Chapter Text
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Everything around her was bright, white, reflecting the distant sun’s glare. The rippling plain stretched endlessly towards the dark rock-marked ridges on the horizon. For a moment, as she squinted, she felt like she was back on Jakku, with its endless dunes and distant mountains. But there was one thing that made the memory last only a few seconds. The cold. The frost felt almost like a living creature — predatory, crawling under her clothes, trying to slip into her bloodstream, into her heart. Her senses dulled, her awareness grew numb. It was clear that the cold's final aim was death.
The snowy plains and glacier-covered mountains of the planet Hoth stretched endlessly. The moment she exited hyperspace, the sight of that boundless whiteness had stunned her — and terrified her. As she approached landing, the pale, bluish glaciers loomed like a scrapyard of fallen ships, their jagged peaks catching the scattered light of the distant sun, scattering it in glittering sparks. Winds ceaselessly swept across the plains, lifting layers of fresh snow, sculpting intricate patterns in the snow — fleeting and vanishing almost as quickly as they appeared. Hoth was beautiful. And deadly.
Rey crouched beneath a rocky overhang at the edge of a chain of hills, sheltered behind a curtain of frozen waterfall. Through the icy stalactites she gazed out over the vast white expanse below. The pale sun was slowly descending toward the horizon, soon everything would fall into the deadly grip of night — darkness, and cold. She held a pair of binoculars in her hands, scanning the plain over and over again. She was looking for black shapes against the white. Signs they were already on their way.
She had probably been waiting for hours, maybe longer. With no signs of life, time here blended into a single stretch of snow, cold, and the dying light of the sun. Her fingers were stiff, her neck ached from tension — but her unease kept growing. By her side, nearly buried under snow, lay her communications kit — a folding transmitter and a retuned decoder she had worked on back at the Rebel base. A soft blinking light signaled calmly, yet Rey kept blaming herself — the layer of insulation she’d used might be too thin for the conditions she’d encountered on the surface. Still, she hoped it would help her intercept transmissions — find the right frequency, bypass the security, choose the right moment... She wasn’t sure what she would say, what words she would use to send a warning.
She closed her eyes and tried to sense the balance of forces that had always existed — of growth and decay, beauty and ugliness, and the balance between the frost of Hoth and the burning sun that once lit the planet of her childhood. She let the Force flow. Her awareness began to stretch, to drift like a soft mist over the wilderness. In some places, where life pulsed strongly, it was easier. But here, on Hoth, everything was muted, heavy, nearly frozen in a silent grip. She sensed signs of life — small creatures, distant machines, the tremor of presence. But not him. Not yet. With a sigh, she retreated, returning to her body. And to her doubts. The longer she waited, the more her certainty began to crumble. Again and again, the question rose to the surface of her mind: What am I even doing here? Memories of the past few days returned with increasing force — especially that hastily called meeting back at the Rebel base. The emotions were still alive in her body.
Three days earlier. A secret message, intercepted and decrypted by the rebels. They couldn’t say who was behind the plot — which faction or officers had initiated the secret orders. They had been too skilled, too well-hidden. Only partial instructions, meant for lower-ranking conspirators, had leaked. Kylo Ren was to be lured to Hoth, under the pretense of hunting remnants of the Resistance. Evidence of rebel activity — especially signs of the last Jedi — had been cleverly fabricated. His escort, secretly replaced at the last moment, was to turn on him. They would attack his starfighter, which had been preloaded with explosives. In the chaos — detonation. No trace, no witnesses. Most members of the Resistance saw it as justice. Justice finally catching up to their greatest enemy. Some warned of consequences — a change in leadership might not benefit their cause. A heated debate followed. But the death of the current First Order leader seemed inevitable. Rey had stayed silent. She couldn’t tell them the truth. That when she heard of the assassination, she felt something she hadn’t expected, not relief, for sure not satisfaction. She wasn’t even sure what it was — fear, perhaps, and definitely disbelief. But one thought had stood out with a force she couldn’t explain: This story — maybe even their story — wasn’t over yet. She tried to reason with them, offering rational arguments: that it was too risky, that new leaders could be worse, that such methods not only destroy the enemy but corrode the cause itself. A few had supported her, but the majority chose to let the plan unfold and react afterward. Hatred for Kylo Ren had roots too deep. Not even Leia could help her. General Organa was far from the base, absent from command, recovering somewhere in a hidden location.
That night, sitting alone in her quarters, she had thought for a long time. The noise of the crowded base slowly faded; footsteps in the corridor grew rare. The light above her door flickered occasionally, casting pale, trembling shadows across the wall. She lay still, still dressed, arms crossed over her chest, wondering whether the story she had fallen into — or more precisely, had been dragged into without her consent — made sense, whether it was leading somewhere. Where had their bond come from, their ability to communicate across the vast reaches of the Galaxy? Had the Force intended something? Should she use the opportunity she’d been given and allow the unclear intentions of unknown forces to unfold into a path forward? That would mean betrayal. She had been blocking the bond for months. Cutting it off — for peace of mind, for clarity of purpose. She had convinced herself it was the only way. That if she couldn’t hear his thoughts, couldn’t feel his emotions, she would eventually stop hesitating. Stop remembering what had happened — and what could have.
The first time she loosened the strength of her barrier and gently reached inward, as if following a dim, warm, slender thread — she had pulled back the moment she barely reached the other side, brushing it lightly, fearfully, like touching a door behind which someone might be waiting. Almost instantly, she had returned, back behind her wall, and exhaled deeply. But the decision had already taken root within her. So the second time, she was more resolute.
She recalled their past encounters — that strange moment just before the bond would open. She tried to visualize the barrier she sensed, or rather, the thick, tall wall without a single crack. She knew he was behind it. She felt the strength holding it, the power and will that maintained it. She held her breath, focused. Again — nothing. Not emptiness, but silence. Will against will. As if someone was on the other side... and deliberately silent. Maintaining the wall. She withdrew again to gather her thoughts. To decide what to do next.
The third time came only after a long while. That time, she sat down, let her feet rest on the cold floor, and allowed herself to feel everything. The sorrow. The anger. The hope she couldn’t quite kill. She closed her eyes and went deep into herself, letting the Force guide her to places beyond reason or even will. Only then, she felt him. It wasn’t thought, or voice, definitely not image. It was a kind of tension — an indistinct surge of emotion. Like a clenched fist in the distance. Like a wound that wouldn't heal. He was there, closed off, hidden, but present. For a fleeting moment, she felt the familiar vibration of energy between them — that peculiar tension she knew all too well. But there was no answer. Only emotion: suppressed, chaotic, dark. Anger. Exhaustion. And beneath it all... pain. A flicker of thought: “I don’t need you.” She trembled, rejected — almost physically — by a sudden surge of power rebuilding the wall anew. Rey lowered her head and rested her forehead on her knees. She took a deep breath. That was when she made her decision. If he wouldn't hear her through the bond — he would hear her in person.
She told no one and asked no one’s permission. Offered no explanation. She simply packed her gear and left under the cover of the pre-dawn hour, when the first morning creatures began to call out, awaiting the hot sun. She set her course for Hoth. And now she sat here, hidden in the shadow of an ice curtain, her heart beating faster than it should, haunted by a single question: Was this betrayal? Was he truly worth all that she was hoping for? But one thing she knew with absolute certainty: she didn’t want him dead. Not like this, and not now.