This is not an ending.

It could be disguised as one, but there's already been too much deception in this life. In hindsight, Revan supposes she should've seen it coming from the start. Perhaps it would've been obvious if she could've focused on something other than herself, or other than Malak. If she would've taken the time to think about it, she'd have seen the course her life was taking.

It's easy to blame yourself after the fact. It's easy to look back and know how you could've done it all differently, but that's a dangerous place to go. Maybe there isn't a way to reach into the past, but if there is, Revan still hasn't found it. If there is, at least this time she knows which point she would go back to.

But it doesn't matter—all that's left are Revan's decisions going forward, hoping that she survives the ones she's already made.

If it takes five years, then it takes five years. It's okay—there's another to take her place.

—

Bastila reaches out the next day.

I'm in the Senate District, her message says, I'd like to meet you for lunch, if you have the time. It'd be a good opportunity to talk.

Revan reads it while she sips her coffee at the kitchen table. Juhani's already left for the day. She took one look at Revan's appearance this morning, shook her head, and told her that she needs to get more sleep. Revan laughed it off, but she knows she's right, and it's still a kindness that she needs.

Now it's Mission who sits at the other end of the table, rapidly spooning cereal into her mouth. The bowl clinks loudly with each spoonful, and Revan raises a brow at her. "What is this, a race?"

The twi'lek slows down for a moment, a sheepish smile working its way over her lips. "I slept in by accident. I'm supposed to meet Dustil in like, fifteen minutes."

"What are you two up to?"

But Mission shakes her head. "Don't even."

"I didn't say anything!" Revan defends, but she laughs. She loves the easiness of being with Mission. The girl's been through so much but she still chooses not to let it affect her. She finds some sense of optimism in the chaos of it all.

Revan only wishes that were her case.

"What about you?" Mission asks, and Revan pretends not to notice the change of subject. "Any plans for the day?"

"I think I'm gonna meet Bastila," she answers. "She's invited me to lunch."

"Oh cool. Did she message you, or did she speak to you telepathically?"

Revan grins helplessly. "Our bond's been broken since the Leviathan, Mish."

She can still feel the moment it broke. It cut through her like a knife, severing whatever strength they lent each other, and Revan's head felt like it was splitting apart. Overwhelming, blinding, and then gone. Bastila—gone. Initially she thought that'd been the end, that Bastila had been killed, but what was left were the tattered remains of their bond. Barely alive, hardly there, just a tiny fraction of what it used to be.

"Tell her I say hi?" Mission asks as she gets up. She drops her bowl into the sink and rinses it before grabbing her jacket. "Feel free to take anything out of my closet, you don't really want to be walking around looking like that."

Revan looks down at her robes, only slightly affronted. She's been recycling the same ones over and over again, so maybe it'd be nice to change back into some civilian clothes. But still—"Thanks. Have fun with your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend!" Mission calls out as she leaves. The door shuts behind her and Revan shakes her head to herself. She feels strangely calm in the morning light, and she stays in it until she herself might be running late, sparing one more glance at Bastila's message before abandoning her coffee to take a peek through Mission's closet.

—

It's like becoming a different person entirely. Suddenly she blends into the crowd again, dressed in a loose sweater and tight jeans. She hails a taxi outside the apartment building, reminding herself that just a few days ago she was wading into a swamp on Kashyyyk. Life is weird and strange, and trying to make sense of it feels like a pointless venture.

The cafe that Bastila chose is sweet, small, and out of the way. It's in a nicer area of Coruscant, the streets are clean, and people press their lips into smiles at Revan as she walks by. It might be nice, but it doesn't feel right. They don't know who she is. They don't know what she's done.

Bastila herself looks a little worn. Her usually styled hair is loose, falling around her shoulders in waves, and she sits with her chin in her hand. She's in the back corner of the cafe, and her eyes lift the moment that Revan steps inside. Revan doesn't take the time to look around, just heads straight for her.

"Revan," she says, and her grin is wary but it's there. "I'm glad you agreed to meet me."

Revan returns her smile. "How could I say no?"

"I should think you'd have many reasons by now."

She doesn't, though. As fractured as their relationship has been, it's still Bastila. It's never been easy for either of them, and Revan's heart aches at the thought of Bastila fearing her rejection.

"I don't hold any of it against you," Revan says as earnestly as she can, and it's true. After everything they've been through together, Revan will always see the bigger picture when it comes to Bastila.

"I told the Council about Malak," she says.

"I know."

"I betrayed your trust."

Revan's answering grin is weak. "I know."

"You're not upset?" Bastila asks, her voice a pitch higher. It's typical, and Revan can just imagine the way she'd say it before. She'd always get outraged over the smallest comments, and Revan used to find it so funny. Her amusement should've seen the truth, though. It should've seen through how fragile Bastila's confidence really was.

"I'm not upset," Revan confirms, her tone more serious. "It wasn't fair of me to put you in that situation. I know it wasn't easy...with what Malak's done to you. I can't tell you how sorry I am for putting you in the position to see him again."

But Bastila shakes her head once, just a short, sharp movement. "It's alright, I understand."

She raises a brow. "You do?"

"Revan, I spared your life," she says. "I understand what it means to be in that moment, to make the decision not to kill someone who deserves it."

"Oh, thanks," Revan says with a laugh. She takes a breath, leaning back in her seat. "I guess I learned something from you after all."

"I should've done more." She looks down at her hands. "I regret keeping so much from you, before. But I want you to know that I understand, I truly do."

Revan nods. It makes sense. Bastila was in the exact same position, faced with a choice to spare or kill a Sith Lord. Perhaps it was under different circumstances, perhaps the meaning behind it wasn't the same, but they've both experienced that critical moment. To make a choice when there's no right or wrong answer.

Revan presses her lips together, remembering that moment that Malak thanked her for saving his life. She looks at Bastila now, knowing how much that reassurance means. "Thank you for sparing my life. I know your objective was to capture me, but you didn't have to. You could've let me die in Malak's attack. So—thank you."

Bastila waves her off, but Revan can see the way her features relax. She can feel the bare bones of their bond, what's left, and feels the relief that rushes through her.

They catch up the best that they can. As deeply personal as their relationship was, it always centered around the mission. It was always about learning how to be a Jedi, about what the Council expected from them, what Bastila needed in order to feel like she was in control of the situation. They've had their issues, and they've suffered together, so it's nice to take a breath with her here.

They order lunch, and for once Revan doesn't talk about Malak. Instead she asks about what Bastila's doing in this sector, surprised that her mother ended up here after all. They've been reconnecting despite their problems of the past, and for the first time in a long time, Revan feels a genuine connection with Bastila. One that isn't forced because of the bond.

It's not until they're getting up to leave that Bastila asks, "Has he been helping you?"

Revan only hesitates a second before answering. "As much as he can. I know it's hard on him, and I've been hard on him, so... Now the Jedi have him, and I'm not really sure where to go from here."

"You should talk to them," Bastila says. "Not just about Malak, but about your memories. I think they'd help."

The image of Atris' face comes to mind, the open contempt she had for Revan. Perhaps one of the others might help but she can't get her hopes up. "Maybe."

"It was good to see you," she says. Her blue gray eyes squint against the sun, but she smiles at Revan. The two of them stand on a sidewalk on Coruscant and Revan finds it hard to believe that they got here. She can't help it, she pulls Bastila in for a hug.

The woman makes a surprised noise, but her arms wrap around Revan in return. They stay like that for longer than either of them would ever admit.

—

Revan runs into Zhar that afternoon.

She was looking for Juhani, but as soon as she walks into the Temple she catches sight of the twi'lek's familiar shape sitting by one of the fountains in the entry. He looks up as she enters the room, and a small smile fits itself on his lips, like just the sight of her is enough to make him happy. She doesn't understand it, but she accepts it.

"Master Zhar," she says, bowing her head.

"Revan." It's strange for him to call her that, after training with him for so long on Dantooine. It still hurts to know that they all lied to her, but she understands the necessity as much as she hates it. "I'm glad you're here."

"You are?" she asks.

"I wanted to speak to you." He gets up, nodding his head in the other direction. She falls into step beside him, used to the height difference since he's nearly as tall as Malak.

"About what?" she asks, and she's glad that they're walking. It's easier to talk without his eyes on her, always scrutinizing her as if he's looking for the differences between then and now. She can focus on the light shining in through the wide windows, the view of the city in the daytime beyond it.

"I want to tell you that I'm sorry," he says, and there's something earnest in his voice that compels her to believe him. "I still feel the weight of our deception, and I want to apologize for hiding the truth from you. I'm glad you know now, even if it hasn't been easy on you."

She presses her lips together. "I am, too."

"And I want to thank you," he continues. "I'd prepared myself for Malak's death since he first left for the war, so I never imagined that I'd get the chance to speak to him again."

"And have you?"

In her peripheral, she sees him nod. "We spoke this morning. It was...good. He is much like the boy I knew before. You know, as Jedi we aren't immune to attachments. I realize it more and more all the time. It's difficult not to be, when you spend years with a Padawan, raising them as you would a child. I watched over him from the time he was eight years old, until he was nineteen. That bond doesn't break easily."

They stop walking, and Revan's heart feels heavy. She wonders if perhaps it's easier for her, after all, as she looks into Zhar's eyes. The hurt is so open in them as he opens up to her, and it makes her feel all the more selfish for the things she's thought, the things she's done.

She's not alone in the pain of the past.

"I'm sure he feels the same," she offers, unsure of what she could say to make it any better.

"He said as much," Zhar says. "I've never seen him this hurt. I can sense that his desire for forgiveness is genuine, and it makes me proud as much as it hurts me in return."

"Master?"

"I blame myself, you know. I was the one who looked after you at the end of your training. You and Malak were the joys of my life, and yet I couldn't stop you when you went to war. I watched as you left everything behind, and all these years I've been wondering if I should've done something differently." He pauses, looks away. "I know the folly of asking myself that, and I've put it to the Force, recognizing that this is the way it must be, as all things are."

There's an ache she can't chase away as she listens to him.

"He asked me if I could ever forgive him," he says. "It was never a question in my mind."

This is...intimate. She realizes that these are not things he should be saying to someone who barely remembers who she is. He seems to realize this as well, shaking his head. The clear light shifts over his purple lekku, and his lips quirk up on one side. "Forgive me, you and I used to share in many long conversations. It's too easy to forget that you don't remember. Back on Dantooine, it was difficult not to let it show."

"I think I was a bit too caught up in it all to notice," she offers. Her and Zhar were easily the closest during her training. He's the one who taught her the code, who helped her craft her first lightsaber. It makes more sense, now, reflecting back on his caring nature and realizing that it ran deeper than she knew.

"I never imagined I'd see the two of you together again," he says, his voice wistful. "I thought it was enough, to see you despite the circumstances, but—this has been a lot."

She nods. "Can I see him?"

She knows his answer the second she asks. She sees the regret on his face as he shakes his head again. "Perhaps tomorrow. The Council needs more time to speak to him and determine our course of action."

"Of course," she agrees, unwilling to push it. There's a delicate balance here that she can't risk breaking yet. "You'll look out for him?"

"I will," he promises.

Revan offers him a grateful smile, and she bows her head before they say goodbye. He's not out of reach before she calls back: "Master Zhar?"

"Yes?"

She looks at him. Do you think it's possible for me to get my memories back?, she almost asks. Something stops her. Perhaps it's the fact that he was part of the decision to wipe her memories in the first place. As much as she feels as though she can trust him, she knows, deep down, that she can't. "Has Master Atris always been so cold?"

He smiles; it's something small and sad. "No, she hasn't. But I suppose we've all lost something to the wars."

It's as much of an answer that she thinks she'll get from him, and she nods absently before turning again.

Five days pass before she's allowed to see Malak.

She spends most of her time with Juhani at the Temple. The two spar and meditate and Revan waits for answers but they don't come. She still doesn't sleep, she just meditates through the long hours of night and waits and waits and waits.

The days pass slowly, and it's difficult not to seek out the Masters for help, but there's a stubbornness in her that she can't shake.

It's afternoon, and she's having tea with Mission when she gets a message from Master Zhar: Meet me at the Temple at your earliest convenience.

"Alright?" Mission asks, looking at Revan with interest.

"Yeah, I—" Revan glances at the message again before getting up. "I need to head back to the Temple. Sorry, Mish."

The girl waves her off. "It's fine, I'll go bug Carth or something."

"Be nice," she says, winking at her. They hug before parting, and Revan hails a taxi, waiting anxiously in the back seat. Her knee won't stop bobbling up and down, and she wants to see Malak more than anything, but part of her is worried that after all this he won't want to see her. The thought doesn't last long, but it's hard to fill her mind with anything resembling hope as she heads to the Temple, the speeder chugging along between towers.

Zhar's waiting for her when she gets there, and he smiles warmly. "Revan."

"You asked to see me?"

"The Council has decided to let you see Malak," he says, and Revan's stomach drops.

She nods absently. "Okay."

"We have to limit the length of your visit," he says, and when he starts walking Revan follows. "It'll take some time before we can instill any real trust in him, but he's had a promising start."

She's relieved, but she doesn't ask any further questions as he leads her down a few hallways. There are checkpoints and clearances and finally they arrive at a door. It's as unassuming as any other door in the Temple, and Zhar stops outside of it, turning to face Revan. "You can go in when you're ready, but I'll be back in ten minutes."

She doesn't think that's enough time, but she nods. Zhar leaves and she has to take a deep breath, looking at the door for a long moment before she knocks and enters.

It looks like an average apartment inside. There are two couches facing each other in the space that she enters, and when she looks up, Malak's on the far side of the room, standing in the kitchen. Revan closes the door behind her and they both pause. This is new territory for them. There's no impending doom, nothing to truly get in their way other than themselves.

Malak doesn't say anything, but he puts down whatever was in his hands and he draws closer. Revan moves as well, and somewhere in the middle they find each other. Wordlessly they both reach out, and Revan buries her face in his chest as his arms wrap tightly around her.

"I missed you," she says, the words muffled against his robes. She's unwilling to go without saying it in case she can't see him again for a while, in case it's going to be a constant game of wait and see.

"I missed you too," he murmurs. "I couldn't believe that the Council wanted to keep me around, but I'm not complaining."

"I told you," she says, pulling back to look up at him. It feels so good to look in his eyes again, to see him and know for certain that he's still here, still alive, still trying. "Look at us, we were worried over nothing."

But he shakes his head. "This isn't nothing."

It's sobering, but it's true. This is safe, for now. It's a temporary solution, and Revan wants to believe that it'll work out for the best, but optimism still feels dangerous. After all this time, she has a hard time finding hope. "Yeah, well...I only have a few minutes. Please tell me you're okay."

"I'm okay," he reassures, gesturing to the couches. He sits on one, and Revan can't help it, she sits right next to him, trying to ignore the smile that finds its way to his eyes. He says, "I think I've talked to each Council member individually five times now, but they don't seem to hate me as much as I thought they would."

Revan almost laughs. "I think they like you more than me."

"Jealous?"

"Wildly," she says, and rolls her eyes. "But you're alright?"

"Yes. What did they tell you?"

"That they'd be watching you. That they had to determine whether or not you were a threat."

"I'm guessing the fact that you're here is a good sign."

"I want to believe that."

"But?"

She lifts a shoulder. "Nothing. Zhar said you had a promising start."

Malak averts his gaze, but a soft smile sits in his features. "I'm happy to talk to him."

She wants to ask if it's different, but she knows that it is. There's no way that it couldn't be. She wants to ask if it's helped, but he didn't want this in the first place. She could apologize, but that doesn't seem right, either. She sighs. "You're going to be okay?"

"Revan."

"I know, I just—it isn't as easy as before. I don't like being out of control like this."

I don't like being this far away from you.

He raises a brow. "That's implying that it was easy before."

"Wasn't it?" she asks, and maybe they're talking about different things. He has more scope on the situation than she does. She's thinking about the two of them in their shoddy blanket fort. She's thinking about eating breakfast beside him, walking through the woods together. Of course it was easier, but it never could've lasted.

"It's never been easy for us," Malak says, and he looks away.

Revan doesn't like the feeling that sinks in her stomach, but she has to look at the clock. "Listen, I—I don't have much time..."

"Hang on," he says, and gets up, disappearing into another room. Revan waits on the couch, her eyes scanning around the room. It's unassuming, plain, and she wonders what kind of security measures the Council's taken here, both for and against him.

But Revan takes a deep breath, closing her eyes against the late afternoon light that brushes over her skin. Malak returns a few moments later with a datapad in his hand, which he offers to her.

"What's this?" she asks, looking down at it.

"Answers," he says quietly, and when she glances up he's watching her intently. "As much as I could. Ever since that fight on the Ebon Hawk, I've been trying to figure out the best way to tell you. I haven't been sleeping much here—taking after you, I guess—but I've spent my time writing down as much as I could. Please, don't read it unless it's your last resort. If—if something happens to me, or if this will spare you from danger, then go ahead. But if you can remember on your own, please. Please, Revan."

She nods, feeling sick inside. There's nothing she can even say, other than, "Okay."

The word comes out pathetically short of breath. It's just the implication of it, but it's enough to get him to breathe easier. Revan doesn't like the suggestion of this, like she'll need it, but she can't deny the wisdom in it.

She can't deny her curiosity as to what it says.

"I'll keep this safe," she says, tucking it against her chest. "I should probably go."

"One more thing," he says as they both get up. "There's an address in there. It's for my old apartment, here on Coruscant. I was, uh, never able to give it up. It might...spark a memory, or something. I don't know. It might help."

"I'm sure it will," she says back. She clutches the datapad just a bit tighter, not ready to leave him again. When she looks at him, she knows her eyes are saying the same thing. She looks at him and he watches her in return and it's too much and not enough at the same time. It's too much to be here with him like this, to want to look after him, take care of him, pull him close and not let go. It's not enough for just these brief few minutes, to have just a moment and then he's gone, all over again.

He holds in his arms, and if the strength of his grip is anything to go by, he's feeling something similar.

They murmur their goodbyes before Revan closes the door with a soft sound behind her. She has to lean against it, only righting herself when she notices Zhar coming back to see her.

"Everything alright?" he asks.

"Fine," she answers with a nod. "Thank you, Master Zhar."

—

Her hands shake as she tells the taxi where to go.

The address doesn't sound familiar to her, but that's not a surprise. Her hands fidget in her lap as she waits out the ride, which isn't long. Of course Malak lived near the temple but still, there's a feeling she can't shake as the taxi slows to a stop outside of a plain building. It's not something she can name.

He included the access code with the address, so it's easy to get into the building. Her eyes move all around as she walks through the lobby, straight back to the elevator. Her body feels weird, like she knows this place deep inside herself. The elevator rises, and her nerves are completely shot. It rises and she double, triple checks that she has the apartment number right. It stops on the right floor with a soft ping, the door opens, and Revan steps out, looking both ways down the hallway.

It feels odd, like she's inhabiting someone else's space. Like she knows she doesn't belong in this building and any moment someone's going to ask her to leave. It feels a lot like she's breaking in, that she has no right to be here at all.

The bland beige walls are as unfamiliar as the grey doors lining each side of the hallway. She keeps her eyes open for the right apartment, reading the numbers under her breath until she's standing in front of Malak's door.

She stares at it for too long, her hands still at her side. She stands in front of the door and she doesn't move, just breathes and breathes and begs herself to go in.

She ends up sitting on the floor across from it, her back pressed against the wall. She wants to be ready but she doesn't know how she could be. This is Malak's space. This is a place where she could get real answers, and it's a strange thing to be on the precipice of getting exactly what you want, and suddenly being unsure if you really want it.

What if it's not what she thinks it'll be? What if she's been wrong this whole time?

We both know that this is miniscule compared to what's out there, her mother says, which steals Revan's attention away.

I don't know what's out there, she says.

Then perhaps it's time.

Revan frowns. Time for what?, she asks, but there's no response. Revan is left in the silence of the hallway, staring at a door she knows she's been through before. Taking a breath, she forces herself to stand and enter the keycode to the apartment.

The door opens with a rush, and Revan stops in the entry. The lights are off but the afternoon sun is enough to wash the apartment in gray light. Ahead of her is a kitchen, the table littered with books that look to have been left alone for years. When she steps in she sees a living room to her left, a sofa, a bookcase, a television. There are two doors, presumably to the bathroom and bedroom.

All of it is frighteningly familiar. She can feel it deep down, stirring up a feeling she's never experienced before, like this could've been her home once. It's like seeing a dream come to life, something you recognize only because it's buried deep within your mind.

Revan's felt the ghost of memories, but this place is just a ghost.

She lets her hands run along the furniture, stepping gingerly through the apartment. They slide over the backs of the kitchen chairs, along the outline of the table. She touches the back of the couch, trying to imagine them building a blanket fort around it. The memory doesn't come, but it feels close to the surface. Being in here, all her memories somehow feel close to the surface.

Malak's presence is...unmistakable. It feels certain. Defined. It, too, feels like something she knows deep down, but can't quite find. Her hand reaches for the door to the bedroom, and when she opens it, a wave of the past washes over her.

It doesn't feel like she's breathing. She looks at the neatly made bed and the wide windows that stream light over it, trying to find something real in the midst of her half-aware memories. She doesn't touch the bed, not yet. It feels too intimate where she's already uncertain of their relationship, where she knows her desire but not the truth.

It's how she ends up back in the living room. It's how she ends up looking at the bookshelf, scanning along titles until her gaze pauses on a camera tucked back on the highest shelf.

She bites her lip, taking only a half second to consider it before she takes it off the shelf. It doesn't turn on, but she pulls out the memory card and plugs it into her datapad, walking back to the couch.

She curls up and waits for the files to upload. There are...687 photos. She shakes her head to herself, but starts flipping through them.

They begin with Coruscant's towers. They're angled shots that look to be intentionally artistic, and Revan grins to herself as she imagines a younger Malak taking his time to photograph the city. There are photos of faces she doesn't recognize, places she doesn't recognize, but they all look happy. There are some photos of the Temple, which surprises her. There's a single shot of a younger looking Kavar, and next to him is the girl she saw in her dream all those nights ago—her short dark hair instantly recognizable.

Nothing truly makes her pause until she sees herself. And it's funny, looking into her own eyes on the screen. She has no idea where she was, when this was, or why her grin is so wide. She sees herself and it might as well be another stranger.

It's the most real her memory loss has felt.

The next photo must've been taken a moment later, because in this one her head is tipped back in a laugh as she extends her hand towards the camera. She looks...happy. Happy in a way she's never seen herself before, like it's easy.

The next one of is her and Malak, and she swears her heart stutters to a stop as she takes in the sight of the two of them. They're sitting in a restaurant booth, his arm rests on her shoulder and his head tilts towards hers, both of them looking at the camera with matching grins.

Surprisingly, tears spring to her eyes as she looks at Malak, and her fingers automatically reach up to brush against his jaw—made whole in the memories of the past. His teeth were perfect, all straight and white, and there's a sharpness to his jawbone, leading down to the curve of his chin. The wrinkles around his eyes match his grin instead of cold, hard metal, and Revan's heart breaks for this boy.

He had no idea what was coming for him.

As she continues flipping through pictures, it becomes clear the timing of when she was there and when she wasn't. Malak told her she visited him on Coruscant, and she must've stayed in the apartment because there are pictures of her here. In some she's in the kitchen or on the couch, but even the ones where they're out somewhere (never at the Temple), she dominates his photos. As a subject, she's photographed over and over again, and as strange as it is to see herself, she gets used to it. She likes it.

It goes back and forth, the pictures go back to city towers and strangers, things she doesn't see once she shows up again.

Her heart drops when she sees Taanab. This, she recognizes. The golden plains look just the same as they do in her memory. There are shots of the rows of fields, some of the house itself, and plenty of Malak bathed in warm sunlight. She smiles because she can just imagine herself getting payback for all the photos he took of her.

There's one she really likes. It's of the front porch, with Malak, Jarek, and Sarin sitting at the table. The two Averre's are laughing with their heads tilted back, but Malak just has his full lips pressed into a grin, his eyes on her.

There are only a few of her on Taanab, but she looks happy. The sun makes her pale blonde hair look golden, her skin glowing in the evening light. Revan feels her heart ache for this girl as well, who seemed to have something good but it didn't last.

There's some of the wedding—the rows of chairs at the ceremony and the tables at the reception, full of flowers and elegant place settings, things she described to Malak that one morning. There's one of her and Malak together, he's dressed in a suit and she's wearing a full length dress, his arm is tight around her waist—and Revan has to stop.

He was at the wedding, she tells herself. When you told him about it, he already knew.

He was there.

She can't leave this photo. Malak had been so upset when she brought up the wedding, but he'd laughed it off when she asked why. Looking into their bright faces, his hand splayed against her body—it's obvious how happy they were in that moment, and she can't believe how unfair it was to do that to him, even if she didn't know.

She keeps going. The photos go back to Coruscant after that, just a few of the apartment and one of the strangers she saw before. She checks the dates on them, there are only four photos to make up the span of six months.

But then she shows up again.

Something must've happened, because he goes back to taking photo after photo of her, and at first she can't tell what's different, but it's there. It's in her smile, it's in her eyes—something's changed but it isn't obvious.

Or at least, not until she reaches the photo of her stretched out in his bed.

Her stomach drops when she sees it, and she has to blink a few times at the sight of it. It looks like he was sitting next to her, judging from the angle, and she's laying on her stomach, just the hint of her bare back showing through the crumpled blanket on top of her. She isn't smiling, but she doesn't look unhappy. There's a peace in her expression as she regards the camera, and it isn't much, the whole photo doesn't say a lot, but it's enough for Revan.

The next one must've been taken at a later date. It looks like Malak turned the camera back on the two of them, their heads tucked close together as they grin. The next is nearly the same, except this time Malak's pressing his lips to her cheek, and her smile is blinding.

Revan smiles at it now, the sweetness of the two of them together. There's some satisfaction in knowing that what she's feeling now is based on something real, but it's bittersweet to know what happens in the end.

But then something in the photos changes again. Months go by without a single picture taken, enough that she wonders if something happened to Malak's camera. The next one is of her, she's sitting at the kitchen table and she's not paying attention. Her head rests against her fist as she looks down at a datapad, the lines of her face drawn into something deeply unhappy.

It progresses from there. The photos are sporadic, and they could almost pass for what they were before—two people in love—but there's this common element in each of them. It's just her, as far as she can tell, because in the pictures of her and Malak, or her and strangers, she's grinning just same as everyone else, but there's a look in her eye that says just the opposite.

You just have this way about you, Malak had said, where it's like even if you're happy you're not all the way happy. You've been hurt by a lot of people, but you never wanted anyone to know.

Revan frowns to herself, and quickly flips back through all the pictures of herself. Her heart drops as she reevaluates the ones in which she thought she looked so happy, because it's still there in her eyes, just not as obvious as the more recent ones. It's a thread of sadness woven through each picture of her, where she could be grinning her biggest smile and it still isn't enough to mask whatever was underneath the surface.

You've never been equipped to handle tragedy, so you created your own.

She puts down the datapad for a moment, forcing herself to take a breath. She looks around the apartment as it is now, and she feels the emptiness of it. Even if she was struggling with something she doesn't understand, there was still life to her then. There was life between the two of them, here, and now it's been left alone for years and years and years.

She shakes her head to herself as she picks up the datapad again, continuing where she left off. Perhaps this is after Sarin and Kalen died. The timing of it would make sense, and she's fairly certain Malak said she moved to Coruscant after that, which lines up with her still being in the photos months later.

It would certainly contribute to the look in her eyes.

But there's still some happiness to be found. Her and Malak must've made friends outside the Jedi, because there are plenty of photos of them together. It looks like they went to cantinas, or were hanging out on the streets, his arm always around her. In these ones she looks like she's trying. The sadness isn't as obvious when she's with Malak.

There's one photo that makes her feel dizzy. It's of the two of them, and it looks like they're at a garden place—something outdoors, at least, with greenery that isn't often found here—and his mouth is pressed against hers. Malak has an arm around her middle, the other lifted to fit his hand against her jaw as they kiss, seemingly unaware of the camera pointed at them. Their heads are angled just right, making it look so casual—something practiced, something normal, something real.

Why did this have to happen to them?

Revan swallows the lump in her throat, only half aware of the rest of the pictures. She scrolls through them quickly, enough to see things continue to shift and spread out. The last one she stops at is of a group of people that are different from the strangers before. Her and Malak stand in the middle of them, and on her other side is the boy from her first dream, shaggy blonde hair and a wide smile. There are two women she doesn't recognize, but then there's that same girl as before, the one who stood with Kavar.

Each of them has a lightsaber clipped to their belt.

They have to be the Jedi that followed her to war. Malak told her about them—her friends—and how they were the only ones who believed in her enough to follow her first.

He also said that most of them died.

Talvon, she thinks, looking at the boy. Her heart breaks for him without knowing why. The three women must be Cariaga, Nisotsa, and Meetra, but she can't tell which is which. They all look too happy for people who were about to walk away from everything they've ever known.

Her head's starting to hurt, so she puts down the datapad again and closes her eyes for a moment. As much as she got her answer about her and Malak, it just makes her want to remember all the more. She wants to know about these people, know about her and Malak. She looks at the datapad he gave her, the one with all the answers, and turns her head away.

She gets up from the couch, stretching her arms over her head. It's dark at this point, and she turns the lights on in the apartment, taking a long moment to just look at the space, willing herself to remember it.

When she's had enough of that, she wanders back into the bedroom. This time she feels more comfortable looking around, but still she only glances at the bed. To know that Malak once loved her here is overwhelming. Instead she opens the drawers of the bureau, looking through a mix of both of their clothes.

Her heart breaks for their past selves, the ones who lived a life this close, and part of her wonders how they were able to keep it from the Jedi. How were they so involved, so obvious in public, without anyone finding out? Surely things would've been different had the Council known. For both then and now.

Her head isn't feeling any better. It still aches from the base all the way to her brows, and she goes back to the kitchen, opening cabinets until she finds a glass, which she puts under the sink. She drinks it in long, slow gulps while her eyes scan over the magnets on the refrigerator. Most of them look like souvenirs—all colorful shapes and names of cities she doesn't recognize.

One looks like it's from Alderaan, and she reaches up to touch it as though just the feel of it could return her memories to her. It doesn't, but she can pretend it does.

On the other side there's a note pinned to the fridge, and it says: Hey Squint, call me when you wake up. I'm on my way to meet Dain, he said it was an emergency but we both know how he is.

It's signed with just a heart. Revan has no idea which one of them wrote it.

She leaves the kitchen with a sigh, going back to the bedroom. She sets her glass of water down on the side table before gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed. It's a slow process, but eventually she makes herself lay down on top of the covers, pulling one of the pillows under her head. It doesn't smell like home, it smells like it's been sitting untouched for years. She stares at the smooth white ceiling above her and she wonders, and wonders, and wonders.

She knows she's been here before, but her mind won't give her the memory like it did when Malak hit her or when Carth kissed her. Something's stirred up under the surface, but she can't access it.

She closes her eyes.

She doesn't know if she's asleep, doesn't know if she's dreaming, all she knows is that her thoughts are busy for a long time and then they're not. She feels that helpless stirring of being awake, and then she doesn't.

She feels completely alone, but then—there's a familiar voice.

You've let others dictate your path for too long, says her mother. It's as real as it always feels, like she could be sitting right next to Revan saying these same words.

It's not that easy, Revan defends. And it's not. There are too many pieces in play here, the dejarik board's a tangled web of potential moves, each one of them with their own consequences.

It could be.

And Revan feels herself sigh. Her hands grip the blanket below her; she doesn't want this conversation right now. There has to be a point where it's too much. Being here and seeing the pictures is a heavy weight to bear, and yet now her mother wants to push it further.

How could it be easy? she asks.

A moment passes, then: If you remembered.

Wouldn't that be nice? Revan feels the corners of her lips rise in a tired smile. Just a weak, empty thing. It would be nice, even if it changed everything. Part of Revan hesitates at the idea, but every other part of her wishes more than anything she could remember.

And it's just a moment after she thinks it, that the space behind Revan's eyes rush with vivid colors, bright flashes—the sounds and shapes of memories out of focus. None of it is concrete, none of it slows down enough for her to catch on, see what they really are. It's a taste without the substance, and Revan's head aches more than it did before.

Her eyes blink open as soon as it ends, but she's still in the same room. Her eyes open and it's still the flat white of the ceiling with the city lights brushing over her body laid on top of Malak's bed.

What was that? she asks, but there's no response. Revan's heart races as she sits up, glancing all around her as though any of it can bring it back.

Her mother knows. Her mother has the answers. Show me.

Not yet.

Revan's hands clench as she gets up. It's late and she can't stay here tonight, but she wants the answers more than she's wanted anything in this life. In the living room she grabs her datapad, making sure the photos download onto it. She put the memory card back into the camera, tucks it in the highest shelf again, and turns the lights off one by one.

In the dark, her gaze sweeps over the apartment one more time, her heart somewhere between satisfied and totally broken.

—

Revan walks home—or rather, she just walks. She doesn't quite know the way back to Juhani and Mission's apartment, but she knows the general direction, and so she crosses her arms over her chest as her feet carry her down unfamiliar sidewalks.

The city's more alive at night. The grey blue light of the evening is drowned by the bright lights of the towers and the cantina signs. The quiet of night's replaced by the thundering beat of music carrying through the air, the sound of people crowded around each other, smoking and talking and yelling.

Revan feels like a ghost moving through the streets—an empty shell, haunted by herself. She feels like a ghost, completely alone, completely silent as she moves through the thrumming life of the streets.

Despite the sound, despite the noise, she still hears her mother's voice when she says, It's time to remember.

Okay. If her mother can help her remember, then she wants her to. If her mother can help her remember everything, if that's the key to all of this, then that's a good thing, right? This is where she makes it right.

But then—It's time to go back.

Revan stops. Looking over, her eyes unfocus on the yellow white light of a convenience store as she asks the same question she's been asking for days: Go back where?

Again her mother doesn't answer her, and Revan feels like she can't breathe. Why play these games with her? Her desire to remember is an honest thing, an honest desire to understand her own past, and it's unfair for her mother to taunt her like this.

Revan closes her eyes for just a half second before walking over to the road, hailing the first taxi that's free. She rattles off the address for Mission and Juhani's apartment, slumping into her seat in the back. The window is open and the warm night air rushes in as blue and bright light washes over her, shadows shifting over the seats of the speeder.

She breathes. She thinks about her mother's words. Not just tonight's, but from the start. She first heard her mother's voice some time after her identity was revealed to her, and she wrote it off as her imagination.

It was easy to speak to her, to this awareness that she liked to pretend belonged to her mother, even though she knew it was most likely her own conscious. It's helped her more than she'll admit, allowing her to slow down or think things through, to have that voice she could argue with, to help her understand where her own mind is at.

You never knew either of your parents, Malak had told her, and as much as that hurts, she knows it's the truth. She knows this is all made up in her own head, and perhaps it's just her memories begging to come back to her that's brought this all about.

You always could be foolish when you needed answers that weren't there, that same voice says, and Revan turns her face from the window.

Are you saying that you're real? she asks.

If you have to ask, you haven't been paying attention.

Revan runs a hand through her hair. Her thoughts are too clouded for this, there's too much going on, and she just wants answers. She's tired of asking, she's tired of waiting. She's tired of letting others decide. Then tell me who you are.

An old friend, her mother answers, and Revan remembers a dream—her mother's voice, the shape of a figure on a hill. Her thoughts falter as she considers it. Has she been speaking to someone this whole time?

A name, Revan replies, even as she feels some sharpness in chest. I need a name.

But it's silent for a long time, until: A name would not satisfy. Come, meet me as soon as you can. There is much to discuss, and much to remember.

Revan's heart races. Where? she asks.

And there's an inexpressible chill that runs through her when her mother answers, Malachor V.

—

Revan slips into the apartment, keeping her movements light and silent. It's too late for anyone to be awake, so she's alone as she folds herself up on the couch. Her exhausted body begs her for rest, but Revan lays there and thinks and thinks and thinks.

For the most part, she plans. It's not a question in her mind whether or not she should go. She knows she has to. It's deciding when, it's deciding how. It's deciding who to tell and who to keep it from.

She's not afraid of what she'll find out there, and as the night hours bleed into the early morning, she finds she's more afraid of someone following after her, putting themselves in danger all because she needs to remember. If she's going to do this, she needs to go alone.

It would hurt them. Not just her friends, but the Council as well. It would leave Malak vulnerable. But as she goes over all the cons, she realizes that if she leaves, if she finds her answers, she'll be able to come back and be the person they need her to be.

She just can't live like this anymore.

It's early when she gets up. The sun rises as she downs a cup of coffee, writing a note for Juhani and Mission. She doesn't want it to be their last interaction before she leaves, but it might have to be, and she wants to give them something to hold onto.

I have to take care of something, I'll be back.

It's not enough, but it's inconspicuous. It'll buy her some time.

Revan drags a hand through her hair before stepping out the door. She only has one bag—the curse of living out of a ship for over a year—and little possessions. She's been wearing the same clothes for the past two days but she doesn't care. She's become this desperate person, lost and exhausted, and she sees the light at the end of the tunnel. She sees a way out.

The taxi ride is short, pulling up to a tall building as the sun earnestly floods the city in light. Crossing the empty courtyard, she knows he'll be here. She stops in the lobby to grab a cup of coffee before finding her way to his office.

He answers immediately, opening the door with a surprised expression. "Revan?"

She smiles. "Carth."

"Is everything alright?"

"It's fine," she assures, handing him the cup. "Can't I just stop by to visit you?"

He looks suspicious but he accepts it, a warm smile crossing his lips. "You can, you just...haven't."

"I know," she murmurs, feeling a pang of guilt. They arrived a week ago and she hasn't seen him since they bound her wrists and took her away. She knows Mission told him what happened, but that doesn't feel like enough in the face of all that's happened.

Part of it is because of everything that happened, everything that's still happening all at once. Part of it is the guilt that still burns from their kiss. Part of it is because now she needs something from him.

"Sorry," she says. "Consider this a peace offering."

"I think we've had too many of those," he returns, but he grins and gestures to the chair across from his desk.

She sits, her eyes scanning the room around her. It's enormous—spacious and cold and uncomfortable. "How much do you hate this office?"

"More than you'd think," he says with a laugh. "I never imagined myself having one, but since there's so much work to do..."

Revan presses her lips together. "Being grounded doesn't suit you, Carth."

"I know," he mutters. "But it's an honor getting a promotion like this, and since Dustil is here, I guess it makes sense."

"Do you ever think about taking the Hawk out for a spin?"

She looks for answers in his grin, which is full and genuine. He turns his chair a little so he's facing the window, the morning light washing over his profile. "I would if I had the time. Last I heard, the Republic moved it to a private hangar at the spaceport. I don't think they know what to do with it."

"Not much good a smuggler's ship can do for the Republic, is there?"

"No," he says. He looks back to her. "It's technically still your ship, though."

Revan smiles. "Well, I did steal it."

Carth laughs and Revan likes the sound of it. She memorizes it, just in case. The laughter dies down, though, and they're left in the quiet of the room. Two people who have been through too much. Two people who have put each other through too much.

"I know I messed things up," she murmurs. "Everything changed the moment I saved Malak. It's pointless, but I can't help but wonder what would be different if I hadn't. If you and I—"

"You're the last person I'd expect to ask, 'what if', Revan," he says, stopping her from carrying the thought on. And he's right, it's not a place she normally goes, but she's wondered about a lot of things lately. "Have you been able to see him yet?"

"I have." Her hands tighten around the arms of her chair, thinking about the datapad in her bag. "He seems like he's doing alright. The Jedi have been kinder than I expected them to be. Part of me is worried that they'll change their minds any minute, but I think he's in the safest place possible right now."

"That's good. That's where he should be."

She takes a breath, looking down at her lap before meeting Carth's gaze. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"If, um," she starts. "If anything ever happens to me, will you look out for him? I'm not—I'm not looking for anything specific, and I know it's a lot to ask from you, but he'd need someone on his side."

She knows Carth still struggles with his anger towards Malak, but there'd been something resembling progress the last time they spoke about it, and she wouldn't ask unless it was important. Carth's the only one with political pull in the Republic. If anything goes south with the Jedi, Carth could make something go right.

"What—why? Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she reassures. "And I think he'll be fine. It's more of a 'just in case' kind of question than anything else."

"Okay," he says, but the word is slow and drawn out. "You know I'd do anything for you, Rev."

She does know. That's what breaks her heart. "Thank you, Carth."

He nods. "You got it."

They talk for only a little while longer. Revan's anxious to get going, which she does, and before she leaves, Carth wraps her up in a warm hug, telling her to stop by again soon.

—

There's only one person she needs to say goodbye to. One person whose fate's been tied to hers, perhaps, for his whole life.

She won't leave him in the dark.

And maybe it's a courtesy she should extend to the others. She sits in the back of a taxi and thinks about the kindness Mission and Juhani have continually showed her, the warmth of her last visit with Bastila, the way Carth smiled at her as she left, and she knows that she owes these people more than she can give them. They deserve someone better than her.

It's just...a risk. This is something she needs to do on her own, and she knows Malak will understand. Or rather, she hopes he does. Either way, she can't just abandon him after turning him over to the Jedi. She can't leave him completely in the dark.

She looks for Master Zhar in the Temple. Having already let her see him, she hopes his kindness for the two of them will last just a little bit longer.

But it's Master Vrook that she runs into instead.

"Revan," he says, his voice managing to make her name sound like a grumble. "What can I do for you?"

I was looking for Zhar, she wants to say, but thinks better of it. Vrook's always waiting for her to say the wrong thing, and she's stubborn enough to try not to. "I was hoping I'd be able to see Malak."

"So soon?"

"Is it?" she asks, careful to keep her expression neutral.

But he shakes his head to himself, and his disapproval feels like a permanent thing. "You haven't changed at all, have you?"

"I wouldn't know," she says, uncertain of where this is going. "Depends on if that's a good thing or not."

"I'm asking myself the same question," he murmurs, and for a moment she can see a depth in his eyes that's been missing. It lasts for just a brief moment, just a second, but it's there all the same, and it's a sadness she's never seen before.

"You know, Malak told me a little about the past," she offers. "He said you and I were friends, once."

"Perhaps," he says, a sigh rushing out of his mouth. "But whatever friendship we had, Revan, is long dead."

"But it's true?"

He turns his head, his eyes somewhere far away, and it's just one word that falls from his lips: "Yes."

All the frustration she's felt towards him seems unfair, now. In many ways he deserved it, but seeing him like this, knowing that they were once close, and knowing that she turned her back on him? It doesn't sit well with her.

She doesn't know what to say. Once again, she doesn't know enough to know what to say. There's a history here she doesn't understand, and it's just another piece of the puzzle out of reach.

"I was going to train you, you know," he says, and the words sound like they come out against his will. He still doesn't look at her. "When Master Kae was exiled, it was going to be me who took her place."

"Why didn't you?" she asks.

He just shakes his head, though. He shakes his head and this time Revan really looks at him. She takes in the soft wrinkles around his mouth, the way shadows of the room sink into them and make them seem harsher. His brows dip low, they're long and scraggly, and Revan can't help but feel some draw to him. As angry and as bitter as he's been with her, he's lived this way for a long time.

"The Council was concerned about you," he explains, which is more than she expected. "We made decisions based on things that shouldn't have been factors."

Revan frowns; wary. "I can't speak for the past, but I doubt things would've been different if it'd been you instead."

But they would've, wouldn't they? She wouldn't have spent so much time with Malak, and perhaps she wouldn't have been sent to Taanab. Her whole life might've been different had a different decision been made, but that's too big to speculate. There are too many things that happened to wonder which one is the problem.

"I asked you to wait," he says, and this time he looks at her with a suddenness that makes her stomach jump. "I said to wait, that the Council would figure it out, but you couldn't do that. I asked you to trust me, and you wouldn't."

He sighs again, long and deep. "The last time we spoke, you said I was no better than Master Kae."

"Why would I say that?" Revan asks, her eyes narrowing at the mention of her old Master. She can't help but wonder—

Tell me who you are.

An old friend.

"I've stopped trying to figure it out," Vrook says, breaking her chain of thought. "You were hurt and you wouldn't let anyone help. Not even Malak."

Maybe that shouldn't make Revan want to remember—the past seeming so dark and difficult—but it does. She wants to know it all, know why he looks at her like this, why Malak's name is the best sound she knows. In a small voice she asks, "Can I see him?"

Vrook doesn't respond at first, and she sees something in eyes that makes her think he's considering it. It feels like a long moment that passes before he nods, and turns towards the corridor next to them, saying, "Come on."

They walk side by side in silence. Vrook's shorter than her, and for some reason she's wondering how long he's known her. She wonders if they met when she was a child, if he's watched her grow up into this person, from a kid to a Sith Lord to a broken woman who can't remember any of it.

They stop at Malak's door, and Vrook turns to her. They watch each other for a moment, but all he says is, "Don't be long."

She thinks he wanted to say something different, but she can't be certain and either way, he walks away. Revan watches him go, the weight of his hurt sinking in her stomach.

But that's not her purpose now.

She knocks before entering, and Malak's sitting on the couch. His attention snaps up to her at the sound of the door opening, and she watches the smile that blossoms across features. It's gentle and kind, and he looks so soft sitting there with a blanket across his lap, a datapad in his hand.

He puts it down and stands up, coming over to her where she's frozen in place by the door. He wraps her up in his arms, saying, "Careful, or I'll get used to you stopping by."

"Can't have that, can we?" she asks, and she smiles back at him but there's a heaviness behind her eyes. She can't help it, all she can do is focus on her breathing. In and out. Malak watches her.

"What's wrong?" The concern that replaces his smile breaks her heart, and his hand cups her elbow, his touch gentle, and that only makes it worse, doesn't it?

Revan tries to smile again. "Nothing. It's fine. We should sit."

"It's not fine," he says, but they settle onto the couch, close enough that their legs touch, and Malak reaches for her hand. "What is it?"

Revan looks down at their entwined fingers, the squeeze of his around hers, and she has to close her eyes for a moment. When she opens them, she looks up at him, seeing the boy from the pictures in his eyes. She has hurt him so exponentially in this life.

"Talk to me," he says as the quiet draws on. "Come on, I know you."

And finally shakes her head. "That's the problem, Malak. It's been the problem the whole time. You know me. I don't."

There's a tick of confusion in the way his eyes blink at her. "What?"

How nice would it be, if they were back in Jolee's hut instead. To be together in front of the fire, curled up on his couch as the evening hours wore on. She thinks about Malak holding her there, the way his body lulled hers into sleep. She thinks about this and she looks at him now, and there's nothing that would make this easier. "There's something I need to do."

The confusion in his features only gets worse, and he leans back a little as his eyes narrow. "What is it?"

"I—I can't tell you," she says, which feels worse than she thought it would. "I just—need you to know that I'm leaving, and I don't know when I'll be back."

His hand lets go of hers.

"Why?" he asks.

She looks away, and like this she feels so wholly separate from him. "It's just something I have to do."

"Don't," he says, and reaches for her hand again. When his skin touches hers, she looks back at him, her heart breaking at the expression in his eyes. "Please don't do this to me again, don't keep me in the dark like this."

And that's the worst part, isn't it? That's it's something she's done before. She's hurt him like this before and she'll hurt him like this again, but— "It's for your protection, Malak. If anyone asks you where I went...I can't make you responsible for keeping it from anyone."

"You're not telling anyone where you're going?" he asks, and perhaps that makes him even more upset. "Do you realize how stupid that is?"

"I know, and I don't expect you to understand—"

"Of course I don't understand," he interrupts, his voice harsh. He seems to realize it though, and he leans back and breathes out, the mechanical sound of his jaw familiar to her. "Why?"

"The truth is out there, and I think I know how to find it. I—I promise, it's going to be okay."

"Then why does it feel like I'm going to lose you if you leave?"

"You won't," she says, and she doesn't hesitate to pull him into her arms, wrapping them around his neck. His head tucks in against her shoulder, his grip just as tight around her middle. In this moment she can almost pretend that everything is safe and warm, and that the feelings between them make sense.

"I saw the pictures," she offers, pulling back so she can see his face. She stays close, one hand clutching his arm while the other cups his metal jaw, her thumb sweeping over the smooth skin of his cheek. His eyes are turned down, but she still smiles at him. "We looked happy."

Her voice breaks on the word happy, and he finally meets her gaze. They're red with unshed tears but the blue of them is unwavering, and all he says is one word: "Please."

"You and me. We're not over yet, okay?" she assures. "I'll come back for you."

But he lets go, turning away. He hunches over, his elbows resting on his knees, and his head falls into his hands. Revan brushes a stray tear from her face as she gets up, and she steps in front of him. She covers his hands with her own, gently prying them away from his face.

"Hey, hey—Malak," she murmurs. "I will come back for you."

His head is in her hands as he finally looks up at her, and Revan reaches for the mechanism she saw him pull on before. Her other hand works at the bolt against his ear, and it clicks as the jaw comes loose and she sets it aside.

He looks up at her, broken in her hands, a victim to who she was. But he's not broken to her. She looks at him, at what's left of him, and he's still that beautiful boy in the photos. He deserves more than this, but this is all she has.

His hands find her waist as she steps even closer, and she cups his face as she leans down to kiss his forehead.

"I'll remember everything," she says against his skin, and she lingers there for a long time before tracing her lips down to his cheek. "And everything will be okay."

Both of their faces are wet with tears, and Revan can hardly breathe as she pulls away, concerned by the finality of the way this feels. This time she leans down, and she lets her lips rest against what's left of his—just the fragment of his top lip between hers. It's a broken as a kiss can be, but he leans into it and his hands tighten around her.

"I promise," she whispers against him. She pulls back just a fraction but Malak doesn't let her get far. He tugs her back in against himself, and every bit of his strength holds her, his head pressed against hers.

"I love you," he says in a rush, the words punching through the charged air between them. The truth of it burns, deep down, and she wishes she could say it back.

It's Revan's breaking point. It's where she realizes that she can't stay any longer, because then she'd never leave. She has to go now or she'll stay right here with him, and she'll never know the truth.

She slowly pries herself out of his grip, her hands pulling his arms off of her as she feels his gaze searching hers. She doesn't meet it, instead she looks down at the proximity of their bodies before she takes a step back

Goodbye feels too final. Goodbye feels like an ending, and this is not an ending. She reaches for her bag, her hand too tight around it as she picks it up and walks towards the door. She can't leave without one last look, and she turns around, her eyes finding him still on the couch.

He watches her, and the heartache that sits openly in his face is enough to break her own heart.

She said what she said though, and she promised to come back.

There's nothing else.

—

There's only one person who knows where Revan goes, and perhaps that's the point—there's only one person to meet her there.

Revan, her ship, and her two droids hurtle across the galaxy, uncertain of what they'll find, but they head towards it all the same. Revan, desperate for answers, steps across the scorched path that leads her to the Trayus Academy. She doesn't yet know that this is just the start of a bigger war.

The truth is, Malachor V will always be an ending, and it will always be a beginning.

This is not an ending.

—

Just give me time

You know your desires and mine

So wrap my flesh in ivy and in twine

For I must be well