Luke Skywalker: A Short Story

Luke had spirit and damn too much for his own good sometimes. Whoever the hell pinned Luke Skywalker as a pampered, coddled, delicate little prince ended up being so wide off the skrogging mark that Han could’ve cried when he had witnessed what the so-called fragile prince could actually do.

Han could see lucid recollections playing clearly in his head; Luke doing all sorts of flips and tricks in the air, in one way or another managing to gracefully land on the other side of the miles-long battlefield before Han had even put a finger as to what in the Sith hells was buzzing around in his peripheral field as he tried fleeing the war zone. Given, Han wasn’t exactly supporting the battle himself nor had he been sided with a specific faction.

If someone had asked Han if Prince Luke Skywalker was anything close to being pleasant company, he would have laughed until it finally snowed on Tatooine.

Here he was, though, outright grinning along with Luke.

But of course, as against expectation Luke stood capable of being, he also managed to flip the tables on Han with the same sense of ease.

What was customarily found roaring intensely at all times was dimmed, and significantly so. Luke’s fiery blue gaze instead attenuated down to burn as a faint, glowing ember. Dirty blond fringe flopped over in a heap as brown rivulets raced down one side of Luke’s cheek and he tilted his head, his chapped lips formed into a slim, ostensibly reserved smile.

For all practical purposes, Luke’s smile had essentially struck Han more or less stupid for a junction of three seconds or more, and he owed it to what he beheld. Luke was utterly stunning when he

However, Luke seemed through with further private considerations on the matter. Sadly, he preserved a mere inkling of that same smile that had fallen seconds after rising. “If I tell you… Do you promise not to use it against me?”

First and foremost, Han would have dared to agree in order to hear Luke out. Perhaps he would take his divulgement and file it away somewhere safe, so, one day it would prove useful to him. Be it sold as black market intel, intel for the Rebel Alliance or just something to have handy if Luke were to try to kill him and his clan one day— Han was coolly aware of the warmth rapidly leaving his person.

Whether Han liked the prince as a person or not didn’t change the background he hailed from; Luke was a Sith apprentice, and he was the Imperial army's iron fist alongside his father.

So. after squashing his habitual impudence, Han managed his best at coming off casual and joking, “What’s wrong with you, kid? Did The Empire put a chip in your neck or what?”

Han had heard the horror stories before in the past, in the lost era of the fallen republic; cloned troopers marched with implanted chips in their heads, and if orders weren’t followed, death was inescapable. Cynical at heart, Han deemed the tales far too outrageous. After all, why would they implant that into the son of the