A/N: Hello, this story has already been posted on Archiveofourown. Because I can. But I have that you enjoy so far!

Notes: Does anyone know a good Beta?

Chapter 1

A Nightmare

He was too cold and his body was in pain.

Nothing new, expect there was a ghost talking to him.

Tatooine 21 BBY, a year into the Jedi purge

It was the sounds that was getting to him.

The screaming of his brothers and sisters. If he somehow survived for the next 30 years or died in the next 30 seconds those sounds would still haunt him. He could dismiss anything else, like the hot suns that is beating him down, or the thirst that is wrecking his system. He could still taste the phantom metallic faint of blood. The decaying rotten death still clung to his bones, it was common. It lingered like a fine perfume that would not leave.

But those sounds. The primeval screams of pain, of betrayal. The ones he heard everyday when he wakes up— they echoed off in an impressive display of acoustics that made it feel like they were surrounding him. Constantly. Screams that were filled with pain and suffering, desperation and terror, defiance and courage—the screams of the fallen Jedi. Like nothing else he had ever seen, done, or heard, this would haunt him for the rest of his existence.

It wasn't like the Clone war, nor when they lost someone. It was the ones that the last survivor would scream, mouth with blood screaming at the world for it unfairness. Those screams would haunt him— they did— they would push him over the edge and he would find himself in the ground screaming for it to stop.

Then eveything was quiet for a moment; where his ears still rang with the phantom echos of innocent children getting killed. Gradually it started to come back to him, the heaviness, the roughness of the unforgiving sand in his cheeks. No matter how many times he tries to sweep the sand, it always finds a way through the place.

He took a deep breath; pain wrecked his muscles, flexing his hand he could see again. The world shifted as he groaned. He breath deeply, pulling his legs from under him and pushing his body upright. And he immediately regretted his decision. He took a moment, panting with the effort the simple movement had cost him before cracking his eyes open.

His chest tightened and his eyes burned in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries as his brother's body filled his vision. Anakin. A choked sob pushed its way past his lips. That was never supposed to happen. Ash in his mouth, he could feel the fire eating and licking at Anakin. The boy he and his Master found in the back-water planet of Tatooine. He remembers his padawan, his grandpadawan. He remembered how a small voice in the back of his head whispered that there was something wrong. But he didn't listen; he never listened. And now . . .

And now the galaxy was on a turmoil, Jedi killed and exiled, the darkness sweeping in and lost forever. All because of him. He had failed turning Anakin back into the light, he let his brother —his friend, his padawan, his pride— burn and the dark replaced him with Darth Vader. His former shell of the once Hero Without Fear. Anakin never really truly liked that title.

His vision blurred again. An old phrases, it's orgins lost to time, said, "Time heals all wounds." Even throughout the years, time had never be any mercy to him. The wounds were still fresh enough to hiss at. Strange, when had the moon gone out? The slabs underneath him were unforgiving —like most things in Tatooine— to his feet. Shivering he attempted to go back to his little hut, but his legs collapsed under him.

He was a Jedi. A Master Jedi with a seat in the High Counsel, the first of the Jedi to fight with a Sith in nearly one thousand years. Jedi did not long, or want. But was he even a Jedi now? He was a selfish being; he wanted his Master to tell him what to do, he wanted his padawan to come back, he wanted Master Yoda to tell him something cryptic in a frustrating broken basic. He simply wanted everything back.

To the days before the war, where the temple was settled, and in peace. But he burned that bridge a long time ago. He muffled a broken sob, tears threathing to escape. Why was he crying so much? Why? Why. . .

"Dear padawan of mine, always taking the blame when it's out of your control," a strong, familiar voice, breathed, in through the nose, out through the mouth. He had to concentrate, because he couldn't —wouldn't— believe it. Forcing his gaze upwards, he focused in his breathing. The world tilted and spun unsteadily around him, threatening a return of the lunch he thankfully hadn't eaten —not that he had any— because in front of his was a glowing form of his deceased Master.

"M—Master? Is—Is that you?" He choked out a broken whisper, spoken like a prayer. His former Master, the man that he guarded as a father figure, he was forced to watch die. He watched as the figure clear and vidvily became almost solid.

"My padawan, dry your tears. I am here and not a form of his imagination, or the worrisome lack of water in your system," He could see the outlines of his Master's figure. Wisps of fog, it was there and his Master was here. He held out his hand, it went right through the arm, but there was the familiar warmth. His breath hitched and he couldn't breath because his Master was here.

"Calm down, young one. I need you to breath with me, you need to listen to me right now," He paused and sat back on his heels, taking a moment to catch his breath. Listen to him? He could do that, one of the things he could concentrate on.

"Master what?—" The ghost pressed his fingers into his forehead and suddenly he could breath again. The class in his throat, that were constricting his chest, now disappeared. He could see the desert that was an ocean without an end. He could see now.

"Padawan, I need you to listen to me now. The Force gave you an opportunity you cannot miss. You can go back to change the history that had yet to pass," History? His was filled with the perfume of death and how could he change his nightmares? His mistakes?

"The Force will guide you, but padawan you must tell me, do you want to do this?"

"W—What do you mean? Change what? I cannot change the past, it's — It's insanity, it had come to past and — and," But no matter what he told his Master, he was mostly telling himself this. Because this was some cruel joke that the Galaxy had on him for his mistakes. Because he wanted to ignored the tingle of hope that started to bloom in his chest.

"But dear padawan, you can. But the Force will not force you to do this, if you don't wish to," But then Obi-wan started to think. If this was truly some form of his imagination, then there was no true harm on this. But if he could —if he could— then the endless deaths, the betrayals, the Empire, it didn't have to pass.

So there was no true harm done. So Obi-wan looked up to his Master, the moonlight and his ghost mixing into the two. And spoke the words that would change the course of the history and destiny.

"Yes," And the world spun, the sand and the moon started to come closer to his face. His Master smiled and spoke something he couldnt hear. And the world lit up with a bright light that was warm and comforting yet cold and soothing.

Then everything just . . . stopped.

Obi-wan cracked his eyes opened and immediately regretted his actions. The warm light burned his eyes and then there was a sudden coolness sweeping right through his body.

He's in the Temple.

Before the war, before the purge, before everything went wrong. There was a peace that settled in, like a blanket that held a surreal feeling. He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there, watching the fact slowly sinking in and looking around the garden, the sun painting everything in a warm gold-and-red hue.

"Yes, this is rather peaceful isn't it?" Twisting around, jerking to find his Master standing at his side. He blinked before he jumped him into a hug. His Master stuttered but returned the warm hug. And go mind was blank for a moment, because his Master was here and he was hugging him and he was safe.

But the humor died down, as his Master placed his large hand into his shoulder— suddenly feeling like a padawan again— with a grave expression into his face.

"Padawan you must listen now. This place . . . Is like a stop before you enter back into the world of the living. It will be painful and it will be confusing. But I will guide, you must be strong now," And Obi-wan nodded. Because he chose this and he could go back to change things.

"Remember padawan, breath." And Obi-wan was alone again. Turning and twisting confirm that he was alone. Again. The Jedi breathed in deeply, taking a moment to enjoy his surroundings for what they were: a temporary sanctuary, a calm before the inevitable storm. He couldn't deny the ache of wanting to come here for a long time.

He stretched his senses and everything felt right. Then there was a tingle, like a ants kn his arm, before he arrived to the Sanctuary. At first it seemed like nothing was going to happen, like maybe his Master was wrong for once, or maybe the Force was playing a cruel joke on him.

Then he felt a fire starting at his fingers, racing down through his limbs, rocking through him in tumultuous waves. The fire crashed and bounced within him, centering in the middle of his chest like the eye of a terrible hurricane. What felt like an eternity in time lasted only seconds before everything went black.

Jedi Master's and padawan's alike around the Galaxy collapsed when the Force screamed.

It always sang, playing songs that told stories of future events. The Dark side of the Force sang too, always whispering into people minds. But something happened. The Dark side sang to the Light, the Light always pushing and twisting away. But this time. It listen and sang back.

Then the steel walls, invisible and strong, settled. Cutting off the connection between the Jedi and the Force. Where Masters tried to touch the Force, it pushed back. Staggering and pushing, people were stuck in mediation, feeling the Force around them but couldn't touch it. Then as soon as it settled, the scream started.

Young, yet old. The whole weight of the Force driven behind it. Laced with the pain of thousands and every being were forced to listen to the scream that sounded of blood in their mouth. Yelling and waiting. Then as soon as it began, it had stopped.

Something was wrong.

Something was about to happen, fundamental changing the scales of the Force itself. The Force, in it's mysterious ways, began to sign again. This time it changed tunes (HeroFriendWarriorJediLightHopeChosenOne) anticipation and intent, tight and expectant. Something was going to happen, that was happening, and it's outcome was muddled and unclear. Causing Fear and despair.

The shockwave of anticipation didn't disappear nor did it weaken.

The Force pin-pointed to one spot in the vast galaxy of ink darkness. Where the one spot the anticipation spiralled down into expectant waiting, pressing down, hovering over a collecting above the Jedi that would change everything. And then the Force was silent.

The anticipation hummed and burned.

The shearing pain that drove itself through his head into his chest before exploding out in a strangled scream.

He attempted to catch his breath, forcing what little air his could past the pressure building against his throat. Spots teased his vision, growing in size when he was abruptly released and found himself nose-down on the ground once more. But this time the ground did not meet his face. There were whispers, words, and shouts all dancing at the edge of his hearing, just barely out of reach. As the Force suddenly went quiet.

And Obi-wan cried out.