#jynweek

Clumsiness was the price to pay when you wanted to be up and about at this hour on Hoth–that, or frostbite. It was why, for the most part, no one on Echo Base left their beds after sundown unless they absolutely had to. In temperatures this cold, you’d have to be out of your mind to willingly leave the relative comfort and warmth of your room without very good reason.

Apparently, Jyn was out of her mind, because she’d woken from a dream–the one where the fires of Scarif blinded her one minute, and she was trapped in the cold bunker all alone the next–and crawled out from beneath her blankets. She’d dressed in the dark, moving by instinct more than anything, her skin itching and heart racing as the walls seemed to press closer and closer. Before she’d fully realized what she was doing, she had found herself fumbling by the dim yellow cast of a lantern to a place well-beyond the boundaries of Echo Base.

It would have been all too easy to take a wrong turn–and subsequently freeze to death trying to find her way back–but her body had taken care of her when her mind could not. Before too long she had arrived at a vaguely familiar antechamber, small and circular, with smooth, curving walls.

As she sat and leaned her back into their hard surface, it felt as though she were being held in the palm of some ancient, mysterious being. She took in her surroundings like someone waking up from a dream. Why had her instincts guided her here? 

Then she felt it: air, fresh air; the barest of hints of it brushing across the tip of her nose and suddenly it all made sense. She closed her eyes and drew it deep into her lungs–holding it for a moment with the gratitude of someone reuniting with a long lost friend–before releasing a slow, careful breath. It lingered in the air before her–the ghost of a scared and lonely girl—a swirling cloud of mist, glowing purple. 

Heart in her throat, Jyn lifted her eyes, seeking the source of the strange light. High above her, the chamber’s ceiling of ice and rock gave way, revealing an incredible sweep of night sky, dancing with color. Wind whistled across the opening of the cave…waves whispered upon a black-sanded shore…

“What are they, Mama?”

Her mother’s amused hum tickled at her back. “The Force paints a path home for those that are lost, my love.”

Jyn squirmed beneath the blanket, trying to find her father’s face amidst the orange, flickering shadows of the bonfire. “What are they really, Papa?” 

Mama’s head rested beneath his chin, his arms wrapped around them both, a shield from the wind. He gave her a smile; her favorite kind, the kind he gave her when he asked if she could keep a secret. “You don’t believe your mother?”

Jyn didn’t think her question had anything to do with belief, she simply wanted to know. Mama often told her stories about the Force; stories about love and anger, light and dark, and the threads that tied the world together–just like the ones her favorite blanket was made of. But Papa told her stories too; stories like what kind of soil made the plants on the farm grow, or why her skin turned red after too much time in the sun, or how to fix Stormy when his arm fell off. Mama’s stories were stories she saw and felt on the inside, while Papa’s were ones she held in her hands. But they were both a part of her, pieces she carried with her wherever she went. 

She studied the sky again, following the splashes of purple and green and blue as they wove their way between clusters of stars. She wondered what it would feel like to stand on one of the rippling bands of light; tried to imagine stepping one foot after the other across the horizon as her mother had described. Maybe it would be warm, like sand in the sun, or maybe it would be more like waves lapping at her feet, cold and tingly. 

“A scientist’s daughter through and through,” Mama laughed. “I recognize that look in her eyes…”

Jyn wasn’t sure what exactly she meant by that, but she tore her gaze away from the lights in the sky and turned towards her father instead, ready for his answer.

His skin shimmered green, then blue, and back again, the same colors as the ones that hung in the air above them. “The path your mother spoke of is made of particles, shed by our planet’s suns.”

Jyn frowned at this. “But it’s nighttime.”

“Just because we cannot see something, does not mean it is no longer there,” Papa explained, reaching over to tug the blanket back over her shoulders. “Tonight, the aurora reminds us that the suns have not left us, and they will rise again tomorrow.”

She twisted to face Mama again. “So the suns are the Force?”

“The Force is the suns,” her mother murmured reverently, “and the wind, and the waves, and the sand beneath you. It’s the salt on your tongue when you breathe in and…” she smiled as she poked Jyn’s nose with the tip of her finger, “that means it’s a part of you, and me, and your Papa too.”

Jyn settled into her parent’s arms again and shut her eyes, feeling for the Force her mother spoke of. She wasn’t sure what it was supposed to feel like. 

But she thought there might be some truth to her parents’ words, because though she could not see them anymore, she could sense them there beside her. The comfort of her mother’s heartbeat under her ear, the warmth of her father’s breath as he bent to press a kiss to the top of her head. 

And if she were to find herself lost and standing amidst the aurora, she felt certain this was where they would bring her.

The colors of the sky began to blur and run together. Jyn wiped roughly at her eyes, urging tears away before they could turn to frost upon her cheek. Hoth was more than a far cry from the beaches of Lah’mu, yet she felt closer to it now than she had in a long time.

“Beautiful,” a voice murmured, echoing quietly off the stone around her. 

Jyn started, turning towards the rasp of footsteps. “Cassian…” Leave it to the spy to find her in the middle of a labyrinth in the dead of night.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked warily, taking one last self-conscious swipe at her face with the sleeve of her coat. 

“Not long,” he answered, lingering at the entrance to the cavern.

But long enough… Jyn figured. She heaved a short sigh and returned her gaze to the aurora, an ache in her chest. “There were lights like this on Lah’mu,” she murmured, an explanation of sorts–though Cassian had not asked for one. 

He ducked past the icicle that hung in from the tunnel’s opening and silently came to sit beside her, his shoulder brushing against her own. Though it barely made a difference in a cold this numbing, Jyn found herself drawing comfort from the warmth of his body beside her. 

“How’d you find this place?” he asked softly. 

She glanced at him, but he was looking at the lights above, granting her a reprieve from the weight of his stare. “How’d you find me?” she countered. 

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but his eyes were serious when they landed on her again. “I went to your room and you weren’t there. For a moment I thought…” he shook his head and took a sudden interest in his boots.

“You thought I’d left?” 

“I didn’t know what to think. I checked the infirmary next.” There was an odd strain to his voice, something she couldn’t quite place. “No one had seen you there either, so I headed towards the perimeter,” a small smile crossed his lips, “I’ve noticed you wander to the edges of Base when you’re trying to avoid Draven.”

“Of course you did,” Jyn remarked. “Then what?”

“I followed the light…” 

“And it led you here…” The memory of her mother’s story–still fresh in Jyn’s mind–began to mingle with words Cassian had once spoken to her. The kyber crystal she wore seemed suddenly heavier than it had a moment ago, a hand resting over her heart. 

She thought of Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze, even K2. Of all the people who she had gotten to know because of the Rebellion. People who had her back. People who might not understand all of her, but who accepted her nonetheless.

“Hoth is the first time we’ve really slowed down since Scarif,” Cassian said, ignoring her sudden glance at the mention. “I know it can be hard to adjust to life in the Rebellion.”