Rey

"What're you doing here?" She asks, sliding from the bar stool, kneeling beside the droid. Her mind races a million miles a minute. Her heart is beating in her throat, but she's afraid to hope. The droid whirrs and beeps, trembling with excitement.

"Poe? Here?" Rey says, tears springing in her eyes. Relief washes over her, and her spirits soar.

She straightens.

"Where?" BB-8 beeps, rolling away. Rey follows, and he leads her through the bar and out the door, down the steps and towards the woods. She breaks into a jog, and sweat beads on her forehead and slips down the back of her neck. BB-8 leads her through the woods, and she kicks up clods of dirt as she covers the ground, snaking through the trees. The path opens onto the launch pad, at the entrance of the port.

Poe's standing a few yards from the Falcon's loading ramp, speaking with a Takodanian port officer. She breaks into a run when she catches sight of him.

"Poe!" She cries.

"Rey!" He cries, happily, catching sight of her. She sprints the last few yards, closing the distance between them. She throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around his middle. He hugs her, tightly. When he pulls away, his eyes are shining.

"You're alive." She breathes, and hugs him, again. "Where are the others? Are they okay?" The questions spill from her lips before she can stop them. Poe's eyes darken, briefly.

"We're alright. We took a hard hit, on Hoth. We lost a fair number of soldiers in the attack, but we made it. We're based on Naboo, now. The Naboo monarch agreed to an alliance. We've got ships, now. And a quarter of the Naboo troops. They're militarizing, as we speak. Naboo's support has sparked an increase in recruitments. After the Nubian Monarchy aligned with us, it didn't take long for other planets to follow." Poe says. Rey's head spins, with the good news. Poe grins, touching her shoulder. "We're gonna be alright."

"And Finn? Rose? D'Acy?"

"They're okay."

Rey smiles, tears spilling over her lashes. Someone clears their throat, behind her, and she turns on her heel. Ben stands a few feet behind her, arms folded, face beaded with sweat.

"The best pilot in the Resistance." Ben growls, dwelling on each word, tasting it, spitting it out. A flicker of recognition crosses Poe's face. Before Rey can blink, he's drawing his blaster. She ignites her staff, jumping between them, blocking Poe's shot.

"Poe, don't!" She cries. Poe's looking at her like she's gone mad, like he doesn't quite recognize her.

"He's the enemy." Poe says. "Rey, what're you thinking?"

"He's helping me, Poe. He's changed, he . . ." Rey swallows. "He saved me."

"He's brainwashing you." Poe says.

"Drop the gun, Poe." Rey demands, gritting her teeth.

Poe scoffs.

"Stop defending him, Rey. He killed Han. He's killed our people, burned villages to the ground. He tortured me."

She feels Ben's anger, his pain, across the bond. Her heart's pounding in her head, and it's hard to focus. She keeps her eyes trained on Poe, keeping her staff aimed at his chest, ready to shield Ben. To protect him, no matter the cost.

"I can't let you kill each other."

"Shit, Rey. Get out of the way!" Poe yells. There are tears in his eyes.

"No. Poe, please." Rey begs. "Drop the gun."

Poe shifts his weight, gaze flicking between Rey and Ben, unsure. He swears, stowing his blaster in his belt. Rey sighs and deactivates her lightsaber, willing Ben to keep his temper. The hatred between the two is almost tangible. Rey looks at Ben, and the look in his eyes is enough to make her blood run cold.

Poe marches forward and grabs her arm, pulling her toward the Falcon.

"C'mon. We're leaving." He says.

"Poe, wait." She cries, wrenching her arm away. He stops. His brows knit, and his eyes are wounded, confused. A pang of guilt shoots through her.

She turns, looking at Ben.

"Ben." She says. "Join me." She reaches for his hand, but he pulls away from her, stepping away. Rey's vision blurs with unshed tears. "There's nothing left, here. Ben. Please." Her voice is barely a whisper.

"No." He says. His face is unreadable. An emotionless mask. And his voice is hollow.

"Ben, don't do this." She reaches for breath, feeling her chest constricting. "Come with me."

"I can't." Ben says. "I don't belong."

He looks at her, almost pitying, and his tone changes, sharper and angrier.

"And you're a fool for thinking I'd change my mind. I've made my choice, Rey." He says. "The Resistance doesn't deserve you. They're going to turn you into a puppet. They're going to use you, until there's nothing left. Until you're delusional. Naïve and vain and selfish. Everything my uncle was, and the masters before him."

He bites his lip, and tears slide down the length of his cheeks. Blood rushes in Rey's ears, and she can't tear her eyes away. His eyes are swallowing her, dragging her into a dark, raging sea.

"I know what it's like, to be a puppet. Used up, and cast aside. It's too late, for me, but it's not too late for you."

"Ben . . ."

"I'm going to destroy everything the Jedi stand for. I'm going to destroy the First Order. And I . . . I need your help. Rey, we can restore balance to the galaxy."

She can feel the energy around them, chaotic and pulsing and imbalanced. And she can't breathe, can't think. Ben offers his hand, and his eyes burn holes into her soul.

"Come with me."

Rey's eyes fill with tears.

"I can't."

Poe grabs her hand, tugging her away.

"Rey, c'mon. We gotta go."

"Poe . . ."

"Let's go, Rey."

Rey glances at Ben, desperate. He swallows, nodding.

"I always knew you'd leave. I was foolish for thinking I could change your mind, that I could save you . . . but I always knew." His words cut straight to her heart, like a lightsaber. Like poison. The space between them is alien. He's cold and guarded, and the truth hits Rey like a blow, straight to the chest.

This is it. Things won't go back to the way they were. Not ever. She's leaving him, and he'll never forgive her. She doesn't have a choice. She wishes he'd yell at her, attack her, even. It'd be easier. But he's not. He won't. Her breath hitches. She blinks at him through her tears, gasping, trying to understand why he's not touching her, why he's not reaching for her, why he's not even trying . . .

"Ben . . ."

"Goodbye, Rey."

The connection breaks, between them. Rey splutters, clutching at her chest, feeling a dark, cold emptiness spreading throughout her body. Her thoughts are quiet. Too quiet. Her knees are jelly, and the world spins in slow, dizzying circles. Poe tugs her arm, dragging her toward the Falcon's ramp. She throws a last, desperate glance over her shoulder, wishes she hadn't.

The look in his eyes is one of betrayal. His shoulders slump, and he's folding in on himself. His hands hang by his sides, empty and weaponless. Tears slip down the slopes of his cheeks and fall onto the dust, at his feet.

Poe leads her up the ramp and into the main hold, and helps her into a seat. Rey stares at him, numbly. His lips are moving, but she doesn't catch what he's saying. Eventually, he gives up, and goes into the cockpit.

Rey feels the engine vibrating, beneath her, feels the Falcon shudder and it rises in the air. Outside the window, Takodana's forests blur into a smear of green as Poe launches them into hyperspace.

Ben

Ben stands, rooted to the spot, shell-shocked. He squints in the bright sun, watching the Falcon rise into the air and rocket off, into the sky. It's a slap in the face, watching that ship speed away from him. Watching her, Rey, the only person he cares for, fly out of his life on that karking hunk of junk. Probably forever. With the best pilot in the Resistance, no less. Who's better-looking, who could probably charm the tentacles off a Rathtar.

He curses, biting his lip, drawing blood. Tears slip down his cheeks. He swipes a hand over his face, wiping them away.

He should've expected it. A year ago, he would've expected nothing less. But she changed him. She made him better. Some part of him wanted to believe she'd healed his poor, crooked heart. She fought at his side and kissed him and let him into her bed. She took what she needed, and walked away.

It's not like it's the first time. He's used to people leaving. Han was the first, always leaving, always finding an escape, the odd smuggling job, or a drink, or a gamble. Always looking past him instead of at him, never able to understand him. Aching for a son he could understand, not the broken, sensitive boy before him, wrestling with his own demons. His mother's mistakes came later, when she sent him to his uncle, insisted it'd be good for him. It wasn't. It was good for her. She was washing her hands of him, making him somebody else's problem. It wasn't until later he realized she was afraid of him. That hurt. That hurt, more than anything else.

And Rey. Rey, who hadn't shied away from him. Who saw beyond the mask and the alias. Who found Ben Solo buried in the shadows and attempted to lead him into the light. He laughs, cruel and humorless. She'd finally accepted the impossibility of the feat. Impossible, because there's no forgiving the things he's done. Because Ben Solo is dead.

What had he done to deserve her? What had he done to deserve this?

It's agony.

Why does this hurt so much? Why is she, of all people, capable of bringing him to his knees? She left scars so much deeper than the rest. She's gone, and it feels like he's being ripped apart, from the inside.

He forces himself to take a breath, pulling himself together. There's no point in dwelling on it, now. There will be time, later. Now, he must mobilize. He can't stay here. There's no reason for him to stay here. He's got nothing left, no home to return to, no allies and no family to call his own. He's lost. And it took Rey's leaving for him to realize it.

There's a small freighter, unoccupied, at the far end of the launch pad. His hand finds the hilt of his lightsaber and rests there. He draws his cowl tighter around his head and walks toward it, forcing himself to take careful, measured steps. He can't afford to make a scene. If he blows his cover, half the First Order's fleet will be on his tail in a matter of minutes.

He reaches the freighter and lowers the ramp. An official steps in front of him, blocking his path.

"Identification is required to board this ship." The man says, grabbing his arm. Ben draws his lightsaber, slashing through the man's arm. His mouth stretches wide in a silent scream, face ashen. His arm dangles at his side, held to his body by a few tendons and strings of shredded muscle. The wound is cauterized and bloodless. Ben covers the man's mouth, passing a hand over his forehead. The man falls unconscious, instantly, crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut.

Ben steps over the man and hurries up the ramp, closing it behind him, and rushes to the cockpit. He fires the engine, and it roars to life. The control panel lights up, and he taps in commands with incredible speed, operating on autopilot. The controls are similar to the Falcon's, and he grew up flying that ship. He seizes the throttles and eases the freighter upward. The comm hums to life, and a voice screams through the radio.

"Freighter HT-5600, identify yourself. You're unauthorized for takeoff. I repeat, you're unauthorized to leave this port. Land immediately, or we will open fire."

Ben cuts the radio, silencing the voice. After a minute, the freighter shudders, and the lights flicker, as the ship takes fire. Ben accelerates, dodging the blasts, soaring over the treetops. His mind races a million miles a minute; he tries to stay a step ahead, plotting his next move, accommodating for his headlong flight into artillery fire. He's setting the coordinates for Ahch-To before his brain catches up with the rest of him. It's the birthplace of the Jedi Order, yes. The very Order he's trying to destroy. But the island, the mirror, is beckoning him. He saw the reflection, in their shared vision. He felt it's pull, it's alignment with the dark side of the force. He heard the voices, read the memories and the Force web surrounding the island. He needs answers. He needs to find the path he's meant to lead. And it's a good place to start.

He navigates through the atmosphere, and, once he's high enough, punches the hyperdrive and launches the ship into space.

The trip through hyper spaces lasts a few hours, during which Ben wanders around the freighter, trying to keep himself occupied, trying to keep his mind blank. And he knows if he pauses to think for a moment, thoughts of her will flood his mind, and it will be too painful to bear.

So, he prowls the hallways of the freighter like a predator on the hunt, rummaging through cargo spaces, reading the memories and the energies left on the vessel. He sifts through the database, piecing together the freighter's history. The original owner gave it a name, the Apollo, and owned it for a span of eight years before it was sold to a Correllian merchant, used to transport goods between Jakku and other worlds in the Western Reaches.

The comm beeps and Ben ignores it, sighing, pushing a hand through his hair. He surveys a star map, tracing the line that marks the start of the Unknown Regions. Ahch-To is near. He doesn't need a map to tell him that. He just knows. He can feel it. It's a powerful, light side entity. A pulsing, beating heart in the Force's system. It's no wonder the first Jedi chose it to build their temple upon.

Ben massages his temples, blowing air through his nose. He dearly hopes he's making the right choice, coming here. He's seen it, in dreams. In Rey's dreams, and his own. He's been there in spirit and mind, if not in body. And every ghost he chases, every shadow, every thread he grasps at, seems to lead straight here, to this island. The birthplace of the Jedi Order. A light side monolith with darkness at its heart.

The Apollo jolts as it drops out of hyperspace. At first, there's nothing around the ship but thousands upon thousands of stars, stretching for miles. This is space. Deep space, uncharted and foreign, swallowing him like a beast's dark maw.

Ben holds his breath, consulting the map, feeling along the Force web for Ahch-To's light. It's there, brilliant and bright. After a minute, he catches a glimpse of the aquatic world, looming on the horizon. It's glassy and blue, overcast with clusters of thick, gray clouds.

Ben urges the Apollo forward, towards the planet's surface. He allows intuition and the Force to lead him toward the island, navigating through the atmosphere. Rain plinks against the Apollo's window as he dips below the clouds. Darkness has fallen, and lightning strikes every few minutes, bathing the thunderheads in white light. Ben grits his teeth, white-knuckling the controls, battling his way through the wind and raging storm. The island looms in the distance, a land mass comprised of jagged pillars of black rock that scream up from the violent sea, towards the sky.

He circles the island a few times, looking for a flat surface, eventually landing on an outcropping on the west side of the island. The Apollo shudders as it touches the ground. Rain lashes against its sides, and the wind whistles, harshly, outside. Ben pulls his hood up and lowers the ramp, stepping onto the island. The rain soaks through his clothes in seconds. He shivers, glancing around, pulling his cloak tighter around him.

Luke's presence is overwhelming. He's everywhere, in the rocks and the wind and the raging sea, in the thrumming energy surrounding the island. The energy hums, inside him. For a moment, Rey's presence flickers at the edges of his consciousness. But it's a fleeting shadow, and it passes, leaving him cold and empty and aching.

He rouses himself, feet slipping in the mud as he clambers up a rocky slope. He wanders the island for a half an hour, searching the island for some shelter. He's about to call it quits and return to the Apollo, and stumbles upon a collection of small, stone huts nestled on a craggy hillside.

He jogs to the nearest one, slipping on the rain-soaked cobblestone pathway. He pulls open the door and ducks inside, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the doorframe. The hut was made for someone considerably shorter than him. He straightens, glancing around the hut. It's empty, stripped bare, with only a stone shelf jutting out of the wall, serving as a bunk. He peels off his dampened cloak and shakes the water from his hair. He's wary and tired and hungry, already fed up with Ahch-To's horrendous weather. There's no food in the hut, and it only sharpens the ache in his stomach.

He strips off his boots and curls up on the bunk, listening to the rain and the wind thrash against the walls. Here, in the dark and rhythmic thrumming of the storm, Rey crawls into his thoughts. He draws his arms around his torso, trying to barricade any thought of her from his mind. But the pain in his chest sharpens, and it's hard to breathe. He plays their final, parting words in his head, over and over again. When he closes his eyes, he can see her face. As clear and unblemished as he would if she was standing right in front of him. He can see the conflict in her face, the warring sides of her, and he can feel the repulsion, the magnetism, pulling at the halves of himself. He can see the tears in her eyes and the grief, the guilt, in her heart, but it pales in comparison to the agony he's feeling, now.

There's nothing left, for him. He chose her, over everything. She was the sun, and he let her gravity pull him into a helpless orbit. He was free-falling, and he was free. He gave her the sun and the stars, and she gave him a parting word. She pressed his face up to the window, and then closed the blinds. She promised she wouldn't leave, not under a million burning stars, and she left.

She's gone.

He drifts, empty and aching, waiting for sleep to claim him. He wants the sweet release, the relief that comes with feeling nothing and seeing nothing and being nothing, at all.

Sleep is morphine. Death is mercy. But the universe isn't kind.

Light slumber comes, pulling him out like driftwood in the tide, pushing him back towards the rocky shore, where stones cut his feet and he struggles with the waves. Toward the sharp sting of awareness and consciousness and the bitter, pulsing agony that comes with being alive, with drawing oxygen through his lungs and pushing it back out again.

He lingers in the gray space between waking and sleeping, head bobbing above the waves, only to be dragged beneath the surface, again. And all through the night, the pounding of the rain on the hut's roof sounds like waves, and a voice weaves itself in and out of the dull roar. Her voice, riding the ocean and sea foam. A cadence, drifting through his dreams.

Rey

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Rey lifts her head, raising her eyes to meet Poe's gaze. He chews his lip and shifts his weight, worried and spasmodic. Suspicion and disappointment come off him in waves, and she doesn't need to share a Force bond with him to sense it. It's almost tangible, clogging her senses, almost suffocating.

"About what?" She asks, stiffly.

"Any of it." Poe says, incredulous. "Maybe you should start with your alliance with Kylo Ren, or the fact he looks at you like you put in the sun in the sky. I'm sure it's quite a tale." Poe rolls his eyes.

"I'm not in the mood for a lecture." She says, and the words come out harsher and sharper than she intended. She sighs, and turns away from him, glaring at the Falcon's window and the blue, spiraling wormhole outside.

She knows he's working out what to say next, if he should press her or let the subject drop. Thankfully, he decides on the latter. He leaves the room, slinking back to the cockpit. Rey blows out a breath, relieved.

He hasn't exhausted the subject. She'll face numerous questions about her whereabouts when she returns. No doubt, news will spread. It always does. Word will get out, that Rey, the hero, the last Jedi, spent a month shacking up with Kylo Ren. That she's a deserter and a traitor. But Poe doesn't know everything, and Rey's got some control over which details to share with the Resistance and which will remain carefully guarded secrets.

Rey closes her eyes, feeling the sting of tears burning behind her eyelids. It hurts, to think of him.

She left him.

He let her in. He bared his soul, showed her the weakest, vulnerable parts of himself. He trusted her.

She'll never erase the memory of him, that look in his eyes, from her mind. It's seared in the backs of her eyelids. For a moment, he was the little boy, watching his father disappear in the Falcon. And she'll never forget those eyes, dark and sad and betrayed. But there was some truth in those eyes, too. Some terrible suspicion confirmed. Like he'd always expected her to leave, someday. And she'd proven him right.

That's worse. A hundred times worse. Hadn't she done the same thing, to him? Hadn't she always harbored some small fear in the back of her mind, that he might one day board a ship and leave her stranded, somewhere? That he might give up on her? She's so afraid of abandonment, so afraid of people walking out of her life.

He hadn't abandoned her. He was never going to abandon her.

She promised she'd never leave him. And she's breaking that promise. She's abandoning him, like she'd always feared he'd do, to her. She's so much worse than him. She's the monster, in this equation. Not him.

Rey slams her fist on the table, and the Dejarik game activates. She peers at the hologram monsters, cursing herself and the stars above, wishing she could sink through the floor and disappear. Wishing he'd appear before her, through Force-bond, just to scream at her. But the connection is broken, and he's gone, and no one's there to scream at her. No one, but herself.

Silently, she prays for mercy, something to alleviate the pain. The guilt is a heavy weight in her gut, and the shame burns in her cheeks. But it's nothing compared to the pain in her chest, the ragged hole, where Ben should be. His loss is nothing short of agony. Where his energy used to flow through her, where his thoughts used to walk hand and hand with her own across the bridge between their minds, there is nothing. And the silence and emptiness spreads throughout her body like a disease, like rot.

She's cold.

She prays for his pity, his forgiveness, maybe, and some way to return to him and set her wrongs right. Maybe he'll kill her, the next time they meet. It wouldn't be such a bad way to go. His bloodred broadsword through the chest would probably hurt less than the pain currently shooting through her body, setting it aflame.

The more Rey replays it in her head, the more it hurts. She kicks herself, over and over. She should've tried harder. She should've dragged his sorry ass onto the Falcon, herself.

She sighs and buries her head in her hands, pressing the heels of her palms over her eyes. A strangled sort of moan escapes her lips. A In the darkness, his eyes stare back at her, full of pity and accusation and a burning question.

You left me. You betrayed me. You broke your promise.

Why?

A small, worried beep derails her train of thought, and she sits up, letting her hands fall into her lap. BB-8 bumps her leg, gently, peering at her. She rests a hand on the dome of his head.

Rey sighs.

"Hey, Bud."

He whirrs and chirps, concerned, and Rey knows it's a question.

Rey smiles, sadly.

"It's nothing." She says. She peers at the Falcon's window, feeling a hard knot form in her throat, and her voice wavers and trembles when she speaks. "I'll be alright."

BB-8 tips rests his head against her knee, and gives a sad sigh. It's the closest thing to sympathy his programming permits him to express. Rey's stomach twists, and her eyes well with tears, feeling like the least deserving person of any sort of sympathy. She pats the droid's head, stroking him with trembling fingers. Programming or not, she's grateful.

Ben

A stream of sunlight filters through the hut's window, falling in a large, bright squares across Ben's scarred face, swollen with sleep. He stirs, and sits up, squinting in the light. Disoriented, he panics, trying to gather his bearings. He's on Ahch-To; the island's Force web is a powerful entity, a constant reminder of where he is, and what this island means to the order he's sworn to destroy.

But it's not the only order he despises. He's no longer devoted to the darkness, but he's not devoted to the light, either. He's in-between, walking the line between black and white. Good and evil. Isn't that what it's supposed to be? Powerful light, powerful dark. Together, gray. A balance, ebbing and flowing, an all-encompassing, constant Force.

Ahch-To isn't solely light, either. There's darkness, here. At the heart. It's the mirror. Even now, as he sits on the bunk in the hut, he can sense its presence. It's whispering to him, calling him, and he intends to see it, for himself. Maybe then, he can finally get some answers. A direction, at least. Something to hold on to, as his world spins out of control.

His top priority, however, is finding something to eat. Hunger pangs shoot through his stomach, and he's hollow. Lightheaded. He stands and stretches, ignoring his tight, protesting muscles, and emerges from the hut.

A group of odd, grayish, fishlike creatures are milling around, clothed in robes of white. He freezes, reaching for his lightsaber. The fish creatures barely pay him any attention. They shuffle about their business, sweeping the stone pathways, tidying the huts, chattering amongst themselves in a language he doesn't recognize, nor understand.

He opts to ignore them as he searches the huts, searching for food. Rey must've stayed in one of these huts, during her time, here. His heart crawls into his throat, and he swallows, pushing the thought from his mind.

Most of the huts are empty, save for one. He opens the door, immediately recognizing his uncle's presence, here. The rock slab jutting out of the wall is piled with a collection of threadbare blankets. A pile of ash and charred wood rests in the center of the hut. A collection of firewood is stacked in the corner. There's a little shelf piled high with little trinkets and stones Luke must've collected, over the years, along with a little kettle. It's haunting, really. Luke's possessions have been left untouched, and Ben half-expects his uncle to come stomping through the door.

After a bit of searching, Ben finds a couple of rations squirreled away. He sighs, relieved, and stores them under his cloak. He eats outside, settling himself on a rock overlooking the sea. He watches the tide, the waves crashing on the rocks, cramming food into his mouth. The rations are bland and dry, probably a hundred years old. He's too hungry and exhausted to care.

When he returns to the huts, the fish people are gone. The sun warms his face, and he sighs, grateful it's not storming. He glances around, figuring he should explore the island, some. He tries to gather his bearings, uncertain which direction he came from, or where he landed the Apollo.

He pulls his cowl over his head and follows the path, through the huts and down a crude, stone staircase, cut into the side of the island. He descends the staircase until he's closer to the ocean, walking along the shore. The sea spray blows against his face, and the salty air stings his nose. He clambers over the rocks, surveying the area. He encounters clusters of funny birds nesting in the little outcrops and grassy knolls. Far off shore, some sea monster's tail arises from the surface of the water, creating large, white-capped waves, splashing through the water like a large rudder. Ben shivers, making a mental note to keep out of the water. He'd prefer to avoid becoming something's lunch.

After he's walked a few miles along shore, he turns back the way he came, hiking the stairwell. Sweat slips down his collar and pours from his forehead. The wind batters against him as he makes the climb.

Higher up, he spots the Apollo, and makes his way toward it. He lowers the ramp and climbs inside the freighter. The lights flicker, and Ben powers up the console, checking the fuel stores. It's got a half a tank left, more than enough to get him off this rock and far enough into the Outer Rim to refuel. But there's something about this place . . . It's calling him. He spent most of the day stomping around, exploring, and he's only scratched the surface. The island holds many secrets. Ben doubts even Luke uncovered all of them. The planet's tucked away, and far enough from the First Order and the Resistance. It's as good a place as any, at the moment.

The light on the comm blinks, and Ben toys with the transceiver. Unbidden, his mind wanders, and thoughts of Rey flood his mind. He could do it. Right here, right now. Contact the Falcon, or the base on Naboo. He's got the coordinates, and the channels. He could return to her, to the Resistance. He could give it all up.

He bites his tongue, shaking his head. He can't return. He can't fall to his knees and beg for their forgiveness.

The Resistance is doomed. They're disorganized and weak, hardly a threat. And Rey's doomed, too. She's their puppet, now. Ben's lip curls, and his fingers clench on the arm of the pilot's chair. She made her choice. So be it.

He tries and fails to push Rey from his mind, knowing the time he spends dwelling on her is time spent pushing himself further over the edge. It's torture, thinking of her. Brooding over the time they spent together. The memory of her lips, seared into his skin. The feeling of her naked body pressed against his, warm and beautiful and alive, trembling with pleasure and the exertion of their efforts.

It was the first time he'd been with a woman, the first time he'd ever touched anyone like that. And he'll never forget the way she touched him, the way she kissed him, in ways that he didn't even know he wanted to be touched and kissed. But, Gods, he wanted it. The way she looked at him, with nothing but tenderness and care and affection, even love. He craves it. He spent his whole life putting distance between himself and the people he cared about, watched them leave, one by one. Until she came, kicking and screaming, drawing him in like a magnet. A bright star, in his blackened sky.

Ben switches the power off and descends the Apollo's ramp, rousing himself into action. Anything to get her out of his head.

He returns to the huts, trying to orient himself. He's beginning to learn to island's geography. He can gauge which direction he's heading. The First Jedi Temple isn't far. The Force moves powerfully around it, as it does with the mirror. If he follows the Force's pull, he'll find what he's looking for.

He starts walking, letting his feet carry him where the Force's energy is the strongest. It leads him down the stairwell, back towards the shore. He comes to small inlet, a reef, and peers into the water. A crashed X-Wing, probably Luke's, sits beneath the waves—a rippling shadow, a phantom. The light's pull isn't strong, here. There's another entity. Another warring half. He can hear the mirror's voice, an unintelligible chorus, just audible over the howling wind and the breaking waves. Here, the darkness drowns out the light.

He's close.

He picks his way around the rocks, slippery with water and algae, carefully maintain his balance. He comes to a small cliffside, where the rock and ground has been cut. On the lower ground, a hole is carved into the stone. The entrance is covered with black vines and plant matter. The voices are strongest, here. The darkness is beckoning him, closer. This is it.

Ben crouches down and crawls over the edge, carefully lowering himself over the edge. Once he's on his feet, he makes his way to the cave's entrance, kneeling at its edge, peering inside.

He'll have to jump. He peels off his boots, and his cloak, until he's standing in only his shirt and pants. He takes a breath, steels himself, and jumps.

His body hits the water, and oxygen leaves his lungs. The cold cuts straight to the bone, and he panics, shocked by the temperature and the length of the fall. Instinctively, he attempts to draw a breath, and inhales a lungfull of salt water. He coughs and splutters, disoriented in the darkness. He kicks, furiously, and breaks the surface. He coughs, drawing deep, gasping breaths, and paddles to the edge of the cave. Hands splayed on the stone, he hikes himself onto the cave's shore. There, he lies on his back, trying to catch his breath. He wipes the water from his eyes and peers into the darkness.

The mirror makes up an entire wall of the cave, opaque glass shimmering, almost celestial. It whispers, insistently, drawing him closer. Curiosity and want overwhelm every other emotion and shadow of doubt. Ben climbs to his feet, making his way toward the mirror. He stands before it, peering at the clouded surface.

He's never been good at resisting the dark side. He tried, for so long. But Snoke's comfort was a sweet syrup, soothing away the ache his parent's bickering, their disapproval, had caused. He's never been strong. He always sought the easy way out, the instant comfort that came with the shadows, the drug. Retreating to the dark's open arms is second nature to him, now.

For a while, he was better. Because Rey made him better, stronger. But she's gone, and he's stripped bare. There's nothing left for him, anyway. He's been used up and cast aside. His parents are dead. His Knights betrayed him. The First Order cast him out. And Rey is gone. There's no one left to care.

He steels himself, inhaling sharply, and spreads his fingers, touching the smooth, cool surface of the mirror. He feels trapped, caught in some strange third space, alone. The sound of his breath is distant and echoey, as if he's listening from the other end of a long tunnel. His heart crawls into his throat and hammers against his trachea, and sweat pools on his upper lip.

Show me, he asks, silently, echoing Rey's words. Ripples swirl over the surface of the mirror, and the image in the glass becomes clearer.

Ben watches, waiting, begging the Gods and the stars above for an end to all the not-knowing, an answer to all the questions without one.

He's staring at himself. Unchanged. He blinks, and the man, the monster, standing in the mirror blinks, too. He observes the scarred, gnarled face, the strands of dampened, black hair that clings to his face. It's just his reflection.

Disappointment rises like bile in his throat, coupled with anger.

"Show me the future." He demands, sharply. When the mirror's image doesn't change, he draws back a fist and slams it against the glass. Three of his knuckles split down the middle, and the sharp pain only fuels his rage. Scarlet bleeds into the edges of his vision. He strikes the mirror, again, but no cracks appear in the glass. His reflection only glares. It remains untouched, whole and clear, mocking him.

"Tell me what to do!" He screams, striking the glass, breath warm and thick and caught in his throat. Blood leaks from the cuts in his knuckles and trails down his wrist, pooling in the lines of his palm, smearing across the mirror's surface. He hits the mirror, again and again, until the pain and the wetness of his own blood coating his fingers is enough to break through the overwhelming storm of emotion threatening to tear him apart.

He slumps against the mirror, tears clouding his vision.

"Tell me . . ." He begs. "Please."

The adrenaline leaves him, cold and empty and terrified. His breaths come in short, shallow gasps. He presses his back against the mirror, burying his face in his hands, alone and lost and aching for someone, some comfort.

The minutes drag on and the sound of his breathing is punctuated only by the gentle lapping of the water against the cave's shore. Blood drips from his knuckles, falling on the stone floor of the cave. He shivers, drawing his knees close to his chest, and her name is on his lips, quivering and alive, like a bird preparing to take flight. He begs for answer, and there is none.

Rey

Naboo looms outside the window. The planet's surface is green, dotted with little clumps of clouds. Rey stirs, waking from a fitful slumber, and rubs her eyes, peering at the fast-approaching planet. She unfurls, standing and stretching, trying to soothe the ache out of her muscles. But there's an internal ache, a deep, dull, throbbing pain in her chest, that doesn't cease.

She exits the Main hold and pauses in the doorway of the cockpit, debating whether she should say something, apologize. She snapped at him, and he means well. He cares about her, as a trusted comrade and a close friend. She cares for him, too, and the tension between them is alien and unpleasant, wearing on her nerves, making it hard to breathe.

She steels herself, and steps inside, sitting in the chair beside him. He doesn't acknowledge her presence. Rey sighs, fixing her gaze on Naboo's green landscape, trying to think of something to say. Her mind races, and she stares out the window, at loss for words.

"I'm sorry." Poe blurts, throwing a sideways glance in her direction. Rey looks at him, surprised.

"What're you sorry for?" She asks, incredulous. Poe shrugs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"For pressuring you to talk. For being a jerk. For . . . for everything." He sighs. "I trust you, Rey. I'm sure you've got a good explanation. There's always two sides to every story."

Somehow, his words only make her feel worse. She doesn't have an explanation. Not a good one, anyway. Ben kidnapped her, sure. And she didn't even know the Resistance survived the attack on Hoth. But . . .

But.

Some part of her knows that's not the whole truth. That she wanted to stay with Ben. That being with him, away from the war and the conflict and the uncertainty, she felt . . . free. As horrible as it sounds, some sick, twisted part of her hoped she'd never find the Resistance. That she wouldn't have anywhere to go. Forever the wanderer, she guesses. Maybe lost people aren't supposed to be found.

And there's so much she hasn't told Poe, nor Finn. Secrets that have been infesting her insides like parasites, weighing on her gut like stones. Secrets she's kept since their first conversation through the Force-bond. She and Ben converse through a mental link only they share. That Ben, of all people, warned her about the attack on Hoth. That he killed his master to save her. If she told them any of it, they'd probably toss her in the loony bin. They'd think she'd gone mad.

Poe stares at her, cocking an eyebrow, waiting for answer. She opens her mouth, closes it again, and drops her eyes to her hands, clasped in her lap.

"I'm sorry, too." She says. She's about to continue, when the radio hums to life and an unfamiliar voice greets Poe, giving him coordinates and landing instructions. Poe obeys with ease and efficiency, tapping commands into the control panel, guiding the Falcon through Naboo's inner sphere. They break through the sheet of fluffy, white clouds, and the planet's beauty steals the breath from Rey's lungs.

Rey leans over the control panel, struggling to capture an unobstructed view of the rolling, green hills and azure lakes. After spending the majority of her life living on a wasteland, she finds herself struggling to comprehend the beauty, the greenery. It's picturesque.

Poe guides the Falcon in a wide turn. The ship soars over the blue-capped buildings rising up from the green and blue. It's Theed, Naboo's capital city.

It's breathtaking. Located almost entirely on a large plateau, Theed is surrounded by waterfalls and vast forests. The city is sliced open by meandering, crystalline canals running parallel to the Palace Plaza.

The Falcon dips, lower, as Poe aims for the Spaceport on the outskirts of the city. He lands the ship without a hitch. A trio of Naboo officials await them, on the launchpad.

"Dameron." An official greets Poe with a smile, and marks something on his datapad. The port is alive and bustling with activity, and people rush to and from the ships, carting supplies and speaking into communicators. It seems everyone is mobilizing, preparing for war. Rey recognizes some familiar faces among them, and her chest feels lighter, swelling with something . . . something like hope.

"C'mon, this way." Poe says, touching her elbow. He guides her toward a staircase on the left, through a pair of double doors. Poe leads her through the city streets on foot, BB-8 trailing closely behind.

Rey admires the ornate buildings and statues. They walk past the marketplace near the city center, abuzz with activity. Rey watches the people, listening to the curious blend of languages and fragments of conversation. She picks apart energies, exploring with her mind and body. Poe makes small talk as they make their way down the street, pointing at a small, coffee shop on the corner.

"Caf is essential. D'Acy's taken up the unnerving habit of calling meetings at six o'clock in the morning. I know we're at war, here, but she can't expect me to blow up any dreadnaughts before I've had my morning coffee." Poe jokes, rolling his eyes. Rey laughs.

"We've got a hundred and thirty recruits, plus Arcturus' fleet." Rey cocks an eyebrow. The corners of Poe's mouth twitch into a half-smile. "About half of them show any sort of promising potential. A handful are ex-Stormtroopers. Finn's a trend-setter." Rey smiles. Poe looks at her, growing serious, and the grin disappears from his face.

"It's not mind-blowing. We're still out-numbered a thousand to one."

Rey squeezes his shoulder, reassuringly.

"It's a start."

The Royal Palace is the most beautiful structure Rey has ever seen. The buildings are exquisite, topped with tiled, blue roofs and adorned with large windows. Fronds and flowers whisper in the courtyards, and vines crawl up the buildings. Tall, expertly crafted statues stand like sentries in the Plaza, at the Palace entrance.

Poe takes the steps two at a time, marching through the large, front doors. He takes a left, leading her up a flight of stairs and down a long corridor. Rey follows, peering at the handsome architecture, the pristine arches and pillars. The ceiling is adorned with paintings, and the whole place is flawless, white marble.

Several people pass them in the corridors, nodding or giving them a polite word of greeting. Rey returns their smiles, smoothing the wrinkles in her cape, especially self-conscious. She notes the Palace residents' attire: intricate robes and gowns made of the finest materials, fine chains and precious jewels, and decorative headdresses.

"The Naboo were supportive of Leia and the New Republic. Leia's mother was their queen." Poe explains.

"Queen?" Rey asks, struggling to process the new information. Leia never talked about her mother.

Poe nods.

"C'mon, the General's in here."

To Rey's horror, Poe leads her straight into the throne room. Rey spots D'Acy at once, conversing with King Arcturus, the Monarch of Naboo. D'Acy smiles, warmly.

"Rey, I'm relieved. We've reunited at an opportune time." She says, patting her arm. "Commander Dameron's filled you in on our current situation, I trust? The Nubian Monarchy's agreed to lend us troops and ships. Their support is invaluable. Our alliance is steadfast."

Rey nods. "I'm glad."

"Rey!" A shiny, gold protocol droid exclaims, shuffling towards her.

"Good to see you, Threepio." Rey says, smiling at the droid. His lenses brighten. Beside him, Artoo rocks back and forth, whirring and chirping excitedly.

D'Acy cups Rey's elbow, leading her away from the droids, toward the throne. King Arcturus smiles, kindly.

"I'd like to formally welcome you to Naboo." He says. Rey smiles, bowing.

"Your Highness," Rey begins, but Arcturus waves his hand, chuckling.

"No need for such formalities, my dear."

Rey flushes. "King Arcturus, I'm thrilled you've agreed to aid our fight against the First Order. It's the first step to ensuring lasting peace in the galaxy."

"I don't doubt it. If we won't stand up and fight, who will?"

"My sentiments, exactly." Rey says, smiling.

"The Force moves strongly around you, my child. What's your name?"

"Rey." She says, dumbfounded. "You're a Force-user."

Arcturus laughs.

"I'm no Jedi. My abilities are limited, but I make do." He pauses. "The Jedi Order brought justice and compassion to a broken system. I feared that flame had long burnt out, but I see, now. I was wrong. I don't doubt you'll bring a spark to the fight."

Rey smiles, embarrassed.

"A meeting will be held to discuss battle strategies. Your attendance is requested. I suggest you get some rest." D'Acy says, touching her shoulder. Rey nods, bidding Arcturus goodbye, and follows Poe out of the throne room.

Poe saunters down a corridor, and Rey follows. He pauses outside a door, on the left, and tugs on the handle. He throws a a mischievous grin over his shoulder, stepping inside. Rey cocks an eyebrow.

"Hey, look what the Rancor dragged in!" Poe calls.

"Poe, enough of your . . ." The voice trails off, and Finn appears in the doorway. The communicator in his hand clatters to the floor. Poe dodges out of the way as Finn throws himself at Rey, a grin breaking over his face. She smiles, wrapping her arms around his middle.

"Finn." She breathes, holding on tighter.

"Where've you been, Rey?" He asks, huskily, and Rey realizes he's holding back tears. "We thought you were . . ." He trails off, holding her at arm's length, looking her up and down.

"Dead." Poe interjects. "Or worse, a First Order prisoner." He shoots her a pointed look—one that screams, you've got a lot of explaining to do.

Rey shakes her head, clutching Finn's hand. Her gaze flicks between the two of them, her best friends, and a hard lump presses on her throat. She sighs, heavily.

"Anyone fancy a drink?"

Ben

He kneels on the cold, stone floor of the hut, holding his hands toward the fire. The flames lick his skin, and the heat cuts to the bone. The warmth spreads from his fingertips to the rest of his body. The gooseflesh crawling over his skin disappears, and the teeth-rattling, damp chill he'd caught after his dive into the depths of the mirror cave finally begins to ebb away.

He'd peeled away his sodden cape, socks, and shoes, leaving him bare-footed, wearing only his pants and a gray tunic. He retrieved the bedding from Luke's hut, figuring the old man won't miss it, anyway, and wrapped it around his shoulders. Now, he hovers over the fire, letting the warmth and light caress his skin and soothe away the cold and wet.

A light rain had begun to fall, outside. It plinks against the roof of the hut, providing a rhythmic soundtrack to the otherwise silent, lonely night. Though, it's never silent, here. The roar of the waves slamming against the cove and rocks is constant. And his thoughts slam up against the rocks, with them. Over and over. Thoughts of Rey. Thoughts of what was, what could've been.

He bites the inside of his cheek, reprimanding himself, ordering himself to keep his mind off her. But it's futile. Everything leads back to her.

He stares into the flames, feeling the coils of pain and longing tighten around his heart. For a moment, it's as if the Force-Bond flickers, once, and dies. For a split second he swears he sees her, standing on the opposite wall, peering at him. Her image sears itself into the backs of his eyelids. For a moment, the wind sounds like her voice.

And she's gone. And the hole in his chest is vast as an ocean.

He rouses himself, stretching his muscles, knowing to keep still and brooding is to tempt the inevitability of his destruction. Thinking of her will only tear him apart.

He reaches into the Force, drawing its energy around himself like a security blanket, putting up shields and walls to shut her out. It's a temporary bandage to a fatal wound, but it's better than nothing.

He nibbles on the contents of a ration pack, then retrieves the kettle he'd stolen from Luke's hut, fills it with rainwater, and sets it over the fire. He pours the hot water into a mug and drops a few mint leaves into it. He sips from the mug, savoring the warmth. The mint leaves settle his stomach and his nerves, but it does little else.

He longs for caf. Or liquor. A proper beverage, to numb the pain, to warm his body, his muscles. For now, this'll do.

As Ben sips from the mug, he mulls over the encounter with the mirror.

A disappointment. That's all. He came, looking for answers, and it showed him nothing but his own, scarred reflection. Yet, he can't help but feel himself drawn to it. It feels . . . familiar. Like an embrace, an old friend. It knows his mind, his heart, his intentions. It's whispering to him, urging him to reach into its depths, offering him a light at the end of the tunnel.

It'd given him nothing.

What kind of mind-game . . .

"Ben?"

He leaps to his feet, lightsaber in hand, heart thudding in his head. He strains his ears over the rainfall, the waves. It's the wind, playing tricks.

"Ben." Louder, this time. It's Rey, calling to him. He swallows, chest tightening. What's she doing here? He hesitates, a moment, warring with himself.

"Ben!" Rey screams, again, and there's a note of definite panic in her voice. Ben draws his lightsaber and ignites it, hurrying, barefoot, out the door.

The rain falls, harder, now. He whips around, trying to capture the direction of the voice.

"Ben!" She's distant. Water soaks Ben's hair and slips beneath his collar. His tunic clings to his skin, sopping wet. He jogs down the hill, careful to keep his footing on the slippery steps, following Rey's voice. It floats, on the wind, strangely distorted.

"Rey?" He calls, hoarsely, but his voice is carried away on the wind, drowned by the torrents of water, falling from the sky. He swipes a hand over his face, wiping the rain from his eyes, and grits his teeth against the storm, thoroughly irritated.

Gods, does the rain ever stop?

"Ben!" Rey screams, loudly. He freezes, turning this way and that. The voice isn't hers, at all. It's a strange, terrible chorus, rising from the cliffside.

Ben . . .

It's the Force, beckoning him. The voices blend together, entwining with the wind and rain.

Ben raises his lightsaber over his head, bathing the ground in red light.

The ground under his feet is scorched. Deep, black veins run through the soil, like a web. The grass is burned and crumbling into ash. Ben kneels, peering at the strange marks.

"Ben." A deeper, rougher voice emerges from the chorus. Ben climbs to his feet, raising the saber, warningly.

"Who's there?"

A blinding, blue light winks into existence, before him. Ben scrambles backward, drawing the lightsaber above his head.

"You!" He hisses, unable and unwilling to believe his eyes. The ghost smiles, sadly.

"Nephew."