Realistically, Mal knows everything has an end. An end that will lead to another beginning somewhere, somehow. A cycle to all things.
Victory is normally followed by exhilaration, but this victory is pensive. Mal keeps her hands clasped tightly together as she follows the tug in her chest down the sandy hill. She finds Bastila sitting among the tall beach grass, her gaze held firm on the horizon.
"Not in the mood for a celebration either?" Mal calls out.
Bastila doesn't turn, but a feeling of open invitation stretches across their bond. Mal shuffles down to sit beside her as she sighs. "It feels a bit premature. We haven't even left the star system yet."
Mal smirks. "Do you think they had a pile of medals sitting around or are there a few generals walking around with newly naked shoulders?"
"Good question." Bastila finally turns to look at her. She's freshly dressed in a Jedi uniform, her face still pink from being scrubbed raw. As if a little water can wipe away the horrors of the past weeks. Mal wonders how crazed her own appearance must be. "I figured you would be happy. I know how much you love celebrations."
"This one's a bit macabre, even for me."
Bastila's expression tightens. "How can you even stand it? How do you prevent the weight of it all from crushing you?"
Mal instinctively clenches her jaw. "I'm probably not the best person to ask."
She collapses back into the sand and brings her clasped hands to the back of her neck. How does she stand it? It's not something she's taken the time to think about. She closes her eyes as the image of Malak's lifeless gaze flashes through her mind.
"I don't stand still long enough to feel it. If you keep moving, keep pushing forward without looking back, then you don't have time to regret or mourn. And the more you move forward, the more likely you are to gather enough good moments to balance out the bad." She squints up at Bastila. "Which is why Admiral Dodonna is making the Republic fleet line up on the beach for a victory celebration instead of letting everyone go straight home. It doesn't matter that countless soldiers died in the attack or that I failed to bring in Malak. We brought an end to years of war. So we celebrate because this is what the survivors will remember. The catharsis at the end of the struggle."
Bastila digs her hands into the sand with a white-knuckled grip. "You really tried to save him? No one expected you to do that."
"You saved me. Jedi don't kill their prisoners, remember?"
"That was different," she snaps.
Mal jolts up and leans close. "If our roles had been reversed, if he was the one you had faced on the ship, would you have saved him?" A snap of cold anger pulses through their bond. Too soon. Mal eases back with a sigh and gently places her hand over Bastila's. "I'm sorry for what he put you through. For the way he hurt you. And I'm not asking for your sympathy, but please don't hate me for mourning him."
Bastila turns her hand over so that their sandy palms touch and gives a quick squeeze. "I could never hate you."
"You sure? There's got to have been a few times. I can be pretty aggravating."
"Extremely," Bastila smiles before releasing her hand.
Mal ruffles the sand out of her hair. "So I've been dying to ask. Why a smuggler?"
"I'm not the one who decided." Bastila pauses thoughtfully. "But would you really have believed that you were working for the Republic otherwise?"
They both know she wouldn't have. "I guess it is one of the more exciting options. I would've also accepted famed archaeologist or head researcher of some obscure library on the Outer Rim."
"And why would the council need an archaeologist or librarian?"
"The ruins on Dantooine. You could've cut straight to the chase instead of whatever we were supposed to be doing on the Endar Spire."
"Ah. Yes." Bastila buries her chin into the divot of her folded knees. "The Endar Spire. Taris. Maybe they would've all lived."
"No," Mal hisses. "You don't get to do that. Malak is the one who chose to hunt you. He chose to destroy them."
"Because I was there."
"And if you were no one of significance? If you were any average Jedi doing your duty, do you think that would've stopped the war? Prevented anyone from dying? Those deaths rest on him." Her heart squeezes tightly in her chest. "They rest on me."
Bastila's head snaps up. "And you're the only one allowed to shoulder blame? I'm the one he was after. I'm the one who fell to darkness at the first temptation." Pain twists her expression. "I tried to resist. Really, I did. But he knew exactly what to say to get under my skin. What wounds to cut into and press. And in the end, when he finally had me by his side, he only used me as another tool to get to you."
"Because I'm the one who made him that way," Mal bites back. "If I had come with you on Rakata, I would've done the same to you. Taken your future and shaped it to serve me best. Twisted your ambitions and devotion. He was my closest friend and I made him into a tool. My memories are still distorted and incomplete, but deep down I know how I changed him. How we changed together."
The silence lingers heavily between them. This is what becomes of rumination. It stings like a raw wound dripping dread and guilt down their skin. But in some small way, Mal enjoys the pain. It's a reminder of survival. They are still here. Malak is not. And one day they will learn how to move on from this place, this feeling, this moment in time.
"Do you really believe in redemption?" Bastila's voice is steady as she asks. Determined. "For either of us?"
Mal meets her gaze. "I believe redemption is what we make of it. There's no erasing the past, but the future remains open. The galaxy can judge us however they like, but we're the ones who decide what happens next."
A sense of ease settles between them and Mal knows that they'll figure it out together.
"What does happen next?" Bastila inquires with a small smile.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I'd like to catch up on some much-needed sleep."
"I don't know if I can."
"Then we'll spend a week sitting in the dark, trying. And when we do, we'll sleep for two days straight. Probably need to eat a real meal somewhere in there. I'm sure the council will drag us into a couple hundred meetings." A sudden panic grips her. "Do you think they'll put me on trial? I'm technically still war criminal number one."
"Not after this ceremony. I imagine it wouldn't look too good for the Republic or for the Jedi, Bastila muses. "All this talk of future plans and I haven't heard you mention the word vacation once."
Mal laughs brightly. "Bastila, you genius! You know everyone keeps talking about this Jedi library on Coruscant. I'm dying to see it for myself. And then I'd like to go somewhere warm, as far on the Outer Rim as they'll let us escape to."
"There you two are!" They turn at the sound of Mission's voice. She stands on top of the sandy hill with her hands fisted impatiently on her hips. "Come on, everyone's been looking for you. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can head home!"
Mal nods to Bastila. "Go on ahead. I'll be right after you."
Bastila eyes her curiously as she stands, wiping sand from the backs of her legs. She lets Mission grab her by the arm and the teen's quick chatter quickly pulls a genuine smile to her lips. Mal watches them go with a rueful sigh.
Almost time to head home then. And what was home now to Mal? What had it been before? She takes out Malak's lightsaber and squeezes it tightly in her fist. It still radiates the echo of his hatred, warm in her palms. She's not sure what the future holds, but Mal knows she's tired of being dragged along by the council, by the Republic, by the Force. Malak's last words haunt her. What if it had been him? As Revan, would she have rejoiced his presumed death or would she have fought to bring him back to her side? She closes her eyes, lets her surroundings fall away, and plunges deep into her mind searching for the hint of any memory. A full body shudder takes hold as that familiar pressure builds in her head.
"Revan," she whispers.
Ah, finally a quiet moment. You've been shoving me down. Ignoring me. I understand. It seems you're coming to your own answers now. You don't need me anymore. What's done is done.
You keep saying you had no choice in the matter. Becoming a Jedi, going to war, joining the Sith, becoming a Jedi once again. Even killing Malak. Whatever they ask, you give the same answer. The Force is a fickle master that bends us all to its unseen will, but it's always been your choice. That's all I ever wanted you to understand. It has always been your choice. And it always will be.
You fear the prophecy of Malak's final words? Then let me impart my own. One day you will remember everything; of that I have no doubt. And when that time comes, you will again have a choice to make. This galaxy existed long before you and it will exist long after. If you say no, its worlds will keep turning, its suns blaze and die, and the Force will find another champion. If you say yes… well, I can only hope you learn from our mistakes. But remember, it will be YOUR choice.
Until that time comes, I have one final request. Go and live unburdened by the weight of our past. There will be time enough for regret and penance. But for one small moment, please, live freely with those you love.
Mal jolts forward, her eyes snapping open. The pressure in her head melts away until there's no trace. She feels lighter and yet more solid. She looks down at Malak's lightsaber and holds it tight to her chest.
"Forgive me old friend. This is goodbye."
Sitting up on her knees, she uses her hands to scrape away sand until she's made a hole two fists deep. Tenderly she places Malak's lightsaber inside, and after a moment's thought, unclips the lightsaber from her left hip and places it there too. Keeping her weapon from the Sith Academy had been a calculated choice. It served as a reminder of all she witnessed there and of her resolution moving forward, but Mal doesn't need it anymore. The memories are etched into her soul. She'll make a new lightsaber, one that reflects who she is in this moment. A representation of the future stretched before her. The thought pierces the melancholic air and fills her with giddiness. She slowly brushes the sand back, watching as the grains cover up the lightsabers bit by bit. And when the task is done, she lets herself be cradled in the moment by the breeze drifting in from the water and the sway of the trees along the hillside.
"Mal!"
She glances back at Mission waving her arms impatiently.
"Let's go!"
When she stands, it is with a new energy. Mal will never forget again. She'll move toward the future without regret for the things she can't change. And no matter what comes next, she'll live by her own choices.
Everything has a beginning.