#spellcleaver

The pilot was small. The worn flight suit they wore hung loose on their frame, and they were dwarfed by the brown-haired man and Wookiee who flanked them during the pre-flight checks. Their face was obscured by a helmet, making it impossible to even determine their species. They could easily be a child, a small human or a member of a naturally small species. Whatever the case, they were an absolute beacon in the Force.

When the race itself actually commenced, Vader could tell instantly just how skilled this pilot was. They did not begin in the lead, but it was clear that they had a strategy as they steadily overtook the competitors ahead of them. Each maneuver seemed effortless and graceful, even those that would leave a lesser pilot a smear along the wall of the track, and it was not long before they had a comfortable position in first place.

Vader kept his eyes glued to this mysterious newcomer, enraptured by his easy win; at last, Vader was impressed. 

He should apprehend the pilot, drag them to Mustafar, turn them over to The Inquisitorius, but… something possessive had risen up in him. This pilot was capable of great things. To turn them over to his master to be twisted into a faceless inquisitor would be a waste. No, he wanted this pilot for himself.

The Force was not with him on this day, however, as he was summoned to handle some other matter just as the race had ended, and when he turned to face the track once more, the pilot and their entourage were long gone. The loss had led to the loss of sever hapless officers’ lives, but he pressed on, pushing the mysterious pilot from his mind for the time being.

Over the years, they had come across one another in fleeting, fateful encounters that seemed to draw them apart each time. 

Each time, however, offered some new insight into this strange pilot. Vader had discovered that they went by the name Star Strider, that they were a young, human male, that he travelled with a smuggler named Han Solo and his first mate Chewbacca, who used the earnings from these races as a supplementary income, and that very few beings in the galaxy had seen his face.

And now, as the construction of the Death Star neared completion, Vader could sense that he might just uncover what truths lay beneath the surface of this pilot and his perplexing presence in his life.

The pilot and his smuggler companions had never shown any rebel interests in the three years they had crossed paths, had seemed to be entirely consumed by their own self-preservation, but the Force felt different, today. Something momentous was to come.

It was no speeder race, this time, that drew Darth Vader to his mysterious pilot. No, this time it was the Death Star. The pilot was here, had worked with the smuggler to rescue the Princess – had they finally gained ideals, or was the pay simply too good to pass up? Vader would discover this and so much more once the pilot was in his grasp. 

Capturing The Boy, The Smuggler, The Princess and The Wookiee aboard the Death Star would have been so easy… already he had vanquished The Old Man. They were all within his grasp after that. But that would mean leaving this technological terror intact, and, while holding additional prisoners to keep this Star Strider compliant was appealing, none mattered to him but the boy. The Force had been drawing the two together, and not even Organa could distract Vader from his prize.

As subtly as was possible, Vader directed the battle in his favour, eliminating as many worthless rebels as he could while still affording his pilot – who was, naturally, flying with the lead squadrons – the opportunity to take the fateful shot he was meant for.

The Death Star’s destruction meant nothing to him. It was an abomination that deserved to exist only in the countless pieces it had now been rendered into. All that mattered now was the radiant presence of the being who had fired the shot, beckoning to him from the moon down below.

The Rebels were celebrating their victory. It would be a simple matter to step in to the temple and slaughter them all. It’s what his master would reward. But Vader did not care. All that mattered was his pilot. The celebrations steadily began to settle, but the luminous presence of his pilot did not dwindle. It was clear that the boy was restless, proud of his actions, but conflicted. Curious.

Settling into a space deep within the forest, Vader sent a probe through the Force, beckoning to the boy, urging him towards him subtly but insistently. He was met with uncertain curiosity, which he answered with an unfamiliar reassurance, and his pilot relaxed. 

He was coming.

“Hello?”

The voice was young, but it rang crisp and clear against the trees. Its owner was out of sight, at first, and Vader would assume that it was fear that caused the voice to shake as it called out. When he laid eyes on his pilot, however, he knew better.

It was like looking into the past, into a lifetime that no longer belonged to him. This pilot appeared to him as a mirror image of a man nearly two decades dead, one who may not have held the same trepidation in his eyes but would have surged forth with the same reckless abandon. It was impossible to imagine, inconceivable to even consider, but...

“Young one,” he rumbled, keeping himself concealed. “I have come here in peace and to offer you guidance. You have stepped into a new world with a power you do not understand, and I wish to help you uncover some truths. But first... I must ask you... what is your name?”

The pilot scowled, glancing around frantically. “Who’s there?” Suspicion rolled off of him in waves. That was likely for the best. If this boy trusted him instantly, it would speak to a concerning level of foolishness that would suggest that his survival thus far was sheer luck rather than any sort of strength or ability. “I’m not about to tell some disembodied forest voice who I am just because they asked nicely.”

Frustrating, to be met with this resistance, but satisfying, still. “I am someone who seeks to teach you.” There would be no lies. For this to work, the Force would have to resonate with the truth of his intentions. “I am aware that you are a pilot -- one who is highly skilled, and just so happened to destroy the Death Star just hours earlier.” Panic flared in an instant, but Vader stretched out to comfort the boy in a way that felt alien to every sense he currently carried. “I believe you were correct in doing so. And I know that your success was guided by.. Kenobi.” Now, that was curious. Even in death, Kenobi had managed to extend his reach. That would require investigation at a later date. “I only seek to continue what he began. Search your feelings. You will find the truth.”

Fledgling Force Users were far too simple to manipulate. It was a matter of speaking truly, so they would sense it, while guiding them towards the conclusion you desired. Vader could feel the boy’s uncertainty begin to unravel as his feelings began to speak to him, revealing the mysteries he might uncover if he just dug a little deeper, if he just indulged the stranger prodding at him.

“I...” The hesitation was merely a moment as he teetered over the edge. All Vader had to do was be patient. “My name is Luke Skywalker. And I -- I’ll learn whatever you have to teach me”

The world went silent.

Frost crept across the leaves of the trees around them, wormed its way up their bark, and the boy -- his son -- shivered. His pilot. His son. How had he not realized it sooner? He had never even suspected the child may have survived. This seemed to be an impossibility. And yet, here he stood, Luke Skywalker, pilot who destroyed the Death Star, who used the pseudonym Star Strider, who had enraptured The Dark Lord of the Sith Darth Vader himself, who appeared every bit his father’s son as was humanly possible... 

The Force did not lie.

He had never been strangled by his father – who claimed he would never hurt him, which Luke tended to believe, most days. In this moment, though, faced with the full weight of Vader’s rage bearing down on him, he was beginning to have his doubts.

“What’s the matter, Father? Aren’t you happy to see me? I made the rendezvous in time and everything!” Luke was fully aware that Vader would not appreciate the flippancy, but the alternative was to display his fear, and he refused to do that in front of his father.

As expected, Vader remained unmoved. Crossing his arms, he inclined his helmet to look at Luke directly. “Do not expect me to be impressed when you have done what is expected of you, boy.” Boy. Not son, or my son, or child – or even Luke. No. He’d said boy. Vader was angry indeed. Several moments passed, Luke not daring speak before his father elaborated. “You have been investigating matters you have no business looking into.”

The fear he’d been working so hard to conceal flared up and Luke let out an involuntary gasp. There was no sense in trying to lie to his father, but he’d really been hoping that Vader hadn’t discovered his particular line of inquiry just yet. “I – ”

“Why do you have this holocron?” he hissed, waving his hand and summoning the crystalline cube from his son’s bag. Leather creaked as Vader tightened his grip on the holocron, and Luke worried he would crush it in his hand. Swallowing thickly past the lump forming in his throat, Luke felt his eyes widen and he took a single step back as Vader advanced on him. “Answer me!”

“How – how did you know I had that?”

“Do not believe that you are my only source within the rebellion, boy.” There it was again. Boy. The tone made Luke’s blood run cold. “You did not answer my question.

Steeling his resolve and deciding not to cower before the so-called Fist of the Empire, Luke tamed his wild expression and set his brows into a scowl, crossing his own arms across his chest in a poor imitation of his father’s previous stance. “Well, what did you expect? The name Skywalker isn’t exactly obscure. People were offering me answers, I wasn’t about to turn them down! Besides, you’re not exactly forthcoming about your past.”

A noise that sounded something like a growl rumbled out of Vader’s vocoder, and his voice was low and dangerous when he spoke next. “The past is best left where it belongs, boy. Let it remain buried. If you cannot leave well enough alone, I will recall you from your mission and punish you accordingly.”

“Father!” Luke took a step forward as Vader began to turn on his heel, apparently angry enough that he didn’t even want to hear Luke’s report. He caught his father’s arm, and instantly he reeled back as Vader whirled around sharply to face him.

“Do not – ”

“No, Father, it’s my past too – my history. I have every right to know.” Luke could feel his own anger and frustration rising in his chest, bubbling in his stomach, washing over him and tensing his muscles. “I’m not going to leave it up to you which parts of my life I get to know about. Stars, I had to find out my own mother’s name from Ahsoka –” He instantly clamped his mouth shut, teeth clicking together, and his eyes blew wide as he realized he made a mistake.

“Ahsoka Tano…” 

“Father, please, don’t, just leave her –”

“I presume she’s the one who gave you this?”

Luke remained quiet for a few moments, debating the merits of lying or refusing to answer before finally sighing and deciding that he was best off telling the truth. “She was. She… always speaks so highly of her former master, about how much she learned from him, admired him… How skilled he was. How – how kind.” He couldn’t bring himself to meet his father’s gaze. “She really looked up to you, you know.” 

Several cycles of the respirator echoed between them before either father or son moved or spoke again. Luke wondered, vaguely, if they might stay this way forever, in some state of perpetual limbo, but a tingling warning in the Force caused him to snap his head up and catch the holocron that sailed back into his hands. “I was… unaware that she was working with the rebellion.”

“She serves as a Fulcrum agent.” Luke let a soft chuckle spill out past his lips. “You should have seen her face when I told her my name. Though, I suppose it was a little sad, now that I think about it… Almost like she’d seen a ghost.”

“Is she… aware of our connection?” Vader’s rage had subsided, but his shields were up and impenetrable; Luke had no idea what was going through his father’s mind, and that question really didn’t clear anything up either.

“No. As far as the Alliance is concerned, you’re still just ‘my source in the Empire.’ Nobody suspects a thing.” He was grateful for that, too. He felt bad for lying, but he knew Leia would never forgive him if she found out, at least while they were still at war. “Ahsoka gave me the holocron because… heh, she wanted me to be able to learn something from you. I wasn’t about to correct her. But… everyone always says how much I ‘look like my father,’ and I just – I donno, wanted to see it for myself?”

His father remained silent and still, looking for all the world like a statue, the constant hiss of his breathing the only indication that he was indeed a living, breathing being. 

Faced with the lack of response, Luke plowed forward. “I don’t see it, you know. I mean… yeah, I have the same blond hair, the same chin, the same eyes… but I don’t see myself in the man in that holocron. I don’t – I hold myself differently, move differently… I feel like I resemble that man as much as I resemble you now.”

“Ahsoka spoke of Padmé?” The words came out slow and deliberate, bearing a pain that was alien in the modulated voice.

“She did. I was able to find a holo of her, too – just an image, but… she was beautiful. I don’t think I look very much like her at all, either.” It hurt to admit, but there were times when all he felt between himself and his parents was an enormous, yawning chasm. He breathed out his next words in a voice that was hardly audible.“Leia looks more like her than I do…”

“You resemble her far more than you realize, my son.” The pain was deepening, the words spoken with more effort, but Luke felt a flutter of… something ripple through him as his father carried on. “You have her nose. Her stature. More than just her looks. She shared your… passion for justice. Your sense of morals and integrity. And you have both… given me a… purpose… beyond what… others might ask – demand of me.”

Any other being in the galaxy saying those exact same words would sound cold, uncaring, unkind, but coming from Vader… It was the peak of warmth, care and affection. Luke felt a smile bloom across his face, and though he did not say the words out loud, he sent his sentiment out along their bond – I love you too, Father.

Vader stiffened slightly, acknowledging the thought not with words, but a general feeling of affirmation before relaxing again. “Very well. You may… keep the holocron. And I will not recall you from your mission. But I will ask that you keep any conversation about… the past to a minimum with others. Do so and I may concede to… discuss certain matters – ones of my own choosing – with you further myself. Am I understood?”

At this point, Luke couldn’t help it – he was positively beaming. Nodding vigourously, he snapped off a salute. “Perfectly, sir!” The image of rolling eyes flickered briefly in his mind’s eye, which only caused his grin to grow even wider.

“Now,” his father continued, steering them away from sentimentality and back into the comfort of business, “I’ll have your report and we can be on our way.”

Rattling off the report felt mechanic and insincere to Luke, after what he’d just shared with his father, but he knew they had to be quick so as not to raise too much suspicion. He did feel a twinge of reluctance as they said their goodbyes – from him and his father both – but Vader did manage to surprise him one last time before they went their separate ways.