Darkness was everywhere.

She was unsure of anything in that moment. Where she was, what was happening, or even her name. There was nothing to see, no sounds to be heard, nothing to be touched. All that there was was darkness. Pure, impenetrable, and utterly beautiful darkness.

She wasn't why it was beautiful, but it didn't matter. It simply was. As time passed (seconds? years?) she began to sense complexity within the darkness, and that simply made it more wondrous. Hate, anger, lust, pain, all expressed in infinite combinations. There was love there too, twisted and contorted. And beyond that, beyond all of it, was sheer and unlimited power. More power than she'd ever known. A part of longed for it, keened for it, desired it desperately, wanting it for its own sake. But more than any of that…

Fear.

She felt afraid. The darkness was beautiful, but…terrible, at the same time. Deep within her, separate from the dark, other emotions stirred. Kindness, empathy, humour. Happiness. Love, true and pure. Against the vast darkness they were insignificant, but their presence was unavoidable nevertheless, a miniscule light. It gave contrast. With that light, she could see the dark in its true form…

…and she was terrified. Beyond fear. Beyond terror. Her very soul tore to get away from this…this thing, this awful power. It reached out to consume her, but she fled, further and further, not caring where she went. Escape seemed impossible, but she didn't care. The darkness got closer and closer, but she didn't let it touch her. Instead, with a frantic, desperate strength that she hadn't known she possessed, she began to cut herself from the dark, hammering her will between herself and the oncoming storm. She knew that the light was there too, and that genuinely was beautiful, but her terror and panic were total, consuming every fibre of her being.

Then, with a final desperate act of violence, she cut herself off from the darkness, the light, and everything else. Agony, total and complete, cupped her soul within its embrace, slashing at her heart. As Meetra waited to fall into unconsciousness, sure that the pain was too much and would inevitably end, the horrible truth hit her.

She already was unconscious.

And the pain wasn't ending.

It took three days before Meetra stopped screaming. The doctors gave her sedatives, but her subconscious Jedi conditioning and heightened metabolism countered them instantly. They tried to talk to her, but found no reply besides unintelligble screams. When her voice began to quieten, her throat damaged from overuse, they were forced to heal it. They eventually stripped her naked and put her in a kolto tank out of sheer desperation, but the screaming continued through her breath mask. When the Jedi healers came, they looked upon her with horror and left without a word.

When she eventually fell silent, they took it as a sign of hope. They fed her intravenously, put her to bed in her quarters under constant watch and waited patiently for her to wake. Then, on the fifth day, she did.

On that particular day, it was the ship's chief physician who was with her. The Saviour had taken substantial damage from the detonation of the weapon, but since all of the ship's wounded had been sent to the Fleet's hospital ships there was little for him to do besides care for the General. As the doctor read his novella, he heard the sound of her movement, and realised the General's eyes were open. Smothering his excitement he calmly and professionally checked her vitals, noted her pulse indicated consciousness, and sighed with relief.

"General? Can you hear me?"

No answer.

"General? If you can hear me, just blink. Can you blink, General?"

She did. Then she sat up abruptly. Her movements were off, almost droid-like; her expression was utterly empty. The doctor opened his mouth to say more but she merely glanced at him, and the look in her eyes kept him silent. Understanding her unspoken wish, he left.

As she dressed in her Navy uniform, Meetra didn't try to think. Thought was a bit too much to handle right now. A single face hung in her mind, a haunted and wounded man grinning. She needed to get to him.

It was a subconscious reflex that caused her to grab her lightsaber from the bedside table, and it took almost a minute to attach it to her belt. Her movements were clumsy now. Without doing anything else, she strode out into the corridor, boots clicking loudly upon the durasteel deck. Various people tried to talk to her but she ignored them. A one-armed Iridonian was particularly persistent, but left her when she got to the landing bay.

The rank on her uniform meant nobody protested when she entered a shuttle. With purely automatic movements she ran a pre-flight sequence, turned off the comm system, and launched.

A great mass of ships surrounded the Saviour. Meetra was overwhelmed for a moment, not used to the sight of so many. She flew the shuttle around the Saviour's bulk, trying to get a glimpse, and found it. The great dreadnought was closer than she'd thought. She sent a docking request through to the Coruscant's Wrath via text, and received an immediate affirmation.

The docking went quicker then she'd hoped, as did her walk through the massive warship. She'd been on the vessel once before, and knew the way. Nobody tried talking to her on this ship. The one Jedi she met on the way hurriedly changed direction upon seeing her, his handsome Rodian features distorted by disgust.

The doors to the Supreme Commander's office opened soundlessly, as she knew they would. Meetra stepped inside quickly, letting the door close behind her. He was there of course, mask on his desk, carefully reading through something on a datapad. It took him a long moment for Revan to realise he was not alone, and he looked up in astonishment.

"Meetra," he said in surprise. "I didn't sense you come in…or come aboard. I've been meaning to visit, but…" He stopped. With a confused look, he walked around his desk and stepped right up to her. They were more or less the same height, but an unconscious slouch put her beneath him, and he looked down at her with outright shock. "Stars…Malak told me, but I didn't…" he stopped again. Gently he placed a hand under her cheek and raised her face, looking deep into her eyes. "Meetra…you were so beautiful."

The words provoked a response within her. Shame. It was a timid burn compared to the last few days, but it hurt all the same. Revan must've seen, or sensed, her thoughts, and he shook his head. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "Damn it. Every Jedi who was there turned, every single bloody one but you. Instead you…you…" he shook with silent fury, and lowered his hand into a clenched fist. "I should never have made you give the order. Malak could've done it, it wouldn't have…he wouldn't have been broken."

Another feeling came now. Weakness. She felt unworthy. It was odd, really. Without the Force, Revan seemed…wrong. Enthused with power and authority, certainly, but lacking the merciless compassion he'd always borne. He seemed unworthy too, compared to her memories, but maybe that was normal. Maybe that was what he looked like to the Force-blind. Maybe it was just her, having lost it.

Shaking his head, Revan stepped back. "I'm taking the fleet into the Unknown Regions to…to hunt down the last Mandalorians. A few escaped. You…you could come with me, but-"

"I'm going back to Coruscant," Meetra said for the first time. Her voice sounded thin and reedy. "Going to face the Council. I did it. I have to pay for it."

"You've already paid enough," he said in reply. There was no sympathy in his tone, though, or his eyes. His yellow eyes. "Too much. I could've used you. It's…a great shame. But maybe the Council can help you." His eyes gave lie to the words. They both knew that this was far beyond the Council's ability to heal, probably beyond anyone's. "Captain Nao is being transferred to my ship. I'll give you somebody competent to replace her for the trip home. You'll lead a flotilla back to the Republic with all of our wounded and damaged ships. Admiral Jendor'tau and General Jinn will be there to help with the day to day tasks of running the flotilla until you get back to the Core Worlds."

His words were short, sharp, and efficient. Something about them, or maybe his tone, sounded strange. Like he was disappointed. Disgusted. Ashamed. Meetra felt the words hit, but at this point, there was nothing left to injure.

With one last searching look, Revan turned and returned to his work. Knowing a dismissal when she saw one, Meetra turned to leave, and so nearly missed his parting words. "You were a great Jedi once," he whispered, almost to himself. "A great woman...a great friend. Goodbye."