AN: Hey guys! Welcome, I hope the stay is long and prosper. This is just starting but here you have the first two chapters. Just to clarify a few things, please read!:
1) I'm not into the Stormpilot ship. Like I always say I respect all the ships, but I don't necessarily share them. I see the movies and read the novels and comics and I really don't see it. You do? That's great too!

2) I like to portray the characters as in character as possible. This is not an AU, so coming from my perceptions on the source material (refer to point 1) this won't be a Stormpilot story. Also Poe won't be all flirty and romantic all of the sudden. And his X-Wing won't magically fit a second passenger.

3) For my OC's and their stories I'll use a mix of canon and legends. I LOVE legends, there's so much potential there and I want to use it (I also want the people who make the movies to use it!).

4) My OC won't be Luke's daughter, she won't be Ben's sister either. No disrespect for those stories, I've read and loved a bunch of them, but I thought I'd give her a different take, make this more about her.

5) Slow burn. No that love at first sight crap.

6) This happens right after TLJ, but in a short span of time, so I can work on it and adapt it to the next movie. Obviously I'll take liberties with the story and there'll be spoilers for the movies. Also rated M for cursing and future lemons.

And that's all for now I think. English is not my mother language, I review for typos and try to write slowly and fitting a minimum standard, but any constructive criticism and pointers are welcome. Don't be a stranger!

PS: I LOVED TLJ. Anyone else? =P

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...

The FIRST ORDER reigns. After the Battle of Crait Supreme Leader Kylo Ren exerts his dominion over the galaxy, expanding his military forces by the day. With the RESISTANCE in scarce numbers no one dares to stand in his way. No one but General Leia Organa. She has sent her remaining pilots to recruit allies in the planets of the Outer Rim of the galaxy, but misfortune hits again, when the best among them, Poe Dameron, disappears in strange circumstances….

A feminine silhouette danced to the rhythm of very well practiced moves over the edge of a cliff, thin tendrils of air falling from her messy bun and sticking to her sweaty neck, the soft humming of a lightsaber her only companion. The coral hue of its white blade illuminating her glistening skin. She swung and twirled. Back and forth. Controlling masterfully her already ragged breath. For how long had she been training today? She had no idea. It happened in this place. You didn't lose track of time, time simply had no meaning. What felt like yesterday for her could be last month for the galaxy where she was born as far as she knew. How long since she last entered the cave under the Monastery? That place of legend she never believed to really exist. She meditated, she trusted the Force to guide her in the darkness, and for what?

"If you ever find yourselves in Mortis, look for the Altar. It's in a cave, under the Monastery. Once you reach the Altar, it will give you what you need, if you give something in return."

Those were Master Luke words, one of those few times when she actually listened to him, during their history lessons. She loved learning about past times, civilizations, alliances, wars and legends. Most of her fellow students discarded those legends quickly as Jedi tales. But she didn't. After all, the Jedi and the Force were long lost legends for a time too, until Luke found Obi Wan and Yoda. All her schoolfellows wanted was to spar with training lightsabers and battle droids, while she'd rather travel, with her body and her mind, visit exotic places, meet new and exciting people, learn new languages… The Jedi lifestyle wasn't for her. She didn't agree with their philosophy to begin with.

She still didn't. And yet, here she was: practicing with her finally assembled lightsaber. Stranded and full of regret. If only she had listened. Maybe… just maybe…

She swung wildly one last time, and the pent up frustration dragged a vicious scream from her very core. Startled by the sound of her own voice- the one she didn't use for so long- she let go of the saber, its plasma blade disappearing mid-air, and the metallic hilt hitting the ground with a thud, followed by a second thud when her knees gave up beneath her.

Why? Why was she still here? Why was the Altar empty? She left the safety of her ship at night, when Mortis was most dangerous. She made her way to the damned cave, up and down the steep hills that surrounded the ancient temple-like stone building where the Father used to reside. Then she climbed all the way down rocky slippery stairs, ignoring the urge to run back to her room in the freighter, ignoring her fear of the dark, ignoring the call of that side of the force. That was her sacrifice, her offering to Mortis. She was giving up her worst fear, the one she was born with. She had never dared to pee at night without her goggles, but there she was, walking blindly into the darkest pit of Mortis. And doing so with confidence. Right until she crossed the green flames and found the stony surface of the Altar empty. In one last moment of stupidity she put her hands on it, almost expecting to find with her sense of touch the solid presence of something her limited sight couldn't detect. But as she already knew, there was no such thing. Yes, as Master Luke used to tell her, her eyes could deceive her, but not so much the Force. That night she walked back to the freighter, blind, disappointed and not paying attention to her surroundings, almost hoping a rathtar would jump her and end her suffering. It didn't happen, and since then she'd held a suicide pill from the emergency kit on the palm of her hand very often, thinking maybe it was time to use it. But she never did. She would put it back in its unit and go about her day. Her lame ass day. Doing maintenance on the freighter, hunting something to eat later, meditating, training… She seemed unable to give up hope. Or maybe she was a coward like that.

A sad chirping sound came through the cockpit's com, waking him up from his lethargic state.

"Only happy beeps, buddy. Only happy beeps…"

A drop of sweat slid down his hairline and soaked his left eyebrow making it tickle. He wanted to scratch it but he couldn't find the strength to do so. He tried to focus his eyes on the x-wing's flight computer to no avail. He couldn't' tell how long ago his systems had failed. No, not failed. They just went completely off. BB-8 couldn't find a reason why, and neither could he. They tried everything, but the x-wing was locked in some kind of autopilot route. Route to nowhere, because according to his loyal astromech droid, they were in the wild regions of the galaxy.

Wild Space. The unmapped expanse beyond the Outer Rim.

The Resistance was in scarce numbers, so the mission now was to recruit, and with the First Order on their tail the systems of the Outer Rim where the safest bet. But not for him, apparently.

He was tired, thirsty and hungry. The cockpit's life support was dead, his FreiTek life support unit was dead, he was suffocating, he had peed himself and thank Kriff his calorie intake consisted mostly of bars and pills because it was bad enough to die on a puddle of your own. A part of him wished he hadn't wasted so much oxygen trying to get a hold of someone through the subspace com when he already knew it wasn't working either. All his training couldn't have prepared him for a situation like this. It was a countdown to death. He just didn't know how much time he had left.

More chirping. And this time it sounded tired.

"No… Don't leave me, buddy. Please don't leave me…" – He managed to get out between short intakes of rancid air.

No answer came from the back of the starfighter, and he knew the astromech was gone for good, his drive depleted. He was going to die alone. He was going to suffocate inside that substitute cockpit. It wasn't even his Black One, the one that Kylo Ren blew up. For a while now he thought he'd die fighting for the cause inside the custom black x-wing. Go figure… He'd be pissed at fate if he could find the strength, but just keeping consciousness was difficult enough as it was, and he was slipping between realms again. Yet, the idea of dying wasn't what really bothered him, he was ready to die the very day he decided to be a pilot, whenever that was… But, would they know? His colleagues, his friends, his General. His father. Oh, Kriff, his father… He owed him a visit he never paid. Sure, they hadn't seen each other for a while, but they talked, they knew about each other's whereabouts. His thoughts wandered to his mom. Her passing had taken its toll on them, and now he was going to do the same to his dad. How long would they look for him before they gave up? Were they looking for him already? Were they trying as much as he had tried? Would they give him a funeral? One with an empty coffin? And what would be of his body? How much longer after his death would he travel in this x-winged improvised coffin until sheer chance and gravity propelled it into some planet's atmosphere? Or would it be an asteroid? A star? He envisioned debris and bones in a dessert, covered by sand over the years. He also saw the x-wing impacting against the hard surface of an ocean, water filling the cockpit, sinking deep, sea creatures swimming away in fear and then approaching the scene with curiosity…

Would he see his mom again, in the Force or whatever? Who was he kidding, the Force wasn't with him… Not this time…

He was choking now. This was it. He couldn't ration his oxygen intake in small sips anymore. His body was fighting for it, convulsing, looking for a remedy against the poisonous gases that saturated his bloodstream. It wasn't an easy way to go. It hurt. It hurt like nothing had ever hurt. As his eyelids closed ever slightly and his vision blurred he thought he saw something appear in the distance, right in the way of the starfighter, like a dark geometric structure etched with red lines. He didn't have time think about it before everything went black.

She started walking her way back to the freighter, putting the last two pieces of fruit she picked up on the way inside her backpack. Maybe she would open that namana wine bottles that were catching dust in the freighter's galley tonight. She felt like getting drunk. She strolled down the hill, paying some mind to the floor, making sure her feet didn't slip on loose gravel. Light blinded her suddenly, like a beacon's light passing over her. She looked up, searching for the source, and gasped. The glowing crystal floating over the pinnacle of the Monastery casting daylight all over Mortis, acting like a sun in the morning, and a moon in the night, was opening. And doing so it was becoming black and red, as the monolith turned from shiny crystal to dark metal. She hurried down the hill, running, not even thinking about it. She could swear she still had time before the night, she could swear this was too sudden and odd. But who cares, Mortis was no place for a late stroll under the stars. The grating sound of metal scrapping over metal made the place shake, and she stopped to cover her ears in pain. The realm was engulfed by total darkness just for one second, and then the light returned hitting her like a rubber band. Literally hitting her. Leaving her laying over the oblique surface of the hill. Pointy pieces of gravel punctured her hands as she tried to get up, blinking away the pain in her eyes. She staggered a few steps and leaned over a big protuberance on the rock. She stayed there a few seconds, blinking away the dots. As she raised her eyes again what she saw froze her in place. An x-wing was flying over the valley, she thought it was about to land, as it was losing altitude very slowly, but then realized what was going to happen: that starfighter was about to crash. The nose was too low for a safe landing, and its backside was starting to twirl to the left. Before long it would spin out of control and disappear under the river's surface. She closed her eyes and reached out with her mind, looking for someone inside the cockpit. There was someone, but she recognized that static feeling. The pilot was unconscious.

She run down a few extra meters in the same direction the starfighter was headed, her blood pumping with thrilling emotions she had forgotten: excitement and expectation. This could be her ticket out of this place. This could be the opportunity she was waiting for.

She planted her feet firmly on the ground and extended her arms in front of her, palms up, feeling for an invisible rope that connected her to the x-wing. Just like the Force connects everything. It was there, that part was easy. Now she just had to be strong enough pull from it and stop the starfighter, at least enough to soften the blow. She was suddenly reminded of how big x-wings really were. They looked small in battle, thousands of feet up in the air, but they were actually twelve meters long. The moment she grabbed onto it, its ten metric tons of mass dragged her along the river's shore. She sunk her heels deeper on the ground, sending pebbles in all directions and leaving a trail on the mud. She gritted her teeth, her fingers opening wide and curling with the extra effort. Face turning red, veins popping out on her neck. She held her breath and willed the Force to help her. And the Force answered her prayers. She was doing it. The x-wing's movement was slowing, and so was hers. She grounded her feet more firmly with a final display of strength and stopped it altogether. She exhaled the exertion out, and walked closer to the shore, her arms and hands still spread. The x-wing was hovering over the other side of the river, but it'd do. She turned it slightly to the right and lowered it so very slowly to the ground. Her arms trembled the last few feet, but she managed. She shook her limbs off, but didn't give herself a second to rest. Someone could die in that second.

She crossed the river jumping over scattered rocks. As soon as she made it to the other side she swatted her right hand and the canopy was ripped from its hinges. With the belly of the starfighter directly on the floor it was easy for her to reach the cockpit extending her arms over her head and pull herself up. The first thing she registered was the smell. She held onto the edge of the cockpit with one hand and covered her mouth and nose with the other, leaning away from the stink. It smelled like the unventilated bedroom of a sweaty teenager and piss. Only in this case the sweat and piss was that of the adult man lying limply inside the cockpit, which made it even worse. She looked again, holding an arm over her face and breathing through her mouth. Whoever he was, whatever he was doing in this place, he was with the Resistance. If the interstellar orange of his flight suit wasn't indicative enough of his allegiance, the rebel starbird at the front of the helmet laying on his lap left no room for doubt. She quickly put two fingers under his nose and then over his carotid artery, worried about the unnatural greyish color of his skin. He was breathing and she found a pulse, but she didn't relax immediately. She checked the life support system on the starfighter and his flight suit, and as she already suspected they were dead. The front of his orange uniform was slightly opened and he'd been clearly pulling at the collar of his undershirt. He had barely made it alive. Now the newfound fresh air of Mortis should help, but she couldn't know for sure. Oxygen deficiency could have caused damage to the brain or any other organ or tissue. She'd need to put him under observation in the freighter's med bay to know.

She looked around trying to decide what to do next and her eyes landed for the first time on the astromech droid inside the socket behind the x-wing's cockpit. It was a BB-Unit, that much she knew, but a BB-Unit like none she'd seen before. This one had a sleeker design, more refined, and a very particular choice of colors. Like the ones on his owner's flying helmet. In her experience there were two types of rebel pilots: the no-nonsense type, who didn't go above and beyond to decorate their helmets, save for the standard insignias; and the type that carved out their stories of heroism and camaraderie in ink, paint, and blood in said helmets. Sometimes it simply consisted on writing their own names and changing the starbird's color to indicate their loyalties, other times the helmets were completely customized, like this one. She dropped the black helmet to the floor behind her as she flipped the correct switch in the flight console to take the droid out its socket. In her peripheral vision she saw it come up and roll towards the left side of the starfighter, were she was perched, falling to the ground too, as she unstrapped the pilot. She leaned inside the cockpit, reaching behind his back to take off his flight vest. She took another moment to make sure the guy was still breathing and she wasn't just fumbling with a dead body. Which she wasn't, phew…

She looked over her shoulder to the gravel ground to make sure she wouldn't break her neck with a rock. There was only one way she was taking that guy out of there… She adjusted him on the seat so he was looking in the same direction as her, his back to her chest, and without thinking it twice she passed her arms under his armpits, intertwining her fingers over his chest, and pulled forcefully, using her body's weight and gravity to her advantage.

"Oomph!" – She groaned when the pilot's dead weight knocked the air out of her.

On her feet once again, she looked up and around, asking herself if there was enough time left for what needed to be done. In Mortis time had no meaning, but despite not being able to count the hours, somehow, with enough time to adjust, your biological clock knows when it's time to sleep. And hers knew it was already late. Luckily the freighter wasn't that far away.

She drove around the freighter's corridor on the hoversled, going directly for the med bay, as the boarding ramp closed behind them. They were just in time. She made a run to the ship to get the hoversled she used to get cargo on board, so she could take this cargo on board. She only wished the guy had crashed on Mortis earlier in the morning, when she was fresh out of bed, and not this tired. She dragged him onto the rectangular plate in the middle of the room and immediately the treatment table came off the floor activated by the pressure. She pushed a button in the panel and a light scan appeared on one of the ends of the table. She put her hand over it and dragged it all the way to the other end to get a full scan. It would only take a few seconds. Meanwhile she plugged the droid to the wall. They always stored data, there could be something important in there, or the BB-Unit could tell her what happened if the guy didn't wake up soon. If he woke up at all…

Just as the thought crossed her mind the scan finished with a double beep and she hurried to check the results. No tissue damage. No damaged organs either. Just plain and expected hypoxia. He just needed to rest and breath.

She exhaled loudly, finally allowing herself to relax resting her hands on the side of the table and closing her eyes. Before she could think what she should do next the foul smell on the guy hit her again. It wasn't the first time she brought something stinky on board, but this time she wasn't getting paid for it. She didn't particularly like the idea of giving a complete stranger a sponge bath, but she favored the alternative even less. So the sooner the better.

She took off her own sleeves and started working. First she took care of his boots and socks, belt and flight harness. Once all those things were out of the way she worked on the orange flight suit, pulling at the front velcros and working her way around the pilot's shoulders and behind his back, pulling his arms out of the sleeves and tugging the rest down his legs. Something fell off one of the pockets with a clank. She bent over to pick it up. It was the Resistance insignia of a Commander of their army. Confused she fumbled with the stinky orange suit in her hands. She could swear she saw another insignia in the front, where it should be attached. And yes, there it was, he was a Captain. She didn't lose time thinking about it and simply set the two metallic pieces aside. Her arms were still shaking lightly and sliding the orange piece of cloth under his hips was a bigger struggle than expected. Finally, she stripped him of his tight-weave cotton t-shirt, putting his arms back on the table when they fell off. She hooked her fingers over the waist of the same grey material pants and stopped short. Deciding it was better just to do it all in one go, like ripping a band aid stuck on body hair –not that she knew what it feels like, she didn't have body hair-, she hooked her fingers over the waist of his boxers too, and tugged. When it all came off she immediately threw a towel over his hips and disposed of his stinky uniform, putting it all inside a plastic sealed bag and throwing it on the floor to clean the next day.

She produced another clean towel and a metallic bowl from the cupboards above the sink. She filled the bowl with lukewarm water and took a seat on a stool with wheels next to the unconscious rebel. She started on the face, dipping the towel in the water, wringing out the excess and scrubbing his skin, starting on the forehead and going down his temples and his neck, all the way to his chest. She made sure to brush every crevice, because she figured even in his actual state he would appreciate a fresh face. She wouldn't be as thorough with the rest of his body, that would be creepy. She rinsed the towel three more times and made a quick pass over his torso, arms and legs. The stench was under control now, and he could wash when he woke up. She activated the restraints of the treatment table and two wide straps locked down his shoulders and hips. She considered using the handcuffs too, but decided against it. Waking up in handcuffs didn't make for a good first impression. She learned that when she woke up handcuffed, hanging over the edge of Cloud City and surrounded by Sando's boys. She smiled bitterly at the memory. Han was so pissed, but also so proud. And now, if she was right about the little pit in her chest, he was dead. And if she was right about the other pit in her chest, Luke was dead too. She breathed deeply as she connected an IV to the naked resistance pilot right arm and activated the glass cocoon that would take care of him for the night. Her thoughts went to Leia. How was she holding? Both events happened in rapid succession. It must have been difficult, even for her and her stone cold façade. She had tried reaching out, concentrating in the bright light that Leia Organa always projected throughout the Force. But there was no reaching out from Mortis.

With one last look to the panel to make sure the temperature and oxygen levels were correct she decided to try and get a night's sleep.

That was it for now! Did you like it! How much do you know about Mortis? Let me know!