Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In a hopeless galaxy, legends are the heartbeat of hope. As the mighty First Order touches down on every disparate world and spreads its shadowy influence to every corner of the galaxy, one legend unites all. Everywhere, the downtrodden and oppressed come together and share their mythos as bedtime stories, as songs, as prayers, as a rallying cry of rebellion: the story of Skywalker.

Brave Jedi hero, Luke Skywalker, son of the great Anakin Skywalker, had stepped out onto the shining white ground of Crait, one man against an army. The Resistance had been torn asunder by Supreme Leader Kylo Ren’s fearsome army of the First Order, and Luke’s gambit was their last chance to escape with what little they had left.

But brave Luke Skywalker needed no backup, no reinforcement, no army. He had the ultimate ally on his side: he was one with the Force, and the Force was with him.

Even as the First Order stamps down its great boot to quench rising rebellion, silencing communication between neighbouring systems, they cannot stop legends.

You don’t know what horror the First Order is unleashing on nearby planets, what hell they will bring to your home next, but you know one thing: when the people stand together, as a force of hope, they are as powerful as Luke Skywalker himself.

It is that force of hope that stopped traffic on the motorways of Coruscant, the galactic capital, as the people marched through the hoverlanes to meet riot troopers in a clash of retribution, united in a cry of “Resist!”

Improvised weapons meet riot shields and spinning batons. Screams and cracks and thuds of brutality fill the air. There’s fire, and smoke, and gas, and blood, and sweat, and tears — the stench of rebellion. It’s overpowering.

A Stormtrooper lowers her weapon. It’s not the first time TZ-1719 has done so recently.

A couple months back, before Kylo took over as Supreme Leader, TZ-1719 was sent on one of the last involuntary recruitment runs. The brief was simple. The planet was resisting First Order control, and their punishment for non-compliance would be the recruitment of their world’s children into the armed forces.

Usually only the most experienced Stormtroopers were sent on recruitment missions, because the more experienced are usually less psychologically fragile about the Order’s method of recruitment, but Snoke was ramping up in the final days of the construction of Starkiller Base, so some fresher recruits were added to the missions as back-up.

When TZ-1719 had arrived in the battle, it was everything she had been trained and prepared for for her whole life. She marched through the flame of war as an elite soldier with her squadron, led by their captain. They shot down the rebels with instinctive ease. That was the easy part. That was what she had trained for. But then they had to find the children.

They had to tear them, wailing, away from their mothers and fathers. Some of them had to be pulled off of corpses they clung to, screaming, confused. They didn’t understand why their parents weren’t breathing, why their heartbeats were silent. They didn’t understand any of it, just needed the comfort of embrace, to be told that everything was alright and that they didn’t need to worry. And instead they were taken.

They were sedated and strapped into seats in the back of a freighter. They were counted, marked, and recorded into the database. They were given a number. Their names were forgotten. Their unplaceable grief would be molded, channelled into one singular purpose: to serve the First Order in the glory of war.

Looking around at the uncaring cruelty of it, seeing the blunt hammer that had struck the surrounding population and taken their children from them, TZ-1719 dropped her weapon and was sent into a screaming fit of madness, an agony of the soul. Dissonance rang in her psyche as she tried to resolve the glory of serving the First Order, the heroism of the Stormtrooper, and the vile brutality of this horrible crime against life itself. She couldn’t resolve it.

She had fainted, and awoke in a reconditioning cell that set her right again. The mission had become a foggy nightmare, a memory that it was best not to think about.

But in battle, as the First Order asks her again to fight for its cause, asks her to stand against the rebels and annihilate any that break through the wall of shields, something in TZ-1719 resists. She lowers her weapon.

“Soldier, why is your weapon down?!” her captain barks at her.

TZ-1719 doesn’t respond.

Her captain approaches her, yelling straight in her face, “Soldier, raise your weapon! That was the order I gave you!”

And she does. She fires on her captain. It’s the last thing she remembers doing before awakening in a reconditioning cell she’s certain that this time she will die in. She regrets it, truly regrets it, but it’s too late.

She can’t take back that she didn’t do it from day one.

***

In the depths of space, where glimmering starlight persists against crushing darkness, a lush, green world is eclipsed by a massive Star Destroyer, its mountainous, pitch black silhouette haunting the world below. The world is Naboo, where a small trade dispute once decided the fate of the entire galaxy. From a hangar underneath the gigantic ship, several, small transports launch, hurtling down towards Naboo, followed by a sleek, black shuttle.

Down on the planet, Queen Soruna, dressed in evening attire, gazes out the massive window of Theed Palace. The dimming blue light of twilight shines through the window, glimmering through her silver-streaked black hair.

She watches, mournful, as the ships touch down on the street outside the palace. The sorrowful queen looks up to the huge Star Destroyer that covers the darkening blue sky, and the swarm of ships that birth from it. She has seen many days as queen. This is a day she has long feared.

On the streets, troopers march out of their transports, taking formation outside the palace. The sleek shuttle touches down behind the transports and a ramp comes down. A pair of black boots stomp down the ramp of the shuttle, followed by a gothic cape.

This is Supreme Leader Kylo Ren. Face hidden by a black mask, decorated with intricate silver stylings, he stops for a moment, gazing up at the grand palace before him. His monstrous mask hides the face of Ben Solo; heir of the Skywalker legacy, son of the rebellion, prince of Alderaan and, perhaps ironically, of Naboo.

Kylo Ren is a man of contradictions. He is like an ocean, at once mighty, roaring, and volatile, but also calm, soft, and beautiful. Like the tide, he beckons, then pushes suddenly away. The powerful legacies he stakes his cunning, royal bravado on are also his greatest emotional weakness. And Chancellor Hux knows it.

“Well, Ren, if it isn't your family home.”

Behind him, Chancellor Hux walks down the ramp, his own majestic black cape swishing proudly behind him, displaying its deep purple lining. Hux pauses next to Ren and looks at him with a proud smirk. As soon as the childish taunt leaves his lips, the air catches in his throat. He rasps out, “Sorry, sorry,” before an urgent exhale.

Kylo Ren walks towards the palace, standing at the front of the trooper formation, Hux following like a leashed dog.

Queen Soruna steps out of the palace, followed by a procession of Royal Guards. “So, Kylo, which is it? Have you come to take my planet? Or do you think I’m harboring the Resistance?”

“If you’re hiding fugitives of the First Order, you’ll be dealt with accordingly,” Kylo threatens gently.

“So it’s the planet then.”

“Effective immediately, this world is under control of the First Order.”

Soruna shares her legacy with a line of women who would sooner die then give in. She would be damned not to uphold that legacy. “And if I refuse?” Her soldiers take her cue and raise their blasters, loading charges.

“Who do you think would win? Twenty guards, or twenty squadrons?” He says it almost jestingly.

“The Naboo don’t go down without a fight.”

“You should. It would be unfortunate if you had to die.”

Soruna narrows her eyes. “You have your mother’s wit.”

It was a calculated line, and it lands exactly how she hopes.

Kylo balls a tight fist. A moment passes. He releases his fist and says, coldly, “Put her on board.”

Stormtroopers march towards the Queen and the Royal Guards, who all yell in anger and fire their blasters. The blaster bolts freeze in mid-air. The Guards’ faces fill with fear, the Queen keeps her steely demeanor. The blaster bolts travel backwards. The Guards drop, the Queen still stands. The Stormtroopers rush her and place her in cuffs.

Hux nervously babbles, “There’ll be more inside the palace—”

“Follow me,” Kylo commands.

Kylo takes his lightsaber off his hilt and ignites it, the crackling blood red of the blade lighting the steps as he marches up them into the palace. Hux and the Stormtroopers follow behind. The Queen watches, angry, before being pulled by Stormtroopers towards the transports.

***

A stillness falls on the palace in the wake of the invasion. Stormtroopers escort Naboo prisoners from the palace. Kylo, however, stands before a stained-glass window, a colorful visage of Padmé Amidala — Kylo’s grandmother, and at one time the youngest elected queen of Naboo. The light of the moon shimmers through the sacred depiction of the queen from years past, moonlight shining down on Kylo’s masked face.

Even in a simple representation assembled from glass fragments, her face is very beautiful; kind, but sad.

Kylo hears a gruff, grizzled voice call out from behind him, “Ben!”

He turns to see none other than Han Solo. His father. Looking exactly as he did on Starkiller Base. The day Kylo killed him.

He calls back softly, “Father.”

“Take off that mask. You don’t need it.”

“This mask is who I am. All that’s underneath is—”

“The face of my son.”

“Your son is gone.”

“No. My son is alive.”

Interrupting the vision, a short beep pattern chirps from a panel on Kylo’s belt. He unclips it, holding it out in his hand, conjuring a hologram of Kuruk Ren, who wears a black tunic, jagged armor, and face-covering helmet — stylistically similar to Kylo’s, but less regal.

Garbled by the voice distorter in his own mask, Kuruk’s voice is deep and rugged. “Supreme Leader, we have found the location of the Sith planet, Moraband.”

“Meet me on the Capitol ship, I’ll go with you,” Kylo orders.

“As you wish, Supreme Leader.”

The hologram shuts off, Kylo clips the panel back to his belt. He looks back at where his father stood, but the man has vanished.

He turns to walk away, but pauses. Looking back over his shoulder at the stained-glass window again.

Perhaps he could feel her. Perhaps, from the spiritual plane, his grandmother is sending an urgent plea beyond the bounds of time and space to her kin. ‘Come back. Do not continue to make the same mistakes of my Anakin. There is love, and compassion, and kindness, and strength in your heart, young Ben. There is still good in you, and you are loved. Please, please come back.’

Perhaps the spirits of his ancestors, Force-sensitive and not, are watching the string of his destiny weave a dark tapestry, and are attempting to guide the thread back towards the light from beyond.

Or perhaps the churning emotions of Kylo’s inner conflict are growing too heavy for his mind to bear.

He dismisses it and walks away.

He harks no message from ghosts.

Chapter Text

With a thundering boom, a spacecraft exits hyperspace above a red-orange planet. The ship is the Night Buzzard, the ship of the Knights of Ren. The Night Buzzard is a fast, junky thing, and it’s all angles and sharp points. It looks like some kind of angry locust, buzzing down towards the fiery orb of Moraband.

The Knights had been hunting for the location of the planet for some time. Hux would taunt Ren, snipping “how can you lose a planet?” whenever Kylo would complain about the search. Of course, the answer can really only be a few things. Either the planet has been destroyed (as Alderaan) or it had been removed from all databases.

Because all modern databases rely on data pulled from the Imperial archives — and all archives from prior to Imperial hard-coding had been systematically wiped and re-programmed with their Imperial archive equivalent — if something in the original Imperial database had been corrupted or deleted, that corruption would basically be synced to almost every information-parsing device in the galaxy.

But it wasn’t as simple as tracking down an older, pre-Imperial archive; it seemed that someone had gone to great lengths to remove the planet’s existence from all known databases. The Knights had to find an old Sith tome from the Great Sith Empire of two millenia prior, an ancient hardcover book that held one of the last surviving physical star-maps in all galactic history.

The book had changed hands many times, but had ended up in the collection of one Dok Ondar, an antiques merchant at Black Spire Outpost on Batuu. It was there, on Batuu, that he had last encountered her.

On Moraband, orange clouds cover the sky over huge, hellish mountains that rise up from the ground and seem to stretch on forever. The Buzzard drifts down, flying just over them. It approaches a valley between the mountains, where a great, pyramidal Sith Temple stands.

The approach to the temple is preceded by a line-up of monumental statues of the Sith Lords of old, their faces frozen in expressions of rage and malice, glaring down on those who dare cross their sacred ground. The Temple’s entrance is lined with a row of huge stone pillars. This is the Valley of the Dark Lords. The Night Buzzard lands outside the tomb.

The landing ramp juts down into the rocky ground, the seven knights trudge down the ramp and walk out, led by Kylo. All decked out in black, janky, menacing armor, and all baring different weapons. Kylo’s red saber hums and crackles.

Vicrul Ren, a Knight who has lofty ambitions and wields a phrik scythe, looks to the left wall of the valley, where there is a small cave and, just in front of the cave, remnants of a crumbling human skeleton. So old it’s become embedded into the rocky ground. A warning.

The Knights enter the Sith Temple.

Whispers and cries of ancient suffering echo through the Force, carried by the haunted winds that blow through the tomb. Kylo looks around frantically, trying to determine the source of the echoes. This crypt is where the Sith of old gathered their power through the centuries, a place of incomprehensible darkness. Many Jedi met their fate in the temple, sacrifices that concentrated the dark side’s power.

Thousands of years ago, a mysterious event known as the Great Schism split the Jedi Order in two. No one knows the true cause of the Schism, only that it led to the formation of the Sith, who fought their once brothers and sisters in the Force in a war for ultimate power over the Force. When the Jedi defeated the Sith, the Sith fled from known space, settling here, on Moraband. There, they dedicated themselves to the dark side of the Force, vowing to remain there in secret, gathering their power and exploring the unnatural depths that the dark side promised. And, when the time was right, they would strike again and defeat the Jedi, once and for all.

Kylo’s attention is pulled to a sarcophagus a small distance ahead, lit by a spotlight from above. Centered behind it is a huge statue of Darth Bane, a menacing Sith Lord of old with an imposing figure and a skull-like mask.

The Knights approach it, Kylo is entranced. A thick, smoke-like shadow wafts from it. Flecks of flame dance and shift underneath the smoke as the shadow serpent takes on the same form as the statue.

The serpent speaks, ”Why do you come to my tomb?” He looks the knights up and down. “Are you Sith?”

“We come seeking knowledge,” Kylo replies. “Of the Dark Side.”

“Surely you cannot be Jedi, with that crystal bled crimson,” the phantom sneers.

“I am the Jedi killer,” Kylo declares.

“Then you fulfill the legacy of the Sith. Do you know who I am?”

“You are Darth Bane. The Sith Lord that wrote the Rule of Two.”

“I sense you are a scholar of the Sith Arts.”

“If that pleases you.”

The phantom chuckles sinisterly by way of response. Kylo looks around at the tomb, investigating from where he stands, trying to figure something out.

“I thought that the Sith were unable to manifest their spirit beyond death,” Kuruk adds.

The spirit slithers to hover in front of Kuruk. “I am no spirit. I am but a shadow, an echo of lingering darkness tethered to the mask that resides here.”

“Then you can’t kill us,” Vicrul interjects, “can you?”

“If you challenge me, warrior, I would relish the chance to destroy you,” Darth Bane threatens braggadociously.

Kylo cuts Bane off, “There’s more to this tomb. Some hidden section. You are but a guardian.”

“I can see why you are the leader,” the serpent jests.

“I can see why you only took one apprentice.”

The shadow serpent shrinks back into the sarcophagus, which itself slides backwards, revealing stairs that lead deep down into darkness.

Kylo walks down the stairs, the Knights follow. Immediately, Kylo senses something. A presence. Something he hasn’t felt since…

Bane speaks once more, “I hope you find the knowledge you seek, Jedi killer. If the girl inside leaves any for you to take, that is.”

Kylo stops. His fists ball tightly. “No...” The air around him falls silent. The only thing he can hear is her voice.

“So you are here, too; I thought I could feel you here.”

“Did you find anything? Is there anything in the tomb?”

“Maybe. You want to come find out, Supreme Leader?” She loves using his title mockingly.

Kylo grunts in anger. “You won’t escape. I know it’s only you. We’ll hunt you— I’ll find you.”

“Oh Kylo, if there’s one thing that you’re exceptional at, it’s watching me slip through your gloved fingers. Then again...”

A yellow blade lights the darkness at the bottom of the stairs, followed by a blue blade from the other end of the same dual-sided hilt, the dual-colored glow illuminating a young woman. Ever the scavenger, the blue half is fashioned from the legacy saber which she has repaired and tinkered to her purpose, the yellow half from her old quarterstaff.

She continues with confidence, “...My abilities have doubled since the last time we crossed blades, Supreme Leader. It would be a shame for them to go unappreciated.”

And with that, the woman leaps up the stairs and crosses her blade with Kylo’s, beginning a duel.

This is Rey. She’s wearing a simple outfit with earthy tones, and a braided ponytail keeps her brunette hair out of her face. A bulky satchel hangs from her shoulder. Despite coming from nothing and bearing no notable dynastic power in her heritage, since the battle of Crait she has inherited the legacy of Luke Skywalker himself — as she is the last Jedi.

Rey is a woman of survival. She is like a feral creature; curious, practical, and resourceful, but also fierce, protective, and impatient. Similarly to Kylo, when it comes to relationships she is stuck between two instincts; to push away anyone who gets too close, and to trust anyone who proves that they’re willing to protect her. She will fight like hell to stamp her independence and prove that she doesn’t need anyone, but she’s desperately lonely. And Kylo knows it. Because that loneliness is something they share.

“Stay back! She’s mine!” He growls at his knights, then speaks only to her, “You fixed the lightsaber I see.”

“And made some improvements.”

The last time they fought, back on Batuu, she was only wielding the legacy saber, which she’d mostly fixed the hilt of but couldn’t quite stabilize the blade, making it crackle and fizz as his blade does. He can’t quite emotionally articulate why, but the fact that she’s stabilized the blade so that it’s no longer like his own feels spiteful, and it almost hurts him.

He talks more to avoid confronting those feelings, “You changed your hair. It looks good.”

“Same mask.”

Vicrul remarks, “So, this is the girl?”

Kylo grunts in response. He locks her saber-staff in place with his cross-guard and uses it to push her backwards. As he advances towards her to strike she leaps into the air, flipping over Kylo and landing between him and the other knights. Their grips on their weapons all tighten.

Rey twists the handle of her dual-saber, decoupling them to wield them as separate halves.

“Enough games, Kylo. Come on, let’s get that satchel.”

One Knight yells and swings his war club, Rey stops it with the legacy blade and Force pushes him back with her other hand, then swiping away a swing of Kylo’s lightsaber.

A second Knight sweeps his massive vibrocleaver, Rey bends backwards and crosses her sabers over her chest, the vibrocleaver passing over her, and the crossed sabers then stopping an attack from Vicrul’s phrik scythe coming down from above.

A third Knight sweeps his beskar axe underneath her, aiming for her legs, but Rey jumps up and flips backwards in the air, springing off the wall of the tomb, dodging blaster-fire from a fourth knight’s arm cannon and Kuruk’s multi-barrelled rifle, and then duck-rolling behind the Knights, free of the staircase.

Rey runs out towards the temple entrance, the Knights pursue. The blaster-armed knights keep firing, Rey dodges and deflects lasers. One charges up a bigger blast and fires. Rey curves the blast’s trajectory with the Force, sending it towards a pillar at the temple’s entrance.

Rey disengages the blades of her lightsabers and clips them back together, then using her now free hand to pull the crack in the pillar with the Force. The massive pillar wobbles. Topples.

Rey pulls it further, running out of the temple as she sends the pillar hurtling downwards through the air, about to land in front of the Knights and stop their pursuit but the pillar stops. The roof of the temple where the pillar used to support cracks. The temple rumbles. Kylo suspends the pillar in mid-air with the Force.

The knights run to exit the temple, Kylo walks out of the temple slowly behind them. Fists balled. Rey uses a burst of Force dash to lengthen the distance between herself and the knights. She runs through the valley and unclips a comms unit from her belt, holds it at speaking distance. “Artoo! Get the engines started!”

A short burst of beeps and whistles chirps through the comms unit before Rey clips the unit back to her belt.

Now she just has to remember where she parked. The twisting routes of canyons between mountains all look the same. She takes a moment to glance back, seeing the knights still a distance behind, and communes with the Force, which pulls her down a pathway between mountains.

She hops up the mountainside, leaping into a cave in the side of one of the jagged mountains, inside of which is Rey’s very own X-Wing starfighter. The paint job is the beige of her scavenger days with brown and deep red panels, and a dark blue stripe along the side. R2-D2 sits in the droid pit.

The building whir of the engine fills the cave. The support legs retract and the ship hovers, ready to receive its pilot.

Rey runs to the open cockpit and jumps up, landing in the seat. The roof comes down and Rey grasps the yoke, staring straight ahead. She pushes the yoke forward, the ship zooms out of the cave, pulling up sharply as she almost hits the mountainside in front of her, much to R2’s squealing protest.

“Sorry, sorry!”

The X-Wing shoots straight up in the air, then folds its glide back over, soaring over the valley. The Knights of Ren look up at her from the ground.

Leaving the atmosphere, flying out into space, Rey takes a moment to decompress, exhaling heavily with relief. She presses buttons on the console, calculating the jump away.

The X-Wing jumps to hyperspace with a boom, which echoes across the vast canyons of the Valley of the Dark Lords.

Vicrul looks back at their leader, who remains fixed in his place at the foot of the steps that lead up to the Temple.

Kylo’s fists are still balled with anger, holding up the pillar inside.

The Temple cracks violently, not just from the force of gravity, but from a force just as powerful — Kylo’s rage. The pillar drops with a thundering boom, and at the moment of the pillar’s impact, the Temple splits and crumbles down, the ancient monument falling to ruin.

Kylo releases with a grunt.

With insincere concern, Vicrul asks “Kylo, you good?”

It was unwise of him. His scythe clatters to the ground as his hands go up to claw at his throat.

Vicrul desperately removes his helmet, revealing a young man with pale skin, now turning purple; short, curly, brown hair; and urgent brown eyes.

Kuruk barks, “Kylo!”

Kylo releases Vicrul and he falls to the ground, catches his breath, then glares at Kylo.

He walks up to his leader, getting in his space, sizing him up.

“Vicrul, that’s enough,” Kuruk tries to depressuris

The tension rings out.

Vicrul turns away from Kylo, reaches down to pick up his helmet and scythe. Holding his helmet under his arm, he uses his free hand to rub his neck. He glares over his shoulder at Kylo again.

Hoarsely, Vicrul dares to continue, “We could have caught her. If you weren’t so distracted—”

Kuruk cuts him off, “Vicrul. Enough. Let’s just get out of here.”

The Knights walk to the Night Buzzard, leaving Kylo standing in place.

Snoke, Hux, and now Vicrul — everyone always accuses him of being distracted, of letting his personal interests get in the way of his missions. It never ceases to royally piss him off. They don’t see the bigger picture. When it was the search for Skywalker that ‘distracted’ him, well. If Crait proved anything it was why it was critical that the First Order should have found Skywalker before the Resistance did.

And now, his new distraction. The girl. From the moment he took her from the forest on Takodana, he had felt something, some strange connection he couldn't explain. It was as though they were meant to meet, as though they had each been waiting thousands of years for the moment they wandered into each other’s lives and their destinies collided.

When it comes to the girl, all other tasks and missions become secondary. She’s brimming with raw power in the Force, and only growing stronger. He’s certain that she can be turned. That he can be the one to turn her. And when he does, there won’t be a force in the universe that can stop the strength of them together.

Kylo pauses for a moment, shakes out the remaining buzz of his temper, then walks to the Night Buzzard as the engines begin to whir to life.

***

The hyperspace tunnel of flashing blue light surrounds Rey’s X-Wing. She reaches for her satchel, pulls out its bulky contents, holding in her hand a red, metallic triangle with ornate, intricate golden styling. A Sith holocron.

She inspects it, turning it over. Her scavenger instincts tell her it’s very old, very valuable, and damn-near impenetrable. She tries twisting the vertices and faces, attempting to force it to unlock, but it won’t budge.

R2-D2 emits an inquisitive beep.

Rey explains, ”It’s a Sith Holocron. Inside is a recording from a thousand years ago, some ancient secret of the Sith.”

The droid bloops an intrigued reaction.

”Yeah, I know. Pretty cool. And I’m hoping that it might help me understand the Great Schism.”

The astromech chirps a question.

”The event that separated the Sith and the Jedi.”

A beep indicates Artoo’s understanding.

”For some reason, all the Jedi Texts just kind of brush over it, but I need to understand what went wrong in order to begin to finally make things right.”

The droid whistles encouragingly.

“Thank you, Artoo. I hope so.”

Silence lapses in the cockpit. Settling in for the journey, Artoo transitions to low power mode. Rey listens to the gentle, thunder-like purr of hyperspace around her. Looking at the Sith Holocron, her thoughts wander to the ancient Sith and Jedi. Having spent countless hours in the last few weeks scouring through the sacred texts, Rey feels a melancholy kind of connection with them. It’s as though she can feel the weight of their legacy extending through thousands of generations, reaching to her, asking her to make right what had gone wrong so very long ago.

Luke gave her the means to start her work, but she needed to find the root cause of the Jedi’s self-righteous hubris, their stoic passivity, their fear of emotion. She needed to find what happened all those milennia ago that set them on that path, that broke the order, that started the Sith-Jedi Wars, that led to the seduction of Vader, the fall of the Jedi, and the rise of the Empire.

She needed to find what the key was to true, everlasting balance, if there even was one. Why did vanquishing the dark, as Anakin Skywalker did when he defeated Sidious, not bring balance? Was the dark side even meant to be vanquished entirely? Did it hold some greater secret?

And then there was her connection with Kylo Ren. Something she couldn’t shake the feeling of was the notion that their strange bond held some clue to all this, to the balance, to her place in all of this.

It was a lot of responsibility to bear, holding a legacy on her shoulders as noble, powerful, and historic as the Jedi itself.

And it filled her with embarrassment that the first thing that occurred to her was that Kylo might know something about that feeling being a burden, if she confided in him.

Chapter Text

TZ-1719 is surrounded by darkness. She’s alone and restrained in a chair in a reconditioning cell. The chair provides the only source of light in the room, a deep red dull glow at the base of the chair. The dark and the red swim in her sight-line. There’s no geometry for her vision to latch to. She hasn’t had a good day in a long time.

As a Stormtrooper in the First Order’s reconditioning, you are only ever brought out of your cell for three things: sustenance, supervised recreation, and punishment.

For sustenance, you eat a brown, jelly-like block of nutrients that has a strong, awful flavor. For supervised recreation, you are made to run laps around a courtyard and complete drilled exercises. You are to do so in total silence. Prisoners who are caught communicating will be targeted extra harshly in punishment. Prisoners targeted for punishment, other than those who have broken prison rules, are selected at random. For punishment, there’s no guessing what each new day will bring.

There’s some sadist far up the First Order chain who Snoke gave free reign on composing a repertoire of torture for disloyal Stormtroopers. Urban legend says that it was even Snoke himself. No Trooper is ever kept in the reconditioning facilities long enough to receive the full repertoire.

Other than those three things, you are in your cell. Your cell is on a timed program. There’s a time block of unstimulated confinement. It goes for an indeterminate length of time. You’re left alone with your thoughts until you have nothing left to think, nothing left to feel. Then, there’s a time block of stimulated confinement.

A vertical stripe of white light circles the room at a hypnotic speed, creating a low hum as it passes around.

"You are nothing," Snoke's crotchety voice whispers from the speakers. "You are no one. Your sole purpose is to serve the First Order."

The recording repeats, and the stripe of light passes around again, "You are nothing. You are no one. Your sole purpose is to serve the First Order.”

The stripe of light is blindingly bright against the darkness that surrounds you.

“You are nothing. You are no one. Your sole purpose is to serve the First Order.”

This is what it feels like being a Stormtrooper in the First Order’s reconditioning program. After eating those awful blocks, after running laps and drills, after enduring whatever unthinkable punishment the First Order subjects you to and then being brought back to your cell, after hours of unstimulated confinement before that blinding stripe tears into your vision that had spent so long adjusting to the dark, you start to believe that horrible voice.

Halfway through the stripe’s humming pass around TZ-1719’s cell, it deactivates. The red light circle around the chair's base also turns off, and the cell is flooded with a cool white light. The restraints on her chair retract and instinctively she stands up, looking around frantically and frightened. The door opens, and TZ-1719 runs to the back wall of the cell, pressing her arms against it.

You are only ever brought out of your cell for three things. Sustenance, supervised recreation, and punishment.

No, four things.

You are also brought out of your cell for freedom.

"Everyone, it's okay. This is a rescue. We're with the Resistance, and we're getting you out," a voice calls out from outside the cell.

TZ-1719 turns her head over her shoulder to look at the open cell door, unsure. Outside the cell, three helmetless Stormtroopers — no, Resistance soldiers — stand in the middle of the corridor. The immediately striking thing about the line-up of the three of them is how short one of the three is compared to the other two. The next striking thing is how magnetic all three are to look at. Standing proud, a twinkle of adventure in their eyes, just looking at them all, you can tell that they’re heroes.

These are Finn, Rose, and Poe. And they are the very best of heroes that the Resistance has to offer.

The prisoners all meekly walk out of their cells.

The voice who beckoned them out continues, “My name is Finn. I’m the one who defeated Phasma. We’re here to help you. Follow us.”

And it’s those words in particular, knowing that their savior is Finn — the Finn — that unites the prisoners in a hope they haven’t dared to feel in a long time.

The three Resistance heroes and all the escapees pack into an elevator at the end of the cell hall. Finn lifts his wrist to speak into a comms unit. “We’re done here, come on down.”

A charming, older voice comes through the comms unit, “On our way.”

Poe lifts his wrist to speak into a comms unit, “Beebeeate, we’re all in elevator L6, take us up.”

A droid chirps through the hero’s comms unit. The elevator doors close and the lift starts traveling upwards and they’re doing it. They’re actually doing it. They’re actually going to escape.

The elevator jolts to a stop. The lights go red, an alarm blares. An announcement comes through the facility’s speakers, “This is not a drill. A breach has been detected. Targets have been located in elevator L6. Follow instructions from your unit captains, do not let them escape. Reinforcements have been requested and are on their way to assist.”

The announcement repeats.

Poe speaks again, “Hey buddy? You still there?”

BB-8 bleeps anxiously.

“Locked out of the system?! Can you get back in?!”

The droid squawks back urgently.

The elevator doors open. The lift is stuck between the elevator chute and the floor below, leaving a small gap where anyone in the corridor could see into the elevator. Troopers clatter towards the lift.

The shorter Resistance hero springs into action, popping open the control panel to mess around with the wiring.

This is Rose Tico. She can fix anything, and she’s a friend to everyone. She’s kind, and fiesty, and her smile is itself a beaming beacon of hope. Recently promoted from Mechanic all the way to Captain, she is a true Resistance hero. Legend has it she even saved the great Finn from blowing himself up in the battle of Crait, after which he couldn’t help but fall in love with her.

Stormtroopers start firing through the gap and everyone tries to avoid being hit by a stray blast just as Rose sparks a wire, closing the doors. She exhales with great relief. The elevator jolts again, traveling upwards.

Poe speaks to the droid again, “Beebee, is this you?”

BB-8 chirps.

“Good.”

The elevator slows and the doors open, revealing the exit corridor.

A small ball-shaped orange and white droid, assumedly BB-8, is plugged into a control panel near the doors. Everyone jogs through the corridor towards the exit with the trio of heroes in the front, leading the way. The doors open, revealing on the other side is a snowy valley between mountains.

BB-8 cheeps and whistles.

“Good to see you too, buddy,” says Poe.

The escapees all run towards the exit and out into the snowy valley. A junky old Corellian freighter comes down from the sky quickly and stops hard, before slowing to a gentle land, and the escapees realize that this isn’t just any old junky freighter, this is the Millenium Falcon. The Resistance’s flagship, a hunk of junk of almost mythic status, and the most wanted ship in the galaxy.

The landing ramp comes down.

Finn directs, “Everyone on!”

The escapees all start running onto the Falcon. Finn and the other two heroes all turn back towards the open exit door of the facility, aiming their blasters. BB-8 rolls onto the Falcon.

In the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon, Chewbacca, from the captain’s seat, moan-talks to Lando Calrissian, who sits in the co-pilot’s seat.

Lando replies to the wookiee, “No, no, it was great landing. Very smooth.”

As the last escapees make it onto the Falcon, the elevator doors inside the facility open and a squadron of Prison Troopers come charging out. They fire towards the Falcon as Finn and the other two heroes all run up the landing ramp.

Finn yells out, “Chewie, get us outta here!”

Chewie and Lando flick switches, pull levers, and press buttons, and with a mighty roar of the engine, the Falcon lifts off the ground and takes to the sky.

The freighter flies away from the facility as Troopers continue to shoot at it, it ascends straight upwards, the blue sky fading to a twinkling star-field as they break past the atmosphere.

Poe and Rose enter the cockpit. Lando flicks more switches.

“Calculating jump to hyperspace, ready in three... Two—”

Announcing its arrival with a boom, above them, a Star Destroyer appears from hyperspace.

“Abort!” Lando reaches up and pulls a handle. Chewie veers the yoke in another direction and the ship turns suddenly.

“Well, that’ll be reinforcements,” Poe remarks.

Lando orders his crew, “They’ll be sending out TIE Fighters any second; get in the gunners, we’ll try and get us outta here in one piece.”

Rose and Poe speak over each other to volunteer for gunner, then run out of the cockpit to the ladder that separates the gunner positions. Poe goes up, Rose goes down.

Poe climbs into the gunner’s seat, flicking switches. The gun targeting lights up. Rose, already in her seat, grasps the yoke firmly. She takes a deep breath, focuses. TIE Fighters swarm out of the Star Destroyer in the dozens. The Falcon ducks and dodges, weaving through the swarm of Fighters, avoiding TIE fire.

Rose lines TIEs up with the targeting computer, squeezes the trigger. It’s a perfect shot, she lets out an enthusiastic “Woo!”

“Nice shot!” Poe comments in support as he swings around in his seat, trying to center a TIE in the target. He lines up three TIEs in the bullseye and fires, skewering them with a laser bolt.

Rose grins, “No way, that was awesome!”

Poe laughs giddily. He just loves this.

This is Poe Dameron. The best pilot in the Resistance, the man who can fly anything. Impossibly brave, sometimes stupidly so, but above all the man who will do whatever it takes to win the day — a hero if there ever was one. He first established that title by being the best at zipping around in a starfighter and blowing up bad guys, but he’s since earned it a thousand-fold in his ability to prioritize caring for the people around him above all else.

The Falcon weaves past the last TIE. Lando pushes buttons as if conducting a symphony. There’s a boyish fierceness in his eyes, a gleefulness behind his dashing smirk, which hasn’t gotten any less dashing with age. He talks gently to the ship, “Alright now L3, just a little boost to get ahead of ‘em.” He touches the console as though she can feel his fingers on her, just so. He pulls a lever, the Falcon skips ahead a few hundred meters, lighting up a brilliant blue trail behind.

He claps and grins, ”Beautiful, baby!”

Chewie groans an instruction.

Lando nods, “Activating tracking scrambler!”

He flicks a switch, Chewie flicks several, setting co-ordinates.

Chewie barks a two-word instruction understandable by all who’ve ever set foot in a cockpit.

Lando affirms, “Punching!” and pulls the jump lever.

Trails of light swirl around the Falcon, transitioning from starlight with a boom to an enchanting tunnel of shimmering, shifting blues.

In the Falcon’s lounge, the escapees all sit, some on the couches, some cross-legged on the floor. They all look to Finn, inspired, as he speaks to them, Rose and Poe by his side.

”Now, we understand if any of you don’t want to come to the Resistance, if you just want to run. That’s okay, I did too, once. We’ll drop you off at Black Spire Outpost on Batuu, and you can disappear. But if anyone wants to join the fight against the people that took you and brainwashed you into being their killing machines... The Resistance has a place for you.”

This is Finn. Former Stormtrooper, now a leader of the Resistance, and a living legend. He first became a legend among the Resistance, defecting from the First Order and providing crucial intel to the Resistance that led to victory on Starkiller Base. But he truly ascended as a legend spread among the common folk, and even among the ranks of the First Order themselves, for what followed; a daring chase that tore havoc through the lavish streets of Canto Bight, and then taking down Captain Phasma herself.

Not long ago, Finn would have run away from that legendary status, and tried just about anything to convince you that he was no hero, no legend worth celebrating — he was just a man who tried to run, and ended up right in the middle of a war. But since Rose had helped him learn the importance of being dedicated to the cause that wild night on Canto Bight, Finn was hell bent on burning the First Order to the ground. And he actually had come to quite like playing the legend.

TZ-1719 speaks up, “Is it true you killed Phasma?”

Finn smiles proudly. “Yeah, it’s true.”

His audience murmurs excitedly.

“I was there,” Rose adds. “It was... Epic.”

Finn continues, “The first thing you should all do is pick yourself a name. Give yourself an identity. Find what you love and hold onto it; in the end, the only thing that matters is love.”

***

Citizens of Black Spire Outpost clear out of the way as the Falcon lands on the ground of Batuu, where Maz Kanata awaits its arrival. The landing ramp descends. Finn leads nine of the escapees down the ramp, TZ-1719 among them. They look around Black Spire Outpost, enchanted by their freedom.

Finn approaches Maz and greets her, then turns back to the nine and says kindly, “Everyone, this is Maz. She’ll help you find where you belong.”

TZ-1719 feels invited by his kindness to share, ”I want to see the galaxy, every inch of it.”

“I’ll take you to Hondo,” Maz says, smiling warmly, “he’ll get you a transport.”

Finn interjects, “Whatever you do, don’t let him start telling you stories of his daring heists or he’ll never stop.”

Maz laughs. “Finn, you’d better get going. There’s quite a hefty bounty on that ship.”

“Right you are. But first,” and he turns back again to the nine and says, “when you’re ready, I’d like to hear your new names.”

One by one, they all introduce themselves, no longer as a number code, but as people with names, and dreams, and freedom.

The woman who was once TZ-1719 smiles at Finn and says her name with pride and a promise of adventure. “Jannah.”

She’s calm, at peace. Free.

Finn smiles. “I hope we see each other again. Good luck out there. And may the Force be with you.”

Finn smiles at them one last time, then turns back and runs up the Falcon ramp.

Jannah calls out, “Finn.”

He turns back.

“Do you really think there’s hope? That the First Order might be defeated?”

Finn considers his response. When he speaks, he does so as Finn the legend, as a beacon of his mentor, Leia’s philosophy of rebellion, and as his true love, Rose Tico. He says the simplest thing, the only thing he could say. “There is always hope.”

He turns back and disappears into the ship. The landing ramp closes behind him.

Jannah and the other escapees watch as the Falcon lifts off the ground, turns around, and soars up to the sky, all of them ready to begin their new adventure; their new life.

***

The Falcon slows out of hyperspace, approaching a lush planet that swirls with blue, green, and white — Azzah, the sanctuary of the rebellion. The Falcon descends through heavenly, white clouds.

Finn continues his rousing onboarding of the escapees, “One thing I want to make very clear. It can be easy to make fun of the ones we leave behind. The ones who run. But it is not a shameful thing to run. None of this is easy.” His words hit all of the escapees right where they need them to. They hang onto every word he says. When Finn the legend is the one who talks, he could lead a ten-man team to victory on inspiration alone.

“It’s not easy to break free of the First Order; they do everything they can to sink their claws deep in your mind. In your soul. So, be proud of the fact that all of us here could break free. Be proud that you ran. And be proud of where you’re running to.” A wave of proud smiles ripple through the crowd. They all look at each other.

There’s a moment of recognition anew. These are their brothers, these are their sisters, these are their people. They are a kin, they are a family. They have found each other. They will fight together, to the end.

“You are no longer Stormtroopers. I name you: Stormrunners. So, Stormrunners, welcome. To the Resistance.”

The clouds part, revealing a jungle paradise of lush green. Towering rainforest trees hide the Resistance base. A field of tents in a large clearing in the rainforest. Beyond the tents is a line-up of ships, which the Falcon approaches.

The Falcon glides down, flying through the base. Soldiers on the ground cheer its arrival. It arrives right at the end of the line-up of ships, where it pulls in and parks on the ground.

Everyone crowds around the Falcon, happy to see their flagship returned safely. The Resistance has grown immensely since the battle of Crait. Their careful, lucrative recruitment vectors have brought in people through Leia’s allies, through Maz and Hondo’s various bands of outlaws, and Lando’s spy network, but most of all through Finn’s Stormtrooper rescue program. Even their numbers at the time of the battle of Starkiller Base don’t compare.

But, as many as they number, they are still outmatched and outnumbered by the First Order. Even with the First Order ceasing involuntary recruitment under Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, there are unfortunately many in the galaxy who find a return to the days of the Empire a comforting notion. The First Order’s command of propaganda, and the silencing of all other communication, has been instrumental in their own recruitment efforts.

Join the First Order in the fight for galactic peace has become a trance, transmitting over and over again, filling up airspace until it bluntly breaks its way into the mainstream. It lulls them into submission before they can rebel and invite those violent repercussions that expose them for what they are. When they can’t see the terror of the First Order’s authoritarian violence and grab for total control, what many of the galaxy see is stability, which they have come to crave since the fall of the Empire.

And those who remember the Empire as it really was, who see the First Order’s promise of stability as a threat for its brutally violent maintenance, know what happens to those who speak up.

Among the crowd on Azzah is General Leia Organa, wearing an elegant, lavender dress. She leans on her cane, with Rey by her side, the Jedi still carrying her bulky satchel.

“You’ve been quiet since you got back,” Leia comments.

Rey sighs. “I’m just tired.”

“War’ll do that.” Leia eyes Rey’s satchel. “New toy?”

“Sith Holocron. I don’t know how to open it yet though. The Jedi Texts are surprisingly light on information about the Sith.”

Leia smirks. “You’ll figure it out, I’m sure.” She reads something on Rey’s face, a pain she recognises. “You saw him again, didn’t you?”

Rey nods solemnly. “First time since when we were staying at Batuu.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It just hurts feeling the darkness that surrounds him. I know that the light is somewhere in there, but he’s buried it so deep. And he’s in pain.”

Leia tries not to let her struggle with this news show.

The Falcon’s landing ramp descends. Lando and Chewie walk down the ramp first, to a rousing applause. Lando and Chewie are followed by Rose, Poe, and Finn, who are all now wearing the black sweater and cargo pants that go underneath the Stormtrooper armor. The three are then followed by the escapees — the Stormrunners — who receive a new wave of welcoming applause.

Leia continues to Rey, quietly, “I think he knows that he’s hurting. And he knows what he has to do, to find his way home. But, as I’ve told you before, he has to make that decision himself. All we can do is be patient and hope.”

Finn and Rose run to Rey and wrap her in an enthusiastic hug, Rey’s smile fills with love, warmth, and glee.

“Poe, get in here!” Rose says with a giggle.

Rose’s joy is contagious, and Rey finds herself smiling and saying, “Yeah, come on Poe!”

Ever the cool guy, Poe shakes his head. “I think you guys have got it all covered without me.”

“Come on buddy,” Finn says as he makes a space for him in the group hug. Poe relents. He walks towards the group hug and wraps his own arms around them all. BB-8 circles around them, then nuzzles up against Poe’s leg.

Leia looks at the happy scene of a family reunion with a sad smile, filled with longing.

“Begin the de-briefing without me. I need a walk,” Leia says before walking away from the Resistance crowd. From the group hug, Rey watches Leia walk away, concerned.

The more that Rey has gotten to know Leia, the more she understands that they can be very alike in their tendency to only show the emotions that are powerful enough to breach the surface, and that if you can tell that Leia is upset about something, you could count on there being a lot more feeling behind it than she lets on.

Chapter Text

Leia comes to a clearing in the rainforest. She’s alone, and far from any potential company. She leans against a mighty tree for strength, because she feels herself losing hers. Her face crumples into a devastating anguished cry, and all the bottled-up grief comes pouring out of her.

She slides down the tree, sitting on the ground with her back against the trunk. Leia heaves sobbing breaths and just keeps letting layers of grief release themselves, layers that have been kept at bay for anywhere between days and decades.

Out of the inner pocket of her vest, she pulls out a pair of golden dice on a chain that once belonged to her husband. She looks at them with reverence and mourning. The woman defined by tenacious hope and ferocious determination has never looked more hopeless and vulnerable.

Leia's grief has this way of hiding just beneath the surface of everything, and having no law about when she's had one reminder too many. Of all she's lost, of all who have left her behind. Leia's grief is a leather jacket, like the one she used to wrap her arms around. It's mighty trees, like the ones she used to climb. It's a ragtag group of rebels embracing after returning from their missions.

Leia walks in a world of ghosts. Ghosts of what were. Ghosts of what might have been. Ghosts of what could never again be.

Slowly, she begins to steady her breathing. She wipes her tears, then closes her eyes.

At least there's one ghost who can still answer her when she calls on them.

The shimmering, pale-blue ghostly form of her brother, Luke Skywalker appears in front of her. There's a stillness as he waits for her to speak.

“Have you talked to him?”

He nods, “I’m trying. He doesn’t want to see me.”

“Of course. He has Han’s stubbornness.”

Luke smiles kindly. “I think he got that from both of you.”

Leia lets out a laugh that aches. He takes a seat next to her at the base of the tree. He looks around, taking in the forest's majesty.

“This is a beautiful planet,” he remarks. “Full of life.”

“You should’ve seen Rey’s face when we first arrived.”

“I know the feeling. Stuck on a desert nowhere your whole life, everywhere else seems like paradise.” He thinks for a moment, a twinkle shining in his eyes as he recalls a story. “You know, there are legends that Tatooine used to be a lush jungle planet, much like this one. If that were true, it must have been a long, long time ago.”

Leia lets silence lapse again. She's gathering courage. There's a question she needs to ask, one that's weighed on her. “What did you see? In his head, that night. What did you see that made you...” She can't finish the question, trailing off.

Luke answers with a weight in his voice, the memory a heavy burden in his heart, “I saw my temple burning. The corpses of my students. And I felt... Cold. And a voice. A dark, terrible voice that whispered terrible things. I knew. I knew as soon as I... ignited my saber that it was wrong. If I’d have just... Talked to him. Understood him...”

Beneath his words, Leia can hear him say what she knows that he feels to be true. ‘I failed’.

“We all failed him,” Leia shakes her head. “All of us. We thought we knew how to help him, but never asked what he wanted. What he needed.”

“I’m sorry, Leia.”

Leia pauses, taking deep, steadying breaths. It breaks her heart — and she's fed up with heartbreak — that she can't tell him that she forgives him. She wants to, with all of her very nature and her soul she wants to forgive, to be compassionate beyond all limits of the word. But the most she can manage to feel is that she's glad he's with her, even though she doesn't forgive him, not yet at least. The wound is too deep, and still raw.

“Please,” she starts, “try to reach him again. Just tell him... It isn’t too late.”

Luke nods, “I will.”

“Thank you.”

Luke fades away, leaving Leia alone in the clearing.

***

Starkiller Base served two important functions to the First Order. At once, a superweapon of near-impossible magnitude, and a centralised base of operations. The Resistance's obliteration of the base was a massive disruption to their long-term plans. But the First Order was built on a foundation of contingency. Snoke knew that the Order wouldn't survive with only one planned superbase, such that the inevitable resistance or rebellion could lord over the destruction of as their ultimate victory. So, the explosion of Starkiller only accelerated the contingencies’ production and deployment.

All throughout the galaxy, scrappers and scavengers had been contracted for years with a quota of ship parts, shipped to Outer Rim building sites, where the First Order's fleet was built. Among the fleet's construction, roughly 50 massive spacecraft carriers had been built, positioned as remote bases in strategic orbital paths to maximize hyperlane coverage. Each of these carriers had capacity for 90 Star Destroyers, and were manned by up to 5000 personnel.

But god among them all was the Capitol Ship. A gigantic prismic obelisk, large enough to black out a sun. An immense rib-cage of hangars that held 300 Star Destroyers, 150 Dreadnoughts, over 40,000 TIEs, and a crew of millions.

If the scrappers and scavengers knew what they were helping to build, who their masters’ clients were, perhaps they wouldn't do it. But the power of Snoke's Order was the understanding of a series of fundamental truths.

The galaxy is full of desperate people, people who have little to no agency over their labour, subject to the bidding of their masters. Masters don't ask questions, and desperate people will do near anything for a portion.

In the throne room of the First Order Capitol Ship, Kylo sulks on his throne. On each arm sits a helmet, one of Kylo’s, the other the gnarled helmet of Vader. The Throne Room itself doesn’t have the rich red of Snoke’s, just a deep black; a total void that commands one to look at Supreme Leader Kylo Ren.

He looks from one helmet to the other, settling on the Vader helmet. He picks it up and holds it out, staring at it.

“Grandfather...” He closes his eyes, concentrating his prayer. “I have given everything to the Dark Side. I killed my master. I control the galaxy. I have finished what you started... So why do I feel so powerless?”

His words ring out. The Vader helmet stares blankly back at him.

When he had first touched it, it had sent him tumbling into a vision, an echo of the great and terrible darkness those lifeless eyes had seen. Of oceans of fire and rivers of blood. And the terror, the pure, cold terror. A chilling, shifting voice that shivered Kylo's very soul had boomed, “You don't know the power of the Dark Side; it is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural. And it is your destiny.”

He saw mountains of corpses. He saw a great dragon of smoke. He felt the magnitude of lives that had been taken by this creature. He had felt the power buzzing through him, and it felt right. His skin felt alive with electricity, and in an instant he craved that power, that euphoria, that feeling of total freedom and control.

It had left a void in its wake. Searching for purpose in the Dark left him feeling as though he was trying to catch sand.

There is a rumble in the force. Kylo senses it, a presence. His vulnerable eyes are lost, pleading for guidance. But the presence is not the Skywalker he hoped to hear.

“Ben.” His uncle. Luke Skywalker, the gallant and self-righteous fool his mother had no doubt staked her hopes on. “The light calls you. Let it in.”

Kylo opens his eyes. They're red and raw, consumed by rage and misery. He speaks with a low, soft growl, “Leave me be.”

The rumble fades. Kylo hangs his head in anguish as once again he is alone.

***

Though they had come away with a collection of Stormrunners to add to their fleet, the rescue was the secondary objective to the mission. In fact, the rescue was a cover for the true primary objective: planting a bug in the First Order's communications network.

The bug was a clever little piece of software cooked up by a friend of Maz's, the very Master Codebreaker that Finn and Rose had failed to meet on Canto Bight. It hid behind the communications terminal's ‘send message’ input and intercepted whatever was about to send, transmitting the message to one of the many Star Destroyers in the First Order's immense fleet. Only, it wasn't a Star Destroyer, it was the Resistance's comms network.

To achieve this, MC had also had to enter the source code of the First Order's ERP system and change the unit validation to allow for just one more ship. The fact that it had taken the Master Codebreaker the better part of 3 months to crack it was both impressive and an indicator of the challenge; a lesser hacker would have taken at least a year.

And, because the man was pure class, before he got to work on the bug he had also gifted them a hyperspace tracking scrambler. Very simple software, but the simplicity was the beauty of it. The scrambler still transmitted a tracking signature — the kind that the First Order would be tracing — only, it offset the TS address so as to look like the ship was going to a different system. Once the First Order had made their jump to follow them, they would be too late to recalculate the jump trajectory and the Resistance would be away, free.

With the bug now successfully planted, they had the best advantage they could hope for in times like these: time to prepare a hasty escape.

“We anticipate that the next few weeks are gonna be slow,” Poe explains to the gathered Resistance, “but slow is good, slow is alive.

“Our main goal right now is to survive and build our numbers, in whatever way we can. They hit us hard with the signal jammer; we’ve been looking, but we can’t seem to find any way around it.”

Finn picks up his thread, “We have virtually no way of contacting any allies we have who aren’t here among us. Most of them don’t even know where we are anymore.”

Poe continues, “Which is a good thing in some ways; no one can sell us out if they don’t have our location to begin with. But we simply can’t launch an attack on the First Order until we have enough people backing us up. There’s too many of them, and not enough of us in one place.”

Whispers scurry through the gathered Resistance. It takes great effort and skill to tell revolutionaries to be patient.

Finn cuts off the whispers, “The day for the galaxy to stand together against the First Order is coming. What we’re doing now is building our numbers in any way we can, spreading our message.”

It's a solid redirect, it communicates that what feels passive on the ground is active in the bigger picture. Rose picks it up, “Right now, the best way we’re getting our message out is through stories. Legends. It’s something no tech can suppress. It’s what people have turned to for hope since the beginning of history.”

But still, doubtful murmurs skitter through the crowd.

Rose speaks with a stamp of confidence, it silences them again, “It might feel like we’re not doing enough. But what we’re doing is gathering kindling; so that when we can find a way to light the fire of hope, it’ll burn bright across the galaxy.”

There are allies out there. There are even enough to take the First Order down. They’re out there. But they are, all of them, afraid. Afraid that they are alone, that they are the abnormal ones. The only ones willing to continue the fight in a galaxy that's so tired of fighting. They copy the consensus around them to survive, and day by day it gets a little easier to pretend. But there's that itch in the soul that remains, that something is wrong with the world around them.

This is what it feels like to be a radical in a galaxy that's under First Order control. You see the hidden violence in everything. You see the propaganda slither its way into every platform. The screams of oppression become so many that it becomes white noise. You're so angry all the time until all you can feel is numb. You're paranoid about your neighbours, your coworkers, your family. Not what they would think, but what they might do if they found out what you are. You hear stories of people being disappeared and you wonder how long you've got left.

You spend your nights running odds. Calculating if your chances are better staying put and keeping your head down, or finding someone who can clean your slate, or joining a local Resistance cell. What have you got left to lose? That list shrinks every day, but if you're still holding on it's because there's still something left for you to protect. Maybe it's a person, or maybe it's just holding onto the last blink of normal you can cling to, because you know that once you cut and run, everything will change permanently and you don't know if you're ready.

You commit yourself to just another day, just another day, and maybe tomorrow the calculation will have a different solution but you can do another day. The vice of tyranny closes in around you. White noise roars. You are silent. You see but you choose not to. Just another day, just another day. You're waiting, but you don't know what for. You're afraid that when you decide to join the fight it will be too late. You're afraid it already is. Just another day.

Just another day…

***

On the First Order Capitol Ship, Hux sits at his desk in his quarters. He sips tarine tea from a dark grey cup and reads a holo-book — ‘War As An Expression of Culture’ by Grand Admiral Thrawn. The room has little to it. The desk is about the same size as the bed, and other than reading, it is where Hux devises the technological advancements that shall beckon the First Order’s glorious victory.

There is a knock at the door.

“Enter,” Hux says, and the door slides open revealing Vicrul Ren. “Vicrul. Something for me?”

Vicrul enters, the door shuts behind him. He removes his helmet and speaks. “We met the girl.”

“And? Could she have done it?”

“She’s a competent fighter,” Vicrul supposes, “it’s possible.”

“Very well. Thank you.”

“Though, there is another question that fascinates me far more.”

“Go on,” Hux said, intrigued.

Vicrul Ren is a man with a scientific approach to logic. He collects information, stews on it, strategises, experiments, and only acts when he’s sure he’s proved his hypothesis. Hux might like to think he’s the same, and sometimes he can be, but often he’s a fraction too impulsive for Vicrul’s liking. Their partnership extends some years back, bonding first over a shared distaste for Kylo Ren, which Vicrul noted may prove useful later, as well as a shared desire for greater power.

Though, luckily, their desire for power was not mutually exclusive; Hux had ambitions to rule the galaxy as Supreme Leader, whereas Vicrul desired the uninhibited power to wield the Force. He has long studied the history and cursed weapons of the Sith, such is his purpose as a Knight in the order of Ren. The Knights are all Force-sensitive, but weak and untrained, preferring instead to use their melee weapons and martial prowess. But Vicrul has greater ambition, and with his hypothesis proved, it is time for him to strike.

“Whether or not the girl could have killed Snoke and six guards, all we have there is speculation. But... I find myself wondering. Six guards and the Supreme Leader, all killed. No survivors. But Kylo Ren was left alive. She left him alive. Her enemy. Why? It seems as though, as distracted as Kylo is about her, she feels, at least somewhat, the same for him.”

“What exactly do you suggest?” Hux was completely in Vicrul’s palm.

“You know as well as I, Kylo’s always letting himself be distracted by his personal interests. Could the girl have dispensed of Snoke and six guards, rendering Kylo unconscious, all single-handedly? Perhaps. But if this girl were the object of Kylo’s desire, would he kill for her? Commit treason for her? Absolutely.”

Hux fails to hide his excitement, “If what you suggest — and what I suspect — is true, then Kylo Ren is an enemy of the First Order.”

“Indeed. And there’s something else. What do you know of Snoke’s Ring?”

”Nothing. Why?”

“Kylo has it. But he’s keeping it secret. It must be somewhere in his quarters.”

“So?”

“The Knights of Ren collect Sith artifacts. If Kylo’s keeping one to himself, it must be something powerful.”

This is Vicrul’s second hypothesis. He had read in the ‘Book of the Sith’ — where they had found the location of Moraband — of the legends of Mustafar and the obsidian cave. There was once a vast system of such caves under the surface of Mustafar, that led to the life-giving heart of the planet: the Bright Star.

The Bright Star was worshipped by the Mustafarians for its power to heal the sick, to grant longer life, to imbue fertility upon wanting mothers, and on the soil of the land. It was said that even the obsidian of the caves themselves were filled with the Bright Star’s power.

When the Sith came to Mustafar, they erected a Sith shrine in order to seek the secrets of eternal life. They learned in their studies that the black crystal of the caves seemed to hold memory, and were certain that it was in the dark gems that they would find the secret to preserving and manifesting the spirit beyond death.

Unfortunately, when the Jedi found the Temple, there was a great battle that resulted in the total collapse of the cave systems and the closing of all entrances to the planet heart. The buried entrances remained lost until one was later rediscovered and cleared out by a Sith Lord who once again sought the secrets of eternal life, named Darth Plagueis the Wise.

“A weapon?” Hux posits.

“Perhaps.” Vicrul knows that the potential of the Ring being a weapon will entice Hux’s help more than the truth.

“I’ll override the security codes to let you into his quarters. Find it. And then, together, we can destroy him.”

Vicrul smirks, “Careful Hux; you speak treason.”

Hux grins. “Fluently.”

***

Kylo’s quarters are about double the size of Hux’s, but punishingly minimalistic. There’s a small bed, a bunch of gym equipment, and a desk with a holo-puck and a lamp on it, as well as a potted Jakku cactus. Everything is varying shades of black to dark-gray.

The door opens and Vicrul enters, sneaking. He looks around at everything, trying to determine where Kylo might hide something.

Seeing the holo-puck on the desk, curiosity gets the better of him. He picks up the holo-puck and turns it on, conjuring the image of the scavenger girl’s “WANTED” poster. Vicrul shakes his head, not wanting to know why in the galaxy that that’s the last image Kylo was looking at. He turns off the holo-puck and returns it to the desk.

He opens a drawer in the desk, revealing a small, black box. He picks up the box, inspecting it closely, then opens the box. Inside is Snoke’s ring. Golden and gnarly, with a tall, obsidian jewel on it, the golden body of the ring engraved with runes, which Vicrul recognizes the shape of from the Book of the Sith.

Dark whispers in some ancient language hiss through the air as he looks at it, and he swears he feels it looking back at him. There’s a deep rumble that shakes his soul. Vicrul is entranced by the ring. A blood-red glow shimmers within the black jewel.

He speaks to the ring, “Hello, pretty thing... What are you?”

In his mind, a chilling, twisted voice speaks. “I am death.”

Vicrul tries not to be unsettled. “Who are you?”

“Darth Sidious.”

He knows the name well, and now he understands the true purpose of the ring, and why Snoke wore it. “The old Emperor. Of course; Snoke worked with you to build the First Order, from the ashes of the Empire.”

“It was written, as the First Order of the Empire; that if it should fall, the weak would be burned away, and the Empire’s might would rise again from the ashes, its power a thousandfold.” The voice’s tone shifts from a declaration of power to an intimate whisper. ”Tell me, my boy. What is it you most desire?”

“The power of the Force. Unnatural, unlimited.”

“Bear the ring, my apprentice. Wield my power. Together, we can fulfill the great destiny of the Sith.”

Vicrul reaches out to the ring. He picks it up, out of the box, then places the box down on the desk. He slides the ring onto his finger and closes his eyes, feeling the power of the cursed ring flow through him.

Chapter Text

There’s a cave in the side of a mountain a short distance away from the Resistance base where Rey conducts her Jedi studies. It’s quiet, solitary, and evokes for her the feeling of being in her AT-AT home on Jakku which, for better or worse, represents comfort and safety in her memory.

Rey sits cross-legged in the cave, her study lit by a lantern. The Jedi texts are sprawled out at her feet, as well as a messily-written journal filled with her notes and translations of the ancient texts. In the middle of the spread of books sits the Sith Holocron.

The pages of the Jedi texts are scrawled with runic writing, some symbols. Rey’s translations in her notebook reveal pieces of their meaning: Balance. Refined Jedi sight. Resolving the gray. Kyber crystal.

She reaches out her hand, holding her palm over the Holocron.

The Holocron slowly lifts, hovering in mid-air. It glows red for a moment, but the light dies. Rey sighs and relaxes again and the Holocron falls. She opens her eyes. 

The sound is sucked out of the air with a trail of echoes, leaving only the voice of her enemy.

“Have you tried to open it yet?” Kylo stands in front of her, masked. “You have, haven’t you? No luck then? No, see, you’ll need to use the Dark Side to open that. What were you doing looking for the secrets of the Sith?”

Rey bites back, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Ah, she speaks.”

She groans in response.

His stance and posture adjust slightly, less prideful. “I’m sorry. You know we can’t control... this.”

“I know. But you make it so difficult.” She layers her frustration with him into every word.

“Oh, I do?” She can hear his self-satisfied smirk even though she can’t see it. This has been more or less their mode of conversation in the times the Force has connected them in the weeks since Crait. The first few times, things between them were still raw, wounds still fresh. Gradually, the hurt just became annoying, and they were back to the bickering. There was something strangely comfortable about that, both of them with their guards firmly up, trying to pick at the other. Rey tries not to examine why it’s comfortable.

Kylo continues, “If you’re looking for the secrets of the Sith, there’s something I have that might interest you.”

“What?” She says a bit too quickly.

“I’ll tell you,” he entices, “when you give me the Holocron.”

She shakes her head, losing the intrigue on her face. “Not happening.”

He considers her a moment, trying to figure out what bargain would land. “What about if I help you open it, and you just let me see what’s inside?”

“No. It contains secrets of the Dark Side, and they’re best kept far away from you, Kylo.”

He waits a moment, testing if she’ll ask anything else of him in the silence. She doesn’t, so he continues, “Well, that’s too bad. I’m sure Snoke’s ring would have interested you.”

Reluctantly, she asks, “What about his ring?”

“Ah, guess you’ll never know.”

Rey grunts. “You’re just. So. Tiresome!” She stands suddenly in a burst of anger, but it just as quickly melts away into embarrassment.

Kylo removes his helmet, holding it down by his waist. It’s the first time he’s shown her his face since Crait. She always forgets how beautiful he is. His striking nose, his kind, beckoning eyes, his rich lips, his soft, clean-shaven skin flecked with a constellation of moles. The scar she gave him a thin, pink line that zags down from forehead to neck.

His brown-eyed stare holds steady on her, she returns it, both of them intense. Churning emotions storm behind both of their gazes, but their expressions remain firm. They’re challenging each other to relent, to show some vulnerability, to comfort the other, to return to how they were in all those intimate conversations on Ahch-To.

Neither of them says a word. Rey’s expression softens, recalling the pain that followed that intimacy. His brow furrows, studying her. “Tell me what you want, please. So that I may give it to you. Rey, I offered you the galaxy.”

“I don’t want the galaxy. I want the boy who told me I wasn’t alone.” She surprises even herself when she says it, but of course it’s true, and has been since the moment they touched hands across the stars.

He inhales sharply, shakily. He steps towards her, just a little closer. He shakes his head softly. She reaches for him without realising she’s doing it. He reaches back and takes her hand, and she softens at his touch. The boy speaks with the softness of truth. “I don’t want the galaxy; all I want is you.”

She inhales sharply, steps towards him. They’ve never been so close to each other. Just as she begins to lean her face towards his, he disappears. Rey exhales, letting her burning desire and lingering hurt wash away.

“Uh... Rey?” Finn says from the mouth of the cave. “Was that... I mean surely it wasn’t... Kylo Ren?!”

“Finn!” Rey cries, mortified.

“Uhhhh... Rey,” he walks towards her, his expression totally baffled as he tries to understand what he’s seen, “Stupid question: You’re not a spy are you?”

“No! No, of course not.” Rey scrambles, trying to make sense of it herself, let alone enough to explain it to Finn.

“Okay... That really only... leaves more questions.”

“Finn, I can explain.”

“I would love to hear it.”

“It’s a... It’s called a Force bond.”

“A Force... bond?”

“I’ve read about them in the ancient texts. It’s when two souls become, sort of, connected through the Force. I still don’t fully understand it, but it’s some weird, cosmic thing.”

That had been quite a day of study, when she’d found that passage. The two of them were still under the impression that their connection had been some cruel trick from Snoke right up until he had appeared in front of her a couple of nights after Crait. Finding out there was precedence in a book on the mysteries of the Force was most illuminating.

Though, it annoyed Rey that whoever had written this text had clearly interpreted the concept through a retrofitted romantic lens that had been biased by the fact that the two known times it had happened before — with Xendor and Cyra, and with Revan and Bastilla — had been with pairings that would go on to be romantic couples, as though the romantic development couldn't have happened independently and had to be some magical destiny thing that took away their agency in their feelings. Rey's feelings towards Kylo, admittedly complex as they were, were totally separate from the fact that the Force had tied their strings of fate together. It was only that the bond had added another channel for intimacy, or, rather, communication.

Finn tried to make sense of Rey's explanation, “And you have one with Kylo Ren?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how you would react.”

“Yeah. I get that."

“I should’ve told you.”

“You know you can always trust me, right?”

Rey wraps him in a tight hug, which he returns just as tightly.

He summons up the question he has to ask, the only question that really matters to him. “Has he ever hurt you? With the... Bond?”

“No,” she says with a slightly awkward tone. It’s an oversimplification, but not a lie; he’s never hurt her with the bond.

Finn catches the awkwardness and breaks the hug, looks at her strangely. It makes her feel guilty for not telling him, prompting her to give him a little more. Not the whole truth, just a piece of something to test his reaction.

“Actually, he understands me in a way that no one does.”

“But Rey, he’s...”

“I know.”

There’s a pause as Rey sees Finn really analyzing every angle of this thing. He sighs as he lands on his reaction, and it’s all he’s capable of as a reaction in the moment, “This is a lot.”

“I know,” Rey admits. Though there’s still more for her to tell, she realises that he’s not ready for it and that some things are better left as secrets for the time being. But she knows that there’s something else important that she needs to tell him: “Thank you for being a friend.”

“Hey. Always. You understand? Ever since you smacked me with your staff on Jakku.”

“I’m still sorry about that,” she giggles.

“Are you done with your Jedi stuff for now?”

She nods, “For now.”

“Then you should come back to the others with me. Threepio’s telling a story about the end of the first revolution.”

“Oh good,” she says while gathering her things, “I was beginning to worry that without Hondo around we wouldn’t be hearing as many stories.”

Rey picks up the lantern and runs up to rejoin him. They walk together away from the cave.

***

Kylo sits on his Throne. His eyes are closed, his breathing steady. He meditates, drifting deep into the Force. In his mind’s eye, he floats in empty space. He searches the emptiness for something, calling on a presence. Feeling someone behind him, he turns. Luke stands on the invisible ground behind him. Neither says anything for a long moment.

“Well, you’ve been trying to break through to me since Crait. What do you want?” Even in the moment he seeks Skywalker for guidance, he's combative, refusing to accept that this is what he needs. “Are you just here as a reminder of my sins?”

“Ben,” his uncle and old teacher speaks with kindness behind sad eyes, “you’re not a bad person.”

Kylo turns away in shame, he growls, “Yes, I am."

Luke continues, “I’m sorry for making you feel that you are. I know that I should’ve done so many things differently.”

Kylo turns back to him and says with an angry kind of hurt, “Yeah, you should have.”

“But it’s not too late for you to change. It never is.”

“I’ve made my choice,” Kylo still resists. His parents’ stubbornness is another legacy to bear in and of itself. “This is my destiny.”

Luke considers his words carefully, and speaks with a resolute wisdom that only the dead are allowed, “Destiny is a fluid thing. Nothing is set in stone.” He steps towards his nephew to close the gap and holds the boy's shoulders.

For a moment, it's as though the years fade away and he's looking at the lost little boy with powers he's too young to understand or control. There's so much he wants to say to that boy. “Ben. Follow your heart. Don’t be afraid of the legacy you feel weighing on your shoulders. You don’t need to strive for greatness, for power. Create your own destiny. If the past burdens you, be free of it; you are special on your own.”

Luke fades away. The stars fade to leave only darkness as the boy is pulled from his vision. In the Throne room, the boy opens his eyes, still sitting on his throne, the two helmets on each arm. He stands up, stumbles forward. He turns back, looking at the Vader helmet. The Vader helmet stares back at him.

He unclips his lightsaber from his belt and stomps, igniting it as he does.

The raven-haired boy raises his lightsaber up with a mighty yell and brings the crackling red blade down, obliterating the helmet.

This is Ben Solo. He doesn't know who he is, only who he's not. He is beholden to no one. He bears no crushing weight of destiny or dynasty. He doesn't know where he's going, only that he's finally hopeful, truly hopeful about the path he's on. His choices are limitless. He's free.

Silence falls. There is only Ben’s breathing and his saber crackling. There is a moment of peace and stillness where Ben realises the enormity of what he's done, looking at the shattered remains of the relic that once held so much power over him. His expression floods with immense relief such that he's only felt once before, when he killed Snoke.

The doors of the Throne Room slide open. The Knights of Ren enter, Vicrul leading the pack, wearing Snoke’s ring on his finger. Ben turns to face the Knights, who all brandish their weapons. Vicrul announces their entrance, “A message from Supreme Leader Hux: Your rule is at an end, Kylo.”

Ben sees the ring and is petrified with fear. He knows the darkness it holds. Vicrul aims his hand out at Ben and lightning shoots from him fingertips. Ben blocks the lightning with his saber, the blade deflecting it back towards Vicrul. Vicrul raises his other hand, stopping the bolts of lightning with the Force, a ball of blue energy building in front of his hand.

The two Knights with blaster weapons fire at Ben over and over but the bolts stop in mid-air. Ben trembles with the effort of his concentration. They stop firing. Vicrul stalks towards Ben, the Knights follow behind, closing in. Ben eyes them all, but is unable to shift his focus from blocking Vicrul’s lightning. The fearsome warriors surround Ben.

A war club, a vibro-cleaver, a Phrik scythe, and a beskar axe all raise, preparing to strike, and then, in a moment, several things happen at once.

Ben ducks backwards, sliding under the various weapons on his knees and swinging his saber behind him, slashing Vicrul’s armor, who stumbles back. Vicrul’s lightning diverts from Ben’s blade, striking one of the Knights, who shudders violently with a forceful electric shock, making them drop their beskar axe. The two blaster-armed Knights’ frozen blaster bolts travel forward, taking down the pair of them. The ball of deflected lightning that Vicrul had been gathering hurtles towards Ben, catching him as he stands out of his knee-slide. His lightsaber deactivates and falls to the ground as Ben is hit with the full blast of the lightning.

Ben shakes violently with the pain of the electricity coursing through him. His lightsaber flies into Vicrul’s hand, he dual-wields the scythe and the lightsaber. Ben falls to the ground, writhing in pain. Vicrul stalks towards him, stands over him. He ignites the saber and speaks with cold glee, “And now, Kylo... You will die.”

In a quick motion, Vicrul raises his two weapons and brings them down, where they freeze in place as Ben holds him back with the Force. Ben trembles, tensing. He rises from the ground. Slowly pushing Vicrul back with the Force as he stands to his feet.

The Knight with the beskar axe raises their weapon, approaching Ben.

Vicrul continues his taunting, “I always knew you were weak, Kylo.” His hands tremble, rising up to chest-height now under Ben’s control.

“My name is Ben Solo,” Ben returns defiantly.

The saber deactivates and flies out of Vicrul’s hand. It slams into Ben’s palm and reignites as he raises it, taking a fighting stance. Vicrul and the other Knight close in on him. The fight begins anew.

The three warriors fight with incredible speed and skill. They’ve trained together for hundreds of hours, and it shows.

Ben blocks every swing and counters masterfully, every one of which is blocked and returned to him, also.

Vicrul sends charges of lightning through his scythe at Ben in random bursts, which Ben blocks and deflects.

Ben stabs the axe-wielding Knight through the chest with his saber, lets them fall to the ground with the saber embedded in them, catching a swing of Vicrul’s scythe with his hands, then reaching down with one hand and Force-pulling the saber back up into his palm. Vicrul pushes Ben back. He raises the scythe to strike again, Ben meets it with his saber. Trying again to rattle him, Vicrul bites, “Snoke was right about you; for a boy who carries such power in his blood, you are just a child.”

Ben snarls, pushes Vicrul back. It catches him off-guard, he drops his scythe and falls to the ground. Ben raises his saber to execute Vicrul, but stops. The two former brothers eye each other, each daring the other to attack. Vicrul raises his hand towards Ben, his hand in choke form.

Ben chokes, strains. He slashes down at Vicrul, severing the hand that strangles him and he lets out a yowl as the hand drops to the ground. Ben pants, released. He deactivates his saber and runs out of the Throne Room, into the elevator at the entrance.

With his good hand, Vicrul pulls a holo-puck off a panel in his belt, wincing, and activates it, emitting a hologram of Hux. “He got away!” he growls.

“No matter,” the hologram replies, “he won’t escape this ship.”

***

Ben nervously stands in the elevator as it descends. The elevator suddenly halts and the lights switch from white to a glaring red. An alarm blares. Ben grunts, exasperated. As Hux’s voice comes through the speakers warning all personnel of a ‘high-priority fugitive’ that everyone must not let escape, Ben ignites his saber and starts cutting a circle into the floor of the elevator.

When he finishes his circle, it drops down the elevator shaft, clattering as it goes before it clunks loudly at the bottom. Ben looks down the empty shaft. It’s a long, long way down.

Ben deactivates his saber and clips it back to his belt, then slowly drops his legs into the circular hole, takes a deep, steadying breath. He slowly lowers himself in. Suddenly, the elevator whirs back to life and starts to ascend. Ben tenses, holding himself in place, trying not to fall. The elevator slows to a stop.

The doors open, revealing a corridor with a line-up of Stormtroopers, blasters aimed at the elevator. Ben takes one look at them as they begin to open fire on the elevator, stun circles zapping out at him, and he lets go. He falls through the open hole, down into the shaft. His cape flaps upwards with his fall.

He grabs the wire of the elevator and uses it to steady himself, gripping tightly to slow his descent as he reaches the bottom level. As he stops, his body whips with the change in motion and he eyes the shaft doors he has to get through. Reaching out one hand, with a rumble of the Force, the doors open to the corridor on the hangar level.

‘High-priority fugitive’ is a phrase in the emergency announcement which indicates to the Stormtroopers that they must shoot to stun, not kill. Fugitives are to be brought in for questioning, and even if it hadn't been announced as such, certainly the nature of the fugitive himself would warrant such a response.

Stormtroopers in the corridor perk up and aim their blasters, one directing the rest to set their weapons to stun. They all hit a button on their blasters, then open on stun mode but the blue circles all freeze in mid-air. Ben gives another push of his hand. The stun bolts fly backwards, hitting the Troopers that fired them and they all drop to the floor.

Above him, the elevator starts falling. Ben notices it, he leaps forward, clearing the door just as the elevator zooms down behind him, locking in place with the closed elevator doors aligned with the open shaft doors. As he runs towards the hangar, the elevator doors open, a small troop of Stormtroopers come out, firing a barrage of stun circles, which Ben responds to the same way he did the previous barrage. The Troopers all drop. Ben turns back and runs to the hangar.

He charges down the steps that lead down into where lines of ships are parked. The Supreme Leader Shuttle is right at the end of the hangar bay. It’s the only ship he can override to shut off tracking. Stormtroopers all over the hangar jog towards the steps, aiming their blasters. Ben jumps up, twirling in mid-air, and lands with power, one fist to the ground, his impact sending out a shockwave through the Force that knocks the Troopers back. He sprints towards his shuttle.

In the hangar control room, a First Order Colonel observes the action through a window overlooking the hangar and tells a technician to close off the hangar. The technician presses a button just as Ben climbs into the shuttle.

In the shuttle, Ben slides down into the pilot seat, immediately starts flicking switches, pressing buttons, pulling levers. The shuttle lifts off the floor of the hangar, hovering just off the ground.

The huge hangar doors start rolling down.

Ben smirks. He reaches for a lever and pushes it forward. The shuttle jets forward, only barely above ground level, making it just under the door and jumping to hyper-space.

On the command bridge, Captain Mitaka looks extremely nervous. He gulps. Hux barks furiously at him, “What are we waiting for?! After him!!”

“The hyper-space tracker wasn’t active when he made the jump, sir,” Mitaka meekly explains, “I’m afraid he’s gone.”

Hux bellows a scream of rage, probably intended to be somewhat intimidating but in effect is awkward and small, the petulant tantrum of a child. As a black BB unit droid rolls past his foot he kicks it but only succeeds in injuring his foot, yelling in pain. The droid whips out a small taser component and zaps him.

The rest of the officers on the Command Bridge look to each other, all amused by the pitiful display.

Chapter Text

Across the Resistance base on Azzah, stunned beings chatter excitedly as a sequence of galaxy-changing events unfolds through the central comms of the base, intercepted by their bug in the First Order’s network.

The Capitol ship on lockdown?

Kylo Ren demoted as Supreme Leader?

What in the galaxy is happening?

After the fugue-like nightmare that has been the last few weeks of the First Order’s power grab, such a reversal feels like a dream, and everyone’s quick to gossip about their theories.

Somehow, Palpatine must have returned to claim his throne, says one. Kylo is staging his own Operation Cinder, the other First Order bases will soon follow, says another.

But then a new report comes in, and everyone’s theories get even more outrageous because the news itself is outrageous: Kylo Ren is a fugitive of the First Order. And he’s missing.

Kylo Ren, the Resistance’s own public enemy number one, whose volatile, violent heart had authored atrocities across the galaxy. Whose warrior hand and powerful sorcery in the Dark Side prove the fearsome might of the First Order, and whose very blood sings with the legendary power of the Skywalker line. Ren embodies the First Order as not just a worship of history, but a refinement. The First Order isn’t just the Empire, it is the purest cuts of its cruelty. And Ren isn’t just Vader, he is the crystallite purity of the war dog’s rage.

Kylo is more than hated. He is feared.

The news of his disappearance leaves the Resistance deeply uneasy because without context, it could mean anything. Perhaps Kylo and his Knights of Ren are going rogue, stalking the galaxy to find the Resistance themselves. Or, perhaps there’s something in the First Order’s grand design that even Kylo Ren is afraid of.

It’s hard to be excited because what all beings have come to know is that there is no good news that can come from the First Order that will not be met by bad news of a more severe scale. And they are proven right as the new Supreme Leader is announced: Armitage Hux.

Hux is a cartoon villain, easy to mock. The Resistance love to call him ‘Hugs’, from some cruel, in-joke that Poe had with some of the other pilots that the man clearly hadn’t received enough hugs as a child. But the absurdity of his violent temper, when given real power, was a very real danger.

Ren’s cruelty as Supreme Leader was practical, even somewhat measured. He used his rage and violence as a focused weapon that struck when his stern benevolence couldn’t get what the First Order needed. Hux, the Resistance already knows, will have no such measure, no benevolence, and no limits.

Later, once C-3PO has finished his story, everyone packs into their tents for the night. As Rey goes to her tent, Rose walks up to her with a friendly and sincere smile. The two friends greet each other, making small talk about C-3PO's story. But other than telling Rey how much she wants to hug an ewok, Rose has something important to discuss with her.

“Hey,” Rose segues somewhat awkwardly, “so, how about that First Order news?”

“The— Oh, yeah, that!” Rey said, doing a very poor job of pretending she had forgotten, “Crazy. Yeah. Crazy. Supreme Leader Hux. Bet he’s pleased about that.”

Rose doesn't have a bar of it. “Rey, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Of course. Same to you.”

As the First Order's news had been trickling in, there were strong reactions from everyone, with two in particular being notable. The first was Leia, who had few strong reactions about anything as much as she could help it, but even so, was clearly immediately sucked deep into thought, swirling emotions with a heartbeat of love and longing for her son's return to her. Though Leia had kept those feelings close and hidden, Rose was fluent in hidden emotions. And the ones she had seen on Rey's face were very interesting indeed.

Rose continues, “Okay, I’m just gonna— I mean, this is crazy, but I have to just ask or I’m gonna be up all night thinking about it.”

Rey lets out a very panicked “Mhm?”

“Are you... No, it’s stupid.”

Rey released the breath she had been holding. She frantically scrambled for the quickest excuse she could think of for the reaction. “Oh my stars, I thought you were going to ask if I had a crush on Finn. Or something.”

“Oh my— Rey, no. I know you would never. And I know you would tell me if you did, because you’re—” she takes Rey’s hands in her own and holds them emphatically, “the best, most trustworthy friend in the galaxy.”

Rey wraps her arms around Rose and hugs her tightly.

“What I was gonna guess was that you were secretly in love with Kylo Ren. Or something.”

Rey tenses. Rose notices. The hug breaks, with Rose holding Rey’s arms and looking at her strangely.

“You’re not... Right?”

***

Whenever Rose or Paige had some gossip to share with each other, they would braid each other's hair. It was a small slice of normal they carved out to share with each other in their often tragic upbringing on Hays Minor. They would braid as they discussed school scandals, crushes, and celebrity news. Eventually they would come to gossip about local conscription into slavery for mining and industrial operations payrolled by the First Order. Then mining disasters and factory incidents that seemed to crop up whenever there was whispers of rebellion. Then their decision to join the Resistance together.

When Rose and Rey first met, Rose was still freshly mourning her sister. Even now, the wound is still new. But braiding helps. It helps her feel close to Paige even when they couldn't be further apart. Even as she starts to braid, tears roll slowly down her cheeks. But as Rey's story goes on, as the braids develop in Rose’s hands, sitting on the floor of Rey's tent, she wipes her tears and smiles softly. Not because the grief is gone, but because it has been transformed.

Rey finishes her story. Rose gives her a moment to add any last reflections before commenting, “Wow. Okay. That was... a lot to take in.”

Instinctively, Rey apologizes, but Rose is quick to cut her off, saying soothingly, “No, no, it’s okay! I’m glad you told me,” and after a beat, she simply has to react to the biggest part of the story. “Man, I can’t believe Kylo Ren killed Snoke!”

When the story had first been recounted to the Resistance, Finn assumed that Rey had done away with the old Supreme Leader herself, and fought like hell to get out past Kylo and the guards. Rey had gone along with the assumption, but there was always conflict behind her eyes when she would say it. Now Rose understands why.

“So,” Rose continues, “who knows?”

“You know the most. Finn knows the basics.”

“How basic?”

“Me and Kylo have a weird connection, maybe more. I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

“Hey, it’s alright. It’s good that you finally have someone to talk to about all of this! Keeping this a secret must have been killing you.”

It had been.

It was every part of the secret too; that her and Kylo were connected in the Force, and through that connection had spoken to each other and somehow found solace in each other, that there was a time when Rey earnestly believed — believed enough to fight Luke Skywalker and ship herself to Snoke — that Kylo could return to the Light as Ben Solo, and believed that him doing so would shift the tide of the war. And that he was the one who had killed Snoke, fought away the guards with her. And that despite it all, he had chosen the Dark again. And how much it had hurt her. How much it still hurt her. How much she had to pretend it didn't.

Rose finished the braid, telling Rey how beautiful she looked. The two girls shared a smile. Rey had never really had much in the ways of self-expression on Jakku; learning what made her feel pretty had been one cherished part of her down-time with the Resistance.

“So,” Rose whispers excitedly, “what are you gonna do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like, he’s on the run from the First Order. If they catch him, he’s toast.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

“You can use the Force.”

“I don’t think the Force works like that.”

“But you could ask him.” Rose pauses, before adding “With the Force.”

“I...” Rey realises that she can't so easily bat that suggestion away, “…could.”

“And you could go see him.”

“And then what?” It's the question that makes it all hurt anew. What can she do? Plead with him again to change his allegiance? Hand him her heart again for him to crush?

But there's a hopeful curiosity that nags at her, because this time is different. This time he's not with the First Order. Feeling the opaque borders of the bond, closed as they are presently, she can feel confusion and fear emanating from his trace in the Force that connects to her. The question she dares not ask herself keeps getting louder: what if this time it's different, and everything goes right, the way it's supposed to?

“Bring him back here,” Rose offers. “Like you said, it could shift the tide.”

Rey tries to come up with a reason not to, something that she can use to protect her heart. “I don’t think people would be too pleased to see him.”

“He’s Leia’s son. They’d have to get through her first, and, well, that’s not happening. You know it’s the best chance we have, right now.”

And of course, Rose is right. For better or worse, Rey has this connection to Kylo— Ben. When they touched hands, she saw the shape of his destiny, saw that he would follow her back to the Light one day. Maybe that day wasn't the day he killed Snoke.

Maybe, she dared to hope, it was today.

“You’re right,” she says. “I have to do something. I have to go meet him. And we’re not gonna fight this time!”

“Yay! But Rey, now listen: if he shows you that he hasn’t changed since that throne room, you get yourself out and you come straight back. I don’t want you getting hurt. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Rey can't help but smile with glee as the giddiness of hope swirls itself through her. It's warm, and comforting, and exciting. Rose returns her smile.

“Look at you. Going to go see your man!”

Rey giggles.

“Good luck,” Rose says sincerely, “And may the Force be with you. I have always wanted to say that!”

***

In another tent, Poe, lying on his small, inflatable mattress on the ground, is fast asleep, snoring softly. BB-8 is powered-off next to him.

Rey sneaks into the tent, spots BB-8. She carefully reaches down and taps BB-8’s head. The droid swivels and bleeps. Rey looks at him urgently and shushes. Poe, thankfully, is still asleep. BB-8 looks at her. Rey motions for BB-8 to follow her and exits the tent. The droid rolls after her.

Among the line-up of Resistance ships. Rey sneaks up to her X-Wing, BB-8 rolls along with her, going to the droid-lift underneath the ship. It clamps to him and pulls him up into his seat. Rey sits in the pilot seat.

She breathes, steadying herself, before gripping the yoke with one hand and flicking switches with the other. The roof of the ship comes down and the engine roars to life.

Rey lifts the yoke and pushes it forward, the X-Wing hovers off the ground and slowly flies forward. From the ground, Rose watches the ship take to the sky.

Rey drifts away from Azzah, into empty space. The ship slows to a halt in the middle of nothing.

Rey takes full, deep, calming breaths, and closes her eyes, speaking through the Force.

“Ben. Tell me where you are. Please.”

For a moment, there's no response. Determined, Rey searches through the Force for his trace.

She finds it.

He's scared. He's lost. He's alone.

He needs her.

“Sudhakerro,” she feels his voice rumble through her, “On the border of the Outer Regions. Come alone.”

***

Out in the distant reaches of the galaxy, beyond the First Order's grasp, beyond the most remote Resistance cells, there is an ocean planet named Sudhakerro. On one of its larger islands on the planet surface, there is a towering cliff, where mighty waves roar all around. Wind blusters through the rolling hills of the highlands, covered in fields of heather and bracken.

Ben’s cape and raven hair flutter in the wind as he stands at the cliff’s edge, looking out at the wild ocean. His shuttle is a short distance away. A beige X-Wing sails gracefully down through the clouds and lands beside it.

The roof of the starfighter raises and Rey climbs out and down the side of the ship. Her boots touch down on the ground of the grassy cliff.

Their eyes meet and right away, she knows. She knows that this time it’s different. She knows that this time they’re truly together, that they’ll fly away from here and be with each other, and be an unstoppable force of harmony that will ignite the stars.

“Rey,” he says with an exhale of relief.

“Ben,” she cries out with joy.

She runs to him and they collide. She wraps him in a tight hug, pressing her face into his chest. He holds her close to him, closer than they’ve ever been. His hand grasps her braided hair. Rey shivers at the very feeling of those hands on her.

Holding back his own tearful reaction to seeing her, he laughs and says all he can think to open with, an opener his dad had taught him long ago, “You changed your hair.”

“Rose braided it for me.” She can’t stop laughing and crying.

“You look so beautiful.” He speaks to her with such gentle passion and she hugs him, impossibly, even tighter. His embrace is so comfortable, so huge, and so warm.

He strokes her hair until her trembling begins to fade, then he cups her chin and gently raises her face to look into his eyes.

“Rey...”

She looks up at him, searching his eyes. Suddenly, he looks afraid.

He continues, “Vicrul — one of my Knights — took the ring. Snoke’s ring.”

“Ben, what is the ring?”

“It’s like Darth Bane’s mask, only the shadow that remains in it—”

“What, it’s Snoke’s?”

“No. Snoke just found it, and used its power. The shadow in the ring belongs to its original wearer, Darth Sidious.”

She says what she knows he must be building to, what he has to be about to say, so she finishes the thought for him excitedly, “We’ll go destroy it, we can do it together.”

Just getting the words out brings her some relief; now all he has to do is nod with that little smile of adventure, and she could rest in his arms while he holds her and hugs her and promises that he will fight with her, be with her, for as long as he lives, and she starts half a smile aimed up towards his eyes—

But instead of the warmth of love in his eyes, she sees only the cold of fear.

Ben doesn’t say, Of course we can.

Ben doesn’t say, It’ll be just like it should have been all those weeks ago, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t see it sooner.

He says, “We can’t.”

She breaks the hug to look at him, to make him look at her.

Ben gently holds her arms and shakes his head. He tries desperately to win her over, “I tried to destroy it, it can’t be unmade. We’re not strong enough to fight him, no one is. There’s no fighting Sidious. And Vicrul wielding his power— the First Order will be unstoppable.”

“Ben...” She can’t believe what she’s hearing.

“We have to go. We’ll run. Far, far away from here. Outside the galaxy. We’ll start a new world. Our new home—”

“Ben, no.” He’s broken her heart anew, again trying to pull her down a path she can’t follow. She steps back from all embrace, refuses all touch. Her words are choked with betrayal, but they are a final plea, a final chance, “No. You come back to the Resistance with me. We’re stronger together. We can defeat him.” But she knows deep down that her proposal is as doomed as his.

“Rey, Snoke was just the beginning. Even if we had the power of every Jedi who ever lived it wouldn’t be enough to stop what Sidious is planning. All there is to do is run. And hide. And hope.”

“I can’t believe I let myself have hope! That you’d changed! I should have known.”

“Some people don’t change, Rey! You should know that more than most.”

“I guess I just thought you would be better this time!”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you!”

“You’d think I would be used to it by now!”

Ben’s breath quivers. The scar of those words cuts deeper than the one she once carved into his face with a blade of blue fire. “Rey,” he chokes out, “I’m sorry.”

“Save it. I’m done. It hurts too much, Ben.”

She turns away from him and walks back to her ship, but pauses at the ladder leading up to the pilot’s seat to look back at him once more. “I thought...” She starts to say, but abandons the notion. She shakes her head. “I thought.” The words are heavy with defeat. She climbs into the pilot seat and starts flicking switches. The engine roars to life.

Ben watches as Rey’s ship takes off into the air, leaving him. He finally cries. Into those tears, he pours out the last rage of Kylo Ren. He pours out the pain of being sent away, cast aside, and rejected by everyone who ever cared for him. The vulnerability of loneliness, the bitterness of all the love he had that had only ever hurt him. These feelings, so huge and so deeply sad, roiled and churned through him as heaving sobs wrack deep through his chest.

Ben takes his lightsaber off his belt, sniffling. He looks down at it. The scarred crystal within the casing is one that he has formed a deep connection with. They chose each other when he first built it into his blue Padawan saber. He bled and imbued it with his rage, his fear, his hatred when he committed himself to becoming Kylo Ren. As it bled, it cracked in his hand when it sensed a lack of focus in his darkness. Even then, it saw in him what it took him years to see in himself. The crystal has seen many lives taken by its blade.

The kyber heart of the saber is, itself, a vessel that holds Kylo Ren within. It is the last that remains of him.

Holding the crossguard saber, Ben decides, no, swears in this moment that he will cast aside all he is, all he was. He will let himself be no one and nothing. He will remove himself from the conflict and commit himself to exile. By his hand there shall be no further violence or harm.

He casts his saber out.

It twirls through the air before splashing into the mighty ocean below the cliff. He feels his connection to the cracked, bled crystal as it pleads to return to his hand, sinking deeper and deeper down into the gurgling depths, its heartbeat in the Force fading away from him until he can barely feel it.

Chapter Text

Ben walks away from the cliff. In the distance, he sees a humble village of simple huts. As he approaches it, several beings run out from the village, charging towards him with a hearty battle cry, wielding improvised melee weapons.

Ben, wide-eyed in fright, turns and runs away. The charge stops, confused. Ben stops when he realises they aren't chasing him. He looks back over his shoulder, turning to face them.

“You are unarmed?” One of the beings asks.

“I come in peace,” Ben says quickly, “I mean you no harm.”

“That ship says otherwise,” says another of the villagers.

“I ran away,” Ben explains, “I was looking for somewhere to hide. But I’ll leave.”

“Wait,” interrupts the first being who spoke. The villagers huddle and jabber amongst themselves before turning back to Ben.

The first being, Ben presumes the leader of the fighters, speaks again, “If you’re looking for somewhere to hide from the First Order, you may stay. Come, follow us.” The beings turn and walk back towards the village. Ben follows.

Ben enters the humble village. Other villagers start nervously coming out of their small homes to see the outsider. The ones who had charged at him walk towards the small homes and embrace their loved ones, easing their worry. Ben watches all these happy families with wistful longing.

Feeling a presence at his side, he looks down. A small boy of about 5 years looks up at him.

“Who are you?” asks the boy.

Ben doesn’t know how to respond for a moment. The boy’s mother comes up behind her son and squats down to be at his level. She whispers something to him, then takes him under her arm and walks away from Ben.

“Don’t take it personally; we don’t get many visitors here.”

Ben turns to see an elderly man, smiling whimsily at him. There's an aura about the man that Ben instinctively trusts. His presence is wise, calming, and kind. The man speaks, “I am Lorne Soma. Elder of the Siluum Village.”

“I’m Ben.”

“Ben who?”

“Just Ben. What is this place?”

“Sanctuary. One of many in this system, right on the edge of all things.”

“For whom?”

“Any who come to flee the terror of war. Some from the Hosnian System. Some from Alderaan. Some from Kashyyk. All those who have been displaced by the Empire, and now the First Order.”

There had always been legends about the far reaches of the galaxy, on the border of the Unknown Regions. Some said that there was chaos, danger, and peril of kinds unfamiliar to the Core and Mid Rim worlds, but some spoke of civilisation of an older kind. Tribes of undisturbed planet natives, as well as improvised tribes of diaspora that gathered from all corners of the galaxy, called by an unknown force that promised safety and asylum. Indeed, just as Ben was running out of hyperfuel, the planet appeared on his scopes and it didn't just feel like luck — it felt like the call of fate.

Lorne continues, “You came in one of their shuttles. You were one of them?”

“Yes. But not anymore.”

“You came to flee?”

“I did.”

“And there are no means of them tracing you here?”

“No. I shut off the tracker in the ship. It can’t be reactivated remotely. You’re safe.”

“Very well. Welcome to Siluum, Ben.”

Lorne walks up to Ben and stands next to him, looking out at the villagers, who are all watching closely, curiously. He addresses them.

“This is Ben. He has come here to flee the First Order. We shall welcome him as one of our own, yes?”

The villagers cheer their agreement.

“Excellent. Prepare the initiation ceremony.”

Ben goes wide-eyed. “The what now?”

***

The entire village gathers around a bonfire, dancing gleefully as a band plays rousing jigs on folk instruments.

Ben sits on the ground, decidedly out of the dancing circle of villagers. He smiles and claps along with the music, so as not to be rude. Lorne approaches him, a friendly smile.

“Ben! You are our honored guest tonight! Please, join the welcome dance!”

“Thank you, really,” a darkness falls on his face, “But I’m not worthy of your honor.”

“And why would that be?” Lorne says it not just as a question, but as though the notion itself is impossible.

“I’ve done so many awful things.”

Lorne sits himself down next to Ben and speaks gently, “None of that can hurt you all the way out here. This is a safe place.”

“I’m afraid that the things I did,” Ben says, words filled with dark shame, “will follow me, no matter where I go.”

“Regret is a powerful thing. But... It can never be too late to start doing good.”

“I can’t make up for what I’ve done.”

“You don’t need to. All you must do is try, each day, to leave the galaxy a better place than it was yesterday. And if you make a mistake? Well, there’s always tomorrow. And there’s always so much good you can do tomorrow.”

Hyperventilating, heaving breaths rock through Ben as he sobs again.

“Oh, there, there. I’m sorry to upset you.”

“No, no, you’re just—” he says between gasping sobs, “you’re so kind to me and I don’t deserve it.”

“Nonsense! Everyone deserves kindness.”

“I’m uhm...” he tries to calm himself down, having had enough of crying for the day, “I think I need some sleep.”

“Oh, that’s quite alright. Would you stay for our evening song? We sing it every night before we turn in for bed.”

He doesn't really want to, but he decides he can endure one song for the sake of politeness. “Okay.”

“Wonderful. Thank you.” Lorne stands up, again addressing the village, “Thank you, thank you everyone.”

The music and dancing slows and stops and everyone listens to him.

“Our new friend is tired from his journey. And I imagine some of the younger ones are getting tired as well!”

The young boy from earlier pipes up, saying precociously, “I’m not tired!” and the village laugh at the boy’s innocuousness.

“But, all the same,” Lorne continues, “we should sing our evening song so that those who wish to can go off to bed.”

Lorne pauses letting the atmosphere fall still with reverence. “We end our day, as we always do, by remembering those we have lost. May they live on in our hearts, in our memories, and in the hope we carry with us each day. May their light never go out of the galaxy. My friends, look to the stars. In the stars, we can see echoes of worlds long gone shining down to us. Let us sing to keep them in our memories.”

A villager who holds a stringed instrument begins to pluck at the strings in lullaby-like arpeggios. The villagers sing, bound by their collective years of incomprehensible grief, and in their song they remember.

They remember the loss of Alderaan.

The enslavement of the wookiees.

The burning of Hosnian Prime.

An invasion of battle droids and the terror of General Grievous.

A homeland scoured by the First Order, their children stolen and turned into killers.

The destruction of Jedha's Holy City.

Mirrorbright shines the moon— Its glow as soft as an ember When the moon is mirrorbright, Take this time to remember—

And after the first verse, Ben realises he knows this song. It's a lullaby that his mother sung to him, long ago. He joins the song, and he, too, remembers.

Those you have loved but are gone, Those who kept you so safe and warm, The mirrorbright moon lets you see— Those who have ceased to be,

Mirrorbright shines the moon— As fires die to their embers, Those you love are with you still, The moon will help you... Remember...

***

When Rey touches back down at the Resistance base, she finds herself greeted by a welcome party of Leia, Finn, Rose, and Poe. The roof of her ship raises and she climbs down the ladder, touching back down on the ground. BB-8 rolls over to Poe.

None of them say anything.

Rey breaks the silence, “Sorry for waking you all—”

Leia cuts her off, “Rey. You did what you could, and I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, Leia,” Rey returns.

“You took my droid,” Poe says.

“I did.” Rey refuses to apologise.

“...Okay.”

“Everyone go back to their tents.” Rose instinctively understands the situation, and no one doubts her authority here. Leia, Poe, and Finn turn and walk back towards their tents. Rey stays behind. Rose tilts her head and looks at Rey sadly. She presents her arms open for a hug. Rey runs into Rose’s arms and collapses into the embrace.

“Hey, hey,” Rose soothes, “It’s okay. It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

“I thought it would be—” Rey gasps with sobbing breaths, “—different this time.”

“I know, I know you did. It should’ve been. You’re going to get through this.”

“I just— I had so much— hope. I feel so stupid!”

“Hey, you are not stupid. He’s the stupid one!”

“I know but just... It’s just like all those nights I waited on Jakku, for parents who would never come. ‘I’ll come back for you sweetheart, I promise,’ they said— I remember them saying it! Those words exactly. I heard them every night in dreams, until they didn’t have a voice that I recognised anymore, until it was just a feeling, but the feeling was those words, and I could feel those words reaching out to me, and I could feel the love behind them, how much they wanted to return to me. ‘I’ll come back for you sweetheart, I promise’. They lied. And I believed them.”

“You had hope,” Rose reassures as best she can, “Hope is never foolish, even when it’s wrong.”

“Well, hope has done nothing but hurt me and I’m sick of it!”

Rey cries hot tears of sadness and aimless rage into Rose’s shoulder. Rose gently coos with soft whispers of, “I know. I know. It’s not fair,” but even she is at a loss for the depths of Rey’s despair.

***

Later, Rey lies awake in her inflatable bed in her tent, sniffling from another fresh cry. She tosses and turns, utterly restless.

She looks over, elsewhere on the floor of the tent, where the Holocron sits. She eyes it. She’s so deep in the recesses of anger and hopelessness that it feels like the Holocron is the only thing she can focus on. It’s tangible, it’s right there. It calls to her. She feels a pre-emptive relief that she knows it will bring her.

Reaching out her hand, using the Force, she pulls the golden pyramid to her. As it reaches her hand, dark whispers scurry through her mind, then fall away.

She feels a delicate balance within her toppling, swaying, and suddenly she’s in free-fall, being pulled deeper by an invisible force. She does everything she’s been taught against. Calling on the Force, instead of clearing her mind, she lets the walls down. It gets unbearably loud in her mind as the Force rumbles through her, electrified by her sadness, her rage.

The Holocron grows red, then with a loud clunk it unlocks.

The vertices of the pyramid hover off of the Holocron as smaller triangular pyramids.

Darth Bane’s voice comes from the Holocron, “The Jedi have their myth of Mortis; a Chosen One whose coming will signify the end of the Dark Side, and the restoration of balance to the Force. But the Sith have their own prophecy. Foretold, since the time of King Adas, was the coming of the Sith’ari.”

“Tell me about the schism, come on...” Rey says quietly.

“The Sith’ari is not simply a person. They are an overlord. A god of the Dark, the materialization of death itself. The Sith’ari prophecy, translated from the ancient Sith tongue, is as follows: The Sith’ari shall come forth when dark consumes all light. They shall defy all limits of the natural world. They shall lead the Sith and destroy them. They shall raise the Sith from death and make them stronger than before. Under the eclipse of Mortis, the Age of the Sith’ari shall begin and so they shall reign forevermore.”

The vertices float back to their original positions and the Holocron closes. Rey throws it back to the center of the room, where it lands heavier than its true weight.

A useless old prophecy. Nothing that could help her. She feels ashamed, but also unsatisfied. Ashamed that betraying her allegiance to the Light hadn’t granted her anything worthy of calling on the Dark. Unsatisfied because there was a flicker of a moment where the Dark had felt so, shockingly, overwhelmingly good she couldn’t bear it, and temptation rushes her to chase that euphoria again.

She feels an opening within the Force, and suddenly Ben lies next to her, facing her.

He speaks softly, “You went to the Dark. I felt it.” She doesn’t respond. He says all he can think to say, “Rey, you’re not alone.”

Rey turns away from him.

He turns away as well.

The connection stays open for a long time, neither saying a word.

***

The next morning, Leia invites Rey for a walk through the rainforest. Rey knows that the time of her being able to keep her secrets is coming to a close. As they walk through the forest, Leia talks about the trees, naming each type, teaching Rey how to tell how old they are. Though Rey knows the ulterior motive of the walk, she understands what Leia is saying to her with this little lesson. Everything will be alright. Whatever you have to say, it will be alright. It puts Rey at ease.

After the lesson on the trees, a stillness falls between them.

“Rey,” the older woman starts, “I thought last night it would be best to let you rest. But now that it’s morning, I should like to know whatever it is you’re not telling me. I know that somehow it involves my son. I assume it’s a Force thing. And normally I would like to let you keep your secrets, but right now it’s just... Tensions are too high. I don’t need every detail, but please, just help me understand what you’re going through.”

“Ben...” There are so many things she should tell her. She starts with the easiest part, “…told me that he was in possession of a ring, Snoke’s ring. Inside is a shadow of Darth Sidious, the former Emperor.”

“Alive?!”

Rey had never seen Leia look so afraid.

“No, not alive. Though, not quite dead either. Somewhere in between. The wielder of the ring bears the power of Darth Sidious, and can speak with the phantom inside.”

“And my son has this, this ring?”

“He did. He said he didn’t use it, that he tried to destroy it but it couldn’t be unmade. He lost it when he fled the First Order, now it’s in the hands of Vicrul Ren.”

Leia tries to make sense of it all. A cursed ring of impossible darkness fell to the possession of her son. And, even as he was lost in the Dark, he tried to destroy it? Then, perhaps he had returned to the light after all? Or, perhaps he has only turned back towards the Light, but still has a ways to go. And all this was somehow tied up with Rey. Something that Leia has suspected for some weeks, in the way that Rey talks about her Ben, Leia feels she can mentally mark as true: her son is in love.

And that love will bring him back to her.

He's just got to go the long way around to see it.

And so, tangled all together, there's an understanding, love, heartbreak, fear, hope and hopelessness balancing on a knife's edge. But in the confusing mass of emotion, what comes out is rage, passionate and retributive, and so like her father.

“Snoke’s ring.” Leia finally says. “Snoke was working with the ghost of the Emperor, the whole time.” Because this rage is the most potent thing right now. For all the hope she has, there's still this stubborn block of hopelessness that's trying, threatening to take away the light from her and plunge her into darkness.

“The darkness that I felt targeting Ben from when I was carrying him, before he was even born. The dark voice that he told me would whisper terrible things... I thought it was just the Dark Side. I didn’t know how to connect with him, I was so scared of saying just the wrong thing, the thing that would make him turn.”

And, like her father, what lies beneath the mask of rage is fear. “And I was afraid that engaging with the Force could pull me to the Dark, as it did my father. I sent him to train with Luke so that he wouldn’t fall, as his grandfather fell. But it wasn’t the Dark Side. And it wasn’t Snoke. It was the Emperor. It was always the Emperor.”

Rey tries to interject, “We can defeat Sidious together. You’re strong in the Force, Leia, and with our combined strength—”

“No!!” Leia's voice had dropped an octave. Tears slowly roll down her cheeks. She says feverishly, “No, I can’t. I can’t! He’ll turn me to the Dark, just like my father, like my son. I can’t give that to him!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t...”

“No, I... Rey, I’m sorry. I don’t have a good relationship with the Force. I prefer to stay away from it, for my sake, and the galaxy’s. I have trouble reconciling the idea that the Force shapes the tide of destiny, with all the ways in which it has plagued my life. The systems of tyranny I’ve dedicated my life to defeating are set to become more powerful than ever... And my son still won’t come home, or even talk to me. I’m haunted by memories of my brother, my husband, and my home planet. I’ve never known my mother and I’ll never forgive my father. And the Emperor is back. I’ve tried... I’ve tried my whole life to champion hope, but with a galaxy so hopeless... How can I go on?”

“I don’t know, Leia. All I know is what you would tell me: the more hopeless things seem, the more important hope is.”

Leia gives Rey a small, sad kind of smile. “Sounds like something I would say,” she admits. “We should go back, the Resistance needs us.”

And now comes the hard part. The big secret. The thing Rey can’t possibly keep hidden from the woman a moment longer. “Ben and I share... What’s called a ‘Force bond’. Our souls are connected in the Force.” Leia looks flummoxed.

Leia doesn’t say anything, prompting Rey to elaborate, “occasionally we can see and speak to each other from across the galaxy, whenever the Force connects us; we can’t control it. And we can only see and hear each other, nothing of each others’ surroundings. That’s what I’ve been keeping from you. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you. I was just... afraid.”

Leia takes a moment to process before commenting, “Not what I expected.”

“I know, it’s... A lot.”

“No, it’s just... Yeah. It’s a lot.”

Leia pulls Rey into a tender hug. Rey is at first caught off-guard, but relaxes into it, feeling the weight of her once-secret lifting off her shoulders. She thanks Rey for her honesty, and Rey lets relief flow through her.

***

While this is happening, a horrifying message is intercepted from the First Order.

It’s the first taste of Hux’s rule: a new breed of Stormtrooper are set to enter the First Order’s peacekeeping forces. A full-forced return to involuntary recruitment, though with a far richer cruelty in the way these infants will be used once taken.

Utilising genetic modification technology from the Kaminoans that rapidly accelerate growth and development, this project will take an infant to fully-grown adult soldier within weeks, and equipped with advanced neuro-cybernetics that fortify First Order conditioning.

They are building an army of monsters, more machine than man. Using stolen children as livestock, grown for slaughter. Pumped full of chemicals and hormones to grow them far past their age, riddled with nanochips instead of emotions, wires instead of veins, and code instead of a soul.

They cannot question orders. They are incapable of defection. They are, in every way, the perfect soldier.

The Red Series Stormtrooper.

The Resistance is plunged into a dark despair, but Finn feels the darkness most of all. It is everything he’s been fighting against, taken to its furthest extreme. It is a deep, spiritual wound that leaves him heaving with an uncontrollable agony of the soul. Angry tears burn down his cheeks.

And the more he dwells on the darkest thoughts and feelings within him, the more his response crystallizes around one resolute principal.

They won’t get away with this.

As the hopelessness spreads around the base, Finn stands on a crate, addressing the despairing crowd. His own expression is fierce and determined, but threatens to crack each moment into a sob.

“We can’t let them do this,” Finn declares, spirit bursting with defiant rage, “We have to stop them.”

“What can we do?” says one soldier.

“There aren’t enough of us!” says another.

“That hasn’t stopped us before. We’re not just a rebellion; we are a Resistance. And wherever First Order ships come down from the sky, we’ll be there on the ground. Resisting. And we’ll keep resisting until we find a way to bring them down. For good.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” says Leia, announcing her and Rey’s return to the base. With the eyes of the Resistance on her, she continues, rallying instinctively, “We are living in hopeless times. Possibly as hopeless as it’s ever been. But that is when we must hold onto hope the tightest!”

“What’s our plan, general?” asks Connix.

Leia points at Finn and says, simply, “Listen to him.”

Chapter Text

In a hopeless galaxy, having nothing left to lose is only ever a day away. Since time immemorial, there has been a quiet kind of insidiousness that pervades the everyday, that where profits always seem to matter more than the people who produce them — but when the First Order takes power, that insidiousness gets much, much louder.

As the First Order tightens its grip, as they expose and exploit the political cracks that the New Republic never fixed and maximize profits for the elites, more and more people in the galaxy discover their limits of how much they will take.

***

The First Order’s signal jammer left the people of the galaxy without a means to communicate directly with each other on an interplanetary scale. However, it was still necessary to allow television broadcasts to continue; maintaining news broadcasts keeps the people believing that they are informed, and maintaining entertainment gives them an outlet for imagination and emotionality such that they don't focus those things on forming rebellion.

And, a broadcast signal can be tightly controlled, cut in an instant. In the first week of the signal jammer, there was a Resistance plot to hijack the broadcast and get out a message to inspire rebellion. All in all, their message lasted 4 seconds. For worlds already on the edge of all-out rebellion, this was enough to tip the scale. But for most, it was little more than a blip.

Across the galaxy, the most popular regular broadcast is news-slash-entertainment talk show The Coruscant Signal presented by Tuill Erquan.

Tuill considers it the greatest privilege having a hit news show in a silent galaxy; unlike just about anyone else in the galaxy with loved ones who live on faraway planets, Tuill knows that his sister, Fraedra and her family can at least see him in each night's broadcast from their home on Pershal, and know that Tuill is safe, and staying sane.

The reason that The Signal is so popular is this: in a galaxy that is often so divided, so unsure, so embroiled in exponentially increasing turmoil, Tuill has a skill in hooking into popular consensus and driving it towards a comforting neutrality, while also being wickedly entertaining in his own right.

“Another day, another galactic leader,” he says with his signature charming grin to a chuckling studio audience, the bright lights casting a shine on his slicked back hair, “Supreme Leader Armitage Hux addressed the galaxy earlier this afternoon in a mass broadcast, promising his rule would herald a ‘new era of order, security, justice and stability’. And I know what you’re thinking: ‘I’ll believe in stability when we can hear the same speech less than twice a year’!” a pause for laughter, then he continues, “Yes, yes, it can be a little tiring having to keep up with the revolving door of— well, not even just who’s in charge but what power structure they’re in charge of,” another pause for laughter, “So, were the First Order technically the rebellion against the New Republic? Did the Empire out-rebel the rebels?”

The audience love it, both in the studio and those watching live from their homes. He’s saying what they’re all thinking, and it makes them feel clever and politically informed.

“Of course, the question, the real question, is ‘how much will all of this actually affect me’? And the answer is, well, if you’re not seceding from the rest of the galaxy to join a resistance and get yourself blown up then… not much? Maybe the cost of fuel or groceries will go up and down and round and round, but it all comes back to somewhere in the middle eventually; if no one panics, things tend to even themselves out.”

One may watch The Signal and be surprised that the First Order would allow it to air, with all its jokes at the expense of the Order, but the data consistently demonstrates that planets with a strong viewership of The Signal correlates to a higher compliance rating. The First Order’s Senior Compliance Analyst, Ned Dungerran, once posited that this is because no matter how much Tuill may create humor from the status quo, he never outright questions the validity of the status quo itself, and encourages his audience to do the same.

There is, however, a planet that even considers The Signal too moderate in its view of the First Order. Syquarro 11 has the highest compliance rating in the galaxy, and they’re deeply proud of it. It’s a planet that the Empire was highly successful in building rich cultural ties with, and were among the quickest to embrace what they see as a return to galactic tradition.

On Syquarro 11, Caedol Farrah, a teacher at private secondary school King Zarminius’ Boys College, was recently reprimanded by the school board and placed under administrative supervision for teaching that the people killed in the Ghorman massacre were “activists” and not “terrorists”. Caedol had been saving up to move off-planet for years before the First Order arrived and tightened interplanetary borders, making it virtually impossible to move planets without employee sponsorship, which itself was near-impossible to secure. The Star Destroyer that hangs in the sky over the planet reminds her every day on her commute to and home from work that she will never, ever leave this place.

However, one day during recess, she overhears a conversation between a group of boys in the cafeteria that interests her greatly.

“I just can’t help but think, y’know, if some people were to get the wrong ideas and start protesting and all that, before you know it there’s rebellion in the streets. And then it’s like, that big Star Destroyer would be firing on us like we was the rebels! That’s all I mean.”

“Nah mate, you don’t need to worry about that anyway. First of all, we would stop any rebellion before it was even talk. But other than that like, my dad’s a Captain and he says that that Star Destroyer is just for show.”

“Krif do you mean, Allek? First Order ain’t putting up dummy ships. On the Arez Jommes show last week, he said there was some incident on 8 where there was a riot and the Star Destroyer sent TIEs down, blew up the lot of them.”

“Well yeah, but that was on 8. 8’s compliance rating is in the poodoo. I mean think about it, like, they can’t have a fully operational Star Destroyer rotating around every major city on every major planet in the galaxy. Math just doesn’t add up. So, for some, they just stick up a dummy. Have a skeleton crew keeping it running, but that’s it. It’s not built to send out legions or anything like that.”

“That doesn’t make any sense though, what if there was some kind of incident?”

“Then they’d send a Star Destroyer from 8, or somewhere else nearby. But chances are they’ll never need to.”

For the barest moment Caedol allowed herself the daydream of soaring up, past the Star Destroyer, out into the open galaxy. It’s the most real that dream has ever felt, but still she’s sure that the safest place to be is where she is, staying put. Holding onto normal for just another day.

Caedol has to teach that the Alderaan incident was justified because they were planning terrorist attacks on the Empire. The kids say it's just the same as Hosnian Prime. They say there should be another incident to take care of 8. Just another day.

The cost of living is rising everywhere. Even bread is getting expensive. There's a sports day coming up at the school and she realises she needs new running shoes. The only comfortably affordable ones are the generic brand from QThread. She remembers one of her coworkers was talking about this holonet store, Bluco, that has everything for less than half QThread's prices and she makes a note to look into it next time she needs something cheap. Just another day.

QThread's main supplier is a factory chain that operates from the Eastern Quadrant of the industrial planet Corradyne 3, in the Outer Rim. The QThread factory workers on Corradyne 3 are not slaves by the definition codified in the Republic's anti-slavery laws (which QThread holds itself to). However, all workers on Corradyne 3 start as slaves working for Bluco, and to say that the QThread workers are free would be the same as saying a starship can fly with one drop of fuel in the tank.

Drennan Thorpehill is a Floor Worker in QThread District 7, Factory 23, Floor 2. Every day is much the same. Wake up, go to the factory, get started on your daily quota.

Today, there was a ground tremor at the factory. No damage done, thankfully, but there was a bit of excitement and joking around about it for the rest of the day. No one thinks anything of it. Once he’s hit his quota at the end of the day, he goes home to his private apartment, which he earned the freedom to live in by working his way out of Bluco. He watches The Coruscant Signal and eats a frozen dinner.

“Tragedy on Corradyne 3 this morning as 79 workers have been confirmed dead after a mining disaster in District 7 of the planet's Western Quadrant.”

It feels a little strange for Tuill Erquan to be talking about news on Drennan’s own planet. He’s shaken out of the feeling of just watching the show, stops even chewing his food to pay as much attention to the screen as he can.

“Not much is known at this time, but the Honourable Executive of the Corradyne System, Grundar Tusko has stated that they are launching an investigation into the incident to ensure that the necessary steps can be taken to prevent further disasters.”

Drennan scoffs. If he could put money on this ‘incident’ happening after some kind of worker uprising in West 7, he's sure that he could turn a modest fortune. But Tuill says something else unexpected.

“It can be tempting, when something like this happens, for speculation to turn to conspiracy. We've all heard ‘mining incident’ being used to refer to the Empire crushing rebellion, and we all have vivid imaginations. Especially in times like these where we can't talk to each other…”

Tuill's steady, charming presenter face betrays a flicker of reflection. He shakes it off, continues, “And I think, in times like these, we should take a moment to remember that real people are dead. Our imaginations do not help their families to grieve their losses. And, if nothing else, be thankful that our coworkers aren't the kind to cause trouble.”

He always admires The Signal for saying what he's really thinking about the goings on in the galaxy, but this moment feels especially significant. More than ever before, the way Tuill said what he said tonight, it sounded like a message. A warning. A warning from a man that perhaps knows more of the scale of danger the people of the galaxy are in more than he is at liberty to reveal.

Drennan takes Tuill's advice. He reflects on the dead, and then gives thanks to his coworkers. He prays that they will continue to heed Tuill's warning long enough for him to save up to escape this wretched system.

He then watches the quiz show that comes after The Signal. He goes to bed at a reasonable hour to wake up again the next morning and go to the factory again.

He’s saving for a transport ticket and immigration sponsorship to take him off-world which, if he continues to meet quota, puts him on target to earn the necessary funds within the next 9 years. If he pushes, he could exceed quota for long enough to be promoted to another District with higher wages, and get off world in just 6 years. Freedom, real freedom, is within sight.

He just has to keep at it. Keep his head down. Keep working. Just another day.

***

On the way home after the broadcast, Tuill's commute is interrupted by a traffic jam on the motorway. Another protest. It seems they never stop nowadays. He takes an alternate route that adds an extra half hour to his way home, but will hopefully avoid the carnage. Unfortunately, it seems a lot of other drivers had the same idea, and he's soon stuck bumper-to-bumper.

These kriffing idiot protesters, he thinks. Sure, he can get where they're coming from, even agree with the ideals of their cause, but this isn't the best way to get people on their side. It just makes people who are like him, who would perhaps join them otherwise, annoyed and dismissive.

As he's stuck in traffic, he gets a call. It's his boss, one of the Studio Executives, Harmon Floym. “Hey Harmon, I'm just in the speeder at the moment, can you hear me okay?”

“Yes Tuill, I hear you fine.” Harmon's voice is a low and dry monotone. Tuill loathes speaking with the man. Harmon continues, “You should know that I've got Luperne Murdough on the line as well.”

Tuill is caught off-guard as he hears another voice, this one gruff and deep, “Mr. Erquan. Pleasure to officially meet you.”

Luperne Murdough is one of the richest men in the galaxy, a media mogul who bought and curated his very own broadcasting empire. All in all, he owns as much as two thirds of the galaxy's media. As far as Tuill knows, no one in the network has ever spoken to him. And yet, here he was, on the phone in Tuill's speeder.

“Pleasure's mine, sir,” Tuill says, trying to maintain a facade of nonchalance. He knew that the only circumstance under which Luperne Murdough would be calling is if he was in deep, deep trouble. He braced for Luperne to continue.

“I only wish it could have been in better circumstances.” Luperne paused, letting Tuill digest. “On tonight's broadcast you added your own little speculation on the Corradyne 3 incident. I have been lenient on your additional commentaries in your reporting because of your ability to command the galaxy's neutral parties towards passive acceptance of the First Order's rule. Time and again, the data shows consistently that in places where little pockets of unrest start fraying the fabric that holds together the regime, your broadcasts are directly correlated with a de-escalation of tension. Do you understand thus far, Mr. Erquan?”

Tuill feels like the air has been stolen from him. He clears his throat. “Yes, Mr. Murdough.”

“Tonight, your commentary, I'm afraid, was not as welcome. I fear I could have prevented this if I had intervened sooner, but for now the damage is done.”

“Damage, sir?”

“The best analysis suggests a galaxy-wide dip in compliance ratings by as much as point two-four.”

“Mr. Murdough, I'm sorry. I take full responsibility.”

“Tuill.” He paused again for what felt like ages. “Over the last few weeks, I have had several meetings with Supreme Leader Snoke, and again with Supreme Leader Ren. In those meetings, as the project of silencing direct citizen-to-citizen interplanetary communications was rolled out, I was there to sell them on the idea that making an exception for media broadcasting would be vital to maintaining galactic compliance. When things like this happen, it doesn't just put you in jeopardy. It's all of us. Everyone who broadcasts in a silent galaxy is responsible for controlling what little narrative slips through the cracks. Are we clear, Mr. Erquan?”

“Crystal, sir.”

“Very good. I don't want any spin from now on. Tell the news as it's given to you.”

Tuill furrows his brow. The ‘spin’, he feels, is the reason his show is a hit. But he'll gladly give it up to make sure he can keep doing the show. The show is the last piece of normal he can keep clinging to. Right now, too, it's the only way for Fraedra to see him.

He can do it like this, he’s sure. Hold onto normal. Show Fraedra he’s safe. At least for just another day. But for how many more days?

On Syquarro 11, Caedol doesn’t know how many more days she can take. The school has started rolling out a military training program in the kids’ sports periods, sponsored by the First Order. When they finish the training, the kids have the option to skip the last two years of school and go right into military service at 16.

But it’s not just the military training program itself that has pushed her to her limit. It’s how much the kids love it. They’re having the best of times running around, pretending to kill each other. They chatter and chant in their squeaky, awkward voices about the glory of war, the heroism of the Stormtrooper, their mission to cleanse the galaxy of undesirables and dissidents. They get to skip the last two years of school to do this? How cool!

She’s started scrolling through job boards, searching for anything off-world that’s willing to sponsor immigration. There’s a listing that catches her eye.

The language of the ad is vague, usually something that indicates that it's been posted by a recruiter rather than the company themselves. At the bottom of the listing, it closes with four letters: LLTR.

“LLTR…” Caedol mutters to herself, trying to decode the cryptic ad. “Long Live The Resistance.” This job ad, Caedol realizes, is a Resistance call-out for people who can run supplies for them. Instinctively, she closes the tab and shuts down her holopad. Paranoia buzzes through her. With all the trouble she seems to get in at the school, she’s sure that she could be put on a list for even viewing the ad. If she’s not already on the list.

There’s a movement outside her apartment.

Her breath goes still. She flicks her head around to look at the window.

Is this it?

Is she about to be ‘disappeared’?

A bird flies off from a tree. Caedol exhales with relief.

Anxiety and imagination swirl together as her thoughts wonder to what other forms of forbidden communication might be happening like this — coded messages out in the open on public mediums, in such a time when private mediums are few to none. When the First Order censors the holonet so severely that it strips away the limited means of forming online community, what is left?

When the means of forming real-life community are, too, cut away, what is left?

When people can’t gather in a space without spending money, especially as money gets harder and harder to spend; when activities can’t be organized outside of daylight for fear of missing curfews; when travel between planets is restricted; when people can’t message or call each other — in such a silent, lonely galaxy, there is nothing left to think about but your own oppression.

It is the great irony of tyranny; the further the First Order stretches its resources to stomp its boot and posture its almighty authority, the more dust of rebellion it kicks up from the ground.

As the days and weeks go by, Tuill sees it all from above. With each new story he reports on, in the contextual gaps left by what he’s told to say, and what he’s told to avoid, he sees that it’s all connected. A web of cause and effect, a chain of dominos where the events in one place trigger events in another.

One day, he reports on the galaxy’s largest corporations reaching their all-time highest profits. The next week, he reports on the cost of living crisis for the working class people of the galaxy. And he’s explicitly told not to report the figures of how much money the working class have lost in the time of the crisis, or how much profit the elites have made in the same time. Or, worst of all, to draw attention to the fact that they are the same figure.

One day, he reports on First Order scientists finding that flour is less healthy than initially thought, and that we might all benefit from eating less of it. The next week, he reports on a grain shortage because of a worker’s rebellion on Lothal. He’s explicitly told not to report on the slave-like working conditions that the First Order passed legislation allowing, or that when the First Order retaliated with a miliatary strike they were met by the Resistance, who allowed workers cover to escape.

One day, he reports on record profits for Exol Transportation & Logistics, and is told not to report on the fact that those profits are due to the First Order weakening safety measures around transporting toxic chemicals, which is one of Exol’s greater exports. Some weeks later, he reports on a speeder-train crash causing an ecological disaster on Naboo, and is told again not to call attention to the eroded safety-measures that could have prevented the crash.

The entire galaxy, and all the beings within it, is all one giant, symbiotic ecosystem, and it’s battling a deadly virus on every front. But the First Order is not the virus. The First Order is just the latest mutation of symptoms.

***

There is a rumor on Corradyne 3 about the true nature of the incident in West 7. They say that the masters raised the quota by 20%, that the workers rebelled, and that the masters called in the Corporate Security Forces. As the rumor circulates, a pledge is made among the factory workers that they will stay sensible, even if the same thing happens to them.

And, sure enough, it does. With all of the companies supplied by the Corradyne System reporting record profits, quotas must increase to meet the demand. An additional 20% is added to every worker’s daily quota.

Drennan keeps his head down. He works. He meets his quota. And, because his quota has increased, his promotion target is going to be reached even sooner. Just another day, just another day.

The masters increase the quotas again. Some workers put up a fight and are swiftly punished. Most of the workers begrudgingly comply, knowing, like Drennan, that at least their promotions will come quicker, if they can just put up with it for another day. Just another day.

Seeing that workers are struggling to complete their quotas by the end of the working day, the masters restrict break times to avoid adding another hour of pay.

Drennan keeps working. He’s put in this much work already, he can take a bit more. He can take another day.

But the masters have a problem.

Because the promotion targets are quota-based, and the quotas have increased, there are many workers who are set to be promoted out of the QThread district soon. However, at the same time, they don’t have enough outgoing Bluco workers to promote into their places. So, they pass their next productivity decree.

They double the promotion targets.

And Drennan can no longer do another day. And neither can anyone else in the factory, in the district, in the quadrant.

The moment where there can no longer be ‘just another day’ has been crossed.

The spark is lit.

The moment, too, is crossed for Caedol when she watches a student murder another classmate in the schoolyard. It happens too quickly for her to stop. One kid just walks up to another and raises his fists, clasped together, bringing them brutally down on the back of the kid’s skull. He’s dead before he hits the ground. The thud Caedol hears across the schoolyard will haunt her forever. The victor hoots and chants, claiming his glory, and the other kids, stunned, clap and cheer for him.

He is a hero of violence, who brings death to his enemies and eagerly awaits his own sacrifice in the glory of war. It is the glory that the school taught him.

Caedol goes through the admin of it all, submitting her report, talking to police, talking to the school board. They give her 2 days of ‘mental health leave’.

She goes home and opens up the job boards. This time, not looking for a job. She doesn’t even believe she’ll find what she’s looking for, but her search is not so much a search as it is a prayer. A prayer that it isn’t just the Resistance hiding their activities in plain sight.

And her prayer is answered.

The next morning, she goes to the location to pick up her new unlicensed starship, and she doesn’t even care if the meet-up is a sting, if she’s walking into a trap because she’s already been living in the trap. But it’s not a trap. The ship is small, and it’s a piece of junk, but it’ll fly. She packs the few things from her apartment that have meaning to her, then takes off into the sky.

She sails up, and up, and up. She flies right past the Star Destroyer.

Caedol holds her breath, waiting for the legions to assemble, waiting for a swarm of TIEs to tail her as she starts putting in calculations, flicking switches, pressing buttons.

No TIEs come.

She breaks into hyperspace, and makes it free.

Corradyne 3 burns. The workers take the factories and transmit a message to the other districts on the planet, a full-scale worker’s rebellion sweeping like a wave across the world. They slaughter the masters. The Corporate Security Forces are quickly overpowered. The workers commandeer every transport they can get to, and they fly up. Some of them make it out before the First Order arrives, Drennan among them.

At long last, Drennan Thorpehill’s work is done.

And, as Tuill finishes a report on the latest production line incident on Corradyne 3, and is told not to report on the thousands of workers who escaped before the First Order arrived, the next story cues up, and it feels as though a Dreadnought has fired right into his chest, because the next story is about the latest planet razed and burned by the First Order because of global non-compliance.

Pershal. Where Fraedra and her family live.

And, suddenly, he won’t be told what to say or not say for another moment. And he doesn’t care what happens to him anymore.

He has nothing left to lose.

And he has 4 seconds to tell the whole galaxy.

“Resist. Wherever you are, however you can. It’s happening everywhere, and it’s working! There are more of us—”

And with those words, The Coruscant Signal’s last broadcast ends.

Tyranny is brutal, and it is persistent, and no matter how many times and in how many forms it is defeated, it always comes back. It’s clever, and it doesn’t play by the rules, and the greatest weapon against it is hope, and tyranny knows this, so it lies.

It tells us that the true form of hope is meekly staying in place, asking kindly for a better world to come with the next sunrise.

But hope is much more than that.

Hope is the belief that the people are stronger together. Hope is the fire that burns those weedy bastards away with a spiteful prayer for a world where they don’t grow back. Hope is the impossible promise of loving people you can never meet, people far, far in the future, and a promise of loving them enough that you’ll build a world you’ll never see just so that they can be safe. Hope is knowing that it’s impossible and doing it anyway, because just trying is enough to mean something.

Because hope is knowing that if enough people try, nothing is impossible.

Chapter Text

Somewhere in the Galactic Mid-Rim, a Star Destroyer exits hyperspace, hanging over a planet whose geological makeup is a swirl of grays and browns, with sparse patches of a murky green. From a hangar of the great ship, several Trooper transports eject and buzz down towards the planet.

There are rumors that scatter around the transports about other squadrons who, in recent weeks, have been sent down for involuntary recruitment missions and been met with the Resistance. Whole legions have been wiped out, leaving only their Captains to send a message back to Hux. Whispers nowadays are that the Resistance is taking no prisoners as of Hux's takeover.

There are legends of the Resistance's wrath striking the First Order over the past weeks. They say that they contaminated a shipment of senior First Order uniforms with an irritating agent, covering several Commanders and Generals in hives that made them itch for days.

They say they are building an army of defected Stormtroopers who call themselves Stormrunners, led by the great warrior Captain Finn.

They say they poisoned a Star Destroyer's food supply, leaving them without food for two weeks, and that in the end the starving Troopers snapped and feasted on their commanding officers.

And with all of these attacks comes a message for Supreme Leader Hux from Captain Finn: Let my people go.

The Stormtroopers in the transports load their blaster clips and prepare themselves.

The transports land on the dirt ground and the troopers within them march out, led by a silver armored Captain. And indeed, their fears are confirmed. Lines of Resistance soldiers wearing Stormtrooper armor stand before them, opposing them, all bearing a red handprint of war paint on their helmets. Standing at the front of the army is Captain Finn.

Finn does not wear the helmet, instead a red handprint of war paint is stamped on his beautiful, stoic face. He stands as strong as a mountain before the First Order Captain.

The Stormtroopers raise their blasters. The Stormrunners raise vibro-shields in response, their blasters kept at their sides.

“This colony has been targeted for recruitment by the First Order,” says the First Order Captain.

Finn booms out confidently, “This colony is under our protection. Leave, now. No one has to die.”

“You will die for your defiance.”

Finn speaks past the Captain now, talking to the Stormtroopers who aim their blasters at him, “I know that not all of you feel loyalty to the First Order. Know that no harm will come to you if you lay down your weapons. But those who would fight us? Know that the Resistance have our own weapon. And trust me: Starkiller Base has nothing on ours.”

Fear passes through the troopers. A weapon? More powerful than Starkiller? How is this possible? But as well as fear, through many of them, a wave of rebellion passes.

“He’s bluffing. Look at the sky!” yells the Captain, desperately trying to regain control. “They have no weapon. All they have is this pathetic resistance you see in front of you.”

A Stormtrooper drops their blaster, crying out “Resist!”

And another follows, and another after that, and that wave of rebellion keeps rippling through the legion as blasters continue to fall to the ground.

“Resist!”

Their chorus rings out. The rebelling Troopers kneel to signify their allegiance.

The Captain and some of the Troopers open fire on Finn and the Stormrunners but their blaster bolts freeze in mid-air, vibrating just out of the barrels of their blasters. The Stormrunners part, revealing Rey.

She is the weapon of the Resistance.

She stands neutrally. No lightsaber ignited, her fists balled at her sides. Her hair is shorter, her outfit darker. She walks out from the middle of the army, cold. Wicked. She stands next to Finn, shoots the First Order troops a cunning smirk. The Troopers keep firing but their blaster bolts keep freezing.

Finn speaks to the Captain. “When you see Supreme Leader Hux, tell him this: The Stormtroopers are my people. It is time for him to let them go.”

The Captain keeps stubbornly firing the neutered blaster.

“Kneel in surrender,” Rey commands, “or die at your own blaster. Make your choice.”

Many of the Troopers who were firing cease, now seeming hesitant. Some of them join their rebelling peers. Their Captain, though, keeps firing. He yells with impotent rage.

Rey scans over the legion as stillness falls on the battlefield. They have taken their final positions, with but a few Troopers plus the Captain remaining loyal to the First Order to the end. “Your choice is made,” she says, “and your fates are your own.”

With that, Rey loosens her fists. All of the blaster bolts travel backwards, the Troopers who had fired them fall dead. The Captain remains. He lowers his blaster, finally realizing his pathetic resistance is futile.

The Stormrunners go to the surrendered Troopers and take them back to the Resistance transports to process who joins the fight and who goes to Batuu. As the confrontation simmers away, Rey looks back at Finn. Something about the look hits him strangely. It conjures a paralysing memory of a similar look he once shared with Kylo Ren on Jakku.

Finn knows that these missions are necessary; the scale of the First Order's involuntary recruitment operations doesn't allow for the amount of time that would be needed for the Resistance to deradicalize all who still shoot to kill when given the choice. But even still, he sees the bodies on the battlefield of the Troopers who kept firing, just sixteen all up, and all he sees is sixteen people who still could have been saved if they had more time, if they had the right tools.

Finn used to look at everyone who fights for the First Order and see faceless monsters with a violent emptiness where the soul should be. He thought himself lucky and thanked the stars that he broke free. Now what he sees is sand in an hourglass, trickling away the seconds of how long it would take for the wounds that birthed their wickedness to heal. When Phasma's mask shattered, he saw just one piercing blue eye, and in that eye, in her final moments, Finn saw in Phasma a plea for help.

Rebellion is a cost. The burden of paying it brings a new world closer each week, a world where that cost no longer needs to be paid. But the burden of paying it is that you will pay it forever. The burden of paying it is that you never truly leave the battlefield, never truly taste the wine of freedom. The flowering trees in an age of peace are watered with the blood of an age of rebellion before it.

Rey's eyes storm with darkness. When Finn meets her gaze, he sees it shredding her soul from within, carving out a space in her like a parasite. She pays the cost of this war as he does. But he fears this cost for her is growing beyond what anyone can safely pay.

***

Later, in the cave where she carries out her study, Rey listens to the Holocron’s message again, transfixed. Rain drizzles outside the cave. Rey knows that the Holocron will never change its message, that it will always present the Sith'ari prophecy when opened. But there's something in that reach towards the Dark that itches, like a compulsion. It's both relieving and painful, and she can feel the depth of power as she pushes her limit each time, seeing how much of it she can tap into while still staying in control of herself.

Each time, she tells herself that this will be the last time she taps into the Dark, but each time, after a period of absence, that itch returns, and she almost can't help giving in.

The Holocron's message finishes, and the pyramid closes.

“You shouldn’t have opened that,” Rey hears in Luke's voice through the Force. Rey sighs. Luke continues, “What did you find?”

“Nothing. An old prophecy.”

“Rey... You’ve changed.”

“Have I?”

“Your strength stems from your anger.”

“The strength I’m using to end this war.”

“Against the First Order, perhaps. But against the Dark Side? The imbalance? The cycle of war? As long as good people turn to the Dark for power, those wars shall never end.”

Rey stands and turns sharply, the ghostly form of her old master appears, glaring her down.

“Then what is the balance?” Rey asks with a streak of frustration, “Light conquering Dark? Is that not just a tipping of the scales, as much as the Dark vanquishing the Light?” Every question that Luke doesn’t have an answer for spurs her further, “Is that not what you thought balance was when Sidious was defeated and the war was done, the first time? That balance didn’t last. I’m trying to find the balance that will.”

Still, Luke doesn’t speak. She continues, her tone now more accusatory, “The Jedi of old were afraid of the Dark, it led to their downfall. That same fear ignited your saber against Ben. My order will not have that fear.”

Finally, Luke speaks. “You would lead a generation to use the Dark Side for whatever they deemed to be noble intentions?”

“I would lead a generation to find balance between the Light and the Dark.”

“By instructing them to give into the Dark. Rey, I believe you have misunderstood my teachings. The Dark does not discriminate the intent of its user; it is at its most seductive when it calls on good intentions.”

“Well, the Dark will not take me, Master Luke,” she mutters, dismissively.

“I’m afraid it may already have,” Luke says, equal parts stern and concerned. “Rey, you shall find little comfort in the company of ghosts. Go to your friends, they will help you more than I’m capable of.”

“So you would leave me to deal with my pain alone? You’re making the same mistakes that turned Ben!”

Luke bristles at the accusation. She continues. “Do you think they’ll still be my friends after the war? Or am I just their Jedi soldier? Their ‘weapon’? They’ll make me feel safe, cared for, understood. I’ll love them. And then they’ll vanish from my life, and I’ll be alone again. Well, I made it this far fighting for myself. I can do it again. I can do it forever.”

The spirit sees in the younger Jedi so many years of pain, all compounding around a core wound that has spiralled into an event horizon, a shatterpoint of fear and suffering for the girl: that she is, and always will be, alone, abandoned by anyone in her life who she thought would care for her. And now, he sees that that fear has her pushing away anyone who she thinks might bring that pain back again.

His expression softens. Indeed, he sees a shadow of his nephew in the girl.

“Go,” she says. “Everyone does eventually.”

He wants to help her, to fix the mistakes he made those years ago. But he can’t do so without first respecting her boundaries. “If that is what you want, I will go,” he says. “But you are not alone.”

Luke vanishes. Rey stares blankly at the cave wall for a long moment. She feels the loneliness in Luke’s absence. He doesn’t understand, he never can. No one can. Not her friends down in the camp. Not Leia. Not even Ben. Kylo. Whatever he was now.

When Luke looks at her, he sees the Dark side blooming within her. He sees what he has feared since she met him on the cliffs of Ahch-To; that returning the Jedi to the galaxy will only offer the Dark more potential for corruption, and that it will only bring more suffering in the cycle of the Force.

When Finn and Rose look at her, they see her going through a break-up. They see a temporary kind of pain that is deep and real, but nonetheless something that she will surmount. Poe sees a soldier struggling with the war. Leia sees some combination of all three.

Ben can’t see past that she is another person that he has failed. And he hasn’t talked to her since she left him on Sudhakerro.

What none of them can see, and what she can never let them see, is that the misery and rage churning within her are festering from wounds far deeper than any of that.

She unclips her Jakku staff lightsaber from her belt and ignites the yellow blade, rage-slashing at the rock, leaving burn scars in the cave wall.

It's a visceral, rage-filled rendering of her Jakku nights, carving another mark on the wall to represent another godless day left abandoned in the barren sand of a junkyard desert.

She eventually tires herself out, deactivating her saber. Silence falls in the cave, once again leaving only the pelting rain of the night outside. She looks at the burn-scarred cave wall, the product of her anger, almost stunned at her own capacity for destruction.

A dark voice whispers within her, No wonder they left you; monster.

***

Life in the Siluum village had been easier to adjust to than Ben had initially expected. For the first few weeks, he would shadow designated villagers as they completed their day-to-day tasks. He was hopeless at fishing and farming but came to find his groove in construction, building new huts for arriving visitors, which Ben learned were becoming more frequent nowadays.

As he had settled more and more into the routine, it got easier to forget about Kylo Ren, about the First Order, about the Sith and the Jedi, even about the Force. He didn't see Rey anymore, either. As he pulled away from the Force, it seemed the connection between them silenced with it. His life from before was now made up of the same legends the adults would tell children as bedtime stories.

But in dreams it would come back to him. There was one dream in particular that would visit him every other night of a Star Destroyer blanketing the sky of Sudhakerro, of the village burning, and of him being unable to save them. His lightsaber, deep in the ocean, screamed for his call, but Ben was too weak to wield it.

Sometimes other faces would haunt him. His uncle. His father. His mother.

Every night, lying awake in bed, Ben would imagine his life, his future life here in the village. He would test the paths before him, seeing which one felt surest. He imagined himself as a lone hermit, with a cabin a short distance away from the village, where he would live alone with a dog, felling trees by day and bringing wood to the village in the evening, where he would join the dance.

And he could almost convince himself he could be content with that life, until he dreamed. When he dreamed, Rey would be there. Though, now they were past talking. They would sit in uncomfortable, hurt silence until the connection broke. Every morning, Ben would wake feeling the cold of her absence.

On a night like any other in Siluum, the people of the village gather at their nightly bonfire, welcoming a young family in joining them, having fled from the planet Pershal when it was razed by the First Order.

Lorne addresses the village, “My friends, tonight we gather in welcoming new people to Siluum. Thank you to all who volunteered today to build their new homes.”

Among the crowd, Ben is standing next to a girl around his age named Cynniah. She gives him a playful shove to say “that’s you!”. He smiles humbly, and she returns the smile with warmth. In his first weeks, Cynniah was the one who was teaching him farming and fishing. She had found a lot of joy in laughing at his attempts, and he eventually stopped brooding for long enough to share that joy.

Ben hadn’t told anyone in the village who he really was. Whenever silence would lapse in the long hours at sea, lines dangling, waiting for the fish to bite, Cynniah would try to guess what Ben’s life was before he landed on the cliffs of Sudhakerro.

‘You were a First Order General who fell in love with a rebel girl.’

‘No.’

‘A rebel boy?’

‘No. Never a General.’

‘A Prince, then!’

‘The First Order doesn’t have a monarchy.’

‘A prince of a world where the First Order took control. You stole one of their ships and flew past their blockade.’

‘My mom used to tell me I was a prince of two worlds.’

‘Aha! So you had a mother!’

‘I have a mother, yes. Does that help your next guess?’

‘Well, it rules out you being a clone.’

Ben catches himself back in the present, with Lorne continuing his speech to the village.

“It seems as though our little safe haven on the edge of the galaxy is growing more and more these days. But here we do not dwell in the suffering throughout the galaxy, we celebrate our growing family in the sanctuary we have built here. And tonight we welcome you with our initiation ceremony, the Siluum welcome dance!”

The band starts playing. Cynniah starts walking towards the dancing villagers, but turns back to Ben, who looks at the happy family with a wistful smile.

“Hi.”

Ben looks up to see Cynniah standing over him. “Hi.”

“You never join the welcome dances.”

“I’m not much of a dancer.”

“You don’t have to be a dancer to join the welcome dance. You just kind of...” she moves her arms and body with no thought of rhythm. It looks ridiculous. She returns to a neutral stance, “See?”

Ben laughs.

She cuts the subtext, “Dance with me.”

“I really don’t—”

“Please?” She offers him her hand.

Flashes of haunting memories hit him like a blaster bolt. It seems the more he tries to push the ghosts of his past down deep, the harder they fight, clawing back to the surface.

He stands, shaking them off. He reaches up and takes her hand, standing with her. It was a moment of defiance against himself, but now here he is, standing with this girl, and his hands are clasped in hers. And she’s looking at him. He studies her, curious. He pulls away for a moment and feels a tug of resistance from her hands, asking him to stay.

”Don’t be shy. Like this, see?” She starts a kind of dance. Twirling, pulling, guiding him, skipping in circles. An absurd kind of movement that no one in the galaxy would call ‘dancing’. He chuckles at the silliness of it and joins in. “Now you get it!” she says, encouragingly. The beat picks up, the two laugh together, getting lost and tangled in their dance that pays only the barest heed to the actual music.

But as the song goes on, the more Cynniah enjoys herself, the more haunted Ben looks. She catches him and their dance ends, the music, too, transitioning to something slower, more intimate.

She brings him closer to her, now they just sway, her looking up at him, him looking through her. It’s something that has always drawn Cynniah to Ben, mystery man that he is, that he somehow has the face of a young adult, but deep, commanding, dark eyes that hold centuries within them.

“Why do you always have that look?”

“What look?”

“You’ve been here for months and every time you smile I see you go back to that... brooding smolder.”

“Is that why you’re dancing with me, Cynniah? You pity me?”

“No!” she decries, but he smirks in response and she catches his sarcasm. “You’re teasing me.”

Ben shrugs. She shakes her head and smirks. Cynniah leans her face towards his, her eyes closed. He steps backwards. Her attempt at a kiss misses him. They break apart. He looks at her.

He’s tried, in all the months he’s been with the Siluum village, to picture himself one day with a family of his own. He knows that if he ever can, if he can let go of his past failures and embrace a new life with someone else, that that’s when he will truly be past his days before he landed here. But he can’t. Whenever he tries to picture having a wife one day, her face will always fade into Rey’s. Whenever he tries to picture the kids he’ll have, they have her freckles. Her dimples. Her brown hair. Her smile.

This almost-kiss with Cynniah is the moment he truly knows. There’s only so far a man can run.

Cynniah opens her eyes, embarrassed, shaking her head apologetically, “I thought—”

Ben stops her, gently. He looks at her, shaking off his haunted expression once again to give her one last smile that tells her that all is alright. “I’m sorry if I misled you. You’re a wonderful girl. You’re just not the one for me, and I’m not the one for you.”

Cynniah nods. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. It’s never wrong to love.”

Ben looks past the bonfire, out to the forest. There’s something calling him away, pulling at his heart. He looks back to Cynniah. “I have to go.”

He wanders away from the village, into the forest.

He stumbles through the woods, going deeper and deeper, further and further away from the glow of the fire. He stops, panting. Slowing his breathing, he focuses on that pull within him, the pull that brought him here, the pull he’s always felt.

The pull to the light.

“Ben.”

He looks up to see his father standing before him. Again looking just as he did on Starkiller Base. Ben’s expression crumples, his vulnerability cracks through. Tears well in his eyes. His voice cracks, ”Dad...”

“Son, go home. It’s time.”

“Your son is gone.”

“No. My son is alive.”

He knows it’s impossible. He knows that there’s no way his dad can be standing here. “You’re just a memory.”

“Your memory.”

“I’m being torn apart.”

“Ben...”

“I want to be free of this pain. And I know what I have to do, but I don’t know if I—”

Han lays his hand on his son’s cheek. “You do. I know you do.” He can’t feel the warmth of his father’s touch, but he can remember the feeling of it on that fateful day.

“Dad... I love you.”

“Kid, I always loved you.”

Ben brings his hand up to meet his father’s, but his fingers pass through the vision, touching his own cheek.

“You know what you need to do.”

Perhaps he really was there. Perhaps, from the spiritual plane, his father is sending an urgent call beyond the bounds of time and space to his son.

He nods to his father and responds, “I have the strength to do it.”

Han smiles with purpose and fades away, leaving Ben in the forest.

Ben walks out from the forest, out to the cliffs where he landed all those months ago.

Waves rage below. Reaching the edge of the cliff, he looks out to the mighty sea. He closes his eyes, concentrating. Breathes deep. He reaches out his arm, extending his hand towards the roaring ocean. He pulls through the Force, calling on the crystal he long thought he wasn’t worthy to wield.

Not resolute enough in the Light to be a Jedi, nor resolute enough in the Dark to keep it from splintering as he bled it crimson. Not strong enough as a warrior to kill a scavenger who had never held a sword, and even the death of Skywalker wasn’t his own doing.

But he is Ben Solo, and this saber will always be his.

His cross-guard saber bursts out of the water, flies up, and slams into his palm. He ignites it, raising it straight to the star-filled sky.

END PART I.