The Rebel Alliance's celebration was in full swing. All around the forest moon of Endor, members of all ranks and species chanted and danced, at long last granted some reprieve from their fighting.

"The Empire is dead; long live the Republic!" Cried a group of pilots in unison as they set off fireworks, a demonstration followed by applause and copious swigs of alcohol from their audience.

But not all the Alliance's weary warriors shared that elation.

From the Ewok village's shadowed treehouses above, Leia Organa surveyed her comrades, feeling nothing but the bitter chill of apathy.

How long would this revelry last before its partakers realised that destroying the Emperor and his weapon would not end the regime he had created?

And what would become of their happiness once they knew the number of casualties they had suffered?

Leia was usually able to shrug off her bouts of cynicism with thoughts of the righteous cause she fought for, but today she felt incapable of it.

Everything she had been through since her stint as Jabba's slave had seemed like a terrible joke.

In particular, the existence of a second Death Star and the identity of her fath—the man who had sired her.

Luke had coveted the truth in its purest form, unadulterated by euphemisms and omissions.

As endearing as her brother's naïveté had been at first, Leia's years as a politician had taught her that such a longing was foolish.

The truth, like many things the Empire suppressed, was a valuable thing, but sometimes it was better to hide it. Many of the Alliance's members would never have joined had they known about some of its more radical factions and likewise for them regarding their more moderate allies. Furthermore, having remained unaware of her parentage would have ridden Leia of her wretchedness. Her identity as the daughter of Bail and Breha Organa of fallen Alderaan was what had made her such an effective paragon for the Cause.

"Leia, what are you doing here?" asked Han, who had just appeared behind her. "You're missing out on some great stuff."

Leia sighed as she regained her bearings. Taking a deep breath, she said, "I needed some time to think."

Han huffed in response. She could tell he had been about to retort and try to convince her to join him and Lando in some drunken partying, but what he did say surprised her, "This is about Luke, isn't it?"

She nodded.

As soon as Lando confirmed their victory, Han and Leia had headed to the village that had become their temporary base, anxiously awaiting Luke.

But as several hours passed and he did not arrive nor contact them, Leia came to an unfortunate yet plausible conclusion: her brother was dead.

Han placed a hand on her shoulder and said, "He could still be alive, Leia! Maybe some Imp captured him, or his comm broke. He could be on his way right now!"

Leia frowned. Han was even less of a believer in Jedi mysticism than she had once been, but she knew that he doubted his reassuring words and that he trusted her.

Walking closer to him, she said, "The last time I saw Luke, he told me something: the Force is strong in my family. My father has it, I have it, and my sister has it."

For a moment, Han's expression was blank. Then he blurted, "Luke has a sister? Where is she? My father has it? Does that mean that the Hero With No Fear is alive? Where is he?"

"I'm his sister, Han," said Leia, as bile rose in her throat. "As to your second question, I'm not sure. But I can tell you that that man is no hero; he's the opposite. Anakin Skywalker is the true identity of Darth Vader."

Before her companion could say anything or even react to her revelations, she continued, "Luke believed there was in good in him, somehow."

"I'm not sure as to what happened on the Death Star, but I could sense my brother's light and Vader's darkness," she said as Han's face contorted in shock and confusion. "When I try it now, I don't feel anything. That's why I think he's gone, Han. He went on a fool's errand and paid with his life."

"Leia, I think I need a drink," was all a slumped over and anguished Han said.

~•oOo•~

Only a few systems away from where the Rebels had revelled, Luke watched as dark ocean waves crashed onto the black, cragged shores of the overcast planet Kaalieda.

Few would call that desolate world beautiful, but to a child of the Desert, such an abundance of water was precisely that.

Luke had been trying to enter a meditative trance for some time now, attempting to synchronise his breaths with the ocean's sound. But the thought of his father nagged at the back of his mind.

They had been on Kaalieda for a week now. Its facilities were far from state of the art, but the planet's isolation ensured that they could lay low before deciding what to do. That Luke would deal with later, though.

What troubled him was how despondent his father had seemed. Even now that he was about to be discharged, the man barely interacted with the outside world.

Giving up on meditation, Luke headed back towards the towering building behind him. He hoped that today Father would deign to acknowledge him.

As soon as he arrived at Father's door, Luke knocked thrice before anything happened.

"Enter," came the monotonous mechanical voice from the other side, and Luke did so.

Father was no longer abed, instead sitting next to a desk filled with tools and mechanical parts, tinkering with his new arm.

Now that he once again wore his trademark armour, it was easy to assume that he had retaken his evil ways, but Luke knew that was not true.

The Dark's tendrils still clung loosely to Father, shrouding him in their pall. But his presence in the Force was no longer the fell fire it had been when they had first fought. It was gone, so hot it had burnt itself out.

Even the suit and the respirator's breathing no longer haunted Luke's nightmares now that he knew their true nature as the only things keeping his ailing father alive.

For an entire minute, Luke did nothing but watch as Father worked on his prosthetic, his proficiency at mechanics surprising even a prodigy like him.

Once he finished, he turned to Luke.

"Have you something to say?" asked Father as if speaking to a subordinate.

"No, Father," said Luke. "I just wanted to see if you were feeling better."

A strange warbled noise came from the modulator before Father spoke, "Your concern for me is admirable, my son, but you need not worry. I have endured far worse than my Master's last attack."

Luke nodded. Even with the stilted tone and affected accent, he could sense Father's bitterness.

The word Master, in particular, bothered him. How many times had Father said that title?

That thought awakened a question Luke had been craving to ask, "What was it like, being a Jedi?"

Father's massive body stiffened. For a moment, he did nothing.

"That is a difficult question, my son," said he at last. "It was better than being a slave on that wretched dust ball, and there was a time in which I enjoyed my status as the Republic's poster boy. But the Order had become obdurate and dogmatic, declaring all attachments as a path to the Dark Side."

The room's temperature noticeably decreased as Father paused.

"I was taken in a while older than my fellow Jedi, and the memory of my mother haunted me. One day, I had a vision of her death, which none of them believed until it was too late," continued Father, speaking slowly. "The next time I saw her, she lay dying in my arms. Perhaps the Masters were correct, for I slaughtered the Tuskens that had taken her in return."

Luke sat down on the bed Father had occupied, his entire body feeling clumsy and heavy. He knew well that his father had murdered in cold blood, but the knowledge that he had done so as a Jedi shocked him still.

"I was twenty-three when I turned," said Father, shocking Luke. He had been so young! "I started having dreams of your mother's death and vowed to stop it. Palpatine, who had always been a trusted mentor of mine, ensnared me by convincing me that the Dark Side could save her life. I helped him destroy the Jedi, and in my delirium, nearly killed her and my unborn children. Until I discovered you, I was sure I had done so."

"Father—I..."

"Spare your words," retorted Father before Luke could even voice his thoughts. "Surely you understand now why I believe I am damned."

"No, Father. You're not damned; you're a good person. You were a hero once, and you can be one again! No one here knows who you are, Father," said Luke. "Once this war is over, we could live on a planet like this, without your past as a burden!"

~•oOo•~

Anakin scoffed.

Oh, how wrong Luke was! Regardless of where he was, his past would forever be a burden. The newly-anointed Vader had been able to hide his past self with his new persona, but Anakin would never be able to do that. He had accepted his sins and was ready to pay for them.

"That will not be possible, Luke. It is foolish even to consider it," he said.

His son nodded as tears flowed down his cheeks.

Shame filled Anakin. Once again, he had hurt his son.

He walked towards his son, sitting beside him on the bed. Somewhat awkwardly, he wiped his son's tears with his finger.

Perhaps he could indulge Luke's desire to know his father, for however briefly that would be. And then, when death came, at last, be it through his son's insurgent friends, Sidious' loyalists or his broken body, he would finally be free.

"Do not worry about me, my son," he said. "What remains of my life will always be forfeit to yours."

AN: 1 year and 26 days; that is how long it has been since I wrote Chapter 1. Doing so was quick and easy, especially compared to my usual creative process.

This chapter, conversely, was excruciating to write. I had not planned anything about what would happen next, something that I took too long to realise. That, the pandemic, my country's turmoil and my ever unstable mental health all contributed to this long delay.

The next chapter should be much easier to write now that I have a plan, but I shall not make any promises about when it may arrive.

Finally, the name Kaalieda comes from Leigh Brackett's draft of ESB, which, like most early SW material, is a fascinating read.