12

Anakin Skywalker felt the Force move in a way that he had never known before. Always, in the past, the movements of the Force had been calm, controlled, with few exceptions. Alderaan was one of those…the Force had screamed, then. Screamed, contorted, and stretched…but it had calmed itself quickly.

Always, Anakin had shivered in remembrance, half-wondering what might have happened, had the Force not calmed itself. But then, he had never really believed that the Force could stretch further then it had that day.

Now, he felt it rip.

His first sensation was of falling, the second of cold.

He gradually came back to himself, feeling something cold and rough pressed against his face. He moaned quietly, every bone, muscle, and sinew blazing with outraged heat. His chest felt like an inferno was happily burning away in his lungs, and for moments stretched out in slow agony, all he could do was cough. He gave a soft groan, and pushed himself up on shaking arms, retching as his long-empty stomach spasmed. A soft breeze pushed the hair back from his face. He cracked one eye open weakly and rolled away, landing on his back with a thump.

Ow…Ow…Ow…

A blue sky slowly lightened above him, and in the corner of one eye, he could see a sun slowly rising. He turned his head to the side and stared stupidly at the golden dunes that stretched out until they met the horizon.

Sand.

He looked around, trying to ignore a pounding headache, and blinked.

Lots of sand.

In fact, nothing but sand…in every direction.

What the hell happened? How did I get here?

"Shavit." He swore to the air, and slowly got to his feet. His knees were shaky, and his balance was iffy, but he was able to stay vertical when he got there.

He started to walk slowly in what felt like a good direction, and tried not to think about the scorching heat that rose with the second sun at his back.

"Miserable sand-pit…of all the planets…" He shut his mouth as survival skills hammered into since birth warned him against giving up moisture so freely. Probably vomited up most of my reserves…aw, hellfire, I'm dead…what am I worried about? He slowed to a stop, blinking; something was different.

It wasn't anything really noticable, just a sensation…something out of place. He raised a hand to his head while he kept his eyes ahead…nope: hair, eyes, nose, ears, and mouth were still there. He wiggled his toes as he started to walk again; nope, he was still walking as he always had. He flexed his abdominal muscles, then his arms, stretching them out behind him. Wasted movement, yes…but this was getting annoying.

Something was different. Different but familiar, somehow…like something experienced but long forgotten.

He stopped walking again, rolling his eyes. I'm dead, and I'm really stupid. There are days when I love teleportation.

He closed his eyes, and pictured his Coruscant home.

Opened them, and still stared at the desert.

This is interesting.

He tried again.

Same result.

Very interesting indeed…What did we do?

The air grew dry and difficult to breathe. Anakin had never become comfortable with the idea of not breathing…maybe because half of his life was dedicated to one breath after another. But the dead didn't have to breathe…it was like eating. Some just enjoyed it.

Anakin stopped his diaphram and continued to walk. A burning sensation quickly enveloped his lungs and he coughed, drawing in a quick breath.

What the Sith?

Frowning, he caught sight of a brown lump in the distance. He squinted: Mos Espa.

Well at least I'll be able to talk to someone I know…hopefully. I just want to figure out where the rest of my family is.

A wind kicked sand in his face as the cool night air was replaced with the heat of the day.

Anakin scowled at the sky, "I just want to get off this giant hell-hole of a planet without a load of sand in my pants. Is that too much to ask?"

Nothing answered…but then nothing ever did.

Hey, dad, think you could maybe give me a little help here?

Nothing.

Thought so.

He staggered towards the city, coughing. That strange sensation wasn't going away…but he was growing used to it rather quickly. He coughed again, raised a hand to his throat to ease the burn…

And stopped dead in his tracks, his universe thrown into complete disarray by the smallest of things.

The skin of his throat jumped slightly in a steady rhythm. The rhythm of a pulse that he wasn't supposed to have.

A pulse that had faded into death twenty life-years before.

He raised a hand before his eyes…closed them…opened them again.

The hand didn't glow. It couldn't. It was flesh and blood.

Anakin Skywalker, for the first time in twenty life-years, was alive.