Malak looks down at the table, and she dives right back into her reading, pretending the conversation didn't happen, but the words blur on the screen and start floating around, mingling with her own thoughts and the sound of cracking bones. He's not fine, she's not fine, Carth is not fine, nobody's fine. It's simple enough, really. Simple, and inevitable. Whatever happened after Malachor, it's scarred them all beyond recognition. She didn't know them before – she didn't even know herself – but whoever they were, she knows they were different. The Galaxy was different. Whatever innocence the three of them had at the time, she's long burnt it to the ground. That it should come back and bite her in the back is only fair.

Still, it's not what she envisioned for herself, perhaps because she never envisioned anything at all. She just woke up on a ship and tried to save her skin, then Bastila's, and then the whole Galaxy's. As far back as her memory goes, that's all her life has ever been: never wanting, just reacting. Making a run for the bridge because someone told her to, nearly getting blown up riding an unstable swoop bike because someone else didn't want to, training as a Jedi because they "asked" her to. Accepting a suicide mission because choice was never part of the equation. Accepting that she was Revan, because she had a Star Forge to find and no time to feel sorry for herself. Accepting everything, everything life threw her way, because she had to be strong, because the crew needed her, the Order needed her, the Republic needed her. But she's tired of being strong, tired of hating herself, tired of everyone and everything in the entire kriffing galaxy. She wants 'easy', she wants 'simple', she wants clarity and the knowledge that what she's doing is worth something. Well, 'easy' and 'simple' are not for her, they will never be for her, because the more she thinks of herself, the more she realises that only two words ever come up: monster, and puppet. Really, it's no wonder people hate her. One of these days she's going to retire in a shoddy log cabin on Endor, and let the Republic deal with its own damn problems. Except she knows she won't, because there is something inherently wrong about that, about knowing the Galaxy burns and doing nothing about it. Yes, because burning it yourself so much better, the little voice in her head taunts her. Who knows, perhaps you even liked it? All that power at your fingertips… crushing and crushing and crushing, people and planets and things… Isn't that what monsters like best? No. No. She won't let guilt eat her alive. Or perhaps…

"Shut up," she hisses, forgetting that Malak is still here.

Malak looks up from his datapad.

"Excuse me?"

Oh. Fantastic.

"Not you, me."

Malak quirks an eyebrow, looks back at his datapad, then up from it, puts it down, inhales as if about to speak, then picks it up again and goes on reading.

She knew that Carth would be pouting, he's been pouting for a week - no, actually, he's been pouting since he found out - but the fact that Malak is surprises her. Disappoints her, even. She shouldn't be disappointed; in fact, she shouldn't expect anything. He's the dark lord - was the dark lord - just like she used to be, and any evil she's unleashed, any horror she's committed, he's matched it with his own. He's razed worlds to the ground, he's tortured Bastila, he's betrayed her. Wishing him to comfort her… that's the most ludicrous thing in the world. Yet after that moment of weakness, after that mad dash from the tomb, after running and running, not for her life, but from it, she was relieved to find him waiting in the thicket, to be caught in her fall and halted in her race. She told him everything. She trusted him with her pain, trusted him with her fear, and he just listened and took it in. Perhaps that's why his sudden silence is so hard to bear. She casts him a sidelong glance that he pretends not to notice, but the slight tremor of his fingers doesn't escape her. Well, he did say he was not fine. She's reminded of her own distress and of the way he held her against his chest and tried to comfort her, to appear calm and collected as she shook and shook and shook, cold despite the sweltering heat. The gradual safety that came with the feeling of being held, and the impossible desire to disappear into the embrace, to hide from everything that was out there. From everything that was within. The way she'd felt his heart thumping against her ear, as loud and quick as her own, and the way his breath had hitched when she had mentioned Malachor. Perhaps it's Malachor, then. Well, he destroyed Taris. Destroyed the Enclave. He's got no right to pout about Malachor.

The thought makes her snort. It's petty, really, keeping score like that, especially when lives are what's in the scorebook, but it does remind her that she's not the only monster on board. It helps. A bit.

"Is it Malachor?" she finally asks, and waits for him to look up again. He doesn't.

"No, Revan, it's not Malachor."

Revan bites her tongue.

"Will you tell me, then?"

He still doesn't look up.

"Not today, no."

"When?"

"When it's fair."

"And when is that?"

Malak closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, and she thinks he's about to reply, when the holotable lights up and starts ringing.

"You might want to take that."

And just like that, he slips out and leaves her alone. Oh, he is infuriating, indeed.

Revan picks up the call and forces a tight smile onto her lips as Yuthura's image flickers to life over the table.

"I take it the students have made it home safely?" she asks, getting straight to the point.

"They have. Most are shocked, but they'll be stronger for it."

"That's one way to put it… Have they told you about the ritual?"

"What they understood of it, yes. I take it you have something in mind that requires my help?"

Revan lifts up the holocron.

"Something in hand, for the time being. I can't open it without a Sith."

"Of course."

Yuthura pauses, and Revan knows what she's about to say.

"I must admit, I did not expect everyone aboard the Hawk to be out of practice already."

By which she means Malak.

Revan shakes her head.

"Can't risk it yet."

She doesn't think there's any need to explain it further.

"I see. Then I'll be waiting for you at the Academy."

"Thanks. I'll be there in a few hours. Revan out."


She goes with Malak and Jolee, who are the most likely to have a vague notion of whatever the holocron may reveal. Malak remains silent, and still hasn't told her what the problem was. Of course, Jolee has noticed, because even though their faces are both hidden under their cowls, it's painfully obvious that something isn't right.

"Beautiful day, isn't it, kids?" he chimes, and she hates the hint of irony that he makes no effort to conceal.

"It's not." Whatever sun filters through the clouds is not enough to counter the chill, and the same dusty wind keeps hissing and hissing, carrying screams and whispers from the canyons below. In short, it's Korriban, and beautiful days don't happen here.

"No, of course not. You haven't asked a single question yet. That's very unlike you."

"I, uh…"

"You what?"

"I don't know what to ask."

"What to ask or who to ask?"

"I don't understand."

"No, obviously not."

Well, none of it is true. She knows exactly what to ask and who to ask, it's the answers that frustrate her – the lack of answers, to be more specific, and she gets the feeling that this conversation is heading the exact same way: absolutely nowhere.

"What are you getting at?"

She's not in the mood for mind games.

Jolee simply rolls his eyes and gestures towards Malak with his chin.

"Yes, well, I didn't get my answers, and I'm not in the habit of prying."

"That's a lie, kid."

It is.

"So?" he continues. She knows he's trying to help, but really, it's not helping. Not helping at all.

"So, nothing. We focus on the holocron."

Hopefully that will contain some answers.

He turns around to look at Malak, who gives him the exact same answer.

"You kids aren't fun, today."

No, she supposes they're not.

"Why don't you tell us a story instead?"

"Hmph. My stories should be delivered at the appropriate time and place, when stubborn youths have their minds and ears wide open. That's code for "not today", in case you couldn't tell."

"See, Jolee, you're no fun either."

"I guess not, but that's the point of being an old coot. That's my prerogative," he says as they reach the door of the Academy. Truly, there's no arguing with that – even if arguing is just another way for Jolee to pass the time.

As promised, Yuthura is waiting. She leads them into the library and locks the door behind them, ensuring that no acolytes may disturb them.

"Are you ready to begin?" she asks.

Revan hands her the holocron.

"Be careful."

Yuthura smirks.

"Not very Sithly, but I'll do my best," she answers, examining the markings on the stained crystal panels, which have begun to glow red in her hand.

"I've done some research about the tomb the students mentioned," she says. "The only known Sith tomb on Dxun is that of Freedon Nadd, although its coordinates were still unknown to us until yesterday."

"Is that bad?"

Yuthura shrugs.

"No idea. Nadd was somewhat of an outsider among the Sith. Politically influent, as Onderonians will tell you, but isolated. In fact, there's no trace of him ever setting foot on Korriban. We know very little about him… although we will certainly send a team to excavate the tomb when we can spare the means."

Revan has to refrain from wincing, but this is a subject of contention for another day.

"Is that all?"

"All I found, yes."

Which is better than nothing.

Yuthura sits cross-legged on the floor and puts the holocron down in front of her.

"One more thing," she says.

"Yes?"

"Just because I'm the one opening the holocron doesn't mean I'm ready to face its contents alone. Whatever happens next, I need you to be ready."

Revan nods. The twi'lek is being surprisingly lucid, for a Sith, but now is not the time to bring it up – supposing that there were one – and so she doesn't say anything as Yutura closes her eyes. She watches her chest heave as her breathing gets louder, and the air around them grows colder and colder, to the point that her breath condenses into a thin, white vapour. Then the pyramid grows brighter, and its angles start twisting around themselves as it rises above the ground. Finally, a figure appears. She looks human, almost, save for the thin, short tentacles protruding out of her chin.

"A jedi!" she exclaims. "Why, haven't you gone extinct already?"

Revan ignores the taunt.

"I come seeking knowledge," she says.

"And what makes you think I will grant it? My ritual is not for the unworthy. Only a true Sith, raised in our ways, could ever hope to perform it."

"I am a true Sith," she lies. "My name is Darth Revan, and I reclaimed Korriban."

The woman seems to consider.

"No. You are not. And you will die."

Before she can react, the holocron falls to the floor, and a bright orange tendril shoots out of Yuthura's chest and straight into the holocron. In less than a heartbeat, her body crumples on the floor, and the figure reappears, still translucent and blue, but more tangible this time, somehow, a distinct presence in the Force.

"Foolish child. To think I would grant my knowledge to an insignificant speck of dust such as yourself…"

She hears Malak's and Jolee's sabers igniting in sync with her own.

"I'm stronger than you think, Sith."

"So you say, Jedi!"

A purple flash erupts from the spirit's right hand, and Revan barely has time to lift her lightsaber and absorb the burst of power before the bolt forks out to the sides and hits Malak's and Jolee's blades as well. The sudden surge of energy is enough to send her reeling backwards, but she holds up her blade and gets up with minimal damage. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Malak pressing forward, resisting the push against his blade. In hindsight, the spirit may have let him. He's close enough to strike now, and swings his blade at her… but before the blow lands, all trace of lightning is gone, and Revan watches in horror as his body rises above the floor, his legs kicking madly as his hands clutch at his throat. The ghost looks at her, and smiles.

"Ha, so that's what you are. A fallen one, clawing her way back to the so-called "light". I see the look of recognition in your eyes. You're familiar with the technique, aren't you?"

Revan gulps down. It's what she did to Mandalore. What she did to that Sith on Dxun.

"Well, then, Jedi, you know what happens next…"

Her own fingertips burn with the heat of an energy cell about to explode. well, perhaps she'll let it.

"Enough!" she roars. Before she can take another breath, a purple bolt shoots out of her palm and straight into the ghost's form. Malak drops down to the floor, and the figure dissipates.

Revan rushes towards Yuthura's body.

"She's breathing! Jolee, please help me…"

He does. Several minutes go by before she awakes.

"Don't try to move," Jole tells her. "You're still too weak."

"Was it worth it?" she whispers.

Revan shakes her head.

"I'm sorry," she says. But the holocron starts glowing again.

It isn't long before the entity is standing in front of her again.

"Ah... There is more power in you than I initially thought. Very well. I shall share my knowledge."

"This was a test?!"

Her chest heaves with anger.

"A test, a failsafe… call it what you prefer, it matters not."

"It matters to me."

"Do you want my knowledge or not?"

Revan clenches her teeth.

"I do. There is… a ritual I must understand. One that can siphon life out of multiple beings at the same time."

"Ah, ambitious, aren't you?"

"I never said I would perform it."

"No? But you have taken many lives, ritual or not. Why restrain yourself now?"

Revan ignores the sudden lurch of her stomach.

"I have my reasons. Now, tell me."

"Oh, it's easy, really… once you've gathered everything. You only need twelve relics – remnants of dead worlds, to be exact – and a place strong enough in the dark side. Attune yourself to your hunger, and feed. Now, the ritual does yield better results if the sacrifices are Force-sensitive themselves, though any sentient life will provide some... temporary sustenance. Of course, the ritual itself is only the first step."

"The first step towards what?"

"Power. Unlimited power."

"Yes, we get it, you're a stereotypical Sith baddie. Now drop the theatrics and tell us what this entails."

"Anything. Cities. Continents. Entire worlds to sate one's hunger… and sustain oneself as long as there is life to feed on. Nothing, no one, would be beyond your reach."

That is arguably the most miserable existence she could possibly dream of.

"How do we stop it?"

The spirit laughs.

"You don't. No one ever has."

"If that ritual of yours is so powerful, how come you're dead?"

The entity glares at her.

"My body is dead, Jedi. But the lives I have poured into this relic will sustain me long after you're gone."

"Will they, now?"

Revan presses the end of her lightsaber's hilt to one side of the pyramid, taking in the look of terror on the spirit's face as she does so. Then she ignites it.

"What have you done?!" the ghost screeches.

"What was right."

The holocron shatters in a flare of red light that sends her flying towards the wall, and Revan braces herself for the shock.