The cleaning droids didn't care at all that the "trash" their master had ordered to be thrown away had suddenly started showing signs of life. The body was quickly packed into a black bag, along with the wreckage of the bacta tank, and dragged to the incinerator compartment.
The man slowly regained consciousness. His whole body ached unbearably, as if he had danced a waltz with a dozen Terentateks. And those were some nasty fanged creatures! Almost impervious to the Force, it was not every Jedi Master who could handle them alone. He remembered how one of them had badly roughed him up on Kashyyyk once. Only with the serious firepower support of his Mandalorian friend and an assassin droid had the man managed to achieve victory then.
His eyes refused to open, his body barely obeyed, he couldn't move. Something wet chilled his right side. And at the same time, something was clearly pricking him. Some kind of shard.
His thoughts were confused, his consciousness refused to clear. He... actually, who was he? Even this simple question remained unanswered, as his memory was shrouded in a white fog.
It became stuffy. It seemed he was being dragged somewhere... in some kind of sealed container or bag.
A sense of danger loomed at the periphery of his consciousness. All his instincts suddenly screamed about the threat.
He still couldn't move. So, the man who had returned to life decided to resort to the help of his faithful companion – the Force. For some reason, it felt so natural. He himself didn't understand why he suddenly thought of the Force... Although no... he understood... he remembered. He had been trained for many years to use his gift – sensitivity to the great Force. He had known both the Light and the Darkness hidden in this universal energy that surrounded everything. Then... he had lost everything, and years of training began again.
Years of suffering and training had led him to become very good at using the Force for reconnaissance.
The man concentrated and reached out to the energy flows that swirled around, calling them to become his eyes. The Force responded quickly and willingly, as if it had been waiting for this for a long time. And before, he had to concentrate a little harder.
A colorless world burst into his consciousness. Perception through the Force was different from normal vision. Energy flows intertwined with objects around and glowed dimly in the void. Organic matter – slightly brighter, inanimate objects – darker, Force conduits – with a faint glow. It was unusual; he couldn't remember ever being able to see his surroundings so clearly without opening his eyes.
"So the Mirialans saw. A world woven from particles of the great Force," a thought flashed through his mind.
Delight quickly gave way to anxiety. He was indeed being dragged in a bag by two droids.
Hmm. A strange construction, unfamiliar. Not like three-wheeled astromechs or clumsy service droids. Some kind of bucket-shaped... on tracks.
And why was he in a garbage bag? And without clothes! Are they going to throw him away?
"No, that's nonsense. That can't be... probably."
But on the other hand... where was he at all? And who was he?
His memory gradually cleared. Images, like that battle with the Terentatek, flashed more and more often before his eyes. Places, people, ships, planets. Knowledge was returning. There was no name yet among them, but there was an awareness of his capabilities... or at least a part of them.
The first thing to do was to restore his mobility. The man focused on this, directing the Force flows inward, healing the damage. At the same time, he continued to examine his immediate surroundings.
He was being dragged down a corridor. Quite wide. Stone could be felt behind the paneling. So, it wasn't a ship. He was on a planet or some kind of asteroid. Healing didn't allow him to expand his field of "vision" to explore further. He had to be content with a couple of meters around him.
The droids bumped into some kind of door. The man tensed. Through the Force, he clearly felt danger behind this door. But he couldn't do anything yet.
The passage opened. Behind it was a deep shaft that led somewhere down.
"I have a very bad feeling about this," the man thought.
The bag was shoved inside. The depth turned out to be considerable, about thirty meters. At the last moment, the man managed to call on the Force for help and avoid serious injuries. He already had enough of them.
The healing had to be stopped. Assessing the situation was more important now. The feeling of threat still scratched at his skull, making his body pump with adrenaline.
It was empty around. Nothing alive. No droids. A wide room, a conveyor belt in the center. A pile of something soft beneath him and around him. Judging by the color, organic.
He reached out with the Force and immediately broke the connection. Around him were bodies. Dozens of bodies of sentient beings who had been dead for some time. But before death, someone had tortured them well. Wounds, severed limbs, signs of experiments.
He expanded his field of view.
"By the Selkath mother!" a thought flashed through his mind.
It was easy to recognize the mechanisms in the room and guess its purpose. The reinforced walls and ceiling with powerful hydraulic drives left no doubt. This was a preparation chamber... before the incinerator. The moving walls and ceiling were designed to compress the garbage into acceptable compact sizes so that it wouldn't get stuck in the furnace. And the conveyor belt on the floor led directly to the inferno.
Through the Force flows, the man felt the energy levels around rising. The mechanisms were coming to life! He had to get out!
By calling on the Force, he managed to tear the bag open. The stench of half-decomposed corpses immediately hit his nostrils, almost making him lose consciousness. He had to remember the Jedi breathing control techniques to avoid suffocating.
"Hmm... Jedi," this word evoked some kind of response in his injured consciousness.
His eyes, with difficulty, opened. However, there was no point in this. There was no lighting in this garbage bin. The walls had already begun to move slowly. The crunch of bones and the grinding of metal pressed on his consciousness, but the man did not allow himself to be distracted. He was looking for a way out. And he found it. A service hatch on the opposite side from the incineration chamber. It was about seven meters away, but he had no way to move, which greatly complicated his escape. Reaching for the hatch and feeling the Force flows surrounding every molecule of the door, the man who had been dead yesterday pulled it towards him. The hatch was torn off its hinges, opening a path outward. All that remained was to get his body to the opening. But how? Lift himself as he did the door, and carry himself through the air? No, that wouldn't work. The man was sure that it would require too much strength and precision, which he could not achieve now.
A quick glance around through the Force prism suggested a solution.
"This is going to hurt," he thought resignedly, preparing for the impact.
With a Force throw, he nudged a piece of debris on which his bag lay and launched it towards the hatch. He threw it at random and almost hit it. The body flew into the opening without any problems, only hitting the remnants of the hinges hard with his left leg. His shin shot with pain. But his body was already burning as if on fire. So a little more or less didn't make much difference.
The man knew that such service tunnels were rarely checked, and even alarms were not installed on the hatches. So they wouldn't look for him here. And who would look for him? The one who decided to throw him into the incinerator? And who could that be, by the way?
Questions multiplied, and his memory still worked in fragments.
He decided to focus on healing and recovery. He had been lucky now, but he needed to get back on his feet as soon as possible.
A dark presence...
The man's eyes snapped open, and he tried to jump to his feet, but only twitched slightly and fell back to his side. Entering a meditative trance, he clearly felt the presence of a dark side Force adept. And a very strong one. This was definitely a Sith Lord, worthy of the title Darth. Was he a prisoner of the Empire again?
His head began to throb again. His memory returned with difficulty. Flashes of events swept through him again. The Mandalorian mask, Canderous taking over as leader of all Mandalorian clans. The flight on the Ebon Hawk... the pain and emptiness of Nathema.
The man groaned. The memory was too vivid. A desolate world, devoid of even the slightest traces 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 suffocated him. Even through the breathing mask, each breath was difficult. Weakness and fear – that's what the man lying on the floor now felt then.
And all this was the work of one... being. The Emperor did it. The head of the Sith Empire, Vitiate.
Another stream of images. The attack on Nathema's orbit. The Hawk, his ship, was shot down. The man himself was captured.
Darth Nihilus... this woman was very ambitious and cruel. But at the same time, stupid and blinded by the lust for power... like almost all Sith. After all, she didn't notice how her prisoner managed to gain the trust of her apprentice, Lord Scourge. Even while under the influence of powerful sedatives, the Force-gifted prisoner managed to instill the right thoughts into his overseer's mind.
He was saved. The apprentice went against his master. But he didn't free the prisoner imprisoned in the citadel by Nihilus alone. An old friend came to his aid... a combat comrade, a fellow soldier, and, to some extent, a student.
Mithra.
Yes, her appearance struck fear into Scourge. For the first time, he saw a Jedi Master and was amazed by her power. Under the influence of the false thoughts instilled by the prisoner, the Sith decided not to fight the girl, but to enlist her support. Together, they went to Nihilus's stronghold.
Simultaneously, Imperial Guards attacked the building. Nihilus was planning to overthrow the Emperor, which, of course, did not please the latter. Her apprentice kindly shared rumors and evidence.
The surprise and relief the prisoner felt when he saw his old acquaintance could not be described in words. Even under the influence of drugs, he understood that he was saved.
The picture changed again. The man lay in his cell, gathering his strength. Outside stood Mithra and Scourge. And against them, laughing, advanced Darth Nihilus. The prisoner stood up, putting on his mask, which had become his second face over years of war with the Mandalorians. With a confident gait, he walked out of the cell.
Nihilus unleashed a Force lightning at him with such power that it would have incinerated any mortal alive. But not him. After all, he knew perfectly well who he was and what he was capable of. The lightning was intercepted with bare hands. Yes, he was well versed in Tutaminis techniques and could absorb or redirect energy flows.
"I am Revan the Returned! And before me, you are nothing!" the man proclaimed loudly, sending a deadly stream of dark energy back towards the Sith.
Brought back to life, he awoke from a flood of memories. He remembered who he was. He was Revan… a fallen Jedi Knight, a Sith Lord who returned to the light, a Master of the Jedi Order. A hero, a liberator… a villain, a conqueror… All these titles were rightfully his. His memory had awakened, and the consciousness of one of the most powerful gifted individuals of his time had risen from oblivion.
Again, the sensation of a dark presence.
"Pull yourself together, Revan. We need to get out of here," the man gritted out through his teeth.
His memory still had huge gaps, but he remembered the most important things. 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.
He could barely move. It wasn't enough even to stand up. It was as if the nervous system in his body was severely damaged, and signals from his brain simply weren't reaching.
Concealing his presence in the Force, just in case, the man focused on healing, entering a deep trance.
The Force was truly a multifaceted phenomenon. With its help, even the most terrible wounds could be healed. The main thing was that life had not yet completely left the body.
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 so severely damaged his organism. It was as if he had been tortured with Force lightning, simultaneously pumped with some kind of poison. He had only observed such a state of cells in the dead, who had left this world a few days ago but were unable to merge with the Force.
He couldn't have… no, that was nonsense. The man dismissed foolish thoughts of his own death and resurrection.
Suddenly, on the edge of his consciousness, he felt danger. A pair of patrol droids were 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 regained partial mobility. However, it wasn't enough for a fight.
The Light Side of the Force could not help its wounded adept now. There was simply no time. But wasn't there another side? The former Sith Lord searched his damaged memory for suitable Force techniques.
Only Dark Fury could save him now. A Sith technique where anger, pain, and fear were used to enhance one's body, transforming into pure strength and power, albeit with a dark hue. Yes, it wouldn't heal the wounds, but it would allow him to ignore them. It would be worse later, even fatal, but he had no choice. Either this, or certain death.
A thought flashed through his mind to use the light analogue of this technique – Force Valor. But that required completely suppressing emotions, which was not easy to do amidst the terrible 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 gritted out through his teeth.
The pain caused anger and fear for his life. They began to rise within his consciousness like a wave. Focusing on these emotions, he amplified them to the limit. Fear for his life turned into anger. Pain fueled malice. It was very easy to get angry.
"Through passion, I gain strength!" the former Sith Lord gritted out, rising to one knee.
His body filled with strength. Moving became easier. His mind began to be consumed by anger, gradually growing into rage.
"With strength comes power!" the man, now standing at full height, panted, slowly raising his hands to chest level.
Darkness was already swirling around his fists, twisting into spirals and gathering power. The Dark Side had heard his call, felt the anger and darkness he was gathering in his soul. The Force permeated his every cell.
A pair of droids emerged from around the corner just then. Seeing a stranger, they instantly raised their blasters.
"Power will bring me victory!" Revan roared.
A stream of blue and purple lightning with black glints erupted from his hands. The might of the dark side crashed down on the metallic soldiers like a deadly avalanche. Their circuits instantly short-circuited, their electronic components burned out, leaving the poor droids no chance against a Force adept. Two melted, armored bodies crashed to the floor.
"With victory, my chains are broken," Revan exhaled wearily. "The Force will set me free."
The words of the Sith Code helped him quickly tune into the right emotions. Now, his wounded body was fueled by the dark side. Wild and untamed, and infinitely dangerous to the weak-spirited. It beckoned and suppressed. The ease, the strength that the Dark Side offered, coupled with the… pleasure that the use of dark techniques brought… the growing thirst for more… like a drug. Yes, the Dark Side intoxicates and subjugates. Only those 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 there are fewer and fewer of them.
Revan shook his head, clearing his mind and driving away unnecessary thoughts. It was easy to feed the darkness with his anger. This emotion arose very quickly and easily in his consciousness. After all, he was a prisoner, about to be burned like trash. What reason for anger could be better than that?
He had to get out of here. If a patrol came, others would follow. Besides, only a complete idiot wouldn't notice such a surge of Force. And the one Revan had sensed earlier was clearly not an idiot.
He would heal with the Light Side later. For now, he had to run. And quickly, while the Dark Fury still fueled 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 formed his intentions clearly. Now, his desire was clearer than ever – to escape to a safe place.
Weaving through corridors and climbing service shafts, the former Sith Lord encountered droids several more times. But they couldn't do anything against him. He destroyed two with a Force push, literally slamming them into the wall. He blew up another with a short burst of Force lightning. He was already starting to run out of steam, and he had to conserve his strength.
Thanks to his ability to foresee danger, Revan managed to avoid encounters with serious opponents or large squads.
After a quarter of an hour of rapid running and playing hide-and-seek with the guards, the Jedi was already emerging from a service duct into a hangar. Two ships stood on the landing pad. Revan was unfamiliar with their configuration. Externally, he had initially mistaken them for heavily modified NR-2s or even a Renadaran strike ship, but upon closer inspection, he dismissed the thought. And what difference did it make! As long as it flew. The fallen knight himself was a pretty good pilot. He had won swoop bike races more than once in the past.
There was no guard around. This seemed strange, but all his senses were silent. He felt no threat. The hangar gates were open. Either the owner of this place didn't expect an attack, or this was all a big, elaborate trap.
Darting quickly, hiding behind cargo containers, Revan reached the lowered ramp and flew inside the ship.
The shuttle was small. The command bridge was immediately behind the passenger compartment bulkhead. It was clearly not designed for long-haul flights, but he had no choice.
The cockpit was designed for a crew of two and possibly a droid, judging by the connection port between the seats. The instruments were familiar, but somehow strange. A quick inspection led to disappointing results. Revan couldn't hide on this ship.
No, theoretically, he could pilot it, but the navigation computer was blocked by the owner's authorization code. And without it, there was no point in flying. He couldn't jump into hyperspace, nor even understand his current location.
Voices could be heard from outside. Someone was approaching.
Without thinking, Revan ran 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, presumably, boarded. They rolled a couple of crates into the cargo hold. The Jedi had to use a mild Force influence to conceal his presence. His condition was worsening. The combat trance and Dark Fury were fading. The pain was returning, and his head began to spin.
Fortunately, the owners didn't linger. Closing the cargo hold doors, they went into the cabin. A few minutes later, the hum of engines could be heard, and a slight vibration ran through the hull, indicating they had taken off.
Revan exhaled with relief. He had gotten out of there.
At that moment, the backlash from using the Dark Side technique caught up with him. His consciousness plunged into darkness, and the Jedi himself fell out of his niche onto the floor, right behind the crates brought on board.
" *Outsider!* " After years of interacting with astromechs, Revan had learned to understand binary language perfectly, so he perfectly understood the little droid's squeak.
His consciousness slowly returned. The Force had not let him die and had even healed some of his wounds during his unconsciousness. The pain was no longer as severe, and he could move, albeit with difficulty.
Before Revan could realize that the astromech had discovered him, it had sped off for reinforcements. He had no strength to resist. And using Dark techniques again in this state would be suicide… or a direct path to the abyss of madness.
A few minutes later, the former Jedi Master sat in the cargo hold, under the blasters of the ship's owners – a Rodian and a human.
The alien looked at him intently with its multifaceted insect eyes, constantly fiddling with the trigger of its blaster. His partner, dressed in light duraplast armor, thoughtfully scratched his chin.
"And what are we going to do with you?" he asked, as if to the void.
The human was clearly the leader of the pair.
"Let's kill him, and be done with it!" the Rodian suggested.
"First, let's find out who he is and what he's doing here."
Revan sat on the floor, leaning his back against the crates, and shifted his gaze from one of the ship's owners to the other. He tried to imagine how he looked from the outside… Beaten, dirty, and after the garbage pit, smelly too. And on top of that, naked.
"Hey, you, are you talking?" the human approached and sat down opposite the Jedi.
Revan nodded.
"Who are you? And how did you get here?"
Finding himself a prisoner again, the former Sith Lord quickly ran through possible scenarios in his mind.
Two opponents with weapons. He himself was weak, hungry, beaten, and completely unprepared for a serious fight. Even to stay conscious, he had to constantly fill his cells with pure Force energy. Revan managed to push the Darkness away from his consciousness to maintain clarity of thought. But the Dark Side still tried to regain control of its former adept. From the very edge of his consciousness, it still reached for the Jedi's thoughts, sending him images of revenge against those who had captured him.
The silence stretched. He had to answer something. However, Revan couldn't decide how to behave. These two were clearly somehow connected to the one who wanted to burn him. If he said he had escaped from the place where they were unloading, wouldn't they send him back? But there were no other options. Everything else would be too implausible. There was an empty ship, and after visiting that strange place, a passenger appeared. Coincidences don't happen.
"Fugitive," Revan replied.
"Wow. A fugitive, you say? A slave, perhaps? Escaped from those guys on the asteroid?" the man in armor drawled, scratching his sparse beard.
An asteroid? So, that's where they had kept him?
The mind of an experienced commander quickly processed the new information and looked for a way out. They took him for a runaway slave. And these guys were clearly not clean. Smugglers, most likely, or even involved in slave trading themselves. So, profit was paramount. Their first thoughts would be to return him for a reward or resell him.
"We should return him to his master. Whoever lives on that asteroid always pays well," the Rodian suggested.
" 'So, the first option has been voiced,' " Revan thought.
"My master wanted to get rid of me. I was no longer needed, but I didn't want to burn with the trash," the former Sith skillfully portrayed fear with a slight touch of hysteria on his face.
The image of a slave was very convincing.
"So, no one is looking for you?" the Rodian chuckled.
Strange waves of madness emanated from him, which Revan clearly sensed through the Force. The alien was a sadist. And now he had an ownerless toy in his hands.
" *Damn, I need to get out of this,* " the Jedi thought, and focused on the consciousness of the second adversary.
"You could earn a good profit by reselling me to another master," the prisoner said clearly, looking into the eyes of the man in armor.
The latter's gaze became hazy for a moment.
"Listen, we could make a good profit reselling him to a new master," he said, addressing his partner.
The other just shrugged. He was disappointed by the offer. After all, he wouldn't get to play with this slave now. But he wasn't going to quarrel with his friend. He feared him.
"As you say, Onaka. Where should we take him? Vergeso or Tatooine? There's always demand there and no extra questions," the Rodian suggested.
"Hmm, they don't pay much there. But it's twice as long to Nar Shaddaa, and I still have too many unresolved issues with the Hutts there," the one called Onaka stood up and walked to the wall. "If I have to choose between Tatooine and the Vergeso asteroids, then Tatooine is better. Slaves die like flies for mining companies. They buy them by the hundreds, so we won't get much money. But some private client on this dusty ball will definitely pay a hefty sum."
Revan was pleased with the result. The slave collar wouldn't hold him if he wanted to escape. At the same time, he would be delivered to at least some planet, and they would try not to damage the goods. And the journey time should be enough to heal and gain strength.
"So, are we taking him to Tatooine?" the Rodian asked, already lowering his weapon.
"Yes, Gluutor, make the route changes," Onaka ordered, then turned to the droid, "R2-E4, bring one of the collars and a spare mechanic's jumpsuit."
The subordinates left to carry out the orders.
"And don't try anything funny, you weakling," the man in armor said dryly, patting the blaster hanging on his hip.
Revan nodded, still playing the role of a frightened and weak slave.
Sitting on the cargo hold floor, Revan was immersed in a meditative trance, trying to piece together his memories. It was difficult. Fragments of memory were mixed up. Different periods of his life were confused. He had to exert immense effort to accurately reconstruct events. And the fact that there were at least three episodes in his memory where Revan had died with 100% certainty did not make the task any easier.
"Bastila!" the Jedi almost fell out of his trance from the surge of emotions when the image of a dark-haired woman with a lightsaber staff in her hands flashed in his memory.
He loved this woman. Loved her more than life itself. And he was ready to do anything to protect her.
Pain squeezed his chest like a vise. He had left her… alone with a child.
"Oh, Force… what have I done!" a devastated Revan clutched his head.
He tried to understand what had driven him to that act. Why had he decided that the safety of the galaxy was more important? He had comforted himself then by saying 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 had even left Canderous behind! And told no one! What was he thinking?!
Because of vague memories of a phantom threat, he had left his wife and child to their fate! Under the nose of the Order, which had a grudge against him! In a galaxy where a new war was brewing… And now… what had become of them?
The memory of meeting Mical Surik flashed. His old friend told him that he had a son – Vaner Shan.
Revan hit the wall hard with the back of his head. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
"Forgive me…" he whispered, without stopping.
Memories engulfed his consciousness again. Scenes of battle with the Emperor flashed before his eyes. The Jedi had lost… The Emperor had done something to him. The memories that followed were fragmented. Imprisonment, the constant presence of the Emperor's consciousness. Mitra's ghost, escape, the droid factory, and another of the Shan lineage… his great-great-granddaughter or even more distant descendant. A descendant of him and Bastila – the Grand Master of the Jedi Order, Satele Shan. She and her companions helped Revan finally find peace.
He hit the wall with the back of his head again. Bastila and his son were dead… many years ago. And the Emperor had still attacked the Republic. It turned out that Revan had lost on all fronts, and his departure had not benefited anyone.
But still, what had driven him to this expedition? After all, as an experienced commander, he perfectly understood that one should not rush into hell without reconnaissance and support! Or did he not understand?
In his memory, the moment when he was freed by Mitra and Scorch in the dungeons of Nyriss flashed again. Surik returned his mask, which Bastila had given him. Contact with the artifact, imbued 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 return him to who he was before his fall into darkness and Malak's betrayal.
"Damn Jedi Council!"
Revan found the reason for his behavior. These were the remnants of the suggestion made by the Jedi Masters, creating a new personality for the imprisoned Dark Lord. Distorting the consciousness of the barely alive Sith, the Jedi Council created the ideal soldier of light. Loyal to the ideals of the Order and unconditionally subordinate to them. And although Revan's personality was able to make some adjustments to the behavior of his new ego, the influence of Jedi philosophy took its toll. And at the most unfortunate moment. Of course, he preferred the fate of the galaxy to his family! And he went alone with the air of a hero! And he felt that it was a mistake! But he did nothing… Now, all that remained was regret.
Revan wiped away his tears.
"At least I know they lived long and happy lives," he tried to comfort himself.
It didn't help.
He managed to suppress his hatred for the Jedi Council only by constantly repeating the same thought – they were long dead.
"I hope you didn't manage to merge with the Force and are now getting a severe case of hiccups in the abyss of oblivion," he gritted out through his teeth.
He had to repeat the Jedi Code several times and go into deep meditation to suppress the rage that flared up in his soul.
For the next few days, Revan spent in meditation. The ship's owners didn't care about their cargo, so no one bothered him. Once a day, he was brought some water and food, and taken to the toilet. Otherwise, the cargo hold became his temporary prison cell.
Meditation helped to clear his mind. Revan clearly understood who he was. The influence of the Jedi Council and the Emperor was a thing of the past. And the former dark lord discovered an interesting thing. There was as much Light in his soul as there was Darkness. It was as if he himself had become the point of balance of the Great Force. He could reproduce techniques of both the Dark and Light Sides with equal ease. He still had to remain vigilant so as not to succumb to the temptation of the boundless power of Darkness, but, to Revan's surprise, it was much easier to do so than in his past life. Perhaps the reason was that, unlike most Jedi, he did not suppress all emotions, but merely tilted the scales of his mind in one direction or the other. Love, courage, friendship – facilitated contact with the Light, driving away anger and fear. And conversely, by focusing only a little on the hidden malice in his soul, Revan made the Light retreat, attracting the Dark Side.
Along with meditation, Revan also tried to understand where he had ended up… and how much time had passed.
From overheard conversations, he understood that the ship belonged to smugglers. Where they were heading, he also knew – the slave market in Mos Eisley, Tatooine.
It was worse with the date and time. When he asked the smugglers questions, they stopped answering as soon as they put the slave collar on him. He had become merchandise. The droid also ignored him. He could only hope to get information later.
The next day, something happened that plunged Revan into a state of shock.
When his temporary owners brought another portion of water and food, the prisoner accidentally knocked over the glass and spilled the precious liquid. But it wasn't the lost water that shocked him, but what he saw reflected on the surface of the small puddle.
"Who is this?" Revan asked into the void, feeling his unfamiliar face.
The person in the reflection, though similar to him, was only remotely so. It was not Revan. Dark, short-cropped hair, eyes, if it wasn't a trick of light and reflection, were green, a slightly upturned nose.
The prisoner examined his hands, then felt his entire body, trying to find differences from what he remembered. Yes, his body felt different. Revan had previously attributed this to his long imprisonment, thinness, and exhaustion. However, now he began to consider another, more terrible option.
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 looked the same as in his memories. Probably because the Force reflected not the shell, but the essence.
Now it became clear why his body obeyed him so poorly. And the constant weakness. He hadn't even noticed at first that the body looked smaller not because of exhaustion. He was simply younger! The body was just going through adolescent changes.
"Well… about 15-16 years old, no more," Revan estimated his age.
The Jedi leaned his forehead against the wall. Then he leaned back slightly and lightly bumped his head.
"A child again," the former Sith exhaled resignedly, anticipating the adolescent problems that had plagued him in his "past" life.
Another bump of his forehead against the wall.
"Hormones, emotional turmoil, difficulty controlling the Force. A growing body, a shift in balance and center of gravity… there will be problems with fencing."
Another bump.
"I need to stop, or I'll knock my memory out again," Revan gritted out, nervously chuckling and rubbing his forehead.
The journey to Tatooine took another day. Having no idea about the type and class of hyperdrive on this ship, Revan couldn't even imagine which sector he had been taken from. However, he planned to resolve this issue before landing. Playing the slave no longer made sense. His body had recovered enough to fight back against two armed sentient beings, even without the help of the Dark Side.
When exiting hyperspace, the former Jedi had already removed the slave collar. It turned out to be quite simple. A short Force impulse precisely at the lock was enough. According to Revan's plan, the coup on the ship was supposed to happen as soon as the droid brought another portion of water and food. According to the smugglers, the prisoner was to be fed before landing, so that a hungry look wouldn't scare off potential clients at the slave market.
While waiting for the droid's arrival, the former Jedi prepared for a swift takeover of the ship. The Force permeated his body, nourished his muscles, and strengthened his bones. This was how Force Valor, one of the fundamental Jedi techniques, worked. Revan's emotions were under complete control; he was calm and full of determination.
As soon as the cargo bay door opened, the former Jedi sent a powerful Force push directly at the poor astromech droid. The small bot's chassis couldn't withstand it and exploded into pieces, showering the corridor with a heap of spare parts. Accelerating slightly, Revan burst out of his makeshift cell and headed for the bridge.
The noise from the droid's destruction startled two smugglers. They hastily grabbed their weapons. But the Force adept was faster. Bursting into the cockpit, he knocked out the Rodian with one blow. Then he dodged a human's shot, intercepted his hand with the blaster, and tripped him with a blow to the knee.
"Ah, you bantha fodder!" Onaka snarled in response.
Revan answered this address with a quick blow to the left kidney area.
"Be more polite."
"Go to hell!"
Two more blows and the crunch of a broken wrist quieted the zealous criminal.
Revan picked up the blaster he had just snatched from Onaka's hands. He flipped his prisoner over and began the interrogation.
"Who's in charge at the base where you picked me up?" he asked, aiming the blaster at the smuggler's head.
"I don't know," the man replied through gritted teeth.
"What if you think about it?"
"Go to hell!"
The former Jedi exhaled in disappointment. Then he looked into the prisoner's eyes and directed a stream of Force energy into his mind.
"You will answer my questions," he accompanied his words with a slight gesture of his hand.
"I... will..." Onaka began uncertainly, but then snapped back, "No! What the hell?"
Revan cursed. His interlocutor had much more willpower than he had anticipated. Last time, he had only nudged him slightly 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, without turning around, commanded, "Sleep!" and accompanied the order with a mental blow of pure energy that instantly shut down the alien's consciousness.
"I don't advise making me angry. Who owns that place?" Revan repeated the question.
Onaka spat at his feet.
The former Dark Lord calmly aimed the blaster at the prisoner's knee and pulled the trigger.
A scream of pain echoed through the ship. The interrogation continued.