23

Avner stood in a defensive position, his left leg one step in front of his right, saber held at the ready. His shirt and cargos had accumulated a layer of dust and grit, and sweat dripped off his brow. Green clashed with purple, and sparks flew from the sabers as they connected, but Belaya pressed forward, thrusting her lightsaber's point at his stomach. He leaped back, but his opponent mimicked his movements and jumped herself. She was much more aggressive than Typho, her saber just clipping his side and forcing him to throw himself sideways. He put up a block to stop Belaya's quick downward stroke, and he was surprised at the weight behind the Padawan's blow.

He was still getting used to the feel of his saber. It had been a few days since he constructed it, and Master Zhar had been training him tirelessly. Belaya, Typho, and even Bastila had been sparring with him, pushing him past his physical limits and leaving him covered in cuts and bruises. And he had never felt better. The burn in his muscles and the rush that came with every victory was intoxicating. Sometimes in the heat of a sparring match, he found his mind drifting, images of other blades flashing behind his eyes, causing him to strike out at apparitions that weren't there, only to be drawn back into the fight he was currently in.

He snapped his blade upwards and forced Belaya back. She countered his next few swings before lunging toward him with a quick stab. He easily batted the green blade aside but overswung and nearly lost his balance.

"Remember, Avner, the lightsaber is not just a simple blade, but a current of power which you must direct," Master Zhar instructed from his spot beside the dueling ring. "Your thoughts and feelings provide energy which fuels the crystal within, but energy uncontrolled is wasted."

He planted his feet firmly, taking hold of the hilt in both hands before leaping forward and slashing at Belaya's waist. She nimbly flipped away and gave him a capricious smirk, setting his teeth on edge.

"Too slow." He let her little barb roll off his shoulders as he squared them. He charged at her; his blade held parallel to the ground. Belaya leaped to the side, and he pivoted quickly, mirroring her movements while unleashing a series of powerful blows. The smirk faded from her lips as she stumbled back under his unrelenting assault. Something burned hot in his chest, the sensation incredibly familiar but also completely foreign, and it drove him forward. Belaya had been pushed to the edge of the ring now, her green blade a near flicker like his purple as she tried to desperately fend him off. It was like he wasn't in control of himself anymore, his mind running through martial forms and saber positions he shouldn't even know while his body executed them perfectly. He had fallen into a frenzy and didn't know how to stop.

He didn't want to stop.

Avner swept low, knocking the Padawan's legs out from under her. Belaya's saber slipped from her grasp as he raised his overhead and brought it down swiftly.

"ENOUGH!"

Zhar's voice snapped him back to reality while Bastila's golden saber intercepted his own before it could strike Belaya. The younger woman's eyes were staring up at him, filled with fear, pupils dilated, no doubt from the adrenaline pumping through her veins. He locked eyes with Bastila, who also looked scared, though she was doing a much better job at hiding it. He could feel Master Zhar's hand grasping his shoulder tightly while Typho stood across from him, looking bewildered.

"We're done for today." Zhar's voice brooked no room for argument, and he extinguished his blade.

"Are you okay?" Bastila asked Belaya softly as she helped the other girl to her feet. The Padawan hastily patted herself down as if half-expecting to find a grievous wound somewhere before she gave a tiny nod.

"Belaya…" Avner began, but Bastila shot him a harsh, withering look that silenced any words in his throat. She guided her friend away while Typho clapped him on the back.

"Impressive fight, Avner. Don't worry about what happened with Belaya; every beginner loses their cool. Although some of those moves you pulled off… heh, they were pretty advanced."

He was barely paying attention to what Typho was saying, though, as he watched Bastila leave. She didn't look back, and Avner was sure that whatever progress they had made in the Ebon Hawk's cargo hold a few nights ago had vanished in the final uncontrolled seconds of his sparring match. He glanced over at Master Zhar, who regarded him with a cold and calculating look like a hunter would a cornered rabid animal. It startled him to be on the receiving end of such a stare when the Battlemaster, for the most part, had been nothing but cordial with him. He, of course, would not let the other man see his uncertainty, though. He met the Twi'lek's gaze evenly, not allowing himself to be cowed under the Battlemaster's hard gaze.

"Good evening, Avner. I trust your training is going well?"

He broke from the tense stare-off with Lestin and glanced down at Master Vandar, who had just arrived with several Younglings following dutifully behind him. He waved them off in Master Zhar's direction, and they scattered, practically tripping over themselves to get to the venerable Battlemaster while Typho tried to get them back into an orderly line. Master Vandar gave him a measured look, and he ducked his head, not sure how to explain what had just happened.

So he took the coward's route and told the Jedi what he probably wanted to hear. "Training's going… well."

It was not very convincing, but Vandar didn't press him. "I passed Bastila and Belaya on the way here."

If the tiny master was fishing for a reaction, he would be sorely disappointed when Avner didn't provide one. Instead, the Kiffar rubbed the back of his neck, trying to massage away some of the stiffness there. "You know, I don't know much about Shan, despite being… well, bonded to her."

It was not a question, more just a casual observation, but it seemed to take Vandar by surprise. "Yes, I suppose much of her still remains a mystery to you, even though you have shared some harrowing… experiences with her. What do you wish to know?"

He shrugged. What did he want to know? Everything and nothing. He wanted her in his life but simultaneously wanted to get as far away from her as possible. It was as if the universe was pushing them together while also desperately trying to rip them apart. Pffft, listen to him; he was starting to become melodramatic, hanging around these Jedi.

Vandar ignored his deliberate silence. "Bastila will be a great Jedi someday. Even among the Masters and the Council, it is rare to find one so skilled in the art of Battle Meditation." He gives him a quick glance before continuing. "Bastila was there when Revan was slain. Did you know that?"

"It's been mentioned." Why did this even matter? What did some long-dead Sith Lord have to do with anything?

"Bastila herself does not like to talk about it. She was a part of the Jedi strike team sent to confront Revan and was the only survivor when the Dark Lord was destroyed. Her role in his death… her guilt over her own survival has caused a deep wound to form within her." Vandar looked down, and Avner swore he saw a flash of shame flit across the old master's weathered face before he finished. "She's had to overcome more hardship than any Jedi her age. She's sacrificed much in her service to the Order and the Republic. The Force is strong in her, and without her skill in Battle Meditation, we would have lost this war long ago. Still…"

"You're afraid you're pushing her too far."

Vandar nodded. "It has been a concern of mine for some time now, but some of the other masters can't see it."

"Or won't see it," Avner grunted as he sat down.

"Whatever the case, the way ahead will be difficult for young Bastila… and for you. I sense much pain… and great loss will be suffered before your story concludes. Draw strength from each other, Avner. Be patient with her, and above all else, remain kind. Remember your empathy; it is what gives you strength," Master Vandar implored, green eyes conveying everything, the emotion radiating from them too much for him to handle, so he looked away.

"I'll try my best." It was noncommittal and lacked little resolve, but it was all he could muster at the moment. They lapsed into silence for the next few moments, watching as Zhar and Typho led the Younglings through a series of beginner martial katas. He had so many questions rolling around in his brain, things he desperately needed answers to but didn't know how to ask. Or rather, he maybe didn't want to. Perhaps he was more afraid of the answers than the questions, which was why he never truly probed deeper into his burgeoning Force powers or seriously explored his bizarre dreams. Still, he wanted to strangely better understand these Jedi and what made them tick. What made them afraid. And if there was one person who set them on edge, it was Revan and now Malak. The man was practically a boogeyman to these people. "Master Vandar, what can you tell me about Revan and Malak? You said Revan was your student once, correct?"

Tokare gave him a quick startled look before he smothered it behind a mask of impassiveness. "Yes, I knew him when he was a promising young pupil and before that. I… I was the one that had found him and brought him to our Order. He was a kind boy trapped in bleak cruelty, so I took him away, trained him… and raised him. He was so strong in the Force, but he did not know it, at least not at first. He was clumsy, filled with anger, and did not possess an ounce of talent."

"Sounds like a loser."

Vandar chuckled and shook his head. "I suppose that's one way of looking at it, but he was an incredibly hard worker and trained every day to better himself. Eventually, he rose through the ranks and became our most promising apprentice. Though with his increasing strength came arrogance, a trait not entirely uncommon in a Padawan when they first step into their own power. Perhaps that is why I did not see the true extent of the danger. His power attracted the admiration of many Jedi, including Malak. The two trained together endlessly, forever pushing the other to greater heights. They were friends… nearly brothers. So, when Revan set off to challenge the Mandalorians, it came as no surprise when Malak became the first to join his crusade. And when Revan fell to the Dark Side, it was inevitable that Malak would fall as well."

"So because Revan was stronger, he was responsible for Malak's fall?"

"Stronger, perhaps, but he was the leader who greatly influenced Malak. And that is where Revan's true power lay. He had this knack for knowing how to sway people, always knowing what to say or do to get them on his side. He was very charismatic. So, when he fell, we believed that the Sith threat was over, that his armies would scatter, and his entire organization would collapse in on itself without its leader. The head would die, and the body would rot, but Malak quickly assumed Revan's role, embracing the Dark Side fully and holding Revan's empire together. And now Malak leads the Sith armada against the Republic. His hate driving him ever further into darkness and away from the light he once swore to protect."

He wasn't sure what to say. It was clear these memories were painful for Master Vandar, and speaking about them only deepened the anguish, like picking at a scab until it started leaking blood, never once allowing the wound to properly heal. "Revan's death must have been hard for you."

"I have never had a child to call my own, Avner, but losing Revan was akin to losing my own son. His death was hard, but his betrayal of our Order… of everything I had taught him… it was an agony nearly unbearable," Vandar whispered, and the elderly alien had to turn away from him completely. Avner could feel Tokare's pain, his deep and utter sadness wrenching through his gut. It twisted his stomach into knots and drove the air from his lungs. He was viscerally reminded of Gadon Thek, hunched over in his now destroyed office, wracking sobs ripping through his body as he cried out for the boy he had killed. This… this must be what the swoop rider had felt, complete brokenness, an impossibly large chasm opened up in his heart that could never be closed.

Saying sorry didn't seem to be nearly enough to help the old master, but it was the only thing he could offer. "Sorry, Master Vandar… I… I'm sorry." It sounded more like an apology than a condolence, but it felt right.

Vandar offered him a small smile. "You should head back to the Enclave, Avner. Master Vrook will be waiting for you."

"Great, definitely looking forward to spending the rest of my night with a man who can barely tolerate me breathing." Avner stood but didn't bother dusting off his cargos.

Vandar chuckled. "Master Vrook may seem harsh and critical, but it is because he understands the dangers you will face and only wishes to prepare you for them."

"Right." He didn't have the heart to disagree with the other alien, so instead, he offered Vandar a bow of respect before departing back to the Enclave. He didn't rush his walk, instead taking the time to recenter himself and mull over what Vandar had revealed about Revan and… Bastila. It was clear the old master was worried about her and maybe about him as well. Much pain, great loss, suffering… kriff, when did his life become so crazy? It had all been so much simpler when he had been with his recon unit, fighting through trenches, sleeping under the stars, and subsisting on bland ration packs. Now his life was filled with crazy wizards who distrusted him, an insane world-destroying Sith, and a beautiful, temperamental Jedi who flipped between helping him one second and trying to beat him into the ground the next.

"Marek, you're late."

Speaking of a crazy wizard who seemed to detest his very existence, Vrook Lamar stood with arms crossed stiffly in front of him, hidden in the shadows cast by one of the Enclave's pillars. He bit his tongue and merely nodded. He was tired and frankly didn't want to deal with this man, but he was experienced in things Avner wanted to better understand. Antagonizing the other man wouldn't get him to loosen up. Vrook led him into the small room they had spent most of their time training together and ran him through a gambit of mental exercises that left him feeling more drained than any of the physical regimens Zhar had come up with. He was marginally better at fending off Vrook's mental attacks but still fumbled to grasp the basic concepts of how such a power worked. He was always clumsy in his offense and heavy-handed in his defense. Nothing was refined, and Vrook criticized him for every shortcoming.

"You're not focusing."

Avner felt a bead of sweat slip past his twitching brow. "I've never focused harder in my life."

Vrook was not amused at his answer. "This is not a game, Marek."

He opened his eyes and met Vrook's eyes evenly. "You don't like me very much, do you, Master Vrook?"

Vrook's gaze didn't waver. "Do you know how long the Jedi have protected the Republic?"

He shrugged, unsure where the old man was going with his question.

"Fifteen thousand years. For fifteen thousand years, the Jedi and the Republic have brought peace and stability to the galaxy. Now the very things that have held our society together are on the brink of total destruction because we, the Jedi, failed them. We helped make Revan and Malak; we created the very thing that has nearly destroyed us. I am critical and hard on you, Marek, because I do not believe you fully understand what is at stake," Vrook explained. "We stand to lose everything."

"I've fought the Sith before, Master. I know what they're capable of."

"Perhaps, but only from the narrow viewpoint of a soldier obeying the orders handed down to him. You live to fight, your life is war, but a Jedi's is different. We strive for diplomacy, not violence, but this war… this war has changed us. When Revan fell, Malak took up his mantle. Who's to say the same will not happen when Malak is killed? What's to stop more Jedi from falling to the Dark Side? That is why I train you so hard, why we all train you so hard, to prepare you for the darkness you will be tempted by. I can brook no failure in my students; I will accept nothing but perfection from them."

"No one can be perfect. You only invite cracks in your foundation if you can't properly learn from failure," Avner disagreed.

"Perhaps, but our Jedi here on Dantooine are trained to be different. They are trained to succeed, to stand apart from their peers, and they do. Bastila Shan is proof of this."

"Bastila is not perfect. Even she would admit that."

"True, but she does hold the most promise within our Order… and perhaps the most danger. She has done much for the Order and the Republic. Without her skill in Battle Meditation, the Sith armada would have conquered the galaxy long ago. But despite her command of the Force, she is still young. She is a Jedi Knight but has not attained the rank of Master. The Council and the other Masters would do well to remember this before we lay the fate of the galaxy on her slender shoulders." It was there at the end of Vrook's speech that his tone took on an almost concerned edge. So he was also worried about Bastila, maybe not as much as Vandar, but still concerned that she may be in over her head. "And you would do well to focus more closely on your lessons. The Force may be strong with you, but you still need much training and discipline in the ways of the Jedi, lest you suffer a fate similar to that of Revan."

"Did you know Revan? Master Vandar and Master Zhar both taught him, did you?"

Vrook was quiet for a few seconds, watching him closely before answering. "I didn't officially train Revan, but I did teach Malak. However, as the two grew older, it was impossible to teach one and not the other. They were both promising students, ever eager to learn more about the Force. However, their pursuit for greater knowledge led them to seek power held originally by the Sith, foolishly ignoring the dangerous lure of the Dark Side. And then the Mandalorian Wars happened, and Revan seized the opportunity it presented. He rose to be their challenger and our defender, and many Jedi flocked to his noble cause… only to fall under the Dark Side's sway."

"You admired him, didn't you?"

"I admired his initiative and willingness to give up everything to protect others, but I do not condone his methods or actions during the war. He went from defender to aggressor, from protecting the weak to conquering those he had saved."

"I was told he was a hero during the war and became corrupted when he ventured beyond the Outer Rim."

"Hmph, that is a theory some believe, but I do not. Their journey to the Dark Side began long before the Mandalorians ever invaded. Especially Revan, even as a child, he was filled with anger, poisoned from birth. Whatever the reason, the Order could not turn them back to the Light. Perhaps Revan and Malak could have been stopped if the Council had taken more decisive action in this matter. But in this, we failed, and we have paid dearly for that failure," Vrook explained sadly. There was no harsh judgment in the older human's eyes, and his worn features sagged under the weight of his grief and loss. He was suddenly not the cold, immovable Jedi Master hellbent on driving the Kiffar from the Order, but rather a frail elderly man who has probably seen more tragedy than anyone else.

Pain exploded through Avner's temples, and he immediately put up a hasty mental block that dispelled some of the throbbing aches. He pushed back against the intrusion into his mind, and Vrook gave him a wry smirk.

"You're learning, good."

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She had lost track of time. It had been at least five days… or maybe six; she wasn't entirely sure. When one's day was filled with martial katas, structure, and lessons on the Force, time was never lost or wasted. But when all of that was stripped away, and hours were spent sitting alone in this nearly forgotten grove with nothing but the Kath hounds to keep her company, well, time seemed to undulate. Sometimes hours would slip by without her noticing, while other times, it seemed as if the sun had barely moved from above her head. It gave her time to think. Too much time…

Juhani had always burned a little hotter than most of her peers. She liked to push herself, question everything, and figure things out independently. 'Too brash and perhaps a little too headstrong' was what her Master had said of her.

'Not ready for the trials.'

She lashed out with her saber cleaving a burning gash into the ancient stone of the shrine she had claimed as her own. It sliced through the rock like a blade through silk, just like when her blade had cut Master Quatra, driving her to the ground… killing-

No!

Juhani shook her head vehemently. She would not dwell on her master's death; she would meditate… try to make sense of what had transpired all those days ago… try to find balance… peace….

But did she want peace?

Did she deserve peace?

No, not after what she had done. She deserved the darkness she had found herself becoming swallowed by. Master Quatra had warned her time and time again that she needed to better control her emotions, but here she was, drowning in them, barely able to keep her head above the torrent. It had always been this way for Juhani, ever since she was a small girl living underfoot on…

She shook her head. It was supposed to be different here. She was finally supposed to have control over her life, and she did… for a time. When she had first left that dreadful planet she had been born on and been brought to Dantooine, it had almost seemed like a fantastical dream. This world was bright and filled with sunshine and warmth; the people were kind and didn't treat her like an other, but rather as an equal. She had made friends here, the first ever in her short life, with Belaya and Typho and a small, kind girl with stormy gray eyes.

Bastila Shan. They had been nearly inseparable as Younglings, training together, sharing a dorm, and sneaking out to stargaze when the nights were clear and warm. Nothing could come between them… that was until the Masters discovered how strong Bastila truly was. A prodigy was what they had called her, and then she was whisked away to Coruscant and planets unknown for more rigorous training, returning only when the Masters deemed it. And when she had returned, she had returned changed. Gone was the little girl who would sneak out with her and or laugh loudly at Juhani's horribly corny jokes, and instead, what had replaced that was a far too serious girl with eyes as hard and as cold as rock. They stopped talking, and Bastila left again, taking with her all the happiness from their childhood while Juhani started her own apprenticeship under Quatra.

Quatra was a good master. Firm but patient, she pushed Juhani past her limits but also guided her in finding peace within the Light. And for a time, Juhani had felt happy again. She was doing something with her life, making a difference, taking control… then the Sith attacked, and everything changed again. Quatra and many of the masters within the Enclave became more rigid; displays of emotion were chastised harshly and deemed dangerous. It was as if the warmth and light that had once bathed her as a kid had vanished overnight.

'Control your temper, Juhani, or you'll fall down the dark path as Revan did.'

'Passion leads to hate, and hate leads to the Dark Side. Don't be like Malak, Juhani.'

'You're too brash, young one. You must learn control, or you'll never be a proper Jedi.'

'The body rots from the head, Juhani. If you cannot control your mind and emotions, your body will suffer.'

'You're just not ready for the trials.'

That had tipped her over the edge. After hearing of the destruction of Taris from hurried whispers within the Enclave's halls, she had gone to her master and pleaded with her to allow her to take the trials. She needed to be out there, helping the defenseless, not stuck locked away in this stuffy temple. But Quatra had quashed that hope while igniting something else entirely within Juhani. Anger, red hot, and seething like an open flame, pushed her to ignite her blade and duel her master. She would show her that she was ready! So she struck the other woman down in a swell of emotions that had instantly vanished the second her teacher fell, lifeless, to the ground. Guilt, horrible gnawing guilt, forced her to flee into the wilds of Dantooine. How could she ever face the Council after what she had done? How could she ever become a Jedi now?

She was a murderer.

And murderers deserved no sympathy or forgiveness.

She did not merit redemption, only destruction. So she would wait here, in this tainted grove surrounded by crumbling ruins. A fitting place for her, considering her own life was crumbling to pieces all around her. She would wait. The Jedi would find her eventually and send her judge, jury, and executioner to make her pay for her crimes.

And she would welcome them with open arms and lightsaber ablaze.