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"You have your orders. May the Force be with you."

The officers hurried away, acknowledging him on the way out. For once, Vader didn't leave the room first. In a few moments he would go and prepare himself, ready his ship and make his pre-flight checks. But another pressing matter had taken hold of his mind. And as had become usual, what troubled him was related to the boy.

He closed his eyes and listened to his breathing, focusing on the regular sound as he reached for the Force. He was distracted lately; the boy had grown to take too much place in his thoughts. Perhaps it had been a mistake to mix teaching with preparation of the attack. Even now, when he should be concentrating on the assault, he kept remembering the training session that had progressed so well and the unpredicted developments it had brought.

He hadn't expected him to dive in the Force like he had done, so quickly, with such ease. His potential never ceased to amaze him, but today, that wasn't what disquieted him.

The vision was.

He put both hands on the table and leaned on them, trying to remember it. The images were fuzzy and vague, and he couldn't perceive what kind of event they pictured. He didn't even know if it was the past, the future, or an alternate possibility. It had been a vision of darkness and pain, that much he knew; he didn't care to find out more.

What stayed with him, however, was the feeling it had awakened in him. That sense of warmth and connection as he moved through the Force, his presence entwined with the sun of his young student's. That belonging that he hadn't experienced in long and lonely years, that certainty their destinies did indeed lie together.

In spite of himself, his mind travelled back in time... wondering about a better life. Would his unborn child have been so gifted? Would it have accepted his presence so readily? He had no doubt about that. They would have explored the depths of the Force together since its first years; they would know each other nearly as well as one knew oneself. The child would have possessed Padmé's essence as well as his own, would have felt just as bright, just as familiar as Luke did.

He closed his fists. Lars would never replace the child dead by his hand. That he was certain of. He was just a pilot, a foolish and hot-headed boy, a mere tool for him to mould and use. He would dispose of him as soon as he no longer needed him – or give him to the Emperor, maybe, as an offering of goodwill. His master would appreciate his raw power.

And in the meantime he had Rebels to weed out. He wondered if Luke's progresses would show in a real flying environment...

He stormed out of the room.

.

The sight of Praadost II before them was familiar, more than Luke would have expected from a single battle there. He and his squad flew in formation around the transport of the ground team. Inside that ship sat a couple of stormtroopers who would explore the planet for sign of Rebels while they protected them from above. Luke had taken Chaser's place, alone, without a wingman. At the forefront flew Vader, flanked by Mauler. Behind them, a couple other squadrons followed to offer a second line of protection.

They flew down, looking out for the Praadosian ships they knew would try to impede the mission. All they saw below them was the moving clouds and the jungle.

They came closer and headed to their landing point, a small clearing they had localised for its lack of thick vegetation. Still they were alone, no sound around them but the commlink communication. Luke hoped they had taken the locals by surprise and they would be able to reach their destination before they reacted.

That hope died when a small force of ships appeared on their scopes.

"Black Squadron in Cherek formation," Darth Vader said through the comm. "Transport, initiate descent."

They came in front of the transport, a shield between her and the incoming fighters. The enemy was arriving in sighting range now: a flock of Nimbus fighters and old Nubian N-1s. They rushed towards them with a flurry of shooting.

Luke dodged the bolts coming at him and fired back at the ship. They engaged in dogfight. The fighter was not nearly as fast as Luke; the young man pushed it away from the protected area with ease.

"Transport landed," said the ground troop commander, a woman in her thirties. "The troops are disembarking."

"All ships cover area Aurek-1-1," Vader ordered.

Luke shot a last time at his opponent who crashed down in the vegetation, then opened up to the Force. Feeling where his squadmates were, he headed towards a less protected space. An enemy was trying to take the opening; Luke caught it before it could.

The pilot was good; they flew in circles, evading the other's fire, neither of them able to get a hit at the other. Luke gritted his teeth, prepared to ask his wingmate to catch the ship... before remembering he was alone. He had to do this on his own.

Ignoring the pang in his heart, he sunk deeper into the Force, closed his eyes, and shot. The enemy spiralled out of control, its wing destroyed. Luke bit back a curse: it fell down towards the protected area, on their men below. He rushed at it and fired repeatedly. The ship exploded in pieces before the pilot had time to eject, pieces of durasteel caught in the branches of the vegetation. Luke narrowly pulled out of the explosion.

"Probes sent, Aurek 1-1 covered," the ground leader announced. "Moving towards Xesh sector."

On Vader's order, the squadron moved again to protect said area. They expanded and formed a circle around it, a barrier to prevent other ships from entering.

Three Praadosian ships came at Dark Curse and Cosmo. Luke got closer to his squad mates.

"Black Six and Seven," he said, "do you require assistance?"

"Appreciated, Five," Dark Curse answered.

Luke joined the dance, the two trios of pilots drawing closer and further to gain an opening. His eyes half-closed, he relied more on the Force than on his sight. He dodged an enemy's fire, shot down the ship threatening Dark Curse. He then teamed up with him and got closer to Cosmo, Luke's opponent still on their tails.

The Praadosian took a shot and Cosmo evaded it, a hair away from being hit. Luke's blood froze in his veins. He gritted his teeth, rushed full throttle towards them.

He wouldn't let them take anyone else today.

"Five, watch out," Dark Curse warned, "you still have –"

Luke did a barrel roll to avoid the fire coming his way. He charged at Cosmo's enemy and pulled up, taking another shot at his own pursuer. Both Praadosians caught up in flames.

A whistle sounded in the comm.

"Impressive, but I was right there, let's take it together next time!"

"Sorry, Six," Luke answered.

He didn't have time to think more about it. Another couple of ships had taken advantage of the hole their fight had left in their defence. They were shooting down blindly, where their troopers would be.

"Two ships in protected area. Six and Seven, ready to tackle them?"

They agreed, and Luke took the lead as they flew towards the Praadosians.

"Six and Seven, take the one at 340-0, I'll cover for you," he said.

"Roger, Five."

Luke forked on the right while his squadmates took the fighter on the left. Keeping a Force tendril focused on their activity, he engaged it. Immediately the enemy focused on him rather than on the ground. Luke shot at him and flew up, the other following him. With a few well-placed shots, he pushed it next to its comrade, the both of them surrounded by Dark Curse, Cosmo and him.

"Break-break, all fighters! Enemy incoming from space!"

Luke hit one of the Praadosians' left wing. The ship whirled out of control to crash into the other one in a bright explosion.

Descending from the sky was a whole force of snub fighters Luke didn't recognise. They honed in on the already-tired Imperials, an overwhelming new wave of opponents. Reinforcements. They must have broken through the line of defence set up on the level of Devastator. Immediately, the outer line of Imperial fighters came to block their way, but some of them came through.

Well, this was where the fight started.

"Wraith and Ebon Squadron, on the first line. Black Squadron, draw closer to the protected area," Vader ordered.

Gripping his controls tighter, Luke accelerated towards an enemy ship that had crossed the first line of protection. Immediately a second came at him. Luke twisted and twirled, and finally managed to escape their grasp; but that didn't mean he could rest.

Around him, the battle was a blur of green and red fire, of ships bolting left and right, high and low. His scopes were full of moving dots, the comm buzzing with comments. It was difficult to know at each moment where the rest of his squad was.

He took a deep breath, submerged himself in the Force. His consciousness expanded in a way that had become familiar. He dove, and a shot came where he was half a second ago.

The battle became at once less and more confusing. Luke had no idea what was happening, but he rose, plunged, twirled, barrelled, fired, each of his bolts finding their target. He didn't perceive individual ships any longer. There was but the currents of movements, the trajectories of the pilots, a deep sea where he inserted himself without effort.

A cold shiver ran down his spine and another presence flared around him, seeking him out. Luke connected with it with a smile of recognition. He didn't think Lord Vader's movement was intentional, it felt more like an instinctive gesture. Still, he accepted the immaterial hand he was offering. He reached out with his own bright tendrils, wrapping around and shining through Vader's smokey curls.

He relied on the connection and used it to delve even deeper into the Force. He kept his eyes closed now, and found he perceived the thrill of battle better that way. He saw the ships around him, felt the pilots that were firing at him. He was conscious of the bigger picture around him, as well: the first circle, his own squad, still grappling with Praadosian forces; the outer layers, struggling to contain the invaders. He let the Force guide him, push him where he most needed to be, in the nexus of all these ships' trajectories. Pilots were living and dying, little points of life imploding, disappearing, sometimes at his own hand.

He felt it a little more than the others, but he couldn't know if it was because he was closer in space, or because he was a member of his squad.

He only realised when he heard Vader's voice through the comm.

Lars, at my side.

Yes, sir, he answered before obeying.

As he had thought, Mauler was no longer covering for Vader. He didn't let himself think of that, slid in next to his commanding officer instead.

Flying as Vader's wingman was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Never, not even with Biggs, had he ever felt this in tune with the other. They had the same pace, the same style, and Luke could predict his next moves as easily as if he had decided them himself. He supposed it had to be related to the Force bathing them both; but there was something more, too.

"My lord, we have found the Rebel project," the stormtroopers commander said. "A huge complex of caves, full of – of war refugees."

Vader looped, took out an enemy ship.

"Elaborate, Commander."

"Families of civilians, sir, from their appearances. They look poor and lost; there are a few aliens and outlanders. None of them seem like warriors. Though the place was well-protected, I do not think they are dangerous."

"How many?"

"A few hundreds, my lord."

There was a tense silence. Luke moved aside from Vader, shot at an opponent, who dodged and lost its advantage.

"Destroy the caves," Vader finally ordered. "We cannot afford to take any risks."

The commander paused, then gave an uneasy answer.

"Yes, my lord."

The channel closed. Luke had already forgotten these words. Still they fought, still ships flew and fell. Time seemed to have lost its meaning; had they been at it forever? He didn't know. A pressure started building in his head, a deep tiredness and weariness.

He snapped out of it when Vader's presence sharply pulled on his.

Stay in the moment.

Luke blinked, took a trembling breath, and sent a wordless thank you to his commanding officer. The depths of the Force were attractive, and it was easy to get lost in them. He would pay more attention from now on.

"My lord, we've reached the transport," a male voice said. "Commander Mavron defected and joined the Rebels' side. It is unknown what became of her and the other occupants once the caves were blown up."

"Acknowledged, soldier. Prepare for departure, but do not take off before my signal."

"Yes, sir."

The battle was starting to abate. The Imperials were the strongest force, and both Praadosians and their reinforcements were beginning to retreat.

Vader gave the order for the transport to depart as soon as a path became clear for them. The squadron took their place around her like they had in the descent, and escorted her back up. They made their way to Devastator without a problem, a few last ships taking a shot at it before either giving up or being blown up by the Imperials. After what felt like ages, they finally landed.

Luke's world was spinning when he stepped foot on the deck. He took off his helmet, focused on a stable point forward, forced himself to take long breaths, and felt a little better.

He and the squadron gathered together, exchanging looks and assessing the state of those who had come back. They wore an expression of grave worry on their faces that Luke was starting to find familiar. Mauler, as he had expected, never joined them, but all the others of the squad brought their ships to the rack and climbed down from their fighter. Luke let out a sigh of relief.

His stomach lurched again when Darth Vader headed towards them.

"Ensign Lars, you are now to take Commander Mithel's place as my wingman when in battle," he said. "Lieutenant Gufrai, you are to assume his other duties."

Dark Curse inclined his head, but nobody said a word. Vader hesitated for the briefest moment, and Luke wondered if he was trying to find words of condolence or praise for his fallen wingman. Before he could reach a conclusion, Vader turned on his heels and left, his cape waving behind him.

A pregnant silence followed, heavy and questioning. Luke felt his squadmates' gazes on him, nearly heard the questions on their minds.

"... Darth Vader's wingman?"

Luke winced upon hearing the disbelief in Qorl's voice.

"Yeah, I have no idea how that happened either, I –"

"First the flying lessons, now this..." Boomer started.

"Not here," Dark Curse chimed in. "Let's go back to the squadron quarters."

His face fell. "We should honour our second-in-command properly."

All pilots' faces adopted the same serious expression as his. A stone dropped in Luke's stomach at the reminder that one more casualty had befallen them that day. He looked at his squadmates, and realised that he could not be certain any of them would even live to see the next day. Not even him; but with the Force on his side, he supposed his chances of survival were slightly better than anyone else's. The thought was not as comforting as he thought it would be.

Before long, they were back in the squadron's main room. They sat together on the benches, in silence at first. Vil was the first to speak up, to remember a detail of the first time he had met Mauler in training. Then others took their turn, talking about his leadership skills, the way he struck inspiration in them, but also his more demanding sides.

Luke stayed quiet the whole time. He listened to the others, sketching an occasional wistful smile when the story brought up memories in him, but he never spoke himself. What could he say that could be relevant? He had never been good with words. He had never known how to express this kind of tightness in his chest.

He had hardly known Mauler. The man had been his superior of a sort, and they had only ever spoken when performing an exercise. But the thought that he was gone and wouldn't come back was an awful one.

It occurred to him with no small amount of guilt that the squadron must have done this before for Chaser, and Backstabber before. Each time he had missed it.

At last silence fell again. No more stories were exchanged. No more were needed, either, as they shared a moment of common remembrance.

"Remembering him is good," Qorl said after a minute. "But he would want us to keep fighting. That is how we will best honour him. I raise my glass to Mauler, to the Empire, and to victory, that he so often offered us."

The others imitated him, with concurring murmurs of "to Mauler, to the Empire, to victory."

Then they drank, and after another silence, the conversation started again. Silver got up to fetch his datapad, claiming that he had to work on paperwork, and Boomer left to prepare a briefing report. Soon everything was back to normal again, despite the trace of heaviness remaining in the room.

Luke was contemplating checking in early, perhaps after some of these exercises Lord Vader had called "meditation," when Vil dropped down next to him.

"So," he said. "How did you manage to end up as Lord Vader's wingman before reaching your twentieth birthday, I'm curious."

Luke huffed with a joyless smile, feigning nonchalance and pretending not to notice half the squadron had started listening. Of course, he should have known better than to think his squadmates would let it go.

"I'm as much in the dark as you are," he said. "I've got no idea why he chose me."

"But he's been teaching you," Vil insisted. "He never mentioned it? Ever?"

"No," Luke answered, a little irritated. "Why would he? I told you, I don't know how this happened."

He looked down at his half-full glass.

"Lord Vader is... unpredictable."

Vil snorted.

"Tell me about it."

"But the flying lessons," Boomer said. "No offence, but you fly like nobody's business. It seems kind of pointless. Unless he was tutoring you for some other position..."

Luke's stomach twisted. He couldn't tell anyone about the Force; they'd just believe him nuts. At the same time, maybe Boomer had a point. Vader had told him about... what was it even about? He didn't remember. But it seemed important, different than what would be expected from a mere pilot.

He shrugged, unwilling to talk further about it.

"Oh, come on," Boomer said. "Was he?"

"No," Luke snapped. "No, he didn't talk about any of this. Kreth, a few weeks ago he nearly broke my neck. I have no idea what he wants with me. It creeps me out, okay? But I also know he's my commanding officer, and I've learnt the hard way what he does to people who don't obey him. If you like breathing you should stop questioning him."

He took a rocky breath, tried to ignore the stunned looks the others gave him.

"All right!" Boomer answered, throwing his hands in the air. "All right."

They changed the subject, to Luke's great relief, but at first he didn't try to join in. Something was bothering him... something about the battle, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He thought about it for a few minutes, then shrugged and gulped down the rest of his glass.

It probably didn't matter all that much anyway. He turned his attention on the other pilots again and joined the game of Pazaak that they were about to start.

Only much later, as he was brushing his teeth before going to bed, did Luke realise what had troubled him with a pang in his chest.

The Rebels' secret project... what they had fought so hard to protect... was a hideout for refugees. Civilians whose life had been disrupted by the war, innocents who probably sought nothing more than peace and stability. And they had destroyed it – they had killed these people, whose only crime had been to have everything taken away from them.

Luke closed his eyes, fought against the guilt churning in his guts, Biggs' judging face watching him with his lips pinched, like every time they hadn't agreed at the Academy.

No. They shouldn't have associated with Rebels in the first place. Surely they had known that was dangerous.

And who knew if the camp wasn't a cover for more nefarious activities? Luke wouldn't have put it past the Rebels. People who put themselves into the line of fire knew what they were exposing themselves to.

Luke took deep breaths. When they had crushed the Rebellion... when there was peace again, this would stop. There would be no more destroying fights to force people away from their homes and families. He was fighting for all this to stop.

Sleep took a long time to find him that night.

.

Darth Vader sat in his quarters, meditating. His mind kept turning around the boy falling asleep a few rooms away from him, his presence pulsing and flaring as he slowly sank into the depths of slumber. Reaching out to him had become easy and natural, due to the bond that had formed between them.

Vader couldn't fathom it. He hadn't started formal training with him yet. But there was no denying it, not when they had communicated with such ease through the Force during the battle.

He reached out and let the wisps of his presence twirl around Luke's, helping him into sleep. He kept watching him, soothed by the regular beat of light.

He would make a good wingman. He was still angry to have lost Mithel, whose experience and dedication he would greatly miss. But the boy possessed the Force, and that made him invaluable.

If only he could have him as an apprentice, and teach him the mysteries of the dark side of the Force... he had such potential, it seemed a waste to let him wallow as a mere pilot. Vader longed to teach him, really teach him, show him everything he knew. He had no doubt the boy would take up all his instructions easily. They would grow so strong together, their power letting them achieve anything; even...

Even overthrowing his own master.

Vader frowned, wondering where the thought had come from. Sidious was knowledgeable, and he still had a great deal to learn from him. He had no interest in ruling. Palpatine, as a politician, would always be a much better choice at the head of the galaxy. And he was all he had left...

Or maybe that was no longer completely true, Vader thought, watching Luke's mind as he dreamt.

For a moment he let himself entertain the thought. To be free, to no longer have to answer to his master's every desire... Vader imagined himself plunging his lightsabre into his heart, and was surprised by the intensity of the hatred that accompanied the thought.

No. That wasn't right. He couldn't. Palpatine was his friend and his mentor. He owed him his life... But what life had become his, in pain every hour of his life, trapped in this suit that made him more machine than man?

He violently shunned the thought. Through their bond he felt the boy stir, and he cut himself from him.

Was this why his master had allowed him to train him? Was this a test of his loyalty? He knew treachery was the way of the Sith. Was Sidious goading him into betraying him?

Oh, how he hated these mind games. He loathed always having to guess what was on his master's mind; never a clear answer, never a straightforward word. He was so tired of it.

And he had a clear way out of it now.

Once again he repressed the thought. That wasn't right. Above all, he couldn't allow his master to know he was having such treacherous ideas.

It was his own fault, not his master's. He was the one who had killed his wife in anger. He had offered her the galaxy, and she had refused him, deceived by Obi-Wan's lies. She had thrown it all away. And he would offer it anew to this stranger, this nobody, just because he happened to be there and strong with the Force? He would risk it all, deny all his choices and his sacrifices, for the sake of this young upstart?

No. It was his burden to bear, and his alone.

And if the boy was the one prompting such temptations, he had to take distance from him. Already he could feel himself change, mellow at the contact of him. He couldn't afford such a weakness.

He forced himself to ignore the bright light of the boy's presence, whose tendrils reached out to him in instinct, drawn by their bond.

He was Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith. It was his destiny, and he had long accepted it.