They come to a planet without night or day. Six black figures. Snow whirls around them. In an icy cave far below, a child shivers, too frightened to cry. Air comes out in clouds as he breathes. For every blow, every scream, it is a sharp pain to his body, a deafening echo in his ears. Until, at last, it is over. Each pain weighs heavy on him.
"Ben!"
"Master!" He struggles to his feet, his boots slipping and sliding on the damp rock. He throws his arms around his master's waist and finally weeps. His Master pushes him back. Defeat is lining his face. He looks so old, Ben thinks with wonder. He had looked so young when first he had met him. His Master crouches down and picks up a rock. Ben steps back. Tears still stream down his face. He can't stop them however much he tries.
"Wh-what are you doing?"
"Stay still."
Master holds the plait between his finger and thumb so tightly that he can't move. He pleads, begs—the sharp stone scratches his skin. The thin plait lies in his Master's hand.
"Monster!" He launches at his Master, beating at his robes. Master grasps his thin wrists, pushing him back. He studies him. Master looks not old, but sad. It is the first time he has seen desolation like this. And he knows he must obey. He lets his hands drop to his sides, lowers his head.
Master's arms hold him, rock him. His beard scratches his cheek.
They return to the ship when Ben's tears dry, his cheeks frozen cold by the planet's endless snow, its endless night. It is through the endless night that they walk. They pass bodies. Master's grief has made him another creature, walking alongside, mourning the dead and bending down to close their eyelids, passing a Jedi prayer over them, whispering apologies.
They fly now to a city standing among the clouds. Master is gone. Ben waves his hands, absentmindedly creating spirits in the space. He continues throughout as they walk through corridors, sitting in meetings, throughout negotiations his father holds with a dark-skinned human who wears a cape.
He stops when he hears exactly what they're bargaining.
He drops his hands to his sides. The spirits fade.
The screams start when his father disappears into an orange sky filled with clouds.
The New Republic is no more. Just as the Empire was once no more, but there is no celebrating. There is no-one she can hold onto, who will pull at her and wink as he guides her into the dark red forest, kisses her below the stars and planets she has fought so hard to keep, the only time she feels a lightness that she knows can never be hers—
Sarhu splashes her face with water, throwing away the thoughts into the back of her mind. The thoughts of a woman long dead, destroyed. Stormtroopers talk about upgrades outside her chambers.
Her reflection finds her. She raises a hand (she's shaking, just as she had shook when Alderaan was destroyed, crumbled to dust in front of her eyes—but those aren't her memories, it is her pain, but it is not her grief) to touch the exposed portion of her face.
Oh, but she is old. Every bone within her aches.
Phasma enters her chambers without announcement, carrying her blaster, and Ren drops her hand. Turns to face her.
Phasma tilts her head, inquisitive behind the mask. A soldier's curiosity. No. The curiosity of a mercenary. Captain Phasma, after all, wears her mask voluntarily. She has found freedom in that mask. "Something wrong, Ren?"
"Do not question me. How far are we from Takodana?"
"The Stormtroopers will be there momentarily."
"Prepare my ship," Ren says, squaring her shoulders. She will not need her Knights for this battle. The Stormtroopers could take the place within a manner of minutes. Her Knights will train, and she will fight. She speaks her thoughts, and Phasma nods.
"Very well. Supreme Leader Snoke shall be informed." Phasma departs on her last word.
On her second shot, Rey shoots a man dead. Not the first injury she has struck, but the first life she has ever taken. Retaliating shots from the Stormtroopers, once the subjects of so much gossip on Jakku, force her to flee. She is coming… The wind whispers to her in that same strange voice, lilting and calm, a father's reassurance. Run, Rey. Run!
She takes another life, but doesn't mourn them.
"You have to keep going, stay out of sight," she says as she crouches down to BB-8, its loyalty causing it to chase her down when she felt she might splinter. Now, she feels whole, the voice guiding her and the Force running through her. She is coming… "I'll try to fight her off."
BB-8 beeps. She nods.
"I hope so too."
Let Finn be safe, she thinks as she runs. She knows he hasn't gone. She had felt a darkness when she'd seen him leave the cantina, a loneliness that she already knows too well. She cannot stop to imagine how she would feel if he left her for good. So she knows. He has stayed, he is fighting, and all she can do is hope beyond all hope that he remains safe.
A shudder thunders up her spine. She stumbles to a stop. Goosebumps on her skin. She's coming. She turns and hides, pressing herself against a moss-covered tree. Let Finn be safe, she thinks again. Her fingers sink into the damp of the tree trunk. She thinks it over and over like a prayer. Let Ben, let BB-8, let Chewbacca be safe.
Pulsating, edging closer. The feeling seems to come from everywhere. She aims wildly. The unknown sound, the birdsong, once so calming, alerts her to another presence.
A footstep. She aims again.
A hum. She aims.
She edges backward into a line of rocks, covered by moss, dark orange leaves scattering the brown muddy earth. Particles dance in faint white shafts of light above her, around her.
The red lightsaber from her vision steps out, followed by hollow black eyes, a masked nose and mouth. She fires, misses. The figure comes closer. She fires again. It is batted it away, sparks flying off the lightsaber. The figure, female, pushes forward.
Rey scrambles up a rock to a higher level of the forest, turning back to fire again and again. Surrounded by green trees, the female pushes on, every shot pushed to one side with every step and flick of her lightsaber.
Always coming.
Rey goes still. The blaster pistol in her hand, her finger wobbles against the trigger. Her whole body trembles against the Force, trying to fight the trap. The female figure has a half-amused look swimming in their dark eyes. Rey immediately knows she could do so much worse. Holding her there, trembling and fighting, every breath shuddering; it's a kindness.
"Tell me," the figure says with softness. Her voice is clear from behind the mask, and it takes Rey back to the visiting mothers warning their children on Jakku to stay safe, and the want she felt for one of her own, someone who cared that much about her safety. "Where is the droid?"
With effort, Rey pulls her mouth closed into a thin line. She breathes hard through her nose.
"Hm." The hum disappears as the female retracts her lightsaber. She attaches it to the belt at her hip. "Tell me where the droid is, and I shall let you go."
Rey struggles to shake her head. The female's eyes narrow. Her head tilts.
An invisible hand reaches inside Rey's mind. Sweat beads on her skin from the effort of running, from the effort of staying unnaturally fixed in this one spot. The fingers of this hand caress her, delving deep inside, sifting through. It's painless and that makes it all the worse.
"You've seen the map. The droid showed it to you." A strange tone enters the female's voice. One wistful. One Rey carried whenever Plutt held back a half portion and gave her a quarter to fill her belly with. Rey gasps an attempt at a protest. It dies before it can brush the tip of her tongue.
"Ma'am," a Stormtrooper says. "Resistance fighters have arrived. We need more troops."
"Give the order to pull out," the female commands. Without warning, Rey collapses onto the leaf-strewn earth, and the dark finds her.
His legs pound into the dirt, past ruins and flames. The blaster slams into his leg as he runs; he abandons it, throwing it to the ground, his eyes only on the shuttle. Rey, carried by two Stormtroopers, Sarhu Ren leading the way up the ramp. The ship's ramp begins to close. He runs faster, throwing an arm out. If he can just reach out, reach her and maybe he can pluck her from the hold of the Stormtroopers. His friend, his friend. He'd fought to keep her safe, Maz had told him to keep her and BB-8 safe—
"REY!" He screams her name, watching, helpless, as the shuttle lifts into the air, its rockets firing. Finn spins on his heels, his heart thumping as he runs over the aftermath of a battle that seemed to last forever. His first battle.
"They took her," he says, over and over, as he runs towards Ben. A ship, its white and blue paint chipped, flies low over his head. He ducks, still running towards Ben. "They took her. She's gone." They have to save her. He has to save her.
Ben nods, concern etched into his permanent frown.
"I know, I know," he says, half-distracted, watching the landing ship. The doors open, folding out into a ramp. Dressed in yellow and brown uniforms of jackets and caps, Resistance foot soldiers fan out into the battlefield.
Following them is an elderly man, outfitted with a white shirt and dark trousers and hard boots. He wears an aged leather jacket. Finn knows him straight away. The images the First Order had given them in training had been of him as a young man, with a smirk and brown hair. Bags under his eyes, hair grey, Han Solo's features are heavy with responsibility. The trademark smirk has become exactly that.
"Master Solo!" Finn jumps at the sound. A protocol droid, golden in colour except for his left arm, gives a cry of joy. "It is I, C-3PO! You probably don't recognise me because of the red arm."
Ben shuffles his feet and strokes his chin. He is used to this droid. "It suits you Cee."
"Why thank you Master Solo! It really has been too long! I—"
"You still givin' nicknames to everything?"
The protocol droid, C-3PO, stops at Han Solo's gruff question. Realising the tension, the droid bows his head towards his master.
"I'm so sorry Han – I mean, General." He gestures towards BB-8, ushering him away. "Come along BB-8, quickly."
Ben avoids looking straight at his father. General Solo's eyes shift towards Chewbacca. His features briefly lighten with a grin. The Wookiee and the general hug each other in greeting.
"Hey Chewie. It's been a long time."
Chewbacca roars in return. Whatever he says has both Ben and General Solo wincing at the same time.
"Yeah well," General Solo murmurs, patting Chewbacca's arm, "Had a lot of things to do. How'd the – uh, Rathar thing go?"
He directs that question to Chewbacca, but the Wookiee tilts his head towards Ben, grunting something before he heads inside the Resistance ship.
"We never got the money," Ben mumbles.
"She took her." Ben and General Solo look to Finn at the outburst. He squares his shoulders and steps forward. "Sarhu Ren, she took Rey."
General Solo looks furious for a moment, then stricken. "She was here?"
"Yeah. She was here alright." Ben gives a ghost of a smile, and his voice is too bright. "I saw Mom."
D'Qar could've been a planet of mountainous beauty, but now it is a planet of war. Poe leads Finn down to the headquarters. Hidden beneath the greenery of the planet, its stone walls, damp with old rain, buzz with activity and hushed conversation, carrying equipment from wars held before. He's seen this equipment, in books of history skewed to the side of the First Order. Inefficient, the books had claimed this equipment. Unreliable. Finn had wondered how the Empire could've been defeated if the Rebellion had used such primitive, outmoded equipment. (He'd asked his friends that question, and they'd blinked back at him, their minds without an answer.)
Poe approaches General Solo, surrounded by other pilots and other Resistance soldiers. Finn stands back, folding his hands in front of him. Some of the soldiers carry the general's age; others are as young as he is. They all carry the same responsibility.
"General Solo – sorry to interrupt," Poe says hurriedly, making General Solo turn, "this is Finn."
"Yeah, the one who saved you. Thanks kid," General Solo says, breaking through the circle of soldiers and crew. He pats Finn on the arm, focusing on him with heavy, clear eyes. His smirk twitches with a smile. "That was brave, what you did. Poe told me you ended up on Jakku."
Finn nods. "Yes sir, and thank you sir. But a friend of mine was taken prisoner."
"Ben told me about a girl." Han glances over to where Chewbacca sits, in the medbay, attended on by a middle-aged dark-haired nurse. "Chewie filled me in. We'll do what we can to get her back."
"Finn's familiar with the weapon that destroyed the Hosnian system," Poe says. "He worked on the base."
"Huh, a bit of good news." Han clasps a hand onto Finn's shoulder. "Like I said, we'll do everything we can to help, but first – you gotta let us know what you know, kid. I've got a bad feeling we're working with something far more dangerous than the Death Star."
"General," says a Resistance crew member some distance away. "We have recovered the map from the droid."
General Solo sighs, already moving off, his shoulders slouched. "This is not how I thought this day was going to go."
The sickly green light of the hologram looms over the interior of the base, its shape slowly rotating, somehow eager to let everyone know the unfortunate news. Ben remains in the shadows of the hologram. Occasional glances go towards him, as if people can't quite believe his return. (Not a surprise.)
He slips further back into the shadows.
Talking to Han, Cee isn't helping the situation. "I regret to inform you General, but this map recovered from BB-8 is only partially complete. And, even worse, it matches no charted system on record. We simply do not have enough information to locate Master Luke."
Han's face draws together into tighter lines.
"Makes sense. Luke's never made things easy." Fondness amidst the anger, showing in the flick of a smirk. That smirk disappears as rapidly as it appears. Han stomps away from the hologram, moving over to a console, moodily studying its information.
Ben risks a step forward. "At least it isn't a fake."
"Hm."
A gruff dismissal. Ben glances around the headquarters. Some people avoid his eye; others do him the courtesy of not looking up from their work in the first place. All of them carry tension in their bodies, shoulders squaring, ready to witness another fight.
Ben sighs, lowering his head. Over to his left, there's a small pile of debris, gathering dirt and dust, and under the pile of equipment that's finally given in, flickering and beeping and dying, there's unmoved shards of glass that once carried patterns of stars, maps of galaxies.
His eyes find his hands. The scars, once red gashes that spilled blood, are nothing but little nicks now. They could've been picked up from anywhere.
He tries again.
"I know I haven't been – helpful, in the past."
"You sure have a way of understating things," Han remarks. He keeps studying the console. Ben can't find it in himself to argue. All he can do is sigh and listen to everything around him until he's lost in it. Finn, outlining the plans of the base to Poe and the other pilots. Cee, telling BB-8 how R2-D2's probably never going to turn back on. Cee tells that damn story to anyone, anything, he encounters. Maybe it's a droid thing. Ben's never thought to check.
He's pulled out of it by a mention of his name. He looks up. Han's staring straight at him. Ben cuts him off before another argument can start.
"She's gone. Nothing can bring her back."
The same stricken look hits Han. Ben shrugs in return.
A crew member pops up at Han's side, ready with information. He gives a short bow. "General, the reconnaissance report is ready."
Han nods, once more the general, once more the commander, and turns away. People gather around the table. Finn stands opposite Han, his dark eyes jittering from face to face. Anxious for this briefing to already be over. The kid's got a plan, maybe half a plan, Ben can see that, and he wants to implement it. Han carries the same anxiety as Finn, though it's weighed down by responsibility, as everything is. Ben hunches over the table, avoiding Han's eye. Poe, ready to speak, looks grim, and Ben already suspects why. Poe Dameron doesn't do well at hiding his feelings.
"This is what our reconnaissance team brought back," he begins with a heavy tone. Down through people's legs, Ben sees BB-8 bump his master's leg in encouragement. Poe brings up a hologram of a planet carved into a weapon. A canon, larger than any Ben has seen on any other planet, stands out from its surface, a reminder of its new purpose. "Starkiller Base," he announces.
"It's another Death Star!" Major Ematt cries. Poe shakes his head.
"I wish it was." He presses a button and the two are side by side. Starkiller Base dwarfs the Death Star, a legend to some and a memory to others. Ematt looks like he's about to pass out. Snap, another pilot, rubs his beard and glances to Poe. Poe is lost for something to say.
"We're not sure how to describe a weapon of this scale," Snap says, coming to Poe's rescue. "They've somehow created a hyper lightspeed weapon built within the planet itself."
Where Ematt looks haunted, Admiral Ackbar has clear eyes as he looks upon the two rotating holograms. Sensing the mood in the room, Poe presses a control. The Death Star disappears and Starkiller Base takes precedence.
"How is it possible to power a weapon of this size?" asks Ackbar, still studying the hologram.
"It uses the power of the sun," Finn answers, his eyes settled now on the hologram of Starkiller Base. "As the weapon is charged, the sun is drained until it disappears."
An officer appears in the crowd, discreetly pushing past bodies until he reaches Han. He presses a datacard into Han's already outstretched palm. Han's face confirms the feeling stirring in Ben's gut.
"The First Order's charging the weapon again," Han announces. He scans the already tense faces. His attention brushes over Ben, not lingering. Not a surprise. "Our system's the next target."
Murmurs spring up around the room. Cee comments the obvious: without the Republic fleet they're doomed. A sharp, hard sensation of alarm, of warning, pushes against Ben's body. He brushes it to one side. They don't need the Force; they need a damn strategy.
"We could just blow it up."
Bacca, heading out of the medbay with the nurse's arm wrapped around his (charmer), lifts his head. All eyes fall on Ben like he's suddenly grown another head, or shapeshifted into a Clawdite.
"Ben's right." Everyone is surprised to hear Han's words. Ben blinks. Han looks over the crowd and gives a shrug. "There's always a way to do that."
Discussion pops up about the possibility of thermal oscillators; Finn lights up. Maybe his half-plan is forming into a full one. Ben leans forward, keeping an eye on the kid as he moves towards Poe, taking over the controls. The hologram moves as Finn speaks, zooming in on a black hexagonal structure.
"There it is, right here." He flicks a switch, highlighting the hexagonal structure. "Precinct 47."
Admiral Statura's eyes glance over the highlighted structure. He frowns, thoughtful. "If we can destroy that oscillator… it might destabilise the core and cripple the weapon."
"Maybe the planet," Ematt warns, still with that haunted look.
"We'll go in there and we'll hit that oscillator with everything we've got," Poe declares, a smile growing at the corner of his mouth. The predilection for plans seems to be catching.
Ackbar shakes his head. "They have defensive shields that our ships cannot penetrate."
"We'll disable them," Ben finds himself saying. Even he's infected. Maz's crowing echoes in his head. He swallows a smile and a shake of his head, and glances towards Finn. "You know the base, right?"
Finn, the kid that he really should've taken to Ponemah Terminal pauses, then nods. "I can do it. I can disable the shields, but I have to be there. On the planet."
The mood in the room has changed now at this new information. The blank faces fill with hope and the murmurs turn excited. Poe presses a control and the hologram of Starkiller Base disappears.
"So," he says, "we disable the shields, take out the oscillator and we blow up their big gun. All right. Let's go!"
The crowd disperses, the pilots heading up the stairs out to the surface. Han remains at the console, staring into the space where the Starkiller Base hologram hovered above the crew and soldiers. The responsibility has returned, settled back into him as familiar to Ben as the pilot seat in the Falcon, as familiar as the Falcon itself; its faults and foibles, the wires that would short circuit and require crash landings and a day of repair on a strange planet.
"It's my fault. I know it's my fault." He keeps his tone clinical, flat. Han still flinches. He folds his arms across his chest, digging his heel into the ground. Ben shrugs, shuffling to stand beside his father. His tone softens, despite himself. "If it hadn't been—"
"I insisted we stop. You shouldn't have been on the Falcon in the first place." Han lifts his head, turning his attention towards his son. His eyes are soft for the first time. They flick down to Ben's knuckles, scuffed and scarred. Among the scars, there are marks of grease on his hands, scuffing the tips of his fingers.
"There was no other way out," Han says, quiet. "You'd have been dead otherwise, kid."
Han twists his body away from the map table, walking away. Ben tucks away a smile. Kid. It's been a while since he heard that.
A weight is at both of her wrists. She's bound. Her ankles too. She blinks, her vision blurred. She blinks again, tilting up her head. Her whole body is at an angle, restrained in a metal rig. At her side, the woman stares at her, unblinking and brown eyes cool. The cell doors close with a hiss.
"Welcome aboard," the woman says. She carries the same wistful tone Rey caught in the forest. The woman steps closer.
"Where are the others?" Rey blurts. The woman's eyes change with a spark of something. Rey squeezes her eyes shut.
In the long silence, a fat tear rolls down her cheek. If the woman didn't know of them before, Rey has confirmed their existence. For the First Order, for this woman, that is enough.
"I have no idea," the woman says coolly. "Now, tell me about the droid."
Rey opens her eyes, finding the woman again, who is patient in the wait for an answer. A strange, fatalistic bravery comes over her. It's the bravery of the heroes in the stories she's heard on Jakku.
"It's a BB unit," she says before she loses nerve, "with a selenium drive and a thermal hyperscan vindicator—"
"It's carrying a section of a navigational chart – the last piece of a map recovered from the archives of the Empire." The woman's tone is flat now, her eyes losing whatever shine they had. "Tell me about the droid," she repeats.
Rey draws back her head, settling it back against the metal rig, a line of curved metal tucked against the nape of her neck. A tingling sensation gathers up her spine. That painless presence, a hand caressing her mind, accessing her thoughts, comes again. Rey shakes her head.
"I'm not telling you anything."
The woman doesn't reply. The presence in her head deepens. A sting, becoming a throb, sits at the back of her skull. The throb becomes a pulse. Her fingers twitch as she pushes back, her wrists rubbing on the metal restraints. The pulse edges further and further, a desert wind catching at the hem of a cloak.
A white hot heat crawls over her skin now, a mixture of fear and confusion—desperation—that is colourless, numb and alive at the same time, feeling everything and nothing.
The woman before her is Sarhu Ren. Images flash before her, smudges of another event, rain on glass with white light on a battlefield, looking down at red blades that slash, bodies that fall. The desperation rears up, quelled by a hand on her shoulder. What's happening is right. A sacrifice, for the future. It will be a sacrifice made right. Fury mixes in with grief, sinking low into her stomach. A harsh, mechanical breath echoes over the scene.
"You're afraid," Rey snarls, images gone and Sarhu Ren standing before her, a frown in the previously passive eyes. "That you'll always be in his shadow. Aren't you?"
The presence in her head disappears. Ren's fists clench at her side. Her eyes spark, widen, but fall back into the passive warmth once more. She leaves.
Rey pants, sinking back against the rig. The Force.
Snoke greets her with a nod, his hologram form flickering blue at the tips of his fingers and the hems of his robes. Sarhu Ren bows at the knee and stands, folding her hands before her.
"Supreme Leader," she says shortly. He gives a greeting in reply, a single slow incline of his head.
"Sarhu Ren. What news of our prisoner?"
"Of little value," Sarhu says. "She has not been with the Resistance long. They won't bargain for her."
"Then let her go," Snoke replies, with a wave of his hand. "The Resistance will be destroyed soon enough. Hux has begun charging the weapon."
"Yes, Supreme Leader." She ignores the flip in her stomach, the tremble of her fingers. She feels tendrils sinking into her mind, Snoke's curiosity searching. She closes doors before he can find them, staring up at him. She pulls her mask from her chin. "The girl is strong with the Force. Untrained, but that can be corrected."
Snoke narrows his eyes. "Another follower?" he asks, half amused. His eyes glaze over with the familiar calculating manner, plans forming inside his head. The tendrils of his curiosity withdraw from her mind. She keeps the doors closed. Snoke glances over the empty amphitheatre. "If the droid is already in the hands of the Resistance… and if her powers are great as you claim, Sarhu Ren… then bring her to me."
Nodding, she turns. She walks the corridors of Starkiller Base, approaching the girl's cell. The Stormtrooper on guard is still, hands behind his back. She stops, glancing over them. The cell door is open.
"Tell me where the girl is."
"I will remove these restraints, and leave this cell with the door open," replies the Stormtrooper. He pauses. "And I'll drop my weapon."
The remnants of a mind trick. The girl won't know she's likely turned this trooper's brain into sludge, with only one command carved into it. The damage of raw, untapped power. Sarhu thinks back to Hux, pleading for approval from Snoke through military plans. The girl is young, like him, but she holds a power far more permanent than cannons and hollowed-out husks of planets. Sarhu turns on her heel and hurries down the corridor.
If Maz could see him now. Outside, officers and engineers and pilots hurry from station to station, readying for this battle. Maz would sit in the co-pilot's seat and swing her legs and crow about how she'd been right all along. Bacca roars a greeting to someone entering the Falcon; Ben pauses, his fingers hovering on the switches. He twists in his seat. Han's frame fills the entrance of the cockpit, a smile on his face at the sight of the ship.
He points to the co-pilot seat.
Oddly, like he's forgotten how his limbs work, he stands. Han eases past him and settles into the pilot seat, flicking switches and adjusting overhead dials. Ben sinks into the co-pilot seat, cocking his head at Han.
"Thought I'd stretch my legs. See the stars," Han grins, glancing back. "Hey Chewie – don't mind taking a back seat for this, do you?"
A roar comes from somewhere in the belly of the ship, then heavy footsteps down the ship's ramp.
"What?" Han asks Ben, turning to face D'Qar's sunlight. His grin falls as the Falcon whirs and dies. Ben slams his hand on the compressor.
"I don't like it either," he mutters. Han grumbles. The Falcon rises into the air.
Time for battle.
Ben really hopes the kid knows what he's doing.
Kill him. Be merciful, whispers the voice. Tendrils crawling over her mind, into the pulse of her body. She remembers seeing Han, Ben, lips split, ribs broken, clothes torn. The leader, a blaster bolt to his leg, helplessly clutches spilling blood with his fingers, the limb splayed oddly on the rocky ground.
"There'll be no turning back—" the leader pants. "We will never stop, Organa. Never."
He is dying, the voice insists, tendrils sinking deeper. She closes her eyes. This man, this enemy of the New Republic, has to be brought to justice. He has to face trial. Ben's dark eyes had cried before her, words on his mouth. Mama, he'd sobbed, dragged back across the rocky ground. Give him mercy, comes the voice again. Darkness edges on her heart as the blaster sits heavy in her palm, aimed at the leader's head. Give… him… mercy.
"I gave him mercy," she will say soon enough, a year from now, when she can see no way out, when tears streak her face and her mind is nothing but fear. She will lift her head, and stare up at curiously amused eyes. The words will stick in her throat, but there will be time later to hate what she has done, to fear what she has become. It will be a time when it is either this, or everything. "Now you must give me something in return."