The Special Path Taken by Darth Vader and All It Entails or:

Sonderweg

Chapter I: Erneuerung

He did not mean to fall with Sidious when he threw him off the edge. Perhaps the Emperor had latched onto him in one final hate-filled gambit to ensure he wasn't alone in his demise; perhaps he had simply slipped from the added weight in his weakened condition. There was no use in wondering about it.

He was falling.

Vader knew what lay in wait for him at the end of this shaft. Indeed, even if he had managed to keep his footing his death was already inevitable; the Emperor's lightning had seen to that. So he did not fear the end, rather he accepted it, embraced it even. It was not only the end of his life but the end of his enslavement to the Sith; it was the end of the torture he had put his children through for nigh on five years.

He was content with that. More than content

You would be so proud, Padme… For the first time he was thankful that both Luke and Leia had inherited their mother's disdain for authoritarian institutions and her firm dedication for doing what was right. The Empire could have been so much better, something truly great and wondrous for the galaxy, but so long as Palpatine ruled it would be nothing else than a black and decadent parasite. It was better this way, he was certain his children could give the galaxy a chance to truly heal from the madness that had plagued it since the Clone Wars.

You are what the Jedi need Luke, a fresh and open mind. You will make the Order what it was meant to be; a protector of those who can't protect themselves.

I am proud of you, my son…

He closed his eyes as his fall took him ever closer to the bottom of the shaft, and as he experienced his final moments on this plane of existence Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith and Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleets, had one last, fleeting thought.

Would that I could do it again…

After that he knew nothing.

Well, nothing that he would remember anyway.

He did not know who he was.

He was dead, that was certain. He remembered enough about life to know that this could not be living. Life should not be so cold, so dark, so empty.

He did not ask how long he had been like this. In this state, in death time was meaningless. One second was one eternity and one eternity was one second. It was small and large, infinite and finite, complete and broken all at once.

He did not remember what he had done when in life, so he could not say if he was suffering his just punishment or if this was what awaited everyone once they left the mortal plane. The second option struck him as rather depressing.

Who was I? What was I?

He spent both an entire year and a single minute pondering these questions, both simultaneously. He had nothing for reference; he was formless (part of him wondered if he truly existed at all) and even if he had assumed some shape he doubted it would be relevant to him.

Either way he was still dead.

For a long time after and for a long time before he simply was. Not moving, not speaking, indeed doing nothing except for trying to entertain himself with guesses on what he had been like before his supposed demise. One cannot truly guess how long this state of affairs went; in the span of time he spent in this state of being both all of time and no time at all had passed. What was death after all if not the cessation of one's perception of time and space?

But then, as the old cliché went, something happened.

With no warning he was suddenly bombarded by what would best be described as sensation. Suddenly time was perceived, space enveloped him with all that it entailed and demanded, and he was all at once whole and empty because he could feel and he knew for a fact that he existed.

He wanted to weep, he wanted to cheer, he wanted to howl, he wanted everything and nothing because now once again he knew what it was to experience emotion.

Was this life? Was this being and existing and not being stuck in between perception and oblivion? In that moment he cherished life more than anything else, experiencing both elation that it was his and soul-consuming horror at the thought of losing it ever, ever again.

With perception and feeling came awareness, and it was with this wondrous awareness that he took in his surroundings and form. While later he would admit that he should have been more focused, in that moment he could not stop himself from gazing in awe and amazement.

It was clear that he was wearing some form of armor, though he had to question the effectiveness of it if it ever had to be worn to battle. It was overwhelmingly black, with a durasteel mantle protecting the upper chest and shoulders. What he assumed to be some sort of control panel sat squarely on his torso, its lights blinking innocently. He knew as soon as he saw it that to lose that was to die.

A great billowing cloth cape enveloped him, as was common being of the color black. He could see that he wore armored boots, and around his waist there was a belt from which hung another piece of cloth that went down to his ankles and stretched around the length of the belt.

A curious outfit, he mused, when something else grabbed his attention. It hung innocuously on his right hip from the belt; a cylinder of silver and black. It appeared mechanical in nature and handcrafted if the intricacy of its design was any indication. From its presence on his side he logically deduced that it was his, and when he looked upon he knew, somehow, exactly how to use it to its deadliest effect.

His lightsaber, he realized, a mark of his membership in the Order of the Sith Lords.

He paused, surprised. It seemed he remembered some things from his past life after all. He would have to think more on that later.

Indeed, ruminations on what he might have been would apparently have to wait, for as his attention shifted to his surroundings he saw that he was less pleasantly surrounded by other presences. Droids, he remembered, along with what appeared to be their organic commanders. What was worrisome about the situation was the fact that every single one of the droids had a blaster rifle pointed at him.

He scoffed, amusement welling up at the idea that they believed they were a threat to him in any way. Immediately after he paused, wary of his earlier reaction. It seemed that he was rather cocksure of himself; that would be something that he would need to watch for.

"Identify yourself," one of the organics asked, and as he looked he recognized his species, a Nemoidian who appeared to be of rather important rank given his mode of dress and bearing.

Once again, he paused, weighing his options. He knew without having to think about it that it would be child's play for him to fight his way out, either with his lightsaber or with the power of the Dark Side (another aspect of his past life staying with him, he mused), but discretion was the better part of valor. Besides, it was better to act diplomatically in this situation; these people, obviously soldiers of some kind, had still done nothing to harm him yet, and he should only return the courtesy for what it was.

And they could also tell him where he was.

"I'm going to ask again, identify yourself," the Nemoidian repeated, firmer this time. The Sith Lord paused, as he realized he didn't exactly know how to answer the question, as strange a predicament as that was.

Again another surge of memory welled up within him. A pale old man, scarred horribly and wrapped in midnight robes, smiling down on him in a way that was all malevolence and cunning, evil and ruthlessness. A voice, gravelly and heavy with power, reverberated in his mind.

I welcome thee to the Order of the Sith Lords, Lord…

"Vader," he said, drawing himself up to his full height. It was as if the name gave him new purpose and power; as if it was the summation of everything he was and everything that was his by right. As he spoke aloud for the first time that he heard his voice, cyberized and deep as the ocean, another symbol of his power. Along with a heavy breath that could only be called a death rattle. "I am Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith. Where am I?"

Author's Note: Good evening, morning, and afternoon to all of those reading this. As promised, the rewrite of A Second Chance, Sonderweg.

For those of you who aren't quite up to par with German (like me), Sonderweg roughly translates to "Special Path". After some thinking I settled on this title for the main reason that, well, I can't quite recall a time-travel story where the traveller doesn't have his memories with him. Which means that for both us and our favorite Sith Lord, this will be a special path indeed.

Now, I'm certain many of you are asking why I felt the need to rewrite A Second Chance in the first place. It was my most popular work, it was my longest running story, and it was something new. The answer lies partly in the second item; by virtue of it being my longest running story it suffered greatly from the flaws of my writing that existed at the time. While I'm nowhere near pretentious enough to believe that my writing is or ever will be flawless, it is greatly improved from when A Second Chance started.

The other major reason is, quite simply, I didn't truly know where I was going with A Second Chance. I made the mistake of charging on ahead without preparing an actual plotline in advance. An amateur mistake, true, but one that was beginning to cripple the story. While I still have some details to iron out with Sonderweg, it is far more whole than A Second Chance was at its inception. I know what I want, I know how I want to do it, and I believe it is within my ability. Though, on that last count, I will defer to your judgement.

Before I adjourn, I will warn you. Writing A Second Chance taught me a valuable lesson; I detest writing about the Force, utterly and completely. It creates too many complications that I have neither the will nor the ability to deal with. Saying that, the Force will have nowhere near as large a presence here. It will still exist and I will not shy away from describing it, but that is it. The main focus will be the characters' motivations and how they shape them as sentient beings. That, and war. Lots, and lots of war.

With that said, I bid you adieu, and I hope that you enjoy reading this story as much as I will enjoy writing it.