The hyperspace wake of the Polestar was a tidy, luminous trail of High Republic precision, but the Black Pearl didn't follow it. Revan Shan had programmed the Jump-Snap hyperdrive for a series of jagged, logic-defying micro-jumps that would effectively scrub his trajectory from any Republic long-range sensors. While Master Sol and the remnants of the Task Force were busy mourning the fallen and consoling Osha Aniseya, Revan was currently hunched over a holotable in the freighter's lounge, surrounded by a dozen floating data-panes and several half-empty bags of sour lemon candies.
"Cortana, cross-reference the energy signatures from the Brendok reactor with the architectural blueprints R2 pulled from the vault," Revan commanded, his voice muffled by a candy wedged in his cheek. He adjusted his Kyber-Quantum gauntlet, the holographic interface flickering with complex geometric equations. "According to my 1st Doctorate in Theoretical Physics and 6th in Advanced Dimensional Mechanics, the Rakatan 'Foundries' weren't just factories. They were localized ruptures in the Force where matter was 'thought' into existence using the planet's core as a thermal battery. It's a bit like 3D printing, but with the added risk of accidental planetary annihilation if you carry a decimal point wrong."
"Statement: Master, I find your obsession with 'blueprints' and 'spatial vectors' to be remarkably tedious," HK-47 whirred, currently standing in the corner and sharpening his vibroblade with a rhythmic, metallic rasp. "Observation: A simple application of high-yield explosives to the planet's surface would reveal the entrance far more efficiently. Why calculate the door's handle when you can remove the entire wall?"
"Because, HK, I have an 8th Doctorate in Ancient Art & Archaeology, and Rakatan brutalism is a heritage site," Revan retorted with a sassy wink. "Also, I'm broke, and I'd like to avoid blowing up the very shiny things I intend to... borrow. Permanently. Without asking."
R2-D6 let out a long, trilling whistle from the nav-computer. He had finished the deep-dive into the stolen Rakatan data. The coordinates for the moon of Lehon—the legendary Rakata Prime—were locked. But the data contained more than just coordinates; it contained a warning.
"The 'Infinite Empire' wasn't just a name," Revan mused, his expression shifting into the weary, intellectual gravity of the 12th Doctor. "It was a systemic infection. They didn't just rule the galaxy; they consumed its history. My 10th Doctorate in Galactic History tells me that they were the first to truly weaponize the 'Dark Side' of technology. They didn't feel the Force; they enslaved it. Which is probably why they all died out. Hubris is a terrible fuel source."
The Council's Reckoning: Coruscant
While the Black Pearl ghosted toward the Unknown Regions, the Polestar docked at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. The return of the Task Force was a somber affair. Seven Jedi had left; six returned, and one Master—Kelnacca—was dead.
The High Council chamber was a theater of white and gold, but the atmosphere was leaden. Grandmaster Yoda, Master Vernestra Rwoh, and Master Sskeer listened in silence as Sol delivered his report. He spoke of the "Smiling Man," the cortosis helmet, and the twelve acolytes on Khofar. But when the discussion turned to the nature of the Brendok reactor and the strange vault beneath it, the Council looked to the recorded holographic briefing Revan had provided before his "unauthorized sabbatical."
"A 'Rakatan Data-Vault', Knight Shan calls it," Vernestra Rwoh stated, her voice tight with a mixture of skepticism and a simmering, hidden anxiety. She tapped a button, and Revan's holographic image appeared, looking far too cheerful for a man discussing an ancient galactic genocide.
"Now, don't look so surprised, Masters," the holographic Revan said, popping a candy. "Based on my 4th Doctorate in Advanced Engineering and my 5th in Galactic Lore & Ethics, the witches of Brendok weren't just practitioners of a 'Thread'. They were unwittingly using a Rakatan singularity-tap. The Rakata—for those of you who skipped my guest lectures at the Temple Academy—were a species of Force-predators who built the Star Forge. They didn't believe in the Living Force; they believed in the Forced Living. To the Jedi, this might seem like a 'waste of time' academically, but in the real world—the one with the dirt and the screaming—it's the difference between a fire and a meltdown."
"Too much time in the archives, young Shan has spent," Yoda rasped, his eyes narrowing. "A waste of a Jedi's spirit, many thought his degrees to be. But... truth in his math, there is. A shadow of the past, the Rakata are. A shadow that long, the Council has ignored."
"The boy is a Maverick," Sskeer hissed, his reptilian eyes tracking the data. "He treats the Force like a mathematical equation. But this 'Smiling Man'... he is not a ghost of the Rakata. He is a wound in the present."
The Scar on the Soul
Vernestra Rwoh's hand strayed to the whip-hilt at her side. She had seen the sensor logs of the duel on Khofar. She had seen the way the "Smiling Man" moved—the predatory, low-slung stance of an acolyte who had once been something else.
In the private records of the Temple, hidden from the rest of the Council, Vernestra knew the truth. Years ago, she had a Padawan. A gifted, restless boy who sought the shadows because he felt the Light was too blinding. He had vanished after a mission to the Outer Rim, presumed dead. But the "Smiling Man" moved with his rhythm. And on his back, according to the sensor logs Revan's ship had "kindly" shared, was a scar—a jagged, cauterized wound from a lightwhip.
"His name was Qimir," Vernestra whispered to herself later, in the silence of her meditation chamber. "The First Knight of Ren. He is not just an assassin. He is a consequence."
She realized that Revan Shan already knew. The Maverick Knight, with his Earth memories and his ten doctorates, wasn't just investigating; he was watching a movie he already knew the ending to. And that made him the most dangerous variable in the galaxy.
Arrival at Lehon
The Black Pearl emerged from hyperspace over a world that shouldn't have existed on any Republic chart. Lehon was a tropical jewel, a planet of sapphire oceans and emerald islands, surrounded by the debris of a thousand ancient shipwrecks—the "Graveyard of the Giants."
"Cortana, keep the stealth package at 100%," Revan said, sliding into the pilot's seat. "No pings, no pulses. I want this place kept off the books. The Jedi Order loves a good cover-up, but I prefer a good secret. This is going to be my 'Escape Hatch' for when the Sith finally decide to stop being subtle and start being... well, Sith."
"Revan, I am detecting a massive subterranean power source on the largest island," Cortana reported. "It matches the frequency of the Rakatan Power Cell we recovered. The 'Foundry' is active, though it appears to be in a low-power hibernation state."
"Perfect," Revan grinned. "Adventure is one thing, but an adventure with an automated production line? That's just good business."
The Black Pearl descended through the atmosphere, ghosting past the ancient, ruined stone temples that dotted the islands. Revan landed the freighter in a secluded lagoon, the Beskar-Phrik hull reflecting the tropical sun.
"R2, you're on sensor duty. HK, you're on... 'Kindness' duty," Revan said, pulling his T-shaped helmet from its rack. He looked at the mask—the black, silver, and red design—but he didn't put it on. "Not yet. I'm still just a Maverick today."
The Ancestor's Guidance
Revan walked into the main cargo hold and placed the two Holocron Shards he had recovered onto a pedestal. He reached into his robes and pulled out the Rakatan Memory Crystal he had 'audited' from the Brendok vault. He didn't just touch them; he utilized Mechu-deru to bridge the gap between Jedi crystal-tech and Rakatan informatics.
The room filled with a bronze light. A holographic image of the original Revan appeared—the legendary Prodigal Knight of the Old Republic. He looked at his descendant with a gaze that was both ancient and surprisingly weary.
"You have found the bedrock of the Infinite Empire, descendant," the hologram spoke, his voice a melodic chime. "The Foundry is a tool of creation, but its fuel is the Dark Side of the soul. The Rakata could not understand that a machine is only as kind as its maker."
"I'm an adventurer, ancestor," Revan Shan said, leaning against a crate of lemon candies. "I'm not looking to rule. I'm looking to explore. And maybe build a few droids that don't try to murder me every five minutes."
"The 'Smiling Man' you faced... he is a herald," the Holocron-Revan continued. "His Master is Darth Tenebrus, or perhaps the one who follows. They seek the Rakatan secrets to extend their own lives. You must secure the Foundry, not to use its power, but to deny it to them. Adventure is a journey, yes... but even a journey needs a fortress to return to."
Revan Shan nodded. He knew the timeline. He knew that in a few decades, Naboo would fall. He knew the Clone Wars were coming. He wasn't a guardian of the Republic, but he was a fan of the galaxy. And he didn't want the Sith to spoil the ending before he'd seen all the sights.
"Right then," Revan said, standing up and dusting off his robes. "HK, grab the thermal detonators—just in case we need to be 'kind' to a door. R2, bring the slicing kit. We have a factory to audit."
"Query: Master, will this 'Foundry' allow me to mass-produce units with my specific... temperament?" HK-47 asked, his photoreceptors glowing.
"Maybe, HK. But we'll start with the toasters and work our way up," Revan laughed.
As they stepped off the ramp of the Black Pearl into the warm air of Lehon, Revan looked back at the sky. He was 23 years old, a Jedi Maverick with ten doctorates, a ghost ship, and a legendary assassin droid. The High Republic was entering its twilight, but for Revan Shan, the morning was just beginning.
"Try to be nice," he whispered to the tropical breeze. "Do good. But never fail to be kind. And if you can't be kind... be brilliant."