He catches her – again – ignoring the pain in his back as it makes contact with the stone wall and the impact of her hipbone in a place that is clearly not meant to withstand that. Sometimes, he thinks, the Force has a wicked sense of humour, because if there's anyone whom he does not want to have any sort of physical contact with today – in fact, anyone he's been wanting to pretend never crossed paths with him at all – it's her. Well, the thought itself is ridiculous, not just because she doesn't know, nor because he knows full well that he's not sane enough to do that, but because she's just saved his life for the second time in a week, and while it won't erase the past, it has to count for something. And whatever emotion allowed her to summon Sith lightning, he can't gloss over the fact that she used it for him, that she put herself at risk to save him of all people, and surely, it has to count for something too. Does count for something, because he, too, has taken a part of her, of who she used to be, and she's got every right to as scared as him, as angry as him, in fact, to hate him with every single fibre of her being… but if she does, she doesn't let it show. That doesn't make the truth any easier to accept, but there's that at least, and for now, it has to be enough. Still, he doesn't look at her – not right away – and it takes him a few seconds to look down and meet her gaze. When he does, Revan glances away. She's shaking again, her breath quick and shallow as she attempts to steady herself. Revan never shakes in battle, never in front of the enemy. She cannot have them know that she's only human. It starts after, always after, when combat is over and true fear begins to seep in, because it's not fighting or dying that she's afraid of, it's what she'll leave behind if she does, and what she'll do before she gets there. How much of herself she'll lose in the process. It's painfully ironic, of course, because she's already lost so much, and there is still no way in the universe she can be anybody but Revan. Always Revan, always walking the beam of that tipping scale between power and restraint, truth and lies, raw emotion and cold reason. Always an open book and an unfathomable soul, always the warmth of home and the chill of a colder, darker place. Never just good or bad. Never simple. Never easy. It's just the way it's always been. But Revan's not stupid; she's lost her balance before, and she knows it. And she's afraid that one day, she won't get back up. She will. Yet if she does fall again, if they drag each other down again… Malak realises that he's started shaking too. It won't happen again. It mustn't. It can't.

Eventually, she takes a step back, and Malak is grateful for the opportunity to compose himself.

"We've got to warn Coruscant."

"About your sudden and unexpected display of dark side power?" Jolee says as he helps Yuthura stand up.

"No. That's not the first time," Revan says, and Malak can tell she meant to sound casual.

"Oh, well if that's not the first time, I suppose everything is fine…" the old man says as he looks down at her hands. "The shaking's just adrenaline, isn't that right, kid? Or caffeine. I did tell you to quit that. No need to seek help for any of that, now, is there?"

"Jolee, I am fine. And we've got more pressing concerns. Like a madman willing to consume planets to achieve immortality. And the fact that he needs Force-sensitives to do it."

Malak shifts a little.

"You mean… the Temple?"

"I don't know. Corsucant's too well protected for a direct assault, but if he can sneak past that and kidnap students like he did here…"

"Then he can perform his ritual and go on feeding."

"Exactly. Which means the Temple has to know, and they have to know now."

She turns to look at Yuthura.

"How do you feel?"

"Like a pile of bantha poodoo."

Crude, but honest.

"Will you be able to handle things here?"

Yuthura nods.

"I'm stronger than I look. I'll revoke our contract with the mercenaries – what's left of them – and position more guards in key locations of the valley. I'll let you know if anything arises. Now go. And if you could keep me informed of any developments that may affect the Academy… I'd appreciate it."

"Of course. I'll be in touch."

She doesn't say a word as they leave the academy, and she doesn't say a word on their way back to the ship either. It's fine. It's fine because she doesn't have to talk to him unless she wants to, and quite evidently, she doesn't want to. It's fine because she's saved his life and that enough to ask for in a day. Or week. Or year. And it's not fine. It's not fine because he still wants her to know why he was angry – is angry – in the first place, and he still wants her to feel bad about it. Or maybe he just wants her to say "sorry", because she never even did that at the time, and she certainly won't do it now that she has forgotten. The thought almost makes him snort. "Sorry". As if "sorry" would cut it. As if any words could. But she did save his life, whether that's a good thing or not, and the fact that she used the dark side to do so… he doesn't know how he feels about that. It feels good, because it means she cares – enough to be angry at his would-be killer, at least, which is a massive improvement from the past two years – and it feels bad, because she's Revan, and she will get to the bottom of it. Whether that means wearing him down until he lets the truth explode in her face, or doing away with the emotion that pushed her to act. He doesn't know which one scares him the most.


When they reach the hawk, Carth is waiting. Carth is always waiting, like a loyal kath puppy. It's not difficult to guess why, and Malak doesn't know if he's jealous or sorry. It's both. Definitely both. Because Revan is Revan, and whatever comes to pass, that is both the best and the worst thing that could possibly befall him.

"Did it work?" he asks.

Revan nods.

"We need a secure transmission to Coruscant."

"Who are we calling?"

"The Jedi Council."

"Glad you're finally doing something reasonable."

Well, Carth may be Revan's kath puppy, but he's not above the not-so-occasional growl of discontent. Revan shoots him an icy glare, but says nothing.

"You can't go on keeping secrets like this," he continues.

"I'm still not telling them about my visions, if that's what you're implying."

Carth snorts.

"I don't know why I even bother."

"Me neither," she bites back. "And we've got better things to do than argue about whether or not the righteous Lieutenant Onasi is willing to accept my past."

"Oh that's funny, because it sounds like that's exactly what you're doing."

"Well, am I wrong?"

Carth doesn't answer.

"So," she snaps, "since you didn't ask, there's a Sith Lord out there trying to gain the ability to eat planets for breakfast, and he needs sacrifices to perform the ritual that will allow him to do so - Force sensitives, to be more specific, which means both Jedi and Sith are targets of choice. Now, we don't know for sure whether he's the one who's taken control of the fleet, but the people we saw on Dxun were from the Sith infantry and Navy, so we know he has backup."

Carth exhales loudly.

"Alright, alright, just… forget it and do your thing. I'll be at the front."

"Thank you, Carth."

Revan presses the "call" button. The console rings for a while before someone picks up on the other end. A woman's face appears on the holo. Atris. Of course, it had to be Atris. But there's something different about her, a twitchiness in the way she moves, a nervousness that threatens to melt the ice-cold mask of her immovable features.

"Now is not a good time, Revan. Several padawans have gone missing, and the whole Temple is on high alert."

Revan squeezes her eyes shut. They both know what it means.

"How many padawans?"

"How many…? what difference does it make?"

"I said, how many padawans?"

"Twelve."

Revan swallows.

"How long?"

"An hour. Maybe more. They all missed their training session this morning, and when we searched the dorms they were nowhere to be found."

"So they could have disappeared during the night."

"I suppose so…" Atris pauses. "You know something, don't you?"

Revan inhales deeply.

"I suppose you want the short version? There's a Sith Lord out there seeking Force-sensitive sacrifices for a ritual that will allow him to consume worlds and gain immortality. I met his forces on Dxun."

Atris gasps.

"This goes beyond anything we could have imagined. Come back to Coruscant immediately. The Council needs to hear this."

"Master, with all due respect, you can't call off the search yet. If the ritual does take place then the fate of the Galaxy will be sealed…"

"We won't. I'm dispatching a strike team to Dxun the moment we end this call."

Revan shakes her head.

"This won't be enough. You have to bar all ships from leaving Coruscant right away."

"I'm afraid this is beyond the Jedi's purview, and it may be too late for that already."

"It will be if they escape! I for one do not know whether they're still on Dxun or not, but they did see me. Your strike team may land there and find them gone, and if that is the case then we both know the galax…"

"I know what this means, Revan. I'll call the Chancellor, but there's little chance of our stopping them here."

Revan doesn't say goodbye, all but slamming her fist into the "end call" button. It's bad. It's very, very bad.

"I'll call the Chancellor," she parrots, "at this rate they'll have escaped long before anything gets done!"

It reminds him of the war. How she spoke too quickly and slammed doors after meetings with the Council which always ended the same way, and how he would tell her that she was right, because he believed it. He still does. This time, however, Atris may have a point.

"She's right, you know, they may be gone already." He hates to admit it, because Atris is Atris, but she is. "And all legal matters set aside, the Jedi don't have the means to blockade an entire system. She needs to call the Chancellor."

"I know that, I just… We're letting them slip away, and if they've abandoned Dxun then there's no way to know where to look."

No, there isn't. There is nothing to do, but wait, and hope the Jedi find a clue. They're both notoriously bad at waiting.


The Council doesn't call back, and he spends the rest of the flight avoiding the conversation they're bound to have at some point, leaving the dorm when she goes to sleep and trying to sleep when she's awake. Except he can't fall asleep, because it's just one of these days, and every time he closes his eyes, he sees the blade slamming into his face. He hears a scream – wild and raucous, – and the sound of his lightsaber hitting the floor as his fingers go limp and he registers the searing pain spreading through his whole head and neck. Then he collapses. He wakes up panting, clawing at his jaw that is not there, taking in deeper and deeper breaths until the smell of burnt flesh is gone and his heartbeat finally slows down enough that he can force his eyelids shut again. Then it happens again. And again. His first week aboard the Hawk had been blissfully free of nightmares, but memories of that kind don't just disappear overnight, and there's only so much one can do to look away from them. So he just lies there with his eyes wide open, but after too much staring the neon light starts stinging, and his vision starts fogging up. Perhaps the past few days were just too good to be true. Perhaps he can't fool himself into forgiving her just yet.

He hears footsteps in the hallway – her footsteps – and hastily closes his eyes, pretending to be asleep. The footsteps come to a halt a couple of feet away from his bunk. It was worth a try.

"You're not actually sleeping, are you?"

There's no reproach here, just a question.

Malak opens his eyes, but says nothing, still staring at the ceiling.

"Look, whatever your reason for avoiding me… I'm sorry. And I know I can't make you tell me but… it might help. Jolee says I'm being stupid, and I have no idea what he means, but if there's any chance that he's wrong… well I suppose what I'm trying to say is I can hear it if you want me to. In fact, I'd be relieved to know I can help."

He finally turns his head too look at her, locking onto soft grey eyes. She means it. She's wrong, but she means it.

"No, Revan. You wouldn't. And if I could forget, I would."

It's not that he doesn't want to tell her, it's that he can't find it in himself to do it nicely, actually, to do it in a way that doesn't thoroughly destroy the fragile belief that they can be okay.

Revan looks to the side, hesitating.

"Would you forget me altogether?"

Ah. That.

"I…"

There were good times, too – some not so long before it went south. Whether the good can redeem the bad… it's hard to tell.

"Be honest. I can take it."

His throat contracts painfully. There's no good way to answer that, but he doesn't want to lie, either, and yet he can't just keep staring and say nothing.

"No, I don't think I would," is what he settles for, because it's stupid, but it's true.

She offers him a weak smile, and walks away. He doesn't try to sleep again.