Fate was cruel.
He knew it like he knew the color of his own eyes. He couldn’t forget it, like the face of his mother or the sound of his father’s voice. It had been proven time and again, mapped in a lifetime of frustrated tears.
Kylo had long ago been forced to his knees before the mistress of fate, head bowed as he accepted her cruel nature as his defining reality.
It was this new discovery that set him reeling, understanding sinking in with all the comfort of a nightspider bite.
The Force, too, was a tyrant. Ruthless and single-minded.
At the lowest point of his defeat on Crait, the bond with her had opened even as his father’s lucky dice faded through his fingers. One heartache for another. He trembled as he returned her accusing stare, tongue-tied and utterly stunned by the magnitude of what her appearance signified. In the aftermath of all that followed their whirlwind alliance in the throne room, Kylo had not had time to speculate on whether Snoke’s death would also spell the end of the connection with Rey.
The bridging of their bond brought understanding, and how very bitter a draught it was.
In the chaotic days that followed, he had attempted to console himself with reassurances that he wasn’t alone, that she too wore the collar and leash of the Force bond that linked them. If he was to endure the misery of helplessness, then at least she would be made to suffer too.
But somehow, even after all she’d put him through, and for reasons he preferred not to analyze – regarding Rey with spite fell flat. He was left to contend with his frustration, stalking the halls of Deliverance in a mood as black as the raiment that trailed in his wake.
It didn’t matter that he was Supreme Leader, or that they’d parted in opposition. It didn’t matter that they were the strongest Force-sensitives in the whole galaxy. They were condemned as stray leaves in a tide, made to wash upon the shores of one another’s waking reality.
It was maddening.
All of his training, his access to ancient histories, his fervent hours of meditation and vehement denials – were all for naught. He was as able to stop it as she was. They were but children together in this, at the mercy of something much greater than either of them.