When the Ebon Hawk breaks atmosphere over the dusty terrain of Korriban, Mal expects an awakening. She prepares for it, clenches her jaw and holds on to the sides of her chair for the explosion of remembrance. But nothing comes. She is still the same Mal Korra as she was on Manaan, on Tatooine, on Kashyyyk. If there are secrets awaiting her on Korriban, she must root them out the same way she always does.
Dreshdae is a threadbare operation of a trade colony, but it's filled to the brim with a visible tension. Czerka employees and cargo workers travel along the edges of rooms and hallways as if afraid to take up too much space. They see the lightsaber clipped at Mal's side and carefully turn the other way. The reason becomes obvious the moment a group of Sith students block the main entryway.
To Carth's blatant horror she introduces herself as Revan with all the angry honesty she can muster. To satisfy a curiosity, to taste the words on her tongue, or simply because she can. When they burst into mocking laughter, she laughs alongside them at the joke it makes. Mal is only a human after all, and Revan was a god.
The Ebon Hawk crew keeps a tight formation and an arsenal of snarky comebacks at the ready as they navigate the perilous halls attempting to get a read on the situation. The lineup of hopeful youth willing to starve themselves outside of the academy doors is what finally makes Mal shudder. Are they really that enamored with the Sith or is this a deeper symptom of unending war? Are people that desperate to align themselves with anyone who might protect them, anyone who might give them the power to protect themselves? She refuses to look away in shame. The lucky students who do get admitted seem to spend their free time prowling the settlement like packs of wild beasts snapping their jaws at everything that moves. Mal plays the part of prey well, luring them into empty corners where she transforms into their impending deaths.
"Look at them," she mutters under her breath. "Look at the results of your legacy, Revan. Is this what it was all for?"
The strong survive, the weak do not.
"And the dead make terrible disciples."
Mal supposes she's strong. Well, Revan at least had to have been to survive this far. These students are all brash excitement and false confidence, sure to kill the first person unable to look them in the eyes without trembling. What's being displayed here is not strength but flamboyant cruelty, and it's a draining thing to navigate.
Carth says, "You can't go in there alone."
What Mal hears is, "If I don't keep my eyes on you, you'll betray us all."
What she wants to say is, "I warned you not to trust me from the very beginning, but I need it now more than ever."
What she actually says is, "I'm not. I'm taking the droids."
Carth crosses his arms. "And me."
"No."
"My son is in there!"
"And I'll find him, I promise. But you've seen the kind of hate that lives here. I won't give them the chance to use you against me." Carth's gaze is a sharp tenderness that she can't stand to hold. "Any of you."
HK-47 practically hums with excitement. "Exclamation: It will be just like old times, master!"
"I sure hope not," Carth grumbles. Mal expects more of a fight, but he shares a look with Jolee and lets it go. He seems to have aged an extra five years since the Leviathan, his shoulders hoisted tight with tension. "Alright, just… just be careful in there. Come see us when you can. We'll be right here waiting for you."
Mal kneels down to where T3-M4 hovers at her side. She stares at the droid, her lifeline of stability in the ever-growing chaos of reality. "Will you come with me?" she asks quietly.
An immediate affirmation of beeps and whistles. Mal smiles and nods, taps the droid softly on the chassis before standing. She turns to the rest of the crew anxiously gathered around the loading ramp of the Ebon Hawk.
"I'll be fine," Mal states with a confidence she doesn't feel.
"Don't let those nerf herders push you around!" Mission juts out her thumb, the ring dark as a promise against her blue skin. Mal wonders if the core memory it carries is real or one implanted by the Jedi Council. "Remember, you're Mal Korra. Best Jedi I know."
"The best you know, huh?" Jolee side eyes her.
Mission grins. "Hey, you're alright too, but Mal came first."
He shakes his head and moves forward as if to speak. Mal immediately turns to Juhani.
"What I said in the grove… I mean it still," she declares.
Juhani stands tense with worry. She slowly clenches and stretches out her hands, then nods with a sigh. "I believe in you. But if you need me… need any of us, you only need to say so."
The words are sincere, but Mal can't stop that creeping doubt from whispering in her ear: it's Revan she believes in, not Mal. Jolee takes another determined step towards her. Mal turns away from the Ebon Hawk, starts a quick stride toward the hangar bay doors, and is relieved to hear only the metallic sounds of the droids following behind her.
It's easy slipping into the role of a conniving academy student. Both Yuthara and Uthar believe her to be an accomplice vying for their favor when it is Mal who holds the power over their fates in her newly donned Sith robes. Unsurprisingly, the academy itself is haunted but in a different way than the enclave on Dantooine. The ghosts she encountered there were playful in comparison to the dark wisps taunting from the corners of her eyes. Mal follows one of the shadows, curious about the secret it might lead to. It teases her away from the populated halls and slips through hidden bends in the walls which seem to narrow with every turn. The phantom sound of footsteps stalks behind her, yet there's no one there when she turns her head. A sudden wave of overwhelming pressure squeezes her tight as the rotten smell of decay burns her nostrils. She doubles back to her dormitory in a fit of near panic and vows never to follow the shadows again.
It is at once too quiet and too loud here in this place with the faintest sound of whispers disrupting any perceived solitude. There's no dimming of indoor lights to indicate the passage of time and the days feel as endless as they do short. If the Jedi Enclave was designed for peaceful contemplation, the Sith Academy was made to be a battleground against one's own mind.
She doesn't make the mistake of underestimating her fellow students. They may be loud and egregious in their struggles for power, but Mal has been stabbed in the back enough times to know better than to ignore them. Both droids guard her bed while she sleeps and even with their protection, she forces herself to remain partly conscious. The few moments Mal does fall into a deeper sleep are disrupted by fits of trembling and phantom touches of hateful electricity across her skin. Malak has wasted no time in torturing Bastila, pressing her under his thumb to see how much it takes to break the young Jedi. This is what motivates Mal to move through the academy like an impatient reaper letting all who stumble in her presence fall underneath her tread. It's a slippery line she walks between deception and strategic violence, but her persistence prevails. Uthar finally grants her the freedom to explore the ancient tombs.
Even with the high stakes of the current situation, Mal can't turn off her nagging curiosity. The rich histories of the Sith ruins taunt her with their mysteries as she walks the canyons of Korriban. The sand here is richer and darker than Tatooine. It whispers of powerful secrets buried beneath its grains. Mal scoops up a handful and lets it trickle down between her fingers.
"Recollection: You were always quite creative when punishing your inferior officers. It was truly inspiring to see." Now that they're finally away from spying eyes, HK-47 has decided to regale Mal with his favorite stories of her past life. "Suggestion: You might consider utilizing some of those techniques to keep your Republic meatbag in line."
T3-M4 launches a series of rapid beeps in disagreement.
"Explanation: I am only looking out for our master's best interests. Dissent among the ranks can be contagious."
"Don't worry T3," Mal winks down at the little droid. "I don't take HK's suggestions to heart."
"Rebuttal: Master, you used to enjoy hearing my suggestions on how to punish your former apprentice for his many transgressions. Why, I remember the time he beat you ten Pazaak games in a row in front of three junior officers. You were very keen to know my opinion on what manner of trap you should stage near his bunk as revenge. Then there was the time—"
Mal stops listening. Her 'former apprentice.' No matter how often she hears the words, they still itch in her ears. How did they turn out like this? What had Revan done to him? Mal's never envied a droid as much as she does now. One key phrase and HK-47 had all his secret memories unlocked in the time it took to say her name. Maybe her envy is apparent, his narration meant as appeasement for surpassing her in this way. HK-47 has her best intentions in mind, Mal knows this, but the execution is lacking. Hearing about a past that dances so close to her memory's shadow only spirals her desperation to dig her fingers into Malak's throat. Even the utterance of 'meatbag' now brings to mind his hateful eyes as he spat her name in violence.
You should've called him that to his face. Imagine the emotional damage it would've given him.
Mal freezes. "Fuck!"
"Searching for target!" HK-47 whirs his rifle around, assessing for a threat. "Query: What is the threat, master?"
"Lord Meatbag." She stares at him with eyebrows knit together in disappointment. "Why didn't I think of that before?"
The droids turn their heads toward each other in some unspoken communication before looking back at her.
"Placation: Err… Yes, master. That would have been…" His eyes glow bright as he aims his rifle at something over Mal's head. "Observation: Those are no ordinary academy students."
Mal glances over her shoulder at the trio of Sith moving to intercept them as a wave of bloodlust thickens the air. Malak's lackeys have already found her. She sighs as she turns to face them.
Their unmasked leader struts forward and opens his mouth with a sneer. "Lo—"
"Lord Malak was most displeased when he learned you had escaped Taris alive!" Mal blurts out in a rush.
He looks taken aback for a moment, then determined. "He—"
"He has promised a great reward! I know, I know. Did he seriously write you all a script in case you found us? Was it a company-wide memo? Did it include instructions to recite that phrase word for word? Honestly, where's the creativity?"
T3-M4 chirps admonishingly.
"Agreement: I would have handcrafted several different talking points."
Mal jerks her thumb at them. "Exactly! See, even the droids have got it figured out."
"Silence!" The Sith leader glares at her. Mal pictures his shiny bald head as a cookpot ready to boil over. "That's not even what I was going to say!"
"Oh really? Well go on then. Let's hear it."
"There's been enough talking. I will deliver your corpse to Lord Malak myself."
"Sure. Whatever you say. There's just one thing." Mal brushes her knuckles against her weapons. "You do realize I've killed a bunch of your friends already, right? You really think you've got a better chance?"
He throws his head back in laughter. "You seem to be mistaken. I am Darth Bandon, Lord Malak's chosen apprentice. I will succeed where others have not."
This is the best he could find? Malak has become foolish indeed.
Her humor turns to cold steel. "A pity the Sith care so little for their apprentices. Since you've got no value as a bargaining chip, I'll have to send you back to Malak in pieces."
His answer is a cry of calculated rage as he rushes toward her and when the blades of their lightsabers meet, Mal realizes she may be the one who's underestimated him. Confidence in her use of the Force has been lacking since the confrontation on the Leviathan. It feels like another small betrayal she has yet to reconcile. Malak's apprentice is smarter than he looks and pairs it well with savage power. He quickly knocks away her lightsaber and she barely dodges the blow intended to cut off her head, slicing open her cheek instead.
"Master!"
Mal scurries out of the way as both droids spray streams of fire at Bandon. She pulls on the Force to bring her lightsaber back to her hand, but there's no response. Her heart gives a funny squeeze as her breath catches in her throat. She tries again. Nothing.
Calm down before you get yourself killed! Breathe, focus. Remember why you're here!
Mal slaps her face to kickstart her mind into a functional calm. As Bandon escapes the flames, she wills the lightsaber to ease into her hand the way it belongs. The warm metal hits her fingers and she ignites the blade in time to parry an incoming blow. Then another. And another.
She leans into the muscle memory she spent weeks building up on Dantooine, back when using the Force to do the simplest things felt like an unbreakable puzzle. Legs and arms and torso in synch. Fast and deadly to make up for lack of brute strength. T3-M4 gets a lucky shot at one of Bandon's knees throwing him off balance. Mal seizes the moment to bury her blade into the center of his chest. Bandon's final breath leaves him in a gasp as she yanks the blade out at an awkward angle. He drops heavily to his knees before landing facedown. The sand below swallows his blood like an offering. Mal turns to the two remaining Sith.
"Come on then. Who's next?"
Yuthura Ban's gaze has a way of slithering under the skin, her bright eyes peering in a way that makes Mal certain she must know all of her secrets. Luckily, Yuthura never saw Revan without a mask and seems to have no idea that the former Dark Lord of the Sith is masquerading as her eager-to-please apprentice. Mal feels a special affinity towards her new teacher, their debates on the use of the Force an unexpected pleasure amid the turmoil of the academy.
"Inside of you there is a dark pit," Yuthura's voice holds a hypnotic lull to it. She leans slightly forward, their knees almost touching as they sit cross-legged in a private training room. "A bottomless pool. You stand on its very edge. The choice to plunge inside is but one small action away. Tell me, why did you leave the Jedi?"
Mal raises her eyebrows. "You want to know?"
"You asked me how I came to be here. I'd like to know the same in return."
Oh, if only she knew the weight of what she was asking. The million credit question on everyone's lips. Why did Revan, champion of the Republic, leave the Jedi? Mal waits for that sly voice in her head to chime in, but it remains silent. Fine, she'll make her best guess then.
"I think it was never much of a choice for me. I joined the Jedi because I didn't want to be stuck where I was anymore. They offered a chance to understand my life, why things happened the way they did. I wanted to peel apart the layers of the galaxy to analyze that fundamental truth and they gave me the tools to do so. And when I finally understood, all I wanted was to protect others from the same fate I had suffered. The Jedi told me no, told me to have patience, but I couldn't. Not when I had real power to change things." Mal pauses, testing the weight of the words on her tongue. "I don't know why I left the Jedi. Maybe in my defiance I killed my compassion and that gave me the freedom to do terrible things in the name of salvation. Maybe that's what I want to learn now. How to kill it again."
Yuthura lets the confession hang in the air between them. "You truly do say the strangest things."
You're becoming too comfortable with this one.
Ah, there it goes. Mal's begun to think of it as Revan's ghost whispering from the recesses of her mind and with that change in perspective, she pays it less consideration than she used to. Mal's desire to lie lost its pleasure once the truth became stranger than anything she could make up. And Revan's ghost has no right to scold her after all the mess it's put her through.
"I must say, your command over the Force is impressive," Yuthura eyes her warmly. "But you're still holding yourself back from reaching your full potential."
Mal notices the shadows have crept into the training room to crawl along the edges. She straightens her posture. "Am I displeasing you, master?" She lets that last word roll off her tongue, playing upon the border of respect and mockery.
Yuthura wraps a strong hand around Mal's forearm and presses her thumb into a prominent bruise. Her eyes glint with an unspoken challenge as Mal resists the urge to rip her arm away. "Do you understand why the Jedi and the Sith have their codes? Why we place so much importance on spending time to truly understand them?"
"Every club has their rules," Mal responds in an even tone.
"It is the codes that define our nature, the way we choose to harness the power of the Force for our benefit. They say there are Jedi who can revive even the most grievously wounded with the touch of a single finger. There have been Sith masters who could drain the life out of an entire room with only a thought. But there is no one who can do both." Yuthura tilts her head forward as if sharing a secret. "You hold the light and the dark inside of you, my apprentice, but you'll never grow beyond your current strength if you don't devote yourself. Just as choosing one over the other comes with its consequences, so does choosing nothing at all."
"I don't want nothing," Mal whispers defiantly. "I want everything."
Her head snaps to the side with the unexpected quickness of Yuthura's strike. The wound on her cheek stings and tears involuntarily dot the corners of her eyes. She blinks them away and turns back to Yuthura with a blank expression.
"Then you'll remain weak. You will never defeat Uthar or any of the other students with that attitude."
Her grip on Mal's bruise tightens as she brings her other hand to tenderly graze Mal's cheek. The shadows of the room slither closer until they're thrashing about in arm's reach. Mal takes it as a warning and grits her teeth a second before Yuthura digs her fingers into the open wound. Mal stifles her scream into a low groan and keeps her eyes locked on Yuthura's cool gaze.
"Do you know why I chose to let you into the academy? It's because there's an anger inside of you. A pain." She emphasizes her words with the press of her fingers. Mal shudders and walls off her mind. She refuses to let any hint of this searing pain leak across her bond to Bastila. "You may have courted the light with the Jedi, but we both know you have a desire to reach beyond their pathetic limits and gain true power. I see it in you as I once saw it within myself."
Mal forces a grin even as the stretching of her cheek against Yuthura's embedded fingertips blooms into more agony. "And exactly how many slaves have you liberated with your 'true power'?"
Yuthura pauses only a moment, but it's long enough for Mal to notice the insecurity in her eyes. Her grip loosens and she lets her blood coated fingers trail down Mal's throat.
"I'll have power enough to free them all once Uthar is out of my way. I have already chosen. It's time you do the same." She releases Mal and leans back into her own space. A rush of relief wells up, but Mal remains tense waiting for Yuthura's next move. "The next time I see your face, I expect that wound to be healed. One way or another." Mal watches the shadows trail after her as she stands and leaves the training room with the echo of an unspoken "…or else."
The pressure in the room abates and Mal slumps to the ground as she fights to calm herself.
She's right you know.
"Shut… up," Mal huffs out between heavy breaths. Her left hand grips painfully into her hip to distract from the throbbing of her face. She thinks of her neat little row of scars there. The familiar itch to draw another one across her skin rises, but that kind of privacy is not a luxury here. And she is determined not to let them see her bleed a single drop more.