura of sweet appreciation that sprawled out to every inch of your body before leaving glowing remnants atop the receding grass.

“Your new recruit was labeled as quite the ‘go-getter’ during his Kamino days,” you expressed, nodding your chin toward the named clone marching ahead as your gaze focused in the same direction. “Which equals having an olive painted on your helmet. Green means go,” you chuckled.

Kenobi hummed appreciatively, allowing another whistle of wind to whip by your bodies as it challenged both strides with equal resistance.

Until it calmed enough, dissipating into a gentle blow, for his facial muscles to relax into the real reason he called you back.

“How are you feeling?”

“You know,” you began with a teasing lilt. “That’s the second time I’ve been asked that today.”

Obi-Wan cocked his head with interest, brows slightly furrowing with hands trailing to meet each other behind his back while he hung for you to resume.

“A friendly warning,” you smirked. “Anakin can read you better than you think.”

And then it clicked.

“Anakin had inquired following this morning’s holocomm meeting,” Obi-Wan soberly relayed, eyes glued to the verdant blades of grass traveling past his strolling brown boots. “But I assure you, Silvey, I hadn’t revealed anything about your condition.”

“It’s okay, Obi-Wan,” you calmed, moderately bobbing your head side to side in thought as you considered your words. “I’m choosing to look at it as a blessing in disguise. I think I made a mistake it not telling him earlier.”

Kenobi silently nodded before peering up at you inquisitively. “So, he knows?”

You offered him a distinct look.

“He knows,” you acknowledged, the General noticing as your silver eyes snagged onto some pointed sight beyond his other flank that brightened their gleam. “And he seems to be taking it well.”

Collarbone following your gaze, Obi-Wan glanced to his right when a whipping movement among the bordering foliage centered his own vision.

Streaks of fiery orange lined the back of some fox-like creature that darted from one bush to another. Its fur blending into a pale yellow, soft underbelly and hind legs that flared brightly below Lanos’s equally glaring sun.

It continued its frantic trek of sprightly bounds while skittering into thickets of obscurity. Though soon, the animal’s narrowed skull and gold-ringed irises found rationale to peak out from the opposite end of a latent bush, snout drawing a pure line of curiosity toward both your figures five meters away.

“And regarding my inquiry?” Kenobi gently pressed with a nonchalant regard centered on the timid creature as you and the bearded Jedi naturally reigned your steps into a brief pause.

Though, instead of distantly observing, the General felt through the Force’s most sensitive intricacies the subtle brush of your arm floating past his as you carefully approached the furry onlooker.

With one airy foot after another, all while ignoring the rear battalion’s continual trudge onwards, you reached a free hand to your robe’s pocket. Meticulous fingers searching for some loose item as you quietly spoke,

“Master Kenobi,” you hummed factitiously, digits grasping onto some cylindrical, crackling object that you swiftly tugged from its enclosure to reveal as a pearly white ration bar. “I admit, the preceding, mind-altering incident was not ideal.”

Smoothly, you snapped off a piece of the food item, the resulting crack catching the doe-eyed fox’s twitching nose. Drawing its creeping figure a step or two out from the concealing foliage as your voice evenly lowered in response.

“But I’ve had my fair share of fainting spells from exhaustive circumstances before. And I’ve recovered all the same.”

Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed perplexedly.

“Fainting spells?” He questioned under his breath, looking onwards with now crossed arms as your final paces and kneeling figure landed you before the creature's nervously narrowing eyes and prying spine.

Is that why you were acting so careless about this incident? Did you not know how close to death you nearly came? The Healer on duty or your Master would’ve fully explained what truly occurred, Kenobi assured himself. Yet, you appeared unaware. Oblivious to Obi-Wan’s efforts to save your life that oh so nearly fell short.

If so, he had a responsibility to inform you.

Perhaps it was this sudden conviction which dragged his once stilled feet to stroll toward your bowed figure. To approach the same generous being that fed each broken ration bar piece to a greedily licking fox whose snout relaxed into your warm, outstretched palm.

“We only have a finite count of those,” Kenobi expressed as he reached your side, eyeing the raised, gingered fur of a creature equal parts absorbed and oblivious. “It was intended to last you the day.”

You angled your outspoken head and raised brows back toward him. “I think we can both agree that he’s enjoying it way more than I ever could’ve,” you grinned glowingly, nose crinkling with each lick that clearly tickled your fingertips as the animal lapped up every last crumb of ‘flavor.’

A sight that caused a soreness to shoot by Obi-Wan’s sternum, disappearing just as quickly as it arrived.

The loss of innocence in this new world, he surmised. From this war, and the years preceding it. Seeing an act as simple and kind as this certainly did numbers to remind him of the peace that marked most of his Padawan days.

And he disfavored that he’d have to slice into it like a saber through bark.

“Silvey, do you know what happened after we exited your mind?”

Again, you twisted toward Obi-Wan, sharing an equally amused yet questioning expression that lifted you from your squat to shake off foreign slobber with a sliding clap or two.

“Um, yeah,” you shrugged your shoulders, pivoting to face the battalion’s forward movement before leaning into another hiking pace that led Obi-Wan’s white shin-guarded legs to traipse in tandem. “Master Windu said I passed out. Nothing a day’s rest in the infirmary couldn’t heal.”

Kenobi paused.

In fact, your words stopped him in his tracks altogether, the weight of which yanked down his leading foot like Coruscant’s gravitational pull on an incoming shuttle.

Obi-Wan’s probing eyes raked over your expression in search of any inkling of understatement. A fixed scan that would prod every image you reflected onto him until it satiated his urge with absolute satisfaction. A burning desire to learn of what truly happened when you left his carrying arms that day in the infirmary. And an aspiration that radiated from his orbs so fiercely, it snatched your noticing figure to halt alongside his as a concerned glow etched across your countenance.

“You were nearly killed, Silvey,” Obi-Wan hushed, hoping to keep his promise of discretion by ensuring that any nearby clone was out of earshot. “I felt your Life Force weaken in my arms. Master Nema said as much.”

Obi-Wan watched while your parted teeth tensed to chew the inside of your lip. Uneasy cheeks shifting as you raked a backhand across your lowered head in thought, wiping away a few, loose strands of sticking hair.

“I had no idea…” you uttered mindlessly.

Until your flitting eyes shot up to meet his. All while antsy feet, budged by rote, drew you both to lean into another march forward, toward the faraway Republic supply port.

“Why wouldn’t Master Windu tell me this?” You expressed, lips parted in thought as your eyes raked the traveling blades of grass for answers. “He’s known of my concerns for weeks.“

Another swiping ripple unfurled through the Force, driving Kenobi’s focus to tilt toward a familiar, fury blob dashing from verdant cover-to-cover as those recognizable golden eyes kept watch in its perpetual, ensuing creep. One whose curiosity apparently devolved into desire for another tasty treat.

Although not by any other Jedi’s standards.

“It appears you’ve acquired a new friend,” Kenobi commented, casually motioning toward the unceasing orange fox with a few fingers.

His words drew your lifted brows toward the endearing sight, with the critter’s smart golden eyes and sharp, conniving ears appearing to play a titular role in poking a restrained smile through once-drained features.

“During a time in which friends are most sought after,” you breathed before offering him a thin lip tug.

Another beat sprinkled by the resounding crunch of grass.

You roughly exhaled through your nose, eyes sheepishly drifting toward the carefully observing man before you stiffly articulated churning thoughts.

“I’m really starting to realize I owe Anakin a big apology.”

“Coincidence, it is not.”

Yoda’s eerily judicious words echoed against Obi-Wan’s skull like the instant that follows a visceral nightmare as his feet continued their steady tread across lusciously viridescent turf.

He couldn’t deny the Grand Master’s infallible logic. So much so, that his eyes pierced through your frame, passing by any deeper meaning of your long-forgotten words as his thoughts tumbled through logic spells.

This incident’s severity proved it to be no fluke.

It was something to do with your mind. And while Kenobi couldn’t grasp an ounce of clarity from the Force on the matter, he knew from recent history that any indications of what this was or where it was headed could be discerned from those peculiar, cerebral manifestations.

A thought that grew all the more concerning when a Jedi like Mace Windu failed to address it seriously.

A Jedi like him, as he blindly assumed that stress was the rationale behind your initial symptoms, despite your vehement dissent.

But, this time, Obi-Wan refused to let you keep it all inside. He wouldn’t disregard your perceptions again.

Luckily, on the former, it appeared that you were starting to agree.

“Silvey, in the nature of commensurate openness, I must ask, have you experienced any more symptoms since the incident? Specifically, in relation to your mind?”

Another gust of winding valley breeze swiped Kenobi’s robe against his legs, tugging his senses to canvas the vale. The perpetual brigade and whirring repulsorsleds’s even procession and the sunned fox agilely and stealthily weaving through shrubs not far behind streamed prominently around his perception. Even the gentle sway of a distant leaf tied to its maker, or the churning hiss of waterways that streamed through the surrounding mountains flowed with even impressions throughout the Force.

All before his mind circled back to the being at the forefront of his mind.

One whose uncertain, downcast gaze and gently parted lips had yet to answer.

And that was always an unfortunate sign.

“Silv—“

“General.”

Kenobi stalled his gate almost instantly, swiveling neck facing Lieutenant Waxer as his spine lengthened into the military-grade armor encapsulating his limbs while you correspondingly braked beside him.

“Apologies for the interruption, Sir,” Waxer elucidated toward the bearded Jedi. “The electrical storm has mostly cleared for communications. The Council is requesting your presence on The Negotiator for final rendezvous preparations.”

Kenobi nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Though he spoke with a hint of indecision.

“Go,” you clearly adjured, swirling Obi-Wan’s attention back toward your brilliantly silver eyes that easily caught onto his hesitant tone. “I can finish this delivery on my own. I’ll have Boil work with me on leading the rest of the clones temporarily in Waxer’s place while you two are off-world.”

Your first mission alone. Or partial mission, he supposed.

But you would be leading. And with limited training in the area of wartime feats. Something which certainly pulsated his unease.

“Go,” you assured, adorning a knowing smile that relaxed Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

But only after a few more seconds of analytical consideration did the Jedi Master finally raise a plain brow, tilting his beard as he left you with one final reminder:

“I’m a comm ring away.”

Taglist

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#obi wan fanfiction #anakin x reader #obi wan kenobi #obi wan my beloved #obi wan x oc #obi wan x reader #obi wan x y/n #angst #obi wan and anakin #fluff #star wars fanfiction #star wars #star wars anakin #star wars prequels #star wars the clone wars #star wars tcw #tcw #sw tcw #the clone wars #clone wars #commander cody #clone trooper boil #clone trooper waxer #qui gon jinn #anakin and ahsoka #anakin skywalker #anakin and obi wan #star wars ahsoka #ahsoka tano #reader fic

[yourneighborhoodporg]

Masterlist

✿ Fluff ➵ Angst ❦ Smut

Series

The Guardian ✿ ➵ (In Progress)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

When Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka crash land on the desolate, ice planet Hoth, they meet a stranger with great power and deep connections to their past. You join the trio, hoping to face your destiny, which has long been foretold. But when the Separatists and Sith threaten you and your newfound family, you’re forced to make sacrifices to defend your friends, fulfill the prophecy, and protect the man you’ve grown to love.

One-Shots & Requests

Short Red Dress ✿ ❦ 18+ (Complete)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x f!Reader x Anakin Skywalker

Request — Hello! Could I request an obi wan x reader x anakin fic where the reader is a force sensitive Jedi? They have to go undercover for a mission and ani and obi are awestruck/distracted by reader in flattering clothes (that aren’t Jedi robes) and it makes them both realize their feelings :) feel free to make it a lemon if you want.

#fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #masterlist #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #one shot #slow burn #obi wan fanfiction #anakin skywalker fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #x oc #reader fic #smut #banter

[yourneighborhoodporg]

Hello! Could I request an obi wan x reader x anakin fic where the reader is a force sensitive Jedi? They have to go undercover for a mission and ani and obi are awestruck/distracted by reader in flattering clothes (that aren’t Jedi robes) and it makes them both realize their feelings :) feel free to make it a lemon if you want

Little Red Dress

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader x Anakin Skywalker

Warnings: Jealousy, Reader in Alluring Clothing, Brothel Setting, Some Life-Threatening Danger, Light Violence, Creepy(ish) Fella, Soft Smut (Minors DNI), all characters are over 18, Anakin Threatening Murder TM (why am I even surprised 😂), light banter, fluff, alcohol is around, boys being worried, HEAVY FLIRTING.

Song Inspo: Red Dress — MAGIC!

A/n: This took me way too long to get to lol 💀 Absolutely love this request idea which made it so fun to write. Wasn’t sure which gender you wanted for the reader so I made them female-identifying. This is my first request and short (lol) fic so please let me know your thoughts! Hope you enjoy :)

Words: 8.1k

She was built like a dream — Joseph Heller

Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker were… uncomfortable.

Not because Master Yoda himself had tasked the three of you with this urgent mission to the Outer Rim. Nor was it due to the cloudy, dark, and incessantly rainy atmosphere that was Morlana One’s Leisure Zone— its backstreets dotted by the occasional lifeless streetlight that just barely reflected off the puddles below, paving the two Jedi a glimmering path toward the local brothel.

No. It wasn’t any of that at all.

Instead, they felt a foreign existence within their own bodies, with each nearing step toward the club’s shadowy entrance, on account of the perplexing, and frankly alien, wears that sheened their limbs.

Of course, they never had any styling choice in the matter. Not for an assignment like this, where the elimination of Jedi symbols was expected.

Because this was a mission that required a gentler, more covert hand.

Because this was a mission that had you all undercover.

Nearly 72 hours ago, unknown assailants had broken into one of the Jedi Temple’s artifact rooms. From the emergency cache, they’d stolen seven Kyber crystals, which were always held at the ready in case a Jedi needed a temporary saber after damaging or misplacing their own.

A facility Anakin took advantage of too many times to count.

But, on this occasion, the Order could only count themselves lucky that The Chosen One had again somehow lost his lightsaber during a short mission to the Coruscant Underworld, requiring him to report to that very same artifacts chamber for a replacement before he could continue his search down into the planet’s murky depths. By chance, the chestnut-haired Jedi had arrived just in time to witness that the usually locked, ornate wooden door was notably ajar. And, with further investigation, that the krystals’ storage chest had been ransacked.

With Council Member Master Kenobi assigned to the inquiry, he quickly learned from a few trustworthy sources, including his old friend Dex, that the crystals were flown off-world to be sold at auction. To a seedy establishment in the Morlani System, no less. All with an undetectability and swiftness that duped not only the inter-District and planetary departure security systems, but the Jedi Temple’s once-thought-impregnable apparatus as well.

Evidently, Master Yoda had found that this operation met a sophistication not often seen among the ranks of disparate pirates or common thieves. It was why, after Kenobi came to him with this information, the Grand Master decided that the bearded man and Jedi Knight who discovered the robbery would be assigned to retrieve these precious artifacts. Placing an emphasis on the need to arrive undercover, lest this sordid enterprise catch wind of a group of creeping, saber-wielding Jedi.

They just couldn’t risk it.

Any action like that would certainly force this gang to race underground once again, crystals in tow, before the Jedi had a chance to recover them.

So, the Council supplied Obi-Wan and Anakin with clothes of the region’s elite, aiming to disguise them both as potential buyers.

Kenobi, a black dress uniform with gold, reflective embellishments suffocating his suit jacket while fueling his growing desire to remain hidden within the shadows as it converted his torso into a glinting beacon under the passing lights. And Skywalker, a simpler, but equally sophisticated gray suit atop a pearly white button-down that screamed conformity louder than Anakin could voice his displeasure.

Still, leaving the crystals’ fate up to whether this gang would accept Republic Credits was a game of pure chance. That, and the notion of buying back stolen, sacred property was never the Jedi way.

That’s where you came in.

A Jedi whose Force-sensitivity was so saturated, that you had the ability to viscerally sense Kyber crystals from parsecs away. And a talent that, in Master Yoda’s opinion, made you the perfect addition to the team.

Well, that and the open secret that the three of you had long ago become an unofficial squadron already. Considering the countless missions you’ve traipsed through together for most of your Jedi, and even Padawan, years, it was a wonder that Master Yoda felt the need to specifically mention your name either way. Even on missions in which the rag-tag trio were slingshotted to opposite poles of the galaxy, you’d always found a way back to each other.

That, or the Force itself had a dire motivation to keep those momentary separations brief.

Perhaps that’s why the two men, in addition to their clothing-related distractions, had sparking nerves heightened by another, salient factor.

That you weren’t by their side.

Given your skill set, it was clear from the beginning your cover needed to be quite different from theirs. So, twenty hours before the auction was set to start, while Obi-Wan and Anakin prepared their disguises, you slipped out. Leaving for the brothel on your own since you all agreed that the only way to secure your cover as an establishment employee was by actually applying to become one.

It was the only surefire way to explore the back rooms without tipping the sellers off. The only option the three of you had to find the crystals’ exact location. And to ensure that when chaos did reign, the artifacts wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire.

Still, neither man particularly enjoyed this arrangement.

“You remembered to bring it, correct?” Obi-Wan voiced, glancing at Anakin’s pensively taught brows beside him as the brothel’s neon purple sign gently flickered into view, encouraging him to once again tug at his neckline’s taught clasp around his throat.

“Of course!” The younger Jedi acknowledged. “I was the one telling her that she should’ve had it in the first place.”

In spite of the underlying weariness still thrumming at his chest, Kenobi couldn’t help but raise an amused brow at his former Padawan.

“You? Lecturing Y/n about leaving her lightsaber behind? I seem to recall that it was your inability to keep track of your own that landed us in this predicament in the first place.”

Anakin scoffed, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And I seem to remember Master Nu saying that the raid on the artifacts room wouldn’t have been discovered for weeks if it weren’t for me.”

Still, the chestnut-haired Jedi sighed, yanking down the tails of his gray suit jacket that just barely fit his longer form while he continued.

“Besides, it was no mistake. She didn’t take her lightsaber intentionally.”

Kenobi shook his head knowingly. Partly due to his former Padawan’s somewhat warped perspective of the situation, but mostly because he too was not completely on board with the notion of you being undercover and completely unarmed. Though, no matter how much he desired to do so, Obi-Wan had trouble denying that, like always, your reasoning stood sound.

A reminder that subconsciously made his heart flutter.

“You know, Anakin, that she couldn’t have feasibly hidden it away. It’s safer for her that we hold onto it for now. She will have it when she needs it.”

And that’s why, no matter his outward assurances, Kenobi seemed to have an inability to take his own advice. Perhaps too it was Anakin’s own anxieties that were infecting the Force.

But no leakage from his signature could truly reflect the hate Skywalker felt for this plan. He had shot down its premise the whole journey here, but in the end, it was no use. Anakin understood that once you put your mind to something, especially in the name of protecting the community you held so dear, there was nothing anyone in the Galaxy could do to stand in your way.

And he really did treasure you for that.

“I know,” Skywalker grumbled, pivoting to avoid a stumbling Bith with a curved bottle in hand, brown liquid sloshing out to land just beside his black dress shoe as he walked by. “But I still don’t like it.”

Evidently, no matter their confidence in your ability to take care of yourself, the two men remained deeply troubled by the fact that you were still far enough away as to be immune from their protection.

But that would soon change.

“Alright,” Kenobi slowed just beside the establishment’s greasy, revolving door to address the younger man as they neared their arrival.

“We will need to remain in one place so that Y/n can find us. She needs to know where we are at all times to deliver the signal. The zone’s blueprints suggest that the center bar will have the best vantage point. So that’s where we’ll go. Oh—“

Obi-Wan lifted a warning brow at the younger man.

“And don’t stray.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, lips pursing in an attempt to keep his face neutral.

“I don’t stray, Master.”

—

If you had your portable chronometer on your person, you would’ve checked it by now.

About fifteen minutes, you’d been waiting a handful of meters from the brothel’s storage room, disguised by the far corner tables nestled within the establishment’s shadowy edges. Marking it the perfect locale for distant observers of the night’s entertainment— or idly spying Jedi. Fifteen minutes since Krissa, a now fellow employee, shuffled into that very same room to collect a few crates of Fizzbrew for the opening bar. Nearly twenty hours after you’d secured employment as what the owner lovingly called a “Friendly Dancer.”

Luckily, it was during that same interview that you’d caught the colorful, Force-illuminated trail, leading your attuned senses to this secured back room, like a bloodhound to its prey.

Or a Jedi to her Kyber crystals.

Yet, despite your carefully chosen cover, both assumed identity and dark corner camouflage, you still had a nagging feeling that your specially selected ‘employee uniform’ wasn’t doing you any furtive favors.

Besides the strikingly crimson, skin-gripping short dress that clad your hips, the black, shimmering fishnet stockings and translucent platform heels were sure to draw some unwanted attention during a time in which invisibility was your best friend.

But you had no choice. If you had any hope of maintaining your cover and completing your mission, you had to work with what you were given.

So, for now, one of these rusted-over, ash stools would need to serve their purpose— concealing you from the trickling in throng’s broad perspectives as you kept a peripheral lock on that steel door’s sturdy frame. One by one, hungry bidders with puffy, expensive coats and sparkling wears thickened the atmosphere, all while you hoped Krissa would quicken her exit via the locked door so that you could slip in.

It was moments like these that you’d wished you had your lightsaber. At least then, you could’ve cut through the heavy, metal barrier all on your own.

But, alas, this was a mission of stealth. And you’d be damned to put either Obi-Wan or Anakin in danger because of your impatience.

Causing you to, once more, question their absence.

“Boys, boys. Where are you boys…” you hummed lowly to yourself.

Glancing toward the billowing crowd, you grew remiss at their absence. It was easy to recall how both Jedi were particularly against your decision to immerse yourself into this environment, alone and unarmed. So much so, that you assumed they would’ve arrived by now. An observation that forced you to consider how this mission was sure to sour quick were you required to act without backup.

You shook that thought out of your mind almost as immediately as it arrived.

Obi-Wan and Anakin would always appear when you needed them most.

And you adored them for that.

That, among the litany of elements that drew you into their lives in the first place.

Your first mission together was but a sapling in the times you were to share. Memories, little moments, and fleeting glances recently coalesced into the singular realization that you’d fallen in love with two of the most powerful Jedi the Galaxy has to offer.

But they were just that. Jedi.

And so were you.

So no matter your unquestionable feelings for the men, there was nothing you could do. Putting aside that you doubted any emotional reciprocation, you were sure too that they’d never break the Jedi code for you.

And that left you to again drag yourself back from those innermost thoughts to focus on the situation at hand. Specifically, your conclusion that any dearth left in Obi-Wan and Anakin’s wake would mean nothing of consequence if you couldn’t get into that storage room.

Luckily, there was no need to wait much longer.

Krissa shoved open the door, using her back to thrust it the rest of the way with a crate of clinking, dark green bottles swirling in her arms. Fluttering lilac dress flowing by her legs as her eyes landed on your surveilling form.

Kriff.

“Hey!” She scream whispered, brows stitched in reprimand while she leaned toward you. “You’re gonna get fired before you’ve even had a chance to work if you keep hiding from paying customers.”

You smiled sheepishly, playing into her assumption as you ‘stumbled’ to your feet.

“I’m so sorry,” you mouthed, ambling toward the older woman while lifting a hand to ripple through the force floating by her eyes.

You spoke lowly.

“You want me to help you bring out those crates.”

“I want you to help me bring out these crates,” she parroted in a glazed-over daze, arm catching the steel door just before it shut to allow you entry.

You nodded to her thankfully, even though she had no choice in the matter, before pushing your way past the chilly aperture, entering the stuffy storage room while the door slammed shut behind you.

Speedily, you surveyed the cramped compartment, stacked and spread to the ceiling with a strange concoction of alcohol-filled crates, charcoal cargo containers, and draped artifacts that evinced the basement of a museum far more than a brothel’s back room.

But you didn’t really give it a second thought. If you didn’t want to get caught, then there was no time to ponder aesthetics.

Quickly, as your eyes fluttered closed, you allowed the Force to thicken your blood, treating your body and mind like a living, breathing compass in its guide to connect you with your True North—

The seven missing Kyber crystals.

With vision consumed by blackness, you dodged each precariously placed box and every outstretched figurine that threatened to obstruct your path as your senses drew you a detailed map toward the back wall. Almost like a pulsing beacon, you felt the heat of your connection to the sacred artifacts deepen, warming your more-than-usually exposed skin. Intensifying with each, deliberate step. Until it reached a fiery blaze so extravagant that one stride further would’ve certainly lit you alight.

You opened your eyes.

“Hey!” A deep voice called from behind you, triggering your heels to spin around toward the sudden sound, and away from the loosely sealed cargo container whose subtle, yet familiar, blue shine confirmed your senses.

Swiftly, you absorbed the older man’s ruffly peppered beard and chilled brown eyes as his head poked past the slightly ajar steel door, barely masked snarl contorting his lips.

“I don’t pay you to ogle the merchandise! Get out there and mingle,” he continued, jutting a thumb to the club’s main room to his rear.

You leapt to your feet, making a mental note of the crystals’ location while scurrying toward the owner who seemed to have somehow grown at least one more gray hair since your interview with him.

“Sorry, sir,” you mumbled, twisting to get by his form against the door and entering onto the main floor before turning back toward him. “Won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” he huffed, swiveling to catch the shutting door with his foot before leaning down to retrieve something from behind it.

Still, his muffled voice echoed beyond the subsequent shuffling.

“You’re assisting tonight, and I want high bids. So get out there and make them like you.”

You nodded complacently, already prepared to whip around and follow his orders until the older gentleman reemerged with another case of green bottles cradled under his arm.

“And here,” he shoved the crate, obliging you to catch it somewhat unexpectedly with opened palms.

“Take this to the bar.”

—

“I don’t like this…” Anakin droned during his casual stroll toward Obi-Wan’s side, a glass of orange fizzy liquid held inconspicuously before his lips.

Kenobi was leaning against the bar, his cup of whatever was on tap cradled between his fingers yet clearly untouched. Instead, the subtly troubled Jedi’s attentive eyes continued their periodic scan of the barely lit brothel. Flitting past the pockets of gold-illuminated tabled alcoves and dark blue paneling, his eyes weaved through the voluminous throng. One that featured intimately quiet mumblings among extravagantly suited clientele and gorgeously draped employees.

It wasn’t hard for him to surmise the highest paying customers from the number of brothel workers who’d hang from their arms, clearly on the job.

Smiling at each of their glances. Laughing at every joke…

Kenobi wasn’t daft.

He clearly understood the expectations a club like this had for its staff. At the least, for those who mingled with the bidders before the show. He’d only hoped that with whatever position you’d acquired for your cover at this establishment, it wasn’t pressing you to do much of the same.

And no matter how illogical it sounded in his mind, he still didn’t want to see that.

Moreover, it seemed to be a thought that equally disturbed Anakin, as his gentle thrums of anxious musing stained the Force, gradually amplifying since both Jedi had yet to locate you.

The younger Jedi had always been protective of you, Obi-Wan excused, unbeknownst that Skywalker was making much of the same defense. Though for the chestnut-haired Jedi, it was more the self-justification that he was a protective person in general. And that this was nothing more than only that.

Just Anakin being Anakin.

“I’m confident she’ll turn up soon, Anakin.”

The younger man expressly sighed, permitting a brief beat to pass as a spring of laughter ricocheted by his ears from a nearby dancer. Waiting for it to die down with bated breath before angling to respond.

“What if she didn’t get the job? She might be trying to find a different way in right now.”

Obi-Wan had no need for reaching out to the Force in order to confidently answer that inquiry.

“She succeeded. Trust me, I’d know otherwise.” He hummed, raising his glass to just barely grace his lips, but never daring to take a sip and weaken his awareness. “However, should they not show soon, I am considering they may have been apprehended.”

Similarly, Anakin vehemently shook his head. He even permitted a wry chuckle to escape past those formerly parched lips before confidently responding to the Jedi Master’s statement.

“No way. If Y/n got caught, she’d send us a signal the second she felt us near.”

Skywalker’s confident air faltered.

“Well,” he shrugged nervously. “Assuming she’s not injured.”

Obi-Wan shot his former Padawan a disapproving glare.

Until his attention was suddenly grasped by a warm, comforting hand sliding across his shoulder.

“Is this what you boys do when I’m not around? Theorize about my potential failings?”

The two men spun toward you, catching the playful smirk consuming your features before their eyes were tugged down like an anchor to trail your stunningly sheathed body, almost as if it was the first time they’d ever laid eyes upon you.

It would be an understatement to state that absorbing this captivating sight had coerced their jaws into forgetting their primary function.

The low-cut style of your short, curving red dress. The fishnet stockings that stretched down your thighs and softly clasped your high-heeled feet. The sparkling, green gemmed earrings that perfectly brought out your plump, red lipstick and long lashes. And, most noticeably, your loose, flowing hair that they’d only ever seen tied back for battle, now resting lushly across your bare shoulders like a still-life statue.

It wasn’t a side of you either men had the pleasure of observing before. And, if given the chance, they’d challenge whichever entity had so long sealed this wonderful sight from their burning eyes to a duel.

One that such an unjust creature was sure to regret.

It was a kind of fairy tale notion that both men pondered instantly once they felt a bubbling heat swarm their countenance when faced by your visual power.

So much so, that Anakin couldn’t help but break the brief lull as his suddenly dried mouth reached down his throat for an audible, and undoubtedly embarrassing, cough as he scratched his nose to try to hide himself.

Obi-Wan wasn’t coping much better. The Master Negotiator had lost all concept of Basic, its vocabulary, grammar, and everything in between as his mind was only filled with your enticing image, your pleasantly exposed skin, and the touch of your fingers to his body.

Until it was too soon gone.

Your hand fell thoughtlessly to your side, head cocking with lifted brows before speaking.

“You can close your mouths. It was just a joke.”

But it was Kenobi who first gathered the confidence to respond.

“Um, you look—“

“Lemme guess. Ravishing? The night’s main treat?” You relayed sarcastically while heaving down a large crate of clinking bottles atop the bar, one that both men only just now noticed before you whipped back toward the still stunned Jedi, drawing their gaze center.

“I’ll have it known that the distance between the storage room and the bar is a mere fifteen-second walk and I’ve already heard it all—“

“…like an angel,” Anakin muttered, not even himself realizing that he’d said that aloud.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly as you felt your heart skip a beat, sending an unexpected tingle to the root of your gut before sheepishly smiling at the deepening flush of the chestnut-haired man.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, tensely eyed his former Padawan.

“Okay, that one’s new,” you admitted, gaze trailing away to conceal your unpreparedness for such an unexpectedly sweet comment.

Ironically, it was at that moment that your wandering stare settling beyond Anakin’s shoulder abruptly caught a familiar, peppered beard. Accompanied by terse, beady eyes that scowled at you from a far wall with the intensity of a lodestar.

You had a decision to make.

But, really, was there a choice at all?

Obi-Wan would catch on, you thought.

Though, no matter how well Kenobi did understand the requirements of your cover, he still certainly wasn’t expecting you to, in a millisecond, swiftly stride toward his bewildered form to wrap your warm arms around his neck.

Immediately, despite the quickening of his thrumming heart latching onto his Adam’s apple, Obi-Wan raised his usually firm hands to gently clasp at your forearms, being sure to send you a questioning glance as he smoothly played along.

But under all that, and although he was still unsure why, deep down Kenobi secretly hoped that such a quizzical gesture hadn’t encouraged you to subsequently pull away. For some reason, he despised the thought of influencing you to forgo remaining this close to him.

So close, that he could feel the tickle of your breath across his chin.

Thankfully, though, his innermost prayer seemed to have been answered.

“Sorry,” you whispered, conveying an outwardly flirting expression of perked lips and a tilted head.

There were very few people in the Galaxy capable of reading the subtle apologetic shine of your eyes that deeply stared into his. An invisible utterance that remained firm while you briefly freed one hand to beckon over a confounded, and secretly peeved, Anakin who stood just behind his former Master, before you grasped his loose hand and tugged him forward with a terribly fake laugh.

Soon, you rested the younger Jedi’s arm on your lower back, securing its nervously flaccid form around your waist while Skywalker’s face transformed into a brand new shade of crimson once he discovered the dress’s open back.

A clearly readable reaction that deepened Kenobi’s hesitation with his former Padawan’s proximity to you. And while his mind struggled to connect the dots on why he continued to experience these strange bouts of discomfort, too distracted to truly pin down these sensations, Kenobi still felt fueled by Anakin’s expression to nudge you a little closer into his own chest.

If that was even possible.

Paying no mind to the sudden action, you addressed both men, giving a particular glance to Anakin who seemed to be the most caught off-guard of the two of them.

“The brothel’s owner made it very clear that if I don’t ’mingle’ with the customers, trouble will come my way.”

And that made the former slave’s blood boil.

“I’ll kill him.”

“No, you won’t,” you punctuated, temporarily removing your other arm from Obi-Wan to privately rest on Anakin’s balmy cheeks, caressing them down to draw his eyes to your level as he too struggled to fight off the festering heart attack that threatened to crack his rib, and deepened the sudden feeling of emptiness in Kenobi’s chest. “Because we have one mission here, and it’s to retrieve those stolen crystals. And I’m not losing my chance to snatch them away due to your needless protectiveness. I’m quite capable on my own.”

“What do you mean?” Kenobi inquired, taking this opportunity to regain some realm of confidence before snaking his arms around your waist and tugging you toward him with a roughness that would easily read as greedy to anyone who happened to be looking that way.

Still, the unexpected suddenness of his movement set the nerves in your face on fire. No matter, you played into the act, falling into his chest with fingers gripping onto the lapels of his oddly sparkly jacket.

“Um,” you swallowed, regathering your thoughts with a blink. “I’m assisting tonight. Meaning that I’ll be showcasing each item while they’re bid upon.”

You hummed to yourself while considering this new stroke of luck. A sudden vibration against Obi-Wan’s chest that you hadn’t realized sent a fresh, nervous chill down his arms as he held your mystifying figure, encouraging subtly wandering eyes to drink in the sight once more while his unsteady heart began to churn his innermost thoughts.

It was in that same moment that Anakin first caught onto his former Master’s charade, having finally glimpsed an equal measure of voraciousness within his distracted, blue orbs. Something that stoked Anakin’s frustration that began anew with each moment Kenobi drew you closer to himself.

“I say we don’t waste the credits,” you commented, refocusing both Jedi’s attention. “The minute I have the crystals in hand, I’ll send you a signal, and we’ll dash out of here.”

Obi-Wan leaned into you, forehead mere centimeters from yours as a spoke lowly. And for some reason, you thought, with noticeably erratic breath.

“That’s extremely risky.”

“Well, you have my lightsaber. Don’t you?” You challenged with a lift of your lips.

Suddenly, a trail of warm fingers raked up into your hair, sending quite an unexpected chill down your back once they clutched around a bunch and somewhat needily rotated your head toward Anakin’s expectant face. Yanking your body more forcefully before soon feeling his strong arm catch your side.

“I have it,” he spoke lowly.

And in spite of how desperately he tried to keep his eyes connected with yours, he couldn’t help that split second in which they sparsely flitted toward your perfectly tinted lips.

An action you apparently missed for your focus on the mission at hand.

But a gesture that contorted Obi-Wan’s lips into a perpetual frown as his mind caught up with his frothing feelings.

“Good,” you expressed. “Then I’ll have it when it’s needed.”

While your eyes remained focused and thoughtful, half a mind on playing up your cover with the other half on those crystals, Anakin had trouble keeping his eyes from once more wandering downwards.

The feel of your red-draped body against his, the closeness of your bared upper chest and noticeable cleavage, the sparkle of your eyes that comparably made your bright earrings look like clumps of coal.

Though not fully, Anakin was beginning to understand what was going on in his chest to draw his signature into such a volatile temper. Mostly because he couldn’t help himself when one hand released from your soft hair to trail down your exposed back, the other palm brushing upwards from your flank to meet the other side as he briefly traced the outline of your shoulder blades.

All of which sent a lightning bolt of cold heat right up to your head and down toward your sensitively tingling toes before he inched you toward him with the press of his fingertips while he whispered.

“Obi-Wan is right. I don’t think we should take the risk. But just in case you need it…”

Slowly, he retrieved a hand, raking it over your shoulder and feeling every inch of your arm while his mind cleared. The chestnut-haired man’s swelling eyes traced the enticing experience until he reached your hand. And with feigned gravitas clouding his features, he carefully guided your hand beneath his suit jacket, dragging it just along his warm back until you felt a cold metal resting beside his tailbone.

“…you know where it is.”

What was happening?

That was the main question you were asking yourself.

Were both Obi-Wan and Anakin just really amazing actors when the moment required it? You’d certainly never seen such a talent from either of them before. Yet the sudden naturalness, the near familiarity with which each Jedi pulled and held you close? The intimate touches and long glances while this secret meeting proceeded?

You weren’t sure what changed between twenty hours ago and now. Yet, in your core, you knew a part of your brain didn’t want it to stop.

No.

You were a Jedi. You were all Jedi. Committed to a code.

You must’ve been reading this wrong. Feelings that you knew you’d long held for the men had once again clouded your judgment.

Meanwhile, the growing tension between the two Jedi had heightened to a noticeable degree. But with your mind focused seemingly on other matters, it was only just to each other.

“You? Not wanting to be reckless?” You stated, attempting to suffocate your rushing nerves with a confident smirk. “Are you sure I’m speaking with Anakin Skywalker or do we have an imposter in our midsts?” You chuckled. “Oh, and agreeing with Obi-Wan?” You added, raising a brow.

This time, it was Master Kenobi who felt a fire erupt through his veins while his thoughts solidified.

It was you.

You who were making him feel such a way.

Ever and always.

On every mission and in each universal moment, it was you who made the Jedi Master take pause as his heart skipped a beat in your presence.

Master Kenobi was even more firm in this belief: that he was quite finished with watching Anakin cradle you in his arms for any longer. That, and the growing desire fueled by this new angle permitting Obi-Wan to graze over your open back’s supple skin with his eyes, drained him of all his decades-long self-control in an instant.

He needed to do something about that

Reaching a warm hand to the closest corner of your waistline, and with a little nudge from the Force on the other side, Obi-Wan tugged you right into his arms.

You felt the imperceptible, tiny scratches of his sequined suit jacket and the heat barely underneath sprawl across your back while his palms meandered up your sides and down each arm, soon folding them across you as he enveloped you against himself.

This time, you truly couldn’t help the light, crimson blush that bloomed across your cheeks. Especially when Kenobi chose this opportune time to gradually lean into your shoulder, chin dipping so that his lips hung mere centimeters from your attentive ear before whispering a warning with a tone warmer than you were used to hearing from the Master Negotiator.

Especially in the middle of a mission.

“You should listen to him.”

Still, despite feeling the ravenous desire to take a calming breath and smooth your hammering heartbeat, you held firm, responding to his inquiry with an overpowering confidence that usually settled any score when the three of you were having a disagreement.

At the same time, having just noticed the brothel owner’s decision to push off his far wall perch to approach, you decided to also strike a grin, raising a flirtatious brow over your shoulder at Obi-Wan’s unreadably dark eyes while you spoke, maintaining your cover.

“No. The plan stands. Trust me, there’s no need to worry.”

But, unexpectedly for you, witnessing your visually claimed figure in Obi-Wan’s arms barking out orders all while clad in that tiny red dress ignited a fierce burning passion in Anakin to challenge you back as he too decided to make his thoughts known.

Through his words and with his hands.

Taking one powerful stride to stand directly before your toes, the younger man just barely graced your bottom lip to seize your chin, lifting it upwards and twisting you to meet his wanting, blue gaze. Compelling your bright, widening eyes to wonder once more whether the lines between fiction and reality were beginning to blur.

Your breath hitched.

“Gentlemen!” The owner exclaimed, sliding next to Obi-Wan and Anakin to place a performative pat on both their shoulders. “I’m glad you’re enjoying one of our new hires, but I’m afraid that I’ll need to borrow her for the rest of the auction. We are about to begin.”

Wordlessly, both Jedi released their respective grips on you, sharing between themselves an unamused glance above your head while you ambled toward the owner. Never breaking your own, painfully forged smile.

But that seemed to be enough to convince the quite older owner that all was set to begin, as he swiftly turned on his heel toward the brothel’s far podium, motioning for you to follow his trail.

You promptly obliged, yet not before sending one quick, yet quiet, last word with a twist of your head toward the Jedi who begrudgingly stayed behind with crossed arms or a clenched beard.

“Wait for my signal.”

—

“I’m not stupid, you know,” Anakin commented idling by Kenobi’s side.

The two men continued their observations of the auction since it began half an hour ago, their eyes rarely drifting away from the rather cramped, rickety stage while you traveled from side to side, displaying each item with deliciously attractive poise. Presently, you were exhibiting an old, handheld marble statue modeled after a female Twi’lek. And although other patrons regarded the item with interest, the two Jedi meant to be watching your back for any danger had their minds on other matters.

Anakin couldn’t keep his eyes off your sensually pacing legs, while Obi-Wan could barely remain still with your elegant, tightly wrapped hips moving to and fro.

“I hear 2,000 credits! 2,000 credits. Do I hear 2,100?”

Master Kenobi readjusted his shoulders somewhat uncomfortably. “I know. I don’t believe I’ve said otherwise.”

“Don’t play dumb. I know you want Y/n.”

The bearded Jedi whipped his head from the stage as he addressed the seemingly jealous, younger man. And for the first time in a very long time, Obi-Wan began to feel those same, envious emotions with equal strength, like he’d caught some psychic disease from the blue-eyed Jedi’s glance alone.

“2,100! Do I hear 2,200? 2,200 folks, for this ancient artifact of an unknown Ryloth civilization!”

“And?” He acknowledged nonchalantly, taking an assertive stance while he found comfort in the memory of you in his arms. “And what if I do?”

Anakin’s lips formed a thin line, the image of your parted, shocked lips when he caught your dressed figure perfuming his thoughts. “Then you wouldn’t be alone.”

“I’ve noticed,” Kenobi stated sarcastically before raising a rather annoyed brow.

“Going once! Going twice!”

“What are you gonna do?” Anakin mumbled.

Skywalker had to ask the question. Even though he’d already confirmed in his mind that no matter what, no matter if Master Kenobi felt the same, that he’d give you the chance of knowing that there was more than one.

Obi-Wan answered simply. “I’m planning on telling her.”

“Sold! To the fellow in the orange top hat on the right!”

Because through the older Jedi’s musings, Kenobi was arriving at a similar conclusion. That if you in any way felt the same, he’d at least give you a choice.

“I assume you’ll be doing the same?” He continued.

“Yes.” Anakin sighed, eyes returning to the stage just as you remerged with an old, raggedy yet sealed box held tightly in your hands. “And what if she can’t decide?”

Obi-Wan followed the young Jedi’s line of sight, subconsciously licking his lips as the fabric of your tight, red dress pulsed his blood and slackened his jaw.

“Then we do what we must…”

The bearded Jedi swallowed.

Hard.

“…we help her.”

A rallying spark flung through the Force, filling both Jedi’s senses as they were wrenched from the momentary, visual distraction that was your ravishingly dressed person.

There was no way to deny it. Your pointed expression? Your readied stance?

The signal had just been fired.

Reaching for their respective lightsabers hung inconspicuously at the belt, both Jedi swiftly whipped their weapons out into the open, igniting a collective blue glow that provided enough of a shockingly, eye-catching distraction for you to leap from the stage, box in hand, without much recourse.

Then came the blasters.

As if emerging like shadows from the establishment’s dark corners, a sporadic group of armed men dressed like well-to-do pirates began their determined assault. Coloring the air with orange beams while the crowd scattered, hurried screams and the groans of abruptly shuffling furniture echoing off the walls.

You bolted for the Jedi, triggering both to somersault toward you while they attempted to block any bolt that you nearly failed to dodge before landing at either flank. Thankfully, that provided the chance to fling a searching arm beneath Anakin’s suit jacket, grasping your saber from its warm habitat before yanking it out into the open to launch its green luminescence.

“Go!” Obi-Wan cried, deflecting another round of bolts from your rear while the two men encircled you like a living, breathing barrier.

“We’ll hold them off!” Anakin agreed, flinging a badly aimed bolt toward a now broken and sparking light fixture above before facing you. “Get back to the ship!”

You glanced at both men, making clear your uncertainty and reluctance through the Force as, even with your aid, the gentle perspires of their efforts became noticeable.

But it was their turn to stay firm.

“Now! We’ll be right behind you!” Obi-Wan strictly assured.

So, with the box of crystals secured tightly beneath one arm and your saber effectively defending against the coming onslaught with the other, you decided to, for once, follow the boys’ instructions as you bolted for the exit, and out the brothel’s door.

And, with their hearts already racing, both Jedi had to do their best not to focus on your distracting wears as they paved a path to race after you.

—

Leaping through the red and white Nu-class shuttle’s rear hatch the instant it opened wide enough to do so was enough to coerce out an instant sigh of relief as your feet landed on the metal floor, drawing you deeper into the bird’s belly. Naturally, after regaining some bearings in the familiarity of the ship, you felt secure enough to set the relatively sturdy box of Kyber crystals atop a nearby ledge before turning to assess the situation behind you.

You already sensed that Anakin and Obi-Wan had stuck close to your heels during the entire escape, sabers twirling with elegant control against any threatening phaser until you strayed far enough beyond the brothel’s preview to lose any potential tails. So you weren’t surprised to find both men maintaining a similarly brisk pace while speeding up the ramp seconds after your arrival. Sabers long ago clipped back at their sides with Obi-Wan leading the way, leaving Skywalker in charge of closing the now slowly rising hatch.

What you weren’t expecting, however, was that the overpowering determination emanating from the bearded Jedi’s face had not in the least bit lessened since he entered the craft. Quickly, yet smoothly, he shed his gaudy suit jacket, tossing it unceremoniously to the side as he subsisted his approach.

In fact, the slight narrowing of those blue eyes, an expression you’d only seen in the occasional sparring session, remained forwardly focused. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was charging right for you, an action itself that compelled you to perplexedly speak while his brown boots closed that ever-shrinking distance.

“What are you—“

Warm lips smashed against yours, moving hungrily yet delicately while Obi-Wan’s sturdy arms snaked around your waist to gently tug you into himself.

Your heart nearly stopped, and from the tingling, tiny explosions erupting at each and every nerve ending alone, you felt yourself fall into the momentum, arms raising with the certainty of a choreographed dance to cradle Obi-Wan’s head and run your fingers through his soft, auburn locks.

Whether consciously or not, his grip on you tightened, straining your breath before you had the unavoidable need to be even closer to him. You intensified the kiss, drawing his plump, reddened lips into slow and steady locks, only for them to release with the duration of a clap before you both deeply met each other again with needy swiftness.

It felt like hours, but it had been mere seconds since the instant his body met yours. Still, the two of you reluctantly pulled away from each other. Mostly to catch much-needed breaths from the pure, unadulterated shock of it all.

Master Kenobi held you still as your gaze graced over his flushed features, including that slightly tussled hair and darkened eyes that diverted from their usual bright sparkle. Especially when they flitted from your surprised orbs, to your plump lips, and back again.

But no matter this pleasing diversion, still, out of the corner of your eye, you were forced to notice Anakin— standing in the far corner in quiet observation, and chillingly reminding you of where you were and what important rules both you and his former Master had certainly just broken in his presence.

What made it all worse, though, was that for the life of you, you could not read the younger man’s expression. Apparently, he had just stood there, arms crossed once the shuttle door was secured and simply… watched? Impassively?

No, that couldn’t be right.

Then, he pushed off the wall.

Anakin’s arms fell to the side as he gradually approached you both, brows tightening into what looked like a slightly angrier cross that ran your brain into overdrive. You were still having trouble discerning his emotions through the Force, but could only make an educated guess that he was beyond frustrated that the two beings closest to him had just broken the Jedi Code.

And, also because, he didn’t seem to have any particular reaction to what Obi-Wan did, making you sadly doubt that he’d ever feel the same way you’d always felt for the chestnut-haired man and his former Master.

So, no matter how right it felt, how much you wanted it, you knew that it was time for some damage control.

“Obi-Wan…” you took a deep, shaky breath, nerves still firing at every end while your stare stood firmly on Obi-Wan’s wanting expression, Anakin nearing your side.

You loosely exhaled.

“Where did that—“

Hot moisture met your neck, Anakin’s wet lips attacking its side and extracting a startled gasp from your lungs as your eyes fluttered closed. Greedily, he cupped your throat to softy tug you toward him, draining your arms into a state of perpetual pliability from the pleasant heat filling your chest.

They slid, soon falling from Obi-Wan’s body entirely before you angled toward the younger Jedi and shakily twisted them around his shoulders for support. Another weak sigh escaped past your lips once you felt Anakin’s teeth graze across a sensitive spot as the weakening kisses continued, an action which only seemed to encourage the younger Jedi considering he returned to that spot with more fervor, sucking it dry until your jaw slackened.

Still, no matter how dazed your mind had become in this last minute of chaos, you just couldn’t believe this was happening.

It had to be a mistake, right? Was something else wrong?

Something must have happened.

Regathering your senses, you quickly pulled away from Anakin, feeling the resistance of your initial jerk snap Anakin from his equally influenced status as he quickly tried to give you space.

“Are you ok??” He asked rapidly, eyes seeping wide-eyed worry and flickers of guilt while Obi-Wan, who was initially calmly analyzing the show, too shifted to share a similarly concerned expression.

“Yes, of course,” you aired, still slightly out of breath as you stared confoundedly at the two men. “I’m fine Anakin, but what is going on? This is coming out of nowhere.” You shook your head. “Were the two of you drugged or something?”

“In a sense, I suppose we were,” Obi-Wan answered nonchalantly.

You raised a brow.

“Y/n,” Anakin uttered, drawing your eyes toward his. “Obi-Wan and I realized something back there during the mission. Something it looks like we both kinda knew for a while but didn’t really understand until now.”

Master Kenobi’s eyes raked across your figure once more while he spoke. “I saw you there, we saw you, truly, for the first time. And I lost my breath.”

You melted at his words.

“All I saw was pure beauty and you, and I couldn’t tell the difference,” Anakin spoke disjointedly, nearly making you giggle. “And I knew that seeing you like this, in this way, I couldn’t wait any longer. We couldn’t wait. We needed to tell you.”

“Tell me?” You asked breathily, preparing yourself for whatever was to come next.

“That we desire you,” Obi-Wan barely whispered, fluttering your stomach. “That you are more important to us than ancient statutes. And we determined that you must know so that you may decide if you wish it.”

You shuttered, worries of the Code fading into nothingness while the two men before you consumed your senses. “Decide?”

Anakin stared at you, a pleading glint in his eyes as he spoke gently.

“Which one of us you want back.”

Your still heavy breaths punctuated the otherwise quiet air. Characteristic of the thoughts rattling against your buzzed skull before a throaty mutter made its way past your teeth.

“I can’t…”

You watched while their faces deflated at your words.

“We understand, Y/n,” Obi-Wan spoke, a subtle sadness drooping his tone. “It’s quite alright—“

“No,” you corrected quickly. “No, I can’t decide.”

Anakin’s brows quirked at this, head tilting as curiosity subdued his brief listlessness.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

You sighed heavily, eyes drifting to the floor with an unaccustomed quiver. “I mean, I can’t decide because… because…”

You bit your lip.

“I want you both.”

Raising your head, you carefully observed the two men, bodies as still as statues while their swollen eyes held firmly on your figure. Anakin nurturing a steadily expanding, devious grin while he quietly flexed a fist, and Obi-Wan, faintly flicking his tongue across his top lip in an effort to carefully drink in your figure.

A pleasant chill ran down your spine.

“Is that alright?” You whispered.

Anakin chuckled incredulously, cueing Obi-Wan to respond to that inquiry.

“Darling,” he murmured, insatiable eyes sucking you barren as the nickname sent a new round of tingles down your legs. “That stretches far beyond ‘alright.’”

“How do you want us?” Anakin posed, tone nearing a growl.

Unfiltered, you spoke your mind.

“As close as possible.”

And the Jedi obliged.

________________________________________________________________

Should I do a part 2 at some point? Let me know :)

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[yourneighborhoodporg]

❤️❤️

Hey friend! Just checking in to see how you're doing :)

It's been a minute since you've posted (not that you need to all the time) but I just wanted to make sure you're doing okay

Hiii,

This is so sweet! I’m doing great :) Finishing up a fic request and getting on the other side of a bit of burnout so I should be posting some new content sometime soon. After I post that, then it will be back to drafting the next Guardian chapter/part (yay!!)

Thanks for checking in! Really appreciate your support :))

[yourneighborhoodporg]

Hey friend! Just checking in to see how you're doing :)

It's been a minute since you've posted (not that you need to all the time) but I just wanted to make sure you're doing okay

Hiii,

This is so sweet! I’m doing great :) Finishing up a fic request and getting on the other side of a bit of burnout so I should be posting some new content sometime soon. After I post that, then it will be back to drafting the next Guardian chapter/part (yay!!)

Thanks for checking in! Really appreciate your support :))

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 10: Troubled Water

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: Banter, fluff, ANGST, references to war/drowning/migraines, descriptions of pain/violence/slight injury, near-death experiences, super worried/concerned Obi, Reader really going through it 👀

Summary: A week following your and Obi-Wan's dalliance with The Muntuur, you decide to spend the day meditating on the famed Temple contemplation balcony. But after an unexpected visitor disrupts your concentration, you find yourself trapped within a new, wildly dangerous situation. Good thing Obi-Wan is nearby to share in the risk.

Song Inspo: Bridge Over Troubled Water — Simon & Garfunkel

Words: 13.4k (please take breaks I beg you)

A/n: Soooo splitting up this chapter wouldn't have made sense so y'all getting a two-for-one deal for the Part I finale, which hopefully makes up for the big delay lol. This will be the longest chapter I ever post I promise you. I’ve been so excited to write this one. It's a bit intense. Song inspo for this chapter is supes important. Like, it’s literally Obi singing to the reader, I CANNOT (there’s a line talking about his “silver girl” 😭)— ALSO updates will be slightly less frequent for the following chapters because we ‘bout to be officially entering tcw plot lines and imma need more time to review them lol. Also, will be using the next week or so to respond to requests 😋 As always, please let me know your thoughts in the comments, and be sure to tell me if you'd like to be added to the taglist. Anyways, enjoy 😈

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Series Masterlist

Oh, when darkness comes

And pain is all around

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down

— Paul Simon

The glittering, golden rays of Coruscant’s sun submerged your resting eyelids in its warmth, only to be abated by the partial shade of plump bushes whose orange-red gradients reigned proudly around the meditative stance you now held. That, and the occasional gust of cooling breeze, which brushed across your cheeks in its periodic hold on swaying shrubbery, trembling at its mercy. Still, despite this wind tunnel encircling the Temple’s primary spire, it was not enough to limit the sporadic vegetation’s effectiveness in secluding your crisscrossed posture from the rest of the rather exposed contemplation balcony that skirted the tower’s median.

You had discovered this bronze-floored platform of rest and meditation during that first week at the Temple, surmising its intended purpose from the few Jedi you’d spied engaging in those familiar, solitary explorations against a backdrop of the wider District. It was one of the primary reasons you’d decided to return to this spot when you had the chance— to engage in such like-minded behavior with fellow Jedi for the first time in many years.

For the first time since Qui-Gon wished the Force to be with you for the very last time.

However, despite earmarking the serene terrace’s smooth architecture and scattered plant life as a sensible spot for meditation, you’d only really had a chance to visit it this afternoon— three weeks since your arrival on Coruscant.

It was hard to forget that, in the days following your first Temple appearance, perplexing headaches had severely limited any propensity for introspective freedom. Initially, by coercing you to find the next best thing in terms of a quiet place to meditate by the suddenness with which they arrived. Frustrating the immersion necessary to delve deeply into your inner being.

But that was nothing compared to the searing pain which radiated throughout your body in each cognitive session following a certain, fateful hour—

In which you bestowed a name upon the affliction’s sensation in hopes of understanding it better.

Black Water.

You shook your head haphazardly, eyes still sealed shut while your subconscious attempted to dispel that particular thought without disrupting your current, and long sought after, communion with the Force.

With a lift of each wrist to protruding knees, you relaxed your palms open, as if to better catch the swirling energies like falling snowflakes that absorbed into chilled fingers. A gliding stream that energized your veins and stood unparalleled when weighed against the prior weeks you were desperately trying to put behind you.

In a way, finally tasting the Force’s unfathomably profound vibrancy with such renewed vigor was enough to comfortably remind yourself that you could dive as cavernously as you pleased, since the listlessness of penetrating headaches was now a time of the past.

And you really did have Obi-Wan to thank for that.

In an afternoon with The Muntuur, you’d unexpectedly uncovered that mindless sprints down seedy tunnels, hours with your nose stuck in a holobook’s blue glow, and playing copilot with Anakin were not your only options to dampen those sharp stabs into dull throbs. With a suddenness akin to explosive laughter, those moments that followed ignited an inner epiphany—

That the power you siphoned from the Force by focusing your mind on others acted as some sort of natural medicine, as a booster that couldn’t be equated.

Whether that was training beings in the intricacies of a long-lost Jedi device or finding the humor in the attempts that followed, your mind gradually discovered the strength that wafted from these seemingly trivial interactions like sparks off a campfire.

In hindsight, you kicked yourself for not recognizing the presence of this strange ability earlier. Though, having previously held the revered title of ‘Sole Planetary Being,’ it hadn’t given you much in terms of options for discovering it on your own. But even then, when finally faced with an endless sea of individuals following your daring escape from Hoth, it still all took much longer than you would have liked.

Mostly because, during those few heart-to-hearts with Anakin, you had appreciated that the baring of souls— for an instant even so fleeting it could be compared to the flick of a lightsaber— was enough to reconnect you to the Force’s lifeline like a falling anchor. It was something that helped you read the young Jedi just as well as it saved you from being launched into space by a certain garbage pit acceleration shield. Yet still, you hadn’t read it as anything more besides some possible understanding that a long-foretold prophecy drew between The Guardian and The Chosen.

You just never really put two and two together.

Until it stared you right in the migraine-dulled face with blue eyes, curled auburn hair, and a well-kept beard.

And, obviously, once this particular realization clicked, you were sure to lean into these revitalizing energies with every repeat opportunity that presented itself.

In the week that followed, you and Obi-Wan excitedly wrung out a few more collective hours with The Muntuur. In which he steadily absorbed the programming basics while you conditioned yourself to hold any semblance of composure during the Jedi’s subsequent twirls around invisible foes.

A skill you had yet to fully master.

And then, in the next few, rousing days, as the communications system was re-secured, and ramping up Council meetings dragged Kenobi away to organize and assign new deployments, you soon faced the inescapable reality of extending this perspective to other day-to-day moments that excluded the Jedi Master.

And you certainly did your best.

You’d draw on the vigor of swapping taunts with Anakin’s passionate personality in afternoon spars. And focus your senses on welcoming Master Windu’s signature into your thoughts— though still with little success. Even those periodic study sessions with Ahsoka became just as much a chance to learn more about the confident Padawan’s perspectives and person as a way to strengthen your mind against the piercing throbs that weakened like a dying candle following each of these interactions.

Consequently, it was during these same last four or five days that you’d finally found yourself beginning to open up to the beings who’d rescued you from Hoth. Because it wasn’t until you were forced to gather up fortitude from the rejuvenating effect of drawing on your connection’s ability to swirl in others— like plucking flower petals from a field of solidarity— did you realize your mistake since arriving on Hoth.

That, in an effort to come to terms with Qui-Gon’s death, you’d closed yourself off to the impact of other’s around you. Giving all of yourself to every prophetic instant with an emphasis on Anakin’s well-being without truly finding a moment for yourself to allow this new connection with the Order to take hold. Without permitting yourself the chance to absorb all the strengths such unity imbued.

Nonetheless, the more you unlocked your rigid chest to the beings surrounding you, the less frequent and tender those shooting pangs became, as they slunk away like the migration of a long winter season. All the way up until the last few days, in which, for a lovely change, the familiar, hammering pressure at your sinuses never came.

Still, no matter how well this unique manipulation of the Force aided you in your affliction, it still left you quite unsettled, weighing down your sternum like a misaligned rib.

You’d never heard of a Force Ability that drew upon a Jedi’s connection to other beings. Nor a power so unique that its strength was determined by the wielder’s level of familiarity with the associations they extracted from. A concept that immeasurably wise Jedi like Master Yoda and Master Windu would be quite uncertain of, you confidently ascertained. Because, in a way, this talent seemed to teeter on the edge of what was accepted by the Jedi Code by their strict standards.

It was moments like these that you’d wished Qui-Gon was here.

He always understood exactly what to say, and precisely what to do.

But your late Master was gone, and you could only make the best decision you could at this moment.

So, deciding to take a page out of his book, you determined it necessary to hold off on sharing this new tidbit with anyone, especially the Council, until you knew more.

Another chilly gust of wind whipped at your hair, snapping off a few clusters of brittle leaves that quivered past closed eyes, sparkling in the Force like bustling dots for your senses to discern. It deepened your concentration, imploring you to consider the sweeping impact of such an odd development. How it rippled into your past of isolation and everlasting hardship, and how it newly affected your approach of the Order. Mostly, you chewed over the possibility that finding strength in connecting with the Order and the beings it housed was all a wider symptom of your purpose.

You were The Guardian, after all. An individual whose entire existence premised on the notion of putting others before themselves. It was only rational that a creature of prophecy such as that would gather strength from those they were tasked with protecting.

Anakin, the Order, and, in a way, the Galaxy itself.

And, now that you’d finally reoriented your bearings, you were finally planning to put that new solidity to use.

Once more, you stretched your lungs with a rapturous inhale, taking in the contemplation balcony’s encompassing, earthy scents that barely cut the surrounding district’s gaseous fumes as they crawled over the fringe of your senses.

It was easy to see why Ahsoka complained about the lingering smells of speeder exhausts or freshly welded metal any time she considered meditating outdoors. Citing it as the primary example for her difficulty concentrating in such a space.

Yet, you found the opposite to be true.

After years of traversing anosmic ice sheets atop Meetra’s pungent fur coat, you relished in the cold’s ability to naturally numb your olfactory. And it turned out to be another one of the many factors on Hoth that disconnected you from other worlds. So, when finally given the chance to absorb the kaleidoscope of essences Coruscant had to offer, you couldn’t help but feel as if it tied you with a sturdier knot to the wider Galaxy’s intertwinement with the Force.

Maybe that’s why you’d finally found a yawing peace in this little alcove. Guarded by a half-circle of vermillion bushes that stood in staunch defiance against the acrid aromas climbing over and onto the platform’s edge. A nook so ethereally stilled that it nearly cleared your mind of the bustling city below. In an afternoon which snugged exposed arms and a poised neck in toasty rays that capered in equilibrium with the occasional gusts encircling the Temple’s main spire. A quiet locale that released clasped breaths, with each exhale further lightening your mind into the Force’s eternal flow.

“Hi.”

Creasing one eye open, you peeked out in search of the youthful voice, following its eager jump at your senses once drenched in tranquil quietude.

A young, human boy, maybe six or seven years, was leaning into the alcove’s overgrown doorway, small hand clutching a nearby bush as he idled. Jet black hair accented against the warm tints encircling you both, making room for strikingly green orbs to splash another vivid shade into your line of sight while his head curiosity tilted to observe you.

“Hi there,” you responded cordially, shutting your peering eye without a second thought.

“Who are you?” He asked, with a rapidity that implied you’d never dignified him with a response in the first place.

Quite blunt, you noted behind the soothing shadows of resting eyelids. But it was hard not to appreciate that quality. You’d be lying if you didn’t admit that you were certainly like that at his age.

Stifling an endeared smile, you answered.

“My name is Silvey.”

“Nice to meet you, Master Silvey,” the youngling greeted brightly.

“Just Silvey is fine,” you gently countered. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you as well—“

“Petro,” he announced quickly, while you sensed his feet meandering toward your form. “Jedi Initiate.”

Returning to centering breaths in the cursory stillness, you could already feel how your words finally registered with the youngling, his meek boot passing by your attuned senses as he nudged a nearby, pattering pebble.

“Are you not a Jedi?” He bemused, pausing a meter away.

You confirmed. “I am.”

“Well, you seem too old to be a Padawan.”

You chuckled lightly at that, wrenching your eyes open to stare at the unfazed youngling with a feigned dare in your gradual stray from the interconnectivity of a previously solidified, meditative state.

“You’re right, Petro. I’m a knight. I just prefer the name. Without the title.”

Forehead furrowing in uncertainty, he squatted down, joining you with his own meditative stance that sacrificed elements of tranquility in its desperate attempt to mirror yours.

But you, instead, followed by resting your hands on either side. Using them as pillars to support your weight that leaned back in an attempt to encourage relaxation in the young boy.

And also, because, it looked like your session was reaching beyond the point of no return.

“Why?”

A good question, you admitted. You didn’t really have an answer for Ahsoka either when you asked her to avoid that particular designation. Though when she did pose a similar inquiry, you somewhat knew in the back of your mind that the personal values that’d emerged from your unusual upbringing were certainly a factor.

The reasoning you presented then should do, you presumed

“I suppose having a rank divides me from those who do not share it. And, as a Jedi, connecting with the Force through all living beings is a part of who I am. It’s harder to do that if I’m placed on a pedestal above them.”

The boy’s nose crinkled, almost as if he’d just registered the District’s sickly fumes that billowed into a drifting fog from below.

“I always thought you were supposed to call Masters that to be respectful. Because they know so much, and they can do those big flips in the air with their lightsabers. And I’m still stuck on Form One.”

Well, he certainly wasn’t wrong, you mused. In fact, his astute analysis was detailed enough to bring you back to threading memories of that rainy afternoon. When Obi-Wan found you at the outer edge of the Senate District, and the burden of piercing stabs dissipated in the hours that followed. Attributable to what was aptly described as invariably sound advice, or, ‘knowing so much.’

You hummed contentedly at the memory.

“They are quite wise, aren’t they?”

But it was clear that such a jettisoned comment did not swing the pendulum of Petro’s mind in any particular direction regarding your previous statement.

Time to take a new approach, you decided.

“Do you believe in the value of all living beings?”

“I guess,” he mumbled indecisively.

Your brows skeptically raised as you probed his response.

“You guess?”

Petro’s voice gave way to an embittered tone. “I don’t like those Separatists we’re fighting. Especially General Grievous. When I get my lightsaber, I’m gonna challenge him to a duel and destroy him for the Republic.”

You took pause at the vexation which plumed into the Force and prodded at your senses. Swelling into cascading clouds throughout the proximate ambiance from a being who, if stood on the tips of their toes, would barely reach four feet.

“It was not long ago that those worlds were once part of the Republic. Would it surprise you to know that even the beings on the side of the Separatists are just as important to the Jedi?”

Scratching his knee, Petro unshackled his gaze to wander upwards, green eyes unfixed as he spoke simply.

“I don’t understand. The Separatists aren’t our friends anymore because the Jedi are fighting them in a war. How can we hurt them and care about them at the same time?”

Your eyes crinkled in serenity.

“Because all life is sacred, young Petro. No matter what side any being is on. No matter what rank they hold.”

You exhaled, gaze standing firm as candor seeped from your pores.

“Though I must admit, I’m also quite confused about our place as peacekeepers in this war. But as long as you preserve that belief in your heart, I’m sure it will take you far in your journey as a Jedi.”

He nodded, that ever so slightly ripening mind absorbing your words. But, like with most maturing Jedi, it didn’t take long for a satisfied grin to peak through the abating wonder that had once lined his features.

“Thanks, Mas—“

Petro cut himself off, inhaling as his teeth caught up with his brain.

“Thanks, Silvey.”

You offered a soft smile.

“Is it easier to mediate here?” He continued, topic shifting just as abruptly as he spoke. “This is my first time visiting the contemplation balcony. I know it’s usually meant for Padawans and Knights, but I’ve been having trouble meditating on my own.”

You considered the youngling’s words, panning your gaze by the swaying orange-red bushes and toward the distant cityscape infested by disparate skylanes.

“Yes, it’s quite nice here.”

You faced the black-haired Initiate.

“And usually very quiet.”

But Petro simply stared at you blankly as that thinly veiled joke vaulted over his head.

“You can meditate here with me if you’d like,” you offered, hoping to bide some silence without discouraging the young fellow.

But the boy was way ahead of you, shutting his eyes with a beaming expression before you even had a chance to finish your sentence.

And, for a moment, it was calm.

The sway of rustling shrubbery and distant whirs of dashing speeders reentered your senses. You found yourself relaxing your shoulders back into the swirling stream, resting your wrists on each knee once more to deepen your connection. Quicker than the weeks before, you could feel its tingling energies crawl up your forearms and widen your perception of the swarming, broad region. The many Jedi circulating through local walkways, training, or even meditating nearby as well as the thousands of beings going about their daily lives only within a few blocks of the Temple.

Their distant mutterings. Their footsteps. The way with which their signatures contributed to Coruscant’s hive. Even young Petro, his squirming facial muscles and bouncing knee tugging at your senses as he attempted his own communion with the Force.

But, of course, it never did last for long.

“How old are you?”

You kept your vision obscured, hoping not to lose your progress in intensifying your concentration as you swiftly responded.

“That’s a secret.”

“Why are your eyes silver?”

“Family trait.”

“What color is your lightsaber? I bet it’s green.”

“Gray.”

“Gray!? That’s so cool! I’ve never heard of a gray Kyber crystal! Did you find it like that or—“

A sharp spasm speared through your mind, stunning your eyes wide open as your posture collapsed forward. Arms flinging out toward the ground to catch yourself.

With every extractable effort, you tried to absorb the debilitating sensation, hoping that if you just let it flow through you, it would pass as quickly as it came. A pain that, for an instant, felt as if it dwarfed all the headaches of the last several weeks.

“Are you ok, Silvey? I’m sorry if I said something wrong—“

“No,” you heaved, catching your breath as the feeling slowly dulled into the background.

Glancing up at the nervous boy, you offered a tired smile, reaching out into the Force’s eternal connectivity to focus on the beings around you.

“You did nothing wrong, Petro. I’m just—“

Another flash of white-hot agony, searing into your mind a sustained hammering that yanked from feebly quivering lips a distressed groan. Your fingernails dug into the squeaking bronzed platform, almost as if to distract your head from its steadily swelling excruciation with the torment of scraping skin against metal.

Yet, it only produced a mere fraction of the pain.

You couldn’t help it. It was the only way to avoid screaming out at the blinding sensation. That, and the anesthetic of grinding your teeth— an operation which made it equally impossible to speak.

“Get….”

Another penetrating stab ripped open your jaw, unshackling a jarring yell as your heartbeat began to quicken against a heaving chest.

“Get what?!” Petro implored, panicked, as he sprung to his feet.

“Is there something I should get?! What do I get?!”

“…help” you croaked.

“Help?” He sounded, tasting the consonants in his mouth.

Then, his alarmed gaze exploded in recognition.

“Oh, help!” The black-haired boy exclaimed, waving his arms while the cogs of his mind zipped into overdrive.

“Get help! I can do that! I can do that.”

Petro froze, dropping into a lower hush as he calmly addressed himself.

“I can do that.”

Bright green eyes snapped back up at your writhing, keeled-over form.

“I’ll be right back, Silvey! Don’t move!”

And with that, the energized youngling hopped into a sprint, barreling through the doorway out of your meditation alcove. Skidding to the left in an attempt to avoid one of the larger vermillion shrubs before disappearing around its lush corner.

But that still left you, reaching up to rigidly clutch your head out of instinct. Fingernails furrowing into disheveled hair and scrapping against the irritated scalp below just as ravenously as the floor.

Because, to you, superficial discomfort stood as the sole avenue to divert your attention from your paling face and shaking hands. As a means to grasp onto escaping tendrils of concentration amidst spiraling torment. You knew that intense focus was your best chance at ejecting these perforating splashes of acid from your mind. That intertwining with the Force’s undying strength would be the only pillar maintaining your teetering consciousness.

So, you plunged into it. Enveloping yourself deeper into the circulating stream’s linking medium with the aim of drawing stability from the beings who resided within and beyond the Temple.

From the Order itself.

Hoping that your brief theater to their energies would prove potent enough to pave you a path out of this torture.

Until it wasn’t.

Black spots began to cloud your vision, bobbing in from your peripheral, swelling to obscure the still swinging bushes and greater District’s landscape. Smothering you into a sea of darkness as if the Maker themself reached up into the sky and darkened the Coruscanti sun with a flick.

It was then when you prepared yourself for what you assumed was coming.

Snapping your eyes shut, you braced for the sudden dizziness that you were sure would take hold. A weightlessness in your stomach destined to shoot up your esophagus. A heated copper platform soon to meet your pained skull with an unceremonious slam.

But none of that ever happened.

Instead, the darkness began to dissipate. Clearing like a temporary fog that was simply passing through.

But this was no ordinary haze, it seemed.

Because in its place, with the continued volatile pangs slowing your eyes in their attempt to refocus, emerged a realm you had no words to fully describe.

And no idea for how you got there.

Your neck was angled downwards when your orbs first began to blink away the daze as the headache of before dissipated into a faraway hum. A position that encouraged you to confoundedly rub those same, silver eyes the instant you realized you were suddenly standing.

And on a ground quite unfamiliar to you, no less.

Beneath your feet ran an overlayed pile of black rocks, smooth yet jagged as they hugged your brown boots with slippery bodies.

You lurched back, disorientation from the drastically altered sight driving your feet as unknown, overcast skies darkened your movements. A freezing ache from the shock attacking your hands while you moved.

Until you quickly realized that each brisk heel rapidly digging away brought your legs deeper into the pile’s mass like a quicksand.

You went rigid, taking swift note of the sharp stones that now slithered around your ankles with a consistency akin to having been dipped in oil.

Quickening heartbeats shot up your gaze as you tried to reorient yourself within these new surroundings. Secretly hoping that perhaps you’d accidentally stumbled into some strange rock exhibit on the contemplation balcony.

But it didn’t take long to surmise that belief’s impossibility. Because to your left and right and as far as the human eye could see, was an endless accumulation of overlapping rock mounds. Rolling like black sand dunes on a lifeless island on which you now stood.

And solidifying your credence that, wherever you were, you definitely weren’t in the Temple anymore.

Still, that wasn’t the only new terrain that infiltrated your senses. By a flickering gleam a few meters ahead, you abruptly spotted a body of water that skirted the rock formations. A strange moat that seemed to stand still atop a bottomless pit of murky shadows with an eery calmness that made it nearly invisible to the naked eye, despite it being located just under your nose.

Then, still raising your head, you spied another structure just beyond the channel. A jagged rock face of stacked boulders that bore a towering plateau reaching twenty meters into the gray sky, measuring at least the same distance from which its foundation stood beyond the trench. You assumed from the few, fluttering wisps of green grass oscillating over its edge, that the sky-scraping crag’s inviolability clearly rivaled the unstable land on which you now stood. One that collectively squirmed from the same occasional gusts of cold, damp breeze, which left the calm waters unaffected.

Decidedly, you needed to find a way over there.

With considerably more caution, you stepped toward the standing water, trusting in your ability to inch close enough in order to gauge its depth without sinking too dangerously below the slick rocks as they continued to wriggle up your legs. Still, each lumbered stride became increasingly difficult while the hill’s pressurized grip tightened around each calf before squeezing at your knees.

But, in spite of that noticeable roadblock, and following several strained, jerking steps, you were finally able to near the bank. Drawing close enough to gaze into the river’s spine-chilling, shadowy underbelly.

Angling downward, you reached out a hand with the hope of splashing some dulled skylight into its depths for a better view. Perhaps it was more shallow than you initially surmised, which would certainly make your journey across its waters much easier.

But as your fingers graced its surface, you were completely unprepared for the jolting fiery shock that surged up your arm, triggering you to yank it away as if you’d just been splashed by pure, volcanic ash.

You hissed from the sting, cradling your arm while staring deeper into the river’s shadowy depths that rippled from the sudden distortion.

Within seconds of the minute cascading wavelet stretching and dissipating into the river’s outer rims, a handful of bubbles trickled toward the surface from inside its murkiest blotches. The first set effervescing skyward only to, one after another, snap and crackle like watery fireworks whose speckled flakes stung your arms stuck in the crossfire at the river’s bank.

Soon, though, the last gurgle fizzed into a silent pause. A deafening calmness purveying the unknown land to which you’d somehow been transported. Providing an opportunity to formulate some new strategy of escape.

An instant immediately stolen.

In a snap, the waters became overwhelmed by a swarming array of roiling bubbles. A rapidly expanding feat that began to overtake the stream. Transforming the once-still liquid into a gurgling mess as if a thousand lightsabers ignited its expanse from below to tip the already blistering lake over into a chain reaction of pure, uncontrollable entropy.

Your lips formed a thin line as you hummed to yourself.

“This is gonna be a problem.”

—

Obi-Wan Kenobi continued his steady jog down the main Spire’s winding staircase. Nut brown robe fluttering by each pearly step while the bearded Jedi considered just how long he’d been waiting for this pertinent moment.

Or, at least, for the assignments finally allocated at the Council meeting this morning. One that he was just now departing.

It had been six, prolonged days brimming with Jedi deployments following the communications system’s final clearance for secure use during sensitive operations. One after another, fellow Masters and Knights, accompanied by the occasional Padawan, circled through the Council’s chambers like an endless revolving door of diverse faces. Accepting each new mission with complete decorum before bowing to the seated assembly to make their exit. Ensuring space for the next General to enter the yellow rotunda of decorative inscriptions and curtain walls before encircling chairs and the distant panorama of Coruscant’s tallest structures.

All to receive critical orders.

That included Anakin and Ahsoka, who, by request of Master Windu, had departed from the Temple just the other day for the Bith System.

All and all, it had been nearly a week of Kenobi’s colleagues rejoining their clone forces to tackle the Separatist threat. After almost a month of virtually twiddling his thumbs while the men in his battalion laid down their lives without him. A scenario that weighed on the Master Jedi.

Thank the Maker that was no longer the case.

The first set of Council members— Obi-Wan Kenobi, Plo Koon, and Shaak Ti— had finally received their first returning assignments since the full communications lockdown. But while those other Masters were expected to lead their respective battalions alone or be the sole Jedi representative on other worlds, for the first time since Anakin was his Padawan, Kenobi would have a companion.

A being, by Master Yoda, he was tasked with integrating into the Order. And, as a high-ranking Council member, one whose true identity Kenobi needed to protect. An individual who had mentioned to him earlier their plans of meditating on the contemplation balcony before his morning meeting. And because of that, a Jedi he knew exactly where to find to inform them about their mutual deployment scheduled for tomorrow morning.

You.

The auburn-haired man paused mid-step, brown boot hovering over the next, grayed stair for an instant before gently touching down as his senses attuned to their surroundings. His ears perked while a subtle distortion washed by stilled feet, like the elusive splash of a puddle that just happened to knick the edge of his shoe.

With a hand on the thick, wooden guardrail, The General’s curious head smoothly tilted over the staircase, as if to spy the source of the atmosphere’s twitch that he found so strangely difficult to describe by simply peering at the level below.

His brows twisted in slight confusion. Mostly because, after conducting a quick analysis of his environment, the Master Jedi found the subtle sensation’s presence to be quite foreign to him. It wasn’t anything he believed to be particularly concerning. Though he couldn’t admit to having encountered it before. No matter his countless meditation sessions or travels to other worlds.

Perhaps that too was why, despite its innocuous nature, the sudden shift in the encompassing hum of the Force still gave him pause.

Resting his eyelids, Obi-Wan focused his mind on the strange discrepancy, reaching out with the tendrils of his senses to ascertain its truth.

It was as if, within the Force’s steadily taught string, a subtle dip pried down one insignificant section of its intrinsic flow. As if in its everlasting stream that moved throughout every being and world, a fly became caught, with wings too soaked to free itself.

Overall, it was a feeling that wasn’t quite… right. Something that shouldn’t necessarily be there, he gleaned.

An otherwise benign inconsistency Kenobi was confident you wouldn’t mind him investigating. Even if it meant a delay in hearing the details of your upcoming, joint mission.

The blue-eyed Jedi resumed his trek down the spiraling staircase, spry footsteps leading his loosened form. This time with his aim shifted toward the curious ridge that etched into the Force and canopied his senses.

With ample time to reach the variability and a wandering mind, Obi-Wan took the empty moment to consider the Grand Master’s decisions regarding his delayed assignment.

Of course, The General understood the logic behind Master Yoda’s insistence that non-Council members be deployed first while those left behind delegated such commissions. If the Republic expected to recoup its battlefield losses, it was wisest to finalize those strategies with the senior decision-makers still in one place. All while those uninvolved in the planning process took those first, few important strides toward implementing the Grand Army’s ever-evolving designs.

Still, the wait became arduous. The bearded Jedi was usually more patient when it came to such matters as these. And, to be sure, he wasn’t particularly enthused about the encroaching sleepless nights or measureless tasks that were destined to cut into his meditation time.

But now that most of the overarching battalion strategies tailored for the Jedi’s return had been finalized, General Kenobi could not wait any longer to dig his heels back into every effort the Republic put forward to preserve peace in a Galaxy threatened by shadowy forces. Agents of the Dark Side like Count Dooku who, week-by-week, further convinced Master Yoda of his Sith identity.

One of two beings Obi-Wan could never risk permitting either of which to entertain the idea of your existence.

“Master Kenobi!”

Traversing the last few stairs onto the Spire’s median platform, Obi-Wan promptly raised his head toward the adolescent voice. Taking note of its high-strung manner as a dash of jet-black locks jounced into the lower creases of his vision, followed by a flash of green orbs ablaze with panic.

He tilted his head inquisitively.

“Yes, youngling? Is there something wrong?”

But the winded, wide-eyed boy couldn’t answer, mouth agape like a Bluefish thrust from the ocean. Instead, he flung out one distressed arm, grasping Kenobi’s own to tug it frantically toward the platforms behind while breathless words tumbled from trembling teeth.

“We… we need help! Silvey needs someone… someone to help them!”

A raw chill surged up Obi-Wan’s spine, spreading across his cheeks like icy roots that temporarily sucked the color from his lips. Providing enough of a momentary shock at the boy’s words to nudge Kenobi’s heels forward as the youngling dragged him along.

The Guardian, in need of help…

Considering how stubbornly independent you’d always been, this notion certainly worried the Jed Master. It would’ve taken a great deal for you to request any sort of assistance. And from a youngling, no less…

Something must’ve been seriously wrong.

And, as the Jedi whose only indefinite assignment to himself was to ensure your protection, the idea of you being seriously injured or worse fleetingly triggered Obi-Wan’s anxieties about the future in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Not since his experiences as Qui-Gon’s Padawan, at least.

“Slow down. Tell me what happened to Silvey. Are they alright?”

Both Kenobi and the youngling fell in step, the former walking briskly with the semi-jogging boy across the rotunda’s cobalt blue carpet while he continued to tug at the Jedi Master’s sleeve.

“I don’t know!” He huffed, slightly sniffling as he gazed up at the elder Jedi with teary eyes. “We were just talking and they fell and they looked like they were in a lot of pain! They told me to get help, so I did.”

Obi-Wan inhaled deeply, attempting to calm his mind from the initial surprise.

He had an idea of what could have caused this, yet it didn’t make any sense. The bearded man thought that these stress-induced headaches had resolved. At least, that’s what you had told him. He’d become convinced that your efforts to focus that bright mind on differing matters had finally compelled them to fade into the background.

But, if that was the case, what could have possibly changed all that in the matter of a day? Of an hour, since last he saw you?

“Where are they right now?” Kenobi coolly spoke as agile Jedi and youngling stepped onto the contemplation balcony, the gleaming rays of Coruscant’s blazing, yellow sun beating down on the pensive man’s searching face.

“I told them to wait in the Redweeds Circle where they were meditating.”

Obi-Wan halted, forcing the glassy-eyed yet somewhat more sedated boy to skid to a stop, fingers still tightly clasped to his brown sleeve as he frighteningly gazed up at the bearded man.

“I will go and check on Silvey, youngling. But I have one very important task for you while I do that.”

The boy emphatically nodded, lifting up a pair of knuckles to swipe away a dribble of snot leaking down his lips. Still, he listened, green eyes glistening.

Kenobi exhaled, kneeling down to address the boy at his level. “What is your name?”

“Petro,” the youngling sniffled.

“Young Petro, I want you to run up to the High Council Chambers and find Master Windu. Tell him what you told me and where to find us.”

A slight twinkle flickered in the boy’s eye. “I can do that.”

“I know you can,” Obi-Wan graciously smiled while resting a hand on his knee to stand once more. “Now go. I will see to it that Silvey is alright. Have no fear. You did well.”

The black hair boy nodded.

“Thank you, Master Kenobi,” Petro vocalized, a modest upturn gracing the corners of his mouth.

With a pivot of his foot, the youngling trotted back toward the inner spire, beginning his lengthy journey to the tower’s highest point where the Council chambers lay. Still, despite his frazzled signature and hurried pace, Petro still found a moment to call back to Master Jedi who’d just resumed his trek toward your being.

“I hope Silvey will be ok!”

And Obi-Wan certainly agreed with him.

Trailing the copper-tinted curvature of the Spire’s outdoor platform, Kenobi quickly sped toward the Redweeds Circle, passing the occasional Jedi and botanical display in his tempered jog to reach you. He paid no mind to the blue lekku that hung smoothly from either side of Master Aayla Secura’s head as he glided by her deep, meditative trance at the terrace’s outer border without a second thought. He brushed off the District streets’ eddying fumes, accompanied by an unbroken chain of droning speeders and stirring winds that echoed down the path toward the secluded divisions of the balcony.

But the instant his bounding steps brought him within reach of those familiar fiery shrubs, Obi-Wan suddenly found, with his legs uneasily immobilized just before the alcove’s parted entrance, that a familiar distortion had weaved its way back into his senses. And in a fashion that couldn’t simply be ignored.

Because it was the same bend in the Force that he’d sensed on the main Spire’s stairway just moments ago.

A discrepancy, Master Kenobi realized, as he was once again driven to spin through the verdant corner and onto the meditative alcove, was coming from you.

Drinking in your slumped-over spine and cradled head in a blink, Obi-Wan’s unexpectedly spurring heartbeat bolted him toward your figure, stirred to quicken his pace as another pained groan escaped your lips.

“Silvey,” Obi-Wan called out, concern tugging at his sternum while he slowed to kneel beside you.

Eyeing your obscured countenance, Obi-Wan tried to slightly lean in, hoping to catch a glimpse of your face to help gauge the severity of your condition.

But that wouldn’t change the fact that Kenobi had never seen such a strong, physical reaction like this from you before. Especially with regard to the migraines of the last week.

“What is happening? Is it the headaches? Have they come back?”

“Obi-Wan?” You croaked, flicking your head out of cupped palms in startled search of him.

But what Obi-Wan saw nearly made him stumble out of your line of vision altogether.

In place of your brilliant, silver eyes had emerged a thin, gray film, wrapped around the delicate orbs like a taught bedsheet. Seemingly acting as a buffer in your vision during your aimless search for Obi-Wan, despite him being knelt directly in front of your wandering gaze.

“Where are you?” You intensely inquired, vision oscillating from side to side.

Obi-Wan swallowed thickly. “I’m right next to you.”

Puzzlement jerked at your brows. “I- uh. I don’t see you.”

“You’re sitting on the contemplation balcony with me.”

Lifting a hand, he reached out for you, placing his palm on your sun-kissed shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze as a freezing tinge enveloped his fingertips.

“Do you feel my hand?”

“No, I can only feel this damned headache!” You groaned. “And I’m gonna have to disagree with you, Obi-Wan. Wherever I am, it’s definitely not the balcony, and it’s pretty hard to move.” The Master Jedi spied as your hand shot back up to massage your temple. “It doesn’t help that this ache is weighing me down.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth devolved into a thin line, worry etched across his features as he absorbed your troubling words.

“I’m not sure I quite understand. Are you saying you’re seeing some other… place?”

“If you can call it that, yeah.”

The bearded Jedi’s blue eyes narrowed, unsettlement bubbling like a steeping tea at the uncertainty of your condition.

“Tell me what you see.”

“I’m…”

Kenobi dropped his hand while your head swiveled, scanning the encircling vermillion bushes and bronzed terrace below as if you could truly see those landmarks through swathed orbs.

“I’m on some sort of… island. But it’s made up of these strange rocks. They’re oily, covered in soot, and… seem to act like quicksand around my feet. Uh, there’s a lake? It’s surrounding the island. But, Obi-Wan?”

Your neck swiveled like a droid urgently conducting a scan as you again searched for him, uncertainty contorting your features.

“I’m here, Silvey,” Kenobi reassured, scooting his knees against the smoothed floor to resettle directly in front of you as your cloudy eyes stilled straight ahead.

“What is it?” He implored, attentive stare unmoving. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“The water… it’s… black. It’s so black it’s like a shadow in my hand.”

The Jedi Master did not like the sound of that at all.

Kenobi steadily exhaled, a swirling array of thoughts fighting for dominance while he attempted to ascertain what could cause such a condition. And, more importantly, what he could do to stave off its symptoms to ensure your stability, even if temporary.

“What worries me is…,” his eyes refocused on your shifting gaze as words trickled past his ears. “…Is that’s what I called my headaches. The name Master Windu told me to assign to it. Black Water. And now that’s what I see. But when I touched it, it started to boil.”

Your brows contorted in realization, jaw tightening while you spoke.

“I think it’s gonna flood the island…”

Instantly, Kenobi felt his forehead will toward yours. Slowing just inches before your nose as if proximity would make his voice clearer to you. As if it would bring your mind back from being trapped inside this bizarre realm.

“Can you get out?” He implored, a serious quickness charging his tone. “Is there somewhere you can go?”

“There’s another tall island on the opposite side, but I can’t reach—“

An audible gasp ladened with visceral pain tumbled from your tongue, followed by a stiff exhale from flaring nostrils. It was enough to draw Obi-Wan to launch his hands out to clutch your upper arms, holding them so staunchly like it was the only thing keeping you talking. Like it was the only way to keep your body from disappearing too.

He was supposed to be protecting The Guardian, and, by the unnerving sight before him, it looked like he was already failing at that task. A notion that only drove him to accelerate his spoken tempo in an attempt to seek the answers he needed to help you.

“What was that?” He worried, eyes softening at pain transparently emanating from your features. “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s happening.”

“The waves,” you swallowed with stitched brows, rubbing the back of your hand while you spoke. “It splashed my hand. They’re moving closer. And every time I step back to get away, I sink deeper into the island. I don’t think I can walk any further. And I can’t use the Force here to pull myself out.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze sunk, allowing his arms to fall to his side as he settled into folded legs in an effort to parse out this rapidly developing situation.

Master Windu still hadn’t arrived, and there was no way Kenobi was leaving you by yourself to deal with this unpredictable vision only to fetch a distant Healer. If he could call it a vision. The General had certainly never heard of a Jedi becoming fully imprisoned within their own mind by one.

Though, despite being trapped by his own expeditious attempts to decipher the imminent disturbance, the uneasy man still noticed out of the crest of his vision a splash of reddened skin with peeling flakes as your soothing fingers uncovered the striking development.

And it was a sight perplexing enough to compel Kenobi to grab your wrist, just when you began to pull it away.

“Silvey…” he spoke lowly. “You hand.”

“What?”

“It’s red.”

“What? You can see the burn?” You asked, confusion dripping from your cheeks. “How? You’re not in my mind.”

“It’s here. It’s on your hand here. On the balcony.”

“Oh,” you vocalized, scrunching your nose as you continued.

“That’s really not good.”

Kenobi’s already galvanized chest hammered deeper, threatening to fracture a rib.

If, much like The Muntuur, this strange affliction within your mind had a devastating effect in the real world, it was quite possible that were this dubious river to flood your mind’s island before you had the chance to escape, your body would likely go down with it.

And, given your tightening jaw and sucking, painful breaths in your continued purveyance of invisible surroundings, Obi-Wan at least knew this:

That he had to do something.

It was his duty, after all. Even if that meant putting his mind, or life, on the line for The Guardian.

Not just for you. Or Anakin. Or the Order.

But for the Galaxy itself.

For Qui-Gon.

Positioning his hands on each knee, Kenobi rested his posture into a taught line, hoping to focus his racing thoughts on reaching out to the swirling energies that glided throughout him. Paying careful attention to narrowly avoid that dip in the stream that characterized your being and infected the flow.

“Hold on,” he murmured, releasing his mind into the Force. “I’m coming to get you.”

“Obi-Wan, no,” you rejected, vehemently shaking your head. “We still don’t know what this is. This is my mind we’re talking about. You know, the one Master Yoda had trouble analyzing? The one Master Windu hasn’t broken through? It’s too dangerous for you to even try exploring it in this state.”

“You forget,” he jested, pressing against the severely weakened barriers to your signature while his eyelids swung shut. “Facing danger in service of others is a Jedi specialty.”

But despite the confidence leaking from the bearded Jedi’s whimsical words, it was still not enough to prepare him for the astonishing sight that beclouded his bright blue orbs as Master Kenobi shouldered through the thin, protective layer that gave way to your inner mind.

—

You knew the uphill battle of hiking away from steadily rising waters lapping at a disappearing shore would inevitably sink you far enough into the mound’s squirming pebbles to trap you indefinitely. Thwarting away any hope of putting another inch between you and the frothing black liquid whose gurgling waves rolled over each other as thickly as a bubbling oil field.

You just didn’t realize that waist-deep would be the cutoff.

The deadly river roiled just a few meters away, unleashing its intensifying rage with sporadic splashes scattering far enough to swipe searing lines across the sides of your neck and forearms.

Yet, even then, the distance still appeared skewed, mostly by steaming rocks transferring the stream’s burning heat against the protective layer your robe provided. Its slender fabric barely cut their progressing fever while they buzzed with an intensity akin to the campfire rocks you remember scavenging during those late-night cave explorations on Hoth. And, with memories of prematurely dispersing those pebbles with the help of a sleeve, it didn’t take long for you to realize, eyes fixed on the unfortunate sight, that your ash cloak’s thickness wouldn’t be enough to stave off the shards’ uniformly climbing heat for long.

“It appears you could use a hand!”

Your gaze flung upwards, eyes narrowing pryingly at the rough skirt of the grassy precipice from which a carrying voice resounded down the crag and bounced across the humming buzz of scalding waters, all the way to you. Vision sharpening through rising smoke plumes, a hazy emergence snagged your focus while a brown robe flapping around similarly tinted boots crystallized in the fog.

You crossed your arms, elbows gracing the wriggling, sizzling pebbles as an incredulous smirk charmed your expression.

“Last time I checked, that was my line.”

Your brows furrowed in bewilderment.

“Wait—“ you exclaimed, having fully registered Kenobi’s presence within the inner facets of your troubled mind while your arms released to gesticulate your point.

“—How are you here?! Master Windu and I have been working for weeks to even access my thoughts!”

“Whatever this is, it has severely weakened your barriers!” He called out, a swelling wind swishing auburn curls and a shadow of unease clouding his countenance.

Soon, Obi-Wan’s lost stare raised to absorb your mutual surroundings in his scan of the endless, inky mounds whose rolling bodies far surpassed your being into the outstanding, elusive expanse. And, inside those few, short seconds, it became clear that whatever he saw germinated an element of disfavor that stitched like a spasm deep into his blue orbs.

“I sense a great darkness there!”

“Fantastic,” you huffed lowly, sarcasm nurturing its steady drip while you returned toward the preoccupied Jedi with a pointed stare and wry chuckle.

“Still think it’s just stress, Master Kenobi?” You poked, raising a brow.

And you could tell from the Jedi’s mixed expression that he realized he definitely deserved that.

A searing slap at your cheek drew out an uncontrollable hiss, snapping your gaze back toward the sizzling rapids. During the progression of your exchange, the raging waters had crept close enough to now densely crackle less than a meter away from your confined frame.

“Uh, any ideas?” You vocalized, nervously eyeing the encroaching, greasy waters.

“You’re going to be alright!” Obi-Wan shouted, arms extending over the cliff side with fingers pointed toward your figure below about thirty meters away. “I believe I can access the Force here! Don’t move!”

“Thanks for the advice!” You deadpanned, feeling a slight pressure begin to tighten under your armpits, and bow your elbows. “I was originally planning to practice Form Four while stuck in these quicksand rocks, but now I know not to do that.”

With the rise of his palms, your torso harshly tugged upwards, bringing the borderline of writhing pebbles roughly below your rear while the belligerent waters licked at the unstable land mere feet from your anchored form.

“You know what I meant!” He objected tensely, forearms straining in his continual heave skywards.

Another squeezed yank, and most of your heated legs were finally freed. Loose, burning shales tumbled back into the cavity hatched by limbs kicking out to freedom during your hasty retreat to elbow onto flatter land.

And just in the nick of time too.

Boiling liquid instantly engulfed the mound that once had you ensnared. Only seconds after you’d finally, gratingly freed a boot momentary wedged among interlocked shales.

Still, despite your newfound freedom, you couldn’t help but refocus your mind back on the black river’s looming essence as you were promptly reminded by the mounting deluge that your temporary haven would be just that.

Temporary.

“Obi-Wan…” you uneasily droned, sights locked on the molasses-like liquid traveling intelligently across the last few inches that divided its scorching heat from your fidgeting, sweaty feet.

“I don’t understand!” He nervously exclaimed, drawing your stare while he viciously grappled with thin air before his arms fell with a grunt. “I can’t move the rocks! Can you see anything that could be used to block the overflow?! Or to help you move away?!”

“No!” you shouted, fruitlessly surveying the endless mounds of black shards to your rear before facing the quite visually unsettled Jedi. “And if I move back any more I’ll get stuck again!”

Tensely biting your lip, you stretched your neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of any way across the crashing waterway— a loose path of stepping stones perhaps— when your vision once again spied the rocky cliff towering fiercely in support of Obi-Wan’s faraway figure. And while you scrutinized the plateau’s craggy outer foundation that fabricated a makeshift shoreline, you did happen to spot amidst its rugged construction two round, graphite boulders of particular interest balancing against each other toward the divide.

They stood at about half your size and appeared sturdy to move, you assessed. Making them maybe, just maybe, durable enough to get you off this death trap of an island.

So, extending your mind through elongated fingers, you attempted to clasp onto one of the shapes.

That was before learning the hard way that on that faraway shore too, you could still not manipulate the Force.

“What is it?!” Obi-Wan called out, having seemingly noticed your distant focus and budding frustration.

“Those boulders below you!” You replied, motioning for his probing peer to traverse back over the river’s murky depths. “Can you move them?!”

“I can certainly try!” He exclaimed.

An echoing grunt reverberated down the cliffside while Kenobi struggled to negotiate the boulders’ dense builds. Even from your remote spot through clouds of smoky fog and under overcast, gray skies, you could almost glimpse the blossoming of thick veins that tirelessly pulsed throughout both of the Jedi’s tautened arms.

But it wasn’t before the obvious strain brought Obi-Wan’s two, forcibly planted feet teetering just at the cliff’s edge that you felt compelled to somehow strategize a new plan. Because no matter how dangerously close those bubbling waves came, you were far more driven by the heightened danger Kenobi inched toward with each onerous yank at the structures below, effectively stiffening every muscle in your body.

Until the tiniest twitch in the right boulder stifled your breath.

Within the span of a blink of an eye, Kenobi had, by all accounts, unearthed the brawn demanded to barely lift the grayed boulder, prying it from the delicately balanced pile that slumped noisily from its removal.

He hovered it through the splintering waters, securing the object against crashing waves that threatened its journey. Holding it steady enough to shakily maneuver its shape before finally allowing it to clatter inches before your feet.

“I’d like to know why you can access the Force in my mind when I can’t!” You complained, grappling onto the giant stone with grayed sleeves clutched between your fingers as you rose atop its structure, two rapid heartbeats before the dark waters encircled the drifting, black rocks below.

“Never mind that now!” He remarked. “I’m going to build you a bridge!”

“You can’t!” You called out, boulder quivering up your legs from the rushing stream. “It took nearly all your energy to move just one of them!”

His eyes dilated with apprehension at the truth behind your words. Until that was all washed away by an element of reluctant resolve.

“When you have another suggestion I’d be happy to take it under advisement! But, for now, this is the plan!”

With rounded lips, you sighed, whispering lowly to yourself as you considered this rapidly developing predicament that you somehow now roped Obi-Wan into.

“This is not gonna end well…”

So, for those next several, tense minutes, once you acquiesced to Kenobi’s plan, it became a desperate race between you and the troubled waters persistently frothing its deadly torrent always just below. Obi-Wan constructed you a path to deliverance brick by brick, with a cacophony of strained grunts and shouts to watch the slippery corners that, following one misstep, were sure to lead to a scalding demise. It certainly didn’t help that the river had once again proved its near sentience, with the blubbering, hot liquid countering your bid for freedom by striving to surge and crack against the ascending bridge, passion like an Alessian Terror Moth to a Glowlamp.

Though, despite the restless undercurrents of anxiety breaking against your own subconscious from the absolute instantly that was this situation, a small part of you eased at the ongoing effectiveness of this thrown-together strategy Kenobi had arranged. With every available effort, the auburn-haired Jedi briskly lugged each shiftable boulder ahead of the flooding river and rising steam. And, you had to admit, his perseverance had certainly helped alleviate any general unease surrounding the plan’s ill-advised nature, calming nerves that you didn’t even realize had heightened before the adrenaline began to shake out of your system.

That was, until his complete exhaustion started to manifest through heavy perspires, drenching his face and tunic and stiffening his increasingly stuttering movements. Especially once you passed the waterway’s halfway point, those sluggish maneuverings of trembling boulders barely lifting off the ground soon became a new cause for concern.

“You need to take a break,” you advised with a comforting gaze and more standard projection, now able to make out the bearded Jedi’s entirely drained complexion from just twelve meters away. “The water will still be safely low enough for a few minutes at least.”

All Master Kenobi could do was nod while labored breaths struggled in and out of his lungs, hands reaching for rigid knees as he subsumed the brief instant greedily, fatigue dripping down every inch of his hunched body.

It was really difficult to see him like this, you absorbed, eyes glued to the troubling sight. Obi-Wan was by far one of the most intelligent and capable Jedi you’d met during your time at the Temple. So much so, that had Qui-Gon seen this day, you knew he would’ve been immeasurably proud.

Then, to watch him crumble within the confines of your strangely infected mind? Putting every piece of himself as he was known to do in service of others? Toward some crisis you could’ve escaped on your own had you held out for just a little bit longer?

You felt awfully guilty.

You sighed, attention so strongly levied on the recovering man just above and beyond that you almost missed the nearly imperceptible, detached rattlings that ostensibly reflected from the torrent below.

Ears perked, you glanced around the set of stacked boulders that precariously buttressed your balancing, skyward frame. Allowing your severely debilitated senses to lead you into a turn as you tracked the clatter toward the flooded land from which you just barely escaped. Still, despite being initially met with the broad flood of shadows, you encouraged your vision to center.

It was a decision that empowered you to quickly spy a thread of black specks emerge from the dark waters, swelling quickly in their rapid, squirming approach up the bridge with movements so coordinated you assumed they had to have been connected by some invisible thread.

“What in the Wampa…” you whispered to yourself while trying to discern this strange sight with squinting eyes.

Neck craning to take a closer look, you soon recognized the flecks’ familiar snaggy shape and greasy complexion as they melted into a pebbled form.

With nowhere else to go, and a healthy bought of curiosity driving your gaze, you observed as the black rocks slithered up the last few boulders, wondering if some strange wind trap created by the manmade bridge had somehow twisted these shards up and out of their sodden cradle.

But you were swiftly proven wrong when, madly wrapping around your leg like an unshakable boa constrictor, the reactive pebbles seized you into a downward tumble, preventing you a chance to even react. Still, your eyes grew wide at the twist while a startled Kenobi called out after your disappearing figure.

Your back slammed roughly against the bridge with each jolt, forcing you to twist and wrestle for an imperfection to grip. All the while blistering rocks jabbed into your leg with a wildness that made you gasp.

With fingernails continuing their descending scratches against a flux of smooth surfaces, you finally felt your arm give as it locked onto an indent in one of the jutting boulders. Eliciting another groan while the gravely serpent continued to tug at your commandeered limb just before the simmering heat that now suddenly reigned a centimeter below.

With a heartbeat exploding so hotly it felt as if the organ itself would stop altogether, you floundered to face the earthy creature. Spine twisting and arms tightly hugging the boulder beneath while you attempted to somehow come face-to-face with its pants-shredding clutch, hopefully without plummeting off either edge of the narrowed bridge.

Soon, however, by the swing of your other limb flipping your body, you were finally able to secure a newfound position of dominance. With the resulting urgency that rushed through your veins playing a pivotal role in raising your uncaged leg to rally a string of unfettered stomps across the organism’s linked skeleton.

One by one, you snapped off each wedge of the unwelcome parasite, feeling each incisive, prodding sting until you watched the last pebble fall with a hiss and whine back into the deluge. One that, any second, threatened to nip at your ankles.

“Nevermind!” You yelled, leaping to your feet in a desperate race back up those few, squeaky boulders you’d collapsed down.

“No time!” You continued, finally reaching the bridge’s incomplete brink and nearly stumbling over it altogether before halting just in time to spot an aura of relief wash over Obi-Wan’s features the instant you emerged.

“The rocks are alive and they’re trying to kill me!”

Kenobi’s head retracted in befuddlement from registering your words.

“What?”

Another clamor of pattering clicks rang out from the rear, soon overwhelmed by a racket of grating cracks and splashing plunges that whipped your head so quick it took a full second for your hair to catch up.

Alert eyes stilling on the alarming sight, you quickly registered that, in place of the bridge segment once fastened to the tumultuous waters below, now stood a fractured crater. In fact, the structure’s first disappeared steps into ascendancy had overflowed with squirming oily shards and rushing black liquid. The same conscious elements that began twirling like waterspouts with the intention of shimmying up to the next set of boulders, only to girdle the masses with a tight squeeze that sent another section of the bridge bursting into useless fragments.

Staunchly pointing at the rear development, you addressed the perplexed Jedi once again.

“Now they’re eating the bridge!”

“What?!”

But it didn’t take long for Master Kenobi to understand what you meant, as the last few levels of the hazardously erected configuration began to buckle under readily collapsing supports, drawing you into a falter while you tried to steady yourself atop the highest-reaching boulder.

Clearly, this situation was becoming far more dangerous than you could have ever predicted. And with that came a very real realization—

That the longer Obi-Wan remained here in his futile attempts to save you, the more jeopardy he’d be entrenching himself in.

You’d had your fair share of tight circumstances before. And, no matter how dire this one seemed, you knew by your track record that you could probably figure some way out. But, each time you faced down another bloodthirsty Wampa with a broken arm and fractured clavicle, or defended against greedy pirates who’d temporarily stolen your lightsaber, or even traversed icy plains after becoming lost in the dead of night, you still felt comfortable taking such risks.

Because you had faced them alone.

There was no one else you really had to look out for that prevented you from subjecting yourself to the perils necessary to survive.

Until now.

With this danger unlike any other.

One that you could barely predict. And one that had tangible consequences transferable to the physical realm.

One that siphoned the security you usually experienced in attempting such perilous schemes into unruly disquietude. At least since an unpredictable element by the name Obi-Wan Kenobi illuminated the fact that you’d now be endangering a life other than your own.

The land he stood upon was much safer than the vanishing oily mounds below. You understood that. But such a belief would only hold true for so long. It was just a matter of time before the troubled waters threatened to swell and engulf the bearded Jedi whose features contorted in uncertainty as he stared down at you.

Even if he waited until the absolute last second to escape— at the instant when your dreadful doom was sealed— you didn’t believe that the Master Jedi could pry himself from your mind fast enough. At least, not before it was wholly consumed by slippery shadows.

And, most importantly, if you knew one thing, you knew this, and with the confidence of a simple math equation no less:

That if Kenobi got hurt because of you, you would never forgive yourself.

In the short time he’d known you, he had already done so much. Acted as an incendiary to healing discoveries about yourself that you had no previous notion of exploring. Stayed at your side during those inner battles of painful migraines despite your initial attempts to push him away for his own protection. Truly, you couldn’t allow a man as kind and affecting as that to put his life on the line for you. Not when the Galaxy needed Jedi like him.

Not when his death would feel like losing a piece of Qui-Gon all over again.

Besides, being The Guardian of The Chosen One didn’t just mean protecting Anakin, but anyone who you believed to be a part of his destiny.

And you were quite confident that his former Master certainly qualified.

With the prospect of an untimely and horribly painful end slapping you in the face, your sheet-white face finally gravitated toward the unsettled blue-eyed man above you. For the first time since you were both thrown into this bizarre mess, the two of you exchanged a lingering gaze, silently arguing about the best next step as you gradually came to terms with the prospect that your insatiable luck may have finally run its course.

But while your features drowned in realism and pursed lips, Obi-Wan’s seemed to harden with sharpened brows and a newly robust determination, one that threatened to cut down your soberness with a mighty slash.

Because, if you remembered correctly, Obi-Wan Kenobi never believed in any such thing as luck.

“You need to jump—“

“—You need to go.”

His jaw tightened.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“The water is rising too quickly, Obi-Wan. You took so many rocks from the cliff side that it will probably collapse once it nears my position—“

Another quake in the tottering bridge jumbled your feet onto a slippery edge, nearly toppling you off the bridge altogether before a strong yank tugged you back by the hood of your robe.

Quickly, you replanted your boots, releasing a shuddery exhale as you spotted Obi-Wan’s outstretched fist lunged toward your figure, an agitated sigh falling past his evenly firm lips.

“There is no choice, Silvey!” He sternly repeated, heavily lowering his outstretched arm. “You must jump!”

“It’s a death sentence either way!” You yelled before dropping into a pragmatic tone.

“It’s too far for me without my abilities. I’ll fall.”

“Then we’ll work together,” he suggested, closing his eyes and releasing his spine as he spoke.

“Focus on my connection to the Force—“

With literally not a second to lose, you did as the wise Jedi advised, pressingly reflecting his posture amid roaring waves and collapsing boulders that you did your best to drown out with eyelids that fluttered closed.

“—And repel the shadows.”

But it was hard to sense his meaning.

The instant you tried to reach out to Kenobi’s figure with every branching fiber of your being, all that you were met with was a brick wall. As if the rising steam had congealed into some sort of smoky barrier that reigned all around you and deepened the blur of your senses. Suffocating your connection to these strange surroundings in a way you didn’t think was possible. And in a way that you couldn’t control.

“It will feel like a bright flicker in the darkness.”

Darkness? Could that be what this was? A pure, unadulterated aura of the Dark Side? And encompassing a portion of your grievously debilitated mind, no less.

You’d never had the occasion to sense the Dark Side of the Force, having only known one light side Jedi during your isolation on Hoth. You didn’t even know what it felt like. Master Kenobi had mentioned he could sense it here. Perhaps that was why your connection to the Force felt indefinitely cut off.

And, if that was the case, then maybe you were going about this all wrong.

Rather than force the shadows away in their immovable form, rather than controlling forces quite unknown to you, perhaps you could glide through them.

And the instant you endeavored through this tactic, you soon realized that Kenobi was right.

As you reached out again, this time wading past the confusing blockades that bloated into mist as you tapped them away like drifting bubbles in search of anything familiar, you finally tasted it.

A gentle orb of glaring light that, despite its size, radiated with the strength of a thousand suns.

An energy so sweet, tangible, and linking within these ubiquitous, observational shadows, that you felt lured with shaky fingers to touch it.

“Find your connection, Silvey. Whatever you must do, find your way back to the light.”

An aura so intoxicating, that you took a bite.

An unparalleled sensation of light surged through your veins. Radiating up your arms and throughout your body with an intensity that wrenched your eyes open with a sharp inhale as you felt the tingling buzz of the Force reactivate through standing hairs across your frame.

After a moment to settle into this stream’s bright yet anomalously quivering touch, with prickling cheeks gradually subsiding, you finally felt able to breathe into the remarkable feeling. First encouraging your nerves to cool while electrified eyes refocused on the auburn-haired man above, who appeared similarly disoriented and breathless.

You couldn’t blame him, though. With a quick glance at the deluge below and the rapidly ascending shards bouncing behind, you both registered that you had mere seconds to make a decision. Still, despite perceiving a reconnection to at least some piece of the Force through Obi-Wan’s dependable guidance— no matter how strong that initial connection felt— you couldn’t help but sense it to be much weaker than you’d ever experienced in the real world.

If you were being completely honest, as you readied yourself with heels digging into the slate boulder, you didn’t think this was going to work.

But waiting any longer meant giving more time for the troubled waters to reach Obi-Wan.

And that was unacceptable.

You needed to move.

With a hand boldly cast down, he yelled for a final time, imperious, blue stare burrowing into yours.

“Jump!”

And, so, you did.

With this newfound connection to the Force, the faith it partially imbued, and the man you needed to protect in dire need of saving—

You jumped.

Your feet soared above the lapping waves of piping liquid as the bridge’s final pillar shattered, toppling the structure’s remains into gurgling oblivion. You felt the blistering swipes of the ensuing, loose droplets at your ankles, catapulted by the boulders’ untimely descent while you neared the overhanging, verdant ridge from which Kenobi’s hand remained firmly extended with eyes locked tensely on your gliding frame.

However, what you had judiciously feared, and what the Master Jedi hadn’t seemingly predicted, was that, despite the helpful boost in mending a fraction of your Light Side connection, the degree to which you became entwined with the distant Force appeared to fall short of your immediate needs.

With ash-like steam thrusting against your face, you began to lose propulsion too soon, leading to the drastic turn that sent you hurdling toward a lower portion of the cliff face with no discernible crevices to grab ahold of.

Subconsciously, your legs began to kick, arms outstretched to brace yourself as if that would cushion the inevitable crash that was sure to bounce you back into the boiling, black river rumbling just below.

But that darkness never came.

In an instant, Obi-Wan had vaulted over the precipice, using one hand to grab the crag’s lip while he swung in between your collision course. Tirelessly flexing arm outstretched, he slid a loose, sweaty palm into yours, clutching it tightly before ripping you out of your momentum and into a brief twirl, leaving you both to dangerously dangle feet above the boiling stream that steamed your swaying boots.

“Maker…Are you insane?!” You screamed, a crimson outrage blooming on your face at the sheer recklessness with which he acted. “Why did you do that?!”

“I seem to have learned…a thing or two…from our mutual friend,” he grunted, attention focused on your upward escape while his knuckles whitened on either end.

You didn’t want to believe it, but you were confident in its truth.

If you stayed like this, you both were going to fall.

“Obi-Wan,” you gulped, a chill running up your spine against the smoldering background as you tried to calm your voice.

“You need to let me go.”

His bewildered gaze snapped toward yours.

“Absolutely not!”

“You’re just going to get yourself killed…” you explained, ogling him sensitively.

His eyes softened.

“Then save us both,” he hushed. “The Galaxy needs you just as much as Anakin.”

Kenobi’s eyes warily flickered past your figure as his voice intensified.

“Now, whatever you may have done earlier, I suggest you try it again before we both become another ingredient in this ghastly stew!”

You followed his stare, catching sight of the same encroaching waves that churned inches from your toes, thickly crashing and gurgling up black spouts over the array of sporadic boulders.

Wait.

“I have an idea!” You exclaimed, digits extending toward the smoky, gray body of a nearby boulder. “Cover any exposed skin!”

Tapping into that tiny spark of light blooming in your chest, and in cahoots with any and all available facets of energy remaining in your wearied body, you heaved the giant rock, clenching every possible muscle in an effort to nudge it upwards.

With a guttural cry you had no idea was your own bouncing off the cliff side and across the rumbling river, the rounded mass finally broke free, following a sedated, wobbly climb up the crag toward both of your hanging bodies.

Only a third of the way up, you became numb, extremities tingling while you focused your entire consciousness on ensuring this last-ditch plan’s success. So much so, that as your eyelids drooped in and out of blurred vision, you didn’t even realize that your clasped palm had begun to slip.

Until Kenobi let out a pained gasp, taking on the brunt of the collective weight by clamping onto the remaining loose fingers so tightly that you would’ve been surprised if he hadn’t broken one or two.

But that extra two or three seconds was all you needed. Within that frame, you’d raised the dense boulder to hover just beside Obi-Wan’s swaying form, providing a stepping stone of sorts to the ledge just above.

“Climb,” you arduously breathed, skin itching as your muscles threatened to give out.

And you certainly didn’t need to tell him twice.

Using his robe to protect himself from the rock’s blistering heat, Master Kenobi swung one leg and then the other onto its rounded body, heaving himself up with every procurable limb that wasn’t attached to you. All the while you desperately held the boulder in place as black dots began to dance at the creases of your vision.

Swiftly, he found his bearings, using the newfound surface to lunge onto the grassy knoll that characterized the plateau’s surface before immediately swiveling to drag you up with him.

“Let go of the boulder!” He exclaimed while his other arm reached down in urgent search of your Force-wielding fingers.

But the moment he told you to release it, those digits fell limp, collapsing just as quickly against your side as the giant rock plummeted back down to the dark, troubled waters below.

Yet, crouched over the cliffside, Obi-Wan refused to give up.

Tracing the outline of your slumped limb with the back of his hand, you felt the warm thread eventually reach your frozen palm, grasping it eagerly before the Jedi Master tugged you upwards by both arms.

Slowly, but surely, you felt your body lift while rising steam dissipated into a cold sweat, eventually permitting weak feet to mindlessly carry you over the partition and onto solid, green ground that pushed up against your soles.

You blinked.

“Silvey?”

The familiar sway of red-orange bushes and distant commotion of cityscape bustlings suffused your senses. In time, you spotted Obi-Wan, crouched directly in front of you with a particularly troubled tint lining his features and a warm palm resting gently atop a shoulder that you barely distinguished as your own.

You were back.

But something felt…

Off.

You shot up, legs buckling slightly as if you were trying to walk for the very first time in years. Brushing off Obi-Wan’s touch with the back of your hand in an attempt to continue your driving stumble forward.

“Wait a moment,” Obi-Wan insisted while bolting upwards, propelling opened palms to hover by your sides as you momentarily stilled in between them. “Take it slow—“

“What is going on here?”

Squinting, you spied the familiar figure of Master Windu, brows crossed in stoic reprimand as he whisked toward you both, brown cloak whipping behind him. With a wandering gaze, you narrowly spotted out of the far corner of your eye a familiar set of black locks. Peaking out from an inconspicuous hiding place behind one of the far vermillion shrubs that betrayed their location in its periodic swerves against the breeze.

“Master Windu,” Kenobi called out, waving him over. “We require your assistance.”

But with a body that, for some reason, felt uncannily like your own, it became hard to focus.

Master Windu eyed you critically. “What happened?”

A dizziness overtook the distant migraine of before, black splotches from your mind returning with a vengefully accelerating frequency. It blurred your vision into a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors that soon mutated the eyes, and noses, and lips of the men before you into an unnatural, dripping putty.

Your mouth opened disjointedly, yet no words came out.

“Master Kenobi, what’s going on?”

You reached for your head.

“I’m… unsure. Silvey? Is it still the headache?”

Weightlessness.

“Woah woah.”

Warmth.

“Youngling, fetch us a Healer—“

“Silvey, can you hear me?”

“—And then see if Master Yoda is available.”

“Silvey?”

End Part I: Rescue of the Fates

Taglist

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#obi wan fanfiction #obi wan kenobi #obi wan my beloved #obi wan x oc #obi wan x reader #obi wan x y/n #obi wan and anakin #anakin and ahsoka #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker #star wars anakin #anakin x you #sheev palpatine #star wars prequels #angst #fluff #banter #star wars #obiwan kenobi #anakin and obi wan #obi wan #obi wan star wars #obi wan x anakin #star wars ahsoka #ahsoka #qui gon jinn #qui gon/obi wan #jedi reader #jedi oc #gray jedi

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Aww thank you for the tag @panandinpain0 ! I’m new so no bingo yet, but now I have some fun goals to work toward!

Starred the ones that are particularly relatable (I feel so called out by the typesmash option 😂😂)

Hoping my lovely followers will tag their fav writers because I don’t know anyone yet 🙈

Also, to those following my Kenobi series, next chapter will be up in the next few-ish days :)

I found a game!

Bingo! Let it be known that all my fics are unbeta’d and extremely self-indulgent.

The template:

No pressure tag:

@marleysfinest @oxygenbefore1775 @pisspope @wyvernslovecake @honeybleed @moonspirit @lokiheart135 @hjemne and anyone else who would like to take part ✨

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The Guardian

Chapter 9: Ancient Implements

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, banter, medical scans/lingo, reference to injuries, exhausted Reader, descriptions of violence, anxious/concerned Obi :(

Summary: Following a rainy conversation, Obi-Wan accompanies you to the Jedi Infirmary in hopes of finding some answers about your condition from Healer Rig Nema. Consequentially, in the face of new discoveries and futile coping mechanisms, the Master Jedi is driven to finally intervene. Through an unconventional strategy, nonetheless.

Song Inspo: Broad-Shouldered Beasts — Mumford & Sons

Words: 9.4k

A/n: Hope everyone celebrating enjoyed New Year’s! Some references to events/thoughts in Star Wars: Wild Space here. No context needed, just some short moments not covered in the Prequels/TCW. So, this chapter very much sets us up for the absolute DOOZY that is the next one, so best to buckle up LOL. My bad about the delay in this one. I had to teach myself brain chemistry 🤪 (sorry to any med students reading in advance). Made up for it in length 💀

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Series Masterlist

The earth laughs in flowers — Ralph Waldo Emerson

Obi-Wan reclined, allowing his back to press against the inner glass of one of the Infirmary’s privacy dividers as he folded his arms snugly across his chest.

Internally, the Master Jedi was hoping to disguise the slight unease that crawled up and down his spine for deep concentration, furrowing his brows as if he’d entered a profound state of thought or meditation.

But no matter how carefully he postured impressions of levelheadedness in the face of your paled features, Obi-Wan couldn’t ignore the low thrum of concern that occasionally tugged on his sternum. He couldn’t help but feel the air around him thicken from newly discovering a weeks-long affliction impacting The Guardian.

Impacting you.

A being, that if ever unwell, could place a critical prophecy in jeopardy.

A being, on account of those responsibilities, he promised to protect.

It was to the point where his steadily swelling desire for some answers had languished passing minutes into what seemed like hours. All while he waited across from you for your examination to be completed.

However, once Kenobi glanced at the chronometer’s green glow on the opposite side of the observation room, he soon realized the actuality of how much time had elapsed. Obi-Wan couldn’t believe it’d only been twenty minutes since he escorted you to the Infirmary. Twenty minutes since you were both welcomed with open arms by one of the Temple’s prime physicians, Master Rig Nema, at the facility’s main entrance.

As a Healer known not to waste time, she immediately submitted an inquiry into why you were visiting. But it wasn’t until Master Nema took in your slightly sluggish form, that the doctor was quick to usher you both into a private cubicle, barely enabling the bearded Jedi to finish his symptomologicol report as he was whisked away alongside you.

Clearly, the presence of painful headaches pervading for weeks on end had stoked the Master Healer’s intrigue just as equally as it steamed Obi-Wan’s smoldering wariness. A fascination so zealous, that she pointed to and instructed the infirmary’s only two available medical droids to carry out a number of cranial scans as you all walked down the hall. Their wheeling bodies materializing by your side once the three of you entered one of the far observation rooms. Whirling and weaving to gather that first set of images before you even had the chance to sit down.

Master Kenobi couldn’t argue with the efficiency with which Master Nema accomplished her work. Nearly all of the ordered scans had been completed in a relatively short time.

But the urgency with which the doctor questioned you, while a whirlwind of droids circled your head like a pack of strike-Vultures, still had the repercussion of stoking Kenobi’s apprehension to the point of slowing down time itself. The longer Master Nema professionally fired query after query while dissonantly beeping droids traveled to and fro, the more Obi-Wan’s mind drifted to the idea that something really was wrong. And his anticipation of that theory swelled enough to knock each minute beyond his reach. As if shore waves towed sequential seconds farther out to sea.

Of course, as a broader consequence, Master Kenobi could already feel the delicate kindling of a faraway guilt emerge in his gut. Especially once he considered his delay in approaching you.

Had he spoken to you sooner, would the doctor have found her concerns to be less pressing? Would the results you were both still awaiting have proven to be more favorable?

But these thoughts only had the effect of stimulating a dull ache throughout Kenobi’s already tensed back, tightening around his spine like sentient vines as your short conversation with Master Nema reached its end.

Even as the Healer excused herself, his constant mix of disquiet and curiosity about your condition drove his eyes to follow the doctor, all the way up until her marbled head crest disappeared around the corner framing the narrowed doorway. As if her vanishing figure held the answers he sought.

Still, your mysterious affliction was not the only item that’d stoked an air of unease in the resting Jedi. Returning to the inside of the Infirmary’s borders had yanked back memories of his last dalliance with its muted decor and antiseptic aroma. The wounds he’d earned from the Battle of Geonosis were tended to by a similar set of droids in the chamber parallel to this one. A sliver of glass scarcely separated him from recollections of bruised ribs, broken bones, and an exceptionally disorienting concussion.

And, transparently, with reminders of discomfort came booming echoes of the harrowing days that bookended that medically invasive afternoon.

Memories he didn’t want to explore again.

Admittedly, in addition to masking this compounding unease, Master Kenobi had other motivations for his steadily declining posture, amplified as he leaned further back into the sturdy, sleek dividers that bordered you both. It happened to also be the only way Master Kenobi could offer you any semblance of space in such a cramped compartment. One that was so obviously designed for a single patient and no visitors.

You were tiredly perched on the infirmary bed’s side, legs dangling loosely. All while the last stubby medical droid completed a few final, even waves around your head with its hand’s built-in scanner. Yet, despite being planted in the opposite corner from the Master Jedi, the two of you still stood mere feet away from each other. A fact that was further highlighted by that same, pesky droid bumbling into Obi-Wan’s resting elbow for the fourth time as it maneuvered between you and the short wall of green luminescent data screens installed to his right.

Indisputably, it would’ve been easier to vacate these tight quarters to solve such a matter.

But Obi-Wan decided against it. He was still reticent to leave you completely alone.

Both of you knew Master Nema would be returning soon. The Healer had assured you that she’d only be gone down the hall for a few minutes to scan your results from the datapad in her private office. Yet, despite this mutual understanding, Obi-Wan immediately clocked from your shifting eyes toward the empty doorway that her brief withdrawal had fueled second thoughts about your decision to come here. This, in combination with the subtly doubting expression that stuck to your face the whole journey here, had easily convinced the Jedi Master that stepping out would’ve electrified that arch as a beacon of escape, driving you to follow those faintly perceptible impulses.

So, hence this observation, Master Kenobi decided it best to instead act as a tenuous deterrent, marking his territory between you and that sweet exit with an additional cross of his legs as he settled further into the glass wall.

The quiet beeps of scanning droids and ding of pinging monitors faded into a duller tone as Obi-Wan released his mind to wander through the events that led up to this point. It was true, that the Master Jedi had long been pondering what exactly was plaguing you in the time since you’d arrived at the Temple.

The bearded man was quite observant, first catching signs of sleeplessness during those few days on the shuttle back. And in those instances, the occasional flicker of despondency that cursorily contorted your features at the mention of his former Master’s name.

But those rare moments had never succeeded in dulling that reassuring spirit and attuned presence he’d become so accustomed to these past few weeks. It’d never challenged the composed strength that saturated your being so absolutely that it leaked from every inch of exposed skin like water from a wringing towel.

At least, not until the last week or so.

It was around then, Obi-Wan soon realized, that something had changed. And while he didn’t quite understand what exactly was occurring, he did know that some undisclosed element was uniformly snatching away threads of light from those two bright, silver eyes of yours. A physical feature that he’d recently registered as having one unintended effect:

They refreshed his senses from a mere glance alone.

Master Kenobi couldn’t deny to himself that after only a month or so of war, he’d become exhausted by not only the newly amplified duties placed upon him, but also by their militaristic, warlike nature. Missions of peace and humanitarianism had quickly devolved into defending free territories from heavily encroaching enemy lines.

The Council meetings that followed only stoked more of the same. Strategizing troop movements, assigning interplanetary campaigns, addressing casualties…

Had Obi-Wan had the ability to expose his former Padawan self to this future, he knew that young Kenobi would’ve never believed that the Jedi could ever be so entrenched in the politics and military responsibilities of a conflict at this scale.

But when he caught a flash of silver reflection from down a hall? At the corner of the refractory closest to his quarters? Near the edge of his vision in the Temple Gardens?

That weight suddenly felt just a little bit lighter.

The General wasn’t entirely sure why he became so overwhelmed with this sensation just at the mere sight of you. A sudden ease, a calmness that permeated his being in a way he’d never been able to summon on the battlefield.

Though he did have a few guesses.

You had always carried an air of serene confidence, of compassionate power, that struck at Obi-Wan’s core. Yes, these were all attributes expected of a Jedi. But your being didn’t simply carry these characteristics, Kenobi maintained. It was as if you had the artistry to will these qualities into existence from deep within your being. Like the vivid, lapping flames that encompass the entire mass of any radiant star.

And, to him, you wielded such strengths with absolute grace.

It was one such instance that Obi-Wan was still trying to wrap his head around. During your first duel with Anakin, the inclusion of one, brief conversation about his emotionally-charged behavior seemed to have knocked more sense into his impatient former Padawan than Kenobi had ever personally precipitated.

When he later inquired about the dialogue, The General readily respected your decision to keep the specifics of the exchange private. But it was when you relayed to him the vague takeaway of the power of compassion that Obi-Wan realized the reality of your statement.

That had he been in your same boots, applying that same dogma, Master Kenobi still wouldn’t have had much success.

The blue-eyed Jedi had always tried to be considerate with his former Padawan. He was hard on him at times, sure. And the two of them certainly had their many rows. But in the end, Obi-Wan always aimed to keep Anakin’s past in perspective.

He’d tried to protect him by teaching him of the importance of letting attachments go. Dispelling his fiery emotions, his ruffled history, and the people that were now a part of his past.

He tried to be a friend to him. A gentle reminder here. A reference to the Code’s importance in the life of any Jedi there. Yet still, the results were never so transformative.

And it was hard for the Master Jedi not to blame himself for that.

Though that load was slightly lifted by the hope your presence imbued.

Truly, Kenobi was thankful that one of Qui-Gon’s previous Padawans had emerged to partially aid him in fulfilling that deathbed promise he’d made to his former Master so long ago. Even if it was during a time following Anakin’s Knighthood.

Training the boy encompassed not only combat, but also the mastery of softer elements pertaining to becoming a wise Jedi capable of realizing The Chosen One prophecy. It was those latter skills that Obi-Wan never found complete success in communicating as Master to Padawan, having himself become an instructor the very same day he’d completed the Knighthood trials.

Yet, it seemed that addressing those weaknesses in his teachings came to you with relative ease. Something that made him wonder how things may have differed on the day of Geonosis had he discovered your existence earlier.

It was his inability to properly drill the importance of patience in the young boy that later led to the loss of his arm. Obi-Wan was convinced deep down, despite Anakin’s self-punishments, that in the end, it was his own fault. Kenobi’s fault for not equaling your effectiveness in addressing these matters.

Kenobi’s fault for the loss of Anakin’s arm.

Had he found you sooner, could it have all been avoided? Would you have made a connection with little Ani and trained him out of that nearly fatal mistake before he made it?

And what of the days that followed? When Anakin was recovering from that calamitous wound in this very Infirmary.

Obi-Wan vividly recalled the striking images from when he first visited his former Padawan after the battle’s devastation. He could never forget the complete agony that radiated off Anakin’s gnarled face as he stirred from a nightmare. He could never shut out from his mind those words that chestnut-haired Jedi screamed at him, red-veined eyes pulsing as he let slip his mother’s passing.

“And it’s all your fault!”

His heart clenched at the memory.

He didn’t know the details of her death, but he understood vaguely the visions which plagued Anakin in the leading days. Specters that he didn’t realize pointed to a surmounting danger.

And Anakin blamed him for it.

Would you have figured it out faster than him?

If so, then maybe, things could’ve been different.

The possibilities dashed by the delay in rescuing you from that desolate ice planet only lengthened the Jedi Master’s perceptible regret. Possibilities that would’ve become attainable through some mastery of connecting with Anakin’s being. Some familiarity so remarkable that it must’ve been willed by the prophetic elements of the Force itself long ago, Obi-Wan convinced himself.

A conclusion that left him to wonder why you were having an oddly similar effect on him.

Perhaps it was due to your separation from the war. Your lack of experience on a real battlefield freed your being from the weights chained to every Jedi who’d experienced its turmoil. Because even when news of ongoing skirmishes trickled in through visiting clones— tempering moods and gradually effervescing the bubbling anxieties among him, Anakin, and Ahsoka— you still appeared to ignite the surrounding air with sparks of anti-gravity the moment you entered the room.

When any one of them expressed concerns about the front, your soothing smile, teasing jabs, and intelligent reassurances had soon acclimatized the bearded Jedi to associate those hopeful eyes with your comforting existence, and the relaxation it imbued in him.

It was probably also why now, much like the last week in a half, Obi-Wan felt particularly disconcerted.

Without fail, he would be the first to catch on to those subtle dips in your lips in the refractory. The uncomfortable quirk of your brow in the Archives. Sometimes, even, an unexpected twitch of the nose while strolling down a Temple walkway. Always to be followed by a quiet farewell and your quick yet controlled retreat, leaving him without the opportunity to inquire about your condition without necessitating chase.

So it goes without saying that the Master Jedi was particularly relieved when Anakin approached him. Of course, not by the story of your incident in the Starfighter. But by the fact that he finally had a valid excuse to seek you out and investigate this ongoing issue. A trouble that he’d originally surmised as related to Qui-Gon before he was proven to be severely wrong.

Your reality was quite more bothersome.

Honestly, had you not been a force-sensitive being, Obi-Wan would’ve been less concerned. Headaches can be quite normal for the average individual.

But for a Jedi?

It had far more serious possibilities.

Pain in the mind could’ve pointed to an imbalance in the Force. And considering your true identity, and Qui-Gon and the Council’s reasons for hiding it, Kenobi had reason to take note.

Still though, you‘d been through a lot these past few weeks. The death of a Master. Leaving a home you’d known all your life only to be thrust into a far busier and more complicated environment. Finally facing down a dangerous legacy with galactic implications. It was an existence far more demanding than was expected of the average Jedi. Perhaps these migraines were simply a reflection of that fact, he considered.

Nevertheless, Obi-Wan wanted to make sure. He was no specialist in the medicinal aspects of the Force nor in how its energies physically manifested. And that meant the only other option was to consult someone with more expertise. Someone he equivocally trusted to make the right determination.

Qui-Gon was right. Kenobi did think about the future a little bit too much.

“Obi-Wan, if you keep staring at me like I’m about to drop dead, I’m gonna kick you out.”

Master Kenobi’s vision instantly refocused, lips parting slightly as he realized his gaze had accidentally wandered and stuck to your subtly dulled, silver orbs.

Immediately, he used his back to push off the screen, summoning a hand to check his beard’s placement in hopes of hiding the chilly embarrassment that ever so slightly crimsoned his cheeks. No matter, he doubled down, approaching you in a few steps with broad shoulders declaring self-assurance.

“You’re not getting rid of me quite that easily,” he casually quipped, dropping his arm loosely to the side once certain that brief flush drained from his ears.

At the same time, the pine-green medical droid stationed before you embraced this sudden split in the previously long-held silence as his cue. The machine wheeled around Obi-Wan, this time rudely knocking into the back of his leg in its scurry toward the screens spread out on the far wall. All the while releasing a flurry of affirmative beeps to signal the examination’s completion.

Of course, Obi-Wan’s eyes were careful not to reflect his mild agitation at the droid’s lack of spatial awareness while his gaze followed it.

Continuing to observe the green machine, Kenobi spoke, paying careful attention to its arm’s mechanical tendrils that extended into the wall’s receiver.

“I was taking the time to consider your situation.”

“What situation?” You emphasized rhetorically.

Obi-Wan’s features sobered in an effort to remind you of the potential gravity of your symptoms.

But you brushed aside his hardened brows, instead bouncing your gaze toward the uncoordinated droid as it finished retracting its arm from the console. Your vision remained locked, following its triangular head while the machine spun toward the room’s doorway, clipping the frame with an unfortunate clunk and shocked beep before reorienting itself to swerve down the parallel hall.

Even then, you extended the interval, allowing its buzzing gears and occasional clicks to grow more distant before continuing with a lowered voice.

“I went from living my life on an ice planet to now spending weeks in a much warmer climate. I’m probably not used to this environment yet. That’s all.”

The unconvinced man spied your eyes soften.

“I’d rather not be wasting medical resources for something that’s probably nothing. Especially in the middle of a war.”

Master Kenobi’s mouth twitched into a frown. “It’s not a waste if it provides the answers you’re looking for.”

“I’d agree if I believed the answers were medical,” you argued.

“This is a Jedi Infirmary,” he spotlighted. “Master Nema will be considering all phenomena that may affect a force-sensitive. Even an imbalance.”

Your brows fluttered inquisitively at this. “Is that what you think is happening? Some sort of imbalance?”

He hummed, hand reaching for his chin as his eyes drifted in thought. “I’m not quite sure. The mind of a Jedi is a complicated thing. The way in which it realizes our connection to the Force is often unpredictable. But headaches resulting from an imbalance are not unheard of,” he exhaled. “Although, I don’t feel anything strange in the space in or around you.”

Obi-Wan cocked his head, stretching out to the swirling energies around you both to confirm his observations from the last few weeks before meeting a familiar wall in the connecting strands.

“But I must admit, I do have trouble sensing your mind within the Force. So, I may be wrong.”

The nearly imperceptible sigh that escaped your nostrils drew his searching orbs back toward your lowered gaze in an instant.

“However,” he readily subsisted. “These are no ordinary scans. If these headaches are related to an imbalance, Master Nema would be the first Healer I trust to make that determination.”

But the one-sided stillness continued. The General spied your eyelids fold shut while you breathed deeply into the emptiness, kindling your despondency in such a way that it intensified Kenobi’s own discomfort. Mostly because he was growing more and more convinced that his reassurances were clearly making things worse.

“I know it’s not what you want to hear—“

“That’s ok, Obi-Wan,” you smiled at him tiredly, legs stretching as your gaze drifted toward your knees. “I heard something similar from Master Windu. If these scans don’t reveal anything, I’ll just return to those meditation sessions he suggested. They’ll have to reveal something eventually, medical or otherwise.”

Once again, Obi-Wan crossed his arms, a silent protest to the security you placed in that impractical solution. Assuming he’d properly understood your version of events from that earlier, rainy conversation, meditation had only made your migraines more unbearable.

A notion that certainly disturbed the seasoned Jedi.

Throughout his life, Master Kenobi took great comfort in connecting with the everlasting serenity that was the Force. Even as a youngling, when his imagination wandered less and less into daydreaming realms, he’d cherished these moments of silent outreach as a way to center his mind and hone his presence in the Galaxy.

But for you, in the last few days, it had only caused you pain. For you, these headaches actualized a blockade, sequestering your being from one of the most sacred acts known to any Jedi. Isolating you from peace.

And he refused to allow that to continue

Obi-Wan was dragged from his thoughts as your straightened legs limply fell back against the bedside, drawing his blue eyes toward spots of perspiration on your now stretching neck and sinking eyelids.

Seeing you like this, pushing yourself to the physical brink as a last-ditch attempt to tame these incidents, heaved upon him a draining atmosphere similar to those that weighed him down more heavily in these months of war.

Sensations he was still trying to put a name to.

But Obi-Wan didn’t need a title to know that his being was firm in at least one judgment— he didn’t want this affliction to torment you any longer.

Those words…

Name. Title.

It drudged up an abrupt thought in the ruminating Jedi. It was something you’d said. Or more, he soon realized, something Mace Windu had instructed you to do.

“Remind me,” he began with a punch, drawing your sparkling eyes toward his as he unstitched his shoulders. “Master Windu advised you to give a name to these incidents, yes?”

You nodded, eyes wandering toward the doorway as Obi-Wan continued steadfastly in his speech

“Silvey,” he called softly, drawing your attention back to him.

“What was the name—?”

“I’ve had a chance to review your scans, Silvey.”

Master Nema spoke resonantly as she materialized, carrying a polished bearing while pivoting through the open-aired doorway and toward your seated figure. Her cerulean-tinted eyelids and lips stood in stark contrast against lime-green shoulders, a distinction emphasized by bowed eyes that held affixed to the blue glow of the datapad in her dominant hand.

Regardless of the thickly sliced air, the Healer continued to evenly scroll through the device, having unknowingly cut off the previous exchange before you’d even had the chance to absorb Kenobi’s inquiry.

“And I don’t see anything of note. Just some heightened activity here.”

Obi-Wan watched as the gray-robbed Halaisi finally raised her gaze, extending the datapad toward your now curious form.

Taking the device, you scanned it quickly, eyes squinting while you mulled over some image stamped at the screen’s center beyond Kenobi’s view. Though you only mulled over the datapad for a few seconds before glancing up at the Healer candidly, a somewhat sheepish expression attempting to push through your unbending forehead.

“I’m not very familiar with the anatomy of the brain,” you admitted.

Shimming to your side without bumping into the bedside, Master Nema pointed a long, viridescent finger at the datapad. “This brighter, center portion here consists of your amygdala and hippocampus. They are responsible for several functions related to memories and emotional processing.”

She glanced at you.

“May I ask you to describe the weeks leading up to these migraines? Primarily, I’d like to know which locations you’ve visited and the activities you were engaged in.”

Obi-Wan sighed internally, biting his tongue. Even before Master Nema had finished her inquiry, the bearded Jedi was swift to realize a new issue— that your inevitable yet necessary response may undermine the accuracy of the Healer’s determinations.

And for an instant, Kenobi nearly imagined that you’d read his mind.

Not a second later, you subtly glimpsed at The General’s now very watchful stare, only to confirm with determined eyes that you knew what you needed to do.

And that he had no chance of changing your mind.

Because Master Yoda and Master Windu advised that such truths must remain hidden. As revealing your real identity could amplify the very real threat to your life. So, without their permission, your predetermined fabrication needed to become the truth to Master Nema as well.

“I’ve recently returned from a years-long mission for the Council,” you dispassionately parroted. “However, I’m unable to discuss it in detail.”

Master Nema nodded unflinchingly, having become long accustomed to the importance of discretion in most Jedi matters.

“I understand,” she relayed, retrieving the datapad from your outstretched hand. “Can you share if you’ve had any occurrences similar to these during your assignment?”

Unblinkingly, you confidently answered.

“I did not.”

“Good,” she expressed, satisfied. “Further details will not be needed.”

Lowering her arm to rest the datapad by her side, the doctor angled herself more fully toward both you and Obi-Wan as she delivered her diagnosis.

“From these symptoms and affected regions, and with no other indications of illness on your scans, I understand that you are experiencing a side effect of prolonged stress.”

Obi-Wan covertly peered at your reaction, curiously taking in the unexpected neutrality that characterized your countenance.

“Stress?” You repeated, asking for confirmation.

“Yes,” Master Nema established, unbothered by your unconvinced manner as she turned away and strolled toward the gentle green glow of busily flashing screens plastered by Obi-Wan’s side.

“It’s quite common,” she maintained, her exposed upper back greeting you both as the displays’ ceaseless stream of looping data commandeered her sight.

“But I must admit,” she noted. “I’ve only seen these cases more recently, since the war began.”

Cunningly rearranging several charts of what Kenobi saw as an assortment of disparate numbers and calculations, the Jedi Healer soon centered on a corner window before beginning the long trial of analyses inputs, gathered from the occasional glance toward her purposefully angled datapad as she expounded.

“The Jedi are involved in prolonged duties of war that they were never meant for. And without time for meditation, it has caused many to internalize these experiences. This is why the symptoms of these strains usually begin after returning to the Temple. When their bodies are given a chance to rest and connect with the Force, the effects of prolonged stress are then allowed space to materialize.”

“Materialize as headaches?” Obi-Wan questioned from his once quiet perch.

Master Nema broke away from the left screen mid-data entry, angling to face the bearded Jedi with golden-rimmed eyes and a forthright manner.

“This is the first time I’ve heard of headaches as a symptom,” she admitted. “But from the general history described, the causes appear to be the same. Also, the hippocampus and amygdala are known to respond to stress-inducing environments. And headaches are not a far stretch from the primary indicators. Lack of focus, exhaustion…”

Master Nema stretched to eye your figure thoughtfully.

“I believe you’re showing the latter.”

At that remark, Kenobi immediately noticed a chink in your impartiality as a flake of disappointment slipped past the corners of gently pursed lips.

His forehead crinkled at the trickle of confusion dripping down his hairline. Obi-Wan thought you’d be relieved to hear that this affliction was not as dire as it had the potential to be.

It appeared that the Jedi Healer must’ve noticed the same shift in expression as she offered you a diplomatic smile. Those that are often reserved by doctors for their more unfamiliar patients.

“Rest, Silvey. Meditate. Do something to take your mind off of the stresses of your mission. It’s over now.”

And, in response, you offered a simple nod.

“Thank you, Master,” you relayed sincerely, offering a flash of amicability. “I’ll try to do that.”

You pushed off the medical bed with sudden haste, toes landing on the floor gingerly as your legs briskly steered through and out the doorway. The skilled maneuverings easily drew Obi-Wan’s attention, compelling him to detect a precise shift in your most noticeable features as you passed by.

How your eyes submerged into a subtle, gray glaze, and how your jaw inappreciably tightened.

It was enough to provoke him to launch a pursuit of his own, hoping to make up for the past few weeks of mistakes in not doing exactly this. All with the intent to close the distance with your quickly departing being after exchanging a parting nod with Master Nema.

“Silvey,” he projected, pacing toward your weaving form beyond the last few cubicles that pointed to the Infirmary’s exit like an arrow.

He caught your gate slacken as you entered the connecting Temple walkway, casually pivoting toward his quick steps while you waited for him to catch up. Still, you didn’t give Kenobi a chance to finish his approach before beginning to speak unapologetically, offering a straight face and a hand on each hip as you made a particularly bold statement

“It’s not stress.”

Had he not been present in the observation room, Master Kenobi would’ve unequivocally believed your statement right then and there. From three, fearless words alone. Spoken with such sheer simplicity that it was as if you were reminding him that Coruscant’s sky was, in fact, blue.

Still, disregarding the momentary speculation your confidence imbued, Obi-Wan held onto the reality of your situation. Or, more accurately, the relative soundness of Master Nema’s diagnosis while his pace effortlessly eased by your side.

“You don’t know that,” he contested as you pivoted, carrying on your trek down the pillared and lilac-carpeted walkway while his legs seamlessly moved in sync with yours. “The history you provided may not be accurate, but that doesn’t mean stress isn’t the source. Master Nema said the scans support her diagnosis.”

“It’s not stress,” you reflexively repeated, the same, unshakable conviction as pulsing as before that locked Kenobi’s gaze onto you while you continued.

“Stress is natural. It’s our being’s way of telling us something. Reminding us to take a break. To take time for ourselves. But whatever this is,” you gesticulated into the air, hand twirling as if it was conjuring the very affliction from the surrounding pillars’ essence. “It isn’t natural. It’s different. Deep inside me, but not. Disconnected—“

From a lightning flash of sliver, Obi-Wan was temporarily taken aback as he was forced to absorb your stilled yet rich perseverance. Bleeding through eyes that whipped over to challenge his stare, drawing you both to a sudden halt.

While emphasizing each consonant, you calmly declared once more your obstinate verdict.

“It is not stress.”

For a few seconds, the Master Jedi searched your face, keeping an eye out for any inkling of a quiver in your fortitude. Any sign of withheld doubts. Any indication that there was something you weren’t comfortable sharing.

But quite immediately, The General realized that even if he’d stood there for days, all would’ve remained the same. There were no hints that you could’ve been convinced otherwise. No way for him to persuade you that stress affected the body just as mysteriously as the Force.

So, he acquiesced.

“Alright,” he acknowledged, a gentleness enveloping his tone. “For now, let’s agree that it may not be stress. You’ve been managing them with the same approaches Master Nema suggested, no?”

“I have…” you skeptically concurred. “But it’s not sustainable.”

The sound of your exhale roped Obi-Wan’s attention as you reached up to rest a palm on your eye. Your cheeks sagged in resignation, subduing your voice while you spoke.

“I guess I’ll just try to get some rest.”

Obi-Wan’s brows creased in an unpleasant recognition.

Those disjointed eyes? The carefully constructed monotonousness you’ve held since making your escape from the Infirmary?

Unfortunately, Obi-Wan was quickly becoming a master at pinpointing the signs.

“It’s happening again, isn’t it?” He delicately inquired.

You shook your head incredulously, a small smile inching out of the corner of your mouth as you peeked at him.

“Is it that obvious?”

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure exactly why he did it. Why his arms reached for your shoulders, grasping their cold frames with a pleasant squeeze. As if some foreign entity now controlled and commanded both limbs with a set of knotted strings. A mind other than his own that believed the only way you’d hear his words was through physical and visual touch alone.

For a split second, at the base of his subconscious, with eyes locked onto yours, Kenobi speculated that perhaps it was a piece of Qui-Gon left behind that commandeered his actions. You’d mentioned to Obi-Wan that your former Master believed your stubbornness to be a considerable strength, yet a ramifying weakness. Something the bearded Jedi certainly recognized as he spent more time with you in the past few weeks.

Knowing the dearly departed, your at times cloaked stubbornness on such affairs plausibly necessitated Master Quinn to rely on similar measures to finally break through.

So why not do the same?

“Let me help you. You’re not on Hoth anymore. There are beings that can assist you here,” he frustratingly exhaled. “You told me yourself that rest has done nothing. I can provide a suitable distraction, if you’d allow me.”

Kenobi’s careful gaze caught the minute disorientation that blinked from reactive brows. You clasped your hands and, for the first time since he’d known you, an air of timidness encircled your ears.

“I appreciate the offer,” you began conscientiously, displaying a thankful smile “But that wouldn’t be fair to you. I know that there are probably a number of Council tasks you’ve sacrificed to check on me, which I appreciate. But I shouldn’t keep you away from those responsibilities any longer.”

“You and I both know that the Council’s activities have laxed since the incident with the communications system,” he securely reminded you as the bud of a perfect excuse blossomed into the puff of levity that captured his voice.

“Besides, this would be more of an exchange than a sacrifice.”

“Oh?” You uttered.

Your demure smile stretched into an infectious smirk, which only amplified Obi-Wan’s gaiety through brightened cheeks.

“You seem to have forgotten your promise,” he bantered.

Your head tilted.

“My promise?”

“The Muntuur?”

The bottom half of your face instantly transformed into a broad grin.

“Ah, yes,” you exaggerated teasingly. “How could I’ve forgotten a promise as dire as that.”

“Then you agree?” He quickly inquired. “You instruct me on how to use the device, and you can be confident that I will ask enough questions to keep your mind occupied.”

“I believe you may be on the better side of this deal,” you poked.

Kenobi watched as your eyes wafted toward the far-reaching Temple ceilings in thought. And in pondering his request amidst the absurdity of this exchange, Obi-Wan was fortunate enough to just barely catch your attempt to stifle a laugh.

“Alright,” you feigned defeat, silver orbs flickering as you glanced at him.

“I agree.”

—

Kenobi drifted deeper into his settled posture, legs folded in angled balance as he extended his deliverance into the swirling energies of the Force. Straightening his back, his focused mind welcomed the omnipresent stream to encircle him in the empty training dojo, never to be hindered by its milky white walls nor wood-bordered panels.

Wherever he was, The General sensed this to be true. That the Force would always be with him.

Rationally, Obi-Wan knew that any second, you’d be strolling through those two gray sliding doors to join him, Muntuur in hand after retrieving it from your quarters per his request. Yet still, Kenobi found that even in the most cursory of moments, meditation proved to always be a feasible endeavor. Despite sometimes having only a few seconds to fully connect with his surroundings, Obi-Wan found that stretching into the constant flow would still center his mind in a manner that could last for hours. Perhaps days, if he’d found particular focus.

But he hadn’t always had the aptitude to enter those cavernous reflective states so rapidly. Especially as a Padawan, when his mind took a little bit more tugging to wrench it away from concerns of the future so to focus on the here and now. It was a realm he always had to strive toward. A speedy existence he’d been further compelled to master had he any hope of engaging in such comforts during the ceaseless activities of war.

A lifestyle he knew he’d be returning to soon.

From the final review of the Temple’s security system this morning, it was ultimately discovered that there had, in fact, been a leak in the communications system. Specifically, an exposed transceiver code. And, of course, of the many technical specialists and machines tasked with rooting out the issue, Artoo, Anakin’s prized blue-and-white droid, was the one to discover it.

Due to Count Dooku’s formerly wide access to sensitive Temple data, Master Yoda had decided to alter all related security measures so to ensure that the Separatists were not given a tactical advantage after The Battle of Geonosis. That included identifying and deactivating the extensive array of transceiver codes that Dooku was aware of.

But, unfortunately, it seemed that one was missed. A single line of digits once only privy to Council transmissions during Dooku’s short stint as a member, long before Obi-Wan’s time. An easy mistake that proved to have significant consequences, setting back the Republic’s stance by forcing the Jedi off the battlefield as clone battalions temporarily took command.

And just after they’d finally gotten one step ahead of the Separatists following the Republic victory on Christophsis, no less.

Either way, The General understood that he’d soon see the damage himself once given his first return assignment. A mission that would include you, considering Master Yoda’s decision to separate you from Anakin on the battlefield for the time being.

But there wasn’t time for such considerations any longer. No more musings about what the future held. Not in a time when he should’ve been blending his mind with the rippling stream.

A time cut short.

The whoosh of an automatic door releasing tickled his ears, followed by a cool gust of creeping air that further drew Obi-Wan out of his concentrative state. A quick wrench akin to similar interruptions by Commander Cody during those off-world campaigns in the months prior.

His eyelids peeled open at the new, subtle presence before him. And in the moments that followed, it didn’t take long for Kenobi to take note of your more upbeat figure, revitalized by the prospect of the coming distraction in the form of teaching a lesson on ancient implements, Obi-Wan hoped. A divertissement to be governed by The Muntuur whose glint caught the bearded Jedi’s eye.

“Excellent,” Master Kenobi expressed, raking his gaze over the half-circle metal headpiece that hung loosely from your fingertips while he untangled, placing a hand on his knee to help him stand. “Now tell me how it works.”

Obi-Wan spotted a quirk in your brows as you steadily approached, a token of entertainment at his eagerness, no doubt.

You hummed flippantly. “It would be easier to just show you, you know.”

And Master Kenobi wholeheartedly agreed, but that wasn’t why he was doing this. He couldn’t deny that he’d been ardently waiting since you told him about The Muntuur to put the apparatus to the test. But, right now, he had more important matters to address than his budding curiosity.

To focus your mind on easier topics. On the intricacies of a long-lost Jedi device. And on the concentration required to explain it to him.

And that meant putting some skin in the game.

“I’d much rather hear it from your own voice,” he contended, nonchalant gaze somewhat lowering to meet yours as your shorter, slightly amused figure stalled within arms reach of his chest.

And with your quick-beat response, it was clear to Obi-Wan that you’d in some measure caught on to his ruse.

“Well, how could I deny such a charmed request?”

A tickled smile crawled across Kenobi’s features at your faintly sarcastic tone. An expression that persisted fervently despite noticing a sincerity wash away your brief masquerade.

“I must warn you, Obi-Wan. What I’ve learned about this device was through significant trial and error. Not even Qui-Gon really understood it.”

Still, the Jedi Master’s encouraging regard never quivered. A long-held desire to grasp and digest your knowledge radiated from his being. Strong enough, it seemed, to persuade you to continue as you held up The Muntuur for easy viewing.

“If you have the imagination, and the specifications, you can program it to simulate virtually anything. Any drill or duel you can imagine. Any environment. Any foe. As long as you know the strengths, behaviors, and appearances involved in your desired program, then it can be created by inputting them here.”

Obi-Wan adjusted as you turned your back toward him to display the device’s rear. Specifically, the small, anciently designed input panel whose miniature screen emitted an amber gleam between your secured fingers.

He craned his neck farther over your shoulder, the fragrance of star jasmines wafting from your loose hair and into his nostrils as he strived to take a closer look.

“My holobooks often provided enough information for me to recreate their contents for training purposes,” you continued to explain. “Honestly, I’ve used The Muntuur so much that I still have a number of designations memorized. Including…”

Master Kenobi scrutinized the tiny display as your fluttering fingers tapped away, making selections and adjusting parameters so expeditiously that it was as if an invisible memory bank of numbers and terms were stored in your wrist. You readied the device so expertly, in fact, that the brief trailing off of your voice was smoothly picked up following the short, concentrative pinch.

“…this little guy.”

He watched while your thumb danced to the small, circular black button resting in the panel’s corner, pressing and holding it down until a startling beep cheered from the device. An unexpected noise that swiveled your figure back toward the Master Jedi, arm outstretched in offering as a barely hampered enthusiasm elevated your features.

However, with an undetermined inspection narrowing on the instrument, Obi-Wan suddenly felt hesitant to accept.

He often found comfort in understanding the more nuanced aspects of unknown technologies before diving right in, unlike his former Padawan. Consequently, The Master Jedi had honestly been anticipating a more detailed explanation. But from the rapid fire of input codes and language specifications that manifested from your exceptional proficiency, Obi-Wan now realized that, even with your guidance, such in-depth adroitness was sure to take weeks if not months.

Time he, unfortunately, did not have.

“Don’t worry,” you brightly assured, arm still extended with the gleaming metal headpiece. “The safety protocols are engaged. It won’t bite.”

Kenobi’s stare snapped toward yours as he cautiously took the device.

“Safety protocols?” He inquired, turning over the cold metal in his palms as he observed its ornate craftsmanship. “I’ve never heard of a simulation creating a safety issue.”

“It’s more than a simulation,” you elucidated, jutting a thumb toward his grasp. “Notice how there’s no visor?”

Obi-Wan flipped the device, realizing the accuracy of your statement as his befuddled eyes met its rather barren fore.

“It functions by triggering the electrical impulses in your neurons. Because it creates the simulation with your mind, certain programs need to be active to prevent the more subconscious parts of your brain from confusing artificial injuries with reality.”

“That is…quite fascinating…” Obi-Wan uttered, taking one last scan of the unique instrument before glancing at your intrigued features, captivated by a typhoon of ruminations on the device’s remarkable functions, he assumed.

“So I won’t feel pain?”

You shook your head heartily, emphasizing each word that followed. “No, you’ll certainly feel pain. But you won’t receive any grievous injuries.”

And the General’s spine stiffened from shock at this. Eyes wide as he searched your matter-of-fact countenance for clarification.

“Silvey, are you saying this device can cause real-world harm?”

“Only if the safety protocols are off,” you undauntedly reminded before your voice relaxed into a fonder, more reminiscent timbre.

“I learned that piece of programming the hard way,” you chuckled. “Qui-Gon almost threw the whole thing away after I nearly bled to death from a stab to the shoulder. A fairly treatable wound in the likes of Coruscant, I’m sure. But when you have no choice but to work with a few, expired bacta pads, it can become a little dicey.”

Master Kenobi’s once intrigued disposition had slowly devolved into a frown.

He knew this implement was old. Likely used by ancient Jedi who followed a widely contrasting set of rules in a lawless world of dark adversaries. But he never predicted that their training equipment would allow for such risk in the name of growth. There was a reason younglings learned on training sabers. So that they need not face the same life-threatening dangers that you seem to have faced every day at their age. Whether through an unpredictable apparatus or the nature of your icy asylum.

Obi-Wan barely noticed the thickening of a faintly simmering temper, mixed with frustration and confusion as he finally considered the reality of your upbringing. The bearded Jedi cared for his former Master deeply, and he clearly understood that Qui-Gon had done his best to protect you under severe circumstances. But the auburn-haired man couldn’t get over the sheer recklessness that characterized his decision-making as your custodian.

Had he not checked this device thoroughly before handing it off to a child? That didn’t sound like the wise man he’d known for all his life. Though Qui-Gon did have many responsibilities on top of your secret existence. Most of which likely prevented him from imparting the same thoroughness and circumspect to which he gifted Obi-Wan.

Still, it was no excuse.

And the longer he sat with that realization, the more your recollection ruffled Obi-Wan. Especially when your cavalier attitude proved your innocence to the underlying issue that Kenobi was so peeved by.

A reaction that you just seemed to notice, but failed to correctly attribute.

“Obi-Wan.”

You spoke gently, reaching out a cold, comforting hand to rest beneath his, providing a little extra lift in supporting the gadget’s portable weight. His eyes followed your arm, naturally landing on the two, strikingly silver orbs that relaxed his tensed muscles and unsettled thoughts with mollifying memories of uncomplicated talks and silent company.

“I promise you, you’re not gonna get hurt. I would never have agreed to share The Muntuur with you had I believed for a second it would cause serious harm.”

And there it was again. Those gentle, sparkling features that cozily blanketed Obi-Wan’s line of vision with honest poise. Accompanied by relieving words that freshly astounded him in every instant they fell from your lips.

Your life. Your upbringing. Devoid of connection and saturated with harsh dangers in an inhospitable habitat. Yes, a Jedi was expected to forgo all attachments, but this isolation had been to an extreme.

Yet every day. In every moment he had the chance to grace your presence. To get to know you. You’d shimmer like a being who’d known unconditional love from the galaxy, and was simply acting as a conduit to relay that benevolence onto others.

But that wasn’t your reality, Obi-Wan reminded himself. Besides Qui-Gon’s disbanded guidance, you had only known the cold.

Still, even that jarring refuge was likely more enticing than the prospect of facing a dark nemesis too soon.

You’d only known struggle, yet diffused compassion.

You really were something.

“I trust you,” Master Kenobi finally spoke, raising The Muntuur to secure its chilly, rigid form atop his head.

While his hands lowered, Obi-Wan felt a slight dig as the device morphed to fit his skull’s dimensions. A low, mechanical purr was followed by strange tingling sensations that danced across his temples like docile Endorian ants.

But after a few, stagnant seconds, in which a stillness recouped the air, nothing else occurred.

The Jedi Master knew that you’d intended for some program to run, yet he saw nothing. Just the dojo’s durable, cream-tinted walls supported by pillars of hickory brown wood.

“How do I know if the simulation has begun?” Obi-Wan questioned, eyes glancing toward your figure as you purposefully ambled backward to grant more clearance to the focused Jedi.

A delighted smirk tugged up at your countenance from chin to ears as you slowed to a halt about twelve meters away.

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know.”

A deep, guttural roar bellowed from behind, provoking a somewhat startled Master Kenobi to detach his lightsaber mid-whirl as he faced the blare with the blade’s instantly ignited, blue glow.

Coiled into a stalking pose at the opposite wall was the brown-gold body of a particularly irate Nexu. Its four, beady red eyes pierced Kenobi’s senses, drawing considerable attention to the broad set of dagger-like teeth that stretched across half its face as the beast soon began to circularly prowl. The inchmeal movements of its sharp claws and flicking tails quickly compelled Kenobi to step into a cautious counter, sidestep after sidestep so to avoid closing that precarious gap.

“I believe we have different definitions of what qualifies as a ‘little guy!’” Obi-Wan sarcastically called out, his readily extended saber maintaining the standoff while he kept a slow, methodical distance.

“I think he’s kinda cute!” You gushed.

Obi-Wan’s head whipped to stare at you in utter disbelief, hoping to communicate his complete disagreement with such a statement. In fact, he manifested with his eyes alone the question of whether you were truly seeing the same ghastly brute as him.

But any answer he sought would have to wait, it appeared. The momentary glance at your chuckling figure was cut short by the beast’s consciousness of Kenobi’s brief distraction.

Its paws struck the ground with a sharp crack, signaling the Nexu’s powerful charge toward Obi-Wan as the latter’s attention snapped back toward the rapidly closing-in creature. One, he now noticed, whose approach could be viscerally sensed, further persuading the Master Jedi to poise himself for the coming strike that he felt through the surrounding flow.

“I can feel its movement within the force!” He called out while dodging a quick slash of the right set of claws. “How is that possible?!”

“It’s part of the programming,” you leveled candidly while Obi-Wan sprinted for a better vantage point toward the far wall, slithering beast on his tail.

“I think that’s why Qui-Gon assumed it was built for the Jedi,” you continued. “Never could figure out how that part worked.”

Drawing on the stream around him as he reached the dead end, Kenobi leapt onto the wall, maintaining his momentum while he followed its architecture around the training room.

Still, the slobbering huffs of the Nexu stayed close behind, especially once the creature’s biting claws lodged into the same partition, empowering it to launch into a rather slippery chase while its talons fought against the smoother sectionals.

However, the agile Jedi persisted, formulating a plan as his eyes locked onto an abruptly nearing corner.

With the blustering beast just a few steps behind, Kenobi broke away toward the opposite intersecting wall. Then, with cold air resisting against his face, Obi-Wan exercised the boost to reach and thrust against this new push-off point, barreling into a flip back toward the growling beast that still struggled to skitter across this raised vantage point.

Swiftly, while the Master Jedi glided midair, Kenobi brought down his blue luminescence to slash at the Nexu’s back. It was in that instant, that he successfully severed several of its sharp quills, a pink ooze soaking the creature’s fur while it wailed out in agony.

Embracing the Force to cushion his descent, Obi-Wan partially floated to the stone floor, toes centering his landing as the beast once clawing across the dojo wall writhed into a short plummet, striking the floor with a boom just meters beyond his feet.

Kenobi watched on while the Nexu pitifully rolled to its side, emitting a flurry of pained squeaks and whimpers in its parade to expose its underside, a symbol of surrender.

But that white flag wasn’t what prompted Obi-Wan to abruptly unfasten The Muntuur from his skull and end the program, leading the now docile Nexu to fade into nothingness as the device hummed through its deactivation.

No.

Instead, the slightly panting Jedi’s attention was seized by a sudden burst of laughter from the far corner, flinging his bewildered yet slightly curious gaze toward your bent-over form leaned against the dojo’s gray doors.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just, this is the first time I’ve seen someone use The Muntuur from an outside perspective and I’m—” Another fit of giggles poured out of your gut, squeezing Obi-Wan’s brows to raise in delight at the sound.

“I’m just now wondering how Qui-Gon kept a straight face! With nothing there for me, it just looks like you’re running around in circles, and—“

Another howl of laughter colored the air, touching his chest with a strangely familiar sensation. One that he couldn’t quite clearly recall, but knew still that it had been something he’d experienced a couple times a year as a young Padawan.

On those few evenings in the fall when his training had ended early for the day, young Kenobi would run off to the Glitannai Eslpanade to experience the Festival of Stars. And while he appreciated the joy of dancing beings and the artistry of performative acrobatics, he’d only really had one motive for sneaking off with a nut brown robe tightly concealing his Jedi identity amongst the bustling crowds.

It was to gawk at the falling Ithorian rose petals, flung from the sky like euphoric tears at each year’s parade on Coruscant.

A sight he could never drag his eyes away from, no matter how hard he tried.

This wasn’t exactly what Obi-Wan had planned when he decided to focus your mind on matters separate from those stress-induced headaches. But he certainly wasn’t going to complain about finding success through other means. The undeniably beaming expression on your face meant that something he did had lessened the headache that’d emerged following your infirmary visit, at least.

Perhaps that was what gave rise to his inner appreciation for your enlivened state. Because when he heard your laughter spring throughout the room, it confirmed for him that he’d finally taken a little bit of your pain away.

And that idea alone tugged fiercely at his facial muscles, coaxing him to give rise to a smile.

But Obi-Wan shoved that down, instead adopting a rather unimpressed gaze as his voice oozed with sarcasm.

“I’m pleased you find my defensive techniques so amusing.”

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[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 8: Blackened Water (Part 2)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, banter, migraines, a tiny reference to drugs, self-sacrifice ish, skechy neighborhoods, brief stalker (?), very concerned Obi :(

Summary: After this morning's incident in the Starfighter, you go on an afternoon run to clear your mind. Of course, your track of choice is the seedy underground neighborhoods of the outer Senate District— a decision that will prove to be full of twists and turns.

Song Inspo: Black Water — Of Monsters and Men

Words: 7.5k

A/n: All I’m gonna say is, hella foreshadowing and hella symbolism. I’ll let you decide what that means 🫡

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Series Masterlist

The thought was this: that all my life had been murk and depths, but I was not a part of that dark water. I was a creature within it — Madeline Miller

Your loosely booted foot smacked against the damp pavement, splashing apart shallow puddles that collected in the occasional crevice with each sprinting step as you made your way deeper into the alleys of the Senate District. The flickering, golden glows of periodic street lamps illuminated the path ahead, just enough to avoid tripping over scattered waste piles that dotted street corners. It forced your eyes to remain alert as you maneuvered around them and below the thick, interwoven cable squiring across miles-long under-street ceilings like an infinite den of snakes.

You glimpsed at your chilly sleeves without a hitch in your bounding steps. The slate-gray of your robe had soaked into a deep, inky black from the afternoon’s drumming rain. One that had already enveloped the region by the time you first launched this trek into the neighborhood’s bowels at hour’s dawn.

But dampened earth wasn’t your reason for keeping to empty passageways and abandoned tunnels. Coated in shadowed light as distant clatters atop metal rooftops trickled down into groans that bellowed from the surrounding walls.

No.

You were clinging to shadowy covers because, once again, you’d chosen to embrace that long-held, Hoth tradition of keeping a low profile.

And, having spent your entire existence hiding from the world, it’d proven to be a bit of a hard habit to break.

It haunted you as you flashed down each narrow passageway, eyes shifting like chosen prey vigilantly watching for their predator— an action that reflected your utmost desire to keep your Jedi identity concealed. Yet you continued to engage the Force, fueling nearly supernatural sprints down new corridors and twisting avenues. Movements that would usually garner unwelcome attention in any other zone.

But not here.

Not in the underground neighborhoods of the Senate District.

It was where you’d discovered the only way to engage the Force without revealing yourself in public. Through the obscurity of its gloomy locales that credibly camouflaged you from searching eyes.

But besides your decade-long custom of concealment, you knew that these days, it was still vital to remain cautious.

More than ever.

Ever since your arrival, you’d been engaging with more diverse characters every day. Most of whom were uninformed about your real purpose as a Jedi. The Council believed it would be safest to conceal your real identity, name and all. And even though that was quite the adjustment from the fanfare you were expecting, you still felt inclined to agree with them. At least at the Temple, individuals who’d become all the more threatening by learning your secret were weeded out before they could even reach the front door.

But not here.

Not down seedy boulevards or dimly lit backstreets that characterized the forlorn neighborhoods of the outer District, slinking with suspect figures whose watchful gazes peaked out of hooded wear.

Sometimes they’d observe you pass, bodies still with eerily calm attentiveness as they watched on. Others would wriggle far back into the cover of darkened crannies, their jittery silhouettes talking lowly with other, unseen beings of the shadows during their retreat.

Still, in spite of the uncertainty that surrounded this quarter, you took the risk.

It was necessary, you convinced yourself. Mindless movement seemed to work as some sort of binary treatment for your persistently taxing migraine. That was why, following this morning’s planet-side return, your first order of business was to be right here.

In this moment.

In a No Man’s Land of deserted corridors and limited natural light.

Despite the downpour which greeted you on an otherwise tepid day, that instant the Starfighter touched down at the Temple hangar, you knew exactly where you wanted to be.

By yourself. On the street. And running.

You thought back again to those fleeting seconds following your return from Anakin’s piloting lesson. How you were so quick to open the cockpit’s hatch with a click, the engines just barely starting to cool as you agilely hopped out, toes gracing the stone below while you made a beeline for the inner Temple.

All to facilitate your confident escape.

Yet despite your resoluteness in slipping away, you still felt a chilly twinge of remorse dip your stomach. Especially when the distant, resounding tick and whir of the fighter’s opening canopies subtly announced your flight companions’ perfect view of your departing form.

Of your decision to leave them behind without even a goodbye.

Guilt encircled your ears like curiously buzzing blood flies, forcing you to at some point realize that engaging in some mad dash of endorphins wasn’t your only motivation for this morning’s speedy retreat.

You did it because, if you knew anything, you knew Anakin.

Yes, you’d only met him a little over two weeks ago. But Maker were you beginning to grasp his mind as well as your own.

Recently, the two of you had been spending a lot of time together.

Or at least, many hours more than your Hoth upbringing supplied.

Intense sparring sessions, the occasional evening supper that would devolve into its more charming discourses when Obi-Wan joined halfway through. Not to mention those rare, yet revealing conversations with Anakin about his past. The most earnest of which transpiring that night above the garbage pit, when he revealed to you his mother’s passing, and let slip his pervading turmoil on the matter.

And in the end, it didn’t take long for you to recognize that the summation of all those wholehearted interactions, those sundry dialogues amidst quality time, was a sharper ear for his thought process.

For how his heart beat for others.

This morning in the Starfighter, you knew the instant Anakin heard your painful exhale that the cogs of his feeling mind began to whirl. Further propelled to miraculous speeds when you tersely instructed him to bring the ship back in seconds later.

Then, during the reentry, you knew how he was, in all likelihood, anticipating to relay those four, troubled words the moment you two stood face-to-face.

What happened up there?

Of course, throughout that entire, sedated descent, you knew he was thinking about what to say next. Particularly, which words to use if you tried blowing him off again with another two, dry syllables. A phrase that’d drifted from your lips as popularly as each breath during this past week and a half.

I’m fine.

All of this pervading his mind right up until your door unlatched behind him, shocking him out of his stupor, you imagined. Coaxing him to leap out of the cockpit just as swiftly as he heard you do from behind.

But you didn’t give him the chance.

You refused to even glance back to check. To see if he was about to chase after you.

You couldn’t.

You just flicked on your robe’s hood, tugging its gradually dampening form tightly around yourself as your footsteps abandoned the landing platform.

You didn’t even hear what he said next. That is, if he’d said anything at all when you entered the hangar bay. But whether that was due to the clamoring headache that’d momentarily incapacitated you or your pervading questions surrounding this affliction running wild, you didn’t know.

You just blocked it all out.

Deafened your ears to any immediate surroundings, like scattered hangar workers and hammering repairs, as you hastened your evasion of the ditched trio.

But, no matter the shame that tugged at your chest afterward, you were still confident in the reasoning behind your withdrawal.

As of now, you were still trying to investigate the cause of this harassment. And you recognized that until you found some answers, involving Anakin or anyone close to him would put The Chosen One in a land of uncertainty that you weren’t quite comfortable with.

And that just wouldn’t do.

Your striking heels continued to clobber the decaying trails of the outer District’s underground streets, bringing the chatter of leather on wet concrete into a strange harmony with the increasingly beating rain that danced upon the streets above. Centering yourself in another Force-amplified hurdle, you again reminded yourself of the important fact that influenced your decision to keep this secret. The conclusion that you knew would reduce any chance of complications to your duty.

It’s not his job to worry about you.

However, it was technically the responsibility of your ‘new Master.’

Maybe that’s why, at the end of last week— following four, stretched-out days of irregular headaches— you found justification in approaching Master Windu for counsel. Because no matter your efforts to quell this silent beast, through extended rest or quiet meditation, its burning onslaughts ferociously prevailed.

In other words, at some point, it became utterly clear that you required a much wiser opinion.

In many ways, you were confident in the stoic Jedi. And by that, you meant that you trusted him to keep the matter private. Even from those who associated with The Chosen One, and especially from Anakin himself. In fact, at the outset of your conversation, he assured you that he’d only divulge a discussion between Master Advisor and Jedi if it concerned the Council.

And you had no reason to believe it did.

You thought back to that chat while pivoting down another slick alleyway. This one grew narrower than the last, its spotted lamps decaying in luster and prevalence as you dug cavernously into the belly of the beast-like web of tunnels while your mind wandered.

Master Windu had already separately arranged to meet with you once every week. At least until the Jedi were called back to the battlefield, he was sure to clarify. It was time to be spent preparing you for what was to come in this mystifying conflict. To guarantee that its distractions wouldn’t impact the primary reason for your presence.

For your existence, really.

However, of the two sessions you’d already had, the powerful Jedi spent little time on combat training. Rather than correcting your form or educating you on Separatist capabilities, his focus was instead driven toward scrutinizing the closed doors to your mind. All during hours-long, joint meditation sittings in which Master Windu attempted to meticulously probe your life force with the gentle influence of his signature on your forehead.

Sometimes, the spells would last so long that, in the end, you were often left with the sensation of a phantom touch. Though it always faded eventually, so imperceptibly that it felt more like a shift in temperature than a disappearing force.

Although the two of you ended up making little progress, you still enjoyed these opportunities as a way to get to know your new Advisor. Exchanges regarding his unwavering faith in the Order’s ideals reminded you of your own lifelong commitment to a similarly demanding prophecy. The Master also seemed to share a kindred distaste for politics, conveying briefly his disapproval of the Jedi and Senate’s interwoven nature, hastily drawn at the outset of war.

Most importantly, however, the two of you shared a distinct displeasure for the Senate’s conversion of Jedi into generals. You’d been struggling with this concept of converting Jedi peacemakers into soldiers for weeks now, and it appeared that Master Windu held common sentiments. All in all, it was a moment that made the Order feel just a little less foreign to you after a lifetime of studying its older, more contrasting ways.

Perhaps that’s why, despite previous reticence about receiving a ‘new Master,’ you found yourself gradually opening up to the idea.

Besides, you could tell Master Windu was experiencing some kind of similar development.

You’d discovered from Anakin this past week that the wise man had long disapproved of Jedi who acted outside the Order. From that, you easily acknowledged that despite offering to advise you, the traditional Master likely remained biased against your nature.

In fact, you fleetingly surmised that the only reason he put his name in the hat was so he could keep a closer eye on you. On the Gray Jedi that came from a long line of counterfeiters against the Order he held in such high esteem.

Yet, as your sessions progressed, you sensed a subtle shift in the Jedi Master. How the crease of his brow subtly slackened with each passing hour. How his openness to your questions became faintly readable.

Though whether that was because he’d momentarily forgotten about your past or had become lost in his analysis of your mind, you didn’t know.

What you did know was that you appreciated the sagacious Master’s relatable convictions, allegedly burgeoning tolerance, and outright professionalism.

And that was enough for you to test the waters in requesting his guidance.

It was at the tail-end of one of these forums that you narrowly untangled these painfully strange migraines, focusing primarily on their unpredictability and continuance rather than each occurrence’s raging ferocity.

And in the end, you found the effortless flow of his counsel to be uniquely compelling.

“Meditate on these irritants. But do not only acknowledge their existence. Observe their nature. If you give these headaches a name derived from your inner impressions, it may aid you in identifying and extinguishing their source.”

So, you did just that.

In the days that followed into the start of your second week at the Temple, when that familiar pulsing tingle began to crawl across your hairline, you made a routine out of stopping whatever you were doing to search for a quiet alcove. Then, after locating a corner of the Temple free from distractions, you’d lower yourself into crossed legs, all to funnel your accessible energies into discerning the exact nature of this eccentric affliction. You’d reach out to the Force, drawing in its swirling ecosystem through tingling extremities, astutely wielding it to dive into the yawning depth of your inner being.

And for those few days, you explored branching elements of your mind, tracing each errant twig to sense its perception of the boundless, clawing twinges that relentlessly contested your focus.

It was arduous work. Attempting to observe the irritants’ nature would eventually lure you toward sensing its more distinctive effects. But at the same time, the action often amplified your tenderness to those countless cerebral spasms. They were still quite bearable, of course. But it certainly did nothing to speed along your investigation.

That was until the third day in. When you finally found a pattern.

Even now, you starkly remembered how the discovery permeated your body with untapped endurance simply from the realization’s excitement alone.

On that day, you were able to eventually comprehend that, while your skull’s outline felt the stitching thrums of the week before, the sensation was marginally dissimilar in its influence on your life force. Here, you still felt the indiscriminate, unpleasant taps against your spirit, but with a nearly imperceptible caveat.

You rooted out their tendency to unfurl on impact.

So, with the next pounding ache, you were empowered to recognize it again, snatching the sensation with agile fingers. The savage smack quickly plunged into scattered fragments, like drops of water thrashing apart from a violent impact with stone.

That was it.

It was like raindrops, pattering against your mind.

Yet, it wasn’t the refreshing sensation that you associated with such weather. Not that electrifying stimulation you felt in this very instant while you sustained your urgent, whirlwind dash down another curving passage harboring hints of gaseous fumes.

No.

Rain was vitalizing, giving life to despairing vegetation and beasts alike. For you especially, its cooling effect on balmy Coruscanti afternoons calmed your mind. It ventilated you in a chill that provoked cherished memories of soaring amid whispering snowstorms during those afternoon duels with Qui-Gon on Hoth.

Yet this was different.

These drops were draining. Heavy. They weighed down your soul. Blackened your connection to the Force through a permeating pain that enveloped the branches of your mind and sucked the sap of your thoughts.

Yes, blackened.

Master Windu said to give it a name. An association. And, finally, you felt confident enough to put words to this strange disorder’s influence on your inner being.

Black Water.

If you only knew what a mistake you’d made.

Somehow, following this identification, the migraines spiraled into a realm of greater frequency and brutality. They would linger in their pervasion. Graduating from hours to afternoons of ubiquitous discomfort. And then, when you tried to find familiar solace in the quelling nature of a meditative state, you harshly discovered that doing so now only magnified the pain’s potency.

You recalled it so clearly. How the shock of that realization jolted you at your very core, ripping you violently from your connection to the Force like a toy snatched from the hand of a youngling.

It was something you had never experienced before.

And it forced you to learn the hard way that for the time being, it was best to avoid meditation.

Instead, you found it easier to unearth the medicinal properties of attaching your mind to another matter.

And your poison of choice?

Running.

You weren’t sure why it lessened your cranial discomfort more than any form of meditation or training. Maybe it was the fresh air. Or the exploratory element. Or the dichotomy of the District’s underground shafts which swayed darkly on even the brightest of days.

Maybe it was because, in a way, sprinting combined the two Jedi practices. It did encourage you to physically tap into the Force for access to greater speeds, and simultaneously unclogged your mind of worldly distractions.

Still then, it was only enough to center yourself. Never to the degree in which the migraines’ kindling was fanned into embers.

Whatever the reason, it didn’t change the fact that mere minutes into this afternoon’s excursion, you were able to finally relish in the flood of relief that followed. One that washed over you as sprightly legs carried you into a mystic realm where stabbing pains were faintly dulled by the rule of constant motion.

The past week of experimental sprints into Coruscant’s veins had become your drug of choice. Providing additional relief just from the realization that occupying your mind would temper these moments.

Now that made you hum retrospectively. It was hard not to wonder if perhaps this notion subconsciously motivated you to join Anakin’s short-lived piloting class this morning.

You ruminated about those spiraling seconds in the cockpit once more. Even then, in the midst of intrusively distracting g-forces, you were powerless to ignore that your headaches still somehow stirred with new vengeance, threatening your theory on how to properly address the affliction.

You descended another set of echoing stairs, this time entering a residential tunnel that reigned sleek with standing water gradually leaking through cracked roofing. Though the hazard never assuaged your volant charge past the streams of identical, stonewashed doors on either side. Landmarks that supplied forward guidance as you thought carefully about the day’s earlier incident.

With another burdened exhale, you compared the fighter episode to all the others, quickly deciding that this morning’s occurrence was the worst to date. If you were being perfectly honest with yourself, it was the first time one of these vast headaches really threatened your ability to function in the moment.

And that spooked you.

Either way, it was clear in its aftermath, that it was time to return to old habits.

To what worked.

You swiveled left, the squeak of your twisting heel reverberating off the slender walls as you rushed down another flickering tunnel of rundown apartments. You were thankful that the potency of constantly coarse splits at your forehead’s center had eased into a duller pound, so much so that it permitted your mind to wander during this impromptu outing.

However, you weren’t expecting to become so consumed with inner musings to the point of becoming lost within a labyrinth of snaking neighborhoods, forgotten by the Senate District’s lavishly living surface inhabitants. In fact, as you glanced around the residential tunnel, you soon realized that you couldn’t even remember how you entered this quiet zone. One that didn’t follow any semblance of rational architecture to hint at a way out.

So, with no signage to guide you in your search for higher ground, you did the only thing you could do.

You followed the quivering lights, lodged every few meters into the decrepitly, sinking ceiling.

A luminescent road out of the darkness.

That was your plan for the last ten minutes, anyway, until a deep-toned snap zipped past your ears, reverberating across every door as it traced down either wall.

You ground to a halt, dribbling boots faintly whimpering as they fought the floor’s slickness in your attempt to reel toward the noise.

A few heavy seconds passed you stared back into the tunnel's murky depths, trying to discern the source of the sound while labored breaths rung out from your body and colored the eerily barren chamber. It was difficult to focus your vision, finding that the barely perceptible shapes hidden in shadowed corners were playing tricks on your eyes the longer you stared at their forms.

Another crack.

But this time, you could markedly tag its source.

Far down on the opposite side of the shaft, another brittle light in the ceiling’s row numbed like the death of a star.

Great.

You whirled back around, launching yourself into an energized bolt as you tried to escape the coming darkness.

In all sincerity, you should have assumed something like this would happen. You had found the vacancy of these quarterly halls odd. It was midday in a residential area so some activity was to be expected. Beings would usually be on their lunch break around now.

Yet, there were none around.

But the partial flooding? The unstable roofing?

You sighed, powerful legs carrying you blisteringly quick while you connected the dots ahead of the accelerating demise of weak, mechanical stars.

This underground neighborhood was breaking down.

It must have been evacuated.

And now?

They were cutting the power.

Drawing on the effortlessly fluid stability of the Force, you catalyzed your stride, hoping to get a better sense of where you were before being immersed in utter blackness.

Luckily, the opportunity to do so appeared to lie just ahead.

Fairly soon into your run, you noticed the fork in the road, pinned to the tunnel’s far reach. How the illusionary dead-end wall, in fact, split into two, opposing paths. All you needed to do was get there fast enough for a cursory glance of either end before the last light at your disposal became the limited glow of your grayed lightsaber.

You picked up the pace, the reflection of your form in the waterlogged stone flying like loose leaves trying to catch up with you as it too bolted from the ensuing pattern of light fixtures snapping off.

Soon, there were only a few left as you neared the hall’s end, impelling you to power one last thrust of your leg into the junction. You swiveled your head down both corridors as your heels squealed to a halt before the stone wall, catching sight of a larger industrial door just meters into the second corridor as the final fixture above cracked into nothingness.

But that was all you needed.

It didn’t take you long to maneuver your way toward the exit in the pitch dark, lugging open the croaking apparatus only to be met with an ascending staircase illuminated by the scattered, gloomy rays of a showery, Coruscant afternoon.

You jogged up the concrete steps before encountering a wide, open-aired avenue, dotted with as many road lamps as hurrying beings who scampered from industrial cover to cover in an effort to avoid wetting their clothes. The walls of buildings encapsulating this strip stood in an unornamented, brutalist fashion, which effectively limited their options. It was quite the contrast to the streets of the Entertainment District. But that was all you could really say about it. Your observations remained sparse as the continuous downpour did little to reduce the haze.

Pivoting to your right, you followed the road’s natural path, immediately feeling the cool sprinkles pelt your face as you slowed into a crisp walk. You tugged at your biting, saturated robe, bringing it closer to break the slight draft.

As you turned down a wider street doused in equal cloud cover, you decided that it was time to return to the Temple. If anything, at least to give your body a break. You’d been running for close to an hour, and those stretched lungs and burning legs were sure to thank you for the short respite.

Perhaps you could return to the Archives for some easy reading. Your headache had dissipated enough to certainly make that possible now. And you had to admit, you were feeling a bit behind on your knowledge of Separatist technologies.

It was only twelve minutes into your return hike when you began to embrace that peaceful rumination on future plans. Twelve minutes for your mind to drift to lighter musings. But also twelve minutes for those thoughts to be swiftly dashed from reality by a new intrigue.

There were many beings who dusted the streets. All of which you simultaneously kept a close eye on. Of course, special attention was dedicated to those who’d decide for a period to amble too close for comfort. But even then, it usually held no matter. As always, they’d eventually divert onto a path of their own as wandering, city walkers did.

An example was the being that had been sauntering ten meters behind you for the past five minutes. One you didn’t give much mind to. Until they were oddly quick to tread on the heels of your latest deviation from the main road. Which was…odd, but not enough of anything to concern you.

Yet.

You swiveled down another detour, this one more unusual than the last given the District’s layout. It was part of your usual route of choice, since it avoided most of the neighborhood’s major hubs, but still powered enough street lamps to guide you back to the Temple in the evening.

Or in this case, on a rainy day.

Either way, you knew from experience that this was usually when any unintentional tails would break off to continue their lives on a road to elsewhere.

Maybe they were returning home to a waiting family after a long intergalactic trip. Running late for a business meeting because of the rain. Or simply exploring the city’s landmarks with their free afternoon.

These were all activities you imagined civilians had the freedom to enjoy. Freedoms that you certainly fantasized about in your younger years. And freedoms that you later learned you’d have to sacrifice to protect.

You smiled thoughtfully to yourself. It always helped to have a gentle reminder of the good you were doing. These elements of peace you were maintaining. It even allowed you to take a relaxing breath as you continued along the path not taken.

Until the creeping stranger’s presence fully seized your attention by following you down this second detour.

You fought the urge to look back, despite their presence jumping to the forefront of your mind. If that being really was tracking you, you didn’t want to raise any suspicions that you’d caught on.

Not yet.

Even now, after back-to-back questionable activity, you still needed to make certain that your misgivings were accurate. Thinking about it, you would’ve sensed this individual before had they been following you during your run. So why would they suddenly trail you now? You hadn’t done anything topside to give your identity away.

Then, this might have still all been just a simple misunderstanding.

Right?

Only one way to find out, you told yourself.

Keeping an even pace, you scanned your surroundings, quickly catching a narrow alleyway that lay just a few steps ahead to your left. Narrowing your eyes through the gloomy lighting, you soon realized that its width would at most fit two and a half people stood side-by-side. In other words, this gap was sure to lead to a dead-end. One that any city dweller would know not to enter in a neighborhood like this. And one that any traveler would have the instincts to avoid.

From this, you comfortably concluded that a bona fide passerby would have no reason to follow you inside.

Unless, it was you they were after.

So, you swiftly ducked in.

You jogged a few meters down the pitch-black crevice, nimble toes putting some distance between you and the fissure’s entrance before briskly finding a secure spot from which to spin around and face it. You shoved at the midsection of your robe with the back of your hand, nudging it away to make room for stiff fingers to envelop the cold metal of your belted saber.

Your silent, hot breath fogged the cold air just below your nose as you waited out those few, tense seconds. A careful quietness encapsulated your form despite your prediction that this stranger would likely pass.

It was always best to be cautious, you reminded yourself.

But, of course, you had no such luck.

On high alert, thumb hovering over the hilt’s activation, you observed as the being sidestepped in after you, their face and figure obscured by the rift’s absence of light. Watchful steps characterized their form while they inched deeper into the crevice, head tilting side to side as they tried to discern their surroundings with blurry fingertips gracing the left wall to keep them centered.

Strangely, you perceived an air of delicacy from their cautious outline. A meaningfulness in each of their carefully selected motions. However, you still had difficulty in sensing their motivations. Whether it be malice or geniality, their presence felt too calm to point to either direction definitively.

And you were not one to take chances.

So, with the flick of the wrist, you snatched your saber from its resting place with a clink, unfurling that familiar gray glow as you stepped back into a lunge to whip the blade up before resting it inches from the figure’s face.

Instantly, its luminescence unveiled from the twilight a familiar set of bright blue, yielding eyes, accompanied by an auburn beard dewed by drizzles. The plasma’s heat had stirred the man to raise his hands calmly, feigning surrender as a curious expression tickled his cheeks.

You sighed, adrenaline evaporating from your veins while your blade dropped a few degrees.

“You’d think after a lifetime as a Jedi, you’d know it wasn’t a good idea to sneak up on one,” you voiced, raising a brow.

Obi-Wan lowered his hands, offering you an affable expression as you deactivated your saber and snapped it to your belt.

“I’m always willing to take a chance for a friend.”

You shook your head in mock disapproval while you moved to pass the Jedi, unintentionally brushing your upper arm against the weight of his similarly soaked cloak. It didn’t take long to reemerge on the outer end of the gap, cascading you in the brighter light of the still-overcast street.

“What are you doing out here?” You asked, vision centered on a pair of beings strolling near the far end.

“Looking for you,” he stated matter-of-factly while following your form out onto the road.

You leisurely turned, now able to better see his face as he phased into the muddled daylight, his hair sleek with water and eyes dulled by the hidden sun.

“Why?”

The relaxed Jedi paused before you, creasing his brows as he spoke tactfully.

“Anakin came to see me earlier.”

You looked away, choosing to draw your attention to the street ahead before leaning into a quiet stroll.

Though the Master was quick to follow, matching your pace as he glided beside you.

“He was concerned,” Obi-Wan continued, stitched gaze never leaving your face. “Something about a reaction you had during his piloting lesson today?”

The understatement tugged at the corner of your mouth, though your eyes remained tethered like anchors to the raindrops exploding into puddles below.

“Did he also tell you he took the fighter into an Aileron Roll with the gravity dampers off?” You emphasized, waggling your brows in a challenging, yet light-hearted manner.

His eyes widened for a brief moment, cycling through all the stages of what you could only assume was Former Padawan-related grief before capitulating into an expression of experienced resignation.

His gaze fell to the ground, mirroring yours.

“He did not.”

You breathed in deeply, absorbing the momentary silence flooded only by the pitter-patter of cooling raindrops. It had aerated the street of this morning’s blistering heat. And as a creature of the cold, it had the effect of alleviating your exercise-induced, clammy skin deliciously.

“Silvey,” Obi-Wan began gently. “Anakin isn’t the only one.”

You blinked toward the subdued Jedi who must’ve sensed the motion as he quickly met your gaze. Both pairs of cloud-shaded eyes locked for a moment, enabling you to stretch into the space before signaling for him to continue.

“I’ve also noticed that something is affecting you.”

You sighed.

You began wracking your brain for some excuse. Any excuse that you could throw out at this moment. All so that you didn’t need to explain your strange yet nuanced predicament to the man beside you.

You searched the falling droplets for answers, reminding yourself that finding a solution before anyone close to Anakin learned the truth was for the best.

It’s not his job to worry about you.

And that went for Obi-Wan too.

“Is it Qui-Gon? I understand his death may be fresh for you. I’d be happy to lend an ear—“

“No, it’s not that,” you interrupted.

Instantly, you recognized the falsehood in that statement.

“I mean…”

You shook your head at yourself, hoping to shake the right, jumbled thoughts into alignment.

“I can’t deny that he’s been occupying my mind more than most things…”

Your jaw hung loose as you tried to catch the words buzzing in jumbles above your head. But, for some reason, they just kept escaping through your clawing, slippery fingers.

“But that’s not…it,” you uttered.

You glanced back up at Obi-Wan.

His eyes had abruptly softened while he listened to your voice intently. Vision piercing your very soul as if he was hoping to look right through you.

And you weren’t sure why, but that penetrating expression suddenly took you off guard.

Your brain stumbled as you tried to refocus on the conversation. You supposed you weren’t expecting him to have had such an empathetic reaction. Right? Maybe you just hadn’t really made a point to notice how kind his eyes could be. At least, not before now.

But here? In this instant?

You could see their radiance so clearly.

Even among gradually strengthening raindrops that blinked into streams after colliding with the chiseled face of the Jedi before you. They did nothing to dissuade the thoughtfulness that shone from his features.

But then again, wasn’t that always the rule with Master Kenobi?

It was those same eyes that had shared with you looks of encouragement when you were first struggling to pass the thoughts of large crowds. Those same bright blue eyes that happily guided you to the Sparring Arena during your first full day at the Temple when you were terribly lost. Those same entertained eyes that would glance at you briefly after throwing a sarcastic remark at Anakin to lighten everyone’s moods. Those same, unwaveringly concerned eyes that trailed your figure every time you unexpectedly removed yourself from his company, always to deal with another burning onslaught of pulsing stabs that gradually became more pronounced on your features.

Those thoughtful eyes that were first to check if you were okay, despite the Master Jedi having taken the brunt of your full-speed collision, during that shuttle escape from Hoth.

Those unflinchingly kind eyes which, for some unknown reason, seemed to crack a chink in your conviction.

Enough to let out a sliver of splintering light.

Your feet stalled underneath you, bringing both you and Obi-Wan to an aimless rest as your heart raced. You curved fully toward the soaking Jedi, lips parted in thought as you searched for the words to begin explaining your situation to the man waiting ever so patiently.

You weren’t sure whether it was from the buildup to this long-held secret’s reveal or a side effect of your body’s fatigue. But the moment you glanced up, the moment your gaze locked once more with those two, perceptively azure orbs, you suddenly felt…

Very

Very

Naked.

“I’ve been having…headaches.”

Master Kenobi’s head tilted slightly in disquiet confusion, subconsciously inciting you to tighten the robe’s wrap around your torso with crossed arms.

“Headaches?” He asked oddly.

“I think?” You dithered. “But they aren’t…normal.”

Exhaling, you redirected your gaze to the surrounding building’s upper structures and the gloomy gray of Coruscant’s atmosphere as you rammed through your next words, leaving behind any care of making sense as the wall you had so carefully built began to chip under his still engrossed stare.

“At first, they’d show up…randomly. Last for hours no matter what I did. Until I asked Master Windu for his input. He told me to give it a name the next time I meditated. He said it would help. That if I could pinpoint the feeling, it would root out the source of getting rid of them. So, I did.”

You shrugged.

“But, for some reason, it made everything worse. The times, the duration, the pain. And it doesn’t feel like a regular headache either. It’s-“

The bridge of your nose creased in thought as you drew imaginary lines from rooftop to rooftop with your eyes.

“Deeper.”

The silence that followed, no matter how short, felt utterly deafening. Even the quiet showers around you seemed to stall into white noise.

Until Obi-Wan sighed.

Pensively.

His furrowed brows never left your form as he raised a hand to tensely stroke his mouth for a moment.

“Is that what happened in the fighter this morning? One of these…headaches?”

Your gaze shifted back to his as you breathed.

“Yes.”

He hummed, resting his fingers upon the beard. “And when did they start?”

“About a week and a half ago.”

The Master Jedi allowed his hand to laxly fall, chin rising unexpectedly as his brows faintly furrowed. He’d now given room for his earlier concern to sparkle a bit brighter off ocean eyes that suddenly burrowed into yours.

“I’m taking you to the infirmary.”

Your stomach dropped, unsure if it was dragged down by your displeasure in making this situation a bigger deal than you believed it to be, or by the complete confidence with which the man before you voiced his plain alarm.

You began to question yourself. Were you misjudging this affliction? Were your symptoms really that bad?

Honestly, you thought, you’d had far greater scares on Hoth.

Qui-Gon’s gray hairs could attest to that.

And although most of your heart was beating a bit faster to the rhythm of these circulating thoughts, you couldn’t help but be enveloped by the small fragment that warmed at Master Kenobi’s caring sentiment. So much so, that it pulled you from your uncertainty before guiding your voice into a sweeter lull to address him.

“Obi—“

“This is not good, Silvey,” he interrupted firmly. “And I don’t like leaving such matters unresolved.”

You exhaled, shaking your head in disbelief as you backed down from his solid stance. Instead, you angled back toward the path ahead, resuming that same calm stroll with heavy feet. Again, Obi-Wan fluidly followed, his creased expression peaking at yours, which remained impassive despite your inner thoughts.

“I can’t.”

Master Kenobi dissolved into further unease as he acknowledged your response puzzledly.

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re right,” you began, neck angling toward him coolly. “I don’t understand what this is either. And it could be dangerous or it could be nothing. But what’s fact is that the more I involve beings from the Temple, the more likely this will all get back to Anakin. And I can’t have that.”

You huffed, sending a feeble kick to a passing puddle underneath you while building winds began to zip around the surrounding structure’s corners, nudging you both by the edges of your robes.

“I’m his Guardian, Obi-Wan. The last thing I should be doing is dragging him into unpredictable matters. He has enough to deal with right now, and I’m not adding to it-“

A sudden weight warmed your shoulder, guiding you to pause mid-stroll in the midst of finishing your thought. Still, you followed the slight tug, turning toward the man whose gentle hand rested assuredly by your throat like a sudden fire on a cool afternoon.

“So your solution is to travel through rainy streets in dangerous neighborhoods? Are you hoping to find the answer at the wrong end of a phaser?” He questioned sarcastically, retrieving his limb to gesticulate to your surroundings as a sudden chill nestled in its place.

You defended yourself, throwing back that same trickle of wit that briefly oozed from his figure with a cheeky grin. “Running has proven to help. Besides, I’d never pass up the chance to hone my combat skills. We are in a war, you know.”

You tried to suppress your chuckle at his unimpressed stare.

Still, you couldn’t help the gravity of the situation overcome you once more as his expression carefully hardened.

“And what if something happens because this wasn’t addressed sooner?” He argued. “I agree. Right now, it’s best to not tell Anakin. And I can make sure that he won’t find out. I certainly won’t tell him, and you can trust the doctors at the Temple to do the same. But you owe it to the Galaxy to at least sit through an examination. If the prophecy is true, we will all need you at your best.”

You exhaled, realizing fairly quickly that you were on the losing side of this battle.

“Please,” he emphasized.

You watched as Obi-Wan raised both hands, delicately resting each on your upper arms with their encapsulating heat.

Then, he leaned in.

Just a few inches, but enough to pervade your eyes, filling all the edges of your vision with his cautiously encouraging expression. He spoke lowly, in a deep, smooth tone as the hotness of his breath brushed across your wet cheeks.

“Allow me to accompany you to the Infirmary.”

The sensation of your throbbing heart had now reached your fingertips, shooting down your arms so boldly that you were surprised Obi-Wan couldn’t feel the beats through his steadied palms. Though his confidence in his ability to keep this matter private had eased your stirring veins slightly.

A quick checkup itself wouldn’t do too much harm, you supposed. As long as it remained just that. Still, this was all assuming Obi-Wan could keep you under The Chosen One’s radar until the matter was fully resolved. As you stared at his confident demeanor, you also had to admit that you’d been a bit concerned about how this exchange would end. For a brief second, you thought that as soon as you explained your affliction to Obi-Wan, he’d whip right back around to inform his former Padawan. He’d certainly known him for many more years than you, you surmised.

But that wasn’t the case.

Master Kenobi respected your motives. And he seemed assured enough to support you through these small sacrifices that you’d always need to make as Anakin’s Guardian.

As long as you were also getting the help you needed, it appeared.

But, deep down, you knew that wouldn’t always be possible. Save this exception.

Is that why telling him, even after all of these assurances, still felt so wrong?

No, there was no need to remind Obi-Wan of that reality at this moment. You were comfortable enough to let those blue eyes get the win they so strongly fought for.

Tugging on the seam of your robe, you spoke softly.

“Alright.”

And in return, the Jedi Master offered you a grateful, almost relieved, smile.

After presenting Obi-Wan with this small victory, you couldn’t help the sudden confusion that overcame your mind, born from a latent realization. A perplexing thought which transformed into one more question that you needed to ask before surrendering yourself to the trained hands of Jedi physicians.

“By the way,” you spoke up. “How did you find me? I didn’t tell anyone where I was going.”

The Master sent you a look so pointed that it blared across rooftops one undeniable judgment:

That he knew you were not going to like this.

“Apparently, Anakin was having trouble finding you for those unplanned sparring sessions the two of you enjoy so much. Mostly, because he hasn’t been able to sense your presence.”

He exhaled.

“His solution was to place a tracker in your robe.”

Your jaw dropped, a drop of rain catching your marginally exposed tongue.

“That little-“

“Don’t worry,” Obi-Wan announced in that thick, Coruscanti accent.

“I told him to turn it off.”

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[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 8: Blackened Water (Part 1)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: graphic descriptions of migraines, mention of sleeplessness/loss of appetite, self-sacrifice (if ya squint), angst, fluff, banter, descriptions of violence.

Summary: It had been two weeks since you arrived on Coruscant when The Chosen One invited you to join him in an impromptu Starfighter piloting session. After reminiscing about the weeks prior, you, Anakin, Ahsoka, and R2-D2 decide to transform the lesson into a game. However, you are quick to learn that pushing this ship to its limit was sure to have unintended complications.

Song Inspo: Migraine — Twenty One Pilots

Words: 6k

A/n: Looks like things are about to get complicated... please comment/pm if you'd like to be on the Taglist! And lmk your thoughts on this chapter :)

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Series Masterlist

So much like the moon, we show the world only one and veil our many faces, even from the sun — Jason Versey

“It’s not that I don’t want to learn how to pilot a Starfighter, I’m just not sure if I want to learn from you.”

You spoke forcefully into the comlink headset, its rounded, copper microphone hovering inches from quarrelsome lips. You were currently situated in a Republic Starfighter’s Co-Pilot Forward Gunner’s cockpit, and its rushing drone was creating a deafening habitat that drove you to raise your voice had you any hope of communicating with Anakin, Ahsoka, or Anakin’s droid companion R2-D2 at any point during this flight. Still, the boundless rush failed to block you from continuing your exploration of the fighter’s gunnery controls, spelled out by the glaring interactive screen nestled in the jutted crook to your right.

“I’ll have you know that I’m the best pilot the Jedi have, if not, the Galaxy,” Anakin defended, his mechanically muffled voice crackling into your earpiece while he directed the fighter’s acceleration around Coruscant’s curvature.

You flexed a doubtful brow at his cockiness, despite his inability to see you from the main pilot’s cockpit stationed a meter ahead, just before the bird’s nose.

“Weren’t you the one who crash-landed that shuttle on Hoth in the first place?” You challenged.

“They’ve got you there,” Ahsoka piped up, the young voice spluttering through your headset from her perch in the tail gunner’s pit directly behind.

“That wasn’t my fault,” he huffed.

You shook your head at the exchange, levity conquering facial muscles that usually endured some semblance of placidity as you carried on with your analysis of the ship’s offensive capabilities.

In the seconds that followed, a brief silence unfolded across the fighter’s private comms channel, though that didn’t deter you from continuing to tap away at the informative screen just below your fingertips. Needless to say, despite focusing your mind on canons and proton torpedo launcher specifications, the prolonged lull in conversation streamlined your thoughts into deeper ruminations as your evolving muscle memory assumed control.

It had been nearly two weeks since your arrival on Coruscant, and you were finding that you had a knack for acclimating quickly to the drastically contrasting environment. The warmer weather, busier urban environment, and abundance of Jedi-specific resources were quite the staggering changes from your meager, solitary existence among boundless blizzards and bloodthirsty beasts.

So, it didn’t take much convincing to welcome the transition with open arms.

You were still settling in, so, rationally, you recognized that you weren’t as versed in the Jedi Temple’s daily happenings as its more veteran residents. However, from the behavior you observed alone, you could still tell that time dragged far more gradually than the status quo, even when compared to the beginning few days of your arrival.

At first, you noticed that meetings among the Jedi Council had become less frequent. There was little to discuss while they awaited news from Temple technicians who, sector-by-sector, continued their analysis of each minutia of the Jedi’s expansive communications array. And when they did convene, it was usually due to handfuls of temporarily visiting clones, dispatched from their units to deliver on-the-ground intelligence directly to assigned generals who would then liaise any necessary information to the Council for further instructions.

Generals, you sighed inwardly. The taste of that word being used to describe Jedi was still akin to the tangy expiration of blue milk. A sign of the times, you supposed. So, again, you pushed that thought away.

You continued your recollection, even harking back to that strange, incongruous feeling that overcame your senses when you spotted your first set of clones. Rationally, you knew what to expect. Beings that looked exactly like each other in most, if not every conceivable way. Though, despite that assumption, you’d found that even in the briefest of interactions, these clones seemed to be some of the most diverse and spirited individuals you’d ever met.

Sure, you hadn’t chanced upon that many beings in your lifetime. But of the few troopers you did encounter, they certainly stood in stark contrast against that backdrop of Coruscanti civilians and Jedi from your recent past.

They were dedicated to their craft and their generals, drove into the depths of battle without the protection of the Force, and supported each other like true brothers in arms.

And with all your being, you commended that.

Maybe that’s why you were looking forward to meeting more of their comrades and discovering how their relationship with the Jedi Order came to be. You could only learn so much from those few, fleeting conversations in a passing walkway. Especially because their presence was always so short-lived.

Once a new directive was assigned by the Council, the visiting batches were soon whisked away, once again into the strange, galaxy-wide relay race in the name of secure communications while the Council melted back into their brief slumber. You supposed it was the natural consequence of the Republic Army’s temporary reliance on snail mail, but it was all still so strange nonetheless.

You had to admit, though, that things had begun to pick up in the last week. You remembered hearing passively from a congregation of Masters moving through a large hall one afternoon, that a smattering of Jedi had been sent out alongside the most recent collection of clone drop-ins. Some of those named individuals returned after a few days, having spotted them in the Archives, a refractory, or even conversing with Master Windu.

But the ones you didn’t see again?

You could only assume that they were continuing to traverse the Galaxy on some unknown mission in the name of peace.

But word of mouth was not your only source of information regarding the curbed release of Jedi back to the Front. You had, at times, happened to see it for yourself. Like just the other day, when passing by one of the Temple’s main hangars on the way to another sparring session with Anakin. Just by chance, out of the corner of your eye, you’d caught a pair of Jedi preparing to depart alone. There was no clone in sight by their powered-up Nu-class attack shuttle, red and white markings trailing its spine as it gaily awaited the two passengers conversing lowly at the bottom of the boarding ramp. You remembered it was a duo of black-robbed, green-tinted Mirialans— Master and Padawan, their relative ages suggested. Off to another untold destination, but, this time, without a crew of troopers.

You recalled thinking at that moment: maybe the Council has grown more agreeable with the concept of dispatching Jedi alone to temporary assignments?

Then again, their sudden departure might have had more to do with the need to immediately transmit vital information to a distant battalion than anything else.

Either way, it was all a guess. You had learned fairly quickly in your time at the Temple that The Council considered most wartime information as need-to-know. Even Master Windu, in the few times you’d met with him, was reticent to share any news with you that didn’t directly concern your being.

At any rate, those instances of strategic departures were rare, leaving many Jedi to find a way to occupy themselves during this involuntary downtime.

You, personally, were utilizing this time the best way you could— as an opportunity to address the persistent migraines that’d been plaguing you for the past week and a half.

Even in the cockpit of a Starfighter, thousands of kilometers away from Coruscant’s golden inscriptions, you could still recall it all so perfectly.

They would start off imperceptibly stunted, pecking away at your senses so gently that you’d barely notice their presence until the draining aches inflamed into pounding thumps deep at the core of your brainstem.

The worst part was that you never knew when they were going to strike next. It was just all so…sporadic.

They’d crawl into your sinuses during early afternoon drills, nibbling at your attention mere minutes into attempting a particularly complicated, defensive acrobatic which would accordingly backfire from the ordeal’s impetuosity. Other times, it was in the evening, usually erupting in your skull halfway through supper, and, often, smack dab in the middle of a sentence aimed at one of the three Jedi who’d whisked you away from Hoth weeks ago.

Naturally, regardless of your hope to learn more about The Chosen One, his former Master, and Padawan during these times, this strange affliction’s consequences would routinely cut such moments short. The second that distinctive, rising thunder would rumble, you were pressed to conjure up some excuse to retire early, leaving most of your plain meal uneaten from the unexpected loss of appetite in each premature retreat to your quarters.

In addition to coping with the persistently tugging weights chained to the back of your eyeballs, you were, to the best of your ability, trying to keep its effects as discreet as possible. You’d keep your signature muted and expression neutral as the warning signs of an impending strike encroached on your senses, removing yourself from whichever training, social, or study activity may have fanned its flames.

But despite it all, these considerations were not enough to deter the occasional wisp of care that would flutter from Ahsoka’s brows following your early conclusion of a joint study session. Or the flare of worry that would spurt behind Anakin’s fiery eyes after you ended a spar prematurely, hand cradling your forehead the moment you’d retreated from his line of vision.

Your efforts to obscure any reflection of pain especially did little to dissuade the concern that rippled across Obi-Wan’s features last night, when in the middle of a teasing escapade with Anakin, your brilliant grin faltered into a thin, immutable line as a sudden spear to the base of your skull compelled you to briskly break off from the group before the impartial expression you strained to support wavered.

Discerningly, you understood that despite your efforts, the three of them knew something was transpiring. Still, you were confident enough that your exercise in representing these headaches as sudden fatigue would present these moments as too bland to warrant serious discussion.

You wanted, no, needed to keep any sense of severity to a minimum. You’d spent the last decade alone on a lethal, ice planet, your entire life being the sum experience of staring down danger’s sharpest teeth and shaving them blunt by yourself. All in all, you’d certainly dealt with threats far greater than the danger of a persistent set of migraines, you joked inwardly. So you knew that, with time, you’d figure out how to trim away this roadblock too.

And without involving The Chosen One.

You thought back to your first working theory of the issue, that your body was still adapting to its changed environment. Even though you felt energized by this new planet’s radiant sunlight, the heat could have still affected you more than you first realized. But even with this, you understood that only time would tell.

In the interim, you found it unnecessary to worry your Jedi acquaintances. They had no need for knowledge of your sleepless nights, fueled by mushrooming, stings bursting behind your forehead. Shattering you awake in a puddle of strenuous sweat and breathless utterances that disheveled your sheets.

“Just go away already,” you huffed one early morning.

You were The Guardian after all. Tasked with protecting The Chosen One. Roping in others to aid you in your own, comparably minuscule toils would have stood in quiet opposition to your title’s purpose.

Yes. You were convinced. You’d find a solution some other way.

Anyways, addressing your mind’s inner facets was only a small strand in the meadow of free time that had laid at your fingertips. You also took an appreciable advantage of the interim to explore your new home— The Jedi Temple.

You recalled finding it somewhat overwhelming, the Temple’s colossal model, constructed piece-by-piece over thousands of years with the building blocks of Jedi evolution and spirituality. But, in spite of its sweeping presence, you felt uninhibited to tour each nook and cranny like the labyrinth it was.

You’d encountered many Jedi this way, all in various training dojos, halls, gardens, and other, more secluded, areas as they too took advantage of the passing days to train, meditate, or study. It was actually how you, twice, inadvertently ran into Anakin and Ahsoka, during these cursory, investigative stints. Once, while they were in the midst of a spar, and the other, amid one of Anakin’s on-the-fly lessons about the reality of the battlefield.

Sitting here in this rumbling, Starfighter’s primary gunner cockpit, you had to admit that you were really delighted when you saw them like this. Working as Master and Padawan in their own, unique way. It proved to you that Anakin was taking his Mastership more seriously.

You remembered how he’d expressed to you his hesitancy with being assigned a Padawan last week as the two of you strolled down one of the Temple’s many walkways in search of an empty training room. Though you were not surprised, as it was something that you already learned from Obi-Wan, who had complained about this very issue to you over one of your evening meals. A plate of hawk-bat eggs, if you recalled correctly. He cited to you the young Jedi’s reluctance to attend several of Ahsoka’s training remote sessions, which, according to Master Kenobi, was an important, reoccurring exercise prescribed to all Padawans.

Separately, you’d happened to already know how the Jedi Order historically drove responsibility into its members. It was not just via off-world missions or Knighthood trials, but through the combined experience of guiding the young with one’s own expertise. Qui-Gon often mentioned how his mentorship years morphed him into the wise and capable man you’d known him to be. And you didn’t believe either that Anakin was immune to such windows into maturity.

So, at that moment, with the protesting, chestnut-haired Jedi strolling inches from your side, you were sure to remind the irresolute man that they wouldn’t have given him that duty had they not believed him to be ready.

“Now you’re starting to sound like Obi-Wan.” He huffed, crossing his arms as you both continued your brisk saunter. “I’m just not meant to have a Padawan!”

You eyed the insistent Jedi soberly. “Anakin, I’ll tell you one thing. For someone who I know hopes to grow as a Jedi, you certainly seem to tie your own feet together when the perfect opportunities to do so present themselves.”

That conversation must’ve knocked a bolt loose in that rigid mind of his, you supposed, after seeing with your own eyes his efforts to do more as her Master in the days that followed.

And that included today. In this bulky, ARC-170 Starfighter. The inspiration for Anakin’s decision to kill two buzzbirds with one stone.

After admitting to your limited, hands-on piloting experience over that same dinner you’d ended early the night before, Anakin posed the brilliant idea of teaching you himself. A proposition you’d have had better luck turning down had he not already been planning to take Ahsoka out into the exosphere to deliver his own set of ad-hoc tutorials.

If you could even call it that.

According to him, all he had to do was reserve a different Starfighter class and the three of you would be good to go. So, you accepted, hoping all the way up until you entered the secondary cockpit that maybe Anakin had a preplanned lesson that wouldn’t end in infamy.

That was, of course, until the actual flying started.

Refocusing your attention to continue inspecting the gunner controls to your right, you soon found greater ease in probing the laser canons’ maneuverability with time. In fact, you were able to quite quickly understand this new model’s updated variations, and how those tied into its modernized combative functions. This was most transparent earlier at the flight’s start, when, after a short brief from Anakin, you were comfortable enough to trigger the fighter’s new S-foil wing system, a state-of-the-art feature which supposedly allowed for greater heat dispersion between the ship’s engines and canons in high-speed situations.

Yes, you lacked the heuristic flying and gunner skills, but your studies on Hoth were not for naught. You had long ago memorized the user-based functionalities of older starships. Its parts, controls, functions, and capabilities, employing your own shelter as a dissectible specimen to fuel your understanding. So, while you didn’t have Anakin’s piloting experience or dexterity, you were still rather capable of exercising that garnered knowledge to pick up parallel operations fairly quickly.

It was also why, in reaching hour two of Anakin’s lesson, his sporadic, step-by-step sputterings of how and when he engaged elementary control functions did little to quench your parched alacrity.

So, you broke the silence.

“So…when are the gunners gonna become pilots?” You asked, both on your and Ahsoka’s behalf.

“You think you’re ready to take the reins?” Anakin raised, a hint of playfulness echoing behind the occasional pop of the radioed voice in your ear.

You smirked. “Only one way to find out.”

Just as you finished, a small, yellow window blinked open at the top of your screen. You briskly scanned it, recognizing the primary controls transfer confirmation request before gingerly tapping accept.

In half a second, the flight computer once shrouded in darkness directly in front of you flickered to life. It began by displaying various levels of system readiness in navy blue text on the left. Shield artillery, forward and aft stability, among others. On the opposite side shone the fighter’s coordinate plane, a graphed image depicting the ship’s location based on immediate surroundings that were divided by orange, sectional rings.

They all buzzed to life in conjunction with a control panel of glowing, kaleidoscopic buttons, switches, and several familiar levers, their color-coded rings now steadily blinking a range of unnatural reds, blues, and yellows by your fingertips.

“Let’s see what you got,” Anakin crackled through.

You hummed in concentration while wrapping a set of fingers around the navigation lever, feeling its give as you put your other hand to work adjusting the bird’s speed parameters on the animated control panel. Once the specifications were fixed, you lifted your head back toward the speckled darkness of space, gently nudging the lever forward to dip the fighter.

And you sensed the change immediately.

The modest pressure of your back suddenly tugging to the rear support infused your fingertips with dawning excitement. You pulled the lever toward you with greater confidence now in the directional shift, sensing the variation in the fighter’s ascent while absorbing your first taste of the craft’s feel, as well as its movement’s interaction with the Force.

Before long, your certainty swelled further, stirring you to twist the rapidly scaling fighter into a backward loop while listening to the metal grunt merrily around you.

Despite swiftly finishing that circle, you were reticent to give the bird a moment to rest. Instead, you directed the Starfighter to climb once more, adjusting the panel controls for a hammerhead descent. Even now, in this rapid ascent, you body still prickled at the fighter’s consistency with the imputed speed adjustments as you neared the desired pivot point.

Then, you felt it.

That minute weightlessness that commanded you to yank the navigational lever to the right, bringing the ship into another sharp, controlled dive for a few seconds before leveling it off into a normal flight pattern.

“Not bad,” Anakin began. “But those little tricks aren’t gonna do much good on the battlefield.”

“It’s not like we have any battle droids for target practice,” Ahsoka commented. “Or anything to train in defending against.”

She had a point, you considered inwardly.

But if your time on a deserted planet taught you anything, it was that even the most resourceless locales could be molded into an advantage.

“And isn’t this a clone ship?” She continued.

You glanced around at your surroundings beyond the compact cockpit as their conversation reigned unabated, hoping to catch sight of anything that could be put to use as you stuck to the fighter’s default flight path programmed to circulate Coruscant’s outer edge.

“Yeah,” Anakin irritatedly drew. “But it was the only model that could fit three beings. It’s similar enough to the Delta-7s anyways.”

A sudden, protesting flurry of high-pitched, sundry beeps sloped in pitch from your headset, but still failed to draw your preoccupied glare away from its scan of the region.

Though it did precipitate a sigh in the blue-eyed Jedi

“Sorry, Artoo. Three beings, and a droid.”

Then, you spotted it.

A few hundred kilometers to your right floated a scattered array of tiny meteors, traveling in an undefined shape at an imperceptible speed. Far enough away from Coruscant to avoid accidental atmospheric entry, and small enough to avoid causing any real damage to a fighter with as heavy shielding as this one.

“I may have a solution to that,” you voiced while veering the Starfighter’s nose toward the crumbly assemblage of hickory brown space rocks.

“Let’s hear it!” Ahsoka eagerly exclaimed, having had little else to do but listen to Anakin’s instructions in the rear gunner pod for the last few hours.

“You see that up ahead?” You asked, nodding to the nonspecific structure before remembering that your companions couldn’t see you.

“The meteors?” Anakin questioned.

You cognitively hummed, the formation expanding as the fighter quickly neared its destination.

“Nope,” you popped. “That, is an enemy starship.” You asserted. “Anakin, how’s your object manipulation?”

He scoffed. “Do you even need to ask?”

“Even in space?” You lightly teased, bringing the bird in to perpetually circumnavigate the ruble consortium.

“Especially in space.”

Somehow, you could almost taste his grin through your rumbling headset.

“I’m holding you to that,” you quipped, a small smile slipping by your lips.

Without skipping a beat, you leaned your head back to address Ahsoka. “Master Skywalker here is gonna be our intrepid, enemy gunner.”

You gesticulated toward the backdrop. “These rocks are his ammo. I’ll be the primary pilot, and, Ahsoka, you’re my gunner. Oh! And Artoo?”

You glanced up at the droid’s blue and white head, peeking out from his secured cavity in the center of a divider wall that separated you and Ahsoka.

“Do try to keep Anakin from accidentally destroying our way home.”

The droid buzzed in a rising chime of inspirited affirmation as his head danced into a spin.

“Don’t worry, Artoo,” Ahsoka reassured while the air of your cabin flooded with the fizzing whir of her dorsal canon elevating. “Silvey and I will make sure you don’t have much work to do.”

“It seems I must teach you a lesson in speaking too soon, my young Padawan,” Anakin sassed.

“Alright,” you interjected, keeping an eye on the meteor cluster to your left. “The battle starts now.”

“Let’s have it.”

Just as those final words fluttered from your dried lips, a fluctuation in the hovering mass caught your eye. You centered your vision, catching a knot of nearly twenty rocks assembling into a spearhead formation near the crowd’s outer rim. That was, before, without notice, those jagged rocks sharply launched toward the fighter’s closest flank.

“Hold on!” You called out instinctively before bringing the bird down into a sudden plunge.

The whizzing meteor configuration rushed after the Starfighter’s tail, giving Ahsoka the prime latitude to start shooting down the shard-like projectiles with the zapping hiss of her maneuverable canon.

While Anakin’s Padawan sustained her calculated assault on the cluster’s center bludgeoners, you, however, were beginning to sense a hairsplitting breakaway in their diving formation. Intending to investigate this further, you glanced at the coordinate plane to the right of your screen. There, you soon spotted two chaotic bundles of flashing red dots, rapidly approaching either wing at a speed that doubled their blinking rate.

This discovery was, naturally, followed by the occasional, yet abruptly swelling, clangs of eluding debris that bounced off the bird’s aft. Thankfully, Artoo was at the ready, already working to readjust the deflector shields to the rear as he emitted an arrangement of disapproving, bellowed beeps.

“I’m doing my best, Artoo!” Ahsoka droned.

You, on the other hand, were keeping careful attention on those threatening, crimson flecks. So much so, that your grip on the throttle mindlessly tightened as they relentlessly inched and inched ever so closer.

But you waited, relaying their distance internally from the screen’s navigation display as you formulated a plan on the fly.

100 meters…50 meters…15 meters.

This should work.

You wrenched the lever to the right, hard, bringing the fighter into a sudden tilt. The wings parked at 12 and 6 o’clock as the rocks once speedily approaching each end blindly whizzed over your head and by the ship’s belly.

You paused here for only a moment, permitting the last pebble to zoom past before righting the fighter.

Now, having brought the environment back into a gradual equilibrium, you’d believed the fore was secure enough for you to address the swelling pummeling you were receiving from behind. So you stretched your neck back, expecting to momentarily check in with Ahsoka’s progress.

But in that ever so brief twist away from the viewport, you just as suddenly sensed some whirlwind convergence in the path of the bird’s nose.

Having spun around, eyes searching, you were soon able to abruptly spy those same, once-dodged clusters presently returning with newfound vengeance.

“Anakin…” you chided, taking the fighter into another evading dip. “Last time I checked, laser bolts can’t redirect themselves.”

“These are…special laser bolts,” The Chosen One brightly justified as his dual-speared formations endured an unforgiving swoop and approach.

You huffed, once more returning to the panel to readjust the speed parameters before taking the ship up again in hopes of shaking these ‘Silvey-seeking lasers.’

The next twenty or so minutes of this little, spontaneous exercise protracted more of the same. Ahsoka primarily handled all the aft attacks. And any time a knot of projectiles came whistling toward the fighter’s flanks or fore, you retained a calculated quickness in twisting, looping, or diving away to elude the enemy.

You did this especially well when, at some point, Anakin guided his mineral minions into another full-frontal attack. With minimal latency, you rolled the ship into a small curve, swiftly pointing its tail at the hastily advancing masses so that Ahsoka could take over, all in an effort to tighten these battle-necessary skills.

It was all fun and games, of course, until Artoo erupted into a fit of jangling chirps, which you altogether roughly interpreted as a plea to pause.

It was in those following moments that, you too, started to notice the crater-like burrows that speckled the ship’s hull and nose, its cherry red, warpaint bands unreasonably chipped, and its canon arms dented.

And you could only imagine what the aft looked like.

It was clear that the three of you had certainly given this Starfighter a thorough beating.

“Sorry buddy,” you replied while gradually levying the ship to a standstill.

You assumed Anakin had also received the memo as the previously merciless bombardment of space debris clusters stalled like sleeping statues around you, blanketing back into the natural confines of the surrounding white-speckled vacuum.

“Guess the drill got away from us,” you continued, bringing up the command controls transfer menu on your screen before programming it to relay all functions to the main cockpit.

You endured in the same breath, powering down the canon engines with a deflated huff. “If you need any help with the repairs, my hands are yours.”

No matter his noticeable frustrations, the astromech must have still appreciated the offer as your headset swiftly resounded with spirited whistles of gratitude.

“Okay,” Anakin uttered, the secondary pilot screen, panel, and levers before you dimming back into the blackness of your cabin with a depleted drone as he accepted the changeover. “One more thing I want to try before we rotate positions.”

Your attentiveness toward Skywalker’s words was short-lived, however, as an unexpected, shrill blare resounded throughout your suffocating compartment.

“Um,” Ahsoka emitted.

Instinctively, you glanced at the single active interface to your right, only to register a flashing red warning plastered above the primary gunner controls. Then, just seconds into your efforts to detect the source, a female voice spilled into the exposed space, parroting the same admonition flashing before your eyes from interior speakers.

“Uh, Anakin?” You articulated, staring at the now, decidedly visible safety warning. “Why are you suppressing the inertial dampeners?”

“I want to test the terminal rotational velocity of this new model before it’s dispatched to my battalion,” he nonchalantly explained.

You peeked down at his cockpit, registering the ever-shifting essence of the back of his head as he seemingly prepped the ship for whatever stunt was next on the agenda.

“Isn’t that what the piloting screen’s for?” Ahsoka challenged. “To give you those numbers?”

“Yes,” he muttered, annoyed. “But I can’t get a good feel for its real maneuverability with the dampeners at max.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna like this,” you breathed while the batting crimson glow of the ship’s safety system dragged on its incessant screech.

“Don’t worry,” Anakin cheered seconds before a thrumming, mechanical purr sounded from either side of the ship. “It’s perfectly safe.”

Your head swiveled toward the hums, enabling you to notice the wings’ X formation slowly collapse into a thicker, horizontal line with a metallic snap.

“I think the warning lady disagrees with you,” Ahsoka deadpanned while Artoo chirped in with jumbled blips of agreement.

You exhaled. “I’m gonna have to jump in on this bandwagon, too, Anakin.”

You reflexively gesticulated to your right.

“Closing the wings will burn us up.”

“Only if the canon engines are on, which you turned off,” he reminded. “Besides, having them open will drag our rotational speed.”

Realizing that his mind was made up, you relented, leaning back into your cushioned backrest as you folded your arms in a mix of apprehension and quiet protest.

Logically, you knew Anakin was a talented pilot. But in the short time you’d known him, he always seemed to be one switch away from a reckless decision that couldn’t be rescinded. You could only rely on the Force to warn you otherwise but, for now, you took comfort instead in mumbling one reoccurring thought aloud.

“I’m gonna regret this.”

“Okay, prepare yourselves,” the blue-eyed Jedi declared as you felt the uniform pull of a Starfighter in motion.

Anakin was not one to dally, you knew that too. But you were also not quite expecting the speed or suddenness with which he instantly accelerated the craft.

Mere meters into the flight, the chestnut-haired Jedi launched the fighter with the momentum of a passionate lightning bolt, driving your entire being to squash back as the sudden force partially flattened your skin and burrowed in between chapped lips and suddenly exposed gums. Your hands shot impulsively out to either side of the cramped cockpit, flattened palms shoving against both engine-warmed walls for some semblance of balance.

But it was no use. The thrill-seeking man continued to drive the bird to newly discovered, exponential speeds.

Mind briefly flickering, you recalled your other Jedi companion while trying to catch your breath. You could only imagine what poor Ahsoka was experiencing on the opposite side of the craft as she was thrust forward by the inverse velocity.

But evidently, none of these worries had crossed Anakin’s mind. Instead, you imagined his eyes’ were thinly focused on the speedometer as he sensed the pulverizing oppressions around him.

That was, you guessed, until he found a tempo that finally suited his rotational needs because just as promptly as he accelerated, the adrenaline-addicted man sharply jerked the Starfighter mid-race into a tight, unyielding roll.

The only word you could use to describe the sensation, was uncanny.

There was something about the way it dragged you from your awareness. The feeling of being simultaneously smashed together and ripped apart across every point of your body not only blurred your vision, but it seemed to draw you far enough away from your senses that you could barely feel the comforting touch of the Force. It was as if it flowed inches from your fingernails, but not close enough to wet them.

Still there, but just out of reach.

Instead, your entire experience centered on the raw rush of a repressive speed’s disconnected passions as the fighter’s rotations puckered.

Then, you felt a familiar twinge rap at your forehead’s center.

You tried to thrust it away, refocusing your attention on the feel of the increasingly searing metal under outstretched fingertips to ground yourself. But even as you did so, a new wave of clamoring throbs smacked you upside the head, blasting you into a new realm of haziness.

You knew the drill. An unpleasant, yet manageable headache like this one was sure to last a long while. The rest of the morning, perhaps, if recent history had any say. But they hadn’t prevented you from addressing more pressing matters. Like those involved with gunning a Starfighter.

Or surviving one of Anakin’s test flights.

At least, not up until this point.

By some means, the keen pulse that was now branching into your sinuses and across the bridge of your nose suddenly developed a more piercing vigor. Each jab increasingly resembled the perforations of a bayonet, as if some invisible force was repeatedly impaling your skull like a pirate digging for lost treasures. Time became relative while your entire dome felt like a massive, gaping wound, unlatched to a world of acidic fingernails that hungrily tunneled through the gash.

You retracted both arms from the cockpit’s flanks, allowing your body to writhe to the rhythms of spinning g-forces as you slammed each flattened palm against the sides of your head. While the agony deepened at a rate comparable to the twisting ship’s bolt, you pressed down on your sinuses, harshly, charged with the secret desire to squeeze out the pain with your brain marching inches behind if need be.

Just as rapidly, you could tell that you were reaching a breaking point in your silent fortitude. With the caliber at which this was worsening, you knew that, very soon, it was going to be too strenuous to keep your involuntary, disturbed vocalizations to a minimum. You couldn’t take it. It was too much.

You just needed it to stop.

You needed everything to stop.

“Stop…” you croaked weakly.

But it was too soft for the headset to register as the fighter continued its twirling trek with no acknowledgment from any passengers.

So you tried again, with just a tad more energy.

“Please, stop…”

Your depleted voice was washed away by the dogged bawl of the earsplitting siren which kept drenching your vision in cycles of cerise.

Another shattering knife ran through your skull with a burning fire that combatted that of the ship’s engines as it steadily milked your eyes for brimming tears.

You gasped.

“Anakin, stop!”

The Starfighter abruptly decelerated, steadily relaxing into a leveled state as the deadening drone of easing engines devolved into a bass grunt.

You welcomed the instantaneous airlessness that invaded your bones and softened your skin as the cabin depressurized. Somehow, in the seconds that followed, it had even given you a momentary burst of vitality, supplying a few seconds for you to reach out to Force’s boundless flow.

Yet, despite quickly intertwining yourself with its reassuring brush, the exquisite ache that racked your head was hardly tempered by the change of pace.

“My bad,” Anakin chuckled lightly. “Got carried away.”

There was nothing you could do to block the shaky breath that trembled past drained lips.

“Silvey?” Anakin questioned stiffly, having seemingly heard your pained exhale.

“What’s wrong?” Ahsoka intently inquired through a headset that truly felt light years away. “Did something happen?”

Out of barely-centered vision, you caught a bushy-haired shape in the main cockpit contort toward your form as a soft voice invaded your ears.

“Hey, are you…?”

“I think it’s time for Ahsoka to take my place,” you shoved out, gravelly voice nearly betraying you before you relented, resting your eyelids in a temporary rest.

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[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 7: Master

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of pain, banter, humor, fluff, the appearance of a sneaky b (see gif), some developing thoughts about obi 👀

Summary: With your short spar with Anakin nearing completion, the moment is suddenly interrupted by a passing caucus of politicians, one of whom you'd been long hoping to meet. Just as quickly, however, you're dragged away, instead needed at a long-awaited appointment that may reveal new aspects of your being and the immediate path ahead.

Song Inspo: Little Willow — Paul McCartney

Words: 7.5k (just put me in jail)

A/n: He has finally arrived. The one we all hate 😂😭 Let me know what y'all think about his character in this :)

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Series Masterlist

For now we see through a glass, darkly — 1 Corinthians 13:12

“Well done.”

You glanced over at the affected voice with radiant auburn hair, still cognizant enough of your lower back’s recent meeting with the dojo’s pearl-tinted floor to gently press two knuckles against it, hoping to alleviate a sliver of its steadying ache. At the far end of that same three-rowed, dark wood viewing bench, Obi-Wan rose meaningfully, soon strolling toward you both. The Master Jedi leisurely folded each arm while making a point to center his gaze with yours as expressive words fell from his mouth.

“To the both of you.”

Smiling appreciatively at the bearded Jedi, you relaxed your senses, encouraging them to cool like a morning stretch while your stare shifted toward Anakin’s focused gaze and knowing grin. Evidently, he took this shift in your posture as a cue to officially end the duel, directing his saber away from your neck and flicking off its blue, incandescent heat before clipping the weapon to his belt with a clink. You welcomed the invitation to purloin this new space, crunching upwards and gently fluffing your robe of the ground’s remnants. It didn’t take long to recover from the unexpected fall enough to rise to your feet, reattaching your own saber as Obi-Wan continued his approach out of your peripheral.

You faced Anakin with an impassive stance. Tightening your spine, you encouraged the young Jedi to emulate a parallel bearing, prompting his eyes to relax in recognition as both rather slacked expressions linked, signaling each other to dip into a hand-clasped bow in respect of the spar’s end.

“Eh, I think I did most of the work,” Anakin shrugged nonchalantly mid-bob, a poking grin wrestling at ungiving lips as he raised from his inclination.

Your eyes rolled while similarly straightening, an amused smile fighting to the surface. “You keep telling yourself that.”

“Either way,” Obi-Wan spoke up, motioning toward you with an earnest stare as he drew into a restive stance beside the younger Jedi. “You really should rest now.”

You raised your hands in surrender in your stroll up toward the duo. “Okay, okay,” you theatricalized, tickled expression never faltering. “I yield to the Master.”

Obi-Wan’s features lifted warmly at your words. It only lasted mere seconds, however, before the wiser Jedi angled toward his left, gesticulating toward the outwardly gratified companion beside him while speaking ironically.

“At least someone has a respect for rank.”

Anakin scoffed, crossing his arms as he addressed the elder Jedi who’d long ago mastered the art of concealed entertainment. “I respect rank!”

It was clear from his expression alone that Obi-Wan had his most sensible retort fueled and aimed, akin to an incredibly quick-witted pirate with a blaster. His mouth opened to speak while raising a finger in dissent. But before any vocalizations could escape his parted lips, a sudden commotion in the form of resonant, overlapping conversationalists and a clamor of heavy, discordant footsteps rippled through the Force, cutting the brief cessation between the three of you like Bantha butter as you all honed into the interference to the Force’s eternal flow.

Despite the muffled nature of the disturbance, dampened by the training room’s separation from the outer walkway, the atmosphere’s sudden uptick in unregulated activity certainly gave you, Obi-Wan, and Anakin brief pause. For you especially, the unexpected shift from the pacified movements you were becoming accustomed to at the Temple to a progressively incongruous bustle beyond the dojo’s walls drenched you in wonderment.

Who could be walking down that hall? No Jedi, you were certain of that. Yet to the best of your knowledge, only Jedi were welcome within the Temple’s walls.

But before you could consider these sensations further, your inner reflection was cut short, namely by the distraction of a pivoting Anakin as he speedily traipsed toward the training room’s gray double doors. You nearly giggled when taking in his movements as you couldn’t help but notice how they resembled the unassertive dash of a youngling having already been told by an exasperated Master to slow down.

“Where are you going?” You asked as Obi-Wan too, followed the retreating Jedi’s movements with discerning eyes.

You spied his head tilt back, that steady, transitional pace never relenting as the young Jedi spoke pointedly at you.

“You can’t say you’re not just as curious as me.”

Inwardly, you sighed.

He certainly wasn’t wrong.

Maybe that’s why without giving it a second thought, you quickly jogged after him in your own indefinite skip.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to be excited about,” Obi-Wan remarked from behind as he started to amble after you both.

But even Master Kenobi’s uniform words did nothing to assuage your interest. There was something new and exciting beyond those walls, and you were intending to discover it.

You continued behind the young Jedi as he attempted to temper his outward eagerness as well, enough to hear a quiet admittance escape from under his breath.

“At this point, anything will be exciting.”

You caught up to Anakin once he reached for the entryway's left control panel, tapping it in stimulated quick succession before the double doors’ thin seam whooshed into an aperture, pulling you both by the power of inquisitiveness alone into the lofty hall’s cooler chill.

Tracing the vibrant, overlay of several life forces’ buzzing ambulation like latent breadcrumbs, your head swiveled to the left. You caught sight of the clatter’s spirited source before swiftly moving with Anakin toward the walkway’s immediate inner wall, hoping to make room for the approaching turbulence just fifteen meters ahead. It was a rather large entourage, composed of eight individuals engaged in a stifled tread down the lilac path toward you.

You analyzed the diverse group, noting that of the beings you could place, two were definitely human. One was a middle-aged gentleman with dark features and olive-shaped eyes, his expression emulating stoic patience and preoccupation. The other, a senior, pale-haired man with sunken eyes and aged creases radiating from the bridge of his nose as he spoke faintly to the olive-orbed fellow beside him. Another was a Rodian, with his attentive eyes, green-tinted form, and impatient expression. And behind him, a being with a tanned eye-stalk trio, protruding snout, and relaxed antennas— a Gran, and a peaceful one at that. To their rear strolled a reserved Ishi Tib, whose x-shaped, emerald countenance, and rounded beak gazed around in awe at the Temple’s steep architecture. The most notable, however, was the towering four-horned Chagrian whose framed sky-blue face stared on with barely restrained severity on the opposite flank of the elderly human. In hand, a long bronzed staff with a sculpted hooded figure as its head.

Soon, you sensed Obi-Wan slow to join you and Anakin from behind, enabling you all to uniformly observe the scene before you.

As the three of you stood in silent regard, you happened to realize that these strangers moved with greater elegance than the masses you’d encountered in the Uscru and Entertainment Districts, remembering how their lumbered gates and sudden skitters added to the atmosphere’s dynamic yet whimsical glow. But despite their upraised grace, each footfall still landed like desensitized raps while their darkened robes of velvety black and currant whipped about legs now leniently treading eight meters away.

Their modulated sophistication and elaborate attire seemed to contribute to that overall air of importance, you considered. These qualities could potentially explain their presence, and suggest their current permissions to be on Temple grounds, you mused. Though it was soon clear that your companions had the answers you were eagerly searching for.

“That, is the Senate Security Council,” Obi-Wan divulged lowly from just above your shoulder, feeling the subtle fluctuation of temperature as his warmed breath passed by your neck.

“And that,” you glanced at Anakin as he continued for him, nodding at the leader of the pack. “Is Chancellor Palpatine.”

You turned back toward the promptly approaching political leader and his cortège, surveying him with resolute focus. If your studies on Hoth and short time in the Jedi Archives revealed anything, it was that the Chancellor was essential to the Republic’s hope of enduring peace. In fact, it was one of the first things you realized in your preparatory studies for the Guardian role— that it would be important to understand this vital figure, appreciating it as another task that aligned with your duty.

But almost immediately, you concluded that he wasn’t exactly what you thought the grand political leader of a Galactic Republic would look like. Now that you were focusing on his comparably slower pace, it seemed that the Chancellor was directing the constant pull and push of their pacified yet hurried tread that would stagger as often as their footsteps echoed against the expansive hall’s soaring ceilings. He was weakened, his climbing age apparent with each labored breath and strained glance at the next political aid. This wasn’t the leader that your imagination conjured during those many daydreaming years on Hoth.

But then again, you were sure the stresses of advising an inter-world union through a war threatening the very harmony of the galaxy would be as exhausting and fermenting as he seemed to be. It was quite possible, that this recent conflict had merely quickened time’s aging disease.

Nevertheless, despite these reasonable explanations, there was still some discrepancy with his title and appearance that you were trying to place. Yes, you had a certain biased image of political leaders from your exposure to Republic lore. Powerful, commanding, unrelenting, which this matured individual could very well be. Yet, still, some incongruity invaded your senses as a modest helping of puzzlement etched its way across the forefront of your mind.

And apparently, across your brows, as Obi-Wan seemed to notice your confusion in his effort to skirt around the two bodies in front of him to stand securely by your vacant side.

“What it is?” He asked, sending you a subtle but curious glance as he continued to maintain a formal pose for the approaching posse’s field of vision.

This comment seemed to garner Anakin’s attention as well as, he too, peeked at your searching expression out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s just…” you paused, trying to find the words.

You dissected the Chancellor once more for a few seconds longer, taking in his entire figure as a tenuous realization washed over your thoughts before retreating back into the depths of your mind.

“He’s shorter than I expected.”

You caught Obi-Wan raising an amused brow as he glanced across you. Following his line of sight, you were met with Anakin’s pursed lips and cheeks that had reddened ever so slightly. The waver was brief as he swiftly hushed you with great enthusiasm, adding a moderate, yet covert, elbow to the arm

“He’s going to hear you,” the Chosen One whispered through gritted teeth while leaning behind your ear.

You lightly swatted away his protruding arm, but it was virtually redundant. Instead, by his own volition, Anakin quickly adopted an almost ritualistic posture for the Council’s slowing stride when he noticed the Chancellor’s features lift in recognition, a gentle smile creasing the older gentleman’s dried lips as he gazed at the young Jedi.

“Master Skywalker!” He exclaimed happily with a weary voice as he halted, stalling the pace of each being who loyally heeded his movements.

The three of you stepped forward toward the welcoming politician.

“It’s good to see you, Your Excellency,” Anakin announced in ceremonious continuity as he bowed respectfully toward the fatigued Chancellor.

“And you as well,” he spoke warmly, cheeks crinkled.

“Chancellor,” Obi-Wan politely nodded toward him. “I trust your trip to the Temple was as fruitful as you hoped?”

Palpatine breathily chuckled. “Yes, Master Kenobi. Thank you for your diligence in asking.”

The other human, with jet black, combed-over hair, striking brows, and a goatee, humbly stepped in, seemingly hoping to save the Chancellor’s energy as he spoke on his behalf.

“Master Yoda and Master Windu have informed us about the temporary communications blackout.”

“Yes,” Palpatine agreed, nodding toward the man stood beside him. “Senator Organa, the rest of the Security Council, and I are all very comforted to know that the system wasn’t damaged in some way. I was concerned when my colleagues and I were not able to get through to The Council using our holocomms. Thankfully, the Jedi have been as proactive as always in addressing these kinds of threats.”

Just as he finished, you noticed an air of curiosity lining the Chancellor’s faded brows once his peripheral caught your figure between the two Jedi. His tender expression turned toward you as he offered a kind greeting. Only in that second, had you noticed that his good-natured countenance began to loosen spinal muscles you didn’t realize were tense.

Politics, and all those who commanded that world, were foreign to you. Having lived on an ungoverned, albeit forsaken, planet, it was not something you came in much contact with. Well, besides your holobooks. So it wasn’t surprising that your senses were confused by their presence, you excused inwardly. You were always trained to be cautious in the face of the unknown, and that included the complicated world of diplomacy. You had known a Jedi all your life, but never a politician.

Yet Palpatine didn’t seem much like a politician to you. He was more akin to a kind old man. And that presence was probably what finally eased worries you didn’t even recognize you had.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he acknowledged.

Your cheeks brightened. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Chancellor,” you affably offered, presenting him with a bow gradual enough to quench any pockets of arid formalities. “My name is Silvey.”

“It is a joy to meet you, Silvey,” he exclaimed gently as you rose. “Are you a Jedi? Forgive me, but I’m not sure if I’ve seen your face before.”

Your smile remained genial, having become more comfortable with your assigned name and story in the face of questioning.

“I am, Chancellor. I have been on a years-long mission away from the Temple until recently.”

“Ah,” he vocalized. “Well, it’s marvelous to know that we have another Jedi here to support our Great Republic through this tragic conflict,” he sighed wearily, allowing his eyes to linger in melancholy.

You sympathized with the tender-hearted politician, offering him a sympathetic expression as his dutiful eyes raised to meet yours suddenly.

“Well,” he began with a greater punch. “I’m glad you’re using this time to socialize with Master Skywalker and Master Kenobi. Two of the best the Galaxy has to offer. Did you know each other before your mission?”

“In passing,” Obi-Wan piped up. “Though I’m sure we will all have the opportunity to learn more of each other as the war continues. Efforts to support the Republic often overlap.”

The Chancellor hummed sensibly. “Right as always, Master Kenobi,” Palpatine nodded toward him just before taking a brief yet lingering instant to rake his charming eyes over your complexion.

But soon, his gaze opened back up to the three of you.

“Well, I always wish to talk more with our galaxy’s greatest peacekeepers, but I must be going now. The Senate must be told to refrain from using the Temple’s communications system as soon as possible.”

The Chancellor angled back toward you more fully this time.

“I hope we will be able to speak more sometime soon. Any friend of Master Skywalker’s is a friend of mine, and I would enjoy hearing more about that mission of yours.”

You lightened further at his thoughtful words. “I would be honored, Chancellor.”

The elder gentlemen blinked at you kindly.

“And that goes for you too,” he extended toward the young Jedi beside you. “I’m looking forward to hearing about your adventures these past few months. Please, come by my office, anytime.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Anakin stated in a reverent monotone. “I will be sure to visit soon.”

“Good, good,” he proclaimed. “I will see you then.”

As he released those final mutterings, the Chancellor carefully began his shuffle forward, encouraging the three of you to step aside so that his band of politicians could once again reinstate their gradual progression back down the walkway. You watched them for a moment, their darkened robes catching the wind of each mercurial movement in a fashion similar to earlier as overlapping conversations and knocking footsteps prodded the hall’s previously calmed atmosphere.

“Silvey?” Obi-Wan prodded from behind.

You tilted toward the bearded Jedi, noticing his stitched brows aimed at the Council’s ancient wrist comm while you gazed at him expectantly.

“What time were you supposed to meet with Master Yoda?”

Your nose scrunched in thought as he rolled his arm toward you, revealing the barely perceptible, flickering green glow of the chronometer installed on the device. And as soon as you registered the numbers before you, your face dropped in realization.

“Oh, kriff,” you mumbled.

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened incredulously. “Where did you learn that language?” He questioned, disbelief raining from his voice.

The gears turned behind his stare for only a moment before his expression dropped into a sharp gape toward his former Padawan.

“It wasn’t me!” Anakin whined, waiving his hand in rebuttal.

“We had the same Master, Obi-Wan,” you reminded as your focus shifted to the task at hand. Quickly, you began your short expedition away from the duo, down the same path from which Palpatine emerged, before deliberately pivoting on your heel and continuing your trek backward so to address the flummoxed Jedi.

“Who do you think I learned it from?”

Obi-Wan’s mouth lay agape as Anakin barely hid a chuckle from your sight.

Barely.

“And you’re not off the hook, Smarty,” you called back at him while picking up the pace of your inverse jog. “Being the reason I’m late and all.” A smirk scurried across your mouth. “Better train hard to prepare for the consequences.”

You narrowly caught the giddy lilt sparkling behind his eyes before spinning on your heel to now hasten into a run, assuaged and nimble enough to be accepted within your tranquil surroundings.

That was, until Anakin yelled his response toward your departing figure with a levity so tangible, that you could feel it through his voice nearly twenty meters away.

“I’ll be waiting, patiently!”

You grinned.

—

Your dimmed umber cloak thrashed like a land-fairing scalefish as you swiveled down another one of The Temple’s many outstretched and interconnected walkways. Only after a few more seconds and additional turns on that emerald green mezzanine did you finally allow your long-hurried pace to stifle when you discerned a memorable sight.

Just a dozen meters away, at the end of the hall’s extensively columned aerial vaults, reigned a gap in the upper back wall through which the afternoon’s blazing sun of Coruscant Prime flared with greeting. The sparkling golden light encircled two large gray pillars that supported the downward ceiling’s pitch, weaved past the hanging sage-tinted signs strung from gutters to announce your location, and poured over the gray stone edging fence that guided travelers toward the bifurcated staircase entryways leading to the training ground’s lower level.

You had learned quickly from your first mistake, when in search of the Sparring Arena to meet with Master Windu, you became quite immediately, and hopelessly, lost. Plunged into the labyrinth that was the Temple among a sea of occupied Jedi who further muddled the path.

But this time, you didn’t need Obi-Wan’s help. You appreciated his assistance, but knew that if you had any hope of being the best Guardian you could be, you needed to become self-sufficient. So this time, you chose to use the Jedi Archive’s resources and your own free time to search out the training grounds as soon as you learned of your impending appointment with the Grand Master on this very acreage.

Luckily, your short detour from the day before wasn’t in vain, having shaved off a few extra minutes from your reliably inflating tardiness.

Once the end of the outstretched walkway was reached, you were free to follow the creational illumination’s natural path, swiftly swerving about the garden wall and jogging down the L-shaped stairway to the foundation’s vast cream surface in hopes of making this important meeting somewhat on time.

Instantly, were plunged into Coruscant’s afternoon heat the moment your nimble toes met the smooth masonry, temporarily overcharging your senses as you acclimated to the strange sensation that penetrated each burnished boot. With eyes squinted and cheeks burning, you gazed up at the Coruscant sky, a cupped hand elevated for shade as you took in the baby blue and blanketed snow-like clouds that did little to shelter you from the giant star’s omnipresent intensity.

Having spent most of your life on a desolate, ice planet, you hadn’t had the opportunity to feel the blazing passion of such a powerfully dense sun directly on your prickling skin. It was a rather refreshing surprise, but still something that was quite foreign to you. You were sure that prolonged exposure would drain your physical energy far more fervently than your former asylum, yet you found the sight to be particularly bewitching, and undeniably beautiful.

Dragging your captivated eyes from the fresh encounter, you strolled toward the training ground’s center, observing the outdoor setting as you simultaneously searched for Master Yoda somewhere on the grounds.

Having not seen the nine hundred-year-old Jedi in your immediate scan of the alabaster-tinted array, you instead chose to use this brief opportunity to absorb your surroundings with greater care. Praying that you had not missed the gathering entirely as you did so.

Sauntering forward, you noticed that the arena was rather spacious, split into three graphed sectors with either end acting as a reflection to the other. Glancing to your left, you noticed a segmented instructional zone of sorts, comprised of three rectangular cedar murals of varying size. One was in use by a small batch of Initiates, engaged in a synchronized drill of dexterity. An assemblage of blue and green training sabers pigmented each of their whirling hands as they moved seamlessly before their instructor— an older Cosian, if you had to guess, recognizable by his tufted tail and leafy protruding beak. Beneath them, each depiction was etched with smearings of white powdered chalk, delineating circular footing guides, you assumed, as the younglings followed each curve with precise gradation.

You glimpsed ahead, wandering further as you perceived two protrusions on either side of the training ground’s back wall. They were elevated by at least four meters and adorned with switchback staircases, enabling the structures to prevail as alternative methods for exiting the faded grounds. You imagined they led to additional gated walkways that snaked into the Temple’s belly.

Altogether, the expanse’s high-walled design manufactured a basin of sorts, accented by the flushed blocky jade lamps that dotted every hallow crevice and drew attention to the surrounding orotund panels.

As you tugged your line of sight away from the surrounding architecture to the patch before you, you couldn’t help but become enthralled by the figure ahead. At the arena's nucleus stood a markedly enchanting presence. One which pulled at the very core of your inner current.

A twisting tree, its thick trunk dancing into each curved branch, loomed expansively from a patio that unfurled below. It stretched outwards, each branch seizing the sun’s parting energies far beyond your reach. Gold veins with ringed motifs winded up its quiet body, seemingly powering the amber, oblong leaves that adorned each ligneous finger in calm bundles.

Nearly instantaneously, it felt as if the rooted being was beckoning you forward from its home just beyond the set paltry stairs beneath you. Even the steps themselves appeared designed to usher in all who desired to know its secrets, with the apical sill acting as a lure mere inches from your feet. Soon, the faint aroma of Cardamom swirled past your nostrils from his intoxicating figure, further drawing your attention.

In those brief instances you took to descry the blossomed flora, you couldn’t help but feel the need to approach the botanical feat, feeling a strange yet embracing wrest toward its sparkling striped markings in particular. It was before your mind could fully register the action, when a sudden yet gradually vitalizing string, tied from your collarbone to the trunk's base, finally commanded your legs to assuredly promenade forward.

As you neared the colossal energy, treading beyond the staircase’s final step, your tie to each neighboring aura swelled exponentially. You could feel the fluxing vivacity of the younglings far behind you, and the compelling yet subdued strength of their instructor. Another step nourished the stream, empowering you to pinpoint wandering bodies in the nearest Temple halls, including the assembly of politicians still making their way through its winding pathways.

Promptly, your ceaseless strides brought your face within inches of the powerful beacon, its surging vigor drawing your eyelids to flutter closed while you extended a gentle hand to rest on its glossy bark. As your fingertips met its silky texture, you sensed an instant surge of breath in the form of thousands of tiny little life forms, binding into the nexus. Even ones as small as the avian creatures resting on distant rooftops, or the fleck-sized insects that trotted along a portion of the far wall in perfect harmony.

You delved deeper, exploring these fervently fluid impressions with greater absorption when a new, striking and formidable spirit gradually entered the fold, their pace sedated though consequential as they approached from behind. But despite sensing this new presence, you encountered pronounced difficulty in separating from the strength before you.

That was, until you heard their familiar voice. One that you had not heard since the Temple-wide meeting yesterday morning.

“Discovered The Great Tree, you have.”

Opening your eyes abruptly, you severed your interlaced connection with the tree’s amplifying flow before spinning toward the raspy voice. Your eyes instantly met the shorter, long-eared Jedi, elevated by his relaxed stance against a curved cane on the ground’s main platform above. The moment you steadied, you were quick to offer him a reflexive bow while inwardly chiding yourself for delaying him further.

“Yes,” you rapidly acknowledged before just as soon faltering, like a misstep in your footing.

You internally cycled through how to respond to the 900-year-old being for a moment too long as you fought the steadily rising panic. This was not the first impression you wanted to make. But you still needed to say something.

Relenting, you finally settled on a phrase you used way too often with Qui-Gon in your younger years. And something you had not planned to say ever again once your journey began.

“I apologize for my belatedness, Master Yoda,” you offered evenly. “I assure you, it will not happen again.”

The pepper-green Jedi hummed in thought, offering the environment a brief silence before leisurely idling down the stairway toward your figure. “Believe you, I do. Works in mysterious ways, the Force does. Led you to this tree, it has.”

Master Yoda ambled to a slow halt beside you, giving himself scope to gaze up at the natural wonder. He must have relished in the presence of the Great Tree many thousands of times in his long years at the Temple. Yet his reverent appearance gleamed with the radiance of discovering its pure artistry for the very first time. You admired that insight, so, hoping to see what his sagacious eyes discerned, you reproduced his venture into the tree’s depths.

“I feel a strong link to the Force when I’m near it,” you acknowledged aloud.

“An Uneti tree, you see before you. Imbued with the living Force, it is.”

Yes, of course. How could you have forgotten? Qui-Gon had told you that story many times. Of how all his life, he had never seen a real tree before, having spent his entire existence in the industrial world of Coruscant up to that point. That was, until his Master Dooku brought him to see one right here on these training grounds for the very first time. The famed golden tree that shone from the sheer will of the Force alone.

That was this Great Tree. The Uneti tree.

And much like Qui-Gon, this was your very first time seeing one too.

“Yet your connection feel, scarcely I did.”

A nervous pang brushed against your ribs as you absorbed his meaning. You continued to trace the monument’s golden veins with a penetrating stare, hoping to hide the resurgence of this particular doubt that had been clouding your mind since your session with Master Windu.

Why could no one truly sense your mental grapplings of the Force? It was possible that the Grand Master had answers to this persistent query.

“I don’t understand,” you stated earnestly.

The Master acknowledged your confession with an esophageal grunt. “Powerful, your mind is. Protected, it is, against searching powers. Taught you well, Qui-Gon has.”

Though, despite Master Yoda’s gentle praise, you couldn’t help the new flurry of numerous questions that knocked at the back of your mind like nosy neighbors.

This marked the second time a Master could only limitedly sense your signature, even when you weren’t attempting to bury your presence. In fact, after many years engaging in Force Stealth in an abundance of caution, you had finally taken a moment, an opportunity, to reach deeply into the Force when you felt its swirling openness around this tree. It was just as you did a few days prior, when you attempted to open your mind to the stern Master Windu. Yet again, despite the Force’s overwhelming circulation throughout these grounds, a Grand Master only a few meters away could barely sense your interaction with its rushing stream?

It didn’t make sense.

What stowed further disquiet, was his phrasing. Did he sense only the minimum zeal that all beings had within them? Would he not have believed you a Jedi without already knowing your mission?

What you did know, was that whichever readings were emanating off your life force, they were completely unintentional. How such a muted perception could be possible without purpose, you didn’t understand. But you were sure that, like always, you could rely on your meditation at a point later on to guide you through this mystery.

“Thank you, Master.”

Too entrenched in his own viewing of the Great Tree to respond, the wise Jedi steered purposefully toward its unwavering trunk, cane pecking a few times at the stone below as he maneuvered to flatten his palm and brawny three fingers against its satiny skin. His eyes drifted shut, brows creasing while he connected to the flow around him as you had just done moments ago.

As seconds elapsed, a slight breeze wheezed past the region, exciting the Great Tree’s leaves and tickling its twigs as a few golden flakes loosened and snapped from the cooling gust, sending them vacillating down to the feet of each idler.

“Powerful, as well, your sensitivity is,” he continued while his bridge with the atmosphere persisted. “22,300 Midichlorians, you have.”

You spun toward the Master, jaw slackened. Somewhat attempting to temper your stupefaction, you spoke quickly to the powerful Jedi entranced with the golden tree before you.

“Are you sure, Master? That seems way too high. From what I’ve read, most Jedi have around 10,000. That would be just over double the average.”

The senior Jedi gradually nurtured a thin smile, choosing this moment to disengage with the powerful being as he retracted his arm and feebly circled around, extending his now-opened eyes toward you.

“Checked three times, we did. Positive that you’re The Guardian, we are.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, not just due to the skewed essence of your skills and your sensitivity, but by his locution.

“Is my role as The Guardian tied to my Midichlorian count?”

The Master vocalized his consideration through a guttural sigh as he shook his head at his own being.

“Measured your connection, I did, many years ago. The same it is now, as it was then.”

You nodded, remembering Obi-Wan mentioning the Master’s awareness of your existence prior to your parents’ deaths. Counting your Midichlorian count would certainly explain how you were discovered by both Yoda and your former Master, however separate their independent discoveries may have been.

But even after decades, after hearing again of his encounter with you as a very small youngling and when your parents were still alive, you couldn’t help the long-suppressed questions that still lingered infinitely. They were starting to bubble to the surface.

Who were your parents? What were they like? Did they look like you?

And what really happened to them? Were they from your native planet? And where was that? Was it nearby?

But deep down, you knew that these were questions ill-suited for a Grand Master who held non-attachment in such high esteem. Qui-Gon had warned you of that.

Though despite being devoid of the occasion for which to ask these questions, there was still one, relevant and nagging inquiry that ached behind your eyes.

“I hope to inquire, Master, but how did you know? That I was The Guardian and not The Chosen One, I mean.”

The Grand Master rested both hands atop his cane as he addressed you. “First the Defender and then the Chosen, the hidden prophecy says. Found you first, I had. As had Qui-Gon, we must assume. And born of a father, you were. Has not one, Anakin and The Chosen One.”

You tracked as the slope-eared Jedi angled to his left while finishing the last sentence, determinedly deciding to saunter back up the cursory steps behind you both. Interpreting this as an invitation to follow, you briskly moved, veering to stroll beside him and the hallow pricks of his intervallically pattering cane.

“I understand,” you confirmed while maintaining a measured gate. “I want to assure you, Master, that I will do my best to fulfill the needs of that role.”

An approving murmur escaped his gruff throat. “And as a member of The Order, you will.”

You casually glanced down at the Master, hope tingling at the tips of your fingers as you tried to maintain an impartial complexion.

“Gone through your Trials, you have already,” he recognized while his ambling progressed. “The nine steps, you have faced in those ten years on Hoth. Well-versed in control and sense, Master Windu says you are.”

Master Yoda nodded deliberately, a whirl of justifications seemed to flutter behind his rational eyes as he appraised some grand notion internally. It must have been something he was already considering, you decided, as those thoughts rapidly settled across his countenance, soon converging into one, adamant verdict,

“Grant you the rank of Knight, I will. Though no ceremony, may you have. Secret, your past must remain.”

You nodded, allowing that shred of disappointment to whither back into the trail of Force shimmering behind your walking figure. In turn, you endeavored to focus on the honor of your new title.

Sacrificing was part of the job description. You knew that. But it didn’t mean that missing out on the same milestones that every other Jedi experienced couldn’t still affect you.

But, as always, you projected objectivity.

“I understand, Master. Thank you.”

His head bobbed faintly. “A Master, you must still have. Extended his services, Master Windu has.”

You chewed over his words in the pregnant lull that followed, filled only with the light taps of his cane, your gentle footfalls, and the distant, echoing maneuvers of the younglings following their muttering instructor’s guidance.

It was impossible to ignore the surprise that bounced around your skull. From what you recalled of your short time together, Master Windu didn’t seem to be that fond of your presence. Sure, it was clear that he appreciated your professionalism and attentiveness, and you likewise admired his dedication. But you believed from his austerity and Obi-Wan’s warnings, that you weren’t exactly the one person he wanted to spend more time with.

This was, of course, in addition to the downright fact that no one, not even a Jedi as powerful as Mace Windu, could replace your late Master. He would always be your guide. Your own protector. And you were certainly not ready to give away that title.

Not yet.

Especially when you were no longer the Padawan that needed to be assigned a Master.

Especially, when his death still felt so fresh.

“I’m honored by the offer,” you began. “But I am already a Knight, and Qui-Gon was already my Master. I’m not certain if it would be…”

You gave your next uttering careful thought.

“Appropriate.”

An appreciative, gravelly hum escaped the wise man’s throat. “Understand this, I do. Loyal to your past Master, you are,” he remarked thoughtfully. “But maintain appearances, we must.”

The wise Jedi peered at you, injecting a sense of submerged understanding into the drifting Force that encircled you both.

“Always your Master, Qui-Gon will be. Act only as an advisor, Master Windu will, while you adapt to The Order and the war. But be your Master to others, he shall be. Your connection to Qui-Gon a secret, it must remain. Tied to The Chosen One in death, he was.”

Again, the Grand Master repeated that private affirmation of his head to his innermost musings.

“And distance from Anakin, you should temporarily keep.”

Your brows furrowed marginally as you inquisitively studied the peppered green Jedi.

“Master?”

How were you supposed to protect The Chosen One if you weren’t allowed to be near him?

“Interact in the Temple, you may. But important, a short separation on the battlefield, is.”

The Jedi faltered mid-step, prompting you to halt as he tottered to face your taller form with a pensive dip in the brows.

“Hidden, your true nature, must remain, from Separatist and darker forces alike. A weakness in war, the Republic cannot have.”

“But they must know of Anakin’s identity,” You pointed out.

The elder Jedi ostensibly agreed. “Right, you are. But clear to both sides, The Chosen One prophecy is. Dark the looking glass, The Guardian’s role makes.”

You observed Master Yoda’s eyes gently wander beyond your figure as he sketched some ambiance of lively motion to your rear. Tracing his line of sight, you rotated toward the youngling drill that had continued through your conversation.

A moment of calm entered the space, briefly interrupted by another crisp puff of breeze against your tingling arms as the two of you looked on. A distant bird of some delineation poured out an eddy of melodies, painting the heavens with peppy pleadings known only to its innermost heart.

As minutes slipped by, and the two of you stood in subsisted temporary reticence, Master Yoda’s trained vision endured on the premeditative, processional aerobatics before him. However, no matter his concentration, one fleeting glance to your lower right was quick to reveal that the Grand Master was still transfixed by his innermost ruminations, ingrained deep within his ceaseless exploration of the Force.

“Still, learn about Anakin you must,” he breathed heavily while both of you monitored the younglings lunge through an underhand swipe, followed by a summersault parry as they twirled around invisible, sprightly opponents.

“Assign you to Master Kenobi’s missions once the Jedi are deployed again, we will. Learn about The Chosen One through his former Master’s teachings, you may. Understand his past, you must. Know him well, he does.”

Your longstanding grasp of The Guardian’s journey was dictated by the obligation to always be by his side. To always be there to protect him from the dark forces he is meant to destroy. It was something you felt cavernously in each one of your bones.

But in this moment, you were beginning to agree with the Master; finding it just as necessary to dedicate yourself to comprehending his history. The past that molded him into the Jedi he is today.

It was quite possible, that you would have failed to reach this conclusion had it not been for this morning’s experience in conjunction with the past few days’ interactions. Compared to all the other Jedi you’d read about, Anakin would certainly be classified as an enigma. His past was far more sullied than the greats of recent history. And while you were beginning to understand him more than you originally expected, you knew that there was still much to learn of that realm.

Hopefully, Obi-Wan would have the insight you lacked. You could already think of a few questions that you wanted to ask him, namely why occurrences like this morning’s were not quite properly addressed by his former Master.

But with all that aside, you couldn’t deny the more personal reason for finding hope in this arrangement. A few weeks or months working side-by-side with one of Qui-Gon’s past Padawans was sure to aid you in your own loitering convalescence from his death.

Besides, you were beginning to enjoy Master Kenobi’s company.

You recalled the past week. How you felt heartened by the gentleness of his guidance in the club the night before. And how you were beginning to value that again and again, Obi-Wan never failed to lend you a helping hand when you needed it most.

You wanted to explore these sensibilities further, first noting how open you’d become to appreciating his humor, and how he maintained it in even the most dire or upbeat of circumstances together. Despite the frequency with which it was at Anakin’s expense. But you could easily tell, in those snapshot moments, that it was all the more evidence of Obi-Wan’s fondness for his former Padawan. And you were certainly amused, at times, by how he showed it.

Most importantly, you were utterly convinced that you could count on him in a pinch. He’d saved your life once, and you knew you could trust him to be by your side again. Enough to put his own life on the line to defend yours.

Just as he did on Hoth, when Obi-Wan precariously dangled from the shuttle’s jagged doorway to grab your desperate, nearly lost hand.

And that warmed you.

“I appreciate the opportunity, Master Yoda. I will learn as much as I can.”

The two of you swayed tranquilly as another gust of cooling wind tickled a loose hair strand against your ear. You embraced this moment to study the younglings who maintained a neutral stance, training sabers in various arrays of readiness while they listened carefully to the Cosian Master as he explained their next activity in a faint voice. He was quick in finishing his elucidation, however, as the younglings readied to lean into their dominant foot, setting up for the impending motion.

Suddenly, a moderately sharp throb cautiously nudged at your forehead, mildly tapping like a pesky, repetitive din.

You brushed it off, deciding to instead anchor yourself on the drill ahead. It fascinated you, the absolute coexistence of their movements, which flowered between them through their complete connectivity to the environment. The troop rolled into their dominant side, following through as the back of their shoulder blade met the floor and propelled them once again into a standing, lunged position, all while maneuvering their sabers around each wheeling youngling. It was quite impressive, for Initiates so young. It was a move whose complication…

Another piercing spear at your forehead’s center, this time radiated out toward your sinuses like lightning desperately squeezed to ground itself. Your skull brimmed with pressure at each subsequent twinge. Somehow, the once insignificant throbs were quite rapidly transforming into an unpleasant nuisance. So much so, that you couldn’t help but massage your temples in stiff circles as you strived to lessen the distinct sting in your observance of the drill.

“Well, are you not?” Master Yoda inquired as he seemed to sense your discomfort.

You lowered your hands. “I’m alright, Master. I think I overexerted myself earlier, and I’m probably not yet quite used to this heat,” you gesticulated toward the beaming sun that still, surprisingly, felt like a comforting brush to your exposed skin.

“Rest, young Silvey,” he advised while pivoting toward your figure, motivating you to turn on your heel and face his center-held staff. “Strong in the coming weeks, you must be. Sense a shift in the Force, I do.”

You acknowledged the Jedi’s wise words before tilting into a gentle bow, permitting your body to salvage any extra energy in its small battle against your pervasive migraine.

“Thank you, Master,” you rose evenly. “Your guidance is much appreciated.”

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[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 6: Patience

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: ANGST (y'all like actually so much angst), hurt/comfort, mention of canon character deaths, descriptions of violence, banter, references to slavery & war, lil' bit of fluff, self-doubt, grief, sad Ani.

Summary: After spending hours in the Jedi Archives trying to catch up on the last ten years of galactic events, Anakin drags you away for an impromptu sparring session. However, in the throws of saber-to-saber combat, with Obi-Wan as witness, the troubled Jedi lets slip a concerning habit. One that you hope to guide him through.

Song Inspo: Valley of Pain — Bonnie Raitt

Words: 9.5k (I'm sorryyyy)

A/n: Okay, soooo I was thinking about splitting this into two parts, but then I was like ehhhh there's a lot of missing context if I do that. So here we are (I promise I will, like, write the shortest of short chapters for the next one XD). This one is super angst/emotion-heavy to help set up where we are so get ready. Also, please please please comment your thoughts because I got a little experimental with this chapter and would love to know what y'all liked/disliked :))

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Series Masterlist

Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet — Aristotle

Anakin leaned comfortably against one of many murky inner pillars, each carefully constructed to steady towering rows of azure-luminescent holobooks in the Jedi Archives. As he crossed his arms with a restive huff, the young Jedi was careful to navigate his right elbow so to avoid the large, rounded, and precariously placed head of Neti Jedi Master Ood Bnar. It was one of the many copper busts depicting legendary figures from The Order’s history that surrounded him. All of them thoughtfully gandered from short, gray pillars stationed at the end of every shelving chain up and down the Archives.

Regardless of his vigilant delicacy around such artifacts, Anakin’s primary attention centered on a point in the distance, just five stacks away.

The chestnut-haired man’s sights leveled on you and Ahsoka, comfortably sat on either side of a long hourglass table, part of the several two-seated structures that occupied each Archival study hall.

While he watched on, eyes poised to notice any hint of an end to the scholarly activities before him, he couldn’t help how the Archive’s careful silence infected him. The pin-drop quietude was accented by the intermittent flowing footsteps of a lingering Jedi or the occasional shuffle of a holobook being plucked from its resting place. It stretched the passing seconds like an endless hyperlane. And with each minute flick of sound, the deathly tranquility acted as a reminder.

That Anakin was waiting entirely too long for one of you to call it quits.

The passing hushes of quiet conversation and intermittent, echoing taps of fingers upon holobook screens had all grown tiresome for the impatient Jedi. Even the soft lumbers of elder Masters speaking in low intervals provided little entertainment while he continued to observe you both, hunched over an array of holobooks that marginally added to the yellow luminescence of the dimly lit stone-gray chairs, which engulfed your figures before the marble work surface.

Admittedly, though, Anakin had only entered a few moments ago.

He remembered last night, sharing a few plates of thrantcill pâté with Ahsoka at the far Temple refractory when, in their conversation, she revealed that you’d spent the entirety of yesterday’s afternoon in the Archives, scouring through endless texts regarding the last 10 years of galactic events and figures with her notes as a guide. From what he understood, the two of you had a nice little arrangement going. Ahsoka would study while you borrowed her notes and, in exchange, you would pause your research to quiz her on whatever she was learning these days.

But as a consequence, you had effectively been locked away in an academic prison, at least from Anakin’s perspective.

And he knew, that just wouldn’t do.

So he stopped by the Archives this morning, assuming he’d find you once again, pouring over a mountain of information with angled elbows and firm palms holding you up and awake by the cheekbones.

Despite spending the last decade of your life either studying within the confines of an old, abandoned ship or foraging for supplies in a desolate icescape, it seemed to Anakin that even with your newfound environment of possibility and connection, your engrossment in similar activities would continue in perpetuity.

That was, until he found it necessary to step in.

He pushed off the pillar with a gentle tick from the Force, choosing to saunter over when he began to notice your eyes in particular. Veined and faded red from staring at screens for hours on end.

Yup, time for a break, he decided inwardly.

His heels tapped with each resonant step, bouncing off the sonorously curved high ceilings before eventually leading him to be within reach of causing a mild disruption. As a playful muscle pulled at his lips, Anakin brightly slapped the table with both hands flat while swiftly leaning into your viewpoint.

The unexpected noise startled both you and Ahsoka from your holobooks, simultaneously drawing the eye of a few elder Masters. But that didn’t impede Anakin’s drive. In fact, your heedlessness regarding his presence only fueled his beliefs— that these many hours in the Archives had drained your senses enough, and that he alone would be the one to drag you away from it.

“Okay,” he announced rather loudly. “Enough is enough. You’re gonna turn into a holobook if you stay here for any longer.”

Anakin sucked in your miffed glare while Ahsoka tried to stifle a faint giggle out of the corner of his eye.

“You know I’m doing this, quite literally, to protect you,” you challenged quietly with a raised brow. “Can’t do much guarding without knowing what I’m guarding against.”

“You’re right,” he feigned admittance as he lowered his voice to your level, hopefully to discourage the subtly annoyed yet watchful eyes of a few librarians to his left by kneeling down and pitching in further.

“If this.” He glanced down at the closest holobook, grabbing it to lift into his vision as he read the title. “Holobook on intergalactic political alliances turns into a giant, being-eating Rancor, I know that I’ll be perfectly safe in your very capable, studious hands.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes before a barely perceptible twitch tugged at the corner of your mouth. You swiped the device from him, returning it to its rightful place on the table.

“Knock it off, Smarty,” you quipped as you tried to return to the holobook in hand.

But your subtle amusement was fuel to his teasing fire.

Anakin grinned. “Or you could quote the guidelines of the Coruscant Accords to a sharp-toothed Acklay looking to take a bite. I’m sure that would go over well.”

Anakin’s ears perked as you dropped the holobook you’d been analyzing to the table. Rather abruptly, you placed a hand on the workspace to twist toward the eager Jedi, slight frustration lining your features.

“And what would you suggest?” You asked expectantly.

The responsive Jedi opened his mouth to answer, but paused mid-vocalization as he tried to come up with a reasonable proposal.

Thankfully, the galaxy granted him a moment to think.

“Whatever it is, can you come up with it somewhere else?” Ahsoka piped up in a whisper. “I’m trying to study for my test.”

Anakin observed as your eyes softened toward his frustrated Padawan.

“Sorry, Ahsoka,” you offered earnestly before scooting out of the grunting, asperous seat below. You raised gracefully, leaning over the ornamented table to collect your many holobooks. “We’ll get out of your way.”

Anakin straightened while you grabbed the last text, watching you turn on your heel toward the Archives’ center circle as he followed at your side.

“Need a hand?” He offered while scanning the hazardously stacked pile of holobooks that leveled just below your inquisitive nose.

“No, not at all,” you spoke, dripping with sarcasm. “Can’t distract you from coming up with your grand idea on how I can be your perfect defender.”

An unimpressed frown flickered across his features briefly. That was, until a sudden lightbulb within him buzzed to life.

It was something to cure his boredom and it would meet your objectives, he excused inwardly.

“Well, if you can beat me in a duel, that would certainly prove your abilities,” he suggested casually.

He was hoping not to reveal the sudden wave of excitement that overcame him following these days of stark boredom. Anakin didn’t realize it until that moment, but what he really needed was a good, old-fashioned sparring session. Not with a drone, but with another Jedi. Something low stakes and disconnected from the war.

But the many developments since his arrival had not made that easy.

After Ahsoka had finished her essay that night when they first docked on Coruscant, Master Plo Koon decided to schedule a test covering the last few months of physical science studies from their tutoring sessions. So, with her hidden away in the Archives, Anakin wasn’t able to do much training or guidance as her new Master.

Not that he really had any idea how he was going to go about that anyway. It was all still so new.

He’d just wing it, he thought.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, was stuck in back-to-back Council meetings about Maker knows what. Anakin imagined hours-long discussions on possible solutions to the communications system infiltration with Temple technicians by their side, offering tidbits of advice on deconstructing board matrices and tracking transmitter codes as the considerations continued. Tedious, but necessary, he considered.

Even R2-D2 was indisposed, having been temporarily assigned to one of the Temple’s system specialists before Anakin had even arrived at the Temple hangar, left to run diagnostics on the potentially compromised system for hours on end as they moved from sector to sector. Though, while he lost that unofficial race, he knew that the only reason Artoo reached Coruscant first with his handful of clones from the 501st was because of their short ‘diversion’ to Hoth.

So, with everyone busy, that left Anakin with meditation and training alone, neither of which he found particularly enjoyable at the moment. Or, at least, since his time a few months ago on Tatooine.

In the days following Anakin’s return from that arid, porous world, particularly in recent weeks, he found it difficult to be left alone with his mind. Images of his mother, weak and crumbling through his arms, the guttural cries of Tusken Raiders, and the scalding whip of Dooku’s crimson sword would invade his senses in mere moments of solitude. Even in the briefest of silent pauses or calming realities, he’d hear them all. Clawing at his senses. Yanking at his heavy chest.

The worry of that reality pervading indefinitely tapped at the young Jedi’s thoughts like a dark harbinger. Especially in the stillness of the Archives while he waited for you to finish. Before he couldn’t delay any longer.

He was desperate for a distraction to snap his thoughts away.

So, when he suddenly remembered that the time you were spending in the Archives was entirely voluntary, Anakin couldn’t help how his spirit felt a little more enlivened as he hopped up from his meditation, a tottering crisscrossed position between two orange flowering Saavas, to toe race his way to the Archives.

Yes, he did actually want to check in on you after days of study, but Anakin too seemed to have his own personal motivations.

Company is what the young Jedi sought, and he was entirely satisfied to keep it with you.

He considered this draw more deeply, pulling at the roots of his kindling connection with you.

Something shifted in Anakin that night in the Uscru District, legs dangling off the end of one of Coruscant’s largest garbage pits as decaying fumes encircled his ankles.

He hadn’t met a Gray Jedi before, but he wondered if they were all like you. Your kindness and softness when speaking the truth. The warmth of your voice.

It anchored him, to those moments of comfort and safety he felt many years ago, when encircled by his mother’s protective arms. It was especially true on those cold nights, after dark and dreary days, when she would tell him of the tale of the sun-dragon.

How his heart would be his strength, much like how she was his heart.

And he missed that feeling, so greatly that when faced with the sensation again, he fell back into old habits. He couldn’t help it. He’d always told his mother everything, and for a brief glimpse, your nature made him feel at home again.

And so he told you.

Something that he couldn’t even at first admit to Obi-Wan.

He told you his mother died.

But it was when he felt your cold hands in his clammy palms, that he could finally sense the signals swirling within your being that you betrayed on your face to him that night.

Indications you kept very well hidden away.

But the touch of two Jedi freed you to share what you felt for the doe-eyed man, intentionally or not.

And he shouldn’t have been so affected by what he sensed, Anakin argued. The blue-eyed Jedi knew you had trained to dedicate your life to him. Or, at least, to the Chosen One prophecy. But still, for a being he met only a week prior, he couldn’t help but be taken aback.

You exuded tenderness, care, and unwavering loyalty.

For the first time in years, Anakin felt truly perceived in that moment. And while he still grappled with the words spoken that night, overshadowed by unfading ghosts of the past, it finally solidified within his sun dragon heart one cogent decision.

Anakin knew that he could trust you.

“I suppose,” you admitted as you reached the central reference desk, pulling Anakin back into his current reality.

Eyeing the large rotunda in the Archive’s center, you dropped the stack of holobooks at the expansive counter for return with a slight clang. As you pivoted down the main hallway leading to the Archive’s exit, you continued. “But I’m supposed to meet with Master Yoda this afternoon, and I don’t know if he wants to duel with me. So we’ll need to keep it short.”

Anakin grinned victoriously as he nodded. “Sounds good to me!”

—

The jaunt to Training Room C was quick.

At least by Anakin’s standards.

Once again, as his mind drifted, the thoughtful Jedi gazed at the room’s beige-white flooring and textured walls, outlined into zoning squares by dark wooden panels and pillars that crossed with geometric balance. His observations since returning to the Temple were the primary factor influencing his temporary tachysensia. Predominantly, that if yesterday’s experience was any indication, he had every right to believe training room availability would be similarly limited today.

As you stretched your legs against the far wall beside one of the two sets of three-tiered mahogany viewing benches on either side of the dojo, Anakin stood by the room’s entrance, twirling the blue glow of his saber in leisurely circles while dipping further into his memories.

First, he recalled the horde of Jedi present at yesterday morning’s emergency meeting. Anakin couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen that many Jedi in one room. Let alone the sum total, many thousands at least, present in the Temple since his arrival a few days ago.

The one outlier was, of course, the Battle of Geonosis, and the events that immediately followed. It was the first time Anakin realized the sheer power of The Order, fighting in tandem to protect peace in the galaxy against dividing forces.

The young Jedi was pleased by the Republic’s material victory that day. That was never in question. But any feeling of triumph was often overshadowed by the depth of another emotion that stretched and coiled along his bones like a growing mold.

Guilt.

It was clear, he thought. In that moment and in the weeks and months which followed.

He wasn’t strong enough to face Dooku that day.

And he nearly paid the ultimate price.

One glance down at his alloyed, dark steely arm with its thin crevices leading to an interior of gears and overlapping wiring was proof enough. Evidence that maybe if he’d trained a little harder as Obi-Wan’s Padawan, or followed his gut and joined Kenobi on his trek to Kamino, that things would have been different.

Maybe, just maybe, so many lives wouldn’t have been lost to such a stupid war.

A war he nearly prevented from happening in the first place during that battle, stained with Jedi blood.

Maybe, he would’ve been faster in countering Dooku’s rapidly twisting and thunderous blows.

And if he was swifter, maybe his mother would still be alive.

But no, Anakin’s power was no match for Dooku’s wielding.

At least, not yet, he thought.

His mind floated again, to the days and weeks following that deadly day. Scores of Padawans were knighted to feed the growing war effort, including himself. Generals were needed, and more knights were expected to take on Padawans to educate them on how to adapt their abilities to times of conflict.

It was necessary. He knew that. But still, the malformation of a pinnacle Jedi celebration, usually a grand and gradual affair, into rushed trial processes and fleeting bestowment ceremonies made him feel more like a piece of unrefined Duralium stumbling its way through a processing plant than a Jedi.

Though despite his new title, and greater set of responsibilities, Anakin considered himself just as equally removed from the planning affairs as he was when a Padawan.

Once all the Jedi were similarly recalled to the Temple after Geonosis, a flood of Council meetings followed in succession to determine The Order’s place in this war. They petitioned the attendance of many Masters, even giving Master Kenobi his own seat, as they negotiated the Jedi role of peacekeeper while trying to defend against the threat to one thousand years of peace.

And it never relented.

Emergency gatherings spiraled in succession, especially after the bombing of Cato Neimoidia.

He remembered it all well. The smoky remnants of a charred away district lost to the planet’s depths. The medical tents that gently swayed in eery silence, save for the intermittent groans of the few survivors. All of these images displayed in everlasting reels on the HoloNet News, shocking the galaxy into reality. The chaos that followed compelled many to realize that even overt neutrality would not keep worlds safe from this war.

But in these high-level meetings that addressed important events just like this, that strategized how to help these people, Knights or Padawans were never included.

They never included him.

So, instead, much like the past few days, Anakin would wander the Temple halls. Perhaps visit the gardens if he was feeling particularly meditative.

But that was just once. And only because Obi-Wan suggested it after catching him waiting opposite from Training Room R, sitting on the floor and leaning against a pillar with arms resting on each knee and a particularly glum look lining his face.

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan inquired as he stopped momentarily, no doubt in a hurried dash to another urgent Council meeting, Anakin concluded.

It was a few days before his knighting ceremony, and only a week after his mechanical limb was installed. But he wasn’t feeling as cheerful as he once thought he would be when he was a youngling. He was supposed to feel excited to become a Jedi Knight.

Not lost.

“Waiting,” he huffed in a monotone.

The impatient Jedi watched Obi-Wan angle back to scan the training rooms that lined the rear wall. Anakin’s expression was unchanged as his Master returned toward him in a curious manner.

“Have you been waiting here all day?” He asked inquisitively.

That same flat tone escaped Anakin’s mouth in affirmation.

Obi-Wan hummed with a hint of satisfaction. “If you showed this much patience in your training sessions, you may have learned a lot more,” he mused.

The nearly former Padawan gazed up at him unimpressed when he noticed a lightbulb go off behind Master Kenobi’s brightened eyes.

“You know, this might be a wonderful time for you to meditate. And I know the perfect place!”

Anakin groaned.

It felt like it all happened years ago, Anakin considered. But in reality, it had only been a few months. War had warped his sense of reality, and maybe that was why he felt a strange sense of déjà vu when he returned to the same hall of training dojos the day before, only for each expanse to be occupied with beings like him, loitering by the entrances and against pillars for their turn by the hour.

But today was different for some reason. Many of the training rooms lay vacant and the halls were generally unoccupied, save a few Jedi using the surrounding walkways for travel.

Part of him wanted to investigate. To see if some Jedi were called off to a mission he didn’t know about. No comms meant that he was even less informed about the Temple’s goings-on. But that never stifled his curiosity.

Instead, it all only seemed to further stoke his kindling restlessness.

Then, he remembered. Master Kenobi had offered to spar with him later today. Maybe he’d get some answers then.

But then again, if history with The Council proved repeatable, probably not.

“Are you gonna twirl that thing all day or are we gonna spar?”

Your sonorous voice shocked the distracted Jedi out of his stupor. He spun toward you, recognizing your casual stance, saber unsheathed and dangling at your side in its luminescent gray as you gazed at him expectantly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled while approaching your figure.

“Watcha thinking about?” You asked once Anakin’s gate mollified.

“Oh,” he inflated with a cartoonish shrug. “Just about how this thing is gonna end before I’ve had the chance to build up a sweat,” he grinned while crouching into an attack stance.

You mirrored his pose, matching his outward repartee with striking, fiery orbs.

“You should have more confidence” you scolded in jest. “I’m sure you’ll get some blocks in.”

Anakin rolled his eyes at the wide beam that engulfed your face. He leaned into his knees, centering his connection with the tingling flow around him.

“What is it you said?” The young man challenged confidently. “May the best Jedi win?”

“That statement still stands,” you affirmed, not skipping a beat.

A smirk pulled at the corner of your mouth.

“Show me what you got…

…Chosen One”

Anakin took this as his cue, kicking off with a running start before pouncing at you from a few meters away with a hard strike toward your rib. He slowed his surroundings with the Force, observing you launch your blade upwards to block the powerful blow with both hands squeezed on the hilt, releasing a hiss from the impact.

You thrust his blade down with your own as he decided to swiftly use that momentum to his advantage. Quickly, he swung his saber back around to strike you down the center. Flinging your weapon up, you deterred the attack with the horizontal posture of the blade. Again, Anakin watched as you slid that blue glow with the hammering snap of your saber toward the floor.

But the blue-eyed man only viewed this as another opportunity.

He twirled on his heel to boldly strike at your other flank. Yet, despite his keenness, you managed to successfully snag this attack too, a straightforward inversion of your blade standing before his path.

The simplicity sparked a flicker of annoyance within the young Jedi. His greatest strength was using his opponent’s attacks against them. And you were making the employment of that particular strategy very difficult.

He continued his strikes with more fervor this time, hoping to break your reinforced wall of defense and coax you into launching your own, fissuring swings. But no matter how much he Force-energized each crack, no matter how rapidly he recovered from your nimble deflections, he couldn’t seem to break your stoic face or weaponized fortification.

“Are you gonna try to fight me at some point?” Anakin drew out as he bounced back from your diverting blade’s assertive whip against his saber, forcing him nearly fifteen meters away.

Like a dance, the two of you melted into a circling prowl, using the space to breathe. Each step enlivened Anakin’s impulse to continue the duel as he surveyed your mimicking movements to keep the eager Jedi a sufficient length away.

“I thought you wanted to work up a sweat?” You exhaled innocently while continuing your slinking annular shuffle.

Anakin felt an intense heat billow behind his eyes as his confident yet teasing nature began to splinter into a more soured tone. Usually, he was not so affected by such innocent pokes. In fact, he found these moments regularly enjoyable, adding a taste of lightheartedness to the typically tense beats of combat.

But his mind was swirling all day with images of the past.

Images of failure.

Of failing others. Of failing the world.

His mother.

And in this transient instance, for some unknown reason, it felt like more than he could presently handle.

But before he could respond to your directed quip, another voice echoed into the training room from the dojo’s double gray doors with L-shaped mustard accents, having whooshed open without him realizing in the last few minutes.

“Anakin doesn’t like it when opponents go easy on him,” Obi-Wan commented as he entered his peripheral.

The peeved Jedi noticed your eyebrows raise in contest across from him at the Master’s words.

“I’m not going easy on him,” you clarified while leaning into another step along the arbitrary sphere of distance you and Anakin delicately maintained.

“Then I take it this is going well?” Master Kenobi announced to no one in particular.

The curious, bearded Jedi strolled to the side for a better view of the duel in discoidal stasis, lowering his form to the edge of the nearest Mahogany viewing bench before crossing his legs in humming anticipation.

“Yes, it is,” Anakin gritted. “In fact, I was just about to find an opening.”

“No you weren’t,” you deadpanned.

Anakin huffed at the truth of your statement as his heart rate quickened. He was beginning to grow tired of your overconfident comments and steadfast defense. He had too much on his mind and didn’t need someone else pointing out his ineptitude.

“Sparring isn’t always about the offensive,” Obi-Wan remarked casually to the atmosphere. “Sometimes it means allowing others to take the initiative for the duel to progress.”

“Tell him that!” You exclaimed with a sigh. “I feel like I’ve been fighting a training droid for the last half an hour.”

Suddenly, something in Anakin snapped. His meticulously bubbling frustration and annoyance had whipped into a flash of pure, blistering anger.

He reacted quickly, propelling himself out of his steady march with a shout as he determinedly bolted toward your figure, most of his connection to his surroundings stripping away to pyre his vehemence.

The Chosen One’s eyes narrowed on one objective and one objective alone— securing an opening.

He neared your form within a second, blade aimed at your shoulder and vision pinpointed like a laser on the curved dark gray spot of your smoothed-over cloak. He could almost smell those memorable industrial fumes of the shop from which you both purchased it, hovering staunchly above the seams as he neared your form.

But as his saber split down with a low whine to claim final victory, your own weapon sprung to life, knocking the blade out of its path and down toward his feet in a buzzing blare.

Anakin heaved his plasma sword up, revving for another turbulent swing as he let out an indignant grunt. His eyes were still locked on the same shoulder when it suddenly spun from sight in a blink. Out of nowhere, an abrupt blazing heat graced his opposite cheek like a near brush with a welder.

Registering the sensation, Anakin whipped around, searching for your figure only to find you stood behind him, sheathing your saber before clipping it to your belt with a clink. You trekked toward the somewhat stunned Jedi, a conflicted stitch tweaking your brows as you finished your approach.

Once you reached him, Anakin felt you tenderly grab his open hand, pulling it free and flipping it over to unlatch his palm. The young Jedi observed you raise your other hand, wrapped in a loose fist, but not for long. It hovered about his hand for only a moment before releasing into his grasp a couple strands of chestnut hair, lightly soaked in your sweat that perspired from head to toe, and perceptibly singed black on one smoky vestige.

Anakin stared at the strands, embarrassment prickling each finger pad as he tried to keep his expression neutral.

That was, until your hands met his.

You closed his fingers into a gentle fist, encouraging him to clutch the locks as softly as their texture.

He gazed up at you, taking in your soothing silver eyes and worried smile as an aura of concern leaked from your being like a latched wire. Swimming like loose electricity from your palm, into his.

“We need to talk.”

—

As you gently led Anakin to one of the training room’s far corners with a soft hand on the back of his elbow, your being was steadily flooding with unsettling disquiet, permeating throughout your circulatory system.

You had noticed fairly quickly, how Anakin’s chagrined eyes subtly shifted at your troubled words toward his former Master, who discernibly observed the scene unfold before him with a knowing shake of his head. Skywalker still internalized Kenobi’s judgments, including the ones that accompanied a perennial frown, you realized. And from his unsurprised expression, it seemed that Obi-Wan had observed these same alarming habits at some point in his life as well.

It was evident that the Master’s cavalier comportment further confirmed your suspicions— that they had not been fully addressed.

At least, not in a way that Anakin may have fully understood.

You noticed it again today, just before the spar began. Anakin, trapped in his own little world within the confines of his expansive mind. Whirling his saber vacantly with muscle memory akin to twisting one’s hair to pass the time. Within those few moments, while internalizing the satisfying stretch of your hamstrings as you prepared for the duel, you couldn’t help but sense the waves of emotion that rolled off the open-hearted Jedi.

Amusement, annoyance, frustration, hopelessness.

And most notably, rage.

You could only guess what thoughts were running through his head. You’d probably only scratched the surface of his internal struggles when he revealed some of them to you a few nights ago. But with time to reflect, you now wondered if that grief clouded his mind too strongly. Shielding him from understanding your words, or even the guidance others may have bestowed upon him in the past regarding this very issue.

You welcomed theories to invade your mind, consume your thoughts, and give you a moment of escape.

Focusing on this small blip in his signature proved far more attractive, more manageable than the vacuum your mind produced in other activities, including your studies in the Temple Archives. Even that distraction manifested as inadequate as you tried to break from your inner affliction rooted in Qui-Gon’s death. You’d spent countless hours flipping through Ahsoka’s notes, shuffling through holobooks filled with complicated galactic developments, trade agreements, alliances, controversial political figures, but nothing seemed to center you.

Nothing seemed to stop his face from appearing when your eyes closed. Even momentarily.

Even when you blinked.

Nothing, well, except for this.

Except for doing what you were made for.

Focusing mind, body, and soul on The Chosen One.

So you dove into the murky waters of this puzzle, only hinted at in your short time together.

The connection drew your memory back to that frenzied escape from Hoth. When you, Anakin, and Obi-Wan stood unified in an Aegean sphere of incandescence against the monstrous Wampan threat. You remembered, the three of you exchanging teasing jabs as you slashed down each beast with agile grace.

But as you dug deeper into that moment, the inner turmoil you sensed from the Chosen One only moments ago now suddenly felt very familiar.

And very alive.

It was Obi-Wan’a quip at Anakin’s apparent lack of humility that struck a similar, irate chord within the young Jedi. And in his frustration to verbally defend himself, he took an easily preventable blow to the face.

Withdrawing from your mind, you glanced up at the healing reddish-brown cut that stretched across his upper cheekbone. You drank it in as you continued to lead him toward the training room’s far wall. While you lacked the time or center of mind to acknowledge it then, you felt it necessary to address now.

You felt for Anakin’s past struggles. You really did. And deep within your being, you fervently believed that the swirling emotions surrounding his mother’s passing and childhood enslavement were justified. Those were deep, crimson scars that would take many years to stitch together. To heal. You yourself had only just begun that journey of loss with your own Master. You were still unable to fully pull away from the initial shock and amplified emptiness felt from learning of his passing.

And by virtue of his history, Anakin’s heedless frustrations toward meaningless words and enduring circumstances made you wonder. Did this powerful Jedi even have the tools to digest your guidance from a few nights ago concerning these very situations? Did he hear you about the importance of acknowledging those moments in life, before letting them go?

It was much like the errant thoughts of forceless beings, which you were compelled to guide past all senses for your own mental survival a couple nights prior.

You continued to draw on the similarities of your circumstances, excavating each moment, before realizing one important factor. That you were only able to feel that relief, that suffocating weight lifted, because of the guidance of others.

Because Obi-Wan gave you a little push.

So, you decided to do the same.

At first, as the duel began, most of your vitality was captivated by efforts to sense any blips in the blue-eyed Jedi’s signature.

But that constrained you to a perpetual defense, focused only on thwarting each intrepid blow. It was necessary, to stray from the energy-siphoning movements required to launch an offense that could counter Anakin’s aggressive form, if you were to successfully carry out your own furtive objectives. His style was elegant, technique steadfast, and it took a considerable toll on you to keep your focus on both the fight and any indications that would barely leak into the Force.

But these actions had unintended consequences, revealing that sucking the bustle out of the duel would be as equally infecting as one of Obi-Wan’s elicit remarks.

So, you leaned into it.

Keeping a relentless guard meant less opportunity for Anakin to use one of your strikes against you. A telltale tactic of Djem So. And it generated a number of occasions for you to toss in a few comments to test the waters. So much so, that when you pointedly told a certain, teasing Jedi Master that you were, in fact, not going easy on him, you were telling the truth. Your defense remained physical, but your offense flourished verbally with quip after quip.

But in those moments, as you sensed his vexation reach its peak, your own heart felt darkened. Weighted down like the planet’s gravitational pull as you carried out this assessment of mental fortitude. It was another chip at your empathetic being, flying away like loose debris traveling through the vacuum of space. Another task in protecting The Chosen One further plunged your identity into utter uncertainty.

You were also not going very easy on yourself.

But it didn’t last long, as it appeared that comparing him to an inanimate Jedi training device seemed to do the trick.

In a way, his sudden dart toward your smaller frame hurt most of all. Not only because you had a hand in driving him to this level of rage, but because you had never seen him so easily reduced to this level of vulnerability. Having known him only a week, you already understood through those many late-night conversations on a thousand-year-old space bucket, in the Coruscant garbage pits, and during your exploration of the entertainment district— where he had the gall to suggest orange was not your color— that his absorbent heart and related impatience was, as of now, his greatest weakness.

One you were sure the Sith would use against him, as they had with other Jedi thousands of years prior.

In some manner, it scared you. The ease with which you pinpointed this fragility in the brief time of knowing him. It was true, you had an uncanny ability to connect with others. But not this easily.

Maybe it was because you saw too much of yourself within him.

Or maybe the two of you were connected far beyond the confines of a prophecy.

Maybe, even through the Force itself.

Yet he tossed his connection to the Force aside in his mad dash to win. The ferocious Jedi was so focused on a strike, a successful nearness of his blade to some part of you to claim victory, that he momentarily tossed away any and all perception of protecting himself.

And it pained you, cavernously, the ease with which you blocked and dodged his subsequent blows. They were unstable, sloppy, and fueled by frustration rather than grounded in his connection to the Galaxy.

It left his entire form accessible to a fatal blow.

So, you decided to make your point in a way he couldn’t ignore.

Swiping your saber rapidly across a loose lock of chestnut hair hanging centimeters from his cheek, you allowed it to fall upon your palm to present the suddenly bewildered Jedi, who was swiftly silenced after realizing the damage you could have done.

You allowed your mind to extrapolate any words from thoughts that continued to rush over you as you both slowed to a halt on the opposite side of the training room from Obi-Wan. Your attentive eyes trained on his uncomfortable expression with a gaze wandering indefinitely, much like a youngling who had been caught taking too many sweets from one of the refractories.

“Your anger is concerning,” you began in a hushed tone.

Maybe those weren’t the right words, and maybe this wasn’t the best setting, but you were hoping to get some real answers that weren’t colored by responses saved for his Master's presence. You had your own difficulty sharing internal struggles with your Master, and he was the only other person around. You wanted this to be different.

Anakin’s eyes suddenly shot at you, narrowing in confusion.

“You were the one who told me my anger was justified.”

“I told you, that it’s ok to be angry sometimes, especially when losing someone you care deeply about,” you began in a softer lull. “That is completely different from allowing a staunch rage to get the best of you from impatience and words.”

Anakin’s eyes softened as he began to absorb your observations while his head slightly dipped in discomfort.

“Hey,” you whispered, touching his wrist, hot from exertion, lifting his uncertain eyes back toward you. “I’m here to look out for you. And I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t say that you need to be more patient and not take what others say to heart. It’s gonna get you killed.”

Your exposition seemed to click within the troubled Jedi in a way far different from your midnight murmurings on the Uscru District garbage pit overhang. You watched as he glimpsed downward, following his line of vision to the metal arm whose fingers he flexed in creaking evaluation.

You wondered…

“Did you…?”

“Yes.”

And that was all the answers you needed, the rest you felt through the Force.

Regret, frustration, and something new—

Realization.

But despite this potential step forward, you found it strange that even losing an arm to impatience and anger didn’t lead him to these reflections earlier.

“It’s not that easy.”

Or maybe it did.

You raised your gaze back up toward Anakin, his dejected stare stuck to the steel limb as if he wasn’t looking at anything at all.

As if his vision was thrown into darkness.

“You’re right, it’s not,” you admitted as, once more, you were met with a flood of questions through his countenance alone.

“It’s a task. Of constantly reminding yourself that what I, or Obi-Wan, or the world says to you or about you doesn’t matter. I mean, who cares what everyone says? It doesn’t change who you are until you let it.”

You stilled, observing Anakin’s brows relax ever so slightly. Yet skepticism still colored his absentmindedly agape lips. Even without connecting physically, you could tell that despite your statement, he was riddled with doubts. You knew he’d heard your words, but he didn’t believe them.

So, you decided to tell him what you really believed.

“I’ll tell you right now. You, right now, are good. And you, at this very moment in time, are enough.”

Anakin’s mouth closed as he gazed up at you in anticipation, a galaxy of sentiments flaring behind his eyes.

You breathed. “No one is gonna change that. And I’m not just saying that to save face. I mean it.”

For the first time in what felt like a long, clouded while, a smile peeked out from his subtly solemn expression. An air of solace had begun to enter the Force.

It seemed like being heard was what Anakin needed. Someone to recognize what he was feeling. What he struggled with. What he continued to battle, inside and out.

And you were happy to be that person.

“And it won’t be remedied overnight. Remind yourself of that.”

You knew what it was like to struggle with these emotions, realizing that what fed them most was your utter isolation. In a sense, despite being in closer proximity to others than you ever had, Anakin still seemed just as alone as you in these conflicts.

And that dealt another sharp blow at your opened heart.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I pushed you too far.” His shoulders relaxed at the softness of your voice. “I just needed you to see what this frustration does to you. It leaves you exposed. And, honestly, if I was less skilled, your blindness may have done some real damage.

His eyes widened, “I would never…”

“I know,” you rested a comforting hand on his flushed arm as he relaxed. “You would never, intentionally,” you assured, though your phrasing still had unnerved the young man. “But you made a mistake, and I’m just hoping to show you why it’s important to learn from it.”

You watched as he nodded, drinking in your sympathetic and forgiving nature into his own being. The two of you breathed through the stillness, allowing both of your feelings to stabilize through the fine sting of sensitivities that traveled back and forth across your hand, tenderly fastened to his lower arm with the Force swimming in between.

“You know,” he began, as you felt the air around him lift delicately. “I know someone who’d really like you.”

You took this compliment as permission for a more upbeat response. So your eyes squinted teasingly.

“Sounds like they have great taste.”

“Silvey!”

You paused momentarily before turning to the exclamation, still getting used to the nickname as Obi-Wan entered your vision from his place on the lower left of the far viewing bench. “Don’t you need to meet with Master Yoda soon?”

Windu must have told him in one of their Council meetings you’d heard so much about from Ahsoka this morning. You glanced up to your left at the wall-mounted chronometer displaying the time in bright blue symbols before approaching the bearded Jedi, a gradually settling Anakin following close behind as you called back.

“I’ve got some time!”

Quieting your voice, you turned to Anakin with a lighthearted taunt as you both continued your leisurely pace.

“You know, I bet you could’ve beat me if you waited a little longer.”

Anakin grinned at your brighter tone as the last of his worries washed away into the Force. It was, again, much like the thoughts of those clubgoers a few nights ago as, he too, seemingly took your words to heart.

“Give me another chance and we’ll see,” he commented, underhandedly complimenting your skills.

You smiled, a weightlessness overcoming you.

“You’re on.”

—

Obi-Wan Kenobi had seen this before.

Too many times to count.

Anakin had a habit of becoming lost within himself, allowing emotions to take over in place of duty, and logic. But despite the occasional slip-ups, the Master believed that his former Padawan had matured greatly in the past decade. His connection to the Force had deepened while his ties to outward attachments withered with time. From the beginning, that was something he knew the Council was especially concerned about when he joined The Order at such an old age.

Yes, he still made a habit of acting before thinking, much to the bearded Jedi’s chagrin. But he always proved to get the job done.

Anakin never let him down.

However, in the last month, Obi-Wan had noticed a familiar turmoil affecting the young Jedi, beginning soon after the attempted assassination of Naboo Senator Padmé Amidala.

In the days that followed, when Anakin was tasked with protecting the Senator, before traveling to Tatooine and, then, becoming involved in the Battle of Geonosis, Obi-Wan sensed that inky substance Master Yoda felt years ago begin to foam up from the depths of his being once more.

“I sense much fear in you.”

And Master Kenobi was finally witness to how greatly his fear had grown that day on Geonosis. When Padmé was knocked out of the LAAT tasked with chasing after Count Dooku, it was the first time Obi-Wan saw Anakin consider negating his duty for a connection. He nearly leapt out of that transport without a second thought, about to blindly storm after his feelings instead of pursuing Dooku to possibly put an end to this war before it even started.

It was a connection that worried him. That concerned Master Yoda as well. So much so that in those days following Anakin’s recovery after losing his arm, Obi-Wan pleaded with Padmé herself to end whatever bonds were forming between the two.

She reluctantly agreed, and though he trusted the word of the former Queen, Kenobi was still bothered by those moments of them together. Like the glances stolen during the holocomm data transfer following their escape from the Trade Federation home world, or the subtle moments shared out of earshot of both him and the clones during their brief medical supply pickup on Naboo last week.

It was instances like these when the Master Jedi wondered if maybe time would be the greatest teacher. Maybe confronting Padmé changed the nature of their bond. Strengthened it, even. Then, it was quite possible that further interference would have just made the situation worse.

He did finally convince Anakin to stay with him on that LAAT before they reached Count Dooku, who was attempting an escape through a dark, underground hangar. But despite Master Kenobi’s best efforts, those bubbling feelings of anger and hate pushed the young Jedi’s agitation over the edge.

Obi-Wan told him to wait. That they would only defeat Dooku if they faced him together. As a team.

As brothers.

But he didn’t listen.

They were unmatched fighting alone, handing Dooku off like some rabid animal bouncing between prey as Anakin tried to recover from his premature mistake.

And it nearly killed Obi-Wan.

But Anakin’s heart was too ferocious to let that happen.

Rage guided his hand, and his hand he lost.

In the weeks that followed, when Anakin was knighted and while the bombing of Cato Neimoidia temporarily threw them apart, Master Kenobi truly believed that this near-death experience at the hands of a Sith Lord had finally proved sobering to his stubborn friend.

But this moment… In his duel with his defender…

Maybe the Master Jedi was wrong.

Obi-Wan knew Anakin blamed himself every day for not ending the war before it started that day on Geonosis. Yet he worried that no matter the damage that came to Anakin from his own choices, he would never learn.

Deep down, Obi-Wan believed that Anakin never grasped the gravity of his actions because he thought he deserved the grave consequences he faced for each and every one of them. By some strange logic, losing an arm was his punishment for not stopping a war, and it excused him from doing differently.

And much like a flagellant, he dealt his own punishment by continuing to march down this path of self-destruction.

But he thought he had it under control. That he had finally taken his Master's teachings to heart and found solace in connecting with the Force, using the flow to wash away his troubles. At least he did when Anakin was given his own battalion. When he was assigned his own Padawan.

When he was distracted by the unstoppable toil of war.

Obi-Wan thought that his young friend had finally pulled himself together to lead like the great Jedi he knew he could be.

But now, with an indefinite pause as the communications system is evaluated, Obi-Wan sensed Anakin slip back into bad habits.

However, Master Kenobi, always the optimist, thought it would pass. That these cursory moments were just flukes, temporary setbacks that could happen to anyone in moments of peace.

But as his own eyes lay open to that rage take hold all over again in his battle with you, it felt like he was staring through a mirror of time, back when Anakin was first dealing with his feelings of the past as that youngling on Tatooine.

This instant seemed like more than a fluke, Obi-Wan thought. Maybe the new memories made old ones stronger.

So, while he watched you and Anakin re-approach the training room’s center sparring square, despite the new calm he sensed radiating off the duo, Kenobi kept his reservations about the consequences of incensing Anakin too vigorously in one session.

Thus, he did what any good arbitrator would do.

He deflected

“You may want to take a break,” he remarked toward your figure as it stalled, allowing Anakin to settle across from you. “You won’t have the energy you need to spar with Master Yoda should he request it.”

But, instead of acknowledging the inherent truth of his statement, you took the more ‘Anakin’ approach.

“Just wait,” you smirked smugly, turning to face the dark-robbed Jedi in a readied stance as you withdrew your saber from your carefully hidden belt with a click. “I plan to end this fight quickly.”

His head whipped to Anakin as unease tugged at creasing lips. Obi-Wan knew what Anakin was like if someone pushed him too far. And he was worried, for both of you, that you had done just that.

As he heard the faint activation of your gray luminance with a whirl and a fading hiss, his eyes settled on his former Padawan, expecting at best a rumble in his life force, a pointed stare, an annoyed huff.

But what he was met with, was most unexpected.

Anakin’s eyes creased mirthfully as he chuckled. The suddenly grinning Jedi popped you a grateful glance that spoke unknown tales as he unsheathed his own weapon with a bright flash, allowing its blue glow to complete the mirror.

Now it was Obi-Wan’s turn to furrow his brows in confusion. Perplexity surrounding this sudden change turned into intrigue as he stationed an elbow on each of his unfolded knees, leaning into the scene to further analyze this development. As the two of you bent at the ready five meters apart, a gentle smile shared on each face with mysterious calm and collection, peace seemed to be the space’s only purveyor.

Seconds passed, minutes wallowed, and still, that stark rush of power Kenobi always recognized in a duel with Anakin never came. The two of you stood in utter stillness, the gently muffled footfalls of passing Jedi in the outer hall accenting the echo of the wider Temple’s exterior.

That was, until you broke the hush.

“Aren’t you gonna come get me?” You asked in a challenging voice.

Anakin raised a brow intuitively. “You’re kidding, right?”

And just as rapidly sweeping as the pause that followed, Obi-Wan noticed a proud grin flash across your face before your legs propelled forward like lightning, meeting Anakin’s swiftly diverting blade with a slate clash. Master Kenobi observed as you spun with your saber stark behind you to block his first blow after flinging your sword into a whirl.

It wasn’t long after you vaulted over the young Jedi to reach his rear side when the Master noticed you return to old habits, sticking to a well-built guard as you blocked and parried blow after blow from your eerily calm opponent. The persistent offensive and defensive divide split you both into equal parts, like either side of a credit. It was a perfect balance that Obi-Wan knew drove Anakin to madness like nothing else in their own training sessions. Yet, the young Jedi seemed unaffected by this stasis.

In fact, he appeared pleased.

But even this did not fully convince the Master Jedi of any statistically significant change. He was an evidence man at heart, after all. And a few smiles and certainly odd behavior was not going to be enough to encourage him to consider this strange development fully. Obi-Wan would let these thoughts wash away without the proof to fully consider them.

That was, of course, before what happened next.

It was in those moments that followed, that Master Kenobi finally asked himself— how?

What he’d spent years trying to teach Anakin about patience, through connecting with the Force, breaking past bonds, and accepting the ways of the Jedi Order— if not to at least teach him the merits of flow and faith— you seemed to do in just the matter of a morning.

Sensibly, as he recovered from the initial surprise of the next instances, Obi-Wan knew that Anakin was not a changed man. But it did certainly feel like it when he observed this unexpected breakthrough take place before his eyes. It usually took weeks, or even months for Anakin to understand Obi-Wan’s teachings when he was his Padawan.

And he couldn’t deny that it was still like that now.

Yet here he was, demonstrating the equivalent of months of meditative progress after a short, albeit evidently salient, conversation with you.

And oh how Obi-Wan desired to know what you said to him. The words you used, the phrasing, the voice.

What was it about you that finally got one of his teachings through to Anakin?

More than ever before, as Obi-Wan’s eyes locked intently with your figure, he wanted to understand you, deeply. Not just due to your connection to Qui-Gon, but because of your mystery. Your past was an enigma, known only by his late Master, a barren ice planet, and the Force itself. Your notable intelligence, pervasive empathy, and skilled abilities had to come from somewhere. From some experience. Some reality.

The General surmised that, in that short moment, Anakin’s eyes must have been unveiled due to a conversation entrenched in those very qualities that he too began to have a swelling affinity for.

He needed, no, was compelled to know about your past, who you truly were, and how you became the skilled Jedi presented before him.

All of these thoughts and intrigues flowered throughout Obi-Wan’s mind as he observed nearly a half an hour into the fight the subtle mistake in your lunged footing. Anakin redirected your block to the ground before tripping your errant leg out from under you with a quick flick of his own, plunging you back first to the milky wooden-lined tile below.

As the blue incandescents of his blade swiveled inches from your throat, Obi-Wan’s slightly widened eyes were further coaxed by the sudden breathy chuckle that escaped from your lips.

A gentle smile inched across Anakin’s countenance as he held his blade firm. To anyone else, his expression would have easily been excused for simple sportsmanship. A manner that aired accolades of ‘you fought well’ to the opponent.

But Obi-Wan knew him better than that. He knew that tempered grin. He’d seen it before, albeit rarely. The first time being at the Temple ten years ago, during one of their first training sessions. Anakin told him he had said the same to Qui-Gon, but his confidence and fortitude drove him to tell his new Master as well.

“I had a dream I was a Jedi. I went to Tatooine and freed all the slaves.”

And despite the following discussions on attachments, and the importance of letting them go, that smile remained. Primitively, Obi-Wan thought it was just Anakin’s version of a dreamy expression, or childlike wonder. But he learned after years of becoming his friend, that it meant nothing of the sort.

It was hope, he concluded. Hope in himself. Hope in doing the right thing.

And now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen that look in years.

But before he could dive further into what all this meant, you finally spoke up.

Following a few stabilizing coughs with elbows planted for support, you gazed at The Chosen One earnestly as your voice softly flowed from you.

“Now that’s a Jedi I’m proud to defend.”

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[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 5: Identity

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: Overwhelming thoughts, reference to not eating, large crowds, worried Obi, mentions of character deaths, descriptions of violence/combat, description of blood, a little bit of anxiety, slight identity crisis.

Summary: After a rapid dash, you, Anakin, and Obi-Wan meet at The Outlander Club. In this new environment, you are met with fascinations, unanticipated side effects, and new struggles related to who you are. Later, in the midst of these disturbances, you're forced to face a test of mental and physical aptitude before a great Master, throwing your identity into further uncertainty.

Song Inspo: Across the Universe — Fiona Apple (Cover)

Words: 7.7k (oop)

A/n: Almost made this into two parts but decided to treat y'all with a long one instead :) Excited to hear y'all's thoughts on this one. Still taking requests to be added to the taglist so just lmk!

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Series Masterlist

Lying is an elementary form of self-defense — Susan Sontag

You pushed through another group of unobservant passersby as you continued to follow Anakin through the dark busy streets of the Uscru District. It was difficult to see any landmarks beyond the masses, even with the aid of bright red, green, and orange neon lights that lined the buildings on either side of you. Some flickered while others stood stagnant, catching the eye of potential customers that passed through your sight line like flashing images that often characterize a rail speeder window.

You tried to use your connection to the Force to keep track of Anakin’s movements somewhere ahead of you. But on this chilly Coruscanti evening, even that became more tiresome than expected.

Your senses were overwhelmed by the large crowds of varying species, rushing like loose marbles on a downward slope. They sported vibrant arrays of mostly revealing clothing as they continued to unleash their turbulent minds into the growing waterfall of thoughts that soaked your consciousness.

You had no issue hiding your signature from the surrounding throngs. You’d spent years, decades learning to completely mask your physical identity and connection to the force. Even more, you had long ago mastered the ability to protect your mind from unwanted intruders looking to pick through your subconscious for information. But that was primarily due to Qui-Gon’s everlasting concern. He always believed you were at risk of being discovered by a Sith from an accidental mental connection through the Force.

But now, blocking out the unending psychic waves that rolled and crashed from the swarm of non-force-sensitive beings was a skill you had not yet fully developed. Living on Hoth only allowed you to interact with small groups of intermittent travelers, traders, or pirates. And it was easy enough to stabilize your mind around undisciplined beings in those instances. But this was pushing your skills into uncharted territory.

A barely perceptible gap opened in the horde to your left so you dove for it. Taking in a deep breath of fume-filled air, you twisted into a stretch, encouraging your spine to lean to the right. At that moment, you spotted the back of Anakin’s figure a few meters ahead, slowing his pace.

He spun around toward you, bright eyes waving you over as the bottom of his black cape caught up to the sudden movement.

“We’re here.”

You strolled up beside him, turning on your heel to your left toward a large archway lined with curved yellow neon lights, a drop of red luminescence on either side of the doorway. The distant rumble of pounding beats trickled out from the entrance like a gaseous cloud slithering throughout the legs of entering and exiting guests. Above you in bold lettering read The Outlander Club.

You took this brief respite to once again push away the thoughts swirling from the beings around you, blowing them away with your mind like a loose leaf that temporarily caught on your arm before taking a step forward.

The two of you entered briskly, moving down the short passageway as you glanced at the characters around you in your first experience with Coruscanti nightlife.

The club was fairly popular tonight, with a healthy congregation spread evenly throughout the cantina. A heavy concentration mingled around the circular bar in the center and in front of the three large screens hung at the back, which simultaneously streamed different sport matches from across the galaxy. There were a number of women in colorful stockings and cropped tunics, strolling with circular trays of strange-tinted drinks and small, stale snack bowls. Notable was the observably seedy groups gathering in the shaded corners of the establishment. You spotted a bracket of lightly-armed beings wearing what you recognized as Rishi pirate colors. They stood around a darkly lit circular table to the left, staring with a rather predatory gaze at passing waiters, following them like targeted lasers. Returning your gape to the bar, you noticed a covert exchange of credits and some small, cylindrical object with a glowing yellow liquid sloshing inside between two young, but jittery, customers.

Safe to say, The Outlander Club was meant for a diverse, and probably sordid, batch of individuals, you mused inwardly.

“I see why Obi-Wan complained to you about taking me here.” You expressed as you searched for an area to idle in.

You stacked another stone atop the wall that weakly encircled your mind. Entering the club felt like plunging yourself into an empathic hail storm as new discordant voices took hold.

Nevertheless, you redoubled your efforts to block out the chaos.

But the dam would only hold for so long.

“You were stuck on an ice planet, not in a monastery.” Anakin quipped while scanning his surroundings. “Obi-Wan will be fine.”

Your ears caught the rallied cry of a distant throng. Head swiveling toward the shouts, your eyes leveled at the far wall beside the entertainment section where you noticed a throng of robust betters cluttered around an expanse of brightly dinging slot machines.

The back of Anakin’s icy hand tapped your bare upper arm. “Over here.”

You turned and followed the Jedi’s brisk tread to an empty, candle-lit table with two chairs to the right wall. It stood away from some of the larger crowds, but still gave any guest engaging in its services an excellent view of the entire establishment— from the entrance to the wide-reaching monitors in the rear.

You were about to grab the back of the rightmost black leather seat when Anakin stepped in your path.

“The other chair,” he commanded as he pointed at the vessel.

You crossed your arms, jutting your hip to the side as you sent him a questioning, yet amused, stare.

“Why?” You dragged out in an exaggerated tone.

He kicked out the leg of the opposite chair, opening it to you.

“The view,” he stated with a stony face.

“What view?” You inquired genuinely confused before taking his invitation.

You sat in the cushioned open seat, facing the club’s exit before crossing your legs and leaning back into its firm backboard.

Anakin squatted into the ousted seat across from you as he gestured to the screens to your rear with a deliberate lift of the head.

“You’re actually gonna watch the game?” You asked, raising a brow.

“Gotta play up appearances, right?” He grinned.

Anakin loosened, settling into his seat with his hips as he placed clasped hands on the table before leaning toward you.

“That’s what we said we’re here for,” he reminded in a low voice.

You shook your head as a small smile graced your features. Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, a familiar brown cloak was thrust into your peripheral from the club’s entryway.

“And just in the knick of time, too.” You spoke under your breath, gesturing to the new clubgoer with your eyes as he ambled down the long hallway.

Anakin must have sensed him as he sent you a victorious, yet tired grin.

Quickly, he waived down a passing waiter, an orange Twi’lek in purple fishnets, brown heeled boots, and a black, sleeveless sequined top. The woman held away her tray of green-luminescent shots as she bent down to hear Anakin’s words in the midst of rowdy discussions and pulsing melodies.

“Two nerf-burgers.” He requested while raising a pair of digits.

Your eyes remained fixed on the club’s entrance, watching as Obi-Wan paused at the end of the main corridor to search its inhabitance like a droid performing a sensor sweep before registering Anakin’s words.

“One is fine.” You piped up, returning your gaze to the man in front of you.

The Twi’lek nodded as she straightened before pivoting to make her exit. She was one step into her gait when Anakin gesticulated for her to wait, eyes remained glued to you.

“You haven’t eaten anything today.” He mentioned.

The two of you hadn’t been separated for days, you thought to yourself. He’d probably noticed your lack of appetite the entire journey here. You tried his ration bars, but very quickly learned that your steady ten-year diet of lichen seemed more palatable. Still, the sudden rumblings and subtle ache at your core didn’t change your current reality.

You shrugged, looking off to the side. “I’m not very hungry.”

If you were being perfectly honest with yourself, it was impossible to allow your guard to fall even a notch. Not even a sliver to eat, despite your stomach’s protests. The constant noise of the minds around you was like a leaky faucet, occasionally dripping into a half-full glass. If you were distracted for longer than a moment, it could violently overflow. And that weakened wall that you had so carefully constructed around your consciousness would begin to soil.

He frowned, leaning back as he crossed his arms. “You should still eat something.”

You peered back to Obi-Wan to check his search progress when your gazes locked. His lips tugged upwards in greeting as he began a stroll toward your table.

You swiveled back, fronting Anakin’s expectant eyes.

“Fine,” you relented. “I’ll try a bite of yours.”

Anakin’s brows raised offendedly. “You’re not touching mine.” He turned back toward the waiter. “Two please.” She nodded again with a smile.

The waiter twisted away on her heel, tip-toeing away to deliver the drinks in hand a few tables down before your new guest emerged in her place like a stealthy shadow.

“It’s good that I found you two.” Obi-Wan acknowledged as he reached the table.

His arm snaked behind Anakin, grabbing an empty seat from another benchtop to the latter’s rear before pulling it between the two of you and sitting down.

Once balancing comfortably, he took a moment to analyze you both, face falling into a subtle frown.

“Why are the two of you so exhausted?” He asked as he crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow while his glance shifted to and fro.

“The podracing match…has been…neck-to-neck.” Anakin excused with feigned confidence, eyes avoiding his former Master as he awkwardly gestured to one of the screens in the distance.

You gave him a little kick under the table for the unconvincing remark.

“Ow.” He mumbled under his breath, hiding the reaction with the wipe of a hand over his mouth.

Obi-Wan’s gaze was enduringly unimpressed.

But soon, he sighed, dropping the interrogation in capitulation with favor toward more important matters.

“I met with Master Windu and Master Yoda. There is currently a whole communications blackout. Unfortunately, there may be a breach in our communications system.”

Anakin’s lips pursed in disbelief. “How is that possible?”

Obi-Wan continued. “We’re not sure. But for now, no comms. Unless it’s with me or another member of the council. We were given secure equipment to use until this is resolved. There will be an announcement tomorrow morning in the Great Hall, and both of you are expected to attend.”

Obi-Wan shifted in his seat toward you, speaking your name as he placed a hand on the table in your direction. “You should know I learned that Master Yoda knew of your existence.

Your brows raised in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, but he thought you had died when you were very young. He had no idea you were on Hoth all this time.”

Your head tilted in confusion. You highly doubted Qui-Gon would have told Master Yoda about your death. No matter how fiercely he protected your identity over the years, you didn’t believe he’d ever lie to the Grand Master you’d heard so much about in your youth. As far as you understood, Qui-Gon trusted him with his life. And so did you.

“Why?”

You observed the blue-eyed Jedi sigh, eyes dropping momentarily before they returned to your face with a sensitive expression.

“He said that your parents were killed by a dark power, and that he assumed you had been killed too.”

You felt a sharp stab to your gut at his words, discreetly hunching over as you took in the sensation.

You knew your parents had passed. But murdered? And by dark forces?

Then, a particularly somber supposition drifted to the front of your mind.

It must’ve been because of you.

You breathed in deeply, steadying yourself while struggling to absorb this disturbing news. It became more arduous as you wrestled with the continued blockade against the cascading internal voices that pummeled you from every angle of the crowded bar.

Trying to concurrently calm your thoughts, you delved deeper.

What little you knew about your parents, you were still positive about their innocence. To the best of your knowledge, they had nothing actors of the dark side desired—

Except you.

“A dark force?” You murmured quizzically. “Do you mean a Sith?”

Obi-Wan tensely exhaled. “We’re not sure. But what we do know is this.”

He leaned farther over the table, subconsciously encouraging you and Anakin to do the same.

“Your identity must remain a secret.” He spoke in a hushed tone. “That means that we cannot share The Guardian’s portion of the prophecy with others or your connection to it. I’ve already informed Ahsoka.” He reassured.

Obi-Wan’s head briefly dropped to ruminate.

During this fleeting respite, you glanced at Anakin while an unsettling feeling crawled up your spine. He caught your eye, sending you a reassuring, confident nod.

Obi-Wan’s gaze raised toward you once more with lips pressed firmly together. “We also must keep your birth name a secret. Those dark forces responsible for your parents’ deaths likely learned it in their effort to find you. If they learn of your reemergence, they may come after you. So The Council has decided that until we know more, you will need to go by Silvey.”

Your jaw loosely hung open at that bit of news as your ruffled head swiveled toward a particularly sheepish Anakin. He leaned back in his chair, hunching his shoulders as he tried to hide within himself.

“I’m gonna kill you.” You deadpanned.

Anakin scoffed. “I had no idea that Master Kenobi was going to change your legal name to that!” He defended, loosely throwing his hands to the side.

“Hush, it’s not changing their legal name. Just a pseudonym.” Obi-Wan warned with a stare before turning back toward you with a more subdued expression. “If you’d like, we can change it.”

You waved away the suggestion. “No, it’s ok. Like Anakin said, at least it’s not hard to forget.”

You smirked at the cunning Jedi who sent you a knowing wink.

“Very well,” Obi-Wan concluded.

You sensed someone approaching your table, and turned to see the Twi’lek waiter returning with a pair of what must have been nerf-burgers on her black, circular tray. A brief silence hushed over the three of you as she neared the table, placing down the two entrees in front of you and Anakin before making a swift exit. You and Obi-Wan offered a resonant thank you as she departed, causing you each to share a glance.

Once she was a few meters away, you felt it safe to speak again. First though, you watched in curiosity as Anakin firmly grasped his meal with two unrelenting hands, before lifting it to take a hearty bite. You could smell the greasy fumes rising from your own meal as it took command of the table.

“So how do we explain my presence?” You asked the bearded Jedi. “I mean, I didn’t train through The Order. Nobody knows me. Do we say that I’m a Gray Jedi who just suddenly wants to hang around The Temple?”

Obi-Wan glanced up in contemplation as he reached up to scratch his chin. “That is a good point,” he admitted. “However, Master Windu has expressed interest in enrolling you into The Order. I don’t think The Council likes the idea of acknowledging you ever having the status of Gray Jedi. That reminds me.”

He tapped the table with his fingertips in realization.

“He told me that you should meet him after tomorrow’s announcement in the Sparring Arena. I can show you where that is when the time comes.”

You nodded tacitly.

“We can just say they were on some secret, years-long mission, right?” Anakin interjected following a big gulp. “That way, it’s like they’ve always been a part of The Order, just not around much.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze tilted in contemplation. “That…could work.” He admitted. “But it would still leave many questions.”

“I’m good at not answering questions.” You slyly offered with a quirked lip.

Obi-Wan huffed in feigned annoyance. “Usually, I’d say that’s not good enough. But I’m not getting any better ideas,” he explained while hazily observing Anakin take another large bite of his meal.

In your distraction, another wave of clashing voices boomeranged throughout your skull.

It wasn’t painful, though. You actually *felt* nothing. No twinge, no subtle throb in the sinuses. Yet the overflowing thoughts still remained disconcerting. You couldn’t think for yourself when all the space was overtaken by others’ musings.

Even now, despite your efforts, blocking out one impression would just leave room for another, invariably quickening your heart rate.

Subconsciously, you swatted at your ear, as if to scare away a lost Bloodfly. It was in reaction to a particularly sudden and rude exclamation that had flown through your mind, catching you off guard. You guessed it had formed from one of the sports viewers near the back when they reacted to a particularly bad play on one of the illuminated screens.

Still, no matter the circumstances, your simple, physical action did nothing to lessen the mental discomfort.

However, Obi-Wan seemed to notice your elusive gesture, furrowing his brows in apprehension as he twisted toward you.

“Are you alright?” He questioned gently.

You shook your head, momentarily closing your eyes to push away the crowded atmosphere.

At times, it felt like loose sand falling through cupped fingers. Despite how desperately you tried to shovel it away, it kept getting everywhere.

“Fine.” You curtly stated.

As the thoughts finally slowly dissipated once more, your eyelids stretched open. Immediately you registered Obi-Wan’s gaze as it morphed into deeper disquiet. The concerned Jedi nonchalantly turned toward Anakin.

“Anakin, please get me a Blue Corellian.”

“Why can’t you get it?” He complained, mouth half-full before swallowing forcefully in protest. “The line to the bar is a mile long.”

“Anakin…” he warned with a glare.

The former threw up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.” He stood. “I’m going.”

Your eyes followed Anakin as he sauntered toward the center of the club, soon disappearing behind a group of emphatic Cereans roughhousing in the sea of idling beings.

Unbeknownst to you, Obi-Wan’s stare remained fixed.

He lowered his voice. “What’s wrong?”

Your head swiveled back toward the bearded Jedi, meeting his unrelenting stare.

“It’s nothing,” you excused, resting your arms on the table. “I’m just not used to blocking out so many minds at once.”

His features softened. “I should have realized.”

“No, no,” you interjected assuredly. “I know when a Gray Jedi comes out of the cold, it isn’t usually so drastically isolationist.”

You paused.

“Or so literal.”

Your brows lifted in jest.

He shook his head at your pun with a barely hidden smile before addressing you. “It is a skill younglings learn through consistent practice, and by necessity. I can show you what the Masters teach them, to guide them.”

A group of university students passed the table, chatting excitedly as they skittered into the bar. It sent another rush of clattering thoughts into you like a subspace transceiver through the skull.

Closing your eyes, you tried again to shove those voices away with the effort of willing a mountain to move.

You nodded vigorously. “Yes.” A slight croak escaped your throat.

“Alright, keep your eyes closed,” Obi-Wan advised softly with a honeyed voice. “I will mediate with you.”

You did as you were told, relaxing the muscles in your shoulders and neck as you reached out to the Force with the tips of your fingers. It felt like brushing your hand against the blades of sprightly grass just after a day storm. You deepened your connection, imagining the Galaxy’s power flowing from the outstretched vegetation directly into your being. Yet the stronger your link became, the less you could control the penetration of your environment.

“Good, now, don’t push the thoughts away. Be one with the Force, and allow the words to flow off and away from you, then back into the Force. Like water in a stream.”

You listened to the wise Jedi’s smooth, comforting tone. Steadily, you allowed the thoughts to approach, contorting your face at the unpleasant rush of clamor.

“Now let it flow from you.”

Slowly, but surely, you focused on that river of musings, allowing the tumultuous atmosphere to drift around you and dissipate into the greater Force. A sudden weightlessness overcame you as your mind finally emptied, providing a much-needed break from the club’s atmosphere once you poured out the proverbial glass of water.

Your eyes shot open in pleasant surprise, meeting Obi-Wan’s calm demeanor.

“Thank you,” you sighed gratefully.

He inclined backward, outwardly pleased. “Of course.”

You extracted another deep breath, absorbing air that seemed a little bit fresher, despite the smoke and pounding rhythms that permeated your surroundings. In your distraction, Obi-Wan analytically gazed at you while you embraced this relaxing state of being.

You were finally capable of comfortably engaging with your environment with the full power of your mind rather than blocking it all out in such busy circumstances. You were free to explore The Outlander Club again. But this time, with an air of excitement festering in your core.

“You’re a quick learner,” he remarked, somewhat impressed.

You grinned, gaze fixed on the activity around you. “Qui-Gon says the same thing.”

You paused, turning toward the Jedi with modest unease.

“Said.”

He nodded, a wistful smile grazing his features before his stare hardened. “I know that you’re Anakin’s Guardian, but that doesn’t mean you always need to be so impervious around him. We all have our weaknesses. And he’s certainly the best at bringing them out of us,” he commented sassily.

“Trust me,” you stated, locking an ardent gaze with his own. “It has nothing to do with that. Qui-Gon always…said, that my fierce independence is one of my best strengths, but also my greatest weakness.”

Out of thin air, Anakin reappeared, fluttering to his seat with a greeting exhale and two tiny glasses in hand, sloshing with a vibrant cobalt-blue liquid. He planted one in front of Obi-Wan before resting both elbows on the table to drink his own.

“Line couldn’t have been that long,” you commented, eyeing the mystery fluid that filled each glass.

By your count, he wasn’t gone for more than ten minutes.

Anakin smirked, taking in another gluttonous gulp of his beverage. “Jedi can be very convincing.”

“Not always.” Obi-Wan sassed.

He sent you an amused, yet fleeting glance before adopting a nonchalant guise in addressing the whole table.

“Speaking of, the next time you both decide to go pit racing, at least change your clothes before you lie about it. You two reek.”

You spied a semi-terrified expression creep its way up onto Anakin’s face before it was swiftly washed away by a deep frown. He crossed his arms, a groan escaping past his lips as he fell back in defeat. You met his nonplused eyes with a smirk.

“Busted.”

—

You strolled among the mass of nut brown cloaks that aimlessly roamed like a forenoon funeral march down one of The Temple’s primary walkways. Some spoke in hushed tones among each other, likely debriefing the contents of the morning assembly on the communication system’s breach.

You found it much easier to clear your mind in this space. While Obi-Wan’s guidance on how to negotiate your empathic surroundings certainly made things easier, the Jedi practice of concealing one’s thoughts added to your cognitive tranquility. If anything, the environment permitted you to freely embrace your long-held child-like giddiness about this very moment you were experiencing.

You have waited a long time to see the infamous Jedi Temple. For your eyes to graze its features meant that you’d finally embarked on your long-awaited destiny. It was now completely impossible to deny your future as you walked the same hallways once touched by the venerable Jedi from your holobooks, distinguished by the occasional reflective copper statue or architectural aspect mentioned historically by the figures themselves. Even the occasional wall-adorned ornaments referenced elements from The Order’s lore through circular symbolic imagery and calligraphic text.

A part of you felt guilty— inviting in these feelings of anticipation and excitement while murmured concerns echoed from the mouths of the subtly perturbed Jedi among you. They were continuing discussions on how this communications system infiltration may impact the war effort.

Even during the congregation before The Council, stood in a half circle at the top of The Great Hall’s large staircase, you heard the apprehensive whispers of those gathered around you.

How will this affect The Republic’s battle plans? We designed them months in advance. They will certainly need to be altered. Adapted to this new scenario.

The lack of a Jedi presence may bring up questions about The Order’s dedication to preserving peace throughout The Republic. What if allied worlds lose confidence in our commitment?

And how will this influence troop numbers? Without Generals at their side, we are sure to take heavy losses.

You remember exchanging a knowing look with Ahsoka as these musings continued. She’d happened to find you just as the announcement began this morning, delighted recognition bouncing from her cheeks. She gave you a subdued wave before deciding to stand to your right with an arm loosely resting on her waist for the rest of the assembly.

Earlier you’d learned that she’d just joined the war effort as Anakin’s Padawan in the last week. Add to that, only in the last few days had you discovered the war effort itself. In that sense, you both shared a certain inexperience with this breach— and a level of heightened worry from the more knowledgeable, yet troubled, Jedi surrounding you.

At the time, a brief recess in the sea of blurred mutterings came in the form of a confused inquiry from a rough, yet confident voice.

“I haven’t seen you around here before.”

You glanced to your left, observing the thick long locks of the man who was positioned beside you. His arms hung loosely to each side as he observed you curiously. Most notable was his bold face tattoo— a thick yellow line that crossed under his eyes and across his upper nose in proud fashion.

“I haven’t been here for a while. Long mission.” You explained nonchalantly.

The Jedi hummed as his brows ever so slightly creased in doubt. He took one step closer to you, perching a hand on each hip.

“I have a good memory,” he contended. “I’m sure I would’ve recognized you from a class when we were Initiates. What’s your name?”

You sensed Ahsoka take a step forward so that she could lean around you, addressing the Jedi.

“Their name’s Silvey, Master Vos,” she insisted. “The Council sent them on a very long mission as an observer and then a participant, starting when they were a youngling.”

You sent her a subtly grateful glance before adding to her justification.

“It’s likely we’ve never met.” You expounded.

Ahsoka’s defense incentivized him to withdraw as he leaned back onto his heels, a partial expression tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“We then, there’s no time like the present!” He granted before reaching out a hand. “I’m Quinlan Vos.”

Vos, Quinlan Vos, you thought carefully.

Qui-Gon once told you about him. He dedicated much of your studies not only to The Order’s history, but its present, including great Jedi like Grand Master Yoda, Master Windu, and his own Master Dooku. But he also mentioned some of the talented younger Jedi, like his own Padawans or certain younglings.

Yes, he had discussed Quinlan Vos with you for one of his more interesting force-sensitive talents. Specifically, his psychometric powers, which included the ability to seek out a being’s memories through touch.

And that was certainly a skill that would not be beneficial in your current state. You needed to keep your identity concealed, and a power like that could put that mission in danger.

Caution was essential around this individual, you thought.

You covertly stuck each hand into your robe’s pockets, nodding respectively at the Master Jedi.

“Nice to meet you,” you acknowledged before turning back toward The Council as the announcement continued.

You could only speculate about the slight annoyance that lined his features.

As your mind emerged from the cloud of the recent past, you refocused on the path ahead among the ruffling ocean of Jedi that continued down the walkway alongside you. Master Windu was expecting you in the Sparring Arena at any moment. Yet in this colossal structure, it became increasingly difficult to discern the correct path to take. You continued your search for the room, eyeing each doorway and dividing path, when a familiar voice sounded from behind.

“May I presume you’re lost?”

You glanced at Obi-Wan over your shoulder as he comfortably caught up to you, walking by your side before you both continued down the long hall.

“I thought I could find the Sparring Arena on my own,” you admitted humbly. “Seems like I could use some more of your first-rate guidance.”

The bearded Master faintly chuckled. “I’d be happy to oblige.”

The two of you strolled in silence as the crowd began to gradually thin, some groups took the occasional turn while others paused to continue their conversation in stasis.

“Thank you for the quarters, by the way,” you chirped with a glance, cutting the brief pause with a punch.

“The Temple has emergency quarters for situations like these.” He acknowledged calmly.

“There aren’t many situations like this.” You gingerly confessed.

You followed Obi-Wan as he led you around a corner, only to be met with a less embellished walkway. Eyes lowering, you listened to the full click of your boots as they met the marble floor in your smoother surroundings. In this instant, an air of nervousness touched your being in this strange silence. Due to a moment of inevitable occasional awkwardness among acquaintances, you excused.

“So, I take it you slept well?” He questioned.

“Yes, it was nice to rest without needing so many blankets.” You admitted, smiling at his personal curiosity. “The warmer atmosphere also gave me the opportunity for a costume change,” you jested, motioning toward your newly adorned grayish-brown robe, fit with an underlayer of charcoal-tinted long-sleeved tunic, tighter black pants, and thinner knee-tall boots. “I got them with Anakin after we split off last night in the district.”

“Somewhat more comfortable than your winter garments?” He inquired with a bright expression.

“And easier to move in,” you grinned before advertising accordingly with a little twirl.

While a few older Jedi gathered in near distances eyed your action with carelessly masked displeasure, Obi-Wan instead subtly hid his gaze from your view. In your quick recovery following the realization of billowing disapproval, you had failed to notice the warm smile that battled his efforts at obfuscation.

You did notice, however, when the kind Jedi glanced at you once more. “I wanted to ask if you may be available after your session with Master Windu. I was hoping to examine The Muntuur, with your counsel.”

“I’m actually going to be spending the rest of the day in the Jedi Archives,” you told him keenly. “Ahsoka is letting me borrow her study notes for the afternoon so that I can have some better guidance in catching up with recent history. But we’ll definitely find a time for The Muntuur.”

He nodded with bright eyes. “Of course.”

Soon, Obi-Wan’s pace slowed, bringing you both to a halt in front of two rather large gray double doors that stood at triple your height.

You couldn’t help the sudden nerves that crept up your arms like impatient goosebumps.

Maybe you were more affected by this soon-to-be meeting than you first realized, you thought. It would easily explain your earlier apprehensiveness.

But there was no need to be anxious, you tried to coax yourself. You knew that your skills were adequate enough to be in The Order. To go through this ‘test.’ You’d trained for years. Honing your connection to the force, your saber abilities, and your mind.

And you knew who you were— The Guardian, destined to aid The Chosen One. You had to join The Order at some point to complete that mission. But still, you couldn’t help the slight Hoth-like chill that graced the back of your neck.

Yet, you reached for the door.

“Be patient,” Obi-Wan advised as you wrapped your fingers around the cold, steel handle. “Master Windu may be somewhat austere, given your history.”

You smirked at the Jedi. “Trust me. If I learned anything from that colorful history, it’s the necessity of patience.”

He smiled softly, nodding to you before passing your rear, flushing the back of your ankle with the trail of his robe as he continued his stroll down the walkway. You briefly gazed at his departure, still feeling the shadow of that sudden touch as his quiet form receded before returning your gaze to the path ahead.

With a deep breath, you cleared your thoughts before tugging open the weighted door. Its rusted hinges creaked as the momentum cleared an opening just wide enough to slip through. You readjusted your grip on the other side, bringing the heavy gate closed with a whine and an echoing thud.

“You must be Silvey.”

You spun around toward a dark-skinned, bald Jedi with broad shoulders, a perpetual frown lining his features.

Briefly, you paused to take in your surroundings. The large, circular, two-tiered chamber seemed to dedicate the first level to training and the second to observation. At each of the room’s four corners stood towering dark hooded statues that stared down at the room’s center. A center skylight illuminated the main disk-shaped deck of the arena, stopping at the feet of each stoically silent monument.

“Yes,” you bowed regardfully. “And you must be Master Windu,” you concluded, raising your head to him.

The Master failed to return your greeting. Instead, he wandered to one side of the arena, briefly disappearing in the darkness at its outer region before the skylight caught him once more, like a moth encircling a flame.

“I will be testing your combat skills and mental capabilities,” he stated plainly.

You were rather thrown by his undeviating attitude, at least in comparison to the few other Jedi you’d met in the past days.

Anakin was high-spirited and furtively caring. Ahsoka was boisterous and loyal. Obi-Wan was kind, intelligent, and considerate.

You’d guessed that other Jedi would carry similar qualities. But despite the revelation, you knew better than most how to adapt.

“I understand.”

But there was also a feeling of appreciation that seeped into your consciousness. You didn’t interpret his expression as malicious or as any representation of ill will. Just unrelenting determination. Steadfast purpose. And those were inclinations you could very much identify with.

“Then let’s begin.”

Master Windu quickly unsheathed his lightsaber, its purple glow adding to the arena’s dimmed luminescence as it ignited. You did the same, activating your saber while it encircled you with muted tones.

He charged at you, saber aimed to strike at your figure. Firm stare unrelenting.

You lifted your own, blocking the blow with great strength, the clash creating a cobalt blue gleam at the point of impact. You pushed away his blade, spinning on your heel in a crouch to strike his other side. But he blocked it easily, forcing you to stand to deal your next move. Still, you walked him backward with blow after blow at each flank, the buzzing crack of sabers echoing in the chamber.

He thrust aside your last hit, using the combat opening to go on the offensive. His saber transformed into a purple fireball in its fast approach as he spun the blade in parallel rings. You defended against each one with a dodged block, attempting to leap into a better vantage point at any moment to initiate your own response.

But the instant felt light years away. Windu’s fighting style was uncompromising. His ferocious attacks left little room for reproach.

If there was any hope of winning this fight, you needed to compensate.

Windu threw a particularly strong blow down the center with both hands. You defended against it with all your might when you noticed the Master begin to lean in, a hand attempting to sneak around the blades to grab your hilt.

You propelled away his saber, forcing him back before he could take hold of your weapon. Windu, however, was undeterred as he continued his vigorous attack.

He launched at you again with a powerful shove from the Force as the purple blade neared at rocketing speed. You occluded the blow with a simplified twist of your saber, adapting your technique.

In that ever brief moment, with two blades balanced at a standstill, you noticed an ultra-fine, curious glint in the Master’s eye as his brows marginally slackened.

That half a second was short-lived as the duel continued. He slid your blade away, swinging his own toward your side. You obstructed it with the effortless inverted defense of your saber, gliding it up and away before circling your own weapon above your head to strike his other flank. Windu’s lightsaber came down zealously to hinder your action, his movements growing more fervent with each beat of your quickening heartbeat.

The battle progressed in a similar fashion. You remained on the defensive as Windu pursued you with belligerent strikes, blocking each blow with an uncomplicated, yet effective guard as he pressed you backward.

But as seconds became minutes, and minutes stretched into double digits, you noticed the older Jedi begin to tire. Windows into the offensive gradually became more frequent, invigorating you to take more chances as you cautiously incorporated elements from your previous form.

You launched at Windu, hurling acute cracks with Force-bolstered hops powering your blade.

His fatigue was reaching a leverageable height, you thought, as each hefty blow began to drag. The duel expanded past the hour mark, tempering his defensive thew.

A golden opportunity arose when one particularly nimble strike at his left gave the elder Jedi only a microsecond to respond. The lightsaber was considerably distant from your point of attack, pressuring the tip of his blade to take the brunt of your intense blow. His saber was thrown in a wayward direction, faintly loosening his grip with an audible grunt.

You took this chance to make your final assault, leaping into a clockwise spin as you brought your blade down toward his right flank.

However, before your saber could near the target, a hand shot out at you.

A sudden, powerful wave blew your frame midair, sending you soaring nearly fifteen feet away. Your saber was inactive the instant your side harshly banged against the lilac marble floor, the momentum sending you clattering down the arena in a spin as you lost hold of the weapon. It jangled away with a cacophony of metallic strikes as your nose met unceremoniously with the cold ground below.

After a few more turbulent rotations, you finally stilled on your back, groaning slightly as you rubbed your throbbing arm which stung from the initial impact.

Reorienting your senses, you began to heavily rise, only to be swiftly met with a purple incandescence inches from the bridge of your forehead, keeping you planted.

“Never underestimate your opponent’s abilities,” Mace advised as he moved the blade away from your face, deactivating it with a brief whir.

“No kidding…” you mumbled while massaging your rotating aching wrist

You felt a warm drip down your upper lip before a flavor of rusted copper consumed your taste buds. Using the back of your hand, you wiped away at the sensation, noticing a splotch of deep crimson smeared across two knuckles as you pulled away.

“Here.”

You looked up at Windu, eyes centering on his outstretched hand and the handkerchief clasped between two fingers.

You clutched it, bringing it down to clean your nose with a few swipes.

“Thank you,” you vocalized as your gaze raised again.

His arm remained extended toward you as his unyielding stare remained locked in expectation. You clasped his hand, allowing him to heave you up with ease.

“I am somewhat pleased with your fighting skills,” Master Windu stated as he strolled back toward the arena’s center, encouraging you to follow at his side.

“You have enough perceptiveness to alter your form when necessary.”

“When I noticed your Vaapad style, I knew that the fourth form wouldn’t be sustainable, which is why I adopted a Soresu response,” you explained thoughtfully.

The wise Jedi nodded impassively, yet you could tell under all that stoicism a hint of appreciation crept away from the corner of his eye.

“Your rationality will serve you well,” he remarked as he reached the center circle, pausing in front of you to bring your stroll to a halt.

“I also sense great turbulence in you.”

Your eyes remained locked on the elder Jedi, unaffected by the blatant truth.

“All Jedi have experienced turbulence at some point in their lives,” you defended.

“Another teaching by Master Qui-Gon?” He presumed dispassionately.

“Actually, yes.” You challenged. “I find ignoring those parts of ourselves more dangerous than experiencing them at all.”

You kept your stance firm as you stared down the disciplined Master, his brows raising in regard at your words.

“There may be hope for you yet,” he stated casually.

The Jedi Master soon lowered to the floor, crossing his legs as he centered his body. You followed his actions, mirroring that resting stance.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed. “And concentrate on your connection to the Force. Show me how your mind wields its power.”

You rested your eyelids, calming your life force as you reached into the essence of the Force floating around you. Shepherding it into your being, you embraced the tingly feeling while it resonated throughout your body. In short time, you loosened the reigns, allowing the gate of your mind to draw open.

After a few tense minutes, your ear tickled from the inquisitive hum that sounded before you.

“You have a powerful mind,” he mused aloud.

You felt a light pressure on your forehead as your meditative concentration continued. It endured for a few moments before dissipating into the Force.

A pregnant, cavernous silence followed that light tap on your being, lining your mind with slight confusion. You were unsure how to proceed. Did the guidance end here? Were you expected to continue on your own or were you done? Maybe he was ruminating?

Despite this perplexing instance, you thought it best to just continue your meditation and wait. You further relaxed into your stance. That was until a watching presence clouded your senses.

Gradually, you peeked out with one eye, immediately noticing Windu’s plain gaze.

“You will need to lower your defenses in order for me to do a more thorough examination of your abilities,” he explained.

You had proactively unbolted the lock to the steel door of your mind a while ago, you considered internally.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “I *was* opening my mind,” you assured.

His head tilted in intrigue as he deliberated for a moment. “Most interesting.”

Outwardly, your face remained neutral. Your signature posturing stability. Your breathing displaying ease.

But in your mind, you couldn’t help the disconcertion that squeezed at your veins, pressurizing your heart.

You had always prided yourself on your deep relationship with the force, specifically your ability to control its connection to others. You suppose most of that effort went into keeping others out rather than letting them in, which in hindsight would explain your recent struggle in allowing beings’ traveling thoughts to pass.

But it still didn’t make any sense. That proficiency should go both ways. And you had truly felt like your mind had opened for Master Windu. Yet, he did not come to the same conclusion.

Your reality was distinct, it seemed. And it made you question yourself— was your mental connection to the Force as bridled as you believed? After experiencing an evening of foreign minds, losing your name by the command of a great council, and now confronting another internal unknown, you felt as if another piece of your identity was being chipped away in the early hours of this long-awaited destiny.

In a fleeting thought, you questioned how much of you would be left by the end.

But before you could delve deeper into the meaning or cause of this strange glitch, the Master stood abruptly, encouraging you to return to the present and do the same.

“We will pause here,” Windu announced before reaching into his robe.

He pulled out a small rounded gray device the size of a large credit and a small, silver packet

“What’s that?” You asked as he approached you.

“I need a sample of your blood,” he explained, motioning for you to hand him your arm.

You obliged, lifting the limb for him to grab. He raised the silver packet to his mouth, ripping it open with a bite before pulling out a thin white wipe. He removed it from its container before smoothing it across the middle of your inner arm, it’s cold chill wetting the skin. Windu exchanged the wipe with his device, placing it at the center of the cleaned area before pressing it down, causing a slight pinch. He stuck the materials back in his robe as you retrieved your arm, rubbing the injection spot.

“Master Yoda will be expecting you in The Temple training grounds tomorrow afternoon,” he informed you. “You are released.”

A touch of excitement rushed through your being. You’d always wanted to meet the Grand Master since you were a youngling. Listening to all those grand stories about him from Master Qui-Gon had its impact.

“Thank you, Master Windu.” You smiled gratefully.

He acknowledged your thanks with a meticulous nod, eyes glued to yours.

“May the Force be with you,” he wished you attentively.

You bowed at him appreciatively.

“May the Force be with you.”

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[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 4: Arrival (Part 2)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: Mention of slavery, mention of canon character death, near-death experience (kinda), angst, fluff, banter, flying, grief, Reader & Anakin making questionable decisions, oh and poor sad Ani :(

Summary: To cut loose, you and Anakin visit one of Coruscant's largest garbage pits, known for a famously exhilarating, dangerous, and illegal sport— pit racing. Time spent in the planet's underworld is always ripe with nearly lethal encounters and moments to bare your soul.

Song Inspo: Dog Days Are Over — Florence + The Machine

Words: 4.3k

A/n: Y'all fill me with so much joy with every like, comment, and reblog. Keep 'em coming :D (and lmk if you wanna join the lovely, growing taglist)

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Series Masterlist

Crying does not indicate that you are weak. Since birth, it has always been a sign that you are alive — Charlotte Brontë

Your nose crinkled as the rising fumes of rancid waste, rotting meat, and rusting metal invaded your nostrils. At least in your mind, the virulent smell of artificial manure, which coated the air, had a more defined, less convoluted source. The garbage worms— genetically engineered creatures capable of processing billions of pounds of organic and inorganic debris into tiny, yet smelly, pellets.

You rolled your shoulders in alternating circles, hoping to release the back tension inflamed by your malodorous surroundings. You stared out as far as your eyes could take you, into the barely lit darkness of the Coruscanti night in what Anakin called the Wicko District, home to one of the planet’s largest garbage pits.

You stood just behind the cavernous pit’s edge, its two-kilometer-long path dotted by the luminous glow of lane lights stationed every 250 meters on either side of the trench. The structure’s mechanical whirring echoed off the walls with the essence of a credit falling down a deep well, clinking across the stones in its long descent. From the trough’s middle, a garbage pod instantaneously shot up from blackened obscurity with the speed of a lightning bolt. Your eyes tracked it upwards, watching it leave the atmosphere in mere seconds. Dropping your head down toward the cavern once more, you rested your eyelids, hoping to sense an estimation of the trench’s depth.

“Found another one!” Anakin cried from your rear as you sensed him toss a large, hefty object.

You swiveled on your heels in time to catch the winged glider.

Once more you faced the other thrill seekers who were scattered behind you, either in the process of tinkering with their own pit racers, wagering rather large bets on some of the more experienced racers, or actively diving into the cavernous pit. Out of your peripheral, a dark purple pouch hung from the extended index finger of a hooded Handler who carried a particularly devious smirk. He was collecting credits from a number of excited beings, dressed in athletic gear and forming a semi-circle around him, likely for some unofficial competition that was to take place soon.

You examined the contraption as Anakin stuck his arm through his own glider, noticing its loose flimsisteel composition. The rickety shoulder straps and stiff handles that stuck out on each side did not fuel your confidence in the parawing’s stability

Another throw from Anakin.

“Your optical cup!” He vocalized as the device rolled into the air, gently landing in your outstretched palm, which you extended easily.

You continued to examine the vehicle’s mechanisms.

“You know, Anakin.” You began as you turned back toward the trench to shrug on the pit racer. “This isn’t exactly what I’d consider, leisurely.”

“Trust me.” He swore as you heard his optical device click into place and whir to life. “You’re about to have the most fun of your life.”

You approached the cocky Jedi. “That’s not hard to do.” You nudged the man with your elbow as your stance rested beside him.

Similarly activating your cup, you sealed it to your eye with a slight twist to initiate the suction. “Anything beats living in the excitement graveyard that is Hoth.”

Another dauntless glider charged the cliff’s edge from your right. You felt the wind of his movements brush against your cheek as he launched down into the depths. The whistling cry of the racer disappeared into the cloud of darkness below as fast as his straightened legs vanished over the edge.

“Like I said.” He smirked, studying you out of the corner of his eye as he leaned into your ear.

“The most fun of your life.” He whispered.

“Alright, wise guy.” You lightly palmed his warm cheek, pushing his encroaching nose to the side as he chuckled. “I’m holding you to that promise.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less.” He assured with a grin. “Now remember, there’s no engine on these things, so use the tractor field boosters for lift. The person to collect the most worm scales wins.”

“Got it.” You said as the two of you approached the cliffside. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

You stilled, feeling as if you could almost curl your toes over the edge.

“Oh!” He glanced down at you once more. “Don’t forget to avoid the rocketing garbage pods around those gun machines. Or else you’ll join the space junk.”

You laughed, gripping the racer’s handles firmly, feeling its connection to the glider’s wings.

Your eyes twinkled at the taller man in teasing anticipation. “May the best Jedi win.”

Anakin scoffed. “Being a Jedi has nothing to…”

And with a thrust from the Force in place of a running start, you leapt.

The wind struck your face with the strength of a violent tornado, the blend of foul stenches emanating from the cavern absorbed you into its noxious, blackened haze.

“Hey!” Anakin yelled from the skirt before hastily springing after you.

You bursted into a fit of laughter, stuck in carefree stitches as you descended deeper into the trench. Grappling with each mirthful breath, you simultaneously endeavored to focus on the rapidly developing path ahead.

You manipulated the racer’s handles to maneuver yourself around the luminescent maze of unpredictably intersecting conveyor belts, carrying raw waste or garbage pods throughout the cavern’s complicated mechanical system. As you descended further, the inner workings of the garbage pit came into view. Where debris was roughly compacted into transferable pods, and hundreds of meters ahead, where the neatly packaged waste was launched into the depths of the galaxy.

At the bottom of the pit, flourishing around these nuts and bolts, dwelled your prized amber garbage worms, slinking through their endless food supply in mindless satisfaction, squirming at the size of a Land Cruiser.

As you scanned the array, you spotted a particularly large worm chomping away at an old cerise hovercraft. You noticed the creature’s advanced age, apparent from the stark molting of its superficial scales and fading tinge.

Target acquired, you thought inwardly.

You continued your rapid dive, spotting a field booster in your left peripheral just as it sent another garbage pod down a conveyor belt. Tilting your glider, you graced the booster the instant it became vacant, taking in the momentary lift to steady the racer’s downward trajectory toward the old, plump worm ahead.

Your speed increased in the final stretch, blowing your hair like a whirlwind behind you. Your optical guide read a speed of ten meters a second, signaling you to slowly free a hand in preparation.

Nearly on top of the worm, you squinted, reaching out to grab a particularly glittering scale that hung loose, fluttering like a stuck leaf on its back.

You were close enough to practically taste the musty worm, fingers inches from the slimy scale when a metal arm swooped in, grabbing the flake with a fist before departing with great haste.

“Come on!” You complained as Anakin caught the drift of another field booster to expedite his escape.

“I thought we were playing dirty!” He hollered over his shoulder, waiving the scale at you with a victorious grin.

Your jaw dropped, eyes goggling in levity at his absolute gall as you slanted to gain lift from the same booster. It launched you toward the retreating Jedi at breakneck speed while he aligned himself to dive at another distracted worm.

“Okay, smarty!” You exclaimed as you gained ground. “You asked for it!”

You flew parallel to him, using the opportunity to gently tilt the tip of his left wing with your own from underneath, causing his glider to spin off-course like loose space debris.

“That’s illegal!” He shouted as he attempted to regain control.

Using the booster he fumbled toward, Anakin halted his rotations and steadied his flight upwards.

You tightly kept his original trajectory, easily permitting you to peel off a flaky scale from the curious worm he’d earmarked below, before hijacking a nearby tractor field.

“Now you’re worried about things being illegal?!” You scoffed. “This whole game is illegal!”

You glanced at him, catching his narrowed eyebrows and challenging stare.

“Oh.” He chucked darkly with a cunning simper. “You’re on.”

The two of you continued to twist and weave throughout the dark, stench-filled abyss. Kicking garbage pods off conveyor belts in front of each other to force a change in course. Driving one another into a booster to knock one of you into a completely obscure direction. Even shattering the scarce power relays with a carefully thrown pod, plunging you both into darkness and startling the worms’ stagnation.

As you stretched a hand toward another rapidly approaching scale, you felt the wing of your glider capsize from the flick of Anakin’s force-wielding fist, sending you into a spin.

Inwardly groaning, you attempted to straighten your racer, but to no avail. Your glider wasn’t responding to the handles’ commands. You’d pull to the right, yet the racer would barely react, as if you only tapped the wing’s tip.

Suddenly, you were met with a powerful blast from an unexpected tractor field, vibrating your brain against your skull and simultaneously sending you into dangerous territory.

The impact dizzied your senses as you lost all perception of your surroundings.

A high-pitched beeping rang in your ear. It took you a moment to register the eye cup as the source as it warned you of your hazardously accelerating rotational frequency.

Out of the blurry corner of a lulling eye, you narrowly recognized Anakin’s face, etched with concern. He had seemingly long forgotten the worm he was trying to usurp.

Still, you failed to stabilize the parawing.

“You’re about to cross an acceleration shield!” He called out urgently.

You gritted your teeth in concentration as you careened toward the gun machine.

“I know!”

You continued to try readjusting your flight, desperately pulling at the handles to steady the glider, but it wouldn’t budge. Briskly, you peered over your shoulder at the contraption as a wave of nausea overcame your senses from the endless spinning. Immediately, you noticed a large opening in one of the wings.

“Well, that explains in.” You mumbled under your breath.

How something could have penetrated the glider’s flimsisteel was anyone’s guess.

No time to theorize— you were beginning to feel increasingly woozy as your gyrations accelerated. You needed to use whatever was left of your mind to come up with a plan before losing consciousness.

“There’s a hole…in my racer!” You endeavored to yell.

“What?!” Anakin exclaimed.

You needed to think fast.

If you let go of the glider, you weren’t sure you’d be able to calibrate your surroundings fast enough to cushion your fall into the pit below. Then again, if you continued on this path, you would meet a comparably deadly fate in the cold arms of space.

Make a decision, now!

Looking up, you noticed that the garbage pit’s end was only 50 meters away.

And that’s when it clicked.

You glanced at Anakin, registering his predicated path, displayed by a dotted red line through your optical guide as it continued its shrill blare.

“Stay on your trajectory!” You called out as you continued to spin. “I have a plan!”

“Does it involve a deadly shoot-you-into-space machine?” Anakin quipped, unease lacing his voice. “Because if so, I don’t like it.”

“Have faith, Chosen One.” You gasped, trying to lighten both your spirits as dark spots splotched your sight in the unending rotations. “My plans usually work.”

And with that, you let the final flips of your glider lead you into the all-controlling hands of the acceleration shield while it prepped a launch. As its large spring pulled back, you removed each arm from the racer’s control, triggering another set of vocal alarms in your optical sensor, before letting the contraption fall into the pit in a crumpled heap. You heard the repeated call of WARNING WARNING from the female voice ringing from the optical cup in your dive toward the acceleration shield. Using the Force, you bounded into the gun’s path as the machine released with a bang.

You were hit with the force of a thousand Wampas as you flew up, catching the remnant power of the apparatus behind the garbage pod. As your careening self neared Anakin’s passing glider, you put your plan into action. The moment his racer cleared the gun’s trajectory, you harvested any remaining energy to drive a soaring escape from the shield’s trapping energy, launching yourself toward him.

In a millisecond, you were close enough to clasp onto one of his straps. Using it as a handle to swing your other arm around him, you tightly gripped the other side. The dead hang lasted only a moment as you found the momentum to thrust your legs upwards, lodging each foot behind his ankles.

You dangled parallel to him, chests nearly touching.

“See?” You exclaimed out of breath as you watched his bewildered eyes connect with yours. “Piece of cake.”

Anakin’s brows furrowed in disbelief.

“Don’t fall.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

The two of you swiftly reached the cavern’s end, allowing you to demount with a skip as Anakin’s feet met the edge. You dusted off your knees before turning to your companion who was in the process of relieving himself from the racer’s grasp.

“Now that.” You breathed deeply as you continued to steady your breath. “Was awesome!”

“See?” Anakin emphasized as he dropped the glider to the side before twirling on his heel to fall to the ground in exhaustion. “What did I say? The most fun of your life.”

You chuckled as you approached the tuckered-out Jedi, kneeling down to sit beside him as his chest rose and fell freely. “Yeah, you weren’t kidding.”

Your words seemed to spark a flare of anxiety in Anakin as he shot up beside you to send a very deliberate look.

“Remember.” He began with a pointed finger while he recuperated. “This is our little secret. Obi-Wan cannot know we were here.”

“Yeah, I get it now.” You sighed as you relaxed, hugging your knees and peering out into the distance.

Other pit racers continued to weave throughout the garbage labyrinth, catching the occasional ray of golden light as they catapulted upwards, only to dive back down into the trough’s bowels.

“You almost killed me. Imagine explaining that one to Obi-Wan.”

Anakin watched you, unimpressed. “Like I said.” He bumped your shoulder with his own. “Our little secret. I’d be the dead one if Obi-Wan ever found out I took you here. Can’t kill The Guardian only days after finding them.”

You both relaxed into the cool night’s air.

For some reason, the garbage pit’s rising stench was less potent on this side of the trench, permitting you to take in the other essences of Coruscanti city life.

Even from the lower levels, the energy you sensed around you was immense. As you felt beyond the trough, you could almost see the thousands of beings living in towering, dark gray structures that connected from the level’s floor to the ceiling like stalagmites, stretched similarly to Tepasi taffy. Some shorter, rounded structures filled the spaces in between, all dotted with little orange and white glows in the blackness of nighttime. You stared up at The Hole, acting as an aperture of light for various speeders and land vehicles that descended and ascended in slow hovers. Other smaller openings from the floor above resembled the pockets of storm clouds, acting as an additional source of illumination to the main pathway to the lower levels.

You rested your chin on a knee, taking a deep breath to blow a stream of fog into the cold air.

“How are you feeling?” You asked.

Your gaze locked on a distant speeder, dodging surrounding vehicles to continue its whirlwind dash through one of Wicko’s primary skylanes.

You listened as the uncharacteristically hushed Jedi sighed beside you. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

A breathy laugh dripped from your lips. “Same here.”

You tightened each arm around your bundled legs, taking in the sudden breeze.

The sound of distant sirens from a police skimmer rolled into the atmosphere before just as swiftly fading in the city’s background noise. You sensed Anakin peer at you timidly from the ground, encouraging your own gaze to meet his over your shoulder.

“This is all…just so…very, strange.” He expressed earnestly as he sat up, crossing his legs.

“You’re telling me.” You huffed in a jocular cadence. “Here I was, thinking I’d trained all my life to meet and protect a grand, wise, and humble Chosen One.” You held your arms wide as if hugging the world.

“Okay, okay.” He lightly flicked your outstretched arm, causing you to giggle while you gently slapped his hand away.

He stared back out into the distance. “Message received.”

As your laughter died down, you eased further into your loosened muscles, stretching out your legs and leaning back on the palms of your hands while staring out at the beyond once more

“Honestly?” You exhaled. “I’m pretty nervous.”

You glanced at Anakin almost immediately, watching as he visibly calmed.

“Same here.”

His eyes softened as he twisted back toward you. “I just… never thought that I’d be sharing this prophecy with someone else.”

Seeming to notice your distant stare, Anakin gently touched your arm, turning you toward himself. “And to be perfectly clear, I wasn’t super happy when I learned about you at first. I just…don’t like the idea of putting my fate in someone else’s hands.”

You stayed carefully silent as you stared at Anakin, soberly. It felt as if his words had grabbed you by the chest, holding it in limbo while sending a chill down your spine that felt colder than Hoth’s worst days.

Holding your breath, you patiently waited for him to continue.

“But talking to you a bit more these past few days, thinking more about what your destiny means, it’s challenged my thinking.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s good to have another person on my side. And from what I’ve seen so far, I’m thinking that I couldn’t have asked for a better Guardian.”

You beamed at his words ever so briefly. Then, your gaze dropped subtly, a hint of embarrassment ticking at your cheeks. You could feel him eyeing you curiously, witnessing a deep sigh escape your mouth. Even you felt the air of insecurity that swirled around your being.

“That’s kind of you to say, but to be perfectly open with you, Anakin, I don’t know if Qui-Gon spent enough time with me. Even if the Force brought us together. Even if my eyes have changed, and my path has begun. I just don’t know if I’m fully prepared for this journey.”

“Hey.” He said softly, tapping your chin upwards with a knuckle, thrusting your vision toward him.

“Qui-Gon was originally supposed to train me too. Yet I turned out fine.” He reassured.

You smiled to yourself, thinking about your late Master once more. He could have opened up a private school for Jedi with the number of Padawans he tried to take on.

“He saved me from a life of slavery on Tatooine,” Anakin revealed as his eyes drifted to the side.

A wave of sympathy washed over you for the solemn Jedi.

You had no idea.

“That must have been very difficult for you.” You spoke.

“It was.” He admitted. “But the hardest part was leaving my mother behind.” He avoided your gaze.

Your compassionate eyes scanned his hunched figure. “Is she still there?”

Rather coldly, Anakin answered.

“She died.”

You paused for a moment, before tenderly placing a hand on his warm shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I’m sorry.” You murmured.

For a brief instant, his carefully constructed display of indifference cracked under the pressure, coercing a deep-rooted rage to ooze from his being.

“You know.” You started, eyes glued to the back of his skull. “It’s okay to be angry.”

Anakin’s head whipped toward you with the expression of a dugar caught in a tractor beam.

You smiled reassuringly. “It’s true! It’s normal.”

Your head bobbed to either side in rumination.

”Frankly, I’d be concerned if you weren’t feeling some sort of fury.”

Anakin’s brows furrowed toward his feet, lips creased. He was seemingly unconvinced of your words. You watched as he started to nervously pick at an index finger with his thumb.

So you snatched his hands, drawing them in between the two of you and forcing his stoic stare to once again raise and meet yours.

“Anakin, words cannot describe how livid I am. How betrayed I feel, since learning of my Master’s death. I’m angry at the galaxy, at myself, and even at Qui-Gon. He left me stranded on a barren planet for a decade, Anakin. It wasn’t his fault, but I still blame him. But feeling these things doesn’t mean I’m any less a person, or any less a Jedi. It means I’m human.”

You closed your eyes, taking in a deep breath to try to calm your thoughts before releasing them open as you exhaled. You pressed your thumbs into his sweaty palms in a comforting manner, his unwavering gaze piercing your very soul.

“Tragedy is a part of life. And emotion is a part of tragedy. It’s how you face those parts of yourself that will determine your ability to move forward. Not just for yourself, but for the people around you.”

Anakin stayed very still, searching your eyes like he was scanning for any quiver of doubt, any inkling of a catch. A complication. But you were unwavering, only offering a dulcet countenance to support the simplicity of your words.

His features remained steadfast, except for the slight flicker of hope that kindled behind his irises like a budding flame.

“How do you deal with it?” He barely uttered, gaze dropping to the floor.

You thought carefully, exhaling the bubbling emotions that this conversation had meticulously simmered. Your words seemed to be of some importance to him, and you wanted to present your thoughts in the most helpful way possible, as clear as possible, and not tainted by your own internal conflicts.

You opened your mouth to answer when a mechanical whistle buzzed through the cold, decaying breeze. It jolted the two of you from your quiet conversation, signaling Anakin to release your hands into the chillier atmosphere as he reached to address his flashing wrist comm.

He tapped the answering button. “Anakin here.” His voice slightly croaked from the weight of your hushed conversation.

“Anakin! Good, where are you?” Obi-Wan’s voice fizzled through the speaker. “I checked the refractory and your quarters but you weren’t there. Ahsoka didn’t know where you were either. I also cannot find our new companion.”

“Everything’s fine, Master,” Anakin assured, placing a hand confidently on his hip. “Silvey and I decided to leave The Temple. We’re exploring Coruscant.”

You shot him a glare for his steadfast use of that unimaginative nickname. His self-assured grin shut you down.

“I need to meet with you both urgently.” Obi-Wan projected. “Where are you?”

“Uh.” Anakin eyes shifted toward you in minute panic. “We’re in the Uscru District.” He blurted out with flimsy confidence.

Your brows furrowed. “Uscru District?” You mouthed in a questioning manner.

Anakin placed a finger on his lips, pleading for your silence as he focused on the comm link.

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan chided. “Where exactly are you?”

He was apparently unconvinced by that answer.

“In the Outlander Club. Can’t get enough of those nerf burgers…” Anakin trailed off before chuckling nervously.

He glanced at you again, doe-eyed for silent support.

You rolled your eyes, collapsing backward onto the firm, cold ground, arms sprawled out in defeat. Lifting an arm lazily, you gave him a big thumbs down to formally protest this terrible plan. Anakin was going to keep digging himself into a deeper hole and all you could do was watch and listen.

Well, at this point, it was too hard to watch. So you instead distracted yourself with the passing land vehicles that soared above you in perfect harmony.

“You’re going to the wrong place for nerf burgers.” Obi-Wan challenged.

You could envision the bearded Jedi crossing his arms while peering at the comm skeptically from the tone of his voice.

“And why of all places did you decide to take them there?!”

“Because it’s a great first taste of society! You can’t find a better place to watch intergalactic pod racing matches.”

You barely heard Obi-Wan’s audible, yet defeated sigh through the crackling speaker.

“I see.” He conceded. “Stay where you are. I’ll be there soon.”

And with that, the call ended with a click.

“Alright, get up!” Anakin exclaimed as his mechanical hand extended into your vision.

You grasped the steely limb tightly, letting him tug you upwards with a start. As soon as your feet touched the ground, Anakin took off in a jog toward the Coruscanti Hole, briefly yanking you along before dropping his arm from yours as he hastened.

You caught up with the Jedi, matching his dash.

“Where is the Uscru District?”

“It’s somewhat close.” He puffed.

“Then why are we running?”

He glanced at you with a meager grimace.

“Because The Temple is closer.”

You groaned. “Well, how many?”

“Huh.” He glanced at you quizzically.

You stuck a hand into your pocket as you continued your sprint, rummaging around to collect the worm scales with your fingers before pulling them out and counting them silently.

“I got five.” You peered at his rushing figure. “How about you?”

Anakin’s gaze locked with yours. Seeing your indomitable stare, he did the same. Extracting the scales from his robe, he counted them once, twice, then three times in the palm of his hand before letting out a defeated huff.

“Five.”

“Ha ha!” You exclaimed victoriously before taunting him again.

“Look at that. We balance each other out.”

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[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 4: Arrival (Part 1)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: mention of slavery, mention of character deaths, reference to life-threatening danger, sleep deprivation, sorrow, angst, stern Mace, fluff, banter, some reader/Anakin bonding :) and worried Obi :(

Summary: The days leading up to your arrival have been cumbersome for both you and Anakin— the two of you struggle together with these life-altering changes thrust in front of you by the Galaxy. As the group reaches Coruscant, new revelations are made that further urge Obi-Wan to meet with The Council as soon as possible: to discuss your discovery, and its consequences.

Song Inspo: Rabbit Heart (Raise it Up) — Florence + The Machine

Words: 6.1K

A/n: Ahhhh!! You all are so lovely. Hope you like this chapter. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts in the comments (and message if you'd like to be on the taglist!)

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Series Masterlist

Hibernation is a covert preparation for a more overt action — Ralph Ellison

“A war…”

Anakin’s hand loosely tilted a throttle lever to the right as the shuttle approached Coruscant only a few thousand kilometers away. Its spherical body crept into the viewport like a loth-cat poised for attack while your voice filled the cabin.

The peaceful lull of space gave the young Jedi a moment to glance back at the conversation taking place. He looked beyond Ahsoka, who was cozied up in the shuttle seat directly behind him, legs thrown over an armrest and a Datapad resting comfortably against her knees. As she typed away, you sat beside her quizzically, eyes fixed in an aimless direction with a cheek resting gently on your fingertips in thought.

You’d inquired twelve hours into the trip about galactic events that occurred during your last ten years of total isolation, and it took the remaining two days for Obi-Wan to provide you with a very abbreviated version. The wise Jedi spent much time on The Order’s growth throughout the years and various blips in the peace, like the Invasion of Naboo. Only in the last few hours did he arrive at the topic of the Separatist war. Your shock at being for so long completely unaware of the galactic battles taking place was palpable.

Anakin delved deeper into his memories of the last few days in this cramped, rickety shuttle as it traversed from the Outer Ring across the galaxy. Specifically, those late nights in which he chose to keep the ship off autopilot and fly it manually, long after Master Kenobi and Ahsoka had fallen asleep in the back.

In the dimmed lighting, his mind still rushed with questions about your discovery. He had anxiety about what your sudden appearance in his life meant, and frustrations from not being informed of your existence. So Anakin decided it would be easier to manipulate the bird’s mechanisms himself. To keep his mind from wandering too far into further misgivings.

On both such quiet evenings, he recalled your restlessness. You shuffled aimlessly in the rear cabin, from your back to your side, and after a few seconds, to your stomach with a defeated plonk. Eventually, after many noisy readjustments, he’d hear an exasperated sigh before you’d roll over and rise to your feet. He’d sense you quietly sneak up behind the co-pilot’s seat and, each night, you’d unceremoniously plop down beside him, leaning back with arms crossed and staring out the viewport as if it was just the lullaby you’d needed.

He’d peer at you, noticing your subtly sunk in eyes, before once again making the same comment.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Yeah.”

And after a few drawn-out moments filled with only the silent hum of the shuttle’s engines, he’d ask a question. Nothing grandeur or serious. Just anything to lead to a conversation. To pass the time.

“Have you ever thought about where you’d want to visit? After leaving Hoth?” He spoke lowly.

And your head cocked with an imaginative gaze stuck ahead before answering with a small smile.

“I’ve always wanted to play grav-ball, and I’ve heard Nubia has some of the best teams. So probably there.”

Anakin nodded approvingly. “Coruscant has them too.”

And your smile widened as you twisted toward him. “Really?”

Then your interest was piqued. And you’d continue the conversation or make some completely unrelated, lighthearted query. Either way, the two of you would talk for hours during those calm nights in the old, decrepit shuttle.

It was during these late-night talks, that Anakin had the chance to uncover more of who you were. He brushed away at your sentiments, uncovering your interests like hidden gems while simultaneously sharing his own. The both of you seemed to have a great deal in common.

And that helped ease his mind.

Anakin turned back to the controls to prepare the shuttle for approach as it neared the planet’s gravitational pull, shutting off the main ion drives.

“And the Jedi as Generals? Controlling an army of clones?”

He watched as you shook your head and sighed, pressing your lips together as if mourning a memory.

“I always thought The Order was built to preserve peace in the Galaxy. Qui-Gon always made that clear. The Jedi were protectors, not stokers of conflict.”

“The Jedi have always been and will prevail as keepers of the peace.” Obi-Wan clarified.

His stance held firm behind the co-pilots seats, leaning against it with arms crossed as he analyzed your reactions carefully.

“We act in this war to do just that. The cohesiveness and strength of The Republic would be destroyed if The Separatist Alliance remained. You know as well as most from your studies that an existence like The Old Republic would act as an open cut to agents of the Dark Side.”

Anakin noticed as your eyes misted over in a dazed fashion.

“Forces like Maul…” You murmured.

Exhaling soberly, Anakin digested your solemn expression. Watching your mind struggle to process this newfound mountain of information was bringing back his own troubling memories from his youth. He never was the strongest enthusiast for change, and some of the most extreme adjustments he’d made involved similar exposure to newly dire circumstances. Whether that be learning he’d be hungry for another day, or of some plan to sell him off to another slave owner like cheap merchandise.

As a boy, he found himself best distracted from these circumstances by a new tinkering project, or by those rare moments of frivolity in such tumultuous times.

Yet here he was, already focusing his mind on fiddling with the outdated shuttle in front of him as he had done for the past few days. An expression of levity seemed to be the next logical step, he thought.

“Well, remember?” He grinned at you lightheartedly. “You don’t need to worry about him anymore. Master Kenobi put him in his place.”

Anakin observed as the corner of your mouth twitched upwards, stirring his own to take a wider stance. The momentary lift in your spirits was short-lived, although, as your lost eyes lifted from the floor, disoriented by your mind.

“It’s almost poetic.” You mused, a rueful chuckle falling from your lips. “The very beings my Master protected me from destroyed him in the end.”

Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan who stroked his beard inquisitively as he mulled over your words in profound concentration. His narrowed gaze briefly met Anakin’s as if searching his irises for an answer to some distant, dubious puzzle.

The former Padawan raised a brow at his Master’s countenance, silently asking what he did to warrant such an expression. Then, Obi-Wan’s lips abruptly parted in realization as he spun back toward you. Anakin took that as his cue to refocus his energy on the rapidly approaching planet whose gravitational field pulled them forward, marking the bird at only a hundred kilometers away.

“Qui-Gon did protect you…” Obi-Wan suspired earnestly as if hearing his own words for the very first time.

He gesticulated with a hand. “His final moments, his face, is forever etched into my mind.”

Kenobi’s sentence broke off. The pensive Jedi opened and closed his mouth a few times while he formulated his thoughts, as if questioning the significance of each word.

“In the thousands of times I’ve gone over his death, I was always taken by the complete peace, the confidence, with which he entered The Force.”

He paused once more, lips tugged upward and eyes glossed in wonder.

“It was because of you.”

Anakin spun fully around, facing the two of you as Obi-Wan dotted that final claim. He noticed your head shoot up at them from its lulled position.

“What do you mean?” You inquired, your eyes adrift in a sea of perceptible perturbation.

“Yeah, what do you mean?” Anakin piped up bewildered.

He prayed to the Maker that his former Master wasn’t in any way implying that you had anything to do with his Qui-Gon’s death.

Yet Obi-Wan was undeterred by the assortment of sentiments swirling around him.

“When he first discovered that Maul was a Sith.” He began excitedly. “He must have realized the threat to you. Yes, he was protecting you from the Sith for most of your life, but The Order hadn’t encountered them for a thousand years. And yet, he appeared before Qui-Gon on Tatooine, and then…Naboo.”

Obi-Wan exhaled, letting his arms fall to each side as you leaned forward, watching him intently with hands now clasped firmly beneath your jaw.

Anakin could tell that your silver stare intimated even his former Master. He watched as the Master Negotiator not so subtly eyed the hull’s roof to escape your gaze.

“It is possible, that tracking you down was part of Maul’s mission. He may have discovered your connection to Qui-Gon.”

Kenobi sighed, stroking his chin. “Our former Master likely came to the same conclusion.”

Anakin saw as Obi-Wan’s eyes fell to connect intensely with yours, a smile lingered on the bearded Jedi’s features as his eyes creased in tranquility.

“You should find solace in the fact that you made his final moments most comforting. His death ensured that the Sith would never discover your whereabouts. I’m sure that gave him peace.”

For the first time today, Anakin registered a twinkle in your radiantly silver eyes as you silently thanked the older Jedi with a lift in your cheeks, leaning back into your seat comfortably.

The Chosen One glanced between the two of you as the gaze held. He knew Qui-Gon’s death weighed heavily on Kenobi’s soul. It strongly influenced his choices on the battlefield, and stuck to him like Chewstim during meditation sessions. Yet Anakin rarely heard Obi-Wan discuss the experience. Let alone with serenity blooming from his features like a Tarisian rose that had just escaped a long, winter hibernation.

Your mutual connection to Qui-Gon seemed to help heal these old wounds, and Anakin was grateful for that.

“Enough with the sappiness, Master,” Anakin exclaimed with a lively lilt, breaking the tension as he spun back toward the shuttle’s controls.

Obi-Wan shot Anakin an annoyed look. The teasing Jedi pushed a throttle lever down before programming the shuttle for atmospheric reentry on the left control set.

“I think Silvey would much rather take in our arrival.”

Anakin didn’t need to reach into the force to sense your amused brow’s rapid surge upwards. Obi-Wan stepped around the co-pilot’s seat, shaking his head in surrender as he settled into the chair, smoothing out his robe on either side.

“You sure know how to ruin a moment, Sky-Guy.” Ahsoka pipped up.

Her gaze remained fixed on the Datapad. Yet her comment only amplified his mischievousness.

“Silvey?” Anakin heard you question with feigned indignation as he entered the final commands into the shuttle interface, engaging the secondary thrusters.

The spirited Jedi snatched the navigational lever, pushing it down to lead the craft into Coruscant’s exosphere before glancing over his shoulder at your postured displeasure. He smirked as your eyes met, forcing a dampened smile to surface on your own countenance.

“Hey, don’t blame me! I could spot your silver eyes from a million parsecs away. It’s only fitting.” He defended.

Then, a particularly tantalizing observation entered his thoughts.

“Would you prefer Shorty?”

You chucked darkly, squinting at The Chosen One with a challenging glare as he brought the shuttle’s nose into a deeper dive.

Your lips pursed upwards. “If looks could kill, Anakin. If looks could kill…”

The pilot beamed at your playful remark. “Well, at least take a break from stabbing me with those freakishly sparkly things.” He quipped, waving you away. “You’re missing the view.”

Out of the corner of his focused stare, Anakin observed your head rise. You were immediately taken by Coruscant’s giant mass, a faded blue and gray planet with billions of lights forming golden circles that were interconnected like a geometric map. Your mouth loosened in astonishment with each glossy orb stuck to the viewport. He noticed you lean forward, as if pulled by some unknown force, resting your elbows on each knee with your chin fitted on clasped hands.

Satiated by your raised spirits, Anakin refocused on the throttle, pushing it down further to bring the shuttle into Coruscant’s baby blue troposphere. The ship began to quiver as the hull took the brunt of the friction.

For a few turbulent seconds, his vision was blocked by the vast array of rounded, white clouds. The cabin’s heat intensified as the edges of the viewport started to burn a fiery red.

But soon, the shuttle broke through the white veil’s final wisps, displaying the towering cityscape, which rolled like jagged hills and consumed the viewport. The sun was beginning its final crawl to dusk, filling the sky with a deep orange fire whose smoke billowed into dark blues and purples. The streams of light illuminated the busy skylanes, resembling the endless march of Endorian ant colonies. They brought life to Coruscant’s still landmarks.

“It’s beautiful.”

Anakin covertly peaked at you, registering the astonishment plastered on your face. He assumed for a being that’s only known endless snow banks and harsh winters all their life, that this experience would be terribly intimidating, terrifying even.

He thought back briefly to ten years prior. When he first came to Coruscant, he was petrified. Scared of this new environment. Of this added drastic change to his life.

But he was mostly afraid for his mother. For her fate back on Tatooine. Under Watto’s thumb, only to be bought by Lars, and then…

It permeated his being. Haunted him for years. Pulled at his heart with the constant mass of a planet, swinging like a pendulum with each reminder, each ache. And, still, he carries it with him today. But now, with a deeper anger. A stronger guilt.

But you seemed to take it all in with grace.

And Anakin admired that.

The Temple swiftly grew into view as the shuttle descended. The heat surrounding the hull began to recede. Anakin rolled the lever, bringing the shuttle in for a curved landing. He aligned the ship with one of the protruding hangars, the whole of which he believed resembled an upside-down lollipop. At least when he was a youngling.

After thumbing a few buttons on the control panel to release the landing gear, Anakin pressed the lever down, encouraging the craft to speed to the circular platform nose first. He turned the throttle once more to the right, slowing the ship by aligning its door with the hangar entrance, allowing for a slow, final descent.

The ship jostled slightly as it met the landing pad, signaling Anakin to begin a systems-wide power down, staring at the main control panel.

Another happy landing.

As he flicked off the last switch to power down the engines, Anakin felt an audible rumble from within, compelling him to focus on the sudden ache in his stomach.

It had been a while since he had a good meal with the back-to-back missions and low stock of ration bars. Not that he ever considered that bantha fodder food.

Usually after a long away mission, he would grab a speeder from The Temple and take a quick trip to the Senate Building. He’d roam the halls nonchalantly, chest puffed to signal an air of importance, like he had a very official reason to be there. Then, he would ‘aimlessly’ stroll to Padmé’s office.

Once he arrived with a covert knock at the door, Padmé would welcome him inside with a warmhearted smile. He would then spend some time resting on one of her guest seats meant for senatorial colleagues, attempting to entertain himself with the mechanisms of his saber’s hilt. But it wasn’t long until he began to distract Padmé from her work, eventually convincing her to call it an early night. The two of them would grab a meal in her spacious Coruscanti apartment that overlooked The Temple from a few miles away. But he was never intrigued by that view. His eyes remained fixed on her.

Yet despite all this daydreaming, Skywalker knew his wife was still on Naboo, managing the consequences of donating a vast array of medical supplies to another planet. Her responsibilities on her home world exponentially swelled in the last few months, so he wasn’t entirely sure when he’d next see her.

No one knew when they’d see each other next during wartime. Or if they would ever meet again.

If these musings indicated anything, it was that Anakin eagerly hoped to spend some downtime with the people he was closest to. No war planning. No cargo transports. No battle charges. Just a nice meal and entertaining conversation. And he knew just who he wanted to spend that time with.

Anakin stood, stretching his arms into a spin just in time to witness the very person he hoped to talk to swing her legs back over the seat they were sprawled out on before jumping up and charging for the door.

“What’s got you in such a rush?” He called after Ahsoka as she jostled the shuttle door open.

The orange light of the setting sun invaded the ship with a jolt, casting large shadows on the scattered groups of hangar workers, the closest of which approached the ship to take it off Anakin’s hands once the final three passengers exited.

She leaped out, landing delicately on the tips of her toes before turning into a backward jog.

“If I don’t finish this physics paper by midnight, Master Plo Koon is gonna kill me!” She yelled, shaking her datapad in the air. “Catch you later!”

Anakin’s gaze followed her sprinting form down the hangar’s walkway until she disappeared into the inner bay behind a small cruiser.

“Ok.” Anakin huffed before facing the two remaining Jedi with a grin. “At least the three of us can grab dinner.”

He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“I’m afraid the two of you will have to enjoy without me,” Obi-Wan admitted as he glanced at Anakin. “The Council likely planned an emergency meeting concerning the recall of the Jedi from the front lines. I need to check in immediately.”

Anakin’s smile faltered. He inwardly groaned at Kenobi’s resolute dedication to rules and regulations. He was sure The Council could have waited half an hour, but Anakin knew Obi-Wan’s mind was set.

Obi-Wan twisted on his heels to face you. “I will also inform them about you.”

“Shouldn’t I be there then?” You questioned.

All hope of eating with one of his traveling companions drained from Anakin’s spirit. Maybe he could meet with one of them later instead, he thought. He supposed he could put off food for a bit, perhaps continue on that pilot droid project he hadn’t had a chance to work on for a while. But then he’d probably need to take a quick trip to Level 1782. Last time Anakin checked, he was low on spare parts.

“No,” Obi-Wan claimed.

Skywalker’s ears perked at that.

“That will not be necessary. They will likely need to confer without your presence for now.”

You silently agreed as Anakin internally sighed in relief.

Obi-Wan nodded to the both of you before turning to the hangar walkway, hurriedly traipsing toward his exit.

Anakin took a more leisurely pace in the same direction as you followed behind. An uncomfortable silence took hold as he guided the both of you into the inner hangar. The bustling noise of your surroundings amplified the awkwardness as the two of you closed in on the larger groups of hangar workers, barking out loud commands and using various tools, like sonorously whirring drills, to update or fix the conglomerate of crafts that idly scattered the zone.

Anakin felt his nose begin to tickle, perhaps from distant smoke. But he was too worried that it may prolong the uncomfortably fresh turf between the two of you if he tried to scratch it.

“So…” You spoke somewhat unsure of yourself. “What is there to do that’s fun around here?”

Anakin’s whole body froze, stopping dead in his tracks from eager surprise as if he were caught in a carbon-freezing chamber. He spun toward you, immediately seizing your shoulders with a steady clasp.

“What did you say?” He asked intently, excitement radiating up his spine and diffusing to his fingertips.

He observed your figure stiffen slightly at his agile animation. You raised a questioning brow as you opened your mouth with a hesitant pause, seemingly unsure if you should ask again.

“Do Jedi raised in The Order…not do anything….leisurely?”

The confident Jedi chuckled coolly while throwing an arm around your shoulder as you both exited the hanger into The Temple, pivoting to stroll down the hall opposite from Obi-Wan’s trail.

“I think we are going to get along very well, Silvey.” He hummed self-assuredly.

You rolled your eyes. “Not if you keep calling me that.”

“I promise you, you’re not gonna mind that nickname after I show you one of the most leisurely activities on all of Coruscant.” He assured.

You glanced at Anakin with lifted features. “But I thought you were hungry.” You teased

Anakin scoffed. “Food can wait. Now, tell me, Silvey.” Anakin dreamed as he patted your shoulder. “Did Qui-Gonn ever tell you about the Wicko District?”

—

General Kenobi maintained his nimble gait down the primary walkway to the High Council Chamber. His robes billowed as he passed an abundance of lounging Jedi, some conversing to the sides or keeping a moderate pace as they made their way to an unknown destination on either side of him.

Soon into his journey, Obi-Wan crossed paths with his old mentor Master Cin Drallig, followed by a group of twelve rowdy younglings whose voices bounced off the temple walls. Maybe they were asking questions, or telling a story, but the bearded Jedi couldn’t tell. Each utterance overlapped like a cacophony of crashing speeders.

Yet almost immediately, they noticed his presence, twirling away from each other to respectfully greet one of their long-held role models.

“Hello, Master!”

“Hello, younglings.” General Kenobi smiled.

He looked back to Master Dralli, catching his tired, yet fulfilled stare. They each exchanged a dutiful, yet brisk nod before continuing on their respective paths.

Obi-Wan always felt dwarfed by the massive olive-gray pillars that buttressed The Temple’s lofty ceilings. As a youngling, the golden archways seemed to stretch out endlessly in each direction, giving the effect of an infinite mirror when he passed under them. When he aged, however, Obi-Wan learned to better understand the structure’s finite nature, yet he was still taken by its capacious essence. Each hall resembled a palace built thousands of years ago by Mandallian Giants, specifically constructed for their wide gates and broad shoulders. And it would coax his imagination into its unyielding grasp.

He remembers spending too much time simply sitting crossed in these halls during his youth. The youngling would rest his eyelids to visualize the giants’ roaring tramps shake the coral- and lilac-marble floors in succeeding thundering booms.

As Obi-Wan turned a corner, tread crossing onto the ocean blue carpet of the inner Temple, he reminisced about the time Qui-Gon caught him red-handed in the middle of one of these fantasies. It was many years before the late Jedi took him on as a Padawan.

Qui-Gon would always engage with the younglings when possible. He had a habit of outwardly encouraging all initiates in their studies, especially those who struggled with their training and emotional discipline. But he would also silently approve those rare moments in which a young Jedi took a moment to themselves. Whether that be exploring the Coruscanti entertainment district, playing Sabacc, or Obi-Wan’s respite of choice, daydreaming.

With eyes shrouded in darkness, he could almost smell the sweaty towering creature. Its footsteps sounded like cracks of lighting, and he could feel the room’s imperceptible rise in temperature from the creature’s sudden presence. If he really focused, its colossal, green-muscled foot would nearly breach the void in his sight, creeping from the corner of his left eyelid. The hair on his arms prickled at the beast’s sudden proximity.

“Meditating are you?”

The young Kenobi’s eyes sprung open, cheeks reddening as his eyes locked with the wise Jedi before him.

“Uhh, yes…Master.”

And Qui-Gon simply smiled.

Obi-Wan’s worries momentarily lifted at the memory, delight gracing his features. But that instant disappeared from his mind as quickly as it arrived. The Jedi refocused on the task ahead, passing one of the large Sage Master statues that shined like freshly polished copper to his right as The Council meeting room entered his vision.

Just outside the Chamber door stood Master Windu, leaning with his arm against the wall beside him as he continued his deep discussion with Master Yoda, who rested in his flying chair. The two of them spoke softly, and from Windu’s creased brows, General Kenobi could tell that it was serious. A few groups of Jedi Masters similarly congregated around the door, talking lowly. Kenobi could sense heightened anxiety trailing the air.

As he approached, Obi-Wan caught the corner of Mace’s eye. He turned to General Kenobi, offering a curt nod at his arrival as Yoda reoriented his seat toward the newly arrived.

“Late you are, Master Kenobi.”

“I apologize for the delay.” Obi-Wan relayed sincerely. “Our shuttle experienced some unexpected complications.”

Yoda hummed deeply at Obi-Wan’s words, indicating his acceptance of this explanation to Mace before taking his chair on a measured stroll down the walkway, back in the direction from whence Obi-Wan came. Windu and Kenobi shortly followed in step.

“The Council has already met to discuss the issue of recalling the Jedi.” Master Windu began as the trio ambled down the hallway. “We have suffered a communications incursion by the Separatists.”

Obi-Wan was astounded, brows furrowing in confusion as he absentmindedly rubbed his jaw.

“A breach in our secure transmissions…How is that possible?” He exclaimed.

“Unsure, we are,” Yoda answered. “Investigate, our specialists will.”

Mace addressed the troubled Jedi. “A number of troops stationed in obscure outer regions of multi-planetary battle sites were ambushed in the last few weeks. The only way they could have been discovered would be if their COMMs were tapped into. It is possible that the Separatists have somehow obtained some of our transmitter codes or found some other flaw in the communications system. Because we cannot use our wrist comms or holopads to send sensitive information to communicate this development, we’ve recalled the Jedi.”

“Continue the battles, the clones will. Send out Jedi temporarily with verbal directions for troops, we must.

“Until communications are secured.” Windu clarified. “The 212th and 501st have already received new instructions for a less critical mission on Aleen.”

Obi-Wan hummed in contemplation. “And how long do you believe this situation will last?”

Mace exhaled. “We won’t know until technicians look further into the issue. But it may be weeks, months.”

Obi-Wan stroked his beard as he ruminated about this concerning development. He trusted Commander Cody with his life, but still knew it would be difficult for the 212th to address more delicate missions in the near future without timely information from The Temple or even inter-troop comms.

“Concerned, we all are,” Yoda reassured, likely sensing General Kenobi’s unease.

“The Council will be informing all active Jedi in the Great Hall tomorrow morning. Make sure Anakin and his Padawan are present. And here.”

Windu reached into the right pocket of his robe, pulling out what Obi-Wan thought was a wrist comm, yet it seemed bulkier. An extra layer of wiring was hidden in an additional panel stuck underneath the control layer. Most notable was the thin, silver line of steel that encircled the device, something the General hadn’t seen on a comm before. He took it, feeling the mass in his palm. It felt cold, heavy, with a rusted button and weak indicator light.

He thought it ancient.

“It’s a comm from the old Temple emergency system. It’s completely separate from our current communications system so messages from these devices to regular comms will be secure. There are only enough for one per council member.”

Obi-Wan thanked the Master as he switched his current wrist link with the replacement, placing the former in his robe’s pocket.

“Still careful, we must be.”

Mace added. “Only use it to ask for meetings, not to share sensitive data.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “On the topic of sensitivity, I must inform you of a development.”

He breathed deeply, exhaling in a short burst as he gathered his complicated memories about you to present to The Council leaders.

“In our delay, Anakin, his Padawan, and I were on Hoth for a short time, where we met a being living alone on the planet’s surface.”

The two Jedi Masters listened intently as he continued.

“I discovered them to be a Gray Jedi, trained by Master Qui-Gonn himself. They claim to be The Guardian, a figure that is a part of The Chosen One prophecy, but was expected to be trained outside The Order. They are tasked with Anakin’s protection and guidance so that he may achieve his destiny. Their journey begins when dark forces threaten this fate.”

Mace’s eyes narrowed. “This is a bold claim, Master Kenobi. If anything, it sounds like a Separatist trick.”

Then, as soft as their nimble footfalls, Yoda uttered your name under his breath.

Obi-Wan’s head swiveled toward the Grand Master. “You know them?”

The shorter Jedi sighed, leaning back in his chair as his eyes glazed over in deep reflection.

“Gone, I thought they were, a long time ago.”

Mace’s brows raised as he turned to Yoda. “You know of this individual, Master?”

He nodded gravely, a light grunt resonated from his esophagus.

“Discovered them as an infant twenty-five years ago, I did. Kept a close eye on them, I had.” He sighed. “Killed by a dark power a year later, their parents were. Believed they died as well, I did.”

The Grand Master eyed General Kenobi carefully, as if the bearded Jedi made a mistake in his recollection.

“Interested to learn they are alive, I am.”

“A dark power…” Obi-Wan mused. “Master, do you believe a Sith may have been responsible? I have been theorizing that Maul’s presence on Tatooine could have had more than one motive.”

“Discovered their presence, you believe he did?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan confirmed. “And their connection to Qui-Gon.”

He paused, counting the years in his head.

“But Maul would have been too young when their parents passed.”

“The rule of two…” Mace hummed.

“A Master, then.” Yoda declared.

“Then The Guardian’s presence suggests that Maul may not be the last Sith,” Windu revealed. “If it’s true that their appearance suggests a new threat from the Dark Side.”

“During the Battle of Geonosis, discovered that Dooku may be a Sith, I did.” Yoga established. “Great darkness, I sensed in him.”

“Then he is the Sith Lord?” Mace speculated.

Obi-Wan agreed. “He would have been quite capable of taking their parents’ lives over two decades ago.”

“It would also explain The Guardian’s survival, if Dooku’s late Padawan discovered his plans and partially thwarted them before they were carried out,” Mace suggested.

“Informed The Council, Qui-Gon would have, if believed Dooku was a Sith, he had. Much we still do not know, there is.”

Windu exhaled, placing his middle and index finger against his right temple and thinking deeply about his next words.

“I would like to meet this Guardian myself.” He gestured to Kenobi. “Tomorrow in the Sparring Arena after the Great Hall announcement. It is important for The Council to determine whether they have the necessary physical and mental abilities, and the appropriate connection to the Force, to be a Jedi Knight. To join The Order. Otherwise, leaving them outside the purview of The Order could have dire consequences. That is if they are even prepared to fulfill such a destiny after nearly a decade of isolation.”

“Of course, Master.” Obi-Wan acknowledged. “But from what little I’ve seen, they seem quite capable of holding their own.”

Windu’s stare held firm. “Respectfully, Master Kenobi, I will be the one to determine that.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze fell. “Understood.”

He didn’t take the Master’s tone personally. Windu’s conformist nature and deep dislike for any Jedi activity conducted beyond the domain of The Council likely made his discovery of The Guardian prophecy an unwelcome one. Obi-Wan only hoped that Master Windu would still treat you as any other Jedi when testing your abilities. He remembers the wise Master’s negative reaction to Anakin’s discovery, due to his age at the time Qui-Gon requested that he be trained. You were much older than 10-year-old Ani, so he was convinced that would pose a problem for the talented swordsman.

And this was not the best time for you to be meeting resistance from The Order that you trained your whole life to serve so to continue its millennia-long mission of preserving the peace through light. The Master Negotiator didn’t need to employ his strong conversation skills to discern how the past few days’ overwhelming changes had been affecting you. That, in addition to learning of your Master’s passing, had made you restless on the journey here. It was hard to ignore, even while he settled in repose each night, your twisted form which struggled to sleep.

He empathized with you deeply.

The General was also, in some measure, apprehensive about the inevitable clash of personalities. He found you kind, considerate, but also unafraid to speak your mind, or express your inner sentiments. He admired Master Windu since he was a boy, but his no-nonsense approach? His uncompromising mental discipline and austere lessons? It would surely cause a collision of temperaments.

“A different name, they must go by,” Yoda announced.

Obi-Wan’s gaze rose curiously at this. “Master?”

“Know they are alive, Dooku cannot.”

“Nor any other actor of the Dark Side. Nor the Separatists.” Windu interjected. “Their existence could pose a significant weakness to the Republic’s image of enduring peace and light. If Separatist forces discover The Guardian’s identity and purpose from their birth name, they may believe that the destruction of a specific Jedi could leave us vulnerable.”

He paused, turning to Yoda to verify his conclusions, who languidly blinked in concurrence.

Mace’s peer twisted back toward Kenobi. “If dark forces found them once through their birth name, they can again.”

The Grand Master nodded in agreement. “Destroy The Guardian, they may otherwise try.”

Obi-Wan’s heart dropped at the notion. It was clear that your identity needed to be protected from these powerfully dark forces, lest you meet the same fate as your parents.

If your mission was to guard and guide Anakin, his former Padawan, and dear friend, then the determined Jedi believed it to be his personal assignment to aid you in that destiny. Now he knew that hiding your identity to the best of his ability would be part of that task. The side of the light needed you, and Obi-Wan’s deep connection to it and his cavernous desire to continue Qui-Gon’s decades-long efforts meant only one thing— he needed to protect you too.

“Anakin gave them a nickname.” The General recalled, head tilted and eyes scanning up an idle column as he thought back. “Silvey, if memory serves.”

Windu's brows raised, unsurprised.

“Then Silvey they’ll remain,” he concluded.

Yoda hummed, his disconcertion bubbling to the surface with lips creased in a downward turn. “Their true name, only the three of us, Anakin, and little Ahsoka will know. Kept secret, their identity must be. Inform The Council of the prophecy, we shall, once communications are refortified. But within the council, it must stay.”

Master Windu mumbled in unanimity. “We must not entertain any notion of emerging Sith. Not among the Jedi, nor publicly.”

“I understand the delicacy of the situation and will act accordingly,” Obi-Wan assured.

The bearded Jedi halted, turning to the elders before leaning into a slight obeisance. The other Masters slowed to a halt.

“If you will excuse me, Masters, I hope to find my travel companions before they divulge any information about The Guardian’s identity.”

“May the Force be with you, Master Kenobi,” Windu stated as he bowed adieu, Yoda following suit from his floating chair.

And with that, Obi-Wan turned away to begin his search for you, Anakin, and Ahsoka.

As the General quickened his stride down that long, colossally immortal walkway, he wondered where he might find the three of you. Ahsoka was probably in the Jedi Archives around the corner, assuming she was continuing her work on that paper for Master Plo Koon. So he decided to start there. He assumed you and Anakin were stationed in the refectory closest to the hangar, remembering the previously mentioned dinner plans,

Or maybe it would be better to try the refractory first, Obi-Wan thought. If experience served true, Anakin would not stay silent about your discovery for long. He hastened his pace while mumbling these plans under his breath.

“Yes, the refractory first.”

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[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 3: The Escape

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: fluff, BANTER, slight injuries, violence, sacrifice (if you squint), bad weather (if that's a warning?), Anakin is a menace, Obi-Wan and Reader get pretty close at some point 👀.

Summary: With your true identity revealed, it's determined that you must accompany Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka back to The Jedi Temple on Coruscant. However, a number of setbacks block your escape from Hoth— some atmospheric, a few mechanical, others tall and hairy.

Song Inspo: Independence Day — Neil Finn

Words: 6.2K

A/n: Thank you for the continued support!! Looking forward to hearing your opinions on this chapter. Remember to comment a request to be added to the taglist if you'd like to be on it :)

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Series Masterlist

‘Tis fate diverts our course, and fate we must obey — Virgil

“Wow.”

Anakin leaned back in Obi-Wan’s former seat, supporting his head with hands nearly intertwined. You watched as the gears turned, his mouth loosely open and eyebrows tensed.

“And you’re…?”

“Yes.” You confirmed.

“And your master is…?”

“Yup.”

“And your eyes are…?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Because…?”

“Yes sir.”

He lifted a hand with a finger loosely pointing in the air, mouth agape before stopping himself. Confusion washed over his expression. You reveled in the brief peace as Anakin returned to his thoughts. But that gift did not last nearly long enough.

“And your…”

“Let’s just assume the answer is yes.” You interrupted while raising a hand to cut him off, closing your eyes in irritation.

You were reaching your wit's end.

“Obi-Wan took this much better.” You murmured, rubbing your temples.

Anakin grumbled, crossing his arms in defense. “Well, Obi-Wan isn’t The Chosen One.”

“Obi-Wan is standing right here.” He gibbed from his perch just beside Anakin’s seat, a hand resting on its ear with legs loosely crossed.

“Well I, for one, am glad we found you.” Ahsoka interrupted from her place crisscrossed on the floor. She locked her mischievous eyes with yours, a smug smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Someone needs to keep my Master in check.”

You beamed brightly, wordlessly thanking her for the support. Then, a sudden spark went off behind her eyes. Her head tilted quizzically at you.

“Wait, how did Qui-Gon find you? I mean, it sounds like The Order had no idea you existed, so it’s not like he could’ve found some record of you.”

You thought of her words carefully, looking up to the ceiling to delve into your memories. The other two Jedi turned toward you expectantly.

“I’m…actually not sure.”

You took a moment, trying to remember any information your Master dispensed about your beginnings.

“When I was very young.” You started. “I once asked Qui-Gon if he was my father. I was still trying to understand concepts like Master and family through my studies. And as the only human I’d known, his presence was very confusing.”

You smiled at the memory of your childlike imagination. “Obviously, he said no, explaining concepts like Master and Padawan and their disconnection from familial bonds. But in that conversation, he told me my parents had passed.”

Anakin nurtured a commiserate expression.

“I’m sorry.” He said in a soft voice.

It was then that you noticed how your story stirred The Chosen One— like dark storm clouds behind his eyes. A saga of sensitivities swirled behind his pupils.

You appreciated his empathy, and conveyed a grateful glance, watching as he nodded with postured stoicism while leaning back once more, arms crossed. Underneath all that brazenness, there seemed to be a very caring individual, you thought to yourself. And he didn’t hide it well.

Dragging yourself from the interaction, you once more delved into your past. You watched the three Jedi as the most likely theory formed.

“If he knew that…that my parents were dead, I assume he must of discovered me around then.” You shrugged at your pervasive cluelessness on the subject. “Or, maybe it was blind luck many years later, much like our first meeting. Who knows? My memories of that time are cloudy.”

“In my experience, there is no such thing as luck.” Obi-Wan expressed, smiling at you with a wise impression.

The corner of your eyes crinkled at his kismet reference as the four of you breathed into the weary silence. These hours of conversation had clearly drained the room of all its energy. It felt as if the previous night’s sleep had been stretched out of you by the very words unleashed into the air.

You were sure the revelation of your destiny and connection to Qui-Gon acted as a fountainhead to the mental fatigue that soaked through the shelter’s inhabitants. Your account was evidently transformative to these Jedi. It presumably forced them to question lifelong-held beliefs about your former Master and The Chosen One prophecy. Qui-Gon was always very clear with you about his efforts to keep you a secret from the Galaxy. You guessed that also meant from Anakin himself.

Maybe that’s why you felt incongruity bubble up within you. It was a strange experience, explaining your purpose in another being’s life without them having any previous knowledge of your existence. And despite the coherence of The Guardian’s destiny, you suddenly felt misplaced. Especially when you observed The Chosen One’s reactions.

Anakin’s furrowed eyebrows and slightly parted lips clarified his stupefaction. Yet just below the surface, you sensed the slightest sliver of tension escape his force. A sort of uncertainty that leaked from his figure.

His sudden arrival was unexpected, mostly because you thought the first contact would be more grand, precise, and deliberate. You believed all your life that one day Qui-Gon would arrive to tell you it was time, only to load you onto a starship with the Jedi Temple as its heading. There, a formal introduction would take place of great fanfare with all of the Jedi masters in attendance. A symbol of The Order’s strength of unity against the Sith in their centuries-long conflict.

But instead, here you were, by the Force’s will, sitting in front of The Chosen One who had just happened to crash land on the very planet you took refuge on. And while you were confident in each word that escaped your breath, your disorientation was still amplified by the shard of doubt that split from him. Qui-Gon wasn’t here to help you tell your story like you always dreamed he’d be. So it was up to you alone to advocate for your place in the Galaxy.

You knew Anakin’s hesitancy stemmed from the sudden discovery of your existence and, mostly, The Guardian’s unexpected tie to him. As you ruminated further, you noticed that it was much like your sudden imposter syndrome. Both of you clearly lacked the tools to approach a discussion of this magnitude.

And it was a strange comfort, knowing that you both felt equally disquiet about this meeting. Maybe the two of you were far more intertwined than you first truly realized.

To your side, Ahsoka’s bright smile was difficult to ignore from her place crossed on the floor. It emanated delight as her eyes ricocheted between you and Anakin, her tilted cheek resting on a fist. You found her to be the most accepting of your connection to Anakin’s path.

In conversation with the three of them, you discovered her to be Anakin’s new Padawan. It clicked that she likely saw you as some positive cosmic influence on the Master she held in high esteem. You were equally grateful for her connection to Anakin. Ahsoka herself seemed like a wonderful young Jedi. You admired her outspoken nature and youthful buoyancy, reminding you of yourself as a young trainee.

It was also reassuring to know that there was another person close to Anakin that you could learn from. After all, to best support and protect The Chosen One, you needed to know him well. Qui-Gon taught you that. And that meant understanding not only him, but his close associates as well.

That too included Obi-Wan, who seemed relaxed, almost grateful, since he fully accepted the truth. His shoulders were loose and eyes hopeful throughout the second rendition of your story. After giving up his seat, the older Jedi stood comfortably by Anakin, silently supporting him from behind. It made sense since you learned he was Anakin’s former Master.

Your inferences were based solely on his outward expressions, failing to register anything he released into the Force. Clearly, once the bearded Jedi recognized your force sensitivity, he found it best to firmly conceal his emotional connection to his signature, much like his other companions. If you had paid more attention to your first meeting with the Jedi, you may have realized his ability to manage this connection to the Force. His heightened control when in the presence of other Jedi would’ve dwarfed the loosened attentiveness he held around non-sensitive beings, as when he shared your company alone in the shelter.

You remember one of your first trainings with Qui-Gon was on this very topic. However, he did not only teach you how to protect your mind. Qui-Gon spent many sessions gifting you the longest and most in-depth lesson you experienced— Force Stealth.

He was always sure to remind you that for many years, it would be your most vital skill. Your former Master chided you on the need to be highly maneuverable in this field of force study to stay alive. Completely hiding your force signature was the only sure way to prevent your discovery by either side, especially the Sith. These Jedi only protected their thoughts, you mused inwardly. But once you realized this, Anakin’s readable distress became particularly perplexing.

Your mind was still saturated with anachronism to think too deeply about these matters.

Yet, you still lacked despondency, despite learning of your late Master’s passing. It had been nearly a decade since you last saw him. Maybe that’s why in the last few years, you occasionally surmised deep down at the base of your subconscious that he’d passed, leaving you stranded on Hoth alone.

But it still felt impossible to believe. Maybe that’s why you were holding it together. Or maybe some part of your heart had accepted Obi-Wan’s words, but it just hadn’t sunk in yet. Or maybe these swirling battles within you were too distracted by the initiation of your prophetic path to land that last punch of unavoidable, bitter truth.

“Well…” Anakin began.

You jolted from your thoughts.

As you registered his questioning intonation, you inwardly moaned, mentally preparing yourself for the next set of inquiries you thought ended a while ago.

He sighed. “There isn’t that much room, but I’m sure we can find space for a fourth in the shuttle’s cabin.” Anakin grinned.

A feeling of delight bubbled in your stomach. In all this time of discussion and deep contemplation, you hadn’t had the chance to really ponder the life-changing ramifications of this meeting. That included leaving Hoth, possibly forever, for the first time in a very long time. It meant meeting new people, a new planet, with a big new city that you’d only heard about through Qui-Gon’s tales. For someone who grew up in isolation for their entire existence, this revelation was overwhelmingly exciting, and somehow nerve-wracking.

“I sure hope so. Last time I checked, there were four seats installed, unless you destroyed one during your repairs.” Obi-Wan jested.

Anakin rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

If the four of you were to leave this planet soon, the state of those repairs would be a determining factor, you thought.

“So I take it the shuttle is fixed?” You inquired.

Anakin shrugged. “Eh, mostly.”

He seemed to notice the apprehension grow on your features as he quickly explained.

“I mean.” Anakin stuttered. “The engines are fixed and the shuttle can take off. But there are a few holes that lead to some important places. So they need to be plugged.”

Obi-Wan folded his arms, seemingly unimpressed with Anakin’s understatement. “I assume you’re referring to the holes in the main hull.”

Anakin sighed despondently. “Yeah.”

This complication certainly posed a roadblock to escape, but it only took a moment for you to realize that the solution was directly in front of you. Or more, all around you.

“Well.” You chewed over your thoughts as you phrased them. “If I won’t be here for much longer, I’m not gonna have much use for this shelter. Could we salvage its parts to seal any cavities?”

Anakin perked up at your suggestion, glancing around at the hull. “I…think that may work.”

“Great!” You clapped your hands, hope radiating throughout your body.

“Let’s get started.”

—

It only took about an hour to determine the shelter’s best specimens, extract them, and then prepare them for transport for the final phase of repairs. Anakin and Ahsoka were quick to load the materials into makeshift bindles constructed from your blanket collection.

You recall commenting on his pace: his evaluation of the manual, the previous restorations, the speed at which he tore out the necessary fragments from the shelter— it was all done in great haste. And his defense of this unwavering initiative was most amusing.

“I hate the snow. It’s like sand, but it gets you all wet.”

Fair enough, you thought.

That was many hours ago. Anakin and Ahsoka had long ago left for the shuttle to complete the repairs, and you and Obi-Wan were now just on the way to join them. You readjusted your grip on the lichen bag once again slung across a shoulder, this time filled with a few possessions rather than a slimy lunch.

As you moved through the new layer of snow that accumulated overnight, you thought back to how difficult it was to ignore the cold chills that scurried down your bare arms in the shelter when you were collecting your things. The exposed snow, apparent due to the missing paneling, destroyed the warming effect of the old ship’s hull.

You never referred to the old ship as your home, knowing that eventually, you would leave that place to start your journey. But that wasn’t your only reasoning. It wasn’t your home because it was a refuge, a place for asylum, for development, to prepare you for The Chosen One’s arrival, without risk of being destroyed by the Sith— at least not before you were ready to face them.

In all honesty, you were still unsure if your training would satisfy the needs of the path ahead. However, the Force seemed to believe you were prepared to begin this quest, so you had to trust in that.

You refocused your memories, thinking back to when you were collecting a few of your favorite holobooks discussing The Old Republic Jedi and the Jedi-Sith War, which you laid out on your desk as you packed. Qui-Gon’s first gift, a navy blue-based blanket with gold shimmers, was neatly folded beside them. As you clipped your lightsaber to your belt and shrugged on your warm Wampa cloak, you allowed your gaze to wander throughout the shelter until it was stopped by a glint from a thin slit in the curtain.

You stared carefully at the item that caught your eye. It hung from the back wall and clearly made its desire to accompany you well known. A breathy laugh escaped you as you shook your head. You ruminated while walking up to take the half-circle metal headpiece. How could you ever forget what you lovingly referred to as your Second Master.

“Is that The Muntuur?” You turned to the voice and were met with Obi-Wan’s expectant demeanor.

“Yes.” You strolled to your desk, Obi-Wan following close behind.

“If the Force believes that it’s prepared me enough to begin my voyage, then it shouldn’t hurt to bring it along. To keep me fresh.”

Picking up the lichen bag, you began to fill it with the laid-out belongings. It was hard to miss the intrigue dripping from the man behind you as you wrapped The Muntuur in the blue blanket. You placed it in the lichen bag, which you sealed shut with the drawstrings.

“Don’t worry.” You reassured. “Although there isn’t time to experiment if we have any hope of reaching the ship before sunset, I promise we’ll find time for the device once we arrive.”

Obi-Wan’s expression brightened at your offer. “I appreciate that.”

Then, a thought crossed your mind. “We are going to The Temple, right?”

He nodded. “Yes, straight to Coruscant.”

When you later left the shelter for the last time, you were faced with your most difficult goodbye.

Meetra was grooming her arm with wet laps when the two of you emerged from the hatch. As you let it fall closed with a thud behind you, the friendly Tauntaun raised her head in curiosity, sniffing the air for any aroma of danger.

You approached Meetra, placing each hand on her neck once more to feel her warm, thick fur.

“This is bye, for now, Meetra.” You cooed, moving your hands to pull her head down, placing a light kiss on her right tusk. “I’m gonna miss you more than you know.”

And with one last pat on her chest, you turned to make your way to the shuttle. Out of the corner of your vision, you noticed an indiscernible emotion resting on Obi-Wan’s face as his eyes peaked at you subtly.

You glanced at his following figure. He quickly acknowledged you with a copy of your bright expression. You observed his fine guise through a pregnant pause before swiveling back toward the path ahead, brushing off the interaction as the two of you continued the expedition.

Now, you both were hours into your trek, trudging through snow troughs and avoiding ice patches as the freezing wind whipped your hair, occasionally blocking your vision.

Obi-Wan seemed to be fairing just as well, a hand blocking his face so that he could see through the falling flakes. It sounded as if the Maker himself was trying to whistle for the first time from the skies.

“Why did you leave the Tauntaun behind?” Obi-Wan projected over the heavy gusts that began to pick up.

“She wouldn’t have found her way home without me.” You called out. “We‘ll be fine on our own.”

Another powerful blast of glacial wind threatened to knock you and Obi-Wan over. You both stood your ground before attempting to continue the trek during a rest in the gusts’ pull seconds later.

“We will see.” He wondered aloud.

Your gaze dropped as you tried to focus on one step at a time. While you’ve experienced the rough Hoth weather plenty of times in the past, you haven’t had to travel through it without Meetra’s help. You knew this planet well, and Obi-Wan was right. If the budding storm worsened, it could not only threaten any non-planetary beings on the surface, but also prevent the shuttle from taking off— at least not without the engine’s stalling.

Glancing up, you were now able to see the ship in the near distance, blurred by the thickening snowfall.

“Hey!” You called out, grabbing Obi-Wan’s attention with a wave. “Only a few more minutes.” You loudly assuaged, pointing at the now upright shuttle in front of you.

He nodded.

You had only taken a few more steps when a high-pitched mechanical squeal permeated the atmosphere. You contorted at the painful drone, covering your ears. Obi-Wan was similarly hunched over, trying to block out the sound. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the uncomfortable tone left.

You turned to Obi-Wan as you regained your posture. “What was that?!”

“I don’t know!” He stepped forward. “We need to get to the ship!”

You nodded as the two of you picked up the pace, much like the volume and intensity of the storm. As you neared the shuttle, Anakin and Ashoka’s figures became clearer in the growing whiteout engulfing the region. Anakin was loosely hanging from the side of the viewport by one hand, his feet swaying, as he finished sealing the hole in the transparent steel with one of your shelter’s panels and a lightsaber. Ahsoka was yelling something unintelligible from below before Anakin readjusted and jumped down to join her, continuing their conversation.

Soon, a kaleidoscope of warm tones caught the corner of your eye, turning your head toward the first sign of the coming dusk. This was beginning to be very bad, you thought to yourself. You started to forcefully jog through the trapping pressure of the snow, Obi-Wan matching your speed.

And in a few moments, their words became clearer.

“…need to get out of here!” You caught the last part of Ahsoka’s sentence as you and Obi-Wan caught up to them. The strong frigid gusts became sonorous, lasting for minutes at a time. Even with the aid of the Force, you were having difficulty keeping your feet planted.

Finally, you found your footing. “What on Hoth happened?!”

Anakin’s head spun toward you. “Who says that?!”

“They do!” Obi-Wan rebuffed. “Now what happened?!”

“I think I triggered some old security system while repairing the last hole in the viewport!” Anakin explained. “It doesn’t matter!”

Darkness started to creep across Hoth’s miles-long white blanket at an almost imperceptible rate, but fast enough to begin sinking this side of the planet’s temperature down to dangerously low levels.

Suddenly, you felt a shift in the land nearby. You took a moment, closing your eyes and breathing deeply to reach out to the impression.

“We need to leave now!” Ahsoka yelled. “If the storm gets any worse we’ll be stuck!”

The energies were large. Towering but swift. A violent rage and cavernous hunger penetrated your senses.

“It may matter.” You whispered to yourself.

You opened your eyes, glancing at Obi-Wan who mirrored your actions.

“Do you sense it?” You asked lowly, but loud enough to be heard over the howling storm.

Obi-Wan faced forward, closing his eyes. It looked as if his nose was being pulled into the distance as he dug into the Force, brows creased and lips pursed.

His eyes shot open at the three of you. “We need to leave, now!” Obi-Wan started to jog toward the shuttle’s entrance on the opposite side, you, Anakin, and Ahsoka hard on his heels.

The dimming light began obscuring your vision.

“What is it?!” Ahsoka questioned.

“A pack of Wampas!” You answered from behind. “Obi-Wan, they won’t let the shuttle take off! We’ll need to deal with them if we have any hope of leaving this planet!”

“It’s too dangerous!” Obi-Wan argued as he lept at the shuttle’s entrance stationed about three feet off the ground.

Landing, he rested a hand on the handle before turning to face the three of you. “Fighting anything in this weather will get us killed. Let alone the number of beings I sense.”

“Doing nothing will get us killed!” You maintained. “In the time it takes for us to prepare for takeoff, they’ll rip the hull to shreds!”

You took a moment to briefly reconnect with the life forms around you, registering how dangerously close the Wampas now were. Suddenly, what sounded like a gurgled scream combined with a deep-bellied roar echoed from a hundred feet away.

Anakin spun in the direction of the cry, grabbing the hilt of his lightsaber.

“Snips, start the engines!” He stared into nothingness beyond the blinding storm, now plunged in darkness. “Yell when we can lift off!”

Igniting his saber, he took a few cautious steps forward, its blue glow reflecting off the snowflakes falling around. You copied his actions, activating your weapon, the gray of your saber blending more with the environment. You listened as Obi-Wan jumped down from the shuttle’s door, landing behind you and Anakin as Ahsoka leapt to the access point and let herself into the ship. The hiss of his saber sounded, it adding to the blue luminescence by casting a subtle shadow of part of your form.

The three of you stood wordlessly while the bellowing wind buffeted each of your cloaks and wheezed past your ears. It was impossible to hear distant footsteps beyond the unrelenting noise, so you focused on your senses and any images gleaned from the sabers’ radiance as the icy chills began to stiffen your muscles.

Out of the oblivion emerged a barely perceptible, large white mass running directly toward you at full speed. In a second, its right claw was poised for attack, a roar of a thousand voices emanating from the bloodthirsty Wampa.

You reacted quickly, vaulting over the beast and slicing off its attacking arm with the shadow of your saber, its wails echoing into the distance. You shifted into a flip mid-air, facing the creature’s wide back in time to lift your saber above your head and stab it, dragging the blade down as you descended. Once you landed comfortably on your feet, you watched the Wampa slump to its knees, letting out one last pathetic wail as its body collapsed into the snow, emptying the air of a little noise.

As if answering the cry, the sound of the shuttle coming online reverberated across the frosty plains.

Anakin relaxed his spine upwards from his attack stance. “That was easier than…”

A clamor of Wampan growls and wails erupted from behind as you whirled around to face them. The sheer number of sprinting giants made their footfalls thunderously loud above the tumultuous drones of the snowstorm. Anakin swiftly crouched back down into an offensive posture while you tightened your stance.

“You always have to speak too soon!” Obi-Wan commented boldly as you watched him raise his saber.

Before you knew it, seven Wampas emerged from the dark snowfall only feet away and headed straight for you.

“Uh, a little help!” You called out.

Anakin and Obi-Wan charged each flank of the pack, taking two each to distract while you dealt with three of the massive snow brutes. Their bodies built for blizzards moved agilely as you struggled against the heavy winds and trapping snow drifts. You were avoiding their blows by mere inches, making it impossible to launch an offensive.

“They seem to like you!” Obi-Wan quipped. He incapacitated one of his attackers with a blade through the side. Its dying cry only seemed to intensify the others’ aggression.

“I don’t think they’re happy that I skinned one of their brethren!” You retorted, referring to the Wampa cloak draped around your shoulders.

Finally, you found an opening to cut off the legs of the leftmost beast, causing it to crumple to an icy grave in a pained howl.

“I believe their anger is more related to a certain piercing alarm.” Obi-Wan sassed while dodging a particularly nasty attempt to bludgeon his head.

Anakin seemed to be faring equally well, having successfully cut off the head of one Wampa and aiming to finish off the other.

“I get it!” He yelled over the battle. “Blame The Chosen One!” You could hear the smirk on his face.

You rolled your eyes, barely missing a swipe at your neck from the deed. You took the opportunity to lob off both of the attacker’s paws, paving the way to kick him with a grunt to the disturbed sleet beneath you.

“Are you sure he’s The Chosen One?!” You called out to Obi-Wan, a wicked glint in your eye. “I thought they’d be more humble!”

“Anakin and humility have never been well acquainted.” Obi-Wan jested. He slashed at his last Wampa’s chest, cutting it down.

Anakin eyed the two of you. “Because I don’t need it!”

He turned.

“Agh!”

And in the momentary distraction, the younger Jedi received a claw to the cheek.

“Obi-Wan!” You sang with a grin. “The Chosen One needs your assistance.”

“Already on it!” He acknowledged. The older Jedi jogged toward the grumbling Anakin behind you.

Finally, another window of attack opened, enabling you to separate the torso from the legs of the last beast standing before you with a quick swipe of your blade.

As you caught your breath, you turned in time to see Anakin and Obi-Wan cut down the final Wampa with two sabers through the stomach, its culminating bellow signaling the end of the battle. The two relaxed, shutting off their lightsabers and attaching them to each belt.

You ambled toward the duo after clipping your own now-deactivated saber. You tried to dust off the accumulating snow on your arms, but most of it had iced over in the dropping temperatures of a Hoth night.

Trying to ignore the numbness of your nerves from the subfreezing temperatures, you looked up, locking your gaze with them as a feeling of levity embraced you.

“I’m The Chosen One!” You mocked in a high-pitched voice, throwing your hands up and scrunching your cheeks. “I could’ve taken the whole pack with my eyes closed!”

“Yes, I believe that’s quite an accurate impression.” Obi-Wan teased with an eyebrow quirked, turning to his former Padawan with a hand gesturing to his point.

Anakin crossed his arms. “You know.” He began nonchalantly. “I could definitely take on a pack with my eyes closed.”

You rested each hand on your hips, leaning into one side with a significant lack of inspiration on your face. As the adrenaline wore off, an unpleasant ache began to pull at your sinuses.

“Let’s go!” The three of you turned your head to Ahsoka who stood in the shuttle doorway, waving you over. “This storm is seconds away from keeping us grounded!”

“About time.” Anakin huffed as he led the way back to the ship, you and Obi-Wan close behind.

You were not a mere two steps into your stride when a weakened growl vocalized behind you. You all turned as the Wampa you kicked rolled onto its knees and began to crawl upwards in all its armless glory.

“Get in!” You advised, grabbing and reactivating your saber. “I’ll take care of it!”

Anakin leapt up to the entrance, landing in the doorway gracefully before turning to you. “Come on!” He argued nonchalantly. “What’s it gonna do?!”

“An armless Wampa can still do a lot of damage!” You challenged. “Trust me, I’ve learned the hard way!”

Whirling around to begin your trot back to the stumbling blob of fur, you called out once more.

“You three focus on getting us out of here!”

You listened as Obi-Wan jumped up to join Anakin on the shuttle, followed by distant conversation. Your saber was readied mere feet away from the creature when the older Jedi called out to you.

“Anakin says we need to lift off now!”

You groaned. “Then take off!”

Swiftly, you plunged your fiery blade into the heart of the beast, killing him instantly.

As the adamant Wampa fell for the final time, you felt the snow pick up around you, a sonorous whirring rumbling from behind. You pivoted just in time to see the shuttle at least five meters above the ground and climbing fast. You charged toward the vessel, its entryway still open with Obi-Wan standing to the side as he peeked out at you, holding the frame for support.

Your feet grew heavier as the water that had leaked into your boots began to freeze. It felt as if the biting cold had calcified your limbs. You couldn’t tell if your vision was blurring due to the thickening blizzard, your persisting headache, or your dropping body temperature.

“Come on!” You looked up at Obi-Wan who had knelt by the door, the shuttle now 15 meters above you.

You continued your labored dash.

“You must jump.” He reached out a hand as you stopped some meters away from the liftoff point.

You closed your eyes and breathed deeply as you concentrated on the Force, hoping to melt away the stiffness in your movements and bring back some feeling in your extremities. You had certainly jumped long distances before when training with Qui-Gon, but this would be pushing it.

After shaking out each limb, you glanced up to see that the shuttle had climbed another 5 meters.

Great.

“Jump!” Obi-Wan yelled, reaching his hand out further.

“I know!” You yelled, slightly annoyed.

“I’ll catch you!” He assured.

You huffed, centering yourself in a wide stance. Then, bending your knees and reaching out to the energy around you, you jumped.

Freezing wind blasted your face to the point of losing all feeling. The air pushed back on your body, especially weighing you down by your fur cloak.

Still, the Force kept your trajectory. Some snow flew in your face, but the real culprit was the wind whipping your hair directly into both eyes.

You may have connected to the Power of the Cosmos a little too deeply, because you overshot. Instead of neatly landing in the entryway like Anakin, you collided with Obi-Wan, straddling him on impact as he flew back. He took the brunt of the fall, cushioning your landing with his strong, shielding form. A loud thud echoed throughout the cabin you both met the shuttle floor.

You shook your head, reorienting jumbled senses as your eyes connected with his. Obi-Wan’s flooded with relief, sighing at your somewhat safe landing. It looked almost as if his furrowed brows were scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.

You assume he did not find any concerning indications as his expression quickly morphed into a desperate attempt to manage the pain from that rough drop.

“I caught you.” Obi-Wan exhaled, his warm breath tickling your nose.

You couldn’t help the breathy laugh that escaped you, followed by a pained groan when you rolled off him and onto the cold, shaking, shuttle floor.

You kneaded the side of your ribs. It throbbed from a rough meeting with the hilt of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. The bearded Jedi emanated a similar vocalization as he sat up, massaging between his shoulder and neck where you’re pretty sure your leading hand slammed into him.

Ahsoka shot up, stumbling over to the ship’s door before pulling it closed and sealing it tightly with a twist of the handle.

She spun toward you. “Nice jump!”

“Not so nice for me,” Obi-Wan interjected.

You sent him a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

“Welcome aboard!” Anakin saluted from the pilot's seat.

You noticed the shallow cut on his cheek had frozen over while Ahsoka returned to her backseat.

“Now, get ready.” He directed. “This is gonna be fun.”

“If I wasn’t seeing stars.” Obi-Wan began. “I would have something to say to that.”

The two of you rose from the floor, having trouble keeping your stance as the shuttle continued to tremble. Obi-Wan stumbled to the co-pilot's seat while you joined Ahsoka, unceremoniously landing in the chair neighboring hers.

The hum of the draft against the hull intensified as you watched the storm worsen, with thicker snowfall and the inklings of hail bouncing off the viewport.

“Hold on!” Anakin exclaimed.

You found it wise to follow that advice.

He pulled down the throttle, pinning the four of you against your seats as the ship shot up. The shuttle creaked and groaned while the outside pressure appreciated. You grew dizzy from the intensifying quakes.

“How old is this ship, again?” You inquired.

“Don’t ask,” Anakin warned.

The vessel broke through a layer of clouds. You wouldn’t have realized had the other side not lightened the darkness you were previously doused in.

The engines began to whine, slowly modulating upwards. The beat of your heart intensified. It would be a miracle if this ship didn’t stall.

“Almost there…” Anakin gnashed.

“My brain‘s gonna turn into jelly,” Ahsoka commented with a woozy tone.

Your grip on the armrests tightened. “Tell me about it.”

You stared at the viewport, watching as the ship tumbled through flying snow and dangerous ice, surrounded by the blacks and grays of the sky. Then, in a mere second, you broke through some thin gloomy barrier, and were met with thousands of bright stars on an endless black canvas.

The shuttle instantly calmed, sailing smoothly and deeper into space. The four of you settled into an eery serenity as you stared out the viewport in awe, having long forgotten what space looked like from inside a starship.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

You glanced at Obi-Wan who’d twisted in his seat to face you, an endearing smile gently resting on his countenance. He seemed to have noticed your child-like wonderment. But who could blame you? It was an extraordinary sight, and not something you’d seen very often.

The last time you left Hoth, you were bound for Ilum for The Gathering. But that was many years ago, and you hardly remember it being this bewitching.

Then again, there was a big difference between collecting your Kyber crystal and facing the destiny you’ve prepared your whole life for. That anticipatory element could’ve added to your excitement.

This time, you weren’t going on a short trip. You were leaving for a while. For forever. Disappearing without a trace. Being called by forces unknown who freed you to face a destiny set in stone from the beginning.

And maybe Qui-Gon was out there, somewhere. In the Galaxy or the Force, watching with a smile, as you received his message from a million miles away in the form of three lost Jedi.

Either way, your journey had just begun, and basking in the light of the galaxy felt like a good place to start.

“Yes.” You sighed contently. “It is.”

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