The following day, Ben and Cyra woke and started combing through the archives of known Resistance and Rebel bases from the culmination of both wars, as well as places battles took place, to compile a general trend or narrow down places the Resistance could have escaped to. They found five before feeling it was enough to convince the Council of their estimated two week leave.
Cyra decided to stay in their room and finish breakfast when Ben decided to speak with the Council. Soon after he parted, a droid had come to their quarters to collect their dishes. Cyra was bending down to its level, settling the dishes evenly on the platter, when her a sharp pain pushed the air out of her lungs. She dropped the glass of blue milk from her hand, barely registering the shatter of it against the ground in her ears.
Her hearing muted. She could hear a dull voice speaking miles away between her ears, subtle, muddled, but accompanied by a felt a dark, unsettling feeling, and she knew at once she had to find Ben.
She sprinted past the droid. It didn't cross her mind to change into her proper attire. She was wearing tight pants and a baggy black t-shirt that belonged to him--a highly unprofessional look that she was sure Hux would throw a fit over, but there was no time. She didn't know what she felt, if it meant was Ben in trouble, if something shifted in the Force... She sprinted through the halls, dodging and bumping into Stormtroopers to find the corridor the Board Meetings took place.
As soon as she entered the hall, skidding around the corner on those oddly slick black floors, the doors at the end of the hall slid open. Ben stood there, having felt her approaching presence.
Cyra slid to a stop in front of him, panting. "You felt that?" she asked immediately. "What was it?"
"Come," he said, extending his hand.
Ben led her into the room. He stopped at the head of the table, dropping her hand to lean on the edge of it with his hands. Cyra crossed her arms over her chest.
She had never seen the Council Members before, she thought, but she could truly never tell. They were all dressed similarly. She assumed the color coded squares on their breast pockets said something of rank, though she wasn't bothered enough but it to ask. They barely looked at her, whether it be from intrigue over the fumbling of the radio by two members, or fear of looking at her wrongly in the presence of Kylo. This, of course, did not include Hux, who stared at her with his consistently scrunched face. She flashed an awkward smile before returning to watch the radio.
"At-at-at--" the radio chirped, and everyone's breaths fell still, desperate to listen. "At last, the work of generations is complete. The great error is corrected: the day of victory is at hand; the day of revenge; the day...of the Sith!"
The frequency fell short. Static returned to the station. Their eyes remained on the radio, waiting, for several minutes, before it was assumed that was the message in its entirety and someone reached to turn off the radio. The Council turned expectantly to the two Force-users at the head of the table. Cyra turned to look at Ben.
"Do you recognize that voice?" asked Hux, staring between both of them.
"I don't, but knowing it's rallying for the revenge of the Sith has to narrow it down," guessed Cyra, when Ben glanced at her. "The Sith have been dead for decades, there can't be--"
"It's Emperor Palpatine," interrupted Ben, his head low.
Cyra turned to look at him. She was not familiar with the name.
"Emperor Palpatine was a Sith Lord in disguise during the First Galactic War," he told them, raising his head to look at the Council. He avoided Cyra's eye. "He was killed in the explosion of the Death Star, it was assumed, but there have been cults dedicated to he and Vader since the fall of the Empire... Trying to harness the dark energy that powered them. I know of a few, I've been drawn to them by the dark energy they maintain there. It can feel different than anywhere in the universe."
"Where?" asked Cyra.
"Mustafar, for one," he said.
There was no hesitation by the Council. One of the Officers advised Cyra and Ben to leave at once, causing other nods or verbal forms of agreement by the others.
"But what does this mean for the First Order?" asked Hux, glancing around cautiously.
"Is Palpatine an enemy to the First Order or is he a friend, you mean?" clarified Cyra.
Hux nodded.
"With Snoke dead, I'm the closest thing alive to a Sith. He'll let me speak with him," guessed Ben.
"And if he doesn't?" challenged Hux. "If he wants to take over as the Supreme Leader?"
"I'll kill him," said Ben simply.
He glanced at Cyra, then nodded to the Council, gesturing with a minor head nod for her to follow him. She waited until there was distance between them and the Board before she opened her mouth to speak. Without even looking at her, he said, "Save it," and successfully silenced her until they were back in the safety of their room.
Cyra was ready to speak the minute the doors closed. She spun on her heel to face him, pointing her finger at his chest. "You want to kill him for what? If he wants to be Supreme Leader, let him! That's your chance to leave all of this behind, Ben! Who is this guy, anyway, how do you even know that's Palpatine?"
Ben reached past her to wave his hand over the door next to them. He turned back to her, watching her blink her eyes rapidly, adjusting to the purely white colored room. It was a complete contrast from the remainder of the ship--white, brightly lit. He looked at the hesitancy on her face and practically knew she was wondering how she never had the urge to explore the other rooms in their quarters.
"I've seen him," said Ben quietly.
Cyra followed him down the small steps as he started to descend into the room. As the room opened up, filled with minor trinkets Ben had undoubtedly collected or scavenged from various planets, she noticed a podium in the center of the room. Her lips split. She froze.
She didn't know much about Vader. Not stories, not pictures, not even his real name, until Ben admitted it to her. He was spoken about in relation to the war over what horror he'd brought to the galaxy. She didn't know what she expected him to look like, nor realize that he wore a helmet. But as it sat there, charred and melted, she knew it belonged to him. She had seen it in the collage of memories Ben showed her when they first reunited. She could still hear echos of his voice: "Grandfather, please, show me guidance," speaking to that very helmet.
"Psychometry," stated Ben, glancing at the helmet. "I was forced to learn it when I realized Sith Lords often don't want to return to the physical world. Apparently, it's more of a Jedi power."
"You saw Palpatine from this helmet," guessed Cyra, walking slowly towards it. She could feel nothing from it, no negative or positive energy. To her, it was a simple object, barely visible in the Force, despite all it had represented in the past.
Ben nodded. "You don't forget a voice like that...I used psychometry to try and see what his life was like, see if he would be proud of me for finishing what he started."
Cyra glanced at him. His eyes were on the helmet, his brow scrunched with an emotion she couldn't decipher clearly. "Ben," she said softly, tearing his eyes from it. "What do you think happened to your grandfather?"
"He was killed in the Death Star explosion, same as Palpatine," he said without a second thought. He paused, wondering why she would phrase the question in such a way. "Why?"
Cyra shook her head. "No, Ben. He didn't die in the explosion. He was saved by Luke."
Ben's entire composure changed. He looked between Cyra and the helmet, remembering the narrative told to him by Snoke, who had gifted him the helmet he drew such inspiration from over the past years. He remembered distinctly being told it was found on an Endor moon, fallen debris from the Death Star. He had asked what happened to Vader...He was killed, by Skywalker, and left for dead to explode with the Death Star.
"Impossible," snapped Ben.
Cyra reached for him, but he took a step away from her and closer to the helmet. She extended her hands out, showing she meant no harm. "Who gave this to you? Snoke? Do you really trust his word over mine?"
"Who told you that?" he snapped again.
"Who do you think?" asked Cyra.
Ben stared at her, confused. "Skywalker is dead. You weren't in contact with him at any point in the last six years. How did he tell you...Oh. You met his ghost, didn't you?" he decided, chuckling in disbelief. "What did he say to you? He apologized?"
"And some other things," she agreed.
Now was not the time to divulge on the topics of their meeting. Ben was not himself. He was genuinely distrusting of her, angry. His face was no longer soft when he looked at her; he was clenching his jaw and a wrinkle was between his eyebrows. His posture was tight, upright, and she did take extreme notice of his hovering hand over his lightsaber.
Cyra continued, not fearing him. His anger was not coming from Ben, it was originating from Kylo. "Your grandfather was not killed by the Death Star. I don't know what he died from, but I know what he was saved by, and that was Luke's love. Whatever happened, I don't know, but I trust in Luke's story--"
"The same way you trusted him over me when he tried to kill me," Ben growled, his jaw tightening in anger.
Cyra raised her hands once more. "Hey," she snapped, finding it difficult to conceal her irritation at his misplaced anger. "You need to cool it, kid."
Ben remained quiet. He was furious by her claim. He didn't believe her. He knew exactly why Cyra was with him and it was to love him back to the Light--of course she would try to twist the narrative of the great and powerful Darth Vader. It was disrespectful, she was disrespectful.
Cyra's eyes fell to the helmet, and he followed her gaze carefully. Her face shifted, her eyebrows raising as a thought came to her head. "Psychometry. How hard is it?"
Ben scoffed. "It's an innate ability, Cyra, you can't."
"So is the Force, isn't it?" she challenged. "You all didn't believe I could harness enough power to conceal myself from the Force, but I did, didn't I?"
Ben's face fell. He suddenly noticed how much closer Cyra was to the helmet than he was. She seemed to notice him begin to realize why she was asking about psychometry. Before he could order her to not touch the helmet, Cyra launched her body at it, her hand slamming on top of the cold, hard metal.
He heard himself yell her name. He heard her deep gasp as her hand connected with the helmet, he watched her body freeze, and a mere blink later, Cyra was on the ground, her body convulsing.
Ben had never dropped to his knees faster. Her eyes were blinking, her body was spastic, her mouth was foaming and trying to form words all at once. His hands scooped underneath her head, preventing her skull from crashing against the floor any more than it already had.
He just kept saying her name, over and over, fear lacing it more and more each time it fell from his mouth. However long her convulsions lasted for, he did not know. It felt like years as he was forced to watch her convulse, being absolutely powerless to help her.
The minute her body fell still and her eyes fell shut, Ben froze again. He checked for her chest to rise and fall once before he scooped her body into his arms and started to run to medical before another seizure could worsen her condition.
-
Cyra barely registered that she was awake before she heard Ben start to yell at her.
"You're an idiot. I don't know what you did that for. I told you not to touch that helmet and you did anyway. What did you think that was going to prove? Huh?"
Cyra blinked a few times, waiting for her eyes to adjust and stop seeing two angry Ben's staring down at her. She tilted her head in his direction, her eyebrows having enough energy to convey her amusement at his anger. While definitely awake, she closed her eyes to avoid having to look at how mad he was.
"I don't know why you think this is funny. You had a seizure, Cyra. Psychometry is not a Force ability you can just use as a party trick, it is a innate ability and even then, took me years before I could do it without a severe headache. A seizure...A seizure!"
"'You could have died,'" she slurred, trying to make a joke that Ben did not find funny.
"Really nice, Cyra. I'm glad to know you're feeling recovered enough to joke about the fact that you could have died."
"I didn't," she slurred once more, finding it hard to move her lips in a seamless formation of words. "You didn't even ask if I'm feeling okay."
"I don't care!" he huffed. "Why can't you just listen to me? Why are you always putting yourself into near-death situations around me?!"
"For you, stupid," she muttered.
"For me? For what? You had no reason to touch that helmet other than wanting to prove that you are jealous that I am more powerful with the Force than you," he snapped.
"If that was true, I would've left a long time ago," she chuckled, waving her finger at him. Or, at where she thought he stood. Her eyes were still closed. "You didn't tell me there was a seizure warning with trying psychometry anyway."
Ben couldn't fathom her remarks. He genuinely could not understand how she cared nothing about almost losing her life. He stared at her, his mouth open, just staring at her. He didn't understand. He had nothing left to say to her.
"Did you see what the helmet showed me?" asked Cyra.
"No, I didn't see what the helmet showed you, Cyra, I was preoccupied trying to make sure you weren't dead--"
Cyra extended her hand and accidentally punched his stomach. "Look."
"No, I'm not going to--"
"Look, damn it," she said, whacking her hand against his stomach.
Ben grabbed her hand out of pure frustration and closed his eyes, focusing in on Cyra's head. She was playing what she saw at the forefront of her memory.
It was the face of a young Luke, donned in all black. His hair was blonde, his face was young, full of life. A version of Luke that Ben had never seen.
Suddenly, Ben's chest felt tight. He couldn't breathe. But he saw Luke, through a muddled vision, almost how he saw through his own mask. It started to be pulled off, layer by layer, by Luke's hands, until he saw Luke clearly. He smiled down at his father, his eyes glossed with a sadness he could not understand.
"Now go, my son."
Luke shook his head at once. "No. You're coming with me. I'm not leaving you, I've got to save you."
"You already have, Luke. You were right... You were right about me..."
His vision through Vader ceased. He saw Luke drag Vader's body onto a ship anyway. He saw the fire, the forest, the Death Star debris, the Ewok celebration, his mother and his father together, and with that, he wanted no more visuals. Ben sharply exited Cyra's memory. He fell back into the chair beside her bed, his vision dizzy.
"Where's my apology?" asked Cyra, not giving him a chance to think about what he just saw. "Luke saved his father. He didn't die on the Death Star."
Ben wondered why Cyra would have those memories and not him. He had mediated with Vader's mask, touched it, and he never saw anything of his grandfather's turn. He only saw the darkness. He only saw Vader. Not once had he seen visions of Anakin Skywalker's turn to the Light, but on Cyra's first try, he showed it to her? He had to question why...
"Why would it show you that?" he asked her.
"Your best guess is mine," she admitted. "Maybe you see what you want to see when you look. If you weren't looking for a redemption story, why would it show you that?"
"Why would he let me continue to idolize Vader if he gave up on him?" muttered Ben. He felt remarkably idiotic. The narrative told to him by Snoke was false, all this time, and he had no clue of the truth behind his grandfather. "I idolized him, I wanted to follow his footsteps, and Vader was saved. He was redeemed. I followed in the footsteps of someone who turned back to the Light."
"Would you have believed him?" sighed Cyra. "If your grandfather reached out to you and told you he turned back, would you have believed him?"
Ben, though he didn't want to, had to agree with her. He saw and believed in what he wanted to. Especially when Cyra was thought to be dead. He had thrown himself into the deep end of the Dark Side, burying his redemption so far from his mind that nothing could have changed it. Not his mother, his father, or the truth from his grandfather.
"You did all of this for what?" he asked her instead. "Just to prove I was told the wrong narrative?"
Cyra nodded. "I would do most anything to prove to you that your turn to the light is inevitable, or to show you that, at the very least, you still have much to learn, my young Padawan."
"I'm not the Padawan," muttered Ben.
"You are called to the darkest parts of memories, but you forget that I'm not," said Cyra honestly. She opened her eyes, at last, to look at him and see the absolute confusion behind his demeanor. "I don't care what you take away from knowing now that your grandfather died in the arms of his son. I just wanted you to know, Ben. And I guess he did, too."