A/N: after watching RotS, I couldn't just accept the tragic ending of Anakin. So thus I decided to write an AU in which he survives. If you want to read a darker, more depressing, but deeper version of his romance with Padme, one is in the making. Please read and review, I would be eternally grateful.

Pairing: Although I LOVE the Ani/Padme paring, I can't write it in this story. It just doesn't fit. It's actually Ani/OC, and I know you all probably hate OCs, but I really like this one. Could you just please read it? Give it a try; you never know if it's going to be good.

Summary: This is very AU, and all takes place in the Jedi Temple. Please Read and Review? PLEASE?

PROLOGUE

Anakin was nervous. It was pure, untainted anxiety that abided in his stomach—he could practically feel it writhe. It felt like snakes, twisting and turning the late lunch he had eaten hours earlier. It was the only emotion he could register. On second thought, he was cold as well. Anakin shivered and ran his hands up and down his arms in a feeble attempt to warm himself. Space travel was not kindly to someone who grew up in the smoldering heat of Tatooine.

"Anakin," a voice called gently from the doorway to his bedroom. Anakin looked up to see Obi-Wan, his blue eyes kind. "We'll be reaching Coruscant in twenty minutes. You'd best prepare your things for the landing." Ani nodded obediently.

"Are you alright?" Obi-Wan asked sympathetically, entering the room and sitting down on the bed beside the boy. He was such a small boy, Obi-Wan thought sadly. So little, with so much responsibility to bear. It was heartbreaking to think of all that he had been through already, and in only nine years.

"Yes, Master Kenobi." Ani whispered, but deep inside him felt a pang of grief that he hadn't even considered before. The sorrow had been pushed to the side, disguised under nervousness and cold. But it was there. Ani missed Him. The realization caused his eyes to burn and he sniffed.

"You miss Him, don't you?" Obi-Wan asked quietly. "Qui-Gon." Ani nodded hesitantly. "I do too. He was like my father, you know?" Ani nodded again.

Obi-Wan sighed. Anakin was reminiscent of a childhood version of Obi-Wan. Reaching over, Obi-Wan clapped his hand on the boy's shoulder in a masculine gesture of sympathy.

Anakin liked the man—he was nice, gentle, and fatherly as well. He also appreciated the warmth. "Will I be your Padawan?" He asked hopefully.

"I guarantee it," Obi-Wan chuckled.

The nervousness redoubled its onslaught exponentially as Anakin approached the Jedi Temple. Would he be accepted? In a conversation with Qui-Gon, someone had said he was too old, and that he would be behind in training. Could he take the setbacks? Yes, he thought resolutely. I can take anything to become a Jedi.

Anakin followed Obi-Wan down the magnificent halls of the Jedi Temple, each footstep echoing in the empty corridor. The older man's cloak billowed elegantly behind him, and Anakin made a promise to himself in that moment. Someday, when he was older, he'd be the greatest Jedi ever. He would radiate power and confidence, destroy his enemies, save the civilians and innocent, and still be as gentle and kind as Obi-Wan was. Yes, the name Anakin Skywalker would soon be known around the galaxy.

Alianne Tyri, on the other hand, would like nothing more than to fade into the background. Most unfortunately, this wish was not granted to her—indeed, every child under the age of 12 in the Jedi Temple knew her name. But it didn't come with a good connotation.

Her name was synonymous with clumsy, worthless, hopeless trash. She was about eight years old, and had still showed absolutely no sign of any adeptness with the Force. Ali had an unusually high amount of midi-chlorians, which was why she was recruited into the Temple, but for some reason, she couldn't control her connection with the Force. It wasn't for lack of trying—Ali probably put in twice the effort than the regular Jedi hopeful, but it did her no good. She was simply doomed to failure.

Her classmates, of course, resented having such a loser in their midst. They were the future of justice, the guardians of peace in training! And she…she was Talentless Tyri, Useless Ali, the Scum of the Temple. There was no point in having her here, she would drop out anyway. No one would want such an incompetent, pathetic girl as their Padawan! It was funny, in an ironic way. Children are not half as innocent as people think they are. Even the decent ones forsook their pangs of pity and turned a blind eye to the abuse of Alianne Tyri. And so Ali suffered each day, friendless and alone, her heart broken, yet determined to show the others what she truly was made of.

On the day that Anakin arrived, Ali had been in the practice room for well over an hour. She always woke up earlier than the rest of the younglings, at 0530. In the room she would remain, focusing with all her might, trying to simply lift a feather with her mind. Occasionally she would hone her lightsaber skills, which weren't all that bad. She could beat the majority of her class, other than an exceptional two or three. But lightsabers were pointless if she couldn't use the Force. Everyone was right—who would ever want her as a Padawan? She was hopeless. The only thing she could use the Force for was Nature.

Ali had always had a connection with Nature. It seemed to speak to her, the wind in whispers and the rivers in thundering voices. She could control light winds, predict storms, conjure up small fires, and, if she tried really, really hard, she could shape water to her pleasing. Her best friends were the woodland creatures, who would surround her in the meadow outside the temple and tell her all the latest news in their various languages. But that was nothing compared to the other children's powers.

Ali sighed in frustration and recrossed her legs on the floor. She was not able to lift the feather. Most children would've mastered this skill at the age of six, and the exceptional ones at five. It had been eight years, and she was still unable to. Ali closed her eyes and tried to focus. She might as well keep trying, she was here already.

So intent was she on the exercise that she didn't hear the approaching footsteps of Sera. Sera was everything Ali wasn't—blonde haired, blue eyed, beautiful, popular with both the males and the females, and extraordinarily talented. Although her level of midi-chlorians were not so high, she was exceptional with the Force. She led a gang of similar girls, all petite and pretty and gifted, who enjoyed nothing so much as making fun of Ali.

"Why don't you just give up, Useless?" Sera sneered tauntingly. Ali jolted out of her reverie, her focus broken. Upon seeing Sera, Ali sighed and bit her lip. Sera had always hated the fact that Ali came out ahead of her in the midi-chlorians tests, so she took her retaliation in whatever way she could.

This happened literally every day—Ali would have a few precious hours to herself, but then the other Jedi younglings would come, and she wouldn't have peace and quiet again for the entire day. There would always be someone laughing, or pointing, or whispering. She could ignore them, though. She always had.

"Please leave me alone," Ali whispered. "I haven't done anything to you."

Sera laughed and tossed her curls. As if on cue, the others followed her, all giggling and playing with their hair. "You bother me by existing, Useless. I don't know why you're even in the Temple. Why don't you just leave? You know you're no good. All you are is a waste of time."

"Please leave me alone," Ali begged again.

"A feather?" Sera continued maliciously. "You can't lift a feather? I've been doing that since I was five. How long have you been practicing, Useless? Every day for the last five years, and you still can't lift that feather. That's amazing in itself, Useless." By now all the younglings had filed into the practice room to watch Ali's mortification. They formed a circle around Sera and Ali, each chortling at each insult hurled in Ali's direction.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" Ali cried, standing up. "I haven't done anything to you!" The laughter echoed in her ears, vibrating in her mind. Talentless Tyri, Useless Ali, Scum of the Temple. Each insult was a barb, pricking her already scarred heart. She searched the crowds for a friendly face and found none. Instead, each countenance greeted her with either a cruel laugh or turned a blind eye. She could feel the tears burning at the back of her eyes.

"Going to cry, Talentless?" Sera whispered. "Go ahead. I would cry too, if I was a piece of trash." Ali couldn't, wouldn't let them see her cry. They could never know they upset her so much. Pushing through the mass of younglings, Ali ran away from the practice room. Someone, probably the teacher that had just arrived, called her name, but she ignored them. All she could register, all she could hear, were the echoes of harsh laughter that haunted her everywhere. She ran and ran and ran, burying her face in her hands, away from the hellhole where she lived.

A/N: I swear this is going somewhere, I just really wanted to set the scene, you know? So please, do me a favor, and review. Flames are welcome, as long as they are CONSTRUCTIVE and not completely obnoxious. Please review, I'd like to improve my writing and the only way I can do so is if I'm notified of what I'm doing wrong. It'd be nice if you could go deeper than "I LIKE IT" or "THIS SUCKS", though…please?