THE battle to take Tuanul proved to be nothing like the simulations FN-2187 and his squad had practiced. The villagers did not shrink in terror or surrender to the gleaming stormtroopers. Instead, they fought back with a ferocity never exhibited by training drones or holographic soldiers. Some rushed the troopers head-on, firing their hunting weapons. Others hid behind crates and picked off troopers at random. You could die and never know you were shot.

As part of the last squad to arrive on the scene, FN-2187 hadn’t even triggered his sidearm when FN-2003 crumpled to the ground, his armor smoking. FN-2187 dropped down beside his buddy immediately. He wanted to render some kind of medical aid, but the wound was too severe. The trooper they all called Slip was beyond help.

FN-2187 stared at FN-2003. Only Slip’s fingers were exposed, reaching out of a ripped and bloody glove.

The inside of FN-2187’s helmet became wet, and not from sweat. He was relieved Slip could not see his face. His tears would have betrayed their countless hours of training and discipline.

FN-2003’s fingers stopped reaching.

After paying his friend a moment of respect, FN-2187 rose. He staggered forward into the village, unthinking. Fires ignited by flametroopers consumed buildings and bodies. Smoke covered it all like a shroud.

Rounding a corner, he came upon a villager who wasn’t a corpse. Instinctively, he lifted his blaster. She halted. She had no helmet to hide her fear. Fear that this was the end, that FN-2187 would fire his rifle and consign her body to the flames.

FN-2187 lowered his weapon. The woman didn’t move. She stared at him, confused. He looked at her and thought of Slip.

A sonic boom ended that fixation. She fled. FN-2187 craned his head.

A sleek shuttlecraft folded its wings and descended to land. It was of a class reserved only for the highest members of the First Order.

Once firmly on the ground, the shuttle’s hatch opened. Out stepped a man cowled in a dark cloak. Over his face he wore a banded metal mask.

He was one of the Supreme Leader’s top enforcers, Kylo Ren.

FN-2187 couldn’t take his eyes off of Ren, who walked toward the heart of the fight that was still raging. Every step conveyed strength and power.

A hard tap from behind caused FN-2187 to stumble. One of the squadron commanders stood over him. “Back to your team. This isn’t over yet.”

FN-2187 did as told, though not without a glance back. The striking figure of Kylo Ren was gone, however, lost in the black smoke of the battle.

When BB-8 was safely away, Poe Dameron headed toward the village, hoping he might be able to save some of the innocent residents from being slaughtered.

Smoke and debris concealed him from stormtroopers but not from the open eyes of the corpses he stepped over. Their deaths reminded him why he had joined the Resistance. The First Order resorted to only one strategy in resolving conflicts: violence.

Two figures conversed ahead. Poe approached with caution. One was none other than Lor San Tekka, standing tall in his desert robes. But the other figure nearly made Poe run back to his X-wing.

Poe had been warned about this man. His name was Kylo Ren, and he looked as if he’d stepped from the darkest pages of galactic history. He was dressed all in black. A wide belt circled his waist and a dark cloak hung from his shoulders. He wore a hood over his head. His face was veiled by a metal mask.

Maintaining his cover, Poe strained to listen to the two men. It proved difficult at that distance, with explosions from the continuing battle, but he thought he heard Tekka say that Ren did not belong with the First Order. That Ren had turned away from his own heritage.

What was clear was that Ren wanted something from the old man, and Tekka wouldn’t give it to him.

Poe drew his blaster and left his cover. He needed to get closer to have the best shot at killing Ren. If he missed, he doubted Ren would give him a second chance.

Poe heard their conversation as he advanced toward them. “You may try,” Tekka told Ren, “but you cannot deny the truth that is your family.”

Ren appeared to rise in stature. A metallic cylinder flew into his hand. From it ignited a fiery crimson blade. Two quarter beams formed a hilt. It was the legendary weapon of the Jedi Knights. A lightsaber.

“So true,” Ren snarled through his mask.

He swung his saber through the defenseless old man. Lor San Tekka never spoke again.

Poe Dameron cried out, firing at Ren. He didn’t let his finger off the trigger. It didn’t matter. Ren whirled, holding up an open palm. Poe’s shots fizzled in thin air, one frozen in flight, crackling with energy.

Poe was correct that he wouldn’t get a second chance to kill Ren. He might not get a second chance to do anything. One look from Ren and Poe froze. He was suddenly unable to fire his blaster, or even move his limbs. The masked man’s diabolical gaze seemed to hold Poe in a state of paralysis.

Two stormtroopers yanked Poe toward Ren. Poe couldn’t struggle in their grip, because he couldn’t move. Kylo Ren retracted his lightsaber blade and clipped its hilt to his belt. He peered at Poe, his eyes hidden behind the visor of his mask.

Poe tried to appear unconcerned about his present situation. “Who talks first? Do you talk first? Do I talk first?”

“A Resistance pilot, by the look of him,” Ren said to the troopers, ignoring Poe’s questions. “Search him.”

One trooper performed Ren’s request with thuggish delight, smacking rather than patting Poe down. The other swept a personal scanner across Poe’s body from head to toe.

Disappointed in his examination, the trooper who’d roughly handled Poe reported to Ren. “Nothing, sir.”

The second trooper looked up from his scanner readout. “Same here, sir. Internally, this one is clean. Terminate him?”

Poe did not wither under the masked man’s gaze. If Poe was going to die here, he would do so in defiance.

“No,” Ren said. “Keep him.”

The troopers dragged Poe away. Once out of Ren’s presence, Poe could finally move his muscles.

Sadly, he was in no shape to use those muscles to respond to the screams he heard coming from the village. Kylo Ren may have spared Poe’s life, for the moment, but those remaining villagers met a different fate. A round of blaster fire hushed their cries for good.

As he was thrown into a troop transport, Poe wondered whether joining the villagers might have been more desirable than where he was heading.

At least BB-8 was still out there, somewhere.