A Monster

A hard, steady rain pours down on Temple Island as Rey exits the Millennium Falcon, having visited Chewie and checked for any communication from the Resistance. There was none, and as much as she tries to stay positive—a lack of communication could merely mean there's been nothing to communicate—she worries it's far more likely that the Rebels were unable to evacuate their base on D'Qar before the First Order repaid their favor in kind and blew it up. Would those who managed to board the fleet have escaped in time to avoid the same fate? She doesn't know, and the anxiety of not knowing alternately builds and depletes her motivation.

Finn. How is he, provided he's alive? She left her friend unconscious in the medbay aboard the Raddus, recovering from a lightsaber blow delivered by Kylo Ren. And Leia… Has the General had time to grieve for the loss of her husband in the middle of this quickly escalating war? To grieve the fact that her son was responsible?

For the first time in her life, Rey has genuine friends. She should have gone back to them by now, with Skywalker in tow; but she didn't anticipate the last Jedi's intransigence. So instead of standing beside her friends as they confront what may be the greatest conflict of their lifetime, she's on an isolated island in the Unknown Regions trying to convince a self-exiled Jedi Master, who's lost in a crisis of faith, that there's hope the light will triumph—that with his help, they can save the galaxy from the First Order's domination.

How did this happen? One moment, she was picking through a Star Destroyer in the Graveyard, earning her rations, and waiting patiently for her family to return for her; the next, she's dodging the First Order, flying with legends, and searching for myths. How can any of it be real? Perhaps she's caught in a dream; it wouldn't be the first time her mind conjured an island to console her.

The spherical starboard side of the Falcon shields her from the downpour. Stepping closer to the boundary of its protection, she holds out a hand to catch the stream of rainwater dripping off of the freighter's armored plates—and smiles wide as it splashes cool on her palm.

No, this place is definitely real. All of it is.

Shaking off the droplets, she steps closer to the edge of the plateau of rock just large enough to serve as a dock for the Falcon. Though dressed for inclement weather in a hooded poncho made of gray wool fibers that repel moisture, Rey lingers under the protection of the ship as she gazes out at the humbling expanse of storm-tossed sea that composes most of the surface area on Ahch-To. A frothing wave crashes against the shoreline, splattering salty spray across the rock at her feet and adding its own kind of thunder to the rainstorm.

Growing up on Jakku, she coped with the harsh desert climate by fantasizing about an island surrounded by water. It would rain there, often, and there would be lush green flora and exotic fauna.

And secrets.

In reality, the island of her dreams boasts an unpredictable climate that swings a pendulum from clear sapphire skies and balmy breezes to gusting gales, stinging cold, and booming thunderstorms. She would gladly trade a generous portion of rock for trees, not only for aesthetic purposes, but practical as well. And the native inhabitants, the Lanai, are not fans of her.

But, were she to stay, she would embrace all of the island's flaws if it meant she could explore its secrets. They're ready to be discovered; they call to her, unintelligible whispers in her ear, in her mind, in her heart. She feels them everywhere—in the uneti tree, in the temple, in the sea cave. In her dreams. In herself.

She has to get Skywalker to the front line, has to convince him to rebuild the Jedi Order once again. For if the Resistance doesn't prevail, if the light is smothered and the Jedi go extinct, those secrets will remain shrouded in mystery…and so will a part of herself.

As she stares out at the restless waves, the overcast sky—gray upon gray—she can feel them stirring restively inside her…frightening her, but also promising purpose.

.

Standing with his feet shoulder-width apart, his hands clasped before him, Ren stands alone at a viewport overlooking the massive bay where AT-ATs and other armored transports are built, maintained, and stored aboard the Supremacy. On the other side of the glass, sparks rain down from an unseen source. He came here knowing he wouldn't be disturbed; the only time this observation deck sees use is when there's a weapons demonstration, and none are scheduled.

He could have retreated to his chambers to meditate in privacy, but it was too intimate a place in which to contemplate a matter that's already bizarrely intimate. He hoped an impersonal environment would enable him to review with detachment his most recent incident with the scavenger girl and decide upon an unbiased course of action.

So she's already found Skywalker. That shifts his agenda but doesn't alter it. While no longer a priority, the map continues to be an objective, as it leads to the ancient birthplace of the Jedi Order—an infernal place that needs to be crushed into infinitesimally small pieces and strewn across the void of infinity. Regardless of whether they finish off the Resistance fleet sooner or later, Ren's chief concern now is informing the Supreme Leader of the important development and preparing for Skywalker's return. The last Jedi is, at this time, the greatest threat to the First Order, and as Ren and Snoke would be the only worthwhile counterattack, they would be unquestionably wise to prepare to handle—preferably prevent—a strong mystic assault.

He should have already related the incident with the girl to his master, but he hasn't. He needs more information. He can't present Snoke with sheer speculation, not when his master holds him in such low regard at present.

Did they send the girl to speak with Skywalker alone? Perhaps the Wookiee accompanied her. Who else might hold sway with Skywalker after all these years? No one living. Of course, that's presuming Skywalker needs to be swayed; perhaps he was ready and eager, and they're presently on their way back, formulating a plan of attack.

He should tell Snoke. Forewarned is forearmed.

But if Skywalker does need swaying, how long will it take to convince him to return? Can he be convinced? How much time has the girl already spent with him? What have they discussed? Has he begun training her?

Has he…recognized something in her? Does she remind him of… If she does, in what way? By her strength with the Force, or…

A memory blurs the hangar before him. He recalls a snowy forest suffused with shadows. Recalls her chest heaving with exertion, her dark eyes snapping with fury, her grip on her saber rigid with bloodlust.

Would the Jedi sense the darkness in her, as he had in—in Ben Solo? Would… What would Skywalker do if he did?

His stomach clenches with concern, though he knows the girl can hold her own. She certainly did on Starkiller Base.

He nearly sighs aloud. Despite years of training, it would seem he's incapable of feigning indifference. His extensive education, squandered.

He hasn't reported to Snoke because he wants to keep the event to himself. It's extraordinary, the way they appeared to one another; unparalleled. He's never experienced anything like that before; he didn't know it was possible. It seems to be an exclusive phenomenon, and a part of him—a weak part, a sentimental part—wants it to remain so. At least until he can figure out how—why—it's happening.

The unprecedented encounter startled him, but he knew the bond was there. He felt it when they met: a sense of familiarity, as though she were someone he knew long ago but in time had forgotten. Learning of her meager existence bemused him further. A nobody from nowhere? How could she possibly matter? Yet with no instruction, the inconsequential girl not only blocked his mental inquest but pushed back, penetrated his mind. She slipped past the defenses he's spent most of his life fortifying and sensed his innermost thoughts. His fears. And she's been in his head ever since.

In the forest on Starkiller Base, when she called his family saber to her and, despite her lack of pedigree, despite her lack of refined skill, proceeded to trounce him with it, he knew.

The Supreme Leader has it wrong. Skywalker isn't the champion of the light; she is. The Force awakened for her. It chose an orphan scavenger to oppose the progeny of Darth Vader. A nobody who possesses unbelievable power, but no education by which to temper it. A nobody who has nothing to lose, but everything to gain.

That makes her a dangerous enemy. Especially when allied with a Jedi Master.

He should tell Snoke—but still he hesitates. He wants to understand why. If he and the girl stand against one another, why is his attitude toward her so benign? If they're adversaries, why does the Force connect them by a method in which they cannot physically harm one another? Does it expect them to talk? To fight this war with words? He can't fathom it.

Unless…

Unless they weren't meant to be enemies.

He blinks, stunned by the notion. But before he can ponder it further, a strange sound reaches his ears. Static? He turns his head slightly, listening. No. The ocean. In the middle of a starship.

She's here. Rey.

Without a moment's pause, he turns. Resounding silence quells the white noise of whooshing waves.

His gaze direct, his tone soft, he asks for her opinion on the subject. "Why is the Force connecting us? You and I," he can't help but add, needing to impress upon her the exclusivity of this connection.

.

Rey's lips part in surprise, for he simply appears. One moment she's admiring the view, reveling in the wondrous sensations awakening inside her, and the next a towering figure appears in her periphery, too short to be Chewie, too tall to be Luke. She focuses on it—and identifies Kylo Ren, standing on the plateau with the storm at his back.

Her slight smile drops away. Not again. She hoped this—thing, whatever it is, however he's able to appear like this, was a chance event that wouldn't be repeated. Embarrassed by the link and loath to find out what it could mean, she didn't tell Skywalker; but if this continues to occur, she may be compelled to bring it to his attention.

Furious that she's forced to interact with the fiend against her will, she doesn't register his words as she lashes out with a vehement hiss. "Murderous snake!" Whether he's orchestrating this or not, he may as well know any efforts are wasted. He already guessed, anyhow. "You're too late," she snaps. "You lost. I found Skywalker." Let him think the Resistance is armed with a weapon more powerful than any gun. Let him know hope is not lost.

.

His face falls as he brings his teeth together. Her opinion of this connection is plain. Absorbed in the enigma of it all, Ren again forgot their different attitudes toward one another. His mild, curious; hers spitting venom—ironic, given the creature she accused him of personifying. At least this time her shot was verbal and not a white-hot bolt of energy. Though that didn't mean it was painless.

He glances away as he contemplates. His recent concern was apparently unfounded. If Skywalker sensed the darkness in her, recognized it, she wouldn't be so cocksure. If Skywalker reacted to her tainted soul as he had to Ben Solo's, she wouldn't consider the Jedi a hero. Surely not an ally. Perhaps not even an asset.

And if she knew the truth, she wouldn't look at Ren as if he were the living embodiment of pure, unmitigated evil.

Glancing up at her quickly, he asks, "Did he tell you what happened?" Seeing she's taken aback by his question, he steps toward her, his confidence spiking, his gait aggressive with purpose. His voice is firm, uncompromising as he presses, "The night I destroyed his temple. Did he tell you why?"

.

She won't let him throw her off balance, won't play his games. Glaring at him, Rey declares with firm, disdainful conviction, "I know everything I need to know about you." What she would give to shove him off the plateau and into the churning water below.

.

"You do?" he murmurs absently as he dips his chin and scrutinizes her expression. She doesn't mean it. He can see it in her mouth; while her eyes stare daggers at him, her lips are parted, soft and vulnerable with doubt. His question rattled her. "Ah, you do," he mocks silkily.

She doesn't like that; her brow furrows deeply, and now those soft lips do tighten with the intent to rip his throat out. She doesn't wear disadvantage well, and it amuses him. Absurdly gratified to see the darkness in her once again, he comments, "You have that look in your eyes. From the forest." His amusement fades, however, as he remembers what incited the look. "You called me a monster."

.

"You are a monster," she asserts, but dully. She tires of his games. Why must he play them? It's not as if she's going to change her mind. He's a heartless murderer. Nothing can change that.

.

He can't deny it. She's not wrong. He's killed many, many people. Innocents. Friends. His own father—in vain. He made difficult decisions in pursuit of the greater good—restoring stability and progress to a galaxy in turmoil. He's done what was necessary to combat strife and discord.

But he's not proud of the blood that stains his hands. Blood he'll never be able to wash away. In his most private thoughts, thoughts he perpetually strains to conceal from his master, he wishes there were another way to achieve order and maintain peace. But even the Jedi Master himself thought it best to eliminate permanently that which threatened his authority.

If both the light and the dark elect slaughter as their solution to anarchy, what is the difference between them?

Credulity, he supposes; the dark side knows the war is never over, while the light basks in false victory.

He takes another slow, deliberate step closer to her, holding her gaze steady, unblinking. He wants her to see his true opinion of himself. He wants her to see that he doesn't revel in war, in bloodshed, in chaos. He does—will always do—what he has to do to survive.

His intense need for her to understand unnerves him; why does he feel compelled to lay bare his emotions, his weaknesses, to the enemy he should most dread? Yet he does; he showed her the man concealed by the mask, and now he reveals the human hidden behind the monster. The weary victim who protected himself by becoming a ruthless warrior.

His voice, reduced to a coarse whisper, catches on his solemn confession. "Yes, I am."

.

He admits it. That in itself doesn't surprise her. What surprises her is that he doesn't sound proud, or even indifferent. He sounds…sad.

Kylo Ren, the man who looked his father in the eye and murdered him in cold blood, now looks her in the eye and says he's sorry.

It doesn't make sense. She doesn't know what to say, so she stares at him as her mind spins and skids. And in the dark, fathomless wells of his eyes, she finds a memory; a moment when he peered at her in precisely the same way.

When he interrogated her in the holding cell on Starkiller Base, after she refused to tell him about the droid or the map it harbored, he reminded her that he could take whatever he wanted, for no one could withstand the Force when he used it against them. Nevertheless, she continued to defy him. As he dove into her most private thoughts as if he had the right, tears had slipped over her cheeks, dripped off her chin.

And he said to her in a low, soothing manner, Don't be afraid.

As though he knew exactly how much pain he was causing her; knew exactly the price she paid in her struggle to keep him out. As though he were apologizing for it. For the necessity of it.

She blinks to dispel the unsettling moment of hindsight—and he vanishes along with it, as suddenly as he appeared. But as the wind tosses her poncho and ocean spray splatters across the rock at her feet, her troubled eyes remain locked on the space where he stood.

And the secrets stir restively inside her.

.

She disappears, speechless and confused. Good. Thoughts of her distract him; it's only fair thoughts of him distract her.

She'll ask Skywalker about that night, if for no other reason than to prove to herself that Ren's lying. He wonders what the old man will tell her. That's where she'll find the lie, no doubt.

He becomes aware of a sensation on his face. Moisture. Swiping his gloved hand over his cheeks, mouth, and chin, he stares down at the matte black leather as droplets of water run across his palm and escape between his fingers.

Ocean spray. Inside a starship, he both heard the ocean and felt it. The phenomenon that's already extraordinary is evolving into something even more so.

Or is it? Perhaps he and the girl, and presumably their surroundings, were tangible to one another during the first telepathic episode. Perhaps she would have indeed shot him…if something hadn't intervened. Something that is gradually revealing its true nature, as though it wants to leave them bemused—but only at first. Only until they've curbed the impulses each inspires in the other—vengeance on her part, manipulation on his. Until they can refrain from, see past, shallow and selfish reflexes.

As his pulse quickens, he curls his hand into a secure fist, retaining the droplets that didn't escape. Clinging to the evidence that he and this girl are meant to be more. Meant to transcend the very little they know.

He should seek guidance from the Supreme Leader.

Later.

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