Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Vader had been right—they had a daughter. Leia. A beautiful, perfect baby girl. He still struggled to believe it. The past two months with her had been a small spark of light in a galaxy that had otherwise grown cold, dark, and ugly.

Vader looked down at the sleeping form of his daughter, who was fast approaching her first birthday. One year since the birth of the Empire. One year since the death of the weak fool Anakin Skywalker, and his painful rebirth as a Sith. One year since Padmé’s death. One year that felt like a lifetime.

The months following the fall of the Republic had been grueling—hunting down the remnants of the Jedi Order, establishing the Inquisitorius, and bringing the Senate and military under the firm control of the new regime. His master had kept him relentlessly busy, sending his new apprentice on mission after mission to secure Imperial rule and establish Vader as the feared enforcer of his will.

It was on one such mission to Alderaan that he had discovered his daughter.

During the visit, he noticed the anxiety radiating from both the Queen and the Senator. He had grown accustomed to the fear his presence inspired since his transformation, but their unease was different. Bail Organa had never struck him as an easily intimidated man. Yet the urgency with which both Organas sought to please and accommodate him was uncharacteristic—especially for a former staunch supporter of the Republic. Their fear had spiked dramatically when a servant made an offhand remark about their daughter.

That had piqued his interest—and led him to investigate the child.

At first, there seemed to be nothing extraordinary about the baby. But after a closer examination, Vader discovered she was a hidden supernova in the Force. The idea that the Organas had, by chance, adopted a child with such potential was beyond improbable. A DNA test confirmed what the Force had already told him: the child was his.

His master had been pleased by the discovery—too pleased for Vader’s liking, especially after the girl’s M-count revealed a value close to his own. There had been arguments. Vader insisted on keeping the child with him as much as possible. His master relented only after Vader swore that Leia’s presence would not interfere with his duties to the Empire or to his master.

Her training became another source of contention. The Emperor wanted her trained as early as possible, much like he had once raised Darth Maul. Vader resisted. In the end, they compromised: Leia would learn basic Force techniques, but she would not be introduced to the deeper ways of the Sith until her teenage years.

As for Bail Organa, Vader had wanted nothing more than to bring death and destruction upon the royal house of Alderaan for stealing his child. But his master forbade such action. The Empire was still consolidating its power, and an attack on Alderaan would only complicate matters—as would the killing of a senator as prominent and publicly supportive as Bail Organa. It would raise far too many questions.

Organa had claimed that Obi-Wan told him Vader had died on the banks of Mustafar, and that taking Leia in had been his way of honoring Padmé. That explanation had somewhat calmed Vader’s fury—but not entirely. If Organa had truly wished to honor Padmé, he would have left Leia with her mother’s family, not taken her for himself.

Yet after Vader forged a bond with the girl through the Force, she had grown calmer in his presence. In recent days, she had even fallen asleep in his lap. Soon, the Organas would not even be a faint memory in her young mind.

The first months of fatherhood had been overwhelming—for them both. Fatherhood was not a concept typically associated with the dark side, and Sidious had made it clear that Vader’s service to the Empire came before everything else. But feeling Leia’s presence in the Force, Vader knew he would rather face the fires of Mustafar again than give her up. She was the child he had once sensed—what now felt like a lifetime ago—kicking in her mother’s womb.

Her mother. Padmé.

For a year, Vader had been tormented by her memory, haunted by the belief that he had killed her. But Bail Organa had shared the truth: Padmé had lived for almost an entire day after their fateful meeting on Mustafar. She had died after giving birth to Leia, just as he had seen in his visions. Her body had been returned to Naboo, while Leia had been left in the care of the Organas.

When Vader asked about Obi-Wan, Organa had been reluctant to answer. But under pressure, he admitted that both Obi-Wan and Yoda had gone into hiding. Yoda had revealed their location to no one—not even Organa.

He studied his daughter. In her face, he saw pieces of Anakin—but also echoes of Padmé, his beloved wife, and even Shmi, his mother. These were the women who should have raised Leia, if not for the weakness of Anakin Skywalker. But Skywalker had been a fool, unworthy of the shining jewel that was the girl now sleeping softly in her small bed.

Darth Vader was a different man: a creature of darkness and rage, but also of strength. He would never fail her as Anakin had failed her mother and grandmother. Yet even he knew a small child needed more than rage and strength. Anakin Skywalker might have been a fool—but he had been a loving fool, and would have cared for the girl with all his heart.

Vader’s heart had turned to ash and ember on Mustafar. But perhaps a ghost of it could be rekindled—for Leia. Only for her. Some small spark of Anakin Skywalker could remain, for his daughter’s sake.

His thoughts turned to the Empire he now helped build, and to the Republic Anakin had once served. Anakin had clung to hope—like Padmé—that the Republic could be saved. She had believed in its ideals, even through its corruption. Vader had fought for it during the Clone Wars, but not for ideals. He had fought for the people he loved.

He did not love the Empire. He had served his master’s will, focused his pain, and let his fury give him purpose. But there had been no passion in it. Now, with Leia, there might finally be meaning.

The Empire could become an inheritance worthy of his daughter. He would make it so. One day, Leia would be the empress her mother should have been—the heir to both a new future and a buried past

Chapter Text

The meeting was a waste of time.

The officer standing before him—stammering through excuses about a recent insurgency on a former Separatist world—was not only a fool, but an increasingly incompetent one. Vader could sense it. The entire performance was a drawn-out apology disguised as strategy.

He would deal with the man later.

For now, his attention shifted to the small presence beneath the conference table.

Leia was playing quietly with her dolls, her voice a faint murmur beneath the low buzz of conversation. The four-year-old had adapted quickly to life aboard the Devastator. The new Imperial-class Star Destroyer had been assigned to him only months ago—over forty thousand personnel, state-of-the-art systems, and built to enforce the will of the Empire. A weapon of order and power.

Leia had accompanied him for the past few days, along with her nanny droid. He had not intended to make a habit of bringing her to strategic meetings, but she had insisted. And considering how well she had behaved when introduced to his senior officers, Vader had indulged her.

She was clever—precocious in ways that reminded him of Padmé, though she had her own fire. She had summarized his expectations with surprising clarity:

Be good. Do as you say. Don’t interrupt when you talk with someone. Don’t pull your cape. Always call you Father. Not Dad. Dad is only for private.

Underneath the table, she was now staging a battle between her dolls.

“Space, do something!” Leia whispered. “The insurgents are everywhere!”

Vader resisted the urge to sigh. He should have pushed the newly formed Imperial Censorship Board to outlaw that Tooka Troop holoshow the moment she discovered it. If he ever encountered its creator, he would personally see to it that the man was choked—or better, tied to a chair and made to endure his own saccharine nightmare of endless singing tookas until his sanity shattered.

He doubted anyone would survive such torment.

A voice from the officer at the head of the table dragged Vader’s attention back. A single careless phrase—one slip, one confirmation that key technology had been lost to the insurgents—turned the man from a fool into a liability.

The rest of the room must have noticed it as well, because the atmosphere shifted instantly—from boredom to dread.

The dark side stirred in response, purring like a beast awakened. Rage coiled beneath his ribs, eager to be unleashed.

Vader’s fingers twitched, already reaching through the Force to silence the man—to make an example of him. But before he could act, a small cry from beneath the table interrupted him.

Leia.

He paused.

Then, slowly, Vader turned his gaze to one of the younger officers at the far end of the room—a man who had shown promise recently.

“Lieutenant Piett.”

The officer stiffened. “My lord?”

“It is getting late. Please escort my daughter to the officers’ lounge. Ensure she is fed.”

Relief flooded the young man’s face. “At once, my lord.”

Piett stepped forward and knelt beside the table, peering underneath. “Miss Leia? Did you hear your father? It’s time for dinner.”

Leia crawled out from her hiding spot, clutching a bundle of Tooka Troop dolls in her arms. Her yellow dress was wrinkled and slightly smudged, in stark contrast to the crisp uniforms and polished boots of the room. Her nanny droid had tried to convince her to wear something more formal that morning. Leia had refused.

“Okay,” she said brightly, handing her dolls to Piett. “But hold my tookas.”

“Yes, miss,” Piett said solemnly, accepting the dolls with both hands as if they were royal artifacts.

As the pair moved toward the exit, Leia glanced up at him. “Lieutenant Piett, do you like the Tooka Troop?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about them, Miss Leia.”

Leia gasped. “You don’t? That’s terrible! It’s okay—I’ll explain everything.”

The doors were already closing behind them as Leia launched into her lecture, Piett listening as if she were delivering the latest troop deployment plan.

“There are five tookas. Space is the best, and she’s a girl. Then there’s Rocket—he’s really fast, and—”

The doors sealed with a quiet hiss.

The shift in the room was immediate. The temperature seemed to drop. The gentle murmur of a child’s voice gave way to the rhythmic rasp of mechanical breathing. Vader turned back to the officers.

The silence held for a long, terrible moment.

Every man in the room looked like he would rather sit through a five-hour Tooka Troop lecture than be where he was now.

Then Vader raised his hand.

“Such incompetence cannot be tolerated,” he said flatly.

The Force surged.

The man’s throat clenched under the invisible grip. He clawed at his collar, struggling for air, and crumpled to the floor. The others stood frozen—still and silent as statues.

The only sound remaining was the mechanical rasp of Vader’s breath.

————————

“Would you like some more food, miss?” Piett asked gently.

Leia looked up from her seat in the officers’ lounge and shook her head. “No, I’m okay.”

She had already eaten most of the noodles on her plate—long, wiggly ones with a strange green sauce that tasted like salty flowers.

So far, she liked it a lot on her father’s ship. Traveling through space was exciting, and everyone was nice to her. Some people seemed scared of something, but Leia hadn’t quite figured out what. She had heard some murmurs as Piett got her food—people calling her the little princess or Tiny Empress.

She didn’t mind, though she would probably tell them she wasn’t an empress. The Emperor was that wrinkled old man her father worked for.

She smiled and leaned her head on her hand, watching the stars streak past through the viewport. They were small and shiny, but there were so many of them. Like an endless sea against the dark. She would have to ask her father how many there were. Maybe one day she could visit them all.

Yes. She liked it here.

And she decided she liked Lieutenant Piett too. He had been nice—helping her get food and dessert, answering her questions about the ship. And he agreed that Space was the best tooka. Invisibility powers were much cooler than super speed, after all.

“Can I see the engines tomorrow?” she asked.

Piett hesitated. “I’ll have to check with your father, miss.”

Leia wrinkled her nose. That usually meant no. Or “maybe later,” which also meant no.

Across the lounge, a pair of officers passed by. One of them slowed, gave a small bow and a stiff salute, and kept walking. Leia waved back, grinning. She liked when they did that. It was like a game—like they were treating her like an adult.

“Why do they do that?” she asked, pointing after them.

“They’re… showing respect,” Piett said carefully.

“Oh.” She nodded, then frowned. “But I didn’t do anything.”

“You’re the daughter of Lord Vader.”

Leia considered that. Then she sat up a little straighter in her seat and said, very seriously, “Yes. I am.”

Suddenly, there was a small surge, and the view outside the viewport shifted—from the sea of stars to swirling blue.

“We’re going to hyperspace!” Leia exclaimed, pressing her hands to the glass.

————————

The death was swift.

The silence that followed was dense, suffocating. Vader did not speak. He didn’t need to. The remaining officers stayed frozen, each man mentally calculating how close he had come to sharing the captain’s fate.

A lesson well received.

After a moment, the meeting resumed. Droids came for the body. No one commented. The matter was resolved.

Another hour passed, spent reviewing strategy and debating how to mitigate the loss of prototype technology. Then Vader left the room to find his daughter. He could feel her presence in the Force—bright as a star among candles, radiant with excitement.

When he entered the officers’ lounge, the atmosphere shifted instantly. Conversation died mid-sentence. Chairs scraped back. Officers stood. A few froze mid-step, as if uncertain whether to salute, speak, or simply vanish into the deck plating.

Only one person in the room remained entirely unaffected.

“Father!” Leia called brightly from her seat by the viewport, beaming. “Guess what—I taught Lieutenant Piett everything about the Tooka Troop!”

She hopped down from her chair and trotted over, her yellow dress swaying with each step. She stopped a few paces short and held up a plush toy.

“Look! I gave Space a cape, just like yours. She’s the leader. She saved the galaxy twice.”

Vader took the doll, regarding it in silence. A stuffed tooka, stitched in soft pastels—now bearing a wrinkled red napkin tied like a cape. In another life, it might have been absurd. It probably looked absurd. But the crew understood what was best for them and did their utmost to focus on anything else.

With slow, deliberate care, Vader placed the doll beside her plate.

“I recall,” he said.

“I told you she’s the best,” Leia nodded sagely, then grabbed his glove. “You promised to show me the bridge today. You said I could see how the ship flies!”

Vader hesitated—not out of reluctance, but calculation. Her presence on the bridge would be distracting, but manageable.

“Very well.”

Leia clapped and skipped ahead, leaving Piett looking slightly pale but still alive. Vader gave the lieutenant a small nod—an unspoken approval.

The man had survived a full day of Tooka Troop education and returned Leia unharmed.

That counted for something.

————————

The bridge fell into silence as soon as Vader stepped inside.

Leia, by contrast, gasped in delight. “It’s huge!” she whispered, running across the walkway toward the viewport. “Are we going fast? It looks like we’re going so fast! We’re in hyperspace!”

“Yes, we are,” Vader said, coming to stand beside her. “And hyperspace lanes are as much about traversing alternate dimensions as they are about speed.”

The lesson about space travel seemed to pass Leia by as she pressed both hands to the transparisteel. “I want to fly it someday.”

No one laughed. Not one officer moved. Across the bridge, several glanced sideways at each other but kept their heads down. Leia’s presence stirred a strange mix of tension and curiosity among the staff. Everyone was highly aware—and at the same time doing their utmost to ignore—the four-year-old in their midst.

A comms officer finally stepped forward, clearing his throat. “My lord. A report from Sector K-12. Several suspected insurgents were captured near the old CIS scrapyards on Ord Talod. They’re being held for interrogation.”

Vader took the datapad and studied it in silence.

“Send them to ISB,” he said. “Begin extraction immediately.”

Leia turned toward him, brow furrowed. “Father? What’s… interrogation?”

A strange silence settled over the bridge at her question.

Vader glanced down at her, and for a moment—barely a moment—he hesitated. The word meant pain. Pressure. Silence. Screams. He had heard them often. Caused them more.

To Leia, the word was still clean. Still soft.

“It means,” he said slowly, “to ask someone questions.”

Leia nodded, apparently satisfied. “Like when I asked you why Tooka Rocket never has his helmet on, and you said he was careless?”

“Exactly.”

She grinned.

The tension on the bridge didn’t vanish—but it shifted. Coiled. Waited.

Vader said nothing more. The explanation sufficed—for now.

She would learn the rest in time, when she was older, stronger, and ready to understand what it meant to lead.

What it meant to keep peace in a galaxy that only understood fear.

Leia leaned against the railing beside him, pointing to the blinking lights on one of the consoles in the pits. “Is that button for going even faster?”

“No,” Vader replied. “That is the communications array.”

“Oh. So we can send messages and stuff?”

A junior officer at the communications console caught her waving and turned slightly, offering a polite nod. She smiled brightly. He gave a weak smile in return.

She moved along the walkway, watching the staff working at various consoles. “Everyone looks so serious,” she whispered. “But why are they sitting down there and not up here?”

“The pits are designed to give the commanding officer a good overview of the ship’s operations. It makes command more efficient. It also reinforces the rank hierarchy within the crew.”

Leia frowned, as she always did when he said something she couldn’t quite grasp. It didn’t matter. She would understand in time.

To her, it was all adventure. A ship. A game. The stars.

To him, it was war. Discipline. Obedience. Control.

To the galaxy, it was order. Peace. A new age.

She saw only the stars.

He saw everything else.

————————

Leia’s quarters were modest compared to her room in the Imperial Palace on Coruscant, but still more decorated than any other room on the Devastator. The nanny droid had finally coaxed her into her nightclothes—after a drawn-out negotiation over whether the Tooka Troop needed to sleep with her (they did)—and now she was tucked beneath dark navy covers, her dolls lined up like soldiers along the edge of her bunk.

Vader stood in the doorway, his silhouette filling the space, watching his daughter settle in.

Leia yawned and stretched, her eyes blinking sleepily. “Are you staying for the story?”

“I will remain for a moment,” he said.

She shifted, propping her head on her hand. “Okay.”

There was a beat of silence.

Vader’s voice, when it came, was quiet. “What did you think of today?”

Leia lit up. “I loved it! The bridge was amazing, and Piett is nice, and everyone on the ship is really kind—even if they seem a bit silent sometimes. But I like it. I want a ship like this someday.”

Vader’s mask tilted slightly. “You do?”

“Mm-hmm.” She cuddled Space close. “When I grow up, I’m going to have a Star Destroyer too. Maybe an even bigger one. With my own bridge. And officers who listen when I talk.”

A long pause.

Vader watched her, her small form already softening into sleep. A command ship. Her own fleet. For most children, it would be a fantasy.

For Leia, it was only a matter of time.

She would have it. The bridge. The power. The throne.

One day, she would command not just a ship, but legions. A galaxy.

Vader reached out through the Force, brushing against her presence—so bright, so unscarred. For a moment, he allowed the warm, soft feeling it sparked in his chest to linger. A small indulgence.

Then the dark side pushed it aside, swift and possessive, like a door slammed shut.

He stepped back into the corridor without a sound.

The only sound left in the room was the faint hum of the Devastator’s engines, and Leia’s whispered, drowsy voice:

“Goodnight, Dad. Love you.”

Chapter Text

The kitchen of a beautiful villa in Theed smelled of freshly baked cookies, and a small breeze from an open window carried in the scent of flowers.

Six-year-old Leia sat at a sunlit table, her feet swinging above the tiled floor. It was a simple room—sunlight slanted through half-open windows, painting soft gold across the stone tiles. Everything felt warm. Soft. Quiet.

She held a half-eaten cookie in one hand and a glass of pale yellow lemonade in the other. A basket of more cookies sat beside her, along with a small holoprojector.

Her grandfather was seated next to her, showing her old holos.

“And this one,” he said, tapping a holo with his knuckle, “is your mother on her first day of school. She was very serious about it. Carried that bag everywhere for weeks.”

The holo showed a brown-haired girl about Leia’s age, with soft curls and a wide smile, clutching a backpack.

Leia giggled. “She looks just like me! But she had curlier hair.”

“Yes,” her grandfather said, looking at her fondly. “But you have her smile. And you’re just as pretty.”

Leia studied the image more closely. The girl—her mother—stood with her hands neatly folded in front of her, shoes polished, expression determined.

“She looks like she was trying to impress someone,” Leia said.

Her grandfather chuckled. “Your mother always tried to impress someone. Usually herself.”

Leia leaned in closer. “Was she good at school?”

“She was,” her grandmother called from the counter, where she was preparing dinner. “Very good. Always curious. Always asking questions.”

“I’m starting school soon,” Leia said proudly. “At the Imperial Youth Academy on Coruscant. They sent us a list of all the books. I already started reading the history one. My nanny droid taught me to read.”

Her grandparents exchanged a glance.

“That’s wonderful,” her grandfather said gently. “Your mother started reading early too.”

Leia’s eyes lit up. “Really? What else did she like to read?”

There was a pause.

“She… liked reading about many things,” her grandmother said carefully, setting down the pitcher of lemonade. “She was very interested in people. Even as a child, she wanted to help others. She always wanted to make the galaxy better.”

Leia frowned. “You mean, like how to rule? Aunt Sola said she was a queen.”

Her grandfather pressed a button, and a new holo appeared—Mother standing next to an older girl who had to be Aunt Sola.

“Yes, she was,” he said with a small smile. “At fourteen she was elected queen. But even before that, she was always thinking about how to help. It wasn’t about ruling. It was about doing the right thing.”

Leia chewed thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll help people too. After I graduate.”

Her grandmother smoothed Leia’s hair back and kissed the top of her head. “I think your mother would’ve liked that very much.”

Leia took another bite of her cookie. “Did she like the Emperor?”

A beat of silence.

“She served in the Senate when he was Chancellor,” her grandfather said slowly. “And he was a senator when she was queen. So… they knew each other.”

Leia nodded. “Because the Emperor told me she was a dear friend. He said she supported him during the war.”

Her grandfather quietly changed the holo again, showing another picture of Mother—this time slightly older, with Aunt Sola in a garden.

“She believed in public service,” he said. “In doing what was right. Even when it was hard.”

Leia nodded again. This time she pressed the button herself, eager for the next picture.

————————

The knock came just as Leia was finishing her dinner.

It was a polite knock—measured, familiar—but something shifted in the room.

Her grandmother rose first, smoothing her skirt. Her grandfather gave Leia’s hand a gentle squeeze before getting up with a quiet sigh. She heard the door open.

“Governor Panaka,” her grandmother said. The words were polite, but Leia thought her voice sounded a bit stiff.

Footsteps followed, then Panaka stepped into view with a crisp nod. His uniform was pristine, without a single wrinkle, and a datapad rested neatly under one arm. He smiled when he saw her.

“I hope I’m not interrupting, my lady,” he said, giving her a small bow.

Leia shook her head.

“I just finished eating,” she said brightly, then added, “We looked at pictures of my mom today—when she started school.”

Panaka’s smile was warm but reserved. “I hope you found them interesting.”

“They were great! She was really pretty. And smart. I look a lot like her.”

“That you do,” he said, stepping fully into the room. “But I’m afraid it’s nearly time to return. Your father and the Devastator will be waiting in orbit.”

Leia’s face fell just a little. “Already?”

“You’ll see your grandparents again soon,” he assured her. Then, more softly, “Your father was generous to grant such a long visit.”

Her grandmother’s hand came to rest on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

Panaka crouched slightly so he was closer to Leia’s height. “Would you like to say goodbye properly? I’ll wait in the hall.”

Leia nodded and turned to her grandparents, hugging them both tightly and kissing their cheeks. Her grandfather held her close for a moment longer than usual.

“Remember,” he murmured, “always ask questions.”

“Even at the Academy?”

“Especially there.”

Her grandmother gave her one last hug.

“And remember that we love you very much, Leia,” she whispered, her voice tight.

“I will,” Leia promised. “And thank you for the backpack. I’ll wear it on Coruscant.”

Panaka appeared in the doorway, giving a soft cough as a signal. Leia quickly grabbed the new backpack her grandfather had given her—it even looked similar to the one Mother had worn—and her small travel bag, then ran to join him.

As they walked toward the vehicle, Panaka commented in a light tone, “You’ve grown taller.”

Leia grinned. “And smarter. I already read two chapters of my history book.”

“Excellent. You’ll be ahead of your class.”

“Do you think my mother would have liked the Academy?” Leia asked, looking up at him expectantly.

Panaka didn’t answer right away. He looked out across the yard, as if studying something far away.

“I think she would have wanted you to succeed,” he said at last. “Just as your father does.”

Leia nodded slowly, accepting the answer. She turned to look out the window as they got seated in the speeder.

The sleek vehicle skimmed over Naboo’s winding roads. Beautiful stone houses and flowery gardens blurred by in shades of green and gold. It was all so different from Coruscant, with its tall buildings and lack of greenery. And so different from the Devastator, with its soldiers and polished floors.

They rode in silence for a while before Panaka spoke again.

“Did you enjoy your visit?”

Leia nodded. “Very much. Yesterday we visited the lake. My cousin tried to teach me how to swim. Today Grandma made berry cookies, and I helped with the dough. And Grandpa showed me pictures of my mother when she was my age.”

“That must have been nice.”

“It was. She liked school—even though the uniforms looked boring.”

Panaka chuckled. “Most school uniforms are.”

Leia hesitated. “They said she liked helping people.”

“That sounds like her. Did they say anything else?”

Leia thought. “Just that she was brave and won awards.”

“I see.” A pause. “And nothing else?”

She looked at him, puzzled. “No… just about her friends. And how she got a star for oratory. What’s oratory?”

“Speechmaking,” Panaka said. “Important for senators. You’ll study it too, one day.”

Leia nodded and turned back to the window. “They said she knew the Emperor back when she was Queen. Back when he was a senator.”

“That’s true,” Panaka said. “I guarded her then. Did they say anything else about the Emperor?”

Leia shrugged. “Only that they worked together.”

The speeder crested a hill, and a landing pad came into view.

The shuttle, with its large white wings folded upward and gleaming beneath the sun, looked jarring after the softness and elegance of Naboo, flanked by stormtroopers in crisp armor. A officer waited nearby, posture stiff with formality.

Leia sighed. “Back to the ship.”

“You don’t sound thrilled,” Panaka said.

“I like the Devastator,” she replied, “but I also like cookies and lemon drink.”

He smiled faintly. “Few command ships serve lemonade, I’m afraid.”

The speeder slowed to a stop. A trooper stepped forward and opened the door.

Panaka stepped out first and offered Leia his hand. She took it, jumping down with practiced ease.

As they approached the shuttle, the officer snapped to attention. “Governor. Lady Leia.”

“She is ready to depart,” Panaka said.

Leia gave a polite nod—formal, proper, just as her father had taught her. She paused at the base of the ramp and turned.

“Thank you for the visit,” she said. “Tell them I liked the cookies best.”

Panaka gave her a nod and a smile. “I will. Until next time, my lady.”

Leia climbed the ramp, waved a final goodbye to Panaka, and disappeared into the shuttle—leaving Naboo, homemade cookies, and lemonade behind.

————————

A short flight later, the shuttle touched down with practiced precision, its landing gear hissing against the polished durasteel of the Devastator’s main hangar. Within moments, the ramp extended.

Leia descended with her usual grace. Her soft, light blue Naboo dress still carried the faint scent of garden flowers. A colorful travel bag and her newly gifted backpack were slung over her small shoulders, standing out brightly against the stark black-and-white backdrop of the Imperial starship.

The warm breezes and sun-drenched air of Theed had been replaced by the cool, recycled precision of spaceflight.

A junior officer stood waiting at the base of the ramp. He was crisp in his posture, careful in his bearing—not much older than the ensigns who normally scrambled to stay clear of her father’s path.

He saluted the moment she appeared.

Leia returned the salute with eager precision, her small hand slicing through the air with the form she’d practiced in front of a mirror.

“Permission to come aboard?” she asked, beaming.

The officer blinked—just once—then recovered quickly.

“Granted, Lady Leia. Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” she said brightly, offering him a wide smile.

He gestured for her to walk beside him. “Lord Vader is expecting you. I’ll escort you to him.”

Leia fell into step with him easily, her short legs moving briskly to match his stride. Officers and troopers passed them in the corridor. Most offered nods or salutes—especially those whose names she knew. A few simply looked away, as if still unsure how to act around her.

Leia pretended not to notice. She walked with her head held high, hands clasped behind her back the way her father sometimes stood on the bridge. She belonged here. Father had told her so many times.

The officer glanced down as they walked. “Good trip, my lady?”

“It was very nice. Everything is very beautiful there,” she said. Many of the crew knew she visited Naboo from time to time, but Father had told her to keep her grandparents a secret. Things like that could cause “unwanted questions” and create danger for Grandma and Grandpa. Leia didn’t want that. She would tell Father everything soon enough.

The officer gave a small, polite smile. “Sounds restful. I’ve never been, but I’ve heard Theed is lovely.”

Leia nodded. “It is. But I missed the stars. And the engines. And the sound the ship makes when it moves through hyperspace.”

He glanced at her again, then smiled. “You really do like it here.”

Leia nodded firmly. “It’s home. One of them, anyway.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Did you know the Emperor is from Naboo?”

They turned a corner and stepped into a lift.

“I did know,” the officer said, pressing the button for the correct level.

Leia wrinkled her nose. “But he really doesn’t dress the part. Why did he stop wearing nice clothes just because he became Emperor?”

The officer gave a low chuckle. “Well… I think you’re in a better position to ask him than I am, miss.”

Leia looked up at him, mentally adding him to her list of people she kind of liked.

“If he tells me,” she whispered conspiratorially, “I’ll tell you.”

She flashed him a secretive grin.

A few twists and corridors later, they arrived at her father’s quarters. The officer came to a stop and offered a final salute. Leia returned it promptly.

Once alone, she pressed the door control. It opened with a quiet hiss.

Inside, the chamber was sparse. Her father’s hyperbaric pod sat in one corner, its shell half-open—he wasn’t inside. Otherwise, the room was nearly empty: a desk, a few datapads, a console, a heavy armchair usually only used by her. Father always said decoration was excessive. The only indulgence he permitted was the window—long panes of transparisteel that currently displayed the shifting blue tunnels of hyperspace.

Leia looked around, then noticed the sealed door to Father’s private communications chamber. She tilted her head. She could sense something. Not in the way her father did, but still—something cold and familiar. It pricked at her skin like ice wrapped in silk. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did: her father was inside.

Suddenly, the door slid open.

“Leia,” came her father’s voice, mechanical and deep. “Please enter.”

She stepped inside, her shoes clicking softly on the polished floor.

The room was dim, lit only by the flickering blue light of a holoprojector. A towering, hooded figure stood at its center—his face veiled in static.

Her father knelt before him. But when Leia entered, he rose and stepped to her side, resting a gloved hand on her shoulder.

Leia bowed low. “Your Majesty.”

The hologram shifted. Emperor Palpatine smiled.

“Ah. There she is. The Jewel of the Empire herself.”

Leia smiled back. “Hello, Your Majesty.”

“Always so polite,” he said, his voice warm—yet sharp beneath the surface. “Your father has raised you well. Come closer, child.”

Leia stepped forward without hesitation. Father remained beside her, his hand steady on her shoulder.

“I trust your visit to our shared homeworld was enjoyable?” the Emperor asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Leia replied, recalling the hours of etiquette drilled into her by nanny droids. “It was very nice. My grandparents showed me holos of my mother. When she was starting school.”

“Ah, yes.” Palpatine’s smile widened, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Your mother was a gifted student. One of the brightest children I ever knew.”

Leia beamed at the praise.

“But I hear you’re to begin your own education at the Imperial Youth Academy quite soon. Are you excited?” the Emperor continued.

“Yes.” Leia brightened further. “Father bought me all the books. I’ve already started reading some of them.”

“Excellent,” Palpatine said, chuckling softly. “Knowledge is the foundation of strength. And I have no doubt you’ll surpass your peers with ease. You’ve always shown such… promise.”

“Leia will perform to the highest standard,” Father said.

“I expect nothing less.” The Emperor’s tone didn’t shift, but something tightened beneath it. “Of course… should a child of your station underperform…” He made a vague, elegant gesture. “That would raise… troubling questions.”

Leia blinked. “I’m going to be top of the class,” she said with quiet conviction. Her mother had excelled—so would she.

Palpatine’s expression softened again, though his eyes gleamed with a sharper glint.

“Spoken like a true Imperial leader. Remember, young Leia—your performance reflects upon the Empire. And the Empire must always appear strong, or its enemies will seek to destroy the peace your father works so hard to build.”

Leia nodded slowly. She didn’t fully understand, but she felt the weight in his words.

Palpatine turned toward Father.

“She will be watched closely,” he said. “Not just by her instructors. By all who wish to glimpse the future of the Empire.”

Father inclined his head. “She will be ready.”

“I trust you will ensure it.”

And then, as if the tension had never surfaced, Palpatine’s tone lightened.

“I do hope your father returns you to Coruscant soon, my dear. Observation of power is just as valuable as study.”

Leia nodded. “We’ll return in a couple of weeks.”

“Good,” the Emperor said, his smile lingering. “I look forward to hearing all about your first days.”

The hologram flickered—and vanished.

The chamber dimmed. Leia looked up at her father, then turned toward the now-empty space where the Emperor had stood.

She tilted her head. “Father?” she asked. “What did he mean by ‘watched closely’?”

There was a pause. The hiss of Father’s respirator filled the silence.

At last, he answered, “It means your success matters.”

Leia nodded again, her small brow furrowed in thought.

She didn’t fully understand. But she understood enough. Her small hand curled into a fist at her side. She had to be the best.

—————————

The holocall had long since ended. The lights were low in Father’s quarters, the room quiet except for the sound of his respirator and the hum of machinery.

Leia sat curled in the corner of the heavy armchair, a holobook resting in her lap. She was reading—getting faster, learning more words. Her nanny droid said she was making good progress.

Across from her, Father stood near the viewport, silent, his back to her. Stars streaked past outside.

Leia broke the silence first.

“I saw pictures of Mother today,” she said softly.

Father turned slightly—just enough to show he was listening.

“Grandpa showed me some old ones. When she was little. In school. And later, when she was older and joined the… what did he call it? Youth something.”

“Youth Legislative Program,” Father supplied.

Leia nodded. “Yes, that was it. He said she cared a lot about people. That she was very… brave.”

A pause.

“Yes, she was,” Father said finally.

“Do you think I’ll be like her?”

Father was still for a moment. Then he stepped forward and knelt—slowly—to meet her at eye level.

She always found it strange when he did that. He so rarely made himself small. It made the moment feel… special.

She looked into the red lenses and tried to find his eyes behind them.

“You are already like her,” he said. “You have her fire. Her will. Her voice.”

Leia’s brow furrowed. “But she was really good at everything. Grandpa said she was top of her class, even when she was young.”

“You will be better,” Father said, his voice low and certain. “Your mother was taken from us too early. But you will be everything she was—and more. She would be so proud of you.”

Leia looked down at her lap, trying not to smile too much—but her cheeks still flushed.

“Then I’ll try my best,” she whispered.

Father rose slowly to his full height again, but the room felt smaller now. Closer.

Leia stayed still, staring out at the stars. And slowly, a quiet thought began to form:

If I’m perfect, Mother would be proud of me. If I’m perfect, everyone will be.

She looked out at the stars, thinking about her first day of school. She thought about the other children. She hoped they would be nice. Leia rarely met other children—only her cousins, and they were so big. Teenagers.

Officers, soldiers, people at court—they were always polite. Always careful. But they never laughed. Never shared secrets. Never played. Maybe, just maybe, that would change with school.

Three days later

Vader stood near the viewport in his quarters, the stars crawling slowly past beyond the transparisteel.

Leia had changed into her nightclothes and now sat curled on the couch, still buzzing with the glow of her first school day. She had attended via holo; she would continue to do so while aboard the Devastator. It caused no problems, since military ships ran on Coruscant time. On Coruscant, however, she would be able to attend class with the other children.

“It was fun,” she said, legs swinging. “The other children were nice. And my nanny droid didn’t make me sit too far from the projector.”

Vader nodded. “Good.”

“There was this weird girl, though,” Leia continued. “She wasn’t really there—she was on holo as well. Calling in from some research platform.”

Vader turned slightly at that. “A girl?”

Leia nodded. “They made everyone say something about themselves. Like, ‘I’m Kara and I like speeders,’ or ‘I’m Tim and I’m a tooka lover.’ But when it was her turn, she said…” Leia wrinkled her brow, mimicking the girl’s voice. “‘I’m Aria, and I’m a nuisance.’”

There was a beat of silence.

“She said it like it was normal,” Leia added softly. “Everyone laughed.”

Vader’s face was steady behind the mask, but his tone shifted—just a hair. “Did she look afraid?”

Leia frowned, thinking. “No. Just… small.”

Another pause. Then Vader spoke again, calm but final. “You will also attend by holo while aboard the Devastator. Your instructors have been informed.”

Leia nodded, her thoughts already drifting back to the strange girl on the screen. “Do you think she meant it?”

“What she said?”

Leia looked up. “That she’s a nuisance?”

Vader did not answer at once. The silence stretched, heavy and deep.

Then, quietly: “Children sometimes repeat what others have told them.”

Leia tilted her head. “That’s mean.”

“Yes,” Vader said. “It is.”

Leia leaned back, hugging her knees. Her voice was small now. “She didn’t have any tookas.”

“No,” Vader said. “I don’t imagine she did.”

Chapter Text

They were traveling through hyperspace in a smaller vessel Vader had selected for their trip. Leia sat in the co-pilot’s seat, arms folded, her presence radiating a mix of irritation, sullenness, and some hidden excitement.

He had been away for quite some time while the fortress was being constructed. Leia had been frustrated.

Several reports had arrived in his absence—missed assignments, one or two sharp comments to instructors, and an unfortunate incident involving a holoprojector and a history quiz she hadn’t studied for. Her teachers had sent carefully worded inquiries, asking whether they were permitted to discipline her.

The nanny droid had filed a full behavioral log: eight minor infractions and one broken holoprojector.

In the end, he had authorized two formal detentions. Her nanny droids had also ensured she spent two full evenings copying passages from the Imperial Courtly Protocol Handbook, and she was denied holo access for three nights.

He should probably address these instances of failed expectations before they reached Mustafar.

“I received reports of your conduct,” Vader said, turning slightly toward his daughter.

Leia gave a one-shouldered shrug. “You were gone.”

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the steady thrum of the engines.

“Are you angry with me?” he asked.

Leia hesitated, then nodded. “A little. Or I was. Then I got angry at ThreeVee for making me do lines.” She kicked the base of her seat gently.

“Sometimes my duties to the Empire will call me away for extended periods, Leia,” he said. “While I am gone, I need to be able to trust that you remain dutiful and cause no problems with your instructors. More importantly, you are close to power, Leia, and your actions reflect not only on me, but on the Emperor, and the Empire as a whole.”

Leia looked down. “I know,” she whispered. “I just….” Her voice trailed off.

“But I also need you to trust that I do not leave you easily,” Vader continued. “When I do, it is either in service of the Empire—or for us, and your future.”

She glanced up at him sideways. “And what was it this time?” she asked. Her voice was still a bit sullen, but she was slowly easing up.

Vader turned to the viewport, watching the swirling blue and white light of hyperspace. He remembered the failed attempts, the dark rituals, the prototypes, the gateway that was meant to undo death itself. A fool’s errand—he saw that now. But for a time, he had believed he might tear open reality and bring Padmé back. Restore what the galaxy had stolen from him. From them.

Finally, he spoke.

“I had hoped this one would be for us. And I had hoped to have a surprise for you once it was finished.”

Leia perked up. “What kind of surprise?”

“It is of no consequence now. But it will still be for us—just in a different way.”

Leia peeked at him from the corner of her eye, curiosity creeping in despite herself.

“So… are we there yet?” she asked, her voice taking on a more curious tone. “ThreeVee said something about a castle.”

“It is a fortress,” Vader corrected. “Built on a planet given to us by the Emperor.”

Leia seemed ready with more questions, but then a soft chime sounded—the advance warning that they were about to drop out of hyperspace. The tunnel collapsed into a starfield. The scorched orb of Mustafar waited, smoldering in a sea of stars.

Leia wrinkled her nose. “Why did the Emperor give you such an ugly planet? You said it was a gift.”

“I requested it,” Vader replied.

“Why?”

“It will serve its purpose.”

“How?”

“It is built atop a powerful Force locus.”

Leia tilted her head. “What’s so good about that?”

“It strengthens my connection to the dark side.”

“Why do you want that?”

“To destroy the enemies of the Empire.”

“Why are there enemies?”

Vader made a sound that wasn’t quite a sigh—more a static rasp, filtered through the vocoder.

Some days, there was no end to his daughter’s questions. But at least she had dropped her sullenness. Her presence now shimmered with curiosity. She was a bright child, though he sometimes had to remind himself she was only seven.

“No more questions for now. We are entering the atmosphere.”

He adjusted the shuttle’s course and activated the heat shields. Outside, fire licked across the hull as they pierced the atmosphere. Leia leaned forward, pressing her face to the viewport as the world below came into view—lava rivers snaking across black stone, smoke rising in slow, oily spirals.

Leia frowned. “Where’s the castle?”

Vader shifted their heading to give her a clearer view. The fortress stood where two lava rivers converged into a single molten torrent, rising above them like an imposing obsidian fang—its towers shaped like a tuning fork, black as the landscape around it. It loomed over the glowing flow, lit from below by the fiery veins of Mustafar.

Leia squinted. “Weird… but kind of cool, I guess.”

Behind the mask, Vader’s lips twitched. He wondered, briefly, what Momin would have thought of such a description.

“But can we paint it another color?” Leia asked.

“It is as it should be,” he said. “But your room has been prepared. You may decorate it however you like.”

She brightened at that.

The shuttle passed through the fortress’s red magnetic shielding and settled in the hangar with a soft hiss of hydraulics. The ramp lowered, revealing a platform of black stone.

Leia stood up from the co-pilot’s seat, her earlier sullenness all but gone. Her light blue tunic and colorful backpack, a stark contrast to the dark interior of the ship. Her long braid swung behind her as she ran toward the ramp. Rising to his feet, he followed her—it was time for Leia to be introduced to his domain.

They descended together, side by side.

Waiting at the bottom stood an elderly man with deep-set eyes, robed in black, his skin pale and drawn.

“Leia,” Vader said as they approached, “this is Vaneé, the steward of the fortress. He is sworn to my service—and to the service of the Sith.”

The old man bowed low, his hands folded within his sleeves.

“Welcome, young Mistress Leia. Your presence has been long awaited. I am at your service.”

Leia studied him for a moment, then stepped forward without a trace of fear and offered a bright smile.

“Nice to meet you, Mister Vaneé.”

————————

The interior of the fortress was colder than Leia had expected—not in temperature, but in feeling. Everything was dark: black stone, deep shadows, and flickering orange light from the lava channels far below, beneath the large bridges that connected the hangar with the rest of the fortress. The air smelled faintly of ash and metal.

Her father’s boots echoed down the obsidian corridor as they left the hangar and he led her into the fortress. Leia stayed close to his side—not because she was afraid, but because she was busy looking.

“This place is huge,” she said, eyes wide as they passed beneath a vaulted archway lined with sleek columns of polished black stone. “It really is like a castle.”

“It is a fortress,” Father corrected again, though his tone was softer this time.

The steward, Vaneé, followed a few steps behind, hands folded neatly inside his sleeves. He reminded Leia of the attendants at the Imperial Palace—but not entirely. There was something different about him, something she couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was because he lived on a planet that looked like one giant volcano.

“Are there dungeons?” Leia asked. Castles always had dungeons.

“Of a sort,” her father replied.

“Can I see them?”

“No.”

She pouted. “Why not?”

Father stopped and turned to face her fully.

“Listen to me, Leia. This fortress is strong in the dark side. It contains secrets you are not yet ready to learn—powers you may one day master. But untrained, they would be dangerous for you.”

Leia frowned, thinking. She’d seen her father use the Force many times. Sometimes, when they were alone, he would gently lift her into the air—just to make her laugh. Afterward, he always said the Force wasn’t meant for games. But then he would do it again, and she’d giggle and beg him to go higher. He had never said it could be dangerous before.

“There are also other parts of the fortress you may not enter,” he continued. “The lower levels. The meditation chamber. Certain training halls—unless I am with you.”

Leia tilted her head. “Because they’re dangerous?”

“Because they are not for you. Not yet.”

She nodded, deciding not to argue. She could probably get more details later.

It wasn’t so different from the Devastator or the Imperial Palace—those places had forbidden sections too.

They passed what looked like a small observatory, then a long, curved corridor. Father showed her a small kitchen where she would take her meals, a lounge-like chamber with holobooks and datapads, shelves of files, a large couch, and a holoprojector.

There was also his office—hard angles and dark surfaces, a stone desk, and wide windows overlooking the lava fields.

Finally, they stopped outside a tall black door with silver detailing. It hissed open as her father approached, revealing a surprisingly warm and neatly arranged chamber within. Wide windows revealed the black fields and fiery rivers outside. A large bed was dressed in deep navy and soft grays. A carved desk stood beneath a set of shelves, opposite a couch large enough for five. The floor was layered with Naboo-style carpets, and warm light glowed from inset panels along the walls, softening the gloom.

“I had this room prepared for you,” Father said.

Leia looked around with critical eyes. “Hmm… it needs more color. But it’s really nice.”

“You may decorate it however you wish.”

That brought a grin to her face. “Even paint the walls? Maybe in yellow or light purple?”

There was a long pause.

“If it must be so,” Father finally replied.

Vaneé, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward. “I shall have the steward droids bring your belongings, young Mistress.”

“Thank you, Mister Vaneé,” Leia said politely, sitting on the bed and bouncing once to test it.

Vaneé gave her a slight, courtly bow. “It is an honor to serve you. Lord Vader has spoken of you often. The fortress is yours to command—within the limits your father has set.”

Leia blinked. He reminded her a little of the Emperor with his pale, wrinkled face, but his eyes weren’t nearly as scary.

“Okay,” she said, unsure how to respond.

The steward bowed once more and stepped back.

She turned to her father. “How long can I stay?”

“We remain for several days. You’ll continue your studies on holo tomorrow.”

Leia leaned back against the bedframe, watching the lava pulse outside her broad window. “Good. I think I like it here. Scary, but kind of beautiful, too.”

With a reminder that dinner would be served in the kitchen at 1800, Father and Vaneé stepped outside to give her space to unpack.

Before the door slid shut, Leia could just faintly hear their voices beyond it.

“She is extraordinary, my lord,” said Vaneé. “I understand your pride.”

“She is mine,” Father replied. “And she will be the future of the Sith.”

There was a beat of silence before Vaneé’s voice answered, solemn and sure:

“And the fortress shall treat her as such.”

Then their voices disappeared as the door closed.

Leia began to unpack her backpack slowly, moving between the shelves and the open case at the foot of her bed. Her sketchbook, a small box of holos from Naboo, her datapad, a few favorite toys, her schoolbooks. The wardrobe was already partly filled with clothes in her size. She hummed quietly as she worked, occasionally glancing at the lava flows glowing outside the window. They all seemed to converge at the base of the fortress.

Suddenly, she paused.

There was a strange chill—not a breeze, not exactly a drop in temperature, but something colder all the same. Leia straightened and turned toward the door. Nothing.

Then she felt it again. A whisper she couldn’t quite hear, brushing just behind her thoughts. Like something just beyond the edge of hearing. Not really saying anything. Just… watching. Wanting.

Her hands clenched the fabric of her tunic. The feeling reminded her a little of her father—deep and heavy—but this was different. Older. Hungrier.

Leia swallowed hard. “Hello?” she whispered.

The silence that followed only made it worse.

She hurried to the wall panel and turned the lights to maximum. The shadows fled, retreating into corners and under furniture. The lava outside still pulsed, but now it seemed distant—contained behind transparisteel.

Leia climbed up on the bed and pulled her legs beneath her.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” she muttered. “It’s just a black fortress. Just a weird fortress. And Dad said it was safe here.”

Still, she kept glancing at the corners, half-expecting to see something flicker where the shadows had gathered. After a long moment, she shook her head. She was being childish. She needed to unpack.

Besides, she could ask Father at dinner. If there was something here, he would know.

————————

The dining alcove was quiet, except for the soft clink of utensils. Vaneé sat opposite Leia, eating with careful precision. Leia guessed Father had invited him so she wouldn’t have to eat alone. On the Devastator, she usually ate with the officers.

Father remained standing near the window, unmoving.

Leia poked at her food, then glanced up, trying to decide how to begin. She didn’t want Vaneé to think she was a silly child who believed in ghost stories.

“Father,” she said, turning toward him. “Is there someone—or something—else here?”

Her father turned slowly, watching her in silence.

“There is a small garrison stationed on the lower levels. Otherwise, it is just us and the droids,” he replied.

Leia tried to capture a stray bean with her fork, still searching for the right words.

“It’s just… when I was in my room, I got this strange feeling. Like someone was watching me. It was cold—and hungry. Like it wanted to eat me.”

Father studied her for several cycles of his respirator.

“It was the Force you felt. I told you this fortress is built upon a powerful Force nexus. Mustafar is strong with the dark side.”

Leia swallowed a bite. She’d often heard her father speak of the Force—and of the dark side. The Force she understood. It could make things float or move, help you see things before they happened. But the dark side was harder to grasp. Sometimes Father used the terms interchangeably. Other times, he spoke of them as two different things.

When he spoke of the dark side, it was usually in terms of strength or power, of deepening one’s connection to it. But he had never really explained what made it different.

“Father… what is the dark side? Is it like the Force?”

Father didn’t respond immediately.

Vaneé set down his utensil, waiting silently.

“It is a powerful aspect of the Force,” Father said at last, his voice low. “It is what gives a Sith power. It makes us stronger than the Jedi. More complete. More true.”

Leia frowned slightly. “Is that the feeling here? But… why does it feel scary? It’s like something’s whispering—even when I’m alone.”

Vaneé finally spoke, his tone measured and calm. “You are not imagining it, my lady. The dark side calls to those who can feel it—like you and your father.”

Leia blinked. “It talks?”

“It does not speak with words,” Father said, stepping closer to the table. “But it can be heard. You will learn to listen.”

“Will it stop being scary?”

“When you understand it. When you control it.”

Leia looked down at her plate. “It feels like it wants to eat me.”

There was a pause. Then Vaneé, with a faint smile, said:

“A poetic instinct, my lady.”

“But it won’t eat you,” Father added. “Not unless you let it.”

Leia said nothing for a while. She finished the last bite of her meal, chewing slowly, thinking about everything they had told her.

————————

The fortress was dim in the early evening. The sky, already heavy with black clouds, had deepened to a dark, flickering violet. Faint rumbles echoed across the distant lava plains—just audible through the windows, even inside the fortress.

Leia sat curled on one end of the large couch in her quarters, a blanket draped around her shoulders. Her favorite plush tooka rested in her lap. She was flipping through a holobook, pausing now and then to rub her eyes. She was getting tired but felt no real desire to go to bed.

She looked up when the door chimed and Vaneé entered quietly, carrying a tray with a cup of warm milk.

“I thought you might still be awake, young Mistress,” he said, setting the tray down on the table before her.

Leia blinked, then offered a quiet, “Thank you,” and took the cup. It was warm and pleasant in her hands, smelling of something sweet.

Vaneé didn’t leave. He stood calmly near the doorway, hands folded within his sleeves.

After a moment, Leia asked lightly, “Do you ever… find it scary? Sleeping here, I mean?”

Vaneé raised one thin brow, but his expression remained composed. “Scary, my lady?”

She shrugged, staring into her cup. “It’s very dark here. And it’s almost like the fortress is whispering. But at the same time, it’s so quiet. There are so few people. Not like the Devastator or the Imperial Palace.”

“Many have said that about Mustafar,” he replied. “This fortress is built atop a place of great power. Even those without the gift of the Force can feel something of its presence—a pressure in the air, a weight behind the eyes.”

Leia looked up. “But… you’re not scared?”

He seemed to consider her question before replying. “No. Not scared. The fortress accepts those who serve it. The feeling becomes familiar—like the scent of stone after rain. It is always there… but it no longer unsettles me.”

Leia nodded. She hesitated a moment, then asked more quietly, “Do you dream of it?”

Vaneé tilted his head. “Sometimes. But not nightmares. The fortress is not cruel, child. It is only honest. It does not lie about what it is.”

Leia turned toward the lava-lit window, shadows dancing on the transparisteel. “It feels like something’s waiting for me. Like it’s watching.”

“You share your father’s senses,” Vaneé said. “But it cannot touch you unless you answer it. And you are not alone here.”

He gave a slight, formal bow. “Lord Vader would see this fortress reduced to ash, and the planet itself destroyed, before he allowed it to harm you. And I am never far. You may sleep safely here.”

Leia didn’t speak at first. Then, softly: “Okay.”

Vaneé turned to leave but paused at the doorway, glancing back one final time.

“Should the whispers return tonight, my lady, I advise you to do one thing.”

She looked up.

“Tell them to wait.”

Then he bowed once more and disappeared into the shadows. The doors closed behind him.

Leia finished her milk. Its warmth and sweetness made her feel a little better. She checked the chrono and decided it was time for bed. Her father usually wanted her at least in bed before 2000.

Taking one last look at the lava fields, she climbed into the large bed and nestled into the soft sheets. She pulled the covers nearly to her eyes, clutching her plush tooka tight.

When sleep finally came, it was restless. In her dream, the air smelled of smoke.

She stood at the edge of a river—not of water, but lava, churning and spitting like an angry sea. Two figures fought above it on a platform hovering just above the fiery flow. One was bearded; the other younger, with hair that brushed his shoulders. Their lightsabers flashed blue, their movements sharp and furious—and so very fast. One shouted something, but Leia couldn’t make out the words.

The bearded man leapt to safety on the dark sand banks. The younger followed, soaring high over him—only for the older man to swing his blade.

Leia screamed at what happened next.

With one stroke of the bearded man’s lightsaber, the younger man lost his limbs and slid toward the lava. Suddenly, he burned.

And then there was screaming. Endless screaming. The young man twisted in agony as his body was swallowed by fire, his voice full of pain and hate.

Then the fire was everywhere—not only around the man, but around her. Leia’s screams mixed with his.

She woke tangled in her sheets, trembling. Her room was unchanged, but she was drenched in sweat—yet she felt cold. Cold all over. She gasped for air and sat up, wiping at her face with shaking hands. She wasn’t sure if she was crying—but her chest ached as if she had.

Before she could call out, the door slid open.

Father stood there. In three long strides, he was by her side, his cape trailing behind him. She didn’t know how he knew—but somehow, he always knew.

“I—I had a bad dream,” she whispered, trying to sound braver than she felt.

He sat beside her. The red of his lenses glinted softly in the dim light. The bed sank under his weight.

“I know,” he replied.

Leia pulled her knees to her chest. “There were men. Fighting with lightsabers. One of them was… burning.”

Father said nothing for a long moment. Only the low, mechanical rhythm of his breathing filled the silence.

Then, carefully: “Dreams are powerful things. Sometimes they show us what was. Or what might be. Or what lives in our fears.”

“Was it real?” Leia asked, her voice trembling. “Did that really happen?”

His head tilted slightly. “Something like it. The Force echoes in places like this. You were caught in one of those echoes.”

Leia reached out, uncertain what she needed—but needing something. Her father didn’t take her hand—but he let her lean against his arm, and he stayed. That was enough.

They sat in silence as the nightmare began to fade. Slowly, she relaxed, her breathing matching the rhythm of Father’s respirator, its cadence steady and calm.

“I don’t want to dream about it again,” she whispered.

Father didn’t answer at first. When he did, he shifted so that he could look at her properly.

“I should have anticipated this,” he said at last. “My fault, for not preparing you properly. I wasn’t certain whether it would be appropriate yet… but I want this place to be your home—not your nightmare.”

Leia looked up. “What do you mean?”

“There is a way,” he said, “to keep such dreams—and such feelings—from reaching you.”

“How?”

“You must learn to shield your mind. Just as soldiers wear armor, you must protect your thoughts.”

Leia tilted her head. “With what?”

“With whatever frightens you most.”

She blinked. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It will,” he said. “Close your eyes.”

She hesitated, then obeyed.

“Imagine a wall,” he said. “High. Solid. Surrounding your mind like a fortress. Not of steel or glass—but of fire and black stone. Like this world.”

Leia furrowed her brow. “I see it…”

“Good. Make it taller. Let the flames burn hotter. Use what frightens you—do not run from it. Make it yours.”

The whispering stirred again—faint, hungry. Leia clenched her hands in the blankets. “It’s still there…”

“Then build higher,” Father said, voice low but steady. “Stronger. You are not weak. You are mine. Show the dark side you do not fear it. Stifle the whispers with fire. They are there, but they cannot touch you.”

Leia’s jaw set. She imagined the wall rising higher. Lava running through its cracks. Obsidian spires, high snd tall. And slowly, slowly, the whispering faded. The cold weight in the back of her mind eased.

She opened her eyes.

“It’s… gone,” she whispered.

“Not gone,” Father corrected. “Contained. Held at bay. That is your first lesson.”

Leia looked up at him, still leaning against his armored side. “Do you build walls too?”

He was silent for a moment. “Once. And different kinds of walls. But no longer. That fire is mine now. The darkness is mine to command—as it will be yours.”

Leia nodded, thoughtful. “Mine has towers,” she added. “And spikes on the walls.”

Father made a sound—something strange and low. It might have been a chuckle. Then his respirator resumed its steady rhythm.

Leia let out a breath and crawled back to her pillow. The heaviness had lifted.

“It’s quieter now,” she said. “I think I can sleep.”

Father inclined his head. “Good.”

She reached out and touched his armor. “Will you meditate in your chamber?”

“Not tonight. I will withdraw to the bacta tank.”

Leia looked up. She knew her father’s injuries—the ones he’d received when her mother was stolen—required him to use the bacta tank regularly. And suddenly, something clicked.

“Father…” Her voice was small but steady. “The dream I had. The burning man… was that you?”

He didn’t answer right away. But in the silence, she already knew.

“You know the answer,” he said at last.

Her fingers tightened on the blanket. “Who would do that to you?”

A longer pause. Then, his voice—cold and hard:

“Obi-Wan. The Jedi who stole your mother from me. The man I once called brother.”

Leia blinked. “A Jedi?”

“Yes.”

She thought of her studies—of the war her father never spoke of in detail, of the traitors who had turned on the Empire and tried to kill the Emperor. The ones who had stolen her mother. And of how Father had found her and brought her home. She thought of the image from her dream—her father burning, screaming—and a heat settled in her chest.

“I hate him,” she whispered.

Father placed a gloved hand gently on her head.

“Sleep now,” he said. “You are safe. And you are stronger than he ever was.”

Leia nodded. Her eyes grew heavy again. She curled beneath the covers, the image of her fire-wall still glowing in her mind. It protected her now. She would make it taller tomorrow.

As her breathing deepened, Father stood. He lingered for a moment beside her. Then, silently, he turned and left—his footsteps echoing like drumbeats fading into the depths of the fortress.

Chapter Text

The hum of the training saber filled the chamber, low and constant, as Leia traced its blue blade through slow, deliberate arcs. She stood at the center of the room, feet apart, brow furrowed, each step measured. The blade’s glow caught in the obsidian walls, glinting and fading with every turn.

Most of the Jedi’s weapons had been burned during the Empire’s inaugural purge—fuel for a ceremonial pyre meant to serve as an ending, a beginning, and a warning. But the low-energy training sabers, meant for younglings, had been left to gather dust in storage. One of them now hummed softly in Leia’s hands.

They had been at it for nearly two hours. She learned quickly—sharp, eager, surprisingly disciplined when she chose to be. Despite her chatter that morning, she had absorbed the first motions of Shii-Cho with ease. The form was still unpolished, but promising.

Vader paced around her in slow silence, watching her footwork.

“Good,” he said. “Again.”

She obeyed without hesitation.

He noted her progress. Repetition was essential. Only when the movements became instinct would they serve their true purpose—to sharpen reflex into intention, to make the Force a partner in motion before she even realized it.

And yet, his mind lingered on the night before.

Leia was already sensitive to the currents of the Force—perhaps too sensitive. The whispers of the dark side had shaken her. But the shielding technique he had taught her… had worked. He had touched her presence during meditation in the bacta tank and found her sleeping soundly. He had hesitated before teaching her that technique. It was a form of resistance—useful now, perhaps, but one day she would need to do more than shield. She would need to command those whispers. To bend them to her will.

But seven was still young. There were other lessons first. Lightsaber forms were a useful place to begin. They offered structure. Predictability. And most importantly, control.

He watched her complete the sequence again, then lower the saber slightly, her breath steady.

This was the same child who had broken a holoprojector in protest only two weeks ago. And now—this. Focused. Steady. Sharper than many full-grown recruits he had seen.

He turned to the console to log her progress—and noticed, in the corner of his vision, Leia continuing to swing the saber. She was trying out new angles, curiosity guiding her through various stances and movements. Then, experimentally, she flipped the saber into a reverse grip.

Vader was beside her in two strides, his gloved hand closing over hers.

“Do not hold it like that,” he said—more sharply than intended.

Leia blinked up at him, surprised. “Why not?”

A flicker of something cold passed through him—not quite anger, not quite memory. He released her hand and stepped back.

“Once more,” he said. “Shii-Cho. Then we are done.”

————————

The kitchen alcove on Mustafar was calm, its polished black surfaces catching the faint orange light from the lava fields outside. The glow danced in dots across the smooth stone.

Leia sat, legs swinging slightly beneath her chair, a bowl of sweet porridge in front of her. The scent was thick and savory—Vaneé’s work, most likely, or perhaps a kitchen droid’s.

Across from her, her father stood silently, unmoving as ever, gazing out through the window. He did not sit. He rarely did. His stance was a familiar one—hands folded behind his back, head slightly inclined toward the glass. It almost looked like he was watching the lava river below. Maybe he was.

Leia shifted slightly, her stomach tightening. She thought of the dream from last night—the burning man. That had been her father. He had told her Mustafar was a gift from the Emperor. That he had asked for it. Why would anyone want a planet where something so terrible had happened? Even if the Force liked to nexus or locus itself here—whatever that meant.

She took another bite, glancing at her father, wondering if she dared to ask.

“I didn’t mess up the last sequence,” she said lightly, hoping to open the conversation. Maybe if she started with something he liked—like lightsaber training.

“No,” Father replied. “You did not.”

Leia smiled a little. “I think I like that saber. Even if it’s just a training one.”

“It is a tool,” he said. “Like any other. But it obeys the hand that wields it. You must become its master.”

Leia stirred her porridge. “It doesn’t feel dangerous. Not like the one you carry.”

“That is because it is not.” A pause. “But danger lies not in the weapon, but in its wielder.”

Leia considered that for a moment. “It was rather fun. Can we try some other sequences tomorrow? Or forms? You said there were many.”

“There are. Shii-Cho is only the beginning—the foundation. But mastery requires repetition. We will introduce more complex forms when you are ready.”

She nodded, then glanced around. “Where’s Vaneé? He made good tea yesterday.”

“He knows you are adjusting. He tries to ease the transition.”

Leia took another bite, then said more carefully, “I… like it here.” She wasn’t entirely sure it was true. But she wanted it to be—at least a little.

Father turned toward her, silent.

“It’s quiet,” Leia added. “Not bad quiet—not after I learned to stop the whispers. It’s more like… focused. But it’s also like nothing is allowed to be messy here.” Her fingers curled around the edge of her bowl.

There was a faint hiss of his respirator. “It will be a place for us to find structure. A place of training and learning.”

Leia tilted her head, remembering what he had told her the night before. “I just don’t understand… If you got hurt here… why this place?”

There was a long pause. So long that Leia was certain she’d said something wrong. She stared down at her bowl, a tight feeling in her chest. But then he finally spoke.

“A Sith does not hide from that which hurt us, Leia. We claim it. Use it to fuel us—to rise above it. To become stronger than it.”

“Oh,” she said, trying to grasp the meaning. Part of her still thought that running away sounded easier.

The silence that followed wasn’t cold, but thoughtful. She could feel it in the air between them. It made her straighten a little—like she sometimes did on the bridge when the officers were watching.

Just as Leia was about to finish the last spoonful of porridge, the doors to the alcove slid open with a soft hiss.

Vaneé entered with quiet precision, his robes trailing behind him. His hands were folded within his sleeves, his expression neutral—but something in his bearing gave Leia the impression of urgency.

“My lord,” he said with a formal bow. “The Grand Inquisitor has arrived. He awaits you in the upper audience chamber.”

Leia straightened, her spoon pausing midair. “The Grand Inquisitor?”

She’d heard that title before—from Father, or perhaps the Emperor. She couldn’t quite remember. But she knew it meant someone important. She didn’t know much—only that the Inquisitors were Force users too. That they worked for the Empire. That their job was to help Father hunt Jedi. But she had never seen one.

Vaneé glanced briefly in her direction but continued addressing Father. “He comes to give a report on the construction of the fortress on Nur, and to provide updates on the latest recruits.”

“I see,” Father replied. “I will be there shortly.”

Leia hurried to swallow the last of her porridge.

“Can I come?” she asked, looking up at him.

Father turned fully to face her. “No.”

Leia’s shoulders drooped. “But—you always talk about the importance of me learning new things. And don’t the Inquisitors work for you?”

There was a pause. Then, his voice—firm but even. “You may attend. But you will speak only if addressed. No questions. No commentary.”

Leia nodded quickly, her eyes brightening. “Yes, Father. I promise.”

Vaneé stepped aside, bowing once more. “Shall I escort her to her chamber to change into something more formal?”

Leia glanced down at her training tunic and trousers. They were clean, but a bit messy after training.

“I will go with Leia,” Father said. “Inform the Grand Inquisitor I will arrive shortly—with my daughter.”

Vaneé bowed again. “As you wish, my lord. I will inform the guest of your arrival.”

He turned and departed, his steps soft, his robes trailing like a shadow. Leia hopped down from her chair and hurried after her father as he strode from the alcove.

“So… are they scary?” she asked, half-whispering.

Father didn’t slow. “They are servants of the dark side.”

Leia made a face. “That’s not a no,” she muttered under her breath.

Her father gave no response. But she thought—just maybe—she saw the faintest incline of his helmet. Almost like amusement.

“Hurry to your room,” he said. “Change into something clean. Dark colors.”

————————

Vader waited outside Leia’s chamber, the mechanical rhythm of his breathing the only sound in the corridor.

Inside, he could feel her presence—simmering with curiosity, excitement, and nerves, all tangled together. So young. So eager.

As he waited, his thoughts turned inward.

Until now, he had kept her deliberately distant from the Inquisitorius.

The Inquisitors were crude. Most were former Jedi—weak-willed, broken by pain, reshaped into something useful. But still imperfect. Still prone to arrogance, bitterness, failure. They were servants of the dark side, yes—but not masters of it.

He did not want Leia to see herself in them. He wanted her to surpass them completely. But to rise above, she must first see. Sooner or later, she would need to meet them. She would have to understand who they were—and what they were for. Better to control that introduction now, in a setting where he could contain the variables.

The Grand Inquisitor, at least, could be trusted to maintain composure. He understood formality. Hierarchy. Restraint. A first lesson could be drawn from that alone. Still, there was a tension Vader would not name.

The chamber door slid open with a soft hiss. Leia emerged with chin lifted and spine straight, mimicking the posture of the officers she so often observed aboard the Devastator.

She wore a dark purple dress—too soft in cut, too rich in color. Not what he had in mind. But he had said dark, and she had obeyed. Her braid, however, was still half-unraveled from training, strands escaping like rebellious sparks. He noted it immediately. Another detail untended. A task that should have fallen to the nanny droid—left behind on Coruscant for reasons that had seemed justified at the time. A misstep. But there was nothing to be done about it now. It would have to do.

Leia came to a halt before him, clasping her hands behind her back in a near-perfect imitation of his own stance. It almost made his lip twitch beneath the mask.

She looked up at him, eyes bright, expectant.

He gave her a single nod.

“Remember, Leia—this is not a social visit,” he said. “You will observe. You speak only when addressed.”

“I know,” she replied, nodding quickly. “No questions. No commentary.”

She was repeating his words from earlier. He allowed himself the faintest flicker of approval. She was quick—and obedient, when she chose to be.

“Then walk beside me.”

She fell into step just half a pace behind, her small feet keeping time with his long strides. The sound of their footsteps echoed across the obsidian floor. Two shadows, moving in tandem. Toward a new lesson.

————————

The Grand Inquisitor stood waiting in the communications chamber.

Tall, gaunt, and ghostly pale, his yellow eyes gleamed with curiosity—or perhaps wariness—as Vader entered with Leia beside him. Her head barely reached his waist, but her posture was regal despite the unraveling braid. In that, she was truly her mother’s daughter.

“Lord Vader,” the Inquisitor said, bowing low. But his gaze drifted quickly to Leia.

“Grand Inquisitor,” Vader replied, placing a firm hand on Leia’s shoulder. “Meet my daughter. Leia.”

There was a moment of silence as the Inquisitor’s eyes flicked from Vader to the girl and back again, as if studying a riddle. And perhaps he was. As far as Vader knew, his former identity had never been revealed to this man. But with Leia at his side, speculation became possible. The man could speculate—if he dared. But only as long as he kept his questions to himself.

“Lady Leia,” the Inquisitor said at last, inclining his head in a strange half-bow. “A pleasure to meet you at last. I’ve heard… intriguing things. It is an honor to behold the future of the Sith.”

Leia beamed. “Thank you! I just started training today. Well—not real training, but lightsaber forms. I already know the names of all seven.”

The Grand Inquisitor’s eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued. “Is that so?”

“She learns quickly,” Vader said.

“I can see that,” the Inquisitor replied, studying her more closely. “Congratulations, Lord Vader. You must be very proud… to have produced a child of such… potential.”

“She is disciplined,” Vader said evenly. “But her training has not truly begun.”

There was a pause—subtle, heavy.

Then the Inquisitor spoke again, voice casual, as if commenting on the weather.

“And how far will her training extend? The forms are only a beginning, of course.”

“As I said,” Vader replied flatly, “it has not truly begun.”

Leia blinked and looked up. She was about to ask what that meant when the Inquisitor stepped forward slightly.

“Then perhaps,” he said smoothly, “the Inquisitorius might be of service. No father should bear the burden of what Sith training demands alone. I hope you’ll consider us at your disposal. We know how to prepare the worthy.”

The air shifted. Vader stared at him for a long, cold moment.

The Grand Inquisitor remained still, unreadable—but Vader sensed sincerity in the offer. Perhaps it was meant as loyalty. A gesture of support. A way to prove himself useful. Or perhaps the man took some twisted pleasure in imagining what would be required to mold Leia into a Sith.

It didn’t matter. To Vader, the suggestion was abhorrent. No man entrusted his daughter’s training to a pack of broken dogs. The Inquisitors were shattered remnants—reforged in fire and terror. He had made them that way. Tools, nothing more. Leia would not be broken. She would be shaped to rule.

“You forget yourself,” Vader said at last, voice low.

The Inquisitor opened his mouth, but Vader didn’t let him speak.

“Leia is not yours to forge,” he said, his voice as cold as the vocoder would allow. “She is to rule—not to serve. She will become far more than any Inquisitor.”

Leia blinked between them, sensing the tension. “What are you talking about?” She shrank back slightly. “Father?”

He did not look at her.

“Go find Vaneé, Leia. Tell him I wish for him to set up your class holocall. It is nearly time.”

She hesitated. “But—”

“Now,” he said, his voice dropping half a tone.

She swallowed and turned, casting one last confused glance over her shoulder as the door slid shut behind her.

Vader’s shoulders stiffened.

“You presume too much,” he said once they were alone.

The Grand Inquisitor raised both hands in a show of humility. “Forgive me. I merely thought it… compassionate. It is no small thing, after all, to shape one’s own blood in the ways of the dark side.”

Vader’s voice was like a knife. “Leia is not one of your scavenged wretches, plucked from the Temple ruins. She is not some half-trained mongrel you beat into obedience. She was born to command. She will not be broken like a hound. She will ascend.”

The Grand Inquisitor tilted his head. “All who walk the path of the Sith must be tempered. The method is merely a question of timing—and temperament. Even heirs must be… tried.”

“When she is ready,” Vader said, “I will guide her through what must be done.”

There was a long silence. Then, almost gently. ”You may find that more difficult than you imagine.”

Vader did not respond. Slowly, he turned toward the viewport, casting his gaze over the black lava plains. His hand twitched once at his side—the faintest stir of impulse. It would have been so easy.

“Your eagerness to be useful has been noted,” he said at last. “Now give your report. And leave.”

The Grand Inquisitor inclined his head, unreadable.

“As you wish, Lord Vader. You will be pleased to hear that the fortress on Nur will be finalized and fully staffed according to plan.”

————————

Leia’s boots tapped softly against the stone floor as she entered the main corridor. A moment later, Vaneé emerged from a side passage, already angling toward her with his usual quiet attentiveness.

“My lady,” he said, inclining his head. “I thought you were with your father.”

Leia straightened, repeating what she’d been told. “Father said you’d help me connect to my class. I need to use the communications room.” She hesitated, wrinkling her nose. “But I have to change first. They still make us wear our uniforms for holo. It’s ridiculous. I already changed once today.”

She sighed. “What was the point of bringing me to that meeting if he was just going to send me out?”

“Lord Vader dismissed you?”

Leia nodded, crossing her arms with a faint huff. “After just a couple of minutes. We said hello, they started talking, and then I was told to go.”

She bit her lip. There had been tension—something sharp and quiet between Father and the Inquisitor. To be fair, Father seemed to cause tension wherever he went. But this had felt different.

Vaneé’s expression remained neutral, but the pause before he spoke was noticeable.

“Did he seem displeased?”

“Yes,” Leia said softly. “They were talking about my training, I think. The Inquisitor offered to help—and Father got really, really angry. He didn’t shout, but he got that still. You know, the kind of still where everyone else should probably leave the room.”

Vaneé folded his hands. “You are observant, my lady. But if your father had wished you to hear the full nature of that conversation, he would have allowed you to stay.”

Leia frowned. “He said I had just begun. They talked about the burden of Sith training, and… that I would rule.”

Vaneé tilted his head, as if weighing her words carefully.

Leia looked down, scuffing her boot against the floor. “He said he doesn’t want me to be like the Inquisitors.”

Vaneé’s gaze sharpened. “That is true.”

“But they serve the Empire. They use the Force. They’re not Jedi anymore.”

“No. They are not,” he said evenly. “But they are also not Sith—at least, not in the truest sense. The Inquisitors have their role and are useful in their way. But your father has higher aspirations for you.”

He paused. “He sees in you the future of the Sith Order. That is why your training and education are of the utmost importance to him… and to all of us.”

Leia was quiet for a moment, small fingers tugging at the hem of her sleeve.

“Come,” Vaneé said gently. “I’ll set up your holocall while you change. Now—shall I inform your instructors that you’ll be precisely on time, or fashionably late?”

Leia smirked and turned on her heel. “Tell them I was delayed by Imperial matters.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

He bowed as she disappeared down the corridor, running toward her room.

————————

Vaneé was waiting in the shadowed hall outside the communications chamber when his lordship emerged. He bowed deeply, hands folded within his robes.

“My lord,” Vaneé said, voice even and careful. “The young Mistress has begun her class. I set up the connection in the smaller communications chamber.”

Lord Vader inclined his head. “See that the connection remains stable. She will continue until 1500.”

“Of course,” he replied.

Vaneé hesitated—a fraction of a second, but just long enough to be noticed.

“The young Mistress also mentioned… an exchange. Or perhaps a disagreement—with the Grand Inquisitor?”

There was a pause. The steady hiss of the respirator filled the space. Lord Vader turned his head slightly, the red lenses catching the dim glow of the wall sconces.

“The Grand Inquisitor,” he said, tone sharp but contained, “thought to involve himself in matters beyond his place.”

Vaneé dipped his head again, as if the motion might smooth over the edge in his master’s voice. “I see. And I presume his offer was… unsolicited.”

“It was,” Lord Vader said. “And unwelcome.”

Another pause. The silence carried weight. Vaneé knew his master’s moods well enough to tread lightly—letting the moment breathe before venturing further. Perhaps it was a fool’s errand, but curiosity had a way of slipping through cracks in protocol.

“I take no liberty in asking, my lord,” he said softly, “but was this offer… connected to Lady Leia’s instruction?”

The reply came immediately.

“Her Sith training is my responsibility. Mine alone. It will begin when I deem her ready—and not before.”

Vaneé bowed lower, his pale face dipping into shadow.

“Of course, my lord. None would doubt your judgment. Forgive my curiosity. I merely wondered if… an external hand might lessen certain burdens. To spare you discomfort.”

“The Inquisitors are not fit to lay a hand on her,” Lord Vader said, his voice darkening like a gathering storm. ”They are hounds—useful for hunting—but unworthy to shape her. She will be molded to rule, not broken to obey. I will see to that myself.”

“Understood, my lord,” Vaneé murmured, offering neither challenge nor approval—only quiet observation. He knew better than to press further. “The fortress shall remain ready to serve her needs, as always.”

His lordship turned, his presence filling the corridor like a shadow forged in steel.

“See that she eats between her lessons. She will continue lightsaber forms with me this afternoon.”

“Consider it done,” Vaneé replied.

Lord Vader said no more. He strode away into the depths of the fortress, his silhouette swallowed by shadow and silence.

Vaneé’s gaze lingered. The young Mistress was a curious child—bright, willful, and far too aware for her age. What shape her path would take was not for him to decide. His role was to serve, to prepare, to preserve. Still… it would be something to witness. And he would be there, as always, ready to attend her needs.

————————

The holoprojector flickered to life in the smaller communications chamber, casting soft blue light across Leia’s desk. She adjusted the collar of her school uniform—a stiff light-grey tunic with the imperial crest stitched over her heart—and tapped her stylus against the edge of her datapad.

A moment later, the familiar grid of classmates shimmered into view, each face edged by a faint halo of static. Most were on Coruscant, seated in the classroom Leia usually joined when she was in the capital. The usual quiet chaos was already unfolding: two students leaning across desks to whisper; one boy tugging the braid of the girl in front of him, earning a glare. From Leia’s vantage point, it looked like a circle of blue ghosts caught mid-mischief.

They were the children of governors, admirals, senior ministers, and Imperial senators. The headmistress liked to call them “the future pillars of the Empire.” Right now, though, they didn’t look like anyone’s pillars—just a room full of restless, fidgeting children.

Miss Lyssa materialized at the center of the projection, sharp-cheekboned and polished, her Chandrilan accent crisp. She had the kind of calm efficiency that could silence a room with a single glance.

“Good morning, class,” she said warmly. “Today we begin our unit on galactic navigation and hyperspace lanes. You’ve all reviewed the maps in your materials. Our task now is to understand why certain lanes became important—and what might happen if they were disrupted.”

Leia sat straighter, her attention sharpening. She’d read well beyond the assigned chapter, and had learned even more from officers aboard the Devastator. Lieutenant Wills in Navigation had once explained the Hydian Way, the Corellian Run, the Perlemian Trade Route—each one a puzzle of history and strategy.

“To make this more interesting,” Miss Lyssa continued, “you’ll be working in pairs. I’ve assigned partners already. You’ll submit short holopresentations by the end of the week.”

Leia’s eyes flicked to the list scrolling across her screen.

Partner: Aria Ekas (Remote).

Her face brightened.

She scanned the projection until she found Aria’s blue-tinged holoimage a few tiles away—curly hair gathered in its usual messy ponytail, bright eyes alert with curiosity. On her very first day, Aria had introduced herself as “a nuisance”—which wasn’t fair at all. She never caused trouble. But there was something about her—slightly out of step with the others—that made her stand apart.

Aria gave a small wave and a lopsided, knowing grin.

Leia smirked back.

Over the past year, they’d often been paired together—both usually joining remotely, Aria from an Imperial research platform in deep space where her aunt worked. Like Leia, she’d lost her mother during the Clone Wars, though not to Jedi treachery but a Separatist bomb. Her father, too, was gone, leaving her in the reluctant care of her aunt—a scientist whose connection to the headmistress had secured Aria a place at the Academy.

They’d started as strangers—awkward and a bit tense—but something had shifted. They’d laughed at the same jokes during literature week. Aria had complimented Leia’s Naboo-style braid. Leia had defended Aria’s art project when another student mocked it.

Not best friends yet—but closer. Something was forming.

“Leia and Aria,” Miss Lyssa said, glancing at their screens, “you’ll be working on the Hydian Way. Consider its strategic role during the Clone Wars—and the implications of rerouting trade.”

“Yes, Miss Lyssa,” Leia said promptly. Aria echoed her with a half-salute and a grin.

A soft chime signaled breakout mode. Aria’s image expanded to fill Leia’s screen—slightly grainy, but clear enough to see her sitting cross-legged in front of a terminal, stylus tucked behind her ear.

“Hydian Way,” Aria said, tapping her pad. “Biggest hyperlane in the galaxy. Did you know it’s one of the only ones that runs straight through the Core and the Outer Rim?”

Leia raised a brow. “You read ahead.”

“I got bored last night,” Aria admitted. “Also—if you were a pirate, it’d be the best place to hit shipments.”

Leia laughed. “You’re not supposed to want to be a pirate.”

Aria shrugged. “I said if.”

They giggled.

“Okay,” Leia said, settling in. “We should start with the war logistics. The Hydian was critical during the Republic’s Mid Rim campaigns. Maybe I can ask the officers on the Devastator once I get back—some of them served during the war.”

Aria raised a finger. “Wait, I thought you were on the Devastator now. So why are you on holo?”

Leia hesitated. “I’ll tell you after class. But it’s… very cool.”

Aria tilted her head, clearly curious, but didn’t push. “Okay. After class, then.”

They bent back over the project—Leia rattling off historical notes while Aria sketched a hand-drawn map overlay on her datapad. Their shared screen glowed with miniature starfields, annotated arrows, and easy laughter.

——————

School had ended some time ago. It had taken Leia a little while, but she’d finally figured out how to make a private call to Aria. The communication system on Mustafar wasn’t much different from the Devastator’s, after all.

She drummed her fingers against the console until the system confirmed the link.

A moment later, Aria’s holoimage flickered to life—full-sized now, her messy ponytail just as wild as before. Even through the static, her cheeks looked faintly flushed, like she’d run to make the call.

“Hey,” Leia said, smiling. “And—happy birthday, by the way. I know it was a few days ago, but I didn’t get to say it properly.”

Aria grinned. “Thanks! Wait, I have to show you what I got.” She ducked out of frame, then came back holding something slim. “Ta-da!”

Leia tilted her head. “Is that… a datapad?”

“Better,” Aria said, mock-serious, tapping the screen as a swirl of vivid lines appeared. “It’s a sketchpad. One of my aunt’s coworkers gave it to me. You can draw right on the screen with a stylus—no lag, no smudges. Look—” She scribbled quickly, and a lopsided starfighter took shape.

“That’s amazing,” Leia said honestly.

“I know.” Aria hugged it to her chest. “The memory’s huge—you could store a lifetime’s worth of drawings on it. It’s officially my most treasured possession. If the station explodes, I’m grabbing this. Nothing else.”

Leia laughed. “Noted.”

Aria’s eyes narrowed slightly, though her tone stayed light. “Okay—your turn. Where are you really? You said you’d tell me after class.”

Leia’s smile curved into a grin—the kind she used when she knew she had a secret worth keeping. “A big fortress. On Mustafar.” She leaned in toward the pickup. “It’s a lava fortress—it basically stands in the middle of a lava river. My father says the Emperor gave it to him.”

Aria blinked. “A lava fortress? That’s… insane.” A beat. “Insane, but kind of cool.”

“It’s very cool,” Leia agreed. “Literally not cool at all temperature-wise, but you know what I mean. I can see a lava river from my bedroom.”

Aria shook her head, laughing. “Only you would be doing schoolwork from a giant volcano palace.”

“I knew you’d like it,” Leia said smugly.

Aria set the sketchpad down. “So… what else have you been doing in your volcano palace?”

Leia’s eyes lit up. “Father’s been teaching me lightsaber forms.” She mimed a few swings—clumsy from a chair, but Aria still looked impressed. “And today I met an Inquisitor.”

Aria tilted her head. “I’ve heard that word before, but I don’t actually know what they do.”

“They help Father hunt Jedi,” Leia said, matter-of-fact.

“I thought your dad ran Star Destroyers and made sure everyone obeyed the Empire.”

“That’s only part of what he does,” Leia replied. “He also tracks Jedi—the ones who’d try to destroy the Empire and take over.”

“Are Jedi really that dangerous?”

“Father says they’re weak and misguided—but still dangerous. Because they use the Force. He was a Jedi once—before they betrayed the Emperor. Then he became a Sith instead. Sith are stronger.”

Aria blinked. “Wait—he was a Jedi?”

Leia nodded. “Before everything changed. Before the Empire.”

“And how do you even become a Sith?”

Leia considered. “You have to be Force-sensitive, and you need a Sith Master to train you. That’s why the Inquisitors aren’t really Sith. They don’t have Masters like that.”

“And your dad is a Sith Master?”

Leia hesitated. She could lie. She probably should lie.

But Aria was the closest thing to a best friend she had. You didn’t lie to your best friend. You told them things.

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the door was closed, then leaned forward and lowered her voice.

“Okay, this is big. Super, super secret. You can’t tell anyone—not your aunt, not her coworkers, not even your pillow.”

Aria’s eyes widened. “Not even my pillow?”

Leia nodded solemnly. “Pillows can’t be trusted. Did you hear what Tam Malm said? His mom works at ISB. It’s only a matter of time before someone invents a pillow-listening device.”

Aria placed a hand over her heart. “Not even my pillow. I’m not a snitcher. I promise.”

They nodded, sealing the pact with all the seriousness only seven-year-olds could muster.

Leia leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper.

“The Emperor… is the Sith Master.”

Aria’s mouth dropped open. “No way.”

“Yes way,” Leia said, savoring the moment like a treat. “He can do the Force stuff. Like my dad.”

Aria stared at her. “But—how come nobody knows that?”

“Because it’s super secret,” Leia said. “Only people really close to him know. If the wrong people found out, they might… I’m not certain. But he wants it kept quiet. Father says most people don’t really understand the Force. Maybe that is why. But it is very important.”

Aria’s brow furrowed. “Is that why the Jedi tried to kill him? Everyone says they wanted to take over.”

“I think so,” Leia said. “Father says the Emperor saved the galaxy from chaos. But when the Jedi learned he was a Sith, they got mad. Decided they wanted to rule. Tried to assassinate him. My dad stopped them.”

“Oh.” Aria sat back. “Okay. That makes sense, I guess.”

“But really—you can’t tell anyone. It’s important.”

“I won’t,” Aria said. “I swear.”

“Good.” Leia leaned back, satisfied. “Anyway—when do you think you’re coming back to Coruscant?”

“I was gonna ask you that! My aunt says we’ll be on the station at least three more months.” Aria made a face. “But she’s looking at a new position. If it works out, we might spend more time in the capital. Maybe even move.”

“I hope she gets it,” Leia replied. ”I hate only seeing you on holo. It’s not the same.”

Aria grinned. “Then you could help me with that stupid math test next week.”

Leia groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“I will remind you. If I fail, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair,” Leia laughed. “But I’m still not doing your homework.”

“You could help a little.”

Leia sighed theatrically. “Fine. A little.”

They kept talking until Leia glanced at the chrono and realized she was due at dinner.

————————

The tank hummed in silence.

Darkness swirled beyond the curved transparisteel. The liquid around him was still—weightless, muffling pain, slowing breath, stretching time. Here, he floated. Not in rage. Not in command. Just silence. The galaxy faded away. Except for her. She shimmered at the edge of his senses—a thread in the Force, flickering and bright. Not yet a beacon. Not yet a blade. But alive with unshaped power.

She was laughing. He felt it ripple across the current like sunlight through smoke—sharp, sudden, and fleeting. She was likely speaking to the girl again. The holo-friend. Aria. He had never met the child, but her name now echoed with unsettling familiarity. He let the feeling linger longer than he should have. Her joy was a small indulgence.

Do you care for her? Do you make her happy?

The words surfaced unbidden. He pushed them aside. Joy was not the path ahead. But he would keep her. He would make her strong. And one day… she would be free.

The Grand Inquisitor had offered his help. Foolish. Presumptuous. They had no place in her training.

The Inquisitors were broken things—useful, yes, but fractured. Barely worthy of the Force they wielded. Tools, not architects. Instruments to hunt, to purge, to intimidate.

But not to mold. That task was his. His alone. He would teach Leia to wield her strength. To understand the Force not as chaos or compassion—but as order, shaped through will. He would show her that rule was not corruption. It was clarity. To dominate, not obey. To forge, not follow. And through that power, she would ascend.

She would succeed where he had failed. And this place—this fortress once built for memory—would become a temple for the future.

Her future. A crucible. A forge. Not to resurrect the past… but to shape what must come next.

Is my daughter safe? Do you care for her? Do you make her happy?

The fluid warmed—not from the systems, but from the memory. Heat bloomed around him like a wound reopened. The darkness of Mustafar stirred, calling to him. Promising strength. Promising the power to correct what had gone wrong. There was truth in that darkness. There was power. It would come for Leia, too. In time.

The fire would forge her. It would burn away the weak, leave only strength. But not yet. No. For now… let her laugh.

Chapter Text

The garden was quiet, save for the faint rustling of leaves in the wind—one of the few places on Coruscant where such a sound could be heard. The sky was blue and clear; the no-flight zone over the palace offered a rare, unobstructed view.

Leia lay on her back, studying the sky. Like this, she could almost imagine she was in her grandmother’s garden—even if the scents were different.

Mustafar hadn’t been so bad, either. Vaneé had promised to see to the repainting of her room, and Father had actually found time to spend with her properly.

But while the lava rivers had a strange kind of beauty, they got boring after a while. So it was nice to be back in the capital. Among people.

Holding a small ball in her hand, Leia raised it to block the sun. Then she let it go, grimacing in disappointment when it dropped and hit her in the face. She had meant for it to stay floating in the air, as Father could do. She tried again—only to be hit on the nose.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps reached her ears. She rolled over and looked up. At first, she expected her father—but the footsteps were lighter, and there were more of them.

She stood immediately as the crooked figure emerged from between the hedges, flanked in perfect symmetry by two red-robed guards. His hood was drawn low, casting deep shadows over his sunken face, but the pale skin and yellow eyes were unmistakable.

Quickly recalling her manners—drilled into her through countless sessions with protocol droids—Leia straightened and bowed deeply. “Your Majesty.”

Emperor Palpatine smiled, his yellow eyes gleaming beneath the hood. She had asked her father about them once. He told her that yellow eyes were a sign of great power in the Force. Father had them too, beneath his helmet—she’d seen them many times, when he was in his hyperbaric chamber. Still, they were scarier on the Emperor, for some reason.

“Ah,” he said, his voice smooth and dry at once. “There you are, my dear. The Jewel of the Empire, blooming among the flowers.”

Leia lifted her head, remembering everything the nanny droids had taught her: palms flat against her thighs, chin slightly lowered, eyes alert but not challenging.

“It’s an honor to see you, Your Majesty,” she said with careful clarity.

He chuckled—slowly, with pleasure. “Always so courteous. And yet still young enough to find joy in gardens and sunlight. A welcome change after your father’s fortress, I imagine.”

Leia wrinkled her nose, trying to find a good response. Father wanted her to like Mustafar, so she didn’t want to say anything too negative.

“Mustafar wasn’t too bad,” she offered. “I could see the lava rivers from my bedroom. They looked nice at night.” She bit her lip. “But it would’ve been nice to have… some kind of garden to play in.”

The Emperor chuckled.

“Your father does have a unique sense of aesthetics,” Palpatine said, his eyes gleaming. “But I think you’ll adjust quickly.” He paused. “And your lessons there—have they begun?”

Leia nodded. “Some of them. Father has started teaching me saber forms.”

“Ah yes. Your father has always valued the lightsaber,” he mused. “But there are many forms of learning, child. To shape the will requires more than study. It demands clarity. Control. Insight.”

Leia opened her mouth to say she was learning plenty in school—but stopped. The Emperor wasn’t talking about school. He meant something else.

He turned and gestured toward the path he had come.

“Please, child. Walk with me.”

The red guards parted slightly, and Leia fell into step beside him. They walked in silence. Leia studied him out of the corner of her eye. He was old, yes—but everyone said he had once saved the galaxy from chaos and corruption. Her father knelt in his presence. He looked frail… but Father had said he was immensely powerful.

She wondered if that was why the Jedi had tried to kill him. Had his power threatened their plans?

They passed under a sculpted arbor, coming to a stone table nestled beneath its shade. At the center sat a circular board etched in black-and-white tiles, intricate pieces poised mid-match.

He gestured toward it. “Do you know the rules of Shah-tezh?”

Leia’s pulse quickened. She’d seen the board before, but had never been invited to play. She’d played dejarik with Aria on holo, and with some of the officers on the Devastator—but never this.

“Only a little,” she admitted.

He smiled. “Then let us play, and I shall teach you.”

He gestured to the central piece on his side of the board—a tall figure crowned with a high, flared helm.

“This is the Imperator. Every other piece serves to protect them. On the demesne—disciples, knights, beasts—they all have their uses. But if the Imperator falls…” He paused theatrically. “All is lost, no matter how many pieces remain.”

Leia studied the board, eyes scanning the complex arrangement. “So… you have to protect that one at all costs.”

“Exactly.” He moved one of his knight pieces—an angular figure. “Each piece has its strength. But only the Imperator gives the game meaning. Without them, everything collapses.”

Leia traced the path of her own Imperator on her side of the board.

“And what if… you have to sacrifice a strong piece to protect them?”

“Then you do so,” he said softly, without hesitation. “Strength without purpose is chaos. Sacrifice is not weakness—it is strategy.”

He looked at her closely, his yellow eyes catching the light.

“You understand that, don’t you?”

Leia nodded slowly. “I think so.”

She sat down.

“Good.” The Emperor lowered himself into the seat opposite her and moved his first piece. “Tell me, child. Do you enjoy your training?”

“Yes,” Leia said. “It’s fun—even when it’s hard.”

“Hardship is the path to clarity. Struggle—even pain—if used properly, can lead to evolution.” He gave her a faint smile. “Your father has chosen a difficult road. It would be easier to let others do the work. But he is… protective. Perhaps too much so.”

Leia glanced up, cautious. “He only wants me to succeed.”

“I know,” Palpatine said gently, with something like sympathy. “He has lost much. But loss, too, can be instructive… if one is willing to take the right lessons from it.”

He studied her, fingers steepled over the edge of the board.

“But what do you want, young Leia? What are your desires, child?”

Leia paused. What did she want?

Everyone always seemed to expect things from her—to study, to behave, to succeed. She didn’t want to disappoint anyone. But if she could wish for something else…

“To see my friend more,” she said slowly. “Not just on holo. And maybe my grandparents too. And a tooka—but Father said no to that.”

She shrugged, looking down at the board. “I guess I already have most of the stuff I want.”

The Emperor smiled—gently, indulgently.

“A rare thing, to feel content. But you see, child… the desires you name are not so simple. A tooka, a friend, even time with your family—these are not things. They are conditions. Arrangements of the world. And the world does not often arrange itself to please us.”

He gestured toward the Shah-tezh board between them.

“But power… true power… allows one to shape the board. To bring distant friends closer. To open doors others would keep locked. To create space for joy—and to deny space to sorrow.”

Leia looked down, brow furrowed. “But I can’t do that.”

“Not yet.” His voice was soft, almost grandfatherly. “But you will. That is why you are being taught. That is why your path matters. The Empire is not only rules and Star Destroyers, Leia. It is a mechanism. A shaping tool. And you—” he tapped the board gently, just beside the piece that represented the Imperator, “—are the jewel at its center. When the tool is guided by a worthy hand, it can create anything.”

She looked at him, uncertain. “Even time with my friend?”

He inclined his head. “Even that.”

He let the silence stretch, letting the idea settle. Then he gestured to her side of the board.

“Now… let us see what you will shape.”

They played in silence for a few moves. Leia found herself thinking harder than expected. It wasn’t like holochess. Every piece could move in strange ways. Every choice felt heavier.

Then the Emperor spoke again, softly.

“Do you know why I asked you to play?”

Leia shook her head.

“Because I wished to see how you think. How you weigh your options. How you respond to pressure.” He tapped a finger against the table. “This board is the galaxy. The pieces are its powers. Most players react—like pieces, they are moved. Some defend—but defense alone gets you nowhere. A few play. But the rarest, the chosen few… they control it. They guide everyone. Even the players.”

Leia looked up at him. “Which am I?”

He smiled, his yellow eyes studying her.

“That is what we are here to discover.”

They continued in silence for a time, the pieces clicking softly against the etched demesne. Leia’s eyes scanned the board with growing focus.

She had quickly learned the strength of the Vizier—gliding across diagonals like a dancer—and the blunt force of the Beast, barreling forward and knocking aside lesser pieces. The Counselor protected, the Knight surprised, and the Disciple lured opponents into missteps. The Outcast still confused her. It moved erratically. But she had a feeling it mattered more than it seemed.

She lost her Dowager early—too bold with her central push—but managed to trap one of the Emperor’s Craft pieces by disguising her Knight’s path as a defensive play.

Palpatine hummed with interest. “A cunning feint. Did your father teach you that?”

Leia shook her head. “It made sense. You were focused on my right flank, so I let you take it. You didn’t notice the angle I opened.”

She had actually picked up the idea from listening to officers aboard the Devastator talk about battle strategy. A game or a battle—they weren’t so different, even if the scale was galaxies apart.

“Hmm,” he said, watching her hands as she made her next move. “You see the board well. Not as pieces, but as a structure of influence. That’s promising.”

Leia flushed with quiet pride.

But as the game continued, she began to feel a shift. Her left side was weakening. While her Imperator remained protected, Palpatine’s formation was tightening. His Disciple and Beast had cornered her Vizier. Her Knight was out of position. The Outcast—still puzzling—sat idle at the edge.

She leaned forward, calculating. There had to be a way through.

“You hesitate,” Palpatine observed softly.

“I’m thinking,” she said, irritation flickering in her voice.

He inclined his head. “Good. But remember—indecision is its own move. By waiting, you give your opponent a chance to find a weakness.”

Leia repositioned her Beast to stall his advance. It worked—for one turn.

Then his Craft slid into place. His Knight doubled back. His Vizier darted forward like a blade. He was closing in.

Leia’s fingers hovered over the board.

“If I move the Counselor here, I block your Craft,” she said aloud. “But then the Knight can jump the line and take my Disciple. If I let that happen…” She shook her head. “No. Then the Imperator’s flank is open.”

Palpatine watched with serene interest. “You see it. The trap is not yet sprung—but you feel its breath.”

Leia bit her lip. She made the only move she could. It was defensive—too defensive. And he knew it.

With gentle grace, he advanced his Vizier.

“Inescapable,” he said quietly. “And indefensible.”

She stared. There was no move that would protect her Imperator—not without sacrificing it the next turn. She had lost. Leia sat back, frustrated despite herself. She had nearly turned it. Nearly tricked him. Nearly held the center.

Palpatine smiled.

“Clever child,” he said, voice low and full of silk. “But I always win.”

Leia forced herself to nod. “That’s the rule of the game.”

“And of the galaxy,” he added gently. “Always remember this.”

He rested a single finger against the Imperator piece and tilted it slightly. “There is always a larger board.”

Leia nodded. “I think I understand. I’ve listened to the officers on the Devastator, and it’s actually not much different from battle strategy.”

Palpatine stood, his robes rustling faintly.

“Correct. But battles, dear child, can be fought on more than one arena.” He smiled. “We shall play again. And perhaps next time, you will not fall into the same trap.”

Leia looked up at him. “Next time I’ll win.”

His smile deepened. “Good. Let us hope your father is teaching you more than saber forms.” A pause. “Or perhaps he requires some assistance.”

Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed down the garden path—measured, unmistakable.

Leia turned just as her father emerged through the arched entryway, his black armor gleaming faintly in the filtered sunlight. He paused, just for a moment, then advanced with deliberate steps.

The red-robed guards shifted subtly but did not move to stop him.

Palpatine tilted his head. “Ah. Lord Vader. How fortunate—you arrive just in time. Young Leia and I have just finished our game. Your daughter has the mind of a strategist…” A beat. “Or perhaps a politician.”

A moment of stillness followed—tension, heavy and quiet. Leia shifted, uneasy. She was about to speak—wanted to tell Father that she had used tactics from the Devastator officers. But before she could, his gloved hand came to rest on her shoulder—lightly, but firmly.

“I see she has been well occupied,” Father said.

“Indeed,” Palpatine replied, folding his hands within his sleeves. “A sharp mind. Quick. Curious. Eager to learn. And bold enough to challenge her Emperor to a game.” He smiled faintly. “She did not win, of course—but she showed… promise.”

Leia beamed at the praise, the weight in the air easing slightly. “I almost had him.”

“Then you played well,” Father said. His voice was even—but it carried a note of caution beneath the praise.

Palpatine studied him. “You’ve kept her away too long, Lord Vader. First on the Devastator, and now Mustafar.”

His tone was light. But the words cut. “Such a clever, bright child—hidden away like a relic in a vault. Almost a crime, Lord Vader.”

Father’s mask tilted slightly toward Leia. “She is still young.”

“A flower may be young,” Palpatine said, “but keep it too long in the dark… and it may never bloom.”

Leia looked between them, sensing something beneath their words. A pressure. Not anger, exactly—but weight.

The Emperor turned to her.

“Would you like to attend a gala, my dear? Meet some of the Empire’s finest? Perhaps even speak a few words. Nothing demanding, of course—just enough to show the galaxy the Jewel we’ve been polishing. As I said: there are many battlefields one might master.”

Leia hesitated—but it sounded interesting. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Palpatine smiled. “Excellent.”

He glanced at Father. “You agree, of course.”

There was a pause. The hiss of the respirator filled the silence.

Then, at last: “She is ready.”

“Good,” Palpatine said softly. “Then let us make the proper arrangements. A single evening… and the Empire will see the future we are cultivating.”

He stepped away from the board. The red guards fell in at his sides.

Leia stood and gave a perfect courtly bow.

Palpatine nodded. “Until then, young Leia.”

And then he was gone, the shadows of his presence lingering even after his form had disappeared down the path.

Her father said nothing.

Leia looked up at him. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he said quietly. “You played well.”

But something in his voice had changed. It wasn’t pride. It wasn’t disappointment. It was something else, something heavy.

————————

Leia stood before the mirror, studying her reflection.

Her back was perfectly straight, hands folded neatly in front of her. She wore the expression she had practiced: poised, calm, with just a hint of curiosity.

But beneath the surface, her fingers itched to move. Her thoughts buzzed. She was excited. And she was worried. Tiny butterflies—like those in the Imperial Gardens—seemed to have nested in her belly.

Tonight, she would attend her first Imperial gala. She knew how important that was. Everyone had made it clear. Even Father—who rarely explained anything he didn’t have to—had told her that this night mattered.

She wouldn’t be expected to say much. But she would be seen. Moffs, governors, senators, other important officials—they would take note. And what she did would reflect on the Empire, the Emperor, and her father.

She wore a beautiful dress, specially made for the occasion. She had worn pretty dresses before, but this was different. Heavier. Darker. Black and red. Elegant. Imperial. Not quite adult, but adult-ish. Her hair had been pinned up in a formal style. It reminded her of holos she had seen of Mother when she was a senator. There was a Naboo feel to it.

Somehow, that made her feel better. Like the mother she had never met might be watching over her. She shook her head slightly, just to feel the weight of it.

Behind her, two servants worked in practiced silence—adjusting the final folds, securing the clasp at her shoulder.

A protocol droid stood nearby, reciting last-minute etiquette rules in a soft, measured voice.

“You will enter when called. Greet the Emperor first. You will kneel. Speak only when addressed. But when you do, your words must ring clear.”

Leia nodded.

A dark shape stepped forward behind her, and the servants withdrew at once. Father. He studied her in silence, arms folded, cape still as stone. His mask betrayed nothing—but she could feel his eyes on her. Watching. Measuring.

She wished, not for the first time, that she could sense his feelings the way he could so often sense hers. Maybe he could teach her that next time on Mustafar.

She looked up and met the red lenses of his mask. The worry burst out before she could catch it.

“Will I do it right?” she asked, her voice small in the quiet room.

There was a pause.

“You will do what you have been taught,” he said at last. “And you will do more than all right, Leia.”

Leia nodded. She wasn’t sure if the words were comforting—but they were something. Still, the fluttering in her belly didn’t stop.

She fidgeted. “What if I say the wrong thing? What if I forget something?”

The protocol droid chimed in.

“You may be asked your opinion on the evening, the décor, or the future of the Empire. You may answer politely, but do not speculate. If asked about your father—express admiration. If asked about your upbringing—mention your education, the Imperial Youth Academy. If asked about your mother…”

Leia blinked. The droid did not finish. That, too, had been rehearsed. She was to say: “That is a private family matter.” And nothing more.

She turned back to the mirror, trying to see what others would see. A child, yes—but not just a child. Something more. The Emperor liked to call her The Jewel of the Empire. Was this what she was supposed to look like? A pretty gem? A symbol? Everyone kept saying she was a symbol of the future. She wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but it sounded important. So she had to get it right.

Leia took a slow breath and whispered under her breath: “I am the Jewel of the Empire. I am the Jewel of the Empire. I am the Jewel of the Empire…”

It helped—a little, atleast.

“Leia,” her father said, kneeling until their faces were level.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then: “You look…” A pause. “…like someone they will remember. Beautiful and strong—just like your mother. And you might be the Jewel of the Empire… but you are also so much more.”

Leia looked into his mask and smiled faintly. She wanted to hug him—but they were not alone, so she only nodded.

Without warning, the doors opened with a hiss of hydraulics. Two Royal Guards stood waiting in the corridor, their crimson robes shimmering in the light. Their presence was wordless but commanding. The escort had arrived.

Leia stepped forward. The hem of her gown whispered against the polished floor as she walked toward the waiting guards—her father beside her. Imposing. Constant. Inescapable. And somehow… comforting.

————————

The ballroom of the Imperial Palace shimmered like a cut gem—light refracting through crystal chandeliers, silver-threaded banners bearing the sigil of the Empire hanging high above the polished stone floors. Senators, moffs, admirals, and dignitaries moved in measured currents, their conversations hushed and precise. Some wore ceremonial uniforms; others favored formal robes or finely tailored attire.

And above them all, at the far end of the chamber on a raised marble dais, stood the Emperor.

His Master had made no speech at the start of the gala. He rarely did these days—preferring to let his presence speak for itself.

Vader stood apart, cloaked in shadow on the upper balcony. A black silhouette at the edge of the Empire’s pageantry. No one approached. No one dared. His silence was its own perimeter.

He preferred it that way.

In a past life, he might have found enjoyment in such festivities. But no longer. If not for Leia, he would not have been here at all. This was Sidious’s arena—just as it had once been Padmé’s. And though the weapons here were words and appearances, Vader had learned enough from watching Padmé to recognize that this, too, was a battlefield. He would not allow his daughter to enter it alone.

So he endured. Even as the soundwaves of music, clinking glasses, and murmuring voices assaulted the implants in his inner ears—overloading the circuitry with layered noise—he endured.

From his position, he had a broad view of the guests below.

Known and unknown faces. Military and political. There was Tarkin, mingling with Yularen—two men from past and present life. Other high officials were present as well: governors and Imperial senators, the loyal, and those who only pretended to be.

He allowed himself a small smirk when he saw Organa. Perhaps tonight’s event would cause the man to squirm, knowing the Empire had a future. It was the least of what the man deserved. Vader had nothing but contempt for the one who had stolen his child. The man loved to mount his high eopie and speak of the democracy of the old, broken Republic—while he himself had married a woman who inherited her throne, and had been born into privilege.

The idea that Organa might have raised his child—by chance, or twist of fate—was enough for the dark side to stir around him. Seeking a direction for that rage, Vader turned his attention back to his Master.

Then the Emperor rose, and Mas Amedda—always at his Master’s side—beat his staff once against the floor.

And as if on cue, the hall fell silent. The orchestra halted mid-note. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the servers froze where they stood.

Sidious raised one hand, and when he spoke, his voice—though soft—echoed effortlessly through the chamber.

“My loyal subjects. Tonight, we gather in celebration not of victory, nor conquest, but of continuity. Of legacy.” He took a single step forward. “The Empire endures not by strength alone, but by vision—by what we build, what we preserve, and what we prepare for the future.”

A pause. Heavy with calculation.

“My loyal subjects. As we celebrate the strength and order of our Empire, allow me to present to you a symbol of that future. The daughter of my enforcer… and a beloved child of the Empire. Come forth, Lady Leia.”

The side doors opened. And Leia stepped through. If Vader could have drawn breath, he would have held it.

She moved with slow, deliberate grace—each step perfectly measured. Unafraid. Unhurried. But through the Force, he could feel the whirlwind within her: worry, excitement, curiosity, fear. Her seven-year-old face betrayed none of it.

A ripple moved through the crowd. Vader saw senators turn to whisper to one another—some in surprise, others in calculation.

Leia reached the dais and ascended its steps. At the summit, she lowered herself to one knee before the Emperor. Sidious looked down at her, yellow eyes gleaming. Vader’s hand clenched into a fist.

“Rise, child,” his Master said.

Leia obeyed. He placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. His voice softened—but did not lose its weight.

“Let them see you.”

Leia turned, facing the chamber. All eyes were upon her. From the balcony, Vader remained still. Sidious kept his hand on her shoulder for a moment longer, then withdrew it.

“This is the face of the Empire’s future,” he declared. “Grace. Intelligence. Purpose. She does not yet wield command—but she learns. And soon… she will help shape what is to come. A symbol of Imperial youth.”

He let the silence linger.

“My honored guests—I give you Lady Leia… the Jewel of the Empire.”

The title rang out like a declaration of intent. Then, at a small nod from Sidious:

“You may join the floor, Lady Leia.”

Leia bowed once more and descended the dais with the same poised calm. The music resumed—softer now, more reverent. She moved among the crowd like a ripple in still water. Serene. Composed. But around her, the senators whispered.

Vader could not hear their words. But he could guess them. He looked once more toward the dais. Even from a distance, he could sense his Master’s satisfaction. He was smiling. A new game had begun.

————————

Leia moved through the crowd, feeling like a rare animal on display. Everyone looked, but few dared to speak. At first, she had been nervous—now she was starting to feel slightly bored.

Trying to distract herself, she plucked a small bite from a tray carried by a passing droid. It looked delicate—stacked in precise layers and garnished with something green. But the moment she brought it closer, the smell hit her. Bitter. Salty. Faintly metallic.

Leia wrinkled her nose. Definitely something only adults would eat.

She glanced around, hoping no one had noticed, and began subtly scanning for a discreet place to dispose of it. Maybe behind a vase. Or inside one.

“Lady Leia?”

Leia turned, hand still holding the offending canapé.

The woman standing before her was striking—not in the way the moffs or admirals were, but in a quiet, composed way. Golden silk draped her shoulders, and her copper hair was pinned up with elegant simplicity.

Leia straightened and dipped her head politely.

“Senator Mothma,” she said, having memorized the names and faces of every guest. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“The honor is mine,” the Chandrilan senator replied, her voice smooth as glass. “You made quite an impression on the dais.”

Leia offered a careful smile. “Thank you, Senator. And your dress is really beautiful. I wanted a gold one, but Father said I had to wear black and red.”

“You’re too kind, child.”

Senator Mothma let her gaze drift over Leia. Her eyes lingered briefly on the canapé. Leia wrinkled her nose again. She felt silly holding it like that.

“I can take that off your hands,” Senator Mothma offered gently. “I have a daughter near your age—her name is Leida. She wouldn’t like it either.”

Leia perked up at that and handed over the small piece.

“Thank you. And your daughter—her name is close to mine. Does she go to my school? Some of my classmates are children of senators.”

Senator Mothma shook her head. “No. She attends a special school for Chandrilan children.”

A pause followed. They stood near the edge of the floor—just close enough to speak privately, but still very much within sight.

“Lady Leia,” Mon Mothma said at last, her voice softening, “you look a great deal like someone I once knew. She was a senator from Naboo.”

Leia tensed. This was turning into one of those topics Father didn’t want her to talk about.

“Oh,” was all she said. But she didn’t walk away. If this woman had known Mother… she couldn’t be all bad.

“Yes,” Mon continued gently. “She was a dear friend—graceful and brave.”

Leia felt herself growing curious, but also uncertain how to respond.

After a brief pause, Mothma added, “And I understand that Lord Vader is your father… Do you have your mother here with you tonight as well?”

Leia’s spine straightened. The warmth vanished. This was the forbidden question. And she had her answer well-rehearsed.

“My mother is a private family matter, Senator Mothma,” she said evenly. “And I am not allowed to speak of her with strangers.”

With that, Leia turned and walked away.

She put some distance between herself and the senator, her back straight, chin high. And then—unexpectedly—she felt a small surge of pride.

I handled it, she thought. She would tell Father later that evening: she had navigated one of those dangerous conversations.

The best part about meeting Senator Mon Mothma, Leia decided, was that afterward, more people wanted to talk to her. They asked about school, what she liked to do, if she lived at the palace. Leia answered each question exactly as she’d been taught. Some spoke to her like she was a baby. Others treated her as if she were a grown-up.

She liked the latter far better.

After a while, she made her way toward the long refreshment table.

Close by, she spotted two men she actually recognized—she had met them in passing before, even spoken with them on occasion. One was the Deputy Director of the ISB, Colonel Wullf Yularen. The other was Grand Moff Tarkin.

They were speaking to a third man—clean-shaven, sharp-featured, dressed in a pristine white uniform. He wore a cape, though compared to Father’s, it wasn’t much of one. It didn’t look like it would swirl when he walked, or billow properly. It just sort of… hung there.

Leia decided it was a very disappointing cape.

As she got closer, Leia had the distinct feeling the men didn’t particularly like each other. Still, she was curious. And she was thirsty.

As she approached, the men turned toward her. Leia curtsied gracefully, just as she had been taught.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said politely. “Do you happen to know which drinks are non-alcoholic?”

There was a moment of pause, as if they were trying to decide what to make of her.

Grand Moff Tarkin was the first to speak.

“The fruit cordials along the left row are safe. Avoid the silver flutes.”

“Thank you,” Leia said with a nod.

She selected one of the fruit drinks and took a small sip, trying to mimic the way she’d seen some of the court ladies do earlier.

“So,” she asked, glancing up at them again, “do you like the Emperor’s gala?”

“An honor, my lady,” the caped man replied quickly, his smile sharpening. “I do believe I’ve had the honor of meeting you before. I am Orson Krennic—Director of the Imperial Military Department of Advanced Weapons Research.”

Leia thought it was an awfully long title, but she nodded politely.

“I’m surprised you haven’t met our guest of honor before,” Tarkin said. “Lady Leia has been trailing after her father for years.”

Leia suppressed the urge to glare. She knew the Grand Moff was an important man, but he had a tendency to speak about her like she wasn’t standing right there.

“I see,” Krennic said, glancing around as if to spot her father in the crowd. Then, after a moment: “Will your father be joining us soon?”

Leia gave a small, polite shake of her head. “Father doesn’t like to mingle.”

“Ah.” Krennic’s smile twitched. “I see. And what does your father like? I’m afraid I know very little about him.”

Leia brightened. Even on the Devastator, people acted as if Father didn’t have any hobbies. But he did. He might not call them that—but what else did you call it when someone spent hours repairing some stupid ship?

“Oh, Father likes many things,” she said with pride. “Lightsabers. Piloting. Engineering. He can spend hours fixing things—I think it’s boring, but he likes it, and he’s really good at it.”

Her comment, however, didn’t seem to have the intended effect.

A tense silence followed. Yularen’s expression barely shifted, but he studied her with a strange, lingering curiosity. Tarkin’s gaze flicked briefly toward him.

Leia frowned, wondering if she had said something wrong. But then again, people often grew tense around her father. That didn’t mean it was her fault.

It was Krennic who finally broke the silence.

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, my lady.” His smile lingered a moment too long. Polite—but sharp at the edges. Calculating.

Leia wasn’t sure why. But she made a mental note of it—just in case.

Deciding she was finished, she offered a final, well-practiced nod, then turned and disappeared into the crowd.

—————————

Leia had needed a moment. Just a moment.

The corridor outside the main ballroom was quiet, dimly lit, and lined with polished windows that overlooked the night-washed skyline of Imperial Center. She stood near one of them now, small hands clasped behind her back, chin tilted slightly as she stared at the buildings in the distance.

It was strange how silent the city looked from this viewpoint—like the surface of a lake, glittering with millions of lights.

She felt good. She had done well—at least, she thought so. Answered questions. Avoided the dangerous ones. Been polite. Talked about the Empire. Father would be pleased.

Leia allowed herself a small, secret smile. Then she almost yawned. She was tired.

“You carry yourself like a vessel that already knows its shape.”

The voice came from behind. Soft. Low. Not loud enough to startle—but enough to chill.

Leia turned.

The woman standing there wore pale gray. Her long neck was exposed, her head hairless, her expression unreadable. Her eyes were colorless and deep—too deep. And she hadn’t made a sound approaching.

Leia had seen her before, but never spoken to her.

She was one of the Emperor’s advisors. A little like the Grand Vizier, but creepier.

Leia straightened instinctively.

“Good evening,” she said, polite but guarded. “Were you looking for someone?”

“Only you,” the woman replied. “It is fitting you are finally exposed to the galaxy. You were not meant to be hidden forever, child. The Force does not forget its patterns.”

Leia frowned. The woman hadn’t said anything overtly wrong—but something about her made Leia’s stomach tighten. Her face held no warmth, and her gaze felt close—intrusively so. Like she was being studied, not seen.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Not formally,” the woman said. “But I have seen you. Long before tonight. You are not merely the daughter of a Sith Lord. You are the arc of a prophecy long suppressed. A second chance. You are becoming.”

Leia took a step back.

“I think I should return to the ballroom,” she said.

But the woman stepped closer. Too close.

She raised a pale, thin hand and gently placed it atop Leia’s head. Her touch was cold, even through Leia’s hair. Leia froze.

“It sings in you,” the woman whispered, fingers brushing lightly through Leia’s curls. “The power. The pattern. Hidden… but waiting. The Force does not forget what it began.”

She leaned down, close enough that Leia could smell something metallic on her breath—incense, blood, or something in between.

“There is no need to fear, child. Pain is only the chrysalis. The truth will come after.”

Leia’s skin crawled. Her muscles tightened—but she didn’t flinch. She didn’t step back. She simply endured, teeth clenched behind her lips.

And then—she felt it. The sensation was cold and dark, but also protective. A darkness that would hide and shelter her rather than frighten her. Father.

She didn’t need to hear him. Not the breath. Not the steps. She felt him: a wall of power and authority and cold protection.

He stepped into the corridor behind her, his cloak trailing, his mask catching the faint light.

“Moore.” The name was not spoken like a greeting.

The Umbaran turned with a small tilt of her head. Not surprised. Not afraid. “My lord, I was only admiring your daughter.”

“You’ve admired her enough,” Father said coldly. “Leave.”

Moore held his gaze for another breath, then inclined her head. “Of course.”

She turned and moved away, vanishing down the corridor like a shadow.

Leia stood still for a moment, then reached up and ran a hand through her hair—quickly, as if wiping something off. Her chest felt tight, and her fingers had curled into her skirt without her noticing.

That woman had been just as creepy as she had looked. Leia didn’t know why exactly. Moore hadn’t yelled. Hadn’t threatened. But something about her felt wrong.

Like she looked straight through your skin and spoke to something underneath.

“How are you doing?” Father’s voice cut through the silence, low and even.

Leia didn’t look up at him right away. She took a breath, smoothing her dress.

“It’s been good,” she said finally. “But I’m starting to get really tired.”

As if to emphasize her point, her body decided to yawn.

There was a pause.

“You’ve done enough for one evening,” Father said at last.

She didn’t respond, but her shoulders eased at his words. Together, they walked back toward the ballroom doors.

As they approached, Father slowed and addressed the red-robed guards stationed at the entrance.

“Inform the Emperor that Lady Leia has fulfilled her duties for the evening. She will retire now.”

The guards inclined their heads in acknowledgment.

Leia didn’t say anything. But as she passed through the doorway, she glanced back over her shoulder—toward the corridor where the woman in gray had vanished.

————————

Leia stood in front of the full-length mirror in her quarters, pulling loose the pins from her hair one by one. Brown strands fell stiffly over her shoulders, shaped by hours of styling. The dress—black velvet with deep red panels—felt impossibly heavy now. She stepped out of it carefully, letting it drop to the floor like a discarded costume.

Next came the shoes, kicked off with a sigh, and then the soft white nightgown—simple and warm from the laundry droid.

Her room was quiet, the tall windows overlooking one of the palace gardens. From here, it was hard to believe she lived on a planet that was one vast city. This space felt small and warm. Just her—and the quiet hum of the palace around her.

Leia climbed into bed and pulled the covers around her shoulders. For the first time all evening, she let her body fully relax.

Then the door hissed open, and her father stepped inside.

She sat up slightly as he approached.

“I talked to a lot of people,” she said. “Senator Mothma, Tarkin, Yularen… even that man in white with the cape.”

“Director Krennic.”

She nodded. “It was a rather stupid cape. Yours is better.”

He said nothing, but she thought she saw the faintest shift in his stance—amusement, perhaps.

“They all asked me things. I remembered everything you told me to say.”

“You represented the Empire with precision and discipline.”

Leia smiled faintly at the praise, then yawned.

“Does that mean I can get a tooka? I was responsible.”

“No,” came the immediate response.

Leia made a face. How she could be old enough for galas and speeches but not old enough for a pet was beyond her.

“You were tired,” her father added after a moment. “But you did not show it.”

Leia hesitated. “About that woman… in the corridor. She was strange. She’s one of the Emperor’s advisors, right?”

“Yes. Her name is Sly Moore. She served him before the Empire. She is aware of his true nature—and possesses minor Force sensitivity.”

Leia bit her lip. “I didn’t like her.”

“You are not required to,” he said. “She overstepped. It will not happen again.”

Leia leaned back against the pillows, the blankets tucked around her.

“I’m glad you came.”

He stood there a moment longer, then, without a word, bent down and adjusted the blanket at the edge of her bed—just slightly. A quiet gesture.

“Sleep, Leia. You’ve done enough for today.”

She closed her eyes. She could sense him still standing there, silent in the dark. And she felt safe.

————————

The school library was quiet that afternoon, save for the soft tapping of pieces on polished stone. Sunlight filtered through the tinted dome above, catching the pale marble of the Shah-tezh board where Leia sat opposite Aria.

It was after school hours, but they stayed anyway. Their time together was rare, and Aria’s aunt was attending a conference—and being interviewed for a potential Coruscant-based lead research role within the Imperial Science Division.

Aria narrowed her eyes and moved her Disciple into Leia’s flank. “Got you.”

Leia didn’t react, eyes flicking over the board. “Only if I move the Dowager.”

Aria tilted her head. “You’re not?”

Leia slid another piece instead—a subtle redirection, forcing Aria to choose between pressing forward or protecting her core.

“You’re giving up defense?”

“No,” Leia said. “I’m forcing you to overextend.”

Aria blinked. “Okay, that’s a little terrifying. How did you get so good at this?”

Leia smiled faintly. “I’ve had… new lessons lately.”

“From who? Your father? One of your tutors?”

Leia paused, then moved a knight with deliberate grace. “Sometimes you win without fighting. Just by making people look at things a certain way.”

Aria looked up from the board. “I’m trying to decide if that sounds wise or creepy. Seriously, who talks like that? You’ve been spending way too much time with old people.”

There was a beat of silence as Aria slid a piece into place. Then a sigh—then a small, forced laugh.

She shifted her piece again, then stared at the board for a moment. “So… when exactly were you going to tell me about the gala?”

Leia stiffened slightly. “You heard?”

“In the girls’ refresher,” Aria said. “Two older girls were gossiping. Their parents were there. Apparently, they almost see you as a princess now.”

Leia sighed. “That explains why everyone’s been acting so weird.”

“It was a bit weird,” Aria admitted. “The way they talked. ‘Lady Leia this.’ ‘Lady Leia that.’” She made an exaggerated gesture and an overly refined accent. “‘Did you see her kneel before the Emperor? Flawless!’ They talked about you like you were some kind of doll they wanted to play with.”

That got a small snort out of Leia.

“It wasn’t that big a deal. Just smile, be polite, say good things about the Empire.”

“So… what’s this title?” Aria asked. “The seniors said the Emperor called you… ‘Jewel of the Empire.’ Is that, like, a real title? Like Princess or Duchess? Or just a fancy nickname?”

Leia hesitated. Her fingers hovered over a pawn.

“I think it’s both,” she said carefully. “It sounds official. But it doesn’t come with any rules. Or responsibilities. Not really.”

“So you can’t order around armies, or senators, or anything like that,” Aria said, sitting up straighter.

Leia smiled faintly. “No, I don’t think so.”

Aria moved another piece, then wrinkled her nose.

“I guess it sounds pretty. But if they’re giving you a title, it should actually do something. Like, I don’t know—General Leia or Admiral of Sparkles. A jewel just sits there. You don’t sit. You do stuff.”

Leia burst out laughing, nearly knocking over the board. “You’re terrible.”

Aria shrugged. “You know I’m right.”

They reset the game and started again, laughing and giggling as Leia shared more details from the gala.