When Anakin Skywalker learned that he could become a Jedi, he clearly expected something else. At least, when Revan met the boy on the evening of the young Padawan's first day of training, the latter's expression was far from joyful.
The former Jedi smirked, assessing his student's battered and tired appearance. First, HK had overdone the demonstration of firearms, and then Maul, apparently, had forgotten that Anakin couldn't yet imbue his body with the Force. The boy, unaccustomed to prolonged physical exertion, was driven to sweat. Just during the warm-up.
And that was good.
"At least the manic glint and thirst for power have disappeared from his eyes," Revan thought, "A thirst for knowledge is good, but obsession with it does not lead to good. Even if the intentions were initially good."
When the former Jedi first met Skywalker, he immediately noted his potential... along with the danger. The image of a 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. The cause could be his environment and the harsh conditions of life as a slave. However, the fact remained. The child should be trained with caution.
It would seem that, in such a case, HK and Maul's actions would only push Skywalker towards the Dark Side? But it was necessary.
Anakin had managed to feel his own exceptionalism. Who else could boast at such an age of having participated in a real battle for a planet and destroyed an entire orbital station, thus ensuring victory for his allies? And also receiving special treatment from the Jedi.
Vanity is the weakness of all those prone to the Dark Side. Skywalker had tasted the poison of glory, and he liked it. The deceptive feeling of superiority was inflated by the Darkness to unimaginable proportions. The former slave from Tatooine conversed with the Queen of Naboo as an equal, felt no remorse about killing dozens, if not hundreds, of sentient beings aboard the Trade Federation ship, and dared to argue with his mentors. He already saw himself as a famous defender of the galaxy, a fighter against slave traders and criminals of all kinds. All of this could end very badly in the future. History preserved many sad examples... And Revan could confidently say that his own name was definitely on this list... as were the names of all the Revanists.
The door to the cargo bay, designated for training, opened with a quiet hiss, interrupting the former Jedi's reflections on the past.
Anakin entered the hall, shuffling his feet and sleepily rubbing his eyes. The Padawan's appearance was frankly unpresentable. His rumpled clothes made it clear that the boy had decided to go to bed in his clothes yesterday. And the characteristic bags under his eyes indicated that he hadn't managed to get enough sleep. The picture was completed by a disheveled mop of hair, barely covering a couple of scratches and a large bump on his forehead.
"Goo-o-o-od morning, teacher," Skywalker greeted his mentor, unsuccessfully fighting a wide yawn.
"Good morning, Padawan," Revan nodded in response, "Slept poorly?"
"Uh-huh. My whole body aches after yesterday's training..."
"This is just the beginning, Anakin," the ancient said instructively, "The path of the Force demands a great deal, and any success can only be achieved through hard work, training, and constant overcoming of one's own limits. There is no other way."
The boy clearly groaned.
"There, there," the mentor chuckled, "Cheer up. With me, you will study Force manipulation techniques, as well as the art of swordsmanship."
"Really?" the boy immediately perked up.
"Of course," Revan nodded, "Remember, a mentor never lies to his student."
The former Jedi did not clarify that after his training, Skywalker would probably say goodbye to sleep altogether. After all, the physical strain during sword exercises was no less than during training with Maul. And after awakening the ability to sense his surroundings using the Force, headaches would become a constant companion for the Padawan for several months.
Revan remembered his own training perfectly. This part of his biography was firmly etched in his memory, unlike the details of a personal nature. He remembered how difficult it was for him at the very beginning. Despite his mentors' assurances of his talent, Revan himself attributed his successes more to perseverance and a thirst for knowledge. Although, he couldn't completely deny his own abilities. After all, he could clearly see 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 throw enemies back with a wave of my hand, like you and Qui-Gon do?" the boy chattered, interrupting his mentor's nostalgic thoughts, "And will I get a lightsaber soon?"
Revan gestured for the student to be quiet.
"Patience, Padawan," the mentor frowned, "Everything in its own time. Learning to interact with the Force is very dangerous and does not tolerate haste. Therefore, we will start with the basics. As for the lightsaber, you will forge it yourself when I decide you are ready for it."
"And I'm not ready yet?"
"If you were ready, you wouldn't need to ask," Revan shook his head, "Think about it, is it worth giving a dangerous weapon, which essentially uses an unprotected, constantly circulating plasma arc, into the hands of someone who doesn't even have basic swordsmanship skills? One wrong move, and you could lose a limb, or even your head."
The boy wanted to object, proudly stating that he knew how to handle weapons! But the dull ache throughout his body reminded him of HK's lessons and warned him against loud declarations.
Revan smirked, reading all the student's thoughts from his facial expression.
"Anakin, the blade of a lightsaber cuts through flesh and bone without the slightest resistance," the teacher explained the danger, "And the very first attempt to practice a combination could cost you a leg. This is no joke."
"But I saw other children training with lightsabers in the Temple!" Skywalker exclaimed indignantly.
"Yes, I saw them too," Revan agreed, "A very foolish decision, in my opinion."
"What? Why?" the boy didn't understand.
"During my training, younglings used full-weight durasteel blades to practice basic swordsmanship techniques."
"And how is that better?"
"Practically in every way," the former Jedi grinned and, noticing that the student didn't understand, explained, "Before proceeding to learn how to wield a lightsaber, whose behavior is very different from its distant ancestor, you should learn to handle a more classic one – durasteel. This will give a clearer understanding of how a sword should behave in the hands of a swordsman and what to strive for."
Still not seeing understanding in the Padawan's eyes, Revan continued, "The weight of a lightsaber is concentrated in the hilt, which complicates its handling and makes it difficult to perform classic combinations based on blade rotation and the use of the sword's inertia. It is very difficult to explain to a beginner how the sword blade should move during a strike when the blade tries to twist out of your hands."
"I think I understand..." Anakin drawled.
"When it stops seeming like it, we can begin training," Revan commented dryly and began his explanations again, "Using classic durasteel swords for training reduces the risk for the Padawan to get injured during training. That's one. Secondly, a full-weight blade provides the necessary load on the arms, allowing you to train your wrists, preparing the student for sparring."
"But can't you spar with lightsabers too?" Skywalker interjected.
"Undoubtedly," the mentor nodded, "Only keep in mind that even a friendly spar is very different from simply swinging a sword while practicing strikes."
"How so?"
Revan removed one of the lightsaber hilts from his belt and handed it to the Padawan.
"Take it, but don't activate it."
"I don't know how," the child scowled.
"Assess the weight."
The boy swung the hilt in his palm.
"Well, about a kilogram and a half..."
"Almost two," the mentor nodded, taking the weapon back. "Usually, a sword weighs from nine hundred grams to two and a half kilograms, depending on the material and construction. Two-bladed and other atypical samples, respectively, have a greater weight."
The boy nodded, taking the information into account.
"It would seem the weight is negligible," the former Jedi tossed the sword's cylinder into the air and deftly caught it in flight. "However, one must remember that even with a glancing block, your hands will have to contend with the force of your opponent's blow, be it a sword or a blaster bolt, and that's already several dozen kilograms. Yes, in combat, the gifted use the Force to strengthen their bodies, but your opponent may possess the same abilities. And then the force of the blow will increase manifold. Maintaining concentration in combat is quite difficult, and your opponent will not give you time to catch your breath. You have no idea how often I've encountered cases where the reason for the defeat of one knight or another was a weapon knocked out of their hands."
"And to prevent that from happening, I need to pay more attention to training? Strengthen my wrists?" the young man figured out.
"Partly."
"So, that's not all?"
"Just a small part."
"How complicated it all is..." Skywalker drooped.
"No one promised it would be easy, young Padawan," Revan smiled gently. "With time, when you learn to channel the Force through your weapon, its weight or other hindrances will not matter. You will be one. The sword will become your weapon, a universal tool, and an impenetrable shield. A loyal friend who will not betray or let you down."
"Then I need to get one as soon as possible, don't I?" the boy exclaimed indignantly.
"Anakin, before you possess such a demanding weapon, you must study it, understand the principles of its operation, study its construction, learn to 'respect' it."
"It's just a sword..."
"A sword that can save your life countless times. Or become the cause of your death."
Seeing the skepticism on his student's face, Revan decided he had chosen the wrong approach. The boy needed a visual demonstration of the danger, because, for now, in his understanding, a lightsaber remained a beautiful toy that could cut through anything.
"Padawan," the mentor's voice grew stern, "lightsaber combat is not a game. It requires focus, precision, and a certain degree of fearlessness."
A silver blade flashed so unexpectedly close to Anakin's face that it made him flinch back in fear.
"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 quick swings burned a cross-shaped hole in the boy's clothes right opposite his heart, where Revan's blade was aimed. The blade barely touched the young man's skin, leaving a painful burn and causing the student to recoil and fall backward.
"Ow!" the child writhed on the floor, clutching his chest.
The mentor deactivated the sword and knelt beside his student.
"This is what they taught me. And this is what I will teach you," Revan said slowly, looking directly into Anakin's eyes.
"I understand... teacher," the boy replied seriously, wiping the tears that welled up in his eyes.
The mentor nodded and gestured for the Padawan to move his hands away from the burn. Skywalker, hissing in pain, obeyed. As soon as he touched the damaged skin, the former Jedi used one of the Force healing techniques he knew, easing the pain and eliminating the consequences of the "lesson."
"That's better," the mentor chuckled, helping his student to his feet.
The child was amazed at how quickly the burn disappeared.
"Is this also the Force?" he asked with admiration in his voice.
"Of course," Revan nodded.
"Can I do that?"
"I will teach you everything," the mentor promised, noting the student's renewed enthusiasm.
The boy beamed.
"Thank you! I will try my best and listen to you... to you, Master," Anakin felt a sudden urge to bow to his teacher and, without hesitation, performed a gesture that he considered appropriate for the situation.
Despite the fact that the young man had been through a lot from his "teachers" in the last two days, Anakin clearly felt that it was for his own good. In one session, he learned more about weapons from the assassin droid than he had in his entire life, and even memorized several of the most common blaster models. And the red-skinned Zabrak amazed him with his endurance, speed, and physical fitness. Skywalker wanted to become like him as soon as possible.
But most of all, he looked forward to training with Vaner. The mentor had promised to teach him the Force! With this knowledge, he could become who he had always dreamed of being, gazing at the night sky of Tatooine. A hero! A liberator of slaves! A conqueror of injustice!
"Anakin!" the teacher's voice pulled the child out of his blissful dreams.
"Yes, teacher?"
"Be more attentive," Revan said sternly.
The former Jedi's gaze did not miss the absent expression on the student's face. No doubt he was once again indulging in dreams of heroic adventures.
"A naive child," Revan thought, as the events of the Mandalorian Wars resurfaced in his memory. "We were naive too..."
Shaking his head and dispelling the bout of reflection, the mentor took a datapad from his pouch.
"Here, take this," he handed the device to the Padawan. "Here you will find records on the construction and operating principles of a lightsaber, as well as its history, starting from proto-sabers."
"Wow!" the boy exclaimed in admiration, practically snatching the datapad from his teacher's hands.
Revan merely smiled slightly, noting and approving Skywalker's enthusiasm. Mentally, he thanked Qui-Gon for the materials from the Temple archives, which had been delivered to the Eagle's board only yesterday.
"Don't hesitate to ask questions when they arise. By the time you finish, we will have completed the basic fencing course, and you can start assembling your own lightsaber."
"Hooray!"
"But not before," Revan cut the boy off sternly.
"Yes, teacher."
The mentor took a deep breath, not believing in the Padawan's humility for a second.
"Well, since we've dealt with that, know that starting tomorrow, we will begin practicing with a durasteel sword."
"And why not today?"
The young man was eager to start training with weapons.
"Because they are not on board yet. Or rather, their training versions," the mentor explained. "And I won't entrust a vibroblade to your hands yet."
Skywalker drooped his head.
"Besides, today we will do something else," Revan said mysteriously.
"What?" the boy became interested.
"The Force."
The Padawan's eyes widened, and a spark of impatience instantly flashed in them.
"And today I will teach you what is essential for further training to make any sense," the mentor continued.
"I'm ready!"
"I don't doubt it," Revan smiled. "First of all, you must learn to feel the Force. Until now, if you have ever called upon its help, it has only been unconsciously."
"How so?" the boy didn't understand.
"Your reflexes in races, your piloting skills, and your phenomenal luck," the teacher listed. "All of this is the Force. It is everywhere, it binds everything together, and it can affect us and our surroundings in ways you cannot imagine."
The young man listened to his mentor with fascination. Meanwhile, Revan was practically quoting his first master, adding his own observations and the experience of his years.
"The Force techniques known to its adepts are only a small part of what the Great One can offer. Over the past thousands of years, neither we nor our predecessors have managed to uncover even a tiny fraction of the secrets that the Force hides from us. Every answer only raises more questions. What is the Force? Energy? Some kind of invisible substance? A mystical power? Or perhaps a sentient and infinitely ancient entity with its own will? No one will give you a precise answer. Because the Force is all of this."
"What about the midi-chlorians?" the student asked. "Qui-Gon spoke about them on Tatooine... and I often heard that name in the Temple. Are they some kind of bacteria... in the blood? Don't they give us the Force?"
Mentally, Revan made another unflattering assessment of the new generation of Jedi's education level. It was foolish for someone, even a Padawan or a young Jedi, to say such a thing, even in the Temple.
"That is a remarkably limited conclusion. As if, after the discovery of midi-chlorians, everyone immediately concluded that everything depended on them," the ancient adept chuckled. "I'll let you in on a secret: four thousand years ago, and even earlier, the Order already knew about midi-chlorians. And in 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 is it?"
"Midi-chlorians are indeed bacteria in your blood. More precisely, in every cell of your body. But they do not produce the Force, as you might have thought, but merely serve as intermediaries, some kind of mediums in our attempts to call upon the Great One for help."
"But the more of them there are, the better? Right?" the boy persisted.
"Not better, but easier," the mentor corrected.
"How so?"
"Their number determines how easily you can access the Force, but not the limit of your capabilities. An experienced master with a small number of midi-chlorians will be orders of magnitude more skilled and powerful than a Padawan with several times more midi-chlorians in their blood."
"I don't quite understand," the child furrowed his brow, trying to comprehend what was said.
"Hmm, I'll try to explain it more simply," Revan scratched his chin. "Imagine that the Force is your ally, whom you want to call for help, but he is separated from you by a wall. Midi-chlorians, by this analogy, are a breach in this wall. And the larger it is, the easier it is. Do you understand?"
"So, it will be easier for me to access the Force and use all the possibilities it grants to Jedi, than for someone who has fewer of these bacteria?" Anakin slowly voiced his conclusions.
"In general, yes. But remember that if something comes easily to you, it's not a reason to neglect training. You need to know how to use your abilities, otherwise, they will be of no use."
"I understand, teacher."
Revan looked intently into the student's eyes.
"Not yet," he shook his head with a smile. "But you will understand in time. And I will try to prepare you by then."
"And wouldn't a more gifted Jedi be inherently stronger? Well, if they were trained equally?" the boy asked.
"Not necessarily. It all depends on the student themselves. With diligence and determination, much can be achieved," Revan sat down on the floor in front of the boy, crossing his legs. "Take my old friend Alec, for example..."
The former Jedi suddenly faltered, and the smile left his face. For a moment, pain, sadness, and regret appeared in his clouded gaze. However, the Force adept quickly brought his emotions under control.
"Teacher?" Anakin did not miss the change in his mentor's mood.
"It's alright, Padawan," Revan smiled again, albeit a little strained. "Some memories just surface unexpectedly... and often bring nothing good with them. Only a new cycle of pain."
The mentor almost whispered the last words, lowering his head, but Skywalker could hear them.
"Is it because of your friend?"
"Partly," Revan rubbed his forehead, trying to remove the sorrowful expression from his face and drive away the obsession. "But my fault in this story is no less."
Anakin tensed, sensing an interesting story. The change in the student's mood did not escape the mentor. He had no particular desire to dredge up the past, but since he had brought it up himself... his story could be used as a teaching aid. After all, the "Prodigal Knight's" life had been quite eventful.
"Will you tell me?" Skywalker asked hopefully.
"Why not," Revan shrugged.
The boy settled on one of the crates opposite his mentor and prepared to listen.
"Well, when I was about half your age, Seekers from the Jedi Temple took me from my family on Coruscant to begin my training in the Order. I'll preface this by saying I don't remember my family... so let's just forget that episode. It's completely unimportant for this story."
The Padawan nodded thoughtfully at his teacher's words.
Revan, meanwhile, continued his story.
"Just 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. You skipped the junior Jedi stage and immediately became my Padawan, which is why we have to catch up so quickly. However, according to the rules, you should have been prepared for the main stage of training. But, as it happened, so it happened. All is the will of the Force."
Anakin nodded.
"On Dantooine, I was in a group of younglings with a boy from the planet Kvelii. His name was Alec. Alec Skwin... Skwinqua... Oh, Force! Skwin-kvar-ga-si-mus," Revan enunciated syllable by syllable. "Skvinkvargassimus!"
"What a name!"
"He chose that name himself when he arrived at the Republic embassy, fleeing from the Mandalorians. That was the name of his native village... obviously destroyed. However, Alec didn't talk much about himself. Neither did I. Maybe that's why we got along?" Revan mused. "In any case, we quickly became friends."
"And they called him Skwin... skvar... what was it?"
"Oh-oh, no-o-o," the mentor drawled cheerfully. "The younglings quickly came up with a nickname for him."
"What?"
"Cross-eyed!"
The Padawan laughed along with his teacher.
"Why 'Cross-eyed'?" Skywalker asked, gradually calming down and regaining his breath.
"Partly because of his crooked surname," Revan chuckled. "And partly because at first he walked around sullenly, hunched over, and always squinted at everyone with what he thought was a terrible look."
"A gloomy type."
"He was a child," the mentor noted with a slight sadness. "We were all children then. And such behavior was not unusual."
The former Jedi shook his head, dispelling unnecessary thoughts, and returned to his story.
"We quickly bonded over our shared thirst for knowledge and, over time, surpassed all our peers, earning the right to be trained by Jedi Master Jara Lestina in the Main Temple on Coruscant. You could say, at that moment, we were the best. However, despite the fact that I was objectively stronger, both in terms of Force techniques and in lightsaber combat, Alec managed to keep pace with me. His perseverance and efforts compensated for the difference in the number of midi-chlorians you already know about," the mentor looked intently into the student's eyes and said very insinuatingly, "So you must not neglect training under any circumstances."
"I understand," the boy nodded. "And what happened next? Did you continue to be friends?"
Revan leaned back slightly, resting his hands on the floor and closing his eyes a little, indulging in memories.
"It was a turbulent time... almost like now. The Mandalorians united under a new ruler who took the ostentatious name - Mandalore the Ultimate. And then one of the best warriors in the galaxy decided to tickle the Republic's nerves. And ultimately, to attack it with the goal of enslaving it. However, Mandalore's motives, as well as the goals of that war, became clear to me much later."
"And the Jedi sent you to fight, right? To save the Republic!" the boy exclaimed enthusiastically.
The former Jedi merely snorted in response.
"Fight? Ha! The Council didn't show itself in the best light then... Its orders... Stupidity bordering on cowardice," Revan hissed the last words.
"What?"
"All Jedi were ordered not to interfere. The Republic was forced to deal with it on its own," the mentor shook his head. "But what could a crowd of politicians who had grown too comfortable within the Senate walls oppose to a trained army, hardened in brutal battles across the galaxy? Logically, the Republic's forces began to suffer one defeat after another. The Mandalorians were never known for their humane methods, and under the command of Mandalore the Ultimate and his close commanders, like Cassus Fett, the war became more like a slaughter."
"But what about the Council? Did the Jedi just sit by and do nothing?!"
Revan stood up and began to pace slowly around the hall.
"The Masters justified themselves by saying they sensed a greater threat than the Mandalorians and that they could not rush, lest they make things worse. But while we sat on Coruscant, the outer worlds were devastated, billions of innocent lives were cut short. The galaxy wept! Through the Force, every Jedi could feel that wave of pain and despair coming from the front lines," Revan sharply turned to Anakin. "And this could not continue. Not all Jedi agreed with the Council. Among them were Alec and I. At that time, we had both been granted the rank of Knight, so no one was holding us on a leash near our mentors. And we began to gather information about the war with the Mandalorians, to look for evidence of their crimes, in order to convince the Council to act. Gradually, others who disagreed joined us. Some even gave us a name - 'Revanchists'. We accepted the contemptuous comment that we were merely proponents of revenge for one side in a foreign conflict with pride, acting against the will of the Council and thus irritating many Masters. Which, in the end, almost led to an open struggle with the Order."
"What?" Anakin was surprised.
The young man was still in shock at how his "heroes of the galaxy" had suddenly turned out to be unfeeling cynics who decided to stand by and watch the suffering of the Republic's citizens instead of helping. And now it turned out they were even trying to stop those who intended to help?
"Yes, you heard correctly, they wanted to arrest us. Someone managed to convince the Council that the threat from the Mandalorians was insignificant, and we, the Revanchists, were merely using the war as a pretext to revel in violence. As if we were all already, if not fallen to the Dark Side, then very close to it," Revan snorted contemptuously. "They caught up with us on Cathar, recently devastated by the Mandalorians. With weapons in hand, our former mentors called on us to surrender and stand trial. But the Force willed otherwise."
Revan pulled a Mandalorian mask from his pouch, which he rarely parted with, and turned its visor towards the student.
"I picked up this mask on that planet. It belonged to a Mandalorian woman who was not afraid to stand up for the defense of Cathar's inhabitants. They were unarmed and posed no threat, but Cassus Fett ordered them all killed. The Force, at that very moment, as I picked up the mask and decided to examine it more closely under the sunlight, sent us all a vision. We saw with our own eyes the atrocities committed by Fett's subordinates. The act of the brave Mandalorian, who shared the fate of those she tried to save, will forever remain in my memory. Although she failed to prevent the massacre, she at least tried. While we did nothing!"
The former Jedi raised the mask to his face and peered into the matte black void of the visor.
"I don't know your name... but I will continue your work. I will not take off this mask until justice prevails. Until the Mandalorians are defeated once and for all. Thus swears... Revan!" the young Skywalker's mentor loudly quoted himself, reliving those moments on Cathar.
The ancient Force adept took a deep breath, dispelling the feelings stirred up by the memories.
"I spoke these words then," Revan explained in a hoarse voice. "Then I accepted my new name... or perhaps my destiny itself."
Anakin hesitated to say a word, still feeling the echoes of the emotions that had churned within his mentor just moments before. It seemed he realized the meaning of the words "Righteous anger" for the first time. Burning and unstoppable... but at the same time... pure and radiant?
"After that, the Council could no longer remain inactive. With a creak, we were given permission to join the Republic forces, but only as representatives of the Mercy Corps. Formally, this corps was a group of civilian medics. In reality, however, it was an operational group that reported not to the Fleet commanders, but directly to me," Revan smiled warmly. "My first 'army'."
"And you joined the war?" the boy finally mustered the courage.
"Yes," the mentor nodded. "Quite quickly, Alec and I, who had by then changed his name to Malak due to certain circumstances, proved ourselves to be quite good commanders, for which the Republic awarded us the rank of generals. The troops under our command managed to achieve a series of decisive victories over the enemy, and, after just a year, went on the counteroffensive. In the end, I was given the rank of Supreme Commander of the Republican Armed Forces."
"Wow! That's a great honor, isn't it?" the boy whispered in admiration.
Revan shrugged in response.
"I don't know about honor, but this position brings with it an immeasurable amount of trouble, placing the responsibility for the lives of millions of servicemen on your shoulders. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."
Revan walked to the wall and leaned against it with his arms crossed over his chest. He perfectly remembered who he had to become to save the Republic's inhabitants. What did the Mandalorians call him? Butcher Revan? And they were largely right. For victory, the former Jedi had to quickly learn to fight "for real," abandoning the idealistic teachings and dogmas of the Order. War is a dirty and bloody business. And mistakes... cost dearly. It was enough to recall what the haste during the attack on the Jaggi cluster cost Revan. However, credit must be given to Field Marshal Fett. Neither the commander-in-chief nor his deputy could have foreseen such an unexpected maneuver.
"But you won in the end, right? Otherwise, the Republic wouldn't exist!" the Padawan stated confidently, pulling the mentor out of his stream of memories.
"We won," Revan confirmed sadly. "Only it wasn't 'us' anymore."
"What?" the boy didn't understand.
"To defeat a monster, you sometimes have to become a monster yourself. To defeat such a dangerous and ruthless enemy as the Mandalorians, I had to become like them... adopt their tactics and learn to be calculating, cold, tough, and in some ways even cruel. The war changed us, even if no one wanted to admit it. Except perhaps the Order's Council, which branded all Jedi who participated in the war as 'fallen' and demanded that they appear for judgment."
Anakin snorted indignantly, ready to express everything he thought about such an attitude towards heroes!
But his mentor didn't give the child that opportunity, continuing his story.
Of course, we weren't going to follow the Council's order, whose respect we lost a long time ago," Revan shrugged. "Only a girl, named Meetra Surik, went back to the Order, where after a ridiculous and terribly theatrical trial, the Jedi exiled her.
For a few moments, the former Jedi fell silent, collecting his thoughts.
"It was a pity 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 wearily rubbed his brow. "However, enough stories from the past for today. We've strayed from the topic of our lesson. Do you remember what I said?"
The boy was a little upset that his teacher's story had been interrupted. However, he hoped to persuade Revan to finish the story in the future. For now, he had to focus on training. After all, he was going to be taught the Force!
"Yes, Master!" Anakin responded cheerfully. "You said that one should not neglect training, even if there are plenty of midichlorians in the blood! That your friend Malak, being not as gifted, did not lag behind you at all in training."
"Precisely," Revan nodded in agreement. "Potential does not determine your real capabilities. A proton torpedo is useless if you don't know how to use it."
"But doesn't potential determine the limit of our capabilities?" the boy immediately decided to clarify.
"Good question," the mentor smiled approvingly. "In ordinary life, it does. But here we are talking about the Force. Trying to understand it with a scientific approach is like trying to hear color and see sound. You can get some results, but you won't get the whole picture. The Force... it's impossible... there's no other way to put it. Limitless power, but at the same time limited by your own consciousness. There is no limit here."
"So, someone weaker can also defeat a Magister?" the young man concluded.
Revan chuckled, recalling several episodes from the past. And, it seemed, found something suitable.
"I'll give you an example," the former Jedi stepped away from the wall and began to pace the hall again. "Once upon a time, one single Padawan became a huge problem for my troops."
"A Padawan?"
"Yes, a very arrogant and impudent girl," Revan said with a warm smile.
Skywalker patiently waited for the continuation and explanations.
"Her name was Bastila Shan, and she had a rare talent - the ability of Battle Meditation of incredible concentration and power."
"Battle Meditation?" the boy asked again. "What is it?"
"It is the ability of a Force adept, entering a deep meditative trance, to influence the behavior of sentient beings in a certain territory, instilling confidence in some, and demoralizing others. With the support of battle meditation, you will begin to fight better, think more clearly, find the enemy's weaknesses faster, and will not doubt the correctness of your actions for a second. If you are opposed by the same Force technique, your thoughts will become confused, you will begin to lose confidence, doubt, hesitate, make mistakes," the mentor explained. "Of course, with such a balance, the outcome of any battle will be predetermined. And Bastila turned out to be extremely talented."
"And you had to fight her?" anticipating new details of his mentor's adventures and somehow overlooking the fact that Revan was fighting a Padawan... i.e., a Jedi.
"Oh, she gave my fleet a lot of trouble! We almost lost several key battles!" the teacher exclaimed. "I even put a bounty on her head! However, everything was decided in a completely unexpected way."
"How?"
"She saved my life," Revan explained with warmth in his voice.
"How did that happen?"
The mentor cast a quick glance at the holochronometer; there were still half an hour until noon. Therefore, Revan decided to spend a few more minutes to satisfy the student's curiosity... And it had nothing to do with the fact that he enjoyed remembering Bastila... at least, he convinced himself of that.
"It was our first personal meeting. Her squad was supposed to kill me," Revan began. "But the fight was not destined to begin."
"What happened?" Anakin asked with interest.
"Betrayal," the former Dark Lord replied dryly.
Skywalker, in every way, expressed his incomprehension and begged him to continue.
"At the very moment when we were already standing opposite each other, having activated our blades, my 'Obsidian' received a treacherous volley directly to its unprotected bridge."
"Obsidian?" the boy didn't understand.
"That was the name of my fleet's flagship. A heavy cruiser of the Interdictor-class - the pinnacle of technological thought of that time."
Anakin, who had a sincere love for spaceships and everything related to them, almost jumped out of his seat.
"Interdictor-class?" he repeated with delight. "I've read about them! Watto's shop had an archive with technical descriptions of ships. Including those produced by Sienar. Almost all of them were outdated, but there was a lot of information, and quite detailed."
The former Jedi was pleasantly surprised by the boy's knowledge. Who would have thought that on Tatooine, one could find archives of developments from one of the largest shipbuilding companies in the galaxy. Even if they were clearly outdated.
"Yes, Sienar's Republic shipyards released a prototype of the series - the Leviathan, as well as an experimental batch of its 'sisters' during the Mandalorian Wars. Obsidian was one of them and went a long way 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 briefly.
Anakin was shocked by this turn of events, seemingly even more so than by the Council's behavior during the war.
"What? But why? You were friends!"
"We were," the former Jedi nodded sadly. "But for the Dark Side, friendship means nothing."
"The Dark Side?" the Padawan, not yet having grasped the essence of the Force, didn't understand.
Revan took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts.
"You see, Anakin, the war changed us more than we thought. Nurturing anger and hatred in our souls, saturating our inner Darkness with vanity and lust for power, which were generously fueled by military exploits and growing fame, we didn't notice how we began to turn into the monsters we swore to fight."
Noticing that Skywalker completely misunderstood what Revan was talking about, the former Dark Lord tried to explain.
"Force-sensitives must always be careful with their emotions and mental state. The great power given to the gifted carries no less danger."
"What danger?"
"Darkness... madness," Revan exhaled. "You've probably already heard in the Temple about the nature of the Force, the Light and Dark Sides, haven't you?"
"Yes, Qui-Gon told me to beware of the Dark Side... but he never explained what it was," the boy frowned intently.
"I won't be able to either," the former Sith nodded. "Conditionally, the Force is divided into Light and Dark Sides. As you understand, one side is considered good, the other is feared and despised by the Jedi. And they are mistaken. The Force is multifaceted and indescribable. Dividing it into Light and Dark Sides, and even more so labeling the side unfavorable to the Council 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 Order of Je'daii, sought to understand the Force as a single whole and successfully found a balance between Light and Darkness? And for a long time, they had no problems."
"So, there is no difference between them?" the boy clarified. "And one side is not stronger than the other?"
"There is always a difference. Even two drops of water will not be absolutely identical. So it is with the Force. At its core, it is the same energy, accessible to us through midichlorians, but one can say with different requirements for the one who calls it. The Light requires concentration and calmness for precise manipulation of energies and application of Force techniques. The Darkness, however, craves emotional outbursts, passion, and delight, multiplying all your feelings, 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 will not command the Dark Side, but it will command you."
The mentor's eyes flashed gold for a moment, and a wave of cold passed through the hall, only to disappear without a trace in the next second.
Silence reigned. Anakin frowned and silently pondered his teacher's words.
Revan waited patiently, giving the student a chance to draw conclusions.
"I don't understand," the boy said, as expected, after a good five minutes.
The mentor 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 realize 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 anxiety on the student's face, Revan patted the young man encouragingly on the shoulder.
"I'll help," he said confidently.
"Thank you, Master," Skywalker smiled.
Assessing the student's emotional state, Revan concluded that it was time for a practical lesson. 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 impatience and a little fear.
"Today I will teach you meditation so that you can feel the Force on your own. But for this, you will need to know what to look for when entering a deep trance. Don't be afraid, I will show you the way."
The mentor sat down on the floor, tucked his legs under him, and gestured for the student to do the same.
Skywalker sat down opposite Revan.
"Close your eyes," the teacher commanded.
The boy obeyed.
"Free your mind of unnecessary thoughts. Drive away doubts and anxieties. Focus on your breathing, feel your heartbeat. Deep breath... steady rhythm... Good," the former Jedi gave advice to the young Padawan in a quiet and drawn-out voice. "Feel the world around you. The Force connects everything. It is everywhere. Between you and the floor, the walls, the boxes, the bulkheads. Between us and inside us. The Force is everywhere."
The mentor gently placed his palm on the boy's forehead, calling upon the Force to help him push the student in the right direction.
"Feel the world..." Revan repeated.
The mentor felt as if the surroundings had stirred from an invisible wave that spread from Anakin in all directions.
"I...," the boy whispered. "I think I feel something..."
The next moment, Skywalker cried out and recoiled, falling backward. At the last moment, the mentor managed to catch the student by the shoulder and touched his forehead with his hand again.
"Quiet, Anakin, calm down! Breathe more evenly," Revan instructed his charge in a steady voice. "This happens. Too much information overwhelms an unaccustomed mind. Breathe deeper, it will pass now. I'll help."
Revan summoned the Force and began to literally wrap his Padawan, who had reached too far, in a dense cocoon, limiting new sensations and removing the consequences of sensory shock. Such an outcome was quite expected, given the boy's potential, but the former Sith was still surprised by such a quick result.
"Truly a chosen one of the Force," Revan thought, lulling Skywalker into sleep.
Focusing on subtle manipulations with the Force, so as not to harm the child's fragile consciousness, the mentor himself fell into a meditative trance.
"REVAN!"
A voice, familiar to the depths of his soul, shook the former Jedi's mind, bursting into his consciousness along with a powerful flow of the Force.
Snapping back to himself, Revan jumped to his feet, almost losing his balance. The voice in his head sounded so loud as if its owner had shouted directly into the ear of the man immersed in meditation. But it was not the power of the voice or its suddenness that startled the former Dark Lord. In his time, he had encountered more obvious and persistent attempts to contact him through the Force.
No.
What agitated him was who owned that voice.
"Bastila?" he asked into the void.
There was no answer.
Revan tried to immerse himself in that state again and catch at least an echo of the call that had come... But in vain. Again and again, concentrating harder and deeper into the trance, the former Jedi received anything in response 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 past years and the strength of a mind that had gone through hundreds of trials helped him to push through the whirlpool of feelings and images. The proximity of Coruscant with its trillions of sentient beings only complicated matters. Flashes of someone's joy, pain of loss, sticky fear, bitter envy, and burning hatred, mixing into a mad cocktail, tried to break through the barrier erected by the former Jedi in his own consciousness, so as not to succumb to the abominable whirlpool of this planet. The center of the Republic, mired in intrigue and vice, had become so immersed in Darkness over the millennia that Revan was genuinely surprised how the Jedi could still breathe within the walls of the Senate building. Or was it just his perception? Did he dig deeper than he intended?
"Can't get distracted!" Revan reprimanded himself.
He suddenly caught a familiar warm feeling that filled him in those moments when Bastila was near. Grasping it, he delved even deeper into the Force. The trail led to the only bright spot on the surface of Coruscant - the Temple.
A viscous cold of the Dark Side suddenly touched the former Dark Lord's chest, trying to break through and almost knocked him off the trail.
Almost losing the thread that led to his lost love, Revan allowed the ignited anger to momentarily take over. And that was enough for the Darkness outside to slip through the gap in his defenses and bite into the former Dark Lord's mind.
"Reva-a-an," another familiar voice rasped with notes of satisfaction.
"Malak," the former Jedi gritted out through clenched teeth.
Shifting to a new, much clearer trail, Revan tried to trace where such a strange attack was coming from. Who was calling him, hiding behind the voices of his loved ones?
Revan sharply opened his eyes, coming out of meditation and restoring his weakened mental shields, cutting off the background noise of the bustling Coruscant.
Taking a few deep breaths, burying his face in his hands, the former Jedi gradually came to himself. Getting to his feet, he looked at Anakin, who was sleeping peacefully nearby.
"Moll," Revan called, opening the ship's intercom. "Come to the training bay, take care of Skywalker."
Saying these words on the go, and without waiting for a response, Revan left the bay at a brisk pace, heading to his own quarters.
"HK, we're landing on Coruscant. Find a landing pad near the Temple district, but don't attract attention."
"Understood, Master," the droid responded cheerfully.
However, the ship's master was no longer listening.
Bursting into his cabin and locking the door, Revan, breathing heavily, sank onto the bed. His mind still refused to accept what he had learned during meditation.
"Both voices came from the Jedi Temple," Revan confirmed mentally to himself.
His gaze fell on Bastila's holocron standing on the table... An open holocron... Although no one but Revan could open it. That was how its creator intended it.
However, right now, the worried face of his holographic wife was staring intently at the former Jedi.
"Who is calling me?" Revan asked the hologram.
He understood that holocron keepers were just imprints of the personalities that created them, that they were limited in their answers. But, for some reason, he expected an answer to this question from her.
Bastila's face expressed extreme surprise, bordering on shock. As if the keeper himself was stunned by what was happening.
Silence filled the cabin for long minutes before the hologram opened its mouth.
"She," was the answer.