a/n: Not mine, no cash, don't sue. :)

This one's a bit darker than my usual fare, but intensely satisfying to write. And, my first Dueling Circle entry for KFM. Yay!

Muchas gracias a Trillian for her brilliant beta superpowers!

What Possible Future

The watcher's vision shifted from a murky, noisy mess and finally, mercifully settled on a single, clear and simple image. The scene shared by a detached and distant hologram and vibrant, living sentients, so close that they could easily be entered… joined, their connections to the Force resonating deeply, chords producing a deep, sad and thrilling melody...

So that the watcher could ignore the symphony no longer, enticed by the wealth… the pool of life a mere finger's dip away. What was touched through the Force was more than simply a mind. It was a life, an instant flicker of knowledge of all pasts, presents and possible futures. The Mandalorian and the watcher became one in the same, sharing… stroking the same strand connecting them to the power of the Force, to the life of the Galaxy.

The watcher thrummed with the crescendoing chords, letting the Force resonate within, lead the way on a journey the Force itself had started… digging in through the maze of pitches that suddenly came into focus, melody and countermelody… heartbeats, finally came together in a familiar song—one that the watcher knew to the very core. Familiar… so familiar. But twisted somehow, perverted.

But how, the watcher could not say. Nor was there effort to try. The Force assuaged what more linear, cognitive concerns continued to dwell. And the watcher relinquished, abandoning the forgotten identity somewhere on a physical plane and allowed the Force to do what it would.

For the watcher was not so arrogant as those lives that stood before the blue hologram… that tangible, metally-tasting arrogance that warped the Force around these lives… and bound the watcher to them, with no more control than a disabled starship, held to ground by forces larger than itself.

"You are to take your forces down to the planet's surface and there, they will wait for my command."

The holographic image of the Cathar general sizzled with a white static frizz as she bowed her head. "As you wish, Master," she said. "I will await your orders and news of your victory, my lord." The image nodded again, then blinked out, darkening the room just a little as Revan turned from the blank holo-projector.

Canderous smirked, cradling his repeating blaster in his armored arms. Even in the relative safety of Revan's flagship, the Heavy Hand, he was always battle-ready, ever wary of betrayal from within the Sith ranks. And ever the true Mandalorian warrior.

"So," he said irreverently, following Revan off of the command deck. She smiled, her yellowed eyes lighting with interest. "You've given her command of a fair share of troops, then stashed them where they can't do any damage…"

Revan laughed darkly. "You are concerned that we have not committed enough resources to this campaign," she stated.

"I think you're getting cocky."

Revan sighed, raising her eyebrows in surprise. "Oh, Canderous, I do so love your honesty. Only you, you know. Only you." She grabbed his arm lightly, pulling him closer to her side and accidentally dropped her hand to brush his groin before smartly striding out of the lift, leaving Canderous growling at her overt tease.

"Juhani will yet play a very important role. Surely you, of all people, have learned from the Battle of Althir… it would be unwise for us to commit all of our ground troops at this time. The Battle for Manaan will be concentrated in orbit where ground troops have little value, not to mention the fact that the planet is oceanic… where would ground troops be of use?" She shook her head. "No… we reserve our forces—play our hand close to the chest, then put our hidden regiments to use where the Republic forces are most weakened."

"It is a shame you didn't just poison the water when you had the chance…" Canderous taunted. Revan snarled, replacing her cowl as they continued making their way to the hangar levels. He loved irritating her with mentions of her rather lengthy flirtation with the light, the way of the Jedi before reclaiming her true role on the Builders' world, before killing Malak and reclaiming the Star Forge, still working to augment their considerable forces.

"Had I, Manaan would have been rendered useless. Intact, it is an asset within our grasp. Whoever controls the kolto will win, will finally finish this war."

"You don't yet think you've won?" Canderous answered skeptically, a hint of laughter edging his voice.

"Now who's cocky" Revan said, her voice deepened by the filter of her mask.

"So… this was the plan all along?"

Revan stopped and turned to face him and he faced back, all confidence. "I will not lie to you, Canderous," she growled and stalked away, leaving it at that. Canderous grinned.

Quatra sighed, turning to Carth hesitantly, shaking her head at the display. Manaan was growing gradually larger as they approached the planet at sub-light, creeping up on the Sith forces doing the same deeper into the system. The captain pursed his lips, already having seen the grim state of affairs for himself.

"What's left of the Republic fleet is in shambles while Revan's forces just continue to grow stronger… I am afraid the Republic has already lost… We cannot survive this," she said slowly. Carth shook his head. Quatra continued, ignoring his clenched teeth and balling fists. "We simply cannot fight this New Sith War so close on the heels of the last, Carth. The Star Forge continues to power Revan's war machine and our resources continue to dwindle with each passing moment. The Republic is lost…"

"No. I refuse to believe that," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

The Jedi took a deep breath. "Then you are a fool, Captain. And you will continue to sacrifice lives for a lost cause?" she paused, but Carth would not look at her. "You know," she began again, her voice softening, placating, "I amthe last person to admit defeat, but perhaps it is time to face reality," she continued. Carth visibly clenched his jaw.

"Traitor," he accused her softly, but with an unmistakable, seething anger.

"Believe what you will," Quatra snapped impatiently. "I am already fighting one losing battle, I will not waste my time fighting with you as well," she continued carefully.

She walked away, leaving Carth only to turn back to the maps and displays on the bridge of the Reconciliation, one of the few capital ships left spaceworthy after the Star Forge battle six months ago. He sighed, suddenly uninterested in strategy, and left the bridge, making his way down to the brig.

Jolee looked out at the vast oceans of Manaan, closing his eyes for a moment and simply letting the breeze and the Force flow over and through him, carrying away all thoughts of apprehension. Of battle. He imagined that he was the only one there on the entire planet, the only sentient life in the galaxy, and relished the illusion of solitude even as the Republic troops shuffled uneasily through Ahto West, erecting barriers and manning defensive positions.

They all knew what was coming, and that no measure of Selkath law enforcement or bureaucracy would prevent it.

Jolee stretched out with the Force and felt the same buzz of anticipation, fear and excitement from the vicinity of the Sith base on the other end of the city. Ahto Central was deserted and native Selkath with no invested reason to stay or choose a side had been fleeing for days, to space or the depths of the ocean, before Revan's initial forces had entered the system.

He wondered, now that she was here, did she know where he was? Did Revan know that the old man of whom she had once sought counsel was on the world she intended to invade? Commanding opposing troops, no less?

He imagined she did—she was powerful enough—and Jolee reflexively cut himself away from his open commune with the Force. She may know he was there, but there was no reason for her to decipher his intentions.

A nameless Republic ensign saluted and Jolee turned, making a disgusted face and waving the kid's hand away from the brim of his helmet. "Master Jedi, Commander Wann has gathered the supplies and personnel you requested, if you're ready to meet with him, sir. He'd also like your input on the next phase of defensive measures."

"Fine, tell him I'll be along."

"Well, Master Jedi, here is that intelligence report I promised you," Sunry limped conspicuously toward Jolee as the ensign scampered away and Jolee smirked, taking the datapad from his old friend.

"You get all this from that Sith harlot of yours?" Jolee asked lightly, whistling in appreciation. Sunry laughed and shook his head.

"Some… the rest I got from the Selkath who investigated the Sith base after your little Sith harlot brought it down a few months ago. They got quite a lot out before the Sith managed to retake the base, but that sure ain't anything to spit at," Sunry said proudly. Jolee chose to preserve their all-too-brief moment of levity and ignore his dig at his association with Revan, but couldn't help thinking what right Sunry had to pass any judgment at all? Revan had saved his life, even when, Jolee imagined, he probably didn't deserve it.

Jolee silently nodded his head as though coming to a decision. He took a deep breath and reached his hand out to shake Sunry's, who hesitantly took it.

"Goodbye, old friend," Jolee said, shaking his head and smiling wanly. "It's been a hoot and a half, I must say."

Sunry frowned, his head stilling in mid-shake. "Goodbye?" he said. "You know something I don't?"

"Yes," Jolee stated simply, walking, without another word, to the Republic enclave.

The Temple Summit

Juhani glanced from Jolee to Revan to the palm branches barely peeking over the wall of the Temple Summit, waving in the breeze. She waited for Revan's answer along with Bastila, who paced impatiently behind the dark lord.

"No Bastila. We will not kill them."

Juhani gripped her lightsaber, her thumb hovering over the activation switch as Revan smiled—almost warmly—and walked away from Bastila and toward her.

"Now you wait just one min—"

Without so much as a look in Jolee's direction, Revan flung out her hand and violently pushed the old man into the wall behind him. Juhani winced at the sound of his head cracking loudly against the stone. She watched him slump lifelessly to the ground before consciously refocusing herself and igniting her blue saber staff.

Revan countered seamlessly, drawing her own violet double-blade and grinning wider even as she blocked Juhani's first, powerful vertical cut down from over her head. The Cathar growled, the hurt and betrayal and anger in her each fighting for control of her hands, her weapon. She let the Force flow into her like a wall of water that never ebbed. With that wall of power, she rained blow after blow down on the resurrected Dark Lord, her growls eventually growing quiet and settling into a fierce but silent snarl.

"Good," Revan hummed. Juhani sliced down at Revan hard, catching sight of Bastila standing off to the side, watching the battle with an amused expression. Juhani gritted her teeth.

"We have danced like this before, my apprentice," Revan said, thrusting as Juhani barely blocked. Their blades sizzled, almost drowning out their voices.

"Apprentice, am I? You"—thrust—"presume"—block—"much." Juhani feinted and spun, throwing a well-aimed kick at her opponent, but Revan flipped backward and out of the path of the blow. Juhani pirouetted around to face her and Revan recovered her defensive stance.

"Do I? Look into yourself, Juhani. You know it to be true. Even as we met, even as you wallowed in defeat and I stood as a puppet of the Jedi… in both of our weakness in your grove, you saw my power and surrendered to it. And even then," Revan switched her stance, putting Juhani on the defensive, "The power of the dark side sang to you. And now, I shall have you. And you shall have the power—the destiny—you truly deserve."

Juhani roared and ran toward Revan, her weapon raised over her head as she charged. Instead of running headlong into an offensive strike, however, she froze, as though her body had merely run into a permacrete wall, her body dead to her, paralyzed. She screamed… tried to scream… in frustration, in fear and anger, but no sound came out. And all she heard was the breeze whistling through cracks in the temple's ancient stone and Revan's footsteps as she slowly, deliberately approached her.

Revan stopped, her pallid face mere centimeters from Juhani's, frozen in mid-battle cry. Revan tilted her head as if listening for something she could barely hear. Then she shifted and Juhani felt what she could not turn her immobile head to see—Revan's fingers lightly trailing down the side of her face. Juhani shuddered.

"Your feelings do you credit, Juhani," Revan said, almost tenderly. The Cathar could not act fast enough to push down the long-fought desire as it welled up in her. Revan smiled knowingly. "Now, my apprentice, it is time to let those feeling guide you to your destiny. I can feel the passion within you Juhani. It is simply who you are. Do not continue to fight yourself as the Jedi would have you do. Embrace your strength."

Revan stepped back and Juhani felt herself released from the stasis field. She saw that Bastila's expression was no longer one of amusement, but of anger—jealousy. Juhani smirked inwardly. So Bastila considered her a threat? Bastila had always been weak…

"Will you follow me?" Revan asked plainly. Juhani searched her mind quickly and realized with some surprise that she could barely recall the Jedi code, so blatantly irrelevant was its meaning now. And she realized that she no longer had any desire to recall it.

She dropped to her knee and stared directly into Revan's eyes. "I will follow you anywhere," she said. Revan smiled.

"Thank you, Juhani," Revan answered, the newly turned dark warrior suddenly appearing to Juhani as very out of place still wearing her old Qel Droma robes. "You see, old man? Was that—" Revan turned to where Jolee Bindo had fallen, but he was gone.

Mission eyed the prisoner with an uncomfortable mixture of hatred and pity, unable to reconcile the two versions of the person she'd known

The prisoner stared back, her eyebrows dipping in unnaturally, frowning above her dark eyes. Mission swallowed hard, imagining what she might be thinking on the other side of the force field. The woman closed her eyes eventually, and settled herself back down in a position of meditation on the ground. Mission wondered if the modified neural restraint collar they'd fitted her with was actually working or if Bastila was fooling them all.

The Twi'lek leaned her head up against the bulkhead at her back and sighed at her feeling of utter helplessness.

"Any progress?"

Mission opened her eyes, a little startled by the voice, to find Carth standing over her, his head turned toward Bastila's cell. The dark Jedi merely snorted at him and closed her eyes again.

"Nope," Mission sighed. "She just ignores me. I… I can't think of anything else… to say, to do…"

Carth nodded, having yet to look at Mission at all. It was really starting to irritate her.

"I'll talk to Dorak. Maybe there are some… techniques he could use or something," Carth said absently. Mission frowned.

"Techniques," she deadpanned. It must have been her skepticism that made Carth finally stop watching Bastila and look at Mission. He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, waiting for her to make her point.

"Like what? Like the ones the Jedi used on Revan? Those kinds of techniques?" she continued. He winced at Revan's name, but covered almost immediately, his face turning to unreadable stone.

"Techniques that might actually help us win this war, undo all of the damage the Galaxy's seen at Revan's hand. If Bastila can help us, then I'll do what it takes."

"Sounds like something Malak would do," she spat, pulling herself from the floor. To her surprise, Carth didn't even flinch at her accusation. He simply looked at Bastila again and walked away, the click of his boots echoing down the corridor.

"If you're not going to help us interrogate the prisoner anymore, Mission, then report to the hangar. We're going to need all the pilots we can get," he said, glancing over his shoulder before turning the corner out of the brig.

Mission took a few hesitant steps back toward Bastila's cell and she opened her eyes.

"She abandoned you. I don't… I don't get why… Bastila, she abandoned you, and still you… you refuse to… to turn back. To help us. To… You don't even want revenge? What the hell kind of Sith are you?" Mission pleaded quietly, a last desperate grasp at progress. "Why?"

Bastila smiled, regarding Mission placidly, hauntingly peaceful. "As you are about too die, Mission, I will tell you one thing about loyalty," she said, her voice so icy cold, so foreign, that Mission barely recognized it. "The Sith… have none. What you see in me, Mission, is not loyalty, so do not mistake it."

"Then what is it?" she whispered.

Bastila smiled and closed her eyes.

It was so beautiful, her gift to him. Canderous positively glowed as he ran his hand over her body, the smooth metal electrifying him with a swelling of excitement and anticipation—the eve of battle adrenaline mixing with remembered thrills of riding through the atmosphere, blasters gloriously blazing. The Basilisk War Droid under his hand seemed to sizzle, making its own connection with him as he started to get to know her. Canderous shook his head, wondering where in the Galaxy of his defeated brethren Revan had found one…

He turned back to look at her, watching him from her spot languidly leaning up against the sealed blast door of the small drop hangar. Revan grinned coyly, pushing off from the blast door and lazily walking toward him, her voluminous black robes thankfully having been abandoned for simple black pants over combat boots and a black, long-sleeved tunic and the mask and hood abandoned, unnecessary or simply unwanted at this time of night, Canderous could only guess. But he was glad for it, either way.

He let her get within a meter of him before grabbing her around the waist and ferally whipping her around, slamming her up against the hull of the basilisk war droid. He didn't even give the Dark Lord a chance to breathe before pinning her so she almost couldn't and kissing her, pressing in to her deeply, crushing her, but knowing that any resistance she offered was for his benefit—the fight made it worth it.

She grunted, struggling feebly to get out from under him and he laughed into her mouth before breaking the kiss and looking into her cold, sunlight-yellow eyes. He grinned wickedly and grabbed both of her wrists into his much larger left hand, fitting them between his fingers and pinning her arms against the hull of his war droid, high above her head.

Revan's eyes rolled back into her head as she closed them, biting her lower lip as Canderous reached his free right hand roughly up under her tunic, kneading her otherwise bare breast.

"And when I take you tomorrow night, my lord," Canderous gated into her ear. He watched as the short, dark hairs on the back of her head stood up. "I will be taking the most powerful woman in the Galaxy."

He kissed her ear, trailing down her neck in an almost tender opposition to his manhandling of the rest of her. His hand abandoned her breast and delved unabashedly south. She gasped, her voice more feminine with that one expulsion of air than with any single word he'd ever heard her utter.

"And what," she breathed, her body pulsing and bucking against him, but very much letting him do as he pleased, "Does that say of you, Canderous?"

The Mandalorian smiled, sucking at her neck just below her ear. It was the spot, he knew, the button to push to make her melt in his hands.

"It says that I must be a very talented man."

"The area is secure, General."

Juhani turned from the window of the estate and returned the major's salute.

"What of the Sandrals?" she asked. The major dropped his hand and smirked.

"The property's former owners offered little resistance, Ma'am. Though… we did, unfortunately, seem to interrupt a wedding. Dealing with all of the guests… well," he conceded, "it was rather… time consuming. Though it was more like putting down farmers with pitchforks than any great challenge."

"Well done, Major," the Cathar replied somberly, turning back to the window. She was facing north. Somewhere beyond the peaceful, grassy hills of this world were the ruins of the Jedi enclave, a vestige of the dying Order. Juhani squelched a tiny pang of regret.

"Orders, Ma'am?"

Juhani sighed heavily. Her disappointment at having been relegated to the sidelines for Revan's great victory over the Republic was no well-kept secret and was, in fact, common to the majority of the regiments under her command. Ironically, her initial, vocal disagreement with Revan on this count had won her an unusual kinship with her troops. She glanced over her shoulder at her loyal officer.

"Make yourselves at home, Major. We may be here for some time," she said lightly, shrugging.

"Understood," the major replied, saluting again.

"Dismissed," Juhani ordered smartly, returning the gesture of formality. He left and Juhani found herself wondering what to do next. She stared out the window gain, absently fingering her lightsaber at her belt.

She remembered her old master… standing behind her in the training room at the enclave, pacing, uncharacteristically nervous for her Padawan as Juhani carefully seated her blue crystal into the hilt.

Her eyes lighted on the path east as she pushed the memory of her past life away.

The blades of her saber staff still glowed pale blue… something she could now rectify at her leisure.

Juhani stepped away from the window and moved briskly toward the front door of the mansion-cum-garrison and strode purposefully east, then stopped, something making her turn north instead. The crystal cave could wait.

She hiked past a pack of sleeping kath hounds, half-tempted to rouse them in hopes of a good fight, but there was still something irresistibly… peaceful about this place. She walked on without disturbing a single living creature.

And then, Juhani crossed into her Grove.

"Canderous. The wing is yours," Revan ordered over the comm.

"Understood," he answered, suddenly transported to another time and place. Another glorious day, years ago. Another glorious war.

Maybe he hadn't been so far off after Jagi died. It had been Revan—that other, Jedi Revan—who had convinced Canderous that killing was not the answer… he had watched Jagi take his own life on the Dune Sea, inexplicably glad that Canderous had not done it himself… and he had realized there that something in him had changed.

He looked down at the familiar dash panels of the Basilisk war droid and switched to his broadwave comm channel.

"All wings report in," he commanded. From other full hangars of Revan's fleet, Canderous' fighter wings checked in. And from Canderous' lonely drop hangar aboard Revan's flagship, he barely heard them, inconspicuously muting his own comm and switching back to the private channel.

"Revan," he said, waiting for the static to give way to her voice.

"Yes," she said softly.

"Are you alone? Away from—" he asked, equally quiet.

Life was not just war and glory. He wondered if she could hear that thought in him as he repeated it in is mind, louder and louder with each iteration.

Canderous shook his head woefully at his ruminations as he heard Revan excuse herself from the command deck on the other end of the comm.

"Yes," she finally said. He imagined her face, sweating and contorted beneath him on his bunk… the night before… yes… over and over again… Canderous took a deep breath. Maybe… maybe after this…

Life was not just war and glory. Maybe after this… maybe he could convince her that… that life was not just war and glory.

Canderous looked at the stars through the force field separating the hangar from the open space beyond. He glanced down at the brilliant blue sphere just peeking up into his line of sight.

And he knew that this would be his last battle. That whatever came after would be a war of another kind.

"I do this for you, Revan. Myself, my life… it is yours. I am your man to the end," he said.

"Canderous, now is no—"

"Now is the only time. I honor you, today, Revan," he said, his voice strong as he unconsciously sat up straighter, the restraint straps digging into his shoulders. "And for all of my days to come."

"As I honor you, Canderous. Know that," Revan answered, her voice barely audible over the increasingly loud background activity on the command deck. "Canderous, I… I must…"

Canderous smiled knowingly at her uncharacteristic show of actual emotion. "Go. Command your forces, and we will follow." Before she could answer or he could say any more, he flipped back to the broadwave.

"All wings, this is Ordo. Keep formation into high orbit and break at my command for strafing on the specified targets. Wing commanders, stay tight."

Canderous keyed the remote hangar control in the cockpit and his stomach dropped as his Basilisk fell out of the belly of the Heavy Hand, gravity falling away as well. Canderous laughed, the sensation overwhelming.

"All wings, commence op. This is an execute order. Repeat: All wings, execute."

The Rocky Path

Juhani led the way down the beach from the temple, leaving Revan and Bastila several paces behind. Bastila glanced at Revan as they hiked down the beach toward the Ebon Hawk, trying to divine what the dark lord was thinking about. She queried through their bond and Revan snorted.

"If you have something to ask, Bastila, by all means, please do," Revan said.

"Master, I was simply wondering what you are planning. I must admit, your decision to leave the Jedi alive is rather confusing…"

"Juhani is no longer a Jedi, Bastila."

"But how can you be so sure? Don't you think it was just a bit too easy, the way she just… changed her mind? She cannot be trusted."

"Let me be the judge of that, my apprentice," Revan replied smugly. Bastila bristled.

"Oh, that's it?" Revan continued, feeling her companion's unease. "Base jealousy? I had thought you above petty envy…" she glanced at Juhani ahead of them. She reached out her hand and grasped Bastila around the arm, stopping her in mid stride.

"Master?"

"What greater weapon is there than to turn an enemy to your cause, Bastila?" Revan mused, smiling mirthlessly.

"Revan, I'm afraid I don't follow…"

"Do you trust me, Bastila?" the Sith Lord said. Bastila smirked.

"Of course not," the former Padawan replied.

"Good. Malak has taught you something of value, at least." Revan grinned. "I mean to say… your pithy motto… it may be extended further than you or the Jedi Council might have thought."

"How so?" Bastila asked.

"What greater defense is there than to turn your attackers into your protectors?" Bastila's heart sank as she reached through their bond to get a better feel for Revan's intentions and she didn't like what she found there.

"Do not mistake me, Bastila. You are my weapon. My treasure to be protected at all costs. You are my strategy and my victory. And despite what Malak has taught you ofloyalty among the Sith, I admit to having trust in you. Because you, of all of my companions, cannot hide from me, nor would you. You are loyal, Bastila. And it is because of your loyalty that I know you will not fail me."

Mission felt sick. All around her, the hangar was full of activity. Mission hid from it, crouching under the starboard wing of her Z-19 fighter, T3 puttering quietly around the ship doing a pre-flight check.

She closed her eyes, trying to remember what Carth had taught her at the stick of the Ebon Hawk, without actually remembering Carth. She never wanted to think about him again.

"It's all in the coordination, Mission. But you have to think it through. Focus." Carth leaned over her and shut off the auto-pilot. Immediately, Mission tightened her grip on the stick, overcompensating for the sudden loss of control. The ship lurched, nosing down and loping port.

"Whoa! Whoa!" Carth laughed, leaning again and grabbing her white-knuckled hands, wrapping his fingers around hers and the stick, gracefully pulling up and back on course. The stars steadied through the front viewer.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Force… Carth, I can't do this… I'm so sorry!" Mission squealed, closing her eyes.

"Mission, it's okay. Relax… Open your eyes," he said, still laughing. "It's okay. Here, just… just try it again. Think it through. You have to know what you want the ship to do before she can do it. Plan out your next move, then send the plan to your hands. Let the plan go from your hands to the stick, and the Hawk'll take over from there…"

"Vao! Load up, we're out in five," the flight coordinator shouted. Mission frowned. She wasn't used to people—that weren't Revan or Carth—telling her what to do and, for a brief second, she half expected Zaalbar to come up behind her, his imposing presence silently sticking up for her.

Instead, she had T3 sidling up beside her, warbling something about watching her dampener gauges for sluggish attitude control.

Mission took a deep breath and got up off the floor of the flight deck and tried to push thoughts about how things had gotten so messed up out of her mind. If she wanted to live through this, she would have to focus.

But thoughts of focus only made her think of her hours of training with Revan, who had insisted on drilling her on her melee combat every night on the Hawk.

"You watch our backs, Mission," she said. "You keep the bad guys off us with those brilliant blasters of yours. But one of these days, one might get through, might get past us, and if that happens, I want you to be able to defend yourself at close range… That same focus you have through your gun sights is the same that will save your life with your vibroblade."

Mission climbed the metal ladder into the cockpit, barely hearing T3-M4's twitterings of good luck from below.

She tuned out the cockpit, ignored the noises echoing throughout the Ebon Hawk, and thought hard on where she wanted the ship to go. She planned it out, then carefully drew her hands back, holding her breath as she pulled back on the stick. The Hawk's nose lifted gradually, controlled. Carth patted her shoulder, obviously proud.

"That's it… it's all about focus. You'll do fine, Mission. I knew you could do it."

She dropped into the cockpit, a happy memory of Bastila popping into her head… her amused expression while Force-pushing Mission onto her rear after she'd all but asked for it. The image changed, turning dark and ugly… a picture of Bastila's white, pasty face and dingy eyes scowling at her from behind the force field of her cell on the Redemption. And despite herself, Mission could almost hear Bastila's voice, creeping into her thoughts.

Mission shoved her customized helmet hard onto her lekku, trying to push every last thought out of her mind.

And Carth ruined her careful attempt at concentration, his voice coming in loud through her earpieces. "All wings, report in."

Through the chorus of pilots citing their designations to the wing commanders, Mission tried to keep calm, checking her gauges and finishing the pre-flight that T3 had started.

"Gold-12, standing by," she said distractedly, imagining Carth hearing her voice on the bridge. She wondered if he'd really thought she'd do as he'd told her. If she'd really go to the hangar, really join the other pilots on this suicide mission against Revan's seemingly endless stream of reinforcements.

She wondered how he would feel when she didn't come back

"All wings, stand by to commence operation," Captain Onasi ordered. "Upon execution order, hold defensive position into low orbit. Break at wing leaders' discretion. Good luck… and may the Force be with you."

From her cell aboard the Redemption, Bastila Shan meditated. Even through the static of the neural restraint collar, she could feel the current building around her. The Republic soldiers inhabiting the vessel were communicating through the Force all she needed to know—the battle was fast approaching. And her master was launching her campaign.

It was Bastila's time.

"It is because of your loyalty that I know you will not fail me."

The impotent collar truly did nothing to cut Bastila off from the Force, but it was successful in hiding her from other Force-adepts who might be trying to insinuate themselves into her mind. It had not cut her off from the Force, but it cut others off from her. No one to feel her act… not Quatra, not Dorak…

"I want you where you will be the safest… and where I know that you will be most able to use your Battle Mediation to lead us to victory."

Bastila closed her eyes and drew the Force into her. She let the floodgates open, touching the mighty pools of fear shimmering throughout the vessel. Throughout the fleet, throughout the system. She touched the confidence of the Sith fleet. And then she touched Revan.

"And believe it or not, my friend, you will be safest in the hands of our enemy. Our foes will become your protectors, unwittingly granting you sanctuary that you might complete your mission."

Bastila opened her mind to those around her, their sibilant whispers singing to her of anticipation and anxiety, of confidence and lost causes. She amplified those whispers, letting them sing louder and louder until she was sure that every mind she touched could hear it.

And then she began to whisper, her own voice shrouded by all the others, but barely louder, barely penetrating on the most subconscious level, weakening her enemy, her protectors, from within their own flagship. Strengthening her master and her forces orbiting Manaan.

Canderous activated the inertial dampeners and pulled up, skimming the choppy surface of Manaan's waters on approach to Ahto City. Behind him, a cloud of 72 Star Forge fighters followed in formation.

Ahead of him, the Republic offered a cloud of their own, fighters of all kinds, seemingly assembled from what was left of the fleet after the Star Forge battle from all the wings at the Republic's disposal. The rag-tag opposition flew in at speed, coming up on the Sith forces with an almost reckless abandon, but the focus of intense desperation.

They knew as well as he did, that this battle would be their last stand.

"All wings, break formation. Fire at will," Canderous commanded.

With the order and far faster than he'd anticipated, the Republic forces were upon them, the two clouds colliding and combining, bearing stark resemblance to ground troops charging and finally meeting on their field of battle.

Canderous dodged a Z-19 that looked like it'd seen far better days and pulled back around, targeting a B-95 T-Wing that probably should have been decommissioned a decade ago.

Carth leaned heavily on the status display, the darkened bridge behind him making the contrasts of the battle readout all the more dramatic. It was beautiful, in its own way. Colorful and frenetic.

He watched another green indicator blink out, then a blue and a gold, each overcome by red blips. And the sea of red just continued to grow, spewing from Revan's capital ships in orbit.

"Gold-3, Gold-12. I'm locked, heading one-nine by two-four. Ascend 90 degrees."

"Acknowledged, Gold-12. I have a lock on target's wingman."

"Captain, I have your intel on the Basilisk," a tiny woman with lieutenant's pips handed him a datapad.

"Go, lieutenant."

"Sir, we've broken the Sith comm encryption. The Basilisk is issuing orders to the Sith wing."

"Pipe it through," Carth said, pointing to a random audio file noted on the datapad.

"All wings, break formation. Fire at will."

"Canderous," Carth whispered.

"Sir?"

Carth ignored the lieutenant and examined the status display. Gold wing was on the Basilisk and the Sith command wing. Mission, he thought. Mission was Gold-12. She was already on him…

"Gold leader, this is Command. Take out the Basilisk. Ordo's the wing commander. Bring him down. Repeat: target the Basilisk at all costs. Let's take the head off the monster."

Mission swore, pulling up as the weird looking ship at the head of the Sith fighter wing almost clipped her. "What the hell…" she whispered, glancing at her HUD. A Basilisk… she'd heard of those… from the Mandalorian War.

At any rate, it was easy to pick out of the crowd. Mission dodged another SF fighter and pulled up, looping over another Republic fighter to bring her blasters to bear on the Basilisk. She locked on, acquiring her target as the Basilisk blew away a T-Wing.

"Gold leader, Gold-12. Target acquired, calling for cover," she said into the comm.

"Gold-12, Gold-3. Cover acknowledged. I'm on your wing," a man she didn't know answered, and Mission pushed on the stick, dropping under the concentration of the battle and skimmed the water, Gold-3 coming up behind her and covering her six.

"Gold-12, this is Gold-leader. Command informs me that that your target is the one issuing orders. Take that Basilisk down at all costs, repeat: Your target is the Sith wing commander. Gold wing has your back."

Mission took a deep breath. "Gold Leader, Gold-12. Acknowledged. I can use all the help I can get out here."

"Gold leader, acknowledged Command." The comm clicked as Gold Leader switched channels. "Gold-12, this is Gold-leader. Command informs me that that your target is the one issuing orders. Take that Basilisk down at all costs, repeat: Your target is the Sith wing commander. Gold wing has your back."

"Gold Leader, Gold-12. Acknowledged. I can use all the help I can get out here."

Carth shook his head and sighed, fingering his headset. "Gold-12, this is Command. Come back," he said, picturing the Twi'lek youngling that had saved them so long ago on Taris and so many times since.

"Go ahead, Command."

It didn't even sound like her, anymore, Carth thought. At some point… she'd grown up. "Mission… it's me."

The comm went silent and Carth knew she was thinking over her next words very carefully. She was disgusted with him, and Carth was glad for it… it meant that she still had some ounce of innocence left in her that even he, in his need to keep the Republic alive, keep his cause alive and destroy those that threatened him, had not been able to drive that innocence from her.

"I'm here, Carth," she finally answered. "But I'm a little busy, sir."

"I know, Mission. I know. I just wanted… I wanted to tell you I'm sorry. And… I'm proud of you, Mission," he said. Maybe he could do this one thing for Mission, at least. Say the things he could never say to Dustil…

"Thank you, Carth. That… that means a lot."

Carth took a deep breath. "Mission, there's one more thing you need to know… your target. The basilisk… it's Canderous, Mission."

"I… I think I already knew that, Carth. But thanks… thank you," she paused. "Gold-12 out."

"Good luck, Mission," Carth said to the dead comm channel as Mission's voice came over the broadwave monitors.

"Gold-3, Gold-12. I've got a hot lock. Hang back and cover."

"Acknowledged, Gold-12. You're clear."

"This is Gold-12. Missiles away," Mission shouted.

"Gold-12, pull up. You're too close to the target. Repeat, pull up!"

"I'm trying! I can't—"

"Mission! Mission get out of there!" Carth shouted into his headset. He stared at the displays, ignoring the staring lieutenant still behind him, datapads weighing down her arms.

The red blip that was the basilisk blinked out. And so did Gold-12's Z-19.

"No…" Carth whispered. Staring at the board, willing that little gold triangle to light back up. He'd done this… He killed her… "No…" He ripped off his headset, throwing it across the bridge in a blind rage. All costs, indeed.

Jolee took one last look at the submersible's controls and status readouts before pulling up and letting the craft bob to the surface of Hrakert's docking pool. The old man sighed, calming himself before reaching for the hatch release.

He opened it and the stale air of the station hit him like a heavy wave. Jolee retched at the stench of death and decay mixing with rotted fish.

He pulled himself out of the submersible and jumped onto the metal dock. He managed to take a few steps before vomiting into the pool. The smell, the feel… were just too much. And then he stretched out with the Force, longing for some living contact. But there, he only found death and decay as well, as the battle raged kilometers above, over the surface of the sea. They fought… over what would soon be a worthless bit of rock floating around in space. They had no idea they were fighting over nothing.

If Wann's report held any water—Jolee chuckled to himself amazed at how quickly he'd reverted back to laughing at his own jokes—the Firaxa deterrent could still be ventilated through the Kolto extraction system. The exhaust ports and motors had not been destroyed in the blast when Revan had destroyed the Republic's machinery. And it would, in fact, poison more than just the sharks.

The old Jedi clutched the vial in his robe's pocket. He marveled at the simplicity of it, actually. How easy it had been to take the chemical, to use the same access codes Roland had given him, Mission and Revan to descent to the Rift the first time to enter the submersible docking bay and descend again into the abandoned station.

Jolee made his way through the station, grabbing a pressure suit out of the main locker room as he walked. Out of curiosity, he kicked the locker the "fishy man" had been in before… the metal rang deep and low—not hollow. "Fishy man" was probably still inside, rotting just like everything else down here.

"No!" Revan screamed. Behind Zaalbar a power conduit exploded.

"My Lord…" the fleet commander cautiously approached the Sith Lord, who stood slumped over the primary command console on the Heavy Hand's bridge. Revan breathed heavily and slowly brought her hand up to her covered face. She very deliberately pulled away her heavy black hood and removed her cowl, dropping the mask on the floor of the bridge.

With that, she turned, very slowly, and reached her hand out toward the commander's throat. Her hand centimeters away, she closed her fist and the hapless officer rose from the ground, gasping for air and clutching at his throat.

"Can I help you, Commander?" Revan said sweetly, her yellow eyes shot through with a vibrant red. He could not respond and, with a flick of her wrist, his neck snapped, leaving his head lolling grossly against his shoulder, his eyes open and terrified.

"Captain!" she ordered, still holding the commander's corpse aloft.

"My Lord—" the ship's commanding officer scurried to Revan's side.

"Admiral Ordo has fallen in battle, Captain. Take command of the wing," she turned to the communication officer. "And you—open the comm shipwide."

"Channel open, Lord Revan."

"All hands, this is Revan. Take your battle stations." She took her free hand and twitched her finger. The communications officer threw up his hands as Revan closed her own comm channel with the Force. "Captain, order the fleet to engage the Republic capital ships. Bring the Heavy Hand to bear on the flagship. Target the Redemption and call back Green wing from the planet to engage their orbital fighters."

She opened her fist and let the commander's body drop to the floor.

Without another look at her handiwork, Revan turned and strode toward the blast door, toward Zaalbar standing guard beside it. The Wookiee watched her, uncertainly, fingering Bacca's blade at his belt as she stopped and stared unblinking up into his eyes.

"You should know that Mission is dead, Zaalbar. It would seem the Force is showing unprecedented equity in losses today," she said. He held her gaze for a moment more, but remained silent. His hand tightened around the hilt of his blade and he knew that Revan saw it.

Yet, she did not move to stop him. Instead, she turned back toward the command console.

"And now, Carth, we finish this," Revan said, her black robes billowing around her as she stalked up the stairs onto the bridge's viewing platform.

A Beach on the Unknown World

The shore was too peaceful. It made Juhani uncomfortable… guilty? She did not deserve such beauty.

They were gathered in front of the Ebon Hawk's loading ramp. Carth paced nervously and looked up as she approached.

"Juhani! Where's Revan? Jolee?"

"I'm right here, Carth," Revan said, coming down the hill with Bastila at her side.

"Bastila! How did you—"

Revan reached out her hand and Carth's blaster flew out of his holster and into her waiting palm. He looked at her, stunned. "Revan?" he asked plaintively. She smiled at him and gestured with his blaster pistol.

"Move," she said. "I don't want to kill you, Carth, but I will if I have to."

Out of the corner of her eye, Juhani saw Mission twitch, her hand moving to her own hip holster and Juhani moved immediately in front of Revan. She ignited her lightsaber just as Mission fired and deflected the volley with her double-blade in one hand. Juhani mirrored Revan's earlier maneuver, extending her hand and pulling Mission's weapon into it. The Twi'lek stood, helplessly, disarmed and dejected.

Carth raised his hands in surrender and moved toward Mission, shielding her with his own body. "What do you want?" he asked carefully. Revan smiled.

"Canderous," Revan said, still holding Carth's blaster on him. "I've already fixed the hyperdrive and the disruptor field is down. Prep us for take-off."

"Yes, ma'am," the Mandalorian replied with a smirk.

"Zaalbar, you have sworn a life-debt to me and I expect you to keep it. Join Canderous in the cockpit, please."

The Wookiee growled an argument and glanced longingly at his Twi'lek friend, half hidden by Onasi. She stood on her toes, peering over Carth's shoulder and clutching at his jacket.

"No!" Mission screamed. "Z, no! She… she's evil!" Mission fought to get past the pilot, but he turned around and grabbed her about the waist, eyeing Revan with a mixture of pity and contempt. He held onto Mission for dear life, quietly begging her not to do anything stupid.

I am sorry, Mission, the Wookiee moanedI have made an oath and I must keep it. He moved slowly past Carth and Mission and boarded the Hawk.

"HK?"

"Statement: I live to serve, Master. Supplication: It is good to have you back."

Revan smiled. "Why, thank you, HK." She gestured toward the ramp. "Now, if you please?"

The droid complied, leaving only Revan, Bastila and Juhani with their weapons trained on Carth and Mission. Carth's eyes widened as Revan aimed his pistol at his head. He stood up straight, gently pushing Mission away.

Revan laughed. "I'm not going to kill you, Carth. Relax. In fact, I was thinking that maybe you could do something for me."

Carth swallowed, his brow furrowing. "What's that?"

"Take a hindrance off my hands."

Juhani turned, stepping toward Bastila, her lightsaber drawn in opposition to Bastila's blade. "Please don't make this any harder than it is, Bastila," Revan drawled.

"Master, I—"

Revan dropped Carth's blaster and reached her hand out toward Bastila, the Sentinel's blade deactivating in mid-air as it flew into Revan's hand.

"Juhani, we're leaving."

Juhani sat in her Grove, in the place of her dark power, and reveled in it. She touched the Force and let it flow into her, envelope her in the dark ether connecting her to the rest of the Galaxy through its innumerable strands of life. She fingered the strands, gently thrumming a familiar tune of well-known chords, well-known lives.

She felt Carth thrum back.

Through the Force, Juhani watched him stride purposefully into the brig of his ship.

He disengaged the force field of Bastila's cell, his face hard and dark as he pulled his blaster from its holster at his hip. "This ends here," he said, crouching and leveling the weapon to Bastila's temple. She opened her eyes and stared him down, but did not flinch. She did not fight. But simply turned her head slowly to watch his eyes as he pulled the trigger.

Carth stared down at Bastila's body, his blaster still cradled gently in his hand. He looked at it carefully, caressed it and revered it. His father had given it to him, many years ago. When he'd joined the Republic Navy as an ensign fresh out of the Academy.

It felt somehow fitting that he would use it now to finish the war he'd been there to help start. Or end it, at least, for himself.

Carth lifted his leaden hand to his own temple.

The thrumming deepened and muted, as though being heard through water, and Jolee Bindo's mellow chords sang back to Juhani. She had to strain her ears to hear this one… it seemed so far away.

But it felt like he, too, was reaching out, and welcomed her, if only to not be alone now. Here, at the end. Isolated in his pressure suit, he inched his way toward the Hrakert ventilation control, a vial clutched in his hand through the suit's bulky gloves.

You can tell your Master, Juhani, he whispered over such a great distance, that she is fighting for a lost cause. The Republic may lose today, but I'll be damned if Revan wins

Jolee logged on to the control panel and searched for the auxiliary input valve he knew should be around there somewhere… "Aha…" he whispered, catching sight of the pressure valve below the console. He maneuvered his gloved hand toward the valve and connected the vial to it. Jolee looked back at the console and selected the command to release the vial's contents into the ventilation system.

Juhani felt his world explode around him, the Force screaming as the living kolto under the oceans of Manaan began to wither away under the chemical onslaught. Jolee tried to shut it out, but could not. It overwhelmed him, and he reached out to her unconsciously, grasping out of habit for his one-time friend.

And Juhani felt an unexpected pang of empathy, as Jolee slowly, tearfully fell to the ocean floor, his back against the console. He reached up to his neck and undid the lock on the pressure suit, letting the ocean he'd just killed seep into his tiny bubble of air.

What have I done?

And Jolee's chord died away, leaving two very different, discordant sounds in its place. The Wookiee's loud, energetic melody warred with Revan's grief-filled undertones as Zaalbar crept up behind the Dark Lord, unnoticed by the distracted officers on the bridge. They were directing their battle on the Republic's flagship and issuing orders trying to fend off the Reconciliation's orbital fighters.

Revan fell to her knees against the command console, Bastila's death hitting her through their Force bond. Her chord broke, dropping into a frenzied mess of incoherent sound as she grasped through a haze of dark misery.

Juhani reached for her, but Revan shoved her away. Leave me be! Revan shouted over the Force. Juhani showed her an image of Zaalbar standing behind her, Bacca's blade drawn.

Juhani listened in to Zaalbar's melody, driven by the low percussion of his heart beating loudly in his chest. Through him, she heard Revan laugh and turn to face her fate.

I want this… Zaalbar and I… we owe each other this.

Zaalbar roared, raising his arm as a couple of bridge officers finally turned at the sound of Revan's maniacal laughter.

Not just my fate, Juhani, Revan whispered.

Zaalbar brought his blade down, slicing cleanly through the Dark Lord's bare neck as the bridge officers opened fire.

And the only chord Juhani could hear was her own as she saw a single, dark figure exit a nondescript lift. The shrouded figure walked confidently onto the familiar Command Deck of the Star Forge to a silent, reverent crowd of Sith officers in strict formation. An honor guard.

"My Lord," a decorated Admiral stepped forward, greeting the figure enthusiastically. "I believe I speak for your entire command when I extend our sincerest welcome to your Eminence."

He saluted and the entire honor guard snapped to attention as well. The figure turned, removing her hood to better scrutinize her troops. Juhani's own, darkness-ravaged face erupted from under the hood, eyes darting from one Sith to the next before she ascended the stairs to the main viewing platform.

She turned to address her troops, formally taking the mantle of Dark Lord of the Sith.

The watcher, weary from the journey, broke away from the Juhani in the Grove as she laughed at the sight of her dearest wish coming true with barely an effort on her part. Revan had been undone by her own transparent arrogance and Bastila had joined her… so quietly and so easily.

And with a surprisingly simple, fluid thought… a concerted assertion of self, the watcher rejoined her own retching body, crying pitifully as she curled in on herself, barely able to breathe for the pressure on her chest, crushing her heart and lungs beneath it.

She sobbed uncontrollably, cursing the Force between dry heaves. Through what perversion had it deigned to show her this… this warped contingency… make her a part of such evil and make her love it?

Juhani clenched her teeth and tried to focus, tried to recall the Code. "There is no passion," she whispered through her thick, consuming tears, but struggled to continue. The words eluded her, leaving her feeling all the more helpless.

…With no more control than a disabled starship, held to ground by forces larger than itself.

On a planet steeped in the Dark Side of the Force, its inhabitants held to ground just the same.

A warm, small hand gently touched her head, stilling Juhani's hiccupping lungs and she latched on to the arm, greedily reeled the body toward her and held it, her usual pride completely forgotten as she let skinny arms wrap around her with comforting strength.

The contact was almost as good, almost as satisfying as wrapping herself in the Force, but Juhani refused to even touch it, terrified by what she might see.

By what she had seen.

And seemingly without her own consent, Juhani reflexively reached out with the Force in a panic, frantically touching her companions and accounting for them, one by one. Carth, Zaalbar… Jolee. His mind was a mess of panic as well. She felt Revan meditating peacefully just outside the Rakatan temple, surrounded by the Elders as they continued their chant to gain entrance for her. Canderous was working in the garage while Mission carefully stroked Juhani's hair, quelling her own tears of empathy and confusion as her friend broke down.

The realization that they were all still alive made her sob harder and she clutched at Mission's vest desperately, keening in her misery.

"My Lord," a decorated Admiral stepped forward, greeting the figure enthusiastically. "I believe I speak for your entire command when I extend our sincerest welcome to your Eminence."

She tried to close her eyes against the image of herself blithely commanding the Star Forge… something she had never seen, but that she realized she knew as intimately as the Enclave on Dantooine… but the image would not dissipate.

And then a cool blanket draped over her, a blanket of peaceful Force energy quenched the fire building up inside of her and Mission's arms were gone, replaced by Jolee's presence as he guided her to her feet and through the Ebon Hawk's main hold. She saw them all… all of the lives she had—would—witness snuffed out. Her friends, her family, torn apart by an evil to which she had—would—ascribe.

Juhani realized that she and Jolee were walking up the beach on the Unknown World in what she finally realized acutely was the present. The Star Forge still hung in its orbit, commanded by Malak who had taken Bastila away from them. And ahead they would find Revan, the Jedi Revan, who had remained so true to the light but was, Juhani knew with such brilliant certainty, as terrifyingly open to temptation as any of them were. She sighed, calming herself, momentarily relieved, but simultaneously petrified by what was going to happen.

"Jolee…" Juhani said hesitantly. "If I… fall…"

"You won't."

Juhani shook her head. "You don't understand. What I saw… I saw myself… I was the Dark Lord, Jolee. I took it for myself… I wanted it. So badly."

"I don't see any Dark Lord around here anywhere, kiddo."

"You will…" she answered softly. Jolee shook his head and took her arm, stopping her as she stomped up the sandy path.

"I won't."

"I am no fool, old man, and neither are you. What I saw… It was the future. I know it."

"And so you accept it? You lay down and take it?" Jolee rolled his eyes. "What were those hacks at the Enclave teaching you runts, anyway…" he mumbled, then looked at her seriously, his eyes penetrating hers as though trying to see into her thoughts.

"There is no such thing as seeing the future. Possibilities… warnings… indications big fat maybe's, certainly. But there is nothing whatsoever to be known. Even to a Jedi."

Juhani closed her eyes, a wave of dark dread pulling her under as a ripple in the Force told her of Bastila's arrival. She would be waiting for them at the Temple Summit, just as she'd known Malak's apprentice would. Juhani shivered, trying to shrug off this great convergence of present and future that she saw at hand. She wondered if Jolee understood… as she did.

That this was where it would start.

But what?

Juhani thought carefully as she realized that she and Jolee had already walked all the way up the beach to the Rakatan temple, the smell of incense and smoke growing thick with the Rakatan chants.

A choice.

Not just my fate, Juhani. Darth Revan had said cryptically as she welcomed her death. Juhani will yet play a very important role.

"If you care a bit about an old man's interpretation, and I know you don't… Well… You've been walking the straight and narrow since I've known you. But before that, you flirted with a fall. Maybe it's about time the Force told you what you needed to hear, but probably didn't want to…" Jolee swallowed and screwed his eyes shut in mild frustration before he finally settled on what to say next.

"You think redemption is as easy as do-gooding on a few planets and reciting a damnable code? It sure as hell ain't. It's a battle that you fight for your very soul… and perhaps today is simply that. Your battle." He looked up at the Temple and Juhani knew he felt it too… the moment was upon them beyond which Fate and the Force would sweep them up, carry them to their destinies whether they wanted to go or not.

The Moment was the Destination. The end of her quest for absolution, in one way or another.

Juhani gripped her lightsaber and glanced back up at the Rakatan temple, her vision involuntarily shifting from a curse to a bittersweet gift as she examined her images of their possible futures, strategizing. She was not one who planned to lose.

She would not fall on this field of battle.

She looked up at the temple, at the Summit. Where everything would change, one way or another.

A Sith Lord or a Jedi.

"Kiddo, you with me?" Jolee asked as they rounded the rocks surrounding the path. She looked at him carefully, her mind still spinning, her connection to the Force fluctuating as she still tried to reconcile her vision with reality.

None of it had happened, yet. She told herself over and over, it has not happened yet.

But she could not ignore, could not forget one thing above all that she had seen—how easily she had—would—might—let Revan turn her.

"Jolee… is the future set?" she asked, her voice quiet and childlike. She needed to hear it… one more time. He stopped, turning toward her and grasping her shoulders in a way no one had since before her father had died.

"Absolutely not. And don't you let anybody, Jedi or otherwise, tell you different."