I
I smelled injury in the new halls of our Master's legally constructed medical center. I smelled your burning. Lord Sidious stood at the doorway and stared in the door of that room that held enough light for droids only. I could sense your turmoil, and your power, as it struggled in solitary existence under the pain. So distracted, our Master told me that the Padawan who had defeated me (–!) also flung you into lava-heat. And you, the child he protected that first day! Though now he was one of few; and you were supposed to be the Jedi's pinnacle, instead of him. Now their pinnacle is so low. Ah!
I looked in to that strangely lit room for a while, and tired of it. I dared to ask our Master if you were my replacement.
"This is a new era," He said. "A new sort of hand is needed. Let us see where the streams of destiny flow, now that they are in my hands!"
I sensed a menace he allowed to leak out, as if with a look he carefully berated a child.
I heard/felt the upheaval at your awakening. I thought you feeble, tossed about by spare emotion, corrupted loyalty, and that thing termed love. Now I sensed your power with a purpose–and desired to set myself against it, if only to die. Physically you were as healed as you ever will be, with your breath forever out of control. Lord Sidious began to coach you in a new worldview and in the commanding of mundane armies, while I perfected ancient techniques.