Chapter Fourteen: Luminous

The simulator screen spit Kylo Ren out into utter chaos.

He'd joined a classic engagement, one of the many clashes between the remnants of the old Empire and the fledgling New Republic after the Emperor's death and the destruction of the second Death Star. This battle had been an ambush at an Imperial base, one he'd grown up daydreaming about as a child: Thrawn's fleet against a greater New Republic force.

The simulation had populated Kylo Ren as a lowly New Republic fighter pilot, flying a battlescarred X-wing, the difficulty of his opponents amped up for a true test his piloting prowess.

He settled into the cockpit and joined his squadron in the middle of the fray, the feel of the X-wing ejection seat not as familiar as the TIEs he had trained in in the First Order. Yet Resistance versus First Order didn't matter here; he didn't have to pick sides. In the simulator, his focus narrowed, ignoring real-life concerns.

Here, he could forget that, in reality, there was little control left to him. That the very things anchoring him and guiding him within the cosmos—his position the First Order, his training under Snoke, the reputation of Kylo Ren—had crumbled around him, leaving him spinning on an unknown orbit. His mental connection to Rey had gone silent. Not since his youth in Skywalker's academy had he been this uncertain of where he belonged, or what to do about it.

Here, he only had to fly. And today, in this simulator, he was going to turn the tide of the battle. He had to.

He let a Force trance wash over him. He'd been in enough true dogfights to know that a battle couldn't truly be captured by a simulation—he couldn't feel the emotion and current of battle wash through him, the Force carrying him with it. But with enhanced intuition and reaction, he could come close.

The ship rocked around him, buffeted by close calls. His squadron turned to tatters as they cleaned up an opposing array of ships, then re-formed to protect the bomber squadron as it struck at one of the enemy command ships.

It was amazing the damage that one snubfighter could do with the right missile lock, but success painted a target on his back. The command ship disintegrated behind him, four enemy TIEs hot on his tail until he flipped the ship on its axis, g-forces mounting as prey turned into predator. Four ships scattered under his guns—then three—then two—until one remained.

That single TIE chased him beyond reason, dead-set on revenge, as the Imperial fleet crumbled. Ren could barely keep himself out of its sights. He fled too far out of range to make it back to the hangar before the damaged New Republic fleet jumped out of the system. He'd known the New Republic would cut their losses and run eventually, but he didn't have long to dwell on yet another betrayal before the dogged TIE scored a lucky shot through Ren's flagging shields. His controls locked up, his fighter careening out of control into the void where his allies had just been, cockpit lights flashing red staccato warning as systems failed—

The lights went out, the cockpit stilling. Ren blinked into the black, pulling himself out of his Force reverie and the riveting grasp of battle. The TIE had blasted his damaged ship into oblivion. Simulation over.

Gasping, he jammed a fist into the cockpit canopy release. It unsealed with a hiss, the harsh hangar lighting pouring in as he pulled himself out of the pilot's seat. He felt Resistance eyes on him as soon as he pulled off the flight helmet, but didn't let his irritation at the distrust show as he leapt down from the sim's fuselage, landing lightly on the hangar deck.

Chewbacca lingered nearby, of course, tinkering inside one of the Falcon's external system panels. Ren wasn't sure who the Wookie was protecting—Ren, or the Resistance—or how far the Solo life debt stretched. Apparently far enough that Chewie was never far out of range, bowcaster slung over his shoulder. Watching.

But it wasn't Chewbacca's eyes boring a hole into the back of Ren's neck as he shut down his simulator. He sensed the cocky flyboy's distrust and simmering hatred long before Poe Dameron crossed the hangar. The stocky man wore a blaster pistol at his hip, its belt and holster at odds with the orange flight suit. That blasted BB-8 droid followed at his heels.

Ren hated him. Not for the history between them, but because of Dameron's poise, the sense of belonging and command that had been stripped from Ren. Even so, he feigned nonchalance, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the simulator, lightsaber within easy reach.

Dameron's eyes flicked toward the simulator. "I watched your run. It was…" he drew in a breath, exaggerating his consideration of his next words, "impressive how thoroughly you ignored your wing commander."

Neutrality. Civility. Ren could do this. "She was overwhelmed, unwilling to commit. Even so. I took down one of the command ships."

"You're a fair pilot, but part of flying in the fleet means being a member of a team. Conforming to the group. Obeying commands." He stressed those words like he didn't think Ren capable of them. Ren gritted his teeth, reminding himself he had nothing to prove to this man.

"Although," Dameron added, as though an afterthought, "I will admit you pulled off a fancy bit of flying. It was mostly luck that got my missile through your shields."

Of course. Dameron had jumped into another sim to go head-to-head against Ren in that final TIE. Arrogant bastard. Ren suppressed a snarling smile. "Are you talking to me for a reason?"

"The medics tell me that Finn is only in the decent shape he's in because you stabilized him in the field. I wanted to thank you for that. He's still… confused, but getting better."

Surprise rocked him. Before Ren could even begin to form a response to the unexpected acknowledgement, Dameron changed tactics. "Is it true that you're helping Master Skywalker track down Snoke?"

That was one of the last things Ren wanted to think about. He pulled of his flight gloves, shoving them into the helmet before jamming the lot—hard—against Dameron's chest. "You sought me out to gossip?"

He tried to push by Dameron, but the droid cut him off. Ren glared at it, and it drew back with a squeal alarm before surging forward again to block his path.

"No. I've been ordered to give you information," Dameron said, reluctance radiating from him. "You don't want to know what I'd do to you if I had my way."

"Whatever it is, Dameron, I'm sure I've had worse."

Dameron scoffed a bitter laugh. "Doubt it."

Ren sighed, clinging desperately to patience. "What information do you have for me?"

"A transmission. Coordinates, sent to BB-8. I brought them to the General. She and Master Skywalker agreed that you should have it. I don't agree."

"Unfortunately for you, part of flying with the fleet is following orders."

"Yes," Dameron said through gritted teeth. "Show him, BB-8."

An upper compartment on the droid's carapace opened, revealing a tiny data chip. Ren lifted it from the droid with the Force, letting it hover in the air before him. A transmission? He could count his allies on one fist. Who would—

His gut tightened as a jolt of awareness sizzled through him. One person. There was only one person who might pass him a message. Coordinates. He snatched the chip from the air.

"Am I making a mistake in giving you this?" Dameron asked softly, brow wrinkling as he studied Ren's covetous reaction.

"No," Ren said, smiling for what felt like the first time since that disastrous day three weeks ago when everything fell apart. "But I do need a ship."

Rey couldn't sleep—not an uncommon occurrence since she'd been off on her own. Alone and, for the first time in years, not required to smooth over her own inner monologue and surging emotions with meditation.

She wasn't sure if Master Skywalker would approve this technique, this embracing of feeling. Echoes sprang up in recurring cycles, the hopelessness and bitterness, mixing with love and belonging in a jumble that had sprung everywhere like loose tools from a spilled toolbox, and now couldn't quite fit neatly back where they'd come from. With time, and energy, she might be able to examine each one, find its place, to put everything back in order.

It would be painful, yes. But it was possible. Doable, even. She'd slipped into the Dark side, if only briefly. She'd reveled in it. She'd given into the urge to hurt, to kill, out of vengeance.

Acknowledging those truths made it easier to prise them apart. Facing them was the first step. Coming to understand them was something else again. Like when she'd dismantled Ren's lightsaber, it wasn't as simple as stripping some burnt-out component from the whole; everything needed to be re-wired. And that took time and concentration and—confidence.

The problem was, half the time she still couldn't believe that this is where she was now. She still couldn't guess the repercussions yet to come. It terrified her. Which really meant: she was terrified of herself.

So she didn't fight it when the lonely, quiet depths of night spooled up her mind like an engine tired of its idle. She rolled out of the low survival tent she'd erected just out of sight of her ship, on a rocky lakeshore nestled into a mountain range so isolated she could truly believe she was the only sentient biped on the entire planet. The vibrant wash of stars above and the planet's low moon lit the way to an outcropping overlooking the dark, still lake.

A chill permeated the thermal layers of her jumpsuit, biting enough on her bare hands and face to prove that this climb, at least, was real, not an obscure nightmare. Every bracing lungful of air, her breath misting on the thin air, confirmed that she was truly alive. Her heart drummed against her ribcage and roared in her ears as she ran right up to the ledge of the cliff, yet even with vertigo swirling in her stomach it was hard to convince herself that she was here.

Even so, a vague sense of nausea told her that maybe here wasn't the right place for her to be.

There was something calming about sprawling on her back to watch the unknown constellations spin overhead in a clear night sky. Anchoring, like she could feel gravity pushing her against the cold rock—but if she closed her eyes, she might feel herself slipping from the planet's rotation, losing her grasp just enough to fall into nothingness—

A meteorite streaked across the sky, drawing Rey's gaze. Then the light stilled, grew larger, split into the floodlights of a small spaceship slinking into the atmosphere. A tarnished gray scout ship skimmed the jungle treetops, disturbing a flock of indigenous Qom Qae nesting in the arms of the nearby mountain valley. Rey sensed the alarm of the large, leathery-skinned, batlike creatures as they fluttered by, their wingbeats buffeting her in her perch.

Rey didn't fault them for their agitation. Though the creatures were intelligent—and possibly even Force-sensitive, the way they pulled her subconscious awareness—this ship was the first sign of truly civilized life she'd seen since landing on this planet.

Rey found herself smiling as the starship circled her camp and landed just beyond her own transport, and lifted a hand to hail the pilot as a dash of moonlight reflected off the cockpit viewport. She'd only sent her location two days prior. It had been hard, keying her coordinates into the private long-range comm Poe had given her. He hadn't wasted anytime in coming to rendezvous.

She scrambled down the rock face, a thrill of anticipation gathering in her gut at the prospect of returning to face those she'd disappointed. Yet she'd grown enough these past days not to suppress the honesty of her feelings, or the intuition telling her she couldn't hide out here any longer.

The engines wheezed to silence a moment before the gangplank dropped. The hatch unsealed, spilling a cool blue light across the fog gathering on the stony lakeshore.

"Did you have a little trouble finding this planet, BB-8?" she asked, half-expecting the little droid to greet her with a blast of consternation. Nirauan's location existed on charts so old their data files were half-corrupted, listing only a name and hardly anything more. "I knew you could—"

Rey froze as the round hatch slid fully open. Kylo Ren stood framed within it, straightening to his full height, meeting her astonishment stare-for-stare as he unveiled his presence in the Force. It washed over her, so familiar and yet so missed that tears sprang to her eyes. She barely noticed the nondescript, casual cut of his brown tunic and dark trousers, the scuffed boots, and the blaster belt slung at an angle across his hips as though he'd just stepped out of a back-alley deal behind a back-alley cantina. His lightsaber hung at that belt, but no other insignia hinted where his allegiances might lay—if he'd even declared any.

Heat—that undeniable attraction—fluttered in her stomach as his gaze met hers, stealing her breath. "Ren?"

As though that one wonderfilled word had summoned him, Ren strode down the gangplank. "Rey," he said, her name like a blessing on his lips as he wrapped her into his arms. His solid warmth comforted her as they spun in embrace, the fog shifting beneath their dancing feet. He was here. Somehow, he was really here.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she murmured, pressing her face to his chest because she couldn't bear to meet his eyes, and face whatever shadows she might have put there.

He kissed her hair, holding her tightly. "I know. I am too."

After a long moment where they simply breathed, holding each other, Rey dared to steal a glance at his face. "How did you find me?"

Something between a smirk and a frown crossed his face, making him look very much like Han Solo. Another pang of regret struck Rey for all that had been done to Ren, and all that had been wrought because of it. But his voice was calm and grounded as he answered: "You sent Dameron your coordinates. He gave them to the higher-ups. They gave them to me."

The higher ups. That meant General Organa—perhaps even Master Skywalker. It couldn't mean—"You're working with the Resistance?"

"There have been… overtures. Requests for me to trade information and instinct for… I don't know." He shrugged, glanced over her shoulder into the middle distance as though searching for the answers within himself. "To end Hux. To figure out where Snoke came from." Abruptly, his gaze snapped back to her. "Does that make me a traitor?"

"If you consider yourself an ally to the First Order still—"

"No."

Rey blinked, surprised how how vehement that one word had been. "—then, no."

He considered her for a moment, reached for something that had been hidden against the small of his back. "Skywalker wanted me to give this to you."

Her lightsaber.

That he'd offer it to her so casually after she'd tried to kill him with it astounded her. Dazed, she lifted it from his hands, her fingers brushing his.

She'd written speeches in her head, practicing what she would tell him if he consented to speak to her again, wording an apology to convey her sorrow over what had happened, what Snoke had done to her—and him. She still wasn't sure if either of them was worthy of forgiveness, after what he'd done—after what had happened.

It had taken until this moment to realize that those words were pointless. He already understood whatever it was she'd say. Because he'd lived it.

He cleared his throat, breaking the long silence. "I refitted the core for you. The kyber crystal," he said, as though she might possibly forget that she'd ripped it from the weapon to aid in his healing trance. "I—you did well, choosing to use it. The blade should be fully functional, but you should test it to be sure."

She nodded, unable to do anything but clip the blade to her belt where it belonged. Despite what she'd done, he hadn't run. He knew what she was capable of, and still he'd sought her out.

All that time and energy she'd spent waiting. Not just here, on this planet, but alone on Jakku. Hoping for her family, for people who cared about her and knew where she came from. They might still be out there, whoever they were. She might still be able to find them. One day. Ren—and Finn and Poe—they weren't blood kin. But bloodlines weren't everything that created a family.

She grabbed his collar, pulling herself to tiptoe to press a light kiss against his lips. A kiss that promised more. So much more.

She blinked back tears, voice crumbling as she said, "I'm glad you came. I—I've been waiting for you. For so long."

His dark eyes glimmered knowingly at her as he grinned, then challenged her with a kiss so deep it left her wanting.

"I know."

Kylo Ren felt weightless.

The cool depths of the lake cradled him. He swam harder, reveling in the strength and ability of his finally-recovered body as he skimmed the rocky lake bottom. He followed the gentle ascent of the lakebed toward the shore, flexing the fingers of his left hand and moving the shoulder in its socket just to test that he still could. Healing the limb had been such a near thing, a delicate balance of bacta and surgery and patience. Now he used it to slice through the water, angling toward the sun-warmed shallows. Pools of fish darted around him, scales flashing, then came together again as he passed, leaving no mark behind him.

Utterly calm.

It was all a facade. All of it, from the supposed order of the First Order military hierarchy he'd risen through for half is life, to his pursuit to tame the galaxy's chaos. The bitter truth still gnawed at him, that chaos couldn't be tamed; life couldn't be white or black, Light or Dark. Just as he no longer belonged to the First Order and Snoke and the Sith… he didn't belong to the Resistance either.

And he definitely didn't belong to the Light side.

He breached the surface of the lake, wiping streaming water from his face. The cool, mountain-crisp air, thin at this elevation, puckered his bare skin. His clothes lay in a pile just inside his ship's gangplank, left to lie where Rey had flung them during their overdue reunion earlier that morning.

Rey floated near the shore, breathing carefully to maintain her buoyancy. The sun's intensity bronzed her skin. Its rays glimmered, catching in the rippling water sluicing over her body from the wake of his movements.

She smiled as she felt his approach, but didn't open her eyes.

"You said you taught yourself how to swim. Floating," he said, running a hand over her forehead and back through her hair, a gentle reminder to keep her head low in the water to improve her form, "isn't swimming."

"I know, but it's the opposite of sinking." She laughed, the muscles of her stomach tightening, then let out a slow breath, trying to focus. "You're distracting me."

He crouched, letting the water come up to his nose to hide his smile and block his body from the wind as she re-centered herself. Desire thrummed at him; it would be so simple to run his hands over her skin, to enjoy the curves and planes of her body, to let his fingers find that place between her legs that she enjoyed, to bury himself in her. But physical pleasure could wait, for a time. He reached out with the Force, meeting her presence like coming home. "Keep breathing. Stay focused."

She slipped into an almost meditative state, her face and body relaxing. They hadn't spoken directly about what had happened with Snoke—not yet. He could sense it lurking in her mind, wrapped in a tangled knot of emotion that would take some time to undo. He didn't probe, didn't prod, but after a moment he realized that she'd opened her eyes, that she was studying his face as intensely as he was studying her.

She smiled, sad, as though she already knew the answer even as she asked, "What are you thinking about?"

"You," he admitted, plucking two stones from the lake shore with the Force. He let them circle on another, then added a third and a fourth stone to the exercise as he asked, "Are you alright?"

"No," she said, matter-of-fact. "But I will be." She glanced over at him, the movement jarring her buoyancy. "And so will you."

A rush of indecipherable feeling surged through him, so strong he let the stones tumble from the air. Weakness, of whatever form, was not something Ren was in the habit of admitting to, much less accepting within himself. No, he didn't know where he belonged in the grand scheme of the galaxy—or even of the Force. He wasn't sure if he could ever make up for the things he'd done, or how long Snoke's false words would echo in his mind. That Rey recognized that—and accepted it—and still saw hope for him—

Ren caught her arm, and pulled her through the water until he cradled her against his chest. Her naked skin burned against his as he kissed her. Though the lake re-settled around them, the fever growing between them was far from stilling, far from ever being sated. He couldn't imagine ever growing tired of the way they found one another and filled one another, the way they merged now both in body and in the Force, the indescribable bond tightening so powerfully between them that it could wreck them both—or save them.

Flocks of oversized featherless bats wheeled in chittering circles over the lake, their only audience as the sun arched high overhead, so bright that Ren could believe that the shadows had finally gone.

They lay on the shore, drowsy in the fading evening warmth. Yet even with her eyes closed, Rey noticed the dimming of the sun. Tensing, she glanced toward the sunset.

It was only a band of clouds drifting through the sky, momentarily blotting out the light. But for an adrenaline-spiked instant, she'd been certain it was Starkiller, priming itself for destruction powerful enough to split the sky and drain a star.

She shivered. Hux and quintessence and his deadly machinations were still out there, as was Snoke. The Resistance was waiting… but it couldn't wait forever.

The sun slipped below the horizon, the onset of darkness catching Rey by surprise. "We should get ready to leave."

She eased herself out of Ren's arms, but took his face in her hands, tracing her thumbs over his eyelids, her fingertips over the scar on his cheek. "I want to be clear. Even if you don't join the Resistance, I will still love you," she said, so quiet that the lapping of the lake could have swallowed her words. She knew he was listening. "And even if you don't join the Resistance, I'm going back to them."

"And to Skywalker?" Though his voice caught on the question, he didn't sound angry. He hadn't even opened his eyes. But his voice was far too mild to be truly calm.

"Second chances, Ren. I'm the last person to deserve one, but he's offering it. He deserves another chance. And so do you."

"They'll never accept me."

"It will take time. It won't be simple, or easy." She gripped his shoulders, forcing him to meet her eyes. "You're the bravest, most determined person I know, and if they don't see that—"

"You're panicking. Don't," he said, reading her with infuriating ease like he always did. He cupped her face with a scarred hand. "I don't care if they see it or not. I don't do what I do for them, and I'm not going anywhere. The rest—we'll take it day by day."

They stood, searching for the clothes and lightsabers they'd left scattered on his ship. The flock of Qom Que drawing Rey's senses skimmed low over the lake, finishing one last hunt before heading to their roosts for the evening. The flock turned, descending over the camp like carrion eaters spotting a carcass. Ren tensed, but Rey caught his arm, twining her fingers through his to keep him still.

"They're Force-sensitive," she whispered. "Can you feel it? Just wait."

As one, the group of winged creatures gripped Rey's starfighter with their talons. Beating wings slowly lifted the spacecraft to the tops of the trees, then painstakingly carried the vessel over the lake.

And dropped it.

She gasped. "That's—Master Skywalker's ship!" Rey said, too stunned to move as water bubbled and surged around the vessel. It slipped from sight as something—something—kept her from trying to pull it back, as though the Qom Que were playing a trick on her. All but one of the larger avians winged away. It pirouetted in the air before them, twisting in a graceful bow before following the others.

Ren scoffed a laugh. "Could you hear that? Many vines woven together are stronger than the same number of vines separately. That's what it said to me."

"Very wise," she said dryly. "But they didn't have to wreck the ship to convince us to stick together." She grinned, remembering that rope of light binding them. An impression of peace settled over her, like the cusp of a vision except this time she was the one stirring prophecy, willing it to happen. They would face whatever the galaxy threw at them. And the Force would be with them.

Always.

The End

(...for now)

"Many vines woven together are stronger than the same number of vines separately." — Timothy Zahn, Vision of the Future (Hand of Thrawn novels)

Author's note: *loves you all*