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Chapter one: An enigma:

Why did she have to always misunderstand the last test? Once more standing before the hooded figure that loomed so menacingly within the tomb, she was staring blankly at it, trying to see through, further from it. She was unsuccessful. The figure made a step forward, igniting its two lightsabers. She was lost in thoughts, as usual when coming to this part of the tomb. For she often came there, five times since Kreia's –Darth Traya's- death, to be precise.
- Who are you? You're not Revan, she asserted half-wittingly. Revan never walked in that stiff fashion.

It did not answer, as usual. Yet, she tried to understand, to ponder that vision of hers. Anew, she began to gaze at it, to look intently into it. Something deep inside, something that could help her in solving the problem, was missing. That something, of grave and stately meaning, was surely to remain hidden until she would be ready. Oh did she wish that she knew when! Most things depended on that when. She knew that she had little to no time now: she quickly ignited her brand new lightsaber, not of Bao-Dur's making this time, but of hers. She never hesitated. I must not stab through the face; the mask must remain intact. Emitting no sound whatsoever, the figure launched itself upon her in a flurry of robe and cape; she had barely the time, for once, to step aside. But, as usual, she defeated it with a single strike in its back, right through its heart. And, as usual, you are quick to die, Rev', but why? She stood awhile looking down on the freshly-made corpse. She gently swayed from one side to another and then resumed her habitual moves in this minutely-orchestrated duel, which, after four other occurrences, was now perfect and has become a habit.

Slowly, she stooped down, delicately posing her fingers upon the once-dreaded Sith Lord's mask and... In one incredibly discarding, gesture, she took it off and threw it away. She had lately grown tired of the same discovery made over and over. But there it was: Kreia was lifelessly looking back at her. For all the Force there is in this Galaxy and, more particulary, within this tomb, why can't I get along with you, my old Master? Ah, yes! I remember now: I threw you down Malachor's pit! She spoke outthe last words of the sentence and they were uttered loudly. She took great pleasure in doing so. The tomb gave back incomplete echoes, as though it wanted to reward her for that. "Malachor! Malachor... I threw you... pit... pit!" Music to my ears. Still, I wonder why you're haunting me in here... There is a purpose to this vision and its meaning is kept away from me: why?

This time something unusual happened, which greatly disturbed the Exile. Kreia's body disappeared all of a sudden and was replaced by that of a completely unknown woman, still breathing but with many a difficulty. Clad in a beautiful, green Jedi robe, she was, herself, very beautiful; aged perhaps thirty, she looked twenty-five and had that stern, yet appeasing, composure that Jedi Consulars have. She stood up while holding her broken right arm under the folds of her robe. Blood came from her ribs and dribbled on to the floor, shaping a dark mirror; a mirror in which only her gleaming green eyes reflected, whereas her dark brown hair hung loose on her shoulders. She seemed kind and delicate and her present situation was a pain to anyone's heart: her chest heaved with pain. Badly injured, she gave the impression of dying in a few minutes. She looked intently at the door from where the Exile came. She was expecting something; she had a role, a purpose, which was not meant for the Exile and she gave no sight of noticing her at all. After some time, the Exile, slightly bemused, asked:
- Hi, why are you here? Are you waiting for someone?
Silence fell anew in the sepulchre.
- All right then, do you hear me, at least?
Again, she showed no sign of sensing the Exile's presence.

The Exile tried to attract her attention, but nothing would do. She was immerged in her mission and would not remark anyone but the one outside, behind that door. Even physical pain (punches in her broken ribs, slaps on her cheeks, and so forth) did not make her wince. The Exile had been pondering on these strange events for some time when she heard a familiar voice screaming with horror, from what seemed to be the tomb's entry.
- Aaargh! Please, don't! Don't!
- Atton! Where in the Force's name are you, the Exile asked a bewildered whisper.
But Atton was so far away, behind so many doors. Yet, she could hear him very clearly begging; for mercy? For forgiveness? That was a complete mystery and she had to rescue her most promising apprentice before it was too late.

- I beg you, please! Don't make me choose! I don't wanna choose; I don't want to join you... No!
- You surely are in great danger, Atton... I told you not to enter this place...
He could not hear her but there it was: she had to save him before the visions drove him to madness. And off she ran!

With a flick of her hand she opened the tomb's door and discovered herself to be another vision to Atton Rand, where she, the first visit she made there, encountered a fallen Kreia whom she "stupidly" chose to help. She directly headed for the other vision, the one in which she re-enacted a piece of the Mandalorian Wars. Running through it, she quickly checked the place: everything was dead and the bodies all bore horrendous marks of mutilations... Still wondering what in her apprentice's scene was that for, she went through the formerly-shyrack-infested room and arrived just behind the closed door leading to the first vision. The door was shut tightly as if the tomb wanted him to remain sole. However, it was not enough compared to her tremendous powers and she made it explode in chunks of rocks, all rumbling down as though it had been crushed by its own weight.

There he was, begging, on his knees, breathing shortly: Atton Rand was utterly panicked. He kept screaming nonsense at the figure before him. She directed her eyes at it: Revan! He was looking down on Atton Rand, relishing his visible sufferance. She walked towards him, crouched beside, put her arms around him and made him stand up. Ignoring the vision, she began to talk to him, calmly:- So, you wanted to know what's inside, what I've been keeping away from you. You thought that could be good fun, heh? What it encloses is only pain and doubt and now you are experiencing its power on you. You feel dizzy, despaired? Fine! That's what it's made for!
Her anger was slowly building up...
- I... I wanted to accompany you, my Master, as I promised, he answered panting.
- Of course! I remember now: "to Hell and back?", she mimicked as a retort. Well you should not think I'm going to help you. You made these visions appear and all you can is to go right through the tomb 'til the end. Because, when you enter it, the way behind you closes automatically...
- Y... Yes, my Master... And I will defeat 'em, he asserted.

His spirit of combativeness had come back to him; he now fully mastered his breathing and rose swiftly. He did not know that his master had lied to him and that she could destroy the door. She was testing him. Life must strive in order to survive, she thought. It was one of the many useful lessons that Kreia taught her and to which she did not immediately take heed. Besides, his punishment for disobeying an order was instantaneous as the place was mentally torturing him, while strengthening him.
- Now, I'll be at your side, but I won't be able to help you: those are your visions. I can advise you a bit, but most of the work is for you and only you.
- I understand, Master. Let's begin!
Suddenly, through the broken bond, she heard Kreia's voice say in a cold sneer: "At last, the fool is tested." We will see, Kreia, we will see. And she focussed her attention on the first vision...