Flames danced in the dark round room on Theed, the capital of Naboo.
Controlled, submissive, and heartless they consumed the one thing Obi-Wan now chastised himself for: his attachment.
Yoda, Windu, Queen Amidala, Boss Nass, Jar Jar Binks, and others paid their respects to his master, witnessing as he became one with the Force.
The grief would have been so much easier to bear if he hadn't let himself grow so dearly close to his master. But here he was, restraining tears in a way so unbecoming of a Jedi.
Yes, of course, he hid his emotions outwardly with practiced deftness and held his shields firmly in place so no one would catch him, but he hated himself for it. This was an honor! He shouldn't feel this way. He needed to let go.
However, as per usual, the Code was easier said than done.
Hiding his hands in his robes, he watched as his master was gradually reduced to ashes. A lump formed in his throat, and he had to avert his eyes to the ground.
He had failed his master, and as a result, it had gotten him killed. He had been too slow, and now his master burned in the flames with a face so calm, so peaceful, and, courtesy of the red Zabarak monster, a charred hole through his abdomend.
Obi-Wan was always too slow. Slow to move, slow to understand….
A failure.
First Cerasi, and now his master.
But not just them. Oh, no, they weren't the only ones.
Gazing into the fire, he felt an unsettling feeling stir within him, making him feel small, almost like a young kid again.
Strangely drawn to the flames, he dared glance at Qui-Gon's face. He blinked, startled by the sight. What he saw wasn't the chiseled features of the strong, maverick of a man, but a quaint woman's.
Blinking languidly, she turned her head limply to look at him. Obi-Wan's eyes widened and his eyes searched the faces of the others to see if anyone else saw this phenomenon. But no, it was just him.
"Obi-Wan…?" the woman's voice, hoarse and raspy, called out to him.
Was he losing his mind?
He risked looking at the woman and they locked eye contact. Eyelashes fluttering against his skin, he blinked forcibly to see if the illusion would fade. But it stubbornly remained, hardly even faltering.
Was this a vision? Now? At his master's funeral?
Obi-Wan couldn't bring himself to ignore it, though he desperately yearned to.
The woman smiled, her glazed eyes full of warmth and sadness, glowing in the bright fire.
A painful surge of tightness wound around Obi-Wan's chest, his eyes burning. She knew him. And he knew her, though he didn't know how.
"Shh, Obi-Wan, shh. I know," she hushed softly.
Obi-Wan didn't remember saying anything, but he felt inclined to obey nonetheless.
She leaned her head deeper against the blazing coals, looking up at the sparks flying for the ceiling. The fire didn't seem to affect her in the slightest.
"It's okay," she added, in a tone even softer than before.
A million questions dawned on Obi-Wan's lips. Like, for instance, who she was, but she spoke before he could say anything.
"Y'hear that, Obi?" she croaked.
Obi-Wan's brows furrowed slightly.
What?
He strained to hear any abnormal sounds, but all he could hear was the deafening silence punctuated only by the crackling of the fire and the warbling sounds of Naboo's wildlife.
Was the woman delirious? Likely. She was lying in fire for Force's sake!
"Those're your people. Comin' to save the day," she sighed, her words slurring together.
A weak giggle escaped her chapped lips as she licked them. Her eyes slid closed and she smiled. Her body seemed to flicker, phasing between reality in a flurry blur, her face blending, bleeding into Qui-Gon's.
Then she caught herself, and turned wearily to look at Obi-Wan. The effort seemed to drain all her energy.
"Listen…," she swallowed thickly. "To the Jedi, Obi…Wan. They're…your…your family now, m'kay? Look after…'em. Even if…if…pain in…arse."
Obi-Wan strained to hear her, her words a mumbled jumble of hardly coherent murmurs.
But then he almost gasped, his breath coming in at a sharp inhale. He recognized those words, that face.
"Mama?" he had whimpered, pleading for her to live, to hang on just a little while longer.
"Mama, are you alright?"
"I'll be fine, Obi-Wan," she had replied. "Just go with the Jedi, they'll know what to do. I have a feeling you'll do great things, just…hang in there…you're strong…bright light…keep…being bright."
And that's where his mother's life had ended and his new life as a Jedi had begun—there amidst a sea of flames, plagues, and suffering.
Yet he hadn't done those "great things." He'd done just about the opposite actually. He'd gotten his master killed.
Obi-Wan felt a single traitorous tear trickle down his cheek; he quickly wiped it away.
When he turned back toward the fire, the woman was no longer there, but rather Qui-Gon Jinn.
Her voice whispered in his mind, though, echoing and echoing until it faded to the crackling of the fire.
He stood there in stunned silence until he recalled a presence at his side.
Anakin.
Sensing a deepset fear and apprehension from the young boy, he turned to face his master's center of attention: the Chosen One—or so Master Jinn had claimed.
Obi-Wan corrected himself. No. Anakin was the Chosen One. If his master had believed it, so did he.
Promise me, you'll train the boy, were his master's last dying words.
And Obi-Wan, surrendering to a moment of weakness, the struggle of attachment, had given him his oath.
"What will happen to me now?" the young boy from Tatoinne asked, so full of fear and uncertainty—just as Obi-Wan had been those early first months, as he had been most of his apprenticeship, and most importantly, when he'd first left Stewjon with the Jedi.
"The council has given me the permission to train you. You will be a Jedi, I promise," Obi-Wan assured him. Anakin nodded in response and then they both slowly turned their attention back to the dead master jedi.
He will be a Jedi, Obi-Wan thought to himself, breathing deeply. The acrid scent of smoke filled his nostrils with it, the smell of burning flesh.
You cannot fail him too, Obi-Wan. You will not fail him.