The transition from the humid, salt-sprayed crags of Bal'demnic back to the vertical, neon-drenched chaos of Coruscant was a localized shift in entropy that Revan Shan met with a custom-filtered espresso, a fresh pair of goggles, and a very particular brand of 11th-Doctor-esque manic hilarity. As 67 BBY settled into the ledger, the Maverick Master found himself standing in the center of a coastal cave-in, looking at a pile of rocks that had just changed the fate of the galaxy.
Revan stood over the rubble of Darth Tenebrous's mining expedition. Jaro Tapal stood nearby, his massive Lasat frame casting a long shadow over the wreckage of a sleek, black-hulled starship that bore no markings but radiated an oily, rhythmic wrongness.
"According to my 8th Doctorate in Ancient Art & Archaeology," Revan murmured, his voice a blend of dry rasp and whimsical curiosity, "this is what we call a 'Localized Sith Tragedy.' Or, as I like to call it, a rhythmic failure of basic structural engineering."
Revan reached out, his hand hovering over a jagged piece of obsidian-colored hull plating. He closed his eyes, utilizing Force Psychometry.
The Audit of the Abyss: Psychometry of a Betrayal
The world around Revan dissolved into a rhythmic playback of the Force. He saw them: two shadows. One, a towering, spindly Bith—Darth Tenebrous—calculating, cold, and obsessed with the future. The other, a Muun with eyes like frozen credits—Darth Plagueis.
Revan watched the "betrayal." It wasn't an epic duel. There were no lightning-streaked skies, no planet-shattering Force storms, and no dramatic monologues about the nature of power. Tenebrous had simply been crushed by falling rocks during a cave-in, and Plagueis had... well, he'd essentially just helped the rocks along with a rhythmic nudge before snapping his Master's neck.
Revan opened his eyes and began to shake. A localized chuckle started in his chest, growing into a full-bellied, hysterical roar of laughter that echoed through the cavern. He doubled over, clutching his sides, his Phrik-weave robes dusty from the floor.
"Master?" Jaro asked, his voice full of Lasat concern. "What did you see? Was it a dark ritual? A clash of titans?"
"Titan?" Revan wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "Oh, Jaro, it's better than that. It's statistically magnificent! According to my heart, the Sith have become laughable. I remember the Old Republic, Jaro! I remember Sith Lords who ate planets for breakfast and dueled with the fury of a thousand suns! I remember Vitiate, Malgus, and the rhythmic terror of the Dread Masters!"
He pointed at the pile of rocks.
> "And this? The 'Grand Plan' of the modern Sith was stopped by a localized geological variable! He was killed by a cave-in, Jaro! A rock! The successor to the most powerful dark legacy in history was defeated by gravity! It's like auditing a god and finding out he's afraid of spiders!"
>
Revan sat on a piece of debris, still giggling. "Plagueis is out there now, thinking he's a mastermind, but he's just a Muun with a very messy basement. Try to be nice, Sith, but never fail to be kind to your structural supports!"
The 1313 Penthouse: The Triple-Droid Audit
The crew returned to the Sub-level 1313 Penthouse, a place where the air tasted of ozone and the "John Smith" pseudonym bought them absolute silence. The year 67 BBY became a year of high-intensity pedagogical refinement.
"Right then," Revan said, pacing the training floor with his Sonic Screwdriver trilling. "No more one-on-one audits. According to my 9th Doctorate in Advanced Mathematics, the probability of you facing a single opponent in the coming shadow is statistically zero. Eleven, activate Audit-01, 02, and 03."
Jaro Tapal stood in the center of the room, his blue blade a steady hum. Three Mark IV Sith Training Droids circled him.
The Advanced Cohesion Curriculum:
* Form VI Niman Synthesis: Using the Force to manipulate the environment while maintaining a rhythmic blade-wall.
* Form V Shien/Djem So Redirection: Catching the kinetic intent of multiple attackers and snapping it back at the weakest variable.
* Form III Soresu Foundation: Maintaining a localized 'Zero-Point' of defense while the droids hammered at his perimeter.
> The Triple-Droid Combat Vector (\vec{V}_{3}):
> By his internal audit, Revan pushed Jaro to utilize Force Barrier and Tutaminis simultaneously. Jaro caught a training-bolt with his palm, channeled that energy into a localized barrier to shove one droid back, and used the rhythmic recoil to strike the second droid's logic-core. It was a masterpiece of Maverick logic.
>
"Ahsoka Protocol: Level 10!" Revan shouted. Ten Marksman-H Remotes snapped into position, their firing rates reaching a rhythmic frenzy. Jaro was a whirlwind of purple fur and blue light, a wall that was learning to breathe.
The Professor's Lecture: The Sovereign Survivalist
When the sabers were off, the lectures began. Revan didn't just teach Jaro how to be a Jedi; he taught him how to be a survivor in a galaxy that was rapidly losing its kindness.
"Knowledge is the only variable that doesn't add mass to your utility belt, Jaro," Revan said, spreading out star-charts on the kitchen island. "Today's lecture: Galactic Logistics and Starship Anatomy. If you're stranded on a world like Bal'demnic, knowing how to 'shush' a hyperdrive with your Kyber Green Sonic is more important than knowing the names of the first twelve Grandmasters."
He taught Jaro:
* The Physics of Jump-Snapping: How to exit hyperspace with zero warm-up time without liquefying the crew.
* Sentient Sociology: How to spot a liar by the rhythmic stutter in their breathing.
* Kyber-Quantum Informatics: How to slice a Republic signal-repeater while holding a localized meditation.
"I am teaching you this," Revan said, his voice softening into the 12th Doctor's weary gravity, "because the ledger is shifting. Tenebrous is dead. Plagueis is the Master now. The Sith are no longer just a shadow; they are a virus. And according to my heart, Jaro, you need to be the cure that the archives forgot to write down."
The Sovereign's Nap: End of 67 BBY
The year concluded with the Black Pearl ghosting through Coruscant's lower atmosphere. Revan was slumped in his Sovereign's Command Chair, which was currently reclined at a forty-two-degree "Tectonic Contemplation" angle. Calculus was purring on his lap, and Theorem was asleep on Jaro's shoulder.
"Status, Cortana," Revan whispered.
"The Bal'demnic incident has been officially wiped from the local security logs," Cortana reported. "The 3 Billion credits are earning interest. Jaro's proficiency with the Level 10 Ahsoka Protocol has reached 99.1%. And Darth Plagueis has officially taken a new name in the financial world: Hego Damask."
"Damask," Revan yawned, the chair reclining to the Calculated Nap Angle of 134.5 degrees. "Adventure is the journey, D6. And 67 BBY was a masterpiece of Sith hilarity and Lasat growth. Try to be nice, 66 BBY. I have a feeling the 'Damask Variable' is about to make the galaxy very, very untidy."
He closed his eyes. The Maverick was eighty-three, his Padawan was a mountain of blue light, and the Auditor was dreaming of rocks, Biths, and the rhythmic absurdity of the Dark Side.