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Willing someone else to join me in my journey of suffering had never worked before. Never stopped me from staring the young boy down as he diligently worked on his schoolwork. His red hair shone in the “natural” lighting of the temple as he bobbed between multiple holobooks. A research project that–if finished–would garner him the attention of a mentor to guide him towards Mastery. The stylus fell from the boy’s hand as he turned, looking right into my eyes. “Are you willing? It will not be easy.”
“If not me, then who?” the boy asked, “Would it be worse if I didn’t?”
Time seemed to freeze as visions passed behind those bright eyes. Visions of what he could accomplish with and without this burden. “Do you understand, young one?”
“I understand,” the boy said, leaving behind the work, “I’m destined for eternal suffering either way. With you, I’ll be able to do some good. Master Yoda says that we should not be attached to this crude matter, but serve the Force the best way we can.”
What an adorable vessel. “Your choice is made. Walk with me, Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi, and let's discuss how we can save more people than last time.” Holding out my hand for his, anticipations began to pound. No one had ever listened, saw, and then chose to follow anyways. We walked away from the Archives, bracing ourselves to step into the unknown.
Ben awoke with a scream on his lips, hand reaching for the ceiling. The pudgy hand of his eleven year old self had once again replaced his adult, war-torn hand. This was the 4th time he had cycled through this life. The first time, he had thought it was all a Sith trap, stole a ship, crashed it, got kidnapped by pirates, stole their ship and brought it back to Temple where he wandered in a daze for weeks before attacking every error that could have possibly led to the Jedi’s demise. Made it so that Anakin would be welcomed and loved, but still he fell, the Temple burned, and everyone died. The second time, he ran away to Mandalore, made sure that Jango Fett and the Jedi didn’t kill each other on Galidraan and united the clans of Mandalore. The Jedi still died by Anakin’s hand even when raised as a Mandalorian from a young age. The 3rd time he freed as many slaves as he could, both as himself the Jedi and hiring anyone who would accept the job, yet still everything went wrong, everyone died, he still ended up alone with the galaxy burning behind. He had died, once again by Vader’s hand, and once again he was eleven in his dorm room. Turning to the Force Presence that had been with him since that first research assignment all-nighter he had spent in the archives, “I know I was destined for eternal suffering, but will I get to stay dead one of these times? I didn’t mean the eternal thing literally.”
The Presence giggled and the vision of him finally resting in the force flashed behind his eyes. “The Goal can be achieved,” she said.
“How? How can it be achieved?” With another giggle, visions of Anakin dying at nearly every age before he destroys the Jedi flashes before his eyes: a baby left to die in a sandstorm, a youngling crashing their pod into a cliff, so many near-death experiences Anakin survived failing. Young Obi-Wan Kenobi punched the wall, fist breaking through quickly. Lights within the Initiate dorms flickered on as he heaved for breath.
Creche Master So-Ling gently opened the door. “Are you okay, Obi-Wan? You usually don’t project this loud–What happened to the wall, young one?” He raced over to inspect Obi-Wan’s hand, checking him over with the Force and his senses for any damage. “You’re hurt. Let’s head to the Halls of Healing for some bacta patches.” At the initiate’s incredulous look, he added, “Mainly so you can tell me what led to this.” The two walked down to the Halls of Healing, where Creche Master So-Ling grabbed a first-aid kit–eerily similar to the one kept in the Creche–and started tending to Obi-Wan’s hand. “What prompted this, Obi-Wan? You usually only get this angry with Bruck, and you two have been separated for nearly a week. Is anyone else bothering you?”
Kenobi kept silent, watching his hand being gently cared of and then returned.
“Was it another vision?” So-Ling asked.
He took a deep breath. Could he even say anything at this point? Would anyone believe him?
“Take a Chance,” the Force Presence pushed into his mind.
Another deep breath. “Have–has the Force ever called you to do something against your personal morals?”
The consistent and patient breathing of Creche Master So-Ling seemed to stop. “I’m afraid I’m going to need a bit more information there. What do you feel the Force is calling you to do, Obi-Wan?”
“I know that I’m destined for eternal suffering–”
“--what?!”
Kenobi continued on as if never interrupted, “but Anakin is a child of the Force, the Chosen One to bring balance. Why am I being called to cull my Padawan instead of making a galaxy that would accept and welcome him home with open arms?”
“Obi-Wan,” So-Ling said, “I’m confused. Your Padawan? The Chosen One? How about we take a few deep breaths and start from the beginning.” He reached out for the Initiate’s hand once again, but young Obi-Wan did not seem to register the questions, movement, nor touch. He just kept talking. Instead, Creche Master So-Ling listened, committing everything he could to memory. This seemed to be more of an issue Master Yoda could untangle, but Obi-Wan was settling into the Force finally, so that would have to wait. He could listen, and pass this concern when both he and Obi-Wan were ready.
Nearly an hour of Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi straight up rambling, Master So-Ling could say with utter certainty that he was confused and quite concerned. He had already sent a quick message to his Creche team that 1: Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi was safe and 2: An issue would keep the two away, so please excuse them both from their duties for the time being. Another message had been sent to Master Yoda, but the old troll hadn’t stopped by yet. Maybe he was still asleep. All he could figure from Obi-Wan’s litany of worries was that he likely was quite unbalanced by an upsetting vision and was trying to logic himself to a solution for the best scenario.
Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi had grabbed a stylus and flimsi, scribbling notes as he worked through plans. Creche Master So-Ling was trying to participate, but was still missing so much context. Instead, Obi-Wan used him as a sounding board for possible successful permutations where he could ensure Anakin lived without killing all of the Jedi. Hope was starting build within his chest as his new life-plan built itself. He just had to do everything he had done in the past couple of rounds all at once, recuse Shmi and Anakin even earlier and all will be well. He could do this!
23 years later Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi stood before the security console in a daze. Once again, the holo recordings showed Anakin slaughtering everyone, a battalion of droids behind him. They had prevented Galidraan so Fett never cloned himself, Anakin had been raised as an Initiate, the Jedi had changed policies, Palpatine never talked to him, yet here was Vader, once again eradicating the Jedi.
Obi-Wan Kenobi woke with a scream. Eleven years old again. The 5th time had to be the charm. Maybe this time, they would leave the Jedi and work together in the Corp.
Death.
A scream. 6th time. Maybe Anakin would be suited as a Creche Master.
Death.
A scream. 12th time. This time, he would leave Anakin on Tatooine. Maybe he never should have left.
Yet, the Jedi still die.
By the 25th cycle, Obi-Wan had started writing out plans. If he wrote out and tested every possibility where Anakin lived, then he would find it. Infinite choices and events made in those 23 years. Infinite opportunities, eternal suffering, and still…
50th time: Death.
100th time: Death.
For the 1,564th time, Obi-Wan Kenobi awoke in the Initiate dorms at eleven years old with a scream on his lips. So many lifetimes attempted, and he still couldn’t get it right. Turning to the Force Presence, he murmured, “I haven’t tried the darkside yet.”
She rolled her eyes. “You also haven’t tried killing him yet.”
Kenobi’s shoulders slumped, “It’s not like there would be any true consequences if I fell.”
“Make your choice then.”
Kenobi dived into the Force. He had given everything. It was time to take. His eyes turned yellow, the world flipped, and the energy to take had dissipated.
He woke with a scream.
“1,565th round, young one,” the Force Presence said, “When you agreed to help me, you agreed to do it without falling.”
“But killing Anakin–”
“--is one sacrifice to save the many. Do it.”
Eleven year old Obi-Wan Kenobi stood tall. “No. There has to be another way.”
He tried. Anakin once again fell and killed them all.
“How old are you,” Master Yoda asked.
“Thirteen,” Kenobi said.
“Not of this crude matter. Old, your soul is.”
Kenobi thought for a time. This was the 2,114th round. He could scarcely remember all he had tried to ensure Anakin would stay light. Some rounds ended later, some earlier. “I don’t know, Master,” he said after a minute, “but I know I’ve been older than you for a long time.”
“Humph. Called you, the Force has to do what?”
Ashla, the Force Presence, glared at him. “To kill Anakin Skywalker before he kills us all. He won’t be born for another year on Tatooine under the setting of the second sun to Shmi Skywalker, slave to Gardulla the Hutt. Conceived by the Force to bring balance.”
“Call to slay the balance you have, hmm,” Master Yoda said, “And yet, you have not.”
“Everything I have ever done in my lifetimes has been for him! I have tried everything to make sure he has a home to come to, people for him to love and be loved by, yet every single time he kills us all. I have loved him and shown my love, hidden it, raised him, chose someone better, changed the galaxy for him, and yet it is not enough. It has never been enough for him!”
Master Yoda listened as Kenobi poured his heart on the major changes and sacrifices he had made for the boy and yet betrayal had always followed. Thousands of years of failures. In the midst of Kenobi’s despair, Yoda smacked his shins with the walking stick. “Attached, you are. Let him go, you must.”
“I’ve tried that, and he still burns us down.” Kenobi bent over his bruised shin, eyes defiant against his Grandmaster even as tears carved paths down his cheeks.
“Make him go, you have been called, yet listened, you have not. Suffering you will feel, if let go, you will not.”
“Master Yoda,” Kenobi said through heaving gasps, “I… I… I can’t.”
“Then die, we will.”
And die, they did.
A 15 year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi carefully held baby Anakin Skywalker in his arms. Once again, he had rescued the two from slavery. “I’m so sorry Anakin, I’ve tried 4,325,872 times to create a world where you are happy and light to the end. Everyone says that I need to let you go.” Walking to the balcony of Formally Gardulla’s Palace, he gazed over the Dune Sea. Baby Anakins reached out towards the setting suns. “I’ve raised you as my own. Made sure your path was never known, yet you still slaughtered mine and my own. At every stage of life, we have tried with and without the Jedi and every possible walk of life. Your light has been my guiding star and I have tried over and over again. I’ve suffered every punishment and pain for you. I have beaten Sith and gods over and over for you, changed the galaxy to see your smile, and yet you’re the same person. My brother who shines like a sun, burns like a comet, and you’re my hope. You are the balance and yet you join the Sith every time. Why?”
“If he is the balance,” Lady Shmi said, leaning against the doorway, “then why are you surprised that he balances the power of the Jedi and the Sith?”
The ever buzzing of his thoughts stopped. “Pardon?”
“Sentient survival is a balance. If the balance is skewed, a major shift must occur. The Jedi are many, the Sith are few. Can Anakin be balanced?”
Kenobi caressed the round cheeks of baby Anakin. “I have never seen it.”
“Then he balances the imbalance.”
“Which is why we die, every single time.”
Shmi glided across the balcony towards the two, “What must you do, Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi?”
“He’s your son.”
“I know,” her hand rested against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, firm in strength, yet gentle in placement.
“How can you be okay with this?”
Lady Shmi Skywalker gently took her child from Obi-Wan, rocking him in her arms. “Without the sun, we wouldn’t suffer its burning heat, but we also can’t survive without it. This galaxy has sacrificed for me and I must sacrifice in return.”
“Do you love him?”
“With everything that I am. You love him too, but you cannot let love chain you to your eternal suffering.” She kissed Ani on his head, handing him back to Obi-Wan.
“How can I do this? Please don’t make me do this,” tears dripped down his cheeks. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he was begging Shmi or the Force or Ashla for another way.
“A weathered finger wiped away a tear. “Don’t waste water, child. Ani is a precious gift, but a curse must be thrown out to the wind.”
“He’s not a curse! He’s a boy and a precious light.” Anakin’s hand grabbed and began to tug on Kenobi’s padawan braid. Turning to the boy, he whispered, “The galaxy is a cruel place, little one,” as he gently pried the braid from the baby’s hand. “Ashla says that you don’t get to fight the cruelty. Is it kinder to ensure you live your entire life in the light when I know you end in darkness every single time?” He turned to Ashla, “Is this what you wanted from me all this time?”
Ashla bowed her head. “Not what I wanted, but what is needed. It’s time to rest.”
Kenobi bowed his head as the stars began to shine over the desert. With one hand carefully holding Anakin, he gazed over his lightsaber, the symbol of the Jedi and his commitment to hold the betterment of the galaxy over any individual. “For all of us,” he murmured, igniting his lightsaber one last time, he raised it high, wished the galaxy goodbye, and finally let go. Both bodies collapsed to the ground and the Force let out a sigh of relief. Finally, time passed on.
The Jedi lived.
Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker did not.