A flash of red hot light seared his eyes and then he saw his father's—no, Han Solo's—glassy eyes staring back at him, feeling a hand brush across his face before everything faded to black. Kylo Ren awoke with a start, realizing the hand brushing his cheek was his own, feeling the scar across his face, still healing, and reminded himself that everything that had transpired hadn't been a dream. It was a scar that would forever serve as a painful reminder to his defeat. Rey was a fool for turning him down, for striking back at him, but it would not be the last she saw of him... of that he was assured.
The wound in his side burned with pain. He winced as he willed himself to sit upright. It was no small miracle that he had been recovered from the Battle of Starkiller Base. He was rushed to the medical bay on the First Order ship tasked with retrieving him, and was under strict orders to lay and rest until he healed, but he was too restless to lay still. There were too many emotions surging through him, and though pain shot through him, it was no comparison to the anguish he felt inside, left to his thoughts, trapped, reliving and endlessly ruminating on all that happened. He was tired of laying, idling with nothing to focus on but his pain and failure, letting hate and rage fester in his heart and eat him away.
There was so much uncertainty in his future, but one thing that was certain was that his father was dead. He accomplished that, at the very least, and with his death came the end of his ties with his family, of his past, of his wavering between the dark and the light. For better or for worse, the crushing sense of finality to it all gave him a feeling of relief, a small solace. He did what had to be done.
Sighing, he turned his eyes toward the window in the clinic, overlooking the great, starry abyss of space.
But would others see it that way, he wondered? The thought of his bereaved mother surfaced. He wondered where she was right now. Was she crying? Did she ever miss him? He could only imagine how disappointed she was in him—but he wasn't seeking her approval!—he thought to himself, smashing whatever was closest to him with a clenched fist. He took a deep breath.
Leia may have been his mother, but that didn't mean the ties that bind family were infallible and inseparable. He wasn't beholden to her. It was hard to imagine, when he was young, that anyone would have guessed what fate had in store for any of them. Their lives led them down different paths, and his path may have diverged and grew twisted and gnarled, but it had to be this way.
But before all of this... before...
His mind searched for hazy memories, ones he hadn't thought of in a long time: memories of his childhood, and of his mother. He knew there was a time when she cared, when she truly showed motherly concern. Though he tried to fight it, he couldn't help but feel... gratitude. And he resented it. He resented that he felt pangs of guilt over what his actions must have been making her feel.
He clenched his fist even tighter, trembling, desperately trying to bury the thought of her back into the deep recesses of his mind, where such thoughts, such... feelings, belonged.
Some memories can never be destroyed, never die. One can only hope to bury them so deep that they never resurface. Memories of her had no power over his emotions now, he told himself. He didn't need her or her approval. He didn't need Han's approval. No feelings of guilt would ever haunt him. It was all behind him now. Knitting his brows, he stared intently at the stars, thinking.
I have proven to Snoke that I am committed. I have left my hesitations behind me. I have cast my fears and doubts aside. I have no family, now, save for the dark side of the Force, embracing it fully. Sacrifices had to be made, but I will finish what Darth Vader started.
Leia looked up at the night sky, gazing at the stars, wondering if others were looking at those same stars, feeling a sense of connection. A sense of connection, she mused bitterly, that seemed all but lost in these dark times. They may have triumphed at the Battle of Starkiller Base, but both sides suffered great losses. Leia had been so busy while she and the Resistance retreated back to D'Qar to regroup, that she had hardly thought of the losses she had suffered personally. After getting settled, Leia desperately needed some time to process all that happened, and took a walk on the outskirts of the base, bordering the woods. She breathed in the crisp, night air and listened to the soothing rustle of the trees, as she walked on in somber reflection, letting the weight of her losses sink in. She felt so alone, not just physically, but also in spirit. Han was gone, murdered by their son, who was now lost beyond hope.
For so long, she had clung to the thought that somehow, someway, her son would return, that the light would win over the insidious grip of the dark side. Over the years, that hope had grown fainter, as the nagging voice of reason set in, replacing hope with haunting thoughts, fears, and doubts. The pain of missing her son hurt so much at first, but as feelings of futility set in, she grew more detached. After hurting for so long, her heart grew numb—it was the only way to cope with the crushing reality of the situation, or it would have consumed her in grief. Detaching herself was the only way she could carry on. That numbness protected her, and extended to all of those she held most dear. She had kept her love for Han so tightly locked up inside of her that she admittedly had felt less and less when thinking of him as the years grew on. She also missed her brother dearly, wishing she could just hear from him, but over the years she pushed her thoughts of him, too, out of her mind. It all hurt too much to think about, and she couldn't give in and descend into depression when she had so many responsibilities and people depending on her. She wished she didn't have to be so strong all the time when she felt like she was crumbling inside.
It had been so hard to keep it all together when seeing Han again, after so long, and asking him to bring their son back. She knew what she was asking was beyond reason. She knew it was hopeless and impossible, yet nevertheless it awakened a long-buried glimmer of hope and reopened wounds in her heart. She had hoped that time had hardened and steeled her emotions to the point that she would be prepared for whatever fate would bring their way, but nothing could have prepared her for this. How could she have been prepared for this? Tears began to stream down her face as she sunk to her knees.
She hated what Ben had become. He was always a brilliant child with so much promise, and so much power. She, Han, and others feared he had too much of his grandfather in him, and had hoped that Luke could temper Ben's propensity towards the dark side, but their worst fears had been realized when Ben rejected them and joined the Knights of Ren, and slaughtered his Jedi peers. She was horrified that she had given birth to, and raised, a boy that transformed into someone so dark and capable of such atrocities. Guilt laden and grief stricken, Leia wondered where had she gone wrong? Where had they all gone wrong?
All she wanted was for him to come home. Couldn't he see how selfish and destructive he was? All they wanted was what was best for him, to save him from himself, and yet he single-handedly tore apart the family. Not only did he kill Han, but his destructive madness was the reason Luke went into hiding. He had torn her away from all that she cared about and left her bereft—a mother without a family.
All he had done... it was unforgivable. Leia felt that there could never be redemption for Ben, no... for Kylo. Her son was dead to her. Kylo Ren was who he was now, and she didn't know him. The bond between mother and son had been irreparably broken.
Author's Note:
This is my first fan fiction I've ever submitted, so please don't hesitate to let me know what you think. I'd love to hear feedback. Also, the cover art was drawn by me.