𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙀𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉
—𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭—

SUDDENLY THERE WAS light, shining just beyond Bexley's closed eyelids. And though her eyes were closed, she could see the rays beaming down from the sky. The warmth radiated onto her skin and calmed the cold that had previously rested there; her heart beat a little bit faster, and finally caught up to its normal beat. The air was steady, and no sign of wind or breeze lingered. Everything was still, and no animals made a peep from where they hid in the bushes— not even the birds would sing as they watched the blonde girl sit up.

Her movements were graceful, but slight, as she took in the familiar scene around her. This had happened before, Bexley knew it deep within her warm heart. But how had she gotten back here, into this single moment? Maybe she was sleeping, or knocked out, or even dead. All of that didn't matter now; all that mattered was that here she was, and her mother was sitting in the grass in front of her, humming softly as she twirled her fingers carefully through single blades of grass. Bexley stiffened in her position, breathing heavily as she studied her mother's features as if they were golden. Her mother was here, right in front of her! Why couldn't she react?

"You know, your father and I used to come to this field all the time before you came along," Nova murmers, not looking up to meet her daughter's eyes. Instead, her gaze was still focused on the blades as they wound in her grasp— as if it were so peaceful she had gotten lost in the action. "We would bring a blanket every time, and lay here for hours until the sun went down; just to watch the stars come out."

"Why do you love the stars so much?" Came a young girl's reply. Bexley was perplexed, as the voice came from her lips. But this wasn't her— she was in a different time, in a different body. Her younger self's body, at a time when she was a child.

"Because no matter how long you stare at them, no matter how hard you try, you can never count them all," Nova replies. Her fingers finally find something other than the ground as she places her palms back on her lap and looks to Bexley's face. "When I couldn't sleep at night, my mother used to come into my room and tell me to close my eyes. But instead of nothing, to picture a sky full of twinkling stars that emerged in the night sky, and to try and count them all before I fell asleep. Needless to say, of course, I could never do it. But I fell asleep every time."

The sun, behind her mother's brilliant sitting figure, was beginning to fade on the horizon. It was falling below the tree line, and leaving the girl's view. Soon, the sky would go dark, and the moon would come out to shine once again. And with it would come the stars.

"You had nightmares when you were smaller," Nova continues on, finding peace in her daughter's eyes. "And when you cried, I'd cradle you up in my arms, and take you out onto the balcony and show you the sky. When you looked around . . . you didn't see me anymore. Bexley, your eyes never landed back on me before you fell asleep. You were content with the stars."

"Who lets the stars come out?" The small girl falters, Bexley satisfied with the soft, familiar sound of her mother's voice. Over the years of her being gone, she had forgotten the sound of it— like soft waters falling over a bank and into a stream. Nova's voice was the epitome of tranquility and calmness. "Will they stop coming out one day?"

Nova grins at the young girl's questions, pleased to know that Bexley was actually invested in the conversation. "I like to think of everything as set. Maybe one day, the sun will stop setting. Maybe the moon and the stars won't come out again, and maybe it will never happen. But right now? The sun sets. The stars still come out every night, and so does the moon. That's all that matters, my love. And as far as who does it— who do you think controls it all?"

Before Bexley could open her mouth again, the scene around her was fading into nothing. It began with the pink sky; a dull gray took over its vibrancy and changed everything around her. And slowly, it changed into a darker gray, and then to black— and then, before the trapped girl could tell her fading mother that she loved her, she, too, was gone.

---

Poe was inside the base of the First Order. It was an accident, really, as he had slipped his way through security and somehow landed in a shortly-populated room, of which he had to knock out and tie up every person that saw his entrance. Everything happened so quick— one moment he was jumping from the x-wing and bounding to the troopers that were prepared to sound an alarm, and the next he was hiding in some brightly-lit hallway and dodging more clones. But he didn't care if they saw him; he would do whatever he had to, all in order to get to Bexley.

How long had it been since he'd seen her last? Of course it was only days, but the hours had droned on like days, and the days grew to feel like months. Poe Dameron needed to see the woman that made his days brighter, who lit up his face and gave him a reason to come back from his missions safely. She was his reason for smiling, and he was positive she was who he had been waiting on his whole life. This was the keeper everyone was searching far and wide to find, and somehow, in the midst of chaos, he had found her. And then, as if his own luck turned on him, she was taken away from him.

It was, inevitably, Poe's job to get Bexley back, safe and sound. At least, that's what he obligated himself to do, no matter who had tried to tell him otherwise. The man couldn't be swayed, as his mind was already set in stone. His heart hadn't felt this empty since . . . well, ever. He would have to try and distract himself, but somehow it never worked; even if his thoughts were solely on their future together, and the positive outlook that he would find her healthy and safe.

With his head held high and his full attention span focused solely on outmaneuvering the guards ahead of him, he slides his way down the wall. Poe is careful as he follows in their footsteps, making sure his boots don't click against the sterile floor, but listening in on their conversation, nonetheless.

". . . so Commander Ren dumped her back in the dungeons downstairs until she would answer his questions. But when she didn't, he gave her an ultimatum. Apparently she didn't fall suit, and got quite the beating for it." The raven-haired guard says, finishing as they round the corner.

The pilot swallows back his fear, listening as the blond guard continues with questions for the other.

"Why didn't she respond to his questions? Too much of a resistor?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. "Although I'd expect nothing less of someone from the Resistance."

"She claimed she didn't know anything— but a trained assassin is bound to know something about the map to Luke Skywalker. Yet nothing worked, even the threats Ren used against the Resistance."

"Threats?"

It seemed the man had missed more than he thought— Poe never would've imagined Bexley would be in so deep with something like this. He didn't like the way things were sounding; she was beaten? And interrogated by Kyle Ren himself? This definitely wasn't good. In fact, it was so much worse. Almost no one, except for General Organa and Poe himself, had any sort of a clue on where the map to Luke Skywalker was— or a piece of it, rather. And because of the information he was withholding, the love of his life was suffering in return.

"The bombs, of course. He wanted to wipe out the entirety of Takodana to get a reaction from the Resistance. And once Bexley found out, he planned to go for the Resistance next."

"So he would be using Takodana as an example?"

"Precisely," the other guard confirms. "The attack will be later on tonight, when everyone would least expect it. And the news will travel fast, so Bexley will be the first to know the planet is destroyed. Her allies are next."

Poe had heard enough, digging a knife from his belt and shoving it into the throat of the blond guard. He stumbled, his hand going to the new wound. But the raven-haired man had realized what was happening too late, and didn't get the chance to run or alert anyone else before the knife was in his throat. The pilot lets out a long breath, retrieving the knife and wiping the maroon liquid onto his suit.

He still didn't know where Bexley was residing— but what he did know was that she was injured, and it probably wasn't something small. Perhaps they had thrown her back into the dungeon. But if the beating was as bad as he assumed it was, Kylo wouldn't have thrown her back down there. Instead, he would need to keep her alive to see the destruction of Takodana and hear the news that the Resistance was next. So, to preserve her for a bit longer, Poe figured he would put her in the medical wing.

Not for any kindness in Kylo's heart, though; he knew that. There was no ounce of that in the man's body.

_______