The cleaning droids didn't care at all that the "trash" their master ordered to be disposed of was suddenly showing signs of life. The body was quickly sealed into a black sack, along with the fragments of the Bacta tank, and dragged toward the incinerator chute.
The man slowly regained consciousness. His entire body ached unbearably, as if he'd been waltzing with a dozen Terentateks. And those were truly nasty, fanged creatures! They were nearly immune to the Force, and not every Jedi Master could defeat one alone. He remembered how one of them had severely mauled him on Kashyyyk. It was only thanks to heavy covering fire from his Mandalorian friend and an assassin droid that the man had managed to secure a victory.
His eyes refused to open, his body barely obeyed, and he couldn't move. Something wet was chilling his right side, and at the same time, something was clearly jabbing him, some shard.
His thoughts were muddled; his mind refused to clear. He... well, who was he exactly? Even that simple question remained unanswered, as his memory was clouded by a white fog.
It grew stuffy. It seemed he was being dragged somewhere... in some sort of airtight container or sack.
A sense of danger flickered on the periphery of his awareness. All his instincts suddenly screamed an intensified warning of a threat.
He still couldn't move. So, the man who had returned to life decided to call upon his faithful companion—the Force.
For some reason, it felt so natural. He didn't even understand why he thought of the Force... Though, no... he did understand... he remembered. He had been trained for many years to use his gift—his sensitivity to the great Force. He had come to know both the Light and the Darkness hidden within this cosmic energy that surrounded everything. Then... he had lost everything, and years of training began anew.
Years of suffering and training had led him to become very proficient at using the Force for scouting.
The man focused and reached out to the energy currents swirling around, urging them to become his eyes. The Force responded quickly and willingly, as if it had been waiting for this for a long time. Yet, he used to have to concentrate harder before.
A colorless world burst into his consciousness. Perception through the Force was different from normal sight. Streams of energy wove around objects and glowed dimly in the void. Organic matter was slightly brighter, inanimate objects were darker, and power conduits had a slight shimmer. It was unfamiliar; he couldn't recall ever being able to see his surroundings so clearly without opening his eyes.
"This is how the Miraluka saw. A world woven from the particles of the great Force," a thought flashed.
The initial wonder quickly gave way to alarm. He was indeed being dragged in a sack by two droids. Hmm. Strange, unfamiliar design. They didn't resemble the three-wheeled astromech droids or clumsy service models. They were bucket-like... on treads.
And why was he in a trash bag? And without clothes! Were they going to throw him out?
"No, nonsense. That can't be... probably."
But then again... where was he? And who was he?
His memory was gradually clearing. Images, like that fight with the Terentatek, flashed before his eyes more and more often. Places, people, ships, planets. Knowledge was returning. His name wasn't among it yet, but he was aware of his capabilities... or at least a part of them.
The first priority was to regain his mobility. The man focused on this, directing the currents of the Force inward, repairing the damage. Meanwhile, he continued to examine his immediate surroundings.
He was being dragged down a corridor. A quite wide one. He sensed stone behind the plating. So, this wasn't a ship. He was on a planet or an asteroid. The healing process prevented him from expanding his "vision" to investigate further. He had to settle for a few meters around himself.
The droids stopped at a door. The man tensed. Through the Force, he distinctly sensed danger behind this door. But he couldn't do anything yet.
The passage opened. Beyond it was a deep shaft that led downward.
"I have a very bad feeling about this," the man thought.
The sack was shoved inside. The drop was considerable, about thirty meters. At the last moment, the man managed to call on the Force and avoided serious injury. He already had enough of those.
He had to stop the healing. Assessing the situation was more important now. The sense of threat was still scratching inside his skull, forcing his body to pump adrenaline.
It was empty around him. Nothing living. No droids. A wide room with a conveyor belt in the center. A heap of something soft beneath him and all around. Judging by the shade, it was organic.
He reached out with the Force and immediately severed the connection. There were bodies all around. Dozens of bodies of sentient beings that had been dead for some time. But before death, someone had thoroughly tormented them. Wounds, severed limbs, signs of experimentation.
He widened his view.
"Selkath mother of mine!" flashed through his mind.
It was easy to recognize the mechanisms in the room and guess its purpose. Armored walls and a ceiling with powerful hydraulic actuators left no doubt. This was a preparation chamber... before the incinerator. The movable walls and ceiling were meant to compress the trash to acceptable, compact sizes so it wouldn't get stuck in the furnace. And the conveyor belt on the floor led directly into the inferno.
Through the currents of the Force, the man felt the energy levels rising around him. The mechanisms were coming to life! He had to run!
Calling upon the Force, he managed to rip open the sack. The stench of semi-decomposed corpses immediately struck his sense of smell, nearly making him pass out. He had to recall the Jedi techniques for breath control to avoid choking.
"Hmm... Jedi," that word elicited some response in his wounded mind. His eyes, with difficulty, opened. However, it was no use. There was no lighting in this trash container.
The walls had already begun to slowly close in. The crunch of bones and the screech of metal pressed on his mind, but the man didn't allow himself to be distracted. He was looking for a way out. And he found it.
A service hatch on the wall opposite the incineration chamber. It was about seven meters away, but he was completely immobilized, which greatly complicated his escape.
Reaching out to the hatch and sensing the Force currents surrounding every molecule of the door, the once-dead man yanked it toward him. The hatch was torn from its hinges, opening a path outside. All that remained was to get his body to the opening. But how? Lift himself the same way he lifted the door and float across? No, that wouldn't work. The man was certain that would require too much strength and a precision he couldn't possibly achieve now.
A quick glance around through the prism of the Force suggested an alternative.
"This is going to hurt," he thought resignedly, preparing for the impact.
With a Force push, he leveraged a piece of debris his sack had been resting on and launched himself in the direction of the hatch. He threw himself blindly and nearly made it. His body sailed easily into the opening, only his left leg striking hard against the remnants of the hinges. A searing pain shot through his shin. But his body was already on fire anyway. So a little more or less pain didn't make much difference.
The man knew that such service tunnels were rarely checked, and the hatches often didn't even have alarms. So they wouldn't look for him here. And who would look for him? The one who decided to throw him in the incinerator? And who might that be, by the way?
Questions multiplied, but his memory was still working in fragments.
He decided to focus on healing and recovery. He was lucky this time, but he needed to get on his feet as quickly as possible.
Dark presence...
The man abruptly opened his eyes and tried to jump up, but only twitched slightly and collapsed back onto his side. Entering a meditative trance, he clearly felt the presence of a Dark Side adept. And a very powerful one. This was definitely a Sith Lord, and one worthy of the title Darth. Was he a captive of the Empire again?
His head began to split once more. Memories returned with difficulty. Flashes of events raced through his mind again. The Mandalore's Mask, Canderous accepting the leadership of all Mandalorian clans. Flying on the Ebon Hawk... the pain and emptiness of Malachor V.
The man groaned. That memory was too vivid. A shattered world, devoid of even the smallest speck of life. The great Force itself was absent there. It wasn't a planet—it was hell. For Force-sensitives, it was also a deadly poison. Every minute spent in that world brought pain. The air literally choked him. Even through a breathing mask, inhales were difficult. Weakness and fear, that's what the man lying on the floor felt then.
And all of it was the doing of one... creature. The Emperor did it. The head of the Sith Empire, Vitiate.
A new stream of images. The attack in orbit above Malachor V. The Hawk, his ship, was shot down. The man was taken prisoner.
Darth Nyriss... that woman was extremely ambitious and cruel. But at the same time, foolish and blinded by the lust for power... like almost all Sith. For she hadn't noticed how her captive managed to earn the trust of her apprentice, Lord Scourge. Even when drugged with potent sedatives, the Force-sensitive prisoner managed to implant the necessary thoughts in his overseer's mind.
He was rescued. The apprentice turned against the master. But he didn't free the captive imprisoned in Nyriss's citadel alone. An old friend came to help... a battle companion, a comrade, and, in a way, an apprentice.
Meetra.
Yes, her appearance struck fear into Scourge. He saw a Jedi Master for the first time and was astonished by her power. Under the influence of the false thoughts the prisoner had implanted, the Sith decided not to fight the woman but to secure her support. Together, they arrived at Nyriss's house. Simultaneously, Imperial Guard forces attacked the building. Nyriss was planning the Emperor's overthrow, which, of course, the latter did not appreciate. Her apprentice had kindly shared rumors and evidence.
The surprise and relief the prisoner felt when he saw his old acquaintance were indescribable. Even under the influence of the drugs, he knew he was saved.
The scene changed again. The man lay in a cell, gathering his strength. Outside stood Meetra and Scourge. And advancing on them, laughing, was Darth Nyriss. The prisoner stood, donning his mask, which had become his second face during the Mandalorian Wars. With a confident stride, he walked out of the cell.
Nyriss hurled Force lightning at him with such power that it would have instantly fried any mortal. But not him. For he knew perfectly well who he was and what he was capable of. The lightning was intercepted with bare hands. Yes, he had excellent mastery of Tutaminis techniques and could absorb or redirect energy flows.
"I am Revan reborn! And before me, you are nothing!" the man proclaimed thunderously, sending a lethal stream of dark energy back at the Sith.
The man who had returned to life woke up from the rush of memories. He remembered who he was. He was Revan... the fallen Jedi Knight, the Sith Lord who returned to the Light, a Master of the Jedi Order. Hero, liberator... villain, conqueror... All those titles were his by right. His memory had awakened, and the consciousness of one of the strongest Force-sensitives of his time had risen from oblivion.
Again, the sensation of the Dark presence.
"Pull yourself together, Revan. You have to get out of here," the man forced out through gritted teeth.
His memory still had huge gaps, but he remembered the most important thing. The rest would return, but now was not the time to dwell on it.
Focusing, Revan scanned the nearest corridors with the Force. No one. Moving was difficult. It wasn't enough even to stand up. It was as if his nervous system was severely damaged and the signals from his brain simply weren't getting through.
Concealing his presence in the Force, just in case, the man focused on healing, falling into a deep trance.
The Force was truly a multifaceted phenomenon. With its help, one could heal even the most terrible wounds. The main thing was that life hadn't completely left the body yet.
Drawing energy from the infinite source of the great Force, Revan gradually restored the severely damaged cells of his body. He couldn't understand what had injured his body so badly. It was as if he had been tortured with Force lightning while being injected with some poison. He had only seen such cellular condition in the dead, who had been gone for several days and were unable to merge with the Force.
He couldn't have... no, nonsense. The man dismissed the silly thoughts about his own death and resurrection.
Suddenly, on the edge of his consciousness, he sensed danger. A pair of patrol droids was approaching the corridor where Revan lay.
"Hutt," the Jedi cursed.
His body had only just begun to recover. Full healing was still far off, but he had at least partially regained his mobility. However, that wasn't enough for a fight.
The Light Side of the Force couldn't help its wounded adept right now. There simply wasn't enough time. But there was another side, wasn't there? The former Sith Lord searched his damaged memory for suitable Force techniques.
Only Dark Rage could save him now. A Sith technique where anger, pain, and fear were used to empower the body, converting into pure, Dark-tinged strength and might. Yes, it wouldn't heal the wounds, but it would allow him to ignore them. It would be worse later, even lethal, but there was no choice. It was either this or certain death.
The thought of using the Light Side equivalent, Force Valor, flashed through his mind. But that required fully suppressing his emotions, which was not easy to do with agonizing pain throughout his body.
The man stirred. Pain shot through his body. Every nerve was on fire.
"Peace is a lie. There is only Passion!" Revan ground out, clenching his teeth. The pain caused anger and fear for his life. They began to rise in a wave within his mind. Concentrating on these emotions, he amplified them to the limit. Fear for his life became rage. Pain fueled the wrath. It was very easy to get angry.
"Through Passion, I gain Strength!" the former Sith Lord hissed, kneeling on one knee.
His body filled with strength. Moving became easier. Rage began to seize his mind, gradually growing into fury.
"Through Strength, I gain Power!" The man, now fully standing, was breathing heavily, slowly raising his hands to his chest.
Darkness was already coiling around his fists, spiraling and building power. The Dark Side heard his call, sensing the anger and darkness he was gathering in his soul. The Force permeated every cell of his being.
A pair of droids turned the corner just then. Seeing a stranger, they instantly raised their blasters.
"Through Power, I gain Victory!" Revan roared.
A stream of blue and purple lightning with black streaks tore from his hands. The power of the Dark Side crashed down on the metallic soldiers in a lethal avalanche. Their circuits instantly shorted, the electronic insides fried, leaving the poor things no chance against the Force adept. Two scorched, armored bodies crashed to the floor.
"Through Victory, my chains are broken," Revan sighed wearily. "The Force shall free me."
The words of the Code of the Sith helped him quickly attune to the necessary emotions. Now, the Dark Side was nourishing his wounded body. Wild and untamed, and infinitely dangerous for the weak-willed. It lured and subdued. The ease, the strength that the Dark Side offered, coupled with the... enjoyment that the Dark techniques provided... the growing thirst for more... it was like a drug.
Yes, the Dark Side intoxicates and subordinates. Only the few who can hold themselves on that thin line of madness, beyond which lies the abyss of oblivion, can become masters of the Dark Side. But such individuals are becoming fewer and fewer.
Revan shook his head, clearing his mind and chasing away unnecessary thoughts. Feeding the darkness with his anger was simple. This emotion arose very quickly and easily in his mind. After all, he was a prisoner who was about to be burned as trash. What better reason for anger?
He had to get out of here. If one patrol arrived, others would follow. Besides, only a complete incompetent would fail to notice such a surge of the Force. And the one Revan had sensed earlier was clearly not incompetent.
He would heal using the Light Side later. Now, he needed to flee. And fast, while the Dark Rage was still powering him.
And he ran.
The layout of this place remained unknown, so Revan decided to rely on the Force. With its help, he could sense the right direction if he clearly formed his intentions. His desire now was clearer than ever—to escape to a safe place.
Weaving through corridors and climbing service shafts, the former Sith Lord ran into droids several more times. But they couldn't counter him. He destroyed two with a Force push, literally slamming them into the wall. He blew up another with a short pulse of Force lightning. He was starting to wear out, and he had to conserve his strength.
Thanks to his ability to foresee danger, Revan managed to avoid running into serious opponents or large patrols.
A quarter of an hour later, after a frantic run and game of hide-and-seek with the security, the Jedi was emerging from a service channel into a hangar. Two ships were standing on the landing pad. Their configuration was unfamiliar to Revan. Externally, he mistook them for heavily modified NR-2s or perhaps a Renegade gunship, but upon closer inspection, he dismissed the thought. And what did it matter! As long as it could fly. The fallen Knight was a decent pilot himself. In the past, he had won swoop bike races more than once.
There were no guards around. This seemed strange, but all his senses were silent. No threat was felt. The hangar doors were open. Either the master of this place wasn't expecting an attack, or this was all a large, elaborate trap.
Moving quickly from cover to cover behind cargo containers, Revan ran to an extended ramp and flew inside the ship.
The shuttle was small. The cockpit was immediately behind the passenger compartment bulkhead. It clearly wasn't designed for long-haul flights, but he couldn't be choosy.
The pilot cabin was designed for a crew of two and likely a droid, judging by the connection port between the seats. The instruments were familiar but somehow strange. A quick inspection led to a disappointing conclusion. Revan couldn't escape on this ship.
No, purely theoretically, he could pilot it, but the navigation computer was locked with the owner's authorization code. And without it, there was no point in flying. He couldn't jump into hyperspace or even figure out his current location.
Voices drifted in from outside. Someone was approaching. Without hesitation, Revan dashed into the cargo hold and, after a quick look around, hid in a small niche between the ceiling beams. And just in time. The shuttle's owners, evidently, came aboard. A couple of crates were rolled into the cargo hold.
The Jedi had to use a subtle Force suggestion to conceal his presence. His condition was worsening. The battle trance and Dark Rage were fading. The pain was returning, and his head was starting to spin.
Fortunately, the owners didn't linger. Closing the cargo bay doors, they retreated to the cockpit. A few minutes later, the roar of engines sounded, and a slight vibration went through the hull, signaling they had taken off.
Revan breathed a sigh of relief. He had gotten out.
At that moment, the rebound from using the Dark Side technique hit him. His consciousness sank into darkness, and the Jedi fell out of his niche onto the floor, right behind the crates brought aboard.
"Stranger!" Having learned to understand the Binary language perfectly over years of interacting with astromech droids, Revan understood what the little droid chirped.
Consciousness slowly returned. The Force hadn't let him die, and even healed some of his wounds during his blackout. The pain wasn't as severe anymore, and he could move, albeit with difficulty.
Before Revan could process that the astromech had discovered him, it zoomed off for help. He had no strength to resist. And using Dark techniques again in this state would be suicide... or a direct path into the abyss of madness.
A few minutes later, the former Jedi Order Master was sitting in the cargo hold under the watchful aim of the ship's owners—a Rodian and a Human.
The alien stared intently at him with his insect-like compound eyes, constantly fiddling with the blaster's trigger. His partner, dressed in light Duraplast armor, thoughtfully scratched his chin.
"And what should we do with you?" he asked, seemingly to the empty space.
The Human was clearly the leader of the pair.
"Finish him off and be done with it!" the Rodian suggested.
"First, we find out who he is and what he's doing here."
Revan sat on the floor, leaning his back against the crates, shifting his gaze from one of the ship's owners to the other. He tried to imagine what he looked like from their perspective... Battered, dirty, and after the trash pit, stinky, too. Plus, completely naked.
"Hey, you. Do you speak Basic?" The Human walked over and crouched down opposite the Jedi.
Revan nodded.
"Who are you? And how did you end up here?"
Finding himself a captive again, the former Sith Lord quickly ran through the possible scenarios in his head.
Two opponents with weapons. He himself was weak, hungry, beaten, and completely unprepared for a serious fight. Even just to stay conscious, he had to constantly fill his cells with raw Force energy.
Revan had managed to push the Darkness further away from his mind to maintain clarity of thought. But the Dark Side still hadn't given up its attempts to reclaim its former adept. From the very edge of his consciousness, it still reached out to the Jedi's thoughts, sending him images of slaughtering his captors.
The silence dragged on. He needed to say something. However, Revan couldn't decide how to behave. These two were clearly connected somehow to the one who wanted to burn him. If he said he escaped from the place where they had just unloaded, wouldn't they just send him back? But there were no other options. Everything else would be too implausible. There was an empty ship, and after a visit to that strange place, a passenger appeared. There are no coincidences.
"A runaway," Revan answered.
"Oh. A runaway, huh? A slave, maybe? Escaped from those guys on the asteroid?" the armored Human drawled, scratching his sparse beard.
An asteroid? So that's where they were keeping him?
The mind of the experienced military commander quickly processed the new information and searched for a way out. They had mistaken him for an escaped slave. And these guys were clearly not innocent. Smugglers, most likely, or even involved in slave trading themselves. That meant profit came first. Their very first thoughts would be to return him for a reward or resell him.
"We should take him back to his owner. Whoever lives on that asteroid, they always pay well," the Rodian insisted.
'There's the first option voiced,' Revan thought.
"The owner wanted to get rid of me. I became useless, but I didn't want to burn with the trash," the former Sith very skillfully feigned fear with a slight hint of hysteria on his face.
The image of the slave came across very convincingly.
"So, nobody's looking for you?" the Rodian laughed.
Strange waves of madness emanated from him, which Revan clearly picked up through the Force. The alien was a sadist. And now he had a stray toy in his hands.
'Damn, I have to talk my way out of this,' a thought flashed in the Jedi's mind, and he focused on the consciousness of his second adversary.
'You could make a good profit by reselling me to a new owner,' the captive spoke clearly, looking into the armored Human's eyes. The man's gaze became hazy for a moment.
"Listen, we could make a decent profit by reselling him to a new owner," he said, addressing his partner.
The Rodian just shrugged. He was disappointed by the suggestion. Now he wouldn't get to play with this slave. But he wasn't about to argue with his friend. He was slightly afraid of him.
"As you say, Onaka. Where should we take him? Vergesso or Tatooine? There's always demand there and no annoying questions," the Rodian suggested.
"Hmm, the pay isn't great there. But flying to Nar Shaddaa would take twice as long, and I have too much unfinished business with the Hutts there," the one called Onaka stood and walked to the wall. "If I have to choose between Tatooine and the Vergesso asteroids, I'd rather go with Tatooine. Slaves die like flies for the mining companies. They buy them by the hundreds, so we won't get much money. But some private client on that dusty ball will definitely pay a tidy sum."
Revan was satisfied with the result. A slave collar wouldn't hold him if he chose to run. At the same time, he would be taken to a planet, and they would try not to damage the "merchandise." And the travel time should be enough for him to heal and regain his strength.
"So? We're taking him to Tatooine?" the Rodian asked, lowering his weapon.
"Yeah, Gluutor, change the route," Onaka ordered, then turned to the droid, "R2-E4, bring one of the collars and a spare mechanic's jumpsuit."
His subordinates left to carry out the orders.
"And don't you dare cause trouble, you wreck," the armored Human said dryly, patting the blaster hanging on his hip.
Revan nodded, still playing the role of the frightened, weak slave.
Sitting on the cargo hold floor, Revan was deep in a meditative trance, trying to put his memories back together. It was difficult. Fragments of his memory were jumbled together. Different periods of his life were confused. He had to exert tremendous effort to accurately reconstruct the events. And the fact that his memory contained at least three episodes in which Revan, with a hundred percent certainty, died, did not make the task any easier.
"Bastila!" The Jedi nearly fell out of his trance from the flood of emotions that washed over him when the image of the dark-haired woman with a lightsaber staff in her hands surfaced in his memory. He loved that woman. He loved her more than life. And he was ready to do anything to protect her.
Pain squeezed his chest like a vice. He left her... alone with their child.
"Oh, Force... what have I done!" A crushed Revan clasped his head in his hands. He tried to understand what drove him to that act. Why did he decide that the safety of the galaxy was more important?
Back then, he comforted himself that it was for the good of Bastila and their child... but now... He clearly saw the desperate foolishness of those thoughts. And his actions... To go into the Unknown Regions alone? He even left Canderous behind! And he didn't tell anyone anything! What was he thinking?!
Because of vague recollections of an ethereal threat, he abandoned his wife and child to fate! Right next to the Order, which held a grudge against him! In a galaxy where a new war was brewing... And now... what had become of them?
The memory of meeting Meetra Surik flashed. His old friend told him that he had a son, Vaner Shan. Revan slammed the back of his head against the wall with force. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
"Forgive me..." he whispered without stopping. Once again, memories consumed his mind. Scenes of the battle with the Emperor raced before his eyes. The Jedi lost... The Emperor did something to him.
The subsequent memories were fragmented. Imprisonment, the constant presence of the Emperor's consciousness. Meetra's Force Ghost, the escape, the Droid Foundry, and another from the Shan lineage... his great-great-granddaughter or an even more distant descendant. The descendant of him and Bastila—the Grand Master of the Jedi Order, Satele Shan. She and her companions helped Revan finally find peace.
He struck the back of his head against the wall again. Bastila and his son were dead... for many years now. And the Emperor did attack the Republic after all. By all accounts, Revan had lost on all fronts, and his departure had ultimately benefited no one.
But still, what compelled him on that journey? As an experienced commander, he understood perfectly well that you couldn't rush into the inferno without reconnaissance and support! Or did he not understand?
A moment flashed again: his release by Meetra and Scourge in Nyriss's dungeons. Surik returned his mask, which Bastila had sent. Contact with the artifact, saturated with Revan's very essence—his pain, his memory, all the horrors and losses of the Mandalorian Wars. And this helped restore Revan's personality and memory. To bring back the man he was before his fall to the Dark Side and Malak's betrayal.
"Damn the Jedi Council!"
Revan found the reason for his behavior. It was the remnants of the mental manipulation the Order Masters performed, creating a new personality for the captured Dark Lord. Distorting the mind of the barely living Sith, the Jedi Council created an ideal soldier of the Light. Loyal to the ideals of the Order and unconditionally subservient to them.
And though Revan's own personality was still able to make adjustments to the behavior of his new ego, the influence of Jedi philosophy took its toll. And at the worst possible moment. Of course, he preferred the fate of the galaxy over his family! And he went off alone, with the look of a hero! Yet, he felt it was a mistake! But he did nothing... Now, all that was left was regret.
Revan wiped away his tears.
"At least I know they lived a long and happy life," he tried to console himself.
It didn't help.
The hatred for the Jedi Council could only be suppressed by constantly repeating a single thought—they were long dead.
"I hope you didn't manage to merge with the Force, and are currently loudly hiccuping in the abyss of oblivion," he muttered through gritted teeth.
He had to recite the Jedi Code several times and enter deep meditation to quell the rage that had flared up in his soul.
Revan spent the next few days in meditation. The ship's owners cared little for their cargo, so no one bothered him. Once a day, he was given a little water and food, and allowed to use the lavatory. Otherwise, the cargo hold remained his temporary cell.
The meditation helped clear his mind. Revan clearly understood who he was. The influence of the Jedi Council and the Emperor was relegated to the past. And the former Dark Lord discovered an interesting thing: the Light in his soul was exactly equal to the Darkness. It was as if he himself had become the point of balance for the Great Force. He could perform techniques from both the Dark and Light Sides with equal ease. He still had to remain vigilant not to succumb to the temptation of the Darkness's boundless power, but to Revan's surprise, it was much easier to do so than in his past life.
Perhaps this was because, unlike most Jedi, he didn't suppress all emotions, but merely tipped the scales of his mind to one side or the other. Love, courage, friendship—facilitated contact with the Light, driving out anger and fear. Conversely, by merely concentrating slightly on the malice hidden in his soul, Revan forced the Light to retreat, attracting the Dark Side.
Along with meditation, Revan also tried to understand where he was... and how much time had passed.
From overheard conversations, he knew the ship belonged to smugglers. He also knew their destination—the slave market in Mos Eisley, Tatooine. Time and date were harder to discern. The smugglers stopped answering his questions as soon as they put the slave collar on him. He had become merchandise. The droid ignored him, too. He hoped to get the information later.
The next day, something happened that threw Revan into a state of shock. When his temporary masters brought the next portion of water and food, the captive accidentally knocked over the cup and spilled the precious liquid. But it wasn't the lost water that shocked him; it was what he saw reflected on the surface of the small puddle.
Who is that? Revan asked into the void, touching the unfamiliar face. The person in the reflection, though bearing a faint resemblance, was not Revan. Dark, closely cropped hair, eyes, if it wasn't a trick of light and reflection, were green, and his nose was slightly upturned.
The captive examined his hands, then felt his entire body, trying to find differences from what he remembered. Yes, the body felt different. Revan had initially attributed this to the long confinement, skinniness, and exhaustion. However, he now began to consider a different, more frightening possibility.
He had been transferred to someone else's body! The most interesting thing was that in the Force, the body still felt like his own and appeared as it did in his memories. This was likely because the Force reflects the essence, not the shell.
Now it was clear why his body obeyed him so poorly. And the constant weakness. He hadn't even immediately noticed that the body looked smaller not because of exhaustion. He was simply younger! The body was only going through teenage growth spurts.
"Well... fifteen or sixteen years old, no more," Revan estimated his age.
The Jedi pressed his forehead against the wall. Then he leaned back slightly and lightly bumped his head against it.
"A child again," the former Sith exhaled resignedly, anticipating the adolescent problems that plagued him in his "past" life.
Another head bump against the wall.
Hormones, a frenzy of emotions, difficulties controlling the Force. A growing body, shifting balance and center of gravity... there would be problems with lightsaber forms.
Another bump.
"I need to stop, or I'll knock my memory out again," Revan muttered, rubbing his forehead and chuckling nervously.
The journey to Tatooine took another twenty-four hours. Having no idea of the type or class of hyperdrive on this vessel, Revan couldn't even guess which sector he was taken from. However, he planned to resolve that question before landing. There was no point in continuing to play the slave. His body had recovered enough to fight back against two armed sentients, without even resorting to the Dark Side.
By the time the ship dropped out of hyperspace, the former Jedi had already removed the slave collar. It turned out to be quite simple. A short pulse of the Force precisely on the lock was sufficient.
According to Revan's plan, the takeover was to happen as soon as the droid brought the next portion of water and food. The smugglers had said the captive would be fed before landing so that a hungry look wouldn't scare away potential clients at the slave market.
Awaiting the droid's arrival, the former Jedi prepared for a swift ship capture. The Force permeated his body, feeding his muscles and strengthening his bones. This was Force Valor at work, one of the primary Jedi techniques. Revan's emotions were under complete control; he was calm and full of resolve.
As soon as the cargo bay door opened, the former Jedi sent a powerful Force push right at the poor astromech. The little bot's chassis couldn't withstand it and flew into pieces, showering the corridor with a heap of parts. Accelerating slightly, Revan burst out of his improvised cell and headed for the cockpit. The noise from the destroyed droid startled the two smugglers. They hastily grabbed their weapons. But the Force adept was faster. Flying into the cockpit, he knocked the Rodian out with a single blow.
Then he dodged the Human's line of fire, intercepted his arm holding the blaster, and swept his leg with a kick below the knee.
"You bantha fodder!" Onaka snapped.
Revan responded to the insult with a quick strike to the area of the left kidney.
"Be polite."
"Go to the void!"
Two more blows and the crunch of a broken wrist quieted the defiant criminal. Revan picked up the blaster he had just wrenched from Onaka's hand. He flipped his captive over and began the interrogation.
"Who runs the base where you picked me up?" he asked, pointing the blaster at the smuggler's head.
"I don't know," the man replied through gritted teeth.
"Care to reconsider?"
"Go to hell!"
The former Jedi exhaled in disappointment. Then he looked into the captive's eyes and directed a flow of the Force into his consciousness.
"You will answer my questions," he said, accompanying his words with a slight wave of his hand.
"I... will..." Onaka began uncertainly, but immediately snapped out of it, "No! What the devil?"
Revan swore. His interlocutor had much more willpower than he anticipated. Last time, he only nudged him towards a decision, but now, even the Force couldn't break through the smuggler's mental barriers.
The Rodian stirred behind him. The former Sith Lord commanded without turning, "Sleep!" and accompanied the command with a mental blow of pure energy that instantly knocked the alien unconscious.
"I advise you not to anger me. Who is the owner of that place?" Revan repeated the question.
Onaka spat at his feet.
The former Dark Lord calmly aimed the blaster at the captive's knee and pulled the trigger.
A scream of pain echoed through the ship. The interrogation continued.