The transition from the absolute, crystalline silence of Ilum back to the gritty, neon-bleeding entropy of Coruscant's Sub-level 1313 was a localized sensory whiplash that Revan Shan met with a high-collared academic coat, a fresh pouch of blue-milk-latte pods, and a very particular brand of 11th-Doctor-esque manic energy. As 67 BBY continued its rhythmic march through the galactic timeline, the Maverick Master found himself focused on a singular variable: the physical and metaphysical evolution of his Padawan, Jaro Tapal.
Revan sat in a reclaimed command chair in the center of the penthouse lounge. Calculus was currently batting at the shimmering cyan emitter of Revan's Sonic Screwdriver, while Theorem, the sleeker juvenile, was perched on Jaro's shoulder, supervising the Lasat as he worked at a high-tech assembly bench.
"You see, Jaro," Revan murmured, his voice a dry, rhythmic rasp. "According to my 4th Doctorate in Advanced Engineering, geometry is the ultimate arbiter of survival. You're seventeen. You have the reach of a small crane and the strength of a tectonic plate. A single-bladed saber is statistically magnificent for a human, but for you? It's a localized limitation. It's like using a toothpick to defend a fortress."
Jaro Tapal, now standing nearly seven feet tall, looked at the two Kyber crystals resting on the bench. One was his original green crystal; the second was a fresh, pulsing twin he had harvested from the deep frost-veins of Ilum just weeks prior. "Two is better than one, Master. You've always said that redundancy is the soul of kindness."
"Exactly!" Revan chirped, popping a lemon candy. "Keep the original on your belt. If the first fails, or you need a backup variable in an emergency, it's there. But the new one? That goes into the Saberstaff. A double-helix of blue light to match your Lasat physiology. Try to be nice to the hilt, Jaro. It has to handle your grip strength without shearing its internal oscillators."
The Architecture of the Saberstaff
Revan assisted Jaro using Mechu-deru, allowing the Padawan to "feel" the microscopic alignment of the Phrik and Beskar alloy casing. They didn't just build a weapon; they audited a masterpiece of kinetic balance. The hilt was massive, nearly three times the length of a standard Jedi hilt, designed to be used with the wide, crushing arcs of Form V Djem So and the sweeping, Force-integrated rotations of Form VI Niman.
"Perfect," Revan noted as Jaro ignited both ends. The hum was deep, vibrating the floorboards of the penthouse. "Statistical perfection. Now, put it away. We have an appointment with a few variables who don't like you very much."
The Triple-Droid Audit: Level 10 Protocol
Back in the primary training salle of the 1313 penthouse, Revan ramped up the pressure. He activated three Mark IV Sith Training Droids, each finished in a matte-black Beskar-Phrik weave, and slaved them to a coordinated attack algorithm.
"Today's audit: Cohesive Flow," Revan commanded. "Jaro, center stage! Three droids, ten Ahsoka Protocol remotes. I want a 360-degree Force Barrier and constant Tutaminis absorption. If you get hit, the kittens don't get their treats, and according to my heart, that would be a localized tragedy."
Jaro ignited the Saberstaff, the green light reflecting in his focused purple eyes.
> The Integrated Defense-Offense Variable (\Omega_{ido}):
> By his internal audit, Jaro Tapal became a whirlwind of blue geometry. He utilized the extra length of the Saberstaff to catch the strikes of two droids simultaneously, while his left hand snapped out in a Tutaminis palm-block to catch a bolt from a remote, channeling that energy directly into a Force Repulse that sent the third droid flying into the reinforced wall.
>
"Brilliant!" Revan cheered, sassing a remote by clicking his Sonic Screwdriver to temporarily reverse its polarity. "But your footwork is 4% too heavy on the pivot, Jaro! Minimize the effort! Think Form II Makashi! Efficiency is the only thing that beats entropy!"
Rooftop Tag: The Under-city Sabbatical
By mid-year, the monotony of the training salle began to weigh on the Lasat's rhythmic patience. Sensing the need for "Dynamic Auditing," Revan led Jaro out of the penthouse and onto the staggering, mile-high rooftops of Sub-level 1313.
"Right then," Revan grinned, his 11th-Doctor-spark flaring. "New game. It's called 'The Auditor's Tag.' Rules are simple: I'm the variable, you're the audit. Use Force Enhance for everything. Parkour is mandatory. If your feet touch the duracrete of the main walkways, you lose. If you use a ladder, you lose. I want you to integrate Form IV Ataru acrobatics with Form II Makashi precision footwork while we move."
Revan took off with a rhythmic burst of speed, leaping from a localized ventilation pipe to a hanging neon sign for "Dex's Sub-Level Diner." He moved with the fluid, gravity-defying grace of a man who viewed physics as a polite suggestion.
"Catch me if you can, Jaro!" Revan laughed, backflipping over a passing air-taxi. "According to my 1st Doctorate in Theoretical Physics, your momentum is currently working against your trajectory! Adjust the variable!"
Jaro lunged after him, his massive frame a blur of purple fur and Force-enhanced power. He used his massive hands to swing from support struts, utilizing Force Grip to anchor himself to sheer walls before snapping forward. It was a masterpiece of "Maverick Parkour." They spent hours chasing each other through the smog-choked canyons of 1313, sassing the local street gangs and confusing the security droids.
"This," Jaro panted as they finally stopped on a high-altitude cooling tower, "is significantly more exhausting than the droids, Master."
"That's because the droids have logic, Jaro," Revan replied wittily, not even breaking a sweat. "The city doesn't. To survive the galaxy, you have to be able to dance in the chaos without tripping over your own robes."
The Professor's Lecture: The Survivor's Toolkit
The evenings were reserved for the "Sovereign Curriculum." Revan didn't just teach Jaro how to fight; he taught him how to be.
"Today's lecture: Galactic Logistics and Cross-Sector Resource Management," Revan noted, projecting a holographic map of the Corellian Run. "If you're stranded without the Black Pearl, Jaro, you need to know which syndicates run which routes and how to slice a credit-vault without leaving a rhythmic footprint. According to my 3rd Doctorate in Sentient Sociology, people are only as 'good' as their supply lines. You audit the supply lines, you control the outcome."
He taught Jaro:
* Starship Anatomy: How to bypass a Class 0.5 hyperdrive motivator using a piece of wire and a localized Force-whisper.
* Kyber-Quantum informatics: How to detect a Sith-encrypted signal by the "oily" stutter in the sub-space frequency.
* Xenobiology: Which flora on worlds like Tatooine can be processed into emergency stim-packs.
"I'm teaching you this," Revan said, his voice softening into the 12th Doctor's weary kindness, "because one day, the Order might not be there to balance the books for you. And according to my heart, a Jedi who can't fix his own problems is just a localized tragedy waiting to happen."
The Sovereign's Nap: End of 67 BBY
The year concluded with the Black Pearl ghosting through the upper-city skylines of Coruscant. Revan was slumped in his Sovereign's Command Chair, which was currently reclined at a forty-two-degree "Geometry Contemplation" angle. Calculus was purring on his lap, and the juvenile Theorem was asleep on Jaro's shoulder.
Jaro sat nearby, meticulously polishing the emitter of his new Saberstaff. The original saber hung faithfully at his side—a rhythmic backup for a future that was becoming increasingly untidy.
"Status, Cortana," Revan whispered.
"Jaro's physical proficiency with the Saberstaff is at 88%. His academic scores are at a PhD level for Engineering," Cortana reported. "The 3 Billion credits are stable. And I've flagged a localized report from Naboo: Sheev Palpatine has just been accepted as a full legislative aide. The shadow is officially in the room."
"Legislative aide," Revan yawned, the chair reclining to the Calculated Nap Angle of 134.5 degrees. "Adventure is the journey, D6. And 67 BBY was a masterpiece of Lasat geometry and rooftop tag. Try to be nice, 66 BBY. I have a feeling the audit is about to get a lot more political."
He closed his eyes. The Maverick was eighty-three, his Padawan was a mountain of blue light and academic brilliance, and the galaxy continued its slow, binary drift. But in the heart of a black freighter, the books were balanced, the cats were warm, and the future was being built—one parkour leap and one Saberstaff rotation at a time.