Memories have a way of defining the past, but they also have a way of distorting it—of making it something personal, something isolated. It isn't enough to simply live through it, and often it's impossible to do even that. To survive something is to see it one way, to relive it in your mind is to tell it as a story to yourself.
And sometimes these stories find their own endings.
Meetra relives the past in fits and starts, and she knows it's her anger that often clouds the way she sees it. It's why it's so hard for her to come to terms with Malak wanting to find Revan again. Malak, who lived through what she lived through—perhaps worse, at times—and still chooses Revan above all else.
Maybe that's just what love does.
But as these days drag on—each bringing some uncertain softening of Meetra's heart, or even just the curiosity of what it would be like to see Revan again—some memories rise from the depths of the past. Memories that don't hurt like the others do.
There was one time during the war, when Meetra and Revan were on Nazzri. Out of the Jedi that walked away, it was just the two of them in this battle, a squadron of Republic troopers between them. Revan's sabers were a hot streak of yellow amongst all the greenery, and Meetra made sure to keep them in the corner of her eye. Whether to protect herself, or to protect Revan—all she knew was that she needed to stay close.
She hardly remembers how it happened. There's the flash of battle, the jolt of pain through her body, and then there's the medical tent, a stiff cot under her body, and the unmistakable feeling of the Force flowing through her.
That's the part that she can't seem to shake. Revan by her bedside, hands on her broken leg as the Force passed between them. It was the only time it ever happened, and something about it didn't make sense in her head. Watching Revan with her eyes closed, all focus on Meetra—it couldn't be right.
She was too weak to say anything in that moment, but something must've alerted Revan, because the other Jedi's gaze shifted up from Meetra's leg with a sharp motion. If it wasn't for the intensity of her expression, or the haze of pain, Meetra might've noticed the way the blue of Revan's eyes was already fading.
"Hang on, Surik," she'd said, her voice cold despite the warmth of her hands. "We're in this together—we won't finish this without you."
(It's funny, the way Meetra always focused only on the way Revan called her Surik. Always Surik. Never anything kind or affectionate or soft. It was the wrong choice, then. She knows now that she should've listened to Revan. If she had, perhaps she would've understood that there was a plan for her in place long before Malachor.)
"Not going anywhere," she managed to mumble. In the moment following, Meetra reached out, too weak to feel any surprise in the way Revan reached back, lacing their fingers together.
Their bond never had a chance to grow—it never flamed to life as all the others have—but in that moment, the Force between them was open enough for Meetra to send Revan her gratitude.
She thinks the way Revan squeezed her hand in reply was her saying, You're welcome.
—
The next planet is blue.
Meetra stares at it until her vision blurs, until the dark sphere bleeds out at the edges and fades into the black space surrounding it. She doesn't look away, doesn't say a word. At first the only thing she's aware of is the way her throat catches as she tries to swallow down the nameless emotion that comes over her.
This planet bears no mark.
"Maybe Scourge is onto something," Atton mutters, but it's the only thing he says as he takes them down for landing. An ocean covers the entire surface except for a small platform at the coordinates they were given—barely visible, swallowed up by the enormity of the water surrounding it.
The ocean is loud—waves rise in unfathomable heights, crashing with a heavy sound that drags out. Meetra's heart races when she first hears it, and she finally tears her eyes away from the viewport and towards Atton, whose brows dip as he focuses on navigating the Ebon Hawk around the waves and down to the landing pad.
There's a feeling here that Meetra can't name. It settles in her bones as they touch down, and she frowns at the viewport, which is quickly obstructed by a fine layer of mist that stretches across the glass.
"Do you feel it?" she asks Atton as she reaches out into the Force.
She glances over to see him shake his head, but his gaze lingers on her static enough to know that he's trying. Meetra closes her eyes, lets down her guard, and feels him slip through. Whatever the feeling is, it's tightly guarded, like something poorly concealed but still hard to see. It penetrates the same way the emptiness of Nathema did, and Meetra feels all the more cautious because of it.
"It has to have something to do with Revan," Atton says, and when Meetra opens her eyes, it's to the sight of him unbuckling his seatbelt. "Or whatever Scourge says she's chasing."
The feeling grows as they lower the ramp of the Ebon Hawk.
"She's already been here," Scourge says as they walk out onto the planet, raising his voice to eclipse the sound of a wave crashing in the distance.
"What makes you say that?" Meetra squints against the wind that rushes at her once they're out in the open air. It's overcast. The whole planet falls into shades of blue under the gray sky that reflects it, and the platform itself looks to be some type of facility abandoned in the middle of the ocean, where the misted air soaks through Meetra's outer robe and chills her to the bone.
"You would know," Scourge answers in a flat voice, his eyes scanning the horizon. "If the portal was still open, you would know."
She presses her lips together before taking a deep breath. "What does it look like, then? When it's open?"
Even his bright red eyes look dull here, but they still pin Meetra in place when his gaze lands on her. "It is impossible to describe in a way that would help you understand—not unless you saw it for yourself. It's like pure energy ripped from the very edge of the galaxy and fixed to the planet—brighter than anything made by simple beings."
She remembers a green planet, her burned hand curled into a fist, and a vision of light leaking around her in a streak of blinding color. She clears her throat. "So you've seen one when it's open."
"I was there when my Master opened the first one," he answers, and this time he focuses his attention back on the horizon. "I witnessed what it is capable of."
She lets the information sink in for a moment, and then, "Who is your master?"
"Not important," he says, but he only hesitates a moment before continuing, "Not yet, anyway."
"So...what? Should we just move on, then?" Atton asks.
Meetra can't help the way her gaze moves over to Malak. He's wandered towards the end of the platform and stands with his back to them, facing the water. He's a solid line against the thick gray horizon, his dark cloak contrasting the pale skin of his head, the faded tattoos that stretch over it.
"Malak!" she calls, but he's too far away and her voice gets swallowed up by the constant sound of the ocean. She leaves Atton and Scourge to walk over and stand beside him, to look up at the hard line of his brow as he stares out at the waves.
"We should look around first," he says, but there's something so flat about his voice. It makes something hollow open up in Meetra's chest, even worse than the feeling that already lives here on this planet.
His hope has been so unwavering. All it took was one datapad left behind, and he's a ghost of himself. He's a ghost of the ghost he's been, and at this point Meetra isn't sure how much further he can disappear within himself.
"Okay," she agrees, but Malak doesn't look at her, doesn't give any indication that he heard her at all. She bites her lip. "Malak, what is it?"
"She wouldn't—" he starts, but the words fail him and he finally looks over at her. "She was afraid of the water."
It's hard not to frown at that. "What? Why?"
"She just was," he answers. "Even when she couldn't remember."
"You think she would've had a hard time being here," she states, finally understanding.
He takes a sharp breath, and once again his grief floods through her, this time mixed up in anger. It is so hard to feel this without fully understanding it.
"Why did she have to come alone?" he asks, his voice desperate for an answer she doesn't have.
"I don't know, Mal," she says, because she has to, because she can't even look at him as she turns her attention to the ocean. "I've never been able to understand her. Not then, and especially not now."
The words hang between them, between the sea water and salty air. She takes in a deep breath of it, lets it fill her lungs, and wonders what happened to Revan here. She wonders what happened to Revan that made her so afraid of the water, if she remembered the reason why by the time she reached this planet, or if it was a phantom of a memory.
And finally she wonders why Revan chose to come alone. Did she truly want to protect everyone from whatever it is she's chasing, or did Kreia tell her to just as she told Meetra?
It's impossible to tell whether or not they'll ever know for certain.
—
"Over here!"
Atton's voice barely reaches them, but Meetra looks over her shoulder to see him standing on the opposite end of the platform, beside Scourge. The Sith studies the wall behind Atton, his height eclipsing him even from this distance.
Meetra nudges Malak's shoulder. "Maybe there's some sign of her."
The look he gives her is something more of a glare, and she almost reassures him that she isn't patronizing him, but part of her wants him to be upset about it. To feel something other than this quiet resignation that can't be reached.
The two of them walk across the misted causeway in silence, and Meetra squints against the rain as another wave rolls and crashes in the distance with a great roar—it's funny how knowing Revan was afraid of it causes a little fear to shake through her bones at the sound.
"What is it?" she asks Atton, but keeps her eyes on Scourge. The wall he's studying reveals itself at this distance—covered in letters and symbols similar to the temples they've been to. It doesn't seem right, though. This place is so different from the others, it's hard to believe there's any connection between them.
"It's a passageway," Scourge says at last, his hands brushing over the letters etched into the wall.
"You can read it?"
He turns his head to level her with a flat look. "Yes."
"He gets kinda touchy about it," Atton murmurs under his breath.
Scourge glares at him.
"What does it say, exactly?" Malak asks, and Meetra almost laughs at the annoyance in his voice. She knows it's absurd—Revan might be dead, they're traveling with an actual Sith, and none of it makes sense the way it needs to—but Meetra thought it was over. Revan, Malak, and the Council were all gone. Meetra finished what she needed to on Malachor. She thought she earned a break.
But this is where they are, this is what they're doing now, and she feels stretched so thin that she could laugh for days.
Scourge doesn't answer, which—despite him being probably the most useful member of their party right now—makes Meetra wary. Or perhaps his answer is the way his hands brush over the wall until they reach a separate panel, and when he presses down, a door slides open.
"Some passageway," Atton mutters, and Meetra frowns at the room that opens in front of them. She can't help but agree—the space that opens up looks like it could barely hold the two of them, nevermind Malak or Scourge. Unless—
"It's an elevator," Scourge says, as if they're the stupidest people he's ever encountered.
Which, well.
"This is just like Manaan," Malak says quietly behind them, more of a grumble than any contribution to the conversation.
"What about Manaan?" Meetra asks, but Malak doesn't answer as they watch Scourge enter the elevator. He fits himself against the back corner, but he takes up too much of the space—there wouldn't be a way for all of them to fit inside of it.
"We should split up," he suggests. "Two at a time."
She shakes her head immediately. "We go together or not at all."
"I love the sense of trust we've built," Atton murmurs.
"We have to," Malak says, and maybe this is the most decisive his voice has sounded since Tanaab. "Either alone or two at a time—if Revan was here, then we owe it to her to see what she found."
Meetra lets her gaze linger on him for a long, silent moment. She wants to tell him that there probably isn't anything here—nothing left behind for him, specifically. Maybe he knows that, though, and maybe that's why it's so important to find it anyway.
"Okay," she allows, and looks to Scourge who still stands in the elevator. "I'll go with you. Going alone might be too dangerous."
"Meetra—"
Atton's voice breaks off, but it's enough. She looks at him and offers him a small smile, reassuring him in the Force that she'll be okay. It's a testament to what they've been through together that he takes a step back with a firm nod. For a moment she allows herself to remember Nar Shaddaa and the look in his eyes as he pressed a medpac into her palm, clasping his hand around hers as he tried to pass his plea for her to stay safe off as a joke.
That look itself softened her heart towards him. It was the way he let his guard down, even for just a moment, to let her know that he was worried he would lose her. It was the first time she ever considered that she might be important to him.
With this memory on her mind, she follows Scourge into the elevator, turning to look at Malak and Atton—two men who have had such an enormous impact on her life—and takes a deep breath as the door closes between them.
"You don't trust me," Scourge states as the elevator shifts into motion. It creaks for a half-second before beginning its descent.
"I don't have a reason to," she answers, and winces as her ears pop from the change in elevation. It's completely dark between them, so she keeps her senses on high alert as she reaches for the Force to comfort her. The freefalling feeling never subsides as the ocean of noise grows louder around them, and she has to wonder how Revan did this on her own.
Scourge doesn't say anything for a long moment, but then: "Our mission would be easier if you did."
"It doesn't work like that." Frustration almost bleeds into her voice. I'm here, aren't I? she wants to say. There are many things Meetra has had to overcome to get to this point, and if her time with Kreia taught her anything, it's that nothing can be taken at face value.
"Just because we're both looking for Revan doesn't mean we're on the same side," she continues. "You have no reason to trust me, either."
"On the contrary," he argues. "You have allowed me onto your ship, you have listened to and used the knowledge I have to offer. You are alone with me right now, and yet I do not sense any fear from you."
It isn't that straightforward, she wants to say, We're using each other just the same.
"That's because I'm not afraid."
"I don't believe that's true," he says, and it's then that the elevator finally slows to a stop. "You see, I think we're quite similar." The door groans open, and water floods through the opening. It rises to just above Meetra's ankles, but she can feel the cold even through her boots. "Except I use my fear, Master Surik. I draw power from it. It strengthens me."
It's dark, but at the end of the corridor ahead of them are emergency lights that give a low, sickly green color to the space and allow her just to make out enough of it.
"What are you afraid of?" Meetra asks as she steps out of the elevator first. Scourge follows, and her heart pounds in her chest despite the way she wills it to slow down. Her head pounds with the weight of the ocean that surrounds them beyond these walls, relentlessly loud and constant.
She nearly jumps when the elevator door shuts behind them, and she turns to listen as it shifts back up to the surface.
"There are truly terrible things in this galaxy," Scourge says. "And I believe you know this."
She won't give him a response to that, won't confirm it and won't deny it even though she feels the truth ring out through her chest. She's seen it before. From Revan to Malachor, to three Sith who moved in the shadows against her. She knows what she herself is capable of—the power she could wield if she chose to do so. These are things she knows, deep down, and understands more than Scourge would think she's capable of.
"We should wait for Atton and Malak before we go any further," she says instead, because as much as he's right, he isn't someone she would share this with.
The distant light ghosts over his profile as he nods, and a chill rises up Meetra's body as the weight of the cold sinks in.
"This one's different than the others," she observes, uncomfortable with the silence that's drowned out by the sound all around them.
"In a way, yes," Scourge offers. "But I believe that is the purpose."
She raises a brow. "What do you mean?"
"Think of each planet you've encountered, the qualities of each atmosphere, the life and death you've found there. The Ar'adat chose these planets with this in mind. There is a necessary unity in the differences."
She considers this for a moment. From a barren land to a lush jungle, from a snow covered world to the ocean. It makes sense, in a way, but not one that she feels she fully grasps. "How long have you studied them?"
He's quiet. "A long time."
"You said your Master used you for your knowledge of them," she starts, despite his audible sigh. "Come on, you must've figured I'd have more questions for you."
"I did."
"Then why did he want to open them? What is the purpose of all of this?"
"Like all things. Power."
"What kind of power?"
Even in the low light she can make out the expression on his face—hard, closed off, but still somehow afraid. It chills her more than the cold sinking into her feet could.
"What he seeks would change this entire galaxy," he finally says, and turns his head away. "That is why you should trust me, Master Surik. There are far more dangerous things out there than one mere Sith."
"A greater danger doesn't negate a lesser one," she states, but hesitates. There's obviously something he isn't telling her, but she doesn't know how far she can push. "Closing these temples will stop him?"
"Yes."
Wouldn't that mean— "Does Revan know him?"
Behind them, the elevator swoops down with a sound, but he continues anyway. "He never spoke of her, but I have to assume that they're aware of each other—probably before I met him."
"When exactly did you two open the first temple?"
"Five years ago," he answers, and just then the elevator doors open and Meetra bites down on her tongue.
"Kriffing—what the hell is this?" Atton says as the two of them wade through the water towards her and Scourge. The light is enough that she can meet his eyes, that they can both reassure each other, yes, I'm okay, and he smiles a crooked grin at her. Behind him, Malak stands in his silence but his gaze focuses on the end of the hallway.
Meetra pulls out her lightsaber to light the way ahead of them. The corridor they're in stretches on for a great distance, and they walk in silence for most of it, often coming to a four way intersection. The emergency lights only lead in one direction, though, and they follow those until the hallway ends at the opening of a room.
She pauses at the entrance and extinguishes her lightsaber. It's enormous—the emergency lights are bright enough to illuminate the entirety of it, but the sight of it makes her stomach tighten. Each planet they've been to has borne a mark across its surface, but here this room bears witness to whatever violence creates such a thing.
The walls are all blackened with streaks cut into them like lightning, and the air is thicker here and smells foul; burnt. Meetra's eyes sting as she wades through the murky water towards the stone pillar that rises in the center of the room. It resembles the tops of the temples they've been to already, with a pole that rises into yet another full circle.
But there are marks on the pillar. Burns from a lightsaber seared into the stone.
She's helpless to watch Malak as he rushes over towards it, pushing past her with an urgency that penetrates the whole room. His hands brush over the marks—long pale fingers over scorched gray stone.
He turns to them. "She fought someone here."
Meetra's gaze locks onto Scourge.
"Not someone," he says. "But something."
Whatever dread she felt in her stomach watching Malak's reaction grows into something that wants to crawl up her throat. She swallows it down and asks, "What do you mean, something?"
But Scourge doesn't answer. Not right away. His eyes scan the room before walking away from them.
"Hey!" Malak calls out, and there's an edge to his voice that feels dangerous. Everything about this moment feels dangerous. She risks a glance at Malak to see open anger in his expression, and regret sinks in her chest that she ever wished to see such a thing. His brows remain a rigid line, eyes fixed on Scourge, and he growls out, "Do you have an explanation for this?"
"Oh, look around!" Scourge calls back, and has the audacity to let out a small laugh. Meetra tightens her grip on her lightsaber.
She knows she should keep an eye on him, but she listens, letting her gaze wander around the room. Nothing stands out aside from the obvious. "What are we looking for?"
"Evidence!" His voice echoes into the empty space. "Where are the bodies? Who would she have possibly fought here?"
"Maybe they left?" Atton offers, but it hangs empty in the air.
"That can't be right," Malak says, but it's just as empty. "What would she—why would she?"
Meetra takes a breath, letting her mind reach out. She lets her feelings go and listens for the Force, like she did on top of the temple where she burned her hand. She listens to the sound of the waves around her and fear strikes through her heart. Open, wild fear that doesn't belong to her but has her gasping for a breath as she opens her eyes and lets it go.
She bites down on her tongue before she looks to Malak. "You said she was afraid of the water?"
Her voice sounds small, but it's enough.
Understanding blooms across his expression, and for a moment it's quiet save for the rolling sound of the ocean around them. It's so heavy, compounding the feeling that rises up between them, and Meetra wonders if it was a mistake to come down here after all.
He places his hand against the pillar again, but after a second Meetra realizes he's using it to support his weight. With one last glance at Scourge, who's shifted his focus to the walls, she goes over to him.
Up close, the lightsaber burns are even more concerning. They aren't precise, but wild, arcing slashes. Even more concerning is the lost look in Malak's eyes. He stares down at the water around their feet and then up to her as she approaches.
"I shouldn't have let her go," he says, his voice quiet. This is for her alone. "I should have told someone when she left."
Meetra's whole chest aches, but all she can do is shake her head as she places her hand on his shoulder. "That was her choice, Mal."
He turns his head away, closing his eyes.
"We should go," she says. "I don't think there's anything else, here."
She looks up to meet Atton's gaze from across the room. He watches them carefully, something considering in his expression, but he doesn't give himself away. She looks to Scourge next, who still sweeps through the room looking for whatever he needs from it.
"Maybe you're right," Malak says. The empty words linger between them and she takes a step back. She needs...distance. She can't be who she was for him during the war, but it's so hard to hold back. It's so hard to watch him go through this even if everything fell apart between them.
But that was so long ago, and this is a new story to tell. This is still Malak, and she is still Meetra. What changes and what stays the same? How can they know what will hurt them this time around?
Revan warned them at the beginning: What's in motion now will soon be out of my control.
Could she have predicted this?
Meetra walks back over to Atton, giving Malak a moment to himself. He still watches her but something wary guards his features, and Meetra keeps her voice low as she says, "I don't think there's much else here."
"Is he okay?"
"I don't know," she answers. It's the only answer she has for him; for any of them. "I don't think he will be until we know for sure, one way or another."
Atton lets out a breath that could almost be a laugh. "Because finding out that Revan's dead will do wonders for his mood."
A corner of her lips lifts, but falls as she looks back at Malak, who still stares at the stone—evidence of Revan's demons. "It's an answer, which is more than he has right now."
They've had this conversation before. Meetra had said then that they'd be better off without Revan, but something pulls inside of her and she can't be certain whether or not she feels the same now. She isn't sure she could explain it if she tried.
"Would you be okay with Scourge if I rode the elevator back up with Malak?" she asks. The question feels wrong on her lips but she has to ask it anyway.
Atton nods. "I think I've proven that I can handle myself—at least he's better looking than Sion."
She raises a brow. She doesn't need to say it.
"You know what I mean," he mutters.
She watches Scourge from across the room. He stands tall, unaffected, and when he appears to be satisfied with whatever he's seen, he heads back their way.
"He wants me to trust him."
Atton raises a brow. "His name is Scourge. Nice people don't get names like Scourge."
"No," she says, and her exhale matches his almost-laugh earlier. "I suppose they don't."
They fall into silence as Scourge approaches, and his red gaze passes between them for a moment before turning to look back at Malak. "I suppose we've found what we came for, then."
"I suppose so," she answers. Malak leaves the podium with one last brush of his fingers over the stone, and the four of them walk back to the elevator in the same silence that brought them this way.
"You two go up first," she says to Atton and Scourge once they reach it, holding Atton's gaze longer. Though she trusts him to be safe while he's alone with the Sith, some part of her needs to guarantee that he reaches the surface before her.
If Atton realizes this, he doesn't give it away. He offers a wink and a, "See you up top, Sweets."
Scourge doesn't say anything at all.
The elevator door shuts behind them, lifting with a low sound as her and Malak wait beside it. She crosses her arms over her chest, begging the chill to leave her body. Beside her, Malak stares in a daze at where the elevator was, his eyes open and unseeing.
"So what happened on Manaan?" she asks him. He blinks once and turns his blank gaze towards her. "You mentioned it earlier."
"One of the Star Maps was there," he says, his voice low. "It was on the ocean floor, so we had to travel down to an underwater facility. It looked different than this, but it felt the same."
Meetra hesitates, but asks, "Was she okay with that?"
He lifts a shoulder. "No...I don't know. She wore the mask on Manaan, and she hardly spoke to anyone. It didn't matter anyway, I offered to go collect the data from it for her."
"That was generous of you."
"It wasn't, though," he says. "Those Star Maps ruined us."
You were ruined before that, she almost says, but holds back. If they were ruined before the war ended, she can only imagine how much worse it got after that.
"What were they?" she asks. "The Star Maps."
A slow breath in. Out. He looks at her. "You must've heard about the Star Forge."
She merely nods.
"They led us there. Each one had a fragment of the coordinates for it, and we traveled all across the galaxy tracking them down. Revan did it twice, actually. Once with me, and the second time after she'd lost her memories. It's how...well, that's how she found me, in the end."
"And spared you," Meetra supplies.
This time he merely nods.
"Do you think we're missing something like that—like the Star Maps?" Meetra asks as the sound of the elevator swoops back down to them. "How else would Revan know where to go?"
The doors open and they both step in. It's a tight fit but no worse than it was with Scourge, and it's significantly more comfortable being alone with someone she's known for years rather than a Sith asking her to trust him.
Even if once upon a time that was what Malak was.
"I don't know," he says. "But I don't think she traveled between these planets as fast as we have."
"No," Meetra agrees. "Considering how long she's been gone..."
"Unless—" he starts, but it doesn't go anywhere. He clears his throat and the darkness covers over them as they rise back to the surface of the planet.
Meetra waits but Malak doesn't say anything else. He doesn't have to—she knows what he meant. Unless she's dead. Unless she really isn't coming back this time. Some part of her wants to reach out, and she doesn't know if it's a reassurance she genuinely feels, or if it's some part of her that will always want to take care of him. She doesn't know if it's just seeing someone who's obviously in pain, and her constant desire to help.
She moves without thinking, stepping into his space and wrapping her arms around his middle. He's always been so much taller than her but it's moments like these that makes her keenly aware of it. It's the way her head rests against the very bottom of his chest, or how his back bows a little as he leans down to return the hug.
He doesn't hesitate, and she closes her eyes when his arms hold her against him. She listens to the steady rhythm of his heart in his chest, and almost lets go of the hurt she's held onto for years. She almost gives in completely, but she keeps her mind guarded and doesn't let him in.
"It'll be okay," she says as she takes a step back and the elevator begins to slow. How many times has she said that to him? Through all the fears they've shared during the war, it was Meetra who offered comfort, who could—after a day of losing countless fellow soldiers, friends—would try to hold them all together. It's what she did then, and it's what she does now. "We were made to heal from anything."
She doesn't know if either of them are capable of comfort now, and it's only a reminder of how much they've been through.
But Malak nods, and right as the doors open, he says, "I know."
—
"I'm tired of all these uncertainties."
Meetra says it to Atton later, once they're settled on the ship again. Their next coordinates are logged in the navicomputer, and they've warmed themselves from the perpetual chill of the last planet. Atton only has a little time that he can be away from the cockpit, and he uses it to curl around Meetra in her bed.
She relishes the feeling of it, savoring it in a way that makes her chest tight. His hair spread against the pillow next to hers, his grey eyes fixed on the ceiling of the ship, his lashes long and dark as he blinks in thought. He rests one hand on her stomach, fingertips tracing the curve of her waist, and the heat of him dismisses the memories of cold water crawling up her legs.
"I want the truth," she says. "I feel like I'm losing track of what little we have."
He turns his head so he can watch her, and despite the frustration that works its way through her thoughts, his gaze settles something inside of her.
"What do we know?" he asks, and she takes it for the offering it is: Let's talk about it. Let's figure it out.
She takes a breath. "We know that Revan left five years ago, which is also when the first temple was opened. I feel like that must've been part of the reason why she left."
"It would make sense. She ran off to fight some unknown threat, and here we are with an unknown threat."
"Still," she says back. "We can't be sure."
Atton sighs. "Well what about Kreia? Do you really think the old lady had something to do with this?"
"I'm not ruling it out." She can't, even if the thought makes a shudder pass through her. "If Kreia and Revan planned whatever this is together, then one of them had to be using the other."
"Which makes you wonder who was using who."
"Exactly. And then I have to ask: which one of them meant to use me?"
Atton frowns for a moment, his brow hardened in thought. "It has to be Revan, right? Kreia's plan failed."
"Did it?" she asks.
"Didn't it?"
She almost laughs. "I can't be sure of anything she told me, anymore. Not even now that she's dead. The worst part is, I think she'd be happy to know that."
Atton cuddles further into Meetra's space, pulling his flush against his side. "I hate her."
"I just wish I understood," Meetra says softly, letting her fingertips dip into collarbone. She lets herself focus on the soft, delicate skin there, where the collar of his shirt falls open. His gaze stays on her, heavy, but she doesn't meet it. "Maybe...I don't know, maybe the temples are another way to destroy the Force. Maybe I was just...a backup plan for Kreia."
"Maybe. I doubt it, though."
She sighs. "Or maybe they were in it together. Maybe they needed me for some part of this—something we can't see yet."
"Maybe," Atton says again.
"But I guess that wouldn't make sense, if Kreia wanted me to destroy the Force. But I just can't see how it ties together, otherwise. She had the Ebon Hawk and Revan's droids. Or, at least I think she did—"
Her words cut off and she finally looks up to meet Atton's gaze. He raises an amused brow at her. "Is this helping?"
"No," she says, and pulls the blanket up and over her head. Her words are muffled as she continues, "I feel even more in the dark than we did before all of this. Before Dantooine, before the Council died."
Because at the beginning of everything they had a goal. They left Telos with a clear enemy and an idea of what to do, even if it didn't work out that way. Now it's like chasing a shadow across an empty room.
There's a tug on the blanket and a second later Atton joins her underneath. He's swallowed up in darkness here, the dullest shades of who he is, but he's visible enough to make out the small grin on his lips as he regards her. "Hey—we could space Scourge and just be done with it."
A sharp laugh escapes before she's aware of it, and she nudges him. "Don't tempt me."
"I don't know, Sweets. That vacation to Boranda sounds better all the time."
"After," she says. "As soon as we're done with all of this, I'll take you somewhere nice."
"Oh you'll take me?" She likes the way his voice changes, dropping into something playful, something for her alone. He leans over and captures her lips in a kiss, something chaste and sweet. He leans in again, lingering this time until heat claws in her belly and makes her want to forget everything else entirely. "I could get on board with that."
"I'm glad you're here," she says against his lips. "I'm so glad you begged me to take you with me."
He makes a noise in the back of his throat—a protest—and leans back to look at her. "Yeah, yeah, say what you want. I'm not ashamed of that."
"Good," she murmurs. "You shouldn't be. I need you to be there for when I'm trying to be a self-sacrificing fool."
"At least you can admit it."
It isn't quite a laugh that passes between them, but it's close enough. They're quiet for a long moment after that, both of them blinking into the darkness of the blanket over them. The air gets stuffy and she knows that they'll have to pull it down soon, but she wants to stay under a little longer, to keep feeling this safe with him alone.
"Hey Sweets?"
His voice pulls her from her thoughts, and she regards him with a softness that, before these past few months, she hadn't been aware she was capable of. "Yeah?"
He hesitates, and for a fraction of a second she imagines him saying it first. The words that have passed through her thoughts a dozen times since she's realized it. She thinks it would sound nice, like this, with his voice low and for her alone, in this space that they've created away from everything else.
"We'll be okay, right?"
"Yeah," she replies automatically, but it isn't the right answer and she knows it. She offers it anyway, pulling the blanket down and putting them back in her cabin on their ship. The lights are still on, the air is easier to breathe, and she gives him these words that aren't fair to either of them: "We'll be okay."
—
Because how can she promise him that? How can she promise anything when so much still remains to be revealed? She runs through the information in her mind over and over again until it all starts to blur together. She backs away from it and finds different angles to view it at. She trips over everything Kreia told her, searching her memories for the smallest scrap of information that could piece it all together. There's the truth and the suspect of it. There's the expectation of where this is going, and how it could still take a hard turn towards the unknown.
They still don't know that much about Scourge. Still don't know how, exactly, he's using them. Because it's inevitable. Meetra has accepted this, and keeps a wary eye on him on the ship. He needs them in order to find Revan, but what happens then? How will that change things?
And what happens if she's dead?
These questions roll over and over again in Meetra's mind. They spin together, come together, split apart and find their own trails to follow. Each path branches into another, and there is no end. There is no answer.
—
But luckily for Meetra, it's much closer than she knows.
—
She wakes from the feeling first, and Atton's call second.
It shoots through her, shocking her awake from where she'd fallen asleep slumped at the workbench. It flows through her—something uneasy but vividly alive and powerful. It's just a second later that Atton chirps in her ear, "Sweets, you gotta come up here right now."
She's already on her way, hurrying through the ship at a clip she hasn't felt since their race to Malachor.
Scourge is in the main hold, and he meets her gaze with a certainty she doesn't feel.
"She's here," he says, and Meetra swallows down the bile that threatens to rise up her throat.
"We'll see," she answers, and hurries past him towards the cockpit.
She stops walking before she's fully aware that she has. The cockpit is visibly bright, and she squints against it to make out the planet before them—burning orange and bleeding out light into a point above it. It swirls in streaks of color, and it'd be beautiful if it didn't feel so terrible. Above the planet itself is a void of stars, a smattering of nothingness that the light disappears into in the most minuscule of points.
And Meetra knows, looking at this, that everything is about to change.
"Scourge was right," Atton says, and Meetra moves to take the seat next to him. His brows furrow in concentration, his mouth a hard line. "I don't know if I could describe something like this."
"No," she says, and she blinks deliberately. Her eyes sting, but it's hard to look away. "But we don't know if she's here or not."
"And if she isn't?"
Cold fear creeps over her. She can feel her breathing shallow but she won't give in. "We'll have to deal with it, one way or another."
"I'm sure we'll figure something out."
He says is facetiously, but his rare optimism always shows up when it's needed most, even when he's concentrating on bringing the ship down. It begins to shutter once they approach the light that surrounds the planet, rocking the ship through. Meetra's stomach drops several times as they heave down to the planet's surface, following Scourge's coordinates.
It gets even brighter. Impossibly so. The feeling that surrounds the planet is so empty and dead but so vividly alive at the same time, and with each passing second Meetra feels it grow worse.
She calls on the Force to keep it together despite the way her head pounds and her eyes squint nearly shut. She blinks through the light to see the sands of a desert planet before them, and frowns.
"There! Look—" She points a finger out the viewport. There's a field of sand that stretches on into nothingness, but at the center sits a small ship.
"I see it," Atton says. "Betting all my credits that it's actually her this time."
Meetra agrees but doesn't say anything. The ship still jerks and swoops and her hands ache from where they grip her seat, until it's finally over. They land with a solid sound, and Atton runs his hand through his hair and offers her a grin that she can't match.
"Not our worst landing," he says, but Meetra doesn't waste a moment before getting out of her seat.
"Meet me at the ramp in five minutes, don't forget the comm links," she says, and all but runs through the ship, grabbing her lightsaber and gearing up. She runs into Malak in the hallway, and there's something sharper about him—in his energy, in his eyes.
"I need a weapon," he says. It isn't a request but it's the first time he's mentioned it. Meetra tested him all those days ago and they haven't spoken of it since.
"Can you use a lightsaber?"
He falters. "Do you have a vibroblade?"
"In the garage," she says. "We have a couple next to the workbench, meet us at the ramp once you have them."
She looks for Scourge next, but he's already waiting at the entrance of the ship. "Whatever you're expecting to fight won't be there. This isn't a physical battle."
She clips her lightsaber onto her belt. "I want to be ready for one anyway."
Whether that's fighting Revan or what Revan's fighting. Meetra isn't sure what to expect, but she can feel the weight of the darkness of this place. She knows that danger pools around them and it won't be long before they're all pulled in.
She knows that this could be it.
Once the four of them are ready, they stand together as the ship's ramp lowers onto the ground. T3 beeps with concern but Meetra tells him to stay behind, just in case. She throws an arm in front of her eyes as the light seeps in through the opening. It's a bright flash that doesn't dissipate, and she grits her teeth against it as she leads them down to the shifting sands.
After the light comes the heat. It's a matter of seconds before her forehead drips with sweat, but she ignores it as they trudge on towards where the temple should be. She catches Malak spare a long look at the ship beside theirs, but he doesn't say anything.
None of them do.
Her legs ache by the time the structure in the distance comes into view. It's the source of light, and Meetra's whole body vibrates with the energy that echoes from it. There's a sound, too, that buzzes in the air in a constant rhythm, making her dizzy as she blinks through it, sweat soaking through her robe.
Malak picks up his pace once he sees it, rushing ahead of them. Meetra doesn't feel right about it, doesn't know what to expect. The danger feels palpable here, but she knows that he doesn't feel the Force as keenly as he once did. She goes after him, his name poised on her lips before he comes to a dead halt.
"What—" she starts, but she follows his gaze to the temple, which rises from the sands the same as the others. Only this time, at the top of it stands the tall figure of a woman—an image ripped from Meetra's memories.
Meetra reaches for Malak's wrist, wrapping her fingers tightly around it. When she opens her mouth to speak, though, the light around them dims. Fear plants itself in her chest as realization sweeps over her, and she's helpless to watch as Revan gathers the energy around her, straining her arms out against the sky.
The light lifts until it forms a single shape above them, infinitely brighter as it comes together. It's impossible to look at, and Meetra turns her head away as the sound grows louder, drowning out the yell that's pulled from her throat.
She feels it take her apart. Pain explodes through her head, and she reaches out to the Force, looking for something—anything—to grasp onto to keep her conscious.
The last thing she's aware of is the way Malak's wrist is pulled from her grip. She's momentarily aware of the emptiness of her hands, and then she's thrown back into the sands as a thunderous noise crashes through the planet.
Her world turns dark.
