Author's Notes: Okay, here it is! The epilogue and final segment of the story. It's real short, so I figured there wasn't much point in waiting. Also warning: it's a bit cheesy, but I wanted to do that because the previous three chapters were so depressing.

Anyway, thank you so much, all of you, for reading and reviewing this giant beast. I couldn't have done it without you. It's been fun, and I hope you enjoy the end now as much as I did writing it. I'll be sure and post a longer "thank you" in an addendum later on. But for now…enjoy!

Epilogue

Three weeks passed since Mandalore and his armada rescued the Republic from the brink of destruction. The Sith fleet had stood no chance. The destruction of the Aegis, coupled with the surprise attack of the Mandalorians, resulted in their utter annihilation. Their ships, without the magic of the Dark Side shielding them, were surprisingly easy to destroy. On the ground, the Mandalorian Basilisks had unleashed hell upon the confused and panicked Sith land forces, and they routed them quite spectacularly.

As the Sith had fled and ran every direction, many went into hiding. Mandalore organized a massive scouring of the planet's surface—with teams of his soldiers combing through the wreckage to find and eliminate the pockets of Sith that had survived the battle.

The scene was an unprecedented one, as just ten years prior the Mandalorians had been the most feared enemies of the Republic. Now they were the very epitome of safety. Citizens, still rattled and scared from the chaotic battle, felt safer when the Mandalorians were around. They symbolized the strength required to go on and keep fighting. To stand up and rebuild.

HK allied himself with Mandalore—who, the droid had confessed, had always been his favorite of the meatbags he had traveled with. The two of them led the scourging effort.

Although the battle had ended, the wounds were still raw—fresh. Millions had perished in the siege. Thousands upon thousands of square miles of damage had been done to the surface of Coruscant. Entire districts had been leveled. The Senate had been shredded, though most of it still remained. The Jedi Temple itself was barely standing, as the foundation had been ripped out when the Sith tunneled underneath it. Though the physical damage was staggering, the loss of life was the most devastating. No one went untouched. Everyone knew someone who had perished.

Caius and the Jedi were not alone in their grief for the dead.

Grandmaster Valiens Nantaris stood on top of the mangled heap of wreckage that was once the main staircase that had led to the entrance of the Jedi Temple. The streets in front of him, where the bulk of the carnage had taken place during the siege of the Temple, had been cleared away by droids and all kinds of machinery. The ongoing healing process had been stalled for this day.

In front of him was a massive caravan of people. Humans and aliens, men and women, friends and foes, senators and peasants, soldiers and citizens, all crowded the street as they embarked on the most spectacular funeral procession anyone had ever seen. They stretched on by the thousands, filling up the street further than Nantaris could see. He did not join them as they passed by the Temple, only watched from his perch. His place was the Temple. It was a part of him, and he determined to represent it to those who walked by.

Most of the people in the march carried a small banner with them—the Republic standard. The symbol flapped on a red flag in the wind, tied to the little poles carried by the throngs. The banners represented the men and women lost in the battle. The causalities were too astronomical to calculate, so almost everyone held one. It was a final gesture, the least they could do.

Admiral Carth Onasi was standing a few feet in front of the Grandmaster, off by himself. He had been quiet since the battle ended. He had not spoken to anyone. The news of Bastila and Revan's deaths hit him especially hard. When Nantaris had to tell him, the man responded with a stare—but the Jedi could see the terrible pain in him. His eyes looked to water, but he did not cry. Carth Onasi never cried. He had not shed a tear for anyone since his wife died. But never had he come so close as then. He had not spoken a word to anyone save for Dustil since.

Dustil himself had survived the battle, and he received a medal for his wound. It had not been the most terrible of injuries, and by the time the procession began, he could walk again. He insisted on joining the parade, and he carried a special banner with him. The standard bore the Jedi insignia. He colored it green and said that he wanted to carry it for Xristos. Carth had no objections.

Special banners floated past them for the leaders. Two were for Dodonna and Ostyl—both of them having been slain in the apocalypse.

Mandalore was a few feet in front of Nantaris. The gruff and hardened man had wanted to watch the procession—he had wanted to pay his respects to Revan, whom he considered the greatest man he'd ever known. He watched the parade in stoic silence. He gripped his helmet underneath his arm silently, allowing the sunlight to touch his bearded face for the first time in ages, and held the pose throughout the duration of the parade.

Caius strode up next to Nantaris and stopped to his left, keeping quiet. Atton and Mira were there too, a little farther off to the left. These four—along with Dustil—were the only Jedi that remained. In the entire galaxy—this was it. They would have to rebuild from five people. It was a monumental restoration project, but that was far from their minds at the time.

Allie stayed away from the procession. She wanted to go, but she had said that it was just too sad. She didn't want to cry in public. She stayed out sight. Caius did not know where she was at the time—probably with T3 as the two of them had signed up to help repair anything that needed to be repaired.

They all watched as Mission and Zaalbar passed in front of them—the huge wookiee impossible to miss in a crowd. His tribe had suffered terribly in the battle, almost all of them getting killed. But they went to their deaths willingly, knowing that they were dying for Revan—the man who had saved them from slavery on their home planet.

The procession continued for a long time. They all watched in silence. Eventually, an ornamented section came towards them. The crowd—decorated soldiers from the battle and wars past moving in a circle around the main spectacle—suspended two large rectangular boxes off of the ground. They were coffins.

They were for Revan and Bastila—the man and woman who had killed Ardashir and saved the Republic.

The honor of victory belonged to them, and everyone knew it. Their sacrifice was the only thing that had kept the nation alive. Caius had refused to take any credit. He stubbornly insisted that he did not do anything of merit. The honor belonged to them and them alone.

The crowd was quiet as the coffins proceeded past them. Six soldiers carried Revan's coffin, three on each side. Bastila's was carried by five soldiers and the stoic figure of Elliott Gallenti. He supported one of the corners on the back. He had insisted that he be a part. He said he wanted to show his respect for her.

As the march continued, onlookers tossed small colored papers and flowers down onto the procession.

Nantaris soaked in the scene. His grief was tremendous, he felt so helpless—he wished that he could have done something—anything—to prevent this. But he knew that it was a foolish hope.

He looked to Caius as the coffins marched past and broke the silence. "The Republic will forever be indebted to them for what they did."

Caius just nodded.

Nantaris looked back towards the crowd, but then asked hesitantly, "Were they…lovers?"

"Huh?" Caius grunted, shaking out of his melancholy stupor.

Nantaris glanced towards him, but did not restate the question.

Caius looked away and thought about the consequences of the truth. He then answered quietly, "Yes. They were."

Nantaris closed his green eyes and looked back away. He said, "I could see it in them. They struggled so mightily…" a pause, "So—it was love?"

Caius just whispered so no one else would hear, even though the two men were standing side-by-side. "But that they never got to be together…it is so…sad."

Nantaris mused to himself. He said quietly, "Fate may have conspired to keep them apart in life. But history will forever treat them as a couple. Tales will be told, millennia from now, about Bastila and Revan. The two Jedi who saved the galaxy. They will be inseparable."

"I think," said Caius, "they would have traded it for anonymous happiness."

"You are right, lad," replied Nantaris, "but that is the price we pay." He gestured towards the continuing procession. "We have to be willing to do whatever is necessary. Whatever the cost—we have to meet it, match it, surpass it. We have to be dedicated to our art without reservation."

Caius watched as the two coffins began to move away, no longer in front of them.

"The only thing, I believe," continued the Grandmaster, "in this universe that is comparable to our dedication…is that of a child. A child trying to please his father. A little boy will do anything to know that his father is pleased with him—he'll do whatever it takes. That is out lot. That is the weight of glory."

He took a deep breath as the solemn spectacle passed out of sight, hidden by the crowd. "And Bastila and Revan shouldered it for us."

Another couple of weeks flittered by after the dramatic parade. The Jedi had moved back into the Temple—fractured though it was—and began the recuperation process.

Caius was preparing his belongings, but he stopped for a moment to look out the window. He saw the sun setting, casting a brilliant orange glow from the horizon. The fires had finally ceased and he could see the sky clearly. The roads were cleaner, and the buildings were being spruced up nicely.

We'll make it all right, he thought to himself.

He turned around and saw that Atton was standing in his open doorway. He knocked on the door somewhat respectfully and then came in.

"So," he began, "you're going with Carth on this wild goose chase?"

"It's not a goose chase—we're going back into the Unknown Regions to purge the Sith. Their fleet is gone, but they still hold most of the planets out there. We're going in to clean it up."

Atton nodded, said, "Yeah, yeah—I know. HK's practically blown a circuit he's so excited. Still, all those Mandalorians give me the willies."

Caius shrugged, said, "Yeah—well, it's Mandalore's mission. He wants to go on the offensive. I don't think it'll be much of an offensive, but he won't listen."

There was a brief pause. Caius then suggested, "Why don't you come with us?"

Atton shook his head, "Hell no—I told you once, I told you a thousand times—I'm not going into the Unknown Regions." He grimaced even saying the words. "Besides," he continued, "we can't leave Nantaris here by himself."

Caius agreed, then said, "It'll be different out there without the Hawk."

"What are you going to do with her?" asked Atton.

"I tried to give her to Elliott—but he wouldn't take her."

Under any other circumstances, this would have been insane. The Hawk was one of the best ships in the Republic. But none of the crew wanted to go near her—despite all she had gotten them through. It was too emotionally involving. Whenever Caius even thought about the Hawk, all the images flooded back to him. He saw Xristos standing there smiling and calmly explaining some theoretical idea to him. He saw Bastila meditating. He heard the sound of her irritated voice whenever Elliott teased her. He missed them so terribly—and he did not think he could even look at the Hawk again without breaking down. So he decided it would be best to move on.

"She's the best ship I've ever flown—I'm sure someone will want her."

Caius nodded. Seconds later, Mira strode through the door and greeted them.

"Caius," she said angrily, "I have no idea in hell where you are for months, then you come back in time for that horrible battle, and now you're leaving again." She frowned somewhat disingenuously and said, "You just don't hold still, do you?"

She then let her hands slide off of her hips and she held them outwards. He thought she wanted to hug him, and so hesitantly moved forward before she slapped him on the top of the head. "No hugs," she said accusingly, "you girl."

"Sorry, sir," Caius responded.

"Well," began Atton, "we'll let you go. You must have to get going. Dustil was here a few minutes ago and he said Carth was getting impatient."

"Yeah," said Caius, "I just got to do one thing."

Atton held out his hand for Caius to shake. He said, "Take care, buddy."

"You don't have to worry now. Nothing's gonna happen out there. The bad part's over."

Atton nodded and turned to leave. Mira waved at him playfully and then followed out the other Jedi. Caius smirked to himself and then turned around. For a second he thought about finishing packing, but then decided to go check on Allie. She had come up into the Temple the day before to repair something and stayed in an adjacent room as she was heading out on their excursion back into the Unknown Regions with them that day.

Caius exited his room and turned the nearby corner to find her room. The door was open so he walked in without knocking. Allie was standing on the floor, bent over her bed and folding some things. Her suitcase was open.

The Exile strode closer and then she jumped upwards, said, "Hi, Caius. I didn't hear you."

"You all ready?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said happily, "almost." She moved over to put something into the suitcase. As she leaned over it, Caius saw a familiar red floral design inside—folded neatly and sitting on top. He suddenly remembered that picture from Scythia.

"The dress," he said longingly, "you kept it."

She closed the suitcase and looked at him with a smile, said, "Well—you know. I figured I'd keep it since we're going back there and all…and everyone liked it so much."

Yeah, I like it, he thought to himself. "I hope they'll be glad to see us," responded Caius. "I had to raise hell to convince Mandalore not to bomb the planet. They'll stay away from them. We can just go in with a few people and clear out the Sith and free them."

Allie seemed excited, said, "I can't wait to see that place again."

"Me too."

"Well," said the mechanic, "are you ready then? We should go."

"Hold on," he answered, "let me get my stuff."

"Okay."

The Exile turned and left the room, scurrying back to his own. He hurried over to his bag and stuffed the last of his things in it, not bothering to fold them. He picked it up and slung it over his shoulder, but when he turned around he experienced a strange sensation.

There was a presence in the room. More than one. He could feel them. It was familiar, but faint—like something on the threshold of hearing.

He did not hear anything, but internally a voice suddenly danced through his head. It was an old man's voice, deep like the earth and affectionate like a grandfather. It was intimately familiar to him. "You did it," it said, "we're all proud."

Caius spun around, trying to discern where the noise was coming from. As he turned, he saw something. It was on his peripheral, but he knew what it was. He tried to face it, but it turned and distorted in front of him. It was immaterial. It was not there. But then…it was there.

The Exile then had an epiphany. He reached out through the Force to see what it was. He was cast into the strangely foggy and mysterious world of the void. In front of him, though, were the two of them.

He had his right arm around her shoulder, and her hand was on his right side. They didn't make any noise, but they appeared to be laughing together. The man was smiling through his amusement. The woman's braided brown hair and funny little pigtails behind her ears bounced as she laughed, unable to keep her head still as she reveled in their glee. They were enjoying themselves. Pure joy was radiating through them—a kind of ecstatic rapture that Caius had never seen. They looked at him happily, as though they wanted to tell him something. But he knew there was nothing to say. They had already said it. They had peace. And it gave him peace.

Right then he knew what he was seeing. He had been blessed beyond the scope of any man in history. He saw something that few if any would ever see. He saw something that most did not believe even existed or would ever exist. He saw true happiness. Pure, joyful happiness.

"Are you ready?" asked a sweet, but very physical voice from behind him.

As soon as it had appeared, the spectral vision vanished—shattered by the woman behind him. Caius turned around to see Allie standing there.

He had a smile on his face now, too. He said, "I am." He steadied his bag and then walked towards the door.

Allie stepped out before him and turned to wait. He exited the door and turned around, allowing one final glance around the room. He soaked it all in. He looked at every nook and every cranny in an instant—trying to get another glimpse at the heaven he had witnessed.

But it was gone.

He turned back to face Allie. In light of what he had just seen, he felt like he had gained a new perspective. On what, he was unsure. But inwardly—he felt more wholesome and complete. He let his eyes linger on her. She is so beautiful, he thought to himself. He found it hard to believe they had come all this way, and she had been there the whole time. She was the same person she had been when she joined them, but she did not seem it. She had changed right in front of him. She somehow had morphed into beauty and had borne witness to it. She noticed him staring and raised her left eyebrow, her light brown eyes seemingly giggling at him.

He put his hand on her shoulder and said, "We'll have to take a rain check on that dinner. Unless…of course, you like the Hasan cuisine."

She thought for a second and then nodded her head ever so slightly, said, "I think I'd like that."

He turned and began to shut the door. Just through the crack he caught a glimpse of the outside. He beheld Coruscant again as it was rebuilding.

In this moment, everything was okay. Everything was good.

"Let's go, Allie," he said.

He then shut the door.

The End