The data from Research Station Theta-Seven was worse than Vader had anticipated.
He sat in his private study, surrounded by holographic displays showing the faces of children—thousands of them, ranging from infants to teenagers, all identified by Project Harvester as possessing Force sensitivity. Each file contained detailed information: name, age, location, estimated power level, family connections, and most disturbingly, "acquisition status."
Acquired. Pending Acquisition. Eliminated. Relocated.
The clinical language couldn't disguise what it meant. The Empire was systematically hunting children, either capturing them for the Inquisitor program or eliminating them as potential threats. Families were being torn apart, communities disrupted, lives destroyed—all because these children had the misfortune of being born with abilities they didn't choose and couldn't control.
Palpatine's paranoia made manifest, Vader thought, scrolling through yet another page of young faces. He fears the Force so much that he would rather destroy its potential wielders than risk them becoming threats.
But these children don't have to be threats. They could be assets. They could be allies. They could be the foundation of something new.
Marcus Chen's memories stirred with uncomfortable recognition. In the original timeline, the Force-sensitive children of this era had been largely forgotten—background details in a story focused on the Skywalker family. But they had existed, had suffered, had died or been corrupted by an Empire that saw them only as weapons or obstacles.
I can change that, Vader realized. I have the resources now. I have the power. I can find these children before the Inquisitors do.
The question is: what do I do with them once I find them?
He couldn't train them himself—not as Jedi, not as Sith. He lacked the patience for teaching, the temperament for nurturing, the philosophical framework that either tradition required. And the Nightsisters, while skilled in Dark Side manipulation, followed traditions that were not suited for children.
I need to find someone who can train them, he concluded. Someone who understands the Force but isn't bound by Jedi or Sith dogma. Someone who can teach them to develop their abilities without corrupting them in the process.
The obvious candidate was Ahsoka Tano, but Vader had been carefully avoiding any direct contact with his former Padawan. Her involvement would raise too many questions, stir too many memories, create complications that he wasn't prepared to handle.
There must be other options, he thought. Survivors of other Force traditions. Beings who understand power but don't worship it.
The search would take time, but time was something Vader had in abundance. For now, he would focus on the immediate priority: identifying and locating the children before the Inquisitors could reach them.
He pulled up the first file—a four-year-old human girl on Lothal, flagged as "high potential" with an acquisition order dated three weeks from now.
Starting there, he decided. The Shadow Legion can handle the extraction. Quiet, clean, no witnesses. The Empire will assume she died in an accident or disappeared into the criminal underworld.
One child at a time. That's how we begin.
The Maw Installation, two days later...
The Death Star construction facility was the most heavily guarded location in the Empire.
Nestled within a cluster of black holes that made navigation virtually impossible for anyone without the precise hyperspace coordinates, the Maw Installation represented the pinnacle of Imperial paranoia. The facility was designed to be invisible, unreachable, and utterly secure from any possible threat.
Vader found it insulting that they thought any of that would stop him.
His visit was official—Grand Moff Tarkin had requested his presence to review security protocols for the ongoing construction project. The invitation had been phrased as a courtesy, but Vader understood its true purpose: Tarkin wanted to remind the Emperor's apprentice that this project was his domain, that the Death Star was being built according to his vision, and that Vader's role was limited to providing occasional intimidation rather than actual authority.
Let him believe that, Vader thought as his shuttle navigated the treacherous approach route. Let him feel secure in his command. It will make taking the plans easier.
The Death Star's superstructure was visible through the installation's viewports—a massive skeletal sphere, still years from completion, but already impressive in its scale. Workers swarmed across its surface like insects on a carcass, installing systems, welding plates, building the weapon that would eventually hold the galaxy in terror.
In the original timeline, Marcus Chen's memories provided, this thing destroyed Alderaan. Killed billions of people. Killed everyone Leia loved.
That cannot be allowed to happen.
But simply destroying the Death Star—or sabotaging its construction—would be counterproductive. Palpatine would simply rebuild it, probably with improved security that would make future interference impossible. And the deterrent value of such a weapon was not insignificant; the ability to destroy planets, properly wielded, could prevent wars rather than start them.
The solution is not to prevent the Death Star from existing, Vader concluded. The solution is to ensure that I control it rather than Palpatine.
That meant obtaining the complete technical specifications. It meant identifying the weapon's vulnerabilities—the thermal exhaust port that had doomed it in the original timeline, among others. And it meant either capturing the completed station or building his own.
Building my own, he mused. That would require resources beyond even what I've accumulated. The Kaminoan clones are expensive, but they're nothing compared to the cost of a moon-sized battle station.
But not impossible. Not if I have years to prepare. Not if I can secure the right alliances and the right facilities.
The shuttle landed in the installation's main hangar, where Grand Moff Tarkin was waiting with a contingent of officers and security personnel. The gaunt man's face wore its usual expression of cold superiority, but Vader sensed wariness beneath the surface.
He's afraid of me, Vader noted with satisfaction. Good. Fear keeps people honest.
"Lord Vader," Tarkin greeted him, his voice carrying its characteristic clipped precision. "Welcome to the Maw Installation. I trust your journey was uneventful?"
"It was adequate." Vader strode past the welcoming committee, forcing them to scramble to keep up. "Show me the construction progress. I wish to see how the Emperor's resources are being utilized."
Tarkin's jaw tightened at the implied criticism, but he maintained his composure. "Of course. This way, Lord Vader."
The tour that followed was informative in ways Tarkin probably didn't intend. Vader's enhanced sensors cataloged every detail—security codes, personnel rotations, data storage locations, communication protocols. His suit's systems quietly copied files from every terminal they passed, building a comprehensive picture of the Death Star project that would take months to analyze fully.
The main reactor design is here, he noted, observing a schematic display that a junior officer was reviewing. And the superlaser specifications. The structural blueprints. Everything I need.
"The weapon is on schedule for completion in approximately fifteen years," Tarkin was saying, gesturing toward a holographic timeline. "Ahead of the original projections, thanks to innovations in construction technique and—"
"The thermal exhaust ports," Vader interrupted. "They appear to be a significant vulnerability."
Tarkin's expression flickered with surprise. "The exhaust ports are protected by defensive systems. Any attack would be immediately—"
"The ports lead directly to the main reactor. A precision strike could trigger a chain reaction that would destroy the entire station." Vader turned to face the Grand Moff directly. "Has this vulnerability been addressed in the design specifications?"
"The probability of such an attack succeeding is infinitesimal. The targeting requirements alone would be—"
"I did not ask about probability. I asked if the vulnerability has been addressed."
Tarkin's composure cracked slightly. "The design is sound, Lord Vader. I have personally reviewed—"
"Then you have failed in your review." Vader's vocoder dropped to its most threatening register. "A vulnerability is a vulnerability, regardless of the probability of exploitation. The Emperor expects perfection, not excuses."
"I... will have the engineering teams review the exhaust port design," Tarkin said through gritted teeth. "Additional shielding may be possible without significantly impacting the construction timeline."
"See that it is done."
Vader turned away, leaving Tarkin to stew in his embarrassment. The exchange had served multiple purposes: it established Vader's authority over the project despite Tarkin's nominal command, it created a distraction that would occupy Imperial attention while Vader's data theft went unnoticed, and it planted the seed of a design modification that might actually address the vulnerability.
If they add shielding to the exhaust ports, Vader calculated, the original Rebel attack might not succeed. But that depends on changes being implemented and maintained over fifteen years of construction.
Better to have backup plans.
He continued the tour, his sensors continuing to harvest data, his mind already planning how to use the information he was gathering.
The Death Star will be useful, he concluded. Either as a weapon under my control, or as a template for something better. Either way, this visit has been productive.
Mustafar, one week later...
Vader was in his meditation chamber, attempting to process the Death Star schematics he had acquired, when the fortress's sensors alerted him to an incoming ship.
The forge master, he identified, recognizing the signature of her Mandalorian vessel. Again.
This was the fourth unannounced visit in the past month. The first had been to deliver the final batch of beskar components for his armor upgrades. The second had been to "consult on future modifications." The third had been to discuss "potential alliance opportunities with other Mandalorian clans."
Each visit had ended with the forge master finding excuses to stand very close to him, to touch his armor while explaining technical details, to look up at his mask with an expression that Vader's limited experience with human interaction classified as "romantically interested."
I do not understand this situation, Vader thought, rising from his meditation with something approaching dread. I have done nothing to encourage this attention. I am a scarred cyborg in life support armor. I killed her people's ancient enemy. I am not an appropriate target for... whatever this is.
The forge master's shuttle landed in the main hangar, and Vader resigned himself to another bewildering encounter. He strode from his meditation chamber to meet her, hoping that this visit would be brief and professional.
It was neither.
"Lord Vader!" The forge master emerged from her shuttle with an energy that seemed inappropriate for a hardened Mandalorian warrior. Her armor gleamed under the hangar lights, and her scarred face was split by a smile that made Vader's processors stutter. "I bring excellent news!"
"What news?" Vader kept his voice flat, professional, completely devoid of the confusion churning through his circuits.
"The clans are rallying." She approached him with the confident stride of someone who had no concept of personal space. "Word of the Darksaber's return has spread throughout Mandalore. The traditionalists are gathering, discussing the possibility of unification. And they all want to know: who is the being who retrieved our sacred weapon? Who is this Vader who has done what no Mandalorian could?"
"I retrieved the Darksaber as payment for services rendered. There is no deeper significance."
"There is always deeper significance." The forge master stopped directly in front of him—far too close, her chest plate almost touching his—and looked up at his mask with an intensity that made him want to retreat. "You have done what Death Watch failed to do. What Pre Vizsla failed to do. What Bo-Katan Kryze failed to do. You returned the symbol of Mandalorian unity to Mandalorian hands."
"I—"
"Do you understand what that means to my people?" She stepped even closer—how was that possible?—and placed one armored hand flat against his chest plate. "You have given us hope, Lord Vader. Hope that we thought had been extinguished forever."
Vader.exe has encountered a critical error, his internal processes reported. Physical contact with romantically-interested female detected. Social protocols insufficient to handle situation. Recommend strategic retreat.
"The Darksaber is yours," Vader managed, his vocoder somehow conveying the desperate confusion he was feeling. "What you do with it is your concern."
"What I do with it," the forge master said, her voice dropping to something almost intimate, "depends very much on what you do next."
"What I... what?"
"The clans need leadership. They need someone to rally behind, someone who embodies the warrior spirit that has always defined our people." Her hand slid up his chest plate, coming to rest near his shoulder. "You could be that someone, Lord Vader. An honorary Mandalorian. A leader who understands strength, who values competence, who would never ask warriors to be anything less than what they are."
She wants me to become the leader of the Mandalorian people, Vader realized, his processors struggling to keep up with the implications. She is attempting to recruit me into her culture through... what? Seduction? Political manipulation? Some combination of both?
"I am not Mandalorian," he said, the words feeling inadequate to address the complexity of the situation.
"Blood doesn't make a Mandalorian. Spirit does." The forge master's other hand came up, both palms now pressed against his chest, her body leaning into his with an intimacy that was making his warning systems scream. "You have the spirit of a warrior. You fight with honor. You keep your promises. You have done more for my people in one year than the Empire has done in a decade of occupation."
This is extremely uncomfortable, Vader thought. I need to extract myself from this situation before it escalates further.
"I must attend to other matters," he said, stepping backward—only to find that the forge master moved with him, maintaining the contact. "The Shadow Legion requires briefing. There are missions to plan."
"Of course." The forge master's smile took on a knowing quality. "I would never keep you from your duties. But perhaps... when your duties are complete... we could discuss the future? Over dinner, perhaps?"
Dinner? She wants to have dinner with me? I don't eat! My suit processes nutrients through chemical injection! What would we even—
"I will... consider your proposal," Vader said, finally managing to disengage from her grip through a combination of Force-enhanced speed and pure desperation. "For now, I have work to do."
"I'll be waiting." The forge master's scarred face was still curved in that knowing smile. "Don't keep me waiting too long, Lord Vader. Mandalorian women are patient, but not infinitely so."
She turned and walked back to her shuttle, her armored hips swaying in a way that was probably deliberate and definitely confusing.
Vader stood in the hangar, watching her depart, his processors still struggling to recover from the encounter.
What is happening to my life? he wondered. I am a Dark Lord of the Sith. I command armies. I destroy enemies. I do not have dinner with Mandalorian forge masters who press their assets against my chest and suggest political alliances through romantic entanglement.
And yet, here we are.
Mother Shelish's voice came from somewhere behind him, carrying notes of barely suppressed amusement. "That was quite... educational to observe."
"You were watching?"
"The Nightsisters watch everything that occurs within the fortress, Lord Vader. It is our duty to protect you—from all threats." Her pale lips curved into a smile that suggested she found the situation considerably more entertaining than threatening. "Though I confess, the forge master's approach is more... direct than I anticipated."
"You anticipated this?"
"We anticipated that your growing power would attract attention. Romantic attention, specifically." Mother Shelish moved to stand beside him, her silver hair catching the hangar lights. "You are the most powerful being in the galaxy, Lord Vader. You are building an empire within an empire. You have allies, resources, and a vision for the future. Such beings attract admirers."
"I do not want admirers. I want to be left alone to pursue my objectives."
"Those two desires are mutually exclusive." Mother Shelish's voice carried something almost like sympathy. "Power attracts power. Strength attracts strength. And in this galaxy—in any galaxy—those who possess greatness will always find others who wish to share in it."
"This is not sharing. This is... I don't know what this is."
"It is courtship, Lord Vader. Or the beginning of it." Mother Shelish's smile widened slightly. "The forge master is not subtle, but she is sincere. She sees value in you beyond your military capabilities. She sees a potential partner—someone who could stand beside her as she leads the Mandalorian people toward a new future."
"I have no intention of—"
"Your intentions are your own. But you should understand what is happening, so you can respond appropriately." Mother Shelish turned toward the fortress interior. "The forge master is not the only one developing feelings for you. The pilot, Hera Syndulla, grows more attached with each passing day. The Emperor's Hand struggles with emotions she was never trained to process. Even some of the Shadow Legion commanders speak of you with reverence that borders on worship."
"The clones are loyal soldiers, nothing more."
"Perhaps. But loyalty and love are not so far apart as you might believe." Mother Shelish paused at the threshold. "The question you must ask yourself, Lord Vader, is not whether these beings care for you—that is already established. The question is what you will do with that caring. Will you use it? Reject it? Or..."
She left the sentence unfinished, her implication clear.
Vader stood alone in the hangar, watching the distant glow of the forge master's shuttle departing, his thoughts churning with implications he was only beginning to process.
I did not ask for any of this, he thought. I did not seek companionship or affection. I sought power, independence, the ability to protect my children and shape the galaxy's future.
But the universe seems determined to complicate my plans.
He turned and stalked into the fortress, trying to focus on the practical matters that awaited him.
It didn't work. The memory of the forge master's hands on his chest, her body pressed against his armor, her smile as she suggested dinner—all of it kept intruding on his concentration.
This is a problem, he concluded. A problem I have no idea how to solve.
Perhaps if I ignore it, it will go away.
Even as he thought it, he knew it was wishful thinking.
The universe was rarely that cooperative.
The fortress armory, three hours later...
Vader stood before a holographic display showing the specifications of a B1 Battle Droid, his mind finally focused on something he understood: military logistics.
The Shadow Legion is perfect for specialized operations, he thought, studying the droid schematics with professional interest. Elite soldiers for missions requiring precision and judgment. But they are too valuable for standard combat roles, and their production is too slow for large-scale deployment.
I need quantity in addition to quality.
The Clone Wars had demonstrated both the strengths and weaknesses of battle droids. They were cheap, mass-producible, and utterly expendable. They didn't require food, medical care, or psychological support. They could be deployed in numbers that would be impossible for organic soldiers.
But they were also stupid, predictable, and easily destroyed.
The original battle droids failed because the Separatists prioritized cost over capability, Vader analyzed. The B1s were barely functional, the B2s were marginally better, and even the specialized units were limited by processing power and programming constraints.
But that was twenty years ago. Technology has advanced. The constraints that limited battle droid effectiveness then may not apply now.
He pulled up specifications for various droid models, comparing capabilities and costs. The B1 was worthless—too fragile, too stupid, useful only as target practice. The B2 Super Battle Droid was more capable but still limited by its programming. The Droideka was effective but expensive and specialized. The Commando Droids were the closest to useful, but their production had been limited even during the war.
I need something new, Vader decided. Something that combines battle droid expendability with enhanced intelligence and combat capability.
He began sketching out specifications, drawing on both Anakin's memories of fighting droids and Marcus's knowledge of droid technology from the expanded universe.
Start with the B2 chassis—it's durable and proven. Upgrade the processing core with modern components. Install enhanced targeting systems and improved motor coordination. Add adaptive learning protocols that allow the droid to improve through combat experience.
The design took shape on the holographic display—a battle droid that would be smarter, tougher, and more capable than anything the Separatists had fielded. Not as good as the Shadow Legion, but good enough for standard military operations.
I'll call them the Legion Assault Droids, Vader decided. A second-tier force for operations where the enhanced clones would be wasted.
The production requirements were substantial—foundries, raw materials, programming facilities, testing grounds—but not impossible. The Separatist manufacturing networks still existed, dormant but not destroyed. With the right resources and personnel, they could be reactivated.
Another project for the long-term plan, Vader noted. First the clones, then the droids, then the infrastructure to support both. Layer by layer, piece by piece, building toward an army that can challenge the Empire itself.
His planning was interrupted by an incoming communication alert. The signal carried Shadow Legion encryption—Alpha-One reporting in.
"Lord Vader," the clone commander's voice came through clearly. "The extraction team has returned from Lothal. The Force-sensitive child has been secured. No casualties, no witnesses."
"Her condition?"
"Frightened but unharmed. The team followed extraction protocols precisely—she believes she was rescued from Imperial agents by mysterious benefactors."
Good, Vader thought. The truth, from a certain perspective.
"Transport her to the secondary facility on Myrkr," he ordered. "Provide comfort but maintain security. She is to be treated as a protected asset, not a prisoner."
"Understood, Lord Vader. Should we proceed to the next target?"
"Affirmative. The Twi'lek boy on Ryloth is next. Extraction within the week."
"It will be done."
The communication ended, and Vader returned to his battle droid designs with something approaching satisfaction.
One child saved. Thousands more to find. But this is how it begins—one life at a time, one extraction at a time.
By the time Palpatine realizes what I'm doing, it will be too late to stop.
The guest quarters, late that evening...
Hera Syndulla studied the data files Vader had provided her with a mixture of fascination and horror.
Project Harvester, she thought, scrolling through page after page of children's faces. The Empire is hunting Force-sensitive children. And Vader is trying to save them.
It didn't make sense. Nothing about Vader made sense. He was supposed to be a monster—the Emperor's enforcer, the Jedi killer, the terror of the galaxy. Monsters didn't save children. Monsters didn't provide their prisoners with comfortable quarters and access to classified intelligence. Monsters didn't look at you with an intensity that suggested they were just as confused by the situation as you were.
What are you, Vader? she wondered. What do you actually want?
The question had been haunting her since her arrival at the fortress. Each day brought new revelations—the Shadow Legion's existence, the Nightsisters' alliance, the growing network of resources and allies that Vader was accumulating. Each revelation suggested purposes that went far beyond serving the Empire.
He's building something, she concluded. Something that contradicts everything the Empire represents. Something that might actually matter.
The door chime interrupted her thoughts.
"Enter," she called, expecting one of the Nightsisters who occasionally checked on her.
It was not a Nightsister.
Vader stood in the doorway, his black armor filling the frame, his mechanical breathing the only sound in the sudden silence.
"Lord Vader," Hera said, rising from her chair. "I wasn't expecting—"
"The children," Vader interrupted. "You have been reviewing the Project Harvester files."
"You gave me access. I assumed you wanted me to read them."
"I did. I want your perspective."
Hera blinked. "My perspective on what?"
Vader stepped into the room, his massive form somehow seeming less threatening than usual. Perhaps it was the setting—the comfortable quarters, the soft lighting, the absence of stormtroopers and military formality. Or perhaps it was something else, something in his posture that suggested uncertainty rather than menace.
"I am extracting Force-sensitive children from Imperial custody," he said. "Saving them from the Inquisitors, from Project Harvester, from a system that would turn them into weapons or corpses."
"I noticed. It's not exactly what I expected from the Empire's enforcer."
"It is not what anyone would expect. That is the point." Vader moved to the viewport, staring out at the volcanic landscape. "But extracting them is only the first step. They will need training. Guidance. Someone to help them develop their abilities without corrupting their spirits."
"And you want my perspective on how to do that?"
"I want your perspective on whether it can be done at all." Vader turned to face her. "You have traveled the galaxy. You have seen what the Empire does to Force-sensitives. You have worked with beings of all species and backgrounds. Can these children be saved? Or am I simply delaying their inevitable destruction?"
It was, Hera realized, a genuine question. Vader was asking for her opinion—valuing her perspective, treating her as a consultant rather than a prisoner.
He really doesn't know, she thought. He has all this power, all these resources, and he genuinely doesn't know if what he's doing will work.
"They can be saved," she said slowly. "But not just by extraction. Not just by hiding them from the Empire. They need community. Family. People who care about them as individuals, not just as assets or threats."
"I cannot provide family. I am... unsuited for such roles."
"Then find people who can." Hera stepped closer, her voice gaining confidence. "There are beings throughout the galaxy who would help, if they knew what was happening. Rebels, yes, but also ordinary people—families who would adopt, teachers who would train, communities who would protect."
"The Rebellion would use them as weapons. Just as the Empire would."
"Some might. But not all." Hera met his mask directly. "The Rebellion isn't a monolith, Vader. It's made up of individuals, each with their own motivations. Some fight for power, but others fight for principles. Find the ones who fight for principles, and you'll find people who would protect these children without exploiting them."
Vader was silent for a long moment, processing her words.
"You believe such people exist?"
"I know they do. I was raised by one of them." Hera's voice carried the weight of memory. "My father fought against the Empire not for power, but for freedom. For the chance to choose our own destiny, to live according to our own values. He would never exploit a child, no matter how powerful. He would only try to help them become whoever they were meant to be."
"Cham Syndulla." Vader's voice carried recognition. "The Free Ryloth movement. I have read the intelligence files."
"Then you know he's not just a terrorist or a rebel. He's a man who believes in something. Find more people like him, and you'll find the allies you need."
Vader turned back to the viewport, his mechanical breathing filling the silence.
"Your counsel is... valuable," he said finally. "I will consider your words."
"That's all I ask." Hera hesitated, then added: "Why did you ask me? You have advisors, allies, resources. Why does my perspective matter?"
"Because you are not invested in my success or failure. The Nightsisters are bound to me by magic. The Kaminoans serve me for profit. The Mandalorians seek alliance for political gain. But you..." He turned to face her again. "You have no reason to tell me what I want to hear. No motivation except honesty."
"And you value honesty?"
"I value truth. They are not always the same thing."
Hera found herself smiling despite the strangeness of the situation. "That's surprisingly philosophical for a Sith Lord."
"I am full of surprises." Vader moved toward the door. "Rest well, Hera Syndulla. Tomorrow, we discuss the next phase of the extraction operations. Your insights will be useful."
He departed, leaving Hera alone with her thoughts and a growing conviction that nothing about this situation was what she had originally believed.
He's not a monster, she thought, returning to her chair. Or if he is, he's a monster who saves children and asks prisoners for advice.
What does that make me, for wanting to help him?
She didn't have an answer. But for the first time since sneaking aboard his ship, she wasn't sure she needed one.
Some questions, she was learning, didn't have simple answers.
And some monsters, it seemed, weren't entirely monstrous after all.
In the depths of the fortress...
Mother Shelish observed the interaction through her scrying pool, her pale features arranged in an expression of thoughtful satisfaction.
"The pilot's influence grows," Sister Karis noted from beside her. "Lord Vader seeks her counsel now. Values her perspective."
"As he should. She offers something none of his other allies can provide: an outside view unclouded by personal investment." Mother Shelish stirred the water gently, shifting the image. "She sees him as he is, not as legend paints him. That clarity is valuable."
"And dangerous. If she sees too clearly, she may recognize truths that could threaten our position."
"Our position is secure. We are bound to him by magic and by choice." Mother Shelish's voice carried absolute certainty. "The pilot is not a rival—she is a complement. Where we provide mystical support, she provides moral grounding. Where we offer power, she offers perspective."
"You approve of her presence, then?"
"I approve of anything that serves Lord Vader's interests. And her presence serves those interests well." Mother Shelish rose from the scrying pool, her silver hair catching the green light of the ritual chamber. "Our Lord is building something unprecedented—a power structure that combines military strength, mystical support, political alliances, and now, ethical guidance. Each element strengthens the whole."
"And the forge master? The Emperor's Hand? The others who circle him with romantic intent?"
"They each serve purposes, whether they know it or not." Mother Shelish smiled. "Lord Vader may not understand why these beings are drawn to him, but the Force does. Power calls to power. Strength calls to strength. And those who possess greatness will always attract others who wish to share in it."
"Even if that sharing takes... unexpected forms?"
"Especially then." Mother Shelish began walking toward the ritual chamber's exit. "The universe has plans for our Lord, Sister Karis. Plans that extend far beyond military conquest or political revolution. Our task is to ensure he survives long enough to fulfill them."
"And if those plans include romantic entanglements he does not want?"
Mother Shelish's laugh echoed through the chamber—a sound that was somehow both ancient and youthful, knowing and amused.
"Then he will learn to want them. Or at least to accept them." She paused at the exit, her glowing eyes fixed on something only she could see. "The greatest powers in the universe are not armies or superweapons, Sister Karis. They are love, and loyalty, and the bonds that connect beings across space and time."
"Lord Vader would disagree."
"Lord Vader says many things that he does not truly believe. It is one of his most endearing qualities." Mother Shelish departed, leaving Sister Karis alone with the scrying pool and thoughts that were considerably less certain.
In the water's surface, the image of Vader walking through his fortress flickered and faded.
The universe had plans indeed.
Whether anyone was ready for them remained to be seen.
[END OF CHAPTER TWELVE]