She doesn't realize that she has the parts necessary for a lightsaber at first. She's too caught up in the roar of battle (of defense, of where are my crew and what have you done to them you schutta) to need anything less than her full concentration to pull her back from slaughtering Visas when she falls.
Later, once she's calmed down enough to do the right thing without voicing what it is she'd like to do, when she was able to explain why it was right to the Disciple, the broken hilt of Visas' lightsaber rolled from her grasp onto the floor, and she realized that the emitter was still intact.
It takes some tinkering with Bao'Dur's help, but at the end of the day she has it in her hands: silver double-blades, as her old weapon had been. With her haul from the crystal caves and some work at the bench, she can even upgrade it fully.
When the militia sees it, they rally, suddenly hopeful and proud; when the mercenaries see it, they grow grim, and fall.
She feels herself again. It's very odd, because she had thought she'd forgotten how to be Rashti Sutailja.
She leaves Vrook one lightsaber richer, and having managed not to snap at him too much. The latter mostly leaves her feeling unsatisfied, and the way things seem to be working lately that's something she'll work out with Atton behind closed doors.
The lightsaber, however, goes to Visas.
"I figure I owe you one," Rashti tells her, as she holds it out. "I'm afraid it's not a single blade, like your old one, but it's yours if you want it."
Visas still looks a little like a recently-liberated POW, so it doesn't surprise her when the reply is "My life for yours." She can imagine, all too easily, a place where that was the only safe response to give.
"I will never ask that of you," she says, and it's true. Kreia's words echo in her skull, but she will never ask Visas to sacrifice her life purely for her own sake. Whether it would be the necessary price for defeating her old Master is another matter entirely. "I will, however, ask you to fight with me."
Visas takes the weapon from her, and there was the familiar click-whoosh of activation, and the blades' violet glow warmed the room. "I'll stand with you, Exile."
She gets to know Disciple a little over the course of the trip to Nar Shadaa, and by the time they land, she's taken to calling him Mical, and promised to train him in the ways of the Jedi Counselor. It had surprised her to find that he wanted to wield a double-bladed weapon, but seeing as that's apparently the only type left in the galaxy, it ends up being convenient.
She's lived too long and in spite of too much to really hold much stock in convenient.
"Think carefully," Rashti advises him. "In battle, a lightsaber is an extension of yourself, a symbol of hope to your allies and despair to your enemies. Are you sure you're not asking for a double-bladed weapon simply because I wield one?"
"I am certain," Mical replies. She doesn't hear much truth in it, but in the ends it is Mical's decision, and the consequences will be his to live with as well. So she merely nods, and supervises as he sets the green crystal in place.
She likes to tell herself that she'd mastered all the anger Atton's confession had inspired in her when she opened him to the Force. This is a lie; the sort of lie you know is a lie, but believe and act as though it is the truth, because the alternative is too painful.
Rashti is very skilled with that kind of lie.
Atton probably knows it's a lie too, but she's never spoken it out loud, and he's never called her on it, so it lays between them, one of the arsenal of mutually assured destruction they've been building since they escaped Peragus together.
As an apology, she brings him the next lightsaber they find: a single one, this time.
"So what color are you thinking of?" she asked. "Yellow is traditionally the color of a Sentinel, but somehow you don't strike me as a very traditional guy."
"No you think?" Atton asked, holding the hilt an arm's length away from his body, as though it might suddenly attack. She'll have to cure him of that, but later. "How about orange? Do we have any orange?"
They do. She gives him the same speech about the importance of choosing his weapon as he sets the crystal into the hilt, and he doesn't give her nearly as much flak as she had expected during it. He fights with an Echani vibrosword in his off hand for a while, before they finally amass enough lightsabers for him to wield twin blades.
Kreia doesn't want her teach the Handmaiden the ways of the Jedi, and she can see where her concerns come from. Handmaiden is bound to Atris, in some ways even deeper than she is bound to Kreia, as Visas was once bound to her Master, because it was by choice. But Rashti holds no respect towards Atris and little regard for her teachings, and the choice between honoring Jedi who horde information at the expense of mounting a defense and defying that one she never regretted making.
Her request for a double-bladed weapon didn't surprise Rashti in the slightest. They way she continually changed the focusing crystal did. She watched over the younger woman's shoulder as she slots in crystal after crystal, twirling the blade experimentally before shaking her head and returning to the workbench. Finally, she settles on cyan.
It fit her so well, Rashti wondered why it never occurred to her before that that was what she wanted.
She wouldn't have expected a hidden Mandalorian camp to be a place to inspire Bao'Dur to the Force, but unexpected is her life now, so she isn't all that surprised when it happens anyway.
"I think I'll stick with the classic approach," he jokes. "One single blade with a blue focusing crystal."
"You aren't going to customize it to shoot lightning or something?" Rashti asks.
"Teach me how to make it spring from my fingertips first, and then we'll talk," he replies.
Mira is more than willing to become a Jedi, and Rashti is more than willing to teach her: it's impressive, how good she is, completely without the benefit of the structured environments Handmaiden and Mical had at their disposal.
What they disagree on is the necessity of lightsabers.
"Look, I'm already better than good with a blaster and my wristlauncher," Mira argues. "Why would I let those skills stagnate?"
"I'm not saying you should let those skills stagnate," Rashti says quickly, because Mira's words echo Atton's and Kreia's too closely for her comfort. "But blasters and grenades are a liability in close combat."
"I've gotten pretty good at shooting things up close," Mira informs her, sounding slightly insulted.
"I'm not saying you don't," she placates. "But you should have a melee weapon on you just in case. And a lightsaber is about as good a melee weapon as you could name."
Mira still looks unconvinced, so Rashti continued. "I'll give you the same light drilling I give Mical, and teach you how to deflect blaster bolts with your hands. Sound good to you?"
"Fine," Mira says, and takes the lightsaber. She keeps it as it is: a single blade, with a yellow crystal, and uses it only sparingly.
Rashti does appreciate Kreia's counsel, she really does, but she doesn't trust her actions. She strikes the balance by conferring with her often, but only rarely asking her to come along as she searches the galaxy for answers and Jedi and maybe a little hope. As a result, Kreia leaves the ship rarely, and is the last to receive a lightsaber.
"I do apologize for the lateness, but we have a glut of double-bladed weapons, and I felt the need to arm my students first," she says.
Kreia doesn't comment, but merely takes the weapon from her hands and activates it. The bronze glow it casts looks remarkably like evening sunlight as it hits to bulkheads.
"Atton brought it back with him from Dxun," Rashti tells her. "It belonged to Freedon Nadd."
"A Sith's weapon," Kreia remarks.
"Yes," she replies. "I suppose it is."
The blade sizzles into nothingness. "We must go to Datooine, to the Enclave. There will be something you must hear, if you are to understand," Kreia announces, turning away. "I have no time for questions- and any answers will have to wait until we stand within the Enclave together."
Rashti nods, just once, and leaves, the feel of an ambush closing in creeping up her back.
It's a good thing she's well-armed; and even better that she's not alone.