He was her shadow, always standing at attention at her back, his uniform suitably black. She, however, was all fire. She burned red, her brightness overpowering all. He would often find excuses to touch her crimson arm, just to reassure himself that she was real as if he was afraid that eventually she really would become fire and be untouchable. She would often teasingly run her fingers through his dark hair. She didn't know how to express gratitude, but she hoped he at least had an idea of how much he had taught her.

Now, however, he was kneeling in his own blood, his dark uniform stained crimson, one gloved hand trying to stop the blood flow from a gash in his abdomen. She stood above him, his blood on her hands and her eyes all fire; the one thing he feared most was to see her look at him that way. Her light saber dyed the scene red as if fire would consume them both at any moment. He bowed his head. Nothing mattered any longer. The shadows were gone and he was now in the full light of her fire, his true nature revealed. He had betrayed her trust and he knew that there would be no redeeming himself.

He would no longer be her shadow but ash left behind from her fire.