(A/N: Hey, guys! Guess who's back!

I am so, so sorry it's taken me over two years to keep writing this. I'm not going to lie, I kind of forgot about this story. I graduated college and started a job, and you know how life goes . . . But this whole quarantine thing honestly hasn't been the worst for my writing ;) My muse decided to cooperate the last few days, and I have a little something of a chapter for all of you! So, expect more because I'm excited to be back!

And without further ado, as always . . . Enjoy!

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A New Promise

Chapter 13

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They ran like all Hell chased them.

Luke's boots pounded on the steel flooring, Leia right at his side. They whirled around corners, dodged droids, and finally ducked into a dark corner.

His chest burned. The air felt sharp and painful. Leia wrapped her arm around his waist, their heads bowed together. He clutched her shoulder.

"If I'm . . . right," Leia gasped, "the hangar . . . should be down . . . two more floors . . . and . . . about three miles . . . North."

All Luke could do was nod. He hadn't exhausted himself like this since he was young. They had sprinted about two miles already, and he honestly had no idea how even the Force was able to sustain them. His thumb clamped down on the com in his hand. A buzz responded, then another. Good, they were safe.

They had split into three groups: Luke and Leia, Han and Padmé and Cordé, and Chewie and Rahya. The droids were on their own, but Luke didn't worry. He was too terrified for his father.

Obi-Wan had insisted on staying upstairs. Nothing they could do would convince him otherwise.

Luke gulped in the stale, recycled air until his head began to clear.

"Let's go," he rasped against his sister's hair. And they continued.

But they barely made it a hundred yards before a huge, dark, looming presence blocked their senses.

A cape swirled ahead of them, and something dark flashed. Their breathing stilled. Luke's arm shot out, blaster in hand, and blasted a control panel. A door beside them zipped open. They whirled right, their legs pumping . . . and almost fell into a thousand-foot shaft. Luke's eyes scanned the room, information flooding his head. There was a middle tower, with doors at every level, all around them, and a slot at the opposite door where a bridge was supposed to cut through.

Leia's scream echoed through the steel chamber, and Luke's arms flung reflexively out to catch both her and the doorframe. She hadn't stopped fast enough. Boots thudded behind them, threatening to catch up any second.

"Find the controls that extend the bridge," Leia demanded, flinging the control cover open and scanning the switches.

Luke glanced at the gun still in his hand. "I think I just blasted them."

"Who is that?" Leia hissed, as Luke tore through his belt, searching for something, anything that could get them across . . .

He flung his head around, over his shoulder, and his eyes landed on . . .

"Vader," he rasped, suddenly weak.

A shadow loomed over the doorway, not just physical. Luke could sense the man's presence, sharp and clear as a well-polished blade. He could hear the hiss-shink of mechanical breathing, and there was no mistaking the eerie darkness that enveloped the hallway.

"So," the black, helmeted figure rumbled, "I have found you at last."

The twins stood frozen, the artificial wind whipping their hair, gazing at the dark, towering, looming presence of their father.

Han was beginning to worry.

Adrenaline had carried him through the first few hours. The rush of pure, crazy adrenaline had blocked most reason from his mind and turned him into a fast-thinking, quick-shooting, screaming lunatic. But now, creeping through the halls of the most feared weapon in the entire galaxy, with two ladies (who he logically knew could fend for themselves, but his male protective instincts were a bit overwhelming at the moment), one of whom was a Jedi, and the other the former queen of Naboo . . . Suffice it to say, his mind was beginning to drive him just a bit crazy. Every sound suddenly multiplied by a thousand, every scratch of a surface and hiss of a distant door became instant threats.

And he had no idea where the Falcon was. But of course the girls didn't know that.

At least, that's what he thought.

"Han," Cordé whispered, placing a hand on his back. "We're going the wrong way."

"No . . ." he insisted, his resolve admittedly wavering, just the slightest.

Padmé shot him a glare. She was so much like her daughter. The older one, that is.

"No," Han explained, "I saw that same garbage chute on the way up."

"Blast it, Solo, there's a million of those." Padmé was having none of his nonsense. "Did you go up or down any levels from the hangar?"

"Just three," Cordé answered.

Han nodded. "Right, and we already went three levels down, so it should—" he paused, listening again "—be right here?"

Padmé shushed Han with a wave of her hand. She crept forward, keeping her body pressed against the cold white wall. Her head barely poked around the corner, and she pointed. "I guess you're not totally incompetent, flyboy."

"What a complement," Han muttered as he pushed Cordé in front of him. "You two, run!"

She and her mother took off at a sprint, straight toward the open hangar door. He took one last swift glance around the hall they had just come from, and followed, resisting the urge to let out a whoop of excitement.

The Falcon sat right where they had left it, through a gaping doorway and past three Storm Troopers.

"Okay," Han breathed, coming to a screeching halt behind the two girls. "You take that one and I'll—"

But before he could say another word, Padmé had lifted her blaster and fired three quick shots. All three guards dropped with a thud. The ramp to the Falcon was so close, yet so far. It was still being guarded – he just knew it.

"Han," Padmé ordered, "Run with Cordé, get her into the ship. I'll cover for you, then I'll follow."

At this point, Han was too afraid to argue with the woman, so he simply moved. Grabbing the younger girl by her wrist, he dragged her at a sprint toward the waiting ship. Whoever had left the ramp down was a genius.

But halfway there, Cordé screamed. Han whipped himself around, still clutching her hand, just in time to see Padmé fall to her knees, the blaster slipping from her grasp.

This was too easy.

Vader had expected a chase, or even a fight. But instead, the twins stood in front of him, with nowhere to go except to fall to their deaths.

It felt like an eternity that they stared at each other, hardly blinking. The rasps of Vader's suit felt a millennium apart. These were his children. He still hadn't grasped that concept. It was enough of a shock to find out that Padmé still lived, but when he heard that he had not one, but two living children . . . he would never have categorized himself as emotional, but the wave of pure feeling that hit him at that moment was indescribable. He felt shock, disbelief, a glimmer of hope . . . But what shocked him most was the sliver of doubt that began to creep in when he realized that his Master—his mentor, his confidant, and the man who built him up to more than he could have been on his own—had flat-out lied to his face. Just to manipulate him.

More rage built inside of Vader, threatening to burst at any moment.

"Luke," the girl whispered. "Get us out of here."

Darth Vader extended his hand. "There is no need to run. Come with me, and—"

The girl stepped closer into her brother's side. "No. We know what you are and what you've done. You ruined our lives, and our mother's life."

"Leia . . ." the boy warned as he threw something into the reactor shaft and attached a rope to his belt.

Vader wanted to strangle her, but the war in his mind stilled his hand. He couldn't focus on one single thought; they were all thrown together in eighteen years' worth of battles with himself. He felt frozen to the ground, as if all his metal joints had clamped shut. How could they be alive? How could any of them be alive? He had searched the galaxy high and low, always happening upon a trail that might lead him to Obi-Wan, but nothing. Never more than a supposed sighting by a stray merchant.

"The Emperor declared you dead," he said, his own voice too loud for him. It echoed around the hall. Slowly, he felt the familiar rage building inside his chest, warming him from the inside out. He felt the Force around him, whispering to remember the sacrifices his Master had made for Vader's wellbeing.

"Good," Luke retaliated.

But Vader wouldn't give up. His focus suddenly returned to him. He needed these children—he couldn't afford to let them run away. He needed them alive, no matter what. They would see reason eventually, and he would take them to his Master. Their Force signatures were powerful and clear . . . They would be feared in all the galaxy: perfect weapons of destruction, more useful than this blasted space station. "You must follow me, and we can rule together."

"I never wanted to rule anything," Leia spat. "You're a monster, and I will never follow you."

Everything happened before Vader could blink an eye.

Leia jumped to the side and clung to her brother's shoulders. Vader lunged, and before his red saber could even ignite, the twins were gone.

Luke breathed a heavy sigh and slumped into the sofa next to Padmé. "You know, Mother," he said, "I don't think I'm meant for love."

Padmé raised an eyebrow and lowered her book. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"I went to town yesterday, you know." He pulled a leg up and rested it on the edge of the couch. "And I went into Matheo's store. And . . ." he muttered something incoherent.

"Luke," his mother reprimanded. "Mumbling."

"Sorry, I just . . ." he continued, letting out another huge sigh.

Padmé smiled knowingly. "Was Thera there?

Luke's neck and ears turned a deep crimson shade. "Maybe."

"Did something happen?"

"See, that's the problem," Luke explained. "Nothing happened."

Of course. Thera was the daughter of the store owner, who the family had known almost Luke's whole life. She was a very cheerful, friendly young lady, and only a year younger than Luke himself. She had a bouncy personality, and red hair to match. Her eyes were intelligent, yet soft enough to distract a person from their calculating nature. She was very pretty, Padmé had always thought, and every young man in the town was enamored with her.

"You're only sixteen, Luke," his mother reminded him. "You still have plenty of time." He may have been only sixteen, but she knew how truly mature he was and how deeply he felt and internalized everything; every emotion was supremely important to him. It was a trait he unfortunately inherited from Anakin. The moment her son had realized how beautiful the young girl was, he took every opportunity to travel with his father into the tiny village where she lived. He dreamed of even exchanging a single word with her, but since Obi-Wan handled every transaction at Matheo's store, Luke never had the courage.

"Lots of the guys already have girls, Ma. Even Marku is already planning everything. His parents are letting him buy half their property as soon as he turns seventeen. He's gonna build a house this year, then he and Elle are getting married."

Padmé set her book on the little table and leaned forward to grasp her son's hands. "Luke, you can't compare yourself to everyone else. You're so young, still. You have your whole life ahead of you. It's okay to like a girl and want to settle down in the future, but you need to focus on the present. You need to think about your training and your apprenticeship, and especially your family. Okay?"

Luke averted his eyes, staring at his knee. He nodded, but his cheeks remained bright red.

"She is pretty cute, though," Padmé teased.

"Yeah, she is." He grinned from ear to ear, and Padmé knew that that would be the end of the conversation about responsibilities.

The pair were silent for a few moments, while Padmé heaved herself off the couch and started to tidy up the living area. Luke had always been so sensitive and sweet, and she adored him for it.

"You know," she continued, "the Youth Ball is coming up soon. Greagor came over earlier to ask Leia to go with him. Maybe Thera doesn't have a date yet."

Luke jumped up so fast he almost knocked the whole couch over. "I forgot about the ball!" He vaulted over the table and paused, suddenly as still as an eeopie in the headlights. "Oh. I bet someone else asked her already."

"You won't know until you ask."

She watched the excitement and courage melt back into his face, and he grinned. "True." He sprinted out the front door, the same second Leia walked in.

"What's up with him?" Leia's nose wrinkled. "I've never seen a stupider smile before."

Padmé had to laugh. "Oh, you know." She gave her daughter a sly wink. "Girl stuff."

Leia's mouth formed an 'O' shape. "Luke? No way. He doesn't like anyone, he's a natural born hermit."

"Believe me, love. It was bound to happen someday." She shrugged. "Happened to Ben, happened to your—" She stopped herself right in time.

"My what?"

"Yourself," Padmé covered, kicking herself for her carelessness. Of course she was about to say 'your father,' meaning Anakin.

The image that had barraged her mind as she talked to Luke was one of a nine-year-old slave boy in the Tattooine desert . . . and the same boy, ten years later. Luke always reminded her of Anakin, especially now as he moved toward his late teenage years. They had similar mannerisms, similar features, and the same sweet, thoughtful heart. Luke would do anything for his family, and that scared her. He wore his heart on his sleeve, was so devoted to his sisters . . . He was everything Anakin could have been.

She glanced up and smiled at Leia, trying to push back those unwelcome thoughts. "Are you thinking about what to wear to the ball?"

As Leia carefully talked through her list of acceptable dress styles and which fabrics might be nice, Padmé breathed a sigh. It was always a challenge, erasing Anakin from her mind, but she never thought about him as often as the first few years on Dantooine. Now, he was a foggy memory, and all she wanted to do was to forget about him completely.

This was her life, now, and she would never trade it for the anything the galaxy had to offer.

Leia couldn't breathe. Partially from pure exhaustion, but her lungs felt constricted by fury. That monster couldn't possibly be her father. He was a heartless, soul-less killing machine, and she hated him. She hated him. He could go and die in a hole for all she cared, and the galaxy would be a better place. The dark Force energy radiating from him was enough to drive someone mad, and his deluded ramblings about bringing them to his Master was only good for one thing: buying them time to swing across the reactor shaft and escape.

"What just happened?" Luke gasped as they finally stopped running, falling heavily against a wall.

Leia forced her lungs to take in deep, long breaths of stale, recycled air. "I . . ." Her eyes widened, and she jumped, finding a blessed second wind. "Luke, the Falcon," she managed, pointing to the opposite hallway. "Let's go."

It was the home stretch. The huge, horrible, blessed ship stood proudly in its hangar with the ramp down and . . . no guards surrounding it.

"I don't like this," Leia whispered, ducking into the alcove behind a door which led straight into the gaping hangar. Luke followed suit and grabbed her by the elbow. "Why aren't there any Storm Troopers?"

"There were plenty while we were running," Luke bit back. "Come on, you're wasting time."

Suddenly, Leia heard pounding footsteps behind her.

A legion of Troopers marched down the hall that led past the hangar, heads up and blasters at the ready.

In the middle of their group was an all-too familiar figure.

"Father," Leia whispered. "He's there . . ."

An officer with a dark suit and a stick up his ass approached the small army. "Where are you taking this man?" he demanded.

"Dungeon level," the Trooper replied. "Lord Vader's orders, sir. He will be thoroughly interrogated. I believe Lord Vader will finally try the new machine."

She wanted to scream and attack the legion, but before she could, a rumbling, animal-like battle-cry cut her off.

Luke answered it with a reckless shout, and sprinted the way they had come, straight into the group of Storm Troopers, toward Obi-Wan. Chewbacca and Rahya appeared out of nowhere, thundering down the hallway from the other side.

"Luke!" Leia managed, but her brother was already slashing at everything he could reach, dodging blasterfire with blinding speed.

She threw herself into the fight, Force-pushing every Trooper she saw and creating a path for Luke. Her blaster remained almost forgotten on her hip, as she created an invisible barrier around herself, her brother, and Obi-Wan. She noticed Chewbacca using his crossbow as a battering ram to plow through the ranks. And Rahya didn't hold back, blasting almost everything in sight and keeping a sharp eye on the surrounding hallways.

"It's about time!" Obi-Wan called, raising his hands.

Luke cut the binders with his lightsaber and let out a harsh laugh. "Would have been shorter if you—" a Trooper fell backward onto him, having been pounded to a pulp by Chewbacca— "—hadn't tried to play hero back there." Luke shoved the soldier, who clanked onto the floor.

"We're all clear," Rahya shouted. The last Trooper was down. "Go!"

Luke and Obi-Wan set off at a dead sprint toward the Falcon, followed closely by Leia and Rahya. Chewbacca fired a few extra shots into the hallways, then roared his victory and jogged along.

The group clattered onto the Falcon's ramp, weapons raised and attentions high.

"Papa!" came a frantic cry from the left. Cordé appeared out of nowhere and threw herself into her father's arms.

"Chewie, raise the ramp!" Han hollered, grabbing Luke by the arm and dragging him toward the cockpit. "This fight ain't over yet, kid."

Leia stumbled forward, toward the sitting area.

She vaguely heard Luke yell, "You've been here this whole time?"

"For about three minutes, kid!" Han shouted. "Chewie, punch it!"

Cordé's voice trailed through the hall. "Mother needs to get to a medical center . . ."

Leia gripped the table.

Why was the room so dark?

Her body was floating . . . off the ground . . . back into space, toward Dantooine . . .

She didn't even feel her head hit the floor as the world went dark and silent.

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