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Yellow
LSF Revan
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She was in a field, surrounded by tall yellow grass as far as the eye could see. A datapad rested at her left and a lightsaber at her right, but she was ignoring both of these objects. When she laid back, stretching out on the ground, he could hear the crackle of the brittle grass breaking beneath her. The stalks caught strands of dark hair that hung loose around her. Her eyes fluttered shut, and he was quite sure that he had never seen anything so beautiful.
For what seemed an eternity, she lay there. Then, she got up, picking up the lightsaber. When she ignited it, its golden light matched the fierce glow of her eyes. He watched her go through the basic forms. Every move was graceful. The forms were simple and each movement was flawless. It was their dance, he remembered. Dueling back and forth, the give and take, win and lose, leading and following, weaving in and out just as she used to braid the long stalks of grass into little knots. An old habit from growing up on a farm, she had told him.
He thought of the days when they would sit in the middle of the plains and she would weave knots as they discussed their lessons. Love knots, she had called them. She tried to teach him once, but it was one thing he could not learn easily. He had claimed that his larger fingers weren't as agile as her tiny ones, but she had rolled her eyes and insisted that it wasn't lack of dexterity but lack of patience and attention that hindered him.
The yellow lightsaber whirled through the air, occasionally slicing through the golden grass waving gently in the wind. She pulled out of the basic form and began to execute more complicated forms. He smiled as he watched, but then, it seemed to him that the yellow lightsaber clashed with a red one, and suddenly, she shifted before his eyes into a robed, masked figure of red and black. The Jedi with the yellow lightsaber advanced, slicing into her side. She shrieked in pain, and then, everything exploded in a flash of yellow and white.
Malak bolted awake in his chambers aboard the Leviathan. The memories were still strong. He would overcome them yet; it was not a weakness he could tolerate. The Revan that haunted his dreams had died even before the Jedi had come to kill her, when the need to save the Republic and fall into the darkness had consumed her. It was not fitting, to think of her as a woman lying in a field of dying plants, still trusting the wisdom of those who would later betray her.
He needed something on which to focus the fury that filled him whenever he thought of her. Perhaps the pursuit of Bastila would be the diversion he needed. It would be so fulfilling to take her, to twist and torture her and make her suffer for what she had done to Revan, and to him. His agents had brought him rumors that Bastila had acquired a force-sensitive follower recently. It did explain how she escaped Taris against all odds. This acolyte seemed to be a challenge worthy of his notice, or at least would be once she was trained as a proper Jedi. Then he would break them both. The Dark Lord of the Sith would have smiled to himself, had he had a mouth with which to smile.