There is silence. The flame is bright, and everlasting, and relentless in its work. To burn the one whose spirit had long since influenced him, and would continue to do so... both in life and in death. There is silence. He watches as if he is not himself. As if this had never happened. As if he had been so trained, so competent, so mindful of the task, that he had saved his Master, and there was nothing lying there before him. As if he wishes he was there in place of him. There is silence. It flickers in front of him. His eyes are restful, concentrated, concentrating on it, wishing it away, wishing time to pass, wishing time to disappear. He does not blink, nor does he waver. There is peace. The physical is dead. But the spirit carries on. He can feel it. Be mindful of the task, my young Padawan. The spirit carries on. He can feel it.