Author Notes: The Sequel is here! This time, the story is gonna focus a little on both Harry AND Anakin. However, Harry is sent back in time, to the war-stricken age of the Mandalorian Wars. Thanks to all of the reviewers of my previous story, especially the ones that gave me the awesome critiques! I'm gonna try to put a LOT more detail in this story, and hopefully I can deliver on my part! Thanks to everyone who told me they loved my story! Thanks guys, you're the greatest!

If you haven't read the prequel, its greatly recommended you do. The writing at the very beginning is a little mediocre in the sense of not enough detail, but if you stick with it, by the time you get here, I can promise you're in for some real treats. The last story I was wayyyyyyyyy rushed on, this one I can take a LOT more time to explain with.

So I'm only gonna type this disclaimer once, seeing as I think its stupid to write it for every chapter.

I don't own ANYTHING in this story, except maybe the occasional character, and of course most of the plot. That all belongs to J.K. Rowling and George Lucas, respectively.

Now that THAT is over with, enjoy!

Palpatine gazed upon him, loving and gentle as he had ever been, though only a whisker shy of a lightsaber's terminal curve.

And what if this face was not a mask? What if the true face of the Sith was exactly what he saw before him: a man who had cared for him, had helped him, and had been his loyal friend when he'd thought he had no other?

What then?

"…Anakin… always remember who you are…"a distant voice from the past seemed to call. Whose voice was that? Anakin silently wondered to himself.

"Anakin," Palpatine said kindly, pulling Anakin out of his stupor. "Let's talk."

"Harry… let me put it this way. If you choose the Elder Wand, with enough training and experience, you can do whatever you wish. After all, it was once said by a very great Force-sensitive, 'If we were to fight the Masters of Old, we would be child's play compared to them,'. Does that answer your question Harry?"

I… I…

"I—I choose—" Harry started, shakily, murmuring to himself.

'Go on Harry… Live your life as you want to, not as others have set for you…' a voice that sounded oddly like Darra's ringing in his head.

"I—I suppose I'll go with the Elder Wand." Harry finished, choosing the Elder Wand. In a flash of bright light, he disappeared through time and space.

Chapter One:

Wars of Time

The Four bodyguard droids spread out in a shallow arc between Obi-Wan and Grievous, raising their electrostaffs. Obi-Wan stopped a respectful distance away' he still carried bruises from one of those electrostaffs, and he felt no particular urge to add to his collection.

"General Grievous," he said, "you're under arrest."

The bio-droid general stalked toward him, passing through his screen of bodyguards without the slightest hint of reluctance.

"Kenobi. Don't tell me, let me guess: this is the part where you give me the chance to surrender."

"It can be," Obi-Wan allowed equably. "Or, if you like, it can be the part where I dismantle your exoskeleton and ship you back to Coruscant in a cargo hopper."

"I'll take option three." Grievous lifted his hand, and the bodyguards moved to box Obi-Wan between them. "That's the one where I watch you die."

Another gesture, and the droids in the ceiling hive came to life.

They uncoiled from their sockets heads-downward, with a rising chorus of whirring and buzzing and clicking that thickened until Obi-Wan might as well have stumbled into an colony of Corellian raptor-wasps. They began to drop free of the ceiling, first only a few, then many, like the opening drops of a summer cloudburst; finally they fell in a downpour that shook the stone-mounted durasteel of the deck and left Obi-Wan's ears ringing. Hundreds of them landed and rolled to standing; as many more stayed attached to the overhead hive, hanging upside down by their magnapeds, weapons trained so that Obi-Wan now stood at the focus of a dome of blasters.

Through it all, Obi-Wan never moved.

"I'm sorry, was I not clear?" he said. "There is no option three."

Grievous shook his head. "Do you never tire of this pathetic banter?"

"I rarely tire at all," Obi-Wan said mildly, "and I have no better way to pass the time while I wait for you to either decide to surrender, or choose to die."

"That choice was made long before I ever met you." Grievous turned away. "Kill him."

Instantly the box of bodyguards around Obi-Wan filled with crackling electrostaffs whipping faster than the human eye could see—which was less troublesome than it might have been, for that box was already empty of Jedi.

The Force had let him collapse as though he'd suddenly fainted, then it brought his lightsaber from his belt to his hand and ignited it while he turned his fall into a roll; that roll carried his lightsaber through a crisp arc that severed the leg of one of the bodyguards, and as the Force brought Obi-Wan back to his feet, the Force also nudged the crippled bodyguard to topple sideways into the path of the blade and sent it clanging to the floor in two smoking, sparking pieces.

One down.

The remaining three pressed the attack, but more cautiously; their weapons were longer than his, and they struck from beyond the reach of his blade. He gave way before them, his defensive velocities barely keeping their crackling discharge blades at bay.

Three MagnaGuards, each with a double-ended weapon that generated an energy field impervious to lightsabers, each with reflexes that operated near lightspeed, each with hypersophicsticated heuristic combat algorithms that enabled it to learn from experience and adapt its tactics instantly to any situation, were certainly beyond Obi-Wan's ability to defeat, but it was not Obi-Wan who would defeat them; Obi-Wan wasn't even fighting. He was only a vessel, emptied of self. The Force, shaped by his skill and guided by his clarity of mind, fought through him.

In the Force, he felt their destruction: it was somewhere above and behind him, and only seconds away.

He went to meet it with a back flipping leap that the Force used to lift him neatly to an empty droid socket in the ceiling hive. The MagnaGuards sprang after him but he was gone by the time they arrived, leaping higher into the maze of girders and cables and room-sized cargo containers that was the control center's superstructure.

Here, said the Force within him, and Obi-Wan stopped, balancing on a girder, frowning back at the oncoming killer droids that leapt from beam to beam below him like malevolent durasteel primates. Though he could feel its close approach, he had no idea from where their destruction might come… until the Force showed him a support beam within reach of his blade and whispered, Now.

His blade flicked out and the durasteel beam parted, fresh-cut edges glowing white hot, and a great hulk of ship-sized cargo container that the beam had been supporting tore free of its other supports with shrieks of anguished metal and crashed down upon all three MagnaGuards with the finality of a meteor strike.

Two, three, and four.

Oh, thought Obi-Wan with detached approval. That worked out rather well.

Only ten thousand more to go. Give or take.

An instant later the Force had him hurtling through a storm of blaster fire as every combat droid in the control center opened up on him at once.

Letting go of intention, letting go of desire, letting go of life, Obi-Wan fixed his entire attention on a thread of the Force that pulled him toward Grievous: not where Grievous was, but where Grievous would be when Obi-Wan got there…

Leaping girder to girder, slashing cables on which to swing through swarms of ricocheting particle beams, blade flickering so fast it became a deflector shield that splattered blaster bolts in all directions, his presence alone became a weapon: as he spun and whirled through the control center's superstructure, the blasts of particle cannons from power droids destroyed equipment and shattered girders and unleashed a torrent of red-hot debris that crashed to the deck, crushing droids on all sides. By the time he flipped down through the air to land cat footed on the deck once more, nearly half the droids between him and Grievous had been destroyed by their own not-so-friendly fire.

He cut his way into the mob of remaining troops as smoothly as if it were no more than a canebrake near some sunlit beach; his steady pace left behind a trail of smoking slices of droid.

"Keep firing!" Grievous roared to the spider droids that flanked him. "Blast him!"

Obi-Wan felt the massive shoulder cannon of a spider droid track him, and he felt it fire a bolt as powerful as a proton grenade, and he let the Force nudge him into a leap that carried him just far enough towards the fringe of the bolt's blast radius so that instead of shattering his bones it merely gave him a very strong, very hot push—

—that sent him whirling over the rest of the droids to land directly in front of Grievous.

A single slash of his lightsaber amputated the shoulder cannon of one power droid and continued into a spinning Force-assisted kick that brought his boot heel to the point of the other power droid's duranium chin, snapping the droid's head back hard enough to sever its cervical sensor cables. Blind and dear, the power droid could only continue to obey its last order; it staggered in a wild circle, its convulsively firing cannon blasting random holes in droids and walls alike, until Obi-Wan deactivated it with a precise thrust that burned a thumb-sized hole through its thoracic braincase.

"General," Obi-Wan said with blandly polite smile as though unexpectedly greeting, on the street, someone he privately disliked. "My offer is still open."

Droid guns throughout the control center fell silent; Obi-Wan stood so close to Grievous that the general was in the line of fire.

Grievous threw back his cloak imperiously. "Do you believe that I would surrender to you now?"

"I am still willing to take you alive." Obi-Wan's nod took in the smoking, sparking wreckage that filled the control center. "So far, no one has been hurt."

Grievous tilted his head so that he could squint down into Obi-Wan's face. "I have thousands of troops. You cannot defeat them all."

"I don't have to."

"This is your last chance to surrender, General Kenobi." Grievous swept a duranium hand toward the sinkhole-city behind him. "Pau City is in my grip; lay down your blade, or I will squeeze… until this entire sinkhole brims over with innocent blood."

"That's not what it's about to brim with," Obi-Wan said. "You should pay more attention to the weather."

Yellow eyes narrowed behind a mask of armorplast. "What?"

"Have a look outside." He pointed his lightsaber toward the archway. "It's about to start raining clones."

Grievous said again, turning to look, "What?"

A shadow had passed over the sun as though one of the towering thunderheads on the horizon had caught a stray current in the hyperwinds and settled above Pau City. But it wasn't a cloud.

It was the Vigilance.

While the twilight enfolded the sinkhole, over the bright desert above assault craft skimmed the dunes in a tightening ring centered on the city. Hailfire droids rolled out from caves in the wind-scoured mesas, unleashing firestorms of missiles toward the oncoming craft for exactly 2.5 seconds apiece, which was how long it took for the Vigilance's sensor operators to transfer data to its turbolaser batteries.

Thunderbolts roared down through the atmosphere, and hailfire droids disintegrated. Pinpoint counterfire from the bubble turrets of LAAT/i's met missiles in blossoming fireballs that were ripped to shreds of smoke as the oncoming craft blasted through them.

LAAT/i's streaked over the rim of the sinkhole and spiraled downward with all guns blazing, crabbing outward to keep their forward batteries raking on the sinkhole's wall, while at the rim above, Jadthu-class armored Landers hovered with bay doors wide, trailing sprays of polyplast cables like immense ice-white tassels that looped all the way to the ocean mouths that gaped at the lowest level of the city. Down those tassels, rappelling so fast they seemed to be simply falling, came endless streams of armored troopers, already firing on the combat droids that marched out to meet them.

Streamers of cables brushed the outer balcony of the control center, and down them slid white-armored troopers, each with one hand on his mechanized line-brake and the other full of DC-15 blaster rifle on full auto, spraying continuous chains of particle beams. Droids wheeled and dropped and leapt into the air and burst to fragments. Surviving droids opened up on the clones as though grateful for something to shoot at, blasting holes in armor, cooking flesh with superheated steam from deep-tissue hits, blowing some troopers entirely off their cables to tumble toward a messy final landing ten levels below.

When the survivors of the first wave of clones hit the deck, the next wave was right behind them.

Grievous turned back to Obi-Wan. He lowered his head like an angry bantha, yellow glare fixed on the Jedi Master. "To the death, then."

Obi-Wan sighed. "If you insist."

The bio-droid general cast back his cloak, revealing the four lightsabers pocketed there. He stepped back, spreading wide his duranium arms. "You will not be the first Jedi I have killed, nor will you be the last."

Obi-Wan's only reply was to subtly shift the angle of his lightsaber up and forward.

The general's wide-spread arms now split along their lengths, dividing in half—even his hands split in half—

Now he had four arms. And four hands.

And each hand took a lightsaber as his cloak dropped to the floor.

They snarled to life and Grievous spun all four of them in a flourishing velocity so fast and so seamlessly integrated that he seemed to stand within a pulsing sphere of blue and green energy.

"Come on, then, Kenobi! Come for me!" he said. "I have been trained in your Jedi arts by Lord Tyranus himself!"

"Do you mean Count Dooku? What a curious coincidence," Obi-Wan said with a deceptively pleasant smile. "I trained the man who helped kill him."

With a convulsive snarl, Grievous lunged.

The sphere of blue lightsaber energy around him bulged toward Obi0Wan and opened like a mouth to bit him in half. Obi-Wan stood his ground, his blade still.

Chain-lightning teeth closed upon him.

The dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins.

It always wins because it is everywhere.

It is in the wood that burns in your hearth, and in the kettle on the fire; it is under your chair and under your table and under the sheets on your bed. Walk in the midday sun and the dark is with you, attached to the soles of your feet.

The brightest light casts the darkest shadow.

The sun had risen over the horizon, and its warm rays started to shine onto the beautiful, lush green hills and meadows. Birds were singing, insects humming, and there was a slight whisper of wind through the trees.

A boy lay at the foot of a large oak, seemingly resting. In all actuality, however, he was simply meditating. He wore robes of fine, black silk, and a brown tunic underneath. He wore boots made of a tough leather-like substance, and his pants were loose and comfortable. A strange metal electrical device laid connected to his belt, resting on his side. His long, black hair framed his face perfectly, and was gently being blown in the wind. Several scars were visible on his human, pale face. The most interesting one, however, was in an odd lightning shape, laying on his forehead.

Slowly, opening his eyes and stretching, the boy yawned. Sitting up, he gazed with sleepy emerald-green eyes at his surroundings. Laying back down again, he just stared up at the blue sky, watching clouds as they passed by.

"Revan! Where are you?" a voice called out to him.

The boy, now identified as Revan, groaned. Calling back with a loud voice, he said, "I'm over here, Alek."

A teenage human boy, with short, black hair that stuck up in places, and blue eyes that seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, ran up over the grassy hill, and down to the small meadow where Revan was sitting.

Revan glanced up at him, and smiled at his best friend.

Alek "Squint" Squinquargesimus was wearing a black, leather tunic, with black, tight fitting pants, and a black leather belt, on which his lightsaber was clipped to. His boots were seemingly made out of similar material. His lightsaber had an interesting bronze metallic surface on the shaft, and on each end, there was a steel-like metal which gave the lightsaber a smooth, cool to the touch feel.

"There you are, Revan! Master Kreia was looking for you! She wants to continue your training," Alek said in a hurried rush. Bending over panting, hands on his knees, he continued. "She said that if you want to ever become a Jedi Knight, you have to learn how to be a good leader. And through doing that, you have to have a good grasp on languages."

Revan just stared and him, and then after a moment, sighed. "Alright, Squint. I'll be there in a little bit."

Alek opened his squared jaw to speak, but then decided to just do as Revan had asked. He turned around, and started walking slowly back to the Jedi Enclave, but then stopped, looked back at Revan, and said, "I can only guarantee you 5 minutes at the most."

Revan chuckled, and called out to Alek, "Thanks, Squint, I owe you one."

Alek nodded, then walked over the hill again.

Revan sank back into the tree, still sitting. Gazing up at the birds overhead that were resting in the tree, he smiled, thinking about his own bird, his ever-faithful Phoenix, Hedwig. How he longed to hear her beautiful soft Phoenix song once more. Revan, or rather, Harry, sat there immersed in his own memories.

"REVAN!" a woman's voice screeched out into the warm, summer air.

"Coming, Master!" Revan called back, and got up, brushing himself off, and wiped the stray grass blades that had gotten into his hair. Smiling once more, he walked up the hill, and down towards the large, spacious, and ancient temple called the Jedi Enclave.

The Jedi Enclave, also known as the Jedi Academy of Dantooine, was a secret Jedi training center. Located near an ancient grove, and the ancient Rakatan ruins, the Enclave acted first and foremost as a Jedi academy, overseen by the Dantooine Jedi Council. It was a place of Jedi training and refuge.

The complex was fully equipped as a Jedi base and refuge. The ground level housed a Council chamber, sparring rooms and dormitories, while the sublevel consisted of common rooms, classrooms, and a medical bay, as well as a Jedi archive accessible only by Jedi Masters. The enclave also contained an activity room for the younger members of the Jedi Order. Outside of the Enclave was a Courtyard that led to the plains of Dantooine.

At the center of the ground level was a circular open-air room with some trees at the center of a round walkway. This room connected the landing pad to the dormitories and the training room. There were three dormitory rooms, each with a single bed. These rooms were open to local residents who were in need of refuge. The training room was a rectangular area where Jedi could practice their sparring, and there was a workbench here as well.

The Sublevel was located beneath the main floor of the Jedi Enclave on Dantooine. It housed the enclave's classrooms and Jedi archives. At the entrance of the sublevel was a large atrium, a round room with a skylight and a garden in the center. There was running water in this room and a single bench in the middle, creating a serene atmosphere perfect for meditation.

Down the hall from the garden was a round room with a few dozen seats arranged in a circle around a holoprojector. Presumably this was a meeting room. On the other side of the sublevel was a medical bay with eight beds.

Scattered about the sublevel were several common rooms. The common rooms were large t-shaped rooms, furnished with a few benches and nothing more. There were also two large round classrooms and a room with training terminals. One of the common rooms led to a storage area, and another led to a droid bay. The enclave's power was controlled from the sublevel as well.

At the back of the sublevel (opposite the entrance) was the library, which was only accessible by Jedi Masters. This library was quite modest compared to the library on Coruscant, but it had two levels of archives and several computer stations. The library was a large, roundish room, two stories high, and there was a statue of a Jedi in the center.

As Revan made his way to the sublevel, he whistled a jingle he had heard on an Earth commercial long ago. Reflecting back, sometimes he wished that he had told the Voice he had wanted the life back on Earth with his family and friends still around him.

The Voice had tricked him, he used to think, because not only did it send him over 4,000 years into the past, it also de-aged him by 8 or 9 years, give or take a few months. For the past 5 years, he had been training as a Padawan of the Jedi Master Kreia, learning things he never thought were possible.

Master Yoda never taught me any of the stuff I've learned here during our time together…

Harry had begun his training as a spunky 8 year old with a 23 year old mind. Slowly, he began to have his mental barriers that he had set up for certain things break down. He no longer cared about calling someone Master, because it was just a title of respect and honor. Now, (again) at the ripe age of 17, he was proficient in more than just magic and the lightsaber. He had even built a new one, since his old black lightsaber had been lost somehow with all of the time travelling.

His thirst for knowledge about the Force was astonishing. 'If only Hermione could see me now…'

Revan laughed inwardly. Hermione would throw a fit if she saw him. Harry had totally changed. No more was the small, scared little boy who had taped glasses and loose, baggy clothing. No more was the shy and frightened boy who loved magic but hated homework.

In his place, was a bright, tall, and cheerful young man, who loved life—hell, he had even changed his name for Merlin's sake—and enjoyed a good fight. And he was pretty sure that as soon as he stepped into the large courtyard, he was about to get one.

Sure enough, as soon as he stepped through the large doors leading to the courtyard, he ducked. Just in time, it appeared, for as no sooner had he ducked, had Master Kreia swung her green lightsaber hard and fast where his head had been.

Igniting his blue lightsaber as well, he Force jumped away from her, and then rushed towards her, seemingly about to attack with his lightsaber when he suddenly changed actions, and stop, outstretching his hand, and pushed her backwards with the Force.

Grumbling as she got up, Master Kreia swore under her breath in several different languages, while Revan chuckled.

Master Kreia was an older woman with long grey, whitening hair. She split her hair up into two ponytails in the front, with each side pushed through three bracelets (three on each side, making up a total of six). Her white, atrophied eyes hidden beneath her cloak, squinting at him in anger. Slowly, she started breathing slower, and calmed down.

Revan, now knowing he was safe from having bodily harm be done to him at this point in time, let out a sigh of relief and sank down onto one of the stone benches there in the courtyard. Still swearing under her breath, she stood up from her sitting position, and smiled in a dangerous way, and Revan knew he was in for it this time.

"Revan, today, I was going to accompany you to the Archives, so you could study more about the Force, as I know you have a great interest in learning more and more about it. However… since you decided to make me wait for you, I have to punish you somehow…" Kreia trailed off, grinning like she knew something important that Revan didn't.

"But Master! I was resting, like you told me to, out in the fields!" Revan tried to counter, but stopped when Kreia put up her hand to silence him.

"It doesn't matter to me why you were late, I just care about the fact that you were. Therefore, today's lesson will not be on lightsaber tactics, not on how to use the Force, not even on history. No, today, we begin on a new language. You are already proficient in that blasted Snake language of yours, Basic, Binary, Mando'a, Rakatan, and Selkath. Today, we are going to begin on Shryiiwook, which is the language of the Wookiees. Luckily for you, I have brought in a real Wookie, and he will help guide you throughout the course of these lessons. Any questions? I didn't think so."

In the doorway, stood a tall, hairy Wookie. It stared straight at Revan, gave him a small, devilish smile, and gave out a small Wookiee call.

Oh boy…

There is an understated elegance in Obi-Wan Kenobi's lightsaber technique, one that is quite unlike the feel one might get from the other great swords-beings of the Jedi Order. He lacks entirely the flash, the pure bold élan of an Anakin Skywalker; there is nowhere in him the penumbral ferocity of a Mace Windu or a Depa Billaba nor the stylish grace of a Shaak Ti or a Dooku, and he is nothing resembling the whirlwind of destruction that Yoda can become.

He is simplicity itself.

That is his power.

Before Obi-Wan had left Coruscant, Mace Windu had told him of facing Grievous in single combat atop a mag-lev train during the general's daring raid to capture Palpatine. Mace had told him how the computers slaved to Grievous's brain had apparently analyzed even Mace's unconventionally lethal Vaapad and had been able to respond in kind after a single exchange.

"He must have been trained by Count Dooku," Mace had said, "so you can expect Makashi as well; given the number of Jedi he has fought and slain, you must expect that he can attack in any style, or all of them. In fact, Obi-Wan, I believe that of all living Jedi, you have the best chance to defeat him."

This pronouncement had startled Obi-Wan, and he had protested. After all, the only form in which he was truly even proficient was Soresu, which was the most common lightsaber form in the Jedi Order. Founded upon the basic deflection principles all Padawans were taught—to enable them to protect themselves from blaster bolts—Soresu was very simple, and so restrained and defense-oriented that it was very nearly downright passive.

"But surely, Master Windu," Obi-Wan had said, "you, with the power of Vaapad—or Yoda's mastery of Ataro—"

Mace Windu had almost smiled. "I created Vaapad to answer my weakness: it channels my own darkness into a weapon of the light. Master Yoda's Ataro is also an answer to weakness: the limitations 

of reach and mobility imposed by his stature and his age. But for you? What weakness does Soresu answer?"

Blinking, Obi-Wan had been forced to admit he'd never actually thought of it that way.

"That is so like you, Master Kenobi," the Korun Master had said, shaking his head. "I am called a great swordsman because I invented a lethal style; but who is greater, the creator of a killing form—or the master of the classic form?"

"I'm very flattered that you would consider me a master, but really—"

"Not a master. The master," Mace had said. "Be who you are, and Grievous will never defeat you."

So now, facing the tornado of annihilating energy that is Grievous's attack, Obi-Wan simply is who he is.

General Grievous was very good at running away.

"Not this time," Obi-Wan muttered, and cut a path through the tangled mob of droids all the way to the arch in a single sustained surge, reaching the open air just in time to see the blade-wheeler turn; it was an open ring with a pilot's chair inside, and in the pilot's chair sat Grievous, who lifted one of his bodyguards' electrostaffs in a sardonic wave as he took the scooter straight out over the edge. Four claw-footed arms deployed, digging into the rock to carry him down the side of the sinkhole, angling away at a steep slant.

"Blast." Obi-Wan looked around. Still no air taxis. Not that he had any real interest in flying through the storm of battle that raged throughout the interior of the sinkhole, but there were certainly no way he could catch Grievous on foot…

From around the corner of an interior tunnel, he heard a resonant honnnnk! as though a nearby bantha had swallowed an air horn.

He said, "Boga?"

The beaked face of the dragonmount slowly extended around the interior angle of the tunnel.

"Boga! Come here, girl! We have a general to catch."

Boga fixed him with a reproachful glare. "Honnnnnk."

"Oh, very well." Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "I was wrong; you were right. Can we please go now?"

The remaining fifteen meters of dragonmount hove into view and came trotting out to meet him. Obi-Wan sprang to the saddle, and Boga leapt to the sinkhole's rim in a single bound. Her huge head swung low, searching, until Obi-Wan spotted Grievous's blade-wheeler racing away toward the landing decks below.

"There, girl—that's him! Go!"

Boga gathered herself and sprang to the rim of the next level down, poised for an instant to get her bearings, then leapt again down into the firestorm that Pau City had become. Obi-Wan spun his blade in a continuous whirl to either side of the dragonmount's back, disintegrating shrapnel and slapping away stray blaster fire. They plummeted through the sinkhole-city, gaining tens of meters on Grievous with every leap.

On one of the landing decks, the canopy was lifting and parting to show a small, ultrafast armored shuttle of the type favored by the famously nervous Neimoidian executives of the Trade Federation. Grievous's wheeler sprayed a fan of white-hot sparks as it tore across the landing deck; the bio-droid whipped the wheeler sideways, laying it down for a skidding halt that showered the shuttle with molten durasteel.

But before he could clamber out of the pilot's chair, several metric tons of Jedi-bearing dragonmount landed on the shuttles roof, crouched and threatening and hissing venomously down at him.

"I hope you have another vehicle, General!" Obi-Wan waved his lightsaber toward the shuttle's twin rear thrusters. "I believe there's some damage to your sublights!"

"You're insane! There's no—"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Show him, Boga."

The dragonmount dutifully pointed out the damage with two whistling strikes of her massive tale-mace—wham and wham again—which crumpled the shuttle's thruster tubes into crimped-shut knots of metal.

Obi-Wan beckoned. "Let's settle this, shall we?"

Grievous's answer was a shriek of tortured gyros that wrenched the wheeler upright, and a metal-on-metal scream of blades ripping into deck plates that sent it shooting straight toward the sinkhole wall—and, with the claw-arms to help, straight up it.

Obi-Wan sighed. "Didn't we just come from there?"

Boga coiled herself and sprang for the wall, and the chase was on once more.

They raced through the battle, clawing up walls, shooting through tunnels, skidding and leaping, sprinting where the way was clear and screeching into high-powered serpentines where it was not, whipping around knots of droids and bounding over troopers. Boga ran straight up the side of a clone hovertank and sprang from its turret directly between the high-slanting ringwheels of a hailfire, and a swipe of Obi-Wan's lightsaber caught and returned blaster bolts in a spray that shattered any droid unwise enough to fire on them. A few stray bolts he batted into the speeding wheeler ahead, but without visible effect.

"Fine," he muttered. "Let's try this from a little closer."

Boga gained steadily. Grievous's vehicle had the edge in raw speed, but Boga could out-turn it and could make instant leaps at astonishing angles; the dragonmount also had an uncanny instinct for where the general might be heading, as well as a seemingly infinite knowledge of useful shortcuts through side tunnels, along sheer walls, and over chasms studded with locked-down wind turbines. Grievous tried once to block Obi-Wan's pursuit by screeching out onto a huge pod that held a whole bank of wind turbines and knocking the blade-brakes off them with quick blows of the electrostaffs, letting the razor-edged blades spin freely in the constant gale, but Obi-Wan merely brought Boga alongside the turbines and stuck his lightsaber into their whirl. Sliced-free chunks of carboceramic blade shrieked through the air and shattered on the stone on all sides, and with a curse Grievous kicked his vehicle into motion again.

The wheeler roared into a tunnel that seemed to lead straight into the rock of the plateau. The tunnel was jammed with ground-cars and dragonmounts and wheelers and jesters and all manner of other vehicles and every kind of beast that might bear or draw the vast numbers of Utapauns and Utai fleeing the battle. Grievous blasted right into them, blade-wheel chewing through ground-cars and splashing the tunnel walls with chunks of shredded lizard; Boga raced along the walls above the traffic, sometimes even galloping on the ceiling with claws gouging chunks from the rock.

With a burst of sustained effort that strangled her honnnnking to thin gasps for air, Boga finally pulled alongside Grievous. Obi-Wan leaned forward, stretching out with his lightsaber, barely able to reach the wheeler's back curve, and carved away an arc of the wheeler's blade-tread, making the vehicle buck and skid; Grievous answered with a thrust of his electrostaffs that crackled lightning against Boga's extended neck. The great beast jerked sideways, honking fearfully and whipping her head as though the burn was a biting creature she could shake off her flank.

"One more leap, Boga!" Obi-Wan shouted, pressing himself along the dragonmount's shoulder. "Bring me even with him!"

The dragonmount complied without hesitation, and when Grievous thrust again, Obi-Wan's free hand flashed out and seized the staff below its discharge blade, holding it clear of Boga's vulnerable flesh. Grievous yanked on the staff, nearly pulling Obi-Wan out of the saddle, then jabbed it back at him, discharge blade sparking in his face—

With a sigh, Obi-Wan realized he needed both hands.

He dropped his lightsaber.

As his deactivated handgrip skittered and bounced along the tunnel behind him, he reflected that it was just as well Anakin wasn't there after all; he'd have never heard the end of it.

He got his other hand on the staff just as Grievous jerked the wheeler sideways, half laying it down to angle for a small side tunnel just ahead. Obi-Wan hung on grimly. Through the Force he could feel Boga's exhaustion, the buildup of anaerobic breakdown products turning the dragonmount's might legs to cloth. An open archway showed daylight ahead. Boga barely made the turn, and they raced side by side along the empty darkened way, joined by the spark-spitting rod of the electrostaffs.

As they cleared the archway to a small, concealed landing deck deep in a private sinkhole, Obi-Wan leapt from the saddle, yanking on the staff to swing both his boots hard into the side of Grievous's duranium skull. The wheeler's internal gyros screamed at the sudden impact and shift of balance. Their shrieks cycled up to bursts of smoke and fragments of metal as their catastrophic failure sent the wheeler tumbling in a white-hot cascade of sparks.

Dropping the staff, Obi-Wan leapt again, the Force lifting him free of the crash.

Grievous's electronic reflexes sent him out of the pilot's chair in the opposite direction.

The wheeler flipped over the edge of the landing deck and into the shadowy abyss of the sinkhole. It trailed smoke all the way down to a distant, delayed, and very final crash.

The electrostaffs had rolled away, coming to rest against the landing jack of a small Techno Union starfighter that stood on the deck a few meters behind Obi-Wan. Behind Grievous, the archway back into the tunnel system was filled with a panting, exhausted, but still dangerously angry dragonmount.

Obi-Wan looked at Grievous.

Grievous looked at Obi-Wan.

There was no longer any need for words between them.

Obi-Wan simply stood, centered in the Force, waiting for Grievous to make his move.

A concealed compartment in the general's right thigh sprang open, and a mechanical arm delivered a slim hold-out blaster to his hand. He brought it up and fired so fast that his arm blurred to invisibility.

Obi-Wan… reached.

The electrostaffs flipped into the air between them, one discharge blade catching the bolt. The impact sent the staff whirling—

Right into Obi-Wan's hand.

There came one instant's pause, while they looked into each other's eyes and shared an intimate understanding that their relationship had reached its end.

Obi-Wan charged.

Grievous backed away, unleashing a stream of blaster bolts as fast as his half a forefinger could pull the trigger.

Obi-Wan spun the staff, catching every bolt, not even slowing down, and when he reached Grievous he slapped the blaster out of his hand with a crack of the staff that sent blue lightning scaling up the general's arm.

His following strike was a stiff stab into Grievous's jointed stomach armor that sent the general staggering back. Obi-Wan hit him again in the same place, denting the armorplast plate, cracking the joint where it met the larger, thicker plates of his chest as Grievous flailed for balance, but when he spun the staff for his next strike the general's flailing arm flailed itself against the middle of the staff and his other hand found it as well and he seized it, yanking himself upright against Obi-Wan's grip, his metal skull-face coming within a centimeter of the Jedi Master's nose.

He snarled, "Do you think I am foolish enough to arm my bodyguards with weapons that can actually hurt me?"

Instead of waiting for an answer he spun, heaving Obi-Wan right off the deck with killing power; Obi-Wan could only let go of the staff and allow the Force to angle his fall into a stumbling roll. Grievous sprang after him, swinging the electrostaffs and slamming it across Obi-Wan's flank before the Jedi Master could recover his balance. The impact sent Obi-Wan tumbling sideways and the electroburst discharge set his robe on fire. Grievous stayed right with him, attacking before Obi-Wan could even realize exactly what was happening, attacking faster than thought—

But Obi-Wan didn't need to think. The Force was with him, and he knew.

When Grievous spun the staff overhand, discharge blade sizzling down at Obi-Wan's head for the killing blow, Obi-Wan went to the inside.

He met Grievous chest-to-chest, his upraised hand blocking the general's wrist; Grievous snarled something incoherent and bore down on the Jedi Master's block with all his weight, driving the blade closer and closer to Obi-Wan's face—

But Obi-Wan's arm had the Force to give it strength, and the general's arm only had the innate crystalline intermolecular structure of duranium alloy.

Grievous's forearm bent like a cheap spoon.

While the general stared in disbelief at his mangled arm, Obi-Wan had been working the fingers of his free hand around the lower edge of Grievous's dented, join-loose stomach plate.

Grievous looked down. "What?"

Obi-Wan slammed the elbow of his blocking arm into the general's clavicle while he yanked as hard as he could on the stomach plate, and it ripped free in his hand. Behind it hung a translucent sac of synthskin containing a tangle of green and gray organs.

The true body of the alien inside the droid.

Grievous howled and dropped the staff to seize Obi-Wan with his three remaining arms. He lifted the Jedi Master over his head again and hurled him tumbling over the landing deck toward the precipice above the gloom-shrouded drop. Reaching into the Force, Obi-Wan was able to connect with the stone itself as if he were anchored to it with a cable tether; instead of hurtling over the edge he slammed down onto the rock hard enough to crush all breath from his lungs.

Grievous picked up the staff again and charged.

Obi-Wan still couldn't breathe. He had no hope of rising to meet the general's attack.

All he could do was extend a hand.

As the bio-droid loomed over him, electrostaffs raised for the kill, the hold-out blaster flipped from the deck into Obi-Wan's palm, and with no hesitation, no second thoughts, not even the faintest pause to savor his victory, he pulled the trigger.

The bolt ripped into the synthskin sac.

Grievous's guts exploded in a foul-smelling shower the color of a dead swamp. Energy chained up his spine and a mist of vaporized brain burst out both sides of his skull and sent his face spinning off the precipice.

The electrostaffs hit the deck, followed shortly by the general's knees.

Then by what was left of his head.

Obi-Wan lay on his back, staring at the circle of cloudless sky above the sinkhole while he gasped air back into his spasming lungs. He barely managed to roll over far enough to smother the flames on his robe, then fell back.

And simply enjoyed being alive.

Much too short a time later—long before he was actually ready to get up—a shadow fell across him, accompanied by the smell of overheated lizard and an admonitory honnnk.

"Yes, Boga, you're right," Obi-Wan agreed reluctantly. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself to his feet.

He picked up the electrostaffs, and paused for one last glance at the remains of the bio-droid general.

"So…" He summoned a condemnation among the most offensive in his vocabulary. "…uncivilized."

He triggered his comlink, and directed Cody to report to Jedi Command on Coruscant that Grievous had been destroyed.

"Will do, General," said the tiny holoscan of the clone commander. "And congratulations. I knew you could do it."

Apparently everyone did, Obi-Wan thought, except Grievous, and me…

"General? We do still have a little problem out here. About ten thousand heavily armed little problems, actually."

"On my way. Kenobi out."

Obi-Wan sighed and clambered painfully onto the dragonmount's saddle.

"All right, girl," he said. "Let's go win that battle, too."

As has been said, the textbook example of a Jedi trap is the one that was set on Utapau, for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

It worked perfectly.

The final element essential to the creation of a truly effective Jedi trap is a certain coldness of mind—a detachment, if you will, from any desire for a particular outcome.

The best way to arrange matters is to create a win-win situation.

For example, one might use as one's proxy a creature that not only is expendable, but would eventually have to be killed anyway. Thus, if one's proxy fails and is destroyed, it's no loss—in fact, the targeted Jedi has actually done one a favor, by taking care of a bit of dirty work one would otherwise have to do oneself.

And the final stroke of perfection is to organize the Jedi trap so that by walking into it at all, the Jedi has already lost.

That is to say, a Jedi trap works best when one's true goal is merely to make sure that the Jedi in question spends some hours or days off somewhere on the far side of the galaxy. So that he won't be around to interfere with one's real plans.

So that by the time he can return, it will be already too late.

Mace Windu stood in the darkened comm center of Jedi Command, facing a life-sized holoscan of Yoda, projected from a concealed Wookiee comm. Center in the heart of a wroshyr tree on Kashyyyk.

"Minutes ago," Mace said, "we received confirmation from Utapau: Kenobi was successful. Grievous is dead."

"Time it is to execute our plan."

"I will personally deliver the news of Grievous's death."

Mace flexed his hands. "It will be up to the Chancellor to cede his emergency powers back over to the Senate."

"Forget not the existence of Sidious. Anticipate your action, he may. Masters will be necessary, if the Lord of the Sith you must face."

"I have chosen four of our best. Master Tiin, Master Kolar, and Master Firsto are all here, in the Temple. They are preparing already."

"What about Skywalker? The chosen one."

"Too much of a risk," Mace replied. "I am the fourth."

With a slow purse of the lips and an even slower nod, Yoda said, "On watch you have been too long, my Padawan. Rest you must."

"I will, Master. When the Republic is safe once more." Mace straightened. "We are waiting only for your vote."

"Very well, then. Have my vote, you do. May the Force be with you."

"And with you, Master."

But he spoke to empty air; the holoscan had already flickered to nonexistence.

Mace lowered his head and stood in the darkness and the silence.

The door of the comm center shot open, spilling yellow glare into the gloom and limning the silhouette of a man half collapsed against the frame.

"Master…" The voice was a hoarse half whisper. "Master Windu…?"

"Skywalker?" Mace was at his side in an instant. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Anakin took Mace's arm in a grip of desperate strength, and used it like a crutch to haul himself upright.

"Obi-Wan…," he said faintly. "I need to talk to Obi-Wan—!"

"Obi-Wan is operational on Utapau; he has destroyed General Grievous. We are leaving now to tell the Chancellor, and to see to it that he steps down as he has promised—"

"Steps—steps down—" Anakin's voice had a bitter edge. "You have no idea…"

"Anakin—? What's wrong?"

"Listen to me—you have to listen to me—" Anakin sagged against him, shaking; Mace wrapped his arms around the young Jedi and guided him into the nearest chair. "You can't—please, Master Windu, give me your word, promise me it'll be an arrest, promise you're not going to hurt him—"

"Skywalker—Anakin. You must try to answer. Have you been attacked? Are you injured? You have to tell me what's wrong!"

Anakin collapsed forward, face into his hands.

Mace reached into the Force, opening the eye of his special gift of perception—

What he found there froze his blood.

The tangled web of fault lines in the Force he had seen connecting Anakin to Obi-Wan and to Palpatine was no more; in their place was a single spider-knot that sang with power enough to crack the planet. Anakin Skywalker no longer had shatterpoints. He was a shatterpoint.

The shatterpoint.

Everything depended on him.

Everything.

Mace said slowly, with the same sort of deliberate care he would use in examining an unknown type of bomb that might have the power to destroy the universe itself, "Anakin, look at me."

Skywalker raised his head.

"Are you hurt? Do you need—"

Mace frowned. Anakin's eyes were raw, and red, and his face looked swollen. For a long time he didn't know if Anakin would answer, if he could answer, if he could even speak at all; the young Jedi seemed to be struggling with something inside himself, as though he fought desperately against the birth of a monster hatching within his chest.

But in the Force, there was no as though; there was no seemed to be. In the Force, Mace could feel the monster inside Anakin Skywalker, a real monster, too real, one that was eating him alive from the inside out.

Fear.

This was the wound Anakin had taken. This was the hurt that had him shaking and stammering and too weak to stand. Some black fear had hatched like fever wasps inside the young Knight's brain, and it was killing him.

Finally, after what seemed forever, Anakin opened his blood-raw eyes.

"Master Windu…" He spoke slowly, painfully, as though each word ripped away a raw hunk of his own flesh. "I have… bad news."

Mace stared at him.

"Bad news?" he repeated blankly.

What news could be bad enough to make a Jedi like Anakin Skywalker collapse? What news could make Anakin Skywalker look like the stars had gone out?

Then in nine simple words, Anakin told him.

Kreia gazed softly on her Padawan learner, and smiled to herself. 'That boy will be someone great someday. I remember when I first found him, here on Dantooine…'

Flashback

Kreia awoke in her chambers, and felt something arriving in the Force. Something new, and something potentially powerful. Quickly getting dressed, she swiftly started running towards the source. Exiting the Jedi Enclave, she made her way out into the Plains of Dantooine, and stopped, not feeling it anymore. Slowly, she started to turn back towards the enclave, and she started walking through the plains, thoroughly disappointed.

Suddenly, there was a bright flash of white light behind her, and she heard a muffled "Oomph" from what sounded like a young boy's mouth. Shifting her weight around, and quickly igniting her green lightsaber, she took a battle stance.

The only thing left after the bright light was the boy laying facedown, whose breathing was light, and quick. Knowing that if she didn't do something quick, he could very likely die, she applied some of her Force healing techniques that she had learned. Slowly but surely, the boy's breathing slowed, and he seemed more at ease.

She heard a rustling sound to her left, and she quickly stood up, and ignited her lightsaber once more. The source of the sound turned out to be nothing more than some field mice, and she sighed in relief. She turned her lightsaber off and clipped it to her belt once more. Then, gently picking the boy up, she carried him back to the Jedi Enclave, where she kept him in her quarters until the next day.

The sun had risen the next day, and the boy awoke with a start.

Kreia, sensing his consciousness, arose from her meditation, and spoke in soft words to him.

"You, boy, what is your name?"

The boy looked up at her in amazement, then said, "I'm Ha…" and trailed off. Obviously, he hadn't wanted to reveal his true name, because no more than 5 seconds had passed when he had given the name of "Revan".

"Well, which is it, 'Ha', or 'Revan'?" Kreia asked in amusement, staring at him with unnerving, unblinking white eyes.

"Revan, ma'am, it's Revan." The boy looked down at his feet, which were dangling off the side of his bed.

"Well then, Revan, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Kreia, and I am a Jedi Master here at the Jedi Enclave."

The boy gaped at her. He whispered something that she couldn't hear, and then said in a small voice, as he gazed out of her window, "What planet am I on?"

Kreia gaped at him as well, but then merely shrugged it off as a slight amnesia, from the obvious near-death experience he had. "Well, Revan, do you know what a Jedi is?" Kreia said warmly, trying to comfort the child who looked a little uncomfortable.

Revan looked at her slightly dazed, and said in an even smaller voice, "Just a little bit, but not really enough to know what they really are."

Kreia smiled even more warmly at that. "Come on, let me take you to the medical bay, and check you out for any injuries."

Revan was looked a little unsure, but followed her anyway. "Can I be a Jedi too?" he asked in an innocent, child-like way.

"Well… we'll just have to see about that, Revan." Kreia then smiled, and ruffled his hair a little bit, and took his hand, leading him to the medical bay.

While Revan was sitting on the cool, metal table answering questions about how he was feeling by one of the Jedi Healers, Kreia pulled another one aside, and asked for a blood test to count the midi-chlorians in his blood.

Sure enough, when the test results came to her a little while later, she was astounded.

'50,000 midi-chlorians… that's enough to keep one alive for well over 300 years! And he's only a human!'

Shaking her head, she glanced at the giggling 8 year old. "It really is hard to believe…" she muttered to herself.

Shaking herself out of her stupor, she decided that it was time for them to go see the Jedi Council. She needed to have this boy as her Padawan… otherwise… who knew what could happen.

"Come along, Revan, we're gonna go see the members of the Jedi Council. Do you know who they are?"

Revan seemed to think long and hard about it, then replied as only an eight year old could. "Some really weird old guys in dresses?"

Kreia could only laugh, and Revan seemed to giggle a little bit too. "Revan, they're the wisest and most powerful Jedi here on Dantooine. If you really want to be a Jedi, we have to see them first."

Revan seemed to think long and hard about it, then said happily, "Okay!"

A little while later, Kreia and Revan were standing in front of the Dantooine Jedi Council, and Kreia was explaining the circumstances of Revan's arrival.

"…so I carried him back to my quarters and let him rest there for the night. When he awoke this morning, he was so confused… I took him to the medical bay to see if he had any potential to be a Jedi, because I 

had a feeling that he must be a Force-sensitive, after that bright white light was any indication…" Kreia was explaining.

Revan's attentions seemed to zoom in and out. He hardly seemed to be paying attention.

"…and that is why I would like to take Revan here as my Padawan."

Revan looked up sharply, with intelligent eyes, then took on his persona of an innocent child again, that no one noticed the change at all.

The Jedi Council murmured to each other, and finally, one of the Council members spoke up.

"Master Kreia, we shall test him, and if, and only if, we find him worthy, he shall be your Padawan learner." The Master deliberated. "Now if you would please, Kreia, leave us alone with Revan for a short while."

Revan looked up at her with scared eyes, but she kneeled down near him, and looked directly at him. "All you have to do is answer a few questions, and answer them as best as you can. I believe in you, Revan."

Revan nodded, and swallowed. Kreia, satisfied, got up, nodded to the Council, and left the Council chamber.

Kreia paced back and forth outside, worrying about the results. 'Calm yourself down, Kreia! Get a hold of yourself!'

She stopped pacing, sat down near the Council door, and meditated.

Soon, the Council door opened, and she was welcomed back inside the Council chamber.

"Well," one of the Masters started, a little hesitantly, "He is brighter than we had imagined, and has a deep understanding of the Force that many have been trying to learn for years and haven't succeeded with. However, he still has much to learn. And that is why, Master Kreia, we have decided…" here she paused. "We have decided that we will allow you to take on young Revan as your Padawan learner," she finished smiling.

Revan's face lit up, and grinned a large, infectious smile.

"Revan, meet your new Master, Master Kreia. Kreia, Revan."

End Flashback

As Revan had grown over the years, Kreia had kept a watchful eye over him. Soon, she felt, she would have nothing more to teach him. And if that point in time ever came, then she knew that he would move on to other Masters, to learn their teachings as well. However, she knew that no matter what, the bond that she and Revan had would never be broken.

She would make sure of it.

A/N: So here is the very first chapter of the sequel! So hopefully, this chapter has been detail-filled enough for you! Anyways, read and review, I'd greatly appreciate how you like my work! Thanks a million!

Beggs