In orbit above the forest moon of Endor, the Super Star Destroyer Executor crackled with anticipation as its crew eagerly awaited their chance to take part in the waning days of the war. A charged calm had set in before the oncoming storm, and each officer and crewman found some way to prepare themselves for the upcoming battle. Most had simply thrown themselves into their duties, some chose to settle into tactics, and others still had taken to exercise and physical training. However, no matter their chosen task, they were all united in their gratitude for the scarcity of their commanding officer. They would never admit as much – they valued their lives, after all – but nobody could miss his increased agitation since the Emperor's arrival at the moon. Tension hung over him in a dark, heavy cloud that followed him wherever he went. There was far too much tension aboard the flagship as it was, so his absence remained unquestioned as everyone working under him took it for the opportunity that it was.

Taking part in his own manner of preparation, Darth Vader had sequestered himself in his quarters, seated in the hyperbaric chamber as its sterile air flowed through his ravaged lungs. Each slow, laboured breath brought him deeper into the Dark Side as the Force swirled about and enveloped him within its folds. While it could not, accurately, be called sleep, the deep meditative state he sunk into allowed him to rest, in some sense of the word, and contemplate the shifts in the Force that had been rippling through him with an increasing frequency.

In a matter of days, perhaps even hours, the war would be won. His master had foreseen it, and Vader himself could sense the truth in that. But assured as the Emperor was of their impending victory, Vader remained uncertain about the outcome. Many parts were still in motion and many pieces still lay on the board, waiting to make their move. There was time enough for the tide to change, and while the Force spoke clearly about the nearing end, it was less forthcoming about just who would come out of this war alive.

It set him on edge, teeth grinding and stomach twisting as he felt the time to act ticking away, mocking him. His son was out there, destined to play a leading role in the war's finale, and the ambiguity of Luke's fate weighed heavy upon him. His master claimed the boy would seek them out, would join them willingly and stand at their side in their victory.

Vader had his doubts.

Luke had proven himself to be something exceptional. The strength he radiated was unparalleled, beautiful and blinding despite the lack of training and experience he'd exhibited in each of their encounters. He exuded a righteous determination and conviction that was achingly familiar, and he possessed an infernal sort of luck that allowed him to evade capture as long as he had. Though their meetings had been brief and few, Vader had come to know the boy, to understand him in a way his master never would. (Not as well as he would have liked, though. Never as well as he would have liked...) Their confrontation on Bespin left Vader convinced that Luke would not join them of his own accord, no matter what his master had foreseen. It would take coercion, in some manner, for his son to fall, and at the hands of Palpatine that meant agony or death.

If that was what the Force had in store for Luke then so be it. He would deal with it. A part of him, however, insisted that there was still another way. If he had more time, if he could speak to Luke before he faced the Emperor, then perhaps he could be convinced to see reason.

In the interest of expediency, of course. To smooth the transition.

Unfortunately, the Emperor kept Vader occupied and unable to conduct his search personally. He'd enlisted the aid of several third parties but the boy, of course, remained elusive as ever. Despite the astronomical bounty on his head, he was skilled and intelligent enough to avoid those who would collect on it, and he'd proven more than adept at dodging imperial patrols. This did not come as a surprise, filling Vader instead with a frustrated sense of pride in his son, but it was infuriating to have Luke continually slip through his fingers. There was, however, an alternative avenue open to him, a more personal one he could pursue without diverting from his master's wishes. Several times in the last year, Vader had reached for the burning imprint his son made in the Force, stretching along their bond and prodding at his presence. The response had been minimal, fear and guilt ringing through before shuttering back to an obstinate silence, but there was always an echoing reminder in the back of his mind that his son was there, to be pursued when at last he had the chance.

Now, though, he could detect nothing of the boy. Despite the way the Force whispered about the future, despite what his master had said, despite the truths Vader himself knew, he could not sense Luke or make anything of his fate. It was certain that Palpatine had seen something that Vader had not, and he could be well-served by simply trusting the Emperor's vision allowing the events to unfold, but he had been lied to before. His own purposes did not always align with those of his master, and it was likely that Vader himself was not part of that vision of the future.

In the end, doing as his master wished may be the only option, but the part of him that would have, once, refused to accept that and chase what he truly desired, remained infuriatingly vocal. Vader sunk himself deeper into his meditations, either to silence that blasphemous voice or search for a way to bring it to fruition, and the Force answered in the form of a bright thread tugging him forth. It was subtle in its insistence and unclear in its purpose, until the familiar nova burned bright at the fringe of his awareness. Though somewhat muted, the twitching flares of the presence rang true in their signature. Luke was asleep, and the Force had drawn father and son together in their rest. Much remained shuttered to him, giving no hints of location or secrets, but the surface shields were weak and flickering, a curtain that concealed but did not block; there was a chance that he could receive the answers he sought from Luke himself. The curtain parted, the shimmering shields shifting to invite Vader into the sickeningly familiar landscape of Luke's dream.

They were on Tatooine. His lips twisted into a snarl that pulled at scarred skin and sent shocks of old pain rippling through him. The desert was as vast and barren as he remembered, stretching endlessly into the horizon, carrying with it weight and despair. Above him blazed the suns, harsh and unforgiving, beating down upon the unfortunate inhabitants of this world, and just below them...

Below the suns, clear against the crisp blue sky, soared a skyhopper, dancing through the air with a grace one would never expect from the small craft. The pilot was unmistakable from his style and skill alone, but in this dreamscape, Vader could clearly make out the form of the boy even through the opaque walls of the ship. He appeared no older than twelve, far younger than Vader had ever known him, the last vestiges of baby fat clinging to the otherwise slim, grinning features. Joy radiated off him, burning like a third sun in the sky, as he flawlessly executed twisting stunts that would leave a lesser pilot a smear across the dunes. It was a clear picture of his son in his essence, bright and talented and laughing, thriving in spite of the harsh world below him. Vader almost considered, briefly, leaving him to it, forfeiting any opportunity this shared dream might present. It would be unfortunate, and he would be loath to do so, but perhaps Luke deserved this moment of joy and peace before the galaxy was torn asunder...

He almost considered it, but the decision to remain was cemented when he spotted the figure seated next to Luke in the skyhopper.

The face was etched with lines, the dark blond hair peppered with gray, but the clear blue eyes and handsome features bore a resemblance to the Jedi that was far more striking than he would ever care to admit. This was how Luke imagined his father, and the image he clung to even after learning the truth. It stank of denial – if his son could not accept reality, then he would not be able to sway Luke to his cause. Already, so much had been taken from him. He would not allow that weak fool to claim his son.

Rage twisted in a roiling pit at his core, rising hot and steady within his chest as he found himself rooted to the spot. Fixing his gaze on the skyhopper, he clenched his fists at his sides, willing the ship towards him. Set on a spiralling descent, the ground came up quickly below the craft before it crashed several feet in front Vader, a spray of sand exploding around it as a plume of smoke rose from its engine.

Several long moments passed, seeming to stretch on forever, before the slight figure of the boy emerged from the wreckage, a bewildered expression colouring his features. Perching on top of the ruined ship, he glanced around frantically, first spotting the disappearance of his flight companion, then searching for the cause of his crash. It did not take the child long to spot Vader, shoulders tensing and face flashing with a blend of confusion, fear and anger. There was a brief hesitation before he climbed down onto the sands and took two steps forward, expression taking on a shade of acceptance as he stared at the dark figure casting a shadow across him.

While the suns remained high in the sky, the air around them darkened in the beginnings of a sandstorm, though the winds remained still and the swirling sands hung motionless in the air. Silence echoed between them, father and son holding each other's gaze as they took in the person before them. Luke's expression shifted several times, wary yet searching, but his eyes never wavered. Here stood his son, blazing with defiant determination, wearing a form Vader would never experience otherwise, and he suppressed his rage as he took a closer look at this version of Luke. Sun bleached locks lay long and disheveled against his brow, spilling around his face and down his neck. He wore the desert on his face, a smattering of freckles dusting the tanned cheeks beneath eyes so blue, they rivalled the sky and glittered brighter than the suns. The child was small – short in stature and narrow in frame – and the dusty white farmer's clothes he wore nearly swallowed him whole, serving to make him look smaller than he already was. Yet, however diminutive his appearance, he did not seem fragile. Holding his head high, standing tall and resolute, the boy was a shining beacon, illuminating the space around him even in the stark darkness of the frozen sandstorm around them.

"Luke..." A thousand things remained unsaid, everything he could hope to say compressed into that single word, the name of his son – the name she had chosen – uttered like a prayer to gods he did not truly believe exist.

It took another minute for the boy's expression to finally settle. Any trace of anger or fear it once carried had faded, leaving him with a look of determination and a shade of something Vader couldn't quite name. When he spoke, the voice rang bright through the air, a gentle tenor that didn't quite match the youth of his face, but carried a quality far softer than the ragged cries he'd emitted during their last meeting. "Well, this is... unexpected." Luke shot a glance back at the smoking wreckage of the skyhopper before turning back to wrinkle his nose and furrow his brow at Vader, his voice taking on a somewhat petulant tone. "You didn't have to crash it, you know."

"There was never any risk to you."

Luke's scowl deepened. "No, I know, I wasn't worried about that. All I meant was that – well, you could have just asked."

Behind his mask, Vader narrowed his eyes, but kept his expression carefully controlled. Just as he'd seen beyond the sides of the skyhopper, he was certain Luke could see beyond the plasteel of his mask – if not the precise features then certainly the expressions they bore. Perhaps he he possessed this ability, in some sense, regardless of where they were. It had been some time since he'd had to maintain this level of control with anyone other than his master. The prospect of his son being able to read him so easily felt... odd, filling him with a level of vulnerability he wasn't accustomed to, along with shades of pride and satisfaction.

It was a connection he longed for, but had all but given up on after Bespin. "I had no guarantee of your willing co-operation."

A deep sigh echoed across the sands. Through Luke's determination shone the barest hint of sadness, perhaps even regret, and his voice was soft and almost hesitant when he next spoke. "No. I suppose not. Then again, this isn't like... last time." He did not seem aware of the way his hands wrung together as he spoke, left thumb rubbing along the seam of the black leather glove that sheathed the right hand. Vader, in turn, did not notice the way he clenched the hand that mirrored his son's. "I've got nowhere to run, here."

No. In this place, Luke would not run. But he could push Vader out, put up his shields and conceal himself once again, rejecting his father the way he had when he'd let go of the gantry and tumbled toward the clouds below. However, the boy showed no intention of doing so, and perhaps that was what he meant. Withdrawal would risk revealing things he would rather keep secret, but he could not seem to consider forcibly ejecting his visitor.

"You cannot run from your destiny."

"My destiny..." A slight crease twitched at Luke's brow, his gaze drifting to focus on some point beyond the horizon as a number of unvoiced thoughts flickered across his face. "I'm not so sure I know what that is, anymore."

It seemed neither were being offered much in the way of certainty. Vader once again stretched out in search of answers, but the Force remained muted, as though it could not quite breach the stilled sands surrounding them. Frustration began to bubble up within him as the answers he'd come here to seek remained out of reach, leaving him with only vague hints that provided no more sense of clarity than he'd had at the beginning of his meditation. "No. That matter remains... unclear. But, one way or another, it lies with me, my son."

Luke did not recoil at that declaration the way he had at Bespin. Instead, he straightened his spine and raised his brows, slightly, carefully considering the truth that rung clear through the Force. "Yeah... I guess it does, doesn't it?"

"Then come with me." Vader would never admit to the barest shade of pleading that broke through his voice. "It is the only way."

"No. I don't believe that." The frown was back on Luke's face, lips pressing together as his gaze sharpened. Those eyes were far more piercing than they had any right to be, seeing far more than they ever should have been capable of. "I don't think you believe that, either. There is another way. There has to be."

The boy was idealistic, naive and stubborn. He viewed the galaxy through a lens of errant hope, which would certainly be his undoing, blinded as he was to the harsh reality of what lay ahead. Control was slipping further and further beyond Vader's grasp. "Not that I can see. You will face the Emperor, soon. There is certainty in that. The only hope you have of standing against him lies in the Dark Side. I... would not see you destroyed, as Obi-Wan allowed himself to be."

"You killed Ben." Luke spoke it as a simple statement that carried none of the vitriol or accusation to be expected from a statement such as that. "And the Dark Side would destroy me. I will not turn. If we do things your way then... you would destroy me, too."

Those words, soft and earnest and melancholy, sent a heated stab through Vader that would have left him reeling back were he not frozen to the spot in this shimmering, ever darkening dreamscape. He wished they would have been spat at him, wished they would have carried any of the hatred or anger or revulsion he'd sensed in the boy at Cloud City. But much of that seemed to have dissipated, and something had shifted in his son. However little they knew of what lay ahead, a sense of clarity was settling over Luke. Some view of the future was crystallizing in his mind, a vision that would either manifest the true strength of his potential, or leave him utterly destroyed.

Father and son continued to stare at each other as silence howled between them, deafening as the stationary winds around them, threatening to stretch onward until their connection broke and they were forced back into the physical world. Vader searched for words that would not come. What could he possibly say to his son after a declaration like that? How could he hope to argue with a Skywalker who had already made up his mind?

Fortunately, he was saved the trouble when Luke, who had been searching for something since he'd first noticed Vader's arrival, finally seemed to find what he'd been looking for and broke the silence.

"I guess, in a sense, he was half right," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anything. "From a certain point of view." A wry smile twisted at his lips, not quite reaching the blazing eyes that continued to bore into Vader's mask. "Ben told me you betrayed and murdered my father, but that's really only half true, isn't it? You betrayed Anakin Skywalker but... I don't believe you truly murdered him."

"The Jedi were weak." The words came automatically. This he could respond to, harnessing the rage of the past proving far less complicated than confronting the conflicted future. Those wounds had festered for over two decades, and the darkness flowed readily from them. He'd spent a lifetime (Luke's lifetime) rejecting that past and allowing that hatred to fuel him. These were truths he'd cemented, repeated to himself until any sense of doubt had been obliterated, leaving him only with the reality he'd helped to craft. "It was not a betrayal, it was a mercy."

"A mercy... I guess that's also what you'd consider turning me to face the Emperor. But mercy to who?" Again, Luke spoke softly, sorting through thoughts likely meant for no one but himself as he stared at the sand as though it held the answers he sought.

Ignoring the boy's mutterings, Vader pressed on. His rage had settled into a smouldering pit within him, bolstering his resolve once more. "You have learned much, but you will not survive if you cling to the Jedi ways. Your only chance at survival lies with the Dark Side. The sooner you accept this, the easier things will be."

Luke's chin jerked upwards, tearing his gaze away from the ground to land sharply on the eyeplates of Vader's mask. "Even if it costs me who I am?" He still spoke softly, still wore a solemn expression, but an edge crept into his voice, almost a challenge. Few would dare challenge a Dark Lord of the Sith this way, and even fewer could hope to elicit a response that would not end in their immediate death, but Luke insisted on doing so anyways. Vader could feel a cold knot of dread twisting around his still-smouldering rage as the boy continued to speak. "There's more going on here. There's another way. And if there isn't... well, I'm not going to give up who I am just for the sake of survival."

Vader's rage dimmed into embers, the cold dread blooming to engulf it. Resolve instead became apathy and resignation. The boy seemed to be set on wasting his potential and dying for the sake of some naive ideal – perhaps for the notion of remaining free. "You are a fool." Freedom was, ultimately, a lie. Everyone wore chains, in some form.

"Maybe so." Luke nodded and the ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "But I'd rather be a fool who does the right thing than be considered wise for giving in to darkness."

"You are certain that you are doing the right thing?"

The boy went quiet, for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek as his brows knit together, a million unreadable thoughts dancing across his face. His eyes remained fixed, still uncannily meeting Vader's, yet seeming to look through him. "I don't know. But I don't think I'd like the person I'd be if I didn't at least try." An edge of uncertainty crept back into his voice, but he spoke firm and held himself true. Whatever he had decided he must do, there would be no power in the galaxy that could set him on a different course, now.

Movement rippled through the sandstorm, the dust clouds thinning as the grains drifted towards the ground, settling once more into the dunes. Though no longer obscured, the sky remained dim. Luke was no longer looking in Vader's direction, turned instead towards the suns sinking through the sky, being swallowed by the horizon, his glassy eyes following their descent. Gazing out at the fading light with a wistful sort of longing, he appeared even smaller – even younger – than the form he wore here. Smiling grimly and finding truth in the setting suns, he appeared far older than the number of years he'd lived.

"I know what I have to do. Do you?"

The voice of his son echoed softly in Vader's head as the world went black around him. When reality settled and his eyes focused, he found himself staring blankly at the walls of his hyperbaric chamber, a heavy sensation settling over him. Several long, painful moments ticked past in solemn silence, broken only by rasping breaths that grew shallower as the weight squeezed his chest.

Luke had proven himself to be something far more exceptional than Vader could have possibly foreseen. He had been blind not to have seen it all along. He should have expected it, should have prepared for it...

Luke was, far too much, his mother's son.

That... complicated matters. In a sense, it was far better that the boy had inherited her kindness and righteous spirit than his father's reckless rage. Fitting, that she should live on in their child. But that thought threatened to tear open old wounds and send fresh stabs of failure through him, because it was, perhaps, far too late for that to matter. Whatever the boy had chosen to do, he would see it through to the end, even if it killed him.

There was a time, once, when the flames of his rage would have consumed him at that thought. He may very well lose his son the same way he had lost her – turned against him by Kenobi and torn away by his master – but the weight in his chest had instead become apathy. In their encounter, Luke had given no acknowledgement of the truth, no hint that he had accepted who his father was, and if he could not do that, then what hope did Vader have of seeing his own plans to fruition? Ambition had flared when he'd first discovered the rebel carrying the name Skywalker, it had fueled him for nearly four years, it had given him a purpose beyond simple obedient existence... But now, at last, it began to fizzle. His son may commit the patricide that seemed to be demanded of him, or he may martyr himself for some foolish rebel cause.

His master may see to the destruction of either father or son, or face destruction himself.

For Vader, there was nothing left to do but trust in the Force and allow the future to take its course.