"My mother...?"

Her voice barely comes out as a whisper. Clary inhales sharply, her heart pounding loudly in her chest, her mind reeling, her thoughts racing. Her mother was no one — not even Han, or their father, Jonash Solo, remembered her. And if they did, they didn't care enough to mention her. As far as Clary's concerned, she has no mother.

"I know you probably don't want to talk about this now," Cal says, "I was going to tell you back when I first met you. But then the whole thing with Vader and Skywalker happened and...I couldn't."

Clary stares at him. "Who are you?"

Cal holds her gaze evenly. "Your friend."

Clary shakes her head, some sort of unknown energy coursing through her veins, fueling her confusion, her pain, her anger. "You're not my friend. Who are you?"

Much to her dismay, Cal avoids her question. He turns, walking further into the room. Clary's eyes widen in realization as she sees it to be the supply room, where all weapons and other necessities are kept. On the walls she can see plans for X-wings and other fliers plastered around, detailing how far the rebels and alliance have come.

"Answer me, now," Clary exclaims, her voice trembling with anger or fear, she doesn't quite know. "Answer me, Cal."

"I remember her well," Cal says, avoiding Clary's narrowed gaze. He walks towards one of the tables, where a seeker orb is placed. He picks it up, examining it for a moment before adding, "I don't think I could ever forget her. She was always there for me. She loved us more than anything."

Clary's stunned into silence, unable to speak. Us?

"You know," Cal continues, twisting the orb, "I couldn't believe it at first. That day when you landed in Cloud City, I couldn't believe that you were there, that I could finally meet you face to face." He sets it down suddenly, meeting Clary's gaze. "That I could finally meet my sister."

Clary stares, dumbstruck. A heavy, looming silence fills the room, a silence so deafening you could hear a pin drop. Clary stammers, her thoughts running on end, her mind blurring, overriding. She doesn't notice tears have welled up in her eyes until they brim over, spilling down her cheeks. Her hands shake, and she inhales sharply, trying to compose herself. Cal steps forward, his eyes glittering with concern.

"Hey, it's okay, Clary," he says softly. "It's going to be okay."

It'll be okay, Clary. Destroy what destroys you. I couldn't be more proud of you. Make him pay. It's okay, Clary. It's going to be okay.

Clary steps back immediately, stumbling over her feet. Her back hits the door of the room, but her eyes never leave Cal's. Glittering dark eyes, preserving and never-ending.

"You..." she manages to choke out, unable to believe it. "You're the one who's been whispering to me all this time. You're the one from my dreams. You're the one who's made me like this."

"I didn't do anything," Cal answers. He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "You already had it in you, Clary. I only did what our mom would have wanted for the both us — I helped you realize what you truly are, what we can be together."

"No!" Clary brings her hands up to her head, gripping her hair tightly. She can't feel anything. She can't feel the pain; she feels empty. Yet the ache in her chest tells her otherwise. "I didn't do this, I couldn't have. He's my brother! I love him more than anything in my life —"

Clary averts her gaze; Cal's green eyes are piercing, unnerving. They make her feel more vulnerable than ever. They're the eyes she's feared for so long, the horrifying, glimmering eyes that have haunted her dreams and mind, even when she was awake and free from the darkness of her night terrors.

"You're with him, then?" she asks. "Darth Vader...the Empire?"

Cal scoffs, shocking Clary. His disdain is evident as he nearly spits, "Are you joking? The Empire is weak. Darth Vader is weak. The Emperor is weak. We can be so much greater than them, so much more powerful, if only you would just open your eyes and see —"

"Stop it," Clary's voice shakes on a nervous vibrato as she dares to meet his gaze, her hands shaking. "I'm not going to listen to this anymore. You can't tell me anything to make me believe you."

"Why? Because you're so 'good'?" Cal steps forward, and on impulse Clary moves to step back again, but her back is pressed firmly against the closed door, trapping her inside. "Or is it because of that boy, Luke Skywalker?"

At the mention of Luke, Clary's strength resurfaces. A new sort of rage flows through her and she holds Cal's gaze evenly, spitting, "Don't bring him into this."

Cal laughs. He laughs loudly, but the sound is hollow and discrete, filling Clary with dread. He continues to laugh, shaking his head, bringing up a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

"You can't be serious..." He inhales sharply, eyes narrowed and dark as he regains his composure. "You can't be serious, Clary." His voice is sharp, and Clary finds herself flinching at his seething tone. "This is exactly what made our mother weak. Love. It's pathetic. Love will destroy you, Clary."

"No," Clary's voice doesn't waver this time as she shakes her head, her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles are starting to turn white. At Cal's gaze, she feels a sharp pang in her chest as she notices the empty, hollowed look in his eyes. "You're wrong."

"Love is weak, Clary," Cal snaps. "I may not have been able to save our mother from it, but I can save you." He starts forward again, attempting to reach for the button to open the door, but Clary's reflexes are quick as she moves to stand in front of the panel, blocking him from escape.

"I won't let you hurt him," she says, defiant and blazing.

Cal pulls his hand away, considering her for a moment, before he starts to laugh again. This time, he's laughing so hard the creases near his eyes are deepening, and his shoulders shake with every breath he takes. Clary inhales sharply, reaching for her belt behind her, feeling for her blaster.

"Hurt him? You think I'm going to hurt Skywalker?" Cal shakes his head, breathing slowly as he becomes composed once more. "I'm not the one who's going to hurt him, Clary. You are."

For a moment, everything is quiet. Nothing can be heard aside from the hum of the lightsaber and Clary's gasping breaths. And then, Luke finally speaks.

"This is all your fault."

Clary's brow furrows, and she stares at him hopelessly, her heart aching.

"Luke —" Clary starts, but she's unable to finish her sentence as Luke suddenly collapses to his knees in front of her. He staggers, then finally looks up, the darkness in his eyes gone, but instead, the look of vulnerability shines.

"Clary —" He manages to gasp, and Clary looks down to see that he's no longer holding the lightsaber. It rests in Clary's hands, ignited through Luke, and Clary lets go immediately, eyes watering.

She opens her mouth, in the beginning of a strangled scream of anguish and despair, but the minute she blinks her tears away, the vision is gone. Luke is gone, Han is gone, and the dreaded lightsaber is gone.

"Destroy what destroys you, Clary."

But that was a dream and nothing more. Clary's eyes squeeze shut, the last of her tears streaming down her cheeks before she takes a deep breath. The blast through Luke's hand on the sail barge, the nightmares that never seem to go away — none of that compares to the way Clary feels when she's with Luke, actually with him. His childlike eyes...his naïve smile...his touch, so gentle and pure. Clary can't ever hurt him. She'll never hurt him.

"Don't tell me you believe in all of this, in him," Cal snaps, gaining her attention. "All that goodness...the Light Side. It's pathetic, weak. You are far from that, Clary."

"I'm not —"

"Haven't you felt empty most of your life?" Cal interjects. "Like you can't wrap your brain around it, but you know you can do more than what you're doing. That you are more powerful, so much greater than what you are right now."

Clary remains silent. The feeling she had felt when she wrapped her chains around Jabba's neck, pulling and pulling until he choked on his last breath. Make him pay, make him pay, make him pay.

"You think you can be good," Cal whispers, his face inches away from Clary's. "But there's no such thing as good or evil, Clary. There's only power, and those too weak to achieve it."

Clary finally dares to meet his gaze, and she comes to a sudden realization; his dark glittering eyes, the ghost of the eyes in her dreams, the eyes that have haunted, taunted, manipulated, and frightened her...she shouldn't be the one who's vulnerable and afraid. She knows better than that. She knows the good that comes from all the pain, how everything she'd been through had been worth it.

"I'm your brother, Clary," Cal says softly, as if he's been reading her thoughts. "I'm doing this for us."

Clary's face burns with an indescribable rage. "You're no brother of mine."

She knows she's hit a nerve. She can feel Cal's rage — intoxicating, fiery, burning hatred. She doesn't understand why his eyes glare the way they do, how so much hatred could be held in such a simple gaze.

"And Han Solo is?" Cal sneers, venom seething in his voice. "You're not even related by blood!"

Clary's eyes begin to water again. Han. She can feel the blood rush to her ears, making her head pound, her mind spin, her world crumble. "I am...Han is my brother —"

"Who do you think your father is?" Cal demands. Clary hesitates, confused by his question.

"My father is Jonash Solo —"

"Your mother is Ellona Aldrin," Cal interrupts. "And your father is the same as mine. An old Jedi by the name of Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Everything in Clary's mind seems to fall apart. She stares blankly at Cal, astounded by his words.

"No...you're wrong," she stutters, stunned beyond disbelief, stammering over her words, spitting them out as quick as her thoughts, trying to convince herself. "My father is Jonash Solo, my brother is Han Solo, and I am Clary, Clary Solo —"

"You really think you can hide from the truth, Clary? Han Solo isn't your brother —"

But Clary doesn't hear the rest of what Cal says. She's lost in her thoughts, mind racing. A piercing, pinching pain rushes through her and she swallows the lump growing in her throat. Everything that Cal says, for some reason, she knows it's true, but she can't believe it. She won't believe it. Because if she does, then everything she's ever known — everything she's ever done, all the risks she's ever taken, they'd all have been for nothing.

"My brother is Han Solo." Clary has stopped shaking now. She stands her ground, recognizing the weakness, her vulnerability, threatening to consume her. She can't let that happen now. "Han is my one and only brother. Not you. And you never will be."

She braces herself for Cal's attack, whether physical or with words, but it never comes. She frowns, brow creased, watching as he stands before her. He holds her gaze, but his expression is indescribable; Clary doesn't want to know what he's thinking.

"Fine," he finally says. "Believe what you want. For now. I'll make you understand, Clary. You're my sister, and I know you'll come to me, you'll stand with me. Because that's what family does."

Clary glowers, eyes brim but dark. She's finally beginning to understand the hatred that's circling around Cal like a cloud, consuming every fiber of his being. It isn't just hatred. It's fear. Vulnerability. Everything that Clary has been trying to fight. It encompasses him, drives his anger, fuels his hatred, makes him everything that he is. Everything that Clary wants to forget.

"You'll never be my family."

Cal grits his teeth, and Clary knows he's preparing to say something else, but she doesn't bother to stay to hear what it is. She turns sharply, slamming her hand against the button on the panel and the door slides open. She heads down the corridor, her pace quickening as she turns left and right, trying to go down a path that isn't easy to follow.

She's gasping for breath when she finally slows to a stop, collapsing to the ground, her legs shaking. A little farther down the hall, she can hear the soft murmur of rebels conversing as they prepare their attack, and for a brief moment, she remembers that she has to help assemble the strike team, that she has to help bring down the deflector shield. But she can't bring herself to stand up and fight alongside them. Finally, her vulnerability, her consuming weakness — it's getting the best of her. She blinks as her vision blurs, and she doesn't even stop the tears as they well up in her eyes, pooling, before they overflow and spill down her face.

"My family —" Clary's voice breaks, and she finds herself wrecked with uncontrollable sobs. Han and Chewie were the only family she's known, the only family she's needed, but they weren't really her family. Her true family is dark and cold, evil and power hungry — the farthest thing from warm and sincere, everything she had believed to once be hers.

She wipes at her eyes numbly, but she can't find it in herself to stop crying. Her throat is raw and her eyes burn, stinging with wet, hot tears. She wants nothing more than to disappear, to not feel a damn thing.

She knew Han like she knew her own mind. All this time, it was because she had believed him to be her brother. But that had all been a lie. He wasn't her brother, not really. Everything she had felt, everything she had and would have done for him, it was all for nothing.

"Clary?"

She looks up, her cries stopping only for a brief moment to see Leia standing before her. The princess is dressed in what appears to be a camouflage robe, hanging over her shoulders like a poncho. She's holding a helmet at her hip, and her brow is creased as she stares at Clary, confused and concerned all at once.

"Clary, what's wrong? What happened?" She kneels down beside her immediately upon seeing the state she's in, and Clary shifts awkwardly, attempting to wipe away at her face.

"I'm fine —" She cuts herself off as Leia reaches forward, grabbing onto her hands and stopping her from shielding her face. Her grip is gentle yet strong, and her gaze is soft.

"Clary," she says gently.

The tears well up in Clary's eyes again and she inhales sharply, her breath shaky.

"Han is..." She stumbles over her words, choking on the sobs threatening to consume her once more.

Leia frowns. "Han? Do you want me to get him for you?"

Clary shakes her head, shutting her eyes, lip trembling. The hot tears stream down her face once more, and she coughs again, shaking.

"Han isn't...he's not..." She sniffles, the words nearly catching in her throat. "He's not my brother."

She feels embarrassed, but only for a brief moment, as she continues to cry in front of the princess. She's suddenly reminded of that day on the rebel base in Hoth, when Leia had kissed Luke in attempts to aggravate Han. She had cried hard that day, too.

"What are you talking about? Of course he is."

Clary shakes her head again. "He's not...I'm not a Solo..." She shuts her eyes, the back of her throat sore from the sobs that had overtaken her. Saying it outload, recognizing the truth that she had been told, it makes it hurt all the more.

"Who told you such a thing?" Leia lets go of Clary's hands to reposition herself as she sits beside her, setting her helmet down as she wraps an arm around Clary's shoulder, hugging her closely.

"Cal..." Clary inhales sharply again, feeling stupid and vulnerable. Leia doesn't falter, however, and continues to console her.

"Cal?" she echoes. A soft laugh escapes her, but she attempts to conceal it quickly as she adds, "And you believed him?"

Clary doesn't answer. She doesn't know what to believe anymore. The conflict in her is overpowering.

Leia is silent for a moment before she pulls her arm away, rising to her feet. She retrieves her helmet on the ground beside her.

"I'm going to get Han," she explains. "I'll be back."

Not giving Clary the chance to protest, the princess has already turned down the corridor and out of sight. Clary leans back, her head hitting the wall behind her. Her sobs have finally stopped, but her mouth is dry, and her cheeks are tear-stained, reminding her of the pain.

Who am I? She thinks. Who do I believe? What do I believe?

"Clary."

A soft, faint voice echoes in Clary's head, and for a moment, she believes she's imagining it. She inhales sharply, bringing up a hand to rub at her closed, reddening eyes, her heart heavy and her mind racing profusely. She doesn't want to believe Cal, but for some reason, she knows he hadn't been lying to her.

"Clary."

The voice is stronger this time, louder. Blinking, Clary looks up, her eyes wide.

"Ben?"

She frowns, and before she knows it, Ben is standing in front of her, his Force ghost just a mere silhouette against the white walls of the rebel base. He smiles, but it's clouded with sadness. Clary stares at him, confused and overwhelmed beyond belief.

"W-Why are you here?" Her confusion doesn't go unnoticed as her voice sounds high and pitchy, laced with pain. Although she and Han had met Ben a long time ago in attempts to take him and Luke to Alderaan, Clary doesn't remember being close to him. The last time she heard his voice was back in Dagobah, in Yoda's hut, just before Luke started his training. She wonders why — why now, of all times — is she seeing his ghost in front of her.

Ben steps towards her, distracting her from her thoughts. He lets out a sigh, as he shifts to lower himself on the ground beside her. Clary continues to stare at him, unsure of what else to do.

"Ben —"

"I'm sorry, Clary," he says, cutting her off. "I should have told you."

Clary hesitates. "Tell me what?" she asks slowly, fearing his reply.

"Everything. About you, about your family. Just...everything"

Clary inhales slowly, tearing her gaze away from him as she stares at her hands, heart breaking. "Cal was right, then. I'm not a Solo."

"Not by blood, no. But in spirit, yes." Ben smiles softly, but noticing Clary's grim expression, it slowly fades.

"Han isn't my brother," Clary says, tone harsh, fueled by the anger she feels. She doesn't know what to do, how to feel, what to think. Everything she had thought to be true had been a lie. Her whole life had been a lie, her entire being, had been a terrible lie.

Ben remains silent for a moment. Then, "Isn't he?"

Clary's brow furrows, and she turns to look at him. He meets her gaze, eyes warm.