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Coruscant was luminous. Buildings, standing tall against the backdrop of the night sky, twinkled in their own particular rhythm, contrasting with the more distant stars and planets that could barely be discerned amidst the urban landscape.
A singular figure stood in front of a large window, looking out upon the busy streets of the capital city. It was beautiful, in its own peculiar way - the networks of traffic, the labyrinthine corridors, the spectacular towers, rising like jagged mountains on the horizon.
The stars are missing. What happened to the stars?
A memory - so many years ago. The same window. A young boy tugging at his hand.
~
“Obi-wan! Obi-wan!” The sense of anxiety rose with each iteration of his name.
He was so young - so confused. They both were.
“What’s the matter, Anakin?” He marveled at the steadiness of his own voice. The confidence, as if he actually knew what he was doing. It had barely been a month since...
A small, clammy hand grasped his. “Obi-wan. Master.” The child uttered the second term a bit more tentatively, still trying out the word on his tongue. “What happened to the stars?”
The stars? Why - why they were right there! At least some of them.
Coruscant had a tendency to swallow star systems whole with its own luminescence. It rarely bothered Obi-wan. He rather enjoyed the artificial lights of the capital.
Of course, he had seen the stars from less populated planets and marveled at the sheer number of them. He remembered the first time he had seen them away from Coruscant, on his way to Bandomeer -
The young Jedi swallowed the surge of grief, working furiously to purge the thought from his mind.
Something tugged at him with a frantic consistency. A hand.
Anakin, he realized, belatedly.
“Obi-wan!” the young child cried out.
By the Force, he is truly concerned about this. The young Jedi Knight ran his free hand over his face, stubble just beginning to form on his chin. Nothing had prepared him for the massive responsibility of bringing up a child. A child who also happened to have the potential to be the most powerful Jedi in recent history. For not the first time, he stifled his urge to panic at the full weight of these realizations. Instead, the young man forced his gaze outside.
Obi-wan loved this window, this particular view. There was something calming about watching the network of urban life, as if it were a microcosm of the universe itself, some kind of strange illustration of both the Living and Unifying Force.
Anakin, however, did not seem to share his fascination with the landscape.
Come now, Kenobi. He admonished himself. Do something here.
He looked down at the young face, full of innocence and terror, looking to him as if he held all the answers in the world.
Obi-wan crouched down to come level with the boy.
“Anakin. The stars haven’t gone anywhere. Just look over there.” He pointed to a dim constellation to the west. “That’s the ‘Little Wampa.’” He pointed to the opposite direction. “And there. ‘The Jedi’s Robe.’”
The child ran his sleeve over his nose. I really must discourage him from that type of behavior, the older Jedi thought idly.
“But Obi-wan. There were so many more stars on Tatooine. Millions of them. They’re missing here.” The boy’s features began to scrunch up again in worry.
Obi-wan sighed inwardly. And here I thought bringing Anakin to this place would be relaxing. Good job, Kenobi. They had been so busy the first month - Anakin needed to be caught up with his studies, and Obi-wan had dived right into the task, preparing lessons and supplementary exercises into the early hours of each night so his Padawan would not be so behind. In reality, the young Jedi was barely a lesson ahead of his charge most days, and spent much of his spare time reading ahead just to be sure he wouldn’t be caught unaware by his very intelligent student. It was frantic, but a welcome distraction for both of them - Anakin was still missing his mother and Obi-wan still felt the hole where -
“Anakin.” The name came out a little more tense than he had intended. “The stars you saw on Tatooine are still in the galaxy.” Obi-wan allowed himself a small, reassuring smile. “But here on Coruscant, there is so much light that we can’t see all the stars.” The boy opened his mouth worriedly.
Obi-wan put a hand up to stall the inevitable waterfall of words that was characteristic of his young charge. “But -” He placed both his hands on Anakin’s shoulders. “Just because we can’t see something, doesn’t mean it’s not there.”
Something about the statement gave the boy pause. Obi-wan could see Anakin’s features transition from worried, to pensive, to understanding. Such an emotive child. It was not the first time the older man had taken notice of this. Anakin’s face betrayed his thoughts before he even had formulated the words to express his feelings.
Just as Obi-wan was certain that he had failed to console the young boy (again, he thought ruefully), Anakin gave him a toothy smile.
“Just like I know my Mom is on Tatooine still. Even though I can’t see her right now.”
Obi-wan let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He patted Anakin’s shoulders.
“Exactly, Anakin. We are Jedi - we must trust the Force.” He hesitated for a moment before standing up. “Have faith, Anakin.”
They stood in companionable silence, watching the lights of Coruscant - the oddly beautiful lattice of speeder traffic below, the shimmering illumination of windows, each holding its own story within, the rainbows of the neon store signs, beckoning to passersby - ‘Food,’ ‘Bar,’ ‘Shop.’
“Master Obi-wan?”
“Yes, Anakin?”
“Do you think...” the young boy trailed off, as if he were afraid to ask the question.
“Come now, Anakin - you can ask.” Obi-wan desperately wanted the boy’s trust, despite his tendency to act distant towards him.
The young blonde looked uncertain. “Do you think Master Qui-gon is out there? With the stars we can’t see?” Anakin brought his gaze to meet Obi-wan’s.
The question settled in the older Jedi’s stomach like lead.
Visions of his former Master flashed before him, superimposing themselves on the city skyline. He and Qui-gon sparring in the Temple. Rummaging for tea in their quarters. The older man’s hearty laugh. The feel of his hands on his shoulders. Obi-wan cradling his long body as the life went out of him. The acrid smell of the funeral pyre he had lit himself -
“Obi-wan?” Anakin asked, trembling.
What could he say? No? He’d dead, he’s never coming back? Dead, dead, dead. Obi-wan was rooted to the spot, unable to move but wanting so badly to run, to run from the very fact of Qui-gon’s absence.
~Obi-wan.~ He could almost hear the man speaking to him.
The young Jedi chanced a look down at his Padawan, eyes wide in expectation.
“Master?”
A memory.
He didn’t remember the planet - it was irrelevant, really. He and Qui-gon were camped in a forest for the night. It was an early mission of theirs - not too far after Bandomeer. Obi-wan had still been adjusting to the less inhabited worlds outside of Coruscant - the forests, the deserts - devoid of the humming energy that was omnipresent in a place like the capital.
”It’s dark, Master. You can hear everything here.”
Qui-gon gave him an enigmatic smile. “Are you afraid, Padawan?”
His pride scoffed at such a suggestion. *Not afraid. Disturbed, perhaps.*
“No, not at all, Master,” he replied evenly.
“Of course, young Obi-wan.” Qui-gon turned to the stew he was preparing.
The silence that descended on the forest was deafening. The dark was nearly tangible in its opaqueness, its near-viscosity. Obi-wan felt trapped by it.
“Padawan.” Qui-gon was next to him, one hand on his shoulder.
“There is so much darkness, Master. It’s nearly suffocating. Not even the stars are out tonight.” He looked up at the cloud-covered sky, which revealed none of its intentions.
“Look at me, Obi-wan.”
The young apprentice turned his head, ashamed that something so simple as a dark sky could be so...disquieting to him.
“We are stars wrapped in skin, the light you are seeking has always been within.” Qui-gon gave him a meaningful look and pressed his finger into Obi-wan’s chest. “In here, Padawan. There are your stars, your light. Have faith in the Force, young one.”
The night sky suddenly seemed a bit brighter.
Tug, tug, tug.
“...Obi-wan?”
Obi-wan’s gaze did not stray from the window. He sighed.
“I miss him, too, Anakin. More than you know.”
Anakin stilled.
“But - you’re right.” He turned his head to smile at his young pupil. “We must have faith. Just because Qui-gon isn’t here right now does not mean he is not with us.”
Obi-wan pointed at Anakin’s chest. “We carry our stars within, Anakin. Never forget that. Even the ones we can’t see right now.” He turned back to the window, vision blurred by unshed tears. He could feel Anakin calm at the statement. The Force hummed with pleasure and content.
Thank you, Qui-gon.
~
How many stars had gone out in the sky?
Nearly three years of war.
The number of stars he now carried within him was nearly of an insurmountable weight.
Adi Gallia, Evan Piell, the clones... The list went on and on.
Obi-wan held his chin with his hand.
The Coruscant skyline. Mostly unchanged upon first glance.
But Obi-wan had noticed the lights going out. The tenants who could no longer afford to keep their apartments. The chaotic beauty of speeder traffic that was slowly being replaced by angular, military formations. The former rainbow of shop signs, slowly being condensed into a singular, drab blue.
To unify us, the Chancellor had said.
Even Coruscant’s urban stars were being extinguished, one by one.
Until we will have no stars left.
Darkness. It was the solstice - the longest night of the Coruscanti planetary cycle.
How appropriate for such a time, the Jedi Master thought cynically.
He was afraid.
The weight of it all was too much. He knew from his studies what would happen next. The star’s mass would build and build, until it had exhausted all of its fuel. At that point it would collapse.
One star alone wouldn’t be enough to bring the darkness. But Obi-wan was carrying a multitude of stars within himself. Their combined power might be enough.
And then there was the newest star he had added to his collection. The one that by itself might be enough to trigger the black hole. The unremitting darkness that swallowed all Light.
Satine...
He closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotion, balling his hand into a fist against the glass that separated him from the rest of the city.
“Remember, my dear Obi-wan...I loved you always...I always will.”
The window was cool against his forehead, fogging where his breath met glass.
His fuel was running out. The stars would collapse. The gravitational pull of the darkness was too much.
And if he Fell on the longest night of the cycle? Light was such a precious, expensive commodity. It cost so much.
It had cost him too much.
“Obi-wan?”
He held his breath. Anakin.
The Jedi Master hadn’t spoken with his former student since returning from Mandalore except to utter a half-hearted apology for the loss of his ship and to shove a few credits at him before quickly sequestering himself in his quarters.
“Obi-wan...are you - are you alright?” Anakin was concerned.
In the normal life of a star there is a constant tug of war between gravity pulling in and pressure pushing out. For most of a star’s life, gravity and pressure balance each other exactly, and so the star is stable. However, when a star runs out of nuclear fuel, gravity gets the upper hand and the material in the core is compressed even further. The more massive the core of the star, the greater the force of gravity that compresses the material, collapsing it under its own weight.
He had always been fond of his astronomy studies. Until now, when it felt more like a condemnation of fate rather than an intellectual curiosity.
A hand on his shoulder. A soft voice.
“Obi-wan.”
He turned around, eyes rimmed red, fist clenched, waiting for his collapse.
Obi-wan felt, rather than saw the shock register on his former student’s face.
He took a large, shuddering breath.
“She’s dead, Anakin,” his voice cracked.
Obi-wan didn’t need to explain any more.
To his credit, his former Padawan didn’t say a word, didn’t try to console him with platitudes. Instead, he stood silently next to Obi-wan, looking out the large window upon the dark Coruscanti night.
He felt the unbearable weight of his stars, on the verge of collapsing into that void which would take all Light.
“What was Mandalore like, Master?”
A long silence.
“Before the war. When there was peace.”
Beautiful. Strange. So different and yet so similar to here.
He found himself speaking of everything and nothing at all. Of Manadalore’s large glass buildings. Its strange polygon foliage. The way the planet’s lights would meld into the sky behind it, almost as if the stars themselves were part of the architecture. He spoke on and on of its beauty, its elegance, its hidden strength. Of the way the light reflected and refracted through its atmosphere. He did not know where the line separating the planet and her was. It didn’t matter. He felt the weight of his stars lift, little by little, until he was no longer afraid of collapse. Of the void.
For most of a star’s life, gravity and pressure balance each other exactly, and so the star is stable. Push and pull. A team.
“It must have been beautiful, Obi-wan.”
“It was, Anakin. It was.”
They stood, shoulder-to-shoulder, until the night turned to dawn.
~
There were so many stars he didn’t even know where to begin.
So much light set against such darkness. He wrapped his cloak around himself and lay in the sand, making up names for the images he saw in the sky.
“And over there - if you squint. That’s Dex’s Diner, that constellation. And just to the right of it you can see the Passageway, where all of those stars look to be in a line. That was the busiest street in Coruscant.”
Over time, he had constructed and re-constructed the skyline of the capital in the stars of Tatooine. He told the banthas about them, identifying each landmark on the planet. The banthas, for their part, showed little interest.
“Well then, Dolo, if you do not wish to learn, then you had better be on your way.”
The bantha gave a snort and trudged through the dune, away from the crazy old hermit.
There were other constellations. Ones that he kept secret even from the likes of Dolo and her friends.
Over there - that star that looks elongated. That must be Qui-gon.
He smiled sadly.
And that one there - the one that seems to flash between different colors. It’s beautiful. That one is Satine.
He thought of the day when he would join them in the sky, casting off his skin to become one with the constellations of those he had loved.
Not yet. I still have one more mission.
Perhaps the brightest star of them all shone near the ground of the desert planet.
Luke.
~
Years later, New Republic astronomers would discover a new set of binary stars that shone above Coruscant. Push and pull, they fed and fought each other, one a blaze of red, the other a calm blue. Together, they were a thing of powerful beauty, illuminating the Coruscanti night sky, watching over its denizens. Astronomers marveled at the symbiosis, the partnership between the two celestial objects. Jedi Luke Skywalker, however, was not surprised. He knew who they really were.
He looked up and smiled at the night sky.