Underneath

The giant spaceship floated in the dark space. The eternal night embraced the ship, and it looked painfully small and insignificant against the pressing power of the night. It drifted alone in midst of the darkness. One more object that was lost to its magnificent power.

The dull clang of his heavy feet echoed loudly in the deserted corridor.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Fabric as dark as night billowed behind him. On the outside, he strode calmly, but deep inside he wanted to run away. From darkness. From himself. From everything. But there was no running away, no escaping.

The sneering darkness would always be with him.

Nothing more.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The hall looked empty and lifeless, bathed in the eerie red light. Ominous shadows were creeping from every corner, taunting him. In his past life, he was afraid of the shadows, but the sense of fear had long abandoned him. He didn't fear, he was feared. People were scared at the tiniest glimpse of his black mask, cold chills ran down their spines at the sound of his mechanical breathing, and they nearly fainted whenever they heard the booming of his mechanical voice.

He was feared, but not loved. People followed his orders, but they despised him.

He clenched his fist. It was not a hand of flesh, only a set of wires… He wanted to rip them away with his teeth, to hurt himself. To feel pain. To feel anything beside the cold emptiness.

But he didn't do it.

The Dark Lord paused at the large window. Space lay before him. It was cold and lifeless, yet he couldn't resist its tempting calls. Stars flickered merrily, inviting him to see all their wonders. He had once wanted to see them all, but his old desires had long turned into the ashes.

A transparent image of black mask stared at him. Blank shield with sharp edges, devoid of any trace of humanity. It was the face that haunted people in their most horrible nightmares. That was his reflection now, and for the rest of his life.

He looked at himself, but saw only a machine. Killing, cold and calculating machine. He wanted to scream, but no one would hear him. No one cared for him. No one looked at him and saw the person he had once been.

A boy with curious blue eyes slept deeply beneath the black suit. He slept, he did not die. Because sleeping people might wake up. Sometimes he turned around quickly enough he believed to have caught a glimpse of that boy.

But each time it was only another shadow. One of many to come.

Did he want this boy to wake up? Did he want to see his blue eyes again? The boy would be revolted at the things he had done. The Dark Lord did not want to see this boy ever again.

The boy who wanted to bring so much good to the galaxy… He had set everything only to lose it all. People he loved. His soul. His body. His freedom.

There was nothing left, only memories.

Intangible, distant memories. If he closed his eyes tightly enough, he could still feel wet, emerald grass under his bare feet. He could still feel gentle kisses of the sun on his skin. He could still remember a soft breeze of wind dishevelling his hair. He could still see her genuine smile, her melodic laughter.

His burned lips still stretched into shadow of smile at the memory of her vain attempts to smooth his hair. If he tried hard enough, he could still hear the phantom voice whispering "I love you" in his ear.

These were words he would never hear again. The coldness in him hissed that he didn't need it, but at this moment he didn't believe it.

The woman he loved beyond anything drifted into eternal sleep, and now her soul danced on the ever-green meadows, where they had fallen in love with each other.

A single tear welled up in his eyes. He gritted his teeth to stop it from falling, but it run down his scarred cheek nonetheless. He was the absolute darkness personified, he didn't cry…

But the salty feeling on his lips continued to taunt him. Another tear formed in the corners of his eyes…What colour did his eyes have? Was it azure blue or savage yellow?

He didn't want to know it. He didn't want to know what she would think of the creature he had become. Would she look at him with contempt and say that she didn't love him any longer? Or would she run away from him screaming to the other side of the galaxy?

He could never find out. His angel was dead, and nothing could bring her back. Nothing could bring back his child either. Was it a girl, as beautiful as her mother? Or was she right that it had been a boy?

Not even his new powers could make a change.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The echo of his heavy metallic feet cringed fearfully in the deserted corridor, shy gleams of feeble light avoiding him in blind panic. Everything that would come in touch in him withered and died. It had always been like this, but only now did he realise it.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

No escaping, no running away, because it was impossible… He couldn't flee the coldness of his suit, he couldn't abandon the darkness within him. He couldn't save himself from the eternal cold.

The galaxy lied at his feet.

He had ultimate power.

He had become the true Hero With No Fear.

He was Darth Vader, the Dark Lord.

He was always alone.

He was always cold. It was a feeling he had never known before. In the days before darkness, he felt warm. Either on Tatooine with his mother, or with his wife on Coruscant, or … with his former Master during the missions. It was not the heat of the sun that warmed him, it was a glow of mutual love.

The cold spread its icy claws on him ever since he was engulfed in flames on Mustafar. Even as hungry lava of the volcano planet ate at his body, he had felt cold. Empty. Bitter.

Obi-Wan. The name left a sour after-taste in his mouth.

Obi-Wan. His former Master…his brother…his killer.

Vader clenched his right fist, the only reminder of his old life.

In this momentary moment of weakness, he ached to go see Obi-Wan again. Not to pay for what he had done to him, but just to be with him.

Like in the old days. But these old days sunk into nothingness.

The wind moaned restlessly outside, throwing black sand at the window of his humble hut. Night fell down on the desert planet. A black, impenetrable shroud of darkness.

He moved closer to the fire, rubbing his hands to warm them, but it didn't work. It was cold.

It was not the physical cold that tortured him. He had been a Jedi once, and he could easily adjust to all conditions. It was the cold emptiness in his soul that choked him.

A small fire burnt merrily in the small hut. But Obi-Wan hated fire. Whenever he looked at flames, he remembered the savage lava rivers on Mustafar and the ferocious duel with the one he loved as a brother.

His life was a living nightmare, and there was no waking up from it, no escaping. Only death…He would cease to exist after it and join all who died at the hand of his brother.

But he was already dead. The crumpled shell of the ancient man that sat by the fire held no life in it, no joy. Gone was the sparkle from his grey eyes, and the smile was forever wiped away by the darkness. He was swallowed and eaten by it. He had nothing more left, only memories.

Memories of his old Master Qui-Gon… Memories of the calm serenity of the Temple. But the giant halls were turned into burning ruins, and the light of the Force burned with it. At times, Obi-Wan hated himself for his ability to sense the Force, to see the darkness polluting it. He cursed himself for hearing phantom screams of pain of people that were dying or of those that had already died.

His dried lips stretched into a bitter smile. People thought that he was a crazy old hermit, and he started to believe them. What was he doing the entire time? Waiting. Only waiting.

But what was he waiting for? That some of his friend would return? But they all were dead…

Deep inside, he wanted for him to seek him out. He ached to see his blue eyes again, to see him smile, even to let him tease him.

But his best friend was dead. Or, he was worse than dead.

The last memory he had of him was a reflection of lava in his cruel yellow eyes. And then he stroked him down…After that everything became a blur, a nightmare in a nightmare.

Rivers of fire…the stench of burning flesh…cry of hatred….an inhuman yell of pain of the man who was burning alive.

And Obi-Wan died with him.

Who was sitting in the hut, listening to the drawn-our howls of the wind? It was just an empty shell, a shadow of the mighty man he had once been.

Loneliness was his only companion. And there was also a tiny flicker of hope out there, over the dune sea. But the hope was so feeble that he didn't notice that it was here. His wounds were too deep, too fresh to be able to see the future with bright eyes.

The future was hidden somewhere over the ocean of sand, as yellow and harsh as the endless desert. The past seemed like a sweet dream to him, and at times he couldn't believe that once there was no sand, no loneliness, no cold. But the past sunk into nothingness, and his present was only a sand.

And he craved for it to disappear. Jedi never thought of what-ifs, they lived in present. But there was no life on Tatooine, only a miserable imitation if it. There could be no life without him.

Besides, he wasn't a Jedi any longer.

But he pleaded to the Force nonetheless to give him a chance to change the things even if he knew that it was impossible.

He ached to see Anakin again, just to talk to him like in the old days.

But old days disappeared, burnt out by the lava and wiped out by the sand.

There was an explosion in the Force. A blinding flash of light erupted somewhere beyond and the silver threads of reality broke.

A twister appeared out of nowhere. Another flash of light, and two figures were sucked into it – one looking like a black hybrid between a machine and a man, another a lustreless hermit.

A blur of colours…mad twisting and silent screams of two men…and then everything became still.

Anakin woke up, gasping for air. The sheets were covered in sweat, and his breathing was ragged.

Images of his nightmare flashed in his mind.

Black mask…cold, mechanical breathing…eternal cold and blackness of space.

He sat up and rested his face in his hands. What did it mean? Was it another vision, another warning? Would something happen to him? But it was not important as long as Padmé wouldn't die in childbirth.

Lost in thought, he scratched his chin with his right hand. It felt different…

He looked down at his hand. It was flesh, not his spider-like prosthesis.

A feeling of deja-vu flooded over him, and Anakin touched his chin again. He felt not a smooth skin, but harsh hair.

A beard… He didn't have a beard…

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. The comfortable feeling of silky sheet felt strange after the harsh material of his bed on Tatooine.

He sat up in his bed, too dizzy to take the surrounding in. What happened? The last thing he remembered was aching for Anakin, then….twisting and stretching…blur of colours.

He was not on Tatooine any longer, he was sure about it. Did the Force grant his desire?

He run his hands through his hair. The hair felt soft and wavy under his fingers, and the a strange feeling of cold metal against the skin on his head screamed at him.

His right hand was not real, it was a prosthesis…

Something stirred at his right. Too shocked to draw any conclusions, Obi-Wan just glanced at his right.

A woman was sleeping peacefully next to him, her magnificent hair sprawled out on the pillow.

It was Padmé.

He was lying in the bed next to Padmé…