The Young Republic | A Star Wars Story

Chapter 30

Palpatine

"Choose what is right, not what is easy."

There was a murderous thunder prickling against Obi-Wan's skin. It cut sharp and swiftly, the edge of the cold slab of dread that ended his bond with Anakin. A sharp hook had dug its way into Obi-Wan's chest—there where he thinks his heart should be beating at the moment—tugging and tugging him along behind Rex, out and into a hallway unoccupied by anyone besides the suffering.

Xena was holding onto Anakin, impossibly still next to his quivering form. There were no sounds save for their footsteps and Anakin's intermitted hitching.

"Xena," Obi-Wan said. "What happened."

Obi-Wan's voice didn't carry far and seemed to barely reach Xena's ears. Too slowly, she finally reacted. Her head lifted slowly, looking all over Anakin before meeting her father's eyes.

And there were no tears, no wobbling lips, or wet cheeks that puffed with sorrow.

Obi-Wan flinched, actively taking a step backwards. Because there was a quiet rumble, a barely containable storm of lightning and thunder flashing through Xena's face. Her eyes, not swollen, were hard as stone, dead as night, and rimmed with a bleeding red that screamed in warning. Her father's heart sank as he realized the depth of her anger and pain.

He knew this was a side of Xena he had never seen before, only imagined when thinking of her torture, Sith and Unknown Regions and a war after this. This was the Rebellion fighter, Obi-Wan realized. When Xena spoke of war, fighting, and running from Sith and facing the man in darkness, Obi-Wan always had difficulty imagining it.

There was shyness - those first few weeks. Then grew suspicion - after failed missions. After grew a warrior, when Maul came back from the dead. A heavy sadness when Satine was killed. And defiance, always defiance, but kindness too, that grew from seeds planted by years of surviving. Anger, sometimes, and rebellion. Laughing, he remembers and offered encouragement.

There had never been a burn that threatened to scorch all those who dared to look. And it frightened him.

Xena's gaze shifted to Rex, then back to her father. "Help him," is all she said. "It's the same as the Dathomir witch. You just need to keep him afloat and whoever will let go eventually."

Her words hung heavily in the air.

"I-" Obi-Wan was at a loss. It had all been fine just a moment ago. A few minutes had separated a complaining Anakin to this. Obi-Wan's mind raced as he tried to comprehend the sudden turn of events. He struggled to find the right words to respond, his thoughts clouded by confusion and concern for Anakin's well-being. He hadn't been able to help Xena. He could-

What could he do? Obi-Wan felt just as helpless as he did as a Knight, with Anakin sick for the first time, and he couldn't make heads or tails of what to do. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on his shoulders; the gravity of the situation sort of drowned him.

A sudden choke sounded off. And Anakin twisted in himself, his body suddenly wracked with shivers and jerks.

"Dad!" Xena snapped - ordered - voice more profound and more threatening.

Obi-Wan didn't have time to care about what Xena called him in front of a Clone when he dropped to his knees, hands hovering over Anakin. He closed his eyes, evened his breath, and sent a call from one spirit to another. Reaching - reaching - reaching. Obi-Wan poured, reached, and held.