"Join me, and together we can rule the galaxy as father and son."

The deep voice of Darth Vader - dark lord of the Sith - Luke's father - rumbled out over the whistling air. Luke clung desperately to his precarious perch, only half listening as he cast a calculating look down below him. Vader registered his son's glance and reinforced his persuasion.

"Come with me." He reached out his hand, clenching his fist. "It is the only way."

Luke raised his eyes to the shiny black mask, and Darth Vader knew, by the look on his son's battered face, that he was not going to succeed in turning the boy to the Dark Side. Not this time.

Without a word or a sound, the young Jedi-in-training released his hold and dropped.

Vader's arm flopped back to his side as he stared down the shaft. He knew that he should be feeling the sting of defeat; frustration at his failure to turn Luke; perhaps - just perhaps - even fear at the thought of how his master was going to take the news of his botched efforts.

But as he watched the figure of his son get smaller and smaller as he fell, rushing down, down, down, the Sith lord felt only an unexpected twinge of...pride? A single thought popped unbidden into his dark mind:

'He takes after me, after all.'