Disclaimer: Nothing here belongs to me except for specific, minor OC content. Everything and everyone belongs to its/their respective copyright owners whether it be Lucas or Disney or what have you.

A/N: So this is a thing. Hmm, well, hello friends, and welcome to my newest project! I have this roughly outlined at the moment, and hopefully will make it a steadily updated work :) This was born out of my interest in the character of Kylo Ren, but also because I thought that they could have gone a bit darker with his character and portrayed him in a more complex manner, so this is my take on it. Also: Rey is not a Skywalker in this particular fic, as, while I feel as though that is the way canon will end up, I think it's kind of a copout instead of exploring a potentially richer backstory.

While this is certainly not my first rodeo in the world of Star Wars fanfiction, it's been a good many years since I actively contributed to the literary side of the fandom outside of some EU work, so I beg your patience as I become acquainted with this universe and all its particulars again.

Anyway, without further ado, here goes nothing!

Chapter One

Silence.

In the distance there came a dull resonance, the telltale, muted screech of blaster bolts that made known the skirmish that was well underway and spreading its affects quickly. Smoke had already began to drift down the unoccupied corridors of the gargantuan ship, clouding the air with the lingering scent of metal, scorched, internal circuitry, and death. Closer and closer the hostility came, invading the tranquility.

Kylo Ren awaited the first enemy's appearance with a sense of eagerness, masked and prepared to bring an end to the conflict in a swift and effective manner. His foot tapped slowly on the metal floor, the sound echoing through the hall much clearer than the sounds of the battle beyond. The lightsaber in his hand was gripped like the lifeline it was, a balanced weight to be borne with only the utmost understanding for its art, or, at least that was what he had been taught. Ren viewed the unique weapon as an extension of himself, an instrument through which he was able to accomplish his goals.

Something whispered to him from the deep recesses of his brain. The words were indistinguishable, but the baleful ambiance behind the utterances was clear. It no longer disturbed him – it was commonplace. The sinister whispering had begun in adolescence and followed him down the path into adulthood and his ultimate paradigm shift. Sometimes, however, when he was completely alone, the voice would make him feel as though he had lost his mind.

Ren ground his teeth together behind the mask, feeling the thrum of the Dark Side pooling within him. It started in his mind and traveled throughout his body, imbuing him with an effervescent fury that begged to be unleashed. He shifted his weight back and forth on both legs, growing impatient. When the first sign of enemy fighters rounded the corner, he hung back only just. Only did he activate his lightsaber when one of them had seen his black-clad figure standing past the conflict.

An instant later, Ren was upon them. A sort of hyper-awareness overtook him whenever he took a life – he saw the red, plasma blade sever limbs and pierce skin clearly, he fed off of the dying light in their eyes as their bodies collided with the floor below, broken and lifeless, and he used that pain and fear to attack the next individual to cross him with an even greater ferocity.

There were a seemingly endless convoy of Resistance soldiers attempting to overtake the First Order command ship, and as Ren cut a swathe through them, he made certain that not a single one that crossed his path escaped with their life. The next man Ren encountered attacked him with a large knife fitted into a vibrogenerator, managing to block the lightsaber blows. At the same time, another soldier had a clear shot at the Ren, who raised his free hand and immobilized the enemy where they stood. The man with the vibroblade had no technique, clumsily assailing Ren with wild hit after wild hit, and was easily disposed of with an abrupt stab through the torso. The other soldier in question met his end by way of fleet asphyxiation, and there, Ren paused, deactivating his lightsaber momentarily. The darkness within him condensed into a crackling ball of energy, temporarily dormant and waiting for resurgence.

"Sir," a stormtrooper said from nearby, "we're overrun. Awaiting orders."

Overrun? Perhaps they had underestimated the amount of Resistance loyalists...

"How does the nearest hanger bay fare?" asked Ren.

Another trooper withdrew a small holomap of the ship. The blue surface was dotted with red masses – heat signatures of both stormtroopers and Resistance militia. "Their forces have spread out across the ship, but the main areas of interest occur near the bridge and in bay one."

The closest hanger was bay three, a smaller entrance for any non-trooper guests that arrived on the command ship. It appeared relatively unrestricted on the map, but only direct observation would provide a truly accurate report. Ren considered his options before giving the order.

"I will go to hanger bay three and secure myself transport off this vessel. Further orders will come shortly after," Ren said, already turning to leave the troopers behind. "Three of you, come with me."

The white-armored soldiers rushed to obey, falling into step behind their leader as he strode quickly towards his destination. His pace accelerated even more so when he was close, and from the observation window above the hanger, Ren took a quick headcount of how many enemy invaders were in direct sight. There were two clusters: one that actively fought on the offensive, while a smaller group gathered behind their proactive brothers and sisters, scrambling to lay explosives. The events had taken a calamitous but not at all unexpected turn, and Ren smoothly changed tactics accordingly.

To the three troopers he said, "Eliminate the subgroup from a distance without triggering any of the explosives. Focus your fire only on them."

They rushed to obey, and Ren spoke into the commlink built in to his wrist gauntlet. "General Thiir, do you copy?" There was no answer from the standing commander of the ship, more likely than not either captured or dead by this point. Ren slipped into the nearest elevator and descended to the level of bay three, activating his lightsaber once more and preparing to cut down whatever contested him when those doors slid open.

The enemy did not immediately notice him when he crossed the threshold into the hanger bay, but the glowing, red blade was difficult to overlook, and Ren's reputation preceded him. The blaster fire was merciless; it was as if the whole Resistance population had turned their weapons to Ren in unison. He blocked the bolts with determination, slowly making his way towards the nearest transport. Two of the three troopers that had accompanied him were dead and the third was injured, weakly firing on the fading subgroup like he had been instructed. Ren's lightsaber continued to deflect the shots as he reached his ticket to freedom, but he saw the grenade land dangerously close to him a split second too late to dive out of the way.

The explosion drove him back, separating him from his lightsaber. He hit the hanger floor hard – heard something crack on impact. His mask had been crushed inward and he had lost sight in one eye. His hand groped around uselessly as he tried to summon his weapon, but the pounding agony was making concentration difficult.

A mere moment later, amidst the sound of approaching footfalls, Ren lost consciousness.

The incomprehensible whispering endured.

…

…

…

All was quiet as dawn broke over Firrerre. The outlands were a wild and untamed place, the bleak landscape framed by endless oceans and mountainous regions. Among the hills and rivers on the few, large land masses that rose above the watery world, there lay desolate remains of a once thriving society. The native Firrerreo were a dying race, now clustered only on the northernmost continent in rapidly dwindling numbers. There was nothing to be had on the barren, Outer Rim planet, which was why the newest Resistance base had been able to remain in-tact there for so long. They had occupied the planet after D'Qar had sustained colossal First Order attacks and had been working hard to reestablish all they had lost in just two, short weeks.

Rey woke with a start, exiting her quarters and stepping out into the ever-increasing sunlight. She climbed atop a rise, perching on the edge of a bolder as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky. Large clouds dotted the horizon. In the distance she could see where the base continued and where the pilots kept their ships concealed under cover of trees, and beyond, the shimmering surface of the ocean. The last she had heard, the brave men and women who had set out to launch an assault on a First Order flagship had met success, and were currently dealing with the aftermath. She had yet to leave Firrerre since the relocation and was covertly thankful for a respite after all the work she had been doing to help the cause. Still though, she hoped her friends were faring well on the mission.

She stretched – the day was so young, there were such possibilities. Perhaps it was all the time spent on Jakku wallowing in her own cynicism that had made the transition into an environment where hope abounded easier, perhaps not, but over the course of the last three years, Rey's mindset had undergone great changes. She could feel the difference within her, subtle, underlying nuances of variance underneath the overarching consciousness of reality.

It was the Force, strong and present.

Her hand drifted to the weapon fastened to her belt. The lightsaber was her own; she had created it as had all those of her kind before her. The necessary crystals for the weapon's interior were rare in this day and age, but after a long period of searching, she had found what she was looking for. It did not come without an understanding of how the old ways had evolved over time, her teacher, the great Luke Skywalker, had made certain of that. It was a thing of precision, something that Rey was still only just beginning to master. Oh, but she had come a long way in technique since her fumbling attempts to wield the blade in the icy forests of the enemy's base so long ago. It almost seemed a dream.

Suddenly, a ship appeared in the sky, small and singular, but gradually grew nearer and nearer. It did not land in the customary location, but rather very close to where Rey sat. She bolted up and raced down to see what news the passengers had brought, joining the small crowd that had gathered around the ship. Murmurs traveled through the ranks, words like, "somebody find her" and, "maybe she shouldn't know." Rey strained to see what was happening, but the abrupt arrival of General Leia Organa verified that something of significance had occurred. Luke trailed closely behind, pausing at the verge of the gathering.

Rey wove her way through the people before her to get just a glimpse of the goings on. The first thing she saw was Leia's hands cover her mouth, followed by Luke hastening to her side, and then her eyes locked on the dark form that had been placed at the Skywalkers' feet.

There, battered and prone, was the body of Kylo Ren.

A/N: Thank you very much for taking the time to read this little endeavor! I hope to have the next chapter finished sometime this weekend :D I would love to know what you think, as well!