The planet Serenno was a world that wore its history like a high-collared velvet cloak—elegant, cold, and slightly suffocating. It was a world of jagged peaks and sprawling estates, where the nobility measured their worth in centuries and the common folk measured theirs in the quality of the wine they served to their betters.
Aboard the Black Pearl, Revan Shan sat in the pilot's chair, his boots propped up on a console that would have made a Jedi Archivist weep. He was currently peeling a sour-leaf fruit from Naboo, the acidic scent filling the cockpit.
"Cortana, give me a read on the 'Great Houses'," Revan said, tossing a piece of rind toward R2-D6. The droid caught it in a specialized disposal arm, trilling an indignant series of beeps about planetary etiquette.
"The House of Serenno is currently under the iron-fisted—and rather unimaginative—rule of Count Gora," Cortana's blue avatar flickered on the dash, her arms crossed. "He is, by all accounts, a man who finds joy only in tax ledgers and the sound of his own heavy breathing. He has a profound distaste for the Jedi Order. He views them as 'meddling space-monks' who steal children and offer nothing in return but philosophical platitudes."
"Charming," Revan muttered, popping a slice of fruit into his mouth. "So, he's the father of the future Count Dooku. Or he would be, if the little tyrant-in-waiting was even a twinkle in his eye yet. 132 BBY... we're still a few years out from the 'Dooku' entry in the ledger. But Gora's attitude explains a lot about why the future Darth Tyranus was such a sourpuss."
Revan leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the sensor feed. The Black Pearl was ghosting through the upper atmosphere, its Automatic Stealth Generator spoofing the local planetary defense grid. To the Serenno scanners, the ship was merely a localized high-pressure front.
"The Rakatan shard we found is vibrating," Revan noted, touching the silk-wrapped artifact on the seat beside him. "It's reacting to something in the nobility's private archives. Not the Sith—not directly. It's more like a resonance. A memory of power."
"Beep-whistle-clank!" R2-D6 chirped, his dome spinning toward the long-range comms.
"I know, D6. I hear it too," Revan said, his whimsical expression hardening into something sharper. He tapped a command on his Beskar-Phrik gauntlet.
The encrypted Jedi frequency was buzzing with a localized "Code White." It was a report coming out of the planet Ueda.
Master Indara. Proficient in Force-fu. Dead. Killed in a noodle shop by a girl with daggers.
Revan felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. He remembered the story. He remembered the "Acolyte" series from his previous life—the tragedy of Osha and Mae, the cover-up by the Jedi of Brendok, and the eventual fall of the High Republic's pristine image.
"It's starting," he whispered. "The girl, Mae. She's hunting the four Jedi from Brendok. Indara was the first. Torbin, Kelnacca, and Sol are next. And here I am, playing 'Guess the Noble' on Serenno while the Sith are playing 'Let's Murder the Masters'."
"Should we intervene, Revan?" Cortana asked, her logic-centers processing the news. "Ueda is several sectors away, but with the Jump-Snap hyperdrive—"
"No," Revan interrupted, his sarcasm replaced by the weary wisdom of a man who had seen the end of the movie. "If I rush to Ueda, I'm just a Maverick Knight interfering in a Council investigation. I'm not a hero, Cortana. I'm a traveler. And besides, if I save Indara, I might break the sequence that leads me to the rest of the Holocrons. The Force isn't a straight line; it's a bowl of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey... stuff."
He stood up, adjusting his Phrik-filament robes. "We stay the course. We investigate Gora. If the Sith are moving in the shadows, Serenno is exactly the kind of place they'd look for funding and political cover. Plus, I've always wanted to see if the legendary Serenno wine lives up to the hype."
The Count's Audience
The landing was a study in subtle arrogance. Revan didn't land at the public spaceport; he brought the Black Pearl down on a private plateau overlooking Count Gora's primary estate, the Castle of Serenno.
He stepped off the ramp, his black cloak billowing behind him. He wasn't wearing his T-shaped helmet—not yet—but the way he carried himself, with a pair of Westar-35s at his hips and two lightsabers hidden in the folds of his robes, screamed 'Bounty Hunter' more than 'Jedi'.
R2-D6 rolled along behind him, his Beskar-alloy chassis gleaming. Revan had instructed the droid to keep his hidden blaster pistol primed.
"Ah, Jedi!" a voice boomed as they approached the castle gates.
Standing there was a man who looked like he had been carved out of granite and then dressed in the finest silks money could buy. This was Count Gora. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and possessed a nose that looked like it was designed specifically for looking down at people.
"Count Gora, I presume?" Revan said, offering a jaunty, Peter Capaldi-esque bow. "Knight Revan Shan. I'm here on a purely academic mission. Or an adventure. I usually confuse the two."
Gora's lip curled. "Another Jedi. The Council sent a message saying a 'Maverick' might be passing through. They neglected to mention you traveled with a droid made of Mandalorian scrap and wore enough black to mourn a dozen empires."
"It's a practical color," Revan said, winking. "Doesn't show the grease from the hyperdrive. And D6 isn't scrap; he's an independent contractor with a very short temper. I'd mind your shins."
Gora grunted, turning to lead them into the great hall. "You seek archives, I am told. Serenno has no interest in Jedi mysticism. We are a world of trade and lineage. If you wish to look at our ancient records, do so quickly and then leave. I have a syndicate problem to attend to."
The Syndicate and the Shadow
As they walked through the vaulted halls of the castle, Revan utilized Force Precognition. He felt the ripples of tension.
"The Vek Syndicate?" Revan asked, his voice casual.
Gora stopped, his eyes narrowing. "How do you know that name? They have been raiding our spice lanes for months. They are bold, well-armed, and they seem to know our patrol schedules before my captains do."
"I have a very good ear for gossip," Revan lied smoothly. In reality, he knew the Vek Syndicate was a precursor to the larger criminal organizations that would dominate the Outer Rim. "And I suspect they aren't just pirates. pirates don't spoof Serenno military encryption. Someone is providing them with tech."
"The Republic is useless," Gora spat. "They offer 'mediation' while my ships burn. If you wish to be useful, Jedi, find their base. Otherwise, stay in the dusty basements with your books."
Revan stopped, looking at a portrait of the Serenno lineage. He felt a cold prickle at the base of his neck. The Dark Side was here, but it was faint—a ghost of an influence.
"Count Gora," Revan said, his tone turning serious for a brief second. "Try to be nice. It's a good rule. But never fail to be kind. If the Vek Syndicate is hurting your people, I'll look into it. Not because the Council told me to, but because I'm already here and I'm incredibly bored."
Gora stared at him, then let out a sharp, barking laugh. "You are a strange one, Shan. Go. My archivist will show you the sub-levels."
The Battle in the Sub-Levels
The sub-levels of the Castle were a labyrinth of cold stone and humming data-servers. Revan let R2-D6 interface with the central node while he walked the perimeter, his hand resting on the pommel of his Balanced Purple lightsaber.
"Revan," Cortana's voice whispered in his ear through his gauntlet. "I've detected an unauthorized bypass in the security gate. Six signatures. They aren't guards."
"Pirates?"
"Worse. Professional 'Audit-Retrieval' specialists. Vek Syndicate mercenaries."
"Right then," Revan muttered, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Finally, some exercise."
The mercenaries emerged from the shadows of a heavy stone archway. They were armored in durasteel and carried heavy repeating blasters. They didn't offer a parley; they opened fire.
Revan didn't draw his blades. He shifted into the base stance of Form III Soresu. He moved with a subtle, rhythmic grace, his hands catching the leading edge of the blaster bolts with Tutaminis. He didn't just absorb the energy; he redirected it into a localized Force Repulse.
The air buckled. The mercenaries were thrown backward as if struck by a physical wave.
"You know," Revan said, walking toward them while bolts hissed past his head. "I've always found that shooting first is a sign of a very poor upbringing. Did your mothers not teach you to say 'hello' before attempting to vaporize someone?"
One mercenary, a hulking Dowutin, roared and lunged with a vibro-axe.
Revan moved with the fluidity of Form II Makashi. He didn't meet the axe with strength; he pivoted on a single point, his movement microscopic and efficient. He drew his Balanced Purple lightsaber in a blur of motion, the violet blade humming as it sheared the head off the vibro-axe in a single, surgical strike.
He then used Force Stasis, freezing the Dowutin in mid-swing.
"Stay there for a bit," Revan suggested. "Think about your life choices. Maybe take up pottery."
The remaining five mercenaries realized they were outmatched. They attempted to retreat, but Revan utilized a Lightsaber Throw. The purple blade arced through the air, spinning with mathematical precision. It didn't strike the men; it struck the heavy durasteel locking mechanism of the exit door, melting it shut in a shower of sparks.
The blade returned to Revan's hand with a soft snap-hiss as he deactivated it.
"Now," Revan said, leaning against a data-stack. "Who sent you? And don't say 'the Vek'. They aren't smart enough to find this room. Who's the 'Shadow' behind the syndicate?"
The mercenaries looked at each other, then at the frozen Dowutin. One of them, a trembling human, stammered, "We... we don't know his name! He wears a mask! He told us to find the 'Rakatan Anchor' data and destroy the Jedi who was looking for it!"
"A mask, you say?" Revan's smile didn't reach his eyes. "How very traditional."
The First Clue
R2-D6 let out a triumphant whistle. He had successfully bypassed the encryption.
"What did you find, D6?"
The droid projected a holographic map of the Serenno sector. There was a hidden facility on a nearby moon—Alaris Prime.
"An industrial outpost," Cortana analyzed. "But look at the energy signatures. They match the plasma mine corruption on Naboo. This is the source, Revan."
Revan looked at the map, then at the mercenaries cowering on the floor. He reached into his robes and pulled out a handful of lemon candies, tossing them to the men.
"Here. For the stress," Revan said. "Tell Count Gora I've audited his security problem. And tell him I'm taking his sub-level lift. I've got a moon to visit."
As he walked back to the Black Pearl, Revan thought about Master Indara. He thought about the acolyte, Mae, and the Sith Master who was currently pulling the strings.
"Try to be nice," he whispered to himself, the mantra grounding him. "But never fail to be kind."
He climbed into the pilot's seat of the Pearl, his face set in a grim, determined line.
"Cortana, prep the forward ion cannons. R2, get the Jump-Snap hyperdrive ready. We're going to Alaris Prime. It's time to see what this shadow is really hiding."
The Black Pearl lifted off from the Serenno plateau, its black hull disappearing into the clouds like a forgotten thought. The adventure was no longer just about ruins and tea; it was about the war that was already being fought in the dark.
And Revan Shan was the only one who knew the score.