Chapter Text
TW//: violence with lightsaber, mentions of blood, and mature language
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ A m b e r ' s P o v ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆
Approaching dock 62 with Jasmine by my side, the increasing volume of yelling became unmistakable. A glance at Jasmine revealed a hint of confusion on her face, and she quickly turned to me, a sense of urgency in her voice. "Okay, so Kylo is in one of his moods, just be careful," she warned. Nodding in response, I refrained from speaking, sensing the tension in the air and bracing myself for whatever awaited us.
As we drew closer, the scene before us unfolded with Kylo, caught amid a heated argument with someone. The person, a woman, appeared to be on the verge of tears, her efforts to maintain composure in the tense air. Suddenly, Kylo's hand shot up, and with an unseen force, the woman was propelled several feet away from her workstation, leaving an evident silence in her wake. My gaze shifted to Jasmine, searching for some cue on how to navigate this volatile situation. She met my look with a nod, an unspoken agreement passing between us.
Stepping forward, Jasmine addressed him with a steadiness in her voice that I couldn't help but admire. "Master Ren, I have Amber here; she was requested to work on your crew," she announced, introducing me to the eye of the storm. Kylo's attention snapped towards us, his previous target momentarily forgotten. "Be gone now, VanDyke," he dismissed Jasmine with a wave of his hand. She offered me a small, reassuring smile before making her exit, leaving me alone with Kylo.
The weight of the moment settled on my shoulders as I stood there, suddenly acutely aware of Kylo's imposing presence. The air between us charged with an intensity that made me question what I had gotten myself into. Yet, there was no turning back now. I was here for a reason, and despite the unsettling introduction, I knew I had to find a way to navigate Kylo's tempestuous nature.
As he strode away in haste, I found myself having to quicken my pace to keep up. Catching my breath, I waited for him to speak, but he remained silent until we reached a weapons-filled area. His masked face gave away nothing, but I could sense the smugness in his tone as he instructed, "You won't go into a ship; you'll clean the weapons."
A quick survey revealed an array of weapons, some stained with blood, others visibly damaged. The smirk in his masked voice was evident as he pointed out my task. "Now get to work." He drew closer, his masked face almost intimidating. "Don't leave this area until they are all clean and fixed. If you do, there will be consequences." The warning hung heavy in the air, and before I could fully comprehend it, a jolt of pain surged through my collar, a stark reminder of the consequences he spoke of. "Got it, Master Ren," I sighed, resigned to the grim task ahead. Surveying the piles of weapons, the realization set in – sleep was a luxury I couldn't afford tonight.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ T I M E S K I P⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆
"f*ck! I don't know how to fix them!" My frustration boiled over, the words erupting from me as I angrily hurled a broken weapon aside. It was one thing to clean them, but repairing? That was a skill I hadn't mastered.
"Hey, you need help?" The unexpected offer cut through my simmering anger. I looked up to find Dax approaching, a glimmer of hope amidst my frustration. Exhaling a sigh of defeat, I vented, "Stupid Ren wants me to clean and fix these weapons. Well, I cleaned all of them, but now I don't know how to fix them! He just assumes I know what I'm doing."
Dax surveyed the scattered weapons with a knowing look before walking over to me. "Here, I'll show you how to fix some of them. He's a prick who's selfish and thinks everyone knows everything without being taught," he said, his voice laced with disdain yet offering a comforting solidarity.
His hands moved deftly, demonstrating the intricacies of weapon repair with an ease that belied the complexity of the task. Each movement was precise, a dance of skill and knowledge that he passed on with patience. Dax's willingness to help, to teach what I hadn't known, eased the knot of frustration and helplessness within me. As I mirrored his actions, a sense of accomplishment began to replace the earlier despair. Kylo Ren, with his assumptions and harsh demands, had inadvertently led me to this unexpected lesson in resilience and camaraderie.
"Thanks, Dax, you are a good person," I found myself saying, feeling a surge of gratitude for his patience and support. As I watched him smile back at me, there was something comforting about his presence, something that made the challenges of the moment seem less daunting. "Thanks, Amber, that means a lot to me. Now, move on over and let me show you how to fix 'em so we can get to sleep," he responded, his smile unwavering, yet I could see a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. It made me feel a pang of guilt for needing his help, especially since he appeared so tired. Yet, he was the one who offered, noticing my growing frustration with the gun that seemed impossible to fix on my own. Despite his fatigue, Dax's willingness to assist, to teach me, underscored a generosity that went beyond mere words. I couldn't help but appreciate his kindness, even as I worried about the toll it was taking on him.
Dax was a blur of motion, his hands deftly maneuvering parts of the gun with a speed that left me both amazed and utterly confused. I squinted, trying to catch the details of his technique, but it was like trying to read the fine print from across the room. "Wait, Dax, you went too fast. I don't know what exactly you did," I protested, feeling a mix of admiration and frustration.
His cheeks turned a shade of pink, a rare sight that brought an involuntary chuckle from me. "Oh, I'm sorry," he mumbled, clearly not used to having to slow down or explain his actions.
Our light-hearted moment was abruptly interrupted by a voice that carried a distinct edge of amusem*nt, or was it mockery? "Now, what do we have here? Dax helping Amber?" Kylo's voice sliced through the air, his tone laced with something I couldn't quite place, but it prompted an instinctive eye roll from me.
"Yes, he's helping me. I cleaned up the weapons, but how do you expect me to know how to fix them when I've never done that before!" The words burst from me, louder and more defensively than I intended. The moment they left my mouth, I regretted them. An icy shiver of realization crept down my spine; my outburst, though born from frustration, might have crossed a line. I felt as if I had just volunteered for scrutiny, or worse, drawn unwanted attention to Dax and myself. The last thing I wanted was to complicate things further, especially not for Dax, who had been nothing but kind and patient with me.
As Kylo commanded Pierce to leave and retire for the night, I observed Dax's silent compliance, watching as he released the tools and screws he held and exited the room without uttering a single word. Left alone with Kylo, the gravity of the situation intensified. The sternness in Kylo's voice was visible as he addressed me, expressing displeasure about seeking assistance from Dax.
His words, laden with frustration, resonated through the metallic filter of his helmet. "I don't think I asked if you could get help from Dax; learn something by yourself," he emphasized, teeth gritted. At that moment, the weight of Kylo's expectations pressed down on me, leaving a lingering sense of responsibility to prove my capabilities independently.
In a moment of raw frustration and feeling cornered, my emotions surged, and words flew out unguarded. "No, it's so unfair! I don't know things; maybe teach me instead of making me your punching bag!" The words tumbled out louder and more defiantly than I had intended. But the immediate realization of my mistake did little to prepare me for Kylo's reaction. His hand stretched out, and an invisible force slammed me against the ship's wall, his grip materializing around my throat as if an extension of his will.
The proximity of his mask, the cold and emotionless facade, only heightened the fear that coursed through me. "You piece of sh*t, be grateful we haven't killed you yet," he hissed, his voice a venomous blend of contempt and warning. Released abruptly, I crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, witnessing Kylo's anger manifest through the ignition of his lightsaber. The bright red glow cast sinister shadows, and with a powerful swing, he slashed at the metal of the ship. Sparks erupted, and shards of metal flew in all directions—a chaotic storm fueled by his rage.
Fear gripped me tighter as I raised my arms in a futile attempt to shield myself. The sharp metal fragments sliced through the air, some cutting into my arm, drawing blood that trickled down and stained my clothes. My eyes widened in horror, not just at the sight of my blood but at the sheer destructiveness of his anger. Kylo was no longer just a figure of authority; he was a tempest, and at that moment, as he continued to slash at the ship, each strike seemed to sever the last strands of any hope I might have had for understanding or compassion from him.
As Kylo's fury seemed to expend itself through the violent swings of his lightsaber, I could hear his heavy panting through the mask, a testament to the intensity of his rage. His body shook, a physical manifestation of his anger, and it was a clear signal to me that the situation could escalate further if I remained. Fear and survival instincts kicked in; I knew I had to escape before his wrath turned fatal.
Calling him pathetic in my mind was a silent act of defiance, but voicing it out loud was a risk I couldn't afford. I didn't dare say anything, didn't dare to provoke him further. With my arm throbbing and blood seeping between my fingers, I made my escape. I was acutely aware that each step I took might leave a trail of blood, a tangible sign of my vulnerability, and a breadcrumb trail of my desperate departure. But at that moment, the risk of leaving evidence of my escape was far less important than the need to put distance between Kylo and myself. The urgency to flee consumed all other thoughts, and I hurried away, hoping to find safety or at least a momentary refuge from the storm of Kylo's anger.
Reaching the sanctuary of my room, I made a beeline for the bathroom, turning the faucet on full blast. The cool water was a temporary relief as I watched the mix of my blood and the grime swirl down the drain. A quick assessment told me stitches weren't necessary, but the wound was far from superficial, still oozing blood with every beat of my heart. In a somewhat futile attempt, I grabbed toilet paper, pressing it against the wound, only to wince as it stuck to the cut. A mix of pain and frustration made me groan.
The unexpected sound of a knock at my door froze me in place. Conflicting emotions surged through me—the immediate, visceral part of me wanted to lash out and yell at whoever dared to interrupt my moment of pain. Yet, another part, driven by curiosity and perhaps a sliver of hope for some form of assistance or understanding, wanted to know who stood on the other side. Why now? Why, when I was at my most vulnerable, injured, and alone, would someone seek me out? The timing felt almost too cruel to be coincidental, yet the knock persisted, pressing me for a decision.
"Go away," I mumbled, barely audible even to my ears, hoping the intruder would simply vanish. But the response that came through the door chilled me to the bone. "Just let me in, Amber. You've left blood on my ship that my maids need to clean, so maybe just let me in before I hurt you even more," Kylo's voice, unmistakably firm and laced with a threatening edge, left no room for refusal. Panic set in, and in hurried compliance, I opened the door, only to stagger back as he entered, his presence overwhelming the small space of my refuge.
As I fell to the floor, a wave of defeat washing over me, Kylo, in an unexpected gesture, removed his mask. The sight of his face, unguarded and inches from mine, was startling. His eyes, intense and piercing, seemed to reach into the very depths of my being, burning straight into my soul. It was a look that held a myriad of emotions, complex and unreadable, making the moment feel even more surreal. The removal of his mask, a barrier to his humanity, now revealed the man behind the menace, making the encounter all the more intense and unnerving.
Standing before me, Kylo's presence was as menacing as ever, his voice cutting through the charged silence with a ferocity that sent shivers down my spine. "You are pissing me off, Amber," he growled, the barely contained rage in his voice making the air around us feel heavy, almost suffocating. Each word was a venomous strike, meant to wound as much as any lightsaber could. "I should have left you back on Tatooine, let you die out there by the hands of your demise." The harshness of his declaration hung between us, a bitter reminder of the precarious thread on which our alliance dangled.
Tatooine's harsh, unforgiving desert flashed before my eyes, a cruel and relentless landscape that had been both my cradle and my prison. Memories of scorching heat and chilling nights, of endless dunes and the constant fight for survival, mingled with the pain of Kylo's words. It was a place where every creature, every being, fought tooth and nail for their existence. And he had considered leaving me there, to face my end alone, abandoned to the whims of fate and the cruelty of the desert.
His statement revealed layers of our complicated history, a tapestry woven with threads of betrayal, survival, and an uneasy truce. Once, I had thought of him as an ally, perhaps even a friend. But those days were as distant as the twin suns setting over Tatooine's horizon. The bitterness in his voice hinted at a reservoir of anger and resentment that I hadn't fully appreciated, a dangerous volatility I had perhaps underestimated.
In the moment, his towering figure seemed to eclipse everything else, his dark presence a stark contrast to the flickering lights of the spaceport behind him. The implications of his words were clear: I was a burden, an unwanted complication in his grand scheme, a relic of a past he wished to discard. Yet, despite the venom in his tone, I couldn't help but sense a hint of regret, a shadow of something more beneath the surface. It was a reminder of the complex bond that still tethered us, fraught with tension and unspoken truths.
As I met his gaze, the raw intensity in his eyes spoke volumes, mirroring the tumultuous storm of emotions that raged within me. Anger, betrayal, but also a stubborn determination not to let his words define me. Tatooine had honed me and shaped me into a survivor, and I would not be so easily cast aside. Our paths had crossed for a reason, and despite his threats, our destinies remained entwined, for better or worse.
In that charged moment, a silent understanding passed between us. The journey ahead would be fraught with challenges, but I was no stranger to adversity. And as Kylo turned away, the weight of his words lingering in the air, I knew that this was not the end of our story. It was merely another twist in the winding path we were destined to walk together, wherever it might lead.
In the dimly lit room, my vision blurred, not just from the dimness but from the tears that involuntarily welled up in my eyes. I stood defiantly, albeit shaken, in front of him—Kylo Ren. His words were like venom, each syllable laced with contempt and disdain. "You know, Ren, you think you're so tormented, but really, it's your grandfather who was the true monster. He killed people without a second thought. And you? You're just a child hiding behind a mask," I retorted with all the courage I could muster. It was a desperate attempt to defend myself, to push back against his psychological onslaught.
My words seemed to have struck a nerve. In an instant, he closed the distance between us, his actions swift and decisive. Before I could react, I found myself being hoisted over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing. My surroundings became a blur as I was unceremoniously flung onto my bed. Panic set in as I felt an invisible force pinning me down. My arms and legs were immobile, secured by his will alone. My breath hitched in my throat when I saw the glow of his lightsaber reignite, its ominous hum a stark reminder of the power he wielded. The blade stopped perilously close to my face, its heat a tangible threat against my skin.
His voice, when it came, was laced with a harsh, unforgiving edge. "You should know, pathetic as you are, staying in the only place you've ever known. How does it feel to know your mother and brother left you? I bet they wished it was you who was dead and not your father," Kylo Ren spat out the words with a venom that chilled me to the bone. His anger was filling the room with tension so thick it was nearly suffocating.
At that moment, faced with his unbridled fury and the unmistakable threat of his lightsaber so close to my face, a myriad of emotions crashed over me. Fear, certainly, for my life hung by the thinnest of threads, held at the whim of this complex and tortured soul. But beyond the fear, there was also a profound sense of isolation. His words, meant to wound, also echoed the deepest fears and doubts that lurked in the corners of my mind—the fear of abandonment, of being unloved, of the possibility that my family's departure was not just a consequence of circ*mstance but a choice, preferring absence over my presence.
Yet, beneath the layers of fear and pain, a spark of anger began to kindle within me. It was one thing to face an enemy, to confront a force of darkness in a physical battle. It was another to be attacked where I was most vulnerable, with words that cut deeper than any lightsaber could. This was not just a battle of strength or skill; it was a battle for my very spirit, a challenge to the core of who I was and who I chose to be in the face of darkness and despair. And in that moment, despite the fear, despite the pain, I knew that this was a battle I could not afford to lose.
"Shut up! You—" My fiery retort was cut short, a sharp pain slicing through my words as his lightsaber grazed my skin. A scream tore from my throat, raw and filled with agony, as the unmistakable scent of searing flesh invaded my senses. Through the haze of my pain, I heard Kylo Ren scoff, his voice dripping with disdain. "Little bitch, you can't handle this. I wonder if you can handle anything we do to you because it's coming, whether you like it or not. We don't care, and I'm pretty sure no one else cares about scum like you. Get some sleep now; you might need it. And your skin, if it gets infected—oh well, maybe that will be my way to get a new plaything for me and my grandfather." His words were like daggers, each one designed to cut, humiliate, and debase.
With a casualness that belied the brutality of his actions, Kylo Ren extinguished his lightsaber and attached it to his waist, leaving me immobilized and in excruciating pain. The room felt colder in his absence, the silence a stark contrast to the chaos of moments before. Lying there, pinned to the bed by an unseen force, the center of my chest burned with an intensity I had never known. It was a physical manifestation of the hatred and anger that surged within me. I hated him, not just for the physical pain he had inflicted, but for the psychological warfare he was waging against me. He knew exactly what he was doing with his words—trying to break me, to make me feel worthless and alone.
But amidst the pain and the swirling vortex of emotions, a defiant thought clawed its way to the surface of my mind: I'm not going to let it get under my skin. His attempt to demean and belittle me, to reduce me to nothing more than an object of torment for him and his grandfather, would not define me. I refused to give him that power. It was a declaration of war, not just against Kylo Ren and the darkness he represented, but against the despair and hopelessness that sought to claim me.
Lying there, in the aftermath of his departure, I realized that this was more than just a physical battle; it was a test of my resolve, my strength, and my ability to hold onto who I was in the face of unspeakable cruelty. The pain was a reminder of what was at stake, a call to fight not just for survival, but for my soul. Despite the overwhelming odds, I knew one thing with unshakeable certainty: I would not let him win.
