Catharsis
Dante entered the Council chambers, his eyes meeting the stoic gazes of the others.
The glare of Coruscant's sun bathed the room in a shade of fiery orange, bordering on a tone of red that rivaled even the intricate designs on the flooring in the chamber.
Every Jedi, including Bastila and her apprentice, sat in their seats, watching the Jedi Knight enter the chamber.
The Masters formed a perimeter around the Jedi, who now entered the center of the chamber and bowed.
"Greetings, Masters," Dante began.
Cyrin dipped his head in acknowledgement, his hand gesturing towards a seat beside the Wookiee Jedi Master. "Take a seat, Master Ravenmoon."
Nodding, Dante moved to the far left of the chamber, taking his seat beside Frreral.
"Now," Cyrin began, "we have a great many matters to attend to. Chancellor Dodonna has informed several of us that they will be requesting our aid in the coming days ahead, to which the Masters have agreed on unanimously."
"Agreed?" Dante interrupted, frowning. "What exactly do they mean by 'aid,' Master Jace?"
"This League of Systems will require that we take up a diplomatic presence to convince other systems to join."
"In other words," Frreral interjected, "we're helping to rally other systems to Chancellor Dodonna's cause. In exchange, the League will be helping us look for other Force Sensitives so as to rebuild this battered Order."
"And what of the Sith?" The Jedi Knight pressed. "Surely we can't sit idly by and wait for another war to greet us on our doorstep."
Ash shook his head. "That is another matter that comes in hand with another problem: Revan's Jedi."
Before anyone else could reply, the doors parted, revealing a Padawan leading a trio of Jedi.
"Speak of the Devil," Jolee muttered under his breath, watching the hooded Jedi enter the chamber.
Bowing out of respect for the Masters, the Padawan left, leaving the three Jedi in the inner circle of the chamber.
Bastila let out a gasp, feeling something emanate from the trio—most notably the lead Jedi. She could feel his eyes—or his presence—attempt to probe her mind. Regaining her composure, she closed her mind from the Force pushing the subtle touch away.
The memory of her battle with Atris sat too readily in her mind.
"Masters," the lead figure spoke in a rasp. "We were sent here at Revan's behest, hoping that we could lend whatever aid to you and hope that you will aid us in our goal for the elimination of the Sith."
Cyrin brought a hand up to stop him. "The Council will decide whether or not we shall help you." He sat up, leaning with keen interest. "For now, tell us why you have come."
Removing his hood, Lance took a step towards the Master. "As I said, Master, we have come at the behest of Revan."
Dante studied them carefully, feeling their presences more than he had when they were at the other side of the door. Curious, he thought, his eyes shifting to Lance. This one is most strong—and different from the others. His eyes shifted to Bastila, who kept her gaze focused on Lance.
Dante had felt Lance attempt to probe her mind, almost as if he were searching for something from her. He didn't know how or why he could feel the other Jedi attempt to touch Bastila's mind, but the Knight knew he had felt it.
Ignoring the attention of the Council, Lance produced a small circular shaped disk from within his cloak. With the casual flick from his thumb, a small human shaped image came to life.
His long hair was slick back for the moment, his goatee neatly trimmed. He wore some form of fibermesh armour that appeared alien to much of the Jedi in the chamber. The blue image made it harder to determine the colour of the armour, but it would have been easy to surmise that it was black.
His identity was confirmed when Bastila and Jolee glanced at one another in surprise.
Dante could feel a rush of emotions emanating from the naturally cool surface of Bastila.
It could only be one person: Revan.
"Greetings, Masters," Revan greeted, bowing deeply and returning his gaze back to where he assumed the addressees were, "it has been some time since I've left known space—and the Order. I regret to inform you that I bear bad news." He sighed rubbing his chin. "I know that I had made a mistake in ignoring the wisdom of the Council and taking the Order to wage a war against the Mandalorians. What Malak and I uncovered from the ruminations of the Star Forge was something that you had been looking for—the ever elusive presence. It seems that we had encountered the complete presence of the Dark Side: the Sith."
Cyrin glanced at Vandar, who returned the same disconcerting expression.
The elusive presence had been the cause of Revan's fall and the eventual collapse of a Galactic Republic that had stood for twenty-five thousand years.
Taking a moment, Revan brought a hand to his face, wiping his chin before speaking again. "I left known space to fight off the Sith threat—to set right what I had made wrong. The Galaxy needs us now more than ever." Lowering his head in shame—or in humility—Revan continued, "and what I ask is that you forgive me and aid myself and the Lost Jedi in this war so we can truly bring balance to the Force.
"I trust that General Windwalker will provide you with the coordinates and that Admiral Onasi will prepare the fleet. I will understand if the Order chooses not to take action, but I implore the Council that we do not hesitate for I surely believe that this is our last chance to rid the Galaxy of the Sith threat."
With that, the pint-sized figure of the revered warrior known as Revan dissipated, leaving the Council and Revan's Lost Jedi to contemplate the Jedi Knight's plea.
As if to replace the silence that reigned in the chambers, Lance cleared his throat and spoke first. "Perhaps it is in the Council's wisdom that you dispatch your remaining Jedi Knights to aid us in this threat?"
"That is up to the Council to discuss," Cyrin retorted, his brow raised.
The Jedi General flexed his jaw, muttering under his breath, "I see not much has changed in six years."
Before the hard-as-nails Master could answer that with a biting reply of his own, Bastila chimed in, "perhaps you should rest first. The last few days have been difficult on us all. We can convene after everyone returns with a refreshed mind."
Lance bowed deeply. "I trust in your wisdom, Master Shan. Revan was wise to select you for his mate."
Bristling, Bastila chose not to reply.
Jolee, however, felt the need to. "It would be better if you kept your thoughts to yourself. You're still young—and you're making a big mistake with assuming anything regarding Revan and Bastila's unique relationship."
Bowing deeply again, Lance only replied, "my apologies."
On queue, the pair of hooded Jedi behind him removed their hoods, allowing the scarlet rays of Coruscant's setting sun to shine on them.
"Masters," Lance continued, taking a step towards the right—closer to Bastila. "May I introduce you to Commanders Sorak Voh'emp and Aerys Maurita."
Aerys, a pale and bald Umbaran female bowed, her oak coloured cloak following her every movement. "Greetings, Masters," she spoke softly, uncannily reminding Bastila of a pre-jawless Malak. It didn't help the situation anymore that she also bore similar tattoos marked on her scalp.
Sorak, an Arkanian, merely bowed, her long white hair hidden within her cloak and her white eyes blinking with an almost imperceptible radiance about her. Her pale skin was highlighted with a scar that ran across her right eye to her chin, adding depth to her rather unremarkable features.
Dante noted this with mild interest, his focus fixated on the human General who seemed more intent on listening to his own voice than heed what the Council requested.
Atton, as usual, watched everything with keen interest while displaying a surprisingly impartial expression. Years of developing a Pazaak face had come in handy. He couldn't help but feel an age old feeling in the back of his mind. The hairs at the nape of his neck had begun to stand up.
Surprised, the scoundrel had his gaze focused on Lance. He could feel something from the man, but he could not be sure what it was.
Lance definitely came across as someone who definitely didn't fit in the picture.
What's more, Atton found some recognition in the man's presence and face.
He'd been spending the entire time trying to place where he had seen him.
Old habits died hard, and Atton hated it when there was someone whom he recognized but failed to remember.
It often meant the difference between life and death.
Bowing, Lance answered the Council's request. "Very well, Masters, we shall leave to rest. I trust you will have an answer soon?"
With a casual wave of his hand, Cyrin answered, "we will inform you when we have an answer."
With one fluid motion, the trio bowed, turned and left the chamber.
Sighing, Ash glanced at the Cyrin. "I think it is time the Council finally did something about this war. I agree with Dante—we should begin preparations to finally defeat the Sith."
"You're forgetting, old friend, that we're not as high in numbers as we once were," Jolee interjected. He brought a hand to scratch his chin, his mind deep in thought.
"Nonetheless," Cyrin spoke up again, "the Jedi Order is rebuilding and Revan is right. If we are to bring balance to the Force—if we are to begin rebuilding at all—it must start with the destruction of the Sith, once and for all."
"But," Bastila said, her eyes shifting to the door where the trio had left but a few short moments ago, "it would do for us to ensure that we take the steps necessary to defeating the Sith. Like the Terentateks we've faced before in the past, the Sith may rise up in another number of years—be it a thousand or ten."
"And what steps are those?" Ash asked.
His ears lowering, Vandar finally spoke the thought that was foremost on their minds. "Walking the fine line between Light and Dark we are. Only few ever dare to tread it—and even fewer there are to talk about it."
It had been some time since the meeting—almost three and a half hours—and Dante couldn't sleep. His mind was focused on the past few weeks. Things had happened that had irrevocably changed his life.
This wasn't like before—not during the Jedi Civil War.
This wasn't a single half-crazed Sith Lord he was facing.
He was about to face a group of Jedi that far surpassed his skills, and yet his mind was still focused on Rena.
Clad in nothing but shorts, he sat up from his bed, leaning over the edge and wiping away the grogginess of sleep from his face. The moonlight shone over his defined body and tousled hair.
"How do I go about finding you when I can't trace my own homing device?" He muttered, finally rising and moving towards the refresher.
Leaning down towards the steel coloured sink, he threw his hands under the faucet and felt cool water splash over them. Raising his hands, he splashed the remaining liquid over his face in an attempt to wake him completely.
Much had to be done this night.
He could ill afford more delays.
It would only be a matter of time before Rena would either be tortured or worse.
Flexing his hand determinedly he stared into his reflection. I won't let you down, Rena. I won't let you become another Rin—or Visas.
He focused on his face in the mirror, noting a subtle change. His eyes seemed more dull, his hair beginning to fade in its sheen.
Fingertips touching the reflection, Dante flinched.
He could feel the change that had come over him—even if it was minor.
His thoughts turned to the reflection. If I can feel it, what about the others? Looking away, the Jedi already knew the answer.
"I have to move quickly."
Wasting no time, he quickly donned his clothing—simple dark robes—and he left his quarters.
He needed a lightsaber and quickly.
By dawn, Dante would leave for Rena.
With or without Atton.
Stalking through the silent and rather early night, he quickly made his way towards the training room.
Entering the room with the silent hissing of the doorway, he calmly and quietly moved towards a closet, ignoring the austere room and trying to forego the memories of when he and Rena trained on the white and brown framed mat.
His eyes rummaged through the number of lightsabers before him, giving him some time to pick a simple lightsaber that appeared no more than a holdout weapon if he had ever seen one. Looking around to ensure no one else was around; his thumb touched the small red activation plate, watching an emerald shaft of energy snap forth.
Quickly rolling the silver and bronze hilt in his hand, he thumbed the plate once more, ignoring the retreating energy. Grabbing another hilt—this one with a strange hook on its emitter that appeared to resemble a dial—Dante holstered both on his belt and made his way to the door, only to come face to face with none other than Windwalker.
"Master Ravenmoon," he greeted, a smile plastered on his face. "What a surprise. I was just coming here to practice my skills."
Dante nodded, just what I need. "Yes, well, I better get out of your way then, Master Windwalker."
"Lance," he corrected, causing the Jedi Knight to pause for a moment.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You may call me Lance." He ran a hand through his dark brown hair, while smiling sheepishly at Dante, who merely frowned for a moment.
"Well then, Lance," Dante said, smiling mirthlessly, "I shall leave you to attend to your duties."
Raising a hand to protest, Lance managed to delay the Knight again, who was growing slightly agitated. "If you don't mind my asking, Master Ravenmoon, what were you doing in the training room?"
Raising a brow, Dante merely replied, "that is none of your concern. Now, please don't disturb me again, Lance."
Almost as if it were a temptation, Lance blurted, "I thought that perhaps we could spar—I'm always up for a partner."
Exhaling deeply and attempting to center himself, Dante quickly replied, "another time perhaps. Now I must really get going." He took a few steps and added, "goodbye."
Scowling, the Jedi soldier replied, "good night."
Ignoring the other man, Dante journeyed to his quarters, sealing the door shut and quickly removing his newly acquired lightsabers and planting them on a desk in front of his bed. Removing a light source from his bedside, he quickly placed it over the desk and set himself to work.
He pulled a drawer back, removing a few components, and closed it shut.
With an expert's grace, he removed the safety caps on the lightsabers, and quickly unscrewed the sealants that kept the cylindrical weapons assembled.
Ignoring the depressurizing hiss, he quickly placed a small socket into the power cell, followed by a small doughnut shaped cap he placed just above the power input.
Quickly dismantling the other lightsaber, he removed the red activation plate and placed it in another groove just above the smaller holdout lightsaber he was working on.
Narrowing his eyes, the Jedi quickly snapped the pieces together again, removing the power cell and other vital components from the other lightsaber completely.
Casting the pieces aside, he sealed the holdout lightsaber and in one fluid motion, he rose, his thumb tapping the silver activation plate to witness the satisfaction of an emerald snap-hiss.
Dante brought his thumb to the washer and rotated it clockwise, taking in delight as he picked up one of the broken shafts from the spare lightsaber and watched it gradually turn to molten slag.
"Excellent," he whispered, deactivating the blade and placing the remainder of his components in a bag. Locking the washer shaped power distributor to keep it at its maximum setting, the Jedi Knight felt complete once more.
Almost.
His mind turned back to the past, remembering Rena and attempting to touch her through their bond but to no avail.
"I won't let you go," he vowed, his fists balled and his anger rising to the surface. He no longer cared about the perils of the Dark Side. His only goal was to see Rena unharmed and to be far from the Sith—clone or not, she was still the last link in his life.
Removing his clothes, he lay back on the bed, his hands cupping the base of his skull as he looked up at the bleach white ceiling. I'm coming for you as soon as I find a way. I won't let you go and I will not let you become like the others.
Closing his eyes, Dante's last thoughts were not of Rin or Visas, but of a deep meditation grove far off in the corner of his mind. There came violet blossoms that flew in the air all around him, and he had not a care in the world.
There came the arms of someone that wrapped around him, whispering and laughing with him, while unknown birds chirped in the background and the sun bathed them in warmth.
In that grove, Dante was happy.
His thoughts were of Rena.
The night air was cold and bothered him immensely, but he paid it no mind. He'd be paid a lot of money soon for shipping cargo from a Core World to the Outer Rim. Normally slaves didn't cost much, but for the quality and quantity of the ones that were soon going to arrive, Kadir didn't mind.
He looked at his partner, an older and much bulkier human man who smelled as badly as the fused engine coils in the ship's nacelles.
The older man scratched his scruffy chin, while a puff of smoke left the corner of his mouth.
Kadir didn't mind anymore.
Faden had raised him like his own kid and had taught him much about hygiene and money.
The Galaxy revolved around credits and whoever had the most was ensured a lifetime of freedom.
Rubbing his cold arms with his hands, Kadir looked at the man again, who seemed to take no notice of the younger man's exchange—or the cold for that matter.
Faden always seemed to fill Kadir with surprises.
"The night's just a little cool, that's all," he muttered under his breath, getting a hearty chuckle from the rotund man who towered over him.
"I've raised you since you were a kid in the cold reaches of space and yet you seem to always feel cold when you're planetside." Shaking his head and lighting up a new cigara, Faden finally glanced at Kadir. "Guess that's what happens when you live on a ship for 20 years."
"22," Kadir corrected sourly.
Faden flashed him a toothy, yet stained, grin. "Get back inside then—I can handle this transaction myself."
The younger man shook his head determinedly. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, old man," he replied. "You might need my help—remember what happened back on Tatooine."
Faden shook his head. "Forget about it, Kaddy. That was years ago."
Puffing his chest as high as he could, Kadir continued. "But those kids would have brought us a lot of money—especially since the Jedi Order wanted them."
Faden scowled. "Yeah, well, the Hutts seemed intent on wanting them—plus I scored us some extra cash from that iktotchi fella."
Kadir shook his head and scrunched his face up. "I will never seem to understand why he didn't want those kids to go to Coruscant, unlike those two Jedi."
"Yeah, well, tough break. That's the way of the Universe, Kaddy—learn it."
Kadir merely snorted as a reply.
Before Faden could mouth a reply, footsteps echoed throughout the large landing pad that was the Corellian Starport.
"Ah, here comes our client now," Faden managed before moving his hand lower to unclip his blaster—for safety reasons.
The figure that arrived was well hidden within the night's shadows and whatever shade came from the hood that covered most of his face.
"You have your weapon out," he said calmly, his dark cloak covering his entire body, save for his lips and chin.
"Yeah, well, it's for safety reasons—can't be too careful in this day and age, you know?"
The figure said nothing.
Kadir watched this with some trepidation, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. It all seemed familiar to him—almost as if it were a repeat of the Tatooine run a few years back during the Jedi Civil War. His hand went to his blaster that was strapped to his thigh. Removing it, he took a step forward to join Faden and the mysterious client in the conversation.
"So it's as we agreed?" The figure asked, his voice light and agreeable.
"Yeah," Faden growled, scratching his graying stubble. "That'll be about fifty thousand credits—all hard, none of this account crap."
"Hmph," the client replied, his thin lips turning up into a smile.
"What are you smiling about?" Faden asked, his brow up and cigara smoke writhing around the pair.
"And where's the cargo?" Kadir inquired, his brow furrowing. Good thing you have me, old man—he doesn't look like he's going to pay us.
"Oh, they're here," the client said. "And you'll receive your payment shortly." Turning to leave, the client was stopped abruptly by a firm grip that caught his arm.
"I want our money now," Faden ordered, his voice hard. "And no funny business."
Turning around, the client's lips curled up in a mirthless smile. "Remove your hand—I will."
Faden's grip tightened. "No payment, no service."
"Fine," he answered, turning around. "But I warned you."
Kadir froze in fear, his eyes watching as the burly man went flying into the hull of their large and worn freighter.
Before he could say anything, an emerald shaft of energy shot forth and blurred to the right.
Faden's expression was one of mild surprise, pain and fear.
Kadir could only keep his eyes on the eyes of Faden, whose head now rolled to Kadir's feet.
In a panic the young man turned and raced into the cargo hold of his ship while its doors began to close, trapping the client and his cargo on the outside.
Knocking aside rusty cargo containers and spare parts that lay strewn across the floor, Kadir jumped into the cockpit, his hands flying all over the controls. His chest was heaving in a panic, hoping it wasn't too late to escape. With a fervency matched only by his will to live, Kadir opened a channel, emitting a distress signal while impatiently waiting for the lumbering ship's engines to start.
There came a slow mechanical whine from the stern of the ship, and Kadir could only whine, "come on! Come on!"
Almost as if to reply, the communication systems crackled to life.
"This is Corellian Security, what is the problem?" A voice spoke, almost as if it were CorSec's dispatching unit.
Startled and regaining his composure, Kadir quickly spoke into the channel. "I need help—my name is Kadir. There's someone trying to kill me!"
"Stay calm," the voice said, "we will have a unit dispatched to you in a moment. Where is your location?"
"At the landing pads," Kadir replied with desperation. He ignored the sweat coming down his face and he begun to hyperventilate. "H-h-hurry, I don't have much time!"
"Just calm down, sir—stay with me," the voice replied.
Before Kadir could say anything else, he felt the cold touch of metal against his temple.
"Call them off," the client said, his voice soft and quiet.
"Kadir?"
The young man continued to hyperventilate, his breathing growing shallow and quicker with each and every passing moment.
"Hello? Kadir?"
"Call them off," he said again, his voice hard and commanding.
Almost as if he no longer feared to his life, Kadir's breathing slowed down and he quickly depressed a button, his voice filled with a monotonous drone. "Everything is all right; it's been a mistake, officer."
"Good," the client said, the smile easily felt underneath that one single word.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, officer—everything seems fine now."
Without bothering to hear the reply, the client quietly ordered, "now close the channel."
Kadir did as obeyed; an imaginary heavy weight pressed against his chest, compelling him to listen to the man's every command.
"Now give me the access codes to this ship."
Once more, Kadir did as he was told, his hands flying over the controls with an expert's grace. Planting a datapad into a slot located to his right, Kadir tapped a key and then said, "all access codes are on the datapad."
The client smiled. "Then you're no longer needed."
Oblivious to what the man said, Kadir sat upright.
The cool metal surface of the lightsaber sent the green energy out the other side of the man's temple, quickly retreating once the deed was done.
Holstering his weapon, the client turned to face a pair of dark clad Jedi. "Dispose of his body and unlock the bay doors. I'll inform our master."
Nodding to carry out his will, the client turned and left the ship, removing a small round holoprojector. Tapping the key, he was soon rewarded with another hooded figure, this one's features more pale and his nose visible from the hood.
"Tapping the key, he was soon rewarded with another hooded figure, this one's features more pale and his nose visible from the hood.
"Yes?" The Dark Lord Julius inquired.
"All is going as planned, my Lord," he reported.
"Excellent," Julius said, his thin lips forming into a toothy smile. "Have the Jedi suspected?"
He shook his head. "No, Master. It would appear that they believed the entire facility was destroyed—along with all of the raw material."
"Then things are truly going as planned. How about the material?"
"They're still raw and blank, but we can program them very soon."
"See to it that they meet the rendezvous coordinates. The Galaxy shall watch as Revan leads our armies once more."
"Yes, my Master."
"The Jedi won't suspect the activation of weapon either. See to it that those materials are sent to the testing grounds. We need to see if the ultimate weapon is ready. We can ill afford to make one mistake—our enemies are ruthless."
"Yes, my Lord. I've already ensure that the other materials are en route to the testing grounds. These clones will be on their way as soon as I've finished this report."
"Then see to it," Julius snarled, his image fading.
Pocketing the projector in his cloak, the agent merely quipped, "as you wish, Lord Julius." Turning around, he smiled widely, looking at where the fifty clones stood, just in front of the large bulky freighter that would send them to carry out their uses.
The Galaxy wouldn't know what hit them.
Neither would the Jedi.
The coming war was just getting started and already the Sith had the advantage. It would only be a matter of time before the Sith would claim the Galaxy as their own.
