What do you wish to hear? That I once believed in the code of the Jedi? That I felt the call of the Sith, that perhaps, once, I held the galaxy by its throat? That for every good work that I did, I brought equal harm upon the galaxy? That perhaps what the greatest of the Sith Lords knew of evil, they learned from me?

The room Kreia stands in, once a throne room for ancient masters, is very ostentatious. It is odd that neither of the other Dark Lords ever made this place his own. Certainly Revan would not have cared for it.

Nihilus and Sion are dead now. The greater learner has slain them both, and now she prepares herself to face the Sith ringmaster. Darth Traya. It will not be much of a battle. The Lords of Pain and Hunger were far grander adversaries.

The betrayer. 'Traya' was not a particularly subtle choice of name, but then, Kreia had never been creative. And it was fitting enough; the Sith had always been bluntly powerful, with a few notable exceptions. She flatters herself she may be remembered as one of these, if nothing else.

Beginning as a helpless child forced into greatness, as all Jedi do, Kreia had gone on to become a gifted student and a successful, if solitary, warrior. She then became a keeper of knowledge, and finally a teacher. When her most famous pupil came to her, everything changed. She was abandoned by him and betrayed by the Council. She followed him to the dark side and then back from it, when her new apprentices betrayed her again. Since then her path has taken her back here, but with a good purpose. Her own.

Her new apprentice, her second greatest, does not use her real name unless she has to. She is simply 'the exile'. 'The Jedi exile' to those unfamiliar with her. Darth Traya would prefer not to use the nickname, but it would be hypocritical of her. A short distance beyond the door to this room, her presence is obvious, screaming its nothingness. And there is a sadness Kreia is not used to.

Of course, this place marks the beginning of her fall, along with so many other great deaths. This place saw the fall of the Jedi heroes, the opening of all Force wounds. The activation of the Mass Shadow Generator which haunts the girl so. All the Ebon Hawk's sad stories begin here. Not in this silly room, however.

Sion died without his pain. Interesting, if a waste of the Exile's energy. Nihilus had simply died. Perhaps his wound was beyond her healing efforts.

Now that the screaming of Sion and his followers is finished, she focuses instead on the thoughts of the Exile's crew. They are strewn about and panicked, but all with steely determination to reach their leader. Mostly they are alone.

Atton… is close by, suddenly visible to her. Dying. Ah… now she understands what she saw earlier. It was he who Sion had been trying to break. Good.

And Kreia sees the Exile's sadness in a new light. It is simply a broken personal attachment. They are together for now, as their awkward romantic entanglement finally comes to its unsatisfying end.

There is great shame in Atton, as usual, but now it is not hidden. She is calming it very quickly. Always was ugly… Kreia hears. Now the outside matches. Quite.

Was s'posed to save you. Oh? And then a response she can't make out. I don't want you to see me like this!

And for perhaps the first time, Kreia feels some empathy with the wretch. She stands in a grand hall carved from a cave, dressed in old Jedi robes she dyed black herself. Blackened eyes. Imposing statues carved like claws appear to close around her. She would have preferred not to appear in this guise. Not at this moment. Not to face the Exile.

I don't wanna… die in front of you!

Indeed.

And Sion had been thinking something similar in his last moments. The huntress, too, as she fought the animal.

There is a new emotion ruling the wasteland of Malachor now. This is not pain or anger or sorrow, but a subtler, softer thing. A fear. Fear of… disappointment. The Exile commands extraordinary respect, whether she means to or not, in her strange set of disciples. Now they race to help her, terrified to be apart from her influence. Wanting to be there at the end of their adventure. Wanting it to be tremendous. To impress her.

This is a mood of the Force that Kreia has never known to be so concentrated. She smiles as the emotion seeps across the landscape.

Hurts… when I laugh.

Without any particular purpose or plan, the lost Jedi students followed their master here. And she, in turn, followed Kreia. She who, it was foolish to deny it, had come because of her own apprentice.

The apprentice who had changed her. The one who she had taught to be a bold protector, who had become the greatest tactician and most powerful Force-wielder of his generation, or any in memory. A man who had saved the galaxy before bringing it to its knees. Who had been interrupted at a crucial moment, taken mere weeks to regain his strength, and then left. Following no-one.

The apprentice who became the master.

In her own way, Kreia had been hoping that this planet would allow her to see Revan once more. Sadly, she cannot, though her solitude in this room has granted her some vision of possible futures.

Taking a silent, deep breath, Kreia uses the dark power of Malachor against its will, to glance serenely ahead. At the future, as best it can be seen.

In a moment, she sees falls and new beginnings, invasions and heroes, Jedi knights and warlords. Always wars. She notes the resilience of Revan's Sith and the slow death of the Mandalorians and Republic both. Now that the huntress has slain her prey, snatches of her life are visible as well. Curious. But there is nothing for Atton now but silence.

The Exile's future is still in motion, and even then it seems unclear. Kreia can only determine a perplexing vision of the Ebon Hawk leaving this place. It flits out from the deepest caverns of the planet and drifts away into space, its heading unknown. Who, she wonders, is piloting it?

Kreia ponders the meaning of this, for a moment.

Nothing. A pity.