The briefing room in Vader's fortress was designed for intimidation.
Black walls absorbed the red emergency lighting, creating an atmosphere of perpetual menace. The central holotable projected tactical data in crimson and orange, colors that matched the volcanic landscape visible through the narrow viewports. The chairs—what few existed—were uncomfortable by design, encouraging visitors to remain standing and therefore subservient.
Vader had never actually used the room for its intended purpose until now.
Alpha-One stood at attention before the holotable, his black-and-crimson armor gleaming under the harsh lighting. Behind him, arranged in perfect formation, stood the commanders of First Cohort's primary strike teams: Alpha-Seven, Alpha-Twelve, and Alpha-Twenty-Three. Each was a genetic masterpiece, engineered for combat excellence, trained to standards that would have made the original clone army weep with inadequacy.
And they were about to receive their first real mission.
"The target," Vader began, manipulating the holotable to display a rotating schematic, "is Imperial Research Station Theta-Seven. Located in the Atravis sector, officially designated as a weapons development facility, actually serving as a black site for Project Harvester."
"Project Harvester, my Lord?" Alpha-One's voice was deep, professional, carrying none of the servile trembling that characterized standard Imperial subordinates.
"A program designed to identify and capture Force-sensitive children for... processing." Vader let the word hang in the air, heavy with implications. "The facility contains approximately three hundred personnel, including researchers, security forces, and administrative staff. It also contains data that I require—specifically, records of all Force-sensitives identified by the program over the past four years."
Alpha-Seven spoke up, his voice identical to Alpha-One's but somehow carrying a slightly different cadence. "Rules of engagement, my Lord?"
"Total elimination." Vader's vocoder dropped to its most threatening register. "No survivors. No witnesses. The facility is to be destroyed so thoroughly that Imperial investigators will be unable to determine what happened. When you are finished, Theta-Seven should not exist."
The clone commanders exchanged glances that carried volumes of unspoken communication. They had been bred for this—engineered specifically for missions that required absolute lethality and complete discretion. But hearing the order spoken aloud was different from theoretical preparation.
"My Lord," Alpha-One said carefully, "I must confirm: you are ordering us to attack an Imperial installation and eliminate Imperial personnel. This would constitute treason against the Empire."
"It would constitute treason against Emperor Palpatine," Vader corrected. "You do not serve Palpatine. You serve me. The distinction is important."
"Understood, my Lord." Alpha-One's posture, already perfect, somehow became even more rigid with resolve. "What is our extraction timeline?"
"You have six hours from insertion to extraction. The facility's automated check-in occurs every eight hours—if the station misses a check-in, Imperial reinforcements will be dispatched. You must be gone before that happens."
"Six hours to eliminate three hundred personnel, extract the required data, and destroy all evidence of our presence." Alpha-One nodded slowly. "Challenging, but achievable. How many soldiers do you wish us to deploy?"
Vader considered the question. Three hundred Imperial personnel—mostly researchers and security guards, none of them expecting an attack from within the Empire's own ranks. The facility had standard defensive measures: turrets, blast doors, emergency lockdown protocols. Nothing that would challenge his enhanced clones significantly.
"Fifty soldiers should be sufficient," he decided. "Two strike teams for the assault, one for data extraction, one for demolition. Alpha-One, you will command the operation personally."
"It will be done, my Lord." Alpha-One's red visor seemed to glow with anticipation. "When do we deploy?"
"Immediately. Your transport is waiting in Hangar Bay Three. The coordinates and facility schematics have been uploaded to your tactical systems." Vader turned away, cape swirling. "Do not fail me, Alpha-One. This mission will determine whether the Shadow Legion is truly capable of fulfilling its purpose."
"We will not fail, my Lord." Alpha-One's voice carried absolute certainty. "The Shadow Legion exists to serve your will. That will shall be done."
The clone commanders saluted as one and departed, their heavy boots echoing through the fortress corridors.
Vader watched them go, feeling something that might have been pride stirring in his mechanical chest.
They're ready, he thought. Fifteen thousand enhanced soldiers, trained to perfection, loyal beyond question. And this is just the beginning.
Palpatine has no idea what's coming.
The Shadow Legion transport vessel Umbra, en route to the Atravis sector...
Alpha-One reviewed the mission parameters for the seventeenth time, his enhanced cognitive systems processing every detail with machine-like precision.
The briefing had been thorough—Lord Vader's intelligence was excellent, providing facility layouts, security rotation schedules, personnel manifests, and potential complications. But Alpha-One had learned during his accelerated training that no plan survived contact with the enemy. Preparation was essential, but adaptation was survival.
"Strike Team Beta, status report," he commanded through his helmet's integrated communication system.
"Beta ready," Alpha-Seven responded. "All soldiers equipped and briefed. Ammunition reserves at maximum. Morale at optimal levels."
"Strike Team Gamma?"
"Gamma ready," Alpha-Twelve confirmed. "Demo packages prepped and distributed. Charges calibrated for structural collapse. We can level that facility in under three minutes once the order is given."
"Data extraction team?"
"Delta ready," Alpha-Twenty-Three reported. "Slicing equipment operational. Backup systems in place. We'll have those files before the bodies hit the floor."
Alpha-One nodded, satisfaction humming through his enhanced nervous system. His brothers were prepared. The Shadow Legion would prove its worth.
"Remember your training," he addressed all teams through the ship-wide channel. "We are not stormtroopers. We do not miss. We do not hesitate. We do not fail. Lord Vader has given us this opportunity to demonstrate what we are. Let us show him that his investment was not wasted."
Fifty voices responded as one: "FOR THE SHADOW! FOR VADER!"
The transport shuddered as it dropped out of hyperspace, the Atravis sector's stars streaking back into points of light outside the viewports. Research Station Theta-Seven was visible in the distance—a collection of interconnected modules orbiting a barren moon, its running lights blinking with the quiet confidence of a facility that had never been attacked.
That confidence was about to be shattered.
"Approaching insertion point," the pilot reported. "Imperial sensors show no awareness of our presence. Stealth systems functioning at optimal capacity."
"Take us in," Alpha-One commanded. "Fast and quiet. We hit the airlock in ninety seconds."
The transport surged forward, its engines configured for silent running, its hull coated with sensor-absorbing materials that made it virtually invisible to standard Imperial detection systems. Lord Vader had provided them with the best equipment credits could buy—equipment that most Imperial forces didn't even know existed.
He prepares us well, Alpha-One thought, checking his rifle one final time. He understands that soldiers are only as good as their tools.
The airlock connected with a soft thump, mag-seals engaging, pressure equalizing. Alpha-One was the first through the breach, his rifle sweeping the corridor beyond with practiced efficiency.
Two Imperial security guards stood at the far end of the hallway, their white armor a stark contrast to the Shadow Legion's black-and-crimson gear. They had approximately half a second to register surprise before Alpha-One's shots took them both through the helmet visors.
Two down, he noted, advancing over the bodies. Two hundred ninety-eight to go.
"All teams, execute insertion," he commanded. "Beta takes the security hub. Gamma secures the reactor core. Delta moves on the data center. Rendezvous at the command deck in thirty minutes."
"Acknowledged," three voices responded simultaneously.
The Shadow Legion dispersed into the facility like smoke into wind, fifty enhanced soldiers dividing into four groups, each moving with the silent efficiency of predators who knew their prey had no chance.
The killing began.
Security Hub, Level Three...
Alpha-Seven moved through the corridors with the fluid grace of a being born for combat.
His enhanced senses detected targets before they could detect him—the subtle vibrations of footsteps, the electromagnetic signatures of active weapons, the heat differential of warm bodies against cold bulkheads. Each data point fed into his tactical awareness, painting a picture of the battlefield that would have been invisible to unaugmented soldiers.
Three security guards were approaching from the starboard junction, their conversation audible through Alpha-Seven's enhanced hearing.
"—told you, the new rotation schedule is ridiculous. Who needs to check the waste recyclers every four hours?"
"Regulations. You know how Command gets about—"
Alpha-Seven stepped around the corner and shot all three in the space of a single heartbeat. His rifle's suppressor reduced the sound to a soft cough, barely louder than the station's ambient systems.
Three more, he noted. Proceeding to primary objective.
The security hub was located at the center of Level Three, a fortified room containing the facility's surveillance and communication systems. Standard procedure would call for bypassing or disabling these systems before the assault—but Lord Vader had different instructions.
"Beta-Three, status on the hub's defensive measures?"
"Blast doors sealed, my Lord," Beta-Three responded. "Standard Imperial reinforcement—rated for anything up to heavy weapons fire. Breaching charges in position."
"Detonate on my mark." Alpha-Seven positioned himself beside the door, his brothers forming up behind him. "Mark."
The blast doors disappeared in a flash of precisely calculated explosive force, the breaching charges designed to destroy the barrier without sending shrapnel into the corridor. Before the smoke could clear, Alpha-Seven was through the breach, his rifle tracking targets with enhanced reflexes.
Eight personnel occupied the security hub—four guards and four technicians. The guards died first, cut down by rifle fire before they could raise their weapons. The technicians followed, their attempts to activate emergency protocols interrupted by shots that were as precise as they were lethal.
"Hub secured," Alpha-Seven reported. "No survivors. Accessing surveillance systems now."
He moved to the primary console, his armored fingers dancing across the controls with surprising dexterity. The surveillance feeds flickered to life, showing him views of the entire facility—and more importantly, the locations of every remaining hostile.
"Alpha-One, I have eyes on the facility. Two hundred and forty-three personnel remaining. Significant concentration in the research labs on Level Seven and the command deck on Level One."
"Acknowledged. Forward target data to all teams. We proceed as planned."
Alpha-Seven began transmitting, watching through the surveillance feeds as his brothers moved through the facility like ghosts. Every few seconds, another cluster of red dots on his tactical display winked out, lives ended with brutal efficiency.
This is what we were made for, he thought, a savage satisfaction humming through his enhanced systems. This is our purpose.
Reactor Core, Level Twelve...
Alpha-Twelve's demolition team moved with the careful precision of beings who understood that their cargo could turn them into component atoms if mishandled.
The reactor core was the heart of Research Station Theta-Seven, a compact fusion generator that provided power to every system on the facility. Destroying it would create a cascade failure that would tear the station apart in approximately fourteen seconds—plenty of time for extraction if properly coordinated.
"Demo charges in position at points Alpha through Delta," Alpha-Twelve reported, his subordinates confirming placement across their shared tactical network. "Awaiting final confirmation before arming."
"Hold position," Alpha-One responded. "Data extraction still in progress. We detonate only after Delta Team has secured the files."
"Understood. We hold."
The waiting was the hardest part—standing in the humming warmth of the reactor chamber, surrounded by enough explosive material to vaporize the entire facility, knowing that the mission's success depended on patience rather than action.
Alpha-Twelve used the time productively, running final calculations on the demolition sequence. The charges needed to detonate in a specific order, creating a cascade that would appear—to Imperial investigators—like a catastrophic reactor malfunction rather than deliberate sabotage.
Lord Vader wants this to look like an accident, he reminded himself. No evidence of attack. No indication that the Shadow Legion exists. Just a tragic industrial disaster that claimed three hundred lives.
It was the kind of attention to detail that separated the Shadow Legion from standard Imperial forces. Stormtroopers were blunt instruments—effective for occupation and suppression, but incapable of subtlety. The Shadow Legion was a scalpel, designed for operations that required precision and discretion.
"Alpha-Twelve," his tactical display flickered with an incoming communication, "we've encountered heavier resistance at the data center. Hostiles have fortified the main entrance. Requesting demo support."
"En route." Alpha-Twelve designated two of his soldiers to maintain position at the reactor while he moved with the rest toward Level Nine. "What's our timeline?"
"Twenty minutes until scheduled check-in. We need to be out before the station misses its communication window."
"Understood. Accelerating pace."
The Shadow Legion moved faster now, the luxury of caution giving way to the necessity of speed. They left a trail of bodies in their wake—security guards, researchers, technicians, anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path. The kills were clean, efficient, without the casual cruelty that characterized some Imperial operations.
We are not monsters, Alpha-Twelve thought as he put a round through the helmet of a guard who was reaching for an alarm panel. We are professionals. There is a difference.
The distinction might have been lost on the guard, but it mattered to Alpha-Twelve. Lord Vader had not created them to enjoy killing. He had created them to be effective at it.
Those were not the same thing.
Data Center, Level Nine...
Alpha-Twenty-Three was having the time of his genetically-enhanced life.
The data center's defenders had fortified the main entrance with improvised barricades, turning the corridor into a kill zone that would have been suicide for standard soldiers. Heavy repeating blasters covered every approach, blast shields protected the operators, and the doorway itself had been reinforced with emergency bulkheads.
It was the most resistance the Shadow Legion had encountered all mission.
Alpha-Twenty-Three found it adorable.
"Demo team, I need a breacher charge on the secondary access hatch," he commanded through his tactical network. "Something with enough force to create a distraction but not enough to damage the data systems."
"Understood. Charge in position. Detonating in three... two... one..."
The explosion sent a shockwave through the corridor, momentarily disorienting the defenders and drawing their attention toward what they thought was the primary threat. Alpha-Twenty-Three used that moment to trigger the emergency venting system in the ceiling above their position.
The defenders looked up just in time to see thirty Shadow Legion soldiers dropping through the maintenance hatches they had forgotten existed.
The battle that followed lasted approximately twelve seconds. It was not close.
"Data center secured," Alpha-Twenty-Three reported, stepping over bodies as he moved toward the primary server bank. "Beginning extraction. Estimated completion time: four minutes."
"Acknowledged. All teams proceed to extraction points. We depart in ten minutes."
Alpha-Twenty-Three's armored fingers interfaced directly with the facility's computer systems, his neural implants bypassing security protocols that would have taken standard slicers hours to crack. Data flowed into his suit's storage systems—personnel files, research notes, communication logs, and most importantly, the complete registry of Force-sensitives identified by Project Harvester.
Lord Vader will be pleased, he thought, watching the progress bar creep toward completion. This is exactly what he asked for.
The data was disturbing, even to a soldier bred for violence. Project Harvester was not merely identifying Force-sensitive children—it was tracking them, cataloging their abilities, and in many cases, arranging for their "acquisition" by Imperial forces. The files contained thousands of names, ages, locations, and assessments of potential power levels.
These are children, Alpha-Twenty-Three realized. The Empire is hunting children.
It was not his place to question Lord Vader's purposes, but he found himself hoping that the data would be used to protect these targets rather than exploit them. The Shadow Legion might be instruments of death, but they were not designed to be monsters.
"Extraction complete," he reported. "All files secured. Moving to extraction point."
"Acknowledged. All teams, final confirmation: facility is clear?"
"Beta confirms. No survivors in security hub section."
"Gamma confirms. Reactor charges armed and ready. No survivors in engineering section."
"Delta confirms. Data extracted. No survivors in research section."
"Command deck?" Alpha-One's voice carried a note of anticipation. "Status?"
Alpha-Twenty-Three checked his tactical display. The command deck had been cleared by Alpha-One's personal strike team, but confirmation was protocol.
"Alpha-One, please confirm command deck status."
There was a pause—unusual for their precisely-timed operations. When Alpha-One's voice returned, it carried something that might have been satisfaction.
"Command deck secured. Facility commander eliminated. I left him alive long enough to understand what was happening and why. Lord Vader's instructions were specific about that."
"Understood. All teams proceed to extraction. Detonation in three minutes."
The Shadow Legion moved as one, fifty soldiers converging on their transport with the coordinated efficiency of a single organism. Behind them, the facility that had once housed Project Harvester lay silent, its corridors filled with the bodies of those who had staffed it.
Alpha-One was the last to board the transport, pausing at the airlock to look back at the station one final time.
"Alpha-Twelve," he commanded. "Detonate."
The explosion was beautiful in its efficiency—a cascade of fire that started at the reactor core and spread outward in carefully calculated stages. The station tore itself apart from the inside, structural supports failing in sequence, atmosphere venting into the void, debris scattering in patterns that would suggest catastrophic system failure rather than deliberate destruction.
Within seconds, Research Station Theta-Seven ceased to exist.
"Mission complete," Alpha-One reported as the transport accelerated toward the system's edge. "All objectives achieved. Zero casualties. Returning to base."
In the distance, the debris field continued to expand, erasing any evidence that the Shadow Legion had ever been there.
Mustafar, the fortress, six hours later...
Vader reviewed the mission data with something approaching genuine pride.
The holographic display showed the entire operation in accelerated playback—the insertion, the systematic elimination of facility personnel, the data extraction, and the final destruction. Every element had been executed with precision that would have impressed even the most demanding military analyst.
"Fifty soldiers," he murmured, studying the efficiency metrics. "Three hundred targets. Zero friendly casualties. Complete data retrieval. Evidence of attack eliminated."
Alpha-One stood at attention before him, his black-and-crimson armor still bearing the faint scorch marks of combat. The clone commander had not cleaned his gear before reporting—a deliberate choice, Vader suspected, to demonstrate that he came directly from the field.
"The mission was successful, my Lord," Alpha-One confirmed. "All objectives achieved within the specified timeline."
"I can see that." Vader manipulated the display, highlighting specific moments of the operation. "Your breach of the security hub was particularly efficient. The synchronized attack through the ceiling hatches was creative."
"Thank you, my Lord. My brothers performed exactly as trained."
"Better than trained." Vader deactivated the display and turned to face his clone commander directly. "You adapted to unexpected resistance. You improvised solutions to unanticipated problems. You demonstrated initiative while maintaining mission discipline."
"We are what you made us, my Lord."
"No." Vader's vocoder carried something that might almost have been warmth. "You are what you have made yourselves. I provided the foundation. You have built upon it."
Alpha-One's posture shifted slightly—a nearly imperceptible relaxation that suggested he was processing praise he had not expected.
"The Shadow Legion is ready for larger operations," Vader continued. "This test has confirmed what I suspected: you are capable of missions that would be impossible for standard Imperial forces. Missions requiring precision, discretion, and absolute lethality."
"We await your commands, my Lord."
"You will have them. But first—" Vader gestured toward a side door, "—you and your soldiers will rest. Eat. Recover your strength. The next mission will come soon enough."
"My Lord, we require minimal recovery time. Our enhanced physiology—"
"Your enhanced physiology is not the issue. Your psychology is." Vader's vocoder dropped to something approaching gentleness. "You are soldiers, Alpha-One, but you are also beings. Beings require more than efficiency. They require purpose, connection, moments of peace between conflicts."
Alpha-One was silent for a moment, processing this unexpected direction.
"Lord Vader," he said finally, "may I speak freely?"
"You may."
"The other Imperials we have encountered—the stormtroopers, the officers, the personnel we eliminated today—they did not seem to understand what you are suggesting. They operated as components of a machine, interchangeable and expendable."
"They were trained to be exactly that. It is the Empire's greatest strength and its greatest weakness."
"But you do not treat us that way. You speak to us as individuals. You recognize our accomplishments. You concern yourself with our... psychology." Alpha-One's helmet tilted slightly. "Why?"
It was an excellent question, and Vader found himself considering it carefully before responding.
"Because I require soldiers who can think," he said finally. "The Empire's stormtroopers are effective for occupation and suppression, but they cannot adapt, cannot improvise, cannot make decisions in situations their training did not anticipate. The Shadow Legion must be different. You must be warriors who understand why you fight, not merely that you fight."
"And why do we fight, my Lord?"
"You fight for a future that does not yet exist." Vader turned toward the viewport, watching the lava rivers flow beneath the perpetual red sky. "The Empire as it currently exists is flawed—corrupt, inefficient, built on foundations that cannot support its ambitions. I intend to change that. To build something better."
"A new Empire?"
"A different Empire. One that values competence over politics, merit over connections, purpose over tradition." Vader paused. "One that does not hunt children for the crime of being born with abilities they did not choose."
Alpha-One was silent, processing the implications.
"The data we extracted from Theta-Seven," he said slowly. "The Force-sensitive children. You intend to protect them."
"I intend to ensure they have choices. The Empire would make them weapons or victims. I will give them the opportunity to become something more." Vader turned back to face his commander. "Does this trouble you, Alpha-One? Knowing that your first mission served purposes beyond simple military objectives?"
"No, my Lord." Alpha-One's voice carried conviction. "It... clarifies things. We were bred to be weapons, but weapons serve purposes. Knowing the purpose makes the service meaningful."
"Good. Then rest, recover, and prepare for what comes next. The Shadow Legion has proven its worth. Now we must prove our vision."
Alpha-One saluted—a precise military gesture that somehow conveyed genuine respect rather than mere protocol—and departed to rejoin his brothers.
Vader remained at the viewport, watching the volcanic landscape burn beneath him.
The test is complete, he thought. The Shadow Legion is everything I hoped they would be. Fifteen thousand soldiers now, with more in production every month. An army that answers to no one but me.
The question is: what do I do with them?
The immediate answer was obvious: continue building, continue preparing, continue positioning himself for the eventual confrontation with Palpatine. But the longer-term implications were more complex.
I have power now, Vader reflected. Real power, independent of the Empire's resources. I could challenge Palpatine today and possibly survive. I could seize control of sectors, establish a rival government, force the galaxy to choose between tyrannies.
But would that serve my actual purposes?
His actual purposes—as opposed to the purposes he had been programmed to pursue—remained somewhat unclear even to himself. Marcus Chen had died arguing about Star Wars on Reddit, carrying no grand ambitions beyond continued existence and the occasional satisfying debate. Darth Vader had been created to serve Palpatine, to be a weapon wielded against the Emperor's enemies.
Neither of those identities offered a compelling vision for the galaxy's future.
What do I actually want? Vader asked himself, not for the first time. Power? I have that. Revenge? Against whom? The Jedi are destroyed, Obi-Wan is in hiding, everyone who wronged Anakin is either dead or irrelevant.
So what remains?
The answer, when it came, was surprisingly simple.
My children.
Luke and Leia. The twins born in the ashes of everything Anakin Skywalker had loved. They were growing up now—Luke on Tatooine, Leia on Alderaan, each developing into the person they were meant to become.
I want them to inherit a galaxy worth living in, Vader realized. Not Palpatine's Empire, built on fear and cruelty. Not the chaos that would follow its collapse. Something better. Something that offers them choices beyond rebellion or submission.
That is what I'm building. Not for myself—I am already lost. But for them.
It was a strange motivation for a Sith Lord. The Dark Side was supposed to serve personal ambition, individual power, the gratification of selfish desires. Sacrificing for others—especially children who didn't know he existed—was fundamentally incompatible with Sith philosophy.
Perhaps that's why I might actually succeed, Vader thought. Palpatine expects his enemies to behave like Sith, seeking power for its own sake. He cannot anticipate an opponent motivated by something he has never understood.
Love.
The word felt foreign in his mechanical consciousness, like a program running in an incompatible operating system. But it was accurate nonetheless.
He loved his children. He loved them enough to let others raise them, to watch from the shadows, to build an empire within an empire for their eventual benefit.
I am either the worst Sith Lord in galactic history, Vader reflected, or I am something entirely new. Only time will tell which.
The fortress hummed around him, its Nightsister wards pulsing with protective energy, its systems monitoring a hundred different operations across the galaxy. Somewhere in the lower levels, the Shadow Legion was resting, recovering, preparing for the next mission. Somewhere else, Hera Syndulla was watching and learning and developing feelings that Vader still didn't fully understand.
And somewhere, in the depths of his mechanical heart, Marcus Chen was still alive—still processing, still planning, still hoping that this second chance at existence might actually mean something.
We continue, Vader decided. We build. We prepare. And when the time comes...
He didn't finish the thought. Some futures couldn't be planned, only shaped.
The Dark Side hummed around him, vast and patient and utterly indifferent to his motivations.
Some tools didn't care why they were used.
Only that they were used effectively.
In the guest quarters of the Mustafar fortress...
Hera watched the mission playback on the holoprojector that Vader had provided her, her expression cycling through horror, fascination, and something she couldn't quite name.
Fifty soldiers, she thought. Three hundred targets. Complete elimination in less than thirty minutes.
The Shadow Legion—she had learned their name from intercepted communications—was unlike anything the Rebellion had ever faced. They moved with coordination that went beyond training, anticipating each other's actions, covering weaknesses, exploiting opportunities with machine-like efficiency.
And they're loyal to Vader, she realized. Not the Empire. Not Palpatine. Vader personally.
The implications were staggering. Vader was building a private army—an army that could operate independently of Imperial command, that could strike targets the Empire would never authorize, that could be deployed for purposes that only Vader understood.
He's planning something, Hera thought. Something that goes beyond serving as the Emperor's enforcer. And I'm sitting in the middle of it, watching it develop, trying to understand what it means.
She should be terrified. She should be desperate to escape, to warn the Rebellion, to do something about the existential threat she had stumbled into.
Instead, she felt... intrigued.
He let me see this, she realized. He gave me access to the mission data. He wants me to understand what he's building.
Why?
The answer, when it came, was both simple and impossibly complex.
Because he's lonely.
Vader was surrounded by subordinates who feared him, enemies who hated him, and masters who sought to control him. He had no peers, no confidants, no one he could trust with his true intentions.
Until Hera had snuck aboard his ship and demanded to understand him.
I'm here because he wants someone to know, she thought. Someone who isn't bound by Imperial hierarchy or Sith philosophy. Someone who might actually see him as a person rather than a monster.
And somehow, despite everything, I'm starting to do exactly that.
She turned off the holoprojector and stared out the viewport at Mustafar's volcanic landscape, her thoughts churning with implications she was only beginning to understand.
What are you building, Vader? she wondered. And what role am I supposed to play in it?
The questions had no immediate answers. But Hera was patient, and she was determined, and she was increasingly convinced that staying in this fortress—as insane as it seemed—was exactly where she needed to be.
The crew will think I've lost my mind, she admitted to herself. Kanan especially. He'll never understand.
But then again, neither did I. Until now.
She returned to studying the mission data, searching for patterns that might explain the inexplicable.
The night was long, and there was much to learn.
[END OF CHAPTER ELEVEN]