After Order 66, Darth Vader returned to Coruscant not as Palpatine’s apprentice, but as his executioner.
The Jedi were broken. The Senate was afraid. The clones obeyed. And when Palpatine turned his yellow eyes toward Vader and spoke of destiny, Vader finally saw the truth: he had traded one master for another.
Not in rage. Not in confusion.
Palpatine died beneath Vader’s blade, and the galaxy woke the next morning to a new Emperor.
Emperor Anakin Skywalker.
But no one called him Anakin anymore.
At his side stood Padmé Amidala, draped in black and crimson royal gowns, her face calm only because she had learned that fear could be hidden behind silence. The galaxy called her the Empress, but in truth, she was a prisoner with a crown. Vader loved her obsessively, desperately, violently. He believed everything he had done was for her. Padmé knew the truth.
He had saved her life by destroying everything she loved.
Years passed inside the dark throne room above Coruscant. Padmé gave birth to twins: Luke and Leia Skywalker, children of the Emperor, heirs to a galaxy ruled by fear.
Vader did not send them away.
From childhood, Luke and Leia were taught that the Jedi had betrayed the Republic. That mercy created weakness. That love was possession. That power was the only language the galaxy respected.
By their teenage years, they became something more dangerous than Inquisitors.
They were not hunters serving the Empire.
They were heirs enforcing their father’s will.
Luke carried a violet blade, unstable and bright, a reflection of the conflict buried inside him. He was the quieter twin, intense and watchful, powerful in ways even Vader did not fully understand. He could crush durasteel doors with a thought, but sometimes hesitated before striking down frightened survivors of the old Jedi Order.
Leia carried a golden blade, elegant and merciless, her armor shaped like royalty and war combined. She had Padmé’s face, Anakin’s fire, and a mind sharp enough to frighten generals twice her age. She did not hesitate like Luke did. Or at least, she made sure no one saw it.
Together, they became known across the galaxy as the Twin Hands of the Emperor.
When rebels whispered of hope, Luke and Leia arrived.
When hidden Jedi tried to rebuild, the twins found them.
When senators questioned the throne, Leia silenced them with words first, and her blade second.
Vader watched them with pride from his black throne, believing he had created the perfect dynasty. A family no one could take from him. A bloodline strong enough to rule forever.
But Padmé saw what Vader could not.
Luke still looked at suffering too long.
Leia still listened when prisoners begged.
And when the twins stood beside their father in the throne room, beneath the great window overlooking the stars, Padmé realized the future was not yet lost.
The Skywalker Empire was powerful.
But inside its two brightest weapons, buried beneath armor, fear, and their father’s shadow, there was still a spark of the very thing Vader had tried to destroy.
And in the Skywalker bloodline, doubt was dangerous.
Because once a Skywalker questioned his destiny, the galaxy itself began to tremble.
2087
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