Notes: Thank you all for bearing with me on this adventure. This is the Final Chapter of Act 1, and it's longer than usual since I couldn't find a good place to break it up into two.

Enjoy!

Chapter 11: The Aftermath

He wasn't sure how long he slept, but when he woke, it was to the soft hissing of hydraulics, the rhythmic beep of a monitor that was in tune with his pulse, and crisp smell of antiseptic around him.

A medical bay, then.

He didn't open his eyes, not yet. His thoughts were still fuzzy, though this time from exhaustion rather than the hallucinogenic influx of drugs that had been pumped into him. He could feel a sedative, but it was mild enough to leave his mind clear, and only attack the dull aches and pains that still plagued his tired body. Once more, the thrum of the Force filled him, a familiar presence that he had not realized had been so painful to lose as it had.

Nonetheless, he felt different. Changed.

For once in his life, he felt… empty. The rage, the anger, the raw pound of emotions were just gone. He felt as if something within him had broken irreparably.

Snoke was gone again, silent and empty as he had been before.

Rey…

Snoke had her. This whole time, had that had been his plan from the start? The reason no one had come after him when he'd left, the reason he'd not suffered the horrible nightmares, not felt the iron grip of Snoke's presence in his mind like he had back on Starkiller base?

Had he been set up? Used? Was he nothing but a tool?

Even Kylo Ren was unusually silent from his internal prison, leaving Ben Solo to cope with the weight of the question on his own.

How long had Snoke been planning this? The whispers in his mind had started when he'd barely been old enough to comprehend, and Rey hadn't even been born by that time. But perhaps Snoke had known anyway, how close and interconnected their lives would become. He had groomed the young vulnerable boy from the beginning… biding his time… waiting for the right moment.

And he'd fallen right into the trap, completely oblivious.

A quiet desperation rose within him. Was he just a pawn then? A means to an end? Had he no value to Snoke at all? What had it all been for, if not to prove himself worthy of the power of his name, his legacy?

No, he couldn't believe that. Snoke wanted power, and he had plenty of power. He wanted them both, he had to believe that…

Not that it made him feel much better.

Confusion swirled around his head, and he let out a frustrated sigh, finally opening his eyes.

Sterile white light blared down above him from above, military grade lighting set into a recessed bunker ceiling, a white curtain closing off some of his bed from the rest of the ward, though only partially pulled as he watched a medical droid shuffle over to a computer station, jacking in with it to upload data.

"Hey kid."

He hadn't expected his father's voice. His eyes shifted slightly up and to the left, and spotted Han leaning forward in the chair placed near the wall, blue eyes tired, but warm as he gazed down at his son. "You look like something a Wampa dragged home for supper. How you feeling?"

"Terrible." His hoarse voice further emphasized the point.

"Good. Means you'll live." That familiar cocky grin graced his father's weathered face. It was an attempt at humor to break the ice, so to speak, but he didn't smile back, instead shutting his eyes, trying to sort through the jumble of memories that followed their frenzied escape. He really didn't want to have this conversation right now. It seemed like everything else, however, it was out of his control.

"...Poe?"

"He made it out just fine, he and Finn dropped by a while ago to check on you." That forced his eyes open, as he glanced back at Han, brow furrowed slightly. A wry smirk was directed back at him. "Yeah, really. Your mother was by earlier, but she had to go meet with the rest of the Resistance brass for a follow-up meeting. She promised to come by later when you were up to visitors."

He nodded mutely. So what was to happen to him now? He noticed that he was not shackled to the bed, which was something at least. A glance towards the door told him two guards were posted. So was he to be contained, executed?

"They don't trust you." Han seemed to be reading his mind, which was ironic since he was usually the one doing that. "But then again, they don't trust me either." A wry smile crossed his father's weathered features. "But considering you nearly single-handedly blew up the biggest threat to the galaxy, I think they might be willing to let you hang around for a bit."

"Mother is trying to convince them of that, isn't she."

"Yeah… she is," Han said grimly. "But you know how good she is at getting her way. She'll win them over. You got me and Chewie, and your two pals weighing in, too."

Silence fell over them again, thick and uncomfortable as years of buried resentment simmered unspoken. In a lot of respects, they were much alike, not liking to admit failures and weaknesses, rarely taking the first step towards atonement. But someone had to give. Someone had to take the first step to mend the friction between father and son. And it was with some surprise that he found his father broke the silence first.

"It was my fault. All of it."

He blinked, frowning slightly as he turned his head, gazing at the sudden tired look of resignation written on his father's face. Blue eyes shifted to him, and he saw the familiar weight of guilt that so often stared back at him whenever he looked in a mirror.

"I drove you away. I drove you to become… him."

Maybe. But not entirely. You are not responsible for my actions, only my emotions.

Han was being too hard on himself. Not that in some part of the foggy recesses of his mind he didn't relish hearing his father acknowledge his mistakes. He did enjoy the stir of justification that mingled deep in his heart with the conflict and anger that had haunted him for so long. But strangely enough, he found himself drained of the fierce anger and hate that had gripped him for so long.

He was tired of hating.

"You drove me away," he agreed, deep voice quiet, but rather than accusing it was tired. "But you are not to blame for who I became."

"Neither are you, Ben." Anger shone through his father's eyes. "Snoke manipulated you from the start."

"I know. But, I still made the choice. I did. Not Snoke. Not you."

They sat in silence, more being said through unspoken thoughts than could ever be put into words. All the shame, all the regret, all the guilt… both of them had much to bear. But for some reason, he didn't feel that precipice of darkness looming out beneath him, trying to pull him down. Instead, he felt buoyed by freedom of the shackles that no longer bound him, walking across the expanse on his own power unaided.

He suddenly knew what he had to do. And for once, he was not afraid. Exhaustion washed through him, but he forced the words out from the groggy recesses of his mind as he struggled to keep lucid.

"I'm sorry." He didn't feel wrong saying those words, despite the way his father stared at him in surprise. "For everything I've put our family through. I was selfish. And it cost you and mother." And a great many more… but let's not go into my sins right now, one thing at a time.

Discomfort crossed Han's face, as he gazed down at his son. "I know I wasn't there for you like you needed, kid. And I can't defend myself, cause I don't have a good enough reason."

He didn't need one. He knew the reason. He had scared them. He scared himself. He knew there were few people prepared, able or ready to deal with the full power of a Force-sensitive boy who could bring down walls from the terrors he saw in his sleep. That resentment had been the focal point of his hatred for his father. The man who ran. His mother hadn't been much better, always dealing with diplomatic duties, unable to provide for her son who struggled to understand the strange visions that haunted him. His uncle had understood the visions, but sought to subdue him, change him, not develop his powers and let him flourish. Too misguided by dead teachers whispering on how to rebuild a dynasty, using the failed methods of their forefathers which had only brought ruin.

The Sith, the Jedi… Opposite sides of the same coin. Two extremes who could not find a way to coexist in harmony. Always claiming they wanted to bring balance to the force, but their idea of balance was to revel in darkness or light, when in truth balance meant the fine line between the two.

You have fought so hard to belong, Ben… first the light, then the dark… perhaps what you seek, is somewhere in between.

Maz Kanata may have been no Jedi, but she indeed was wise enough to see more than he had. When he had taken up the mantle of the Knight of Ren, he had done so under a misguided notion of bringing balance and order to chaos. Mistakenly, he had chosen the darkness out of need to rebel against the painful failings that the light had brought him. He had not sought balance, but instead delved into the depravity that lurked deep within his soul, passed down from his grandfather's legacy. Anakin Skywalker knew better than most the struggle between the light and the dark, perhaps that was why he had felt such a connection to Darth Vader and his vision of perfection. Tinged in darkness it might have been, but that didn't mean it HAD to be.

He could reforge his grandfather's legacy, and make it his own. Without need for slaughter and torment. Bring unity between the darkness and the light. Be the balance. Be the Force.

Walk the gray.

He realized he must have drifted off, because as his eyes opened again, Han was gone. A part of him was disappointed, but not in the way Ben Solo had been so many years ago. There was still much to be said between them before father and son could truly heal over the rift tearing them apart.

But they had taken their first steps.

Slowly, he pulled himself up, taking a deep breath as he flexed his shoulders. The wounds on his back were healing well, barely an ache remained, and a glance over at his exposed skin showed only faint scarring from his encounter on Starkiller. He felt stronger, his mind clear now, and the thrum of the Force once again encompassed him like a familiar blanket, ready at his disposal. The only thing that concerned him, was his right hand. It was still bandaged, and as he flexed it, it still hurt to move. A sharp tingling pain ghosted up his nerves as he bent his fingers, and he could feel the weakness of his grip.

Off to his right, he heard steps nearing and glanced up to see the medical droid approaching. "Good day, sir," the 21B unit said politely. "I trust you are feeling better?" He inclined his head slightly. "You are permitted to leave whenever you desire. Clothing has been set aside for you there," the droid indicated a bench nearby where he saw boots resting atop other articles someone had found for him. "I must however offer you options for your right hand. As you no doubt have noticed, it is a more serious injury than the remainder of your wounds." The droid turned to a medical screen and shifted it closer to him so he could see the scan of the damage. "I'm afraid there is nerve damage. Several shards of an unidentified crystalline structure have been embedded in the bone itself, causing damage to the nerve tendons. While your hand will recover and be of moderate use, I'm afraid the damage is irreversible, and your use of the appendage will be reduced."

His jaw tightened. "How reduced?"

"The likelihood of full use is approximately forty percent. You will not be able to bear much weight, or apply any amount of force with it. Day to day functions should be minimally impacted, however."

In other words, he would never wield a saber, or shoot a blaster with his right hand again. There was a certain poetic justice in that. He had lost his lightsaber, his iconic weapon he had built himself, and with it, the use of his right hand. He was, essentially, crippled in more ways than one.

Leave it to the Skywalker curse to strike on it's third child.

"I can offer you alternatives, sir." The droid, he decided, was far too chipper for his tastes. "Bionics can provide you a full replacement that will improve strength and stability to nearly one hundred percent capacity."

"No," his voice was firm, certain, quick. The loss of his hand as a weapon would be his penance, the price for his betrayal and failure. He absolutely refused to replace his hand with one like his uncle and grandfather both had worn.

He wasn't that desperate.

"In that case, may I suggest learning to use your left hand as your primary appendage. It may be difficult to re-train the senses, but in the end you will find it to be more useful, sir."

He inclined his head in acknowledgement, flexing his fingers experimentally, feeling a strange tingling charge as he tensed and relaxed his digits. "Is there any risk to leaving the crystal fragments there?"

"They cannot be removed, sir," the droid said apologetically. "Not without extensive reconstruction which would require the replacement option. I removed all that I could, but there still remains some that are embedded too deep to retrieve. I have run an analysis on the fragments, and while they do carry an unusual energy signature that I cannot identify or analyze, I do not feel they would negatively impact a biological entity in a physical manner. If you do notice any side-effects, I highly recommend the alternative replacement as an option."

"Thank you. I understand." The 21B unit nodded, acknowledging the dismissal, leaving him to his own business.

Dismemberment seemed to be an occupational hazard of his family, he thought distractedly. Were all Skywalkers so lucky?

Shaking his head, he rose to his feet and dressed. While he did not detect any monitoring devices, he did note they had felt prudent not to provide him with a weapon.

Some things never change.

Someone had thoughtfully fetched some of his spare clothing from his bag on the Falcon, and he dressed methodically, studying his reflection in the mirror as he stood. Dark brown shirt, black leather and armor plated vest, wide leather belt, knee high boots and canvas slacks made him appear less like Kylo Ren, more like a mercenary.

Or more like my father.

He held back a grimace then splashed water on his face, taking in the haggard man staring back at him. A few fingers ran through the rough sprout of facial hair that had made it's way into view over the past few days. He truly didn't recognize himself. The man staring back at him was not Kylo Ren. But he didn't see the young carefree boy that had he had left behind so long ago either.

He was a different person. It was time he started acting the part.

He left the washroom, after placing the cleaned razor on the sink, glancing at the face of the serious man gazing back at him. A finely trimmed line of dark hair remained on his jaw and lip, granting him an older quality more befitting to the man he had become. Somehow, he felt his mother and father would approve of this new side of him. Not the boy they knew, not the man he had become.

He was re-defined. Reborn.

The mess hall was packed with people, from pilots to ground crew, diplomats and officers. It was alive with sound, laughter and good spirits.

It was very strange to him.

He didn't thrive in populated places. Ben Solo had always been the awkward outcast. Kylo Ren had taken his meals in the solitude comfort of his quarters. His mercenary life had him keeping to dark shadowed booths, avoiding the lure of distraction.

This place was no different.

On his path from the medbay through the Resistance base, he had encountered plenty of personnel who had giving him one look, and quickly allowed him a wide berth. He felt even without his armed escort, they would still have stared. That did not bother him, for he was used to such treatment. For a long time, he had preferred it, and it did not strike him as particularly unusual, given the circumstances. Heroic actions may have stayed the executioner's hand for the moment, but that didn't mean all was forgiven. He would have been foolish to think otherwise, and thus, did not allow it to invade his thoughts. It was nothing to be pitied, he found comfort in isolation.

But the crowded mess hall was a whole different situation.

It seemed he was being given some leeway, not contained to a room or a cell, permitted to roam the base, with limitations, and his constant shadows watching him from a respectful few paces behind. Not that he intended to start any trouble, at the moment, he had one thing on his mind.

A strong drink.

Apparently there was only one functioning mess, and every single person on the base had chosen that exact moment to dine. In the corner, someone had burst out into song, friends chiming in. To the right, several sabacc games were in progress. A bored looking chef was dishing out what had to be the mystery meal of the day, and a rather frazzled looking droid was skittering about delivering drinks.

He felt distinctly out of place.

In the end, he had chosen the corner seat of a bar, back to the chaos, focused on the meal before him as the droid bartender hosted other more interested parties to his right. No one bothered him, in fact he had a wide radius of three empty seats as anyone approaching took one good look at who their neighbor was, and thought better of it. His escort took up positions by the door, steadily keeping an eye on him. He ignored them.

He stared darkly into the swirling amber liquid in his glass, watching the imperfections of the alcohol mingle with the melting ice. He never had been a heavy drinker. Dulling his mind meant releasing his hold on the Force, or in some cases, bolstering it to feed his swift temper. He had enough control issues without being inebriated. Still, he found the need to detach himself from the world calming in a sense. The dark thoughts circulating in his mind seemed further away with a curtain of alcohol dulling his mind.

Therefore, he was slightly surprised when he felt a presence slip into the seat next to him.

Poe Dameron didn't speak to him as he collected the bartender's attention to order a drink, nor did he attempt to dissuade him from his silence. For some reason, more was said between them when no words were spoken. Of course, it wasn't much of a conversation, but then he had never been very good at small talk.

"Heard they let you out. You still look like shit."

For some reason, that felt less like an insult, more like a compliment. He glanced at the pilot, not quite sure what he was driving at. "Did you want something?"

Poe didn't answer. Instead, he nodded in thanks as the bartender brought his drink, took a swig, then finally turned his head to regard the man seated next to him.

"First time I flew a mission… I remember it like it was yesterday, you know? That excitement, the burning pride…" He smirked slightly. "I'd trained for years. I knew I was good. I could pilot Landmark Skivvs in five klicks and not miss a target. Top of my class, cocky as hell, and ready to kick some ass."

Blinking slowly, a slight frown gracing his brow, not quite sure where this story was going, or how it related to him. He did not enjoy 'bonding' moments with… well, anyone, honestly. But he chose not to interrupt.

"It was a battle over a trio of moons. Intel had revealed a First Order mining outpost there, and we snuck in, struck hard and bombed the place. Was supposed to be an in and out mission, easy, virtually risk-free, and no patrols. Unfortunately, we hadn't realized one of the sponsors of the whole project had been visiting, which meant by the time we made the outer perimeter after performing our run, a whole squad of TIE fighters were on us." Poe's gaze had shifted back to his drink, expression somber. "I wasn't scared at all. I remember just falling into my training mode, dodging laser fire, then getting the shot and taking it."

Poe paused, voice growing quieter. "It didn't happen how I thought it would. The pilot I was fighting was good. Instead of my shot hitting his pod and blowing it on impact, it hit his wing. The whole ship spiraled directly at me. I tried to dodge, but it was all so fast, I didn't get the chance." His lips pressed together, and he lifted his eyes to stare at him, face somber. "In the moment before his ship impacted my shields, I remember hearing him scream. I don't think I had really put two and two together, that there was a person inside that ship fighting me back. Before that, it was just a faceless enemy I was fighting. But as that ship got close, I saw the man inside, heard him as he died, screaming. It was at that moment, that I realized… this man probably had a family, kids, a wife somewhere. He had a life. Like me, he'd been called to do a duty, and in so doing had given his life in the process." Poe's lips tightened as he sat in silence, studying his drink. "In that moment, I realized something. I was more than a pilot. I was a murderer." His grip tightened on the glass. "When you think about it, that's all we fighter pilots are, right? We shoot the enemy down, killing them. Sure, it's for a cause we believe in, a cause we justify into being worthy of taking that step to eliminate other lives so we can sleep better at night."

Slowly his gaze shifted to meet the steady brown eyes watching him. "Maybe it's not the same, I don't know. But the moment I realized that the enemy had a face, it became harder to do my job…"

His frown deepened. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Something changes when you put a face to the enemy," Poe said quietly. "It makes it harder to justify killing someone if you know who it is you're pointing the trigger at. I never gave it much thought before." He fixed him with a look. "The point is, as a pilot have to make the hard decisions. A pilot can't be effective if he isn't willing to defend the ones that are depending on him. And to do that, you can't go around hoping your shot will just disable a craft, you have to be sure it will take the enemy down. So in a sense, we have to be assassins for a cause… and that kind of thing takes a toll on you." He shook his head slightly. "Doesn't make it any easier, in fact there are nights I still wonder how the hell I can justify what I do. I wake up in a cold sweat, have to take a jog to clear my mind, and think about the consequences if I was to turn in my wings to ease my conscience."

His eyes lowered to stare at his drink, watching the ice shift inside the glass. He got the point Poe was making, in the pilot's round-about way to try and cheer him up he supposed. But there was a gaping maw between the two of them that separated killing for duty in the defense of others, and enjoying the sick satisfaction of creating chaos.

"I know what you're thinking… don't gotta be a jedi to know that." Poe flashed him a cocky smirk. "But even though I can't possibly begin to relate standing in your shoes to mine, the point is… I get it. You feel the weight of what you've done, and it's not something you can just abandon. I'm not deluded into thinking I ever will. I know I'll carry it with me all the way until I fly into the sunset. But because I believe it's the right thing, I find a way to push through it, and keep making the choices that I feel is best."

He tapped his now-empty glass on the counter, tilting it towards his drinking companion. "I don't like owing people. Han told me it was you who came back to get me out. So as I figure, I owe you one. And I know guys like you and me… we don't like having debts hanging over our heads. So…" catching the bartenders' attention, he ordered two more drinks, slamming one down in front of himself, and his bar companion, "...at least let me buy you a drink."

The pilot was right. He didn't like it one bit, knowing someone owed him one. It felt wrong, as deep within he still questioned if he deserved even this small gesture. "I thought you didn't trust me."

"Oh hell no," Poe snorted. "I don't. Honestly, the stuff you can do scares the bejeezus out of me. I remember the first time I saw you on the battlefield… you were like a juggernaut. I don't think I'll ever feel at ease around someone who can throw ten men across a room his mind. Just isn't natural… I'm more of a practical down-to-earth kind of guy." He lifted his glass slightly, regarding him evenly. "But… I do know that if you hadn't come back for me, I wouldn't be here to complain about it. And all I know is that juggernaut on the battlefield isn't the guy I'm sharing drinks with." Poe half lifted his drink, and he found himself reluctantly following suit.

He didn't have much to add to the conversation, and the feeling of discomfort persisted.

On the one hand, he understood Poe's story held a lesson he could relate to. He had been a murderer for a cause, acting on orders… so had Poe, though no one saw the pilot as a murderer, shooting down enemy ships. On the same thread of thought, he realized, his own family were just as guilty of murder. How many lives had Luke Skywalker eliminated the moment his shot had hit true on the first Death Star? How many innocent workers, ordinary people doing their job had been eliminated just because they chose the wrong side to be on, though they directly had no guilt associated with the mass-genocide weapon? So too was Starkiller, innocents had died to better the cause of what everyone saw as a righteous act of justification. No one would look back on the destruction of the base and say 'that was an evil act'. No one… except the families of those who died on it. But even then, they would have to be ignorant to ignore the danger of working on a project designed for solely one purpose, to eliminate lives.

No, he felt no guilt at being a part of destroying the base. Nor should he, he realized. It was as Poe had said, you had to do your job and move on, you couldn't think of the consequences or they would destroy you.

His uncle had murdered thousands, but was able to live with himself. His mother and father had played their part in the same situation, four years later. Now it was his turn, thirty years later. He had acted as a weapon for the First Order, killed at their command, sometimes in cold blood. There was hardly a difference between the two. Murder was murder, whether for a righteous act, or a deplorable one.

So why then did it still not sit right with him?

Because, the deaths by your hand were unnecessary. Starkiller's destruction WAS necessary. It was thousands of lives versus millions. You chose the lesser of two evils. If you had not taken action, your sins would be far greater.

He pressed two fingers to his head, the conflict driving him mad. Where was the line drawn? It was all some invisible morality that they as humans created to justify actions. The Force weighted them down in it's own way, judging silently.

He could never take back the lives he had eliminated. One did not recover from that. But, there was still a chance he could serve a better purpose and sway his soul away from the black pit that it had teetered upon, balancing back to the fine line between light and dark.

Strangely enough, that made him feel better. Perhaps Poe's 'pep talk' had not been pointless after all. Unwelcome it might have been, awkward for sure, but something deep within him was grateful.

He wasn't used to anyone speaking to him conversationally, as a comrade. The closest he'd come to was Rey. His expression pinched thinking of her. Where was she? He couldn't sense her anymore. He knew she wasn't dead, but Snoke was no doubt masking her from him. Which meant she was in danger.

He could only hope that she was stronger than he had been.

"Hey, Kylo… er… Mister Ren… I mean uh…?"

He glanced up, blinking. Since when had Poe been replaced with Finn? A glance at the three empty glasses on the counter told him the answer. I really should stop drinking… "Ben." He corrected, frowning slightly. It still felt wrong accepting his own name after so many years of running from it. Especially considering who was sitting next to him. But he just couldn't stomach the idea of reclaiming his alter ego, not when he had fought this hard to prove that was no longer who he was.

It sounded almost like the beginnings of a bad joke. Kylo Ren and a stormtrooper enter a bar…

Kriff. He REALLY needed to stop drinking.

"Ben… right." The former stormtrooper was slightly more wary of him than Poe had been, but still he sidled up alongside him, staring at the three empty glasses on the counter in front of the man."This is weird, right? For you too? Cause it totally is for me. I keep jumping to attention when I see someone in uniform."

For a conditioned trooper who had been inoculated into the Order when he was young, he supposed it was even stranger for Finn than it was for himself. At least he had experienced this kind of environment as a boy, and his year of exile had dulled him to the newness of returning to moments wallowing in self-pity at a bar. Finn no doubt only had dined with other enlisted men, maybe not even indulging in becoming inebriated other than rare occasions, given alcohol was officially not permitted anywhere in First Order premises. Not that it stopped bootleggers, or the officers who were above such rules.

As it was, Finn was fidgeting, his dark eyes roaming the room uncomfortably. "You notice how everyone stares?"

"Yes."

An embarrassed look crossed his face as he realized how absurd the question was: of course they stared, he was Kylo Ren, walking among them as if he belonged there. "Oh right, yeah I guess you would…" He threw him an apologetic glance, and he was acutely aware that Finn gave him just slightly more elbow room, obviously uncomfortable at his choice to sit next to a man capable of taking out a hundred men by himself. "So… they say what's gonna happen to us?"

"No." He didn't feel like elaborating. If Finn had missed the sentries at the door, he was a poor excuse for a stormtrooper. Fortunately for them both, the dark-skinned man tossed a glance at their guns before having the decency to look abashed at the question, shooting him a silent apology.

They sat in silence, both nursing drinks as they shared perhaps the only thing that they had in common with each other, an understanding of being outsiders.

"I wonder if they'd let me become a pilot," Finn said thoughtfully. "I mean, I'm not bad with a blaster, but I always wanted to fly…"

He half-glanced at the man, as once more he felt a faint tingle at the back of his mind, the same thing that had drawn him to the man back on Starkiller base. Studying Finn closely, a curious thought occurred to him. "Why did you insist on bringing me?" At the confused blink directed his way, he elaborated. "On the base. You had no reason to bring me with you. Poe could have gotten you both out without my help."

"Yeah but then we wouldn't have blown it up." Finn flashed him a grin.

"True… but you did not know that at the time."

Finn blinked, and a strange expression crossed his face. "Yeah, I guess you're right…" He stared into his drink, poking at the ice with his finger. "I don't know, come to think of it. I mean… when I saw you in the hangar…" he shot him a nervous half-grin, "I was scared shitless, man… I mean I've never been in the field before. I was just a sanitation worker. They recruited me to the front lines because they were short on personnel. I'd never been in combat before, not real combat. I thought they were nuts asking us to take you on… no offense but you kinda have a reputation."

He just stared at Finn, eyebrow lifting very slightly. "Really. No clue."

Finn laughed uncomfortably, quickly averting his eyes. "Yeah, well. Anyway. I had this really strong… feeling I guess, that I had to get out of there. It didn't seem right to leave you there, I guess I figured we'd have a better chance with your help. It was just something I had to do." He squirmed slightly under the scrutinizing gaze he was being given. "Why? Does that mean something?"

"Maybe," he replied slowly, considering what he was hearing. "Have you ever had feelings like that before, where you knew what was coming?"

"Yeah, doesn't everyone? What's the term, deja'vu?"

"Not quite. More like a sixth sense. Perhaps in your training, you knew an opponent was going to fire on you, or ducked at the right moment before you were hit."

The contemplative look followed by slight widening of Finn's eyes told him the man had indeed had a moment like that.

"Hm. I thought as much." He reached into his belt pocket, and pulled out something that he had kept close with him up until their trip to Starkiller base, not realizing what destiny it had been predicting the moment he'd felt it's presence on Jakku. It appeared no one had noticed it nestled into his belt, or considered it a threat, so it had been returned to him with his other articles of clothing stored in the Falcon.

The kyber crystal shone in his hand, colors swirling gently, never settling on any one shade. He held it out to Finn.

"What is it?" Finn slowly picked it up from his hand, turning it over in his hands, studying it curiously. "What makes it glow like that?"

"Hold it in your first, and grip it tightly," he instructed, eyes sharply watching the colors.

Finn did as he asked, and the crystal's swirling colors seemed to slow, then began to coalesce into a gently glowing deep indigo blue, shining brighter in his hand than it had a moment ago. The man was transfixed, staring at it in wonder. "Wow… What makes it …. How's it doing that?"

"It's a kyber crystal. It reacts to those who are strong with the Force."

Finn's eyes shot open wide, and he promptly dropped the crystal on the counter as if it had burned him. It hit the wood with a loud clink, the color dimming, then re-setting to an indistinct mix of the spectrum.

"You may want to reconsider your options," he said appraising the shell-shocked man, picking up the crystal and quickly sliding it back into his belt pocket. "It seems you may have another choice besides becoming a pilot."

Finn's eyes were so wide, he could see the blood vessels straining within the whites of his cornea. He nervously licked his lips, swallowing to dampen his dry mouth. "You saying what I think you're saying?"

Folding his hands slightly over the bar, he fixed Finn with an even stare. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Like hell it doesn't…"

"It doesn't," he reiterated firmly, maintaining his even gaze. "Just because it's there doesn't mean you have to develop it."

Finn looked at him uncertainly. "Really?"

"My mother never did," he shrugged slightly, glancing back into his empty glass.

"Oh, right… the um, General, right?"

He nodded minutely.

"I guess being a political leader is more important."

"For her it was."

"What about you?"

His jaw tightened. "I was not given a choice." Sensing Finn's surprise he sighed. "My visions began when I was five. I had... difficulty controlling them."

They sat in silence, as Finn turned over everything that he'd just heard. In a way, he pitied him. It was one bombshell after another for the defectee. Hard enough ending up on a base surrounded by people who still saw you as an enemy, but now he had to question who he truly was, and who he wanted to be.

"Ben…" The two of them turned at the soft feminine voice that approached from behind. Finn straightened up somewhat, throwing a quick glance over to his drinking buddy, not sure if he should remain for what might end up being a private conversation. However, Leia placed a hand on Finn's shoulder with an encouraging smile. "Stay. This concerns you as well." Finn nodded slightly, glancing uncertainly at the sudden guarded expression on his drinking partner's face. Leia's face was kind as she gazed at her son, but he saw the General's mask fall into place with practiced ease. "The Resistance leaders have come to their decision."

He felt his own mask slide into place. "And?"

She regarded him a moment, then addressed Finn first. "Considering your actions and decision to help our cause, they have decided to offer you a complete pardon and invitation to join our cause. Any information you have will of course be valuable. You are welcome to stay, if you wish. Or, if you would rather go, we will help arrange travel to wherever you would like."

Finn's eyes brightened and he nodded. "...t...thank you ma'am. That's very generous. I think… for now I'd like to stay."

She smiled and patted his shoulder. "Then you are welcome to do so."

"And me?"

Leia turned her eyes back to her son, smile fading as she studied his face. He supposed he might have looked worried, for she slipped her other hand over his shoulder and squeezed slightly. "There will be a tribunal this afternoon to decide your fate."

His eyes dropped. "That was quick."

"They feel delaying action sends the wrong message. They must act swiftly to bring this conflict to an end and show the First Order the Republic will not be intimidated."

He could only nod, sensing Finn's alarm.

"They're not gonna kill him, are they? After everything he's done? I mean…" the man trailed off. "They'd have to kill me too, I'm as much of the enemy as he was."

"There is a stark difference between being a soldier, and a leader." He said bitterly, glancing at Finn. "You followed orders. I gave them. Not to mention hundreds of deaths are on my hands. You never saw battle until you met me."

Finn had nothing to say to that, lowering his gaze uncomfortably.

"Would you give us a minute?" Leia asked softly. "If you have time, Finn… can you speak with Admiral Satura? He is taking statements prior to the tribunal."

"Of course, ma'am." Finn rose and gave them a fleeting smile, before leaving. He noticed with some wry amusement that the two guards gave the former stormtrooper a glare as he quickly passed between them.

At least they shared that in common.

"Ben…" His gaze shifted back to his mother who had slid into the seat next to him. "...I just wanted you to know how proud I am of you."

He blinked, a sudden heat rushing to his ears, an old habit whenever his mother had offered him praise, haunting him from his youth. "It doesn't make up for what I've done."

"No. But it does show that even those who fall into darkness can be redeemed." Her hand weighed down on his shoulder, squeezing slightly. "Your grandfather learned that too late. I feared you might follow the same path, and meet an even worse fate."

"Worse than death?" he muttered.

She smiled sadly. "To lose your way and never return would mean you were utterly lost, to yourself, to your father, to me…" She squeezed his hand, slipping hers over it, weaving her fingers amidst his larger ones. "The fact you've found yourself after so much struggle, even if you're still searching for answers, it means more than you can possibly know." A sly smile crossed her face. "Besides… your father says you talk in your sleep."

The flush increased, and for some reason, he felt a powerful need to shrink into his seat. "...what?"

"You truly care for that girl. I think that's wonderful."

He slumped in his chair, face flushed, pale cheeks splotched with color.

His mother merely laughed, resting her head on his broad shoulder, fingers brushing the stubble on his chin, an amused look on her face. "You've grown more than you know, Ben. Somewhere along the way, the boy I loved has become a man."

He did not permit himself to feel the anxiety building in his gut as he strode into the central room where the tribunal was to be held. It seemed much of the base had turned out to see what became of him, given how packed the room was. He spotted Finn standing next to Poe in the front row. The former trooper gave him a tight grin, whereas Poe nodded once in acknowledgement, crossing his arms. The towering figure of Chewbacca was visible from the rear, his father's piercing blue eyes finding his as they shared a glance.

He moved to the center of the room, and stopped, planting his feet firmly on the ground, slipping his hands behind him as he fell into old habits by adapting a parade rest posture. The tribunal had not seen fit to cuff him, to which he was grateful. The least he could do was permit them some respect, rather than stand boldly as if intimidating them.

The tribunal consisted of three people: Admiral Satuna, General Organa and Admiral Akbar. One for each perspective. The prosecution, the defense and the neutral party. To the side, other officers stood at attention, watching him with expressionless practiced faces.

"This tribunal will come to attention." Admiral Satura's voice rang out clearly in the small room, drawing instant silence from all in attendance. He waited a moment, then turned his attention to the man standing before them. "Will the defendant please state his name for the record?"

"Benjamin Skywalker Organa Solo," he responded, deep voice ringing out clearly through the room, despite the fact he was speaking quietly.

"And is that the only name you go by?"

"It is not."

"Please state your other name for the record."

His lips tightened slightly, but he replied calmly, "Kylo Ren."

There were soft murmurings, but none of them included surprise. Everyone knew who he was by now.

"So be it. Let the record show the defendant has been positively identified." Admiral Satura regarded him, his expression neutral. "Kylo Ren, you stand before this tribunal to answer to your actions and participation in the First Order's super weapon, Starkiller Base, for multiple acts of terrorism in the Order's name, and to answer to the lives that you have taken. How do you respond to these accusations?"

"I acknowledge and accept them as truth." Why bother. They were true, no sense denying it.

More murmurings spread through the tribunal, quiet whispers following him from all sides as he kept his eyes locked ahead, face a controlled mask.

"You do not deny the charges?"

"I do not."

"You understand the ramifications of offering your acknowledgement of responsibility?"

His gaze slowly lifted, sweeping from his mother, over to the impossibly difficult to read expression on Akbar's fishy face.

I need this as much as they do. I need to acknowledge my sins.

"I am prepared to leave my fate to the hands of this tribunal."

Admiral Satura nodded slightly, and picked up a datapad. "Very well. Let the record show the defendant has admitted his part in these events freely of his own volition. The tribunal will then address the fate of the man known as Kylo Ren."

There was a long pause as all eyes remained leveled on him. He did his best to keep his face neutral, but a part of him was deeply aware that this was meaningful in a way nothing else had been before that moment.

"The Republic cannot ignore the crimes committed by Kylo Ren. By his hands, hundreds have met their untimely demise, untold numbers have suffered by his actions. He has been a key figure of power for the First Order, and was privy to the most intimate details of the creation of the genocidal weapon known as Starkiller Base. He has operated as the right hand of the First Order Supreme Commander, carrying out his orders and committing atrocities in his name. He is one of the few high-ranking members of the First Order that has been taken prisoner by the Republic, and therefore represents a high threat to the security of the galaxy."

His face was impassive, listening to the accusations in silence. With Hux still out there and Snoke no doubt infuriated at his open betrayal, he knew why the Resistance needed to make an example out of him. Still, he found himself wondering was his value greater than the need to send a message? Surely keeping him alive for his intel would be a more worthy decision than sending his head back on a plate.

"Kylo Ren. Do you have anything to offer on your own behalf in regards to these charges?"

His first instinct was to remain silent. He had no argument with the accusations, they were true. He was guilty of them. Nothing could change that. He did not want to plea for his life, he did not feel it appropriate. However, he realized if he just stood silent, he would not be providing anyone with closure, least of all himself.

Taking a slow breath, he lifted his head slightly, addressing the Admiral. "I will not insult those who have suffered by my hand by offering excuses nor apologies. It does not matter the reasons or purpose behind my actions. It only matters that I did these things, and therefore I must answer for that." He heard the whispers all around him, and waited until they faded again before continuing. "I acknowledge that I must answer for what I have done, and I will not presume to advise this tribunal as to what that retribution must be. All I can offer you is my co-operation in anything you ask of me. I place my fate in your hands. If this tribunal sees fit to use my information to combat the First Order, I will consider it a worthwhile endeavor."

Admiral Satura slowly folded his hands over the table, leaning forward slightly, regarding him with a stern look. "Are you offering this tribunal a deal to barter your life?"

"I would not presume to do so," he said firmly. "Regardless of your decision, I offer what I know that it be of some use." He knew what he was giving up. He was offering them carte blanche to do what they liked with him… and that very well might end with his death, should they chose. He did not want to die, but he felt he had to give them the right to determine his fate… leaving it out of his hands, into the decisions of those better suited to judge him.

The Admiral inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. "You state you wish this information to assist the Resistance in putting an end to the First Order."

"I do."

"There are those who would doubt the authenticity of this offer. Those who would say you are merely trying to buy a favorable outcome in this tribunal."

His lips tightened. "I do not intend to barter for my life, Admiral. If you wish to know whether I regret my actions, I can assure you that no amount of resentment anyone in this room carries can hold a light against that which I feel for myself. If I had intended to escape justice, I would have remained on Starkiller base and shared in it's fate. As it was, I chose to walk the more difficult path of returning to surrender myself to this court, with the chance what I have to offer could be used to further undermine the First Order's power. I do not regret that decision, though it may very well result in my death by this court's hand. If that is what must happen, so be it."

Admiral Satura regarded him as the whispers spread around him. "Very well." He leaned back, straightening back up into a posture of authority. "After careful deliberation and taking the statements from five individuals willing to speak on his behalf, this tribunal has come to a decision as to the fate of Kylo Ren."

Back stiffening, he remained at attention, eyes locked on the desk in front of him heart pounding in his chest. He had never realized how much he wanted to live until that moment. He held the fear back, refusing to give it quarter, and waited, breath held.

"It is the decision of this tribunal that Kylo Ren be executed immediately."

He didn't hear the murmurs this time. His eyes slipped shut, feeling the tension bleed out of his shoulders.

Oddly… he felt a sense of relief. They are being far kinder than I expected… To leave him alive, that would have been a far worse punishment. He would have to face his own guilt and live with it. Killing him eliminated his suffering. It was a kindness he had not expected. He took a slow breath, and forced his eyes back open. He would not show weakness. He had to face this without fear or regret. Slowly he lifted his eyes, not daring to look at his mother, instead maintaining his focus on Admiral Satura.

"Kylo Ren, do you accept the judgement of this court?"

What more could he say? He had already granted them permission to do this… and he would not go back on his word. But he felt something inside him cry out in desperation, as he forced the words from his mouth. "I do."

It wasn't that he wanted to die… but did he deserve to live after the atrocities he had committed?

He had no answer that would not sound self-serving.

"So be it." Admiral Satura lifted a datapad, recording the decision, then lowered it, folding his hands over the table. "Let the record show that the First Order commander known as Kylo Ren has officially been executed by the Republic after his capture."

He lowered his head again, eyes shut. In a way, this decision made him feel free. To die meant to pay the dues he owed to the lives that he had taken without permission. Never mind that Starkiller…

His brain suddenly caught up to the words that had just been uttered.

Wait… what?

He blinked, suddenly feeling like he was missing something very important here. 'Has been executed?' But I'm still standing here, what the kriff are they intending to do? Kill me in front of the whole room? No, they couldn't be THAT cold-hearted. And there were no guns pointed his way. His eyes snapped over to his mother, finally risking a glance, and noticed a very small smile tugging at her lips.

What the Kriff was going on here?

"The room will come to attention."

All around him, everyone rose to their feet, silence descending. Nervously, he glanced around, but saw a lack of hostile stares, instead, he saw some uncertainty, some respect and in a few cases such as Poe, Finn, Chewie and his father, pride.

What in blazes…?

"Benjamin Skywalker Organa Solo," The Admiral's voice rang out clearly through the silent room, forcing his eyes back to him, "...your actions at Starkiller Base led to the liberation of Poe Dameron, the man known as Finn, as well as the war heroes Chewbacca and Han Solo from First Order custody. You also lead the assault on the base, orchestrating it's ultimate destruction. Based on intel received, the base had been preparing to test it's weapon on the Hosnian system. If successful, this would have meant the mass genocide of billions of lives. They are forever in your debt for altering that course of events.."

It was almost as if…

"Therefore, it is the decision of this tribunal that you be awarded a Commendation for your part in ending the superweapon known as Starkiller Base."

He felt a strange sense of dizziness sweep through him. They can't be serious?

"In addition, your voluntary decision to surrender yourself to this court, and to accept our judgement, as well as willingly offer the wealth of knowledge at your command has led us to determine that we cannot afford to lose you as a resource. You are a valuable commodity who very well may be the key to bringing down the First Order once and for all. Few remain with your level of training, expertise and special abilities. The New Republic and the Resistance would be foolish if we did not take advantage of this opportunity to add your experience to our own. Therefore, it is the decision of this tribunal that you be granted a probationary commission as an officer under the rank of Commander, with all the responsibilities, duties and privileges thereof."

The room exploded around him. Voices, applause, laughter and, of all things, cheering. It was all he could do to stand there, rigidly, unable to speak as he stared at them in shock.

"Ben Solo, do you accept the judgement of this tribunal?"

He wanted to speak. But found himself utterly unable to utter a word. It was all he could manage to dip his head in a bow, shutting his eyes as the applause rose around him.

And so ends the life of Kylo Ren. A symbolic execution.

"A word of warning, Commander Solo." He opened his eyes, dazedly staring up at Admiral Satura as he held a hand up to silence the raucous crowd. "Your past actions under the First Order place you in a very tedious position. Not all of the voices in this Tribunal were unanimous in allowing you a place here. Some felt that the line between who you were and who you are is far more blurred than this decision has determined. The fact that you have not taken active part of the First Orders' decisions in the past year, coupled with the fact you seem to have accumulated quite the bounty for your return to the First Order helped convince those dissenting voices that your choice to join our ranks is genuine. However, heed this warning. Second chances are rare in this galaxy. Third chances are nearly unheard of. Do not give this tribunal the chance to convene a second time."

"No sir," he managed quietly, voice firm. And he meant it. Whether or not he was worthy of what he had been granted, he was not going to let himself fall to his own faults again. This time, he would make things right.

"Captain Wexley will brief you on the mission you have been assigned."

He blinked. "Mission?"

The wry smiles that were directed back at him were not exactly reassuring.

I have a bad feeling about this…

"Considering you are one of the few individuals left in this galaxy capable of tapping into the Force, it falls on you to find the Jedi Master Luke Skywalker."

Well shit. He should have known there would be a catch to all this.

The expression on his face only spurred their knowing smiles wider. "This tribunal is completed… and good luck, Commander. I don't envy you." Satura stood as the tension in the room evaporated as the trial concluded with his head still firmly attached to his shoulders.

More than a few congratulatory pats on the shoulder were presented, not the least from a grinning Poe and enthusiastic embrace from Finn. "Man, for a minute there…" Finn breathed, staring up at him with an apprehensive look. "I thought they might actually go through with it."

"Me too," he murmured, running a hand through his tousled hair, aware his forehead was dappled with perspiration. Since when had he been that worried?

"Nah, the General never would have let them." Poe chuckled. "She just wanted to see you sweat a bit."

"Goal achieved," he muttered.

"Here." He turned as something firm was slapped against his chest. Glancing down, he tightened his fingers around the blaster shoved into his hands, glancing down at his father as Han slung an arm around his broad shoulders. "I'd congratulate you, but somehow I get the idea you're less than thrilled about this development." The cocky grin plastered over Han's face didn't help the situation as his father prodded his shoulder with two fingers. "Damn kid, I knew you had it in you. Just glad I was right."

"Is that your way of telling me 'I told you so'?"

"Hey, what can I say. You take after your old man."

"Mother might disagree with you."

"She always does."

It was a strange sight for all watching, to see father and son both laughing, embrace binding them together after years of deep rifts.

He soon found being legally declared 'dead' did not mean squat in the eyes of, well, everyone.

The decision to find the vanished Jedi Master hadn't been something that many had wanted to protest. Having Luke Skywalker return from his self-imposed exile would be a great boon to the Resistance.

However, sending the Jedi Killer to fetch him drew more than a few outraged protests.

He had listened to them argue for hours, silent the entire time. They had a right to mistrust him, after all the last time he had stood by his old Master's side, dozens of innocents had died.

And there was no doubt in anyone's mind that Kylo Ren was the monster responsible.

He did not try to deny it. There was truth in that, thought they did not know the whole of it.

However, his mother's persuasive words about atonement, redemption and simple fact that part of the Jedi code was about forgiveness seemed to have changed their minds. After all, in the end Luke Skywalker was her brother, and she was sending family to fetch him. It was a private family matter. Nonetheless, that didn't stop the Resistance from insisting he did not go alone.

After much debate about just how many people might possibly be capable of preventing the former Kylo Ren from murdering the last of the jedi, they had came up with an arrangement that seemed, at least, to be the least volatile.

Chewbacca had volunteered his services. No one dared question the wookiees' offer. As strong as he might be, even he admitted he was not about to win an arm-wrestling match, nor stand a chance against his uncle's signature weapon. He knew from experience that thing could tear a man in two, and Chewie's aim with it was uncannily frightening. Han, naturally, would be accompanying him, since they would be taking the Falcon, freshly tuned up and ready to launch.

Finn also had decided he would go.

So too, would R2D2.

The little droid had delighted everyone when he had woken, most of all an ecstatic C3PO who had been extremely argumentative at the astromechs' decision to go on the mission. Without him, of course.

He hadn't seen the protocol droid since. Probably tightening the bolts up his aft, he thought with a slight smirk.

On the other hand, considering how much those two had been through together, and never having had a memory wipe since well before he was born, he might be a little miffed too if he were in their artificial shoes, so to speak.

He had been somewhat hesitant to believe that he would even have been able to get any information out of R2D2, considering how long he had been in a power-down state. C3PO had told him the astromech had been that way ever since Luke had left following the temple massacre. He understood instantly what that had meant.

It had been his fault.

Therefore, when he had knelt before R2D2, and brushed the fine layer of dust off of his battle-scored chassis, he hadn't been entirely surprised when a flicker of light illuminated in the droid's display, shortly before a whirr of internal engines started clicking away shortly before the optical lense zeroed in, focusing on his face.

It seemed even Luke had known that it would be his nephew to seek him out.

However, that didn't stop the flutter of uncertainty gnawing away at his gut as he watched the sea-swept island drop into view as they sunk below the clouds of Ach'To, slowly circling for a landing spot.

Poe's map seems to have been correct… this is the place.

He heard his father approach from behind, joining him at the window as Chewbacca gently set the Falcon down. "You ready for this, kid?"

"Not really."

Han studied his son with a somber look, before gazing out at the island rising above them, half-shrouded by fog. "Think he's really here?"

"He is." He didn't have to search hard with his feelings. He knew. And there was no doubt Luke knew he was here as well.

"Well… don't let him start getting all preachy on you… I hated it when the old man did it, and I swear if Luke starts pulling that crap, I'm going to shoot him."

He couldn't help but snort in amusement. Not the first time his father had brought his namesake's enigmatic methods into the conversation. From what he gathered, Obi-Wan Kenobi had really rubbed Han Solo the wrong way.

It still hadn't prevented him from giving his son the old man's name.

The moment the ramp descended onto the rocky outcropping, he could feel a strange electricity in the air. The entire island reeked of a powerful swell in the Force, ancient, timeless.

It was nearly dizzying.

He hesitated, leaning on the bulkhead with one hand held above him, staring upwards, brow furrowed as his inner doubts churned. Was he really ready to face his uncle; the man who he had betrayed so many years ago; the man who had trained him since he was a boy, only to fail and watch him fall to darkness.

Mixed emotions swirled around his mind, indecision dragging him down.

"Ok, ready…" Finn appeared behind him, blaster rifle slung over his back, eyes wide and staring up the steep rock cliff where stones had been inlaid along a narrow ledge.

Taking a deep steadying breath, he shut his eyes for a moment.

The smell of flowers drifted by, filling his nose with their sweet scent. Bubbling laughter twisted on the wind, filling his heart with joy.

For Rey.

Drawing himself up straight, Ben Solo's face filled with determination.

"Let's go."

Notes:

And thus comes a wrap for Act 1.

Yes, yes, I know it still has a massive cliffhanger in the fact that Rey is not there. But we must have plot for Act 2, mustn't we?

Thank you all for leaving kudos and comments. You guys are awesome. It gives me great inspiration to read your words of encouragement and compliments.

An early apology, I've fallen behind in writing Act 2. So there will be significant gap between when I next update, as I want to finish Act 2 before I start putting it up here. But I promise, it has 4 complete chapters already, with an expectation to be about the same length as Act 1. Therefore, apologize but bear with me on the delay while I finish it up.

To those curious, my goal with this story is to try and not be 'predictable' and fall into the usual 'ship traits' of the fannon. So while I won't answer your questions on whether we will or won't see a 'Dark Rey' emerge, let me assure you I'm trying to write something that is bigger than that. It has been a challange to write without a Force Bond steering our star-struck couple together, but a challenge I feel is rewarding since it ends up in a deeper romance when you're not just writing off the convenience of Person X loves Person Y because of situations outside of their control. I wanted them to truly feel the spin of romance without outside influences.

I want to explore the other characters more, and not leave them to be blanket villains. While Act 1 focused on things more from Ben's perspective as he shunned Kylo Ren, Act 2 will delve more impartially into the motivations of Hux, Phasma, the Knights and the other players on the Order's side who we have yet to meet. My biggest pet peeve in fiction is just slapping an 'evil' title on a person, and saying they're the villain because of it. No one becomes evil without outside influence, in most situations. Even Snoke is not immune to that, and I really want to explore more about him, and what gives him the desire to 'rule all things'. Therefore, expect further character delving as we move forward. And a few surprises that I've been planning, leaving breadcrumbs for through the entire story.

Nothing in this story happens without a purpose. Everything has meaning and may become ultimately important in the end.

Until next time, farewell, and thank you! I will endeavor to work on Act 2 as swiftly as possible in order to bring you new adventures and drama as soon as I can.