Part I

This? This was nothing like accompanying her Master on official Imperial business the first time. The nerves she had experienced that day had absolutely nothing on the strength of the nerves currently gripping her. They felt like cold, sharp bands clenching tight against her lungs and around her belly, shivering and quivering like a wound spring. Ready at any moment to snap free.

More than that, though she very much did not want to admit it, she was scared. And she couldn't even seem to turn it to something she could use as her Master had taught her.

But then, she supposed any reasonable, intelligent person would be scared of the prospect of being brought before Emperor Palpatine himself.

Athara had grown up learning about the Empire and the Emperor; her Master's Master. And growing up, Vader had always spoken of Palpatine with great deference and respect. But he had also made absolutely certain that he she understood just how powerful and slippery the Emperor was. That he was cunning and ruthless and manipulative.

That he was dangerous.

Especially to her.

For all that he was her Master's Master, Vader had made it very clear right from the beginning that he did not trust her safety where his Master was concerned. That he would not be able to protect her should the Emperor decide she was a threat to him.

And so once her most basic of lessons in tapping into and starting to harness her not insignificant Force-ability had been conquered, he had immediately turned his focus to ensuring she knew how to shield herself within the Force: her thoughts, her mind, her strength with the Force and even her presence.

All with the aim of being able to keep the scope of her potential from the Emperor.

It was something she hadn't understood in the slightest when he'd first started teaching her to safeguard her mind with the Force. Why should she have to protect herself from her Master's Master. Wasn't it her Master's job—and someday hers—to protect the Emperor? Weren't they supposed to be loyal to Palpatine? But as time passed, she was beginning to think she might be coming to understand.

Her biggest problem in understanding her Master's reasons came first and foremost from her relationship with him. She trusted her Master. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that he cared deeply for her in his own way. And she knew that he would never even dream of hurting her. So how could he view his own Master with such suspicion and mistrust? Surely he should trust his own Master as she trusted him, right?

But she had long since put together that it was not that simple.

The Emperor demanded absolute and unwavering loyalty, but as Athara grew wiser to the ways of the Galaxy, she was coming to see that while he demanded it, he did not always return it.

And he tested that loyalty. Harshly. Vader had told her of occasions where he'd witnessed the Emperor purposefully shattering the mind of one of his Admirals with the Force upon concluding from thoughts gleaned from the man that his failure in a military engagement had just as much to do with his lack of complete devotion to the Empire as his incompetence; it wasn't that simple, of course, but that was how the Emperor had twisted it. He was brutal, and utterly merciless when faced with what he perceived as a threat. And Palpatine saw a great many things as threats.

Even strength within his own subordinates.

Because while the Emperor values and respects strength, he also will not hesitate to destroy it should it pose a threat to his own. The words echoed through her thoughts in her Master's voice. She still wasn't entirely sure she understood, but the very idea nevertheless sent a chill of apprehension up her spine. There had been no masking the absolute sincerity in her Master's tone when he had said those words. There had been no way she could possibly doubt that her Master had meant every word. Especially not given what he had said next.

Should he sense your potential, he will kill you.

Not take her and train her as one of his rumoured 'Hands.' Not to try and turn her from Vader. Not to use her. Not to gauge her potential value to him.

Kill her.

And she'd gotten the inarguable sense deep in her gut that her Master had been in deadly earnest.

As he had drilled into her head almost since the first time he'd sat her down to explain the threat Palpatine posed to her, even allowing one slip of her defenses in the Emperor's presence would be a risk to her very life.

Athara couldn't help the shudder that went through her at the reminder.

And Vader was even now bringing her before him.

He had held off bringing her before his Master until he'd been absolutely certain her mental defenses were perfect. That she could keep the depth of her Force ability carefully hidden along with the most sensitive of her thoughts, keeping them invisible to the inevitable probing the Emperor was undoubtedly going to indulge in whether he believed there was cause or not. So far as the Emperor was to know, she could touch the Force and use it, but only in a minimal, most basic way.

That she was not a threat to him. That her value outweighed any potential risk.

Her Master had been very clear on that. So much so, that, for the first time in her young life, Athara had very nearly feared her Master, his intensity had been so overwhelming to her senses.

Hence her currently spiralling levels of fear and anxiety.

But her Master didn't seem in the least aware of her inner turmoil. Which was both good and bad. Good because it meant she was doing very well in maintaining her mental protections, and that was immensely reassuring.

Bad because she could've used the warning hand on her shoulder to help her concentrate; she'd always found the gesture somewhat more comforting than admonishing as she had a feeling it was intended to be. And just now, even a modicum of reassurance would help.

Especially since, now that they were approaching the Imperial Palace, she was fairly sure she could sense oppressive weight of the Emperor's presence already. Dark and heavy and more malicious than anything she had sensed in her life up till now. It sent a chill up her spine, the icy grip of her nerves tightening further. How could the sheer scope of the Darkness she sensed be anything else? She had to force herself not to swallow hard in terror. Sensing Palpatine's presence made it real. It was no longer just words to frighten her.

She was in real, genuine danger, her instincts screaming at her to run and run far.

If she failed, she would die.

It was then that the hand part of her had been longing to feel descended heavily on her shoulder.

And some of the fear began to ease.

Her Master would be beside her, and though he had stated explicitly that he could not help her, his presence was enough. A small, childish part of her insisted on the conviction that he wouldn't let any harm befall her. Not even at his own Master's hand.

Deep in her gut, she knew it was the truth.

Vader would protect her.

Reassured, she forced her focus to the Palace itself. And the sheer scale of the building ahead did a credible job as a distraction.

The Emperor's Palace was massive and imposing—a dark, gleaming durasteel and opalescent jet transparesteel edifice that towered over the cityscape around it. It was so large, that the speeders and ships on the trafficways surrounding it glittered like tiny jewels in comparison. It was so much more monumental in person than any holo Athara has ever seen; not one had done it justice.

But at the same time, Athara couldn't help but think to herself, it was not nearly so imposing or impressive as her Master's Fortress, bigger though it was. Or at least, that was how it seemed to her; very little could compare to the harsh, stark simplicity of the onyx structure standing tall and intimidating above the red-hot glow of the lava waterfall cascading over the sheer cliff-face at its base.

It did a little to calm her nerves.

Not that it lessened the impact of the awe-inspiring building in the slightest.

And inside it was just as impactful in its opulence as the outside was with its imposing size.

There was no doubt who reigned here.

And once more Athara was only just restraining herself from trembling in fear.

Yet, even as her Master's hand lifted from her shoulder and they disembarked from the shuttle into the heart of the Palace, it wasn't quite so overwhelming as before, a faint, reassuring warmth having taken up residence in her chest.

And so she followed her Master deeper into the Emperor's Palace, doubling down on her mental defenses as best she could, trying to harness her fear as he had taught her.

So intent was she on what nearly felt like a futile task, that she very nearly collided with her Master's back as he slowed. Just ahead a large set of doors was grinding shut. And on the other side? Athara swallowed fearfully. She could feel him. Waiting. She felt like a mooka pup about to step into a cage with a nexu.

Only to be distracted from her once again spiraling fear by the approach of the figure who had stepped out of the doors from the Emperor's presence and was even now approaching her Master.

Tall, thin and gaunt, Athara didn't need an introduction to know who he was. Really, as she looked up at him from behind her Master she had the thought that, even had she never seen a holo of the man, she would've known who he was.

Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin.

Who was currently glancing at her in disdain and even distaste before turning a bland sneer to her Master. Athara didn't know whether to cringe away from the foul-feeling man or bristle at his casual dismissal of her.

"Odd company you keep, Lord Vader," he drawled, sounding bored and condescending all at once, "unless this is the so-called apprentice you've been keeping. I daresay, I'd rather begun to wonder at her existence." He sounded so patronizing, Athara had the childish urge to kick him in the shins. But she dutifully kept the thought and the impulse to herself. It wouldn't do to literally kick the Emperor's favourite just before going in to meet him...satisfying as she suspected it would be.

Athara could feel her Master's temper beginning to smolder. "As she is here before you, I trust you will know to take me at my word, next time," Vader said back to the Grand Moff without missing a beat, his voice as clipped as his vocorder would allow. Tarkin's sneer twisted further. And Athara was tempted to grin at how displeased she could sense the brusque comment had left the Grand Moff.

With a brisk, minute nod, Tarkin didn't respond before striding past her Master, sending Athara one of the most condescending looks she had ever encountered. Even the disdain she had sensed from Boba Fett paled in comparison to what she sensed in that moment from the man walking past them and away from her and her Master. Her temper flared and before she could stop herself, the Force was stirring around her and she reached out.

And at the far end of the corridor, Tarkin stumbled, nearly toppling forward as a phantom edge caught the toe of his boot.

Satisfaction hummed happily in Athara's chest as she felt indignation and fury flash within the Grand Moff at the indignity of his near accident.

Only for it to fade minutely as she felt her Master's consciousness brush admonishing against her own. Looking up, she nearly flinched away from the stern look she could feel more than see coming from behind her Master's mask. After a moment, he turned back toward the door before them, striding forward toward it. Chastened, Athara followed close behind, apprehension seeping back in as they left the scene of her little bit of retribution behind.

Ahead, the massive doors to the Emperor's Throne Room eased open and Vader stepped confidently through, not allowing Athara even a moment's hesitation to follow dutifully. Or to consider turning and running

And then her throat closed and her mouth went dry as it seemed like all the moisture had been drawn to her suddenly clammy-feeling skin.

The room was vast, dim and cavernous and, unlike the rest of the Palace, virtually unadorned. It was intimidating in its stark emptiness, leaving only one natural focal point.

The cloaked figure sitting on his throne at the far end of the chamber.

Emperor Palpatine.

But she didn't have time to let her panic to regain its grip as she was hard pressed to keep pace with her Master's long strides without looking like she was struggling to keep up.

And then she was sinking to her knee just behind and to the side of her Master as he sank to his own knee, his menacing mask dipping low in submission. Not that it kept her from staring at the focus of her anxiety the last few weeks.

At a glance alone, there was little that seemed overtly threatening; a frail old man with thin, papery wrinkles on the pale skin hidden beneath a simple black cloak. But then she looked closer. Cruel, reptilian yellow eyes limned with red stared out from beneath his hood, their gaze sharp as they took on Athara and her Master. There was nothing frail or benign about this man. A thick, choking Darkness emanated off him in waves, roiling and grasping, trying to seep into her thoughts, into her mind—her soul, it even felt like—needling and slipping and coolly sly inside her head so subtly she nearly didn't feel it.

"I have done as you requested, my Master," her Master intoned next to her. The probing tendrils subsided.

"So you have," he said, the faintest trace of amusement in his oily voice. If his presence alone hadn't been enough to have every hair on Athara's body standing on end, the sly chill of the Emperor's voice would have certainly done it. "And how does her training progress?" He gestured for Vader and Athara both to rise.

"As well as can be expected," her Master said as he straightened. A small, huffing sound that had Athara wondering if the Emperor was amused followed her Master's response. It rubbed her the wrong way, and she found her temper beginning to spark. She grabbed hold of the feeling, using it to centre herself.

"She trails after you like a shadow, Lord Vader, but does the Little Shadow have a voice? Tell me, how do you like my Capitol, child?" She fought the urge to narrow her eyes at him, but obeyed at his subtle gesture to step closer. She had nearly expected him to be as patronizing as Tarkin toward her. Instead he seemed...mildly intrigued. Like she was a curiosity that had the potential to be more interesting, not that he truly expected it.

But still with a condescending cast.

"There are a lot of ships," She said peevishly. She sensed a flash of amusement from her Master at her almost dry answer. The Emperor chuckled, the oily sound feeling like insects were crawling across her skin. His grin was equally unsettling, his expression considering and shrewd.

"She is a spirited thing, Lord Vader, and clever, unless I'm very much mistaken," he crooned, his yellow eyes glinting sharply. Cruelly. He turned back to her Master. "Good. You chose your pupil well. It is a pity her potential is not greater. Even despite the disadvantage, she might make a promising addition to my personal collection of agents." Athara fought to keep her distaste and fear at the idea to herself. But the Emperor was not fooled, chuckling again as he looked back to her. The sound was dry and scratching just as it was oily; a contradiction that made her head ache.

"You would prefer to stay with your Master?" he asked, his use of her honorific for his apprentice almost mocking as the trace of a sneer twisted his mouth. Any number of responses sprang to mind, from scathing to groveling in tone, but she chose instead to keep her mouth shut.

Not that she was quite sure her voice would've been steady had she chosen to speak, anyway...

"Naturally," he continued, derision threading into his overly pleasant tone. "An apprentice is always inclined to give their loyalty to their first Master." But he wasn't looking at her as he said it. He was looking pointedly to Vader. And Vader slowly dipped his head forward in acknowledgement. And Athara understood, fear stinging in her chest.

It was a threat.

It took a great deal of self-restraint not to cross her arms and scowl up at him. But she let the anger the comment drew flare, preferring it to the paralyzing fear that threatened. It made her feel stronger, and just now? She knew she needed whatever strength she could manage.

But yet again, Palpatine picked up on her flash of temper. Only this time, he seemed to find it far less amusing. He leaned forward, the full weight of his piercing regard fixed wholly on her.

"You may be loyal—" again the word was nearly scathing "—to my apprentice, but do not forget, young Athara Adyé, that you serve my Empire." A bone deep shiver of fear went through her at the sneering, ice-cold menace in his formerly silky voice; it had grown sharp enough, she suspected it could draw blood.

His meaning was clear: he knew her devotion was reserved first and foremost for her Master, and that he knew it. He was going to be watching her very closely, watching, waiting for even the slightest hint of treachery, from her or her Master. And should he even suspect her loyalty to the Empire was in question?

She would die.

She didn't even realize she was trembling—though out of terror or a sudden white-hot rage of self-preservation, she was uncertain—until her Master's hand landed, heavy and comforting, on her shoulder. And she could swear he was silently urging her to stay silent. It was only then that she realized she hadn't just been shaking, but that she had been on the verge of snapping back at the Emperor's promise. It was a wordless warning she took to heart, and her mouth snapped shut.

"Yes, My Master," Vader intoned deferentially behind her. And Athara could feel the sincerity pouring off him.

Accompanied by something else...something fleeting. Something that flickered across her perceptions so fast she wasn't sure she'd sensed it at all.

Resentment.

It took every ounce of willpower she had to keep her flash of astonishment to herself.

But then it was gone, leaving only a tangible sense of resolve and the unwavering loyalty her Master had given wholeheartedly to his Master.

It was enough to satisfy the Emperor. And Athara was hard-pressed to keep her relief safely hidden behind her mental shields as the oppressive weight of Palpatine's presence eased. The Emperor leaned back in his throne, looking thoughtfully down at the both of them.

"We shall need to come up with a suitable name for your pupil, Lord Vader," he finally said, a twisting parody of amusement crossing the Emperor's pasty features. "Something appropriate to her status as your future right hand, should you still wish her to fulfill that role." Athara felt Vader nod behind her, her attention still fixed on the Emperor. Her gut twisted uncomfortably as he pondered, a knobby finger tapping absently on the dull finish of his armrest.

"Ah...I have it," he finally said softly, a pleased, sly grin crinkling his papery features. A different sort of weight felt like it was descending on her shoulders, as though ensuring the significance of the Emperor's impending declaration would not be lost. Her stomach twisted once more. The Emperor's smile widened at her unease, pleased.

"You, Little Shadow, shall be known as Obscura."

A/N: Thanks for Reading!

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