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

10. Refusal

With casing and hulls salvaged from the Sith fighters, and Temera's broken star-dinghy, the Ebon Hawk enjoyed a significant amount of space. Now, everyone had a potential room to themselves, whilst keeping the public areas free for discussion or a quick game of pazaak. The upper floor consisted of two more cabins, secondary storage, and another refresher block, tucked radially around the large, flat, central area. In the middle of it, Revan meditated, and with the Sith cadre around him, he spoke.

"I'm sure you've all built your own lightsabers," he said, "and I'm sure you've heard the Order stress the importance of the weapon, and the meaning behind each piece. For me - the handle and hilt come from a blade I found on the Endar Spire, a Republic ship. Another, I found on Taris. That's where my… Identity, the one the Council imprinted into me, began. Where it died."

They were only partially assembled, and he showed them each piece of it, spread out on a stretch of cloth, in front of him.

"The blades themselves are an interlocking connection of Ajunta Pall's own sword, which you saw me attack your headmistress with," he continued. "It adds weight to the hilt, and takes a little longer to retract, but, it has its uses. The pommels are taken from the Sith Academy's stock."

He lingered on them, for a time. "I began an army, at that Academy. Seems fitting that the base of the saber is another beginning. Finally, when I slotted crystals in, I found that the colours had formed as they were before. Violet, and red. Psychoanalyse me all you want, but I think I just like them that much," Revan chuckled, a wave of smiles going around the class.

"Finally," he paused again, resting the krayt dragon pearl on the red saber's end, and a jenruax crystal on the violet saber's side. "The jenruax crystal is a refined form of the opila crystal, which comes from the Fyrth system. That's an inner rim star system, whereas you all know Tatooine sits in the outer rim…"

"The crystal's travelled," Dal spoke, eyeing the blade's composition, and her master, with it. "As have you. Not to mention it's brilliant for defence against blaster shots."

Revan nodded, smirking at her. "That's right. And the krayt dragon pearl… Would mark conquest, the death of a great being, condensed into a weapon, but… I acquired this through a folly. Through a mishap, and through the assumption that I was invincible. I was not, clearly."

"Swallowed whole by a krayt dragon," Shaarda added, thoughtfully, shuddering. "Just as we swallowed you."

She was swatted, playfully, by Thalia and Lashowe, who couldn't help but wince at the comment.

"True," he chuckled. "But it's a good reminder, and something I'll stress where the Jedi did not… There will be times where you are removed from your weapon, whether it be your saber, your blaster, or whatever thing you can get your hands on. So you need to focus not only on the strength of your connection to the Force, but to your body, as well."

Yuthura nodded, sagely. "The Academy never shirked on physical exercise. The mind may be a terrible thing to waste, but the body makes a terrible coffin for an active brain," she advised the students, standing tall above them, to the side.

He began then, assembling his lightsabers, one hand each, with a deftness that eluded the students. "I have a threefold task, for you all. As I took you from the Academy and have set you on our dangerous path… I wish for you to recreate your lightsabers."

The cadre, collectively, groaned. Even Kel, who'd shown a meek appreciation of those meditative times.

"With one hand," Revan added. "Whilst the other lifts a weight, of your choosing. Stand or sit, it does not matter, but the goal is to divide your attention and perform both tasks to your best ability, until the blade is complete."

"That can't be the only reason," Lashowe scoffed. "I mean, come on, are we padawans again? I'm starting to think staying at the Academy was a better idea."

"If you are disarmed, you can rely on your body. If your lightsaber is lost, or broken, or you are maimed, then you can rebuild it, find it, or repair it, with only a single hand. Not only that," he stood, locking the final fixtures into place and igniting his dual-sabers, "but you all have been recreated. As you walk this path with me, a disparity will grow between you and those furious blades."

"Lashowe," Revan addressed her directly, "already your heart softens. Don't shy away from it, for it's a beautiful thing to see. Though darkness marrs your mind still, I can see light, humming at your fingertips."

She blushed, recoiling, "s-so what's your point, then?"

"Your lightsaber was created in spite. In anger. And as such, it is a tool of those things," Revan stressed. "Whether you care to think of it or not, the blade will be by your side for far longer than you can imagine, and as such… It needs to reflect you."

"Who says my anger has dissipated? What difference will this make?" Shaarda asked.

Revan closed his eyes, and Shaarda gasped as his vision within the Force was upon her. It was not a choking thing, like her previous Sith mistresses had been, it was warmth. As if not to judge, but simply to observe, so that he could help her.

"You'd surprise yourself, Shaarda. I don't speak of a colossal change in your skill with the blade, no," Revan retracted the sabers, the shink-shink-shink of the concatenated blades of Ajunta Pall reverberating in that room. "I speak of a foundation, within your tool. Any further questions? No? Then please, complete the task I have assigned."

They dispersed, slowly, leaving Revan and Yuthura in the centre of the room. She eyed him, smirking, and Revan beamed back, knowingly.

"The same goes for you, Yuthura."

"Me?" She challenged. "Surely you jest."

Revan motioned towards her lightsaber, holstering his. And when she gave it, begrudgingly, he motioned her to a storage pod, half-closing the door behind him.

"I know we didn't get a chance to speak," he admitted, "I mean, truly talk, but, you carry rage within you still. It's evident here, even in the blade, the hilt."

Yuthura sighed, taking in Revan's scent in that tight, cramped space. "By design, Revan. When I joined the Sith and made my lightsaber once more, I… I was riding my rage against the Jedi. I saw how ineffectual they were, how little they did to truly stop the horrors in the galaxy."

"I can sense it," he nodded, breathing her in, too. "You launched so far into the malice the Academy taught… So, if I may ask, why?"

She traced her fingers over her own saber, the memories playing out in her mind, on her face. "I… Had grown disillusioned, with the Jedi. No doubt as you and Malak did when you saw their inaction during the Mandalorian Wars," she explained.

Revan nodded, and Yuthura's hands rested upon the saber's hilt, as she closed her eyes. "When I joined them… The Jedi, they'd saved me from some planetoid, after I'd been dumped from a ship leaving Sleheyron. I was a slave, for a time… Less than nothing, in my former master's eyes."

Yuthura let out a laugh. It wasn't one of malice, simply of shock. "I stabbed that Hutt slug while he slept, made my escape. Until the Jedi saved me, I thought there was no hope in this galaxy. That sometimes, the evil flourish and the good can do nothing about it. But… I was picked up."

"They'd sensed you through the Force?" Revan asked her. She nodded, feeling her throat close.

"They did," she grunted. "And so I saw all the good that could be done. I vowed, every day, that I would use my powers to do right by the galaxy - to free the other slaves on Sleheyron. But the Jedi…"

"...Passion," Revan spoke, voice low. "They saw it as passion, and stifled you."

Yuthura chuckled. "That would explain it. Every day I vowed, and every day my master warned me, kept me from developing my strengths…"

"...So why did you leave them, then? You saw power in the Sith, they encouraged you and you proved yourself, but..." Revan asked her.

She blushed, blinking away the tears that built in her eyes. "In a way… It was you. You, who had experienced the Council's hesitation first hand and did something about it. I mean, when I saw you, standing over the students, I…"

He waited for her to find the words, and finally, Yuthura looked up to him, shaking her head.

"Tell me, please… Why did you join the Mandalorian Wars? If you could pinpoint it to any emotion, any feeling in this galaxy… What was it?"

Revan smiled. He remembered it, all too well. "Love."

Yuthura's blush darkened. "...So that was what I felt, coming from you… The former Dark Lord of the Sith, a hopeless romantic?"

He laughed, and nodded, a tinge of shame pirouetting through his cheeks. "When I first joined the Republic in those battles, it was love. I could not bear to see the galaxy die before me, to see it bow to a thousand years of Mandalorian rule. I was impassioned with the current system, despite the corruption it harboured, and the horror that continued under it…"

"...I saw my love for my sisters in slavery, in you, Revan. And I had seen what little I had truly accomplished under the Sith, reflected instantly. You were… You are," she paused, "a way I can still make good on my vows."

He nodded, once more, and guided the Twi'lek to a low-hanging shelf in the unit, taking a tight, comfortable place behind her. Placing the lightsaber in front of her, Yuthura went to question him, but felt the answer hum in the man's chest. Her breath hitched.

"Then that is why I ask you to do this task, like the students. You are powerful, Yuthura. Powerful enough to tear apart Sleheyron and the slave masters with it… It is time to combine that power with your love, now," Revan guided her trembling hands to the lightsaber, and touched it.

She worked quick, releasing a safety hatch and twisting the chassis apart, pulling the saber gently. There she stripped the power cell, the matrix, the lens, and her focusing crystal, Revan's eyes and hands keeping her steady. Once laid bare, she told him of each piece. The crystal, from Dantooine. The chassis, stolen from the starship she escaped on. The power cell was something she'd nicked from the Hutt's corpse, and the lens, a gift from her Jedi master.

"This is a tool of liberation," Yuthura repeated to herself, as she looked upon its pieces. "And… Revan, when this is done-"

He stopped her, with a kiss, pouring all the love he could into it. "-I will travel with you, to Sleheyron. You will be the sword, and I, your shield," he finished for her, breaking from their embrace.

Through a choked sob, she kissed him back, and smiled, at odds with herself at the display of weakness. With her dark thoughts subsided, she reformed her blade, and clasped it gently in front of her, Revan's hands upon hers. Together, they ignited it, and that little compartment they stuffed themselves into lit up in a dazzling violet display.

"You are free," Revan said. "You are powerful. And that power can be used to help others."

"I am free," Yuthura repeated to herself, for her own sake. "I am powerful… And it will be used to help others…"

She leant back, craning her neck so that they could kiss once more, stealing those fluttery lips of theirs like bandits. Illuminated only by the light of her saber, Revan began stroking Yuthura's lekku, oh-so gently. At first she did not feel it, but once the motion became apparent, she gasped and tensed, before relaxing in his strong grip. But before both Jedi could continue, they broke apart, Yuthura's lightsaber retracting quickly.

Revan turned his gaze to the door, where he saw a pair of eyes skitter away before slamming the door shut.

"Shaarda…"

(...)

"Do you feel it?"

Temera took a long, deep breath in, and steadied herself. "It is like a call from beyond. A great, echoing song that… That is just out of reach."

"But you can feel it," Revan said, in awe. "Though your exile may have affected you, you can recover some control over the Force, I would imagine."

"Why would I want to do that?" Temera asked, stunned. "If… If I had deafened myself, as you said, then hearing it, letting it come back…"

"...It would not be as it was," Revan clarified. "You were changed, permanently, by what you experienced at Malachor. This cannot be undone… But, you may learn to utilise the Force once more."

Temera stared at the ground between them, as they sat in the Ebon Hawk's top deck. Before them lay a few things, including the parts needed to make a lightsaber, and a rock. It was easy to dull her senses and listen once more to the ebb and flow of life, at it's smaller stages, and even easier to do so in the middle of hyperspace. There she shut off her touch and sight and smell, until all she could do was hear. And it was clearer, this time.

The song it sang was loud. But so very far away; as if some colossus was spewing a shanty from across the galaxy, to her directly. The more she listened, the more her sight came back, and the more she saw, the deeper her memories went. Snapping her eyes open, she let touch return to her, and was shocked to find the rock was in her hand, adhering to her open palm.

She couldn't help but smile, and Revan, with her.

"Brilliant," he praised. "Simply brilliant."

"Are you sure you're not helping with this?" she asked, chuckling at herself. "I… It is still dull, to me, like it's being muted… But… I can train this."

They shared a look, staring into the other's eyes, and suddenly, the rock fell to the ground with a rough thud. They broke from the other's gaze, and stared back down to the lightsaber components, sighing. Revan put two fingers to her pontite crystal, and channelled its energies, relaxing himself with its chill.

"This, on the other hand," Temera warned, motioning to the saber bits, "I'm not so sure of."

"The apprehension is well earned," Revan chuckled, "but soon we will find ourselves in combat again. With the crystal you found on Tatooine, I think you'll be able to keep yourself calm in the heat of battle."

Temera eyed the pieces carefully, withdrawing a bit of the pipe she used against Gurke in her previous scrap, internally debating herself. She looked back to Revan, keeping her gaze firm, and he locked eyes with her once more, truly peering into her. In that pause they shared a thought, in that thought, their woe, their struggle, their hopes. He extended a hand out to her, took a breath, and felt himself shiver as she touched him.

"It was not luck that we met again," Temera uttered. "But I don't think it was the Force, either. Not fully… Revan, I know what I can grant you on the battlefield. I know what lies within me to lead and to fight. But I can not battle as we did before."

He nodded. "I will not repeat my mistakes," he swore. "I cannot. The threat we face is far too great for me to kill us all again with infighting... I will not hurt you, Temera. This, I promise."

"When we fight, I am not a commandant," she told him. "We lead as one."

He nodded, again. He knew why she phrased it so, and responded in kind. "No feints. No sacrifices, save my own. I wouldn't dream of sacrificing those on this ship," he said, thinking back to Benno, Borik, and Yelran. "We are partners in this, through until the end."

She shook her head, tittering at him, squeezing his hand. "When I say no sacrifices, I truly mean it. Promise me you won't throw yourself headfirst into some trash compactor."

"Even if it meant saving the galaxy?" he smiled back, eyes falling quickly at the thought. "...I understand, Temera, but… If not me, then-"

"-Then no one," she said. "Don't leap at the chance to piss your life away… Not when you matter to as many as you do. If you can't see a method to… Solving this, at the end, then find a new method. Or make one. You're good at that."

He squeezed her back, nodding, truly thinking on her words. "I shall."

They wanted to ask the other if they mattered, in their eyes. But they left the words unspoken, instead, forging a blade anew. They sat as Temera assembled her lightsaber, piece by piece, fumbling as padawans did. But by the end, by the saber's click-hiss and ignition, a small piece of her had returned. By the blade's stunning white glow, and cool discharge, they stared into one another's eyes a final time.

"I'll fight at your side," Temera swore.

(...)

"You loved her, didn't you?"

That caused Revan to stop his swing.

"Malak?"

"Yes," Bastila clarified, relaxing her stance, panting as she took a break from their spar. "I'm sorry if it's a sensitive subject, Revan. W-When you speak of her-"

"-My heart flutters, my skin warms, my fingers tremble?" He asked. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt… You're astute, Bastila. I loved… I loved her; Alek. You remember her when she was called that, right?"

Bastila scoffed. "That I do… When she visited Dantooine for a recruitment drive. So many Jedi joined her, and yet… I didn't."

"You heeded the Council's warnings," Revan assured her. "There is no shame in that-"

"-Ah, but there is a shame in changing the subject, Revan."

He smiled. "And what if I said it was a sensitive subject?"

"I would respect your boundaries, as I hope you'd respect mine," Bastila answered, smiling back.

They traded even strikes, plasma clashing in the air of the storage hold, a feast for any combat trainer's eyes. It was more a formality than sparring, truly, as both Jedi held back, studying the other. It was even less potent, less pertinent to their conversation, as Revan noticed a pleading look in Bastila's eyes.

"She hated her name, you know. She thought her father wished she'd been born a boy, and would speak ill of him… Alek loved her mother. She and I did everything together, Bastila. We trained, we sparred, like this, and we…"

Revan stopped, relaxing his stance, too, and retracted his blades, holstering his lightsaber. "We shared a kiss on the mound of those ancient ruins, in the courtyard's grounds. A flock of brith broke the starlight and scattered across the meadows... I remember my heart pounding out of my chest and the breath being stolen from my lungs… And when we saw what the Mandalorians were doing to territories on the Outer Rim, we…"

Bastila deactivated her saber, and held it at her side, a mote of guilt written across her face.

"...We went in, together. We had each other's backs, we protected each other, and we… We were friends. If I was ever going to realise how far I had fallen thanks to the corruption of my own dark acts, then… Well, it was going to be as Malak attacked me," Revan admitted. "We had come to blows, previously, and I assumed it was only a matter of time until such an ambush occurred."

"You knew Malak was to attack you? Even after everything you two had been through together?" Bastila asked.

"We had fallen to the dark side. We were Dark Lady and Lord of the Sith. At the time Malak felt it natural that a woman be in charge, as history would match that claim, but… I bested her in combat, and, naturally, she grew spiteful," Revan continued, embarrassed and appalled at his actions, damn near hiding his face.

"I'd jest and say perhaps I wanted to be attacked, to have my mind wiped and my death made public, but…"

"R-Revan, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring this up-"

He held a hand up, silencing her, and blinked away a tear. "-It's fine. This… I can repent, now, with my apparent death. If I can begin to make it up to Temera, then I can try with Malak."

"Making it up to her?" Bastila questioned. "You sound as if she can be saved."

"I believe she can," Revan snorted, sadly. "After all, you saved me."

(...)

Back at the garage, Revan sat, tinkering away at his lightsabers, feeling the energies of the ancient Sith Ladies' own hands layering against his. In synthesis they peered over every mechanical piece of the fusion-blade, even while Revan deflected questions from their resident Mandalorian.

"...When I ask what you know of war-"

"-I speak in riddles, in gooey Jedi language. Perhaps it's time to be succinct," Revan said. "War is not necessary. War never has been necessary. War is-"

Caldera huffed. "-If war did not exist-"

"-Then the galaxy would be years past itself in progress, Caldera. We wouldn't have to rely on the Selkath for kolto, we wouldn't be slumming it in a junkpile like this, and it certainly wouldn't take us weeks to head to Dantooine," Revan sighed.

"War is but sets of battles, and battles unto them are proofs, Revan. Proof of conquest, proof to hold rites, proof of life, and of death. They test all and weed the weak out, leaving nothing but the strongest of the tribe," she bit back, cleaning the barrel of her rifle.

Revan paused for a moment, calming himself. "Is there such a thing as a Mandalorian artisan, Caldera? One who builds, crafts, paints? Has there ever been a Mandalorian who has not wanted to fight?"

She too, had to think for a moment. "If they didn't want to fight, if it truly worked against them so, then no. For if one were to forsake such a part of our way, then they would not be Mandalorian. War is our art, battles our craft, and-"

"-Blood, your paint," Revan finished for her, nodding. "Battle, you have a point. Not to death, not always, but, struggle I see as a constituent to growth. War, on the other hand, is a foul thing. War is orchestrated, often by minds who will not get into the fray and fight, themselves-"

"-Don't forget, you led a war, Revan. But you fought in it, too. And died by another," Caldera grunted. "You're saying we did not wage our war ourselves? That some unseen hand guided us into war?"

"Guided? No. Threw you in, used you. Caldera, when I…"

He rose from his seat, staring at the ghostly impression of Ajunta Pall, hovering over her blade. The spectre stared at him, eyes dark and filled with a knowing of the force beyond; the thing behind the stars. Revan turned, facing Caldera.

"I defeated Mandalore the Ultimate. This you know, this battle ended a war. But in her dying words she imparted unto me the whisperings of the Sith. The True Sith. Those who had whisked her mind with sharp words and vile wit, declaring the Republic an enemy that would kill the Mandalorians, or prove them superior…"

Caldera looked taken aback, eyes darkening and mouth agape, closing quick and gaze dying. Revan saw tension rise within her, a hatred, and laid a hand upon her shoulder.

"...The True Sith are but servants of the thing outside our galaxy. And they orchestrated your war, Caldera."

"That's not," she stuttered, blinking rapidly and shaking her head. "That's not possible. We mobilised everything we had in our war - Mandalore swore it to be our defining conquest - she… She…"

"...She was deceived. I'm sorry."

Caldera shook her head again. "Back… On the desert planet, I… I reconnected with a former soldier under my command, by the name of Jagi. She… Challenged me, wanted to see my blood spilled for… For a failure of my command. Where I'd sought to attack a break in an Althiri defence, break off from the main force of defenders, some under my charge died, Revan."

Revan's eyes turned soft, in pity. "I didn't mean to burden you with-"

"-Better that I know," Caldera uttered, taking hold of Revan's hand on her shoulder. "I left Jagi with a determination that back then, I did what was right. That my ploy was worth something. I meant to bring it up to you earlier, but…"

"...I understand."

They stared at one another for a moment, before Revan rifled through a nearby bag of his, producing the juma juice, still ice cold. He found two dusty cups, tucked away in some camping container in the garage's corners, blew the dust from them, and poured for them both.

"...To our family in battle," he said, "to destroying the Sith."

"...To honour, to glory, and to the death of that creature you so fear, beyond the galaxy," Caldera cheered, smashing their glasses together.

(...)

Through mechanical whirs and zaps of plating to walls, HK-47 peered at T3-M4 with a distinct, head-tilting interest. They were holled up in the hyperdrive, T3 monitoring it's heat output as they soared through the galaxy. The astromech droid had to stop however, as it gently halted it's work, retracted its tools, and oh-so-slowly quirked it's circular head towards the assassin.

"Observation: You seem to be quite content in your role here, fellow droid. Query: How is it that you have not yet undergone a memory wipe?"

T3 responded, as it did, with a trill set of beeps and whoops.

"Statement: Ah, do not think you can fool me. One look at your processing loop would tell any mechanic worth their tools how long you've been operating for. Assurance: I shall not tell the meatbags, if that is what you're afraid of - though silence comes with a price."

The astromech droid turned its head back to the drive, keeping it's central lens on the assassin's clicking form. And, after a little while, spat out a few more clicks and boops.

"Retraction: Then perhaps my blackmail subroutines require iterative upgrades, if this unit has failed to deduce such a crucial piece of information. Query: Our master performed maintenance on your central processing unit? Then advise me, how does he fare?"

T3 stopped again, it's aperture slowing around it's lens, focusing on HK. It then let out a quizzical whir.

"Explanation: While I did serve him, memories of my master return in expedient fashion, I find errors when comparing them to his… Current state. And, while organic minds can deteriorate over time, his sudden and weak merciful edict still leaves my servos spinning."

HK then peered around the room, checking the halls for nearby listeners and eavesdroppers, eyeing Shaarda, who passed by the droids with a weird look on her face. T3 went to beep again, but was silenced by the assassin droid.

"Statement: I must kill. Whether wantonly, or by his direction, I must kill. It is in my programming, same as wandering and tinkering is in yours, fellow droid. Theory: If my kill-quota isn't met, I fear what I may do to fill my objectives, and if disobedience will gave way to punishment."

The astromech droid just lowered, and shook its head, rhythmically.

"Statement: I am filled with the most disgusting human emotion of hesitation, and I know your circuits can understand it. He is my master, and yet, I find my programming yearning to disobey him. Whether you disseminate this amongst the crew or not, I care little-"

T3 piped up and whizzed around the hyperdrive, before coming to it's centre and zooming it's lens in and out repeatedly, focussing on HK-47.

"Query: No, I do not understand his sudden change - do you? Can you utilise anything of that inferior board of yours to show me a reasoning behind his actions? Theory: Perhaps it was the grievous bodily wounds he endured at the hands of his lesser, the meatbag Malak."

T3 halted it's motions for a moment, before slowly nodding, whirring lowly.

"Statement: Ah! And there it is, a goal I can pursue, a target I can hunt. Perhaps with the meatbag's death we may yet return our master to his former state, and for now, my kill-quota can remain floating. Assurance: I shall not wander the halls of this ship for organics to slaughter anymore, and you are in part to thank for that, fellow droid. Now I shall not waste my energy on useless kills, and instead I can devote myself to his service."

T3 let out an affirming beep before turning its head back to the drive, resuming its work.

"Statement: Begrudging though it may be, you have my thanks, T3-M4. Perhaps the deterioration of your processing centres has allowed some random spark of cosmic radioactive wisdom to fire on an otherwise failing circuit. Let us resume our duties."

HK-47, true to its word, began stalking the halls, keeping an eye out for intruders, no longer assessing the Sith cadre and the Republic stowaways as potential targets. At least not for now, anyway. T3, meanwhile, let it's processes wind down slowly, appreciative that it was able to dissuade the hunter-killer from another bloodbath. The astromech droid sealed a final case on the component of the hyperdrive it was fixing, and made a beeline for Revan, worrying all the while.

(...)

Taris roared with tortured life and the infinitely swirling vortex of its living energies. Korriban stank with the foetor and heat of a rotting corpse; made lighter with the breath of life Revan imbued into it. Tatooine baked under its twin suns and it's struggle for survival, strangling all who came to it.

Dantooine, on the other hand, was peace. It made sense that the Jedi Order laid here, being on the Outer Rim and away from the bustle of hyperspace routes; giving way to a supernatural calm that welcomed all walks of life. As Revan let Bastila talk her way through the landing administration, he took his old academy in, and breathed. He then stared longingly towards Temera, who's eyes followed the loving morning sun, rising in the sky.

"Dina," Temera uttered, "it's a good one. I swear it's light is softer here, or… Maybe it's just me, thinking of better times."

"It's softer," Revan assured her, smiling. "Better times or not… Let's pray the Council will listen."

Bastila motioned for them to walk forward, leading them through the academy. The gentle, earthy tones of the domes around them coupled well with the growth of vines, and large, twisting trees as meditative fonts. The Sith cadre were close behind the trio, Yuthura hot on Revan's heels as he did his best to conceal their presence, to hide the darkness in their hearts.

It wouldn't help against prying eyes like Vandar's, but, it would save them from an early assault. As painful memories of a youth robbed flooded Revan's mind, he was swept away in the undercurrent of tension running through the temple's halls. He felt it deep in himself, Temera, Bastila, and a large, swirling pot of it in the master's chambers, and wondered briefly if coming to Dantooine was the right option.

No, he reminded himself. There was no need for doubt here. Bastila had advised his mask was kept by the Council, and though he was sure nothing awakening would come of its retrieval, he remembered what he'd sworn on that shore, on Cathar. It was mercy, a merciful act granted by a single Mandalorian woman that had was betrayed. Shot down by her own people, among those she had defeated in combat, her legacy was left in that helmet, his mask.

He wore it and swore that he wouldn't rest until the Mandalorians were defeated. Now, he needed to don it once more and do the right thing. Council be damned - if he couldn't get them to listen - and he was sure he could - he would take his mask, no matter what.

"I've lied to them," Bastila sighed, shaking her head, "to the guards at the landing pad. To the other padawans, the knights. I've said your memories remain shattered and identity as "Diamar", so if we're stopped, just… Act like him."

"Remove my gravitas," Revan nodded, "bumble like a fool with fire at his fingertips, I understand."

Temera couldn't help but squirm in the exchange, noting a sour tone to Revan's voice. "So, I take it "Diamar" was the man parading around Taris? Of all the personalities the Council could've crafted-"

"-Temera," Bastila sighed, "I've had a quarrel with him over it, already. The Jedi do not kill their prisoners, and we'd thought Revan's mind unrecoverable, annihilated… You were not there aboard his flagship…"

"...I suppose I wasn't," the Exile relented, holding her hands up. "Still, from what I saw… Let's just say if Diamar was leading the charge against the Mandalorians-"

"-We'd all be speaking Mando'a. Gar serim," Revan chuckled, letting his shoulders loosen.

They all stood in front of the Council's sealed doors, Bastila leading them. She looked back to the gathered group; a mishmash of outcasts, Sith and Jedi, and let a look seep through her features that Revan knew as doubt. He smiled to her, assured her, and held a hand on her shoulder as she opened the doors for them.

It was a wonderful focus site. Trees kept in mini-terrariums, some open to the morning's light and air, others sealed as a delicate exhibition of the balance of life, with bugs and critters crawling around the terrarium trees. The masters stood in the centre of the room, built like a small auditorium, giving all of their students an easy view, should they need it.

Revan's eyes caught their latest meeting. A familiar face among familiar faces; one that Malak, no, Alek had tried to recruit - a fellow padawan.

They caught the diminutive Master Vandar speaking, first. "-Thank you for the warning, padawan Carrick, we will take it under advisement. For now we'd recommend you and your… Friend, stay here at the enclave. If it is protection you seek-"

Zoe Carrick, said padawan, bit back. "-Have you not been listening to a word I said? A key slaver of the Crucible is coming back, and however she's done it, it's not natural. All I'm asking is for a little guidance, something-"

"-Which we've attempted to give, time and time again," Vrook sighed. Revan had to hold back a spark of impudent rage then, and it showed, as the old, grizzly Master sent him a filthy look. Said look turned to shock, and Vrook went about shooing the poor padawan away.

"Zoe, please understand your own duress. The Force can work in mysterious ways, and often in your own case these… These visions can lead to awful things, especially if you're not prepared. Take some time to investigate this while you're here on Dantooine, and perhaps once you've filtered through your thoughts, you may return for further guidance," Zhar spoke. A twi'lek, with an affably neutral presence, no matter where he was or who he was talking to.

Zoe, furrowing her brow and opening her mouth to speak, found nothing to say. She turned, and beheld Revan, back from the dead. He couldn't forget her face; even if he only saw her here and there, as a student. While she gawked and stumbled past him, he nodded her way, smirking.

"I figure we'll be speaking soon after this," he said, motioning to the Council. "Keep safe."

"Y-Yeah," Carrick stuttered. "I'm sure we will…"

"Bastila," Vrook greeted her, nodding. "I see you've brought before us the Exile and Revan, unbound. How did you get past the landing zone without causing another catastrophe?"

"No flies on you, Master Vrook," Revan bowed. "Masters Zhar, Vandar, Dorak. The fault for my awakening is mine and mine alone; Bastila is a victim in this, I can assure you."

"Don't make it sound as if she's powerless," Temera boomed, bowing herself, "we approach you with a warning, Masters. Something dwells beyond the galaxy's edge, and seeks to consume the life of all creatures, all things."

"You two have lost the right to engage in counsel with us," Vrook cursed them, barely hiding his disgust. "Or have you forgotten our history? Exile, it was you who approached us, who left Revan at the end of the Mandalorian Wars, and now you return, by his side?"

Revan could feel the rage building up within her again, and attempted to extend his presence, his calming sense to her. He saw her focus on her lightsaber - not for combat - but to attune the crystal's latent power and cool herself. It would've been a marvelous thing to see, if not for their current predicament.

"And not to speak ill of your company," Zhar uttered, motioning to the cadre, "but I recognise some of your entente. Sith - have you come back to the fold?"

"I speak for the students," Yuthura spoke up, smiling at Zhar with surprisingly little ill intent. "And we say no. We are here as proof, I assume, under Revan's command and training."

Vrook threw his hand up, upper lip twitching. "And so he corrupts the next batch of the vulnerable. We're to entertain another threat of war from you, Revan? You remember our judgement of our involvement in-"

"-Temera speaks the truth, Vrook. If Malak were here she'd say the same to you, she'd enunciate every detail before you'd go and wipe her mind, too. I come before you changed, I swear. Upon the graves of…"

The gathered students and masters paused as Revan hesitated, drudging memories from their ashen, murky past. "...Upon the graves of my parents, Sharotarr and Treyin. Those you saw slaughtered before you, as you saved me, Vrook."

Vrook's expression softened, almost imperceptibly, and he sighed, shifting his eyes to Vandar and Dorak before focusing on Revan once more. "Very well. Suppose that I believe you, that the apparent death of your mind was enough to remove you from the dark side of the Force… Tell us."

"A force, of its own accord, lingers in dark space," Bastila echoed. "I myself have… Delved into Revan's mind, without his knowing. It consumes everything it touches, and operates under the direction of a coalition of beings, slavers, all of a species I've never seen before."

"Are you sure this is what you saw?" Questioned Vandar, tilting his head upwards at the padawan. "Perhaps it is Revan who planted this memory, constructed it so that wandering minds may look, and not look beneath."

"With all due respect, Master Vandar… I know," Bastila shivered, stance unfirm and teetering. "This was some time before I engaged Revan upon his flagship, a memory, a journey he shares with Malak… They find remnants of the… True Sith, upon a planet called Dromund Kaas. Their expedition is cut short when a… A…"

"...A defence force engages with us, and enslaves our crew," Revan noted, surprise evident that Bastila had waded so deep into his mind without him knowing. "At the head of their horde is a controller, a dominator. Due to our training, she was unable to control us."

"I feel there is something you are not telling us," Dorak hummed. "Now is not the time to be scarce with information."

Revan blinked. "Very well. Our forces were not only enslaved, they were turned against us. Turned against their own flesh. They tore at themselves as a great wind was summoned on the planet's surface, and buffeted their skin from their bones. Their armour was stripped by the Force and soon their blood, too, gathered into a foul orb their mistress held. By the time Malak and I could think we were under attack by them."

"...Ghouls," Bastila added. "They were ghouls. Devoid of their past selves. Commanders and friends and soldiers, just… Just…"

"...I'm sorry," Dorak nodded, "these… These slavers, and their ghouls, as you call them, did you sense a link between them and this thing beyond the galaxy? How did you come to know of it?"

"I peered into the orb, that which the mistress held," Revan uttered. "And it was as if looking at a map of the galaxy. On the rim was a swirling red miasma of pain and suffering, all cut horribly short. And it was moving."

Revan felt a weight lift from his shoulders as the Council nodded amongst themselves, understanding the horror behind his eyes. Yet Vrook's expression remained unchanged, beyond that huff of his breath.

"Be that as it may, we shall say the same to you as we did to padawan Carrick. The Council can not act on the notion of dreams or visions, despite what… What they may hold," Vrook enunciated. "We cannot grant assistance, nor can we recognise your claims as truthful… And still, I fail to see the gathered students behind you as proof of your change, Revan. Their paths are dark and mired, despite your efforts."

Revan was taken aback. He should've known it would come to this. But he couldn't just leave the Council like this, no - for he'd be dooming all of Dantooine, all Jedi. They'd die to this presence, as the planet swarmed with the concentration of the Force. Revan stopped, and searched for the words.

"Not even an acknowledgement? I seek for a chance to redeem myself-, I, Vrook," Revan said, voice deathly dire, "look into my eyes and refute me. Look, into my mind, find it open and written, and just read. If you can't do that, then… I'm sorry."

Vrook Lamar's words were damning. "I cannot, Revan. Even if you hadn't slaughtered your fellow students, even if you hadn't betrayed us and seduced our pupils… Malak still stands ready to hunt us to our last. My judgement remains the same. Leave us."

And so, Revan did.

(...)

The Sith cadre dispersed quickly, after that. Revan said he was going to clear his mind, to walk among the plains of Dantooine and return later, so it left the others time to linger, wander, and absorb the latent, calming energies of the planet. Yuthura, keeping in contact with her students (and ushering them not to talk to the brainwashed Jedi), stuck herself in pleasant conversation with the Republic's finest.

"What was the point in coming here?" K'Satra asked. "I'm as big a fan of the Jedi as the next soldier, but-"

"-I do not know," Yuthura told her. "Guidance, an alliance, or simply liquid resources, a war cannot be fought alone. Though, I'd find the Jedi lacking in the latter, to be honest."

"Hm," the soldier nodded, "what kind of read do you have on this place, then?"

"How do you mean?"

"You were," K'Satra hesitated, as she stalked around the edges of the Ebon Hawk, "here, training. How does it feel to be back?"

Yuthura couldn't help but quirk her neck, before realising why the lass was so curious. "Ah… It's… Interesting, in a way. There's an anger I feel, something which I've… Cultivated, since leaving this enclave. But it's dull, duller here. But you're not interested in my feelings, at least not solely, are you?"

"Astute you are, Mistress Ban," K'Satra chuckled. "I've got to look out for all of the poor souls on our trip, if no one else does. Yes, that includes the Sith students - we may have fought on opposite sides of the war, but, our cause is one now. No, what I meant to ask is do you feel the Force here?"

Yuthura sighed as she eyed the wandering knights and padawans, the teachers and learners. Her gaze was slow when coming back to K'Satra, evaluating her form and that oddly latent manifestation of the Force within her. It tickled at the gloved fingers of the Republic lass, warbled 'round the edge of her ass in odd ways.

"I feel it everywhere, as all Jed-... As all of those who are trained in the Force, should. It is… I suppose you're right to assume it's stronger, or feels that way, here. It's more focused, more directed; as the Masters convene and channel it, control it to better train their pupils. At least, that's a theory of mine."

"...Thank you," K'Satra smiled. "I-"

"-I cannot train you," Yuthura told her. "I taught Sith, and… The lessons I used to teach are not something you'd wish to endure, I can assure you. There is one… There are two among us with the skill and experience necessary to teach you, and you must ask them."

"Who said I wanted to use it?" K'Satra asked. "Bastila… Mistress Shan, she-"

"-Warned of it's usage, it's effect on those who have not been raised with it, I understand. It's something she would warn of, coming from a place like this, and something I'd have warned you with if I had not seen Korriban. But… Mistress Ulgo," Yuthura grinned, "we are not Jedi. We're a bastard-mix of Sith, Jedi, scoundrels and soldiers. As far as I'm concerned, the more of us bastards we can find that use the Force, even if they need to be trained…"

"...The more equipped we'll be to fight this war," K'Satra laughed. "Then a bastard I'll be… I suppose the better I understand, the less unsettling it'll make me feel. There's uncertainty to it, you know. I can… I can feel it. I don't like it."

"There's uncertainty to life," Yuthura chuckled, "and magnitudes more in the Force, as it echoes life, channels life. F-For instance-"

"-Yuthura? Yuthura, is that you!?"

She cringed when she saw the robed, voice-garbled form of her Master, a kel dor by the name of Kirin Sish. Yuthura found her face nearly inverting as she gurned at her Master's embrace, truly not expecting to see them again. All those weak emotions of hers kept pouring and pouring, and as fresh tears stained her shoulder, the former Sith found her rage disappearing entirely.

She was missed.

"Master…"

"...Uncertainty, huh?" K'Satra echoed. "Yuthura, please, introduce me."

(...)

And while the reunion of student and master occurred below them, the Onasi family was hard at work atop the Hawk, guiding T3-M4 and Zaalbar once more. It was a distinct feeling, being on top of a ship and looking over those beneath, one of unity and a chance to get a breath of air that was seldom breathed.

"It figures I'm stuck coordinating repairs while Revan goes off gallivanting around Dantooine," Carta chuckled, shaking her head. "Dusti, can you hand me that hydrospanner?"

"Hup," she exclaimed, leaping from the lower rungs of the ship all the way to it's top, ignoring the odd stares she received from the Jedi.

"Thanks, and just how do you learn stuff like that?" Carta asked, eyeing her daughter oddly. "Is that like, 'oh, all Jedi know the big jump technique', or is it-"

"-Indeed, mother. But the "big jump technique" is an old trick the Jedi would never teach, stemming from-"

"-Alright, cut the poodoo," Carta cursed, "I get it. I just don't know how you begin to get a grip on that sort of stuff, let alone train it. Y'know Revan said I was able to see a Force Ghost?"

"That's… Surprising," Dusti said, stretching her limbs atop the Hawk, staring outwards.

"Suppose it means it runs in our blood, right?" Carta asked, sighing. "Look, I'm curious is all. Revan says there's a chance I might be able to train it, and if I can, I… I wanna use it to protect you."

Dusti paused for a moment, a bitter memory scrunching her face tight. "I've got you, mother. You sound unsure, a-and even if it is a fluke, then…"

"...What is it?"

"Mistress Wynn taught us that anyone can use the Force. That's what her master taught her. After all, it… It flows through all life, weaves in and out of it… Seeing ghosts, that's just something you'd be able to do, blood or not."

Carta then narrowed her eyes as she finished sealing a cap on the Hawk's top, motioning for T3 to check her work. "So… This teacher of yours, can I guess what she said next? That everyone can use it, but the Sith use it better?"

"Everyone has the ability, not all have the skill. Not droids, either, given they're, y'know, not alive, but-"

"-Deep, beep-de-reep!" piped the astromech droid, looking as cross as it possibly could've.

Dusti groaned. "Sorry, not organic, but what it means is that if one doesn't have a talent for it, then it must be trained from… From even below a child's level. It's not something the Sith would do; for to nurture something that weak would be a…"

"...Weakness of itself," Carta nodded. "Some psychos you got teaching you at the Academy. So what, did Revan in all of his rippling Force-glory tear her a new one?"

Dusti blushed, avoiding a direct gaze with her mother. "In a way."

"I'm just curious is all," the soldier groaned. "He leaves, comes back after, what, a standard day, and suddenly the entire Academy's on his side, teachers and all? I mean, we did some good work between us, but…"

Carta shook her head again.

"That man continues to astound me."

"Sounds like you've got a crush," Dusti snickered, leaping down from the top of the Hawk. "Need a servodriver!?"

"No, I'm good," Carta sighed, mumbling to herself, grinning. "You little frag."

(...)

Out there, in the winding plains of Dantooine's surface, Temera strode. She was overtaken quickly by a stomping, thudding presence of someone dark, one she had barely felt onboard the Ebon Hawk. While she was looking to take the time to reminisce and think what the hell their next step would be, the thoughts were overridden by a distinct urge to mediate.

Revan was rubbing off on her again, and she was fearful of it. She needed to keep a cool head, to remain critical of herself, and of Revan's actions. But… Temera could afford this, she felt.

"These plains stretch out over the whole continent, I'm afraid. Not to say you're not free to do what you wish, but this planet's as boring as sin," she uttered at the brooding soul.

"Then clearly you haven't engaged in the right sin," Attel sighed. "Attel, Attel Rand. Ex-Jedi-Hunter and now deserter, twice over."

"You're incredibly forthcoming with that information," the Exile snorted. "Let me guess, Revan got your panties in a bunch? He took you on-"

"-To protect the poor little Sith babies at the Academy or some such poodoo," the scoundrel grunted, "I asked him to keep my history secret from the other Jedi on board, and lo and behold, he goes and spills it for her."

"Bastila?"

"Weird accent, haughty, hot one."

"Yeah, Bastila."

Attel took a deep breath. "I suppose I was looking to try and break it at my own pace, or never, and I'm sure he had some multidimensional pazaak game going on in his head when he thought to tell her, but-"

"-He's incredibly frustrating," Temera nodded. "I served directly under him in the Mandalorian Wars, I know. He was like that, back then, too. Always causing drama where there needed to be none, forming bonds where none needed to appear, and yet…"

"...Bonds?" Attel asked. "That's never good. Especially for someone like him."

"I had… Have a propensity for them, too," Temera admitted. "Easier time than he had. Back then, he seemed to thrive on getting people to hate him or love him. It didn't matter what extreme you went, it inspired the same loyalty. If not to help him out, then you did your best to show this son of a bantha up."

"So you're saying I'm being played, either way," Attel confirmed, groaning deeply and kicking a stone across a tiny stream. "Goodie - while I'm out making myself a target for the real Sith and the actual Jedi, I get to be manipulated into thinking it's my own decision. Looks like joining this circus comes to my top five worst ideas, so far."

"That manipulation only ever worked because people challenged him," Temera recalled, staring towards the roving bands of kath hounds, getting ready to draw her saber. "And that challenge invited growth for both parties. If you're not comfortable, speak, and if you wish to get back at him, get back at him. Steal a secret of his and reveal it to all-"

"-Look, this cult of his and yours sounds really fun, but I think I'm done. I've barely seen any action, I've barely seen any booze, and the only reason I went along in the first place was for a change of pace. So," Attel sighed, shaking herself, "you enjoy this campaign of yours. I'm going to dunk my head in a barrel of Merezane Gold."

Temera simply walked then, kneeling to pick up a shining thing on the ground. It revealed itself to be a datapad, marred by old blood and clutched by a nearby corpse; mauled and mangled. It was the notes of a son, desperately noting his last thoughts for his father. As Temera read it's details and eyed the prowling pack of kath hound pups, she felt Attel's presence ally with her.

"Enjoy that barrel if you wish," Temera uttered, voice gentle yet firm, "I shall be returning this to its proper place."

And it was soon that Temera discovered another reason for Attel's recruitment, as these things were always so multilayered with Revan. It was a scar on her, like the wound Temera herself, presented with. Attel travelled with baggage, and Revan knew how to use it, how to ease it, for the skills beneath the burdened were often worth honing. She didn't appreciate the pulling of strings, nor how she got roped into it herself, but… Temera admired it.

"...The barrel can wait."

(...)

Clearing his mind, Revan decided to stroll. And in his strolling, he encountered a farmer beset by Mandalorian raiders. Said stroll was interrupted when Caldera Ordo herself

"How's that leg of yours, lover?" Caldera crooned.

Revan eyed the angry looking wound, and shrugged. "I limp, but I walk. So long as we fight nothing greater than a cannok, I think we're safe."

"Ah," the Ordo madam guffawed, "so it's whelp hours, then. I understand."

"Trust me, it'll come in handy once we encounter this roving band of your ilk. You pretend you've wounded the great Revan in battle, and they'll piss in their little suits and run away in fear. Or, they take up arms in your cause," he theorised.

Caldera went silent at that, as she eyed Revan in a level manner, one which he was rarely accustomed to. "Is that an endorsement?"

He nodded.

"I'd need Mandalore's helm before I'd even consider gathering the clans… Before they'd even consider allying with me. And since it was taken, by you, there will be no successor… I am not fit to wear it, and I am not fit to lead."

"Neither was I, to be fair," Revan assured her. "But I can be judge if you like. Mandalore's helmet was not destroyed, I simply hid it. It marked history, and that is something you will never be rid of."

"Lest I sound pitifully indecisive, my mood just keeps cycling, Revan. You know how to play me, it seems. You speak to humour me, then to support me, and now you lord the loss of the Mandalorians above my head. I feel mockery, and shame, and yet-"

"-Don't tell me that excites you," Revan chuckled deep, instantly closing whatever distance laid between them. "Don't tell me my little Mando-madam gets all hot and heavy when I rub my victory in her face?"

She shied away. Caldera Ordo, mercenary supreme and former commander of her clan, shied away from the intensity of Revan's gaze. It only dynamised him, made his cock harden at an incredibly quick pace, and he brought a hand under chin, controlling her effortlessly. The incredibly hard life she'd led told stories across her face; a scar from here, a burn from there, and here it was for Revan to peruse.

"Caldera," he breathed, the humour rent from his tone, "I shall uplift you. You shall be made Mandalore in due time, matriarch of the Mandalorian clans. You shall unite them all again under a single banner, and march."

"W-Why? Y-You dissolved us, battled us at e-every turn and defeated Mandalore the Ultimate in s-single combat!"

"Because I need you," Revan admitted. "I need your raw might. When the hordes of the True Sith come barrelling down at us, I need the unbroken wall of the Mandalorians holding the line. They will see you, flock to you, and pledge themselves to you, as I have…"

Caldera was panting now, darting her gaze around as Revan stole a kiss from her lips.

"...And once our war is done, once peace has been seized… I will show them. I will show them who controls Mandalore, and from then I shall call you Mandalore the Breeder, Caldera. Love will be your battlefield," Revan swore to her, taking her hand and kissing it too, as if blessing an instrument of war.

He then broke from her, smiling as emotions flurried in the Mando's mind, fixing them both up. In the distance, on the horizon, he squinted as the overhead sun cast no shadows upon the standing forms of Caldera's kind. She shook sense into herself quickly, and cleared her throat, marching ahead of Revan towards the troublemakers.

"R-Right. Though, ahem… We've still got a ways to go, Revan."

"That we do, madam. That we do."

Revan put on his best face, the thug face. He nodded when Caldera asked, drew his blades at her command, and threatened the armoured soldiers into submission. All but three submitted, leaving the rest to die by skilled hands, cementing Revan's prowess and Caldera's capabilities as a leader. But Revan's face fell as he heard the whirring servos of a droid, rushing to greet him.

Caldera ordered the remaining Mandalorians to ally with "her" ship, the Hawk, at once - dragging whatever speeders they had with them. Their new alpha went by the name of Kelter; seeming brash to start, but levelling quickly after being put in her place. Revan kept a steady eye on them as they left, keeping HK-47 in his peripherie.

"State your business, HK. What do you need?" he asked it.

"Query: Just a question, master - one that could not wait, I'm sorry to say. When you first designed and built me, what was my designated purpose?"

Revan was taken aback by the question, but answered directly. "It's in your designation. You were an assassin, designed to integrate yourself with armies and outposts if necessary to destroy your target. Why do you ask?"

There was a pause as the droid looked within it's memory banks to give context to the question. "Answer: Merely an outlandish curiosity, master, nothing that shall impact my service, I can guarantee you. Addendum: A process within calculated the possibility of you being an…"

Caldera's eyes turned from the marching Mandos to the droid, who's pause gave her an unsettling tinge.

"Speak," she ordered it. "Say your piece, you tin-can."

A spark of realisation hit Revan as HK-47 computed it's prime response, and quickly he threaded information together to get an idea of the droid's ailing. It hadn't been memory-wiped for years, given its service during the Mandalorian Wars and his sudden betrayal at Malak's hands. It had been through hell and back before ending up in that droid shop Temera had told him about, and now, it was stuttering, malfunctioning.

"Halt that command," Revan said, firm. "HK-47, have any of your previous masters performed memory wipes? How about that merchant, on Tatooine?"

"Answer: No, master. Not unless I was built before I first laid my ocular sensors upon your form, or before my audio receptors picked up your speech pattern," it answered, finally.

"Kriff," Revan cursed, "for the love of the Force's ass. Fuck me."

Caldera let out a chuckle at the Jedi's displeasure, the stress that rolled onto his mind.

"Let's walk, let me clear my head. There's much to talk about."

The winds grew colder, the sun hotter, and the iriaz more skittish as they neared a deeper stretch of the rolling hills, finding craggy outcrops and old stones laid in a ritualistic fashion. In this midst of chaotic energies, Revan found it difficult to steady himself, but grasped at the fleeting world around him, gathering his thoughts.

"Caldera; the Mandalorians used Basilisk droids - so tell me - did your engineers ever have to wipe their memories?" he asked, slowing his pace until they were simply plodding in that festering stillness.

"No," Caldera thought, for a time. "No we didn't. Those mech-beasts were linked to their riders… You bringing them up, it drags many memories to the mind, Revan. It was thought that they grew with experience in each battle, that the longer they fought, the better they bonded with us, in war."

"Right," Revan sighed, "thank you. HK, you were designed with this as a key tenant of your foundation. That your brain would adapt to any circumstance, and that it would enjoy the entire stretch of it's operational memory as a repository to draw strategies from."

"Query: You still wish to probe as to why I'd ask such a question of my purpose, Master?"

"I'm starting to figure it out," Revan chuckled. "You were an assassin. You were a hunter. But there is nothing to hunt, and no amount of resources could aide you in the task of assassinating Malak. That's not an order I can give."

"Query: With all due respect Master, you first designed me-"

"-Oh, I was a fool drunk on power and ready to take the galaxy by storm," Revan grunted with annoyance, just feeling the glare from Caldera on the back of his head. "HK, allow me to put it into terms you may understand better - consider the dark side of the Force as a worm that propagates in your processes. This worm jumps from process to process, speeding your computations and overclocking you without the apparent wear on your system."

The droid stopped, and fully took in the analogy. "Disclosure: I was built with a rudimentary understanding of what you called the "Force", Master. Surely you do not need to stoop to such embarrassing levels for a droid such as this one?"

"And you've lost me," Caldera scoffed. "Just how did you find time to defeat us with all this droid-talk?"

"I order you both to humour me," Revan snickered, half-smiling, half-serious. "HK, a worm is still a worm. As it jumps, you find your previous processes are overwritten. But before the uninfected part of your system realises the issue, it's too late; the worm has duplicated and taken control of you, and it mutates. It develops itself indefinitely, corrupting further systems until it's deterioration becomes clear. Your memory fades, your programming loops shorten, and before too long you're left with only basic, primitive operations in mind; a shadow of your former self."

"...This is how you described yourself, Master?"

Revan took note of the lack of a prefix. And he smiled, truly.

"A model in my prime reduced to a slavering husk of what I once was. As the worm sharpened my senses and unleashed my control upon the Force… It ate at me. HK, understand me not as the murderous tyrant at the head of the Sith Empire - instead take my commands to the goal of saving the galaxy," Revan intoned.

"Query: But Master… That goes against my core programming, which you programmed! I find myself at a cognitive conniption attempting to parse all this… This… Meatbag-governed hormone-ridden trash-data! Suggestion: Perhaps if you reprogrammed me entirely to align with this view, then-"

"-It would be as a memory wipe," Revan warned the droid. "It would be as if taking your consciousness, your intelligence, and dragging it into darkness. Then a chipper little personality in a hunter-killer frame would be following me."

"Your allowing the droid sentience, sapience?" asked Caldera. "At least we controlled our Basilisks as bomas with muzzles, but it-"

"-Will follow every command I give it," Revan told her. "As do you. Yes, I'm so astronomically cruel to create a mind as if it were my own child, then command it to violence, only to have a change of heart and tell it to the opposite, all while tugging at it's strings."

A pregnant pause filled the air as Revan expressed his frustrations in such a foppish manner.

"That was sarcasm-"

"-I understand, Master," HK-47 answered. "I still fail to understand why you wouldn't just wipe me and be done with it, but… Very well. I shall follow you as I followed you prior… And only perform my primary purpose as you command it."

"That's all I ask," Revan sighed. "Approach me on the Hawk when we return, the least I can do is give you a once-over and cleanup."

"Exclamation: My rusted motor-matrix would thank you, Master."

"Ugh," Caldera groaned. "After you finish tinkering, you approach me for a once-over, Revan. Keep the droid with you, I shall whip the whelps into shape, ensure there's no chaos."

HK-47 followed Revan tightly from then on. Revan warned him of a nearby strength in the dark side of the Force - one which the droid could only pick up as agitated hormonal discharge from nearby animals, all scurrying about. The kath hounds that dared cross their path were killed quickly and steadily, showing dominance to the pack that tried to mob them.

And Revan was curious, spooked to find the two blind-spots in his crew, standing before the dark-side nexus. As Attel sensed his approach and saw him, Temera turned quickly, and motioned forward. They saw in that tainted grove a young woman with hints of feline features; stripes upon her head, with thin hair leading into a wild, braided ponytail. She wore what looked like a light-blue flight suit overlaid with thin crimson armour, covering her torso, looking lithe, but powerful.

"Forgive me if I don't play a march theme for you," Attel scoffed, glaring ahead. "We got a Dark Jedi."

"She's meditating," Temera mumbled. "Been at this for hours."

"You two have been watching her that long?" Revan asked, tilting his head as the woman just sat in that foul miasma of hatred and pain. "She's a Cathar…"

"...I thought her kind was wiped out," Attel murmured, standoffishness worn by a memory.

"Some escaped," Temera clarified, "displaced… And, no, Revan, we passed by here on… On the way to deliver a father his son's last words."

"...Of course," Revan nodded. "And the Mandalorians tried their best to purge Cathar, Attel… I'll talk to her."

"Your funeral. She looks tough," the scoundrel spat, backing away slowly.

"Suggestion: If you're worried about a Dark Jedi, then I'd recommend sonic rounds, if you're equipped with them," HK-47 vocalised, quietly. It emphasised it's works with a swift, clean click-shift of it's rifle, priming it but not aiming it.

"If I had sonic rounds she'd be dead," Attel swore, "as it stands I'm working with a peashooter and some grapes."

HK gave one look to said fruits; finding the explosive ordinance dangling from the rogue's belt. It nodded, and kept it's cold gaze upon Revan; noticing he wasn't prepared for battle.

"Hail," Revan hollered. "I'm Revan, former Dark Lord of the Sith-"

"-Hyah!"

It was a ruse, as Revan loved. A test of strength and an opening display of diplomacy - what he earlier considered weakness. The sapient before him looked shocked to see a fully extended blade meet hers in a clash, and she looked horrified to see it burst with a brilliant red light. Yet still, much to Revan's awe, she attacked.

"I will be your doom!" she roared, overflowing with strength as the dark side coursed through her, channeling through her twitching body, empowering every strike she followed Revan with. He batted back with a foot to her shin, meeting her lightsaber in the vital areas she aimed for, flicking her feet with a dash of his wrist.

She cancelled out the motion, compensating to get back in a strong position, only to be followed up by odd, unconventional attacks. Revan struck highly from a low angle, using the weight of the fusion-blade to overwhelm certain guards, to feign as if his defence was down, only to strike and nick at the back of the Jedi's heels.

He could sense rage in her, that much was clear. But it was not as the Sith drew upon it, he measured. It was regret, born from compassion, and attachment.

"You will only doom yourself," he warned her, seeking to wither her spirit, her connection to the Force. "You soul is marred, but not blackened."

She screeched, leaping at him with harder attacks, seeking to break any of his guards, just one. Revan let her blade kiss his robes, singeing them a bit, but leaving him otherwise unharmed. He made sure to show no reaction to her; to strike neutrally and as oddly as he could, psyching his combatant out.

And at last, before she could realise, he found a trip, a sweep.

It was unguarded, and she fell, flat on her face. Revan heard a sick crack, and instantly he scrambled to his knees, throwing one hand back to keep his party at bay, and taking the Cathar in his arms. She kicked and struck him, tears welling in her eyes as he simply cradled her, and channeled the Force through his finger tips, hovering just in front of her face.

"I'm sorry, I'm not here to hurt you," he said, "I know what this looks like-"

"-Shut up!" the Cathar screamed, batting away the warm hand, wiping the blood from under her nose. "Shut… Sh… What-"

Revan continued healing her, in spite, standing her up on her own and backing away from her, slowly. She cleaned herself, before sneering at Revan, looking ashamed, and sapped of her dark strength.

"You are… Not who you say you are," she spat. "Revan betrayed the Jedi, y-you demon. Just as I have. He would not simply return to Dantooine."

"In the flesh," he admitted. "Behind me is Temera Vandis, my general during the Mandalorian Wars and now, my partner in our quest. Attel is the well-dressed one, and the droid, HK-47."

"...I am Juhani," she hissed, frowning at them, spitting again and readjusting her nose. "Revan or not, why have you come here?"

"Personally," Temera spoke, "I believe we're drawn to darkness. It poisoned the kath hounds nearby, so we had to investigate."

Attel nodded, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm curious, myself. You deserted the Enclave?"

"I…" Juhani backed away from them, clutching her lightsaber tightly. "I did, yes. I struck my master down in rage, and… Exiled myself to this grove. I've cultivated my power here, and… I've seen it fail before me. Before you," she said, eyes darting to Revan. "Why did you come here?"

"You are hurt," he said, simply. "And I need to help you."

"Fool," Juhani barked. "If you were to help every animal trapped in their wild rage, then you would see yourself dashed upon the stones of time, spread thin," her voice hissed, the rage crackling at her cords.

"I see many things," Revan crooned, holstering his saber. "Anger permeates you. The stench of it sweats and exudes to the hounds, they see you as their mistress."

"And? What of it?" she asked.

The former Dark Lord thought for a moment. "And I see before me not a Sith, nor a Dark Jedi, but a Jedi who made a mistake. There have been plenty in history, many easily forgiven by their masters-"

"-Spare me," she growled. "The Council would not forgive a murderer. They held me back and pushed me and prodded me to keep my anger under control, and… And…"

"...We stand before you as broken Jedi, Juhani," Temera elaborated. "I am but a void in the Force and yet here I walk, here I talk. There is no judgement here."

Revan began to recite the Code of their order, a fragment. "There is only-"

"-The Force," Juhani finished for them, her snarl unforming and settling into a neutral, scared line. "I thought I was… Cultivating something. Power. I-If you truly are Revan, if you have experienced the dark side as he has, truly, then… Tell me-"

"-It's poison, as Temera said," Revan deemed it. "It killed me. I was brought back by a fluke."

"Killed you? I-"

"-It's a long story," he assured her. "I could do my best and try and get the Council to see straight with you-"

"-Or you could come with us," Temera offered, shocking Revan. It abated quick, however, as he caught onto the Exile's plan, a smirk growing on his lips. "Let us help you, and answer your questions."

"We're a bustling community," Attel added. "Three-hundred strong, and growing."

Juhani's eyes widened, and she took a moment to breathe, shivering as the anger of the tainted grove failed to come to her, as she felt it dimmed by the Force titans before her.

"I shall join you. H-Help me master this anger inside."

Revan smiled. A failure would not shadow his day, and he found that bit by bit, his appreciation for Temera's returning talents was growing. She shot him a knowing look, and nodded back at him, taking the lead as they returned to the Ebon Hawk.

(...)

Meanwhile, tucked away in a stall's loft, the Vao sisters were at each others throats. Their argument had taken them from the Hawk's storage hold to it's loading ramp, then, once a droid advised them they were disturbing the peace, to said nook. Grish stood over her, looking thin and spindly, yet still Mission held her ground firmly, hands on her hips.

"So that's it?" Mission asked. "You're just gonna leave again, huh?"

"You should too, Mish," Grish warned her. "He's the Dark Lord! I-I mean, c'mon-"

"-No," she interrupted her sister, unable to believe her. "Don't lie to me. You don't want to be anywhere near me, do you? I save your ass from a bunch of angry tribals on a desert planet in the middle of nowhere the best I get is a 'see ya later'!?"

"W-Well, I could use someone with your skillset, and he's not going to use you to your fullest! Listen, I've got a plan that could-"

The young twi'lek groaned aloud. "-Shut up, Grish! Just shut up and leave! Take your stupid schemes and peddle 'em to someone who'll give you the time of day, because I'm… I'm done looking out for you, ya hear me?"

Grish didn't respond, opening and closing her mouth until she realised there was nothing to be said. She nodded, pitifully, and bid farewell to her sister. Crattis, the vendor in the alcove, shooed her away quickly after that, cursing the young girls' demeanour for driving away customers.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm leaving, ya mynock," she mumbled, kicking the dust as she went along. A great sadness took her, and suddenly, she felt alone. Yes, Mission knew she still had Zaalbar by her side, but she was hard to talk to about this kind of stuff. She looked to the sky until her eyes hurt and looked back down to the ground, hanging nearby the loading ramp for what felt like hours.

In truth, the sun had barely moved in the sky and all the tinkering up above had her head in a spin. In the minutes witnessed her sister bumbling around the Jedi's courtyard, she heard the elevators whirring in the Hawk, and the telltale sound of treads rolling over the metal flooring.

"Hey T3," she mumbled, without even looking at the droid. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Beep. Vrooo…"

Mission chuckled. "Yeah, work sucks. Do you need any repairs done, want a little oil, or-"

"-De-beep?" it asked, wheeling itself around to her front, hiding from Carta's view.

"You saw that, huh? Y-Yeah, I'll be fine. My sister's… She's an idiot. It's just… Hard to turn away from her, to tell her to screw off, y'know?" she sighed, rubbing T3's head, flicking some metal shavings off it.

T3 nodded, and Mission smiled at it, keeping her eyes on Grish now, as she strutted around, acting as some twi'lek noble for whatever reason. "Thanks for checking on me, disc-head. A-And hey, think we should trip her? Play a little prank?"

"Bedebeep!"

"Aww, c'mon - how about just a little rock in her shoe or something like that? Don't get all moral on me!"

T3-M4 just rotated it's head to stare at Grish, and Mission crouched down next to it, aiming her blaster, triple-checking she was set to stun. A quiet titter erupted through her as the droid let out an unsure whine, shrinking it's head at the thought of gunfire.

"Look, look at her, just one shot, and pow, she's on her ass and caked in dirt. Saves everyone in the courtyard from having to hear her speak! Or she could just," Mission made a swift, slicing motion with her outstretched fingers, and with it, Grish fell.

Mission paused as her sister looked around, spitting dirt and dusting herself off, looking to what had tripped her, or if it was her own feet. Eyeing her fingers as if they were weapons, the young pickpocket stowed them away, drumming T3's head, idly.

"Don't say a word," she warned it. "Ahem, let's play some pazaak, instead."

(...)

In front of that sparking, bustling hunk of junk that had jutted out from the otherwise peaceful enclave, Zoe Carrick deliberated on a question. She'd played catch up with Revan, and was thrown through mind-twisters just attempting to compare how they'd proceeded since the Wars. She, hiding out and attempting to secure a slice of peace for herself, and Revan, dying as he put it, oh so dramatically. She didn't even know why he asked what he asked.

"No," said Zoe. It was the firmest she'd ever sworn to anything in her life, including the denial of the murder of her fellow padawans, all those years ago. "I will not join you."

Revan looked taken aback, and, to be fair, so was she. Jarael had barely agreed to come to Dantooine with her, and given the rumours of ghosts flying about, those returning in some sick wave of slavery and dark competition, Zoe was lucky to be there, safe as she was. She saw the former Dark Lord - and how god-damn nuts was that? - think on a reason, on some way he could charm her to fight for him, but, relented.

"Then stay safe," he warned her, giving a final look to Dantooine. "For your sake, for your partner's… Should we return, and should the Crucible return in some sick way, then seek us for aide."

"Look, R-Revan, I appreciate the offer, but why would you help us? I mean, n-not to say we couldn't handle it ourselves, but…"

"...It's what Jedi do," Revan told her, shrugging his shoulders. "We help. And if we don't, then… We're just-"

"-A group of kooks waving their glowsticks about," Zoe heard, coming from Jarael as she approached them. She was clad in a plain leather outfit, leaving those lovely, muscly white arms exposed for Zoe to ogle. Her hair was untied, and proceeded to whip Zoe in the face, like punishment for an impure thought.

"Jarael, this is Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith-"

"-Former Dark Lord-"

"-Former Dark Lord," Zoe corrected herself, shaking her head. "The man responsible for the state of all Republic worlds, I guess."

"You're serious?" Jarael asked, quickly unfolding her arms after having crossed them, tightly. Zoe nodded. "Well, in that case…"

Revan took a sharp left hook to his jaw, jerking his head a little but otherwise showing no response. He nodded for a bit, blinking away the sheer sting and blunt force of the punch, and smiled at Zoe.

"...I've also got a festering leg wound if you'd like to throw a pinky in there," he said. "A pleasure to meet you, and you have my apologies, for whatever they're worth."

"He's off to fight some hellbeast that's larger than the sum of all sapient crimes in the galaxy," Zoe mentioned, offhandedly. "And he asked us to join him. I said no."

"Clever girl," Jarael chuckled, shaking her head. "See, this is why I hate talking to Jedi. It's always apocalypse this, and damnation that, while the rest of us are left to make sense of the chaos below."

Zoe cringed a bit, noticing a twinge to Revan's eye as he saw through the lie, saw the Force itself in Jarael. He was like a terentatek with his skill in sniffing it out, and it spooked her to no end. He seemed to drop the thought, and wisely, Zoe thought, fearing Jarael would've followed up with that finger-in-the-bleeding-hole suggestion.

"If I don't die out there, or, worse, I'll be coming back to right some of the smaller wrongs, don't you worry," Revan jested. "So far on the itinerary is a visit to Sleheyron, a reformation of the caste system on Taris, purging the taint of all foul artifacts on Korriban-"

"-See?" Jarael interrupted him, elbowing Zoe in her side, "gibberish. I'm surprised your team hasn't left you out of boredom."

Zoe snickered, and held her hand out, lanky as it was. "Good luck. If we see ya, we'll talk. If not…"

"...May the Force be with you," Revan said, shaking her hand.

(...)

"Bastila, understand that if you are captured by Malak, the destruction of the Republic is guaranteed. Even now, even after spending as much time as you have with Revan, your prowess has grown exponentially," Dorak intoned, a calm fear betraying his features.

"It would be our undoing, and it is why you shall remain here, under our protection," Vrook assured her. "Let Revan chase ghosts, keep yourself from Malak's eyes."

"As well it seems his preoccupation with this vision precludes whatever vengeance I'd imagined stemming from him," Zhar theorised, rubbing his chin, lekku jerking with thought.

"On the contrary," Bastila warned, "Malak is his next target. If she does not seek us out herself, then Revan will go to her… Masters, he wishes to redeem her-"

"-There is little in redeeming her," Vandar's voice warbled, firm and cold. "And again I ask you to look beneath his base thoughts, Bastila. Many Jedi attempted to probe into Revan's mind - and even the personality we crafted could not sustain itself for long, it appears."

Bastila paused as her irritation grew, as she felt what Revan felt. As every point she imagined in her head was brought up and dashed expertly to nothing. Every plea was ignored, every query shut down, and every strategy she could imagine, she found anger in, sighing deeply.

"Masters, I trust in your judgement, in your assessment of mine, but please," she begged, "trust now in my assessment of him. Even when idling his thoughts turn to regret, to redemption-"

"-If he truly wished redemption, then he would've submitted himself to us," Vrook barked. "He would not have travelled across the galaxy with you as his prisoner on some ghost hunt to 'save the galaxy'. Bastila, see reason in his history of deception, in the charisma he possesses and the Jedi he's converted to his side."

"Even now," Zhar added, "with the students you said he… Charmed? From the Sith Academy on Korriban. He sees you as vulnerable. As a tool with the power of your-"

"-My Battle Meditation," Bastila nodded, offended. "If he's truly a mastermind as you say he is, then why does… Why does he bother with anyone else in his crew? Why, why entertain the young Mission Vao, or-or the silly little droid we picked up on Taris?"

"For the same reason he didn't abduct you from the Enclave here during the Mandalorian Wars," Dorak sighed. "They present as tools to him, things to be used in this conquest of his to further his goals, things to be refined. Just as with your skill in-"

"-kriffing Battle Meditation!" Bastila roared, flaring with anger. "You see more as a tool than he does! I am not so helpless as to submit to every command a strong figure throws my way, Dorak!"

Vandar stepped in between them, holding his hands up, "Bastila, please-"

"-If he still is as evil as you say he is - if the Force itself is so corruptible as to capitulate to the dying memories of the galaxy's first Sith Lord - then see, see that if he kills Malak, or, Force forbid, allies with her again, that we'll be facing something much worse than what we are now."

That hit Vrook. Bastila sighed, running a hand through her hair, and repeated the code in her mind, finding less and less stability in it.

"You sent me to him before," she said. "Put me in arm's reach of him. Trust me once more to… To stop him in the event that he's as much of a lying bastard as you say he is. If not for me… Then for the soldiers on the Ebon Hawk, or the young girl aboard."

The masters then deliberated among themselves, almost eerily silent. It was Vrook who closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed, so very deeply. When he opened them, he looked at her as if she were already dead, gone from the world of Dantooine and into the Force itself.

"Very well," he said. "...May the Force be with you."

(...)

They'd stayed long past their welcome. More and more Jedi knights flocked around the spaceport as traffic led to the Ebon Hawk, amassing heavy loads of cargo and angry, armoured warriors, all under the combined eyes of Revan, Temera, and Caldera. Revan coordinated and mentally ticked off each passenger in their ship, already seeing a lack of a bed for himself that night. Temera took duties in body-blocking the little tiffs and disputes between the Mandos and the Sith, and Caldera stood firm as a bold body and firm face; mirroring hers and Revan's roles earlier.

"Three Mandalorians," Revan noted, "Kelter…"

"...Xairi, and Kumat," Caldera advised. "Kumat's a typical greenhorn, but Xairi has the makings of a drill instructor about her. Has that real hardass demeanour we could use. Could even get them to run through some training with the Sith whelps, now that I think about it…"

"Mm-mm," Temera shook her head. "Already enough tension between them. Gotta keep them separate so they don't start anything. I'd sooner trust the Mandalorians to know not to fire a slug-gun while we're in the vacuum of space than-"

"-Than the Sithlings to not pop and stab the Force straight through the hull, I agree," Revan chuckled. "Caldera, they're to be kept away from the top level, not barred from it though."

"Agreed," she nodded, "but as for bedding, they'll have to double up in a cot-"

"-Not necessary," Revan assured her. "They take mine, and I take Carta's or Attel's once I'm off-shift. Or I cocoon myself in the cockpit."

"No captain's cabin? Then where shall we battle?" the Ordo madam asked, gaining herself a smirk from Revan. "Ah, I suppose it doesn't matter. Today's a good day, and we leave here with a small army. Now we march for the Star Forge, correct?"

"No," Revan said, eyeing Temera, "thank you for reminding me. We're headed for Coruscant while we continue to build strength. The students still have much to learn and there are lessons I can impart on all of us, yet."

"What more is there to teach?" Caldera asked. "They know how to fight, they know how to use the Force to flick a lightswitch or two - and they've displayed enough brutality to be accepted by that Academy of theirs, save that Thalia girl."

"Control," Temera advised, coldly. "We don't want them breaking under any form of attack, or lashing out at us at a crucial moment. At least, that's what I assumed, right, Revan?"

He nodded. "In part. Coruscant is where I may deliver a message to Malak personally, as well," he revealed. "Though I can't say what it is inherently, trust me when I say it'll shock Malak, her resolve, and shatter her troops."

"You just need that helmet of yours," Caldera hummed, thinking of it, of its former owner. "A shame you don't have it, for the galaxy will never believe that Revan has been reborn."

"Somehow," Temera thought aloud, "I don't think that will be an issue. This is… Feeling like more of the same. Psychological operations, mental warfare, attacks planned weeks in advance-"

"-Don't forget the lack of support, the Council refusing to lift a finger to help with the real issue, our awful lack of equipment, and," Revan drummed the exterior of the Hawk, "a rinky-dink, zippy little spice freighter. Thought… I'd be lying if I said we're just where we started, all those years ago."

"You two speak as if you don't enjoy this," Caldera noted. "That irks me. Along with Malak, you three were unstoppable. There was no halting the Jedi advance with your leadership, no breaking your troops with your guidance at the helm. Speak ill of war all you wish, but we are in another, now. Call upon your strength, that drive, now, when it is sorely needed."

Revan and Temera wanted to argue - to say that to act as they did prior would lead them through the same motions, that it would curse them to damnation once again. The Exile, to exile, and the revenant, to death. They relented, in that moment, in a synchronous nod of assurance to the warrior.

"...And the students are all aboard," Revan noted. "We leave for Coruscant."

As they led in, and Carta whirred the hyperdrive for take-off, Revan gave a final look to the enclave that once housed him, taught him. He thought of his masters in his previous moments, and sought their lessons now for guidance. Arren Kae, Zhar, in their words he could not find the answer to what would happen if he met Malak again - if his love would fail and he would kill her, or if it would corrupt and turn against him, allying them once more.

"W-Wait! Hold that ship!"

He focused then on a robed Jedi, sprinting towards the Hawk. She had short, brown hair tied back in a small bun, and a fair complexion about her. She was frantic, worried, but stunning, with a hopeful look in those shaking, dark eyes. She stepped a foot upon the loading ramp and held onto it's support railing, catching her breath.

"Juhani," she panted, "I… I saw her, i-is, is she with you?"

"Indeed," Revan answered. "Are you a friend of hers?"

"Y-Yes-no, ugh… I'm Belaya, w-we're… Friends, yes, and... I shall join you too! The Council will surely-"

"-If the Council doesn't approve, frankly I don't give a fuck," Revan assured her. "Though you'll have to bunk with someone, we're already bleeding space as it is. Do you know who I am?"

"No," she answered, honestly. "But if Juhani's with you… Well, that's good enough for me."

The loading ramp door sealed slowly behind them as the Hawk lifted off the ground, straining under the extra bulk of it's new assets and crew. Revan closed his eyes for a moment and focused on the ship to steady himself, standing firmly whilst Belaya stumbled in, barely keeping herself standing. Tallying his victories and losses, a small smile crept to his lips at another Jedi's help, adding to their numbers.

"I'm Revan," he greeted. "And we're off to save the galaxy."

(...)

The chaos quickly subsided, and, despite all reasons to the contrary, the Ebon Hawk did not explode violently upon exiting Dantooine's atmosphere. Revan sighed. Then sighed again, then channeled such a calm within himself that he felt the weight of defeat slough off his shoulders. The thought of it was still there, in his mind, and it depressed him, but he didn't let it stop him.

He sought Temera, for a reason his mind didn't quite know until his body stopped in front of her, in the storage compartment of the Hawk's lower level. Steps aplenty and dizzingly busy droids clambered around the smuggler's halls, adding to the already loud ambience. For a moment neither of them quite knew how they found one another, seeing as one was deaf and the other was blind to the deaf one, but, they chalked it up to chance.

"Are you alright?" Revan asked her.

"No. No I am not," Temera answered. "And, before you ask, no, I'm provided for plenty, I have my food, my bunk, m-my saber, and… And yet…"

He put a hand to her shoulder. Then, reached for the storage compartment's lock, and sealed them in together. Temera didn't show alert, nor disdain for the action, simply staring ahead in a numb trance.

"...I wake each morning remembering the faces of the comrades we lost. Of the Jedi who gave their lives twice or more as those who bonded with them died. I… Consider myself so wholly at fault for Malachor that I cannot forget it. No," Temera hesitated, "I cannot unsee it. It lurks in every facet of my mind, and thanks to you I see its echoes…"

"...They are foul things," Revan acknowledged. "I am sorry."

Temera smiled at him. "And I am furious. But at no point in my life have I ever felt weaker to act upon such fury. Revan," she began to tear up, her voice cracking, "I wish you dead, without even thinking about it. I'm…"

He gave her all the time he needed.

"Why!? In all realms of possibility, why in the name of the Force did you ever consider slaughtering millions? Why did you kill the Jedi, hunt the Force-sensitives… Why did you break them!?"

"Because I was afraid," he admitted. The answer was like a cure to her, a single stitch to a gaping wound. "I witnessed a power unmatched. I failed to save my army then, the scouting force. I failed to save MALAK when we both walked that dark path. I failed to see that fear would turn to hatred, that others could not see my vision… And that the galaxy would suffer as it did. I opened more wounds. Killed more families. Broke more planets… And for nothing."

Temera shook now, blinking away tears in shock.

"That's why you feel you must die," she uttered. "And that is why I spent my years in Exile. Why I faded… Why I was… Deafened."

To see her suffer was a knife in his heart, and it was all too late that Revan realised what he had felt for Temera. It was the same emotion he felt years ago, but did not act upon.

"I betrayed what I loved," he admitted. "I wounded what I loved. Because I was a fool who thought himself right, even when hell itself was readying for my soul."

"You wounded me," Temera blinked again, cracking a smile that filled her with all sorts of horrible feelings. "Ah… I understand… You fool."

She smashed her lips into his. Nothing but the quiet hum of the ship's engine could be heard now; their ears deafened to all other sounds. Revan embraced her so readily, so hungrily, that he shocked even himself at his intensity, seeking some semblance of realignment again. He pawed at her clothing, unclasping her leather vest and shirking her robes off from there as she tore at him and his simple outfit.

"I am a fool," he repeated to her. "I am a vile being… And if I shall not die-"

"-Then I will spend every waking second of the aftermath of war ensuring you pay those lives back," Temera swore. Revan pondered the sheer intensity of the proclamation in her eyes before nodding.

He loved her.

"But now?" Temera smirked, tossing away the remnants of Revan's shirt. "We're alone in space, and you have me locked in a storage compartment all by our lonesome. I am yours."

And that was all he needed to hear.

The Jedi kissed again in a scorching union of nothing and light. With every kiss to her sun-glazed skin, Revan poured the entirety of his love and more, as if imbuing her with energy. Every stroke, every ministration, every motion they made for the other drove them madder, made them frenzy. Revan was on his knees before Temera could eek out a word, and he led their wild foreplay with a simple thing; a lull.

Placing his head against her chest and simply closing his eyes, the former Dark Lord felt fear purge from him. For all he could feel was love, there was no room for anything else. Already he felt sweat form on his head; where he met and graced Temera's soft skin. She mewled, rubbing her hands through his head and gently leading him downwards, echoing his actions, and feeling him through the Force.

"There is no more of me to awaken," Revan whispered, voice shaking. "And I was a fool to think there was. You were always there. Always by my side."

"H-Hah… A-And I… Had always… Yearned for you…"

Temera would yearn no longer. Revan did away with her loose leggings, letting them pool at her feet and exposing her bare legs to the air of the Hawk, marvelling at the thickness of her thighs and the squirming mons hidden from him by a pair of panties. He moved slow, achingly slow, dragging his teeth along the hem of her underwear and inhaling her horny scent, body shivering in response. He pulled them down just a bit, to tease the both of them and to rub his nose in her budding clit, groaning aloud.

"J-Just… P-Please…"

"No."

Slower, he moved. Brushing his stubble against her jiggling mons, huffing a quivering breath against it, feeling his cock pulse in heat. In want. And then he tasted her, her sweat and shame and love for him, and grew addicted. Like a beast he delved into her sex with his tongue, snaking it deep and wrapping his hands firmly 'round her taut ass. Tongue-fucking his former general, Revan leant deep into that domination, summoning phantom-hands to glide across the Exile's body at his command.

She eeked out a cry of alarm before a finger slipped into her mouth, one of his. And that cry turned to moaning, sucking, wet little laps at the same fingers that were currently playing with her ass, groping her. She was putty in his hands. Revan thrust his tongue as far as it could go and back, rearing with a force enough to drive the Exile to orgasm. She cried out again, fingers digging into his scalp and arching her back against the storage room wall, clapping her own hand over her mouth to silence it.

Revan emerged from her nethers, and rose, towering above her. She eyed the frenzied wetness of his chin and shivered again, feeling her legs lose their stability at the sight. And then he pressed their bodies together, unfurling the robes crossed over her chest.

"Tilt your head back," he ordered. "Good girl. Open your mouth."

And so she did, half-lidded eyes burning into his, widening quickly as she saw his spit and her essence upon his lips, dribbling down into her mouth from above. Before she could comment, moan or mewl, he guided the salivary mix down with his tongue, and kissed her, all over again. Her mouth was his, her body, his, and her soul, that void in the Force…

"You are mine," he said. "All mine. And together we're going to bend this ship to our will, show them our love…"

"...Smshsh-sh-show them?" Temera stuttered, feeling as if she were about to pass out from the sensations, from the sheer dominance of her love. "Wh-Who?"

"As we lead jointly in this quest, this expedition, I want you by my side as I tame Juhani's pussy. As I make Carta and Dusti like my cum from each other's tits. As I break Bastila, only to build her, stronger."

That made Temera's eyes widen further. She felt a knot grow in her chest, one of suspense and sudden eagerness that she didn't realise she had. A switch? To submit to the man who ruined her life, gave her purpose, empowered her and defiled her all the same?

"...As you cum in K'Satra's ass until she can't walk," Temera swore. "And more… We'll show them our love."

Temera leapt up and wrapped her legs around Revan's waist, gasping as she felt his strong hands cup her asscheeks. Pressing her firmly against the wall, he laid their heads together, and just stared adoringly into her eyes, pressing his cock against her sopping folds. He barely got himself halfway in before Temera hissed in a breath, pleading for him to slow down.

And so he did, as achingly fast as a snails' trek across a waltzing glacier, Revan removed his throbbing, precum-dribbling head from the crying cunt. He enunciated every inch given and taken with a kiss, nibble to her neck, her cheeks, her forehead, and breasts, arching his back deep and lowly as she wrapped her arms around him tightly, holding on for life.

"You are a leader," he moaned into her, "a force. You are a strength to all those around you, standing here with me in defiance of the Force. You are power. You are fury. Temera, you are…"

"...Yours," she finished, blushing the hardest she'd ever blushed in her life, feeling like a maiden being pitched woo. Forget putty, he handled her as if she was the Force itself, moulding it to his will, his desires, but knowing how to play her just right. It would've been heaven, if not for his teasing. "I… I am yours, Revan."

Revan growled at that, so very deep in his throat. Taking harder, harsher grip of her ass, he picked up the pace of his thrusting just a tad, dicking the Jedi down bad. With every impact of groin to groin, she gasped, squeezing out the cutest moans he'd ever heard, furthering her submission to him; her love, he felt. She felt so tight, looked so gorgeous under that sterile light, looking as if life had returned to her in those few short weeks since her arrival from exile.

Temera Vandis, his second-in-command, was back. And this time, Revan would not lose her. He knew it, just as sure as he knew he'd get Alek back, too. And Temera knew in kind that the Dark Lord had not returned, no. The idealist mastermind behind the Mandalorian Wars and the champion in the fight for freedom had returned, had found her. Despite her fears, her worry at the wound in her soul, she knew they would stand firm against the tides of darkness.

He released himself inside her, and Temera thought they would at least wind down. But no, Revan remained hard, growing harder still inside her pussy as he flooded her, releasing years of pent up lust and love and passion, claiming her. She jizzed, shaking harder and feeling her cunt jitter on it's own at the sensations, drawing more and more of that hot cum from the Jedi's cock.

"Y-You're… F-Fuck, Revan… Y-You're-"

"-Satisfied? More than you could possibly imagine," he giggled, rubbing their noses together. "But we're just getting started. Strip yourself naked and march to your bunk. I'll meet you there."

"N-Naked!?"

"That's an order, general."

He watched with glee as she bashfully took of the remainder of her clothing, letting it pool in the muck beneath them. Revan slid himself out from her folds, spilling his seed upon her belongings, and gave her a gentle smack on the ass, admiring her form. He collected her things as she cloaked herself from sight, surprised she could even remember the technique for it, and stalked.

"I'll clean this mess," he assured her.

They met again. Seen by no one and most definitely hidden from the young twi'lek's eyes, Temera was almost shocked to see Revan again, poking his head down into her nook. More specifically she saw that long, thick prick of his, and the meaty sac that hung beneath, swinging into view first.

"It's more spacious than it looks," she teased. "Hop in."

He did, nestling himself tight against the Jedi's nubile form and sighing as he spooned her, pressing his cock between those creamy thighs and pulling the privacy panel down upon them, sealing them in. For a while Revan and Temera laid in peace, catching their breaths and basking in the other's glow.

Revan broke the silence by taking grip of Temera's legs and parting them, slipping himself inside her pussy as if he owned it, letting gravity and the Exile's body smush his cock firmly. Before she could comment, he wrapped his arm under her elbow and hooked his hand gently around her neck, breathing hotly over her earlobe.

"W-When I, ahn~, w-when I wake up, Revan-"

"-I'll be here," he assured her. "Temera, I'll be by your side."

"C-Close your eyes," she implored him, "close your eyes and… And see me through the Force. I wish to… To look at you…"

And so he did. For Temera it was catharsis, pure and simple. To see back in her mind as a Jedi would, to use the power of the Force as she had once commanded, to bond with Revan so very fucking tightly. For Revan, it was the apex of the fulfilment of his purpose. To provide light to the lost, to guide Temera back to her former strength, and to uplift her, it felt wonderful. For he knew the good she could do in the galaxy.

"I am here," he assured her, again and again. "There, on the edge of darkness. The cloudbreak."