A/N: Hi guys, first of all, sorry that there's no extra upload. These last few days have been a bit busy and things... *cringes*
Right, anyway, I know exactly what is going to happen in the next few chapters, but Kylo doesn't want to work with me... He's a really hard character to write, and even now I'm pretty sure I haven't done this justice. For anyone wondering, this is set a little bit after TFA, so he's going to act a little more insecure than the Kylo we all know and love.
Anyway, I'll let you read, hope you enjoy the chapter, my plan for his training, and the little twist. (Oops... :D) Upload next weekend as planned, guys. Excited already! R&R to tell me what you think, and give me incentive to write longer chapters!
(Seriously, reviews are my fuel. Fuel is especially important in cold weather guys, don't let my fire go out..!)
Ignore me, I ate to much cake after dinner. Also, the new Deadpool movie is great. I'm going to go now...
Ta-ta!
Amber eyes snapped open and hurriedly scanned the monochromatic room, before sliding slowly closed once again. A gentle sigh slipped past chapped lips into the still air, and the soft rustling of linens was a gentle accompaniment as the female stretched leisurely.
Viila allowed herself several seconds to wake up properly, before drifting into the bathroom. She stepped into the frosted glass stall, relaxing as a scalding spray rained down on her skin. She let herself get lost in the familiar actions of caring for her skin, dousing herself in all manner of foul-smelling and questionably coloured liquids, before allowing the multicoloured product to be washed down the drain.
She dried off quickly and changed into a pair of form fitting pants, a long sleeved shirt, and her own boots, all in the same uniform shade of black. Her hair was coiled into the severe up-do that she adopted for training, only a few inky strands falling into her face.
Before leaving the suite, Viila ordered a veritable feast to be sent to Gym 2, which was specialised for Force-sensitive users (although Kylo Ren was most likely the only person to set foot in there), and check the quickest route to said arena. She slotted her porcelain mask onto her face as she opened the door into the corridor, startling a pair of Stormtrooper sentries, who didn't so much as glance her way again before skittering around the corner.
So they had been told after all.
The reaction she garnered as she swept through the halls was amusing: some paused their conversations, others stopped dead; some even ducked into side corridors to avoid her. None could meet those deadly flashing eyes.
She finally reached the second largest gym onboard, and settled onto the cold floor in the centre of the room, watching with impassiveness as the food she had ordered for breakfast was set out in front of her bit by bit.
Viila's body clock let her know when dawn had come and gone, and a small pit in her chest began to fill with bubbling anger as her trainee remained absent. She sealed a lid on the bowl of festering heat, and stretched out into the Force, attempting to relax.
When Kylo Ren finally made an appearance, the chasm had emptied and a cool slate of obsidian had replaced it. She watched as he lowered himself to the floor facing her, leaving at least seven feet between them, plus the physical barrier of food.
"Late," Thaan chastised coldly, eyes opening to land on his masked face before slipping shut once more.
"Unavoidable." The synthesised voice rung sharply in the charged air, and each of his hissing, mechanically altered breaths seemed to ramp up the tension a notch. He stared darkly at the serene young woman in front of him before lowering his eyes to the feast on the floor.
"Please, eat."
"I would rather not reveal my face."
The pale Sith allowed herself a small smirk in response to his cutting reply.
"We won't start until you've eaten. I shall meditate in the meantime."
Her face dropped into blank tranquillity, while she greedily scanned his aura. The royal purple of his pride thrummed through the dark cloud, hissing and spitting in defiance. As the hours passed with no movement from the duo, the cloud adamantly remained purple, lashing out occasionally to batter at her own Force signature in an act of rebellion. At some point the lights had died, sensing no motion within the gym's spacious insides.
The room held a quiet, almost calming influence, although the heavy cloud of hostility hovering over their heads seemed to make each minute stretch into an age. They seemed suspended in a timeless bubble: him, her, and the object of their dispute sitting innocently between them.
He took the time in the dark to study her. He followed the soft lines of her face, the slope of her neck, the almost painfully thin frame that was settled with perfect poise on the cold metal. He hated it. Hated that Snoke thought he needed a sitter. Hated that she thought him weak.
He hated that he was.
The announcement for lunch sounded through the ship, and then dinner, and still he hadn't given in. All those sensitive in the Force had the self restraint necessary to fast for several days, but the ferocity of his resoluteness had her pulse jumping with barely restrained excitement. He was far more powerful than she had realised.
"What is the point of this?"
His voice was a whip-crack in the darkness, but Viila didn't react.
"Control."
"I am controlled. I have played this game of yours for the better part of a day."
"Balance."
"What does that mean? Balance of what?"
"The fact you do not know means you aren't disciplined. Until you have some scrap of self-awareness, we cannot proceed,"
Night fell, and still they sat there, making neither sound nor motion. Hux peered around the door at one point, watched curiously for a moment before heading to his quarters. Viila was glad she had indulged in nutrient session the evening before; she knew Ren would be here until he was on the brink of collapse.
The clattering of boots on metal brought her awareness floating into the realms of lucid thought the next morning, and she noticed that the man's purplish black cloud was now shot through with blues and yellow. Greed. Gluttony. All he needed was to fuel them. She had already established that Pride was a determining power factor. Wrath would also be a primary pillar.
"What do you want from me?"
Viila was slightly disappointed that a note of weariness clung to his voice. She didn't answer, and they slunk back into the void of silence.
::::::::::
On the fourth day, he snapped.
Hux had paced around the two prone figures, hissing comments in his pompous voice, telling him to give in and proceed with his training: the Supreme Leader would have to be informed of his attitude which was detrimental to the development of his training.
Needless to say the flame of his ire with the ginger weasel had been building steadily, only stoked higher by the smug half-smirk the woman in front of him wore. He let the brimstone fill his veins as he waited for Hux to leave.
The hydraulic hiss of the door as it closed was the signal he had been waiting for.
He sprung upwards and forwards, tackling Thaan to the floor and sending plates of stale food flying. His tall lean frame pinned down her smaller body, and the soft leather of his glove caressed the skin of her neck while the hand underneath it clenched and tightened.
He stared at her and she stared back; both of them at yet another standoff. He watched her face flush gradually, watched as the veins and arteries in her neck stood up against her skin, desperately trying to give her brain enough oxygen. It would be so easy, just to tighten his hold...
The muscles in his right hand relaxed all of a sudden: still pinning her in place, but allowing her to breathe. She coughed lightly, and then looked back up at him, head tilted slightly and a new glint in her eyes.
"Good." She spoke at last, and her voice was hoarse and scratchy. "You can go against your immediate emotions after all. Why did you stop?"
He had no answer. She seemed to realise this.
"Every being is made up seven elements, and each being has a dominant one; in Darker individuals, it can be up to three. The Jedi pretend to be without this scale, pretend that each well of emotion is empty, and cannot affect them. But they turn so easily.
"We who are trained in the Dark know the scale exists, that it affects every choice we make, directly or otherwise. The heat you feel building inside you is the rising influence of one of these seven elements. You feel two strongly, the rest slightly more than average. You need to learn when to ignore these feelings, and when to act upon them."
"What are these elements? How can I control them if I do not know what they are?"
"Think. These past four days, what has been the strongest feeling coursing through you, sending blistering heat through every inch of your body?"
"Irritation. Determination. Dissent." His voice was a monotone, and Viila could tell he was casting his eyes inwards, trying to dredge up those feelings. Without guidance, he already knew what he was looking for.
So powerful...
"And what did that stem back to? What did I ask you, and why did you react like that?"
"To remove my helmet... I didn't take kindly to you ordering me around... And the root of the feelings... Arrogance? Superiority?"
The woman underneath him was silent, so he tried again.
"Rebellion? Pride?"
The honest-to-Force smile on her face told him he was right.
"So 'pride' is an element. And just now, it was anger, no... wrath..?" He received another smile and slight nod. "Pride, Wrath... The others-?"
"-are for you to find. I'm pleased with your progress, Ren. You're free for now; I'll have someone clean up this mess, and I want to see you here at dawn tomorrow. You can eat before you make your way here, but I'll have some food waiting anyway."
Kylo Ren shifted up onto his knees and sat on his haunches, still poised over his teacher, his gloved hands resting on his thighs and twitching every so often. His left hand began to rise slowly, travelling through the air almost absently towards his helmet.
A sudden flash of pain crippled his resolve: a burning stripe, swiping from the middle of his brows and down over his left cheek bone, flirting dangerously with the corner of his eye.
Viila watched as the man leapt to his feet and swept from the room, his hands balled into fists and shaking at his sides. 'Balance...' she breathed through the Force, pleased when even through the haze of red brought on by seemingly nothing he was composed enough to send back an affirmative.
She climbed to her feet and stretched, face remaining blank even as multiple bones cracked and popped unpleasantly. She walked leisurely from the room, planning on walking around absently until her stiff muscles had loosened up some. While she drifted, her mind focused absently on her training plan for the future. Depending on how quickly Kylo Ren was actually able to grasp the depth of his power and begin actively harnessing it, their sessions would remain basic meditation tasks.
He would undoubtedly become bored and testy, but there was no real reason to push him until he was at optimum potential. Like trying to teach a newborn pup how to jump through a hoop: it could barely yet walk. And that was all he was.
A clumsy, uneducated creature destined for greatness, lashing out blindly at the world, dealing damage and calling it a success. Going away to lick its wounds, and basking in the aftermath of barely won battles.
And if he couldn't see or use that power effectively, she would be able to.
A pain suddenly surfaced in her head, directly between her now furrowed brows. She staggered into the wall, a suddenly clammy hand pressed against the cool metal and supporting her trembling frame. Blackness taunted the edges of her vision, a ringing buzz filled her ears and the pain burrowed ever deeper inside her mind, like a parasite.
She looked up sluggishly as the sound of a concerned shout reached her. She caught a flash of ginger and a thin black pillar before her vision shorted out.
Viila dropped to the ground, unconscious before she hit the floor.
Somewhere on a far away planet, in a vault deep under the earth, the footage that had just been streamed in was meticulously reviewed. Notes were taken and filed away, while the short sections of first-person visual looped over and over again on several monitors lining the walls.
The staccato tapping of fingers on keys and the whispers of fabric filled the cavernous room, the atmosphere intense and detached all at once. The pale, raven haired man that headed the operation watched all activity carefully, his royal blue robes making a sharp statement against the chromes and greys of the bunker.
"Status?" he called to the room at large, his voice inflectionless; almost bored.
"0.283% sir."
He nodded at the aide in front of him, eyes still locked on the bank of screens against the far wall. His hands flexed on the silvery plasteel railing, and he smiled grimly.
"We are ahead of schedule. If this continues, and the variables react as predicted, we'll be fully operational in just over a year. Good work, girls."
"Thank you, sir."
He smiled coldly at the sea of faces that had turned his way. All those golden eyes seemed to twinkle back.