Chapter VII: The Wellspring
Deron Helltze truly hated Jedi.
He didn't care if they were virtually extinct, or if his experience of Jedi was confined to one man and the sour stories of angry little workers - Deron hated the Jedi Order. His own suffering was because of them. He suffered as a boy and suffered as a man when his daughter had been wrenched away by them.
The early years of Deron's life had been spent on his homeworld of Corellia, a festering planet of rot and disease. Everyday he had walked from the cramped, rat-infested hovel he called a home, through the sterile streets and into the large warehouse where Deron was prodded and slapped into working harder.
That was something he's learnt early on: that you could always work harder. Your bones could crack, blood could spill and there was still effort that could be put into assembling the weapons the empire demanded.
The factory where Deron worked had been built cheaply and the stench of oil and sweat swarmed around him and his co-workers relentlessly. Stormtroopers prowled up and down the conveyor belts, watching and waiting for a weakling to beat.
But Deron had stomached it, because there wasn't a better option. He knew he was lucky to be working and earning a fee, miniscule as it was, when so many turned to crime to avoid ending up dead in the gutter. It didn't mean he had to be grateful about it though.
His fellow labourers, ranging from old and grizzled to young and bitter, passed the time with death sticks and stories. Usually they were tales of their personal hardships, each one grizzlier than the last. But once in a while, talk of the old times would crop up and it was to those that Deron had listened to most intently.
One aged and battered man had grumbled to anyone who listened. "Galaxy wasn't always like this. There was a time when the brutes in white weren't roaming our streets and the empire was a republic." He sneered at that. "The Republic. Corrupt and useless, but damn better than what we got now."
"Wasn't the Republic's fault though," another old man had scoffed, this one bold and soot coating his face. "It was the wizards on Coruscant. The ones who snatched babies from their cribs and ignored kark-holes like ours. Jedi."
"Jedi?" a young Deron had whispered, his mind instantly imagining horned demons in dark cloaks and evil laughter.
The other man had nodded at Deron and scowled. "It was the Jedi who helped the emperor to rise. They say the Jedi had been bitter about the war they had just fought and tried to take over the Senate. The emperor was in league with them, but betrayed them and exterminated them."
"A few remained," the bold man had replied, "one even became the emperor's right-hand man."
His voice lowered to a hush. "Darth Vader."
The first man looked around nervously, as if the mysterious Darth Vader would appear right there and slaughter them for daring to utter his name. The naked fear on his face sent a shiver down Deron's spine.
"Mark my words boy," the bold man had said, "it's better without the Jedi, but never forget that the evil of the empire spawned from them."
Deron took the words to heart. He had been young, looking for someone, anyone, to blame for the awfulness of his life, and so continued to listen to the stories and later on joined in on the grumblings, spreading the stories himself until Deron believed them whole-heartedly.
The empire began crumbling when the Death Star was destroyed and in that same year, Deron was able to scrape enough credits together to book passage off-world. He made his way to Naboo, to the capital of Theed City, where he found work as a labourer, an honest living that paid well enough.
It was on Naboo where Deron met Jamilla one evening after work and two years later they were married. Barely a month after the wedding had gone by when the empire finally, officially collapsed.
The victory of the Rebel Alliance and New Republic had filled Deron with joy. He had been outside, sipping on his ale, when Jamilla approached him. She had been smiling softly, her beautiful hazel eyes sparking. Tenderly, Jamilla had reached out to link their hands. "I have wonderful news," and had rested her other hand on her belly.
If Deron had been happy at the empire's end, it was nothing compared to what he felt at the birth of his daughter. He would never forget looking down at his wife, cradling their new, tiny bundle in her arms. Deron decided then and there that Nienor, barely a minute old, was the most beautiful person in the galaxy.
Nienor grew into a curious girl, always laughing and always climbing. Sometimes, to Jamilla's amusement, Deron had tried climbing trees after her. Nienor had dissolved into snorts when he had landed on his ass once.
He had been slow to realise the truth behind his daughter's natural abilities.
Once evening, Deron had poured himself a cup of Jawa juice and walked into the living room. A four-year-old Nienor had been sitting cross-legged on the floor with her own mug of milk. Droplets of the drink were levitating like snowflakes suspended in the air. Deron only had to glance at Nienor's outstretched hands. He had gripped his cup so hard that it had shattered.
Deron repeatedly tried dissuading Nienor from using the Force. Every time she would swear not to, and usually would have broken her promise within an hour. Jamilla had seen little harm in it, but a slow terror began to seize Deron as the years went by. The fear of what her abilities might mean for his daughter.
And then he came.
The worst part of that day had been the end, when Deron and Jamilla had waved their daughter away, to be trained by Luke Skywalker - a Jedi. Deron had shouted and pleaded, so much that he was later ashamed of the fit of anger that had overtaken him that day. So much so that he had put a brave face on and watched Nienor walk away with a smile.
He cried himself to sleep that night.
The years passed and Deron felt his home dim without Nienor's light. He and Jamilla still regularly talked with her, still got to see Nienor grow into a young woman, but Deron couldn't shake the feeling he was squinting at his daughter through dirty glass. Then the transmissions stopped altogether. Deron feared the worst.
Deron now stood outside, leaning against his front door's archway, once again sipping on ale. It was a beautiful night, and the gold and green fireworks dancing in the sky made it all the more pretty. Celebrations for the fall of the First Order. Never mind that the last remnants of the New Republic had collapsed as well.
He took another swig. The broadcast had come in a few hours ago. The Exegol Extinction Event was what the outlets had taken to calling it. Millions of deaths and destruction of the largest remaining military forces in the galaxy. A bloodbath hardly worthy of fireworks, but people were always looking for something.
Deron was considering going for a walk when there was a tap on his shoulder - Jamilla. Slight age lines now caressed her lovely face, but the paleness she had turned made Deron instantly alert.
"What is it?" he asked.
Jamilla's mouth struggled to form words, so she instead stepped back inside and pointed at the holo-transmitter. It was activated. Deron almost fainted at who flickered into view.
"It's a recorded message," Jamilla whispered as Deron half-ran towards it. The miniature woman standing atop the transmitter was horrifically scarred - two twin slash marks noticeable were etched onto her cheek - and missing her right hand. But the blond hair, the gorgeous hazel eyes she shared with her mother… Shakily, Deron slammed the play button.
Nienor shimmered into life. "Mama, Papa." A weak attempt at a smile. "Hi! It's been a long time. As you can probably see, I am alive." She indicated her face using the remains of her right arm. "Not all in one piece, but very much still breathing." Deron's eyes stung.
"To be honest, I wasn't sure if I was even going to send you this, and maybe it makes me a coward for doing a recorded message rather than a live call. But I think this way is easier, for me and you. A lot has changed for me in the last few years, and for a long time I didn't want you to know what had happened to me, what I've done. Why else have I refused to talk with you - my loving parents who would have let me go down this path. Maybe this is something like a confession for me. Oh, who am I kidding? This is definitely a confession."
Deron found he couldn't move. Nienor shifted her posture and stared at her feet. Like looking into her parents' eyes would hurt.
"Luke Skywalker took me to train with his other Jedi pupils. I was taught to harness the Force and found I was particularly useful at manipulating the environment. My lightsaber skills were shoddy at best, but I was happy. Truly happy. I had friends and a best friend: Ben Solo. He was Luke's nephew and helped me master the Force. He was my closest companion and, yes, I loved him - just as he loved me. Jedi aren't supposed to love, to form attachments you see so we had to remain secret. I'm rambling now.
"I couldn't tell you when things started to go bad. Maybe we were always on a collision course and I just stuck my head in the sand. Via his dreams, Ben began to be seduced by the First Order Supreme Leader Snoke. By the time I realised the change, things were too far gone. The night before… everything happened… he finally told me, I swore I would help him in the morning. I didn't know how, but I knew I would fight to save Ben. I was a fool.
"That night I went to bed. The weather was calm, but my worry for Ben kept me tossing and turning. Eventually I fell asleep. There were no pleasant dreams that night, nor any after. It's hard to explain, but I found myself wounding on an island, one floating in a warm orange sky. Flowers and vines swirled around me and the light that shone was blinding. The light morphed and took form - five forms. Five near-identical, slender fingers in black, all of whom differed by the expression on their faces. The smiling one, apparently the leader, drifted down to me. My body seemed to have frozen and she cupped my face.
"I'll never forget how her voice echoed, or how I shook when she said "Nienor Helltze". Tendrils of light were on her fingers, and they slithered into my ears. The things they showed me… Pictures of death and destruction, a vision of what the galaxy had suffered under the Jedi, Sith, Rebellion, Empire, Republic and what it would with the Resistance and First Order. It was horrible. "It's time it all ended," she continued, "the Force is split over the light and the dark. No more. By the Whills' decree, it must go." The images ended and I found I could use my mouth. I demanded to know who they were and what was going on.
"They laughed. All of them laughed. They said they were the Force Priestesses and, as for what was going on… It was just like they said, that the so-called "Whills" had decided that, in order for the Force to be balanced, once and for-all, both sides had to be extinguished. And I was their vessel to do so.
"I woke-up before I had the chance to object. I wanted to tell myself it was a dream, that none of it was real and everything would be okay. But I smelled smoke. Whether through his rage or an accident, Ben had burnt down the Jedi temple. I found him kneeling outside, tears streaking his haunted face. My legs gave out in my horror and I just stared at the flaming ruin. Moments later, I heard the priestess' voice again. She told me again what I had to do, or else endless slaughter - just like what had happened here - would follow. I don't know if it was the terror at what Ben had done, or just pure hopelessness, but iIn that moment of despair, I agreed.
"Ben joined the First Order and, surprise, became Kylo Ren. The priestess' whispers guided me over the next few years and I followed suit. I took on the identity of Arielle Ren and learned the ways of the dark side. I learned the ways of the dark side, I learned what the priestesses taught me, I learned how to manipulate, use and kill people: I learned to become a monster. I could lie and say I hated every moment of it, but I guess the crushing influence of two dark masters bent something within me. Sometimes I even enjoyed it.
"Almost a year ago now - I'm sure you heard about the First Order succession crisis - but it was Kylo who killed the supreme leader and seized the throne. He elevated me to his right-hand and I personally helped to see the First Order expansion. Go on, hate me all you want for that - it gets worse. Emperor Palaptine's broadcast? That's where the priestesses plan fell into line. An opportunity served up on a silver platter for the end of the Jedi and Sith. I killed the last Jedi, a young woman called Rey. I hated myself for that. I murdered Kylo, my best friend, and almost killed myself for that.
"Rey had gone down swinging, taking my hand with her, but it wasn't over. Palpatine was the final piece that had to go. So I flew to Exegol and I'm sure you know where this is going. The Exegol Extinction Event is what the media is calling it, when a First Order superlaser malfunctioned, blew up and took millions with it. I made it malfunction.
"It's still sinking in, that I committed genocide. Palpatine's dead too you know, and the priestesses have been whispering their congratulations. That I succeeded and saved the galaxy. Balance has been restored to the Force after millennials and there is a chance for the galaxy to rebuild, to usher in a new era without the Jedi or Sith. Not that I'm going to see it.
"Papa, Mama; don't expect to see me again. Chances are that I'll be long-dead by the time you watch this message. I am sorry, truly sorry. For leaving you and for all the blood on my hand. You always warned me, Papa, of what had happened to the Jedi of old, of the path of destruction they took. I never listened and I wish I had. In another life, maybe I wouldn't have hid my abilities and grown up on Naboo. A normal life with loving people, not caring one bit that the galaxy burned around me.
"I love you two and always will, and that's why I think I'm doing this as a recording. Because if I saw the disappointment, shock and grief on your faces… I'm sorry and I love you and hope you live happy, long lives in the new galaxy I carved out for you. Remember me as the girl I was rather than the monster I am. Goodbye."
The message faded.
Jamilla let loose all the tears she had been holding in. Deron fell to his knees, covering his face with his palms.
The fireworks outside continued.
It was just like it had been in her dream.
Warm amber skies with twisting beams of lights shooting through the skies. Floating in the heavens were countless islands filled with lush jungles, defying any laws of science. Magnificent, beautiful, sacred. Even in her dreams, the Force had been so strong here. Strong enough to guide Arielle's way back.
She adjusted the controls to her TIE glimmer, and flew towards the largest island on pure instinct. The priestesses had been mostly silent on her journey from Exegol, instead nudging Arielle in the right direction. A summon to the centre of the galaxy, to the Wellspring of Life.
The island she had been guided to was the biggest in a field of numerous smaller ones. Tall trees spawned in every inch, save for one small clearing on the outskirts where Arielle landed. She climbed out of the cockpit and caught the sight of her reflection in a nearby pond.
Ragged, haunted and in need of a good bath was how Arielle now appeared. Her blond hair had been stained with dirt until muck seemed to be part of it. New scars marred her neck and there was a general haggardness to her. Bitterly, Arielle supposed she could be mistaken for a ghost. She ran a self-conscious hand through her hair.
Her right hand actually. Arielle had made a quick pit-stop on Coruscant before travelling to the Wellspring. After gorging herself on all the food she could afford, Arielle had found a back-end prosthetic limb shop, and had a new mechanical hand installed. Unlike the high-quality, near-organic prosthetics people had become accustomed to, the most Arielle had been able to afford was a cheap model with most of the wiring exposed. But it worked and any aesthetic issues were covered up by a black leather glove.
Arielle allowed herself one more look at her reflection, one more moment of pity, and then stomped into the trees. The jungle was beautiful, trees of all different shades of brown and leaves that shone. It was a bewitching place, one that Arielle believed she would never be allowed to leave.
She turned a corner and there, as he promised, was the Force ghost of Luke Skywalker. Grief and pity and disappointment were etched into his face.
Arielle didn't stop walking. "I was hoping for Kylo."
Luke shrugged. "He had no training to retain his identity within the Force. It was a combination of his bloodline and the unbreakable mental tether he had built with you that allowed the Force Priestesses to send him back temporarily, to finish the Skywalker family's task."
Well, that explains that. Arielle stopped when she drew level with Luke. She had half a mind to sneer, to rub in what she had done. But instead, with her voice cracking slightly, Arielle asked, "did he… did he forgive me?"
Luke's expression softened. "You already know the answer to that."
Arielle turned her head away. Kylo - Ben - may have returned on Exegol and ensured the destruction of the Sith. A redemption of sorts for the evils he had committed. He had smiled, winked and saved her. Yet, in the fading place where their mental link had been, Arielle knew, in her heart, that he couldn't have forgiven her. He understood why she had done what she had, pitied her for it. Had helped make sure she hadn't fallen apart.
But it didn't hide the fact that Arielle had killed Rey.
Rey, whom Kylo had loved.
Someone who was good, kind and brave in every danger that came her way. A source of light no darkness could fully dull, and Arielle had snapped her neck.
"What it worth it?" Luke asked, a question edged with a grim tone.
"No."
"That's the problem with war. Luke's voice turned absent-mindedly. "Anyone who ever says they've won is either lying or deluding themselves. In war, everyone is the loser."
He clasped her shoulder. "Farewell, little one. They're waiting for you up ahead."
The ghost faded and Arielle rubbed her eyes. She tugged back a strand of filth-ridden hair and walked forwards.
Sure enough, in a brightly lit glade, the five Force Priestesses were hovering. Their faces, either happy, sad, confusion, calm and anger, were all fixed on Arielle. She approached them and knelt.
The lead one waved her hands, her smile blooming. "You have done the Whills a great service Arielle."
"So you say."
"So we say," the priestess giggled, "yet, despite our victory, you seem... regretful."
"She despairs," the sad-faced priestess gasped, "poor child!"
"I despair because everyone I love is dead," Arielle snapped, "because my parents by now know I'm a monster and millions have been slaughtered because of me!"
The priestess with rage for a face snarled at her. "We should kill you for your lack of respect!"
But the calm priestess raised a hand. "It had already been decided. The girl will live out the rest of her days here, at peace from the rest of the galaxy."
The Force Priestesses rose higher and one by one vanished in a puff of white light, until only the sadness-priestess remained. She glanced down at Arielle. A look of sorrow, maybe even regret.
"Until next time." A hand was raised in parting and then she too vanished.
Arielle rose and examined her new eternity. Could be worse she mused and then her stomach growled. Stretching out her arms, Arielle went to explore, wondering what fruit grew here. If any at all.
Author's Notes:
Done! Thank you to everyone whose actually read to the end. Hope you all have a wonderful day.