Published December 14, 2020

Warning: This chapter contains spoilers for the Snoke Age of Resistance comic and The Rise of Kylo Ren.

"Reflection"

All along she had thought she was seeking personal peace. But in reality, she had sought to cut herself away from the roots that connected her to not only one, but two families. She understood that now. ~ Nancy Werlin, Unthinkable

A few days after seeing his mother, Ben went to the cave Rey had told him about.

Instead of waiting to be pulled in, he jumped into the blowhole, and was ready when he fell into the water. He kicked back up to the surface, climbed onto the stone floor, and found the glass-like wall Rey had described. He reached out and touched it, wondering if the mirror would show him the same kind of vision it had shown her.

It was similar, but different. Instead of a repeated image of himself, he saw dozens of variations of himself—all the same age, but with different clothes, and even different hairstyles and facial hair. He saw himself in Jedi robes, like those he had worn years ago; in traveling clothes, wearing his father's jacket; in his First Order getup, holding his mask. And there were other versions of himself that he could hardly identify, that had never existed in the past and were not likely to exist in the future: a moisture farmer, a senator, a New Republic pilot, a stormtrooper. He even saw himself in a prison uniform, and winced when he thought of how close he had come to that fate.

Were these all different aspects of himself? Or were these different futures that had been—or were—available to him?

Rey had said that the mirror images did not go on forever, that there was an end to them. So Ben went onward, searching.

The last image of himself looked as he did now: wearing the clothes the Resistance had given him, a few days' growth of stubble on his chin, soaked from his plunge a few minutes earlier. "Scruffy-looking," his mother would have said. And here before him was the next wall of glass, too foggy to see a reflection if it was a mirror or what lay beyond if it was a window.

Ben extended his hand again and touched the opaque glass with his fingertips, bowing his head. "I don't really know why I'm here," he admitted, unsure who or what he was addressing. "All I know is … I don't know what to do, or how to do it. And the fact that I'm still alive makes me think there must be something I'm supposed to do. If you could show me that much …"

When he looked up, he was startled to see two moving shapes in the fog. One was noticeably taller than the other, and they moved with different gaits. As they grew larger, ostensibly coming closer, he could have sworn he recognized those silhouettes.

"Dad?" he whispered, now pressing his entire hand against the mirror. "Mom?" He had not dared to ask for such a gift. He was on the verge of hope, but he remembered how Rey's hope had been dashed here, so he tried instead to be open to whatever it meant to show him.

The two of figures came toward him, but as they grew bigger and closer, they blurred together in his vision, and when the fog cleared, Ben saw his own reflection looking back at him.

Ben huffed. "I thought so." Maybe the cave was just toying with him, as it had with Rey.

But then again … maybe it was trying to make a point about his parents. They had seemed to meld into him … as though their coming together had formed him.

He understood, then, and admitted what he had long tried to deny. They lived in him, for better or worse. To his surprise, he found that he was no longer ashamed to admit the parts of himself that were like them. It was their memory that had given him the strength and courage to save Rey.

When he returned to his hut after this trip, he immediately felt Rey's presence. She was there for him as quickly as he had been there for her after she visited the cave a year earlier. She sat down on the floor while he made a fire to dry himself off. Then he sat near her, and the experience came pouring out of him. Rey listened quietly, her eyes never leaving him.

"It didn't show me what I wanted," Ben concluded, "but I guess it showed me something I needed to remember."

"How do you feel now?" Rey asked, concern in her eyes.

Ben was silent for a moment, reflecting. "Is it … is it wrong for me to feel proud of them—proud to be their son?"

"Of course not. You have every reason to be proud of them."

"After everything I did? I'm not sure I even deserve to call myself their son."

Rey's expression was gentle. "You're more like them than you know, Ben. I hope you come to see how much."

He remembered something else he had not shared. "I saw my mother a few days ago. I was able to talk to her."

"Oh." Rey looked pleasantly surprised, but then did not seem sure how to react. "How did that go?"

"It … it was hard, but it was something we needed. We were able to talk, and even touch." He paused. "Well, I don't know if we really did, but it felt real."

"I'm sure it was real," Rey said confidently. "I saw Luke after he died, and he could interact with the physical world. I'm sure Leia would have found a way."

"Yeah."

Rey asked, "Do you need anything? Food, clothes, tools? I can pass them to you."

Ben shook his head. "Nothing comes to mind. Thank you, though."

She nodded. "Anytime. Just let me know."

"I appreciate that."

Rey lifted her hand, but then hesitated. They had not tried to touch each other since confirming that their bond was still intact, and they were both aware that this situation was very much like the time they first touched across time and space—a moment that remained vivid and visceral in their memory. Seeing her hesitation, Ben offered his hand, and Rey took it tentatively. When they made contact, they both let out a sigh, apparently relieved to find they could still do this.

"Take care, Ben," Rey said softly, squeezing his hand.

"You too, Rey."

They let go of each other, and then they were alone again.

It was a while before Ben felt ready to try writing in the journal.

He had considered it several times, when he found himself unbearably bored. When he rifled through it, he found that some pages had prompts already written at the top of them, in several different hands.

Some were seemingly innocuous, albeit quite personal. Write about your happiest memory. Write about a time you felt at peace. Write about your most painful experience. That one made him snort—he doubted he could choose just one.

Others were discomfortingly specific: List every time you killed or caused the death of sentient beings. Include as many details about each person as you know. Identify what you hoped to gain from each death, and whether it worked.

Ben supposed this was the adult equivalent of being sent to his room or to a corner to think about his wrongdoing. Didn't students in normal schools sometimes have to do writing exercises as punishments? He did not appreciate being treated like a misbehaving child.

He finally set himself to the task after visiting the cave. He wanted to write about his parents, to record what he remembered of them, and to confess his responsibility for his family's fall from grace.

Acting as Supreme Leader had kept him busy enough to distract himself, most of the time, from the pain of his father's death and the knowledge that he was the cause of it. It had also been necessary to hide his emotions from Snoke and everyone in the First Order. Now Ben had nothing to distract him, and no one from whom he needed to hide his feelings; and he had the added weight of his mother's death, for which he had also been partly, if indirectly, responsible. Now, he needed to face his grief and guilt, so he could lay it to rest and move on.

Once Ben began writing, he found it difficult to stop. Even though no one was likely to ever read his words, he felt some professional pride that made him want to make it thorough.

He wrote about his childhood, remembering the good as well as the bad. He admitted how much he had craved the love and approval of his family—not only Han, but also Leia and Luke, and even Chewbacca and Lando. He listed all of his classmates and what he remembered about them—their appearances and personalities, the adventures and mishaps they shared over the years. He wrote most of all about Tai, the exceptionally kind young man who had reached out to him and encouraged him. Ben sorely regretted not accepting his overtures of friendship.

He could not contain his anger as he wrote about the night he left the temple. Yet, as he recalled those events, he found himself wondering if he had, in fact, caused the fire. Had Snoke or Palpatine been responsible for some of the destruction? Had they caused Luke to see what his nephew would become? It would have made sense, putting the youngest Skywalker on the path to the Dark Side, turning the family against each other.

Ben wrote about meeting the Knights of Ren, and being tracked by his few surviving classmates, and how he had accidentally killed Hennix, failed to save Tai, and deliberately killed Ren and Voe. What a mixture of shame and self-justification these memories evoked!

Then came his training under Snoke. Looking back, Ben could see what a pathetic fool he had been, believing what Snoke said about his harsh training methods. He had been so desperate for guidance, for approval, for knowledge. And the whole time, he had been haunted by the knowledge that his family still cared for him, as the tree on Dagobah revealed.

Finally, after days of writing about the more distant past, Ben came to the events that had led him to cross paths with Finn, Rey, Han, and Luke. It had started the night he tracked down Poe Dameron and Lor San Tekka on Jakku.

I only saw the pilot once, but it was enough to make me hate him. He was just as arrogant as my father, and when I looked into his mind, my mother was foremost in his thoughts. He looked up to her as much as I once had, but she actually mentored him. If his perception and memory were accurate, she had more faith in him than she ever had in me. I knew the Resistance was one of many projects that took my and my father's place in her life, but I had not expected to be replaced by an individual. Yet there he was, everything I could have been if I hadn't been born with a strong connection to the Force.

Ben acknowledged that he had personally killed Lor San Tekka, whom he had known as a boy, and ordered the deaths of all the villagers. He realized something eerie, almost frightening: if Rey had not made a life for herself alone, many miles away from the village, she might have ended up living there, and then her life would have ended along with theirs, on his orders. That thought just exacerbated the guilt he already felt for that night. It had been a cruel, unnecessary measure, more to frighten the captured pilot than anything else.

Perhaps that had been what pushed Finn over the edge. Ben remembered the stormtrooper's action—or lack of action—and how he had chosen to overlook it, something he later regretted.

I knew him as FN-2187. When he deserted us and joined the Resistance, I hated him because he reminded me of myself: a good fighter trying to hide the fact that he felt conflicted and afraid. Yet in spite of his fear, in spite of his conditioning, he seized the opportunity that I couldn't. And while I had no one but my grandfather's ghost (or rather, Palpatine's voice in my head), he seemed to find friends, or at least allies, wherever he turned: the pilot Poe Dameron, the droid BB-8, Rey, Han Solo, and eventually the entire Resistance. They did not seem to have a problem with the fact that he had been raised as a stormtrooper and was their rightful enemy.

All of these things reminded me that I still had a choice, when I was trying to convince myself that it was too late to change. I didn't know it then, but I envied his courage and his friendships. I wished I was in his place, flying in the Millennium Falcon with my father and Chewbacca and Rey.

It was impossible to avoid writing about Rey, since she had been so intertwined with all those subsequent events. It was difficult, though, because Ben was still trying to sort out his feelings regarding her, and he did not know who might read this in the future.

I had told Snoke I would not be seduced by the light. I thought my family would be my temptation, but really they were my conscience. I thought destroying them would end my chance of turning. But as soon as I killed one, a new one appeared. She did the same things as them, but I was trying to cast off the past, and to me, she represented the future.

Ben could not bring himself to write about the details of their relationship—how it had fluctuated over the course of just a few days, then remained stagnant for a year, and finally reached a climax a few weeks earlier. He did not want to relive the pain of her rejection or the horror of her death. And he did not want to admit how much he missed her now, after finally resolving the conflict between them.

He knew he should be grateful. She was alive, and that meant the world to him. And they still had their bond, so he could see her again. And yet, he mourned the future they might have had, if he had allied with her sooner, or if she had joined him in the First Order, or if she had stayed with him on Ahch-To. These were all pointless, unrealistic fantasies.

Instead of dwelling on what might have been or still could be, Ben focused on other parts of his narrative. He wrote about his attack on Crait, his confrontation with Luke, his discovery of Exegol, his last few duels with Rey, and his vision of his father. He did not feel comfortable writing about how he had helped Rey and saved her life—it would have made him sound like a hero, and that was the last thing he wanted to make himself out to be.

When he had more or less caught up on recording the past, the questions shifted to the topic of the present and the future.

What do you most desire?

That question stunned him. What was the intention behind it? What did he stand to learn from reflecting on his desires? What was the point of doing so, when hardly any of his desires could be satisfied?

Underneath the question was a further explanation: It does not need to be possible. That does not make it less real.

That made it a little easier. Ben's greatest impossible desire was to have his family back. Besides that, he wanted to know that he was where he belonged, doing what he was born to do.

Realistically, though, there was nothing that Ben could pursue. He had no enemy to destroy, no ally to recruit, no friend to save, no object to seek. He was, in fact, trying very hard not to want anything, because so little was available to him.

He could not write down his greatest and most attainable desire. After all, Rey and her friends might read this someday.

The truth was, he wanted Rey more than he had ever wanted anything. He had for a long time, though the nature of this desire had changed—at first he had not even known what it was. He had only known that she was important—both to him and to the galaxy—and that he wanted her to have some role in his life.

He had wanted her in so many different, selfish ways over the past year. Now … these days, he wanted her in every way one person could want another. Sometimes it felt like a child's longing for its parent—perhaps his subconscious thought of her as a mother figure, scolding and nurturing and defending her family. Sometimes it felt like a parent's urge to protect its child—that made more sense, considering Rey was younger and smaller than Ben. Sometimes it was a platonic longing for a companion, someone with whom he could talk and do activities and pass the time. And sometimes it was simply a man's desire for a relationship with a woman, someone who complemented him physically and emotionally.

Ben tried to put most of these desires aside and content himself with the ones that could reasonably be satisfied. Rey was his best friend and greatest ally. She cared for him and would continue to visit him. They were a dyad, linked for eternity. That should be enough.

Author's Note: The thing about desires not needing to be attainable is part of an acting exercise in which you try to identify a character's intention at certain moments.