fools, anakin skywalker (ongoing)

twenty.

CHAPTER TWENTY

SOMEHOW, ARTIE DRIFTED TO SLEEP. THE CAVE WAS VAST, DRY, AND THEY HAD MANAGED TO START A FIRE, and her fear had exhausted her so that sleep came almost easily.

"It's all right, Artemis," Obi-Wan had said when she, with eyes half-lidded, had offered to take the first watch. "You need to rest."

"Wake me," she'd replied thickly, "if . . . if something . . . happens." And the moment after, she was asleep.

Artie was met with a dream. At first, she didn't realize it was a dream; her eyes flitted open and she was still stretched out on the cool ground, stiff and confused, but alone. Artie bolted upright, searching wildly for Obi-Wan, but she was the cave's lone resident. She swallowed hard, unsure if she should call out or remain silent — would it matter? If Obi-Wan had been taken, surely she had been seen as well. Panic swelled in Artie's chest; her thoughts felt inhibited, like she was fighting off drunkenness. Before she could do a thing, a soft voice broke the silence.

"You have no idea what you're involved in, do you?"

It came from her left, deeper into the shadows of the cavern she and Obi-Wan had left unexplored. Artie scrambled to her feet, squinting against the dark, and her first thought was that she was staring into a mirror, or otherwise the very polished, smooth face of a rock. But what she took to be her own reflection came close, closer, until Artie realized with a paralyzing wave of terror that it was no reflection at all.

     Artie watched herself creep closer; with every limping step her other self took, Artie took several back. "What's happening? This is a trick —"

"No," the doppelgänger said softly. She stepped into the firelight and Artie's stomach dropped. The second Artie seemed slightly older, hair a little shorter, but truthfully the present Artie only noticed these small things to avoid the glaringly obvious. The second Artie's face was smeared with blood. Her clothes — a variation of the breeches and tunic the real Artie wore now — were torn and scorched and stained with red. Her eyes were blacked and the skin exposed on her arms was scarred strangely, an odd pattern like vines winding over her flesh, never-ending.

     The real Artie inhaled sharply, terrified, and shut her eyes. When she opened them again, she was still met with her broken self.

     "What is this?" she whispered weakly, feeling tears rise in the back of her throat.

     "A warning," the second Artie replied sternly. "The path you're on — the one you follow Skywalker down — leads to and ends with your death. You must turn away from him."

      An unseen fist wrenched Artie's stomach to a pulp; blood roared in her ears so loud she could hardly hear the double speak. "Is this a vision?" she croaked.

     "A warning," the doppelgänger insisted again. "Leave Skywalker now. Let him go — his true destiny is here, on Mortis, and far away from you. Save yourself — save Obi-Wan — lest you want this to become your future," she gestured to her scarred arms and hands. "Skywalker is your doom."

     Artie could not swallow past the lump in her throat. "This isn't real — I'm asleep." Her hands curled into fists at her sides. "This is a nightmare." She could almost hear Anakin's voice: This gives talking to yourself a whole different meaning, huh?

     "You should know by now that dreams carry great significance . . . reality tends to follow their trend." The doppelgänger paused. "And if you do not know, consider it now."

     "Anakin would never hurt me," Artie said firmly.

     "He would say so as well," the nightmare replied coolly.