The Dawn's Eagle was noisy again. Since their return from the meeting with Duchess, Revan had relentlessly pressed his apprentices with training. Now, every day, the distinctive scrape and hum of lightsabers echoed from one of the cargo bays. Anakin was still in the role of an observer. His master had barely allowed him to begin training with a vibroblade to practice the basic stances characteristic of the First Form, or Shii-Cho. After all, this style originated back when lightsabers were merely ceremonial weapons, not designed for combat. That's why the movements so closely resembled classical fencing with full-weight blades.
Skywalker tried his best, progressing quickly, but Revan was dissatisfied with his success. At least, that's how it seemed to the boy. This wasn't far from the truth. The master noted the child's talent but couldn't ignore the fact that during training, in striving to exceed his limits, Anakin unconsciously reached out to the dark side, cultivating anger within himself. The moment he received praise, pride awoke inside. Skywalker was gifted with an innate talent for the Force, which could easily instill in him a sense of superiority. Revan was therefore pleased that the boy was being trained away from his peers. This way, he wouldn't see the difference in abilities and progress rates, wouldn't grow arrogant, which might help him maintain balance.
For the same reason, Anakin had been present at the sparring sessions between Revan and Maul for the past week. The master was visibly demonstrating to his students that both the dark side and the light side could be used with equal effectiveness in a fight, and that dividing the Great Force into shades was foolish and shortsighted.
The crimson blade screeched as it grazed the wall above Revan's head when he evaded the strike with a roll. The next instant, the silver blade flashed, and the Zabrak was forced onto the defense. Master and apprentice moved so swiftly that only through his own training could Skywalker track their movements. The crimson and silver flashes visually blurred in space, resembling shimmering ribbons that clashed every second, generating miniature explosions and showering sparks.
With each passing day, the training bouts grew longer, but their pace also increased, reflecting Maul's success in perfecting his style. Revan noted that the Zabrak had followed his advice and attempted to weave in elements of Makashi, adapting them to the Seventh Form, and factoring in the use of his staff as a weapon. Maul began to move more fluidly; useless flourishes disappeared, and his stance became more effective. In combat, the apprentice now tried to face his opponent sideways, reducing the target area, and only occasionally, still due to inexperience, exposed his chest or back.
The master was pleased, though he didn't show it. Of course, in terms of staff mastery, Maul still had a long way to go to reach Bastila's level, but he would have defeated his former self in a fraction of a second.
The Zabrak managed to slip past Revan's attack and launched his own offensive. However, to his surprise, the master did not react to the lunge, taking a step toward the activated staff. For a moment, Maul thought the crimson blade was about to take his master's head. Fear mingled with anticipation and exhilaration. A part of the Zabrak rejoiced at the imminent victory! If he defeated... killed his master... he would finally become the Dark Lord himself! Revan had never managed to fully eradicate this part of the Sith teaching from the Zabrak's mind.
Yet, in the very next instant, the crimson blade passed over the head of the master, who had bent backward, while his silver blade nearly singed Maul's neck, stopping right at the skin. The Zabrak barely managed to stop himself from decapitating himself, simply falling forward in the wake of his missed staff swing.
"Again," Revan commanded, stepping back two paces.
"Yes, my Lord," Maul replied, readying himself for the next round.
"This time, I'll show you something new. It will be useful for you."
"My Lord?"
"You'll see. Attack," Revan said calmly.
Maul charged his body and weapon with the Force and prepared to execute his fastest attack. He decided to surprise his master too. But things did not go as planned.
The Zabrak lunged forward, swinging his blade in an arc. The crimson blade rushed toward the silver blade already raised in a defensive move, when suddenly, Revan's lightsaber went dark. The crimson blade passed its target as Revan deactivated his weapon for a split second.
Just one heartbeat, a brief moment, and the combatants froze again. For the umpteenth time that day, the silver blade stopped a hair's breadth from a fatal strike.
"How…" the Zabrak breathed out the beginning of a question, but the master didn't let him finish.
"Again. Don't stop."
The opponents sprang away from each other to clash once more. And to Maul's astonishment, Revan met the new attack with his weapon deactivated. He dodged the first two lunges, deflected a diagonal slash with his palm, and then drove his fist into the Zabrak's cheekbone.
"Pay attention!" the master roared.
The apprentice spat out blood and rushed forward with a growl. The staff swing missed, a sweep was also ineffective, and the next moment, Revan's lightsaber flashed near the Zabrak's face, forcing him to instinctively recoil and receive a kick to the ribs.
A new attack seemed to reach its mark, forcing the master to block with his blade, but the suddenly disappearing blade caught Maul off guard, for which the apprentice would have paid with his life in a real fight. At least, the lightsaber hilt pressed against his chest suggested exactly that.
Giving no time for rest, the master demanded they continue.
Again and again, the Zabrak faced defeat and couldn't understand what was happening. Just ten minutes ago, he was confidently keeping pace with the master, and their spars lasted much longer than a mere five seconds.
Suddenly, Maul realized he couldn't keep up with Revan. The master seemed to have drastically accelerated. He moved around the Zabrak like a Dantooine coursing hound, landing strike after strike, yet his blade remained mostly off, flashing only for brief moments right before an attack or to distract Maul.
In one final pirouette, Revan knocked the staff from the apprentice's hands and, switching his own saber to his left hand, caught the Zabrak's fallen weapon. A stunned Maul stared at the crossed blades pointed on either side of his neck.
"What... are these movements?" the Zabrak asked hoarsely.
"Something you must master. Tràkata is a form of lightsaber combat where your weapon remains deactivated until the very last moment, activating just before the strike," Revan explained, returning the staff to its owner.
"Is that why you moved even faster?"
"What are you talking about?" the master smirked.
"I couldn't follow your movements. If not for the Force, I wouldn't have been able to deflect even one strike."
"I moved at the same speed as in the first spar today."
"But I saw you were faster!" Maul exclaimed in astonishment.
"I saw everything!" interjected Anakin, who was allowed to approach the duelists for a joint discussion of errors.
"And what did you see, apprentice?" Revan turned to Skywalker.
The boy was delighted by the attention and quickly spoke:
"You moved identically. At the same speed the entire time, but Maul then began to slow down. More and more, as if he lost his focus," the younger apprentice explained his observations.
"But how? That's impossible," the Zabrak grumbled in disagreement.
"Anakin is correct," the master replied, putting his weapon away on his belt.
"But I..."
"You are accustomed to following the movement of your opponent's blade in a fight. Its absence disorients you. That is Tràkata's strength. You never know when your opponent will choose to activate their saber. There are many variables; without full concentration, even premonition won't help. The technique is difficult to execute and quite demanding on the user, but if you can master it, your opponents will be in for an unpleasant surprise," Revan explained.
"But isn't it dangerous? For the one who uses it?"
"It is dangerous," the master agreed. "By remaining unarmed, you take a risk. You must rely on premonition, evasion, and Tutaminis techniques to avoid death."
"I... understand, Master..."
"You will understand," Revan finished confidently for his charge. "From this day, we will add elements of Tràkata to your training. You've mastered Makashi well and adapted the movements to your staff, so you should be able to handle the addition of another element."
"Yes, Master," Maul agreed with a bow.
"Rest. In an hour, you'll go through Shii-Cho with Anakin. Skywalker, tomorrow morning we will hold another session of group meditation, after which you will show what you have learned."
"Yes, Master!" the boy exclaimed with enthusiasm.
"You are dismissed."
The apprentices bowed and departed.
Revan, immersed in thought, headed to his quarters.
There was still much work to be done with the apprentices. Time was short for both of them, but so far, he had managed to combine their lessons. Due to the constant need for HK, who could not always be relieved by Tira or Maul, to keep watch over Bo-Katan, Anakin had missed two training sessions with the droid. Not critical, but he needed to deal with the prisoner soon. She couldn't remain on the ship indefinitely. Doubt had already begun to sprout in her heart, and it was worth trying to bring her over to their side. Perhaps through her sister. There were already some developments, but deeply held beliefs were difficult to overcome.
He also had much to ponder regarding the plans for Mandalore, and even more to execute. The clans were not yet able to meet to discuss their next steps, which limited Revan's own scope of activity. Cohesion was needed to act effectively. The leader of the Nomads had promised that a meeting would be scheduled soon. By then, he should have a provisional plan of action ready. And for that, he needed information. The Claws network was already gathering intelligence, and a report had come from Coruscant about the departure of a transport ship bearing Jedi Order transponder codes. It was heading toward Mandalore. If those Revan suspected were aboard, everything was falling into place as intended.
The affair between Satine and Obi-Wan could be exploited in various ways. This connection could be used to pressure either one of them. It was their weakness... and an object of envy for him.
Revan entered his cabin and sighed with a sadness. The story of the Padawan's love for the Duchess reminded him of what he had lost.
The former Jedi approached Bastila's holocron and gently ran his hand over its carved facets. He did not activate the hologram. To see his beloved and realize it was only a counterfeit... he didn't want that now.
Giving in to the impulse, Revan sat on his bunk in the meditation posture and tried to sink into the Force as deeply as he could, hoping to feel at least an echo of the presence of the one who was gone. The thought came that he had tried something similar before, many times, and that the Force was too vast to try to find a trace of a long-departed beloved. But when had limitations or impossibilities ever stopped Revan? The Council once believed the existence of the Star Forge was impossible. He proved them wrong. Many believed that returning to the Light after falling into Darkness was impossible. He proved them wrong.
There was no turning back after death... Yet here he was, walking among the living again.
Perhaps this time, the Force would be kind to its Chosen One?
Thoughts swirled in his head, hindering concentration. Then Revan did what he had done countless times during the Mandalorian Wars. He summoned his mask and placed it on his knees. Focusing only on it, he sank into the Force and tried to call out to the one who had been so closely bound to this mask. After all, she had kept it for many years.
He didn't know how much time passed. There was still no answer, and Revan sank deeper and deeper... until, at last...
"Revan," a familiar female voice sounded.
But... not the one he was waiting for. Not the voice he longed to hear. It wasn't Bastila.
"Hello, Meetra," the former Jedi opened his eyes.
In his cabin, leaning against the wall, stood a figure, seemingly woven from mist and light, of his old friend and apprentice. Surik greeted Revan with a nod and a sad smile.
"I understand that I am by no means the one you expected to see," the Force ghost chuckled. "However, believe me, it's better me than the others."
"The others?" Revan frowned.
Gradually, he began to realize the foolishness of his action. The mask was connected not only to Bastila. Too many people were tied to... this symbol. The Mandalorian Wars Jedi, like Meetra, saw the "face" of their General in it. Defeated enemies saw their demise, and the saved, conversely, saw a hero. The Revanites even built an entire cult around this artifact.
"A little more, and Alec would have visited you," Meetra interrupted Revan's thoughts.
"Malak? He also became..."
"A ghost? No," Surik shook her head. "But the Force... 'remembers' everyone, so I almost felt his presence. He is connected to you more strongly than the other followers. Your first true apprentice."
"Whom I failed."
"Are you sure?"
"He fell to the darkness following me..."
"Betrayed you and tried to kill you," Meetra reminded him.
"And ultimately fell by my blade," Revan finished, lowering his head.
"And do you remember his last words?"
Revan remembered. Malak was indignant that his master had returned to the Light while he was left abandoned in the Darkness.
"He said that if you could redeem your deeds and return to the path of the Light, then perhaps there was a chance for him too," Surik reminded him.
Revan did not answer.
"You showed him the way, even as his enemy. And believe me, he is grateful to you."
"I think he appeared to me in one of my visions... after my awakening in a new body," the former Jedi recalled.
"Anything is possible. The Force is multifaceted and untamed. And the abilities of its adherents are still not fully understood, are they?"
"Just like the abilities of those who have become one with it," Revan said pointedly.
"True," Meetra nodded, becoming serious.
"You can tell me, is there a chance to bring her back?"
Surik frowned, then looked into her old friend's eyes with a guilty expression.
"I wish I could... but I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"Can't."
"Why?"
"It's difficult to explain..."
"Then try."
Silence hung in the air, which Meetra was the first to break.
"You remember my story, don't you? About how I subconsciously cut myself off from the Force to escape death at Malachor?"
"Yes, you told me you managed to restore the connection later."
"Not directly."
"Explain."
"The Force began to answer my call again, but it heard me through others. Through my master and my apprentices. Only that way," Meetra tried to explain.
"The connection... Force Bonds? The response came through them?" Revan guessed, having studied the phenomenon of the bonds between two Force-sensitives in detail when he tried to understand his connection with Bastila.
"Yes. This connection is much deeper and more multifaceted than the Order's masters believe. Kreia suspected its significance, which is why she did not try to sever the contact between us, even though it carried the threat of death for both if only one perished."
"Kreia was always wiser than the others. Or perhaps it just seemed that way to me as her student. Time and again, she proved to me that I was a foolish and inexperienced Padawan. Even after I attained the rank of Knight... I wish I could ask for her advice now."
"Perhaps it is for the best. I told you what she became, didn't I?"
"Yes... Unfortunately, even the wisest sometimes cannot resist..."
"The dark side?" Meetra suggested, moving away from the wall.
"No, the Idea," Revan shook his head.
"Do you believe the Idea drove her to madness?"
"Of course. My master loved to contemplate the influence of the Force on our decisions, on the world, on the future. With each passing year, her thoughts grew darker..."
"And then a chain of events only intensified her doubts."
"My fall, the path the Force had laid out, and the visions of the Star Forge. The schism of the Order, the Jedi Purge. The Darkness merely took advantage of the moment, giving rise to Darth Traya."
"Betrayed and forgotten again," Meetra finished, pacing the cabin. "Yes, I hadn't looked at it that way. It's no wonder her hatred for the Force grew so intense..."
"That she decided to destroy it."
"And failed," Surik chuckled. "Imagine her indignation when at the last moment she realized that the same end awaited her as all other Force-sensitives. Namely, unification with the Force."
"I think she felt relief," Revan shrugged. "Her struggle against what is impossible to defeat was finally over."
"You are right, I believe." Meetra subtly changed, becoming serious again.
His old friend's behavior was a little strange, as if her character was constantly shifting slightly. She was a familiar person, yet between her phrases... it was as if a whole life had been lived. A sudden realization dawned on the former Jedi.
"Tell me, Meetra, how were you able to become a ghost if you never restored your connection to the Force?" Revan asked the question that tormented him.
"Did you notice?" Surik smiled sadly.
"You are not entirely the Meetra Surik who saved me from Vitiate, are you?"
"Correct," the ghost replied without a trace of a smile, which gave Revan strong associations with the commanding tone of his former master.
"Although I became one with the Force, I still perceive it through the bonds with my apprentices and masters. Their thoughts and feelings complement my own, which is why I... sometimes... lose myself," Meetra finished, returning to her usual manner of speaking at the end.
"You feel others?" Revan asked with hope.
"Not exactly... It's hard to explain. We are one with the Force. The Force unites everyone, everything, and all things. And I feel a part of everyone within myself... We are a single whole, but at the same time, we are separated. We feel the Force... its current... or perhaps its intention, maybe even its will... Call it what you like, but... Oh, how complex it is."
"Do you feel Bastila?" Revan asked the most important question for him.
Meetra glanced at the holocron and nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Is there a chance to bring her back?"
Surik's expression shifted slightly. The guilty smile was replaced by sadness in her eyes.
"You already suspect the answer yourself."
"But I need to be sure! I need hope!" Revan cried out, jumping up from the bunk.
"You cannot be sure with the Force; its currents are always in motion. You can only believe. And hope... you have always had more of it than others. The Chosen One." Surik approached her old friend and gently drew a ghostly palm across his cheek.
"Will you help me? I... I am lost..." Revan asked, calming down.
"Ghosts rarely interfere in the affairs of the living, otherwise it could lead everyone to catastrophe. The Force guides us along a different path."
The former Jedi nodded glumly.
"It must be hard to be one with the Force, to feel its currents and might, and... to be unable to change anything?"
"We have the ability, but not the desire," Meetra said sadly. "When you realize the consequences... you think ten times before giving in to emotions."
"I think I understand what you mean."
"Don't be disheartened," Meetra said with a smile, stepping away from Revan. "You can find possibilities and help yourself. You've always handled it better than others. Remember who you were. Believe in your own strength... And hope... As I said, you have always had more of it."
With the last word, the misty figure dissipated, leaving no trace of its presence.
Revan stood for several minutes, looking at the spot where Meetra had vanished, pondering her words. Despite his friend not saying anything concrete, he felt a surge of strength and a conviction that his cherished wish... was attainable. And that meant he had to fight for it.
But first... It was time to remind Mandalore of its glorious past.
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