Chapter Text
Chapter One - Sand and Stars of Infinity
Rey Skywalker.
The binary suns in the empty sky echoed the melancholy of loneliness across the desert. Rey turned back from the dying light, just as the pair dipped under the horizon. A chill in the air accompanied the pinks and amethyst glow of twilight in the opposing sky. The local woman who’d asked her name had already mounted her eiope, beginning the journey back to wherever she’d come from. The visions of Luke and Leia, ghosts or echoes, Rey wasn’t really sure, had vanished into the sands kicked up in the evening breeze.
Rey walked toward the woman, who’d looked at her earlier with a mix curiosity and despair. Jakku was a dead planet, vacant and barren. Tatooine shared the same absence, but it was not void of emotion. And the emotion permeating everything was pain. This place, where Luke had come from, this home, had been scorched by much suffering. All Rey learned was he’d been kept safe here as a child, protected by family from his own father and her grandfather…
No…Palpatine…the Sith…what he’d done was not a part of her. Just as the sins of Vader were not for Luke and Leia, she would not carry those of Darth Sidious. The consequence of those sins lay in the bedrock under this homestead and in this planet. So much hope had once been where Rey stood, dreams of another life and another place, the desire to do better. Then it was gone, replaced by fire, smoke, and death.
Why had she come back here? Why would she leave the last memory of her teachers in this place?
Rey shook the feeling and refocused on the old woman who slowly made her way into the approaching night. BB-8 rolled alongside her, his usual chirping commentary subdued out of respect for the solemnity of the moment.
“Do you need help?” Rey called out to the woman.
The woman continued on, not bothering to turn and face Rey as she answered.
“Help yourself, girl. There is nothing here but death.”
The woman cracked the elope’s reins. More sand rose from the elope’s quickened trot into the darkening desert. Their conversation was over. Rey stopped and watched the woman fade into the endless dunes beyond her sight. When the woman was finally gone, BB-8 chirped to break the silence.
“She’s right. There’s nothing here but death,” Rey said to herself. “Come on, BB-8.”
Rey looked toward the Millennium Falcon a few yards away, her new home but one she intended to make temporary. Chewbacca graciously encouraged her to take the ship, after announcing his retirement from its co-pilot seat, but she didn’t feel right and intended to return it to him when she found her own ship. Just as the Falcon belonged to be in its right place, the lightsabers of Luke and Leia could not rest in the sands of Tatooine. Nothing rested on Tatooine, the pain ignited here and only smoldered eternal, buried under the shifting, howling sand.
So Rey would take the lightsabers and carry them with her. Or, find a new place to put them to rest. Tatooine had drawn her to it with it’s many stories. The place Anakin Skywalker began his journey, the place Luke set off on his journey to help the princess he’d later learn was his sister. Rey had heard variations of these stories her whole life, but none were as fantastic as the truth Leia shared with her during one of their many late night conversations while on the run from the First Order.
Pursued by Leia’s own son and Rey’s first…
Don’t.
Rey couldn’t think about Ben. The jubilee after defeating of the First Order allowed Rey a distraction. Building her own lightsaber allowed Rey a distraction. Coming to Tatooine to say some sort of goodbye to her teachers allowed Rey a distraction.
The pain of Tatooine suddenly filled Rey. She could’ve choked, as tears filled her eyes. The pain of Tatooine and the pain of the galaxy. So much had been won, but so very much had been lost. In this war against the First Order and all the wars before. All this pain, buried under the sand under her feet and the pain burning in stars emerging in the sky. Each of the infinite glimmers in the sky told a story of life and death. There were as many of them as there were grains of sand before her, blowing aimlessly in the the coming darkness. Sometimes these stories were beautiful and they were of hope, but Rey only felt the pain where she stood, alone in the desert, amongst an infinity of loss and pain. She only saw the void between the stars.
BB-8 chirped again and nudged Rey.
“Okay, BB-8,” she said and looked down to see his chirps weren’t protests to return to the Falcon. He’d put himself in front of her path, to protect the sight she could not believe was in front of her.
A flower, not yet in bloom, but it’s stem and wrapped pistil broke just above the surface of the sand. Rey reached out to touch it, tempted to pick it for further examination, but something stopped her. The Force told her to stop. Do not touch, do not to interfere. The Force was at work in this place and all it needed was time. Time, and a little hope.
The flower grew in the same place Rey had buried the lightsabers of Leia and Luke. She didn’t understand how she could’ve missed this flower when she placed them there. She couldn’t retrieve the lightsabers without harming the flower. She’d already probably come close to killing it during the burial.
Breathe…just…breathe.
The memory of Luke’s first lesson echoed in her mind. Like the wind cut through the waves of Ach-To, it swirled in the sands of Tatooine. A wind pushed by the Force, its rush of power drove the waves and the sands too chaotic and vast for anyone to control.
Rey reached out, underneath the sands, to the two lightsabers, and the Force pushed her away again. She remembered its expanse. All it had grown from. The beginning of the Force, the moment so long ago when it realized itself.
A moment just like this one. A flower sprouting in the desert, which one day might bloom and from it, give life to other flowers. The Force was born from a speck of light even smaller than the grains of sand surrounding Rey, but it had grown to cover all. This flower could be something similar. The Force compelled her not to disturb it.
The lightsabers could act as stewards of this new life. She’d found some accounts in the scorched Jedi texts of the Force creating life, examples of direct intervention. This flower felt like one of those. Rey understood it enough to try and not understand it, to simply take one last look at the tiny, precious piece of life, and walk away. Rey could think of no better place to leave her Luke and Leia’s protection.
That force does not belong to the Jedi.
The Jedi. Rey took few lessons from Luke and many from Leia, but they’d only been suggestions. All the histories Rey found of the ancient order spanning millennia until its collapse under the monastic, rigid form it had taken taught her to step as far away from its minutia and tenets as possible. The Jedi’s history zigged and zagged, but when it corrected and their mission was one of service and stewardship, those were the centuries when the galaxy found its own peace. There were even periods where the Jedi didn’t ignite a lightsaber for hundreds of years. Those were the times when the Jedi got out of the way.
If Rey was to foster a peace the galaxy called for in the aftermath of its last stand against the Sith and their mechanisms of destruction, her first lesson was on this barren planet. Rey needed to get out of the way. She took one last look at the flower and started back to the Falcon.
Rey stopped at the top of the Falcon’s ramp, she looked back at the shadows overtaking the homestead Luke once called home, wondering why this place had called to her.
Rey Skywalker.
Rey asked herself why she said this.
Rey Palpatine.
These names were part of a story the galaxy wanted to forget. The story would be remembered in its own way. Did these names need to be carried on? Both names carried too much for too many. The terror the Emperor used to bring the galaxy to heel, while those who rode his coattails associated the name with order and justice. Some would exalt Rey Palpatine, while many would fear her. The same with Skywalker, those who remembered Luke Skywalker, the Rebel pilot who brought down the Death Star and defeated Darth Vader. But, they also knew Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi who betrayed the Republic and transformed himself into a specter of the Sith whose shadow still invokes terror with the countless unspeakable acts he carried out for his master.
Not everyone knew how this story ended. And if she was to get out of the way of the Force, serve as its steward for the galaxy, and most importantly, find a life for herself, why carry this story on. Its resolution was not her task. If the galaxy was to ever know how love had conquered both Vader and Palpatine, they must learn that story and tell it themselves. She’d played her part in it and now, Rey knew she needed to step out of the way.
And it was time to get on with her life, whatever that would be. The first thing would be to find a home, for herself, so that when the time came, she could help others like her find their home.
“I’ve watched you for a long time,” a woman’s voice said in the darkness of the Falcon’s unlit corridor.
Rey flicked a switch and reached for her lightsaber. The lights of the Falcon flooded her vision, shocking her with their brightness. An older Togruta woman stood in the center of the main cabin. She wore a gray robe and carried a staff, with a small loop at its end. The woman didn’t move, she just smiled gently at Rey.
“Who are you?” Rey said, hand on the hilt of her lightsaber, but paused by the woman’s demeanor. She was not an enemy.
“My name is not important. As you’ll learn, our names can carry a weight in this lifetime that is not necessary for us or others to carry. We both knew those who lived with the burden of a name.”
Has this woman been inside of my head?
“For now, call me friend.”
The woman’s calm, confident voice disarmed Rey. Whoever this was, she was not here to harm her. Rey let her hand drift away from her hilt, but still kept her distance as the woman examined the ship.
“I’ve always wanted to see this ship. Heard so much about it,” the woman said.
“You’ve heard of the Falcon?”
“Who hasn’t? So many stories began here.”
Rey thought of the first time she’d run up the ramp. The first time she’d met Finn, running from TIE Fighter blasts which took them from the salt of Jakku into the bones of wrecked Star Destroyers, and up into the sky. She’d so badly wanted to turn the Falcon around at every point, return to her cave in the desert, and continue counting the days until her family returned. That part of her story ended in this cabin, but there had been so many days between then and the final destruction of the First Order, when she wished it hadn’t. So many days where she wished she could just go back to the desert and hide in the simple lie of waiting for a family she’d dreamed up. A family which didn’t come with such consequence.
“And so many to begin again, right here,” the woman continued. She walked slowly to holo-game table, traced her hand across it, and took a seat behind it.
“You speak of stories,” Rey said, keeping her tone stern and determined to pull whatever purpose this woman came with, whether she was friend or not. “Since you’ve snuck aboard my ship, have made yourself comfortable, and claim you’ve been following me, perhaps you’ll enlighten me with yours.”
“I think the both of us have had enough enlightening for many lifetimes,” the woman said, her grin at the edge of a chuckle. Rey could not ignore the wisdom and kindness behind this woman’s eyes, but she also sensed a tremendous strength. There was little in the galaxy this woman had not faced, the lines in her face and the depth of her voice told Rey this.
“You’re a Jedi,” Rey said.
The woman looked away from Rey, her eyes turned to the game board, contemplating an answer. It was a statement as much as a question which gave the woman pause.
“I’ve learned many lessons in the Force. Many of them have been taught to me by Jedi, many of them have not. Many Jedi have been my allies…many of them have not,” the woman responded, her last words trailing off as she reflected silently on her answer. “I’m here now to speak to you because I once had to begin again. And in that beginning, I wished I’d had a friend.”
“I do have friends.”
“Not like this.”
“Why are you here?” Rey said. The time for cryptic words had come to an end. BB-8 chirped his demands for a better explanation, as well. The woman smiled at the droid to soothe his concerns.
“For a long time I searched for answers. I spent most of my life searching for answers, looking for them alongside the Jedi, or fighting the Sith, or fighting the Empire. It wasn’t until after a very long time, I realized I’d never even tried to understand the question.”
The woman stopped and placed her staff across her lap. She stared at Rey for a few moments in silence.
Rey had so many questions for this woman. She’d known the Jedi. Perhaps she’d known Luke and Leia, or even their parents.
“What was the question?” Rey said.
“That there doesn’t always need to be a question to get an answer.”
“Look, I’ve had a long day and I’m not feeling well anyway,” Rey said, as nausea returned to her. She’d been getting sick to her stomach, at odd times during the days. She assumed it was due to the nearly expired ration packets in the Falcon’s galley storage and the tasks she’d kept herself busy with. In another effort to keep herself busy, Rey ferried emergency supplies to a dozen planets in the Outer Rim before ending with this pilgrimage to Tatooine. No time for thinking and no time for rest.
“Don’t go looking for answers, Rey. Look for truth. Look for your truth. Your truth may be in the Force. It may be in the Jedi. Whatever it is, it must be yours. That is all I offer today, advice from a friend. Advice I wish someone would have given me. It took me nearly a lifetime and a distance I never thought I’d have to cross to find it.”
“What is your truth?”
“My truth is what you see. To be here now, with you. To help a friend. And when I leave you, I will discover my next truth. I’ve watched you for a long time. Many of us have. You give many of us great relief. I can’t be here for you the way I wish I could. I wish I could help you everyday. I wish I could stand ready to stand with you to face the challenges awaiting you. But I am not that powerful, nor should I be.”
Rey suddenly saw the truth. This woman was not here in the corporeal. She spoke to Rey through the Force. Just as Ben…
Don’t.
How unfair the galaxy was to punish Ben, putting him through the hell of his life. She’d felt it when they touched. The child who felt he could never enough. He could never be a pilot like his father. He could never be a general like his mother. He could never be a Jedi like his uncle. He only believed he could be the monster he thought he was. And he never realized he could just be Ben until the very end. Just Ben.
Ben Solo. Rey Skywalker. Kylo Ren. Rey Palpatine.
Just Rey. Just Ben.
The woman tilted her head in concern. Rey’s face dropped and she felt a tear form in her eye. The pain, even thinking his name, flooded back to her. He died peace, but there was so much he could have done. So much of her story she’d wanted to share with him. So much of his story she wanted to know. Now, there was nothing, but a fading kiss and smile in the darkness of a dead planet, and the Force taking him from her. She’d let him go, but she wished so badly she would’ve tried to hold on.
“I will not try to understand your truth or tell you what it is, Rey,” the woman began. “You have so much love and hope to give the galaxy, but make sure you give it to yourself first. That may not be your truth, but it is true. You are enough. And the person you grieve, you carry what’s left of him, and what will grow beyond both of you.”
Rey sucked her emotions back in, wiping the tear from her face. She still had so many questions for the woman.
“You’re far away. I can sense that. How do you––?”
“Like you, I’m exactly where I need to be. The Force is vast enough that even the furthest from it can be just as near as you and I are now. I found those who need a friend. Those who need a protector. Those who need a guardian. So they can learn to be their own friend, protector, and guardian. When you learn what you carry with you, be a friend, protector, and guardian. The Jedi, the Force…wherever you go from here, Rey, take care of yourself and the story you carry first. Then, whatever truth remain for the Jedi and Force, will only become yours if you choose.”
The woman stood slowly from the holo-game booth and walked toward Rey. She put her hand on her shoulder and hugged her warmly. Rey could feel the warmth through the Force and the strength this woman carried.
“And just remember, you always have a friend whenever you need.”
Slowly, the woman faded away through the Force. Her smile was the last thing Rey saw.
The nausea returned and Rey sat at the holo-game table. She reached for a canteen nearby and carefully sipped the cool water. Rey called to the Force and it came, wrapping itself around her to soothe the discomfort of her anxiety and the nausea it stirred. As regulation came on, she took bigger sips of the canteen and realized she was likely close to dehydrated. Then urgent hunger replaced the nausea.
After a big meal and a few more canteens of water Rey forced down, she decided to sleep before taking off from Tatooine. The Falcon’s security systems came to life and BB-8 assured her he would stand guard over the ship while she rested. Rey’s exhaustion couldn’t slow down her mind about the woman’s visit and the words she left with.
Would she inherit the Jedi? Did the galaxy need the Jedi? Were these even questions she needed to ask herself? Rey laid down in the bunk and dimmed the lights but she couldn’t sleep. The verbose, esoteric writings of the ancient Jedi texts she’d inherited always seemed to dull her mind enough to drift her to sleep, so she rose from the bunk and moved to the small storage container where she’d kept them. It had been a while since she visited them, since even before the Battle of Exegol.
When she opened the storage container a new book sat atop the pile, placed out of order to catch her attention. The cloth-bound book had no name, but the elegant purple and gold designs caught Rey’s eye. It was a drawing of a city, not like the massive towers of the core systems or other industrialized planets she’d seen in her short travels. This city was one of palaces, temples, and architecture crafted for its beauty to endure through all the ages of the galaxy. A city built atop a mighty waterfall––a majesty Rey had never seen in a city.
She opened the cover slowly. The journal felt fragile and Rey did not risk disturbing or damaging what it contained. The first blank page, Rey saw her name at the top and a note signed by Leia.
Rey,
This is the journal of mine and Luke’s mother, Padmé Amidala. This is all we have left
of her. I am at the end of my time in this place and I don’t know
what lessons I have left other than the ones she taught me through these
words. Please take them with you. And if you ever find Ben, please
share them with him. I have no words to express my gratitude
for the love and friendship you’ve given me. Please take all that I have to give you
back with you in all of your days. You have everything you need.
Leia
Leia’s words brought warmth to Rey. Her friend and teacher wrote this note with the hope, love, and trust. The story of Luke and Leia’s father loomed over everything when their parentage came up. Leia spoke of her parents on Alderaan, the Organas, whose name she took, but there was only once she’d spoken of her birth mother to Rey. I wish I remembered her. I wish I remembered something else besides sadness, because I know there was so much more. Leia said the words with certainty, like a secret only she and a few knew. All the stories told about heroes like Padmé only focused on their ends. Leia gave Rey this story, so like all the others, she could know it and learn from it. These words of Padmé were given in hope for Rey and hope for Ben. Leia never gave up on her son, even as she wrote this note at her end, in the galaxy’s darkest hour under his shadow.
Rey put her head upon a the coarse pillow of the bunk and turned the cabin lights to their dimmest setting, just enough to see the handwritten words in the journal. Rey flipped through them until she landed on a page toward the end of the journal which caught her eye. As she began to read, her stomach finally settled, she turned to her side and wrapped her arms around her stomach, cradling it to keep it comfortable.
The penmanship of Padmé’s first sentence in the entry conveyed so much love, so much joy, and a celebration of punctuation unnecessary to underscore the impact of its statement.
Today, I found out I’m going to be a mother…