Kef Bir was technically a moon of Endor, but to Rey it seemed like a whole world. Flying into the atmosphere had revealed vast seas interrupted by tentative patches of land, covered mostly with grass. Shrubbery was scarce, settlements nonexistent. Rey hadn't been able to fix the landing gear and repulsors entirely by the time they arrived—just enough to slow their impact a little. Which was why, when they all exited the Falcon bruised and shell-shocked, it was to the sight of a massive scar in the damp ground, running behind them in a straight line as far as the eye could see. Her ship's fuselage was half buried in mud, and they'd had to exit out of the top hatch, but the Falcon remained almost flightworthy, and with a few repairs and a little luck they'd be able to take off. After Rey had gotten what she'd come for.
The air smelled of salt and sun-kissed grass. Water prickled her skin, as though something was kicking up spray. The sky roiled with angry gray clouds, but everything remained bright, for the gas giant Endor provided reflected light in addition to the system's sun. Rey led them up a steep, grassy slope, following the coordinates they'd gotten from C-3PO. Even the droids followed; D-O's uni-wheel was surprisingly effective against the grassy terrain. Her breath came hard and her legs burned by the time their heads crested the top. Then Rey forgot to breathe at all.
They stood on the edge of a cliff at least six hundred meters high. Below them, a violent steel sea stretched into fog. Swells the height of a Star Destroyer rolled back to reveal jagged black shoals, only to crash back down in an explosion of white water and froth. So much water, all in one place, carving cliffs, spearing the sky, spraying them with wetness, even at this distance. Where she'd come from, water was one of the most valuable substances in the galaxy. Turned out, it was also one of the most powerful. The fog was clearing, and their view of the ocean pushed farther and farther into the horizon. A shape began to emerge, like a mountain of metal. No, a whole mountain range of metal. Beside her, Finn gasped. It was a ship, or rather the remains of one, except this ship was larger than any ship Rey had ever seen. Its tattered hull arched out of the violent swells like an upside-down bowl, the jagged remains of its superlaser focus lens aimed at the sky. It was just like the starship graveyard on Jakku, except wetter. And about a thousand times bigger.
"What-what is that?" D-O asked.
"It's the Death Star," Rey said, staring at the colossal wreck. "It's a bad place, from an old war."
"I don't think General Organa had any idea this was here," Poe said, his voice filled with wonder. "A huge chunk of the second Death Star, still intact…"
"Of course not, Master Poe!" C-3PO said. "It was likely submerged for more than a decade after the Battle of Endor. A terrible battle, according to the HoloNet. Oh, I would hate to endure something so dreadful."
BB-8 warbled a question.
"From the sky, Beebee-Ate," Rey said.
"The wayfinder's in the Imperial Vaults," Finn said, as if saying the words would help him believe it. "In the Death Star."
"I hate to be practical," Poe said, "but it's gonna take us years to find it."
Poe was right. How do you search something the size of a moon? Where do you even start?
Rey blinked, remembering. She whispered, "Only this blade tells." She retrieved the dagger of Ochi of Bestoon. Held up its wicked edge so that it shimmered in the light. "This will show me the way."
Poe leaned forward and asked, "How do you know?"
"A feeling," Rey said.
"Heads up," Poe warned.
Rey whirled. Finn and Poe whipped up their blasters.
A young woman about Rey's age rode toward them atop a creature that looked like a fathier with tusks except large-boned and with a more generous coat of fur. The woman had dark skin like Finn's, and beautiful obsidian hair that framed her face like a halo. The only weapon she carried that Rey could see was a bow, and Rey found herself filled with admiration and kinship when she noted that the bow was made of salvaged blaster parts. This woman would have done fine on Jakku. Then nearly a dozen others rode up behind her, similarly mounted and armed.
"Rough landing?" said the woman.
"I've seen worse," Poe said.
"I've seen better," the woman said. "Are you Resistance?"
"Depends…" Poe said carefully.
"We picked up a transmission from someone named Babu Frik."
Poe lowered his blaster.
"Babu Frik!" C-3PO exclaimed. "Oh, he's one of my oldest friends!"
"He said you'd come. He said you were the last hope," the woman said.
Rey stepped forward, feeling a smidge of optimism. "We need to get out to that wreck," she said, pointing. "There's something inside we need."
"That could end the war for good," Poe added.
The rider considered a moment, then said, "We have fishing skimmers. I can take you there by water."
"Do you see that water?" Finn said.
"Not now," she agreed. "Too dangerous. We can get there at low tide. First light tomorrow."
"We can't wait that long," Rey said. She turned to Poe and Finn. "Kylo Ren's right behind us."
"Kylo Ren?" the woman said, exchanging a startled look with some of her fellow riders.
"We don't have time," Rey said.
"Do we have a choice?" Poe said. "Let's get fixing the ship." To the woman, he said, "Do you have parts here?"
"Some," she said. "I'm Jannah."
"I'm Poe."
They all headed down the hillside toward the Falcon, except Rey, who lingered, gazing out over the ocean at the wreckage of the Death Star. To be so close…
After a moment, she forced herself to turn and follow her friends.
—
The riders had dismounted to let their creatures graze and work out some kinks. Orbaks, Jannah had called them. Finn thought they were great, the way they kicked up dirt when they ran, tossed their long manes, play-fought with their huge tusks. They were a lot like the fathier he and Rose had ridden on Canto Bight, except joyful and free. Also stouter, as though built for endurance and cold weather.
He smiled as an orbak snuffled BB-8. It made a noise—half grunt, half whinny—which BB-8 imitated with limited success.
"Hello!" said the little cone droid.
The orbak tossed its mane and roared in response—not an unfriendly gesture—but the tiny droid recoiled. "No, thank you. No, thank you," he said, as BB-8 tried to assure him that the orbak was friendly. Finn left them to get to know one another, entering the Falcon.
"What a dreadful situation," C-3PO was saying, as he and Poe ran a diagnostic on the forward shields. "Is every day like this for you people? Madness!"
"Did we ever find his volume control?" Poe said.
Their crash landing had also damaged the Falcon's reserve atmo tank, though it wasn't yet leaking. Fixing it now would prevent a much larger problem later. Finn got to work, glad to have something to fill the time, to distract himself from worrying about Rey.
A while later, Jannah entered, carrying a small rez cylinder—exactly what he needed to patch the tank. "It's an oh-six, but it'll work," she said.
Finn took the cylinder, stared at it. "That's a First Order part," he said.
"There's an old cruiser on the west ridge, stripped for parts." She paused, as though coming to a decision, then added cautiously, "The one we were assigned to. The one we escaped in."
Finn's eyes flew wide. "Okay, wait. You were First Order?"
"Not by choice," she clarified quickly. "Conscripted as kids. All of us. I was Tee-Zed One-seven-one-nine. Stormtrooper."
Well, that explained the bow made of blaster parts, and the armband containing a transponder.
Finn came to a decision, too. "Eff-En Two-one-eight-seven," he said.
"You?"
He nodded. Then he grinned. Someone like him! He couldn't wait to tell Rey. He dropped the cylinder. Sat down and leaned forward. "I never knew there were more!"
"Deserters. All of us here were stormtroopers. We mutinied at the Battle of Ansett Island. They told us to fire on civilians."
Finn winced. He knew exactly how that felt.
"We wouldn't do it," Jannah said. "We laid down our weapons."
"All of you?"
She nodded. "The whole company. I don't even know how it happened. Wasn't even a decision really. More like—"
"An instinct. A feeling," he finished for her.
She looked at him in surprise. "Yeah. A feeling."
Finn was nodding again. "The Force," he said emphatically. "It brought me here. Brought me to Rey and Poe."
"You say that like you're sure it's real."
"Oh, it's very real. I wasn't sure then. But…" He smiled. "I am now."
Whatever she was about to say in response was cut off when Poe and BB-8 rushed toward them.
Finn's heart thudded. Somehow he knew exactly what Poe had come to tell them.
"Rey's gone," Poe said.
As one, they all rushed from the Falcon. Droids trailing, they clambered up the rise.
"She took the skimmer?" Jannah said in disbelief.
Finn raised his quadnocs and swept his gaze across the sea. "I see her," he said. "Waaaayyy out there." He handed the 'nocs to Poe.
"What the hell's she thinking?" Poe said.
Finn knew exactly what she was thinking; she was going after the Sith alone, in a misguided attempt to keep her friends from harm. Stupid, wonderful, maddening Rey. "We gotta go after her," he said.
"We'll fix the Falcon and get out there as fast as we can," Poe said, hurrying down the rise toward the ship.
Finn followed. "We're going to lose her!" he said, his voice rising. Lose her—not necessarily to death. Possibly to something worse.
Chewie and Jannah kept back, saying nothing as they argued.
"She left us!" Poe said. "What do you want us to do? Swim?"
"She's not herself. You don't know what she's fighting."
Poe stopped. Whirled. "Oh, but you do?"
"I do. Leia does too."
"I'm not Leia!"
"That's for damn sure."
Poe recoiled as if struck, and guilt pierced Finn. That had been too harsh. Too close to the truth of Poe's worries and fears. He should have known better. Before he could apologize, Poe tossed the 'nocs to him and walked away.
Finn sighed, climbing back up the rise. He lifted the 'nocs, and gazed out across the ocean. Rey's skiff was barely more than a mote against the turbulent water. He had no idea how she was managing to navigate that thing, how she hadn't capsized yet. He couldn't swim to her—that would be suicide. Maybe Poe was right and the only thing to do was repair the Falcon as fast as possible.
"Finn?" came Jannah's voice.
He lowered the quadnocs.
"There's another skimmer," she said.
Hope stabbed through him. He started running.
—
The fact that the Millennium Falcon was transmitting again had probably already traveled base-wide, but Leia sensed it was time for a motivational talk. She ordered everyone to gather so she could officially report. It was the perfect time for good news. A brief tropical storm had dropped the temperature. Birds chattered in the jungle canopy above, celebrating the delightful coolness.
"I'm very pleased to report that the Millennium Falcon sent us a transmission on long-range," she said. "Their mission is back on track."
People clapped one another on the back. She saw smiles. Connix and Rose even hugged. This had been the right choice.
"Our hope is with them, but our work is here. Commander Tico reports that the two fighters we liberated from the Corellian scrapyard are now flight ready."
More applause.
"My congratulations and thanks to the entire Engineering Corps for pulling off that miracle. But our work has just begun...I'm so proud of all of you. As long as we never lose hope, our cause lives on."
She stumbled a little on her way to her quarters, but Connix was there in a flash to support her. She was just so tired. If she could lie down…Connix helped her to her cot.
—
Before Rey had touched down on Takodana with Han Solo, the only body of water she'd ever seen was the slimy trough at Niima Outpost. Then, on Ahch-To, she'd always eyed the sea with a bit of distrust. The ways of water were terrifying and alien to her, and she knew she'd be facing her most unpredictable enemy yet. Still, this ocean was even worse than Rey had anticipated. The skimmer she'd stolen was a marvel of recycling ingenuity, with two pontoons made for cutting through waves, bouncing over rough water, turning with her slightest touch of the rudder. But the waves were higher than buildings, creating eddies and whirlpools and massive explosions of froth. It took all her concentration to keep from capsizing.
The skimmer itself became her enemy when an unexpected wave ripped the rudder from her hand, slamming it sideways and almost knocking her into the water. A few more near-disasters and she figured out that she needed to aim for the waves instead of against them, and trust the skimmer to make the climb. Soaked and shivering, she pushed on toward the Death Star, toward the exact spot identified by the dagger. The star-shaped chamber was so high, so isolated. But maybe she could reach it by climbing up the inside of the structure, sheltered somewhat from the waves. The wreckage loomed higher and larger as she approached. Water churned against the massive hull, pulled back to reveal tantalizing access points, only to crash back and drown them in the next moment. Rey had no idea how she would get on board with her life intact. She crested another wave, and her heart leapt into her throat as the skimmer dropped down the other side. She was too close to the wreck. Her momentum was going to slam her into the hull, shatter the skimmer into a thousand pieces…
Instead, her skimmer was sucked into a vast canyon of metal that stretched nearly to the horizon. Here the water was somewhat sheltered by the warped walls scraping the sky to either side. Her journey slowed. Compared with the open ocean, it was almost peaceful. She craned her neck. Flying creatures nested far above at the canyon's zenith. They winged in circles, crying out as they came in to land. The dagger was telling her where to go, drawing her forward, the pull of it heavy in her bones. For some reason, she found herself reaching out for Luke. Be with me?
Of course, there was no answer.
She aimed the skimmer toward a section of wall that seemed to have good hand- and footholds. She tied the skimmer down as best she could, checked that her lightsaber was still attached to her belt, and began to climb. It had been a while since she'd spelunked through the ruins of a downed starship. Her grip remained strong, but everything was wet and slippery. Patience was the key. Slow and deliberate, Rey. Test every hold before putting weight on it.
She was far above the surface of the water, the skimmer a bobbing speck, when she found entry into the hull. Avoiding sharp metal, she ducked inside and scooted along a canted beam to a wide shaft, where she resumed her climb. It was drier here, but also darker, and she found herself working by feel. Her path of handholds ended. There was nowhere to go except across the empty shaft, where a fallen strut created a way forward. It would be an impossible leap. She called on the Force, launched with all her might, sailed through the shaft across a depthless maw, landed on hands and feet. Rey resumed her climb. Her back and shoulders burned by the time the shaft opened into a vast chamber. The floor was sloped upward, slippery with water, covered in seaweed and metal detritus and even pieces of stormtrooper armor, blackened by fire. Wind whistled through gaping holes in the walls, and she shivered. This place had been something once. Something important.
Ahead, the sloped floor led to a huge viewport, half shattered, bayed out to the sky. Before it was a dais of some sort, containing the ocean-soaked remains of a chair. No, a throne.
This had been the Emperor's throne room. Luke had fought Darth Vader here, and the energy—or maybe memory—of that battle still lingered. She closed her eyes and sensed terror, pain, regret, and…a determination to save someone who was deeply loved. Rey stepped toward the throne. The floor quivered beneath her feet, and she leapt back just in time as a large panel dropped away. It clattered on its way down, the sounds growing ever fainter. She did not hear it land. Rey crept along the shadowy walls, where she hoped the floor was better supported, and came to a door. It had a complicated access mechanism that marked it as valuable and significant. Maybe a vault. What she sought was assuredly inside.
She could get through this lock eventually. The Death Star had been dormant here for decades. She probably just needed to muscle it—
Rey lifted a hand as if to push, but before she made contact, something clicked and the door whooshed open. As if it still had a power source. Like she'd been recognized.
Darkness enveloped her as she stepped inside.
The door slammed down behind her. Rey moved forward, inexplicably drawn. Shapes manifested around her, fragments of a person. It was her, she realized with dawning dismay. She was walking through a hall of shattered mirrors, seeing her own form reflected back at her over and over, like in the cave beneath Ahch-To. Except here the shattered glass only gave her jagged pieces of herself—an arm here, a boot there, a lock of soaking hair, a bruised temple. The shards of reflection were a puzzle that she ached to solve, as though doing so might make a whole person finally appear.
No, she would not allow herself to go through this again. The tease, the promise of knowledge and insight, only to come up with nothing. Rey closed her mind to the mirrors and continued forward, toward the thing calling to her. The wayfinder hovered between black fittings, its pyramidal shape glowing soft red from within. She reached for it, took it.
Triumph filled her. Finally.
The triumph shifted, became burgeoning dread. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and her neck prickled. She was being watched.
Slowly, still grasping the wayfinder, she turned.
A hooded figure materialized, glided toward her with inexorable purpose, dark cloak sweeping the ground. The figure practically radiated power, and something else…a cold and ravenous hunger.
A red lightsaber appeared in the figure's hand, chaotic like Kylo's, with two parallel blades. Light from the blade finally illuminated a face as pale and gaunt as it was fierce.
Rey gasped, stumbling backward. It was her. Her face, her form. Cold and dark, wearing a Sith cloak, whole at last.
Horrified, she watched as the dark mirror Rey swung her blades apart, forming a long, fiery quarterstaff. This couldn't be real. It was a vision, nothing more. But the dark Rey's steps echoed when they met the floor, and her lightstaff reeked of ozone. Her power was incredible, intoxicating. Almost against her will, Rey began to reach with her hand…
The mirrored dark visage of Rey spoke: "Don't be afraid of who you are."
It was a lightning strike, hearing Leia's exact words from this creature's mouth.
The dark Rey whipped her lightsaber forward, seeking a killing blow. Rey had her own lightsaber ignited and raised within a split second. Their blades clashed, yellow on red, sparking and angry.
Rey refused to lose her grasp on the wayfinder, which gave the dark Rey the advantage. With two hands on her weapon and a fierce gaze, the dark one pushed, pinning Rey's weapon, forcing her back, one step, then another. Rey slid into the throne room.
Her stomach roiled and tears streamed down her face. She was about to be defeated by her own self, her deepest fear made flesh, everything she'd fought for come to nothing—
The dark Rey hissed, revealing pointed teeth.
Rey barely registered the fact that her dark mirror-self disappeared as she stumbled backward, tripping. She fell, the wayfinder slipping from her hand. It slid across the sloped floor. She scrambled after it, reached for the wayfinder.
Another hand got there first, larger, black-gloved. She looked up. Kylo Ren loomed, his shoulders dimpled with drops of ocean.
Despair nearly choked her. To escape a future dark self, only to collide with Kylo Ren. It felt like her worst nightmares coming true. It felt like destiny.
She launched to her feet. Re-ignited her lightsaber.
"Look at yourself," he said. "You wanted to prove to my mother that you were a Jedi." His voice oozed contempt for that notion. "But you've proven something else. You can't go back to her now. Like I can't."
His words cleared her head. Because he was wrong. Her darkest self had told her not to be afraid of who she was. But so had Leia. Leia knew. And she had still chosen to train her.
Kylo Ren did not understand his mother at all.
"Give it to me," she ordered.
He seemed confused for a moment, as though surprised that she could still resist. "The dark side is in our nature," he tried again. "Surrender to it."
"Give it. To me," she growled.
He lifted the wayfinder, stared at it. His expression turned smug. "The only way you're getting to Exegol is with me."
Rey gasped, began shaking her head. No, no, no…
His grip tightened. The wayfinder shattered. Something viscous oozed out of the remains, slipped through Kylo's fingers. He opened his palm to reveal nothing but sticky dust. The thing she'd come halfway across the galaxy for, risked the lives of her friends for, had been obliterated.
"No!" she screamed.
Hot, primal rage rose inside her like volcanic magma, and she erupted forward, swinging her lightsaber.
He leapt out of the way of her blow, ducked under the next. He whirled away from her, cape flying.
Vaguely, through her haze of fury, she realized he was not attacking her, and somehow this enraged her further. She reached, drew power from the Force as though she were a bottomless whirlpool—more, more, more. Her attacks increased in speed.
Finally, he could dodge no longer. His own lightsaber was suddenly brought to bear, and they clashed, their blades crackling and humming with energy.
Over and over she swiped, slammed, stabbed, and he countered with effort, matching her ferocity. But he gave ground.
Kylo stepped back, dropped into the shaft.
Without a second thought, she leapt after him.
She hardly recalled traveling any distance, but somehow they ended up outside the wreckage, on a bridgelike hunk of metal only meters wide. A massive gun turret loomed over them; beyond it and half drowning in spray was Ren's parked TIE. The ocean raged all around, but she pressed her attack, oblivious to the added danger.
Kylo Ren had no choice but to attack in kind, and it was so satisfying to strike, again and again, only to have their blades clash like cymbals. The impacts shivered into her shoulders, bruised her spine and hips. It was better than thinking about what she'd seen, what he'd done. Who she was.
A presence cut through her awareness, shining and bright. And a voice screaming: "Rey!"
Finn was running toward her, leaving Jannah behind to watch their skimmer. Rey's instinct to protect Finn was overwhelming. With no thought at all, she called on the Force and thrust out with her hand. He flew backward toward Jannah at the edge of the bridge-wreck. A wave crashed down on the stretch of bridge between them, cutting Finn and Jannah off from her sight.
The sea was boiling now with a rising tide. As she raged against Kylo Ren, the Force opened itself to her, flooding her with new power, and she found herself leaping out of the way of massive waves, then landing on her feet only to leap again. Kylo leapt after her, using the Force to propel himself into the sky, then again to control his landings.
She would not leave this place until one of them was dead. But her blade was not breaking through his guard. She gritted her teeth and attacked him with Force energy. He flew backward, caught himself, landed neatly.
Kylo advanced, pushing with his own Force energy. Her temples began to throb with pain, but she stood her ground.
She screamed and launched herself at him again.
He was physically stronger. The longer they fought, the clearer it became. But she was a little faster. Their sabers collided. He pushed. She slid backward on the slick metal surface, his chaotic blade gradually getting closer and closer to her face. She felt its vibration near her cheeks.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a colossal oncoming wave. The ocean was reaching high tide. She leapt as the wave crashed down, using the Force to propel herself high and backward. Rey landed in a crouch before another gun turret. She looked around. No sign of Kylo Ren. Maybe the wave had washed him away.
No, there he was, striding unerringly toward her, ocean water pouring from his hair, his face. He had withstood the wave. The expression on his face said that he could withstand anything.
She attacked, and he countered. But she was tiring, slowing. She hadn't slept in how long? And she was not yet recovered from healing the vexis. Her hand smarted with every blow.
Another attack, another block, and this one knocked her off her feet. He loomed over her, raised his lightsaber.
Rey stared up at him. She was going to die on this wreck of a space station. But maybe it was better to die now than to give in to the darkness later.
She glared, preparing to dodge, accepting that maybe she wouldn't be fast enough.
Kylo froze, lightsaber held high.
—
Leia, there is only one thing left to do, Luke said, You must try to reach Ben.
I never gave up hope for him, she said.
Tell him.
With his words came a rush of knowledge, and a vision-memory of Luke sitting cross-legged atop a cliff of Ahch-To, shaking with effort as he projected himself onto the battlefield at Crait.
The effort to reach Ben would take everything she had left.
She couldn't do it. It would be her ultimate failure, to leave behind everyone she loved, everything she'd worked for. Leia had to stay. She had to continue fanning the tiny flame of hope, or the Resistance would die.
She sighed with a heavy realization. She'd had it backward. Letting go wasn't giving up. It was the ultimate act of hope—hope for her protégés Rey and Poe, faith in the lessons she'd taught them. The last thing they would learn from her was how to go on without her, thus finally embracing their own destinies as leaders.
Bail Organa had been the one to teach her that. Her adopted father had trusted her to find Obi-Wan Kenobi and save the rebellion when she was just a young woman with less experience than any of them.
Leia, Luke prompted.
If Vader could become Anakin again, Kylo Ren could become Ben. Her son was tempted by the light; she could sense it. But even if he never turned back the way Anakin had, she still loved him, and her legacy was secure. She was Leia Skywalker Organa Solo. She fully embraced all those inheritances. And she would pass them all to the next generation. Her Skywalker legacy would go to Rey, Organa to Poe, and she would try one last time to pass the Solo legacy to her son.
So that's how it would be. A final act of hope, and then she would rest.
She reached for the Force, let it surround her, fill her. She thought the effort would exhaust her, but she felt a momentary rush of strength and energy as she connected with every living thing. She reached deeper, and then deeper still. With all the life and love and hope and forgiveness in her being, she called out: "Ben!"
Her last thought washed through the galaxy like a wave. She was vaguely aware of a whir of sadness from R2-D2, and finally a surge of welcome from Luke, who was not alone…
—
Kylo's Ren's gaze suddenly became distant, and he dropped his lightsaber. Rey caught it, exultation filling her. She was going to win.
Through the Force came a mighty sundering.
Kylo Ren stumbled.
Rey's stolen blade pierced Kylo, running him through—as incomparable loss washed through her soul, carved her out, left her empty and aching. "Leia!" she cried out.
Kylo collapsed, stared up at her in agony, his chest heaving. He blinked hard, against pain, against whatever he was feeling. Leia's last thoughts had been of her, and Poe, and the Resistance—but mostly Ben. Leia still loved him. She had forgiven him. She had called him to the light.
Rey's hands trembled as she turned off her lightsaber, bent and did the same to Kylo's. She knelt before him, unsure what to say. His wound was mortal, that was clear. His eyes searched her face, though she wasn't certain what he was looking for. His cheeks were wet, and she couldn't tell where ocean spray ended and tears began.
"Leia…" she said.
He closed his eyes, as if accepting the inevitable end.
Rey didn't know what to do.
She'd had a chance to kill him before, and she hadn't. With him broken before her, vulnerable, she found she was even less eager to watch him die.
What would Leia do?
Rey reached out, put a hand on his chest.
His eyes flew open. He stared at her in confusion, and maybe…longing?
The air filled with a resonant hum. Rey drew on everything around her—so much life in that violent ocean!—but mostly she drew on herself. She gave.
Kylo's lips parted. His breathing settled. Muscle and sinew and skin were renewed, rejoined. Even the scar on his face knitted closed, leaving his cheek smooth and perfect.
Rey slumped over, exhausted. She felt his astonished eyes on her, sensed his unasked questions. He was alert, now. Whole. Brimming with life and energy.
But he said nothing.
Between breaths, she tried to explain. "You were right. I did want to take your hand. Ben's hand."
Before he could respond, Rey grabbed Luke's lightsaber. The healing had exhausted her, and she was unsteady on her feet as she ran toward the TIE fighter parked on the wreckage.
She dropped into the pilot's seat. It took a moment to orient herself to the strange controls, but they soon made sense to her, as flight controls always did. She took off, looking back to see Kylo staring after her, still astonished. Finn and Jannah were motes on another island of wreckage, and she was glad to see the Falcon approaching. They would be okay.
She didn't know where she was going. She just knew she had to get away. Rey felt like she was being ripped apart, by the truth of who she was, by grief.
Rey let instinct guide her as she punched the coordinates into the navicomputer. She broke atmosphere and entered hyperspace.