Trembling fingers smoothed over the neatly knitted braid at the back of her skull. Today would mark day one, the first of many. In time, the auburn haired beauty would be forced to come to terms with everything she had done in the past. The night had passed in silence, a ghostly figure moving restlessly from one perch to the next. Juhani would have been proud. The bunks began to fill, bodies slung across each for the night. Instead of joining in, Revan, former Dark Lord of the Sith, made her way to the supply room, coiled up and sat amongst the canisters. Following accusations, acceptance, not to forget an assassin droid's unexpected revelation, she had found herself relieved to be alone. Even if just for a few moments, a few. In the back of her mind, she knew that they would be leaving for Manaan, looking for guidance. Bastila was gone, vanished. Captured by Malak or killed, though they didn't know for certain which.

Today would mark day one.

Here, away from the reassuring words and accusing stares, she found herself gazing at her reflection. Who was Revan? Recognizing herself as that person, that monger, was harder than anybody could have possibly understood. All she saw before her was a woman, perhaps too slender, with eyes that were perhaps flecked with too much gray and hair that perhaps had too much red in it. She had never liked the red, nor had she liked the gray speckles standing within her sea glass eyes. Mission had made a joke about her eyes once, claiming that they made her look wise. Aged, like a fine glass of Taresian ale. It was simple to retort back in curiosity of how Mission had even gotten a hold of fine Taresian ale in the midst of the lower city cantinas. The young woman, who was soon to pass her fifteen year mark, had turned the conversation in a different direction, avoiding it completely.

Was this Revan? This woman standing before her, gazing back at her. People recognized the Sith with that vivid, terrifying mask. They knew of her, though many had become conflicted on gender, race. All they knew was horror. A person, perhaps less than that, who had brought trepidation to their homeworlds. Telos was but one example, so many came before, many came after. The death toll, the blood that coated her hands, was immeasurable.

The subtle knock at the door reminded her of the world outside of her own head, the one where her friends waited. They wanted to see her, to know she was alright. Some wanted to glare just a bit more, remind her that they didn't trust her. Yeah, because that was necessary. Mission had all but clung to her side since they had left Tatooine, the young woman desperate to see to it that her friend was alright. After all they had been through together, how could she not? As per expected, the small blue face of the Twi'lek popped into view, a tentative smile quirking the edges of her lips. "We're coming into the docking bay now, they want clearance," she told the redhead, earning a nod in response. "Are you alright?" the girl asked, stepping fully into the room and examining the older woman. The taut image of a smile was replaced immediately by a look of concern, and Revan exhaled in a quiet manner. "What do you think of all of this?" she questioned her young friend, watching for shifts in her face, as well as focusing on her emotions through the force.

It took Mission a moment, seemingly taken aback by the question. Lips pressed into a line, Revan watched as the young woman searched for the right answer, the answer that would make her feel better. If anything could. "Well I..." Pausing, she looked up, catching the gray flecked green-blue eyes and holding them. "I think that it's just a name. You're not that person anymore, you're not Revan, you're my friend."

Momentarily, the former Sith gazed at her young accomplice and found her head tilting to the side in a sympathetic and grateful motion. "So... you're okay with it, then?" she questioned once more, stammering words betraying her emotions. There were few times she found herself in a place able to do this. Able to feel comfortable enough with anybody to let them see this side. The wall of sarcasm she had built up, or rather that had been encoded by the Jedi, crumbled and fell. Compassion, kindness, they all came second nature to her. It was this vulnerability, the one that few members of her small but strong crew had seen, that felt foreign. Perhaps it was something of the old Revan sneaking back in, reminding her of who she had once been. Again, Mission seemed to ponder the statement and finally nodded, her head tails moving subtly along with the motion.

"Like I said, you're my friend. You helped me find Griff, and then you turned around and helped him. I watched you back on Taris. You went and found all those journals, even though me and Carth were telling you it was hopeless. I guess what I'm saying is... You're not like all the stories about Revan. You're different. Maybe that's a good thing, you know?" A crinkle of her nose and a brief shake of her head followed. "No, I know it's a good thing. It's a really good thing. Just because you decided to be called Revan doesn't mean you're going to go back. You aren't that person anymore, right?"

A smile lifted the edges of Revan's lips, a nod bobbing her head lightly. "Right," she croaked, brushing strands of her bangs from her face.

"Then I guess there really isn't much more to worry about with it, is there? Come on, everybody's waiting."

Everybody was waiting for them. For her. Counting on her, hoping for her, rooting for her. Letting them down, letting him down, that would break her heart. So without further ado, she reached out and grasped the metallic hilt of her lightstaber, finding solace in the fit of the handle against her fingers.


A/N: Alright guys, let me know what you think. Heads up for progression: it'll have very little to do with TOR because... well, this isn't canon Revan. Plus, I'm a bit of a romantic, truth be told. Reviews would be lovely! xox.