Disclaimer: Not mine, never mine. Darn it , George!

Summary: Qui-Gon wakes up.

Notes: This is a short one-shot that I had to get down on paper. I'm working on everything else, but be patient with me.


The call goes out in death-cries. Out of the Light, I stir. Something is not right. Pain. Greif. A rip in the fabric of the Force as the Chosen One takes his first steps down the path to balance. But, sweet Force, must balance come like this? In fire and pain and the screams of women and children? I stretch toward the world I have abandoned for a decade. To my surprise, Oblivion allows me to slip from her arms. Loose in the ether, I search for the twisted presence that has called me.

And I find him. A maelstrom of anger and hurt and very little of it truly directed at the people he's cutting down. His mother lies in the tent behind him, her last "I love you" fading and forgotten. The Tuskens rush the boy, but the inferno of rage burns all the brighter. I stand right in front of him as a severed head goes through where my shoulder would be. He glares and raises his lightsaber, not seeing me as anything other than an obstacle. Desperately, I Call him, with the same strength he called me.

"Anakin! Anakin!"

"NOOOO!" The lightsaber passes through what would have been my chest, and it hurts. Not the blade, but the cry. He will not see me and cannot hear over the shrieks of his soul. My thread to Nothingness is shredded. I will not become fully one with the Force. I cannot.

I have been called. Now what?