Luke Skywalker finds himself on the mysterious planet Earth whilst on a mission to locate stolen kyber crystals, which are necessary for him to craft a new lightsaber. With little knowledge of the planet, he seeks help from cynical university studen...
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"What did you say?"
The Emperor's face stretched wider into what loosely resembled a smile, his eyes regarding Luke with what seemed like genuine curiosity, but he knew better—the other man wasn't curious at all, just manipulative and taunting.
"You know, don't you? Somewhere deep down in your disillusioned heart, you understand. What you believed to be true, to be good, was my design. If you did not pick up on the hate wired through her, then you are more foolish than I thought."
Luke turned to Vader, eyes wide and pleading.
"Father—"
"Perhaps you wish to save her? Your girlfriend?" the Emperor continued, cutting him off, "All Jedi are the same: overconfident in their compassion, yet simultaneously in denial of it. Did you not feel it at all? Did you not find her lack of knowledge, yet unwavering desire to stay close to you, the slightest bit unnatural?"
"You've grown desperate with your lies," he seethed, trying to remain calm.
"You, my boy, are the one who has grown desperate. I've foreseen it all. Your precious crystals weren't sent to Earth at random, nor were you just lucky to have landed where you did. I knew the tracks would be easy for you to follow. They were designed for you. She was designed for you—to kill you."
"You truly have become sloppy. For you to want to kill me on Earth fails to coincide with your desire to train me now."
"Does it? In her attempts to eliminate you, you'd defend yourself, surely, and she'd die. No Jedi should harbor so much guilt and shame. You'd have only thrust your fate further into my hands."
"And if she killed me?"
"Then you would have been far too weak to become my apprentice."
This was the one truth Luke could not accept. He was paralyzed as every memory of Avery's violence, of her suffering, consumed him entirely, the pain accumulating in his heart stacking beyond a simple metaphor. He wanted to scream, because he couldn't believe it, but he couldn't deny it, either. The half-hearted attempts on his life, the way her mind seemed to be ripped into pieces at times, the unprecedented faith she had in him, the coldness he'd felt when trying to bring her back to him, Ben's warnings—it all lined up.
"Am I expected to believe that Avery is the culmination of your ill-will towards me?"
"I didn't create her, if that's what you're suggesting," the Emperor replied, sounding bored, "But she was emotional, and you should know this well, young Skywalker: the emotional are quite easy to exploit."
His lightsaber flew into his hand, ignited in an instant, and he swung without thinking twice.
