Anakin had never seen a structure like this.

Even as they walked, alert for danger and prepared at every second to fight for their lives, Anakin couldn't help but marvel at the design of it. The size of it was monstrous. How many years had it taken to plan such a thing? How many laborers, how many droids had worked on it through long and endless nights until it was completed?

How long had Grievous been planning this?

"This place is huge," Anakin muttered under his breath. "How are we ever going to find the hostages?"

"I'm afraid I won't be much help to you there," Obi-Wan said. He was stumbling over his own feet enough to make the condition worrisome, but the color had returned to his face and he no longer needed Anakin's arm to keep him upright. "But you can use the Force."

"I can try," Anakin replied, frowning, "but there's something keeping me from them. Windu managed to contact me once already, but he's very weak."

He closed his eyes, and unconsciously held his hands out before him, as though feeling his way in the dark.Master, he whispered, Master, where are you?

Tendrils of the Force wisped their way down the halls, searching for life. Anakin felt the heartbeat of the occasional guard, steady as a drumbeat if it was a clone and skittering slightly if it was a naturally-born human.

Without warning, like stepping unexpectedly from a drop-off into deeper and darker waters, Anakin's senses stumbled into a pool of misery. Somewhere—somewhere—he could feel them, in pain but still as stone, their thoughts thick and clumsy. It frightened him; if he'd been holding anything, he would have dropped it then.

"I found the Jedi," he said, shaking himself back into reality, "but—" He stopped again, throwing his mind back for an instant. "There are more of them."

Obi-Wan looked confused. "More hostages?" Anakin could only shake his head.

"I don't know," he answered. He knew he had felt the Jedi, but there had been other beings in the Force, beings who were not chained in the same way as the Jedi, and these people were frightened and innocent. "But we have to get to them quickly."

They continued down the hall. Its tight, dark corners made Anakin feel the same way he had when, once, he had gone underwater in a diving ship. He had been young, and watching the water splash up against the windows as they dove had been one of the most frightening experiences of his life then. He could feel that old claustrophobia rising as he walked.

"It's very quiet, isn't it?" said Obi-Wan, echoing what Anakin had been thinking. What was the point of making such a huge ship if there were no one to fill it?

"Drin said that this part is still under construction," Anakin answered vaguely, "but still…" Still…

A wave of menace swept over him, snatching his breath and throwing it away. He stopped in his tracks; they were coming, they were coming.

"They found Dooku," he breathed. "We have to hurry."

Through the Force he could almost hear the hundreds of footsteps tramping against the cold tiles, white suits of armor with death in their heads. He gulped, groping with his mind and running along the hall, until he found a door that matched the one that the Force was leading him to. It opened under his touch, and then Anakin saw something that took his breath away.

At first glance, the room looked like a med ward, full of patients in bacta tanks. But closer inspection belied the innocent nature of the place. In each tank that lined the wall—and that wasn't bacta, was it?—was not some innocuous patient but a Jedi Knight or Master. Their eyes were shut, their limbs and cloaks floating eerily in the yellowish liquid that, through the Force, gave off an aura of poison.

Anakin's instinctive reaction was to look around, to find Windu. His Master was toward the back of the room, and for a split second Anakin recoiled when he saw him, frightened. This was not the Windu he knew, this still, powerless being with the breath mask shoved into his mouth. But duty overcame Anakin's revulsion. Without considering any possible side effects he let the liquid drain from the tank, and Windu slowly sank to his knees, and then to the floor. Whatever that liquid was, it was that which had been keeping the Jedi unconscious. After a moment, Windu's eyes flickered blearily. He was shivering, dripping wet.

"Can you hear me?" Anakin asked, when he had opened the tank and removed the breath mask. Windu gave a faint nod, and his lips moved as if to speak, but Anakin stopped him. "Save your energy. You'll need it."

Already Obi-Wan was moving about the room, freeing other Jedi from their liquid prisons. They awakened shortly after, still very weak but conscious all the same.

Impatient as Anakin was, he knew that, for now, there was nothing that could be done. He couldn't leave the Jedi here, and they were in no condition to move. For lack of a more useful occupation, he knelt and touched two fingers to the inside of Windu's tank, where a few yellow droplets still lingered.

The Force searched through it, sifting contents and molecular structures. Some of them Anakin recognized.

"What is it?" Obi-Wan asked, coming up behind him.

"It's—" Anakin frowned. "It's like bacta, but it isn't. It's got the same chemical base, I think…but it's more malignant. It's designed to keep people prisoner, not to heal them. And—Grievous's added something else." Concentrating, Anakin couldn't understand why he couldn't find that last ingredient. Then he realized he had found his answer. "It's a Force-blocker. In case they woke up."

"Covering all his bases, isn't he?" Obi-Wan murmured.

Through Anakin's concentration broke Grievous' soldiers once more. They were getting closer. Caught in indecision, Anakin clenched his jaw.

"Master," he said to Windu, whose eyes were beginning to clear. "I know this won't be pleasant, but I need you to get up."

It was an enormous effort, Anakin could see, as Windu's eyes closed and he began to lift himself up. Anakin helped as much as he could, but in Windu's weakened state it was almost like moving an enormous doll. A vein pulsed on the side of the Master's neck, and he gasped.

"Almost there," Anakin promised breathlessly, and then somehow he had managed to shift Windu to his feet. The dark-skinned Jedi hesitated a moment, swaying on the spot. Then his stomach revolted against its treatment, and he vomited without warning. Afterwards, though Windu was still dripping with Grievous' mixture, he looked much better than he had before, and much more coherent.

"So you managed it," he said, when his eyes first focused on Anakin. "I'm not surprised."

The other Jedi followed much the same procedure. Once they were on their feet and had cleared their systems, they were in much better shape. All the while Anakin kept his mind on the army, marching steadily ever toward them. How many were there? Fifty? A hundred? Endless soldiers against nine warriors, only one of them operating at full capacity. Most of the former prisoners were holding onto the sides of their tanks for dear life; their minds had cleared, but their muscles had lain in atrophy for nearly a week now, and they were having difficulty staying upright. The Force seemed to have sent Anakin an impossible task.

What if I fail? he thought dimly. The possibility seemed real to him for the first time. Then that would be the end. This battle, this fight, was all that was left of the Republic.

His mind was alerted suddenly to another presence close by in the Force. Startled, Anakin examined it more closely, and found it to be friendly.

Here, he pathed, leading the way, and Drin came through the door within seconds. The expression on his face became that of extreme relief when he saw the hostages.

"Master!" he cried, rushing to Ka'ela. She seemed to regain life when she saw him.

"Anakin," said Windu, "Listen to me. I can sense that our time is limited."

Anakin turned.

"We are not the only hostages aboard this thing. Grievous kidnapped several dozen Nubians before he destroyed their home. I would rather not risk their lives, but you know as well as I that this battle cannot be lost, and as it stands we are not assured of victory. They can help us fight, if they are freed and properly equipped."

"Can we get blasters for them?" Anakin asked.

"I know there's an armory of sorts near here. I don't know if you can make it in time, but you must try."

Once more Anakin stretched out using the Force. It was only a few seconds before he announced, "It's on the other side of this wall." Without a moment more wasted he stepped forward, pausing only a second to ensure that no one was on the other side, then jabbed his lightsaber through the bulkhead. When the hole was large enough for him to step through, he emerged in the next room to find an arsenal.

Careful not to let anything go off by mistake, he handed over several blasters to Drin through the wall. His mind wandered over the thought of arming the Nubians. Windu was correct in that the Jedi were currently at a disadvantage, but was giving blasters to dozens of untrained, peace-loving civilians the answer? More than likely they would provide nothing but friendly fire.

The Jedi were now well armed, each carrying at least two blasters in addition to their lightsabers. Ka'ela held on to Drin's arm tightly, soaking it; Shaak Ti's lovely face was set with determination; Aelir, his hair plastered to his face, just looked like he wanted to kill someone. Anakin looked at them, and felt nothing strange when his mouth opened and he found himself speaking with authority.

"I know you are weak, but now is not the time for weakness. Call on the Force to sustain you and give you strength. It is for times like these that we are called 'set apart' from the rest of the universe, when we are forced to push ourselves past human endurance." Anakin swallowed—he felt suddenly so vulnerable. But his stony expression never wavered. "This is the last chance, the last battle, the last stand. As of this moment, we here are all there is of the Republic. If we die, so does everything the Republic stands for. So don't hold back, not even for a second."

Then his face changed, to that of utmost abstraction, for a split second. "Go," he said brusquely. "They're almost here."

The Jedi made their way toward the door. Anakin was about to pass through when he felt a hand on his arm. He turned, to see Adi Gallia standing there.

"I was wrong about you," she said humbly, looking up at him. "You will surpass us all."

Then she swept by him, graceful as always.

It was a hard thing, to know that the planet they loved so dearly was gone.

Pax Ledon, a Nubian hostage, knew that only too well. Each time he closed his eyes the image of Theed palace rose up before him like a condemning omen. His brown uniform only reminded him further of the charge he had failed. Late in his life, he had no wife and no children; his life's only duty was to the Queen, to protect her. But when he and several other random Nubians were unceremoniously kidnapped and herded into this monstrous place, he had no choice but to watch as his homeplanet, his friends, and his Queen were demolished without warning.

The experience had left him drained and wretched. Other refugees still talked of escape, but he—who, with his military experience, might actually have been able to help—only sat alone in the corner, trapped in his shame. He ate, but only to please the others, and they all thought the old man would be dead before their chance came.

If the rest of them ever did find that chance, he would remain here, to die under the hospitality of a murderer.

Then something happened.

That, in itself, was amazing. Since they had all been thrown in this room days ago, they had seen no living faces other than their own, and heard no strange voices. A droid came once a day to deliver food; that was all.

But now, there came a sound, faint and unfamiliar, from beyond the door. Every hostage suddenly ceased their low whispers and gaped at the noise; then a voice—a human voice!—called through the metal, "Stand back!"

Pax and the few near him scrambled backwards on their knees. There was a moment's pause, and then a glowing blue blade thrust suddenly through the steel. One woman screamed; a few knew what it meant.

"The Jedi are here!" someone cried. The circle in the door was growing, until it was large enough for a grown man to step through. Then the round piece of metal was pushed forward, and as it clattered noisily onto the floor, a Jedi stepped through and straightened.

He was very tall, even by Nubian standards, and he was heavily armed. The hostages looked up at him from the floor with frightened eyes.

"We have come to rescue you," said the Jedi, sheathing his weapon. "But—"

His words were drowned out as the hostages shouted for joy. One man ran to the Jedi and fell to his knees before him. Women embraced each other and held their children close; they had all expected death.

"But," said the Jedi again, and this time people listened. "Our assistance comes with a price. I would have preferred that all of you be able to leave immediately, and we have prepared a transport. But we need your help. We need all able-bodied men to stay and fight alongside us."

Eagerly the Nubians agreed, and went to accept their blasters. In the sudden confusion, it was a moment before the Jedi had noticed that Pax remained where he was, in his corner, stubbornly refusing to move.

"I know that your race is unused to violence," said the Jedi softly, "but to let your countrymen fight while you remain in safety is a coward's path."

"I am no coward," answered Pax, flicking his eyes upward to land on the Jedi's face, "and any man who says otherwise will not live to say it again."

The Jedi looked as though he were about to answer when another newly-armed Nubian grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear. The Jedi's expression fell into one of understanding. When he spoke again, his voice had changed as well, taking on a military timbre.

"Soldier, stand up. Your planet still has need of you."

"My planet no longer exists."

"I said stand!"

Pax did so, and the Jedi walked toward him, blue eyes flashing.

"I can see by your uniform that you were in the queen's service, is that correct?"

"It is, sir." The respectful address slipped almost unthinkingly from Pax's tongue, and without meaning to do so he found himself standing at attention.

"Queen Apailana is dead, through no fault of yours. But Naboo still requires your service. Your allegiance is not only to the current queen of Naboo, but her predecessors as well, and only a coward would attempt to shirk that duty. When this war is over, you will enter the service of Supreme Chancellor Amidala, former Queen of Naboo. Do I make myself clear, soldier?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Right." The Jedi thrust a blaster into Pax's hand. "Then don't die."

"Anakin."

"What is it, Master?" Anakin asked, moving from Pax to Windu's side.

"They are very close—we may not even have a minute."

"I know," said Anakin.

"When the fighting starts, you must not be here."

Anakin gaped at his Master. "You can't be serious. No, I won't—"

"Someone has to escort the women and children to the transport and make certain that they will reach safety. You and Obi-Wan must go." A wry little smile appeared on Windu's weary face. "I'll ask about that later."

"Someone else can go," Anakin said fiercely. "Why would you send me? I won't leave you—"

"This is no whim, Anakin," Windu said, in a voice that said he would not be crossed. "The Force is still weak within me, but I know it tells me this. You are not meant to fight here. There is another battle waiting for you and Master Kenobi. Take the Nubians to safety, and the Force will guide you from there."

Anakin looked at his Master helplessly. "Are you certain?" he asked.

"I know it."

"But you need me here."

Windu shook his head. "You are the Chosen One. You must fight in the greater battle. Ours matters nothing compared to yours."

His words filled Anakin with something like fear. He fought it, and nodded, then called, "Everyone who is not fighting, come to me!"

Dark-haired women, some clutching children only a few months old, fled to him. By their demeanor, even as frightened as they were, Anakin was reminded of Chancellor Amidala. One little boy seemed lost, not clinging to his mother but wandering with a crumpled, tearful face. "His mother was killed with Naboo," explained one of the women. Anakin scooped the child into his arms and led the way, calling to Obi-Wan as he walked.

He walked quickly—he did not want to hear the sounds of battle from behind, and feel shamed. Obi-Wan quickly caught up.

"Why are we going this way?" he asked.

"Because Master Windu told us to," said Anakin shortly. He didn't feel like explaining—or rather, in truth, didn't want to believe the explanation.

Drin had told him the location of the transport, but the directions were somewhat confusing. The Nubians murmured, frightened, amongst themselves, but Anakin shushed them, knowing that the group was already making too much noise. Anakin desperately sought to find the third corridor on the right with a big pillar right next to it, while Obi-Wan walked beside him.

"What are we going to do with this thing," he heard Obi-Wan ask, "when everyone's off it safely?"

"I don't know. Destroy it, somehow," Anakin answered, distracted.

"Is there some sort of self-destruct mechanism, do you think?"

"They're evil, Obi-Wan, not stupid."

Obi-Wan gave a terse laugh. "Well, you can't just leave it floating in space for the next maniac that comes along to steal it. Do you have a better idea?"

"You're the Master; why don't you think of something?"

"Actually, I'm a civilian now, and even if I weren't, you'd still outrank me."

Somewhere in Anakin's head, he found this funny, but a laugh never made its way to his mouth because something else had caught his attention.

"Here," he said finally, relieved beyond words. "Come this way."

They followed him into the hangar, and there Anakin saw the promised transport. The women gasped with joy, knowing it meant safety. Still carrying the boy, who was clinging to him for dear life, Anakin boarded and programmed the ship to take the hostages to—he racked his brain for a destination—Sullust.

"When you land," he said, turning to them, "find your way to the Republic's embassy. They'll give you shelter." He handed off the child to one of the Nubians, with some difficulty.

"Do any of you know anything about flying?" Obi-Wan asked. Looking around uncertainly at her companions, all of whom bore the same blank-faced expression, one woman raised her hand. "The ship's been preprogrammed, but if something goes wrong—which it won't—there's a hyperspace map in the ship's computer."

She nodded, and spoke for all of them when she said earnestly, "Thank you, Master Jedi."

"I'm sorry we can't go with you," Anakin said, "but we have other duties here. May the Force be with you."

And then there was nothing but for them to step off the transport and watch, utterly helpless, as the ship closed. With a wave of his hand Anakin opened the hangar doors, and the transport was gone.

A sizeable weight seemed to have fallen from Anakin's chest, though others still remained. He took his first deep breath in several hours.

"Now what?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Now we go back and fight," said Anakin. He turned to leave the hangar.

Then the lights went out.

Stupefied, it was a moment before Anakin thought to ignite his lightsaber. The blue glow, eerie in the darkness, cast its light upon the metal floors and walls without seeing anything out of the ordinary. Obi-Wan had moved instinctively toward Anakin, turning so they were back to back.

A voice spoke out of the darkness, hoarse and angry.

"Did you think to take me by surprise?"

Anakin whirled sharply, but even as he moved to leap forward toward Grievous' voice a blast of blue light shot out of the darkness, missing him by more than a few inches. He heard a noise behind him, a soft, surprised grunt and the sound of a body falling to the floor. Fear coiled swiftly around his heart; he stumbled, and turned—

"No!" Grievous screeched. "Do not turn!" Without warning a giant weight pounced upon Anakin's chest like a hammer, throwing him to the floor and stunning him for an instant. His lightsaber slipped from his fingers and rolled away from him. Through dizzy eyes he could see that mask, those spider legs, those hideous eyes, pinning him to the floor, glaring down at him with hatred unmatched.

"This is your fight and mine," Grievous hissed. "There will be no help. Only you, Master Skywalker, and me."

With an enormous effort, Anakin threw him off and scrambled across the floor for his lightsaber. It seemed an eternity before he reached it, expecting to be attacked from behind every second. At last his fingers closed around it, reassuring familiarity, and Anakin jumped to his feet in battle stance.

As his eyes adjusted, he could see Grievous, standing still across the room. His eyes were almost smoking with hatred, and in each of his four mechanical hands he held a weapon. Three of them were long, deadly vibro-shivs. The fourth was a lightsaber, piercing green.

"Fight," the monster commanded him.

And Anakin, with a cry of anger that echoed around the room after being pent up for years and years as he had helplessly watched Grievous kill and lie and destroy, flew at him.

Grievous met him with the green blade. He had no technique, no Jedi balance, but only a vicious desire to kill, so the lightsaber whirled and spun haphazardly in the air and Anakin was hard-pressed to avoid it. They circled each other like dogs, snapping at one another in the street with foam-lathered mouths.

Anakin blocked, left, right, dodge, but Grievous held an advantage with his four blades, so that Anakin could hardly escape one, whirling between their scathing edges, before he was forced to evade another. Eventually he had to miscalculate, and eventually he did. When his lightsaber parried the green, he failed to watch, and he slipped—

—a vibro-blade pierced the skin of his shoulder, and he gritted his teeth—

—a hand reached up, strong as death, and grabbed him by the throat, and threw him backwards with all the force in his body. Anakin flew through the air until he slammed into the wall with a sound that echoed through the hangar, and then slid down to the floor. He could barely stand, his hand was stunned, he couldn't reactivate his lightsaber and Grievous was upon him—!

The monster's cloak swirled around the both of them, like darkness, like death, as Grievous easily bore Anakin to the ground. The droid arm, like a vise, pinned the Jedi against the wall, crossed over Anakin's throat and pressed.

Anakin gasped as he felt his windpipe being crushed. He fought, pulling at the arm that was strangling the life out of him. Grievous pressed harder, cruelly. Anakin's struggles were growing weaker; he was dying, he was dead, for darkness was already coming.

Just before Anakin lost consciousness, the arm was removed.

There was a split second then, in which Grievous stood back and Anakin fell to all fours, choking and sputtering inhaling as deeply as he could. In that one second, Anakin realized that Grievous would not kill him, not yet. It would be a while. It would be a slow death, drawn-out and agonizing, until Anakin himself would beg for the final deed. It would be torturous, as though Grievous was somehow repaid for all Anakin's trouble by his pain, as though agony could be bartered back for irritation.

"I won't die like that," Anakin heard himself say. His voice sounded very strange.

"You will die as I will have you die," spat Grievous, and grabbed for him again.

Anakin was ready, weak as he was. His lightsaber flashed true, and a vibro-shiv fell to the ground, clutched in a severed mechanical arm. Grievous let out a howl, of pain or rage, and dove at the Jedi like a cat upon its prey.

Once more they were caught in the whirling fray, but this time Anakin had a plan. Running on renewed strength, he fought with a fierceness that he had lacked before, and Grievous, not expecting this, was forced to move backwards. If he could get Grievous to trip, lose his balance, even lose focus for an instant, he could disarm him again. He pressed his advantage, watching for the moment.

It came! Anakin darted forward and sliced through the hilt of the green lightsaber, leaving it a useless stump. Then Anakin moved to step back, to return triumphantly to his stance, but even as he attacked Grievous had been preparing, and then—no, no, NO!

Time seemed to have slowed, and all Anakin could see was the silver blade rising in his way, and there was nothing he could do, nowhere he could move, as it came cutting through metal and steel and precious ilum crystal. He almost cried out in shock when he saw his lightsaber, his heart's weapon, lose its bright beam and fall, dead, to the ground.

He did not even think to defend himself. Grievous snatched the brightly sparking lightsaber hilt from Anakin's fist and kicked him backwards, and once more Anakin landed on his back. Grievous sprang forward, catlike again, to pounce upon Anakin's chest like a carrion bird. The lightsaber end was still shooting off sparks, hot, blue, confused bits of fire that didn't know where they belonged. With a horrible laugh, Grievous thrust Anakin's own hilt into his eyes and let the sparks fly.

Anakin screamed, and screamed, and still the pain came, rushing onward through his system in hot, angry bursts of light. His eyes were burning, they were on fire, he couldn't breathe through such pain. Dear Force, let me die, let me die, no more no more STOP IT!

When the fire finally ended Anakin could see nothing. Whether his eyes were no longer capable of sight or whether the skin around had merely swollen, he didn't know. He lay, limp, on the ground, as remnant waves of pain still washed over him. The pleading thought, Kill me, hung vaguely in his mind.

"What did you think, Master Skywalker?" breathed the mask in his ear. Behind the words Anakin could hear him cackling victoriously. "Did you think you could play the hero again?"

Grievous gave no warning, but the Force did, as the vibro-shiv came plunging downward to strike into Anakin's unseeing eye into his brain. One last hope, the Force breathed into his mind, and Anakin's arm shot upward as the Force commanded.

He felt the shiv bite into his arm, tear a chunk of flesh from bone, but he was still alive.

Gathering all the strength he possessed Anakin threw Grievous off him once more and stood warily. Blinded, he moved backward until he felt his back press against the bulkhead. Ordinarily this was a disadvantageous position, but now there was no chance of Grievous sneaking up on him from behind.

"You are so determined to live, Master Jedi," Grievous snarled. There was no more playing now. "Why is that?"

Anakin had better things to do than answer. In wonderment, he realized for the first time in his life how easy it was to see. He felt as though he were in some sort of bizarre simulation, in which all was dark except for the blade that attacked you, which glowed. When it came toward him, Anakin knew, surer of its location than if he had seen it with his eyes. He thrust out his arm again, and though more blood dripped down his sleeve he scarcely noticed the pain. He was beyond pain—he was above it.

The vibro-shivs came at him in a furious flurry, Grievous madly attempting to take Anakin by surprise. But it could not be done. Though he had no shield, though he bled with every blow, the Force loved its son, its Chosen One, and lent him strength and sight.

But inside, within the deepest of his heart, Anakin was weakening swiftly. He could feel his energy draining out through the wounds, feel his hands sticky with red blood. A stunning blow toppled him to his knees, where he painfully shielded his head. He didn't know how much longer he could stay conscious.

"Master!" he shouted, hoarse. "Help me!"

No help seemed coming. Then Anakin, as though from a distance, heard the sound of a blaster shot, and the blow he was waiting to block never came. He sagged against the wall, ready to black out, when he heard Obi-Wan mutter the words, "So uncivilized," and then suddenly there were arms around him, holding him very tightly.

"Are you all right?" Obi-Wan asked him, "Are you all right? Oh, Anakin, your eyes…"

Thickly he managed the word, "Grievous?"

"Dead."

With a great effort Anakin wrenched himself back into reality. "Then it's over," he said.

"Yes," said Obi-Wan's voice. "Yes, Anakin, it's over. Come on, stand up, I know you can. We have to get you out of here—and Anakin, I…"

His voice faltered and seemed almost to die. Anakin thought for a second that Obi-Wan had passed out, for some reason, but then he felt his Master lift him up to his feet. Anakin didn't want to walk. He didn't want to move ever again. But with each step he felt Obi-Wan beneath him, rock-like, lifting him up and holding him steady. And with each step Anakin grew a little bit stronger, until he could stand on his own.

At last, after eternity, Anakin felt a presence and heard a voice from ahead. "Anakin! Force, Anakin, what happened to you?"

When Windu spoke, Anakin lost all strength he had and sank to the ground. He was safe now, wasn't he? No need to keep trying, not anymore, and he was so tired…

"Drin's here, Anakin," said Windu. "He'll do what he can. Hold still."

Hold still? He barely had the will to put one foot in front of the other. Anakin felt the familiar hands upon him, touching the burnt and blistered skin near his eyes. Then he felt a surge of Force-life through him. Though he couldn't see it, he could imagine the skin twisting itself back to normality, the charred red fading back into tan. Now that all was being healed he could tell that his eyes indeed had been burned, but not so badly that they could not be fixed. When he opened them, it hurt, but it was only the sudden light that pained him.

"Give me your arm," said Drin next, but Anakin pulled back.

"That's not important," he said. "I can make it to the Temple." Drin's hand touched his, and through the connection Anakin felt something besides raw healing coming from his friend. He focused on Drin's face. "What's wrong?"

Drin's eyes fell downward. "M-my Master was killed," he whispered, tears behind the voice. "Ka'ela Brun. She was lost in the fight."

Anakin sucked in a breath. "Drin, I'm so sorry." He reached out to his friend.

"What happened to Grievous?" Windu asked urgently. Anakin frowned, feeling, somehow, as though Windu's abruptness was an offense to Drin's grief.

"He's dead," Anakin said again. "Can we go?"

Windu looked as though he very much wanted to say something else, but valiantly refrained. Instead, he bent down and offered his hand to Anakin, who took it but stood on his own.

"I'm going to be okay," he said. The edges of his voice were still thick, but his head had cleared.

"The others are looking for another transport," said Windu. "With Grievous gone, they shouldn't have much trouble now."

So they started walking, the four of them. Windu and Anakin walked side by side, at the head of the little group. Drin trailed behind, lost in quiet grief, and Obi-Wan…

Anakin didn't realize that he hadn't seen Obi-Wan standing before him in a while until he felt for his lightsaber and found it missing, and then everything else that was missing jumped to mind.

He turned. Obi-Wan was standing back a ways in the hall, stock still. Worried, Anakin ran back.

"Obi-Wan—" he began.

Obi-Wan's face was sheet white, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused. His lips parted, as though he were about to speak. Then he dropped, suddenly, as though his legs had been cut out from under him, his eyes wide open and staring at nothing.

"Master! OBI-WAN!" Fear seized Anakin in a vise grip. He found himself kneeling, grabbing Obi-Wan roughly and lifting, as though he could force his old Master to his feet. Blood from Anakin's arms was smearing all across Obi-Wan's tunic, and nothing happened—nothing happened—

"Help me!" Anakin begged, but already Drin and Windu were by his side. Without hesitation Windu bent down.

"I can carry him," he said. Anakin made as if to protest, but Windu silenced him with a look. Then he hoisted Obi-Wan onto his shoulders, and they set off once more.