Ghosts of the Force. Are they truly the same individuals they were in life? Or has death left its mark, washing away all feelings and emotions, revealing some great truth, or simply destroying the mind?
Throughout his life, Revan had encountered supporters of many theories related to the gifted and the Force. And none of them could fully describe this unthinkable phenomenon. Here a gifted person is dead - and here he is again beside you, sharing wisdom, joking as before, and even capable of using the Force... as if he had never died. But there is still a feeling that this once close person no longer belongs to this world. Like an old friend who went somewhere far away, suddenly came to visit for a couple of days. Joy from the meeting and a hidden sadness from the inevitable parting.
And yet... there was more joy.
"Oh, if someone had told me four thousand years ago that I would still be aboard the 'Obsidian,' I would have laughed for a long time... after breaking the impudent one's legs so he wouldn't mock others' grief," the ghost of Mical Surik ran her hand along the bulkhead separating Revan's cabin from the corridor of the living deck.
Now the long-dead friend seemed alive. Her appearance looked almost not ghostly, and created the impression of a real living person's presence. Only a faint glow framing the contours of her figure revealed the truth.
"Hmm, if I'm not mistaken, the last time you were here was the day before the Battle of Malachor V. We discussed the final preparations for the plan, after which you flew to your ship."
"Yes. 'Selflessness' - a Hammerhead-class cruiser. It was a good ship... Too bad it was hit by the Gravitational Shadow Generator. We barely managed to evacuate half the crew before the engines failed and it was dragged towards the epicenter," Surik said with sadness in her voice.
Revan felt a pang of guilt. It was his order. At his command, the fleet under Mical's command was to lure the Mandalorians closer to the Generator - a superweapon created by the Republic's best scientists... or madmen. Straight into a trap. On board the ships closest to the supposed epicenter of the Generator's effect were only volunteers. A minimal crew... Suicide bombers who agreed to make the greatest sacrifice for peace in the galaxy. He no longer remembered their faces... he no longer remembered their names... But he remembered their sacrifice.
Worst of all, the plan went to hell when the weapon's power exceeded the calculated value by tens of times. The part of the fleet that was at a conditionally safe distance was also hit. Mical's "Selflessness" was also there. The death of her crew was on his conscience. It was his miscalculation. And it didn't matter that the weapon hadn't even been tested before the strike, limited to checking a test prototype and theoretical calculations. Revan shouldn't have used a weapon unknown to him. Especially one of such destructive power... but the situation then demanded decisive measures. The Republic could no longer cope with the economic support of the fleet. The Senate, seeing the successes of the military campaign, was increasingly cutting the budget. Politicians didn't realize that despite the successes, victory was still far away. The Mandalorians wouldn't give up so easily. But the rulers of the Core Worlds, accustomed to peaceful life and untouched by war, didn't want to spend their credits and resources on maintaining an army they had never even seen. And the Outer Rim had already given everything it could... and even a little more. It was no joke that almost half of the assault squad members were volunteers from the militias of the border worlds, who simply had nowhere to return.
But everything has its limits. Even the generosity and selflessness of worlds ready to do anything for victory. A few more months, and there would be nothing to repair the ships with. While the Mandalorians, retreating, took everything they could from the captured planets, sometimes leaving them completely devastated. The Republic soldiers couldn't do that... after all, they were the defenders of these worlds, not marauders.
"I don't think I ever apologized for that order," Revan said quietly.
Mical turned to him and looked him straight in the eye with surprise.
"We figured it all out back then. I don't hold any grudges. Everyone understood that without sacrifices, we wouldn't see victory. And the consequences couldn't have been foreseen."
"And still, I apologize," Revan interrupted her.
It was important for him to say this. Another debt that had followed him through the centuries. He had to apologize to at least someone close to him. Even if the one to whom he owed much more was not around now.
Surik had always been insightful, and over the years of friendship, she had learned to read Revan's emotions well, even when he wore a mask. What could be said about this conversation, when the former Jedi was without it in his cabin.
"I accept your apology. However, I believe that order was necessary. And it was the right one."
"Right," Revan nodded in agreement.
He remembered how firm a decision it was to set up that trap in orbit around Malachor V. How right he felt. Even when a deafening echo of the deaths of hundreds of thousands of sentient beings thundered in the Force. Even then, he was covered not only by the Light, but also by the Darkness. This pain made Mical cut herself off from the Force. Revan, on the other hand, accepted it and turned it to his advantage.
Was he that cruel in those times?
"I know that look. Or rather, that posture of deep thought and self-flagellation. You always hunched over like that, crossed your arms over your chest, and fiddled with your chin when you doubted something and tried to convince yourself of something you considered wrong. You were just as frantic after the battle, while I was recovering in the medbay. I remember. I saw you with the doctor," Mical smiled.
Revan gave a sad chuckle. He also suddenly recognized that posture. He paced back and forth in front of the Star Map chamber on Dantooine in the same way, while Alec added fuel to the fire of doubt, claiming that the Council would brand them traitors and there would be no turning back.
"So, let's just leave the past in the past and focus on the present. Deal?" Mical said mockingly.
Revan almost nodded, but suddenly smiled and cast a cunning glance at Surik.
"I can't. The ghosts of the past still haunt me."
"Ghosts? Oh... Well, you're a real nerve-!" the ghostly figure stretched out in response.
The former Sith visibly relaxed and sighed with relief. This little joke, reminding Revan of his frequent playful sparring with his student in the distant past, helped to drive away the sadness that had suddenly fallen on the former Jedi's shoulders like a multi-ton press.
"Have you ever thought of working as a wandering minstrel, nameless hero, remembered only by your nickname? Meet Revan the humorist! Hurry to the performance! Only two concerts on Coruscant!" Mical imitated a fairground barker.
"All Sith are remembered by their nicknames. I'll be Darth Jester," Revan chuckled, playing along with his friend's joke.
"Oh, half the Lords on Korriban are probably spinning in their tombs right now. To dismiss such monsters as Marka Ragnos, Ajunta Pall, Freedon Nadd, and Naga Sadow from history with one phrase. It's more like Jedi, falling into darkness, immediately start calling themselves Darths like little children," Mical laughed.
"You spent too much time on Dromund Kaas in the company of Scourge. Whose real name, by the way, we don't know," Revan noted.
"Well, I know his name," Surik shrugged.
Revan froze, covered his face with his hands, and mumbled something into them. He shook his head and looked at Mical again.
"I won't even ask anything about your relationship."
"There isn't one. I just vengefully tormented him for several hundred years, driving him to madness. He even found my remains and reburied them according to all the rules. He even performed some kind of ritual. Without much effect, though. But I appreciated the gesture," Mical said with a smug grin.
Revan chuckled and shook his head.
"And do all ghosts have fun like this?"
"Only those who can't leave completely," Mical's playful mood changed to sadness in an instant.
"Is it because of that incident? When you cut yourself off from the Force to save yourself?" Revan guessed.
"Yes. Although I was able to restore my connection to the Force through my comrades, students, and mentors, literally using them as conduits through our bonds, I cannot depart into the Force and dissolve in it completely, as I should. It rejects me," Surik looked thoughtfully and sadly at her palm.
"And can nothing be done?" Revan asked with genuine concern.
"Who knows? Neither you, who have known the Force deeper than many, nor even I, being woven from its energy, know even a thousandth of the secrets that the Great One hides within herself," Mical clenched her fist and turned to Revan, smiling again, "You'd better tell me what new students you have. The last time we met, you were teaching two boys, if I'm not mistaken?"
"Molo is already over twenty," Revan corrected.
"And does that prevent him from remaining a boy?" Surik chuckled.
"You're right."
Revan smiled, accepting Mical's assessment. The Zabrak was indeed still very young emotionally. He was being trained as a weapon, forgetting about social adaptation. The craving for approval and the desire to prove himself, like a child before a parent, were evident.
"So what about the students? Did you decide to restore the gender balance?"
Revan shrugged in response.
"It all happened by itself," he replied.
"Oh, it already happened?" Mical asked with a strange hint in her voice.
"Jokes at the level of a youngling?" Revan raised an eyebrow mockingly.
"Well, you look about ten years old, why not?" Surik laughed.
"Very funny. Perhaps the shell is not that old, but biologically this body has been artificially developed with the help of the Force and corresponds to an adult human representative. And the Miraluka blood makes itself known. So no one can call me a child."
"And the hormones are acting up, right? Irritability is showing?" Mical asked with a mixture of concern and amusement.
Revan took a deep breath and pulled himself together. Surik had a talent for talking anyone into anything and still leaving a very warm feeling of care and friendliness. Perhaps that's why the soldiers were ready to follow her even into hell if she ordered them to. Her authority in the Republic fleet was only slightly less than Revan's.
"Risa Farr is a Mandalorian with quite high Force sensitivity. She was already trained before me. Some Sith, apparently. And this Sith gave her 'Obsidian,' but she never named him. She has a very... strange attitude towards me. Bordering on obsession. At the first opportunity, she asked to be taken as a student. Yet she has never come to me for advice, does not participate in our training. And generally seems to avoid me. We communicate mainly via intercom and at meetings. But I often feel her presence nearby."
"Hmm, a voyeur?" Mical stretched out thoughtfully.
"I hope not. The second student is Tira Nomad. However, that's not her real name. The girl is a born half-Chiss and, presumably, Echani. She was born with Force abilities, but suppressed them almost completely in adolescence after the death of her mother and mentor from the Mandalorian clan Nomad, where she was taken in as a foundling. By the way, Risa killed her mentor."
"Oh..."
"Yes. And Tira also has certain abilities in Battle Meditation, which she recently demonstrated in an extreme situation during the storming of a Neimoidian ship."
"Battle Meditation? What level? To what extent is the effect? Only on herself, on the squad, or on a large scale?" Mical became interested.
"Almost like Bastila's," Revan replied quietly.
"It can't be..."
"She affected several ships at once. Helped allies and made the enemy make a lot of mistakes... I remember that feeling very well," Revan added.
"Incredible talent! Such a gift appears once in a generation!" Surik exclaimed admiringly.
"And she and I have formed a strange connection. It's like a bond, but not quite..." Revan finished his story about the new student.
"A bond, but not a bond? How so?"
The former Jedi briefly described his feelings and the girl's strange reactions, which were overcome by a strange obsession from time to time.
Mical listened attentively, but as the story progressed, a smile spread wider across her face, and her gaze took on a condescending tone.
"Oh, Revan. You never were good at understanding women," the ghost shook her head.
"In what sense?"
"In that very sense. The female crew of the 'Obsidian,' if not all the women in the fleet, were crazy about you, and you didn't even notice," Mical chuckled.
"Oh, really all? Even you?" the former Jedi replied sarcastically.
"I was the first in line to drool over your armor-clad backside... but I quickly realized that you didn't need such attention. You built your own destiny and did only what you considered necessary. Until you decided that you needed someone more than just a friend by your side, trying to get your attention was pointless. It would only have destroyed the trusting relationship already built," Surik said, shrugging.
"Unexpected. I really... didn't notice. I thought you and Alec had something going on," Revan was surprised by his old friend's revelation.
"Something did happen, but not for long. We were all raised in the Order, and upbringing, dogmas, and the Code can't just be discarded. So these relationships can't be called anything but strange. It's like we weren't obligated to observe celibacy, only warned about the dangers of love and jealousy... But when both of you mentally quote the code with every kiss, it's unlikely you can count on any continuation," Mical chuckled.
"A chaste Darth Malak... I wouldn't have dreamed of it," Revan snorted.
"You find it funny, but I was offended. If it weren't for Lieutenant Harsey's care, I would have gone straight to the Dark Side," the ghost spread her hands.
"Harsey? Wait a minute, Duala Harsey? Your aide?" Revan tried to recall the Miraluka who accompanied Mical everywhere.
"Uh-huh. My first experience of a relationship with a girl," Surik said nostalgically.
Revan choked on air from surprise and the meaning of what was said.
"Oh, don't be a prude, Revan. Everyone should have the right to happiness, the main thing is not to shove that right in everyone's face," Mical smiled.
The former Jedi quickly regained a serious expression and even stopped staring at his old friend, about whom, as it turned out, he knew a lot.
"And returning to your feelings. From Tira's side, it's not a bond. It's her desire to be near you and share her most intimate thoughts and secrets with you. She's in love, you foolish gizka," Surik walked up to Revan and patted him on the shoulder.
"But it's so much like a bond..." Revan, it turned out, was a complete novice in romance, frowned.
"When was the last time you felt a bond? With Bastila? There must have been a hurricane of emotions stronger than that. The connection between you was deeper, but there was love there too. One overlaid the other. Or did you forget how you pulled her out of the Darkness after Malak's torture?"
Revan remembered. He remembered very well. But now the feeling was different... much weaker. No, Tira couldn't be in love with him. He didn't need that...
"You're mistaken," Revan said grimly.
"Of course. The grim and cold Revan of the Mandalorian Wars has returned. The blacksmith of his destiny and happiness," Mical snorted.
Revan flinched at Surik's words. Almost the same thing Nomad had said that morning in this very cabin, only she was talking about herself.
The former Jedi shook his head. He hadn't just thought that he and Tira were similar... right?
"Alright, let's change the subject before you completely turn into ice. Are you sure about that agreement with the Order?" Mical, in her characteristic "elegant Terentatek" manner, turned the conversation in another direction, choosing a topic even more disturbing for Revan.
However, it had an effect. The former Sith managed to push away unnecessary thoughts... but not forget them completely.
"An agreement between me and Yoda, not the entire Order," he corrected Mical.
"The Grand Master no longer represents the entire Order? We've fallen far."
"Even in our time, decisions were made by the Council of Masters, not by the Grand Master alone."
"Formally, yes. But you yourself remember perfectly well how much weight some Masters had in the Council? And the head of the Council was always listened to... However, that's not the point now. Answer me, have you thought it through well?"
Revan nodded.
"And can you handle it?" the new question made the former Jedi think deeply.
He had weighed and considered everything a hundred times. And each time he couldn't completely get rid of his doubts. But the deal with Yoda was beneficial to everyone. And most importantly, it ensured a future for the gifted.
"I must handle it," Revan closed his eyes.
"Did I understand correctly that he essentially asked you to reform the Order?" Surik leaned against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest.
"To save it from collapse and destruction. Reforms are the Council's business," Revan objected.
"A Council in which there are now staunch conservatives, or conversely, supporters of the Senate, which led the Order into a state of deep and destructive stagnation?"
"Yes, and with Dooku's departure, Yoda's position will weaken. Windu has long been pulling the blanket over himself, but he's a weak leader. Too impulsive and arrogant. No wonder all his students eventually went mad."
"However, everything flows and everything changes. New ones will come to replace those who leave the Council. I suppose the bet will be on them?" Mical suggested.
"More likely even on those who will come after them. A new generation of the Order, free from prejudice and outdated dogmas. An Order of Light, as it should be."
"And you will train the foundation of this new generation?"
- Not only me. Dooku, Qui-Gon, and Yoda himself, as well as those who dare to accept the truth that the Order won't last long in its current state. We will all contribute. As for me, as an outside observer, I can help when necessary," Revan nodded confidently.
Surik stared at her old friend's face in silence for a few moments. He had already made up his mind... but he wasn't telling her everything.
"Skywalker is also formally listed in the Order, as is your fake identity, Avner Van, right?"
"Yes," Revan nodded tensely.
"The Council won't accept him after your training. You won't just train him in the Light Side, will you?"
Another nod.
"A new generation will gain enough authority only years later. Even if you choose talented older Padawans. To reach the level of a Master, let alone introduce someone to the Council, will require very extraordinary circumstances..."
Mitra froze, shocked by her guess.
Revan didn't take his eyes off her.
"War..." she said quietly.
Revan was silent.
"The coming war that the Sith are preparing. You've decided to use it to bring your followers closer to the Council. Besides successes in fighting the Sith and a probable victory, the students will gain real experience, earn authority, and recognition from the entire Republic. After all this, even if the Council is stubborn, a grateful Senate will personally push their heroes to power. And if the Council doesn't like it, they will take measures themselves to get out from under the influence of politicians. This isn't even two birds with one stone... it's a whole flock," Mitra voiced her guess.
"That's one of the options... but not the main one," Revan shook his head.
"Explain?"
"The Jedi will find themselves under crossfire during the coming events and will be extremely vulnerable. There's a high chance that, as you put it, our followers won't live to see the end of the war."
"And your 'Third Side' becomes the ideal option as a forge for a new Order. Even if you enter the war, little will be known about you, unlike the Jedi, who are constantly in the public eye. And after all this, even if the original Order is destroyed, and the Temple on Coruscant is ruined, a new generation, trained by you and your allies in secret from the entire galaxy, will emerge and rebuild everything anew. Pure and free from the mistakes of the past."
Revan gave a hesitant nod. Mitra had simplified everything too much, but she was heading in the right direction.
"It sounds utopian... but I like it. Decided to recreate the Order of the Je'daii?" Surik chuckled.
"Something similar. Capable of giving a choice. To teach how to feel the Force, to call upon the Light for help, and to accept the Darkness while maintaining sanity."
"And so you will make the gifted stronger, and the galaxy will be tempered in the crucible of war, preparing for what is to come in the future. What Scourge warned about."
"Correct."
"Well, damn... I even want to help. Do you accept ghosts?" Surik chuckled and glanced at Revan.
The silhouette of the ghost was becoming translucent again, losing density.
"I am always glad for your help," the former Jedi smiled.
"Then it's agreed. Allow me to take my leave now, as I've already lingered too long. It's not easy to hold oneself in the world of the living. We'll meet again, Master Revan," the ghost bowed politely.
"Until we meet again, Mitra Surik," Revan returned the bow.
Smiling and winking goodbye, the girl dissolved into an ethereal mist, and a moment later, the feeling of her presence on the ship disappeared.
Revan, meanwhile, returned to the terminal and continued writing instructions for assembling a lightsaber for Anakin, which he had planned to do until Surik's visit distracted him.
The very next day, as Revan had promised, he handed Anakin a datapad outlining all the key points and some subtleties that a gifted person needed to know when preparing to assemble a lightsaber. The young man was deeply engrossed in the moment of a special method of connecting the various parts of the hilt, which involved manipulating matter at a molecular level using the Force. Skywalker was horrified by the realization of the degree of concentration required to affect, say, metal! Revan, in turn, chuckled and advised him to experiment on small blanks of different materials, resorting to deep meditation. If nothing worked, and the Padawan couldn't find the right state on his own, the mentor would help Anakin tomorrow.
Joyful at the thought of creating his own saber, Skywalker ran to his cabin to experiment.
Revan, meanwhile, headed to the training hall, where he expected to find his new student. After all, he had promised yesterday to start their lessons to help the girl overcome the effects of the bond that had formed. However, after talking with Mitra, the situation no longer seemed so straightforward to Revan. It had acquired a shade of awkwardness and a strange subtext that is not spoken aloud in polite society. But Tira needed training, that was a fact. So, he would have to put aside foolish thoughts and concentrate. Problems would be solved as they arose.
However, as he approached the hall, Revan felt that something was wrong. Beyond the doors of the hall, the riot of the Dark Side was clearly felt. Could Nomad have fallen into the Dark so quickly and lost control? No, the feeling was more structured than that of chaotic and spontaneous use of the Dark Side. Someone trained was using the Force.
Preparing for the worst, Revan burst into the hall. Tira was kneeling at the edge of a small sparring arena with a vibroblade in her right hand, blocking a crimson lightsaber. Her left hand clutched a blaster, the barrel of which was now pressed against the throat of Risa Farr, to whom the aforementioned red saber belonged.
Farr was burning with rage, and it was her manipulation of the Force that Revan had felt on approach. Tira, despite her own anger, was much calmer and more collected. Although a distinct scorched mark on her left shoulder indicated that the fight had been no joke.
"And what is going on here?" Revan roared loudly.
Farr instantly deactivated her blade, returned the hilt to her belt, and assumed the most harmless appearance, clasping her hands together somewhere around her waist. The storm of darkness disappeared as if it had never been.
Nomad, however, came to her senses much more slowly, breathing heavily and not hurrying to put the blaster back in its holster.
"A draw, I suppose?" Risa suddenly said, glancing at Tira with clear dislike.
Nomad turned her head slightly, not taking her opponent out of sight, but so that she could now see Revan as well. Her face was not visible under the helmet, but Revan felt surprise and a fleeting anxiety that had replaced anger.
A few moments later, she carefully got to her feet and lowered her weapon.
"Yes. A draw. We'll have to repeat it," the Chiss replied in a deceptively calm tone.
Both girls pretended that nothing special had happened a minute ago.
"Will someone answer my question?" Revan said in an icy tone, approaching the Mandalorians.
Risa spoke first, literally pushing Nomad aside with her shoulder and moving towards Revan.
"My Lord, I am glad to see you this wonderful morning. My new student and I were having a small friendly spar. After all, she is still quite unskilled with a sword, and we are moving towards Illum, as you ordered. I thought that if she has to choose a crystal for her saber, she should brush up on her knowledge," Risa recited with the most good-natured... and utterly false smile on her face.
"I am her mentor, not you," Revan reminded her.
His voice remained imbued with cosmic coldness, expressing nothing but displeasure and condemnation.
"I have no intention of contradicting you or provoking your anger in any way. I am your loyal acolyte Secuta and only try to help as I can," Farr said, bowing low.
Revan barely managed not to roll his eyes and curse. He didn't need another assistant with obsession, pernicious initiative, and a twisted understanding of orders. An HK in the body of a Sith of Mandalorian origin. A Hutt combo!
"I will handle Nomad's training myself. You have another assignment. We will visit Tatooine first, if you listened carefully to my order. 'Obsidian' should not show itself in this system yet. So, choose a temporary parking spot. We will use the Eagle to visit the Hutts. Everything must be ready by tomorrow evening."
"As you command, Master!" Farr bowed again.
"Fucking bitch," a quiet voice was heard from Tira's side, which Revan chose to ignore.
Secuta heard the phrase but did not react. She merely cast a scorching glance at the mercenary, grunted something in farewell, and left the training hall.
"Don't you want to explain anything?" Revan turned to Tira.
"No," the Mandalorian replied without hesitation.
"And what was that?"
Revan knew the answer. It wasn't hard to guess, but Farr's motives were still unclear. Jealousy, definitely, but not only that. Judging by the scorch marks on the floor and Tira's armor, Risa had acted on emotion. Her blows were too wide-ranging, lacking the clarity and precision that the Mandalorian had demonstrated in their first meeting, trying to copy Revan's style. Nomad had clearly angered her with something, otherwise she wouldn't have taken such a risk. After all, she understood that if she harmed someone Revan had agreed to take as a student, she would incur his wrath. Which did not fit with her obsession with her new mentor. Something was wrong with her... and not just mentally. He needed to observe.
Meanwhile, Tira had apparently found something to say.
"Sparring. This f... ahem... Farr already explained everything," Nomad commented on the incident in a completely unperturbed tone.
Well, if you don't want to talk, you don't have to. There are other ways.
"Alright. Then answer, did you remember her movements? The techniques she attacked you with? For a fighter of your level, it shouldn't be difficult to recall," Revan began, standing in a circle around the arena opposite Nomad.
"I think so, yes. I remembered," the mercenary replied cautiously, suspecting something was wrong.
"Then demonstrate them to me. I want to see how quickly you grasp things. Can you do it?"
A challenge and provocation. The Mandalorian's pride and the Chiss heritage would not allow this to be ignored.
"I can!" the expected reaction.
"Then, attack," Revan removed one of the blades from his belt.
There are different ways to teach. Each student requires a different approach.