Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars; this is merely a fanfiction.
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"It is said that the Force has a will, has a destiny for us all. I wield it, but it uses us all and that is abhorrent to me."
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"Because I hate the Force. I hate that it seems to have a will, that it would use us to achieve a measure of balance, while countless lives are lost …"
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"Why … have you returned?" Darth Sion struggled in the invisible grip that held his throat like iron. His mutilated hand grasped at invisible fingers tightening like a vice.
Kreia managed a small smile under her hood. It was small and invisible, yet satisfaction ran through her. Even with all his strength, all the power of Malachor running through him – Darth Sion's strength was meaningless.
It was all meaningless.
"Because now I understand why the Exile did what she did. There is much to be done …"
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Kreia slowly walked the pathway of stone over the abyss of the planet's core – the very heart of Malachor, the heart of the Trayus Academy. That was her name, once, long ago … she had forsaken it, as she had once forsaken her real name … what was it again? Oh, it was irrelevant. Like Revan, she would be true to herself, no matter what mask she wore.
But for all intents and purposes, there must always be a Darth Traya – one who has been betrayed in her heart and who would betray others in return. The galaxy would need its betrayers – especially in the times to come. She had bestowed the title upon Atris – temporarily – in over to reveal her true heart to the Exile. To reveal the true rot at the core of Atris' soul. But now – with Atris defeated – the legacy of Darth Traya would have to live on in her.
Once again, Kreia would wear the mask of Sith Lord … as Revan did, all those years ago. A final threat – a final foe for the Exile to confront for her training to be complete. She would need to come to this place, to confront her past and put it all behind her – the past that shackled the Exile still. It would have to be defeated once and for all.
For the Exile had known – all along, she always knew – where the Sith were striking from. But Meetra Surik had tried to hide from it, to flee – but now there was no more fleeing. She would have to confront Malachor, have to confront the atrocities committed here if she were to complete her training. If she were to be prepared to follow her destiny … to follow Revan.
And for that … she would need the appropriate … bait.
Yes … Darth Traya was the perfect hook to reel her in. The mad Dark Lady of the Sith, intent on destroying the Force once and for all, and the added threat of ending her life through their bond … the Exile would come. She had foreseen it.
Kreia finally reached the center of the core. She knelt down in a meditative seat, legs crossed, her black hood drawn deeply over her face. As she came to the denouement of all her carefully laid plans, all of her manipulations … there was still no satisfaction.
It wasn't truly the destruction of the Force that she craved … but to show the galaxy how to turn away from it. To turn away from any power that is not your own. To be willing to betray all sense of strength, loyalty to a cause, to betray anything that held life back … to show the galaxy of the necessity of betraying even belief – the one thing that shackled them all. It wasn't truly the Force that controlled the galaxy … it was organic-made codes. The Jedi Code. The Sith Code.
The beast of Nar Shaddaa was a prime example. He wore his slave shackles – fitting symbols for him. For even with his great strength, he was powerless before the Wookie life debt. True strength would have been for him to turn away from that life debt, to turn from that which weakened him no matter how near and dear it was to him.
That was the weakness of my 'apprentices', she mused. Darth Sion, Lord of Pain. Yet with all his strength, he was reliant on the Force to keep him alive. And Darth Nihilus, the Lord of Hunger – the power to cleanse a galaxy of life, yet the hunger controlled him, not the other way around. As powerful as they were, they were nothing in the face of the Force they simply could not let go of.
And that was why the Exile was beautiful to her. Because where her other apprentices had failed, where the Jedi Order had failed – the Exile had succeeded in turning away from the Force. In giving up power that was not her own.
Yes, the Exile pleased Kreia, far more that she could ever know …
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A sudden tremor in the Force. The Ebon Hawk had crashed. The Exile was here.
Kreia managed a small smile yet again. Here she was, preaching against reliance on the Force, and yet she was relying on it even now to let her know that her star pupil had arrived. Yes, Kreia herself had become dependent on the Force … but her student … ah, her student would not be so. She worked tirelessly to remake the Exile over in her image, to make her the mouthpiece and example through which her teachings could be transmuted to the galaxy.
That was her true goal, and that was her final victory.
She would die, she knew – at her student's hand. But in killing her, the Exile would secure her victory once and for all. She would prove Kreia's teachings right. Where the Jedi and Sith had both exiled her for bringing them this truth – the Exile would be the prophet that would bring her truth to the entire galaxy. Kreia would simply be the martyr of this truth.
Her ruminations were suddenly disturbed. Lord Sion appeared behind her, unsure, his fist clenched around his deactivated lightsaber. "Master she is here."
"I know."
"What is thy bidding, my Master?"
"You are to do nothing. When she arrives, bring her before me."
"She may not survive Malachor."
Oh, she'll survive. She has already survived where you could not. But Kreia also sensed something else in her former Sith pupil. "So touching. Can it be you still have feelings within that shell?"
"Master … what will you do to her?"
"You know what I shall do. You, who wear my teachings so well. I will 'break' her. She is a blank slate upon which my teachings may be written – as you well know."
Sion felt his anger rise … yet did nothing. So powerless … and he knew it now.
Kreia turned away from him and knelt down again. "Leave me. Await the arrive of the Exile. When she comes, bring her before me."
Sion bowed low. "As you wish."
And Kreia was alone again.
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What does one think about when they realize twilight is upon them? Her death was moments away, she knew. Its icy fingers were already upon her shoulder, its cold breath on the nape of her neck. The long, ice-steel fingers ran down her spine, caressing her lovingly.
She reveled in it.
Her death would be her final victory.
Her mind did wander back across her life. They say it flashes before you. As her victory was now in reach, she reflected back on the path that led her here … all her defeats. All the triumphs that she thought she had won … and which had become naught but sand in her hands.
And yet … she realized she had always been the Queen of Betrayal. Darth Traya had always existed in her heart, before she had awoken, before she had known herself.
It was that had caused her surrender herself fully to an Echani Warrior, to cause her to betray her beliefs, betray the Jedi Code. She remembered that night of passion fondly, her first and only moment where was truly happy and one with the universe in the embrace of the man she loved.
It was Darth Traya that caused her to betray her daughter, to betray the one who wore her face, to give her to Atris. To turn her into a slave of a code … the very thing she detested most.
And it was Darth Traya that had once again caused her to betray the Jedi, to fight in the Mandalorian Wars … to see the destruction at Malachor, to feel the echoes spread outward as countless Mandalorians and Jedi were crushed in the planet's gravity.
She was the Queen of Betrayals. Always. And the echoes of that betrayal spread to her students … spread to Revan.
She lifted her head as she felt a presence in the Force. Though blind, the image in her mind's eye was clear. A figure in a helmet and cape materialized behind her.
"And so after all this time you have returned to me again," she whispered quietly.
Darth Revan folded his arms behind her. It wasn't truly him, she knew. It was the echoes of Malachor. Yet here, in these final moments, there was nobody she would rather have with her to strengthen her for what was to come.
"You have heeded my teachings," she spoke again. "You are no longer either Revan or a soldier of the Republic. You … are simply you. No matter what masks you wear. I have perfected you as I will soon perfect her. She will join you, in the battle against the True Sith, in the dark corners of the galaxy. I have foreseen it."
A pulse emanated from the ghostly form of Revan. Words – inaudible to anyone but Kreia – formulated in her mind.
"Yes," she chuckled. "I would rather that she choose her own path. I have arranged it all so that she chooses most freely – not influenced by the Force, not influenced by emotion – but by her own sheer will. She will choose without regret. And together, you will both face the True Sith. I have armed you both as best I could. Where the Sith cannot let go of the Force, cannot let go of the ideologies that have gripped them like iron … I have freed both your minds. That is the only means by which you may triumph against them. The two of you … whom the Jedi would call my greatest failures … you are my greatest successes."
More inaudible words from the specter projected from her own heart.
"Any regrets? None – save one." She paused. "That I was not able to free myself sooner … that I was not able to free you sooner. Free you from the Code, from the Jedi, from the Sith. I ask you now, Revan, wherever you are, whatever paths you walk in, that you simply do nothing … but be you. Not Revan the Prodigal Knight, not Darth Revan the Lord of the Sith. Just Revan. Only Revan."
Another tremor in the Force. It was done.
Darth Sion had freed himself now. Another small victory, perhaps. But inconsequential.
Her moment was upon her.
She turned her head – there was a splinter now, in her mind's eye, blinding her to the presence of Revan. Or perhaps he had never been there at all.
It didn't matter. Kreia stood up. It was time to lower the mask again. Summoning darkness around her, covering the joy in her heart that her true victory was at hand, she wrapped herself in the costume of Darth Traya one final time.
Meetra Surik appeared behind her, weapons in hand.
There was a moment's pause.
Kreia sighed to herself. She had come to it at last – when the Exile would free her from the final prison that bound her. And then, with the utmost conviction of her beliefs, she turned to the Exile.
"At last you have arrived … is Malachor as you remember it?"
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