The setting suns cast a brilliant golden glow upon Temple Island. A porg cries faintly in the distance, and the whoosh of the ocean is all but inaudible from inside the ancient Jedi temple.
After what happened last time, Rey wasn’t sure Skywalker would bother disclosing the other two lessons he promised—but here they are, once again striding through the large, hollow space inside one of the island’s tallest peaks. She expects him to lead her to the plinth where her first lesson took place; instead, he strides toward the shallow pool that lies in the center of the chamber.
“Lesson two,” he declares reluctantly. “Now that they’re extinct, the Jedi are romanticized, deified. But if you strip away the myth and look at their deeds, the legacy of the Jedi…is failure.” He settles onto the low stone ledge that encircles the water. “Hypocrisy. Hubris.”
Where she stands nearby, Rey’s face morphs from idly attentive to outraged. “That’s not true,” she contends, stepping closer. Hypocrites? The Jedi? How could he say such a thing? The Jedi were strong and wise and fought for good, fought for the light—
Adamant and decisive, he retorts, “At the height of their powers, they allowed Darth Sidius to rise, create the Empire, and wipe them out.” His words grow heavy with significance. “It was a Jedi Master who was responsible for the training and creation of Darth Vader.”
Unfazed, she parries nimbly. “And a Jedi who saved him.”
Skywalker glances down and away, as if disgruntled because she remembered that fact.
“Yes,” she persists, her enthusiasm palpable, “the most hated man in the galaxy—but you saw there was conflict inside him. You believed that he wasn’t gone, that he could be turned.”
“And I became a legend,” he counters somberly.
Rey peers at him, her brow troubled. Does he regret that Darth Vader was redeemed? Is it foolish to consider the same course for Kylo Ren? Discouraged by the notion, she refrains from suggesting that perhaps…
You are a monster.
Yes, I am.
Perhaps there’s conflict in Kylo, like there was in Vader. Perhaps Kylo could be turned.
With him on the side of the Resistance… They could win the war.
“For many years, there was balance.” As if having read her mind, Skywalker speaks forlornly of the very person who has incessantly occupied it since the rain stopped. “And then I saw…Ben. My nephew.” His tone sours with self-deprecation. “With that mighty Skywalker blood. In my hubris, I thought I could train him, I could—pass on my strengths. Han was…” He moves his head in an indulgent manner. “Han about it.”
Rey smiles fondly, almost able to hear the late pilot’s growl. Mumbo jumbo.
“But…Leia,” Luke says reverently, “trusted me with her son.”
Her grin fades, reverses; it’s easy to forget that Kylo Ren wasn’t always Kylo Ren. He was once a boy—Han and Leia’s boy. A boy who was loved.
“I took him.” Luke nods. “And a dozen students, and began a training temple.” As though embarrassed, he rises from the ledge and moves away, his back to her. “By the time I realized I was no match for the darkness rising in him— It was too late.”
Kylo’s voice, soft and curious, echoes in her ear. Did he tell you what happened?
Haunted by vulnerable dark eyes, she inquires on a whisper, “What happened?” Staring hard at the back of Luke’s waterproof pinniped-skin jacket, she waits with bated breath for his response.
“I went to confront him,” he answers at length. “And he turned on me. He must have thought I was dead. When I came to, the temple was burning.”
His recounting sparks a memory in Rey; a vision of a cloaked figure fallen to his knees, his metal arm reaching out to a small blue-and-silver R2 unit. They were illuminated by the yellow-orange glow of fire—much as the light of the sinking suns touches upon that fallen figure now.
“He’d vanished with a handful of my students,” he continues grimly, mournfully. “And slaughtered the rest.”
Stricken, she regards him with a furrowed brow. She doesn’t understand. Why would Kylo want her to hear that awful story? It doesn’t do him any favors. Another game?
“Leia blamed Snoke, but… It was me. I failed.” Skywalker’s quiet a moment before he bitterly hisses, “Because I was Luke Skywalker. Jedi Master.” At last he turns, and, brows raised, gives her another meaningful look. “A legend.”
“The galaxy may need a legend,” she grants, then gives her head a small shake. The galaxy needs hope, inspiration, motivation—but she needs something more. She needs Luke Skywalker, he who once recognized the man inside the monster. She needs to know…if it’s possible for history to repeat. If it should.
Her eyes—wide and innocent, lost and desperate, pleading—return to his. “I need someone to…” Help me. Guide me. Tell me what I’m supposed to do. “Show me my place in all this.” Why has the Force awakened inside me?
Skywalker merely gazes at her as his chest heaves with emotion. His sad, tired eyes glisten with tears and despair; he looks beaten, like he tried, failed, and expects no further chances. Wouldn’t take them if he got them. He’s done.
But she’s not. She’s hardly begun.
Rising from the ledge, Rey stands at her full height, her brows arched with confidence. “And you didn’t fail Kylo. Kylo failed you. I won’t,” she vows with firm conviction.
Luke’s gaze slides away from hers, as if he’s unable to face her certitude. And somehow, his shyness fosters the seed of doubt Kylo planted inside her.
The night I destroyed his temple—did he tell you why?
Why did he want her to hear that story?
Later, after the suns have taken their light to the other side of Ahch-To, Rey climbs the ancient steps that extend from the plateau of rock where the Falcon is docked to the cluster of stone huts that was once inhabited by Jedi. She’s worn out, and the night air is cool. She yearns to start a fire in the hut where she’s set up camp and let the flames warm her as she reflects on her second lesson—as well as her meetings with Kylo. But not now; now she simply puts one foot in front of the other.
She feels the shift inside her a second before the silence descends. Exasperated, she stops. How is this happening? Why? Because Luke is reluctant, is the Force trying to impart to her what she needs to do?—Talk to Kylo, as laughable as it may seem?
Does it have to be now?
Staring at the old, primitive staircase beneath her feet, Rey states—politely, though with an edge honed by fatigue—“I’d rather not do this now.” Ten minutes. All she needs is ten minutes, and she’ll be in her hut with a fire blazing. She’ll be warm and cozy and ready to hear what he has to say. Ready to determine if he can be redeemed.
Having gone a round in a combat simulation room, Ren retires to his suite aboard the Supremacy. He believes it’s important to keep his reflexes sharp and stay in peak physical condition—and he needed an outlet for the upheaval of emotions churning inside him. Among them is guilt, for he has yet to report to Supreme Leader Snoke—and he doesn’t regret it as much as he should. Secret knowledge gives him an advantage, and he relishes it. Unfortunately, though, no matter how many faceless enemies he cut through, the turmoil inside him never faltered.
The lighting in his chambers is dim; shadows are long. The space is sterile, impersonal. Carved in symmetrical shapes, charcoal panels line the walls. The glossy black floor tiles are regularly waxed and polished by custodial droids. The dark atmosphere is relieved only by the small blinking lights of dials and knobs located on control panels.
Intending to shower, he sits on a bench, unbuckles his boots, and pulls them off; then, standing, he unzips the ends of his pleated sleeves, which extend past the wrist, so he can remove his gloves. Dropping them onto the bench, he unfastens his rigid leather belt so that it may follow. However, he first unclips his sabre and sets it aside; should he need it, it can come to him freely. Next he unzips his padded tunic, shrugs out of it, and tosses it onto the pile.
He’s just slipped out of his shirt and added it to the discarded heap when he feels her presence.
The timing is not coincidental.
Since Ren took his place as an apprentice to Supreme Leader Snoke, a rare few have seen him less than fully clothed in his uniform. Typically, not an inch of flesh is revealed, not even his face—especially not his face. Kylo Ren, the Jedi Killer, is more of a symbol than a living being—an ominous figure swathed in black, countenance devoid of emotion, of humanity. A wraith of doom, defeat, destruction. Death.
A monster.
For years, he meticulously built and maintained that reputation. And then suddenly, this nobody girl appears from nowhere, and he’s shedding protective layers like a snake—a murderous snake—sheds skins. Not just clothing, but carefully constructed dispositions: indifference, pride, objectivity.
Now he’s forsaken his mask altogether; Kylo Ren has been given an identity as a human, as a mortal. And as a mortal, he’s subject to weaknesses.
Such as the girl standing behind him. In his private quarters. Seeing him half-dressed. Exposed.
“I’d rather not do this now,” she says with surprising civility.
“Yeah, me, too,” he concurs, trying to disguise his discomfort, cursing the Force and its passive-aggressive maneuvers.
Is this an inopportune moment for him as well? Rey waits a beat, hoping the Force will show mercy and restore the sounds of island life—but she and Kylo remain enveloped in their own quiet world.
Resigned, she decides she may as well delve into the heart of the matter. Sucking in a breath, she pivots in his direction and pushes the words out of her mouth as she exhales. “Why did you hate your father?”
What did she ask?
She has yet to grace him with such a lenient tone of voice. Distracted by it, and by the startling question it presented—why—Ren turns to face her, his brow tense with wonder.
She blinks rapidly several times, as if she suspects her eyes are malfunctioning, then averts her head and snaps, “Do you have something—a cowl or something you could put on?”
There’s the petulance he knows. Ignoring the giddy nerves flitting about in his stomach, Ren stands solid and silent, keeping his hands deliberately loose and casual, his breathing regular, and waits calmly for her to get over it so they can move on to worthier topics. Though currently he can’t remember what those topics might be.
She expels air in a rush, irritated. How is it he doesn’t have to say a word and he pricks her temper?
Because he can put her at a disadvantage without them, that’s how. And he does it on purpose. It infuriates her.
If she wants to turn him to the light, though, it’s something she’s going to have to get past. Or at least tolerate.
But it’s so annoying.
Her patience rapidly eroding, she barks, “Why did you hate your father? Give me an honest answer.”
She thinks of Han, gruff but kind, giving her a blaster so she could protect herself; offering her a job—then awkwardly disabusing her of the impression that he offered out of pity. Her throat closes; her nostrils sting. Moisture gathers in her eyes.
She knew Han Solo for a matter of hours, but she loved him. He was good to her like nobody else in her life.
And the man before her—his son, his killer—stands there casually, making her feel weak. It’s not right.
Ren can see the emotion gathering inside her like a burgeoning storm, growing heavier and darker as pressure builds. The urge to touch her, to soothe her, almost overwhelms him, and he takes several steps toward her before reason prevails. As he watches, fascinated, the thunderhead rolls in; pale light glints off the tears in her eyes, flashing like lightning.
Slashing through the space between them with an erect index finger, she thunders, “You had a father who loved you, who gave a damn about you!”
The words seemed torn straight from her heart, and her grief, her anguish, weighs on his shoulders. “I didn’t hate him,” he negates swiftly, and feels a strange sort of relief having admitted that counterintuitive fact.
“Then why?” she demands thickly, glowering at him with the same heartbroken fury that nearly drove her to end him in the snowy forest on Starkiller Base.
She refuses to name the crime as if that would make it less horrific, less true. But it doesn’t; she needs to learn that. Needs to learn to face what has happened and the pain it caused.
For it hurts as much acknowledged as it does anonymous. And acknowledged, she would own the pain; the pain wouldn’t own her.
“Why what?” he rejoins, determined to teach her. The storm inside her breaks; tears rain down over her round cheeks. “Why what?” he whispers, encouragingly—insistently. “Say it.” You’ll be stronger, he wants to assert. We’ll be stronger.
Seeing the challenge in his dark gaze—his bloody games—she sighs a little, her posture giving as a surge of weariness beyond impatience, beyond exasperation, drags at her.
She won’t get her answer, won’t get anything from him at all, unless she meets his challenge. And maybe not even then.
But she has to try.
Her chest nigh imploding with misery, she croaks, “Why did you—” She chokes on the words. Taking a moment, she gathers herself, hoping to retain some semblance of composure—or at least the ability to breathe. He waits; she can feel the intensity of his stare, can feel him willing her to pass his test.
She wills it, too.
Features twisting, grimacing with pain, she asks, “Why did you kill him?” An involuntary gasp, a sob, then she lifts her chin, her brows, and shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
Lightly, he rebuts, “No? Your parents threw you away like garbage.” How can she not understand? Of all people, he would think she could relate.
While his parents couldn’t be bothered with him, they nevertheless provided for him. He knows that. They sent him to train to become a Jedi, which they considered an honor, a privilege. They wanted good things for him—but he didn’t become what they wanted him to be. Didn’t meet their impossibly high standards; didn’t fulfill their dreams.
Her parents, on the other hand… They simply didn’t care. It’s another crime—the crime—she needs to acknowledge. She buried the truth along with her dignity in that godforsaken desert. Instead of getting angry and proving them wrong, she lives in a fantasy world, convinced that they had a legitimate reason for leaving her behind, that circumstances prevented them from retrieving her. It’s a lie, meant to comfort her on cold, lonely nights.
But it only undermines her. And he can’t stand the thought of her—strong, spirited, intelligent—important—making a fool of herself by excusing the reprobates who didn’t merely send her away—they threw her away.
It galls him.
How can she not understand?
His blunt comment struck a nerve, and true to form, she lashes out. “They didn’t.”
He keeps his voice gentle, supportive, as he relentlessly twists the dagger. “They did. But you can’t stop needing them. It’s your greatest weakness.” He speaks with absolute certainty—because it’s his truth as well. “Looking for them everywhere. In Han Solo. Now in Skywalker.”
Her resolve wavers. One minute her eyes are glaring, hostile; the next, they’re wide and wounded and weary.
Mentioning the Jedi Master reminds him of their last meeting, and, anticipating a blatant falsehood, he inquires with amusement, “Did he tell you what happened that night?”
“Yes,” she spits, her temper flaring—but it’s empty defiance. As before, her eyes dare him to contradict her, while her lips aren’t so brazen.
Recognizing the subtle manifestation of her doubt, he grins as he calls her bluff. “No.” Skywalker might have told her something, but if she truly believed it, she wouldn’t be so defensive. “He’d sensed my power,” he tells her, “as he senses yours.” Since they last spoke, he decided that Skywalker must have seen the darkness in her. She’s so artless, so innocent, there’s no way she could have hidden it from the Jedi. She must simply not alarm Skywalker like Ren did. “And he feared it.”
The memory takes him.
He woke to the screech of a lightsabre igniting. A green glow fell over him as he blinked eyes bleary with sleep. What was going on? He’d just gone to bed. It couldn’t possibly be morning already. Lifting his head from where it had lain, he looked over his shoulder to see Master Skywalker.
But it wasn’t the Jedi Master he knew; it wasn’t his uncle Luke. It was a menacing figure with a visage contorted in fear, horror, and judgment. A demonic creature who wanted to hurt him, whose eyes were alight with a righteous thirst for blood.
The figure lifted its sabre high, poised to strike.
Adrenaline shot through Ben’s body, energizing his lethargic limbs. Swiftly reaching out, he called on his own sabre, which flew into his hand from the desk across the room, scattering ink-stained brushes and pieces of parchment. One heartbeat later his blue blade blocked the green one that meant to take his life.
Ben grimaced as his muscles strained; he was not in an advantageous position. Mind skittering with panic, his lone goal to survive, he reached out, pulled—and crushed the demon under stone and plank.
Rey drops her gaze as if she requires a moment to process what he said. He gives her that moment, then another. Finally, she tips her tear-streaked face back up to his. “Liar.” But there’s no heat behind the accusation. It’s obligatory.
To convey his seriousness as well as the weight of his next words, he steps toward her, peering at her closely, ignoring the itch in his fingers that compels him to touch her, wipe away her tears. Could he? Out of curiosity, he wants to try—but doesn’t dare. He likes having hands.
Quietly, soberly, he implores her, “Let the past die.” She shouldn’t let those vile cretins—her so-called parents—matter. She can’t; they weaken her. He knows that all too well. If she wants to survive in this world, she needs to repay their inexplicable favor—and leave them behind. He hardens his tone, hoping to communicate that there is no other way; there is no compromise. She either lets them go, or allows them to hold her back. “Kill it…if you have to. That’s the only way to become what you were meant to be.”
And he’s positive that what she’s meant to be is his equal. His partner.
His destiny.
Never before in her life has she felt so torn.
After he’s vanished and she can once again hear the sound of waves crashing against the shore, Rey regards the pocket of air he briefly occupied.
She’s beyond confusion. Beyond indecision. Part of her wants to dismiss on principle everything Kylo has to say; wants to believe he’s lying, manipulating her, playing his games. But she can’t. In all their exchanges, she’s never detected even a hint of guile from him. Mockery, yes; challenge, yes; arrogance, yes. But never duplicity.
Under a sky obscured by turbulent gray clouds, she began to empathize with him. Now, in the dark of night, with nothing but thin beams of moonlight to guide her, she grudgingly begins to trust him.
But she refuses to believe Luke isn’t telling her the truth. He wouldn’t deceive her. He’s a Jedi.
The legacy of the Jedi is failure. Hypocrisy.
She doesn’t know what to believe. Who to believe. Instinct is advising her to trust Kylo Ren—but she clings to her faith in the Jedi, clings to the stories that gave her hope as a child; the legends of mystical warriors who fought for all that is good and right.
Kylo’s voice, advocative and gentle, echoes in her ear. Don’t be afraid. Let the past die.
Why? she wants to scream.
Why is this happening? Why is it happening to her?
Suddenly, the answer to that question matters more than anything else. Once she finally answers the question of her, perhaps everything else will make sense.
She turns around, remembering her first lesson with Luke. Remembering the dark place…calling to her…trying to show her something…something she wants—needs—to see.
As if privvy to her musings, the dark place beckons her.
Come…
Swallowing hard, she goes.
If you liked this, let me know. If not, well, constructive criticism has its uses, too. Feel free to share excerpts on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, etc.–just please be sure to credit me and link back to this site. Thanks, guys!
A Child in a Mask – Ren’s first few scenes
Just You – the first force connection
Lesson One – Rey’s first lesson from Luke
A Monster – the second force connection
Not Alone – Rey’s experience in the sea cave and the fourth force connection
His True Enemy – confronting Snoke
Let Old Things Die – the “proposal” scene
Let Old Things Die – revised and expanded
The Supreme Leader – Ren’s last few scenes
You’re Nothing – A Ben Solo Character Study
These are amazing! Would love to read about the scene in the desert where he pushed her to test her capabilities.
Always wanted to see this written out!! You did it justice, really great job!!
I started reading these fanfics since i saw your Let Old Things Die. These amazing, well-written and deep. If one thing, it enhances the way i feel about The Last Jedi, and it made me a Reylo fan.
This is great! Please keep writing these! The one I’m REALLY looking forward to read is the next force bond when they touch hands. I hope to be able to enjoy that soon😀.