Sunrise

- Yudan Rosh -


The early morning air was a cool comfort as I faced the darkened shore. Waves died quietly upon the soft sand, a gentle lap of noise intermingling with the faint buzz of nocturnal gnit-flies. Above, twinkling innocently in pre-dawn sky, was the Star Forge.

Soon the nascent light of a new day would blot out its artificial glow, but the Star Forge would remain visible to the naked eye for what it was: an alien curse orbiting an empty world.

Bar her apprentice, Darth Revan had never let any Force-sensitive stand upon that eons-old relic.

...

"The Dark Side is strong there, Yudan. So strong that it becomes tempting to lose oneself." She had her back turned to me, staring out through the tempered transparisteel viewport in her quarters. As she so often did. "I risk only what is necessary for my purposes. The Star Forge is my tool, and I shall not allow it to become my weakness."

In my quieter moments – away from her – I knew that it already was.

...

It seemed ironic, now, that Revan Freeflight was the one to finally lead me there.

I had studied the schematics well, and had an idea of the size of the Star Forge. Somewhere onboard was the flawed Jedi who had saved Darth Revan's life, despite all logic and common-sense. I wasn't sure if I, at that point in time, would have shown Darth Revan the same mercy.

There was no denying Revan owed Bastila Shan her life. And yet, she had found the fortitude to deny Bastila, to turn away from the biggest mistake she had ever made. I had not truly believed Revan would reject the Dark Side's call, despite the hope I had denied existed within my heart.

Bastila Shan was a challenge Revan would face again. Worse than her, though, was Malak.

Malak.

We had been friends, once. It had taken years. Time for him to mature, to trust me, to understand that I would not step where I had no right. Once we were fully engaged in the Mandalorian Wars, the four of us had formed the core of the Jedi Thirteen. Revan, Malak, Meetra and I.

Despite the blood, the sacrifice, the despair- in many ways I still viewed that time as the golden age of my past. Before Malachor. Before the Star Forge. Before Revan reinvented the Sith Empire, and all our friends and allies fell, one way or another. Seduced or killed by the primal side of the Force.

The Dark Side had a way of obfuscating the past in an unholy marriage of burning emotion and frigid detachment. One could not function as a Dark Jedi if the past retained tangible holds on one's soul.

Now... now, too many parts of it were leeching back to me.

...

"You won't be at Malachor." Meetra's voice, soft and musical, stated a fact rather than posed a query.

I inclined my head in agreement. "I will be posted with Adashan's forces. We will be the net to catch any survivors."

"Good." Meetra glanced away, an uncharacteristic expression of uncertainty on her face. She, who sensed the emotions of others so readily, rarely came across as flustered. Once I had envied Meetra that ability, before I had seen what the isolation had done to her.

"What is it?"

Her lips pursed. "Casualties," she murmured, her pale blue eyes dimming with melancholy. "We can't hope to pull out all our forces in time. Xaset and I... given our proximity, there is a very real chance we won't survive."

I felt my heart clench as I stared hard at my oldest friend. I did not know all the intricacies of Revan's plan, but I understood that Meetra and Xaset were fundamental to it. And that had its own underlying risk.

My mind, as always, trailed back to the woman at the core of everything. There was a twitch to Meetra's wide mouth, as if she sensed the betrayal of my thoughts. Perhaps she had. I knew part of what made our friendship so strong was my own emotional shields; Meetra had once told me I was the quietest soul she'd ever had the grace to befriend, and I knew she was not talking about a lack of expansive verbiage.

But, still. I could not hide everything from an empath.

"Revan understands sacrifice," she said quietly. "Too well, these days. I remember how she reacted when her homeworld Talshion was destroyed. When Cariaga died. Every time we lost more than expected. I'm worried what my death might do to her, Yudan. She'll allow her guilt to harden her further, and she is too hard already."

"Malak will be there for her," I said, without a trace of bitterness. I had long since accepted his role in her life, or so I told myself daily. "I do not like to think of your death, Meetra, no matter that we may have accepted our mortality years ago. Perhaps you need to focus on your own survival."

Meetra shot me a half-smile, but would not be derailed. "Malak holds Revan's heart, but don't underestimate the depth of her regard toward you. We all need friends as much as lovers." Her soulful eyes held mine. "And sometimes, a friend can reach where a lover cannot."

...

In the end, neither friend nor lover had been able to reach Revan. Only Bastila Shan's inexplicable stroke of mercy – and the Jedi manipulations that followed – had achieved that.

But by then the four of us were long shattered. I had seen Meetra, once, during the aftermath of Malachor. Empty, broken, grasping desperately onto Xaset's hand. What had the deaths of so many done to such a gentle, empathic soul? Xaset himself was but a walking corpse, pain etched deep into his hollow eyes.

Even the smallest creature, even the trees themselves, could be sensed through the Force. Whatever had happened to Meetra and Xaset, the Force was burned out of them. My senses told me it was impossible for them to be standing, breathing, living in front of me.

I had not heard from Meetra or Xaset since that day. And as the Dark Side clawed ever deeper into my soul, I stopped thinking of them. Now... now it was like the scab had been torn open, bleeding anew. Was my oldest friend still alive, still Force-less, still radiating with the horrors of Malachor?

A selfish part of me was glad she disappeared. That one person from my past had not been a party to all we devolved into. Had not seen first-hand all we had done.

The thud of footsteps in the distance broke me from the bitter ruminations of my past. It was not Revan's light tread, no; judging by the tenacious look in her soldier's eyes earlier, I thought she might be otherwise engaged.

I could not begrudge her happiness. Not now, not anymore. Who knew, perhaps her soldier would be a better fit for her than Malak. From the little I had seen of Carth Onasi, he struck me as the sort who would not compromise his own values for the love of anyone – even one such as Revan.

And, he lacked the Force.

Perhaps a partner who was not exposed to the temptations of the Force would be a better fit for Revan Freeflight. A better shield, a better grounding force.

I did not begrudge Revan her happiness. But after this – after the Star Forge, should we survive – I would not stay in her orbit. I could not.

I turned around, to acknowledge the oncoming figure of Canderous Ordo.

We had reached an accord, I felt, over the weeks of travelling together. Yet I had not forgotten the black look of retribution on his face when I had ordered the Leviathan soldiers to bring him down.

"Rosh," Ordo greeted, as he trudged within earshot. Dawn was close. The early morning light outlined his armour; a patched-together military suit of duramesh and a garish purple chest-plate. Functional and heavy, for all that it wasn't beskar. Ordo was visibly unarmed, but I had a wealth of experience with Mandalorians – they liked to squirrel away weapons all over their person. It often seemed to be a competition amongst them. "The droid's almost done on the 'Hawk. It's close to end-game. I reckon you never planned to be here, doing this, but here you are." He looked me up and down, as if taking my measure. "Have you spared a thought for what you're gonna do after?"

I… had. And the thoughts were both tumultuous and inconclusive.

Incarceration amongst the Jedi. Execution sanctioned by the Senate. Death somewhere onboard the Star Forge. Each option more likely than the previous.

I threw Ordo an unconcerned shrug. "Your assumption of our survival is a rather large one, Ordo."

"I plan on survival, Rosh," he retorted, his voice dry. "What would be the point, otherwise?"

I had to concede that to him, with a nod of my head. Canderous Ordo was both a simple man, and a smart one. Like a number of Mandalorians I'd known, over the years.

Although, there'd been plenty who were thick as tusk-pig crap, too.

"Look, I ain't sure about you, Rosh. But I'm sure what will happen if you let the Republic get their hands on you."

My eyes narrowed, but his stare back was flat and steady. "You think I should run."

A faint look of irritation crossed his weathered face. We weren't far away in age, but I'd guess he had a decade on me, maybe. A man of war, much the same as myself, yet one who knew his own values and foibles – and accepted them.

"I ain't suggesting anything, Rosh. But you're too focused on Revan and Malak's little factory to think past it. And look, I get that, I do – but you gotta think past it. Sounds like the robes caught up in all of this have kriff-all status now. It's the Republic calling the shots, ain't it? And if you don't watch out, you'll end up walking straight into your own publicized execution."

It is what I expect. I didn't say it, well-aware what Ordo's mocking reaction would be to what he'd label melodrama.

Ordo let out a non-committal grunt. "I'll be headed back to my clan, after this. It's time the Mando'ade pulled their heads out of their collective arses and started being true to themselves. I intend to be a pivotal part of that."

I sent him a short nod of acknowledgment. "Good luck."

I was surprised, with him being both Mandalorian and wholly unconnected to me, that my words were both genuine and heartfelt. I really did wish the warrior the best.

He nodded in return, turned, and walked away. Some five metres gone, he stopped.

I frowned at his back. Canderous Ordo wasn't one for uncertainty, or dramatic pauses.

"Ordo will need new blood, new strength," he said slowly, his voice low and deep. He did not turn. "The Mando'ade value adoption of those who know and honour our way of life. We're wary of the Force for good reason, but Force-sensitive Mando'ade ain't entirely unheard of. Rare, yes, but not unheard of."

He paused again, while I was shocked into silence. I could feel my mind racing, even as my limbs froze in disbelief. Truly, it had been so long since anyone had offered me something that wasn't given out of fear.

"I ain't sure about you, Rosh, but I think I'd gamble on you," he offered, still facing away. "And a simpler life might be a happier one for you."

I... had no rejoinder. No idea what to say or think in response to such a generous, unwarranted offer.

"Think about it. But not too long, alright? We got a battle to win first."

And then, he left.

xXx

A simple life. A happy life.

I recalled the time I'd mercilessly killed a family of Rodians pleading for their lives. They were simple farmers, no doubt happy with their lot on a remote, rural planet that we ear-marked as a strategic resource drop.

They likely had a simple, happy life before we arrived. But sentients who refused to leave were forcibly removed. In the quickest possible fashion.

I bombed a resource planet of Onderon to cow a royal leader into submission. I located a suitable moon for a Jedi containment complex, and did not dwell on the fate of the prisoners of war shipped there. The Dark Side was good at eroding conscience of any sort.

I ran Jonn Dan through with my double-blade, when he mocked my attachment to Darth Revan one too many times. Jonn had been my friend, my comrade, my fellow Jedi Thirteen, once.

The idea of a future after the Star Forge – a future actually worth something – had not occurred to me until now. I did not know if I damned Canderous Ordo or blessed him for the thought. It meant coming to terms with the entirety of my past, and that was harder without a mind-wipe to erase all the gory details.

The descent to the Dark Side had been a series of slow, measured steps. At first, it was easy to justify ruthless acts with the end result. To convince oneself that, in the future, we would rise above this sort of behaviour. That we were only doing what had to be done, utilizing the quickest route to unlock the power and strength necessary for the times we lived in.

That it wouldn't always be like this: things would change when the dust settled and we had our established peace and order that was stronger than the antiquated beast they called the Republic.

Then, slowly, I cared less. The awareness was still there, the understanding between right and wrong, but the empathy eroded. What did others' pain mean to me? I had lived through many lifetimes of pain. One grew hard and strong, or one died, and that was reality of life.

The Force itself was intoxicating. The rush of strength, augmented by emotion, burning through my body as pure, undiluted energy. I held the power to do anything I wanted, be anyone I wanted. All it meant was kneeling to those few stronger than me.

And I'd been kneeling to Revan my whole life, light or dark.

When Revan died, I ceased to feel anything but the icy core of the dark. Fiery emotion was conquered by an endless winter of detachment, freezing my every desire. I continued on with Malak's will, my only motivation the twisted addiction of the Force, as it swirled shadows of arctic despair that dogged every beat of my cursed heart.

I cared for nothing. I spoke little. I sent starships into combat in an empty echo of Mandalorian battles and Republic glory that felt more like a half-forgotten dream than my own past. I didn't fear death, not really. I thought it would come at Malak's hand, one day; maybe even Bandon or one of the others if they caught me off-guard.

And then, Revan.

And then.

Her resurrection was a blazing meteor that crashed into my indifference, shattering it into a million fragments.

I swore to find her, kill her, kill us both, and put an end to this tormented corruption that had spiralled into insanity after Malachor. I would have followed through on my vow had she been anything like the Revan after Malachor. Any glimpse of evil, any breach of morality, any lack of empathy.

But once more, she completely blind-sided me. I found a damaged woman; but one who was also driven, reckless, and loyal.

The Revan I had once known, a lifetime ago. The passionate Jedi my life once orbited around.

The descent to the Dark Side was a series of slow, measured steps. But the climb back up… that was a crawl. As, inch by inch, my fingertips scrabbled to purchase higher on the cliff of awareness and consequence.

It would get harder, I thought. And yet I was once more following Revan – this time, back to the light.

That… that had to stop.

That had to change. For the sake of myself, I couldn't do it for her, because of her. Not anymore.

Revan might show me the path back to the light, but I had to take it for myself.

With a shaky inward breath, I knew it was time to head back to the Ebon Hawk. Somehow, I wasn't surprised to turn around and see Revan strolling toward me.

She was a figure wrapped in a lightweight duramesh suit, feet shod in scuffed boots, her old master's lightsaber clearly visible on a tattered utility belt. Revan cared little for appearances, these days; much like the pragmatic youth I had once known.

"I came to say we'll be departing soon." Revan's voice carried over to me, the faint breeze ghosting it to my ears. "But… I wanted to talk, first."

"Did we not already talk outside your freighter?" I asked, lifting a brow in rhetorical inquiry. The skin on the side of my face had tightened, already, with that one blow. I could allow her that transgression, if it meant she now had some understanding of my actions.

Revan's mouth twitched, but she did not rise to the bait. "There's… there's more, isn't there?" she murmured. "Between us. Our history, I mean. It's more than just us falling to the Dark Side. It's… it's personal, somehow. Isn't it?"

My shoulders stiffened, despite myself. There is no 'just' about falling to the Dark Side. But, still, her perception was painfully correct.

"There are some matters best left forgotten, Revan," I clipped out, turning away to stare blindly at the indigo ocean. From here, it looked endless. "Or best left alone."

I would not speak of it. Not to her, not to anyone. The twist of passion and hate still knifed in my gut at times. In the depths of Darth Revan's corruption, all her allies had been no more than dejarik pieces used to keep each other in line.

Even her childhood love had been broken down and measured as nothing more than his usefulness to her objectives.

If Malak had no chance, then I certainly didn't.

Our loyalty had been absolute, and Revan took it for granted that it would always stay that way, no matter what she did. Maybe… maybe, Malak's loyalty would have remained steadfast, had she actually taken a care with it.

"It's not like I want to remember anything from those days," she was muttering behind me, "But sometimes I feel like there's no choice- that to move forward I have to uncover-"

"You don't," I cut in, and I could hear the ice in my voice. "Some events are better buried in the past, where they belong. They would only rip open the scars and bleed the darkness out if you keep picking at them."

There was a pause. "Okay. A bit on the tragic side there, Yudan, but I'm coming to expect that from you." There was the soft sound of feet padding on sand, and I felt rather than saw her walk to my side. I kept my eyes fixed on the blurred line of the horizon, that promise of infinite distance, and wondered if she did the same.

I wasn't sure if she sought me out for anything further, for we both lapsed into a silence that was more comfortable than I expected. I still felt the camaraderie we had once shared – but it surprised me that she seemed to, also. To her, surely, I was no more than an unbalanced villain teetering on the jagged edge of redemption. No more than a lost Jedi who had once followed her lead.

"After this I won't follow you again, Revan," I whispered, unsure if the words were for her or myself. Perhaps they were meant for us both.

"Follow me?" she questioned, a sharpness cresting in her voice that was either surprise or indignation. "Did I ask you to, Yudan? Sun and stars, where would you follow me anyway? To our public execution, on the off-chance that we actually survive the frelling Forge?"

Despite myself, a chuckle fell from my lips. I wonder if Ordo's bent her ear, too. "Maybe the Republic will throw us a joint trial. Save on the administration costs."

"Like a combined birthday party, but with beheadings instead of lolly scrambles," she muttered, and I heard the wholly inappropriate grin in her voice.

But my smile faded, as I recalled a deranged event Talvon had organized once, in celebration of his fourth decade of life. He'd killed a pair of lieutenants he'd caught screwing in a lift while on-duty. Hacked their heads clean off after watching them eat a slice of his overpriced anniversary spice-cake.

And Talvon had smiled sweetly, before forcing the remaining officers to stay for hours afterward and indulge in idle chitchat with him. Talvon had kicked the ensanguined heads to the side of the room, and blithely ignored the streaks of gore smudging beneath boots as they trekked over the titasteel floor.

The noose of insanity held Talvon tight, then. That was right after Telos. Right before Revan executed him.

Will it always be this way, where the slightest comment dredges up a sliver of evil from my past? And it slices against my soul with the black conscience that I had refused to feel at the time?

Maybe there was no escaping it. Certainly, I had been involved in enough to warrant infinite self-flagellation. I could only hope that Revan remained mostly unaware of those memories of the worst part of her life. She might never understand the mercy her amnesia and mind-damage truly was, but I did.

"I don't want you to follow me, Yudan," she whispered finally. "Not after this. I don't want anyone to follow me, ever again."

I sighed. Revan had always been sharp on the uptake, remarkably perceptive, and yet with regards to herself- almost wilfully blind. "That is not is up to you, Revan. People follow who they choose. But I… it is time I found my own way. I am not sure what that will be, but it needs to be on my own terms, now."

I could feel her eyes on me, and finally, finally, I turned back to her. There was a depth of curiosity in that moss-green gaze – for she did not know me anymore, not truly, and that still burned at times – but at least there was solid respect there.

"Will you go back to the Jedi?" she asked quietly.

"Perhaps." I inclined my head. The conversation with Ordo tempted me in another direction, a wholly unexpected one, and I had no idea which path I would choose. All I knew was that it would not be Revan's. "Perhaps I owe Vandar that much. If there is any sentient whose counsel I might heed, it could very well be his."

A frown creased her face at that. "Vandar… he's the short green one that talks funny, right? I got the impression he was Vrook's oddball sidekick."

I couldn't repress a snort of incredulity, at that. Despite my comprehension of her memory loss, there were times when it caught me completely off-guard. "Vandar Tokare is centuries old, Revan, and a Grand Master besides. He is the only Jedi Master who holds a seat on both the Dantooine Council and the High Council. While Vrook Lamar is a respected and established Master who occasionally reports to Coruscant, Vandar is surely one of the pillars of the Order itself."

Her lips twitched. "So he's more important than I realized. You going to check yourself in to him, then?"

I shrugged. "He was my master, Revan. I was a Dantooine child. I had only recently ascended to knight and transferred to Coruscant when you and Malak first joined the Order."

Her shoulders hunched uncomfortably, as they always did when one spoke of Malak and her youth. I could see, sometimes, her desire to learn more about of past… mingled with a horrified denial she still struggled with.

"We trained together a lot, didn't we?" she asked softly. My gaze flew to hers, but Revan already anticipated my rejoinder with a grimace. "I don't- I don't remember, Yudan, but our spars... they're familiar. Very familiar."

I turned away again, to face the ever-dawning horizon. Slowly, slowly, the sky was paling to a cerulean blue. The few puffs of cloud visible were edged in sunrise pink. "Yes," I said finally. "You asked me to teach you, the first time we met. All but begged me, if I am honest."

I heard the sound of a half-choked chuckle as she stepped close to my side. "How did we meet? Would you tell me?"

I didn't want to. Enough excogitating of history, I was ready to head back and face the present.

"Please," she whispered; and the word, sincere and heartfelt, was a ghostly echo of that first meeting. I found, as a fond smile rose unbidden to my lips, that some things had not changed. It was as hard to deny her now as it had been so many years ago.

...

"Perhaps that's enough for today," Master Kavar said, his voice mild as he thumbed off his lightsaber. The Jedi Master was cloaked in a demeanour of tranquillity, his stance relaxed and his manner serene, as if our hour-long spar affected him not at all.

But I could detect signs that belied his composure. The sheen of sweat glistening at his brow. The slight tremble of fatigue in his forearms. I pushed back a surge of accomplishment that bordered on pride, and instead acknowledged him with a formal bow.

"Thank you for the duel, Master Kavar," I intoned. I had heard of Master Kavar's lightsaber prowess before I had met him, and was already thinking on what he could teach me. Kavar was young for a master, as I was young for a knight, and there was more than one similarity between us. "I look forward to our next bout."

"(You do your home enclave credit, Knight Yudan)," Master Kavar continued, still with the calm expression clouding his blue Human eyes. It was the sudden switch to Ryl that made me blink, though. "(I hope you will come to see Coruscant as your new home, much the same as you did Dantooine, once)."

The reminder of arriving on Dantooine as a bewildered twelve year old was unsettling. Coupled with Kavar's use of my home tongue, it immediately set my mind racing. Was he deliberately referring to my origins? My childhood spent readying for a life of political leadership, only for it to be wrested away by a chance encounter with a Jedi? Perhaps. After all, the Onderonite Kavar Kira would have been a royal delegate of import himself, had he not been found as Force sensitive.

Once a Jedi, all former ties are forgotten, a raspy voice echoed. Equal, here, we all are. One with the Force, no matter our lineage or background.

That had been true on Dantooine. But, here in the Core of the galaxy, it seemed Jedi matters were more enmeshed in governmental intrigue. Perhaps I had been naïve in assuming the Jedi High Temple would remain detached from the political machinations that were the heart-blood of Coruscant's Galactic City. Ambassadors from member-states all over the galaxy came to Coruscant, each bringing their own entourage of advisors and officiates and trade bureaucrats. Many would knock on the entrance of the High Temple. Many would be admitted. And Ryloth, my once-home before the Force claimed me, had always been an influential member of the Republic.

I had no leverage with the past and the people I had left behind, but it did not seem that others understood that. A mere ten days had passed since my arrival, and I had already dealt with more allusions and speculations regarding my genealogy than the entire eight years of training on Dantooine.

I was beginning to doubt the wisdom of my transfer to Coruscant.

Master Kavar was still looking at me expectantly, awaiting my reply. His gaze danced briefly over my shoulder before landing back on mine. Keeping a watchful eye on our silent observer, no doubt. Someone had sidled into the senior training rooms halfway through our duel, and although neither of us had acknowledged the presence, it was impossible to miss the flare of raw power ebbing on the sidelines.

"(I am sure I shall, Master Kavar)," I answered finally, sticking to Ryl. Master Vandar always chided me for my innate suspicion. Perhaps Master Kavar had merely been searching for a way to make me comfortable and welcome in my new home. "(Coruscant will have much to teach me, I am sure)."

"(Vandar Tokare does not often train apprentices)," Kavar mused. He took a step back, eyeing me over in consideration. "(He is renowned for his duelling technique, however, despite how rarely he switches on his 'saber. I begin to see why he picked you, Knight Yudan)."

My old master had been the one to urge me to transfer to Coruscant. As formidable as Master Vandar's lightsaber forms were, his style was also unique and distinctive. Dantooine had little to offer in the way of duelling masters, other than Vandar Tokare.

"(Master Vandar has taught me much)," I agreed. "(Combat has always been my focus. That is when the Force calls strongly to me, like it is but a natural extension of my body)."

Perhaps I had hoped for more from the Human master than a smile of agreement. My greatest struggle had always been the flipside of combat: meditation, oneness, self-reflection. Finding the peace of the Force through a non-physical channel. It was not a weakness of Vandar Tokare, but I did not know enough about Kavar Kira to judge if he attained the same level of enlightenment.

Master Kavar was looking beyond me again. "Perhaps we should ask our visitor from H'ratth if she wishes to join us?" he suggested, switching fluidly back to Galactic Basic as his voice raised in volume. "Come forward, Jedi Knight, and let us hear your observations of our spar."

I turned, to witness a Human teenager walk cautiously closer. Long-limbed, olive-skinned, and a tad on the scrawny side, our spectator strolled toward us with a half-smile twitching along her mouth. She wore the dark brown robes of the delegation from H'ratth – five Jedi Knights, all told, recognizable from the samite-thread robes they wore – a slightly darker shade than the garb of Coruscanti Jedi. I knew little of H'ratth, other than that they were reputed to be as reclusive as Dantooine was untraditional. A delegation from their enclave was rare.

"I am Jedi Master Kavar Kira," Master Kavar introduced, bowing in greeting. "And this is Jedi Knight Yudan Rosh."

The youth of the mysterious Jedi Knight surprised me. Not much more than a girl, really; somewhere in her mid-teens - I had a handful of years on her at least. A few dark curls fell into her eyes, escaping a haphazardly knotted braid tossed carelessly over one shoulder. That H'ratth would send a youngster as one of their envoys surprised me, considering this was their first visit in over three years.

The Human grimaced, her slightly up-turned nose wrinkling in discomfort. I was drawn, suddenly, to the expressiveness of her moss-green eyes. My once-clan on Ryloth had been seen as more cosmopolitan and worldly than most, and I had grown up around many Humans.

This one was easy to read.

Her stance was tense and wary, and her attention darted between us. There was no denying the spark of mischief in her expression, even as it warred with a growing uneasiness. The H'ratth delegation had been here less days than I had, and were expected to depart with the next morning's sun. I had not thought I would meet one of their envoys.

But as I stared at the Human in dawning suspicion, I began to comprehend that I still might not.

"I'm not from H'ratth," she admitted, lifting her sharp chin proudly as she addressed Master Kavar. One hand plucked at the sides of her robe – which, now that I looked closer, were at least a size too large. "I just wanted-"

"You thought to sneak into the senior training chambers by masquerading as a Jedi Knight," Master Kavar finished for her, his voice cooling. "What is your name, Padawan?"

"Revan Fr-Freeflight," she answered, stumbling over her surname as if it were unfamiliar. Still, she held Master Kavar's gaze, despite his obvious disapproval.

Kavar blinked. There was a slight twitch on his face – surprise perhaps – before it smoothed over.

"You are one of Karon's urchins," he said heavily. Her name meant nothing to me, but there was no denying the exasperated tone of recognition in Kavar's voice. "Not even a padawan, yet. I bid you welcome to Coruscant, apprentice, but these training chambers are out-of-bounds to both apprentices and padawans." There was a thinning of his lips as his gaze trailed over the bulky robe the girl had wrapped tightly around herself. "Nor do we look kindly upon theft, no matter your background-"

"I didn't steal these robes," she interrupted, as her green eyes darted to me briefly. I realized I was staring back in fascination. I would never have dared such an act as a youngling- sneaking somewhere prohibited under false pretences-

Her indignation was clear, and levelled directly at Kavar. "And what do you mean, my background? Look, I won a wager against one of those H'ratth Jedi, alright? And-"

"Stop." Master Kavar's voice had turned to ice, echoing loudly throughout the chamber. One hand rose, palm open, a command that rippled on the Force. The girl halted her tirade, a flush of chagrin dawning belatedly on her smooth cheeks.

I did not know whether to be appalled or impressed. A wager? An apprentice won a wager against a H'ratth Knight? And took his robes? The girl called Revan ebbed into silence. I could see the embarrassment on her face, the sense that she had done wrong- but I did not know if that equated to regret.

Kavar's jaw squared as he stared down the girl. A master's disapproval radiated from his hard expression. "You shall address me as Master Kavar. You are not to approach the H'ratth delegation again, Apprentice. Get yourself to your master, and do not enter these chambers until you have earned the rank required."

The girl bowed, a gesture both inelegant and stiff in its execution, before leaving the room. She was quick to depart, but it surprised me that she did not run.

"I'd better ensure the envoys have not been offended by an errant street kid," Kavar grumbled, before frowning, as if he regretted that careless slip. It reminded me that Kavar had been a master for about as long as I had a knight – a handful of months. For all of Kavar Kira's composed authority, he was likely still settling into his new position. "I'll see you in a fourth-day, Knight Yudan."

I nodded in acknowledgment of our next bout, and Master Kavar strode away in the direction of the inner Temple. I found myself staring back at the outer exit, where that brash, tempestuous teenager had vanished. Her strength in the Force had been noticeable, but she was strikingly old for an apprentice. More so than I had been. I doubted she would last long here- and nor did I think I would see her again.

I was proven wrong the moment I stepped out of the senior training chambers.

"Knight Yudan? Can I ask you something?"

It was difficult to stop my mouth dropping open in shock at the girl, perched high on an ornamental railing some metres beyond the chambers. This part of the Temple was open to the elements, and the winter sun glinted a warm brown in her tousled tresses. "You have been directed to your master forthwith, Apprentice," I said stiffly.

The girl grimaced again. It was becoming obvious that she struggled with authority. "Sure," she muttered, "But he didn't say straight away, right? And besides, it's 'Padawan', now." The girl called Revan grinned, an easy curve to her lips that didn't conceal the wariness in her eyes.

I blinked, and had to quash the errant desire to congratulate her. "You should have corrected Master Kavar in that case."

She snorted. "I think he was pissy enough with me already. Look, I wanted to see some real sparring, alright? I get that I broke the rules, but it's not like I actually lied to anyone-"

She halted as my expression hardened. "Deception comes in many forms, Padawan," I intoned, even as I disliked how uptight the words made me sound. "Now if you will excuse me-"

"I-" Her shoulders hitched as her eyes darkened with self-awareness. "You're right. I told myself it was okay as long as I came out with the truth if caught. It's just- it's not like I'm doing any harm, here. I just want to learn." A scowl flashed over her face, quick and fleeting as a summer storm. "Isn't that the whole point of being a Jedi? Learning?"

I had thought so, once. It was strange, seeing similarities of my earlier self, in someone so different. "What would you sacrifice for knowledge, Padawan? Your morality? Your compassion? Your soul?"

Her green eyes narrowed on me. I was abruptly uncomfortable with the realization that I was parroting one of Master Vandar's lectures. It was time to leave. I took a step to the side as she expelled a noisy sigh – one more thoughtful than irritated, I believed, even though I'd hardly had her acquaintance long enough to tell.

"Master Karon told me to seek out all knowledge," she muttered, brow creasing in thought. "I guess, maybe, I used that as a justification to do what I wanted."

"How interesting," I lied politely. My gaze shifted pointedly to the corridor behind her. "But I have somewhere to be, Padawan. Excuse me."

Even by then, I should have known that would not stop her saying her piece. I had walked a mere five metres past her when she spoke again.

"You said something to Master Kavar." Her voice dropped in pitch. "About the Force calling to you in combat. About it being a part of you."

I could not help but stop.

"I've been here for almost two months," the girl called Revan continued. "Everyone keeps telling me how strong I am, and yet I can barely feel the frelling Force. Except when I pick up a 'saber."

"I said that in Ryl," I commented, slowly turning back to face her.

"And?" She frowned, before deftly switching tongues. "(My oldest friend Jonohl was Twi'leki. What's so strange about me speaking Ryl?)"

I blinked in lieu of answering. She had a thick, drawling accent, but her fluency was undeniable.

"Oh." A flare of irritation darkened her gaze. "I heard Kavar call me a street kid. Therefore, I must know nothing, right?"

"I did not say that," I answered stiffly, even if it had been my assumption. In my experience, homeless illiterates often spoke a smattering of gutter dialects that were of no use beyond the borders of their hometown.

"I don't pretend to be educated," the girl muttered, pushing back a stray lock of hair. "Look, I'm here because I'm hoping to find someone to train me." Her jaw squared. "With the lightsaber, I mean."

I took a step back from her. "That is why you have a master, Padawan-"

"Karon's great, but we spend all our time theorizing if we're not traipsing out somewhere for some higher purpose I'm meant to understand. Stars, Karon's the one who encouraged me to see out alternative teachers. I know you're new here, and a hotshot at the 'saber besides-"

My head was shaking all the way through her impassioned invective. "Padawan, you need a master to train you-"

"No, I need a duellist to train me-"

"I am on Coruscant to hone my own skills, not teach younglings-"

"What better way to do so, than to learn through teaching?"

We were squared off against each other, her fierce gaze imploring me into an engagement I had never considered let alone desired.

"I am no teacher, Padawan," I said finally. "Nor do I wish to become one."

The girl called Revan folded her arms. "I'll make you a wager," she threw back, lifting her chin as she flat-out ignored my reservations. "Grant me thirty lessons, and I bet I can best you in the ring."

I did not bother hiding my snort of derision. "Girl, you would not last a minute before I disarmed you, thirty lessons or a hundred."

"Prove it, then."

My eyes narrowed in distaste at her fumbling attempt to manipulate. "I do not need to."

Again, I walked away. Again, she spoke after me.

"Please." The word hung in the air. Not desperate, not quite – but it was genuine and heartfelt. "I'll do what you say. I'll listen. I know you don't like me, Knight Yudan, but I just- I just want to learn. I just want to feel the Force again. Please."

...

"And that actually worked?" Revan stared at me, eyes wide with disbelief.

I let out a small sigh of capitulation. "Our backgrounds could be polar opposites, Revan, but in that moment I understood you a little. I came late to the Jedi, too, and I had my own struggles with the Force."

She blinked, wonderment warring with open curiosity. In some ways, Revan was as easy to read as she had been then. "I sound like I was a bit of a brat," she murmured, shooting me a half-grin. "I'm guessing I didn't win in thirty matches, huh?"

"Well-" I concealed my smile of amusement. "You cheated, Revan."

"I- I beat you?" The delight was sharp in her carefree snigger. "Hah! You can't hold back on those details-"

"Do you fail to comprehend the meaning of the word 'cheated', Revan?" I threw her a stern look. "You conceded the bout to me later. Of course, that may have been because I was refusing to train you any further."

"Stars, Yudan," she said slowly. "I wish I had some memory of this..."

So do I, I thought with a sharp pang. "You were a street kid, Revan. It took me time to understand that utilizing all means for victory was no more than a survival mechanism for you, just as it took you time to adjust to life amongst the Jedi. Still, I did not stay angry at you for long. You had a knack for public apologies and concessions of my superiority-"

"Right." She snorted, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. Ah, but it made me yearn for her to recollect those rather effusive demonstrations of atonement. Even in the early days, I had found it difficult to harden my heart against her. "So, cheated, huh? What, did I dare use the Force against you?"

"Try a flash grenade," I murmured, watching her just to see her eyes widen at the admission.

"What?"

"You heard me." I kept my expression impassive, but the memory brought nothing but mirth, now. "I have no idea where you located that from. Armaments such as those are not readily available in the temple. But, well, you were determined to best me."

Revan paused, before asking- "Did I ever best you? Fairly?"

I breathed in, reminding myself that I should not be surprised at the question. "A handful of times with the 'saber alone," I answered, tilting my head. "It is a different battleground when you throw active Force use into the mix."

Revan had transformed into an adept duellist- not the master I was considered to be, but some would have labelled her an ace, perhaps even an expert. Her strengths, however, spanned more than one focus. When she truly immersed herself in the Force – be it light or dark or somewhere in between – I could not hold my own against her.

There was a contemplative look furrowing her brow. "You must have trained others? Others who were with-" she broke off, air hitching in her throat. "Malak. Did you train him, too? You must have- you were his friend before- and you followed him-"

I jerked away. My shoulders stiffened, my jaw clenched, my mood plummeted. This was the minefield of the past, and I would not indulge her in traipsing down those back-alleys.

Malak had been a friend, once. After the initial years of mistrust, we eventually became close; a bond of comradeship and camaraderie that remained for a time after Malachor. Even while feuds and power-plays sprang up like bush-fires amongst our allies, Malak and I still maintained some degree of familiarity.

It had taken one incident, one moment, for that final thread to snap.

I would not think on those memories. I would not-

Despite my self-resolve, the heady shadows rose as a noose twisting tight around my heart-

...

I stared forward blankly, ignoring the flare of Force power as I tuned out the argument that raged in the room beyond.

Fleet statistics and tactical opportunities ran through my head; a litany of data that was no more than numbers on an info-pad. Figures on a game-board. Cold facts to relay to my master. Sometimes, they made her smile – a cold reflection of something that had once been beautiful.

"I am your Shadow Hand!" Malak roared, from deeper in the now-empty command room.

The dark had turned Malak hot, a flashpoint of fury that bubbled with rents of twisted ambition and possessive emotion. Revan, in contrast, only burned the rare times she chose to show her anger. Otherwise she was cold. As cold as space, and just as far-reaching.

"I am your lover, your second!" Malak towered over Revan. The Force choked in his unsteady grasp. "You cannot risk my men – me! – so callously, not without divulging your plans! I have a right to know your next move!"

He did not often challenge her, but the place cleared out when he did. And Malak was growing more unstable these days.

I wondered if my master noticed. I wondered if she realized it was slowly happening to her, too. Talvon Esan was no more than an accelerated snapshot of what we all faced.

I barely heard of the sharp crackle of lightning as it streamed across the far side of the command center. White sparks danced along the periphery of my vision, but I did not look. Revan knew I was here. She would address me when ready. I was long since accustomed to the dance my master and her apprentice engaged in. In many ways, it was more palatable now than when we had all been Jedi.

"You do not." Her command was dark and implacable. Revan stood over the crumpled form of her apprentice, arcs of white pain dying out against her fingertips. "We are but cogs in a machine, Malak. And everyone is replaceable on our journey."

"I am not," Malak gasped. His yellow eyes, damned as the lot of us, stared defiantly up at her, but his crumpled form acceded surrender. "You are not!"

I shifted, staring away from the spectacle that raged on the Force as much as in their hearts. I followed Revan, and by extension Malak, but sometimes I wondered how much of that was merely due to habit. A pattern of behaviour that had once had meaning.

"Then you truly do not understand."

She left Malak there, collapsed on the ground, and turned her back on him. As if she sensed his resistance was spent for now. The sound of her footsteps drew close. My gaze snapped to her, a spectre of shadows, midnight robes wafting in her wake, a darkly beautiful figure of monochrome death and breath-taking power.

I would not think on the golden icon of light she had once been.

Revan paused in front of me, a hand lifting to remove the mask that had once been other than a piece of a Sith Lord's ensemble. Her obsidian gaze, pitch-black and starless, appraised me coolly. "Everyone is replaceable," she told Malak, but she was staring at me. Her head cocked, and she took a step closer. "That is your next lesson, my apprentice."

I thought she could not surprise me anymore. I thought I had seen the worst already.

I was wrong.

In one swift movement, Revan slid a gloved hand behind my head, and her cold lips crashed against mine.

My mouth parted in shock. Instant passion scorched to life. I thought I could feel nothing anymore- but I was wrong, so wrong, and those lips moved so sweetly against my own, hot and demanding and undeniable- her hand drifted to the base of my neck, that sensitive spot right between my lekku-

With a wrench I stumbled back from her, blazing lust warring with pride, both of which shot all rational thought straight to some nether-hell I could not reach. My fists clenched and shook, and it was so hard not to raise them, to reach forward and tear that gods-damned robe from her body, show her what it meant to play with fire, lose myself in a way I had long since taught myself not to think of-

Revan was staring at me curiously. With a start, I realized I was spilling everything out onto the Force. My respirations fast and loud, my heartbeat thundering with want, my desire shouting out through my own signature loud enough that any Force-sensitive onboard her flagship would notice.

And Revan, once blind as a shyrack bat, was eyeing me over in unconcealed interest.

"I will hear your report in two hours, Yudan." Her mouth moved, but I could barely comprehend the words. Her head cocked, before her face smoothed into pale impassivity, and she stepped away. Gliding fluidly past, a figure of unconcerned damnation, while the Force rocked wildly in my shaking grasp. I didn't turn to watch her go, still frozen in lust and shock, my gaze skittering further afield.

Malak was clambering to his feet.

"Everyone is replaceable." Revan repeated the phrase, cool and collected, as a hatch groaned open behind me with a pneumatic hiss. "Any means to get the job done, Malak. Remember that, and toe the line."

She stepped through and the exit thudded shut, with Malak staring at her wake. The look on his marked face...

...I had not seen that before, not directed at Revan. Not such a raw, naked hatred.

Slowly, Malak's head turned. His gaze met mine. And, tightening around my soul, the first stirrings of fear dawned. I stood immobile, as the fear grew, slicing through all primal emotion as I watched him watch me. I had to swallow, then, at just how deeply I had been used to drive home a point. Nothing was sacred amongst the Sith. Not honour, not friendship, not even a loyalty that spanned more than a decade.

The impassioned acrimony in Malak's damned eyes was hardening into something more soulless. It wasn't aimed at me, for all that I stood directly in Malak's path. I was but the spectator, the third party, the pawn.

Still, Malak said nothing.

She won't do that again. I couldn't bring myself to say the words, not even for him. And if she does, I won't- I won't- But I couldn't bring myself to finish the lie, not even in the sanctuary of my own head. All I could see was that intrigued speculation on Revan's face, as she looked at me in a way she had never done before.

Malak may not have seen that, but he had seen enough. I was conquered with inertia as seconds stretched into minutes and we both remained still and silent as statues. Survival instinct on my part, maybe. My gut told me the slightest twitch would break Malak from the shackles of inaction. I could face many, but not Malak Devari- and he knew it.

With a final narrowing of the eyes, Malak strode forward. Artificial lighting gleamed against the pale curve of his head where it wasn't inked black. With each step, the Force gained momentum in his grasp, the temperature dropped, and the air become hard to breathe.

He stood opposite me, poisoned yellow eyes demanding silence and submission, as a palpable vortex of power whipped to life around him.

"This did not happen," he whispered, as soft as a caress, as hard as a threat.

I bowed my head, and remained there for some time after he left.

...

Malak departed the Nexus that day.

I was sent away to front the Rodian Corridor two weeks later.

The blip of time in between I would not think about. Just as Malak said, it didn't happen-

"Yudan?"

Incandescent madness- but if no one acknowledged it then it did not happen. I threw myself into battle and vowed I would not return, I would not be used as a dejarik piece between them-

The point was moot, for it was not long afterward when the news broke: Arran Da'klor's fantastical failure; Malak's subsequent disfigurement; Revan's death. Deralia.

Malak rose to power, and I knelt to him in dead, frozen supplication.

Whether he suspected anything further had happened – whether he even cared, at that stage – I still did not know. Darth Revan's lesson in her command room was not the reason for Malak's betrayal, no. That had been inevitable, to anyone watching from the sidelines. No, but perhaps it had been the final tipping point.

"Yudan? You didn't answer?"

Sometimes I damned her for not knowing, not remembering, for surely thinking me nothing but a failure from her past, while her slate of misconduct was painted over with forgetfulness.

Sometimes, I burned with the urge to remind her.

"Okay." She sighed, a soft sound of capitulation. "We won't talk about Malak. I- I'll leave it alone."

The grace of a friend, backing away, when surely she had all the questions in the galaxy.

Most of the time, I knew it was better to do what I told her earlier: keep the past where it belonged. Revan struggled with enough... and I had, truly, forgiven her for everything- even if the memories sometimes made that difficult.

My attention was caught by the movement of her palm, rubbing idly over the communicator affixed to her other wrist.

"We should head back," I murmured, staring at her long fingers. Two of them, and a thumb. Her maimed hand.

"I told Carth where I was going," Revan said, her voice softening. "He'll ping me when it's time."

I refused to feel guilty, as I wrenched my gaze away from the knobbing of pink scar tissue where two little fingers had once been. I would not feel guilty. Sometimes, I was still surprised we had both come out alive from that encounter. But it did pose an interesting question-

"The Shadowlands," I said abruptly. "How did you escape Bandon's disruptor?"

"I might leave that one a secret, Yudan," Revan said lazily, her eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth. I wondered if she'd noticed my gaze. I wondered if she resented me for the injury... and damned myself for caring.

My eyes narrowed. Neural inhibitors – far more common than kaiburr-based disruptors – could be overcome by a strength of Force-will. Null-Force fields based on Fett technology submerged the fabric of the Force itself, but could be counteracted with an amplifier. But a neural disruptor... as far as I knew, there was no way to overpower one once it was cinched around one's neck.

Yet, in the depths of the Shadowlands, I'd felt Revan's Force-strength dawn out of nowhere to disable the restraints on her limbs, and yank my lightsaber to her grasp.

The restraints... I felt her short those out... but not the collar. "The neural disruptor was already defunct," I realized slowly. "Before Bandon even clasped it around your throat."

Revan's smile widened, but she said nothing.

But her Force signature had vanished the moment Bandon- "You were hiding. Much the same as that Dustil boy. You've learned his tricks."

The smile turned to a full-blown grin, then. "Well, one of them. I reckon I can get the other one with enough practice."

"That boy needs a proper master," I said, dragging my gaze away from her carefree grin. I had once admired Revan's ability to find joy in the darkness, before her darkness submerged every vestige of light. It was almost painful to see that old trait once again present in her character.

"I don't see him voluntarily going to the Order. Guess he's stuck with old man Bindo." She shifted, one hand running through her hair, before abruptly shifting topics. "Do you... do you think the Order will protect you? If you go back to Vandar?"

"From justice, you mean?" I clarified, and received a short, sharp nod in response. "They shouldn't, you know. But history tells me they will shelter those that truly repent, no matter their crimes." I sighed. "I do not know if I fall under this umbrella, Revan. The Jedi way… there are facets with it I no longer agree with. This was true before... before I fell. It will always be true, I believe."

"I…" Her quiet voice dropped. "It's the same for me."

The acknowledgment hung in the air between us like a primed thermal detonator.

She reminded me strongly of the Jedi I had known on Coruscant. Not the padawan I had first met, no… perhaps the knight, seasoned but still shining with optimism and righteous conviction, as she stormed fecklessly to the Mandalorian frontlines. Back then, Revan had struggled with certain parts of the Jedi ethos. She had not accepted their limitations on attachment. Nor had she agreed with their policy of non-interference outside of the Order's walls.

But she had been a paragon of the light.

I had changed from the Jedi I had been; I was hardened, scarred and shadowed with all of my misdeeds. It was almost absurd that Revan, in contrast, appeared to have turned full-circle back to her past self.

She is not the knight she once was, I reminded myself fiercely. But, perhaps, she is a close enough match that the flaws do not matter.

I blinked back emotion, looking away from her again. "The Republic will judge you on your past actions, Revan. But the Order will judge you for who you are now." I paused. "They will offer you a safe harbour if they can."

"I'm not sure I want it," she said softly, and turned to gaze once more across the endless Rakatan ocean.

"Neither am I," I whispered.

A chime sounded from her wrist; the noise discordant and harsh against the soft tones of our conversation. Revan's dark hair bowed over the communicator.

"It's time," she murmured. "It's time to go."

Our eyes met once more, before we turned in unison and began the walk back.

Away from the shoreline, both wrapped in our own thoughts, as a quiet introspection settled over us and stifled any further conversation. As we crested over a nearby dune, I threw one last glance at the brightening horizon.

The first touch of a sun breached it, casting a weak ray that shimmered over the shadowy ocean. Light dawning after an endless winter of darkness.

Like hope, pure and intangible and seemingly out of reach, yet touching our souls regardless.

xXx

Author's Note:
Coming up next: Vrook Lamar discovers that even the overly cautious can be tempted into recklessness.

An anniversary spice-cake's worth of thanks to kosiah for the beta (minus the beheadings, of course).