Five years.
It took her five years to find the way to fix everything, to save Ben. Searching through Exegol archives, taking apart her stolen journals, scavenging the galaxy for both Sith and Jedi artifacts. Now she stood in a familiar cave, this time perfectly dry, her cloak dark and her hair down. Absently patting the lightsaber clipped to her belt, she thought back to how cold Exegol felt once Ben was gone. The way she called the Jedi yet they were absent, how they abandoned her just like they abandoned Ben. (Weren't they supposed to help their last living Jedi?) How she slaughtered all of the Sith loyalists after she got some answers from their oily, twisted minds.
She remembered going back to the base, reuniting with her friends and allies, smiling and celebrating, careful not to show fury raging inside. Always fierce, always ready to fight, ever balancing on the edge of darkness until she tripped. She could have let the Dark Side consume her completely, and she played with that thought once in a while, but there was always one, more powerful desire. If she played this cruel game that the Force commanded, they would have all the time in the world.
She has flown to Tatooine to bury legacy sabers, to cut herself off from her so-called masters, so the Skywalker clan wouldn't interrupt her mission. She was born a Palpatine. Everyone started to call her a Skywalker. Yet all she wanted was to become Solo someday. But first she had to make sure her soulmate doesn't die.
Idea was simple – if there was no Exegol to die on, then Ben wouldn't die at all. Perhaps she didn't know what was going to happen with her, but that was not what mattered.
Taking a deep breath, she touched the mirror with a steady hand. She knew what she had to do. Ben's death gave her strength to do it.
Let me in.
When just like the first time her silhouettes have appeared, Rey reached with all Force inside her, carefully balanced Light and Dark, and started taking steps backwards.