At first, there was disbelief.

There was no way he could be blind. The galaxy was full of medical advances with robotic arms, cybernetic organs, even cyborgs. Creatures so blown to pieces that they were hardly recognizable in their current more mechanical state.

It was easy to pretend that somehow his eyes would heal during the bacta treatments and under the bandage. The bandage prevented him from seeing not his eyes being broken. It couldn't be. He searched in the Force but found he was too distracted—too focused on the blankness.

Some days were better than others as he healed. Sometimes there was light. The best day was the day of ghosts.

He had just finished a bacta treatment and they allowed him to take off his bandages long enough to check the progress of his vision. And he had seen what he could only describe as a dark cloudiness. Things had dimension and moved but he couldn't be sure how far they were from him and it was only in his right eye.

That was month two.

Things had begun to look up. A weight he hadn't noticed temporarily lifted. Maybe everything would be okay despite what the Force told him, what he felt. But the Force didn't have his best interests at heart. It never did. Why else would it have let his Master die? Let him be blinded? Not warn him fast enough?

He had gone out with the others, was more willing to accept the help, let himself be guided because it was temporary. Thank the Force. It had to be temporary.

But then his vision diminished. The cloudiness dissolved into darkness and a slight change around light sources. A cold fear was born in the pit of his stomach. Nothing interested him and he began to shut himself away. He sensed the dark side creeping on to the ship but he couldn't locate the source. And he didn't care. He couldn't stop it now.

The medical droid was not an eye specialist and could only do so much. There began to be some mention of cybernetic alternatives to sight. The Rebellion didn't have a lot of money and most were known and wanted for treason so well paying stable work was hard to come by. Cybernetic eyes were one of the most expensive transplants there were.

Loathe as he was to remember it, Count Vidian had picked out the organs and body parts he wanted to replace his own. There was hope that cybernetics might work.

But the Count had been disgustingly wealthy.

Cybernetic eyes did not fully restore vision anyway and they were the most expensive of all the cybernetic advancements. They can what had been reported a lower quality holographic image with no color discrimination or shadows. Many had to be trained to interpret information from mechanical eyes. There were fastened to the optic nerve and if the optic nerve was damaged, there was no way to restore vision. So Count Vidian's disease hadn't damaged the nerves else he wouldn't have been able to have them even with all his money.

Even worse in Kanan's case, ocular specialist droids were only found nearer to the core of the galaxy. It was too risky to head there and spend what little funds they had. Kanan hadn't voiced his opinion on the matter. He found that he had little to say these days. He tried to meditate—call out to Yoda, the Force, anything to make him feel grounded, to give a little more clarity to the situation. Could he ask for the rebellion to do such a thing?

It turns out it didn't matter.

At the end of the third month, the prognosis was officially given.

He sat in the medical bay. Hera was there; she had guided him like she always did. The seat was cold and metal and it was finally determined that he no longer needed to wear a bandage. The cosmetic and reconstructive surgeries were as successful as they could be given the circumstances.

"There are no further medical interventions that will restore your vision," the medical droid explained after the first surgery before the second session in the bacta tank. "The optic nerve in the left has atrophied and is no longer functional. The optic nerve of the right eye is degenerating as well. Cybernetics are not an option."

"But…" Kanan interrupted. "I can see light. The lights in the ceiling. Dimly but—" He squinted really absorbing what he could tilting his head so that he could make better use of his residual vision. The light made his eyes sting but he could see it as a haze up above in the far right corner of his right eye.

"We have done what we can to reconstruct the lid, tear ducts, cornea, lens, iris…" The droid's voice switched into a halting lilt, which happened when it listed anything. Kanan hated it, ""There is extensive corneal scarring, the development of cataracts on the lens, and vitreous and retina detachments in both eyes," the droid updated. "The eyelids have been successfully reconstructed and should work. The tear duct reconstructive surgery indicates not as good results as we had hopes. This is as far as my medical knowledge goes."

"Kanan…" Hera said but was cut off by the droid.

"There is nothing further to be done about the scarring unless you consult with a cosmetic and reconstructive specialist on Corusant."

Scarring. Kanan resisted the urge to reach up and feel. The skin felt tender still but not swollen and painful like it had for the past few months. His eyes still felt weird in his sockets having been practically regrown by the bacta.

"But the right optic nerve will continue to atrophy. What remaining sight you may have in the eye after all is said and done will be lost."

"But…" Kanan said. His brain was having a hard time understanding. He suddenly felt very naked without the bandage. "I can see light." Hera put her hand on his arm and he flinched away from her.

"But for not much longer, Mr. Jarrus. Hypothetically, cybernetics might help but it would only be temporary and the cost would be extreme. You would have to speak to a specialist on Corusant to inquire further." The droid paused and the room seemed to become colder. "I have uploaded information concerning rehabilitation for those who are visually impaired. My recommendation is that you continue to protect your eyes as they are still healing and are sensitive to light. I have devised a mask for you." There was a soft sound of something being placed by his left hand on the table beside his chair. He didn't touch it though his eyes were starting to water. "You should also take more seriously the training information I was able to upload concerning orientation and mobility rehabilitation training. I was able to have a device constructed for you with the help of Captain Syndulla."

Hera's hand was back.

There was another sound beside him.

"Kanan, please." Hera took his hands and placed two items in them. He blinked trying to process. This was a nightmare. It had to be.

He found himself looking down toward the objects though he couldn't see them. There was something smooth with a curved edge, and with two metal discs to stay in place: must be a mask. No lenses though just solid. His stomach tightened. The other object was a little shorter than his forearm and cylindrical. One end was smooth while the other seemed to be made up of ridges maybe it in a circular formation based on the fact it was a cylindrical object. There was a button on the side near the ridged end.

"What is it?" he asked coming up with a blank as to what it could be.

"It is a black telescopic cane often used by those who are blind when ambulating," the droid explained. "The button on the side extends it. This will help you become more independent while traveling. Its purpose is to detect terrain changes, objects, drop offs and steps up. There are a few different techniques to be learned in order to reap the largest benefits of the cane."

Kanan felt numb.

"Kanan?" Hera's voice was uncertain and she touched his hand placing the ultrasonic sensor and telescoping cane in his hand. "Are you…are you okay?"

"Fine…" he said without feeling and slowly trying to bring himself to the present and not dwell on the circumstances. Like the facial expressions he no longer could see on Hera's face.

He stood up from the chair, wavered slightly, and Hera brushed her hand against the back of his hand—lesson one from the orientation and mobility program on making contact with someone who can't see—so that he could trail his hand up her arm and take hers above the elbow and she could lead him out of the medical wing. He was reluctant to place the shield over his face since it rendered him completely blind and following what little light perception he had out of the corner of his far right visual field was comforting.

Hera's arm was stiff under his hand.

His grip was equally as stiff as she led him through the ship and he tried to anticipate obstacles through the Force. He was naturally attuned to intent and movement as he had trained with the mask when he was a youngling but to be constantly scanning was not something the Jedi trained for. And not for things like stairs, dips, up curbs or small obstacles that he could trip on. They walked outside, careful on the slope to the ground, and the light burned his eyes.

He placed the shield on his eyes effectively rendering him in complete darkness.

The disbelief didn't stop but grief overwhelmed him.

It colored his every action. From searching for a mug with his hand, listening for Chopper's location, smelling that Zeb was near rather than seeing. Walking into a room with nothing moving, nothing dangerous, nothing broadcasting intention or emotion. If he wasn't touching it, couldn't hear it, or sense it in the Force; it didn't exist. Old words rang through his head that he had told Ezra: "We win by surviving...we win by surviving...we win by surviving..." This hell was surviving, wasn't it?

What made it worse was that people also seemed to distance themselves from him as he distanced from them. Sometimes it wasn't even because of the gloom that was not apart of him but because they were too nervous or thought they couldn't do the things they once did. He found that Chopper began to avoid him in the main area after Kanan had to explain he couldn't play the game anymore because he couldn't see the holographic images. The droid was a cheater and couldn't be trusted.

The Ghost became his prison. The hallways felt longer. Ezra and Zeb's room a maze of objects to trip on. Chopper continued to be the worst leaving objects in the hallways. And his Force sense was unreliable when the situation didn't call for it. He swept his hand out in front of him. Meditated in the dark of his room and still it would only give him a rough idea of what was immediately ahead of or around him by half a meter.

And though it had been months, the nightmares continued to plague him. Waking up as if his face were on fire. Or worse, the dreams of his master exploding in a flash of red light.

Then he expected to see every time he opened his eyes. There was no bandage to remind him. No. Nothing but darkness as he could still perceive it.

One night about a month after his official prognosis was one of the worse dreams of his master disappearing in a ball of fire, Maul and Vader's voices taunting him in the darkness—the blankness—that had been the Sith temple.

A cold sweat covered his body when he woke. Why couldn't he see? He blinked rapidly—a split second before everything came rushing back. He grabbed at his eyes and flailing for the light. It clicked and nothing changed. His heart beat faster and he stumbled up from the bed.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

He reached out everything he had learned about protecting himself and using the Force when he moved out the window and he found the opposite door with his feet. Muttering under his breath, he searched for the button to open the door. It was somewhere to the left. He felt along the seam of the wall with his palm. At first in small circles. It was over on the left, he was sure. He reached up—that's too high. He reached down—where was it? Maybe it wasn't on this side. He felt along the door to the left side and searched.

His heart beat faster. Each foot stepped too carefully making a pitiful swoosh sound as he slide it forward to check his path. Nausea bubbled in his stomach and his head swam in hazy concentration as if he was hungover. This was taking too long. Everything took too long now. He couldn't find it. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes and they stung. He went back to the right side of the door, making large sweeps with his hand—there!

The door opened the fresh cool air blew on his face but still no light.

"No light," he muttered and stepped into the hallway. There were no sounds of anyone so hard to tell whether it was the middle of the day or the middle of the night. He trailed the wall keeping his whole hand against the wall and risking jamming his fingers. But he would keep his whole body against it if he could to keep him grounded.

He tried to take a deep breath and remember which way it was to leave the ship. Down the hall, through the doorway, and the ladder down was on the left side of the balcony. There was a tense moment walking through the open space of the common room. He slid his feet with both hands out in front of him, one hand down to protect his waist and one arm up with the elbow bent to protect his face and chest. With each step he felt more and more ridiculous. Hera had contacted Zaluna a few months ago and asked her for some help. This is what she had told them so he could protect himself from open cupboard doors or random objects that he could bump into. He knew this ship. He didn't need it—he could see—

As soon as he lowered his hands, his body came in contact with the wall. So shaken, he couldn't even hope to use the Force at this point. But he made it through the doorway after searching too long for the button. He moved slowly now sliding his feet forward to find the edge and holding one hand to protect his lower body and the other to search for the railing.

After two steps it felt like every step was closer to the edge. His heart raced and he willed the Force to give him some indication of where it was but it only increased his anxiety and suddenly all he felt was empty air around him no obstacles but nothing else either.

He gritted his teeth and slide his foot forward—edge and his hand contacted the railing. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He inched along the railing until he felt the opening then knelt down and felt with his hand for the first step.

He didn't usually come this way. Ladders still gave him some trouble. But he turned and felt with his foot for the first step. Then slowly until he felt the unmistakable floor. Kanan exhaled again, found the wall, and walked slowly toward the opening. He knew it was open because the wind was on his face and he could smell the hot dryness of Atollon's earth.

The wall ended and the sun warmed his face.

But there was no light. No slight difference in the world around him. No flicker or spark of light of his right retina firing phantom neurons. Just…nothing.

And yet his eyes stung because they were still unfairly sensitive.

He fell to his knees as all life, fear, and anger drained from him. What was left was grief. Hollowness and stupid tears sliding hot on his cheeks. He needed to shower. It had been too long and he had grown a scraggly beard in his denial of relearning self-care.

"Kanan?" It was Hera. Footsteps rushed toward him then stopped directly in front of him. "Kanan? Are you okay? You slept most of the day again."

"It's…gone."

"What's gone?"

"The light. It's gone." Even as he said the words grief made the tears run down his cheeks harder. And it added shame to the overwhelming grief. He never cried and he felt stupid for crying over this. They had told him it would diminish. And it wasn't like someone had died. He hadn't even cried for Ahsoka.

"Oh, Kanan." Hera's arms were around him suddenly and fiercely hugging him against her. Her smell and heat surrounded, enveloped him but it did not numb the sense of loss. He couldn't see her. Not the green of her skin or of her eyes. The quirk of her lips when she got her way. "I'm so sorry. Maybe not today but it will be okay. It will be okay. It will be okay." She repeated it over and over again like a mantra, her voice washing over him and through him.

After what seemed like a small eternity she leaned back and the loss of contact felt like a void between them and he was alone in this hell even though he knew she was right there. If he couldn't hear her, feel her, smell her, it was like she wasn't even there. Panic and grief bubbled up inside him once more.

"We'll go check in with the med droid. Then…" She took a breath and seemed to steel herself. "Then you are going to shower and I'm going to contact Zaluna. We have to move forward, Kanan."

He didn't answer. She grabbed his hand and placed it on her arm and even though he didn't want to, he hated her for it. Even though none of this was her fault. It was no one's fault but Maul's.

She lea him to the med droid where it was confirmed that his optic nerves were no longer functional. He had "total optic failure" and no light perception whatsoever.

"Did you know that only about 2% of the human population is visually impaired? Most humans who are visually impaired have some residual vision and most humans lose their vision as part of the aging process. And only 2% of the visually impaired population is totally blind like you," the droid droned. "Quite interesting."

"Lucky me," Kanan muttered dully.

And that was that. The last thing he would ever see some gradient difference of light versus dark gone forever. He was already fantasizing on what it had actually been like to see the difference. The memories were already more vivid to be real and yet more distant at the same time.

He took a shower.

She clipped his beard and pulled back his hair.

And contacted Zaluna, the Sullustan he had met on Gorse who was blinded in the struggle against Count Vidian.