Something in Anakin recognized something in the shape hidden inside the vault. No, not the person inside, not the physical form. Nothing so simple. Anakin had spent almost two Galatic years between his death in his son's arms and waking in a much younger (and whole) body, several of his loyal servants squirming on their toes to welcome their lost Lord back. He was familiar with trying to squelch back into skin and bones, to the rush of hot blood and push-pull of breathing. To parts of you not fitting and being left out of your physical space of reference. Of course, Anakin wasn't aware just how large he loomed, tendrils, feelers, and limbs shot out at every angle, plumes like smoke, like fire, roll and coil around and through him, jagged teeth-like projections that cast Light like crystal and slash at it like daggers. Didn't know how he appears to any strong enough in the Force to actually see him.

But seeing into his mind? That at long last Anakin has learned to lockdown. Oh there is an ocean around him of thought and emotion but it's superficial, a mirage of shallow water appearing deep and beckoning you to dive in, only to a slam into the bedrock, shattering your ankles and legs, if not your skull and neck. No one got in, not without his knowing consent.

As the doors slid open, Anakin shifted the glowrods, crossing two over and behind his head, casting light forward but not in his face and leaving him clothed in shadow. The third glided forward, hanging near the forefield, its green light intermingling with the red glow. Mostly so he could look at the conduits more than the body inside.