Everything is gone. Everyone is gone. The Fleet. The Enclave. The Masters. The Revanchists. Alek. Kavar... the lump in her throat obstructs her breath, yet there are simply no tears left to shed. And Kreia... whatever she has done, Meetra simply can't make herself hate her. Perhaps it's her bane to have people she loves keep murdering each other, the Exile thinks, running through the familiar abandoned irrigation system. No... no, she must stop it. At least there's still a chance here. Goes both ways, eh?

- Get away from her!

- Ah, so one exile comes to save another. Another betrayer to the rescue, - Atris concludes bitterly, ceasing her Force Lightning after the Last Handmaiden's body hits the floor.

- Your quarrel is with me, not with her, - Meetra replies, approaching. She can still feel the flicker of life within the Echani, and it's a great relief. Not just because of the girl, but also because her death could have become an... insuperable obstacle.

- You sound almost like if you care for her. Perhaps you have feelings after all.

- She is not the only one I care for. Please, stop now, do not add to all the things you keep regretting.

- You tell me!? Oh no, she must be punished for her betrayal, as you must have been.

- Betrayal? Really? Tell me now, you who claims herself the Last Jedi. You who believes to be rebuilding the Order. Didn't you betray her in the first place by denying her the ways of the Force? Were the Jedi meant to cast Force sensitives aside, robbing them of what they are? You could have trained her. You should have trained her! As your Padawan! So... it's not up to you to speak of betrayal I believe.

- Even so, I wasn't the first to start that chain, so it's not up to you either! Enough. Your execution has been delayed for far too long, exile, - the historian proclaims, lighting her saber. No... not 'her'. Meetra's saber.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid Atris. Will you ever stop being your own worst enemy? The good thing is, an archive bookworm standing against a seasoned warrior reconnected to the Force is a joke, even with all that Sith knowledge. Meetra has taken on enough Sith already. Visas was stronger for sure, and even a nameless assassin amongst those sent after her could prove a more dangerous opponent. Yet there is an adidtional challenge: not to kill her. Not. To. Kill. Thankfully, the awkward parody of a battle does not last long, and Atris retreats hastily to her meditation chamber. The Exile takes her time to examine the Handmaiden, makes sure the girl lives, and follows.

- She said you would come here, to this place. If you think you can defeat me here, you are wrong. All this collected knowledge, all these teachings of combat and the Force - they're mine to command, - the chamber is literally stuffed with holocrons of all sorts: dark, sinister, hissing. - Surrender. You need not die.

- Really? That's some quick change considering you'd have me executed moments ago. Very well. What would you do if I did surrender now? - the Exile walks up to her casually, empty-handed, completely open. This is definitely not the response Atris expected, she appears confused and takes a step back.

- I... I don't know what made me say that. I think I was hoping for you to attack. The old woman who came here predicted I would face you in battle as the final obstacle to my enlightenment, yet somehow you don't want to grant me that fight.

- You are a fool to believe the old woman. She is a master of manipulations and deception.

- And I should believe you instead, because?

- Because I'm her apprentice actually, - ah, Kreia would be proud with the paradox here. - If she wishes the battle to take place, it's a lesson for me, not for you. Guess who it is she expects to emerge victorious. I say we deny her this little pleasure and work together.

- That's... that's still impossible.

- Why? Do you think the Sith able to devour whole worlds will never find you or maybe will spare you? Do you hope to flee them forever, like you fled Katarr?

- I didn't 'flee'! I did what was necessary to draw the Sith out, to bring them there, and when the threat revealed itself, it was imperative that I preserved what was left of the Jedi Order. That I preserved... myself.

- Wow, now that's some excuse I should memorize. So, all the deaths there... it was actually your doing?

- I never intended it! I might have underestimated the threat, but I won't do so again. And you! You are definitely not the one to preach on me after what you did back on Malachor V!

She'd better not said it. The Exile stares grimly at the historian, and it is Malachor staring from within her with all its weight, not just an echo, but death itself.

- I. Had. No. Other. Choice, - she replies slowly through her teeth, stepping forward, her fists clenched. - You, on the other hand, seem the one to have orchestrated the whole thing in cold blood. Why didn't you warn the Jedi?

- They knew the risks! - Atris exhales, hiding behind the lighted lightsaber. - And they got what they deserved for their weakness. For their inaction.

- So you have simply switched the party you blame now, haven't you? - Meetra shakes her head and sighs, collecting herself, and the darkness within her eyes surrenders to initial sadness, plain and humane. - Atris, Atris... what have you become? You've dedicated all your life to learning, yet you never learn. Just like back when you also meant well supporting all those restrictions upon the Order and yourself, but couldn't foresee it would cause even more corruption and ruin.

- Says the one who'd always been ignorant like a bantha and went to wage war! But rejoice, because I have finally seen truth in your actions. Atris is no more, she was as weak as the others. And now that I have used you to lure the Sith out once, I will do so again and defeat them forever. And after that I shall rebuild the Order as it should be. Strong, willing to act, ready for battle and resistant to any corruption.

- Ah, so it's also you I have to thank for all the... adventures, - Meetra grins. - You know, even if you could single-handedly defeat the Sith, which is an obvious delusion, that new Order you are talking about is anything but Jedi. Rather even Sith.

- Sith, Jedi, they are all the same. What is important is that they are to be preserved - all the teachings, all the knowledge - and shaped to stand for the galaxy.

- Knowledge itself doesn't win wars, Atris. Armies do. Do you have one?

- I will. Eventually. When I am finished with you and the Sith.

- Dreams don't win wars either. The Sith are already coming. Why are you so inclined to finish with me? To think of it, I am your best chance to stop the Sith.

- Because you brought them upon us in the first place.

- Wait... how? It doesn't make sense.

- When the Jedi gathered on Katarr, there was one thing they managed to achieve. The reason their sacrifice was not in vain. A vision emerged that showed you as the source, the key to this invisible threat. It showed the many battlefields of Mandalorian wars... and you in the middle of the destruction. You were the one creating this echo, and it was bound to come back to you as all echoes do. Those Jedi didn't realize the meaning of this, but I recognized it. The same echo I felt within you when you came back from the war to face the Council. The one that scared them, the one that made me wish you executed. The sound of lives ending in agony. The wound in the Force that death and destruction bring. It's still with you. Whatever you did there... it created those Sith. Obviously, you are the same. It is only appropriate that I bring an end to it. Jedi versus Sith, like it should be.

- This is ridicuous. I am no Sith. And even if I am responsible for whatever created them, there's so much more I can do by staying alive. So much more I have already done while you just... were sitting here. Your little Handmaiden could confirm that. Yet you keep gladly fooling yourself that killing the one taking action would bring you out of inaction. Look at me, Atris, I am not your enemy. Not right now.

- It's... it's enough that you're the one I cannot bear looking at, - the archivist whispers, lowering her eyes. - I need this... settled.

- Then know this: I haven't only come here for the Echani or in pursuit of the old woman... I've also come for you. Because I need it settled too. Because I could feel your pain once my own stopped blinding me. I... I want to heal you, Atris.

- It is... surprising. But you're too late. Some wounds... can never be healed, - the woman responds in a low cracked voice.

- And some wounds can only be healed after you pull the blade out. Please... you have to let it go. Before it caused even more harm, - the Exile takes a small step forward, her arms open - pure compassion impersonated. - May I?..

- You may what? Wha- - Atris mutters, perplexed and lost, as Meetra walks up close and holds her tight, so warm both in the Force and physically, so heartful and sincere that the historian simply can't stand it, wishing to die immediately, right here, yet at the same time wishing the moment to last forever. - Why... - an unvoluntary sob interrupts the phrase, and she breaks into silent tears, shuddering and trying to regain control of herself, but to no avail.

- Now, now... cry it out, - Meetra whispers, patting her back gently. - To learn forgiveness, one has to forgive themselves first. Admit the truth and make peace with it. We both have things to regret, but we shouldn't succumb to them. Whatever it is said about emotions, we are Jedi no longer anyway. So go ahead and cry, girl, for it will help.

And Atris does, gripping the back of the exile's robe, her face buried in the bloodstained fabric stenching of smoke. And the tower of lies within her starts crumbling slowly, washed away with many realizations. The Sith holocrons all around them go mad with hissing, although being completely ignored this time, as if they were crickets singing on a peaceful Dantooine night.

"Missed... you... so... much."

None of the women is able to tell how much time has passed when the archivist finally allows the surroundings get to her consciousness, realizing the one and only phrase ringing repeatedly from all sides in a manner of chanting crowd aching for blood. And she stands tall and replies aloud in a strong and resolved voice:

- No. I am not doing this.

Meetra can almost feel the emanations of anger and hatred within the insane chirping the holocron sounds have become.

- Come, let us talk elsewhere, - Atris urges, taking the Exile's hand, her own being familiarly slender and cold to the touch, just like years before. And it is now that walking away from the chamber with so much more to be said they finally both know for sure why she has kept that lightsaber.

Well, this is it. Please don't hesitate to drop a line here if it got to you in any way. I'd love to know it. And thank you for reading.