The Coruscant lower-level market was a sprawling, neon-drenched labyrinth where one could buy anything from a decommissioned Vulture Droid processor to a sentient moss that recited tragic poetry. Revan Shan, however, had only one priority: a specific confectioner tucked away in the shadows of the Uscru District who synthesized Earth-style lemon candies using local Corridan honey and a very illegal pinch of Zylian spice for that extra kick.
"Sixty bags, Gort," Revan said, leaning against the counter of the cramped stall. "And don't give me the stale ones. I'm about to go on a government-mandated road trip with the most serious people in the galaxy. I need a high-frequency sugar rush just to maintain my charming personality."
The stall owner, a four-armed Besalisk, grumbled as he shoved the yellow packets into a reinforced satchel. "You Jedi usually want incense or meditation beads, Shan. Why do you eat this stuff? It's enough to rot the teeth out of a Rancor."
"It's called 'flavor,' Gort. It's a concept the Order is still trying to meditate on," Revan replied, tossing a handful of credits onto the counter—some of the Old Republic gold he'd exchanged earlier. "Besides, I'm a Maverick. I'm practically required to have a vice that's slightly annoying to everyone else."
As he walked back toward the Black Pearl, the weight of the mission settled in. The Council hadn't just 'asked' him to join Sol; they had effectively tethered him to the primary timeline of The Acolyte. He knew exactly what was coming: the arrest of Osha Aniseya, the transport ship crash, and the slow, agonizing unravelling of the Brendok cover-up.
But, Revan thought, popping a candy into his mouth and savoring the sharp, acidic zing, knowing the script doesn't mean I have to play the part. I'm the director of my own chaotic indie film.
The Council's Audit
High above in the Spire, the air was considerably less sugary. The holographic records of Revan's recent activities were playing in a loop for a sub-committee of the Council. Master Vernestra Rwoh, Master Sskeer, and a few other senior members watched as a drone-feed showed the Black Pearl performing a Jump-Snap exit from hyperspace—a maneuver that technically defied several Republic safety laws.
"He is digging up the past," Vernestra stated, her voice tight with concern. "The HK-unit he brought back from Ilum is a relic of a darker age. He claims it is 'furniture,' but my sensors detected a core-pulse that suggests he is attempting a full reactivation."
"Curious, Knight Shan is," Yoda mused, his eyes half-closed as he leaned on his cane. "Wandering, yes. Shirking duty, perhaps. But look at the math, you should. The Vek Syndicate, he dismantled. Count Gora's archives, he protected. A shadow, he chases, while we look at the sun."
"His methods are... unorthodox," Sskeer rumbled, his reptilian eyes tracking the Black Pearl's stealth-field ripples. "He treats the Force like a tool-kit rather than a divine guiding light. And this 'original Revan' obsession... it is dangerous. The name itself is a wound in the archives."
"A wound that is healing, maybe?" Yoda countered. "A different path, he walks. Not the Jedi of old, nor the Jedi of now. A Maverick, he is. To find the girl Osha, his sass, we might need."
The Meeting of the Twin
The Jedi transport Polestar was a standard, high-ceilinged vessel that felt like a flying cathedral. Revan, however, had insisted on taking the Black Pearl as a secondary escort, much to the chagrin of the mission's official lead.
They caught up with the prison transport carrying Osha near the moon of Carlac. Following the "Acolyte" sequence, the ship had been sabotaged by prisoners, leading to a crash-landing on the snowy surface of the moon.
Revan didn't wait for the Polestar to dock. He Jump-Snapped the Pearl into the atmosphere, the black freighter screaming through the clouds and touching down in a plume of steam and displaced snow just as the survivors were crawling out of the wreckage.
"Right then," Revan said, stepping off the ramp. He wasn't wearing his helmet, but his black-and-red armor looked sharp against the white landscape. He adjusted his Westar-35s and walked toward a young woman with short-cropped hair and the weary eyes of someone who had seen too many "Fixed Nodes" of tragedy.
Osha Aniseya.
"You're not a Jedi," Osha rasped, looking at his dark robes and the way he carried himself. "Or you're the weirdest one I've ever seen."
"I get that a lot," Revan said, offering her a lemon candy. "Knight Revan Shan. But you can call me the Maverick. Or 'that guy with the cool ship.' Either works."
Osha looked at the candy, then at him. "My sister... they say she killed a Master. But Mae died in the fire. I saw her fall."
"I've seen a lot of people fall, Osha," Revan said, his voice dropping into that 12th Doctor cadence—grounded, slightly sad, but undeniably kind. "Usually, they just get back up and start causing trouble. The universe isn't a straight line. It's more of a loop with a few frayed edges. And right now, you're the most interesting frayed edge I've met all week."
He didn't arrest her. He didn't put her in binders. He just sat down on a piece of debris and gestured for her to do the same. "Master Sol is on his way. He's going to be very concerned and very 'Jedi' about this. But between you and me? I think you're being audited for a crime your shadow committed. And I hate a sloppy audit."
The Vek Surprise
Before Osha could respond, the Force sharpened. A high-pitched whine echoed across the snowbank—the sound of ion-engines that didn't belong to the Republic.
Three Vek Syndicate interceptors dropped from the clouds, their cannons glowing. Behind them, a heavy boarding craft emblazoned with a modified Rakatan rune descended.
"D6, Cortana, defense protocols!" Revan shouted into his gauntlet.
"The Syndicate has tracked the 'Twin' resonance, Revan," Cortana alerted. "They're not here for the Jedi. They're here to retrieve Osha. They think she's Mae."
"Or they just want a spare," Revan muttered, drawing his Balanced Purple lightsaber.
The Vek mercenaries swarmed out of the boarding craft, led by a large, cybernetically-enhanced Weequay carrying an electro-staff. They didn't aim for the Jedi; they aimed for Osha.
"Statement: Target acquired. Preparing for surgical liquidation of the organic meatbags," a voice crackled over Revan's comms.
"HK? You're not supposed to be awake!"
"Contradiction: My power-cell experienced a localized surge due to the proximity of the Rakatan energy-wells on Carlac. I am currently functioning at 12% capacity. It is more than enough to handle these amateurs."
Revan didn't have time to argue with his half-built droid. He moved into the opening stance of Form III Soresu, his purple blade a blur of motion that deflected the incoming blaster fire.
The Weequay leader lunged, his electro-staff crackling. Revan didn't meet him with a block. He utilized Force Stasis, freezing the staff in mid-air, then stepped inside the man's guard with the fluidity of Form II Makashi.
"Rule number one," Revan whispered, tapping the Weequay on the forehead with his hilt. "If you're going to kidnap a girl, don't do it while a Maverick is having his afternoon snack."
He unleashed a Force Repulse, the kinetic wave throwing the mercenaries back into the snow.
Suddenly, a hidden hatch on the Black Pearl opened. A spindly, rusty-orange arm extended, holding a heavy blaster rifle.
Pew. Pew. Pew.
Three mercenaries went down with precision shots to their knees.
"HK, non-lethal!" Revan shouted.
"Grudging Acknowledgement: Very well, Master. I shall aim for the non-essential biological appendages. It is far less satisfying, but I suppose it fits your 'kindness' directive."
The Turning Point
As the Syndicate interceptors retreated—scared off by the Black Pearl's hidden turbolasers—Master Sol's transport finally arrived. The Jedi Master stepped off the ship, his face a mask of concern that deepened when he saw Revan standing over a pile of groaning pirates, a purple lightsaber in one hand and a bag of candies in the other.
"Revan," Sol said, his gaze moving to Osha. "What happened?"
"The Vek Syndicate decided to join the adventure," Revan said, deactivating his blade. "They seemed very interested in Osha. Almost as if they were expecting her sister."
He looked at Osha, who was staring at him with a mixture of terror and curiosity.
"Sol, meet Osha. Osha, meet the man who's going to spend the next few weeks trying to convince you he's right about everything."
Revan walked back to the Black Pearl, his boots crunching in the snow. He felt the original Revan's holocron vibrating in his pocket.
The journey is long, descendant, the ghost whispered. But the variable has been introduced.
"Cortana," Revan said as he climbed the ramp. "Make sure HK-47 stays in the hold. If Sol sees him, I'm going to have to spend four hours explaining the 'Ethics of Ancient Weaponry,' and I really just want to finish my bag of lemons."
"Understood, Revan," Cortana replied. "But the personality core... I've found a lead. It's on Nar Shaddaa. In the private collection of a Hutt named Grakkus."
Revan grinned, the sarcastic, adventurous spirit flaring in his eyes. "Nar Shaddaa. The Smuggler's Moon. Dirt, neon, and Hutts. Now that's an adventure."
He looked back at the Jedi transport, where Sol was gently talking to Osha.
"Try to be nice, Sol," Revan whispered. "Because the night is coming, and you're going to need all the kindness you can find."