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Chapter Text

Luke Skywalker: The Hero of Yavin and Rebel pilot was having the worst day.

It was supposed to be a simple supply run. Luke had convinced — or tricked, depending on ones perspective— Han and Chewie into helping him ferry a shipment of medical supplies to a remote Rebel outpost. The plan had been straightforward: jump to Kalandar IV, pick up the crates, and return to base in time for dinner and minimal blaster fire. An easy mission. Routine, even.

What they hadn’t accounted for was dropping out of hyperspace directly in front of The Devastator — Vader’s flagship, no less — currently parked in orbit like some malevolent punctuation mark in space. As if that weren’t enough, its complement of TIE fighters just happened to be mid-exercise, which meant Luke’s peaceful courier gig had instantly transformed into a thrilling new game he was calling Evade and Die in Thirty Seconds or Less.

‘Kid get to a gunner- They’re on us like mynocks on power cables!’ Han shouted from the pilot’s seat, wrenching the Falcon hard to port with all the finesse of a drunken Rancor.

Before Luke had the chance to dart out of the cockpit and make himself marginally more useful elsewhere, a TIE Advanced peeled off from formation and came screaming toward them, lasers blazing. The Falcon shuddered violently as shots glanced off the deflector shields, and something somewhere in the ship made a noise that could only be described as *ominous*.

Chewie let out a guttural roar, pounding a massive paw against the dashboard.

‘What?’ Han shouted over the rising whine of the alarm system, which now sounded like it had lost all hope and was just screaming for the sake of it.

Chewie barked again, louder this time.

‘The weapons system’s what?!’

The wookie let out another roar before pushing past Luke and heading into the depths of the ship.

‘Offline. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant!’ Han muttered, pulling another sharp turn as another round of fire barraged them from the right, causing the console to spark.‘Artoo, status on the shield generators?’ Luke asked though he already had a sinking suspicion what the answer would be. The little astromech- who was currently hooked up the falcons computer- responded with a derisive series of bleeps that needed no translation. Something about toast, a frying pan, and the approximate durability of wet paper.

‘Great,’ Luke muttered. ‘Just peachy.’ He glanced towards his friend ‘You know, for a legendary smuggler, this ship breaks an awful lot!’

Han didn’t answer. He was too busy unleashing a string of curses so foul that, had Luke ever dared utter them within earshot of Aunt Beru, she’d have marched him straight to the sink for a soap buffet and grounded him until the Empire collapsed.

The TIE Advanced swept over them again, peppering the Falcon with another merciless barrage of laser fire. The ship bucked under the impact, groaning in protest like it, too, had finally had enough of all this nonsense.

Luke staggered, catching himself against the edge of the console—but it wasn’t just the sudden jolt that made his stomach lurch. A cold sensation crept through him, prickling along his spine, as if he’d just plunged into the depths of a dark, still lake. Familiar. Suffocating. Icy, in a way that had nothing to do with space.

He’d felt this before. On Cymoon 1. In the refinery. In the smoke and the fire and the ash, when he thought death had come for him wearing a black mask. His eyes snapped to the viewport just as the TIE swung round for another pass, unnervingly precise.

‘That’s not just any TIE,’ he said quietly, his voice more breath than words. ‘Vader’s in that fighter.’

Han glanced sideways at him, face taut with disbelief—and possibly panic. ‘Vader?! As in black cape, red lightsaber, breathes like he needs a humidifier?’

'The very same.'

‘Well, that’s just bloody perfect!’

The Falcon corkscrewed violently as Han yanked the controls into a spin, the inertial compensators throwing in the towel halfway through and leaving Luke’s stomach to discover entirely new altitudes inside his ribcage. When they finally righted themselves—more or less—Luke caught sight of the TIE Advanced darting to the port side, its movement far too precise, too deliberate. Like a predator toying with its prey before the final pounce.

Then it hit him. Vader wasn’t just attacking—he was herding. To confirm his suspicions, he checked the somehow still functioning radar systems (miraculously, perhaps tragically). And there it was. The rest of the TIE fighters had moved away, creating a perimeter around the Falcon—blocking their escape.

Luke’s blood turned to ice. He leaned forward, eyes locked on the looming silhouette ahead.

‘He’s trying to pin us—go down! He’s driving us towards The Devastator!’

‘Hey, no backseat piloting, kid!’ Han snapped, gripping the yoke with white-knuckled intensity. ‘One panicked shout at a time, yeah?’

But even as he said it, Han banked the Falcon hard, skimming dangerously close to the edge of a debris field. The Devastator loomed in the distance, its massive bulk blocking out the stars, growing larger by the second.

The Falcon banked sharply as another blast skimmed the top hull. It lit up the cockpit in a brilliant wash of red. If he closed his eyes, Luke could almost imagine he was back on Tatooine, watching a double sunset, not hurtling through the vacuum of space in a ship with all the subtlety of a drunken bantha.

Somewhere behind them, deep in the bowls of the ship, Chewbacca let out a roar that Luke translated as either "we’re all going to die" or "the hyperdrive is on fire again". Possibly both.

‘We just need one clear shot to jump to hyperspace,’ Luke said, gripping the side of the console as another blast rocked the Falcon.

‘Brilliant, kid. Try yelling that at him,’ Han snapped, gesturing wildly to the viewport where Vader’s TIE Advanced swept in again, herding them ever closer to the looming Devastator. ‘Maybe if you wave a white flag while you’re at it, he’ll be so moved he lets us go out of sheer pity.’

The stars beyond were vanishing, swallowed up by the massive, angular shadow of the Star Destroyer. In another few seconds, they'd be in range of its tractor beam—and there’d be no last-minute heroics after that. Just capture, interrogation, and most likely, an unpleasant end at the hands of the Dark Lord of the Sith.

They were out of time.

Luke closed his eyes.

He had no grand plan, no clever solution. Just a memory. Ben’s voice, calm and steady, like a ripple on still water: "The Force will be with you. Always."

So he breathed.

Slower.

Deeper.

And reached out.

It came reluctantly, like something buried deep beneath fear and noise and motion. At first, there was nothing but chaos—alarms blaring, the whine of engines, Han shouting something, Chewie roaring somewhere in the bowels of the ship. And then—

Silence.

The Force opened before him like a vast ocean, stretching out in every direction. It pressed at the edges of his mind, immense and unknowable, beautiful and terrible all at once.

Luke faltered.

He wasn’t ready for this. He didn’t know how to do this. Ben had barely scratched the surface. It was like stepping out into a storm with no cloak, no compass, no idea which way was up.

He was adrift.

Alone.

He was everything.

And he was nothing.

Luke…

The voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t roar or scream. It whispered, silk-soft and insinuating, curling into the corners of his thoughts like smoke. The cold deepened. It was like sinking into a dark lake, the light above slipping further and further away. And in that darkness… something familiar.

It didn’t feel like an enemy. Not at first. It felt like… home. Like a part of himself he hadn’t known was missing until now. Forgotten, but not gone. A memory buried under years of sand and silence. The voice wrapped around him, coaxing, inviting.

Luke...It called again. My young one... it's ok... you are safe.... just surrender.

For a brief moment, Luke nearly did. He wavered on the edge, lured by that terrible, gentle familiarity. The comfort in the darkness. The dark figure caressed his mind and Luke instinctively leant into it. It was nice... it reminded Luke of the way Uncle Owen used to ruffle his hair as a kid.

Then everything came back to him.

Owen. Beru. Bigger. Leia. Ben. The rebellion. His friends. Everything he had fought for would be lost if they were captured now. The Empire’s grip- Vader's grip tightening, always tightening.

No.

He gritted his teeth and pushed back.

The darkness snarled.

Luke focused his mind, dragging himself away from the yawning abyss. He reached instead toward the TIE Advanced—the fighter that had haunted them like a ghost. He felt it. Every bolt, every strut, every wire humming with energy. He let his thoughts slip inside the machine like a knife into a lock.

There. Something small. A stabiliser coupler. A tiny, insignificant part of the ship, but it would be enough.

He pulled.

The TIE jerked violently to the side, like a puppet with its strings cut, spinning out of formation for just a moment.

‘What the hell—?’ Han blurted, eyes darting to the viewport. ‘What’s he doing?’

‘Now’s our chance!’ Luke shouted, breathless, shaking as he yanked his consciousness back from the abyss. ‘Punch it!’

Han didn’t need telling twice. His hand slammed down on the hyperspace lever.

But even as the stars began to stretch into thin white lights, Luke felt it.

Something had followed him back.

A scream of rage, sharp and jagged, like metal tearing through flesh, tore through the fabric of Luke’s mind. The presence that had moments ago been quiet, cold, almost comforting, now erupted with a fury so vast it felt like a supernova collapsing inward. What had whispered like a memory now shrieked like a storm—burning, howling, hungry.

It clawed at him with hands made of fire and shadow, greedy, desperate—furious.

You will not escape!!!

Luke clutched his head as a searing pain shot through his skull, white-hot and blinding. The cockpit around him vanished, swallowed in a tide of darkness that poured in like floodwater—freezing, choking. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. Just cold. And the voice.

Rage and pain. Pain and rage. They looped around each other, feeding off each other, consuming him. His chest tightened, breath shallow and ragged. It felt like drowning in ice, his very soul scraped raw by something far older and deeper than hate.

You cannot escape!!!

The voice curled into the cracks of his thoughts, threading itself into the seams of his being.

I will not allow it!!!

Luke tried to pull back, to shield himself, to run—but the darkness surged again, violent and possessive. It latched onto his mind with a grip like iron chains—unrelenting, absolute. His body seized, a scream ripping from him—though whether it left his throat or echoed only inside his skull, he couldn’t tell. Every thought was drowned in black.

You are mine , boy!

The words didn’t just echo, they embedded themselves within him. Branding his thoughts, as if spoken not with sound but with will. A will far stronger than his own.

The Force trembled around him. And still the presence held tight.

The last thing he felt before the blackness swallowed him whole was not rage, but a desperate whisper, threadbare and trembling beneath all that fury:

Don’t leave...

Don’t leave...

Don’t leave me!

Han’s anxious face was the first thing Luke saw when he came to. The older man was leaning over him, brow furrowed, mouth drawn tight—but as Luke’s eyes flickered open, relief washed over Han’s face like someone had just offered him a drink.

‘Stars, kid, you had me worried there for a moment,’ Han said, letting out a breath and rocking back slightly. ‘For a second I thought we’d lost you.

Luke blinked, disoriented, still feeling like parts of him hadn’t quite caught up with the rest. ‘What… what happened?’ he asked, sitting up slightly.

‘I was hoping you could tell me,’ Han said, sitting back in the pilot’s chair. ‘One second you’re screaming like the ship’s on fire—which, for the record, it wasn’t—and the next you’re face-down on the console.'

Luke blinked. Screaming.

And then it all came back.

The voice.

The darkness.

The way it had wrapped around him—like chains, like smoke, like home. It hadn’t just spoken to him. It had claimed him. Possessive, angry, desperate.

Don't leave me.

Luke swallowed hard, blinking away the residual haze clouding his vision. Han was still watching him, concern quickly morphing back into something more familiar: sharp-edged sarcasm wrapped around genuine worry.

‘It was nothing,’ Luke said quickly, too quickly. He pulled back from the console and forced a weak, awkward smile. ‘I got shocked by the panel, that’s all. Static discharge or… something.’

Han raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Static doesn’t usually make people scream, kid. You sounded like you were getting mauled by a pissed off rancour.’

Luke didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His pulse was still pounding in his ears, and somewhere deep inside, he could still feel it—that echo. That presence. That voice, pressed like fingerprints into soft clay.

Don’t leave me…

He forced the thought down, sealed it behind a wall of discipline and denial.

‘I’m fine,’ he muttered, running a shaky hand through his hair. ‘Just caught me off guard.’

But he wasn’t. Not really.

Because how could he possibly tell Han the truth of what had happened?

How could he explain that he had touched the darkness—and that the darkness had touched him back?

A soft whistle cut through the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him. Artoo had moved over to him, letting out a few beeps of concern as he did.

‘Hey, buddy… I’m okay,’ Luke said, managing a faint smile as he reached out and gave Artoo a reassuring pat on the dome. The little droid let out a lower, warbling chirp that sounded suspiciously like *You’re a terrible liar.*

Luke sat up slowly in his chair, rubbing at his temples. His head still felt like it had been used as target practice. ‘How long was I out?’

Bout fifteen minutes,’ Han replied, voice casual but his eyes still tracking Luke closely—too closely. The kind of look that said this isn’t over, kid, no matter how much he pretended otherwise. His mouth might’ve backed off, but his face hadn’t signed the same agreement. ‘I was about thirty seconds from letting Chewie slap you awake. And I do not recommend that experience. Trust me.’

Luke let out a soft chuckle before glancing around, finally registering his surroundings— he was still in the cockpit. The familiar blue-white swirl of hyperspace visible beyond the viewport.

Relief hit him like a tide. He exhaled slowly. ‘We made it.’

‘Yeah,’ Han nodded, mouth twisting into a grimace. ‘Almost didn’t. Lucky break, that. Vader’s TIE just spun out for no reason. Bit of divine intervention, I guess.’

‘It wasn’t luck,’ Luke said, turning to face him fully now. ‘It was the Force.’

Han gave him a look. The kind of look that suggested Luke had just told him gravity was optional if you believed hard enough.

‘Kid, I’m all for the mystical mumbo jumbo after the blaster bolts stop flying, but I think you’re giving yourself a bit too much credit.’

‘I reached out to his ship,’ Luke insisted. ‘I felt it—I felt everything. The structure, the wires, the systems... and I disabled it...' He finished a touch of wonder and awe in his voice. He did it... he really did it.

Han arched a brow. ‘Right. And here I thought maybe the old cyborg just sneezed and hit the wrong button.’

Luke frowned. ‘I’m serious, Han. It was real. The Force… it’s not just lightsabers and philosophy. It’s a living thing.'

Han made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a sceptical scoff. ‘Well, as long as it keeps yanking TIE fighters out of our way, I guess I won’t complain.’

‘You don’t believe me.’

‘I believe something happened. I also believe in mechanical failure, coincidence, and the fine Corellian tradition of not arguing with success.’

Luke shook his head, more tired than annoyed. ‘You’re impossible.’

Han smirked. ‘Thanks. I try.’

Luke leaned back against the chair, eyes flicking once more to the spiralling blue streaks beyond the glass. The Falcon hummed steadily, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the silence wasn’t threatening.

But even as he sat there—safe, awake, whole, basking in the high of successfully using the force- there was that awful taint that lingered in the back of his mind.

Vader...

A shudder rippled through Luke, unbidden. Vader’s presence still clung to him—echoes of fire and shadow whispering at the edges of his mind. He felt fear, sharp and cold, not just of the Sith Lord’s power, but of himself. Because when Vader had first reached for him… it hadn’t felt wrong.

It had felt *right...*

It had felt familiar and safe. Like something he’d lost long ago finally reaching out to reclaim him.

And he’d almost *accepted* it.

He had almost accepted the man who had slaughtered his aunt and uncle. Who had destroyed Alderaan. Who had struck down Ben. Who had killed Biggs without hesitation.

The man who had murdered Luke’s father.

He pressed a hand to his face, shame rolling over him like a tide. The revulsion was instant, complete. It was a trick of some kind, he told himself. A manipulation. The Dark Side luring him in, preying on his fear, his need for connection, for belonging.

That’s what the Sith did, wasn’t it? Twisted your hopes, your doubts, turned them into chains you willingly wrapped around yourself.

Luke clenched his fists, jaw tight. No. He wouldn’t be drawn into the Sith lords games. Whatever he’d felt back there, whatever that voice had whispered—it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

Because the alternative…

Han’s voice cut through the fog of Luke’s thoughts like a blaster bolt.

‘Hey. Kid. You still with me?’

Luke blinked, dragging his gaze away from the swirling streaks of hyperspace. He hadn’t even noticed how tightly his fists were clenched until the ache in his knuckles flared.

‘Yeah. Sorry,’ he said, voice a little hoarse. ‘Just tired.’

Han nodded, leaning back in the pilot’s chair, arms crossed loosely. ‘Well, good news is we can rest up once we get back to base. Bad news is... we’re gonna have to explain why we’re coming back empty-handed.’

Luke’s heart sunk. The supply run- The whole reason they’d gone out in the first place.

‘We failed,’ Luke muttered. ‘The whole mission was a waste.’

‘Relax, kid,’ Han said, his voice surprisingly gentle. ‘You think the Princess is gonna be disappointed that we’re still alive and kicking? Because I guarantee you, she’d take that over a cargo hold full of med packs'

Luke didn’t answer right away. His stomach twisted. The thought of Leia—of her waiting back at base, arms folded, brow tight with that cool fire she wore like armour—filled him with shame. She’d trusted him. They all had. He wasn’t just some farmboy with a dream anymore. People depended on him now.

And they had let them down.

He had let them all down.

‘She’s counting on me,’ he said quietly. ‘They all did. And I failed them.’

‘*We* didn’t fail anyone,’ Han said firmly. ‘You think getting out alive isn’t a win?’

Luke stared at him, but didn’t argue. Not out loud, anyway. But the weight in his chest didn’t lift.

‘loosen up kid,’ Han said with a sidelong glance.

‘Look, we’ll grab some caf, fix the Falcon—again—and once we’re patched up, we’ll swing out and try another supply run. Hopefully with fewer homicidal Sith lords breathing down our necks this time.’

Luke cracked a faint smile. ‘Assuming the Falcon doesn’t fall apart before we get there. I think she lost several panels in the fight.'

Han scoffed. ‘That was a calculated weight reduction adjustment.’

‘Is that what we’re calling it now?’

‘Absolutely. She’s faster without that extra hull plating. More aerodynamic in space.’

‘... That’s not how space works, Han.’

‘That’s exactly how space works if you believe hard enough,’ Han shot back thumping the console fondly. ‘She’s still got more guts than any cruiser in the fleet. And she got us out, didn’t she?’

Luke smirked. ‘Barely.’

Han grinned. ‘Barely still counts. Trust me kid, this old girl has never let me down and never will.'

No sooner had Han spoken, a loud *clunk* echoed through the cockpit—sharp, metallic, and far too close for comfort.

Luke’s brow furrowed. ‘What was that?’

Han waved a hand, already halfway to brushing it off. ‘Probably just a loose panel. The Falcon’s been through worse, trust me.’

Before Luke could reply, the console in front of them sparked violently. A jet of smoke hissed from beneath the controls, followed by the sharp tang of burning wires.

‘Han—’

‘I see it!’

The ship jolted without warning, pitching violently sideways. Luke and Han were both thrown forward against their restraints. Artoo, seated further back, let out a panicked screech as the deck lurched beneath him.

‘What the hell—?!’ Han shouted, scrambling to regain control. His hands flew across the console, flicking switches, punching commands into unresponsive systems.

The Falcon groaned around them, metal straining like a creature in pain. The blue-white tunnel of hyperspace outside the viewport began to flicker—twisting unnaturally, as if something were clawing at the very fabric of it.

‘That’s not right,’ Luke breathed.

And then—

They dropped out of hyperspace.

Abrupt. Violent. Like a rope had been cut mid-swing.

The stars snapped back into pinpricks of light, and the cockpit was suddenly filled with silence far too absolute.

Han groaned, shaking his head. ‘Well… that’s definitely not supposed to happen—’

and then every light in the cockpit went dark.

So it turned out Chewie hadn't kidding about the hyperdrive being on fire.

The damage report, as a soot covered Han later on grumbled out like a bartender listing the last dregs of rotgut, read something like: one fractured coolant line, three breached power conduits, a half-melted comm system, a navigation core that now randomly translated coordinates into Sullustian limericks, and a number five stabiliser that—according to Han—was either trying to unionise or kill itself.

‘I’m telling you, it was flashing binary at me ,’ Han said, mid-way through prying open an access panel with a hydrospanner he probably shouldn’t have been using as a crowbar. ‘It’s developing sentience.’

Chewie roared something from beneath the floor grating—probably an insult.

‘No, you fix it then!’ Han snapped. ‘But when it starts quoting power coupling statistics like a KDY engineer, don’t come crying to me.’

Luke had offered to take a look at the damage, if only to stop feeling useless. In hindsight, this may have been optimistic. After twenty minutes staring into the Falcon’s gutted innards—wires that looped like intestines, panels modified with parts that definitely didn’t originate from the same century, and more duct tape than dignity—he’d come to the conclusion that understanding this ship’s engineering would require at least three degrees, two lifetimes, and possibly a miracle.

‘Did you install the cooling manifold through the navicomp buffer!?’ Luke had asked, peering sideways at a tangled snarl of wiring.

Han blinked. ‘That’s where it fit.'

Luke sighed. ‘That’s not how ships work.’

‘That’s how this ship works.’

‘I’m starting to think she shouldn’t work at all.’ Luke muttered As he pulled away from the wiring- before it gave him a brain aneurysm.

‘She’s got personality,’ was all that Han said, pride radiating from his voice as he patted a panel, which promptly had given him a mild electric shock.

After a good half-hour of the quartet patching—or, in Luke’s opinion, battling—to keep the Falcon afloat, they’d somehow managed to stabilise things. Barely.

Life support was humming, if a bit unevenly. The lights were dim, flickering now and then like a moody cantina, and every so often something in the walls gave a worrying pop followed by a whiff of ozone. The manoeuvring thrusters responded well enough to let them drift in lazy arcs through vacuum—but full flight was out of the question.

Luke had thought they had just made it through the worst of it, when Artoo beeped about a larger problem.

Fuel. Or rather, lack thereof.

Someone—Chewie swore it was Han, Han swore it was a 'shared oversight'—had neglected to top off the Falcons fuel cells before take-off. Which meant, barring a miracle, the fastest ship in the galaxy would be a floating coffin inside twenty standard hours.

‘I’m just saying,’ Han muttered as Luke climbed into the cockpit, sleeves rolled up and grease already smeared on his cheek, ‘we’ve never actually run out before. Statistically, we were due.’

‘We need a planet,’ Luke said as he moved to the navicomputer. ‘Somewhere we can land. Patch her up, refuel. Maybe avoid a slow and horrifying death- Any luck getting the Navcom back online Artoo?'

Artoo gave a low whistle as he rolled forward. A moment later, the navicomputer flickered to life, much to everyone's surprise.

‘Nice work, Artoo,’ Luke said, shooting a smile towards the droid who let out a few self satisfied beeps. 'Any systems nearby?' He asked.

There was cheerful, affirmative beep as the droid pulled up the star maps. 'Atravis system?' Luke asked. 'That seems promising...'

Han leaned over the back of Luke’s seat, squinting at the flickering display. ‘Too far,’ he said immediately. ‘We’d never make it with half engines, let alone on fumes.’

Artoo let out a longer series of beeps, punctuated with a descending warble. Luke frowned.

‘He says it’s the only charted system nearby with a breathable atmosphere and standard gravity. Some sort of agri-colony—maybe we could trade for parts.’

'Good, he could trade for them with our corpses 'cause that's all that'll be left of us by then.'

Luke rolled his eyes and leaned closer to the screen. There were a few asteroid belts nearby, he pondered. Perhaps they could find a larger one to land on to make some repairs. At the very least it would buy them some time to get their comm system back online so they can contact the rebel base. He was about to suggest as such, when a small blinking point off to the side on the screen.

‘What’s that?’ he asked, pointing.

Artoo’s response was immediate: a harsh, insistent *no* followed by a short, panicked flurry of beeps.

Han stepped in before Luke could respond to the droid. He tapped the readout and raised an eyebrow.

'Now this is more like it...' he said 'Mustafar... It's less than an hour away on sublight. Breathable atmosphere, gravity’s not bad. Lava planet, though. Not ideal if you fancy a long walk, but it'll do.'

‘Mustafar…’ Luke rolled the name around on his tongue, frowning slightly. ‘It sounds familiar. I’m sure I’ve heard of it somewhere before.’

Han snorted, leaning further over the console. ‘Doubt it, kid. Looks like a ghost of a place. Says here they had a mining colony on the surface, but that was shut down nearly two decades ago. Probably nothing left now but scorched rock and slag heaps.’

Luke exhaled slowly through his nose, scanning the readouts with a furrowed brow. ‘So, no chance of trading for new parts

‘Better than drifting dead in space, isn’t it?’ Han replied with a shrug. ‘The air’s breathable, gravity’s normal. Not exactly a beach holiday, but it’ll do in a pinch.’

Suddenly, Artoo let out an abrupt shriek, followed by a flurry of panicked beeps and whistles. His dome spun sharply as if in warning, lights flashing in rapid succession. The distress was clear—even without translation.

Luke turned to him, startled. ‘What? What is it, Artoo?’

The droid issued a sharp, electronic *no*, then another burst of beeps that sounded suspiciously like droid-level expletives.

Han rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, great. Now he’s throwing a tantrum. What now?’

Luke crouched beside the droid, placing a hand gently on his dome. ‘Come on, what’s got you so wound up? Is it the planet? You don’t want us to go to Mustafar?’

Artoo hesitated for a moment, then emitted a low, uneasy sequence of tones. *Not safe. Not safe for Skywalkers.*

Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘Not safe for Skywalkers? What’s that supposed to mean?’

Another pause.

This time, Artoo let out a mournful whistle, followed by a quieter series of beeps that seemed… evasive.

Luke’s eyes narrowed. ‘Hey, I’m not that big a trouble magnet, you know.’

Han snorted loudly from the pilot’s chair. ‘Could’ve fooled me.’

Luke ignored him, but the unease in his gut lingered. There was something in Artoo’s tone—a reluctance, even fear—that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

Chewie padded into the cockpit and gave a low, dismissive growl. Han nodded in agreement, rubbing his hands together.

‘Yeah, yeah, I hear you, pal. We’ve landed in worse places. At least this one’s not an ice ball or filled with man-eating plants.’ He looked at Luke. ‘Come on, kid. Its your first lava planet—gotta be worth a look.’

Luke raised a brow. ‘That’s not exactly the glowing endorsement you think it is.’

‘It’s glowing something, alright,’ Han said.

Chewie let out another growl. 'Yes, technically, I did promise never to land on another lava planet,' Han replied. 'But that was a different lava planet. Totally different.'

Artoo practically short-circuited from sheer indignation. His protests were fast and clipped, too fast for translation. Luke caught snatches: *danger… memory… not safe…* something about *Emotional trauma* and *Fleshy Idiots*

Han pushed away from the console with a grunt and marched over, glaring down at the astromech. ‘Listen here, you stubborn tin can. If you’ve got a better idea, now’s the time to spit it out. Otherwise, save the hysterics and let us do our job.’

There was a tense pause.

Artoo beeped—once. Quietly.

Then nothing.

Han smirked. ‘That’s what I thought.’

Luke gave the droid a thoughtful glance. He wasn’t convinced Artoo had said everything he knew—but they were out of time, and out of options. ‘Set a course,’ he said finally. ‘We’ll go to Mustafar. Just for a little while. Long enough to make repairs and contact the fleet. Then we’re out.’

'Glad to see we're now all on the same page.' Han commented, inputting their new heading.

Artoo just let out a low, miserable chirp

Chapter Text

The planet loomed before them like a wound in the galaxy.

From orbit, Mustafar was a study in contradiction—stark, red-veined beauty masking the relentless, boiling violence beneath... and Luke had seen nothing remotely like it before...

‘Stars…’ Luke murmured, pressing closer to the viewport. For a moment, he was once again a child—wide-eyed and hungry to see everything the galaxy had to offer. Despite having left Tatooine only a little over two months ago, he already knew, with startling certainty, that he would never tire of seeing new worlds. It wasn’t just wonder—it was something deeper, a bone-deep yearning, as though the stars had been waiting for him all along.

I'm going to be the first one to see them all!

Luke spun his head around, eyes scanning the cockpit. He could’ve sworn he heard-

‘Never thought I’d see a place uglier than Tatooine,’ Han interrupted his thoughts, the older man squinting down at the molten inferno. ‘And I grew up in the nice part of Corellia—next to a scrapyard and two bars that doubled as fight clubs.’

Luke leaned back slightly. ‘It’s not ugly. It’s… something else. Like it’s alive.’

Han snorted. ‘Yeah. And very angry.’

Chewie growled low in agreement.

The Falcon gave another petulant wheeze, a final protest against being flown into what appeared to be the galaxy’s most enthusiastic volcano. But despite her complaints—and the very real threat of being melted like a cheap blaster on a twin-sun day—she held together long enough to limp down through the atmosphere, thrusters groaning and stabilisers flickering in and out of usefulness.

Luke braced against the copilot seat as turbulence jolted them again. The ship rocked violently, dipped, then finally steadied as Han found a path between two spewing geysers of molten rock.

Lukes eyes darted to the outside world again. Beneath them rivers of lava carved glowing arteries across the surface, flickering and pulsing like blood through an exposed heart. Jagged ridges clawed upwards in chaotic spirals, and smoke rose in towering columns from unseen fissures.

They touched down in a cave- though it was less a cave than a haggard scar in dark landscape. The landing struts groaned against the uneven rock, and a puff of sulphurous steam hissed up from a nearby crack as the engines powered down. Shadows curled against the walls, shaped by the light of the lava beyond.

‘Well,’ Han said, wiping a sleeve across his brow as he got up, ‘I suppose “marginally not dead” counts as a successful landing.’ He added, heading into the main hold

‘I’ll take it,’ Luke replied, rolling his shoulders as he followed him.

Chewie and Artoo were already moving. The Wookiee opened a rear panel and started grumbling at the exposed circuitry while Artoo emitted a suspicious series of clicks that may have included the droid equivalent of “Again?”

Luke rolled his eyes and moved to the Falcon’s scanning console and blinked in surprise when it actually responded. Dim, sluggish, flickering—but it was online.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘The  short range scanner’s still working.’

Han joined him, arms crossed. ‘Well, would you look at that. You owe the old girl an apology, Kid.'

'What  for actually functioning as she should?' Luke retorted back before tapping on the screen. 
'You said this place used to have a mining facility’s, yeah?' 

‘Only thing a planet like this is good for,’ Han said, nodding. ‘Melting things and digging up shiny stuff to fund the war machine.'

'Well, perhaps there's one of them nearby.' Luke suggested, setting a scan going 'They might of left some stuff behind when they abandoned the planet.'

Han  let out a snort. 'Look, I appreciate the optimism kid, but anything left that's worth finding has probably already been nabbed by pirates or been destroyed.' 

Luke rolled his eyes at the smuggler. 'It's worth a look if nothing else.' He shot back

Chewie growled suddenly from beside them, tapping the console with one large clawed finger.

Luke followed his gaze.

The screen was flickering, still half-fried—but the readout was unmistakable. A structure, three miles to the east. Large. Towering. Black as pitch. Even from this rough map, it looked… wrong. Unnatural. Like it had been grown from the rock itself, fed on suffering and stone.

‘What the hell is that?’ Han asked.

Chewie let out a low roar. Han leaned closer, squinting. Then groaned.

‘Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.’

‘What? What is it?’

Han pointed.

An overlay blinked to life—barely. Imperial code. Dated, but still broadcasting.

‘Turns out this planet’s not quite the lifeless slag heap we thought,’ Han muttered. ‘Its an imperial base. Looks like it has an active power source so it's probably still manned.'

Luke let out a groan. It was official: the universe definitely had  it out for them 

‘Do they know we’re here?’

Han shook his head. ‘Doubt it. We came in cold, no transponders. Our signature’s a wet match at best. If anything showed up on their scopes, they probably thought it was a meteor. Or just ignored it. Who’d be mad enough to land out here?’

Luke didn’t answer, his focus entirely fixated upon the screen. While he was not a fan of imperial architecture in general, there was something about that place that felt particularly... wrong... Like it shouldn’t exist. And yet he also felt something pull at him, drawing him towards that hideously beautiful blight upon the landscape.

A whisper. Not a voice. Just a direction. 

Then the idea struck.

‘We should check it out...' He spoke.

Han’s head whipped around so fast Luke was surprised something didn’t snap. ‘What?’

‘We could infiltrate it,’ Luke said quickly. ‘If it’s abandoned, or even lightly guarded… there might be supplies. Fuel. Spare parts. Maybe even data. A base like that—Imperial records, local star charts, supply routes…’

Han stared at him as if he had just suggested showing up at Jabba’s palace in a tutu, riding a bantha, waving sparklers, and singing “A Day to Celebrate” in Huttese.
Then: 'You're insane.'

‘No, listen.' Luke insisted, gesturing around then them. 'We failed the supply run, right? But if we come back with something the Rebellion can actually use—information, enemy positions, maybe even an access code or two—it’s not a total loss.’

Han was still staring at him. Luke could feel the scepticism radiating off him like heat from the lava flows.

But he also saw the gears turning behind Han’s eyes.

‘Oh, and Leia would be pleased,’ Luke added, casually, shooting a knowing grin towards the smuggler.

Han grunted. ‘Now you’re playing dirty.’ He replied with a mock-glare.

Luke gave a small shrug. ‘I’m just saying...'

After a few moments of glaring and muttering, Han finally relented with a dramatic sigh. ‘Fine. But if this turns out to be crawling with stormtroopers, I am blaming you.’

'Deal,’ Luke said, trying not to smile.

‘Chewie and Artoo can stay behind, get started on repairs,’ Han continued, already strapping on a blaster. ‘If anything goes sideways, they can jump ship and leave us to die like heroes.’

Chewie growled. The tone was unmistakably You’re not funny.

Grabbing a blaster and a couple of rations- if years of living on a desert planet had taught him anything  it was the importance of stating hydrated when dealing with heat- he moved towards the boarding ramp.

'We should only be gone a few hours.' He called out. 'If we're not back for a full rotation-'

He was interrupted by a blur of motion that tore across the cargo bay—fast, low and furious. Artoo zipped in front of them with surprising speed for what was essentially a barrel on wheels and planted himself firmly between Luke and the exit. His dome rotated in sharp jerks, and a stream of high-pitched beeps poured out like an overboiled kettle.

‘Artoo—’

Luke was cut off as the droid physically barged into him, forcing him back from the ramp.

‘Hey! It’s all right, buddy,’ he said, frowning. ‘We’re just going to—’

Another screech. Louder this time. Sparks flared briefly along the seams of Artoo’s dome as he wobbled with what could only be described as frantic urgency.

‘Hey! Calm down—’

But Artoo would not calm down. He rolled in a sharp arc and parked himself squarely in front of the boarding ramp, extending his shock probe—not in aggression, but more like a warning flare. An unmistakable ‘do not proceed’.

‘All right, all right!’ Han barked, stomping over. ‘What is your problem, you glorified kettle?’

Artoo whirred angrily, spun in place, and released a crackle of static at Han’s boots.

Luke crouched beside the droid. ‘It’s bizarre. I’ve never seen him act like this before.’

Artoo’s lights flickered erratically. His dome let out a flurry of overlapping beeps—too fast for the translator. But in the jumble, Luke swore he caught something odd.

‘Wait… what was that?’ he asked, narrowing his eyes.

The droid froze.

Luke tilted his head. ‘Did you just say “damned Skywalker programming”… and “just as bad as his father”?’

A single, innocent whistle followed.

Luke stared. ‘“Nothing”, really?’

Another beep

‘You mentioned my father,’ Luke said. ‘What do you mean Artoo, Did you know him?’ The droid beeped again, more slowly this time. 

Han sighed theatrically and leaned against the bulkhead. ‘Ignore him. Droid’s probably got a few wires loose from all that rebellion heroism.'

Luke frowned as he stared at the droid. He wanted nothing more to press him further, to find out what he knew. Did he know his father? Why hadn’t he said anything sooner? The questions burned in him like the inferno outside.

'Kid?' Han said, interrupting his thoughts. 'Not wanting to rush you or anything, but if we are going to do this, we better set off now.'

Luke sighed as he placed a hand gently on Artoo’s dome. His questions will just have to wait. 

‘We’ll be alright Artoo. I promise. But I need you to trust me.’

Artoo let out a reluctant, descending warble, then finally rolled to the side.

The boarding ramp hissed open.

Heat hit them like a punch to the lungs. The cave beyond glowed with an eerie red light, reflected off fire-lit rock. Smoke curled lazily through the air, and the sky outside was a roiling curtain of ash and embers.

Luke adjusted his belt and checked his blaster.

‘First sign of trouble,’ Han muttered, ‘I’m blaming you.’

‘You always do.’

‘Yeah, well, it’s never stopped me being right, has it?’

Chewie growled something from the cargo hold—likely a curse, if Luke had to guess.

Han rolled his eyes. ‘See? Even he agrees.’

Luke cast one last glance at Artoo, who stood silently by the ramp, his dome slowly rotating as he watched them go.

‘We’ll be back,’ Luke said softly.

He just hoped he wasn’t lying.

After a solid hour crossing the surface of Mustafar, luke swore he would never set another lava planet as long as he lived. Every step felt like walking on cracked glass—uneven, sharp, and ready to betray them. The heat was monstrous, oppressive in the way that made your thoughts go slow and your body slower still. Their boots sank slightly into ash-coated soil, fine and grey as powdered bone.

The lava rivers kept their distance, but only just. They flowed like open wounds through the landscape—pulsing, angry, veins of fire in a world that seemed determined to boil itself from the inside out. Even at a distance  the radiating heat bit at exposed skin like angry teeth.

‘Careful,’ Han muttered, grabbing Luke’s collar and yanking him back just as the younger man’s foot skidded too close to a glowing rock shelf. ‘I prefer you without extra crispy edges.’

Luke stumbled back with a sheepish grunt, brushing off his tunic. ‘Thanks.’

They continued on, the landscape shimmering around them with a fever-dream haze. The smoke that clung to the rocks stung their eyes and left their throats raw.

‘You know,’ Luke said, taking a deep swig of water from his canteen ‘This place is somehow hotter than Tatooine.’

Han, forehead beaded with sweat, didn’t take his eyes off the path ahead. ‘Which is impressive, considering Tatooine’s only hobbies are being hot and slowly killing your will to live.’

Luke chuckled. ‘Don’t forget boring you out of your mi-‘

I hate you!!!

Luke stopped dead. He spun around, eyes wide.

‘Did you hear that?’

Han grunted, cursing as he stumbled over a jagged outcrop. ‘Hear what?’

‘I thought I heard—’ Luke paused, frowning. The voice had cut through the heat and smoke like ice down his spine. Dark  Raw. Full of heartbreak and fury.

I have failed you, Anakin.

There. Again. But different this time. Familiar. A whisper behind his thoughts.

‘Ben?’

Han threw a look over his shoulder. ‘Hey, kid. Eyes on the prize. Preferably the one that isn’t several hundred feet down that ravine you’re inching toward.’

Luke blinked, startled, and took a few hasty steps back from the ledge he hadn’t realised he was approaching. The lava bubbled far below, spitting molten rock like some angry beast exhaling.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘It’s just... this place... I feel...’

‘Your head’s probably just scrambled from the fumes,’ Han offered, a hint of concern colouring his voice. His brow furrowed, eyes scanning the horizon. ‘Maybe we should turn back.’

‘No,’ Luke replied quickly. ‘We keep moving. We’re almost there.’
‘You sure kid?’ Han looked him up and down, eyebrow raised. ‘You look like you’re about to keel over.’

‘I’m fine.’ Luke insisted, suppressing a shudder. For beneath the searing heat, the glowing rivers, the rumble and roar of the planet’s slow tectonic tantrums—there was something else.

Something cold.

It made no sense. But it was there. In his gut. A quiet, slithering chill that no amount of lava could burn away. 

Don’t leave me...

‘Come on.’ Luke said, brushing those thoughts aside as he gestured to the path ahead.

 Han gave a half-hearted shrug. ‘On your own head, kid.’

But before they could take another step, a low rumble rolled through the ground—not from the planet this time, but something more deliberate. Machinery. Movement. Something *approaching*.

Luke grabbed Han’s arm. ‘Get down!’

They both dove into a nearby gully, crouching low among fractured slabs of cooled magma. The ground still radiated heat, but the cover was solid enough. They waited, breaths shallow, the silence stretching.

Then—*chirrup!*

Luke blinked. He knew that tone.

‘Artoo?’

Another trill. Then a clunk, followed by a series of indignant beeps as the droid rolled awkwardly down into the ravine beside them, missing a rock and almost toppling sideways in the process.

Han narrowed his eyes. ‘What in blazes are you doing here?’

Artoo let out a sequence of beeps that translated roughly to: *Keeping master Luke out of trouble and prevent him from going off alone.*

Luke frowned. ‘You were supposed to stay with the Falcon- also I'm not alone here, I have Han.’ the R2 unit answered with what sounded suspiciously like a raspberry, followed by a sharp electronic scoff

Had stared at Artoo. ‘Did your droid just imply I was a liability?’ 

Luke suppressed a grin. ‘Well… he’s not wrong.'

Han scoffed. ‘Excuse me, kid, but who pulled you out of that mess on Ord Talas? Or the ion storm over Gorse? Or that time you nearly got vaped trying to "negotiate" with a bounty hunter?’

‘First of all, I had it mostly under control. Second, I seem to recall saving your hide on Sinta Prime when you thought impersonating an Imperial officer “might be fun”.’

‘That uniform fit. And I would've got away with it if you hadn’t tripped the alarm.

‘Okay, one time I made a mistake—’

‘One time?’ Han snorted. ‘Kid, you’ve made more near-death choices in the last eight weeks than I’ve made bad bets. And that’s saying something.’

Luke smirked. ‘Still here, aren’t we?’

‘Yeah, and you know why? Me.'

‘You keep telling yourself that.’

‘Oh, I will. Loudly. With footnotes-'

Suddenly Artoo barged between them, letting out a series of irritated beeps which one din;t need to speak binary to understand.

Luke sighed. ‘Sorry Artoo…’ he said, giving the domed head a pat. ‘He thinks we’re acting like children.’

Han shrugged. ‘Well, you started it, kid.’

‘Did not.’

‘Did too.’

Artoo beeped again, louder this time. ‘Sorry, sorry…’ Luke said, shaking his head before glancing around.

‘We should get going.’ He said, climbing out of the gully. Luke reached a hand down, helping haul Han out of the gully with a grunt. The older man staggered to his feet, brushing soot off his trousers and eyeing the slope they'd just scrambled down.

‘Well, that was fun,’ Han muttered, already scanning the landscape ahead. ‘Now how the hell are we supposed to get *him* out of there?’

They both turned to look back at Artoo, who was perched at the bottom of the gully. The droid rotated his dome and let out a distinctly annoyed warble.

‘Good question,’ Luke said, resting his hands on his hips. ‘I’m not sure we could even *lift* him.’

‘We can’t,’ Han grumbled. ‘We’re not carrying him like some glorified toolbox-'

*FWOOSH!*

Twin jets of blue flame erupted from Artoo’s side panels. With a cheerful chirp, he lifted off the ground like it was the most normal thing in the galaxy and gently sailed up and over the ledge, landing with a soft *clang* beside them.

Luke stared.

Han gaped.

‘You mean to tell me you’ve had *those* this entire time?’ Luke asked, incredulous.

Artoo let out a cheeky ascending beep.

Han rubbed his temples. ‘Your droid has more secrets than an ISB agent on life day.’

Luke chuckled, but the sound faded fast. His smile wavered as he remembered what Artoo had said earlier.

Just as bad as his father...

He glanced at the astromech again, frowning. For all the adventures they’d had, there was still so much he didn’t know about Artoo—where he’d come from, who he’d served with before Leia, what he knew and wasn’t telling.

Brushing aside the unsettling thought, Luke turned back toward the distant ridge.

And there it was.

The tower loomed like a monolith of hatred, jagged against the roiling orange sky. Its silhouette jutted from the horizon like a broken tooth, black and unnatural, as though it had been forced up from the bowels of the planet by something cruel and ancient.

‘What an eyesore,’ Han muttered, shielding his eyes from the glare.

Luke swallowed. He agreed. But it was more than that.

The structure unsettled him.

A chill slid down his spine despite the heat, curling beneath his skin like a cold whisper. It gnawed at him, an itch behind his thoughts. He almost was tempted to turn around, to run as far as he could from that poisonous black spire.

Almost

Han squinted. ‘Only got one klick to go. Speaking of, you got a plan for getting inside, or are we winging it again?’

Luke hesitated. He didn’t want to admit it, but… ‘I’ve got… a rough idea.’

Before Han could ask for elaboration, they heard voices. Close.

Luke gestured sharply. ‘Down!’

They dropped low, crawling to the edge of a ridge. Below them, two stormtroopers stood beside a cargo speeder, chatting idly, helmets off in the oppressive heat.

Han grinned slowly. ‘Well, look at that. I do love it when the galaxy throws us a bone.’

Mustafarian heat was bad enough in standard gear. In stormtrooper armour, it was unbearable.

Luke shifted uncomfortably as the speeder thrummed beneath him. Sweat trickled down his back, pooling in places no moisture should ever reach. Han had said upon donning the armour that the troops stationed here were probably sent to the lava planet as punishment and Luke couldn’t help but agree.

The plan had surprisingly gone off without a hitch:  Artoo had drawn the troopers’ attention with a series of panicked shrieks and flashing lights, pretending to be damaged. When the stormtroopers approached to investigate, Luke and Han had ambushed them from behind, stunned them, stripped them, and dumped the unfortunate pair behind a rock outcropping.

Now they flew across the molten plains, cutting the remaining distance to the fortress in a fraction of the time.

 Luke focused on the building growing ever larger before them—obsidian-black, angular, and impossibly tall. It rose from the earth like it had clawed its way free.

And the dread in his stomach only grew.

He tried to dismiss it. Focus. Get in. Grab supplies. Find any usable intel. Get out. He told himself as they approached what looked to be the trooper hangar entrance .

The interior dwarfed the fortress’s already imposing exterior. Rows of speeders and TIE fighters lined the walls like dormant insects, the space above them vanishing into looming darkness. Metallic walkways crisscrossed the chamber, suspended on skeletal supports. Yet the further they went in, the worse that cold, dark feeling became. If it had been bad outside, it was nothing compared to the sensation within.

It pressed in on him—looming, heavy, ever present. The air felt thinner. The silence louder. It was as though something had its hand wrapped around the entire place in a chokehold.

Luke clenched his jaw and forced himself to push through it, to focus. He looked around, noting just how empty the hangar truly was. Not abandoned—just… minimal. There were maybe a dozen troopers scattered around, most working on consoles or in corners. No full garrisons. No alert.

‘Where is everyone?’ Luke hissed, wincing a little at the modulated voice of the helmet.

Han glanced around, similarly cautious. ‘I’m not complaining, but—this place feels more like a tomb than a base.’ Luke couldn't help but agree. 

They kept their helmets on, heads down with Artoo trundling alongside them, they made their way deeper into the hangar. Nothing looked promising. Scavenged consoles, spare E-11 rifles, a few maintenance droids—useless.

‘You know, I’m starting to think your great infiltration plan is dud, kid’ Han hissed as a few mechanics passed.

'Just act like you belong,' Luke muttered.

'Oh, I always act like I belong,' Han said, tossing aside an old power converter 'My problem’s that I usually don’t.'

Out of the corner of his eye, Luke noticed a side door marked with a low flickering display: MAIN STORAGE HANGAR.

He nudged Han. 'There.' He whispered, gesturing to it.

Even though he couldn’t see it, he knew Han was raising an eyebrow at him behind the stolen helmet, but the older man didn’t object. Trying to look as casual as possible, they sauntered over to the door and slipped inside.

And stopped dead.

Artoo let out a long whistle.

'Oh… stars,' Han breathed.

Luke had no words. The chamber beyond wasn’t a storage hangar, It was temple- A cathedral dedicated to the very concept of flight. There was row after row of ships—dozens, hundreds, lined up in careful precision. Some were old enough to predate the Clone Wars. Others looked like prototypes fresh off the line. There were fighters, shuttles, interceptors, transports—even a handful of experimental craft Luke had only ever seen in holos.

Everything was in immaculate condition. Not a speck of dust. Not a scratch. Polished like artefacts. Cared for like relics.

'Is that a… is that a V-19 Torrent?' Luke asked, stumbling forward, mouth agape.

Han nodded slowly, eyes wide. 'Yeah. And that—that’s a Delta-7. Jedi model. Rare.'

They wandered, half-dazed, like children in a toy shop where everything was real and flyable.

'Okay,' Han said eventually, running a hand along the side of what looked like a mandalorian glider, 'I hate this guy. Whoever owns this place. I hate him with every fibre of my underpaid being.'

Luke knelt beside a silver-and-red starfighter that gleamed like a dagger. 'I don’t understand.... Some of them don’t even have serial codes! Who IS this guy!?’ he exclaimed.

 'Probably a collector.’ Han shrugged as he ran his hand over a yellow sports speeder. ‘A very, VERY rich collector with incredibly good taste’

Luke let out a low whistle, rising to his feet as his eyes swept over the endless rows of gleaming ships. ‘It’s… impressive,’ he murmured. ‘Also mildly unhinged. The credits spent on even a fraction of this could’ve ended hunger in the Outer Rim. Probably twice over. But no—why feed a billion starving people when you can restore a pre-Clone Wars ARC-170 to showroom condition?’ He paused, frowning thoughtfully at a sleek chrome interceptor. In truth though- if he was honest with himself, that is- he’d admit that, given the funds and the means, he'd almost certainly do the same thing.

Well... after ending galactic hunger. Obviously

‘You know…’ Han said slowly after a while, running a hand along the hull of a Corellian YT-2400 freighter that practically gleamed under the overhead lights, ‘we might need a ship to bring back the supplies.’

Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘You do remember we’re rebels, not thieves?’

Han snorted. ‘You’re the Rebel, kid. I’m just a smuggler... a smuggler who, completely coincidentally, happens to be in urgent need of a beautiful second ship.’

Luke gave him a flat look. ‘You’ve already got a ship. 

Which is why a quieter, faster one might be a solid tactical investment,’ Han replied breezily. ‘I mean, come on—this place has hundreds. Who’s going to notice one’s missing? It’s not theft, it’s... strategic asset redistribution.’

‘We’re here for parts, Han. Salvage. Not grand theft starship.’

Han gestured broadly at the polished rows of pristine craft. ‘And you think taking half a metric tonne of Imperial-grade components for the Falcon doesn’t count as stealing? Bit late to get squeamish now, don’t you think?’

Luke hesitated. Technically… yes. That did make a certain uncomfortable kind of sense.

‘And you can't pretend you didn’t just spend three full minutes stroking that chrome interceptor like it was a baby Loth-cat.’ Han added, shooting him a pointed look.

‘I was just examining it,’ Luke said, a little too quickly, feeling his ears warm. ‘You know... out of historical interest.’

Artoo let out a deeply unimpressed warble that translated more or less to *Sure you were.*

Han shrugged, utterly nonchalant. ‘All I’m saying is—a getaway ship might be useful. Just in case things go pear-shaped. Which, if we’re honest, they usually do.' 

Luke hesitated, glancing once more around the hangar like a man standing on the edge of a very slippery slope. The responsible part of him—the part that had grown louder since joining the Rebellion—insisted this was a terrible idea. But another part, the part that still dreamed of racing through the stars in ships he'd only ever seen in dusty holos, was screaming yes.

He sighed. ‘Fine. One ship. If it’s flight-worthy, and we can use it to haul supplies back to the Falcon. That’s it.'

Han grinned, full of smug satisfaction. ‘That’s more like it! I knew you had it in you, farmboy… Right!’ He continued, rubbing his hands together. ‘ I do believe there’s a Sienar Aetherblade-9 back there with my name on it. 

Luke rolled his eyes. ‘You would pick the flashiest ship in the hangar.’

‘Hey,’ Han shot back, already turning on his heel, ‘if you’re gonna steal from the Empire, do it with style.’

Luke shook his head slightly, but couldn’t help the smile that crept across his face as he continued down the rows of ships. As he wandered deeper into the hangar, past what looked suspiciously like a Clone Z-95 Headhunter, he couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh. He didn’t know why, but the cold, oppressive weight that had clung to them since setting foot on the fortress grounds was all but absent here. For lack of a better word, the hangar felt… lighter. It was as if though the air itself breathed easier, the shadows less eager to creep. Luke hadn’t realised just how overwhelming it he been until it released its dark tendrils around him. 

It was a relief, to be sure, but a welcome one. 

Basking in the light feeling, Luke continued to wander through the hangar. Nearing the end, he saw tucked beyond the final row a compact workshop—walls lined with tools, spare parts, and crates of what looked like reactor coils, hyperdrive stabilisers, and fuel cells. Luke smiled faintly. *Exactly* what the Falcon needed.

‘Found our repair supplies,’ he called over his shoulder. Han grunted an approving sound somewhere behind him.

Then Luke saw it.

A sleek silver ship, half-hidden in shadow, tucked away like a secret someone didn’t want found. It was beautiful—smooth lines, reflective chrome plating, elegant in a way that nothing else in the room quite managed. A single spotlight cast a faint gleam across the curved hull. Luke’s breath caught.

Artoo beeped sharply, then again—this time more excitedly—and rolled ahead, trilling like a child spotting a favourite toy.

Han joined him with a low whistle. ‘That’s a J-type 327 Nubian starship,’ he said. ‘Modified too, by the look of it. You don’t mod one of those unless you’ve got more credits than sense.’ The smuggler glanced around. ‘Wonder why this beauty’s tucked away like this… if it were me, it be front and centre.’ Artoo let out a whistle in agreement.

Luke barely heard them as he stepped closer, mesmerised by the ship. There was something so achingly familiar about this ship… like a half-forgotten memory from a dream. Without thinking, he reached out a hand, his fingers brushing against the cool metal in a gentle caress. 

Suddenly, He was overwhelmed as a flood of images and words burned through his mind.

A small boy with bright blue eyes shivering from the cold of space

‘I carved it out of a japor snippet…’

A young man with those same blue eyes and a beautiful woman- was she an angel? Locked in an embrace.

‘I truly… deeply… love you…’

The same woman again- she looked so much like Leia- Her brown eyes filling with tears. 

‘You’re breaking my heart…’

The breath left his lungs in a rush. His chest tightened. He was suffocating—no, choking. His hand flew to his throat, but there was nothing there. No pressure. No grip. Yet it felt like he was dying. He was doing it. They were dying. No—she was dying. Because of—

‘Kid? Kid!’

Han’s voice yanked him back.

Luke stumbled away from the ship, gasping. He ripped off the stormtrooper helmet and staggered backwards, hand still clenched at his throat. The sensation was fading, but the ache remained.

‘I’m all right,’ he said hoarsely, his breath coming in quick bursts.

Han was watching him warily, having shed his own helmet. Artoo gave a low, uncertain trill.

‘Look, I know you Jedi-wannabe types have a flair for the dramatic,’ Han said, crossing his arms, ‘but that was something else. You looked like someone force-fed you a lemon with a side of death threats.’

‘I said I’m fine,’ Luke replied, a little too quickly. ‘whatever it was... It’s passed.’

Except he wasn’t fine. What was that? he thought to himself wildly. It wasn’t like Vader’s presence, prying into his mind with icy precision. No, this was something else—less controlled, more wild. It had crashed over him like a tidal wave, a raw torrent of memory—or was it vision? He couldn’t tell. The two figures lingered in his mind, not just seen but felt—etched into his very bones. That woman… those eyes. Her voice. That man’s rage—no, grief—as though the galaxy itself had cracked open inside him.

They felt so familiar it hurt.

Not for the first time, he wished Ben was still with him. To guide him, to teach him, to understand him…

He glanced up and found Han still staring at him, arms folded with an eyebrow raised.

'I'm... I'm  going fo go have a look around.' Luke muttered, forcing a steadiness into his voice that he didn’t quite feel. 

He turned to head towards the door that he presumed led to the rest of the base, when a familiar little droid darted forwards once again and planted himself between him and the exit. Luke rolled his eyes… Not again…

‘Artoo, get out of the way.’ He snapped, his voice a little harsher than he intended.

All he got in response was a series of beeps, finishing with what could only be described as a digital raspberry.

‘Your droid’s right, y’know.’ Came Han’s voice from behind him. Luke turned to look at him.

‘We’re not letting you go off on your own. Not in this place.’ He took a step forward, eyes narrowing slightly. ‘You’ve been… off. Ever since we landed. You’ve been hearing things, seeing things, having full-blown... whatever that was back there. You think I’m going to let you wander off alone in some freaky fortress? It’s got bad idea written all over it. Besides…’ he added ’The princess would never forgive me if I let you go off on your own in a creepy Imperial death palace and didn’t drag your stubborn arse back in one piece.’

Artoo beeped loudly in agreement, issuing another short burst of binary that sounded suspiciously smug.

Luke’s jaw tightened. ‘I said I’m fine.’

‘And I said we’re sticking together,’ Han shot back. ‘We sort out a ship, load her up with whatever parts we need, and then we go exploring. Together. No solo farmboy heroics.’

There was a beat of silence. Finally, Luke let out a long sigh, scrubbing a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

‘Fine. All right. Together.’

‘Good.’ Han clapped his hands once. ‘Right then—come help me power up that Sienar Aetherblade-9, yeah? I’m thinking—’

‘We’re taking this one,’ Luke interrupted, already moving back toward the sleek silver vessel.

Han blinked. ‘That one?’

‘This one.’ Luke nodded. Despite the surge of memory—or perhaps because of it—he felt something shift inside him. A pull. Not quite ownership, but… familiarity. The kind that settled in the chest like something remembered rather than learned. 

Artoo let out a delighted whistle as he rolled back towards the ship.

Han approached slowly, looking it up and down ‘You sure, kid? It’s a pretty thing, for sure—but—’

‘But nothing,’ Luke said firmly, placing his hand once more on the cool chrome hull. ‘It’s stronger than it looks.’ 

Han just frowned. ‘It’s just—whoever owns this is definitely more likely to notice it missing.’

Luke shook his head. ‘Trust me… I’ve got a good feeling about this.’

He glanced up at the ship, letting his hand slide across the hull with quiet certainty.

‘Besides,’ he added, eyes narrowing just slightly, ‘if the owner cared about it, he would've had it front and centre in here, not tucked away in a random corner like this.’

He stepped back, a wry smile tugging at his mouth.

‘Why, I’d bet he wouldn’t even notice it’s gone…’