Part 1

"This is not my life; this is not our life. Every day I die. This is not my life."

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Bastila awoke covered in cold sweat, panting with dread, with terror; crying in shame. Outside her bedroom, the wilderness of Dantooine was still gripped firmly in the night's clutches, the cold light of the moon shining through the window and falling over her and her husband Calum, who lay asleep beside her. She wondered if he was sleeping peacefully, or if, like her, he was the helpless prisoner of a terrible memory.

The simple house around her was a way's off from the wreckage of the Jedi Academy. She and Calum wanted nothing more to do with the Jedi, and had bought the house from one Ahlan Matale, who had once used it as a personal retreat. Now she and Calum lived in blissful isolation, no more obligations, strangling duties, or calls to selfless sacrifice by the Jedi, the Republic, or anything.

It had been six months since the destruction of the Star Forge, six months of such simple joy being with the man she loved and being allowed to express their feelings toward one another. There was no more Jedi Code telling her she had no right to the yearnings of her heart, no more Masters whispering constantly in her ear to sacrifice what she had, what she'd worked and striven for, to a greater good that only grew ever distant. There was no more Malak.

But as heavenly as the isolation was, despite the breathtaking beauty of the wilderness in which she and Calum now lived, natural wonders she had never taken the time to appreciate in her endless quest to sacrifice in order to help others, despite all joys she and her new husband could share with each other, there was no escaping the things she'd done. Night was the longest time of the day. Each night, after a magical time in the sun where nothing seemed to matter but her and Calum, the memories would return with a vengeance that left her like she was now; terrified, helplessly ashamed, and relieved at the same time.

Calum's love for her, and hers for him, had brought her back from the brink of madness on the Star Forge, but she could never forget what she'd done to him. Every cruel word, vile promise, and despicable deed played over in her head as she slept, interposed in her nightmares by the shadow of pain from Malak's unrelenting torture. She couldn't try to tell herself that he'd just driven her mad, that he'd infected her with some otherworldly presence that dissolved her ability to think; she'd made the conscious choice to submit to him. She was responsible for her own actions.

Memories of the unspeakable horrors inflicted on her by Malak constricted her throat with the recollection of the unendurable agony, and only made her feel worse for everything she'd done for that man. She would have done anything for Malak to spare herself that pain again, and the things she'd done made her sick to her stomach.

When Calum confronted her at the pinnacle of the temple on Lehon, she spat his concern for her back into his face, she made him responsible for what had happened to her, scorned his confession of love for her. And then she tried to kill him. She tried with everything she had--or at least, she thought she did. She knew he was holding back, that he couldn't bring himself to commit to the unthinkable, and that only enraged her more. She would have preferred death by his hands than having to face Malak again, but at the same time, she recognized, deep within herself, that there was no way she could kill him.

When they met again on the Star Forge, he refused to fight her. Calum told her that she alone had the choice, whether she would continue to be the slave to Darth Malak and live a life of crippling fear broken only by bouts of unimaginable suffering, or if she would take her own life back, wholly and fully, and reject the path of misery and suffering before her. He begged her to cast off the chains she had put around herself. He forced her to see with clarity, for the first time in her entire life, that it was not evil to wish for happiness for herself.

Bastila's tears ran fresh at that memory. She watched Calum beside her, watched his chest rise and fall rhythmically with each breath, and sobbed into her pillow.


Even in the depths of dreamless slumber, Calum could sense the disturbance. Groping forward, like pushing against a wall of cobwebs, he reached for the surface of his consciousness and broke through into wakefulness. He could tell without even opening his eyes that it was still hours before dawn. The bed was warm around him, the comforting folds of the blankets beckoning him to return to sweet oblivion, especially considering the cool air in the room making a strong case for staying within the warmth provided by the soft bedding and the person next to him.

She wasn't asleep. From the way the mattress felt under him, Calum could tell Bastila was awake and sitting up. He opened his eyes and, resisting the alluring temptation of settling back down and returning to sleep, raised his body off the bed, sitting up next to his wife. In the effervescent sparkle of the moon and starlight, he was struck yet again by how beautiful she was with her dark hair freed from its tight updo and falling all around her angelic face.

That perfect face was stained by tears in the moonlight.

He didn't know exactly what had her so upset - though it was not hard for him to guess - but it didn't matter to him, only comforting her did. Circling an arm around her, he pulled her close to him and laid her head on his shoulder, sheltering her, letting her cry against him. She eagerly clutched to him.

"Oh, Calum, I'm so sorry," she cried quietly.

"Shh," he soothed. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I'm sorry," she sobbed again.

"Hush, it's okay." He held her tightly as she kept crying. He knew this wasn't simply agony over what she'd done to him--even though she may have thought it. That was merely the catalyst. No, this was a lifetime of heartbreak and suppressed feelings coming to the surface and exorcising itself. Her brief life before the Jedi had been one of constant travel, homes uprooted one after another, with one parent too busy with his own quest for glory and the other choosing, instead of showing her daughter motherly love in spite of the hardship, to send her away to "a better life".

Under the Jedi, things had been little different for her, emotionally. Bastila had spent the most part of her life with no other choice than to turn inward for comfort while those around her told her she had no right to want comfort. Now, that was all coming out.

For the longest time he simply held her, letting her cry herself out until she fell asleep in his arms.

As he lay back down, Calum found that he no longer felt like sleeping. Lying awake, he thought about his decision to leave the Jedi Order with Bastila, thought about marrying her. He had no regrets. There was simply no way he or Bastila could have continued on in the Order, forbidden to love each other by the foundational doctrines of the Jedi. Returning from the Star Forge, love was all he and Bastila had left. Without each other, neither could cope with the things they'd done.

At least Bastila had not killed anyone, but even still the memory of the things she'd done to him tormented her. Calum's former actions had known no such restraint or limit, and day by day, night by night, they crystallized ever clearer in his mind. Memories of things that made him sick returned to him, often in uncontrollable storms, flashing through his mind as if to say that they were there and would never leave him alone.

The Jedi had counted on this, banking everything on the hope that his memories could be sifted for answers to the dilemma they were facing, information that would help them locate the Star Forge so it could be destroyed and the scales again tipped in their favor.

Most of his memories had nothing to do with the Star Forge.

It seemed they had given no thought as to what their plan would do to him as a person. He would never have wished to have back the things he saw, but it was seen by the Jedi Masters as a necessary sacrifice. They were prepared to torture him - body, mind, and soul - if that was what it took for him to lead them to the Star Forge. They had succeeded, and now that their task for him was done, they had no further use for him. His purpose was fulfilled, but the storm of his emergent past continued to rage unabated.

He was no longer allowed to simply be Calum Jan, a colonial draftee into the Republic Army. He now had to be both the Jedi Revan and Darth Revan as well, had to hold himself to the moral standards of the Jedi while living with the ever-increasing recollection of the horrors he'd been party to as the Lord Darth--a man who still lurked in his mind.

Calum realized he was shaking. Not wanting to wake Bastila, he slipped out of bed and absently pulled on his pants as he went to the single window to stare out into the nightside wilderness.

The memories flashed by faster than he could follow, impervious to his feeble attempts to stop what could not be stopped. He was inundated by horror and revulsion at everything he saw. Pressing his palms to his face could not block out the images that assaulted him from within, forcing themselves into his consciousness in no particular order or pattern.

He walked with Malak through the halls of the Star Forge, feeling the power of hatred echoing past them...

Expectant faces looked at him, as if he were able to single-handedly halt the onrushing thousands of the Mandalorian army. All he could do was tell them the truth; that likely none of them would survive...

A camp littered with dead, smoking corpses met his eyes. They had not died by the Mandalorians, but by a weapon of their own design gone out of control...

Sith torturers worked their brutal profession on a Jedi Knight while he stalked in the shadows, observing the obscene proceedings...

Warm blood splashed his face, he couldn't tell which of the dying traitors it had come from...

He had given the order, the world below would burn...

A hissing cry escaped his throat as Calum clenched his fists against the horror. The images were too intense, too real--they always were. Tears of futility dampened his hands. How was he expected to live like this?

Grimly, he reminded himself that perhaps he deserved it all, that the mercy of the Jedi might have been the worst possible punishment for him, for the things he'd done.

But whether by accident or design, he was a different person now, they'd made him into a different person. The man named Calum Jan was being made to suffer for Revan's sins, and the Jedi didn't care. After all, it was by their mercy that he was not executed for those crimes.

It was senseless!

Crying in silence by the window, Calum didn't notice Bastila getting up and approaching him softly until he felt her hand on his shoulder. He grasped at that hand like a lifeline, and felt the pressure of her squeeze in reply like a gift of inner strength. Drawing close to him, she laid her head against his neck to let him know he wasn't alone.

Eagerly, desperately, he clutched at her presence as the only thing able to make the shadows flee from his mind. She completed him, her love and her presence made everything better, brightened his world even at the darkest of times. She made the cold truth of reality bearable.

He couldn't imagine how he'd managed in life without her.

It was a while later when Calum realized he'd stopped crying. All the time, Bastila never said anything, just held him as he'd done for her. No words were necessary for either of them to understand the pain they both went through during the night.

He managed a small smile for her.

"The visions again?" she asked in a voice just barely above a whisper.

Calum nodded, not trusting his voice to speak.

"Come," she whispered, "you should get some sleep."


He walked among thousands of white figures, feeling a cold mask over his face. The teeming masses around him looked identical to one another, and he realized he must have fit right in, without a distinguishing feature to tell him apart from those surrounding him. He was not a person, just a faceless fragment of the greater whole, a soulless drone.

At once, the thousands in the square dropped to their knees and touched the foreheads of their featureless white masks to the ground. He followed out of instinct, knowing failure to conform to the whole was a crime that would bring about his swift death. Words were chanted that he could not understand, and everyone lifted their heads in unison to behold a figure who stood before them on a balcony overlooking the square.

When he looked up, all he could see was the death scream of a planet full of life, a world torn apart with thundering violence. He felt the very fabric of life tearing around him, pain reverberating through the Force itself. There was an echo, traveling the rim of the galaxy, extinguishing life as it passed and remained in perpetuity, an endless death.

His eyes were blinded by a harsh flash of light reflecting off a polished silver hull. He saw giant ships passing through the dead space. Thousands upon thousands of them. They filled the skies of a hundred worlds, their fury reduced cities to ash, hills to glass, and they brought forth millions of white, faceless soldiers to enslave those who survived.

He saw them assemble innocent civilians into lines that stretched from horizon to horizon and execute them by the hundreds of thousands. With each death, he felt the Force grow weaker.

High in the sky, the sun was fierce as it shone down on the killing fields. He turned his eyes toward it, preferring blindness to the sight of so much innocent blood.

Calum flinched at the morning light in his eyes that pulled him from his dreamworld. It shone with rebellious irreverence into him and Bastila's bedroom, a stern ray shining straight in his face. The light was a welcome relief from the troubles of the night.

Her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder and neck, Bastila awoke from her light sleep when Calum put up a hand to block the harsh sunlight from his sleep-fogged eyes. She yawned slightly, cast a glance out the window.

"Beautiful morning," she muttered into Calum's ear.

He smiled a little. "Yes, it is. It came right on schedule."

She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "It always does, Calum."

He was grateful for the sun's timeliness, every morning it helped pull him out of his constant nighttime misery. In morning's light it was easier to forget everything he remembered, or thought he did, about Darth Revan and who he knew he really was. The light helped him forget, but only Bastila could help him understand.

As he lay in bed beside his wife, Calum started to realize what he had to do.

"Bastila," he whispered. "I have to leave."


In shock, Bastila sat up in the bed and gaped at her husband. She knew the returning memories of his past life had been bringing him pain she could only taste and never fully appreciate, but she'd never considered it might take him from her. She couldn't imagine him leaving, shivered at the very thought.

A feeble "Why?" was all she could manage at first.

By his pained expression, she knew it was just as hard, if not harder, for him to say it as it was for her to hear him saying it. Calum sighed deeply as he laid his head back on the pillow

"Please don't think this means I don't love you. I do, Bastila, always. And if I thought I could find a reason to believe I'm mistaken, I wouldn't ask this of you."

Swallowing, Bastila regained control over her voice. "Just tell me, Calum."

He closed his eyes and put a hand to his temples. "It used to only be Revan that caused me grief. The Force knows everything I remember I want to forget, and it seems every new memory is only more horrible and terrifying than the last.

"I hate remembering those things. But I do realize that they are a part of me, and only if I can come to terms with them will I ever be able to find true peace. So, in a way, I am glad to receive them even for all the misery those memories cause me. And more than anything, you make it possible for me live with myself. If I didn't have you, I might not be able to deal with the things I see in my dreams."

Bastila blinked back a tear as Calum continued.

"The past two weeks have been different for me, Bastila. It's not just Revan anymore; I have visions I can't understand but that I somehow know are connected to what's happening to me. It's getting harder for me to separate my dreams and visions from reality, and I'm being overwhelmed with an inexplicable sense of comprehension without understanding.

"I see people without faces dressed in white, bowing by the millions under willing slavery, and those same teeming numbers pouring forth to exterminate the Force. This vision is connected to me in ways I can't fathom but Revan understood. He's trying to tell me something, trying to claw his way out from the veil in my mind he was sealed behind, and everything he shows me only gets more intense.

"I don't have the answer to what's happening to me, and Revan can't give it to me. All his attempts have done is drive me further into a misery that drags you down with it. So I have to seek the answer on my own. I can't keep inflicting my troubles on you and Juhani. It's unfair to both of you.

"Somewhere out there is an answer, the truth behind the lies. I have to find it or I will die. And I can't take anyone with me, or they will share in my fate. Bastila, I can't do that to you; I have to know you'll be here, alive and waiting for me when I can return. You're the only thing that lets me continue on."

Bastila sat still for a moment, absorbing Calum's words. She was quite a while in forming her response.

"Calum, I know how hard it can be for you at night. I know only a fraction of the pain your memories must cause you, and the strength you must have to deal with them." She leaned down on the bed to touch her hand to Calum's face. "Both we both know that neither of us can muster the will to continue but from the other. Calum, that's why we married; because we knew neither could live without the other."

"But Bastila, I can't--" She put a finger to his lips when he tried to protest.

"Calum, don't ever say that you bring your troubles on me. You don't. It is because of you I was saved from the Dark Side, and because of your forgiveness I can live with the things I've done. And if anyone has brought troubles on someone, it is I who have done so, because I alone bear responsibility for burying your mind. I know you've forgiven me, but I will never forgive myself for what we did to you.

"I owe you, Calum. You do not owe me. I will not leave your side."

"But if something happens to me," Calum whispered, "I have to know you're safe."

"I can think of no place I could be safer, than with you." She slid back on the bed to lie beside him, grasped his hand. "Maybe we'll let Juhani come with us. She would make sure of it."

A smile came to Calum's face. "Besides," he said, "even I don't let her, she'll follow me anyway."

Bastila giggled at the thought. She certainly would.

Juhani had followed them for days after their honeymoon, so she would be around to protect the both of them. Three days into their solitude on the plains of Dantooine, the Cathar was forced to reveal herself to them when she caught and killed three Sith assassins in their home. Calum had been speechless with gratitude, and Bastila invited her to stay with them. Juhani had kept them company ever since.

"I'm sorry, Bastila, you're right. I honestly don't know what I'd do without you."

He kissed her then; passionately, desperately. She sighed against the feel of his lips, his warm body pressed against hers.

There would be time to leave later. But for a few minutes neither of them worried about what lay ahead. For a few minutes they had each other, and that was all that mattered.

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End Part 1


The quote at the beginning is taken from the Demon Hunter song "Summer Of Darkness".