The darkness had consumed him for so long that Darth Vader had forgotten what light truly felt like. He had become one with it, a shadow of his former self, a weapon honed by anger and loss. And yet, in those final days, the dark desires that had driven him since Mustafar were sated. He had destroyed his enemies, brought terror to the galaxy, and crushed the resistance that had dared to rise against the Empire. For once, in a long, long time, he felt a hollow satisfaction.
But then he came.
Luke Skywalker. His son.
Vader had been prepared for the confrontation. He had thought he would win, as he always did. Yet, when the duel reached its peak, the unthinkable happened: his son embraced the dark side—not for power, not for selfish gain, but for the love of those he sought to protect. In that single act of defiance, Luke defeated him.
The irony stung deeper than any wound. The last Jedi, wielding the darkness to overcome a Sith. How poetic. Vader had held back—he knew it, and worse, his son had seen it. Yet Luke had spared him, just as he had hoped. It was a bittersweet pride that filled his chest. For the first time in decades, Vader felt something resembling love.
Then the Emperor intervened.
The searing agony of Force lightning burned through his cybernetic frame, and Vader's moment of clarity was gone. He could only watch helplessly as Luke suffered, the crackling energy tearing into his son's body. That was when he made the choice—the one that had always been there, buried under years of hatred and fear. With every ounce of strength left in him, he lifted the Emperor and cast him into the abyss.
The darkness lifted, and in its place came light. As he lay dying, staring into the tear-filled eyes of his son, Vader felt peace. He was no longer a Sith. He was Anakin Skywalker, and he had finally returned.
The Death Star's wreckage consumed him, and everything went black.
Anakin awoke to silence.
He blinked, expecting pain, cold, or even nothingness. But what greeted him was something far stranger. He was standing. His breath came easily—no rasping mask, no mechanical lungs. He reached up, and his hands found skin, not cold, unfeeling metal.
Before him stretched a vast expanse of swirling stars and glowing pathways. A place that seemed to exist outside of time and space.
"The World Between Worlds..." he murmured, his voice trembling. He had heard of this place in myths, whispered by ancient Jedi and other ancient artifacts whispering about the place. It was said to be a nexus of the Force, a realm where the boundaries of reality blurred, and where the past, present, and future collided.
Anakin took a hesitant step forward. Portals hung in the air like mirrors, each showing fragments of his life. He saw himself as Darth Vader, commanding fleets, slaughtering Jedi, breaking the galaxy under the weight of his anger. He saw himself as Anakin, the hero of the Clone Wars, fighting for justice, for peace, for Padmé.
But then he saw something else—a portal where he was neither Vader, the Tyrant nor Anakin, the Jedi. A version of himself unburdened by fear, stronger than he had ever been, wielding the Force in ways he had only dreamed of.
The opportunity was there. The Force had given him a second chance.
Anakin stepped closer to the portals, and with each stride, he felt himself change. His armor fell away, the years melting off his body. The Dark Side's shadow loosened its grip, yet the power it had given him lingered, refined by a strange harmony he didn't understand.
But he went too far. The reflection in the portals grew younger and younger, until he saw himself as a child, a boy born into slavery, filled with nothing but dreams of freedom and love. He stepped back, trembling. He couldn't go back that far. Could he?
Anakin stared into the portal, his heart pounding. His hands clenched into fists, but he didn't look away. The Force swirled around him, urging him forward.
I'll redo it all, he thought. I'll make the right choices this time. I'll protect those I love, and I'll become the strongest warrior the galaxy has ever known. I'll become what I was meant to be.
With a final breath, Anakin stepped through the portal.
His vision blurred, his mind blanked, and the sensation of falling consumed him. When he opened his eyes again, he felt small—smaller than he'd ever been. The familiar scent of Tatooine sand filled his nose, and the suns burned overhead.
He was back.
Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One, was alive again. But this time, he wouldn't fall. This time, he would rise above them all.
AN: did you like this prologue, please drop your Powerstones, and comment on what you liked or what I could improve upon, I'm open to constructive criticism, Thanks for reading and till the next one, Bye-bye.