Genesis

The Jedi Master and former scavenger from Jakku are drawn to each other. He recognises her immediately and is hesitant about speaking of the past. She is sensing vague ideas of his importance to her. Shyly, they begin to interact and to find out more about each other.

Trancelike, the two of them stood motionless for uncounted moments as the gulls screamed and the distant sound of the surf washed around them. Rey's face communicated her entreaty; her need for Luke Skywalker to acknowledge the offering she held out. To her, the lightsabre symbolised so many things: her wish for answers and guidance, her desire to bring this man back from his exile and her friends' need for help in redressing the balance of Light and Dark.

Finally, the Jedi Master took a slow step towards her. Hesitantly. Then another. She walked towards him; one step. Two. Their eyes were locked and neither could look away as the space between them closed.

His gaze… so sad. So tender. Looking at her as if she was a vision that he feared might evaporate, vanishing into the sea breeze and leaving him alone again. He broke eye contact briefly to look down at the proffered lightsabre, and reached out his metallic hand. She gave the sabre to him with reverence. Then he looked up and met her eyes again. His left hand rose to brush the back of his cool, curled fingers down her cheek with the lightest of caresses as he reached to her, oh so carefully, with his mind.

Rachel…

This one-word statement echoed in her head. That name transmitted to her an ocean of longing. For a moment, his spirit opened and breathed to her his incredulity, awakening hope and fathomless love. Her heart pounded. She responded warmly, sensing his turmoil. Rachel? Rey. He knew her. How? She searched his face and then looked around her at the rugged, windswept grandeur of his island retreat. She'd felt its familiarity on her long climb up the steps. The island from her dreams. Maz had told her to look forward for her family, not back. Was this place exactly where she needed to look? Her legs began to tremble and she found she was afraid to breathe. Who was this man to her? She looked at him more discerningly. He was dishevelled, unkempt. Yet there was a quiet dignity about him. He emanated a blend of stilled tension mixed with profound sadness.

Luke took her hand, opening up her fingers, and gave the lightsabre back into her possession. Self-consciously, he cleared his throat. "You should keep this," he said earnestly, his seldom-used voice husky. "I've got my own."

She watched him intently; afraid of rejection. She'd come a long way to find the last Jedi Master and so much depended on him. "Can we talk?" She asked.

"I think we need to," he replied.

He led her down the path, back towards the strange, dry-stone buildings she'd passed on her climb. Most appeared ruined and empty, but one had a door. Luke opened this to allow Rey to enter. They both ducked through the low entrance. Inside, he hung up his cloak and busied himself heating water to make them a drink. Now, after their intense interaction on the clifftop, it seemed that they were both shy of making eye contact again, or of speaking. She settled on a seating ledge to one side of the dwelling, her eyes growing slowly accustomed to the dimness. Then she noticed, with a small intake of breath, the hundreds – no, thousands of tally marks covering the walls. They were uniform in size, set out in regular groups.

As if sensing her surprise, Luke paused a moment to give Rey his full attention. She looked up at him in amazement. "How long?" She asked.

"A long time," he replied. She could see each lonely hour of every lonely day carved into the lines of sorrow around his eyes. Loneliness was clearly an intimate of them both.

"I used to count the days too," she told him. "Five thousand, three hundred and sixty four."

He looked at her thoughtfully and seemed about to speak, but then he turned away to pour out their drinks. Passing one to her, his hand shook slightly and spilled a few drops. He looked embarrassed as he sat down opposite and then proceeded to watch her in silence, his left hand closed into a fist and pressed against his whiskered lips.

"Where were you counting days?" He finally asked. She thought what an oddly phrased question it was. Why hadn't he asked where she came from or why she'd been counting days?

"Jakku," she replied. His face registered recognition.

"Why were you…" he began, then thought about his question again: "Who did you live with?" He questioned.

"No-one. I was alone." She answered. His shadowed features took on a haunted look but he remained silent, so she spoke again. "I scavenged parts from the wreckages of ships from the war and traded them for food from a junk dealer."

The bare facts of her statement lay between them for a few moments. She lost herself in considering how drastically her life had changed in the last few weeks. When she looked back at him, he was holding his head in his hands.

"Master Skywalker?" Rey enquired. She understood that here was a man whose demons were busily tormenting him. She wasn't sure why her words should have had such an effect on him, or whether he'd heard her at all. When he finally looked up at her again through his fingers, half of them weathered flesh, the other half jointed metal, she could see that he was firmly enmeshed in a personal struggle. Rey was torn too, between her compassion for him and her own very real need to discover whether he would be able to help her. Reluctant to say anything to cause him more distress, she simply said again, "Master?"

He breathed steadily in and out again, then dropped his hands. This time there was confusion in his face. He quietly asked: "Did Han and Leia find you?"

She felt her eyes sting and her throat close, thinking of the old smuggler. "Well, I suppose Han found me by accident. I liked him. He was gruff but… he asked me to be his second mate. I was good with the Falcon!" Rey saw a flicker of warmth cross Luke's features.

"When did this happen?" He asked.

"A week or so ago," came the reply. He looked even more confused.

"Did he know you? Your name?" Luke quizzed.

"No, how could he? I told him I'm called Rey," she responded. "That's what I've always called myself. It's short for Rachel?" He nodded.

"You saw Leia," he said. A statement, not a question. How much could he read from her?

"Yes. There's something about her. She… she hugged me. The first time we met." Rey had felt something between her and Leia and she had appreciated that physical contact after a life so empty of love and companionship. Tears spilled from her eyes, making her feel foolish in front of this great man with his penetrating gaze. She found herself blurting out: "I don't… I don't understand what's happening. I had visions when I first touched your lightsabre. I feel like there's some connection but I don't know what it is."

Luke was thinking hard. She didn't know who she was. No-one had told her. Han might not have recognised his niece, but Leia would have sensed who Rey was for certain. Luke gave her a long, searching look before making a decision, and saying to her: "The Force is strong in my family," his words came quietly but with immense gravity. "My father had it. I have it. My sister has it. You have that power too."

She stared at him, holding her breath, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "Do you know who I am?" She asked. Her question hung in the air like fine crystal and they were both afraid that the wrong word, the wrong answer, would smash Rey's fragile hope beyond repair.

"Yes," he whispered, "but I'm afraid to tell you. Afraid of what you will think."

"I have to know!" she spoke urgently. "I can handle it. Please, tell me the truth."

"Do you feel it, Rachel?" He murmured, his eyes full of love, hers full of need. This time she made the first move, getting to her feet and walking cautiously across the room to meet him halfway.

"Tell me," she asked again. "I've waited for so long. Please," her voice shook.

"Your name is Rachel Leia Skywalker," he spoke, barely more than a breath. "You haven't changed since I last saw you, fifteen years ago. You are more beautiful, and far stronger, than I could ever have dreamed."

"Skywalker?" She whispered.

"Yes. I am… your father." He said softly.

She stepped forward into his warmth, completely undone by his words, even though she realised she had known it before he'd said it. She'd just needed to hear it. He wrapped her gently in his arms, cradling her head on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time - neither wanting to break the spell of this moment that they had both yearned for. She grasped fistfuls of his salty, faded robes, weeping like the little girl she had been when their lives were torn apart.

He was happy to hold her for as long as they both needed. He felt her wracking sobs and didn't try to hold back his own tears. Her hair was soft, dark and fragrant - so painfully like Sami's. Although at the moment, all they felt was release and joy, he knew that there was pain to come as they explored each other's lives and stories. But for now, just standing here in his draughty hut, holding the daughter he had truly believed he would never see again in this life, feeling the first stirrings of hope that he had felt in many long years, he was content to hold on to this precious moment for as long as it could last, before time moved on and made it a memory.