Formerly Anakin Skywalker, Darth Vader rarely experienced visions through the Force.
He did not dream either.
Not since his fall to the Dark Side.
The truth was that the Sith Lord neither possessed the ability nor the desire to dream.
His existence left little room for such indulgences.
Every waking moment was consumed by responsibilities demanding his attention.
There was his secret apprentice, hidden even from Darth Sidious.
The Inquisitorius.
The endless hunt for surviving Jedi.
Those duties filled the emptiness.
They fed his rage.
They satisfied his hunger for violence.
That was why, in the first moments of the experience, Vader felt something he had not known in many years.
Confusion.
Helplessness.
For several precious seconds, he simply did not know how to react.
Then understanding arrived.
Only to deepen his bewilderment.
“…you must not mindlessly tear away pieces of your own Living Force if you wish to control what you’re doing,” Qui-Gon Jinn explained to the young boy seated before him.
“Guide your Living Force consciously.
Weave it together with the Cosmic Force.
Use both aspects in harmony.
You’re striking with the Force itself, not compressed air.” Darth Vader could find no logical explanation for what he was witnessing.
Even so, he observed every detail.
The boy blazed brilliantly within the Force.
Qui-Gon, meanwhile, appeared faded, diminished, little more than a pale reflection of life itself.
The surroundings revealed nothing useful.
It looked like an ordinary garage.
There was no indication of where or when the scene was taking place.
“But isn’t that the same thing?” the boy asked.
“Control over the Living Force is not the same as simply throwing it away,” replied the Jedi who had died many years before.
The vision ended as abruptly as it had begun.
Or perhaps it had been a dream.
Whatever it was, reality returned with brutal speed.
Darth Vader’s eyes snapped open.
He remained perfectly still for several moments, searching for an explanation.
The simplest answer was that it had merely been a dream.
It was also the first possibility he rejected.
He no longer dreamed.
And even if he did, the last person who should have appeared within his subconscious was Qui-Gon Jinn, a Jedi who had died decades ago.
Could it have been a vision of the past?
If so, what was the Force trying to show him?
Was it a glimpse of the future that might have existed had Qui-Gon survived Naboo?
Perhaps the old Jedi would have been a better master than Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Perhaps he would not have hidden the truth.
No.
All Jedi were the same.
With every passing year, Vader became more convinced of that fact.
The air around him began to hum as the Dark Side surged through his thoughts.
Then realization struck.
He understood.
The old Jedi had deceived everyone.
Including him.
Qui-Gon Jinn had returned.
He had cheated death, found a new body, and hidden that secret from the galaxy.
Hidden it from Vader.
The Sith Lord slowly clenched his mechanical fist.
If Qui-Gon could accomplish such a thing…
If a dead Jedi could return to life…
Then perhaps Darth Vader could as well.
Perhaps there was a way to cast aside this ruined shell and reclaim a body that was whole.
The Force had shown him this vision for a reason.
A man who should have remained dead had returned.
Death itself had been defeated.
That meant there had to be a path for him as well.
No one would stop him.
Not the Jedi.
Not the living.
Not the dead.
And certainly not the old liar called Palpatine.
…
The Victory-class Star Destroyer, a veteran warship dating back to the Clone Wars, lifted slowly from its landing platform and began climbing into the sky above the sprawling planetary capital below.
In the more civilized regions of the Empire, ships of its class were already considered obsolete, steadily replaced by newer designs.
Not here.
This forgotten world lay deep within the Outer Rim, valuable only because of the nearby asteroid belt rich in inexpensive raw materials.
Those resources fed the factories of Eriadu, which continued growing wealthy thanks to military contracts awarded by Grand Moff Tarkin.
Three figures lay concealed among the trees covering a hillside overlooking the city.
Although the local Imperial garrison rarely bothered patrolling this far from the settlements, their leader knew exactly what would happen if they were discovered.
The entire planet would erupt into chaos.
“We’ve got the signal.” The speaker was a one-eyed Lasat peering through an electronic macrobinocular.
Far below, a red light flashed five times from the window of a distant building.
A coded message.
“It worked.” The commander acknowledged the report with a silent nod, never taking his eyes off the ascending Star Destroyer.
He was calculating.
Distance.
Trajectory.
Timing.
Beside him, a shaggy Wookiee growled something in Shyriiwook while removing a bulky sack from his back.
Inside was an absurd collection of antennas, cables, lamps, and scavenged metal components.
It looked less like military equipment than the fever dream of a brilliant madman.
The Wookiee made several adjustments before carefully placing the contraption beside his commander.
“Thirty seconds,” the human replied, dismissing another growl with a wave.
“The ship needs to clear the residential district before it reaches the factories.
Close enough for the transmission.” The Lasat immediately hurried toward the edge of the clearing.
Sweeping aside leaves and loose debris, he revealed a concealed hatch.
Beneath it stretched a forgotten network of utility tunnels built decades earlier.
Perfect for a sabotage team.
The Wookiee voiced one final objection before tossing the empty sack toward the Lasat.
Without another word, it disappeared into the tunnel.
The human silently counted down.
Then he pressed the button.
Nothing happened.
For several long seconds, absolutely nothing.
Then the Star Destroyer abruptly stopped climbing.
Instead, it began falling.
Straight down.
Toward the industrial district beneath it.
“Something’s wrong.” The Lasat had already returned to his macrobinoculars.
The Wookiee barked a sharp question.
“They can’t possibly be that stupid,” the Lasat answered nervously.
“Even if they are, the reactor safeties should have activated…” “They can.” The commander’s voice became razor sharp.
He was the first to understand.
“Get underground.
Now.” The Lasat immediately dove through the hatch.
The Wookiee followed without hesitation, moving with startling speed for someone of his size.
The human discarded the now-useless transmitter.
There was no point preserving it anymore.
Then he dropped into the tunnels after them.
Above, the doomed Star Destroyer continued its catastrophic descent.
Escape pods had already begun launching from its hull.
The people inside had no idea they were already dead.
A dozen seconds later, Saw Gerrera slammed the hatch shut and continued descending into the underground passageways.
Two heartbeats afterward, the Victory struck the ground.
The evening sky blossomed into a towering thermonuclear mushroom cloud.
Fire consumed everything.
Without discrimination.
Without mercy.
…
A heavyset man sporting an absurd pair of pirate-style mustaches slumped in a chair inside the ship’s briefing room.
Bloodshot eyes shifted endlessly between two datapads.
One displayed reports.
The other received fresh orders.
The stimulants were still working.
He had gone three full days without sleep and intended to finish every remaining task before finally allowing himself to collapse.
The sound of approaching footsteps barely registered.
Only when a man wearing battered white stormtrooper armor stepped into the room did he finally glance up.
“Sir, I just returned from the surface.
The last resistance pockets have been eliminated.” The trooper’s exhaustion was unmistakable, yet his report remained crisp and professional.
“Sit down,” the officer said, waving a hand dismissively.
“Forget the formalities.
I don’t have time to read another report.
Just give me the short version.” “Sir, as your subordinate, I am obligated to remind you that you require sleep.
Your current condition is negatively affecting operational readiness.” The trooper had only recently joined the posting.
Despite the mutual respect that had developed between him and his commanding officer, he still preferred to remain safely within the boundaries of military regulations whenever possible.
“Marshal Commander.” The fleet officer finally looked him in the eye.
“Consider this an order.
I didn’t drag the best veteran I could find into this operation just to treat him like some freshly commissioned lieutenant from Carida and bury him under regulations after a three-day battle.” The soldier accepted the order without argument and lowered himself into the chair opposite the officer.
Truthfully, he was exhausted.
Over the years, he had grown accustomed to his commander’s eccentricities.
Fortunately, those eccentricities had never once interfered with accomplishing the mission.
The mustached officer finally set both datapads aside.
Reaching toward a nearby serving tray, he picked up a teapot and two untouched cups, then began pouring them each a drink.