( Kylo makes an ah sound and considers his hands where they splay on his knees as he sits forward. He'd forgotten about the burns until now, and it's only when he flexes his fingers and stretches the skin over his knuckles that he feels how tender the wounds still are. Having a conversation with Luke Skywalker regarding the proper return of his own weapon, he thinks, would be an even more painful reminder of past injuries. The question of which lightsaber he could be talking about doesn't even occur to him: he's come to terms with the fact that his grandfather's saber had not called to him and never would, that it would never fit within the grooves of his hand and leap to life at the issue of his command the way that he had thought it should for years in its absence.
Rey had proven that much when she ripped it out of his potential, outstretched grasp in the snow, and while his grandfather's legacy still resounds within him in a way that echoes deep and runs in a way that feels true, Kylo can't deny the absolute and terribly crushing silence that he's received from Vader in the last several years. It's not his saber to posses, now, and while he very much might like to feel its weight in his palm and trip the ignition switch with the pad of his thumb, he knows that it would never sing for him the way that it had for Rey.
Had, which he realizes, after a beat, and he looks up at her with stony revelation as he leans forward on the bunk, one hand braced against his knee as he pushes himself up abruptly, knocking the crown of his head against the bulkhead in the process. He presses the heel of his hand to his skull as he winces through aggravated questioning. )
Wait, you lost it? In the woods? ( He can't tell if he's more annoyed that she lost it or that she lost it, lost anything. Hasn't gone back to look for it. He would have, were the blade his. But it's not. His is in Skywalker's possession, and his head is smarting as if Han Solo has reached out from beyond the grave and told him to cut the attitude. ) If you want to get yours back and have a chance at defending yourself in the future against an attack, then you should go look for it.
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Rey had proven that much when she ripped it out of his potential, outstretched grasp in the snow, and while his grandfather's legacy still resounds within him in a way that echoes deep and runs in a way that feels true, Kylo can't deny the absolute and terribly crushing silence that he's received from Vader in the last several years. It's not his saber to posses, now, and while he very much might like to feel its weight in his palm and trip the ignition switch with the pad of his thumb, he knows that it would never sing for him the way that it had for Rey.
Had, which he realizes, after a beat, and he looks up at her with stony revelation as he leans forward on the bunk, one hand braced against his knee as he pushes himself up abruptly, knocking the crown of his head against the bulkhead in the process. He presses the heel of his hand to his skull as he winces through aggravated questioning. )
Wait, you lost it? In the woods? ( He can't tell if he's more annoyed that she lost it or that she lost it, lost anything. Hasn't gone back to look for it. He would have, were the blade his. But it's not. His is in Skywalker's possession, and his head is smarting as if Han Solo has reached out from beyond the grave and told him to cut the attitude. ) If you want to get yours back and have a chance at defending yourself in the future against an attack, then you should go look for it.