The arrival of 122 BBY did not announce itself with a trumpet blast or a galactic shift in the Force. Instead, it arrived with the quiet, rhythmic creak of a synth-silk hammock swaying in the Coruscant morning breeze. Revan Shan lay suspended between two blossoming Ch'hala trees, his hands behind his head and a pair of dark, polarized sunglasses shielding his eyes from the rising sun that glinted off the temple's upper spires.
"You know, Cortana," Revan murmured, his voice carrying the weary yet whimsical lilt of the 12th Doctor, "time is a funny thing. Most people treat it like a straight line, a boring march toward the inevitable. But according to my 6th Doctorate in Advanced Dimensional Mechanics, it's more like a giant, swirling pool of probability. 122 BBY is just a new ripple. A fresh ledger. And I've decided to start it with a nap."
"The Kyber-Quantum computers on the Black Pearl are currently running a sub-routine to analyze the political shift on Naboo, Revan," Cortana replied through his gauntlet's localized speaker. "And I should remind you that your 'audit of the present' has lasted three hours. HK-47 is currently arguing with a repair droid about the 'kind' way to calibrate a hydrospanner."
"He's just being enthusiastic," Revan grinned, popping a lemon candy into his mouth. "Adventure is the journey, Cortana. And today, the journey involves not moving a muscle until the sun hits that fountain."
The Ancestor's Forge
An hour later, the "nap audit" was concluded. Revan retreated to a private training chamber in the deeper levels of the Temple, far from the prying eyes of the more traditional Masters. He activated his Personal Holocron, and the flickering bronze image of his ancestor, Revan, materialized in the center of the room.
"Ancestor," Revan said, bowing with a touch of sassy elegance. "I was thinking of practicing the transition between Form VI Niman and the chaotic release of Form VII Juyo. It's been a while since I felt like a whirlwind."
The holographic Revan looked at him with a gaze that felt as sharp as a lightsaber's edge. "You rely on your math, descendant. You calculate the trajectory of the blade before you even ignite it. Juyo is not a calculation. It is a feeling. It is the internal audit of your own passion, channeled without being consumed."
"Math is just the skin of the universe, I know, I know," Revan quipped, igniting his Balanced Purple and Natural Red blades.
For the next two hours, the room became a blur of violet and crimson. Revan moved with a preternatural fluidity, utilizing Force Enhance to blur his physical form. He didn't use his Westars or his Sonic Screwdriver; he relied on the "feeling." When the Holocron-Revan projected phantom opponents, Revan didn't calculate their mass; he felt the weight of their intent.
"Better," the ancestor conceded as Revan finished a sequence with a twin-blade flourish. "But remember: a Jedi who calculates everything is a Jedi who can be out-maneuvered by a fool who feels everything."
"I'll keep that in mind the next time I fight a fool," Revan panted, deactivating his blades. "But for now, I have a much more dangerous mission. Story time."
The Storyteller's Audit
By mid-afternoon, Revan was seated on a stone bench near the Room of a Thousand Fountains, surrounded by a dozen Initiates. He was in the middle of a story about a "Scavenger King" who tried to build a throne out of broken protocol droids, weaving in bits of his 10th Doctorate in Galactic History and 11th in Xenobiology.
"And then," Revan said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, "I told the King that his throne was statistically likely to collapse due to a lack of structural integrity in the C-3 units! I told him his adventure was ending because he forgot the most important rule!"
"Try to be nice and do good!" a small Togruta initiate shouted.
"But...?" Revan prompted with a wink.
"Never fail to be kind!" they chirped in unison.
"Brilliant," Revan grinned, distributing lemon candies. "Now, go on. Master Sskeer is looking for you for your 'proper' meditation. Tell him the Maverick sent you, and he'll probably give you an extra hour of silence just to keep me away."
The Secret Confession
While Revan was distracting the next generation, a much heavier audit was taking place in the High Council's private sanctum. Master Vernestra Rwoh stood before Grandmaster Yoda, her head bowed. The guilt she had carried since the events on Khofar—the secret of Qimir's survival—was a ledger she could no longer keep closed.
"Master Yoda," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I have... mismanaged the truth. The 'Smiling Man' the Maverick spoke of. He was my Padawan. I believed I had dealt with him. I was wrong."
Yoda remained silent for a long moment, his eyes closed. "A shadow, you have kept, Vernestra. Beneath the light of the High Republic, rot, you allowed to fester."
"I followed Revan's advice," she admitted, remembering the Maverick's biting yet kind words in the fountain room. "He told me that a secret only has power as long as it is hidden. I am here to be a witness to my own failure."
Yoda opened his eyes, a deep sadness in them. "Gather the Council, we must. A ripple, this is. A storm, it may become."
The Great Shadow Tag Interruption
The High Council gathered an hour later. The mood was somber, heavy with the weight of Vernestra's confession. Master Sol, Master Sskeer, and the others sat in their semi-circle, discussing the "Rule of Three" and the rogue element of Qimir.
"If the Sith are playing corporate games, and this Qimir is a loose variable—" Sskeer began, his reptilian voice low.
Suddenly, the heavy doors of the Council Chamber didn't just open; they were practically bypassed by a chaotic surge of energy. A localized Force Meld made the air shimmer, and then thirty-five younglings erupted into the room, giggling and shrieking as they scrambled around the Masters' chairs.
At the center of the chaos was Revan Shan. He was moving with a manic, Force Jump-assisted agility, his black Phrik-weave robes billowing behind him.
"You're losing your momentum, little ones!" Revan shouted, somersaulting over Master Sskeer's head. "According to my 3rd Doctorate in Sentient Sociology, you are currently 20% slower than the required pace for a successful pincer maneuver! You're being audited!"
"Knight Shan!" Sskeer roared, standing up and nearly being knocked over by a running Rodian initiate. "This is a closed session of the High Council! We are discussing matters of galactic security!"
Revan skidded to a halt in the center of the room, 35 younglings immediately piling onto his legs and arms. He looked up at the Council, his sunglasses sliding down his nose, a sassy, unrepentant grin on his face.
"Oh, hello Masters! Terribly sorry," Revan said, not sounding sorry at all. "We're in the middle of a high-stakes game of Shadow Tag. It's a very important part of their training. It teaches them how to track a Maverick in a target-rich environment. Besides, according to my 9th Doctorate in Advanced Mathematics, the probability of you coming to a useful conclusion in the next ten minutes was nearing zero anyway. We're providing a localized distraction to reset your logic-gates."
He looked at Vernestra, who was staring at him in shock. He gave her a subtle, kind nod. The Auditor knew the secret was out.
"Master Yoda!" Revan chirped, winking at the Grandmaster. "You're 'It'! Tagged you are, by association! Come on, children! The Grandmaster is the new variable! Run!"
With another shriek of joy, the children—and Revan—vanished out the other door, leaving the High Council in a state of stunned, dusty silence.
Yoda let out a small, raspy chuckle, tapping his cane. "A Maverick, he remains. But perhaps... exactly what we need, he is. To remind us that the light is not just a code, but a joy."
The Archive Nap
The evening found Revan in his usual spot—a high-backed velvet chair in the restricted section of the Archives. He had his legs propped up, a blanket over his lap, and his Sonic Screwdriver sitting on the side table like a silver toy.
"Miner," Revan whispered, his eyes half-closed. "How are the backups?"
"Master Shan, the Kyber-Quantum informatics gauntlet has completed the integration of the 'Visions of the Unwritten'," M1-NR (Miner) replied, his silver chassis gleaming in the dim light. "I have also flagged a recurring ripple in the Naboo plasma-markets. It appears Hego Damask is increasing his stake."
"He's moving the pieces," Revan yawned, pulling the blanket higher. "But 122 BBY is still a quiet year. I've got time for a nap. I've got time for story time. And I've got time to teach those kids how to properly bypass a security sensor using nothing but a lemon candy and a bit of 'feeling'."
> The Shadow Tag Probability (P_{tag}):
> By his calculations, the Council would be annoyed for approximately four hours, but the younglings would remember the joy of the light for a lifetime. A fair trade.
>
"Adventure is the journey, D6," Revan whispered to the R2 unit as it rolled up beside him. "And the journey is currently very, very fun."
He closed his eyes, the Maverick at peace in a galaxy that was slowly waking up to its own shadows. He wasn't in a rush. He had ninety years of the "Golden Age" left, and he intended to audit every second of it.