A Shadow Emerges

Redemption

He could still feel the slowing of his breath in the moments after he transferred his life to her, but the man he'd been in the hours before hurling his lightsaber had been lost to the force. Only Ben Solo remained now. Whomever that was.

Living out the celebration following, that had been the hard part. He'd hung back, let Rey do the embracing and crying she'd undoubtedly earned. He knew now, even without his help, the Dark side would have risen, whether it was through the First Order or not. Darkness had its place in the world. It served as a backdrop. Without the darkness there would be no light, and vice versa. A dyad in the truest of forms. And yet, none of it changed the shadow he'd cast on the world. None of it erased the role he'd played—Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order.

He shook his head, stricken by the irony of where he lay now, deep within rebel headquarters, fingers entwined with that of the last Jedi.

He stroked a thumb down the callused hand that clasped his own. The vee between her thumb and pointer finger was silken compared to the rough ridges of her palm. Silken in much the same way as the sheets they found themselves under. Silken like the flash of flesh peeking from beneath her collarbones . . . His eyes shot back to her face.

Force knew if she wanted that, him, like that. He was a monster, and she—he lifted a single finger to the soft pout sleep had pulled from her lips—she was not.

Loosening a sigh, Ben dropped his hand to the bed and resumed his vigil of the ceiling. She was alive and beside him. That was all that mattered.

Rey.

His Rey.

They were a Dyad in the Force, a rarity amongst their kind—the force sensitive. Palpatine sought to use them, bend them to his wishes, and then exterminate them. Ben rolled his shoulders, glancing sidelong at the lightsabers beside him on the nightstand. Palpatine hadn't succeeded. Rey ensured that.

As for himself, he'd never planned on leaving the Sith temple. Death had been a means of escape—an end to an awful beginning—only the Force hadn't let him. His mother had shoved him back, backed by a hundred Jedi. He still didn't know what it meant. Unworthiness, no doubt. But what would be required of him? How did a monster and a destroyer move on? Destruction was in his veins. What was in his soul?

Regardless of the Jedi, it seemed his story wasn't finished. Now, he hoped, counting the patches of color disrupting the white of the ceiling tile, it would be a story of redemption.

Redeeming himself, however, would be an entirely new challenge. One that started now.

Ben's nerves danced with an energy that hadn't subsided, even with the drain on his life force and his brief journey in the Force. He ran a hand down his wrinkled tunic and grimaced. No time better than to use such energy. Facing Poe Dameron would require everything he had.