SUNDARI, 19 BBY

"I think we're safe for now."

The words, coming from the woman next to him, brought Obi-Wan Kenobi a mixture of relief and melancholy. On one hand, he was glad to have a respite from all the fighting, all the chaos raging outside. On the other, part of him ached for what he knew would come next.

A chapter in his life was about to end.

And new one would begin in its place.

Drawing in a deep breath, hoping his composure held, Obi-Wan turned toward the woman. Her features were an odd conglomerate of grim determination and feminine softness. In many ways, he reflected sadly, Bo-Katan Kryze was just like her sister, embodying the balance between strength and grace, chaos and order.

A rueful smile touched Bo-Katan's lips. "You're not alone. I've been dreading this for a while, too."

Obi-Wan met her gaze, saying nothing. He was grateful to have found her, and not simply because she was a bittersweet reminder of his past. She, more than any other being, understood what he had lost. Her loss was different, yes; hers was the mourning for a sisterhood that was mended too late, while his was the grief for what might have been. But she understood the ache in his heart, the pain of losing something so wonderful and brave and beautiful because she, too, had lost it.

They had lost it together.

Bo-Katan put a hand on his shoulder then walked past him, leaving the small antechamber in which they stood and heading down a faintly lit hall. Drawing in another deep breath, Obi-Wan followed her until they both entered what he could only be described as a temple. As far as he knew, the room had no actual religious significance; this was simply one of the few buildings in Sundari that was large enough for this event. However, from the way the sunlight streamed in through the glass ceiling, filling the room with soft amber light, he could not shake the feeling that this place was filled with the presence of the divine.

Or perhaps it was just the memory of love. Or maybe, in a way, love and the divine were one in the same. Obi-Wan just wasn't sure where one ended and the other began.

As they entered the room, the room that sparked the feeling of the divine, a host of faces, both familiar and unfamiliar, turned to look at them. Some, like Bo-Katan, were garbed in a blue-gray armor, their helmets tucked smartly under one arm. Others were dressed in simple blue and green robes, a stark contrast to the warriors in their midst. Indeed, it struck Obi-Wan that he was surrounded by beings who had once been enemies-the Death Watch and the New Mandalorians. Yet somehow, here, in this room, the battlelines had disappeared, and despite their differences in appearance they seemed to be one people. One heart.

This had been Satine's dream.

Two years ago, when he had been called back to Mandalore by the Jedi Council, he had been saddened to learn that Satine's people were once again fighting amongst themselves. After all, Satine had worked so hard-and sacrificed so much-to bring peace to Mandalore, and yet it was all being thrown away in a matter of months. He had hoped then that she might one day see her people lay down their arms, setting aside their petty differences and standing again as a people united. He still hoped that she could, even though she was gone. But although the fighting still continued, although Mandalore still warred with herself, he saw in these people an echo of the peace for which Satine had fought so hard to secure.

He felt humbled that he was bearing witness to this.

And even stranger still, the people here did not seem to mind the fact that three Force-users-he, Anakin, and Anakin's former apprentice, Ahsoka-were gathered here among them. He remembered a time when he had been regarded with disdain by the Mandalorians, when those such as Lady Osa Wren had eyed him with suspicion and loathing. He could not have imagined then that they would one day look upon him with respect, view him as an equal. Even Ursa Wren, who stood at the border of the small crowd with her husband and two small children, gave him a respectful nod, as if her old resentment toward him had fallen away with the years.

"They are the future of Mandalore," Bo-Katan said to him quietly, nodding toward Ursa and her family. "Our people will survive-one way or another."

Again, Obi-Wan had nothing to say to that. He didn't need to. The truth of her words, seen in the determination and courage of everyone gathered here, was undeniable.

Bo-Katan touched his shoulder again, her expression softening. "Are you ready?"

"I don't think I'll ever be ready for this," he admitted. "But I want to see this through."

Nodding, Bo-Katan's hand fell away from his shoulder as she turned toward the throng of beings gathered around her. In this moment, her resemblance to her sister was heartbreaking, almost unbearably so. The confidence with which she carried herself, the determination glinting in her emerald eyes, was so reflective of Satine that seeing her cut Obi-Wan to the core.

But he would endure this. He owed Satine, and her memory, that much.

"People of Mandalore," she began, her voice as clear and purposeful as Satine's. "We are gathered here today because we have lost. We have lost Mandalore to Maul, we have lost our Clanmates to battle-and worst of all, we have lost our leader." She lowered her head. "I am the first to confess that I did not always see her this way. Although Duchess Satine was my sister, we rarely saw eye-to-eye, especially when it came to politics. She wanted us to abandon our warrior ways, and I was obsessed with clinging to the past. But I see now that our differences were folly. Rather than move apart, we should have drawn together; we could have combined the old ways with the new. The problem was that I, like many of you, was too set in my ways to recognize the wisdom in this. I didn't understand what my sister could have done for Mandalore until it was too late."

The Mandalorians, both of the old ways and the new, were silent. So was he. He had often disagreed with Satine himself, especially when it came to her view of the Clone Wars, but he had always believed she would do something great for Mandalore. It was why he had let go of their love-and let go of her.

"But there's little good dwelling on the past," Bo-Katan continued, raising her head. "I made my mistakes, as I'm sure my sister did as well. Those actions, for better or worse, cannot be changed. But these mistakes do not change the fact that Duchess Satine loved Mandalore-or that she still loved me. And I loved her." She showed him a brief look. "I know many of you here loved her as well, in your own ways. Love has a way of enduring past our missteps. Our mistakes can kill everything and everyone around us, but they cannot kill love unless we let it. I, for one, choose love. And I choose to honor that love by forging a new path for our people. What do you choose?"

No one said a word, but Obi-Wan had no doubt what they had chosen.

Because it was what he had chosen for himself.

While Bo-Katan continued on, eulogizing her fallen sister, Obi-Wan held onto his love, cherishing the place it held in his heart. Although he had walked away from her, his love for Satine had never ceased. With the wisdom that only experience affords, Obi-Wan could look back on his past and see that letting her go had been the truest way he could love her, even though it had caused him pain. To place the needs of the beloved above one's own was, in his view, the purest definition of love. And to let her go, despite his own anguish, was that definition made visible.

He only hoped that others might learn from his story of love and loss.

Tearing his attention from Bo-Katan for a moment, Obi-Wan's gaze settled upon Anakin, who stood watching the eulogy at the far end of the crowd. He was too far away for Obi-Wan to read his expression, but he could sense through the Force the young man's inner turmoil. Was he picturing what it might be like to be in Obi-Wan's place, to be mourning the death of his only love? He knew that Anakin was no stranger to loss; in a way, Anakin had lost his mother twice, once when he had left her for the Jedi and once when her life was stolen by the Tuskens. However, he wasn't certain if Anakin would be capable of suffering through another loss of that magnitude, of accepting the anguish as Obi-Wan had. Anakin had never been good at letting things go, and part of Obi-Wan knew that he would never be. Anyone who lived with as much fear as Anakin did would have difficulty emptying their hands.

Obi-Wan quitely sighed. At times, Obi-Wan found it difficult to watch Anakin make mistakes, to continually choose what he ought not to. But as he kept reminding himself, Anakin was a man now-and just as Qui-Gon had told him all those years ago, Anakin was old enough to make his own decisions and take responsibility for the consequences. Even if those consequences could bring disaster.

But he wasn't here to ruminate on Anakin. Anakin, for better or worse, had chosen his own path, and that was that. He was here to focus on the path ahead, on the legacy that his one and only love would leave.

And what would that legacy be? For one, he knew it would be a legacy of strength, of determination-not only for her people, but for him as well. Loving her had been a kind of trial, a testing of his resolve. And now, after all he had endured because of his love-all of the pain, all of the anguish and suffering-he knew his resolve was stronger than ever. He was on the right path, and he would keep moving forward. He always would.

He would do it for her.