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He’s come a long way, the young one.
He is proud of his creation like a father, who is proud of his child who takes their first steps too late and learns with difficulty what others master with ease. He is proud of the yellow reflections in the narrowed eyes - and of the way they fade as the rage weakens and curls up inside like a sleeping beast. Until next time. Until next time, when it will be released and set on the enemy. It was he who helped this rage fully unfold; it was he who helped it grow inside. They both paid dearly for this metamorphosis. Sometimes he catches himself missing the golden hair, the warmth of the hands, which have been now replaced by mechanical prostheses, and the possibility to see the face, now almost always hidden by a black helmet. He misses himself, who once fell in love with a talanted boy with intelligent eyes and lost him in the name of the greater good.
They have nightmares, both of them have, but he can't find out what's going on in that helmet-covered head. So he goes through his pain alone.
In his dreams, he sees a Jedi with sad, understanding eyes who dies with his name on the lips. He feels regret, guilt, and sadness, as if he has lost a much-loved mentor and teacher. In his dreams, the Jedi always rises, covering his small but fatal wound with his hand, and watches him with that knowing look until he can't stand it any longer and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, in the place of the familiar ghost he sees Maul. A glowing trail cuts Maul’s body in half, and he watches his own hands lowering a green lightsaber.
“What have you done?” Maul asks in a hoarse, rough voice. Really, what has he done?
He doesn't have time to justify himself to Maul. He is carried further along the waves of sleep, to where his old mentor, count Dooku, dies, and he feels regret again. Light comes from the count's cut throat; he hears his own voice speaking to someone standing in the shadows behind the kneeling Sith Lord.
“You shouldn't have done that, young one. You shouldn't have killed him. This is the path that will lead you to the other side.”
And then yellow eyes sparkle out of the shadows. “Isn't that what you really wanted for me, master?”
The weight of the lightsaber in his hands is replaced by the weight of the blaster. He hates blasters - never elegant, never neat, they are weapons for ordinary soldiers, not for Force-users. But he picks up this crude weapon and shoots at the defenseless innards in the middle of General Grievous's spread armor. After the first shot Grievous gives him a look of confusion and disbelief; after a couple more shots, the light comes out of his eyes. This fighting trick doesn't suit either a Jedi or a Sith, but he kills General again and again, and the ghost of Grievous rises and rises in front of him in full growth. In one of these nightmares, there is a red lightsaber in one of his hands.
It reminds him of other scarlet sabers with curved handles in the hands of Asajj Ventress. He repels her attack, though not without difficulty, but even lying on the floor, she tries to reach him and hit him with a metal shard. He can almost feel the blood on his tongue; can almost hear the crackle of torn cloth. He likes watching her die.
“You don't feel sorry for me anymore,” Ventress spits out along with the blood. “You've finally grown up.”
He smiles.
“I have.”
He wakes up in the middle of the night, breathing hoarsely, and sits down on the ground, not immediately remembering where he is. Maul is sitting cross-legged on his right, focused on what he has in his hands, changing some element of the lightsaber handle. The glow of a small fire plays on his face, and a vision of a very different fire and Maul dying in his arms suddenly overshadows reality. It's only a brief moment, but he feels dizzy and nauseous.
“What's wrong with you again?” Maul asks without interrupting his own work.
“Visions,” he says reluctantly. In the next second, his voice becomes haughty and stern, “Nightmares you’ve never dreamed of. Not something you really want to know about.”
Maul snorts, putting down his tools, and turns to face him. He sees the reflections of the fire in his eyes.
“I don't know what you're dreaming about, but I know you,” Maul says. “I know that you’ll turn any nightmare to your advantage.”
And he's not wrong about that.
When they return to the dreadnought, he changes clothes in his usual cabin. He wears dark colors, but it is not the color of the clothes that leads to the Dark Side. It's all about his heart. Broken and hardened like a rock, it weighs so much inside his chest. It's like an anchor that keeps him from forgetting why he's here and not somewhere else.
He brushes his hair and goes to the bridge for a scheduled meeting. His soft step reflects the weight of the approaching footsteps of the another one, who is clad in black armor from head to toe. As they approach each other, he leans down and gently touches the black glove with his lips.
“Lord Vader.”
“General Kenobi.”
“I’ve brought you good news.”
“As always, General.”
No one expects anything less from him than good news. Sometimes it looks like a Jedi lightsaber, sometimes it looks like a severed head, but it's always good. Vader's got used to him, Vader is cold and indifferent. Vader has nightmares, but he hides them so far inside that even death will not force him to tell about them aloud.
He looks at him, but sees only his helmet. He tries to look under this helmet, but it's too late. Now he can't even see the yellow eyes – the last thing left.
The last vision appears before him: he sees his own death and his beautiful creation, Anakin Skywalker finally turning to the Light.
Obi-Wan shrugs his shoulders.
Maybe in some very, very different galaxy far, far away.