Evening breeze whispers into the calm night air, moist yet surprisingly cool for a tropical planet like Naboo, carrying the ever present fresh floral scents.

It reminds me of you. But then again, so does everything else.

Strolling alone in this small garden, tucked away in a corner of the grand Naboo palace, I inhale lungs full of the refreshing fragrance.

The ancient wooden box feels warm in my hands, containing the oxidized carbon remains of the physical form once belonging to you, a body that was once my familiar territory.

Strange as it may sound, I feel fine, not great, but fine.

The anger and sorrow and grief that were so tempting just yesterday seem so remote now. Replacing them now is a calm sense of acceptance, and renewed hope.

Not that it came easily though. My epiphany. No, definitely not. Thinking back on how close I was to turning, makes me shudder.

I was packing up our few belongings left onboard the Queen's ship, after meditating for hours that ended without a resolution. There I was, angry at you for rushing ahead without waiting for me; Angry at myself for failing you, for being too slow to reach you before it was too late. I fear that I am not capable of fulfilling my promise to train Anakin; I hated that you had wrenched the promise from me with your dying breath, leaving me no choice but to live on, for nothing more than the sake of your legacy.

I lost faith in the Force, in myself, in everything.

How could I believe in the Force, when it failed you, led you to your painful death? You didn't deserve to die like that!

Did you even return to the Force? What if, after you died, it was over, and you don't exist anymore? Could it be that cold eternal emptiness is waiting for me instead of your warm embrace, instead of the Force?

I felt as if the ground I have stood on for all my life had shattered, giving way to a vast void of darkness. I could feel hands of fear pulling me down, waves of despair threatening to swallow me whole. Darkness was swirling inside of me.

Wallowing in misery, I curled up on your sleep couch and wrapped myself in your cloak, desperate for even the slightest trace left of your existence. Your scent was still lingering on the dark brown fabric.

I pretended that it was your embrace, pretended that you were still with me. Perhaps, if I tried hard enough, I could once again feel your warm breath against my hair, your arms enveloping me in your warm embrace. Closing my eyes, I remembered the past we shared, and thought of the lonely nights ahead. I wept.

I don't remember how long I stayed that way. Weeping myself to sleep, I wandered in the limbo between sleep and wake. My mind, dwelt on endless possibilities that could have been, what should have been done, refused to rest; my body protested, for it was too tired to stay awake.

Suddenly, I felt a light caress on my hair. The touch warm and tender, just like yours so many times before.

When I was a young child, after I had a nightmare, you would sit by me until I fell asleep again. You would gently stroke my hair, reassuring me that you were there, and would be there when I woke. No matter how bad the nightmare was, your touch could always make it go away, and I would always sleep peacefully with you by my side.

It's rather strange that little things like this stand out when I think of you, considering things we did on a daily basis. They just make me miss you that much more.

So I lay there in silence, didn't dare to open my eyes, for fear that I was dreaming. I was desperate to feel you again, even if it was a fragment of my dreams. I wanted to stay in this moment forever. But, just as your gentle caress had always achieved, the soft touches calmed and relaxed, brought me a peace I thought I would never feel again. I couldn't help but fell into a dreamless slumber.

The transition from sleep to wake was instantaneous, although it didn't reduce the sense of disorientation that followed. I felt surprisingly rested, and immediately realized I had fallen asleep fully dressed with my boots on, but I had no idea of where I was or whether it was night or day. Lifting a hand to shield my eyes from the cabin's artificial lighting, I could still feel the dried tears on my face.

Then suddenly, I remembered.

"Qui-Gon!" I bolted up, my motion so abrupt that your cloak fell onto the floor. My lone voice echoed in the empty room.

[Of course it was a dream, you stubborn fool! Your dear master is dead!] A voice in my head said. [But it felt so real!] Another voice argued. I thought I must be losing my mind, but I didn't care.

Disappointed, I bent over to pick up your cloak, wanting nothing more than to escape again from this hash reality. Then, like magic, some pages of neatly folded papers appeared on the floor beneath the cloak. They weren't there before.

My name was written on it, in your handwriting.

With a shaking hand, I picked it up. I couldn't help but trace the ink marks of my name with a finger; I have always loved the way you write my name. Did I ever tell you that I love your handwriting? So strong yet graceful, just like you. But you probably already knew; you have always liked to leave me written messages whenever possible, even when a datapad would be equally sufficient and much easier.

Tears once again swelled up in my eyes, and through the tears, I read your letter.

You would love this place, my dear master. I can almost see you stroll through the garden while watching the twilight sky, crimsons dancing with violets, and tell me how strong the living force is in this little garden. You would place your hands on my shoulders, tell me to close my eyes and listen to the voices of the living creatures. Insect buzz, leaves shiver at the wind's touch, roots dig deep into the fertile ground, petals drift as the clear stream flows, all weaving into a single symphony of the living Force.

Reaching the edge of the garden, which ends in a spectacular view of the unending stretch of forests and plains below, I admire the landscape. The crystal stream that runs through the garden ends in a slender waterfall that evaporates into sparkling air near the bottom of the high cliff.

I was angry at you, for not letting me know of your vision.

But then I realized, that you simply followed your belief, as you always did. It made up part of who you are, the man I love.

Carefully, I open the box, and scoop up a handful of the ashes inside. Opening my hand slowly, I release them into the gentle breeze; let them to be carried into the air. I let them go. Let them fall onto the forest floor below, onto the rivers running through the land, carrying them back into the nature. Thousands of years later, they will be broken back down into the most basic elements, to be used again as building blocks for new life.

I know you would like this, for your body to become part of the world you gave your life to protect, now that your spirit is free. This is your legacy.

You died, protecting the ones you loved from the darkness, with no regret. You could be right, and you could be wrong. Only time can tell, for the future is always in motion. But I shall do my fair share of the work. You have given me the gifts of knowledge and strength, and I shall always cherish them. I am your legacy.

I don't regret a single moment of the years I spent with you, even if I knew that this would happen and I could choose again, I would do the same.

It was painful, but I survived your death, and came out stronger.

Thank you, QuiGon, for your love, your kindness, your everything.

I love you, too.

With one last look, I turned around and left the garden. There are still many things for me to take care of. I have to keep my focus on here and now, just as you have always taught me.

Farewell for now, love. I look forward to meeting you again, after I have finished my duties.

When the time comes, we shall be together again, for all eternity.