The room was silent, cloaked in shadows, save for the flashing carnage beyond the massive observation window and the flickering viewscreens. Blinding explosions lit up the void of space as the Rebel fleet was systematically torn apart—an armada disintegrating in fire and debris.
But within the Emperor's throne chamber, not a sound of the war reached them. The silence was suffocating, heavy with tension and dark power. The Emperor turned from the window, his withered hands folded as if in mock patience. His yellowed eyes bore into Luke.
"Your fleet has lost. And your friends on the Endor moon will not survive," he said, his voice a cold whisper laced with finality. "There is no escape, my young apprentice. The Alliance will die… as will your friends."
Luke's eyes burned with a fury he could barely contain. His fists clenched at his sides. Vader stood nearby in silence, unreadable behind his mask, while Jinx watched from the other side of the throne, arms crossed. Aya stood beside Luke, gripping his arm tightly, trying to steady him with her presence.
The Emperor's smile widened. "Good… I can feel your anger. I am defenseless. Take your weapon! Strike me down with all your hatred, and your journey toward the dark side will be complete."
The lightsaber on the throne's armrest trembled slightly. Then, with a sudden jolt, it flew into Luke's hand and ignited with a snap-hiss. He surged forward, blade raised—only to be intercepted. Vader's crimson blade snapped into place, locking against Luke's green one in a shower of sparks.
Luke recoiled, turning his focus to his father. Their duel ignited with renewed fury, the energy between them crackling with raw emotion.
Across the room, Aya's eyes darted to the throne where her own lightsaber still lay. With a swift motion of the Force, the hilt leapt into her hand. She ignited it—its lavender blade humming to life—and lunged at Vader to protect Luke.
But another saber intercepted hers mid-strike.
A black-bladed weapon, edged in dark magenta, hissed against hers. She stared at the figure before her—Jinx, his mask gleaming in the flickering lights. His crossguard lightsaber crackled between them.
"It seems you have chosen, young one," Jinx said softly, almost mournfully.
Aya gritted her teeth, but said nothing.
Outside, the forest burned with battle. Stormtroopers unleashed volley after volley into the undergrowth, but the Ewoks fought back with fearless savagery. Clubs struck from above. Spears flew with deadly aim. A walker lumbered through the brush only to slip on carefully placed logs and collapse in a thunderous crash.
Scout bikes tangled in vines and exploded against the trees. Chewbacca, with two Ewoks clinging to him, swung from a vine and landed atop a walker. After a scuffle, the Wookiee hurled the pilot out of the hatch and took control.
Now Chewie's commandeered walker stormed through the forest, blasting enemy machines apart and rallying the Ewoks below. The tide was shifting.
Near the bunker, Han Solo was elbow-deep in sparking wires, cursing softly. Leia crouched nearby, returning fire at the encroaching troopers.
"I think I got it!" Han said.
With a hiss of metal, a second blast door slammed down.
Han blinked. "I didn't get it."
Blaster fire erupted again, and Leia cried out, her shoulder struck. Han rushed to her side, supporting her as she winced.
"Leia—"
"It's not bad," she assured him.
A voice rang out. "Freeze!"
Two stormtroopers advanced with rifles raised.
"Oh, dear," Threepio muttered.
Han turned slowly, hands raised. Behind his back, Leia's blaster remained hidden.
"I love you," he said calmly.
Leia smiled. "I know."
In one motion, she rose and fired. The troopers dropped. Han turned, just in time to see a massive walker approaching, guns aimed right at him.
"Stay back," he told Leia, stepping in front of her.
The hatch of the walker opened. Chewie's hairy head popped out, barking joyfully.
Han exhaled. "Chewie! Get down here, she's wounded!"
He paused, eyes narrowing with sudden inspiration. "No, wait… I got an idea."
The Emperor's throne room was thick with tension, the clash of lightsabers echoing off the dark walls like thunder. Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader engaged in a brutal duel far fiercer than their confrontation on Bespin. Sparks flew as blades met in searing bursts of energy, each strike a calculated gamble between life and death.
But Luke had grown—stronger, wiser, tempered by the trials he'd endured. The balance of power was shifting. Vader, once an immovable force, now stumbled back, losing his footing on the steps. With a final, desperate push, Luke's blade found its mark, sending Vader tumbling down the stairs.
Luke stood at the precipice, chest heaving, lightsaber raised to strike the fallen Sith Lord.
From his throne, the Emperor's cruel laughter filled the chamber. "Good! Use your aggressive feelings, boy! Let the hate flow through you."
Luke's gaze flickered to the Emperor, and then back to Vader. In that brief moment, he saw the dark side seeping from Vader's wounds, the corrupting force that had claimed his father. Shaken but resolute, Luke extinguished his blade, the green light vanishing into the air. His body relaxed as he pushed the hate from his heart.
"Obi-Wan has taught you well," Vader said, voice heavy with grudging respect.
Luke's eyes burned with conviction. "I will not fight you, father."
Across the room, another battle ignited with fierce intensity—Jinx and Aya locked in a dance of lethal grace. Their sabers flashed like twin stars, a dazzling display of skill and power.
Jinx wielded a masterful blend of Form II, Form IV, Form V (Djem So), and the rare, aggressive Form VII, Vaapad. His movements were fluid yet devastating, each strike a calculated blend of offense and defense. The crackling hum of his cross-guard blade, edged in dark magenta, sang through the chamber as he struck with brutal precision.
Aya met him blow for blow, her own style an impressive fusion of Forms II, III, V (Djem So), and Vaapad. Her saber was a radiant lavender, the blade slicing the air with deadly beauty. She spun, parried, and counterattacked with the ferocity of a storm.
Jinx's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing his stern face. "You fight with the fury and finesse of a young fool... much like I did once."
Their blades clashed again, sending showers of sparks raining down. Aya pressed forward, her strikes unpredictable and fierce, forcing Jinx into a defensive dance. Yet every block and counter he made was infused with a wisdom born of countless battles.
They moved with breathtaking speed, weaving through the throne room in a flurry of strikes and spins. Jinx's attacks were powerful, heavy with the controlled strength of Djem So, while Aya's style was more fluid and aggressive, drawing heavily on Vaapad's edge—teetering on the brink between control and chaos.
For a moment, the two were locked in perfect balance, each testing the other's limits. The clash was not just of weapons, but of wills—of past and future, experience and raw talent.
Finally, Jinx pulled back, a faint, approving smile ghosting his lips. "You remind me of myself once—young, fierce, and a little foolish."
Aya's eyes flashed defiantly. "I've learned from my mistakes."
Their sabers separated, the tension lingering like the last echo of a storm, as both warriors breathed hard, ready for whatever came next.
Vader ascended the steps with relentless purpose, each footfall echoing through the cavernous throne room. His voice, cold and commanding, cut through the tension.
"You are unwise to lower your defenses."
Without hesitation, Vader lunged forward, his blade striking with brutal force, driving Luke onto the defensive. The young Jedi's reflexes were sharp—he sprang into a stunning reverse flip, soaring up to the narrow catwalk overhead where safety beckoned. Vader paused below, his dark gaze locked onto him.
Luke's voice carried both hope and resolve. "Your thoughts betray you, father. I feel the good in you… the conflict."
"There is no conflict," Vader replied, his tone absolute.
"You couldn't bring yourself to kill me before," Luke said, voice steady, "and I don't believe you'll destroy me now."
Vader's eyes narrowed with disdain. "You underestimate the power of the dark side. If you will not fight, then you will meet your destiny."
With a swift, practiced motion, Vader hurled his lightsaber like a deadly boomerang. The blade sliced through the supports holding the catwalk, sparks flying as metal twisted and groaned. The structure buckled beneath Luke's feet. He fell in a cascade of sparks, tumbling to the floor below, rolling swiftly to disappear under the Emperor's looming platform.
Vader advanced, his heavy boots thudding ominously as he moved to locate his son.
The Emperor's laughter filled the chamber, dark and triumphant. "Good. Good."
Meanwhile, the fierce clash between Jinx and Aya raged on, the air thick with the hum of their lightsabers and crackling energy. Jinx's mastery of the dueling forms was unmistakable—his strikes precise, flowing, and overwhelming. Aya fought valiantly, weaving between the forceful blows and expert counters, but Jinx's experience began to press her back.
With each exchange, Jinx's attacks grew more relentless. His blade was a storm of Form II elegance and Form V power, infused with the unpredictable fury of Vaapad. Aya responded with fierce determination, blending Form II and III, her movements fluid and aggressive. She met his blade with a fierce parry, then spun away to create distance.
Suddenly, Jinx reached out with the Force, a chilling frost descending around his hands. The air grew cold as he unleashed a blast of cryokinesis, ice forming and spreading like shards of glass across the floor and walls. Aya narrowly leapt aside, her eyes wide with surprise, but she countered with a flick of her hand, sending a shimmering bolt of Force lightning crackling toward Jinx.
Jinx barely deflected the crackling energy with a sharp twist of his blade, sending sparks flying. They exchanged bursts of Force lightning intermittently, energy arcing between them like deadly serpents—Aya's violet bolts clashing against Jinx's deeper, icy blue sparks. The Force crackled, tension rising as the two warriors tested their mastery not just with sabers but with the very essence of the Force itself.
Despite her fierce skill and courage, Aya felt the weight of Jinx's experience pressing down on her. Each strike, each Force push, seemed to anticipate her moves before she made them. Yet she refused to yield, her spirit burning bright, fueled by defiance.
Jinx's voice was calm but edged with respect as he parried a lightning strike and pressed forward, "You have the fire of youth and the strength of the Force, but remember—wisdom is the greatest weapon."
Aya's eyes flashed fiercely. "Then I'll burn brighter than you ever could."
Their blades clashed once more, the sound ringing through the throne room as the battle between mastery and raw passion unfolded beneath the watchful eyes of the Emperor and his dark apprentice.
The two armadas clashed in the vast emptiness of space, their fierce exchanges echoing the naval battles of old. Star Destroyers thundered toward one another, unleashing torrents of laser fire in deadly point-blank confrontations. Suddenly, a colossal Imperial Star Destroyer exploded in a fiery bloom, its hull rupturing under the Rebel assault.
The battered Rebel cruiser limped away, its rear ablaze with a cascade of smaller explosions, but determination drove it forward. Drawing close to a second Star Destroyer, the battered cruiser detonated in a brilliant flash—taking its Imperial adversary down in a thunderous shockwave.
The Millennium Falcon streaked forward, weaving through the chaos, closely flanked by a squadron of nimble Rebel fighters. Lando's voice crackled sharply over the comms.
"Watch out. Squad at point zero six."
"I'm on it, Gold Leader," responded a Rebel pilot with steady confidence.
"Good shot, Red Two," Wedge's voice commended through the headset.
Lando grinned despite the chaos. "Now... come on, Han, old buddy. Don't let me down."
Inside the bunker's dimly lit control room, Imperial officers huddled around a flickering viewscreen. Static crackled as a grainy image of an Imperial walker pilot struggled to maintain signal.
"It's over, Commander," the pilot's voice strained over the comms. "The Rebels have been routed. They're fleeing into the woods. We need reinforcements to continue the pursuit."
The officers exchanged triumphant looks, then cheered as orders came down.
"Send three squads to help. Open the back door."
"Yes, sir," replied the second commander briskly.
Outside, the massive bunker doors slid open with a mechanical groan. Imperial troops surged forward, weapons raised, only to halt abruptly. Surrounding them like ghosts from the forest were Rebel soldiers, their blasters trained unwaveringly on the intruders. Overhead, Ewoks brandished bows and arrows from the bunker's rooftop, their fierce faces illuminated by flickering firelight.
Caught off guard and outnumbered, the Imperial troops dropped their weapons in surrender just as Han and Chewie dashed inside, clutching explosive charges with grim determination.
The control room erupted into focused chaos as Han, Chewie, and a handful of Rebel fighters stormed in. Without hesitation, they began planting charges on the consoles, wires sparking under their touch.
"Throw me another charge!" Han barked urgently as the countdown to destruction began.
The fate of the shield generator—and the fate of the Rebellion—hung in the balance as the explosion loomed closer.
In the dim light beneath the Emperor's throne, Darth Vader prowled the shadows, his lightsaber casting long, crimson reflections along the polished obsidian floor. He moved slowly, methodically, his presence more suffocating than the darkness around him.
"You cannot hide forever, Luke," he called, voice low and metallic, reverberating off the blackened walls.
"I will not fight you," Luke replied from the shadows, his voice strained with conviction but trembling under pressure.
Vader paused, tilting his helmet as though sensing more than he could see. "Give yourself to the dark side. It is the only way you can save your friends." He stepped forward. "Yes… your thoughts betray you. Your feelings for them are strong. Especially for…"
He stopped. A new current pulsed through the Force—something Vader hadn't noticed before. A thread.
"Sister…" he breathed. "So… you have a twin sister. Your feelings have now betrayed her, too. Obi-Wan was wise to hide her from me. Now… his failure is complete. If you will not turn to the dark side…" His voice deepened. "Then perhaps she will."
Luke's eyes snapped open—raw fury rising.
"NEVER!"
The green blade ignited in a brilliant flash as he hurled himself out of the shadows. His attacks came fast and furious, a whirlwind of unrelenting blows that forced Vader backward. Sparks flew as sabers clashed violently, ringing out like the clash of gods.
Driven by rage, Luke battered Vader across the floor, out of the low-ceilinged level and onto the narrow bridge that hung over the deep chasm of the elevator shaft. Vader stumbled under the onslaught, blocking desperately. Then—with a scream of fury—Luke struck, severing Vader's mechanical hand at the wrist. The red lightsaber clattered away into the abyss.
Vader collapsed to his knees, breathing heavily, powerless.
Luke stood over him, saber raised, tip trembling at Vader's throat.
The Emperor, perched high on his throne, leaned forward, his fingers twitching with glee. "Good! Use your aggressive feelings, boy! Let the hate flow through you!"
Across the chamber, the clash of another battle raged.
Jinx and Aya danced a deadly duet of light and fury, blades flashing in sweeping arcs. Sparks ignited around them with every clash. Jinx's movements were elegant, his strikes precise—an overwhelming blend of grace and sheer power. Aya struggled to match his mastery, her breath labored, her body straining to keep up.
"You've been well-trained," Jinx said, sidestepping her heavy strike and forcing her back with a sweep of his blade. "Mace taught you control. Precision." He ducked her next blow and slammed his hilt into her side. "But it wasn't enough."
Aya staggered, parried another lightning-fast thrust, and fell to one knee. Jinx raised his hand, lightning crackling to life between his fingers. She mirrored him, deflecting it, teeth clenched, her eyes burning with determination.
"I expected more," Jinx added, walking slowly toward her, dragging his blade along the floor with a shriek of sparks.
Aya's fingers twitched—she reached deep, deeper than she ever had before—and thrust both palms forward. The Force exploded from her in a raw, desperate burst. Jinx was flung off his feet, slammed into the stone wall with bone-jarring force. His mask clattered from his face and tumbled across the floor.
Jinx wheezed.
The Emperor's throne room was always kept unnaturally warm—designed that way by Palpatine to suppress Jinx's ice-born powers. Now, stripped of his mask in the heat, he gasped for breath, one hand clawing at the ground.
Across the room, he saw Luke standing over Vader, saber raised. No… not again.
Jinx groaned, tried to rise—but before he could, another Force wave smashed into him, pinning him to the opposite wall. Aya stormed forward, her blade raised high.
She stood above him, eyes wild, every nerve trembling with fury. The tip of her saber hovered inches from his chest, but… she froze.
Jinx looked up at her—eyes full of resignation, of quiet surrender.
His chest heaved. His lips moved, but no words came. He closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly… waiting.
And then… something unexpected happened.
The whine of his respirator returned.
He opened his eyes to see Aya kneeling beside him, gently fitting his mask back over his face. The hiss of compressed air sealed it into place. She didn't speak. She just looked at him—and for the first time, he saw not a Jedi, not an enemy… but his daughter.
Across the chamber, the Emperor cackled, savoring every moment.
"Good!" he declared, rising from his throne. "Your hate has made you powerful. Now, fulfill your destiny and take your father's place at my side. And do what your wife could not."
Luke looked at his own gloved, mechanical hand. Then to Vader's—wires frayed, sparks flickering from the stump. Then his eyes shifted to Jinx—now breathing again, thanks to his daughter. Luke understood.
This path… wasn't power. It was corruption. It was death.
He stepped back.
He turned off his lightsaber.
And then hurled it across the chamber.
"Never!" he declared. His voice echoed with finality. "I'll never turn to the dark side. You've failed, Your Highness. I am a Jedi… like my father before me."
The Emperor's glee curdled into venomous rage.
"So be it… Jedi."
The forest behind the bunker erupted into a crescendo of smoke and fire.
"Move! Move!" Han Solo shouted as he sprinted across the clearing, his coat flapping behind him.
A thunderous shockwave knocked him and the strike team flat, flames rolling outward as the bunker exploded in a brilliant inferno. The generator's radar dish followed seconds later, shattering in a spray of burning metal and cascading energy.
Above Endor, in the bridge of the Rebel command cruiser, Admiral Ackbar watched the readouts flicker and change.
"The shield is down!" he cried, surging to his feet. "Commence attack on the Death Star's main reactor!"
In the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon, Lando grinned and slapped the side of the control panel. "We're on our way. Red Group, Gold Group, all fighters follow me!"
As the Falcon led the dive toward the half-finished superstructure of the Death Star, Lando let out a sharp laugh. "Told you they'd do it!"
Far above, in the cold, suffocating chamber of the Emperor's tower, silence weighed heavier than the darkness.
Luke Skywalker stood unmoving, his breaths shallow, his eyes watching the shadowed form descending the stairs. Emperor Palpatine stepped down from his throne, his face twisted with malevolent delight.
"If you will not be turned," he snarled, raising his hands, "you will be destroyed."
Crackling bolts of blue lightning burst from his fingertips. They struck Luke like a falling star. The young Jedi stumbled back, trying to summon the Force to shield himself—but the power was too great. The bolts drove him to his knees, searing through flesh and bone. He screamed, gripping a support column for balance as the pain overtook him.
"No!" Aya screamed from across the chamber.Her blade ignited in a flash of black and lavander. She rushed forward—but with a single flick of his wrist, the Emperor flung her backward, straight into Luke. They crashed to the floor together. Another blast of lightning hit them both, sending tendrils of agony dancing through their bodies.
Palpatine sneered. "Young fools... Only now, at the end, do you understand."
Luke trembled, struggling to lift himself. Aya, her breaths ragged, clung to her husband, trying to stay conscious, even as the pain wracked her body.
"Your feeble skills are no match for the power of the dark side," the Emperor hissed. "You have paid the price for your lack of vision."
Luke writhed, clutching the railing beside him. Beside him, Aya gritted her teeth, holding tightly to Luke's robes. They were dying.
"Father… please…" Luke groaned, lifting a trembling hand toward Vader. "Help me…"
Aya's voice cracked with pain. "Daddy… please… help me…"
On the other side of the room, Jinx stirred.
The lightning's light flickered across his mask as he slowly rose to his feet. His body ached. His limbs screamed. The heat in the room choked him, and the Emperor's oppressive aura weighed down like a thousand chains. But he could hear their voices—Luke's plea… and Aya's.
His daughter.
His eyes fell upon her lightsaber, lying just a few feet away. He reached out, the Force answering his call, and it leapt into his hand. With a breath, he ignited both hers and his.
Two brilliant blades—one amethyst, one a dark magenta—came to life.
The Emperor didn't even sense him until it was too late.
Jinx drove both sabers into Palpatine's back.
The Sith Lord shrieked in fury and pain, staggering forward. Jinx yanked the blades free, and at that same moment, Vader rose—his ruined body straining—and grabbed Palpatine from behind. The Emperor lashed out with his bolts, now flaring wildly, striking both his former apprentices.
Electric fire danced across Vader's armor and Jinx's mask. Sparks flowed down their bodies, their cloaks whipped by the wind howling up from the chasm.
Together, they dragged the screaming Emperor toward the edge.
And with one final, monumental effort—they hurled him into the abyss.
Palpatine's scream echoed as his body twisted in freefall, his lightning flaring outward in one last, impotent flash. Then—an eruption. A pulse of raw energy blasted upward from the shaft as the Dark Lord met his end.
The chamber shook.
Vader collapsed near the edge, his breathing labored and erratic. Jinx fell to his knees beside him, clutching his chest. For a moment, everything was still—until he felt it.
A presence.
Something old and cold.
A memory.
A promise.
Jinx (thoughts): So… this is it. Looks like I'll be seeing you sooner than planned, Death. Maybe your brother Dream will be waiting, too.
He coughed and tried to rise—but it was too much. The room swam around him.
Luke crawled across the floor, dragging his father away from the pit. The two of them slumped beside a pillar, too weak to move. But Aya, mustering the last of her strength, rose slowly and staggered toward Jinx.
She knelt beside him.
His breathing was shallow. His body failing.
With a shaking hand, Jinx reached up and pulled off his glove, revealing a pale hand threaded with dark veins, almost glowing beneath the skin. Slowly—tenderly—he placed his palm against her cheek. For a moment, the world disappeared.
Black tears slipped from his eyes—matched by hers.
Aya's lips trembled. "You came back…"
Jinx whispered, "I never left."
And for the first time in decades, the war-hardened man… smiled.
The Rebel fighters, led by the Millennium Falcon, soared across the exposed underbelly of the Death Star, weaving through the skeletal beams and unfinished plating of the massive battle station. The narrow metal corridors of the superstructure stretched out before them like a mechanical throat, swallowing them whole.
"I'm going in," Wedge's voice crackled over the comm.
"Here goes nothing," Lando replied grimly, piloting the Falcon with steady hands.
A trio of X-wings led the plunge into the narrowing shaft. The Falcon and a cluster of Rebel fighters followed, pursued closely by a swarm of howling TIE fighters. Red and green laser fire laced through the darkness, lighting up the steel corridors as the ships raced through the labyrinthine tunnel.
"Now lock onto the strongest power source," Lando instructed. "It should be the power generator."
"Form up," Wedge added. "And stay alert. We could run out of space real fast."
Suddenly, one of the X-wings was struck from behind—its engines flared, then imploded. A ball of flame lit up the tunnel before being swallowed by the shadows.
"Split up and head back to the surface," Lando ordered. "See if you can peel off a few of those TIEs."
"Copy, Gold Leader."
As several Rebels veered off with TIE fighters in pursuit, Lando and Wedge pressed on, threading their way deeper into the tightening corridor. The Falcon scraped against the walls, sparks screaming along its hull.
"That was too close," Lando muttered, sweat glistening on his brow.
Outside in the void, the battle still raged. Ackbar's command voice rang out aboard the Rebel cruiser.
"We've got to give those fighters more time," he ordered. "Concentrate all fire on that Super Star Destroyer!"
X-wings darted like fireflies across the surface of the massive enemy vessel, launching volleys into its vulnerable points.
On the bridge of Vader's Star Destroyer, Admiral Piett stood tense at the viewport, eyes narrowed as alarms blared behind him.
"Sir," a controller reported, "we've lost our bridge deflector shield."
"Intensify the forward batteries," Piett snapped. "I don't want anything to get through!"
But the damage was already done. A battered Rebel fighter, trailing smoke, spiraled out of control—directly toward the bridge.
"Intensify forward firepower!" Piett shouted.
"It's too late!" the commander whispered, eyes wide.
The Rebel pilot screamed as his craft slammed into the viewport.
A blinding explosion consumed the bridge.
Moments later, the massive Super Star Destroyer tilted, spiraled, and collided with the surface of the Death Star in a catastrophic blast.
Cheers erupted aboard the Rebel cruiser.
Meanwhile, within the main docking bay of the Death Star, chaos reigned. Explosions now rocked the station from within as the Rebel fleet pressed its advantage. Imperial officers screamed orders. Troopers ran in all directions. Panic spread.
In the midst of it, Luke dragged the failing body of his father—Anakin Skywalker—toward the shuttle. Vader, now just a dying man behind a machine's mask, reached up weakly.
"Luke… help me take this mask off."
Luke froze. "But… you'll die."
"Nothing can stop that now," Anakin whispered. "Just for once… let me look on you with my own eyes."
Hands shaking, Luke removed the helmet. The breathing apparatus hissed one last time and detached. Beneath it, the scarred, pale face of an old man emerged—hollowed eyes softening with pride.
"Now… go, my son," Anakin said faintly. "Leave me."
Not far from them, Jinx sat slumped, his own breathing ragged. He looked to Aya. With a trembling hand, he removed his mask and held it in his lap. A violent cough wracked his chest.
Aya rushed to him. "No—wait! Let me put it back on—"
He stopped her with a faint gesture. Even that small motion took effort.
"My daughter…" Jinx rasped, "…I'm sorry. For never being there. For your mother. I know it's selfish… but please… leave me too."
Aya's eyes widened. Her tears returned in full force, hot and bitter.
"No—no, we can get you help! You can see Mother again! You can—"
He raised a hand once more. She fell silent.
"A father's greatest honor," he said, "is to die… so his children may live. I made my choices… I accept them all. No regrets…"
He paused. Then, with a trembling hand, reached to her belly and placed his palm there.
"…except… not seeing you grow up into a fine woman. And a mother."
Aya gasped, the revelation hitting her like lightning. Her thoughts spun, her emotions a storm—but Luke's voice brought her back.
"Father… no. You're coming with me. I won't leave you here. I've got to save you."
Anakin smiled weakly. "You already have, Luke. You were right… Tell your sister… you were right…"
He exhaled one last time. The man who was once Darth Vader, and long before that Anakin Skywalker, died in his son's arms.
Jinx, having watched his old friend die, lowered his head as tears of black welled in his eyes and streamed silently down his face. He looked to Luke and Aya.
"…Luka… Aya… do a dying man one last favor…"
They turned to him in surprise.
"…take his body away from here. Let him rest somewhere… clean. Somewhere peaceful. Not this cursed place."
Luke and Aya exchanged glances. Without a word, they nodded. As they carefully lifted Anakin's body, Aya paused and looked back at Jinx.
She reached into her belt and removed her lightsaber—the same one Jinx had given to her mother long ago. She placed it beside him.
"For you," she whispered.
Jinx watched them board the shuttle. A low chuckle escaped his lips as the engines began to hum.
"Well, old friend…" he murmured, resting his back against a crate, mask still in his lap. "You beat me to her. Tell her I'm on my way…"
As the shuttle lifted off and vanished into the stars, a final tremor rocked the Death Star… and Jinx closed his eyes.
The half-built Death Star shuddered as chain-reaction detonations tore through its exposed superstructure. The thunder of Rebel bombardment from orbit echoed in the distance, lighting the stars with flickering flashes of destruction. Like a knife slicing through the steel innards of the Empire's last hope, the Millennium Falcon roared toward the reactor core, weaving through collapsing girders and walls as the Death Star began to devour itself.
Inside the cockpit, Lando Calrissian gripped the controls with steady hands, his signature grin tempered by intensity. Beside him, Nien Nunb barked excitedly in Sullustese, fingers dancing across the copilot's console. Sweat gleamed on Lando's brow as explosions reflected in the cockpit glass.
In the gun ports, Rebel crewmen fired relentlessly at the swarming TIE fighters in pursuit, their shots lighting up the narrow steel arteries of the Death Star. A lone X-wing zipped ahead of them, its silhouette framed by the ominous glow of the reactor chamber.
"There it is!" Wedge's voice crackled over the comm.
"All right, Wedge," Lando replied. "Go for the power regulator on the north tower."
"Copy, Gold Leader. I'm already on my way out."
The X-wing banked hard, torpedoes streaking from beneath its wings. They struck the regulator with precision, erupting in bursts of flame and lightning that sparked a rumbling quake across the core.
"Hang on!" Lando called out. "Now it's our turn."
The Falcon dove into the heart of the chaos. With the reactor now exposed and unstable, Lando fired. The missiles screamed from the Falcon's belly and drove straight into the center of the glowing heart. For a heartbeat, there was silence—then a white-hot eruption shook the entire station.
He pulled hard on the controls.
"Come on, baby… don't fail me now!"
The Falcon twisted and turned through the spiraling tunnels as the internal structure collapsed behind them. Flames chased the ship like a beast hungry for one final kill.
Back in orbit, Admiral Ackbar gripped the rail of the Mon Calamari cruiser's bridge, watching the massive holoscreen display.
"Move the fleet away from the Death Star," he ordered sharply.
From the main docking bay of the disintegrating station, an Imperial shuttle burst outward, fleeing the inferno. Inside, Luke sat at the controls, piloting through the firestorm with Aya at his side. The rear of the shuttle glowed with the light of the burning station behind them. The explosion consumed the docking bay—mere seconds behind their escape.
And then, with a final, cataclysmic roar, the Death Star detonated.
It bloomed like a dying sun, erupting in a corona of flame and debris before collapsing in on itself. A brief silence fell across the stars.
Then cheering erupted.
On the Millennium Falcon, Lando and Nien Nunb threw back their heads and laughed, breathless and wild with victory and survival. Behind them, space burned in the aftermath of the Empire's destruction.
Down on the forest moon of Endor, the trees lit up with streaks of light from above. The night sky was illuminated by the fading explosion of the Death Star, and the canopy echoed with the sounds of fireworks and celebration. Ewoks danced. Rebel soldiers whooped and embraced one another. The war was ending.
C-3PO turned to the others with a mechanical gasp.
"They did it!"
Han Solo, arms folded and gaze fixed on the stars, stood beside Leia. His expression was unsure—worry traced behind his eyes.
"I'm sure Luke wasn't on that thing when it blew," he said, almost asking.
Leia continued watching the sky, serene and quiet. Then she nodded.
"He wasn't," she said softly. "I can feel it."
Han looked down at her, hesitant. "You love him, don't you?"
Leia blinked, turning toward him with a soft smile. "Yes."
His shoulders sank slightly. He nodded, forcing a smile.
"All right. I understand. When he comes back, I won't get in the way."
Leia's face curled into amusement and disbelief. "Oh, no. It's not like that at all."
He frowned, puzzled.
"He's my brother," she said.
Han's eyes widened. "Your—?"
She pulled him into a hug, laughter bubbling between them, tears still brimming in her eyes.
Night fell deeper.
At the edge of the forest clearing, Luke Skywalker stood before a pyre of logs, his silhouette lit by the flames that now consumed the armor of Darth Vader.
He had dressed the body himself—black robes, helmet, and mask in place once more. But inside the armor, there was no longer Vader. There was only Anakin Skywalker.
With a solemn expression, Luke lowered the torch and ignited the pyre.
The fire climbed high, roaring into the night. Sparks floated like fireflies into the canopy above. The wind shifted, and with it, the ashes of a man long lost—and finally redeemed—carried into the stars.
Above, fireworks soared into the sky, illuminating the forest in bursts of gold, red, and green. Rebel fighters streaked overhead in a joyful dance of triumph.
The galaxy had turned a page.
Peace, at last, had a chance to bloom.
The night air in the Ewok village pulsed with the rhythm of celebration. In the center of the square, a massive bonfire blazed high into the treetops, casting golden light over the gathering. The forest echoed with the pounding of drums and the high, joyous chants of the Ewoks, whose tribal songs now mingled with Rebel cheers, laughter, and the musical clanking of toasting canisters.
The war was over. And across the galaxy, a long-held breath was finally released.
Lando Calrissian stepped into the square and was immediately pulled into a bear hug by Han Solo, who laughed in pure disbelief, as if seeing an old friend back from the dead. Chewbacca barked with joy and wrapped his massive arms around both of them, lifting them off the ground as the crowd erupted in applause.
Then Luke emerged from the shadows.
His presence quieted the group for a moment—not out of fear, but reverence. Something about him had changed. He moved with the calm certainty of someone who had carried a great burden and chosen mercy over vengeance.
Han pulled him in without a word. Chewbacca let out a low, affectionate growl and clapped him on the back. Leia stepped forward and placed her hand gently on his arm. Their eyes met, and in that silence, they shared the weight of everything lost—and everything saved.
And then Aya appeared from the crowd, her eyes red but warm, her steps slow but firm. Her presence beside Luke completed the circle. Together, they stood—scars and all—survivors of fire and shadow.
Around them, Ewoks and Rebels continued to dance in the flickering light. Primitive drums beat like hearts reborn. Fireworks streaked across the night sky, bursting over the treetops in vibrant color. The forest moon of Endor had become the cradle of a new beginning.
But even in the joy, not all hearts were at peace.
Luke and Aya stood slightly apart from the revelry, drawn to the edge of the clearing. Their gazes turned, almost in unison, toward a quiet glade shrouded in the gentle hush of the trees.
There, bathed in moonlight and fireglow, stood three luminous figures.
Ben Kenobi—aged and kind, his smile proud and peaceful.
Yoda—serene, his ears drooping slightly with that eternal expression of knowing.
And Anakin Skywalker—not the broken mask of Vader, but a younger man, clear-eyed and whole, dressed in Jedi robes and smiling with a warmth Luke had never seen in life.
Aya's breath caught in her throat. Her grip tightened slightly on Luke's hand.
They had both expected it. Hoped for it.
But Jinx was not there.
There was no fourth ghost standing beside them. No pale-eyed warrior in black robes, no wry smirk or heavy silence cloaked in presence. Not even a flicker. The man who had sacrificed everything—who had been father, king, Jedi, and outcast—was nowhere to be seen.
Aya's heart twisted.
She had felt his spirit in the Force. She knew he had the strength, the knowledge. The ability. He had walked between life and death before. So why…?
Luke's expression grew somber. "He's not gone," he said softly.
Aya turned her eyes to him.
"He made a choice," Luke continued. "One only he could make."
Aya's gaze drifted back toward the ghostly trio. Ben smiled knowingly. Anakin's eyes glistened. Yoda simply nodded.
The ghosts slowly faded into the moonlight—at peace.
Behind them, the fire roared higher. Chewbacca howled in joy. Drums echoed through the trees. But in the shadows, Luke and Aya stood still, watching the last traces of the past dissolve into the stars.
Aya blinked away her tears and whispered to the air, "Wherever you are… thank you, Father."
And for a moment—just a heartbeat—she thought she felt the faintest breeze brush her cheek, carrying the scent of winter wind.
Then it was gone.
And the celebration carried on.
On a distant world nestled deep within the unmapped wilds of the Unknown Regions, the night hung heavy over a land untouched by time. The planet was primitive by galactic standards — its skies unspoiled by the clutter of satellites, its surface unmarred by starports or industry. In the frostbitten plains of the northern hemisphere, where wind howled like mourning spirits and snowflakes shimmered like shards of broken crystal, a lone figure lay motionless.
He was clad in black armor, battered from battle, the surface etched with the scars of both lightsaber and lightning. Beside him in the snow, half-buried, was a strange mask — curved into a gentle, unnerving smile. Its white surface was cracked, yet it still held an eerie serenity, like a remnant of some long-forgotten deity.
Above them, the clouds parted for a fleeting moment, revealing a blood-red moon. It bled its light across the ice, casting the man's armor in a ghostly hue. The moon pulsed once, as if acknowledging him — and then disappeared behind the clouds, as if retreating from what it had seen.
From the shadowed edge of the rocks nearby came a rustle, soft but deliberate. A serpent, sleek and dark as obsidian, slithered forth. Though still young, it was large for its age — and moved with unnatural grace, its eyes glowing faintly with the glimmer of ancient intelligence. It approached the figure in the snow with quiet curiosity.
Reaching his face, the serpent extended its tongue and gently flicked it against the man's cheek, tasting the frost, the air... and something else.
Then, the man stirred.
His breath rasped in the cold, slow at first. The silence broke.
With a hiss of breath, one eye cracked open — not ordinary, not human.
It glowed a deep violet, like a dying star on the edge of collapse — yet burning still.
A purple eye, awakened.