Red.
The horizon seemed to shimmer with the fading heat as Tatooine's twin suns slowly began to sink on the crimson stained horizon. Orange, pink and yellow were marred with scarlet smears that seemed to mock the peaceful sunset. The hermit sank down onto the lone meditation cushion in the center of his hut. Unfamiliar physical weakness caused his descent to be harsher than normal.
Fever. Red-hot, creeping through his bones, reducing them to sand.
He raked a hand through greying, ginger hair. Kilometers from any semblance of medicine, he was alone. There would be no medical aid for him any time soon. He knew what he had to do. He had done it many times before during his time as a Knight and Master.
A deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale the soothing current of the Force, exhale the tension that had wound itself tightly around his shoulders and chest.
And so, he lowered his forehead to the cool stone floor as he eased his aching mind and body into the Living Force.
"Cerasi." The name burned the boy-soldier's throat like magma as he choked on his words.
It had begun with a red flash and had ended just as quickly. The scarlet bolt pierced the pale flesh and within moments, breath had left her body and she had fled the confines of this world forever. She had sought peace in the midst of a maelstrom of war. She came in unarmed, waving a banner of words and imploring the factions for a nonviolent solution.
Obi-Wan Kenobi bowed low before the splayed body of his dear friend. Tears, barely restrained, hung suspended in the corner of his eyes, delaying the moment when they would fall and the truth of what had occurred would be made real to the young man.
"This was not supposed to happen," he murmured, running a hand over her cold skin. "I-I'm sorry. I should have been there to help. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The desperate litany of apologies grew quiet as the weight of all of their decisions—good and bad—pressed in on the grieving young man.
He laced the copper hair in his fingers, feeling the softness of it one last time. He lowered his face to hers and breathed in her scent, remembering her as she had been in life. Anger at the great injustice of death rose within him. He reached out into the Force, begging for comfort, pleading for peace as the flames of the Dark Side threatened to consume his torn, bleeding heart.
The reclusive man gasped, battling back against the infection that shifted in his body like a sandstorm. The illness that raged within him stripped his soul of its defenses, leaving him wide open to the scathing memories that burned at the edge of his consciousness. Still, he would not relent. He fought on against the sickness.
"Do not harm him. It was my decision. I take full responsibility." The words held the weight of wisdom and selflessness of a Knight. The Padawan "I will pay for his care—"
"In blood?" The words hissed between pointed teeth. "Your kind, Jedi, has wounded many of ours over the centuries. A great debt must be paid if you are to receive care for your Master."
"I will do what I must."
"Take him, then." The tall, gravely wounded Master nearly crumpled to the ground as he was tossed toward his apprentice, who caught him, arms trembling under the greater weight, and lowered him to the hovergurney. "You may take him to our healers, but we will come for your payment soon." The large sentients half-slithered, half crawled from the cell.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon weakly ground out through clenched teeth, "That was…not wise, Padawan."
"Master, as a Jedi, we do what we must to preserve life-your life is included."
Hours later, their captors came for payment.
Pain. Fiery hot and cruel, lanced through the young Jedi's back, curling around his spinal cord and lancing up into his brain. He gasped, writhed, red hazed at the edge of his vision. And then, it was over.
A dull ache encased his body, slowing his thoughts and numbing his mind. "It is finished," they hissed and tossed him into the cell where Qui-Gon laid.
Still-drying bacta clung to the Master's beard. He slowly woke to see sticky crimson coating his apprentice's back. Obi-Wan slowly forced himself to his hands and knees, collapsing at Qui-Gon's bare feet. "M-Master?"
Red quickly faded to black as the older Jedi reached out with the Force, wrapping the weakened apprentice in the healing balm of its light.
The hermit's hands came up to his temples, clenching into fists and unclenching as he continued to wage war against the sickness that had taken over his body so quickly. His hands came away slick with sweat and sand.
"NO!" Twin red blades flashed with deadly malice. He could not fail.
"Master…" Crushing grief. His master's body was a sieve and no amount of energy that the Padawan attempted to pour into him could fill him with life again.
"Train him, train the boy. He will bring balance."
Tears fell and the Master's hand weakly reached up to graze his cheek. "No, Master."
"Obi-Wan…"
The red saber flashed and spun in his mind's eye.
The fires of Mustafar raged around them as the Jedi fought from the highest height of the magma-covered world to the dirty, soot-filled lows. Sweat clung to both men, drenching their tunics and burning their eyes.
They were too evenly matched. The Master and the man who had once been his apprentice spun, blades clashing as they once had in the Temple's practice rooms. The deadly dance continued, reminiscent of their old training katas, as the two combatants fought with precision.
Finally, a way out. Red lava burred as he made his move and the world spun beneath him for a brief moment, crimson and black melding as he jumped.
Obi-Wan leapt, spinning over the red river to land. "It's over, Anakin. I have the high ground," he yelled in mournful, regretful triumph.
"Do not underestimate my power."
A leap and a terrible sizzle, flesh burning and being torn from its rightful place.
He bent down into the shifting gravel and lifted the blue saber that had once belonged to Anakin Skywalker.
"I HATE YOU!" The words echoed through the night, slicing into the wounded heart of the older Jedi.
"You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you." His broken cry emulated the blazing pain of the Force, which shuddered as the battle ended. Obi-Wan Kenobi staggered away, nearly crumpling under the weight of his failures, all accumulated into that one, scathing cry of hatred.
Even as he left the red, smoldering planet, the fires of Mustafar would continue to haunt his dreams for years to come, eating away at his heart and soul.
The orange and crimson twin suns began to rise on the distant horizon, setting the desert planet ablaze yet again as another day began. Obi-Wan Kenobi slowly sat up, stiff joints aching. He opened his stormy eyes, dull from the memories, no longer bright with fever.
The red night was over and another burning day was beginning.