Obi-Wan's conversation with Qui-Gon's spirit echoed in his mind—a beacon of understanding in impossible darkness.
This world is the source of the Force.
"Anakin." Obi-Wan's voice cut through the tension, steady and certain. "This planet—Mortis—it's the Force's wellspring. The nexus of all Cosmic energy in the galaxy." His eyes locked with his former Padawan's. "Feel it. Let it flow through you. Not as a Jedi. As what you truly are."
Anakin looked at his master, questions forming and dying unspoken. Then he nodded once and closed his eyes.
The chamber fell silent.
Anakin stopped moving, stopped thinking, stopped being anything except awareness. He reached out through the Force—not with the careful control Jedi training had instilled, but with raw openness, letting himself become a conduit rather than a wielder.
And Mortis answered.
The Force didn't just touch him. It flooded through him like a dam breaking, like a star going nova inside his chest. Power that had always been there, always lurking beneath his skin, finally found its source. Mortis amplified what he was, revealed what he could become.
"You need not fear for them," a voice whispered—not the Father speaking aloud, but something resonating directly into Anakin's consciousness. "Show them what you are. What you've always been."
Anakin's arms spread wide.
Light erupted from him—not just Force energy, but something fundamental. The ground beneath his feet cracked in concentric circles. His hair whipped in wind that came from everywhere and nowhere. The carved yin-yang symbol on the arena floor blazed with luminescence, day and night halves pulsing in counterpoint to his heartbeat.
The Son and Daughter froze mid-advance, their forms locked as if time itself had stopped applying to them.
Then the sky changed.
Day collapsed into night in the span of a breath. Stars blazed into existence overhead, so bright they cast shadows. The air pressure shifted, and everyone felt it—weight pressing down, then lifting, reality bending around Anakin Skywalker like space bending around a black hole.
"What..." Ahsoka breathed, her montrals sensing vibrations in the Force she'd never imagined possible.
Anakin's eyes opened, blazing with inner light.
The Son and Daughter flew.
Not thrown—commanded. They rocketed backward as if Anakin's will had become physical law, their transformed bodies slamming into opposite walls hard enough to crater stone. They fell, wings crumpling, and tried to rise—
"Stop."
The single word carried the weight of galaxies.
Both children of the Ones crashed to their knees. Their transformations failed, wings and talons dissolving, leaving them in their humanoid forms pressed flat against the ground by invisible pressure. They strained against it, the Son's red eyes blazing with fury, the Daughter's golden gaze wide with shock.
Neither could move so much as a finger.
"Whoa," Peter whispered, his entire body tingling with proximity to so much concentrated power. His spider-sense wasn't warning him of danger—it was simply aware, recognizing something vast.
Ahsoka stood frozen, her training warring with what she witnessed. This was her master. The man who taught her, who joked with her, who argued about mission protocols. And he was this.
Obi-Wan's expression mixed pride with something approaching grief. He'd known, on some level. Had suspected since Qui-Gon first announced Anakin as the Chosen One. But knowing intellectually and seeing were different things.
T'Challa watched with tactical assessment overriding shock. Whatever Anakin had just done, it exceeded anything Wakandan science or Bast's blessing could achieve. This was power on par with the Infinity Stones themselves.
Vision's Mind Stone pulsed erratically, attempting to categorize what it sensed and failing. The energy signature didn't match any database entry. It was Force, yes, but also something more—potential made manifest, destiny crystallizing into reality.
Night gave way to dawn in accelerated motion, the sun cresting the horizon in seconds rather than hours.
Anakin lowered his arms.
The pressure released. The Son and Daughter gasped, drawing breath like drowning victims breaking the surface. They remained kneeling, either unable or unwilling to stand.
"Now you've seen it," Anakin said quietly, his voice carrying none of the cosmic resonance it had held moments before. Just exhaustion. "Is that proof enough?"
The Father stepped forward, and for the first time since they'd arrived on Mortis, he looked moved. Not just satisfied—awed.
"Only the Chosen One could do what you have done." His voice trembled slightly. "Only one perfectly balanced between light and dark could command both my children simultaneously." He moved closer to Anakin, his ancient eyes bright with tears. "You are the answer. Everything I've sought, everything I've endured—you are proof it wasn't in vain."
Anakin swayed slightly, the immense power drain catching up to him. Peter moved instinctively to steady him, and Anakin gripped his shoulder gratefully.
"I passed your test," Anakin said, forcing strength into his voice. "Now let us go. That was the agreement."
"First," the Father replied, "you must understand what this means—"
"No." Peter stepped forward, anger overriding his usual deference to authority. "No more. You put us through hell with your 'test.' You nearly killed people. We're done here."
"I will not harm them further," the Father assured. "I give my word. But Anakin must hear this."
Anakin straightened, pulling away from Peter's support though his legs still felt unsteady. "Then say it quickly. We have a galaxy to get back to."
The Father gestured toward the others. "Your companions may return to your ship. This concerns only you and your destiny."
"Whatever you have to say to him, you can say to all of us," Obi-Wan stated firmly.
"Master—" Anakin held up a hand. "It's okay. Go. I'll be right behind you."
Ahsoka moved close enough to whisper, her voice low and urgent. "Don't trust him."
Anakin met her eyes and saw genuine fear there—not of the Father, but for Anakin. "I know what I'm doing, Snips. Trust me."
She wanted to argue. He could see it in the set of her montrals, the tension in her shoulders. But after a moment, she nodded and stepped back.
"Come on, old man," Peter said, forcing levity. "Let's give them privacy."
The group moved toward where their ship had mysteriously reappeared—either returned by the Father or simply because Mortis had decided they were allowed to leave. The Son and Daughter followed on unsteady legs, the Son radiating resentment, the Daughter looking at Anakin with something approaching reverence.
When only Anakin and the Father remained, the ancient being spoke.
"Do you feel it? Your destiny settling around you like a cloak?"
"No," Anakin admitted. "I feel exhausted and ready to leave this place."
"My time is ending," the Father said softly. "I've maintained balance here for eons. Kept my children from destroying the galaxy. But I grow weary. The burden..." He closed his eyes. "You could take my place. Assume my role. Become the balance point this galaxy requires."
Anakin stared at him. "You want me to stay here? Forever?"
"To maintain what must be maintained. To ensure light and dark remain in equilibrium." The Father's expression was pleading now, desperate. "This is what the prophecy means—not to destroy the Sith, but to become the living embodiment of balance itself."
"I can't." The words came out flat, certain. "I have responsibilities. People depending on me. A war to fight. A wife—" He caught himself. "Friends. Students. I can't just abandon them."
"This is your destiny," the Father insisted. "Foretold before your species discovered fire. Everything has led to this moment—"
"Then the prophecy is wrong." Anakin's voice hardened. "Or I'm not actually the Chosen One. Because I'm not staying."
"Your selfishness will haunt you." The Father's tone turned cold. "Will haunt the entire galaxy."
"What else am I supposed to carry?" Anakin demanded. "I'm already a slave to a war I didn't start. A general leading men bred to die. A Jedi who doubts the Order's teachings. How much more can one person bear?"
"You don't understand." The Father moved closer, his presence overwhelming. "You aren't just carrying a burden. You are the burden. The weight the galaxy must bear. Your existence, your choices—they will reshape everything."
He gestured broadly, encompassing Mortis and beyond.
"I sought to create life, to birth stars without destroying worlds. I was punished for that hubris. But you—you're proof that my vision wasn't impossible. That perfect balance can exist. That creation and destruction, light and dark, can coexist without mutual annihilation."
"Even if that's true," Anakin said, "I'm not ready for this. Not mature enough. Not wise enough. The galaxy is at war. The Sith are rising. My place is on the front lines, not trapped here playing warden to your children."
"Then you will regret this choice." The Father's voice was heavy with inevitability. "The path you choose leads to darkness. To suffering. I've seen it—"
"You've seen a possible future. Not the future." Anakin turned away. "I make my own choices. And I choose my friends. My duty. My life." He looked back over his shoulder. "Whatever consequences come from that—I'll face them. As me. Not as some cosmic prison guard."
The Father said nothing, his expression cycling through disappointment, resignation, and finally a kind of sad acceptance.
"Go then." He waved one hand, and the monastery's doors swung open. "Your ship awaits. But know this, Anakin Skywalker—you have passed my test. Proven yourself the Chosen One. Yet you reject your destiny."
His eyes held ancient sorrow.
"I wonder if that makes you wise or foolish. Time will tell."
Anakin didn't respond. He simply walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last, wondering if he'd just made the best or worst decision of his life.
The ship sat where they'd left it, perfectly intact despite all of Mortis's chaos.
"Did it just... return on its own?" Peter asked, staring at the vessel. "Because I'm pretty sure it wasn't here five minutes ago."
"Not the time to question miracles," Vision said, already moving up the ramp.
"Agreed," Obi-Wan added. "Let's leave before this world changes its mind about releasing us."
Footsteps on stone made them all turn.
Anakin descended the monastery steps, his expression unreadable. No Son or Daughter followed. No Father appeared to bid them farewell.
"Master!" Ahsoka rushed to him, searching his face for answers.
"What did he say?" T'Challa asked, his enhanced senses detecting emotional turmoil beneath Anakin's controlled exterior.
Anakin crossed his arms, a defensive gesture. "One last attempt to convince me to stay. Said it was my destiny to replace him. To spend eternity babysitting his children."
"You refused." Obi-Wan said it as a statement, not a question.
"Of course I refused." Anakin's jaw tightened. "I have responsibilities. People depending on me. I'm not abandoning the galaxy just because some ancient being thinks it's my 'destiny.'"
"Where are the Son and Daughter?" Vision scanned the area, finding no trace of the two beings.
"Licking their wounds somewhere, probably," Anakin said. "Doesn't matter. We're leaving."
"You really did kick their asses," Peter said admiringly. "That was... I don't even have words. That was beyond anything I've ever seen."
Anakin shook his head. "It wasn't me. Not really. This place—Mortis—it amplifies Force users. Makes us more than we are. Once we leave, I'll just be..." He trailed off.
"Yourself," Obi-Wan finished. "Which is more than enough."
They boarded the ship quickly, each of them eager to put distance between themselves and this impossible world.
As Obi-Wan passed Anakin at the ramp's base, he paused. One hand settled on his former Padawan's shoulder—a gesture of support, of pride, of concern all mixed together.
"Are you ready to leave this place?"
Anakin looked back at the monastery one final time. Somewhere in there, the Father sat alone, disappointed but accepting. The Son and Daughter recovered from their humiliation. And the weight of rejected destiny hung in the air like humidity before a storm.
"Yeah," Anakin said finally. "Let's go home."
But as the ship powered up and began its departure sequence, none of them noticed the figure watching from the shadows.
The Son's red eyes tracked their vessel, his expression calculating.
Leaving Mortis didn't mean they were free of it.
The trouble here had only just begun.