"Do your chores, Luke."
Those were four words that Skywalker dreaded hearing and he often heard them at least twice a week. He used to be more diligent when he was younger, eager to help out and more impressionable. While he proved troublesome at times, Luke was a kind and gentle boy that bowed to the wishes of his family. Owen appreciated his reverence (which explained how close they were when he was little) and rewarded him often, when they had the necessary funds. He bought him toys, trinkets of scrap that he molded into playing form, and eventually bought him his first speeder. The most distinctive of all those memories, perhaps, was when Owen bought him his first blaster – the first seed into an imaginative youth's brain - something that his uncle soon ended up growing to regret.
He was afraid that, as an ambitious and wistful teenager, his uncle grew to resent his further growing rebellious nature. The little boy that was so eager to please was almost totally gone with the sprouting of blonde fuzz on his upper lip at the age of sixteen; dreams suddenly became possibilities, his imagination a plaything far wider than anyone could comprehend. Luke wanted more – and this thirst deepened a dividing chasm between the two men, as Owen expected that same level of respect and obedience that his nephew had shown throughout the rest of his life.
Luke hated complaining – but he was all the more aware of how often he did it. He would catch himself doing it, bite down on his tongue, and eventually swallow his pride for a little while. His uncle was constantly shutting down incredible opportunities, strangling him in a desperate attempt to shelter him from harm, doing everything he could to try and bring back that proud and eager farmboy.
He hoped that his uncle could understand just how important it was for him to be proud of him. They grew distant in the last few years but Luke still loved his uncle with all his heart, as the father he never knew. Farming was just not who he was as a person and getting trapped to this desert by everything but a physical chain, reminded him of the own grim past of the Skywalker name. He wanted to explore, to make a name for himself outside of just Tatooine, but to the entire universe. That would make him proud. One day; oh, he was totally sure of it. He would come home after an intergalactic battle with the rebels, whom Biggs introduced him to, and Owen would hug him and be so pleased with his accomplishments and happy with the man he would become.
Please, forgive him.
"You can always talk to me."
Aunt Beru was always the voice of reason within the Lars homestead, often choosing to remain silent for most of the many arguments until she felt she could end them decisively. Their home would not have functioned without her; while his uncle was busy tending to the farm, Beru was the one that was tinkering with the droids well before Luke was capable. She fed her family, kept them clothed, and always made sure that the three of them went to be in peace.
It was Beru that comforted a teary-eyed Luke that had been teased in school, who was faced with the incredibly early realization that he did not have a biological mother or father. He didn't fully understand that until he was about seven or eight – after all, his aunt and uncle took care of him his entire life. They included him in everything that they did and never once treated him otherwise. He was their son, for all intents and purposes, and no one would take that away from him. Skywalker remembered her hand wiping away the tears that stained his cheeks, noticing her own glimmers of mist, as she gave him the tightest hug he had ever received. "You are my nephew by blood," she said firmly. "But you will always be my son in my heart," a phrase that always echoed within his skull and would soon never forget.
Luke remembered the week before when he finished his chores and the suns had set; like every end of the day, he was laying shirtless on his cot, his sweat-drenched tunic bunched up in a ball in the corner of his room, while he waved his model of an Imperial ship into the air with childlike zeal. His aunt entered the room with a loud sigh, her eyes staring at his clothes bundled up unceremoniously, as she shook her head. There weren't any words needed to be said – Luke would bolt up from his seat and spring his tunic up from the floor, combing through any wrinkles that dared blemish the fabric. The tunic was handwoven by Beru, paid for by her, and regularly washed by her once a week.
He never meant to show disrespect – he always had the utmost appreciation for the care and kindness his aunt showed him throughout his entire life, including all of the unspoken work from when he was a baby and toddler. Sometimes his longing caused him to forget about what was there, now, in front of him but Beru always reminded him of how much he still had to care for and cherish. No matter how often he considered leaving then and there, the thought of his kindly aunt, who dedicated much of her life for him, always kept him home.
He hoped she understood that.
Owen and Beru Lars were dead. Their corpses were nearly unrecognizable in a heap of black ash that devastated the entire Lars homestead, smoke filling the sky ahead of them and bleaching it with decay and sorrow. There wasn't much to say – Luke had arrived too late, only there once their murderers had fled the scene. The youth stood there, ridden with painful shock, his mouth agape as he watched the last remnants of his lineage and childhood disappear from his physical world for good.
There were so many emotions flooding him at once; Luke was unsure whether he should fall down to his knees and sob the greatest cry of his life or to scream the bloodiest and rage-fueled yell imaginable. He watched them, though at this point they weren't much recognizable, still completely still. There was so much pain, so much he still needed to say to the people who raised him. "No," he finally whimpered out in silence as a single tear streamed down his cheek, no one there to wipe it off.
Skywalker decided, then and there, that he was going to make a name for himself. The family farm had been utterly decimated and all the remnants of the Lars-Skywalker family had been purged, even the grave markers in the back were scorched with gunfire. There was little reason for him to stay behind on this planet of death and suffering – but, if he committed himself to his cause, if he left this planet and began to truly make right within the galaxy, there was a chance that he could find some purpose.
Purpose that would make the memory of his aunt and uncle ever so proud of him. Luke remembered the longing question asked by old Ben Kenobi, whom asked for him to join him and embark on a galactic-wide quest and become a Jedi Knight, like he learned his father was. Owen protected him, like a father does to a son, to keep him safe from such a dangerous mission. There was little point in staying safe now – whoever did this to his family would surely come for him now.
He looked down to the lightsaber clipped to his belt, the heavy weight of the weapon nearly pulling it down. That same weight suddenly now began to pull at his own soul, peeling off the protective shell that he had carried for all these years. His right hand grasped the lightsaber firmly; maybe he was not able to protect his family on this day. But there were more families out there, more victims to the Empire whose lives were stolen unceremoniously like his aunt and uncle, and they deserved their justice. With his lightsaber and the skills of a Jedi, there was a chance he could help those people. He could also help the other lost Luke Skywalker's in the galaxy out there.
The youth looked up into the fire and smoke that ruined his childhood home, the blue hues turned grey with each intense stare he made. This was not something he would ever forget – nor an act he could ever forgive – that would stay and become a large part of whom he was shaping to become. Childish innocence burned off his soul as the fire consumed the farm, forging a will of steel into his being. Luke Skywalker would make his aunt and uncle proud – everyone in the galaxy will soon know his name.
And he will not forget them.
