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Skywalker.
The bounty hunter declares his name. He declares the name of the one you ordered him to hunt down, the one who destroyed the Death Star, the boy who demonstrated far more recklessness than skill when he faced you on the factory moon. Kenobi’s failed student who you vowed to find and then corrupt or failing that destroy.
You have no thoughts, not now; your fire-scarred tongue simply clings to the roof of your mouth. There are no words for the impossible.
Unseen by you the bounty hunter answers your complete silence by leaving, but his word does not. His word burrows deeper and deeper into your mind, not fading with time, but growing louder and louder and louder, until you finally wonder…
How?
You feel like you are dreaming.
You are dreaming.
You dream of a woman, beautiful and lovely, and she trembles as she speaks.
Something wonderful has happened. I’m…Ani I’m pregnant.
You dream of the man she speaks to, a man more shadow than form in your dream. But you do feel his emotions; they are vivid to you. He feels explosive joy, then worry, then happiness again.
That…that’s wonderful.
But you do not share this man’s feelings. You feel growing anger. You are always angry, the dark side flows through you when your rage burns, but you have never felt anger such as this. Not since…
Lying beside a lake of fire while flames chew upon your skin, muscle, and bone. Hours, days of agony, as the light burns you, as emotionless droids carve into your already immolated flesh…
And you are that boy again, freshly encased in a shell, hidden behind a mask, learning the truth of the dark side.
Where is Padme? Is she safe? Is she all right?
You remember the shadow’s words, even as the bounty hunter’s word rings in your ears.
I’m afraid she died. It seems in your anger you…killed her.
And you remember staggering under the weight of grief. You remember your explosive hatred; for the shadow who destroyed you, for…
…yourself.
You did it. You did all of it. You destroyed your wife. You destroyed your child. You destroyed your future.
But your rage is not born out of grief this time.
Skywalker.
It seems in your anger you…killed her.
Now you remember and hear the manipulation. Now you hear the words chosen so perfectly.
You remember the mystery of holding the boy’s lightsaber in your hand, the weapon that once belonged to Anakin Skywalker. And you speak the truth aloud; acknowledge the truth, because you know it is true.
“Skywalker.”
She had been alive. You did not kill your child. She died, but your child lived.
You see the view of deep space before you, transformed into a spider web of a thousand threads, distorting your reflection and the image of the Empire’s fleet set against the numerous stars.
“The Emperor. Now.”
You wait on bended knee, but you are empty of any reverence. And you recall the earlier discovered treachery in Cylo’s lab that fanned the flames of your anger, although nothing like the furnace your heart has become now.
All these years, you were considering replacing me.
Once you thought the shadow was all you had. Once you thought the shadow understood you. But now you know it never cared for you.
Has never cared for you. Not in any way.
“Yes Vader? Ah…”
“I sense your anger. Great anger. Have you something to say? Some proud defiant words? Or are you wise enough to know your place?”
Now you have decided your place and you tell the shadow so. You tell the shadow that everything is clear to you now.
“I am angry. You would not have me otherwise. My anger brought me to you. I want you to know—I will not fail.”
“And I understand us precisely.”
Your vivid dreams continue.
You dream of a face as radiant as Tatooine’s primary, her words spoken just for you.
He keeps kicking.
But all too soon heartbreak transforms the face of the woman from your dreams.
Come back!
But the dream is real. You know the dream is real because the boy who came from the woman is real. And so you remember it.
You remember all of it.
You remember the cause for her tears and you remember that she died. However it happened she died.
She is dead, nonexistent.
Why remember what is gone and never coming back?
So you focus on the future, the future that is real. The future that has already existed for you these past twenty years, stolen, hidden away from you by shadow and Jedi.
You remember the first time you felt him, her hand pressing your own to the fullness of her belly followed by the sudden pulse against your palm.
With a kick that hard? Definitely a girl.
A lifetime later, a lifetime stolen away from you, you felt him again and felt the power of the Force flowing through him in the battle station’s trench. You saw him, struck him, heard him scream that you killed his master and killed his father on the factory world. You almost killed the boy, twice, but the boy’s destiny is not to fall by your hand, but to join you.
Now you know where to go from here, not for the Empire, not for the shadow…but for yourself.
Because now you have something to call your own, something that belongs to you, should belong to you.
Now you have a future.
You have a son.
“I have a son.”
You look upon what is only a fraction of what will be his and your inheritance.
“He will be mine. It will all be mine.”