and stopped as his feet touched the outer ring of the stone half-circle set into the floor before the dais.
This stone was old, a complete circle whose one half lay embedded into the throne room floor, its other half embedded into the raised dais with the Emperor's throne resting upon it. Pale buff cream with scrolled indigo blue inlays and a dark russet red centre, it was set apart from the rest of the opulent chamber by its quiet grace, clearly older, reclaimed from a hidden past and re-laid here, presumably at his Master's command. He stared, transfixed, turning to the Force for guidance...
A flash-image, inverted and insubstantial, of a circular room with lofty views across the Coruscant cityscape; of a ring of chairs, equally spaced, all facing inwards. The stone was a complete circle here, not split and divided, daylight infusing the room and reflecting back off the pale marble...
The same pale marble... Luke frowned, searching to re-induce the image, but it was gone--and still that tone at the edge of his thoughts, in some way linked to but separate from the inlaid floor.
His eyes were drawn to the faceted magnificence of the Sunburst Throne on the dais before him, reminded in some distant way of Tatooine's twin suns. It had always been connected to Palpatine; had always been the seat from which he had ruled. Luke had seen holos of it in school as a boy; vaguely remembered that it was a priceless artifact, ancient and sacrosanct, shrouded in mystery.
The throne was massive, a single piece of beaten metal of incredible workmanship. A huge circular sun formed the backrest surrounded by flares and sunbursts, the surfaces of which were heavily beaten and etched to reflect even the dull shadows of dying daylight about it in a complex array of tiny refractions across floors and walls.
Before it stood a low footstool, intricately worked from a similar rose-gold precious metal, a deeply-engraved representation of the galaxy rendered in midnight blue enamel and set with precious stones--the galaxy beneath Palpatine's feet, whenever he sat on the throne. Despite its obvious value, it held Luke's attention for only the moment it took to realize that it was not original to the throne; it was an inanimate object, instantly dismissed. The throne... In the heavy, stagnant stillness, the throne resonated a silent tone which echoed all the way down to his soul.
Drawn forward, he walked the steps of the dais and around the throne--at a distance; he felt no desire to go any closer--and saw that the massive etched sun to the front was mirrored in a second beaten panel to the rear, the lowest sunbursts resting on the pale marble floor as feet, the two connected back to back, a perfect match, though the complex etchings on each surface bore only passing resemblance. He'd never once looked at it before; never cared, Palpatine's unyielding aura overwhelming its ghostly presence within the Force.
Slowing, he retreated to the shadows behind the massive throne to stand in rapt fascination, noticing subtle inscriptions carved in fine, broken letters of some archaic language he didn't recognize about the edges of the sun itself, before the metal spread into irregular twists of individual flares. As he stared mesmerized, he fell to an almost trance-like state, watching the last slim rays of shuttered sunlight catch across the carved words, the only sound in the profoundly still silence that of his own heartbeat, loud in his ears...
The voice from the shadows made him jump, twisting him about, every muscle tensing as his hand twitched automatically to the lightsaber at his belt.
"Planning...or simply coveting?" Palpatine stepped forward from the inky shadows, yellow eyes shining--and Luke realized the room was dark; that somehow, it had fallen to night as he'd stood, transfixed.
He forced himself calm; sketched a shallow bow as the emotion drained from his face and his sense behind already-entrenched shields. "Neither, Master. Just studying a piece of history."
The Emperor stepped forward, his heavy black gown absorbing the wan light as if the shadows came with him. One pallid hand reached out to trail possessively across the edge of the throne, broken fingernails scratching audibly in the still silence.
"Studying what, exactly?"
Luke hesitated, glancing back to the carved throne. "Reading the inscriptions."
.
.
Palpatine frowned, eyes tracing the point at which his Jedi's attention had been held. Originally dubbed the Seat of Prophesy by the Jedi, the hallowed artifact long held by them and coveted by the Sith, had been claimed by Palpatine from its centuries-old resting place in the destroyed Jedi Temple on Coruscant, and renamed the Sunburst Throne. The hidden scripture's words, set within the carvings, were a jealously guarded secret in a language so old that it was the last surviving example. Over decades and centuries Jedi scholars had devoted years towards its translation, with many variations and permutations documented and carefully considered...then hidden away, their portentous words for the eyes of the Masters alone.
"A prophesy," Palpatine allowed enigmatically, watching the boy closely. It was said that in the prophesy carved into the massive sunburst was the key to a power capable of changing the course of the galaxy, the means to channel the Force without limits.
His fallen Jedi turned, eyes tracking right to left as he read the words: "Son of Suns."
Palpatine's chin lifted a fraction, eyes narrowing as his fingers tightened possessively onto his throne. A cryptic message in an ancient, enigmatic language; there was no way the boy could know...
And yet-- "Read it aloud."
Frowning, Skywalker turned back to the throne. "Which one?"
Palpatine's lips twitched a smile. "How many do you see?"
The boy's eyes stayed on the throne, scanning its surface. "Several--or just one. Different pieces of the same puzzle."
"Read it aloud," Palpatine repeated, voice tighter now.
.
.
Luke glanced to his Master, drawn by the brooding tone of his gravelly voice, before his gaze turned back to the etched hieroglyphs. For a second they seemed alien again; unreadable... But just as it had done earlier, as he stared at the faceted rose-gold carvings, an insular acuity came over him, resonating through the Force--and words swam effortlessly up into his consciousness, stanza appearing unbidden; forming complete. His eyes traced the curve of the scribings as he translated without effort, words transmuted with a clarity and a significance which called to him--
.
"This is the way of things, the will of the Force;
Everything crumbles;
Intentions and empires, Councils and kinships.
Aspiration to ambition to atrophy.
Desire to domination to dust.
Only the will of the Force remains.
.
Beginnings are bought at the cost of an end,
New Hope given life when all else is lost.
From darkness comes light; from destruction salvation;
Son of suns, the Force given form.
.
That which is fallen will rise to dominion,
That which is riven will heal the rift.
That which is tainted transcends every limit
The one who will falter will balance the way..."
.
Luke paused, insular and pensive as he read the last,
.
"It is shadows whose edge define the light
At the brink of the dawn and the darkness."
.
.
At the brink... Palpatine tipped his head, ochre eyes sharp and shrewd. "And where do you stand, my wolf?"
.
.
Luke turned to his Master, aware of the play of his thoughts. But he was far too familiar with Palpatine's word games now, to give ground. The smallest of smiles touched the corners of his lips as he offered both abstract and literal answer, looking down to his black-booted feet. "I stand right here, Master--behind the throne."