Staring at the Galaxy Through a Crack in the Door

"What is the Force?"

Kreia could see the slow blink of summer boredom on her students' faces. As Initiates in the Jedi Temple of Coruscant, they had been asked this question a thousand times during their brief childhood. And just as often, before they made the terrible mistake of considering any ideas of their own…they were told the answer. The Definition.

"It is an energy field created by all living things. It binds us together, gives us purpose, and compels us to share our gifts. It is the stars and galaxies, the rippling surface of space and time. The will of the Force must be done in all things."

Well, Kreia wasn't there to give them answers. She wasn't going to spend her life making this generation of Jedi exactly the same as all the ones before. She was here to make them stretch, grow, blossom…to open their eyes.

More than any other teacher at the Enclave on Dantooine, she had struggled and doubted and reached for answers to questions the other Jedi didn't dare to ask. She could hardly expect any less of her students. She was well aware of how important they were, how precious. Their minds were entrusted to her…and there is nothing more powerful than a mind, for it is the bridge between life and the soul.

There were six young people sitting on the grass before her. The seventh, a young girl named Nisotsa, was standing behind Kreia. Her nimble fingers struggled with braiding Kreia's thick brown hair.

Nisotsa was using the Force to squeeze the little golden clasps shut. The finished product would be four thick lengths of hair, two in front, two behind, hanging over Kreia's shoulders.

Other Masters would say that she gave Nisotsa too much leeway. Spoiled her. But Kreia knew that the girl had more trouble than most focusing. Her mind was bright enough but it was easily distracted and flew quickly from one thought to another. Such a simple act as braiding hair was more helpful than a scolding. It grounded her. A pleasant indulgence to keep her mind anchored in the lecture.

By contrast, the six remaining students were far from spellbound. They shifted and murmured and dared to whisper to each other through the Force, knowing full well that Kreia could see them. Knowing full well that she would much rather court their attention than take it by force.

Talvon Esan was flirting shamelessly with Cariaga Sin. His space-black hair mingled perfectly with hers as they whispered to each other, giggling. His lips brushed over her ear and she blushed. Talvon's thoughts, haphazardly shielded and almost blatant, were of Cariaga's almond-shaped eyes of silver. He thought of how beautifully they reflected the clean-swept skies of Dantooine. Earlier that day she had made some kind of outrageous comment at breakfast, and the memory of her antics caused ripples of delight in his aura.

The other teachers complained grimly to each other that Talvon was a flirt, prone to attachment. And yet from his thoughts Kreia sensed only honesty and affection, a power so bright and pure she would never have dreamed of putting out that light. The passion in him would make it easy for him to empathize with the plights of others. The love in him would give him courage.

Talvon found it easy to make friends. His younger brother by four years, Carver, was not so lucky. With his dirty blonde hair and nondescript brown eyes, Carver sat with his back to a tree, staring into space. Kreia would have thought he was listening intently, were it not for the dull throb of pain and anger ebbing from him.

Many of her fellow Masters had pointed it out. Watch him, they advised, scold him, keep him close by. Remind him, day and night, that pain leads to anger, and anger leads to the Dark Side. Kreia knew better than to put more fuel on a smoldering fire. In their own stuffy, stale way, the Masters meant well, probably.

But they hadn't seen the thin, crisscrossing scars the boy hid on his wrist and thighs. They hadn't seen his plate go back half-full to the kitchens. How could they, when they were busy raising a hundred other perfect children?

Kreia took it upon herself to make the time to talk to Carver. To encourage him in the small skills he excelled at, to keep alive what little self-esteem he had. To accept him for who he was. It was truly rewarding to see all her effort pay off.

He was a far cry from being 'normal', from passing as acceptable. But Kreia could tell he was learning to place his self-worth outside of his envy, outside of the shadow of his brother and the loss of his parents. He was hardly at the front of his class but…once freed from his self-mutilation and hatred, who knew what he might achieve?

In front of these three were her prize students…well, two prize students and their friend who always tried his very best to keep up with their blinding intellectual advances. There was Alek, a student brighter than most. And then there was Meetra and the leader of their band, Vander.

Alek was plucking at grass blades, staring at Kreia's robes. His eyes were far away. Kreia could see his thoughts swirling around and around, chased by a much more substantial and powerful presence. Meetra sat demurely with her head on Alek's shoulder. She was watching Kreia with solemn respect. Listening, like a good student.

But she was also multitasking, running circles in Alek's psyche, teasing him relentlessly. Never enough to hurt, never enough to offend. She cared too much for that. But it made Alek laugh inside…and that was hard for her to resist. Kreia tolerated their game only because Meetra could handle it. She had as much brains as she had heart, and Vander only led the class discussions because he was the more aggressive of the two.

If this hadn't been a lecture session, Vander would probably have either defended Alek or helped Meetra tease him. Although Meetra was the one he preferred to be matched up to for dueling and class projects, and was in all things his intellectual sparring partner, it was Alek who was his best friend. But Vander didn't have time for either of them at the moment.

Instead, he sat cross-legged, hands clasped, watching Kreia intently. Of them all, he paid her the most attention, hanging on her words. His eyes…Kreia had often tried to describe them with words, to cage them with meaning. Today they were like the orbit of a planet. Steady and immense. They smacked of destiny.

Sometimes Vander would say something brilliant or inspiring, and Kreia would feel a chill run up her spine. As a self-proclaimed epistemologist there were few things Kreia claimed as absolute truth. But she absolutely believed…no, she knew…two things about Vander. He was destined for leadership. And someday, like a planet's orbit, he would move worlds.

What is the Force?

"Master, are you asking for The Definition, or another question?" Vander asked, resting his chin on his fist. He was feeling the moment, all of his words already laid out before him. He was burning with wit and hungry to prove himself.

Clever boy. Kreia did not smile, but she made her approval known through the Force…a warm ocean wave that rolled over Vander. "If there is something you wonder at, Vander, voice it. Examine it. Find the truth in it. Tell me what you think."

"I think the Will of the Force is said to 'move' us, but it never speaks to us. If it is not words, is it instinct? Is it a…feeling? And if so, how do we discern it as the true Will?"

"Some would say," Kreia countered, "That if many Jedi together discern this guidance, then it is the Will."

"Because all the members of a group share the same instinct? What if one member feels that the Will of the Force is moving him in the opposite direction?"

"Then he must needs be careful," Kreia responded. She wanted to be more cautious…but she could see where the discussion was headed, and her excitement made it difficult to slow down. "He must make sure that it is the Will of the Force and not his own ambition, greed, or desire that drives him. What kind of virtuous emotions or instincts could the Force use to drive you?"

"Empathy," Meetra spoke up, at last granting her undivided attention. At the same time, the chatter in Alek's head grew quiet. He paused to give Meetra a wry smile before raising his hand. "Justice," he said firmly. Alek had always been one for concrete concepts.

"Pity?" Cariaga finally turn her face away from Talvon. She was intrigued now, curious. Her attention caught.

This was the part Kreia loved…ideas leaping like wildfire from student to student, linking them. Regardless of their ability to comprehend or partake in a debate…every single one of them could become interested at one time or another. They were all capable of understanding, of learning from her so-called 'rogue theories'.

She had never had a group like this before and dreaded the day they would leave her.

Talvon sighed at Kreia, his reluctance at being interrupted only a brief spark of darkness in his heart. He cared too much to let it consume him. "Compassion?"

The answer was a bit too similar to Meetra's. Only empathy relied on feeling for others with relative emotions, and compassion could be based more on the will and imagination. But Kreia let it pass. When no answers were provided for them, sometimes all she could ask was that they try. She nodded, smiling softly. Meetra glanced back at Talvon but held her tongue.

The last two students were still struggling for their answers. Kreia waited, keeping a careful eye on the level of patience from the group. Carver and Nisotsa shined less brightly than the others, perhaps, but their minds were open. They were willing to learn. They weren't trapped by the dogma of the Jedi Masters.

Brilliant or dull, quick or slow…by virtue of their openness to knowledge they were like Kreia's children. She would wait a hundred years if it helped them.

"Loyalty." Nisotsa blurted out at last, finishing up the final braid. The answer was at once unique and dangerous, opening venues to other discussions in the future. Kreia felt warm and unexpected pride. "An original idea, Nisotsa…loyalty, but never at the cost of blindness. Never at the cost of possession. Correct?"

"Wouldn't there be the same concerns with empathy and compassion?" Meetra asked, arching a perfect eyebrow

Vander answered her quickly. More and more often he was leaping ahead without waiting for his teacher. "With any of these impulses, we should always examine them to make sure there is no selfishness in our hearts. But again…doesn't that leave the 'Will' of the Force up to our own hearts?" His brown eyes travelled to Kreia, and she felt planets pulsing in his gaze. The language of stars. "Is it more important to listen for the Force or to know and master ourselves so we may not deceive ourselves?"

"Indeed," Kreia nodded, "And that is what these lessons are about. Learn to know yourself, to keep a hold of yourself. Discipline, patience, selflessness…you may give up desires, but do not forget your heart, lest it become weak and blind and deceive you in the end."

"But the Laws of Attachment?" Talvon asked. It was an open-ended question. A dangerous one. Kreia's favorite kind.

"Laws given to us by the Will of the Force, or Laws written by Jedi who had forgotten the language of their own hearts?" She made sure her words were gentle and slow. Answering a question with a question. Later she could always claim it was an exercise for their minds, and she would have told them the Jedi's Truth after they'd tried to reach it themselves.

"But two of you have not completed the exercise," she said, before the conversation could get any more dangerous. The time wasn't right for it. "Carver, Vander…what might the Force use to move you?"

Panic flared in Carver's eyes at being called by name. In his aura, stiff anger and embarrassment bled out as he felt his brother's sad, pitying eyes on him. Poor brother. Slow. Difficult. Dark. Carver clenched his fists. "Pain," he said at last.

Shock rippled through the group. Even Vander turned around to stare at him. Carver rushed to explain, his words stumbling over themselves. "Not…not in others, not enjoying it…but you might want to heal it in someone else. Or…or you might want to use it to remind yourself that others suffer too and should be helped." Or that there is more than unfeeling blackness. More than the pit. Echoed in his mind.

He was right. Once again, her dimmer students had surprised her. Kreia felt some worry at the dark thoughts in Carver. The discussion was moving too well to break it up, but later she would invite Carver to her rooms for tutoring and meditation. Not once since coming to her had Carver been able to meditate for more than ten minutes. Still, she knew he would appreciate the fact that she tried.

"Sacrifice," Vander said, breaking up her thoughts.

"Which springs from Empathy, and often from which springs Pain," Kreia murmured. "Now consider these virtues and impulses you have given me…what do they tend towards? What is the true end to which the Will of the Force guides you?"

"Peace and prosperity in the Universe," Vander answered, "the protection of what is physically weak but spiritually strong, simple and small yet the heart of life." He hadn't read this in a book. Her words and his words, her thoughts and his thoughts…they had built it together.

Kreia gazed at him with pride. "And is it only the Force who can lead you there? Only the Jedi who can achieve it?"

This. This was what she had left the archives with today. This was the seed she had intended to plant from their first words together in the garden.

"Anyone, whether Force-blessed or not, great or small, evil or good…has a mind. To reason, to move pieces on a board. Even if the Force were ripped from you, you could still work to achieve peace. You can move mountains. Consider the universe and all its workings. If you use both your mind and your power, and train yourself to be a Force for good…than truly, you are doing the Will of the Force."

"From your own point of view," Vander pointed out mischievously, eyes twinkling.

"From my point of view," Kreia nodded. She didn't smile. She was serious. "But if what I say echoes in you, and there is no selfishness there…then maybe, perhaps it is true."

"Master Kreia."

The voice was harsh, falling on the group like a shower of pebbles. Master Vrook stepped out from behind the Blba tree. Kreia felt fear and anger prickle her neck…how long had he been there?

Vrook was already a Master at the age of 32 and soon to be on the Council if gossip were to be believed. Of course he would be. Bold, courageous, stubborn, and firmly entrenched in the Council's stagnant teachings. Exactly the kind of policeman the more dangerous Jedi Masters…the quiet, manipulative, insidious ones…wanted.

Kreia knew why he was here. The students did too. They kept their eyes on her, their gaze stubborn, their auras growing hot. One by one she saw their shields slam into place, blocking their thoughts from Vrook. It was an insult, similar to a group of laughing friends becoming dead silent when a newcomer introduced himself.

Oh, how she loved them.

Smiling, she turned to greet the Council's spy. "Master Vrook."

Vrook didn't beat around the bush. "I see you're holding your debates again."

For a moment, Kreia held her breath, afraid he was going to ask if he could sit in. Kavar might have done that. Kavar was dangerous.

Thankfully, Vrook was too direct. "I hope you're not abusing the privilege of teaching that the Council has entrusted to you." His blue eyes darted at the students like reproachful lightning. They hardly deigned to notice.

"Abusing?" Kreia replied demurely, lifting her eyebrows, "I am teaching them how to answer questions, to know their beliefs, to understand the workings of the Universe."

"To understand or to doubt?" Impatient with her pretense, Vrook was angry under his skin. Seething just below the surface of his mind. And this was the same man who told her to counsel Carver on his tendencies towards the 'Dark Side'. Hypocrite.

"Master Vrook?" Vander asked. His voice fell through the silence like an arrow. Usually the students would sit in awkward silence whenever a member of the Council made the special trip to humiliate their teacher.

Kreia and Vrook both stared at Vander. The young man bowed his head in a show of deference. "If you could please put to rest a confusion of mine…what is more important to follow, one's conscience, or the will of the Force?"

Successfully distracted, Vrook cobbled an answer together. There was a reason he was not allowed to teach. "The two will almost always align."

"But not always. And if not? Do we choose the Force?" Vander's brown eyes narrowed in challenge.

Vrook was too agitated to notice. "If not then you should confer further with the Council, and meditate, and try to discover what it is in your conscience that is holding you back…if it is not really the Dark side."

"What about a split-second decision, or if every single member of the Council is dead?" He was pushing now. Pushing incessantly. Kreia wondered if he knew Vrook's limits or simply didn't care.

"Then do your best!" Vrook snapped. "Perhaps you don't clearly understand the Will of the Force."

"So sometimes…" Vander postulated, pretending to slowly come to an understanding, "It is up to us to discover our own path, guided by the Tenants of the Jedi, the Will of the Force, and our own understanding of good and evil?"

"Yes," Vrook growled.

Kreia saw the trap. Saw the excitement of the hunt glowing in Vander's face.

"So if the Jedi Order were no more, and there was only the Force…then only our hearts could guide us."

Vrook could tell he'd been tricked somehow into admitting something…he just wasn't sure what, or how to redirect the conversation. His voice became nearly acidic. "But thankfully, there is a Jedi Order, of which Kreia is a subservient and you are a Padawan, Vander. And centuries of knowledge, wisdom, philosophy and understanding lies waiting for you in the Jedi archives, and the Jedi…" he turned to Kreia, stressing, "Teachings."

"Surely, Jedi are not heartless," Meetra spoke up, giving Vrook a way out. Of course she would…it was in her personality. Kreia and Vander both pulsed with irritation and reluctance. But it was probably best to avoid confrontation with Vrook. They both knew this…Meetra's genius was simply less likely to keep her from seeing it. The young girl kept her tone reasonable, almost appeasing. "By teaching us this way, Master Kreia ensures we will not be misled by our teachers. She is arming us against heresy."

Vrook glared at her. Only yesterday his padawan and Meetra had gotten into a violent argument…and Meetra was not prone to violence, so the subject must have been very important or the padawan very stupid. Kreia could have believed either.

But while Vrook could easily have held a grudge for ten seasons, his Jedi training thankfully won out. He took the gracious escape from Vander's questioning and turned to Kreia with a stiff nod. "Very well. As long as no questions are left unanswered, and all doubts are properly examined. Please return to your studies, and excuse this inspection ordered by the Council."

Kreia watched him until he disappeared through the doors of the Enclave's West Wing. She turned to the students. "An inspection, or an ultimatum?" She was joking. Open ended questions. Freedom of choice. Guiding the students to what she wished them to see, forcing them to grow strong along the way.

She saw grim, protective anger glowing in their faces and knew…they would fight to keep her. She was their teacher, their guide…to some, maybe even something of a mother.

Vrook's visit had stirred something childish and ancient in her. She listened to the breeze in the creaking branches of the Blba tree. She heard the deep, cloud-shaking call of the Brith, the giant leviathans as they soared across the sky.

"The Force creates all life," she clasped her hands, eyes darting from one face to another. Watching for the most fertile ground. "And yet all life creates the Force. There could never have been a point of existence when there was no Force, or no life, for one cannot exist without the other. Therefore…the Force is not all-powerful, all-seeing, or all-knowing. For there must have been a dark time before us when there was nothing that there is now."

Alek frowned. "Couldn't the Force and Life have existed since…forever? Always have been and always will be?"

"That is a subject of fierce discussion." Amongst intellectuals and great academics, maybe. But not the Jedi. Never the Jedi. "Some claim it is impossible for everything to have always been. They say that to have a series of uncaused causes stretching back forever is a contradiction in terms. An impossibility …because Time exists, and it is not limitless, and it has been draining away. If you are interested, the Revolvists, the Perceptives, and the Creationists have much to say on this matter. However, the focus I propose to you is this: if the Force does not precede us and cannot exist without us, then why do we follow its Will as if it were a god?"

A long pause. Eons long. Many of the students had an idea…she could feel it, like the heat of a sun, half-warmed in them. Vander knew. Talvon knew. They all stared at Kreia, all of them afraid to say it.

Then, wonder of wonder, of all people, Meetra spoke. The one who hated conflict yet loved learning. Who would rather let someone have their way than start a fight. The sweet pacifist spoke heresy, in the heart of the Jedi Enclave.

She looked up at Kreia, her steel-grey eyes bright and sharp. "Because…with an unselfish heart and an open mind, we could realize what is good for all, with or without the aid of the Force. Peace, kindness, prosperity…the blessing of the Force is not our identity nor our master. It is…only a…only a tool…and it is our actions that define ourselves and the state of our world."

At this blasphemy, this realization of terrible truth, Kreia closed her eyes and smiled.

They sat in a ring around her, staring at her with misguided anger, with confusion, with sorrow. They were as bewildered as they were enraged. All of them…Masters of the High Council of Dantooine. Vrook Lamar. Zez-Kai Ell, Lonna Vash. Kavar. And Atris, a student recently appointed to the Council to answer the need for a new historian.

Because the present historian, Kreia, had been called forth for judgement.

The Mandalorian Wars had been raging for years now. The Mandalorians either made wicked, sweeping conquests or they were stalled bitterly for a few months while the Republic paid a terrible price in blood. They were never driven back; no ground was reclaimed. Envoys and messengers from the Outer Rims came to the Jedi every other week, petitioning for assistance.

And the Council deliberated. The Council hemmed. Waiting for the Will of the Force to move them.

Some of the students could not wait. Vander did not need the Force to tell him what was right…his heart and his mind already knew. In Sacrifice, he cast off the ruling of his Order, his childhood home, and his possible safety as a fugitive of the Jedi. He journeyed forth to bring war to the Mandalorians, to save all the smaller worlds that would be crushed before the Jedi made their decision.

He splintered the order. Alek, Meetra, Carver and Talvon…all Kreia's brightest and best followed him. Even many she had not taught. But not a single student of hers resisted the call to become a Revanchist.

And that was why she stood before the Council now. She had planted a seed. Now she was to be cast out of the garden.

What do you have to say for yourself? Their voices blurred. Why did you lead so many young Jedi to the Dark Side?

"I…" errant thoughts chased themselves around and around in her head. Did Vander…now Revan…did he break away from selfishness? Or was his heart full of compassion for the suffering of the Outer Rim. Was he excited to rebel against the Order, eager for independence and power? Or did he simply see no other way. "I merely taught them to think for themselves. I opened their minds…"

"To evil!" Vrook cut her off, his voice harsh like granite against her mind. "To the wanton use of the Dark Side! He who was once Vander has changed his name to Revan…as all Sith before him did."

"They are not Sith!" Kreia cried, her voice echoing from end to end of the chamber. They were startled by her vehemence. Let them be. How dare they consign her brilliant students to a single allegiance and throw them away like books unopened. Stories unread. Ideas never comprehended. How dare they waste a chance to learn from her daring, brave, compassionate children. "They are only guilty of fighting, as we Jedi have always done, for peace. To save lives. Don't fool yourselves…it is not their so-called 'dark side' in question here. It is their disobedience to this Council!"

"If the Jedi Council can be disobeyed there is no need for a Council." Kavar spoke. His voice was like ice. "If there is no Council, then it follows in quick succession that there are no Masters, no Knights, no padawans. Without authority, there is only anarchy. There is no Jedi Order. Is that what you want to see?"

Despite the coldness in his tone, Kreia knew Kavar wasn't as dim as the others. He was fond of Meetra in particular…he'd even been her teacher at different times. He too, burned under the Council's inaction. But he was too loyal to defy them. Convinced in their necessity.

Loyalty, but never at the cost of blindness.

"Masters," she tried to keep her voice calm. If any of her students ever returned to the Order, she wanted to be there for them. She wanted to help with conciliation and reunification…heal the wounds that had been made by necessity. Her most distant, hopeful dream was that the Council would learn from this. That they would be quicker and wiser to act in the future and would listen to the opinions of their subordinates.

She tried to be subordinate now. "I never showed my students a single novel or holocron written by Sith. Everything we looked at was taken from the Jedi Masters of old, written for Masters and Padawans so they could know the threat of the enemy, and never forget their dark cunning."

"Some were written for the eyes of Masters only. Some were never meant to be seen by Padawans." Atris said. The new historian who would soon replace her. Kreia stared, feeling no hatred. Only a sense of betrayal from a fellow intellectual. She knew for certain that Atris had read some forbidden books, that Atris had the same hunger for knowledge as Kreia.

Atris had loved and admired Meetra. She had sparred with Vander and flirted with Talvon. Kreia didn't understand why Atris would turn on her now.

"Can you swear to us, Kreia…that you have only ever showed the students the books that were intended for them. That you in no way willingly exposed them to that which all the Jedi before us…even the actual authors of those holocrons…commanded that they be in no way allowed to see?"

Kreia was silent. She was a manipulator, a teacher, a dancer of words. She was not a liar.

Kavar opened his mouth, as if he would say more.

"Enough!" Ever direct, ever impatient, Vrook spoke the first words in the sentence that had been set in stone before Kreia's students had even defected. "You have shut us out, and so have shut yourself to the galaxy."

Atris spoke next, meeting Kreia's eyes. Her face was a controlled mask, her emotions unreadable. There was nothing friendly in her face. Nothing remotely human in any of their faces as they watched Kreia's life shatter. "You are exiled, and you are a Jedi no longer."

Kreia turned from them. Her mouth was dry. In a daze, she walked down the halls she had walked for decades. Her feet took her to the Archives. Once her Archives…they now belonged to Atris.

"You can't take anything with you."

Kreia stops. Turns to face Atris, a few of her favorite scrolls clasped tightly in her arms. "What difference does it make? You'll just destroy them anyway."

"Nothing will be destroyed, Kreia." For the first time, Kreia sees something in Atris' eyes. Something remotely kind. A kindred spark. "I will not allow them to. Knowledge is too precious to throw away, regardless of the danger it poses to the unprepared."

"I knew the Jedi were wandering," Kreia said at last. For the first time, her voice broke. "I didn't realize how utterly lost they were."

Atris bristled at her. "Careful, Kreia. I can feel eddies of the Darkness inside of you. Something is close to breaking and it may be your soul."

"Fool." Kreia snarled, "It isn't darkness breaking me." She set her favorite scrolls down. She heard the muffled echo of the Temple Doors opening wide, ready to eject her into the galaxy. She could feel Atris' jealous gaze on her, searching her to make sure nothing else had been taken. She walked towards the door, stopping by Atris so she could stare into her face. "It isn't the 'Dark Side' that you see. It is betrayal."

As Kreia wandered across the galaxy, her spirit darkened. Loneliness ate away her strength, and regret crumbled her resolve. The anger at the Jedi Council was always there, simmering. But thankfully it never consumed her, never overwhelmed her.

So she was not truly fallen. The question of whether her students were…that was what tormented her.

She could not follow Vander, now Revan. She couldn't face any of her students when she doubted herself so much. She might weaken them…and after all they had done, all they had sacrificed, they didn't deserve that to happen to them.

Instead, she read up on the War, following their progress with fear and pride. Then, Malachor V happened, and a single, white-hot shock of agony split the Universe. And Meetra cried out to the galaxy, and Kreia was too weak to answer her.

She followed the cry, however. She traced the screaming pain to Malachor V. She journeyed down through the trapped, black miasma of shadows and the splintered shards of the broken planet. She settled like a fallen leaf into the very heart of that world and found Revan's hideout. Every place she turned, she could hear the screaming pain of the Force…for so many had been ripped out of it at once. So much life had been desecrated.

But far louder than the screaming, far louder even than the emptiness…was the whisper of Revan's Archives.

She found Sith Assassins down there. They couldn't have been survivors. Revan must have sent them after all the destruction, to guard his remaining secrets. But when Kreia first saw a pair materialize out of thin air before her, they merely bowed their heads and stepped to the side. They invited her into Revan's stronghold. They left her in peace.

That in itself should have been a warning sign. But Kreia's desire to understand the motivations of her students, to assure herself that she had not led them astray…that was stronger than her good sense. She unlocked every holocron, read every scroll. Listened to every whisper.

And she learned.

Be warned, reader. The truth of the Cosmos, of reality, is not intended for the sane. All intelligent beings are concerned with survival. They seek a simple way to live and will suffer terribly to preserve it. But it is for naught. It is aimless, chaotic, false. Always, the good of one will seek to supplant the good of another. From this springs cruelty and war.

The Force is an energy field that seeks to balance all of existence and, by extension, forces the bloody cycle to continue. The Jedi Order seeks to obey this need for balance, and they only perpetuate the suffering. Because they have it backwards. Because the Force is a tool, to be used by its wielders. Not the other way around.

Those who can touch the Force must use it. They must wrestle independently from its seductive whispers. For if they shape the galaxy independently, then the cycle will cease. Because for good or for evil, they will not allow war. They will not allow our reality to be run by the instinctive machinations of an energy field. Not any longer.

It is our responsibility to make the galaxy pure, free of dissention and unregulated cruelty. It is our responsibility because we are Force sensitive.

To command the Force, not be commanded by it…that is true freedom. By understanding the Force for what it is and using it accordingly…by this knowledge and this action, our chains are broken. By this knowledge, we are set free.

So Revan had taken the Force into his own hands and was no making his own choices. He was uniting the galaxy, ending the wanton aggression of the Mandalorians. Breaking the Cycle.

Kreia leaned her head back, tears of relief in her eyes. "You did not fall, Revan. Not in the way they meant it…the scales fell from your eyes and you saw the truth. Because I told you that you could open them."

Revan disappeared. After thoroughly defeated the Mandalorians, perhaps knowing that the Jedi Council would never accept them back, he journeyed to the edge of known space and vanished. With him went Alec. As always, the two were inseparable.

The rest of the Revanchists dispersed throughout the galaxy to build new lives for themselves. One person, surprisingly, returned to the Jedi one last time for a show of judgement. Meetra.

Ever soft-hearted, her obedience was met with unyielding discipline. They made her Exile official. There was no forgiveness in their hearts and Kreia hated them for their blindness, their inability to appreciate Meetra for what she was.

Yet Meetra alone had returned to the Jedi, and rumor had it that Meetra had triggered the terrible destruction at Malachor V. Kreia worried for her. Meetra and Talvon had always cared more than was good for them. Had she returned because she repented of what Kreia had taught? Or had she returned…because she was broken?

Whichever the case, Revan was gone. The remaining not-Jedi were leaderless. Kreia decided to make the leap. She named herself Darth Traya and began calling her students to Malachor. Collecting them into a new generation of Sith. Knowing her as the woman who tutored Revan, the lost ones found it easy to swear allegiance to her.

Now, Darth Traya had a new goal. To spread the philosophy Malachor had taught her. That the Jedi need not allow the Force to control them...they should control themselves. Break free of the so-called 'Will' of the Force.

She sent out her Sith assassins, looking for strong individuals who could weaken the Force around them…who had utter, ruthless control over it and themselves.

And, wonder of wonders, she found Talvon and Carver. The brothers, changed by war, hardened, embittered. The Force screamed softly around them, as it did around Malachor. It was loudest around Carver, but around Talvon it seemed…muffled, weakened somehow.

It quickly became apparent that Carver caused the Force pain while Talvon subdued it. Eager to learn more, to teach them again, Traya invited them to her Academy. She promised to hone their powers and answer all their questions.

Carver came eagerly. That surprised Traya. He knelt before her and she gave him the name of Darth Sion. He was a mess of scar tissue. By questioning those who knew him she'd learned that by the end of the war he had begun to throw himself into battle, laughing as blaster bolts ripped through his skin and Beskads sliced across his ribs. Once his pain could be used for a purpose he'd become addicted to it, using it to fuel his powers. The Force around him suffered…it was bleeding, raw, empty…just as his soul was. It would be interesting, indeed, to see the damage he could do to the Force.

Talvon had become something else entirely. His eyes were lackluster. Darkened. His black hair hung over his face and his skin was pale. Cariaga had died early in the war. He'd lost friends, loyal followers. Every loss of life he'd taken personally, and it had worn his spirit away. Rumor said he'd actually been caught in the explosion of Malachor, been trapped for days in the miasma of shadow. Swimming in the empty screams of the dead.

She gave him the name of Darth Nihilus. He accepted it with a whisper. Around him, the Force was…faded. Absent. Muted. But Nihilus was more powerful than ever. Whatever room he stepped into, passions faded. Chatter ebbed away. Emotions flickered. Like Meetra, he was still charismatic. But somehow it had all been turned inwards.

After a time of studying their auras, Traya realized which brother it was that she needed. Carver wounded the Force…but Talvon was a Wound. A Wound in the Force itself. A blackness blossoming on the wrong side of the skin of reality…longing to make all like itself. She only needed to teach him to break through, and he would have utter mastery of the Force, of the Cycle, of the workings of the Universe.

And his brother would be the stepping stone.

Always, Kreia had told the two that the goal of their studies was immortality. She promised Sion that the way would be difficult…more painful than anything he had ever yet experienced. With twisted hunger, he embraced this concept, and eagerly came to meet her in the Meditation Chamber. He stepped forward into the darkness and saw Kreia's outline. He heard a humming from the shadows.

At her sharp command, a dozen droids zipped through the air around his body. Drills, knifes, and needles glinted wickedly as they butterflied across his skin, lacerating him. Snips and threads of flesh flying off into the air, blood sparkling on the granite floor. Sion barely flinched. He basked in the pain, the self-harm scars from his childhood disappearing under newer, ragged ones. The droids began to dig deeper, perching on him, stabbing their probes into muscle tissue. Injecting fluids that would never let his body rest.

Sion began to weaken. His teeth clenched, he fell to his knees. But the pain was bright in his eyes and he loved it still. Around them, the red torches glowed sullenly against the semi-darkness. The air of Malachor pressed tightly down on them, laden with shadow and the memory of death.

Traya had to remove that love of pain from him. It was his weakness. "You are selfish, Sion." She sat before him on the ground, legs crossed as if in meditation as he spat blood near her shoes and groaned. "You have always wandered in your brother's shadow, taking what you could. Because you pretend that life owes you something in return for your deficiencies. But that's hardly a reason to reward insignificance."

Sion's limbs twitched, thrashing as the liquid seeped beneath his skin, eating away the tissue. The droids dove at his prone body, ripping the flesh from his back. He screamed.

"Who do you hate, Sion?" Traya spoke calmly over his screams. "It will sustain you for what comes next."

"Mmhmmf…" Sion's voice was muffled, thick. He didn't continue. Instead he screamed again as a droid latched onto his left shoulder and dragged a furrow through it, revealing muscle and white bone. The bone dipped in and out of the opening as his limbs spasmed.

Tell me with your mind, Sion. Traya closed her eyes patiently, ignoring the disintegrating physical form before her. You still remember how to do that, I trust?

Revan. Revan made us who we are and abandoned all we built. And the Jedi…they never understood us. They never will. They only want to destroy us. And you…I hate you. Why are you doing this to me?! Why are you making me look into my soul like this?! It's too black, too dark…I can't stop it. Please don't.

A droid suddenly missed its aim. The whirring drill stabbed Sion directly in his eye, almost puncturing his brain. His screech of shock and agony dragged like nails across Traya's mind. Tiny murmurings from the heart in her chest. Darth Traya shut them away. This wasn't Carver anymore. The bloodied figure of Lord Sion, with his emotions leaking out of his aura like a ragged, weeping wound…this was a means to an end.

My parents. They gave us away. They didn't want Talvon to be alone so they waited until I was born and then sent us away together so I could keep him company. And Talvon didn't even need me. Everyone already loved him. They hated me. The other students hated me and the teachers hated me and I hated myself.

I hate that I am too weak to end myself. I hate that I exist. I wish to be unmade.

"I will make you into something new," Traya leaned down, her lips brushing the mess of flesh and hair that had once been Sion's scalp. "All that pain you have been taking in, all your life…give it back. Give it to others and fuel yourself with their agony instead of your own."

"I…can't…" he spoke aloud now, voice gargling. Had he been screaming all this time? "S' too much."

"I can take it." A new voice. A voice Traya had been hoping to hear. She looked up and saw Nihilus. The man had pushed back his hood, revealing his pale face. Like a ghost, he stepped forward, boots splashing in his brother's blood. He stared at Traya with a flicker of danger, a spark of hatred. "What have you done?"

"Shown him the way to immortality," Traya replied, standing up. "He is simply too weak to reach it."

Nihilus bent down by Sion. His eyes were like stone. "I will not lose someone else." He murmured at his brother's head, resting a gloved hand on the mottled flesh, causing Sion to hiss. "Give it to me, brother. Give me all the pain. Fuel yourself…and then let me take it."

The Force flickered. It recoiled in horror from both brothers, tearing itself loose from the bloody aura of Sion…struggling to escape the gravitational pull of Nihilus. It was being at once mutilated and devoured, like a well-cooked meal.

Traya moved back, watching in fascinated satisfaction as shadows of Malachor escaped from Nihilus' robes, clustering around his face. His dark eyes disappeared beneath them. His form wavered like an illusion. The pain flooded Sion like red energy, causing his heart to beat and his mind to sing with frantic power. Before it could force him to the breaking point, it was devoured by Nihilus' absence.

After some time had passed, Sion groaned like a lion and stirred. He pulled his trembling legs beneath him, forcing himself to stand with Nihilus.

The shadows faded. Sion was unhealed. Every flap of bleeding skin was still serrated. Every wound still puckered fresh and angry on his skin. He looked more like a jigsaw puzzle than a man. Fresh blood trickled down the grooves in his body and pooled around his bare feet. He stood naked before Traya, and his single brown eye had aged a hundred years.

Nihilus turned as well. His eyes were completely black, the whites of them swallowed up by shadow. Black veins stood up on his bloodless skin. He looked like he wanted to speak but was uncertain of his own voice.

She knew what their question was. "You are both immortal now, as I promised. Sion subsists on pain, and you, Nihilus…you feed on the Force itself, the Force surrounding all living things. You will live forever. And while this is the goal of all Sith, it is also an imperative quality for the chosen guardians of the Universe. You will live in Suffering, in Sacrifice and in Knowledge. You will break the Cycle and bring peace."

Nihilus spoke and Traya felt something inside of her seize with misgiving. For his voice was like a thousand whispers blended together until there were no recognizable words. The whispers of Malachor V, of a wound in the Force. And yet while her ears couldn't understand him, her mind did.

What has happened to me?

"You have lost a part of yourself," she gestured, "to save him, to hold together his broken pieces."

Nihilus loomed over Sion, staring down into his ragged face as the Lord of Pain panted, still out of breath from the torture. But Sion's single remaining eye burned with more energy, more fire than he'd ever had before. He was ready for a fight.

The shadow paused to consider. But then it moved on. His hands dropped away from the other, never to touch him again.

He is the last bond I have left. I will spare him…the bond pleases me, and I am not hungry.

The fact that he called it a hunger worried Traya. She wondered now if absorbing the power and life-force of others might become compulsive, an incessant demand. She probably should have considered that…the very nature of emptiness is the inability to ever properly fill it.

She had created Sion from jealousy, anger, and self-hatred.

She had created Nihilus from possessiveness, guilt, and fear.

Qualities which none of her students had suggested to her during their lectures on Dantooine. Qualities which would not naturally move one to preserve peace and prosperity in the Universe.

It seized her, suddenly, like a dark fist around her heart as she stared at the two Sith Lords. Fearsome and inhuman.

She might have made a mistake.

And so it was no surprise to her when they returned to her mere months later. Angry at what she had turned them into and hungry to destroy the Universe rather than guide it, they usurped her. Sion broke her body, inflicting pain on others, as she always taught him. He fed on it.

Nihilus drained her powers and leeched the Force itself away from her, feeding on her energy, as she taught him.

No, their betrayal was no surprise. Betrayal was the bedrock, the catalyst of change, an inevitable quality of the Sith.

The surprise came from within, when Darth Traya became simply Kreia again.

Kreia had searched for immortality as a Sith, using the brothers as guinea pigs. She had hoped to make the Force serve them, obedient and subservient.

But now that she was cut off from the Force she realized what she had sought was like a drug. To live on the Force was a lie. It was weakness. It drained the soul and true strength of a being. To live without the Force was freedom.

Even if the Force were ripped from you, you could still work to achieve peace. You can move mountains.

Revan and Alek were gone. Carver and Talvon had betrayed her. Cariaga and Nisotsa was long dead.

But Meetra. Meetra was still out there in known space somewhere.

Meetra, the brilliant student who cared so much. Never before had Kreia seen such a genius paired with such a kind heart. And yet Meetra was the one who had created Malachor V. She had inflicted the greatest wound in the Force, one that echoed across the galaxy and still sat, open and weeping, at this very moment. That wound had engulfed a planet and countless lives.

But Meetra had waited till the end of the war to react. She had cut herself off from the Force, because of the guilt and the pain. She did not cling to what was gone, like Nihilus did. She didn't let it weigh her down. She let it go, letting a part of herself go with it.

Perhaps that was the missing ingredient. Meetra had the power and the knowledge to change things. She cared enough to change things. But she didn't need the Force. She had voluntarily walked away from it.

And so Kreia set out to find her final student. Yes, Meetra did not have the Force anymore. But if Kreia was correct in her suspicions…then that meant nothing. Because even without the Force, Meetra Surik could still move mountains.

And at the last, after all the whispered teachings, the clever manipulation…the delicate dance around Meetra's vibrant heart that would never stand for direct cruelty or manipulation…Kreia lured her last remaining student back to Malachor, back to the Temple. For her final lesson.

She had manipulated events, tricked the brothers into being destroyed. She had hoped to keep Sion…Nihilus was a threat to all life and had to be ended. Sion was merely a headache. But she would not mourn his passing. After all, the little boy in the gardens of Dantooine had always wanted to die.

Now perhaps, Talvon could be with Cariaga. And Carver, unable to hurt himself any longer…perhaps Carver would find peace.

Now Meetra was locked in combat with her. She had listened respectfully but at the end refused to accept Kreia's teachings…that she should destroy the Force entirely, devouring it all and using its power to control the Universe. Meetra, her last hope, had failed her.

And yet Kreia could not help but be proud. She knew the pain that had latched onto Meetra. Sion had done his duty and hollowed out Atton, leaving him at the point of death. Lying broken on the path and prepared for the Ritual should Meetra somehow be forced to step into the role of Nihilus as the One Who Hungers. The fool's agony radiated across Meetra's bond, strong enough to bring tears to her eyes. And still she fought on.

Meetra refuses to cling, as she has always refused to cling. There is no selfishness in her. She will not become Nihilus.

She knows the loss of Atton. He is already dead to her. She knows the loss of all her precious Jedi, and it has not changed her into Sion.

And she knows that she has been betrayed…by Kreia, by Atris, by the Jedi themselves…and still, she reaches out to them all with forgiveness.

Even now, she offers Kreia mercy. She will never be a Lord of Pain, or a Lord of Hunger, or a Betrayer of Knowledge. She will always remain herself. A Heart that Beats with the power to move worlds.

Kreia could see the glow of their lightsabers, crimson and silver, twin bars of light reflected in Meetra's desperate eyes.

And Kreia realized…all this time, she had been both right and wrong. Yes, it is by actions that beings shaped the universe. But it is not by manipulation. And yes, the Force was not the supreme will that dictated the world. Both the Dark and the Light Side were constantly calling, tempting, enticing…but the choice came from within. The seed of every great action took place first in the soul.

She was more right than she knew when she told Meetra at the beginning of their journey…the battleground is the spirit.

And, she realized as Meetra stood tall before her, refusing to strike her down simply because she knew it was right, and believed whole-heartedly that redemption was possible…Meetra Surik had the strongest spirit Kreia had ever known.

Destroy the Force as Kreia had once wished, or follow Revan to the unknown, or stay on Malachor to teach…or even return to her insignificant life in exile. It didn't matter what she chose…for Meetra was extraordinary. She was good and kind and brave, and would continue making choices that would echo, shaping the world for the better. A little bit at a time, wherever she went.

Now Kreia knew why she'd failed. Why they had all failed. Sion had wallowed in pain. Nihilus had wallowed in loneliness. And Kreia…Kreia had done exactly what she'd accused the Jedi of doing, all those years ago.

She had forgotten the language of her heart.

She had become so caught up in creating perfection…she had forgotten what was good. So desperate to prove herself right…she had forgotten what was kind. She had assigned a plan for the universe and yet allowed her own spirit to fall into decay. She couldn't change the world. She had to be that change.

Of all the students she taught, only Meetra had fully grasped this simple, brave, terrifying concept.

To be humble. And to do what is right.

The skies of Dantooine glow with the setting sun. Pink and amber streak across the sky, casting dim shadows from the Brith as they float towards their nests in the mountains. The trees wave softly, warding off the wild, thrilling howls of the Kath Hounds.

Sitting at her feet are her students. Gazing up at her, vulnerable to her error…made great by her imagination.

Nisotsa, her brown eyes untroubled by higher thoughts. She plays with her blonde hair and listens to Kreia's words. There is no one in the group with a memory like hers, or an eye for art. She ended up as a member of Revan's high command, kneeling quietly on the bridge while the starships clashed. She threw her Battle Meditation against Bastila Shan's. Killed early in the war, she surprised everyone by joining up at all. For her few months on the front lines, she was often heard to say that all she wanted was peace, and to go home again. From loyalty, and innocence, and fear, she made her choice.

Cariaga, hands clasped with Talvon's. Her eyes narrow at Kreia…always, her emotions were plain on her face. Always, Kreia knew exactly when her student didn't quite understand a concept. Many accused her of joining Revan only so she could remain at Talvon's side. She did not deny these rumors. But there was no fiercer warrior in battle. She would rather die herself than leave a soldier behind. It was this courage, in the end, that betrayed her. It was her death that struck the blow to Talvon's heart, leaving him hollow. From love, outrage, and courage, she made her choice.

Talvon, who would become Nihilus. The tall, dark haired boy who wanted everyone to stay near him. He soaks in Kreia's teachings like a sponge, and she loves him for more than his intellect. His black eyes flash with starlight when he laughs. He became a great leader of the fleet…many said that Revan lead through inspiration, while Meetra and Talvon lead through love. Talvon's men loved him, and each loss whittled away another part of himself until there was nothing left to give. Until he was caught in the shadows of Malachor and came out changed. From passion, empathy, and loneliness, he made his choice.

Carver sits with his arms wrapped around his knees, letting their laughing chatter wash over him. He looks up at Kreia, sometimes returning her private smiles. Sometimes ignoring them. Kreia wonders if she would ever have grown tired of trying to help him…as Darth Traya did. His brown eyes are full of bitterness. He joined the war under his brother's command, as fate would have it. Too reckless and disagreeable to lead, he became a Sith juggernaut, the one they would send for the bloodiest battles. To leave a message or strike terror into the Mandalorians. The war carved him up and, even if he laughed while it happened, he emerged too damaged to ever find peace again. From anger, envy, and emptiness, he made his choice.

Malak is arm wrestling Vander. And winning. There is a strict 'no powers' policy. His blue eyes are bright and happy, but sometimes they flash with something. Pain, like Sion. Outrage, like Cariaga. The desire for justice…like Vander. He glances at Kreia and winks. When the war began, he was at Revan's side every step of the way. There is great danger in such closeness…many accused him of shadowing Revan's political ideals. They claimed he was nothing but a minion. They did their best to plant a seed of envy in his heart. But it never happened. It would take more than gossip to put a rift between Alek and Revan. At the end of the war, he disappeared with Revan. But he had served as second-in-command of the most powerful, hopeful young army to ever become disillusioned with their elders. From righteousness, pride, and eagerness, he made his choice.

The boy who will one day be Revan is sweating. He's not used to losing and it makes him irritable. He grumblingly asks for Meetra to tie his long brown hair back from his face. There is so much in those eyes that Kreia did not understand at the time. She used to try and put words to it. Now she knows…in his eyes, she sees War, Decision, Ruthlessness, Arrogance…yet also Regret, Kindness, Sacrifice, and Humility. Vander is not only great enough to move worlds and shake the universe…he is great enough to change. To become small. Because of all the things that create the sum of him, all the terrible virtues and vices struggling inside of him, he makes his choice.

Meetra slaps a hand on the table, criticizing Revan's form. Then she straightens up and laughs, tucking her hair behind her ears. She turns to Kreia and grins, happy that her friends are happy. Glad for the reprieve, for the innocence. In her eyes, Kreia sees kindness. She sees sensitivity. She sees mercy and ruthlessness blended in equal measure. She sees the warrior who could destroy two armies and the entire planet they stand upon in an instant…she sees the woman who would rather cut her own limbs off and weep for a thousand years, carrying the guilt and the pain of it for the rest of her life. She sees Meetra Surik, the kindest and wisest of them all.

"Rest now, Kreia. Your time in this place is over."

Such gentle words. Laden with pity, sorrow, and awe. Meetra understood what Kreia had been through, the terrible, dark things she had done. The things she had wondered. The good intentions she had started out with. The betrayal and doubt she had suffered. The despairing, blind evil she had ended in.

Kreia remembered her children. She had opened their eyes…some to their damnation, some to their salvation. And now one student had opened hers in return. With a single, slipping cry of pain, she fell to the floor, her spirit fleeing from all her mistakes and error. And yet she was at peace.

After all, there is nothing a teacher longs for more…than to see her student a success.

FINIS

Author's Notes: Just finished playing KOTOR 2. Loved it. Absolutely loved it. As I played through the game I found Kreia's motives and history somewhat confusing, especially near the end and what her end-game was. In this story I've tried to map it out...how her purpose evolves and changes, all the way from being a Grey Jedi teacher of future rebels to a Sith Lord who wants to destroy the Force itself, to a sad old woman who tells Meetra she's proud of her.

I also took the liberty of editing Sion and Nihilus' backstory a bit. Because I read somewhere that part of Kreia's plan was to turn Atris into herself, Atton into Sion, and Meetra into Nihilus. Except they'd be a more successful trio? I don't know. Either way I wanted to make Nihilus and Sion care about each other, so that Atton and Meetra succeeding them made more sense.

And don't mistake me. I love Kreia. I love to hate her, study her, and pity her. That's what this story is about...(oh and I also gave Revan a real name, which I believe is sacrilege in the fandom and for that I apologize...but it had to be done!)

NOTE: The picture I used is "Kreia, in Contemplation" by DarthFar on Deviantart. Please check them out because they are amazing! :)

Please enjoy, and thank you very much for stopping by! (Reviews feed my Muse...seriously, it's all she'll eat. She's a picky one.)