The Temple of the Ancients seemed to exhale its last breath as we moved through its crumbling corridors, the air heavy with dust and the sour reek of algae. My boots crunched on scattered kyber shards, each step a reminder of the chaos we'd just endured. Ahead, Revan led the way, the supercomputer's orb cradled in his gauntleted hands, its faint glow casting jagged shadows across walls etched with Rakatan runes. The violet flash that had engulfed him still burned in my mind, a question gnawing at me, what had it done to him?
"Revan," I called, my voice slicing through the low hum of distant tremors. "Are you alright?"
He slowed, his masked head turning just enough for the orb's eerie light to glint off his silver-gray visor, its faded red stripes dulled by time. "I am... functional," he rasped, the words flat, almost mechanical, missing the iron conviction I'd come to expect.
My lekku twitched, catching the strain beneath his calm. "That's not an answer." I quickened my pace, closing the gap. The corridor's cortosis walls loomed, their rune-carved surfaces scarred by blaster burns and turbolaser gouges. "That energy, that barrier—what happened to you?"
Revan resumed walking, his silence stretching as we navigated the passage. The temple's stones groaned, a faint crack splitting the floor ahead, dust sifting from the ceiling like ash. My instincts flared—I Force pulled Ezra, yanking him back as a slab of cortosis crashed down, narrowly missing Vicrul's hunched form. "Let's keep moving!" I snapped, my gaze flicking to Revan. He hadn't flinched, but his hand rose, the Force steadying a teetering pillar with a low, resonant hum.
"You do know this place," I said, falling in beside him, my voice low but firm. The air carried a faint metallic tang, the ghost of Rakatan machinery long silenced. "Better than you've let on."
"Every shadow, every stone," he murmured, so soft I almost missed it. There was pain there, raw and unguarded, like a scar torn open.
I studied him, my heart tugging despite my caution. I knew that kind of pain—the weight of choices that haunted you, like Anakin's shadow or the Order's fall, ghosts I'd carried too long. "The past doesn't own us," I said, the words steady, meant for both of us. "But whatever you faced back there—it's left a mark. I can feel it."
Revan's mask tilted, just a fraction, his silence louder than the temple's groans. "Perhaps," he said finally, his grip tightening on the orb, its hum growing steadier, like a pulse finding rhythm. "Or perhaps it's shown me what we're fighting for."
I nodded, my mind racing. The orb's light flickered, casting eerie patterns across the corridor's walls, where kyber vines—bioluminescent and faintly pulsing—clung to cracked stone, their glow dimmed by centuries of neglect. What truths did that orb hold? And what wasn't Revan telling us? The temple's oppressive weight pressed against my senses, its Rakatan grandeur decayed yet defiant, a monument to hubris that had rectified itself when we entered, as if judging our worth. Now, it seemed to watch us leave, its silence heavier than before.
Ezra trailed close behind, his slate-blue robes dusted with grime, the welt on his arm a dull red against his tanned skin. "You'd think a place this old would've collapsed by now," he muttered, sharp enough to cut through the tension. "Guess Rakatan ego's stronger than yours there, legend."
I shot him a glance, the corner of my mouth twitching. "Ego's kept worse standing, Bridger. Keep your eyes up."
Kesh padded beside him, her kyber collar glinting faintly, her silver-gray fur matted with algae. Her low growl vibrated through the corridor, her Force-sensitive instincts catching something I couldn't—a lingering unease, perhaps, or the temple's fading malice. I reached out with the Force, brushing her presence, and felt a steady warmth, grounding me.
Huyang's photoreceptors glowed amber in the dimness, his ancient frame navigating the uneven floor with precise steps. "The Rakata built to intimidate," he said, his tone dry as ever. "These runes—proclamations of eternal dominion—shows a civilization that believed itself invincible. A pity their engineering outlasted their wisdom."
"Sounds familiar," Vicrul growled, his vibro-scythe slung across his back, its obsidian-wrapped haft scraping the wall. His cracked rib slowed his gait, and his dark eyes flicked to Revan, a mix of loyalty and unexpected suspicion. His hand twitched toward his scythe before he spoke. "You sure that thing's worth dragging out of here, Herald? Maybe that's an artifact we leave behind this time."
Revan didn't turn, his voice steady but clipped. "It's worth more than your doubts, Vicrul."
Vicrul snorted, but fell silent, his boots scuffing the floor. I watched the exchange, my senses attuned to the undercurrent of tension. I kept my pace even, my hand hovering near my sabers, ready for whatever this temple—or its Herald—might throw at us next.
The corridor widened, its ceiling arching into a vaulted expanse where kyber crystals jutted like broken teeth, their faint glow casting fractured rainbows across the stone. Shattered Rakatan idols lined the walls, their obsidian faces frozen in snarls, half-buried in vines that pulsed with a sickly green light. The air grew humid, thick with the scent of jungle rot seeping through unseen cracks, Lehon's wild heart clawing at the temple's decay. I felt the planet's pulse through the Force, vibrant yet tainted, as if the Rakata's ambition had poisoned its roots.
We passed a toppled war machine, its cortosis frame rusted, kyber conduits sparking faintly. Huyang paused, his photoreceptors scanning it. "A Rakatan sentinel," he noted. "Its core's long dead, but the craftsmanship suggests it once rivaled our droidekas. A shame it couldn't withstand Revan's... enthusiasm."
Ezra chuckled, nudging a shard with his boot. "Enthusiasm's one way to put it." Revan's shoulders stiffened, the orb's light flaring briefly and kept walking, silent.
I frowned, catching the weight in his lack of words. The temple's scars—gouges from turbolaser barrages, walls buckled by orbital strikes—told a story of destruction far beyond a single battle. Revan's past as a warlord hung over us like the dust in the air, and I wondered how much exactly of this entire planet's ruin was his doing. The temple had rectified itself when we entered, its gates opening as if recognizing his presence, but now it felt like it was letting us go—grudgingly, perhaps, or simply spent.
The corridor sloped upward, my muscles aching from the temple's trials, urging us toward the exit as the air grew cooler, the landing pad drawing near. The walls here were less ornate, their runes faded, replaced by jagged cracks where Lehon's jungle had forced its way in. Vines draped across the passage like curtains, their bioluminescent tips brushing my lekku, sending a shiver down my spine. I sliced through one with a flick of my saber, its white blade humming softly, and the vine recoiled, oozing a sap that smelled of burnt ozone.
"Careful," I said, glancing at Ezra. "We may be out of that cursed place, but this jungle wants us gone."
"Feeling's mutual," he muttered, brushing dust from his robes. Kesh's ears flicked, her growl softening as the temple's oppressive aura began to fade.
The landing pad came into view, a cracked expanse of cortosis slab half-swallowed by Lehon's jungle. The Ebon Hawk stood defiant at its center, its matte-black hull gleaming under the stormy sky, silver Je'daii runes pulsing faintly along its curves. Rain sheeted down, drumming against the ship's cortosis plating, and lightning cracked above, illuminating the jungle's emerald canopy in stark relief. The pad itself was a ruin, its edges crumbling into the undergrowth, where kyber-tipped ferns swayed in the wind, their glow dimmed by the storm's fury.
I paused, taking in the Ebon Hawk's silhouette. Its Zakuulan upgrades—sleek lines, kyber-infused thrusters—made it look more like a diplomat's yacht than the smuggler's freighter I'd heard of in old tales. Yet there was a ruggedness to it, a battle-worn edge that spoke of countless escapes. It felt like a sanctuary, a stark contrast to the temple's decay, and I felt a pang of relief at the sight.
Revan strode toward the ship, the orb's light steady now, its hum a low counterpoint to the rain. Vicrul lagged behind, muttering under his breath, while Ezra and Kesh kept pace with me, Huyang's steady steps echoing at the rear. The wind whipped my robes, carrying the scent of wet earth and ozone, and I pulled my hood tighter, my lekku tingling with the storm's electric charge.
"Ship's looking better than this dump," Ezra said, squinting through the rain. "Think HK's got a hot meal waiting?"
Huyang's photoreceptors flickered. "If by 'hot meal' you mean a lecture on Rakatan combat tactics, then certainly."
I smirked, but my attention stayed on Revan. He reached the ship's entrance, pausing as if to steady himself, his gauntlet tightening on the orb. The ramp hissed open, revealing a glimpse of the ship's interior—polished durasteel, kyber-lit consoles, and plush Tython leather seats that screamed luxury. It was a far cry from the Dawn's cramped quarters, and I wondered what Cal would've thought of this opulent beast.
We filed aboard, the ramp sealing behind us with a soft thud, cutting off the storm's roar. The Ebon Hawk's interior was a marvel: walls paneled in cortosis, etched with Je'daii sigils that glowed a soft gold; a holographic nav-table dominating the lounge, its starfield pulsing with real-time data; and air scented with a faint metallic tang, clean and precise, unlike the temple's rot. The floor was carpeted in deep crimson, muffling our steps, and recessed lighting cast a warm glow, softening the ship's high-tech edge. It felt like stepping into a senator's private shuttle, yet the scuffs on the durasteel and the hum of battle-ready systems betrayed its warrior's heart.
Revan moved to the cockpit, the orb still in his hands, and I followed, my senses sharp. Ezra flopped onto a leather couch, Kesh curling at his feet, while Vicrul leaned against a wall, his scythe clattering against the cortosis. Huyang stood near the nav-table, his photoreceptors scanning the starfield, muttering about Zakuulan engineering.
The cockpit was a blend of old and new: the pilot's chair, worn from years of use, sat before a console studded with kyber crystals, their light dancing across holographic displays. Revan set the orb in a cushioned cradle, its hum blending with the ship's low thrum, and turned to the controls. His movements were precise, but I caught a slight tremor in his gauntlet, a crack in his stoic facade.
"HK," Revan said, his voice hoarse but firm, leaning toward the console. "Plot a course back to the Star of Ashla. Full speed."
The console flared, a holographic projection flickering to life—a humanoid figure, durasteel-plated, with Je'daii runes accenting its frame. HK-47's voice crackled through the speakers, dripping with sarcasm. "Statement: Course plotted, Master. Though I must protest the haste—such reckless meatbag urgency risks my pristine circuits. Query: Shall I prepare for your inevitable heroics en route?"
Revan's mask tilted, and I caught a hint of warmth in his tone, fleeting but real. "Just get us there, HK. No detours."
"Observation: Your trust in my navigation is touching. Engaging drives now." The hologram winked out, and the Ebon Hawk's engines roared, a smooth vibration rippling through the deck as we lifted off, the temple's ruin fading below.
I stood at the cockpit's edge, watching Revan's silhouette against the starfield beyond the viewport. The orb's glow reflected off his mask, and I felt a ripple in the Force—unsettled, guarded. I'd seen that weight before, in masters and friends who'd faced their demons. Whatever Revan had endured in that temple, it wasn't over. I'd keep watch, for the team, for the galaxy, and for the man behind the mask, as we soared toward the Star of Ashla and whatever awaited us in Lehon's orbit.
Lehon's storm-charged orbit roiled, clouds churning like a beast awakened, as the Ebon Hawk sliced through the tempest, its cortosis hull flaring under lightning's jagged claws. Below, the Temple of the Ancients dwindled, a crumbling bastion of kyber and cortosis, its spires scarred by ancient turbolaser barrages, entwined with bioluminescent vines pulsing faintly in the deluge. The landing pad, a fractured cortosis slab, vanished into the jungle's emerald grip, ferns swaying beneath sheets of rain. In orbit, the Star of Ashla loomed, a Zakuulan dreadnought spanning the void, its obsidian crescent hull etched with Je'daii runes, dry-docked scaffolds glinting like skeletal fingers against the starfield.
Across the Outer Rim, ice moons shattered in distant systems, their azure crusts splintering under unseen forces, vapor bleeding into the dark. Each moon's shattering unleashed a screech into the Force, a chorus of anguish echoing Yavin 8's ruin, their cries rippling through the galaxy's unseen currents, heralding chaos beyond the stars' reach.
With the Core's seething underbelly, where Nar Shaddaa's solar system sprawled, a chaotic nexus of asteroid belts and dim starlight. The Smuggler's Moon pulsed at its core, wreathed in smog, its neon towers stabbing through the haze with defiant brilliance. Holographic billboards flickered—Twi'lek dancers, ryll deals—while swoop bikes roared through skylanes, repulsors carving paths over spice-fueled brawls. Black Sun corvettes prowled the orbit, sleek shadows amid Hutt pleasure yachts and battered freighters, the Corellian Sector below a maze of rusted gantries and treachery-soaked bays.
In the system's crowded orbit, the Rogue Shadow drifted, a predator reborn. Its cortosis-patched hull and kyber-infused thrusters gleamed, Je'daii craftsmanship etched into every line, yet carbon streaks and misaligned sensors betrayed owner's neglect. Its modernized sheen was a shrine to Juno's memory, defiled by Galen's careless hand. Nar Shaddaa's smog clung to its docking clamps, the stealth cloaking system humming softly, hyperdrive idling for the leap.
Inside, the cockpit glowed with kyber-lit consoles, holographic star charts casting a sterile blue across durasteel panels. Datacards littered the pilot's chair, sardonic maintenance logs etched into their surfaces. A crumpled ration wrapper slumped against a control yoke, a cloak crusted with Nar Shaddaa's grime draped over a sensor bank, concealing a vibroblade's hilt. The lounge stretched beyond, its crimson Tython leather seats scuffed, dust dulling their sheen. Cortosis walls, etched with Je'daii sigils, bore fingerprints, a holographic nav-table flickering with orbital data, its base cluttered with caf mugs and a cracked holocron, its kyber core dim from neglect.
The Rogue Shadow thrummed, Nar Shaddaa's neon hell a stark backdrop, its course poised for a distant star far into the black sea reckoning, where the galaxy's fate hung in the balance.
"—still nothing, Dren'var," Galen growled, his voice rough with frustration, leaning into the console as static crackled through the comms. "This is our second try. Where's Revan?"
I shifted in the co-pilot's chair, my armor's servos humming softly, catching Dren'var's holographic flicker—red Chiss eyes, crisp Je'daii tunic, standing on what looked like a frigate's bridge. "The Herald has not responded, Sentinel," Dren'var said, his tone polished, like he was reading a mission brief. "He's taken a team to Lehon's surface. Storms are disrupting comms, and..." His jaw tightened. "A dark side presence is growing stronger here."
Galen snorted, kicking a datacard off the console, its edge skittering across the durasteel. "What, Revan's too busy playing leader to check in? Tell me, Dren'var, does he at least send you a holo-postcard from these excavation raids?"
Dren'var's expression didn't waver. "The Herald's mission is critical, Sentinel. I'll relay your... inquiry." The feed cut, static fading to the cockpit's low thrum.
I glanced at Galen, catching the smirk tugging at his scarred lip. "You're gonna give that kid a heart attack one day," I said, my voice dry as a Tuchanka afternoon. "Revan's got him wound tighter than a reactor core."
Galen shrugged, his dark eyes glinting with that playful edge I'd seen sharpen over months of blood and banter. "Keeps him sharp. Revan's got enough worshippers; Dren'var can handle a little heat." He leaned forward, fingers flicking over the console, pulling up the nav system.
I watched the holographic star map flare to life. Stars and hyperspace lanes pulsed in 3D, kyber crystals embedded in the console casting flecks of light across Galen's face. I'd seen holo-interfaces before—hell, EDI could map a galaxy in seconds—but this was next-level, like something Cerberus would've killed to reverse-engineer. I shook my head, a faint grin tugging at me. Revan's Je'daii had come a long way since I got dropped on Nar Shaddaa, still a stranger in a galaxy of glowsticks and mystic mumbo-jumbo.
"Lehon, Unknown Regions," Galen muttered, punching in coordinates with a flick, his fingers steady despite the faint tremor I caught. He slammed the hyperdrive lever, and the stars stretched into streaks beyond the viewport, the Rogue Shadow lurching as we jumped.
I braced against the chair, the vibration settling into my bones. "Hell of a setup," I said, nodding at changes since I've been aboard. "Je'daii's got more structure than the most I've seen ever—organized, but with a mystic edge I'll never get. Shades, Sentinels, a damn dreadnought out of the blue? Feels like Revan built an empire while I was slumming it with the Hutts."
Galen chuckled, leaning back, his cloak snagging on a stray datacard. "Yeah, he's got a knack for rallying the masses. Revan's speeches are like a damn tractor beam—pull you in whether you like it or not." His tone softened, a nod to our shared hunt. "You'd fit right in, barking orders like you did when I first landed on Mustafar."
I smirked, the memories of Mustafar hitting me—Revan's words, steady as a pulse, turning Vicrul's goons into believers. "Yeah," I said, voice low. "Guy's got a way of making you believe the impossible."
Galen stood, stretching, his lightsabers clinking against the dash. "Come on, we got four, maybe five hours to kill. Let's hit the lounge. I ain't staring at hyperspace streaks that long."
I followed him out of the cockpit, the sterile glow giving way to a lounge that screamed luxury and neglect in equal parts. Crimson Tython leather couches lined the walls, plush but scuffed, dust clinging to their seams like Galen had never met a cleaning droid. Cortosis panels gleamed, etched with Je'daii sigils, but fingerprints dulled their shine. A holographic nav-table flickered in the center, its starfield half-buried under caf mugs and a cracked holocron, its kyber core dim. The air smelled of ozone and stale rations, a far cry from the Normandy's crisp air.
Zevra and Vren sprawled on a couch, our Nar Shaddaa escape buddies, now in what I guessed was their fatigues, their kyber-threaded robed armor piled nearby. A dejarik board glowed between them, holographic beasts snarling as Zevra's violet fingers hovered over a move, her lekku twitching. Vren, his scarred jaw set, leaned forward, blaster on his knee, eyes sharp. They didn't look up, lost in their game, a rare breather after the bloodbath on Nar Shaddaa.
I sank onto a couch, the Tython leather creaking under my armor, and took in the Rogue Shadow's changes. The retrofits were wild—cortosis walls, kyber-lit consoles, a lounge fit for a senator—but Galen's mess was everywhere. Datacards littered the floor, a ration wrapper stuck to a bulkhead, and the nav-table hadn't been wiped in months. No booze, though. Not a single bottle, not even a hint of rotgut. That was new.
"Place looks like a five-star hotel got hit by a meteor," I said, kicking a datacard aside. "But no booze. You holding up alright, Marek?"
Galen dropped onto the couch opposite, his cloak snagging on a mug. "Over six months and counting, no bottle," he said, voice rough but steady. "The drink used to scream my name, Shepard. Juno's voice was always louder, but it was Revan's Sentinel gig that finally gave it some pause." He smirked, but there was a flicker of reluctance in his eyes, like he was still wrestling with it.
I raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "You? Following orders? Hell, I thought you'd choke a rancor before saluting Revan."
Galen scoffed, waving a hand. "I don't salute, Shepard. I'm here 'cause it gives me purpose, not 'cause I'm chanting his name." He leaned back, grin sharpening. "Speaking of sharp, you really cracked that Hutt vault solo? Twin Falls, no backup? That's some sithspit crazy."
I chuckled, the memory of Nar Shaddaa's chaos flashing—sneaking through the Twin Falls Palace, rigging an EMP to fry the vault's locks, playing Sylara and her crew like pawns while enforcers closed in. "Yeah, I slipped in, fried their security with a pulse, and had Sylara's goons eating out of my hand," I said, grinning like I was swapping stories over drinks. "Dodged a dozen guns and ghosted out with my gear at first under the cover of night after an unfortunate skycar accident after getting here. Hands were tied. No Normandy, no crew, no Starkiller to back me up, just me and a desperate plan." I paused, voice dropping. "I'm done spinning tales like ol' Torel, though. Those wails—the ice moons—they kept hitting me hard, Marek. Like a thermal slug to the chest, a scream rattling my skull, tearing at body and soul. Have y'all had any leads?"
Galen's grin faded, his eyes searching mine. "Wish I could tell you, but our fearless leader's out hunting ghosts. Guess we'll find out when we get to the Star." He yawned, rubbing his neck. "I'm beat. Gonna crash. Try not to break my ship."
I smirked, patting the couch. "This Tython leather's a damn sight comfier than anything I've slept on lately."
Galen snorted, heading for the corridor, his boots scuffing the carpet. "Crash in a real bed for once, Shepard. Mustafar's bunks are barely better than that Nar Shaddaa sleemo hole you called home." I leaned back, the lounge's hum wrapping around me, the Reaper-like echo clawing at my gut.
Aboard the Rogue Shadow, hyperspace's flicker danced over crewmen—some sprawled on Tython leather, holographic dejarik pieces clashing between them, while others nursed steaming caf, its aroma cutting through the recycled air, hours bleeding into the void's restless hum.
The Star of Ashla thrummed beneath me, its Zakuulan corridors a lattice of durasteel and kyber, their pulse a faint echo of the dread coiling in my chest. The Rakata orb rested heavy in my gauntleted hand, a cracked sphere of cortosis and kyber, its surface dark save for faint green runes that pulsed like a dying star. Its silence mocked me, a husk where once a supercomputer's hum. I strode toward the Chamber of Inquiry, my cloak trailing, the mask on my face a cold shield against the galaxy's gaze—and hers. Ahsoka Tano followed, her steps a steady rhythm, her presence a warm ripple in the Force. Her white-blue lekku swayed, and though she said nothing, I felt her scrutiny, sharp as a lightsaber's edge, probing for the fractures I hid.
The Rakatan Elder's face haunted me, his black eyes widening in terror when he saw Yavin 8's destruction, the wails that permeated throughout the Force. His voice cracked, then the vision had severed, a holo-feed cut mid-transmission. That silence was a blade in my gut, heavier than Bastila's accusations or Malak's betrayal. I'd faced Sith Lords, forged empires, shattered worlds, but this dread—this unanswered riddle—clung like the rot of Lehon's crypts. My gauntlets creaked around the orb, its faint kyber pulse vibrating my bones. It held answers and I would tear them free, whatever the cost.
The corridor widened, Zakuulan glyphs glowing along the Chamber of Inquiry's blast doors, their light half-obscured by dangling Je'daii kyber conduits, their cores flickering as droids welded them to Zakuulan holo-frames. The Star of Ashla was my crucible, a relic of the Eternal Empire reborn in Je'daii fire, its unfinished heart pulsing with secrets amid sparking retrofit scars. I raised a hand, and the doors parted with a low hiss, revealing a vast deck thick with the scent of ozone and molten durasteel. Kyber conduits snaked along the walls, half-welded Je'daii additions pulsing erratically beside Zakuulan wires trailing like scorched vines, their sparks hissing where droids fused cortosis to GEMINI servers. Holo-consoles flickered, their rune-etched screens struggling to sync with the ship's hybrid systems, a marriage of Je'daii balance and Zakuulan ambition still raw with untested power. In a corner, an Iokathi holo-puzzle flickered, its unsolved geometric patterns humming like a trapped beast, a testament to the Star's relentless pursuit of ancient truths. The air was heavy, charged with the orb's latent dark-side aura, a tide that pressed against my senses.
A figure approached, robes whispering against the deck—one of my Vanguard of Secrets. Human, male, his face lined with the scars of Lehon's tombs, he moved with the precision of a relic-hunter who'd faced Rakata traps and lived. His eyes flicked to the orb, awe flashing before duty snapped into place. "My Herald," he said, voice clipped, reverent. "You've brought... something extraordinary."
I held the orb aloft, its cracked cortosis surface catching the kyber light, green runes pulsing faintly. "The core of the Temple of the Ancients' supercomputer," I said, my tone steady, strategic. "It once held secrets of the Infinite Empire's knowledge. Can your team unlock its data, or is this relic too far gone?" The Elder's terrified expression lingered, urging haste, but I kept my voice calm, a leader's command masking the storm within.
Ahsoka stepped closer, her montrals twitching, her presence a steady reminder of why I must not let the Je'daii turn into the nightmare that was given as warning. "Revan, what did you see in that temple? Something's weighing on you." Her hazel eyes searched mine, piercing despite the mask, her empathy a blade that cut too close.
I met her gaze, my mask a barrier. "The temple showed fragments, Tano—nothing clear enough to act on yet." The lie was partial; the Elder's terror was a riddle I couldn't share, not until I knew more. "My focus is the orb's secrets, not my own. Your caution is wise, but we both need answers." Her scrutiny didn't waver, but I turned to the Vanguard, redirecting. "Proceed with the scan."
The Vanguard nodded, gesturing to a droid scuttling forward—a revived Zakuulan SK-3, its chassis a patchwork of sleek curves and retrofit sensors, its amber optic flickering with calculated irritation. "Diagnostic initiated, My Herald," it said, voice crackling with precise wit. "Dark-side interference detected. GEMINI protocols are throwing a tantrum. Recommend maintaining distance unless you fancy corrupted circuits." Its probe extended, and the orb's faint hum deepened, a guttural pulse that vibrated the deck. The green runes flared briefly, their light dancing across the cracked cortosis, a living spark where silence had reigned.
Ahsoka's montrals shifted, and she fixed me with a look, her voice softening but firm. "Revan, your pulse is racing—I can hear it through the Force." She stepped closer, her hand hovering near her lightsabers. "The temple did more than show you fragments. What aren't you telling me?" Her concern was genuine, a Togruta's instinct honed by years of loss, but it pressed against the walls I'd built.
I exhaled, the mask muffling my tension. "Clarity comes with time, Tano. The temple's echoes are unclear, but the orb is our path forward." The Elder's voice—"The Thalassians"—echoed in my skull, his terrified eyes a weight I couldn't shake. I turned to the droid, my voice sharp. "Report, now."
The SK-3's optic pulsed, its probe whirring as sparks flew from a nearby Je'daii holo-console, its kyber core struggling to align with Zakuulan wiring. "Scan complete, My Herald. Orb confirmed as supercomputer core—kyber matrix, fractured but viable. GEMINI protocols detect 47% data stream compatibility. Dark-side trigger locks primary functions; corruption risk: 71%. The runes are... displeased." It paused, then added, "Recommendation: isolate, attune with a Vanguard of Balance, or jettison into a star. The last option's cleaner, but less heroic."
The Vanguard's brow furrowed, his hands clasped behind his back. "My Herald, the GEMINI link is a start, but the dark-side lock could destabilize the Star's systems. A Vanguard of Balance is essential to attune it to the Gray, neutralizing the corruption risk. Without that, we risk the orb's influence spreading."
Ahsoka's gaze didn't leave me. "Vanguard of Balance, Revan—?" Her tone was steady, but her montrals twitched, sensing the orb's pulse and my unease. "And why do I feel like you keep holding back something critical that now needs 'balance'?"
I faced her, my voice low, deliberate. "The orb's power is bound to the dark side, Tano. We don't want a repeat of what happened at the temple." I handed the orb to the Vanguard, my gauntlets creaking, the faint kyber pulse warm against my palm. "Deliver this to the High Sage, I command it. Instruct her to begin attunement immediately. I expect a report the moment it's ready."
The Vanguard took the orb, his hands steady despite its weight, the green runes casting eerie shadows across his scarred face. "In balance, My Herald," he said, bowing slightly. "The High Sage will make it her priority." He turned, disappearing into the Chamber's depths, the orb's hum fading like a receding storm.
I pivoted, the need for solitude a physical ache. The meditation chambers were my sanctuary, a ritual after every mission, but the Elder's terror made them a necessity. His whispered curse—and the vision's abrupt end demanded clarity I couldn't find in a crowded deck. My boots struck the deck with purpose, the corridor blurring as I moved, my cloak snapping behind me. Exposed Je'daii panels lined the walls, their kyber runes flickering beside Zakuulan wires trailing like vines, droid welders sparking as they fused cortosis to durasteel, the Star's hybrid heart still raw with untested power.
Ahsoka's voice cut through, calm but relentless. "Revan, slow down. You're moving like the galaxy's unraveling." Her footsteps quickened, matching my pace, her presence a steady warmth in the Force. "Your heart's pounding—I can hear it. What did the temple show you? Don't shut me out." Her words were gentle, but her resolve was iron, a Jedi's instinct honed by years of confronting shadows.
I didn't break stride, my voice taut. "Meditation is my tradition, Tano. It clears the mind after a mission. You know the value of focus." The Elder's face flashed in my mind, his eyes wide with terror, the void trembling as if Lehon itself recoiled. "The orb's with my High Sage. That's what matters now." My deflection was a shield, but her scrutiny pierced it, a reminder of the truths I couldn't yet share.
She grabbed my arm, her grip firm but not hostile, forcing me to pause. "Revan, I've seen too much to believe you're just meditating." Her hazel eyes bore into mine, searching beyond the mask. "The temple left a mark on you. Let me help, or at least tell me what we're facing." Her concern was a blade, cutting too close to the dread I carried.
I pulled free, my tone sharper than intended. "We face the unknown, Tano. That's enough for now. I need clarity, not questions." The vision's weight was mine to bear, a riddle I'd unravel alone until its shape was clear. I resumed my march, the meditation chambers a beacon, their promise of solitude driving my steps.
We'd barely cleared the next junction when Dren'var stepped into the corridor, his squire's armor gleaming, his posture rigid with duty. A nearby droid welder hissed, fusing a Je'daii kyber panel to a Zakuulan nav conduit, its sparks casting fleeting shadows across his polished vambraces. "My Herald," he said, voice formal, laced with urgency. "Per your instructions before Lehon, I report: Galen has made multiple attempts to contact you. He is en route to the Star of Ashla with Shepard aboard, expected within the hour."
The words struck like a hyperspace surge, relief and dread tangling in my chest. Shepard—lost for months, a specter I'd chased through every dark corner of the galaxy. Found. Alive. My gauntlets clenched, the faint creak grounding me, but the Elder's terror lingered, a reminder that answers came with costs. I forced my voice steady. "Prepare the Haven of the Chosen for their arrival, Dren'var. Ensure all is ready."
Ahsoka's lekku twitched, her curiosity sharp in the Force. "Galen and Shepard," she said, her tone measured, probing. "Names I've heard too often, Revan, but still never have met." She paused, her eyes flicking to Dren'var, then back to me. "We're not done here, but I'll give you your moment. I'm heading back to the Cloister of Serenity to check on my envoy. Find me when you're ready to talk."
I nodded, the mask hiding the storm within. "I will, Tano. Soon." Her gaze held mine a moment longer, then she turned, her strides purposeful toward the VIP quarters, her white-blue lekku swaying like a fading beacon.
I faced Dren'var. "To the Haven, now." He nodded, leading the way, his formal deference a steady anchor. I followed, the Elder's terrified eyes and Shepard's return twin weights pressing down, each step a countdown to answers—or deeper shadows. The Star's corridors stretched before me, Zakuulan glyphs pulsing faintly beside Je'daii cortosis panels, their kyber inlays sparking as droids welded them to durasteel. The meditation chambers would wait; Shepard and Galen demanded my presence, and the orb's secrets loomed like a storm on the horizon.
The Haven of the Chosen was a sanctuary of balance, its walls carved with Zakuulan motifs—spirals of light and dark, kyber crystals glinting like distant stars. Half-finished Je'daii kyber inlays flickered along the durasteel, their runes pulsing erratically beside Zakuulan holo-displays, their screens sparking as droids calibrated hybrid nav systems. The air was cool, the ship's hum a soft undertone, as if the Star knew this was a place for truths too heavy for words, its retrofit a testament to ambition still taking shape. I stood on the landing platform, my cloak still, my mask a barrier against the anticipation gnawing at me. The Rogue Shadow would arrive soon, Shepard aboard. Months of searching, of dead ends and ghosts, and now... this.
But the Elder's face lingered, his whispered curse—a wound that wouldn't close. The vision's abrupt end, like a holo-feed severed. I exhaled, my breath steady behind the mask, and waited. The Force moved, relentless, and so would I.