It was noisy again aboard the Eagle. Ever since their return from the meeting with the Duchess, Revan had been pushing the students with training. And now, every day, the clash and hum of lightsabers could be heard in one of the cargo holds. Anakin was still in an observer role. The Master had barely allowed him to start training with a vibroblade to practice the basic stances of the first form, or Shii-Cho. After all, this style originated back when lightsabers were merely ceremonial weapons, not adapted for combat. Hence, the movements closely resemble classic fencing with full-fledged blades.
Skywalker tried his best, progressing rapidly, but Revan was dissatisfied with his progress. At least, that's how it seemed to the boy. Which, however, was not far from the truth. The Master noted the child's talent but couldn't help but notice that during training, while trying to exceed his limits, Anakin unconsciously turned to the Dark Side, nurturing anger within himself. As soon as he received praise, pride awoke within him. Skywalker was gifted with talent in the Force, which could instill a sense of self-importance in him. And therefore, Revan was pleased that the boy was being taught away from his peers. This way, he wouldn't see the difference in abilities and progress, wouldn't become arrogant, which might help him maintain balance.
For the same reason, Anakin had attended the sparring matches between Revan and Maul for the past week. The Master clearly demonstrated to the students that both the Dark and Light Sides could be used with equal effectiveness in combat, and that dividing the Great Force into shades was foolish and short-sighted.
The crimson blade scraped along the wall above Revan's head as he rolled out of the way of an attack. The next moment, a silver blade flared, and the Zabrak was forced to defend himself. The teacher and student moved so swiftly that only thanks to his training could Skywalker follow their movements. The crimson and silver flashes visually blurred in space, resembling shimmering ribbons that clashed every second, creating miniature explosions and striking sparks.
With each passing day, the training fights became longer, but their tempo also increased, reflecting Maul's success in perfecting his style. Revan noted that the Zabrak had followed his advice and tried to incorporate elements of Makashi, adapting them to the seventh form, taking into account the use of a staff as a weapon. Maul began to move more smoothly, useless swings disappeared, and his stance became more effective. In combat, the student now tried to keep his side to the opponent, reducing the target for the enemy, and only occasionally, still due to inexperience, exposed his chest or back.
The Master was pleased, although he didn't show it. Of course, in terms of staff mastery, Maul was still far from Bastila's level, but he would have defeated his former self in a fraction of a second.
The Zabrak managed to evade Revan's attack and went on the offensive himself. However, to his surprise, the Master did not react to the lunge, taking a step towards the activated staff. For a moment, Maul thought the crimson blade would soon take his teacher's head. Fear mixed with anticipation and delight. A part of the Zabrak rejoiced at the imminent victory! If he defeats... kills the Master... he will finally become a lord himself! Revan had not managed to knock this part of Sith teachings out of the Zabrak's head.
However, in the next moment, the crimson blade passed over the head of the Master, who had bent backward, while his silver blade had nearly singed Maul's neck, stopping just at the skin. The Zabrak barely managed to stop himself from decapitating himself, simply falling forward after the missed staff.
"Again," Revan ordered, stepping back two paces.
"Yes, Master," Maul replied, preparing for a new round.
"This time I'll show you something new. It will be useful for you."
"Master?"
"You'll see. Attack," Revan said calmly.
Maul infused his body and weapon with the Force and prepared to show his fastest attack. He decided to surprise the Master as well. But it wasn't as simple as that.
The Zabrak lunged forward, bringing his blade in an arc. The crimson blade rushed towards the silver blade, already held in a defensive movement, when suddenly Revan's sword went out. The crimson blade missed its target as Revan deactivated his weapon for a split second.
Just one heartbeat, a brief moment, and the opponents froze again. The silver blade, for the umpteenth time that day, stopped a hair's breadth from a fatal blow.
"How..." the Zabrak exhaled the beginning of a question, but the Master didn't let him finish.
"Again. Don't stop."
The opponents sprang apart to engage in combat again. And to Maul's surprise, Revan met the new attack with his weapon off. He dodged the first two lunges, deflected a diagonal swing with his palm, and then drove his fist into the Zabrak's cheekbone.
"Pay attention!" the Master roared.
The student spat blood and lunged forward with a roar. The staff swing missed, the leg sweep also yielded no results, and in the next moment, Revan's lightsaber flared up next to the Zabrak's face, causing him to instinctively flinch and receive a kick to the ribs.
The new attack seemed to have hit its mark, forcing the teacher to cover himself with his sword, but the suddenly disappearing blade caught Maul off guard, for which the student would have paid with his life in a real fight. At least, the hilt of the lightsaber pressed against his chest spoke of this.
Without giving him time to rest, the Master demanded continuation.
Again and again, the Zabrak faced his defeat and couldn't understand what was happening. Ten minutes ago, he had confidently kept pace with the Master, and their sparring matches lasted much longer than a pathetic five seconds.
Suddenly, Maul realized he couldn't keep up with Revan. The Master seemed to have suddenly accelerated. He moved around the Zabrak like a hound from Dantooine, delivering blow after blow, while his blade remained almost always off, flaring up only for brief moments just before an attack or to distract Maul.
Then, in another pirouette, Revan knocked the staff out of the student's hands and, switching his sword to his left hand, caught the Zabrak's dropped weapon. The stunned Maul stared at the crossed blades pointed to either side of his neck.
"What... are these movements?" the Zabrak asked hoarsely.
"Something you will have to master. Trakata, one of the lightsaber combat forms, where your weapon remains inactive until the very last moment and is activated just before the strike," Revan explained, returning the staff to its owner.
"That's why you moved even faster?"
"What are you talking about?" the Master chuckled.
"I couldn't follow your movements. If not for the Force, I wouldn't have been able to parry even a single blow."
"I was moving at the same speed as in the first sparring match today."
"But I saw you were faster!" Maul exclaimed.
"I saw everything!" Anakin chimed in, who was allowed to approach the duelists for joint discussion of mistakes.
"And tell us, what did you see, student?" Revan turned to Skywalker.
The boy was pleased by the attention and quickly spoke.
"You moved identically. All the time on equal footing, but Maul then started to slow down. More and more, as if he was lost," the younger of the students explained his observations.
"But how? That's impossible," the Zabrak retorted grimly.
"Anakin is right," the Master replied, tucking his weapon into his belt.
"But I..."
"You are used to watching the opponent's blade movement in combat. Its absence disorients you. This is the strength of Trakata. You never know when the opponent will decide to activate his sword. There are many options; without full concentration, even foresight won't help. The technique is difficult to execute and quite demanding for the user, but if you can master it, your opponents will face an unpleasant surprise," Revan explained.
"But isn't it dangerous? For the one who uses it?"
"It is dangerous," the Master agreed, "Remaining without a weapon, you risk. You have to rely on foresight, evasion, and Tutaminis techniques to avoid death."
"I... understand, teacher..."
"You will understand," Revan finished confidently for his protégé, "From today on, we will add elements of Trakata to your training. You have mastered Makashi well and managed to adapt the movements to the staff, so with the addition of another element, you should cope."
"Yes, Master," Maul agreed with a bow.
"Rest. In an hour, you will practice Shii-Cho with Anakin. Skywalker, tomorrow morning we will have another group meditation session, after which you will show what you have learned."
"Yes, teacher!" the boy exclaimed enthusiastically.
"You are dismissed."
The students bowed and dispersed.
Revan, lost in thought, headed to his quarters.
There was still a lot of work to be done with the students. There wasn't enough time for both, but so far, he managed to combine everything. Due to HK's guard duty, which Tira or Maul couldn't always cover for Bo-Katan, Anakin had to miss two training sessions with the droid. Not critical, but it would be better to deal with the prisoner quickly. She couldn't stay on the ship indefinitely. Doubts had already begun to form in her heart, and it was worth trying to win her over. Perhaps through her sister. There were already some shifts, but it was difficult to overcome convictions.
There was also much to consider and even more to do regarding plans for Mandalore. The clans couldn't meet yet to discuss further actions, which limited Revan's scope of activity. Cohesion was needed to act effectively. The leader of the Nomads promised that a meeting would be scheduled soon. By then, a preliminary action plan should be prepared. And for that, information was needed. The Claw Network was already gathering intelligence, and a report arrived from Coruscant about the departure of a transport ship with Order identification codes. And it was heading towards Mandalore. If those Revan was thinking about were on board, then everything was unfolding as planned.
The affair between Satine and Obi-Wan could be used in various ways. Through this connection, pressure could be applied to either one. It was their weakness... And along with it, a subject of envy.
Revan entered his cabin and sighed sadly. The story of the Padawan's love for the Duchess reminded him of what he had lost.
The former Jedi approached Bastila's holocron and gently ran his hand over its carved facets. He didn't activate the hologram. To see his beloved and realize it was just a fake... he didn't want that right now.
Giving in to impulse, Revan settled on his bed in a meditative pose and tried to immerse himself in the Force as deeply as he could, hoping to feel at least an echo of the presence of the one who was no longer there. The thought that he had tried something similar many times before, that the Force was too vast to try to find the trace of a long-gone beloved in it. But when had Revan been stopped by limitations and the impossibility of something's existence? The Council once believed that the existence of the Star Forge was impossible. He proved otherwise. Many believed that returning to the Light after falling into darkness was impossible. He proved them wrong.
There is no turning back after death... But here he was, walking among people again.
Perhaps this time, the Force would be favorable to its chosen one?
Thoughts swarmed in his head, preventing him from concentrating. Then Revan did as he had done many times during the Mandalorian Wars. He summoned his mask and placed it on his lap. Focusing only on it, he immersed himself in the Force and tried to invoke the one who was as closely connected to this mask as he was. After all, she had kept it for many years.
He didn't know how much time had passed. There was still no answer, and Revan sank deeper and deeper... until, finally.
"Revan," a familiar female voice sounded.
But... not the one he had expected. Not the voice he longed to hear. It wasn't Bastila.
"Hello, Mical," the former Jedi opened his eyes.
In his cabin, leaning against the wall, stood a figure of an old friend and student, as if woven from mist and light. Surik greeted Revan with a nod and a sad smile.
"I understand you weren't expecting to see me," the Force ghost chuckled, "But believe me, it's better me than others."
"Others?" Revan frowned.
Gradually, he began to realize the foolishness of his action. The mask was connected not only to Bastila. Too many were attached to... this symbol. The Jedi of the Mandalorian Wars, like Mical, saw in it the "face" of their general. Defeated enemies – their doom, and the saved, on the contrary, – a hero. The Revanites, moreover, had built a whole cult around this artifact.
"In a little while, Alec would have visited you," Mical interrupted Revan's thoughts.
"Malak? He also became...
"A ghost? No," Surik shook her head, "But the Force... 'remembers' everyone, so I almost felt his presence. He is connected to you more than other followers. Your first true student."
"Whom I failed."
"Are you sure?"
"He fell into darkness after me..."
"Betrayed you and tried to kill you," Mical reminded him.
"And in the end, fell by my blade," Revan finished, lowering his head.
"And do you remember his last words?"
Revan remembered. Malak was indignant that his Master had returned to the Light, and he was left abandoned in the Darkness.
"He said that if you could atone for your deeds and return to the path of Light, then perhaps there was a chance for him too," Mical reminded him.
Revan did not answer.
"You showed him the way, even as his enemy. And believe me, he is grateful to you."
"I think he appeared to me in one of my visions... After my awakening in a new body," the former Jedi recalled.
"Anything is possible. The Force is multifaceted and untamed. And the possibilities of its adepts are still not fully understood, are they?"
"As well as the possibilities of those who have become one with it," Revan said with a hint.
"True," Mical nodded, her expression becoming more serious.
"You can tell me, can't you, is there a chance to bring her back?"
Surik frowned, then looked into her old friend's eyes guiltily.
"I wish I could... but I can't."
"You can't or you don't want to?"
"I can't."
"Why?"
"It's difficult to explain..."
"Try."
Silence fell, which Mical was the first to risk breaking.
"You remember my story, don't you? About how I subconsciously cut myself off from the Force to avoid death at Malachor?"
"Yes, you said you managed to restore the connection later."
"Not directly."
"Explain."
"The Force began to respond to my call again, but it heard me through others. Through the Master and my students. Only that way," Mical tried to explain.
"A connection... A Force Bond? The response came through them?" Revan guessed, having studied the phenomenon of bonds between two gifted individuals in detail when trying to understand their connection with Bastila.
"Yes. This connection is much deeper and more multifaceted than the Order's Masters think. Kreia suspected its significance, which is why she didn't try to sever the contact between us, even though it carried the threat of death for both if only one died."
"Kreia was always wiser than the others. Or so it seemed to me, as her student. Time and again, she proved to me that I was a foolish and inexperienced Padawan. Even when I received the rank of Knight... It's a shame I can't ask her advice now."
"Perhaps it's for the best. I did tell you what she became, didn't I?"
"Yes... Unfortunately, even the wisest cannot sometimes resist..."
"The Dark Side?" Mical suggested, stepping away from the wall.
"No, the Idea," Revan shook his head.
"Do you think the Idea drove her to madness?"
"Of course. The Master loved to ponder the influence of the Force on our decisions, on the world, on the future. With each year, her thoughts became darker..."
"And then a series of events only intensified her doubts."
"My fall, the path predestined by the Force, and the visions of the Star Forge. The schism of the Order, the Extermination of the Jedi. Darkness merely seized the moment, giving birth to Darth Traya."
"Once again betrayed and forgotten," Mical finished, pacing the cabin, "Yes, I hadn't looked at it from that perspective. It's no wonder her hatred for the Force became so high..."
"That she decided to destroy it."
"And failed," Surik chuckled, "Imagine her indignation when, at the last moment, she realized that the same end awaited her as all other gifted individuals. Namely, unification with the Force."
"I think she felt relief," Revan shrugged. "Her struggle with what cannot be defeated had finally ended."
"You are right, I believe," Mical subtly changed, becoming serious again.
The old friend's behavior was a bit strange, as if she was constantly changing in character. She seemed like a familiar person, but between her sentences... it was as if a whole life had been lived. A sudden realization struck the former Jedi.
"Tell me, Mical, how did you become a ghost if you never restored your connection to the Force?" Revan asked the question that had been tormenting him.
"You noticed?" Surik smiled sadly.
"You are not quite the Mical Surik who saved me from Vitiate, are you?"
"That's right," the ghost replied without a trace of a smile, which evoked strong associations in Revan with the imperious tone of his former Master.
"Although I have become one with the Force, I still feel it through the bonds with my students and Masters. Their thoughts and feelings complement my own, which is why I... sometimes... get lost," Mical finished, returning to her usual manner of communication.
"You feel others?" Revan asked hopefully.
"Not exactly... It's hard to explain. We are one with the Force. The Force unites everyone, everything, and everywhere. And I feel a part of everyone within myself... We are one, yet divided. We feel the Force... its flow... or perhaps its intention, maybe even its will... Call it what you want, but... Oh, it's so difficult."
"Do you feel Bastila?" Revan asked the most important question for himself.
Mical glanced at the holocron and nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Is there a chance to bring her back?"
Surik's expression changed slightly. The guilty smile was replaced by sadness in her eyes.
"You already guess."
"But I want to be sure! I need hope!" Revan shouted, jumping up from his bed.
"You can never be sure with the Force, its currents are always in motion. You can only believe. And hope... you've always had more of that than others. Chosen One,"
Surik approached her old friend and gently ran her spectral palm across his cheek.
"Will you help me? I... I'm at a loss,"
Revan asked, calming down.
"Ghosts rarely interfere in the affairs of the living, otherwise it could lead to catastrophe for everyone. The Force leads us down a different path."
The former Jedi nodded grimly.
"It must be hard to be one with the Force, to feel its currents and power and... not be able to change anything?"
"There are possibilities, but no desire,"
Mitra said sadly. "When you realize the consequences... you think ten times before giving in to emotions."
"I think I understand what you mean."
"Don't be sad,"
Mitra said with a smile, stepping away from Revan. "You can find possibilities and help yourself. You've always managed that better than most. Remember who you were. Believe in your own strength... And hope... As I said, you've always had more of it."
With her last word, the misty figure dissipated, leaving no trace of its presence.
Revan stood for a few more minutes, looking at the spot where Mitra had disappeared, pondering her words. Despite the fact that his friend hadn't said anything specific, he felt a surge of strength and confidence that his cherished wish... was achievable. Which meant he had to fight for it.
But first. It was time to remind Mandalore of its glorious past.