- Remember you once told me of seeing the galaxy disconnected from the Force? - the Exile asks Visas musingly, leaning on an upper bunk with her elbow. She's been like this for a while now that they're en route to Malachor, and the words are barely the first spoken ever since the Ebon Hawk entered hyperspace.

- Yes, I do. What makes you speak of it now?

- I wonder... did you ever think of it as an actual one-way connection?

- I... don't understand.

- Well... how do you think the Force is born?

- Can it actually be... born? I think the Force just... is.

- But what is it exactly?

Visas falls silent and takes a deep breath, thinking.

- The light... the air... the ocean... the blood in the veins of the galaxy... whatever words I come to think of, cannot truly explain it.

- But what is the source of the light? Where do the springs come from? Where is the heart pumping that blood?

- You believe there should be one... No. You believe there is.

- I think I don't just believe. I think I know. But before you try to see...

Carefully, she pulls what appears a corked flask out of her robes. The liquid within is hazy and swirling, ever changing. And nearly blinding with life.

- These are bacteria from the ithorian lab back on Telos. Very quick to reproduce, sort of gizka amongst their kind. Alright. Now let us encase the colony with shielding, isolate it, and remove the Force currents within the small area inside. Render it silent. Disconnect it entirely... here comes, - it's a truly daunting power the Exile wields, but if there's anyone in the galaxy to use it this gently, it's her. - And now we wait.

Puzzled, the miraluka sits patiently, observing her new Master and the flask, but mostly the Master.

- There, - Meetra's voice brings her attention back to the subject. - Now... try ro reach out... peer through the shields... and tell me, what do you see?

- It is... no longer silent. It appears as if a slight echo of the Force is still there.

- Is already there, - the Exile corrects her in excited low voice. - It's a very primitive form of life, but it's life alright. You can see us Force users burning bright with it, as our connection is two-way. But if you try and focus on the Mandalorian now, you will sense it too. As deaf and blind as he is, he still contributes to the ocean. He still has his glow. This is it, Visas. Every living being is the source. Millions of springs ignorant of them being springs, but still running. This is how the Force is born.

- I... see.

- Can you? Can you really?

The miraluka takes her time to confirm the sensation, and states:

- Yes. Now that you made me, I see.

- It's... reassuring to know this could be an actual insight rather than a delusion, - Meetra rubs her chin absently. - Maybe it'll help me understand as well... Gotta ask others.

---

- You have surely gone a long way to bring me here with all the circumstances in place, - the Exile proclaims calmly, approaching Kreia (Darth Traya? Arren Kae?) in the middle of the huge chamber, one familiar from within the visions. The death trail she left behind is still tingling within, feeding her strength, topped with knowing that her followers are well and safe, as safe as the sick planet can be at all.

- Pulling all those strings, arranging events, shaping your battleground - myself, correct? I cannot help but wonder: to what end? What was the point of this war, of wiping out both Jedi and Sith, of making me what I am now? I realize it has to do something with that... thing I once survived, but what do you want with it awakening again?

- Ah, that is a lot of questions indeed. As you have always had... and I have always liked your particular questions, because they belong to not just one seeking understanding, but the one who is bound to find it. I would be a poor teacher if I did not give you the answers you seek. It is said that the Force has a will, it has a destiny for us all. I wield it, but it uses us all, and that is abhorrent to me. Because I hate the Force. I hate that it seems to have a will, that it would control u to achieve some measure of balance, when countless lives are lost.

- You didn't seem to be bothered with lives lost as of yet, - Meetra squints sceptically.

- Perhaps I didn't seem, but if you take your time to think, you will realize that I was.

- Was killing the Jedi masters really necessary? Kavar's death is something I will never forgive you.

- Forgiveness is not what I seek. You had to face your past and move through with it.

- I didn't. Atris still lives.

- Then you have made a choice of your own. It is insignificant, however. As for the others - it was a lesson to them. One they didn't survive unfortunately.

- You knew they wouldn't!

- Ah how protective you are of those who betrayed you, who sought to do the same thing to you as I did to them.

- I can take as much.

- Of course you can. That is why I would never let them touch you. You are beautiful to me, exile. A dead spot in the Force, an emptiness in which its will might be denied. In you, I see the potential to see the Force die, to turn away from its will. And that is what pleases me.

- So this is it? You seek to destroy the Force itself? And how exactly were you planning to do it?

- Straight to the point, indeed. The answer to this is not as simple as one could expect it to be. But in creating such echoes as the one in this place I see the possibility.

- Master... The sad truth is, the Force cannot be killed. Unless you wipe all life within the galaxy and leave it completely dead. As long as a slightest flicker of life remains, the Force will be there.

- Ah, so you have discovered it is renewing itself, feeding on life, haven't you? A worthy observation, but it's not something unknown to me. You and I being able to regain our connection has the same nature. From this perspective, it may seem impossible, but did you consider a possibility of its regeneration being outrunned and overwhelmed by a constant consumption and obliteration?

- This... seems a greater evil than the worst the Force and its will could be capable of. I remember what it took to create the echo of Malachor. I remember what it took to create me. Didn't you tell me earlier you cared for lives? Look at yourself, Kreia, you use the same ways to achieve your goals the Force uses. You are becoming what you hate.

- You are underestimating the Force.

- Even if I do, I view it as a force of nature, something as inevitable as laws of physics. Do you hate gravity for it stopping a pendulum or making things fall down? But once we try to alter it, it ends in a disaster.

- Or it does not. Anyway, it all ends here. Now, the apprentice must kill the master. If you do not, then I will kill you. If I do not, then all you have achieved will be as nothing, as empty and as violent as Malachor itself.

- You... want us both to die, don't you?

- Ah, you've always been a clever one. Such an outcome is possible, yes. And if fits my goals. But the truth is, I hope you will prevail. Because I love you, exile, for what you are. No Jedi, no Sith, but an example of free will. You have no say in this now, however. Because there's much more at stake than just you.

- There's much at stake indeed... You want the Force dead? I will kill it for you, - Meetra says with quiet resolve, and, before Kreia even makes a move, uses the limits of her strength to rip the old woman's connection to the Force apart.

And the moment when everything goes silent for the Master once again, the pupil falls to her knees, bending in agony, rending her tunic, gasping for the heavy air. She will survive it, of course she will, it's just a single bond, not hundreds of them, right? This can't be healed in a way flesh can, but still will heal itself with time. Yes, it will feed the hungering abyss within her and probably make it stronger, but she also has something holding her fast above the abyss. There's several of them - solid chains between two sentients called bonds - the new ones, vivid and strong.

The first one is shapeless, but has its color - black and white, the light and the darkness, entwined together, hiding in a haze, biting each other's tails. The deeper and stronger the darkness becomes, the brighter its counterpart shines, lighting up everything around it. The hard hitting mix of guilt and love, her glass shield, her paper knight.
Atton.

The second is akin of tight hold of a warriors' handclasp, the reliable strength, the untamed energy. Pure intentions and selfless loyalty. Not the last, but the first of the sisters, having taken all the best from both her mother and father.
Brianna.

The third is a sunray, a warm and bright one. Its light reaches the very soul, warming it. It forces darkness into hiding, plays with dust coming off an old tome. Her non-padawan, the hope of the Republic, the hope of the new order. The hope itself.
Mical.

The fourth is the eternal connection of two destroyed worlds. But from the ashes that cover them, from the lifeless cracked soil, the unyielding vines emerge, that tie them together even more and reassure the worlds will sometimes flourish again.
Visas.

The fifth stretches out with wires, sparks quietly, divides into a comlicated circuit. With burns and shortages, yes, but it still is able to fix the galaxy. Or so she hopes.
Bao-Dur.

The sixth is all grappling lines, magnets, hooks and ropes. There's already no telling who is whose bounty. The red flame, the ignis fatuus, the eternal wanderer who will never truly find peace, no matter Jedi or not.
Mira.

And there's also the seventh. It was different in the past. Now it's all thorns with roses gone, the barbed wire choker, the steel and ice harpoons. But, as sick as it is, it still yanks her away from the darkness.

Perhaps, the nature of the bond can still be changed.

Perhaps.

- I am unable to decide if this was a sign of mercy or some sophisticated cruelty, - Kreia's cracked voice breaks the silence. - I have almost forgotten the way this feels.

- Master... I am so sorry.

- Why? I have made you confront me, and you have defeated me, even if this is not exactly what I asked. But what is more important, you have made a choice. A choice that will change the galaxy, the choice I can only respect. This obviously concludes your training. Could I ever dream of more? And to think of it, you have given me some time to savour it. For that... I am grateful. Come, child. Come and listen to me for the last time. I want to share the last revelations of the future the Force has granted me with... before it died on me.