Revan leans back on a stone statue of Marka Ragnos, lets his head press against it. It's not comfortable but it lets him rest. Breathing open-mouthed, he tears the feltite strap off of a scuffed red box.

His last life-support pack. Ominous. Well, Revan always preferred to call them 'medkits', anyway. His last medkit.

Inside he finds a few stims, two of which he immediately injects just above his bleeding stomach. It's been a while since he's bled. Or so he assumes; most of his memories are still false ones. Certainly there hasn't been any actual bleeding since the Endar Spire. It's all lightsabers in his line of work.

The Sith Marauders have moved on. These aren't like the men he once commanded, to whom he hubristically bestowed the same name. These are monsterous. His betrayal here outside their base nearly finished him. Whoever tipped the squad off is irrelevant now. He's been found out and defeated. Out-planned.

It's been a long time since Revan lost a fight. Turns out he also has a knack for escape, though. Time to heal up, get back to the ship and start again. He's done it before.

The name of this planet varies depending on who one asks. Coruscant has never heard of it. The only people who have are true Sith and those souls who are foolish enough to look before they leap. The kind of people who take slaves to help them build shipyards fuelled by the dark Force. Guys who go wandering into ancient ruins behind their masters' backs, wearing home-made red and black costumes. Guys who add 'Darth' to their names without knowing what it means.

This is an ancient stronghold and monastary. It makes Korriban look amateurish, makes the battle at Malachor V seem poorly-handled. It's through the edges of the old Empire which battled the Republic in the Hyperspace Wars. The first wars. It's where the first doubting Jedi came after they met the unfortunate Sith species and stole their name. Where those first traitors turned after fleeing their teachers. Where it all began.

The statue is now causing Revan's head more pain than comfort. He wraps a kolto-soaked dressing around himself and pulls away. Ragnos' angular, weathered likeness seems to glare downwards at him, sun shining behind its head. The half-human face snarls, teeth bared and fist clenched around a jagged sword. The neck is arched back, the legs bent, lips pulled open. The surface of it is fissured all over. Who knows what holds it together after all this time.

'Relax, Marka,' he says, revealing only a smile and a thick cowl to the Dark Lord. 'If the wind changes you'll look like that forever. If it helps, I'm not feeling too great either.' Or was it Marko?

Revan shakes his head. 'Marko?' he asks. 'I can't remember which is right. Sorry. Sith Lord standards have really dropped since your day.'

The bedroll he brought with him was at the old camp. By now it might have been torn apart. He's sleeping on the floor, then.

And he really needs to sleep. Finding a relatively flat spot by Ragnos' foot, Revan lies down and sighs deeply.

Some voice at the back of his mind calls to him mournfully. Something from his forgotten life, he suspects. Ever since the battle at the Star Forge, the memories have been returning. Some of them are crippling. Malak never leaves his thoughts. But this is just... some sad voice. Not quite distinct enough. Some sense of shame. Someone he must have known but now cannot remember.

He's so far away from Republic space now. That this voice can reach him here... she must be someone he cared for. In his own inadequate way, he tries to comfort her with the Force.

This has been a long, long mission. Undertaking it alone has been the hardest part. Revan isn't humble enough to pretend he's not formidable, but he doesn't work as well by himself. He's better with people behind him or in a strike team of two. Maybe three.

Coming here alone was painful for those he left behind. Now, knowing that he can still feel someone back there unnerves him. He doesn't want the one he left behind to see him here bleeding. If only he had been anyone else. Had any other past. He would have stayed with her for good. He knows he has let her down plenty of times. Hopefully when he returns from this, she'll love him all the more.

His saviour.

The position he lies in is not helping matters. His belly feels cold now, his head light. Silently this time, Revan shifts over and closes his eyes.

As he relaxes he sees a clear, precise image, wonders if his Force bond is still with him. He hears a familiar greeting. It's warm and defensive at the same time. Brave yet angry. Animal but trained. It has a really cute accent.

How can I help?

Revan tries to chuckle but ends up coughing.

.

In a sparsely-decorated apartment on Telos, the last of the Jedi moves her gaze to the window. She isn't looking, exactly. She's seen it all before. Lately, it seems like the restoration project has slowed down. Maybe it will never finish its work.

Deadlines.

She has brought her old Cross of Glory to this new accomodation, as she takes it everywhere. She was taught to shun material attachments, but never mind. She absently squeezes it now, thinking back.

We Jedi now have another tale to weave into the grand history of our order. The redemption of Revan, the prodigal knight! Wherever you go, you will be recognised as the saviours of the Galaxy. The heroes of our age.

But you must remain ever vigilant, for one day you may be called upon yet again to defend the glory of the Republic against the tyranny of the dark side.

For this is the destiny of the Jedi.

So much has changed. So many have been lost. The memory makes her smile, despite everything.

Before she turns away from the window, Bastila's last thoughts are of her father. She sees a desert in her mind's eye. The bones of a krayt dragon under the twin suns of Tatooine.