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Ahsoka didn’t know what she was doing on this planet.

The heat from the twin suns of Tatooine beat down relentlessly, and beside her, Ezra leaned heavily on Chopper, who’s beeps were getting quieter and quieter. She understood the feeling. The energy that had surged through her when Ezra had first come to her, words tumbling from his mouth in a rush, hope and fear radiating out in the Force so strongly that she could feel it crush up against the walls she had erected around herself to keep the pain and grief and sorrow in and the Force out, was slowly waning. Ahsoka felt herself withdrawing again, closing herself off from everything as she was sucked back into the crushing sorrow and doubt that had served as her constant companion ever since that fateful day, ever since that duel that played constantly in her mind.

Ever since Malachor.

She knew the way she had withdrawn into her mind and blocked the Force out wasn’t healthy, and some little voice in the back of her head reprimanded her for doing so, but Ahsoka wasn’t quite sure she had the strength or the will to let everything back in. Everything just hurt , and she knew to overcome the pain she would have to look deeper, to acknowledge what was causing it, and she couldn’t do that. Not yet. Anakin was down there, and the thought of facing him again? That was something she wasn’t sure she could do.

It was the reason she had been so quick to go with Ezra when he had told her of his vision of Maul, the certainty he felt that Obi-Wan was alive on Tatooine and his intent to hunt him down. Facing Anakin and the loss of him had hurt badly. Ahsoka didn’t want to lose Obi-Wan too, not if there was a chance that he was still alive.

“Maybe I was wrong,” Ezra muttered from beside her, and Ahsoka looked at him. He looked dejected and lost, sweat shining on his face as he squinted into the distance as if Obi-Wan or Maul would appear at any moment. “Maybe Hera and Kanan were right, and Master Kenobi’s gone.”

Ahsoka said nothing, taking a long breath as she weakly cast her senses out to the Force again. It was difficult, harder than it had to be, she knew, as she used half of her mind to keep the sadhurtgriefanakinAnakinANAKIN at bay and the other half to cast a line out to the Force while simultaneously tucking her own presence away. There was nothing that called out to her, nothing that cried Jedi Master here , and she sighed as she let her senses drop away.

“We’re here for a reason,” she reminded Ezra gently, even as she knew she was being a hypocrite for trying to keep Ezra’s hope going even as she so rapidly lost her own. “You had a vision. It’s not something to be taken lightly.”

Ezra huffed as he sat down in the sand, leaning his back against Chopper. “Maybe the Force was just showing me what Maul thought, and all we’re here for are the ramblings of a crazy old man.” He looked down letting the sand run through his fingers. 

“Maybe,” Ahsoka conceded, crouching next to him. “But I know Maul. He is…intense, in his goals, and he has yet to be wrong, even when all logic says otherwise.” A shattered throne room on Mandalore. A warning from Maul, gone ignored. A galaxy, plunged into darkness .

Ahsoka slammed the thoughts away, pushing the pain down, shoving it into the locked confines of her mind. Not now.

“I don’t know what to do,” Ezra admitted, and Ahsoka’s heart went out to him as even Chopper let out a sad little beep. “How do you find one man in the desert?”

Ahsoka stood, offering a hand to Ezra to pull him up with her. “We keep looking,” she said firmly. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice and ignore Maul and his hunches and theories. If Maul was looking for Obi-Wan on Tatooine, she would do the same, and she would find him first. That , she could do. “Master Kenobi was a smart and skilled Jedi. If he’s made it this long without being found by the Empire, then he has to be very good at hiding.” Ahsoka had never been religious, had never believed in any higher power in the galaxy other than the Force, yet in that moment, she prayed that she was right.

Ezra nodded, but apprehension stole over his face as he looked down at Chopper. “I don’t know how much longer Chopper can make it.” Chopper let out an angry beep, but it was weak, and Ahsoka had to admit that the droid seemed to be on the last of his power reserves. 

“Then I suggest we look quickly,” she replied, but as she said it, she knew it wasn’t a good solution. She and Ezra could carry the droid if it came down to it, she thought, but they could only go so far in this desert. Eventually, they would have to turn back too, and carrying Chopper would make it that much more difficult.

Ezra, to his credit, didn’t complain. A look of focus stole over his face, one that Ahsoka knew meant he was reaching out in the Force yet again, searching for any sign of Obi-Wan. Cautiously, she did the same, and there-

There was something.

It was small yet powerful, like a pinprick of light shining through a veil, as if whoever it was was trying to conceal themselves as much as possible. Ahsoka reached for it, straining to brush the presence with her own in the face of her faded connection to the Force, and the pinprick flared brightly as she did, pulling back for a moment before curiously coiling around her. It stayed that way for a breath, her presence and the pinprick intertwined in the Force, before it pulled back, then disappeared entirely.

Ahsoka took in a harsh breath, stumbling backward a step at the sudden lack of contact as she withdrew her own presence, locking it away once again. The pain roared at that, begging to be acknowledged from where it had bubbled so close to the surface when she had opened her senses up, but she ignored it, closing her eyes for a moment and breathing slowly as she carefully pushed it back down. Beside her, Ezra was looking at her with unbearably clear concern, and Ahsoka refused to meet his eyes, instead scanning the horizon for a sign of whatever that pinprick of light could have been. It had felt close , and when it had wrapped around her, it had almost seemed pleased. 

Suddenly, Ezra tensed, and he bumped her arm, pointing off to the dunes to their left. “Something’s there,” he said, hope and fear and confusion threading through his words. “Someone’s coming.”

A shadowy figure stepped into view at the top of the dune, moving steadily towards them.

Ezra’s hand was on his lightsaber, and Ahsoka didn’t need the Force to know what he was feeling. It could be Maul, here to stop them from finding Obi-Wan. It could be an Imperial who had somehow tracked them. It could be a Tusken Raider. It could be Obi-Wan himself, a ghost in the flesh. She sensed nothing from the stranger, not even a flicker in the Force, something that alarmed her. What did they have to hide? What do you? The voice in her mind whispered, and Ahsoka hated that it was right, because was she not doing the same thing?

“Ahsoka-”

“Calm, Ezra,” she said, cutting him off.

“I can’t sense them,” Ezra said, echoing her thoughts, but Ahsoka gently pushed his hand away from the saber hilt.

“Let them come.”

The figure-no, the man-approached slowly, moving down towards them on some sort of animal, and Ahsoka could make out a cloak, the hood covering the man’s face.

Something like hope flickered to life in her chest.

The man had dismounted now, and was walking towards them. As he approached, Ahsoka stepped in front of Ezra, and she reached out carefully, sending the smallest part of her mind spiraling out towards the man.

The pinprick of light met her in response.

As soon as she touched it, the man froze in his tracks. The veil lifted, and light-searing, blinding, brilliant light-flooded her senses, weaving around her in a shimmering tapestry. Ahsoka couldn’t breathe.

She knew that light.

Slowly, the man lowered his hood, and Ahsoka’s heart stopped.

She knew that face.

“Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka whispered, his name ghosting over her lips. She studied him where he had stopped a few feet away, his own frozen position mirroring her own. He was older, yes, and far more weathered, but it was unmistakably and irrevocably him . His Jedi robes, now relics of a bygone age, fell over his shoulders with an aching familiarity. His face, now hidden behind a silver beard instead of an auburn one, was one she knew as well as her own. And his presence in the Force-the steady, unwavering calm-it was one she never thought she would sense again.

“Ahsoka,” he said, and the simplicity of her name coming from his mouth nearly brought her to her knees. Pure relief flooded through her, relief that Obi-Wan was alive, that he was here , that she could see him again, that Mandalore hadn’t been the last time.

“Master, I-” Ahsoka stopped. The title had slipped out without thought. It was as natural as breathing, she thought, yet she still stopped, waiting to see how he would react. Obi-Wan smiled softly, a smile filled with years of history, and for the first time since Malachor, Ahsoka felt like maybe, maybe , she could find a way through this grief.

Behind her, Chopper beeped weakly, and Ahsoka suddenly remembered what had brought her to Tatooine. “Master, this is Ezra Bridger,” she said, moving aside, “padawan of Caleb Dume. He has a warning for you.”

She saw Obi-Wan’s eyes light up, and he moved closer, stopping within arm’s reach. “I am glad to hear of Caleb’s survival, and to meet you, Ezra Bridger.” Obi-Wan’s voice was still the same, Ahsoka thought. It carried a calm weight, but a little bit of humor still sparkled behind it, ready to be unleashed.

Ezra floundered for words for a moment, looking like he couldn’t believe who was standing in front of him. “I-thank you, Master. I’m sorry, but I don’t have good news.”

Obi-Wan smiled, placing a hand on Ezra’s shoulder as he moved past him, crouching down next to Chopper as he looked at the droid’s battery level. “You’re in the wrong place, Ezra Bridger. I did not suppose you would, not if you had to come find me here.”

“Maul is coming for you,” Ezra said urgently. “He wants to kill you.”

Obi-Wan barely even reacted to the words, instead rising from where he was sitting and moving closer to his animal-a dewback-that had wandered closer. He rummaged around in one of the bags on its back for a moment before pulling out a power generator and walking back over to Chopper. “I know of Maul’s intentions. Come, let us charge your droid and allow you to regain your strength, and then I will send you on your way.”

Ezra looked like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and Ahsoka frowned a little.

“Master,” she murmured, and Obi-Wan turned to look at her, his gaze soft.

“We do not have to worry about this at the moment. Maul is a ways away at present. He will be here past nightfall.”

Ahsoka looked at the sky, where the suns were slowly starting to dip towards the horizon.

“That’s not very long, Master Kenobi,” Ezra said, speaking Ahsoka’s thoughts.

Obi-Wan didn’t seem worried. “It’s enough.”

“But-” Ezra seemed so worried, and Ahsoka felt bad for him.

“Let it go,” she said quietly to him, shaking her head slightly. “At least for now.”

She didn’t want to let it go, not even remotely, but she had known Obi-Wan for years throughout the high-stress situations of the Clone Wars. If he didn’t want to worry about something, he wouldn’t, and Ahsoka knew firsthand how impossible it was to try and make him. Still, she couldn’t help the unease she felt for him. Maul was a competent fighter, one who had likely had far more fighting experience in these last years than Obi-Wan did. He had been vicious on Malachor, had managed to blind Kanan-

Ahsoka’s thoughts crashed to a stop. Malachor . Malachor, where she had fought Vader. Vader, who had been Anakin. Anakin, who Obi-Wan might not know about. Obi-Wan, who she might have to tell about his padawan’s fall into the dark. Ahsoka couldn’t even begin to think of how she would tell him, how she would even broach the subject when she barely could in her own mind.

Obi-Wan seemed to sense her distress because he plugged Chopper into the power generator then stood, turning to Ezra. “If you wish, you could stay on the lookout for Maul, and give us an advance warning as to when he is coming.” 

Ezra, to his credit, only hesitated for a moment in the face of Obi-Wan’s obvious attempt to send him away so he could speak with Ahsoka. She could see his concern for her warring with his equally strong desire to stop Maul, and he nodded, heading off into the distance.

Obi-Wan was silent for a while after Ezra left, moving back to his dewback and pulling a few small pieces of wood from the packs on its back, setting them up on the dusty sands.

“A fire?” Ahsoka asked, arching an eyebrow. “In this desert?” She felt ridiculous asking, like she was reaching for any little thing to say to him, anything to get around the growing discomfort and near-panic that blossomed at the thought of telling Obi-Wan about everything that had happened.

Obi-Wan merely inclined his head. “It will take time for the droid to recharge, and it will be cold once the suns set.”

“You’ll let us stay that long?”

“We have a lot to catch up on, do we not?” Obi-Wan’s words were light, but she could hear the weight behind them. “These years have been long.”

Ahsoka felt like she was in a complicated dance with Obi-Wan, both of them not quite sure what to say to the other, touching lightly on the real questions before spinning away. You’ll let us stay that long: can we be here, when Maul comes to kill you? We have a lot to catch up on: how are you alive ? These years have been long: what has happened to you, for you to be so closed off?

She merely nodded in response, studying Obi-Wan over the now-burning fire he had lit with a quick ignition of his lightsaber. He seemed to be watching her in response, his eyes flickering over her own lightsabers hanging from her belt and her longer montrals, and, most notably, probing at the mental walls that she still held steady. Eventually, Ahsoka couldn’t bear the silence anymore.

“I thought you were dead.”

“I thought the same of you,” Obi-Wan replied. “I have had little contact with the galaxy outside of Tatooine. Senator Organa and I thought it best that my presence was a closely guarded secret.”

At the mention of Bail Organa, Ahsoka blinked in surprise. “Bail? He knew about you?” She couldn’t help the quiet surge of betrayal that flared to life in her chest. Bail had been the one to tell the Rebellion that Obi-Wan was dead. He had confirmed his death himself. Knowing that he had actively hid Obi-Wan’s survival from everyone hurt, especially knowing that Bail had known she had been close with Obi-Wan during the war. She knew she was being irrational, but she felt raw from the time that had passed since Malachor. Her emotions were a scrambled mess, no matter how she tried to sort them, and sometimes, she felt like she would never come out of this tangled web of feeling that she had withdrawn into. Knowing that Bail had known about Obi-Wan, another piece of her past come back to life, only added to it.

“He knew about you?” Obi-Wan echoed her own words, and something like regret sounded in his voice. “I wish I had known, though I do not know what it would have changed.” Still, he sounded genuine, like knowing that Ahsoka had survived the fall of the Jedi Order would have been a comfort in all the years since. Maybe it would have been.

Their dance seemed to be going faster and faster, and with every word spoken between them, Ahsoka could feel the conversation inching closer and closer to what had happened over the past years, to why she was how she was now. She knew her heart was beating faster and faster with each passing moment, beating to the pounding cadence of Malachor, Malachor, Malachor. Anakin, Anakin, Anakin . By the time Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak again, Ahsoka felt like she was standing in the center of a storm, watching the world rush by in a haze of fear, knowing that she couldn’t talk about it, she didn’t want to talk and have Obi-Wan know just how many pieces she had broken into, the way she had splintered apart in the aftermath of the duel. 

“Ahsoka, there is something I must tell you,” Obi-Wan said, and sorrow laced his words. “Anakin is-”

Her world spun to a stop. Obi-Wan knew. He knew.

She felt her face crumple as she sat down heavily. “I know, Master.” She could hear the way her voice shook as she said it, and Ahsoka hated it, hated the emotion that was still attached to Anakin and the hurt that was still all too fresh. Obi-Wan sat beside her.

“You’ve faced him?” 

She nodded once, quickly. “Yes.” It came out as a whisper.

Beside her, Obi-Wan was still. “I am sorry you had to do that, Ahsoka.” She let out a long breath, wrapping her arms around herself. She didn’t know how to respond to him, she thought. What would she say? I am too, I wish I hadn’t seen him, hadn’t been forced to feel the fear and anger and sorrow of knowing he would try to kill me, knowing I’d have to fight him as I once fought Grievous or Maul or Ventress or any of the Inquisitors? Ahsoka looked down, biting back the pain gnawing at her chest.

“I know the pain that comes with meeting Vader,” Obi-Wan continued. “I did the same, years ago.” He began to speak, and Ahsoka sat quietly as he told her about the last days of the Jedi, the horrors of the attack on the Jedi temple, and his duel with a freshly-fallen Anakin on Mustafar. She heard the deep sorrow in his voice as he described their fight and how he had believed he had killed Anakin, and then had to watch Padmé die not long after.

When he told her about the twins, Ahsoka felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Twins, a boy and a girl, living, breathing remnants of Anakin and Padmé. Twins who would grow up separated, one here on Tatooine and one across the galaxy, but twins who would be safe and loved. 

He told her about the loneliness of Tatooine, the time he had spent thinking about what had gone wrong during those final days of the Republic, how he had isolated himself from the Force in the beginning but had allowed it back in after his duel with Vader. He told her about the quiet years that had followed, the years spent watching Anakin’s son from a distance, always from a distance, and Ahsoka could hear how much he cared about the boy. He told her about the moment when he had sensed her presence in the Force, the moment when he had realized that she was still alive.

When he was done, Obi-Wan fell silent, but she could sense his careful probing at her presence in the Force now, like he was seeking a way to soften the shields she had erected so carefully.

“I imagine that your own life has not been easy, these past years,” Obi-Wan said gently, but Ahsoka was quiet. Inside, she felt paralyzed, unsure of what to say, or even if she could say. It felt like too much, too vivid. Anakin felt too vivid.

“It might help to talk about it, Ahsoka. You do not have to struggle with this alone.”

Her first instinct was to brush him off, the way she had been brushing everyone off. She didn’t want to talk about everything, not really. Being back in Obi-Wan’s presence, the wounds of the past years felt unbearably fresh, and Ahsoka found herself wanting to hide away from the pain. And yet, even as she thought it, a small voice in her mind told her that that wasn’t entirely true. Hearing the grief in Obi-Wan’s voice as he had talked about his duel with Anakin and his duel with Vader had cracked something open in her. She had spent all her time since Malachor bottling everything up, holding in her fear and pain, trying to meditate everything away, thinking no one could possibly understand. But here was Obi-Wan, someone who might. Someone who also saw Vader as more than a terrifying suit and a red lightsaber. Someone who knew Anakin , and that was enough. It was like a dam had broken, and all the feelings she had tried so hard to bury suddenly rushed out, finally given the right words.

Ahsoka took a deep breath, and she told Obi-Wan everything. 

Capturing Maul on Mandalore, the brief surge of hope she had felt. Standing on the bridge of the Tribunal and hearing the Jedi cry out, then fall silent. The pure fear and hurt running through her veins when Rex had first shot at her, and the all-consuming grief she felt for the clones when Rex told her about the chips. The blur that was releasing Maul, the crash of the Tribunal, burying the bodies and vanishing into the wind. The way she had laid low for years, fighting only when necessary and living constantly on the move. Bail asking her to join the Rebellion, and her agreeing. And finally, the moment she had felt Vader’s presence while she was aboard the Ghost, connecting with him across the empty chasm of space, something in her reaching out almost unconsciously to a presence that had just seemed so familiar.

Obi-Wan’s words were gentle when he spoke. “But you didn’t see him then?” She shook her head.

“The first time we were face-to-face was at the Sith Temple on Malachor.” Ahsoka closed her eyes briefly, and the temple painted itself across her vision, haunting her even now. “We had gone there hoping for a way to defeat the Inquisitors, but he showed up. I fought him to give Kanan and Ezra a chance to get away.” She opened her eyes, looking down at the shadows cast by the fire in the setting suns. In the shape of the shadows, she felt like she could see the dark suit taunting her, and she quickly looked away.

“We fought. His presence was so cold , Master. It was so angry, so much darker than anything else I’ve sensed.” She felt cold now, even thinking about it. She remembered, in the moment, thinking that the person standing in front of her was so much worse than all the other Sith she had faced in the war, colder and angrier than Ventress and even Maul. At the time, she had grasped at that with her last thread of hope that she had been wrong about Anakin. He could never be that dark, she had thought. It still hurt now, to know that he was.

“The worst part-” Ahsoka paused, looking at the fire in front of her like it held all the answers of the Force. After a few moments, she had to look away. The flickering colors of the fire-yellow, orange, red-were too similar to the colors in Anakin’s eyes now. Sith eyes, filled with rage, and pain, and hate, so different from the calm and trusting blue that they had been when she saw him last. When she had left him, again. Beside her, Obi-Wan was still silent, waiting for her to continue.

“I cut his helmet,” she finally said. Her voice sounded quiet, even to her own ears. She didn’t know why it felt important to say, but it did. “I saw his face , Obi-Wan. I looked him in the eye. He-”

Ahsoka broke off again, fighting the wave of grief that rose up within her. “What does it say about me,” she asked quietly, “that I felt relieved when I saw his face? That I was a little happy for a moment, to know he was alive?” She looked over at Obi-Wan, feeling like a padawan again, scared and weary after a battle, asking her grandmaster if it was wrong that she felt more like a soldier than a Jedi, more like a warrior than a peacekeeper. She was no longer a child, but she still found herself seeking comfort in Obi-Wan and the wisdom that had seemed infinite when she was young. 

“It says that you are human, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan responded. “Or Togrutan, I suppose.” The corner of his mouth lifted a little in a gentle smile, and Ahsoka let out a small laugh. “You and Anakin were close,” Obi-Wan continued. “You thought he was dead for years . Seeing him again, even as he is now-it is entirely reasonable for some part of you to be happy he is alive, even under those circumstances.” Obi-Wan looked over at her, compassion dancing across his features, nothing about him blaming her or condemning her for her attachment to Anakin.

It didn’t stop Ahsoka from blaming or condemning herself . “Jedi aren’t supposed to have attachments,” she said, unable to keep all of the bitterness from her voice. “And I know I’m not a Jedi anymore, but Anakin’s attachments were what made him fall, and he trained me, and-”

She cut herself off as she heard her voice choke up, blinking furiously against the tears that had traitorously welled up in her eyes. “He was my master,” she continued at a near-whisper. “What if I become like him?”

And that was it. The question that had been plaguing her ever since Malachor, ever since Vader had told her that he had destroyed Anakin and Ahsoka had sworn to avenge him, feeling the distinctly un-Jedi emotions of vengeance, of anger, of love and hate and above all attachment , attachment to the man that she had once called her brother.

Ahsoka had known for a long time that she wasn’t a Jedi, not like how the Council wanted Jedi to be. She had walked away from the Order, away from Anakin, but even then her attachment had followed her, no matter how much she tried to put her past and the Order behind her. My older brother taught me , she had told Trace, all those years ago in the Coruscant undercity, still holding on to Anakin no matter how much she knew she should let go. 

When Ahsoka had gone back to the Jedi with Bo-Katan, ready to capture Maul, she had tried to bury the attachment, to hold herself at a distance from Anakin, trying to be the Jedi that she, at the time, had thought she might want to be again. Even then, Ahsoka hadn’t been successful for long. Away on Mandalore, she had found herself drawn to Anakin, wanting to talk to him, to fight beside him, to fall back into the confident and trusting dynamic they had built side by side during the war, the place where she had felt safest, no matter what battle raged around them. Tell Anakin , she had told Obi-Wan, all those years ago in the halls of Mandalore, still holding on to Anakin despite the distance that she had tried to put between them. Those words had been her last words to Obi-Wan, the last words she, for years, had thought she would ever get to say until she had found him again today. Of course they had been about Anakin, the man they both called brother.

After Ahsoka had captured Maul, she had stopped caring so much about keeping an appropriate distance from Anakin. She had wanted to talk to him, to warn him of Maul’s words, but also just to see him, to smile at his bad jokes after a difficult mission, to hear his c’mon Snips, that was pretty funny , to have him reassure her that Maul was wrong, that Anakin would never become a Sith apprentice. She had been so sure that she would see him again, so sure that they had time , that she’d be able to talk to him. I’ll tell him myself when I see him , she had told Master Yoda, all those years ago on the Tribunal , still holding on to Anakin and excited to see him, her master, her brother, again. She never did get the chance to tell him.

Then Order 66 had happened, and the Jedi died and the clones were stormtroopers and the galaxy fell into darkness and Anakin was gone as the Force screamed , and Ahsoka had left again, dropping her lightsabers in the shadow of the wreckage of of the Republic, in front of the graves of Rex’s brothers and her friends, and she hadn’t looked back. She had mourned, of course, had reached out into the Force that had previously been so full, so light , and had found nothing but an empty shell, full of darkness and a cold that had made her shiver, and Ahsoka had accepted that she was alone. She had accepted that for years, and when the Rebellion came calling, asking her to be their spy, she had said yes, not entirely sure how to exist in a world where she wasn’t a soldier. In the Rebellion she had found Caleb Dume, now Kanan Jarrus, who had been just a padawan when the Empire rose but who now had a padawan of his own , Ezra Bridger, who he loved fiercely and who shone so bright, and the Force felt a little lighter. Ahsoka still felt the loss of Anakin, of Obi-Wan and the rest of the Jedi and all the clones, but she felt lighter. She felt less alone. She was learning how to move forward in this new galaxy, how to function and live and maybe even pass on her knowledge, even though she was without her master (her brother) and even though she had only been a padawan when she lost him. She had thought that Anakin might even be proud of her as she used his training to keep herself alive while fighting Inquisitors and as the dark shadow of Darth Vader had grown bigger and bigger. How wrong she had been.

When she had first felt his presence during a space battle, she had thought she was finally losing her mind. How could it be possible? How could she sense Anakin, someone that she was sure had died over a decade ago? In the following days, Ahsoka had spent hours agonizing over what she had felt, going back to the awful, all-consuming fear that had overtaken her when she first made contact with Vader through the Force. It ate away at her, the knowledge that she didn’t want to admit, that Anakin, her master, her brother , the biggest attachment she had, had fallen, had become the terrifying Darth Vader. Do you know what I’ve become? , his image had taunted her, and she had known, but she couldn’t bring herself to fully accept it, instead lashing out at the image of him with her lightsaber. The truth had been there, buzzing in the Force, but Ahsoka had chosen to fight it, still holding on to her attachment to Anakin, to the goodness she had known him as.

She had fought him on Malachor, and she was still ashamed of the burst of relief she had felt seeing his face. I won’t leave you, not this time , she had told Vader, staring at the face of her brother, and she had watched his face twist with hate when he told her that Anakin was gone. When Vader had told her that revenge was not the Jedi way, Ahsoka hadn’t stopped to think. I am no Jedi , she had told him, and wasn’t that the truth? No Jedi would have, should have , let this attachment to Anakin grow to and stay where it was, but Ahsoka had. Even now, Ahsoka couldn’t let go of him, sitting on the sands of his home planet next to his old master. It scared her, a little bit, that even now, knowing who he was, Ahsoka could still think of Anakin as her brother. She knew that the Jedi had their issues and that she couldn’t fully agree with them and what the war had twisted the Order into being, but attachment, the thing they preached against, had been Anakin’s downfall. What was to say that her attachment to Anakin wouldn’t be hers?

Ahsoka dropped her head into her hands, her throat burning as she tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill out.

“You are not like him, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan said, his voice filled with warmth as he placed a hand on her back, and Force Ahsoka was relieved at his words but at the same time they cut her to the bone because some of Anakin had been so good , like his compassion for his men, his steadfast faith in her and her abilities, and above all his determination to protect those he cared about, and she didn’t want to lose that.

“Or, rather, you are, but only the best parts,” Obi-Wan continued, and Ahsoka looked up at that. “Anakin-he had his struggles. With the Order, with the war, with the galaxy at large. But with you, he only tried to pass on his best. You are strong, Ahsoka, and brave, and you are a steady, blinding source of light in this dark galaxy, and part of that comes from your ability to care, to not hold yourself separate from the people of this galaxy. You are the best version of what a Jedi should be, and you must not let Anakin’s fate make you doubt your own goodness.”

“Master-” Ahsoka started, ready to refute him, but Obi-Wan held up a hand, giving her a look of let me finish , so she stopped, looking at him to continue.

“Anakin fell because of failures by the Council. We never- I never-should have let him become as close to the Chancellor as he was, knowing that the Council did not fully trust him. That is something that I must live with, not you. Do not let him haunt you. Anakin is not your legacy, Ahsoka. Nor is he your future.” As Obi-Wan spoke, the final light of the twin suns of Tatooine finally vanished, and the stars began to sparkle above, a seemingly-infinite amount of specks of light shining against the inky darkness of the night sky. 

“I am proud of you,” Obi-Wan said gently, and that was what undid Ahsoka and finally allowed the tears to fall. Those words, coming from Obi-Wan, who she had thought was dead and who had been just as much of an older brother to her as Anakin had been-perhaps closer to a father, even-allowed Ahsoka to finally drop what was left of the calm, reserved shields that she had held up for so long but that had felt like they were slowly crumbling under the pressure of her thoughts ever since Malachor.

Before she could even tell what was happening, Ahsoka found herself enveloped in the warmth of Obi-Wan’s sun-worn Jedi robes and he was hugging her and they had never done that before , but Ahsoka found that that didn’t matter because in that moment she felt so much younger than she really was and she felt herself hanging on to her grandmaster’s embrace like she was a youngling. Closing her eyes, Ahsoka allowed herself to drift in the quiet feelings of peace-calm-safe that radiated out from Obi-Wan in the Force, and for a time nothing else in the galaxy mattered.

They stayed like that for moments that could have been hours for all Ahsoka knew before she withdrew slowly, wiping her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, and the sheer concern mixed with understanding on Obi-Wan’s face almost made her want to start crying again. “I’m not normally that emotional,” she muttered, ducking her head as she wiped her face again.

“You’ve been through a lot, recently,” Obi-Wan pointed out lightly. “Far more than you should have ever had to. I do not think that some tears and a hug are entirely out of order.” Some of Obi-Wan’s wry humor had slipped into his voice, and Ahsoka welcomed it. 

“Who am I to argue with a Jedi Master?” she said, slipping back into the slight sarcastic banter that she had perfected during the Clone Wars. “Especially one as old as you?” She knew she was deflecting a little, trying to steer the conversation away from her slight emotional breakdown, but if Obi-Wan noticed, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he stood to prod at their fire, waving her away with a slight laugh when she asked if he needed any help getting up or sitting back down at his age. When he returned to his seat next to her, they sat in silence for a while, something Ahsoka was perfectly fine with doing. The Tatooine night was peaceful, quiet in a way that she wasn’t used to anymore, living on a base for the Rebellion. The sand beneath her was still warm from the heat of the twin suns, and while Ahsoka couldn’t relax entirely, knowing that somewhere out there Maul was coming for Obi-Wan, stumbling across the sands of Anakin’s childhood home, she didn’t feel as on edge as she had on the ship on the way here. Still, beside her, she could sense a certain restlessness to Obi-Wan, like he was fighting with something to ask. She decided not to press him, sure that he would say whatever his thoughts were when he was ready.

She only had to wait a few quiet minutes. 

“You said you cut Vader’s mask,” Obi-Wan said suddenly. “Which half did you cut?”

Ahsoka looked at the man, who was now looking at her with an intense curiosity. She thought for a moment, going back to that horrible duel in her mind, the feeling of triumph that had swept over her when she landed the blow that had quickly changed to one of knowing , of recognition , and then deep, unrelenting grief when she could no longer ignore the instinct that told her that she knew exactly who she was fighting. 

“The right,” she said finally. As she said it, she felt a slight flare of-surprise? No, that wasn’t it-in the Force coming from Obi-Wan. No, Ahsoka thought, it was more like a feeling of melancholic questioning, then acceptance. “Why do you ask?”

He let out a soft sigh, and when he met her eyes, Ahsoka’s grandmaster suddenly seemed much older than he was, worn down in a way that he hadn’t seemed to be earlier.

“When I fought him, I cut the left side.”

Oh.

 Ahsoka felt-she didn’t know how she felt at Obi-Wan’s words. It was like she had been tossed, floundering, into a new galaxy, one with a completely new question hanging over her, disrupting the almost-peace that she had felt only moments ago. What if she and Obi-Wan had been together when they fought Vader? What if she hadn’t been alone all these years, but instead with Obi-Wan, knowing Anakin was alive and breathing under Vader’s dark suit? Ahsoka alone hadn’t been enough to save Anakin, and she knew that that grief would follow her for the rest of her life. But her and Obi-Wan …perhaps the only two people left in the entire kriffing galaxy that loved Anakin…

“It’s no use going down that road, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan said, as calm and quietly strong as ever, obviously knowing where her mind was going and his voice tinged with regret as he realized that he had accidentally caused her to fall back into the dark spiral of Anakin . “What’s passed is passed. We cannot change it now, just as we likely would not have been able to change the outcomes of those battles had we been together. Anakin…he is too far gone. The darkness has swallowed him, as much as I wish it had not.”

Although she knew he was trying his best to hide it, Ahsoka could hear the light bitterness and grief coloring Obi-Wan’s words. 

“It’s not your fault, Master,” Ahsoka said to him, and Obi-Wan’s shoulders fell. He shook his head. “As I said earlier. I never should have allowed Anakin to become as close to the Chancellor as he did. I was his master. He was my responsibility. I should have noticed he was struggling, that the Chancellor was tainting his mind.” Obi-Wan just sounded sad , like he was saying something he had accepted long ago. Ahsoka couldn’t stand it. 

“No,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “No, Obi-Wan. You did everything you could do for Anakin. You were a good master. You always supported him, even if his plans were stupid and reckless. To him, you were the closest thing he ever knew to a father. You can’t blame yourself for his fall, Master.”

Ahsoka leaned forward, hoping the sincerity was clear in her eyes. She wouldn’t allow Obi-Wan to blame himself, especially when it was so clear to her how much Obi-Wan had cared for Anakin, how much he had trusted him and seen his enormous potential, even when the Council hadn’t. During the war, Anakin had told Ahsoka the story of him meeting Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan and coming to the Order more times than she could count. One thing that had always stood out to her, even when she had long stopped actually listening to him talk, had been the plain awe and sheer gratitude in Anakin’s voice when he told her about Obi-Wan standing in front of the Council, a newly-made Jedi Knight, and saying he would train Anakin. Obi-Wan’s faith in Anakin’s ability to be a great Jedi, even after the Council disagreed due to his age, was something that Ahsoka knew Anakin had never forgotten.

“You didn’t fail him,” Ahsoka pressed on, and Obi-Wan sighed. The sound was heavy, and in it Ahsoka could sense years of guilt and regret.

“He told me that, you know,” Obi-Wan said quietly, and Ahsoka tilted her head, confused.

“Who?”

“Anak-Vader. When I fought him.” Obi-Wan’s voice caught abruptly on Anakin’s name, as if he had to force himself to see Anakin as he was now, instead of how he used to be. Ahsoka understood the feeling.

“He told me he was not my failure, that Vader destroyed Anakin, not me.”

The familiarity of those words made Ahsoka draw in a sharp breath, one that Obi-Wan seemed to notice, because he lifted an eyebrow at her.

“What is it?”

Ahsoka shook her head. “It’s just-he said something similar to me,” she admitted, feeling like she was confessing something, even if she didn’t quite know what it was. “He told me that Anakin was gone, that he had destroyed him.”

“That is not entirely unsurprising,” Obi-Wan replied. “I imagine that Vader would want to take responsibility for his own creation, at the risk of sounding weak otherwise.” He didn’t sound like he agreed with that, something that Ahsoka pointed out. Obi-Wan shrugged, not saying anything else, but his guilt rested thickly around him, coating his presence in the Force.

“Maybe you should listen to him,” she said slowly, hardly believing the words coming out of her mouth. “I know it’s horrible advice, to listen to a Sith Lord, but maybe when Vader told us he was the one to destroy Anakin, it was the truth.” She wasn’t quite sure what else to say in the moment, not with the new information that Vader had told both of them the same thing. “I know you want to brush off his words as him simply trying to look strong, but if he wants the blame, maybe you should let him have it. It shouldn’t be yours. I won’t let it be.”

“I appreciate your words, Ahsoka, I do,” Obi-Wan said gently. “But it is not your responsibility to lift the weight of Anakin’s fall from my shoulders. I fought him on Mustafar, and I left him there. Even if what Vader claimed to both of us is true, that he is the one who destroyed Anakin, I still left him there, alone and in pain on those rocks.”

“Then if you’re to blame, I’m to blame too,” Ahsoka said stubbornly. “You left him on Mustafar, and I left him when I left the Order, and again when I went off to take down Maul.” 

“Ahsoka-”

“No.” Ahsoka cut Obi-Wan off, knowing he was about to refute her claims. “I need you to understand. You cannot carry this alone, Master. I tried, after Malachor. I shut myself off from the rest of the Rebellion, from everyone who cared about me, and I spent my days searching the Force for answers, only to find none. You saw where that got me. Where it still has me, even after all you’ve said. I understand the grief and guilt you carry. I carry it too, and maybe, with time, it will fade into something less painful, but for now, it is here and burning as bright as Tatooine’s suns. I know,” she paused for a moment, searching Obi-Wan’s face to see if her words were finding their mark, and his expression was raw, open in a way that she had rarely seen it.

“I know, she said, her voice softening, “that it will continue to burn, even after I’ve said all I can say, and that you will keep trying to shoulder this blame alone, but I won’t let you. If you truly want to say you failed Anakin, that his fall is on you, then I will carry that guilt right alongside you. But you can also choose to let go of it, even only a small piece, and listen to what Vader, to what Anakin told you, told both of us, and shift that piece to him.” It hurt her to say, to tell Obi-Wan that he could blame Anakin for his own fall, but as she said it, she knew it was true. 

She and Obi-Wan had their own demons to battle when it came to Anakin’s fall. For her, even after everything Obi-Wan had said, it was still the ever-lingering fear that her attachment to Anakin would lead her down the same dark path he had taken due to his own. It was smaller now, yes, but it was still sharp, and she knew that it would be something she would carry with her for the rest of her life. 

For Obi-Wan, it was how much he blamed himself for Anakin’s fall. It was the deep sorrow he lived with, both for the end of the duel on Mustafar and for not recognizing Anakin’s descent into the dark until it was too late for him to pull him out. It was a sorrow she knew she wouldn’t ever be able to fully lift from him, just as he would never be able to fully remove her own.

But at the end of everything, between Ahsoka and Obi-Wan’s fears and guilts and griefs over Anakin’s fall, there was the knowledge that Anakin had still been the one to take those final, irreversible steps into the dark. Neither of them had been there, and while yes, Ahsoka knew that would haunt her for the rest of her life, just as it would likely haunt Obi-Wan for the rest of his, she also knew with absolute certainty that it wasn’t Obi-Wan’s fault, so how could it be hers? And if it wasn’t hers, how could it be Obi-Wan’s? Of the three of them, the little trio of AnakinAhsokaObi-Wan, Anakin was the only one left to blame.

“He made his choice,” Ahsoka finished, and she looked over at Obi-Wan, waiting to hear what he would say.

He didn’t talk for a few minutes, instead tilting his head back to look at the stars of Tatooine that were gleaming above them. Light, shining through the inky darkness of the sky, impossible to put out.

“Thank you, Ahsoka,” he finally said, and Ahsoka nodded in return, knowing how much it cost him to say even that. For as long as she had known him, Obi-Wan had never been one to talk openly about his emotions. He would listen to hers and Anakin’s with endless patience and understanding, but when it came to his own, he was intensely private. She didn’t know for sure if she had convinced him to give up part of his guilt, but he seemed a little lighter, a little more at peace. It was a quiet sort of peace, one that was still tinged with guilt and grief, but she suspected it would always be. Still, it was peace, and it was a welcome contrast to the rolling waves of sad-shame-regret that had been radiating from Obi-Wan only minutes ago. 

Ahsoka watched him quietly for a few moments before speaking again. “Can I ask you a question, Master?”

“I believe you just did,” Obi-Wan replied, and Ahsoka was suddenly overcome with the intense urge to throw sand at him, but because she still considered herself to be a mature adult, she refrained, settling instead for an unimpressed look.

Obi-Wan laughed a little. “Go on, Ahsoka.”

She sighed. “I just-how did you do it? How did you go from fighting Anakin, from seeing him as he is now, to just returning to your life here?” Why did you not fall apart like I did? She held the last question back, not quite able to say the words, but she knew Obi-Wan heard them anyway.

“I do not want you to think it was easy for me,” Obi-Wan started. “It hurt, seeing Anakin, but I had a purpose here, one that I could not afford to remove myself from.”

“I had a purpose with the Rebellion,” Ahsoka pointed out, a little insulted, and Obi-Wan nodded.

“That is true, and I did not mean to insinuate otherwise. I meant it more in the sense that both here, on Tatooine and out in the galaxy, I had real, solid proof that not only were there good parts of Anakin, but that there was hope for stopping him.” Obi-Wan’s voice, when talking about Anakin’s children, was soft, almost familial.

“That’s all?” she asked, almost surprised that his answer was so simple. “Just…hope?”

“Hope is a necessary thing, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan said, sounding every bit like the wise Jedi Master she had known him as. “It keeps this galaxy alive, even in its darkest hour. Without hope, the rebellion you have told me of would not exist, and we would all be far worse off for it. Without hope, we would have no shield from the dark and the pain it brings with it. Without hope, you never would have found me here today.” As he spoke, Obi-Wan placed a comforting hand on Ahsoka’s shoulder, and she lifted her gaze to meet his. The comfort she found there threatened to overwhelm her. 

Ahsoka didn’t know how he spoke of it so simply. After seeing Anakin, peace and hope, so intertwined, had seemed so far out of her grasp that they might not have existed at all. Yet here was Obi-Wan, speaking of hope as if it was as easy as breathing. Obi-Wan, who saw it in the bright spark of a child and his twin sister, in the shining suns and burning sands and shimmering stars.

Obi-Wan, she thought, who had lost everything. Obi-Wan, who had every right to be angry and bitter, to rage at the galaxy and the Force and become as vengeful as Maul, and yet he hadn’t. He had lost his home on Coruscant, the clones he had fought beside, the Order that had raised him, and Anakin, the brother he had raised in turn. Yet here Obi-Wan sat, peaceful and content in the harsh, unforgiving deserts of Tatooine, staunch in his belief for the possibility of a lighter galaxy. For the first time since Malachor, Ahsoka thought she might be able to believe in it too.

“Speaking of hope,” she said slyly, knowing she was changing the subject a bit, “is it too much to hope you’ll let me be here when Maul comes?” 

Obi-Wan was already shaking his head before she could finish talking, a motion so familiar to her that Ahsoka felt as if she were back in the Clone Wars with Obi-Wan forbidding her from carrying out her and Anakin’s latest plan with so-called unnecessary risks . “Maul is my destiny, not yours, Ahsoka. It is time for me to put our rivalry to rest.”

“But you don’t have to do it alone, Master,” Ahsoka protested, concern for Obi-Wan and his seeming single-minded desire to do everything alone rooting itself deep in her chest. Concern, and a hunger. Maul had survived the fall of the Jedi and the Republic because of her choice to free him, and she longed for the chance to make it right. After all , a small voice in her head whispered to her, you told Anakin you would stop Maul. Here’s your chance to actually do it . Ahsoka shoved it aside ruthlessly. She didn’t want to do it for Anakin. She didn’t want to linger on him, to allow him to haunt her any more than he already did. No, she wanted to stop Maul for Kanan, for stealing his sight, for Ezra, for tempting him from the light that burned so brightly inside him, and for her younger self, the girl who still had faith. Who still had hope. 

Obi-Wan stayed firm in his dismissal of her help. “If this is about you releasing Maul all those years ago, you cannot blame yourself.” He knew her as well as ever, it seemed, immediately understanding why she wanted to stay. “You were doing what you had to do to survive, and I am glad you did it. I would not be having this conversation with you otherwise.” His voice was gentle, but Ahsoka could hear the determination as strong as beskar beneath his words.

“I doubt Kanan would agree with you, as he would still have his sight had I not released Maul,” Ahsoka muttered, knowing she was being unfair. Kanan had never directed even a sliver of blame at her, even knowing that she was the reason Maul had survived the fall. 

Obi-Wan leveled her with a flat, unimpressed stare, like he could hear Ahsoka’s thoughts and knew as well as she did that she was lying. “I understand your desire to help, Ahsoka. I know your grievances with Maul, but you are not the only one who has them. Maul has come here for me, and it is I who will stand alone to face him.” His tone was final, brokering no argument. 

“After all,” he continued, mischief stealing into his voice, “I am still a competent fighter. You do not think I have declined in my old age , do you?” He was teasing her, moving her away from her argument. Ahsoka let him. She could feel there was no changing his mind, and he was right. Obi-Wan had been an excellent warrior in the years she had fought with him, and he had survived two duels with Anakin. Vader , the voice whispered, but Ahsoka ignored it. Calling him a different name made it easier for her to separate the Anakin she had known and the Anakin he was now, and she didn’t want to. She needed to see them both, to face who her Anakin had become and accept it. She wanted to.

“Of course not, Master,” Ahsoka replied to Obi-Wan’s light jabs, brushing thoughts of Anakin from her mind. “I would never think such a thing.” She smiled, and Obi-Wan returned it, and despite the knowledge that Obi-Wan would face Maul, alone , in a short time, Ahsoka felt no fear. She sat back, leaning on her hands as she tilted her face up towards the vast cosmos above. The fire crackled quietly in front of her, and the faint sounds of Obi-Wan breathing next to her were slow and calm. The breaths of a man who had nothing to fear, who knew the possibilities for his fate and embraced them with open arms. She closed her eyes, breathing in the smell of campfire smoke and the crisp night air, wanting to remember this moment. She was lighter, she realized. The fear and guilt and grief that had swallowed her in a dark fog ever since Malachor had lifted. It was still there, she knew, but it didn’t threaten to press her into the sands of the desert any longer. Obi-Wan and his words, even just his presence, had redistributed their weight, making the load easier to bear.

Cautiously, Ahsoka reached out in the Force for Ezra. He wasn’t hard to find. His presence shone in the Force, a warm glow that pulsed with feelings of safety as he occasionally reached out to something-an animal, she presumed. She could also feel the moment he felt her , the quick jolt of surprise that he scrambled to cover, and then the longer, more focused brush of a happy question, glad she was reaching out but confused as to what prompted up. Ahsoka just sent him a burst of gratitude, then withdrew, but not entirely. She allowed his presence to linger where she was aware of it, in the back of her mind. She knew Ezra had taken a risk in bringing her here, and while he would never fully understand the extent of the impact his decision had had on her, she was grateful nonetheless. Looking at Obi-Wan beside her, Ahsoka felt more at peace than she had in a long time. She felt younger, more free. She felt more like the young padawan she had been before the fall, embracing her grandmaster’s wisdom and content to just sit by him. Still, she knew that it couldn’t last forever.

“When this is over, you won’t come with me, will you?” Ahsoka asked, but it wasn’t really a question. She knew Obi-Wan’s answer before he even said it. 

“No.” His voice was soft, but there was no apology in it. She found she didn’t need any. Obi-Wan’s place was here, in the Tatooine deserts, playing the role of a watchful guardian over the hope for the future. He was done with war, and war with him. Obi-Wan deserved this life of peace, Ahsoka thought, this quiet solitude that he seemed so content with. He had made his sacrifices and ended his battles. He had hung up his title of general and his reputation as the Negotiator, and Ahsoka would not drag him back to them, shoving him back into those roles like a pair of too-small boots. He was more than that now.

Ahsoka nodded. “I’ll tell Rex you said hello then,” she said, and Obi-Wan smiled.

“He always was a good man.”

“He’ll be glad to know you’re alive,” she replied, thinking of the relief her friend would feel knowing one more Jedi had survived Order 66. Before she could say more, she sensed a spike of alarm in the Force, and looked over at Obi-Wan. He was alert, his head tilted towards the shadows outside their campfire and the horizon beyond, and he turned to look at her, inclining his head slightly.

“Ezra,” she murmured to him, reaching out in the Force again and feeling Ezra draw nearer and nearer.

“Maul approaches then,” Obi-Wan said, almost to himself, and Ezra finally burst into the light of their campfire, Chopper close on his heels.

“He’s coming,” Ezra gasped out, his hands on his knees as he caught his breath from what Ahsoka knew had been an all-out sprint across the sands. “Maul. I saw him. He’s almost here.”

Obi-Wan rose from his seat and walked calmly over to his dewback, speaking as he saddled it. “I am aware of his presence,” he said, his voice composed. “If you have recovered your strength, I will help you both on your way.”

Ezra stood up straight, his confusion evident. “What? No, master, we came to help you. Maul is coming to kill you.” He looked back and forth between Obi-Wan, now standing beside the saddled dewback, and Ahsoka, and she moved to Ezra’s side to place a hand on his shoulder.

“Master Kenobi will face Maul alone,” she said gently, and she felt like she could almost hear Ezra’s neck crack as he whipped his head around to look at Obi-Wan.

“What? Why?” he asked, and Ahsoka could feel his shock and distress radiating through the Force. “You can’t face him alone! The holocrons told me that you would be the one to help us destroy the Sith. The Rebellion needs you!”

He looked at Ahsoka again, and he looked almost betrayed that she wasn’t fighting Obi-Wan on his insistence that he fight Maul alone.

“His place is here, Ezra,” Ahsoka said, and her eyes met Obi-Wan’s. Understanding flowed between them, and Ahsoka found nothing but a quiet, relaxed peace in her grandmaster’s eyes. “He won’t be coming back with us.”

She felt Ezra’s shoulders drop from where her hand still rested, and he seemed dejected. “I don’t understand,” he said, his face beseeching. “Why?’

Obi-Wan moved forward and Ahsoka stepped away, lifting Chopper into his position on the dewback. “Maul manipulated you through the holocrons, Ezra. He sent you to me. Everything you need is already within you, and it is time for you to return to your home. Maul has led you to a place where you should never have been.” Ahsoka stood off to the side, not wanting to intrude, but Ezra must have seen something in Obi-Wan’s face because he nodded and stepped towards the dewback. Obi-Wan moved farther away from both of them to the opposite side of the fire, his gaze focused on a spot in the darkness. Maul , she knew. They didn’t have much time left.

“Make sure everything is ready to leave,” Ahsoka murmured to Ezra, and he nodded, turning towards the saddle and Chopper, who let out a few beeps. Moving away, Ahsoka walked to Obi-Wan’s side, stopping silently next to him. The fire cast dancing shadows at their feet, and Ahsoka searched the darkness for a moment, looking for any sign of Maul. She could feel his presence approaching, the eagerness and loathing cast into the Force, seeking out Obi-Wan and his own steady aura of peace and calm.

“I won’t see you again after this.” Ahsoka spoke quietly, but in the still night with only the sounds of the fire crackling and Ezra fidgeting with the saddle, she felt like her voice was carried far out across the desert sands.

“No,” Obi-Wan replied. “No, you will not.” It wasn’t a maybe , or a possibly , or a perhaps, someday in the future . Her grandmaster’s words were final, but not unkind. It was something both of them knew. Her coming here, finding Obi-Wan in the sands, had been a stroke of fate, a push of luck in the Force. Wherever their futures would take them, it would not be back to each other.

She didn’t mourn it, exactly. Obi-Wan had his purpose, just as she had hers, and she knew she would forever be grateful for these few hours spent with him, stolen from time. He had helped her through the grief of Malachor and set her mind on a lighter path, one that she would carry with her always. It would be enough, she thought, to know that Obi-Wan was here, living under the twin suns and watching over Anakin’s son, the hope for the future.

“In that case, then,” Ahsoka said, turning her head to look at Obi-Wan, “may the Force be with you, Master.” She bowed her head at him, and she felt his hand on her upper arm. 

“May the Force be with you always, my young Padawan,” he said, a small smile brushing his lips, and she returned it. Ahsoka didn’t know which of them moved first, but in a breath she found herself embracing Obi-Wan for the second time that night. She closed her eyes, breathing in the soft smell of Obi-Wan’s old robes and the feeling of safety and calm that enveloped her. She wanted to remember this hug, and the goodbye it held, for as long as she could.

Eventually, they both withdrew, and Obi-Wan walked with her back to where the dewback waited with Ezra and Chopper sitting in the saddle. 

“Head north,” he said, handing the reins to Ezra. “That is where you will find your way home.”

Ezra nodded, and with a final glance, Ahsoka took her seat on the dewback. From her position on its back, Obi-Wan looked smaller and older somehow, but he still radiated the same graceful elegance of a Jedi Master. 

“Maul approaches,” Obi-Wan warned. “He is almost upon us. It is time for you both to go.”

Chopper beeped indignantly, and Obi-Wan inclined his head. “My apologies,” he said, humor coating his words. “It is time for the three of you to go.”

Ezra nodded again, thanking Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka smiled at her old grandmaster. 

“Goodbye, Master.”

“Goodbye, Ahsoka.”

There was nothing else to say after that. Ezra quickly urged the dewback northward, and as Obi-Wan’s campfire faded away into the night, Ahsoka reached out into the Force, searching for the moment Maul and Obi-Wan finally met again.

She felt the moment the dark shadow found the calm and steady light. She felt Maul’s flare of hate and anger and sense of dark joy for finally, finally finding the object of his contempt. She felt Obi-Wan’s answering composed determination and acceptance. She felt the moment sabers clashed, blue on red under the soft glow of the stars, and she felt the moment it ended, the hatred fading into shock, the anger into pain, and the dark joy into a sense of lonely comfort and acceptance. She felt the dark shadow softly fade, felt the answering regret and sadness and quiet sympathy from the light, and she felt the moment the life winked out of the shadow, leaving the light alone in the again-silent night. She felt Obi-Wan’s sorrow that it had ended that way, but she felt his steady, unwavering resolve to protect Anakin’s son. And then, as if he knew she was watching, Ahsoka felt Obi-Wan send a bright flare into the Force, brushing her own presence before withdrawing. 

She smiled softly into the night.

They would be alright.