The joy of landing is short-lived. As soon as the ramp touches ground, Carth takes a firm grip on Mal's elbow and personally escorts her to meeting after serious meeting with the Jedi Council. Could she have twisted his arm and thrown him into the dirt? Obviously, but then she would've missed out on some important truths. Like her Force sensitivity, not that it's much of a surprise at this point. The revelation of her mental connection to Bastila and their dual Sith Lord dream is a more striking surprise.

Even with this new information, the Council talks in a complicated dance of wordplay and strategy. A prickling itch builds up in Mal's skin as they reach a conclusion. They want to train her as a Jedi. What a great honor. A rare exception for someone her age and a chance to become something extraordinary. Something more.

"No."

Her rejection is instinctual. A test really, for the Council. They're offering power beyond belief and she refused. She imagines the offended gasps, the scandalized looks of shock that would appear if she weren't dealing with the masters of stoicism. Instead, the little ancient one watches her patiently.

"I'm afraid you do not have a choice."

And there's the true answer. It was never her decision to begin with.

"Do you promise to devote yourself to the light?"

What a thing to ask of someone with a past like hers. Can Mal honestly say she'll never do anything bad again? She thinks of the empty space around her finger before answering.

"I promise to try."

They can't fault her for that. It's the best she can truthfully offer. Bastila watches the exchange closely. Mal finally understands why she'd been a recluse on the ship.

The Force. Untapped power swimming beneath her skin. How do you break that news to someone on your own? She doesn't fault Bastila for it. They're bonded now. And there are worse people to be stuck with in this place.

It's been one month since they arrived on Dantooine. One month of slugging through apprentice training with little progress. One month of stress and tension waiting for everyone to realize the mistake they made in choosing her. And one month of pretending that the Jedi Enclave isn't haunted. There's no other way to describe it. The place is full of shadows and Mal doesn't know how to break it to the Council that their revered halls are a playground for ghosts.

She sits in the library with Bastila, an arc of books splayed out on the long table between them. Her eyes dance between the text and the three shadows slinking along the shelves. They make loops through the room, circling and coming together just to circle again. It's not frightening, just fucking annoying. Mal's always been a nerd at heart. As a kid, she chose books over street races and back alley brawls any chance she could get. Knowledge is power and the ones in power make the rules. But it's hard to focus on knowledge when shapeless figures dance around the edge of your vision.

"Is something bothering you?"

Bastila follows her line of sight which dead ends at a blank wall. Mal waits a breath for her to say something about the shadows. When she doesn't, Mal sighs and stands.

"I need a walk."

Bastila doesn't know about the ghosts yet. She's been opening up in small ways as they train. She's even become an unwilling accomplice to a few pranks against Belaya, the Padawan who targeted Mal with her quick mouth and hot attitude on their first day. Mal and Bastila spend most of their waking time together, but the alliance is tender at best. No need to spoil it.

There's no planned destination to her steps, but every walk ends in front of the Ebon Hawk. The ship gleams beautifully under the hot sun. Grass is already covering the landing gear and the temptation to leave creeps in. How easy would it be to slip aboard? Slap a few buttons and be lightyears away. Better to go now than be kicked out as a failure.

"Finally making a run for it?"

Canderous approaches from her left announcing his presence with heavy steps. She'd almost forgotten him. Her time with the other Taris escapees has been nonexistent. Carth's definitely around somewhere waiting for Mal to hurry up and become a Padawan so he can run off with Bastila on Republic errands. Zaalbar, Mission, and T3 are shacked up in town waiting for the same thing, ready to tag along wherever Mal goes next. She assumed Canderous would be halfway across the galaxy by now.

"Why are you still here?"

He presses his knuckles together until they crack. "I'm waiting for something interesting to happen."

She snorts a laugh. "You could do that anywhere."

"I'd be missing out. Any fool could see here's where the action is." There's a cold calculation in the way he watches her. She thinks of the blood that follows him. "Are you running?"

The unspoken question is 'Are you a fool?' to which she bristles.

"Just needed some air." Mal turns on her heel determined to be alone. Canderous follows and she tries to ignore the unnerving sensation of exposing her back to him. Instead she focuses on the multiple sets of eyes pressing down on them. There's always a casual dispersal of Jedi surrounding the Ebon Hawk under the pretense of talking to visitors and farmers. Their real purpose is painfully obvious.

There's a strange tension in the air. It feels like fear, of the new Sith Lord and the ghost of the old one. Revan. His name gets spoken with such reverence she isn't sure if they love or hate him. Intelligent, impatient. Charismatic, manipulative. Savior, destroyer. The Masters can't seem to make up their minds. What she knows for sure is that only a drama queen wears a cape like that.

And the one that bombed Taris. Malak. Didn't he have a nickname or something else they could call him? Rude of a Sith Lord to pick a title so close to her own name. She's been crafting a list of potential substitutes. But the fear he generates makes the Jedi painfully cautious. Mal is still a stranger to them and strangers need to be watched at all times.

She makes the quick turns through the compound without letting her eyes settle on anything for too long. The shadows still roam, crisscrossing the paths of blissfully ignorant students. One of them brushes too close and Mal glares it down. The Padawan it's latched to meets her repulsed stare with confusion.

"Sorry," she mutters, speeding away.

The open air of the plains is the real highlight to Dantooine. The wide hills cresting and falling like waves, the way the light catches the tall dewy grass during sunrise. It invokes nostalgia for a loving home long ago and a family whose faces she can never quite remember.

"So what's it like being a Jedi?"

The moment is ruined. Canderous steps up beside her, his rifle out and ready for any beasts lurking nearby.

"Who knows? I'm nowhere close to being one."

He grunts. "Closer than most people get."

"You want to try? I can put in a good word for you up top." The pure disdain on his face makes her burst out in laughter. "Never mind then."

"Your Force isn't what wins battles. Strength, courage, and experience does." He looks her up and down. "From what I can tell you've already got those things."

"Are you… complimenting me?"

"Just saying I know a good warrior when I see one."

A sudden rage takes hold. A good warrior to a Mandalorian doesn't mean the same thing as it does to most. It means blood and domination and they never stop coming, waves and waves of soldiers as gruesome as the last, I can't save them, they want me to leave, to survive, but I don't want to be left alone, not again, I'll never forgive them, I'll kill every last-

"Something you want to say?"

Mal blinks. Canderous is too close. She can count the scars on his face, the individual hairs of his chin. His eyes are a piercing gray but it's not hostility she sees. It's curiosity. She takes three steps back and breathes deep.

"You think I'm like you."

He smirks. "What were you doing before all this?"

"Not working for a trash heap like Davik."

"Davik was nothing more than a means to an end. He served his purpose. You're here working with the Republic. Why?"

She considers building a farfetched tale to rile him up and push him away, but this conversation feels like balancing on the edge of something important. So for once, she doesn't lie.

"I was betrayed by the only person I trusted." The words spill forward like water from her lips. "We'd been together so long, struggled all our lives. We were finally getting everything we dreamed of. But it wasn't enough for him."

"Classic setup?"

"First chance he got. Took everything and left me on an exploding ship to die. Republic got to me first."

"So what, you're here out of a sense of duty?"

"I'm here because I don't have a choice," she snaps.

He turns to survey the fields before speaking. "Guess I misjudged you."

Disappointment. That stings more than an outright insult. She tries again. "Death's been chasing me all my life, but no matter how close it gets, I fight. I survive. When Death has a clear name like the Sith I do whatever it takes to destroy it. And one day when he least expects it, I'll be there with my heel on his throat watching the life bleed from his eyes."

When Canderous finally looks at her again, his smile is feral. "I look forward to seeing it." He turns to leave and for once Mal doesn't tense when he's out of sight.

"The Enclave is haunted," she calls after him. He pauses to look back at her, shrugs.

"I'm not surprised."

She watches his figure diminish in the distance. A strong breeze kicks up violently swaying the grass back and forth. Only when it hits her exposed teeth does Mal realize she's smiling too.

The barrier breaks slowly, then all at once. The Force exercises she struggled with become as easy as breathing. When she finally holds her lightsaber for the first time there's a screeching sense of this is all wrong wrong wrong that gives way to my hands were made for this. Everything feels right in a way it never did before. Is this what she's spent her whole life fumbling to find? All the mistakes, the loss, the suffering. Was it all leading to this moment? The universe has a cruel sense of humor.

The shadows lose their thickness and become easily identifiable figures without faces. They appear less and less, more like afterimages than ghosts. The ones that linger unwittingly teach her things through observation. It's how she learns to sneak into the archives and finds the secret study hole behind one of the shelves in the library. A short square space barely big enough for two. It's become the perfect place for naps.

The Council remains undecided about her intentions. Vrook radiates displeasure at every little thing she does. Vandar remains aloof, almost like he's laughing at a joke only he knows the punchline to. Zhar is patient to the point of being overly tender as if she's a child and not a grown woman. Dorak humors her questions above all others. Why did the Jedi hesitate to act? How did two people decide the fate of the galaxy? What was so bad on the Outer Rim that Revan and Lord Lack decided the Republic was better off dead?

Lord Lack is her third try at a nickname. She's learned he's lacking a lot of things: a jaw, common sense, the decency not to murder a whole planet. The first try, That-Sith-Fucker, lead to trouble when she let it slip in front of the younger kids. The second, Lord Baldy, made some of the older Masters with rescinding hairlines upset. Nicknames have never been her strong suit.

The bond with Bastila is still a mystery she's eager to explore. Curiosity makes her want to push against the edge and take a peek at the other side. It's not worth it for what Bastila might see in return. For now, she waits. And every day, Mal falls more and more into her training, her new role, her purpose. For the first time in a very long time, there's a feeling of hope. Maybe just this once everything will work out. Maybe this time it'll be okay.

A/N: Spoiler alert, it won't be okay.
So I just recently noticed how Mal and Malak are almost the same name. I'm not changing it because I like the name Mal, so instead I get to make fun of it for the rest of the story.

Also, thanks for the review! I posted this on here as a way to keep myself accountable and finish writing a story for once, but it's pretty cool that people are actually reading it.