The Ebon Hawk screams through Lehon's storm-wracked sky, the Star of Ashla's orbit a fading memory above. Rain lashes the viewport, lightning clawing at the hull, but the Temple of the Ancients waits below. My ruin. My shame. The steel presses against my skull, and through it, her accusation finds me.
"Betrayer. Destroyer."
I clench my fists, shoving Bastila's ghost down. I was Darth Revan when I destroyed this place, a Sith Lord burying secrets. Now, I am the Herald of the Je'daii Order, chasing the promise of balance, but the temple knows me. It remembers. Ahsoka stands beside me in the cockpit, montrals twitching in the dim glow, eyes burning into me, sharp as a saber. Her silence cuts deeper than her words back on the Star, when she laid my past bare before the Jedi envoy, probing my motives. I feel her gaze through my mask, peeling back the scars I hide.
"Statement: Oh, Master, this ruin's overgrowth cries for my blasters."
HK-47's voice crackles from the ship's speakers.
"Query: Shall I oblige?"
My jaw tightens, gauntlets creaking.
"HK, focus. Put us down as close to the ruin site as possible."
"Observation: My circuits outshine your previous visit's fumbles, Master. That disruptor field will not dare impede my glorious navigation."
HK banks the ship, engines whining as we dive, his loyalty a grin I can hear in his tone.
Ahsoka almost smiles, but her hands stay steel. Her fingers dance over the navigation console, checking the temple ruin's scans with a huntress's precision, her movements clipped, reflexes honed. I sense the temple's pull in her pause, its malice testing her resolve. Her face finds me again, not Ahsoka's. Bastila's. Her eyes accusing.
"You burned worlds."
I grip the console, steadying, the dark-side aura clawing at my temples. Huyang drifts from the corridor, photoreceptors on the scanner feed.
"That disruptor field is Rakatan arrogance, amplified by neglect."
Ahsoka's eyes flick to me, direct, unyielding, her voice a Togruta growl carrying Ossus's weight.
"What are you not telling us, Revan? The dark side feels stronger as we get closer."
Her words land, echoing her challenge from earlier. I meet her gaze, the steel hiding the sweat beneath, my voice terse, tasting like ash.
"I seek answers, Tano. For the shattered moons. For the galaxy."
"Statement: Descending to your noble slaughter, Master. Observation: This ruin is as filthy as a dianoga's lair."
Lightning flashes, revealing jungle roots and bioluminescent fungi, sickly green against blackened stone. Rakatan idols, half-buried, glare from the undergrowth, their crystal eyes alive, Star Forge relics clutched in their clawed hands. The landing pad, half-sunken, is my fault, crumbled by my volleys, littered with rusted droid husks, the jungle's shrieks drowning the humidity that clings like a second skin.
Vines lash at my ship, sentient, their barbed tips snapping like banshees. Lightning cracks again, a mudslide roaring across the pad, churning earth and droid husks into a viscous trap. I raise my hand, the Force surging, hurling boulders and vines into the storm.
"Lehon is as welcoming as ever."
HK banks hard, the ship roaring, his voice a theatrical taunt.
"Observation: Your request of landing zones is deplorable, Master. Suggestion: Next time, consult my superior algorithms."
We land on the pad, the ship charring vines, debris crunching under the hull, the ground trembling like Lehon's wrath. My boots hit the ramp, the song of my sabers' violet and red kyber chaotic, their chord cutting through the rain, a song I've known since Cathar's fall. Ahsoka lands beside me, her stance low and ready, rain streaking her montrals. The dark-side aura continues to crash like a tidal wave, my bombardment's echo pounding in my skull, the wail twisting my gut like Malak's betrayal. I anchor to the Je'daii Code, balance, not conquest, pushing back the darkness, the mask heavier than ever. Ezra stumbles out, rubbing his temple.
"Your aim from orbit sucked, Revan. This place is crawling with ancient droids."
Kesh's hackles rise, a low warning building in her chest as she scents the hunger in the jungle's shrieks. Huyang's photoreceptors scan the gate, his tone dry as a Jedi archive.
"The Rakata built to outlast even the Herald's handiwork."
Vicrul hacks a vine with a wet snap, his scorched armor catching the storm's light.
"Enough talk. Let's get on with it already."
The Hawk's ramp hisses shut, HK's voice a gleeful rasp.
"Query: Shall I seek combatants, Master?"
"Quiet, HK."
Ahsoka's grin is fleeting, quick as the lightning overhead.
"He's growing on me."
Huyang's photoreceptors tick toward the ship.
"An HK unit. Twenty-five thousand years, and the galaxy has yet to outgrow assassin droids."
"Statement: Recognition from a fellow antique. I am flattered, relic."
"Not an HK unit. The HK unit. Forty-seven. I catalogued the lightsabers of the Jedi you silenced. Every one of them is still in my memory."
"Statement: How gratifying, relic. An archivist who appreciates my portfolio. Do notify me if any entries are missing, and I shall correct the oversight."
Two witnesses of my wars trading appraisals in the rain, the blade I built and the archive it filled. I say nothing. Every answer I could give is already filed.
I lead them from the pad up to the temple's gate, vines slithering like serpents, their barbed tips beaded with rain, the humidity pressing close on every side. Rakatan carvings loom from the shadows, stone claws curled around their relics, crystal shards glinting in their eyes. The gate's pull finds me, a siren from my past, when I forced it as Darth Revan, the Star Forge's power a fire in my veins. Ahsoka's gaze never leaves me, her silence louder than the rain, her probing relentless. Ezra's boots land beside me, Kesh at his side.
"Kriff, Revan, sure about this?"
The gate looms, a cracked monolith etched with runes, their flicker warped by my turbolasers, its broken vibration shaking my bones. Its barrier crackles, hungry, unstable, the jungle's shrieks fading as if Lehon holds its breath. I remember forcing this gate, the Star Forge's power a fire that burned worlds. I turn to Ahsoka, rain dripping from my mask.
"It wants balance. I have done this twice, but everyone needs to understand this… it is a trap."
Ezra leans against a pillar, his empathy sensing my guilt.
"You really meant to bury this place for forever, didn't you?"
Kesh's growl deepens, her collar glowing hot, sensing the gate's malice, her nudge steadying Ezra's step. Huyang steps forward, photoreceptors narrowing, his tone dry, professorial.
"The Rakata keyed this gate to light and dark at once. Damaged as it is, it will take balance to keep the two from tearing it apart."
Vicrul hacks at another vine, sap splattering.
"Herald, say the word and I'll carve through this gate myself."
We face the gate, its runes an assault on the mind, their fractured crystal shards flickering with erratic surges, scorched by my turbolasers. The monolith, once a Rakatan sentinel, sags, cracks spiderwebbing its frame, the wail's echoes lancing through unstable bursts. Vines cling to its wounds, their barbed tips catching the idols' dead light, the jungle's stench thick with mildew and rot. Kesh paces, her collar bright, her growls guiding our timing, her instincts sharper than my memory.
I raise my hands, the Je'daii Code steadying me, my mask crushing against my brow. Ahsoka mirrors me, her light surging like a beacon, her jaw clenched as if fighting an internal battle. Vicrul steps forward, his armor slick with rain, his dark-side aura a roiling force, raw, his Knights of Ren past in his eyes. I channel light, Jedi resolve, the Prodigal Knight's redemption, the Je'daii's hope for revival. The runes misfire, their damaged crystals spitting flares, the gate shuddering as if rejecting my touch. The temple's accusation strikes through the Force.
"Liar."
Ahsoka's light pours in, pure, unyielding, but her eyes flicker, her vision flooding our minds through the Force. She pushes it back, guilt flashing, her Togruta resolve holding. I shift to balance, light and dark as one, but the gate's instability demands more, a raw darkness to anchor it. I nod to Vicrul, his Force sensitivity a rough edge, his past a conduit.
"Sentinel of Fire, stand your ground!"
Vicrul grips his vibro-scythe, his dark-side energy surging, barely trained but fierce, his eyes blazing with rage and grief. He bites out a curse, the Force amplifying his fear-inducing aura, the gate's runes flaring as his darkness pours in, a harvester's wrath. The temple draws Bastila's face from my memory and turns it against me, her eyes blazing through my thoughts.
"You betrayed me. Cathar burned. The Jedi Civil War was all because of you."
My hand trembles, lightning crackling, her face morphing.
"Warlord. Your Je'daii will become conquerors, not keepers of balance. Another empire of the dark side."
I force my resolve through, my heart a battlefield. The damaged runes surge, unstable, threatening to collapse the gate, debris raining from the monolith's frame. Ahsoka's eyes narrow, sensing our struggle.
"Stay with us, Revan, Vicrul."
Ezra winces, clutching his head, a dark pull from his past, gripping him, but Kesh's nudge grounds him, her hackles stiff against the gate's pull. Vicrul's darkness holds, synced with Ahsoka's light and my balance. The gate's runes flare, their fractured crystals realigning, the temple's Force stirring, a mystical chord weaving through the monolith. The flares cease, cracks seal, the gate's surface burns with renewed power, its ancient frame knitting together, the runes blazing. The barrier collapses with a roar that shakes the earth, the gate sliding open to the courtyard, its rectified doors revealing the blackened maw of the temple. A dark-side pulse erupts, hurling Vicrul into the mud, his vibro-scythe skidding away, blood seeping from his shoulder. He coughs, clutching a cracked rib. He staggers to his feet.
"Not done yet, Herald."
The maw yawns before us, the temple's throat humming with an ancient charge, Rakatan carvings watching, their Star Forge relics catching what little light remains. I lead them forward, the gate's rubble shifting under my boots, the storm falling away behind us. Ahsoka's gaze unrelenting, her challenge following me into the dark. Ezra's hand rests on Kesh.
"This place definitely wants us dead. Hope those answers you keep talking about are here."
The temple's retaliation stirs, a beast waking, its drone deepening, the temple's malice pressing down over me. Her shade finds me again through the runes.
"You forsook me for your war, Revan. Your Je'daii will shatter like Cathar did."
A massive war droid rises from a cratered spire, its Rakata armor scarred by my turbolaser burns, its core alive with dark-side rot, a corrupted heart burning like the idols' eyes. I know this shape, Rakatan war machines my bombardment failed to kill. My curse. Ezra's voice carries Lothal's grit, sharp but soft.
"Man, your aim really sucked!"
Huyang's tone stays flat as a datapad readout, rain streaking his plating.
"I miss predictable droids."
Vicrul favors his cracked rib, his vibro-scythe at the ready. Ahsoka's white sabers ignite and settle into guard, her stance defiant, a growl under her words.
"Together, Revan. No solo heroics from anyone."
My violet saber burns, the Je'daii resolve steeling me against the temple's accusation.
The mask hides the small tug of my lips. We charge, our synergy a dance of light and dark, her Ataru measured and lethal, my Niman a storm, the jungle's roars closing over the chaos. The droid's blasts scorch the courtyard, melting stone. My Force barrier deflects them, shrapnel stinging my eyes through the mask's slits. Ahsoka vaults onto the droid's arm, white sabers carving through armor, Rakata metal whining as it splits, the strike placed and final, water sheeting off her montrals. A vine snares her leg, dark-side malice alive in its grip, its barbs catching the same dead light as the idols'. My red saber springs to life to sever it, violet blade parrying a claw, the metal bending, coolant splattering my armor. Ahsoka's blades follow without wasted motion, sabers slashing, cauterizing gashes that ooze coolant, splattering her robes, Lehon howling louder past the gate. The droid's claw grazes her arm, flesh blistering, a red welt blooming, blood mixing with rain. She grunts, Force pushing it back, her light unwavering against the temple's shadow.
My lightning surges, frying the droid's circuits, its optics dying, its capacitors rupturing. Molten shrapnel sprays, fragments embedding in the stone, one grazing my arm. Ahsoka's sabers sever the droid's arm, metal groaning, the husk collapsing, its core erupting in a geyser of light and coolant, the blast singeing my armor, the jungle's clamor fading into silence. Rain hisses on molten debris, the courtyard a battlefield of Rakata scrap and crystal fragments, the reek of scorched metal sharp on my tongue. My sabers dim, chest heaving, the accusations fading, but the temple's drone grows louder, dragging me deeper. My voice comes raw, the words a vow to the ghosts watching, to the Je'daii's fragile hope.
"Alive, corrupted, or gone forever, the supercomputer's fate is mine to face."
We face the temple's maw, me, Ahsoka, Ezra, Kesh, Huyang, Vicrul, the Je'daii with the Jedi and the galaxy's future hinging on how I left the supercomputer. The temple's blackened throat yawns, runes dying like distant stars, Rakatan carvings glaring from the shadows, their clawed hands clutching crystal relics. The jungle fades, Lehon going silent around us. The temple takes us in, its tunnel of ancient stone and dripping algae closing around us. I lead the way, boots crunching on shattered crystal, the humidity clogging my lungs, the jungle's stench of wet ash and decay clinging to my armor. Collapsed corridors loom, their walls scarred by my turbolasers thousands of years ago, now choked with bioluminescent algae burning pale and cold. Rakatan altars, half-buried in rubble, their runes glowing faint, as if the temple remembers me, Darth Revan, the Sith Lord who broke it.
Ahsoka follows, montrals shifting in the dim glow, her hazel eyes fixed on me, reading every shift. She speaks, voice steady, testing.
"What did this place mean to you, Revan? Is it mutual answers we seek, or something else?"
Her question cuts, peeling at my Je'daii resolve, her defiance tempered by the galaxy's fragile stillness. I face her, the steel hiding what lies beneath, my voice terse.
"Answers, Tano. For the shattered moons and the wails in the Force. Again, nothing more."
The temple accuses me through the Force.
"Liar."
Ezra trails, his boots splashing in shallow floods, carrying Lothal's dust.
"This place feels like a bad nightmare. You sure this will be worth it?"
Kesh prowls at his side, her collar washed in the algae's light, warning at shadows, her instincts sensing paths through the labyrinth. Huyang's photoreceptors scan a rune-carved altar.
"The Rakata built to endure, but this damage… your handiwork, I presume?"
His words, laced with Jedi wisdom, carry a chiding edge, as if we are younglings fumbling a saber form.
His photoreceptors hold on me a beat too long, something turning behind the lenses. Ezra knows my wars from history lessons. Huyang catalogued them as they happened. I wonder which battlefield he is walking now. Vicrul limps behind, blood seeping from his shoulder, his low rasp cutting the air.
"Keep movin', everyone. This tomb's itchin' to bury us and I intend to disappoint."
The corridor narrows, walls pressing like a vise, algae casting eerie light on shattered Rakatan statues, their broken claws locked around crystal shards. A face rises out of the past, a Rakatan priest's eyes black as void-glass, chanting guttural hymns over a holocron's glow, the voices a drone beneath the supercomputer's resonance. Its accusation claws at me. Bastila's curse grows louder. I grip my sabers, steadying, the humid air stinging my throat. A chamber opens ahead, its walls etched with Rakatan murals, their crystal inlays guttering to black. The murals sprawl, starships forged in crystal fire, worlds kneeling to the Infinite Empire. Shattered altars litter the floor, their cores stained with ancient blood, the stench of charred bone and cold smoke settling over everything. Huyang traces a rune, photoreceptors narrowing.
"Mind the altars, younglings. The Rakata were not known for hospitality."
My memory stirs, keen as a saber's edge. This chamber, with its murals and altars, is not where I walked before. But deeper, in the Catacombs, a stark room where a Rakatan priest's chants had faded, the computer alive when I interfaced with it, unlocking Star Forge secrets. Its codes burned in my mind, active and unyielding, unlike this sanctum's decay. Now, it lies beyond the vault door ahead, its secrets our only hope for whatever is growing out there. Through the Force comes Bastila's voice again, keener now.
"You only chase power."
Ezra crouches by an altar, whistling some offbeat tune.
"This place makes Lothal's caves feel almost cozy. I take it this place looked a little different back then?"
His probe a diplomat's, cloaked in interest, seeking the man beneath the mask. I deflect.
"Priests. Chants. Power that no one should have touched."
The past surges back, a Rakatan elder's face, withered, hissing commands as the supercomputer burned bright enough to blind me. Vicrul scrapes the floor with his vibro-scythe, his wounds slowing him but his rage undimmed.
"Answers or not, somethin' in here is watchin' us, Herald."
His shadow flares, and as he brushes an altar, the crystal within surges, a Force vision ripping through him. Vicrul staggers, his rage spiking, the temple's dark energy amplifying his fury. He grips his scythe tighter.
"Kriff this place!"
Ahsoka's eyes flick to him.
"Hold it together, Vicrul."
Three Rakatan droids, their ancient armor rusted but cores blazing, erupt from the rubble, their blasts splitting the air, shrapnel showering across the rubble. Ahsoka's Ataru is precise, white sabers igniting to carve through a droid, metal sparking, anticipation guiding every strike. Ezra's green saber comes alive, slashing a droid's core. It bursts in a flash of light.
"How kind, your old friends rolling out the welcome mat!"
Kesh lunges, claws rending a droid's leg, metal whining as she tears it apart, her growl steady beneath the chaos. Vicrul's scythe swings cleanly, severing a droid's head, circuits smoking. My Niman is relentless, violet saber waking up to fry a droid's core, debris showering my armor. The temple's tremor intensifies, walls trembling around us, and a Force illusion strikes me. Darth Revan, my mask bloodied, slaying Rakatan priests, their screams like the screeches that have shattered dozens of moons, their blood pooling at my feet. Then her voice roars through the vision.
"Your choices tore us apart."
I stagger, but Ezra's hand grips my arm, his empathy cutting through.
"Revan, it's not real, fight it!"
Kesh's growl snaps me back. Huyang's voice rises, calm but urgent, his photoreceptors scanning.
"The Rakata wove illusions into their defenses. Focus, or this tomb will claim us all."
Ahsoka's sabers dispatch the last droid, its core faulting, the light fading. The tremors cease, the temple restoring itself, walls shifting, stone knitting like flesh, runes burning as if appeased. I steady, the mask hiding the sweat, the illusion twisting my soul.
They think the fight has my attention. Huyang drifts between Ahsoka and Ezra, his voice pitched beneath the settling stone, three heads bent close over a word I am not meant to hear. Ahsoka's eyes find my mask across the chamber and she does not look away. Whatever the droid remembers of me, she has it now.
The chamber's exit leads to a sealed vault door, its surface etched with runes, the supercomputer's antechamber beyond. Rakatan carvings crowd the frame, their relics dark in the last of the algae's light. Ahsoka's sabers dim, her gaze probing my Je'daii intentions, seeking the truth behind my mask. I deflect. The temple's accusation strikes louder, unrelenting.
"Liar."
Vicrul's scythe drags a line through the algae, his voice almost a grunt.
"Let's end this."
The runes dim, the seal releasing, the door drawing back onto the dark.
The vault door's runes fade behind us, its frame grinding shut, sealing us in the Temple of the Ancients' Catacombs. The chamber yawns, a stark crypt of cracked walls, their scars leaking crystal shards that burn faint. Pillars loom, shattered by my bombardment, stalactites dripping algae that burns sickly green, pooling in shallow floods. Shattered holocrons litter the floor, their fragments dull among the algae pools, the air thick with rot that stings my throat. At the chamber's heart stands the supercomputer's orb, its surface dark, silent where it once pulsed alive. My memory surges, its interface, codes burning my mind, a Rakatan priest's chants fading as I forced its secrets.
I clench my fists, shoving the memory down using the dark I tamed. Ahsoka moves in closer, her tone commanding.
"Stay sharp. This place isn't done with us, nor us with it."
Ezra studies our surroundings, Kesh growling low, her ears flat against the chamber's silence.
"This it, Revan? Your big answer?"
The orb a cracked sphere of Rakata metal and crystal, its surface dark, faint as a dying star. No resonance, no pulse, just silence, a relic gutted by time and my assault from a lifetime ago. Huyang's photoreceptors narrow, scanning the orb.
"A Rakatan mnemonic core. The Star Forge's builders grew these to think, crystal lattice over living metal. This one's matrix is fractured, like a holocron's death. Whatever mind it held has gone dark. No response to any stimuli."
Vicrul's scythe scrapes the floor, his free hand still grabbing at his ribs.
"What a waste of junk."
I step closer, crystal shards splintering under my boots, the sour air biting at the back of my throat. I reach out, fingers spread, the Force probing the orb. Nothing. My memory surges, this crypt alive, the supercomputer's voice rising as a Rakatan elder chanted hymns, his voice a drone, "Power beyond grasp breeds ruin." Three years later, I returned, amnesiac, the elder's face harder, betrayed. "You took our trust, warlord, and forged war." His ritual opened the temple, but his warning stung.
"The Star Forge corrupts all."
Now, the orb mocks me, dead as the empire it spawned from.
Her accusation grinds ever louder against the steel.
"You only chase power."
My knees buckle, gauntlets slamming the floor, the steel crushing against my face. The temple roars, another tremor shaking its core, pillars groaning as stalactites cascade down in broken sheets. A slab plummets toward Ezra, his eyes wide. Ahsoka's Force push surges, hurling him clear.
"Move, Bridger!"
The slab crashes, dust choking the air, Ezra's robe torn, a red welt blooming on his arm. He scrambles up, gasping, Kesh's growl grounding him. Huyang's drone darts, dodging debris, his tone clinical.
"More Rakatan hospitality, as expected."
The team lunges for me, boots splashing in algae pools, but the Force erupts, a violet flash engulfing me. I lift into the air, weightless, the temple's roar deep in my bones. Vicrul charges, vibro-scythe raised, his rage spiked by another vision.
"Herald!"
The Force shoves him back, his cracked rib heaving, blood splattering mud. A barrier flares, shimmering like corrupted crystal, sealing me away from them. Ahsoka's white sabers flare, slashing uselessly, her voice fierce.
"Revan, fight it!"
Ezra's green blade blazes.
"Snap out of it!"
Huyang's voice cuts through, sharper than I have ever heard it.
"Stand down, both of you! That is a Rakatan commu…"
Blackness floods over me, the chamber's reek and resonance snuffed out. I am nowhere, a specter adrift again, my body weightless in a void like the timeless echo I felt in that Massassi temple. Ahead, I see myself, a repeat of my vision before I departed Mustafar but this time more real, more raw. I stand, my mask burning red and silver-gray, atop Tython's spires. Crystal towers illuminate, their light knitting a galaxy whole, worlds kneeling in harmony as one, Jedi and Sith dissolved into Je'daii balance. The air sings with hope, a warmth I have not felt since Bastila's touch. My chest aches, the vision so vivid it burns, yet no path shows how I have obtained it.
The scene twists, my mask now bloodied, crimson streaks clotting the Mandalorian runes. Je'daii fleets roar in the skies above, iron hulls torching stars, planets crumbling under my crimson saber's crackle. I stand on a throne of cold metal, an emperor crushing all, the galaxy's cries louder than Cathar's fall. No reason, no cause, just ruin, vivid as the first, tearing my soul like a vibroblade. I stagger in the void, breathing ragged, the futures clashing, no road to either, just their burden crushing my resolve.
A voice thunders, deep as Lehon's storms, familiar yet estranged. The Rakatan Elder appears, his withered frame cloaked in tattered robes, black eyes hard and fathomless. His face is the same I saw in the temple's heart, his chants fading under the supercomputer's resonance.
"You return, Prodigal."
His voice thick with wary respect, as if weighing my Je'daii sigils against my Sith past.
"Twice you plundered our sanctum, first for power, then to bury it. Why a third?"
His tone softens, a reluctant pause, his eyes narrowing as if seeing my intent to mend a shattered galaxy.
"You broke our planet, buried its caretakers. Yet you stand, claiming balance. Speak, what drives you now?"
I open my mouth, but no words come, the futures' pull choking me. His face hardens, respect curdling to bitterness.
"You ravaged this world, tore its secrets for your own gain!"
His voice rises, a priest betrayed, his robes billowing as the void trembles.
"You bombarded our most sacred temple, left us to ruin! What right have you to walk these halls again!?"
The air thickens, the resonance rattling my teeth, the Force burning through me. His form shimmers, and my heart seizes. The Elder's eyes soften into hers, Bastila's, hazel and fierce, her dark hair framing a face raw with pain. My lover, my redeemer, the woman who bound me to the light on the Star Forge, stands before me, her Jedi robes torn, blood streaking her cheek from Cathar's fall. The void fades, replaced by the temple's stench, her scent, blaster smoke and wildflowers, hitting me like a sucker punch. Her hand reaches out, trembling, as if to touch my face beyond the mask, and I freeze, aching for her warmth.
"You left me, Revan."
Her voice breaks, each word a vibroblade to my chest.
"You chose power, burned worlds, cast me aside for your war!"
Her eyes blaze, tears catching the void's faint light, her rage intimate, cutting deeper than the Elder's galactic rebuke.
"I loved you, and that was not enough for you. You broke every bit of us, Cathar, the Jedi, me!"
Her cry echoes, the void trembling, my memory flashing to the Star Forge, her pleading as I turned away, my Sith mask cold against my skin. Her voice cracks, a tear tracing the blood on her cheek.
"Will you forge another empire, my love? Rip the galaxy asunder… again!?"
Her hand drops, her face twisting, accusing, ripping my soul apart. The vision shudders, Bastila's form snapping back to the Elder's, his black eyes wide, no longer accusing but searching. His voice goes low, edged with curiosity.
"Answer us. Why are you here, Prodigal? What do you seek, you who've bled our secrets dry?"
My chest heaves, memory surging, Yavin 4, the awakening after my millennia drift in a void such as this. Then Yavin 8, that first moon to shatter, cracking as something rose from its depths. The first Force wail's screech splitting my skull.
"Answers!"
I roar, the word a desperate plea, a vow, the unknown hammering at my ribs.
"For the shattered moons ripped from the inside out that screech throughout the Force, for the galaxy's fate, for my ultimate destiny!"
The sense of time freezes, blackness erasing all but the Elder's face, his withered features slack with terror.
"The Thalassians."
His voice cracks on the name, as if it were a curse he had thought long buried. His eyes lock on mine, disbelief etching every line, the void trembling as if Lehon itself recoils.
The vision shatters, silence slamming down around me. I fall, landing crouched, gauntlets clenching, the floor biting my palms. My mask shifts, and I secure it, its cold steel grounding me, sweat stinging my eyes. The supercomputer's orb flickers, a faint pulse of light starting to dance across its cracked surface, a living current stirring where there had been only death. The interface, the Rakatan machinery around it, still shattered, wires sparking, panels warped beyond repair, remains a ruined husk. I stagger upright, the chamber's silence absolute, my team's voices muffled and indistinct, crystal fragments catching the algae's glow. Turning to the orb, I reach out, the Force a steady tide through my veins. It lifts, hovering gracefully into my hands, its faint chord vibrating through everything that I am, a spark worth carrying into the dark. To myself, a vow carved in my soul.
"The wrongs I must right to bring balance… start here."
The barrier gutters out, my team's voices rushing back in.
I raise my hand, voice hoarse, the Je'daii's hope an ember in my chest.
"The orb, we take it."