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. With cities swept into the sandstorms, the blistered heat caused rainfall to come but once a decade which left the moisture farmers bred for the rural areas cultivating the sustenance from the bowels. The trade off from a menial living.

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 agricultural goods, to imports and spaceports. Their dealings with piracy generated much of their wealth, the colonizations under their control rampant havens for sporadic criminals to smugglers.

Located near the Dune Sea their funded retail business for junk dealings took place in the main spaceport of: Mos Espa, a local breeding ground with impoverished slavers. It was ideal for a blue, smarmy Toydarian who reaped the benefits. Cheap labor provided minuscule pay and him, good business.

For over many orbiting suns it had been Ayen's [Aye-n] life.

Attentive hazel eyes zeroed in on the red wire clenched between her thumb and forefinger. If she could just get the wire to connect to the monocular photoreceptor, the pit droid could be salvaged.

With her tongue crooked, it prickled, left with the tang of carbon as a bitter aftertaste. 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 a trade off from heaving scrap heavier than her waif frame. And if she lost another day's ration just to sate his temper... He'd threaten to sell her off. Often as he did, his pride would never admit how valued of an asset she was. Evidentially he'd gamble the earnings away at the annual Boonta Eve podraces.

"Almost got it..."

She felt the wire hook into the small cavity. Her soot-covered fingers slowly retracted as the receptor toggled once then, twice. The mechanics sparked with an audible thrum.

She grinned, Yes!

The alloy casing fell back with an audible snap, the faded print Serv-0-Droid Inc visible as she ran a tattered rag through the greased fingerprints, the excess rubbed into hewn russet pants.

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

The droid automatically folded.

For a moment she imagined a pair of paternal figures glimpsing from the cosmos with pride. Barely could she remember them, now. Under her longstanding servitude to Watto had such visual, familial details faded from recollection. Even recalling their voice was like lost echoes in a distant chamber. Nevertheless, she felt a deep sense of gratitude for her lineage. Gifted with her valuable skills had enabled her to secure a steady source of food and shelter. Even if it meant having to reside in close quarters at Slave Quarters Row with antagonistic vagabonds.

Propping the droid upon the main table illuminated to bring forth customers, 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 instantly cleaving to her like second skin. The azure Toydarian she soon spotted flitting around piles of engine parts to gadgets.

Those glassy eyes swiveled to hers, immediate. "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!"

One brow rose at the Toydarian, the remnants of hard labor glazed her forehead. His dubious squint was matched with a glare.

His wings beat behind him in tandem with his temper. A data pad protruded from a belt strap looped across his pot belly to a pocket welding torch dangling off the side. Urged to retaliate, her eyes fell across the ratted pouch tied to his holster. Wishful thinking. There specific slaves' keycodes were kept, her's included. If it weren't for the chip implanted under a thick fold of skin, she would've long abandoned the barren planet.

Yet it was here she remained, the last of the slaves Watto held claim to. The others had been sold off as paid debts to the Hutts long ago. Elders she hadn't been partial to.

It was no secret the sentient had a gambling addiction. Soon, Watto would have to forfeit ownership. It churned her gut to think of Jabbas's grip, akin to a noose about to constrict. Since the Hutts were known for their carnal pleasures, explicitly Jabba Desilijic Tiure, Ayen worked extra laborious hours. More peggats meant the less likely chances of becoming a dancing commodity like a Twi'Lek. Her dignity was far too important and she's just as raptly detonate her chip before such 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 race."

His trunk-like nose wriggled with a snort. "You should be flying my podracer then eh?" 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. His bulbous head shook in aggravation as he aviated back into the junkshop.

Escaping the brutal heat of the twin Tatooine suns, Ayen trailed behind him to the register where he inspected the pit droid. There was a satisfied tilt to his stubbled chin as he grunted, "Ah, good work, Sebulba will be pleased. Eh... sweep the floor mats and clean your workstation, girl."

It meant she was finished for this standard cycle. Secretly she had no desire to face that cheating Dug with his next in kin, Setur. The Dugs 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, carpeting grains, 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 her boss's whip should she fail 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 various wounds to mend under a rationed vaporator. Which came from meddling with copper wires and loose shrapnel.

Using an iron brush she swept the slab of durasteel she'd fused into a work desk, dust particles flouncing into the air. Before placing her welding goggles into a tin, she polished the lenses as a prep in order to maintain a 'well oiled' work space.

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 busted. Faintly, she heard him whisk into the back of the store grumbling to himself.

She couldn't help but snort. The sentient was experiencing a shortage. It was not in the least, surprising. "Short on oil there Watto?" she muttered with a smirk, leaning back in the rickety chair. She braced a knee while the Mladong bracelets clunked against the counter, the bands serving as a reminder of her place in the world.

At this a frown settled on her lips. Apart from haggling and bargaining in the markets, there was a reason she kept to herself. On a feral planet borne of harsh weather and hostile creatures abound, survival was primary. Only the wise endured, while the foolish inevitably perished.

"He's never been one to reign in his temper even about the most trivial."

A cool breeze brushed against the nape of her neck. Her heart practically jumped into her throat as her head snapped around. With a startling thwack one foot fell against the ground whilst greeted by a hooded, cloaked figure. Instantly she straightened from the slackened posture to her feet. "Kriff!— I didn't hear any customers come in. My apologies sir."

Hopefully Watto hadn't, lest she received an earful. She hadn't spotted him yet—mercifully. Yet as her eyes darted to the hooded figure, the relief dissipated. Looming over her by nearly a head taller they crossed their arms against a thick, weathered cloak. Their stance alone emanated intimidation as she trained her sights on a fixed point: a shoulder. It was considered a hostile tactic on her home planet to look directly in the eye of an opponent or buyer.

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

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

Oh, oh no. Was this the hangman? Jabba was no doubt, pleased. As a criminal that profited off many tricks of the trade, Jabba would make full use of her. Although the Hutts themselves were asexual she could picture her future: a life spent in a chain-link bikini until decrepit age left her enslaved to the last of her technical skills.

"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 just as 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 son of a— 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!" Quickly remembering herself, she took a deep breath and swallowed. The sheer embarrassment flushed her freckled face, scalding the tips of her ears. "I... so I need to collect my things...?"

It was rather unnerving how silent he'd remained. As she prepared to be punished for her tongue, he nodded.

Phew.

She spun around to rummage through her desk drawer. Quickly gathering up her tool belt, lucky goggles, and a piece of cloth her thumb grazed, vestiges from an infant afghan. But just as she'd stuffed the last of her essentials into the threadbare bag—

The temperature plummeted. A foreboding chill abruptly latticed to her bones as she exhaled, her breath floating around her like a spectral apparition. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as her senses tuned to the chilling presence.

"Watto!" The voice cracked like a whip, making her jump as a rustle of wings became audible. "I don't appreciate waiting on you. My orders were more than… concise." The voice, even quiet the authority was blatant.

"Y-Yes of course." The Toydarian stumbled with the beat of his wings, uncommon for the brute creature.

There was a shuffle before several distinct clicks followed. A shrill blare of an alarm wailed through the weighted tension before— silence. "The switch has been disabled. The chip will uh, not detonate. The girl can... go."

She noted the bitterness in Watto's voice, her fingers clenching her bag with such vigor the bone-white knuckles were visible. She didn't dare intercede sensing a pair of eyes burning into her backside. A shiver rippled down her spine as his shadow stealthily moved across the walled enclave. As his silhouette closed in on the sentient, one finger twitched in nerved response.

In a parsec the air constricted, it seized her very breath causing her pulse to contract with a painful throb.

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

She felt her eyes widen as a shadowy arm rose into the air, the voice callous as Hoths ice. Though what came next would forever impale her memory.

"Wait, An-ack!—"

A horrid wretch curdled her insides her eyes squeezed shut upon reaction. Wattos shrill reply severed as a thick, guttural gargle lanced the air. What followed was a sickening crunch. "Mee jewz ju."

A strangled gasp was pushed from her lungs, heartbeat like a rabid spice spider as her breaths returned. Followed by the brutal slap of reality. She had just witnessed a live murder, the weight of it in her chest before a gloved hand extended towards her.

The sewn lining of leather fingers were slightly crooked up in forced invitation. Sensing this was not up for questioning, she shakily grasped hold of the hand.

Lifted to her feet in an instant he warned, "Avert your gaze from the mess."

Yet unintentionally her eye caught a glimpse of a mangled appendage just out of vision. As if he'd sensed the very action he whirled around in fury, his broad form blocking out the morbid display. "Look at me." he snapped.

She peered up beneath amber lashes, her fear refracting off eyes that lit like a struck match beneath the hood. If looks could scorch, Whoa. She'd seen about every species from dozens of off-world planets since Tatooine was a docking epicenter. Never had she seen eyes of such magnitude. More fiery than a Zabrak it was quite startling.

"Are you—"

"If I was going to kill you," he cut in, voice quiet, but on a razors edge of patience, "I would've dispatched of you with it."

"...Right."

It was all she could say, his disgust potent by the practical slaughter to this degree by a hand.

A hand.

Garnered from years of pilots and travelers' gossip it wasn't the Jedi who exhumed such a lethal ability. But the Sith. Was she 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 plunged into a trough of water. Leather gloves encircled her wrists as he implored.

Sith... spit. What did she say? She swallowed, bracing herself lest this confession cost her. "A Sith."

"Hhm… not what I insinuated." There was a mixture of annoyance and a hint of curiosity now. "I'll rephrase: 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 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 the 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."

A pregnant silence settled, enough to worry her lip from frayed nerves, alone. "Hold your wrists out." His voice had softened a degree.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she looked up into his fervent stare with a swallow. Some of the darkness had receded yet his eyes continuously blazed like a fiery inferno, as if to consume anything within his path.

He let go to hover over the manacles she extended in haste. 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 it snapped open and clattered to the grounds in a plume of sand.

The resonant finality left her stunned. Hesitant crusted fingers found the ivory flesh long absent of sunlight over a period of skin though smooth rank from disuse, unmarred of the raised scars that pocked her arms.

Not one memory could she recall without the symbiosis of the cuffs. The simple action evoked a deep-rooted liberation that left a quiet reverence. With a twist of her wrist faint tendons and a web of blue veins, visibly shone beneath the translucent flesh. Tears pricked the corners with a breathless whisper of, "thanks".

A warm breath caressed her lips causing her head to snap up. Only to realize the great distance swallowed between them. The distinct woven threads in his cloak. Eyes borne of flames. Powerless as if held in a trance-like state, she felt his thumb bend her chin upwards. "Betrayal will be your death sentence." The delicate tone belied the intensity of his words. "If you think of tempting your fate, know that it will be under my hand which is not so merciful. And death 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. 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. Under my jurisdiction your fixed attention, as you're not a slave. "

There was an undercurrent of disgust as he practically spat the title. Before a reply was retorted he released his hold, leaving her free to rub her wrists as he backed away. The incline of his shoulders 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."

The syllables foreign, in her native tongue it would carry a slight inflection. His declaration made it clear he wouldn't accept anything less so she'd have to practice. There was no room for error; she didn't wish to be the target of his ministrations, otherwise.

"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 like a phantom as he took his place with domineering, sure steps under the blaring suns. It left her struggling to keep pace once they traversed through town, the spices percolating the air freeing unbidden memories of this wretched hovel.

Sentients skirted out of this alpha male's presence as a flurry of faces paled or lost color. Having a perceptive eye she noticed this 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, her freedom had been granted. There was absolutely no question that he was her new Master and she the novice.