a/n: This story is a BIG departure for me, and I've been conflicted about posting it. But, shortly after TLJ premiered an Anon on tumblr sent me "Reylo: Soulmates" and somehow, the idea really stuck with me, in ways I would never have expected. This prologue (and, hopefully, the rest of the story) is the result of me trying to work through my post-TLJ feelings as well as wanting to strike while the inspiration iron is hot, so to speak.

Hope you enjoy!

{Part 1}

The first time the marks appear on Ben Solo's arm he is eleven years old.

He's filthy, out in the middle of Tatooine's hot desert sands, and the youngest of this particular group of young Jedi by more than three years. He's covered in cuts and bruises from his training, and the strange marks – little more than a line here and a swirl there – blend in so well with all the soot and the dust and everything else covering his body he doesn't even notice them at first.

When he does see them, an hour later, he doesn't think much of it. He shrugs, and tries to wipe them off with the back of his hand.

But they don't come off. Not even when he pours water from his canteen over his arm and rubs at them, hard, with his dirty bandana.

"Strange," he mutters, staring at himself, still half-convinced the strange designs now covering most of his forearm are nothing but a trick of the light.

He soon lets the matter drop from his mind. It's hotter than hell out here, and he's exhausted. And he's still got over a mile to go before he's back at camp.

He trudges towards it, thinking only of the dinner that will be waiting for him when he gets there.

More marks appear that evening, after Ben's finally washed off the day's grit and grime and blood and is lying on his back in his narrow bunk, chasing sleep.

This time, the marks are impossible to miss. They appear on his arm out of nowhere, like magic – as though his body were a well of ink, the symbols merely seeping up from it through the surface of his skin. Once again, the marks are mostly just squiggles and smudged lines, though this time there are a few symbols Ben recognizes as crudely-drawn letters mixed in with the rest of it.

Ben is strong with the Force, and has been brought up since infancy knowing what terrible, dark magic those who are particularly strong with the dark side of the Force are capable of.

But this - what's happening to him right now – is entirely outside his realm of understanding.

He lies awake half the night, transfixed by the symbols on his arm, tracing them with the tip of his left index finger as he wonders what, exactly, they are.

As the youngest of this group of Jedi students, Ben does his best to blend in.

No one has ever told him as much, but he strongly suspects his uncle waived a number of his usual requirements when he took him on as a student at such a young age.

Most likely Uncle Luke did it as a special favor to his mother.

Either way, Ben knows he's lucky to be here. The last thing he wants is to remind anybody that technically, he's still just a child.

But what's happening to him right now has him very badly shaken. A few days after the marks first appear he finally works up the nerve to ask Master Casja about them over breakfast.

Casja is Uncle Luke's second in command, and oversees the training of the youngest Jedi. He's good at what he does, and is usually quite talkative and quick with a joke.

He's anything but talkative this morning. After Ben makes his confession Casja just stares at him for a long moment, blinking, his jaw hanging open in what looks like genuine surprise.

"Show me your arm," he demands, holding out his hand.

Ben swallows nervously. "But, Master Casja – the marks were gone again when I woke up. They're… um. They're always gone again in the morning." Ben is embarrassed, and suddenly terrified Casja won't believe him.

Even so, he cannot refuse a direct order from a Jedi master even if he wanted to. Ben rolls up his sleeve as requested. With the tip of his finger he shows Casja where the marks had been just the night before.

To his relief, Casja doesn't dismiss his claims as a child's foolish daydreams. On the contrary. He stares at Ben's arm for a long moment, biting his lip and nodding thoughtfully.

"These things… happen sometimes, young Solo," Master Casja says very quietly, eyes averted. He looks embarrassed. Like he'd rather be doing just about anything than having this conversation. "Or at least they did long ago. When the Empire murdered the Jedi and took control of the galaxy most of us assumed it would never happen again." He pauses. "Apparently… Well. Apparently we were wrong."

Ben blanches. "What is it?" he asks. "Am I in danger?"

Master Casja shakes his head and smiles at him. But there's no joy in it. Ben thinks it might be the saddest smile he's ever seen. "No, son," he says. He sighs. "It's nothing like that. I promise."

He pushes his tray off to the side and steeples his fingers together under his chin.

"We need to talk," he says, the sad tone in his voice unmistakable.

That night, as Ben tries to sleep, a single word appears on his arm.

It's only very faintly illuminated in the darkness by the moonlight streaming in through his open window. It's short, only three letters long – which, fortunately, makes it easy for him to read despite the gloom.

Rey, it says, in a childish scrawl.

Ben wonders if it's a name. Is it the name of the person sending these messages? The person Master Casja says he's somehow connected to by destiny, or the Force, or… or something?

Soulmate, Master Casja had said. That's the word he'd used. This person, whoever it is, is his soulmate. His heart in his throat, Ben leaps from his bed and grabs a pen off his nightstand.

Ben, he writes back quickly, in big, blocky letters.

He thinks back on what Master Casja told him this morning. That anything this person writes will appear on his arm right away, and that anything Ben might write on his own arm will appear on theirs. But will it? Will his… his soulmate be able to see his name on their arm now, wherever in the galaxy they might be?

He sits on the edge of his bed for what feels like hours, anxiously staring at his arm, willing something else, anything else, to appear.

Just as he's about to give up and go back to bed, a simple drawing of a single flower appears just below where he'd written his name.

He thinks it might be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"Hello, Rey," he says to the flower, as he traces it with his fingertip. If any of the older students saw him talking to his arm they'd likely think him mad. But he doesn't care. He likes the way Rey feels, tastes, in his mouth. He tries it out again, and decides he likes the simple, uncomplicated way it sounds, too. "I'm Ben."

He stays up most of the rest of the night, passing simple words and drawings back and forth with Rey.

(He's decided Rey is definitely a name. That Rey is a person, somewhere out there.)

And just for tonight, Ben decides to put the rest of what Master Casja told him today – that the inevitable galactic war inching ever closer to them means he will likely never get to meet his soulmate in person – out of his mind.

Ben has never had a real friend before. His parents' important work has meant he has never been in one place long enough to make friends. Now that he's here, training night and day with his uncle to become a Jedi master, he's never had the luxury of time.

So just for now, just for tonight, he decides to pretend, and to think only about what might be possible.

"Rey," he says again. Just because he can. And he smiles.