Chapter Text
“Ahni... just Ahni. Nice to meet you, Anakin.”
The first time Ahni saw “the Chosen One,” he was very surprised.
It wasn't because of his age or the gossip around the temple, but because of a strange familiarity, as if he had known this boy before, a long time ago. It was like encountering something that had been lost for so long, but at that moment, Ahni wasn’t sure what that feeling really was.
Even though that feeling lingered constantly, he never got close enough to speak with Anakin. He would only observe him from a distance, unless they had to cross paths. At first, Ahni didn’t think Anakin would even notice him, until once, their eyes met.
That gaze was oddly familiar, as if he had seen those eyes before... Yes, he had seen Anakin’s eyes many times, but that’s not what he meant. He felt as though he had seen those eyes even before Anakin came to the temple, but he wasn’t sure where.
And it was the first time in many years that he felt something—just from that gaze. Just those eyes looking at him, locking with his, made Ahni feel... different. His heart raced faster, like when he had to physically exert himself, but it wasn’t quite the same. It wasn’t just speeding up; he felt warmth spreading across his chest. Ahni wasn’t sure what it was, but later he realized it was something akin to... joy—happiness.
Though Ahni still didn’t understand why.
But after that moment of eye contact, Ahni couldn’t stop thinking about Anakin. Even when he was assigned duties as a Padawan, even when he went on missions for the Council and his Master, his thoughts were constantly on Anakin.
And once again, when they had to cross paths, Ahni felt an eagerness to meet Anakin again, but he didn’t expect that Anakin was also looking for him.
They stayed in that state for a year, searching for each other, awkward after each encounter, but still trying to find each other.
It seemed their presence affected their respective Masters too. Ahni found that Obi-Wan Kenobi—the Sith slayer—looked at him frequently whenever Anakin was around, and his Master, Ima-Gun Di, would glance between him and Anakin. At first, neither side said anything, but as time passed, Ahni expected that it had reached a point where both Masters had agreed to formally introduce them.
“I’m Anakin Skywalker.”
The ten-year-old boy said, locking eyes with him. His gaze seemed to expect something. Ahni returned the look and introduced himself.
“Ahni... just Ahni. Nice to meet you, Anakin.”
Ahni didn’t realize that might have been the first time anyone had seen him smile.
Later, when Ahni thought back to that moment, he was sure that Obi-Wan must have regretted letting them meet each other in the first place.
After their introduction, they found that they both looked forward to seeing each other again. Of course, the temple was their home, but as Jedi and Padawan, they couldn’t meet whenever they wanted. But that was fine—they both knew they would meet again.
And when the time came, both were surprised at how comfortable they were with each other. During their second conversation after their introduction, Ahni discovered that Anakin even talked to him about a name that the boy probably would never say to anyone else.
“My mother used to call me Ani when I was still at home. When I call you, it feels like I’m calling myself somehow.”
Anakin said to him. Ahni smiled at the expression Anakin had. He was happy that Anakin opened up to him like that, especially knowing how uncomfortable Anakin felt around others in the temple. But he couldn’t blame him, as others hadn’t made it easy to approach.
“You can call me by your name, Anakin. I won’t mind.”
Ahni replied. Anakin looked back at him, his face thoughtful, before breaking into a small smile at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re strange.”
Ahni chuckled at the boy’s words. He paused when he did, before turning to offer a smile at the corner of his mouth as well. Maybe this was the first time he had laughed, since he couldn’t remember when his first time had been.
After that second meeting, they spoke more often, mostly through comm-links they exchanged. Anakin felt instinctively comfortable with him, just like Ahni did. Ahni would listen whenever Anakin had something to say—usually complaints about Obi-Wan, the other students, and, most of all, Padmé.
Ahni was curious about the owner of that name, but he didn’t do anything that might make Anakin uncomfortable, like asking prying questions about her. But when Anakin realized that no matter what he said, Ahni wouldn’t judge him, the boy began to open up more. From Ahni’s observations, Anakin spoke about her almost obsessively.
But Ahni didn’t judge him. Instead, he felt like he understood and empathized.
The temple didn’t teach about these matters, but Ahni didn’t miss the chance to give a name to Anakin’s feelings. He thought Anakin was deeply in love with her—Padmé.
Ahni had never experienced feelings like that before, but from what he had learned on the holonet, he was fairly certain that’s what it was.
Though it was confusing at first since the symptoms were similar to what he felt toward Anakin.
But something told him it was different. He could say that he liked Anakin—liked him a lot—but it didn’t feel right to call it falling in love. It was clearer than that. It wasn’t just about feeling and hoping; it was the certainty that Anakin mattered to him in some way. It was a certainty that Ahni wasn’t sure about, and he intended to find out what exactly it was that he felt for Anakin.
As the days—and years—passed, the more Anakin grew, the more Ahni became strangely familiar with him... again. Not because he had known Anakin and spent years with him, but because it was something clearer than that. It was as though he had seen Anakin before... again. Not because he had seen him all these years, but from before. Ahni was almost certain that he had seen Anakin before, whether as a child, a teenager, or as an adult later on. He was sure that feeling would always remain.
Especially now, when he could clearly imagine the image of Anakin as a young man.
It was strange... but also normal, as if it had always been meant to be. Ahni wasn’t sure if it was his feeling or the Force itself. Sometimes he couldn’t tell, especially if both were leading him in the same direction, through the guidance of the Force and his feelings. It was like he had to know—had to be sure of something, but Ahni couldn’t find the words for it. He thought it was only a matter of time before he found a clearer answer.
He didn’t think the answer would come that soon. Just a few rotations later, he found himself back at the temple and felt a sudden desire to meditate at The Room of a Thousand Fountains. He stood quietly, watching the fountain in the center of the room, before deciding to sit and watch the water ripple as it fell—shaking but oddly peaceful.
Ahni stared at the water for a while before noticing his own reflection.
At first, there was nothing unusual—just his reflection, which he had seen countless times whenever he looked into a mirror. But this time, something was different. And there was a look of realization on that reflection.
He stared into the eyes of his reflection, observing the widened eyes as he understood something. This time, he really focused on his face in the reflection, not just glancing past it like usual.
And finally, he understood the strange familiarity he had toward Anakin.
Whether it was those eyes or that face—whether as a child, a teenager, or as a young man—it was always meant to be that he could imagine Anakin so clearly. After all, they were so alike.
Yes, those feelings—the feeling of staring at himself and yearning for the version of himself that he once was. Ahni had never known what it was, since his past had nothing worth longing for. He was a man who lived in the present, not thinking about the past or future—just living day by day, without attachment, not even the peace that Jedi sought.
He was a good Padawan, and perhaps a good Jedi in the future, if being a Jedi meant being a creature without emotions—then he could certainly be one of them.
So he never understood those feelings. And he was sure that the Jedi couldn’t give him advice about it. That’s why he never consulted his Master about it, just as Anakin hadn’t shared everything with his own Master. And Ahni wondered if he could ever talk about it with Anakin.
Anakin, though still young, was different from Ahni in every way. He was almost like the other side of him. While Ahni had grown up suppressing emotions, Anakin was full of them. Perhaps because he had come to the temple at an older age than most children, he couldn’t let go of those emotions, but that only confirmed that they were like the opposite sides of each other.
Ahni, who grew up in the temple, pushing aside emotions that most living beings had, always obeying the orders of the Council and his Master.
Anakin, who grew up outside the temple, unable to let go of the emotions and ties he had with his mother, stubbornly defying both his Master and the Council—clearly a problem.
Yes, they are opposites, but no, that isn't their true definition.
After carrying an unnamed feeling for so long, Ahni no longer needed to question it. They weren’t merely opposites; sometimes, it felt as though they were the same soul—divided by time, shaped by different worlds.
Ahni didn't know where he came from. His earliest memory was of being alone from the very beginning. He didn’t even know what kind of life he had lived before—or why he was alive at all—until a Jedi Master found him and brought him to the temple. At that time, Ahni couldn’t speak, nor did he understand the language, but he could sense who—or what—was a threat to him.
Back then, he didn't know about the Force, the Jedi, or the Sith. He only knew how to survive and keep living. even after he ended up at the Temple.
Ahni had lived in the temple for most of his life, yet he never felt connected or called it home. He never thought of the people there as family or friends, just structures and living beings around him. Nothing had special meaning. He merely existed.
Until Anakin came.
Strangely, Anakin, someone he had only known for a few minutes, felt closer than a place he'd lived in for over half his life.
And Ahni was glad it was that way.
"Do you really like your own reflection that much?"
Ahni jumped at the sudden voice. He turned to see the source of the sound. Anakin was standing there, giving him a mischievous grin.
"Sorry, did I startle you?" Anakin's teasing smile stayed as he casually sat down opposite Ahni. His blue eyes stared at him, as if expecting something.
Just like back then... Ahni thought to himself.
"You might be responsible if I have a heart attack and become one with the Force, Anakin," Ahni replied with a small smile, a habit when around Anakin. It seemed he was the only one who could make Ahni show emotion, and Anakin took pride in that.
"Hmm... I wonder how I’d take responsibility if no one knows what happened."
Once again, Anakin smirked as he leaned against the edge of the fountain they were sitting by.
"Well, I guess it's my bad luck that no one else is here today."
Ahni said, glancing around the fountain room. Normally, there were always people around, no matter how many, but today seemed to be one of those rare days with just the two of them. Though Ahni was sure he'd seen others earlier, now there was no one left. Perhaps they all had other business, or maybe no one wanted to be in the same place as him. It wasn't always like this, though—he just never walked into places where all eyes could see him.
"And my good luck," Anakin added with a puff of his chest. Ahni smiled at the young man. He'd always admired Anakin's confidence and arrogance. Even though a Jedi shouldn't do what Anakin did, Ahni knew the truth: all Jedi were hypocrites. He actually preferred Anakin's openness, especially when it was just the two of them.
"I didn't know you were here," Ahni spoke after the silence lingered for a moment.
"You would’ve known if you’d contacted me," Anakin responded with his usual teasing tone. Ahni smiled, feeling guilty.
"My comlink was broken during the last mission, and I really forgot. So, no excuses," Ahni raised a hand in admission. Anakin's shoulders relaxed noticeably, though Ahni could still see him trying not to show too much.
"It's fine. I was just messing with you. I figured something happened… but are you alright?" Anakin replied, now showing concern. Ahni appreciated the way Anakin treated him. It wasn't that he'd never received care like this before—his masters had shown it too, sometimes—but he'd never felt so satisfied with such attention until Anakin showed it to him.
"I'm fine. Just some broken equipment," Ahni responded. Anakin straightened up at that, looking even more focused.
"I don't mean the mission. You seem... different. Is everything alright?" Anakin's gaze intensified, and he leaned closer, whether he noticed it or not, Ahni could sense it.
Ahni met Anakin's eyes again, narrowing his own. It was clear now, and he wasn't surprised it showed through the Force. Anakin, the closest to him, could feel it, especially when it was Anakin.
He leaned closer to Anakin, staring into his blue eyes up close. He could feel the warm breath on his face, seeing his own reflection in those blue orbs—his face, and in the future, Anakin's face.
Anakin didn't move away from the closeness, instead locking eyes with him intently, no hesitation, no doubt, just the confidence not to retreat. Ahni liked it. His thoughts weren't wrong. Anakin was filled with everything Ahni lacked. That didn't mean he wanted it. He just liked seeing it in someone who felt like another self.
"I've just discovered something," Ahni responded without pulling away, and Anakin did the same.
"What's that?" Anakin asked, his face showing curiosity.
"...We're so much alike, Anakin," Ahni said. He didn't intend to hide this from Anakin. In fact, he thought it was quite obvious. He felt foolish for not realizing it earlier, but sometimes, when people are young, they all seem the same until they grow up, and only then does it become clear. Ahni was sure that as time passed, the more Anakin grew, the clearer it would become.
"...Sometimes, I feel that way too," Anakin replied, furrowing his brow slightly. But it wasn't the look of someone surprised; it was the look of someone who knew something but wasn't entirely sure.
"Do you think it’s a coincidence?" Ahni asked again, still maintaining their closeness. In truth, he had no intention of pulling away. He just liked seeing Anakin’s eyes and face so close, even though he'd never cared to look at his own reflection like this. But with Anakin, it was different.
"Maybe... or maybe not," Anakin went silent, his eyes tracing Ahni’s face like he’d once done with him. Then he spoke again. "How likely is it that you're my lost sibling... even if I can't remember ever having one? My mother never spoke of another child."
"I don’t think so," Ahni replied immediately as Anakin still seemed lost in thought. "We're more like twins than siblings—no—more than that. We’re identical."
The words carried more weight than just speculation or expectation. It was a certainty Anakin couldn’t easily ignore, and it disturbed him even more when the Force seemed to confirm it. Anakin didn’t know how to process this, so he pulled away, looking at the fountain while lost in thought. The Force worked in mysterious ways—it was something everyone spoke of, and he’d never liked it until he could make use of that saying himself.
Ahni remained silent after that, letting Anakin think until he spoke again.
"You’re four years older than me. We couldn’t be twins," Anakin said, though his expression was uncertain. Ahni nodded in agreement, signaling that he accepted Anakin’s words, but it didn’t help clarify anything. "This is so troublesome," Anakin muttered.
"Now you sound like Kenobi," Ahni replied, smiling at Anakin's grumpy expression.
"Absolutely Not," the young man responded, still frowning.
"What’s going on?" Ahni asked, clearly noticing Anakin was troubled by something new.
"...It’s not a big deal... I just..." Anakin stopped, then closed his eyes, his face shifting from frustration to sadness and dejection. Ahni stopped smiling when he saw the change in Anakin.
"Let me listen, Anakin."
Ahni spoke seriously. Normally, he wouldn’t pressure Anakin to share things he didn’t want to, unless he felt it was too important to keep inside. Because he knew how much pressure Anakin put on himself, not to mention the additional pressure of being "the Chosen One." If Anakin ever talked about it, no one would ever admit they made him feel this way. But no one would treat themselves like this without a reason.
Anakin sat in silence for a long moment, then let out a breath and slowly opened his eyes.
"...Earlier, I was training with a training droid. It wasn’t hard for me, but I wasn’t alone. There were other kids there. They weren’t happy with my abilities... they said some things... about my origins... and I... got angry... I lashed out." At this point, Anakin’s expression grew darker, his brow furrowed as his gaze fell to the ground. "Obi-Wan and Master Windu were watching... even the Chancellor happened to show up... I didn’t act like a Jedi."
Just as Ahni thought, if there was something that could really stress Anakin out, it would be this. Ahni squinted at Anakin, who was staring at the ripples in the fountain. The guilt was evident.
"Were they hurt badly?" Ahni raised an eyebrow as he asked, surprised when Anakin shook his head.
"No. I didn’t hurt them. I just took their lightsabers."
"I thought you said you lashed out?" Ahni asked, his confusion showing.
"I did... by taking their lightsabers with the Force," Anakin confirmed, looking back at Ahni. "I scared them. I could feel it."
"So, no blood?" Ahni asked again. Anakin shook his head.
"Then it wasn’t really lashing out." Anakin opened his mouth to argue, but Ahni cut him off. "You just took their lightsabers. They overreacted. I don’t see what’s so wrong about it."
“You don’t understand—” Anakin tried to argue again, his voice edged with urgency. He looked like he wanted to explain more, but Ahni didn’t give him the chance.
“They always make a big deal out of the little things because they want to control us. Out there, people our age argue and fight all the time—it’s normal. These things happen, Anakin. You shouldn’t beat yourself up over it.”
Ahni said it with a small smile meant to comfort, but Anakin’s face remained unsure, doubtful even. Ahni didn’t take offense at that. If anything, he found it… oddly endearing. Anakin wore his thoughts so openly—every hesitation written all over his face. Ahni could almost say he liked seeing him like that. Even if it wasn’t the sort of thing friends were supposed to enjoy.
What kind of friend takes pleasure in watching someone struggle like that—assuming they were just friends to begin with—
“We’re Jedi. I don’t think that’s how we’re supposed to act. We’ve been trained.” Anakin said, though his voice didn’t quite hold the certainty it should have. Ahni thought that hesitation came from the tug-of-war inside him—between doctrine and instinct.
Ahni wondered if what he was about to say would still count him as a Jedi by the Council’s standards… but he already knew the answer. He’d known even before the question formed.
“Our training led us down the wrong path, Anakin. If you cling to it too tightly, it’s going to hurt you.”
Anakin looked at him—really looked. His eyes searching, needing truth, needing answers.
“What do you mean?”
“I see the flaws in the Jedi way. This Jedi way—it’s hurting us. You’ll see it too, if you’re willing to look.” Ahni’s gaze didn’t waver. He might not have looked away from Anakin at all. But Anakin didn’t know that.
He didn’t argue. There was still hesitation, yes, but also a quiet willingness to listen. That was enough for Ahni. Just enough.
“The Jedi Order needs to move forward. We’re supposed to grow, not stagnate or wither. We should shed what’s broken—for a better future, for the next generation who shouldn’t have to suffer through a way that contradicts their very nature. Don’t you agree?” Ahni asked, his voice openly expectant. Anakin frowned, like he was weighing it carefully.
“What about our teachings? Don’t you believe in what we’ve been taught?” Anakin asked, confused.
“We’re sentient beings—before we’re Jedi. Being a Jedi is a path, not an existence. We shouldn’t be forced into a way of life like it’s some decree. Only the Sith deal in absolutes, or so they say. So how is the Jedi way any different?”
Ahni said all of this with a smile. Not a mocking one, but a quiet confidence in his own understanding. The words didn’t seem to trouble him. But Anakin—they shook him. Something in him twisted, pulled in opposite directions. He wanted to defend the Order—but another part of him agreed with Ahni. He just wouldn’t admit it out loud.
“You don’t have to agree with me, Anakin. Just… see the truth for what it is. Think about it. And no matter what conclusion you come to, I’ll accept it. Just… don’t turn away from me because of this.”
That was the first time Anakin saw real worry cross Ahni’s face. He furrowed his brows, puzzled why Ahni would even think that.
“I’d never turn away from you, Ahni. Never,” Anakin promised.
Ahni held his gaze and smiled again. The worry melted away.
“No matter what anyone says, I’ll always be with you, Anakin. I’m your shadow, after all.”
“Now that’s a little concerning, considering the fact that I’m younger. Shouldn’t I be your shadow?” Anakin teased, the spark of humor returning to his face.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Ahni replied, smiling back.
Even though it started out as teasing, Ahni hadn’t been entirely joking when he said it. His curiosity led him to believe that, somehow, it could be possible. And he gave the credit to the Force—after all, the Force always worked in mysterious ways.
Still, he wondered… would Anakin ever realize it?
“Oh—almost forgot. The Chancellor wants me to act as a bridge between the Council and him from now on. I might have to see him more often now. Just thought you should know.”
The next thing Anakin said wiped the smile off Ahni’s face. His expression shifted, blank and unreadable. Anakin caught it and looked concerned. He didn’t know why—but he could feel it. Ahni didn’t like this.
“The Council agreed to that?” Ahni asked, tone flat. Anakin nodded. Ahni stayed silent.
“You don’t seem to agree with it. Something bothering you?” Anakin asked, unsettled by Ahni’s sudden change in demeanor.
“I don’t like him,” Ahni answered, not right away—but clearly and firmly enough to make Anakin pause.
“Him?” Anakin echoed, uncertain who he meant.
“Chancellor Palpatine,” Ahni said the name plainly. Anakin tilted his head.
“Why?”
“There’s something… off about him. Gives me the creeps. And I really don’t like the way he looks at you,” Ahni said, thinking back to the time he’d seen the Chancellor talking to Anakin. Back then, he’d only been tagging along with his Master to the Senate building, so he hadn’t had any reason to approach Anakin. Still, he’d seen—and heard—the way the Chancellor interacted with him—the way he smiled, the way his eyes lingered. It had sent a chill through him, leaving a sense of unease he couldn’t quite explain.
At first, he hadn’t understood what the feeling was. So he’d looked it up—on the Holonet, as usual. What he found matched what people described as possessiveness, the kind that came from not wanting anyone else near something—or someone—you considered yours.
Ahni had to admit, he’d felt that way about Anakin once or twice—but never that strongly. He believed it was natural to want to hold on to things that mattered. But how you acted on that feeling—that’s what defined you.
And what he’d seen from the Chancellor… it had been clear enough that he had to find the answer. And once he had it, a bigger question followed.
Why did it bother him so much?
Why him, and not anyone else?
When he thought it through—really thought it through—he came to a conclusion.
Because the Chancellor was different.
Because his intentions toward Anakin were clear—as clear as they were unsettling.
Because he watched Anakin too closely, too intently, with an attention that felt almost possessive. And yet no one said anything. No one even seemed to notice.
But Ahni did. And he didn’t like it.
He didn’t like the friendliness. He didn’t like the softness in the Chancellor’s tone. He didn’t like the sweet words, the eyes, the smile—he didn’t like any of it.
Because all of it made his skin crawl.
And Ahni had never felt this kind of dread before—never been so sure something was wrong. That alone was enough for him to distrust the man. Especially when he reached out to the Force for confirmation and was met with silence. Not rejection. Not approval. Just silence. That kind of ambiguity only deepened his suspicions. And if he could put it into words, he was certain of one thing: trusting the Chancellor would be a mistake. A dangerous one. The man wore the mask of a kind elder, but Ahni was sure there was something behind it—and whatever it was, it wasn't harmless.
What unsettled him more was this: it seemed like he was the only one who saw it.
“He seems like a good man,” Anakin had replied when Ahni brought it up. He had considered Ahni’s words, sure, but didn’t want to agree outright. There was something inside him—something defensive—that wanted to protect this new friendship.
“He might seem like that to you,” Ahni said calmly, “but I see something else. I’m not saying this to turn you against him, Anakin. I’m not here to judge who you choose to trust. But I want you to be careful. He’s older, more experienced—and he’s a politician. He never does anything without wanting something in return. Especially if he says all he wants is ‘friendship.’ If he tells you that, you should assume he’s lying. No politician wants just friendship.”
Anakin didn’t respond, but he listened. There was conflict behind his eyes again, and it hurt him a little to hear Ahni say it—because deep down, he knew it was probably true. He’d just been trying not to think about it since the Chancellor began taking an interest in him.
Anakin knew that no one did things without expecting something in return. But the Chancellor… he never made him feel judged. He was kind.
Of course, that was excluding Ahni. For some reason, Anakin didn’t think of Ahni as “someone else.” Sometimes, he even forgot that Ahni was real, not just a shadow of himself. Especially when they were alone together—it never really felt like he was with someone else. It felt like he was Ahni, and Ahni was him. Even their Force signatures were alike. And when they were together, he felt… calm.
Which was rare for him. No matter how hard he tried, peace always eluded him—except during saber practice, or when he was working with machines. That was why he sought out Ahni whenever he could.
“I’ll try to keep it in mind,” Anakin said, furrowing his brows. Ahni noticed the look of quiet distress on his face.
“I don’t want to pressure you, Anakin,” he said softly.
Anakin looked up at him and offered a small smile.
“You’re not pressuring me, Ahni. I know you’re just looking out for me. That’s why I listen to you. You can trust that.”
Ahni smiled back, believing him completely.
“You sure you’re not some long-lost twin of mine?” Anakin teased, “You’ve got this overprotective thing going on.”
Ahni exhaled through his nose, letting out a low, unimpressed sound.
“Force, I hope not,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.
Anakin laughed at that.
But Ahni did hope not.
Because whatever he felt for Anakin—it wasn’t simple friendship. It wasn’t infatuation like the kind Anakin had for Queen Amidala, no—but it wasn’t innocent either.
He’d been avoiding the thought, skirting around it, but the truth had always been there. He wanted Anakin. To have him. Whatever the word meant—emotionally, spiritually, physically—it didn’t matter. The desire was there, and it came with a voice that said he shouldn’t feel that way.
And he wondered just how long he could keep living in that space between wanting and not letting himself want.