CHAPTER SUMMARY: Kylo Ren enjoys a new toy in the training room.
Kylo Ren roars as the blade slices through his flesh, pinning him to the wall. Both hands fly up to grip the center of the double-sided sword sticking out of his shoulder. He looks up at blank face staring down at him.
The droid cocks its head, twisting the blade like it's relishing the moment. It's humanoid— a lithe body with two arms, two legs, and an armored shell that mimics the curves of human musculature. Kylo can see his reflection in its face, an oval-shaped screen nested in a metallic hood. It leans in menacingly, its hand sliding down the hilt.
And that's exactly the opportunity Kylo needs. In an instant, he snaps the blade in two, then drives the newly freed end into a weak spot in the droid's armor.
The droid jerks back mechanically, releasing the end still pinning Kylo to the wall. It reaches over to dislodge the weapon from its body.
Kylo grits his teeth, groaning as he pulls the blade out of his flesh. He ducks in anticipation of the droid's next move, sidestepping a swift jab and gaining some distance. He whips around to see the droid stooping over to pick up a weapon from the floor. It has two now— one end of its own sword and the double-sided one it disarmed him of. The droid turns slowly to Kylo.
Rather than resume its assault, it steps to the side, moving along a curved path. It has the air of a predator teasing its prey, seeming to take pleasure in building the tension before attack.
Kylo moves in the other direction, gripping the hilt of the weapon still slick with his own blood. He's panting, dripping with sweat, dark locks of hair sticking to his forehead. The wound in his shoulder throbs, a regular rhythm of shooting pain. He concentrates on the feeling, how the damaged nerves scream, begging for attention. He switches the sword from his left hand to his right and squeezes. The muscles of his injured shoulder howl in response. As the pain surges through his body, a smile creeps up his lips.
It's been a long time since he's been injured in the training room. A very long time. He likes this droid. He likes it very much. He's been waiting all day for this, and he's not disappointed.
Kylo's never seen a droid fight like this one. It has all the advantages of a robotic combatant— an extensive catalogue of martial skills, flawless execution— but it's programmed with an advanced AI designed manipulate psychological weaknesses. It doesn't just fight to win. It fights to demoralize, to utterly exhaust the opponent's mind and body. During the demonstration this morning, it thrashed Hux's cadets with what Kylo can only describe as sadistic brutality. It taunted, terrorized, and took every opportunity to inflict flesh wounds, forcing its opponents to fight through physical pain.
Which is why Kylo's been burning to get into the training room alone with it, face it one on one.
Suddenly, he jerks right, barely dodging the blade whizzing by his head.
The droid continues circling him as though nothing happened, now armed with only the double-sided sword.
Without thinking, Kylo makes a fist and beats the wound in his shoulder, sending sharp pains down his arm.
The droid whips into action, snapping its sword in two and charging. It launches into a relentless offense, its blades a flurry of motion, slashing with power, precision, and inhuman speed.
Kylo struggles to fend off the blows, each impact bringing newer, deeper waves of pain to his shoulder. To an outsider, the battle would seem to be all but won. Kylo's at the disadvantage in every way. The droid is physically larger and stronger. It has two blades to Kylo's one. It's progressively backing him into a corner with its complex combination of hacking and slashing, perfectly executed. And though both of them are injured, the droid feels no pain.
Of course, this is where a casual observer might wonder why Kylo's choosing to wield his blade with an injured arm.
And here lies his advantage, one very few would understand. Every time his wound is aggravated, every time the muscles tear a bit more, he grows more powerful. For any other person, the injured shoulder would seize, too painful to fight with. But for him, pain increases rage, and rage increases strength through the Force.
As Kylo continues fending off the droid's blows, his blood turns to fire in his veins, charging it with dark power. He starts to feel physically stronger, clashing against the droid's strikes with equal force. It's hacking and slashing in a series of moves intended to keep him on the defense, but it's repeating the same combination and Kylo's learning its rhythm.
He abruptly pivots left, then leaps high in the air, landing on top of the droid. He instantly drives his blade into its right shoulder with furious strikes— one-two-three-four-five-six times and the droid's right arm is dislodged from its body. Before the arm hits the ground, Kylo flips off the droid, landing behind it and immediately whipping around.
The droid is kneeling, reaching for the severed arm with its remaining limb, intending to reattach it.
Kylo lifts a hand, calling the arm into the air before the droid can get to it. He clenches his fist, crunching it into a ball before casting it across the training room.
The droid turns its head, following the now destroyed arm with its blank screen of a face.
Kylo seethes, beating his shoulder, then charging with a roar. He meets the droid with a fiery combination of strikes, well-practiced and fueled by the Force raging through him. He's pure energy, pure fire, physically stronger than his opponent, forcefully slashing and hacking, pushing the droid back as it fends off blows raining down upon it.
Kylo gives himself over the rage, his true weapon, and it rips through him in a ferocious blast of violence. He's consumed by the power, the contradiction of unrestrained passion and white-hot control. He thrusts his blade forward, across, down, again and again and again, overwhelming the droid, giving it no opportunity to strike.
This fight is his. This droid is about to become a heap of metal and wires...
But just at the crucial moment, he catches sight of something out of the corner of his eye.
Rey's standing at the edge of the training room, observing with intense interest.
Kylo halts, only for a split second, but it's all the droid needs. He feels an explosive blast at his side, and suddenly he's flying across the room, landing on the matted floor with a thud. He hears the droid charge at full speed.
"Cease all functions." Kylo barely gets the command out before the droid reaches him.
It freezes mid-rampage, remaining in statue-like position before straightening and dropping its weapon.
Kylo pants heavily, each inhale sending pains throughout his left side. He pushes from the floor, picturing a large bruise across the side of his ribcage.
Rey jogs over from the side of the room, stopping beside him as he stands. He looks down and is met with concerned eyes.
"You're hurt." She extends a hand to his shoulder.
"It's nothing." He jerks away.
She drops her arm.
He wipes the sweat off his face with a shudder, annoyed that the bond caught him by surprise yet again. He stoops over to pick up his weapon from the floor, then walks to the droid. He appears to examine it, but really he's just trying to change gears, adapt to the situation.
It's not that she's unwelcome. It's just... not an ideal time. He can't put his finger on why, but he hates it when she shows up at a time like this, when he's tense and hot with fury.
Of course, her presence has a marked influence on that. He already feels the rage leaving his body, like steam evaporating from a hot surface. As he leans over to pick up the droid's weapon, he notes his blood has slowed to an even flow.
He takes a minute to examine the blades, then snaps them together. All the while, he concentrates on Rey, what he senses in her as she stands behind him.
She's concerned. And vaguely disapproving. He needs to distract her...
"I'm sure you remember this from the throne room." He turns, tossing the arbir blade in her direction.
She catches the double-sided weapon easily, her reflexes sharp. She looks down at it, most likely remembering their battle with the Praetorian guards, one of them wielding a weapon much like this one.
"It's not equipped with an ultrasonic generator." He walks up to her. "But there's no need for one unless your opponent has a lightsaber."
She snaps the blade in two, bringing one end closer to inspect.
"Would you like to give it a try?" His lips curl.
He's been dying to get her into the training room again, try out new weapons, ones she's never used before, and see how she does with them. He loves being in a fight with her, watching her improvise, get creative...
"I don't think that's the best idea, not right now." She connects the blades together, eyes drifting to his shoulder. "That's an angry wound. You shouldn't be fighting anyone until you get that taken care of."
He fights the urge to roll his eyes, extending a hand for the weapon.
She gives it to him, clearly concerned.
He brushes past her, heading to a wall with weapons hung all over it. He casts the arbir blade to the floor and strides to the washing station, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat from his face. His shoulder still throbs, the pain transforming to an inconvenience now that he's no longer in combat.
He hears Rey approach from behind. She's burning with interest, a question on the tip of her tongue. He doesn't turn, just continues to clean himself, taking note of the blood flow at his shoulder.
Rey stands behind him, watching, that question nagging at her.
"Yes?" He draws out the word.
She doesn't say anything.
Now he senses hesitation. He sighs, casting his towel to the side, then turns around. "What is it, Rey?" He folds his arms. "I can feel you want to ask me something, so just ask."
She parts her lips but doesn't speak. She stares for a moment, then looks away, wrestling internally like wants to ask the question but dreads the answer. Finally, she looks back, eyes tinged with disapproval but also tenderness. "Why...?" She hesitates. "Why do you aggravate your injuries during a fight?"
He instantly looks away, realizing why she was hesitant to ask this. The answer will not lead to a pleasant interaction between them.
"Because it makes me stronger." He turns back to the washing station.
"How?" She probes.
He grabs the towel and begins cleaning the area around his wound, not because he needs to, just to do something. "Pain is a trigger for Force-sensitives," he informs her. "Pain, hatred, fear— all of it can be converted to rage— pure energy, pure power. It increases strength, speed, endurance—"
"But at what cost?" She steps closer. "To your body, to your mind?"
He rolls his eyes, keeping his back to her.
"What's the effect of channeling that kind of energy in the long term? Won't it ultimately weaken you?"
"In some ways." He casts the towel on the washing station. "But not in a way that matters." He turns to face her.
"What ways?" She narrows her eyes.
He stares impassively. "Over time, it can take a toll on the body. Eventually, it will cause physical deformity, assuming one lives long enough."
"Are dark siders known to die young?" Something about the way she asks this sounds more like a criticism than a question.
"That or they live for hundreds of years, like Snoke." He abruptly turns, striding to the other end of the room.
"So, you'll either die in the next few years or grow to be horribly deformed." Rey follows behind.
"I'm sure you'll recall Snoke's physical deformity did nothing to diminish his power." He hardens, moving to the blade the droid was holding when he cut off its arm. "Just the opposite. As his body grew weaker, his strength in the Force increased tenfold." He stoops, scooping up the end of arbir blade lying on the floor.
"And it doesn't bother you that you'll eventually look like he did, all twisted, mangled flesh?"
"I honestly don't think about it." He turns around, brushing past her on his way to the side of the room. "When the time comes, it won't really matter."
"It won't matter that you'll look nothing like you do now, that you might not even look human?" She tags behind him.
He clenches his fists, sharp pains shooting through his shoulder.
Who is she to pass judgement on something she doesn't understand?
"Power has a price, Rey," he says curtly.
"Well, it seems to me the price is too high."
At this, he whips around. "Really?"
She halts, startled.
"And what's the basis of this judgement?" He steps in, bearing over her. "What do you know about the dark side? Please. Educate me."
She fights to maintain confidence but her eyes grow increasingly uncertain. They stare at one another a moment before she looks away. He feels her emotions change, conviction replaced by insecurity.
"That's what I thought." He lingers before turning to walk away. "You don't know a damn thing about the dark side," he calls back. "In fact, I'd guess you know as much about the dark side as you do about the Jedi."
That hits her hard, a harsh reminder of her ignorance about the Force. This time, she doesn't follow.
He reaches for the blade the droid threw at him, scooping it from the floor. He attaches it to the other one, then strides to the weapons affixed to the wall, casting it to the floor.
"Why don't you teach me?" Rey calls out.
"About what?" He turns to find her walking up to him, arms crossed, shoulders relaxed.
"About the dark side, about the difference between the dark and the light." Her tone is curious now, casual.
He narrows his eyes. What is she up to...?
She stops in front of him, looking up earnestly like a student ready to learn. He doesn't sense disapproval, only curiosity, though he can't shake the feeling she has an ulterior motive.
He tilts his head, studying her.
She stares back, brown eyes fixed on his, completely ingenuous.
"What do you want to know?" He crosses his arms.
Her eyes flit to the ceiling, then back to his. "Start with the basics. Based on your experience, what's the most fundamental difference between the dark and light side of the Force?"
"Surely, that's something you already know," Kylo begins with authority. "Dark siders channel the Force through emotions often considered negative— pain, anger, hatred, fear. Acolytes of the light are the opposite. The Jedi taught channeling the Force through peace, compassion, and love. They feared the stronger emotions. They believed in restraint, in eschewing certain undesirable experiences."
"And you disapprove of this?"
He clicks his tongue. "Not of channeling the Force through so-called lighter emotions," he says decisively. "But teaching that one should reject feelings integral to sentient existence, feelings that can unleash the true power of the Force? That I very much disagree with."
"What do you mean by the true power of the Force?" Rey tilts her chin up. "Is channeling the Force through peace and love not true power?"
Kylo scoffs. "Rey." He steps in with a glimmer. "You have no idea. You haven't really felt the Force until you've felt it through rage. It's like losing yourself yet maintaining control at the same time. Trust me. Once you get a taste of that kind of power, there's no turning back."
Something flickers in her eyes, but the emotion is too fleeting to detect. "So, you think the dark side is the stronger aspect?"
"Without question," he answers instantly. "The dark side is all about unleashing one's potential, not holding it back. All of the things the Jedi rejected— aggression, anger..." He leans in. "Unrestrained passion."
She flinches subtly.
"These are all things dark siders embrace, and it's ultimately the reason why they know the full extent of the Force's power in a way that a Jedi never could." He smirks.
Rey gazes at him softly. "But..." She presses her lips together. "Why are emotions like anger and aggression the better way to wield the Force's power? Are there not ways to use the Force through peace and love that can't be done through the darker emotions?"
Kylo sighs. "Yes," he grudges. "But that's not my point." He looks to the ceiling, searching for the best way to put this. "Think of it this way." He looks back at her. "The bedrock of Jedi training is meditation. It's at the core of almost everything they teach. They even teach battle meditation." He grunts. "That's not to say nothing can be gained from meditation, but it's ultimately a passive exercise. The entire Jedi philosophy is passive, to observe and maintain, not really do anything."
Rey listens, processing. He can sense her openness, a desire to understand rather than judge.
"But dark siders...?" A smile creeps across his lips. "The bedrock of their training is combat. It's active. It's all about taking any situation into your own hands and making it yours, bending it to your purpose, your will." He feels a spark in his chest. "The Jedi called it darkness and that term has come to define it, but really..." He shakes his head. "It's only a belief that the Force should be used to do something more than simply keep the peace. It should be used to create peace, to create order, to propel the galaxy forward through sheer will and power."
Rey's not looking at him anymore. She's staring down, brows furrowed. He senses her struggle, working through what he's telling her. After a few moments, she starts to nod. "I think I understand what you mean." She looks up, calm and confident. "And honestly, I don't think I agree with the Jedi philosophy of being passive. Master Skywalker taught me about that, actually."
He tenses at the reference to his uncle, and the nerves at his wound scream. He ignores the pain.
"But I'm not convinced the emotions used to channel dark side are more powerful than those used to channel the light," Rey continues. "Compassion, love... these things aren't passive in nature. Surely, not everything the Jedi taught about these emotions was passive, and even if it was, that doesn't mean such emotions can't be used in other ways, perhaps ways that haven't even been discovered yet." Her eyes sparkle with possibility.
"That could be true." Kylo tilts his head in concession. "But I don't think anything will outmatch the unique quality of rage in harnessing the full power of the Force."
"I suppose that depends on your definition power." Rey looks down. "And I'm sure whatever can be done through love doesn't exact the same cost as what can be done through anger."
Kylo sighs, shaking his head. Just when he thought this conversation was going well, she's back to this again...
Rey looks at him with solemn eyes.
He says nothing. Why open up that subject again, if he can help it? He brushes past her, heading to the other side of the room.
"You know..."
He slows at the sound of her voice.
"When the bond brought me here today, you were on top of a droid, relieving it of its right arm." She walks up behind him, and he halts. "You were so consumed in rage, you didn't even sense me here, not then and for a while after. It was like nothing existed except pain and anger, all its energy coursing through you."
He turns to face her, guarded.
"I felt how much you were enjoying it in the moment." She steps closer. "But I also felt something else... How your body was screaming for you to stop, for you to heal. And something deeper, like a pain in your soul."
He starts to turn away, but Rey reaches out, gripping his forearm.
"Ben, you were the one who said that the bond brings us together when we're feeling vulnerable." Her eyes are earnest, pleading even. "All I'm asking is for you to consider that maybe, just maybe, there's something about being in that kind of rage that's a moment of vulnerability for you, even if it doesn't feel that way at the time."
He pulls back, but she grips his forearm more tightly.
"Maybe the bond's trying to get you to realize what all of this anger is doing to you."
At this, he jerks out of her grip, aggravating his wound. "You don't know what you're talking about," he spits.
"I know what I feel through the bond." She lifts her chin. "I can literally feel your pain, Ben, so, don't try to lie to me. I know exactly what rage feels like for you, how it rips you apart—"
"Oh, come on." He glares at her. "You think you know the dark side because you saw me in a Force rage for half a minute? You don't know anything— about the dark side, about the light side. You barely understand the Force at all." He steps in, covering her with his shadow. "You're just a scavenger who's only training was one week with a sad old failure of a Jedi. Why would I ever listen to what an ignorant girl like you has to say about the Force?"
Rey snaps back, lips parted in surprise. She's speechless. She looks up at him, surprise gradually deepening to hurt. She looks away just as her eyes start to glisten.
Kylo takes a step back, giving her some space. He watches as she fights back tears, his heart twisting, pulled in opposite directions. On the one hand, he burns that she would have the audacity to lecture him on how he should and should not use the Force.
On the other hand, he hates seeing her like this, especially when he's the one who caused it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears his mother's voice chiding him about the value of tact...
Rey's hugging herself now, eyes closed and head bowed. He feels her cycle through emotions— first hurt, then insecurity, and finally anger. She inhales sharply.
She's on the verge lashing out. He can already see her eyes flying open in fury.
But they don't. Instead, she takes a measured breath. Eventually, her shoulders relax, and she drops her arms. She breathes steadily now, her anger waning. In fact, she's entering what Kylo can only describe be a meditative state. She feels calm, at peace, focused on everything and nothing at the same time. She stands silently, seeming unaware of her surroundings.
Then, she does something strange. With her eyes still closed, she slowly extends a hand to his injured shoulder, hovering a palm over the wound. She stands just like this, perfectly still, doing absolutely nothing.
He tilts his head, studying her.
Then he feels it, a change in his body. The torn muscles in his shoulder begin grow together. His screaming nerves start to quiet until the throbbing fades way. He watches, gaping, as Rey puts him back together again, taking away his pain until there's none left. Once he's whole, she drops her hand, head bowed. She waits a moment before opening her eyes and turning her face to his.
She doesn't say anything. Neither does he. They just stare at one another. Her gaze is soft, not a hint of satisfaction or smugness or anything like pride. No, instead she's full of something else, something so unexpected, so shocking, he can't believe it's real.
He stands frozen, unable to move or speak, barely able to breathe. He can only gaze into her eyes, lost in this feeling he hasn't felt from someone in a very long time.
She stares wordlessly, as lost in him as he is in her.
Then all at once, she disappears like she has so many times before, the loss making his heart drop. But this time, her absence isn't followed by that aching emptiness, the loneliness that tugs most cruelly just after the bond takes her away. He's much too consumed in what just happened to feel such a thing.
He stands at the center of the training room, unmoving. His arms hang limply at his sides, his head turned down. He stares at the space where Rey used to be, still processing the shock of her healing him, what he felt in her when she did.
There are so many things he could be thinking about right now, like the fact that she'd clearly never done that before. He felt her acting out of instinct, not training.
Or the fact that healing is a very difficult Force skill to master, one that he never came even close to doing himself.
Or the fact that what she just did is a perfect example of a Force ability that dark siders have never been able to fully accomplish.
But he's not thinking about any of these things. He can't think of anything except how she healed him, the emotion she tapped into to do it. It's very distinct. It's been well over a decade since he's felt anything like it, but he recognized it immediately. He doubts she knows what it is.
Why would she? She's never had an occasion to feel such a thing in her life...
He thinks back to that moment, her palm hovering over to his wound, the muscles in his shoulder mending. He thinks about that warm, steady glow welling within her and through the bond, in him too.
And for the first time, he allows himself to admit the truth... He's been feeling that way about her for a long time. It's something he's desperately tried to avoid, but now that he knows the feeling is returned, he can finally give himself over to it.
So, that's exactly what he does. He remembers the first few times the bond brought them together. He remembers what it was like to be seen, actually seen, after years of living under a mask. He remembers how terrifying that was, and how deeply satisfying. He hadn't realized how much he craved it, how much he wanted someone to know him, to see everything he is, even things he's spent his entire adult life trying to hide. And when she saw that, when she saw his true face...
Her first instinct was to feel compassion for him. Because that's just who she is. He has no idea how she managed to become that way. Most of her life, she's fought to survive, alone in a barren, sand-choked wasteland, surrounded by scum willing to steal or lie or kill. Growing up in an environment like that, she should be selfish and callous. She should be bitter and untrusting, willing to betray anyone the moment it's convenient.
But she's not. Instead, she's compassionate and loyal. She can see the good in anything, even a monster like him. She takes pleasure in the smallest things, like a flower or the sound of rain. In so many ways, she's still a lonely little girl, and yet she's capable and brave, too brave sometimes. She's imaginative, innovative, creative. She can fix anything. He's never met someone who's so vulnerable and so strong at the same time.
As he thinks about these things, a familiar feeling rushes upon him, but this time, he doesn't fight it, or bury it, or conceal it. He just experiences it, the crushing weight of it, so overwhelming it's painful, but damn it's the best pain he's ever felt in his life. It's an exquisite pain, only a manifestation of feeling so much, so deeply, all at once. It's a powerful combination of every kind of desire imaginable.
And now, he feels that desire blending with a deep sense of gratitude... because she feels the same way about him.
He stands still for several minutes, lost in emotion, until he finally wills himself to move. He turns to the door and takes a step, then another. Each step is a little quicker than the last, and by the time he reaches the exit, he's accelerated to his typical, brisk stride. He presses a panel and charges out of the training room. He marches through a wide hall of the dreadnought, seemingly with purpose, but he's not paying attention to where he's going. He's still in a daze, still lost in his own mind.
And for just a second, just a fleeting moment, the thought occurs to him.
The emotion coursing through him now is more intense than anything he's felt before, more all-consuming, more dynamic... It's powerful, more powerful than he could've possibly imagined.
And it's all the more powerful now that he knows it's shared.