The Last Name I'll Ever Speak

I remember you as a boy on a desert world. Dust in your hair, fire in your eyes, your laughter too bright for the sand to hold. You ran faster than the storms. You believed freedom was more than a dream. You called me teacher, and I thought I could keep you safe. I thought I could keep you whole. The halls of the temple took your voice and shaped it into duty. Still, you trusted me. Still, you followed me. And I swore I would never let you fall. War came. The galaxy burned, and you burned brighter than all of it. Every battle was yours to win, every scar another badge of glory. I saw the fear behind your eyes, but you buried it under power. Power that whispered your name in the dark. You held the galaxy in your hand, but it was never enough. Not for the child who lost his mother. Not for the man who could not bear to lose love. You reached for promises that turned to ash in your mouth. I felt the temple shudder. Children silenced. Voices I will never hear again. And in the silence— your shadow. I called your name across the stars. You did not answer. Instead you built a throne from ashes, a crown of fear, a mask of iron. Do you know what you became? Do you know what you destroyed? Every oath, every trust, every hand that ever reached for you. You severed it with your blade. You severed yourself. And now here we are. Flames beneath us. The sky breaking open. And still I see the boy— the boy who wanted to be free. You are not this mask. You are not this machine. I see you, Anakin. Beneath the ruin. Beneath the rage. I see you. You were my brother. You were my brother. You were my brother! And I would trade my life, my blade, my soul— if it could tear the dark away from you. But you do not hear me. The fire takes you deeper. The mask closes. The child is gone. And all I can do is leave you to the prison you built. To the silence you chose. To the name you buried. Anakin. My last word for you is Anakin. May the Force remember who you were, when you no longer can.