He lingered, hoping the beauty before him would move his dead but still beating heart.
He felt nothing. The silence that echoed through the Force since the genocide reverberated still. It had only been a week, what was he expecting? A lesser man would have screamed, cried or at least sighed but not Obi-Wan Kenobi. He clung still to the principles of his extinct kind. He was Jedi. Despair is not the way of the Jedi. It was important, more than ever before that he should uphold their beliefs.
The wind picked up, whistling. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, enjoying its soothing caress, smoothing away the creases between his brows. It made him look a little younger, unguarded. This was the only indulgence he could afford. Sleep was no reprieve. Jedi do not have nightmares but things have changed. This was it, his slice of escapism. Breathing deeply, he let his arms hang loose and focused on relaxing his muscles. Before, he would have reached for the Force, flooding his extremities with its warmth. In its present state, the Force offered no such comfort. Loss sang throughout the gouges of silence. No. He had to learn to meditate without its aid.
Obi-Wan whirled around, his eyes wild, icy panic coursed through his veins. The metal of his lightsaber felt cold in his palm, wrenching him back to reality. It had happened again. He had heard the phantom voice of his former Padawan. It was as if the planet was threatening to drive him to insanity. Tatooine, homeplanet of Anakin Skywalker. These whispers always triggered blind panic in his part. It was disturbing. He disliked how disarming it was. What was more irksome to the Jedi Master was that the voice sounded young and innocent. It was Anakin. His Anakin. The brother and friend he used to know. All that was no more.
Hues of purple bled from the orange-red horizon. Darkness was coming. Memories of Anakin’s, no, Vader’s yellow-red eyes flashed in Obi-Wan’s mind. He could smell the pungent ash of Mustafar, He could feel the heat of the lava licking at his skin. Most of all, he could taste the betrayal. Such was the memory of a Jedi. Obi-Wan blinked. He clipped his lightsaber back to his belt, its weight against his hip comforting. He tugged his tattered cloak closer to his body and inserted his hands into the opposite sleeves as was his habit when feeling exposed. It was cold now. Obi-Wan let go of the moment and walked on. There is no emotion, there is peace.
Note: Unwittingly, you've read a vignette star wars fanfic written by me. Hah. Maybe I'll write more and put it up on fanfiction.net Idk. We'll see. Let's call this No Country For Old Men - Prolouge. Set immediately after Episode III: Revenge of The Sith. The aftermath of Order 66. Obi-Wan's life in the deserts of Tatooine as he kept a watchful eye over young Luke.