Unlike most of the other rooms in the temple, the infirmary is fully lit by emergency power. Narrow cots line the stainless durasteel walls, magnetic imaging machines whir softly, and the smell of bacta dominates. Aside from the eerie absence of patients and healers, it almost looks as though nothing has changed. As though their world hasn't ended.

Obi Wan enters the room somewhat warily, dreading what he might find inside. He is relieved to see Mace Windu fully conscious and seated almost upright, his outer tunics shucked away, his face and forearms glistening with a film of oily amber salve. His eyebrows are gone, burned off, his ears purpled and tumid, his skin grotesquely splitting and seeping like a planet's black crust atop a roiling orange mantel. Yet from within the blighted mask, his huge, round, bird-like eyes look just as doggedly alert as ever. After a beat of silence, peeling, bursting lips recede, revealing swollen, too-bright gums.

"Well, Kenobi?"

Even the man's ire is welcome- A reassuring indication that, despite the damage, he is still himself.

"I am happy to report," says Obi Wan wearily, dragging his knuckles against his arm in a kind of liminal gesture of self-encouragement, "that the situation is under control."

"The situation? You mean the boy."

Anakin, he feels like remarking, is both of these things and more. Anakin is what is happening to all of them. Anakin is a terrible, grinding machine of meat and bone and magic. Anakin is a teeming constellation of phenomena as yet inexplicable by any known spiritual discipline or science. Anakin is the universal and the particular. Anakin is his own epoch. Anakin is what is rapidly consuming him body and soul, inside and out, atom by atom, even as they are having this conversation. But of course, he doesn't say any of these things. Instead:

"He is with the senator. She can handle him, I think. For now."

"I see," Mace hisses wetly, his tongue pushing out the sibilant as if it hurts to move his jaw too much. He hunches forward gingerly, his elbows resting on his thighs. "And in the longer term?" He makes a sound that is somewhere between a cough and a sigh. "I wonder what it is you think you're going to do."

"About the 'boy'?"

"About the situation."

"I don't-" Obi Wan lowers his eyes penitently, staring down at his august colleague's mutilated hands. They are slick with tallow and oddly splayed, to avoid the pain of blistered fingers touching. "I'm sorry. I know this is all my doing. But I did not intend-" he struggles, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"What exactly did you intend?"

"It was my master, Qui Gon-!" he exclaims. "He appeared to me in a vision. More than a vision. He was actually here. Returned, in the form of a visible spirit, from beyond the veil of death." His expression momentarily brightens with the plenary wonder of a child for the deeds of his parent. "And he showed me the future! Or, what would have been the future, had I not heeded his warnings."

"What future? What did you learn?" Mace demands.

"I hardly know where to begin. It was Anakin. He was-" Obi Wan shakes his head helplessly. "He was going to turn to the Dark Side. To join the Chancellor- No, the Emperor." He steels himself, swallowing hard. "There is no other way to say this: He was going to destroy us all."

"I see."

"You don't sound terribly surprised."

"Oh, I am shocked!" Mace sneers. "But I am not surprised. Here's what I'm trying to understand, Kenobi: You discovered that your exceptionally powerful, and eminently foolhardy, former apprentice was going to turn to the Dark Side. And you somehow thought the solution to this was to give him even more power."

"Oh, well, when you put it like that..." Obi Wan rolls his eyes. "Listen, don't you think I know how absurd all this is? I had no idea any of this was going to happen. I was simply doing as Qui Gon instructed, because I had to do something. And it has worked, hasn't it, after a fashion?" he asks, somewhat desperately. "Anakin is still with me- With us, that is."

"And the Tython relic? Why did you open it? Where did you even learn how to open it? The rituals associated with it were lost to time. No being still living remembers how to wield its power. Or so we thought."

"I don't know," he breathes, obviously trying not to panic. "We just touched it, and it- I don't know what we did. I don't know what is happening to us. If you know anything, please tell me!" Even now, he can feel Anakin's bright presence traveling with him, within him. A golden pulse as constant as his own heartbeat, and almost as necessary. For all that he is beside himself with guilt and worry, he is also filled to the brim with this, this promise of perpetual oneness, this mutual rapture which is wholly internal to itself, and which no external hardship can reach. "Master Yoda said our souls had become... fused together," he says, shivering in embarrassment, and fear, and joywarmthpleasure. "But I- I don't have the slightest idea what that means."

"Ah, yes," Windu intones, managing to sound as soberly didactic as ever, even with a jaw that won't close all the way. "There are legends of such cases. And little more than legends. Of course, in the days before the Order, when chaos reigned, and all manner of heresies were permitted, there were those brazen enough to tamper with the sacred material of their own souls. Some sought sheer power, while others sought wisdom- Perhaps some merely hoped to experience new levels of... intimacy. It hardly matters what their motives were, for none of them appreciated the danger of what they were doing. Needless to say, almost every sentient being who has ever tried to fuse their soul with another has been utterly destroyed in the attempt."

"And those who did survive the process?" Obi Wan prompts gamely, even managing a rueful smile. "I know you will tell me what became of them."

"Now that..." Mace raises what used to be his eyebrows. "That really is the stuff of legend. There are accounts- very ancient stories- which tell of Force-sensitive beings becoming... lost in each other's minds."

"What do you mean lost?"

"Confused. Unmoored from reality. It is said that these 'soul-bonds' granted their possessors more than unnatural power- They also produced extraordinary psychic and emotional experiences, arising from irresistible feelings of attachment. The bonded ones' devotion to each other was such that it eventually overwhelmed their judgement, causing them to behave irrationally. And their power was such that they became dangerous to all until, for the greater good, they had to be destroyed."

The soft, magnetic hum of imaging machines is suddenly deafening, and Obi Wan's mouth has gone dry with horror.

"What-" he breathes. "What are we going to do?" He scrubs a hand over his face, blinking hard. "You mean to undo it," he says, sounding strangely accusatory. "You mean to separate us."

"Are you going to fry me, too?" Mace jibes.

"Of course not!" Obi Wan cries, his brow scrunching in anguish.

"Then, if I said I was going to undo it, you'd cooperate?"

He hesitates. The thought of separation is... unbearable. He can feel the desperate, mad refusal mounting like a geyser from within the deepest groundwater of his being. And then the realization freezes him: It's already happening. He is already losing his ability to be remotely reasonable where Anakin is concerned.

"You are right, of course," he says at last, eyes blank, voice hollow. "The bond must be severed. It must be severed at once, before it is too late."

The rest of the Council may be gone, but Mace Windu possesses the uncanny ability to surround with a ring of judgement all by himself. Obi Wan holds his breath, anticipating a harsh verdict. He he has been compromised by attachment, a cardinal sin. It's not his fault, not entirely. It took some insidious, ancient curse to reach inside of him and ruin him. But he is ruined, nonetheless. A lifetime of monastic training and discipline, undone in a matter of days. Arbitrarily ripped away from him. He feels a wash of misery. It's so... unfair.

"That may not be necessary."

"What? What do you mean it won't be... Unless-" His stomach plunges. "Unless you intend to simply destroy us." Destroy Anakin. For the greater good. He begins to tremble uncontrollably, as the music roars between his ears- youpromisedyoupromisedyoupromised- Even if Mace is right, even it's the only way, he can't let Anakin come to harm. Can't let anyone lay a hand on his... your beloved one, the voice in his head helpfully supplies.

"Don't be absurd!" Mace huffs. He looks pensively down at his raw fingers, wincing as he skims them over oozing lips. After a moment, he continues, his voice softening wistfully: "Have we truly made ourselves so misunderstood?" He looks up, his black eyes underlit by an uncharacteristic glimmer of sad fondness. "You were brought to us as an infant child Obi Wan. And since that time, you have spent your life in selfless, tireless service to our Order. Do you really think we would just kill you?"

"If the circumstances demanded it? Of course you would. And I would let you. But Anakin-"

"As I say, it won't be necessary!" The elder Jedi looks flustered, as if unwilling to entertain discussion what he may or may not do. "At least, not as far as we know. Not yet."

"What do you know?" Obi Wan murmurs, holding himself as if he is made of bruises.

"I should clarify that we merely suspect. As long as the Force remains shrouded in darkness, nothing is certain. And yet our suspicion, by its very nature, proves-" Mace realizes he is rambling, and takes a moment to subdue his scholarly enthusiasm. "Yes, well," he fixes Obi Wan with his most grave, portentous look: "If Skywalker is indeed the Chosen One- and we now have more reason than ever to believe that he is- then what is happening to him very likely has something to do with the fulfillment of the Prophesy."

"What is happening? You don't mean..." Obi Wan gives a kind of breathless, inchoate laugh. "You don't suppose that this-" he gestures vaguely to himself, "is somehow...?"

"Ever since the day when Qui Gon brought the child before us, Master Yoda and I have sought insight into his future. We came to realize long ago, through meditation, that Skywalker could never fulfill the Prophesy without first passing through a crucible. We have always tried to challenge him, to create opportunities for him to learn about himself, for precisely this reason. Now, perhaps you think we've been unnecessarily harsh-"

"I do actually," Obi Wan says suddenly, his usual inhibitions having been carried away in a tornado of unreal circumstance. "You have never trusted him. Never believed in him. You thought you were concealing it, but you weren't. I saw it. And he saw it."

"Great Spirits, Kenobi!" Mace exclaims. "It's not what you think at all! If I've had my difficulties with Skywalker over the years, it wasn't because I didn't believe in him. It was precisely because I did believe- Because I knew- And I-" A haunted look passes over his face, so quickly that a non-sensitive might miss it. And his deep, majestic voice is brought down to a subterranean rumble. "I was afraid," he confesses.

"Of... Anakin?"

"Of what he represents!" He scratches at his bandaged arm, unable to meet Obi Wan's gaze. "Balance, it is foretold. Haven't you ever wondered what that means?" he rasps quietly.

The darkness has clouded everything for decades. Even before the reemergence of the Sith on Naboo, the Force had been out of alignment, swirling with strange, untraceable eddies, like ominous curls of warning smoke. But if it is in need of balance, of fixing, doesn't that mean that the Force, as he has known it for most of his life, is somehow wrong? And after it's been balanced, will it feel different? Will it be as clear, and smooth, and brittle as a pane of glass, bereft of all its fascinating pits, and knots, and pockets, and shadows? Will it still holler and whisper, hide and reveal? Will its touch feel the same? Will it still comfort him, the way it does now? He cannot possibly explain any of this to the younger man standing before him, at least, not in so many words. He looks up at Obi Wan, at once hoping and dreading to be understood. He has seldom, perhaps never, appeared so vulnerable to another Jedi. But then, they have all been like this, haven't they? Afraid to ask questions, to give voice to doubts, afraid to reveal any weakness to each other. It's what did them in, he realizes now. Their arrogance may have been what blinded them to the serpent lurking in their midst, but their arrogance was always just a shelter from their fear.

"Mace, I-" Obi Wan's hand hovers awkwardly, unproffered, in midair, before returning to his side. "I didn't know. I'm so sorry. For what's happened to you," he stiffly indicates the other man's face. "For everything. I know Anakin is sorry."

"Is he really?"

"No," he huffs, dragging a hand through his sweaty hair. "I don't know-"

"But you're sorry enough for the two of you put together, I'm sure," Mace grimaces.

"I just wish there was something I could-" Obi Wan suddenly stops and looks down, curiously flexing his fingers. "Actually..." His eyes snap upwards again, at once a jittery hypergreen. The light in his chest is pleasantly throbbing, as usual, and if he focuses on it, he can draw it up and out, along his arms, till it pools in his palms, and his fingertips crackle with golden sparks. He breathes in deeply, letting the sparks emanating from his hands simmer down into a soft, buttercup glow. Instinctively, he reaches out to trace the side of his colleague's marred face, willing the flesh to be mended. It makes a kind of crazy sense; Because Anakin is his- his to adore, and to keep, and to command- that means Anakin's power is also his. What Anakin has done, he has the ability to undo.

Mace flinches away, expecting pain, but sits up straight, eyes bulging, when he is met instead with soft, luxuriant warmth. It takes only a few minutes for his face and hands to be fully restored to their proper chocolate color and texture, fissures closing, blisters receding, until healthy skin is covered by nothing but a sheen of suddenly unnecessary medical ointment. Smiling sheepishly, Obi Wan offers him a nearby cleansing cloth, and with a trembling hand he takes it, looking thoroughly put out as he proceeds to scrub away the grease.

"I suppose I'll have to start getting used to idea that everything is going to change," says Mace, folding his freshly healed hands in his lap. "Look at you. Look what you can do now. Force knows, it already has."

"I wish you had told me before how you felt."

"There is much," he sighs, "we have not told you."

"Well, maybe it's time to start."

"Then we'll start at the beginning: You must have asked yourself why, after refusing Qui Gon's request to train Skywalker, the Council suddenly reversed its judgement and approved yours. We changed our minds for a reason, Obi Wan, and I assure you it was not because your account of your master's dying wish moved our hearts." He licks his newly smooth lips, looking back and forth like a Sabbac-player deciding which of his cards to throw down. "You were far too young and inexperienced to take on even an ordinary padawan, and Skywalker was far from ordinary. We had doubts about your ability to... Well, frankly, your ability to exercise any sort of authority over him at all. We feared that, when you became bonded as master and apprentice, his sheer power might overwhelm you. Might even damage your mind. We had countless reasons to refuse your request. But we had one reason to grant it, and we decided that that reason outweighed everything else."

"Stars and stones," Obi Wan laughs nervously. "Don't make me guess it."

"The future, as you know, is always in motion. When Qui Gon brought Skywalker before the Council, the future was oscillating violently, and all of us sensed grave danger. I do not know whether it was Qui Gon's fate to die on Naboo- But it was certainly not his fate to train the boy. He himself must have sensed that the Force had other plans. I suspect he was merely playing along with them, as was his way."

"But surely," Obi Wan frowns, "Qui Gon would have made an excellent master for Anakin. I've always thought... Well..."

"Oh, I know," Mace snorts derisively. "You don't hide it very well. You've always thought of yourself as a substitute for Skywalker's real master, when nothing could be further from the truth. We allowed you to train him, because we realized that only you could help him become what he needed to be. You see, Skywalker was not simply born as the Chosen One- It is his destiny, it is an event, a happening, and when it occurs to him, it must be the product of some transformative experience. Not just for him. For all of us. For the Force. For life itself."

"But you can't possibly think I have anything to do with it."

"And why not? Honestly, Master Kenobi, where is your faith?" he says, pretending to sound scandalized. "Don't you believe the Force has a plan for you?"

"Of course I do, but-"

"But nothing too important, right?" he smiles caustically. "Listen, when the possibility that you might train Skywalker opened up, our vision changed, and the future fell into place. We could not know then what would eventually transpire, but we did know that you and the Chosen One had to be bonded immediately in order to stabilize the timestream."

Obi Wan is just about to open his mouth to object when a hard thwack rings out, scrabbling his thoughts.

"Deep in meditation, I have been." Emerging from a sensory deprivation chamber on the far side of the infirmary, Master Yoda punctuates his entrance by cracking his cane three times against the stone floor. "You!" he shouts. "Listen to Master Windu, you should!"

"But, Master Yoda!" Obi Wan wheels around, flustered. "What he is saying simply can't be true. The Prophesy has nothing to do with me."

"Failed you, we have, young one," Yoda sighs, canting his head sadly. "Endeavor to make up for it, we shall. Explain everything. But later, not now! Passed is the time for talk! Now it is the time for action!" He makes a shooing motion with his tiny, clawed hand. "Go!"

"Of course," Obi Wan bows. "What must I do, Master?"

"Is it not clear to you?" Yoda rolls his eyes. "Skywalker, Skywalker-! You must go to him at once! Important developments. Now is the time!"

"I- What-?" Obi Wan blinks.

"Still here, are you? Go!"