The Starlord

The occupation of Serenno dragged on with the cold patience of the Empire, relentless and methodical, until the proud world that had once bowed to Count Dooku found itself stripped layer by layer beneath the shadow of Darth Vader. Nothing was ignored. Nothing was spared. Castles that had stood for generations were emptied and catalogued. Estates belonging openly to House Dooku were seized, while lands he had quietly purchased through intermediaries were uncovered through financial records, informants, and interrogation. Hidden vaults were forced open. Private sanctums were broken into. Even the oldest foundations of his ancestral holdings were scanned, drilled, and torn apart.

“Break that wall,” Vader ordered.

The Imperial engineers did not hesitate. “Yes, Lord Vader.”

Ancient stone cracked beneath cutting tools and explosive charges. Dust filled the air as another concealed chamber revealed itself, its entrance hidden behind centuries of masonry and noble pride. Officers moved in with scanners and containment crates while stormtroopers stood guard at every passage.

“Another vault, sir,” one of the officers reported, his voice carefully controlled.

Vader turned his masked gaze toward him. “Open it.”

Inside, they found more artifacts.

There were dozens of them by then. Some were ancient enough that even the Imperial scholars hesitated to touch them. Others radiated danger so strongly that ordinary men backed away without understanding why. Sith relics long believed lost to history—Count Dooku had gathered them across years of secret journeys.

And yet, none of them gave Vader what he wanted.

He stood within one of the largest halls of Dooku’s estate, surrounded by the remains of dismantled relic displays and sealed containers. 

“No records,” an officer said nervously from behind him. “No evidence of additional apprentices. Only references to his travels—ancient Sith sites, forgotten temples, ruins from the old wars…”

Vader remained silent for a long moment.

Then he spoke, his voice low through the respirator. “He searched.”

The officer hesitated. “My Lord?”

“Dooku hoarded power,” Vader said. “He hunted it.”

Dooku had gathered knowledge, yes. He had collected relics, followed old trails, and walked through dead temples where lesser men would have lost their minds. But there was no mention of another apprentice. No record of a second student trained in secret. No sign that the mysterious Sith and his own apprentice had ever belonged to Dooku’s line.

It did not make sense.

When Vader returned to report to his master, Darth Sidious listened in silence. The Emperor sat still, yellow eyes narrowed, his presence crawling through the room like something poisonous.

“What did you find?” Sidious asked.

“Artifacts,” Vader answered. “Relics of the Sith. Evidence of extensive travel to ancient sites and temples.”

“And?”

“Nothing that confirms additional apprentices.”

Palpatine studied him. Vader felt the pressure of that gaze. Sidious was searching for hesitation, for concealment, for the smallest fracture in obedience.

Vader gave him nothing.

He did not speak of the one thing he had taken for himself.

The holocron.

At last, Sidious leaned back slightly. “…Then continue searching. There must be something.”

Vader bowed his head. “As you wish, Master.”

He left soon after, but not to continue the search.

The real discovery was already in his possession.

Vader moved carefully through the occupied territories, leaving behind the estates, the soldiers, and the noise of Imperial machinery. He trusted none of them completely. The clone troopers obeyed him, but obedience did not mean blindness. They could observe. They could report. And anything reported could eventually reach Sidious.

So Vader disappeared from the main Imperial force and traveled deeper into the untouched lands of Serenno, far from Dooku’s castles and farther still from the eyes of the Emperor. Only when the world around him had fallen into silence did he stop.

The place was ancient and unclaimed, a stretch of wilderness untouched by banners, courts, or armies. The wind moved through the trees, and for once there were no marching boots, no officers, no machines.

Vader reached beneath his cloak and withdrew the holocron.

It pulsed faintly in his hand, as if alive.

As if waiting for him.

He activated it.

Dark light spilled outward, staining the air with a cold radiance. The shadows shifted, twisting inward until a figure formed before him.

A woman.

Cold. Sharp. Ancient.

Her eyes studied him immediately, not with fear but with judgment.

“…Better,” she said at last.

Her voice carried both approval and disdain.

“You look more like a Sith than the fool who awakened me before.”

Vader stood motionless. “…Identify yourself.”

The projection straightened, and even as an image of light and memory, power seemed to gather around her like a cloak.

“I am Darth Zannah.”

Vader knew it—not from the shallow teachings Sidious had offered him, but from fragments, whispers, forbidden histories half-buried beneath the arrogance of the modern Sith.

“…Apprentice of Bane,” he said.

Zannah’s lips curved faintly. “You know your history. Good.”

Vader did not waste time.

“Teach me.”

The words hung between them, direct and unyielding.

Zannah’s expression did not soften, but her eyes sharpened with interest.

“You ask for much.”

“I demand nothing,” Vader replied. “I will take what is necessary.”

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then Zannah laughed softly.

“…Yes. That is the way of it.”

She circled him slowly, her projected form flickering as she moved. “You seek power.”

Her gaze settled on him again.

“You seek dominance.”

Vader did not deny it.

Zannah stopped in front of him. “You are not yet worthy.”

The statement was simple.

Vader’s gloved hand tightened slightly at his side. “…Then make me worthy.”

The ancient Sith studied him, measuring more than his armor, more than his strength. Whatever remained of Darth Zannah within the holocron looked into him as if weighing the shape of his ambition.

At last, she nodded.

“Very well.”

She raised one hand, and the air around them seemed to darken.

“And so the path begins.”

Her voice hardened.

“Three tasks. Three trials. Complete them, and I will accept you as my apprentice.”

Vader inclined his head slightly. “I accept.”

“Good.”

Zannah stepped closer, her form flickering like a shadow caught inside flame.

“Then hear your first task.”

The world seemed to tighten around them. Even the wind fell still.

“Power is not taken alone,” she said. “It is built. Expanded. Protected.”

Her eyes locked onto his.

“Begin by building your own army.”

Then her voice became colder.

More dangerous.

“In secret.”

Silence returned.

Vader stood motionless before the holocron, but within him, something shifted.

This was not merely another lesson in the dark side. This was not another fragment of power grudgingly allowed by Sidious, not another chain disguised as teaching.

This was independence.

This was the first step toward freedom from his master.

Vader lifted his head slightly.

“…It will be done.”

Far away, unseen and unfelt, the galaxy continued to turn.

But something had changed.

The Emperor’s apprentice had begun walking another path.

The return to Bogano felt… different.

Not quieter—Bogano was never truly quiet—but steadier, as if the world itself had settled into a rhythm that welcomed them back. The green atmosphere parted gently around the descending ship, and the familiar clearing came into view, waiting.

Before the landing ramps had even fully lowered, a cheer broke out.

Luke was the first to reach them, sprinting forward with unrestrained excitement.

“You did it!” he shouted, his voice bright, eyes shining with something dangerously close to awe. “You actually did it!”

Friga and Krigo followed close behind, nearly tripping over themselves in their hurry.

“Is it true?” Friga asked breathlessly. “Did you really fight Darth Vader?”

Dobby stepped forward immediately, puffing out his chest with unmistakable pride.

“Master Harry fought! Dobby helped!”

Krigo blinked, clearly unconvinced. “You helped how?”

Dobby grinned, completely unbothered. “Dobby did important things.”

Harry said nothing. He only gave a faint, tired smile as he stepped down from the ship, letting the moment pass without correction.

That evening, Bogano changed.

Lanterns were strung between the trees, their warm glow cutting through the deep greens of the forest. Long tables were laid out across the clearing, filled with more food than anyone thought possible given their resources.

At the center of it all stood Winky.

“This is celebration!” she declared proudly, hands on her hips. “Big victory needs big feast!”

The smell alone was enough to draw everyone closer—roasted binog meat seasoned to perfection, spiced vegetables simmered in rich sauces, fresh rice harvested from the paddies, and dishes no one else could quite identify but trusted implicitly because Winky had made them.

The feast stretched on for hours.

Stories flowed as freely as the food, growing more exaggerated with every retelling. Quinlan leaned back in his seat, watching the chaos with a lazy smirk.

“I swear,” he said, gesturing loosely with a cup in hand, “by the time this spreads, Harry will have destroyed an entire fleet by himself.”

Sebul snorted. “Give it a week. They’ll say he ate the fleet too.”

Harry rolled his eyes slightly, though there was no real annoyance behind it. “You’re not helping.”

Nearby, Yoda observed the celebration with quiet amusement, his expression softer than usual.

“Celebrate, they must,” he murmured. “Hard path ahead, it is.”

Training resumed in the days that followed. The children sparred under Obi-Wan’s watchful eye, their movements improving. Dobby and Winky argued constantly over food portions, each convinced they knew what was best. Sebul returned to his endless tinkering, surrounded by half-disassembled ship parts and tools. Quinlan filled the evenings with stories that were, at best, only half true.

And Harry—

Harry returned to his studies.

Scrolls covered the ground around him. Runes etched themselves into stone and faded again as he tested variations. Constructs of energy formed in the air before him, magic dissolved when they failed to stabilize.

He pushed forward without pause.

“More control,” he muttered one evening, adjusting a floating construct of shimmering energy. “Less waste.”

The structure twisted under his influence, threads of power tightening into alignment—

Then collapsed.

Harry exhaled slowly. “…Not enough.”

“You push too hard.”

The voice came from behind him.

Harry didn’t turn. “I don’t push enough.”

Quinlan leaned casually against a nearby tree, arms folded as he watched the remnants of the failed construct fade.

“Most people would disagree.”

Harry finally glanced at him. “I’m not most people.”

Quinlan smirked faintly. “No. You’re definitely not.”

A brief silence passed between them before Quinlan spoke again, his tone shifting.

“You ever heard of the Nightsisters?”

That made Harry stop.

“…No.”

Quinlan straightened slightly, the casual ease in his posture giving way to something more serious.

“I knew one,” he said quietly. “My… partner.”

That was enough to pull Harry’s full attention. He turned to face him now.

“Go on.”

“They don’t call it the Force,” Quinlan continued. “They call it magik.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“…Magic.”

“They use rituals. Potions. Incantations.” Quinlan shrugged. “Different language. Same source… maybe.”

“Where?” Harry asked immediately. “Where are they?”

Quinlan hesitated.

“Dathomir.”

The name lingered in the air between them.

“During the Clone Wars,” Quinlan continued, his voice quieter now, “Count Dooku and General Grievous attacked them. Most were killed. The rest… scattered.”

Harry didn’t respond immediately.

But something shifted within him.

Another group.

Another way of understanding the same power he had been trying to reshape.

“…Magic,” he repeated softly.

Quinlan studied him carefully. " I think you should go there.”

Harry met his gaze without hesitation. “Yes.”

“It’s a dangerous planet,” Quinlan warned. “They’re not like us.”

Harry nodded once.

“I hope so.”

That answer drew a faint smile from Quinlan. “Yeah… I figured you’d say that.”

Later that night, Harry stood alone at the edge of the clearing, his gaze lifted toward the stars. The sky stretched endlessly above him, filled with distant systems and unknown worlds.

Footsteps approached quietly behind him.

Sebul.

“You’re planning something,” he said.

Harry didn’t deny it. “Dathomir.”

Sebul blinked once. “…That sounds like trouble.”

“It probably is.”

Sebul grinned immediately. “Good. I’m in.”

Quinlan joined them moments later, his expression resigned but unsurprised.

“You’ll need someone who knows what they’re walking into.”

Harry nodded. “You’re coming.”

“And me?”

Luke’s voice came from behind them, hopeful and eager.

Harry turned to face him.

“Not this time.”

Luke’s shoulders dropped. “But—”

“Train,” Harry said simply. “Get stronger.”

A brief pause.

“Next time.”

Luke hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “…Okay.”

Inside the camp, Obi-Wan Kenobi listened quietly as the plan was laid out.

“You’re leaving again,” he said.

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan studied him for a long moment before nodding slightly. “Then I will remain.”

Harry inclined his head. “You’ll train them better than I can right now.”

Obi-Wan allowed himself a faint smile. “That is… debatable.”

Preparations began immediately.

A smaller crew.

A faster ship.

Minimal attention.

At dawn, the engines roared to life, breaking the stillness of Bogano once more. The camp gathered to see them off, the energy far quieter than their return, but no less meaningful.

Winky waved a cloth dramatically. “Come back safe! And hungry!”

Dobby stood beside her, saluting with great seriousness. “Dobby will guard everything!”

Harry stepped onto the ramp and paused.

He looked back once.

At the people waiting.

At the fragile sense of stability they had built.

Then he turned forward.

Because somewhere in the galaxy,

There were others.

Others who called it magic.

Others who understood something the Jedi or Sith never had.

And Harry intended—

To learn from them.

The ship lifted smoothly into the sky, turning as it broke through the atmosphere.

And then it was gone.

Heading toward a world long feared.

A world of witches.

Author's Note:

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