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Hope.
Such a small little word.
One word that doesn’t seem like much.
One word that can alter the fates of so many.
One word that can hold the power to tear down walls.
One word that can burn brightly in the dark.
Hope had possibly been one of the only constants in Obi-Wan Kenobi’s life.
As a young Initiate he had hoped and dreamed of becoming a great and powerful Jedi Knight. Listening to the heroic tales of Knights of old, playing play-pretend in the crèche.
Hope was what had Obi-Wan, aged twelve, led to attend the Initiates’ tournament.
Hope of finally finding a Jedi Master willing to teach him, mere days before being shipped off to the AgriCorps.
Hope had gotten him through his time on Bandomeer, even if it had nearly cost him his life (by his own choosing), hoping that Master Jinn would save the others.
Hope was what he had been holding on to during the Melida Daan conflict. He couldn’t stand to see innocent die. So, he had handed his lightsaber to his Master, resigning himself to give up his dreams of becoming a Jedi Knight once again at the shy age of fourteen.
In the end it was that hope that had guided him back to the temple and onto the path the Force kept telling him to take.
Hope of being good enough one day had carried him through his apprenticeship, had made him strive to be better, not to fail. All in the vain hope of making his Master proud.
Hope had been his companion when he had taken Anakin as his Padawan learner.
Hope of helping this bright boy to ease the shadows of slavery. But hope and grief rarely mix well.
Hope had been what had made him accept the position in the Jedi Council once it had been offered to him.
Hope of repaying everything the Order had given him in his life.
Hope of sparing young Padawans the choices he had had to make so many years ago.
Hope had seen him through the Clone Wars. It had been all he could do after all.
Hope that all the suffering was for the greater good.
Hope and his unwavering trust in the Force.
Hope that he’d have time to mend his relationship with Anakin once they would finally find the time to breathe again.
Hope that all those deaths wouldn’t have been in vain.
Hope was all he had left after the fall of the Republic.
Hope in the shape of an infant he had been cradling on his way to Tatooine.
Hope he had found himself clinging to during many sleepless nights in the desert.
Hope was all he had had to keep the darkness at bay.
Hope to live and see better days, if not for himself then for young Luke, who was so much like his father.
Hope to not fail the ones he loved yet again.
Hope to be able to protect Luke.
Hope to pass on the teachings of the Jedi, of everything he had prided himself in, so, so long ago.
Hope to have his old Master answering him during his meditations, just like he had done for Master Yoda.
Not much of it came true but ‘Hope’ was the last word on his mind when he found himself facing Vader, once again. Their blades clashed together but Obi-Wan's eyes found Luke, fleeing the Death Star with his twin sister.
He felt more hopeful than he had in years and it was easy to accept the warm whispers of the Force.
Hope would never die after all.