He dreams - and always, upon awakening, it's not enough.

It is never enough, to dream of the seasons and not be a part of that cycle - because he isn't a part of that cycle anymore, hasn't been since he donned the black, since he died, just as surely as he would have if he had remained in that lava pit. He'd never appreciated it before, but now ... oh, to be able to mark change and cycle, to be a part of rhythm and wheel - the seasons, Force, he misses the seasons.

It's never enough to watch, to remember, to regret, to repent and - sometimes - to wonder if things may have gone different.

So, in time, he learns to hate this cycle, this endlessly spinning wheel in his dreams, in his thoughts, in his blood. At the side of his dark master, with the galaxy at his feet, he learns to hate the eternal cycle of life and love -

- yet, always, he dreams.