The atmosphere of Felucia was a thick, humid soup of bioluminescent spores and the cloying scent of overripe vegetation. To any sane being, it was a hallucinogenic nightmare; to Revan Shan, it was just another Tuesday with far too many neon mushrooms.
Standing on the bridge of the Sovereign's Grace, Revan looked down at the swirling green and violet clouds of the planet. He was clad in his custom matte-black armor, the red highlights gleaming under the bridge's tactical lights. His hood was pulled forward, casting his face into shadow, while his hand rested habitually on the hilt of his purple lightsaber.
"Admiral Kaine," Revan said, his voice carrying that familiar, rhythmic lilt. "Have you noticed that the Separatists have a peculiar fondness for planets that look like a bad trip from the High Republic era? It's almost as if they're trying to hide their droids in the color palette."
"The tactical situation is dire, General," Kaine replied, ignoring the Maverick's banter as he focused on the holomap. "The 182nd Legion and Master Aayla Secura's forces are pinned in the Niylinn basin. They're facing a sea of B1s and B2s, but the real problem is the heavy artillery. The CIS has established a hilltop staging area with J-1 proton cannons. The 182nd is trapped in a crossfire."
Revan sighed, popping a lemon candy into his mouth. "Artillery. So uncivilized. They're using a hammer when they need a scalpel. Spock, Lara—keep the Uprising and the Phoenix in high orbit. Admiral, handle the blockade. I'm going down to play air-traffic controller."
The Skies of Felucia: Strategic Precision
As the 596th's fleet engaged the Separatist blockade in a symphony of turbolaser fire, Revan took direct command of the Roughnecks' aerial wing. He didn't drop in a standard gunship; instead, he coordinated from the Black Pearl, which served as a mobile command hub.
"All Z-95s and Y-Wing squadrons, listen up," Revan's voice crackled over the encrypted comms. "We aren't here for a dogfight. I want strategic strikes. Target the J-1 cooling vents and the droid brain-links in the heavy weapon droids. Leave the infantry to the ground boys. Let's clear the airspace and give our friends a window to breathe."
The 480 Z-95 Headhunters and 120 Y-Wing Bombers of the 596th moved with a terrifying, dechipped fluidity. While standard Republic pilots followed rigid formation protocols, Revan's pilots used the "Maverick's Drift," a banking maneuver that utilized Felucia's dense atmosphere to mask their heat signatures.
* Strike One: A squadron of Y-Wings, guided by Revan's Force Precognition relayed through the Cortana sub-process, dropped precision proton bombs directly onto the Separatist artillery line. The explosion turned the bioluminescent hills into a crater of scorched metal.
* Strike Two: Z-95s swarmed the Separatist droid fighters, clearing the skies over the Niylinn basin in less than ten minutes.
"Extraction teams, go," Revan commanded. "Secure the perimeter and get those boys out of the mud."
The Extraction and the Regroup
On the ground, Revan vaulted from the Black Pearl before it had even fully landed. He landed in the center of a swarm of B2 super battle droids, his Balanced Purple lightsaber igniting in a flash of violet light.
He didn't use the aggressive Juyo form yet. Instead, he moved with the subtle, flowing parries of Form VI Niman, weaving through blaster fire like a ghost. With a flick of his wrist—Force Repulse—a dozen droids were sent flying into the giant, rubbery stalks of a Felucian pitcher plant.
"Master Secura!" Revan shouted, his voice light despite the chaos. "Terribly sorry for the delay. I had a bit of trouble finding a parking spot that didn't try to eat me."
Aayla Secura, her blue skin smeared with grime, cut down a droid and looked at the hooded figure. "Master Shan. Your timing is, as always, impeccable."
"Let's get your men to the extraction point," Revan said, his hands moving to his Westar 35s. He fired with ambidextrous precision, the Kyber-upgraded bolts shorting out droid circuitry instantly. "The 596th has a staging area three clicks north. We'll regroup, have a nice cup of tea, and figure out how to blow up the rest of this mess."
The extraction was a success. Under the cover of the 596th's superior shielding and heavy ground fire from the 400 AT-TE walkers, the weary 182nd was pulled from the brink.
Political Whispers: The Doctor and the Senator
Once the Jedi and the clones were secured in a temporary base reinforced by the 596th's portable deflector shields, Revan took a "break." He retreated to the Black Pearl's secure communications room.
He didn't use a holocomm. Instead, he activated a custom Holographic Training Droid—one of his 35 Mark IV/V units. The droid, wearing a holographic skin that mimicked the slightly older, eccentric appearance of Dr. John Smith, shimmered into existence in a private office on Chandrila.
Waiting there was Bail Organa.
"Dr. Smith," Bail said, his voice etched with concern. "It has been too long. I remember when you visited Alderaan when I was a boy... you haven't aged a day, it seems."
"Good moisturizers, Bail. And a very low-stress diet of avoiding paperwork," the 'Doctor' replied with a sassy wink. "But we aren't here to discuss my skin routine. The Chancellor. These new 'Emergency Powers.' It's a bit much, isn't it? Like giving a toddler a thermal detonator and hoping they only use it for light."
Bail sighed, leaning forward. "The Senate is paralyzed by fear. Every victory the 'Maverick' General wins is used by Palpatine to justify more control. They see the efficiency of the 596th and they want that level of order across the galaxy."
"Order is just a polite word for a cage, Bail," Smith said, his tone turning serious. "The 596th works because my boys are free. They choose to be kind. If the Chancellor gets his way, kindness will be a regulated resource. Keep an eye on the budget for the 'Clone Retirement Trust' I set up. If they try to touch that money, you'll know the masks are coming off."
The Secret Map: Gravitational Anchors
After the call, Revan sat in the dark of the Pearl, looking at a small, ancient data-crystal. It was the discovery he had made in the High Republic beacon.
He had cross-referenced the notes with his own Extragalactic Astrophysics knowledge. The map showed a path through the "Gravitational Anomalies" of the Unknown Regions—areas where the very fabric of space was warped by ancient stellar collapses. At the end of that path was a planet, unnamed and uncharted.
"Rich in Kyber," Revan whispered. "Dense enough to power a thousand Prodigal Knights. And hidden by a natural gravitational veil that even the Sith star-charts don't mention."
He didn't share this with the Council. He didn't even tell Yoda. This was for the future—a safe haven for when the 150 Contingency Orders finally became more than just a theoretical threat. He locked the data back in the Beskar safe, alongside the Darksaber.
Training the Maverick: The Ahsoka Protocol and the Sith Arts
During the return trip to the front lines, Revan initiated three grueling training sessions to keep his connection to the Force sharp. His 23,000 Midichlorian count made the Force a dense, vibrant ocean, and he needed to ensure he wasn't just swimming in it, but commanding it.
* Session 1 (The Sith Gauntlet): Revan engaged all 10 Sith Training Droids. They were programmed with the data of Sith Lords he had encountered in his 135-year life. He used his red and purple sabers, weaving through the aggressive Form VII Juyo strikes. He focused on Mechu-deru, sensing the droids' internal wiring and shorting them out mid-swing without touching them.
* Session 2 (The Ahsoka Protocol): He faced the 50 Marksman-H Remotes. This was a speed and agility drill, utilizing the reverse-grip Jar'Kai style he'd refined after watching the young Padawan Tano. He moved like liquid, catching every bolt on his blades and redirecting them to hit the sensors of the other remotes.
* Session 3 (All-Out War): He combined both. Ten Sith droids and fifty remotes. The room was a chaotic storm of red and blue light. Revan didn't use his doctorates or his logic here; he used his feeling. He moved in a trance of Force Valor and Battle Meditation, a single point of calm in a hurricane of violence.
By the end of the third session, he was covered in sweat, his breathing steady. "Not bad," he told HK-47, who was watching from the sidelines. "But the droids are getting predictable. Tell Miner to update their logic cores with some of that 'Shadow Collective' combat data we found."
A Moment of Kindness: The Loth-Cats and the Temple
Before the month ended, Revan sent a brief, encrypted message to the Jedi Temple.
"Master Yoda, Master Yaddle," the message began. "I trust Calculus and Theorem haven't eaten the archives yet? I've heard rumors that Theorem has started 'supervising' the younglings' meditation sessions. Give them some extra lemon candy from my private stash in the 1313 penthouse. They need the sugar for all that judging they do."
He smiled, thinking of the two Loth-cats. Even in the middle of a war, a bit of fur and sass was necessary to keep the soul from turning to durasteel.
Status: Month 3, 20 BBY
As the 596th prepared to leave Felucia, the Separatist staging area was a smoking ruin, and the strategic bio-weapon components were safely "confiscated" by the Maverick Trust for "disposal."
"Month three," Revan mused, sitting in his Sovereign's Command Chair. "The Chancellor is grabbing power, the Shadow Collective is growing, and I'm still the most annoying man in the galaxy. Business is good."
* Maverick Trust: 7.1 Trillion Credits (Stable)
* Clone Retirement Trust: 215 Million Credits (Growing)
* Next Destination: Unknown.
"Cortana," Revan called out. "Where's the next adventure? I'm in the mood for something that doesn't involve mushrooms."