"When they left after the Mandalorian Wars ended, they were Jedi. When they returned... they were something else."
-Carth Onasi
During the final battle of the Mandalorian War at Malachor V, Revan had discovered something disturbing about Mandalore the Ultimate, finding that he had been manipulated by a greater power than them.
They had ignored the Jedi Council's orders to come back and under the guise of pursuing the surviving Mandalorians, they started their journey to find the one that had manipulated everything. Nathema, a planet devoid of not only life but of the Force, was the first one, leading them here, to Dromund Kaas.
Though the clue was only found on the frigid planet of Rekkiad, where they found Dramath the Second's tomb. They discovered the Sith Lord's tomb hidden in a giant pillar of ice and found a datacron that took them to the next leg of their journey. To punish the Mandalorians, he had left Mandalore's mask in the tomb. The once great warrior people would wander without a leader for a long time, dealing a severe blow to their culture.
Now, after countless months of observation, endless research, and biding their time in the shadows posing as mercenaries, the culmination of their plan was finally within reach. It was all thanks to the Sith Emperor's Chief Guard, Yarri, who betrayed her master in order to help them eliminate him.
Yarri, a Pureblood Sith, wore a crisp crimson uniform, accented with black and gold trimmings, that lacked any sort of wrinkle. It was impeccable. A matching crimson kepi hat perched perfectly atop her head, completing the ensemble along with her polished black boots.
In one hand, she carried a vibrostaff, that was deactivated, for now. Her other hand rested lightly on the grip of a blaster holstered at her hip. Her raven hair was styled into an impeccable bun, not a single strand out of place, and a rank insignia plaque gleamed on her chest, showing her high rank in the hierarchy of the Sith Empire.
Revan exchanged a subtle glance with Malak as they trailed a few feet behind Yarri, checking to see if his friend was ready. They had traded their mercenary clothing in favor of their familiar armor, Malak his red robes, draped with black cloth and Revan, his own armor hidden underneath the flowing black robes of a cloak.
The Jedi Knight could feel the darkness clawing at his mind, whispering promises of power and dominance. He didn't flinch. The darkness no longer bothered him. To the duo, it was a force to be wielded, a tool to further their goals.
Both he and Malak had cast aside the restrictive tenets of the Jedi Code long ago, recognizing it as an anchor that chained warriors to weakness. The Light, in their eyes, was incompatible with the brutal realities of war. Its idealism could not deliver the decisive blows required to win.
Perhaps it was this belief that drove Revan to create HK-47, his peculiar yet effective assassin droid that rather loved to kill 'meatbags.' He was quite useful in taking caring of problematic people. The Jedi Order had proven itself incapable of victory through their rigid adherence to morality. Revan's path demanded results, not empty promises, and the cost was their morals.
"Revan, I have a feeling this is a trap," Malak muttered, looking nervously at the dark walls decorated with tributes to the Sith.
Revan glanced at his old friend and couldn't help a wry smile beneath his mask. Though their bond had strained in recent months, he still found moments to tease Malak. "Ah, yes, just like that time on Kashyyyk when you had a 'feeling' there was something lurking in the woods," he replied, playfully nudging his friend.
Malak grimaced at the memory; his pale features being tinted with a shade of pink. The sight of an old crazy man, completely nude and babbling nonsense like a deranged hermit to ward off intruders, had been an image burned into their minds forever.
"Well—" Malak began, clearly intending to defend himself, but Revan wasn't finished.
"Or that time on Dantooine..." Revan continued without missing a beat, taking on a thoughtful tone.
"Alright, alright," Malak cut him off before he could finish the embarrassing memory. Obviously, he didn't want to relieve the memory of breaking a Master's precious artifact in the enclave on Dantooine. "You've made your point."
The Jedi General chuckled. "I'm only teasing, Brother, but you must learn to temper your worries. We've come too far for hesitation."
His brother sighed. "Do you think this is truly the right path? Everything about this feels... wrong."
Underneath the mask, his features hardened. The darkness in him rose up in response, though he quickly shoved it down. Now was not the time. "There's no turning back now, Malak. This path is inevitable. We knew the risks when we began."
Malak's deep grey eyes looked into the black slit of his mask, searching for anything that could assure him, but all he found was the quiet determination of a man who had long since reconciled with the darkness.
He had learned to mask his emotions, a useful skill, though he couldn't help the tension in his posture. His eyes scanned every shadow and every movement that was made. Each winding corridor they traversed was barren, devoid of guards or sentries. For a high-security citadel housing one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy, it was oddly empty.
Revan couldn't help but feel a growing unease. The absence of visible defenses was wrong. He had expected some resistance, yet there was none. Perhaps his brother was right. He glanced briefly at Malak, whose hand had drifted to the hilt of his lightsaber.
Eventually, they arrived at a set of grand double doors. Carved onto the gilded doors was the language of the Sith, something that he could only partially decipher. He had studied their language for a little bit in Trayus Academy, though the war had been more pressing than his studies of the dark side.
That didn't stop him from reestablishing the Trayus Academy, unbeknownst to Malak, creating a stronghold to be used for later. It was there that he began to embrace into the darkness that he had realized carried him through the war, introducing Malak to it as well. Remarkably, not even one year later the academy somehow survived the Mass Shadow Generator.
A gruesome image was etched into the cool metal. A Sith Lord standing atop the bloody mountains of his enemies, the Jedi, raising his lightsaber victoriously into the air. Beneath his feet was a Jedi, whose features were twisted into horror and fear as their life was drained.
Yarri stopped abruptly before the doors, pivoting to face them. Her icy black eyes locked onto them, coldly scanning the pair. Her expression was unreadable as she pursed her lips. "This is where the Emperor resides, Master Jedis," she said with an accent that Revan couldn't place. "Good luck."
"There's no such thing as luck," he stated coolly.
Yarri didn't say anything as she stepped aside, granting them access to the doors. Revan inhaled deeply, then exhaled, calming himself. He glanced at Malak, who drew his lightsaber, staring determinately at the door.
Revan's gloved hand found his lightsaber and he pulled it off his belt, ready to ignite it at the moment's notice. The Jedi General reached out with the Force, envisioning what he wanted it to do. The massive, gilded doors resisted for a moment, but his will overwhelmed them, and they groaned open.
As the doors parted, the man couldn't help the stirrings of an old memory. How many times had Malak pulled this same trick when they were younger? Back then, Malak would use the Force to rip open his door and enter his chambers unannounced. The word "knock" was entirely absent from his vocabulary. Revan would groan, irritated, yet unable to suppress a smirk. But those carefree days felt like a lifetime ago.
And Meetra—
His jaw tightened at the thought of her. Meetra, the third of their trio, had left them—left him. She had returned to the Jedi Council and ceded to their demands, seeking to "atone for their sins."
What sin was there to atone for? They had saved the galaxy from the Mandalorian Crusaders! They had brought peace through their actions when the Jedi could not! Even Malachor V, the darkest moment of the war, was a necessary evil in his eyes. He had no regrets, not then and not now.
When Malak wanted to kill her by utilizing his recently droid, he had refused. She had already been punished by stripping herself of her Force connection and though he conveyed that with his brother, a small part of him had spared her because she had once been a close friend to him. But she had become disillusioned with them and the war. Now, she was dead to them.
The image of their younger selves—Revan, Malak, and Meetra, the inseparable trio—standing beneath the golden sun of Dantooine smiling and laughing flashed through his mind. The darkness in him unfurled, attacking the light that threatened to chase away the necessary darkness. Sentiment had no place here. The Light would not save them; it had failed before. The only path forward was through the abyss.
Brave the darkness to find true light.
They stepped inside and were immediately overwhelmed by the intensity of the darkness inside. It was dark, yet bright. The room was large, having statues on either side of the wall, separated by pillars that rose to the towering ceiling, which depicted a planet being destroyed by a ritual. Nathema, Revan realized.
Blue flames burned atop each pillar, reflected on the mirror-like obsidian floors. At the far of the chamber, there was a large window that overlooked the city of Dromund Kaas. Thundering and eternally raining skies, brought on by the experiments of the Sith Emperor.
Right underneath it was a throne. It resembled a claw, reaching up and grasping something that they couldn't see. Upon it sat a dark figure, cloaked in shadow. The light from the windows seem to recoil away from the figure. Revan could feel the power swirling around the being, the source of the great darkness of this planet.
The Sith Emperor. The manipulator who had orchestrated so much suffering and pain, the true architect of the Mandalorian War. This was the moment he and Malak had been preparing for. They would face the Emperor and end his reign of terror. They would save the galaxy once more, no matter the cost.
Sharing a quick nod with his friend, Revan ignited his lightsaber, Malak following suit. They took careful steps to the throne, finding that the closer they got, the thicker the darkness become. It pressed down on them, weighing them down.
Suddenly, he felt the dark side coiling around them, drawing away from the chamber and gathering near the throne, concentrating on... them. It started to press down on their minds, probing their strong mental defenses.
"Revan and Malak," the Emperor hissed. "You have come to challenge me." It wasn't a question.
Revan couldn't help the shiver than ran through his body. Hearing the Emperor's voice was like listening to a choir of a thousand voices unanimously speaking. Perhaps of all the lives that had had absorbed in his twisted ritual. The thought did little to comfort him.
The Jedi Knight opened his mouth to response, but before a word could escape, the Sith Master extended a hand. A devasting wave of dark power erupted from him, slamming into them like a meteor. They were tossed back like ragdolls.
"You are arrogant fools to think you can beat me." The Sith hadn't even moved from his position on his throne. Revan quickly realized that the Sith Emperor wasn't just a practitioner of the dark side; he was the dark side, an embodiment of its will and power. It was terrifying. "I have lived for millennia, beat all of my enemies. Do you think two mere Jedi could fell me?"
Revan got to his feet, calling his lightsaber to his grasp. Before he could ignite it, it was ripped from his grasp and tossed to the side. Malak groaned as he got to his feet, finding himself in a similar predicament as his friend.
"But perhaps, you could still be of use to me."
The darkness drew back again, to its rightful lord and master, concentrating into a powerful mass of darkness. Then, it lashed out at them.
Revan barely had time to brace himself before an invisible force slammed against his mental defense, seeking to tear them apart. He could feel the Emperor's will—cold, relentless, and utterly dominating—pressing into his thoughts.
Obey. Kneel. Submit.
The words weren't spoken but etched into the very fabric of his being. His hands flew to his head instinctively, though it wouldn't help the overwhelming assault on his psyche. Beside him, Malak fell first. The larger man staggered, crying in pain as he dropped to one knee, clutching his head in agony.
His features were twisted in pain, body trembling under the onslaught. Revan spared him a glance, his heart sinking as he watched his friend struggle. Malak had always been the bolder, more forceful of the two, but in that moment, he was utterly powerless.
"Malak!" Revan called, but there was no response.
His brother's hands suddenly fell limply to his sides, his head bowed in eerie stillness. His shoulders slumped, and Revan realized that the Emperor had gotten to his friend.
The Jedi Knight hissed as the assault turned fully on him. The Emperor's presence was an overwhelming tide of darkness that crashed against his mind, wearing away his defenses. The words came again, louder this time, more insistent: Obey. Kneel. Submit.
He fought with every ounce of his strength, calling on the Force to fortify his mind, to rebuild his cracking shields. He had not come this far to fall now. He couldn't. But the Sith Emperor's will was relentless and the pressure only intensified. His mental barriers cracked further, the fractures spreading like a web of splintered glass.
Memories surfaced as the Emperor slowly wriggled into his mind. Malachor V. The Mandalorian Wars. Meetra Surik walking away. The faces of the dead, the screams of the dying, the weight of every decision he had ever made.
Obey. Kneel. Submit.
Revan gritted his teeth, struggling to breathe. He needed to resist—
OBEY.
The Jedi General trembled, squeezing his eyes shut. He was Supreme Commander of the Republic Military, Jedi Knight of the Order, conqueror of the Mandalorians—
KNEEL.
He was Revan. The prodigal Knight of the Jedi Order, disobeying the Council to save the galaxy. He was servant to- to—
No one. The Emperor. His Master. Nononono!
SUBMIT.
And he did. Revan fell to one knee, bowing his head before the Master. The darkness that had crushed his mental defense was now twisting its way deeper into this mind, weaving through the fabric of his very identity. He could feel it slithering through his thoughts, prying apart the barriers of his consciousness.
The Jedi General felt it tearing through his mind, rifling through his memories like they were pages in a book. He tried to resist, but it was futile. His thoughts were laid bare, every secret exposed to the dark figure seated on the throne.
The presence pulled his earliest memories. Revan saw himself as a child, traumatized from the devastation at his homeworld Deralia, looking at the blind Kreia. Standing next to her was Vrook, the less likable Master of the two. Never had he wanted him. Always criticizing. Always suspicious.
The presence moved on, seemingly growing impatient. It sifted through the days of his youth, when he first met Malak in the Dantooine enclave. The boy was all alone, nobody wanted to be around the overaged boy that had been brought from his village, Squinquargesimus, to the Jedi. An unpronounceable name to most. He was quiet and shy, never looking at anybody.
Nobody wanted to be next to the accursed boy, lest the Mandalorians come and take them too. Revan wasn't afraid of him. He helped the boy in his studies, steadying him with the Force and he had rapidly improved. They grew close.
Then Meetra—
Dark emotions churned on the surface. Anger. Betrayal. Hatred.
More memories flashed by. Defying the Jedi Council, who were fools not to see the threat the Mandalorians posed! He was frustrated, angry and determined to not allow anymore to be killed by their enemy's hands. He had thought himself righteous then, a savior of the galaxy. He was!
Emotions long buried were extracted, brough to the surface. Pride, arrogance, and a hunger for power.
The Master's presence delved further, deeper into his psyche, tearing through the brightest moments of his life, all but shoving them aside. Then came the darker moments, the ruthless and cunning to conquer his enemies, the defeat of Mandalore the Ultimate.
The man lay there on the floor, dying and coughing, grasping at his own sword weakly that Revan had stabbed him with. It protruded from his side and his movements only worsened the pain.
"It... wasn't supposed to end like this..."
Revan ripped off the man's mask, looking into the painfilled emerald eyes that held great darkness, slowly receding away. Pale features were bloody and contorted into rage and pain as he shook.
"It tricked us..."
"What tricked you?"
Mandalore whimpered, eyes darting left and right, searching for something. Though Revan didn't know what.
"It... stares at you with blackened eyes. Its voice... breaks... it breaks... through any conviction you might have. It tells you to walk... and you do so like you've always wanted to. It never... sleeps. Always awake. It... never tires... never, never. And it rests... out there, beyond the rim, waiting..."
More words were muttered, mostly incomprehensible as the man coughed up blood, his life slipping through his fingers. A few more words were muttered, and he almost didn't catch them. Rekkiad. Sith.
Then, he was gone. The end of the Mandalorian War was here. It was time.
Impressive.
Revan shivered at the praise, sensing that the Emperor found what he was looking for. The knowledge of the Republic, all its fleets and defenses and strategies and its weaknesses, was at his Master's fingertips. The Emperor desired to conquer the one thing that could stand in his way of a vision for his galaxy and now he knew everything about it.
The presence continued to search until it finally paused. It began to probe at the darkness within Revan, a part that he often kept under control, despite using it. That darkness—the anger, the ambition, the hunger for knowledge and power—had always been there, simmering beneath the surface. Revan had thought himself in control of it, believing that he could use the darkness without succumbing to it.
The Jedi General felt the chains he had so carefully constructed begin to strain. The darkness within him stirred, clawing against its restraints, eager to be free. The Emperor didn't force it out—he simply whispered to it, coaxing it, feeding it.
It responded to its master, surging forward, flooding Revan with unimaginable power that he could no longer contain. It felt... good. It wrapped around his heart and mind, drowning out everything else. The darkness corrupted and twisted everything, bringing a burning desire for more.
His thoughts quickly turned to the Republic, guided by an unseen hand. The Republic—the Jedi—were the reason for everything wrong in this galaxy, holding him and countless other back. They were weak. They were unable to see their doom until it was in their faces. They were a stagnant beast that needed to be put down. Both the Republic and the Jedi needed to be destroyed.
Only a firm hand could rule the galaxy. And it was not the Jedi.
He had one singular purpose: the destruction of the Republic and the rise of the Sith.
Revan dared to meet the gaze of his Master. Words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. "What is thy bidding, my Master?"
Twin voids that seemed to stretch endlessly into nothingness stared back at him. They weren't merely looking at him; they were piercing his very essence. Revan felt stripped bare, his soul laid open before this ancient and malevolent being. There was no pity in those dark voids, only cold calculation and infinite malice. Yet, in that emptiness, he also sensed power—limitless, unfathomable power.
The man's mind flood with images. Visions of war, conquest, and power. Entire fleets darkened the skies, descending upon unsuspecting worlds. Cities burned, their inhabitants bowing before the might of the Sith. And at the center of it all, a lone figure stood, draped in shadow, his hand extended as billions knelt before him.
"You seek purpose, and I shall give it to you," the Emperor began, slowly rising from his throne. He approached his two servants, forcing them to look at him. "I will grant you the tools to forge an empire that will burn this galaxy. There exists a weapon of great power, the creation of an ancient civilization—one that will give you the strength to annihilate the Republic and bring the Jedi to their knees. It is called the Star Forge."
Star Forge. It sounded familiar. Perhaps it had something to do with the Star Maps. He, with Malak, were drawn to the darkness of the one Dantooine, just days after they was Knighted and just before they joined the war effort. Then, there was the one on Kashyyyk, where they had been chasing any renegade Mandalorians that might have escaped. They were also drawn to its darkness.
"To find the Star Forge," the Emperor continued, "you must first locate the all the Star Maps. Scattered across the galaxy, these ancient relics will guide you to its location. You have already found two. Seek out the rest, and the Forge will reveal itself."
The promise of power feed the darkness within him. He glanced at Malak, who seemed equally enthralled by the Emperor's vision. Finding the Star Maps, they would uncover the secrets of the Star Forge and create an army to conquer the already weakened Republic.
The Emperor's void-like gaze shifted to Revan. "You will act as one," their Master decreed. "You are no longer Jedi. You are Sith. You will take new names to mark your rebirth. From this moment, you are Darth Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith."
Revan felt a shiver run through him and he bowed his head, accepting the mantle with pride.
The Sith's gaze drifted to Malak. "And you, Darth Malak. Together, you will carry out my will. Go now. Find the Star Forge. Build an empire worthy of the Sith. And when the Republic falls, you will return to me."
Darth Revan stole a glance at the former Jedi Knight, seeing a deep thirst in his eyes. His features hardened as he bowed his head and accepted his new title, watching as the Emperor returned to his seat.
Once their Master sat down, the new christened Sith Lords rose to their feet and bowed deeply. Revan spoke for both of them. "We will not fail you, my Master."
"For your sakes, you better not."
Their lightsabers that had been scattered on the floor were called back by the Emperor, hovering in front of them. Seeing the invitation, Darth Revan reached out and took his lightsaber the same time Darth Malak did. He clipped it to his belt and respectfully nodded, turning to leave.
The former Jedi felt the darkness clinging to him like a second skin, whispering promises of victory, of glory, of absolute dominion. For the first time, he fully embraced it, letting it guide his steps. He would not fail his master. They would destroy the weakness that plagued the galaxy.
They would burn, and from the ashes, a new empire would rise.
This idea came to me when I was reading about my favorite Star Wars character, Revan. During the war, he was twisted to the dark side by the Sith Emperor. I wanted an insight on his thoughts when this happened and searched for fanfictions about it, yet I found nothing.
Seeing this, I decided that I'd make myself. So, here it is, out there. I hope you enjoyed :)
There's also some elements in this story I took from Revan's Shadow by Knightfall on AO3. It's an amazing read. I highly recommend it.