Not long after Reva found Senator Organa's message, she pieced it together that Vader had two children: the Organa girl, who was now far beyond her reach—and this boy, who blinked up at her from where he'd fallen at the foot of the cliff, dazed and bleeding from a spot just under his hairline.

What was his name again? What did the water seller say it was? What did his guardian cry out when she was urging him to run?

Oh, right. Luke.

Panting, stomach wound aching, Reva ignited her saber. Its crimson light—the hum of its blade—filled the canyon. At the sight of it, the boy whimpered and struggled to push himself into a sitting position. He tried to scramble backward, but the cliff was right behind him.

He should've been an easy kill.

As far as she could tell, he wasn't like his sister. That girl had been obnoxiously brave—a painful reminder of everything Reva had not been when Skywalker attacked the Temple. Leia, she bet, would've been strong enough to help her friends—or else she would've died trying, wouldn't have played dead like a coward—and Reva hated her for it. Wanted to hurt her all the more because of it.

But Luke—he was just a helpless kid. On the verge of tears, eyes wide and terrified.

Reva saw her childhood self reflected in those eyes.

Still, she gritted her teeth and with a grunt, she raised her blade. Her nerve was faltering, but she hadn't come this far to lose it now.

And then he spoke.

"D-do you want water?" he asked.

She froze, confused.

"My aunt and uncle have more than usual stored up." He spoke too fast, the way people do when they are desperate. "I'm sure they'd give you the extra or-or they'd probably give you all of it if you asked."

Sucking in labored breaths through her teeth, she remembered then that on some desert planets water could serve as currency. He was trying to talk his way out of this. But unlike his sister, he couldn't arrogantly throw around his status as royalty. Apparently, he didn't even have real credits to bargain with.

Reva lowered her saber. But only because her damned wound was throbbing so badly.

It wasn't because she was feeling more sympathy for Luke by the minute.

"No. I don't want your water," she said, voice rough and drained.

Then he asked, in a shaking voice no louder than a whisper, "D-did you kill my aunt and uncle?"

In her mind's eye, she saw Master Velti pierced by blaster fire. Saw her crumpling to the polished marble floor of the Temple.

Reva's last bit of resolve dissipated, just as quickly and quietly as Velti's last breath.

"No," she said. "They're okay. I don't want to kill them either." She extinguished her saber and with a groan, sat down heavily on the packed sand. She wasn't sure if she had the strength to ever get back up again. "I just wanted to kill you." A tired statement of fact, with none of her usual menace behind it.

She couldn't see Luke clearly as her eyes adjusted again to the dark. It was a moonless, starless night, dust in the sky shrouding the heavens, and her vision swam with the afterimages of her saber. But in the Force, she felt the boy relax some—he hadn't missed her use of the past tense.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because there's a man who once killed every being I loved. And so I thought I needed to do the same to him, to balance the scales. I thought I owed it to everyone I lost."

"But I don't understand. I don't think anyone who loves me is a killer."

She almost chuckled at that. "That may be true. I don't actually know if this man is capable of loving anyone."

She could practically feel Luke frowning in the Force, but he didn't question her further. Instead, in a small voice, he said, "I'm sorry you lost everyone."

The sentiment was delivered awkwardly. A kid reciting uncomfortably from an adult script. But tears still sprang unbidden to her eyes. Ten years, and no one had ever said anything so kind to her. Not even Kenobi, that self-righteous bastard. And that little bit of compassion made her feel like she might crack open.

"Me, too, kid," she said, voice catching on the words.

Vader had been here before, not just in this place, but in this exact same scenario: arriving at the Lars homestead in the Great Chott salt flat, as part of a desperate race to save a loved one from death.

He'd failed the last time this happened, with his mother. He swore to himself that he would not fail with Luke.

But as the landing ramp of the ship descended, letting in the chill of the Tatooine night, dread gripped him. There was the dome of the Lars compound, the lights of the family's vaporators glowing beyond it. There was the row of gravestones out front, his mother's among them.

And there were the Larses themselves, standing on the packed sand with their arms around each other's waists, wary eyes on the ship. Owen and Beru, their names seared into his mind along with every other detail surrounding his mother's death. No child in sight.

"Where is the boy?!" Vader bellowed, before the ramp even touched down.

He leapt from the ship, cape streaming behind him, and strode toward them across the sand. As he did, Beru fumbled to raise a blaster into a defensive position. With the Force, Vader yanked it from her hands and into his own, calling Owen's still-lowered weapon to him, too, while he was at it.

"Vader, no!" Obi-Wan called, hurrying down the ramp behind him. "Leave them alone."

"Would you prefer it if I let them shoot us?" Vader rumbled back.

"They're not going to—" Obi-Wan stopped as he reached their little group and shook his head. "Owen, Beru, I apologize, he's with me and … where is Luke?"

"She came for him," Owen said, sounding defeated. Speaking to Obi-Wan but staring at Vader. He angled his body so that he was shielding his wife. "The Jedi hunter, the one who threatened me the other day. She attacked us, chased Luke out into the salt flats. We don't know what direction they went in. We've been calling for him, but …"

He trailed off, exchanging a look with Beru. A heaviness in their eyes that echoed the weight in Vader's chest. If it weren't for the suit, the Sith might've stopped breathing. He knew what came next. The journey out into the desert. The mangled body at the end of the trail.

"It's all right," Obi-Wan was saying. "I can feel him in the Force. He's still okay. We'll find him—"

"It is not all right," Vader cut in. He jabbed one of the blasters in the Larses' direction. "This is the second time you have failed to protect a Skywalker. Shmi Skywalker died because of your weakness, and if Luke meets the same fate, make no mistake—his blood will be on your hands."

To Vader's satisfaction, Owen actually looked gutted, mouth dropping open, the words clearly hitting home.

But anger flashed in Beru's eyes. "How dare you," she said. "You don't even know us."

"I see that you are safe and unharmed, while the child entrusted to you by this backstabbing fool—" Vader glared at Obi-Wan. "—is in mortal danger. That is all the evidence I need to know that you are unsatisfactory guardians."

"Enough!" Obi-Wan held up both hands. "We are all on the same side, and we do not have time for this. Vader, you and I—we're leaving to look for the boy. Now. Owen and Beru, you stay here in case he makes his way back."

"You should take our speeder," Beru said, ignoring Vader altogether now. "It's just inside, in the garage."

And as they turned to head toward the entrance dome, Vader bristled at, well, everything. Beru's impudence. Obi-Wan ordering them around as if he was still a GAR general and not a washed up has-been. But he forced himself to focus on Luke. He could wait to strangle the lot of them until after they'd rescued the boy.

"You no longer have the swoop bike?" Vader asked. "It would be much faster."

Ahead of him, Owen and Beru exchanged a startled look.

"No, we …" Owen frowned. "How'd you know we used to have a swoop bike? We sold that more than a decade ago."

"Then the speeder it is," was Vader's only response. He pushed past everyone else, still holding the Larses blasters, one in each hand, and ducked inside the entryway to lead the group down the stairs. He knew the way, after all.

Vader and Obi-Wan took the speeder to the mouth of the nearest canyon, then continued into the canyon on foot, at a Force-assisted run. They didn't want the vehicle's noise to give away their approach.

They didn't have much farther to go—by this point, Vader could feel the Third Sister nearby. She was drawing on the Dark Side like a mynock sucking on a ship's power cables, probably to keep functioning in spite of her injury. But Vader also feared she was doing something to Luke, and those last couple minutes of sprinting through the canyon were some of the most agonizing minutes of his life. He would've preferred burning alive all over again to the torture of wondering what he was going to find when they reached his son.

And then, the moment he thought would never come—

He and Obi-Wan rounded a corner and there, in the distance, dwarfed by the canyon's walls:

A cloaked figure with a little boy walking at its side.

No, not walking. The boy was limping.

Vader didn't even break his stride. No more games. Still at a run, he lit his saber. That was his son. That was his son and he was alive—alive!

But the Third Sister had hurt the boy, and for that, he would not suffer her to live any longer.

As he swiftly closed the distance between them, she got into the on guard position, saber springing to life in front of her.

Behind him, Obi-Wan shouted at him to stop, but it was all noise.

And his son—his son stared at him with round eyes and mouth—

Before darting behind the Third Sister to hide, fear rolling off him.

And Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith and commander of the Imperial Navy—a man who had single-handedly decimated armies, who had torn ships running at full throttle out of the sky—

Skidded to a halt in the face of a frightened ten-year-old, heart sinking as he realized his own child was afraid of him.

Perhaps this was not the best time to decapitate the Third Sister after all.

"Let. Him. Go," he growled instead. "Or I promise you I will finish what I started on Jabiim—and I will not be quick about it either."

Only a few meters separated them now. With an infuriating smirk, the Third Sister deactivated her saber and raised her hands. Looked down at Luke behind her, still hidden by her cloak, then back at Vader, her dark eyes reflecting his blade—and glinting with amusement.

"I don't think he wants to go," she said. "At least not with you."

"Luke, listen to me," Vader said. "You must get away from this woman. She means to kill you."

At that, Luke's head poked out from behind her cloak, one of his small hands visible as it clutched at the fabric. "Not anymore," he said. "We worked it out."

What.

"Luke, are you all right?" Obi-Wan asked. At some point, he'd caught up to Vader. "Are you hurt at all?"

In response, Luke scrunched his face up. "Who are you?"

"He does not know you?" Vader asked his old Master incredulously.

"I'm Ben, Luke," Obi-Wan said, voice warm and reassuring. He leaned forward, hands on knees, so that he was closer to Luke's eye level. "Your aunt and uncle have sent us to take you home."

"My aunt and uncle told me not to go anywhere with strangers," Luke said.

Vader asked Obi-Wan, "Have you not deigned to interact with him at all?"

"It's complicated," Obi-Wan said, in an annoyed aside.

The Third Sister, meanwhile, was simply watching this play out, one hand pressed to her stomach wound, an unimpressed look on her face.

Obi-Wan said, "Luke, surely you remember me. I live in the caves near Anchorhead. I've been there your whole life."

"Oh!" Luke's eyes finally lit up with recognition. "Are you the hermit?"

"Yes! Yes, very good." Obi-Wan gave his most charming smile. "See? I'm not a stranger."

"Camie and Windy say you eat kids, though."

"Do they?" Obi-Wan asked with strained cheer, his smile no longer quite reaching his eyes.

It should've been highly entertaining for Vader—watching his old Master flounder as he tried, and failed, to win over his son.

But in truth, all it did was stir up age-old resentments.

"Am I to understand," Vader said, voice low and deadly, "that not only did you kidnap my son, but you then dumped him with my step-family, and promptly washed your hands of him for the next ten years?"

"No, of course not," Obi-Wan said. "I already told you—I have watched out for him since the day he was born."

"But you have not talked with him. You have not played with him, you have not trained him—you have not been there for him."

"I have merely been respecting the wishes of his guardians."

"Wishes that I am sure have been very convenient for you."

"Convenient? Anakin, it has broken my heart that not only did I lose you, but now I am not even allowed to go near your son."

"I am sure you felt like raising him would have been a burden to you, just as I was a burden to you."

"Are you listening to anything I'm saying?" Obi-Wan asked, voice rising. "Have you ever listened to anything I've ever said? Anakin, you were never a burden. I loved you!"

Vader raised his voice then, too. "Yes, you loved me so much that you never even mentioned it until you had cut off all my limbs and I was burning to death at your feet! And only then in the past tense!"

Obi-Wan rocked back as if the Sith had struck him across the face, grief and guilt welling up in his eyes.

His expression saying more than his words ever had.

Vader stared at him, finding himself just as speechless as his old Master. All this time, he'd believed that Obi-Wan didn't feel a shred of remorse for what happened on Mustafar.

And now suddenly, he knew differently.

"Hey!" the Third Sister cut in. "Not to ruin this touching moment, but are you two forgetting that you have an audience?"

With her eyebrows, she indicated Luke—who'd stepped out from behind her and come a few steps closer. He was gaping at Vader anew, eyes and mouth rounded again, but this time with wonderment rather than fear.

When he saw that he had Vader's attention, he blurted, "Are you Anakin Skywalker?"

At those words, everything else fell away save for the two of them.

"That name has no meaning for me anymore," Vader said, as gently as he could.

But his heart had still soared to hear Luke say it all the same.

"But he called you Anakin." Luke glanced at Obi-Wan, all while fidgeting with the cuffs of his too-long tunic sleeves. "And you said that I'm your son. So that means …"

"Yes, young one. I am your father."

He reached out a hand to the boy, the one not holding his lit saber, and at the same time, he also reached out to him in the Force. He actually hadn't even tried to sense Luke in the Force till now. If he was being honest, he, too, had been afraid, in ways that he couldn't even articulate.

But as soon as his mind touched the boy's, he realized his trepidation had been for nothing. Their long disused bond sang back to life, Luke's Force presence flooding across it—golden and sweet as honey melting on the tongue. And not only was the boy's Force signature beautiful—it was deeply familiar. This was the same mind, the same soul, that Vader had connected with in Padmé's womb all those years ago. Older, stronger, and more complex—but it was the same.

This really was the child that he thought he'd lost forever.

Something about his own Force signature must have been familiar to Luke as well, changed though Vader was since his days as Padmé's husband. At first, as their bond ignited, the boy gasped as if he'd been splashed with icy water. Then a moment later, a grin broke across his face. Hobbling a little, he rushed forward to throw his arms around Vader's waist.

"I knew you were alive!" Luke crowed. "I knew it, I knew it. I used to tell my aunt and uncle that you were, and that you'd come back for me, but they kept saying I was imagining things, but I wasn't—I wasn't! You're alive and you came to get me."

"I did indeed," Vader said. He chuckled fondly, the sound rumbling out of the vocoder as Luke tightened his hug, cheek pressed to Vader's armor just below the chest control panel. Tenderly, Vader rested a hand on Luke's head (oh, if only he could've brushed his hair with real fingers!), then slowly got to his knees so that he could hold the boy fully.

As he did, he finally deactivated his saber and hooked it on his belt, plunging the canyon into darkness. But he had all the light he needed in the form of Luke. He swallowed the boy in his embrace and sank into his presence, the way he'd once laid down in the sunlit meadows of Varykino.

And he lost himself so thoroughly in his son that—he actually missed it.

The Third Sister's approach.

Her sudden change of heart.

The Force screaming with danger.

He turned, too late, just as Obi-Wan gave an anguished, "NO!"—and her blade slashed through his helmet, his whole world engulfed in searing light.