The Light is different out here among those who can't feel it. Cleaner, perhaps, and maybe even a tad bit stronger. She wagers it has to do with not being used as much, but she knows that it must be more than just disuse that causes the differences. For as often as she's called upon it before (fighting in a war constituted constant immersion), Ahsoka has never found it quite this easy.
The Sixth Brother's double-bladed dervish of a weapon explodes in a burst of sparks and sheer light. He takes the full brunt of it and when she picks herself up from where she's been thrown, she can tell that he didn't survive. His death, no matter the darkness that had been a part of him, deserves a moment of sorrow and she grants it. It had never been easy, taking a life. It still isn't, especially when she hadn't intended to.
Her hands are shaking, but she valiantly ignores them as she fixes her attention on a small red crystal lying not two standard feet to her right. If not for the tremors that its shrieks are sending through the Force, she probably wouldn't have even noticed it. The crystal's twin is next to the dead man, still imbedded in what's left of the weapon's hilt.
Two bleeding kybers, screaming their tortured song for all to hear (she wagers even some non-sensitives might be able to hear their racket).
It is with no small amount of hesitancy that she stutter-steps over to the closest one and reaches a trembling hand towards it (had she still been a Jedi, she would have nothing to do with them). The edges of its signature send a light tingle through her fingers, but with a burst of determination she grabs it and stands straight.
It stings. Ahsoka almost drops it, but through sheer force of will closes her hand around it instead and turns towards the other one. The jagged pieces of hilt shudder and crack and then the crystal is flying towards her. This one thuds into her palm and this time she does drop it.
It is far heavier than the one she currently holds. The first one is screaming its rage, but this other one… it's been bled dry for quite some time. The crimson hues swirling within it are all but permanent, anchored down by years of forced malice and wicked hatred.
Her first thought is, Mortis.
Her second thought follows closely. Son.
(This weighted darkness, this black crimson, slimy, evil is exactly what the Son felt like. She remembers how easily she had succumbed last time…)
Today she is different. Very different.
The first crystal spits and stings and lashes against her closed fist, but she merely slips it into a slim pocket at her hip. Her eyes are fixed only on the other one. The stronger one.
The sicker one.
Unexpectedly (or expectedly), the one on the ground rumbles out a deep, thunderous, gravelly cackle. Or as much of a cackle as a darkness-infused kyber can give. She only flinches once before getting down on one knee and stretching out an open hand. "You lose," she murmurs, smiling softly (it's an echo of a snarkier smile from years ago, one tinged with wry wit and a sorrow not easily explained).
The rumble grows louder and her smile grows wider. For a moment, all is still and quiet. Then everything explodes.
Thin tendrils of black shadow hurtle towards her and attempt to latch onto her signature. They burn where they hit, but they find no purchase because she has always been a quick learner, and she swore the minute she left Mortis that the dark would never, ever own her again. The Force that she has grounded herself in is far lighter and far stronger than it's ever been and it surrounds her in a frictionless cocoon.
The tremble in her hands ceases. Ahsoka laughs (out of amazement, out of sheer, overwhelming awe at the fact that she is no longer afraid).
Then she pulls.
When they eventually ask where she attained two crystals able to power her lightsabers, she tells them the truth: "They're from an Inquisitor's weapon."
When they ask her why they're not red, her answer is no less simple, but most miss the gravity behind her words (they don't miss the glint in her eye or the edge in her voice): "I pulled the darkness out."
They wonder at this, especially those who know a little of the Jedi and their ways. Most give her dubious looks, because there is no recorded instance of anyone changing a kyber crystal from red to clear. Or white. Or whatever color that is. (And how would a Jedi reject be able to manage the feat?)
Every now and then, someone eyes her with newfound respect.
She doesn't care either way. It is what it is. Her weapons are white, and that means something. Very few are ever white. She knows this and they know this as well.
Eventually, she meets Anakin again. He is tall, dark, cold, hard, and menacing. Most of all, he is heavy. Weighted down by a darkness that speaks in thunderous rumblings and gravelly cackles. Ahsoka faces him with no fear.
Only pity and a hint of sorrow laced with hope.
The Light she knows is different than what she knew as a Jedi. Lighter. Brighter. Stronger. She will not fall again. The ignition of her two white-hot blades results in nothing but a fathomless black glare (but she did feel something flicker in his signature).
A bleeding, shrieking, sick crimson blade meets her weapons in a jarring clash, but she has eyes only for her old friend. She fights like she's never fought before (if she wins this, then maybe she can pull his darkness out).
The two frosty kybers sing again and again, but Vader's screams of rage don't fade. If anything, they begin to grow stronger.