In his short travels, he had already come across many places he had - instantly or even after a certain period of time - disliked: the gory camps of the Tusken on his homeword, seedy spaceport cantinas in the twilit underbelly of the galaxy, devastated planets made inhospitable by decades of relentless and thoughtless warfare. Yet none of them compared even remotely to the one he found himself in that very morning. Not even by a long shot. To be fair, it was not like the exclusive rooms were in any way visually assaulting, unpleasant or even uncomfortable. On the contrary, the interior was luxurious with its heavy carpets, rare natural woods and the unique pieces of art tastefully lit in generous alcoves.

No. This place held ugliness of an entirely different nature. One that stemmed from deep within. A sense of threat and foreboding, of vileness and monstrosity dimming the very fabric of the universe. It seemed almost as if the Force, smothered by all that was negative, had forsaken it, the very center of the galaxy, for something else to fill the vacuum, to take its place.

"Ah, young Skywalker," the velvety voice sang, a gentle smile gracing its owner's distorted features. "Please, do sit."

Hesitating for only the fraction of a moment, Luke walked up to the set of formchairs facing the Emperor's desk and slowly took a seat. It took quite some effort not to avert his eyes from the old man sitting opposite him, from the mangled face withdrawn deeply into the hooded cloak. From the eyes – glimmering a sickly yellow – studying his so intently. The smile still remained.

"I am glad to see you return to us safely. When word of your injuries reached the capital, we feared the worst."

"It wasn't that bad." Luke felt compelled to comment into the thick air, and earned himself an amused chuckle.

"I see that you are prone to trivialising your own discomforts. During my last conversation with your father, I gleaned the impression that he was not quite as nonchalant."

Before he could stop himself, a comment slipped past Luke's lips.

"He's one to talk…"

There was a moment of silence as the feverish eyes studied his, their intensity almost too much to bear.

"Lord Vader has proven to be quite irrational at times. I believe his own discomforts simply paled in comparison to his concerns for your safety. He assumed you had remained safely aboard his flagship, after all. You gave him quite a surprise." He let the words hang in the air for a while before appending: "All of us in fact."

Luke's eyes drifted to the viewports for a moment, flickered across the dim room.

"I assume you had plausible reasons…"

The boy gave the smallest of nods, the hesitance he felt barely perceptible.

"I thought something might happen to him." he commented vaguely. Best not to let the Emperor in on the premonitory dreams he seemed blessed – cursed? – with; his father had been adamant he keep them a secret from his master. And although no explanation had been forthcoming, he had felt the urgency and necessity in his old man's plea. "I wanted to help."

Another chuckle.

"Help, yes…" the Emperor commented, his eyes still searching the boy's, still probing. "It seems you did, too. My troops sing your praises. They are impressed with your resilience, but I believe they are, above all, awestruck by the mindmeld they witnessed. Understandably so. It is an extraordinary feat accomplished only by those most gifted."

Luke felt a flush creeping onto his cheeks. The compliment did not feel dishonest or ironic, but rather… foreboding, in a way. There was something in the Force that warned him not to be drawn in by the words, not to open himself too far. But to remain vigilant. Guarded.

"How did it feel?" came the inquiry, honestly curious.

He considered the question for a moment, his mind travelling back to when it had become one with that of his father, no longer two separate entities, but a fluid whole, a perfectly imperfect amalgamation.

"I don't remember much of it," he supplied finally in a compromise of revelation and vagueness. "It was unlike anything I've ever felt before." Powerful, he added in his mind, near unlimited power.

A smile formed on the Emperor's lips as he leaned forward and regarded the boy more closely.

"You enjoyed it."

It was an absolute statement, an understanding that left no room for doubt. So Luke thought it best not to comment. This conversation was heading in a direction he did not feel like following; and if there was anyone with whom he should be discussing this topic, it was his father.

From the corners of his eyes, Luke suddenly perceived a series of dim, red flashes. His comlink. Again. With nimble fingers, he hastily silenced the visual notification. It was not the first he'd received these past few days, and it likely would not be the last.

After another quiet moment, the Emperor sank back into his high backed chair, a hint of the previous smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Be that as it may, you have returned just in time. Empire Day is almost upon us. And this year, young Skywalker, you, too, will have your part to play."

Unconsciously, Luke swallowed around a growing lump in his throat. Thoughts of Empire Day had been looming over him for days now, and he couldn't help but feel anxious. The more banners and flags were flown, the more people of all races arrived in the bustling capital, the more nervous he became. It didn't exactly help that his father had skirted the subject on all possible occasions, diverting from it whenever he considered it necessary.

"What exactly is my part?" he asked hesitantly.

"Oh, do not concern yourself with unnecessary details, my son," the Emperor commented with a dismissive shake of his head. "Lord Vader will instruct you when the time comes. I do hope he will forgo his retreat to Mustafar this year and remain at our side."

His father, leave? A sudden wave of dread constricted Luke's chest. The idea that his old man might consider abandoning him during the ordeal had never even occurred to him before. He knew his father wasn't particularly fond of Empire Day - or Imperial Center, for that matter - but he couldn't possibly leave his son to fend for himself… could he? What could there be on Mustafar that his father might prefer it to the capital and his only remaining family?

"Mustafar?" Luke heard himself ask despite better judgement.

A sigh escaped the old man.

"A place of… special importance to your father. Best not to press him on the matter, though."

Luke nodded absent-mindedly, making a note of the name for future investigation, and only peripherally perceived the Emperor's further commentary.

"Perhaps, in time, as your duties expand, you may even stand in for your father. Ease his burdens. You might even accompany me to my homeworld; show it the respect Lord Vader is unable to. The respect it deserves."

"Your homeworld?" Luke frowned. "Why can't Father go?"

Another sigh, tired this time.

"It is not so much about his ability to do so. Naboo is not only my homeworld."

The Emperor must have perceived Luke's confusion, for he eventually added, with a hint of pity lacing his words:

"That, young Skywalker, is not my story to tell. Your father has quite a few sensitive spots, I'm afraid, remnants of an existence he is apparently still struggling to overcome."

The words stung, spread an annoyance his Luke's gut that he was unable to deny. Anakin Skywalker was anything but a remnant. He might have been buried, deeply and with care, but that hadn't dampened his spirit. Sometimes he managed to tear free, struggle to the surface. In those moments Luke was gifted glimpses of his true father, of the one unshackled by the dark side. And those were all he needed to keep going. Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi, his father, was still there. And he would save him. No matter how long, no matter how much, it might take.

Expelling a weary sigh, the Dark Lord dismissed the current message and called up the next. Another invitation, doubtless for one of the many decadent gatherings held along the sidelines of the main Empire Day festivities. Social functions for all the mighty, powerful and wealthy - or those who considered themselves as such. Veritable carnivals of elitism and pride. Perversions of anything the Empire truly stood for.

Disgusting.

Listlessly, Vader continued to work his way through the mountains of correspondence, barely taking in what he read. His mind still lingered elsewhere, was still imprisoned in the luxurious rooms of the Imperial Palace and the events it had housed earlier that day. Although he considered it a reassuring sign that he had heard nothing immediately following his son's appointment with his Master, that he had not been summoned to the Palace with indignation, he could not shake the uneasy sensation that had lodged in his mind. His son was physically unharmed, that much was certainly true, and thankfully so. The boy's presence in the Force, however, told an entirely different story. It was steeped in trepidation, radiating uncertainty and wariness, broadcasting it for everyone who was able and cared to listen.

For the past hour or so, Vader had been aware of his son hovering in the nearby corridor, alternating between light conversation with the troopers on duty and idling on the balcony. It seemed as if, although he felt the need to talk to his father, he needed a nudge in the right direction. An invitation, of sorts. Perhaps not a good sign.

Waving his right hand without taking his eyes off the screen in front of him, Vader commanded the office doors to part, exposing the room and its occupant to anyone in the corridor. For a long moment, nothing happened, until finally, light, cautious footsteps neared the doorway and the small form of his son appeared in the room. He could sense the young one carefully testing his mood before eventually wandering to the opposite end of the table and sitting down.

"So… what are you doing?" he ventured finally, his gaze flitting back and forth between the computer and his father's faceplate.

"Taking care of correspondence. Or what is these days considered as such."

Luke hummed in response, the fingers of his left hand absent-mindedly caressing the synthskin of his right.

"Anything interesting?"

Vader finally raised his gaze from the screen and looked straight at his son.

"Hardly. But I do not believe you have come here to inquire about the dreary contents of my inbox." A small smile ghosted his son's face at the observation, lighting the blue eyes for a brief moment. Vader hated to eradicate it so soon, yet it seemed the boy was still in need of encouragement.

"I trust the audience with my Master went well? You remembered my instructions?"

His son nodded quickly in a bid to appease his father's lingering worries.

"Of course. The Emperor asked me a few things, mostly about Zolan… Sneaking onto the shuttle, my injuries…" He paused for a moment, appending the inevitable, "The mindmeld… He knows about everything, just like you said."

Vader acknowledged the confirmation with a simple nod.

"That much was inevitable. Do not let it bother you."

A small, flickering light caught Vader's attention and he gestured toward it.

"It seems I have competition for your attention."

Luke's head jerked up and his eyes darted to the comlink fastened to his belt.

"Oh Sith! Not again…"

Fumbling nervously, he silenced the device without even checking the small display. Apparently, the competition hardly deserved its name.

"Sorry."

Vader regarded him curiously for a moment, picking up on the sudden increase in tension.

"I hope you have not been too forthcoming with your private frequency…?"

"Oh, no. Not at all."

The quick deny was followed by another moment of silence, and Vader returned his attention to the screen in front of him, considering his worst fears allayed and the conversation more or less finished. He hurried through another half dozen message before he realized that his son seemed to think differently. His words, albeit low and wary, easily penetrated the silence.

"You're not going to leave me here, right? You won't take off without me… would you?"

Puzzled, Vader regarded his son, sensing the insecurity that was so unlike his offspring it made him appear even younger than his actual years. A small boy rather than a young adult, a child, fearing abandonment.

"What gave you that idea?"

A flicker of hope eased the tension in their bond, took off the edge.

"So you're not going to Mustafar then? The Emperor…"

"The Emperor does not know my mind," Vader interrupted curtly, feeling a familiar anger invading his senses. "You would do well to be wary of his counsel. Remember where your loyalties lie."

The blunt words were spoken without much thought, the product of instinctual deflection. Reflexes honed through countless mistakes.

Words of a Sith rather than a parent.

They were hardly the reassurance the boy had been hoping for and perhaps even needed, the father in him knew. Yet what else could he say? That he would never even consider abandoning his own son, so long as he had a choice? That his chest constricted with fear every time Luke left the safe confines of his quarters without his company? That he had become unable to even enter meditation, let alone sleep, without sensing his son's presence nearby? Without knowing that he was alright?

Hardly admissions befitting a man of his station, regardless of their veracity. There were things more important than his son's peace of mind, after all. Still, it seemed the boy did not consider the conversation finished. If he was discouraged, he did not show it but instead decided to deliver another blow.

"What about Naboo?"

Vader stared at the boy for a moment, dumbfounded.

"How…"

It was a question he did not, in fact, need to finish asking. The answer was obvious. His Master. Sidious had always known how to get under his skin.

He was aware of his son's stare on him, those blue eyes trying to look beyond the mask, past the Sith Lord, to the father, gauging his reaction.

"Naboo was my mother's homeworld, wasn't it? That's why you won't go back."

"Who told you that?" Vader pressed past suddenly numbed lips. Of course it had been his master, he knew, the old man feeding his son just the right amount of information. Throwing him just the bits needed to gain his confidence. To draw him over to his side. Slowly but surely.

His master was weaving a new web. Hoping to ensnare another Skywalker.

Despite the iron lung, Vader found himself laboring to draw a breath. His suit weighed heavily on his shoulders, pressing down into the brittle, papery skin, threatening to finally crush the battered frame, the hollowed shell of a once proud warrior.

"I can think for myself, you know?" his son's defiant voice penetrated the static of rushing blood, the dampening of lightheadedness.

It took all of Vader's willpower to steady both his wavering, hoarse voice and ragged breathing enough to press out three simple words.

"Go. Leave me."

"Oh, for the love of…!" the Princess cursed, and, with a sigh, powered down the old computer, pushing the buttons with just a little more force than was actually necessary. There was no more information she was going to gain from the holonet, so why torture her weary eyes any further? However incompetent Imperial officers could be, Leia had to admit, the ISB and its censoring departments certainly knew what they were doing. Even after countless hours spent agonizing over the console, receiving support from an excited protocol droid and an impatient smuggler, the name Skywalker still drew a blank. Even in the local databases. If she did not know better, she would have been tempted to believe that a person by the last name Skywalker could never have existed. It was unsettling to think how easily whole existences could be wiped out, lives eradicated. If she hadn't known Luke personally, if she didn't remember his kind face, his voice, his unfaltering belief in the good in everyone and everything, she might have considered him a legend. A myth. A story concocted to give comfort to the damned. To ease their suffering, and perhaps to inspire hope.

Yet the only Skywalker in existence, according to the news networks, was the apparent son of Darth Vader, a boy with no history beside what little his official introduction offered. A collection of fabrications and intentional vagueness, no more. To think they might be everything the young Jedi would ever be known by…

"Still nothing?" The smuggler's voice caught her attention before she noticed his lanky body slump onto the bench at the opposite wall.

"Nothing." She shook her head in frustration, but then corrected herself. "Well, almost nothing. Apparently, Cliegg Lars' second wife, the one from Mos Espa, used to be a slave; he bought her out."

The disgust was obvious in her voice, but she did not care. Although she had experienced slavery and slave trade many times in her life, it was still hard for her to accept that such a vile concept should still exist in a civilized, technologically advanced galaxy. It was something she could not – and did not want to – reconcile with her own moral code.

Han hummed, his mind processing the new information.

"If she was a slave on Tatooine, she must've belonged to a trader. Probably a Hutt."

"Then let's find them!" Leia responded quickly, leaping at any information, grasping at even the flimsiest straws. "Let's make them talk."

Han snorted.

"Talk to the Hutts? Yeah, let's not."

"Why not? It's our most promising lead!"

"It might have slipped your royal mind, your Highness, but I still have a bit of a price on my head. I probably couldn't get within a klick of a Hutt without a bounty hunter frying my ass."

The Princess gave a defiant shrug and put her hands on her hips, an unspoken challenge.

"Then I'll go. They don't know me."

With a shake of his head, the smuggler raised his hand, appeasingly.

"No one goes. At least not before we've exhausted everything else."

"So we're back to roaming the streets, hoping for scraps."

"Look, Princess, I want to finish this just as much as you do. Bring the kid back. But we're not helping anyone with our heads mounted on some crime lord's trophy wall."

Exhausted, Leia rubbed her forehead.

"I guess you're right."

When setting out on her quest, Leia had been energized by the prospect of discovering the truth - whatever that was -, of finding out the real story linking the war hero Anakin Skywalker, Luke's father, and the Sith Lord Darth Vader. She had innocently believed that - given the necessary determination - she would easily glean the information needed to restore Luke's reputation, retrieve him from the Empire and once and for all sever his ties to Vader. After all, the accusations against their friend were so preposterous, so baseless that it would not take long to find the holes in them. And although she considered herself far from discouraged, Leia could not help feeling disheartened. Wherever they went, whoever they talked to, there were never any real answers. Bits and pieces, yes, rumor and hearsay, certainly. But never anything concrete. Never more than a flicker of hope. Still, there was no going back now.

Han's hand softly falling onto her shoulder tore her from her thoughts. The Corellian caught her eyes and tried a lopsided smile.

"We'll get him back, Princess, I promise." He squeezed her shoulder lightly. "Let's start in Mos Espa."

The Princess returned his smile, even though it felt weak and insincere, grateful for the support.

"Yes. To Mos Espa."

Luke could not help but feel horrible. It had been two days since he had last talked to his father. Two days since the latter had commanded him to leave his presence. Two days since he had closed off the bond between them.

Of course when raising the topics of Mustafar and, even moreso, Naboo, Luke had been aware that he was taking a step onto dangerous territory. Both locations apparently belong to his father's past - an era his old man felt anything but inclined to discuss. Sensitive spots, the Emperor had called them. So Luke had certainly been expecting agitation, perhaps even anger, the usual reprimand to leave the past buried, not to ask questions about events, places or people that no longer mattered.

Still he had not been prepared for the actual reaction. If asked today, Luke would be hard pressed to explain it. The fabric of the Force had been aflame, roaring brightly with an amalgam of conflicting emotions and ideas, thoughts and impulses, that Luke had feared his own mind would soon be melting away, his self dissolving into oblivion. Although taken aback by his father's command to leave him alone, he had gladly done so and fled from the oppressive presence, if only to find reprieve for his own sanity. He knew he should have stayed, he admitted to himself, ashamed, should have braved his father's mood. Should have set things right when he had still had the chance.

What in the worlds have I done?

With a sigh, he lowered his gaze again to the datapad resting in his lap. The day before, an officer had supplied him with information on the proceedings of Empire Day - the order and significance of different festivities, the functions he was supposed to attend - as well as a list of important - and potentially dangerous - individuals he might come across. He had flicked through the lists with interest at first, but soon found himself becoming increasingly tense. While he might just manage to remember what celebration took place when, where and for what reason, there was no way in the seven hells that he would ever recognize the dozens of faces staring at him from the pad. The odd female, perhaps, and the rare non-human, but certainly not the endless parade of uniformed male humanoids, each one looking dreadfully like the previous twenty or so. He knew the Emperor, of course, and his father, but how much time he would spend in the presence of either seemed increasingly uncertain. Giving up on his game of memory, he closed the file and dropped back onto the couch to stare up at the uniformly gray ceiling. His mind just was not up to the task like this, not when so much else was vying for his attention.

Speaking of attention… Raising the pad above his head so there was no need to give up his comfortable resting position, he called up a different directory and inputted a search string.

Five simple letters.

N-A-B-O-O.

Almost instantly, a plethora of information flooded the screen and Luke, somewhat overwhelmed, opened the first link. It appeared to be an official portal of the planet, providing data and facts, first and foremost. But it was the photographic holos which really caught his attention. Zooming into the gallery, Luke gasped as stunning vistas spread before his eyes: lush, vermillion marshlands teeming with grazing animals, towering waterfalls flowing into tranquil streams of the clearest cerulean Luke had ever seen. Painfully beautiful locations dotted with neat little cottages, walkways and balconies. Cities so much in harmony with their surrounding nature they seemed to have grown out of it. For a while, he lost himself in those places, almost felt the gentle breeze against his cheek, the sun warming his clammy skin, smelled the sweet fragrance of exotic flowers in seemingly eternal bloom. But all to soon, the illusion passed and he once more found himself in his quarters on Imperial Center, illuminated by the cold artificial lights, the air sterile and just a few degrees cooler than he would have liked.

He regarded the images wistfully. To think that, had life gone differently, he might have grown up on such a beautiful world… He could hardly imagine.

Tearing his eyes from the pictures and thinking for a moment, he edited the search string. This time, however, the effect was quite different. Not a single result. It had to be expected, of course. Considering even the small amount of information he had on his origins, it was unlikely that his mother had ever shared his last name. Their last name. A lump grew in his throat at the realization, forcing Luke to draw a shuddering breath. In a different moment, he might have entertained the sentiment, but then and there did not quite feel up to it.

So he decided to direct his mind - and search - elsewhere. And granted, this time, the results were plentiful in number. It seemed that the Emperor felt quite comfortable with his origins and thus saw no need to hide them. Sheev Palpatine, the sites echoed, was a native of Theed on Naboo and had risen through local politics from humble origins, eventually being elected Chancellor before rising to Emperor following the proclamation of the First Galactic Empire about two decades ago. Naturally, all sources sang his praises - a feat made less impressive by the fact that all media was, in fact, under Imperial control and censorship.

Skimming over the text, Luke's eyes fell again onto the holos of Naboo, this time featuring the Emperor in his younger years. Although the nose and mouth, the facial expressions, bore an undeniable similarity, it was difficult to reconcile the benevolent man with the soft smile from the pictures with the being he had come to know as his father's master. While a certain presence was undeniable, he was almost unassuming. A man of the people. One who couldn't possible bear any ill intent. An uneasy shiver ran down Luke's back, the hairs on his neck prickling uncomfortably against his high collared tunic.

Flicking through a few more holos, his hand suddenly froze in mid-air, his mind grinding to an almost painful halt. Luke blinked a few a times, trying to understand just what had elicited this strong reaction in him. Sitting up, he increased the zoom factor, focussed in on the person standing next to the Chancellor. It was a woman decked in the most extravagant outfit Luke had ever seen: sparkling blues offset with warm golds accented the delicate face covered in almost white makeup, the proud head crowned with seemingly endless, elaborate braids of hazelnut hair. And while the figure's beauty in itself was enough to arrest the attention of any being, it was the face that drew Luke in. Those umber eyes, radiating a strange warmth and comfort, seemed to seek his, to speak to him across the years - and lightyears. Although he couldn't have, he felt like he had seen them before. Like they had always been a part of him, regardless of where he might go, who he might become. A gentle smile, the comforting scent of wild flowers, the hint of a haunting melody, sweet but fleeting.

His eyes darted to the caption: "Chancellor Palpatine is joined by Queen Padmé Amidala for this year's festivities in celebration of Naboo's liberation".

Luke raised his eyebrows. A Queen… That wasn't possible, was it? He was only an ordinary farmboy, after all. And yet…

Those eyes…

And that name…

Padmé…

Han didn't think he would ever get used to Tatooine. The heat, the dust… the Imps…

Although he hadn't been to this part of the planet in a while, very little seemed to have changed in all those years. Mos Espa still seemed to be just as dirty, hot and, basically, disgusting as he remembered. The same rang true for the various cantinas they had visited so far - shadowy dumps that were, most of all, a test of one's courage. And intestines. Survive a drink in a Tatooine cantina, the rumor went, and you could probably stomach raw Mynock. While Han didn't care to test the theory, he wasn't exactly disinclined to believe it.

As they passed a two-man patrol of stormtroopers, he noticed the Princess drawing her shawl deeper into her face so it was draped over her goggles and left her features in shadow.

"Relax." He whispered. "They're not looking for us."

"Sometimes you don't need to look for something to find it…" she muttered under her breath, rewarding him with a sharp sideways look.

Well, he couldn't fault her for that. Many a bounty had been collected thanks to a chance encounter. Yet that implied a measure of luck that seemed to be eluding them. Two cantinas down, and they still had nothing. No rumors, no hearsay, not a thing. The name Skywalker certainly wasn't opening any doors on Tatooine anymore.

All of a sudden, the Princess let out a surprised yelp and Han's hand instinctively shot to the blaster concealed below his poncho.

"What is it?"

Leia had spun around and, quickly recovering from her shock, grasped the wirst attached to the dusty hand which had tugged at her tunic. Following the appendage, they looked into the eyes of a surprisingly young face - a humanoid child of about six or seven years old, with messy, sun-bleached hair and tanned skin. Bright eyes looked at the two from below wild bangs.

"What do you think you're doing?" The Princess' voice rang with ill-concealed irritation.

The child tugged at its hand, trying to free it from the grasp, but Leia would not relent.

"I just wanted to help you."

"How?" Han interjected.

The child lowered its voice.

"You're looking for someone called Skywalker, aren't you?2

Leia relaxed her grip and the small hand easily slid from hers.

"You know anyone by that name?"

"No, not me. But I've heard old Crela say it a couple of times."

Kneeling down to be face to face with the little one, Leia softly grasped the child's shoulders and caught their gaze.

"Who is this Crela? Can you bring us to her?"

The child cocked its head, its gaze flicking back and forth between Han and the Princess.

"I could. If you have the credits."

Han gave a snort. Leave it to a dump like Tatooine to turn the smallest of children into information brokers. Probably one of the very few ways of making a living out here. Wring a few credits from the unsuspecting traveller.

He made to send the child away, but was stopped by the Princess putting her hand on his arm.

"We should give it a chance, Han."

"Don't you see what this is? It's just a poor child trying to earn a quick credit."

"All the more reason to try. And a few credits won't hurt us."

She looked at him imploringly, those hazel eyes leaving him no chance to deny her request. With a resigned sigh, he eventually nodded and fished a credit chip from his pocket.

With an excited smile, Leia returned to the child

"Take us to her."

Old Crela, it turned out, wasn't quite as old as the child would have them believe. True, she appeared disheveled - her graying hair falling past her shoulders in thick, prickly braids - and perhaps slightly distracted, but those were superficial observations at best. At second glance, Leia would put her in her late fifties, mid sixties at most. Although the smuggler didn't seem to share her enthusiasm, Leia was intent on making the most of the situation.

After the child had briefly introduced the intention of the two visitors, it had scurried off, credit chip tightly clad in its small hands. Now alone in the tiny dwelling, Leia sat down opposite the older woman - a gesture Han mirrored only grudgingly, his eyes constantly flicking to the entryway.

"So, Jaree tells me you're looking for someone by the name of Skywalker."

Leia nodded, trying to hide her eagerness.

"Yes. You know of anyone?"

A strange smile crept onto the woman's face, taking a few years off her.

"Used to."

Leia leaned closer.

"What can you tell us? Anything might help."

She was aware of Han's eyes on her, but decided to ignore him for the time being. Talking to Crela could hardly hurt.

"It was many years ago, so I might be hazy on some of the details." She began. "Shmi Skywalker and I, we were friends. She was a slave, and a few years older than me, but she was always kind. I used to watch her little boy - I had two children of my own to take care of, so it wasn't much of a bother."

Shmi, Leia tensed and committed the name to memory.

"She had a boy?"

"Yes, a real sweetheart, that one. So smart, and always helpful, but a bit uncanny sometimes. Shmi really had her hands full, being the single mother she was. Wasn't easy for any of us, least of all the slaves." Crela made sure her guests were still listening and appended, with another wistful smile: "And then he loved those races, had her worried sick."

"Races?" She heard Han's voice ringing from beside her, his curiosity finally aroused. "You mean podracing?"

"Yes." Crela nodded. "Those stupid, dangerous podraces… But he was good at them. Scarily good."

"Where are they now? What happened to the boy?"

"He was just gone one day. There was talk that he was taken off-planet. But more often than not, that really meant that a slave child had died during a shift. Made it easier for the parents to cope, I guess. And Shmi… I heard she died a while ago, back before the Empire and everything."

Leia lowered her head, still unsure what to make of the story, and threw a quick sideways glance at the smuggler.

"A sad story…" she offered honestly.

"Hmm… yes. It is. They deserved a better life. Especially little Ani."

With a resigned sigh, Luke pushed himself up and dropped his datapad into the cushions of the office formchair. It was no use to try and commit any more information to his memory - his mind was so preoccupied with other matters that nothing seemed to stick. Even the most unusual, exotic names and remarkable faces, ones he had considered memorized, were beginning to slip from his mental grasp again. Whatever else he did now to counter the development would likely have the opposite effect.

It was time for a different approach.

His mind in a daze, he allowed his feet to carry him along the now familiar corridor, past security personell he acknowledged with a quick nod and a kind smile and eventually came to a halt before the entrance to the large training hall. Habitually keying in his security codes and stepping inside, it took a while for the strange cacophony of sounds to register in his brain. When they did, his eyes widened slightly, his cheeks flushing with the rosy tint of embarrassment and he made to turn back around and hurry into the corridor before the familiar baritone stalled his movements.

"Stay."

His father, crimson blade held at the ready in his right hand, had turned toward him, regarding him curiously. For a moment Luke contemplate probing his father's emotional state, but ultimately decided against it. Perhaps uninvited contact would not be the most ideal way to repair the damage he had done.

Hesitantly, his gaze flickered back and forth between his father and the entrance, briefly glancing over the scraps of a duelling droids littering the floor.

"Sorry, I didn't know– I didn't mean to–"

A wave of the large, gloved hand interrupted his muttered apology.

"Join me." His father intoned simply, used the Force to rid himself of the now useless droid and gestured toward the lightsaber dangling from Luke's belt. The boy followed his gaze, his right hand creeping to the polished hilt. Warily, seeking confirmation from his father, he unhooked the weapon, found his grip and called forth the vibrant blue energy blade. The familiar humming sound enriched the atmosphere and, taking a deep breath, Luke fell into an easy opening posture, the blade crossing his upper body at a slight forward tilt.

"Now, attack."

"But–"

"Do it."

Luke conceded with a brief nod and studied his father's posture. True to his reputation, Vader left no openings, no room for error. Not the most balanced of duels, considering Luke had never truly fought anyone in lightsaber-to-lightsaber combat before. Droids, yes, training probes, even blaster-equipped stormtroopers - although that experience was one he would rather erase from his memory altogether - but never a skilled combatant. And now he was facing one of, if not the most powerful one in existence.

Forcing his breathing into a slow, regular rhythm, he began circling the tall form, observing the older man's movements. Allowing his mind to run through the various forms he had been taught, he feinted toward the lower right and brought his saber up and around in a quick arch. A satisfying crackle of static filled the air as Vader's crimson blade easily intercepted his and the two energies crossed. They stood locked for a while, bathed in the opposing colors and relished the moment. Those two destructive powers so entirely different, yet so easily matching each other. It was an almost ethereal experience, and all at once, finally, Luke truly understood the meaning behind the elegant weapon, the culture, the history. A small smile ghosted his lips as he felt a similar sliver of pleasure ringing through the briefly shared, feeble bond with his father.

Reluctantly ending the contact, Luke evaded to the left in a crouch, spinning on his heel to switch positions with the older man. Flicking his wrists with a fluid upward movement, he tried to make use of the moment and catch his father off guard, but the latter simply brought down his saber over his head and down his back in a blur of vermillion and caught his son's saber in a shower of exploding sparks.

Another grin. Satisfied, enjoying himself, forgetting the tension around them.

Luke was about to switch up the forms, his saber in the middle of a sideways slash, when an insistent beeping from his belt commanded his attention. Thus distracted, Luke felt his weapon sharply knocked from his hand and, the blade retracting into the polished hilt, fly into the waiting hand of Darth Vader.

With a curse, Luke's hand went to his belt, but before his jittery fingers could find the power switch, the baritone rose again.

"Give that to me."

"It's nothing, really, I'll just let it go to voicemail–"

His father brooked no argument and extended a large hand to receive the offending device. Luke had no choice but to hand it over and watch in tense resignation as Vader accepted the call and a small holo flickered to bluish life between them.

"Master Skywalker! How fortunate that I should finally reach you! Have you considered our offer? I–"

The small figure holographic figure should speak no further when his father finally brought the device around to face him, and, with no small amount of pity, Luke watched the tiny man shrink even further into himself.

"I have no interest in anything you could possibly have to offer. Neither does my son."

"L-Lord Vader, I…" the figure stammered, but he would never finish his fearful plea. A low growl escaping his charred throat, the Dark Lord clenched his fist, crushing the small device and rid himself of the minuscule fragments that remained.

"Scum, all of them." He muttered. Allowing a few measured breathing cycles to pass, he eventually turned back to his son. "Should they ever bother you again, you will inform me immediately."

Sobered by the outburst, Luke nodded. Almost timidly, he accepted the lost saber from his father's hand and lowered his eyes. A tense silence fell over the room as the curious pair stalled, their dance interrupted, the momentary truce quickly becoming a fleeting memory.

Eventually, Luke heaved a sigh and raised his gaze to his father's faceplate.

"Look, I'm sorry. Really."

The response came laced in confusion.

"You are in no way responsible for the shortcoming of Imperial media. Do not concern yourself with them."

"No. Not for that. Well, not really." Luke shook his head. "For what I said the other day. For pressing you about it. I shouldn't have done that."

The silence reinstated itself, only interrupted by the measured in- and exhale of his father's respirator, as the older man regarded the boy before him. Despite the ebony mask separating parent and child, the moment was intense, the atmosphere charged with unspoken admissions. For an instant, Luke thought that would be the end of it, that his father would once more withdraw into himself. Yet then, in a sudden moment of release following a heavy sigh, their bond reopened, rejoining two incomplete halves. And the Force rejoiced in the reunion, came afire with sparks of delight, timid at first, yet ever growing brighter.

Still, despite all the joy, Luke felt his father's trepidation, the reluctance dulling the radiant fabric around him.

"No. No need." He voiced finally, his words heavy with meaning, dragging in his throat. "It is your birthright. One day, you will have all the answers."

Luke regarded his father curiously for a moment.

There it was again. That small flicker of hope. That rare glimpse.

Of his true father.

Of Anakin Skywalker.

"But now, let us duel."