The Hands of Fate

What Remains will Never Perish

He's just a boy.

That was the last conversation Darth Vader had with his master. Disgust and tortured wrath hissed underneath his mask that evening, as he heard the Emperor spew lie after lie, desperately trying to untangle his web of lies. It was never more obvious than in that moment – when he could see the twitch of nervousness and fear within his master's eyes, flickering in and out with the hologram.

The two men danced a delicate game of power, as he kneeled and looked up to Palpatine, whom in turn looked down at him. A war was brewing with the discovery of Skywalker; one that he sensed Palpatine wanted crushed quickly, executed, cleanly erased from the intricate Empire. It was only with Vader's own proclamation that his son could prove to be a powerful ally that his master smiled. That was never a good smile to witness. A civil war between master and apprentice was quickly approaching and the two men understood that. "He'd make a powerful ally," The Emperor mused, exposing his rotting teeth.

In that moment, Luke Skywalker was no longer a rebel fugitive. The youth that destroyed the Death Star and foiled the plans of countless missions became something greater – a magnificent pawn of the Dark Side, with two experts trying to claim that power over the other. Life would never be the same between the three men, Vader understood as he ended the transmission, beginning his hunt for his son.

His son proved wily but easy enough to capture with the threat of his friends. An admirable trait, to be sure, but one that he couldn't afford to have in the future. Not with the Emperor on the hunt. The boy needed to grow strong and learn to fight as if a man with decades at his side. There wasn't time – he knew his master was searching, in sadistic pleasure, to steal the one thing Vader had left.

Palpatine would never get to him.

Vader lay still in his chamber. Thoughts from his past were haunting him again, getting stronger with every passing day he had with his son, infuriating the Sith and ruining his meditation. There were glimpses everywhere, of what could have been, what still could be, what the past had done to him. Escape from his mind wasn't possible; like always, he was doomed to slavery in one way or another.

He didn't miss his master. For the first time in over a decade, Vader felt free from that leash. But other leashes clung tight to his collar, yanking the man left and right. Everything was always a constant struggle. Clinging to fear and rage, that was the only thing that could center him in those moments. By acting through his most primal instincts, Vader felt a temporary escape as he sliced and stabbed with his saber, throttling objects through his sheer power in the Force.

But this time, he listened.

"He's just a boy, Anakin," a voice said to him. The memory of his former name sent his blood boiling but the texture of that voice, the smoothness of the tone, also allowed him to relax. It was her. She was there, in that instant, next to him – though he couldn't bear to turn and face her anguish. But he felt her touch, delicate fingers tapping against the plate of his shoulder, worried.

"You expect too much, so soon," she pleaded. Vader could feel hear breath against his ear, sweet whispers that brought back feelings of joy and despair. The man looked downward and folded his arms, unable to face his guilt. There was truth in her words, he understood that. This wasn't how a father should be treating his son, a figure he needed more than anything else in his life.

"My love, you don't understand," Vader exclaimed after long silence, reaching back with his left hand and fingering towards the hand on his shoulder. "He isn't just my son. He is the only fragment that remains of you – the only piece I have of us. The only physical proof of what we shared. I'm not strong enough, this I've learned, but he still can. He must endure. He must survive."