The intelligence report arrived on Vader's datapad during his morning meditation session, which was to say, during the three hours he spent each day floating in a bacta-enhanced chamber while the Nightsisters performed maintenance rituals on his suit and the Force whispered secrets that only the Dark Side could hear.
"Lord Vader." Mother Shelish's voice cut through his contemplation. "You have received priority intelligence from Commander Thrawn. He indicates it requires immediate attention."
Vader opened his eyes—metaphorically, since his actual eyes were ruined beyond repair—and reached out with the Force to pull the datapad toward him. The message was encrypted, but his suit's systems decoded it automatically.
SABINE WREN CONFIRMED EN ROUTE TO CONCORD DAWN. INTELLIGENCE SUGGESTS RECRUITMENT MISSION FOR MANDALORIAN ALLIES. RECOMMEND INTERDICTION.
—THRAWN
Vader read the message twice, processing the implications.
Sabine Wren, he thought. The Mandalorian girl from the Ghost crew. She's going home.
In Marcus Chen's memories, Sabine's arc had been one of the more compelling storylines in Rebels—a young woman reconciling with her family's legacy, eventually wielding the Darksaber and helping to unite the Mandalorian clans against the Empire. Her recruitment of Mandalorian allies had been a significant development, providing the Rebellion with warriors and resources that had proved crucial in later conflicts.
I can't allow that to happen. Not yet. The timeline requires the Rebellion to grow, but a united Mandalore allied with the rebels would accelerate things too quickly. I need to control the pace.
But simply destroying Sabine or her family would be counterproductive. Martyrs, as Thrawn had correctly noted, inspired greater resistance. And the Mandalorians were not the kind of people who responded well to terror—they responded to it by becoming more determined, more united, more dangerous.
No, Vader decided. This requires a personal touch. I need to remind the Mandalorians why opposing the Empire is a bad idea—while leaving them intact enough to be useful later.
He rose from the meditation chamber, bacta fluid draining from his suit's internal reservoirs.
"Prepare my ship," he commanded. "I am going to Mandalore."
Mother Shelish's pale eyebrows rose slightly. "The entire planet, Lord Vader? That seems ambitious even for you."
"Not the entire planet. Just the people who need to remember their place."
Concord Dawn, three days later...
The Mandalorian protectorate was exactly as Vader remembered it from Anakin's Clone Wars memories—a collection of asteroid settlements orbiting a devastated world, home to warriors who had chosen exile over Imperial subjugation. The Protectors, as they called themselves, maintained a tenuous neutrality, neither openly supporting the Empire nor actively resisting it.
That neutrality was about to be tested.
Vader's corvette, the Scimitar, dropped out of hyperspace at the edge of the system, its stealth systems engaged, its presence virtually invisible to the Protectors' sensor networks. He studied the tactical display, noting the positions of patrol ships, defense platforms, and the central station where the Protector leadership made their home.
Sabine Wren's shuttle arrived approximately six hours ago, he calculated from Thrawn's intelligence. She's probably in the middle of negotiations right now. Perfect timing.
He guided the Scimitar toward the central station, bypassing the defensive perimeter with contemptuous ease. The Protectors had excellent security by normal standards, but normal standards did not account for a ship designed by the greatest engineers that stolen Separatist credits could buy.
The docking was silent, undetected. Vader descended the boarding ramp into a maintenance corridor that should have been empty.
It was not empty.
Three Mandalorian guards stood at the far end, their helmets turning toward him with the slow recognition of beings who could not quite believe what they were seeing.
"Intruder!" one of them shouted, raising his blaster. "Sound the—"
Vader raised his hand. The guard's voice cut off as invisible fingers closed around his throat. The other two guards opened fire, their blaster bolts caught in midair and held there, frozen points of light that illuminated the corridor with an eerie red glow.
"I am not an intruder," Vader said, his vocoder transforming the words into something that resonated in the bones. "I am an inevitability."
He released the choked guard, letting him collapse gasping to the deck. The frozen blaster bolts remained suspended, a casual demonstration of power that no Mandalorian could fail to understand.
"Take me to your leaders," Vader commanded. "Now."
The Protector council chamber was designed to intimidate visitors—high ceilings, dramatic lighting, ancestral armor displayed on the walls as reminders of Mandalorian martial glory. It was the kind of room that made most beings feel small and insignificant.
Vader found it quaint.
Fenn Rau, leader of the Protectors, sat at the head of the council table, his weathered face displaying the careful neutrality of a man who had survived decades of galactic politics. Around him sat his senior advisors, warriors whose armor bore the scars of countless battles.
And at the far end of the table, looking like she wished the floor would swallow her whole, sat Sabine Wren.
"Lord Vader," Fenn Rau said, his voice steady despite the fear that Vader could sense radiating from everyone in the room. "This is an... unexpected visit. Had we known you were coming, we would have prepared a proper welcome."
"I do not require welcomes. I require information." Vader strode to the center of the chamber, his cape swirling behind him. "I am told that rebel agents have been attempting to recruit Mandalorian support for their terrorist activities."
Every eye in the room flickered toward Sabine, who had gone very still.
"We have received... approaches," Fenn Rau admitted carefully. "But the Protectors have made no commitments. We maintain our neutrality, as we have since the Empire's founding."
"Neutrality." Vader let the word hang in the air like a blade. "An interesting concept. Tell me, Fenn Rau—when the Empire's enemies gather strength, when they threaten Imperial stability, when they seek allies among those who should know better—is neutrality truly possible? Or is it simply delayed choosing?"
"We have no quarrel with the Empire, Lord Vader. We simply wish to be left alone."
"No one is left alone. Not in this galaxy." Vader turned slowly, surveying the assembled Mandalorians with the methodical attention of a predator assessing a herd. "You believe that your isolation protects you. That your warriors' reputation will deter aggression. That your skills will see you through whatever challenges arise."
He paused, letting the silence stretch.
"You are wrong."
The tension in the chamber ratcheted up several degrees. Hands drifted toward weapons, muscles tensed for action, eyes tracked Vader's every movement.
"I came here alone," Vader continued. "I bypassed your defenses without detection. I incapacitated your guards without effort. I stand in the heart of your power, surrounded by the finest warriors your people can produce, and I am not afraid."
He turned to face Fenn Rau directly.
"Do you know why I am not afraid, Fenn Rau?"
The Protector leader's jaw tightened. "Enlighten me."
"Because I have killed Jedi by the dozens. Because I have crushed rebellions across a hundred worlds. Because I am the Empire's wrath made manifest, and nothing—nothing in this galaxy—can stand against me."
Vader raised one hand, and every Mandalorian in the room felt the Force close around them—not choking, not attacking, but holding. A reminder that their lives existed at his sufferance.
"I could kill everyone in this station," Vader said conversationally. "I could reduce your protectorate to debris. I could end the Mandalorian people as a meaningful force in galactic affairs. And I would barely break stride."
He released them, letting the invisible pressure fade.
"But I am not here to destroy. I am here to remind."
Fenn Rau found his voice. "Remind us of what?"
"Of reality." Vader turned to face Sabine Wren, who was staring at him with an expression that mixed terror with defiance in equal measure. "The rebels who seek your aid are doomed. Not immediately—they have their uses—but ultimately, inevitably, they will fail. The Empire is too vast, too powerful, too entrenched to be overthrown by a ragtag collection of idealists and terrorists."
"The Empire is built on tyranny," Sabine said, her voice shaking but determined. "Tyrannies always fall."
"Eventually. In centuries, perhaps. In millennia." Vader's vocoder dropped to its lowest, most threatening register. "But you will not live to see it, Sabine Wren. None of your crew will. None of your rebel allies. If you persist in this course, you will die—not as heroes, but as footnotes. Forgotten casualties in a conflict that was decided before it began."
"Then why let us live?" Sabine demanded. "Why not just kill us now and be done with it?"
It was the same question Ezra had asked. The same question that kept arising whenever Vader chose mercy over expedience.
"Because death is easy," Vader replied. "Death ends suffering, ends struggle, ends the possibility of learning. I prefer education."
He turned back to Fenn Rau.
"Your neutrality is acceptable—for now. But understand this: the moment you provide material support to the Rebellion, the moment you send warriors to fight alongside terrorists, I will return. And I will not be alone."
He began walking toward the exit, then paused.
"One more thing. The Ghost crew will depart this system within the hour. They will not return. And Sabine Wren will carry a message to her companions: I am watching. Always watching. Every move they make, every alliance they forge, every plan they conceive—I know. And when I decide that their education is complete..."
He let the threat hang unfinished.
"Goodbye, Protectors. I trust we will not need to have this conversation again."
Vader swept out of the chamber, leaving behind a room full of shaken warriors and one very pale Mandalorian girl who was beginning to realize just how deep the waters she was swimming in truly were.
The Ghost, fleeing Concord Dawn at maximum speed...
"He just... appeared!" Sabine was pacing the common area, her painted armor seeming dull against the terror in her voice. "No warning, no detection, nothing! One minute everything was fine, the next minute Darth kriffing Vader was standing in the middle of the council chamber threatening to destroy everything!"
"Slow down," Kanan said, his own face pale. "Tell us exactly what happened."
Sabine recounted the encounter, her words tumbling over each other in her urgency. The casual demonstration of power. The threats. The message for the crew.
"He said he's watching us," she finished. "Always watching. How is that possible? We've been careful! We've used encrypted communications, random jump patterns, all the security protocols!"
"It's not about technology," Kanan said grimly. "It's about the Force. Vader can sense things that no sensor can detect. He probably felt us the moment we entered the system."
"Then how do we hide from him? How do we do anything if he knows about it before we even start?"
"We don't hide." Hera's voice was surprisingly calm. Everyone turned to look at her. "We can't hide from Vader. He's made that clear. So we stop trying."
"What are you suggesting?" Kanan asked warily.
"I'm suggesting that running is pointless. Fighting is suicide. The only option left is..." She paused, seeming to struggle with the words. "Understanding."
"Understanding Vader?" Zeb's incredulous voice cut through the tension. "The monster who kills Jedi for fun? What's there to understand?"
"Why he keeps letting us live." Hera's eyes had a strange intensity. "Think about it. He could have killed us on the Ghost. He could have killed Sabine on Concord Dawn. But he didn't. He keeps threatening, keeps demonstrating his power, but he never follows through. Why?"
"Because he's playing with his food?" Ezra suggested darkly.
"Maybe. Or maybe there's something else going on. Something we don't understand yet."
Kanan studied Hera with growing concern. There was something in her voice, something in her expression, that didn't quite fit. She seemed almost... hopeful?
"Hera, whatever you're thinking—"
"I'm thinking that we need more information," Hera interrupted. "And the only way to get that information is to get closer to the source."
"Closer to Vader?" Kanan's voice rose with alarm. "That's insane!"
"Is it? He seems to enjoy our attention. He keeps seeking us out, keeps engaging with us personally. What if that's not just about terrorizing rebels? What if there's something else he wants?"
"Like what?"
Hera was quiet for a moment, her lekku twitching with suppressed emotion.
"I don't know yet," she admitted. "But I intend to find out."
The Scimitar, departing Concord Dawn...
Vader was reviewing tactical reports when his ship's sensors detected something unusual: a slight mass differential in the cargo hold. Nothing significant—perhaps a few dozen kilograms at most—but anomalous enough to warrant investigation.
He extended his Force senses toward the cargo hold, probing for life signs.
And found one.
Someone is hiding on my ship, he realized, genuine surprise coloring his thoughts. Someone from the station? No—the life signs feel familiar. Almost like...
His optical sensors widened fractionally behind his mask.
Hera Syndulla.
The Twi'lek pilot from the Ghost. The one who had been hiding in the escape pod bay during their first encounter. She had somehow boarded his ship during the Concord Dawn visit, concealed herself in the cargo hold, and was currently crouching behind a stack of supply crates with what felt like a mixture of terror and determination.
For a long moment, Vader simply stood there, processing the sheer audacity of what she had done.
She snuck onto my personal corvette, he thought. The most advanced stealth vessel in my fleet. She bypassed security systems that would stop Imperial Intelligence agents. She is hiding in my cargo hold, apparently planning to... what? Spy on me? Assassinate me? Attempt some kind of misguided rescue mission?
The correct response was obvious: go to the cargo hold, drag her out, and either kill her or interrogate her for information about the Ghost crew's plans.
But Vader found himself hesitating.
Why did she do this? What could possibly motivate someone to voluntarily trap themselves on a ship with Darth Vader?
He reached out with the Force, gently probing Hera's emotional state. Fear, yes—plenty of fear. But also determination. And beneath that, something more complex. Something that felt almost like... concern?
She's worried about someone, Vader realized. Not herself—someone else. Her crew? No, the emotion is more personal than that. More focused.
She's worried about me.
The realization was so unexpected that Vader actually laughed—a short, harsh sound that his vocoder transformed into something terrifying. The Twi'lek rebel pilot who should rightfully want him dead was hiding on his ship because she was worried about him?
This universe, Vader thought, shaking his head slowly. This utterly insane universe where every woman develops inexplicable feelings for a scarred cyborg in life support armor.
He made a decision.
I'm not going to confront her. Not yet. I want to see what she does, how she behaves when she thinks she's unobserved. Her actions will tell me more than interrogation ever could.
He continued reviewing his tactical reports, pretending ignorance of his unexpected passenger, while internally marveling at the galaxy's continued determination to make his life as complicated as possible.
The Scimitar's cargo hold, approximately two hours later...
Hera was fairly certain she had made a terrible mistake.
The plan had seemed so logical when she conceived it: use the chaos of Vader's visit to Concord Dawn to slip aboard his ship, observe his operations, gather intelligence that might explain his strange behavior toward the Ghost crew. She had trained in infiltration during her time with the Rebellion's intelligence networks. She knew how to hide, how to move silently, how to avoid detection.
What she hadn't accounted for was the sheer terrifying reality of being trapped on Darth Vader's personal vessel.
Every sound made her flinch. Every vibration through the deck plates sent her heart racing. She could feel the Dark Side presence of the ship's owner like a weight pressing down on her lekku, a constant reminder that she was utterly, completely at his mercy.
What was I thinking? she asked herself for the hundredth time. Kanan was right. This is insane. I need to find a way off this ship before—
The cargo hold door hissed open.
Hera froze, pressing herself deeper into the shadows behind the supply crates. Through a gap between containers, she could see a tall, black-armored figure silhouetted against the corridor lights.
Oh no. Oh no no no.
Vader stepped into the cargo hold, his mechanical breathing filling the space with its iconic rhythm. He moved slowly, methodically, his helmet turning as if scanning the room.
He knows, Hera realized, terror flooding through her. He has to know. He's probably known since the moment I came aboard. He was just... waiting.
Vader stopped approximately three meters from her hiding spot. For an endless moment, he simply stood there, his presence radiating power and menace.
"I know you are there, Hera Syndulla," he said, his vocoder making the words feel like a death sentence. "Come out. There is no point in continued concealment."
Hera's legs didn't want to obey her. Every instinct screamed at her to stay hidden, to pray for a miracle, to hope against hope that he was bluffing.
But she had never been one to hide from consequences. If she was going to die, she would die on her feet.
She emerged from behind the crates, her hands raised in surrender, her heart pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it.
"Lord Vader," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm here."
"I am curious," Vader admitted, his helmet tilting slightly. "Most beings attempt to flee from me. You have done the opposite. The question is why."
"I..." Hera hesitated, trying to formulate an explanation that didn't sound completely insane. "I needed to understand."
"Understand what?"
"You. What you want. Why you keep letting us live." The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "You've had multiple opportunities to destroy us, and every time, you walk away. That doesn't make sense. You're supposed to be a monster, but monsters don't show restraint. They don't give warnings. They don't seem almost... protective."
Vader was silent for a long moment.
"Protective," he repeated. "You believe I am protecting you?"
"I don't know what I believe anymore." Hera's voice cracked slightly. "But I know you're not what you seem. There's something else going on—something you're not telling anyone. And I thought... I thought if I could just observe you, understand you, maybe I could figure out what it is."
"And what would you do with that understanding?"
It was the question Hera had been asking herself since she first conceived this insane plan.
"I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. But I couldn't just keep running and wondering. I needed answers."
Vader studied her for what felt like an eternity. Through the Force, he was reading her emotions—the fear, the determination, the desperate hope that she couldn't quite explain even to herself.
She genuinely believes there's something redeemable in me, he realized. She's convinced herself that my mercy toward her crew means something more than tactical calculation.
She's completely deluded.
But she's also brave. And intelligent. And determined enough to infiltrate a Sith Lord's personal ship on the slim hope of finding answers.
Those are qualities worth cultivating.
"You will remain on this vessel," Vader said finally. "Not as a prisoner—as an observer. You wished to understand me. Very well. You will have the opportunity."
Hera blinked. "You're... you're not going to kill me?"
"If I killed everyone who interested me, the galaxy would be significantly emptier." Vader turned toward the exit. "Quarters will be prepared for you. You will have limited access to the ship's public areas. You will not attempt to sabotage systems or access restricted sections. Violations will be... addressed."
"And my crew? They'll be worried—"
"Your crew will be informed that you are alive and in my custody. They will not attempt rescue operations. If they do, they will die."
It was not a threat. It was a statement of fact, delivered with the casual certainty of someone who had faced countless rescue attempts and survived them all.
"Now come," Vader commanded. "You wished to observe. The observation begins."
He swept out of the cargo hold, leaving Hera to follow in a state of bewildered disbelief.
He's letting me live, she thought, hurrying to keep up with his long strides. He's actually letting me stay on his ship. Either this is the most elaborate trap in galactic history, or...
Or there really is something more to Darth Vader than anyone realizes.
And I'm going to find out what it is.
Alderaan, three days later...
Vader had never intended to bring a passenger on his visits to Leia.
But here he was, landing his shuttle in the same forested area he had used before, preparing to infiltrate the Royal Palace for the third time in as many years, while Hera Syndulla waited in the ship's common area with the kind of patience that suggested she was trying very hard not to ask questions.
"Remain here," he commanded. "Do not follow me. Do not activate any communication systems. If anyone approaches the shuttle, hide. If you are discovered, I will not come for you."
Hera nodded, her expression curious but controlled. "May I ask where you're going?"
"No."
He left before she could press further, wrapping himself in the concealment magicks that the Nightsisters had taught him. The approach to the palace was routine by now—he had made this journey multiple times, learning the guard rotations, identifying the sensor blind spots, perfecting his technique.
The nursery had been moved since his last visit. Leia was older now—three years old, according to his calculations—and had been transferred to a suite of rooms befitting a princess. The security was more extensive, the guards more numerous, the challenges more significant.
Vader bypassed them all.
He found her in her bedroom, sleeping peacefully beneath blankets embroidered with the Alderaanian royal crest. She had grown so much—no longer a baby, but a little girl with dark curls and features that still reminded him painfully of Padmé.
She's beautiful, he thought, standing in the shadows beside her bed. She's going to be extraordinary.
The pendant he had left on her first birthday was around her neck, he noted with satisfaction. The Organas had apparently decided to keep it, either not recognizing its significance or choosing to ignore it. The protective enchantments pulsed gently against his Force senses, confirming that they remained active.
She's safe, he assured himself. Protected. Loved.
Everything I cannot give her, the Organas provide.
He watched her sleep for perhaps ten minutes, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the rhythm of her breathing, the way her small fist curled around a stuffed tooka that must have been a recent gift. These moments were all he would ever have—stolen glimpses of a daughter who would never know her father, would never understand why he watched over her from the shadows.
Grow strong, he thought at her, projecting the emotion gently through the Force. Be wise. Lead with compassion but strike with conviction. The galaxy will need you, little one. More than you can possibly imagine.
He left as silently as he had come, passing through the palace like a ghost, returning to his shuttle where Hera waited with questions she was learning not to ask.
The journey to Mustafar was quiet. Vader retreated to his meditation chamber, processing the emotions that his visit to Leia had stirred. Hera remained in the common area, studying the ship's publicly accessible databases, trying to understand the being she had trapped herself with.
Neither spoke. Neither needed to.
Some things were beyond words.
Mustafar, the fortress...
The forge master was waiting when Vader arrived.
She stood in the fortress's main hangar, her Mandalorian armor gleaming under the volcanic light, her stance radiating the kind of patient confidence that came from knowing exactly what you wanted and exactly how to get it.
"Lord Vader," she greeted him. "Your beskar modifications are complete. The final shipment arrived this morning."
"I am aware. Your craftsmanship has exceeded expectations."
"Mandalorian work always exceeds expectations." The forge master's scarred lips curved into a smile. "Which brings me to the matter of my favor."
Vader had been expecting this. The debt had been hanging over him for months, a undefined obligation that he knew would eventually be called in.
"Speak your request."
"I want the Darksaber."
The statement hung in the air between them, heavy with implications. The Darksaber—the ancient weapon created by Tarre Vizsla, the only Mandalorian ever inducted into the Jedi Order. It had been wielded by Mandalorian leaders for generations, passed from warrior to warrior through combat or inheritance.
Currently, according to Vader's intelligence, it was in the possession of Maul.
Maul, Vader thought, suppressing a surge of complicated emotions. The former Sith apprentice who nearly killed Obi-Wan, who murdered Qui-Gon Jinn, who has somehow survived everything the galaxy has thrown at him.
He's going to be a problem eventually. Perhaps this favor provides an opportunity to address that problem early.
"The Darksaber is not in Imperial possession," Vader said carefully. "Acquiring it would require tracking down its current wielder and taking it by force."
"I know where Maul is." The forge master's voice carried grim satisfaction. "My people have been tracking him for years. He hides on Dathomir, among the ruins of the Nightsister temple, gathering what remnants of dark power he can find."
Dathomir. Another planet saturated with Dark Side energy. Another opportunity for conflict with a being who had once served Palpatine.
"You want me to kill Maul and retrieve the Darksaber," Vader said.
"I want the Darksaber. How you acquire it is your concern." The forge master met his optical sensors directly. "This is my price, Lord Vader. The blade that belongs to Mandalore, returned to Mandalorian hands. Everything else—Maul's fate, the method of acquisition, the timing—I leave to your discretion."
Vader considered the request. Killing Maul would eliminate a potential complication—the former Sith had a habit of appearing at inconvenient moments, stirring up trouble, threatening plans he didn't understand. And the Darksaber in Mandalorian hands could be useful for future manipulation of the clans.
"Your favor will be granted," Vader declared. "The Darksaber will be yours within three months."
The forge master nodded, satisfaction evident in her posture. "Then our business is concluded, Lord Vader. For now."
"For now," Vader agreed. "But I suspect our association will continue. The Mandalorian people have value—properly directed."
"We are warriors. We follow strength." The forge master's scarred face split into a fierce grin. "And you, Lord Vader, are the strongest thing I have ever encountered. When you move against your enemies—and you will move eventually—remember that Mandalore can be an asset rather than an obstacle."
Another ally positioning themselves for the conflict to come, Vader noted. The Kaminoans. The Nightsisters. And now the Mandalorians—or at least a faction of them.
My power base grows larger by the day.
"I will remember," he said. "Now go. I have matters to attend to."
The forge master departed, leaving Vader alone in the hangar with his thoughts and his plans.
Maul, he mused. Ezra Bridger. The Darksaber. All of these elements connecting in ways that could be useful.
But first, I need to decide what to do about my unexpected houseguest.
He glanced toward the shuttle, where Hera Syndulla was probably watching him through the viewport, trying to understand the puzzle she had chosen to investigate.
Let her watch, Vader decided. Let her observe. Her presence serves my purposes—a connection to the Ghost crew, a potential source of information, and perhaps something more.
The galaxy is full of unexpected opportunities.
And I intend to exploit every single one.
In Vader's fortress, later that evening...
Hera had been given quarters that were surprisingly comfortable for a Sith Lord's prisoner. The room was sparse but functional—a bed, a desk, a viewport overlooking the volcanic landscape, and a refresher unit that actually worked.
She stood at the viewport now, watching the lava rivers flow beneath the perpetual red sky, trying to process everything that had happened.
I'm living in Darth Vader's fortress, she thought. I voluntarily infiltrated his ship, got caught, and instead of killing me, he gave me a guest room.
Nothing about this makes sense.
But sense or not, she was committed now. She had wanted to understand Vader, to find the answer to the question that had been haunting her since their first encounter.
Why does he let us live?
She had seen hints during their journey here—moments when Vader's behavior seemed almost... normal. The way he had checked on his ship's systems with methodical care. The way he had paused to observe a particularly spectacular volcanic eruption. The way he had left the shuttle for hours at Alderaan without explanation, returning with an emotional state that felt almost... melancholy.
He went somewhere personal, she had realized. Somewhere that matters to him. He has a life outside of being the Emperor's monster.
That means there's a person inside that armor. A person with feelings, with attachments, with reasons for doing what he does.
And I'm going to find out who that person is.
It was a dangerous obsession. She knew it was dangerous. But Hera had never been one to back down from dangerous situations.
I'll understand you, Vader, she promised silently. I'll find the truth behind the mask.
And then... we'll see what happens next.
[END OF CHAPTER NINE]