Kindred Spirit | KYLO REN

11. Jedi

Like I did every morning that week, I set out for the gym.

Training with the suit had become my sole obsession. I was addicted to moving in it, shooting in it, and testing the limits of its speed and strength. So far, the only limiting factor I had found was my own endurance.

Just as the door to the gym was sliding open, I heard an unusual clatter. I saw the flash of a red lightsaber before its user retracted it. He shouted a voice command to deactivate the melee training droid. His cloak and tunic were thrown over a bench nearby, leaving him in a light shirt and trousers. A sheen of sweat covered his face, plastering locks of hair to his forehead and neck.

He immediately went to gather his things.

"You can stay," I interjected, stepping inside.

I sat on a bench across the large mat and pretended to do some warm-up stretches. He retrieved a water canister from the stash nearby and sat heavily on the ground, leaning his back against his bench. His long legs were stretched out as he gulped down water. Once he finished it, he went to grab another one. I followed him with my eyes.

"Are you Han Solo's son?"

His hand froze with the second bottle halfway to his lips. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Who is Han Solo to you?"

I gestured as if it were obvious. "The famous racer."

His shoulders relaxed.

"Yes, I am."

My eyes fell self-consciously. I had expected his response to be "no relation." As younglings, many of my friends idolized Han Solo for his roguish personality and good looks. I hated to admit that I did, too. And Kylo...killed...

"He was a terrible father," he volunteered readily. "A drinker and a gambler, when he wasn't racing or smuggling. He left my mother when I was eight years old."

I felt a pang of sympathy. "I'm sorry."

When I stole a peak at him, his eyes were downcast. This further confirmed my theory that we only brought pain and suffering to one another. After finishing his water, he lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his face, briefly exposing his torso. I forced my eyes away, feeling an unwanted flash of heat.

I tried to focus on the difficult task of stretching out my calves as he returned to the training droid. Without turning it on, he yanked the melee weapon from its grasp. It was red and silver staff, with one blunt end and one end as sharp as a knife. It was clearly Praetorian. He met my curious gaze as he twirled it around his wrist.

"Have you ever held a weapon like this, Lucia?"

"No."

He grasped the hilt. "I'm surprised Vegas didn't show you."

"We were still working on—"

He swung it sharply to the side, activating its purple energy field. I stared at the glowing sword as I cleared my throat.

"C—Combat knives."

Raising it above his head, he eased into a defensive pose. His movements became light and precise as he lunged forward and stabbed the air. He brandished the sword right and left before centering it in front of his chest. It was a sharp contrast to his usual aggressive style.

"A Jedi attacks like a coward," he said, relaxing his stance and deactivating the blade. "Defensive and evasive."

My lips parted.

"How did you learn all this?"

"My Jedi training."

"You—you were a...?"