The construction droids worked with mechanical precision that Vader found deeply satisfying, their programming executing his architectural vision without complaint, without hesitation, and most importantly, without asking questions about why the Emperor's apprentice was building a massive fortress on the most hostile planet in the Outer Rim.
Vader stood on the observation platform that had been the first completed structure, watching as excavation units carved foundations into the volcanic rock while assembly droids followed behind, laying durasteel supports and ferrocrete reinforcements. The fortress was taking shape, rising from Mustafar's hellscape like a monument to ambition—or perhaps a tombstone for caution.
Three months of construction, he reflected, studying the holographic progress reports that floated before his optical sensors. The outer walls are thirty percent complete. The underground facilities are excavated and awaiting installation. The power core will be operational within the week.
It was good progress, better than he had hoped for given the hostile environment. The volcanic atmosphere corroded standard construction materials at an alarming rate, requiring specialized alloys that cost approximately three times the normal price. The constant seismic activity meant that every foundation had to be reinforced beyond standard specifications. And the heat—the relentless, oppressive heat that turned exposed metal into glowing slag—required cooling systems that consumed power at rates that would have bankrupted a small planetary government.
But Vader had resources. The Separatist accounts continued to provide funding, their forgotten billions slowly being siphoned into his private projects. The Kaminoans were producing clones that would eventually require housing and training facilities. And his official position as the Empire's supreme enforcer gave him access to materials and equipment that would have been impossible to obtain through legitimate channels.
Palpatine thinks I'm retreating here to meditate on my failures, Vader thought with grim satisfaction. He probably considers it a sign of my continued psychological damage—the broken apprentice returning to the site of his trauma, unable to escape the memories of what he lost.
Let him think that. Let him underestimate me. When this fortress is complete, I'll have a base of operations that even the Emperor himself couldn't breach without significant losses.
The main structure was designed as a tower—a spire of black stone and reinforced durasteel that would eventually rise three hundred meters above the volcanic plain. Its architecture was deliberately intimidating, all sharp angles and aggressive lines, a visual statement of power that would be visible from orbit. The interior would contain living quarters, meditation chambers, training facilities, and most importantly, a vault specifically designed to house Sith artifacts.
That was the next phase of his plan: acquisition.
The galaxy was littered with remnants of the ancient Sith, artifacts and holocrons scattered across a thousand worlds by the various purges and reformations that had shaped galactic history. Palpatine had collected many of them, hoarding knowledge in his private vaults on Coruscant, but the Emperor's collection was far from complete. There were artifacts that had been lost for millennia, repositories of power that even the most dedicated Sith scholars had failed to locate.
Vader intended to find them.
I need Force lightning, he had decided early in his planning. It's the signature ability of the Sith, the power that Palpatine wields with such devastating effect. Without it, I'm operating at a significant disadvantage in any direct confrontation.
The problem was that Force lightning required specialized training that his current knowledge base didn't include. Anakin had never learned the technique—his turn to the Dark Side had been too abrupt, too focused on immediate power rather than long-term development. And Marcus's knowledge of Sith abilities, while extensive in terms of lore, was completely useless for practical application.
I know that Force lightning channels Dark Side energy through the user's body, converting emotional intensity into electrical discharge, Vader thought. I know that it requires complete surrender to dark emotions while maintaining enough control to direct the resulting energy. But knowing the theory and executing the practice are entirely different things.
He had attempted the technique several times in private, with results that ranged from disappointing to actually painful. His mechanical limbs conducted electricity in ways that organic tissue did not, and his first attempt had resulted in a feedback loop that had temporarily disabled his suit's life support systems.
I need instruction, he admitted reluctantly. I need someone—or something—that can teach me techniques that Palpatine has deliberately withheld.
Hence the artifact hunting. Sith holocrons contained the recorded knowledge of ancient Dark Lords, their teachings preserved in crystalline matrices that could be accessed by those with sufficient Force sensitivity. If Vader could locate holocrons that contained instruction in Force lightning and other advanced techniques, he could train himself without alerting Palpatine to his intentions.
His research had identified several promising targets, locations where Sith artifacts were rumored to have been hidden during the various purges that had preceded the Rule of Two. Most were on hostile worlds, protected by environmental hazards and ancient defenses that had killed countless treasure hunters over the millennia.
Mustafar itself was one such location.
The planet's connection to the Dark Side was well documented, its volcanic landscape saturated with negative energy that had drawn Sith practitioners for tens of thousands of years. The ruins scattered across its surface predated the Republic by millennia, remnants of a civilization that had embraced the Dark Side long before the Sith species had even been discovered.
If there are artifacts to be found anywhere, Vader reasoned, they might be here—on the very planet where I'm building my fortress. The Force guided me to this location for a reason. Perhaps that reason extends beyond simple strategic value.
He made a decision.
"Suspend surface construction for the remainder of the day," he commanded the overseer droid through his suit's communication systems. "I will be conducting a survey of the surrounding terrain. Do not follow."
The droid acknowledged the order without question—because droids, unlike organic subordinates, never asked why their master was wandering into a volcanic wasteland alone—and Vader descended from the observation platform to begin his exploration.
The terrain surrounding his construction site was a nightmare landscape of solidified lava flows, toxic gas vents, and unstable ground that could collapse without warning into the magma chambers below. Vader navigated it with the sure-footed confidence of a being who had already died once and wasn't particularly concerned about doing so again, using the Force to sense danger before it materialized and his suit's environmental systems to filter the poisonous atmosphere.
He walked for approximately two hours, following currents in the Dark Side that seemed to pull him toward something—a concentration of energy that felt older and more primal than anything he had encountered since his awakening. The sensation was subtle at first, easily dismissed as imagination, but it grew stronger with each step until he could no longer ignore it.
There's something here, he realized, pausing at the edge of a vast lava field. Something powerful. Something waiting.
The source of the energy was on the far side of the field, nestled in the shadow of a volcanic peak that had been partially collapsed by some ancient cataclysm. Vader studied the terrain, calculating the safest route across the molten rock, when movement caught his attention.
Figures. Multiple figures, emerging from caves in the collapsed mountainside, moving with the fluid grace of predators who had long since adapted to this hostile environment.
Vader's lightsaber was in his hand before conscious thought could catch up, the crimson blade igniting with a snap-hiss that was swallowed by the rumble of distant volcanic activity. His Force senses expanded, probing the approaching figures for hostile intent, and what he found made him pause.
Nightsisters.
The realization struck him with the force of a physical blow. Nightsisters—the Force-wielding witches of Dathomir, practitioners of magicks that blended Dark Side techniques with their own unique traditions. They had been nearly exterminated during the Clone Wars, their fortress destroyed by General Grievous, their numbers reduced to a scattered handful of survivors.
And apparently, some of those survivors had found refuge on Mustafar.
A surprise to be sure, Vader thought, unconsciously echoing a meme from his previous life. But not an unwelcome one.
There were seven of them, he counted as they approached—seven pale-skinned women whose bodies were marked with the ritual tattoos of their order, whose eyes glowed with an inner light that spoke of significant Force sensitivity. They wore robes that had been adapted for Mustafar's environment, heat-resistant materials that covered most of their skin while still allowing freedom of movement.
And, because this was apparently a universal constant in this dimension, every single one of them possessed the kind of figure that would have caused traffic accidents in Marcus Chen's original reality. Even in practical survival clothing, their curves were impossible to ignore—waists that seemed too narrow to support their upper bodies, hips that flared with geometric precision, chests that strained against their robes in ways that defied both physics and good sense.
Of course, Vader thought with resigned acceptance. Of course the survivors of a nearly extinct order of Dark Side witches are built like holovid starlets. Why would this universe be any different?
The lead Nightsister—a woman who appeared to be in her thirties, with silver hair that cascaded over shoulders that were somehow both athletic and impossibly feminine—raised one hand in a gesture that was more greeting than threat.
"Darth Vader," she said, her voice carrying easily across the volcanic landscape. "We have been expecting you."
The Nightsister encampment was built into the caves of the collapsed mountain, a network of chambers that had been expanded and reinforced over what appeared to be years of habitation. Vader followed his escort through tunnels lit by bioluminescent fungi that the witches had apparently cultivated, his Force senses on high alert for any sign of treachery.
He found none. The Nightsisters' emotional signatures were complex—a mixture of wariness, curiosity, and something that felt almost like hope—but there was no hostile intent that he could detect. Whatever their reasons for revealing themselves, they apparently did not intend to attack.
Yet, Vader reminded himself. The Nightsisters are known for their cunning. This could be an elaborate trap.
But even as he considered the possibility, he recognized its unlikelihood. Seven Nightsisters against Darth Vader was not favorable odds for the witches, especially on terrain that limited their mobility options. If they intended to kill him, they would have ambushed him while he was distracted by the artifact he had been seeking, not revealed themselves and invited him into their home.
The central chamber of the encampment was larger than the others, its walls carved with symbols that Vader recognized as Nightsister script. A natural hot spring occupied one corner, its waters heated by the volcanic activity below, and various artifacts and tools were arranged around the space with the organized chaos of long-term habitation.
The silver-haired leader gestured for Vader to take a seat on a stone bench that had been carved from the cave wall.
"I am Mother Shelish," she said, settling onto a similar bench across from him. "I lead what remains of the Nightsisters of Dathomir."
"I was under the impression that your kind had been exterminated," Vader replied, his vocoder making the words sound more threatening than he intended.
"Nearly." Mother Shelish's expression tightened with old pain. "The Separatists destroyed our fortress, killed our Mother, scattered our survivors across the galaxy. Those of us who escaped spent years running, hiding, trying to find a place where we could rebuild."
"And you chose Mustafar."
"The Dark Side is strong here. Stronger than anywhere else in the galaxy, save perhaps Korriban itself." She gestured at the cave walls around them. "This world calls to those who practice the dark arts. We felt its pull across the stars, and we answered."
Vader considered this, processing the implications. The Nightsisters were practitioners of Dark Side magicks—techniques that were distinct from traditional Sith methods but no less powerful. Their abilities included ritual magic, possession, mind control, and various forms of physical enhancement that Sith Lords had historically dismissed as primitive but effective.
They could be useful, he realized. Allies who owe no loyalty to Palpatine, who possess knowledge and abilities that could complement my own training. At the very least, they might be able to teach me techniques that would otherwise require Sith holocrons.
"Why reveal yourselves to me?" he asked. "Surely you knew that I serve the Empire—the same Empire that hunts Force-sensitives across the galaxy."
"Because we have watched you, Lord Vader." Mother Shelish's glowing eyes seemed to bore into his mask. "We felt you when you first came to this world, sensed your power, observed your construction. We debated for weeks whether to approach you or remain hidden."
"What decided the matter?"
"You did." She leaned forward slightly, her considerable chest shifting in ways that Vader resolutely ignored. "We felt your frustration, your ambition, your hidden opposition to the Emperor who claims to be your master. You are not what you appear to be, Lord Vader. You are something... more."
She sensed my true intentions, Vader realized with a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. Through the Force, through whatever magicks the Nightsisters practice, she has recognized that I am not Palpatine's loyal servant.
It was dangerous information in the wrong hands. But it was also an opportunity.
"And if I am more than I appear?" Vader asked carefully. "What do the Nightsisters want from me?"
"Alliance." Mother Shelish's voice was steady, her gaze unwavering. "Protection. A place in whatever new order you intend to create."
"Bold assumptions."
"We are Nightsisters. We see what others cannot." She rose from her bench, her movement fluid and graceful despite the restrictive environment. "The Emperor believes he has broken you, shaped you into the perfect weapon for his purposes. But you are not broken, Lord Vader. You are waiting."
She's more perceptive than I gave her credit for, Vader thought. Or the Nightsister magicks are more powerful than the standard histories suggest.
"Waiting for what?"
"The right moment. The right opportunity. The right allies." Mother Shelish extended one hand, palm up, in a gesture that carried the weight of formal offer. "We could be those allies, Lord Vader. Our magicks are different from Sith techniques—complementary, not competitive. We could teach you things that no Sith holocron contains."
Force lightning? The thought surfaced immediately, followed by a cascade of other possibilities. Ritual enhancement? Mind control techniques? The ability to create undead warriors like Talzin created during the Clone Wars?
The Nightsisters had abilities that had surprised even Darth Sidious during their brief conflict. If Vader could learn even a fraction of their techniques, his capabilities would expand significantly.
But there was a cost to everything, and he needed to understand what the witches were actually asking for.
"What do you want in return?" he asked.
"Sanctuary." Mother Shelish's voice carried the weight of years of running and hiding. "A place where we can rebuild our order without fear of Imperial persecution. Protection from the Inquisitors and other hunters who would destroy us if they knew we had survived."
"You want to live here. On Mustafar. Under my protection."
"We want to be part of whatever you are building." She gestured at the cave walls around them. "We are seven now—seven sisters out of the thousands who once called Dathomir home. But we can grow. We can train new sisters, rebuild our strength, become useful to you in ways you cannot yet imagine."
An order of Dark Side witches, loyal to me rather than Palpatine, Vader thought. Practitioners of magicks that could teach me techniques the Emperor has deliberately withheld. All they ask in return is protection and a place to live.
It was almost too perfect. Which meant there had to be a catch.
"And if the Emperor discovers your presence here?" Vader asked. "If he commands me to destroy you?"
Mother Shelish smiled—a knowing expression that suggested she had anticipated this question.
"Then you will face a choice, Lord Vader. The same choice you will eventually face in all things: whether to continue serving a master who deliberately cripples you, or to claim the power that is rightfully yours."
She's testing me, Vader realized. Pushing to see how committed I am to my hidden agenda. If I refuse her offer, she knows I'm still too bound to Palpatine to be useful. If I accept...
If he accepted, he was openly acknowledging that his loyalty to the Emperor was conditional at best. He was admitting to potential allies that he intended to eventually oppose Palpatine's authority. He was taking another step down a path that could not be untaken.
Marcus Chen would have agonized over the decision, weighing risks and rewards, considering consequences and contingencies.
Darth Vader simply made his choice.
"The Nightsisters may remain on Mustafar," he declared, rising from his bench to face Mother Shelish directly. "You will have sanctuary within my territory, protection from Imperial forces, and a place in the order I am building. In return, you will teach me what you know—your magicks, your techniques, your understanding of the Dark Side."
Mother Shelish's smile widened, genuine pleasure mixing with calculation.
"Then we have an accord, Lord Vader." She extended her hand again, this time clearly expecting him to take it. "Sisters, come forward. It is time to formalize our alliance."
The other six Nightsisters emerged from the shadows where they had been waiting, forming a semicircle around Vader and their Mother. Their faces displayed varying degrees of relief and anticipation, their Force signatures pulsing with dark energy that seemed to synchronize as they gathered.
They're preparing a ritual, Vader realized, his hand moving instinctively toward his lightsaber.
"Peace, Lord Vader," Mother Shelish said, apparently sensing his reaction. "This is not an attack. It is a binding—a ritual that will seal our alliance in the Force itself, ensuring that neither party can betray the other without consequence."
"You want to magically bind me to your order?"
"I want to magically bind our order to you." Her glowing eyes met his optical sensors without flinching. "The ritual works both ways. You cannot betray us, and we cannot betray you. It is the Nightsister way of ensuring trust between those who have every reason to be suspicious of each other."
Vader considered the offer, probing it for traps or hidden clauses. A binding ritual that prevented betrayal could be useful—it would ensure the Nightsisters' loyalty in a way that simple agreements could not—but it would also constrain his own options.
Then again, he reflected, I have no intention of betraying them. They're useful, potentially valuable, and they've given me no reason to consider them enemies. If the binding only prevents betrayal, it costs me nothing.
"Proceed," he commanded.
What followed was unlike anything Vader had experienced in either of his lives.
The Nightsisters began to chant, their voices weaving together in harmonies that seemed to resonate with the Dark Side itself. Green energy—the distinctive signature of Nightsister magicks—began to swirl around the chamber, coalescing into patterns that were both beautiful and deeply unsettling. The air grew thick with power, pressing against Vader's consciousness like a physical weight.
Mother Shelish took his hand—his mechanical hand, the cold durasteel meeting her warm flesh—and spoke words that seemed to echo in dimensions beyond normal hearing.
"By blood and shadow, by flame and void, we bind ourselves to Darth Vader. His enemies are our enemies. His sanctuary is our sanctuary. His power shall protect us, and our power shall serve him. This we swear, in the sight of the Dark Side, in the depths of Mustafar's fire, until death claims us all."
The green energy surged, wrapping around Vader's arm, penetrating his suit's defenses as if the durasteel didn't exist. For a moment—just a moment—he felt the Nightsisters' minds touch his own, a fleeting connection that carried impressions of their histories, their losses, their desperate hope for survival.
And then it was over, the energy dissipating, the chanting fading, the chamber returning to its normal state.
Vader flexed his mechanical fingers experimentally, detecting no damage, no alterations to his suit's systems. But something had changed—he could feel a thread of connection linking him to the seven witches, a bond that pulsed with the Dark Side's energy.
"It is done," Mother Shelish said, releasing his hand. "We are bound, Lord Vader. For better or worse, our fates are now intertwined."
Well, Vader thought, that escalated quickly.
But he found, somewhat to his surprise, that he didn't regret the decision. The Nightsisters were allies—genuine allies, magically bound to his service and his protection. Their knowledge and abilities would enhance his own power. Their presence on Mustafar would provide a layer of defense that even Palpatine might struggle to penetrate.
And, if he was being completely honest with himself, it was strangely comforting to have someone in his corner for once. Not subordinates who feared him, not targets who fled from him, but genuine partners who had chosen to align themselves with his vision.
Marcus Chen spent thirty-two years alone in his mother's basement, he reflected. Darth Vader has acquired a coven of Dark Side witches through sheer accidental competence.
The universe continues to surprise me.
The following weeks established a new routine that integrated the Nightsisters into Vader's growing operation.
Mother Shelish proved to be an excellent teacher, her understanding of the Dark Side approaching it from angles that Sith philosophy had never considered. Where the Sith emphasized raw power and individual domination, the Nightsisters worked with the Dark Side cooperatively, channeling its energy through ritual and community rather than forcing it into submission.
"Your approach is too aggressive," she told Vader during one of their training sessions, watching him attempt to generate Force lightning for the hundredth time. "You're trying to dominate the energy, bend it to your will. The Dark Side responds to passion, yes, but passion is not the same as control."
"The Sith way emphasizes mastery over the Force," Vader replied, frustration evident even through his vocoder. "We do not serve the Dark Side—it serves us."
"And how well has that philosophy served you?" Mother Shelish's voice was gentle but pointed. "You have immense power, Lord Vader. More raw Force potential than any being I have ever encountered. But you cannot perform a technique that Palpatine wields casually, because you are fighting against the very energy you're trying to use."
She moved to stand beside him, placing one pale hand on his armored arm.
"Feel the Dark Side," she instructed. "Don't try to control it—feel it. Let it flow through you like lava through a channel. You provide the direction, but the energy provides the force."
Vader closed his eyes—metaphorically—and tried to do as she described. It went against everything the Sith philosophy taught, every instinct that Anakin's memories provided. The Dark Side was a weapon to be wielded, not a partner to be collaborated with.
But he had tried the Sith way hundreds of times without success. Perhaps it was time to consider alternatives.
He reached for the Dark Side, but instead of grabbing it, demanding its obedience, he simply... opened himself to it. Let its energy wash over him, through him, around him. Felt its currents and eddies, its hunger and its power, without trying to impose his will upon them.
And then, very gently, he suggested a direction.
Lightning crackled from his fingertips—weak, barely visible, lasting only a fraction of a second—but it was there. Actual Force lightning, generated through his own power rather than channeled from an external source.
"There," Mother Shelish said, satisfaction evident in her voice. "You see? The Dark Side is not your enemy, Lord Vader. It is your partner. Treat it as such, and it will give you everything you desire."
I actually did it, Vader thought, staring at his mechanical hand in something approaching disbelief. After months of failure, one conversation with a Nightsister witch, and I'm finally making progress.
Why didn't anyone in the Expanded Universe mention that the Sith approach to Force lightning was fundamentally flawed?
Actually, now that he thought about it, there had been hints. The most powerful Force lightning users in the various stories—Palpatine, Darth Bane, the ancient Sith Lords—had all been described as having unusual relationships with the Dark Side. They didn't just use it; they were conduits for it, channels through which its power flowed.
I've been so focused on the Sith philosophy of domination that I missed the obvious, Vader realized. The greatest Sith weren't masters of the Dark Side—they were partners with it. The philosophy was just propaganda, designed to make lesser practitioners feel powerful while actually limiting their potential.
It was a paradigm shift that would have taken months to achieve on his own, if he ever achieved it at all. The Nightsisters had given him that breakthrough in a single training session.
Their value just increased significantly, he noted. If they can teach me to approach other Force techniques with this same mindset, my power will grow far faster than Palpatine ever anticipated.
"Thank you, Mother Shelish," he said, the words feeling strange but appropriate. "Your instruction is... valuable."
"We are bound, Lord Vader. Your power is our protection. It is in our interest to help you grow as strong as possible." She smiled, her pale features illuminated by the green glow of the bioluminescent fungi. "And there is much more we can teach you, when you are ready."
The training continued, each session revealing new aspects of Dark Side manipulation that Vader had never considered. The Nightsisters taught him to draw power from his environment, to channel emotional energy from others, to use ritual focus to amplify techniques that would otherwise require enormous personal reserves.
They also taught him things that had nothing to do with combat.
"Your suit limits you," Sister Karis observed during one session, her skilled hands examining the interface points between his armor and his ruined flesh. Her considerable figure pressed close as she worked, a proximity that Vader had learned to simply accept as normal in this universe. "The design is deliberately inefficient—meant to cause pain, to remind you of your failure."
"I am aware," Vader replied. "The Emperor designed it as punishment, not assistance."
"Then you should redesign it." Karis pulled up a holographic display of his suit's schematics, her eyes—and other assets—catching the blue light in ways that he resolutely ignored. "Our magicks can enhance physical objects, infuse them with Dark Side energy. If we modified the interface systems, supplemented the life support with ritual-charged components..."
"You could make my suit more efficient?"
"We could make it not hurt." Karis's voice was matter-of-fact, but her eyes held something that looked almost like compassion. "You live in constant agony, Lord Vader. That serves no purpose except to please a master who delights in your suffering."
She's right, Vader realized. The pain is deliberate—Palpatine's way of keeping me off-balance, ensuring that I never fully recover from my injuries. But if the Nightsisters can modify my suit to reduce or eliminate the pain...
Then I gain a significant advantage that the Emperor won't expect.
"Begin the modifications," he commanded. "Subtly—the external appearance must remain unchanged. Palpatine cannot know that my condition has improved."
"Of course, Lord Vader." Karis smiled, a expression that managed to be both professional and suggestive in ways that continued to confuse him. "We will take excellent care of you."
And there it is again, Vader thought. Another woman in this universe who seems inexplicably attracted to the scarred cyborg in the life support suit. At this point, I'm starting to suspect the Force itself is playing some kind of cosmic joke.
But he accepted the offer regardless, because the potential benefits far outweighed the awkwardness of the situation. If the Nightsisters could reduce his pain, improve his mobility, and enhance his Force abilities—all while maintaining the appearance of Palpatine's crippled apprentice—then he would tolerate any amount of uncomfortable proximity.
The fortress construction continued alongside his training, walls rising and systems coming online as the weeks passed. The Nightsisters integrated seamlessly into the operation, their magicks providing security measures that no conventional technology could match. Wards and barriers, detection spells and concealment rituals—the fortress was becoming more than just a physical structure. It was becoming a temple to the Dark Side, protected by ancient magicks that even Palpatine might struggle to penetrate.
This is what I've been building toward, Vader thought, standing on the observation deck of his nearly completed tower, watching the Nightsisters perform a protection ritual below. Power. Resources. Allies. A base of operations that belongs to no one but me.
When the time comes to confront Palpatine, I will be ready.
The Dark Side hummed its approval, stronger here than anywhere else he had felt it, resonating with the accumulated power of the fortress and its inhabitants.
Everything was proceeding according to plan.
Which, of course, meant that something was about to go horribly wrong.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the galaxy...
Ahsoka Tano had spent the years since the Empire's rise moving from shadow to shadow, staying one step ahead of the Inquisitors and their relentless hunt for surviving Force-sensitives. She had built a network of contacts, established safe houses on a dozen worlds, and developed skills in intelligence gathering that would have made any Jedi Shadow proud.
It was those skills that had led her to a cantina on the Outer Rim world of Takodana, sitting across from an Imperial defector who was willing to trade information for safe passage out of the Empire's reach.
"You're sure about this?" Ahsoka asked, her voice carefully neutral despite the emotions raging beneath her calm exterior. "Skywalker is alive?"
The defector—a middle-aged human male who had served as an aide to one of the Moffs before growing a conscience—nodded nervously, his eyes darting around the cantina as if expecting stormtroopers to burst through the doors at any moment.
"Not Skywalker, not anymore," he whispered. "They call him Darth Vader now. The Emperor's apprentice, the Jedi killer. He's been hunting Force-sensitives across the galaxy for months."
"I know who Darth Vader is." Ahsoka's voice was tight, controlled, containing storms that she couldn't afford to release. "I've seen the reports. I just didn't believe..."
"That your old master survived?" The defector shrugged. "The official story is that Obi-Wan Kenobi killed him on Mustafar. But the body was never recovered. He was reconstructed—more machine than man now—but the Emperor apparently saved him."
Saved him, Ahsoka thought bitterly. Turned him into a monster, you mean. Took whatever was left of Anakin and twisted it into something terrible.
She had suspected, of course. The timing of Vader's appearance, the power of his Force signature, the way he moved and fought—there had been hints, clues that her conscious mind had refused to process because the alternative was too painful to contemplate.
But denial was a luxury she could no longer afford.
"Tell me everything you know about him," she said, her voice carrying an edge that made the defector flinch. "Where he operates, what missions he's been assigned, any patterns in his behavior."
The defector talked for approximately an hour, providing details that Ahsoka absorbed with the intensity of a predator memorizing the habits of its prey. Vader commanded the Star Destroyer Devastator. He answered directly to Palpatine. He had killed dozens of Jedi survivors. He had been seen visiting various locations across the galaxy, though the purposes of those visits were often unclear.
And recently, he had been making regular trips to the Outer Rim—to Mustafar, of all places.
"Mustafar?" Ahsoka's lekku twitched with surprise. "Why would he go there?"
"Nobody knows for certain." The defector's voice dropped even lower. "But there are rumors. Some say he's building something there—a fortress, a base, something that doesn't appear in any official Imperial records."
He's returning to the place where he was destroyed, Ahsoka thought. The place where Obi-Wan defeated him, where he lost everything. Why would he do that unless...
Unless he was trying to reclaim something. To prove something. To establish himself in a way that didn't depend on the Emperor's approval.
Anakin was always driven by his need to prove himself, she remembered. His fear of inadequacy, his desperate desire to be seen as powerful and capable. If that part of him survived the transformation...
"That's all I know," the defector concluded, his nervous energy visibly intensifying. "Now, about that transport—"
"You'll get your transport." Ahsoka rose from the table, her mind already racing with plans and possibilities. "My contact on Smuggler's Run will take you to the Unknown Regions. After that, you're on your own."
She left the cantina without looking back, her thoughts consumed by the revelation that had upended her entire understanding of the past several months.
Anakin was alive. Twisted, corrupted, transformed into something called Darth Vader—but alive.
And he was building something on Mustafar. Establishing himself. Taking actions that the Emperor apparently didn't know about.
There's still something of him left, Ahsoka thought, the possibility igniting a spark of hope that she had thought extinguished forever. Somewhere beneath that mask, beneath all the darkness, Anakin Skywalker is still there. And if he's acting independently of Palpatine...
Maybe he can be reached.
Maybe he can be saved.
Maybe I can save him.
The thought consumed her utterly, displacing every other consideration—her network, her contacts, the other Jedi survivors who depended on her intelligence gathering. None of it mattered compared to the possibility that she might be able to bring her master back from the darkness.
She began to plan.
Not a confrontation—she wasn't stupid enough to think she could defeat Vader in direct combat. Not yet, anyway. But observation. Intelligence gathering. Learning everything she could about what he was building, what he was becoming, whether there were any cracks in his new persona that might allow her to reach the man beneath.
She would follow him. Watch him. Study him.
And when the moment was right, she would approach him—not as an enemy, but as the friend she had once been. The Padawan who had believed in him when no one else would. The sister who had never stopped caring, even when caring hurt more than she could bear.
I won't give up on you, Skyguy, Ahsoka promised silently, the old nickname carrying years of history and emotion. No matter how far you've fallen, no matter what you've become. I'll find a way to bring you back.
Even if it takes the rest of my life.
Over the following weeks, Ahsoka's search for information about Vader intensified into something that her former Jedi instructors might have described as "unhealthy obsession" and which she preferred to characterize as "dedicated investigation."
She tracked his movements across the galaxy, piecing together his schedule from scattered intelligence reports and contacts within the Imperial bureaucracy. She studied every recording of his appearances that she could find, analyzing his body language, his speech patterns, his combat techniques, searching for traces of Anakin in the monster's movements.
She learned that he visited Mustafar regularly—every two to three weeks, spending several days on the planet's surface before returning to his Star Destroyer. She discovered that he had acquired substantial resources through channels that didn't appear in Imperial financial records. She heard whispered rumors about enhanced stormtroopers, about mysterious allies, about a fortress rising from the volcanic plain.
And she became increasingly certain that Vader was planning something that went beyond simple loyalty to the Emperor.
He's building an independent power base, Ahsoka realized, her analytical skills combining with her emotional investment to create an understanding that was both accurate and dangerously optimistic. He's preparing for the day when he no longer needs Palpatine. That means he's not completely lost—there's still some part of him that refuses to be just a servant.
That's the part I need to reach.
Her information gathering became more aggressive, more risky. She began trailing Imperial intelligence operatives, intercepting communications, even making occasional ventures into Imperial space to observe Vader's operations firsthand.
On one such mission, she obtained a recording of Vader addressing his crew—a routine speech about discipline and expectations, nothing significant in itself. But she watched it approximately forty-seven times, studying the way he moved, the cadence of his mechanical breathing, the occasional gestures that seemed hauntingly familiar.
He still moves like Anakin, she noticed, her heart aching with recognition. The way he turns his head, the angle of his shoulders when he's issuing orders. The hardware is different, but the body language is the same.
He's still in there. I know he is.
She began keeping a journal—not a record of intelligence gathered, but a chronicle of observations about Vader that might reveal weaknesses in his new persona. She noted the missions where he seemed to show restraint, the reports of captured prisoners rather than confirmed kills, the rumors of Jedi survivors who had somehow escaped encounters that should have been fatal.
He's not killing everyone, she wrote. Some of the Jedi he hunts are disappearing rather than dying. Either Imperial intelligence is worse than I thought, or Vader is letting some of them escape.
Why would he do that unless there's still something good in him?
The journal grew longer. The observations became more detailed. The hope became more desperate.
On particularly difficult nights—nights when she questioned her sanity, when she wondered if she was seeing patterns that didn't exist—Ahsoka would meditate on her memories of Anakin. Not Vader, but Anakin—the man who had trained her, believed in her, stood by her when the Jedi Council had abandoned her.
You were the closest thing I had to a brother, she thought, her eyes closed, her senses reaching through the Force toward a connection that might no longer exist. You were my best friend, my teacher, my family. I watched you struggle with darkness your whole life, and I always believed you would choose the light.
I still believe that.
I have to believe that.
Because if Anakin is truly gone, if there's nothing left of him in that armor...
She couldn't finish the thought. Couldn't contemplate what it would mean if her belief was wrong.
So she continued her investigation. Continued her observation. Continued building toward a confrontation that she knew was coming, even if she didn't know when or how it would happen.
I'll find a way to reach you, Skyguy, she promised. No matter how long it takes. No matter what I have to do.
You saved me once. Now it's my turn to save you.
Back on Mustafar, completely oblivious to the obsessive attention he was receiving from his former Padawan, Darth Vader was having a considerably less emotional day.
"Lord Vader." Mother Shelish approached the observation deck, her silver hair catching the red light of the lava fields below. "The artifact vault is complete. We're ready to begin acquiring items for the collection."
"Excellent." Vader turned from the viewport, his mask betraying nothing of the satisfaction he felt at this news. "What is the vault's capacity?"
"Theoretically unlimited, thanks to the dimensional folding techniques we've incorporated into its construction." Shelish's glowing eyes reflected something like professional pride. "You could store an entire temple's worth of artifacts in a space no larger than a standard cargo container."
Dimensional folding, Vader thought. Another technique that the Sith apparently never developed, despite having access to similar principles. The Nightsisters continue to prove their value.
The past several weeks had been remarkably productive. His Force lightning had progressed from pathetic sparks to respectable arcs, still not matching Palpatine's devastating cascades but improving rapidly. His suit modifications were reducing his chronic pain by approximately sixty percent, allowing him to think and fight more clearly than he had since his awakening. And the fortress was nearly complete, its black spire rising three hundred meters above the volcanic plain, a monument to ambition that would have impressed even the ancient Sith Lords.
"I have identified several promising targets for acquisition," Vader said, pulling up a holographic display that showed various locations across the galaxy. "Sith temples on Korriban, Malachor, and Exegol. Rumored artifact caches on Dathomir, Yavin Four, and Ossus. And a particularly interesting repository in the Deep Core that apparently contains holocrons dating back to the Je'daii Order."
"That is... an ambitious list," Shelish observed. "Some of those locations are heavily guarded. Others are considered lost."
"I am Darth Vader. 'Impossible' is simply a word that other people use to describe my schedule."
Shelish laughed—a genuine sound of amusement that Vader found oddly gratifying.
"Very well, Lord Vader. Where shall we begin?"
"Korriban." He studied the holographic representation of the ancient Sith homeworld. "The tombs of the early Dark Lords contain more knowledge than any other single location. If we can access their secrets—"
His comlink chirped with an incoming priority transmission, interrupting his planning session.
"Lord Vader." Captain Screed's voice crackled through the device. "You have an urgent communication from Coruscant. Imperial priority, Omega classification."
Palpatine, Vader thought. What does the old monster want now?
"I will receive it in my private chambers. Ensure I am not disturbed."
He left the observation deck, making his way through corridors that still smelled of fresh construction, to the communication suite that had been the first interior space completed. The holographic projector hummed to life as he entered, displaying the blue-tinged specter of Emperor Sheev Palpatine.
"Lord Vader," the Emperor said, his voice carrying its usual blend of silk and poison. "I trust your meditations on Mustafar have been... productive."
He knows I've been building here, Vader realized. Of course he knows—his spy networks are too extensive to miss something this significant. The question is what he thinks I'm doing.
"The Dark Side is strong on this world, Master. It clarifies my purpose."
"Indeed." Palpatine's holographic eyes seemed to study him with unusual intensity. "I have been receiving... interesting reports about your activities. The fortress construction. The resources you've been accumulating. Some might consider such behavior suspicious."
He's testing me. Probing to see how I'll react to being caught.
"I am building a sanctuary, Master. A place where I can meditate, train, and prepare for the missions you assign me. Every resource expended serves the Empire's interests."
"Does it?" Palpatine's voice dropped to something approaching genuine curiosity. "And the individuals who have been seen entering and leaving your fortress? The ones who do not appear in any Imperial personnel records?"
The Nightsisters. His spies have spotted the Nightsisters.
For a moment, Vader felt genuine concern. If Palpatine ordered him to eliminate his new allies, he would face an impossible choice—obey and lose valuable resources, or refuse and reveal his disloyalty.
Then his brain caught up to the situation, and he realized something important.
Palpatine was asking questions. Not issuing orders, not demanding explanations, but fishing for information. That meant the Emperor wasn't certain what Vader was doing—he had suspicions, but not proof.
He's worried, Vader realized. Not enough to act directly, but enough to probe. My power is growing in ways he didn't anticipate, and it's making him nervous.
"Personnel issues are my own concern, Master," Vader replied, carefully skirting the line between defiance and submission. "The beings in my fortress serve my purposes, and through me, they serve the Empire. Their identities are irrelevant to their function."
A long pause. The holographic Palpatine seemed to weigh Vader's response, calculating risks and rewards with the cold precision that had brought him to supreme power.
"Very well, Lord Vader. I will trust your judgment... for now." The Emperor's lips curved into something approximating a smile. "But remember—your power exists because I will it. Your fortress stands because I permit it. Never forget where your true loyalty must lie."
"Never, Master."
The transmission ended, leaving Vader alone with his thoughts and the uncomfortable realization that his time was more limited than he had hoped.
Palpatine is watching more closely now. The more power I accumulate, the more attention I attract. Eventually, he will decide that the risk of leaving me unchecked outweighs the value of having a powerful apprentice.
When that day comes, I need to be ready.
He returned to the observation deck, where Mother Shelish was still waiting, her expression suggesting she had sensed the tension of his communication.
"The Emperor is becoming suspicious," she observed.
"He was always suspicious. Now he's becoming concerned." Vader stared out at the lava fields, his mind racing through contingencies and preparations. "We need to accelerate our plans. The artifact acquisition begins immediately."
"And the clones?"
"Continuing on schedule. They won't be ready for years, but when they are..." He turned to face her, his mask hiding the cold determination in his expression. "When they are, we will have an army that answers to no one but me."
Mother Shelish nodded, a smile crossing her pale features.
"Then let us begin, Lord Vader. The galaxy awaits."
In her ship, hidden in the asteroid field that orbited Mustafar's distant companion planet, Ahsoka Tano watched the fortress through high-powered sensors and felt her heart clench with a mixture of hope and fear.
He's building something, she thought. Something that the Emperor doesn't fully understand. Something that might give me an opening.
She had been observing for three days now, cataloging arrivals and departures, analyzing the fortress's construction, trying to understand what Vader was planning. She had seen the pale-skinned women who seemed to live in the fortress, recognized them as Nightsisters through their distinctive magicks, and wondered what alliance her former master had forged with the survivors of Dathomir.
He's making allies, she realized. Gathering power that doesn't depend on Palpatine. That means he's planning for a future where the Emperor isn't in control.
That's my Skyguy. Always planning, always scheming, never satisfied with just following orders.
The observation was purely one-sided—Ahsoka's ship was well-shielded against detection, and she had kept her Force presence carefully muted since arriving in the system. Vader showed no sign of being aware that he was being watched.
Which was fortunate, because Ahsoka had no idea what she would say to him if they actually met.
Soon, she promised herself. Soon I'll be ready. Soon I'll find a way to reach him.
And when I do, I won't let go until I've brought my brother home.
She settled back in her pilot's chair, her blue eyes fixed on the black spire rising from the volcanic plain, and began to plan her next move.
The observation would continue. The investigation would intensify. And eventually—when the moment was right—she would make her approach.
Ahsoka Tano had never given up on anything in her life.
She certainly wasn't going to start with the person who mattered most.
[END OF CHAPTER FOUR]