LVI. Good.
Good is a matter of opinion.
Did he do a good thing, coming back? He traces the ridges on his medal. The Rebellion thinks so. There was a look of approval on the Princess's face when she gave it to him, one he didn't expect was seen often. And Luke⦠the pure gratitude in the kid's smile made his stomach twist into a knot.
He is not a good man, and he knows it, even takes pride in it now and then. Heroes don't have ulterior motives.
If only they knew why he'd turned around. If only he knew himself.
LVII. Evil.
What kind of monster does this to a man? She kneels down beside the bench, stroking his sweat-slicked forehead. If there is a reason for this violence, she can't find it. And that's what she can't understand.
It will be her turn, soon, and she knows he will show her no more mercy than he showed Han. She is not afraid. She's faced him before. He got nothing from her then, and he'll get nothing from her now.
She will hold her head high and stare unflinchingly into that soulless black mask.
Because evil cannot win. She won't let it.
LVIII. Dream.
There's a little house in the woods in her mind, far away from war and politics. The sunshine falls cheerfully on the children playing in the yard. One is a dark-haired, confident little girl, the other a boy with curious blue eyes. They laugh at the antics of some tiny creature in the grass. The sound is more beautiful than any music. A warm hand touches her shoulder, a real, living hand, and she doesn't need to look to know who it is.
When she wakes in the morning, he's there by her side, but the world still isn't perfect.
LIX. Nightmare.
It feels like a nightmare, but he can't wake up. Instead he paces helplessly within his own skull, watching with his own eyes as he turns away from the light. The air around him ripples with heat from the blaster fire, but the shell of his body is so, so cold.
He steps through the doorway, not sure what he's doing but knowing it's not right. There are children in the room. Sweet, innocent children who turn their frightened eyes up to his. No. He can't
His light saber ignites. With a silent, anguished scream, the good in him dies.
LX. Truth.
He is the son of an enemy. A murderer. A traitor. It is a heavy truth, the kind that must be known, but no-one wants to hear. At least the doubt is gone.
He doesn't speak about it. Not because he's avoiding it, but because there's nothing to be done. A truth is an absolute truth, no matter what Ben says. His father was Anakin Skywalker, and Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark.
But it's also true that he was, that he laughed and hurt like everyone else. And he loved.
Wherever there was love, there will always be light.
