The Hands of Fate

The Halls of Remembrance

"Why do you fear the Dark Side?"

The young Jedi sat in the back of the narrow vessel, his legs crossed as he stared at the weapon below. His father's lightsaber – the one crafted by the sleeker designs of the Sith instead of more rudimentary and humble aesthetic of the Jedi – held still in his remaining hand. He ran his thumb up and down the activation switch, remembering what it felt like to wield such a blade.

"I don't fear anything," boldly replied the son as crimson light shot out of the emitter. Darth Vader turned his head around and looked to his son curiously as the red haze drew in and around the cockpit. Luke's face was solemnly frozen as his eyes followed the outer edge of the hue into the blinding core within. This blade rendered him disabled; yet, once in his grasp, his own previous fear of it was cast aside.

"Or anyone."

Vader coughed (though his son suspected it was more of a light chuckle, to his chagrin) and turned his attention back to piloting. "You might be able to tell yourself that but convincing yourself of that will prove to be a much more difficult task," hissed his father, his voice trailing over the energized core. "You wear the goodness inside you directly on your sleeve. It is a weakness - this will fool no one."

"You don't know me."

"I made you," a command that which hushed Luke instantly and brought his attention back to the blade. Now that he had met Anakin Skywalker, the youth was slightly disappointed that he never would know the true face of his father; there was little chance of ever discovering how similar the two looked, how much they shared physically. Vader was just a shell of that man – little left to salvage or find – though a remnant of that man nonetheless.

"Must you be so open with your thoughts?" grumbled his father.

Luke was taken aback and nodded at Vader, deactivating his father's lightsaber and slumping back into his seat. "I'm sorry, father," he stated sheepishly, tossing the weapon into the air above. Holding out the stump of his right arm and with the concentration of an upturned brow, the lightsaber firmly levitated and gracefully flew to the side of Vader. The man remained silent but Luke beamed at the ease of his powers. Their weeks of grueling training shaped them not only as father and son, but as comrades-in-arms.

It was difficult, at first. Vader was relentless with the duties and training he forced upon his son, blaster deflection sessions lasting for hours and meditation periods almost lasting an entire day. He laughed when he thought of the young man who complained to Yoda – how different he had become. Though forced in his position, Luke felt as if he were finding himself in the skeleton that made up his father.

"We are approaching our destination."

Outside the window of the cockpit, a large moon took up the entire space. Murky oceans and cloudy spirals decorated the atmosphere, though readings confirmed that there were low life forms lurking. "Now that we are almost there, do you think you can tell me where we are at?"

Darth Vader shook his head: "no."

"You still don't trust me?"

"This has little to do with trust – though I am wary of your skills in shielding your thoughts," which caused Luke to roll his eyes and frown. "This is a location long forgotten to time, a place overrun by the souls of the dead and the monsters that claimed them. It will work as a suitable test towards your abilities while we wait till the station is operational."

"Operational?"

"Resources are not limitless, young one; the station is self-sustainable but it cannot last forever without a breather. It must clean itself, remove any waste, recycle and decompress the air, and prepare to start over. During that time, I decided that we should venture to this planet and see your strength," the man stated as he prepped the ship for landing. "As well as a chance for you to see mine."