Evening was slowly draping its soft cover over this part of the giant city-planet. It brightened the scene, however paradoxical it might sound, throwing here and there spackled clusters of artificial lights with a lavish hand. One of Coruscant's moons was rising over the horizon, casting a ghostly radiance over the spiky structures below. But its glow – magnificent and enticing as it could have been were it watched from the spacious lakes of Alderaan or deep unrefined jungles of Yavin – here was easily drowned out by the unnaturally bright luminescence of sentient-made illumination. The moon's pale disk was barely visible against the sallow, feeble, seemingly low sky.

From an open window somewhere in the mass of the buildings Brimar watched the moon's slow rise with mixed emotions. His hands resting on the windowsill, his head in the halo of dirty-blond ruffled hair leant against the frame of the window, he appeared deep in thought. The room was starting to drown in darkness, but he made no move to bring on the lights. The murkiness of the room was too much in tune with the faraway quality of his reflections to attempt breaking it.

Dooku entered the study quietly and stopped in the middle, staring absently into space, frowning. With a considerable effort Brimar tore himself from deep musings and turned to regard the newcomer. The Count's face was calm, yet it wasn't that serene, relaxed calmness his aristocratic face usually wore. Everything in Dooku countenance led to believe he was about to clench his fists and attack anyone unfortunate enough to be present in his near vicinity.

"What's wrong?" asked Brimar worriedly, forgetting his own less than happy thoughts at this sight.

Dark eyes turned to fix him with an almost insane stare.

"They killed Urait." Dooku's voice was hard, words spoken as if through gritted teeth.

For a moment Brimar stayed in confusion until a face – and facts – came up to match the name. "It is that Twi'lek, your friend?" Dooku nodded curtly, as though even this tiny movement hurt him. "I thought he was a Jedi…"

"He was, and a very skilled one too." Dooku walked to his table and sat – or rather fell – into the large armchair next to it. "He was one of the greatest Jedi Masters the Order has."

In the growing dusk Brimar could make out the other man's eyes – they glinted with fire – and he could not decide whether it was the fire of rage or grief, or both.

"As far as I know, it takes much to kill a Jedi Master…"

"An understatement, really."

"…Do you have any idea who could have done it?" he ventured.

Dooku shook his head vehemently. "They. The Sith Lord and his disciples." Suddenly it seemed as if the former Jedi couldn't hold the words in any longer, letting them tumble out of his mouth in a hurried irrepressible gush. But however tormented the words might have been they still came out in a cultured, unfaltering row. "I asked Urait to check the Archives for this Camino system. He…" Doku paused for the briefest of moments, closing his eyes. "He contacted me today saying he had found some disturbing facts. From what he was able to tell me I gathered the information about this system has been wiped away from the Archives. And it could only have been done by someone with a status of a Council member." The last words fell heavy into silence.

The declaration was too much to immediately come to terms with. And Brimar found himself tempted to just throw it aside as something completely out of possibility. Surely he knew the Jedi Order was drowning in political squabbles of the Republic, serving not the peoples of the galaxy and not even the greater good as they claimed they were, but petty whimsies of corrupted politicians. All that was out of question for him – as he had spent not one year in and about that web of intrigues – yet he found himself unable to believe a member of the Jedi Council was capable of association with the Sith. It was simply unimaginable, incomprehensible…

Pause stretched. Pale bars of silver light lined the room's floor: the second of Coruscant's moons was crawling up the sky.

"What are you going to do?" Brimar finally broke the silence.

"Study the holocron." Came the cold and resolute answer.

"What?!" Quickly crossing the room Brimar stood towering over the table. "Are you totally insane?"

Dooku leveled cold dark eyes at him, but the other was undeterred.

"That thing… Throw it out, break it into pieces! Not study it!"

"There is an old saying…" Dooku started in a voice that showed Brimar there was no thwarting him. "To win a fight one must know the enemy from the inside."

Brimar gripped the edge of the table making as if to throw it over.

"And you think you are so mighty, so invincible! You think you're immune to the Dark Side, don't you?!"

Dooku didn't answer. Brimar's heated voice fell down to barely above a whisper.

"I've seen what a Force-user can do… And I've seen what a darksider can do." A beautiful face and long pale blond hair, a look of frenzied wrath in the eyes flashed before Brimar's inner eye as he remembered the Sith woman. "I do not want you to become one of them," he finished around the sudden tightness in his throat.

"I won't." Dooku's voice regained its usual aristocratic notes. "I am stronger than that."

Brimar shook his head. It seemed his passionate speech had fallen on deaf ears.

"Now leave me alone. I believe you have things to do other than babysitting me," the Count continued.

"Why did I ever bothered getting mixed up with you?" Brimar asked straightening, his voice now tired. "Getting in all this…"

"Because you saved my life, my dear friend."

"And why did I ever do such a…"

"Stupidity?" Dooku issued a mirthless chuckle. "Because you were meant to."

"Oh, keep that Jedi fatalistic mumbo-jumbo to yourself, will you?" Brimar retorted.

And though their last words were light there was a certain weight settled in his heart as he exited the room.

************ ************

Stuffed air was heavy and oppressive in the darkened bedroom, pregnant with troubling dreams and lurking insatiable nightmares watching for an innocent dream to intrude into, stirring emotions, waking fear, clouding senses. And no matter that this was the Jedi Temple – the stronghold of peace and serenity – no matter that the Code frowned upon emotion and disapproved of fear. Nightmares didn't care a bit about the Code as well as whose dreams they were haunting.

And this time writhing and whimpering in the fierce grip of a nightmare was a small ten-year-old boy, lying in his bed in the depth of the Temple. Sand coloured short spiky hair was damp with sweat; tanned cheeks burned with fevered heat; full puffy lips slightly parted as though struggling for air. A thin braid, lovingly adorned with coloured beads, laid on a pillow forlornly, forgotten.

A long shuddered sigh escaped the boy's mouth, and he tried to pull the covers around himself tighter as if to hide from the terrors of the dream under them. But the covers were no protection from the unknown horror that grabbed him. Suddenly, with a start, two midnight blue eyes opened, staring at the ceiling unseeingly, still captured in the misty land of a nightmare.

"Master?" A tiny voice, thin and quivering, called into darkness.

Holding his breath the child waited for the answer.

Nothing. Shadows didn't move to reveal that strong figure and bright presence that was his Master. Trembling, Anakin drew the covers up to his chest.

"Master Obi-Wan…" he called again into silence.

Not a single sound.

~Maybe he's just sleeping and doesn't hear me?~

Slowly edging out of the bed Anakin got up and padded, barefooted, out of the bedroom. At the door to Obi-Wan's room he paused, gathering his courage where he felt none. What if…

~No, he's here! He's returned when I was asleep, and he – he just didn't want to wake me. He IS here!~

With shaking hands Anakin pushed the door open just a crack. Not daring to open more he peered inside, breath caught in his throat. But his eyes met only darkness and a corner of the somewhat lighter rectangle of a window. Carefully he opened the door just a bit more, then suddenly flung it full open.

The room was empty. The bed at the far wall stood neatly made, abandoned.

The boy sank to the floor.

"M-master, where are you?"

He was expecting, hoping with all his heart that a hand would lower onto his shoulder then – that large warm and so familiar hand – and the cultured voice would tell him it was all right, that there was nothing to fear.

But the night was cold – just like back then on the Naboo royal ship when he first left Tatooine… and his mother. It had been just as cold then.

But there had been someone then…

There had been Padme to understand him and offer a warm jacket accompanied with a yet warmer smile. His beautiful and dear Padme. His angel… But she had turned into queen and was so far away, unreachable.

Then there had been Master Qui-Gon – so tall, so confident, so powerful and warm too. He had been better than anyone Anakin had ever met before, almost as good as Mommy. But he had died… And although Qui-Gon still talked to the Padawan at times he wasn't here to offer solace on this incredibly cold night.

And Master Obi-Wan… So reserved sometimes, then suddenly all glowing with that boyish grin of his. The puffed up and sulking apprentice to Master Qui-Gon when Anakin had first met him had managed to somehow turn into the closest person in the galaxy… well, after Mom and Padme. The person who had been always with him. The one to lean upon.

And now he was gone too.

A question sprung up unbidden: was he to lose all his family? Was he to lose everyone he was close to? Maybe the reason they were all gone was he, Anakin?

The thought stung, more than he could have imagined. Was it all his fault?

Having no idea what he was doing Anakin scrambled to his feet and shuffled to the door that was leading out into the Temple's corridors. Hot tears blurred his vision. Chilly night air easily sneaked under the thin pajamas, cooling his skin. Bare feet made almost no sound on the ice-cold floor. With a low hissing the apartment door opened into the dimness of the stretching hallway.

Some time later in the vast corridors two Jedi Masters, clad in gowns thrown over the nightclothes, stumbled upon each other in search of the disturbance that had broken their sleep. Seeing Adi Gallia – disheveled, wrapping her gown around herself yet still looking regal – Mace Windu shook his head. The woman shot him a challenging glare.

"So, you felt it too?" Mace asked, approaching her. His voice was still hoarse from sleep.

"I wonder how the whole Temple didn't," she replied, casting around the empty hall. "What do you think it is?"

Mace shrugged. "I suppose we'll have to locate the source and find out."

Without another word two Jedi turned in the direction their senses were leading them. Their journey wasn't long as they soon came upon a small almost invisible bundle huddled on the floor against the wall in one of the dimply lit corridors. The Masters approached, and Adi kneeled next to the tiny spring of their unrest.

"Anakin, what is wrong?" she asked gently, adopting almost motherly tones, putting her hand on the boy's shoulder.

"What are you doing out here in the night?" Mace asked sternly from above. Adi glowered at him.

"What happened, Anakin?" she asked again softly when the Padawan didn't reply.

The boy leveled at her a pair of tear filled eyes, and she felt as though glancing into two bottomless pits of anguish. With a strangled sob Anakin flung himself at her and hugged her neck. She rubbed his back soothingly, trying to calm down the distraught apprentice.

"Where is your Master?"

"M-m-m…" and Anakin sobbed louder.

Mace leaned against the wall with an expression of bored expectation on his face, and his fellow Master was hard pressed not to stand and shout at him to be more humanlike. Or, she supposed, she would have liked to simply punch him for such callousness. Tense with concealed anger she turned her attention back to the child in her arms.

"Obi-Wan's not home yet?" Adi guessed. Anakin nodded into her gown. "It's alright, he'll come back soon, you'll see."

"N-nn…"

"He will come back, Anakin," the Master said a bit firmer. "Safe and sound."

The boy suddenly tore himself from her embrace and raised the tearstained face. Adi felt a twisting sensation of dread clutch her heart. Anakin's face wore the look of such desolation, such hopelessness…

"No, he's not coming," the boy voiced quietly but firmly. His breath audibly hitched. "B-because h-he's… dead."