"Oh, Kest!"
Grarn Horm was not having a good day. He was far past due a payrise and he knew he wasn't going to get it. He did not want to run this route any longer; he had been doing it for most of his working life. Every customer it seemed hated him or wanted him killed – he was just getting over the last time someone had hijacked the bus. He had another seven hours to drive before his shift was over.
But all of this faded into nothingness beside what had just happened. Grarn cursed himself for his slow reflexes - it was his slow reflexes that had made today worse than any other.
For it was his inability to slam on his brakes that had stopped him just after he had hit the man who now lay a good ten feet away. He would have already been seriously injured because he was falling and, with the speed he hit – enough to crack the windscreen – he would probably have died if he had just hit the ground. But he hadn't just hit the ground. He had hit the windscreen first.
And there was now a crack and a bloodsmear down the broken transparisteel.
"Oh, Kest, Kest, Kest," he repeated, fumbling for his buckle and lurching from the seat as the restraint came free.
He stumbled out of the vehicle and clung to the side for a moment. Then he staggered forward a few paces and raced the rest of the way toward the man.
The people on either side of the road who had gathered around that traffic had halted were closing in now, but he held up a hand as he neared.
"Don't touch him!"
The crowd parted for him as he drew near, probably because they wanted to have nothing to do with him, and Grarn saw the man as he lay for the first time.
He was on his back, one leg twisted beneath him, the other bent in the wrong place, broken, the white bone protruding from the torn trouser leg. One of the man's arms turned impossibly to the side, while the other was propped up against his hip, both hands shaking uncontrollably while his entire body twitched. His head was tipped back and his eyes were open, as was his mouth, from which there was blood seeping, and he appeared to be staring straight up at the traffic overhead.
One of his boots was another five feet away and his trouser legs were shredded. He didn't appear to have even been a helmet, and his back and chest were covered with small abrasions, showing through the torn material of his shirt. There was blood coming from the back of his head.
His face was a complete mess; it appeared that his nose, and jaw, and one of his eye sockets was broken – unsurprising seeing as how he'd hit the windscreen head first – and he was bleeding from everywhere that was broken, white bone sticking out here, too. It occurred to Grarn that something must have knocked him off, or away from, or out of, his overhead transport to start with, but the thought did little to comfort him.
Although it took his mere seconds to see and comprehend, it felt like an eternity before he could move enough to check for a pulse.
-
The shuttle hummed lower and Leia had opened the door and was out before it had come to a stop. Luke followed her without hesitation but found himself stopped by two official looking men whom Leia had slipped past unnoticed. There were three vehicles by the crowd of people which had now congregated in the middle of the road. Leia recognized the vehicles and the two of the drivers were talking to each other.
"I just went straight into him; he came out of nowhere!"
"I didn't even see him! I wasn't sure what had happened until I looked down."
Leia was absolutely white and she could feel her energy seep away with each word. A distant siren was wailing through the air. She shoved past the two men.
"Hey!" one of them said, but the other quieted him when he saw where she was headed.
"Han?" she barely managed to say.
The people parted for her and she found her fiancé lying on his back, twitching, with another man beside him.
"He's still breathing," said the man, and he looked almost as bad as Leia felt, "but he won't…I-I'm so sorry; I…I never even…He hit before I knew what was going on…I'm so sorry…"
"Han," she said dejectedly and dropped to her knees beside him.
"Don't touch him," said the man. "I think his neck is broken."
Han drew a sudden gargled breath.
"It's alright, Han" Leia assured him as the wailing siren grew close, touching her fingers to his cheek as her eyes stung. "I'm here."
It was then she noticed that he was crying, completely silently; tears were streaming down his temples and mingling with the blood on the dusty ground. It seemed he couldn't see but that he knew she was there, for his shallow breathing hastened for a moment and the twitching changed, almost as though he were trying to move.
A harsh breath spattered blood onto his face and Leia wiped at it before taking one of his quaking hands in hers. It was very likely he couldn't feel it if his neck was broken, as it appeared to be, but she took it anyway.
"It's alright," she soothed, stroking his forehead, being careful not to move his head.
Somehow, he made a sound, an odd sound, like a whimper but not as strong or aware.
"I know," she said gently, "I know."
She squeezed his hand as he drew another rasping breath and knew there was nothing she could do.
He released that final breath in a long, rattling sigh, and his eyelids flickered. Then the twitching stopped.
There was eerie silence for a long time. The traffic overhead had already been redirected by the interchange droids and no-one around them was talking. It didn't even sound as if anyone dared breathe. The hoverbus driver and the two others were staring open-mouthed in absolute horror. Time seemed to slow, even to stop, and she couldn't even bring herself to close his eyes because she knew she would never see them again. She could almost feel his spirit rise from his body.
She couldn't stop herself crying, didn't even try, but, like Han, she didn't make a sound.
Luke was suddenly by her side, on his knees. He extended a hand and lay it across Han's forehead.
"He's gone, Luke," she whispered, but he didn't take any notice, or else he hadn't heard.
She watched him as he closed his eyes and frowned. And then it happened; Luke paled, twitched once and then he took a deep breath – and Han did too.
"Luke!" She said, with enough volume to make everyone jump.
The emergency vehicle skidded to a halt behind the crowd and Dr L'Jhad began to talk to them.
"And don't move the young man," she said as they approached Luke. "If his contact is broken Solo will die."
The men nodded and Leia looked at her brother again.
There he sat, still as stone, and equally as gray, but breathing in tandem with Han. He stood without any effort as the men lifted Han onto a stretcher, and followed them into the emergency vehicle before they closed the door behind them. The three drivers simply continued to stare.
"Excuse me, Ma'am," said a voice to Leia's side.
She turned to see another official standing there.
"You're related to the injured party?"
"He's my fiancé," she said, her voice dry and raspy.
"Then we're here to provide authority escort to the hospital."
-
She couldn't loose him. She just couldn't. Every time she paced to the other side of the room , she could hear the hum and faint clicks of the medical equipment.
Luke, she knew, was in desperate anguish himself. He could sense the strain in Han's body. They had been operating for hours.
Outside, day was fast turning to night. People moved outside the window and outside the room in corridors, but none of them mattered. Brother and sister heard nothing but the labored throbs of pulse and each rhythm of the monitor, each electronic burst a heartbeat, too fast or too slow.
There was dead silence between each one and the cold that permeated the air as the rhythm faltered time and time again was all-enveloping, until, finally, the pulse set in again.
She felt nauseous, dizzy, she needed to rest, but she didn't dare leave to tend to those feelings, lest she return to find Han gone . She wanted to be here, whatever happened.
As for Luke himself, he was sitting in a chair by the window, apparently looking out of it, but he had his eyes closed.
She touched her hand to his shoulder.
"Luke?"
There was a pause, and then he spoke in a voice that was barely recognizable.
"His mind has fallen far behind a last line of defense. It's all that protects him against the shattering pain. I can feel his presence like a flicker on the very edges of my own awareness, constantly. A part of him knows that I'm here."
He opened his eyes and stared out at the golden evening that was turning slowly into a black night – a night that promised to be the longest one any of them had ever faced.
"I found something," Luke said, almost inaudibly. "When I guided him back to the light on the street today, I felt something."
"What is it?" Leia asked softly.
Luke sighed.
"I managed to touch a memory – he can't block me out when he's asleep."
Leia didn't speak. She knew whatever he was about to say was hurting him and it frightened her to the extent that she didn't want to ask, almost didn't want to know. But she had to. Luke knew it too.
"He's in great pain. Unbearable pain. And it's destroying him. But I know, even though I could get into his mind, even though I could help him, that he can't stop me if he doesn't want it. I need permission to do it."
He turned to look at Leia.
"He's dying in there Leia, and not because of the accident. They're doing all they can and he's going into the bacta for a while when they're done. But it won't save him. But if I go into his mind and he tries to push me away it could kill him. Or me. Or both of us."
Leia waited a moment and then made her decision.
"I give you permission."
Luke looked at her and nodded slowly.
"As soon as the surgeons finish. It's taking all the strength I have to keep his vital signs up."
-
There was darkness – extreme darkness – and it was suffocating him. He could hear distant cries of pain that echoed down the long, dark corridors, cries that were strangely recognizable. And there were other voices, voices that varied in age and gender, but none seemed so desperate as the man who screamed.
He shivered.
"Luke?"
There came no reply although his voice echoed for a long time. Damn but it was cold here.
"Kid, are you there?"
He didn't really know why he was asking, except that he had the strangest feeling Luke was here somewhere.
-
Leia stood before the tall cylindrical tank, her hands on her forearms. She watched him as he floated in the 'healing' liquid. His arms hung suspended at waist level, his legs bent and not supporting his weight, his entire body scraped and lacerated like some grotesque puppet. His head lolled forward and nodded gently with the currents, occasionally jerking back as though whiplashed when his body convulsed of its own accord. His hair floated about his head like a dark cloud and his skin was so pale compared to it. He had been in the tank for a long time. She didn't know how long exactly. But she knew it was a long time.
-
There was something guiding him, something unexplainable, toward the man who was screaming, whoever he was, drawing him to it almost.
It was just a little further, just a little more before he could get to this man and help him. It was odd but he almost recognized the screams, the cries for help, the curses. They were Corellian curses, of that there was no doubt, but what could make a man scream that way?
This must be the door. He could hear laughter, cruel, cold laughter, and raw cries of agony, of anguish.
He drew his blaster and, with as quiet a movement as he could, he pushed the door open.
-
Leia stared at the man in the bed before her. Twelve days.
Two days they had worked on him, cut him open, sewn him up, taken skin samples, grafted, knitted, stitched and splinted.
And for a further ten he had been immersed in bacta. And he lay in the bed now, wires and tubes all over his body. And the doctors had informed her that there was little hope for him. They were all hoping that the shock of coming out of the tank would perhaps wake him up, but the blanket-wrapped figure that had been floated past on the repulsor-fitted gurney had looked almost lifeless and now that he was lying in the hospital bed – which for some reason looked far too big for him – he looked worse than ever.
Bone knitters had repaired the breaks, including, mercifully without flaws, the one in his neck and the fracture in his skull. The bacta tank had helped with the shallower wounds and skin grafts and surgery had almost returned his face to normal but he was still pale and swollen and in some places he still bled a little. And they could not be sure until he woke if the fall had damaged his brain. It was extremely unlikely that he had escaped injury here.
She barely looked up when Luke entered the room, but watched him carefully as he seated himself by the bed. Chewie watched anxiously from the foot of the bed and Leia held Han's hand.
"I'm ready," said Luke solemnly, "although I may need help later if his mind rejects me."
Leia nodded.
"Alright."
Luke took a deep breath, closed his eyes and stretched out a hand towards Han's forehead.
-
"Han?" Luke whispered almost straight away. "Han, where are you?"There was screaming and moaning and Luke immediately felt that there was too much here. Where was Han's presence among all these others?
It was almost overwhelming. There were so many people here, so many presences, it was virtually impossible to distinguish between them.
And yet, there was one that stood out if he waited, searched with his mind, not with his feelings, one voice that was louder than the others, one scream that was filled with more pain, one plea for help that was far more desperate from the rest.
Luke ran down the corridor, knowing without asking how he knew, that it was Han crying out.
"Where are you?"
There were so may doors; he tried reaching out but he was somehow unable.
"Han?"
He reached out to one door and recoiled almost instantly. When he had touched it, his fingers had slipped and when he drew them away to see why he saw that they were slick with blood.
He stared open-mouthed and pressed his hand to the door again, repressing the shudder.
-
Han stared in absolute horror at the man in chains before him and the woman inflicting the pain upon him.. The woman he recognized. Hers was a face he had seen in his nightmares, wished never to see again. He didn't know how he had got back here. He didn't know how she was alive. But this man had to be saved.
-
Luke stared down at the tiny form in the corner of the cell. It was a child, huddled in the corner, chained at the wrists and ankles and whose clothes were tattered, ragged and filthy. Luke stepped forward, crouched down before it, and gently slid his hand beneath the child's chin, lifting its head so its eyes could meet his.
He almost fell backwards.
The child's eyes stared lifelessly ahead, stone cold. The child was dead.
"Oh, no," Luke whispered, hanging his head and shaking it slowly.
He looked up after a moment and moved his hand slowly, hating the fact that he would have to leave this child to find the man. For the man still lived. But for how much longer, he didn't know.
-
Han realized that she seemed not to have noticed his presence and stepped forward silently, trying not to touch the man being tortured. Han flinched as he took in the wounds that covered the man's body. He knew from experience how those wounds were burning.
He watched as she laughed softly, as she had done all those weeks ago, and as she turned away. His heart rose. If she was leaving then this was his chance.
He watched her, hopes growing with every passing moment, as she walked away from her victim and left through the door.
"Can you hear me?" Han asked softly.
The man's head lolled to the side with a muffled,
"Ugh?"
"It's alright," he said, walking around to face the man. "I'm here to…"
The man raised his head and Han's sentence died on his lips. The face that stared back at him was battered, bruised and swollen, several cuts bleeding profusely into his open mouth and hazel eyes that stared back in desperation, full of fear and pain.
The face that stared back at him was unshaven, twisted with the results of her brutality and completely helpless.
The face that stared back at him was his own.
-
Luke waited a moment before he opened the next door. He had opened eighteen so far and behind each one had been a child, stone cold, dead beyond doubt and hope.
He was sure, as he had been before, that the screaming and the desperate pleas were coming from behind this door, but he knew that he could be wrong. Behind this door could lie another dead child, but there was no other way to find out. Luke steeled himself, badly wishing he had the force to aid him, and pushed the door.
The man in chains did not look up as Luke entered, nor did his captor. She was petite but she was taller than Leia and beautiful while managing somehow to project a malevolence that Luke could feel even without the force.
She was slender but appeared to be strong if her stature was anything to go by, and her hair was moving as if of its own accord to touch him.
"Tell me," she whispered, a strand reaching up to stroke the man's face.
Luke narrowed his eyes.
A harsh rasping voice spoke in answer, and Luke realized it must be the man who was in chains, but the voice was abraded from the screaming, barely more than a whisper.
"I told you…Gods…dammit…I told you…I don't know anything."
The strand of hair shot forward and grabbed him around the throat.
"I'm warning you."
The man gave a choked gasp and she narrowed her eyes. Then she let most of her hair begin to choke him while one, single strand reached down and forced itself into a large laceration
Luke flinched as the man tried in vain to cry out. All he managed was a suffocated whimper, unable to breathe past the vise like grip of her hair, a whimper which ended in a quiet, but considerably long, groan and a soft shudder.
Luke stayed quiet as she unwound her hair and raised an eyebrow.
"Don't go anywhere," she whispered. "I'll be back in a moment."
The chained man hung his head.
Luke stepped forward, tried to reach out to him, but he had not taken two steps before his body froze. He tried for a few moments to keep going but found that he couldn't move a muscle. It was only when he tried to step back that he was able to move again.
He gasped, bending to catch his breath, amazed that being held back in that way should have drained so much energy.
He did not have time to try again for she re-entered and stood before the man, a set of what looked like brass knuckles on her right hand. The chained man looked at them and then at her.
"Tell me."
He hung his head again.
"I. Don't. Know. Please…Please, for Gods' sakes, if I knew…I'd have told you…"
She drew back her hand and punched him, hard. It was then that Luke saw that the outer surface of the knuckle-duster was inlaid with rows and rows of tiny diamonds.
The man spat blood onto the floor.
"It's a shame," she said, and delivered a hard punch to his stomach. But then, instead of drawing her arm back again, she forced it forward, twisting her wrist to grind the gems into the unprotected flesh of the man's stomach.
He gasped and groaned, gritted his teeth against the pain, but still she forced her fist forward. He gasped for air when finally she decided to stop but, without giving him a chance to regain any strength, she pushed her other hand forward and scraped her nails down the freshly abraded skin.
Luke closed his eyes, squeezed them shut against the horrible sounds the man was making, but there was no way to prevent it. Finally, when his pleas quieted for a moment, he opened his eyes, just in time to see her punch him again, back in the face this time. There was a sickening crunch as bone and cartilage were crushed and the revolting splatter as the man's blood sprayed across the cell floor. She had hit him with a backswing this time and his head had been forced in Luke's direction. Luke saw the blood beginning to trickle down the man's face and tried again to step forward, but found himself trapped, barred by the invisible wall once more.
She produced a small silver box and held it up to the man.
"Do you know what these are?"
The man could not reply. He just wheezed softly. She elaborated.
"These are Cerean blood parasites. They are a type of extracellular endoparasite
that are a little more advanced than what you may be used to. They've been designed, bred and cultivated here, all for my purpose. The spikes and barbs contain a venom similar to the Lytisil Verithinine I gave you. They are completely blind, as you can probably see. They do, however, have an astounding sense of smell…"
As she opened the box, several little creatures, almost like silverfish, emerged. Each was no longer than the nail on a little finger, but something about them made Luke shiver. They were short but slender and they had three rows of short spikes down their backs, as well as two vicious looking pincers. At their 'tails' were three long, barbed fronds, with a large hook on the end of each of them. They were not quite the worms they had been for they had hundreds of tiny legs that undulated to propel them. And, as she opened the box, they all reared up as though smelling the air.
Luke shivered and then stared.
"I can recall them whenever I please," she said. "But right now…"
She held the box up to the chained man.
"Right now they're hungry."
And then, like a silver snake, they reared together and launched themselves at the chained man, crawling all over him until they found some sort of wound, and then, just as suddenly as they had jumped, they disappeared.
"NO!" shouted the man, before he twisted, arched his back and screamed.
After a few seconds, his eyes widened and he screamed again as his skin began to boil as the thousands upon thousands of tiny parasites crawled under his skin. He screamed once more as blood began to leak from the wounds, trailing down his limbs and body before some other parasite, smelling the waste, would burst through the skin to get to it.
"Please," he cried, writhing violently.
Luke almost vomited as the man twisted again, showing him for who he truly was.
"Han!" he said, and instinctively tried to launch himself forward, forgetting the invisible obstruction.
He soon remembered it, for this time he was thrown backwards across the room when he connected with it.
"Please," said Han from his chains. "Please help me!"
Luke was unsure, but, even as he watched, Han seemed to be watching him.
"You can see me?" Luke asked, pressing his hands to the solidity in his path.
"Please, Help me! Help me!"
"How?" Luke said desperately.
Han screamed again.
"Any way! Just please, help me!"
little parasites were pushing out of his skin in all places and then disappearing just as quickly and, when he wasn't pleading for help, Han was screaming.
Luke tried again.
"Han, I can't get to you!"
"Please, Please! You have to…"
He screamed again.
"Please, he won't help me!"
Luke narrowed his eyes.
"What?"
But some deep instinct told him to turn his head.
Sitting to his right, on a long bench in the corner, watching the torture with his eyes half closed in bored indifference, blaster in hand, was someone he definitely did not expect to see.
"Han?"
The man on the bench turned dark hazel eyes on him and spoke in a voice that barely resembled the voice he knew.
"Yes?"
Luke started forward.
"Han, how are you…what is…Han, you have to help him."
Han flicked a glance at his screaming doppelganger and shrugged.
"No."
Luke stared for a second, stunned.
"NO? What do you mean 'no'?"
"I mean no. I'm not going to help him. And neither are you."
Luke, confused, frantic and furious, made as if to shake this new Han out of some delirium, but he was once again brought up short.
"What in-" Luke said as he thumped the unseen wall with both fists. "Han! Let me in!"
"No," said Han simply. "Leave."
-
Luke gasped suddenly and drew his hand back as if burned, almost falling off the bed.
"Luke!" said Leia, and she reached out to him, trying to prevent him falling.
"H-He…He pushed out. He stopped me."
"What?" Leia asked.
"He won't let me help. He won't let me help him."
Before she could protest, Luke set his jaw and tried again.
-
"I thought I told you to leave."
Luke looked at the Han on the bench.
"What is happening here?" he asked.
The Han on the bench shrugged.
"It's a dream. It's all a dream. So is he."
Luke looked at what he now knew to be the Dream Han. The woman was currently pouring drops of acid onto the open wounds on the Dream Han's body. The Dream Han writhed helplessly, crying piteously with little more strength than a newborn felinoid.
"No," Luke said urgently. "It's more than a dream. Han, this is killing you. It's killing him."
Han looked up at him coldly.
"Good. It's more than he deserves. He's weak. Pathetic."
Luke took a step back, shaking his head.
"Han," he said slowly, ignoring the Dream Han's cries for help. "This isn't you. You have to stop this. Don't you understand? You're the only one who can."
Han snorted and sneered derisively.
"You really have no idea, do you?"
"Han,"
"Do you know what I see? I don't just see him, I see them all."
Luke frowned.
"Who?"
Han smiled and turned to watch the Dream Han without a trace of compassion in his eyes.
-
"Nierts. Se si vor nes on myst. Han, des si kroches va. Se si kroches cor."
Leia looked frantically from Luke to Han. Han had opened his eyes of his own accord, but Luke was still force-bonded to him and was staring, his own eyes equally unseeing. Chewie had been translating since Luke had first started to talk in Corellian – a language he had never managed – and Leia was shocked at what she was hearing.
"No. It is not a dream. Han, this is killing you. This is killing him." said Chewie.
Leia looked suddenly at Han as he spoke back, hardly able to believe the words translated for her.
"Ben. Se si vor nes cor aldei. Cor si jirst. Calest."
"Good. It is more than he deserves. He is weak. Pathetic."
"Han. Des si e va. Va kel dos terl des. Tor e va meerian? Va dain dos koldesh en cir vahn."
"This is not you. You have to stop this. Don't you understand? You are the only one who can."
Leia reached out to pull Luke away but Chewie stopped her as they spoke again.
"Va ferni larne nierts kine, tor va?" asked Han.
"You reallyhave no idea, do you?"
"Han," said Luke.
"Tor va kine rei Me viu? Me to e orni viu cor, Me viu skah eriva."
"Do you know what I see? I don't just see him, I see them all."
Luke frowned.
"Cir?"
"Who?"
-
"I see them all. All of them, every single one."
"Han," said Luke, "what-"
"I'm not the only one she tortured, Luke. And she can hear everything, feel everything. Lakaya is in here with me. Yes, Luke, I know exactly where I am. I know where my body is. I know where Leia is and I know what you are doing. You don't have the force here because you're already inside my head. And she knows, too. And every one she tortured is in here, begging me to help them. And I don't know how."
"Han," Luke whispered, shaking his head. "How?"
Han turned back to watch the Dream Han. Lakaya was no longer torturing the Dream Han, and it appeared that she had not been doing for some time. Instead, she was administering some drug, telling him that it wouldn't hurt him. Then she began to touch him. The Dream Han shook his head and said Leia's name. Lakaya smiled and kissed him, lifting her legs about him.
"It begins unnoticed," Han whispered, "as a smudge on the edge of a perfect consciousness, like a drop of blood on a white lily, or a strand of poison ivy amongst the flowers."
Luke stared at him for a moment and then back at the Dream Han. Lakaya had moved away and one of her men was lowering him to the ground.
-
"And then, like the ivy, it grows, stretching out with curling tendrils and trident leaves, creeping ever closer, always growing, ever patient, ever resilient, waiting to entwine itself about the consciousness in which it began, slowly choking the hope and scarring the dreams forever, changing them, contorting them, until the light that shone is grayed and sullied.
An endless, barren sky that, when not gray, is blood red, rains down acid on bare shoulders caked with blood and grime, eating into tender flesh with vampirical accuracy."
Leia felt the hair on the back of her neck rise as Chewie continued to translate Han's speech.
-
Luke watched in horror, his stomach turning, realizing what it was she was about to do.
"Oh, Force," he whispered.
"Fear looms dark on the horizon, present always and never yielding," Han continued, watching unemotionally as Lakaya leant over the Dream Han. "Rock and stone, jagged and sharp as glass beneath bare feet, slice and lacerate without mercy and without purpose. Impossible to climb, tall and ominous, where waiting goes unnoticed."
Luke tried again to reach the Dream Han as the man who had moved him chained his wrists over his head so that he couldn't move. The man then left and slammed the door behind him.
"No…please…" the Dream Han whispered, but she touched her fingers to his lips and knelt astride him.
"A lifeless plane, existence marred by being, and ever swirling mists and fog with countless dangers, veiled, unseen. Streams of blood and black water ooze silently beneath bone bridges; birdless, leafless trees stand alone and shiver in the breeze until it tastes the fear, sprouting black leaves and bleeding from broken branches as it drinks in the revulsion and absorbs the terror, drawing nourishment form the dread."
Luke averted his eyes as she completed her vulgar act, but found himself watching once more as the Dream Han groaned in anguish.
"Spiders scuttle by, uncaring of any presence, on limbs that are long and thin and should not support its weight, rushing into dark refuge in droves, so numerous that their feet patter on the cold and pitiless stone around like the death-giving rain.
And they wait there. People? Once perhaps, but nothing now. Where once there were eyes there lie bloody sockets, streaming red tears, hollow cheeks residing over tongueless mouths, shrunken skin pulled tight over the skull beneath, what remains of their faces twisted in agony. Their moans and wails turn hearts to ice as they wait, approach and move. Hands with too few fingers, bones without flesh protruding from them, reach out to snatch at anything they can grasp, begging for release or appeasement."
"No," Luke whispered, "no, stop..!"
"Please," said the Dream Han. "Please…"
"It's alright," she assured him, what she was doing obscured only by her dress, her intentions clear. "It's alright."
The Dream Han struggled weakly, but stopped when he found it gave her more leverage.
"Oh, Gods…" he whispered.
Han shook his head as he watched, Luke standing helpless with his hands pressed up against the barrier, and kept talking.
"Death here would be a blessing, but prayers go unanswered: this is a godless place. Those in chains hang ragged like broken dolls, arms outstretched in ceaseless misery. The bones that are broken do not mend. The sacrifices made do not placate. The floors, slick with blood, are never clean.
Walking breaks the fragile limbs but still they come, seeing without eyes, crying without tongues, existing without life, the screams of their torture echoing into the night.
And running does no good. Hiding is in vain. The fear grows too and envelops the will, blocking the path to freedom. The world spins and curses, changing again, lost in time."
Lakaya smiled.
"That's it," she murmured, staring down at the Dream Han. "That's right."
"No…" he said softly, stiffening in fear when she brushed her hand against his temple.
"A stumble, a fall that lasts forever, and whispers from the stale air. Cruel laughter echoes from the mists. Shapes that cannot be, are not alive and are not forgetful, writhe and moan. Bright eyes gleam in the back heart of the night, beckoning.
A flash of steel claws, a snap of white, dagger like fangs, an attempt at escape, but none is possible.
The night falls quickly, shrouding the landscape, hiding it from what little light there was."
"No!" wailed the Dream Han, arching his back to try and push her away, gasping when his body reacted against his will. "No!"
But it was too late to stave off the inevitable. After all the pain, all the torture, it did not take long. That had been what Lakaya had been counting on.
"The pain begins deep in the soul," said Han, "destroying the very mind that gave birth to it, twisting the awareness, slowly building into agony without relief."
Lakaya smiled suddenly, slowing her movements.
"You see?" she said. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"
She lowered her head to his.
"No, please," he whispered desperately. "Please…don't kiss me. Not now. I-I beg you. I beg you, please. Please. I-It's…all I have left."
She smiled coldly and kissed him, hard.
"The uncontrollable trembling and the nausea," said Han, watching unsympathetically, "brought on by fear are no match for the weakness, and fleeing is a need, a hunger, like the freedom.
But there is no escape; there is no release; there is no relief or mercy here; for here is a nightmare world."
Lakaya left, satisfied, and did not send anyone in to sting the Dream Han up again. Instead, he curled up on his side, shaking with cold and pain and exhaustion, but more with shame. Luke could almost feel it himself. He retched suddenly and, having no food to bring up, he brought up a little bile, but there was not enough liquid in his system to create much of even that.
"…Leia…" the Dream Han whispered brokenly, when his stomach had stopped heaving. "…I'm so sorry…Leia…"
His shoulders began to shake and Luke heard the almost silent sobs he made, that mingled with Leia's name and desperate pleas for her to help him, find him, forgive him.
"Oh, Force, Han," Luke whispered. "Why didn't you tell us?"
Han stared at the Dream Han a moment longer, then, with a sneer, he turned away and held Luke's gaze. Then he whispered,
"And so it begins."