A Rose Watered with Vinegar
Chapter 1
o0o0o0o
Kylo Ren watched as the distant blip that was the Millennium Falcon disappeared from view beyond the cloudy overhang of the atmosphere of Crait. The remnants of the Resistance – his mother, that traitorous scumbag Stormtrooper, Rey – his Rey – all gone yet again. And it was his fault. He had to admit the trick from the old fool had been good; Skywalker had fully sold him on his timely appearance. He had figured it was only a matter of time before his uncle showed up, anyway. The bastard had a knack for trying to ruin his life, his efforts. And that hero complex wasn't going to stay hidden away forever.
See you 'round kid.
He felt the anger as the words smacked back into his mind, felt it like a hundred worms writhing in his chest. But it didn't matter. The old man was dead. The ensuing wail in the Force had been enough to confirm Skywalker's departure from the galaxy. The old man had killed himself in the effort to show up as a ghost. A phantom. A nothing. A pitiful irony. He briefly wondered what his mother had felt – if it had been worse, like it had been like when he'd killed – He quickly tamped it down. There wasn't any time for that.
There was work to be done.
He would find Rey again. He had no doubt about that. Their connection, their bond – it was never going to die. He'd resigned himself to that fact. Happily so, even. He relished that Snoke never created it. And in some ways, Kylo always knew that. His master was many things, but he could not replicate the things he had started to feel. That they had started to feel. Snoke was too dark to create them. They were light and air; they were the softest things he had ever known. And they would have their day in court, he thought. Just not yet.
The salt-air of the planet stung his nostrils slightly even through the breathing apparatus of his mask, as he awaited the command shuttle to arrive to take him back to the Finalizer. He kicked over a patch of the fine sodium crystals that covered the surface of the ground to reveal the redness of the rhodochrosite beneath. It was pure crimson; redder almost than any variant of the color he had ever seen. Redder than his lightsaber. Redder than blood. He swallowed.
When he boarded the shuttle he could feel the crawling fear of the Stormtroopers within. Afraid of their lord's post-battle disposition. That was good. It made him feel better, feel powerful again, masking the dull throb that thrummed betrayal behind his ribs. Kylo knew fear as a weapon, understood it intimately. It was a compelling motivator, but not the strongest. Few in the elite of his ranks comprehended this.
Along for the ride too was a Praetorian guard, his fittings red like the stuff beneath the salt. For a moment, it was odd, and Kylo was confused. And then he remembered. They recruited quickly, he surmised grimly.
Finally aboard the Finalizer, he stood on the bridge and peered out the viewport at the vast ether that swallowed them all. He focused on a nearing star and stared at it until his eyes burned, until there was a prick of wet along along the seams. And then he heard the clack of footsteps approaching and turned to find a small aide who squeaked that everything was ready. He nodded and followed in her wake to the command room.
Inside were six imposing figures, dressed in black from head to toe and adorned with fearsome masks that were each different from another. They looked like wraiths from hell. Like giant malformed crows waiting for an opportunity. At his appearance, they all simultaneously dropped to a knee, heads bowed, each holding out a hand with the palm upward in a display of deference. He bid them to rise.
Kylo stepped forward and assumed his position at the head of the table, electing to stand.
"You may remove your masks."
The room filled with the sound of rapidly releasing gas as they did as he commanded. As they placed their helmets upon the table, Kylo looked upon each one.
There was Hyperion to his right, his second in command, a behemoth of a man, his aged salt and pepper hair tied up into a curt bun at the back of his head. Then Rhea, the beautiful Twi'ilek, with her lovely orange skin and the green dappling along her lekku, followed by the thin form of Cronus, his spectacles reflecting the overhead lights and obscuring his shrewd grey eyes. Then there were the twins, Theia and Atlas, two sides of the same coin, fire and water. Lastly, there was the youngest, Ophion, his face already twisted in a slight grin, the shock of his blonde hair falling into his face.
He felt a quick swell of pride looking over them. They were his creations. They were extensions of his power, of himself even, honed and made strong in the Force by their master. They were the Knights of Ren, and they were about to become so much more.
"Be seated," Kylo said, and the Knights complied. Kylo took off his own mask, the sudden brightness nearly causing him to squint.
Ophion spoke first.
"To what do we owe the incredibly dubious pleasure, master?" His smirk deepened, eyes narrowed slightly. He looked like a great coyote, only four times as wily.
Theia shot him a glare, while the edges of Cronus' mouth tugged upward almost imperceptibly.
"That," drawled Kylo. "Is a question with a very complex answer."
Ophion rolled his eyes but no further insolence ensued.
Kylo went on. "The war isn't over. It may seem like it is, but no matter how beat down the enemy looks, it doesn't end. You know as well as I do that there will always be opposition to progress. Especially you, Ophion, given your latest scores."
Ophion's jaw tensed at the dig. Kylo believed in the dual importance of both battle and mental skills, and in the pursuit of the latter, mandated his Knights read and learn about the Force and various histories. The literature was often dense, a compilation of works by both Sith and Jedi Grandmasters, but they contained the essence of the secrets of the Force. On this, he evaluated them every two weeks, and Ophion had a penchant for failing to study the material. And no matter the punishment, he never seemed to pick up on the habit, much to Kylo's chagrin.
Kylo sighed. "The Resistance has escaped, though they are all but wiped out."
Hyperion interjected. "Escaped? What do you mean, master?"
Kylo grit his teeth. "Yes," he bit out. "In the frenzy after I confronted my bastard uncle, they managed to pull together a getaway."
Hyperion looked about to speak again but Kylo waved his hand.
"It doesn't matter. They're 20-odd in number and in shambles."
It was Rhea who broke in this time, her dulcet voice sharp as a sickle. "But won't they regather? Pick up new recruits? In time, they will be a force again, my lord."
"In time, we will mete out what's coming to them. They will be destroyed. Once and for all." Kylo paused, looking them over. "But not right now. We have bigger bantha to fry."
Cronus stuck his hand out and waved it in a questioning circle. "And those would be...? Forgive us, my lord, but we aren't let in much on all your extracurricular undertakings."
Kylo pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm aware, Cronus. And you'll be pleased to know that's changing. Effective immediately."
At his perplexed look, he went on. "I don't trust the military elite to rule the galaxy the right way. They know nothing but an iron fist. And we saw how well that worked out for the old Empire."
Several nods. Cronus templed his long fingers.
"That isn't the way to change the galaxy. Only lunatics think holding a blaster to someone's head forever is a good strategy. Fear doesn't motivate change; it quells it. It is inherently regressive."
"That means it goes backwards," said Ophion in a sing-song voice, crossing his eyes. Rhea stifled a laugh, and Hyperion failed in his attempt.
"Ophion..." warned Theia with a growl.
"Focus!" barked Kylo. They snapped to attention. "We have created momentum in the galaxy, and we need to put it to use. That's why I'm doing away with the military autocracy. They aren't ruling anything." He halted for effect. "We are."
All eyebrows in the room shot at that.
"We, master?" said Atlas almost breathlessly, his unending serenity seemingly broken.
Kylo smirked. "Yes, Atlas, we. The Knights of Ren deserve input in the galaxy they've worked tirelessly to change. So, consider this a promotion. No longer are you simply the Knights of Ren, but the Council of Ren. My Council. You will be the flag-bearers of change. We will decide the course of history." He smirked. "That is, if you can handle it."
Theia leapt from her seat, her tiny shoulders bristling. "Master, don't doubt us!"
Kylo chuckled, a rarity, and motioned for her to sit back down. "Relax, Theia. I have no qualms about your abilities. I have no better in the entire galaxy with which to make it anew."
They all looked to him now, faraway fires burning in their eyes.
"We have a lot of work to do. But first, we need to take care of some things."
The air seemed to chill as the Knights filled the room. When they assembled like this, drawn in on their power, the darkness pulsating around them, everything cooled, as if their presence drained the heat from the ambient air.
The six of them formed an arrow around a large table, at which a large man with long brown hair was scrutinizing documents with the help of an wispy aide, who pointed down to them every so often. At their arrival he looked up and quickly masked his sudden shock, pulling a dour face. With a wave of his large hand the aide bowed and quickly disappeared. He cleared his throat.
"Ah, the Supreme Leader's fancy toys. What can I do for you lot?" he said with a sneer.
Theia jerked, but Cronus laid a hand on her shoulder. He stepped forward, placing his hands behind his back.
"Captain Zion," he said tightly. "Do you value your job?"
The man's mouth fell ajar.
"Are you ready for this, my lord?"
He felt the hand on his shoulder and turned. It was Rhea, emerald eyes peering up at him. They were clouded with concern, and he nearly coughed as he felt the weight of her sincerity in the Force. He didn't find the words, so he simply nodded, and the fingers tightened reassuringly into his skin for a moment before they were gone. He looked away. He would allow his compassion. He shouldn't. But he always did.
With a wave of his hand, Kylo and the Knights poured through the door.
The Knights formed an unbroken line at the helm of the command room, masks affixed, Kylo in front of them. Seated about the table were the military elites of the First Order: Armitage Hux, several admirals, generals in charge of various departments, including technology, espionage, tactical engagement, and others. Some looked a little shaken, some confused. Hux cleaned his nails, apparently bored.
"What's this about, Supreme Leader?" said Hux leisurely, not looking up from his nails. His insubordination was insufferable. But thankfully, Kylo thought, he didn't have to deal with it much longer.
"Emperor, Hux," corrected Kylo, his modulator humming with authority. Hux looked up at this. Kylo smirked. "Supreme Leader was a title belonging to Snoke. I will respect his legacy. The title died with him. I am the Emperor, now. And this is no longer the First Order."
Every head snapped to him. That got their attention. When appealing to the military zealots, it was always a good attention-getter to start with his former master. Many believed Snoke was murdered by the Praetorian guard, but only the Knights knew the truth. Kylo could not face the backlash without the First Order effectively dismantling. He suspected Hux had his doubts, but the man had thus far kept a lid on any suspicions.
"Pardon me, Sup—Emperor Ren?" nervously said Admiral Eglus, Commander of the Navy.
"I'm not sure what wasn't crystal clear about that, Admiral. The war is finished. The supremacy of the military is no longer needed. The galaxy requires a government, not a junta."
Several sets of eyes narrowed at the implication.
Kylo went on. "Starting today, we are simply the New Order. And those in charge will not be yourselves. Things are going to be done differently. I am master and commander now. And my Council will see things through."
"Council?!" sputtered Hux. His face was slightly red now, and Kylo could see the first bits of uncertainty plain on his features. "What Council?!"
As one, the Knights of Ren moved forward, swallowing Kylo into the line at the middle. Hyperion turned his head slightly and nodded to his master, the great spire shooting from the top of his helmet dipping as he did so.
Several generals jumped from their seats. Instantly, Hyperion and Rhea lifted their arms, and they were forced back into their chairs with an audible whoosh.
"This is madness! Intimidation!" cried General Beehart, Head of Internal Security, as he struggled against the invisible bonds that held him in place.
"No, General," came the reedy voice of Cronus. "This is implementation."
Theia cackled beside him, and Beehart looked positively terrified. Hux simply stared at Kylo with a hatred in his eyes that would have wilted an entire forest.
"You wretched—,"
Kylo silenced him with a wave of his hand. "You never did quite get it, Hux. Always thought you would call the shots. So arrogant. So naive." Hux shook in his seat.
He turned to the whole group. "You have 24 hours to decide where you stand. I have the backing of the Stormtroopers. Friends of the New Order and the Council will retain their positions. Enemies," he looked down again at Hux. "Will be fired in escape pods into the nearest sun."
The color drained collectively from the military ensemble.
He turned and the Knights did with him. As they left the room, he said again over shoulder.
"24 hours."