The White Mirage {Branching Out - Book II}

Therapy Session

Anakin threw himself into his training, his mind and body focusing solely on the rhythm of lightsaber practice with the young initiates. He moved through the familiar motions of Shii-Cho, guiding the initiates, giving them pointers, but also learning from them in ways he hadn't expected. It was as if the weight of the galaxy had been lifted from his shoulders—if only for a few hours a day. In the quiet, structured world of the training room, he could almost forget the chaos outside the Temple walls.

Almost.

But even as he trained and laughed with the initiates, even as he threw himself into meditation and mind-healing sessions with Healer Vokara Che Noska, the shadows still crept in. The news feeds from the Republic, the endless messages from Chancellor Palpatine, and the holocalls from Padmé. He ignored them all, pushing them to the back of his mind like distant voices he couldn't deal with right now.

For once, he needed space. Space from the upcoming war. Space from the Senate. Space from Padmé.

It wasn't that he didn't care. He did. Too much, probably. But every time he thought about going back to her, he felt that familiar pull of something darker—something that made him question his choices, his path. So, instead, he focused on what was right in front of him: the lightsaber in his hand, the feel of the Force guiding him, and the young, eager eyes of the initiates as they watched him move through the forms.

The training helped. It grounded him in the present. But it didn't quiet the storm completely.

In one of his sessions with Healer Vokara Che, the storm finally broke.

They were sitting in the Temple's medical wing, the soft hum of the room's healing equipment buzzing faintly in the background. The lights were dimmed, casting the space in a soft glow that made it feel peaceful—almost serene. Anakin sat on one of the cushioned benches, his posture relaxed but his mind anything but. Vokara Che sat across from him, her calm, analytical gaze watching him closely.

"How are you feeling today, Anakin?" she asked, her voice steady, always calm. Never pushing, never demanding. That's what made these sessions easier than any conversation he'd had with the Council. Vokara Che wasn't here to judge him.

Anakin leaned back, letting out a slow breath. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice quiet. "Some days I feel fine. Others... I can't stop thinking about it."

Vokara Che nodded, her gaze softening slightly. "Thinking about what?"

He hesitated. He wasn't sure why this was so hard to talk about. He'd faced down Sith Lords, droids—he'd fought in battles that would leave most people in pieces. But this? Admitting what he felt inside? That was harder than any battle he'd ever fought.

"My dreams," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The visions... they're still there. They always have been."

Vokara Che didn't press. She waited, patient and steady, as always.

Anakin swallowed, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he continued. "I see them sometimes, you know? The things I did. The things I almost did."

"What things?" she asked gently.

He looked down at his hands—one flesh, one metal. His fingers curled into fists as he forced the words out. "When my mother died... after the Tuskens took her. I—" He stopped, his voice catching in his throat, the memories crashing over him like a tidal wave. The heat of the desert. The pain in his mother's eyes. The rage that had consumed him. "I killed those that tortured her to death. I barely stopped myself when I was done with the men. I wanted to finish the whole group. All of them. Not just the men, but the women... the children."