Kylo could remember the exact moment that Anthea Faelar had swept into his life. She came like a hurricane, tilting everything he knew and valued on its axis. She had fallen from the clouds above Starkiller Base, that endless stretch of wintry firmament above, and she was resplendent. A drop of silver light hurtling towards the ground, coiling in mid-air as she scrambled to right herself.
A single pair of battered wings had flapped in vain, working to slow her descent but never succeeding in halting it. He had sensed her the moment she entered the massive weapon's atmosphere; had watched her through the observation portal on base. She had collided with barren branches, slender arms bracing in front of her pale countenance in hopes of shielding her from the scrape of wood. Down, down, and down she had fallen, until eventually she collided with the ground.
Hard.
She had rolled and skidded, a cloud of white dust having sprung up where she lay. Her wings flopped uselessly onto the ground, limp with exhaustion and abuse. Kylo could have just as easily deployed a trooper to investigate, but he had been so intrigued by the descending light that he had opted to go himself.
What he happened upon on that day was not at all what he had expected to find lying amidst the snow banks.
A fallen Diathim sprawled in a bloody heap.
She had heard him before she saw him. Heavy, firm footsteps pressing into several inches of thick snow gave him away, crunching loudly beneath his feet as he had advanced towards her. She almost hadn't opened her eyes; almost hadn't cared to see what fresh hell fate had decided to throw at her.
But she had always been a curious one.
With what little strength she could muster, she had cracked open her eyelids, lashes fluttering as she honed her blurry gaze in on her observer.
He would have thought she would be afraid of him, thus he approached at a painstakingly slow rate. She never took her azure eyes off of him. She watched his every step, gaze never wavering. He was surprised that she wasn't frightened of him, for people oft quaked in the face of Kylo Ren.
But not this woman. Not this angel. She maintained eye contact without displaying an ounce of fear, even in the wake of his expressionless mask. And Kylo had never been more grateful for the cold, metal barrier than he had been in that moment, for it was the only thing shielding his almost childlike look of wonder as he stared upon the beauty of this creature. She remained unmoving, though. Perhaps she was simply too exhausted to stir. Perhaps she had accepted whatever fate happened to befall her at his hands.
And yet that didn't seem to be the case, for suddenly she attempted to stand despite her wounded state. Her legs quaked beneath her, knees buckling and sending her collapsing back into the snow. Her fingers curled into fists and she clenched her jaw, attempting once more to rise. She could not.
He watched her as if she were some delicate and beautiful bird with broken wings, the likes of which he could either save or put out of misery. One swing of his lightsaber, and this creature's suffering would seize. That's all it would take, and yet—
Her eyes had opened fully, such a vibrant hue of blue, and had knocked the breath out of him when she stared at him in full.
"What is it that you wished to speak with me about?" Anthea's tender voice shattered the knight's recollection of their meeting, and he turned to face the angel, dispelling the image of that encounter. She stood before him now healed and unbroken, completely unlike how she had appeared in his memory. The only trace of the incident that was left were the four missing wings and the scars that marred the alabaster flesh of her back.
Scars that sang of sorrow and the slightest desire of reprisal.
"I can convert her, Supreme Leader," his own voice echoed in his mind, and he saw Snoke's pallid features, his eyes staring down disapprovingly at his apprentice.
"A Diathim, you say?" he had boomed, "Never. They are creatures of the Light. Even you, Master of the Knights of Ren, are not yet ready for such a task."
"Not this one," he had protested passionately, opting to ignore Snoke's lack of faith in him (although it stung and agitated him), "This one is different. She's fallen. She's been wronged. She hates, I can feel it. I can teach her to use that hate, and then she can become an asset to the First Order. To you, Master."
Kylo remembered the way his mentor had considered this deeply for a long moment, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands on his lap. He had regarded his apprentice carefully, assessing every inch of his mask as if he could see straight through it, and Kylo had no doubt he could.
"As you will. If what you say is true, then a Diathim who succumbs to the Dark Side could very well prove to be of use to me," the looming figure had at last acquiesced after much consideration, "Bring her to me."
A chill had swept down the Dark Lord's spine, and something had overcome him in that moment; something that bid him to defy this order.
"Supreme Leader, with your approval, I would like to train the girl myself. Convert her myself." After all, what a feat it would be to taint this creature's light! Something of such degree had never been achieved before, not in any history that he was privy to, and if something born directly of the Light Side could be corrupted, then surely he himself, already immersed in such blackness, could reach total darkness. No more lying awake at night utterly conflicted, utterly torn.
Snoke hadn't displayed any particular emotion at this opposition, but he had scrutinized the young man all the more thoroughly. An even longer bout of silence had passed before he at last consented, "So be it. But you will find her corruption to be no easy task. Take care that you are not seduced by such a creature in the process, Kylo Ren."
He wouldn't, he had told himself as he bowed his head and was dismissed. He wouldn't.
And yet the angel's disappointment was hard to face. He could see it in her eyes as she regarded him now, breathtaking as usual as she stood patiently awaiting his word.
"You know what it is we must discuss," he attempted to keep his voice level, and succeeded to some extent. Anthea tilted her head slightly to the side, her expression serene and collected.
"My defiance, you mean?" Not one to beat around the bush, she jumped straight to the point. That much he did like about her.
"Yes, your defiance." It wasn't as if this was their first time having this conversation; Kylo regretted to admit that. Thus far, he had failed in his vow to convert her to the Dark Side. She was still as pure and kind as the day she had fallen onto Starkiller Base those select few years ago. Nothing had changed since then, and Snoke grew ever more impatient. Kylo Ren barely staved off his desire to see her by assuring her that her training was progressing.
Time. He just needed more time. Sooner or later, he would not be able to keep her from his master. And when Snoke found out that she was as still as untainted as ever, he would crush her beneath his foot like some pest, and Kylo would lose his only grounding presence in entire damn Order.
No matter how it might sound, Anthea Faelar was not an attachment of his. Not an attachment, no, but a passion. Attachments were weak and useless to him; a trivial thing not worth his time. Passion, however, was an attribute of the Dark Side, one that was encouraged to be capitalized upon in order to fuel determination and power.
She was, as it turned out, invaluable to him. He would never put it to words, but from the second she had leveled him with that striking gaze of hers back when he had first discovered her years ago, she had him wrapped around her finger. It was infuriating, and often times he questioned how she had achieved that.
And yet, for a being of Light, she did not force her viewpoint onto him. She protested for the lives of innocents, certainly, but she never tried to sway him from his current path. She was simply a consoling presence, someone he had grown to trust, to value, and that was a rare occurrence for him. He would be most displeased if he lost her for her incessant benevolence towards lowly creatures of little consequence.
But she could never know this.
"Questioning me in front of my men is also something it would seem we need to discuss." His tone wasn't agitated, but it wasn't pleased. She didn't appear to be apologetic for opposing him, because in her eyes, he needed to be opposed at times. In truth, sometimes she was the only thing that stood between him and poor decisions. It had been that way ever since she had settled here.
"Is it? Hux does it all the time," she countered, batting her long lashes passively at him. Kylo's lips twisted behind his metal guise.
"Hux is an Imperial Academy bred lapdog whom I have little patience for. It would be wise not to follow his example." The knight's tone left little room for doubt on just how he felt about Hux. Anthea smiled, eyes glinting knowingly. She had paid witness to the two butting heads on more than one occasion, and more than once she had been forced to slip between the two of them to discourage any potential lashing out that wasn't of the verbal kind.
Her, a petite thing half their size.
"Of course. My apologies." She was being genuine; Kylo could sense that much.
"There's still the matter of your defiance. Understand that I won't have you questioning my methods. We must do whatever it takes to get the map to Skywalker before the Resistance does, and if that means reducing every village in the galaxy to ash to achieve such, then it will be done." He couldn't fathom her pity for the villagers— again, they were nothing to him.
But to her, they were everything. Innocent people. Living, breathing creatures that did not deserve the fate that had befallen them.
"Well then, let us hope that you needn't burn down any more villages before you find the map." The Diathim mustered a small smile, but it was rather hollow. Kylo barely suppressed the urge to sigh. He didn't like dampening her mood like this, but often times she left him no choice. It was frustrating, to say the least. If she would only succumb to his teachings, to the Dark Side, and embrace it all in full, this wouldn't even be an issue. She wouldn't have even batted a single lash at the destruction of Tuanul or the slaughter of its natives.
A small period of silence passed between the two of them before Kylo pivoted on the heel of his boots, his black cloak swishing with the motion. There was no point in lingering on this further; what was done was done, and loath as he was to admit it, he did not like seeing her dejected.
"I intend on meditating. Will you accompany me?" She often did just that when he settled down to mediate, honing in on the Dark Side and banishing all thoughts of the Light from his mind. It had become a routine of sorts; something familiar to take her mind off of things, and to help him do the same as well. During meditation he sharpened his hatred to a fine point to utilize and make him stronger; to cleanse any doubts and temptations. She was a peaceful presence in those times, and he found it easier to achieve absolute concentration when she was nearby. She simply had that effect on him.
Wordlessly nodding, her wings shifted upon her back as she followed him down the linear corridors until they arrived at his chambers. He entered the code and the blast doors slid open, granting them access.
As he settled into his usual meditative position, she settled a little ways away from him, content to merely relax. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes behind his mask, and focused in on the Diathim's presence in the Force.
It was silver like the moon, she herself was as well— glowing brightly in his mind's eye. He tried to focus on just that, but his brain seemed uncooperative with him today of all days. It kept slipping back to Anthea's expression when he had given the command to have the villager's killed; that imploring look in her eyes and the inevitable disappoint when her request was not heeded.
Focus.
He envisioned her wings instead. They were a filmy gray, neither black nor white. The Diathim appeared to other races however the beholder perceived them to be. It was an odd concept, but it was true nonetheless. While one might see Anthea as a tanned maiden with golden hair and a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, others might see her with dusky or ebony skin and dark tresses, bright eyed and slight of frame. She could very well be red haired to others, black haired, silver, Force— any color, you name it. Any preconceived concept someone had of the Diathim, whatever they assumed an angel would look like, that was what leaked through to her appearance. That was what they saw.
Her wings, however, were somewhat more consistent. They reflected the beholder's nature and morality; their alignment, even. Those of the Dark Side saw the feathered appendages as solid black in hue, while those pure of heart or with good intentions perceived her wings to be snowy white.
Kylo Ren saw gray, and it more than infuriated him at times. Why? Why weren't they black for him? He let this thought fuel his anger, his hatred towards the Light, as he continued to meditate.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Sometimes he thought he saw the plumage darken, but he could never be certain. They were at least darker than when he had first met her, and that was something. But not enough. It would never be enough for him until they were darker than the deepest reaches of space.
Soon. They will be soon enough. You must go deeper; submerge yourself entirely in the Dark Side.
He thought he had, but it seemed that was not the case, even after all these years.
Then he saw her face again in his mind, radiant and smiling, and he tried to imagine what she might look like at his side, fully converted and a creature of darkness instead of light. A figure that struck fear into the hearts of all who beheld her, demanded reverence with every step, rather than exuding benevolence and compassion.
He envisioned her garbed in an extraordinary black gown, the likes of which trailed behind her for several feet. Lace climbed up her sides and gold adornments of the most ornate fashioning decorated her auburn tresses, and he hummed idly at the thought. He had often imagined her like this over the course of years spent in her company, and yet he was just as far from seeing this vision realized as he had been in the beginning.
She could be a queen. A dark queen. His queen.
Focus. You must not allow yourself such thoughts.
He wasn't sure how long he had been meditating before a gentle tap upon his fingers stirred him from his thoughts, and he snapped his umber eyes open to peer at the angel from behind his mask. She appeared concerned, her wings spreading on her back as a few feathers ruffled before settling again.
"You were clenching your fists so hard I feared your nails might pierce through your gloves," she explained, the timbre of her voice velvety. Instinctively, the knight's hands loosened under her tender palms. Seemingly satisfied with this, she opted to settle directly in front of him this time, splaying her legs out to one side as she situated herself.
"What are you doing?" he asked incredulously, but she hushed him and readjusted his hands in her grasp. He barely resisted the urge to pull away, stung by the tenderness in which she handled him. He couldn't remember the last time someone was gentle with him. It certainly hadn't been in this life. This kind of interaction came from a time when a young boy by the name of Ben Solo had still drawn breath in his lungs, but that boy was dead, and now there was only Kylo Ren.
Or so you say, a small voice in the back of his head mocked.
No.
"Helping you meditate." Her answer was short, sweet and simple, and yet he still couldn't wrap his head around it entirely. Of all the times she had sat in with him during these instances, never once had she done something like this.
Today was to be a day of firsts, apparently.
She held his palms facing downwards atop her own, her own hands almost comically small in comparison to his own, her eyes slipping closed as she relaxed her lithe frame. Her wings sunk low on her back, slumping against the ground as the flight feathers curled upwards against the hard flooring.
Allowing himself a bit of curiosity, Kylo waited to see what the angel had in store for him. He was pleasantly surprised and— although he would never admit it— genuinely caught off guard when he sensed her lowering her mental walls.
She was letting him into her mind. Again, something she had never done before.
He waited a few agonizing seconds to see if this was a mistake; if she had only done it on accident. But her defenses remained lowers. Almost tentatively, the Dark Lord finally reached out through the Force, prodding carefully at her mind. A small twitch of her lips told him she felt him enter her head, but she made no move to repeal his access. What he felt upon sinking into her thoughts was nothing but sheer tranquility and quietude; the likes of which he could never hope achieve in his own mediation. His mind was far too restless and conflicted for that.
It washed over him like an ocean's cool wave, flooding his senses and leaving him feeling weightless. Everything crumbled and faded to dust around him, and he was alone with this foreign sensation of utter calmness. It felt just like her presence, only amplified tenfold. Everything about it echoed her, and it was intoxicating.
Pushing a little deeper, he sifted through the images that rose to the forefront of her mind. Flashes of his mask and figure flickered here and there, the occasional glimpse of Phasma or Hux tossed into the mix every once in awhile. He saw the Stormtroopers she actively interacted and conversed with, the lower ranking officers and lieutenants and even those further down the hierarchy of the First Order that he had never had the mind to even spare a glance at.
But she had, and he wasn't surprised. He could feel her compassion for them, her attachments to them, and it all oozed warmth. Something entirely foreign to him.
He didn't get it, so he pressed onwards, digging deeper, hoping for some sliver of clarity.
What he ended up stumbling upon was the complete opposite of that.
There were corpses instead of smiling faces. Blood was everywhere. He could hear muffled screams of agony reverberate in her memory as wings were torn from her back, and she was crying out names he had never heard her even utter before. There was a man standing in front of her, laughing, cruel and—
"No." So engrossed was he in the task at hand that Kylo nearly jolted at her voice, immediately pulling out of her head. He knew he had delved beyond the borders she had intended, but she didn't seem angered. She eyed him with those wide blue eyes, eternally patient, and shook her head slowly.
"Sorry. I— I just..." She lowered her gaze, and he could sense remorse and anger at her assailant radiating off of her for the briefest of moments before she tucked it all away, replacing it with the calmness he had felt earlier.
Kylo knew little of how Anthea had come to fall onto Starkiller Base that day. It hadn't been a mere coincidence, that much he was certain of; she had been running from something, someone, but she had never given him the full details. She had woken in the medical bay after a day spent in a bacta tank, but even with the regenerative properties of the medicinal substance, there were still scars that ran down her back. They had simply been too gruesome to mend entirely. She would carry them with her for the rest of her life.
And, astonishingly enough, he loathed whatever or whomever had brought such harm and suffering upon her.
But even after prompting her for her story once she had regained consciousness, all she had told him was: "I trusted someone who seemed harmless, and that was my first mistake."
Despite this, she seemed willing enough to trust him. Ironic given her statement, but he saw little reason to question it.
"Your thoughts betray you, Lady Anthea," Kylo remarked. Her eyes ticked back up to him, albeit slowly, and her shoulders rose slowly as she inhaled deeply.
"Did you know that today marks the third year that I've been in your service?" the question was casual enough, but the subject jump threw him temporarily for a loop. Quick to save face, he countered:
"And yet I still know practically nothing of the reason behind your coming here."
She managed a small smile, chewing on the inside of her cheek in contemplation. Her wings shifted, the filmy gray plumage sliding across the floor as the appendages readjusted themselves, stirring up a slight gust of wind with their movement.
"How about an exchange, then?"
This piqued his interest well enough, and he regarded her with restrained curiosity. His silence bid her to continue, and so she did.
"Take off your mask, and I'll tell you how I came to be here." she bargained.
Were it anyone else making such bold faced demands of him, Kylo might have Force choked them on the spot and tossed them out the nearest port to decay in the darkest reaches of space. But this was Anthea, and after three years, she had somehow managed to dig so thoroughly under the knight's skin that he was helpless to refuse her such a simple request.
Perhaps the Diathim's own endless curiosity was rubbing off on him, damn her.
"Very well," he rumbled, reaching both hands up and pressing a button on his helmet. It emitted a hiss as the locking mechanisms disengaged themselves, allowing him to lift the heavy apparatus above his head. He set it off to the side, canting his head back in the direction of the angel, his now visible umber eyes regarding her in a level manner.
She was much less reserved in her reaction than he might have thought. This was not the first time she had seen his face. She had seen it two other times, the first time having been an accident— a case of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time— and the second time had been of his own allowance. It hadn't lasted long, however, and she hadn't been nearly this close.
As it were, she looked nothing short of fascinated by his countenance. Her hands twitched and jumped a bit at her sides as if she intended to touch, to explore this new territory, but she thought better of it at the last second. It was for the best, Kylo told himself, and yet he still found himself a bit disappointed at her restraint.
Still, she marveled at him; at the face beneath the mask which had been only a blur to her until now. She took in the many flat moles that swept across his flesh like constellations; lost herself in those piercing brown eyes, framed by thick and furrowed brows. His face sharply defined, with a chiseled jaw and strong chin, high cheekbones and an aquiline nose. Charcoal hair framed his face, swept back in a flowing motion and coming to rest in loose waves at his shoulders. His lips were parted as he stared at her, and she mirrored the expression.
One way or another, he managed to sit entirely still as she analyzed every inch of him, picking apart his features bit by bit. He felt absurdly bare without his mask, but she seemed delighted to see him devoid of it. Food for thought, he mused to himself. It was something he could perhaps put to use later.
"Now then, are you going to honor your half of the bargain?" His voice, no longer distorted by the vocoder of his mask, was smooth and deep and effectively snapped her out of her trance. She drew her eyes to meet his own, leveling him with a smile that was so radiant and warm it nearly knocked the breath out of him.
It slackened in the slightest, however, once she collected herself and realized that she would indeed have to tell him what he wanted to hear. He sensed her hesitation, and upon arching a brow at her, she plucked at the edges of her white, flowing gown and shrugged a little.
"I didn't think you'd do it," she admitted after a moment, tone almost sheepish. His expression remained unchanging, but she wasn't looking at him anyways. She had closed her eyes, opting to suck in a deep breath as she mentally steeled herself to endure those memories again. A deal was a deal.
Her roseate lip parted and the beginnings of a word formed on the tip of her tongue before meeting any early grave on her lips. Her brows knitted tightly on her forehead, but then she returned her gaze to him.
"Here— I'll just show you instead." she murmured, reaching forward to press her fingers against his forehead. The Diathim, as he knew well by now after hours spent sifting through what little information he could find on her race after her initial arrival, were born with natural hypnotic abilities. Anthea had never used said abilities in his presence, but it suddenly struck him that she was about to hyno-imprint the memories into his mind.
He expected the intrusion to be unpleasant, but instead she was gentle with him, just as he had been with his mild mind probing earlier.
The walls and floor fell away; his room in its entirety and even the Finalizer itself fell away. He was left floating in his own mind, cast into a foreign place that he did not recognize. A barrage of images accosted him, fleeting and fast, too fast to keep pace with, before they gradually began to slow.
And when they settled in his head, it was just him and the tragedy that Anthea was allowing him to pay witness to.
Just he and the nightmare that was that fateful day.
[A/N: Kylo literally has no idea what to do with Anthea's kindness and compassion. Backstory coming up in the next chapter, and then after that, I'm going to be diving back into the movie's plot! As always, feedback is appreciated. Thank you!
Iamkatieisme: I am back! It's been a while, huh? I certainly hope this story turns out alright, and I'm sure if you were to write your own it would be absolutely lovely! I was really nervous about writing Star Wars too, especially trying to tackle Kylo Ren's character, but I'm enjoying it thus far. Hah, I know what you mean! The first time I saw the movie, I walked out completely sold for Kylo's character. There was no hope for me from that point on, ahaha. At any rate, thank you so much for your review, dear! c: I hope I can please with later chapters! ]