Leia and Yoda stood in front of the portal. They refused to move. He hadn't yet resorted to any sort of physical intervention yet. Mostly, he had argued and reasoned and blustered. And still, they refused to move. 'We have our reasons.' 'Trust us.' Same old bullshit, over and over.

He hadn't seen Rey in days. By now, she would have stepped back in time to visit him on the remote moon on the Dagobah system, where he had built a dock into the frigid pond. He had built that dock with his hands. It was worthwhile to do manual labor sometimes. 

Days into this eternal stand off, Yoda had perked up from his meditation. "It is time."

Ben stood and waited. There wasn't any use in demanding information before his elders decided to give it. 

 Leia took his hands in hers, and kissed his cheek. "You are the best thing I ever did. Remember that I love you."

"Are you fading?" He was surprised by his level of alarm at this. 

"Yes, dear," said Leia.

"Go now, we must," said Yoda.

"Why now?" said Ben. 

"It's time," said Leia. "We cannot help you after this. Your road will be difficult, and we don't know where it will end. But we have done everything we can for you."

"Where you are led, you must go," said Yoda, as he seized Ben's arm. 

Leia grabbed his other arm. The walked toward the portal, and he felt a cold shiver run through extremities. 

Then, they threw him in.

There were not tests this time. He stumbled out of the portal into the hell that was Exegol. He was being propelled forward, unable to turn one way or the other. His ghost form drew near to the still body on the ground. His dead, naked body.

It pulled him in. He felt his spirit settle into his flesh again, and sat up with a groan.

The planet was cold. All around him lay the bodies of dead Sith, shriveled with decay. He stood, testing his balance. His arms and legs moved like he remembered. He scrubbed at his face, and pinched himself. Alive. His body was alive, and he was inside of his flesh again.

What the hell.

Leia and Yoda, and likely the rest of them, had done something, and not bothered to tell him about it. That was just like them, withholding information and making decisions on his behalf. 

He needed some clothing. The rotten Sith smelled atrocious, so he left them and their decaying clothing where it lay. While the bodies remained, the weapons were gone. 

No clothing, no weapons. And no water. 

He left the cavern where Palpatine had killed Rey. That must have been some time ago. The smell of battle no longer lingered in the air.

The lift still worked, and he returned to the planet's surface. It was so dark on this planet. Better a desert planet in the dark than the blazing sun, though. He would freeze to death here instead of dying from heatstroke. It was a marginally better death. From what he could see, the surface was littered with the debris of a massive space battle. 

He began to pick his way through the chunks of metal. There were pieces of ships, burned and compressed on impact. The chances of some clothing surviving such a scenario were slim. But what else did he have to do? He expanded his search, heading for the larger shapes. 

Tiny pieces of rock and metal cut his feet. They were very cold, but not cold enough to keep the bite and sting from registering. He shivered so hard his teeth clacked against each other in a steady rhythm. 

This planet was a pit. It was perfect for a Sith stronghold. No one in their right mind would ever come here.

He rounded a particularly large section of intact ship, hopeful it might at least provide some shelter from the bitter cold, and froze. 

A group of five aliens scavenged through the debris, picking out reusable parts and collecting them on a hovercraft. One looked up and saw him, and he was plunged into a standoff with five blasters. He raised his hands in the universal sign for surrender. Had he been rested, he might have tried to fight them. But he was battered and bruised from his fight with Palpatine, and he had no weapon. 

Sometimes he missed his helmet. It translated for him, for one thing. Now, he listened to the aliens talking to each other, unable to determine the content of the conversation. The tone was clear enough. They couldn't agree on what to do with him, but none of them were happy. He wouldn't be making any friends here. 

The leader had the last word, and it was loud and final. Ben knew he couldn't run. His feet were a bloody mess, and he was stiff now that he'd stopped moving for so long in the cold. 

He waited, hands held high, as the leader cautiously approached. The alien said something, and then repeated it at a louder volume, as if this would provide a magical cure to their language barrier. 

When he motioned for Ben to move, aiming the blaster at him, Ben thought for a moment about taking the weapon. But he couldn't. That was a Kylo Ren move, and he wasn't that man anymore. He didn't have rage enough to kill these people and steal their ship. 

When he hesitated for a moment too long, the leader motioned for two of his friends to approach. Then he kicked Ben in the stomach, which knocked the wind from him and left him crumpled in a heap on the sand.

Kicking a naked, unarmed, surrendering man was a low blow, and didn't bode well for his future prospects with these people. It was something he would have once done. You can never be too sure about an adversary, and it's best not to underestimate them. Maybe he still looked like Kylo Ren. Maybe even naked and shivering, they could tell he was dangerous.

Two of the aliens pulled him to his feet, and dragged him off toward their ship.