A thick blanket of fog enveloped everything so that it was impossible to see even an arm's distance away. Even sunlight was blocked by the swirling clouds of mist and the sky was heavy and dark. Something, unseen and unheard, called me forward. My feet step in front of each other in perfect harmony, as some invisible thread pulled me through the ominous fog and deeper into the darkness. My foot hits something soft and In cannot help but to look down at my boots where a man lays with a lightsaber wound through his chest. His eyes are open and staring blankly up at me, and though it takes me a few moments, I recognize him as the first man I had ever killed. I advert my eyes but cannot shake the image of his cold, stiff body. I had killed him during the Clone Wars, at the orders of Commander Bacara. I was seventeen. The clone commander had brought the man before me, told me of his heinous crimes against women and children, and ordered me to end the pathetic maggot's life. Of course it was against all my teachings as a Jedi, and my hand had hesitated as I drew my lightsaber, knowing that this was not the Jedi way. But I was young and naive, and did not question the orders of a commanding officer. This was the way of war.
The sight of the dead man made my stomach churn and I turned away, walking swiftly in some random direction. The fog made it impossible to know where I was going but I did not care as long as I got away from that memory. For a moment it seemed that I had found some escape as the fog began to dissipate, but as it cleared my eyes settled upon the horrid scene before me. My legs move forward, bringing me closer to the field of death. Hundreds of stormtrooper bodies litter the ground, some with familiar lightsaber wounds, and others killed by the invisible power of the Force. I try to turn away, but my head is turned to force me to witness all of those killed by my very own hands. All of these men had in fleeting moments of fear, and the last thing they had ever seen was my face. No one was responsible for this graveyard besides me.
Finally I am able to leave the field of death, and once again the fog rolls in to shroud the scene in mist. Now I begin running, sprinting wildly to escape the demons behind me. I inhale the cold, dark air and my lungs burn like fire, but still I force myself to run faster, to get away from my sins. My boot catches on something and I fall face-first onto the ground. I slowly peel myself up to see hordes of bodies, clothed in familiar Jedi robes, piled up around me. I look back to my feet and suppress a scream as I see that what I had tripped over was the body of a dead Jedi youngling. I stand and scan the mounds of bodies, looking at all my comrades who had fallen during Order 66. My brothers and sisters, friends and family. Their bodies were piled up and left to rot, as if they were rubbish instead of people. Before me was everyone I could not save, everyone who had died instead of me that fateful day. I was not at the Jedi Temple when the 501st marched in to exterminate us, I was not there to protect my fellow Jedi. If anyone should have lived, it certainly should not have been me, the padawan who was once nearly expelled from the Order.
I look into the distance, where I think I see a figure approaching me. At first I dismiss it as an illusion in the shimmering fog, but there was no mistaking the familiar figure of the blue Twi'lek. I try to speak, to call out to her, but I seem suddenly unable to form the words to do so. The woman stops, and changes direction and I chase after her, desperate to see her again after all these years. I lose sight of her, as if she had suddenly melted into the fog, and I am left only with the dead husks of Jedi to keep me company. I scream now, like some tortured wild beast, trapped in this horror with no escape. I submit to my panic and tears begin to well in my eyes as I beg for the pain to stop. It is only when I feel a familiar presence that I am able to center myself, and I turn to come face-to-face with my deceased master, Aayla Secura. She studies me with lifeless brown eyes, a look of deep pain etched into her face. And then her lips open to whisper a single question, the question that had haunted my dreams:
"What have you done?"
