when you think the spell is broken
when you think the magic's gone
I'll be the one to collect all the stars in your heart again


Rey is standing on the stark, sterile bay of the ship's hangar. She's been inside of a First Order Star Destroyer before, but the situation had been different - her posture an angry hunch, her hands cuffed, defiance gleaming in her eyes.

Now, she is stiff and still as the finely pressed uniforms around her, hands clasped behind her back. Her gaze is steely, though she has willed her face to remain expressionless. It's against everything she knows, and it takes a concentrated effort to not shake with rage.

She can feel the soldiers sizing her up, and she looks past them. It's as if they are insects to her. Hatred is thrumming in her ears, and she can feel General Hux's sneering contempt from across the room.

Six armored figures escort in a tall man who many have been naming as the new Emperor, reviving the antiquated terminology of the previous regime.

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren.

Ben Solo.

At the sight of him, maintaining her composure becomes more difficult, but she manages. Though Kylo no longer wears a mask, his cold, dark eyes are as blank as the depths of space.

His gaze flicks over her once, noting the tight bodice and trailing fabrics of her black garment, gleaming with intricate beading. A spot of crimson fills her lips, and a new lightsaber is affixed to her waist, its silver handle in stark contrast to the ensemble.

Their eyes meet. There is no raw emotion, none of the pain and vulnerability they had seen in each other before.

Only two warriors, meeting in a treaty of peace. One concession of power to another.

He holds his hand out to hers, and she takes it.