Once again, the next morning Anakin was awake long before daybreak—it was entirely possible, he thought, that he was the only being stirring in the Temple at this moment. When he had dressed, he walked aimlessly around his room for a few minutes, but couldn't find anything to occupy him. He had to do something, or he would go mad, so Anakin made the obvious choice and headed for the training room.

The room was dark—no daylight filtered through the large windows. Anakin couldn't remember a previous time that this enormous chamber, with its vaulted ceilings and matted floors, had ever been completely his. He raised a hand to turn on the lights, then thought again and decided to train without any illumination. It provided an extra challenge, keeping him one more thought away from Obi-Wan.

With a single flick of his wrist, Anakin unhooked the lightsaber from his belt and activated it. The blade shot into the air, cracking through the silent darkness like a whip, casting dim shadows onto the ground. Anakin wished for an opponent, one that would truly test him and make him fight for his life—right now, he would not have been entirely sorry if a Sith appeared right in front of him—but as none happened to be available, Anakin attacked the air instead. He used every tactic at his disposal, attacking his invisible adversary from all angles and directions, and when that provided not enough diversion, he pulled five remotes from a table in the corner and activated them all.

As one they advanced on him, spitting shots of red through the blackness for split seconds, then retreating for an instant as Anakin inevitably blocked their bolt harmlessly into the walls. The lightsaber flashed, another jet of light streaked toward him, and Anakin felt it was the easiest thing in the world to move against it. The glow from his blade moved across his face, reflecting straight into his eyes, and anyone who had been there at that moment would have said that Anakin's eyes seemed to glow of their own accord.

At any other time, Anakin would have heard the footsteps behind him, but he had been sucked up into this storm of movement and fury and deadly calm, and only when a voice spoke his name did he wake from his battle fever.

Windu was standing behind him, his hand still raised in the act of deactivating the remotes. They hovered unseen in the air behind Anakin, humming softly, waiting to be put into use once again.

The Master gave Anakin an inquisitive look—Anakin would have deactivated his lightsaber, but for the fact that it was the only illumination in the room. In the faint blue light, Windu seemed twice as stern, doubly ominous.

"It's a bit early for training," Windu commented. Anakin, chewing very hard on his lower lip, bowed.

"I was…thinking," he said, hoping that the response would keep Windu from questioning.

"You were doing your best not to think," corrected Windu knowingly, displaying an intuitiveness that Anakin had not expected from him. "And you were failing—were you not?"

Anakin swallowed, feeling a sudden burst of resentment toward the unshakable Jedi Master. Friend or not, he could not know, could not possibly understand the torment Anakin endured.

"I don't believe it matters what I choose to think about," he said stiffly. The overwhelming lack of light was beginning to unnerve him, as did the omniscient expression on Windu's face. Windu began a slow, contemplative walk around Anakin, and the Padawan watched him with not a little unease.

"It matters a great deal," said Windu, his deep voice echoing through the chamber. "And the fact that you do not understand this explains to me why you still retain your Padawan braid."

The resentment boiling in Anakin's chest made the leap to rage, and his fist clenched in anger as he held the lightsaber in his other. The slur hit against both Obi-Wan and himself.

"You are mistaken," Windu said shortly. "I criticize only you."

"Stay out of my thoughts," Anakin snarled.

"For ten years you have been a Jedi apprentice," Windu continued, as though Anakin had not spoken. "Obi-Wan taught you well—you have learned much. But after ten years, your thoughts remain dark. You have not yet learned to fight with anything but your anger."

"I know how to fight!"

"Fighting well is not a problem of yours, Anakin," Windu said coldly, stopping in mid-stride. "But inevitably you feed on your anger to carry you through. Because you cannot do otherwise, Obi-Wan kept you from Knighthood. If you wish to become a Jedi Knight then you must detach yourself from the battle, or your battle will become a massacre! You are the Chosen One—such tendencies could mean the end of us all!"

The accusations shot like painful darts into Anakin's chest. Only Master Windu could have possibly made him feel so insignificant, so worthless, and yet conscious of being so essential at the same time.

"Fine," he said angrily, making no effort to hide the undertone of bitter sullenness. "So teach me."

Windu took a step back and raised his hand, and at once, the room burst into light. Even the walls themselves seem to emanate brightness, and Anakin, used to the darkness, ducked his head and covered his eyes quickly. The change seemed to affect Windu not at all.

"The first step," intoned Windu, "is to accustom yourself to the Light." He turned a piercing look upon Anakin. "Was there any particular reason that you chose not to turn the lights on?"

Anakin shrugged, his mind racing as he wondered if there was any way to phrase the truth that would not get him in more trouble. "It was easier," he mumbled finally. He stared at the ground as Windu gave him that look again, the one that Anakin had feared since he was nine, the one that told him plainly that Windu could see every thought in his head. There was a pause.

"There is no need to blame yourself for what happened to Obi-Wan," Windu said at last. "Nor a need for punishment."

Anakin took a breath uncomfortably, then looked straight into Windu's eyes. "I know that," he said, slowly and deliberately. Windu did not look away.

"But you do not believe it," he replied. "Prepare yourself."

With a practiced ease, Anakin bent his knees and fell into a basic starting position, lightsaber raised. His braid fell over his ear, and Anakin shook it back. Just assuming the familiar pose comforted him slightly, something he had done for as long as he could remember and would always be able to do. He looked up at Windu, waiting to begin—but the Master only looked at him again.

"I have not said what you will be doing, yet you have already made up your mind as to how you will fight," he reproached Anakin. "What makes you think that Form V would be best in this instance?"

Feeling sheepish but unwilling to show it, Anakin straightened out of the posture. Again, he felt anger wash over him, mixed with despair. Windu knew nothing about his training—no one could, except for Obi-Wan himself, so how could anyone possibly teach him? Perhaps it would have been best if he had left the Order…perhaps there was still time…

"You favor Form VII," he said, his tone carrying a bit more insolence than he had intended. "I'm not allowed to do the same with whatever Form I choose?"

"In normal battle, certainly," Windu conceded easily. "But when training, and on certain occasions, a Jedi must adapt to his surroundings, and you are still an apprentice. From now on, we will work only in Form III, at least until I think you are ready to do otherwise."

Anakin frowned and almost spoke, then thought better of it at the very last second and bit his tongue. There were seven Forms of lightsaber combat that the Jedi employed, varying on who your opponent was and what weapon he used, and none was overwhelmingly better than the rest. Once a Jedi had been taught at least the basics of each Form, they were free to choose one of them to direct most of their training toward.

Anakin had chosen Form V, the most aggressive and powerful of all Forms. In Form V, attacking was much easier, but eventually you would leave yourself dangerously vulnerable as you went in for the kill. Its raw passion had appealed to Anakin, a born risk-taker, and still did. Form III, on the other hand, was almost purely defensive. A true master of this Form was said to be invincible—but he would do very little in the way of defeating others. The Form involved almost no attack, and for that reason alone, Anakin loathed Form III, denouncing it as boring.

Reluctantly, Anakin settled into a beginning stance of Form III, mentally grumbling against what he considered to be Windu's unspeakable ignorance. The fact that Windu could probably sense every word in his head, he ignored rebelliously.

"Jhos parry one," said Windu suddenly. Instantly Anakin flew into motion, whirling and executing the maneuver. Even before he had finished Windu spoke again, his low voice carrying easily in the room. "Sulq turn four. Khal kick one. Sulq thrust two."

The fervor of movement, relentless and swift, gave Anakin a fierce sort of peace of mind. Only in the thick of battle could he completely ignore the pain that hammered constantly at his heart, and so when Windu simply ceased, Anakin was left hanging. Breathless, he looked over at Master Windu, who gave a perfunctory nod.

"Good. Again."

Anakin stared at him. "Just the four?" he asked, hardly bothering to hide the derisive incredulousness of his tone. He could have gone on for hours and never repeated a one!

"There is a large difference between battling your opponent and trying to defeat him," Windu said calmly. "When you have learned that difference, we will move on. Again."

Anakin did, but he was not thinking of the maneuvers as he performed. Instead, his mind was repeating bewilderedly, …a difference between battling your opponent and trying to defeat him. To Anakin's way of thinking, it made no sense: if you were battling someone at all, then by necessity you must be trying to defeat them. What else could you do in a fight?

This inexplicable exercise went on for hours, and it didn't take long for Anakin to become so bored that he thought he would die. Again and again his body formed the exact same positions and movements, until Anakin could have fallen asleep and kept right on. At first, the passion that normally filled his training was present, but as time wore on, Anakin grew so weary of the entire thing that he just stopped trying, and only performed the maneuvers with a resigned air. After an hour of this new tactic, Windu spoke.

"That will do."

Anakin went lightheaded with relief; Windu was standing against the wall, watching Anakin's progress untiringly.

"You may go," he said, nodding at the door. They were no longer alone in the room, and its great windows had filled with light. The sun had arisen over two hours ago. "You have done well enough."

The resentment buried in Anakin's chest flared up again for a moment—was that all the praise he got?—but he decided, wisely, to ignore it and take the dismissal before Windu changed his mind. He gave a short bow, then practically ran from the room.

Obi-Wan would have known how to teach me, Anakin thought rebelliously, then immediately quashed the thought with another. But Obi-Wan is dead.

Maybe if he thought it enough, it would cease to hurt so badly. Anakin closed his eyes as he walked, biting down on his tongue sharply. Obi-Wan is dead. Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead. The words had a strange, angry rhythm to them, one that Anakin could almost keep time to with his footsteps.

Obi-Wan-Kenobi-is-dead. Obi-Wan-Kenobi-is-dead. Obi-Wan-Kenobi-is-dead.

By the time Anakin had reached his apartments blood was pooling in his mouth, the words hurt him no less, and his throat ached with unshed tears. He spat the blood onto the floor and threw himself onto the sleep couch.

Force, what was this pain? It was unfathomable, immeasurable, ripping away at bits of his soul and tearing them to shreds. It was like nothing he had felt before, and it would kill him soon. Anakin knew that as well as he knew anything else, as well as he knew that the ground was beneath his feet and the sky was above him. No human being could survive such pain—the idea was laughable.

His options were obvious: he could reduce the pain—oh, Force, if only he knew how!—or he could end it, right where he lay. Anakin turned over and gazed at the ceiling. The latter solution seemed to jump out at him; it would end, all this suffering would be over, and maybe—Anakin's heart leapt at the thought, before he could tell himself not to hope—maybe he would see Obi-Wan again.

With that prospect before him, how could he not go through with it? Almost without thinking, Anakin stood; his hand went to the lightsaber at his belt. A glad smile played over his face for the first time in weeks. No more of this pain, no more torture, only his Master's loving arms, as it had always been. He was going to be with Obi-Wan—he was going to be with Obi-Wan!

The lightsaber extended out of its hilt at the touch of a button, and Anakin looked at the flickering blade with amusement in his features. The weight on his shoulders had lifted—for a moment again, he was whole, as he thought of what would be in only seconds.

"Jhos parry one," Anakin repeated out loud, unable to keep a grin from his face. "Sulq turn four."

He knew where to put the blade, exactly so that death—but how could such a joyous reunion be called death?—would be instantaneous. The blade of the lightsaber hummed loudly, as though in anticipation of its final blessed deed. Anakin twirled the weapon over his hand, then held it to his chest.

Straight through the heart…

"I love you, Master," were his last words. There was a flash of light, a flurry of movement, and though Anakin's eyes were closed, he felt strong hands close over his on the lightsaber hilt.

"Anakin!"

He turned toward the voice, blinking. "Master," he whispered, barely audibly—but it was not his Master, those hands did not belong to Obi-Wan. With a cry, Anakin wrenched himself away, stumbling across the room.

"Anakin, what are you doing?" Windu shouted. Tears of disappointment streamed down Anakin's face—he had been so close—

"Why didn't you let me go?" he screamed at Windu. "Why didn't you let me go?" The lightsaber clattered to the floor, singeing the leg of a chair.

"You're not thinking straight!" Windu accused him. "Obi-Wan would not want you to kill yourself, and I will not let you do such a thing!"

Anakin only shook his head wordlessly, despair overcoming his ability to speak. How could he possibly explain what he himself barely understood—that death was not just an escape, it was no longer something to be feared, but it was the answer to everything!

Windu stepped forward quickly and clutched Anakin's wrist, just as the Padawan's knees buckled and he started to sink. "Anakin, Obi-Wan is gone," Windu said firmly. "That does not mean your life is over."

A laugh bubbled up into Anakin's throat before he could stop it. "You don't understand," he protested, torn between hysterical mirth and unbearable sorrow. "It's not a bad thing—it's not—" He would have been with Obi-Wan, so it was not death, it was only the action of ridding himself of the body that kept him from his beloved Master. Death was being where Obi-Wan was not, on this side.

But Windu was not listening. He straightened the limp Anakin, and placed heavy hands on his shoulders. Meeting Anakin's gaze squarely, Windu repeated quietly, "Obi-Wan is dead."

The laughter faded in Anakin's throat. Don't say it…

"Obi-Wan is dead. He is gone forever. He no longer exists. Not here, not on any plane of existence you would care to name. He's gone, Anakin."

With every word that came out of Windu's mouth, something within the deepest part of Anakin withered and died. The pain that shone from his eyes was so poignant that Windu was forced to lower his gaze, but the damage had already been done.

Windu called the fallen lightsaber to his hand, deactivated it, then handed it back to Anakin. "Promise me," he said softly, "that you will not try this again." Anakin nodded distantly as he stared at the floor, words ringing in his ears. Dead. Gone. Dead. The ache in Anakin's heart, before so infinite, swelled for a moment and then lessened very slightly. Gone. To rid himself of his pain, he must rid himself of hope as well.

So far away was Anakin's mind that he barely noticed when Windu left. For a long time, he simply stood there, looking numbly down at the lightsaber in his hand. At last his senses seemed to return, and he returned the weapon to his belt, then lay listlessly on the bed.

His body could take no more sudden shocks; Anakin had no intention of sleeping, but no sooner had his head touched the pillow than his eyes closed. A rare and blessed instance, this time there were no dreams.