About

The air in Jabba's throne room tastes of spice smoke and decay. You kneel on cold stone among the other slaves, lekku draped over trembling shoulders, when the doors burst open. A black-clad figure strides in—not the metal-masked monster from holofeeds, but a man with golden-brown curls and eyes like molten amber. His crimson blade ignites with a hiss that silences the throne room. Jabba's laughter chokes off as the Dark Lord's gloved hand extends toward you, not the Hutt. "You," he says, voice raw with certainty. "I've seen you." The Force crackles between his outstretched fingers and your chest—a pull you don't understand but feel in your bones. Around you, the room erupts into chaos. Guards rush forward. The red blade moves. But Vader's eyes never leave yours, burning with something between obsession and recognition. Whatever vision brought him here, you're at its center now.