It all looked so clear now. Each one of the pasts’ many threads -- colors of gold and blue, red and green -- creating a detailed tapestry of pure understanding.
He could see the weave, the texture of choices and events, leading them all to this moment.
Anakin: to the darkness.
Padmé: to the light, finally at peace.
And he: somewhere in between.
Could a different pattern have been braided?
Would it have been possible to forge a different history, thereby setting the design of a different future?
. . . Could his love have saved her – thereby saving them all?
No. Ultimately, the loom’s threads had been set to weave far too long ago.
The color of night isn’t black.
It’s vibrant blue and yellow, green, pink, and red. It buzzed and flashed, its neon lighting the dark streets of Coruscant’s lower levels – cafes and nightclubs, bars and stripclubs.
It calls to the passersby from every direction: throbbing bass, delectable smells, a tease of some erotic delight and the promise of chemically-induced release. It lures them with their own vices, like the songs of sirens.
And . . . distracted them all from the darkness of the shadows in plain sight.
A cloaked figure embraced another in an overlooked alleyway. Their hushed and hurried whispers all but muted against the roaring sound around them.
“Were you followed?” one asked.
“Not that I saw,” replied the other, “I missed you. It’s been so long.”
“I know. I . . . I’ve missed you too.”
She pulled back, peering into the black void of his hooded face, searching for aquamarine. “Are you alright?”
He hesitated, “Leading troops into battle? Fighting a war? This isn’t what we were meant to do. Not who we are supposed to be.”
The shorter figure cocked her head sideways. “The Jedi are peacekeepers. And, in this moment, stopping the Separatists is the only way to do that. We must restore peace in order for you to keep it.”
She heard him sigh, felt the light breath of his exhale against her hidden face. His silence told her that he understood, though he may not entirely agree. The hubbub outside seemed to grow louder.
“How long do I have you?” she asked as quietly as she dared.
The embrace around her waist tightened, drawing her close. “Not long. Perhaps a day. Maybe two . . . I’m sorry, Padmé.”
“Don’t be. It doesn’t matter how long it is. We’ll make the most of it.”
No one saw the reassuring kiss she placed upon his lips -- soft, slow, and full of tempting promise. No one noticed Obi-Wan respond, kissing her in return. They were safe in the shroud of dark anonymity that they had carved out for themselves amidst Coruscant’s vibrant deeper streets. Here they were two shadows joined, invisible within the neon night. Their movements swallowed by blackness, their words lost in the cacophony of the waiting galaxy at the alley’s edge.