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Sarine Organa lay down in her bunk in a desperate attempt to get some rest.
It was impossible.
Although it had been days since she last slept, she could only stare glassy-eyed at the ceiling, thinking of the Leviathan, of her confrontation with Malak, and the truth that shattered her.
In her mind's eye, she relived the painful scene over and over again. Every detail was crystal clear. The ominous crimson glow of the hangar bay panels. That overwhelming feeling of despair upon Malak's approach, as if the Force itself wilted in his darkness. The words she, Bastila, and Malak exchanged would be etched in her memory forever:
"Even the combined power of the Jedi Council couldn't keep your true identity buried forever, could it?"
"I'm... Darth Revan? How is that possible?"
"It's true. I was part of the team sent to capture Revan... to capture you."
It hurt to admit, but they were right. Sarine was the one who brought the galaxy to its knees. The Sith Empire her team fought against was, in fact, her creation. She had the blood of countless lives on her hands. It was all too horribly true.
The Council should have just let her die. How did they know she wouldn't turn on them? How could they have trusted her to be a Jedi again, to be on such an important mission? How many lives did they risk in this scheme? For all she knew, it could be just a matter of time before she fell to the dark side again.
If she fell, who would she take down with her? She was an active risk to her companions. She could hardly bear to go about her day and talk to them like normal anymore. The strangest part was how they didn't mind that they'd been living and working with Darth Revan. Most of the crew offered her support that she didn't deserve.
Mission told Sarine that her past life didn't matter if she couldn't remember most of it. It wasn't that simple. Sarine brought suffering to the entire galaxy as Revan. Her weak memory didn't change that fact. Mission might've been smart for her age, but she was still youthfully naive. Mission didn't understand what Revan—what Sarine—had done.
Zaalbar, like his best friend, didn't care who Sarine once was. Ever the model Wookiee, he pledged to obey his life debt. It was ironic, almost. A life debt to someone who had taken so much life. He wouldn't have sworn it if he had known.
Juhani still thought of Revan as the hero of the Mandalorian Wars, whose troops saved her from a life of slavery on Taris. She thought it admirable that Revan could return to the light—it gave her hope, apparently. Never mind that her fall took hundreds of billions of lives with it. Never mind that the Jedi forced the redemption on a broken mind. Had it not been for circumstance, "Sarine" wouldn't have existed, and Revan would have still been a Sith. She was not worth looking up to.
Even worse, Canderous respected her because of Revan's butchery. He knew Revan as the only person in the galaxy who could match the legendary Mandalorian fighting ethic. In truth, there had always been a part of Sarine that felt a slight rush from the frenzy of battle and a hint of thrill from the defeat of an enemy. The way Canderous described Mandalorian culture had resonated with her, if just barely. It was something she had wanted to overcome as a Jedi, but now, it seemed impossible. To Canderous, Revan was a fearsome fighter and warrior. It was exactly what Sarine didn't want to be. Yet it was exactly who she was.
Jolee had known the whole time, but didn't think it was his place to tell. His cryptic stories about galactic destinies made more sense with that context. Understandable, really, that he didn't want to be the one to reveal this mess. Jolee said he wasn't there to judge her, that he just wanted to help. Easy for him to say, having spent the last two decades in the Shadowlands, cut off from galactic events and Revan's cruelty. He couldn't judge what he had never experienced.
Sarine knew their perspectives and explanations. Still, she couldn't understand why they weren't all as repulsed by her as she was by herself.
There was one exception to the crew's support, however. It was the one person who had traveled with her the longest and knew her the best. He had suffered the most from her evil. She could still feel the bitter sting of Carth's words:
"It was...it was you... You killed my wife, you ravaged my world. You...you destroyed my life!"
Carth had spoken with the venom Sarine knew he reserved for those who betrayed the Republic, like Saul and Malak. Like herself.
A darker instinct in Sarine wanted to direct all these terrible feelings she was having at someone. Carth was the easiest target. She imagined herself marching into the cockpit where he'd been stowing himself away and giving him a piece of her mind. She could tell him off for abandoning her at her lowest point, for betraying the trust she put in him, for affecting the morale of the entire crew. It wasn't the most Jedi-like thing to do, but she was never a good Jedi.
Sarine knew Carth was right, though. He always had good judgment, and this was no exception. She started the war that took Carth from his family. Malak was her apprentice when his fleet attacked Telos. There were billions of families like Carth's all over the galaxy, scarred and destroyed because of her. Carth was the only one on the ship who saw her for who she truly was.
Sarine and Carth had scarcely exchanged a word since that tense exchange after escaping the Leviathan. Maybe it would be best if she never saw him again. Somehow contact the Republic and get him reassigned, ideally to the opposite end of the galaxy. It would be better for both of them to forget everything they had. Forget that they ever got so close to each other, the Republic hero and the Sith Lord. She was sorry that he got tangled up in this.
But a part of her that she was ashamed to admit existed wanted to run to the cockpit and curl up in his arms. Look into those warm brown eyes, run her fingers through his auburn hair, feel the rough stubble on his cheek. After all that had happened, she ached to feel some comfort, even if she didn't deserve it. She hadn’t expected everything they had to disappear so quickly. Sarine couldn't help but remember that night on Manaan when he promised to protect her and they shared that wonderful kiss.
He could never—should never—keep that promise now.
As her guilt and pain began to overflow, Sarine let out a sob. She had cried more in the past week than she had in the past year. She was never one for tears—at least, as far as she knew. She couldn't say she knew herself at all, what with her entire identity being a lie. Still, Sarine doubted Revan ever felt as vulnerable and as weak as she did right now.
She turned and faced the bunk across from her—Bastila's bed, now empty. If Sarine was going to make Bastila's sacrifice worthwhile and save her from Malak, she had to put this all aside. Forget her shame and focus on the mission. It was all she had.
And to do that, she supposed, she had to get some sleep. So she closed her eyes and tried her hardest to force her thoughts out. Hopefully, it would work this time.