Aboard darth vader ship to Endor
The cold hum of hyperspace surrounded the Imperial shuttle as it slipped through the galactic sea, en route from the Death Star to the forest moon of Endor. The ship was on autopilot, the cockpit lifeless and sterile, while most of the lights throughout the vessel dimmed to a quiet red glow. All was still, save for the silent, iron-clad presence that sat in the heart of the vessel.
Within the meditation pod, Lord Vader floated in a cocoon of shadow and memory. The sphere's hemispheres were sealed shut, shielding him from the outside world. In the darkness, he was not the fearsome Sith Lord of legend, but the wounded husk of a man clinging to the rituals of pain and clarity. He called upon the Force, sifting through the fragmented pieces of his past—Obi-Wan's betrayal, Padmé's final breath, the fire on Mustafar, the haunting cry of his son.
And then… he spoke.
"I can feel you through the door," Vader's voice echoed inside the pod—deep, mechanical, measured. "Come in, Jinx."
A beat later, the doors hissed open.
Soft footfalls echoed as a lithe figure entered the room with a presence that contrasted the grim decor. Jinx stepped lightly, his long black trench coat trailing behind him like a shadow with intent. His appearance, as always, was androgynous—an ethereal beauty with a mischievous glint in his eyes that betrayed centuries of surviving everything from wars to cosmic nonsense. A pale, oni-like respirator mask covered his lower face, its ivory white polished like bone, marked with faint cracks and etched mythos.
"A myth, you said," Vader once noted. "From the ancient world."
"I don't remember the name," Jinx had replied with a shrug. "But they wore masks like this before they killed their gods."
Now, Jinx approached the pod, his steps silent until he flopped without ceremony onto the edge of Vader's sleeping platform. "You're anxious," he said, voice smooth, silk wrapped in sarcasm. "That's not like you. Is it because you're about to meet your son again… after cutting his arm off?"
A slow mechanical exhale came from within the healing pod—Vader's only answer.
Jinx tilted his head and leaned back on his hands. "Don't give me the silent Sith routine, Ani. I can feel your heart pacing."
The pod began to open.
With a hydraulic hiss, the hemispheres of the chamber peeled back, and Darth Vader rose like a shadow reborn. His helmet turned slightly to face Jinx. "Do not call me that," he intoned. "Anakin Skywalker is dead."
"Oh, spare me the drama," Jinx chuckled, tossing a foot lazily onto the bed. "You wouldn't be nervous if that were true. Darth Vader doesn't get nervous. Anakin, on the other hand…" He gestured vaguely. "He's pacing in your chest like a teenager sneaking out past curfew."
The black-glassed mask glared at him, emotionless. But the Force pulsed with irritation, which only made Jinx smile wider.
"You were always bad at hiding your feelings from me," he went on, voice softening. "Ever since you pulled me out of that wreckage on Malachor. Don't forget—I knew you before the cape."
"I warned you," Vader growled.
Jinx waved his hand. "Yes, yes, 'don't test me,' 'respect my darkness,' I've heard it all. But let's be honest, you're about to walk into the forest moon of daddy issues and hope. You're terrified it's all going to crumble."
A heavy silence settled between them. The low thrum of the ship's systems filled the void. Vader said nothing, his hands clenched at his sides. Jinx watched him, his teasing grin fading slowly.
"Did you ever think this is what it would come to?" Jinx asked at last, voice barely above a whisper. "From 'chosen ones' of the Jedi… to Lords of the Sith? You and me, riding in a coffin-shaped shuttle through the stars, more machine than man. It's funny, in a twisted way."
No answer came. Only the soft hiss of the respirator, steady, controlled.
Jinx exhaled and stood up. "Well. I'll leave you to your brooding. You always did prefer it over conversation."
He turned, making his way toward the exit. The doors began to slide open—
"…No," came the voice behind him. Quiet. Gravel dragged through years of sorrow.
Jinx froze.
He didn't turn around at first, just let the silence linger, letting the weight of that one word settle like ash.
Then, slowly, he turned his head.
Vader hadn't moved. But something had changed. The Force trembled ever so slightly—like a wounded animal unsure if it should run or stay.
Jinx's voice was softer this time. "No?"
A longer silence.
Then, barely audible through the vocoder: "I never thought… it would end like this."
Jinx smiled, a real one this time—faint and almost sad.
"Well… maybe it doesn't have to."
Imperial Outpost – Forest Moon of Endor
Shortly after landing
The shuttle's engines powered down with a low hum as the landing ramp descended onto the durasteel platform of the Empire's secluded outpost on Endor. A thin mist clung to the trees beyond the compound's perimeter, and the cold, quiet air settled like a warning.
Darth Vader was the first to descend, his imposing figure casting a long shadow down the ramp. Close behind him came another—sleeker, smaller, but no less commanding. Jinx moved with fluid grace, clad in a form-fitting suit of obsidian armor. Unlike Vader's heavy, mechanical frame, Jinx's design was made for agility. His long black cape trailed behind him, the hood pulled low over his respirator mask—a full-face model this time.
It was not the ornate oni mask he sometimes wore, but a symmetrical construct with a deceptive smile etched across its surface. The right half was smooth and polished, almost serene. The left half, however, looked as though it had been twisted by nightmare—burnt metal warped around jagged etchings, resembling melted bone.
It was functional as much as it was symbolic.
Jinx's lungs had changed on Hoth. The months spent surviving alone in that planet's brutal cold had adapted his body to the ice. Now, cold invigorated him—gave him strength. But the warmth of more temperate worlds was his poison. Without the mask, his breathing became erratic. Without its filtration, the heat felt like drowning.
Two stormtroopers followed close behind the dark figures as they stepped into the outpost, their boots clanking across the metal floor. The interior was as sterile and utilitarian as any Imperial facility—hallways lined with dull lights, the air cool and dry.
They stopped before a sealed blast door.
A pause. Then a hiss.
The door opened, and from the other side stepped the base's commanding officer—gray-uniformed and stiff-spined—followed by two troopers escorting a pair of prisoners. The sight made both Vader and Jinx pause.
The first was a young man—bound at the wrists, yet calm, resolute. Luke Skywalker. The son of Vader. The boy who had faced the dark and lived.
The second prisoner drew both of their attention.
She was young. A girl no older than twenty, but with striking features—a familiar shape to her eyes, the sharpness of her cheekbones, and the slightest lilt to her walk. Her hair was dark but tipped in red at the ends, like fire hidden beneath midnight. And though Jinx's face was hidden, a subtle shift in posture betrayed a spark of recognition. She looked eerily like him—or how he once looked, before machines and war twisted his body. Yet, there was another presence in her appearance, something subtler.
Someone they had both known.
Someone long gone.
The commander saluted sharply. "Lord Vader. Lord Nekros." His voice was clipped, professional. "These are the rebels that surrendered to us. Although the male denies it, I believe there may be more hiding nearby."
Vader's helmet tilted ever so slightly. Jinx's smile-mask remained still, but his body language shifted—more attentive now.
"I formally request permission to conduct a full sweep of the area to locate any additional rebels," the commander continued.
There was a beat of silence as the two Sith Lords exchanged a glance—unspoken communication passing between them in the still air. A flicker of shared instinct. Suspicion. Memory.
"My lords," the officer added quickly, "they were armed only with these."
He gestured, and a stormtrooper stepped forward with a case. Inside lay two lightsabers. One was unfamiliar—constructed with care but clearly new, likely belonging to Skywalker. The other...
Vader took Luke's saber in hand, its weight familiar in a way that made something dark and possessive flicker beneath his armor.
Jinx, however, froze the moment he saw the second hilt.
He reached forward and gently picked it up.
It was a replica—but a precise one. The hilt mirrored that of the fabled Darksaber, long believed lost to time. But this one… this one was personal. A gift he had crafted long ago, meant for someone dear.
Someone he had failed.
The mask hid his expression, but not his silence.
Vader turned first, voice rumbling with cold efficiency. "Good work, Commander."
Jinx, slower to react, finally nodded. His voice was calm but carried a hint of tension beneath the surface. "Leave us. Conduct your search. Bring them… all to us."
The commander hesitated for only a moment, then saluted again. "As you command, my Lords."
He turned sharply and disappeared down the hall with his escorting troopers, leaving the cellblock still and tense.
Now there were four.
Two prisoners. Two Sith.
And the ghosts between them.
The corridor stretched on ahead, dimly lit and lined with polished durasteel. The footsteps of the four figures echoed through the cold air—Darth Vader, Jinx Nekros, Luke Skywalker, and the mysterious young woman with red-tipped hair. Two Sith Lords, two prisoners. And silence.
But not for long.
"The Emperor has been expecting you," Vader's voice broke the quiet, deep and metallic as always.
"I know, Father," Luke replied calmly, not missing a step.
Vader's helmet inclined slightly. "So, you have accepted the truth."
"I've accepted the truth…" Luke began, turning his eyes toward the armored giant, "that you were once Anakin Skywalker—my father."
Vader stopped.
The mechanical hiss of his respirator was the only sound as he slowly turned to face his son.
"That name," he said, voice colder now, "no longer has any meaning for me."
Behind them, Jinx said nothing, but his posture shifted. The other woman remained quiet too, her face unreadable. Even for Jinx, whose tongue was rarely idle, something about this moment urged stillness.
Yet… he couldn't resist entirely.
He sent a ripple through the Force—a teasing flicker like the brush of wind through tall grass, aimed directly at Vader's mind. A knowing nudge.
Vader responded instantly, a silent wave of annoyance thudding back toward Jinx like a slammed door.
Luke, unaware of the subtle exchange, continued: "It is the name of your true self. Along with Jinx. The two of you have only forgotten. I know there is good in you. The Emperor hasn't driven it from you fully—not either of you. That's why you couldn't destroy me. That's why you won't bring me to your Emperor now."
Silence again.
Then Jinx stepped forward.
His voice was smooth, veiled in patience—but there was steel beneath. "It is not wise to assume things of which you have no understanding, young one. It is delusion to think your words have no consequences."
Vader glanced down, to the weapon in his gloved hand—Luke's lightsaber.
He seemed to study it for a moment, turning the hilt over, pondering.
Then, with a snap-hiss, the blade ignited. Brilliant green flared to life, casting a glow across his dark armor.
"I see you have constructed a new lightsaber," Vader said, moving it through the air with a slow, testing arc.
Jinx watched the blade shimmer and hum, and his voice softened, almost reminiscent. "It reminds me of yours… once upon a time, Vader."
Vader paused.
"You are correct, Nekros," he replied. Then to Luke, "Your skills are complete. Indeed, you are powerful—as the Emperor has foreseen."
Curious, Jinx brought forth the second lightsaber—the one recovered from the young woman. With a flick of his wrist, he ignited it.
What emerged was a blade unlike any other—a single-edged weapon with a deep black core, rimmed by a luminous, ethereal violet glow. It thrummed low and menacing, yet elegant. Jinx tilted his head, staring at it.
"…Just like mine," he whispered to himself. "The same as when Mace Windu first brought me in."
Then, in a flash of motion, the blade was at the girl's neck—its edge humming inches from her skin.
She didn't flinch.
"Tell me, child," Jinx said. "Who are you?"
The young woman stared into his mask, unblinking. "My name is Aya Skywalker… your daughter."
Time stopped.
Jinx felt something deep within him falter. The world—his thoughts, his heartbeat, even the Force—collapsed inward for a moment. Sank into a cold, endless abyss.
Daughter?
Only one person… only one soul in the galaxy knew that name. One person he had ever trusted with the future he wanted, the name he dreamed of for a child that would never come.
And she… she was gone.
Or so he thought.
The last name struck him like a dagger. Skywalker. That didn't make sense. His confusion rippled through the Force, mirrored by the subtle shift in Vader's presence. Even behind the mask, Jinx could feel the man's stunned silence.
Then Luke spoke.
"She's my wife," he said, quietly. "We were married last year."
Jinx didn't lower the blade.
Not yet.
His hands trembled.
Not visibly—but he felt it.
Inside the mask, his eyes locked onto hers, and he asked in a voice almost too soft to hear:
"…Who was your mother?"
The hum of lightsabers had faded, but the tension in the air remained heavy, dense as carbonite. Jinx stood perfectly still, the edge of his darksaber no longer at the girl's throat. Aya hadn't flinched, though her wide eyes shimmered with a kaleidoscope of emotions—fear, defiance, curiosity, pain. She stared at him, her voice steady despite the subtle tremor laced beneath her words.
"My mother was called Niva," she said, soft but clear. "The woman you rescued from Geonosis during the Clone Wars."
Jinx's grip on the hilt of the darksaber tightened until his armored fingers groaned against the pressure. Then, slowly—almost reluctantly—he deactivated the blade. The violet glow disappeared with a hiss, and silence surged around them like a crashing wave.
For several heartbeats, no one spoke.
Until Luke did.
"Come with us," he said gently, the offer not just to Vader—but to Jinx as well.
Two black helmets turned toward him in unison. Vader's mask betrayed no feeling. Jinx's full-face design, split between serenity and horror, was equally unreadable. But the cold weight of their gazes was unmistakable.
Vader's voice broke the stillness. "Obi-Wan… and Mace Windu once thought as you do."
Luke took a careful step closer to his father.
"I know there is good in you," he said, softer now. "I feel it. You don't want this."
But Vader remained still as obsidian.
"You don't know the power of the dark side," he said. "We must obey my master."
Luke shook his head. "I will not turn. And neither will Aya. And if you press us… you'll be forced to kill us."
Vader was silent. The tension in the air thickened.
Then it was Jinx who spoke.
His voice was calm—too calm. It rang with a quiet, fatal acceptance.
"If that is your destiny… and the will of the Force…" he said, "…then it will be so."
Luke stepped forward again, urgency in his voice, his gaze flicking between the two men before him.
"Search your feelings, Father. You can't do this. I feel the conflict within you. Let go of your hate."
Vader didn't move.
"It is too late for me, son," he said. "The Emperor will show you the true nature of the Force. He… is your master now."
A long breath escaped Luke's nose. He had hoped. He had believed.
But Jinx's voice returned, drawing attention now to Aya.
"As he will be yours," he said, turning to her. "Your power… it mirrors Luke's. Raw. Unshaped. The Emperor will be pleased."
Aya's jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing—not in fear, but betrayal. She didn't answer.
Vader raised a hand and subtly gestured. Far behind them, stormtroopers snapped to attention and began marching toward their position.
Vader and Luke locked eyes once more. A moment passed—brief, but eternal.
Then Luke said, with quiet finality, "Then my father is truly dead."
Aya stood straighter beside him.
"…Same with me," she said bitterly. "Though I never needed him in the first place."
The words sank into Jinx like a lightsaber through flesh.
He didn't show it. Not with his body. Not with a sound. But behind the mask, something broke—a quiet fracture in a place already scarred beyond repair. For a flicker of a moment, he was no longer the dark wraith known as Lord Nekros, but the young Jedi who had once held a woman in his arms and whispered the name "Aya" like a prayer for the future.
Without another word, Vader turned and began walking.
Jinx followed him in silence, his steps heavy. Not from the armor. But from something deeper.
Aya and Luke remained still as the two Sith Lords disappeared into the shadows of the hall, stormtroopers closing in behind them.