Dead.

He had to have been dead.

Dead and buried in a sand dune on the sultry desert world Tatooine; ironically, the very world where Ben's heritage had risen many years before the Galactic Empire reigned. The initial thought of his life ending at the root of the cursed Skywalker bloodline seemed poetic.

As morbid as it was to think, he found that a bit amusing.

Truthfully though, nothing could ever properly explain how he was feeling without sounding more like a pathetic damsel in distress. But feeling like death was far more fitting than saying he was simply feeling the typical side effects of a massive hangover.

His skull was throbbing, immensely; like he had been trampled over and over and over again by a ronto on Mos Eisley's sand-covered road after one too many Kamikaze shots. Or perhaps he'd faced the butt-end of a blaster, which wouldn't have been the first time for him either.

Kriff! How much did he drink at that wretched hive?

The last thing he remembered when Han, himself, and his father's lifelong Wookiee friend Chewbacca made a pit stop on the desert planet the night before, was strolling inside Mos Eisley's one and only cantina and sharing drinks with a rather attractive twi'lek. Everything thereafter made his guess as good as anyone's who was absent then.

Now, back to the present, his ears perked at the faint sound of an engine purring. A ship. Somehow, he'd ended up on a ship, and was likely cruising the frigid, stellar depths of hyperspace.

He dared not say that the perilous life of a scoundrel must've finally caught up with him, but it would be foolish to think there wasn't a prize on his head somewhere in the galaxy. Han Solo was certainly guilty of bearing his own share of unpaid debt, and being in the mere presence of his father for seven years had surely earned Ben a certified mark on his back.

After a few moments of heavily contemplating whether or not his inebriated mind could concentrate on the Force and pry the minds of those onboard the vessel, Ben slowly opened his eyes and saw the familiar, flesh-color pad lining the bunk he was in. Through his peripheral, the Millennium Falcon's dim lighting was shining upon the vessel's otherwise vacant crew quarters.

Oh…

Relieved that he hadn't become a marauder's captive, after all, Ben sighed as he drew a forearm up and covered his eyes, the other arm draping casually across his sternum. You wanted this life, he reminded himself; did so every time he woke up tankered from yet another rowdy evening at a hole-in-the-wall bar on whatever planet they were visiting.

However, the thought of what could have been had he stayed under the tutelage of his uncle was always a hairbreadth apart from his conscience. Most often than not, he spent what few waking spare minutes there was in his day going over how differently his life might have panned out had he not asked Han for help.

"Luke can help you, Ben," Leia said in a voice of utmost assurance. Taking the small hands of a nine-year-old Ben Solo into hers, she crouched before him on a moss-covered stone step in front of Luke's training temple on Yavin lV. Even at that age, his lanky frame towered above her. "Promise me you'll listen and do as he says."

Ben wanted to say that he agreed, wanted to be the good son who obeyed his mother's every word and give her an overly enthusiastic nod with a yes. But he wasn't a normal child, not even an ordinary Force wielder who was drawn to either the light or the dark side of the Force. Being ordinary meant he knew whether he wanted the role as Jedi or a Sith.

No, deep inside, Ben wanted both.

Like a moth was to a flame, he was drawn toward the light, and the other was something far more frightening, almost predatorial, that craved the dark. This deep, broiling emotion inside him was begging to be free of its chains and lash out at those who continuously refused to truly understand his inner struggle. Something that desired more than just screaming and throwing the usual childish tantrum: it wanted to kill. Wanted the enjoyment of watching the life of another drain at the mercy of his own grip.

It absolutely terrified him.

Only in his dreams was Ben able to experience that particular indulgence; except, in these dreams, it was like he was living them through the eyes of someone else. Someone who was taller, draped in black, face concealed by an apparatus that also aided his breathing, his fist balled tight around the lightsaber hilt with a crimson blade.

A monster, who killed both old and young indiscriminately.

Would Luke be able to help keep those nightmares at bay? Could he help Ben live comfortably in his own skin without completely succumbing to the darkness as his grandfather Anakin Skywalker once did? To help him not become some raging, killing machine and find a way to coexist within both sides?

To find balance?

"Yes," Ben mumbled. It was a blatant lie because his head traitorously shook no. While the act was fleeting, the accidental blip in motion wasn't disregarded by his mother's observant eye. Ever the bureaucratic sort, she granted him the look.

'That look.'

The look that easily made the largest of men in an array of species across the galaxy feel small in contrast to the petite Leia Organa-Solo. But not Ben, he remained tall. "Ben."

"Leia," Han breathed, his tone laced with worry. Hearing his father's gruff voice cutting the tension was almost soothing. Unlike his mother, his father had made it clear that he was against sending his son away to practice some hokey religion ever since Ben had begun exhibiting signs of being Force-sensitive. It was but one of many, many reasons why the pair was constantly at odds.

Sighing and maintaining her grasp on his hands still, Leia rose to mid-height and pressed a firm kiss to Ben's forehead. "Be good," she asserted in a softer tone, then took a step back and met his gaze. "I love you, you know that right?"

Leia may have been a lot of things, but a liar wasn't among her list of faults. She was strong. Proud, maybe too proud for her own self good. A master at disguising weakness under a thick slab of strengths. Ben knew though, better than anyone who had ever had the pleasure of knowing Leia over the years. Her churning emotions played like thunder in his ears when he gave the slightest nudge against her mind through the Force; whether she felt it or not, she never made it known.

"I know," Ben nodded, eyes trained on his mother's dainty fingers clutching his. She squeezed them gently before begrudgingly releasing the hands that wanted nothing more than to reach for her again, while he begged her to not leave him.

But his hands stayed by his sides, clenched.

Soon it was Han standing in his mother's place while Leia delivered what final words she had for her brother. Han was never good at saying goodbyes, but he always said or did something that made circumstances slightly less awkward. He'd mumble something along the lines of 'see ya later kid,' give Ben's cheek a pinch or rumple his raven hair a tad. That was generally the last Ben would hear from his father for months, as Han went about doing what he did best in life: smuggling.

This time, Han took him by surprise when his father nervously handed Ben a cylindrical-shaped device that was no bigger than his hand itself. Brows furrowed, he stared quizzically at the small communication device as a smirk crept over the stubble on Han's face.

"If you're ever in trouble, kid, you know how to get a hold of me." Taking a step back from Ben, Han glanced over his shoulder towards his wife, and again at his son. His smile faded, a finger sternly aimed at him as his father said, "And whatever you do - do not tell your mother."

Six years.

For six years, Ben hid his father's comlink among a few personal belongings he was permitted to bring to the temple from his homeworld Chandrila. For six years, he held onto his mother's promising outlook that Luke would help him. And for six, long years, Leia was proven wrong.

As his abilities in the Force continued getting stronger, Ben's nightmares grew exceedingly worse. Whenever he woke from a sound sleep, his forehead and chest bathed in perspiration, he could no longer distinguish what was real and what wasn't. He saw the horror in his victims' eyes long after he'd opened his own, and sometimes he still heard their voices shouting for help, frantically seeking aid that never showed. Those whom he recognized in the latest were the faces of fellow students'.

Ben was afraid.

Afraid of the unbridled fury should the monster dwelling inside him ever succeed in exterminating his light completely. Afraid of the moment should he ever lose self-control and let the darkness claim him. Afraid of the day when he no longer called himself Ben Solo.

Fortuitously, that day never came.

Seven years later, at the age of twenty-two, the evening Han dropped everything and came to his rescue without so much as asking a single why was still vivid in Ben's memory. No amount of booze could ever blur that one phrase his father had said to him after he'd seated himself in the Falcon's co-pilot seat: "Hey, it's gonna be you and me, kid. Whole damn galaxy against us, but I'll always keep us going in the right direction; even if we zigzag a bit to get there."

That - was the best damn thing he'd heard his father say.

Following Han on his adventures wasn't necessarily the poorest choice Ben had made in his life. The job certainly held a positive number of perks as it did its share of cons. But what was undeniably best in terms of not regretting it overall, was simply for the fact that he wasn't constantly thinking about the Force - and by doing so, that inner beast was ostensibly lulled to sleep.

Frankly, boredom rarely ever found Ben since he came aboard with his father and Chewy. If he wasn't helping his father swindle their way out of one seedy condition after another, he was helping the Wookiee with frequent upkeep work on the Falcon: it really was quite the bucket of bolts. Save for the NN-14 blaster and lightsaber holstered at his waist, he had also learned how to depend more on basic instincts whenever the going got troublesome, and he only called upon the Force if conditions were deemed fit for its use.

So why was putting forth that better sense of judgment in every aspect of this new life such a hard concept for him to accomplish? Then, next time he planned on getting plastered in Mos Eisley, perhaps he would think twice before making himself suffer another kriffen hangover.

A short tremor abruptly rocked the Falcon just then, a sign they were no longer traveling hyperspace. Curious as to which planet Han was taking them to next, Ben groaned as he very slowly climbed out of the extremely narrow bunk. He regretted it instantly.

Gods, this is gonna be a very long day…

Wincing, eyes creased to where he was peering through his eyelashes, Ben stumbled across the lounge area towards the cockpit. He nearly clashed with the wall of brown carpet in the round corridor had he not heard the Wookiee's large footsteps clomping over the vessel's sleek flooring.

Affably, Chewbacca quietly roared his greeting.

Ben smirked, a hand splayed on the corridor wall for stability. "Yeah. I feel like it too."

Chewy grunted shortly in response. Ben wasn't as amused. "Nice," he scowled. An undesired warmth crawled over his ears and cheeks at the notion that the entire city of Mos Eisley had seen him strewn over the Wookiee's shoulder. He hoped he was joking. "Next time, though, just let me walk it off."

Chewy shrugged, nodding in a way that made him look like a bobblehead on a dashboard. Ben puffed out a 'thanks' as the hand pressed to the wall dropped to his side, and he proceeded to walk past Chewy. The Wookiee made him halt in place with a furry paw on Ben's shoulder, concern in his tone as Chewy grunted an observation.

Ben scoffed as the Wookiee began treading towards the opposing end of the circular hall. "Wait, what?" He called after his friend in confusion. "Put bacta on my mating bite, what are y-." Rolling his eyes, the sentence died before the words even managed to touch his lips.

"A hickey isn't a mating bite, fuzzball," Ben grumbled, massaging a hand over the blemish on his neck. Chewy grunted something that was along the lines of 'Oh, whatever' in Shyriiwook from down the hall.

Not that he was ashamed for getting a bit handsy, apparently, with the twi'lek - or had it been someone else that he'd talked to at the renowned cantina? It was a completely normal mark to receive whenever kissing got a bit heated between two full-grown adults for kriff sakes. But for once in his life, he wondered if was possible to meet a woman who wasn't so easily forgettable.

Someone who made his heart flutter whenever he thought of her. Someone who wouldn't take that part of himself he'd been saving for granted. Someone who loved him despite knowing of the baggage he carried.

Love just didn't come easy for someone who was regularly on the move in a very large galaxy...

Stalking towards the cockpit, he considered passing the hickey off as a bruise he'd earned in a drunken bar skirmish. It would be one less thing he'd need to explain when it appeared that Han already had a lot on his mind. Lost in a daze, the veteran smuggler gazed out of the Falcon's foreport at the surmount of evergreen forests that emerged beyond dissipating stratus clouds. Riverbanks serpentining along Takodana's lush terrain ran straight into the mouths of lakes at a colossal size, their surfaces dazzling under harsh sun rays like shimmering meadows of untainted kyber.

"Takodana," Ben mused, claiming the available co-pilot's seat alongside his father.

A beat of silence followed before a feeble yep slipped past Han's halfway parted lips. Sparing a glimpse at his son, the smuggler's upper lip quirked as he granted him a soft grunt. Ben knew right away what had sparked his father's amusement.

"Don't ask."

Smirking, Han shook his head, a brow raised at rapidly passing landscape. "Can't say that I was desperate to."

"Good." The cockpit descended into companionable silence as Maz Kanata's ancient stone castle came into view amongst the ocean of green. Ben huffed exasperatedly. "Another bar, huh? If I hadn't known any better I'd say you were trying to kill me or somethin."

"You've got a lot to learn, kid. If you haven't realized yet there's more to this life than drinking on every backwater world."

"That's fair, I guess," Ben conceded, biting his bottom lip. "So, if we're not here for play then what sort of business deal are we talking?"

Han's mouth opened to speak but wound up closing instantly. There as a brief lapse in time before he repeated the motion again. And again moments after. It was while he carefully drove the vessel towards a barren patch of land east of the castle when Han finally spoke. "Your mother's."

Ben found it difficult to respond after that. Or to even breathe, for that matter. Not only had he not seen his mother in years, but he also hadn't spoken to her since a week before fleeing Luke's temple.

Was it shame holding him back from reaching out to her? Or dread that he hadn't lived up to her expectations as son of a senator?

"Is she…?" Is she here, were the terms he had meant to say but failed miserably at doing.

Han shook his head, mindlessly sliding his hand across a console of switches and levers to power down the Falcon. "No," he affirmed. Squaring his shoulders, Han stood from the seat and turned towards Ben, brows knitted at the center. "Just said who we're meeting is someone whom she trusts with her life," he shrugged.

Ben swallowed. "Did she say why?"

"No," he sighed, jerking his head for Ben to follow. "But we'll be finding out soon enough. Chewy!" Han bellowed once they were in the corridor leading towards the main entrance hatch. "Hang tight around here, alright!"

Chewy's roar resonated from a far-off chamber inside the vessel. Likely busy with the general maintenance routine, Ben supposed.

"Hopefully this won't take long," Han declared sullenly, his accompanying sigh was suppressed by the hissing of hydraulics as the gangplank lowered to the planet's emerald turf.

Wearing a frown of disapproval, Ben lifted a hand above his sensitive eyes to reduce the damaging effects of the sun blazing down on the large hunk of steel under their boots. While doing so he was unwittingly stopped short in his tracks as he walked into Han's frozen figure, eliciting an oomph from his chest.

Ben grimaced at his father's back, who had only moved an inch or so after the accidental collision. "What the hell? Why did you sto-."

The reprimand ended there when Ben was able to track his father's stare to an army green Firespray-31-class patrol and attack craft with a painted scarlet base, weathered yet heavily armed with a hefty set of GN-40 twin blaster cannons. A ship that inspired fear in the eyes of any sentient who was unfortunate to have crossed paths with its sole owner: a man whose helmet bore a T-shaped visor, clad in Mandalorian armor. For decades, the craft was a symbol of death. Chaos and destruction built with wings. The point of no return for anyone who was seized and imprisoned behind its iron cell bars.

However…

Those who were looking to pay a hefty sum for the acquisition of a bounty, dead or alive, never hesitated to call upon Slave 1.