A/N: Ah another Star Wars fic specifically with a suitless Vader. It is quite a love of mine, sue me. The Age of the Empire started in 20 BBY rather than 19 BBY. The Clone Wars never happened and you'll find out why. Let's just say Anakins fall was alot quicker. Votes/Reviews are nearly as amazing as Grogu (00)

If interested this is also posted on Wattpad and A03 with visuals


20 BBY


Location: Outer Rim Territories

Arkanis sector

Tatooine

Mos Espa

TATOOINE: LOCATED ON THE OUTER RIM, ORBITING BINARY G-TYPE STARS; twin suns Tatoo I and II, it was an arid, cloudless planet with little source of vegetation. Dunes, rocky outcroppings of glaring canyons spread across the silicate surface of the desert. Hostile nomads inhabited the lands as the Sand People, or Tusken Raiders. Home to the largest, apex predator: the Krayt dragon.

Across the plains as scavengers, Jawas continuously traded junk and scrapped droids for a bargain. While cities were swept into the sandstorms. The blistered heat caused rainfall to come but once a decade, leaving the rural areas moisture farmers cultivated from the bowels as a trade for a menial living; a perfect culmination for control over such goods.

Hailed from their homeworld: Nal Hutta, slug-like sentients known as the Hutts reigned as Tatooine's crime lords; a cartel syndicate that controlled the bulk of imports, spaceports, and settlements. Their dealings with piracy and slavery generated much of their wealth, and the colonizations under their control had long been rampant havens for sporadic criminals and smugglers.

Located near the Dune Sea their funded retail business for junk dealings took place in the main spaceport, of Mos Espa. It was the ideal locality for a blue, smarmy Toydarian to reap the benefits from impoverished slavers. His establishment was a breeding ground for cheap labor and minuscule pay.

For over many orbiting suns it had been Ayen's life.

Attentive hazel eyes zeroed in on the red wire clenched between her thumb and forefinger, tongue crooked to the side, the metallic tang of carbon prickled with a sting. If she could just get the wire to connect to the monocular photoreceptor, the pit droid could be salvaged.

By the stars, only from the adomed edifices alone had the sun not scorched her skin to leather. And thus, her concentration remained affixed as a bead of sweat rolled down her brow crusted in sand and oily residue.

It was an ideal trade than to strain herself lifting unused scrap heavier than her waif frame. And if she lost another day's ration just to sate his temper, kark. He'd threaten to sell her off, as he often did. But he needed her skills. Even if his pride would never admit how valued of an asset she was to the shop; the whole reason he sold these secondhand parts. If only he didn't gamble away the earnings at the Boonta Eve Podrace.

"Almost got it..."

She felt the wire hook into the small cavity, her soot-covered fingers slowly retracting as the receptor toggled once then, twice. The mechanics sparked and whirred.

She grinned, Yes!

The alloy casing fell back with an audible snap. The faint printing Serv-0-Droid Inc shone visibly as she wiped a tattered rag across any smudged, greased fingerprints, the excess rubbed into her russet hewn pants.

"Kark... finally." She bent down and tapped the nose-the sensor.

The droid automatically folded.

For just a moment she imagined her parents glimpsing the scene from the cosmos with pride. If only she could recall their faces. As long as she'd been a slave under Watto's ownership she could barely recall familial details. Faces of people who had once been familiar had long blurred in her memory as well as their voices, like lost echoes in a distant chamber. Nevertheless, she felt a deep sense of gratitude towards her lineage, gifted with valuable skills that enabled her to secure a steady source of food and shelter. Even if it meant residing in close quarters with antagonistic vagabonds at Slave Quarters Row.

After placing the droid against the register on a wide, luminous table, she departed for the sand blasted steps that led to the outside junkyard. The acrid stench of rust assaulted her senses from the granule winds, dusted sediment cleaving to her like second skin. The azure Toydarian she soon spotted flitting around piles of engine parts to gadgets.

Instantly those glassy eyes swung to hers. "What took you so long?! Coona tee-tocky malia?!" Using the favored Huttese dialect, he layered her with insults. "I got some selling to do stupid! Me dwana no bata wermo!"

Her brows rose at the Toydarian wiping the sweat that glazed her forehead. Matching his dubious squint with a glare. His wings beat behind him in tandem with his temper. A data pad protruded from the belt strap looped across his pot belly. Eyeing the pocket welding torch that dangled off one side, she felt a twinge of temptation to push her limits. Alas, it remained wishful thinking as her eyes fell on the ratted pouch tied to his holster.

Specific slaves' keycodes were kept there, her's included. If it weren't for the damned chip implanted in her skin upon registration, she would've long abandoned him, this barren planet, and set out for a nomadic life as a self-employed technician.

Yet here she remained as the last remaining slave Watto held claim to. Long ago had the others been sold off as paid debts to the Hutts. None, had she been partial to. Elders, mostly. Unsettled nerves churned her gut at the thought of Jabbas's grip on her owner compressing with each day. It was akin to a noose about to constrict. If he couldn't pay off his mounting debts Watto would lose her.

It was no secret the sentient had a gambling addiction.

Since the Hutts were known for their carnal pleasures, explicitly Jabba Desilijic Tiure, Ayen worked long, laborious hours under the slave owner. If it meant her boss brought in the peggats, it kept her from becoming a dancing commodity like a Twi'Lek. Her dignity was far too important. She'd just as soon detonate her chip before ever subjecting herself to the barbarity.

With an exhale she couldn't help but loose her frustration, "Wermo? Stupid? I just spent three hours working on your non-expendable pit droid, Watto." She crossed her arms. "We both know you can't afford the loss. You lost another annual race."

His trunk-like nose wriggled with a snort. "You should be flying my podracer then huh?" He extended his three-fingered hand rubbing one finger against the two. "Making me all the money."

Her brow rose. "Except I don't fly; you know this. I'm a tech, not a pilot."

"Ah!" Watto waved one hand in the air. "Peedunkel! Always a cheeky poodoo." His webbed feet skirted around her as the Toydarian shook his bulbous head and aviated back into the junkshop.

Escaping the brutal heat from the twin Tatooine suns, Ayen followed Watto inside to her workstation where he inspected the pit droid. By the tilt of his stubbled chin he appeared, satisfied. "Ah, good work, Sebulba will be pleased. Uh... sweep the floor mats and clean your workstation, girl."

She didn't need to be told twice if it meant she was finished this standard cycle. Secretly she had no desire to face that cheating Drug with his next in kin, Setur. The Drugs had never played fair in a podrace and their ill tempers were far from desirable. Worse than a Rodian's.

Grabbing the broom tucked in the corner, she swept the electrostatic mats free of the fine, grainy layers carpeting the floors from earlier dust storm. Damned sand. It got everywhere and coated everything. There was no escaping it. Just as there was no escaping this life or Wattos whip should she fail in her tasks.

Although he was known for treating his slaves a little more humane, she had the scars to prove the mercurial mood swings. He could be cruel under immense pressure. For that she was given his ire. Often nights she'd go home with blisters and hardened callouses that formed over to scrub in the cramped fresher. If just to soothe her aches after meddling with wires for hours by a rationed water vaporator.

In the background Watto fluttered about, counting his totals, and readying the shisha to smoke as he did in the eve. Oh, stars help her if that ever broke. Using an iron brush, she swept her workstation, dust particles flouncing into the air. Before placing her welding goggles into the tin, she polished the lenses as a prep for shift, finding pride in how managed and organized her tools were kept. Faintly, she heard Watto disappear into the back grumbling to himself. She couldn't help but snort. It appeared the sentient was experiencing a shortage in firing up the shisha.

It was not the least, surprising. "Short on oil there Watto?" she muttered with a smirk.

She leaned back in the rickety chair, bracing a knee while the sound of Mladong bracelets clunked against the counter. The gaudy, iron bands served as a constant reminder of her place in the world setting a frown on her lips. Apart from haggling and bargaining in the markets, she kept to herself, away from others. On the feral planet of Tatooine's harsh weathers and hostile creatures abound, survival was primarily a concern. Only the wise endured, while the foolish inevitably perished.

"He was never good at reigning in his temper about minuscule things."

A cool breeze brushed up against the nape of her neck, causing her heart to practically jump into her throat as her head snapped around. Her foot fell with a thwack against the ground as she faced a hooded, cloaked figure. Instantly she straightened from a slackened pose to her feet. "Kriff!— I didn't hear any customers come in, my apologies sir."

Hopefully, Watto hadn't, lest she received an earful. Mercifully she didn't spot him-yet. Though the relief was short-lived once her eyes darted back to the hooded figure. Looming over her by nearly a head taller, they crossed their arms against a thick cloak. Certainly from the elements. Yet an intimidation emanated from the stance they took as she sensed more than witnessed their eyes burning into her. While she fought to keep her sights on a fixed point: a shoulder. Watto had trained her never to look directly in the eye of the higher echelons of prominent figures.

Lest she receive a lashing.

Idiot, they're waiting for you to speak, say something! "Ah-" she stuttered, " I think Watto just went into the back. I can grab him for you or—"

"No." The voice had a smooth baritone but an overt dominance unmistakably male. "I came here for you."

Oh, oh no. Had the time finally come? Was this it the hangman? Jabba would be pleased to hear of this.

Feck.

The slug had teased Watto a time too many that he'd lose her. As a criminal that profited off many tricks of the trade, Jabba would make full use of her skills and fleshy attributes. Although the Hutts themselves were asexual, business was business. Already could she picture her future: a life spent in a chain-link bikini forcibly trafficked to his highest crony then left working her hands to the bone until a decrepit age.

"Whatever Jabba wants I'll double it. Need a ship fixed or a broken droid? Done. But I refuse to go to that slimy cretin. I'd rather fight a Krayt Dragon."

"While that can be arranged," he shrugged indifferently, "I have no business with the Hutts. I'm here to collect a debt Watto owes me."

Oh?

Anger boiled to the surface as he uttered the last of his words. Had Watto bet on her?! He had to be dumber than an eeopie. "That sleazy, greedy—ugh! Incredible! Inkabunga!" She swore a string of colorful words as her face flushed. "He had the bantha balls to bet on me? Betrayer scum! Cheeskar nok!" How recent was this? Remembering herself, she took a deep breath and swallowed. Well, her professionalism had certainly been shot. The sheer embarrassment flushed her freckled face scalding the tips of her ears. "I—... guess this means I need to collect my things...?"

It was rather unnerving how silent he'd remained during her tirade. Perhaps she was to be punished for her tongue. Her gut instincts distinctly warned not to try him further.

Finally, he nodded.

Phew.

But her relief was short lived at a severe voice that cracked like a whip, "Watto!"

She'd jumped just before she spun around to rummage through her desk drawer. Quickly gathering up her tool belt, lucky goggles, and a piece of cloth that had been left to her as a child. She silently grazed her thumb over the fabric, the last vestiges of her infant afghan. As she hastily stuffed all of her essentials into the threadbare bag, the atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted.

Like night and day.

The temperature in the room plummeted, bringing an immediate chill to her bones. Gooseflesh erupted across her arms and she exhaled, her breath a tangible mist that hovered like a spectral apparition.

An eerie presence settled around her, tracing a phantom touch across her skin that raised the hairs on the back of her neck in a slow, ominous dance. All her senses were focused on the source of this presence, and she knew with a growing sense of alarm that it was projecting from... him.

"I don't appreciate waiting on you, Watto. My orders were more than concise." The voice, even quiet the authority was blatant, on a razors edge for patience.

"Y-Yes of course." The Toydarian stumbled, an un-commonality from the usual brute creature.

There was a shuffling before a couple distinct clicks. A shrill blare of an alarm wailed through the weighted tension before it abruptly ceased. "The switch has been disabled. The chip will uh, not detonate. The girl can... go."

She noted the bitterness in Wattos voice, realizing she'd remained frozen in place. Her fingers clenched onto her bag with such vigor it left her knuckles bone-white. She did not wish to intercede. Even when she felt his eyes pass over her she tensed, the ripple effect sending a shiver down her spine. Her eyes wavered to his shadow as it stealthily moved across the walled enclave. One finger nervously twitched to twist the ends of her sandy braid. And she didn't dare turn around for fear of his reaction.

His silhouette closed in on the sentient and for what felt like a parsec, the air instantly constricted her very oxygen as if sapped. Her breath seized jarring her senses as her pulse throbbed upon every spasm of muscle jerking to attention.

The cloaked figure drew in eerily close, towering over the bulbous creature. "Unfortunately for you, I'm a very dissatisfied customer. Does the name Shmi Skywalker jog your... memories?"

Her eyes widened as she watched a shadowy arm raise, his voice callous and unmerciful as ice. Though what came next would forever impale her memories.

"Wait, An-ack!—"

A horrid, gut-wrenching sound curdled her insides and her eyes squeezed shut upon reaction. Just as Wattos shrill reply was swiftly severed a thick, guttural gasp lanced the air.

A wet, asphyxiating gargle followed with an audible crunch. "Mee jewz ju."

A strangled gasp pushed out of her lungs, heartbeat like a rabid spice spider as her reality eclipsed. She had just witnessed a live murder, the weight wrestling in her chest before a gloved hand appeared out of the corner of her peripheral.

It was for her.

Her eyes followed the sewn lining of the leather fingers, noticing that they were slightly crooked in forced invitation. Sensing that this was not the time to question, she shakily grasped hold of the hand and was lifted to her feet in an instant.

"Avert your gaze from the mess." He warned.

Like a silent phantom, he moved across the room.

Unintentionally her eye caught a glimpse of a mangled, shredded wing just out of vision. Yet as if he'd sensed the very action he whirled around in fury, his broad form blocking out the grotesque image. "Look at me." he snapped.

She peered beneath amber lashes, her fear refracting off abrupt, ocher eyes that lit like a struck match beneath the hood. If looks could scorch, Whoa. Being in a din of bustling crime, she'd seen about every species of alien or outlander traverse from dozens of off-world planets. Tatooine was the epicenter for criminals and the ilk from thousands of planetary systems. Never, however, had she ever seen eyes of such magnitude. It was quite startling, and right then, her fate hung in the balance.

"Are you—"

"If I was going to kill you," he cut in, voice quiet but stone cold, "I would've dispatched of you, already."

"...Right."

It was all she could say, recognizing how meek and brittle she sounded. It would've been very uncharacteristic had she never witnessed-and she'd witnessed many-a practical slaughter to this degree by a hand.

A hand.

Garnered from years of pilots and travelers' gossip if recollection served, it wasn't the Jedi who exhumed such a lethal ability. But the Sith. Was she seriously owned by a kriffing Sith?!

Of all the nine Corellian hells!

"Do you know who I am?"

His cool voice immediately doused her thoughts as if she'd been plunged into a trough of water. Leather gloves encircled her wrists his voice imploring as his eyes searched her's.

Sith... spit.

What did she say? Was he talking about what she knew he was? She swallowed, bracing herself lest this confession was a stupid move. "Sith."

"Hhm. Yes, but not what I insinuated." There was a mixture of annoyance and a hint of curiosity now. "Let me rephrase: to what is the extent of your knowledge?"

"Of...?"

"The galaxy."

"That... there's a Galactic Empire." She saw the stormtroopers constantly patrolling the perimeters, had seen the blood-red banners for the Emperor. It was common knowledge their presence in Mos Espa. "...Some type of Jedi revolt that betrayed the Republic. On Coruscant right? 'Some years ago. They were exterminated but the sympathizers formed a Rebellion?" Fek I sound quite the impaired. "Really, it's not much I—"

"Do you have any loyalties to these rebels?"

"No...? Honestly I'm not well versed in politics, I've led a pretty antisocial life up until... now."

"Would you say you could be trusted then, loyal to the Empire?"

"Yes, I worked my hands to the bone for this gambler."

There was a pregnant silence that followed, stretching just beyond comfortability to worry her lip from her frayed nerves.

"Hold your wrists out." His voice was a tad softer, on the cusp of decent.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she looked up into his fervent stare with a swallow. His eyes blazed like a fiery inferno that threatened to consume anything within his path as she hastily extended out the shackled wrists.

He let go to hover over the manacles that bound her. With a jolt, they began to vibrate and quake kick starting her nerves into overdrive. In mere seconds an audible clack resounded. Like the gaping maw of a Sarlacc, the manacles snapped open and clattered to the grounds in a plume of sand.

There was such a resonance of finality it left her stunned. Slowly her crusted fingers found the ivory flesh that had long escaped the sunlight over a period of her life. The skin was smooth but musty from disuse, yet unmarred of the raised scars that pocked her arms.

There was not one memory she could recall without the symbiosis of the cuffs to lifelong servitude. The simple action evoked a deeply rooted liberation that left her in quiet reverence. With a twist of her wrist from right to left faint tendons and a web of blue veins became visible beneath the translucent flesh.

As tears pricked the corners she found herself rather breathless as she said, "Thank you."

A warm breath caressed her lips, causing her head to snap up in surprise. The distance had been swallowed between them . Enough to that the intricate woven threads in his cloak were more visible. The intensity of his fiery gaze alone was palpable to keep her rooted as his thumb gripped her chin. Powerless to resist the pull as if held in a trance-like state a warning simmered in the current of his words, "I will not tolerate betrayal." The unsettling, delicate tone belied the ardent intensity that smoldered. "If you even think of tempting your fate, know that I will personally see to it your death is agonizingly slow. You will beg for its end, but it will not come until I say so."

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, leaving no doubt as to the depth of his conviction. Well, then. Her blood seemingly turned to ice as the warning speared freezing all six senses in suspension for that single second. She much preferred his sharper tone to this. Unable to deny he meant every word, the promise it carried nearly choked her speech.

"O-Of course, sir."

"Hm, that address will be rectified as well."

Before she could retort he released his hold, leaving her free to rub her wrists as he slowly backed away. The incline of his shoulders abruptly became erect-as if at attention. "While I'll excuse your lack of authority now, I expect you to address me as, Lord Vader, once we board my ship."

"Right... Lord Vader."

She'd have to get used to such a name; the syllables foreign in a native tongue that held a slight inflection on certain words. However, his declaration made it clear he wouldn't accept anything less. This would have to be practiced. There was no room for error, having just witnessed his brute ministrations firsthand. Never would she wish to be the target of his ire, ever.

"We'll practice on the way."

He scooped an object swiftly up from the counter before gesturing to the door with one rigid arm. Immediately she started for the stairs before he swept in behind her. His long cloak billowed out into the winds once he took his place in front steps sure and domineering. It left her struggling to keep pace as they traversed through town the spices of the air causing unbidden memories to bombard her further as freedom became more of a reality- leaving this wretched hovel at last.

Sentients skirted out of this alpha male's presence as a flurry of faces paled or lost color. Having a perceptive eye-a handy attribute with her line of work— it was one thing she noticed as they made their way towards a large starship congealed in the distance. There was an importance that exhumed from this man. Any being that was swallowed in his shadow quickly bowed out in fear.

"You're sure you don't need to stop at your quarters?"

"No, I've nothing of value there other than... food."

"Very well."

Whoever this man was he was a staple in the galaxy. Now, he had her under the same iron fist. While she only had an inkling of the plans he held for her, there was absolutely no question that he was her new Master and she the novice.