The wind howls once more, kicking up swirling clouds of volcanic ash from the platform. The jedi stands on the far side, his form obscured by the drifting smoke. His legs disappear, then his chest, then his face. The dark haze continues to surround him until even the bright blue glow of his idling lightsaber is snuffed out.
The world darkens, becomes silent. The focus of the universe narrows to the angry buzz of a sith's blade.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
The jedi master bursts from the black cloud like a monster from the shadows. But this is no monster; this is something much more terrifying.
From a very young age jedi are taught to listen to the Force, to feel the Force, to obey the Force. They spend years mastering their own minds, bodies, and souls. They dedicate their entire lives to becoming more perfect vessels for its Will. And as a wise man might tell you, a man who bent and struggled and suffered for this Will since the age of thirteen, the Force is not a merciful mistress.
Oftentimes, it can be downright cruel.
For example, a boy can spend his entire childhood striving to prove himself worthy to a master too pig-headed to acknowledge his student's worth, be thrown aside for a younger model then, through a curious set of circumstances resulting in the death of said master, be saddled with the bitter young brat for the next decade. Far more cruel, the man could grow to love the boy like a son (brother, and best friend), only for the boy to betray him and everything he stands for in the most horrifying way possible. He can be forced to watch as what little he was allowed to love comes crashing down around his ears; murdered and memory desecrated by those he has spent his life trying to help.
It takes a very different kind of man to remain a jedi after such a betrayal.
Obi-Wan Kenobi is not angry.
He is not even sad.
He is calm.
He is collected.
He is within the Force.
And the Force is certainly within him.
From his mind pours not a fountain, but a waterfall (a river, and ocean) of light into each limb, every cell, of his body. The movement of his legs, his arms, his hands, and his lightsaber are still a part of this, but only a very small part. The impossibly fast thrust of his attack is a mere afterthought, a simple step forward from here into the next moment.
The sith blocks the strike, barely, and counters with a move of his own. They trade blows, dancing around each other like leaves caught in a whirlwind. Jedi and sith, familiar as family, as close as the friends they once were.
They continue, fighting ten, twelve, thirteen moves ahead of their actions, reading their futures through the Force and opponent through their eyes. Only one of them knows is that the outcome is already decided.
Anakin Skywalker still has a lesson to learn, and it is this:
Mastery.
Mastery or, in other terms, the complete surrendering of self is the reason Obi-Wan has come to stand here, alive, calmly trading blows even as every single other member of the jedi order has collapsed in on themselves like a dying star. Why he still stands, even as he feels Yoda's power crumbling under Darth Sideous' attacks.
Why he will stand, a few minutes from now, on the crumbling banks of a volcanic shore, watching as the only brother he has ever known bursts into crimson flames below.