Chapter Text
CHAPTER I
The thick jungle canopy of Ajan Kloss let the sunlight through only reluctantly—as if conspiring to grant a small band of fugitives a safe haven. Here and there a lone shaft of light pierced the dimness under the leafy vault, scattering in a spectacle of brilliance. It seemed as though a million flecks of gold floated in the air between the towering treetops and the dense undergrowth, while heavy droplets of falling water broke the light into a thousand diamond sparks. The trees—giants with pale, furrowed bark—rose like stone columns, their broad crowns draped with thick, brown lianas. Every plant on this moon fought for a scrap of light, though many were forced to retreat, leaving the forest floor strewn with tiny needles, fallen leaves, and pieces of bark. Only the occasional grassy clearing allowed the sun to reach the ground unhindered.
By fortunate coincidence—or perhaps the foresight of General Organa, who had chosen this location as a potential refuge and the seed of a future base—the fauna here was limited to insects, countless species of worms living in the fertile soil or burrowed into the trees’ crevices, and small lizard-like creatures with the astonishing ability to mimic perfectly the color and texture of their surroundings. This camouflage had an unfortunate side effect: anyone walking the still-forming trails was almost certain to step on one of the well-hidden creatures. They would respond with a loud, rasping screech before darting up the nearest tree and instantly blending into its ancient bark. There were no larger predators, no dangerous beasts. Within days, the Resistance fighters learned that the snapping of twigs or the rustle of leaves did not signal a sudden attack from some unknown creature with sharp claws and a dozen fanged jaws.
What pleased them far less—and steadily wore on their spirits—was the omnipresent damp. Rain fell every night, and each morning the slowly warming ground released a heavy, clinging fog that seeped into everything: caves, clothing, equipment, even their bones. Only the old Jedi texts seemed immune to the moisture. “Not that Ahch-To lacked for water,” Rey mused as she gently turned the thick pages. “Maybe a thousand years of salt preservation worked some kind of magic… or perhaps another Force is at play.”
After a time on Ajan Kloss, Rey was surprised to find fleeting moments—brief as a hyperspace flash yet recurring—when she longed for the merciless sun of Jakku, for that searing heat that burned both skin and thought. Those moments came when the battle against the all-pervading damp felt lost. Yet with new insulation methods and improved protective oils, the unrestrained, vivid life spilling from every corner of their refuge soon filled Rey with wonder again.
This uninhabited green moon lay far out on the Outer Rim. Its discovery by Alderaanians before the Galactic Civil War had been concealed from the Senate, leaving it absent from star maps and galactic registries. Few knew it existed, so the small band of rebels fleeing the First Order could feel relatively secure. Their main base occupied vast caves with high walls and cool, though ever-humid air—a welcome relief from the heated jungle. But when the refugees first reached the cavern entrances, something else surprised them: sturdy concrete supports, artificially divided chambers, even drainage channels. They speculated about an earlier civilization that had carved these caves, or expanded natural ones, for storage, shelter, or habitation.
Almost everyone who first glimpsed the moon emerging from behind its gas-giant host was captivated by its beauty: a surface painted in endless shades of green, streaked here and there with whorls and patches of white cloud, but lacking the rust and gold of deserts or the blue of oceans. There were no great mountain ranges either. Though deep shadowed ravines and pale rocky outcrops broke the green sea, the landscape was strikingly uniform. The absence of predators, the secrecy of its location, and the fertile ground for fast-growing crops allowed the fugitives to survive those first weeks. Their greatest enemy—aside from grim reports of the First Order’s sweeping hunt to annihilate the last spark of rebellion—was the relentless moisture. Nightly rains washed every open surface, and the starfighters and other craft, hidden only by camouflage netting, soon showed the first signs of corrosion and failing circuits. Mechanics spent nearly all their time finding new ways to protect the limited supplies and equipment, while scouts searched for other caves—natural or artificial—that might help shelter their resources and expand the base.
Hope of continuing the fight never left them.
The first weeks passed in almost ceaseless labor as they established the new base. A few trusted Resistance members who had been away on missions during the desperate escape from Crait received coordinates and, to everyone’s joy and relief, arrived with fresh ships, weapons, supplies, and new recruits. Rey spent her days helping organize quarters, set up the command center, and shield equipment from the damp. Many nights, though, she worked alone over the shattered remains of a lightsaber.
Even in pieces, the weapon held a quiet elegance. The long hilt, forged from two metal alloys, had split cleanly in half and resisted all efforts to rejoin it. Only after painstaking study of the often cryptic Jedi texts—much of which consisted of veiled or open criticism by Master Serisal Kael of Master Talyon Dane, whose own writings Rey wished she had, as his ideas seemed to her the more sensible—did she find the right path. At last, the two halves of the hilt were welded together, leaving along the center a faint scar, like a barely healed wound. The kyber crystal, however, proved the harder riddle. Night after night she tried to mend it through meditation and every technique she could imagine.
Those nights were a kind of salvation, because beneath the day’s activity and the focused work of repairing the lightsaber lay something far more daunting: a darkness like a bottomless well. First came grief for those she had lost—people she had known only briefly yet had almost become family, mentors, comrades in the Resistance who died in that desperate flight. Deeper still stirred memories of her parents and the brutal truth about them. All those years, all those marks scratched on the wall of her lonely shelter on Jakku, had been a lie, an illusion, a false hope. She tried not to think of it, throwing herself into work, but just below the surface simmered sorrow and anger—at them, at herself, at her own naïveté, at the years wasted beneath Jakku’s scorching sun.
And deeper yet, buried under the weight of stones she imagined each day, lay something else: the bond. She knew the truth—that it had not ended with Snoke’s death. She felt it still, alive, waiting. She did not want to think of it, to revisit those fresh wounds. But in moments of fatigue or distraction the memory returned: night, firelight, a few quiet words, a touch as light as the faintest stir of the Force. She forced the memory down each time, burying it as if in the depths of a black well.
That night, after hours of meditation, Rey finally succeeded. With a tremor of emotion she ignited the blade, sensing a faint vibration she was certain had not been there before. She stroked the activation chamber and whispered to the crystal, “I’m sorry. I can’t heal you completely. Perhaps no one can.”
After only a few hours of sleep, as the first rays of the distant sun, reflected off the gas giant, reached the highest jungle leaves, Rey took the lightsaber and walked through the fog that blanketed every path and ravine after the night’s rain. She crossed a narrow gorge almost by instinct and pushed through dense shrubs to a small grassy clearing.
She activated the blade, its blue light slicing the thick morning mist. Sliding into a ready stance, she began a sequence of movements she was still perfecting: half-turns, overhead cuts, a defensive X-cross. One breath a sharp, rhythmic inhale, the next a spring from light step to powerful thrust. She tried to merge what she had read in the old fencing texts with what she’d learned fighting with a staff on Jakku—swift dodges, sudden counterattacks, abrupt changes of tempo. Her hands ached from gripping the hilt; her arms trembled with effort, but in the repetition she found a strange peace.
Only out of the corner of her eye did she notice daylight pouring more boldly into the clearing. From the dark tunnel of the trail to the base a figure emerged.
“Rey, you did it!” Finn’s voice rang with excitement.
“How did you know I’d be here?” she asked, halting mid-turn, the blade still lit.
“Intuition,” Finn replied with a broad grin. “Or maybe that unmistakable lightsaber hum. Hard to miss. It’s amazing you repaired it. Can I see?”
“Of course.” Rey powered down the blade and stepped toward him. “I fused the crystal—it’s stable and strong, though…” she hesitated.
“Something wrong?” Concern tinged his voice. “You don’t sound sure.”
“Not entirely.” She handed him the weapon. “Go on, hold it. You can ignite it.”
Finn cradled it carefully, as though it were fragile, then ignited the blade and turned it slowly in his hands.
“I see you added something… your leather wrist strap?” He raised an approving brow. “Looks great. Now the saber feels a bit more like you.”
“You think so?” Rey’s voice held a trace of doubt. “I wanted it to be more mine, but…” She took it back and reignited the blue blade. “I feel the weight of its history. This is the Skywalkers’ saber, not mine. I’m just a scavenger from Jakku and—”
“Rey!” Finn cut her off firmly. “You’re not ‘just’ anything. But I get it. Maybe someday you should build your own lightsaber—one that belongs to you alone.”
“You really think so?” A small smile brightened her face.
“Absolutely. If anyone can, it’s you.”
Rey fell silent for a moment, watching the flicker of the blade.
“You know… if that day ever comes, I’d want it to be yellow.”
“Yellow?” Finn’s brows rose. “Why that color?”
“The color of the desert.”
“Seriously? You’re not joking?”
“Not at all.” Her expression softened, touched by memory. “The desert is harsh, but at sunset… the sun turns everything to gold—the dunes, the rocks, even your little shelter. Back then I dreamed of green worlds and oceans. Ajan Kloss is beautiful”—she turned, spreading her arms as if to embrace the clearing’s greenery—“and I wouldn’t go back. But I don’t want to forget that place, either. One old text said that while blue and green are most common, some Jedi shape their blades to match their own desires.”
“That sounds incredible,” Finn admitted. “But for now, we work with what we have. What matters is that this saber works—and that it helps you when… if you face Kylo Ren.”
The name hung in the air, heavy enough to tighten her chest.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I hope so too.”
She didn’t want to dwell on it. The thought of another duel felt too close.
Finn gave her a playful nudge. “Don’t worry. We’ve still got time. Besides”—he laughed suddenly—“Poe’s cooking tonight. You have to come. You can’t miss this historic event.”
Rey laughed, a brief, bright sound.
“I’ll try. But first I need more practice—and a mountain of texts to decipher.”
“Good luck,” Finn called as he waved. “And don’t train too long. Poe won’t forgive you if you skip his masterpiece.”
He vanished into the greenery, and Rey raised her saber once more. The mist parted before each smooth cut, and the rhythm of training returned to its quiet, soothing hum.
—
Hours passed. Dusk crept into the base, and the first drops of the nightly rain began to drum against the protective tarps stretched over starfighters and supply stacks. C-3PO patiently translated the next phrases and captions, working with Rey to decipher the faded notes beneath schematic illustrations of ancient lightsaber forms.
Bent over the texts, Rey barely registered when the soft drizzle turned to a steady rain and then to a downpour that muffled every footstep and voice in the corridors. A gentle knock blended with the rain. Only when it became a firm pounding did she start, lifting her head and hopping off the cot to open the door.
“Hey, it’s me—Finn,” came the familiar voice.
“Hey.” Rey pulled the door wider.
“We’re waiting for you. Everything’s ready, and dinner… at least looks edible from the outside.” Finn grinned crookedly. “Can’t vouch for what’s inside.”
“Uh, I’m not really hungry,” she said too quickly, though her stomach betrayed her with a quiet growl. “I still have so much to read. I think I’ll stay in tonight.”
“More Jedi texts?” Finn’s tone was warm but knowing. “You’re buried in those. Don’t let them turn you into Threepio.”
"Highly unlikely," came the crisp, indignant voice of C-3PO as he approached, carrying a data pad. "Although I must say, Miss Rey has shown an exceptional aptitude for translating ancient languages. I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone so interested… except perhaps young Master—” He stopped abruptly. “Forgive me. I should not mention that. After all… we are now enemies.”
Finn raised his brows but ignored the droid’s ramble. Rey felt a sharp pang, knowing exactly whom C-3PO meant.
“Rey,” Finn said gently, his face serious. “You’re taking too much on yourself. Spend the evening with your friends. We miss you. Besides, if you don’t hurry, Rose and Poe will eat everything.”
Rey managed a faint smile. “I thought Poe cooked for an army.”
“He claims it’s ‘for team spirit.’ I say it’s for his own satisfaction.” Finn chuckled. “And Rose already announced a contest to guess what’s actually in the pot.”
“That sounds… unsettling,” Rey replied, a trace of amusement in her voice.
“Exactly why you have to be there.” Finn leaned closer conspiratorially. “Someone has to pretend it’s edible.”
“All right,” she sighed, giving in. “Just give me a minute.”
She closed the door and quickly grabbed a clean shirt.
“Thank you, C-3PO. That’s enough for tonight,” she said.
“Of course, Miss Rey. Enjoy your evening with the organic beings,” the droid replied with a polite bow before leaving.
Rey changed and glanced at her reflection in the small mirror.
“Leave your friends, and you’ll forget what you’re fighting for,” she whispered to herself. Suddenly she felt an unexpected lightness, a spark of anticipation.
“Let’s see if dinner is truly edible,” she murmured, smoothing the shirt, “or if the unlucky ones will have to retreat to the mess hall.”