Resurrection

by psytronix

Having awoken, taken back the reins of his body - Revan finds a new method of control of the galaxy, using it to right his wrongs. Eventual HAREM, GENDERBENDS, CANON-DIVERGENCE, MOSTLY-LIGHTSIDED-REVAN

9. Reunited

"It is not some great test you require to be what you strive to be. It is only your decision to find the path that matters."

Starlight and hyperspace lanes did very little to stifle the chatter on the Ebon Hawk, and it's communication relay. While the ship was a bit stuffy and cramped before, space was quickly running out. Carta stayed in the cockpit for long stretches; stealing sleep in an 8 hour bout in the cabins where she could. Bastila tended to wander more often than she cared to admit, but kept Carta company - meditating in the storage room whenever possible. Mission stowed herself in the cabins, if she wasn't working on something in the garage, but loved to pass the time with Zaalbar in the main hold.

Caldera, meanwhile, preferred her time training in said garage; often to the ire of anyone who needed to modify their weapons. It was rare that she found herself in the main hold, but often it was to keep an eye on T3-M4, who she labelled as "suspicious". Said droid would beep offence back to such an accusation, and continue it's whirring, incessant path around the ship in a perfect loop; stopping where it could see improvements were needed.

K'Satra kept herself busy in the engineering compartment just prior to the cockpit, if she wasn't keeping her blaster sharp in the storage room - which seemed to be increasing in popularity amongst the Jedi. It was just isolated and just quiet enough so that one could lose themselves in meditation, even when T3 would make it's visit there. Revan had taken that room as their training space, as well; but saw the mounting issue.

The Hawk needed to expand.

The starfighters were a fine addition; but he preferred to be able to swap in apprentices on the fly or teach in groups to gauge the cadre together. Meditating one-on-one proved to be a warm experience between him and Yuthura, but, Revan set the most analytical minds of the ship to the task. Carta would oversee the project; and how to maintain the Hawks' hyperdrive rating with more levels tacked onto the ship, whilst Zaalbar would coordinate with the docking authorities on the attachments themselves. T3-M4 would then patch things together.

Though they were short on credits, pawning what dregs they'd collected as spoils, it was enough to start. And it was one of hundreds of tasks running through Revan's head. He loved problem-solving, as it were. Completing smaller tasks to approach larger ones, to approach impossible ones felt satisfying. He could already foresee tensions running high in the little space they had, even without the Force - so a problem it was.

(Meanwhile...)

Dal Vesser's comms lit up as her astrogational systems kept Tatooine in sight. It had been too long since she'd been out in the stars, and longer still since she had flown solo. She sighed as she accepted said comms line, ensuring her autopilot was steady.

"Terentatek 1, this Terentatek 2. What is it, Shaarda?"

"The… Cadre? Is that what they're calling us? Anyway, we're all in on this frequency. Kel has some interference on hers, the idiot," Shaarda advised, sighing deeper into the line.

Dal heard Lashowe's voice pipe up. "I like the name. Makes us sound menacing."

"Which is wholly counterintuitive if we're to help the galaxy," said Thalia. "Personally, I'd rather the callsign Boma."

Shaarda sniggered, "why's that, Thalia? Because you look like one?"

The rest of the line groaned in irritation at the poor insult, booing Shaarda's hazing efforts.

Thalia in particular snorted. "Get better material, Shaarda. Sticks and stones may break a Boma's bones, but-"

"-Whips and chains apparently - zzt - do excite one, Thalia," spoke Kel, chuckling to herself.

Dal couldn't help but snigger, shaking her head. "Words like that will call Master Revan to punish you, Kel."

"And oh how she'd hate that," Lashowe giggled. "Personally though, despite… Erm, our whole… Shared experience, I could easily go for another round with him."

It was then Dusti moaned, "don't remind me. Awkward enough that I'll have to explain to my mother just why I tongued the balls of a former Dark Lord, let alone having to resist that feeling when he's near…"

"I was honestly expecting to feel a lot more shame than I currently am," Dal admitted. "But… We get this done, and I'm sticking with him, I think. I've missed the term Master."

Shaarda faux-sighed, the sound of fanning emanating from her line. "And soon Dusti will use the term Daddy. Honestly - bets that he hasn't kriffed his whole crew?"

Dusti retched at the thought of the mythical man making love to her mother. The thought grossed her out enough, even ignoring the sick sense of enjoyment she got out of it. The eruption of laughter from the cadre's call was enough to make her shrink.

"Awful, just awful," Mekel finally spoke. "And no. Maybe. Bastila, yes - the Twi'lek girl, no. Too young."

A unanimous sound of agreement echoed in the call.

"...Are we all going to ignore the fact that Kel gargled Revan's cum?" Lashowe broke the brief silence afterwards, eliciting a roar of playful arguments and chatter from the line.

Dal had to sit back and enjoy the comm, shaking her head, laughing, cringing all the same, yet yearning still for a moment of time with the former Dark Lord. It was going to be a long journey.

(...)

Carta had to tear herself from the hyperspace view, and instead went to hash out design plans for the Hawk while she waited. As if to help bring her out of that spike of boredom, in entered the Ordo madam, who leant against the cockpit's entryway. Craning her head back, Carta barely acknowledged the woman's presence, noting a keen and pensive stare in her eyes.

"Tell me," said Carta, "what happened out there? Last I checked, we had plans on Korriban to help sway the majority of the Academy to our side, but-"

"-He didn't tell you, did he?" Caldera asked. "No matter. It was a proving of strength, not unlike those seen in the Mandalorian Wars."

"Ah, here we go," Carta pinched the bridge of her nose and murmured to herself. "Alright, forget I asked, and don't pipe up. Are you bored or just wandering?"

The Mando snickered. "I was not granted the combat I so desired, on that Sith planet. It's left me itching for a fight-"

"-Yeah, well if you came up here asking for a round, then no, I'm sorry-"

"-You should keep yourself in tune with some regimen, Onasi," Caldera droned, "staring at the lines of stars will drive you mad."

"No thanks, I've got you for that right here. Besides, if a target needs to be shot, then I'll shoot it. We have the training remote in the storage bay for that anyway-"

"-Nothing beats beating flesh, Onasi. Surely you of all Republic soldiers would know that. Unless of course you were the outlier and the rest of your army was trained on simple remotes. It would explain quite a lot about Republic performance during the Mandalorian Wars, in any event-"

"-Oh just shut the-, alright," Carta relented, launching up from her seat. "You're like a child. Apparently one in need of spanking."

A hearty blush tinged the cheeks of the Mandalorian madam, and she swooned, grinning as Carta peeled down the hall, into the storage bay. Too quickly did they begin their spar; without warmup, without a stretch, and in Caldera's case, without a stim. It was a rough exchange, leaving both warriors bruised as they circled one another, finding themselves conversing again.

"The more I think," Caldera panted, "the more I look upon our goals."

Carta tossed her jacket off, striking herself in the chest to pump some more adrenaline through her body. "I have to respect that, thinking must be tough for a Mandalorian."

She had to snicker at that. "If we are truly so low on time, then why bother with this visit to Tatooine? We have an assembly of fighters and the Jedi whelp on our side; she could ally them with her battle meditation and we could lead guerilla strikes against Malak with your Republic, could we not?"

Carta shook her head as she steadied her breaths, going for a rapid rush towards Caldera's midsection. One, two flurrying strikes to the Mando's chest and she was out, peeling back before she could retaliate.

"Revan's afraid," Carta mumbled. "At least, I think he is. He spent all that time crafting his lightsaber, and still, he thinks he needs to, I don't know, power it some more. Whatever else he thinks is drawing him into the planet, though…"

"He will listen to you, you know," advised Caldera, before rushing past Carta with the same technique, peppering her thigh with an iron strike. "Tell him our time is better suited elsewhere, and we can head directly to Coruscant. Or Alderaan if K'Satra's prattling is true."

"Gah! Th-that's the thing, I… I feel his hunch. Maybe not exactly what he's feeling, but, Tatooine seems to be the place to go. I just… When the name came up I thought to myself we could hide there, for a time. Failing that there's always some dirty work that needs doing there, and credits, if you can hunt."

The reasoning trapped Caldera in thought, and, taking the advantage, Carta reared back with a strike and clocked the clanswoman in the jaw. She recoiled, tasting blood from a split lip, but held her face in place and smiled, launching back at Carta furiously.

"Classic Republic tactic, distract me with words and catch me off guard! If, hyah!-, things on the planet are truly as you say they are, then perhaps it won't be a total waste!"

Wham!

Carta would've taken another blow if she hadn't ducked. She was thrown off balance by the Mando's first punch, rendered unable to see her coming, but ducked still. Whether from experience or instinct, or by that thing that Revan mentioned, she dared not think. She simply knew to duck to avoid the next hit. Carta launched backwards, slamming Caldera back into the ground, and leapt back as fast as she could, arms up at the panting, dazed Mando.

"Hm," she grunted, extending an arm out to Caldera, lifting the woman up as she thought. If she was able to control the Force, then she certainly didn't know it. As Revan said, it was more a curiosity than anything else... She hoped.

It seemed to make someone more of a target than anything else.

"That's… Six rounds to you," Carta panted, "and, what, two to me?"

"Three," Caldera grinned again, preparing another running slam. "Don't sell yourself short. Hyaargh!"

(...)

Seeing that the storage bay was off-limits for the time being, unless she wanted to be caught in the crossfire, Bastila resigned herself to another room in the Hawk where she could meditate on her lonesome. She was wary of the last minute addition who'd been stuck to Revan for the past few hours, which also left a whole cabin of the ship occupied. Attempting to centre herself in the medbay was her only option left, and it seems even that failed - for it too, was taken.

"O-Oh, sorry, Mistress Shan," K'Satra apologised, bowing low, rising from the bay's bed. "If you need the room, I can-"

"-It's quite alright," Bastila assured her, smiling. "There's barely any room to breathe here, let alone isolate."

"You can say that again. Sharing a bunk with Carta's not the best, let me tell you."

"She snores?"

"Nightmares," K'Satra answered, flatly, staring briefly into the distance.

Bastila felt the need to smack herself in the face. "Ah, my apologies. Is… Is everything alright? You seem distant."

The soldier sighed, scratching her head as she collected some chemical allotment from the medbay workbench, feeling her fingers twitch. "I suppose physically, yes. Since this whole thing began I can't help but feel out of my depth, truth be told."

"How so?"

"Things are beginning to make sense," K'Satra said, "and in my experience, that's never a good thing. For one; his assignment to the Endar Spire, your sudden transfer to it's command, and Carta being there, it…"

Bastila's face fell.

"Was I part of this plan - what… What you and the Jedi made?" K'Satra asked, appearing slightly offended at the idea. "Or… Were the people on the Endar Spire-"

"-We didn't know of Malak's attack, if that's what you're asking," Bastila admitted. "Malak… I assume she was after me. Near as we could tell, she still thought Revan was dead. H-Him… Him entering under my tutelage; that was the plan, as far as the Council was concerned."

K'Satra whistled in disbelief. "You? Train him?"

Immediately the Jedi's face scrunched up, and she raised a finger in indignation. "Don't sound so surprised. Though I may still be a padawan, the Council thought it wise that we stick together…"

"...There's something you're not telling me," K'Satra noted. Bastila stared at her, opening and closing her mouth, before staring down to the ground. "It's fine. I won't pry. I have to figure it's a Jedi thing."

"Something like that," Bastila nodded. "How is your family faring? Any word back from them?"

The soldier shook her head. "Only just got word out on Korriban, I doubt we'll see anything back until we leave Tatooine… But I've got a feeling they're doing alright. And, uh, speaking of feelings…"

Bastila raised an eyebrow, curious.

"How… How did you know you could use the Force?"

The Jedi looked taken aback, catching herself up. "Oh. Well, a-at a young age I showed a predisposition towards it, and the Council saw me. They… I suppose, it came to me. I found I could influence things, convince people that couldn't be, normally, and, well…"

The memory appeared painful, if K'Satra still trusted her eyes. "It's alright. Thanks for indulging me."

Bastila finally took a seat on the bed's edge, eyeing K'Satra as she went to exit, finally leaning on the doorway. "If you don't mind my asking-"

"-Curiosity, mainly," K'Satra answered. "Revan told me that… Carta and I, we could uh, see something. A ghost in the Force, an old Lady of the Sith."

Bastila's eyes widened in a distinct mix of horror and wonder. Though she found herself more out of her depth than not recently, she still managed to bark out a "what!?"

"As I said," K'Satra mumbled now, thinking deeper and deeper. "It's a curiosity. I like definite things, and I certainly don't like leaving things to chance, or to the Force, as you Jedi do. E-Even with everything we're doing, I can't see us winning this battle of Revan's."

"Even he doesn't know the full strength of his enemy by the sounds," Bastila agreed, "but that's… I-If what you're saying is true-"

"-I know what I saw, Mistress Shan. I just don't know how in the world it came to me. Or to Carta, for that matter. I-"

"-The Force works in mysterious ways," Bastila rose, quickly, placing a hand on the soldier's shoulder. "But, and this is a monumental but," she uttered, "if you truly can see through the Force, then you may be able to listen deeper. To hear it echo and feel it flow through you."

K'Satra couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. "Why do you sound so concerned over it, then?"

"Because it opens you up to dark influences. Whereas rage in a person who can't wield the Force simply pitters and stagnates, the Force amplifies it. I… I'm sorry, K'Satra, this goes beyond my expertise, I-"

"-It's fine, then," she said, clearly not agreeing with her own words. "We can ignore it. I've gone through schooling and service without it, so I can continue without it."

A light dimmed in Bastila's spirit. To snuff something out so quickly, so dismissively, it hurt her. But it was for the best. There was no telling what an untrained Force user could do; especially one championed by Revan himself.

"Perhaps it's for the best. I-I'm sorry if I come across as stressed in these times, but-"

"-It's to be expected," K'Satra assured her, quietly.

"Still," Bastila sighed, "while you and Carta were away, our ship was approached. An old friend of Mission's came, delivering some odd news, and… An… Employee, of my father. She told me that my mother was ill, waiting for me on-"

"-Tatooine," K'Satra finished for her, brow furrowing.

Bastila nodded. "I've spoken to Revan of this, and… Well, that's why I asked about your family. We Jedi aren't meant to keep our familial connections, as love… Love can be turned, used to hurt you, and your loved ones. But despite this, we shall be visiting her, and my father, on Tatooine."

K'Satra nodded, solemn, understanding of the wedge between Bastila and her parents. "We're here for you. Though I'm not sure how much help a former Sith Lord will be with your mother."

Bastila shook her head, letting ring a hollow laugh. "It couldn't possibly make things go worse."

(...)

The two Twi'lek of the crew found themselves tucked away in the port cabin. Yuthura had attempted to ground herself in meditation, steadying her boiling anger and growing her nascent love, but had made the mistake of greeting Mission Vao. Yuthura liked her, she really did, and she could see why Revan had recruited her, if the kid's skill with her blasters and lockpick tools were anything to go by. But, even when speaking, flailing her arms about in a violent manner, and going elbow deep into the firing mechanism of a gun, she was still able to annoy the kriff out of her.

"-Then someone approaches the Hawk, asks for me, and I think what, wait - who is this? How did they know I was on Korriban? But it's Lena! My sister's ex! And then she has the gall to say my sister - my own sister - was the one who dumped me on Taris? I just can't believe it! I mean, that schutta Lena-"

Yuthura pinched the bridge of her nose so very tightly. Until she could feel the nerves on said bridge trembling and begging to be cut loose, she pinched it, hoping that Mission would see her state and spare her from this rant. Alas, that mercy was not given to her so easily.

"Go on, please, tell me more about this schutta," Yuthura groaned, eyeing her lightsaber with a distinct drive to harm herself.

"That wasn't even the worst part! The worst part was her leaving all high and mighty, griping about what charity she would've given me, well too late now! I say she's a liar, and that Grish is on Tatooine, stranded because of her!"

"For all our sakes," Yuthura began hovering her finger over her blade's ignition button, "I hope dehydration doesn't take your sister in the Dune Seas."

Lest we hear about it until the end of time, the Sith thought to herself, rolling her eyes as Mission just kept talking. Yuthura sat in the bunk's cot while Mission was on the floor, with an array of tools splayed in front of her. She went by, cleaning her blaster pistol and sliding in a new chamber, angling the barrel dangerously close to her face.

On instinct, though not happy at all that she had found herself in babysitting duty, Yuthura force-flicked the blaster's barrel away from Mission's face as they spoke, ignoring the aggrieved exclamations that followed.

"H-Hey, I was cleaning that!"

"You had the barrel facing you," Yuthura groaned. "You were going to injure yourself."

Mission rolled her eyes. "I've been doing this since I was six, Yuthura. I think I know how dangerous the end of a blaster can be-"

"-Then clearly I'm talking to a ghost, because handling a gun like that should've killed you years ago," she sighed again, motioning to the barrel's side. "Look, the firing mechanism is still primed, it can go off with just a flick of-"

She found the word "trigger" dying in her throat as she eyed Mission's hands, and the trigger of the blaster. Mission's scowl softened as she tried to see for herself what the Sith was looking at, but narrowed her eyes still.

"What?"

The trigger was shivering, as if locked in place. The girl's hands were remarkably steady, and the pistol clean as a whistle. But the trigger, the firing mechanism appeared incomprehensibly stiff otherwise. Unless it was a trick, then Yuthura was seeing something supernatural in action, she thought. Something steadying the gun otherwise to prevent it from firing - and injuring - the young scoundrel.

"I-It's nothing, I'm…" the words were hard to say. "I'm sorry. S-So, I'm sure you find it advantageous that we're heading to Tatooine, yes?"

Mission nodded. "Yeah… At least I'll have some answers," she locked in the final pieces of the pistol together again, and Yuthura noticed the trigger stopping again, loosening. Mission switched the blaster's power to stun, and aimed at a corner of the cabin, closing one eye. "And if, for some reason, I don't like the answers I get, then… I can always shoot Grish in the butt."

(...)

"Y'know, I can't help but get the feeling I'm not supposed to be here," Attel said, touring the ship with Revan, easily getting a feel for it's layout.

"I feel the same all too often," Revan replied. "But, the company we keep is good. I don't expect trust, nor friendship, but these people won't shoot you in the back."

His eyes then darted to the storage bay, falling. "Perhaps one would."

Attel snickered. "Well, so far, that's one step above the cantina. So, am I piloting this hunk of junk, or-"

Attel was cut off by her own thoughts as she saw the hero of the Republic, leaning back in the pilot's seat and nursing bruises; a swell on her face. She acknowledged Revan and Attel with but a nod, perhaps an odd twinge of her eyes, and grunted in pain.

"Attel, meet Carta Onasi. I suppose in times of duress you'll be her copilot, otherwise, you'll be operating on her off-shift. Carta; Attel here is a smuggler, she's fled the distance of the Corellian Run countless times, and can sneak us under the Sith's radar should the need arise," Revan introduced the pair, holding back a smile as Carta weakly raised a hand to shake Attel's.

Attel squinted at her. "Are you feeling alright-"

"-Fine," Carta grunted. "Had to… Lay into Caldera. Should be fine once I've had my eight hours."

"Speaking of," Attel cleared her throat, throwing a thumb in Revan's direction. "I assume you'll be taking the third shift, then? I didn't know you could fly."

"Indeed," he answered. "When all are at rest. Spaceships are just like big swoops, right?"

Carta broke out into a giggling fit, groaning in pain again soon afterwards. "Don't… Hurts to laugh…"

Attel shook her head, clearly smiling. "When all are at rest; so if we crash and die, we die peacefully. I'm a fan of that approach."

"I aim to please."

After a quiet goodbye, Revan introduced the former hunter to the rest of the ship's crew; finally running into Bastila. Given her state of dress and freshly wetted hair, he assumed she'd just been to the refresher. She blushed, showing an impudent offense as Revan seemed to intercept her at a vulnerable moment's notice, but, shook the woman's hand otherwise, bowing to her.

"A pleasure, miss Rand," Bastila greeted. "I'm sure your expertise will prove valuable, and I'm also sure that you've been made aware of our… His mission?"

Attel shot a look at Revan and smiled. "The pleasure's all mine, plus, I stopped listening after the 'creature beyond the stars' bit."

Bastila tilted her head in a quiet question, but felt Attel's wry smirk cut her off.

"He has. He's told me. I wouldn't have joined, otherwise."

"Of course," Bastila nodded, clearing her throat. "The refresher's free, by the way. I figure-"

"-Way ahead of you," she moved past, loosening her jacket. "I gotta wash the Sith stink off me."

As she left them, Bastila waited until she heard the sounds of jetting water, rushing streams and the mechanical groan of the ship's systems around the unit. She glared at Revan.

"I couldn't sense it before, not with the bile of Korriban around me, but now-"

"-That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Revan cut her off, apologising as she let a scowl creep into her face. "Attel Rand is a former Jedi hunter, a-"

Bastila exploded. "-What!?"

"Former," Revan stressed, "former Jedi hunter. I'm telling you this now-"

"-I," Bastila scoffed, suddenly feeling quite exposed, "just when I think you've proven yourself to be changed, that you've finished lying to me, you-"

"-Reveal this to you now before, I don't know, we're captured by Malak and she reveals these things to drive a wedge between the crew?" he finished.

"That does not excuse-"

"-Bastila-"

"-Don't cut me off!" she roared again, drawing the attention from the wandering T3. "Don't you dare pretend as if this is a rational thing to do! With full knowledge that I am currently trapped on this ship, you bring a damned Jedi hunter on board? What possible reason could you have for doing so? Are you insane?"

Revan was quieted. He remained standing straight, but still seemed to shrink under the verbal assault of the Jedi. He stiffened his stance, removing whatever feint of relaxation he had about him before.

"I apologise," he said. "I do not do these things to irritate you, specifically, though I understand if you feel that way. I did this to protect the students still stationed at the Academy. Had I not seen her, had she not approached us, I suspect her past would've led her to some… Unsavoury actions, against the students."

Bastila sighed as the Code replayed itself in her mind. The protection of others was paramount, and if anyone knew what the hell a hunter like Attel would've done, Revan would. Anger still burnt at her, tingling away at her nerves and letting heat rise to her face.

"...That… That feeling she generates, around her, her thoughts," Bastila murmured, "I can feel lust. A mix of things, as if she's devoting her attention to the ship around her, even when speaking. In particular, she's fawning over you."

"And you," Revan said, dire. "If it becomes an issue-"

"-I will let her know and hope that she respects my boundaries. But still, it feels…"

"...As though it's a wall?" Attel finished for Bastila, standing firm in the centre of the refresher's doorway. "Yeah, I heard everything. And I keep that wall up for a reason; that's to keep Jedi like you out of my head."

Revan interjected, already feeling the weight of this conversation impacting him. "Attel-"

"-If me being here is such a safety concern then I'll leave. So much for this valiant crusade of yours, Revan."

Bastila sighed, "Miss Rand, I-"

"-And stay out of my mind, Jedi."

She left them, heading to some secluded corner of the ship, and Revan couldn't help but pinch the bridge of his nose. He felt Bastila's fiery stare upon him, but was not moved by it. She too stormed off, leaving him in the wake of the Hawk's turmoil, it's growing chafe. Thankfully, Revan was drawn out of said turmoil by the tone of the ship's PA system.

"Coming in for a landing on Anchorhead," Carta announced, through a swollen cheek. "Temperature outside is… High."

(Meanwhile…)

"And at last, you saw."

"Hyah!"

Blood spilled upon the sands of Tatooine. In the winding, boiling alleys of Anchorhead's sandstone huts, Temera dodged a heavy, slow strike from Gurke. The beast of a gamorrean squealed as his underling Narkal held his throat in a vain attempt to stop his death. HK-47, by Temera's side, took the emotional distraction as key and fired at the creature's eyes, following up with a kick to it's stomach.

"Warning: This alleyway may prove dangerous for a continued scrap, mistress. Suggestion: Perhaps a grenade-"

The Exile groaned aloud. "Shut it, droid! No explosives, just press the attack!"

"Assurance: As you wish, mistress."

The Exile found herself rusty. Too many close calls; and one nick to her arm had told her that she was not ready for combat. Yet she fought; for these three wouldn't stop until she was dead. In their black eyes she found no mercy, nothing but a baseline loop in their heads that told her they were simply offended. It was a foul thing, she felt - that people such as these could distance themselves from their countless ambushes in the Dune Sea and still walk among law-abiding citizens in Anchorhead.

As dirty as it was, she found purpose, in those sweltering streets. And purpose fueled her, for the first time in years. The HK unit followed up with two, three shots to Gurke's stomach, which only served to anger him and disrupt a shield, but pressed the attack. Temera ducked beneath the lasers, lifting Narkal's axe with a gargantuan effort and twirling around to lob it into Gurke's stomach. It lodged itself in his big, round belly, and he squealed again, roaring with impudent fury as Ugzak took the thing out of him.

"Stupid woman-thing! You hurt Gurke, now Gurke going to hurt you!"

Temera leapt back and allowed HK a few unguarded shots to the split-open abdomen of the gamorrean chief. In his squinting eyes she threw a handful of scorching sand, crouching and rolling to avoid his wild swings, and sighed as he began to slow.

"Boys, girls!" yelled Gurke, "we need some help!"

Immediately, HK-47 whirred to alert. "Warning: 5 more pudgy lifeforms approaching, mistress. If I were to guess, I'd say it's more of the gamorrean warband. Who knew they had this many living here?"

Temera spat on the ground, and readied her fists, trying to summon a blank, pale fury as she had before. "Kriff. All this over a fight in a bar, Gurke? Are you mad?"

"Yes, I mad! Mad as hell, woman-thing!"

She closed her eyes for a split-second and breathed, once more, looking for anything she could collect from the junkyard to use as an improvised weapon. Upon seeing a dull grey pipe, Temera made a beeline for it and rolled back before Gurke could split her in half, slathering a medpack on his gut. She struggled to let anger slip from her, to let herself dive into it once more.

"Your friends will die," she uttered, "and yet still you fight?"

"Yes!"

Temera snorted. "Very well."

(Meanwhile...)

Being blasted with hot air was a stark contrast from the climate-controlled air systems of the Ebon Hawk, but Revan, Bastila, and Mission learned to adapt quickly. Caldera was behind them, shortly, while T3 and Zaalbar stayed behind to make any repairs on the ship. With the Sith cadre was Carta and K'Satra, finding ways to keep the apprentices occupied while Revan hunted.

"Man, is it good to get out of there," Mission yawned as she stretched, smacking her lips at the twin suns, "even if it's a hundred degrees outside. So, what's the itinerary for today?"

Revan cleared his throat. "Czerka headquarters, perhaps a local cantina, then the Dune Sea... Maybe we'll need only to subdue a Krayt Dragon, not kill it."

"Yeah, uh-huh…" Mission nodded, leaning into Bastila's ear to whisper. "Is he insane?"

Bastila giggled, shaking her head. "Yes, I do believe so. It would explain much."

The mirth was sapped quickly from Bastila's face as a sense tickled at her mind. Agitation, stress, anger. It jetted in colossally explosive bouts in her head; like a flashbulb going off and alerting her to its location. But before she could even speak to alert Revan to its presence, he snapped his gaze backwards, and nodded to her.

"Trouble in the streets. Let us intervene," he said, sprinting towards the source in a full bout.

Bastila shook her head as Mission followed fast, "do you ever think before engaging an enemy?"

"Oh, then let us see," Revan bit back, irritated, "and try focusing on it a bit more; something's off!"

Bastila's eyes narrowed as she followed instinctually; letting her mind wander in the threads of the Force until she… Couldn't. She tried gazing at the presence, but saw nothing. A void.

"Th-This…" she uttered. "Is this what you felt? I-It's like a feeling of deja vu!"

"Tatooine's call is dull, otherwise!"

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Mission asked, whipping through winding alleys and stalls. "If we keep running around like tourists, someone's gonna think we're an easy mark!"

"No matter," Revan panted, turning into the claustrophobic street where the source felt the most not-there. "We'll just-"

He paused for a moment as his eyes failed to register the scene before him. Just one moment. And then he leapt into action.

Temera Vandis, in the flesh and blood, had returned from exile. HK-47; the droid he had made himself, was by her side, assisting her in some brawl against a gang of gamorreans. They were surrounded; with a band of the aliens separating their two parties. Even now, Revan was humbled by her prowess with her improvised weapon; how she cracked skulls and made the best use of her rusty pipe. They barely had time to register the reinforcements as Revan drew Pall's blade and engaged.

"Bastila, get behind Mission," he ordered her, decapitating an alien who was going for a swing against Temera. "Mission; keep an eye on our backs, for any nooks and crannies!"

A spark of recognition glowed in Temera's eyes before combat overtook her. "Keep the jawa safe! HK, press on the gamorreans between us!"

"Exclamation: With pleasure!"

"Blade!?" Revan asked Temera, motioning to one strapped at his side.

She shook her head, a snarl clear on her face, and darted her eyes behind him. Without even thinking; he looked at her and ducked. Through instinct he felt the presence of the alien behind him, through Temera's own warning stare. And she took the synergy in kind, screaming with rage and launching forward with the full might of her swing, catching the ambushing gamorrean off-guard.

Revan heard a squelch above him, and responded in kind by dodging to Temera's side, and impaling another who tried to stab her in the back. The vibrations of the double-blade rocked flesh from flesh, and left a gushing, oozing wound in the dying alien's belly. Revan and Temera back-stepped, and found themselves bumping into each other. Instantly they both jumped, flipped, and sighed with relief as the mayhem around them seemed to die.

And there it was.

A reunion, five years in the making. Not of the Force's will, not of a Sith's influence or a Jedi's machinations, but of something deeper. Something truer and more prevalent than either party had cared to think about. The former Dark Lord of the Sith, and the former lead general of the Mandalorian Wars stared impassively at each other, for a time. Blood surrounded them, the heat rotting the corpses around them at an advanced rate, smelling like baking meat.

Revan could see Temera's hands shaking, the pipe in her hands clenched tight and bent to buggery, drenched in gamorrean bits. And she stared upon him; in his returning, radiant glory, burdened by some catastrophic weight. The air between them was thick, weighted by apprehension and suspicion. Each thought on what the other would do, each with unresolved words and actions left on them by war.

To think, there was a time where they had called the other friend.

To cut their tension; to end their staring and begin their battle, Temera struck. With a quivering rage behind her, with shaking eyes and flared muscles, she roared and clashed, blinded by fury. Revan was unarmed, and, in shock, did little to defend himself. Just looking at her dragged memories from the dark; death and suffering incomparable to anything else they'd witnessed in their lives. They were now, as he saw them, the sum of the war's toll on their bodies.

Temera, atrophied from exile. Deaf to the Force, it felt; a void in which it's influence could be seen, touched or heard.

Revan, battered by corruption. The dead, revived. Slated with the ability to change the fate of the galaxy, fated to deal with a populous that did not believe in him.

Bastila, HK-47, and Mission could only watch as the Exile sent everything she could against her former master. As her body began to give under the stress she was putting herself through, as muscle began to tear and bruises began to appear on his arms, his chest. They were stuck, the droid observing in some lapse of its functions what to do; Mission in how to break this fight up, and Bastila, in deeper, stranger, stronger fear than before.

Her strikes continued. Until her knuckles began to split at the skin and dredge blood on the battered Jedi, until finally, she looked into his eyes, and saw in them regret. Regret, guilt, and pity. It was infuriating. Temera's hands shook feverishly as she retracted her fists, and stared down at them, feeling hot, stinging tears clenching at her eyes. And they paused again, for seconds.

"I am sorry," said Revan.

"D-D-Don't…"

He took her hands in his, and, channeled the Force. Let love flow through him - he let her anger bleed into him, and dissolved it. Broke it apart until she was left shaking and crying. Blood receded back into her body, her skin formed back together and sewed itself shut in a healing most pure, as Temera shivered. When all was said and done, they looked to one another, and Revan, to his bruises, the cuts she gave him.

"I used you. Failed you. And when you had survived Malachor V, I turned a blind eye to you. Just as the Council did. And…" He knelt, shocking Bastila.

He looked back up. "When all was said and done… I tried to bend the galaxy to my will. Thrust it into turmoil that would only spawn more and more of what had happened at Malachor…"

"You had died," Temera said, finding strength in her voice again. She was unsure if these were the words she wanted, or needed to hear. But his touch was comforting. And judging by the plucky companions he had with him, he had indeed changed.

"I did. And now that I'm back, I… I intend to do right by the galaxy."

"Millions died because of you," she uttered. "Because of us… Do you think that it's fair that you just… That you get to come back?"

He shook his head. "No. No it is not. And though I may not be what this galaxy deserves… I can be what it needs. T-Temera…"

Her ears fell deaf. As if the whisper of some song long forgotten came to her and fled just as quick, Temera's ears fell deaf to all mortal sounds. The Force had been cut from her, and yet, she could still feel the radiant heat and light emanating from Revan. A beacon, like he had been, five years ago. He needed her again.

Thousands of thoughts played between them; as they opened themselves to another. Could she trust him? Would he keep to the light? Would they go through the same motions as the Mandalorian Wars and come out worse? Or had exile wisened her; had death sobered him? They couldn't know. Even if the apex of the Force were at that disposal and shatterpoints revealed themselves to the pair, they could not know.

They were different now, though. Older, and if not wiser; then more experienced. They had engaged the Mandalorians as children, had left war as warriors, and were left now as shells of their former selves. For better or for worse. And in Temera's hands lay a choice. A chance, in front of her now, to join Revan and to pay back for the damage she had done. Not for retribution, or for absolution, but as he said, because the galaxy deserved so.

"No massacres," Temera intoned. "No unjust killing, no… No sacrifices."

Revan nodded. "I will stay my blade."

She touched him; laid a hand gently on his shoulder, and gasped. Revan shuddered at it; the cold, penetrating feeling of her void against his essence, and between them they shared an awkward pause. Revan looked to his stunned droid; his former assassin, and the ship behind them, as Temera gazed at Mission, and Bastila.

"So, uh… Welcome to the party?" The Twi'lek said, with a choked chuckle.

"More children, brought to battle," Temera mumbled, earning a scorned pout from Mission. "What happened, Revan?"

"Hey, I'm not a child! And in case you didn't notice, we kinda just saved your hide there, lady!"

Bastila was damn near silenced in shock. "Temera Vandis…"

The droid then approached the Jedi, staring in between them, uncomfortably close. "Greeting: Master," it spoke, looking to Revan directly, "it seems your mere presence has triggered a cessation to my memory overflow. I am now able to access my full functionalities, and my previous assassination orders!"

Revan did not expect a punch to the face from the Exile, nor the sharp gasping that followed.

"This is your droid!?" Temera roared. "It tried to kill me! You sent it after-"

"-I did not," Revan explained, "it's simply broken. HK, repeat the direct command of your report against Temera."

"Exclamation: Master, how dare you! Though my behaviour core jolts with offence, I shall adhere to your request," HK said, whirring it's drive to access said memory. It was fuzzy, and though tensions remained high, the gathered group listened, intently.

"Playback: 'HK, belay Malak's order… We shall not kill her. Let her return, to the Council, so that they may see what hesitation wrought… She is not here, not fully, and death permeates her…"

Revan sighed with relief, glaring at his droid; this mechanical psychopath that his hands had created. "What part of that denotes an assassination order to you, HK?"

The droid didn't respond, for a second, simply staring at all the people before it. "Answer: ...An error, Master. My apologies."

Revan shook his head, staring longingly at the Exile. "I'm sorry. We need time to speak. I'm here assisting Bastila with… A personal matter. Mission, too," he gestured to them both, more broadly to the Twi'lek, who nodded to Temera. "I'm… Gathering my strength before I face Malak once more."

Temera sighed, trying to suppress her bubbling rage, that fire inside her. Hand still clenched tight around her pipe, she rubbed her throat and spat at the sands beneath them, nodding forward.

"Her forces grow. I don't know how much help I'll be in my current state, but, I have a ship, at least."

"Addendum: A non-functional ship."

The citizens who bore witness or simply stole looks at the carnage in Anchorhead gave the party a wide berth. Revan and Temera took this as a blessing, and while dropping by Czerka's headquarters to get more information on Grish, they spoke. Temera, quietly, of her sentencing; her separation from the Force at the Council's hand, and Revan, of his death. She told him of the jawa, how she saw him in the vids, and he, of Korriban, of the threat they now faced.

Too much began to make sense to her, and the more Revan heard of Temera's story, the more he grew confused.

"So that's what you and Malak saw," Temera shuddered. "Beyond the stars, lying in wait…"

"...An all-consuming thing. Allied to the True Sith, coming for our galaxy. If I may," he murmured, "I… Perhaps this is not the best time to speak of this, but… The Jedi Council would not, could not cut you off from the Force. To do so is to-"

"-To cut one from life itself," Temera sighed, nodding, "why do you think I entered exile, Revan?"

"Vrook Lamar may be vile, but he's not… He would not do that to you, to me, even," Revan assured her, confusion mounting inside him. "Temera, tell me… What do you remember of Malachor?"

She glared at him, but firm he stood, compassion for his fellow Jedi eking out beyond his curiosity. Her glare softened as she read him, as Bastila nonchalantly listened into their conversation.

"Bastila," Temera alerted her, dragging her in, "so I can avoid having to ever bring this up again, I need you to listen, too. I was on the bridge of the Eldest Night when I… When I gave the order to activate the Mass Shadow Generator."

"I-I remember the reports, Temera," she nodded, "it's said the gravity wells caused by it… Crushed the ships, in orbit."

Revan hummed in agreement, eyeing the Exile, guilt swelling within him again.

"Crushed," Temera breathed, "is an understatement. Jedi, Republic, and Mandalorian forces were gathered above the skies of Malachor V, and on its surface. I… I remember giving the order to my lieutenant, at the time, a-and…"

"...The suffering of thousands of troops, condensed into a singular, planetary annihilation caused the Force to be wounded," Revan finished for her, grimly. "An… Intentional design."

Temera's eyes snapped to Revan, and he nodded to her, with no hint of mirth about him.

"Wounded?" asked Bastila. "Wounded? I-In what way?"

Laying a hand on Temera's shoulder, Revan spoke. "Imagine being wrenched by gravity's grasp. Imagine every cell in your being being dragged to the ground below, to the skies above, to here and to there… And being powerless to fight it back."

"...Imagine death on a scale like that, all around you," Temera uttered. "Every commander you served with, every soldier and scout you pulled from the brink in one theatre, every fighter in the air and every… Every enemy you've ever fought, killed. The life torn from them as gravity tore apart their ships, as it crushed them and didn't stop…"

Revan clenched his free fist, digging his nails into his own palm. "All of them… Calling through the Force, in the throes of death. A scream that builds and builds, until…"

"...You are deafened," Bastila gasp ed, blinking rapidly. "Why? What use was that, Revan?"

Temera looked numb at the realisation. In thinking back to it, she became reserved, silencing herself, gazing at Revan in horror.

"These are not justifications," he prefaced, "but… It ended the war. The wound created at Malachor V would echo outwards, intentionally, touching all the Jedi fought, all the Jedi who sensed it… Killing those who would not join Malak and I, and allying the others. Despite… The suffering it caused, it broke the Mandalorians."

"And thus you disbanded them, disarmed them," Bastila nodded, soon shaking her head at the concept of such a foul act. "Temera…"

"You're saying… I cut myself off? Deafened myself to the Force?" she asked Revan, who nodded.

"Becoming an echo of Malachor," he answered. "A wound in your own right, where the Force does not touch…"

She wanted, so very badly, to strike him again. But found no point in it, no reason the rage would serve her. He was already broken, in a way; shattered by the guilt of his previous actions, given clarity since his death. It did not soothe the Exile, only serving to agitate her further.

"It was not my intention for you to be affected by it, the way you were. But the fault is mine, entirely," Revan said, firmly.

Temera shook her head. "I relished that order… I wanted to see the Mandalorians fall, as you did. My… Separation, from the Force... I saw it as punishment. For all I know, Revan, it still is. So no… The fault's mine, as well."

"Mission," Bastila noticed the look on the girl's face. "Is everything alright?"

"No! My sister's been kidnapped by sand people! I-I, uh, look, Revan, I know we're b-busy, but-"

"-Not a worry," he assured her, giving a glance to Temera, "we'll find her."

They found themselves in the cantina, shortly after. The suns seemed to grow hotter, their beams more intense as they passed, and as Bastila found her mother, a tall brunette with a resting kinrath face, a jawa approached Temera. Revan was torn between the conversations, already feeling the heat tearing at his sanity, his consciousness. Tossing a few credits the barman's way, he saddled himself and Mission with ice-cold waters, and approached behind Bastila.

"-Tell me," she said, motioning to Revan, "would you accuse your mother of murdering your father?"

"She's dead," Revan answered, flatly. "Thank you very much for asking."

Helena, if Revan remembered her name correctly, sighed. "Bastila, all I ask is that you retrieve your father's holocron, it-"

"-So you can sell it? Mother-"

"-Absolutely not, his dying wife only wishes to have something to remember him by. Is that too much to ask? Oh, who am I kidding, of course it is-"

"-Mother-"

"-We have the time," Revan crooned, tone low and gentle, inferring what had happened and attempting to be as neutral as possible. "We'll find it, Missus Shan. You have my condolences."

He laid a gentle hand on Bastila's shoulder, attempting to channel his sympathy, his compassion in a single touch. And Bastila felt those shoulders relax, as her stare softened and she turned heel, storming out of the cantina with Revan in tow.

"We're due north," Bastila warned him, "to the cave of a krayt dragon… The Force works in mysterious ways..."

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head, tears pricking at her eyes. "It's not as if you killed him yourself. Unless there's something you're not telling me."

A smile, a tinge of dark humour. Revan laughed, and shook his head. "No, but I can see where you get your spirit from. I know you warned me about her, but-"

"-Everything, almost everything about that woman enrages me," Bastila admitted, sounding shameful. "Often I forget about her, intentionally, and suppress the feelings I have for her. How she'd steal father away, drive him from one treasure hunt to the next… How she'd…"

"...I meant no offence. You're stalwart, as is your mother. And you and I can both see there is more to this then she speaks of," he spoke, gentle still. "More I suspect we'll uncover as we find your father."

"For a man who loves to whittle down my patience, you certainly do have a way with words. You're right, however… I can't let emotion blind me to my senses."

Mission followed them out the door, throwing a curse back into the cantina, shortly before Temera and HK exited, as well. The Exile looked down to the ground, before scoffing, staring back up to Revan. A hint of a grin was starting to appear on her lips; a touch of a glow surrounding her being.

"Iziz of Anchorhead," Temera groaned, "has requested I free his people from the Sand People Enclave, to the north. Where I assume Mission's sister is."

"A good deed, a fine man's last request, a sibling dispute, and a hunt for crystals," Revan chuckled. "We're nothing if not efficient."

"Statement: If by "good deed" you refer to us slaughtering the native Sand People population, then joy, Master! It is such a good thing to be reunited with you!"

The trek across the Dune Sea was dull, to say the least. Revan just thanked himself for remembering to travel lightly; and kept his eyes squinted, checking on Temera and Mission every now and then. They kept chatter to a minimum, deciding to preserve their energy until they were under the shade of a titanic sand crawler, suddenly defending a Czerka crew from an ambush of desert raiders.

None of the workers knew of Grish's fate.

"She'll be fine, Mission," Bastila assured her, though deep in thought of her own plight. "Perhaps they've kept her, still."

"Y-Yeah," she replied, "you're right. We haven't even seen the encampment yet."

Temera shifted in her robes, comfortably back to baking under the twin suns, "more often than not, the Sand People will ransom. If prisoners have uniforms, they're worth more. If they're human, then, a little bit more. Let's not linger."

Further to the north lay more of the dune-tribals. Clad in light, earthy-brown cloth, fitted with tight masks, they proved a constant threat along the dunes, safeguarding a passage in a narrow valley with grievous intent. Past rock and crag, past sand and winds, the party squeezed past, eyes keen on the horizon as they collected robes to be used as disguises; Temera's suggestion.

They proved invaluable. Laying ahead in some massive complex of tents, tarps and turrets, was a conclave. It stood as a ramshackle settlement that looked as if it could be disassembled and reassembled with utmost ease, allowing the tribals inside to migrate whenever necessary.

Expecting but a crumb of resistance, Revan was surprised to find them entering the complex with no issues, the group having formed a rough diamond around HK-47, as if bringing him in as loot. His agitation skyrocketed however as they were halted by guards at the main tarp's hanging, a swirl of noise and animalistic grunts being barked at them. Bastila reached for her saber, but Revan held a hand up to her, shooting a look to who he thought was Temera.

He held a hand out, straight-up and fingers stretched, clasping at one of the guards' minds. Whilst the other reacted, it was too slow, choking out a brief gurgle of alert before Temera pounced at it, putting it to sleep in the sand. Revan's fingers delved deep into the ways and the thoughts of the creature before him, and though he left memories intact and thoughts free, he could still feel it struggling against him. He needed their language, though he wondered whether or not he had the chords to speak it.

Bastila broke the technique early, smacking Revan's hand downwards as she looked appalled at the action before her, only for the Jedi to wave his hand in front of the creature's face, croaking out something vaguely resembling a command. She gasped as the tribal barked the command back, collecting it's partner's body and dragging it to a wicker seat, propping it up.

"Voices low, and deep," Revan ordered them, "oru for no, uru for yes. Hunch your backs… And be fast. I'll try and distract the guards, but those turrets need to be disabled before any of our prisoners can be freed."

"Observation: The droid subnets on said turrets appeared to be operating within simple friend-or-foe programs. I am able to reprogram them to recognise the tribesmen here as foe, and-"

"-Disable foe filtering on us and the jawa," Temera ordered. "We're already invading their lands, no need to wipe them out."

"Objection: Mistress, though you may have purchased me, my true master stands here before me, and as such-"

"-Don't question her orders again, HK," Revan commanded the droid. "Disable foe filtering for us and the jawa."

"Statement: By your command, master. I shall… Grant these jawa safe passage."

"I… I'll scout, a-and see if I can't find the holding cells," Mission said, "B-Bastila, if you could-"

"-I'll join you," Bastila advised her, nodding, "and you, Temera?"

The exile looked to the group, and shook her head at Revan. "I'll join him. And pray that we don't need to turn to violence today."

They broke apart, HK remaining at the front, digging his mechanical hands into the workings of the droids guarding the conclave. Mission and Bastila wove low and quietly behind Revan and Temera, keeping their eyes peeled for locks of any kind, or their jailors. As the Jedi split and Revan entered what looked like some form of meeting room, he engaged in short, hoarse conversation with a hunter of the sand people's ilk.

Temera was on lookout for them, eyes darting shortly and sharply, hands fidgeting as the seconds ticked by. They knew of only one exit, had no means of contacting each other without breaking their disguises, and no backup plan; though, she suspected they wouldn't need one. She took her time observing and mimicking Revan's body language, in eerie awe at how quickly he tore the dialect from the tribal's mind.

Briefly, she ducked into the main, arciform hallway of the conclave and saw an honor guard. Carried with them were larger, spikier gaffi sticks, and in the guard's centre was a person clad in white-streaked robes, perhaps their leader. Instantly she snapped back to Revan, roaring.

"Oru!"

Revan incapicitated the tribal he was conversing with, in response, and fled into the hallway, in front of the exile, keeping her guarded. With a quick flurry of his hand, pouring energy into his palm, he pushed the guard back with a mighty blow and motioned for Temera to dart ahead, following soon.

"Damn it!" He tore off his mask, and panted at the mental exertion, cupping a hand to his head. "Any sign of the others?"

"None," Temera grunted, "so pray I shall. That was a chieftain you just pushed, so if they haven't already sent out the word to hunt for us, we'll be hearing it soon!"

"Sith's blood…"

Suddenly, they caught up with a horde of skittering jawa, being lead by two Twi'lek, and a Jedi, with her lightsaber ignited.

"Trouble?" Revan asked Bastila, yelling over the chittering crowd.

"Had to pull this out purely for intimidation purposes, I assure you!" she answered. "I see the droid ahead, waiting - we may find a way out of this!"

"Statement: Ah, master, good timin-"

"-Lay down suppressing fire, droid!" Temera yelled, feeling an instinct to duck. Whizzing past her head went a blaster bolt, clean through the tent's side, burning a fresh hole. Soon they were joined by the not-so-distant waves of explosions. "They're using grenades!"

"If they're stunners, lob them back," Revan roared. "If not, run!"

They cleared the conclave with godspeed, despite the horde of tittering, sprinting jawa in between the parties. What left them to duck and cover was a volley of shots being fired in their general direction, scoring HK's chassis, melting off a sleeve of Mission's robes, and Grish's boot.

"Watch the mines!" Mission yelled. "Follow my lead - you too, Grish!"

"Alright, alright, I'm following! We're gonna be chargrilled if those blasters aren't dealt with, though!"

"Any ideas, Revan? They'll pursue us deep into the valley!" Bastila yelled back, eyeing the fleeing group, and the defending sand people.

"I've got one," said Temera, "throw your voice, Revan. Yell at them."

Before Bastila could say "what" again, Revan smiled at the suggestion. And breathed in, standing his ground as the group fled. What emanated from his mouth sounded like a flurry of curses, both banal and explicit, some arcane and others just wrong. He deflected what bolst flew his way, feeling Bastila and Temera at his side, still, echoing the rants. The sand people were dumbstruck at first, slowly ceasing firing until they began to retreat into their conclave.

At the end of it, ensuring that all had gone and that HK, Mission and Grish had fled to safety, Revan clutched at his throat and laughed, a memory or two flooding back to his mind. He went to share a look with Temera, noticing a smile quickly fading on her lips, before they broke their gaze.

"What… What did I just say?" Bastila asked, face already scrunching in suspense.

"I said I was great, dark man of magic that would come to slaughter their children, should they pursue the jawa… What you repeated turned out to be an offer to greet their mothers."

"Greet as in," Bastila's face fell as she blushed, shaking her head. "Never mind."

"Shall we join them?" Temera asked, that grin fading. "The girl and the droid?"

Revan shook his head, facing the west, to where a mountainous mound sprouted from the sands. "Mission is resilient, and her sister and the jawa should help plenty; to the dragon's maw we go."

Temera groaned. "This'll be a vaunted effort, if anything, Revan. How do you plan on taking the pearls from the creature's gizzard?"

"Mines," he said, after a brief moment of thought. "We have no ordnance, no strikes nor heavy blasters. To engage in melee combat will be suicide; but we'll likely need to lure the beast from it's cave…"

"Don't tell me," Bastila scoffed, "you're a demolitions expert, as well?"

"No," Revan shook his head. "But you don't need to be an expert to place the things. Nor do you need to be an expert to load fifty of the bastards together for a big boom."

"...Nearby bantha should serve well as bait," Temera reasoned, scratching at her chin, nodding. "Still… All this for a crystal…"

"For Bastila's father," Revan corrected, "the crystal is secondary, now."

He saw doubt in the Exile's face, but, pressed on west, sending a final, parting look to the sand people's conclave, tearing their robes from his body. Bastila and Temera were still close to him. Even now he felt blind to the Exile; as if she existed in a constant dark spot of his, when he wasn't looking at her, or thinking directly of her. Despite that, however, their brief moments of insanity together felt as if a command of the Force was returning to her.

He could see the reactions in her eyes returning; that sense and sight only a Jedi knew; the way only a Jedi walked. It filled him with pride, though he was sure to temper it, seeing the Exile return to an echo of her previous self. He was glad he found her, Revan was. He only wished that some part of her would feel the same; would feel their purpose return with palliated caution, but, continued.

As the twin suns of Tatooine set, casting their orange-red and blaring yellow tones across that burning sky, they approached the maw of the beast. A large sand-ramp led to the hidden entrance of a cave; likely the same Helena had spoken of, and within they could hear the dark rumblings of a mighty thing beyond.

"A great, dark energy emanates from that cave," Bastila drawled, with worry through her voice.

"It is the Star Map within. A record which keeps the location of Lehon and the Star Forge mapped, at least, partially. Once we're back on the ship I'd be more than happy to expound upon it, but for now-"

"-Keep your thoughts clear," Temera advised, feeling it as nature. "And fear not. The bigger threat here is the dragon."

"Right," Bastila huffed, shaking her head, eyeing the nearby bantha flocks, hiding behind dunes. "Let's get to work, then."

"...As close as we can," Revan advised, "laying mines, following out in short, layered, clustered fans. We're not lacking in explosives by any stretch of the term, so let's get a little… Boom-happy."

And so the Jedi spread, quiet as tach, as fast as gizka. But as is the case in dealing with the big and bad things of the galaxy, and as goes the phrase about plans and first encounters, things went south. Literally, in a sense, as some disturbance caused the krayt dragon of the cave to charge out before they'd finished mining the mouth, knocking Temera and Bastila flat on their asses, and, in just about every other sense of the word, as well.

Things flashed before Revan's eyes quite quickly then. He remembered being swept up in the creature's scales, in a leg that belted him but stuck to his clothing, thrashing him about. He remembered being assaulted with his own damn shrapnel, just barely activating a personal shield only after he'd received a few metal bits to the stomach. He then remembered a sharp, piercing stab through his thigh, just missing his femur but definitely landing through his muscles. And finally, in some horrifically hubristic joke, Revan remembered being swallowed whole.

In that foul-smelling, skin-burning, moisture-rumbling hunk of guts, Revan couldn't help but laugh at himself, and this endeavour. He would then later regret opening his mouth in the literal belly of the beast, but, drew his blades nonetheless. Still he could feel the explosions from outside, ripping away at scale and skin until he could see light poking through, dim as it was. He could hear a horrified yell from Bastila and a grunt of shock from Temera, so, he tried his best to emerge.

It must have looked worse than he thought. In the minutes it took for him to tunnel out of the krayt dragon's hide and break apart the scales, that horror turned to absurdity, and that absurdity, to amusement. In the end, Revan was left an exhilarated, skin-splitting mess of a human being, having just torn his way out of the dragon's belly. Bastila, exhausted, could only giggle at him, whereas Temera was all smiles.

"You're a mess," Bastila muttered, summoning all the strength she could to raise the former Dark Lord to his feet. "A smelly one at that!"

"To think," he spat, smiling himself, "that some idle tremor woke this thing up, and it's first thought was to swallow me. I'm flattered."

"And it didn't even have the guts to spit you out itself," Temera tut-tutted, motioning down the cavern's opening. "Good news, we can scavenge plenty… If you're done diving in entrails."

Revan couldn't help but smile, staring off into the distance as the sweltering heat of the dragon's innards began to cook him. It was a near-broken smile, a fallen one, but, one he hoped the ladies drew some humour from. "No… I'm not."

Temera joined Bastila in that regard, by the knight's side as she searched the cool, hollow cavern for her father's body. To her surprise, she recognised an item first, a backpack of his, scattered amidst his equipment pack. Therein, she found his holocron, his datapad, and with it, she rose, going to wait at the mouth of the cave. The Exile laid a hand on Bastila's shoulder, and quickly the hand was layered upon.

"Thank you," said Bastila, tersely. "Once… Once Revan emerges, I'd… I'd say our business on Tatooine is done."

On queue, he slipped out of the massive wound in the dragon's gut, rolling in the sand and panting, spitting out blood and bile that wasn't his. Clutched tightly in his hands was a shiny, round, metal object that Temera sighed at, aggressively and thunderously.

"That's a droid's joint-bearing, not a pearl, Revan."

"Kriff."

Bastila couldn't help but laugh, and cry. "P-Perhaps not yet, then."

The cave was behind them far faster than they initially expected. Even with Revan's injured, no doubt infected leg, they were making stunning pace through the twilighted desert sands. Packs laden with loot and a single, runty pearl found amongst the gut of the krayt dragon weighed them, but, adrenaline proved to be one hell of a pick-me-up. Temera had even spotted a source of the cave's coolness; a pontite crystal, and as she carried it with her, she found her skin, her very temper cooling, despite the planet's heat.

The only thing to make them pause was a speck on the horizon as they neared Anchorhead again.

Bastila squinted, mumbling to herself. "Is that…"

"That's Caldera," Revan confirmed, growing concerned. "I'll - agh! - I'll be back-"

"-On that leg? Like hell you are," Temera corrected his course, turning him roughly.

"She could be in danger," Revan wormed his way out of her grip, channeling his essence into his own wound, his body, sighing with a great relief. "I'll check and reconnoiter soon!"

Bastila could only sigh, smacking herself in the head as he limped along, like some wounded bantha. "I think he may have truly gone insane… Or has he always acted like this when on a mission?"

Temera shook his head, travelling back south-eastwards. "You'd be surprised. Come, he'll join us if he joins us…"

Before he could intervene, whatever force that was facing down Caldera was already leaving. It looked vaguely like a human soldier, and two rodian goons. Caldera had not been injured, not physically at least, but was standing, looking sullen, as if defeated. Before he could ask a question, Revan was silenced with a raised hand, looking taken aback.

"Don't ask," Caldera groaned, voice more ragged than usual, side-eyeing Revan's gaping thigh-wound. "I'm heading back to the Hawk… And I wouldn't mind a drink."

"And a drinking partner, right?" he asked.

She scoffed, no mirth to her voice, her face. "If you can, in your state, then sure."

In silence they went, entering Anchorhead to a much more mild state of affairs. The gamorrean bodies had been cleaned by droids and marked for the morgue, the jawa were numerous, a few clinging around Temera and thanking her, and it appeared as if a weight had been lifted off the town. Revan shared a look with the Exile before she smirked, wryly, parting with the jawa in peace.

In the cantina, Revan was pleasantly surprised to find himself in a familial dispute again. It was beginning to feel a lot like nature, but, with a more collected mind he approached the mother and daughter, laying a hand on Bastila's shoulder once more.

Helena coughed at the man's scent, going to plug her nose and recoil. "My boy, you-"

"-Smell like a party cruiser's exhaust fan," Revan finished for her, "I understand. I was eaten by the dragon that attacked your husband. I'm sure you can understand what Bastila went through to get this, madam."

"She's asking for the holocron," Bastila advised Revan, handling the last record of her father, "but…"

Revan ushered them to sit, ensuring to distance himself a little further from the pair. "Perhaps you two need to listen to each other. Bastila, do you need the holocron?"

"No," she shook her head, staring up at her mother, sliding it across their table, "I suppose I don't... It's yours. I'm sorry, I… I feel I'm finding it hard to let the past go."

"...It's only fair," Helena chuckled, mirthlessly. "I was an awful mother… And… Bastila-"

"-I was angry, for a time, that you gave me to the Order," Bastila admitted, cutting her mother off. "I-I'm sure you had your reasons-"

"-Treasure hunting is a complicated profession," Helena replied. "We had nothing to our names, your father and I - there was no way we could raise a child in something like that… And he… He insisted on pushing for these missions, to help pay for my treatments…"

"Treatments?" she asked.

"I'm dying, as I said," Helena told her, loud and clear. She laid her hands gently upon the holocron, before sliding it back to Bastila. "I… Perhaps some part of me just wanted to speak to you before I die. I'd feel better knowing you have this with you-"

"M-Mother, there must be some way I can-"

"-It's been a long time coming, Bastila. Please, just take this. And you - what did you say your name was?" Helena asked, turning her head back to Revan.

"Revan, madam."

Helena gave him a look as if to question what she just heard, but, continued in spite. "Take care of my daughter, please."

"With all of my strength," he pledged, nodding to her. "If she'll let me."

"You make her let you," Helena laughed.

Bastila pulled a credit chip from her pockets, sliding it Helena's way. "M-Mother… Here, take these. They're all that I have, go to Coruscant, and find a doctor-"

"-Bastila, there's nothing I can-"

"-Please," Bastila pleaded, "so we can speak, after this. After… What we must do."

Begrudgingly, Helena took the chip, and nodded to her daughter. "Alright, alright, I shall. And… Make me and your father proud, Bastila."

"I will… Farewell, mother."

With an odorous, unscored meeting, the mother and daughter parted ways. Bastila, holding her father's holocron in her hands, sighed as she exited into Tatooine's boiling temperatures again, swallowing deeply. She looked at Revan, who stared forward, as if giving a final, parting glance to the desert planet.

"Thank you," she said, rubbing him on his back. "Truly, thank you. I've… My mind has been clouded since arriving here, and I think… I think this will help me. Perhaps not in combat, where we most sorely need it-"

"-Think nothing of it," Revan assured her, "it was the least I could do. I think I still technically abducted you, right?"

She sputtered into laughter, snorting a bit. "I suppose you did… B-But…"

He waited for her, rubbing her shoulder, still.

"...I shall join you, Revan. A-After all, you still need as many watchful eyes on you as possible, and, well… I… Hesitation, at a time like this, seems wrong," Bastila told him, quietly.

"Your doubt keeps me in check, keeps my head from going too near my own ass," Revan chuckled. "And your continued company will be most welcome aboard the Ebon Hawk, Miss Shan. But please, I encourage you to caution me whenever you feel it necessary."

"You're always so sorely irritated by it, though," Bastila bit back, laughing still.

Revan nodded, holding his hands up in defence. "Doesn't mean I don't like it. I'm a complicated man, Bastila!"

"You're a former Sith Lord and mass-murderer," she argued, "but you're right, in a way. Come, let's not keep the others waiting."

With a cold canister of juma juice in hand, as night fell upon Tatooine's surface, Revan felt exhaustion beat upon him, like a drum. Every step was a new nightmare in and of itself, coupled with his waning, wafting stench. He was due for a long, hot stint in the refresher, lest he add his foul stench to the Hawk's cramped halls. The Jedi was almost fearful at the sight that he'd behold, but, found himself pleasantly surprised.

Tens of the jawa were crawling over the hull of the Ebon Hawk, with tools aplenty, sealing a final stage of fitting. It certainly looked taller, though ugly from the outside. A whole new floor had been added to it! He saw Carta atop the ship, with T3 overseeing any hastily-made welds and locks, doing them over with mechanical precision. Zaalbar found herself at the bottom rungs, hefting the larger hull-pieces up the sides of the Hawk, and nodded to Revan as she saw him approaching, cringing as she picked up his scent.

"That smell is foul," she growled, "did something swallow you?"

Revan looked taken aback, blinking a bit. "Uh, yes. The, uh… The krayt dragon - look - this is brilliant, what you've done so far! When do you think she'll be ready to launch?"

"Assuming T3 approves," Carta barked from the top, adjusting her pair of welding goggles, "in three hours. Atmospheric sealing just has to be done, then reconfiguring the Hawk's shielding to take in the extensions, then…"

"...We'll have to open up the inside and confirm wiring works, as well," Zaalbar trilled, looking deep in thought. "I can't say I'm the most excited about flying with this tacked onto the ship, but if it's what you requested…"

"Take a break soon and do a once-over… Then a twice-over," Revan suggested, running his hands across the breadth of the ship, marvelling at the new deck. "How've the students been handling themselves?"

"Like dogs," Yuthura answered him, emerging from the Hawk, "but, leashes exist for a reason. It's good to have you-ach!"

She attempted to approach Revan, only to have her nostrils assaulted with a miasmal foetor.

"Krayt dragon," Revan assured her, darting quickly into the Hawk, "I'll be washing gutjuice off myself if anyone needs me… We ride to Dantooine."