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A fading sliver of orange-tinged sunlight skimmed the darkening horizon, and a cornucopia of stars illuminated the pavilion of the night sky. A warm breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers and a distant rainfall tousled Luke’s hair and clothes; it reminded him he was alive.
His friends were not.
At another time, Luke would’ve laid atop the endless field of lush, untamed grass to gaze at the mesmerizing pattern of constellations above him. The rebel base and his responsibilities would fade into the background, and all that remained was Luke and the stillness of the galaxy.
He shut his eyes where he stood. His legs shook, his heart ached, and his tear-stained cheeks stung.
The dead strewed around him, limbs contorted or severed. Faces of his allies permanently twisted in anger, betrayal, fear, or some horrific combination. Buzzing insects swarmed, feasting on the oozing remains. The base, once overflowing with activity and strategy and laughter, was silent; the lucky ones had fled.
Luke had dropped his lightsaber after slaughtering the last rebel. It rested at his booted feet, the metal hilt pressing firmly against his toes. Its heft grounded Luke, even as his hands tainted with blood.
He had no choice. High Command had devised a senseless, ill-advised scheme to kill Darth Vader, while he recuperated in a bacta tank, suitless and undignified. Despite what had transpired between him and Vader, Luke would never allow the rebels to move forward with it.
Luke’s voice had grown hoarse as he pleaded, hoping to avoid conflict and negotiate a solution that brought no harm to Vader or himself, by extension. The rebels heard him, but they didn’t listen.
And then they laughed. At Vader, his life-support suit, his life. They called him vile names. They chose to proceed with their plan, despite Luke’s objections, and had even banished him from further involvement.
The light of the Force blinked out, replaced by an insidious shadow that crawled over him like a venomous reptile.
Luke saw red, like the downswing of his father’s blade. It happened too fast, but Luke was methodological. The massacre ended before anyone could dare to stop him.
He was unaware of time’s passage. The stars dazzled, the grass swayed, the breeze pirouetted. Only the approach of the towering figure was enough to snap Luke out of his trance.
“Fa-father…” Luke mumbled as a gloved hand reached up to wipe away the wet streaks on his face.
“Shhh, my son. It is over now.”
“But…” Luke gulped and tried to drown out the echo of screams still pulsing in his ears. He focused on the respirator’s steady rhythm, hoping it would lull him into a state of apathy. But both of his father’s hands cupped Luke’s face with an unexpected tenderness that stole his breath.
Luke did not deserve such grace.
“You did the right thing, young one.”
“I’m so sorry…I-I had no one else to turn to…”
Luke glanced upwards as a falling star striped the cosmic tapestry. It flickered, grew impossibly brighter, then shrivelled out of existence.
Battle-forged arms pulled him into a tight embrace.
“It is alright, Luke. You are safe.”
He shuddered and bowed into the armoured chest. One day, the inevitable reckoning would come, and Luke would pay a steep price for his wrongdoings.
There would be plenty of time to grieve for everything he had destroyed. For now, though, he surrendered to his father’s trust and felt himself grow numb.