He died. Anakin Skywalker died. Betrayed by those he, in his weakness, held in his foolish heart. Mutilated and crippled and left to death by one who he once thought about as father. Eaten away by flames.
Yes, Anakin died. But, from his ashes, someone else was born, clawing his way from the fiery grave by sheer strength of his will, keeping this mocking limbless husk of a body alive despite being damaged beyond hope to survive for long, yet still being alive, sustaining himself with the Force. Long enough to being found by his new Master. Long enough to be taken away and being put through the gruesome process of rebirth.
The droids gave him nothing to dull his pain or senses. He was not put into the merciful embrace of sleep and oblivion. Pain strenghtened, he was thought. Pain amplified the darkness. Pain made him powerful.
So, when the droids and obscure medical machines were removing his the bits of his scorched skin on his scalp without ever replacing them, when new limbs, heavy and foreign and not his, were forced on the sore stumps of his former ones, when his charred skin was pierced by sharp needles, when he was being torn open so the damaged organs could be replaced by wires and machinery, he was meant to feel everything, every single bit of it . And he did. He could feel wires and tubes being force fully stuffed into his body. He could feel how the parts of his spine were ripped away with sickly crunches, how the upper part of his ribcage was removed, replaced by cold metal. It was pain. It was hell. It was... rebirth...
But at some point, the presence of droids and machines, ripping him apart and rebuilding him, this whole place, everything surounding him, are becoming distant, as well as his endless agony and pain. Maybe it was already too late. Maybe his rage and will to keep his charred broken remains of a body alive finally stopped being enough. There is no way it could be anything else. He was not allowed mercy of easing even a bit of the pain he was going through every agonizing minue before. There was no reason it would be allowed now. Yet, the pain was gradualy fading away, relaced by blurry darkness, which emmited oddly comfort. Something he almost forgot how it felt. He could sense a tiny presence somewhere very close. Familiar. Comforting. Safe.
He was... floating...
Then everything changed as something grapped his so strange and unamiliar form and puled it away from his shell of safety, and suddenly, the darkness and comfort was gone replaced by the cold and blinding, overhelming white, burning his eyes, no longer damaged by fire, but instead, somehow unused to this amount of light. Everything was blurry, like his eyes just opened for the very first time. He could hear the sounds in distance, yet couldn't recognize any words, nor who they belonged too... All his sensations were so strange, so unfamiliar. Was this how death was like? Everything still felt too... physical...
Then, his surroundings shifted and the face came into his view, and he would recognize this beautiful face everywhere, despite his now poor and oddly blurry vision. But it was not only that. He could feel her presence, like she was... Alive. She was he could feel it. He could feel being moved and her face was suddenly so close, exhausted and drained, but smiling at him, beautiful like an Angel she was, reaching towards him with her slightly trembling hand, her lips murmuring something he wasn't able to recognize. Then her breathing quickens, more tears glistens in her eyes and she screams...
He is starting to be dragged away, her screaming face twisted in pain becoming more and more distant. No No No, his instincts screams, don't take me away, help her! His emotions are raging storm, he wants to move towards her, but something, someone, someone familiar holds him tighly and drags him away...
The strange, blurry world around him is fading, replaced by the familiar pain consuming him anew, as he awake again in his own personal hell, torn apart and remade, imprisoned completly by the dark cage of an suit containing what's left o him and keeping it alive. The memories of strange, weird images of what he thought was death at first are fading as he is slowly dragged upwards towards his waiting Master. Yet one of them is still lingering in his mind, the small, tiny spark drowning in the ocean of endless darkness.
Padme... She was alive... He felt it... And he felt... Something else, in that flickering moment when he was drifting away... Back there ... The connection... To the tiny presence he didn't notice before, because until that fleeing moment, it was so close and so entangled, that he couldn't quite distinguish it from his own...
Far away, on the almost abandoned medical facility, Obi-Wan's gaze lingers on the dead body of Padme Amidala, while he awkwardly holding one of her newborn twin children in his arms. Luke, she named him. Her and Anakin's son.
When he looked into the boy's face, it was like... Looking into the tiny bright star, which, behind it's sleeping, blooming radiace, was hidding the black hole of the greater, darker presence, and there was something hauntingly familiar about it's feeling... When he was holding the newborn child close to his dying mother so she could see him for the first and the last time, for the fleeing moment he thought he saw...
His train of thoughts was interrupted when Padme screamed in pain again, about to give birth to the other child, Luke's twin sister, he took the boy away to give her more space, and then the child in his arms suddenly started trashing and wriggling the way he would never expected from the freshly newborn one, and the feeling was back in full strength, and Obi-Wan would swear he sensed...
No, No! That couldn't be! It had to be just his imagination, some creation of his mind, still haunted by all that happened in that fiery hell, all that happened before. It had to be...