Chapter 8: The Father
The dim glow of hyperspace painted shifting blue patterns across the walls, casting soft light over the quiet space. But to Anakin, the ship's bedroom felt suffocating.
He sat hunched at the edge of the bed, his hands gripping his head as if trying to hold himself together. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his entire body trembling under the unbearable weight pressing down on him. He had fought in countless battles, had endured pain beyond comprehension, but nothing had ever felt like this.
Nothing had ever broken him like this.
Tears spilled freely down his face, warm tracks of grief, shame, and regret. He could not stop them, nor did he try. He squeezed his eyes shut, his mechanical hand clenching into a fist as his flesh hand covered his face.
"I should have been there," he choked out, his voice raw, barely more than a whisper, "I failed, I failed to stop him. I failed to protect you. I failed to protect them. I—I wasn't there." His hands raked through his hair, his fingers tightening as if he could tear the pain from his skull. "They grew up without me. I should have been there. I should have—" His voice cracked, and fresh tears slipped down his cheeks.
He had imagined, once—before everything had crumbled—what their life would have been like. He had imagined Padmé beside him, cradling their newborn children in her arms, their laughter filling their home. He had imagined being the kind of father who lifted his son onto his shoulders, who danced with his daughter in the evening light. He had imagined being there.
Instead, years had passed without him.
He had missed everything—their first steps, their first words, their smiles and their tears. He had missed it all.
And now, they were strangers to him.
Padmé moved before he could spiral deeper, kneeling in front of him, placing her soft hands on either side of his face. "Anakin, look at me," she urged gently. He resisted for a moment, his gaze fixed on the floor as shame gripped him. "Please," she whispered.
Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his eyes to hers.
And what he saw there shattered him all over again.
There was no anger. No blame. No disappointment.
Only love.
She reached up, her fingers threading through his unruly hair, grounding him. "You didn't fail," she said, her voice firm but soothing. "None of this was your fault."
His brows furrowed, his lips parting as if to protest, but she silenced him with a gentle kiss to his forehead. "It was the Jedi Council who failed you," she continued, her breath warm against his skin.
Padmé shifted, moving behind him on the bed, wrapping her arms around his waist. She pressed her cheek against his back, her hands running soothingly along his sides.
Padmé pressed herself against him, her arms tightening, as if she could physically hold him together. Her cheek rested against his back, and her breath was a soft warmth against his trembling frame.
"Shhh, my love," she whispered, her voice calm and steady, a beacon in the storm. "You didn't fail. This was never your fault."
Anakin shook his head, a broken sound escaping his lips. "I—" His voice cracked, and he clenched his fists. "I should have stopped him. I should have—"
Padmé tightened her hold, her fingers pressing gently against his chest. "No," she murmured. "You were just a boy when this all began. They put the weight of the galaxy on your shoulders, expected you to bear it alone. And when you needed them most, when you needed guidance and support…" She trailed off, exhaling softly. "They turned their backs on you."
Anakin let out a shuddering breath, his hands falling away from his face.
She pressed a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, her lips barely grazing his skin. "The Jedi failed you, Anakin," she whispered. "They let their fear blind them. They didn't see you. Not the way I did."
His hands gripped the fabric of his tunic, his knuckles white. "I wanted to be a good Jedi," he admitted hoarsely. "I wanted to be what they expected, but it was never enough. I was never enough."
Padmé slid her hands up, brushing along his shoulders before kneading the tense muscles there. "You were always enough," she assured him, working away the tension with slow, deliberate movements. "The Jedi just refused to see the man you truly were."
She felt him exhale beneath her touch, the rigidness in his shoulders slowly unraveling under her fingertips.
"I was never meant to be one of them," he murmured after a long pause.
Padmé nodded against his back. "No," she agreed softly. "You were meant to be you. Not bound by their rules. Not forced into a mold that could never fit you."
Anakin swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling deep in his heart.
Padmé pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, her lips featherlight against his skin. "I should have seen it," she whispered. "I should have been there for you when they weren't."
Her arms tightened around him, holding him as if she could shield him from the years of agony that had already passed. "I am so sorry, my love," she breathed. "For everything you endured. For all the pain you carried alone."
Anakin let out a trembling breath, his head dipping forward, his shoulders still tense beneath her hands.
Padmé shifted, sliding around to kneel in front of him. She took his hands in hers, stroking his scarred fingers with a tenderness that made his breath hitch. "We can't change the past," she said, looking up at him with deep, unwavering love. "But we can shape what comes next."
Anakin lifted his gaze, meeting hers for the first time since she had held him. His eyes were red-rimmed, glassy with unshed tears.
She reached up, cupping his cheek, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "Come back to me, Anakin," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Let go of the ghosts that haunt you. You don't have to fight them anymore."
His lips parted, his breath warm against her fingertips.
"You're here," she continued, her tone steady. "With me. With our children. That's what matters now."
Anakin exhaled, the smallest nod breaking through his grief.
Padmé smiled softly and pressed a kiss to his forehead, lingering there for a long moment.
Anakin closed his eyes as she pressed her forehead to his, her breath mingling with his. She smelled like home—like Naboo, like the softness of the lakeside air, like the warmth of the love he had once thought lost to him forever.
After a long while, when Anakin's breathing had steadied, Padmé pulled back slightly, wiping away the tear tracks on his face. "Come," she said gently, taking his hand. "Meditate with me."
The hum of the ship's engines faded into the background as Padmé and Anakin knelt together in the quiet sanctuary of their cabin. The dim lighting cast a soft glow over them, illuminating the way their fingers intertwined, their connection tangible even before they reached for the Force.
Padmé closed her eyes first, her breath slow and steady, as if slipping into the currents of the Force was as effortless as breathing. And for her, it was. Though she had never trained in the Jedi arts, the Force had always been with her—a quiet, guiding presence. It had called to her in moments of great need, in times of loss and hope alike.
Anakin watched her, mesmerized by her serenity, by how naturally she surrendered to the energy that bound them all. She had always been his anchor, the calm in the storm of his soul. And now, as she opened herself to the Force, she was inviting him to follow—to find peace beside her, within her.
"Close your eyes," she whispered, her voice soft, soothing.
He obeyed, his breath uneven at first, but as Padmé squeezed his hands in reassurance, he inhaled deeply, letting himself fall.
The Force welcomed them both.
There was no resistance, no struggle—only warmth. It flowed between them effortlessly, wrapping around their intertwined hands, linking their hearts and minds as if they were two stars caught in the same orbit. Anakin had spent a lifetime bending the Force to his will, wielding its power like a weapon, but with Padmé, it was different. It was not something to be commanded. It simply was.
Padmé guided him deeper, leading him through the luminous currents of the Force with the same ease that she had once led him through the corridors of the Senate, through the shadows of war, through the uncertain path of love.
A spark.
A presence, familiar and yet unknown. It flickered at the edge of his awareness, soft and bright, like distant stars twinkling in the night sky.
His breath hitched.
Padmé's grip on his hands tightened, grounding him. Feel them through me, Anakin, she guided, her voice like a melody in his mind.
And then—he did.
Through their bond, through Padmé's unwavering love, he felt them. His children.
He gasped, his eyes squeezing shut as the connection deepened. Leia—burning like a fierce flame, strong and unyielding. There was fire in her, a spirit that could not be tamed. And Luke—bright and pure, his heart wide open, unshaken by the darkness of the world.
They were his.
Anakin choked on a breath, overwhelmed. He clung to Padmé's hands as though she were the only thing keeping him from being consumed by the sheer depth of emotion crashing over him.
"They're so… strong," he whispered, his voice breaking.
Padmé smiled, her presence radiating warmth. They are. Just like their father.
Anakin shook his head, fear creeping in at the edges of his consciousness. He hesitated, his grip faltering. What if—
Padmé's voice was a soothing balm, steady and unwavering. They will feel your heart, Anakin. And your heart is good.
Her words wove around him, dispelling the shadows that lingered. She believed in him. And through her, he began to believe, too.
Tentatively, he reached out further, letting the Force bridge the distance between him and the children he had never known. And then—
A touch.
A warmth that curled around his spirit, curious and gentle. It was Luke, hesitant but open, reaching for him. Then Leia—bold and unafraid, pushing forward without hesitation. They felt him, and in their innocence, there was no judgment. No fear.
Only acceptance.
Anakin's breath hitched, and suddenly, tears were slipping down his cheeks.
He had spent years in the dark, believing himself unworthy of love, of family, of redemption. And yet here they were—his children—embracing him without hesitation.
Padmé watched him, her own eyes glistening. She lifted their joined hands, pressing them against her heart. You see, Anakin? she whispered through their bond. You were never lost to them.
Padmé leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. "They're waiting for you," she murmured. "And they're ready to meet you."
Anakin let out a trembling breath, his entire being consumed by the love radiating from Padmé, from their children. He could feel their heartbeats like the steady rhythm of the galaxy itself, intertwining with his own.
He was home.
The cockpit hummed steadily, a soft, almost soothing sound that blended with the distant whoosh of the stars streaking past. The ship's sleek frame seemed to slice through the tunnel of hyperspace effortlessly, the blue-violet light from the swirling streaks of stars flickering in the dark like sparks from a distant fire, catching the reflection of Ahsoka's wide, eager eyes.
She leaned forward, her body slightly tensed as her hands rested on the cool metal console, fingers tracing the edges with the quiet confidence of someone who had learned to trust the ship's systems as much as her own instincts. Her lekku twitched in time with the subtle shifts in the ship's course, the delicate tendrils of her head-tails betraying the enthusiasm she kept contained in her voice.
"We're gaining ground," Ahsoka said, her words infused with a fire that burned bright in the confines of the cockpit. "More people are joining every day. We've got cells forming all over the Outer Rim, some in the Core too. Even inside the Imperial military—small groups, but still, it's a start. The Empire may seem unstoppable, but we're proving that's not true."
Her gaze turned toward Barriss, a quiet but fierce resolve softening her features. Ahsoka's smile, though subtle, spoke volumes as she shared the hope that had driven them for so long, her eyes bright with the dream of a galaxy free from Palpatine's chokehold.
"We'll make sure Palpatine never does to anyone else what he did to us, to the Jedi, to the entire galaxy." Her voice caught on the last few words, a faint tremor betraying the weight of it all. Ahsoka exhaled sharply, her determination returning. "We're going to take it all back. The Senate, the peace, the future we were supposed to have."
She leaned back slightly, eyes searching Barriss for that same conviction, expecting it to mirror her own. But instead of meeting her gaze with equal intensity, Barriss remained motionless in the co-pilot's seat. Her posture was rigid, almost like she was trying to shrink into the seat itself. The soft light of the cockpit reflected off her face, revealing a subtle tension—her jaw tight, her eyes darker than usual, distant. Ahsoka's expression faltered, her brow furrowing at the quiet uncertainty creeping across Barriss's features.
"Barriss?" Ahsoka asked, her voice softer now, a note of concern slipping through.
Barriss didn't immediately respond, her gaze fixed on the viewport, her eyes tracking the streaking stars with an intensity that suggested she was seeing more than just the swirling lights. She inhaled slowly, but her words came reluctantly, as though they were heavy in her chest.
"Ahsoka… do you really believe this war can be won?"
Ahsoka blinked, caught off guard. She hadn't expected that question—not from Barriss, and certainly not now. "What do you mean? Of course, I do," she replied, a defensive edge creeping into her tone, but her words lacked the same certainty they'd had moments ago.
Barriss's gaze slid toward the stars, her expression unreadable. "I don't doubt your belief," she said, her voice low, tinged with a quiet sorrow. "I never have. But the Empire is vast. Its reach is everywhere, its power unlike anything we've faced before. The Jedi fell, the Republic crumbled… and the people—" She stopped herself, a small sigh escaping her lips. "The people have learned to survive under Imperial rule. Many don't fight back. Some even support the Emperor."
Ahsoka's jaw clenched, and her hands gripped the edge of the console, fingers digging into the cold metal as her resolve hardened. "That doesn't mean we stop trying."
Barriss nodded, but the motion seemed almost mechanical, as if the words didn't quite reach her. "No," she agreed softly, "but it does mean we must ask ourselves—how far are we willing to go? How much will we sacrifice?" Her fingers drifted over her lap, absently tugging at the fabric of her sleeve. "How many lives will be lost before the Rebellion becomes just another war, another endless cycle of violence?"
Ahsoka stared at her, the weight of Barriss's words sinking in. The silence between them thickened, heavy with the unspoken realization that their views were beginning to diverge in a way that was hard to ignore.
"You sound like you don't think we should fight," Ahsoka said carefully, her voice steady but laden with a growing unease.
Barriss let out a slow exhale, her eyes momentarily closing as though trying to center herself before speaking again. "That's because I don't," she said, her voice eerily calm. She shifted in her seat, as if the tension had become unbearable. "When we get to Ahch-To, I'm leaving."
The words hit Ahsoka like a slap, unexpected and sharp. Her stomach twisted, her body stiffening as the air in the cockpit seemed to grow colder. She straightened in her seat, instinctively pulling back as if she could distance herself from the cold reality of Barriss's words.
"What?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, disbelieving.
"I'm not staying," Barriss repeated, her tone resolute, though there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something guarded, something Ahsoka couldn't quite place. "I have my own ship docked on a planet close by. Once we land, I'll take it and go my own way."
Ahsoka couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her heart raced as she processed Barriss's words, her mind scrambling to find some kind of answer, some justification for this decision. "You're leaving?" she repeated, this time with more force, as if repeating it aloud could somehow change the meaning.
Barriss sighed, her gaze falling to the floor. "Yes," she said simply, the finality in her voice like a door closing with no chance of reopening.
Ahsoka's anger flared, quick and hot, her hands balling into fists as she stood up abruptly. "That's it? You're just walking away? After everything?"
Barriss met her eyes, her calm exterior betraying nothing. "Yes," she repeated, the word a statement of fact rather than an explanation.
Ahsoka's breath hitched, her voice rising with frustration. "You can't just quit, Barriss. The Empire—"
"I know what the Empire is," Barriss interrupted, her tone firm but weary. "And I know what war is. I've seen it, lived it. And I refuse to keep living like this."
Ahsoka's voice cracked, her chest tightening. "So, what? You're going to pretend none of it matters? That none of it affects you?"
"That's not what I'm saying," Barriss replied, her eyes closing briefly. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "I'm saying that I've given enough. War has already taken everything from me—my home, my purpose, my peace. I won't let it take the rest of my life."
Ahsoka took a step closer, desperation creeping into her words. "We're fighting for something better, Barriss. A future where people don't have to suffer under the Empire. You think I want to keep fighting? That I haven't lost things too?" Her voice broke, but she swallowed it down, pushing through the raw emotion. "But we have to. If we don't, who will?"
Her gaze softened, the anger slowly draining away, replaced by an understanding that cut deeper than any blade. She knew Barriss's pain, could see the scars that ran beneath the surface, the echoes of their past. They were both haunted by the same darkness, shaped by the same war.
"I don't want this to be another war either," Ahsoka admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But we don't have a choice. If we do nothing, people will suffer. The longer the Empire stands, the more it destroys." She met Barriss's gaze, her expression unwavering. "And I won't let that happen. I can't."
Barriss's eyes softened, but the sadness that lingered there seemed too heavy to bear. "I know you believe that, and I admire that about you," she murmured. "And maybe you're right. Maybe the Rebellion will win, and the Empire will fall. But that doesn't change what war does to people. It destroys them, Ahsoka." She inhaled shakily. "It destroyed me."
Ahsoka's chest tightened painfully, but she refused to back down. "You're not destroyed," she insisted, her voice soft but firm. "You're standing right here. You're alive. That means you can still fight."
For the first time, Barriss's gaze wavered, her eyes brimming with a sorrow so deep it seemed to swallow everything in its path. "I don't want to fight anymore," she whispered, her voice barely audible, as though speaking too loudly might shatter what was left.
Ahsoka flinched, the words striking her like a blow. "Then what do you want?" she asked, her voice low, trembling with the unspoken ache between them.
Barriss hesitated, the silence stretching long and taut between them. For a moment, there was something unspoken, something neither of them could voice. But as Barriss finally spoke, the quiet resignation in her words echoed louder than anything Ahsoka could have imagined.
"Peace," she said, her voice barely a breath. "Even if I have to find it alone."
Ahsoka's heart lurched, and she turned her face away, blinking rapidly as if trying to clear the sting from her eyes. "And you think leaving will give you that?"
"I don't know," Barriss admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "But I have to try."
Ahsoka's jaw clenched, the words like stones lodged in her throat. "You're making a mistake."
"Maybe," Barriss said quietly, the weight of the word hanging between them.
The silence grew thick, a weight neither of them could lift, neither of them could break.
Ahsoka wanted to scream, to force Barriss to understand, to make her see that there was still hope, still a future worth fighting for. But she knew better. Barriss had already made her decision. And there was nothing left for Ahsoka to do but accept it.
When she spoke again, her voice was distant, colder than before. "When we land," she said, the words stiff and final, "I won't stop you."
Barriss nodded, but the motion lacked any sense of victory. Only sorrow, the quiet kind that could never be spoken aloud.
Ahsoka turned away first, her shoulders heavy with the weight of the finality that hung in the air. She couldn't watch Barriss leave. Not like this. Not with the silence between them.
The starship broke through the misty clouds over Ahch-To, descending toward the rocky cliffs and the vast, rolling ocean that stretched endlessly into the horizon. The ancient Jedi planet was quiet, serene, untouched by war and bloodshed. But inside the ship, hearts pounded, breath hitched, and emotions ran high.
Padmé stood near the ramp, her hands trembling at her sides. The moment she had been waiting for—the moment she had dreamed of—was finally here.
Behind her, Anakin lingered in the shadows of the ship's dimly lit hold, uncertainty etched into every line of his face. He had fought in countless battles, faced death, and stared into the abyss of the Dark Side itself. But nothing—not war, not suffering, not even Palpatine's torment—could compare to the terror gripping him now.
Padmé turned, her brown eyes locking onto his. She reached out, pressing a gentle hand against his chest. "Stay here," she murmured. "Let me talk to them first."
Anakin swallowed hard, his throat dry. He wanted to argue, to demand that he go with her, but the fear was too great. What if they rejected him? What if they saw only what he could have become?
So he only nodded.
The soft hum of the ship's engines seemed distant as Padmé stood in the cockpit, her heart heavy with both anticipation and hope. With a gentle but reassuring smile, she leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to Anakin's cheek—a silent promise, one she didn't need to put into words. She stood, straightening her posture, and turned toward the ramp with determination.
As the ramp lowered, the cold air from the planet's rocky surface rushed in, sharp and bracing, as if nature itself were greeting her. It was the kind of wind that cleared the mind, tugging at her hair, yet it held a familiar warmth to it, a welcoming embrace. Padmé stepped out onto the weathered stone of the cliff, her boots crunching softly against the rough surface. She lifted her eyes, her breath catching in her chest as the figures standing at the cliff's edge came into focus—two children, so small, yet so incredibly important. Luke and Leia.
For a moment, time seemed to hold its breath. Everything stopped—the wind, the sounds of the world, the pulse of her own heartbeat. The universe itself seemed to pause in reverence, as if acknowledging the sacredness of this reunion. Then, in the blink of an eye, it all came rushing back.
"Mama!" Leia's voice rang out, a beautiful, innocent cry, so full of joy that it threatened to shatter the silence. Without hesitation, she was off, her small legs pumping furiously as she ran toward Padmé, her dark hair flying behind her like a veil of night.
Luke wasn't far behind, his blue eyes wide with emotion, his breath quickening in sharp bursts. He, too, moved with a speed and determination that left Padmé's heart swelling. They were here. They were alive. They were together.
Padmé barely had time to brace herself before the world exploded into warmth and motion. The moment Leia crashed into her, it felt like a piece of Padmé's soul had clicked back into place. The tiny arms wrapped around her waist with desperate, joyous abandon. The wind howled around them, but it was drowned out by the sound of Padmé's heart pounding in her chest.
She staggered back a step, her laughter escaping her lips—a sound of pure, unbridled joy—as she fell to her knees, pulling both children to her chest. Their little bodies felt like a balm to her weary soul. The weight of the world faded away, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of love.
"My sweet, sweet loves," Padmé whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She kissed Leia's forehead, then Luke's, her fingers trembling as she tangled them in their soft hair. Their presence was more real than any words could describe—warm, solid, alive. She could feel the pulse of their hearts, their breath mingling with hers, and for a moment, the universe felt right again.
Leia clung to her, her tiny fingers gripping the fabric of Padmé's tunic as if she were afraid to ever let go. "You came back," she sniffled, her voice a tender, unguarded plea. "You came back to us."
Padmé's tears fell freely now, glistening on her cheeks. "Always," she promised, her voice breaking with the weight of those two words. "I will always come back to you."
Luke's arms were wrapped around her with a fierceness that took her breath away. She could feel him trembling, his voice barely a whisper. "I missed you so much," he said, his words heavy with the unspoken fears of a child who had lived with too many uncertainties. "I was scared you wouldn't come back."
Padmé cupped his cheek, lifting his face to meet hers, needing him to see the truth that lived in her eyes. "I would never leave you," she murmured, her voice unwavering. "Not for anything."
The twins held onto her, each in their own way, as though they were afraid she might slip away again. Time seemed to stretch, the moment hanging between them like a thread that could never be severed. Finally, Leia pulled back just enough to study her mother, her brow furrowing slightly as she noticed something Padmé hadn't yet said.
"There's someone else, isn't there?" Leia asked, her voice small but full of curiosity, her eyes wide with the kind of innocence that only children possessed.
Padmé's heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. She hadn't expected the question to come so soon, but here it was, pure and honest. She nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind Leia's ear, trying to find the words to convey the complexities of the moment. "Yes," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "There is someone here to meet you."
Luke and Leia exchanged a glance—a silent communication that always seemed to pass between them, like a thread that tied them together. It was a bond Padmé had always marveled at.
"Our father," Luke said, his voice quiet but certain.
Padmé nodded, her chest tightening at the mention of Anakin. "Yes," she confirmed. "Your father."
Leia shifted uncomfortably, her small face wrinkling with uncertainty. "I don't know if I'm ready," she admitted, her voice soft and vulnerable. "What if he doesn't like us?"
Padmé's heart clenched at the fear in Leia's eyes. She brushed her fingers through the child's hair, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Oh, my love," she whispered, her voice steady with love. "He already loves you. More than you could ever know."
Luke was quiet, looking down at the rocky surface, his hands fidgeting with the fabric of Padmé's tunic. "Is he… like the stories?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder and hesitation. "The Jedi Knight? The hero?"
Padmé hesitated, the memories of Anakin's past flickering in her mind like old ghosts. She nodded, her voice full of warmth. "He was a hero," she said, her eyes softening as she thought of the man she once knew. "And he is your father. That's all that matters."
Leia bit her lip, her eyes darting toward the ship, her mind racing. "Is he scared?"
Padmé smiled softly, a knowing expression on her face. "Yes," she admitted. "Very."
Both children looked surprised by her answer. They had always seen Padmé as a figure of strength, but now, they were learning that even heroes had fears. It was a lesson they'd carry with them forever.
Leia straightened her back, her little shoulders set with newfound resolve. "We should go to him, then," she said, her voice filled with determination, as if she were born to lead armies. "We should tell him he doesn't have to be afraid."
Luke nodded in agreement, his grip on Padmé's hand tightening, as if they were a team. "Together," he added firmly.
Padmé's heart swelled with pride, her chest tight with emotion at their bravery. She rose to her feet, taking each of their hands in hers, a deep breath escaping her lips as she fought to steady herself. Her heart was full, but there was still one more step to take.
"Then let's go," she said, her voice thick with emotion, her love for them clear in every word. "Let's meet your father."
Together, they walked toward the ship, toward the man who had waited far too long to hold his children in his arms. The moment was theirs, and nothing else mattered as they moved forward together.
The ship's ramp felt impossibly long beneath Anakin's boots as he stood at the top, frozen in place. His breath was shallow, his chest tight, as if the very act of breathing was an effort. The ocean winds of Ahch-To rustled his tunic, but he barely noticed the coolness that whipped around him, the saltiness of the air mingling with his own tears. The galaxy felt so vast, and yet, in this moment, it had shrunk to two small figures stepping forward, their hands clasped tightly in the gentle embrace of their mother.
Luke. Leia.
They were so small, so fragile-looking, but there was something else in the way they moved—something that reminded him of Padmé. They weren't children anymore. They weren't infants. They had grown, had lived a lifetime without him, and he... he had missed it all. Every second. Every smile, every word, every step they had taken without him by their side.
Padmé gently squeezed their hands, offering them a soft smile, as if bracing herself for the moment that was about to unfold. Her eyes met Anakin's, and in them he saw so much—fear, hope, love. She led them toward him, the children walking just slightly ahead, their eyes flickering between her and the towering figure before them.
Anakin swallowed hard, his throat tight, as he took a slow, trembling step forward. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs, the weight of the moment pressing down on him, suffocating him. It felt like time had come to a standstill.
"Luke," Padmé said softly, her voice warm and reassuring, "Leia." She knelt beside them, placing a hand on each of their backs, guiding them ever closer. "There's someone very special I want you to meet."
The twins hesitated, uncertainty clear in their wide eyes as they looked from their mother to the man before them. In the silence that stretched between them, Anakin felt their curiosity, their hope. A hope that perhaps this time, things would be different.
Padmé whispered the words that had been burning in his heart for so long.
"This is your father."
Anakin inhaled sharply, as if struck by an invisible blow. He had imagined hearing those words for years, had dreamed of this moment, but now that they had been spoken, they hit him like a force he had never anticipated.
His legs felt weak beneath him, and before he could stop himself, he dropped to his knees, his body trembling with the weight of the moment. His hands shook uncontrollably as they reached out toward them—stopping just short, hovering in the air. He was afraid—afraid to touch them, afraid that if he did, he would break them somehow.
"I…" His voice cracked, a painful sob catching in his throat. He clenched his jaw, trying to steady himself, but it was useless. The flood of emotions—the regret, the guilt, the longing—washed over him like a tidal wave. "I am so sorry," he whispered, his voice raw and desperate, carrying the weight of years lost. "I should have been there for you. I should have protected you, watched you grow, been the father you deserved. I failed you."
His breath shuddered as tears burned the back of his eyes, threatening to spill.
"I am so—so sorry."
Luke shifted, his small body fidgeting with uncertainty. He glanced at Leia, then back at Anakin, his expression softening as he processed the words his father had said.
"It wasn't your fault," Luke said, his voice barely more than a whisper. His gaze was steady, his hands clenched into tiny fists.
Anakin blinked, stunned by the calmness in his son's voice. It was so mature, so full of understanding, and yet Anakin couldn't understand how this child could say such words, when he had been the one who had failed them.
Luke hesitated, then took a small step forward, his little feet soft on the rocky ground. "It was that evil man's fault," he said, his voice trembling with a quiet certainty. "The one who hurt everyone."
Anakin let out a weak, tearful chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. "Palpatine," he murmured, the name heavy on his tongue like a curse.
Luke nodded firmly. "Yeah. Him."
Anakin's heart broke all over again. His chest tightened with emotion, and he felt a sob escape him—this time, not just from grief, but from the purity of the boy standing before him, so innocent, so free from the darkness that had nearly consumed his life.
Leia, who had remained quiet until now, stayed half-hidden behind Padmé's legs, her wide brown eyes locked onto Anakin's face. Unlike Luke, who had spoken first, Leia studied him intently, her gaze searching him, as if looking for something only she could see.
Then, without a word, she stepped forward.
Anakin barely had time to react before her tiny arms wrapped around his neck, pressing against him with a softness and warmth he had never known. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn't move, frozen in disbelief. His heart pounded in his chest, terrified that this was just a dream—that if he blinked, it would all vanish.
But then, he felt it.
Leia's warmth. Her small hands clinging to him with a tenderness that shattered something deep inside of him. Her heartbeat pulsed against his chest, and he realized, with a breathless clarity, that she was real.
Anakin's arms slowly, reverently, wrapped around her, pulling her closer, holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the galaxy. A choked sob tore from his throat as he pressed his face into her dark curls, breathing in the scent of her hair, the softness of her skin.
Leia squeezed him tighter. "It's okay, Daddy," she whispered, her voice so innocent, so filled with love.
Anakin broke. Tears poured from his eyes, streaming down his face as he clung to his daughter, the years of pain, regret, and longing crashing over him in waves. He had dreamed of this moment—had ached for it—but never had he believed he would truly feel it.
A second later, he felt another small body press into his side. Luke, hesitant at first, finally joined the embrace. Anakin turned, his arms still wrapped around Leia, and pulled Luke close. The boy melted into him, fitting into his embrace like he had always belonged there.
Padmé watched the scene unfold, her heart in her throat. Her own tears glistened in her eyes as she knelt beside them, her hand resting gently on Anakin's back. She was the anchor, grounding him, reminding him that they were here, that they were whole again.
Anakin pulled away just enough to cup their faces in his hands. He studied them—Luke, with his bright blue eyes so much like his own, and Leia, with Padmé's warmth and quiet strength reflected in her gaze. His children. His family.
Then, instinctively, he closed his eyes and reached for them through the Force.
Anakin let the Force envelop them, feeling them—not just as two small figures in his arms, but as living, breathing presences that were undeniably his. He sent out a hesitant greeting, afraid that they would shy away, that they would pull back. But they didn't.
Leia was first. Her presence flared to life in the Force, brilliant and unyielding. There was strength in her, a fierce determination that reminded him so much of Padmé. She didn't hesitate—she reached back for him with all the confidence of a child who had always known her father, even if she had never met him. Her connection to him was raw, unshaken, as if she had been waiting for this moment her whole life.
Daddy.
The word wasn't spoken aloud, but it filled the air between them. It filled Anakin's soul. It was not a word filled with uncertainty—it was fact. To Leia, he was her father, and that was all that mattered.
Anakin's breath caught as her presence enveloped him, wrapping around him like a warm embrace. His heart swelled with something he had never felt before—peace. Acceptance.
And then, Luke.
His son's presence was more tentative at first, like the first rays of sunlight after a long, cold night. But as Anakin gently reached for him, Luke responded. His presence blossomed with warmth and light. There was no hesitation in his heart, no bitterness or anger. Luke's heart was pure, full of kindness and forgiveness.
I love you, Daddy.
Anakin's grip on them tightened. His chest heaved with the weight of everything he had lost, everything he had feared. But in this moment, he understood. They loved him. And that was enough.
Padmé's presence, steady and strong, wrapped around all of them, connecting them in the Force like a golden thread. She was their light, their heart, the anchor that held them together. She had always been the one to guide him—and now, she was guiding them all, back into the warmth of family.
Anakin's shoulders shook with sobs, his tears flowing freely now. He pressed his forehead to Luke's, then to Leia's, whispering brokenly, "I love you. I love you both so much."
Luke's small hands clutched at his tunic, pulling him closer. "We love you too, Dad," he said softly, but with a certainty that cut through Anakin's heart.
Leia nodded, holding onto him with all her might. "We've always wanted to meet you."
Anakin let out a strangled laugh, his throat raw, the tears streaming down his face. "I never—I never thought I'd get this. I never thought I'd deserve this."
Padmé's voice was firm, full of love. "You do deserve this," she said. "You always have."
Anakin turned his gaze to her, his vision blurred with tears. For the first time in decades, he felt something he thought he had lost forever.
He felt home.
A new wave of emotion crashed over him, and he bowed his head, pressing his forehead into Padmé's shoulder, allowing himself to weep. The pain, the relief, the love—they all bled together as she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, and their children did the same. For the first time in a long time, Anakin felt the weight of everything fall away. He was no longer lost. He was found.
The sea stretched endlessly before them, its waves rolling rhythmically against the jagged cliffs of Ahch-To, the sound of their crash against stone blending with the sigh of the wind. The endless expanse of water seemed to stretch into eternity, vast and untamed, a mirror to the boundless mysteries of the galaxy. The sky, a canvas of deep violet and golden hues, clung to the last whispers of sunlight, painting the world with soft, fading colors. The horizon, still kissed by the day's warmth, was a stark contrast to the coldness that had once defined Anakin's life. The air smelled of salt, of ocean spray, and beneath it all, there was the distant hum of something older, greater—the Force, stretching wide and deep, embracing all life.
Anakin sat on the soft grass, his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his knees. He was still, almost unmoving, as if trying to hold onto the peacefulness of the moment. His eyes, once so consumed with battles, now gazed across the vast sea before him, seeing not just the ocean, but the life that had unfolded before him—his children, his family. His breath was deep, slow, each inhale carrying with it the weight of years lost, and each exhale a release of the guilt that had once anchored him.
On either side of him sat the twins. Leia, her small form tucked close to his side, leaned her head against his arm, her hair soft against his skin. Her presence was grounding, like the steady hum of the Force, and her closeness was a claim—a silent but certain bond forged in the very essence of their connection. Her fingers, delicate and warm, found his hand, instinctively curling around the cold metal of his cybernetic limb. She didn't flinch at the touch of the artificial, didn't look away from the scar of his past. She simply held onto him, her trust complete and unwavering. Her tiny hand was a perfect fit against his, and the touch was a reminder that she had already forgiven him, long before he could forgive himself.
Beside them, Luke sat cross-legged, his bright blue eyes wide with curiosity. He studied his father with the kind of innocent wonder only a child could possess, his gaze searching, questioning, but also accepting. He mirrored his sister's gesture, his small hand finding its way to Anakin's real hand, clasping it gently but firmly. The feel of Luke's touch was soft but certain—so much like the boy himself. Full of life. Full of promise.
Anakin swallowed thickly, the weight of emotion pressing in on his chest. The past, with all its agony and shame, no longer held him in its grasp. His children, so pure and full of love, had freed him in ways words could not describe. In their eyes, he saw no condemnation. No fear. Only the unspoken understanding that they were together, and that was enough.
He turned his head slightly, his gaze finding Padmé standing at a distance, watching them. Her smile, gentle and knowing, spoke volumes in the silence between them. She had always believed in him. Even when he had faltered, when he had doubted, she had seen the good in him. Her unwavering faith had always been a guiding light, even when darkness seemed all-consuming. And now, she was here—by his side, with their children, in this moment of fragile perfection.
The breeze, soft and tender, tousled the strands of his hair as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel—truly feel—for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime. The war. The battles. The titles of Jedi, the Chosen One, the hero—it all felt so far away, so distant, as if those roles had never truly been his. All of it, the soldier, the weapon, the chosen destiny—it no longer mattered.
He was no longer bound by the past.
He was simply… a father.
A husband.
A man who had found his way home.
Anakin squeezed both their hands, his chest tightening—not with sorrow, but with something far more profound. Something that made him feel whole.
Love.
It was simple, really, but so deeply powerful. A love that could heal all wounds, that could melt away years of regret and loss. And as he looked to Padmé, the woman who had always believed in him, who had never let go of her love for him, everything became clear.
He wasn't searching anymore.
Not for redemption. Not for power. Not for a way to undo the past.
He had found what he had been looking for all along.
Padmé walked toward him, her steps slow, deliberate, and with a grace that only she could possess. She knelt beside him, her presence steadying the whirlwind of emotions in his chest. She rested her head on his shoulder, the weight of it soothing, grounding him. His breath shuddered as his body relaxed fully for the first time in years. The years of war, of pain, of feeling lost—they all faded away as she nestled closer to him.
The wind picked up again, whispering through the grass, carrying with it the familiar scent of salt and sea. But it wasn't empty—no, it was full. Full of understanding. Full of peace. Full of healing. And love.
Anakin let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. It was long, slow, the kind of exhale that came when you realized you were no longer running from something. He wasn't lost anymore. He wasn't searching anymore. He wasn't alone anymore.
The sun dipped lower, its light dimming, casting long shadows over the landscape. Anakin sat there, eyes closed, heart full. The horizon seemed to stretch on forever, but for the first time in his life, he didn't feel the need to chase it. He didn't need to search anymore, because the treasure he had been looking for, all his life, was right here beside him.
He was home.
And the Force, that ever-present pulse of the universe, seemed to smile down upon them, its eternal embrace welcoming them into its fold.
Donee. More fics on the way. More Star Wars. More Anidala. Gonna have a couple Percy Jackson fics. Maybe some Harry Potter. Who knows. Please review and send feedback. Thanks for the support with my first story.