A vast black expanse hangs over the gas giant Endor and its many moons. The quiet hums with potential, as if it knows of what is coming. But it keeps its silence and its secrets.
A TIE Whisper bursts through the stars, descending quick and sure towards Kef Bir, the ocean moon of Endor.
Kylo Ren leans forward in the cockpit, a sharp glower taking in the cerulean moon. His fingers flex, clenching and unclenching around the steering lever.
Voices rustle about, whispers that echo around him, whispers that have been haunting him for so long. They started a year ago, maybe before that, growing clearer ever since the Battle on Crait. And he wants done with them.
The voices intensify, a droning that pounds in his head. He closes his eyes, his expression pained. His shoulders tense, his jaw, flinching as the noise overwhelms him.
He wishes them away, as he has all these months. But the voices are ever staying. Ever calling his name.
The clouds shift as the TIE Whisper descends through the moon's atmosphere. It glides over the rolling, fog ridden lands, cresting mountains, set on course for a great beast jutting out of the distance.
As the fighter draws nearer, the mists disperse and the wreckage of the second Death Star rears up from the violent ocean. The skeletal remains loom, treacherous even as a husk of its true self.
The voices still. Free of them, Kylo takes in one deep breath. His eyes drink in the sight of what was once the most terrifying weapon in the galaxies. The power washes off it like the waves crashing against it.
... your heritage... your destiny... your legacy...
One voice that sends a thousand shivers rippling through him.
Kylo leans back in his seat, chest heaving. Whatever has been calling to him these months is here. It will bring balance to the conflict that he knows, silence the doubt and the reservations, stamp out those seeds sewed when she first came to him, seeds that bloom every time she visits him again and again.
...Rey...
He shakes his head, shakes away her name, as he brings his TIE Whisper down upon the Death Star's cracked surface.
The raging water sprays over the fighter. Over Kylo as he steps out onto the metal floor.
One touch of his boot and he crumples, falling on all fours, hunched over, panting. The power of this place draws him down, bends him, tries to break him. Distant echoes of the past crashes again him. Visions and memories of a time long ago, of a tale he has only ever heard. There is the voice of Luke Skywalker, the traitor, and the voice of Vader.
... Your thoughts betray you, father. I feel the good in you...the conflict...
... There is no conflict ...
... You couldn't bring yourself to kill me before, and I don't believe you'll destroy me now ...
... You underestimate the power of the dark side. If you will not fight, then you will meet your destiny ...
The voices still. In the silence, Kylo finds the strength to rise, hair soaked, face drenched.
... fathers and sons always at war... break what has been ... break the cycle ...
... come ...
Straightening, Kylo casts a glance back at his TIE Whisper. But the voice is calling. The answers are waiting. The final piece of the past waits.
Waits to be destroyed.
Kylo traces the path of the Death Star towards its center, guided by the voices as well as the memories that should not be his. In every corner, ghosts haunt, lurking, remembering what came before. Skywalker and Vader play on repeat around him. Duelling, reconciling. Duelling, reconciling.
He passes under a ruined archway and into the decimated throne room. It teeters, falling towards the ocean, glass and stone cracked and shattered, littering the ground with debris.
The throne waits, empty, but there is a shadow remnant perched on it, the shade of the emperor, hunched forward, leering at him.
Kylo falls to his knees before it, hands clenched, head bowed. "Show me what I must do to be free of this burden."
He pounds at his chest, grits his teeth, as he surrenders his soul, his fear, his need at the feet of the past. "Help me find the path."
Those voices surge again, whispers unintelligible and chaotic. They carry such weight to them that they wrap like invisible tendrils around his legs, his arms. Like puppet strings, they draw Kylo staggering to his feet, drag him forward.
He lurches towards the throne as he is summoned. Falling into it, his hands curl around the battered, stone arms.
The voices diminish, then vanish altogether.
Only one voice trembles through him.
... we are the sith... we are the power... and we have chosen you...
The air around the throne, around Kylo hums, a deep baritone note. The slab at the back centre of the seat shifts, grinding abrasively as it slides away. Red light burns through the aperture.
Kylo averts his eyes, hand raised to block the blinding glare.
... claim it... claim us... your heritage... your destiny... your legacy...
The red light ebbs. Kylo glances back, straightening. His eyes, round and captivated, flash red like flames, reflecting the dimming glow.
He sees at last what is there, what has always been there, calling to him, waiting for him. It is the answer that he seeks.
A gloved hand reaches out. His fingers tremble, a tremor that travels from his mind, a thrill of discovery.
Electricty charges as he grazes the suspended gemstone. The air seems to flee his lungs. A jolt of pain races through him, but he stays on his feet. Enough falling, enough gasping. He is Kylo Ren. He is stronger. He is resolved.
The gem falls into his open palm and lays there, an object unmoving, yet shimmering with life.
... feel our power... breathe it in... let it fill you... let it claim you as you claim it...
Kylo clenches a fist around the gem. He knows now the path to ending the conflict within him. To become one with the Sith is to choose his destiny. To honour what came before him. To take it forward.
He closes his eyes and breathes.
It would be so easy to do. To let the whispers overwhelm him, to let them lead him.
He wouldn't have to fear anymore that he is weakening in his heart.
A gust of wind roars around him, charging through the shattered window.
He could finish what he started, establishing a new Way beyond good and evil, beyond the Jedi, beyond the First Order.
The waves of the ocean crash heavily onto the ruin. The Death Star teeters underfoot, quaking.
He would be free of all his guilt, of all the pain it brings.
Chimes twinkle, gentle and soothing, like children laughing, like choirs singing.
His eyes flash open, disoriented. The chimes grow louder than even the crashing waves, the gusting wind.
Not again.
Not now.
Not...
... "Rey"
*author's note*
Alright! Normal disclaimer is up. I don't own any of these characters or ideas... yet... ;)
Feel free to leave a review if the force so moves you.
I'm hoping to post a chapter once every five days at least. Maybe sooner than that.
Thanks for reading.