The hyperspace tunnel collapsed with a final, satisfying snap, depositing the Black Pearl into the congested orbital traffic of Coruscant. It was the end of 132 BBY, and the capital of the Republic was as blindingly bright and self-assured as ever.
Revan Shan sat in the pilot's seat, staring at the High Council Spire with the look of a student who had just been called to the principal's office and was planning which jokes would get the biggest reaction. Beside him, R2-D6 beeped a long, mournful whistle that sounded suspiciously like "I told you so."
"Oh, hush, D6," Revan said, adjusting the collar of his black and red Phrik-weave robes. "We didn't 'wander off.' We took a spiritually enriching detour. Besides, if the Council wanted me to stay put, they shouldn't have given me a license to fly. It's like giving a toddler a lightsaber and being surprised when the curtains are on fire."
"Revan," Cortana's blue avatar appeared, her expression uncharacteristically grave. "The Temple landing pad is guarded. Master Vernestra and Master Sol are waiting. And I should mention... they've already scanned the cargo hold. They know we're carrying three thousand years of prohibited combat hardware."
Revan looked back toward the cargo bay, where the rusty, orange chassis of HK-47 sat strapped to a repair rack. The droid was silent, a hollow shell of durasteel and ambition, but Revan could feel the potential for chaos humming within its dormant logic gates.
"Prohibited is such a boring word," Revan sighed. "I prefer 'historically significant'. Right then. Let's go face the music. Hopefully, it's a jaunty tune."
The Reprimand
The walk from the landing pad to the Council Chamber was a gauntlet of stern looks. The Temple guards, in their pristine white and gold, seemed to stiffen as the Maverick Knight strolled past, his black cloak billowing and his twin Westar-35s catching the light.
Inside the chamber, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of incense and disappointment. Master Vernestra Rwoh stood in the center, her arms crossed. Beside her sat Grandmaster Yoda, his ancient face unreadable, and Master Sol, whose calm demeanor seemed strained by the weight of the recent murders on Ueda.
"Knight Shan," Vernestra began, her voice a sharp blade. "You were ordered to report back after Serenno. Instead, you vanished into the Unknown Regions, disabled your tracking beacon, and apparently went on a scavenger hunt on a restricted world."
"Ilum isn't restricted, Master," Revan noted cheerfully. "It's just... very cold. And technically, I didn't disable the beacon. I just gave it a little nap. It was tired of being watched."
"A Jedi Knight is a symbol of order, Revan," Sol added, stepping forward. His voice was kind, but firm. "Chasing ancient relics and ignore commands during a crisis... it suggests a lack of focus. Master Indara is dead. A Force-sensitive assassin is hunting our own. We needed you here."
"I was busy finding the context you're missing," Revan countered, his sarcasm flickering for a moment into a sharp, intellectual edge. "You're looking at a murder. I'm looking at the motive. You want focus? Focus on the fact that the Vek Syndicate was using Rakatan encryptions. Focus on why an assassin is targeting specific Masters from the Brendok incident. I'm not wandering, Sol. I'm auditing the reality you're trying to ignore."
The room went silent. Revan reached into his pocket, pulled out a lemon candy, and popped it into his mouth with a defiant click of his teeth.
"Auditing, he says," Yoda spoke up, his voice a rhythmic rasp that cut through the tension. "A Maverick, he remains. But truth, there is in his wandering. See the thread, he does, even if the needle, he breaks."
Yoda hopped down from his chair and waddled toward Revan, poking his shin with his cane. "Reprimanded, you are, Knight Shan. Duty, you have shirked. To the archives, you should be sent. But... a bigger problem, we have."
The Task Force
Master Sol turned to Revan. "The Council has decided to form a small task force to retrieve a person of interest—Osha Aniseya. She is the sister of the prime suspect, Mae. We believe she can lead us to the one pulling the strings."
"Osha," Revan mused. The former Padawan. The one who walked away. "And let me guess. You want me to go along because I'm the only one who doesn't look like a 'gold-and-white' target? Or is it because you want to keep an eye on me so I don't go digging up any more Sith antiques?"
"Both," Vernestra said bluntly. "You will accompany Master Sol to find Osha. Your... 'eclectic' skills and your ship's stealth package will be necessary to navigate the sectors Mae has been sighted in without alerting her master."
Revan bowed—a jaunty, sarcastic bow. "I'm honored. Truly. A road trip with Master Sol and a suspected assassin's sister. It's exactly what I put on my vision board this morning."
The Sparks of Reactivation
After the meeting, Revan returned to the Black Pearl. He needed to prep the ship, but his mind was on the orange droid in the hold.
He knelt beside the HK-47 chassis, utilizing Mechu-deru. He fed a small pulse of Force energy into the droid's primary power coupling. The chassis jerked. A series of red lights flickered behind the dull photoreceptors, and a burst of static-heavy audio hissed from the vocoder.
"Exter... mina... Meat... bags..."
The lights died. The static faded.
"Well," Revan whispered. "You've got the spirit, but you're missing the brain. Cortana, I need a deep-scan of the Old Republic archives. Specifically, the battle records of Malachor V. If HK-47's personality core was salvaged, it wasn't by the Jedi. It's out there. Probably in the hands of a collector or buried in a ruin that hasn't been audited yet."
"I am already searching, Revan," Cortana replied. "But be warned: reactivating an assassin droid of that caliber will not go unnoticed by the Temple. Even for a Maverick, that's a bridge too far."
"I like bridges," Revan said, standing up and dusting off his Beskar-alloy gauntlets. "They're great for jumping off of."
The Meeting with Sol
As Revan was loading supplies, Master Sol walked up the ramp of the Black Pearl. He looked around the interior with a curious expression, his eyes lingering on the Kyber-quantum computers and the Beskar-Phrik plating.
"This is not a Republic ship, Revan," Sol observed quietly.
"It's an adventure vessel, Sol," Revan replied, tossing a crate of rations into the galley. "Built it myself. Well, me and D6. It's fast, quiet, and doesn't ask for permission. Much like its pilot."
Sol looked at him, his gaze heavy with a fatherly concern. "You remember Brendok, don't you? You were just a youngling when the reports came in. You've always been obsessed with the 'Shadows' of that era."
Revan stopped. He remembered the movies. He knew the truth about Brendok—the fire, the witches, and the choice Sol and the others had made. "I remember the ledger, Sol. I remember that the math didn't add up. Four Jedi went to a planet, a fire started, and an entire coven died. And now, someone is balancing that ledger with blood."
Sol's face paled slightly. "We did what we thought was right, Revan."
"The 12th Doctor once said that 'Thinking you're right is the most dangerous thing in the world,'" Revan said, his voice unusually soft. "Try to be nice, Sol. Do good. But never fail to be kind. We're going to find Osha. And maybe, just maybe, we can stop the ledger from being closed with more corpses."
Sol nodded, a silent respect passing between the two very different Jedi. "We leave in an hour. Be ready."
As Sol left, Revan looked at R2-D6. The droid trilled a question.
"Yes, D6. It's starting. The Acolyte, the Stranger... it's all moving now. But we're not the heroes. We're the ones who make sure the heroes don't trip over the furniture."
Revan reached into his pocket and found his last lemon candy. He popped it into his mouth and looked out at the Coruscant skyline.
"Right then," he grinned. "Time to go find a girl, save a galaxy, and see if I can't find a murderous personality core along the way. Adventure is a journey, after all. And I'm in no rush to reach the end."