Season of Winds, Sixth week, Forty years after the Clone Wars
Obi-Wan had not been near the Lars farm in six years. Not since that night when he and Owen had arrived at his home, tired and dusty, to repair the one thing that made habitation of Tatooine possible. After they had finished, Obi-Wan had asked Owen to take his best friend's most prized possession to the boy. Owen had objected. Vehemently. He had yelled, thrown things, and finally stormed off. As he started the speeder, he had yelled that if he saw the Knight again, he would kill him with his bare hands.
But that had been a long time ago. Today, Obi-Wan felt ripples in the Force. He could feel the world shifting around him. It was a feeling that he used to relish, but now he was old and old bones do not take to adventures lightly. A few days ago he had seen the flashes of light in the sky that told of a battle above the planet and he had seen something enter the atmosphere. Events were moving and Obi-Wan seemed to have no choice but to be swept up in them.
Suddenly, he felt a prompting from the Force; the boy would be in danger soon. If he left now, he would arrive in time to intervene, maybe even have some time alone before Owen found out. Quickly grabbing his cloak, Obi-Wan rushed out of his home and into his destiny.