Well, the two of them and Ghost; Jon's direwolf was so quiet you could almost forget he existed, even if he was startlingly out of place, a patch of white among the fires and ashes of Mustafar. He was also startlingly fast, because he was already beside Rey once she'd gotten her sword out, baring his teeth and glowing red eyes soundlessly at the enemy.

Enemies, plural.

It took a second for Jon to catch up with the both of them, a second too late to stop his best friend from doing anything stupid like... yelling and demanding whoever was watching them to come out. Not that he normally knew better. He had no choice but to unsheathe Longclaw now, too, sighing softly.

The black-clad men, whoever they were, seemed unconcerned about him or Ghost, however. Their gazes were all leveled at Rey, and when they spoke, they eerily spoke in unison, in a monotone that made a chill run down his spine despite how hot the island literally was.

"Now your journey nears its end," they chanted. "Long have I waited and now you are here, Lady Rey."