Talan exhaled sharply, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the room. "I'm almost positive you could have handled that more diplomatically," he said, his voice edged with restrained irritation.
To his surprise, Bastila didn't immediately snap back. Instead, she sighed, her expression softening just slightly.
"Yes, you are right. I let my emotions get the better of me," she admitted. "Please, forgive that display. Even with all my training, it seems I still struggle to remain calm when dealing with my sister."
Mission crossed her arms. "You might not like her, but she risked her neck trying to find you. And if you ask me—"
"I did not," Bastila cut in sharply.
Silence fell again, thick and heavy. The distant roll of thunder echoed outside, filling the void where words had failed.
Carth let out a frustrated sigh. "Dammit. Now what? The only reason we got this far is because of Ice."
Bastila straightened, regaining her composure. "I am more than capable of finding a solution without the reckless plans she would have surely concocted."
"Well, if you've got a brilliant idea, Princess, now would be the time to share," Talan said, watching her carefully.
Bastila's lips pressed into a thin line at the nickname, but she chose not to take the bait. She had endured more than enough distractions for one day. Right now, she needed focus.
She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, centering herself.
What they needed now was a plan. And for that, she would turn to the Force.
Ice sat on the med-bay cot, drumming the fingers of her uninjured hand against her knee as she watched Roland Wann shake his head in disapproval. He had already confirmed what she suspected—her hand was broken—and now he was doing his best to pry answers from her.
"You haven't been in the ring in days," Roland said, examining the swollen mess that was her knuckles. "How did this happen?"
"Had a few too many in the cantina. Things got out of hand. No pun intended."
Roland didn't look convinced. "Whoever you had a disagreement with must have had a head like durasteel to break the bone like this."
What a shame that head hadn't been Bastila's.
Ice ignored the remark, shifting her gaze to the rain falling steadily outside the med-bay doors. "Do you interrogate all your patients like this?"
"Only when I know they're lying."
She muttered something under her breath, but thankfully, Roland let the matter drop. She wasn't in the mood for a verbal sparring match. Despite his persistence, the man meant well, and for once, she didn't feel like lashing out.
She stared absently at the downpour, watching as the water streaked down the durasteel streets. No matter how much time had passed, Bastila still managed to get under her skin. Ice had told herself she would be able to brush off her sister's arrogance, that after everything she had endured, Bastila would mean nothing to her. But no. Instead, she was here—nursing a broken hand and cursing the fact that, once again, Bastila had become the one challenge she could never seem to conquer.
A voice broke through her thoughts.
"Hell of a break you got there. Especially from a simple squabble with some lowlife who should've been no challenge for you."
Ice clenched her jaw.
Of all the people she didn't want to see right now, this man was easily in the top two.
"What do you want, Canderous?"
Canderous Ordo stepped in front of her and pulled back the hood of his cloak. He looked the same as always—grizzled, towering, and entirely too smug for someone of his reputation. He might have been older, but he was still one of the deadliest men Ice had ever crossed paths with.
"Now is that any way to greet an old friend?" he asked. "Especially one who saved your miserable life?"
"That debt has been paid. Many times over."
Canderous scoffed. "Considering the circumstances of that debt, I'd say you still owe me one last favor." His grin widened. "Besides, you're going to want to hear what I have to say."
Ice folded her arms. "What could you possibly—"
"The launch codes to the Ebon Hawk," he cut in smoothly, "and our ticket off this piss hole of a planet."
Ice's instincts flared. This was too convenient. Too easy. And yet, he had her attention.
"Davik guards that ship like the Jedi guard their secrets," she said. "Even if you knew where to get the codes, there's no way he'd let us get close enough to breathe on that ship, let alone steal it."
Canderous grinned in the way he always did when he had a plan. Especially the kind of plan that involved breaking things, shooting people, and pissing off someone powerful.
"That's where you and your new friends come in."
Ice groaned, already regretting every choice that had led her to this moment.
Just how many people from her past were going to crawl out of the gutter to haunt her?
"Think about it, kid," Canderous said after Ice had flatly rejected his proposal.
"I did. The answer is still no."
Canderous let out a rough laugh, something between amusement and a bark. "And do you have any better ideas? Face it, you and I aren't going anywhere without that ship, and we're sure as hell not getting it without those launch codes."
Ice clenched her jaw. She really hated when he was right.
She exhaled sharply. "Fine. Let's say I agree, and somehow convince the ragtag group of misfits I'm stuck with that sneaking into a Sith base is not suicidal. How do you propose we get in? Just walk up and knock? The Sith aren't exactly known for their hospitality."
Canderous grinned. "Ah, that's where I come in. Janice Nall has been working on a security droid for Davik. A smart one. Smart enough to slice through the Sith security systems and get us inside. Once we're in, it's all downhill from there."
Ice let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh, is that all? Just waltz through a Sith base, fight our way through an army, and somehow find the launch codes that could be locked up anywhere?"
"Now, now, no need to be so pessimistic," Canderous said, smirking. "I know you, kid. I've seen what you can do. And trust me, with the company you're keeping now, it'll be like taking candy from a baby."
Ice narrowed her eyes. There was no way—no way—he was talking about Bastila.
"What are you talking about?" she asked slowly.
Canderous' grin widened, sharp and knowing. A cold chill ran down Ice's spine, one that hadbnothing to do with the weather.
Malak, you treacherous dog.
Revan barely had time to process the betrayal before the explosion rocked his flagship. Shattered transparisteel rained down, and a jagged piece struck his head with brutal force, sending him crashing to the floor. A sharp burst of pain flared through his skull, then dulled as his world began to slip away.
He tried to move, but his limbs felt heavy, unresponsive. The sounds of battle were distant now, muffled as if he were sinking into the depths of an ocean. Even as his vision darkened, he let out a final, bitter laugh.
Malak.
He had always known his apprentice would one day turn on him. It was the way of the Sith. Strength was measured through power, through victory. The weak were cast aside, and the strongest claimed their place at the top. It was inevitable that Malak would one day challenge him for the title of Dark Lord.
But not like this.
Not with a coward's strike.
Footsteps approached, soft but purposeful. Through his blurred vision, he saw her—the Jedi.
A young woman stood over him, her grey eyes filled with something unexpected. Pity. Uncertainty. Fear. And something else he couldn't quite place.
The Force rippled between them, and then he felt it—a warm, tingling sensation starting at his fingertips, spreading slowly up his arms, wrapping around his body like an unseen current. His breath hitched as realization dawned.
No…
He knew this technique. He had seen it used by Jedi Masters only in moments of desperation, when all other options had failed.
A Jedi's last resort.
She was trying to save him.
No… I would rather die.
But before he could fight against it, the darkness finally consumed him.
Talan's eyes snapped open as he bolted upright, his breath uneven. His gaze flickered around the dimly lit apartment. No flagship. No Dark Jedi.
No Revan.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. Revan again. Why did he keep dreaming about a dead Sith Lord? More unsettling was the fact that he wasn't just witnessing Revan—he was Revan. He could still feel the echoes of the vision, the weight of power, the bitter taste of betrayal.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to shake the feeling when a voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Are you all right?"
Talan glanced up to see Bastila standing nearby, arms crossed, but there was a flicker of concern in her expression.
He forced a grin. "I was just dreaming of you."
Bastila's scowl was immediate. "I have no desire to hear about whatever ridiculous—"
"Not like that," Talan cut in, shaking his head. "It was about you fighting Revan."
Something in Bastila's expression shifted, her face paling slightly. For the first time since he'd met her, she looked almost… uneasy.
"How do you know it was Revan?" she asked carefully.
Talan hesitated. "That's the weird part. Because I was him—at least, in the dream. I saw everything through his eyes."
Bastila turned away sharply, moving across the room toward the window. She was chewing her lip, something he was starting to recognize as a nervous habit.
"Something wrong?" he asked, standing to follow her.
She shook her head. "It's… strange." Her voice had regained its usual control, but it didn't quite mask her unease. "Such visions are often a sign of Force sensitivity. It could be that my abilities have triggered the dormant Force within you."
Talan raised an eyebrow. "Force sensitivity? So now I'm some kind of Jedi?"
Bastila turned to him, her gaze unreadable. "It's possible. When strong Force users are in close proximity, the connection can manifest in unexpected ways. It may have allowed you to witness one of my more… personal memories."
Talan frowned. "That still doesn't explain why I was seeing it through Revan's eyes."
"The Force is complicated," Bastila admitted. "Even with all my training, I do not fully understand it."
Talan was silent for a moment, trying to process what she was saying. He wasn't sure how he felt about this whole Force-sensitive idea, but if it meant reliving the life of the most infamous Sith Lord in his sleep, he wanted no part of it.
Maybe once they got off Taris, he'd look for answers from the Jedi Council—if not for clarity, then at least for a way to stop these dreams. The last thing he wanted was to get any closer to Revan than he already had.
The doors to the apartment slid open. Instinctively, Talan's hand went to his blaster, but no enemy entered. In fact, no person entered at all.
A small astromech droid rolled into the room, humming to itself before stopping in the center of the apartment and chirping a greeting.
"Who—" Bastila started.
"More like what," Mission interrupted, dropping her pazaak cards onto the table where she and Zaalbar had been playing.
"T3-M4," came a voice from the doorway. Ice stepped into the room, patting the droid's domed head. "The most advanced model of its kind. And our ticket off this rock."
Bastila eyed the droid skeptically. "Unless we all plan to ride it through the Sith blockade, I fail to see how this is helpful."
A deep chuckle came from behind Ice. "Damn, cold-hearted runs in the family," said a gruff voice as Canderous Ordo entered behind her.
"You should meet our mother," Ice shot back, not looking away from Bastila.
Carth narrowed his eyes at the newcomer. "And who the hell are you?"
Canderous leaned against the doorway with the kind of confidence that came from years of experience and a body count to match. "Name's Canderous. I've got the answer to your problems. Beyond that, you don't need to know more."
Bastila's eyes flickered between Canderous and Ice. "I wasn't aware you kept such company," she said, her tone sharp with disapproval.
Ice smirked. "We all have our secrets, don't we sister?"
Something about the way she said it made Bastila shift uneasily.
Carth, ever the skeptic, wasn't about to let it go. He turned to Bastila. "What does she mean by that?"
Bastila hesitated.
Ice stepped closer, her voice quieter but no less pointed. "Yes, Bastila, what do I mean by that?"
Without another word, Bastila grabbed Ice by the arm and pulled her out into the hallway.
Carth moved to follow, but Canderous casually stepped in his way. "Why don't we let them have a little family reunion while the rest of us get acquainted?"
He turned to Talan, extending a hand.
"Canderous Ordo," he said. "And you are?"
Talan shook his hand firmly. "Talan Owens."
Canderous smirked. "Pleasure to meet you, Talan."
Bastila led Ice down the hallway with a firm grip on her arm, stopping only when she reached a small janitorial closet. Without hesitation, she shoved the younger woman inside, stepping in after her and slamming the door shut.
With a flick of her wrist, Bastila retrieved a small handheld light from her belt, illuminating the cramped space. In the dim glow, Ice's face emerged from the shadows, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.
"A janitor's closet? Really? This is where you choose to come clean? Ironic."
"Enough," Bastila snapped. "What do you know?"
Ice leaned against the shelves, arms crossed. "I know enough to say you're even more full of it than I thought. You're famous for one thing—killing Revan. But Revan isn't dead, is he?"
Bastila stiffened, her lips pressing into a tight line. "I am famous for defeating Revan. And as far as the galaxy is concerned, Revan is dead."
"Then why is he standing in the next room?" Ice's voice was sharp, accusing. "Have you completely lost it? If he finds out who he really is, you can forget about Taris. There won't be a safe place left anywhere."
Bastila took a slow breath, forcing her voice to remain steady. "Which is why he can never find out. You know what's at stake. If even a shred of his former self resurfaces, everything we have done—everything we sacrificed—will have been for nothing."
"And I'm just supposed to go along with this?" Ice scoffed. "Keep your dirty little secret while we all play house with a Sith Lord?"
Bastila hesitated. She hated asking for help. Especially from her. The words felt bitter on her tongue, but she forced them out anyway.
"I don't expect you to trust me. I don't trust you, either. But for the sake of the galaxy, I am asking you to remain silent—to tell no one, not even the people we travel with. Please."
Ice studied her for a long moment, unreadable. Bastila could feel the weight of her hesitation. She wanted to refuse—Bastila could see it in her eyes. She lived to make things difficult. But Ice also understood what was at risk.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ice exhaled and muttered, "Fine. You have my word."
Bastila gave a curt nod, suppressing her relief. She extinguished the light and opened the closet door, allowing the harsh hallway glow to pour in. As she stepped out, she hesitated for just a moment, glancing back at the woman standing in the doorway.
For the first time, she really saw her.
It had been fifteen years since they last spoke. Ice had been a child then—just five years old. Back when she still carried the name Shan. Back when she had been her little sister.
Now, the woman before her was a stranger.
Bastila felt something stir in her chest—regret, maybe, or grief for something long lost. But she buried it quickly.
Without a second thought, she reached for the door and slammed it shut, sealing it with the Force.
A loud thud came from inside, followed by angry shouts and a flurry of curses. Bastila turned down the hallway, allowing herself a small, satisfied smile.
Some things never changed.