Void

This was supposed to fix everything.

It was supposed to sever all ties. Cut off his connection to the light. Eliminate that exhausting pull. Lead him further down his path to the Dark Side. Destroy Ben.

He'd struggled. He'd agonized over this choice; this final moment of reckoning. Had known, always, that this is how it had to be. It had to be Han Solo.

No matter how he fought to banish it from his awareness, his father's presence was always there, clear as day, bright as the sun. A sun whose gravity pulled him toward its light.

His father was his tether to the light. So that tether had to be cut. Han Solo had to be his sacrifice.

And at first, he thought it worked. The light outside went out, signalling the First Order's victory, and he ran Han Solo through with his lightsaber.

"Thank you."

He'd won. Or so he thought.

Han Solo, his father, whom he had just impaled, reached for him, and with his last act, cradled Ben's face in his hand one last time before falling into the abyss.

Ben thought he'd known what it was to be torn apart. He thought he'd known regret. He was wrong. This was regret. This was what it was for your insides to rip themselves to shreds, screaming at you that you could have gone home.

His father's shining light faded and went out, leaving an aching empty void in its wake.

He'd cut the tether. But the longing remained. Remained and heightened because now his father was gone, murdered, extinguished by his hand.

His heart was in pieces, still grasping at the spot in his awareness where his father had shone so brightly.

Then he was shot. By Chewie.

Chewie.

And he knew.

No matter how much he wanted to go home, home was gone.

Ben Solo was lost.

Kylo Ren remained.

With nothing.