Chapter Text
“Dearly beloved,” the captain began, the traditional introduction severely at odds with the reality of the moment.
The bride wore fatigues, the groom wore scarred and battered battle armor, and the dearly beloved gathered together were the bridge crew of the Super Star Destroyer Eclipse.
And below them, Coruscant sprawled like a glittering jewel, its endless cityscape illuminated by a billion points of light. From this height, it looked serene - untouchable, eternal. But Mara knew better.
She could see it as Luke must: a fragile, breakable thing, teetering on the edge of destruction.
The battle had already raged for days. And with the city-planet’s defensive systems neutralized, the New Republic’s forces exhausted - trillions of lives hung in the balance, all in return for what was in the end such a small thing.l
Burn everything, so long as you burn with me.
To stand at his side and prevent him from descending fully into madness and Darkness; to rule with him rather than let him burn the galaxy down alone. That was a small thing, surely.
She thought of what she’d imagined once, in the dark heart of Byss: fire and ash consuming the galaxy, the ruins of Coruscant red as if painted in blood, its towers crumbling into smoldering wreckage. She had seen it so vividly - felt the weight of it in the Force. It hadn’t been just a nightmare. It had been a warning, or perhaps a promise of what Luke would unleash if left unchecked.
The captain's monotone voice droned on, reciting the formalities of the ceremony, but Mara barely heard him. She shifted slightly, her hands brushing against the coarse fabric of her fatigues, and wondered how long she could stand here without losing her mind.
And then Luke spoke, cutting through the noise in her head.
“You look beautiful.”
The words were so soft, so startlingly sincere, that they caught her off guard. She snapped her gaze to his, expecting to find mockery or calculation in his golden eyes, but there was none. He was watching her with something that felt achingly real - something almost tender, like a shadow of the man he had once been.
For a moment, the durasteel wall she kept around herself wavered. Her stomach tightened, her throat dried, and she hated that the compliment stung as much as it warmed her.
Her instinct was to deflect, to spit out something sarcastic, but the words almost didn’t come. The sincerity in his voice had stolen them from her. A beat too late, she forced her lips into a smirk, hoping he wouldn’t notice the crack in her armor.
“Really?” she said, her tone dry. “Because I feel like I just rolled out of bed and wandered into this disaster by mistake.”
His lips twitched into a faint smile, though his gaze remained steady. “You could be wearing rags, and it wouldn’t matter.” He lifted his gloved hand, brushing his fingers against her cheek, a gentle touch that sent a shiver down her spine. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Mara turned her head slightly, unable to hold his gaze for too long. The sincerity in his tone unnerved her more than had his devastatingly calm threats to glass the planet below. Those, she could handle. But this? This sliver of something real and untainted buried under the layers of darkness and obsession? That was dangerous.
“You’re laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?” she muttered, her voice harder than she intended.
“Not nearly enough,” he replied softly, his eyes never leaving her face.
The captain cleared his throat loudly, an awkward reminder that they weren’t alone. Mara stiffened and shot the man a glare, but Luke only chuckled, his hand falling back to his side.
The ceremony continued, but Luke’s words lingered, unnerving her in ways that even the memory of Byss hadn’t. She hated how easily he could find the cracks in her defenses, how he could unearth parts of her that she’d thought long buried.
But as the captain asked her to make her vow, she shoved those thoughts aside. This wasn’t about her, about them. This was about the galaxy, about preventing the fire and ruin she’d seen in her nightmares. Her voice was steady when she answered, her words crisp and unyielding.
“I do.”
The captain turned to Luke, and for a moment, the air on the bridge seemed to hold its breath. When he spoke, his voice was as reverent as it was possessive, dripping with devotion that burned hotter than the twin suns of Tatooine.
“You belong with me, Mara. You always have. The galaxy may burn, the stars may fall, but I won’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.”
Mara swallowed hard, her throat tight as his words settled over her, heavy and unrelenting. It wasn’t the sentiment - she’d heard far sweeter lies before - it was the certainty in his voice, the way he spoke it not as a promise but a fact.
He meant it. Every syllable.
And when he reached out, cupping her jaw with his gloved hand, she didn’t pull away.
The kiss came without hesitation, a storm crashing over her. His lips were warm, fierce, demanding, moving against hers with an intensity that made it impossible to think. The cold edges of his armor pressed into her, but his touch was fire, searing her, burning through every barrier she’d tried to put between them.
Her body betrayed her before her mind could catch up. Her hands lifted almost involuntarily, pressing against his chest - not to push him away, but to steady herself. And she kissed him back: not out of love, not out of surrender, but out of something darker and more dangerous.
It was survival. It was inevitability.
Luke deepened the kiss, his hand sliding from her jaw to the back of her neck, holding her close as if he were afraid she might slip away. The Force rippled around them, dark and suffocating, binding them together in a way that felt final, inescapable.
When he finally pulled back, his breath brushed against her lips, his golden eyes burning with satisfaction. “Together, Mara,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, “we’ll make the galaxy ours.”
Mara forced herself to meet his gaze, forcing a smirk onto her face though her chest still felt tight. “Let’s hope you plan on ruling something other than a pile of ash and corpses. But hey - it’s your empire.”
Her words hung in the air, sharp and cutting, but Luke didn’t flinch. Instead, his lips curved into a soft, satisfied smile, and his golden eyes gleamed with something dark and knowing. He laughed, low and quiet, the sound rippling through the Force like a velvet blade.
“Our empire,” he corrected, his voice smooth and confident, the possessive edge unmistakable. His hand tightened slightly on her waist, anchoring her to him. “You’re as much a part of this as I am, Mara. Every ash, every corpse, every victory - yours as much as mine.”
He didn't wait for a response. His hand, still on her waist, guided her into a turn towards the gathered crew. And as the room erupted in cheers and the shadows coiled tighter, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just stepped off a cliff - and Luke was the abyss waiting to claim her.
Luke led her off the bridge, his gloved hand at the small of her back. Mara allowed the touch but refused to lean into it, forcing herself to walk with the same calm, measured stride she’d mastered long ago. The bridge doors hissed shut behind them, the sound of the officers’ salutes fading into silence. The corridor was dimly lit, designed for function rather than comfort, but the quiet was a relief after the oppressive grandeur of the ceremony.
He didn’t speak as they walked, and neither did she. It was just as well. What could there possibly be to say?
They reached his quarters, the doors sliding open with a soft hiss. The room was stark and functional, more fitting for a commander than an emperor, though the faint glow of the Coruscant skyline through the viewport gave it an almost ethereal quality. Luke stepped inside first, his movements measured, his presence calm but no less overwhelming.
The doors hissed shut behind them, cutting off the sound of distant cheers, leaving only silence and the hum of the ship beneath their feet.
Mara didn’t move.
Luke did.
He unclasped his chestplate first, pulling it off with slow, measured ease, then his gauntlets, flexing his fingers like a man shedding the last formalities of the evening. Then his belt, his cloak, each movement smooth, unhurried. He wasn’t looking at her, not directly. He didn’t need to. His presence pressed against hers through the Force, warm and inexorable, as if he had all the time in the galaxy to see what she would do next.
She wasn’t going to play that game.
"Did you ever take a Sith name," Mara asked dryly, arms crossed as she leaned against the viewport, "or are we still calling you Darth Nepotism?"
Luke didn’t look up from where he stood at the center of his quarters, removing his gloves with slow, methodical precision.
"I don’t recall you objecting when you signed your name to our treaty," he said mildly.
Mara’s jaw tightened. "You mean when I was forced to marry you to stop you from burning Coruscant to the ground?"
He glanced at her then, golden eyes glinting with something that was not quite amusement.
"Yes," he said, "that."
Mara exhaled sharply through her nose, irritation simmering just beneath the surface. "So? Do I get to call you something more dramatic, or are we still pretending you’re just Luke Skywalker with a bigger army?”
Luke finally set the gloves aside and turned to face her fully.
"Darth Caelus," he said simply.
Mara stilled, lips pressing together as she turned the name over in her mind. She had spent enough time around Imperials - real Imperials, the kind who worshiped Palpatine’s every breath - to recognize it immediately.
"Caelus," she repeated. "Sky."
Luke inclined his head, approval flickering in his gaze.
"The sky," he confirmed. "The heavens. The expanse above."
Mara’s arms tightened across her chest. "Not exactly a creative departure from Skywalker."
His lips quirked - not quite a smirk, but close.
"Why should it be? I know who I am."
He took a slow step forward, his presence in the Force wrapping around her like the first pressure drop before a storm.
"I was born a Skywalker," he said, voice quieter now, measured, contemplative. "A name bound to the dirt. To sand and dust, to fields and farms, to the small and the mortal."
His eyes flickered past her, toward the endless black beyond the viewport.
"Caelus is what the Jedi always feared I would become. It’s what the Sith always wanted me to be. And it’s what the galaxy now kneels before."
He turned back to her, golden eyes gleaming in the dim light.
"Why should I deny it?"
Mara held his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away.
Of course that was the name he had chosen.
Not some snarling, ancient Sith title. Not something dredged from the tombs of Korriban.
He didn’t take something new - he took what he already was and made it absolute.
"You took it after Mon Cala," she said, voice flat. It was a guess, but not much of one.
"As the skies burned," he murmured in agreement. "And the oceans boiled."
There was no pride in his voice. No regret. Just certainty.
And somehow, that was worse.
She refused to reflect on it. "When are we leaving Coruscant airspace?" Mara demanded instead.
His lips curved, amused, but he didn’t look up from unfastening the clasps on his vambraces. "In a rush to leave our honeymoon suite?"
She crossed her arms. "It was part of the treaty. You signed it. We leave Coruscant, you leave Republic space, and you keep your forces behind the agreed boundaries."
That got him to glance up. Not surprised. Not annoyed. Just ... watching.
"I do read my own treaties, Mara."
"Then when?"
He shrugged, easy, unbothered. "Immediately. No delays, no tricks. The New Republic gets its capital back, untouched - just as promised."
That was the part that had unsettled her.
The terms were terrible for him. No matter how she turned them over in her mind, the conclusion remained the same. A man with the Eclipse - with the largest warship in the galaxy, with an armada at his command, with the sheer destructive power to reduce Coruscant to nothing but slag and fire - had agreed to nothing.
No occupation. No puppet government. No dismantling of the New Republic’s infrastructure to leave them crippled. Just ... withdrawal.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t have demanded more. He should have. Any strategist worth a damn would have fought for better terms, would have used his position to carve out some lasting advantage, to negotiate for power rather than simply relinquishing it.
He hadn’t even tried.
The best legal minds in the Republic had worked on that treaty - Leia included. They had argued, debated, anticipated every possible scenario. Surely they had prepared for some kind of counteroffer.
But Luke had taken the first draft. Signed it.
As if the territory, the military concessions, the political ramifications - none of it mattered to him.
Because it hadn’t.
Because he didn’t want Coruscant.
He wanted her.
This war - his war - had raged across the stars, shaping the fate of trillions. He had burned fleets, crushed opposition, torn down old empires and built something new in their place. And yet, when the moment came to dictate his terms, he had bartered away the heart of the old Empire - Coruscant, the Core, the political center of the galaxy - for this. For her.
This wasn’t strategy. This wasn’t necessity.
This was obsession.
But she kept her voice steady. "Leia must have loved watching you sign that."
She was watching for the reaction - waiting for it. A flicker of resentment, a sharpness to his gaze. A muscle tightening in his jaw.
Instead, Luke cocked his head slightly, just a fraction, like he was trying to remember something.
Trying to recall Leia’s expression, probably. How she had looked when she watched him sign away his dreams of empire, when the treaty was sealed and Coruscant was safe.
Mara felt the barest whisper of his presence shifting in the Force - not tension, not anger, just ... searching.
He shook his head once, almost absently, as if dismissing the thought. And then he went back to unfastening his vambrace, movements smooth, unhurried. Like the moment had never happened at all.
The last time she'd seen him - five years ago now, in the dark heart of Byss - his sister's name had gotten much more of a reaction. But maybe she didn't really know this version of Luke Skywalker anymore.
"Let me ask you a question,” he said instead.
She raised an eyebrow. "Depends on the question."
Luke set his vambrace aside, tilting his head, golden eyes gleaming with something quiet and certain. “How does it feel, knowing the ‘good guys’ sold you off like chattel?"
Her jaw tightened. "I signed the treaty, same as you."
“That’s not an answer."
She exhaled through her nose, keeping her arms crossed. "Neither was yours."
That made him laugh. A soft, rich sound. “You know," he said, absently flexing his fingers, "I never thought of you that way."
Mara arched a brow. “As a bargaining chip?"
Luke’s lips quirked slightly, but there was no amusement in his eyes. “As anything less than my equal."
She huffed a quiet breath, crossing her arms. "That’s a pretty sentiment. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m here because it was convenient for everyone else."
“Convenient for them," he corrected, finally turning to face her fully. "Necessary for me."
That landed differently. Not a declaration, not a defense - just a simple, immovable fact.
Mara kept her expression neutral, but something cold and uneasy curled in her stomach.
For a moment, she saw it - the vulnerability in his eyes, the man he’d once been flickering to the surface. It was gone almost as soon as it appeared, swallowed by the intensity of his gaze, but the memory lingered.
"I didn’t want a consort, Mara," Luke continued, stepping closer, golden eyes sharp with intent. “I wanted an Empress."
Her fingers twitched at her sides, aching for a weapon she didn’t have.
Her voice was crisp, deliberate. "I read the treaties I sign, husband."
Luke smirked, slow and knowing, but he didn’t argue.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with everything left unsaid.
Mara had spent enough of her life being used. She had sworn, once, that no one would ever make choices for her again.
And yet, here she was.
This marriage was a political move, a necessity, a careful balance of power - and if that was the game, she would play it on her terms. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hesitation, wouldn’t leave room for him to maneuver, to press, to make it something it wasn’t.
Consummation hadn’t been written into the treaty, but it might as well have been. This was expected. A sealed contract in all but words.
Fine.
Then she would own it.
Mara exhaled slowly, then tilted her head, studying him.
"So," she said, tone smooth, almost careless, "are we doing this or not?"
Luke blinked. Just once.
Not in shock. Not in offense. Just ... surprise.
He had expected resistance. A fight. A slow, careful seduction, maybe. He had expected her to try and find a way around it, to test him, to push back.
He had not expected her to be the one to set the terms.
"Practical as ever," he murmured, watching her too closely.
Mara shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. Because it didn’t. Not really. "A marriage has expectations. I’d rather get it over with."
It was a cold, precise statement. A duty to be fulfilled, like filing mission reports or maintaining a blaster.
Luke’s jaw tightened - not in anger, but something else. Something unreadable.
He stepped closer, and the Force between them hummed, thick with something neither of them wanted to name. “Is that all it is to you?"
"Of course it is," Mara said easily.
She didn’t let herself feel the slight chill of the words not being a lie.
Luke exhaled softly, gaze flicking over her face, searching for something. "I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised."
"Then don’t be."
His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "It doesn’t have to be like that."
It doesn’t have to be just duty. Just obligation. Just another move in the game.
Mara arched a brow. "You think I’m going to swoon for you, Skywalker?"
His gaze sharpened, golden eyes glinting. "I think you don’t want to admit how much you already have."
Mara didn’t flinch. Didn’t let the words land.
Instead, she reached up, twisting her braid loose, letting her red-gold hair tumble down around her shoulders. A deliberate, silent challenge.
Luke’s eyes darkened, and the corner of his mouth curled into something almost ... soft.
Like he wanted to believe it meant something.
Like some small, dying part of him still believed in romance.
Mara exhaled sharply.
"Close your eyes and think of the Empire, husband."
Luke laughed, low and rich, and stepped into her space.
He kissed her, and Mara let it happen. Because she had already decided this was happening. Because it was a small thing, a necessary thing. A step, nothing more.
But Luke didn’t do small things.
He kissed like he fought: precise, unrelenting, all-consuming. His fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head just enough to deepen the kiss, to claim it, and - kriff him - he was good at this. Too good. He didn’t rush, didn’t fumble, didn’t hesitate. He kissed her like he already knew exactly how she would respond, like he had already won.
She hated that.
So she bit him.
Not hard enough to draw blood, just enough to be sharp, to remind him that she was not some willing, pliant thing.
Luke exhaled against her mouth, then laughed - low, dark, amused.
"Husband," he murmured against her lips, his voice rich with satisfaction. His fingers tightened just slightly in her hair, like he was savoring it. "I think I like the way that sounds coming from you."
Mara dragged her nails down his arms, not gently. "Enjoy it while it lasts, husband. I bite."
Luke just smiled. "So do I."
And then he proved it.
His teeth scraped over her lower lip, just a flicker of sensation before his mouth claimed hers again, slower this time, more deliberate. He wasn’t just taking - he was learning, testing the shape of her responses, adjusting to her like a battle he intended to win.
Mara refused to give him that.
She slid a hand up his chest, not in surrender but in control, pressing against the solid lines of his uniform. He let her push him back half a step, let her breathe, though his fingers stayed firm in her hair, keeping her just close enough that escape wasn’t an option. Not that she was trying.
Not yet.
She let her fingers brush over the fastenings of his tunic, testing the fabric like she was still deciding what to do next. His gaze stayed locked onto hers, steady, certain, waiting. Not for permission. For her choice.
The thought unsettled her in ways she didn’t have time to analyze.
She exhaled sharply, dragging her thumb over the edge of the first clasp, watching the way his breath hitched - just slightly, just enough. "This is the part where you get into something more comfortable, husband.”
Luke smirked, but for once, he didn’t have a retort ready. Instead, he held her gaze as he reached up, slow and deliberate, and unfastened the next clasp himself.
Mara stepped back, giving him space, but not much. She watched as he shrugged off his tunic, as the black fabric slid from his shoulders in a smooth, practiced motion. Even now, especially now, every movement was measured. Controlled. A man who never second-guessed himself, who had already decided how this night would go and saw no reason to doubt it.
She should doubt it.
She should find some way to turn this into another battle, another contest of control.
And yet.
Luke reached for her. Not fast, not aggressive. Just a steady, inescapable pull, his fingers skimming her waist, spreading against the small of her back as he reeled her in. His bare skin was warm against the thin fabric of her fatigues, his touch light, like he was still indulging the fantasy that this could still be something else. Something real.
She almost laughed.
Instead, she let him draw her in, let her hands settle against the bare planes of his chest, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath beneath her fingers.
"You’re taking your time," she noted.
Luke’s lips brushed the corner of her jaw, a flicker of heat before he said, "No point in rushing."
She huffed. "That’s not what I expected."
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, searching. "What did you expect?"
She had no answer to that.
His breath brushed her lips as he murmured, "Tell me what you want, Mara."
Her stomach clenched. She hated that question. Hated the way he asked it like he already knew the answer.
So she answered the only way she could.
By kissing him first.
Luke met her kiss with quiet certainty, his hands steady at her back, his lips parting against hers like this was inevitable, like he had always known she would come to him. He didn’t press, didn’t rush. He just received, letting her set the pace, letting her think this was hers to control.
His fingers skimmed the base of her spine, a slow, deliberate touch that sent a shiver through her before she could stop it. She ignored it. She focused on the press of his mouth, the careful, measured way he responded, like he had all the time in the world to learn her.
Then - "Wife."
He murmured it against her lips, the word slow and reverent, like it meant something. Like she meant something.
Mara balked.
The spell snapped.
She wrenched back, pulse hammering, and turned away before she could think too hard about why.
Her fingers found their way back to her hair, twisting the strands together with a sharp, practiced precision. A task. A habit. Something steady to focus on while she forced her breath into something even, while she ignored the way her hands shook.
Luke watched her. She could feel it. The weight of his gaze, unreadable, pressing into her back.
He didn’t speak.
She didn’t look at him.
She didn’t think about the way her stomach twisted, about the heat still lingering on her lips, about the quiet, certain way he had said wife.
Instead, she twisted her hair into place, tied it off with steady fingers, and locked it all away.
Mara kept her back to him, forcing each breath into something steady, controlled. She finished securing her braid, smoothing a hand over it like that would erase the way her fingers still trembled.
"Don't call me that."
Her voice was level. Perfectly even. As if the word hadn’t rattled her, hadn’t stopped her cold.
Luke didn’t answer right away. He let the silence stretch, waiting, watching, weighing the moment like he always did. Then -
"I thought you said you read the treaty."
Her stomach twisted.
She turned, slow and deliberate, keeping her expression carefully neutral as she met his gaze. He stood there - calm, composed, golden eyes steady and unreadable. No mockery. No smugness. Just certainty.
That was worse.
"I did," she said coolly.
Luke tilted his head, studying her like she was something inevitable.
"Then you know exactly what you are."
Mara exhaled through her nose, refusing to let the words land. Refusing to acknowledge what had made her stop in the first place.
She needed to move. Needed to put space between them, shake off whatever this was, but she didn’t know where to go.
The thought landed sharp and sudden, like stepping off a ledge and realizing - too late - that there was no ground beneath her.
Until now, she hadn’t felt trapped. Had refused to. This had been her choice. A tactical decision, a controlled exchange. She had walked into this with her eyes open, knowing exactly what she was giving up and exactly what she would get in return.
But now -
Now, standing here in his quarters, her breath coming too fast, the taste of him still on her lips and his voice still in her ears - wife - she felt the edges of something closing in.
She was on the Eclipse. The largest, most powerful warship in the galaxy, one of the last relics of Palpatine’s Empire. It had been a tthing to infiltrate, to sabotage, to destroy if she had the chance.
Now it was her home.
And she had no idea where to go.
The absurdity of it hit her all at once. She could disassemble a blaster blindfolded. She had mapped escape routes through some of the most heavily guarded fortresses in the galaxy. But right now, if she turned and left, if she stormed out of this room and kept walking, she wouldn’t know which direction to go.
Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
Luke watched her. Not gloating, not triumphant - just waiting. Like he already knew exactly what she was thinking.
He let the silence stretch, then turned toward the door, reaching for the panel.
"Come," he said, smooth and unbothered, as if nothing had passed between them at all. "You should see your quarters."
Mara hesitated, breath still uneven.
Then she followed.
The doors hissed open, revealing a short, dimly lit corridor that led to an adjoining set of rooms.
Hers.
Of course, they would be attached to his.
The door to her quarters slid open at his command, and Mara stepped inside, already wary. It was larger than she expected - spacious, but not extravagant. The walls were dark, the lighting cool and subtle, and the furniture was sleek and minimalistic. A small seating area, a bed she suspected was just as functional as it was comfortable, a refresher to the side. Everything efficient, everything designed with precision.
Against one wall stood a weapons cabinet, its glass door polished to a perfect shine. And inside -
Mara’s stomach tightened.
Blasters. Vibroblades. Throwing knives. Everything she favored, down to the smallest details. The right weight distributions, the right balance in the hilts, the right makes and models she had always preferred.
Some of them looked well-worn, as though they had been collected rather than newly commissioned. Others gleamed as if they had been forged specifically for her.
She turned slowly to look at Luke, raising an eyebrow. “A wedding gift? How thoughtful.” Her voice was arch, hiding her unease with manufactured amusement.
Luke merely shrugged, as if her reaction didn’t matter. “It was the least I could do.”
His tone was casual, but the weight of it wasn’t lost on her.
Mara moved towards the cabinet and busied herself testing the weapons, keeping her hands moving, her focus shifting from blade to blaster as she checked the balances, the weights. It gave her something to do, something to ground herself, because standing there in his presence, in a room he had clearly prepared for her, was far too unsettling.
She flicked open the hilt of a vibroblade, tested the grip. Perfect, of course.
Behind her, Luke spoke, his voice calm and measured, as if this were any other evening, any other arrangement between two people who hadn’t just gotten married after spending a few years on opposite sides of a war.
“There’s a private dining room down the hall,” he said, leaning casually against the doorway, watching her. “I hope you’ll join me for breakfast in the morning.”
Mara hummed noncommittally, tossing the vibroblade up and flourishing it in a quick spin before sheathing it.
“I also scheduled a briefing for tomorrow,” Luke continued, undeterred by her silence. “You’ll need to get up to speed on our military position. I thought it best to start with fleet readiness reports.”
Her fingers brushed over a sleek new blaster, cool and familiar beneath her touch. She lifted it, checked the charge, sighted down the barrel. Another perfect match to her preferences.
Luke pushed off the doorway, stepping further into the room. “There’s a training room as well,” he said. “I hope you’ll join me. Sparring with training droids gets boring.”
Mara let out a quiet breath, setting the blaster back in its case before turning to him, her expression carefully unreadable. "I trained with the Red Guard, as the Emperor's Hand," she said, keeping her tone casual. "They were the best. Much better than training droids."
Luke didn’t look at her right away. He flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders like he was shrugging off the weight of something unseen. "They’re gone."
Something in the way he said it made the air in the room feel thinner.
Mara studied him, expression carefully neutral, though something sharp and uneasy curled in her stomach. The Red Guards had been the Emperor’s most elite warriors, hand-selected, unwavering in their duty. Their loyalty had never been in question - until now, apparently.
She had forgotten, for just a moment, who he was now.
Not the Jedi who had once fought for the Light. Not the man who had once been her enemy, then her reluctant ally. Not the reckless, irritating, impossibly idealistic pilot who had somehow survived everything the galaxy threw at him.
No.
That man was gone.
The one standing before her - the one who had wiped out the Emperor’s most elite warriors without hesitation, without remorse - was something else entirely.
Disarmed by his easy confidence, those tantalizing glimpses of his humanity, she’d forgotten that he wasn’t just a danger to her - but to everyone.
Luke watched her, unbothered by her silence. If anything, he looked amused, like he could feel the realization settling over her through the Force.
“Their loyalty was always to Palpatine,” he said, elaborating as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “A flaw to be corrected.”
So you killed them for it.
She didn’t say it. She didn’t have to. The answer was already in his eyes.
He didn’t move, but something shifted.
The Darkness coiled around him, thick and oppressive, seeping into the air like a silent, living thing. It pulsed in time with his breath, slow and steady, wrapping around him with an unshakable, unyielding weight. Not fire, not rage - no, this was something far more terrifying.
Absolute certainty.
The certainty that whatever horror he unleashed, it could be justified. That any atrocity, any cruelty, was necessary.
She had felt this before - on Byss, in the Emperor’s presence, in Vader’s shadow. But this wasn’t Palpatine’s cruel amusement or Vader’s barely-contained fury. Luke’s Darkness was something else entirely. It was quiet, patient, inevitable. It waited, pressing against her without force, as if daring her to deny what she already knew.
If she had forgotten, for even a moment, who he was now - she saw it clearly now.
“Get some sleep, Mara,” he said finally, and turned towards the door.
Mara had been waiting for her moment, and when it came, she didn’t hesitate.
"Leia hates what you’ve become.”
Luke hesitated. Just for a second.
It was subtle - the briefest flicker of stillness, the way his fingers, already lifting toward the door controls, hovered just shy of the panel. Most people wouldn’t have noticed.
But Mara wasn’t most people.
She saw it. Felt it. The faint disturbance in the Force, the quiet, imperceptible shift in his presence.
And she wondered - why?
It wasn’t the reaction she expected. He should have brushed it off, thrown it back at her, met the accusation with something sharp and cutting. If it stung, if it angered him, she should have felt it. But there was nothing. Just a pause.
Like he had to process it.
Like the words didn’t land immediately because some part of him had to find Leia before he could decide how to react.
The thought made something uneasy coil in her chest.
Mara straightened, shifting her weight, watching the tension in his shoulders, the stillness of his profile.
Maybe she was imagining things. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe the hit had landed harder than she thought.
Or maybe …
She wanted to be sure.
"How long has it been since you’ve seen her, Skywalker?"
Luke’s fingers flexed at his side, slow and controlled. Too controlled.
Mara tilted her head. "Leia. Your sister."
His golden gaze flicked up, sharp and suddenly focused, and this time, she saw it - something tightening behind his eyes, something that could have been irritation, could have been anger, could have been -
"I know who she is," he snapped.
The words hit the air like a crack of lightning, sudden and too sharp, too defensive.
But even as she registered the break in his composure, he was already pulling himself back together.
He straightened, and his expression went cold, calculating, like the lapse had never happened.
"Leia wrote the treaty selling you to me, didn’t she?" he said, his voice smooth again, almost idle. "I recognized her writing." His eyes gleamed. “Maybe she hates what I've become - but her hands are hardly clean.”
Mara went still. Her pulse kicked, sharp and instinctive, not from fear but anger.
“I wasn’t sold," she bit out. “I chose.”
Luke’s expression didn’t shift. Not gloating, not mocking - just calm. Too calm.
"Call it what you like.”
The words settled between them, final and unshakable. A truth he had decided on, whether she accepted it or not.
Mara exhaled slowly, forcing the tension out of her jaw, out of her hands, out of the space between them.
"Get out," she said.
Luke held her gaze for a moment longer, then inclined his head slightly, almost like a bow.
Then he turned and left, moving with unhurried ease, and the door slid shut behind him.
Mara had barely drifted into an uneasy sleep when the impact hit.
The Eclipse shuddered beneath her, a deep, violent tremor that sent a cascade of warning klaxons screaming through the ship. She was on her feet in an instant, blaster in hand before she was even fully awake, instincts overriding exhaustion.
Another impact. The overhead lights flickered as emergency red lighting flooded the room.
Sabotage? No - too much firepower for that. This is a direct assault.
She grabbed a vibroblade and a few more of his wedding presents from the cabinet without thinking, strapping them to her thigh and belt as she moved toward the door. It slid open before she could reach for the panel -
And Luke stepped through. Fully armed and armored and looking like some ancient Outer Rim war god.
In the years since Byss, his armor had shifted. It had started as something Vader-like - black, imposing, a shadow given form. But as his rule solidified, so did his image. The silhouette evolved into something new, something distinct. Gold accents. A war helm with a crimson crest. A look that was neither Jedi nor Sith, but unmistakably his.
Mara had seen that figure countless times, not just in the flesh but in propaganda broadcasts, in flickering holos meant to terrify the Republic and reassure the Imperial loyalists.
Now, as he stepped into her room, fully armored, red-plumed helm gleaming, saber already ignited -
He looked like he had walked straight out of one of those holovids.
Because of course he was in full battle armor. Because restraint meant nothing to him. Because Luke Skywalker, Galactic Emperor and Sith Lord, didn’t just enter a battle - he made it a performance.
His black-and-gold armor gleamed under the emergency lights, the crimson-plumed helm rising tall, its faceplate sculpted into sharp, angular lines that gave him an expression of cold, impassive menace. The crest arched back like the sweeping brushstroke of a war banner, a commander’s mark, meant to be seen across the battlefield.
It was entirely excessive for an internal skirmish.
Mara exhaled, unimpressed. “You do know you’re not leading a ground invasion, right?”
Luke, for his part, seemed utterly unfazed by his own appearance. His golden eyes burned as he took her in, sharp and assessing, already anticipating her next move. “Good,” he said, nodding to the blaster in her hand. “You’re armed.”
Mara rolled her eyes, stepping into the corridor beside him. “Wasn’t planning on hiding under the bed, husband.”
He smirked, but whatever amusement he might have had vanished as the ship rocked again, throwing sparks from the overhead lighting.
His grip tightened around his saber hilt. “Come on.”
Mara followed, matching his long strides as they moved down the corridor. Officers rushed past them, some saluting hastily, others too focused on their assignments to bother. The air was thick with tension, the distant echoes of battle already rippling through the Force.
As they reached the nearest command station, a breathless lieutenant snapped to attention. “Sir! The attack came from an Imperial Remnant fleet - two Star Destroyers and a squadron of bombers. They must have been waiting in stealth position outside the system.”
Mara frowned. That’s bold. The Eclipse was one of the most powerful warships in the galaxy - what kind of Imperial holdouts would risk engaging it directly?
They had left Coruscant’s gravity well hours ago, jumped into hyperspace on a standard route, and exited into what should have been empty space. Instead, the moment they had dropped out of hyperspace, the first turbolaser blasts had already been incoming.
It had been a trap.
Luke remained impassive. “Status of our defenses?”
“Shields are holding, but their bombers are making coordinated runs. If we don’t take out their command ships soon, they could weaken our forward hull.”
Mara exhaled, scanning the readouts over the lieutenant’s shoulder. This wasn’t a random attack. This was a calculated strike.
“Who are they?” she asked, her mind already working through possibilities. “Which warlord?”
The lieutenant hesitated. “Their transmission identified them as the Hand of Purity.”
Mara stilled. Oh, kriffing hell.
Luke’s gaze slid to her, his expression unreadable. “You know them.”
She folded her arms, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I knew them. The Hand of Purity was one of the more … radical Imperial cells after Endor. Mostly made up of officers who believed Palpatine’s vision had been tainted by outside influences.”
Luke arched a brow. “Outside influences.”
Mara gave him a pointed look. “Jedi. Aliens. Anyone who wasn’t part of their pure vision of the Empire.”
Understanding flickered in his eyes. “Force supremacists.”
“More like Force exterminators.” She sighed. “They barely tolerated Vader because he was Palpatine’s enforcer, but anyone else? They considered Force-users a corruption - Jedi, Sith, didn’t matter. If they’re targeting you, they probably see you as another usurper. A mutation of the Empire they think they can still ‘purify.’”
Luke considered that for a moment. Then he simply said, “They’re mistaken.”
Before Mara could reply, another impact rattled the ship. Luke turned, expression settling into something unreadable, and then -
He moved.
Without another word, he strode toward the nearest turbolift. Officers snapped into action around him, following his lead, but Mara didn’t miss the way some of them glanced at each other. They were uneasy.
Because Luke wasn’t heading for the command deck.
He was heading for the hangar.
Mara cursed under her breath and followed.
“Tell me you’re not about to do what I think you’re about to do.”
Luke’s smirk was barely there, more a flicker of amusement than anything else. “What’s the matter, Mara? Afraid to fly with me?”
“I’m afraid you’re an insane Sith Lord who thinks personal combat is the answer to every problem.”
He stepped into the lift, his presence in the Force steady and unshaken. “That’s not fear I’m sensing,” he murmured, glancing at her sidelong. “It’s anticipation.”
Mara gritted her teeth, stepping in beside him just as the doors slid shut. “I anticipate wanting to shoot you out of an airlock.”
Luke chuckled, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off tension. “You wouldn’t.”
She turned, eyes flashing. “Try me.”
The lift doors opened before he could reply.
The hangar bay was chaos - technicians scrambling to clear the decks, stormtroopers moving in formation, and waves of TIEs screaming into the void, their engines keening against the rumble of battle. Beyond the hangar shields, space was a tangle of green and red laser fire, enemy bombers weaving through the carnage as the Eclipse’s defenses retaliated in kind.
Luke strode forward, presence commanding, gaze sharp.
By the time Mara caught up to him, he was already handing off pieces of his armor to a long-suffering officer.
The heavy war helm - placed into waiting hands without a second glance.
The crimson-lined cloak - shrugged off, discarded.
The gauntlets - unfastened, handed over.
It was efficient, practiced, done without a word.
Mara folded her arms, watching the process with narrowed eyes.
And then she realized - this wasn’t improvisation.
The armor had been designed for this.
Layered, modular, meant to be peeled away as needed. It wasn’t just ceremonial - it was functional. Adaptable. Worn for war, but engineered for flight.
Luke had never left piloting behind.
He had simply built his armor around it.
She let out a breath. “So this is why you never take it off.”
Luke, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted to the lighter weight, didn’t even look up.
“It’s practical,” he said.
Mara exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “It’s ridiculous.”
Luke just smirked.
His golden gaze flicked downward, taking inventory of her weapons with a slow, assessing sweep. Then, with no small amount of amusement, he said, “That’s excessive, even for you.”
Mara smirked, patting the row of knives. “I like to be prepared.”
Luke didn't press. Instead, he nodded toward her saber. “You kept it.”
Not just her lightsaber - Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber.
Luke had given it to her years ago, after the battle on Wayland, after she had turned against the last echoes of the Emperor’s will. She’d held onto it longer than she ever intended. She told herself it was just a weapon - good balance, clean mechanics, nothing sentimental.
When she had boarded the Eclipse, she had surrendered it with the rest of her gear, turning it over without hesitation. She hadn’t expected to see it again. But there it had been, waiting for her in the weapons cabinet. And she'd taken it.
Mara hesitated for half a second before shrugging. “A good weapon is a good weapon.”
His smirk deepened, but before he could say anything else, an officer ran up, saluting sharply. “Sir! Your starfighter is prepped.”
They strode further into the hangar, the air thick with the hum of repulsorlifts and the clipped shouts of pilots and deck officers scrambling to launch. The acrid bite of engine coolant and ionized air clung to everything, mixing with the distant rumble of turbolaser fire.
And in the middle of it all, sleek and imposing, sat a black X-wing.
Mara stopped mid-stride. She had been expecting a TIE, maybe something heavily modified, but something that fit the Emperor and Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet.
Not ... this.
She stared, incredulous. Then she threw a hand toward the starfighter, unable to stop the sharp, disbelieving laugh that escaped her. "Where in the name of the Emperor’s rotting corpse did you get a black X-wing?"
Luke, beside her, didn’t so much as blink. "First of all, I'm literally standing right here - my corpse is hardly rotting."
Mara rolled her eyes. "That’s what you took from that sentence?"
"Second," he continued, voice maddeningly calm, "I didn’t want to learn new controls."
Mara turned to stare at him. "That’s your reason."
He gave a slight shrug, as if this were the most reasonable thing in the galaxy. "I like X-wings. And Incom will sell you one if you give them enough credits. That's how ‘buying things’ works."
Mara exhaled through her nose. "And the black paint?"
Luke reached for his flight helmet, slipping it on with the kind of effortless, practiced motion that came from years of muscle memory. “Consistency,” he said smoothly.
And that’s when Mara saw it.
Her breath hitched - just slightly - as recognition settled in.
The shape. The small, raised red strip down the center.
It was his battle helm. Or, a version of it.
It wasn’t exact, of course. His flight helmet was, of course, the same design as a Rebellion X-Wing pilot's would have been, but matte black - for consistency, no doubt - and with an Imperial crest where the Rebellion logo should be.
But the bones of the helm were there. He hadn’t discarded it - he’d evolved it.
She let out a sharp breath. “So that’s where you got it.”
Luke paused mid-adjustment. “Got what?”
Mara folded her arms. "The battle helm. The plume, the shape. It's just your old pilot’s helmet with extra theatrics."
Luke finished fastening the straps, adjusting the fit. His expression didn’t change.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Mara stared at him. "You painted over the insignia and put a crest on it."
He gave a slow, obnoxiously deliberate blink. “Sounds fake.”
Mara fought the urge to drag her hands down her face. "You’re insufferable."
Luke’s lips curled faintly as he zipped up his jacket, unfazed. "Noted."
Mara inhaled slowly, counting to three in her head.
An officer cleared his throat. "The Empress’s TIE is also ready, sir."
Mara turned, taking in the sleek, black-hulled Interceptor waiting for her. Faster than a standard TIE. Probably shielded, too. A gift.
Of course it was.
She bit back a sigh and strode toward the fighter, vaulting up the ladder with deliberate ease. The canopy hissed open, and sh cane slipped into the cockpit, fingers moving on instinct over the controls.
She activated the comm as she strapped in, voice dry. “Another wedding present, Skywalker?”
Luke’s voice crackled through the earpiece, smooth and self-satisfied. “Consider it a practical investment."
Mara rolled her eyes, flipping the final switches as the TIE’s engines roared to life. "I consider it a bribe."
"Call it what you like."
Across the hangar, Luke’s X-Wing lifted gracefully off the deck, its polished black hull gleaming against the floodlights before it shot forward toward open space.
Mara exhaled, then pulled back on the controls.
Her Interceptor followed close behind, engines roaring as she cleared the hangar’s atmospheric shield and plunged into the void.
The moment she hit open space, the battle unfolded around her in a chaotic spread of laser fire and twisting starfighters. The Eclipse’s turbolasers lit up the darkness, tracking enemy bombers as they made their assault runs, while Imperial pilots wove in and out of formation, breaking off to engage. A dogfight, tight and brutal, unfolding just ahead.
Mara’s hands were steady on the controls, her mind already shifting into battle instinct as she lined up her approach vector. She flicked her comms over to squadron frequency.
"This is Jade, online."
Luke’s voice crackled through the channel.
"Rebel One, standing by."
Mara almost choked.
"I’m sorry - what?"
Luke’s X-wing pulled into formation just ahead of her, perfectly controlled, as if he hadn’t just dropped that callsign into the comms like it was completely normal.
“You heard me," he said, tone infuriatingly mild.
"Rebel One?" Mara repeated, like maybe she had misheard him.
"It felt appropriate," Luke said.
Mara exhaled sharply through her nose. "You’re the Supreme Commander of the Imperial fleet. Dark Lord of the Sith. Ruler of the Force damned Empire. And you’re flying under Rebel One?"
"It has history."
"It has irony."
"Same thing."
Mara closed her eyes for half a second. Counted to three. Opened them.
"You are insufferable."
"Noted,” Luke said again, and she could hear the smirk in his voice.
Mara considered - for a fleeting, glorious second - switching her weapons to friendly fire.
Then the first barrage of enemy fire lit up the void, and she pushed the thought aside.
Mara juked hard to port, instinct kicking in as she wove through the chaos, her Interceptor rolling cleanly between two streaking bombers. Enemy fire crisscrossed the darkness, flashes of red and green reflecting off her canopy.
Luke, of course, didn’t evade.
He cut straight into the fight, his X-wing slicing through the formation with precise, impossible ease, cannons lighting up the void as he took down two Purist fighters before they even had time to adjust. The black hull blended into the void, barely visible until his laser cannons lit up the space between them.
Mara let out a sharp breath. "You do realize that having the only X-wing with a black paint job in the galaxy is basically a neon sign for everyone to converge on you, husband?"
Luke’s voice came back over the comm: calm, smug, infuriating.
"Good thing I’m the best, then.”
Mara gritted her teeth, whipping her fighter around as a squadron of enemy TIEs locked onto Luke’s tail. "Well, the ‘best’ is about to get swarmed. Hold position - I'll clear your six."
Luke didn’t acknowledge her. He just rolled his X-wing directly toward his attackers.
And then he cut his engines.
Mara’s stomach dropped.
"Skywalker, don’t - “
The Purist squadron overshot him by milliseconds - and then Luke reactivated his thrusters, spun on his axis, and took them all out in three precise shots.
"I had it handled," he murmured.
Mara’s fingers tightened around the controls. Not enough to throw her aim, but enough that she had to force herself to ease her grip.
"Insufferable,” she growled, well aware she was repeating herself but unable in the moment to find a better descriptor.
Luke exhaled, and for the first time, there was the faintest edge of irritation in his voice. "Yes, you've mentioned that. Twice."
Then, more dryly - "I’ll add ‘Insufferable One’ to the shortlist for my next callsign, since you don’t think ‘Rebel One’ lands right."
Mara laughed before she could stop herself.
It was short, sharp, half exasperation, half amusement, but it escaped all the same.
Luke didn’t comment on it, but she could feel his smirk through the silence.
She banked hard, dodging a streak of laser fire, and risked a glance at his X-Wing as it cut through the battle with almost unnatural precision.
It was still strange to see him flying one.
There had been a time - not that many years ago - when Luke Skywalker in an X-Wing had meant something else entirely.
Mara had never fought for the Rebellion, but she had watched them. Studied their battles. Memorized the names of pilots who caused the most damage to the Empire.
And Luke? He had been their best. A legend well before he was a Jedi.
Leia would have had something to say about this.
The thought came unbidden, cutting through her focus, sharp and fleeting.
Because Leia had always had something to say when it came to her brother. She had been the one who believed in him even after no one else did. The one who had spent the last five years fighting for the man he used to be.
But if she were here now, what would she see?
Would she even recognize him?
"Rebel One, I'm coming up on your three," she said, resetting her grip on the controls.
"Acknowledged," Luke replied.
A Purist fighter spun into Luke’s blind spot.
Mara took the shot before he even registered it, the enemy ship breaking apart in a quick, fiery burst.
"Good thing you bought me when you did, husband." Her voice was light but sharp. "I’d hate for you to have buyer’s remorse."
Luke didn’t answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was quieter than before. "I didn’t mean it like that."
Mara didn’t answer. She just rolled her fighter back into formation, eyes sharp on her sensors, pushing the moment aside.
Ahead, the battle was shifting. The Purists were losing cohesion, their formation breaking apart as the Eclipse’s guns found their targets. The enemy Star Destroyer, already battered, was listing, one engine flaring out in a slow, spiraling burn.
"Fleet reports the second Destroyer is pulling back," Luke said, his voice back to smooth, controlled precision. "They're cutting their losses.”
"Not all of them." Mara keyed in on a damaged cruiser limping toward the debris field. Smaller than a Star Destroyer, but big enough to house command personnel. "That ship’s not retreating. It’s trying to disappear."
There was a pause.
"You think their leadership’s onboard," Luke said, not a question.
"I think they planned for an escape route. Which means they have something worth protecting."
Luke’s fighter adjusted course, locking onto the cruiser with a quiet inevitability. "Then we’re boarding.”
Mara sighed.
"Of course we are.”
Mara pulled her Interceptor into formation beside Luke, angling toward the cruiser as the chaos of the battlefield thinned behind them. Explosions still flared in the void, debris drifting aimlessly where Purist fighters had been cut down, but the real fight was already over. The Eclipse was too powerful, its forces too disciplined. The Hand of Purity had made their move, and they’d lost.
Except for the ones still trying to disappear.
She adjusted her course, scanning the cruiser’s hull. It was running dark, shields weak but engines pushing hard, trying to slip away into the debris field. They were playing dead, but not well enough.
"Engines are damaged, but their nav systems are still online," she noted, fingers flicking over her readouts. "If they make the jump, we lose them."
Luke’s voice came through, perfectly calm. "They won’t make the jump."
Mara sighed but didn’t argue, pulling her fighter into a low sweep over the hull.
The Purist cruiser loomed ahead, its hull scarred and smoking, still limping toward cover. They had minutes at most before it jumped to lightspeed.
Mara swung in behind Luke, both fighters skimming dangerously close to the ventral hangar bay.
"Rebel One to fleet - hold fire on the cruiser. We're taking a boarding team."
There was a brief pause before a clipped, professional voice responded. "Acknowledged, sir. We’ll maintain a perimeter."
"Jade, on me," Luke said, cutting power as he nosed into the hangar, perfectly controlled, like gravity barely applied to him.
Mara followed, her landing sharp, efficient. She had barely popped the cockpit hatch before her blaster was in hand.
Luke, naturally, wasn’t holding a blaster.
Just his lightsaber, still clipped to his belt, like he wasn’t even concerned.
"Do you ever carry a proper weapon?" Mara muttered as she dropped onto the deck.
Luke smirked as he stepped down from his X-wing, rolling his shoulders like shaking off tension. "You’re here. Does that count?"
Mara chose not to respond to that.
Instead, she scanned the hangar - dimly lit, mostly abandoned. A few disabled Purist starfighters scattered along the bay. No obvious security, but that meant nothing.
"This is too easy," she muttered.
Luke’s golden gaze flicked toward the sealed blast doors across the hangar.
"Not for long."
The emergency alarms began wailing.
And then the first wave of Purist troopers opened fire.
Blasterfire lit up the hangar, streaks of red and blue slicing through the dim light as the first wave of Purist troopers opened fire.
Luke’s saber crackled to life, its crimson glow cutting through the chaos.
Mara had seen him fight before - had fought beside him, had trained against him, had lost to him - but this was something else. He moved without hesitation, without effort, his saber arcing in tight, lethal precision as he redirected every shot with clinical ease. One trooper’s blasterfire ricocheted straight back into his chest; another’s shot went wide, catching his own ally in the crossfire.
She had been right about a lot of things.
But she had to admit, Luke had brought the proper weapon.
Mara didn’t waste time staring. She raised her blaster and returned fire, ducking behind the edge of a supply crate as enemy shots clipped the air beside her. One Purist trooper dropped under her first shot, another staggered as a bolt caught him in the shoulder.
The hangar shook as a fresh wave of their own stormtroopers landed behind them, boots hitting durasteel in a sharp, disciplined rhythm.
"Rebel One, advancing." The clipped voice of her lead officer cut through the noise. "We have your position."
Mara fired off another shot before the absurdity hit her again.
Rebel One.
She had no idea what the fleet officers thought of that ridiculous callsign, and she didn’t have time to care.
Luke, of course, didn’t acknowledge it.
He just pressed forward, saber carving through the air in a sweep of glowing red.
Mara exhaled sharply and keyed her own comm. "Then engage.”
She unclipped her own lightsaber as she moved, and the cerulean blade singing to life in her hand, the kyber thrumming melodiously with the Force in her chest.
Mara pushed forward, saber humming in one hand, blaster kicking in the other. Purist troops fell under her fire, their formations already crumbling, but she barely had time to register it.
Because they had another problem.
How, exactly, were they supposed to keep their own stormtroopers from getting mixed up with the Purists? The hangar was a mess of bodies and blasterfire, and the enemy was already falling back toward the corridors. It was the kind of fight that could turn into a brawl of friendly fire and chaos -
Except, apparently, it wouldn’t.
Because Luke wasn’t going to let it.
Mara had fought beside him before, had seen him wield the Force with a calm inevitability.
But this - this was something else.
Luke didn’t just move through the battlefield. He rewrote it.
He carved forward like inevitability itself, every step pressing deeper into the ship, the enemy falling back before he even reached them.
His saber cut clean, red light painting the walls in molten arcs. Blaster bolts snapped toward him and never found their mark - redirected, absorbed, sent spiraling back with effortless precision. Bodies dropped, one after another, cut down by fire they had meant for him.
The Force bent around him, a pressure Mara could feel even from a distance. A shifting, rippling weight that made the air hum with something too vast, too absolute to fight against.
He didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t falter.
Didn’t stop.
And their troops - his troops - never even had to catch up.
Because there was no front line: there was only him.
Mara wasn't sure exactly when she'd stopped fighting and started just watching.
She shook herself, exhaled through her teeth, and closed the gap between them, blue blade singing as she slipped into his wake.
If Luke was a storm tearing through the battlefield, she was the razor edge of the wind, cutting through the gaps he left behind.
Her saber flashed, a streak of light through the dim corridors. She didn’t fight like Luke - overwhelming, absolute, inevitable.
She fought sharp. Precise. Efficient.
A Purist officer turned his rifle toward her. She was faster. One quick slash through plastoid and synthweave, and he dropped. Another moved for cover - her saber was already there.
They advanced.
Together, they were impossible to stop.
Luke tore through the enemy ranks, a force of nature, his strikes broad and devastating. The air rippled with every motion, the Force itself an extension of his will.
Mara followed in his shadow, a deadlier shape in the dark. She struck without hesitation, her footwork smooth, precise, no movement wasted. She didn’t need overwhelming power. She needed leverage, speed, and one good opening.
And the enemy was crumbling.
The blaster fire thinned. The tight defensive formations broke apart.
At first, it was hesitation.
Then it was something else.
Self-preservation outweighed discipline.
The Purists began falling away.
Some tried to hold the corridor. Some turned and ran.
It didn’t matter.
The bridge was ahead.
Mara caught Luke’s glance, a wordless understanding passing between them.
And together, they pushed forward.
The last line of resistance shattered.
What few Purists remained fired wildly, desperation overriding discipline. Mara deflected a stray bolt, closing the distance in a single step. A precise cut - one less enemy.
Beside her, Luke didn’t slow. His saber cut wide, final, absolute. Another trooper dropped. Another weapon clattered to the floor, abandoned.
And then - it was over.
Blasterfire fell silent.
The enemy who still stood didn’t fight. They lowered their weapons.
The bridge doors burst open behind them, the sharp, heavy rhythm of boots filling the space as their stormtroopers surged inside.
Mara exhaled slowly, extinguishing her saber as the first wave of troopers secured the perimeter, forcing the surviving bridge officers to their knees.
Now, as the last of the Purist officers were surrounded, stormtroopers’ blasters raised, Mara kept her expression carefully neutral, even as her pulse still thrummed from the battle.
Luke stood at the center of it all, his crimson lightsaber still ignited, casting a stark, bloody glow across the bridge. His chestplate bore faint singe marks from a bolt he'd caught rather than deflected, his skin streaked with soot, but his golden eyes burned bright - focused, sharp, and hungry.
The ship’s commanding officer - a middle-aged man with iron-gray hair and the stiff posture of an Imperial hardliner - was forced forward by two troopers, blood dripping from a gash at his temple. Even in defeat, his gaze was defiant.
Luke tilted his head slightly, regarding him with an almost academic curiosity. “You’re Admiral Keldan, aren’t you?”
The man spat at his feet. “I answer to no usurper.”
Mara exhaled slowly. Oh, this is going to be bad.
Luke smiled.
It wasn’t a friendly smile. It wasn’t even a cruel smile. It was the kind of smile that sent a slow, cold feeling curling through Mara’s stomach.
“I heard you think I’m a …” Luke gestured loosely with his saber, his voice soft, almost conversational. “What was it? A mutation?” He took a slow step forward. “An impurity?”
The admiral sneered, chin lifting. “The true Empire will not be ruled by a corrupted aberration - a mongrel hybrid of Jedi filth and Sith heresy. You think you wear the Emperor’s crown? You desecrate it. Palpatine would never have allowed a thing like you to - ”
He stopped.
His breath caught in his throat.
His back arched violently, heels dragging against the durasteel as his own body turned against him.
Luke didn’t gesture. Didn’t raise a hand. He didn’t need to.
Keldan’s throat seized under invisible pressure, his fingers clawing uselessly at empty air. His chest shook, spasmed, his breath coming in ragged, silent gasps.
The bridge crew watched, frozen.
No one moved to help. No one dared.
Mara had seen Luke do this before. Had been on the receiving end before. But not quite like this.
Vader’s power had been rage, brute force, crushing suffocation.
Luke was precise. Surgical.
This wasn’t an outburst. It was a correction.
Luke stepped closer, tilting his head as if studying an insect pinned under glass. “You speak of the true Empire.” His voice was still soft. Almost gentle. “But you fail to understand what the Empire has become.”
Keldan’s struggles grew weaker, his face darkening. The other officers kneeling nearby averted their eyes, some trembling, none daring to intervene. The stormtroopers remained still, disciplined, waiting for their commander’s word.
Luke exhaled, shaking his head as if disappointed. “You would rather cling to the rotting corpse of Palpatine’s failures than embrace what is inevitable.” His grip in the Force tightened, and Keldan spasmed violently, choking on nothing.
Mara watched, jaw tight.
Luke wasn’t doing this to kill him.
He was doing it to watch him die.
The admiral writhed, feet dangling inches above the deck, fingers clawing at his own throat as if he could pry away the unseen force crushing him. His face darkened, his struggles growing weaker.
And Luke just watched.
Mara moved before she thought about it, before she could question why.
A knife was already in her hand, flying in a perfect arc -
Luke’s lightsaber ignited with a hiss, cutting through the air, deflecting it mid-flight. The blade clattered uselessly to the deck.
His head turned, golden eyes locking onto hers -
And then her second knife hit.
It buried itself in Keldan’s chest. A clean, perfect strike.
He jerked once. Then went still.
For a second, just a second, the bridge was silent. The Purist crew stared, stunned. Their leader had still died, but not the way Skywalker had intended.
Mara rolled her shoulders, exhaling slowly. "Messy, husband."
Luke was still watching her. Not angry. Not surprised.
Just watching.
Then, without a word, he turned. He let go.
The admiral collapsed in a boneless heap.
Luke stood motionless, saber still in hand but unlit, his golden gaze lingering on Keldan’s body for a fraction too long before he exhaled sharply through his nose.
Then he turned away.
“Secure the bridge,” he ordered smoothly, as if nothing had happened, as if the temperature of the air hadn’t changed. His voice was controlled, measured - but Mara didn’t miss the tautness in his shoulders, the tension still humming under his skin.
Luke stalked off without a word and Mara followed.
They walked in silence, the weight of the bridge still pressing at their backs. The sound of boots on durasteel. The distant hum of alarms.
Then, Luke - calm, conversational. “What was that about?"
Mara didn’t look at him. "No one deserves to die like that."
Luke let out a soft hum, tilting his head slightly. "Is some sort of moral line I used to have? I’ve forgotten."
Mara almost scoffed. Almost.
Then she glanced at him.
And realized he was genuinely curious.
A cold weight settled in her stomach.
He wasn’t joking.
He had actually forgotten.
She didn’t know what unsettled her more - that he had lost the memory, or that he was asking her to remind him.
Mara exhaled slowly. "You did. A long time ago."
Luke nodded, like that made sense. Like he had expected that answer. “Did I believe it?"
Mara glanced at him sharply. "You tell me."
He didn’t answer right away. They turned a corner, their pace steady, their troopers falling into step behind them. Luke’s expression remained unreadable, but his hands flexed slightly at his sides, like his body remembered something his mind did not.
"I used to believe a lot of things," he said finally. His voice was quiet, thoughtful. Too honest. "Some of them were true. Some of them were just ... things I told myself."
Mara said nothing.
Luke didn’t seem to mind.
His voice remained calm, steady, almost conversational as they walked. Like he was listing off old belongings he’d thrown away.
"I can save them," he said first. “That was a big one.”
Mara felt the weight of those words, even before he continued.
The Rebel pilot turned Jedi, standing on the second Death Star, his lightsaber raised against Vader - not to kill him, but to save him. The boy who had defied a Sith Lord to protect his friends, who had walked into fire believing he could pull his father back from the edge.
Mara’s fingers curled slightly, but she kept her gaze forward.
"I can make things better." A slight hum, like he was considering it. "That one lasted longer than it should have."
Luke Skywalker, New Republic hero. The man who had stood on war-torn planets and promised something different. Who had rebuilt instead of ruled, who had thought he could shape a peace that would last.
He glanced at her, but Mara still didn’t speak.
Luke continued anyway. “And then even after I turned, there were things I had to force myself to keep believing."
"They deserve it."
The new Emperor. The man who had sat on the throne of a dying Empire and decided who was worth saving. Who looked at his enemies and saw justice in their destruction.
"This is the only way."
The warlord. The one who had silenced the voices of dissent, who had erased the possibility of another path. Who had walked into darkness and never looked back.
"It’ll be worth it."
Even now. Holding on. Trying to believe that all of this - all the blood, all the power, all the choices - would add up to something.
There was no weight to the words. No anger. Just thoughtful detachment. A quiet unraveling.
Then, finally - a pause.
And then, softer, like an afterthought -
"I don’t think I believe those anymore."
He said it like he was stating the temperature of the room. Like it wasn’t a loss at all - just a fact.
Mara’s stomach twisted.
Because he didn’t sound broken. He didn’t even sound regretful.
He just sounded like a man who had walked too far into the dark to remember what the light had felt like.
Luke kept walking, his voice still calm, reflective, too honest.
"I guess the thing about weakness is - " a slight hum, like he was turning the thought over in his head - "it’s like Keldan back there."
Mara glanced at him, wary.
"You can let it struggle," Luke continued. "Let it claw at its own throat, let it fight for air it’s never getting back."
A pause.
“Or you can take the knife and end it cleanly."
The words sat between them, weightless and inevitable.
Mara finally spoke. "That’s horrific, Skywalker."
Luke shrugged. "That’s what it means to be Sith."
And they kept walking.