The Rise of Skywalker

by Rae Carson

  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 Han’s medal clattering to the floor, 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.

  “Your mother…” 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.

  CHAPTER 14

  Kylo Ren stood on the wreck of the Death Star, gazing at the ocean. He’d been standing there a long time, watching the tide gradually recede. Physically, he felt better than he ever had in his life.

  But his mind was in turmoil. He hadn’t known such healing was possible, didn’t understand how it had been done. But that wasn’t the question that troubled him most. Why had Rey healed him? Why would she do such a thing?

  Why had his mother loved him right up until her last moment? Snoke had lied about that. Snoke had lied about all of it. All those voices in his head, torturing him throughout the years, they had promised him that a moment like this could never happen. They don’t care about you. Just their precious New Republic. And later, Just their precious Resistance.

  All lies.

  His mother had sacrificed herself to reach him. Then Rey had healed him, at great cost to herself. In spite of everything he’d done.

  He had failed to kill the light within himself because it had been all around him all along. In Rey. His mother. Even…his father.

  “Hey, kid,” came a voice. The familiarity was like a lightsaber through his gut. He turned.

  Han Solo stood before him, untouched by ocean spray. He looked exactly the way Kylo remembered him last—except his features were calm. At peace.

  “I miss you, son,” he said.

  Kylo blinked. This couldn’t be real. “Your son is dead,” he said.

  His father smiled. “No,” he said, striding toward him. Their noses were centimeters apart when he added, “Kylo Ren is dead. My son is alive.”

  He let his gaze roam his father’s face, his jacket, the blaster holstered at his side. Everything felt so real. He could even smell the gear lubricant Han Solo had always used to keep the Falcon’s converters running.

  “You’re just a memory,” he said.

  “Your memory,” said his father. His eyes were so full of love. They were like daggers. “Come home,” he urged.

  “It’s too late.” It was something the voices in his head had always said. It’s too late for you. They’ll never take you back. But this time it was true, because: “She’s gone.”

  “Your mother’s gone. But what she stood for and what she fought for…that’s not gone.”

  He stared at his father, afraid to believe his words. Afraid of his own memory. Afraid of what he was feeling.

  “Ben,” his father said.

  “I know what I have to do,” Ben Solo admitted, his voice tremulous. “But I don’t know if I have the strength to do it.”

  Han raised his hand to Ben’s cheek. Ben remembered it exactly. Rey had been right; he hadn’t been able to shake the memory of the warmth of his father’s palm, the calluses at his fingertips, the acceptance in his eyes.

  “You do,” his father said.

  Han Solo still believed in him. So had his mother. So had Rey.

  Ben raised the handle of his lightsaber, just like he had on Starkiller Base, the last time he’d seen his father. Except this time…

  “Dad…?” he said, suddenly small. Vulnerable. Right.

  Han Solo smiled. “I know.”

  Ben turned, and launched the lightsaber into the air. It sailed in a high arc, far above the wreakage, and disappeared into a haze of ocean spray.

  When he turned back, the memory of his father was gone, and Ben Solo was alone in the middle of the sea.

  He knew what he had to do. Somehow, he would find the strength to do it.

  * * *

  —

  General Pryde knelt in the dark before the hologram. He was in an area of his private quarters. No one had access to this place but him. Even Supreme Leader Ren didn’t know it existed.

  It took effort and careful planning to erase all record of these transmissions, but the risk was worth it. Everything had been worth it.

  The creature in the hologram spoke. “The Princess of Alderaan has disrupted my plan,” said Emperor Palpatine. “But her foolish act will be in vain. Come to me on Exegol, General Pryde.”

  “As I served you in the Old Wars, I serve you now.”

  The image sputtered. The transmission was weak and fragile, having made a near impossible journey through the Unknown Regions and anomalous space. But it was enough. “Send the ship to a world they know,” Palpatine said, and Pryde’s heart skipped. This was the moment he’d be
en waiting for. “Let it burn. The Final Order begins. She will come. Her friends will follow.”

  As his master grinned—a slow, centipede crawl across his mouth—Allegiant General Pryde shivered in near-ecstasy. “Yes, my lord.”

  A flurry of complex coordinate data followed. The way to Exegol. The Emperor was trusting him with his most precious knowledge. “Behold, the fruit of your labor,” his master said, as the data streaming toward him revealed another frequency channel.

  Pryde’s hand shook as he turned the holodisk to the new frequency. A different image sputtered before him—a flat surface, cracked ground, lightning flashes and haze. A colossal fleet hovered in the atmosphere at a staging altitude. So many of them. So beautiful.

  The Sith fleet that was his life’s work, hidden no more.

  As soon as the image settled, indicating he had a good lock, he gave the signal.

  He held his breath, waiting.

  A single ship separated from the rest. It gradually rose above the others until it had achieved a safe distance, then disappeared into hyperspace. He yearned to go with it.

  Everything he had worked for his whole life was finally coming to fruition.

  He was a pragmatist, though, and not even the ecstasy of the moment could allay his concerns. The ships were temporarily vulnerable, unable to raise shields in the planet’s hellish climate, but there was no choice. Much of the final building, inspection, testing, and maintenance must occur in atmosphere. The Emperor’s crews would work triple shifts to get it done.

  Pryde could have stayed forever, admiring the sight of the Sith fleet, but he had work to do. He smiled as he ended the transmission. Everything was proceeding as his Master had foreseen.

  * * *

  —

  The Sith Star Destroyer popped out of hyperspace above the white, frozen world of Kijimi. Final Order captain Chesille Sabrond stood on the bridge and watched as a cloud system shifted, revealing the ridged line of a massive mountain range. It must be huge, to be visible from space.

  Captain Sabrond had never been outside the Unknown Regions. She’d been raised on Exegol, belowground. It had taken years of hard work and dedication to get this premium assignment, captain of the Derriphan, the designated advance destroyer. She’d killed three people, sabotaged two others, and barely slept in twenty years, just so she could be among the first to fly out into their new galaxy.

  Their virgin flight had been a success. Now to test the weapon.

  She glanced around. The bridge was filled with Final Order officers, many raised on Exegol like her, others from various planets in the Unknown Regions. Several were children of the Empire, following in their parents’ footsteps. Many of the crimson-clad stormtroopers had been conscripted by the First Order as children—and then carefully culled and “disappeared” by spies based on their potential. Everyone on this bridge had worked toward one goal: the return of the Sith.

  “Kijimi is in range,” said one of her lieutenants.

  Captain Chesille Sabrond smiled. “Fire!” she ordered.

  The deck rumbled as the massive cannon under the ship’s belly erupted.

  * * *

  —

  Babu Frik had two more days of work—maybe three—to get this battle droid back online. It would be different, though. More self-aware, capable of higher-level command functions, and of course not quite legal. His client had promised an unholy fee to make it happen, and Babu needed that fee, if he was to get offplanet.

  The spice running gang was no more. Everyone he knew had left. The lucky ones, anyway. The rest were dead, killed by the Knights of Ren as they’d swept the city, looking for Zorii’s Resistance associates.

  “Soon, friend,” he said to the droid. It sat on the table, one arm missing below the elbow, occasionally twitching as Babu rewired. He preferred to work on “live” subjects—it was a way to notice and correct any mistakes before they’d done too much damage. “Still, be still!” he ordered.

  “Roger, roger,” the droid said, then immediately disobeyed by whipping its head to the side, toward the window.

  The droid’s audioreceptors were more sensitive than his own ears, so Babu dropped down from the table, scampered across the room, and climbed up to the window.

  It was night, and the sky had turned the telltale obsidian color that always heralded a thundersnow. He saw nothing unusual.

  And then he noticed it. A red glow, barely more than a dot, coming from the northwest.

  The dot grew, brightened. Soon the black night was aglow, the icy streets and buildings of Kijimi City awash in crimson.

  Babu muttered a prayer. He closed his eyes against the painful brightness and accepted his fate. But then he heard a familiar voice, from someone he thought long gone.

  “Babu, hurry! We only have a few seconds!”

  * * *

  —

  The entire planet imploded, sucking in on itself. Then, like an exhale, it exploded into a cosmic mass of ice and rock and magma.

  Captain Sabrond wanted to yell her triumph, but that would be unprofessional. Instead, she calmly gave the order: “Contact Imperial Command. Tell them the planet Kijimi is no more. Then set a course for our return to Exegol.”

  * * *

  —

  Poe, Finn, Chewie, and the droids hurried down the Falcon’s ramp into the jungle base. The place was denser now—more consoles, more people, even a few more ships. The Resistance had been busy while they were away.

  Poe was glad to see Commander D’Acy waiting to greet them at the bottom of the ramp. “Poe,” she said, her voice heavy with solemnity. “Something’s happened. Finn—”

  “This can’t wait,” Finn said.

  “We gotta see the general,” Poe said.

  D’Acy’s face was stricken. “She’s gone,” she said.

  Poe froze, staring at the commander, his mind refusing to parse what she’d just said.

  Chewie moaned, rolled his head back, dropped to his knees. Finn tried to comfort the Wookiee, but Chewie waved him off, grieving loudly.

  Poe just stood there, his heart aching, his feet unmoored. He was barely aware as Beaumont grabbed him, began unwrapping the bandages on his arm.

  “We came so close,” Poe murmured. “I’m sorry.”

  Beaumont spread bacta gel on Poe’s blaster wound, rebandaged it, all the while saying nothing.

  A moment later, D’Acy appeared again. “Poe. You need to see this.”

  He looked back and forth between them—Beaumont, to D’Acy, and back to Beaumont again. How were they still working? Doing anything? How could they? Leia was gone, and the Resistance with her.

  He allowed D’Acy to lead him and Beaumont to a communications console. She pointed to the message. “Kijimi’s been destroyed,” she said. “A blast from a Star Destroyer.”

  “Kijimi…” Agony speared him anew. Zorii. “How?” he choked out.

  “A blast from a Star Destroyer.”

  He shook his head. “Impossible. It would take…No.” No, no, no. “No way a Star Destroyer—”

  “It was from the new Sith fleet. Out of the Unknowns.”

  Beaumont’s mouth dropped open. “The Emperor sent the ship from Exegol. Does that mean all the ships in his fleet—”

  “Have planet-killing weapons,” Poe finished with dawning horror. “Of course they do. Every one…This is how he finishes it.”

  Something beeped on Rose’s console, and she hurried over. “Listen,” she said. “It’s on every frequency.”

  The console crackled and popped, and a voice began speaking in a language Poe didn’t recognize.

  But Beaumont’s eyes flew open. “The Resistance is dead,” he translated. “The Sith flame will burn. All worlds, surrender or die. The Final Order begins.”

  And then the message repeated on a loop.

/>   Everyone turned to Poe.

  “Leia made you acting general,” Rose said. “What now?”

  Commander D’Acy put a hand on his shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. She said, “We await orders.”

  His first impulse was to refuse. He’d never run from anything in his life, but he wanted to run now. He couldn’t accept that Leia was gone, much less take on her job. He wasn’t ready. Maybe he’d never be ready. He’d made terrible mistakes, gotten so many people killed. He thought he’d have more time to learn. To atone for what he’d done. What had she been thinking, naming him acting general?

  He’d thought he was past this. She’d told him as much. But maybe forgiving yourself was a longer, harder process than a fellow realized.

  Suddenly, a memory of Leia popped into his mind, clear as day, and he imagined her voice so deeply and profoundly it was almost like she was standing right there. Failure is the greatest teacher, she said.

  * * *

  —

  Finn sat on Rey’s cot. He couldn’t believe Leia was gone. She had accepted him so readily, hadn’t even blinked when she’d learned he was a First Order deserter. In fact, she’d called him brave, considered him one of her most valuable assets. She’d set up training and education opportunities for him. Pushed him to learn, to always do better. Leia hadn’t spent nearly as much time with him as with Poe or Rey, but it was clear that she’d expected great things from him.

  The tiny droid they’d rescued from Ochi’s ship toddled toward him and began poking around Rey’s things. He noticed Rey’s half-built lightsaber and inclined his pointy nose cone toward it.

  “Hey, don’t touch that! That’s my friend’s.”

  The tiny droid recoiled, cocked his head. “So-so sorry,” he said. “She is gone.”

  “Yeah, she’s gone,” Finn answered. “I don’t know where.”

  The droid rolled back and forth. “I miss her.”

  “Yeah, I miss her, too.”