The Jedi Temple

Coruscant

3960 BBY — 3 months after the end of the battle of Malachor V

Even among the glittering skyscrapers and high-rises of the Queen of the Core, the Jedi Temple shone brightly. Meetra gazed out the window of the shuttle, drinking in the graceful lines and sharp planes as they led up to the three central spires jutting into the sky. It wasn't home — that would always be Dantooine — but it was a haven, a welcome respite for any roaming Jedi. Which only added to her mounting dread.

The shuttle circled the western tower as its astromech pilot waited for clearance to land. Beneath her, Meetra could see people streaming in and out of the Temple, too far away to tell if they were Knight, padawan, or Master. Hesitantly, she reached out, stretching her mind down toward theirs… and felt nothing. Not even a void, as though they were blocking her through the Force — just an absence where there should be none. Tears burned at the edges of her eyes, but she blinked them away as the shuttle began its descent. She'd be damned if she let the High Council see her cry.

Part of her was grateful they had given permission to land on the tower's dock instead of forcing her to walk through the front doors. Another part of her knew the Council had allowed it to keep the proceedings secret. The droid pilot they'd sent to transport her supported that theory. God forbid anyone else beat witness to the shell of a Jedi.

Meetra stood as soon as the shuttle's struts touched down on the landing pad. The mid-morning light reflected off the tower and into her face as the loading ramp folded down, forcing her to squint at the tarmac. One hand strayed to the lightsaber hilt dangling at her waist, but she caught herself and pulled it back. A sign of weakness would do no good in front of the Council — while they were unlikely to use it against her, neither would it win her any sympathy. She stepped down onto the tarmac, and the smell of the city hit her: the temple's incense mixed with street food from the alleys and the faint fog of speeder emissions.

Above her, the astromech pilot tweeted from his place atop the shuttle, and Meetra turned to scowl up at him. "Where am I gonna go?" He chattered back, pitch noticeably higher, and then swiveled around before she could respond. Meetra rolled her eyes and turned away, her heart rising in her throat as she closed the distance to the pad's entrance. The door slid open soundlessly, cool air rushing out to ruffle her hair. She breathed a shaky sigh and hesitated, the liminal space yawning like a chasm in front of her, before stepping through.

The door closed behind her, trapping her in a long corridor of suffocating silence. The walls towered over her, and she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Meetra drifted down the hall, the slick floor like molasses beneath her boots. The door to the Council chamber loomed at the end of the corridor. The high ornate panels caught the light filtering in from the windows and filled the far end of the hall with dancing color. She passed through, her robes smattered with the flickering hues, as the doors open slid open.

The High Council chamber was the same as it had been for centuries: a spacious room with a high ceiling and circular in shape. A thin triangular pillar, half again as tall as Meetra, rose from the very center of the floor, twelve high-backed chairs arranged in a circle around it. Only five of the chairs were occupied — it had been several years since the Order had a full Council — and Meetra recognized every face. Vrook Lamar occupied the seat at her far left, his lined face etched in a permanent scowl; in all her twenty-nine years, he'd never looked at her with another expression. Zez-Kai Ell sat beside Vrook, his impressive mustache concealing much of his face, but the unease was clear in his eyes. In the middle, Kavar, and Meetra quickly shifted her gaze, unable to bear the disappointment on her former Master's face. Next was Lonna Vash, by far the most impassive — she and Meetra had met on only a handful of occasions — and at the end, radiating barely suppressed fury, sat Atris, pale blue eyes bright and piercing.

Meetra stepped through the circle, head bowed, and came to a stop at the pillar. The five seated Jedi opposite her watched, silent. When the tension was almost unbearable, Zez-Kai Ell was the first to break it. "I confess, Surik, most of us did not expect you to return." Vrook and Lonna glanced at Kavar, revealing which among them still had some small amount of faith in her.

"The Council summoned me; I came as soon as I was able." Even to her ears, Meetra's voice was flat. Like everything else since she'd lost the Force, the life had gone out of it. Since awakening aboard the Amberfall two weeks earlier, her senses were dulled: colors were more muted, sounds and scents less intense.

Her answer prompted an audible scoff from Atris, but the other Masters paid her no mind. Annoyed by their lack of a reaction, she sat back in her chair and folded her arms over her chest. "I am most surprised you did not follow your new master. Or did she leave you behind now you have served your usefulness?"

"Atris." Kavar's voice was soft, but commanding. He was the next youngest on the Council, but still some years Atris' senior, and she deferred to him, though her scowl made it clear she would've liked to continue her taunts. Her words were not without effect, either; the idea that Revan and Malak had purposefully left her to face the Council alone was not lost on Meetra. It was one of the few things that broke through the perpetual numb fog she'd been in since waking up.

"Meetra." She glanced up, finding Kavar's deep blue, almost violet eyes. "Why have you really returned?"

The quiet sorrow in his voice threatened to shatter her composure, and Meetra returned her gaze to the floor. "I came to accept the Council's punishment."

"For defying us?" Lonna leaned forward, but there was no judgement; as far as she was concerned, it was merely the reality of past events. "For following Revan and Malak to war?"

"No." A flicker of heat accompanied the defiance in Meetra's voice, and she lifted her gaze to meet Lonna's without waver. "Not for that."

Atris' scowl deepened, her fingers clenched in the fabric of her sleeves. "Of course not." Kavar glared sharply at her, and she settled back again, lips pressed together in a thin line.

Meetra ignored the barb, determined not to give her former friend the satisfaction. "I do not regret leaving to defend the people of the Outer Rim." She faltered, gaze dropping again. "But I have made mistakes along the way."

"That's a word for it." Vrook's disapproval was almost palpable, and, unlike Atris, Kavar made no effort to check the old Jedi's venom. "Do you know the effect you've had on those who remained, of the seeds of insubordination you've sown among the younger generation?" Disgust mingled with his anger now. "Your actions have tainted the Order's reputation throughout the galaxy; we have no way to know when the people will completely trust us again. All because the three of you decided your justice was superior to our decision."

"And I will not apologize for that." Meetra stood straight now, shoulders squared and gaze steady. The anger, the outrage at Vrook's words sustained her, gave her strength she hadn't felt since she awoke. "Those people needed us — all of us. But you hid behind excuses, and if we hadn't acted, the Mandalorians would have killed thousands more!" Her voice echoed off the walls, and she abruptly realized how loud she'd become.

Vrook's face was thunderous; Atris, likewise, looked apoplectic, her cheeks and neck reddening with restrained anger. Kavar no longer looked at Meetra, his gaze fixed on the floor at his feet. After a long moment, Zez-Kai took control again. "Regardless of your motivations, the incident at Malachor V cannot be ignored. Some would argue it cannot be forgiven." Atris' head jerked up at this, haughtiness returning with the assumption her fellow Masters agreed with her. "Even now, I feel you do not fully understand the ramifications of your actions… and I fear you never will if you remain a Jedi."

"We have reached a consensus." Lonna settled back and folded her hands primly in her lap. "Meetra Surik: the High Council declares you an Exile, stripped of your rank and standing. You are forbidden from entering or seeking aid at any temple or academy, or from any individual within the Order." She paused, and the barest glimmer of emotion crossed her face. "As you are no longer part of the Order, we require your lightsaber."

The numb fog settled once again, and Meetra unhooked her lightsaber with mechanical practice. Unfair. The word cycled through her head on a continuous loop. The whole thing was unfair. She had defied the Council to save people, not to seek fame and glory. Sixteen years of her life, freely given to the people of the Outer Rim, and this was how the Order thanked her? Wasn't it they who preached that a Jedi's life was sacrifice, that their purpose was to serve and defend?

And then there were Revan and Malak: her friends, her comrades and family. She'd followed them willingly, pledged her service to their cause — shouldn't they be standing here with her, facing the same punishment? Instead, they and the rest of the surviving Revanchrist had vanished, leaving behind a shattered planet and a broken Jedi. Had her friendship truly meant so little?

She had never been one for self-pity, and it quickly bloomed to anger, red heat cutting through the curtain of numbness. If the Council wanted to see her as defiant, she would give it to them. Meetra thumbed her lightsaber's controls, the forward blade crackling to life. She had a moment to register the change on the Council's faces — Atris' triumph giving way to alarm, Kavar's disappointment deepening, the rest dropping their disapproving masks to reveal shock — before she plunged the weapon to the hilt in the central pillar. It hung there, the blade's hum still faintly audible within the stone, and Meetra gave it a last look before turning on her heel and striding from the chamber. None of them tried to stop her, not even Atris; she didn't know if she wanted them to or not. The fog was rolling back in, and she wanted to be as far away from the Republic as possible before it settled completely.

Silence reigned in the chamber in the wake of Meetra's departure. Vrook, Zez-Kai, and Lonna traded uneasy looks while Atris was laser-focused on the protruding lightsaber hilt and Kavar's gaze remained on the floor. Lonna laid a cautious hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Kavar. I know she wasn't officially your padawan, but this cannot be easy." He reached up to cover her hand with his, but didn't meet her eyes. She squeezed gently. "I did not realize she would feel so… empty. I suppose the rumors are true."

"They are not rumors." Kavar's voice was soft, misery weighing down his words. "I visited her on the Amberfall, before she awoke… It was like looking at a corpse. She breathed, her heart beat, but I could not… cannot feel her in the Force." He closed his eyes, looking suddenly older. "She is like a stone in the stream now, and my heart breaks for her."

"I do not understand this sentimentality." Atris rose from her chair and crossed to the pillar. She pulled Meetra's lightsaber free and held it out at arm's length, glaring down at the cyan blade before she switched it off. "Everything she did flew in the face of our tenets and traditions, with no regard for our concerns. We have lost nothing of value." Kavar stiffened, and Lonna turned an admonishing eye on Atris, but she ignored it. "She was not strong enough to follow our teachings, and neither was she strong enough to follow Revan." Atris shook her head. "We should not have let her leave. Her influence could spread; before long we may hear that she has rejoined Revan. Or worse, become a martyr to her cause."

"She was your friend, Atris," Zez-Kai pointed out. "They all were."

"I do not count traitors and fallen Jedi among my friends, Master Ell."

"She has not fallen." The other four turned to Vrook in surprise. "Oh, don't look at me like that. It's the truth — she has lost the Force, but I do not sense the taint of the Dark Side on her. Some of us share your feelings toward Revan, Atris, but Surik isn't her."

"She is her dog." The snide remark echoed around the chamber. Even Atris flinched at her own voice, but she continued. "She followed Revan's every command. You cannot be sure her decisions were not influenced by the Dark Side."

"Her actions were influenced by Revan, that I will grant you." Lonna withdrew her hand from Kavar's shoulder and sat back, suddenly introspective. "The question is where did Revan's influence come from?" She glanced across at Zez-Kai. "Part of me fears our teachings hold some of the blame."

Atris scoffed, but Kavar echoed Lonna's words with a slow nod. "We should have told her."

"We already have Revan to deal with, wherever she is. If we'd told her the truth, there's a chance we'd only make another enemy for ourselves." Vrook's voice softened. "We've seen some of her fate, Kavar, as much as the Force will allow. She will survive."

"Which is more than she deserves," Atris interjected. The others ignored her.

"One day, we may be able to explain it to her and help her find a way to heal." Zez-Kai shrugged, out of ignorance rather than malice. "Right now, she is not in a place to understand." Kavar nodded, though it was clear the knowledge was no comfort. "Whatever comes, we must accept the Force's will." The others, even Atris, murmured in agreement, and Kavar lowered his face into his hands.

Ebon Hawk

Telos

3951 BBY - Present Day

The image of the Council flickered and faded as the recording ended. An oppressive silence fell over the hold, which Atton nervously broke. "What the hell did we just watch?"

"My trial." Meetra's voice was almost inaudible. "The day I was exiled from the Jedi Order." Seeing herself as she'd been and hearing the sentencing delivered so straight-forward by Lonna brought the pain and regret rushing back, nearly as fresh as it was almost a decade ago. She stared down at the surface of the console, unable to meet anyone's eyes.

"I… I didn't know the Jedi had done this to you." Bao-Dur was still watching the air above the console, as if he could will the recording to return. "I'm sorry, General. I should have tried to find you."

"Wait." Atton glanced back and forth between Meetra and Bao-Dur. "You know each other?"

"He served with me in the Mandalorian Wars." She hated how dull her voice sounded, how lethargically the words spilled out of her.

Atton frowned. "Yeah, you and a lot of other Jedi. Why hide that?"

Meetra tried not to flinch at the accusation in his voice. "Because —"

"She is a murderer." Ignoring the alarm her appearance caused, a Handmaiden stepped out of the shadows in the corridor leading to the cargo hold. After a moment, Meetra recognized her: the sister with a different appearance. The Handmaiden shifted her glare down to T3. "And those are my mistress' files you've stolen, little droid." He buzzed sharply, withdrew his scomp link, and rolled behind Meetra's legs. The Handmaiden lifted her gaze. "Well, Exile? Will you tell them, or shall I?"

"How about you start by telling us why the hell you're on our ship?" Atton's hand fluttered toward his waist before settling on the edge of the console close to where Meetra's force pike leaned.

The Handmaiden caught the motion and rolled her eyes. "Your weapons are in the cargo hold, if you wish to retrieve them; I will not stop you. Atris sent me to aid you in retrieving the missing Jedi."

"She sent you to spy on us, you mean," Bao-Dur said, his tone mild, but Meetra read the tension in his posture."

"Believe what you will — my mistress simply wishes you to have the assistance necessary for you to succeed. She told me you have faced a Sith Lord, and you may do so again." Her gaze shifted between each of them. "Are you really in a position to turn down help, whoever offers it?"

"The child has a point." Kreia didn't bother to hide her amusement, despite the Handmaiden's glare. She turned away, waving a hand to indicate she was finished with the conversation. "I tire of this. Should you need me further, I will be in my quarters." Without a backward glance, she disappeared down the corridor leading to the port side dormitory.

The Handmaiden was not distracted by the old woman's exit. "I am not surprised the Exile kept her past from you. How else would she convince you to travel with her?"

"Everybody's got a past," Atton said, shrugging, but there was a new note of uncertainty in his voice.

"Has 'everybody' destroyed a planet? Killed thousands, guilty and innocent alike?" There was a challenge in her gaze, and Atton glanced away. The Handmaiden looked back to Meetra. "Unlike Atris, I am not a historian, and I believe one's past should not be shared by another, but if you do not tell him, Exile, I will. He deserves to know." She cast a sidelong look at Bao-Dur and the space where Kreia had vanished. "He appears to be the only one still in the dark."

The rebuke stung, but not as much as the quick glance Atton turned on her. "What is she talking about? I mean, if it's just that you fought in the Mandalorian Wars, I already guessed that. You don't ha— "

"I was Revan's second-in-command." Meetra saw him stiffen out of the corner of her eye, but she kept her gaze on the console. She couldn't bring herself to look him in the face. "I was her tactician."

"The left hand to Malak's right," the Handmaiden interjected.

"They were my friends. They needed me, and I wanted to help, so I…" Meetra trailed off, the words dying on her tongue. Her intentions, good or ill, no longer mattered. "Malachor was my fault. I gave the order."

"And I pulled the trigger." She glanced up to meet Bao-Dur's sorrow-filled gaze. "Part of the blame should lie with me, General. I built the Mass Shadow Generator; I could have sabotaged it, made it so activation would destroy it… but I believed in Revan, too."

"And that is to say nothing of Serroco or Dxun." The Handmaiden's sneer was disturbingly reminiscent of Atris'. "It is interesting, Exile, that you managed to survive all three battles when so many did not." She shifted her gaze to Atton again. "I would caution you against remaining in her company. Those who do so tend to have a short life expectancy."

Bao-Dur crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed. "Then why are you staying?"

"Because my mistress has asked me to." The Handmaiden shrugged, as if her answer was an obvious one, and then she turned away, moving back to the corridor from which she had appeared. "I will take the cargo hold, if it is all the same to you, Exile. It is roomy and suitable for my purposes."

Once the tail of her white tunic had vanished around the corridor's turn, Bao-Dur sighed and turned to Meetra, his arms falling to his sides. "General, I… if it's alright, I need some time. All of this has brought up memories I would rather have stayed in the past." He managed a weak smile, but it was clear his heart wasn't in it. "If you don't mind, I noticed a workbench in the garage. I think some tinkering would do me good." She nodded wordlessly, and he reached out to touch her arm before leaving. T3 let out a soft hesitant burble at her feet, then he rolled after Bao-Dur, leaving Meetra alone with Atton.

She leaned against the console, waiting for him to move first, to speak or leave, but he did neither. After a few moments, she broke the silence. "I'm sorry." He didn't respond, and she glanced up to see him staring down at the floor, lost in thought. "Atton?"

"What you said, out there —" He gestured back toward the Ebon Hawk's hatch. "— all that about me having your back and you being glad I was staying?" He still hadn't met her eyes. "Did you mean all that?"

She hesitated, unsure of the motivation behind the question. "I did."

He looked up at her now, expression guarded. "You trust me enough to watch your back, but not to stay. Not if you told me the truth."

Meetra sighed and sagged further against the console. "I didn't mean…" She shook her head. "I was scared. What I've done is… unforgivable, and I was afraid that if you knew, if you found out how close I was to Revan and Malak, you'd leave. And I know it's selfish, but I don't want you to."

His face was unreadable. "Why?"

"Because I don't have a lot of —" She broke off, reality crashing in. "I don't have anyone I can count on. Not anymore."

Atton rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. "That's not true. I mean, you've got Bao-Dur and Kreia."

"Bao-Dur still sees me as the person I was, and even then, he only saw the chain of command." Meetra closed her eyes. "He never really knew me, just General Surik. Kreia sees me as a tool. She may care about my well-being, but I'm afraid it's because of what I can do for her, what I'm capable of." She opened her eyes and looked up at him again. "But you just see me for who I am: Meetra Surik. Not a Jedi, not an Exile; no assumptions. Just… me. And that's something I really need right now."

He was silent for a long moment, watching her face closely, and then he sighed. "Look… I don't care who you were, or what you've done; your past is your own. I trust the person you are… I like the person you are. So, you want me to stay, I'm here."

A tired smile illuminated her face. "Thank you."

"What are friends for?" She wasn't sure if it was the dim lighting, but the smile he returned hers with seemed sad, but he pointed to her shoulder before she could look again. "Want me to take a look at that?"

Meetra reached up and touched her neck, grimacing at the thick crust of dried blood running from her ear to her collar. "If you don't mind."

"All you have to do is ask." Atton led the way out of the hold, glancing back at her as they went. "Decided on which system we're heading to first?"

She frowned and mulled over the choices. Nar Shaddaa would likely be Atton's first choice, but after the close call on Citadel Station, she'd rather avoid the Exchange for the time being. Onderon was foreign to her; the closest she'd ever been was Dxun, and that wasn't exactly a place she wanted to revisit. Korriban scared her more than Dxun did, which left only one location.

"Dantooine."