A/N: So this is going to be a three-part story that I am working on! Each chapter will be about our three main heroes from the Original Trilogy. The first chapter, Jedi, is about Luke. The second and third chapters will be titled Princess and Smuggler, the first obviously being about Leia and the second about Han. I'm not sure which will come first—It just depends on what I have inspiration for first.

But basically... The whole point of this story is to look at the ways war has affected our beloved heroes. I could go into MUCH more detail, but I have to save something for another fic, don't I? Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

P.S. When people are struck by lightning, it's common for them to actually develop lightning-shaped scars. First of all, that's sad but also slightly epic. Second of all, someone pointed out that Luke could technically have those scars after the electrocution he suffered at the hands of the Emperor in Return of the Jedi. When I read that, I was like "You're darn right he does!" So yeah, you'll see some of that in this chapter! ;)

Jedi

Luke hissed quietly, shutting his eyes as a dull ache ran down his spine. He had tried to look over his shoulder to see his reflection in the tall mirror behind him, but the movement that required caused him faint pain. It was the kind of soreness one might feel when one had the flu. His body was like a weight almost too heavy to be carried, and his muscles felt like they were nothing more than strings tied together by his bones. He could do so little, and removing his shirt itself had been a struggle.

The floor of Skywalker's room was icy, as was the air around him. The Rebel Base was notorious for being cold just about everywhere they moved. On Yavin 4, it was because they tried so hard to cool the quarters at night; on Hoth, it was because it was so difficult to keep them warm. And in the vacuum of space, it was nearly as frigid as the ice planet they had inhabited before. But despite that cold, Luke's skin was hot and red to the touch, and perspiration slid down his face, arms, and bare chest in a solid sheet.

The only things covering his body were his pants and his cloak, the latter situated about halfway down his elbows. This way, Luke would be partially warmed while still allowed to examine his back. Once the general ache had subsided, the Jedi continued to carefully tilt his head backward. He shifted slightly, now able to see his reflection in the dull light of the candles surrounding him. Luke sighed shakily at what he saw.

It looked as if a leafless tree was etched into his skin. Dark scars, almost like lightning across a pink-colored sky, lined his back. They hugged his spine and stroked his shoulder blades, and they even ran up his neck to brush his dirty blond hair. They didn't hurt... But the pain they created in his heart was just as terrible. These were yet another set of wounds that would never heal.

A wound only made possible by the Force lightning of the Emperor.

Luke shuddered at the memories as they swirled in his mind. The lightning-like scars on his back suddenly turned blue and purple as past events gushed into his present memories. Screams filled the dead air, pleas for salvation poured from his lips. Two dark figures loomed over his writhing body, one silent and one relishing in the young man's misery.

"Father, please!"

Gasping, Luke's mind jumped back to reality. He waved his arms to steady himself but knocked over a candle in the process. His fingers brushed the hot flame—Hot like the lightning coursing through his veins at that moment.

"Help me!"

The blond swore as he hurried to steady the waxy source of light. Thankfully, the small fire on top had gone out in the process of being knocked over, so his cloak did not catch fire. Luke waved his burnt hand for some relief as he leaned back against the mirror, head feeling heavy. The glass was cool against his bare back. He was so tired... Sleep had been lost to him the past several nights. Though the celebration only a few days prior had been joyous and like a great relief, it could never wash away the scars that Luke and countless others had been left with.

And that was not just physical scars, either. It was as if anything could send Skywalker's mind spiraling back into the past. Just like the touch of the candle, everything reminded him of the horrors he had once faced. Maybe he would recover in time. Perhaps there would come a day where he could see lightning flash across the sky and he would not be taken back to the throne room where the Emperor once brought him inches from death. Perhaps one day, but today was not that day.

Even sitting there, he felt that same, horrifying sensation. The sensation that his life was slipping from his very fingers. At the time, Luke was prepared to embrace death if it meant the defeat of the Empire and the salvation of his friends. But when that lightning struck his skin and yanked at his very thread of life, every part of his body screamed for it not to be so.

Luke shut his eyes, sighing once again as the memories replayed over and over.

No, Luke Skywalker would never forget these past four years. For the rest of his life, no matter the happy dreams that may come, there would always be the nightmares that actually occurred. Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen's burnt corpses would forever haunt him, his torture at the hands of the Emperor would awaken him more than once during the night. Anakin's death, Luke's father's death, would replay in his mind every time he remembered the man who was once Darth Vader. He would feel the pain of losing his hand every time his fingers brushed the metal, he would watch Obi-Wan's cloak fall to the floor in defeat whenever Ben's name was mentioned, and he would remember that cold chill he had gotten when he saw his two dearest friends suffering at Cloud City.

For no matter what joy came, Luke would always feel the pain of his battle scars.