My Unfortunate Fate

chapter 39

Darkness and fear can overrun light and hope to the point of no return.

There's a heavy storm closing down on Mortis, but it doesn't matter much, since we're back at the shuttle. No lightning strikes or serious damage will come to it; I know that much. By the time the storm has been cleared a bit by the Father, we may be ready to leave.

Ahsoka is working on fixing the ship, and Obi-Wan is assisting nearby. I feel like Anakin and I should be doing something, anything, but there's nothing we can do. We're still trying to process whatever has happened here over the past few—you know, I don't even think those are days.

It is the Son who causes all chaos here, and who causes the storm. I still hear his agonizing screams in my head, and the offer I was so tempted to accept. Had my mind not cleared at the right moment, I might've actually done it: join forces with him. Luckily I came to my senses.

I have yet to tell anyone about my visions—or echoes—I'm not sure what to call it. I've heard the future. I know I have. And I know I must do what I can to avoid the pain it entails. It may be a useless effort without the context of said voices, but if I try, I can succeed.

Master Yoda always tells us that trying isn't the right way to go about these things. I don't care. All I can do now is try; and that is what I will do. For however long I have to.

Anakin has not heard the voices. His vision was different, nonetheless painful; maybe more painful than mine. He said he saw his mother. I still remember the first time I went to Tatooine, when he was off to find her, and how distraught he was after she died. It pains me to this day: the image of him in such intense grief.

I watch the rain fall in long ribbons ahead of us. The shuttle's ramp won't close since our crash, but the main frame offers enough shelter to keep us dry enough. The hems of my pants are dripping, letting down small droplets on the black leather of my boots.

We had to walk through the storm in order to get back to the ship. Since this place is so unnatural, the rain felt almost synthetic, and it does not even remotely flood the planet's surface. I'm still not sure this is a planet.

I sit on the edge of the ramp's hatch, my feet barely dangling above the clanky ramp itself. My hands are at my sides, supporting me, so my posture does not slouch. Anakin is sitting beside me, on the top of the ramp, one leg extended out onto it. His gaze shifts from the storm to me every so often.

"Well, the weather's looking decent," I say. I'm being sarcastic; the storm is loud and dangerous, not decent.

Anakin sighs. He doesn't reply to my comment, but offers me a glance before staring at his feet. He looks hopeless, acting like we're never getting out of here despite our efforts. I know we will get out of here sometime, but I cannot tell him.

"Let's hope it clears up a bit once we're ready to fly out," I add, looking back outside. The storm is still raging, and seems to get worse, like it heard my wish.

Silence falls between us again, but I feel my husband looking over at me again. Why he's doing so, I can't be sure, but sometimes we just look at each other for no reason. Usually, it's comforting, but now it feels stressful. The storm's increasing aggression fills me with a worrying feeling, that this may be one of the last glances we share.

I turn my head down and push myself back, pulling my legs up to my chest. I sit cross-legged, a bit uncomfortable on the shuttle's hard floor, and pivot my body to face him. "Are you all right?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "I'm not sure we're doing the right thing by leaving," Anakin says, pulling his leg up to rest his arm over it. "The Son is consumed by the dark side."