The return trip took only two days, but to Anakin it felt like an eternity. At first, every moment was spent agonizing over what in the Force he was supposed to do with Obi-Wan's lightsaber crystal—Anakin didn't want it anywhere near him, and yet at the same time he couldn't make himself throw it away. Eventually he compromised by leaving the necklace in the hold and feeling guilty about it.
When they finally reached Coruscant, Anakin retrieved the crystal from the hold and took it into the Temple. Under normal circumstances, he supposed, they would have had to report back to the Council, but considering that Master Windu was on the Council, this wasn't the case. Instead, Anakin went straight to his room as soon as they landed, while Windu presumably went to the Council chamber.
Once there, Anakin spend the next twenty minutes lying on his bed, staring idly up at the ceiling and twisting the thin, gold chain around his fingers. His thoughts ran in a monotonous circle, one that had no feasible conclusion: I can't throw it out, because it belonged to Obi-Wan. I can't keep it; it used to belong to Obi-Wan. I can't give it away, it belonged to Obi-Wan. But I can't throw it out—
Anakin sat straight up in bed and sank his head into his hands. Damned thing, he thought savagely. This would never have been a problem if Aiin hadn't given it to him, but now that he had it, he could neither keep it nor get rid of it.
At last, he reached a solution, and no sooner had Anakin thought of it than it seemed completely obvious: he would leave the crystal in Obi-Wan's room, at the heart of the problem, and there it would stay, locked up alongside every random piece of memorabilia that had the power to hurt him so badly. Snatching up the offending piece of jewelry from where it had fallen on his bed, Anakin headed for his former Master's chambers with quick, purposeful steps.
His intention was to walk in, put the crystal on the bed, and walk out for the last time. In theory, it all worked out quite well, but reality told a different story. No sooner had Anakin set foot in the apartment than he stopped. Something was different, something had changed—he didn't need the Force to tell him that, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. There was no large article of furniture missing: the shelves, the sleep couch, the small bedside table were all in their usual spots. Puzzled, Anakin turned in a slow circle, looking about the room for his answer—and then it hit him.
The spare pieces of flimsy Obi-Wan had kept on his table was gone—the datachip Anakin had seen when last he had been in here had disappeared as well—the boot sticking out from underneath the bed had vanished. In fact, there was nothing that suggested a sentient being had ever lived in this room at all. Obi-Wan's surprising lack of personal possessions had kept Anakin from realizing the truth right away.
All the breath seemed to have left Anakin's lungs—he sank down against the wall, unconsciously holding the necklace tightly in his fist. Dimly, he understood that this was customary, nothing to be shocked about—after all, the Temple housed several thousand Jedi Knights, and it could hardly be expected to keep this room a memorial—but somehow Anakin had managed to forget this fact, and now it was a little too late to prepare himself.
It was as though Obi-Wan had vanished completely, as though he had never existed. Human memories were weak; without a single physical trace of Obi-Wan Kenobi, who was to say that he had ever lived at all?
This is your chance, said a voice in Anakin's head suddenly. Break all ties, forget your past. For how could he continue to live when he was crippled by grief, consumed in the knowledge of what he had lost? No, it would be easier to forget everything, to play along and pretend that Obi-Wan had never been.
Almost without thinking, Anakin looked down and fingered the sleeve of his tunic. When he had first come to the Temple, he had purposely chosen the darkest attire possible for a Jedi, for reasons Anakin couldn't even remember now. Maybe he had liked the mystery they seemed to entail, maybe he had wanted to stand out. It was also entirely possible that he had done it simply to annoy Obi-Wan, but whatever the reason, the garment was reminiscent of a past that Anakin no longer wanted, and it had to go.
He looked up at Obi-Wan's chronometer—at the chronometer on the wall, Anakin reminded himself sternly—and saw to his surprise that he had been sitting here for over an hour. Darkness had fallen, and the Temple was asleep by now. Suddenly spurred to action, Anakin rose, still clutching the necklace in his right hand.
The Temple storerooms were on the other side of the building, and it took Anakin at least fifteen minutes to get there. Each enormous room held a variety of items, all in the same category: one contained medicines and healing tools, another foodstuffs, another training equipment. Normally, apprentices weren't allowed in these rooms without specific permission from their Masters, but Anakin had never followed the rules very scrupulously even before Obi-Wan's death. Walking quickly, he bypassed all these superfluous doors and stopped before the last one. Anakin took one quick look around to make sure that there was no one else about, then stepped inside.
As soon as he did so, the lights automatically came on. Anakin blinked, his eyes accustomed to darkness. The shelves of this room appeared almost never-ending; they stretched for seventy feet, at the very least, and on them were piled countless, neatly-folded stacks of clothing. This was where all traditional Jedi garb was stored until a new initiate came to the Temple, or a Knight tore a tunic beyond repair.
The clothing was arranged by size—Anakin had to walk a long way down the aisle before he found a tunic that would fit him. It was brown, several shades lighter than his current one, with layered white under-robes. Anakin snatched it from the shelf and a pair of pants to match, and then he was gone again, the lights flickering off as the door shut behind him.
Where could he go? Simply throwing his old clothes away would not do—Anakin wanted them gone, destroyed, until there was nothing but fine dust to remind him of everything that had once been. He pondered this problem for a moment, standing in the middle of the hall. An idea came to him—but no, it was too bold, he did not dare. And yet somehow, Anakin found himself moving toward the center of the Temple, to the stairs that would take him higher than almost anyone in the city.
There was a lift for pragmatic purposes, as it was almost a thousand steps to the room at the top of the tallest spire of the Temple. When a Jedi was killed, those who came to the burning ceremony—the Council, the deceased's Padawan or Master, and close friends—took the stairs, with the Padawan or Master leading the single-file line of Jedi. If, for some reason, it was necessary to access the burning chamber when there was no ceremony, for cleaning or some such chore, then the lift would be used. Anakin did not hesitate, but placed his foot on the first step.
His hand holds mine as we walk up the stairs together, guiding me on an unfamiliar path. Looking up, I can see the pain in his eyes—wherever we are going, he will not like it.
My legs ache with every step—I've never seen such a long staircase before, and it always keeps going, winding on and on until it makes me dizzy to think about it. I don't think he ever gets tired; he just keeps walking, and walking, with his eyes straight ahead. I can't slow down, because he's holding my hand, and sometimes it feels like he's pulling me ahead. I can't help it—my legs trembling, I stumble and fall, scraping my palms against the sharp edges of the stairs.
Everyone stops—I can hear them murmuring behind me. His hand still covering mine, he helps me to my feet and kneels down beside me. He brushes his thumb against my bleeding hand.
"Are you all right?"
I nod mutely. They're ready to keep going, but he stops them again, still kneeling at my side. I can see the concern in his eyes, veiling the pain for a moment. "Here," he says quietly, lifting me into his arms. He carries me the rest of the way.
Anakin faltered on step 372, almost stumbling to the ground. He pressed a hand to the wall and waited a moment to regain his balance. He looked down and saw, for the first time in ten years, a thin, almost indiscernible smear of blood on the marble stair. A deep, shaking breath filled Anakin's lungs, and he kept going, walking, and walking, with his eyes straight ahead. His lips moved silently as he unconsciously counted each step. Three hundred eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one…
When at last he reached the top, the darkness seemed overpowering, held back by only the feeble, flickering torches on the five pillars around the room. There were no windows, no walls, just a lot of empty space between each column. It gave Anakin an unpleasant sense of vulnerability, as though all of Coruscant was watching his most private moments.
He took a long breath, preparing himself, and then in one swift motion Anakin grabbed one of the torches and threw it on the waiting pyre. Instantly it burst into flame, waiting to consume up a body that was not there. Under its sudden light, Anakin let his cloak fall to the ground, then pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it into the fire. It burned easily, but it had scarcely touched the flames when Anakin stripped off his pants and threw them in as well.
It was over before he knew it—somehow he had not expected it to happen so quickly. Tongues of fire lapped at his clothing, swallowing them up until nothing remained but little burning piles of ash. Gradually realizing that it had nothing more to feed on, the pyre fire died within minutes, and Anakin watched it fade. When at last there was nothing but embers, Anakin came to himself enough to pull on the robes he had taken from the storeroom.
He had not expected them to be so heavy, he thought as he belted them around his waist. They pulled him down with a solemn weightiness; Anakin almost felt as though simply wearing them could make you a better Jedi somehow. He reached for the cloak on the ground, and felt a hard lump tucked into one of its folds. The necklace—he had forgotten to burn that as well. There was no need to start the fire again; the gold would melt easily, and the ilum crystal would fade and tarnish until it was nothing but a lump of coal. Anakin held it over the pyre, almost dropped it in, and then stopped.
Against his will, Anakin's mind replayed the scene of Obi-Wan's eerily empty room, reflecting no traces of the man who had once lived there. Anakin had no mementos of his Master that he had not lost or destroyed in the past, not knowing of the value they would possess one day had he only kept them. Human memories were weak—and to entirely forget Obi-Wan Kenobi, the great, perfect Jedi Knight, was nothing but a dishonoring.
His fingers trembled—oh, how badly he wanted to let go! But in the end, respect won over sorrow. Bowing his head, Anakin slipped the long golden chain over his head, the ilum crystal resting heavily on his chest, the one spot of color on his dull Jedi robes. Rather than hide it under his robes, he let it stay there. For as long as he lived, he would make all who saw him remember the man who had loved him when he was nothing. Anakin pulled the cloak over his shoulders, tugged the hood over his eyes, and began his long walk down the darkened stairway.
Rather than die down during dark hours, Coruscant only truly became alive in night, so it was only natural that several people should see the fire that burned for a short time in the spire of the Jedi Temple. Some forgot it as soon as they turned away—others remembered, and casually mentioned it to their friends with the same detached sympathy with which one treats the victims of a disaster far, far away from oneself. By morning, almost everyone in the vicinity knew, but did not care, that one more Jedi had been killed last night.