The Chosen One: A Reylo Story

Chapter 12: The Man with No Name

Isolated shrieks tear through the night.

The village is in chaos. Flames consume makeshift abodes, lighting up the darkness with a sinister glow. People run screaming, desperately trying to dodge blaster fire. Few are successful.

A masked Kylo Ren surveys the scene, striding forward with a relaxed confidence that eerily contrasts with the war zone raging around him. Cadres of Stormtroopers advance, executing hysterical villagers with precision.

He slows as he nears a crude barricade made of heavy black sacks. He feels it... a presence on the other side. He stops for a moment just a foot in front of the wall. It's barely higher than his midsection. He could easily look over it, but he turns and begins walking to the end of it instead.

As he rounds the corner, red bursts of plasma shoot towards him. He easily deflects the blaster fire with his lightsaber. He sees his attacker crouching against the barricade ahead— a boy, no older than twelve from the looks of him. As Kylo approaches, the boy attempts to fire again but looks down in shock as his weapon flies out of his hand before he can pull the trigger. He gulps and looks up at the tall figure approaching him, frozen in fear.

Kylo Ren towers over the boy who looks up at him with wide eyes. He's too scared to run. He's even too scared to move. He just stares into the black mask above, almost as though he were hypnotized.

For a few seconds, Kylo stands unmoving, returning the boy's gaze. Then he raises his lightsaber high above is head. The boy flinches and falls backwards, realizing what's about to happen. He squeezes his eyes shut as the blade descends swiftly upon him—

Ben gasps as his eyes fly open. His body is hot and slick with sweat. He tries to catch his breath as he stares into the blackness above. He's foggy and disoriented, struggling to remember where he is exactly. The sheets stick to him as he rolls over, pressing a palm onto the mat to sit up. He swings his legs over the bed, bare feet connecting with cold floor below. He squints and looks around him. The room is beginning to take shape as his eyes adjust to the darkness... the door just ahead, the table to the left.

Suddenly, he twists his body around to look behind him. The image he sees brings him back to reality in an instant.

Rey lays on her side, eyes closed. She's breathing deeply, peacefully. One hand rests on her belly and the other is curled next to her forehead. She's wearing a thin undershirt and pants but is otherwise uncovered— no blanket, no sheet.

Slowly, he rests his body back down on the bed, turning towards her. He studies her as she sleeps. Her chest heaves softly with even breaths. Her face is serene and almost seems to glow. He stops himself from reaching out to touch her, from tracing the smooth angle of her eyebrow, slipping down the soft skin of her cheek to caress the curve of her lips.

To him, she's pure innocence. Full of peace and purpose. Unburdened by horrors perpetrated in the past.

A heavy feeling clenches in his gut, a familiar one that communicates implicitly.

He doesn't deserve her.

He lets his gaze linger on the soft angles of her face for a moment more. Then, he turns away. Carefully, he lifts himself from the bed and walks towards the door. It opens automatically, almost silently, as he exits into the hallway. He rubs his face with a hand as he staggers towards the kitchen. He stops at a side panel on the wall to check the time. Four hours until first light.

He pours a glass of water and sits at a nearby table. To his left is not a wall but a window, a giant window to the world outside. It's still dark, but a few things are illuminated by the tepid moonlight— a large, twisting tree, thick grass that gets thinner as it stretches out towards the soft curve of the ledge ahead. He can just make out the top of the path leading down to the beach a few feet below. The ocean is relatively calm, waves crashing gently against the rocks.