26. Chapter 26

Rey’s breath sighs through his shirt, her nose burrowing against his shoulder. His eyes sting with unshed tears and he can't tell if they're of rage or sorrow.  He squeezes them shut. Rey's hand sweeps from his shoulder to his hip, gentle and smooth, drifts back up to the curls at his nape. He lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding and forces himself to narrow his world down to the easy brush of her fingers along his scalp. She's soft and warm behind him, and her chest moves against his back in a meditative pattern he can't resist joining. He falls asleep tucked into the curve of her body and doesn't dream at all, an unexpected blessing.

When he wakes, dry eyed and well rested, she’s still twined around him, snug against his back, her hand fisted in the front of his shirt. He flexes his fingers and toes experimentally, not wanting to wake her yet, and spends a moment listening to her breathing. He feels strong, sharp, alive, as if the fires of the previous night had tempered him into a steel point.  

One day left.

Rey mumbles into his shoulder and tries to burrow deeper under the blankets when he rolls over to face her. She does still scowl in her sleep. He smiles at having that question answered, and the expression doesn’t feel out of place here. Her thoughts are thick with sleep, sweet and lazy as she rouses, and they slow the anxious pacing of his mind down to something that feels almost stable.

She blinks up at him, places her hands against his chest and returns his smile with one of her own. Time to get up? The smile is a little bit tender and a little bit resigned. She sits, rubs her eyes, ruffles her hair, and yawns hugely.

“We should get some more training in while we can.” His hand lingers against her back before he nudges her away.

“Right.” Rey stretches up and back, then gets up, hopping from foot to foot as she drags her boots on and crosses to the ‘fresher.

The walk to the Yali’s training room is quiet. The doors all answer to Rey’s commands, the holochron goes on its shelf, and he removes his helmet, gloves, and outer clothes before they warm up on the springy wood floor.  It’s a bittersweet illusion of what normalcy could be. He’ll take it while it lasts.

There’s a grumbled expletive when Rey opens the box, lavender light flooding the room. The light coalesces into the guardian and Yali stands before them once more. “You’re waking me up because it went well, I hope.”

Rey nods. “We recovered the saber. Tomorrow we kill Snoke.” Her certainty straightens Kylo’s spine as he joins her before the holochron.

Yali hums in thought. “You are both stronger today than you were yesterday. This is good. You know how to fight, how to use battle meditation, how to enter a mind meld. You are no masters yet, either of you, but we don’t have the time to worry about that. There’s very little left I can say that you don’t already know, deep down in your tiny brains. Yadda yadda, you know the deal: Trust each other. Be strong for each other. Don’t let that Dark Lord tear apart what you have made together. There is no one of you without the other, now. Ask of me whatever you like, and I will answer.”

“How do we handle sharing pain? Is there any way to turn that off? Techniques to deal with it?” Kylo asks, voice rough.

The old master’s chuckle is devoid of amusement, a sad, brittle sound. “You just… handle it, boy.” It almost sounds like an endearment this time. “It is the biggest downside of a bond, and it doesn’t just turn off. As you see through her eyes and think with her thoughts, so you feel with her body, and she with yours. When she hurts, you hurt. You know this already, I think.”

“Yes,” Rey answers for both of them, pulling up a memory of her first experience with the shared sensation, back when she had still been with Skywalker. “How can we manage it, though?”

Yali huffs, folds her arms over her chest. “The Force is what binds you together, girl. You cannot turn the connection off merely because part of it is inconvenient. However, there is a little trick that can make dealing with shared pain slightly less onerous: compartmentalization. It doesn’t stop the pain, doesn’t make it go away, but it can help keep you focused in the heat of battle, and, hopefully, let you live long enough to deal with the aftereffects.”

Her eyes flick to Kylo. He makes himself hold her gaze. “You know it well already, don’t you? Yes, I see it in your eyes, in your movements. You put everything that isn’t anger or fear into tiny little boxes. You bury them so deep inside that you forget they’re still there, waiting to be opened.”

Rey tenses beside him.“Can you teach me?”

Yali sniffs. “Of course I can, child, and I will. What kind of teacher do you think I am? Move my holochron to the floor and we will sit together and practice. All three of us.”

Practicing is guided meditation, followed by more fighting, a distraction as well as practical necessity, and then meditation with her palms against his. Melding their minds and breaths comes almost naturally now. He’s lost, deep in that cool, quiet space under the wide star-strewn sky that Rey loves when Snoke’s voice saws against his thoughts, yanking him back into his own body.

Attend to me now, Kylo Ren. I wish to know of your progress on our little star.

Rey hears it, too. Her eyes snap open a moment after his, wide and dark with fear. Their connection shivers. “Kylo.” She reaches for him, anxiety rolling off her like steam.

“Don’t!” He pulls away, scalded, scrambles gracelessly to his feet, almost falls as he strides over to the gear he had discarded.  She’s nervous, jumpy, and it saws at his fraying nerves.  Kylo doesn’t turn back  to her. He can’t.  Not now. He shakes his head. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” She draws back from his mind and it’s like walking away from a fire into a cold night. Good.

Snoke will eat him alive if he’s not prepared.

He knows how to do this, how to disassemble himself into bite sized chunks, cut away the things Snoke would kill him for. He’s good at it. He’s done it a thousand, a million times. He starts with the good things, the golden moments. The first time he heard her laugh. Her vision of the stars in that cool, dark sky. The moment of trust when she lay beside him for the first time. The simple, unfeigned delight in a new discovery.  Her unbendable defiance in the face of overwhelming adversary. Her constant pushing, constant challenge and the brilliant spark of her mind that calls to something deep inside him.

They are nothing to him.

A sliver of his self, the part that can still feel Rey watching him, objects to this, senses her agony as he rips away what they’ve built, burns down the  mutual trust and admiration that was coming to bridge their divides.  He destroys that part, eviscerates it and abandons it, bleeding out, where she can see.  It is weak, stupid, foolish.  He has no use for it and he leaves it to rot.

The surcoat is heavy black wool and he dons it like armor. It falls to his ankles, swathing him in the comforting resentments of a hundred wounds nursed alone. He basks in that feeling, the violence and rage surging back into his mind.  It returns so easily, his first and only friend.

The bond tugs at him, a weak, distant sensation. He throws it away, slams the walls of his mind up, lets the emptiness echo through his being. It’s a perfect agony, hard and icy. It makes him sharp. It makes him strong.

His gloves are shiny with wear, scarred over the first two knuckles on his right hand. They are his true skin, covering weak flesh that hints at humanity, vulnerability.

He is not human. He is not vulnerable. He is power, dark and terrible, a perfect extension of Lord Snoke’s will.

The mask is last.  It always is.  It’s heavy, and that is as it should be.  The mask carries the glorious burden of promise, of duty, of destiny.  He cradles it, staring into the empty eye slit, eyes chasing the glints of silver around the edges, then glances up at the girl. His eyes burn.

She stands across the room, afraid, defiant, and oh so beautifully breakable.  A useful tool, an amusement, a weapon to wield against his enemies. Nothing more. Nothing more.

He lifts the helm over his head and is engulfed, seals hissing as they clamp shut around his face.

He is reborn.

Kylo, First Knight of Ren.

He stares at the girl a moment longer and then dismisses her. She is irrelevant. His Lord has called him, and that is all that matters. Her anguish is nothing to him, and it fades to a dim memory as he strides towards his Master.

Each step rings with cold fury, the beat to a mantra that turns in his head, a prayer wheel spinning. I am Kylo Ren, First of the Knights of Ren. The blood of Darth Vader flows in my veins. The blood of the Jedi is shed by my hands. I walk the path of the Sith Lords. I serve Lord Snoke in all things.

The door to his Master’s seat is open for him. The gloom slithers through his mind as he enters, approaches the column of blinding light and kneels in obeisance. This is where he belongs. This is what he is.

Lord Snoke’s gaze weighs on his shoulders, and Kylo genuflects further, lowering his head by inches.  “You have had two uninterrupted days, my apprentice. Tell me: what progress you have made on Skywalker’s location?”

The terror washing over Kylo is unfeigned. His Master will be furious with another display of incompetence. “She resists, my Lord, but she is bending to me…”

He silences himself as Lord Snoke raises a hand. “Approach.” The word is heavy with compulsion.  It hauls Kylo up as he staggers up the high steps and falls at Snoke’s feet. His Master leans forward, staring deep into his face, gaze unimpeded by the mask. “You should have pushed harder.” Snoke’s voice is oily smooth, almost seductive. “After all, if you cannot do this, well, it will hardly matter after tomorrow.” He rests his palm against the back of Kylo’s head, a sick mockery of comfort, stroking a thumb against the thick wool hood as he digs into Kylo’s thoughts.

The touch to his head is gentle, but Snoke ransacks Kylo’s mind with a brutal efficiency that leaves the apprentice in awe.  His Master’s control is absolute and he can do nothing as Snoke sifts through the leaves of Kylo’s sanity, lingering on a choice selection of pages. The memory of his nightmare brings a distorted laugh and a thoughtful hum to Snoke’s lips. Kylo’s guts wrench in agony as Snoke delves into memories of meditation, training, sleeping.

“My little star has become so very fond of you, my apprentice. I can hardly believe it.” His Lord’s soft voice muses, a predator toying with it’s prey.  “She thinks she knows you. She is mistaken.”  The fingers on the back of Kylo’s head hold him rigid, still stroking gently. “Such trust, such kindness, wasted on a broken, ravaged thing. How foolish she is.” Snoke leans forward, jerks Kylo’s masked face up to his own. “How foolish you are, Kylo Ren.”

Blunt nails dig into his scalp as Kylo attempts to sit up and he surrenders, rests his head against the stone between his Master’s feet. Terror blacks out his mind at the secret’s discovery. “She means nothing to me, Lord.”

Snoke yanks him up as though he’s a ragdoll, switches his grip from the back of Kylo’s head to his throat, long fingers curling around his neck.  “I see it in your head. She was soft under your hands, was she not? You know the smell of her hair like you know the taste of blood.  Do not lie to me.  Your thoughts reek of her.  You ache for her touch.  You have never wanted anything the way you want her.  How... pathetically predictable.”

He cannot deny the truth, not here. His head pounds as the pressure of Snoke’s grip increases. “I will do whatever pleases you best, Master.” It comes out barely a whisper.

Lord Snoke relaxes his grip at last, rasps his thumb down the side of Kylo’s mask. “I have no doubt of that.” The pale tongue flicks over the scarred lips. “Would you like to know what would please me best?”

His Master does not give him the time to respond before dropping the images into his mind, shrapnel bombs that tear into his soul.

Her face streaked with tears, dirt, dark bruises around her eyes, a mottling ring around her throat. Screams that go on for days. Blood on his hands, hot and slick and crimson. Her limp body shuddering, naked and small. That defiant spark in her eyes guttering out, her independence ripped up by the roots. Their bond severed with surgical precision, the last of his weakness destroyed. Her head in his lap, her grudging warmth transformed into slavish devotion. Soft brown hair wrapped around his fist.  Hazel eyes, feverish, fanatical, turning up to him, to Snoke. Childish delight as they annihilate the Resistance together, hand in hand. Her mouth eager, warm, desperate to please him. A smile, wide and vacant, spreading as he ruts into her on the stone floor before the throne, her flesh unresisting beneath him.

The hand around his neck disappears and Kylo falls heavily on his hands, fighting to keep control of of his stomach as bile rises in the back of his throat. The light in the chamber is different and his legs are numb - how long was he trapped in the vision? “Whatever pleases you best, my Lord.”

“That is your future, boy.” Snoke props his chin on his palm and looks down at the shaking man. “Everything you ever wanted, right at your very fingertips.” He smiles. “Built by your own two hands.” Kylo bites his tongue, hard, to keep himself from screaming. “We’ll be such a beautiful family, the three of us.” Then he flicks his hand, an easy, lazy gesture, and bowls Kylo backwards down the steps into a heap on the basalt slabs. Blood fills his mouth. Snoke continues, “You are, of course, welcome to continue your feeble attempts at persuading the girl to submit of her own accord. I will have Skywalker’s location from her tomorrow either way.”

“Thank you, my Lord.” Kylo’s voice is thick, his mouth coppery and sharp.  “I will not fail you.”

“You have already failed me, but I am certain you will spend the rest of your time with the girl being appropriately… persuasive, so as to not disappoint me further.” Snoke considers his apprentice and dread grips at Kylo’s insides as his Lord’s fingers tap the arms of his chair. “Perhaps I should demonstrate my meaning.”

Kylo swallows and grits his teeth as his Master’s power lifts him off the floor. As he rises into the air, a deep neural pain spiders across his chest, up his neck and down his back. The agony cuts away at him until he’s just raw nerves. Snoke turns his attention to a data pad on his lap, getting on with other things.  

Kylo’s screams last for hours.

He’s only superficially aware when he crashes back to the ground, twitching feebly as the torment fades and Snoke turns his attention to him once more. “Do we understand each other?”

Kylo moves his mouth, blood dribbling over his lips, but makes no intelligible sound. He nods, helpless to stop the low moan that escapes.

“Then we are done for the moment. ”  As Kylo crawls to his feet, Snoke adds, “You know, your grandfather spent days breaking your mother. I wonder how long it will take you with our sweet little star. Care to wager, Kylo Ren?”

His legs spasm and shake as he stands, scarcely capable of bearing their own weight. His pulse roars in his ears at Lord Snoke’s words, rage burning back to life, cauterizing the broken, flayed parts of his mind. “Two days,” he grits, licks at the blood that drips from his nose.

“Such confidence,” Snoke chuckles. “You are an artist, my boy, and great works must not be rushed.” He flicks a hand at the door, “Sleep well, Kylo Ren. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow, the three of us.”

He’s alive, more or less.  Kylo drags himself out of the hall. Every false memory, every promise of pain and terror and pleasure screams in the void between his ears. It echoes and reverberates until he burns with fury, lashes out with his fist against the carved stone, mouthing a silent scream that is swallowed by his mask. The stone cracks, pain shooting up his arm and the leather stretched over his knuckles darkens as his skin splits. He does it again because it feels so good to hit something, to give suffering meaning through action. He breathes, blood mists the inside of his mask as wrath brings the strength he needs to climb the stairs leading out of Snoke’s cave.

A trio of Knights pass him on the way down, giving him a wide berth. The rage in his head screams for release, begs to unleash itself on them. He denies it, trudges onwards, through an eternity of black stone.

He reels as sanity, conscious thought begins to bubble back to the surface.  

He’s going to kill Snoke. That comes back first, burning through his brain like a wildfire. He’s going to kill Snoke and become Supreme Leader. He’s going to tear Snoke apart and laugh as he does it, rip out the shriveled black heart and hold it beating in his hands, offer it up to Her. A gift, an offering. It will be beautiful, a great work of art, just as Snoke declared. In taking it, She will embrace the darkness in her soul and Her rightful place by his side. Her first taste of conquest will be sweet. She will adore it, hunger for more, and he will provide. Together they will devour galaxies. Nothing will stand in their way.

Her. The Girl. Rey.

Kylo stops in his tracks. The doors of his mind all fly open at once and the memories, the self he’d built with her over the past two days, the self he’d bound and gagged, discarded to hide from Snoke, comes rushing back.  Tears blind him and he almost collapses to the ground outside his room.  

The door opens before he can raise his hand.

Rey stands just beyond it, swimming in one of his spare shirts. Her eyes are wide, defiant and she catches him as his legs give out and he pitches forward.