This is how you fall:
Very slowly, in the dim light of the ship, with nothing but your reflection looking back at you.
You don't remember your parents. You don't remember where you were born. You don't remember anything before the Jedi, who had took you in and given you a home and a purpose. It's hard, even, to remember anything before Yuon came and greeted you and make you felt like the sun shined with your own smile, like the rain fell with your own tears. You don't remember anything before you were powerful.
And you are powerful. You are sure of it. You redeemed a dead Dark Lord, and defeated a Sith Apprentice.
But you will never be powerful enough.
The Grand Master of the Council was beautiful and collected, miles away from the shaking thing you are. She was strong and powerful and wise, and had looked you straight in the eye, and had said, "We will remember your sacrifice."
There was another Jedi like you, once upon a time. He was probably strong and powerful, brave and collected. He probably had parents he never would remember, children he never met, loves he could never touch. He was probably beautiful and collected, strong and powerful and wise, and he had probably died while still being that way.
You want to die like that. Instead of dying a miserable, shaking thing that cries in to her bedsheets at night.
You don't know how much you trust Qyzen, but in honor of your master, you try to communicate. You look at him, and he looks down with eyes that seem wiser then your own. "Herald will not die," he says. "Herald is trained by Yuon. Is strong."
But every bit of your strength and power will be given to someone else, and nothing else will be left behind.
Time is a funny thing. When you were a child, you had wanted to be a Keeper of the Archives, of sorts. You think of the noetikon, and how you could have spend centuries studying them, if you had lived to see a century pass you by. But the Force had guided you to the Font of Rajivari, and ever deeper in to adventure and mystery. You would never think to fight the force.
(Still, you think- what if, I had a lifetime to research secrets and dance in knowledge, rather then a lifetime that can only be spent in the chasing of others.)
"We will remember your sacrifice."
You fight battles as a member of the Corosaunt Aegis, and you collect flowers and archeology finds with Qyzen at your side. You laugh, you smile, you make promises, you use your skills, over and over and over.
Soon there will be nothing left to lose.
It had been an easy decision, to heal Yuon Par. Yuon is your Master, a guide, someone who found promise in you where no one else had and had guided you on your journey to find and defeat Nalan and save Tython and the pilgrams. It is not an easy decision, to decide to heal every other Jedi you find who suffers from her illness.
They did not find promise in you. They did not guide you.
But you will heal them, because the grandmaster promised that, when all falls, you will be remembered.
Qyzen will remember you too, you think, and that makes you grateful. You feel a tie between you and Trandoshan, as strange as he is to your eyes. He will think of you at times, and mourn the passing of his Herald, and that gives you a measure of strength.
But it isn't enough.
The Jedi Order will remember you. Qyzen will remember you. But who else will?
Not the Republic. Not the Empire. Not the thousands of beings who live and breathe, walking the worlds with all assurance that they will survive tomorrow and not die shielding people they never have met from a disease they cannot touch. So many people, so deaf to the Force. They will never remember your sacrifice.
So why should you remember them?
You ask Qyzen, once, why he had disapproved of you giving credits to small children living off of a broken hydrosupply. He had been surprised by your question, thinking the answer obvious, but he had tried to explain, "Small hunters should gather blasters. Techstaff. Find the gangsters, fight them. Take water for themselves."
"It would be easier," you admit, "if everyone protected themselves, and relied on themselves."
Qyzen nods, but hesitates a bit. "The weak- it's bad to be weak. But weak should be protected by the strong."
"But Qyzen," you say, "no one is truly weak. Each of us has our own strength."
And Qyzen nods, and you think you understand.
Your reflection in your cockpit is filled with stars, shining bright while you shine dim and cold, slowly dying of a curse that will never heal. But you like your reflection, and stare at it wonder. You imagine yourself filled with a million stars, stronger then anything, stronger then everyone. You imagine yourself curing diseases with a wave of your hand a small smile.
But you are not full of stars.
You creep back to your bed, careful not to make your shipmate, and you sit in lotus position and think of the future that awaits you. You will meet Masters of the Jedi Order, driven mad by a dark side disease no one can touch. And you will cure them.
And you will do nothing else.
Qyzen will remember you. The Jedi will remember you.
And to everyone else, you will be another corpse.
"I will fight only for myself," you whisper to yourself. "I will save the Jedi Order, and I will be remembered. And to the galaxy that will only forget me, I will say my goodbyes and leave it in my trails."
No more giving money to dying children. No more rescuing babies and lost Twi'leks. No more fighting, for any cause but the Jedi-
And yourself. Always yourself.
You crawl under the covers, and for the first time in a long time, feel at peace with yourself.