Chapter Text
Someone who almost starts the most vulnerable, and the most susceptible, and kind of gradually becomes more and more hardened with experiences he’s had. [He] gets deeper and deeper into the dark side.
—Adam Driver on Kylo Ren (The Skywalker Legacy, 2020)
Definition of elegy
1: a song or poem expressing sorrow or lamentation especially for one who is dead
2: a pensive or reflective poem that is usually nostalgic or melancholy
The first time it happens, Rey isn’t sure what she saw.
Deciding not to unnecessarily dwell, she falls back to sleep without much hesitation. But days later, it happens again, and she wakes up gasping for air, her fingers pressed against her throat like she was drowning. It’s much clearer now—the dream is feeding on waves of emotions that aren’t her own.
Anger.
Pain.
Even suffering.
She wants to remember, only comprehending there was something—someone standing before her. Darkness slithers along the edges of the vision. Every instinct tells her to strike the figure down. But after many nights, the lifeform becomes recognisable. His commanding height. The sable locks of hair that curl atop his shoulder. The aquiline nose on his pale skin that’s dotted with a constellation of beauty marks. An all-too-familiar stern line that forms at his distinctive lips.
The enemy, she decides. Is this a test?
The premonitions only grow more vivid with each passing day. They demand her will to be resolute. Valiant. And yet, each time she sees herself delivering a killing blow to him, she feels hollow, curling up beneath her bed covers with furious tears. Her muscles will tense as her heart turns to stone. An excruciating agony ruptures through the core of her very existence.
As if she could no longer conceive a galaxy where Kylo Ren ceased to live.
She couldn't understand this feeling.
Any of it.
Finally, deep amidst a restless sleep with tear-stained lashes, her hand unknowingly extends towards the empty space above. It stops in mid-air, touching an invisible barrier—a doorway she gently knocks upon before unlocking it by her own will. This wretched thread that tethers them together has always been an enigma, tying two strangers on different sides of a galactic war to one another.
She doesn’t sense the quiet shift in the Force.
Nor the symphony it plays when the bond reawakens at last, stretching its far-reaching roots.
But somewhere across the stars in an undisclosed planetary system, the newly crowned Supreme Leader of the First Order tilts his head. Something disrupted his concentration while he paces along his Star Destroyer’s main bridge.
He has heard the Jedi’s call.
She is good at fixing things.
If she’s not running a training course or enduring sluggish command meetings, reconstructing Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber consumes her waking hours. What was once a way of survival is now a distraction. A pastime to take her mind away from things that have poisoned her thoughts for too long.
No longer must she remain haunted by a face she thought she knew.
A voice that once soothed her.
"You’re not alone."
Since Ahch-To, there’s an unending stillness. Even after Snoke’s demise, this bridge he had so pitilessly claimed credit for its creation survives. The silence is loud—the atmosphere pulled into an inescapable vacuum.
And hence, she doesn’t look up when it unexpectedly connects them again.
First time in a long time.
The truth is, she did want it. Only for a second. Mortified of her fleeting weakness to accept Kylo’s offer, it’s easy to pretend she doesn’t sense him. The largest part of her feels deceived; humiliated in the blazing throne room by his decision not to return with her. But Rey also keeps a secret in the remaining half. That the memory of his outstretched hand and these premonitions of his violent fate are planting a seed that’s blooming into something else—an unspoken longing for him that grows more unbearable each day.
But his arrival tells her the one thing she’s been searching for of late.
The war has yet to claim him.
He is still alive .
Kylo stands a few feet away, but he makes no attempt to speak. No effort to move forward. It hurts this way, but she’ll never admit it. Back in the Supremacy’s turbolift, or even when she was at his mercy before Snoke, the way she looked at him—the way he looked back—it felt like a promise. But every ounce of discipline now forbids her mind from unravelling those moments.
Where had she fallen short? What else should she have said? How could she have done better?
Will Kylo Ren be all she’ll ever have?
Is Ben Solo truly lost?
Perhaps a little fiercely, she bites her tongue until his Force signature diminishes. Repair work resumes after burying the lingering disappointment that he, too, did nothing to mend the growing distance between them.
The Force seems to revel in their misery. A constant torment that allows Kylo to barge in whenever he wants. Showing up unannounced and being rudely imposing at the worst circumstances. But it’s always fair, ensuring she’s thrust into his space amidst his training or meditation. She avoids peeking at him, wishing the bond will sever faster than it binds.
And because they have never been great with words, each connection starts and ends the same way: a desperation for something they never had.
Maybe if she ignores this long enough, it will go away.
But she’s familiar with his smell now, immediately scenting his clean, faint musk while dozing off in another mission debrief. No warning was given this time. Panicking, her eyes fly open, darting around the room to spot him lurking in the corner. Strikingly majestic, his hands are behind him with those broad shoulders thrown back.
Poe Dameron has initiated numerous operations to locate rebel outposts. As hiding in the Unknown Regions will further isolate them from any potential support, precarious missions to gain more allies against the First Order must continue to forge a path to freedom. Their faith must be kept alive by any means necessary.
Rey’s fingers drum nervously on her knees. Is she endangering their strategy by being here? Could Kylo hear this? Sense their thoughts, perhaps?
“No.”
She flinches. The sound of his voice sends a shiver up her spine, but she’d sooner die before he’ll get the chance to coerce that admission. It’s strange. He’s still the same in some ways, but so different in others. Her throat tightens when he tilts his head, peering over his shoulder. Like he’s reaching for her—but he doesn’t give her the satisfaction and eventually looks away.
“It’s always been you,” he says, low but definite. “Just you.”
She frowns. What is he…?
“Far too easy,” he chuckles dryly. “I can still hear every little thought inside your head.”
She abruptly pushes back against the meeting table, her face now a lovely crimson that matches her rising anger. Poe is alarmed, regarding her cautiously as the room falls silent. Finn catches her eye, but she shakes her head, pacifying him.
Storming back to her quarters, she blames the flush on the weather.
*****
It’s a quiet night when he appears again.
Everything finally spills over, obliterating the walls they have tried so hard to build.
With a hasty swing of her arm, the comlink levitates off her dresser and launches across the room. From what little they know of the bond’s nature, he doesn’t need to dodge, but yet, he still lazily slants his neck. A natural reflex, for sure. Her fingers curl at the standard-issue blaster, raising to aim. A poor alternative to use on someone like him, but the saber has yet to be remade. It’s better this way—to remind herself that the only place he belongs is at the end of her blade.
“Leave," she tells him. “Now.”
“Should learn to control that temper of yours, sweetheart.”
Something within her chest coils at that endearment. He’s glancing around her room with curiosity. Refusing to be unhinged, she unlocks the safety. “Afraid?” she mocks.
But her mouth turns dry when he shifts, their gazes finally meeting. How long has it been since she last looked upon his face?
“Quite the contrary. You’re stunning when you’re angry.” He takes slow, heavy steps forward and it frightens her more than anything else. “Rather thrilling to me in ways you can’t imagine.”
Her pulse flutters. “Don’t. Stop twisting this like…” and she trails off.
“Like?” His eyes level with hers. “What? Say it.”
“Like it means something else.” When confusion forms on his face, she lowers her blaster. “Meant nothing then. It means nothing now.” She pretends not to notice his grave expression.
“Why did you reopen the bond, then?” He quirks an eyebrow, rolling his head from side to side. “Did you miss me?”
She grimaces. “I did no such thing!” But her tone falters. She had suspected something might have happened, something that rekindled this connection, although she hadn’t known—
“Liar.”
“You’re not worth the effort to create lies for.”
This must have irked him because he arrogantly lifts his chin. “You’d be the one to know about worth, wouldn’t you? Girl from nowhere.”
She fights back the horrible urge to cry. No, not in front of him.
Never again.
“Even at the end, I’d still have more than you, Kylo Ren. You’re surrounded by those you hate. Subordinates you don’t even trust. All for a title you stole; a false ruler.”
The second those words leave her mouth, she regrets it.
She knows what he did in the throne room is far more complicated, leaving behind a trail of broken, unmended dreams of two different paths. She knows. But it's too late. They can't return to such places any longer. And so, she watches helplessly as Kylo reels back from her words like he'd been slapped. The bond crackles, his wrath rearing its ugly head.
“I’ll destroy everything!” he snarls. “All of it. Every planet—every living thing that defies the First Order’s reign. Those who impudently shelter the Resistance traitors shall not be spared.”
“You’ll rule over corpses!”
“So be it,” he retorts. “Not all desire an uprising. Many were content under the Empire’s stability. Today, warlords and mercenaries run amok. Weaker worlds that once relied on Imperial security are being torn apart by cartels and syndicates. Is that your idea of harmony?” As she pulls a sullen expression, he frowns, clearly insistent on making his arguments ironclad. “The New Republic was an elaborate sham. Run by pathetic, careless pacifists who make decisions from the safety of their desks. Didn’t last a second when their mistakes came for them.”
“And that justifies Starkiller? You’re a murderer!” she shouts. “You and your entire puppet army!”
“Some of these puppets have families to protect—mouths to feed. They believe in our cause, just like those who identify with yours.” When she remains quiet, he observes her for a long moment. “Ignorance doesn’t flatter you, Rey. You’re nothing like them. Why are you trying so hard to fit in?"
“Stop it!”
Blind rage twists through her, so quickly, so intensely, that something escapes her notice—Kylo had spoken her name, addressing her as Rey again for the first time since he'd offered his hand.
And while he’s always been coarse with his words, it’s only now she recognises that he’s exposing her own façade. That perhaps Kylo Ren is not the only one who wears a mask.
She stubbornly clenches her fists. “The galaxy will turn into a wasteland before submitting to your madness.”
“Tempting—” He’s annoyingly smug, the contemptuous curl of his lip becoming more apparent. “You think I’d allow such painless deaths? They should be so lucky. And when I’m finished, I will truly enjoy making an example out of every single one of your rebel scum friends.”
“Even me?”
His eyes narrow, seemingly caught off guard by her question. “No. I have other plans for you.”
“You’ll have to find me first,” she hisses. “We won’t give up.”
“The Resistance is scattered. Divided. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Through my triumph, they’ll have nothing.” He dips his head to catch her gaze. “Just watch me. Because once I’ve taken everything, I’ll make you learn—” and his fingers twitch, his voice lowering to a tenor that feeds something rotten inside her, “—that the only thing you’ll want is me.”
For the briefest of seconds, she tenses.
Does he know those thoughts that plague her mind when she’s anxious to sleep? Where she’ll always be his prisoner, even if she’s crowned as his equal in the light. Being cold and cruel like him by day, but in his bed, their bodies will burn brighter than any star in the night.
And in every vision, there’s one undeniable constant: she loses herself and lets him conquer her whole.
“I’d rather die with them,” she whispers.
He rolls his eyes. “How precious. Always self-sacrificing for things you’ll never understand.” Amused by her obvious defiance, he sighs, like he actually pities her. “Poor little Rey. Wishing she hadn’t shown me mercy before taking the escape shuttle. Compassion has always been your weakness, Jedi.”
He spits out the final word like poison.
Jedi.
A disease he’s attempting to expel.
The Force finally takes pity, permitting the bond to fade. And the conversation should have ended there, but—
“I never wanted you to die,” she says softly. “I just want—” She catches herself in time. You broke my heart, her mind grieves, although it’s a secret she’ll never tell.
“My surrender?” He smirks, shaking his head with disgust. “Idealistic as ever.”
She looks away, refusing to take the bait.
“They won’t grant such clemency, Rey. I know what it is the Resistance demands for me. If not an immediate execution, surely nothing less than lifetime imprisonment. Or entombed in some variation of a Mandalorian vault to sever my connection to the Force.” Kylo’s snort is derisive, his rage tipping over, flowing through the bond at the mere thought of it. “Funny, isn't it? Hearing the lengths they’d go to—just to feel safe when they already have you. Their perfect, shining beacon of hope.”
“Why does it matter? You have thousands of starships at your command!”
He glares at her like she’s lost her mind, the tone of betrayal in his next words cutting her like a winter’s frost. “You chose them.”
Something in Rey's chest tightens at that, her eyes snapping up to his.
“At the very least, you’re on their side,” Kylo murmurs, adamant to have the last word.
But his curiosity continues to swell once the connection ends. Something recoiled through the bond that leaves him confused by her forlorn expression. He stares at his feet, contemplative, before turning to gaze out of a nearby viewport.
He stumbles upon her training one afternoon, the old quarterstaff being her preferred choice. He scrutinises her combat form, sensing a near worn-out Marksman-H hovering close by. “You’re getting stronger.”
She’s gasping, doubling over with hands on her knees.
“This is how you run a course?” He clicks his tongue. “Such a waste of potential. If you were on my ship, our technology is far better suited to your talents.”
“Well—I’m not on your ship, am I?” she bites back.
“No,” he agrees. “I suppose you aren’t.”
“Those infrastructures will never replace the guidance of another. Something you’d never be able to fulfil.”
“Always a pleasure to be told,” he says, but there’s no contempt this time. “Hearing you have the life I didn’t deserve. Han Solo showing you the ropes of his beloved piece of Corellian junk. Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa training you to be the Jedi they’ve always wanted.”
Rey straightens up to see Kylo staring into the distance.
“Unlike the offspring who disappointed them. Gave them enough reasons—clearly—to kill a sleeping boy.” His voice seems so faraway now. “But I don’t feel too bad, in the end. They had no qualms in finding alternatives for a son I never was." It’s a sour reminder to her set ways. That while Ben Solo may have fallen too far from grace, none who surrounded him as a child are entirely blameless. “They predicted I would turn into a monster, Rey.” He looks at his upturned palms, his voice shifting into a deadly purr. “And so, a monster I became. The darkness I shall be.”
Her heart breaks.
That word—the same one she’s thoughtlessly hurled at him before—now hurts her just as much as it hurts him. A resigned acceptance fills the space: that he’s nothing more than a boy groomed to be a weapon of war.
His shoulders slump as if he’s seen the end.
Like he’s given up.
“B—” but her throat catches.
No, not Ben, she tells herself.
Now and always, he’s Kylo Ren. The leader of the enemy. The usurper. The one who will stop at nothing to win this war.
He’s watching her intently. A familiar hush returns, although it’s comforting now, not as it once was when the bond was still nascent. Back when the pull between them was simpler, easier to ignore.
Because now, little tendrils of hair have come loose from her bun. Droplets of sweat drip down her forehead and throat before disappearing into the V-shaped neckline of her clothing. Because now, his eyes are transfixed at her figure and she never wants him to look away.
He swallows thickly. She feels it, too. Senses the carnal need inside him that's overwhelming his years of discipline. It’s electrifying—knowing he’s just as affected as she is.
Eventually, he averts his gaze, pointing at the pearl-white gear that clings to her. “New?”
“Not everyone owns just one set of black clothes,” she mumbles, rubbing the back of her hand on the apples of her cheeks.
No.
She is not blushing.
The corners of his mouth lift a little. “You’re hard to find. Tell me where you are.”
“And if I do?” she challenges. “What then?”
“You know what you need to do,” he says matter-of-factly, gesturing a gloved hand to the vacant space beside him. “My sentiments remain.”
There’s a quick intake of breath from her. “Is that it? For me to be chained at your feet and all this will end?”
Kylo keeps silent, but appears calculative. Like she’s just offered him a path to redemption. Sunlight through the trees seems to reflect off him, and she’s hypnotised into learning his features. His eyes have always bewitched her, and she wonders why she never noticed the little greens nestling among the amber. Or the delicate hollowing of his cheeks from those rarely seen dimples.
But the scar—the battle wound on the right side of his face—bestowed by her is a reminder of who he really is. The fear he'd once subjected her to. And the unspeakable horrors he's capable of inflicting upon millions throughout the galaxy.
And yet, it hasn’t reduced the wanting. She’s still drawn to him.
“My proposal stands, Rey,” he repeats.
“How many more must die?” she snaps. “Before you cease this violence?”
“I offered you the galaxy once. A landscape that would have neither side vying for power.” His voice goes quiet again. “Just us.”
Something nameless explodes and she’s livid. “I don’t want the damn galaxy. I wanted—” but she holds back again. He wouldn't understand. “I will not pledge myself to the First Order. Not even if I’m all that’s left of the rebellion.”
They glower at each other.
Another impasse.
Finally, his frame goes slack. Large fingers run through his hair before they stretch out towards her. He stops short of her temple, a near-perfect imitation of that fateful day on Takodana. Squinting, he tilts his head inquisitively. “Tropical. Not too dissimilar to D’Qar, I believe. Still hiding in the Outer Rim?”
“Can you see it?”
“No. Not unless you…” and he tapers off, lowering his arm.
It’s a strange thing to hear from him.
With such close proximity, he could give in to his typical forcefulness: snatching her or tearing through her mind, compelling the bond to spill open. But he keeps very still. Unnaturally so. There’s an aching sweetness in his words that continues to complicate this—where she suppresses a horrifying yearning to feel the touch of a man attempting to rule entire systems.
Their connection starts to wane before anything else is said.
The last thing she sees is his deep-set eyes, looking like he would devour entire planets just to have her.
“Been thinking about repairing my helmet,” Kylo tells her one day.
Rey has just spent hours meditating and pouring through old Jedi texts that she salvaged from the temple island’s uneti tree. Her gaze lifts to meet him. He’s sitting in his quarters, studying her like she’s the most fascinating lifeform. She deliberates his words. It’s far simpler to hate the unknown. Keeping him as a faceless creature that hunts her and those she cares about is a prudent approach.
She wouldn’t have to endure his eyes any longer, too. The ones that could bring her to kneel if he knew—really knew—how to wield it. And he may never understand, but the possibility that she’ll never see his face again hurts far more.
She turns the page of a book. “Any value?”
“Negligible, though it has its merits.” Absentmindedly, his finger draws circles on his thighs. “I’ve never particularly excelled at concealing my emotions.”
“Well, what happened to the one before?”
“Gone. Didn’t think I needed it.”
“And you feel differently now?” She frowns at this. “Why?”
He considers her question. Those tendencies for destructive outbursts from his temper was something Snoke saw as fuel for his strength. She senses that well enough. Even now, it remains a powerful link to his grandfather’s shadowy legacy. Having a mask served its purpose then, but now—
“Perhaps for once, you and I are in agreement—” and he adds with a bizarrely affectionate tone, “—Scavenger.”
A fresh surge of conflict overcomes her. It’s moments like these where the connection becomes dangerous. She could easily forget that they are enemies, where the only way out is if one of them is dead.
*****
On most days, the bond is cruel.
Kylo is in the middle of a fight when Rey sees him again. Specks of white on the tips of his hair and clothing tells her he’s on a snow-covered landscape. With cheeks, nose and lips that are faintly pink, he’s beautiful, always faring better than her in icy climates.
But death soils the air. His body language feels right at home. Like he’s the most comfortable in this murderous state. She can’t unsee the soaked, crimson patches across his surcoat and the battle grime on his pale skin. Shifting through his thoughts, she picks up that several Resistance sympathisers were held in stasis, brutally interrogated before a mere swipe of Kylo’s wrist snapped their necks. She recognises their faces from previous holograms.
Another supply of reinforcements die at his hand.
More planets bow to the First Order’s rule.
He extinguishes his saber, hooking it to his waist. “Don’t be disheartened. My intervention in the frontlines is minimal now, really. It's my knights who lead the hunt for rebel cells.”
“More massacres?”
He only smiles in return.
It makes her feel vehemently ill.
Slowly, the back of his gloved hand drags along his jaw, wiping the spatters of blood. And just like that, he becomes the First Order’s ultimate weapon once more. The Jedi Killer. Heir apparent to Darth Vader. A destroyer of worlds.
“It gets a little dull from sitting around,” he admits, flexing his arm. “But any insurgence to my regime must be crushed. I’ve always been this way, haven't I? Nothing new.”
“Not always. You were once—”
“Rey!” he barks harshly, shaking his head. “I won’t hear this.”
She glares. “I will do and say as I please, Kylo.” Her pulse climbs quicker than her self-control. “And to think I’ve stupidly given you my attentions. My mistake is believing that you’d ever want to right your wrongs.”
With his glorious cape dragging heavily behind him, he closes the gap between them in seconds. His towering height becomes a threat, leaning in so close that he could kiss her if he so desired. “The dark side is in my nature, as it will be in yours. I asked you to come with me because I can never go back.” His jaw clenches, but a tiny tremble of his lip gives something away. “They won’t accept me as I am, Rey. What I’ve become. Don’t ask me to change for the same people who never wanted me in the first place.”
She blinks back hot tears. Not now, she tells herself.
Rey refuses to cry again.
Refuses to mourn for him.
Not when he’s still here, looking like that—looking at her with such sorrow like she's the beautiful dream he's wanted for so long, but now forever lost. It hangs in the air. The true weight of his proposition before his slain master’s throne. A devastating conclusion in her endeavours to guide the prodigal son home.
And yet, Rey can’t forget him, unable to ignore how the longing in Kylo's gaze only mirrors her own.
“I had a vision once,” he says. “That a day may come where you’ll finally understand. That you’ll be the one to see me when no one else did.” His dark eyes drop to her mouth. “But you refuse to come to me, and the Force continues to deny my strength to let this go.” He lifts his arm before she can think to pull away, his voice growing softer. “To let you go.”
The cold, smooth leather that gives feather-light brushes at her chin feels oddly apologetic. The flat of his thumb gently touches her lower lip, and there’s a hidden exhilaration inside her, wondering if he’ll steal a kiss.
But he doesn’t move, continuing to look upon her like he’s memorising each freckle. Every line. All the details of her face.
His eyes rivet her motionless till the Force takes him away.
*****
That night, the premonitions are uninhibited.
Fire.
Blood.
And all she was left with were ashes.
She wakes up screaming, rolling off her sleeping platform to land with a hard thud on her back. Too terrified to move, she weeps quietly on the ground. Her body still shakes from the shock of how painfully raw the visions are this time. The furniture throughout the quarters creak from her maelstrom of emotions, numerous items tumbling to the floor.
By now, Rey forgets so many things. She forgets to remind herself not to be afraid of his impending death, not to be afraid of losing him, for the Jedi had foreseen fear is only a pathway to darkness.
“He’s okay—” she whispers through her tears, over and over again. “It’s okay. Ben is not dead. Everything will be okay.”
It’s only the image of Kylo’s fingers lacing into hers and the illusion of his lips pressed at her forehead that finally calms her, and she's able to sink back into an uneasy sleep.
At last, the Skywalker lightsaber has been built anew.
But the ground shrinks beneath their feet.
A deadly fear afflicts the galaxy from the new Supreme Leader’s malice.
Each day, more worlds in the Core, Mid and Outer Rims succumb to the First Order’s dominion. Standard trade routes are heavily restricted. The Supreme Council—twelve military advisors hand-picked by Kylo Ren to spearhead the galaxy's future—has ensured key communication channels are crippled to cut down assemblies of rebel groups. Those found to have aided the Resistance are promptly silenced. Slowly but surely, the light is fading. Darkness creeps back throughout the known universe.
After weeks of regular transmissions with Resistance members on Batuu, it’s gone abruptly quiet. For General Leia Organa, due to the devastating losses on Crait, this mission is critical.
Rey and Poe will go on the ground with Resistance spy Vi Moradi as they attempt to establish contact and extract the group based at Black Spire Outpost. With so few left, it’s essential to deploy as little as possible while they restore their numbers. Finn and Chewbacca will hang back with secondary reinforcements while Temmin "Snap" Wexley and his X-wing squadron will flank the transport ship once it clears the planet’s surface.
“Moradi is familiar with the territory,” Leia tells Rey. “She initiated Batuu’s recruitment, and I believe there is much you can learn from her.”
Heading back to their quarters, Poe gives a friendly clap on Rey's shoulder. “A good night’s sleep, huh? We’re gonna need it.”
*****
But it’s not sleep that sates her soul. Not in the way the ominous shadow that appears in her room seemingly gives.
Since their last meet, the bond lay dormant for an unusually long stretch of time. Somewhere in this journey, seeing him became a clandestine treat. With eyes shut, Kylo’s facing towards the horizon, sunlight bearing down on his skin. She feels the warmth of this new world he's in. In the background, there are muffled sounds of talking. He’s accompanied by six distinct Force signatures.
She waits until he’s alone. “Your knights?”
His eyebrows crease in surprise. “You’ve seen them?”
“Through a vision on Takodana, but that was a long time ago.”
“The day we met?” After she nods, he cocks his head at the way she’s positioned. “Lights out?”
Her skin tingles at how casually he’s thrown the question. It’s treacherous, so she settles on evasive responses. “Your mind—it’s always loud, Kylo. I feel it even when you’re not here.”
He doesn’t answer immediately. “I struggle to sleep.”
“Nightmares?”
"In a way, I suppose they are.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “I’ve always heard things in my mind—some I understand, some I don’t. I hear voices from people I once knew. Ones I’ve never met.” He watches her reaction. “Even of those I’ve killed.”
Deep in her belly, something roils. “They talk to you?”
“The dead ones?” He tilts his head back, watching the sky. “No. It’s mostly just screams. Crying. Millions of voices all at once.”
Her throat feels tight. She searches his face, outlining the dark undereye circles. “Does it happen even when you’re awake?”
“Not often, but yes.”
She nibbles her lip, desperate to stop the conversation. Perhaps knowing more will only create new misunderstandings. That he—above everything else—deserves to drown in such horrors while he abases his morality with unforgivable deeds. But it is fruitless. Because in spite of that, Rey has never been smart about placing mind over heart.
“I’ve seen this…” She hesitates, trying to articulate as well as he does. “There's this shapeless thing in your mind, like a silhouette. Is it a manifestation of the dark side?”
He tenses, jaw rolling. “They're ghosts, Rey. Memories.”
“Snoke?”
He shakes his head slowly.
“Han Solo?” Immediately, she feels the return of an old grief, an anger that waits. Her eyelids twitch. “What you did to him—you can’t unsee it. You carry it with you.”
Kylo’s lips curl into an ugly sneer. “If only. Regrettably, it’s your precious Jedi Master.”
She pauses, confused. “Luke?”
He rubs the tips of his fingers together, his mind seemingly distracted. “Before Crait, that’s the last thing I’d remember of him. The look in his eyes, standing over my bed with the will to strike me down. For a long time, any sound, even the smallest creaks would wake me, and I’d reach for my lightsaber to confront an empty room.” A terse exhale escapes him. “Such a fool, I was, to live with that weakness.”
"Skywalker lives. The seed of the Jedi Order lives. As long as it does, hope lives in the galaxy."
“Told myself it’s only Luke,” he continues. But something excruciating slices through her as his breath stutters. For her, it's an epiphany that's been a long time coming. Maybe it’s not just Kylo’s own failings which continue to haunt him. “No fear shan’t be conquered, Rey. Midwanjontû châtsatul nu asha. Ashajontû kotswinot itsu nuyak.”
A shiver runs down her spine, knowing it is a language that's so rarely uttered among those who do not practice the Sith's beliefs.
“What does it mean?” she whispers.
His tongue runs along the insides of his cheek. “Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken.”
Her newfound perception of that final clash on the red mineral planet sinks in.
You were afraid of Luke, she realises.
Kylo Ren was prepared to die then, believing his uncle, his former master that failed him, had come to finish the job. She wants to unravel the rueful pain behind Kylo's eyes, but he retreats too swiftly. There’s a hidden thread that’s been weaving through the bond—stretching immensely, but never weakening. Looking at him now, it reminds her again of what they lost.
The mighty Skywalker child who had the galaxy at his feet from the moment he was born.
The prince that was promised.
All but twisted into a toxic remnant of both Jedi and Sith.
“Luke’s gone now,” she says softly, shattering their stupor.
He takes several languid strides towards her. “Done in his usual, spectacular fashion. Forfeited his life—just like you. For people who’ll never understand you or your powers.” He must have hit the edge of her bed because he halts. “You’re every bit as dangerous as me, Rey. They just don’t know it yet.”
“No one does,” she mutters. “Not even you.”
“That helps you sleep at night?”
“Yes—” she grits her teeth.
He scoffs. “I’ve seen your dreams.”
She’s tempted to ignite her saber from the sheer humiliation. Her cheeks are on fire, her hands fisting in anger. “Dreams where I defeat you,” she quips. “Where you’ll yield to me.”
“Not always. And you want me on my knees, do you?” Something dark gleams in his eyes. “Ask me nicely.”
“Get out of my head—”
He looks mesmerised by her flabbergasted reactions. As if it’s far too tempting for him to stand down. Like a beast, he doesn’t hold back when it’s time to feed. “That’s not all I’ve been in,” he reveals.
A furrow slashes her forehead. What?
“I hear your screams, too.”
“A task that’s not difficult when I imagine your murderous face.”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not your savage battle cry, Scavenger. A different kind.”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “You—how dare—”
“Don’t be ashamed. I see it—where your impertinent little mouth is suited for considerably better uses.”
“Shut up!” Heat floods her face from the outrage. His rude euphemisms should repulse her, but she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction, knowing he’s thoroughly enjoying this. “You're repulsive. Didn’t you take a vow of celibacy?”
“Forming attachments are prohibited, Rey. Not sex,” he deadpans. “Your Jedi teachings stipulate: there is no ignorance, there is knowledge.”
“I’m aware,” she snaps, impatient. “So?”
“So, any variation of knowledge—” and he gives a toe-curling grin, “—is welcomed.”
Rey’s lips form a grim line, her thoughts running wild with the possible shenanigans that a young Ben Solo could have entangled with at Luke’s training temple. Unconsciously, her fingers clench the bedsheets. No, she isn't jealous. She isn't attached. There’s no reason for her to feel anything for him.
But the idea that someone touched him—to have him in ways she’s only invented in her darkest dreams—enrages her beyond belief.
His eyes flick to her fidgeting hands. A beat of silence.
“I think about you,” he says evenly.
Her heart palpitates and she can’t look away. Another temporary paralysis born from a forbidden need to want something she shouldn’t. Their gazes fuse and she’s adrift. Months of training her restraint now clouded by something primitive.
He's just using another trick to unbalance you, she all but tells herself.
Hesitating, Kylo examines her carefully, like he’s picking up those lingering doubts through the bond. Finally, finally, he affirms the next words so softly that it nearly slips by—
“All the time.”
*****
Unaccompanied once more, she watches the ceiling.
It’s late. The chances of someone barging in is minimal. Whatever dishonour or desperation there is in this, she no longer cares. No one has to know—to see.
Another secret she can keep, just as she’s kept him.
Her hands skate all over before reaching to her pants. For something she doesn’t perform often, her fingers are nimble, sorting through her folds to build the perfect cadence. Fighting a war where every day could be her last, she wants to take her time. Savour it all. The imagination is normally faceless. Their body slides over hers to ease the loneliness—
—but now, the shape of the First Order’s Supreme Leader begins to form.
No longer hidden away, colours travel across Kylo's handsome features.
She hears his voice, domineering and silky. Sees those darkened eyes blazing with such want, such hunger for her. His tongue runs along his bottom lip as she mounts him on his stolen seat of power. Or in an ardour’s moment, they’ll indulge in one of his decadent illusions—where she permits him to pin her down with a phantom pressure on the throne. A flick of his wrist rudely flings her legs apart, spread out and willing, enticing him to devour what she’s presenting.
She doesn’t know why, but she wants him to make it hurt.
But underneath all that, there’s something else.
Something more .
On some occasions, the vision fuses with another. She finds herself perched atop a mountain of corpses. With the scavenger gear replaced by a magnificent dress-cloak and her brown locks fall across her shoulders, she’s a celestial sight. The very embodiment of the empress to rule by his side. She licks the blood staining the corners of her mouth, watching the carnage that Kylo brings down upon those who have wronged her.
Streaks of lightning flash overhead and her fingertips feel unnaturally warm and restless. Unfamiliar with the cold, frightening laughter that echoes around them, it’s only when Kylo appears at her feet that she feels safe again. Safe with him.
“Who was that?” she asks.
But he simply plants a slow, heavy kiss onto her lips. “Don’t be afraid of who you are.”
Sliding past the lengths of the robe, he kisses up her thighs, her legs parting so he may bury his face at her centre. Her hand moves through his hair, back arching while her head lolls back.
There’s an urgency flowing in her blood to own him. Like a mysterious, twisted birthright that demands her to seize the Skywalker heir for herself. That Kylo Ren has always been built to do great and terrible things in her name.
A name she does not know.
Rey has grown weary of this inner conflict against the age-old indoctrination. That she’s a Jedi and their only hope. He’s the son of darkness and must be silenced. Because Kylo’s right; he sees her like no one else ever has. Unrelenting endurance is second nature to her on that backwater desert planet, so if you didn’t take what you could—what you deserved—you would never survive.
And she does desire him.
More than he’ll ever know.
She has some notions of how it’s done; this seemingly illicit nature of the act. Those scuffles she chanced upon as a little girl, those movements in the junkyard that appeared far too intimate. Sloppy fumbling of couples in alleyways of whatever hidden outpost the Resistance has escaped to. Rhythmic sounds of pleasure that echo from inside her fellow soldiers’ quarters or around darkened corners of the Tantive IV.
And Leia has always taken care of her troops, ensuring the best medical resources where feasible. A short briefing followed by a standard-issue implant by medical droids means that Rey now knows far more than she once did.
She wants to will this ache away.
This coil inside her that's threatening to snap.
He’ll be no different than those vile beings she fought off for rations. Destructive and selfish like them, he would be a taker and give nothing back. No, Kylo is disgusting—hateful to his very core and fucking him would never be a pleasant experience.
But the truth is, her mind has grown curious. This new hunger will not be tamed by her alone.
In the wickedest of fantasies, there’s no tenderness to be found. He’s rough, but so is she. Pulling at their limbs, bone by bone, they tear each other to pieces, and she only craves him more. Every scratch that elicits a moan, every bite that draws out blood—it eliminates their shackles. There are no masters to serve, only each other.
She’s close now—so close.
Everything blends into chaos, and she can no longer tell what’s real and what isn’t.
If that soft graze on her cheek is just a stray draught.
If the rush inside her body is not instigated by anything other than herself.
She can pretend he’s right beside her, whispering the words that both threaten and lure her in.
"I’ll make you learn that the only thing you’ll want is me."
Her mind shatters, sweat-damp body quaking, and she comes hard with breathy gasps into her pillow. Waves and waves of pleasure move through her like a force to be reckoned with. After cleaning her hands on her clothing, her fingertips stroke over the bedding. A deep rise and fall of her chest followed by tiny hiccups ricochet in the quietness of the room.
She wonders if he felt what she did, if he saw the moment she cried out for him. Through some inexplicable means, his presence now comforts the forgotten child on Jakku.
With him, the painful loneliness melts away.
Something has gone terribly wrong.
There wasn’t supposed to be any First Order occupation this far out, yet hordes of heavily armed stormtroopers march down the streets of Black Spire Outpost. Their white armour gleams under the sun. Multiples of AAL-1971/9.1 troop transports flanked by TIE-starfighters soar above them. Malevolent red banners hang from high places carrying the sharp, black insignia.
From a darkened corner, two hooded figures with an astromech droid huddle together, surveying the situation. Moments later, Moradi re-joins them, hastily lowering her cowl.
“What’s going on?” Poe bites out. “What happened?”
“The cantina droid confirms it’s a recent arrival,” Moradi says in hushed tones. “Caught wind of their designation. 709th. The Red Fury.”
“So?” Poe lifts an eyebrow. “Just another bunch of bucketheads, right?”
“Ever heard of the 501st battalion?” she asks, but Rey and Poe shake their heads. “Back during the Galactic Civil War, they were a special division of clone troopers known as Vader’s Fist. R-3X believes 709th is Kylo Ren’s personal elite force.”
Rey’s blood curdles.
Poe throws a curse. “He’s here?”
“Uncertain at this point.”
“Then—there’s not much time left,” Poe huffs. “Before the blackout, General Organa briefed Lieutenant Bek and his troops. They’ll execute the contingency measures. Any word on where they’ve gone into hiding?”
“The original meeting point has been overrun. The recruits must’ve relocated back to the old post by the Surabat River Valley. Just west of Docking Bay 7.”
“What about the operatives running the supply location?”
“Not so lucky. All detained.”
The discussion is cut short when the siren blares, the First Order’s frightening alert signal echoing through the outpost. Following the directions of the commanding lieutenant, the stormtroopers begin to file off into smaller squads. Poe’s comlink starts to beep.
“We’ve detected a large ship emerging from hyperspace,” Wexley's voice informs through the static. “General Organa has ordered all X-wings to stand down till ground extraction is underway.”
“Is it the First Order flagship?”
“Likely.”
“New plan,” Poe decides, the colour draining from his face. “BB-8 and I will use the Falcon and converge with Bek’s team. If they’re at the ruins, we’ll find them.”
“Yes, Capt—” and Moradi coughs awkwardly. “Commander.”
Rey snorts, knowing that the sting of his demotion by Leia still lingers despite being reinstated his original designation sometime after the Battle of Crait.
“Poor timing, soldier,” he grumbles. He gives a final, curt nod at both of them. “Find those captives and get them out before I circle back.”
*****
Avoiding identification procedures is never an easy task, even if they utilised the hidden alleyways. Every turn is met with an exasperating blockade, every corner having far too many droids and stormtroopers to incapacitate without arousing suspicions.
Moradi checks the chrono on her wrist. “We’re running out of time.”
Rey nibbles her lip, carefully peering around, their backs pressed up against a towering stone wall. She spots two stormtroopers patrolling nearby, and she brings her fingers to her mouth to emit a sharp whistle. It catches their attention, tilting their heads in curiosity at her robed appearance.
Advancing on them, the troopers remark loudly, “This is a restricted area!”
Rey has always hated this tactic. She steps forward, clearing her throat before intoning in a lacklustre manner, “You will remove your armour and hand them over with your weapons.”
One of them recoils, turning to his companion before looking back at her. “What did you say?”
She wrinkles her nose. “You will remove—”
“Wait, isn’t she the Resistance fighter the generals placed a bounty on?” They instantly raise their blaster rifles. “Hands above your head, rebel scum!”
Rey sighs.
*****
The white plastoid composite she’s suited up in is undoubtedly cumbersome. After rolling their clothing and boots into the utility backpacks, she’s only grateful both Moradi and her are far tinier than the two men she’s just rendered unconscious.
“It stinks!” Rey groans, gathering her tresses up before clicking on the helmet.
“I’ve patched through our live coordinates to Poe, so he’ll know where we are,” Moradi advises before stashing her chrono.
The integrated comlink feeds them just enough information to know that all key squadrons are streaming towards Docking Bay 9, a venue where the majority of the First Order’s manpower is concentrated. General Armitage Hux is expected to be present today. He demanded to personally oversee the interrogation of the detainees that were spreading seditious propaganda among the locals. With their new uniforms, Rey and Moradi move back into the main street, subtly joining the march.
“There’s no way we can reach them,” Moradi mutters, scrutinising the security levels as the hangar comes into view. “Not with this number of troops around.”
“All units—” a voice through the helmet’s comlink announces, “—repeat, all units take your positions and stand by. The shuttle is preparing for descent.”
As Rey cranes her neck to look up, her stomach churns. High above the clouds, the outer atmosphere of the planet begins to fill with several Resurgent-class Star Destroyers, each ship methodically dropping out of hyperspace.
Kylo’s Destroyer, she realises.
He’s here.
The tiny hairs on her skin start to crawl. She’s not sure how she knows, but there’s no question about her presumption when a black Upsilon-class command shuttle majestically glides through the skies. Its wings extend out in an almost creaturelike fashion as it approaches the landing pad.
“There they are,” Moradi gestures to the front.
Rey focuses on the four cuffed individuals that have been hauled out. “You sure?”
“The middle one is Archex. Former First Order before defecting. He was part of my origination team for the outpost. The other three are local recruits: Kriki, Lejo and Ylena.”
Rey nods in acknowledgement. “We need to get closer.”
Both ladies are swept together with the swarm of troops shuffling into orderly lines, forming neat squares. Vigilant to avoid unwanted attention, they stealthily edge a few rows nearer to the front. Once the First Order’s top officials border the pathway on either side, the ramp to the shuttle lowers. Arms locked behind his back, Hux appears haughtier than ever while he ambles down.
But Rey’s heart thumps at the sight of the tall, menacing figure that trudges out beside the redheaded general.
Seeing Kylo again in the flesh, her beating pulse sends her into a panic, wondering if she’d underestimated her emotions. Instantly, she shuts down hard on her Force signature, her mind wiped blank to ensure he won’t sense her. The air feels stiff, a tangible apprehension engulfs the surrounding soldiers from the Supreme Leader’s unexpected arrival.
“Abort—” Moradi insists. “The odds aren’t in our favour!”
Rey balks at this. “Are you suggesting we abandon them?”
“You think this is an easy decision for me?” Moradi angrily retorts. Seeing the Resistance spy lose her ironclad composure, it startles Rey. “These are my people. I have someone I want to save, too.”
“Shut up!” one of the troopers beside them chides. “Unless you want a month of sanitation duties, stop talking!”
Hux’s voice rings clear across the compound. “Well—if it isn’t my old friend, CD-0922. What an awkward situation to be meeting this way, Cardinal. And as a captured traitor, no less.”
“Heard Phasma got blown up,” Archex, a rather large, steely-looking man sneers. “Perhaps the hag has finally outlived her use for murdering First Order officers like your father.”
Hux’s expression sours, his chin gesturing to two nearby stormtroopers. “Gag this imbecile’s mouth.” He looks over his shoulder, noticing that Kylo has paced down the line-up of officials, stopping to loom over an older, bearded man.
“Lieutenant Agnon,” Kylo says, his voice low and commanding. “You were deployed to Batuu along with my 709th legion, on the condition that the outpost will be fully secured. Has this been accomplished?”
Agnon’s obvious uneasiness seeps into his reply. “The outpost is secured, my liege. However, we’re still scouring the site for the Resistance base. We believe they—”
“So, you’ve failed,” Kylo bluntly cuts him off, turning to the next officer. “Lieutenant Kath, you received intel that the Resistance flagship was spotted in the Trilon sector, hence our attempts to occupy this planet. Has it been captured?”
“S-sir?” Kath stammers.
“The flagship, Lieutenant,” Kylo reiterates icily, jaw clenched. “A CR90 Corvette-class vessel that transports Leia Organa—the last of their High Command. Along with her, it carries onboard major Resistance spies, including the Jedi.” His fingers are trembling now, causing several shipping containers inside the hangar to creak and groan with a frightening intensity. “Where is it?”
“Our best TIE scouts are now searching the perimeters of—”
But the pitiable Wulfgar Kath isn’t spared another moment. His body levitates off the ground, his hands flying up to his throat. Rey watches in both horror and awe as Kylo’s open palm abruptly fists, only for a sickening crunch to follow. The auburn-haired male crumples to the floor, dead.
Kylo steps over the unmoving body to face Agnon again. “The rebel ship is not in our possession. Neither has the Resistance base been located. We have no deflector shields in orbit to prevent them from escaping.” When he pauses to unhook his crossguard saber, a heavy sense of fear shifts like tiny ripples in a lake. “Have I missed something?”
“My liege,” Agnon pleads. “It’s only a matter of time. Our scouts will find them.”
“If they haven’t already fled into hyperspace, of course.”
Hux, who has remained silent for a good extent, clears his throat. “Supreme Leader, I propose we get the interrogation underway. We may learn something useful from the prisoners.”
“For Lieutenant Agnon’s sake, I should hope so.”
“Bring forth the captives!” Hux barks.
Rey understands what is about to happen. That Kylo will ruthlessly wrench out any information before disposing them. Just like he did to Poe. Just as he once tried to do with her. Kylo will see it in their minds: a rescue mission; their strategy they've carefully curated; the size of the rebel fleet that lies in wait for the opportune moment to strike. All of that is in terrible danger.
Every fibre in her body rises as her gaze tracks the four Resistance soldiers, shoved onto their knees before him, and when his arm moves—
Several things happen at once.
In a blink of an eye, Rey’s concealment barrier drops, her arm lunging forward to pry apart the hostages’ restraints with the Force. Kylo’s saber flies out of his grip, clattering onto the floor several feet away.
Distant explosions erupt from above and a burning TIE-starfighter crashes into the ground, breaking apart the First Order’s systematic formations. Booming sirens alert the ground troops that their battlecruisers are under attack as a pair of X-wings from Wexley's unit circle the outpost. Archex speedily surges forward, snatching a blaster from a nearby trooper. He kills Agnon with several shots at the chest before body slamming Hux to the floor.
“Go, go, go!” Moradi hollers, forcing her way past the pandemonium to retrieve the prisoners.
But Rey is frozen.
Kylo’s saber has soared back into his hand now. A vast ocean of scrambling bodies separates them, yet the bond simmers, allowing him to taste her very presence. He feels her. He senses her. From sheer dread, she's unable to move her feet to run. Unbothered by the evolving chaos, his dark, wild eyes sweep through the compound—
—until they land right on her.
His lips part with realisation, and blood surges in Rey's ears.
She’s still got her helmet on, appearing like just another stormtrooper among the disarray. Her instincts prompt her to drop the blaster. To reach for her saber that’s tucked away in the holster. He notices this, his sights briefly falling to where her fingers curl at the hilt of her weapon. As if time has slowed, the surrounding mayhem fades, leaving the two of them facing one another across a vacant battlefield.
Stay, his gaze trapping her in a trance. Let me have you.
Her breath hitches at his wordless command.
Could she outrun him?
Could she find a way to be used as bait so others may escape?
She fears his saber-free hand will dart forward once more, dragging her body through the crowd and haul her entirely to him with the Force. He’s dangerously tense, flexing his hand as if he’s read the direction of her thoughts. Like he’s tempted—
—but the Millennium Falcon bursts through the clouds, disrupting his spell.
The ship sets off a flurry of light rounds to scatter the retaliating stormtroopers.
Now back on his feet, Hux bellows a barrage of directives above the uproar, “Concentrate fire on that blasted ship!” Blood trickles from his temple, his usually pristine hair now a disastrous mess. He signals to the remaining crew. “Prepare the command shuttle for launch!”
The Falcon steers sharply in mid-air, no doubt from Poe’s adept manoeuvres as he attempts to fly the ship low, the robust stern easily withstanding simple blaster rifles.
“We must return to the Finalizer at once!” Hux thunders, barrelling up to Kylo. “They’ve spotted the Resistance fleet, and their escaping I-TS is now caught in our tractor beam, so we—what is it?” With an exasperated scowl, the general whirls around. “What are you looking at?”
Before either of them can react, multiple blasts occur, ripping through the docking bay.
Moradi staggers into view, one arm supporting Archex’s lifeless body while Ylena holds up the other side. “Move it, Jedi!” she shouts, gesturing to the Falcon’s boarding bridge, now lowered. “Lejo and Kriki will cover us!”
At last, Rey is able to tear herself away.
The tiny group navigates through the battleground to meet BB-8 at the bottom of the ramp. But even after everyone climbs to safety, she finds herself unable to leave, stopping to turn back. As the ship starts to pull back up into the skies, she steadies her hand around a durasteel pillar, tugging off the stormtrooper helmet, her unbound hair falling around her shoulders. When the act of unmasking is usually his forte, her own efforts feel strange.
Yet, sensing her isn’t enough.
She wants him to see her face, too.
Kylo remains rooted to the earlier spot, still watching her. It’s silent between them, but she feels something sneak in—a wistful twinge in her chest, somehow knowing this ache has bled into the bond from him. Before she can linger on those emotions, the ramp securely shuts, separating them once more.
Rey stumbles into the cockpit to find Poe. They breakthrough to space, only to be greeted by a frenzied crossfire between numerous X-wings and TIE squadrons.
“I need a status report!” Poe stresses through the subspace radio, flipping various switches. “Someone—anyone, for kriff sake!”
“The IT-S remains out of reach for now, Commander,” Wexley responds. “Reinforcements are on the way, but we’ll need to jump to hyperspace once Bek and his crew are in the clear.”
“Who’s the pilot?”
“Nien Nunb.”
“If he can make it through the Battle of Endor, he’ll survive this.”
“Captain Wexley,” Rey interrupts. “Down at the outpost, the enemy revealed it’s actively hunting for the Tantive IV. Is General Organa safe?” She scrunches her nose, forehead creasing. “Their decision to pursue its capture shouldn’t be taken lightly. It's their true target.”
“Under control. Their ventral cannons are concentrating on the X-wings. As long as the cruiser remains out of range from the turbolasers, the deflector shield should hold."
From the corners of the cockpit’s viewport, flanked by several TIEs, the dark silhouette of the Upsilon-class shuttle emerges ahead as it returns from Batuu, making its approach to the Finalizer—the most heavily fortified Star Destroyer among the First Order’s navy since the loss of the Supremacy. But as the vessel disappears into the battlecruiser, more fresh TIEs are released from the hangar.
Poe’s eyes widen, taking in the situation. “All squadron leaders to defend the fleet and recruit transport! Hold them off till backup gets here!”
Rey instantly springs from her seat, sprinting down the ship’s access tunnel to take the reins of one of the AG-2G quad laser cannons. Slipping on the intra-ship communicator around her head, she confirms back. “In position, Poe. Activate the countermeasures when ready.”
“Copy that,” Poe sighs heavily. “Let’s join the fray, shall we?”
Another incompetent officer tumbles onto the floor, wheezing for air before passing out. There’s a deep intake of breath from Kylo as he rolls his shoulders, joints cracking. His galloping pulse from moments before now at ease.
“Are you quite finished?” Hux interjects. “We agreed that military strategies are under my purview. Surely you’ve not forgotten this arrangement?”
“Perhaps we’ll need to revisit your priorities, General, seeing that your tactics have left the fleet wide open to enemy ambushes. The engineers confirmed the Finalizer has been crippled beyond repair, have they not?”
“My men secured the Batuu system and have fully eradicated all that remains of the Resistance on that planet.”
“At what cost? The flagship still escaped. As long as traces of the Resistance survives, the rebellion will endure.”
“Speak for yourself!” Hux rebukes, his temper visibly rising. “We managed to lock on for a clear shot at that Alderaanian bitch’s vessel, and yet you decided to—” but he’s unable to finish the sentence. Alike the cold touch of manacles, a horrifying grip assaults his throat as the surrounding air gets sucked into a deafening vacuum. Feeling his eyes starting to bulge out from its sockets, he chokes, emitting out desperate gurgling noises.
Kylo doesn’t even look at him, merely forming a claw like curl of his fingers. “What was that?” he probes, calm and deadly.
Hux gives a strangled sound, attempting to shake his head as his face swells up. Seconds pass before Kylo finally releases him. Hux drops to his hands and knees, coughing harshly.
“Seems your inflated sense of self-importance hasn’t been curbed, General Hux.”
“F-forgive me,” Hux hoarsely utters. “I was mistaken, my liege.”
“Prepare a boarding party and contact Allegiant General Pryde. The Steadfast will serve as the new command cruiser now. I want the entire Supreme Council to be accommodated on that ship.” As he sweeps past the winded Hux, he glances down. “That’ll be all.”
*****
In the gloom of his private chambers, Kylo shrugs off his cloak. He sets his lightsaber atop a granite surface, just next to a pillar that displays the helmet of the legendary Darth Vader. After an abysmal outcome on Batuu, he seeks solace. Eyelids fluttering shut, he settles into his chosen meditative pose.
But ever since he grew strong with the Force, he has never known peace.
Years of death and destruction as Snoke’s protege ensured he's never near the light. Like a sickness, a seething inner voice that has overstayed its welcome pours into him. Reminding Kylo that no matter how hard he tries severing these excruciating ties to the past, the darkness will not give him up.
"You have too much of your father's heart in you."
And yet, that wasn’t enough. They still didn’t want him. None of them did. His entire frame jerks, his head twitching in an attempt to shake off those thoughts.
"You were unbalanced," the vitriol tones continue to berate. "You failed!"
“Ben?”
Startled by hearing his former name, his eyes open, finally detecting the solemn hum of the bond. Her voice had echoed from behind him, but he decides to focus on a spot at the opposite wall instead. “I don’t have the patience to play with you right now, Scavenger.” A nasty smirk forms at his lips. “However, I’m not above making an exception if you’re here to reveal your location.”
She remains quiet for some time before blurting out, “Why did you let me go?”
Having foreseen her inability to resist bringing this up, he scoffs.
So predictable.
“I enjoy the thrill of a hunt. Always have. Besides, the only thing more satisfying than you taking my hand is your submission.” He gets back up, turning to regard her. She’s flustered by his suggestive words. Good, he thinks, slowly circling her. When he tries to move closer, she shrinks back, and it only seems to stoke his impulse to grab her. “Imagine giving me total and complete control over you. Imagine what that would be like, Rey. Think of what we could accomplish together.”
“Liar. You didn’t want to expose me to your troops.”
He gives a small, indiscernible shrug. “Suit yourself.”
“I was not on the Tantive IV, yet you gave the order not to fire. I felt it. The bond never lies.”
He falters this time, the willpower to not cringe at that stark confrontation falling flat. Rage surges to the top, his vision a twisted red. “That’s none of your damn—”
“We’re inside each other’s heads. You can’t hide it anymore.” This time, she takes a step forward. “There may be hope for you still.”
He shakes his head, saying nothing.
“There’s still light in—”
“Don’t—” He balls up his fist, his infamous temper howling across the bond. “Don’t say it.”
Rey’s hand moves to rest on her saber, her face pulled back into a cautioning scowl.
Even after a few placating breaths, he remains petulant. “My mother was on that ship, and this isn’t the first time I…” His words taper off, tersely shaking his head again. Why should he tell her of how he spared Leia Organa more than once? Why should anyone learn of his weakness? “Nothing’s changed. The sanctimonious Resistance and their petty agendas will be decimated along with everything else.”
“You’re disgusting. The worst.”
“How original.”
“You should’ve let them kill me at Black Spire,” she spits out. “Don’t do me any favours next time.”
Kylo’s glare pierces straight through her. “Careful, Jedi. My mercy has limits.”
“I’ve seen the limits of your mercy. You’d set the galaxy aflame just to get what you want.”
“You know exactly what I want!” he roars, the last of his composure definitively hacked away.
His rage and lust are immensely palpable, stealing the very air from her lungs.
“You—you don’t even understand what that means!” she fiercely counters, her voice breaking like she’s about to burst into tears. “If I’m killed, you’ll do nothing, but keep up your Supreme Leader charade. And so, another Jedi falls. Just as you wanted.”
Something crackles in this unseen void they share, and he swiftly advances on her. Leaning in, he whispers in her ear, “The only person who’ll ever touch you is me. Your end is not worthy of anyone else.”
“You believe you have control over our fates? You destroy everything you touch!”
His fingers weave into her hair, tugging her face upwards to meet his darkened gaze. “If you should die, it’ll be by my side!” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Because when you cease to exist, then so will I.”
Rey studies his expression. “You’ve always known you’re just another pawn in this war.”
Terrifyingly incensed now, he’s only inches away from her face. “We do not belong to them, Rey. And I’ve always taken what’s mine, so keep those presumptuous opinions about me to yourself and shut the hell up.”
“Or what?”
“Or—” he snarls. “I’ll just do it for you.”
“You wouldn’t d—”
✧
Like a wild Jakku sandstorm, his mouth slanting over hers hits without any warning. Flows through them like an unstoppable, destructive tremor. Somehow, their first kiss happens exactly as she’s always imagined.
Brutal.
Unforgiving.
But there’s a crack in the armour this time, the veneer chipped away by the yearning that feeds their movements.
It feels vindictive.
She winces as their teeth clack together, feeling him suck at her bottom lip. Like he’s punishing her for today’s skirmish. And perhaps it is revenge, coercing out every resentment—every repulsion they have ever felt for one another. Invisible, creeping coils of the Force ensnare around them, breaching the barriers of the connection beyond their control. He’ll be able to see it, she realises. He'll have access to her room onboard a ship that’s travelling deeper into the Lesser Space.
And yet, he doesn’t seem to care now that she clings to him. He kisses her like all that’s ever mattered is having her. With their weapons lowered alongside the words that no longer needed to be said, this is what’s left.
The only way forward.
Practically lifting her off her feet, he shoves her against the wall of her quarters. It’s harsh and invasive, digging his hands and mouth into her skin. Pulling back must be the way, yet she’s pushing closer. Her body burrows greedily into his and he tastes like her every desire.
“Your mouth, Scavenger—” he breathes, his gloved hands clamped onto her cheeks. Prying at her jaw. “Open wider.”
And he kisses her again, fiery and unrestrained.
She reaches for air, but he doesn’t let go, his lips chasing hers each time she pulls away.
It’s hot, borderline suffocating, but she consumes him like he’s a rare water trough back at Niima Outpost. When his warm tongue darts to wrestle with hers, the heat pooling at her gut intensifies. Her eyes are squeezed shut, trying to keep up with his bruising kisses, but the ferocity of his hunger sends her into a spiral.
His thoughts begin to merge with hers and she whimpers into his mouth. He’s ravenous for those Resistance traitors to hear what he’s doing to her. That despite being renowned for his discipline, he’s struggling with a dark and salacious urge to tear into her clothing. And he wants to fuck her now—for days if he can and violently if he must.
For the briefest of seconds, he draws back to look, their lips swollen and wet from such fierce attentions.
“Don’t stop,” is the quiet demand from her, but she despises that growing, conceited grin on his face.
“Have some manners. Say please.”
This enrages her, refusing to be humiliated into begging. “Please—go fuck yourself.”
He exhales in a long, dramatic fashion. “I’d rather fuck you.”
After dragging her into his arms, he bends to mouth at her breasts through the fabric, leaving a wet trail all over. It's unfathomable. She can't stop her hips from moving, from rubbing against him. Large fingers skilfully stroke and pinch her nipples, making them pebble under his ministrations. She yelps in surprise when he forcibly kneads her mounds, rough and offensive.
He’s touching her—handling her in places she’s never thought of even in her most whimsical of fantasies.
Biting down on her lip to suppress her squeals is pointless, her jaw eventually going slack. He’s grinding his erection against her, one hand of his angling her hips while the other gropes everywhere else. Hearing the low, husky grunts from his chest, it reminds her again how they have held back for so long. It’s too much, threatening to shatter faster than they wish.
Don’t, the tiny voice pleads with a part of herself. This is all wrong, so very greedy, so—
“More!” she encourages, rocking her hips, her body responding in a natural, ancient rhythm to find the right spot. “It’s almost—I can feel—”
He huffs, giving her ass a sharp slap. That sudden wickedness makes her gasp against him, and she nearly headbutts him in anger. But it’s his desperate thrusts between her thighs that make her inner walls flutter, drawing out an orgasm much too easily. Tight and aching below, it only takes seconds before she’s moaning into the kiss. Head spinning with damp strands of hair sticking to her face, she’s boneless in his arms.
“Did—did you just come?” he pants in astonishment, sliding a hand to the incriminating wetness at her leggings. It leaves a thin trail of slick on leather.
She’s too disoriented to reply, knowing the flush of her skin and her glassy eyes will give him the answer he seeks. That finally she's come apart, thoroughly unravelled with just his touch.
Through the thick haze, she feels him locking her into his iron grip. Holding her closer, tighter, and she wants to live in his embrace. His mouth hangs open like he's overheating, still rutting against her, still seeking the delicious friction with her body to get himself off.
“Force—you’re so beautiful,” he swears, eyes rolling back. “I want to be inside you.”
“I want that, too,” she whispers, scarcely audible, but she’s alarmed by how certain it resonates. You’re the only thing I ever wanted that wasn’t for survival.
And he senses her affirmation. Feels it like tiny, iridescent sparks across the bond.
“Ah—” he chokes, raw and guttural.
Almost instantly, his hand bruises into her ass, the hardest she’s felt thus far. His entire frame quakes, broad muscles seizing up. He yanks at one of her wrists, roughly pressing her hand down on the considerable bulge at his groin. Throughout his hoarse, broken groans, she feels the heavy pulsations of him spilling into his clothing.
A visceral, devastating pleasure that fractures every particle of their reality.
She enjoys him like this.
Loud and reckless.
Seeing his restraints snap, becoming completely undone this way because of her, it’s a power that’s very slowly—very surely, intoxicating her.
*****
Time passes, yet he’s still holding her, catching his breath at the column of her neck.
She doesn’t want to move, but if he pushes her away now that the dust has settled, it’ll destroy her. That it'll only reveal she was alone in her desire to stay longer. But efforts to shift only provokes a nasty growl from him. An arm immediately wraps tightly around her scapulars while his other hand splays across the small of her back, crushing her against him. He’s nuzzling his face into her skin, deeply inhaling her scent.
Now, she’s in wonder—why instead of feeling ashamed, there’s a quietness that soothes them both.
She feels cherished. Adored.
The Force is melodious, and the bond sings a new tune.