It took him over an hour to make his way through a small handful more corridors. Every time he glimpsed the sprawled body of a Jedi, especially the little ones, he dropped his eyes. Only the trained coordination of Jedi prevented Obi-Wan from tripping over his own feet.

As he turned into another corridor- the seventh, by his count- the Force suddenly washed over him. He heard nothing, saw nothing, but he felt it: sheer emotional anguish, like a battle between light and dark, but not with lightsabers. No, this battle was an internal battle, and something about it seemed familiar. The strength of it, impossibly powerful and deeply rooted in the Living Force, remained him of someone.

He inhaled sharply. Anakin. He broke into a sprint, only to stop short when a pile of clone trooper bodies blocked his path. All of them had been killed by erratically placed blaster bolts, as if they had been reflected by a lightsaber. A Jedi had killed these troopers in self-defense, and Obi-Wan suspected which Jedi had so. No, he knew it, as certain as he knew his own name. Anakin. I'm coming, Anakin.

It was just a little further now; he could sense it. In a second or two he would be there, next to Anakin, and everything would be all right. Of course it would, because Anakin was the most gifted Jedi he had never known, had surpassed challenges most would never even dream of facing, and had come through fighting every single time. He would know what to do, he would raise Obi-Wan's spirits, and then he would fulfill the prophecy. He would destroy the Sith once and for all, because he was the Chosen One. No, not because he was the Chosen One, but because he was Anakin Skywalker: the brave, reckless, and incredibly gifted Jedi who would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat if it meant saving his friends. The man Obi-Wan had been lucky to call his Padawan...and his friend.

He is alive, I sense it. I will save him, for the sake of the Jedi Order, and my own. He is the Chosen One, and he will make the prophecy true. I just know it.

And then Obi-Wan saw him, and lost all hope.

He was dead, and had been for quite some time. He was sprawled on the floor, his brown hair splayed around his shoulders and matted with sweat. His lightsaber was clutched in his left hand, not his mechanical right, and Obi-Wan could see why; the prosthetic limb sported a huge cut at the wrist, which had severed many of the delicate wires and left it nearly useless. His left hand was damaged as well, with a large blaster burn on his palm, and two of his fingers had been so badly broken that Obi-Wan could see the bones. Less severe were the long and shallow cuts on his wrist where the metal hilt of his lightsaber had dug into the skin, though judging by the congealed blood around the wounds, they had still been painful.

On his face was the intense expression he usually wore into battle, but without the fire in his eyes, because his eyes were closed. A civilian might have found it comforting that his eyes were shut, as if he were only asleep, but Obi-Wan had enough combat experience to be sickened by the sight. Someone who had died quick and fast would never have had the time to close their eyes; only someone fully aware of their demise could have done so. The thought of his former Padawan in so much pain sickened him.

He could see the deadly wound now: a blaster bolt, close enough to nick the heart, but not go straight through it. A wound like that was excruciating, Obi-Wan knew. He had seen more than a few clones die that way, and had felt their pain every time. Worse still, there was a second burn by his shoulder, as if he had been shot once and continued to fight anyway. His stubborn Padawan hadn't given up. He never did.

Anakin. Oh, Anakin, why must you always be so brave?

"Anakin," he breathed, fully aware his friend couldn't hear him, couldn't hear anything anymore. But Obi-Wan didn't care. "Anakin," he repeated as he kneeled beside him. Lovingly, almost reverently, he grasped his friend's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. He smoothed his dark robes where they had torn, and carefully wiped blood and dried tears from his pallid cheeks. He brushed Anakin's tousled hair away from his closed eyes, and in a gesture that the rest of the Jedi Council would have decried as overly affectionate, kissed his forehead softly. "I'm sorry, my Padawan," he whispered. "I'm so sorry." He paused, a massive lump forming in his throat. "I love you, Anakin. I love you." His voice trembled. "Goodbye, my friend."