Sector A-733 had always been a dangerous place, even by the standards of the not-so-prosperous Level-1321. Dozens of small gangs gave no respite to the few "lucky ones" who were forced to live in the surrounding houses. Illegal trade in weapons, drugs, and sometimes even slaves flourished in the decaying heart of the Republic's capital.
Shootouts between criminal structures were frequent, and therefore the locals were accustomed to not paying attention to the noise of gunfire and the thunderous roars of explosions.
However, what was happening now in the abandoned cantina of block N-22 made even the most resilient residents flee in fear. The building was shaking with the terrible screech of crushing floors. The walls were repeatedly pierced by bursts from a heavy-caliber blaster, or the explosion of something very similar to a thermal detonator created a new entrance into the battered and crumbling structure. Nearby, the speeder of one of the combat groups of the "Blind" gang was burning, having been hit by a stray shot after the fighters arrived to find out what was happening in their territory.
The locals all wondered who could have caused such a scene in broad daylight? Which of the Coruscant crime lords suddenly had the idea to settle their differences in the long-suffering sector A-733?
The question answered itself when a mangled droid carcass flew out of a breach in the wall, and another immediately slammed into it. The next moment, something silvery flashed in the darkness of the hole in the wall and plunged into the chest plate of the iron killer, which was already getting back on its feet.
Few had seen Jedi in this sector, so only one of the curious, hiding in a building opposite the cantina, recognized their traditional weapon. But his frightened cry – "Jedi!" – was heard by many. And the observer rushed away from the scene of the battle, trying to get as far away as possible as quickly as possible.
No one knew why the petty thief running down the street was so afraid of the Jedi. However, when lightning struck the hilt of the lightsaber sticking out of the assassin droid's chest, everyone felt a chilling horror. And soon, there was not a single sentient being left in the vicinity of the long-suffering cantina. Everyone preferred to follow the example of the frightened thief.
HK-47, who was observing all this, merely snorted, not forgetting to add "Contemptuously" before that.
"Assessing: Master is having fun," the droid stated, assessing the flight of another metal killer that Revan had launched into the air with a Force push through two walls.
"Hey, psycho, what's the situation?" Tira's voice came from the commlink. "A crowd of people is running from here, like they're escaping a herd of rancors."
"Condescending reply: There's no need to worry. Master is busy negotiating," HK replied.
"... Hmm... I see," Nomad replied after a moment of hesitation. "Then we wait."
"Affirmative."
And in the building itself, the battle was still ongoing. In the first minutes of the battle, Revan managed to repel most of the attackers with a radial shockwave, which, by a miracle, did not hit Maul. However, this bought a few extra seconds to launch the next attack. The man and the Zabrak darted through the hall like blurred shadows, deflecting blaster fire and turning metal killers into useless piles of scrap metal.
The scarlet blades of the light staff merged into a bloody vortex, protecting their owner and bringing death to his enemies. And the black lightsaber, barely visible in the dimly lit hall, along with its periodically flashing silver counterpart, quickly reduced the number of droids, creating the impression that an invisible evil spirit was wielding them.
Revan enjoyed the fight. He hadn't had a chance to warm up like this in a long time. By unleashing droids against him, the Sith clearly hoped that the former Jedi would have problems with such an opponent. Metal soldiers are not alive. They have no feelings, no emotions, no connection to the Force. It was impossible to read them, predict their attacks, or use their anger to fuel oneself. And the more of them there were around, the more dangerous it was. And combat foresight could not always help.
However, Revan was accustomed to such opponents. In his time, he had destroyed hundreds, if not thousands, of droids. The Star Forge churned them out at a rate of five hundred per hour. And how many of them had ultimately met the former Sith in the corridors of the Rakatan space station, Revan preferred not to recall.
Not without surprise, the ancient Sith noted that Maul was also holding his own quite confidently against the droids, despite the indecent number of tin cans around and the fact that they were all armed with automatic weapons. Not to mention that a dozen droidekas flashed among the attackers. But the Zabrak skillfully dodged the trajectories of fire, forcing the enemy to engage in crossfire with their own allies. Periodically, Revan had to deflect his saber to avoid hitting the young warrior, who was not used to working in tandem. And a couple of times, the ancient was forced to cover the back of the battle-enthralled Maul. However, overall, his presence did not hinder the ancient Sith. Which spoke to the fact that the choice of a student had been successful.
The two fighters continued their mesmerizing dance of chaos and destruction, gradually reducing the number of droids. A lunge, a strike, a rebound, a roll, - and a couple more tin cans fell to the floor as a useless pile of scrap metal. By the will of the Force, several ceiling slabs fell on a group of droidekas, overloading their shields and crushing the ugly creations of the Colicoids.
The trap had been perfectly prepared, and had anyone else gifted fallen into it, they would have had little chance of escaping. The barrage was too dense. Only masters of the saber, and moreover, not lacking in talents in enhancing their own bodies and accelerating perception, had a chance of success.
The organizer himself had left the hall. However, Revan still felt his presence nearby. Apparently, the Sith had decided to make sure that the droids would cope with their task. A wise move. Only, in his place, the ancient would have personally intervened. He would not have entrusted the elimination of two gifted individuals to anyone, not even HK.
The current state of affairs, as well as the complete carelessness of the meeting's organizer, played into Revan's hands. The former Jedi still had plans regarding Darth Sidious, and it was time to finish with the tin cans.
"Cover me!" Revan quickly commanded, dropping to one knee to give the Zabrak more room to maneuver.
Maul, despite the heat of battle gradually clouding his mind, instantly reacted to the order and found himself behind his new mentor.
Revan, in turn, used the momentary respite to concentrate the Force and, just a few moments later, sharply thrust his hands forward. Branching lightning erupted from his palms, striking a pair of droids directly in front of him. But the discharges did not stop there, jumping from one mechanical soldier to another, burning out their processors and melting their armor.
It had been a long time since Revan had used a mass droid destruction technique. The last time was on board the Star Forge. Therefore, the maneuver was costly. But the wave of fatigue that had washed over him quickly passed under the influence of the Force, which was summoned to the aid of the former Jedi.
Maul stared in astonishment as the last assassin droid, with a loud clang, fell to the floor, helplessly flinging its arms to the sides. Then he looked at Revan with admiration.
"How?" he exhaled.
"I'll teach you, later," the ancient Sith replied. "We still have business here."
At that very moment, the door to the hall slid open with a screech. Or rather, it was torn from its hinges by the Force.
"Sidious," hissed the Zabrak, resuming his stance.
Revan gestured for his new student to remain calm. He had been watching the Sith who organized the meeting throughout the entire battle, simultaneously tracking any disturbances in the Force that might indicate the intentions of a potential opponent. And everything indicated that Darth Sidious had no intention of engaging in combat. At least, not at that moment.
"Maul," Revan drew the Zabrak's attention and gestured for him to remain calm and do nothing.
Sidious chuckled hoarsely and quietly.
"Excellent, Lord Revan," he clapped his hands a few times. "I have heard much about you, but I did not expect to personally meet a legend... of the Sith."
The former Jedi merely frowned slightly in response and said nothing. Maul, on the other hand, could not hold back. Hatred seethed within him like magma ready to erupt.
"What's with the change of mood?" the Zabrak barked at his former teacher. "A minute ago, you were going to kill us!"
Sidious laughed again.
"What have I taught you all these years, my foolish, treacherous student?"
"I suppose pain and hatred," Revan replied for Maul, "as is customary for the Sith. Self-knowledge and one's own capabilities through suffering. Cultivating darkness within, burning away one's own essence, so that no pity or doubt remains. The perfect tool for controlling the Dark Side, capable of resisting its temptations."
A smirk appeared on the lower half of Sidious's face, barely visible beneath his hood.
"Almighty," Revan continued, "but at the same time, so limited."
The smile turned into a grimace. The undisguised mockery in the ancient Sith's last words angered the ambitious lord of the Dark Side. However, he was too intelligent to succumb to his own rage.
The former Jedi mentally applauded the interlocutor's restraint. His ploy had not worked. Otherwise, he would have thought that the Sith of this era had also become pale imitations of their predecessors.
"And this tactic," Revan gestured around the semi-destroyed cantina hall, littered with droid debris, "fits perfectly with the favorite greeting of the Dark Side adepts. Know your opponent by forcing them to fight for their life. The Sith have always valued strength."
"Bravo, my lord," Sidious clapped his hands a few times again. "I could not have said it better myself."
A smirk reappeared on his lips.
"Besides, your former mentor is no longer watching us. Which means no one is holding the leash anymore," Revan added, trying to make out the face under the hood.
The interlocutor was clearly using Force concealment, preventing the light from revealing his identity. However, even the visible part of his face was enough for the former Jedi to understand – Sidious was furious.
However, the Sith managed to quickly compose himself. Only the floor beneath his feet creaked mournfully as the metal plates of the covering buckled along with his clenched-to-whiteness fists.
"You are right, Lord Revan," Sidious replied in a calm voice. "My... mentor has indeed ceased his observation. And yes, it was he who ordered me to attack you."
Revan slightly arched an eyebrow in surprise, which went unnoticed under his mask.
He had guessed about the mentor. However, he had not expected the interlocutor to suddenly admit it, let alone reveal his, essentially, master's plans. Apparently, Sidious had decided to play with his teacher and considered Revan a valuable pawn.
"My... teacher," the Sith faltered again on his mentor's status, "although very strong and intelligent, he is already old and has lost his grip. His obsession with his ideas, to which he has forcibly drawn me in, will lead us to ruin. And by ruin, I mean all Sith."
Revan mentally smirked. Four thousand years, and the Sith were still the same. Intrigue and betrayal.
"Continue," he nodded to his recent opponent.
"My mentor will clearly try to draw you into his plans as well," Sidious obeyed.
"As if you don't have plans for me," flashed through the ancient's mind.
"But, as much as I would like to get rid of the senile teacher, I cannot cope with him alone."
"Oh, so that's the point," the former Sith smirked.
Sidious continued to weave a verbal tapestry, painting "bright" prospects of their cooperation. But Revan suddenly began to be bothered by a strange feeling of wrongness about everything that was happening. Something was not right. Why was this Sith trying to fool someone he considered stronger? Did he really expect Revan to take his word for it and rush to chop off heads of his enemies? Sidious perfectly understood that he was facing a Sith just like him, albeit in the past. One who had founded his Empire four thousand years ago and successfully conquered half the galaxy. One who had held Vitiate at bay for three hundred years! And suddenly expect such a being to submit?
"Who does he think he is?" the former Sith thought and tried to get a better look at his interlocutor again.
He suddenly remembered how, on the very first day after his rebirth, he had discovered his Force-sight abilities. Something he had inherited from the Miraluka, with whom his new body was likely related. The ancient concentrated, summoned the Force to his aid, and tried to see what was inaccessible to the human eye.
Sidious's face was hidden by a black veil. As the former Sith had suspected, his interlocutor had used Force concealment techniques. However, there was something else. The finest dark gray threads stretched from Sidious to Revan, entwining the latter's head. A barely noticeable itch at the back of his head suddenly became clearly palpable. The former Sith had somehow not noticed this unpleasant sensation until now.
However, the ancient had already understood everything. His interlocutor masterfully masked his influence, but now Revan clearly felt it. The attempt to break the Jedi's mind using Force Persuasion had failed. After the incident with the Order Council's personality alteration, the former Sith was very sensitive to such techniques. A twice-mutilated mind was vulnerable. And, although Revan could resist even the strongest telepaths, the influence still needed to be noticed.
"Together - we will be able to subjugate the galaxy to our will!" Sidious concluded his speech with pathos.
Maul snorted tensely nearby, awaiting his new teacher's response. It seemed he was not being subjected to a mental attack.
The former Sith, meanwhile, thought that he had already been in the same situation once. A Sith urged him to go and conquer the galaxy. And indeed, that time, he had succumbed, albeit briefly. But not now!
"Once, I already tried to conquer the galaxy," Revan replied, shaking his head slightly. "And I have no desire to repeat it. Especially by someone else's will!"
Sidious twisted his lips as if grimacing from a toothache. He had intended to resolve everything here and now, but it seemed he would have to change his plans. But first...
"Then, what do you want, Lord Revan?" the Sith asked.
"Peace," the interlocutor replied seriously.
"What?"
"I wish to live peacefully. Last time, I was deprived of such pleasure," the former Jedi continued in a calm voice.
"And what about the Republic?" Sidious asked cautiously. "And the general situation in the galaxy? There has been no peace here for thousands of years."
"A quiet harbor can always be found. As for the Republic... that is the concern of the Senate, the Chancellor, and the Jedi Order."
The corners of the interlocutor's lips twitched slightly at the mention of the Chancellor, which did not escape Revan's gaze, leading him to suspect Sith control over the Senate. And direct control at that.
"The Order is weak," Sidious said with contempt after a few seconds of silence. "And the Republic and its Senate are rotten through and through."
"There has never been unity among the peoples of the galaxy," the ancient smirked, recalling the endless conflicts and wars of his time.
"Unity," the Sith almost spat out, "Senators don't even know that word. The Republic has never been so fragile. Just a push, and it will crumble to dust. It's hard to believe that it once repelled the Great Empire."
Revan grunted in agreement. Similar thoughts had crossed his mind.
"And the Jedi?" Sidious continued. "Obedient banthas who carry out any Senate order. And this is our ancient enemy? Force adepts? A disgrace..."
"Stagnation," concluded the former Sith. "For centuries of peace, sentient beings have forgotten how to develop."
"Because development is only possible in battle!" the interlocutor livened up. "Conflict at the edge of strength and capabilities. Only by knowing your limit can you overcome it. The Sith teach this."
Revan unconsciously nodded. Some part of his being completely agreed with Sidious's words. He would never have been able to comprehend the Force so deeply if he hadn't gone to war with the Mandalorians. If he hadn't clashed with the Republic, and then with his own Empire. If he hadn't clashed with Vitiate.
"And you speak of peace?" the Sith asked mockingly. "Don't deceive yourself, Revan. You are the same as I am. You are a Sith. The thirst for power is in your blood."
"Perhaps," Revan replied dully, checking again just in case there was no hidden influence on his mind. "However, this power is precisely what is achieved by struggling with one's own desires."
"So, your answer is no?"
"No," the former Sith shook his head. "But don't rush to count me among your enemies. It's foolish to divide the world into just two."
"Hmph," Sidious snorted. "Weakness."
"Wisdom," Revan countered.
Silence fell. The opponents looked at each other without breaking eye contact. Each tried to read the other, but both failed. Revan was intrigued by Sidious's unusual actions. He lacked the arrogance typical of the Old Republic Sith. He was cunning. And very intelligent. Dryness and calculation, not a gram of superfluous emotion. In this, the Sith reminded Revan of himself at the beginning of the Mandalorian Wars. When the young Jedi General showed the Mandalorians that the Republican army was also capable of acting harshly, but effectively. However, Sidious craved power. This was palpable.
"Changes are coming," the Sith said, breaking the silence. "The Republic will have to change. Or fall."
"So, conflict for the sake of change? Development?"
"For the future," Sidious answered.
"For the Sith?"
"For everyone."
"What do you mean?"
"I have already said more than I should have," the Sith began to retreat backward towards the exit at the far end of the hall.
"Master!" Maul looked pleadingly at Revan, awaiting an order to attack.
"Let him go," the ancient stopped the Zabrak with a gesture.
Already at the door, Sidious turned and threw over his shoulder, "Dromund Kaas. All the answers are there."
The next moment, the Sith left the room and soon his presence in the Force could no longer be felt nearby.
Revan stood for a few more seconds, pondering the interlocutor's words. Why had he mentioned the ancient Sith Empire? What could he have learned there?
"More and more questions," he quietly said to himself.
"Master?" Maul hadn't heard his new mentor's words.
"Let's go," the former Jedi waved his hand. "Time to go back."
"Yes, Master," the Zabrak obeyed without asking for directions.
On the way, they picked up Tira Nomad, who regarded the Zabrak with distrust, keeping her blaster in her hands the entire time. The droid, for its part, didn't care about the addition of useless bags of meat. Its master had brought him, so it must be necessary. The best killer in the galaxy could well tolerate this horned misunderstanding next to him until the Master gave the order for its liquidation. And he would carry that out quickly... very quickly.
The group boarded the Eagle an hour later. HK had prudently made several false circles and stops, in case of a "tail."
"Vaner!" Anakin greeted his friend, and recently, his teacher, joyfully.
"Hello, Ani," Revan ruffled the child's hair. "How's the situation on board?"
"Great!" the young man reported happily. "Artoo and I have debugged the right engine. There will be no power fluctuations now!"
The astromech, rolling out from a side corridor behind the child, confirmed with a beep in binary.
"Well done," the former Jedi praised the boy and the droid.
Skywalker shifted his gaze to the new team member. The red-skinned Zabrak, covered in black tattoos from head to toe, visible through the rips in his clothing, stood menacingly looking at the child. Moreover, judging by the scorch marks, the holes in his clothes were clearly left by blasters, which caused admiration in the adventure-hungry Anakin.
Maul, however, was not enthusiastic. His teacher's attitude towards this child was confusing. Who was he? A son? A student? But why then was the mentor so affectionate with him? And shouldn't a student show more respect to the master?
Revan noticed the Zabrak's gaze and hastened to clarify the situation. At the same time, he adjusted the plan for training Skywalker.
"Maul, this is Anakin. He is as much my student as you are. However, unlike you, young Skywalker has just begun his training and doesn't quite know how to control the Force yet. Not to mention wielding a lightsaber," the former Jedi began, causing an expression of bewilderment on the Zabrak's face. "I would like you to handle his physical training. We'll leave the fencing for now. I'll teach Anakin the basics myself. Then you can join in and help him."
"Yes, Master... but..." Maul said with doubt.
"Is something wrong?"
"Two students," the Zabrak informed him.
"Yes? And what's wrong?"
"It goes against tradition."
"Which one?"
"There should always be two. A Master and a Student. One to embody power, the other to crave it. Such is the tradition. The rule," Maul said, clearly recalling something.
To Revan's surprise, he recognized his own words, once recorded by him in a holocron on Lehon. He hadn't thought he would encounter the consequences of his own observations four thousand years later. However, the meaning of those words was not about prohibiting more students, but about their level of training. Although, if the Sith had taken it as a rule, then it was understandable where all the Dark Side adepts had gone. But that could be dealt with later.
"Maul, I am not a Sith. At least not in your usual sense. And I will train you as I see fit. The same applies to Anakin. You are both my students. Equals. Accept it. Humility will be the first lesson."
The Zabrak initially flared up with indignation, ready to turn into anger, but under the stern gaze, felt even through the visor of his mask, he managed to regain control in time.
"I understand, Master," he bowed his head in a humble bow.
"Anakin, now Maul will handle your physical training. I will focus on Force control skills and lightsaber basics," Revan announced. "Maul, your lightsaber skills are quite high. Therefore, we will have daily sparring matches, except for days when I have more important matters."
"O-okay," Anakin replied, slightly stumbling, casting wary glances at the grinning Zabrak.
The new team member no longer seemed so interesting to him. Rather, dangerous.
"Yes, Master," Maul stated confidently.
"I'm not finished," Revan drew the Zabrak's attention again. "Your knowledge of Force control leaves much to be desired. It's clear your previous mentor didn't explain much to you. We will rectify this oversight."
"Thank you, Master."
"Cabin 'B' on the starboard side is free. You can settle in there. Training will begin tomorrow. You may go."
Maul bowed again and headed deeper into the ship.
"Eni, you should rest too. Tomorrow morning will be your first training session. It will be tough. And believe me, no one will spare you," the former Jedi said sternly.
The boy swallowed tensely, nodded, and ran to his room. R2D2 followed him.
"HK, take the Eagle into orbit. It will be calmer that way. Blend in with the flow of merchant ships and get lost. It's possible we're still being followed."
"Happily: Yes, Master."
The assassin droid strode briskly with a clanking gait towards the cockpit, leaving Revan alone with Tira, whose tense posture betrayed her mood.
"Do you want to ask something?" the former Jedi turned to her.
"Not here," the Mandalorian turned and headed towards the cabin she was occupying on board without permission.
Shrugging, Revan followed.
Once in the mercenary's cabin, the ancient warrior took the chair offered to him near a small table. Nomad, meanwhile, locked the door and turned on some small device. As Revan guessed, it was a jammer for radio signals and tracking devices.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" Revan asked when the girl took the chair opposite him.
"About our deal," she began sternly.
The voice, distorted by the helmet's modulator, sounded quite sinister.
"And what then?" the former Jedi was not at all embarrassed.
"When will you fulfill your part of the bargain?" Tira asked. "So far, we are following your orders and doing what you need. Have you forgotten about the payment?"
"I remember," Revan nodded. "A favor in return."
"And when?"
"You never named it," the man reminded her. "So, I can't answer you."
"As soon as I state the conditions, you will begin to fulfill them as soon as possible, agreed?" the girl was clearly nervous.
Something was bothering her. Apparently, her request had suddenly acquired deadlines. Or something had happened that drastically reduced the time she had available.
"I can't promise anything until I know what is required of me."
The girl swore in a vaguely familiar language. Revan understood the general meaning of the expression, but the language was clearly not Mandalorian. This further confirmed the guess that Tira was not a native Mando'a.
However, the words stirred something in the ancient's memory. Something important... and not very pleasant. He definitely knew this language. But he was at odds with the people who used it.
"My clan," Tira interrupted his thoughts, "save it."
"What?"
"I need help saving my clan," the girl repeated. "You know a lot about our culture, and you must understand what a clan means to a Mandalorian."
"Life and honor, literally," Revan answered.
"Exactly," Nomad agreed. "We are a clan of wanderers and have always tried to stay away from internal disputes between clans. After the disappearance of the Mask of Mandalore, we lost our leader. Again. Internecine strife began. Everyone strove to unite our people, but bent everyone towards their own clan, forcing others to abandon their own customs. And not long ago, another split occurred between the clans. As a result, Vizsla and Fett almost killed each other."
At the mention of the last name, Revan instinctively clenched his fists. Memories of Cassus Fett's crimes and the ashes of Cathar flashed vividly before his eyes.
"Fett lost, only one warrior remained from the clan. Although, this did not particularly help Vizsla."
"I heard Mandalore is a peaceful planet now?" the mercenary interrupted Revan.
"Yes and no," Nomad continued after considering her answer. "Officially, a young Duchess rules. But Vizsla founded the Death Watch and claims Satine Kryze has no right to be the head of Mandalore. They call for the revival of ancient traditions."
"Which were not known for their humanity," the former Jedi recalled the times before "that" war.
"Which doesn't stop him from recruiting more and more supporters. Some by persuasion, others by force. And now it's time for Clan Nomad to choose a side."
"And what then?"
"The Nomads will never bow to anyone but the true Mandalore," the girl declared proudly.
"Which doesn't exist and won't exist as long as there's no mask, right?"
"Yes," Tyra nodded. "My clan has been searching for it for centuries."
"I can't help you with that," Revan raised his hands. "I know nothing about the current whereabouts of the mask."
"I'm not asking you to look for it. But help me protect the clan. We are few and scattered across the galaxy..."
"And what's the problem with that?" the former Jedi wondered. "Finding you and subjugating you is practically impossible."
"Unless they capture something important to us."
"Hutt..." Revan cursed. "What did they take?"
"One artifact, considered a relic of my clan... and..."
"And?"
"The children of the ruling triumvirate, who were hidden."
"In one place?"
"No, on different planets."
"Hmm," Revan stretched. "They worked professionally."
"So, will you help?" the girl, who had completely lost her confidence, asked with hope in her voice.
Revan sank into thought. On the one hand, it added problems to the existing ones. On the other hand, having a loyal clan of Mandalorians in reserve, and in the future, their entire people... A serious argument.
Besides, Tyra... Something about her was captivating. A Mandalorian in spirit, but not by birth. With clear ideals and notions of honor and morality. Unusual for an outsider taken into the clan. She wasn't taught from childhood, was she?
"One question," the former Jedi suddenly asked. "At what age did you join the Nomads?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" the girl became wary.
"Just answer."
"I was eight."
Revan nodded to his thoughts. Hence the accent, which she couldn't completely get rid of. Her speech was already formed and accustomed to another language. The girl Sasha, who hid on board the Black Hawk and was enslaved by Mandalorians from early childhood, came to mind. She spoke exclusively in Mando'a, and without an accent, as she had fallen into the hands of her tormentors at a very young age.
Then where did Tyra get such a desire for honor and glory? A thought flashed through his mind that he had met a race with similar principles. A long time ago. In his past life.
"I will help you," he began, but before giving the mercenary time to rejoice, he added, "On one condition."
"What?"
"No secrets or half-truths."
"Okay," the girl agreed, after considering her answer.
"Then, take off your helmet."
"What?!"
"I want to see the face of the one to whom I promise help."
The mercenary was silent, looking at Revan through the visor of her helmet.
"Okay," Nomad nodded, bringing her hands to the fasteners of the mask.
"And state your full name," demanded the former Jedi, already guessing the girl's true appearance. "Your real name."
Tyra froze, barely touching the latch on her helmet. Then she exhaled loudly and pulled off the headpiece of her armor.
"Did you guess long ago?" she asked.
"I'm not sure about anything yet," Revan replied.
Her scarlet hair with a fiery red sheen fell like a fan on her shoulders. This, combined with her rich blue skin, created a stunning contrast.
"My full name is Aru'Tir'Anude of Clan Nomad, a Mando'ade by adoption," the girl said, her blood-red eyes with a brightly glowing golden pupil flashing.
"Chiss," the ancient said with a smile, confirming his guess.