The dark chamber was deadly silent. A hooded figure stood in place across the bridge's walkway, observing as a battle between several Sith battle ships and a Republic fleet several times smaller raged before him.

Being found in such a far away system from the galactic core was unexpected. He suspected that perhaps there was a traitor in their midst, sending intel to the Republic.

No matter, he thought to himself. I can deal with any traitorous scum later.

Interestingly enough, the enemy didn't show any intention of retreating nor surrendering despite their overwhelming disadvantage. In fact, they were attempting to push their formation forward as much as they could, desperately trying to hold against his own Sith forces.

It was as if they had no intention of winning in the first place.

Darth Revan had to suppress a smirk—not because of his imminent victory, but because he could see right through the Republic's ruse. Their intention was to lure him into a trap, get him to lower his guard under the pretense of a false victory.

A clever tactic indeed, though hardly unexpected considering that the Republic was fighting what was by all means a losing war. It was only natural to expect bold moves such as this every now and then.

The fleet under his command was annihilating the remaining enemy forces without opposition. Not a bad plan per say, but with such a pitiful execution, it's clear that the Republic is truly at their wits' end.

Revan's process of thought came to an abrupt halt when the doors to the helm slid open, and a Sith officer came in.

"Speak."

"Y-yes, Lord Revan," the man stuttered. "We have detected a breach within the main hangar."

There was a short pause when a cold air suddenly enveloped the chamber. The Dark Lord turned to face the officer, his cape swirling swiftly behind him as the visor of his mask reflected the man's face, gleaming once it came into view.

"A Republic boarding party?"

"Yes, my Lord," the officer responded with slight hesitation. "Our forces are engaging the enemy as we speak, but…" he trailed off.

"But what, Captain?" Revan demanded.

"…W-we have confirmed that the intruders are indeed Jedi."

A more powerful chilling coldness began to surround the room, and the officer nearly choked at the sudden shift in temperature.

"Hmph, Jedi." The Sith repeated, though any hint of animosity that he might have was well hidden behind his mask. "So the time has come. They have finally decided to make their move." Revan turned his gaze back to the officer. "Focus all power on the turbolasers and fire upon the remaining survivors. Order Malak's vessels to do the same."

"As you wish, my Lord." The officer nodded. "But what should we do about the Jedi?"

"I will deal with them myself," Revan responded. "After all, it would be rude of me not to greet them after they went through so much trouble to find me."

Regular Sith Troopers can only do so much against a trained Jedi, let alone a whole team made out of them. It was simple logic that rather than waste men in a fruitless endeavor, the best option was to confront them himself.

The Sith could feel them through the Force. The Jedi strike team was gradually getting closer.

If the Council is willing to send this many Jedi to face me, then they must be much more desperate than what I anticipated.

The Jedi Council's actions only served to further validate what he already knows. The Republic was at their weakest. They're far too corrupted and caught up in their useless in-fighting to even be able to solve the smallest of issues. Its political system was flawed and the Jedi were no different.

Both the Jedi and the Republic were both beyond saving.

"I understand, my Lord," the Sith officer replied with a short nod. "I will relay your orders to the fleet immediately." He bowed before turning to carry out his given orders.

Finding himself alone once again, the Dark Lord of the Sith turned his attention back to face the ongoing conflict. His cruiser's guns were obliterating whatever remained of the Republic fleet—within the minute, Malak's warships did the same.

"The Republic will fall, there's no avoiding it. Whether it'll by my hand or his, the outcome will remain the same." A scowl emerged behind his mask. "For the sake of the galaxy, I shall claim victory. I shall not fail."

Chapter 1

Inside the Leviathan, Darth Malak observed from the bridge of his flagship as his warships decimated what was left of the Republic fleet.

Not unlike his master, Malak was very much aware of the Republic's sacrifice for the sake of buying time for their Jedi strike team for one desperate attempt to assassinate Darth Revan. The Sith Lord could see as a small shuttle, which escorted the strike team, infiltrated Revan's flagship.

For a moment Malak considered shooting the vessel down, but ultimately decided against it. Those pesky Jedi may be no more than a bunch of worthless cowards in his eyes, but they could still be of use.

"Admiral."

A high-ranking officer approached the Lord Sith from the other side of the bridge. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Turn all guns towards Revan's flagship and fire immediately."

All noise inside the command bridge ceased the moment Malak gave the order. What he said was unthinkable and everyone knew it. The Admiral was by all means at a loss for words and could only stare at the Sith Lord in utter disbelief. "B-but Lord Revan is still aboard–"

"I gave you an order." Malak's prosthetic mouthpiece oozed. "Fire the guns and eradicate the Republic scum that boarded Revan's ship."

"Th-this… This is outrageous!" All composure the Sith officer had faded as he spoke up. "Lord Malak, we cannot simply destroy Lord Revan's cruiser without confirming that he is alive or–"

The officer stopped as his feet slowly ascended from the ground. His eyes bulged it terror as he felt an invisible force squeeze his neck.

"I have no patience for subordinates that are incapable of following orders." Malak revealed his hand, his fingers slightly curled. "Such insolent behavior I believe, demands for proper punishment."

Clenching his hand into a tight fist, a loud crack echoed across the bridge and the Admiral's now lifeless body collapsed to the floor. "Karath," Malak called as he turned to the overview window.

A different officer approached the helm of the bridge. "Yes, Lord Malak?"

"I have given my orders. Fire upon Revan's ship and focus on the helm. Ensure that no-one survives, and that nothing could be salvaged from the wreckage."

"As you command, my Lord." Karath obliged.

"You would do well to continue this level of obedience, Admiral Karath." Malak said as he folds his arms.

Soon enough, the Leviathan's main cannons begun to align within firing range to Revan's flagship.

"You were always weak, Revan. Never one to fully embrace the full power of the Dark Side." Malak says to himself as his cruiser glides closer and closer towards the Interdictor-class warship. "With you out of the way, I will become the new Dark Lord of the Sith, and you will be nothing more than a fleeting memory to be forever forgotten in the passage of time."

"So, they're finally here."

The blast doors leading to the command bridge slid open, and as Revan expected, there were at least four young Jedi. All of which stood defiantly before him.

Sith officers and pilots below the walkway drew their arms from their holsters yet they were quickly incapacitated by the Jedi team. The Sith Lord was impressed—not by the result, but by the efficiency with which they dispatched his men.

Through his visor, the Sith Lord could see a vibrant woman with distinct Padawan robes.

"Revan," the woman spoke with a resonated tone, yet seethed with anger behind her throat, "You will answer for the atrocities you have committed against the galaxy. You will submit before the Republic and you will be brought before the Jedi Council for your betrayal."

Revan scoffed, but choose to remain silent; there was no need for words.

His gaze rested solely on the Jedi as he waited for them to make the first move. There weren't any signs of neither mock nor anger in his posture. There was only cold discipline, befitting of a Dark Lord.

One of the Jedi grips the hilt of his lightsaber, his ignited green blade glowing in display. "We have him cornered! Take him now!" he yelled as he lunged forward, and the other two Jedi following suit with sabers in hand.

"W-wait!" The woman tried to warn them, yet the Jedi paid her no heed to her warning.

Revan force-pulls his own lightsaber from within his black robes and ignites the red blade.

The rash Jedi had no way to defend himself against the killing blow that struck him down in the blink of an eye. His body fell like a puppet without stings, but the other two Jedi quickly rushed past their fallen comrade and both simultaneously leapt towards the Dark Lord, their weapons eager to claim his life.

Darth Revan deflects their strikes effortlessly without giving ground. He raised one hand and forced one of the Jedi to collide with the other. There they lay on the ground, though one of them managed to recover and attacked him again.

Their lightsabers clashed several times, but Revan quickly gained the upper hand and swiftly lunged his saber through the Jedi's stomach, adding another corpse to decorate the command bridge.

The other Jedi had yet to recover, so Revan dealt with him before he could even stand up. Had the others been as cautious as the woman, perhaps they could have outlived his expectancy.

"My spies have informed me about you, Bastila Shan," the Sith Lord said, taking a step forward. "I've been told about your exploits, yet your talents are wasted on an order that has already proven to be nothing but a shadow of its former glory."

The woman stood with narrowed eyes. "You know not of what you speak, Sith."

"I've also heard the rumors about a certain ability that you have under your possession. Battle Meditation," Revan spoke without pause. "Such power could turn the tide of the war towards the Republic's favor—and yet the Jedi Council finds it appropriate to send you on a suicide mission to claim me. That goes to show just how foolish they have grown to be since my departure from the Order."

The Jedi ignited her saber and took a stance with her weapon in hand. "I volunteered for this task, and I intend to accomplish it."

Revan assumes his stance and goads the Jedi to strike first, "Then so be it, Jedi."

The padawan—Bastila Shan—did not fall for Revan's provocation. She may not be as wise or experienced as the older Jedi masters, but she knew enough as to not let herself be fooled by such underhanded tactics.

With a deep breath, Bastila allowed the Force to guide her, focusing both body and mind. It was only for a moment before she lunged forward with a quick thrust of her yellow-bladed lightsaber.

Revan was fast to block it, though she was quick to follow up with a second strike.

Rather than blocking again, Revan chose to dodge to the side and let her attack pass, leaving Bastila vulnerable. The Jedi lifted her saber just in time to intercept his incoming attack. The impact nearly made her lose her balance, but she was still strong enough to push him back.

Bastila panted wearily, her arms weighing her down, her feet almost failing to keep her standing and her lightsaber's weight tripled within her hand. Before her, Revan stood tall and proud, saber in one hand and pushing her down.

Not a word was said after the two had clashed weapons.

Bastila herself was surprised that she had survived this long in a duel against the Dark Lord of the Sith himself. She had heard tales of Revan's raw power and compelling mind for strategy, yet she could never fathom for herself in person how this once great Jedi Knight had such brilliant technique in both the art of combat and war.

The duel was nearing its conclusion—they both knew it. And as the Sith Lord prepared to strike down the weakened Jedi, a disturbance reached his senses.

It was the Force calling him… No. It was a warning.

In an instant Revan shielded himself with the Force just in time to protect himself from a blast that impacted against the bridge's helm, and while he was propelled forward to the other side of the walkway, the damage he took was nowhere fatal.

Several turbo lasers hit the frontside of the ship, as Revan's flagship was now being bombarded by the Leviathan, along with other Sith warships that were under Malak's direct command.

The Dark Lord was dazed, his vision hazy—narrowed by the slit of his Mandalorian visor.

Everything around him was nothing but a blur. Realization that the ship was crumbling around him soon hit him. "Malak," Revan grunted in anger, though there was no surprise in his voice.

He got back to his feet. "There's no time to retaliate, the ship is already beyond saving," he murmured when a sudden pain shot through his stomach. "And it seems that I took far more damage than what initially thought, but no matter. I need to… reach the escape pods…"

There was no time to quell his wounds with the Force. The Jedi he fought merely seconds ago was nothing more than a distant memory. He pushed himself forward until he reached the closest pod, but the ship shook violently, causing him to nearly lose his footing.

With a heavy grunt, he sat down and sealed the hatch. It took only a couple seconds to prepare the escape pod and to set the launch codes, but the control panel suddenly bursted out of the console.

"Wait, no–"

With the systems malfunctioning, the pod was launched with no way to control where it was headed.

He barely made it far enough as to avoid the radio of the blast of his flagship once it exploded, but the escape pod got hit by some of the debris that was send flying, causing the damaged controls to overload.

The capsule spiraled out of control into the void with no manner of direction and far away from the fleet.

But the damage went much deeper than simply the controls.

Life support was failing. Power was dropping to concerning levels. The capsule began to loose oxygen extremely fast. The shields managed to remain operational, but he will probably stop breathing long before any outside force could attempt to destroy the pod.

His mask could sustain him with oxygen for a bit, but that was merely a short-term solution. The air was running low and he could already feel his consciousness slowly start to slip away—but he could not allow that to happen.

He used whatever strength he had left and his mastery of the Force to keep himself alive with sheer power alone. Darth Revan, once renown as a hero to the Republic, now turned Lord of the Sith, could do nothing but fight off the combined pain and exhaustion that threatened to destroy his body.

Every breath that he took was fallowed by the gut-wrenching feeling of his lungs being crushed. The pain alone would have killed any man–but Revan was above that.

Pushing the sensation aside, he used both his pain and anger to fuel his power—to make himself strong enough to endure the torture that threatened to break his mind.

He could not allow that. There was still much that needed to be done. Too much at stake. His demise would mean the death of billions. The burden that he carried could not be passed to another.

Not to Malak, not to the Jedi, and most definitely; not to the Republic.

Those were Revan's final thoughts as the pod headed deeper into the unknown.

The starless sky was casket-black and brooding. Even the clouds seemed morose. The cold wind keened and mewled through the field while fire came crushing down like rain from above.

Those that survived the initial strike were rendered defenseless and became easy prey for their assailants and their powerful behemoth-like iron beasts. They were slaughtered between seconds, and those who did not were reduced to unrecognizable charred corpses that now decorated the field.

"Master, the mandalorians are breaking through our lines." The man addressing him looked battle-hardened. He wore distinct red robes and blue-grey tattoos could be seems running across his shaved head.

He could feel his head nod. "They have taken the bait."

Was that his voice that just spoke?

"But…" The man's words trailed off. His face showed remorse. "We lost so many of our own out there. Not many got a chance to even fight back..."

"They have bought us time with their lives, my friend." He put a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder. "Their sacrifice will not be in vain, Alek. That I promise you."

Alek hesitated, but nodded in understanding.

"Good. Now prepare yourself," he said. "Only by achieving victory can we honor our fallen comrades. With this we'll be able to push the mandalorians out of the galactic core and they'll have no other choice but to retreat to the Outer Rim."

"What's the plan then?"

"Our fleet is positioning as we speak. With the bulk of the mandalorian force concentrated on us, they'd make for an excellent target," he said. "Once they realize that they have fallen into our trap, it'll already be too late."

"So we fight and continue to force them to throw more people at us?"

"Basically speaking, yes."

Alek smiled, and he couldn't help but return the gesture. "Then let's give them another reason to come at us with everything they've got."

Taking a cylindrical object from his waist, a glowing-purple light ignited from the upper-end. Alek and a line of warriors rallied behind him while they ignited their own. Soon a mix of blue, yellow and green colors danced across the field in unison as they advanced head-on to meet the enemy.

"For the Republic!"

"Ugh…!"

His eyes snapped open. His body was covered in a cold sweat, shaking, heart pounding non-stop. "That was… only a dream." He tried to reassure himself, but he could still feel his hands shaking.

He silently rubs his head and eyes, trying to fully awaken himself, but the dream left an ever-lasting impact that could not vanish.

He knew what he saw. It was war. A war unlike any other. The sky burned red, the ground trembled under the pressure of the large iron creatures and their riders while knights with lightning-like swords charged into battle.

Mandalorians, the Outer Rim, the Republic? He thought in confusion. What could it possibly mean?

There was a lot to take in from this. Was everything that he saw simply a dream, or could it be more than just that? And who was Alek?

He shook his head and slowly sat up. The first thing he recognized upon waking up was the shivering cold running through his body. The numb sensation was such that for a moment he wondered if he was dead—but the pain told him otherwise; he was indeed still alive.

"Good riddance, and here I was beginning to think that you'll never wake up."

The voice. It was feminine. Delicate, but at the same time sharp.

Turning to face the speaker, the first thing he saw was the color red. It took him a moment to realize that he was in fact looking at a red-headed young woman.

"Here, take this." The woman offered him what looked like a bowl of warm soup and a piece of dry bread. "I'm sure you must be hungry."

He eyed the rations carefully, debating whether the woman could be trusted. She could be trying to drug him, or even poison him, but then again, she could have done any of those things while he was still unconscious. Maybe she was doing it out of the goodness of her heart, but something about the woman didn't strike him as the charity-type.

He slowly sat up and took the bowl in his hands. It took some effort, but thankfully he still had enough strength to hold his own. "...Thank you," he responded after a short while. "Who are you?"

"Me? You may call me Anna," she answered without reserve. "But leaving that aside, what were you thinking venturing out in the middle of a storm like that? Do you have a death wish or something? You almost froze to death. I even had to use my best merchandise just to keep you alive."

He gave her a questioning look, not understanding what she was talking about.

She seemed aware of this and responded, "I found you lying face down in the snow. I really thought that you were dead for a second, or at least I did when I tried to scavenge whatever goods I could find. Imagine my surprised when I found out that you were still breathing."

"I… I have no recollection of that." He shook his head. Then, his mind caught on the end of Anna's statement.. "You we're trying... to rob me?"

"I thought you were dead, okay! Jeez, it's not like anyone would complain if a corpse had a few things missing here and there," Anna tried to defend herself. "Besides, I saved your life, so if anything you should be thanking me."

Seeing the woman's behavior, he had a better grasp of her character. He couldn't say that he trusted her, however, it was true that she saved his life. "I see," he said. "Then I'd have to thank you for your generosity."

"Oh no you don't," Anna said with a frown. There was a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Don't think for even a second that I'm handing out my stuff for free. You better pay me back for everything, and let us not forget that I even let you spend the night inside my tent during the storm, so that alone should be at least another fifty pieces of gold." Her index finger rested at her face as she wore a sly smile. "That would mean that you owe me at least two hundred and seventy pieces worth in goods."

He gave her a long look, but nodded. "Then I'll make sure to repay your kindness. I don't have any gold with me, but I trust that we can come up with some sort of agreement."

"Yeah, you better." Her frown lessened a little, though her arms remained folded. "Otherwise, we both are gonna have a problem, and I can guarantee you that neither of us wants that to happen." She let out a sigh. "Payment aside, what about you, what's you're name?"

His brow furrowed at the question. "…My name?"

"Of course," she said. "I obviously need to know how to call you, don't I?"

What's… my name? Somehow he found himself unable to answer. He couldn't even remember his own name… No. More like he couldn't remember anything at all. The sole attempt to do so resulted in a painful headache.

"H-hey, are you alright? I didn't saved you just so you could die in my cart, you know?

Whatever she said, he didn't hear her—more like he just couldn't. The pain was so unbearable that his hands unconsciously found their way to his face. He was clutching his head so tightly that his nails began to dig out blood. "…Argh!" he cried out, but he persisted until something finally came up.

He couldn't recall much, but a lone word resurfaced in his mind.

"Revan..." he responded. "My name is Revan... I think…" he murmured the last part.

"Hmm, Revan..." Anna repeated. "Huh, it has a nice ring to it, I guess. Not what I would expect from a monk though."

Revan gave her a strange look. "A monk?"

"You're a monk, right? Nobody else that I know wears robes like that. And seeing the light armor, I guess you must be one of those war monks that I heard so much about." Her index finger rested at her face. "Though I have to say, for a monk you sure don't talk like one. Well, whatever, it's not like it's any of my business."

Anna moved to the front of the cart. "We're gonna be reaching a town soon. Hopefully I can make some good coin there even without the stuff that I spend keeping you alive."

"You're not going to let that go, do you?"

Anna almost laughed. "As long as you don't pay me back, you can bet your broke-ass that I won't," she said. "Now get some rest. A half-dead employee is no worth to me."

He grimaced at the word employee, wondering what exactly he got himself into.

Seems like she already decided how I'm going to pay her back, he thought with a heavy sigh.

That appeared to be the end of the discussion, but then Anna spoke again. "By the way, since you're obviously not gonna be dying any time soon, I kept your things in the back over there," she said, gesturing to a chest at the other side of the cart. "You can take them back whenever you want. They don't seem to be worth that much anyway."

His eyes darted to the chest before turning back to Anna—she was already in the driver seat, clearly not intending to continue the conversation any longer.

His gaze rested on her for a moment before looking back to the chest.

Anna said his belongings, but he didn't owned anything, or at least not that he could remember.

He couldn't help but wonder if whatever was inside was something that could help him recover the memories that he lost—or at least he hoped that was the case.

"Just… who am I?"