Vader sat in his meditation chamber, trying to reach out, trying to feel the Force. He knew it was there, but he felt conflicted. He couldn't think. He couldn't feel it, because every time he tried, visions of the dark things hed done assaulted him.

Fire, death, slaughter of the innocent, misery. His own misery, and the seemingly weaker misery of others.

He couldn't feel them anymore, the ones he knew had survived. He could only feel his own pain when he tried to reach out.

Vader closed his eyes tighter, trying to push everything out of his head, if even for a short time. He needed quiet. He needed balance. He hadn't meditated successfully in so long.

He felt something yield as his mind cleared, and it suddenly became much easier to focus. He could see them now. Kenobi, Rex, Ahsoka. . .

They were still alive!

Too late, he realised how powerful his jolt of excitement had been. Vader composed himself, let his mind roam back through his pain. He allowed the darkness to steal back through his mind.

They were alive, and they were his past. He couldn't celebrate their livelihoods now. Vader must destroy them. It was what his master would have ordered him to do.

Kenobi, Ahsoka, and Rex were the friends of Anakin Skywalker. And he was no longer Anakin Skywalker. He couldn't be, even if he wanted to.

Sometimes he still dreamed at night that he was together with Padmé, raising their children, in the sun and the light, friendly faces all around them. He would smile, Padmé would smile, and everything would be okay.

But in reality, it wasn't.

Anakin Skywalker was dead.

Vader gave up on his meditation, anger at his past self and anger at his master coursing through his veins. He had work to do.