Whispers bounced off the walls as she wandered down the stone stairway, descending into the bowels of Maz Kanata's castle. The voices, which no one else seemed to hear, entranced Rey, beckoning her forward, guiding her.
Down she went, one step at a time, eventually entering a darkened, abandoned corridor. BB-8 clunked behind her, gurgling worriedly, but she paid it no mind.
Moss hung on the cobbled walls, drips of water pinged in the distance, and dirtied lamps lined the hall like silent, flickering sentries. The further she went, the more intense the whispers became. They began to scream. Rounding a corner, she walked into a dusty, forgotten room, where a chest sat unassumingly.
It called to her, spoke to her.
With trembling, wary hands she reached out to it, knowing that this was the source of the faceless, bodiless voices. A bead of cold sweat trickled down her temple as her fingers pried the decrepit container open. Inside sat a variety of perplexing objects, but only one drew her full and complete attention.
It was a metallic handle—an odd, misshapen, silver candlestick with black rings circling it. Rey knew it held a secret, held some cryptic power. Looking behind her and around, making sure no one was there, she touched it.
Instantly, the atmosphere began to shift and the chest snapped shut. Heavy, strained breathing echoed all around accompanied by distant wails and sounds of battle.
She stumbled back with a cry and was transported into the hallway of what appeared to be a spaceship. Blue, translucent beams blinded her. Bewildered, she looked desperately around for another person. Yet, there was no one.
Suddenly, a shriek sounded behind her. The lights blinked warningly, flickering. Scared, she began to run away—down the triangle-shaped, brightly irradiated passageway.
She only got so far before her surroundings crumbled once more. Boulders and dirt replaced the metal, paneled floors. She fell sideways and landed flat on her belly in the mud, the wind knocked out of her. Blearily, she saw a scorched mountain ascend, massive and intimidating, before her eyes. She smelled burning flesh on the stormy air.
A cloaked figure kneeled in front of her, weeping. She could hear his moans of pain. In despair, the anonymous man placed a heavy, robotic hand on the silver-blue droid that sat faithfully beside him, leaning on it for support. Before she had a chance to ask him what was happening, a battle-cry pierced through the night.
Flipping hurriedly over, she scrambled backward just in time as a stranger flopped dead to the ground inches from her, impaled by a red, blazing sword. The setting had transformed once again. Now, Rey sat exposed in the middle of a great battlefield. Corpses littered the ground. A heavy rain fell mercilessly upon the still bodies.
Looking down on her, surrounded by a disguised entourage, stood a gruesome, masked figure. He still gripped the strange, buzzing, red blade at his side threateningly. Rey pushed off the slimy, drenched ground and scampered to her feet.
However, the nefarious party did not notice her. They merely stood, waiting in a loose circle, their respective kills sprawled below them in the sludge. Hardly breathing, Rey began backing slowly away. Yet, as her boots sloshed loudly in the blood-drenched mud, the masked figure with the ominous, glowing blade still clutched in his glove, snapped his hidden head in her direction.
Without warning, he charged toward her. She whisked around, preparing to sprint, her heart flying out of her chest.
As she turned, she was transported once more. She stood in the desert, peering down at her toddler-self. Screaming at the sky, the young Rey begged for her parents to come back. The wailing child watched hopelessly, with tears streaming down her face, as a ship sped away into the oppressive sun and blinked out of sight.
The elder Rey's eyes followed it. Her heart twisted in her chest at the memory.
However, as the vessel disappeared, the sky blackened maliciously. Snow began to fall lightly upon her cheeks. A sensation of the worst vertigo pummeled her mind. A forest, thick with contorted, gnarled trees, sprung up all around her, surrounding her.
"Rey," someone called on the frigid gales.
Jumping out of her skin, she ran. Her boots punched the snow-covered earth. She pumped her wiry arms desperately while her choked breath came out in puffs of cold fog. Her quickly disheveling hair fluttered behind her in the howling wind. The icy air bit her face, cutting and cruel.
There was a presence sifting through the forest, chasing her. Warped, deadened, wintry branches reached out to her, snagged and scratched her. Stray roots threatened her footing.
There was no end in sight. She pushed harder, ran faster until, suddenly, a shadow crept out from behind one of the trees. It loomed out of the earth, cornering her. It was the same masked, hooded figure as before with his bloodthirsty saber held high, ready to strike her down.
Rey screamed and skidded to a halt, losing her balance. Stumbling, staggering, she tumbled backward and collided with the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut. Death was coming.
All was still.
No more snow fell on her sweat-drenched skin. The floor was hard and warm under her scratched palms. She heard the plink of water droplets and the buzz of music somewhere above. With a gasp, she opened her eyes and saw that she had returned to reality. She sat, chest heaving, in the middle of the familiar, humid hallway in the cellar of Maz's castle.
"These are your first steps," a whisper cooed in her ear.
It was the same voice that had spoken to her in the forest. Madly, she whisked her head around, trying to find its source, but the corridor remained abandoned.
It belonged to a man, one calm and sure. She felt she knew him, her heart gave a pang of recognition, yet she could not place him. Pulse racing, mind buzzing, she strained to recollect just where she had known him from.
"First steps…" she mumbled to herself with a shiver.
It sounded like something a father would say.