When Anakin Skywalker learned he could become a Jedi, he clearly expected something different. At least, when Revan met the young Padawan on the evening of his first day of training, the boy's expression was far from joyful.
The former Jedi smirked, assessing the battered and exhausted look of his pupil. First, HK had gone a bit overboard demonstrating blaster use, and then Maul, apparently, had forgotten that Anakin couldn't yet fortify his body with the Force. The boy, unaccustomed to prolonged physical exertion, had been driven into the ground. And that was only the warm-up.
And it was a good thing.
"At least the maniacal gleam and the thirst for power have faded from his gaze," Revan noted mentally. "A desire for knowledge is good, but obsession with it leads to ruin. Even if the initial intentions were noble."
When the former Jedi first met Skywalker, he immediately recognized his potential... and the danger accompanying it. The image of the terrifying cyborg in black armor was still fresh in his memory. The boy had a clear predisposition to the Dark Side. Perhaps not from birth, but it was there. His environment and the harsh life of a slave could be to blame. Nevertheless, the fact remained. Training the child had to be done cautiously.
It might seem that HK's and Maul's actions would only push Skywalker toward the Darkness? But this was necessary.
Anakin had already tasted his own exceptionalism. Who else his age could boast of taking part in a real planetary battle and destroying an entire orbital station, securing victory for his allies? All that, plus the special treatment from the Jedi.
Vanity is the weakness of all who lean toward the Dark Side. Skywalker had savored the poison of fame, and he liked it. The deceptive feeling of superiority was inflated by the Darkness to unimaginable heights. Yesterday's slave from Tatooine spoke as an equal with the Queen of Naboo, felt no remorse for killing tens, if not hundreds, of sentients aboard the Trade Federation ship, and dared to argue with his instructors. He already saw himself as a famous protector of the galaxy, a crusader against slavers and criminals of all stripes. This could all end very badly in the future. History held many tragic examples... And Revan could say with certainty that his own name was definitely on that list... as were the names of all the Revanchists.
The door to the cargo bay, designated for training, opened with a low hiss, interrupting the former Jedi's reflections on the past.
Anakin shuffled into the room, rubbing his sleepy eyes. The Padawan looked utterly disheveled. His wrinkled clothes made it clear he'd decided to sleep in them, and the dark bags under his eyes showed he hadn't succeeded in getting rest. The picture was completed by his messy hair, which barely covered a few scrapes and a large bump on his forehead.
"G-g-g-g-good morning, Master," Skywalker greeted his instructor, struggling unsuccessfully against a wide yawn.
"Good morning, Padawan," Revan nodded in reply. "Sleep poorly?"
"Uh-huh. My whole body aches after yesterday's training…"
"This is only the beginning, Anakin," the ancient one said instructively. "The Path of the Force demands much, and any success can only be achieved through hard work, training, and constantly pushing your own limits. There is no other way."
The boy groaned audibly.
"Now, now," the instructor chuckled. "Cheer up. With me, you will study Force techniques, as well as the art of lightsaber combat."
"Really?" the boy instantly perked up.
"Of course," Revan nodded. "Remember this: an instructor never lies to his student."
The former Jedi neglected to mention that after his training, Skywalker would probably be saying goodbye to sleep entirely. After all, the physical strain from lightsaber exercises was no less than from the sessions with Maul. And after awakening his ability to perceive his surroundings using the Force, headaches would become the Padawan's constant companion for several months.
Revan vividly remembered his own training. This part of his biography was firmly rooted in his memory, unlike the details of his personal life. He remembered how difficult the beginning had been for him. Despite his instructors' reassurances of his talent, Revan himself attributed his successes more to perseverance and a thirst for knowledge. Though, he couldn't completely deny his own abilities either. After all, he saw clearly that most Force techniques, after detailed study, came to him on the first try, while his peers spent months achieving the same results.
"And will I soon be able to push enemies away with a single gesture, like you and Qui-Gon do?" the boy rattled off, interrupting his instructor's nostalgic thoughts. "And will I get a lightsaber soon?"
Revan motioned for his student to be silent.
"Patience, Padawan," the instructor frowned. "All in good time. Learning to interact with the Force is very dangerous and brooks no haste. Therefore, we will start with the basics. As for the lightsaber, you will construct it yourself when I decide you are ready."
"And I'm not ready yet?"
"If you were ready, you wouldn't need to ask," Revan shook his head. "Think about it: should one give a dangerous weapon, which is essentially an uncovered, constantly circulating plasma arc, into the hands of anyone without even basic fencing skills? One wrong move and you could lose a limb, or even your head."
The boy wanted to object, proudly declaring that he knew how to handle a weapon! But the aching pain throughout his body reminded him of HK's lessons and warned him against making any grand statements.
Revan smirked, reading all of his student's thoughts from his expression.
"Anakin, a lightsaber blade severs flesh and bone without the slightest resistance," the Master explained the danger. "And the very first attempt to practice a combat sequence could cost you a leg. This is not a game."
"But I saw other children training with lightsabers in the Temple!" Skywalker protested.
"Yes, I saw that too," Revan agreed. "A very foolish decision, in my opinion."
"What? Why?" the boy didn't understand.
"During my training, Younglings used weighted durasteel blades to practice basic fencing techniques."
"And how is that better?"
"In almost every way," the former Jedi grinned, and seeing his student looked confused, he explained, "Before you begin training with a lightsaber, whose behavior is very different from its ancient ancestor, you should learn to handle a more classical weapon—the durasteel blade. This gives a clearer idea of how a sword should behave in the hands of a swordsman and what you should strive for."
Still seeing no understanding in the Padawan's eyes, Revan continued:
"A lightsaber's weight is concentrated in the hilt, which complicates its handling and makes it difficult to perform classical sequences based on blade rotation and using the blade's momentum. It is very hard to explain to a novice how the blade should move during a strike when the blade is constantly trying to twist out of their grip."
"I think I understand…" Anakin slowly replied.
"When you stop thinking you understand, we can begin training," Revan commented dryly and started explaining again: "Using classical durasteel swords for training reduces the risk of the Padawan getting injured during the learning process. That's one thing. Secondly, the weighted blade provides the necessary strain on the hands, allowing you to train your wrists, preparing the student for sparring."
"But you can spar with lightsabers, too, can't you?" Skywalker interjected.
"Undoubtedly," the instructor nodded. "Just keep in mind that even a friendly spar is vastly different from simply swinging a lightsaber during strike practice."
"How so?"
Revan removed one of his lightsaber cylinders from his belt and handed it to the Padawan.
"Take it, but do not activate it."
"I don't even know how," the child sulked.
"Assess the weight."
The boy weighed the hilt in his palm.
"Well, a kilo and a half…"
"Closer to two," the instructor nodded, taking the weapon back. "A sword usually weighs between nine hundred grams and two and a half kilograms, depending on the material and construction. Double-bladed and other atypical variants, of course, have a greater weight." The boy nodded, taking the information in. "It seems the weight is negligible." The former Jedi tossed the sword cylinder into the air and deftly caught it mid-flight. "However, you must remember that even when performing a glancing block, your hands will have to contend with the force of your opponent's strike, be it a blade or a blaster bolt, and that can be several dozen kilograms of force. Yes, in combat, Force-sensitives use the Force to strengthen their bodies, but your opponent may possess the same abilities. And then the force of the strike will increase manifold. Maintaining concentration in combat is quite difficult, and your opponent won't give you time to catch your breath. You cannot imagine how often I've seen a Jedi Knight's defeat caused by their weapon being knocked from their grasp."
"So, to prevent that, I need to focus more on training? Strengthen my wrists?" the boy guessed.
"Partly."
"Meaning that's not all?"
"Only a small part."
"This is all so complicated…" Skywalker drooped.
"No one promised it would be easy, young Padawan," Revan smiled gently. "In time, when you learn to channel the Force through your weapon, its weight or other hindrances will cease to matter. You will be one. The lightsaber will become your weapon, your universal tool, and an impenetrable shield. A faithful friend that will not betray or fail you."
"Then I should get one as soon as possible, shouldn't I?" the boy protested.
"Anakin, before you can wield a weapon so demanding of its owner, you must study it, understand its principles, learn its construction, and learn to 'respect' it."
"It's just a sword…"
"A sword that can save your life countless times. Or become the cause of your demise."
Noticing the skepticism in his student's expression, Revan decided he'd chosen the wrong approach. The boy needed a vivid demonstration of the danger, because, to him, the lightsaber was still just a beautiful toy that could cut through anything.
"Padawan," the instructor's voice sharpened, "lightsaber combat is not a game. It requires focus, precision, and a certain measure of fearlessness."
The silver blade flared up so unexpectedly close to Anakin's face that it made him jump back in fright.
"Every movement carries a threat."
The lightsaber traced an arc an inch from the crown of Skywalker's head.
"Every heartbeat could be your last!"
Two swift movements burned a cross-shaped hole in the boy's clothing right over his heart, where the tip of Revan's lightsaber stopped. The blade barely touched the boy's skin, leaving a painful burn and forcing the student to leap back and fall onto the floor.
"Ouch!" The child writhed on the floor, clutching his hands to his chest.
The instructor deactivated his lightsaber and knelt beside his student.
"This is what I was taught. And this is what I will teach you," Revan said slowly, looking directly into Anakin's eyes.
"I understand… Master," the boy replied seriously, wiping away the tears that had welled up.
The instructor nodded and gestured for the Padawan to remove his hands from the burn. Skywalker, hissing in pain, complied. Barely touching the damaged skin, the former Jedi applied one of the healing Force techniques he knew, alleviating the pain and removing the aftermath of the "lesson."
"That's better," the instructor grunted, pulling his student to his feet.
The child was astonished by how quickly the burn disappeared.
"That was the Force, too?" he asked, his voice full of awe.
"Of course," Revan nodded.
"And I'll be able to do that?"
"I will teach you everything," the instructor promised, noting his student's renewed enthusiasm.
The boy beamed with a smile.
"Thank you! I will try hard and listen to you… to you, Master." Anakin felt a sudden urge to bow to his instructor and promptly performed the gesture, which he deemed appropriate for the situation.
Despite the fact that the boy had taken a beating from his "teachers" over the last two days, Anakin distinctly felt it was doing him good. In a single session, he had learned more about weapons from the assassin droid than in his entire life and had even memorized several of the most common blaster models. And the red-skinned Zabrak had simply amazed him with his endurance, speed, and level of physical conditioning. Skywalker wanted to become like him as soon as possible.
But most of all, he looked forward to training with Vaner. His instructor had promised to teach him the Force! Mastering that knowledge would let him become what he had always dreamed of while gazing at the night sky of Tatooine. A hero! A liberator of slaves! A vanquisher of injustice!
"Anakin!" The Master's voice pulled the child out of his blissful daydreams.
"Yes, Master?"
"Pay attention," Revan said sternly.
The former Jedi had not missed his student's absent expression. Undoubtedly, the boy was once again indulging in dreams of heroic adventures.
'A naive child,' Revan thought, the events of the Mandalorian Wars resurfacing in his memory. 'We were naive too…'
Shaking his head and dismissing the moment of reflection, the instructor retrieved a datapad from his pouch.
"Here, take this." He handed the device to the Padawan. "Inside, you will find records on the design and principles of the lightsaber, as well as its history, beginning with the protosabers."
"Wow!" the boy exclaimed enthusiastically, practically snatching the datapad from his Master's hands.
Revan merely smiled slightly, noticing and approving of Skywalker's eagerness. He mentally thanked Qui-Gon for the materials from the Temple archives, which had only been delivered aboard the Dawn's Eagle yesterday.
"Don't hesitate to ask questions when they arise. By the time you finish this, we'll have completed the basic fencing course, and you can begin assembling your own lightsaber."
"Hooray!"
"But not a moment sooner," Revan sternly interrupted the boy.
"Yes, Master."
The instructor sighed deeply, not believing the Padawan's submission for a second.
"Well, since we've cleared that up, know that starting tomorrow, we will begin practicing with a durasteel blade."
"And why not today?"
The boy was impatient to start weapon training.
"Because they are not yet aboard. Training versions, that is," the instructor explained. "And I won't trust you with a vibroblade yet."
Skywalker lowered his head.
"Besides, today we will be doing something else," Revan continued mysteriously.
"What is it?" the boy was intrigued.
"The Force."
The Padawan's eyes widened, and an immediate spark of impatience flared in them.
"And today, I will teach you that without which all further training would be meaningless," the instructor continued.
"I'm ready!"
"I don't doubt it," Revan smiled. "First, you must learn to feel the Force. Until now, if you called upon its aid, it was only unconsciously."
"What do you mean?" the boy didn't understand.
"Your reflexes during the races, your pilot skills, and your phenomenal luck," the Master listed. "All of that is the Force. It is everywhere, it binds everything together, and it is capable of affecting us and our surroundings in ways you cannot yet imagine."
The boy listened to his instructor, mesmerized. Meanwhile, Revan was practically quoting the words of his first Master, adding his own observations and years of experience.
"The Force techniques known to its adherents are only a small fraction of what the Great One can offer. Over the past thousands of years, neither we nor our predecessors have managed to uncover even a minuscule percentage of the secrets the Force hides from us. Every answer only raises more questions. What is the Force? Energy? Some unseen substance? A mystical power? Or an infinitely ancient and conscious entity with its own will? No one can give you a precise answer. For the Force is all of this."
"But what about midi-chlorians?" the student asked. "Qui-Gon talked about them on Tatooine… and I often heard the name in the Temple. Aren't they some kind of bacteria… in the blood? Don't they give us the Force?"
Mentally, Revan issued another unflattering assessment of the new generation of Jedi's education level. If even in the Temple, some Padawans or junior Jedi could blurt out such foolishness.
"That is a remarkably limited conclusion. As if after the discovery of midi-chlorians, everyone collectively concluded that everything hinged on them," the ancient adept scoffed. "I'll let you in on a secret: the Order knew about midi-chlorians four thousand years ago, and even earlier. And for all the time they were studied, it never occurred to anyone to try to explain the nature of the Force with their help."
"Then… what are they?"
"Midi-chlorians are indeed bacteria in your blood. More precisely, in every cell of your body. But they don't generate the Force, as you might think; they merely serve as intermediaries, as mediums, in our attempts to call upon the Great One for aid."
"But the more you have, the better, right?" the boy persisted.
"Not better, but easier," the instructor corrected.
"How so?"
"Their number determines how easily you can reach out to the Force, but not the limit of your potential. An experienced Master with a low midi-chlorian count will be exponentially more skilled and powerful than a Padawan with several times more midi-chlorians in their blood."
"I don't quite follow," the child furrowed his brow, trying to grasp what was being said.
"Hmm, let me try to explain it more simply," Revan scratched his chin. "Imagine the Force is your ally whom you wish to call upon for help, but they are separated from you by a wall. Midi-chlorians, in this analogy, are a breach in that wall. The larger the breach, the easier it is. Do you understand?"
"So, it will be easier for me to reach out to the Force and use all the abilities it grants Jedi, than for someone who has fewer of these bacteria?" Anakin slowly articulated his conclusion.
"In general, yes. But remember that if something comes easily to you, it is no reason to neglect training. You must know how to use your opportunities, otherwise they'll be useless."
"I understand, Master."
Revan looked intently into his student's eyes.
"Not yet," he shook his head with a smile. "But you will in time. And I will endeavor to prepare you for that time."
"But won't a more gifted Jedi be inherently stronger? If they're trained equally, that is?" the boy asked.
"Not necessarily. Everything depends on the student himself. Through diligence and determination, much can be achieved." Revan sat down on the floor facing the boy, crossing his legs. "Take my old friend Alek, for example…"
The former Jedi suddenly stumbled over his words, and the smile left his face. In his clouded gaze, pain, sadness, and regret briefly surfaced. However, the Force adept quickly brought his emotions under control.
"Master?" Anakin did not miss the sudden change in his instructor's mood.
"It's nothing, Padawan," Revan smiled again, albeit a bit strained. "It's just that certain memories surface quite unexpectedly… and often bring nothing good with them. Only a new turn of pain."
The instructor almost whispered the last words, lowering his head, but Skywalker managed to hear them.
"Is it because of your friend?"
"Partly." Revan rubbed his forehead, trying to wipe the sorrowful look from his face and shake off the haunting memories. "But my fault in that story is no less than his."
Anakin straightened up, anticipating an interesting story. The instructor did not miss the change in his student's mood. He had no particular desire to dredge up the past, but since he'd brought it up... his history could be used as a teaching tool. After all, the life of the Prodigal Knight had been quite eventful.
"Will you tell me?" Skywalker asked hopefully.
"Why not," Revan shrugged.
The boy settled onto one of the crates opposite his instructor and prepared to listen.
"Well, when I was about half your age, Seekers from the Jedi Temple took me from my family to Coruscant to begin my training in the Order. I'll say right away that I don't remember my family… so we'll just forget that episode. It's completely irrelevant to this story."
The Padawan nodded thoughtfully at his Master's words. Revan meanwhile continued the story.
"Only a month after arriving on Coruscant, I was sent to the Enclave on Dantooine, where I was to undergo the initial stage of training as a Youngling." The instructor shifted his gaze to the boy. "You skipped the stage of junior Jedi and immediately became my Padawan, which is why we have to catch up so quickly. Normally, however, you should have been prepared for the main stage of training. But things turned out as they did. The Force wills it."
Anakin nodded.
"On Dantooine, I was placed in a Youngling group with a boy from the planet Quell. His name was Alek. Alek Squin… Squinkwa-a… Oh, Force! Squin-kwar-ge-si-mus," Revan enunciated the syllables, "Squinquargesimus!"
"What a name!"
"He chose that name himself when he arrived at a Republic embassy, fleeing the Mandalorians. That was the name of his home village… which was obviously destroyed. However, Alek spoke little about himself. As did I. Perhaps that's why we connected?" Revan mused aloud. "In any case, we became friends quite quickly."
"And did they really call him Squin… Squar… what was it?"
"Oh, no," the instructor said cheerfully. "The Younglings quickly came up with a nickname for him."
"What was it?"
"Squint!"
The Padawan laughed along with his Master.
"Why 'Squint?" Skywalker asked, gradually calming down and catching his breath.
"Partly because of his crooked surname," Revan chuckled, "and partly because he was sullen, hunched over, and constantly casting what he thought were terrifying sidelong glances at everyone."
"A gloomy type."
"He was a child," the instructor noted with a hint of sadness. "We were all children then. And that kind of behavior wasn't unusual."
The former Jedi shook his head, driving away the needless thoughts, and returned to the story.
"We connected quickly over our mutual thirst for knowledge and eventually surpassed all our peers, earning the right to train under Jedi Master Zhar Lestin at the Main Temple on Coruscant. You could say we were the best at the time. However, even though I was objectively stronger, both in Force techniques and lightsaber combat, Alek managed to keep pace with me every step of the way. His persistence and effort compensated for the difference in the number of midi-chlorians you now know about." The instructor looked intently into his student's eyes and said very deliberately: "Therefore, you must never neglect your training."
"I understand," the boy nodded. "And what happened next? Did you keep being friends?"
Revan leaned back slightly, bracing himself with his hands on the floor, and briefly closed his eyes, indulging in memories.
"The times were troubled back then… much like now. The Mandalorians had united under a new ruler who took the flamboyant name Mandalore the Ultimate. And this group of the best warriors in the galaxy decided to rattle the nerves of the Republic. And ultimately, they attacked it with the goal of conquest. However, Mandalore's true motives, like the objectives of that war, only became clear to me much later."
"And the Jedi sent you to fight, right? To save the Republic!" the boy exclaimed excitedly.
The former Jedi merely snorted in response.
"Fight? Ha! The Council did not acquit itself well then… Its orders… Foolishness bordering on cowardice." Revan almost hissed the last words.
"What?"
"All Jedi were ordered not to intervene. The Republic was forced to deal with it using its own forces." The instructor shook his head. "But what could a crowd of politicians entrenched within the walls of the Senate oppose to a well-trained army, seasoned in brutal battles across the galaxy? Naturally, the Republic's forces suffered one defeat after another. The Mandalorians were never known for their humane methods, and under the command of Mandalore the Ultimate and his subordinate commanders, like Cassus Fett, the war began to resemble a slaughter."
"But what about the Council? Did the Jedi really just sit back and do nothing?!"
Revan got to his feet and began to pace slowly around the room.
"The Masters justified themselves by claiming they sensed a threat far more dangerous than the Mandalorians, and that they could not rush in for fear of making things worse. Yet while we sat on Coruscant, the Outer Rim worlds were being devastated, and billions of innocent lives were being extinguished. The galaxy was weeping! Through the Force, every Jedi could feel the wave of pain and despair emanating from the front lines." Revan turned sharply to Anakin.
"And that could not continue. Not all Jedi agreed with the Council. Alek and I were among them. At that time, we both held the rank of Knight, so no one held us tethered to an instructor. And so we began gathering information about the war with the Mandalorians, seeking evidence of their atrocities to convince the Council to act. Gradually, other dissenters joined us. Someone even gave us a name—the 'Revanchists.' A scornfully thrown comment that we were merely advocates for vengeance in someone else's conflict, we accepted with pride, acting against the Council's will and thereby irritating many Masters. This ultimately nearly led to open conflict with the Order."
"What?" Anakin was astonished.
The boy was still in shock that his 'heroes of the entire galaxy' had suddenly turned out to be heartless cynics who chose to stand by and watch the suffering of Republic citizens instead of helping. And now, apparently, they had tried to stop even those who did intend to help?
"Yes, you heard right, they wanted to arrest us. Someone managed to convince the Council that the threat from the Mandalorians was insignificant, and that we, the Revanchists, were merely using the war as a pretext to revel in violence. As if we were all already on the Dark Side, or very close to it." Revan snorted contemptuously. "They caught up with us on Cathar, which had recently been devastated by the Mandalorians. With weapons drawn, our former instructors ordered us to surrender and face judgment. But the Force willed otherwise."
Revan pulled a Mandalorian mask from his pouch, one he rarely parted with, and turned its visor toward his student.
"I picked up this mask on that planet. It belonged to a Mandalorian woman who dared to stand up for the people of Cathar. They were unarmed and posed no threat, but Cassus Fett ordered everyone killed. The Force, at the very moment I picked up the mask and decided to examine it better in the sunlight, sent a vision to all of us. We saw with our own eyes the atrocities committed by Fett's subordinates. The act of the brave Mandalorian woman, who shared the fate of those she tried to save, will forever remain in my memory. Though she failed to prevent the massacre, she at least tried. While we stood idly by!"
The former Jedi raised the mask to the level of his face and peered into the matte-black void of the visor.
"'I do not know your name… but I will continue your work. I will not remove this mask until justice is served. Until the Mandalorians are defeated once and for all. So swears… Revan!'" The instructor of young Skywalker thundered, quoting his own words, reliving those moments on Cathar. The ancient Force adept took a deep breath, pushing away the stirred-up emotions of the memory.
"I spoke those words then," Revan explained in a husky voice. "That's when I took my new name. And perhaps my destiny itself."
Anakin dared not say a word, still sensing the echoes of the emotions that had surged within his instructor just moments before. He felt, perhaps for the first time, the meaning of the words "Righteous Wrath." Burning and unstoppable… yet at the same time… pure and shining?
"After that, the Council could no longer stand by idly. Grudgingly, we were given permission to join the Republic forces, but only as representatives of the Revanchist Corps. Formally, this corps consisted of a group of civilian medics. In reality, it was a rapid deployment group that reported not to the Fleet Commanders, but directly to me." Revan smiled warmly. "My first 'army.'"
"And you entered the war?" the boy finally summoned the courage to ask.
"Yes," the instructor nodded. "Alek, who by that time had changed his name to Malak due to certain circumstances, and I quickly distinguished ourselves as effective military leaders, for which the Republic granted us the rank of General. The forces under our command managed to win a series of decisive victories over the enemy and, after only a year, went on the counter-offensive. Ultimately, I was given the title of Supreme Commander of the Republic Armed Forces."
"Wow! That's a great honor, isn't it?" the boy whispered with admiration.
Revan shrugged in response.
"I don't know about honor, but that position carries simply boundless problems, thrusting upon your shoulders the responsibility for the lives of millions of service members. You wouldn't wish it on an enemy."
Revan walked over to the wall and leaned his back against it, crossing his arms over his chest. He distinctly remembered what he had to become to save the citizens of the Republic. What did the Mandalorians call him? Revan the Butcher? And they were largely correct. For the sake of victory, the former Jedi had to quickly learn to fight 'for real,' abandoning the idealistic doctrines and dogmas of the Order.
War is a dirty and bloody affair. And mistakes… they cost dearly. One need only remember what Revan's haste cost him in the attack on the Jaga cluster. However, one must also give credit to Field Marshal Fett. Neither the Commander-in-Chief nor his deputy could have foreseen such an unexpected maneuver.
"But you did win in the end, right? Otherwise, the Republic wouldn't exist!" the Padawan stated confidently, pulling his instructor from the flow of his memories.
"We won," Revan confirmed sadly. "Only it wasn't 'us' anymore."
"What?" the boy didn't understand.
"To slay a monster, sometimes you must become a monster yourself. To defeat such a dangerous and merciless enemy as the Mandalorians, I had to become like them… adopt their tactics and learn to be calculating, cold, ruthless, and in some ways, even cruel. The war changed us, though none of us wanted to admit it. Except, perhaps, the Jedi Council, which branded every single Jedi who participated in the war as 'fallen' and demanded we return to face judgment."
Anakin huffed indignantly, ready to voice everything he thought about such treatment of heroes! But his instructor didn't give the child the opportunity and continued the story.
"Of course, we had no intention of obeying the Council's decree; we had lost respect for them a very long time ago," Revan shrugged. "Only a woman named Meetra Surik returned to the Order, where the Jedi expelled her after a ridiculous and appallingly theatrical trial."
The former Jedi paused for a few moments, gathering his thoughts.
"It was a shame to let her go. After all, Meetra was one of my best officers, my most trusted confidante after Malak. However, it was her choice. So be it." Revan tiredly rubbed his brow. "Well, that's enough stories from the past for today. We've strayed from the subject of our lesson. Do you remember what I said?"
The boy was a little disappointed that his teacher's story was cut short. However, he planned to persuade Revan to finish the story in the future. For now, he needed to focus on training. After all, he was about to be taught the Force!
"Yes, Master!" Anakin answered brightly. "You said that you shouldn't neglect training, even if you have lots of midi-chlorians in your blood! That your friend Malak, despite being less gifted, never lagged behind you in training."
"Exactly," Revan nodded in agreement. "Potential doesn't determine your actual abilities. A proton torpedo is useless if you don't know how to launch it."
"But doesn't potential determine the limit of our abilities?" the boy immediately sought clarification.
"That's a good question," the instructor smiled approvingly. "In everyday life, that is true. But here we are talking about the Force. Trying to comprehend it using a scientific approach is like trying to hear a color and see a sound. You can achieve some results, but you won't grasp the whole picture. The Force… it is impossible… There's no other way to put it. Infinite power, yet at the same time limited by your own consciousness. There is no limit here."
"So, even a Master can be defeated by someone weaker?" the boy concluded.
Revan smirked, recalling several episodes from the past. And he seemed to have found something fitting.
"Let me give you an example." The former Jedi moved away from the wall and began pacing the room again. "Once upon a time, a single Padawan became a huge problem for my forces."
"A Padawan?"
"Yes, a very arrogant and cheeky young woman," Revan said with a warm smile.
Skywalker patiently waited for the continuation and explanation.
"Her name was Bastila Shan, and she possessed a rare gift — the ability to perform Battle Meditation with incredible focus and power."
"Battle Meditation?" the boy repeated. "What is that?"
"It is the ability of a Force adept, by entering a deep meditative trance, to influence the morale of sentients within a certain area, instilling confidence in some and demoralizing others. Supported by Battle Meditation, you'll fight better, think clearer, find your opponent's weak spots faster, and never doubt the correctness of your actions for a second. If you are counteracted by the same Force technique, your thoughts will become muddled; you'll begin to lose confidence, hesitate, delay, and make mistakes," the instructor explained. "Naturally, in such a scenario, the outcome of any battle will be predetermined. And Bastila was extremely talented."
"And you had to fight her?" the boy asked, anticipating new details of his instructor's adventures, somehow missing the fact that Revan was fighting a Padawan… that is, a Jedi.
"Oh, she caused my fleet a massive amount of trouble! We nearly lost several key battles!" the Master threw up his hands. "I even placed a bounty on her head! However, everything was resolved in a completely unexpected way."
"How?"
"She saved my life," Revan explained with warmth in his voice.
"How did that happen?"
The instructor cast a quick glance at the holochronometer; there was still half an hour until noon. So Revan decided to spend a few more minutes satisfying his student's curiosity… And it had nothing to do with the fact that he enjoyed remembering Bastila… that's what he told himself, at least.
"It was our first personal meeting. Her squad was meant to kill me," Revan began. "But the fight was never destined to start."
"What happened?" Anakin asked, interested.
"Treachery," the former Dark Lord answered dryly.
Skywalker's entire demeanor conveyed his confusion and pleaded for him to continue.
"At the very moment we stood facing each other, with our blades activated, my Obsidian received a treacherous volley directly on its exposed bridge."
"Obsidian?" the boy didn't understand.
"That was the name of my fleet's flagship. A heavy Interdictor-class cruiser — the peak of technological thought at the time."
Anakin, who harbored a sincere love for starships and everything connected to them, practically jumped in place.
"An Interdictor?" he repeated with excitement. "I've read about them! There was an archive with technical descriptions of ships in Watto's junk shop. Including those manufactured by Sienar. Most were outdated, but the information was extensive and quite detailed."
The former Jedi was pleasantly surprised by the boy's knowledge. Who would have thought that archives of the designs of one of the galaxy's largest shipbuilding companies could be found on Tatooine. Even if they were clearly obsolete.
"Yes, the Sienar Republic shipyards released the prototype of the series, the Leviathan, as well as a trial batch of its 'sisters' during the Mandalorian Wars. The Obsidian was one of them and traveled a very long journey with me… until it was destroyed by a shot from an ally."
"How did that happen?" the boy wondered.
Revan smiled sadly.
"Malak betrayed me," he answered simply.
Anakin was shocked by this turn of events, perhaps even more so than by the behavior of the Jedi Council during the war.
"What? But why? You were friends!"
"We were," the former Jedi nodded mournfully. "But to the Dark Side, friendship means nothing."
"Dark Side?" the Padawan questioned, having not yet grasped the essence of the Force.
Revan took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts.
"You see, Anakin, the war changed us more than we realized. By nurturing anger and hatred in our souls, and feeding our inner Darkness with vanity and lust for power, which were generously fueled by military feats and growing fame, we didn't notice how we began to turn into the very monsters we had sworn to fight."
Noticing that Skywalker completely failed to understand what Revan was talking about, the former Dark Lord tried to clarify.
"Force-sensitives must always be careful with their emotions and state of mind. The great power granted to the gifted harbors an equally great danger."
"What danger?"
"Darkness… madness,"Revan exhaled. "You've probably already heard talk in the Temple about the nature of the Force, the Light Side and the Dark Side?"
"Yes, Qui-Gon warned me to beware of the Dark Side… but he never explained what it was," the boy frowned in concentration.
"Neither can I," the former Sith nodded. " Conventionally, the Force is divided into the Light Side and the Dark Side. As you understand, one side is considered good, while the other is feared and despised by the Jedi. And they are mistaken. The Force is multifaceted and indescribable. Dividing it into the Dark and Light Sides, and especially branding the side the Council dislikes as the 'embodiment of evil,' was a mistake on the part of the Order. For example, did you know that the predecessors of the Jedi, the Je'daii Order, sought to understand the Force as a unified whole and successfully maintained a balance between Light and Darkness? And for a long time, they had no problems."
"So, there's no difference between them?" the boy clarified. "And one side isn't stronger than the other?"
"There is always a difference. Even two drops of water won't be absolutely identical. The same is true for the Force. At its core, it is the same energy, accessible to us through midi-chlorians, but one could say it has different demands on the one who calls upon it. The Light Side requires focus and serenity for precise manipulation of energies and the application of Force techniques. The Dark Side craves an emotional outburst, passion, and elation, amplifying all your feelings many times over, threatening to drive you mad. Therefore, one who walks the path of Darkness, contrary to the Jedi's beliefs, must be even more disciplined and strong-willed than an adept of the Light. Otherwise, you won't command the Dark Side, but it will command you."
The instructor's eyes momentarily glowed gold, and a wave of cold swept through the room, only to vanish without a trace the next second.
Silence reigned. Anakin frowned, silently considering his teacher's words. Revan waited patiently, giving the student a chance to draw conclusions.
"I don't understand,"the boy said expectedly after a good five minutes.
The instructor smiled warmly.
"Of course, you don't understand," he nodded. "Don't worry, you'll understand everything in time. First, you need to learn to feel the Force consciously, to recognize where the Light is and where the Darkness is. And most importantly, learn to separate them. Believe me, it's not that simple."
Seeing the concern on his student's face, Revan patted the boy on the shoulder reassuringly.
"I will help you," he said confidently.
"Thank you, Master," Skywalker smiled.
Assessing his ward's emotional state, Revan concluded that it was time for a practical exercise. The boy needed to learn to meditate and feel the Force.
"Well, it's time for you to try something yourself."
Anakin immediately flashed with a burst of impatience and slight fear.
"Today I will teach you meditation so you can feel the Force on your own. But for that, you'll need to know what to look for when you put your consciousness into a deep trance. Don't be afraid, I will show you the way."
The instructor lowered himself to the floor, crossing his legs, and gestured for his student to do the same. Skywalker settled opposite Revan.
"Close your eyes," the teacher commanded.
The boy obeyed.
"Empty your mind of unnecessary thoughts. Drive away doubt and anxiety. Focus on your breathing; feel your heart beat. Deep breath in… a steady rhythm… Good." The former Jedi gave advice to the young Padawan in a low, drawn-out voice. "Feel the world around you. The Force binds everything together. It is everywhere. Between you and the floor, the walls, the crates, the bulkheads. Between us and within us. The Force is all around."
The instructor cautiously placed his palm on the boy's forehead, calling upon the Force for aid to nudge the student in the right direction.
"Sense the world…" Revan repeated.
The instructor felt the surroundings ripple as if from an invisible wave that passed from Anakin in all directions.
"I…" the boy whispered. "I think I feel something…"
In the next moment, Skywalker cried out and recoiled, falling backward. In the nick of time, the instructor managed to grab his student by the shoulder and touched his forehead again with his hand.
"Quiet, Anakin, calm down! Breathe evenly," Revan instructed his ward in a steady voice. "This happens. Too much information overloads an unaccustomed mind. Breathe deeper; it will pass now. I will help."
Revan called upon the Force and began to literally cocoon his Padawan, who had reached too far, in a dense shield, limiting new sensations and removing the effects of sensory overload. Such an outcome was expected, given the boy's potential, but the former Sith was still surprised by such a quick result.
'Truly the Chosen One of the Force,' Revan thought, gently sinking Skywalker into sleep.
Focusing on the subtle manipulations of the Force to avoid harming the child's fragile mind, the instructor himself slipped into a meditative trance.
"REVAN!"
A voice familiar to the core shook the former Jedi's mind, bursting into his consciousness along with a powerful surge of the Force.
Snapping back to awareness, Revan scrambled to his feet, nearly losing his balance. The voice in his head was so loud it was as if its owner had shouted directly into the ear of the man deep in meditation. But it wasn't the force of the voice or its suddenness that so startled the former Dark Lord. In his time, he had encountered much more blatant and persistent attempts to contact him through the Force.
No.
He was agitated by who the voice belonged to.
"Bastila?" he asked into the emptiness.
There was no answer.
Revan tried to sink back into that state and catch at least an echo of the call… But in vain. Time after time, focusing harder, sinking deeper into the trance, the former Jedi received everything in return except the voice dear to his heart.
The sensations of the surrounding world, permeated by the Force, threatened to flood Revan's consciousness, like an ocean wave on Manaan. But the experience of his years and the strength of a mind that had passed through hundreds of trials helped him to fight his way through the vortex of feelings and images. The proximity of Coruscant, with its trillions of sentients, only complicated matters. Flashes of someone's joy, the pain of loss, sticky fear, bitter envy, and burning hatred, mixing into a mad cocktail, tried to break through the barrier the former Jedi had erected in his own mind so as not to succumb to the repulsive maelstrom of that planet. The heart of the Republic, mired in intrigue and vice, had become so deeply steeped in Darkness over the millennia that Revan sincerely wondered how the Jedi could still breathe within the walls of the Senate building. Or was it only his perception? Had he delved deeper than he intended?
'I can't be distracted!' Revan checked himself.
He suddenly caught a familiar warm feeling, the one that overwhelmed him in the moments when Bastila was near. Grasping onto it, he sank even deeper into the Force. The trail led toward the single bright spot on the surface of Coruscant—the Temple.
The sluggish cold of the Dark Side suddenly touched the former Dark Lord's chest, trying to force its way in, and nearly knocked him off the trail.
Barely holding onto the thread that led to his lost love, Revan allowed the surge of anger to momentarily overcome him. And that was enough for the Darkness outside to slip through the breach in his defense and sink its teeth into the former Dark Lord's mind.
"Reva-a-an," another familiar voice drawled hoarsely, with a note of satisfaction.
"Malak," the former Jedi ground out through clenched teeth.
Shifting to a new, much clearer trail, Revan tried to track down the source of this strange attack. Who was calling to him, hiding behind the voices of those close to him?
Revan sharply opened his eyes, emerging from meditation and restoring his weakened mental shields, cutting off the background noise of the bustling Coruscant.
Taking several deep breaths, burying his face in his palms, the former Jedi gradually came to his senses. Getting back on his feet, he looked at Anakin, who was sleeping peacefully nearby.
"Maul," Revan called, opening the ship's intercom. "Come to the training bay and look after Skywalker."
Speaking the words mid-stride and without waiting for a reply, Revan quickly left the bay, heading toward his own quarters.
"HK, we are landing on Coruscant. Find a pad near the Temple Quarter, but don't draw attention."
"Affirmative, Master," the droid replied briskly.
However, the ship's owner was no longer listening. Flying into his cabin and locking the door, Revan sank onto the bed, breathing heavily. His consciousness still refused to accept what he had learned during the meditation.
'Both voices were coming from the Jedi Temple,' Revan confirmed mentally to himself.
His gaze fell automatically on Bastila's holocron, which stood on the small table… An open holocron… Although no one could open it but Revan. That was how its creator had intended it.
Yet, right now, the hologram of his wife's troubled face did not take her eyes off the former Jedi.
"Who is calling me?" Revan asked the hologram.
He understood that holocron keepers were only imprints of the personalities who created them, and their answers were limited. But for some reason, he expected an answer to this question from her.
Bastila's face showed the extreme degree of surprise, bordering on shock. As if the keeper itself was stunned by what was happening now.
Silence filled the cabin for long minutes before the hologram opened her mouth.
"She is," the answer came.
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