[ Space is vast, and cold, and empty— but not here. This particular sector of a galaxy far far away is alive with a flurry of activity, with hundreds, thousands of people locked in a frantic struggle for survival. Beyond the screaming turmoil of his own rage and pain tempered into singular purpose Kylo can feel it: a muffled cacophony of hopes and fears tumbling at the periphery of his awareness, crackling as background noise— and because Kylo felt it, Julie does too.
Here he is now as he was then: the pilot and sole occupant of a sleek black starfighter, racing towards his target— the much larger flagship of the Resistance fleet. To his right, the display panel describes the MC85 Star Cruiser, warning of its armaments and defenses, but Kylo pays it no attention as he manoeuvers his craft, flying by sense alone to twist his way through the barrage of laser-cannon fire in a wildly reckless bid to hit the enemy's hangar itself via the narrow approach of its launch tube. There are dozens of enemy fighters in there, their determined apprehension a beacon, and it's exhilaration itself as he threads the needle and fires. There. The threat is instantly neutralised in a boiling explosion, the entire squadron wiped out before they even had the chance to launch. Kylo bursts free of the wreckage, exultant, his fighter tearing past the ailing cruiser to wheel back and make a strafing run...
And he feels her.
His heart slams inside his chest, focus utterly lost. She's so old, now, so old and tired and afraid— but not of him, as she had been when he was a child. Nor does she hate him, as he knows he deserves, even after all this time. Everything he's done. No. Even as he has her in his sights, weapons locked and primed to fire, she fears for him.
His thumb hovers over the trigger. A heartbeat, two, a ragged breath. One shot, and it will all be over.
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Here he is now as he was then: the pilot and sole occupant of a sleek black starfighter, racing towards his target— the much larger flagship of the Resistance fleet. To his right, the display panel describes the MC85 Star Cruiser, warning of its armaments and defenses, but Kylo pays it no attention as he manoeuvers his craft, flying by sense alone to twist his way through the barrage of laser-cannon fire in a wildly reckless bid to hit the enemy's hangar itself via the narrow approach of its launch tube. There are dozens of enemy fighters in there, their determined apprehension a beacon, and it's exhilaration itself as he threads the needle and fires. There. The threat is instantly neutralised in a boiling explosion, the entire squadron wiped out before they even had the chance to launch. Kylo bursts free of the wreckage, exultant, his fighter tearing past the ailing cruiser to wheel back and make a strafing run...
And he feels her.
His heart slams inside his chest, focus utterly lost. She's so old, now, so old and tired and afraid— but not of him, as she had been when he was a child. Nor does she hate him, as he knows he deserves, even after all this time. Everything he's done. No. Even as he has her in his sights, weapons locked and primed to fire, she fears for him.
His thumb hovers over the trigger. A heartbeat, two, a ragged breath. One shot, and it will all be over.
But he can't.
He lifts his thumb away. ]