Chapter 11
With Despair Comes Hope
"Fine, Vitiate…you win…"
Clara felt her heart falling to unimaginable depths as she uttered those words, all traces of hope having now left her. She hung her head in shame, and began to divulge and admit to the Emperor in all that she knew of Nyriss's plan: that it had been a design months in the making, and with the co-operation of a number of other Sith Lords on the Dark Council. Not a single detail about her own role was left hidden – Clara wished to do everything she could to save Teela from a grim fate.
"Interesting…" the Emperor tilted his head slightly, sensing the sincerity behind Clara's words as she knelt before him in an emotional wreck.
"Do as you want with us, my lord," Clara uttered, her tears falling onto the cold floor. "Just let Teela go…"
"Clara…you can't," Revan insisted, squeezing her hand. "Not now. We're so close…the fate of the entire galaxy is at stake."
"No, Revan. It is…over," Clara reluctantly admitted. "The Emperor has won. I…no longer have…the strength…to go on…"
"Very well, Clara. You have fulfilled your task," the Emperor obliged her, ignoring her brief exchange with Revan, and then spoke to his guards who held Teela captive. "You may…release her…"
Clara's eyes swelled up in horror and she held an outstretched hand to Teela, who was brutally stabbed through the heart by one of the guards who restrained her. Her breath fading, she crumpled forward onto the surface, looking mournfully at Clara for the last time.
"…My…sister…," Teela whispered, and her eyes slowly closed forever.
"Nooo!" Clara exploded in a sudden fit of newfound rage and energy, bounding to her feet and clenching her fists in pure anger. The very foundations around her seemed to rattle and shake, indicative of the fury that lay within her. "You…," she growled at the Emperor with hateful eyes. "You promised me that you'd let her live. You…you insufferable bastard!" she screamed, blasting a wave of potent Force energy at both him and Scourge. The two Sith, prepared for another attack, firmly stood their ground, Scourge protecting himself with his hand held in front of him while the Emperor did not make any noticeable physical movement of his own.
The attack subsiding, the wall behind the Emperor's throne was left with cracks and fractures, several rocks crumbling onto the floor and the two arched windows completely shattered. Clara wilted and wavered, her last attack taking from her what little energy she had remaining.
Watching a small piece of the left arm of his throne splinter and drop away, Vitiate let out a low grown and rose to approach her.
"Mercy is not the way of the Sith, Clara. Are you not well-aware of that fact?" he hissed, walking slowly towards her. "Mercy leads to weakness; weakness to cowardice; and cowardice…to death." He shot a deadly barrage of Force Lightning at the weakened Clara who was unable to put up the slightest resistance against the force of his power. She fell onto her back, screaming, writhing and rolling violently in a curled ball of pain before finally losing consciousness.
"You…you snake," Revan growled at him and knelt down to take Clara up in his arms. "You will pay for this…You will pay."
"Then I eagerly await whatever action you will personally take out upon me at this very moment, Revan," the Emperor snidely remarked, sensing that Revan knew that his own power was nowhere near sufficient enough to face a being as powerful as he.
"If I am to die here, then I accept that fate," Revan said, standing up and taking out his lightsaber after feeling a pulse of life still remained within Clara. "I will not let you kill Clara the way you did her servant."
"My dear Revan…there is no need for you to raise your blade against me," the Emperor smirked and shook his head. "Whoever said that I wanted to kill either of you? No. I have…plans for both of you, and you shall see it soon enough."
"My answer remains unchanged: you shall not harm her, and you shall not overcome my will as you had in the past."
"You overestimate your abilities, Jedi," Vitiate scowled, raising his hands towards Revan. "You became a puppet of my will once before, and you shall be so again…"
His lightsaber clattering onto the floor, Revan's hands flew up to his head which felt as if it was imploding under searing pain. He twisted and turned about in horrendous agony, every inch of his being aching with the sensation of a thousand steel blades piercing viciously into his skin.
No, Revan thought, I will not be overcome. Not like this. Bastila…and my child…I fight for you. I shall not be overcome.
A new wave of strength surged throughout Revan, who began a tremendous inner resistance against the powers of the Emperor which sought to dominate his will and turn him into a mere puppet to use against the Republic. The Emperor himself was astounded by Revan's show of force; none had ever managed to resist the full brunt of his powers since millennia ago.
But as always, the Emperor had a cunning mind. Seeing that Revan was giving his all in resisting his mind-controlling abilities, he tried a different approach: he would meanwhile probe Revan's mind to find the source of the strength which powered his fierce mental defences. Vitiate could soon feel that he was closing in on identifying that which he wanted to know about, but the well-disciplined Revan soon caught on to this creeping emotion before Vitiate could find out about his wife and child, barely managing to divert his attention with a short jolt of Force Lightning which Vitiate was compelled to deflect. Scourge simply looked on, impressed and in awe of Revan's remarkable resistance to the powers of what could possibly be the most powerful being in the universe.
"You…you dare defy my will?" Vitiate fumed at Revan, who began to mockingly laugh at him.
"You have a knack for stating the obvious, I see," Revan grinned back.
"Silence, worm!" Vitiate cried in a shrivelled shriek, instantly trapping Revan in another Force Stasis.
"I should have known," Revan berated himself with a sigh.
The Emperor grunted at him. "When she awakens, tell her thusly: Nyriss is dead, as are all other members of my Council, with the exception of Lord Scourge who has proven his loyalty. A new Council will soon be formed once more – one that is completely loyal to me, as it had been in the past. And whether it is by your own will or not, the two of you will also serve me accordingly. It is inevitable."
"Dream on," Revan laughed weakly, then lost consciousness, his pain and fatigue finally getting to him as it did to Clara.
"Take them both away immediately to the tower," Vitiate quickly ordered his guards, the tone of his voice all too easily giving away his insecurity at having being fought to a standstill by Revan. "Torture and interrogate both of them until he speaks the truth about why he has returned, as well as any and all useful intelligence about the Republic's defences." He then stared down at the bloodied and lifeless bodies of Hern and Teela. "And clean up this…filth…"
-o-
Revan woke hours later, to the familiar feeling of Force-suppressing cuffs around his wrists. But unlike the darkness of the torture chamber of Clara's Sith shuttle, he was showered by a blinding light which shone from all directions. His eyes finally adjusting themselves to the relentless barrage, his vision improved as he saw Clara shackled opposite to him, her wrists and ankles shackled against a steel board by both cuffs and metal chains. He looked down to see that his own feet were similarly bound.
Turning his head slowly from side to side to observe his confines, Revan saw absolutely no means of escape; only steel walls and blinding flashes of light surrounded him. There was a small, three-tiered iron bench situated next to him, containing torture tools of all varieties; from drug-filled syringes and modern automated utensils to simple knives, irons and antique devices. Even the board he was bound against was fitted with a console on its right side; for what functions, Revan did not want to know.
"Clara…Clara, wake up," he whispered out to her. His voice reaching her ears, Clara barely managed to open her eyes to look upon him.
"Revan," she murmured back. "I…I feel…so weak…"
"No," Revan said firmly, seeing that she was about to drop back into a state of unconsciousness. "No, stay with me, Clara. We have to endure this. You must stay with me – do you understand?"
"Revan, I…I don't know if…I can," Clara said. "My body…it feels like…like it's…dying…"
"Don't say that. Please don't say that, Clara," Revan shook his head. "We're going to make it, you hear me? You're not going to die. I won't allow it…"
"Heheh…" she chuckled. "Always…trying to be the hero. My hero. It makes me wonder, Revan. Don't you ever think about it as well?"
"About what, Clara?"
"If…if both Alek and I were…captured alongside you by the Republic and your pretty little wife that day…and went through the same mind-wipe process. Do you…do you think that…we could have…been brought together again, by the Force?"
Revan couldn't answer.
"Would we have…saved the galaxy together, as you had on your own, and…destroyed the Star Forge? Would we have been able to…to start a new life together, as you did with her? As…as husband and wife? Would you have chosen me over…over her?"
Revan wept, no longer able to deny what was in his heart. "Yes…yes, of course we would have, Clara. You meant everything to me. I would have gladly…" He stopped as a sharp pain struck him in the chest, causing him to shudder.
"That…would have truly…been wonderful," Clara managed a fragile smile, a tear dropping onto her foot. "I would have loved…to be your wife…To have a…family with you…To live in peace for…the rest of our days…If only…if only the Force allowed it…"
Clara's eyes began to tremble as a loud clank came from the door to her left. A tall, black-robed figure stepped slowly towards them, his face concealed by a fear-inspiring mask that was adorned by Sith engravings and symbols. He stopped once he came directly in between Revan and Clara, who both eyed him with suspicion. He swayed slowly left and right, a sadistic and menacing cackle audible from beneath his mask as he eyed his victims with glee.
"Greetings, Lord Revan, and to you, most beautiful Lady Clara," he bowed low to both of them in turn, his voice reminiscent of an insidious serpent. "I am known as Gerome, formerly of the world of Ord Mantell, and I shall be your humble…entertainer, for as long as you remain in my hospitality."
"What do you want…Gerome?" Clara said condescendingly.
"Oh…tsk tsk tsk," he clicked his tongue at her, "there is really no need for such scorn, milady. I am simply carrying out the Master's orders! Speaking of which," he walked towards her torture board, putting his hand over the console buttons and making her shift uneasily, "you shall become quite accustomed to this feeling from now on."
He pressed a button, and Clara began to scream at the sensation of her skin burning against her torture board which simmered with scorching heat. Just when Clara thought she couldn't take any more, Gerome switched the temperature control so that it was significantly below freezing conditions, sending chills and another burning sensation up Clara's spine. She hung her head and panted deeply once Gerome switched off the function after several gruelling seconds.
"And such," Gerome said, gathering his hands together behind his back. "It's a simple equation, really; you speak to me the words I myself and the Emperor wish to hear, and the less you will have to subject yourself to such unnecessary ordeals." He got closer to Clara, whispering directly into her ear. "Why not do so right now? You have absolutely nothing to lose, my lady. Just one…little…admission…and you can be free – both of you. The Emperor will surely one day reward you with riches beyond your wildest dreams should you change your mind and stand at the vanguard of his invincible armies which will one day sweep across the Republic. Was it not your wish to become a queen? An empress? He may even grant you some worlds to rule as you desire."
"Do whatever you want with me," Clara jerked her face away from him. "I can betray Nyriss and the Sith, but I will never betray Revan."
"Hmph. Is that so?" Gerome said in disappointment, before cackling madly. "Ahahaha! Betray her, you have! I must inform you that she is dead, along with all the others on the Emperor's Dark Council, with the exception of the ever-loyal Lord Scourge. You know as well as I do that the Emperor has little trust or faith in anyone, hmm?"
"You…" Revan growled at him. "You're nothing but a madman."
"Took you long enough to realize, yes? Why else do you think I've been assigned the task of torturer?" Gerome swiftly spun around, then paced himself in front of Revan, slamming his right palm against the console and sending a violent burst of electricity shooting throughout Revan's body. Clara struggled against her restraints, desperate to help Revan in any way possible, but despaired as she realized it was hopeless.
"My, my, what do we have here?" Gerome teased, infuriating them both. "I thought so while I watched your ill-fated attempt on the Emperor's life, but now, my thoughts have been confirmed!" he clasped his hands together, walking up right in front of Clara's face and looking her dead in the eyes. "Lovers, you are…"
"Go to hell, you rotten piece of shit," Clara literally spat on his mask.
"I shall take that as a confession on your part, then," Gerome smiled underneath his false exterior, then stepped to his table containing all his necessary tools and devices. "This will make it much more interesting. I've always been one for inflicting physical pain beyond imagination, but…the emotional pain of watching one's love suffer due to their own silence…it is truly without peer."
"My pain is meaningless. Tell him nothing!" Clara bravely said to Revan, who for one moment saw a hallucination of Bastila in her place: he had never forgotten the painful memory of watching his wife suffer at the hands of Saul Karath aboard the Leviathan.
"You know, you can end all of this by agreeing to finish the mission that the Emperor had given you all those years ago, Revan," Gerome said in indifference. "As I said, he may even allow the two of you to act as his stewards in some part of the Republic: start your own dynasty, why don't you? Surely you must know by now that there is nothing to be gained by opposing the Master, save for the punishment of death…or endless torture. One or the other."
"Go to hell," Revan repeated Clara's words with meaningful force.
Gerome beamed sadistically, rummaging through his tools. "Very well – all the better for me! As much as I dislike the idea of messing up such a gorgeous face as yours, my lady, orders are orders! Now, let's see here…ahh, yes!" he exclaimed wildly, holding up a syringe high into the air. "The first thing to do in any interrogation, of course, is to apply truth serum. Lots of it."
Revan swallowed hard and focused his mind as he had never done before, as the needle dug deep into his skin and the bloodstream of his arm was drowned in truth serum which began to quickly work its way throughout his body.
"And now, to start things off once more," Gerome laughed, slinking over to Clara. "A christening of fire!"
Clara's screams soon echoed within and filled the steel prison, and every second of his lover's pain felt like a lifetime of misery to the defeated Revan.
Unbeknownst to Revan and Clara, however, Scourge was watching them both intently from above and beyond the blinding lights which harshly bore down upon them. Amazed by Revan's resilience to Gerome's torment, he himself began to ponder whether the choice he made in siding with the Emperor was right after all…
-o-
"No…," Bastila turned and kicked underneath her quilt in bed, wracked by a horrible nightmare. "No…Revan, no!" her eyes shot open and she lurched forward, screaming out his name. Realizing it was yet another dream, she collapsed back onto her pillow, laying her arm over her sweaty brow as she panted deeply.
"Sis!" Bastila could hear Mission running to her. "Sis, are you okay? What happened?" Mission panicked, darting to her side and laying a gentle hand on her face. Zaalbar soon lumbered in behind her, growling in concern.
"Mission, it's…," Bastila tensed, grasping her hand. "It's Revan. He's in danger. In pain. I…I have to go! I have to help him!"
Mission looked incredulously at Bastila who shot out of bed, straight towards her dresser and began to frantically skim through her clothes.
"Bastila, what the hell are you saying?!" Mission cried at her and struggled to pull Bastila back into her bed. "You can't just up and go like this! You can't!"
"His life is in mortal danger, Mission! I've seen it in my dreams and I can't deny it any longer! I have to help him! It's the only way to bring him back!" Bastila wailed, tussling against Mission's hold around her.
"Big Z, help me out here or something, will ya?" Mission groaned over her shoulder at him, and the big Wookiee immediately complied, putting his great arms around Bastila and lifting her in one go. He carried her over to the bed and put her in the position she was before.
But Bastila wouldn't relent. Her heart engulfed in anguish and fear, she kicked and wriggled to get back up on her feet, only to be restrained by Mission who held her arm around her waist in a tight grip.
"Bas, listen to me," Mission said firmly while looking Bastila straight in the eyes. "You can't go out there looking for him. Don't you remember that you have to raise Revan's child? You'd just be putting your baby in danger – do you think Revan would want that?!"
"But…but he's…" Bastila trembled.
"In grave danger – I know," Mission replied. "But Bas, you promised him that you'd raise your child. Carth, Zaalbar and I promised Revan that we'd keep you safe. I'm not about to break my promise to him by letting you go out there and put both yourself and the baby at risk, you hear me?"
"But…" Bastila whispered, then was no longer able to contain herself. "But he could die!"
"I know Revan," Mission pressed Bastila on the shoulders, pinning her onto her pillow. "He is not going to let his son grow up without a daddy, you hear me? He's going to succeed. No matter how long he takes, he's going to come back – I know it."
"Mission, I…," Bastila sighed into her shoulder. "I feel so helpless."
"There, there," Mission said, hugging her and patting her on the back as they both sat upright. "It's gonna be alright. You'll see."
"Ngrraah," Big Z let out a sullen growl and threw his arms around both of them in what was more of a bearhug of death than a hug of affection.
"Ack! Okay, okay, Big Z! Cut it out!" Mission squealed beneath his arms while Bastila also struggled to breathe; not only due to the lack of space, but also due to the smell.
"You're right, Mission. Forgive me," Bastila looked at her with sullen eyes. "I've put my emotions before the safety of my baby. I…I can't believe that I just did that…"
"Hey, hey, it's no problem! Don't worry, Bas! I understand how you feel," Mission rubbed her back.
"An unofficial ex-Jedi as I may be, I'm still supposed to control my feelings and impulses when I have to!" Bastila scolded herself. "Heheh…you'd make a fine Jedi, Mission. A much greater Jedi than me, I admit. It's a pity that you weren't found by a member of the Order at a young age."
"Hah. Don't kid yourself, Bas," Mission chuckled. "How could I possibly have become a Jedi?"
"No, no, it's true," Bastila insisted. "I've always sensed a potent flicker of the Force within you, Mission, although it was already too late to begin any training for you after we met on Taris. A Jedi's mind must be conditioned from a tender age, so as to instil within them a sense of mental and emotional discipline."
"Still, it's no big deal," Mission dismissed the idea. "I've always managed to take care of myself the old fashioned way, haven't I? And besides, I couldn't possibly think of not being able to be with Rodric…oh…" she spoke absent-mindedly, before realizing what she had just said.
"So you have talked with him after all!" Bastila grinned.
"Erm…yeah…," Mission admitted. "It was as I thought: he had a thing for me, and…well…we love each other very much now. Hell, it's amazing how much can develop between two people over the course of a single day."
"Oh, believe me, I know the feeling," Bastila laughed, remembering that she truthfully had fallen in love with Revan not over the course of their travels together, but almost immediately after she used the Force to preserve his life upon his capture. She still remembered what she felt that day: Revan's power, his passion, his emotions…it all seemed to wash over her in an instant, enthralling her to his appeal.
"Mish, I've made up my mind now," she stated, holding her hand over her heart and stared up at the moon. "I will weep in despair no longer. From now on, I shall live only with hope – hope that he will one day return, and that we can be the family we always wished to be. I shall try time and again to reach out to him through the Force, wherever he may be, and provide him what little comfort I can give him. I know he will come back for me. No matter how hopeless things may be, he will never abandon us. This I know."
"That's the big sister I love," Mission beamed and hugged her again. "Goodnight, Bas." She kissed Bastila on the forehead and rose to return to her own room.
"Goodnight, Mish. And thank you," Bastila said.
"Don't mention it," Mission smiled back and left along with Big Z.
-o-
Days, weeks and months had passed, and yet Revan remained staunchly resistant to Gerome's torture that was accompanied with false promises. Clara had remained ever loyal to him for every minute of the time they had spent together in the hellish chamber of blinding lights and inhumane torture devices, and Revan knew this well: not once had she ever begged him to tell Gerome the information that he wanted, keeping a firm silence that would only be broken when she wished to utter curses at the deranged torturer.
Truth be told, Revan did not remain as silent as the grave on all matters: he had, from time to time, indulged Gerome in information that was relatively redundant by this point, such as his reason for traveling into the Unknown Regions and what drove him to ally himself with Clara's cause. But whenever Gerome pressed him for intelligence regarding the Republic's war capacity or general status, Revan did not answer, both out of refusal and the honest inability to do so. Spending two years in a relative state of perfect peace with Bastila on Telos, taking no real active role in helping the Republic to lick its wounds and recover from the war against Malak didn't exactly imbue him with much useful information.
And gradually over time, her heart dominated by her sorrow at not being able to save Hern and Teela, as well as her love and concern for Revan over her hatred or ambitions as a Sith, Clara's eyes slowly reverted back to their former emerald green state; a most welcome and cherished sight for Revan.
Although he was perfectly capable (or, he actually ought to have) of aiding the Republic's recovery effort with his superior knowledge of logistics and strategy, Revan opted to stay out of it: he wanted the worlds of the Republic to become self-efficient and support itself in such matters. But above all, he wanted the people to know that they did not need a hero to guide them through such things, but that the power to make a real difference in and rebuild their societies was well and truly within their own ability. Unlike in his past where he sought to shape the galaxy the way he saw fit and judged both the Galactic Senate and the Jedi Order as a collection of indecisive and incompetent beings, Revan now trusted them: their judgment, their commitment, and their sincerity in wishing to see the Republic recover from the devastation caused by the war.
Out there, far, far away, Revan could somehow still hear Bastila calling out to him. In truth, he always could hear her voice at the back of his mind, telling him how much she missed him. Although the Force cuffs and collar around his wrists, ankles and neck prevented him from using any sort of Force powers to influence his surroundings, nothing in the galaxy could possibly sever his connection with Bastila, with whom his bond was eternal.
As much as she gave him inner strength due to her being a constant reminder of what he was fighting for, Revan also knew that she was the reason for some of his mental constraint. It felt as if she was begging for him to return, and that she could not bear to go for another day with him, swelling his heart up with pain and passion which cried out at him to return to her without a moment's hesitation.
A few days into his torturous ordeal, however, everything changed: Bastila's voice was no longer tearfully imploring him to come back, but now became a source of immeasurable assurance and hope, empowering and strengthening him every day from inside his heart. He heard no more cries of anguish or sorrow, but words of optimism, hope, and undying love. Every whisper of his beloved wife's voice he heard in his dreams only fed his will to succeed further. Those words were added on to by the encouraging presence of Clara. The two loves of his life were always there for him; two pillars of hope that would never falter.
A truly astounding turn of events that could be seen as a miracle of sorts came six months after Revan and Clara's initial confinement. Gerome, in a grouchy fit of rage and frustration, had been relieved of his duties, and the two lovers were sedated and taken away to a different section of the interrogation facility. The unpleasantness of their Force-suppressing cuffs around their wrists remained, yet here they were each met with the unexpectedly pleasant sight of a small, yet proper room which was fitted with a refresher, food synthesizer, sink and bed. But here, they quickly found that they strangely began to miss the old excruciating physical pains they experienced: they were kept in complete isolation from each other. Watching each other being tortured across the other side of the same room suddenly became much more appealing than to not see one another at all.
Wracked by frustration and inner conflict, Revan couldn't determine what irked him the most: the consistent state of isolation, or the knowledge that his love was becoming more and more equally divided between Bastila and Clara, two women who were truly irreplaceable in his life.
Revan's anxieties would be allayed by the occasional visits from Scourge which came following his and Clara's move to their new quarters. The Sith Lord was as fascinated by Revan as he had ever been since their first encounter and battle. Now, after persuading the Emperor that prolonged torture was pointless and alternative means of extracting information from Revan were needed, Scourge finally had the opportunity to speak with the one person who intrigued him the most.
Revan was unlike any other being that Scourge had ever seen before: even while heavily sedated or subjected to torture that would have broken the most stalwart of Jedi, Revan did not falter for a single moment. His resolve yet unbroken and his will seemingly indomitable, Scourge soon became obsessed with the Prodigal Knight, whose powers – driven by both light and dark sides of the Force in a perfect harmony and balance that seemed nigh impossible – were unlike anything he had ever seen before. He made efforts to visit Revan as often as his tasks allowed, even going out of his way at times just for the chance to converse with and discover more about him. Scourge had even gone as far as to have the neural collar around his neck removed, so that he could tap into the full, unrestrained knowledge that Revan possessed of the Force, which could only be learned by freeing his connection to it.
It was during this time that Scourge found and admitted the error in some of his old ways by listening to Revan's words about Malak and what caused his downfall; one of the most notable things that the two Sith Lords had in common being that their own pride and power ruled over them at times, instead of the other way around. In this, Revan slow grew to respect Scourge over time, as he was one of the very few Sith he had ever met who didn't forsake the values of wisdom and good judgment in his pursuit for further power. Scourge was also interested in speaking with Clara on occasion to grasp for himself just what kind of effect she had on Revan, although his interest in her was a mere fraction of that which he held in Revan.
At first, Revan deeply despised and loathed Scourge due to his act of betrayal in the Emperor's throne room, refusing to even speak with him during their first few encounters. But as time went by, he gradually grew to appreciate Scourge's visits, as they were the only source of outside contact and information he could possibly hope to have during his time in confinement. In a show of decency that was highly uncharacteristic of the Sith, Scourge would even let him and Clara be reunited for a full day's length on rare occasions, so that the solitude of their confinements wouldn't eat away at the sanity that he required of them: these cherished moments together came as randomly as a few days, a week, or a full month apart at times. And just as Scourge took every opportunity to learn what he could about Revan's personal philosophy regarding the Force, Revan was keen to know all the knowledge of Sith society and dogma that Scourge possessed, for he hoped to one day be able to use them in his future fight against Vitiate.
If he got a chance at all, that is.
His thoughts suddenly broken in the present day, Revan felt a tremendous echo through the Force, which engulfed his entire body in a searing pain. He could hear Bastila crying…screaming through the Force for him, shouting out his name as she violently tensed and gripped the side rails of her hospital bed in agony as her labor began.
Stay with me, Bastila…I'm here for you, Revan called out to her through the Force after focusing his mind to endure the pain.
Revan…I…I'm scared, she panicked, their bond never having been so strong before, that they were now communicating with each other at whim. I…I may not survive this…The pain is…is unbearable.
No, Revan insisted to her. Listen to me, Bastila. You're going to make it through this. Mission, Zaalbar and Carth are all by your side, are they not?
No…Revan…the…the pain…it's too much, she went on.
Bastila, don't you dare give up on me, Revan shook her to her senses. Please don't…I need you…I promise you, we will be a family again. I'm not going to die out here in vain, and I don't want you to ever give up. Remember that it is not only me who is with you at this moment.
Mother…Father… Bastila realized, then intensified her resolve tenfold. No. I won't give up. I promised them a healthy grandson. I promised them we'd all be happy together once you've returned. I promised daddy I'd make him proud!
That's it, Bastila. I will always be with you, as will they, Revan reinforced her. I know you can do it.
Revan then focused his mind in perfect silence, giving Bastila what strength he could from light-years away through the Force. Then, after several hours of exhausting meditation, Revan felt sheer joy in his heart and a teardrop trickle down his face. He felt the burden had lifted from Bastila's mind, replaced by happiness which he felt from the other side of the galaxy.
His son had been born.