Chapter Text
The prophecy Qui-Gon had spoken of when presenting Anakin to the Council had never been complete. There had only ever been fragments of whispers—balance, power, the Force. Even with such limited information it had been clear—at least to Qui-Gon Jinn—that Anakin Skywalker was the Chosen One spoken of in these parts and pieces scattered through the galaxy.
With a midi-chlorian count so high he was almost more Force than human, he was certainly something.
He was also the one to bring the full, actual prophecy to light. Of course, he hadn’t known the artifact he’d retrieved from the depths of a long forgotten planet with his former master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, was of such importance. Unlocking it had been a mystery too complicated to even consider whilst hurrying back to Coruscant to save the Chancellor from certain death once again. (Seriously, what was up with that?)
The artifact had been thrown rather haphazardly into the Temple’s collection, collecting dust on the archive’s seemingly endless ‘to be processed’ pile. Five days later (Chancellor safe and sound again; Anakin, Obi-Wan and this time Ahsoka as well already off to another mission; the artifact all but forgotten) and the thing had been discovered to be quite dangerous by some poor padawan on archive duty.
It hadn’t reacted well to the usual procedure, which consisted of a simple holoscan. Not even when the archive master came to prod at it tenderly, both with the Force and physically, did it budge. Instead it began glowing an angry red, emitting sparks of hostile energy at whoever merely breathed in its direction.
The Council assigned multiple Jedi to attempt cracking the artifact and even called in a Shadow for assistance, but nothing worked—until Yoda came with the idea to ask Anakin and Obi-Wan more about the artifact. Where had they found it? What had it looked like, how had it felt?
The questions, however, didn’t need to be answered, for as soon as Anakin came close, it slid open. In ancient static, it spoke:
Born of no father, forged by energy itself,
The Chosen One shall bring the galaxy to rest,
When shadow deludes the rising sun,
Balance shall come when his life is done.
In the circular Council quarters, a shocked silence fell. Everyone present knew that this was the infamous prophecy spoken of so vaguely in the galaxy, and it revealed something they had not heard before. The Chosen One would die in order to fulfill his purpose.
Obi-Wan’s chest tightened.
“So. Problem solved?” Anakin broke the quiet, raising his eyebrows. He was, as always, in a hurry to escape from underneath the Council’s gaze.
From beside him, Obi-Wan lifted his gaze from where he’d still been staring at the artifact in disbelief. “What?” he asked, dumbfounded, not quite sure he’d heard his former padawan right.
Anakin gestured at the prophecy-sprouting thing vaguely. “We opened it,” he said, matter of factly.
“And it told us you will die,” Obi-Wan said, slowly, as if he were talking to a child.
“Won’t we all.” He shrugged, though he did shoot a cheeky glance at Yoda, who was, of course, 900 years old. It was a running joke that the troll was immortal. Not quite appropriate at the moment, however.
“Take the prophecy literally, we cannot always do—”
“How else can it possibly be interpreted?” Obi-Wan cut Yoda off, anger simmering in his stomach. Anakin glanced at him with a strange look on his face, but he ignored him. He wasn’t sure what he was angry at. Not Yoda, necessarily, nor his Padawan’s untimely humour.
Perhaps fate. Why did it have to be Anakin?
Mace folded his hands on his lap. “I fear that Kenobi has a point. It seems the Force will require a sacrifice to restore the balance.” He looked at Anakin with a certain apprehension in his eyes, as if he were expecting him to explode into fury and indignation.
But he merely blinked. “It appears so. Is that all? My Padawan is waiting on us.”
Mace shot a somewhat bewildered look at Yoda. It was nothing like Anakin Skywalker to take something like this so lightly—rather they had expected him to react viscerally, or at the very least, show a sign of sorrow. Who wouldn’t, upon hearing they would die before being able to finish their life?
But Anakin was perfectly stoic, unfazed by his tragic fate.
Obi-Wan was horrified.
Soon they were walking side by side, out of the Council room, through polished halls, past chattering Jedi and laughing Padawans. Obi-Wan recollected himself with a deep intake of air. It felt stifling in his throat, gliding into his lungs and itching like it was something foreign.
“Anakin—” he started, intent on asking him what the kriff was going through his mind right now. It was unlike his Padawan to be so apathetic, and he worried there was something deeper behind it. Was he scared and trying to hide it? Or did he just truly not care that he was going to die? Had he already made his peace with dying at the start of this war?
“Look, Master,” Anakin said harshly, stopping his pace and turning to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes. “It’s bad luck, but no big surprise, right? Nevertheless, we’re not telling Ahsoka about this. Or Rex, or Cody, or anyone else for that matter. Okay?”
Despite his cold tone, Obi-Wan was relieved to hear at least some kind of emotion in his voice. His indifference in front of the Council had been some sort of act, after all.
“Don’t you think they would want to know? Don’t they deserve to?” he shot back, feeling a shudder crawl up his spine as he imagined what would have happened had Anakin been the only one to hear the prophecy. Would he have told Obi-Wan?
“Maybe,” Anakin’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering back and forth between Obi-Wan and the corridor. “But what does it matter if they know? I’ll still die all the same, only they will treat me like some porcelain doll until then.”
“Perhaps, but that is only because they care about you. What about Padme?”
“What about Senator Amidala?” Anakin said stubbornly, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “It’s my life, Obi-Wan,” Anakin continued before he could argue further.
He pushed a warning finger into Obi-Wan’s chest. “Don’t tell them.”
-
And he didn’t, despite himself.
It was two days later when Obi-Wan asked—or, as Anakin would dramatically exclaim, forced—his Padawan to spar with him. He had been acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary, but Obi-Wan knew something was stewing underneath that indifference. He knew Anakin intimately: a result of years of knowing him.
Partially, he was doing this for himself. Maybe, if he pushed Anakin to be an even better fighter, the prophecy would change, and Anakin would live to see the end of the war. He ignored the voice inside his head telling him exactly how foolish the line of thought was. Couldn’t he at least try to save the child he had trained and raised?
They fell into their usual rhythm with ease, even with the tension between them. Their bond in the Force had grown stale and somewhat thin from disuse. Anakin knew that Obi-Wan didn’t approve of keeping the prophecy a secret, as well as he knew that Obi-Wan was acutely not so apathetic to his fated death.
Obi-Wan could understand not wanting to talk about it. He himself felt his stomach churn with hopelessness whenever he so much as thought about it—his Padawan, dead because the Force had prophesied it. He felt useless, most of all. He was supposed to protect Anakin, even if he was already a Knight now, yet he couldn’t protect the boy from this.
But Anakin was on a whole other level of ‘not wanting to think about it’. He seemed to dismiss the topic completely, or he really didn’t care. Obi-Wan didn’t know which was worse, and simply wished Anakin would let him in. Didn’t he trust his former Master with such important things?
Their blades kept on clashing, Obi-Wan’s own strikes growing harsher with his frustration. Anakin kept up with him flawlessly, not breaking a sweat as he danced around the attacks. His movements were as smooth as water, the Force sparking around him and his trusted lightsaber acting as an extension of his own hands. He was an odd mixture of grace and raw power, and Obi-Wan felt his heart sink.
He could not teach his Padawan anything new anymore.
“What are you doing, Master?” Anakin took a sip from his water, his curls slightly damp with sweat. Obi-Wan sat beside him, feeling miserable after having lost the duel. It was not his pride that was bruised, rather it was his heart. He didn’t want to lose Anakin, yet couldn’t do anything to prevent it.
“What do you mean, Anakin?”
“I mean what the kriff was that? You were aggressive, I’ve never seen you go on the offense like that.”
Obi-Wan swallowed thickly, not responding.
Anakin went on, voice growing louder. “Are you trying to test if I’m really the Chosen One or something? Stars, why are you being so difficult about this all? Can’t you let your feelings out in the Force or something?”
He huffed, indignation spreading in his chest. “Why am I being difficult? You are going to die in this war and you don’t seem to care!”
“Yeah, so what!?” Anakin yelled back, putting his water down with more force than necessary. “You really thought I was getting out of this all alive? We flirt with death every karking mission, you can’t truly be so naive as to think—”
“It isn’t supposed to be you!” Obi-Wan shouted, interrupting Anakin, whose mouth snapped shut abruptly. He stared at Obi-Wan with wide eyes, confusion and lingering anger etched in the furrow of his brows.
“I taught you everything I know and you were supposed to live. I don’t want to go on in this Force forsaken galaxy with you having died whilst I couldn’t do anything about it, and you keep trying to act as if it’s all fine, but you’re practically dead already!”
Anakin looked somewhat worried now, which only infuriated Obi-Wan more. “Master, I’m sorry you feel that way. But you’re stupid if you ever thought I’d let you die before I do in this war.” He stood, looking down on Obi-Wan with heated determination in his gaze. The concern was gone.
“It was always supposed to be me. The Order and the galaxy need you after this war, you know that. What use will there be for me? The only reason I’m a Jedi is because I can fight. I can’t meditate, I can’t make peace without violence. I am nothing without this war.”
“I raised you,” Obi-Wan shot back, desperately fighting the thumping fear in his chest. “Maybe the galaxy won’t need you fighting its battles anymore, but I’ll need you. I raised you to be more than just a soldier, Anakin.” He stood as well, not quite meeting his Padawan’s eyeline—damn the fact that the boy had grown so tall.
“Maybe,” Anakin relented, “but I’ll die as one.”
“No.”
“Yes. And I don’t want you or Ahsoka anywhere near me when I do. I’ve sent a request to the Council to have the 501st work together with the 256th from now on, and I’m going to have Ahsoka continue her apprenticeship with Master Koon.”
“What?” Obi-Wan breathed out. He had fought by Anakin’s side this whole war, and now he wanted to split them apart?
“I need you both to be safe. When the prophecy fulfills it won’t be pretty, and I don’t know when that’ll be. I’m sure you’d have done the same, Obi-Wan.”
“And you don’t trust me to take care of your Padawan?” He asked.
Anakin shot him a critical look. “I don’t trust you to stay away when the time comes. Not even if it means keeping her safe.”
“You don’t have to do this, dear one,” he tried, feeling Anakin’s iron determination through their bond. But Anakin only shook his head and left silently, leaving him alone with the premature grief already stirring in his chest.