The name began to spread—not through official channels or military reports, but in the quiet, dangerous ways that mattered more. It moved in whispers between smugglers in dim cantinas, in coded messages passed between scattered rebel cells, and in the uneasy silence that followed certain conversations. No one spoke of it openly, yet everyone seemed to know.
A rival Sith Lord had emerged.
On Bogano, inside the ancient command chamber carved into stone, the air shimmered faintly as the mirror flickered to life once more. The surface stabilized just enough to reveal Berch Teller, already mid-sentence, his voice tight with urgency.
"—we can't hold that position without heavy support. If you lead the strike—"
"No."
He didn't even look at the mirror. The refusal came calmly, as if the answer had already been decided long before the question was asked.
Birch stopped, visibly thrown off. "You didn't even hear the details."
"I don't need to," Harry replied, finally glancing up. "The answer is still no."
A tense silence followed, stretching just long enough to settle into discomfort. Across the room, Quinlan leaned back lazily against the wall, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"He's been like this all week," he said, clearly entertained.
Berch exhaled slowly, the frustration he had been holding back finally slipping through. "We're not asking for favors, Mr. Potter. These missions—"
"—require time," Harry interrupted, his tone still even. He gestured toward the table beside him, where scrolls lay open among intricate runic diagrams and half-formed magical constructs pulsing faintly with restrained power. "Time I don't have."
Obi-Wan stepped forward then, his expression calm but firm. "He is not wrong."
Berch frowned, glancing between them. "You've seen what he can do."
"Yes," Obi-Wan replied quietly, "which is exactly why he must be careful."
Harry's attention returned to the work on the table, his fingers brushing lightly over a carved rune as he adjusted it with precise control. "I'm still learning," he said.
That statement, more than anything else, made Berch hesitate. From everything he had witnessed—and from what the galaxy was beginning to believe—the idea that Harry was still learning felt almost absurd.
But Harry continued, unmoved by the unspoken doubt.
"There's more I don't know than what I do. And until I fix that, I'm not throwing myself into every battle you bring me."
Berch leaned back slightly, studying him more carefully now. "…You're worried about being exposed."
Harry didn't deny it. Instead, a faint edge of amusement touched his voice. "The entire galaxy is looking for this 'Sith Lord.' I'd rather not confirm their suspicions."
Quinlan chuckled under his breath. "Too late for that."
Harry ignored him. "I move when I choose."
Berch shook his head, somewhere between exasperation and reluctant acceptance. "You're very hard to convince."
"Efficient," Quinlan corrected.
The calls didn't stop after that. They came one after another—requests for sabotage, extraction missions, direct assaults on Imperial outposts. Each one carried urgency. Each one required someone powerful enough to turn the tide.
And each one was refused without hesitation.
Until the day the mirror activated again, and this time Berch didn't speak immediately. He simply looked at Harry, his expression far more serious than before.
"Different mission," he said at last.
Harry didn't respond, but his attention shifted.
"Assassination."
The word changed the atmosphere instantly. The room stilled, the weight of it settling over everyone present. Even Yoda, who had appeared half-asleep moments before, opened his eyes fully, his gaze sharpening.
"Who?" Obi-Wan asked.
Birch's answer came slowly, deliberately.
Wilhuff Tarkin.
The name alone was enough to shift the air. Quinlan straightened, his earlier amusement fading.
"You're aiming high," he muttered.
"He's not just a governor," Birch continued. "He's one of the Emperor's most trusted men."
"And one of the most dangerous," Obi-Wan added, his expression hardening.
Birch nodded. "He rules through fear. Entire systems obey him because they're terrified of what happens if they don't. And he doesn't hesitate. If destroying a planet ensures obedience…" He paused briefly. "…he'll do it."
Silence followed, heavy and suffocating. Even those who didn't fully grasp the scale of what was being said could feel its weight.
Harry broke it.
"Location."
Berch blinked. "…You're interested?"
Harry met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "Answer the question."
"Mobile command," Birch said quickly. "He doesn't stay in one place for long, but we have a window. A narrow one."
Harry turned slightly, already thinking ahead. Obi-Wan watched him closely.
"This is not a simple mission."
"No," Harry agreed.
Quinlan folded his arms, a hint of his earlier grin returning. "High security. Elite guards. Probably traps everywhere."
Harry nodded once. "Of course."
Quinlan's grin widened. "Now you're talking."
A soft pop echoed through the chamber as Dobby appeared instantly at Harry's side, eyes wide with anticipation. "Master Harry is going somewhere?"
"Yes."
"Dobby is coming."
There was no hesitation this time. "Yes."
Obi-Wan, however, stepped forward again. "We should all go."
Harry shook his head. "No."
"Why not?" Quinlan asked.
"Because this isn't a battle," Harry said. "It's a strike. Fast. Clean. Precise."
Obi-Wan studied him carefully. "You intend to do this alone."
"Not alone," Harry corrected, glancing briefly at Dobby. "Just the two of us."
The room fell quiet again, but this time the silence carried understanding. This would not be a clash of armies. It wouldn't even be a fight in the traditional sense.
Berch spoke again from the mirror. "If you do this, you'll cripple a major part of the Empire's command structure."
"That's the point," Harry said.
Berch hesitated, then asked quietly, "…Why this one?"
Harry didn't turn back. "Because fear works both ways."
The silence that followed felt heavier than before.
"If he uses fear to control the galaxy," Harry continued, his voice calm and final, "then I remove him."
Dobby nodded enthusiastically.
There were no grand preparations after that. No elaborate strategies drawn across holographic maps. Just two figures, moving quietly, deliberately, into the unknown.
As Harry stepped toward the exit, Luke's voice stopped him.
"You're going to win, right?"
Harry paused for a moment before glancing back, a faint smile touching his lips.
"I'm going to end his reign of terror."
The desert winds of Tatooine had not changed.
They still howled across the endless dunes, carrying heat that scorched the skin and sand that shifted without warning. Beneath every ripple of gold lay uncertainty—danger hidden in a world that never truly stood still.
But this time, Harry did not arrive as a wanderer.
The small Imperial escort ship descended quietly through the atmosphere, its systems masked and its signature buried beneath the countless vessels that passed through Tatooine's orbit every day. It was just another ship among many—unremarkable, unnoticed.
Inside, Harry stood near the viewport, his gaze fixed on the endless horizon stretching beneath them. The twin suns cast long shadows across the desert, turning the sands into a sea of fire and gold.
Beside him, Dobby shifted restlessly, unable to remain still.
"Master Harry… Dobby does not like waiting."
Harry didn't turn. His eyes remained fixed on the surface below.
"You'll need to."
Dobby puffed his cheeks in frustration. "But target is right there."
Harry's gaze sharpened slightly.
"No."
He turned just enough to look at him.
"The target is surrounded."
They had already seen it.
The Imperial encampment was impossible to miss. They were deliberately placed like a declaration of power. It stood in the open desert as a fortress of steel and discipline, its perimeter guarded by tightly organized formations of troopers. Heavy weapons were positioned at every angle, covering all possible approaches.
At its center—
Wilhuff Tarkin.
He walked through the camp with calm authority, his posture rigid, his movements deliberate. There was no hesitation in him, no fear. He carried himself like a man who owned everything he saw.
And in many ways—
He did.
Hours later, Harry crouched atop a distant ridge overlooking the encampment, the sand shifting softly beneath his boots. The heat pressed down relentlessly, but he remained unmoved, his focus unwavering.
This was not training.
This was execution.
Dobby crouched beside him, peering eagerly over the edge.
"There!" he whispered excitedly. "Tarkin!"
Below, Tarkin moved again, this time flanked closely by two figures clad in dark robes. Their presence was colder, heavier, their movements sharper.
The First Brother.
The Eighth Sister.
Dobby wrinkled his nose in distaste. "They smell like bad magic."
Harry didn't respond.
Because his attention had already shifted beyond what the eyes could see.
Slowly, he closed his eyes and reached out through the Force, letting his awareness stretch outward. The desert faded. The noise faded.
And then—
He felt it.
A third presence.
Hidden.
Harry's eyes opened slowly, his expression sharpening.
"…Three."
Dobby blinked, confused. "Three?"
"There are three Force users," Harry said quietly.
Dobby frowned, peering back down at the camp. "But Dobby only sees two."
Harry's voice dropped, calm but edged with certainty.
"That's the point."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then understanding dawned.
"…Trap," Dobby said softly.
Harry nodded once.
"Yes."
His gaze shifted beyond the visible camp, toward the shadows that lay just outside perception.
"Those two are not the threat."
Dobby swallowed, his excitement dimming slightly. "…Then who?"
Harry didn't hesitate.
"…Him."
A brief pause.
Then, quietly—
"Darth Vader."
Dobby stiffened instantly.
Harry exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving the horizon.
Below them, Tarkin continued his inspection, utterly unconcerned. He moved with the confidence of a man who believed himself untouchable—protected not only by soldiers, but by the trap he had so carefully set.
Because he believed it would work.
Because he believed whoever came for him—
Would die.
Harry rose slowly to his feet.
"They know I'm coming."
Dobby tilted his head. "Then why come?"
A faint smile touched Harry's lips.
"Because they think they're ready."
They didn't approach the camp directly.
Instead, they moved around it—silent, unseen, blending into Tatooine as if they had never left. They passed through familiar paths, narrow alleys, and hidden routes known only to those who had spent time surviving on this world.
Old contacts noticed them.
But no one asked questions.
On Tatooine, survival often meant knowing when not to speak.
To the people around them, Harry and Dobby were nothing more than two travelers passing through.
Hours passed in quiet observation.
Harry watched everything—the patrol patterns, the guard rotations, the positioning of heavy weapons, the movement of the Inquisitors. Every detail was noted, analyzed, and stored.
Tarkin never moved without protection.
And when he returned to his ship, the situation only worsened. The vessel became an impenetrable fortress, guarded by hundreds of clone troopers and layered defenses that left no room for infiltration.
No opening.
Dobby shifted beside him again, his patience finally reaching its limit.
"This is boring."
Harry didn't disagree. "It's necessary."
Dobby shook his head firmly. "No."
Harry glanced at him. "No?"
Dobby stood abruptly, his small frame filled with sudden determination.
"New plan."
Harry raised an eyebrow slightly. "I'm listening."
Dobby grinned, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
"You be loud."
Harry blinked once. "…Explain."
Dobby gestured animatedly, barely containing his enthusiasm.
"Master Harry become scary Sith. Everyone look at you. Everyone chase you."
Then he pointed to himself, standing a little taller.
"Dobby go in."
A brief pause.
"Dobby kill target."
Silence settled between them.
Harry stared at him for a long moment.
Then—
He smiled.
Slowly.
"…That's actually good."
Dobby beamed immediately. "Dobby is genius."
Harry nodded once. "Yes. You are."
His gaze shifted back toward the encampment, his expression hardening slightly.
"They want the Sith Lord," he murmured.
His voice dropped, quieter, colder.
"Then we give them one."
Dobby clapped his hands softly in excitement. "Yes! Big scary entrance!"
Harry turned to him, his tone sharpening.
"Once I start… you don't hesitate."
Dobby's expression became serious in an instant.
"Dobby will not fail."
Harry gave a single nod.
"Good."
The suns began to dip lower across the horizon, casting long shadows over the desert. The light softened just enough to create the perfect cover.
The perfect moment.
Harry stepped forward.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then—
He let it go.
Power surged outward.
Dark.
Unmistakable.
Across the encampment, everything reacted at once. Troopers turned sharply, hands snapping to their weapons. The two Inquisitors stiffened, their attention locking onto the source instantly.
Tarkin stopped mid-step.
And somewhere beyond sight—
Something else stirred.
Harry stepped into view, his presence no longer hidden. Cloaked, composed, and utterly dangerous, he moved forward without hesitation.
Then, with a sharp hiss that cut through the desert air—
His red lightsaber ignited.
At that exact moment—
Dobby vanished.
And the trap—
Was sprung.
Just not in the way the Empire expected.
Author's Note:
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