Prologue Chapter II: Wishes
The time is one standard month the Rebel Alliance's crippling defeat in the hands of the Galactic Empire on the ice planet of Hoth.
The young man with blazing sapphire blue eyes and messy sandy blonde hair sat by the window of his quarters, staring out from his place on the second floor towards the seemingly unending sea of the tall grasses that seemed to glow in the light of the full moon. Most of this planet's land was barren except the very few settlements that mostly consisted of some agricultural farms.
Chalacta's biggest city reminded Luke Skywalker of his old home. Well, more so reminded him of Mos Eisley, the biggest city on Tatooine he'd been to. The planet made him feel more at home, giving him the satisfaction to give a small smile. The planet wasn't as sweltering as Tatooine and wasn't as frozen as Hoth, but was perfectly in between. The Alliance had arrived just a bit into Chalacta's mild winter. It never snowed on the planet; it just rained here and there. On the occasion, it was an eruption of thunder and the downpour of rain. Other- and most- times, there was the rather gentle whimper of the thunder and the soft scattered rain.
Luke silently thought of what had happened just a month previously. He'd found out his father wasn't really dead.
Good, right?
Wrong. So very wrong.
His father was the Emperor's servant. Darth Vader was his father. That… beast the entire galaxy suffers in the hands of is his father. He'd hacked off Luke's right hand, plus begrudged him of his lightsaber.
Luke remembered the living nightmare as if it had been moments before. In a terrifying moment, his f- Vader had used his lightsaber to cut through the bone and the muscle and the flesh of Luke's right forearm. He'd cried out with agony as the blood red sword of light had neatly cleaved through. He'd watched as his hand- still clutching the relic of the past that was his father's former lightsaber- be swallowed into the depths of Cloud City's core.
Vader called out for Luke to join him at his side so they could overthrow the Emperor, that he would have foreseen his demise in the hands of the father and his son. Luke had looked down to where his severed hand and lightsaber had gone: down... down... and down.
That's where he chose to go.
He went down...
And down...
And kept going down until he hit solid ground.
He'd groaned in pain as he hit the metal surface of the garbage disposal. The garbage disposal opened, bringing Luke to fall even farther.
He did.
He'd slammed onto a weather vane, bringing another groan to escape his parched lips. He called to Leia in a dire attempt to live. He'd found his left arm growing numb after some time. Just before he'd heard the roar of the Falcon's engines he'd felt himself slipping from the weather vane he held onto for dear life. He saw the Falcon beneath him and let himself fall into the opened hatch at the Falcon's top. He held Leia close knowing that Leia was with a broken heart because they both knew Han would be gone for now.
Here he was now, thinking of how awful that day had been. He didn't just feel awful emotionally, no. He felt awful physically as well. He was literally forgetting to eat; his ribs were visible from beneath his shirt.
Just then he heard his stomach grumble loudly; he knew he was hungry and that he needed the food. His eyelids were growing heavy from how tired he was; he hadn't slept in days, weeks even. He leaned the side of his head against the window pane and gave a weak sigh. "I wish there was someone in this ill-fated galaxy that could understand me," he whispered, his voice nearly silent.