The Chosen Ones

The Escape

"No more!" Rey said aloud, briefly overshadowing the hustle and bustle of people coming under the heavy wooden and metal door. Thinking about Ben made her feel worse; annoyed turning over her rusty cot to look at the cell, ignoring the desperate rats licking her plate of food, the only one she will receive for the rest of the day.

The worst thing was being aware that five years ago she had lost not only her freedom but also her magical powers and the connection that intertwined their minds as one, merging their powers as one entity, making them the most powerful entities prophesied by the first Jedi Wizards and whom everyone feared. So much magical power contained in one mind had brought to madness several wizards over the centuries, their effects so devastating that none of them survived. But their connection disappeared at the very moment both of them buried their swords in the chest of that deformed tyrant, as tall as two men, his haggard face marked under the edge of the sword of the last Jedi Grandmaster, Luke Skywalker.

At the exact moment, she extracted her sword and that man's blood spilt on her worn-out leather boots, she felt the force that guided her there vanished inside her, filling her once again with emptiness and pain. Ben looked at her one last time, the golden of her eyes becoming opaque, taking his claymore and pointing it at her, looking all over the room for something he didn't seem to find.

His black armour glowed beneath the torches hanging from the polished stone walls, his footsteps rumbling over the footsteps of soldiers who broke into the throne room, that ancient cast-iron, a volcanic stone chair that occupies Emperor Snoke's lifeless body, his golden ropes glimmering under the shadows. The guards polished armour was so bright that it looks white compared to the darkness around them, blinding her for a few seconds. Time doesn't move, all stopped in that moment of confusion, her heart beating hard and rumbling in her ears.

This time it's Kylo Ren, the Emperor's Right Hand, who yells at her from the other side of the throne: "Where's he?"

"Who?" asked Rey as one guard place shackles on her ankles and other handcuffs her wrists. "Ben, what does this mean?"

"WHERE'S THE CHILD?" yelled Kylo Ren using his claymore, black steel and blood-red handle, to smash a large oak table where the forgotten remains of an opulent dinner rested.

"I have no idea who you're talking about," responded Rey realizing that once again she had been used, a simple puppet at the service of the ambition of others. She feels broken, she had believed in each and every one of her promises, to the idea of beginning a new life in the countryside away from the courts and the restrictions imposed by the Jedi Wizards upon discovering that she possessed magical powers superior to anyone, even the ancient masters.

"Take her to the dungeons." Those were the last words she heard from him, sentencing the rest of her days.

Every morning, before dawn, one of the elite soldiers known as the Knights of Ren would visit her cell to move her to the interrogation room, or torture chamber to be precise, where each one of her body parts was torn apart, lacerated, burned, broken; trying to snatch information about "The Chosen One" that she didn't know, and it didn't matter how much she begged and pleaded, it didn't seem to alter the determination of those men, who looked satisfied as long as they could see her in agony.

A few months ago, just as the presence of the guards inside the catacombs practically stopped, the morning visits of the Knights of Ren began to last less, inflicting lesser pain during their sessions, until last month when the torture had ceased altogether. Her body was a collection of scars, so many of them that new ones covered healed ones, the silent witness of the martyrdom imposed on her. She had lost track of the times she had heard her bones break, and it was easier to count the parts of her skin that aren't marked, and at least her nails had grown properly this time.