In the spacious chamber, where the weak light of artificial lamps barely chased away the shadows, an unbearable smell of ozone hung in the air.
A man lay on the floor, curled into a fetal position, trembling slightly — but not from cold.
His teeth chattered, clacking together, and with all his remaining strength he tried to get to his feet.
His right prosthetic arm pressed limply against the floor, and the man shifted his weight onto it, using it as a brace.
The black glove slid, and he nearly smashed his nose into the ground, but managed to catch himself with his sweat-soaked forehead.
He drew his legs up and paused on his knees, catching his breath and gathering his strength.
"You are pathetic and weak," a insinuating voice, filled with the venom of contempt, gnawed at his hearing.
A voice he had been hearing for many, many days...
Or was it months?
He did not know.
He cast aside everything unimportant, focusing all his will on resisting his enemy — the one he had hoped he had finished with years ago.
But he had been wrong.
He had.
But not the one whose advice and guidance had kept the captive fighting.
The battles were both physical and mental.
Despite his youth, he held on.
Desperately, selflessly, frantically he held on, refusing to let himself slip into the abyss of the Dark Side of the Force.
The captive could not afford that.
Could not allow the Dark Side to triumph.
Not after he had charged ahead so blindly, for so long, ignoring the advice of that insidious, richly textured voice of one sentient being.
The captive felt his mental armor — which he had managed to erect around his mind, strengthening it over all these years — begin to buckle under a foreign intrusion from outside.
His jailer wanted to break his mind, his will, to invade his thoughts, to break not only his body but his spirit.
Not today!
Never!
The left hand of the fair-haired man — just barely past the threshold of youth but not yet set on the path of maturity — left the stone floor and slowly rose.
Even though it was aimed at the tall figure in a black cloak, which made his opponent seem like just a fragment of the darkness surrounding everything, the young Jedi did not attack the shadow.
In the gloom, the hilt of a lightsaber glinted, and the Jedi weapon flew into his open palm.
Pressing his inert prosthetic into the floor again, the captive began to rise.
His body shook.
His legs could no longer hold him.
But he rose every time his enemy broke him.
He rose because he had to.
Because he had been too foolish to understand where it was all leading.
He had been blind.
And now he could see.
And so he resisted.
His enemy looked for his weaknesses, but the prisoner tested his jailer's strength.
The old adversary tried to understand where he drew the strength to resist, but the captive remained silent.
And he did not reveal the name of the sentient being whose words — simple and clear — came to his aid every time he was on the verge of plunging into the depths of despair.
The sentient being who was not his friend or ally.
At least, the captive had thought so before.
But here, he understood how wrong he had been.
And so he turned to the wisdom of those simple words, which he had never heard from any of his teachers.
Those words helped him fight.
He channeled the Light Side through himself, using it to strengthen his body.
The trembling stopped.
The captive assumed a combat stance, holding his lightsaber before him.
His right arm hung like a useless weight, but the recluse had already learned to manage with his left.
After all, why couldn't a Jedi learn to fight with both hands?
"I will break you," two amber eyes with red streaks flared under the cloak's hood. "Just as I broke and used your father, young Skywalker. You will serve me."
"You can try, Emperor," the young Jedi replied calmly. "I have beaten you. Dozens of your bodies have already lain on this floor, just as I have been at death's door. But I will not surrender."
"Don't be a fool!" the shadow hissed at him. "I will give you power no Jedi ever dreamed of! Together, we will bring order to this galaxy! And there will be peace everywhere!"
"There will not," Luke Skywalker said firmly. "That is your deception, Emperor. If the galaxy ever truly runs out of conflicts, it will only be when every sentient being on every planet is dead. I am a Jedi. I am a keeper of peace and a protector of the weak. I will not fall."
"You will fall," the shadow assured him with a hissing whisper, raising both hands before it. "YOU WILL FALL BEFORE ME, SKYWALKER!!! IT IS FORETOLD!!! I HAVE FORESEEN IT!!!"
The young Jedi did not deign to answer this hysterical outburst.
He positioned his weapon to meet the Force Lightning discharges and began to slowly close with his opponent.
He had little to pit against the greatest Sith of the age in terms of Force Techniques.
But he had an example of how one could win even without all that.
"Thank you, Grand Admiral Thrawn," Luke Skywalker silently called out to the Imperial he had killed, the one he had failed to heed all this time. "Thank you for all your words. I hold on. I will hold on. As long as I hold on — he will not fall upon the galaxy. I hold on. I will endure. I am a Jedi! Thank you, Grand Admiral Thrawn. Thank you for all your words. I hold on. I will hold on. As long as I hold on..."