There was a river, a dark, murky, filthy river. There must have been some kind of pollution or source of contamination because this river flowed from the mountains; it sprung from the earth and it poured out into the lands, and while the spring was clean, something somewhere along the line was hurting the river.

A man was sitting by it, staring at it, a ways away from the spring. Where he knelt was where the river started to turn black with mud, dirt, maybe even oil or charcoal. He just sat there and watched and it turned darker and darker. He remembered a time when the river flowed as clear as the air he breathed, but he did nothing to return the water to its original, glorious state.

Why didn't he? Did he not drink from the spring? Did it not help him plant and grow his crops in the spring, or nurture him and his family? Did it not carry life in its veins, coursing down from the mountain? Shouldn't the man want to keep the river clean? But he did nothing, he simply watched and smiled.

A Dark fog crept up behind him. Surely, a person had to be hiding in the fog, but whoever approached the man could not be seen. The man glanced over his shoulder, and when he saw the concealed arrival, he smiled and greeted the newcomer. The man turned to the river again, and he reached his hand in. From where the running water touched his fingertips, it began to turn black, contaminated with Darkness. The man was killing the river!

The person in the fog had not moved from behind the Dark man, but a change could be sensed in the air. Only when the Dark man had turned around did he realize what was happening. The person in the fog pulled out a knife, and as he turned they stabbed the man kneeling by the river, and he fell into the water and disappeared.

The Dark man disappeared, but his blood did not. The Dark man disappeared, but the poison in the river did not. His blood trickled into the stream, and as it did, it purified the work of the one who hurt the river. His blood healed the water, and although it was not the pure, beautiful stream it once was, it was healing, and its beauty returned, slowly, gradually. It was not as grand or pristine as before, but it was glory was not in its past but its healing.

Anakin blinked slowly as he rose back into consciousness. He felt a brief sense of peace as if he had been kneeling by the river himself while it was purifying. Anakin held on to that peace, that sense of ease from his dream, for as long as he could, but the atmosphere of the Jedi Temple had changed and one could no longer hold onto such peace for very long while within its walls.

The very air seemed to drain the life and the joy from those who breathed it. The tension in the air was so thick, it almost seemed tangible to the Chosen One. It was as if the atmosphere had become more humid or polluted, especially in the past two months going on three. The fog that haunted most of his visions and dreams had come to life. If only he knew where the source of it was, then he could get rid of it.

Anakin rose and began preparing for the day. He knew that he wasn't going to fall back asleep anytime soon so he might as well get to work. The Chancellor had called for him yesterday, but he had been on another mission, tracking down another one of the Republic's shipments that the Sister had stolen. Instead of visiting him yesterday, Anakin had postponed the meeting until this afternoon.

He had thought long and hard about his episode with the red Togruta who called herself the Sister. One minute he was convinced that she had really been trying to help him and the next Anakin was sure that she was going to betray him somehow. He didn't know if it was because of the fog or what, but Anakin was ready to get over it.

It wasn't like he didn't have other things to distract him. The Jedi Council, for example, had ceased to relent on the topic of Shaak Ti and the Younglings. In truth, the Younglings were physically fine. They no longer wanted to recall the memory, after seeing what it had done to Master Ti. They refused to say anything on the matter, save to each other. Other than that, their training went on as normal. Their trainers noted how determined their studies had been of late, and how much their dueling had improved. In truth, Caleb Dume may or may not have played a part in that, but it was agreed that from now own, their meetings would stay between the seven of them until they were sure it was safe to tell someone else.

Shaak Ti had made some progress towards recovery, although it was clear she still had a long way to go. She had stayed with Luminara for weeks now, but she was allowed out of the Halls of Healing as long as she was with someone else and not the Younglings. It turns out that while her speech was inhibited, none of the rest of her mind was, as long as no one brought up how she lost her mind in the first place. She could still fight and her saber skills had been left untouched. If she stayed silent and didn't speak, it was as if she was perfectly normal. No one quite knew what would help Shaak regain her voice, but they were hopeful that a solution would present itself soon.

This didn't stop the Council from arguing about it. Some voted to take action against whoever had hurt one of their number in their own Temple, others decided that they needed to wait and protect those whom they had left. Still, others pointed out that nothing could be done either way since they didn't know who was at fault, and they needed to launch an investigation. None of the sides relented, and no one was willing to compromise. They would sit for hours at a time trying to persuade someone else to their side, and nothing would be done.

Anakin had done his best to avoid sleeping as much as he could because his nightmare kept persisting. With the exception of last night and the vision with the Father, he had dreamt of nothing else for the past few months. He was starting to wonder if he would ever sleep in peace again. The lack of rest was starting to take a toll on him. His fighting, after a few days of no sleep, had become sluggish and his reflexes were slowed, and he felt his strength being sapped by his fight to stay awake. Circles were forming under his eyes, and he was always grouchy except when he met with Padmé and the Chancellor.

Obi-Wan noticed these things, despite Anakin's assumptions that he was too consumed by the Council's debates to care. He wanted to bring it up at the meetings because surely, the well-being of the Chosen One was important to the Jedi Order as a whole, but he never had a chance to voice his concerns. It seemed that the arguments started before the meetings did, and before he knew it, he was wrapped up in defending himself from his fellow Masters.

Only when Master Yoda came up to him after a long and tiring day did he have a chance to talk with any of them. Obi-wan had been meditating in his quarters when he heard a knock on the door. "Come in," he bade the visitor, and Master Yoda was standing behind the door as it opened.

"Master Kenobi, speak with you, may I?"

"Of course, Master," he told him, and he shifted a blanket over to make a second cushion for the Grandmaster. "What is it?"

Yoda sat and rested for a moment before asking in a low voice, "Felt the change, have you?"

"I have felt a change, but I'm not sure which one you are referring to."

Yoda drummed his fingers on his knee. "Which one?"

"It's Anakin, Master," Obi-Wan explained. "I fear that he has been ill lately, although he appears to be in perfect health. It just these small things I'm noticing during the day."

"Illness? And yet still fights, he does."

"That's what I don't understand. Anakin takes illness very seriously as he used to live without medicine to depend upon." Obi-Wan thought back to the day that he met the young and newly-freed slave. "You remember, don't you, when I fell sick during the first year of his training, and he feared that I was going to die?"

Yoda nodded. "Remember, I do. Hmm, yes."

"If he thought he was sick, he would be resting. He seems...sick, in some way to me, but he does not rest."

Yoda made eye contact with the man. "Perhaps, a different sickness, this is. Felt a sickness in the Temple, have you?"

Obi-Wan made to protest, to insist that a building could not be sick unless it was quarantine, but he stopped as soon as he opened his mouth. He closed his eyes and reached into the Force around him. It was a slight change from what he had grown accustomed to, but it was there nonetheless.

In truth, the thickness of the air was drastically different from what it should be, but it had happened slowly, over time, in small, minute little advancements. Obi-Wan could not tell how present the Darkness was in the Temple because he did not notice it, and blamed the uneasy feelings he had experienced on the Clone War.

"Are you sure it isn't just the tensions from Shaak Ti and the Inquisitor, Master?"

"Certain, I no longer am," Yoda answered, "But felt the change, have you?"

"Yes, but I do not think we need to be concerned about it. It will blow over, just like everything else has. In time, it will pass," Obi-Wan stared at the Master. "Won't it?"

"Believed it would, I did," confessed Yoda, "but now, unsure, I am. Fear this change, this sickness in the air, I do."

Now, Obi-Wan didn't know exactly what Yoda was referring to, but if he was afraid of it, then it was important.

"Why don't we take it to the Council, then? Surely, we can find a solution, together."

Yoda shook his head. "Divided, the Council is. Listen, they will not, and only provoke them, it will. We are not together."

Obi-Wan stared at the Grandmaster. Never before had he spoken like this, at least not to Obi-Wan. "Master, what is happening?"

He could only sigh. "I know not, Obi-Wan. I know not."