Feet of Firm Ground

Dantooine Enclave

Four Days Earlier- 15:00

Malak emerged from the training room. His knuckles bleeding, welts rising up all over his muscular body. Drenched in sweat, he walked out into the corridor. Two younger female padawans walked by, stopping their conversation and staring at him as they passed him, giggling furiously as they disappeared around the corner.

Malak passed the tree, through another corridor into his room. He taped up his fingers, healing the welts and stepped into the fresher. Afterwards, he dressed and opened his door. The small form of Ariena greeted him. Malak recoiled slightly, as Ariena grinned jumping into Malak's arms, kissing him as he desperately stumbled into the room so no one would see them. The door slid closed and he put her down.

"How was training?" she asked skeptically as her eyes landed on his bandaged fingers and welted forearms. Malak only grunted in response. She furrowed her brow and shot him an angry glance. He ignored it. She made a mental note to have another argument about not changing the droid's difficulty levels. He reached up into one of the cupboards pulling one food or another from a shelf. He grabbed a bowl, and shook it.

Ariena scowled in disapproval. "No thanks." Malak shrugged and sat down with across from her. He looked at her for a long moment, catching her eyes, and then dropped into a comfortable silence; his mind occupied with how to fit the most amount of grains onto his spoon and successfully get them into his mouth in the shortest possible amount of time.

Ariena, however, had a much more pressing matter on mind. The one she had come to talk to him about. It was an out of the ordinary topic for conversation, but, well, it was necessary. She knew how close Malak and Revan were, they were as thick as thieves. But through her times with Malak, she had seen it change from a friendship, to another thing entirely. Brotherhood. And as such, thoughts had arisen about how to explain them to Revan. She had no idea why, but she had to have some explanation as to why she so desperately needed his approval. She had convinced herself that it was because he was the only to defeat her in armed combat. Besides Malak, except that one time, but she was sure that he had let her win.

Apart from that fact, there was something else entirely. Whenever Malak defeated her, it was a tough battle. He won in the end, sure, but he broke one hell of a sweat doing so. Revan's victory, though, was different. He was not even breathing hard. It seemed like he was fighting offhand, more like an after-thought than anything else. And then doing it while being dampened. Man.

She had first thought that it was his history, his blood that had spurred this, this power. And so, in search of that she had gone to the library, and using the password she and Malak had… found, much to the dismay of Bastila, who had constantly scolded them for it, conducted a profile search. The information received was as follows:

Last Name: Revan First Name: N/A

Race: See attached file. X

DOB: Unknown

Home Planet: -------

Date Inducted into the order: Confidential

Rank Achieved: Padawan

Jedi Class: Consular: See attached file.X

Order Affiliations: None

Medical History: See attached file. (When clicked, folder appeared with no information.)

Current Master: Master Kreia

Past Masters: None

Studied Under: (When selected diverted her to a page with basically a list of all the current and recently past members of the order.)

Incident Reports: 1,742. See attached files.

X(When clicked, turned Ariena to a new page where there was only a block where you had to input a code. The code was unbreakable.)

This infuriated Ariena even more, knowing the council was hiding Revan's true past deep inside themselves. And so, finding this plan unyielding, she had decided to see if it had anything to do with his close friends. She had decided on close friends, because investigating the number of cliques that Revan had dominant influence in would take too long.

Thank the force she had chosen this path, or she would never have met the most wonderful man in the universe.

Malak finished chewing, and swallowed. He picked up the box and began to pour the contents in the bowl again. What they said was right; Dantooinian grain does get better the more you eat. On his fourth bowl now, he filled it to the brim, and was about to start eating when Ariena intercepted him again and kissed him firmly on his lips.

Malak pressed it on and held her with one arm as she let herself fall into it. Her only concern; him. He kept her there, effortlessly as they parted lips. Ariena smiled lightly as Malak kissed her forehead.

"Can I eat now?" He asked. She glowered, emerging from Malak's arm and standing up next to him, only slightly taller than his sitting form.

"No, that's enough." She said, whisking the bowl up and placing them into the cleaner. "We have something to talk about." She quietly sat down across from him again, entering a serious mood that Malak was perpetually stuck in and she was trying to get him out from.

"Malak, I don't really know how to say this," She said.

"What?" Malak answered.

"Well…" Ariena sighed, contemplating how to come about the information.

"Just spit it out."

"Revan's coming back." She said.

"What?" he asked incredulously.

"You heard me," she replied.

Malak stood up, towering over her as he looked her over once, seeking signs of any form of misleading.

Malak's voice dropped to a whisper as all other noise stopped. "You had better be telling the truth. Ariena, this is not something to joke about." Ariena stood tall, straightening her back, coming no closer to his height. It was all psychological anyways.

"Well, I am."

"Where did you hear about this? And how did you find out before me?"

Ariena's eyebrow rose mischievously. "I have my sources." She laughed softly. For the first time in a while Malak's face broke out of its serious stasis into a smile, and this time she wasn't kissing him.

"This is great!" Malak grabbed Ariena around the waist, squeezing in, causing her to giggle and false-fight it off. Malak simply lifted her off the ground and spun her around, her small frame ending up encased in his arms. She raised her hands and framed his face, engaging in a deep kiss. Malak moved her arms off her ribs and around her back, pulling her up against him.

Eventually they broke apart, Malak looking lovingly down at her and then hugging her tightly.

"I have plans to make." He said. And with that, he walked out ducking under the threshold.

Unknown

Four Days Earlier - ?-?

"Yes ----, I will see to it." The form replied, huddled into a hover chair in the corner of the somber room. Shadows danced over the walls, casting demonic faces over the dry, hard stone walls. Despite the heat outside, the cold chill that engulfed ---- consumed Dirk Loures. Dirk was a Twi'lek. He was not built for this kind of frigid temperature. He rose from his chair.

---- rose as well, walking forward, and reached across, grabbing Dirk's shoulder. ---- smiled. Dirk felt a nauseous rush through him as his knees began to buckle at the power hitting him. He stood tall and turned. He walked quickly, wanting to get out of this lair as quickly as possible. And as far away as possible from ----.

---- caught up. Too Many have failed before this one. I cannot keep finding new incapable commanders. He must know what awaits him should he fail.

---- walked up behind Dirk. Dirk sped up, as fast as he could while not tipping off his master to the escape he was currently attempting to make.

----'s ironclad grip stopped him in his tracks. Seeing only an inconceivably rapid series of blurs, Dirk was spun, shoulders spinning while his left arm wrapped around his back, wrenching higher and higher. His arm burned as excruciating pain ran up his arm, creeping its way up his neck. He saw black dots.

---- moved his head closer to Dirk's ear.

Black dots growing larger.

---- breathed in.

Pain oh god, pain.

Dirk, ---- said,

Make it stop, struggle, the grip is too strong.

Do not make a mistake Dirk.

Knee's buckling once more. Darkness seeping in through the peripheral vision.

Make sure you get him on our side. I have worked to hard to have this screwed up now. Do you understand?

Dirk allowed a small sound to escape. A pathetic sound.

---- renewed the vigorous hold.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND?

Yes, Yes I understand. ---- please release me, I know what I must do.

---- relinquished the grip.

Dirk fell to the floor, feeling the black dots disappear and consciousness returning. He stood tall, despite the fact he could not see straight from the pain. Dirk saluted with the other arm and walked out the door.

He vomited over the floor in the hallway. Again three steps later.

He wiped the predigested food from his lips and stumbled into his room.

---- smiled. He watched his second in command stumble into his room.

Pathetic. His master would never have allowed that kind of weakness. But aside from that. ---- was pleased.

---- sat down. The plan was in motion. Everything was going to plan.

Dantooine Enclave.

Four days earlier- 18:00

First on Malak's list of things to do, was also the hardest of all. He had no idea how to do it, when to do it, what to do, or ever if to do it. No, he had to do it. Malak walked up to the room past the trees and through the hallway. He stood in front of the door. He breathed in. And then out. He pushed the ringer.

A sick feeling passed over him, was it nerves? No. No. No, it was not. Never nervous, always ready. He unclenched his fists and stool tall. He hated talking to people. He preferred to fight them. It was simpler, and nothing equaled the satisfaction of a perfectly landed blow, and watching its effect as the opponent reeled from it. He replayed the Kata he was training over and over again in his head.

Left, up right, right, spear, parry, strike. Over again. There was a meditative calm about fighting, a form of release. Physically and mentally. Many of the fellow Jedi, the ones who could not defeat him, preferred to meditate on what was happening. Malak fought on what was happening. They were weaker, it did not matter. They trained maybe half of what Malak did in lightsaber and hand-to-hand combat, and put in maybe half of that effort-wise. Malak consistently pushed himself to the brink, and often over the brink, forcing him usually to be carried home by Ariena.

Only better release than training was fighting. In fighting, other than force-driven exercises where he was only mediocre, and sometimes less than, Malak was the best. The Champion. Sure, others may be able to get more in touch with themselves and the force.

But force help them if they were in the ring with Malak.

The force wouldn't help them there.

Thinking about the mediocrity and constant scolding of tardiness and complete lack of interest in force made Malak's blood heat. He felt the Anger rising. He saw the grey swirls sweeping out from under his feet, the visual sign from his aura that he had to stop. He brought it back, thinking of Ariena.

"Just a second," a female voice replied.

Malak uncurled his fists.

The door then opened.

The petite young girl looked up catching Malak's eyes. She beamed.

"Hello!" she said.

"Hello," Malak grunted, not wanting to deal with what was to come. "We need to talk."

"Sure," she said, turning around and re-entering her room. Malak sighed, and ran over what he had prepared in his head. He hated talking to people. He preferred to fight them. He shrugged it off, and ducking under the doorway entered the room.

Up next, what Bastila has been doing all this time. Yes there will be some emotional conflict. If anyone can help me write it, or knows any tips, please send them to me. I would love your input.

Thank you so much for keeping reading this story. I really apologize for my extended absence, but a lot has been going on, and needless to say. I am back. And I do intend to finish this story. If you have any ideas, input or suggestions, Read and Review!

Till next chapter, lOngshotOR

By the way, is anyone else crying that Res is ending?