His new surroundings were foreign to him. Something told him that this was Millius Prime, but it wasn't his own knowledge that informed him of such, rather, it was Anthea's. This was her homeworld, these were her memories, and he was simply an onlooker in this flashback.

Kylo knew little of Iego's one thousand moons, and Millius Prime was no exception. The landscaping and architecture was at least worthy of the dwelling of the ethereal creatures which resided here, he noted. Towering, pristine white and gold structures loomed on the horizon, situated well above the clouds— a civilization of radiance and beauty.

He might have taken a moment to appreciate it further if the world hadn't of tilted around him. It took him a moment to realize that he was flying— or rather, Anthea was, and he was seeing the memory of it through her eyes. The sensation of his body standing stationary yet having his mind tricked into thinking that everything was whirling around him at such an accelerated rate left him a little weak in the stomach.

She landed behind a figure that glowed similarly to her own, pressing her hand over quivering lips. The figure jolted and inhaled sharply as she thrashed in her captor's grasp. Anthea's features emerged from the shadows, cerulean eyes brimming with tears but burning with a sense of urgency. The other Diathim, shorter and younger in face, turned to look at her.

Relief washed over her features, and she embraced the older woman.

"He's dead, Anthea. They killed him," she trembled violently now, her eyes wide and filled with tears, "Why did they kill him?" The young angel crumbled then, pressing her radiant countenance into her hands and heaving a distraught sob. It struck Kylo then that this was someone that Anthea was close to, but what was their relation?

"Why did they kill our brother?" Ah, so it was her sister.

The girl whimpered, incapable of fathoming what could warrant such a vile act. The poor, sweet thing— so young and pure; she had no idea her parents had been slain as well. In the memory, Anthea decided not to divulge that information for the time being.

"Shh, hush now. Breathe. Rhia, look at me, breathe," Anthea encouraged her sister tenderly, drawing her traumatized form into her arms. She held her younger sibling as she wept, curling her six wings around her as if to hide her from the world. But who would hide her away from all of this?

No one. No one would hide her, could hide her, anymore. Her parents and her elder brother were dead, cold and lifeless, their lights having flickered out. All that remained was her and her little sister now.

"Listen to me very carefully. Do you recall those humans that crashed their ship onto our moon nearly a month ago? The ones we rescued and nursed back to health?" Rhia nodded slowly, and her sibling pressed onwards, "I'm afraid there's no easy way of saying this, but they aren't nice men. Not as they led us to believe. It was all a lie; they took advantage of our hospitality, and now they mean us harm." That much was obvious, but Anthea pressed on regardless, "We must keep our wits about us, or we won't make it out of this alive. Do you understand me? We have to be strong. Rhia."

"But why? Why do this?" the younger pressed, clinging onto the question. The auburn haired angel pursed her lips in response, her throat tightening as she clenched her jaw. What could she say?

Because they're vile. Because not every race is kind, it would seem. Because there is evil in this galaxy.

Because we were fool enough to trust them unconditionally.

Anthea said none of these things. Instead, she merely shook her sister gingerly by her shoulders, asking her again if she could collect herself. Rhia choked out a quiet sound of consent, nodding weakly and wiping at her eyes. The image of her brother's corpse was still fresh in her mind, and her shoulders hung heavy with bereavement. Anthea would have been in a similar state had she allowed it of herself, but she didn't. She could not. She had to protect what little she had left; what she held precious and dear to her.

In the end, it was a futile attempt. The memory abruptly jumped forward some short time, and screams filled Kylo's head now as he watched the slavers and black marketeers drag Rhia away. She kicked and howled, but with her wings bound in chains and her ankles shackled, it was of little use. Anthea was crying, but through the tears she shouted promises to her sister.

I'll find you. I swear it. Rhia didn't seem to hear her. She was drug into the confines of a ship, and the main slaver, quite clearly the head of the gang, turned back to face Anthea.

"I will burn you for this." Never before had Kylo heard her speak in such a hateful tone. It stood in stark contrast to the tender tone she so often employed; the sweet timbre he was used to. This was darker, laced with utter detestation.

"A day will come when you think you are safe, and I will turn all you hold dear to ash. Then you will know the debt has been paid." She stared the man down, her expression utterly devoid of any emotion except burning acrimony. Her blue eyes burned with it, and her full lips were pulled back in a sneer to bare her teeth. She looked more beast than angel in that moment.

The man only laughed at her, shaking his head. When he grinned, it revealed a single chipped tooth.

"This one's got a mouth on her. It'll drive her future master out of their wits. Teach her that it's better to hold her tongue. She'll be better off for it," he gestured towards her wings then, and the brutes in his following that weren't already restraining her stalked towards her. Kylo made note of every one of their faces, engraining them in his own memory to pull at a later date. He would have each and every one of these individuals hunted down and slaughtered like animals, if they weren't already dead.

"Leave her with one pair, though. A Diathim without wings won't sell for half as much on the black market as one with at least one set will." The command was given, and the punishment began.

No matter how much Anthea struggled, she could not escape her captors. They ripped and they tore and they took what was not theirs to take, leaving her in a state of anguish Kylo could barely stand to endure. He felt the contents of his stomach threatening to rise in his throat as he watched them hack off four of her wings down to the coracoid, drowning the porcelain canvas of her shoulders and back in rivers of carmine. Her eyes rolled back after a while and her screams seized; whether this was because she had lost consciousness or simply rubbed her voice raw, he wasn't sure.

Kylo Ren was numb from head to toe as he watched them haul her limp body up, one individual carrying her on his shoulder as if she were a sack of meat to be lugged around. When Anthea truly did pass out from the pain and the memory faded to black, it suddenly jumped again.

This time, a raid was taking place. It was the distraction she needed to flee, the one she had waited so long for, and she wasted no time in acting on the opportunity. After having managed to rid herself of her chains with the assistance of a fellow slave, she took off running, but her master was in hot pursuit. He seemed to be a rich, well established man, and had certainly paid a fortune to come into possession of a Diathim slave. He was quite literally watching his credits fly out the window, and he wasn't keen on letting Anthea escape.

The Diathim as a race in general were capable of flying through space without the need for protective gear or life support, but with four of her wings having been stolen from her, Anthea couldn't hope to outpace an actual ship. Thus, she stole one of her own among the chaos.

Having never flown a starship in her entire life given that she had wings of her own, the chase didn't persist for very long. In a desperate attempt to lose her pursuer, Anthea kicked in the hyperdrive after wrestling briefly with the foreign instrumentation and jumped past even the Outer Rim. Further and further she retreated, eventually entering the Unknown Regions, where Starkiller Base resided. Seeing the massive planet looming in the distance, she headed straight for it, intending to lose her unwanted company on the surface.

Aiming to disable her, her former master open fired at the ship. It had taken some damage in the initial takeoff, however, and a few well placed hits was enough to send it spiraling. The angel abandoned the cockpit rather than be engulfed in the inevitable explosion that occurred when the engines combusted, but was still hit with ricocheting debris when the ship tore itself apart. Sharp metal shards punctured multiple areas on her wings, causing her to cry out and waver ever closer towards the mobile ice planet. In doing so, she was thus sucked into the gravitational pull of Starkiller Base.

That was when her fall began. Kylo recalled seeing her plummet from the ether, but seeing it from her perspective was nothing short of jarring. This time, her sense of helplessness was his own. This time, the stab of despair was theirs. He steeled himself just before he witnessed her hit the ground, bracing against the surge of pain that rocketed through her memories. It was only a dull echo of what she had felt at the time, the same holding true of the removal of her wings, and yet it was still potent.

Get up. You have to get up. He'll be coming for you soon enough. And if not him, then the other slavers. Her thoughts bounced around in his head space, and he watched her as he had before when she tried, and failed, to get to her feet. The pain was simply too much— her body had endured its limit.

Get up. She grew frustrated with herself, gritting her teeth.

But she couldn't. Her legs wobbled with her next attempt to rise, knees giving out beneath her. She tried flapping her wings, but they were like dead weights harnessed to her back, and did her little good. She simply could not pull herself to her feet, and she knew that her end was drawing near.

So she waited— waited for the sound of her denounced master's ship to draw near; for him to come hauling out and running to her in order to recapture her. She waited for the only thing she had left to her name, her freedom, to be ripped from her grasp once more.

But the ship never came. There was no capture; no sound of boots trampling against snow as they approached her. For the longest time, there was nothing but the wind echoing through the mountains and trees.

This is where I die. The thought should have frightened her, but it didn't. Her family had been slaughtered and she sold into slavery, and for what?

In a streak of unexpected pity, Anthea found it in her to feel a tad bit sorry for the man who spent such a colossal amount of credits to purchase her. The sentiment baffled Kylo, but it was a lesson to be learned: never buy a slave with wings.

Although, it wasn't as if her former master hadn't attempted to keep her tethered to the ground by one means or another. He had tied her wings tight - bound them in chains and a lock. He had kept weights on her ankles to keep her further burdened; as if that had been necessary at that point. She was certain the other slavers would be better off for her absence; the former rattling of her imprisoning bindings when she moved to and fro had grated on the nerves after a while.

As she lay dying in the snow, she pondered idly on the fate that might have befallen the other slaves. Had they managed to escape just as she had? The distraction caused by the raid and pillaging of the village had served them well, yet she desperately hoped— for their sakes— that their luck fared better than hers. She hoped they didn't muck up this rare opportunity as badly as she had.

She hoped they were somewhere safe. She hoped they were warm and comfortable, and not wasting away in the snow. Oh well; at least it numbed her muscles entirely so that she couldn't feel the pain anymore. She couldn't really feel anything, but she prefered that over the agony that had been racking previously.

She supposed she could just close her eyes and go to sleep - sink into the embrace of the snow and never wake. The thought was sorely tempting as her body temperature began slowly declining, her breath billowing out by her lips and appearing as a thick cloud.

If this is how I go, so be it. Better this than perishing in chains.

With that thought in mind, Anthea had sunk into the snow fully, exhaling slowly. It wouldn't be long before she slipped away.

It was only seconds after that revelation that something happened; something the Diathim could have never anticipated.

Kylo saw himself through his eyes when next she peeked them open, and he vaguely heard her mull over the thought that she had encountered yet another human. She recalled the face of the man whom she had deemed harmless, remembered the havoc he had unleashed on her life, and tried to stand. Again she failed, and, otherwise drained entirely of energy, succumbed to her exhaustion.

That was when he had saved her. When Kylo Ren, an imposing figure feared widely throughout the galaxy, had knelt down beside this fascinating creature's broken form and picked her up so smoothly into his arms to carry back to the central control facility; the great assembly chamber and its hundreds of workstations. Through the wiping winter winds and frigid snow he had carried her, delivering her personally to the medbay and overseeing her recovery.

Removing her fingers from against his forehead in present time, Anthea leaned back and examined the knight's face. His eyes remained closed even after the images faded from his mind, for the sensation and raw emotions from it all lingered still yet.

He had never felt the urge to apologize for anything in her entire life, and yet the words I'm sorry welled in his throat. Useless— such sentiment was empty and void, and would not change what had happened to her and her family. It would not bring them back; would not erase her scars, both physical and mental.

"Say the word, and I'll have every one of them hunted down." His voice was low, and his dark brown eyes were nearly black with anger. He would cut these men in twain himself if he were capable. She need only ask it of him, and he would show them what raw fear truly felt like.

Anthea's lips twitched as she regarded him, and she ducked her head down to mask her slight smile.

"I know you wouldn't hesitate," she mused, "But that won't be necessary."

Kylo said nothing, only furrowed his brows at her. He knew all too well the extent of this woman's compassion, but surely she couldn't possibly—

"I intend on hunting each and every one of them down myself," she explained, her voice surprisingly low. Her eyes held his for a long moment, and within her he could sense a glimmer of that hatred he tried so hard to pull from her. It was there, it existed, now if only he could convince her to act on it. To direct it against others, and not just the men who had wronged her.

"Oh? And what fate do you have planned for them after you hunt them down?"

"I haven't quite settled on that yet. Perhaps I'll have them delivered straight into the belly of a Sarlaac," the tone in which she spoke was dismissive, but he could tell the idea appeased her. She had thought on it more than once.

There it was again. That hate. If she would only make use of it, capitalize on it, she could grow so much stronger. And with his guidance, with his teachings, she could reach the height of darkness. She could be a queen, a dark queen, who struck fear and awe into all who beheld her. She could hunt down those men who had wronged her; could serve at his side.

But she would not give in so easily, and he knew better than to propose the offer now. Not in this moment, so delicate and fragile as it were. Instead, he opted to change the subject.

"You wear your hair down to hide your scars." It wasn't a question. Anthea's eyes honed in on him, and she nodded slowly.

Backless dresses were a necessity given the large, feathered appendages she toted. They required room to breathe, to stretch and shift, and the uniforms of the First Order didn't exactly permit such things. She could always have one modified for her, but she much preferred the weightlessness of her usual flowing raiment. As far as her hair went, the thigh length tresses did a wonderful job of concealing her scars whilst she donned such clothing.

Because of this, Kylo had only ever caught glimpses of the marring that tore across the angel's back. She hid them well, but suddenly she turned around, sweeping her hair out of the way and over the front of her shoulder with one gentle stroke of her hands. The knight barely concealed the hitch in his breath as the severity of the damage dealt to her really sunk in. He had watched the birth of these scars, and yet seeing them now, having them within arm's reach to touch, was something else entirely. She extended one wing outwards to him then, and for a moment he merely stared at it. Was she…?

"It's alright," she assured, as if somehow sensing his hesitation. Even after enduring such abuse, she was offering him permission to touch that which was so precious to her; her last remaining set of wings— something she had never permitted of any other person. Not even him, up until now. It showed an unwavering amount of trust on her behalf, and he wasn't keen on betraying it.

He would be lying if he said he hadn't often thought of this very moment. His fingers were almost uncharacteristically gentle as he slid them over the feathers, his touch ghosting across the plumage with such care, almost as if he feared he might snap a bone if he pressed too hard.

She sat perfectly still during the exchange, her eyes having slid closed. A few feathers ruffled here and there, but other than that, she appeared to be calm. A small touch ghosted across her shoulder by the edge of her wing and she cracked one eye open, peeking over her shoulder at him.

He was watching her with great concentration, always aware of her reactions and emotions through her presence in the Force. When she showed not a trace of objection, he carefully, slowly, slid his hands down to skirt around her scars.

They were gruesome things, still sensitive even after all these years. Or perhaps it was by reflex that the muscles in her back quivered when he drew near to certain tender spots. The memory of how this disfigurement came to pass burned raw in her mind still, the agony would always be fresh. It was not something she would ever be able to forget; all she could do was gather up the pieces of herself and press forward.

His eyes drew slowly towards her own, and for a moment, the intensity that passed between them was like a physical shock. He felt it ripple through him, and his pupils dilated. They were suddenly stuck, suspended in something neither of them quite seemed to grasp, but it radiated between the both of them with a crackling fervor.

Then his comlink began to emit an alert, and the knight growled beneath his breath. The moment was shattered, lost, and he was resigned to rise from his knelt position, picking his mask back up and slipping it back over his head as he accepted the transmission. The locking mechanisms clicked into place and the apparatus settled over his features just as General Hux's frequency was picked up and a small hologram of him was projected.

"General Hux," Ren greeted formally, an air of detachment notable in his tone.

"Ren," the general mimicked the false tone of politeness. His eyes ticked briefly towards Anthea then, but if he thought anything in particular about her presence or wondered why she was in the knight's personal quarters, he kept such inquires to himself.

"I assume this has something to do with the prisoner?" the masked knight intoned.

"Indeed. Your presence is required in the detention block. The Resistance pilot is proving to be rather…" Hux trailed off then, searching for an adequate term to describe the likes of Poe Dameron's obstinateness.

"Resistful?" Anthea offered with a small upturn of her lips. Hux's projection promptly glared at her.

"Defiant." he said, redirecting his focus onto Kylo, "He has refused to disclose the location of the map, even after certain methods of persuasion were employed."

"Understood. I'll speak with our guest." the knight rumbled. Hux nodded, and the correspondence was ended all at once. The Diathim turned to face her company, frowning up slightly at the mask that now shielded his features from her view once more.

"And what will you do with him once you've extracted the information you seek? What will happen to him?"

Kylo didn't answer, only strode from the room and left her in pensive silence. Alone. Suddenly, and with chilling clarity, she recalled what he had said to her back on Jakku, and knew all at once and with a grim certainty what fate inevitably awaited the pilot:

The Order does not release prisoners after it has taken them.

[A/N: Things are about to get interesting. The next chapter is going to have Finn and Poe in it, and Anthea, being the sympathetic person that she is, is going to get mixed up in something she shouldn't. Kylo isn't going to be pleased.

At any rate, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter!]