Chapter 10: Demons

"And I tried to hold these secrets inside me

My mind's like a deadly disease."

-Control, Halsey

25 ABY

The strip of cloth over Ben's eyes was scratchy, and the branch beneath his feet swayed with his weight. He could feel the warm afternoon sunlight cutting slantwise through the thick foliage above him, could smell the sharp pungency of cracked stems and bleeding tree sap, and could hear the distinctive low-pitched call of a whisper bird skimming the canopy. The blindfold blocked out all light, but the act of centering himself in the Force and reaching out was so second-nature that he almost didn't miss his eyesight.

He crept forward with care, placing each foot directly in front of the last as the tree limb narrowed. Heights had never bothered him, but he knew that a single misstep would send him plunging to the forest floor nearly a hundred feet below. Skywalker had strung up safety nets under the majority of the practice grounds, but Ben's circuitous route had long since led him away from the rest of the padawans.

The pop of a snapping twig cut through the silence and Ben froze, blindly scanning his surroundings. Twenty feet ahead the branch he balanced on tapered into nothing. A vast empty space followed—perhaps another thirty feet—before the limbs of the adjoining tree filled up the void, their leaves buzzing as the Force spun through them like gossamer strands. There was a flicker in the corner of his mind, like soft moth wings, there one moment and then gone the next. Nothing else seemed amiss. Probably Snoke checking in, he rationalized, returning his attention to the maze of foliage before him. It was a long jump, to be sure, but not impossible for someone with Ben's Jedi reflexes. And ahead was his goal—a scrap of blue silk fluttering on the breeze, trapped in the joint of two stems.

Still moving carefully, he crept forward. The bark beneath his feet was smooth, and the wood pliant. To maintain his balance, he walked with arms outstretched and sought to control his breathing. His pulse was a steady thump. He crouched, ignoring the twist and roll of the branch beneath him. As the limb bobbed upwards he used its momentum to fuel his push-off, executing a perfect flip that took him directly towards—

Brightness flashed as something small and compact struck him in the ribs, tumbling him sideways. He twisted in the air like a cat desperate to land on its feet. The ground was rushing up towards him in a blur; he could feel leaves and twigs clawing through his shirt as he sought for a way to slow his descent. Suddenly—with a force that knocked all of the wind from his lungs—he landed face down on a sturdy limb.

"Ow," he huffed, clawing the blindfold away and attempting to flip over. He was stopped by the presence of a weight pressing between his shoulder blades.

"Rey," he admonished. "Off."

"You didn't see me that time," she crowed happily, crawling off of him and pulling off her own blind fold. "Admit it—you were surprised."

Ben snorted and rolled his eyes. "Of course I wasn't—"

"Nuh uh," Rey interrupted, her hazel eyes glittering as she grinned up at him. "You thought you had it—you didn't know I was there."

Ben chewed the inside of his cheek and scrubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Look—"

"What happened?" Nareek called, skipping across nearly forty feet of empty space to land catlike on the branch beside them. He too, peeled back his blind fold.

"Ben tried to sneak around the back and Rey totally wrecked him," Kora answered primly, landing beside Rey and patting her fondly on the shoulder. "That's our girl."

Rey beamed up at her before returning her attention to Ben, searching for his approval.

Ben glared back at her for a long moment before he finally scoffed and dropped his gaze. "Whatever, kid." He could practically feel the happiness radiating off of her as the other padawans began to gather, clearly sensing the end of the training session. "Next time I'll be on defense, and we'll see if you get anywhere near the flag."

"Like last time?" Rey inquired cheekily, bumping her shoulder against his hip casually. She had undergone a growth spurt in the year and a half since she'd arrived at the temple, but Ben still found himself shocked at times by her diminutive stature. He assumed it was an artefact of her malnourished childhood, a thought that brought a dark scowl to his face.

"Not like last time. I still think you cheated."

"I still think you're a sore loser," Rey informed him.

"Whatever."

Skywalker's arrival put an end to the good-natured ribbing, and the cohorts moved in different directions—Rey's group to a lesson on intergalactic politics, the middlings to a session of saber training under Serai, and the rest left to their own devices.

Ben moved briskly towards his quarters, where a thick book on the endemic species of Naboo awaited him, along with an unfinished calligraphy project that he itched to get his hands on.

What's your hurry? a silky voice wove through his mind.

To his credit, Ben was by now so practiced at hiding his feelings that he didn't even panic. He just tucked the fond memory of his playful competition with Rey into the increasingly large space that she occupied in his mind, pushed it deep, deep down, and greeted his oldest companion.

Not often that Skywalker gives us time to ourselves, he confessed. The old man is a slave driver.

He does have the annoying habit of keeping you occupied with utter nonsense, Snoke conceded, his low drawl filled with disdain even inside Ben's head. It's a wonder you accomplish anything useful. Did you get those communications I asked you for?

Ben almost winced externally, but stopped himself at the last minute. No, master. He had learned that Snoke appreciated being called "master." It was often the best way to head off a scathing internal tirade. Skywalker keeps them well hidden—besides, I don't understand why they're important.

They're important, Snoke responded, in a tone that suggested he was speaking to an infant, or else, some other miserably stupid creature, because that sorry excuse for a Jedi is up to something. He's been in contact with the New Republic—you told me so yourself.

Skywalker is always in contact with my—with Leia Organa. I don't see why—

Snoke cut Ben off. This is different. There have been…stirrings. Skywalker senses a shift in the balance and he is acting to head it off.

Isn't that good? Ben asked, for what wasn't the first time.

Perhaps it would be, if Skywalker hadn't such an insufferable ego, Snoke hissed. He defeated a Sith Lord and now he believes he knows what is best for the galaxy. Do you think he knows best, young Solo? After the way he has treated you all your life? Like something to be feared, a waste of time and space, a creature unworthy of his noble bloodline?

Ben grimaced, working his jaw irritably. He certainly has his flaws, he admitted darkly.

Exactly, Snoke praised. So, wouldn't you rather know what he's up to? Perhaps you're right, and he truly is good and noble. Or perhaps he fears this awakening because he senses a shift in his own fortune. The Sith and the Jedi are similar in almost every way, my young apprentice. Including their quest for greater power. And remember: all who gain power are afraid to lose it.

Ben swallowed hard, scowling at the ground. Fine. I admit it—you're right. I do want to know what he's up to.

Good. Very good. Now tell me—how goes your training?

Ben quelled the small corner of his mind that flickered to Rey's rapidly progressing talents—her ability to sense danger before it struck; her growing skill with a quarterstaff; the internal compass that always seemed to guide her to him, no matter where he was.

It goes well, he told his companion. Your teachings have been most helpful. It is easier now to hide the darkness from Skywalker. He suspects nothing.

And the others?

Again, Ben's mind jumped unbidden to Rey—the small crease of concern between her eyebrows whenever he lost his temper; the soft touch of her hand on his when she sensed his conflict; the silent pleading in her gaze when he refused to talk about his past. He knew that she sensed the darkness in him, and yet, inexplicably, he felt the need to shelter her from what he was, and what he was becoming. He had long known that he hadn't the strength to stay away from her. But he did have the strength to protect her.

The others are equally clueless, he promised. They fear me as they always have.

Excellent, Snoke crooned. You have done well. As long as I have known you, I have sensed your strength of character. Least loved by your parents, most despised by your uncle, eternally forgotten by those meant to care for you. There was an emptiness in your soul before I found you, but I sense that it is healed now. Where there was conflict, I now sense resolve. Where there was weakness—strength. You have come into your own young Solo, and it has been my greatest honor to help guide you—to offer myself to you as your humble servant, your tireless mentor.

Yes, master. Thank you, master, Ben responded, surprisingly gratified at the turn of the conversation. He had been expecting punishment, at the very least. The last time Snoke had visited him, he had been left with a raging migraine that lasted for days.

Very well. Then go forth and do as I have bid you. Only when you know the heart of Skywalker can you truly be safe.

And Snoke slipped from his mind like a tendril of smoke, leaving Ben feeling equal parts grateful and uneasy.

When Ben Solo had first returned from Csilla, nearly a year previously, he hadn't known quite what to do. From the moment Rey had faded from sight in the depths of the Chiss thorilide mine, he'd been in a state of almost ceaseless panic. Where had she gone? How had she been there? He knew in his heart of hearts that she had been—that her presence had been more than a vision, more than a fevered nightmare created by his own disturbed consciousness. But he couldn't explain her presence. Neither of them was strong enough to create a Force projection, and certainly not over the vast distance between Yavin 4 and Csilla. And yet, there she had been.

No surroundings. Just her.

When he was finally cleared to travel back to the Jedi temple after two agonizingly long days of debriefings and intelligence reports, Ben demanded immediate departure with an insistence that had shocked his fellow padawans.

"Don't you hate Luke, or something?" Kora asked bluntly. "Why are you in such a hurry to get back."

Because, Ben hadn't said, I haven't sensed Rey in two days, and this—this absence—can only mean that something terrible has happened to her.

Instead, he had fixed his companion with a fierce glare and gestured to his own arm—still in a sling—as if to suggest that he only wanted to rest instead of wasting more days on a planet far from home.

Entering the atmosphere of Yavin 4 was terrifying—walking through the front blast doors doubly so—because Ben had realized with a deep certainty that Rey was gone. It had shaken him in a way that nothing ever had, so when he met Skywalker, stony-eyed, in the mess hall and heard a fantastic story about Rey's Force vision and her subsequent retreat into the attic, he was too relieved to consider the consequences of going to find her.

And when he'd seen her, huddled between two crates like a frightened animal, her wild eyes upturned towards his voice, he'd been incapable of walking away. When her small, fragile arms wound around his waist and squeezed him with all the strength of a kitten, he hadn't the heart to push her aside. He only had the strength to sink to the floor and cradle her sobbing form against his side, and pray desperately that Snoke's thoughts were far, far away.

And for once in his life, Ben Solo's luck had held.

After that first reunion, with the words of his admission still cooling on his tongue, Ben struggled to return to life as it had been. He managed to hide that one interaction from Snoke—as powerful and all-consuming as it sometimes felt—but to continue interacting with the girl would be sheer stupidity.

He lasted all of five days.

In the end, he told himself that the strength of his urge to protect her would have to be enough. He had fooled Snoke once; he could do it again. Furthermore, a quiet, desperate part of him recognized that leaving Rey to the wolves would be almost as terrible as revealing her presence to Snoke. And, to be frank, he didn't truly believe that he could've managed it anyways.

And so, their friendship had begun.

It was terribly difficult at first. They progressed in fits and starts, with Ben holding Rey at tense arms-length. Her bright smile and her high laugh were two of the only things that could stir him from his frequent states of apathetic misery, and he found that—despite her age—she was rather clever. Sometimes she treated him like a wild creature—one that could only be tamed with kindness. He hated it, even as he longed for it, and he couldn't bring himself to snap at her and send her scurrying as he did the others. He regretted his innate childishness, and loathed himself for requiring the comfort of an actual child. But something in her softened something in him, and he found himself able to bear it.

Hiding her from Snoke had been another issue. In the early days, Ben lived in a state of constant unrest, shunning sleep for fear that he would awaken to find Snoke picking through his unguarded thoughts. Soon he realized that fatigue was the quickest route to disaster, and began a nightly ritual of burying Rey so deeply in his subconscious that not even Snoke could root her out without waking him.

In his conscious hours he had become more adept at shielding his mind. Rey occupied an almost constant role in thoughts, but he soon perfected the art of spiriting her away in the fraction of a second between Snoke's first contact and the lazy probe that he predictably twisted into Ben's psyche. Luckily, Rey herself was a quick study. She had immediately learned that—while it was fine to push the occasional thought to Ben in moments of boredom or solitude—entering his mind was expressly forbidden. Furthermore, she had an almost preternatural sense for Ben's moods, and had developed the habitat of leaving the room the moment Snoke's presence appeared.

Initially Ben had been almost certain that she could sense his internal companion, and was leaving out of disapproval or disgust, but soon he came to recognize that she was only responding to his own unconscious tics—the tightening of his jaw or the staccato rhythm of his bobbing knee. He appreciated her for it, even as he wished that he could confess to Snoke's existence.

Ben's inner dichotomy was a weight on his heart.

From the earliest days of his childhood he could remember feeling a certain rawness in his mind, in his very soul. He had tried to explain it to his father once, around the age of six, and had earned such a disturbed stare that he had never brought it up again to anyone.

Snoke had come from the raw place, offering kind words and explanations. He was there, he claimed, to help guide Ben to his true destiny. The emptiness you feel will only be filled when you attain the power that is due to all those who share in the Skywalker bloodline, Snoke had promised him. I can help you to achieve that power, and you will never have to explain yourself to Han Solo again. He isn't a Skywalker, like you, so he will never be able to understand.

Ben had been an inordinately trusting child, desperate for any source of affection in the wake of his perceived abandonment by his absent mother, his clueless father, and the giant gaping space in his chest. And Snoke had filled his emptiness with praise, and companionship, and warmth. Ben had always loved his parents, but Snoke had offered him something more. Answers. And the strength with which to demand them.

But now, the emptiness in Ben's heart was gone. There was no space for his most loyal companion to fill, and he was confused by the sudden suspicion he held against his one-time confidant. Everything that Snoke was—a companion in the dark, a friend of his heart, a patient teacher—Ben had rediscovered in a young padawan whose hazel eyes and gap-toothed grin twisted his conscience in knots whenever he thought of the darkness that plagued him.

Darkness is not a sin, Snoke had promised. To achieve a balanced understanding of the Force, we must embrace all sources of power. The darkness in you is powerful. Use it. Would a Jedi throw away his light saber because he didn't like its color?

Perhaps Rey would disagree, Ben often thought to himself.

And that was the crux of the matter. Snoke was the only creature with the grace to accept all parts of him without complaint. His greatest fear—the one buried deeper even than his memories of Rey's first Force-push, teaching her to swim, watching her finish her first Jedi text—was that when she realized what he truly was, she would run.

Just like all of the others.

As his pen finished the last stroke of the ink drawing he had been laboring over for weeks, Ben considered that perhaps his instinct was true. Perhaps there was something he was missing. About Rey, about Snoke, about Skywalker's strange communiques with the New Republic. Perhaps there truly were stirrings in the Force. Only by uncovering the truth could he truly put his mind to rest. He pressed a hand to his temple in a fruitless effort to postpone his mounting headache.

Absently, he scanned the likeness before him. The idea had come to him many months ago, as Rey had stood at his side and served as the conduit through which he had lifted Skywalker's X-wing into the sky. As the moment had passed, he could recall looking down at her small figure, a patch of brightness in his shadow.

His mind had flickered momentarily to a history text which his mother had gifted him prior to his departure for Yavin 4. Skywalker had taken one look at the book and labelled it "trash," primarily in response to a few less-than-scathing remarks on a certain group of darkside users who had existed apart from the Sith and the Jedi.

Ben hadn't cared much for the essays on various religious sects that had existed in the time of the Old Republic. But he had been fascinated by one faded image depicting a magnificent warrior split down the center by a lightsaber held aloft—one side dark, the other light.

The figure had hidden in his imagination for years until he had looked down at Rey, so vibrant against his darkness, and had felt the itch to dig out his pen.

The drawing was simple, really. It was stylized and lacked strong detail, but showed a girl garbed in white vaulting in a graceful backflip over a larger man whose dark tunic and hair stood out starkly against her brightness. The two were circumscribed within an almost perfect circle—one half black and the other white, with the exception of their two outstretched arms: the girl's palm flung back, casting a pale mark over the center of the man's chest, while his dark gloved hand supported the center of her back as she flipped.

It was a gift for Rey's tenth birthday, which was the next day. He hoped that it would stir memories of her early days at the temple.

Blowing on the ink to dry it, Ben rolled the paper into a tight scroll and hastily encircled it with a scrap of twine lingering in the back of his desk drawer. It wasn't beautiful presentation, but he knew Rey wouldn't mind.

Absently, he gathered the rest of his supplies and stood, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension that had gathered in them after several hours of putting the finishing touches on his gift. Glancing at the time piece on his desk, he realized suddenly that the dinner hour had passed unnoticed. His stomach rumbled hungrily and he thought sourly of the tongue lashing he would surely receive from Skywalker as a result.

There are no meals for students that can't be bothered to watch the hour, Skywalker had told him once, just a week after his arrival at the temple. You will have to wait for breakfast.

Fifteen-year-old Ben had been furious, but nineteen-year-old Ben couldn't find it in him to care.

Ben's knock was both polite and discrete. Although they had learned early in their friendship that Rey's door panel responded to Ben's touch, he had since made a point of never crossing her threshold without explicit invitation. It made Rey roll her eyes and tease, but Ben could well-remember his own surliness and demands for "personal space" at her age.

The door slid back and Rey's face tipped slowly back to make eye contact with him. A grin broke over her features. "Ben!" she exclaimed, stepping back and waving him in. "Where were you at dinner?"

"Busy," Ben said shortly, surveying her room. He didn't enter often, but when he did, he enjoyed seeing the scraps of life she had amassed therein. His own room was spartan, containing only furniture, a few changes of clothes, and his calligraphy set. But Rey's personality seemed to overflow from the very walls—pressed leaves and flowers adorned her desk, and a row of beautiful shells and pebbles bedecked her window sill. In the far corner was a pile of scrap metal, and the top of her dresser was mostly taken up by a half-built contraption that she claimed would be a functioning power converter when she was finished.

"For the kitchen circuit," she had explained to him once. "One of the serving droids was complaining that the system keeps shorting out and causing the door to close when he's halfway through."

The corner of Ben's mouth twitched at the memory.

"Just busy?" Rey asked, plopping into the middle of her bed as Ben sank into the chair beside her desk. "So busy that you forgot to eat?"

"I was making something," Ben said placatingly, unveiling the scroll with a flourish. "For you."

Rey's face lit up before she suddenly scowled. "You know I hate birthdays, Ben," she said. "I don't even know if it's my actual birthday, anyways. I wish you wouldn't—"

"It's not your birthday," Ben reminded calmly, his eyes travelling rapidly between hers to judge her reaction. "I know you hate birthdays, meaning that this gift is simply that—a gift, from one friend to another. Were I to give it to you tomorrow it would then become a birthday gift, but since I'm giving it to you today…"

Rey laughed as he trailed off, shaking her head. "Clever, Solo." She extended her hand. "Well, alright then. If you insist."

"Not yet," Ben admonished gently, withdrawing his hand and studying her carefully. "First I want to hear how you hid yourself from me today."

Rey's smile turned into a smirk of pleasure. "Simple," she told him. "By not trying to hide myself."

Ben tipped his head slightly to one side.

"It was because of what you told me last time," she explained hurriedly. "No matter how hidden I am from Luke and the others, you can always sense me in the Force—the same way you sense yourself. You can tell that I'm trying to hide, but it's like 'trying to hide the existence of your own two hands by putting them behind your back,'" she quoted him. "So I thought I would try not hiding at all—I just hid my intentions. Or, not hid them really—I made sure I didn't have any. I figured that if you couldn't sense my intention to stop you, you would assume I was somewhere else entirely."

Ben leaned back, grudgingly impressed. "Smart. You banked on the fact that I was so accustomed to your Force signature that I wouldn't think anything of feeling you."

Rey beamed and shrugged modestly. "It stands to reason that if we can sense each other from across the galaxy, you wouldn't notice the difference of a few hundred meters."

"Hmmm," Ben hummed. "You know that trick will only work once, right? Now that I know your strategy."

"I know," Rey said. "I'll just find another way to trick you."

Ben kept a straight face in the presence of her teasing smirk, but barely. A companionable silence stretched between them.

"Ben?" Rey asked softly, sliding towards the edge of her bed. Ben blinked at her change in tone, but angled his shoulders towards her and met her gaze.

"Yes?"

"Why…why are you only like this with me?" she asked tentatively, gesturing between them with one hand. "I mean—why aren't you friends with the others?"

Ben clenched his jaw and felt the muscle beneath his left eye tick almost imperceptibly. He knew Rey would catch it.

"I don't want to talk about it," he answered, more sharply than entirely necessary. He could see the hurt in Rey's eyes, and he silently commanded himself to take a deep breath.

"You never want to talk about it," Rey complained, a petulant edge entering her tone. "Please? We're friends. Friends tell each other things. I told you about Plutt and the other scavengers."

Ben's hand formed fists as he shifted in his chair. The reminder of Rey's cruel former-master hadn't done much to cool his mounting ire. He had recurring fantasies about the pain he would love to inflict upon the Crolute that had treated her so cruelly.

"This is different," he managed to say, when he felt able to speak without shouting. "It's none of your business."

"Is it for the same reason you don't like Han?" she pressed.

"Yes. No. It's complicated."

"If you would just explain it, it wouldn't be."

Ben sighed heavily and dragged a hand down his face in exhaustion. He had come to give Rey a gift, and now he was being grilled. He hated hiding things from her, but he was also terrified to bare his own weaknesses before her eyes.

"I was just—never good at making friends, okay?" he said. "People don't like me."

"I like you."

"You're different. You don't judge people without knowing them. Although the real reason you don't hate me is probably because whatever strange Force connection we have doesn't let you," he answered bitterly.

"That's not true!" Rey protested, leaping to her feet. In his seated position, the top of her head was barely level with his chest. "We're friends because you're kind, and thoughtful, and you listen to me."

Ben snorted, avoiding her piercing gaze. "I spent weeks trying to drive you away. I told Skywalker to send you to another planet."

"And I know you had a reason," Rey pressed. "You were protecting me from something."

Ben froze, a bubble of panic beginning to form in his throat. "You don't know that," he said hoarsely.

"I do," Rey insisted. "For once in your life, give me an honest answer! Why do you hate the other padawans? Why do you hate Master Luke?"

"I don't hate them," Ben enunciated carefully.

"Then why do you push them away? Why?" Rey's tone was rising, and Ben could sense her mounting frustration, but did nothing to quell it.

"It's not your business!" he shouted.

"Yes, it is!" she flung back at him, her small fists balled at her sides. "I'm in your head, like you're in mine! Won't you stop hiding?"

Ben opened his mouth to retort and almost choked at the familiar sensation of another mind entering his, unbidden. His felt his fingers constrict around the scroll in his hand, and forced them to release, dropping the battered parchment to the ground.

It wasn't Rey.

No. No no no no no.

Ben screwed his eyes shut and breathed out heavily through his nose, standing with what he hoped was some semblance of dignity.

Something the matter? Snoke drawled, at the same time that Rey asked, "Where are you going?"

Ben's head pounded as he struggled to block out her voice. Nothing, nothing, NOTHING, he thought, a mantra to drown out the words that slipped past his teeth. "Away from here."

Oh, really?

Ben didn't have to open his eyes to sense the hurt look on Rey's face. She was all around him, swarming his senses. But she didn't feel tender, like she usually did. She felt angry.

He needed to get away.

Steeling himself, he drew the image of Ninsar's face into his mind, and let his eyes flicker open. The Mirilian girl was a bit taller than Rey, but he hoped the deception would hold for the few moments that it took him to stand and make his way to the door—

—that was now blocked by Rey's fragile, seething form.

"Move," he snapped, letting his anger take over and projecting the emotion towards Snoke. Stupid younglings, he thought. Always in the way.

Snoke hummed in approval.

"No," Rey refused, crossing her arms over her thin chest in a gesture of defiance that would have been endearing if Ben hadn't felt as if his thoughts were trying to spill out of his ears. "You always do this—you always run away when I try to ask you things. We're friends, Ben. Friends. I know something's hurting you—it's tearing you apart." He struggled mightily to hold onto the image of Ninsar's face as he watched tears pooling in Rey's eyes. Her voice trembled as the anger seemed to fade out of her. "You always help me; won't you let me help you for once?"

Fascinating. A young admirer? Snoke hissed. I didn't know you had close friends.

Ben cursed himself and his inability to hide Rey's heartfelt confession from his companion. But all was not lost—Snoke didn't know of Rey's existence, and explaining away the adoration of an insistent follower wouldn't be too difficult with the right words.

She's nothing, he told Snoke. A youngling who believes I care for her. Pathetic, really.

You are both wise and beneficent to humor the wills of your younger peers, Snoke praised. Every great ruler needs loyal followers. I admit myself impressed—I always knew you commanded fear, but to truly win another through deception and charisma is not a gift that I knew you possessed.

Ben's throat clenched on the word "deception" as he struggled to formulate words that would move Rey from his path without tipping off Snoke.

"Not now," he finally managed. "Move."

The wrong words, as it turned out.

He saw Rey's eyes harden at the same time that he felt her consciousness press into his. He wasn't sure how she had developed the skill to batter aside his walls—perhaps he had no walls that could stand against her, for one moment they were two separate entities, minds gently brushing, and the next she was inside his thoughts, scattering memories and picking at threads that she had no business picking at.

Like a starship crash in slow motion, Ben watched the collision course between Rey and Snoke. He sensed the moment when they saw each other, felt the moment of silence that followed fill him up, like they were two animals eyeing each other warily across a great distance.

A strangled sound ripped from his throat and his vision spotted as he flung both invaders from his thoughts with a single surge of desperation.

He didn't remember shoving Rey out of his way, or Force-slamming the door shut behind him. He regained a flicker of awareness as he stood, chest heaving in the corridor. Enough awareness to realize that the door would do little to slow her once she gathered her wits about her.

When faced with confrontation, Ben always chose fight over flight. He had returned home to Han and Leia with bloodied fists more than once as a child. It was a predictable pattern—an argument started, Snoke's voice stoked his already considerable anger, and Ben walked away with the vague recollection of punches thrown and blows taken. As he had grown older, there had been more of the former and fewer of the latter. Never in his life had he fled from a fight.

Perhaps Rey really had changed him.

Because, for the first time in his life, Ben Solo turned and ran.

Ben wasn't sure how long he had been running, only that he felt a stitch forming under the right side of his ribcage. His mind was a blur of panic, impenetrable even to the two beings who knew him best. The two beings who were certainly doing their damnedest to weasel their way back into his thoughts. Ben welcomed the blank void of fear—when he calmed enough to think rationally, he would have to deal with the fallout of this disastrous evening. But as long as he kept moving, he was safe.

It couldn't last forever.

An indeterminate amount of time had passed when one of Ben's fatigued feet caught on a tree root and sent him plunging face-first to the forest floor. He lay on the ground, sucking in great gasps of breath. The musty smell of dirt and moss was soothing, and he didn't try to move.

No, he thought into the empty space of his blank mind. No no no no no.

Oh Ben, Snoke whispered, in a voice that felt oddly kind for someone who had just discovered a deception that spanned more than a year. For it was all there now—every memory, every interaction, laid bare in his weak, defenseless mind for the taking. Oh, my poor boy. You should have told me.

Ben gritted his teeth and shoved himself up off the ground, swiping a hand across his mouth and chin. It came away sticky with blood.

Ben, I never meant to hurt you, Snoke said soothingly. His voice felt familiar, in a way that slowed Ben's racing pulse. I will be honest with you. Is that what you want? My honesty?

Ben said nothing, which his companion took as assent, because he continued.

You were right, you know, he said. When the girl—Rey, is that what you call her?—first arrived, I did recognize her. I knew immediately what she was, and I feared for you.

Ben's confusion must have reached Snoke.

I know, young Solo. I know that she seems harmless and sweet. They all do, at first. Even Darth Vader was a Jedi once. But that child—she is like nothing you have ever seen before. She wields power that, given the chance to grow, will wreak havoc upon all you hold dear.

What do you mean? Ben grated out, finally breaking his internal silence.

Are you sure you wish to hear the truth? Perhaps when I tell you, you will wish not to know. His master sounded suddenly exhausted.

Tell me! Ben demanded, shaking with pent up rage and fear.

Very well, then. Very well. The girl Rey holds a great darkness within her. One day she will walk the path of the fallen. If you allow her to live, she will become the greatest of all of the Sith—more powerful than Darth Vader and Darth Sidious. She will be unstoppable. And she will destroy everything you love.

No! Ben raged. You lie! She knows nothing of the dark. She's—she's—

Excellent at hiding her true nature, Snoke finished for him. I know, Ben. And I am sorry—I hoped to spare you this pain. It is clear that you are quite fond of the child, but she cannot be allowed to—

You won't touch her, Ben snarled. I won't let you. I'll die before you lay a finger on her.

Snoke's response was a drawn-out exhale of despair. It will be difficult indeed, to convince you, he finally admitted. I had hoped to avoid showing you, but it seems I am left no choice.

Darkness closed over Ben's vision as quickly as turning out the lights.

Somewhere, there was a fire. The red light glowed on broken timber and flickered in the shallow depths of the puddles that Ben's feet splashed through. It was raining at the same time that the world was burning, and he couldn't get his bearings.

The humming swish of a saber was his only warning, and he flung up his own weapon—clutched in his hand, he realized suddenly—to block a blow from his left. Swiveling, he was nearly blinded by the glare of the flames rising before him. The temple—the Jedi temple was burning. And standing silhouetted before it, a glittering emerald saber in hand, was Rey.

It took him a moment to recognize her. She was taller. And older. She looked like a woman, a girl no longer, and even in the half light Ben was taken aback by her beauty. She was fiercely beautiful, dangerously beautiful, and as she stepped towards him and flung the momentum of her shoulders into another blow, he was barely able to dodge in time. She came on rapidly, her saber a tongue of flame that hissed and spit sparks in the downpour. Their weapons collided in a flurry of strikes and parries.

Ben wasn't sure whether he was controlling his own body, or merely watching.

A step back, and his foot found nothing but slick stone. He slipped and threw out an arm for balance.

Rey's blade cut upwards in a blaze of light that turned his vision white and—

—he plunged backwards into cold dark water. Waves crashed over and around him as he floundered helplessly. Something crashed into his back and he clung to it, dragging himself upwards. Leaving the water behind he found himself standing in the wreckage of an old ship. The air felt heavy with ghosts as he staggered away from the water and turned down an empty corridor, tilted off-kilter and filled with dark pools in which floated the abandoned masks of Stormtroopers.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he moved quickly, trying to avoid glancing at the skeletons that filled the ancient tomb.

At last he broke into the light of a circular viewport, before which stood a crumbled throne. The place reeked of darkness in a way that he had never before experienced.

The whisper of feet on wet metal alerted him to another presence, and he spun around, reaching for a saber that wasn't at his hip.

His blood went cold.

Rey stood before him, but she wasn't Rey. Her angular cheeks were accentuated by the weak glow of pale light through the viewport. She was older again, and still beautiful, but gone was his Rey, replaced by a creature wrapped all in black with twin blades of red flickering at her side. She smiled at him tauntingly, and her teeth were filed to points.

Ben stumbled back and fell through darkness, twisting in a desperate attempt to land on his feet. He spun and spun through the night, with nowhere to grab hold. He didn't even know if he had hands, or feet. He was detached, unbound, and when he opened his eyes, all he could see was his own glassy gaze staring back at him, utterly blank. A wail of despair ripped through his consciousness and he was thrust into the dark once more—

"Enough," Ben snarled out loud, shoving Snoke's vision away. He realized with a shock that he was trembling. His hands were shaking, and his legs felt unable to support his weight. He sank to the ground.

You see? Snoke whispered. She is as I have told you.

It can't be, Ben thought. No. No no no.

Yes, said Snoke. You see, Ben, I was only trying to protect you.

She—she can't be, he pleaded. It's a mistake—somehow you've got it wrong. She's—she's—she would never—

You saw it with your own eyes, Snoke said. The girl will rise, and she will destroy you. She will take pleasure in it. She is broken inside, and nothing will stop her unless you act now.

I can't, Ben thought. I won't.

You must.

Ben stared down at his hands, trembling in his lap, and tried to imagine them dark with Rey's blood. His stomach lurched violently at the thought and he tipped forward, heaving bile until there was nothing left.

You said that the dark isn't evil, he protested. There is darkness in me too. Perhaps we are two of a kind, she and I? We can rule together—bring order—

You have a generous heart, young Solo, Snoke said. You may be willing to rule at her side, but trust me—she will be utterly consumed. Her need for power will be so great that the day will come when she will not be able to bear the impediment that you provide. She will turn on you, do not doubt it. Just like your parents. Just like Skywalker.

Ben shivered. His Rey? Cutting him down with a ruby-red blade that spat tongues of fire? His heart clenched. There must be another way, he protested. I can speak with her—make her see sense. It doesn't have to be like this.

There is no other way. When I found you, I saw what all masters live to see—raw, untamed power! I knew at once that you would do truly extraordinary things. But power comes with a price—and this is the price that you must pay. Allow the girl to live, and you will know nothing but suffering. And even worse—you will watch her descend into madness as her reason is stripped away by darkness. You will watch her lose herself until there is nothing left but a shell—a shell that will be your downfall.

Ben bit into his cheek until the sharp tang of blood replaced the taste of sick on his tongue. He realized with a shock that there were tears coursing down his cheeks. Snoke's vision flashed through his mind's eye again—Rey's flashing sharp teeth, her dark, impenetrable gaze. Something vital was gone from her. Snoke was right—whatever shadow she would turn into, it would not be his Rey.

And wouldn't it be the ultimate act of irony? After eighteen years of solitude, he had called upon the last vestige of hope in his heart to trust another. Would there not be some sort of poetic justice were he to fall at her hand?

Perhaps it would be easier to die, he thought bitterly, forgetting to shield the thought from Snoke.

And then who would protect your precious Rey from a fate worse than death? Snoke asked. He paused to let the words work their way into Ben's screaming mind. Go to Skywalker's study. He too, has sensed the stirring of darkness in the galaxy. He is a fool—an old fool—and he knows not for what he looks. He fails to see her before him, but I tell you now—go there. Find the truth, my apprentice. And once you have it in hand—that incontrovertible proof that the darkness is rising—I will help you to overcome your weakness.

I will help you to kill the girl.

A/N: OKAY I AM SO SORRY. It took me way way WAY too long to update and I am very sorry :( Before anyone freaks out about the ending of this chapter I just want you all to know that I am a believer in HEA endings. That being said, no, Ben is not going to murder Rey in her sleep. I promise. Where could I possibly go with this story after that? I know it seems spooky right now, though, and I would love to hear your reactions to Ben's conflict. I tried to make his response convincing, so let me know if I was successful!

Thank you as always for all of the incredible comments and questions you've sent me-I've been really awful at responding to them but just know that I read every single one and they all warmed my heart 3 You are such lovely people. Special thanks to kittystargen3 for the beta, and for calling me out on my excessive use of the word "had" (it's probably still excessive, but hopefully not quite as bad as before!).

Until next time!

-Aspen