Anakin's eyes snap open, and he thrashes wildly. Scrambling out from beneath the covers, he attempts to get to his feet. The blankets tangle in his legs. Kicking anxiously, he rolls to the left and tumbles off of the bed unceremoniously. He winces harshly as his knees flare up as they bash ungracefully onto the hard, tiled floor. It's chillingly frigid; the air bites at any exposed skin. Anakin tears at the remaining thin sheets, but they won't come undone. The walls are groaning; something is amiss. His heart begins to race, and his breathing becomes shallow. The hairs on his arms rise as his muscles tremble. With a shout of desperation he savagely rips the sheets, freely himself. The cold attacks the tops of his newly uncovered feet, but he is relentless. He launches up off of his knees. His left foot leaves the comfort of the blankets below pressing against the bitter tiles. He winces as it burns.
The room is unbearably dark; one would barely be able to see their hand in front of their face. Anakin grasps down at his waist instinctually. In a flash, his lightsaber's both snap on with a hiss. The vibrant, ultramarine blue light is instantaneously swarmed by the surrounding shadows. Their soft hum can barely be heard over the shifting of the walls. Rotating his head quickly to the left and right, Anakin deciphers the familiar features of his room. The disheveled bed, the desk full of books, the wardrobe of wrinkled robes. Something isn't right; it's still too dull, too brisk.
Anakin's knees are bent, legs adjusted to retaliate to any surprises. His front foot a few feet forward pointed towards the door, lightsabers up in a dual lightsaber Soresu adaptation. He reaches out to the force, centering himself as much as possible. His breathing partially stabilizes, and his rapidly beating heart heart calms slightly. He creeps towards the door, hissing slightly as his right foot presses against the floor. There is a sound past the whimpering in the walls. He strains his ears. Screams.
The door screeches open on its own, making Anakin jump back and almost collapse on his bed. The metal from the door slides unpleasantly against the frame. The screams are louder now, more coherent. He slowly edges his way out, eyes fixated for anything the darkness has veiled. No kitchen, no table, no couch, no additional doors. He is no longer in his dorm. An arm's length ahead of him is a barely conceivable groaning metal wall. To the left, all that can be seen is a curtain of blackness. Anakin's looks over his shoulder back into his room. However, the door is gone and all that remains is another palpable wall. Turning his head back, he reaches forwards with one of his sabers, wanting to test the wall. The blue blade hisses as it touches the dark metal, melting the surface with a soft orange glow but not piercing deeply. Only with that sizzle, Anakin realizes the grumbling from the walls has halted. His mind refocuses and he retracts his blade quickly checking to his right and finds the same result as to his left; a pathway of darkness.
Flickering his view from his left to right, he debates which path to follow. There is no difference, so he begins to creep to the left. A scream pierces the darkness from behind him, tearing through his mental shields mutilating his mind. It is a horrific sound. Anakin falls to his knees and his sabers slip out of his hands, their hum falls silent, while his arms fly up to cover his ears. It feels like a knife has been driven into his scalp and bile rises to his throat as a wave of nausea overwhelms him. He squints his eyes closed trying to stop the world from spinning. The shrieks continue to reverberate off of the walls, echoing. His body hurts, his muscles are now seemingly unusable with how hard they are trembling. His hands slam onto the floor to provide support, but the cold immediately gnaws viciously at them. Even the ground is shaking. Anakin fights to stay conscious as the darkness swarms his mindscape, trying desperately to bring up his mental fortifications, but he can't concentrate. The assault is tenacious, unbearable.
Moments before he succumbs, the pain lessens. Only a faint echo remains in his ears and he gasps for air greedily. How long has he been holding his breath? He is on all fours, his head slumped downwards, the tips of his hair grazing the floor. His muscles are quivering, making his arms beg for mercy. He keeps his eyes shut as he continues taking deep breaths. Raising his head sluggishly, he opens his eyes peering into the blurry, stygian abyss. He needs to stand before the attack starts again. Grasping at the straws of his perseverance, he shoves off the floor and gets back onto his knees. The adrenaline coursing through him helps him focus. Where are his lightsabers? He reaches out and swiftly draws them to himself. They scrape against the floor, whip through the air and then the cool, yet soothing hilts thump into his palms. He instantly ignites them and bathes in the soft blue gleam. He pushes off his knees onto one foot, kneeling, before taking one last deep breath and finally standing completely.
He reorients himself the best he can, but his hands continue to shake slightly as he holds his sabers in a defensive position. He starts to construct his mental shields pouring his energy into them. He begins to walk forward while continuing to consolidate his mind. He slowly picks up his sloth like pace as he walks farther down the hallway. The darkness has become even more intense and suffocating. He begins jogging subconsciously. His feet are numb to the cool now.
He feels the force flare up. Bracing himself for the upcoming assault, he stops moving and fixates all his energy on improving his mental barriers. The shrieking returns. They are dreadful to listen to, worse than sharp metal scrapping along glass; however, his shields hold strong against their barrage. The metal in the walls bellow in pain, the ground shakes heavily. He stumbles, but maintains his balance and stays on his feet.
Without full mediation he is forced to rely on deep breaths to slow his racing heart. Tightening his grip on his sabers, he hesitantly creeps forward. The screams continue to get noticeable closer. The darkness is so intense now he can hardly see past the length of his lightsabers. He notices the gray walls sharply cut inward making another wall in front of him. In the middle there is an opening, a door. As tall and as wide as Anakin is, full of the same darkness that has infested the hallways previously; however the light from his lightsabers cannot penetrate it. The screaming resides again; the walls fall silent, the ground tames to a quiver. He can hear faint whimpers through the shadowy curtain ahead of him. He shakily steps into the said void.
His eyes cringe instantly, dilating and growing accustomed to the new found light. It is still dark within the room, but there are dozens of candles along its circumference. The perimeter of the room is in the shape of an octagon, with onyx, stone walls stretching ten feet into the ceiling. The ceiling domes towards the center, reaching at least three times the height of Anakin. The floor is made up of smooth, yet unevenly placed gray stone tiles.
Anakin's eyes are instantly drawn to the center of the room, to a small figure curled up in a ball on the floor faced away from him. Apparent by the long, brown hair and lithe body, it's a girl. Unhealthy, pale skin is seen through the coal black, torn robes on her figure. Anakin can hear quiet whimpers and see a slight quiver as she draws her knees deeper into her chest.
His lightsabers snap shut, both hilts going on either side of his hips. He inches forward, crouching down slowly on his knees next to her. She tenses up, pulling her knees and chin even deeper into her chest like she can sense Anakin's looming presence. Judging by the smooth, unwrinkled skin that is exposed and the sound of her whimpers, she must be very young. Now closer to her, he can make out how tall she is. She can't be much older than Anakin. Reaching out for her, he places his hand on her shoulder giving her a slight shake to break her out of her stupor.
She immediately stopped shaking and the room went silent. The flames on all the candles brighten ominously. Within a moment, Anakin's back crashes onto the floor; a spiderweb of cracks spreads out around him on the stone. He tries to gasp for air as a hand tightens on his neck restricting his airflow. His eyes squeeze shut as dizziness and nausea overwhelms him as his head ricochets off of the ground. He can feel a small, lithe body pressing on top of him, keeping him rooted on the floor. He struggles, but it is in vain. The lack of air and the pounding of his head has weakened his muscles. Through the fogginess of his brain, he desperately reaches out in the force willing it to pull the girl off of him; however, he is met with a strong wall of resistance and does not have the concentration nor energy to fight it. He can feel the darkness of his mind tower over him like that of a tidal wave on the verge of crashing. He stills as he senses the wave peak, waiting for the inevitable.
Suddenly the pressure lessens. He instinctively tries to curl inwards, as he coughs trying to clear his throat, but is restricted by the body on top of him. The darkness is gone, but the fogginess remains. He continues to shudder as he gasps for wallops of air.
"Anakin", a hoarse, surprised voice whispers from above me.
His eyes flicker back open, blinking rapidly trying to clear the dark spots and dizziness. He can feel the occasional drops of water on his cheeks from above. The crying returns from before, but this time it's different. His vision clears enough to see partially and he gazes at the figure above him. Her skinny arms are on either side of his head and her face hovers over his own. She is beautiful; her smooth pale skin, full pink lips, a small, rounded nose, defined cheekbones. Her long, straight, chestnut brown hair frames her face and the tips brush against Anakin's own. His eyes lock onto her closed eyes, noticing the tears leaking out, rolling down her cheeks and falling off her chin. One of her hands reaches up and wipes the tears below her eyes. Her eyelids flick upwards, revealing poisonous yellow eyes.
Anakin's eyes snap open again.
"Vaylin", he whispers. Tears instantly begin leaking out of his eyes, trailing down his face and falling onto the floor.
He is on his back and his head is turned to the left with his cheek resting on the cool floor. Lifting himself into a sitting position, he looks around and notices he is back in his room. The darkness remains, but the room is illuminated by bright moonlight shining through the window next to the bed. The frigid cold is gone and the groaning of the walls is replaced by the soothing, soft wind rushing through the trees outside. The floor around him is covered by torn sheets.
Anakin rubs his hand through his sweat ridden hair in an attempt to calm himself. He closes his eyes. He saw Vaylin. She was in so much agony; he can still hear the echoes of her wails in his head. She was so alone, so petrified. She attacked him, almost choking him to death, like she assumed he was there to harm her. Vaylin... what had happened to her. What happened to the sweet, little girl he used to dream with. The loud, innocent, kind one who would take him on adventures. When both of them would excitedly fall asleep at night waiting to see each other again, and depressingly hug each other as they both woke up again. That was years ago, but some part of him always hoped she maintained that same childish innocence and joy.
He only finds solace in the fact that she recognized him. And that meant something to her, to him. She stopped choking Anakin when she realized who he was.. His heart falls at the thought of who she is usually greeted with. Tears fall from his face in droves; he doesn't even try to stop his sniffles.
"Vaylin", he whispers again. Oh how he missed saying her name. How he missed her. He has become so busy with training and missions, that Vaylin's sudden disappearance has slowly lost its place in the forefront of his mind. He never forgot about her, how could he? However, he had come to accept their disconnection. Now, seeing her again, how beautiful she has grown up to be, the pain of not seeing or talking to her has risen again.
He desperately reaches out in the force, searching for their old bond that was once so strong; however, he is left with nothing. Nothing has changed in that sense. He hasn't been able to find her in the force since she disappeared. A sad, watery sigh escapes him. He hoped that the nightmare alluded to them reestablishing their bond.
The door to my room bursts open and Qui-Gon quickly makes his way in. His eyes widen as he notices Anakin's disheveled state, tear ridden eyes, and torn sheets. Anakin rubs his eyes and tries to calm his sniffles as Qui-Gon makes his way over and crouches next to him.
"Anakin, what is it? What has happened?" He asks hurriedly, his eyes roaming Anakin's body for injuries.
Anakin is silent, but tears continue to fall. His head remains downcast and mouth shut, not knowing how to respond. He has never told anyone about the dreams he used to have; he was a little dark, quiet boy, just recently starting his training. What Vaylin and he had was something for the two of them. It was personal to them. By the time Anakin had grown in confidence and found those who he could trust, she disappeared. There was no reason to tell anyone then. What they had was gone and Anakin did not want to think about it, let alone talk about it. He has always been quiet, keeping to himself, so no one noticed his demeanor changed then.
"It is nothing master. A dream, nothing more." He says emotionlessly, his head tilting down lower and eyes closing to hide his true feelings. It was a pathetic response. Tears still crept down his cheeks and occasional sniffles can be heard. He usually has a better grasp on his emotions.
Qui-Gon grabs Anakin's shoulder with his right hand,"It was more than that. Your pain and anxiety were palpable through our bond, young one." Qui-Gon says calmly, but with hardness in his voice conveying that he knows Anakin is lying. Anakin doesn't respond.
Qui-Gon softly grabs Anakin's chin and lifts it up to expose his neck. Anakin's eyes remain closed. "My gods, your neck Anakin. Where in the force did you get this." He asks worriedly, his hand dropping from his chin to brush against where Vaylin had choked him. Anakin can only imagine how bad the bruising looks.
Anakin pulls away from Qui-Gon's hand, opening his eyes and turning his head to fixate on the moon. "Master, it was just a bad dream! Alright? Don't worry about me, I'm fine!" He says defensively. However, the anger in it is partially covered by the thickness of his voice. Qui-Gon's eyes widen slightly at the tone of his voice; rarely does Anakin lift his voice, let alone at him. He pulls his hands away from Anakin, realizing his wish for space. He stays crouching next to him, concerned and pondering how to respond.
Qui-Gon sighs softly and stands back up rubbing his shoulder. Looking down on Anakin with a concerned gaze, he offers a hand. Surprised by the lack of resistance to his obscurity, Anakin takes his hand and stands at his full height. Still not knowing what to say or do, Anakin stands there awkwardly staring at the gray wall next to him for a few moments. He doesn't want to explain Vaylin or relive the dream right now, but Qui-Gon doesn't deserve his disrespect.
"Alright, your clothes are drenched in sweat and you reek. Why don't you wash up in the fresher and clear your mind. I'll go make some tea and if you are ready to talk after, we can talk." Qui-Gon says softly. Anakin meets his eyes and gives him a slight nod, not agreeing to talk after, but to go wash up and recenter himself. Qui-Gon purses his lips and gives Anakin's shoulder a slight squeeze before turning and heading into the kitchen.
Grabbing a towel and a new pair of robes, Anakin makes his way quickly into the fresher. Closing the door, he hangs up his towel, peels out of his sticky clothes, and gets into the shower. The hot water rushes on with a spurt and relaxes his tight muscles and eases his throbbing headache. He places his palms on the cool white tiles and slowly drops his head, pressing the top of his forehead against the wall.
Vaylin's eyes flash in his head. She no longer retained her bright, green eyes from youth, but possessed snake-like, poisonous yellow ones. Like a true Sith.
He can feel the exhaustion seeping back in, revealing to him just how little sleep he got. Not having the resolve to fight his drowsiness off, he remains leaning against the wall, using his little strength to not fall asleep instantly. His resolve crumbles. His eyes slowly shut.
The darkness. The cold. The pain. The screams. He can't see. He can't breathe, something is holding onto his throat. Suddenly, he is staring down at himself. A hand is gripping onto his neck. The stone tiles are shattered, veins of cracks delving away from the epicenter at his body. He can see himself squirming beneath; arms trapped and head lolling to the left. His face is scrunched up in pain and getting paler by the second. A sound escapes: laughing, cackling. A flex of an arm and the grip on his throat doubles. The throat on his body is about to be crushed. Like lightning, the hand is gone and his body below opens its blue eyes.
Anakin reels off of the wall, heaving for air. The almost scalding water brings him back to reality. The shower is full of steam, the glass completely fogged. He turns the heat down. He lets his head fall towards the floor and be massaged by the water; however, his eyes stay open. What was that? Was that real? Why could he see himself getting choked? His hand comes up to rub his throat. He winces. It was like he was seeing his dream through Vaylin's eyes.
Hopefully Qui-Gon can provide some much needed wisdom to the situation. The soft rapping of water against the floor ceases. Drying himself off, he begins to dress in his usual dark brown shirt and pants and light brown robes. Slowly, he makes his way into the living area.
Qui-Gon is leaning back comfortably in his seat at the small brown table. Sipping on his tea, he is reading on his datapad. His eyes flicker over to Anakin as he walks in and his arm holding his mug lowers back to the table. He turns his head and nods towards the teapot on the stove and then he fixates back on his reading.
Walking over, Anakin can feel the heat still emanating from the stove. Reaching into the wooden cabinets, he grabs a white, ceramic mug and a black tea bag. Formulating his thoughts, he doesn't realize as the water spills over the lip of the mug hissing slightly as it hits the cool metal counter. Immediately his wrist twitches back, and he looks over his shoulder at Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon's brown eyebrows are raised towards him. He hurriedly places the pot down and cleans up the hot water. Pouring off some of his tea into the sink, he steps over to the table. He puts the mug down, but doesn't follow it. He notices that Qui-Gon has turned off his holo and is patiently staring at him. His right hand goes through the partially dry hair on the top of his head and his eyes drift back to the ceiling before settling on the Moon outside the window.
A shaky sigh escapes Anakin, as he hesitates to begin, "I…" He stops and pursues his lips. He doesn't start again for a few moments, scolding himself for being so jittery. He forces his anxiety inwards, suffocating it.
"I… have unusual dreams." He says vaguely and with a newfound neutral face, not even knowing how to describe the dreamscape that Vaylin and him used to share. Qui-Gon looks at him with eyebrows slightly scrunched, rightfully confused.
"Dream isn't the best word… but what I have is unfounded. I don't know the best way to describe it." Anakin continues slowly. His eyes turn to Qui-Gon, giving an almost unnoticeable nod to ask questions.
Qui-Gon acknowledges it and begins very softly, "Why don't you try to begin at describing how it differs from normal dreams." He is concerned and curious, but clearly does not want to push Anakin too hard in fear he will reveal nothing. Anakin appreciates that fact.
"These dreams aren't my own. I share them." Anakin says it with the same slow pace as before. Noticing his hand is still running through his hair, massaging his scalp, he drops it onto the chair in front of him. The seat scrapes slightly against the ground as it is pulled out and he sits down. His palms circle the mug using the heat as a source of comfort. His nerves reappear in a bouncing leg and his lips remain pursed.
"You share these dreams? With other people? For how long?" Qui-Gon asks in succession. He tames himself and pauses slightly giving Anakin time to answer.
"Yes and no. Not other people, just… just one." Anakin answers. He brings the mug to his lips with both hands, but forgets to take a sip.
"The same one every time?" Qui-Gon presses. His hands almost match Anakin's: one on the handle and one on the mug.
Anakin's hands fall back to the table and he gives a nod, but not expanding further. Qui-Gon's eyes widen slightly, but his eyebrows retain their confusion. He actually takes a sip of his tea.
"And why was this person choking you?" Qui-Gon asks with a slight edge in his voice. Anakin was not expecting that question this quickly. He instinctively brings his hand up to his throat, wincing slightly as his fingertips graze across the bruises. Qui-Gon looks at him expectantly and Anakin ponders at how to avoid the question. Qui-Gon clearly senses Anakin's reason for silence and presses him in a stern voice,"Anakin."
"She didn't know it was me. She was scared and anxious and lashed out at me when I surprised her." Anakin says in an unusually defensive and loud tone. No one attacks Vaylin. Qui-Gon's face lights up in surprise at his response, clearly not expecting such defense for an attacker.
The next questions from Qui-Gon fall silent on Anakin's ears. He continues pushing to try to find out who this person is, but Anakin is unrelenting in his responses. Realizing his attempt at deducing the situation from Anakin's vague answers is worthless he lets out an exasperated, "Anakin, I'm trying to help you here, but you're giving almost nothing to work with." He pauses slightly, recollecting himself and reiterates gently, "Tell me what's going on Anakin?"
Anakin is silent, debating with himself. Staring blankly at his tea, he sees Qui-Gon's head and shoulders drop a bit. Qui-Gon waits a few moments longer and Anakin can sense he is about to talk again, probably conceding defeat.
"Vaylin. Her name is Vaylin." Anakin starts in practically a whisper, catching Qui-Gon off guard. Qui-Gons head shoots back up and he fixes his eyes on Anakin. Anakin's focus remains on the smooth, brown surface of the tea. "We used to have dreams together when we were younger... I remember it started just after I was sold to Zax." Qui-Gon doesn't say anything, just patiently waiting for Anakin to continue. Anakin takes his time finding the right works, "It was weird at first. Who was this annoying girl that invaded my dreams, I thought? We knew each other was real though. I don't think we ever doubted that, it was like the force was telling me she was real. I didn't know then, but I listened."
He takes a second to reminisce. "We would talk about our lives, her gushing about her brothers and complaining about her father, me just complaining about everything." He lets out a mix between a laugh and a sob thinking about that last one. His acceptance and journey in the Jedi Temple was not the smoothest. He had been found on the outer rim accidentally and was brought to the temple. He was older than most entering the temple to become Jedi, but that was not the problem. The problem laid with the darkness that reigns inside of him, and the council knew it. It affected his training heavily for the first years, but he taught himself how to obscure the darkness to others. It clearly has worked.
Shaking his head out of his thoughts he continues,"When I became a Jedi we would train together too; Swinging around sticks we found like lightsabers." He purposely leaves out a part about them using the force. "You don't know how anxious I was when I woke up in the morning with a massive bruise on my face. It was well deserved, I got cocky and she floored me." A smile begins to grow on his face. She was so feisty, he would purposefully push her buttons only for her to beat the crap out of him.
Qui-Gon's mouth opens slightly, just realizing that the fist fights he thought Anakin got into when he was younger were not from anyone at the temple. Or more accurately, the bruises he got were not from anyone in the temple. Anakin smiles at that.
"She was my best friend. A shoulder to cry on, someone to brag to, someone that actually cared about me. I was the same to her." Anakin is quiet for a few moments. He wishes he was a better friend, like she was to him, then she would have stayed.
He starts solemnly, "She disappeared after our mission on Alderaan. When I was 12."
He doesn't continue and they sit in silence for a while. Anakin takes the first sip of my tea; it's cool now. He can sense Qui-Gon thinking about all that he has told him and waits patiently for his response.
Qui-Gon starts,"And what happened tonight?" Anakin was wondering the same thing. She was different: darker, colder, full of hate and pain, suffering. She looked haunted and corrupted, but when she let go of him and called out his name he could feel the same gentleness she always had for him.
"She was different tonight; That much was obvious. I was running through the darkness following her screams in the distance. I found her weeping, curled in a ball on the cold floor. She was older, like me. I reached out for her and she lashed out at me. She almost knocked me out on the spot. Just before I passed out, she let go of me in surprise. She called out my name and started crying. I woke up before I could respond." Anakin recounts the details from his dream. His voice remains neutral, betraying no emotion.
Qui-Gon's face is the same, but Anakin doesn't doubt that he is awfully surprised. Qui-Gon brings his hand up and rubs his clean shaven face conveying his tiredness. They have both had a long day. "Only you, padawan, only you." He murmurs.
"You are quite right in your assumption; I do not know if the Jedi order has ever witnessed a situation like this." Qui-Gon says as he stares out the window. The wind continues to rustle the trees outside. The Moon is high over the mountains showing Anakin it is well into the night. That thought makes his exhaustion reamerge.
Qui-Gon returns his gaze to Anakin. "The only thing I have to offer are my ears. I can tell you wish to keep this quiet, and I truly understand, so I will not spread word until you tell me. However, you are always welcome to come to me and talk." he says gently, reflecting upon his own words. Anakin sends him thankfulness through their bond.
They stay seated for a couple minutes. Anakin finally begins the relish in his tea, enjoying the liquid running down his hoarse throat. Qui-Gon begins lightly, "Anakin, I know you had a shaky start here at the temple, and I know that I did nothing to help your case. I'm desperately sorry for that. I have no excuse. However, we have grown close this past decade and like I said earlier: there is no one I would wish to have my back besides you. We both don't like talking about our feelings or personal matters, but I am always here for you." He isn't wrong. They have grown closer over the years through thousands of hours of training, on missions, and in their quarters. While their relationship is far from perfect, their bond is strong.
Anakin doesn't respond to his statements, his early time in the temple has always been a touchy subject. However, Qui-Gon is not offended, he understands.