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"Who are you?"
"I'm no one."
The Skywalker legacy is a heavy one. It's an almost deafening scream in Rey's mind, a burden breaking her spine, a constriction on her lungs she can't get rid of. Just months ago, she was nobody. No last time, no Force, no family. Yes, she desperately wished for a family.
But she never asked to be a Skywalker.
She's heard the stories. Back on Jakku, Anakin Skywalker and Luke Skywalker were so above imagination she believed them to be myths. Darth Vader was a cruel reality, a nightmarish creature used to scare little ones, but he was so far in the past that she didn't heed him.
She can't ignore it now. She is the daughter of Luke Skywalker, who is more human than she ever could have imagined. Her grandfather carried out the mass murder of the Jedi Order and the genocide of the people of Alderran. When she watched Han Solo get slaughtered before her eyes, she was watching the death of her uncle.
And Kylo Ren. Ben Solo. Her cousin.
She never asked for any of this.
Poe finds her one day, sitting on the boarding ramp of the Falcon, staring at nothing. He sits down beside her with a grunt and the easy smile Rey can't help but feel slightly addicted to. He has the kind of effortless magnetism that could inspire the masses.
Maybe Vader did too.
He doesn't speak first, for once. Just sits next to her, a warm presence at her side.
Until finally: "My parents were pilots for the Rebellion. Did I ever tell you that?" Rey glances at him.
"No," she replies. Damn him, she's curious now, and he knows it, continuing.
"I barely saw them as a kid. They were off being heroes. It's why I became a pilot in the first place." His eyes focus squarely on her. "Carrying on a legacy can be pretty tough." Rey snorts. "I worked so hard to be able to continue to make the Dameron name mean something, and I did, I like to think. But you know what I had to realize first?" Rey arches an eyebrow.
"What?"
"Our legacies don't define us. We define our legacies." He gently nudges her. "You're a Skywalker. Take pride in it. But let me tell you something. If I was a Skywalker, I would be proud to have you in my family." Rey blinks.
"Does the General ever use you to write her speeches?" she asks. Poe chuckles.
"She should, shouldn't she?" Rey sighs.
"I just . . . I feel like I've had all of this thrust upon me all at once. Like I've been forced into the most powerful, dysfunctional family in the galaxy, and every decision I make could mean the difference between life and death for millions." Poe nods, and though Rey senses no true understanding, his compassion radiates from him in waves.
"Yeah, that's real bantha shit right there. But you do know that you're not alone, right? You don't just have a family, you have friends. Me and Finn, you know, we've got your six. Always."
"Thank you," Rey whispers, because it's all she can say.
One of the few memories from Ben Solo's childhood Kylo Ren willingly keeps is an argument he overheard between his parents when he was young. Han Solo had made a pathetic attempt at humor, and it had led to a verbal sparring match that lasted hours.
"At least he's a Solo and not a Skywalker," Solo had said.
"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Leia had demanded.
"Nothing," Solo muttered, but the damage had already been done.
The thought of Han Solo thinking his meaningless family name would be more honorable than the Skywalker name, the name borne by Darth Vader, absolutely infuriates Kylo Ren to his core.
The Skywalker dynasty is one of power in darkness and a connection with the Force that cannot be matched. Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa lost sight of that, too cowardly to embrace the power Darth Vader once held.
And then, of course, there is the other one.
Rey is the Light, completely and fully. She can never be fully turned without compromising her connection to the Force. The Light will become her addiction, her cage, just as the Darkness is his. But he knows the truth.
The Light is deceptive. It seeps into the depths of your soul, settling into the cracks of a broken heart. It makes you second-guess every justified action you've ever taken.
It makes you regret. Loathe.
Kylo grips his lightsaber until his knuckles turn white, shutting his eyes and trying to embrace the Darkness, as he has his whole life. But it's not working; not anymore. Now, all he can see is Rey's face swimming through his mind, taking root alongside the sight of his dead father, worn mother, and devastated uncle.
In Rey, Kylo sees endless, raw power, untrained and wild. She, like him, is the embodiment of the Skywalker legacy. But she's chosen the wrong path, thinking herself more of a Skywalker than he, which couldn't be further from the truth. And now, she is getting in the way of his training, which is unacceptable. He cannot allow himself to be distracted, especially by his most bitter enemy.
Rey learns, very quickly, that her greatest strength lies with a lightsaber. Oh yes, she is strong with the Force. No one can deny that fact. But too often her mind is too cluttered with new knowledge, worries over her friends, or the darkness of Kylo Ren's incessant probing of her thoughts to allow her to truly focus in on her connection to the Force.
Learning lightsaber combat, she discovers, is where she truly begins to feel like a Jedi.
At first, the forms feel somewhat elementary. Luke teachers her the different strike zones and their names and goes over basic strikes and parries. It's nothing she hasn't learned already by living on Jakku.
But once they return to the Resistance base, things get very complicated very quickly.
Luke tosses an old, worn journal into her lap while she's meditating, and she cocks an eye open. Usually she's the one to interrupt his meditations with a question or request.
"Read through this journal," Luke says. "Over the years, I collected many Jedi holocrons, including information on traditional forms of lightsaber combat." Rey snorts.
"What else is there besides hit and don't miss?" she questions. Luke rolls his eyes, but he's still smiling so she counts her comment as a win.
"Lightsaber combat isn't like shooting blasters," the aging Jedi Master points out patiently. "It's an art form that, when practiced correctly, makes the difference between a wielder of a lightsaber and a fool with a blade."
"So when I defeated Kylo at Starkiller Base, I was a fool?" she challenges, teasing but also curious.
"No," he replies serenely, almost infuriatingly patient. "You were lucky. He was a fool. Now," he says, gesturing at the bound journal in her lap, "Read the journal, and tomorrow, tell me what form you wish to focus on."
Rey tosses the journal in his lap the next morning, having stayed up most of the night reading the handwritten book in her quarters.
"Djem So," she says confidently, crossing her arms, daring him to disagree with her. He does anyways.
"Really?" he asks, eyebrows rising with something akin to amusement. "Why?"
"Because I like it," Rey retorts. "Isn't that enough?"
"More than," Luke replies, rising from his meditative crouch. "Djem So is the form I specialized in myself." He pauses, considering, and then continues. "It was also the form utilized by my father as well."
Rey's bravado drops, just a little bit, at the thought of sharing anything in common with the Darth Vader of legend, even if he is in fact her grandfather. But the thought of learning about Djem So from a practitioner, and a successful one at that, overwhelms her awkwardness and she smiles.
"You think you would make our grandfather proud?" comes a sneer from the depths of her mind. "You are a pathetic excuse for a Skywalker, scavenger." The envy laces his words so completely that she almost pities him. Almost.
"And you are a pathetic excuse for a Sith," she thinks back, pushing her walls up. Luke's watching her, likely guessing what's happening.
She turns back to Luke. Her father. The only Skywalker who really matters in this case, or in any case, really.
"So," she says, "Where do we begin?"
From the start, Kylo Ren always knew his greatest ally was the Force. It was always his to command, bending to his will and making others do the same. It has made him the finest interrogator in the First Order and an invincible warrior.
Or so he had thought.
"More aggression," Snoke commands during training. "Your weakness and hesitation led to your defeat at the hands of the untrained spawn of Luke Skywalker."
He wants Vapaad, Kylo thinks before he can help it, his mind jumping back to his lessons with his uncle as a teenager.
"Less aggression," he had cautioned then, "Your strength flows from the Force. Take advantage of that." He had utilized Niman ever since, even after Ben Solo ceased to be.
Niman makes sense. It is balanced, smooth, flowing, but not as limited as Makashi or ineffective as Soresu. It allows him to improvise, to incorporate his fiery unpredictability while still remaining ever-focused. Snoke must know this.
Darth Vader rarely tapped into Niman, if the histories are accurate. The Jedi never unlocked its true potential, especially after its best practitioners were lost to the Clone Wars.
"Niman is the form of the weak," Snoke sneers, "It is a form best suited to a weak Jedi. Are you a Jedi, Kylo, Master of the Knights of Ren?"
"No," Kylo growls. He never was a Jedi, and never will be one again.
"Then prove it, my apprentice."
Kylo grips his lightsaber tighter, and lunges forward, shattering the training droid in a single, brutal swing.
It feels messy, off somehow. He gets no satisfaction from the simple destruction, doesn't feel as if he's accomplished anything at all.
Snoke, however, feels differently.
"Much better," he murmurs. "Again."
General Organa finds her curled up in the Falcon's cockpit, eyes shut tight and hands shaking. Her Force Bond with Kylo is growing stronger; the reality of being connected by blood to the man who is personally responsible for the deaths of millions, her mother and Han Solo included.
The man who, for some reason unknown to her, spared her life all those years ago.
The General slides into the co-pilot's seat with the kind of ease that only comes after years of familiarity. Rey wonders if she looks as awkward sitting where Han Solo should be as she feels.
"Has Luke ever told you about Force Ghosts?" the older woman asks, eyes staring at the mountains in the distance. Rey nods, a bit absently.
"A little. I know his mentor appeared to him a few times." Leia chuckles.
"Did he tell you that it was that very ghost who revealed that we're siblings?" Rey raises an eyebrow. "When he first told me about it, I had my doubts. I'd been raised to believe in the Force, but the idea of speaking to the dead seemed . . . impossible." She smiles without humor. "When I was pregnant with . . . with Ben, I realized I was wrong."
"How?" Rey asks.
"My father appeared to me." Rey's eyes widen. "Not in a dream. I was resting, trying to relax while Han was out running a mission, and suddenly my father is just next to me. Younger, around my age. Luke favors him," she adds, almost an afterthought. "He apologized. For everything. I didn't listen at first. Despite his apologies, he tortured me, destroyed my planet before my eyes. I couldn't just forgive that. But in the end, I only had so much anger to let out. I was tired of hating him, of ignoring where I came from." Leia looks over at her. "We are Skywalkers. Our family is prone to the Darkness, but even more drawn to the Light."
"Why are you telling me this?" Rey asks.
"Because Luke told me you are bonded to my son. And as much as I want to hate him for what he-what he did to Han, I cannot. He's my son, Rey."
"I know," Rey whispers, "It's just so hard. He killed my mother, took away my childhood. A childhood that he was a significant part of."
The sound that comes from Leia is something between a laugh and a sob. "And my husband." Rey internally punches herself, ashamed.
"I'm sorry." Perhaps her father had a point when he told her about controlling her anger.
"There comes a point," Leia says after a long moment, "When you've lost so much you must stop being angry or else it will destroy you." Rey looks up, meeting her eye. "I have no hatred left for my son. I cannot bring myself to stop loving him. And I sense that you can never truly hate him either, because you are a good person."
"He's always in pain," Rey admits. "The Light in him, it comes easily. He has to try so hard to damper it, and it's eating him alive." She looks at Leia. "But I don't know if I can turn him. He is so far gone."
Leia nods, eyes sad. "I will not ask you to turn my son," she says softly. "I just don't want you to lose yourself the way that he did. Our family is very . . . complicated. We feel things very strongly, and we don't let go." She studies her for a long while. "But you and my son aren't me or Luke, or even Vader. You don't have to make our mistakes. Perhaps it's too late for Ben, but you have the potential to be everything a Skywalker was meant to be."
"I don't know if I want to bear that," Rey admits. "I'm just a scavenger."
Leia's sad smile doesn't fade. "No. You're a Jedi."
After their second battle, Snoke sends him to Mustafar, the world that crafted Darth Vader. The world where his grandfather's glorious legacy began.
"You're forgetting the power of the Dark Side," he tells him. "Perhaps the land where your grandfather triumphed over the Light will remind you where you truly belong."
He goes alone. Snoke has such a stranglehold on his mind that he doesn't need to bring any communication devices. He sleeps in his shuttle and eats rations. There's not exactly easy pickings for food on a volcanic planet.
The heat is nearly unbearable. Before long, Kylo abandons his layered robes, sticking to thin trousers and boots. Snoke sends him to the charred remains of what was once a Separatist outpost on the planet.
He feels the Force echoes of death, feels what remains of his grandfather's rage and grandmother's pain.
"Here," Snoke intones in his mind, "Darth Vader sacrificed his wife for the power of the Dark Side. She could never understand, he realized, and she was in his way. So he eliminated the obstacle. I hope you will do the same during your time here."
"Yes, Lord Snoke," Kylo breathes.
"He's on Mustafar," Rey says suddenly. Across from her, Finn blanches.
"How could you possibly know that? Is this another Force thing?" he asks, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. Beside him, Poe rolls his eyes, snickering.
"We're sort of . . ." Rey searches for a way to explain that doesn't sound disturbing. "Mentally linked." Finn whistles.
"Well, that's bad luck," Poe comments. Rey snorts, returning to her meal.
"Are we going after him?" Finn asks. She smiles at his use of "We." Throughout her months back with the Resistance, Finn and Poe have been the most constant presences in her life besides her father.
"I don't know," she murmurs. "I want to know why he's there first."
"Well," Poe comments blandly, "You could always ask."
"Nicely," Finn adds.
Rey hasn't tried pushing their connection in a long time. It's unsettling, having her own mind be so close to one so unstable. He had been ready to kill her, after all, despite his hesitation. Despite that little spark of light in his soul slowly tearing him to pieces inside.
"Going into his mind means acknowledging he exists," she mutters, trying to play it off, but Finn and Poe see right through her.
"If it was anyone else," Finn says quietly, "I would say how lucky you are to have family. But, um, I'll give you a pass on that." Rey smiles, unable to help herself.
"Thanks for that," she murmurs, but in the back of her mind, she knows what she has to do.
He feels the familiar prodding of Rey's mind on his, and it almost breaks him from his meditation. Physically, he's exhausted. He's spent the entire day working on a more aggressive fighting style at Lord Snoke's command in the heat of a nearby erupting volcano. His eyes sting with ash and his skin feels dry, dirty.
Mentally, he's curious. Lord Snoke would be furious if he let this fact slip, but Kylo cannot help himself. Rey's method of reaching into his mind is so wholly different from what he knows. She's like water, gently slipping through the cracks to find what she is looking for. Snoke merely boulders in, like an explosion, and just as painful.
"How's Mustafar?" her voice whispers in his ear, and he finally just gives in. She appears before him, not really there, but seeing through his eyes. "That was easier than I thought," she remarks.
"Are we making small talk now?" he snarks, annoyed at her casual expression as she studies him.
"You look awful," she notes. His irritation spikes. Insolent child. "I'm not the one who throws temper tantrums when things don't go your way." Oh, right. She can read his thoughts. He pushes back at her mind, but her thoughts are carefully shielded.
"And I'm not the one who invades your thoughts without allowing me to return the favor," he growls. She snorts.
"Yes, you've never invaded my thoughts against my will. Never."
"So you're allowed to know where I am, yet I can't even know what the likely decrepit room you're in looks like?"
"I'm a bit worried that you'll show up and kill everyone I care about."
Well, she's not wrong. Kylo's hands ball into fists, his annoyance growing every second she remains unyielding.
"What do you want?" he grits out. "Surely you didn't break into my thoughts just to antagonize me." He turns away from her, exiting his shuttle, wincing at the harsh air of Mustafar.
"No," she admits, "I'm here because I wanted to talk." This brings him to a halt, turning to face her as she glances around.
"Talk?" he repeats in disbelief. She shrugs.
"We can't get any talking done when we're able to physically kill each other, so this seemed like the easiest way to get things done." Her eyes harden slightly. "It's a shame your father wasn't able to do this before you murdered him."
"Leave me," Kylo hisses, "I do not need a lecture."
"I wonder if you would tell that to Snoke."
"He is my Master."
"So does that make you a slave?" Kylo tries, again, to push her from his mind like she did to him, but she's in too deep. She's not going anywhere until she wishes to. As always. "I would say I'm sorry, but I'm not. You're a killer and quite frankly, annoying, so you deserve it. However, for the sake of this conversation moving forward, I'll stop."
Kylo doesn't dignify that with a response.
"Do you ever think about what would happen if you stopped fighting the Light inside of you?" she asks. He freezes. "It feels kind of backwards, telling you to stop fighting what's always been there and such. Usually it's the Sith who say such things."
"Yet here we are," Kylo says blandly.
"Yes," Rey agrees. "Here we are."
He turns again, looking at her. She's built up some muscle, looking less like a scavenger and more like a warrior. Her hair isn't pulled back into the usual three knobs, but cascades down her shoulders, casual. She's dressed in soft Jedi robes, similar to the ones he used to wear back when-
No. No.
"I have no need to consider the Light," he answers finally. "There is none left."
"That's a lie," she says matter-of-factly. "I know. I've been in your head."
"I extinguished the Light when I killed Han Solo." She hesitates, wincing. "Oh, now you don't wish to discuss it? When it no longer suits the outdated propaganda Skywalker has force-fed you with?"
"If you must know, I don't want to discuss it because it hurts to think about," she admits angrily.
"There is no emotion . . ." Kylo intones mockingly.
"Yes, well the Jedi aren't perfect," Rey snaps. "In fact, Luke has taught me that the original Jedi Code holds more truth than the one that turned the Jedi into somewhat heartless diplomats." He laughs without humor, taking somewhat perverse enjoyment in her criticism of the Jedi.
"Enlighten me," he mutters.
"Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force." Rey sizes him up. "It's actually quite easy, not forcing yourself to be so enraged all of the time or doing things you know you'll regret."
"Don't pretend to know me," he snaps.
"I don't," she replies, "I did know Ben Solo. I remember more about him every day."
"He's dead."
"Really?" Rey challenges, "Because I seem to remember you having the opportunity to kill me and not being able to. Is Kylo Ren that merciful?"
"No."
"Then it was Ben."
"No," he snaps. "It was . . . a fluke, a mistake." Rey, unfazed, merely steps closer to him.
"You like Darth Vader so much, so think about this," she says softly. "He had the chance to kill his own son and gain the favor of Emperor Palpatine, but in the end, he didn't do it. He made a decision: family over power. This man that you idolize so completely chose love, in the end." Her mouth curves into the barest hint of a smile. "And even though I want to hate you, I do not. You're a monster, but you're my family. And I am yours."
"You are nothing to me," Kylo interjects.
"You can say that as much as you wish," Rey retorts calmly, "But it doesn't change what I know about you or our family."
"You are no Skywalker," he snarls.
"I'm not the one who denounced my name," she points out. Behind him, the erupting volcano stutters and finally quiets, a sudden thing. "I know how heavy the Skywalker legacy can be. And it's probably easy to attribute your mistakes to it. But as important as being a Skywalker is, we're more than that. You are more than the grandson of Darth Vader. And you are more than a slave to be used at Snoke's whim."
"Just leave," he sighs, exhausted of her words and her eerie sense of calm. "I have training to complete."
"Fine," she says, voice infuriatingly gentle. "May the Force be with you, Ben."
He doesn't have time to correct her, as she fades from his mind moments later.
"Trillions of families in the galaxy," Rey muses, "And I end up in the family the fates seem to hate the most."
"So how did your talk with Ren go?" Finn asks. Rey sighs, resting her head on his shoulder. His presence in the Force is warm, comforting. So different from her cousin's razor sharp thoughts and emotions so intense they seem to be on the verge of combustion.
"I don't know," she admits. "The Light is there, and we both can see it, but he is so lost . . . and I don't know if he wants to find himself, after all he's done. He's gone too far, made it so that he can never come back."
"If that was true," Finn points out, "You wouldn't have even tried."
Rey groans, tired beyond belief. Mentally pushing herself into Kylo's guarded mind, seeing through his eyes, was utterly exhausting. She had gone to her father immediately after, confused and worried she had only pushed him deeper into the Darkness, but he had assured her she did all she could.
It wasn't enough, though, so she's now with her first friend, her favorite human, alongside Poe, who is off on a mission.
"It almost feels like a bad dream," she admits softly. "When I dreamed of family, I wanted peace, belonging."
"Does Master Skywalker not give you that?" he asks. She shakes her head.
"No, no, he's wonderful. Everything I dreamed of having in a father. I just . . . I have a homicidal cousin who hates himself and wields extraordinary power. I didn't want that." Finn nods, understanding. "I don't know how to deal with all of this."
"Complicated may not be what you wanted," Finn says slowly, "But it's what you've got. And I don't think you would have been born into the Skywalker family if you couldn't handle it. Besides," he adds, "-you're not just a Skywalker. You're Rey, and that speaks for itself. You're the most impressive person I've ever met."
Rey wonders, briefly, how Finn always knows the right thing to say.
"It would be easier if he couldn't be redeemed," she says tiredly. "Then I could just kill him and be done with it."
"Life isn't easy," Finn says bluntly, though his voice remains soothing. "The best we can do is just that: our best. And between you and me, you're doing a pretty good job so far."
"Yeah?" Rey whispers. Finn grins, leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple.
"Yeah."
She gives him space, surprisingly.
For months, Kylo's grueling training continues uninterrupted, save for the occasional flash of emotion from his cousin. Snoke remains unaware (to his knowledge) of their conversation, and praises Kylo's "immense progress."
He leaves Mustafar after six months, returning to the Finalizer to help with the First Order's increasingly dominant war effort. But when he goes to his quarters and looks upon the decaying helmet of his grandfather, Rey's reminder springs to mind.
Darth Vader gave up everything to save his son. The last act of the hero of the Darkness was an act of Light.
"I should have given up everything much sooner." Kylo whirls around, ready to slam whatever fool decided to invade his living space into the wall, but nobody's there. He frowns, reaching through his bond with Rey to see if the voice was her doing. But she's deep asleep.
"Kylo Ren." This time, the voice is from directly behind him, and he turns rapidly. Only this time, someone is most definitely there.
He's young, maybe slightly older than Kylo himself. His light brown hair nearly falls to his shoulders and his eyes are a piercing blue. But whoever he is, he's not fully there, seeming to disappear around the edges like a hologram.
He's a ghost.
"Who are you?" Kylo demands. The stranger smiles, completely at ease.
"I have been trying to contact you for years, but you never let me in. I am glad to see something has changed."
"Answer my question!"
"You wouldn't know me even if I did tell you who I am," the stranger replies, a hint of sadness in his voice. "You are like so many others, only seeing what you wish to see."
"You know nothing about me," Kylo growls. "Now let me be."
"You regret much," the ghost observes, ignoring him. "I know the feeling. I destroyed everyone I loved in some foolish attempt to preserve them. I even almost killed my son."
"Am I supposed to be getting something from this?" Kylo demands. The ghost tilts his head, considering.
"Not yet. But for your sake, I hope you figure it out sooner than I did." He gives him a nod. "Farewell, Ben."
Letting go of anger and hatred is easier said than done, especially when family is involved. The emotions run so deeply, and the bonds are so intricate, that it's almost like a labyrinth. Impossible to navigate, but you try anyways.
Rey knows Kylo Ren deserves every bit of anger she has inside. He's a murderer, cold and ruthless. That spark of Light inside of him cannot change that.
But she's tired of being angry, she realized long ago. And despite everything that she has gone through, she's still that lonely desert scavenger who never lost hope in a better future.
"That's what will make you a great Skywalker," Luke tells her when she confides in him. "A great Jedi."
Rey smiles.
The thought of being a Skywalker is still slightly overwhelming, but she's learning. The image she had in her head for so long of a perfect family who missed her may not be what she got, but perfection is overrated. The galaxy is messed up, her family is broken, and she has a path to forge in the chaos. A path completely her own, not held down by the mistakes of her elders.
"Who are you?"
"Rey Skywalker."