16. True Power

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Kylo Ren enjoys a new toy in the training room.

Kylo Ren roars in pain 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 now sticking out of his shoulder. He looks into the blank face staring down from above.

The droid cocks its head and twists 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, nothing but 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, a small opening just between its neck and shoulder.

The droid jerks back mechanically, releasing the end still pinning Kylo to the wall. It reaches over to dislodge the blade from its body. Kylo grits his teeth, groaning as he pulls the sword out of his flesh.

He ducks in anticipation of the droid's next move, a hard jab to his core, sidestepping it and gaining some distance. He whips around to see the droid beginning to stand from a kneeling position, gripping the end of its own blade in one hand and the intact blade it disarmed him of in the other. It turns methodically towards him.

Rather than resume its assault, it cocks its head, then steps to the side, moving along a curved path. The droid has the air of a predator teasing its prey, seeming to take pleasure in building up tension before an attack.

Kylo begins circling it as well, gripping the hilt of the blade still slick with his own blood. He breathes heavily, dripping with sweat, dark locks of hair sticking to his forehead. The wound in his shoulder throbs, a regular rhythm of shooting pain, crackling like electricity through his veins. He concentrates on the feeling, how the nerves of his damaged flesh scream for attention, begging for healing, begging for him to stop.

But he doesn't.

Instead he switches the sword from his left hand to his right and squeezes. The damaged muscles in his shoulder howl in response. As the pain surges through his body, a smile creeps across 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. He'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 that's designed manipulate psychological weaknesses, giving it a flair for cruelty in combat.

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 a kind of sadistic brutality. It taunted, it terrorized, and it took every opportunity to inflict flesh wounds, forcing its opponents to fight through physical pain.

Which is why he's been absolutely burning to get into the training room alone with it, to face it one on one.

Suddenly, Kylo jerks to the right, just barely dodging the blade whizzing by his cheek.

The droid continues circling him as though nothing happened, now armed only with the double-sided sword. Without thinking, Kylo balls his hand into a fist and beats it against the wound in his shoulder, sending a sharp, searing pains down his arm.

The droid whips into action, snapping its sword in two and charging forward. It launches into a relentless offense, its blades a flurry of motion, slashing and thrusting with power, precision, and inhuman speed.

Kylo struggles to fend off the forceful blows dealt by his stronger opponent, each impact bringing a newer, deeper wave of pain to his right 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, an advantage very few would understand.

Every time his wound is aggravated, every time the muscles tear a bit more, every time his nerves scream in pain— he grows more powerful. For any other person, that shoulder would seize, too painful to fight with. But for him, pain increases rage, and rage increases his strength through the Force.

As Kylo continues fending off the droid's blows, his blood turns to fire in his veins, surging through his body, charging it with dark power. He starts to feel physically stronger, clashing against the droid's hard strikes with equal force. It's still hacking and slashing in a series of moves intended to keep an opponent on the defense, but it's repeating the same combination again and again and Kylo's learning its rhythm.

Suddenly, he dodges left, leaping high into the air. He lands on top of the droid and instantly begins driving his blade into its right shoulder with furious strikes— one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight times and the droid's right arm is dislodged from the rest of its body. Before it hits the ground, Kylo flips off the droid's shoulders, landing behind it. He immediately whips around.

The droid is beginning to kneel, reaching for its severed arm with its remaining limb, intending to reattach it.

But Kylo lifts the arm into the air and clenches his fist, crunching it into a ball of metal and wires 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 before lunging forward.

He meets the droid's blade with a fiery combination of strikes, well-practiced and fueled by the Force raging through him. He's pure energy, pure fire, now physically stronger than his opponent, forcefully slashing and hacking, pushing the droid backwards as it fends off blows raining down upon it.

He 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 of the moment, the strange 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 back.

This fight is his. This droid is about to become a heap of metal and wires…

Suddenly, Kylo catches sight of something out of the corner of his eye and in an instant, his rage abates, roaring flames snuffed out by a gushing flood.

Rey stands at the side of the training room, arms crossed, observing with intense interest.

He halts his assault, only for a split second, but it's all the opportunity the droid needs.

Kylo feels an explosive blast at his side, and he flies across the room, landing on the matted floor with a thud. He hears the droid charge towards him 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 for a moment before straightening and dropping its weapon.

Kylo breathes heavily, each inhale sending shooting pains throughout his left side. He pushes up from the floor, picturing a large bruise across the skin of his ribcage.

He hears Rey jog over from the side of the room, stopping beside him just as he fully stands. He looks down and is met with concerned eyes.

"You're hurt." She extends a hand to his shoulder.

"No, I'm not." He jerks away.

She withdraws, dropping 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 new 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 starting to leave 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, looking both of them over then snapping them together to form a full weapon. 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.

Her eyes widen, but 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 towards her. "But there's no need for one unless you're fighting against a lightsaber."

She snaps the blade in two, bringing one end close to inspect it.

"Would you like to give it a try?" His lips curl upwards.

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." She connects the blades together. "Not right now." She looks up, her eyes drifting to his injured shoulder. "That's an angry wound." She nods to it. "You shouldn't be fighting anyone until you get that taken care of."

He rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything, extending a hand for the sword.

She gives it to him, looking concerned.

He walks briskly past her to a wall with weapons affixed to it. He casts the blade to the floor and immediately strides over to the washing station, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat from his face. His shoulder is still throbbing, the pain transforming into an inconvenience now that he's no longer in combat.

He hears Rey approach slowly from behind. He senses her burning with interest, a question on the tip of her tongue. He doesn't turn around but continues to clean himself up, taking note of the blood flow at his shoulder.

Rey stands silently, watching him, that question nagging at her.

"Yes?" He draws out the word, still facing the washing station.

She doesn't say anything.

Now he senses hesitation. He shakes his head, more to himself than to her, casting his towel to the side. He sighs, finally turning 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 to speak but immediately stops. She stares at him for a moment before looking away, wrestling internally, as if she wants to ask the question but knows she won't like the answer. Finally, she looks back, her eyes tinged with disapproval but also a little tenderness.

"Why…?" She shifts a little. "Why do you aggravate your injuries during a fight?"

He instantly looks away, realizing why she was hesitant to ask the question.

The answer will not lead to a pleasant interaction between them.

"Because it makes me stronger," he answers dismissively, turning 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 says matter-of-factly. "Pain, hatred, fear— all of it can be converted into rage. Pure energy, pure power. It increases strength, speed, endurance—"

"But at what cost?" She interrupts. "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 twitches, casting 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 folds his arms, staring down impassively.

"Over time, it can take a toll on the body." His tone is even. "Eventually, it can 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.

He abruptly turns and begins striding to the other end of the room.

"That or they live for hundreds of years, like Snoke." He hears Rey follow behind him.

"So, you'll either die in the next few years or grow to be horribly deformed."

He pushes out an exhale, continuing to the blade the droid was holding when he cut off its arm.

"I'm sure you'll recall Snoke's physical deformity did nothing to diminish his power," he snipes. "Just the opposite, in fact. As his body grew weaker, his strength in the Force increased tenfold." He stoops down, 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?"

He turns around, brushing past her on his way to the side of the room.

"I honestly don't think about it," he calls back. "I'm sure 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 bristles, clenching his fists, causing shooting pains in his injured shoulder. He grows irritated, annoyed at how easily she seems to pass judgement on something she doesn't understand.

"Power has a price, Rey," he answers curtly.

"Well, it seems to me that the price is too high."

At this, he whips around, and she halts, jumping.

"Really?" He steps forward, a fire in his eyes. "And what's the basis of this judgement? What do you know about the dark side?" He bears over her. "Please. Educate me." He cocks his head.

She fights to maintain an even gaze but her eyes grow increasingly uncertain.

They stare at one another for a few seconds before she looks away. He feels her emotions change, a sense of conviction replaced by insecurity.

"That's what I thought." He lingers a moment before turning and walking 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."

He feels this hit her hard, a harsh reminder of her ignorance about the Force. This time, she doesn't follow him.

He reaches for the blade that the droid threw at him, scooping it up from the floor. He attaches it to its other blade, then walks over to the weapons affixed to the wall, casting it on the floor.

"Why don't you teach me?" Rey suddenly calls out.

"About what?" He turns to find her walking towards him, arms crossed lightly, shoulders relaxed.

"About the dark side, about the difference between the dark and the light." Her tone is curious now, casual even.

He narrows his eyes, suspicious.

What is she up to?

She stops just in front of him, looking up with earnest eyes, like a student ready to learn. He doesn't sense disapproval anymore, only curiosity, though he can't shake the feeling she has some kind of ulterior motive.

He tilts his head, examining her.

She maintains her gaze, light brown eyes fixed on his, completely ingenuous.

"What do you want to know?" He crosses his arms.

Her eyes flit up to the ceiling, then lower down.

"Start with the basics." She shrugs. "Based on your experience, what's the most fundamental difference between the dark and light side of the Force?"

Kylo 's eyebrows shoot up.

"Surely, that's something you already know," he begins in an authoritative tone. "Dark siders channel the power of the Force through emotions that are often considered negative— pain, anger, hatred, fear— whereas the light side is the opposite. The Jedi taught channeling the Force through things like peace, compassion, and love. They feared the stronger emotions. They believed in restraint, in eschewing certain undesirable experiences."

"And you disapprove?" She raises an eyebrow.

He clicks his tongue.

"Not of channeling the Force through so-called lighter emotions," he says decisively. "But teaching that one should completely reject feelings integral to sentient existence, feelings that can unleash the true power of the Force? That I very much disagree with."

Rey knits her eyebrows.

"What do you mean by the true power of the Force?" She tilts her head. "Is channeling the Force through peace and love not true power?"

Kylo scoffs.

"Rey." He steps towards her 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 across her eyes, but the emotion is too fleeting for him to detect.

"So, you think the dark side is the stronger aspect?"

"Without question." He practically cuts her off. "The dark side is all about unleashing one's potential, not holding it back. All of the things the Jedi Order 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 lingers for a moment, a smirk teasing his lips, before straightening.

Rey gazes up softly, then looks away. She presses her lips together, lost in thought.

"But…" She begins slowly. "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, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Yes," he concedes begrudgingly. "But that's not my point."

He pauses, searching his mind for the best way to put this. He purses his lips, glancing to the ceiling.

"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," he continues, "that 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 the information, more to understand than to judge.

"But dark siders…?" A slow 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 himself grow impassioned as he speaks, 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, eyebrows furrowed. He senses her struggle internally, working through what he's telling her. After a few moments, she begins to nod.

"I think I understand what you mean," she starts slowly. She finally looks up, her eyes 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, the nerves around his wound screaming.

He ignores the pain.

"But I'm not convinced that the emotions used to channel dark side of the Force are more powerful than those used to channel the light." She keeps her eyes fixed on his. "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.

Kylo tilts his head in concession.

"That could be true," he admits. "But I still don't think anything will ever outmatch the unique ability of rage to harness the full power of the Force." He juts his chin up.

"I suppose that depends on your definition power." Rey looks down. "And I'm sure that whatever can be done through love doesn't exact the same cost as what can be done through anger."

At this, Kylo sighs, shaking his head.

Just when he thought this conversation was going more smoothly than expected, she's back to this again.

Rey looks up with solemn eyes, but he doesn't say anything. Why open up that subject again, if he can help it?

He brushes past her, walking swiftly to the other side of the room.

"You know…" He slows at the sound of Rey's voice. "When I appeared here today, you were on top of a droid, relieving it of its right arm." He hears her walk in his direction, and he halts, his back to her.

"You were so consumed in rage, you didn't even sense my presence. Not then and for a while after. It was like nothing else existed except pain and anger and all its energy coursing through you."

He turns to face her, guarded.

She walks up to him, stopping just a foot away, eyes soft and full of purpose.

"I felt how much you were enjoying it in the moment." She stares at him, unblinking. "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 closes his eyes and 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." She sounds earnest, pleading even. "All I'm asking you to do is 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 away, aggravating sharp pains in his shoulder.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he spits.

She flinches but quickly hardens with resolve.

"I know what I feel through the bond," she says confidently. "I 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, Rey." He glares at her with disdain. "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 forward, bearing over her, covering her with his shadow.

"You're just a desert 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, eyes wide with surprise. She's speechless. She looks up at him, lips parted, surprise gradually deepening into hurt.

She looks away just she begins to well with tears.

Kylo takes a step back to give her some space, observing silently.

As she wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, his chest tightens, pulled in opposite directions. On the one hand, he still 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.

Rey hugs herself tightly, eyes closed and head bowed. He feels her cycle through a progression of emotions, first hurt, then insecurity, and finally anger.

She inhales sharply.

She's on the verge lashing out. He pictures her eyes flying open in fury.

But they don't.

Instead, she takes measured breaths, shallow at first but growing deeper. Eventually, her shoulders relax, and she drops her arms.

She continues to breathe steadily. He senses she's not upset anymore. In fact, she's entering what seems to be a meditative state. She feels calm, at peace, focused on everything and nothing at the same time. She stands silently for a minute, seeming unaware of her surroundings.

Then, she does something strange.

With her eyes still closed, she raises her left hand slowly. She stops just as she passes his injured shoulder and opens her palm, extending it not an inch away from his wound. She stands just like this, perfectly still, doing absolutely nothing.

He tilts his head, eyeing her curiously.

Then he feels it.

A change in his body.

The torn muscles in his shoulder begin to mend, growing back together. His screaming nerves start to quiet. The throbbing gradually fades way. He watches, gaping, as Rey puts him back together again, taking away all of his pain until there's nothing left.

Once he's whole, she drops her hand, her head bowed, eyes closed. She waits calmly for a second before turning her face up to his.

She doesn't say anything. Neither does he. They both just stare at one another.

Her gaze is soft, not a hint of satisfaction or smugness or anything resembling pride. No, instead her eyes are full of something else, something so unexpected, so shocking, he can't quite believe it's real.

He finds that he's frozen, unable to move or speak, barely able to breathe. He can only stare at her, lost in her eyes, in this feeling that he hasn't felt from someone in a very long time.

She stares at him wordlessly, as lost in him as he is in her.

Then she abruptly disappears like she has many times before, the loss of her presence making his heart drop in his chest.

But this time, her absence isn't followed by that aching emptiness, that loneliness that tugs at him 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 in the center of the training room, unable to move. His arms hang at his sides, his head turned downward, staring at the space where Rey used to be. He's still processing the shock of it, 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 can't think 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 that she knows what it is.

Why would she? She's never had an occasion in her life to feel such a thing. But she'll recognize it soon enough…

He thinks back to those moments, her palm hovering next to his wound, the muscles in his shoulder growing together. He thinks about that warm, steady glow that welled within her and through the bond, in him as well.

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, completely 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 monster like him. She takes such 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, losing himself in emotion, until he finally wills himself to move, to turn towards the door and take one step, then another. He takes each step more quickly than the last until he accelerates to his normal, brisk stride. He presses a panel by the door and charges out of the training room.

He strides through a hall of the ship, 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 that's coursing through him right now is more intense than anything he's felt before. More all-consuming, more dynamic.

It's powerful. More powerful than he could have possibly imagined.

And it's all the more powerful now that he knows it's shared.