21 BBY, September 9.
Salust, an industrial world in the Outer Rim of the galaxy.
Darth Malthael stood in the spaceport, staring at the vast starfield without saying a word.
Hermit still wore that coarse robe, his head lowered as he followed behind Darth Malthael. His hands were still trembling slightly.
Shiri Tachi was dead. He had killed her himself.
That was right. He had personally killed the woman he... loved.
Whether Hermit admitted it or not, Shiri Tachi had indeed occupied an extremely important place in his heart.
But he had no choice... He could only kill Shiri Tachi.
He kept comforting himself. Shiri Tachi was already dead; she had been resurrected by the Archangel of Death. Killing her now was a release for her.
Yet in the end, it was still he who had driven his lightsaber into her cold heart.
The Archangel of Death had given him a choice, but Hermit knew that in truth, he had no choice at all...
The Archangel of Death wanted him to fall to the Dark Side...
Hermit took a deep breath and steadied his connection to the Force until not a single ripple remained.
Darth Malthael turned to glance at him, snorting coldly, his expression unpleasant. He could sense Hermit's fluctuations in the Force and the incomparably steadfast light within his heart.
That feeling disgusted Darth Malthael.
But he also knew that making Obi-Wan Kenobi fall to the Dark Side was almost impossible. He was like a saint, pursuing his own path and his own truth.
Perhaps the light in his heart could not be called utterly unshakable, but it was resilient enough. You could knead him flat or round him into any shape, yet you could never change the essence of his light.
However, after Hermit had truly killed