"Arrogant," panted Cyra, her nose scrunched angrily. She was crouched, her lightsaber behind her back. Ben twirled his around his wrist, giving her a moment to catch her breath.
"I could argue the same of you," he said.
She hated how he looked. While her hair was falling out of her ponytail, sweat was present on her forehead, her arms, her back, she was panting, Ben looked unbothered. He looked at her as no threat in the casual way he toyed with her as she fought with all of her effort against him.
"This isn't fair," she said, pointing her saber at him. "Of course I can't win in a fight against you. But I can fight people below your skill."
"That isn't the point," he told her.
He swung his lightsaber at her, to which she ducked underneath and stepped quickly back to distance herself again. If there was an advantage she had over him, it was her speed. It allowed her to dodge well against him, given how long it took for him to complete a full swing of his lightsaber.
"I can feel your anger growing inside you," he told her, as he effortlessly blocked an offensive swing from her at him once more. She huffed at him. "Use it. Channel it. Feel it inside of you and use it to defeat me."
Their footsteps were light as they circled each other in the small training room.
At his words, Cyra felt her anger immediately disperse. She was annoyed that she could never best him, sure, but she could never use it to hurt him. If it was not her brain that refrained her from such actions, it was in the lightsaber that still, even after all these years, partially called to him.
She sighed and held her hands up in a surrender. She turned off the lightsaber. "Ben, I can't. I don't want to. I have no temptation to hurt you."
Ben dropped his own lightsaber, allowing silence to enter the room once more. "What do you know about the Dark Side of the Force?"
"I know that nothing about it appeals to me," she said, placing her hands on her hips.
"It appeals to those who are angry, who want an easy way out, who seek power. Skywalker feared the Dark Side; it's why he turned on me so quickly. He taught us nothing about the Sith or the Dark Side in fear that some of us would find it appealing and turn," explained Ben. "What I know was learned from Snoke, but the most important is that it shouldn't be feared. The Dark is quick, enticing, but that doesn't mean feeling it or giving into it means you're immediately a bad person. Everyone has low moments where they can feel the pull to the Dark."
"I did," admitted Cyra, agreeing.
"And that is the most important lesson I can teach you: to not fear the Dark. That doesn't mean you have to embrace it, but being open to it and its influences will do you better service than ruling out any possibility of using it," he told her. "I'm not a Sith Lord. I am considered a Dark Jedi, but even that is weary, given that I never completed my Jedi Training."
"Even you are in the middle," said Cyra. "Guess we're more alike than we thought."
He shook his head. "I find my strength in the Dark. With my anger, it was easier to pull power from the Dark. Where do you find it easy to pull your strength from?"
Cyra paused to think about it. "I don't know. I mean, I'm assuming the Light, because I've never used any Dark Side powers. I've done traditionally shared powers, with the telekinesis, or memory probing with you--"
"That traditionally belongs to the Dark," corrected Ben, raising his chin. He chuckled as her eyes widened. "You're right that some powers are shared between the Jedi and the Sith. Telekinesis, fighting techniques, visions, to name a few. They used to be distinct, in the days of the Old Republic, but the lines have blurred, which is why I say again you are a better Force User by allowing whatever powers you can gauge coming from either side. You know that certain Sith powers are traditionally lightning, memory probing, uh...The Force Bond that Rey and I have, I suppose, if it was truly created by Snoke."
Cyra nodded, thinking about the own bond she and Ben had together. Nothing about it ever seemed sinister, or dark. They were attuned to each others feelings, energies, and could enter into each others heads so simply. She wondered if that was true of the bond between he and Rey, or if it felt different to him than his connection to Cyra.
"If that rose from the Dark Side, then what do you call what we have?" she wondered.
"That's different," he said quickly. "It's different."
Cyra squinted suspiciously, but let it go. "Okay. Well, I can feel the Dark Side, sure. I feel its presence, the temptations when bad things happen. I guess I have been using memory probing with you for so long that I just assumed it was a Jedi thing. But I don't know that I'm capable of doing anything more, or maybe I don't know what to think about doing."
"The Dark Side is tempted by fear, anger, hate," he reminded her. "If you expect it to give you power, you have to give into your fear, your anger, your hate, first."
"But I don't have any of that, or at least I don't think I do, not enough to make a difference," she explained.
"You're not angry about what Skywalker did to us? About how my mother rejected you?" he asked.
"Luke's dead. Snoke's dead. Whatever I can be mad about, it's over, it's in the past, Ben, and I can recognize that everyone was doing their best to help you and I," she admitted.
He was quick. "You're not angry about how Snoke killed your father?"
Cyra's face fell blank. He did not need to rely on his bond with her in the Force to know it did make her angry, but it did not outweigh the guilt and grief she felt for her father. Her arms fell from her hips.
"It isn't my fault or his," she said, stoic, as if it was a mantra she had been repeating to herself for years. Her voice was small and quiet. "It's Snoke's."
"Snoke was in my mind from the time I was a child, grooming me, creating dark thoughts in my head. That doesn't make you angry? No matter how happy I was when I was with you, the minute I was alone, Snoke was always in my head, waiting, whispering," Ben continued. He paused as he watched Cyra's hand start to clench tighter around her lightsaber. "Every happy memory of my childhood is tainted with the whispers of Snoke in my ear. Even with you."
"Stop it," she said, casting her eyes at him quickly. They fell to the floor. She was thinking; that was clear. He could feel the negative energy radiating from her body to his.
"You shouldn't feel guilty. None of this is your fault," said Ben softly, wanting to redirect her growing energy. "It's Snoke's. He ruined what we had, he separated us, he killed your father--" Ben was cut off when he suddenly felt a tightness around his throat. He only choked once on his words once before Cyra looked up, realized the severity of her closed fist, and immediately let go. She was horrified. Even though Ben was waving his hand, telling her he was fine, Cyra could not believe in how easily she let herself go, how easily she resorted to an ability often associated with the Dark.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, shaking her head. Her lightsaber clattered to the floor as her arms wrapped around her waist. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Ben did not know how to react to her. It was entirely different to how he reacted to his first usage of the Dark Side of the Force— in fact, it could not have been more different. He expected her to have some reserves about using such powers, but never to apologize to him. He had been through much worse than a few second choke. But it was his admittance of the duality of their youth that sent her over the edge, so it was not something he was going to bring up to her.
"Cyra," he said softly, reaching to touch her.
She shook her head and backed away. She kept shaking her head, her eyes wide, seeing his face clenched in fear just moments before. "I can't. I need a minute," she said quickly, out of breath, and she called her saber back to her hand then ran past him and from the room.
She had to pull herself together quick once she exited the training corridor and found herself among dozens of Troopers perusing the hallways. Though she could not see their eyes, she felt their unease upon seeing her loudly bust out from the door.
Cyra pushed her shoulders back and wiped the sweat infused hair from clinging to her face. She walked through them, her head tall, staring at the top of the helmet of Troopers who passed by her, just like he taught her to do.
Nevertheless, Cyra was sure if one looked close enough they would be able to tell her chest was constricting. It felt tight. Had she not been in public, not been conditioned to pull herself together while in the presence of lower tier members of the First Order, she would have clutched her chest, tried to breathe, but she could not.
"Ah, if it isn't Ren's plaything," smirked a voice from behind her.
Cyra's eyes squinted as she turned. She clenched her hands together, wishing so dearly that now hadn't been the time for them to meet.
"General Hux, I presume?" she asked, forcing a smile. "Second in command, if I'm not mistaken?"
The smirk fell from his face. His hands adjusted to sit behind his back as his face clenched in anger. "I am a higher ranking officer than you, and you will treat me with respect."
"Sure, that can be an argument for another time," Cyra said briskly. She tapped her lightsaber hilt on her free hand, smacking it harder than she intended, but desperate to leave. "What do you need? Why have you stopped me?"
"I wanted to make a proper greeting—"
"Well, you've done that, so I'll be leaving now," said Cyra, turning on her heel.
"Where is Ren?" Hux called after her, his tone short.
It would have scared Cyra, if she hadn't been protected by Ben's wrath. "Training room," she called back, waving her hand in his direction as she turned the nearest corner to escape from his eyesight.
Out of Hux's sight, and generally in a less Trooper infested section of the Finalizer, Cyra whipped her head to search through every available hallway until she found an empty one, where she hurried into it, opened the first door she saw, noted it was dark and empty, and closed it behind her. She sunk to the floor, her legs extended in the small closet space, her head against the wall.
She just focused on breathing. Being able to see nothing except a sliver of fluorescent lighting from underneath the door calmed her mind, calmed her body. The tenseness in her muscles started to relax as she counted how many inhales she took.
Ben was going to reprimand her for the introduction with Hux, she knew. He was probably going to tell her that it was fine she accidentally Force-Choked him, that it was good, but the thought made Cyra uneasy. How fast she allowed herself to feel what Ben was trying to make her feel scared her. She knew for years that the guilt surrounding her fathers death would never leave her heart, Ben could feel that she guessed, so he targeted her anger for losing her father.
But Cyra was never a hothead, a grudge holder. She was forgiving and loose, understanding, up until Snoke murdered her father and she lost Ben within the same few days. She had already gone through her stages of grief, and anger was the worst. She had never thought more about joining the Dark Side to kill Snoke than living through her anger, but there had always been something inside of her pulling her back. She didn't know what it was. Maybe it was the Force. Maybe it was the ghost of her father asking her to forgive the galaxy for taking him too early and entirely undeserved.
She just couldn't. She gained no pleasure from Force Choking Ben. She felt guilty, disgusted, gutted by what she had done. He would know, if he didn't already, how she felt and she hoped beyond belief that he would not ask her to continue to reach the Dark Side of the Force. It did not welcome her like it did to others, just like the Light could not fully grant her complete strength in the Force. Cyra wondered for a long while if she was ever even meant to control any of the Force, with how little it allowed her to use.
Again, she was wondering her place in this story. It contradicted at every chance. Cyra and Ben grew up together, seemingly in love, yet Leia said he used to influence her through the Force. Could her love for him have been real, or a manifestation granted through the Force? Why was she born Force-Sensitive at all, with such little claim over the abilities of the Force, unlike anyone else she had met. She was shunned by both Luke and Leia to be trained as a Jedi, she could not give herself to the Dark Side to become a Sith. None of it made sense. Not even as she sat aboard a First Order ship could Cyra make sense of anything in her life, why it happened, what her place was.
"You know what your place is," whispered a voice.
Cyra opened her eyes, ignoring the tears that spilled from them, and saw a dimly lit blue figure in the darkness across from her. She blinked profusely.
"Yes, it's me. I'm intrigued you could summon me with how little power you have in the Force," he noted.
"That's not demeaning," muttered Cyra. She squinted at him, shaking her head. "I didn't know Force Ghosts were a thing one could summon, persay."
"I saw you needed guidance. I see you at the same point I faced as a young man, Cyra, as we all do. What is our function in life, with the Force? What can we learn from what it has taught us?" pondered Luke. He crossed his hands in his lap. "I have failed both you and Ben by refusing to teach you and by trusting in what the Force said could happen instead of seeing you for who you are."
"I'm not sure if who I am and who I was when you knew me are the same person," admitted Cyra.
"They are," said Luke, nodding. "You've grown older, but your heart is in the same place. You want to help for the sake of everyone, in the only way you know how."
Cyra thought of what Luke was implying. "I've told Ben before that everyone was just doing what they thought was right. With you and Leia refusing to train me, Ben choosing to find solace in the Dark Side, with me staying out of all of this—we all did what we thought was the right decision. And all of us regret it. And maybe one of us choosing different would have saved this, but we could never know. I just know now that I'm too deep to run again, I've let it gone on for far too long without doing something."
"As did I. I ran because I was ashamed. I realized too late that I was at fault, but I did what I could, Cyra. It's all we can do, for now," said Luke.
Cyra ran her fingers through her hair. She was doing all she could by simply existing near Ben, and the benefits were reaping. Snoke was dead, Ben controlled the First Order, and for all intents and purposes, he made the decision to halt advances. But it wasn't dismantling in the slightest.
"Small victories," interrupted Luke, knowing she was deep in her thoughts. "You being alive has changed the tide of the war."
Cyra rolled her eyes. "Let's not get dramatic."
"He killed Snoke because he could not lose you or Rey. You both have a hand in his turning. With their dyad and your love, I see the light at the end of the tunnel, Cyra. I do," said Luke.
"You also prophesied I'd die trying to turn him," she said.
"I can only trust in the prophesies so much. Admittedly, trusting in them have cost me my nephew and his girlfriend. Cost me my Temple, those kids, Leia, Han," listed Luke. He was visibly saddened by the loss of his final years from something as simple as trusting too much in the Force. "I trust you, Cyra. We all have started to play our parts in ending this war. Han sacrificed himself to show his son there was still love in his life, but you've sealed it. I sacrificed myself for the Resistance to survive. You returned to this life, this crazy Skywalker-Solo world, and you are doing your part in all of this."
"My part of what?" Cyra said, exasperated. "I've done nothing but just be there. I can't do anything extraordinary, there's no bad guy to fight, it's just me trying to show Ben I love him, still, after all this time, and trying to convince him to let this all go!"
Luke said nothing as he watched Cyra harshly wipe her tears. He recognized how out of place she felt, for he felt the same, many moons ago, after Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru's tragic deaths. Where Luke had a definitive place in the War, the Chosen One, the Jedi, whatever—Cyra had none of it. She was a simple girl, just trying to love an old friend back to the Light.
"Sometimes all it takes is someone to know they are still worthy of love, my dear Cyra," said Luke softly. He smiled warmly at her, as he remembered the loving eyes of his father at his demise. "It wasn't a lightsaber battle, or a murder that ended the War. It was me, showing my father I loved him, that ended it all."
Cyra's head raised. Her brow was furrowed, her head shaking minutely as she watched Luke's face for confirmation of his words. Stories of the War from her childhood were not anything near to what Luke was admitting to her. The end of it all, the War that took millions of lives, her mother... It ended not in a massive battle, but because of the power of love.
"Not everyone has to be extraordinary in every story. Not everyone is meant to be, or should be, legendary. Some people's place is to guide the way. To love. You are doing what you know to do. Whether or not you believe in it, it is working. It will work," clarified Luke softly. He smiled at Cyra, who was still staring at him with a look of confusion. He looked around, sighing.
Cyra recognized he was trying to leave. "Wait, but... but what if I need you again?"
"You have never needed me before, have you?" he questioned, and Cyra frowned, knowing it was true. "I can't teach you anymore that you do not already know in your heart and in your head. You don't need a teacher, Cyra, you need you. I trust I will see you again someday."
Then, with a cheeky wink, Luke Skywalker vanished from her sight. Cyra stared at the place he sat for a long time, thinking about his words, and thinking about her place in the galaxy, before she knew, once and for all, that it was her Force-given mission in life to end this war in the one way that would make all the difference. In this story, she was the best part of Luke Skywalker, the galaxy's greatest legend; she was his heart.