He could feel the bright presence of the Jedi, spread thin throughout the air, highlighting the training the boy had undertaken. The Empire's intel was right on that so far. How unfortunate that the Empire had overlooked this boy's development, because now he was a Jedi. Though the Emperor wanted the boy alive, he had not left instructions on how Vader was to bring the Jedi to him.

The carbon freezing had, unsurprisingly, failed. Vader would have been disappointed if the Jedi fell for such an easy trick. However, he had been mildly curious about the boy's potential.

But the boy was spry and quick. Their duel had dragged on, the brightness of the Force remaining persistently strong against the brutality of the dark. Even when Vader sought to end the duel, the boy merely retreated, his presence withdrawing like a warm sunbeam blocked during the grey storm.

Vader's rage trembled, leaving him nearly blind, as he prowled the corridors. The shadows moved, playing tricks to the naked eye, but the Force did not lie to him. The boy was not going to jump out at him.

Palpatine might just find himself with a dismembered Jedi. He had ordered for the Jedi to be brought to him alive, but he said nothing about unspoiled.

He immersed himself in the Dark Side, feeling its overflowing power of anger, hatred, and pain. So much pain. He moved as if his mechanical limbs were wrought with iron. He could feel the twist of the air trembling at the new energy. He could see where his mortal eyes could not.

He reached, and grabbed.

A snap-hiss of a lightsaber filled the room to cut through the glass that showered down on him. Finally, Vader could taste the salty taint of pain as the glass, like laser beams, shot towards their prey. Not all the glass could be blocked; some found their mark.

Vader's form moved like a blackened wave, relentless and brutal. In the back of his mind, untouched by the darkness, he marveled at how small this Jedi really was.

But in his small size, he was just as strong. Still young and fresh. He did not yet possess the wisdom of the old Jedi. But he was battle hardened, war having molded him into a soldier. Just as-

He cut that thought off, striking down at the Jedi, momentarily forgetting that he was not supposed to kill this young one. Not yet.

The Jedi leapt back. His unprotected back was near the shattered window. The wind ripped at his hair, hair that might have been blond. Yet he remained tall and sturdy despite the winds of Bespin greedily pulling at him.

Force, he suddenly looked exhausted. Where a battle hardened Jedi once stood now was the conflicted and uncertain expression of a young boy.

The Dark Side curled hungrily around him, screaming for the blood of this innocent youth, to quench the lingering light in the darkness.

Vader raised his saber high, but the young Jedi quickly blocked it. But his footing was lost, and those pale eyes widened as the winds eagerly swept him up. Vader could feel the Force wrap around the boy like a cocoon, not as a tool, but as an alley.

The metal bridge of the city's underbelly was the only place he could go. But his Force presence was strong, no longer hidden and muddled. The boy was broadcasting himself like a beacon. He wanted to be found.

He should have stayed hidden.

But no matter. This insolence would be destroyed. As they faced each other across the bridge, Vader moved forward, blood red saber thrumming with hunger.

The boy lowered his lightsaber, not in weakness or surrender, but in openness.

"Vader." The boy's voice rang in the air, sure and strong. "This cannot go on."

"I agree," Vader rumbled. "There is no escape for you, Jedi."

"Maybe not," the Jedi answered. "But there is hope for you."

Hope? What nonsense was this? "You are no threat to me, Jedi," he snarled.

"But the Emperor is," the Jedi countered. "He never told you what happened to your wife."

Dark rage clouded Vader's vision. Images of her flashed through his mind. When they first met. When she stood before him on their wedding day. When she was so bright with life as she carried their child. The pain he felt in his heart was more destructive to his soul than the injuries he had sustained from that fatal duel.

"He told me the truth!" Vader swung, but the boy leapt back, sidestepping the dangerous blade. "He told me I killed her," Vader growled. "Her...and the child."

The boy gazed at him as if he were a pitiful, broken vessel. "No," he said softly, the wind caressing his words. "Your child did not die."

"No!" He would not give in to this false hope. He had known for years that the Jedi were treacherous and cruel, just as his master had foreseen.

"I killed them both," Vader growled. His blade came dangerously close to the boy but caught the railing instead.

"You're wrong," the boy reiterated. He stared up at him, unflinching. "I am your son."

The respirator was the only thing keeping the air moving within Vader's lungs. He felt breathless, his heart stuttering. Horror and shock leapt up from the chasms of his emotions, but beneath it all, he found hope. Hope that this was the truth, that he had not in fact killed his family.

But it had to be a trick. This was a cruel trick by the Jedi. A way to torment him, to drag him through the fire once more.

His thoughts caught up with him, and Vader raised the saber threateningly. At least the boy was wise enough to not approach him, though he remained still and solid. His saber was deactivated, hanging from his belt. He beseeched him with such clear blue eyes, a gaze of hope that resembled...that resembled her.

"It's not true," Vader growled, even as the Force sang of the truth the boy's words carried. "The baby died with his mother!"

A sad smile crossed the boy's face. No, not a boy. A young man. For here was a young man on the cusp of adulthood, thrust into a war that demanded his blood and gave him nothing in return. A young man eager to give his all for a war that would leave him in ruin.

"The Force says otherwise," the Jedi said. And it was. The Force, where it was strung tight before, now flowed with the joy of the truth.

"Why come here now?" Vader demanded.

"You're not an easy man to meet," the Jedi quipped, an impish grin growing on his face.

Now Darth Vader could recall all those times he had relentlessly hunted down the one who had destroyed the Death Star and saved Aldaraan. Now he could remember all of those close calls when the boy had narrowly escaped his grasp, when the boy was so close to death by his hands.

His own son.

"Luke," he breathed, for that was the name Padme had loved if they were to have a son. Their little light.

The saber in his hands fell to the ground with a clatter. The Jedi was reaching for him, and Vader had him in his embrace.

"Come with me," the boy said. Even in his arms, Vader realized just how small his son really was.

"Where?"

"Anywhere."

Vader mutely nodded, but he held on to his son.

His son. His child, the child who had survived. His son who was a Jedi, who had willingly walked into a trap, just for him.