Volcanic fire seethes and spits at his feet as the molten river
roars, its rumblings an echo of his own agonized howls on this blackened
shore five years gone. The lava’s glow bathes him in scorching heat.
Encased in that black armor, he feels nothing.
A hissing sound escapes his helmet as his unfeeling cyborg hands
release it, lifting free the face of Darth Vader, and exposing the
ruined head of Anakin Skywalker. The scorched Mustafar air fills what
remains of his lungs. Wheezing, he breathes it in as deep as he can,
welcoming the pain, embracing its familiarity, and its contrast to the
stale, tasteless air to which he’s grown accustomed. The pain brings the
clarity he seeks. The pain of fire, and of memory.
He holds the helmet before him and gazes into the black and soulless
eyes of the creature he’s become. Behind the mask, the river of fire
flows. Ghostly echoes of his past flow with it. There have been many
paths to choose in the course of his life. The choices made there
eventually led him here, to the site of his rebirth, where he was
baptized in agony and betrayal. The bright blade of his best friend
together with the molten fires of this hateful world took everything.
He was left to die with only his resolve. That same resolve drove him
to dark deeds in the name of a greater galaxy. It carried him through
his betrayal of Master Windu, the slaughter of his Jedi brothers and
sisters, and the death of his wife. All that was Anakin Skywalker was
burned away by action and fire. All that remains is the purity of this
thing in his hand.
The black, skull-like visage returns his gaze as he takes one last
rasping breath of the air around him. Raising the mask to his head, he
locks it in place. Behind him, his black cape whips and snaps in the hot
wind as the familiar sound of Lord Vader’s mechanical breathing
returns.
the art
For our Star Wars Mythos version of Darth Vader we chose a moment in
time between the trilogies, where he has returned to his symbolic
birthplace on Mustafar for a moment of deep reflection on his choices.
He is caught in a pose reminiscent of Shakespearean introspect,
Hamlet-esque with an ‘alas poor Yorick’ view of his helmet. Somewhere
deep inside the man who was once Anakin Skywalker a deep torment foments
as he contemplates the partial machine he has become. Whether his
thoughts waver toward this new reality being a tragedy or a triumph is a
matter left up to the viewers’ imagination.
Artists Credits
- Tom Gilliland
- Seth Rinaldi
- David Igo
- Anthony Mestas
- Jesse Lincoln
- Brian Fay
- Martin Canale
- Hernan Azcarate
- David Whitford
- Kai Lim
