The tropical winds of Lehon carried the scent of salt spray and blooming orchids, a stark contrast to the scorched-metal ozone that usually accompanied Rakatan technology. Revan Shan sat on the edge of the Black Pearl's lowered ramp, swinging his legs like a bored schoolboy and popping a lemon candy. Below him, the ancient lagoon reflected a sun that was currently being audited—quite literally—by the automated systems of the Rakatan Foundry.
"You know, Cortana," Revan said, squinting against the glare of the sapphire ocean. "Most people would use an ancient, automated, matter-creating factory to build an armada and crush their enemies. Very traditional. Very predictable. But me? I'm thinking we need better water filtration and a really top-tier greenhouse. I've had enough of dehydrated Temple rations to last three lifetimes."
"Your priorities remain consistently eccentric, Revan," Cortana's blue hologram replied, flickering on his wrist gauntlet. "However, the energy-to-matter conversion efficiency is currently at 94%. By utilizing the solar flare activity from Lehon's sun, we can bypass the localized Dark Side resonance that usually plagues these facilities. We aren't feeding it 'hate'; we're feeding it photons."
R2-D6 rolled past them, carrying a localized sensor-satellite dish in his manipulator arm. He issued a series of triumphant whistles.
"Exactly, D6. Intelligence first, explosions later," Revan grinned. "If I'm going to treat this planet as a vacation home, I want to be able to see anyone coming from three sectors away. I want spy satellites so precise they can tell me if a Hutt on Nar Shaddaa is having a bad hair day."
The Blueprint of a Retreat
For the past several weeks at the end of 132 BBY, Revan had turned the Foundry into the ultimate DIY project. He didn't use his 4th Doctorate in Advanced Engineering to build a war machine; he used it to build a sanctuary.
The Foundry's massive, bronze-plated arms were currently weaving a network of Aegis planetary defense shields and stealth generators into the bedrock of the islands. Revan's vision was simple: if he couldn't see the world, the world shouldn't see him. The islands were being ghosted, shielded by the same "Invisible Cloak" technology that made the Black Pearl a nightmare for Republic scanners.
"Mobile clean power generators," Revan ticked off on his fingers. "Check. Atmospheric scrubbers to keep the jungle air crisp. Check. A fleet of automated probes to map the Unknown Regions. Double check. And HK... how is the 'Kindness' project coming along?"
From the shadows of the Foundry's main assembly floor, HK-47 emerged. His Beskar-Phrik alloy chassis was now adorned with a series of heavy-duty utility pouches, though he still gripped his vibroblade with predatory intent.
"Statement: Master, the automated production line for the 'Kindness Drones' is functional," HK-47 whirred, his photoreceptors glowing a steady crimson. "Observation: These drones possess high-output shield generators and non-lethal stun-cannons. While I find the lack of localized liquidation sub-routines to be a tragic waste of Rakatan hardware, they will effectively 'kindly' discourage any meatbags from trespassing on your beach."
"Perfect. Defensive but polite," Revan said. "And the 'fun' project?"
HK-47's head tilted. "Query: You refer to the thirty-kilometer-short hull currently being printed in the sub-aquatic bay? The 'Harrower' class vessel?"
"That's the one," Revan chirped. "I figured, as a Maverick, I should probably have one flagship. Just in case. For the aesthetic. We'll call it the Prodigal Knight. But we're not arming it for a crusade, HK. It's a mobile library. A very, very heavily armored library."
The Shards of Memory
Despite the joy of building his private paradise, Revan's true focus remained on the two bronze-glowing shards sitting on the Pearl's holotable. He spent his evenings consulting the fragmented image of his ancestor, the original Revan.
He didn't use his doctorates for this. He didn't look at the Force as a physicist or a sociologist. He sat in the dark, letting the "feeling" of the Force—that liquid, humming warmth—guide his hands.
"Ancestor," Revan whispered one evening, the two shards vibrating in unison. "I've secured the Foundry. I've built a home where the shadows can't find me. But I'm still missing the heart of the story. Where is the next piece?"
The holographic Revan flickered, his T-shaped mask looking through the ages. "The shard of Redemption, descendant. It calls from a place where the Jedi once sought to erase a man and create a puppet. The ruins of Dantooine. The stone there holds the echo of the choice that changed the galaxy."
"Dantooine," Revan mused, popping another candy. "Quiet, pastoral, full of angry kinrath and dusty archives. Sounds like my kind of adventure."
The Shadow on Coruscant
While Revan was enjoying the tropical sun of Lehon, the High Republic was beginning to feel the first true winter of its discontent.
At the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, Master Vernestra Rwoh stood in the Council's silent observation deck, looking out at the endless traffic. In her pocket, she gripped the report from Brendok—the one Shan had "kindly" provided.
She knew it was a half-truth. She knew the Maverick Knight had kept the real math for himself. But more than that, she felt the presence of Qimir.
The High Council had questioned her about the "Smiling Man." They had asked if he could be an acolyte of the Nihil or a splinter of the Path. Vernestra had remained silent, the shame of what she had done to her former Padawan—the lightwhip scar on his back and the rejection of his soul—burning like a physical wound.
"He is a consequence," she whispered to the empty room. "But if I reveal who he is, I reveal the rot in our own golden age."
She didn't know where Revan Shan was. He had vanished from all Republic ledgers. Part of her was relieved. The Maverick was a variable she couldn't control, a man who saw through her cover-ups as if they were made of cheap glass. But another part of her—the part that still valued the Order—feared what a man with ten doctorates and a ghost ship would do when he finally found the truth.
The Philosophy of the Journey
Back on Lehon, the Foundry hissed as a new set of automated spy satellites were launched into orbit.
"Revan," Cortana said, her avatar appearing beside him. "The Jedi Task Force has officially closed the Brendok case. They've labeled it a 'Force-related industrial accident' and taken Osha Aniseya into permanent protective custody. They aren't looking for the Sith. They aren't looking for Qimir's Master."
"Let them," Revan said, standing up and dusting the sand off his black-and-red robes. "The Jedi are the police of the universe. They think that by putting up enough tape and filing enough reports, they can stop the night from falling. But I'm not the police. I'm just a guy who likes a good view."
He looked at the Black Pearl, its stealth field shimmering as R2-D6 performed a diagnostic.
"The Sith will do what the Sith do, Cortana. If Darth Tenebrus or Plagueis or whoever is lurking in the shadows wants to play their grand game of galactic domination, they can have at it. I'm not here to stop them. I'm not here to be the hero."
He looked at the holographic map of Dantooine.
"I only care about what's in front of me. And right now, what's in front of me is a piece of my family's history and a planet full of ruins I haven't audited yet. The Sith can have the galaxy; I'll take the adventure."
"HK, R2, load the crates!" Revan shouted, his voice full of the 11th Doctor's manic energy. "We're going to Dantooine! I've heard the sunsets there are spectacular, and I'm in the mood for a picnic. A picnic with ancient relics and maybe a few angry kinrath. It'll be brilliant!"
"Statement: Master, I shall pack the high-output stun-repeaters," HK-47 whirred, marching up the ramp. "Observation: While a picnic is a fundamentally illogical meatbag activity, the opportunity to 'kindly' stun indigenous wildlife is an acceptable compromise."
Revan Shan gripped the Jump-Snap hyperdrive lever, a wide, sassy grin on his face.
"Adventure is one thing, D6," he said as the stars began to blur into the blue-white tunnel of hyperspace. "But a vacation that involves looting the ruins of the Jedi's own shame? That's a journey worth taking."
The Black Pearl vanished into the void, leaving the hidden paradise of Lehon to its silent, automated vigilance. The High Republic was looking for an assassin; the Sith were looking for a legacy. But Revan Shan was just looking for a good time.