astramajestic.
vindication is swift and short lived. there’s no pleasure here. nothing to find relief in, just tragedy and the cold, angry weight of her own emotions at the pit of her stomach. maybe ryoo was like him now, a shell of what was, wearing her body armour and mask in the same way he wears that suit that keeps him living. “after it all ——” after she gave birth. after someone used holo-trickery to make it look like there was a body, like she’d died pregnant. “i wake up. obi-wan’s gone, ‘n’ no, i don’ know where he is,” there’s vitriol in that. she’s not angry with obi-wan, but it seemed unfair that the force had seen to scatter them to the wind. “in a deserted med facility —— i could barely walk.”
part of her hopes he still feels it. that he sees her and feels the weight of what the last years of their life have been like. how much of the blame she wants to lay at his feet.
—— and in the SAME moment, anguish roils in her heart. it’s been so long since she’s felt properly. felt with her whole self and she wishes she could explain to him how her world has changed. how people, if she closes her eyes and focuses, are dew drops on a cobweb, and if she watches, loses herself in that place, she can see the small impossible vibrations that shake the web, and the people within in.
but he’s become the thing that acts. the right hand of the empire. ryoo fears him now, but by the force, for the last vestiges of the woman she once was she has to try. “the firs’ thing i learned was about the emperor, an’ his hand, the inquisitors. so i ran. —— for the longest time i thought you’d feel me in the force ‘n’ come after me.“ for a moment she lets the thought sit. she can’t outright say that the emperor might have hidden her somehow, she doesn’t know finitely if it actually woks that way, if he could have sensed her. outright treason, even in her mind, is a good way to draw unwanted attention from the thought police.
VADER’S FURY GROWS in great, terrible thunderheads of the Force around them, all that uncompromising might turning upon her like that fateful night on Mustufar. Here is the monster birthed by years of warped repression at by the Council’s hand && the subtle machinations of a hidden evil. A nightmarish conglomerate pure animal misery armored in cold metal. That which revels in wanton destruction, sharp && razored && meant to rend anyone that comes into reach into bloody scraps.
The Sith Lord’s concept of self has long since been obliterated by the all-consuming madness that propelled Anakin Skywalker’s body into the flames. Hatred so strong && so dark it could blot out binary suns. She’d been the victim of it before, back when his power acted as an open flame: uncontrollable, with the ability to either burn or warm whatever he faced.
What stands before her is an entirely different creature; a monument of glacial resolve && black desolation that chokes. He exists in a hollow, airless void as cold as the vacuum of space. There’s not a twitch of movement from the beast, his inhuman stillness as artificial as the sucking hiss of his breaths, a product of the unyielding metallic limbs he balances on.
❝ && the child? ❞ Surely she knew of their son’s survival if she herself had not perished. The question is a test, one he knows she will not pass. She wouldn’t have made such an effort to hide herself from him if she wasn’t protecting the boy the same way his old master had attempted to. No matter, their efforts were all in vain, && Luke Skywalker would be his.
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