Chapter Text
For all your worrying over the near-kiss yesterday, when you and Kylo finally met in the morning, he acted as if nothing had happened. Glancing up at him anxiously, you’re met with his stoic face – it takes you a moment to realize that he’s in his usual attire and that his helmet is held under his arm – and it takes all that you have not to crumble into a heap of embarrassment and babble an endless string of apologies and half-assed excuses. Instead, you straighten yourself out in an attempt at matching his height – news flash, it doesn’t help – and nod up at him in greeting.
Kylo’s head dips a fraction of an inch, a barely detectable motion, but your eyes just manage to catch the action, and your shoulders relax as you take the twitch as him returning your silent greeting. His robes swirl around his legs like shadows as he turns sharply on his heel, and your feet are already moving to catch up before he’s even lifted his foot. As the two of you fall into step besides each other, any remaining tension melts away, replaced with a sense of comfort that had you drawing closer to him.
Beside you, the Master of Knights allows his dark eyes to dart to you, gauging your emotional state before he starts any interaction. With a quiet clearing of his throat, Kylo’s tongue darts out to skim his lower lip before he speaks. Having glanced up as soon as you heard him, you feel your heart skip a beat before racing to catch up at the sight of him licking his lip, and your mind automatically flashes back to the night before. With a sharp shake of your head, to divert your attention to the present, lest you miss out on what Kylo is about to say.
“Adira will be a suitable opponent for you; she is around your height, and won’t hold back and let you win like the previous Knights … myself included.” Kylo explains, not glancing your way. Rolling your eyes at his comment about ‘holding back’, you fight down the urge to tell him that actually, they had all underestimated you, and it wasn’t because of them ‘holding back’ that you had won. You definitely hadn’t drawn with Kylo because he was ‘holding back’…
“Okay then. Adira is the one you said I wouldn’t like, right?” You catch him tilting his head in your direction, and you look up to catch his eyes, which seemed to squint the slightest bit in amusement.
“Yes.” He murmurs quietly. “Adira is the one I said you wouldn’t like.”
“What makes you say that?” Curiosity colors your tone, head tilting, and your hair falls over your shoulder, drawing Kylo’s attention as his eyes stray from yours to stare at the sway of your hair, captivated by the way it brushed at the bare skin of your neck and shoulder.
“Adira can be . . . unreasonable at times. She has the tendency to mock others.”
“So, she has an attitude problem?”
Kylo’s lips quirk up the slightest bit behind his mask at your words, fighting down a chuckle at your summary. “If you wish to put it that way, then yes.”
“Well, in that case, I should be able to deal with her. Maybe it’s just because she’s surrounded by men?” You ponder with a shrug, and Kylo lets out a low hum in what could have been agreement. “She’s probably like that to make herself known – would rather be seen as a bitch than be walked all over by others . . .”
“That may be so,” He murmurs, looking straight ahead before glancing back to you, and you can feel his eyes make contact with yours. “But don’t let your guard down around her.”
Your brow dips at his warning, but you nod anyway, turning to face ahead as you draw close to the training hall; the same one that you had fought Coen and Kylo in. Several dozen officers are scattered about, at different stages of working out, though almost all of them freeze in place as they catch sight of you and Kylo entering, his robes billowing behind him as your shorter, lighter robes mimic his.
The two of you stride over to the area that you had previously occupied, any officer nearby scrambling to get further away, either out of fear or the knowledge that you would soon require the space, though you had a feeling that it was mostly due to the former reason, and you fight back the urge to snort in amusement at their behavior. Your mouth opens to ask when the Knights would be joining you, though you hold your tongue as you feel the Force around you shift, twisting and writhing as if it was caught between two separated parties, the strength of the connection only growing as they drew closer.
With wide eyes, you glance over your shoulder just as the first Knight makes his appearance; Jakobe. Even though they all wore helmets, you could tell it was him by his extreme height and muscular frame, and a small smile finds its way onto your face. To his side is another figure, which you assume to be Coen, and behind them stand three others, all hulking and intimidating, and you can feel the smile slip from your face as you take in the sight before you. They seem to move in unison, steps muted yet defined, ringing in time like the beat of a drum, or a heartbeat, and your spine stiffens as they get closer.
Kylo steps in front of you, and you blink twice before shifting to stand next to him, steps hesitant as your gaze flits between Kylo and the other Knights. “Where is she?” Kylo grits out; you can hear the frustration in his voice, and your eyes scan the Knights before you to find that one was missing – Adira.
Jakobe clears his throat and steps forward, back straightening as he addresses the Master of the Knights. “Adira will be here shortly, she was just-”
“Calm down, I’m here.” A female voice snaps. Your view of her blocked by the Knights, though she soon comes into your line of sight as she slips around to stand next to Coen. One arm propped her helmet to her side, meanwhile her other hand was placed on her hip; her attire was an equal balance of feminine and masculine, though the way she wore it screamed ‘femme fatale’. Tight leather pants clung to her long legs like a second skin, her feet clad in a pair of vicious-looking boots that lacked a heel, though the sole was thick enough to be considered a platform – not that she needed it; she had the figure of a supermodel (Kylo’s perception of ‘around your height’ seriously needed to be reconsidered – she was clearly taller than you, even without the boots).
She wore ragged layers of robes, the top one made of a thin, web-like material, the tattered ends floating about her even as she stood still. They were tapered in at the waist by several delicate belts that overlapped, though their daintiness was easily overlooked by the fact that from each one hung a myriad of knives, each one deadly sharp. Her hair was a fiery copper, hanging to her waist in close curls, though several locks were made up into braids, whilst other strands were decorated with beads and hoops that swung when she moved.
If you were ever asked to describe an elf, she would probably be what you described; her skin was porcelain pale, inhumanely perfect and clear, not a single scar or pimple or freckle. Her nose was small, sharp and upturned, resting above a full pair of naturally reddened lips, the rich color a heavy contrast against her eyes, so pale and colorless that they almost weren’t even silver, though her pupils were wide and blown as she stared directly at you.
If she was a bitch, as Kylo implied, then you were fucked. She was already threatening just by looking at her – she was stunning, and she knew it, the way she smirked at you before her lip curled in disgust giving away the fact. But add the attitude problem into the equation? You could already feel yourself shrinking away from her, unconsciously adjusting your footing to slip closer to Kylo; the action doesn’t go unnoticed by her, and her pale eyes narrow at you before her expression smooths into one of mild displeasure, though you could practically see the gears of her mind shifting.
Waves of annoyance roll off of Kylo as he stares at the tall woman, though she stares right back, the ghost of a smirk threatening to erupt across her face. “Adira.” He finally greets, tone neutral though you could sense just how much it must have taken for him to hold back his anger.
“Kylo.” She mimics him, though her head dips slightly in respect.
With a concealed sigh, he regards his Knights before nodding once. At his signal, the Knights reach up in unison to remove their helmets, your eyes automatically darting to Coen and Jakobe’s face, both of which nod to you in greeting, though Jakobe also throws you a grin. The other three also remove their helmets, and you try hard to maintain a steady breathing pattern. Why are they all so damn attractive?! And tall? They move forward to introduce themselves, and your eyes scan over each one as they do so.
“I am Ephraim.” The first man introduces, his dark locks of pin-straight hair falling forward as he bows his head low, and when he straightens, the tips of his hair brush against his shoulders. Tanned skin is dusted by a smattering of pale freckles, their coloring almost almost white, and you refrain from tilting your head in curiosity, aware of his dark eyes on you.
“Lev.” The second states, stepping forward and slamming a fist to his chest before he steps back into place. Eyes the color of caramel gaze at you, like two clean-cut topaz gems set deep in his dark skin, so rich and pigmented in color that he almost starts to merge with his dark robes. His face is made up of sharp angles and smooth planes, his jawline like the edge of a blade as smooth, scar-free skin is stretched taut over it, and you’re almost shocked to find yourself envious of the incredible flawless texture of his skin.
The final man nods at you, a polite smile tugging at his pale lips, and you hesitantly smile back. “The name’s Orson, ma’am.” You fight the urge to snort as he addresses you, instead settling for widening your grin at his politeness. Bright blue eyes meet yours, framed by thick lashes that almost brush against his rosy cheeks when he blinks. His face is typically handsome, his strong jaw dusted with day old stubble, and his hair is neatly trimmed, though it had been ruffled out of its style to hang around his face and in his eyes; you found it hard to believe that he was a Knight of Ren, what with his polite attitude and pretty-boy looks, but nevertheless he has a Knight’s helmet under his arm.
“Um, I’m Y/N.”
Jakobe smirks, reaching out an arm to drag you against his side in an affectionate half-hug. “This short thing here managed to take me down in about a minute flat.” He states proudly, and your cheeks flare up at his words, avoiding the eyes of the three curious Knights.
“Surely that’s not something you should be boasting about, Jakobe?” Orson asks, brow quirking up as he flashes a smirk.
“Doesn’t matter, someone’s gotta boast, and if she ain’t gonna, then I’ll do it for her – it was an incredible feat, even if I was on the receiving end.”
Once again, you wince when he mentions it, and you hurry to mutter out a quiet apology. “Yeah, I’m still really sorry about that – I didn’t mean it . . .”
He chuckles, jostling you in his grip before his arm slips away from your shoulders, only to clap you on the back. “No harm done, kid, see?”
You would see, however, his innocent slap to the back had driven you forward, and you stumble into the chest of Ephraim, who reaches up to steady you with two firm hands wrapped around your biceps. Tensing in his grasp, you soon relax when he tilts his head down to give you a small smile of reassurance, making sure that you were steady on your feet before letting go. “You say no harm done, yet you just sent her reeling with only a tap to the back.” Ephraim points out, and you flush at his statement.
“Oh! Sorry, little one! You alright?” You nod as he carefully settles a concerned hand on your shoulder, grasp gentle. “Don’t doubt her for a second though. I did, and I got my ass kicked – literally!” He lets out a deep chuckle at the memory, patting lightly at your shoulder. “She’s tougher than she looks, this one, took down me, Coen, and almost took Kylo down too. Admittedly, she did so with a helping hand from the Force . . .”
A deep flush builds up in your cheeks at the realization that he must have heard the . . . suggestive thought that you had projected during your fight with Kylo, and you jab an elbow in his side. “If you continue that sentence then I’ll do some lasting damage to you, I swear I will.”
Though you attempt to sound as if you meant the threat, Jakobe merely chuckles, jostling you once again in amusement. “I’d like to see you try kid!”
“Enough.”
The five of you turn to face Kylo, who had set his helmet on the ground to approach you all. Coen stands beside him; meanwhile Adira stands off to the side, disinterested as she takes her time scraping flecks of non-existent dirt out from underneath her nails with the tip of one of her knives.
“Y/N, prepare to fight with Adira.”