A/N: Long time no see and happy new year! I'll be honest, I didn't think I was gonna finish this story but TROS sucked really bad so now I'm working out all my issues. Let's just hope 2020 is better than 2019.
"From what height fallen,
So much the stronger proved"
- John Milton, Paradise Lost
Several hours earlier
Ben drags Malaak to his feet, a strong hand gripping him by the forearm. "Just as your masters want, like your mission said: you must take me to Moraband."
At last, Malaak thinks, following the taller man out of the shattered remnants of the infirmary. All around them is in chaos, bodies rushing aimlessly by, women screaming, loud explosions and thick clouds of dust. It is glorious. His heart beats with the fervor of a war drum, and he grips the hilt of his saber-club tighter. What a shame that they must leave when the fun has barely started.
"Tell me everything, Malaak."
He hears the echo of a once familiar battle cry. "A red sun at dawn is a warrior's—"
"Moraband. Focus," Ben says. He casts faceless soldiers aside with a flick of the wrist, clearing a path for them until they exit into a smoke-filled courtyard.
Malaak blocks a stray blaster bolt with his club as he thinks. Ben does not wait for his response, grabbing a uniformed man by the scruff of his neck and lifting him off the ground.
"Talk," Ben says.
"I'm still thinking."
"No, not you." The helpless officer stops his struggling and goes limp. "This way."
They are heading underground again, down winding stone stairs and into a low arched dungeon. Ben keeps the man held aloft, both as a shield and as a compass. Malaak would be impressed if he were not caught between the farrago of his memories and the crunch of bodies he sends flying with eager fists.
"You're enjoying this," Ben says.
"And you're not?"
Ben throws the man's body towards a small unit keeping guard at the end of a long corridor. They scatter like rumble-pins.
"My apologies, gentleman," Ben says as he steps over them. "Let there be no more bloodshed." And the lull of his voice and wave of his hand sends the remaining few conscious soldiers into a deep Force sleep.
They stand before large iron doors. Ben retrieves keys from one of the bodies and opens them. Inside is a vast arsenal. Malaak follows Ben down the aisles, watching as he examines rows of blasters and grenades and body armor. In another life Malaak thinks that these things called to him too.
"This looks like your type," Ben says, tossing him a plasma launcher. Malaak catches it in one hand, stroking down the barrel with the other as he would a woman's leg.
"Beautiful," he breathes. "How did you…?"
"You were once captain of my guard. I know a thing or two."
"And you want to know about Moraband?"
"Yes. Finally." Ben is dismantling a small sidearm to assess the mechanics. "Chandrila-made. Not bad." He starts to reassemble it with practiced ease. "So what's the set up?"
"The Sith Lords of old hold dominion. They are wise and strong."
"And dead. How'd they do it? You were dead too. Did you meet anyone else?"
"No one else still living. I was…" Was he dead? He does not know. Just that he breathes and serves the strongest master. Who is that now? Ben?
"We're anomalies, you and I," Ben says. He has moved onto blades, seeming particularly taken with a set of throwing daggers. "I brought myself back and the Sith Lords resurrected you."
"They called you an abomination."
"I am."
A dagger flies past Malaak's head, embedding in the wall behind him. "I think they are jealous," Malaak says.
"Right."
"They hunger for it. The taste of life. But I only ever saw piles of bones. Empty ships left abandoned to the elements."
"So they're cannibals?"
"Not flesh so much as… Here." Malaak holds out his hand. "Let me show you." He is not good with words, whether spoken or written, but if Ben could just see what he has seen then he might understand.
"You don't have to," Ben says.
"But I want to. I might not get another chance. When we return, I will fall to my master's will. That is my mission."
"Let it be whatever you choose." Ben takes his hand. "But I accept your offer." And Malaak feels a great and benevolent Force drift gently into his mind.
When he opens his eyes, Ben is steadying him on his feet. "Transfer essence," Ben is muttering. "How is it possible? The archives only spoke of apocryphal lore. They were our bedtime stories." He is pacing down the aisles again, grabbing detonators off a shelf to add to his collection. "I can't believe… this should've all died with Sidious. Fucking rule of two. Stupid Magess."
"You cannot think to blow them up," Malaak says.
"No, but I can try." Ben's voice grows fainter as he disappears deeper into the bunker. "I've dealt with their type more than once. All of my life. Cut one in half. Dissolved another in my mind. They're so predictable. Malaak?"
"You are scarier than all the Sith," Malaak says, hurrying to catch up and turning a corner to find Ben in a state of dishabille. "What are you…?"
Ben stands before a rack of uniforms, rummaging through numerous combat pants until he can find some of the required length. Malaak is still adjusting to his transformation. What was once exposed bone and ruined flesh has been replaced by carved muscle and unblemished skin. Not a single scar can be seen.
"Did she do all that?" Malaak says. "Your Rey?" He thinks that her powers could rival even Bane's.
Ben sits on a bench, now clad in pants and pulling on boots (by some miracle, he has found a pair in his size). His hands go still as he recalls. "She's more powerful than she knows. More than any of them do. And she belongs to no one."
"Scarier than you?"
"Terrifying." Ben smiles. "If she could just remember." He slips a black sweater over his head before standing.
"That has a hole in it," Malaak says.
Ben's smile instantly dies. His eyes go cold, face returned to the mask of someone Malaak no longer knows.
"I didn't mean—"
He holds up his hands in weak placation, but it's too late. Ben calls a blaster to his hand and fires in the space of a single breath. Malaak looks down on himself. He has not been hit. Then who?
"Strike me down in anger… did I not teach you anything?"
"Go fuck yourself, Luke," Ben spits.
Malaak turns around at the unexpected voice and comes face to face with a ghost.
The ghost of Luke Skywalker stares at his nephew, fingers laced over the middle he was so casually shot through. "And you were doing so well."
"I was doing great til you appeared." Ben kicks a bench over. "Why now? Are the gods trying to punish me?"
"You need my help," Luke says in the same tired and patient way that used to gnaw at Ben's bones.
"I have never needed your help."
"But Rey does."
Ben's voice explodes and his finger jabs as a spear. "You leave her out of this!"
"Excuse me, Ben?" Malaak looks between them. "Who are you talking to?"
"Our former master and my murderous uncle." Ben lets some of the tension leave him. Thirty seconds with this man and he already feels exhausted. He runs a hand through his hair, gesturing towards the nightmare visage with his thumb. "Malaak, meet Luke Skywalker, Jedi failure and infamous hermit of Ahch-To."
Luke rights the upturned bench with supernatural use of the Force. Fucking Force ghosts. "No need to use my full title," he says, adjusting his robes before sitting down. "Well, I knew that it would go like this. But can we try, for your mother's sake at least?"
"My mother?"
"Ben, she believes you are dead. She's out of her mind in her grief. Why not send her a note?"
"If it were possible, you are worse since dying."
"The same could be said for you. Now sit down and listen." Luke pats the bench beside him. Ben pulls down an entire shelf of ammunitions with his bare hands. "Or stand. My point is that you need her as much as she needs you. I could never get through and I got it wrong. We all did. And yet you survived all by yourself."
"I hardly survived."
"Give yourself some credit. You still live and breathe. No one has ever done what you have."
"Is something wrong with me?"
"No. Gods, no." Luke shakes his head. "Not a thing, kiddo. We just didn't know, and we feared what we could not understand. You don't have to forgive us. It's not the time yet. But I couldn't speak to you before."
"Why not?"
"I was muted in the Force. The whole palace here was, including Rey. Alec's powers have grown exponentially strong."
Ben slumps down on the bench. Well, that explains a lot. "A gift from the Sith Lords of Moraband." He sighs. "And I showed him the way."
"We both sucked as teachers."
He glares at his uncle. "Speak for yourself."
"But they're not here now," Luke says. "Your Knights of Ren."
"I know, okay? I arrived too late."
"If you had arrived any sooner, we wouldn't be having this conversation, so I am thankful for that. Will you go get my saber?"
"It's here?"
"They kept it when they brought her here. It tied me to this place under the cloak of Alec's powers. But now I can speak. I can travel. I can see into other worlds."
"How is my mother?" Ben never thought that she could grieve for him. He never thought to reach out.
"Talk to her, Ben. Ask her yourself."
"And Rey?"
"They have her sedated. She remembers nothing yet."
"Show me." Please.
"I can take you to her rooms, but I can't take you any further." Luke stands and turns to face him. "This is your journey now, yours and hers, and I am here only as a guide and a memory."
"I never wanted it."
"What?"
"For it to go this way." Ben's shoulders sag, bearing too much weight, so he unloads a very long buried truth in the hope of making things lighter. "I wanted to be like you. Isn't that dumb? I wanted to be a great Skywalker, but I'm a Solo and a fool."
"You are your father's son. And Anakin's grandson." There is the sensation of a hand reaching out, the touch of the Force on his shoulder. "And my nephew," Luke says. "Never forget who you are or where you came from. Just keep looking ahead and it won't hurt to remember."
"It always hurts. It doesn't go away. I made my peace with that when I had her and when I lost her. But how do you live with the regret?"
"You live. And you try to make amends."
"What about Alec?" The touch of the Force on his shoulder disappears. Even ghosts have regrets too.
Luke glances towards Malaak, who Ben had forgotten. Poor Malaak, ignored and misjudged, yet standing quiet and loyal. He appears rapt by this strange yet familiar conversation.
"I failed all of you," Luke says. "My actions put you onto one path. But that is not the end. You can change it, just like my father, like you. You can always change and do good." He holds out incorporeal hands to both his former students. "Come with me. Let's start today."
The Force ghost leads the resurrected knight and the undead unseated emperor through the palace of Theed on the planet of Naboo.
Ben carries a large bag of weaponry and several rifles across his back. The Chandrilan blaster is strapped to his leg, and his saber hangs from a salvaged belt at his waist. At his side, Malaak walks in a seemingly pensive silence. He carries the unconscious officer over his shoulder. It was not just Alec and the other knights who left with Rey; the man's memories hint at a small armada. There will be a welcome party waiting for them when they arrive on Moraband.
It is Luke who secures their journey from opposing wings to the stout tower where the royal suites are located. Ben makes Malaak wait at the base, along with their hostage and stockpile. Then he and Luke climb to the top, until they reach two doors.
"This is Alec's," Luke says, pointing to his left. "And the other one was hers."
Ben contains his relief that they did not share the same space. His hand curls around the locked handle to Alec's room and crushes it without the Force. Inside is as he imagined, as he saw in holographs as a child from his mother's vast collection. He had thought about bringing her here one day. But now everything is tainted. He sees horror on every surface, in the heavy drapes and ostentatious furnishings, the gauche art, the imposing statues. Everywhere stinks of Alec, and he is sick.
"In the bedroom," Luke says.
Ben enters. The bed is made. Nothing looks touched here. He cannot feel her. She never came to this place.
He is drawn to a large chest at the foot of the bed, which he opens with his blaster. Inside, amongst illicit holovids, imitation Sith artifacts and several boxes of jewels (no books or scrolls; you never did read; did you hope to win her with sparkling empty things?), he finds a safe. He lifts it out using the Force and, with just a thought, every component separates and drops to floor.
"Impressive trick," Luke says, watching as Ben catches the saber in one hand.
Ben searches out her essence from the metal against his skin. It feels quiet. "Why did he keep this?" he says.
"You'll have to ask him."
"Can you help her?" He attaches the saber next to his own, and his voice betrays his desperation. "Please, can you help her, Luke?"
Luke senses all that the question carries with it; his eyes may be kindest that Ben has ever seen. "You don't have to ask, Ben. You know I will."
And Ben watches as his uncle's ghost fades away.
He goes to her rooms next. The doors are broken. The whole place is in disarray. Furniture upturned. Windows shattered. Was this all her? What were you thinking? He goes in further, following her trail.
In the bedroom is a bloodstained bed and on the bed is a body. Ben almost falls to his knees. He recognizes the dress. He must have seen it in a dream. But the body is not hers. It cannot be. He knows this. Luke can feel her. He can feel her.
Rey.
The woman looks in her thirties, plain with short red hair. Her throat has been slit. Her eyes are wide and scared. Ben places a hand to her cold forehead and sees what she saw. Her name was Ursa. Kira's handmaiden and Alec's spy; she was killed for her failure.
But you're okay. You're okay, Ben thinks and sinks down onto the edge of the bed.
Mother.
Head in his hands, he closes his eyes and remembers.
A finger hovering over the launch button for a missile aimed to kill and he had sensed a second heartbeat, warm hands, a voice that could soothe any hurt. Something reached out to him and he felt it and his hand paused. She was there.
He feels the same sensation again.
…Ben?
"Mom." He wipes at useless tears. "Mom, can you hear me?"
Ben.
Is it really you?
A wave of concern washes over him. What do you need? My baby boy. My baby. I knew you still lived. What do you need? Tell me. I'll do anything. Oh, please.
It's okay, Mom. It's okay, he thinks, reaching out to give comfort to the one who used to comfort him. There's something I must do.
Luke spoke of Rey—
They have her, Mom. They have the galaxy by the throat as long as she's with them. I'm not sure—
Concern transforms into resolve. You can do this, she tells him. You can save her. Save all of us. I know you are strong enough.
Words fail him entirely; the only things left are the tears that slip down his cheeks. I'm sorry, Mom. About Dad, about everything. I'm—
He feels a stirring inside his chest, where his heart grew stagnant and once refused to beat. Like blood through his veins, it reaches out in every direction, until even his fingertips pulse with warmth. A love so selfless and complete that he is surrounded by it, carried inside of it. When she speaks this time it's as if she whispers in his ear.
"Oh my love," she says. "My sweet, darling boy. Haven't you learned by now? Just come home, that's all I want. Come home to me, Ben. And bring Rey home too."
Something is tickling her nose.
Kira swats at the offending article, and it subsides. But only for a moment. Soon the tickling begins again, and Kira, half asleep and wholly furious, rubs at her nose and moves to turn away. This causes the instrument of torture to move up to her ear, edging around the outer shell before delivering a sharp slap.
"Ow!"
She sits up. Gone is Padme's green field, replaced by light. Heat too, and the measure of it is suffocating. She blinks slowly, forces too-hot air through her mouth and lungs. It is too bright, too hot, too much of everything, with no shelter to be found, just an egg-shaped dome with an arched door in the distance that is barely a shade lighter than the sand she lays on. She rubs her poor ear and looks around for the offender.
"I was wondering when you were going to wake up."
Kira jumps at the sound of the voice. There is a man nearby, sitting with legs crossed, in a tattered brown robe and with long gray hair and beard. He is studying his nails in a bored fashion. His body glows with a faint blue haze.
"Did you hit me?"
The man shrugs. "You're a heavy sleeper."
"There was no call for—" she looks around for her former companion. "Where's Padme?" Kira says. "Who are you?"
The man studies her. His eyes are pale blue, and they consider her carefully. "My mother came to you?" He laughs softly. "How about that. I should've known."
Kira notices that he does not sit on the ground so much as hover over it. "Who are you?"
"You don't remember your old mentor?"
"Mentor?"
"Yeah, you're right, that's going a bit far."
Kira lifts a hand to her forehead to block the glare of the sun. "Where are we?"
"Tatooine."
"What is that?"
"Desert planet. Pretty much nowhere."
"But why…? How?"
"Hell if I know," the man says. "This is your subconscious, not mine."
"But you know this place."
"I hate this place," the man corrects. "Spent eighteen years waiting for the chance to leave. Thanks for the reminder, by the way. I haven't been here since…"
"Since when?" Kira asks.
"A long time ago. I came back just once, to show my sister. And her son. Gods, he was what—six, seven at the time?" Blue eyes refocus on her. "Is that how you knew?"
"Knew what?"
"Never mind."
Thunder rumbles in the distance, even though there isn't a cloud in sight.
"Look," the man says, "we haven't got much time."
"But I don't know you," Kira insists.
"Sure you do. Last time we saw each other you kicked my ass and ran off to find my idiot nephew."
"Nephew?"
The man rolls his eyes. "Ben?"
"Ben?!" Kira is fully awake now. "Ben is your nephew?"
"The one and only," the man says dryly. "Thank the Force. The universe couldn't have handled another." He contemplates her in that quiet, arresting way of his. "You truly don't remember?" His voice is soft now. "Dear girl, what did they do to you?"
"Is Ben okay? I've been looking for him—"
"He's fine," the man says. "He's been looking for you too."
"But where? I can't find him—"
"Patience," the man says. "You were never very good at it, either of you, but you need to learn it now. There are things that are more important. You are in danger. I need you to remember who you are."
Kira could scream at him. Doesn't he realize that this is all she has been trying to do?
"It's all there," he says in the same infuriating calm. "Inside of you. My mother was telling you the truth."
"What truth?"
The man closes his eyes and Padme's voice washes over her. Don't give up. Remember Rey.
"She wanted me to remember someone. A dead woman. Someone long gone."
"No one is ever really gone." He pushes the words inside her mind, again and again. Slowly they begin to re-form.
Remember Rey.
Remember… Rey.
Remember, Rey.
Rey.
Images fall like torrential rain. The sands of Jakku. The marks on her wall. Finn's embrace. BB-8's trusting little chirp. A cursed prince. A lightsaber that calls to her. That saber belonged to…
"Luke," she whispers.
The old man smiles. "I knew you'd come around."
The memories come from every direction, and she is drowning. She is kneeling now, doubled over until her head is nearly touching the hot sand. "But that means—" she gasps, "that means—"
"Welcome back, Rey from Nowhere."
More images come unbidden, each one striking with the suddenness of lighting. Snoke's throne room, the emperor's palace. The Emperor. Kylo. Ben. Ben. Her husband. Force-mate. The scar on her arm. (Our blood is one.)
"But I—he was—" She sees his ship explode, a pair of pale blue eyes. Captured and caged with only the monster of her dreams for company; a monster who turned back into a man. Her breaths are coming too fast.
Warms hands cover hers, anchoring her to the ground. Luke steadies her in her Force (The Force!) and she draws upon that strength. "It's a lot, I know, and there isn't much time. But he needs you, we all need you, and right now I need you to remember what you know."
Kira—Rey, Rey(!) she tells herself, although she can scarcely believe it—stares blankly ahead. Until she feels a current of energy. The Force. She has it. Flowing from Luke to her and back again. Like the touch of an old friend. I know this, she thinks. I know you.
"That's it," Luke says. "Let it flow through you. Guide you. You're not alone, Rey from Nowhere. I'm here. You're here. And that idiot nephew who loves you more than anything in the universe, he's here too. He's waiting for you. All that you are—your training, your skill, that endless ocean of a heart that beats inside you—it's all still there."
Tears cloud her eyes; it is all too much. "What must I do?"
"Just let it in," Luke says, with a gentleness that breaks her heart. "And wake up, Rey. It's time to wake up."
They do not leave Naboo on the ship they came in. Instead Ben commandeers an Imperial transport with the highest level of classified coding they can find, which is a good thing he insists, though mostly he is distant. Malaak is not sure how he can tell this in the short time they have been together, but something changed after Ben returned from the tower without his chatty ghost uncle in tow. It is not Malaak's place to try and make sense of what might be plaguing him, especially considering what awaits them.
Ben appears able to pilot even this ship well so Malaak passes his time studying all the weapons they have acquired like a child gifted with new toys. They exit hyperspace into the upper atmosphere of Moraband, where a dozen star destroyers rest in low orbit, fully tensed and ready for battle as Ben seems to be.
Malaak feels the Darkness now. Hears it and breathes it. Chaos and death. An eternal struggle for power. The inaudible murmur of his master, the will he must obey. Still something stronger sways him. Not now. Not yet. He looks at Ben's emotionless face and works had to create his own mask.
"Where d'you want me to land?" Ben says.
"Get us through this mass of ships and I can show you."
The nearest destroyer signals to them and asks for identification. Ben recites the codes that came with the ship. They are wrong.
"Fuck."
"Can you repeat that?" a voice calls through the communicator. "What is your status?"
"We're fine. Everything's fine. How are you?" Ben slams his fist to the panel—"idiot"—then closes his eyes; Malaak can sense the Force spread from their small cockpit and across two destroyers as he does. "Come on, come on, come on," he whispers. "Ha!"
Ben states the required codes and they are given permission to land. Malaak directs him to the west of the Valley of the Lords. He can sense Ben's moods shift ever further like the windblown sands.
"What is it?" Malaak says.
"It's just nothing like I imagined. Like we all did. What an incredibly sorrowful place."
"Is that wrong?"
Ben only shrugs, which could be yes or no. Malaak pays it no more mind. He reaches for and begins priming his precious plasma launcher, until Ben stills his hand.
"We cannot be seen. In and out like thieves, my brother."
Brother, Malaak thinks and grunts his acquiescence? Displeasure? The Force is warring inside him, and the battle will only grow harder.
They disembark and use the Force to cloak their steps. A battalion of foot soldiers stand between them and the Valley, but they do not engage head-on. Between Ben's superior powers and Malaak's knowledge of the terrain, they are able to slip by unnoticed, coming close enough to inspect the troops as they pass. Each is covered in imposing red armor, and the welcome scent of the Dark side surrounds them all.
Malaak breathes more easy. Ben contains a growing agitation, though he maintains his focus enough to reprogram ground canons and set detonators for whatever time will be right. Malaak is still missing the plasma launcher, snatched away so cruelly; he craves the spilling of blood.
"Steady, old friend," Ben says. "You'll have what you want soon enough."
"My Master will have what he wants," Malaak says. The words come without warning as if said by somebody else.
Ben does not comment on what Malaak thinks might have been a grave slip. They travel deeper into the Valley of the Dark Lords, passing as ghosts between the sand-worn obelisks and once grand statues until the pyramid-shaped temple fills their sights.
"Just like in the books," Ben murmurs, and there is both awe and sadness to his voice.
More red soldiers guard the front entrance so Malaak leads Ben to a hidden passageway to its right. The space is so narrow that they must crawl on hands and knees in total darkness, and Malaak can feel the great swell and strain of Ben's efforts in shielding their Force signatures from whomever is inside.
Finally emerging into a small antechamber, Malaak sets to work on lighting a torch. Everything and everywhere is just as he remembers. He turns to look at Ben, who is struggling to stand.
"Are you okay?"
"I… she's here," Ben says. He is bracing himself with one hand against a wall. "Malaak, I can feel her."
The revelation causes Ben's shield in the Force to almost slip, and Malaak fears he will pass out completely. But something changes again. A huge surge of power. Is it Ben or someone else?
"Let's go," he says, standing tall and shifting the weapons on his back, his eyes brighter than Malaak has seen them since entering Moraband's orbit.
Malaak once more leads the way, walking straight ahead down another passageway that he knows will take them to the main hall. Something is calling for him and he must heed it. This way. This place. Follow me and I will show you. This is what I was made for.
He stops when he feels Ben's hand on his arm.
"Remember what we talked about," Ben says gently. "Remember the plan."
Malaak turns to face him, and whatever expression he shows cause other man tense. Ben's hand falls; he takes a small unintentional step back.
"There is no plan," Malaak says. These are his words, his voice, what he is meant to say. "You have delivered yourself to me and I will deliver you to them. I serve the Sith Lords of Moraband; I serve my Lord and Master, Lord Bane." He returns Ben's gesture ten-fold in kind with a crushing grip to his forearm.
Ben slips to one knee. "Old friend—"
"There is no friend," Malaak answers. "There is only power."
"I'm sorry," Ben says. Beg to me. Beg to my master. "Truly I am."
Malaak raises his club-saber. "For the glory of the Sith!"
He brings his cudgel down, and the world goes dark.
"My Lord?"
"You are late."
Alec shakes off the aid of Pular as he looks behind him. Someone else has entered the tomb.
"I have what you asked for," the new voice says.
The day is wrong. The night holds the sun. Ersn splutters in his broken voice, while Vadanav somehow grows more pale. Even Pular cannot muster an ironic smile. (Another time and Alec would have found the image funny.)
All watch as the brother they left for dead steps out of the shadows, a great dark body slumped across his broad back.
"Place him here," Bane says.
Malaak passes them by with barely a cursory glance and sets his burden down upon the sarcophagus, laying it out beside Rey. A tall figure in black rags with a long pale face but no scar, he sleeps as well. They sleep here together. The Emperor and the Empress. Dark and Light. And their miraculous child.
"How is that…?" But Alec cannot finish the thought. It is drowned out by the sound of laughter again.
Except this time the laughter is his.
Saber in hand he charges at sarcophagus, ignoring the useless lump of meat that is Malaak, his laughter morphing into an enraged scream as he brings his blade down towards Kylo's inert form.
His swing is blocked. A hissing red saber, overflowing with power and unstable (so much that it spits its charge out of built in cross-guards) is blocking his way.
Alec looks up to Malaak's tattooed face. He looks down at the body of Kylo. The images flicker like a damaged holovid then gradually dissolve away.
There is no light, there is no sound. All is a monstrous watercolor melting to reveal its true form. Cheap wax paint concealing the artist's vision beneath. Alec looks down, and then back up again. His Knights do too though he cannot see them, only feel their reflected movements in the Force.
The Kylo who lays on the dais is not Kylo. It is Malaak's prone form that lies sleeping next to Rey. And holding the jagged red blade that blocks his own are unblemished hands, supported by arms and a torso, all loosely clad in classic black. And staring at him is a different face... the stuff of boyhood dreams and far more grown-up nightmares. A face that Alec thought he would never see again.
Its eyes burn with black fire, pale skin glowing as if lit from within. Undamaged lips lift in a triumphant smile.
"Hello, brother," it says. "Sorry I'm late."
Ben Solo is back from the dead.