Dull fire roared on the metallic floor as the younger man huddled around it for search of warmth. His father eyed the shivering son curiously as he shivered in the cold, a large tarp draped over his shoulders, trying to remember the chill of cold. "I did not realize how cold this facility could get at night," Vader stated awkwardly as he faced the faint fire. "My most sincere apologies."

He had always been cold – when he ended his former self, the summer sands of Anakin Skywalker were buried by an avalanche of snow. The blood in his veins were frozen and preserved, the faint oxygen that escaped his respirator chilled, the machine he had become no longer understood the hazards of the human condition.

"It's fine," Luke shivered as he gripped the edge of the tarp and tightened it around his neck. The youth scooted himself closer to the blaze and exhaled a large sigh of relief as his skin began to warm. "Living your entire life on a desert wasteland will make you sensitive to the cold like that, I suppose."

Desert wasteland: how much time had passed for Vader to forget that trash heap of a planet that tortured him so and claimed the remaining life of his mother? There would have been some point in his life where he experienced this same reaction as his son, though those memories were buried deep and compacted. He had no desire of opening them up either.

"I know desert wastelands all too well," he spat as he stood up, turning his back against the fumes. "It will do you well to forget that place as much as possible."

"That's right; you're originally from Tatooine too."

The name of that accursed place stopped Vader's breathing instantly and fired up the remnants of a blistered heart, one that is still wounded and scorched. Faint memories of grains of sand littering the joints and edges of his armor made the Sith Lord balk in disgust. "That was the tale of a different man with a story long forgotten," whispered the older man.

Luke stood from his place and let the tarp fall to the ground, walking over to stand by his father. "Anakin Skywalker or Darth Vader," stated the Jedi as he awkwardly hung his arm around Vader's back. "They both have the same past and history. They are both the identity of the man that created me. Tell me more about your life – I want to know you."

The small hand of the boy felt strange as it rubbed the armor of his suit, resembling the pawing of a fragile animal to his master. Many men would have been killed for attempting such intimacy – but not Luke Skywalker. "It isn't a tale worth telling," Vader stated in defeat. "Just a stupid boy that risked and lost it all and became the very thing he feared."

His wounded hand hung low to his side, carefully protected by the long draping of his cape. Luke caught a glimpse of it and lowered his hand from the back and cautiously held the hand with his own remaining one, kneading his fingers over the two stumps.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

The torments of his still heart writhed in agony more than any physical wound – even the sudden shock and pain of losing three limbs at once and being set ablaze didn't compare to the hissing horrors that compromised his soul; how he wished he could feel that pain once more.

"This hand was lost many years ago thanks to the foolishness of the man I once was. He has been defeated and replaced by a stronger man, one that can withstand any physical might. The powers of the Dark Side have granted me the strength I need to continue – to protect you."

There was sudden silence between the two men as Luke continued playing with his father's glove, noticing the drastic difference in size between their two hands. Luke's hand could only fill Vader's by about half and had a grip far sturdier.

"Tell me about your mother."

Vader froze and tightly yanked Luke's hand with his own, causing the youth to cry out. The Dark Lord remembered so much so suddenly – visions began to flood and drain themselves into his skull. That sweet woman that sacrificed her only world, him, was left to a life of misery and loneliness. He was grateful she found companionship but it didn't last: that man was weak. The Jedi could have freed her then and there and chose not to – it was their fault that she died a death so undeserving of such a great woman.

"I'm just asking," Luke wrenched as he tried to pry his hand away from the grip, "because Uncle Owen always talked about how great she was."

He released his son's hand and stood still with his back turned, arms folded; the mask that ordinarily disguised his true emotions plainly revealing the hurt etched inside. "She was the greatest individual I ever knew," Vader replied. "She worked hard and gave her all for her son. He was an ungrateful child for all the efforts she spent to help him all those years – he only realized this as they were disconnected and torn off from each other."

"In some ways, you remind me of her."

Luke smiled sheepishly and sat himself down on the floor, absentmindedly rubbing his still-aching hand. The boy hadn't suffered as she had but the kindness in his eyes twinkled a familiar gaze that reminded him of home… and also reminded him of fear. "Unfortunately, her greatness could not protect her from the actions of scum," he spat. "She died in the worst possible manner. I – He couldn't protect his own mother, who had given so much before."

That last smile of hers throbbed in his heart; the image of a woman who endeared the worst torture could find the strength to smile one last time as she was held in the arms of her son. How he failed her that night; that death changed everything about him.

It still hurt with the intensity of thousands of daggers piercing the skin at once.

"This is enough talk."

Vader swung back the veil of his cape and revealed a medium-sized pouch clipped to his waist, snapping it off and tossing it right into the hand of his son. "There is still work to be done and the past will remain the past," said the Sith Lord as he motioned to Luke. "We must focus on the present. Inside, you will find the parts necessary to build a lightsaber. I believe you've proven yourself worthy of wielding such a weapon once more."

His son was eager to open the pouch and hastily began taking the parts out of it.

"Be warned, my son, that this is not an activity that can be done with laziness. You must be attentive and focused as you construct a lightsaber – anything else will lead to your untimely demise. One was granted to you in the past but you weren't worthy to claim it yet. Understanding the inner workings of the blade will increase your skills as a duelist twofold."

"This lightsaber will be your life," Vader said before almost choking on himself as he recalled the last time he heard those words. He grumbled a bit to himself before carrying on. "You've grown strong with the Force and have the skills necessary for desperate survival. All that is needed for a graduating student is the weapon he was made to bear."

Luke dug out the key ingredient towards the foundation of a lightsaber – the crystal. The translucent gem shone a great energy of light that swam amongst his cupped hand. His eyes sparkled as he raised the gem into the air, entranced completely by the purity of the crystal.

"The crystal is the lifeline of a lightsaber," stated Vader as he lifted the gem out of Luke's hand and into the air. "It is a beauty to behold but one can never be too careful when dealing with such raw power. Do not assume your own domination against it, no matter how small and yielding it may seem, young one. Practice and come to me when you have succeeded. Failure is not an option."

The crystal delicately fell back into Luke's palm and Vader marched forward on his own.

"I can do this," Luke told himself as he maneuvered the many different objects with his hand and using the Force as a substitute for his missing one. All the parts before him were practically identical to the blade he once kept snug at his waist; it was comforting but also a gruesome reminder of what he had lost and how far he had come.

"Think, Luke, think."

The lightsaber was always by his side during those years but upon recollection, he never once thought about dismantling the weapon and viewing the constructs within. It was just a relic – an heirloom meant to be held but never to be tinkered with. Now, as he awkwardly and curiously fumbled his way around the parts, he wished he had taken the time to examine it. "These have to go here," he recalled as he set up the exterior of the lightsaber. The glimmering crystal kept distracting him from his concentration, sat aside to his right, frustrating the young Jedi.

Do or do not, there is no try.

These harsh words from his former master clung to the walls of Luke's head and bristled their way out into his ears: this was a test that would truly prove his worth as a warrior, as a Jedi. That title had been stripped from him when he lost his previous saber – but he was determined to earn it once more. Even if his father was Darth Vader, the youth was going to make the Jedi that remained inside that armored shell proud. Somewhere, deep down, there was still good in that man even if he was reluctant to show it – there was compassion and love somewhere inside.

"I have to do this."

Trust in the Force – that was what he was going to have to do; allow it to hone and shape his instincts and lead him into a path of success. Closing his eyes and letting out a deep exhale, Luke extended out his arms and attempted to construct the weapon.

"For my father."

Those voices from before threw themselves his way as his mind opened: several thanking him for saving their souls, others pleading for salvation, many finally moving on and freeing themselves from this restless chamber. "Calm yourself," Luke whispered as his eyelids tightened and his brow twisted up in exertion, sweat swimming under his hair and sliding down his cheeks. Those cries soon began to drown out into silence, echoing for several seconds, then two seconds, then one, then silence. They were purged from his head.

His left hand motioned for the hilt to rise as his right arm brought up the connecting pieces. Slowly but surely, the parts began to slide together and connect as one. The first time, the exterior of the blade molded perfectly but the innards zapped and refused to respond.

As he finished his second attempt, the youth sensed a mistake on the outside this time – the emitter was too loose and the activator glued on backwards. Luke grumbled in frustration as he opened his eyes, the lightsaber falling straight to the floor, the pieces unfixed and falling apart once more. "This is getting me nowhere," he pouted as he tossed himself back and lay still on the ground. Concentrate – listen – feel.

"Do, Luke, don't try."

The fledgling Jedi closed his eyes one final time as he submitted himself to the will of the Force, raising his arms into the air and controlling his breathing to be steady. The parts appeared so clearly in his head – he felt them lift into the air and attempted to not think this time. Instead, he allowed the Force to work through him as a conduit, begging it to make the choices this go around.

Inner pieces began snapping into place as he lay motionless on the ground, completely submitting himself to the will of the Force. The parts clicked and the pulsating crystal rose from the air, delicately sliding its way into the core of the blade, as the exterior gathered in formation around it like a protective cocoon. The weapon hovered in the air in stillness as Luke opened his eyes.

It flew gently into his grasp – he sensed his potential success as warm energy coursed from the blade and into the blood and veins in his hand. Gulping in anxiousness, Luke wavered his finger over the activator and pressed the weight of his thumb against it. Cyan light shot out the lightsaber with his touch – the buzzing core rattling in perfect harmony.

"I did this," Luke smiled in awe and disbelief as he held his weapon high into the air. The lightsaber looked ever so familiar to his previous but with slight modifications; the hilt was smaller and the grip less firm, buttons in different locations than they were before. But this was something Luke would easily adapt and get used to. "This is my very own lightsaber."

"At last, I can call myself a Jedi Knight with pride."

Skywalker swung the blade eagerly into the air, beaming at the familiar humming that gave his life purpose. He deactivated the weapon and clipped it at the once-empty clip on his waist, running forth to find his father and reveal his success.

Luke swung his newly constructed sword at his father, dicing up and down with a newfound lightness and ease that he'd never experienced before. "I can't explain it," the youth cried out in disbelief as he met his weapon against his father's scarlet core. The two blades grinded next to each other, jutting out lashing sparks into the distance between them. "It's like it is weightless."

"Not so much that is weightless," stated Vader as he swiped the lightsaber up into the air and lunged forward for his own attack. His son barely parried in time but struck back with enough force to knock him back and create space between the two. "Rather, that old blade you carried was burdened by the weight of the horrors it endured – a burden you longer need to hold."

The Sith Lord was proud of his son's skills with the Force – for one with such meager training, he had adapted it and grew in power that matched even some trained Jedi. On the other hand, he wasn't too thrilled with Luke's abilities as a swordsman but there was only so much practice that could make up for a decade of wasted time. He kept finding openings and pasted technique that didn't match his form whenever he went on the offensive; it was frustrating but his son made up for these weaknesses in his defensive form.

"You fight better with your left hand in one day than you did with years with your right."

Vader brought down his red lightsaber and felt it quickly get caught by Luke's blue lightsaber. The grinding of the dueling swords filled the air with unpleasant hissing as sparks continued to fly out, scorching the ground beneath them. "Well, I am naturally left handed," he stated aloud as he pushed back Vader's weapon. "This is just how I was taught to fight."

"Though I guess I'm only left-handed now," joked Luke darkly as he turned his attention to his arm.

His concentration taken off of the duel gave an opening for his father to strike, driving his own blade underneath Luke's and twisting it out of his hand, sending the saber flying to the other side of the room. Defenseless and completely blind sighted by the move, Luke froze as Vader brought his heel to his stomach and kicked him straight to the floor.

"I make one comment and you use that as an opportunity to knock my ass to the ground," Luke swore in frustration as he clutched his stomach in a grimace. Though a shirt protected his modesty underneath, it didn't protect his skin from the bruise that would surely form.

"That wasn't fair."

"A lightsaber duel isn't fair," spoke Vader as the red lightsaber deactivated in his's hand. "You must prepare for the unexpected; never let your guard down while your weapon is activated. That sword is the only thing you have to protect yourself from immediate harm – lose it and you have already lost. Anyone or anything can attempt to disarm you and it is your job to protect yourself. I think that is enough training for the evening."

Vader lowered his hand and invited his son to hold to him for support, with which Luke happily obliged, hoisting him up and walking back to the fire pit. The father couldn't help but notice the sweet smile on his son's lips as he sat close to the fire – how proud he must have felt of himself. His mop of hair shagged out as the sweat dried off by the intensity of the flames, reminding himself of the long and free hair that once adorned his good looks.

He was once like this – so proud and sure of himself and his skills, unaware of the how beautiful he must have appeared to those around him. At one point, people truly did love him before he became a monster; a murderous beast that killed and plundered to shield himself from his ravenous conscience.

When he looked to his son, Vader saw more than just an arrogant display of his past self. Qualities of the woman he loved were so plainly evident in him; how pleased she would have been to see her son become so successful and talented. There was another timeline where the two of them would have lived together, becoming the full-time parents they both longed for. Luke would have never had to be stranded in that wasteland desert; he would have been given the best opportunities and the greatest love and adoration a child could receive.

Things were different in the real world – obstacles still needed to be overcome. The two men were bonding but there was never any hope for Luke to truly forgive his past, let alone the things he did to his friends. This was why he embraced villainy and terror; to protect himself from the conscience that eroded his shell and revealed the deplorable character underneath. That was also why he could never tell the youth about what a pathetic figure he truly was.

Darth Vader was strong and firm. Anakin Skywalker was a young fool that was led astray and committed acts based on lies and treachery by a scheming charlatan. It was an embarrassment to admit and it was not one that he was ready to speak of yet.

The child needn't know the tragedy of Anakin Skywalker – but there was another tale worth telling.

"I wish to tell you about your mother."