It was the island in her dreams: a rocky scrap of green jutting out of a vast ocean, stark and timeless. Ahch-To, Skywalker's island, the Force's island... the name didn't matter to Ben, who stubbornly clung to it being Rey's, if only to himself. She had a better claim to it any than anyone else, after all.

...well, save for the natives, that is.

Peering down from the cockpit, Ben took a breath, then hauled himself over the side of the fuselage. It was quite possibly the most graceless exit he'd ever made from any vehicle; his arms shook faintly as he lowered himself, sliding down the hull in a vain attempt to keep from jostling his shattered leg on impact. He didn't crumple once his feet hit the dirt, but it was a near thing - his hand trembled when he took Rey's, grip just a little too tight.

"Lead on."