Malak squints against the cold, harsh lights, pulsating in sync with the dull throbbing in his face. White. The room is white. White, and silent, save for the low, muffled buzzing in his hears. His limbs are heavy and light all at once, and the mattress feels like water, smooth and bottomless, beckoning his body to surrender and sink. He doesn't want to sink. He brings a hand up to rub his eyes and notices the catheter inserted into his forearm. Ah. Painkillers. He blinks. A blind panic takes hold of him as the scene replays before his eyes, and the purple blade slams into his face again. And again. And again. He breathes, in and out, in and out until it slows down, and as he finally dares to bring his fingers into contact with his cheek… No. No no no no no. Malak rips off the catheter and rushes towards the small fresher, nearly toppling over as his legs buckle beneath him. Then he meets his own gaze in the mirror, and suddenly finds himself bending over the basin. And he retches, and retches, retches until there's nothing left but the burn of acid in his otherwise numb throat. He slumps onto the floor, in the corner, and stays there in a ball like a cowering animal. Alone, ugly, empty. Sobbing like a helpless child, with trails of saltwater burning their way to the edge of his mangled cheeks. She hasn't come. She hasn't come, because she doesn't care. If he were feeling spiteful, he'd say she's done it on purpose. Well, he is feeling spiteful, and she probably has. Revan is not clumsy. Her blade doesn't just land in places it's not meant to. And now she's maimed him, ruined him, chewed him up and spat him out, and he's just sitting there on the bare floor like a discarded, broken plaything. No more. Never more. He'll rid himself of Revan if that is the last thing that he does. He'll wait as long as needed, but he will. He's not a piece of refuse that she can crumple up and toss away the minute she's done with it. He's not a battered dog destined to live in fear and subservience, waiting for the lash to fall. No. He's Darth Malak, Lord of the Sith, and soon enough, she won't be. Soon enough, she'll be nothing at all.

Malak blinks the memory away. He has betrayed her, and it didn't work out quite the way he expected. He's back at her side, now, and it's different, of course - everything is - but they're heading for battle again, and he knows how battles go. You lose, you win, and sometimes, history takes a turn for the better or for the worse. But you never get the luxury of doing things by halves. If it comes down to it, they'll choose which lives to sacrifice – Sith or Jedi, theirs or others'. It's what they've always done, and the reason they won against Mandalore. Whether the outcome was worth it or not. He remembers the two young knights who left Dantooine on that fateful autumn day, so full of hope and delusions, childlike and innocent still in spite of their righteous anger. So certain that lasting peace was but a couple of battles away. But it wasn't, and it's hard to keep the dark at bay when all you seem to be doing is knowingly sending friends to their deaths. Hopefully, today will be different.

The plan is simple, but simple doesn't mean easy, and once the transports land they'll be vulnerable to overhead bombardment, which is why they must act quickly, and land close enough to enemy ships that the Sith won't risk targeting them… which means heavy ground-side fighting to secure passage to the ships for acolytes and civilians, admitting that evacuation is even an option, and that the Sith don't consider their own ships to be expendable, which he knows for a fact is far from being a given. No, in fact, there's a very real possibility that they won't make it through the day. It's not a certainty, but it's there. He tries not to think about it. He does think about it. All things considered, it beats dying on the Star Forge. Not by much, because dying means failing, and failing is bad for a number of reasons, but at least Revan wouldn't be the one doing the killing, and there's some degree of comfort in that, because it's preposterous, but he'd rather die with her than against her and the truth is… Oh dear. If he doesn't die today there will be things to think about long and hard.

Malak looks at the clock. Less than an hour left before they get out of hyperspace. Revan calls the crew to the main hold for a briefing, which is a welcome distraction from… well, thoughts.

"There is no need for me to explain why we're fighting today. It's not merely justice, or freedom that are at stake, but our own survival, and that of everything we hold dear."

Malak doesn't notice the glance Carth casts her way. No, not at all.

"Our goal today is not to win or take Korriban, but to prevent the ritual from taking place, and save as many as we can. As you are well aware, the Republic won't be committing troops to the protection of an enemy outpost."

And it makes sense, because their forces have been stretched thin by four years of continuous attrition, not to mention the previous war, and they can't leave the core unprotected, let alone ask their soldiers to lay their lives on the line to save Korriban of all places. It's a mistake, but it makes sense.

"But. The Jedi have sent in as many transports and starfighters as they can spare. While that is by no means a combat fleet, I have every confidence that our cooperation with both the Jedi and the Sith will allow us to reach our objective. In addition, I have just received confirmation that Bastila Shan would be joining the battle aboard the Dauntless, and lend her battle meditation to our effort."

Good. This is good.

Revan zooms in on the holomap.

"After the Ebon Hawk and the transports get past Sith defence lines, we will land directly in the valley, right next to the enemy shuttles. The Jedi starfighters will work to intercept light enemy aircraft, while Yuthura Ban and her students will help us secure a ground corridor from Dreshdae to the valley. While this is our best alternative against overhead bombardment, we should expect heavy resistance on the part of the ground forces that have already begun landing. That is when we come in. Carth, I need you to be my eyes, ears and possibly my legs: keep the engines hot and monitor the field. Jolee, you and T3 will stay inside the Hawk, and defend it against any hostile intrusion. Sending our best healer into the fray would most likely lower our chances of survival and those of the refugees we'll be taking in. Mission: man the turbolaser, and give it all you've got. Yuthura believes they'll be going for the tomb of Naga Sadow. Zaalbar, Canderous, Juhani and HK, you'll help Malak and I carve our way to the tomb, and cover our escape and that of the padawans. Any suggestions?"

"A question," Carth says.

"Go ahead."

"Admitting that the padawans are already inside the tomb when you get there, and admitting that our Sith friend hasn't already siphoned them out, wouldn't it mean that the ritual…"

"Is just about to proceed, yes. Which means our 'Sith friend', as you call him, won't be too far away."

Carth bites his lower lip.

"Be careful out there, will you?"

"Don't worry, Carth. I think we've established that I don't die easy."

She smirks, but it's not quite as boastful as she's clearly aiming for.

"Like I said, be careful out there."


Carth powers down the hyperdrive, and Malak watches past the canopy as the blue vortex before them turns to bright stripes then to a myriad of sparkling dots. They're far enough from the Sith fleet that it's hard to tell ships from asteroids, but they'll have to move quickly to avoid interception.

Revan reacts to the brief trill of the holocomm by immediately picking it up.

"Dauntless to Ebon Hawk, do you copy?"

"Loud and clear, Master Vrook."

"Good. We're sending in a fighter squadron to escort you down to the surface. We'll stay at a safe distance so that Bastila can focus on her battle meditation undisturbed. I have no doubt that the Sith fleet will be targeting any ship they spot trying to get past the blockade. I would strongly advise diverting power to the energy shields, or I fear this mission will be brief."

Revan toggles a switch, and the cockpit goes dark, lit only by the blue glow of Master Vrook's holo-image and a handful of diodes scattered over the dashboard.

"Ready when you are, Dauntless."

Vrook nods.

"May the Force be with you."

Revan springs out of her seat as the distinctive hiss of a Sith interceptor covers up the frantic beeping of the proximity alarm.

"Ever flown something before?"

"Yes but…"

"No time for buts. Gotta blast these out of the sky before they report our position to the rest of the fleet. Carth tells you to do something, you do it."

And just like that, she's gone, and the Ebon Hawk is dropping down towards the surface, faster, faster, and Malak barely has time to buckle up before the ship sways right and starts spinning, narrowly avoiding the first salvo fired by one of the Sith fighters. The explosion that follows sends vibrations throughout the hull. Carth fires up the thrusters just in time to avoid the debris that comes flying right over the canopy, then plunges back down. One down, ten to go. Another explosion rattles Malak's bones. Nine. A volley of plasma bolts makes the Hawk swing. They're still heading down. One of the screens before him flashes red.

"Shields down to thirty percent. Diverting power from temperature control."

"Do it!" Carth commands.

Another fighter dashes right over the Hawk, loops back and fires.

"What are those blasted Jedi fighters doing?!"

The ship swerves again. A green bolt grazes the side of the canopy, before hitting the Sith fighter's front stabiliser.

Carth opens a comm channel.

"Thank the Force, you've arrived!"

"We've got you covered, Ebon Hawk. Keep going down."

"Copy that."

The Jedi tear through the Sith squadron. By the time they hit the atmosphere, only two hostile fighters remain. Two Jedi ships come flanking the Hawk as they come in sight of the valley, where Malak can already make out red bolts bouncing off red blades, amidst a good two dozen shuttles that take up all of the landing space.

Carth takes a deep inhale.

"Alright, wish me luck. I'm gonna land right between that obelisk and the big shuttle right there."

"… between?!"

"Hang on tight!"

A cloud of reddish dust lifts up and the hull squeaks as it brushes against that of the shuttle, sending sparks in the air before the ship finally comes to a halt. Carth wipes his brow.

"Another happy landing."

The ringing of the holocomm prevents Malak from making a response.

"Yuthura Ban to Ebon Hawk, we're under heavy fire. The door to the Academy has collapsed, I can't get the remaining civilians to cross to the valley."

"Alright, find cover," Carth says, "I'll patch you through to Master Vrook. Tell him to send a of couple of transports to Dreshdae and have the Jedi fighters target the bombers."

"Copy that."

Revan all but barges into the room, lightsaber already in hand.

"Come on, we've got to go."

And they shoot out of the Hawk and into the fray, amidst the smoke and the smell of death, amidst the uproar of a frenzied mob – Sith against Sith, as it was bound to be, fighting, running, crawling. Malak parries a blaster bolt and swings his blade at the Sith who charges straight into him. Another stroke and she drops to the ground, her torso rolling down right next to her now-inert legs. Another Sith falls dead at Revan's feet, and Canderous and Zaalbar rain plasma onto the incoming infantry. HK is more deliberate, but just as deadly. Juhani fights in the shadows, invisible to all save for intermittent flashes of blue as she mows a path towards the tomb of Naga Sadow. A canon booms in the distance, and Malak looks back to see an obelisk fall down right onto one of the Sith shuttles. A little zabrak boy emerges from behind a statue, gripping his mother's bloody hand as he yanks her along in his mad dash towards the Hawk. There are fewer Sith once they reach the tomb, and though the rest of the team has stayed behind to contain incoming troops and assist with evacuation, they reach the main chamber quickly.

There he is, with his back to the Star Map, surrounded by glowing artifacts and the prone, tied up bodies of the padawans - a large, hooded figure in black robes. Motionless, almost serene. Empty. He looks up at them, revealing a white, bone-like mask and two black, hollow sockets. Malak ignites his lightsaber and hurls it forward, but the Sith uses the Force to push it right back at him before igniting his own. Revan all but leaps onto the man, ducking under the blade that comes swinging her way as Malak rushes in to join the fight. There are footsteps behind him, but Malak can't look back, focused as he is on the clashing of his blade with that of the Sith, a sweep of which narrowly misses his head. The Sith takes a step back as Malak ripostes and deviates his blow. Malak lunges forward again, only to find himself thrust into a statue with a loud and painful crack. Revan presses on, forcing the Sith Lord's back against the Star Map. The head of another statue comes flying her way, and she shatters it with a stroke of her lightsaber, but it's enough of a distraction that the Sith has time to lunge forward again, and she lets out a grunt as the tip of his blade singes her sleeve. She parries another blow… and freezes, her body surrounded by a purple haze. Malak barely has time to shove her to the side before the red blade comes slashing down. The Sith makes a U-turn and lurches at him, letting out a furious snarl as Malak parries and hits his flank. Malak advances and slashes again, only to be halted by a sudden, searing pain. He looks down at the red blade that retracts from his abdomen, and feels his body crumple as a burst of lightning hits the Sith Lord in the chest. The world starts spinning around him, and the loud, hurried footsteps echoing through the halls turn into a muffle as he realises that his head has landed on Revan's lap. He feels a hand on his wound, and a slight tingling courses through his body. Healing. She's trying to heal him.

"Don't move."

If he had the strength to laugh, he would. His vision starts clouding, but he can tell he's being dragged away from the tomb. The world goes dark.


It's the smell of the ointment that awakes him. This is becoming a pattern, and he's not sure he likes it.

"Jolee…" he hears himself mumble, "s not my nose that's missing."

It's terribly ungrateful of him, but someone had to say it.

"I'll let him know."

Malak opens his eyes to see Revan sitting on the edge of the bed, with a bowl and a medkit on her lap.

"Don't try to move," she says as she removes the bandages that have been wrapped around his waist. "I don't have Jolee's skill."

"That bad, uh?" he says as he notices the drip in his forearm. "Where is he?"

"Tending to Tommy's mother," she answers, pointing her chin towards the side of the bed. Malak looks to the side and catches sight of the little zabrak boy he saw earlier, playing pazaak on the floor with Mission.

"He's a brave kid," she says as she starts rubbing the ointment in. It hurts, but if he's being completely honest with himself, it's also a little bit nice.

"The padawans?" he asks.

"Safe. In shock, but safe."

Malak sucks in a short breath as Revan's fingers reach a particularly sore spot.

"Sorry," she winces, and starts pulling her hand back. He catches it.

"It's fine."

"Okay," she says softly, and begins rubbing again, a little more carefully this time.

"Juhani untied them while we were fighting," she continues. "I don't know what I'd do without her."

"And the Sith Lord?"

Revan's hand stops moving.

"I think he crawled away while I dragged you here."

"Has anyone searched the tomb?"

Revan nods.

"I lost him, Malak."

"He'll be back."

"I know. That's what I'm afraid of."