For over twenty minutes, Revan had been pacing the floor of the not-very-spacious cabin aboard the Dawn's Eagle. His movements were fluid and measured, indicating that the former Jedi was not agitated but, on the contrary, deeply focused. The initial flash of surprise, mingled with a sliver of hope and joyful anticipation, had already passed. Reason had regained control of the youthful body, forcing Revan to recall the experience of a life already lived.
"So, let's clarify everything one more time," the ship's owner addressed the hologram of his long-deceased wife. "Are you absolutely certain that the disturbance in the Force was caused by her call?"
The Holocron Keeper nodded solemnly. However, traces of surprise and doubt still lingered on its face. At Revan's command, the hologram altered its scale to precisely recreate the image of his beloved.
"It's difficult to mistake one's own creator for anyone else," the hologram repeated. "The call belonged to Bastila Shan. I am almost entirely certain of it."
The name of his wife made the former Jedi shudder. There was nothing in this world he desired more than to feel her presence near him again.
Revan approached the hologram closely and reached out a hand toward the face he knew so well. How he wished he could embrace her and never let go. But it was impossible. His fingers passed helplessly through the incorporeal figure.
"But, according to you, Bastila chose to become one with the Force," the ancient one regained his composure.
The hologram turned its head, momentarily revealing a faint scar above the right ear, which immediately disappeared beneath the hair. The mark was left by Revan's lightsaber after their 'reunion' aboard the Star Forge.
"That is precisely where my doubts lie," the hologram nodded again.
"Could she have remained in this world as a Force Ghost?"
"Unlikely. At the time of my creation, she was firmly resolved to pass on 'further,' to eventually reunite with you... if only in the Force." The Holocron Keeper smiled warmly at Revan.
These words caused a painful pang of guilt in the former Jedi's soul. Despite the message from his beloved and her forgiveness, he had never been able to forgive himself.
"What are the chances of her returning to this world?" he asked, his voice thick with unconcealed hope.
"It has never happened before," Bastila's double shook its head. "Those who passed into the Force have not returned."
"I returned," Revan countered.
"You never fully departed, my love," the hologram smiled. "The desire to live and fight has always been too strong within you. That is why you could not completely dissolve into the Force like the vanished Masters. However, she... she would have..."
"Those are merely your assumptions," the former Sith interrupted the girl rather harshly, his amber irises flashing. "You are just an image stored in a Holocron. A fake that brings more pain than comfort."
Revan broke off his tirade, ashamed of his own lack of restraint. When Bastila was the subject, controlling himself became more difficult. The hormonal surges of his teenage body amplified his emotions, which he didn't always want to suppress. For the same reason, the former Jedi avoided communicating with the Holocron, though he deeply longed to speak with his wife, even a "forgery."
Revan wearily rubbed his temples with his fingers.
"I apologize," he said quietly. "What about the second summons?"
The former Sith clearly remembered that two entities, completely unlike each other, had called to him. Moreover, he was certain he recognized the second voice.
The hoarse baritone of an old friend, undistorted by the voice modulator he had acquired after an unsuccessful attempt to assume the role of the Master.
Revan's memory resurfaced with their brief duel, which took place long before the former Jedi stole the Ebon Hawk and set off to save the galaxy from Darth Malak.
A flash of anger, amplified by the dark side, nearly made him kill his best friend, who dared to challenge his right to leadership. However, at the last moment, Revan managed to shift the trajectory of his lightsaber, and Malak lost his lower jaw... not his head.
After his memory returned, Revan often wondered what would have happened if he had succumbed to that momentary impulse? What if he had killed Malak? He could have completed the formation of the Empire, avoided the "brainwashing," and would not have become the Council's lapdog again. Right?
But would he have been as certain of his own actions? Would he have become a captive of the dark side with a completely shattered will? A slave to the Force, obsessed with an insatiable hunger. A hunger for power, for might, for immortality... Like many ancient Lords... like Vitiate.
Oh, the Force, he could have killed Bastila! With his own hands! When her squad stormed the Obsidian, Revan was ready for battle. What could a foolish girl, who hadn't even finished her training, possibly counter him with? Him! The one who had already mastered many secrets of both the light and dark sides!
In a way, he was grateful to Malak for the betrayal. Yes, he lost his Empire, as well as the opportunity to prepare the Republic for the true Sith's return.
But he also gained a great deal.
Bastila and Vayner were definitely worth it... and that is why the pain of their loss stubbornly refuses to subside.
"Revan?" the hologram called, pulling the former Jedi out of his reflection.
"Pardon me, what?" He suddenly realized that the image of his long-dead wife had been saying something all this time, but he hadn't been listening.
"I said I did not sense the second call," the hologram repeated. "Perhaps it was intended only for you."
"Or perhaps it was merely a figment of my imagination," Revan nodded grimly.
It had seemed strange to him from the start that the voice of the Lord of Darkness would suddenly emanate from the territory of the Temple of the servants of the Light. Something wasn't right here.
"I think I know where the first call came from," the illusory Bastila added.
The former Jedi looked up at her with interest. He had his own thoughts on the matter, but he was willing to hear the Holocron's guess.
"It came from the Archives," the hologram hinted.
"The Great Holocron?" Revan clarified, voicing his own thoughts.
Bastila nodded affirmatively.
The artifact that now rested in the depths of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant was the largest Holocron created in ancient times and preserved to this moment. The amount of information it held was simply astounding. Vast archives of knowledge about the Great Force, lightsabers, techniques, and combat styles, supplemented by every generation of Jedi.
Revan vividly remembered the awe the Holocron inspired when he, still a young Padawan, was allowed to approach the artifact.
It was believed that the Holocron revealed only the knowledge that the one who opened it was ready to receive. However, the former Jedi knew that the artifact was always ready to share more if one knew how to ask the questions. That is why Padawans, and even young Knights, were most often accompanied by Archivists, so as to "protect" the students' fragile minds.
Over millennia of existence, the artifact had become such a potent focal point of the Force that it could easily serve as a conduit for Force Ghosts or strong Force-sensitives desperately wishing to contact someone. This would explain the call. Or rather, the fact that it was felt precisely from the Temple.
However, the situation was still strange. Experience told Revan that things couldn't be so simple. Anything connected with the Force could not be "simple."
"Thank you," he said coldly to the Holocron Keeper and, with a brief exertion of will, forced the artifact to close.
More than anything in the world, Revan hated it when someone tried to use the image of a person dear to him to lure him into a trap. Malak did this when he pulled Bastila to the dark side. Vitiate also exploited this, albeit not directly. However, the threat of invasion to the Republic, where Revan's wife and child remained, coupled with the "instructions" from the Council, pushed the former Jedi toward rash and hasty actions.
All of this awakened his anger. Even this Huttese Holocron with the illusion of Bastila! A fake!
Revan exhaled loudly, directing the rising wave of fury into the proper channel, taking control of it and transforming it into strength.
Perhaps in this state, going to the Temple wasn't wise. But he couldn't wait.
A beep signaled an incoming call. The source was the cockpit.
"HK, how much longer?" the former Sith asked sharply, activating the intercom.
"Answer: We are approaching the Temple Quarter. Estimated time of arrival—nine minutes. Temple Control has granted official permission to approach. A contact request has also been received for you from the Grand Master of the Order."
'A call from Yoda?' the thought flashed through Revan's mind. 'Could he have had a hand in what happened? He could! Definitely! He clearly suspects the true identity of Avner Vann, and therefore knows about the connection to Bastila. Not to mention the story with Malak. Influencing an ancient artifact of such power would be difficult. But... it's not impossible.'
"Master?" HK called, receiving no response.
"I will speak with him from the cabin, transfer the call," Revan ordered, preparing himself for the conversation.
He couldn't show how much this phantom call had unsettled him. Emotions are a double-edged sword. Allow them to get too close, and they will burn out your soul. Let an opponent exploit them, and you've lost. And defeat is death.
Revan did not aspire to become one with the Force.
Mentally reciting the Jedi Code several times to set the right tone, the former Sith opened the communication channel with the Temple.
"Grand Master," he greeted the hologram of the green-skinned head of the Council with a slight half-bow.
"Knight Vann, to see you I am glad," the long-eared elder replied in his elaborate manner. "Unexpected your visit, however, it is. Surprise the message of a bold ship's return was."
"Certain circumstances have arisen, Master Yoda," Revan said in a polite tone, trying to catch a hint of deceit in the hologram's expressions and movements or an indication of involvement in the recent events. "I need to visit the Temple Archives again."
"Archives?" the green-skinned one nodded almost imperceptibly. "Knowledge seek you?"
"Not exactly. Rather, answers."
"Wise words for a Knight so young," Yoda said with a smile. "Our Archive many knowledge contains, but to find the answers, much time it may take."
The Masters of the Order had always been skilled at weaving verbal tapestries. And the current head of the Council was, apparently, a master of it. But the hints in his words were too obvious to be missed. The Grand Master suspected Avner's true age. And he was also so crudely hinting at the need to remain in the Order.
"I am not yet ready to discuss my... affiliation with the Order. Not this time," the former Jedi cut in.
If the head of the Council was surprised by this, he didn't show it.
"Here why are you then, hmmm?"
The Master successfully conveyed curiosity in his voice. It was almost believable.
"I need access to the Great Holocron," Revan said directly. "Without escorts or observation."
The elder remained silent for quite a long time before answering.
"Against the rules this is. To allow this to happen, I cannot," he shook his head.
"The Order's secrets do not interest me. My knowledge is quite sufficient for me. But there is something only this artifact can help me with," Revan insisted. "I can swear on anything that my actions carry no ill will and will not harm the Order."
"What is an oath from a name that is but a mask," the green-skinned one cunningly narrowed his eyes.
"I keep my oaths," Revan said with a metallic edge to his voice, as if he were once again standing knee-deep in the water on Katar.
The Grand Master nodded solemnly.
"Not for a holocall this conversation is," the elder closed his eyes. "Permission you will receive. But to continue we must later."
"Without masks?" Revan clarified, a barely perceptible smirk playing on his lips.
"One with you to take you may. Not so, hmmm?"
"Thank you, Grand Master."
"Not good to refuse help when in need they are," Yoda nodded. "Open the Temple's doors are for a Jedi."
Revan answered the hologram with a respectful bow, according to all the rules of the Order.
Breaking the contact, the former Jedi allowed his face to momentarily lose its benevolent expression. The long-eared Hutt-dwarf knew about Revan's real identity and dared to use this information for his own purposes! Thoughts of his involvement were moving from the realm of vague hunches to that of unconfirmed facts. Someone was weaving a very dense net around the former Sith. For now, it wasn't interfering, but it was starting to flicker annoyingly often before his eyes. A part of the ancient Force-sensitive's consciousness, the one closer to the dark side, was unwilling to tolerate even the slightest threat directed at him. And the prospect of falling under someone's influence provoked scorching rage.
Pondering whether Yoda could have failed to sense the disturbance in the Force that must have inevitably arisen the moment someone sent Revan a message through the Great Force, the former Jedi put on his familiar armor. Grabbing the Mandalorian mask as well, the ancient one left his cabin, heading toward his students.
Anakin and Maul were in the compartment allocated for the ship's medbay. The Zabrak had responsibly approached his master's order and examined Skywalker to the extent of his knowledge and abilities. Assuring himself that the boy's life was not in danger, the Dathomir native administered a stimulant and left him to rest. Revan bumped into him on his way out of the medical bay.
"How is the boy?" the mentor asked first, feeling a slight pang of guilt for having abandoned his apprentice, succumbing to a momentary impulse.
"There is no threat, my Lord," the Zabrak replied with a bow. "Sensory shock is experienced by almost everyone who begins to comprehend the Force at a later age."
Maul remembered how his head nearly exploded from the rush of sensations when Sidious crudely breached his natural shields and exposed his unprepared mind to the currents of the Force. How long he had spent unconscious—the Acolyte did not remember. His master had brought him back to his senses then... with a blast of Force lightning. His previous mentor had never been known for his humanity.
"Are you going somewhere?" the Zabrak asked, noticing the gleam of armor beneath the master's cloak.
"Yes," Revan nodded. "I plan to visit the Jedi Temple again."
Maul narrowed his eyes and predatorily licked his lips.
"May I accompany you, my Lord?" Noticing a frown on his master's face, the apprentice quickly added: "I am good at concealment."
Revan seemed to ponder the answer for a few moments, weighing whether to take an overtly dark-side apprentice with him.
"Not this time," the master shook his head. "You are to watch over the ship and be ready. Try to sense my presence in the Temple and track my movements. This will serve as good training for you."
"Yes, my Lord," the Zabrak bowed.
"But first, answer...
"My Lord?"
"Did you sense a disturbance in the Force around the same time Anakin lost consciousness?"
Maul paused to think.
"I'm not sure," he frowned. "I don't... sense changes in the Force currents very well. I was only trained to conceal my presence and sense my surroundings. However, I did feel something strange. Something cold and... frightening. As if I had returned to my former..."
"Finish your sentence," the mentor encouraged.
"As if I had returned to my former... master," the Zabrak practically hissed the last word through clenched teeth.
Revan nodded. More to his own thoughts than to the student's words.
"His power over you is gone. Get used to it," he said grimly. "Go to the cockpit and relieve HK."
"And the droid?"
"He will go on a separate mission."
"The mercenary?"
"That does not concern you yet," Revan cut in. "Just know that they will also be off the ship for a while. R2 stays with you and Anakin."
"Of course, my Lord. As you command."
The mentor nodded and summoned the assassin droid and Tira Nomad to the mess hall. They were to work together again, a prospect neither would be pleased about.
The landing at the Temple proceeded without complications or unforeseen situations. Unwilling to linger longer than necessary, Revan left the Eagle's board forty minutes after landing, heading toward the entrance of the Order's sanctuary.
Temple Guards stood at the entrance. At the sight of the one who had recently scattered their colleagues across the Council Chamber like vurpak puppies and, additionally, wiped the floor with the Masters of the Order, the guards tensed and gripped their lightsaber pikes tighter. However, they did not budge an inch when Revan walked past them under the high arch of the main entrance. The Grand Master's order was clear—this Knight was forbidden to be touched. At least not until he exhibited explicit aggression.
The former Jedi merely smirked at such behavior. In his time, the Guards were more formidable opponents.
No one came to meet him this time, so Revan, wasting no time, walked quickly toward the Archives.
But he couldn't walk in peace. A familiar Mirialan emerged from around a corner, engrossed in viewing some text on a data pad. Not noticing Revan, she nearly collided with him, but sensed something in time and looked up, focusing on the obstacle.
"Knight Vann?" Her eyes widened in surprise.
The woman took a step back, experiencing an inexplicable flash of fear, but quickly suppressing that cold and slippery feeling. She remembered what the man standing before her had done in the Council Chamber. Such power and irresistibility, concealed by cold serenity in the emotional spectrum, she had encountered for the first time. A hurricane of the Force that swept through the Temple then, not erupting with the dark side, but continuing to flicker with a barely perceptible warm light. That is how Luminara would describe her feelings when Knight Vann rushed out of the Council Chamber, allowing her to avoid an unnecessary fight. This man was dangerous. But at the same time, he aroused interest.
"Master Unduli," Revan greeted the woman with a smile.
"How are you... What are you doing here?" the Mirialan finally gathered herself, breaking free from the flow of her own thoughts.
"Master Yoda invited me for a conversation. And I was also given access to the Temple Archives, where I was headed," the former Jedi explained, noting the woman's strange agitated state.
"Really?" she was genuinely surprised. "But I thought... Although, yes, the Grand Master did say that what happened at the Council then was a misunderstanding, and you, Knight, are not our enemy."
Revan nodded with a smile.
"That is correct."
"I apologize for my reaction." The Mirialan shook her head, trying to hide the feeling of confusion that had come from nowhere. "I didn't expect to meet you here... after everything."
Revan raised a hand, urging Luminara to calm down.
"Don't continue. I perfectly understand that seeing someone who was recently brandishing a lightsaber within these walls, and far from for training purposes, is strange, to say the least."
"Exactly," the woman agreed.
"But, as you can see, I am here with the Council's permission." Revan indicated the Guards, who were still impersonating statues, with a nod. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be conversing now under the measured rustle of the wind."
"How poetic," Master Unduli smiled, covering her mouth with her hand. "Do you mind if I walk with you to the Archives? I need to give the data pad back to Master Jocasta Nu anyway."
"I have no objection. Shall we go?"
'Trust, but verify, right?' Revan thought. 'An escort will be safer.'
"Lead the way," the Mirialan nodded.
They walked for a while in silence. Revan was not eager for small talk, mentally preparing for the encounter with the ancient artifact and, possibly, with someone from his past. Luminara, meanwhile, simply did not know what to talk about.
They passed groups of Padawans rushing to classes, Knights slowly going about their business, and Masters deep in contemplation. The former Jedi scanned their faces without any specific purpose.
Another Jedi walked past them. Judging by his deeply lined face, one of the Masters. Narrow eyes and a graying, short beard running along the jawline gave his face an even more tired expression.
The man looked up for a moment, glanced at the Mirialan, and greeted her with a nod. Then the Master looked at Revan. A spark of recognition flickered in the depth of his brown eyes, but the man did not stop, merely shaking his head.
An almost inaudibly spoken phrase fragment reached Revan's acute hearing: "Not Mizar... impossible..."
The former Jedi felt the Master stop somewhere behind him and now intently watch the ancient Force-sensitive's back. Revan pretended not to notice and continued walking beside the Mirialan.
"Who was that? One of the Order's Masters? I don't recall him at the Council," the former Jedi succumbed to curiosity nonetheless.
Unduli glanced behind her, looking for the person in question.
"That is Master Sifo-Dyas, he is a member of the Council, but he has been absent from the Temple for a long time," the Mirialan explained. "Incidentally, he was one of those who supported Qui-Gon and gave his consent for the absentee acceptance of a certain Knight into the Order."
"Is that so?" Revan was genuinely surprised.
Then it became clear where that shadow of recognition in the Master's eyes came from. Apparently, Jinn had described the appearance of the Force-sensitive found on Tatooine in detail, or had even provided a holophoto.
But at the same time, something subtly familiar... almost kindred... emanated from Sifo-Dyas. This was confusing. And it required additional information. However, if HK and Tira succeeded, the questions would disappear by themselves.
What saved the former Jedi from the question that was ready to burst from Luminara's lips was the fact that they had already entered the Archive Chamber, and the Mirialan was forced to shift her attention to Master Jocasta Nu, who was clearly expecting visitors. It was hard to say whom she was waiting for, Master Unduli to retrieve her borrowed data pad, or Knight Vann by Yoda's instruction. However, after a brief exchange of pleasantries, Revan was handed the key to the room containing the ancient artifact and given instructions on how to behave. The former Sith merely chuckled mentally—'As if I didn't know that myself.'
Luminara stayed with the Archivist, clearly surprised by the fact that Avner Vann was allowed to approach the Great Holocron alone, but did not dare to object. Jocasta's authority in the Archives was indisputable.
A pleasant twilight reigned in the room where the artifact was located. A light mist swirled under the vaulted ceiling, scattering the light of the few lamps. The golden, multifaceted Holocron hung like a gigantic statue above an artificial pool of crystal-clear liquid in the center of the hall, held in the air by the Force itself. The patterns covering its sides glowed faintly, reflecting off the surface of the "water" and creating whimsical highlights on the walls, which were finished in white stone.
The artifact rotated slowly, emitting a low hum. And Revan could swear that music was playing somewhere on the edge of hearing. He couldn't distinguish the instruments or make out any words... and he didn't know if there were any words at all. However, a melody was definitely sounding... and it was serenely beautiful.
The Force permeated this place. Every stone, every grain of sand, every drop of water—everything was saturated with the Great Force. But there was something wrong, something barely discernible. And Revan quickly realized what it was. Light. There was too much of it. And it wasn't the lighting. The light side was excessively strong in this place. The cloying monotony of the Force currents caused a slight discomfort. The former Sith was accustomed to a more... living Force, a balance of Light and Dark.
However, what else could be expected from an artifact that had been stored for thousands of years in the heart of the Temple of the light side adherents. Even knowledge of the dark side, which was undoubtedly also present among the information preserved in the Holocron, could not sufficiently influence this place.
Revan cautiously approached the artifact across a narrow stone bridge. Directly in front of the polyhedron was a small elevation, a platform for meditation. The former Jedi adopted a comfortable posture and closed his eyes, slowly immersing himself in the currents of the Force.
'Who called me?' he repeated the question mentally.
He did not know how much time had passed since the start of his meditation. Seconds stretched into hours, only to contract into a single moment again.
But at some point, the ancient one sensed a presence.
"Revan," a voice sounded nearby.
The former Jedi opened his eyes. A female figure stood right on the surface of the pool against the backdrop of the rotating Holocron. Her face was hidden in shadow, but Revan recognized the outline of the silhouette instantly. He remembered every curve of her body, the floral scent of her thick chestnut hair, the gleam of her always slightly sad, bottomless blue eyes. He remembered her. And he loved her.
Another gleam, reflected from the water, passed over the face of the figure that had appeared near the Holocron.
It truly was her.
In the flesh. Not a translucent Force Ghost, but a living person.
"Bastila," Revan croaked, barely audible, swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat.
Reason told him it was impossible... but the one who had lost everything he had and everyone he knew didn't care.
He rose to his feet and slowly walked toward the woman he loved more than life itself. Sinking up to his ankles in the water, he trudged on, ignoring the cold of the pool.
"Hello, my love," the familiar voice sounded in the silence. "You finally came."
"Bastila," he whispered, afraid to scare away this hallucination.
The fragments of his rationality that still remained in his consciousness screamed that this was only a vision. People don't resurrect just like that!
Revan reached out a hand and cautiously touched his beloved's face. He touched her! As soon as he realized this fact, his arms, without waiting for their owner's will, enclosed the fragile figure in a warm embrace.
The Force rushed in with Revan's will, lifting both of them into the air. It was Bastila! Bastila... Her familiar presence was clearly felt in the Force. Familiar... but slightly different.
The former Jedi gazed intently at the face he knew down to the last freckle.
Her gaze. Warm and... joyful?
Reason again attempted to take control of his body.
'Get a grip,' Revan commanded himself mentally.
No matter how happy he was to see Bastila, no matter how much he craved to be near her again, he mustn't forget why he came here.
He was called here.
Why?
He vocalized this question, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.
"Why did you call me?"
"Is a reason needed to call a loved one?" "Bastila" asked in surprise, a hint of offense in her voice.
"Not every day does a dead person call out to a dead person." Revan still hadn't released the woman from his embrace.
"Not every love is so strong," she leaned toward him, anticipating a kiss.
But it was at this moment that the former Sith felt a familiar chill run down his spine. The sense of danger howled.
"Who are you?" Revan roared, pushing the woman away from himself.
The familiar and deeply loved face twisted into a smirk utterly uncharacteristic of Bastila, making the former Jedi jump back and reach for the weapon on his belt. However, his lightsabers were not there. The hilts had simply vanished from their customary place, and Revan realized he had walked into a trap.
"A loving heart cannot be deceived, can it?" "Bastila" drawled.
"Who are you?" the ancient one repeated, concentrating the Force around him.
Only now did he notice that, unlike himself, the woman stood confidently right on the surface of the water. The fact that liquid, not solid stone, was beneath her feet seemed not to bother her in the slightest.
"Such a hostile reaction. Unexpected." There was nothing familiar about the impostor's movements anymore. "Perhaps I should have chosen a different image?"
Bastila's features blurred, enveloped in a whitish haze. And in the next moment, an equally familiar figure stepped toward Revan, clad in the light armor of the Republican Army from the time of the Mandalorian Wars. Shreds of a Jedi robe were carelessly draped over her shoulders, as if she had just returned from the battlefield.
"General," Meetra Surik greeted him.
His most trusted commander after Alek, the one who executed every order without a shadow of a doubt and was a loyal friend and ally during the most difficult times. She stood before him now. Exactly as he remembered her.
Another illusion.
With a light push of the Force, Revan hurled the woman back toward the Holocron. An unseen barrier surrounded the Jedi in a dense cocoon, ready to repel a counter-attack. But none followed.
"No?" the impostor stretched her shoulders, rising to her feet. "Then what about this one?"
Master Zhar Lestin stepped forward — the Twi'lek who had trained Revan at the Enclave on Dantooine.
"Or will you strike me too, Padawan?" he asked with a sneer.
Revan felt fury boiling within him. It was useful now. The Force was ready to erupt at any moment; it just needed an impulse.
Forked blue lightning, streaked with black, shot from the fingers of his right hand, rocketing toward the next double. A strike, a flash! But in place of the Twi'lek, a new figure was rising to her feet.
"Is this how you show gratitude for being brought back to life?" an elderly woman with thick gray hair braided into two coils stated in a commanding tone.
Revan couldn't fail to recognize his own Master. But the fact that this, too, was merely an illusion only provoked negative emotions.
'Isn't this what the entity that summoned him here is aiming for?' Revan thought. 'To push him to the limit, destabilize his emotions, force him into a rage and a turn to the dark side. To fall into the Darkness? In the middle of the Temple? No, that would be foolish. The light side is so strong in this place that even balancing on the very brink, I will be able to hold on.'
"Oh, I see you're starting to calm down?" the false-Kreia spoke loudly. "Ready to talk?"
Revan used his Force Sight to try and understand what was happening. This didn't feel like hallucinations. An illusion? He would have sensed an effect on his mind. At least the slightest pressure. But there was none!
'A dream?' the realization suddenly struck him. 'Or a vision?'
The sight he had inherited from the Miraluka confused him even more. There was nothing around... But in a place of such profound concentration of the Great Force, everything should be shining! A blinding light with multiple hues should be forcing him to shield his eyes, but it was absent. Or was there only Darkness all around? Could someone be blocking his senses? But the Force was still clearly perceptible and obeyed him without issue.
The missing lightsabers were alarming. And this changing of identities... Even shapestrangers weren't capable of that.
It must be a vision, induced by someone while Revan was meditating. Which meant he simply needed to break the meditative trance. But first, he ought to find out why he was called here... and by whom.
"Who are you?" the former Jedi repeated his question, simultaneously working on shielding his consciousness. "And why did you call me here?"
"You always sought knowledge, my young Padawan," the fake Kreia smiled. "Always wanted answers to your questions. No matter the cost. Wasn't that yearning what led you to the Star Forge? Didn't it turn you into Darth Revan?"
"Don't try to evade the question," the former Sith demanded. "Answer me!"
A shadow of annoyance flashed across the false-Master's face. But it was almost instantly replaced by a light, condescending smile.
"Me?" the woman laughed. "I am the Herald of the Force! The embodiment of its will!"
Revan slightly arched an eyebrow, surprised by the fake's words. He had least expected this turn of events.
"Over thousands of years, I have changed many names. Once, I was called Ashla," the impostor continued. "Entities like me appear during periods of severe imbalance toward the Light or the Dark, when the Force itself is under serious threat. Like now, for instance."
"Let's assume that's true," Revan answered dryly. "Why are you adopting the appearance of people from my past?"
"To facilitate our contact, naturally," the "Herald" shrugged. "I can become anyone who has merged with the Force."
"Fine," the former Jedi nodded, accepting the strange explanation. "What is this place?"
"You noticed?" the impostor smirked.
"Of course." Revan looked at his hands. "My body is once again as I remember it. It wasn't as noticeable at first, and I didn't immediately realize I was the same height as you. But still. That means we cannot be in the real world. So where are we?"
"This... can be called a vision. A connection established through the Force that brings your mind into my chambers. A place where I am the Force itself."
Revan ground his teeth. What he was hearing did not reassure him at all. The most alarming thing was that he genuinely felt that he had no control over this place. However, the Force still obeyed him. Which meant that whoever this "Herald" truly was, he would be able to fight back.
"And why do you need me?" Revan asked a new question.
"The Force calls out to you and asks for help."
"The Force?"
"Yes," the impostor nodded. "The very existence of the Force is under threat."
"Why should I believe you?"
"You feel it yourself, don't you? The monstrous imbalance? The weakness of the Jedi, the self-destruction of the Republic, the suffering of trillions of sentients! All of this is merely a consequence of the tilt toward one side. Light without Darkness is extinguished!"
As much as he wanted to dismiss these words, there was a grain of truth in them. The galaxy had indeed changed significantly over the millennia. It was as if everything around had suddenly become stale, the air heavy, the stars had lost their brightness, and the citizens of the Republic had suddenly forgotten how to understand each other. The growing number of contradictions, conflicts flaring up here and there. Could this truly be a consequence of disturbances in the Force?
'Quite possible,' the former Jedi thought.
"You know I am right," the "Herald" pressed.
"And what do you want from me?"
"I want you to turn the Galaxy upside down again!" the false-Kreia declared, her eyes flashing maniacally.
"What?"
"Do what you do best — change the world around you! Crush the Republic, resurrect the Empire, pull the dark side from oblivion! Seize the power that is rightfully yours! Become the embodiment of the Force! Restore balance..."
The ancient one couldn't believe his ears. They were demanding... that he side with the Sith? Or even assume the role of the mythical Sith'ari?
"You are insane," Revan replied slowly.
"Kreia" shifted, turning back into Bastila.
"Am I?" she asked in a voice that was painfully familiar. "Am I saying such terrible things?"
Revan remained silent.
"Won't carrying out the will of the Force be a worthy payment for a new life?"
"I didn't ask for it," the former Jedi said in a firm voice.
"But wouldn't you want to get me back too?" Bastila looked up and stared directly into the eyes of the ancient Force-sensitive.
Oh, he would want that more than anything in the world. But he had lived too long not to understand that nothing is given for free. And when you are offered what you need the most... it means it is a trap.
But... some traps can only be escaped by passing right through them.
'While simultaneously carving out the heart of the one who dared to set it!' the ancient Sith Lord roared mentally.
"And where should I begin?" Revan asked, his irises flashing golden.
The impostor beamed with a radiant smile, bestowing a look of adoration upon her chosen one.
For the first time, Bastila caused him repulsion... No, not Bastila. The entity who had no idea the size of the rancor it had just pricked.
"The Republic is rotten to the core, and its citizens are suffering. But resistance will soon emerge. Go to Muuilinst. There you will find your answers."
"And Bastila?"
"She is here," the impostor smiled. "By becoming one with the Force, she became a part of me. And I can return."
The being speaking to Revan clearly had issues with self-identity. One moment it spoke of itself as the Herald, the next it acted as if it were the person whose form it had currently adopted.
"We will be together again," "Bastila" smiled, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
The surroundings began to fill with a whitish mist, blurring the outlines of objects and concealing the interlocutor's figure from view. The last thing Revan managed to notice was the absence of the scar on the impostor's head.
Revan felt something trying to push him away.
Suddenly, his body was gripped by cold. The world around him faded, and somewhere behind him, a voice that was all too familiar, distorted by a prosthesis with a built-in vocabulizer, rang out.
"Surely you weren't planning on leaving without saying hello to me, Revan?"
"Malak," the former Jedi exhaled, turning toward his old nemesis.
In the next moment, he had to drop sharply to his knees, arching backward to let the crimson blade flying toward his head pass above him. Scrambling to his feet, Revan was again forced to dodge an attack. His roll was interrupted by a Force push, which the experienced fighter, however, managed to deflect, absorbing some of the energy for a counter-attack.
Malak took the blast of lightning on his blade, deflecting the stream of crackling death into the wall. Hidden by the flash of his own discharge, Revan barely missed his opponent's sudden lunge. Only Tutaminis saved him, allowing him to turn the blood-red blade aside with his bare hand. Nevertheless, a burn mark was left on his palm.
If this was another illusion or a vision, it was too realistic.
Malak moved fast, faster than Revan remembered. And his movements... the style was familiar, but Alek definitely didn't use this one.
'Another Huttese fake,' the former Jedi cursed mentally.
Fighting without a lightsaber was difficult. He desperately needed a weapon.
And then, during another dash to the side, Revan didn't immediately notice that something had changed. He felt the familiar weight of a lightsaber hilt on his belt! Either he had managed to subject this illusion to his will, or he had broken free of it. That wasn't important to him now. Because now he could truly show his full power.
A streak of a silvery blade, and the sabers clashed with a shriek, forcing the owners into a clinch.
"Finally!" Malak growled. "I thought you were stuck in there forever!"
"What?"
"It wasn't easy to break through to you!" his nemesis laughed hoarsely.
The opponents abruptly separated, breaking contact, and froze in the basic stance of Juyo. And while this was a habitual action for Revan, seeing Darth Malak in this position was unexpected.
The former Jedi again used his Force Sight and looked at his opponent.
"You're not Malak," he concluded. "Who are you then?"
"That doesn't matter now," the latest impostor slowly said. "The only thing that matters is the offer I have."
Revan snorted in response.
"Another offer to raise an army and seize the galaxy? And who are you? Another Herald? What should I call you? Bogan?" he asked mockingly, not lowering his blade, however.
The fake Malak burst out laughing.
"No, I am no Herald of the Force, and certainly not the embodiment of the dark side. But regarding the offer... you're almost right. An army will be needed, that's undeniable. And seizing the galaxy will also be necessary. However, I thought you would help me do it."
"Why would I suddenly help a stranger?"
"Because I, unlike the one who trapped your consciousness in a Force-induced vision, am not going to hide behind fairy tales. I offer an alliance. One that benefits both of us."
"And what's the benefit for me?" Revan asked cautiously, carefully masking the hints of interest in his voice.
"To regain what you have lost," Malak simply replied.
The Force in the hall surged so violently that the impostor staggered, nearly dropping the lightsaber from his hands. This momentary distraction was enough for Revan to close the distance with his opponent and knock the lightsaber hilt from his hands.
"Speak." The former Jedi pressed the blade, shimmering with silvery fire, to Malak's throat.
"Not here, and not now," the nemesis shook his head.
"Where?"
"Dromund Kaas," the impostor replied before dissolving into an insubstantial haze.
"Wait!" Revan tried unsuccessfully to grab his opponent.
A moment later, he opened his eyes and realized he was still sitting in front of the Great Holocron in an empty hall. There were no traces of anyone's presence nearby.
The ancient Force-sensitive slowly rose to his feet and stretched his stiff shoulders.
He still hadn't received answers to many questions. A major game was underway, one that would have at least two leading players. And both wanted to pull Revan to their side. Their identities remained a mystery, but the former Dark Lord had some thoughts on the matter.
One thing he was sure of... THEY WILL PAY FOR USING HER AS A BARGAINING CHIP!!!
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