You always have to do everything yourself.
The first person to tell her this was her mother, Esala, in the middle of the night in a dark shelter on Taris. She had woken up with nightmares; a common occurrence for children growing up in the Undercity. Her mother had gathered her up, rocking her back and forth in her arms between hiccupping sobs.
"Be strong, my child," she crooned softly, her rough fingers tangles in short hair. "I cannot fight your monsters for you, my little Thalia. Only you can."
She grew up mostly alone. Her mother was a busy woman, using her knowledge of medicines and healing to help the Outcasts remain whole. It was a difficult job, even for a woman purported to have the Force. The Jedi never descended farther then the Lower City, so those with that gift were never found. She remembered tales told to her by firelight, of wars between Jedi and Sith that happened so long ago that no one truly remembers which side was which.
Now that she thinks about it, she probably should have listened closer. Maybe then she would have learned something that could have prevented what would happen later.
There was a moment, long ago, in the village elder's hut one cool evening, where Thalia knew that she absolutely had to leave. The Outcast children often gathered in his house: listened to his stories, opened mouthed and gaping. Rukil Wrinkle-Skin was a master of spinning tales, and he kept the children spellbound with tales of a Promised Land, far beyond the stark landscape of the Undercity. She remembers the moment clearly. It had been a quiet day; she and her friend Shaleena had spent the time exploring the edges of the village with her cousin Malya. They had arrived at Rukil's hut after the evening meal, asking him for stories with wide and pleading eyes. He was always willing to humor them.
"The Promised Land is out there, just waiting to be discovered." He said with finality, gripping his walking stick with aged hands. She remembers looking around the circle, a frown creasing her brow. Malya was looking upon Rukil with shining eyes: it hardly surprised her when she heard that Malya had become his apprentice, many years later.
"Why can't we just leave Taris?" she remembered asking.
Rukil eyed her sharply. "We have been exiled. From that there is no return, Thalia May. We have to take care of ourselves."
She had managed to escape from Taris a week shy of her sixteenth birthday. During the chaos of the Jedi Civil War, no one paid much attention to a lone teenager sneaking past the guards. She left without telling anyone. Her mother woke that morning to find that her only child had vanished without a trace, but Thalia didn't really care. She was watching out for herself, and she couldn't grow old and wither away in the Undercity without putting up some kind of a fight.
By that time she learned that she had the Force. It was hardly surprising; her mother had predicted that she would show the talent since she was a little girl. But she had no thought of going to the Jedi. It had never even been an option. The Jedi had never done anything for the Outcasts, and they never would. It was just a fact of life. So when she was approached in some nameless cantina on some run down world by a Twi'lek with another solution, it seemed like the logical choice to catch the next freighter to Korriban. And from there, the Sith Academy didn't seem like such a bad place to be.
At first, it was easy. Giving into repressed emotions and desires seemed liberating… almost exhilarating. There were no rules except power, no boundaries where one could or could not go. The other students came from all over the galaxy; before, Thalia had only seen the other Outcasts. Everything seemed new, and exciting, and if people got hurt in order for her to be initiated, then it didn't really matter, because she was looking out for no one else. She quickly learned that her childhood lessons had prepared her for this: she could only depend on herself.
Soon, the novelty wore off, and it didn't seem quite as invigorating as she had first thought. Slights turned quickly into grudges, and no one remarked if a student disappeared during the night. It became clear that her fellow students were out to gain prestige, no matter the cost, which was fast becoming quite high. The teachers did not brook failure, and their punishments were swift and harsh.
When one of the younger girls, a red haired teenager named Selene, died mysteriously during a mission, Thalia began to have suspicions. Selene had never been particularly strong in the Force, but her companion, a Telosian named Dustil, certainly was. It all seemed too planned to be a coincidence. Other instances began to crop up, of mediocre students with strong ties to exemplary ones quietly disappeared or died under unexplained circumstances. Her mother hadn't raised her to be an idiot, and she didn't want to be the topic of the next announcement during training.
What had first seemed refreshing now seemed oppressive. There was danger around every corner, and she had to watch every word she said in conversation. She found a small group of students who seemed to see things the same way: they never met all together, fear keeping them away. Perhaps the teachers noticed, or perhaps they didn't care. Conspiracy was a foundation of the academy, as much as training was.
She didn't know how Master Uthar found out… but somehow, he did. She knew as soon as he summoned her to him, leering from underneath his Sith tattoos. "Thalia," he spoke, his mouth curling into a malevolent grin. Thalia shuddered. "I want you to take care of a problem for me."
She couldn't do it. She had left his room, thoughts conflicted and dark. He had told her… no, ordered her to kill a group of people… people who had done nothing wrong. So she had run away.
Other students had followed her. They had had enough of Uthar and the Sith, and they wanted to get out. Still others stayed. Some, like her training partner Kel Algwinn, had stayed simply because he didn't know what to do. She had left at night, making her way down the narrow dirt path to the entrance to one of Korriban's many caves. The Academy slowly disappeared from view, but she didn't look back.
From there, she hid, scrounging food from the deserted outposts that had once dotted the caves. Once in a while, Kel would come down and bring news. None of it was ever good. Uthar had ordered her execution. A new student had joined the Academy, rising through the ranks faster then anyone since Dustil Onasi. Her classmate Shaardan had been murdered by Uthar.
After a while, she told Kel to stop coming. He was endangering himself. The fact that she worried about his safety surprised her. She had never worried about anyone besides herself. But that was beginning to change. The other runaways looked to her for leadership and advice, and they needed her help. The days were long and empty, and soon she found herself going out of her way to make sure the others were comfortable.
But soon, the food ran out, and things began to look grim. Then, something miraculous happened. The new student found them in the caves, trapped and starving. And she hadn't killed them. She remembered holding up her lightsaber warily as she stared down the newcomer.
"Why should I believe that this isn't some kind of trick? You could betray us to Uthar!"
The woman had looked away, an unreadable expression crossing her face. "I don't want to hurt you. There's someone here who's very important to someone I care for. I just want him to be happy."
Thalia had stopped, then. One part of her wanted to laugh at the woman, for caring about someone else to the point of weakness. But the other part… almost wanted to comfort her. Things became cleared when she found out the woman was a Jedi, posing as a Sith student to gain access to something the woman didn't say.
She had ventured a comment, later, when the woman had passed by again. "Maybe... maybe the Jedi will accept us. Maybe I could try."
The woman had said nothing. She just nodded and kept moving.
And then, finally, it was over. The Jedi had destroyed the monster in their path, cleared out the Tukata… but she did not go with them. Instead, she had smiled, a quiet curve of her lips, and said, "I've taken you this far. You have to help each other now."
And, as she and her fellow students crawled blinking into the light, she found herself smiling. Maybe she did have to take care of only herself. Maybe taking care of others was a liability, something to be exploited. But maybe… just maybe, things could be different.