The Temple of the Ancients exhales around us, its breath thick with dust and the sour reek of algae that has festered in these corridors for millennia. My boots crunch on scattered crystal shards, each step a brittle reminder of the chaos we just survived. Ahead, Revan leads the way, the supercomputer's orb cradled in his gauntleted hands, its glow throwing long shadows across walls etched with Rakatan runes. The violet flash that engulfed him still burns in my mind, a question I will not let go unanswered. I break the corridor's low tremor.
"Revan. Are you alright?"
He slows. His masked head turns just enough for the orb's light to catch his visor, its faded red stripes dulled by time and temple dust.
"I am… functional."
The words come flat, almost mechanical, stripped of the iron conviction I have come to expect from him. My lekku twitch as my montrals catch the strain beneath his calm.
"That's not an answer."
I quicken my pace, closing the gap between us. The corridor's walls loom, their carved surfaces scarred by blaster burns and turbolaser gouges, the stone groaning as if the temple resents our departure.
"That energy, the barrier. I want to know what you saw and what happened to you."
Revan resumes walking. He gives me nothing, the quiet stretching down the corridor.
A crack splits the floor ahead. Dust sifts from the ceiling like ash, and the groan deepens into a sound I have heard on a hundred collapsing battlefields. My hand shoots out before thought catches up. The Force wraps around Ezra and yanks him backward, his boots scraping stone, as a slab of carved rock crashes down where he had been a heartbeat before. Dust erupts. Shards scatter. The corridor shudders and holds.
"Let's just keep moving."
My gaze finds Revan. He has not flinched. His hand rises, the Force steadying a teetering pillar with a resonant vibration that runs through my montrals, deep and unwavering. He knew that pillar was going to fall before the stone cracked. He reads this place the way I read a battlefield.
There is pain there. Raw. Unguarded. My step slows half a beat before I catch it and match his pace again. I know what that sounds like. I have heard it in my own voice, in the years after Anakin. In the decades after the Order fell. You carry it until it becomes load-bearing, and then one day someone asks the wrong question and the whole structure shakes.
"The past doesn't own us. But whatever you faced back there, it's left a mark. I can feel it."
Revan's head turns a fraction, and his silence is louder than the temple's groans.
"Perhaps."
His grip tightens on the orb, its beat growing steadier, like a heart finding its rhythm after the shock.
"Or perhaps it has shown me what we are fighting for."
I nod. We press deeper through the passage, its vaulted ceiling arching overhead where crystals jut like broken teeth, their glow casting fractured rainbows across the stone. Shattered Rakatan idols line the walls, obsidian faces frozen in snarls, half-buried in vines aglow with a sickly green light. The air grows humid, thick with the scent of jungle rot seeping through unseen cracks. Lehon's wild heart clawing at the temple's decay. I feel the planet breathing through the Force, sick down to its roots, as if the Rakata's ambition poisoned its roots and the land never forgave them.
We pass a toppled war machine, its rusted frame sprawled across the corridor, conduits sparking with residual energy. Huyang pauses, his amber optics scanning.
"Its core's long dead, but the craftsmanship suggests it once rivaled the droidekas that hunted my students. A pity it couldn't withstand Revan's enthusiasm."
Ezra chuckles, nudging a shard with his boot.
"Enthusiasm's one way to put it."
Revan's shoulders stiffen. The orb's light flares briefly, then settles, and he keeps walking. Silent.
Vicrul trails behind, his vibro-scythe slung across his back, its obsidian-wrapped haft scraping the wall. His cracked rib slows his gait, each step a controlled wince he thinks nobody catches. His dark eyes flick to Revan, and I read the cocktail in his expression without trying. Loyalty. Suspicion. The same war I am fighting, played out on a rougher face.
"You sure that thing's worth dragging out of here, Herald? Maybe that's an artifact we leave behind this time."
"It is worth more than your doubts, Vicrul."
Revan does not raise his volume. Vicrul snorts. Falls silent as his boots scuff the floor.
I watch the exchange, my hand hovering near my sabers. Not because I expect a fight. Because I am reading the fracture lines in Revan's own ranks, cataloging where the loyalty holds and where it thins. A habit Rex taught me. Check the troops before you check the terrain.
Kesh pads beside Ezra, her collar catching the fractured light, silver-gray fur matted with algae from the temple's deeper chambers. Her low growl vibrates through the corridor, a warning frequency my montrals parse before my mind does. She is reading the temple's residual malice, its reluctance to release us. I reach out with the Force, brushing her presence, and find steady warmth. Grounding. A Loth-wolf's loyalty, uncomplicated by politics or masks.
The temple deepens as the corridor slopes upward. Turbolaser gouges buckle the walls, stone sheared away in strips that expose the Rakatan infrastructure beneath, conduits dead for millennia, their purpose forgotten. The destruction is too precise, too thorough, for a single battle. Revan's past as a warlord hangs over us like the dust in the air, and I wonder how much of this planet's ruin is carved into his conscience along with its stone.
Vines drape across the passage like curtains, their bioluminescent tips brushing my lekku, sending a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with temperature. I ignite my saber with a practiced flick, its white blade humming soft and clean, and slice through the thickest vine. It recoils, oozing a sap that smells of charred resin, the severed end writhing before it goes still.
"Careful!"
I glance at Ezra.
"We may be out of that cursed place, but this jungle still wants us gone."
"Feeling's mutual."
Ezra brushes dust from his robes. Kesh's ears flick, her growl softening as the temple's oppressive aura begins to thin. The air grows cooler. The corridor brightens. Lehon's gray storm-light bleeds through cracks in the stone ahead, and I feel the weight of the temple lifting from my shoulders like armor unclasped after a long campaign.
The landing pad opens before us, a cracked expanse of stone half-swallowed by Lehon's jungle. My eyes sweep it on instinct. Open ground. No cover between the corridor mouth and the ship. Rain sheeting down in silver curtains, visibility cut to forty meters, maybe less. Lightning cracks above, illuminating the jungle canopy in stark relief, and for one breath the whole clearing blazes white and green and wild.
The Ebon Hawk sits at the pad's center. Its hull catches the storm, rain drumming against the plating. Battle scars show through the polish, old damage worn into the metal like lines on a soldier's face. The ship looks different to me now. Not the curiosity it was when I first boarded on the Star. Now it is an extraction point. It means we made it out.
My grip on my saber hilt eases. A breath I did not realize I was holding releases between my teeth, quiet enough that only my montrals catch the change in my own rhythm.
Revan strides toward the ship, the orb steady in his hands, its quiet rhythm a low counterpoint to the rain. Vicrul lags behind, muttering something. Ezra and Kesh keep pace with me, and Huyang's measured steps bring up the rear, his ancient frame crossing the rain-slicked stone with the sure-footed calm of a droid who has walked worse terrain across more centuries than any of us have lived.
Ezra squints through the rain.
"Ship's looking better than this dump. Think HK's got a hot meal waiting?"
Huyang answers dry from the downpour.
"If by 'hot meal' you mean a lecture on Rakatan combat tactics and their many deficiencies, then certainly."
The Hawk's external speakers crackle before we reach the ramp.
"Clarification: The lecture is reserved for the relic only. Organics will receive rations."
I allow myself the ghost of a smirk. But my attention stays on Revan. He reaches the ship's ramp, pausing as if to steady himself, his gauntlet tightening on the orb. The rain plasters his cloak to his frame and for one moment the mask catches a lightning flash and I see his silhouette as the galaxy will remember it. A man carrying something heavier than a relic.
The ramp hisses open and the Hawk's clean air hits me like a wall. After hours of temple rot, algae, wet stone, and Lehon's humid breath, the ship's recycled atmosphere feels sharp enough to cut. I step aboard and the deck vibrates under my boots, thrusters warming, the vessel powered and ready. The ramp seals behind us with a soft thud, cutting off the storm's roar, and the sudden quiet presses against my montrals, total and close.
The lounge is the same as I left it. Curved benches, the holo-table's glow, the clean metal scent of Zakuulan engineering. But the orb changes everything. Revan carries it through the space and its dark-side weight trails him like a long-cast pall, pressing against my senses, turning the ship's warmth into something watchful. The air carries an undercurrent now, something old and patient and wrong.
Ezra drops onto a bench, his slate-blue robes dusted with grime, the welt on his arm a dull red against his tanned skin. Kesh curls at his feet, silver-gray fur still matted, her growl settling into a low vibration that tells me she feels the orb's presence too. Vicrul leans against the far wall, his scythe clattering against the paneling, cracked rib forcing him into a careful slouch. Huyang moves to the holo-table, his amber optics sweeping the nav data, already calculating. Then they shift to the orb and hold. The words drop beneath the engines, calibrated for my hearing alone.
"I pronounced that core dead. My readings are correct, Ahsoka. A fractured matrix does not mend itself. But something in that crypt answered him, and I have no file for what."
"And that frightens you?"
"Frightens is an organic word."
His gaze does not leave the orb.
"My first masters buried the Je'daii way after the Force Wars, Ahsoka. I was built into the silence they left behind. Now I watch the doctrine exhumed by the man whose war fills my grimmest records, and I intend to note, precisely, whether it deserved its grave."
I have no answer for that. And I am not sure he wanted one. Revan does not stop in the lounge. He moves to the cockpit, the orb cradled against his chest, and I follow. My boots are quiet on the deck but I make no effort to hide my presence. I want him to know I am still watching.
The cockpit's displays glow around us, Lehon's storm swirling beyond the viewport, lightning forking through clouds that boil and collapse. Revan sets the orb in a cushioned cradle. His movements are spare. Methodical. But I catch the tremor in his gauntlet, brief and quickly mastered, a fracture in the discipline he wears like a second mask.
"HK."
Hoarse but firm. He leans toward the console.
"Plot a course back to the Star of Ashla. Full speed."
The console flares. HK-47's voice crackles through the speakers, dripping with the kind of disdain I have only heard from Separatist generals and surly astromechs.
"Statement: Course plotted, Master. Though I must protest the haste, such reckless meatbag urgency risks my new pristine circuits. Query: Shall I prepare for your inevitable heroics while en route?"
Revan's mask tilts. I catch a hint of warmth, fleeting but real, the first crack in his guard that is not pain.
"Just get us there, HK. No detours."
The hologram winks out. The Ebon Hawk's engines roar, a smooth vibration rippling through the deck, and I brace against the cockpit's frame as we lift. The temple's ruin shrinks in the viewport, its spires swallowed by the storm's gray curtain, vines and stone and the ghosts of an empire that believed itself invincible vanishing beneath Lehon's canopy.
I stand at the cockpit's edge, watching Revan's silhouette against the starfield as we punch through the atmosphere and the clouds fall away. The orb's glow reflects off his mask, green runes flickering against silver-gray and faded red. The Force stirs around him, unsettled, a current that shifts between discipline and something rawer underneath. I have felt this before. In masters carrying secrets that would break their students. In commanders making decisions they could not explain until the battle was over. In Anakin, in the months before everything fell.
Lehon's storm-charged orbit roiled, clouds churning like a beast awakened, as the Ebon Hawk sliced through the tempest, its cortosis hull flaring under lightning's forked claws. Below, the Temple of the Ancients dwindled, a crumbling bastion of crystal and cortosis, its spires scarred by ancient turbolaser barrages, entwined with bioluminescent vines shining faintly in the deluge. The landing pad, a fractured cortosis slab, vanished into the jungle's emerald grip, ferns swaying beneath sheets of rain. In orbit, the Star of Ashla loomed, a Zakuulan dreadnought vast against the stars, its obsidian crescent hull etched with Je'daii runes, dry-docked scaffolds glinting like skeletal fingers against the starfield.
Across the Outer Rim, ice moons continued to shatter in distant systems, their azure crusts splintering under unseen forces, vapor bleeding into the dark. Each moon's shattering unleashed a screech into the Force, a chorus of anguish answering Yavin 8's ruin, their cries rippling through the galaxy's unseen currents, heralding chaos beyond the stars' reach.
Nar Shaddaa's solar system sprawled, a chaotic nexus of asteroid belts and dim starlight. The Smuggler's Moon glowed at its core, wreathed in smog, its neon towers cutting through the murk. In the system's crowded orbit, the Rogue Shadow drifted, a predator reborn. Nar Shaddaa's smog still clung to its docking clamps, the stealth cloaking system humming softly, hyperdrive idling for the leap.
Inside, the cockpit glowed with crystal-lit consoles, holographic star charts casting a sterile blue across durasteel panels. Datacards littered the pilot's chair, sardonic maintenance logs etched into their surfaces. A crumpled ration wrapper slumped against a control yoke, a cloak crusted with Nar Shaddaa's grime draped over a sensor bank, concealing a vibroblade's hilt. The lounge stretched beyond, its crimson Tython leather seats scuffed, dust dulling their sheen. Cortosis walls, etched with Je'daii sigils, bore fingerprints, a holographic nav-table flickering with orbital data, its base cluttered with caf mugs and a cracked holocron, its kyber core dim from neglect. Its engines shuddered, Nar Shaddaa's smog-lit sprawl a stark backdrop, its course poised for a distant star far into the black sea.
"—still nothing, Dren'var…"
Galen growls, rough with frustration, leaning into the console as static crackles through the comms.
"This is our second try. Where is our great Herald?"
I shift in the co-pilot's chair, my armor's servos adjusting, catching Dren'var's holographic flicker. Red Chiss eyes, a crisp Je'daii tunic, standing on what looks like a frigate's bridge.
"The Herald still has not responded, Sentinel."
Dren'var reads it like a mission brief.
"He's taken a team to Lehon's surface. Storms have been disrupting comms since they left."
Galen knocks a datacard off the console, its edge skittering across the deck.
"What, Revan's too busy playing expedition to check in? Tell me, Dren'var, does he at least send you a holo-postcard from these excavation raids he's been obsessed with?"
Dren'var's expression doesn't waver.
"The Herald's mission is critical, Sentinel. I'll relay your inquiry with haste."
The feed cuts, static fading to the cockpit's low rumble. I glance at Galen, catching the smirk tugging at his scarred lip.
"You're gonna give that kid a heart attack one day."
"That boy is wound tighter than a reactor core."
Galen's dark eyes carry that playful edge I've seen sharpen over months of blood and banter.
"Keeps him honed. Revan's got enough worshippers. Dren'var can handle a little heat."
He leans forward, fingers flicking over the console, pulling up the nav system. The holographic star map flares to life. Stars and hyperspace lanes burn in 3D, crystals embedded in the console casting flecks of light across Galen's face. I've seen holo-interfaces before, hell, EDI could map a galaxy in seconds, but this is next-level, like something Cerberus would've killed to reverse-engineer. I shake my head, a faint grin tugging at me. Revan's Je'daii have come a long way since I got dropped on Nar Shaddaa, still a stranger in a galaxy of glowsticks and mystic mumbo-jumbo.
"Lehon, the Unknown Regions."
Galen punches in coordinates with a flick, his fingers level despite the faint tremor I catch. He slams the hyperdrive lever, and the stars stretch into streaks beyond the viewport as we enter the jump.
I brace against the chair, the vibration settling into my bones.
"Hell of a setup."
I nod at the changes since I've been aboard.
"The Je'daii have more structure than most outfits I've seen. Organized, but with a mystic edge I'll never get. Shades, Sentinels, a damn dreadnought out of the blue? Feels like Revan built an empire while I was slumming it with the Hutts."
Galen leans back, his cloak snagging on a stray datacard.
"Yeah, he's got a knack for getting fools to follow him. Revan's speeches are like a kriffin' tractor beam, pull you in whether you like it or not."
He softens, a nod to our shared hunt.
"You'd fit right in, barking orders like you did when I first landed on Mustafar."
I smirk, the memories of Mustafar hitting me. Revan's words, steady and certain, turning Vicrul's goons into believers.
"Yeah."
"Guy's got a way of making you believe the impossible."
Galen stretches, his lightsabers clinking against the dash.
"Come on, we've got an hour, maybe less. Let's hit the lounge. I ain't going to stare at hyperspace streaks that long."
I follow him out of the cockpit, the sterile glow giving way to a lounge that screams luxury and neglect in equal parts. Crimson Tython leather couches line the walls, plush but scuffed, dust clinging to their seams like Galen has never met a cleaning droid. Cortosis panels catch the light, etched with Je'daii sigils, but fingerprints dull their shine. A holographic nav-table sits in the center, its starfield half-buried under caf mugs and a cracked holocron, its kyber core dim. The air smells of hot circuitry and stale rations, a far cry from the Normandy's crisp air.
Zevra and Vren sprawl on a couch, our Nar Shaddaa escape buddies, now in what I guess is their fatigues. A dejarik board burns between them, holographic beasts snarling as Zevra's violet fingers hover over a move, her lekku flicking as she weighs it. Vren, his scarred jaw set, leans forward, blaster on his knee, eyes hard. They don't look up, lost in their game, a rare breather after the bloodbath on Nar Shaddaa.
I sink onto a couch, the Tython leather creaking under my armor, and take in the Rogue Shadow's changes. The retrofits are wild. The walls, the consoles, a lounge fit for the Council, but Galen's mess is everywhere. Datacards litter the floor, a ration wrapper stuck to a bulkhead, and the nav-table hasn't been wiped in months. No booze, though. Not a single bottle, not even a hint of rotgut. That's new.
"Place looks like a five-star hotel got hit by a meteor."
I kick a datacard aside.
"But no booze. You holding up alright, Marek?"
Galen drops onto the couch opposite, his cloak snagging on a mug.
"Over six months and counting. This Sentinel gig under Revan finally gave me something else to focus on."
A flicker of reluctance crosses his eyes, like he's still wrestling with it. I raise an eyebrow, leaning forward.
"You, Galen, following orders? Hell, I thought you'd choke a rancor before ever saluting Revan."
Galen waves a hand.
"I don't salute, Shepard. I'm here 'cause it gives me purpose, not 'cause I'm chanting his name like some of the others."
He leans back, grin tightening.
"Speaking of sharp, you really cracked that Hutt vault solo? Twin Falls, no backup? That's some sithspit."
I chuckle, the memory of Nar Shaddaa's chaos flashing back.
"Yeah, I slipped in, had Sylara's goons eating out of my hand."
I grin like I'm swapping stories over drinks.
"Dodged a dozen guns and ghosted out with my gear under cover of night after an unfortunate skycar accident. Hands were tied. No Normandy, no crew, no Starkiller to back me up, just me and a desperate plan."
"The ice moons, Marek. Have y'all had any leads?"
Galen's grin fades, his eyes searching mine.
"Wish I could tell you, but our fearless leader's out hunting old relics and dust mites. Guess we'll find out when we get to the Star."
He rubs his neck through a yawn.
"I'm beat. Gonna crash. Try not to break my ship."
I pat the couch.
"This couch is a damn sight comfier than anything I've slept on lately."
Galen heads for the corridor.
"Crash in a real bed for once, Shepard. Mustafar's bunks are barely better than that Nar Shaddaa sleemo hole you called home. You need some real sleep."
I lean back, the lounge wrapping around me, the Reaper-like wail waiting for me beyond sleep.
The Star of Ashla vibrates beneath me, its Zakuulan corridors a lattice of durasteel and crystal, their faint hum feeding the dread knotting in my chest. The Rakata orb rests heavy in my grip, a cracked sphere, its surface dark save for faint green runes that burn like a dying star. Its silence mocks me, a husk where once a supercomputer lived. I stride toward the Chamber of Inquiry, my cloak trailing, the mask a cold shield against the galaxy's gaze, and hers. Ahsoka Tano follows, her steps a measured rhythm, her presence a warm current in the Force. Her white-blue lekku sway, and though she says nothing, I feel her scrutiny, sharp as a lightsaber's edge, probing for the fractures I hide.
The Rakatan Elder's face still haunts me, his black eyes widening in terror as he saw Yavin 8's destruction. I have faced Sith Lords, forged empires, shattered worlds, but this dread, this unanswered riddle, clings like the rot of Lehon's crypts. My fists clench around the orb, a faint tremor running through my bones. It holds answers and I will tear them free, whatever the cost.
The corridor widens, Zakuulan glyphs lining the Chamber of Inquiry's blast doors, their light half-obscured by dangling Je'daii conduits, cores sparking as droids weld them to Zakuulan holo-frames. I raise a hand, and the doors part with a low hiss, revealing a vast deck thick with the scent of scorched insulation and molten metal. Conduits snake along the walls, half-welded Je'daii additions burning erratically beside Zakuulan wires trailing like scorched vines, their heat hissing where droids fuse plating to GEMINI servers. Holo-consoles struggle to sync with the ship's hybrid systems, a marriage of Je'daii balance and Zakuulan ambition still raw with untested power. In a corner, an Iokathi holo-puzzle sits unsolved, its geometric patterns droning like a trapped beast, a monument to the Star's relentless pursuit of ancient truths.
A figure approaches, robes whispering against the deck, one of my Vanguard of Secrets. Human, male, his face lined with the scars of Lehon's tombs, he moves with the wary economy of a relic-hunter who has faced Rakata traps and lived. His eyes flick to the orb, awe flashing before duty snaps into place.
"My Herald, you've brought something extraordinary."
I hold the orb aloft, its cracked surface catching the chamber's light, green runes burning faint.
"The core of the Temple of the Ancients' supercomputer. It once held secrets of the Infinite Empire's knowledge. Can your team unlock its data, or is it too far gone?"
The Elder's terrified expression lingers, urging haste, but I keep calm, a leader's command masking the storm within. Ahsoka steps closer, her presence a grounding reminder of why I must not let the Je'daii turn into the nightmare that was given as warning. Her hazel eyes search mine, piercing for all the distance I keep, her empathy landing where my guard is thinnest.
I meet her gaze and finally answer her silence.
"The temple showed fragments, Tano, nothing clear enough to act on yet."
The lie is partial. The Elder's terror is a riddle I cannot share, not until I know more.
"My focus is the orb's secrets, not my own. Your caution is wise, but we both need answers."
Her scrutiny does not waver, but I turn to the Vanguard, redirecting.
"Proceed with the scan."
The Vanguard nods, gesturing to a droid scuttling forward, a revived Zakuulan SK-3, its chassis a patchwork of sleek curves and retrofit sensors, its amber optic alive with calculated irritation.
"Diagnostic initiated, My Herald. Dark-side interference detected. GEMINI protocols are throwing a tantrum. Recommend maintaining distance unless you fancy a week in medbay."
Its probe extends, and the orb's faint resonance deepens into a guttural growl that shakes the deck. The green runes flare briefly, their light dancing across the cracked surface, a living spark where silence reigned. Ahsoka's montrals shift, and she fixes me with a look.
"Revan, your pulse is racing, I can hear it through the Force."
She steps closer, her hand hovering near her lightsabers.
"The temple did more than show you fragments. What aren't you telling me?"
Her concern is genuine, a Togruta's instinct forged by years of loss, but it presses against the walls I have built. I exhale, forcing the strain down.
"Clarity comes with time, Tano. The temple's fragments are unclear, but the orb is our path forward."
The SK-3's optic brightens, its probe whirring as a flash leaps from a nearby holo-console, its core struggling to align with Zakuulan wiring.
"Report, now."
"Initial scan complete, My Herald. Orb confirmed as supercomputer core, crystal matrix, fractured but viable. GEMINI protocols detect 47% data stream compatibility. Dark-side trigger locks primary functions. Corruption risk at 71%… I recommend you isolate it or jettison it into a star. The latter option is cleaner."
The Vanguard's brow furrows, his hands clasped behind his back.
"My Herald, the GEMINI link is a start, but the dark-side lock could destabilize the Star's systems. A Vanguard of Balance is essential to attune it, neutralizing the corruption risk. Without that, we risk the orb's influence spreading."
Ahsoka's gaze does not leave me.
"Vanguard of Balance, Revan?"
Her montrals flare, sensing the orb and my unease.
"And why do I feel like you're still hiding something critical about whatever you plan to 'balance'?"
I face her.
"The orb's power is bound to the dark side, Tano. We do not want a repeat of what happened at the temple."
I hand the orb to the Vanguard, armored fingers releasing the faint crystal warmth from my palm.
"Deliver this to the High Sage. Instruct her to begin attunement immediately. I expect a report the moment it is ready."
The Vanguard takes the orb, his hands sure despite its weight, the green runes casting eerie shadows across his scarred face.
"In balance, My Herald. The High Sage will make it her priority."
Bowing slightly, he turns, disappearing into the Chamber's depths, the orb's pull fading like a receding storm.
I pivot, the need for solitude a physical ache. The meditation chambers are my sanctuary, a ritual after every mission, but the Elder's terror makes them a necessity. His whispered curse, the vision's abrupt end, demand clarity I cannot find in a crowded deck. My boots strike the deck with purpose, the corridor blurring as I move, my cloak snapping behind me. Exposed Je'daii panels line the walls, droid welders flashing as they fuse plating to durasteel, the Star's hybrid heart still raw with untested power. Ahsoka is there again, calm but relentless.
"Revan, slow down. You're moving like the galaxy's unraveling."
Her footsteps quicken, matching my pace, her presence a constant warmth in the Force.
"You're walking away again. Don't keep shutting me out."
Her words are gentle, but her resolve is iron, a Jedi's instinct honed by years of confronting shadows. I do not break stride.
"Meditation is my tradition, Tano. It clears the mind after a mission. You know the value of focus. The orb is with my High Sage. That is what matters now."
My deflection holds, but her scrutiny finds the seams, a reminder of the truths I cannot yet share. She grabs my arm, her grip firm but not hostile, forcing me to pause.
"Revan, I've seen too much to believe you're just meditating."
Her hazel eyes bore into mine, searching beyond the visor.
"The temple has left a mark on you. Let me help, or at least tell me if we're going in the right direction."
Her concern reaches the dread I carry. I pull free harder than I mean to.
"We face the unknown, Tano. I need solitude in this moment, not more questions."
The vision's weight is mine to bear, a riddle I will unravel alone until its shape is clear. I resume my march, the meditation chambers a beacon, their promise of solitude driving my steps.
We have barely cleared the next junction when Dren'var steps into the corridor, his posture rigid with duty. A nearby droid welder hisses, fusing a Je'daii panel to a Zakuulan nav conduit, its flash casting fleeting shadows across his polished vambraces.
"My Herald, I have news. Galen has made multiple attempts to contact you. He is en route to the Star of Ashla with Shepard aboard. They are expected within the hour."
The words strike like a hyperspace surge, relief and dread tangling in my chest. Shepard, lost for months, a specter I have chased through every dark corner of the galaxy. Found. Alive. My fists clench, the faint creak grounding me, but the Elder's terror lingers, a reminder that answers come with costs.
"Prepare the Haven of the Chosen for their arrival, Dren'var. Ensure all is ready."
Ahsoka's lekku lift, her curiosity keen in the Force.
"Galen and Shepard? Names I've heard too often, Revan, yet I've never met either of them."
She pauses, her eyes flicking to Dren'var, then back to me.
"We're not done here, but I'll give you your moment. I'm heading back to my envoy. Find me when you're ready to talk."
I nod, the visor giving nothing away.
"I will, Tano. Soon."
Her gaze holds mine a moment longer, then she turns, her strides purposeful toward the VIP quarters, her white-blue lekku trailing behind her.
I then face Dren'var.
"To the Haven, now."