"The dark side is strong in this place. I can feel its power!" Malak's voice carried a raw hunger as he closed his eyes, reveling in the energy that pulsed through the ancient ruins.

Revan barely acknowledged him. He paced before the massive sealed doors, his senses thrumming with anticipation. The power of the dark side emanated from the very walls, whispering to him, luring him deeper. Beyond the sealed threshold, something called to him, an artifact that pulsed with a hunger as intense as his own. This was it—the key to the Star Forge.

But even with his mastery of the Force, Revan was no fool. He would not step blindly into the unknown.

"Are you certain this is wise?" Malak asked, his voice carrying an edge of hesitation. "The Jedi sealed this place for a reason. If we step through these doors, we can never go back. The Order will banish us for this."

Revan turned sharply, fixing his apprentice with a cold stare. "Then turn back if you are afraid. But do not waste my time with doubt. Follow me, or don't. I care little either way."

Malak clenched his jaw but said nothing. Revan already knew his decision—he always followed.

Stretching out his hand, Revan reached through the Force, commanding the doors to obey. The ancient stone groaned in protest before parting, revealing the darkness beyond. Without hesitation, Revan strode forward, stepping into the long-forgotten chamber, his cloak billowing in the stale, heavy air.

The depths were utterly black, the kind of void that seemed to swallow light whole. The air was thick, pressing against him with a weight that carried both power and warning. Deep in the shadows, something stirred—watching, waiting. Revan could feel it, an energy unlike anything he had encountered before.

It was no Jedi. No Sith. No creature of flesh and bone.

Behind him, Malak hesitated, his presence tinged with unease. Weakness. It was why he would always be the apprentice, why Revan had surpassed him long ago. Fear clouded his mind, made him hesitate when he should act.

Then, from the depths of the ruin, a voice slithered through the air, low and resonant, carrying a weight that pressed against the very fabric of the Force.

"Welcome, traveler."

Talan's eyes snapped open, his breath coming in short gasps as cold sweat clung to his skin. The dark ruins, the ominous presence, the weight of the Force pressing down on him—gone. In its place was the familiar interior of the Ebon Hawk, the low hum of the ship's systems grounding him in reality. But the dream still clung to him like a shadow, a lingering presence that refused to fade.

Revan. Again.

He sat up, running a hand down his face in frustration. The dream wasn't just vivid—it had felt real. Too real. He hadn't just seen Revan's actions; he had been him, thinking his thoughts, speaking in his voice. He had felt the hunger for power, the certainty of his path, the growing impatience with Malak. But that was impossible. Revan was dead. Wasn't he?

Talan exhaled slowly, willing his heart rate to steady. He wasn't a weak man, but this... this was something beyond his control. And that terrified him.

The deep, rhythmic snores of Zaalbar and Canderous filled the room, a steady backdrop to his racing thoughts. Normally, the noise would be irritating, but now he found it oddly comforting. At least some things in his life remained constant.

Shaking off the last remnants of sleep, he swung his legs over the edge of his bunk and dressed quietly. The ship suddenly felt too small, its walls closing in on him, the recycled air stifling. He needed to get out. He needed space.

Stepping out into the early morning air of Dantooine, he took a deep breath, letting the crisp breeze wash over him. The sun was just beginning to rise, painting the horizon in streaks of orange and pink. It was peaceful here. He could understand why the Jedi had chosen this place to build their enclave—it radiated calm, something he desperately needed right now.

Yet, the unsettling weight in his chest remained.

He had never given Revan much thought before all this. He had seen the destruction left in his wake, but he had never been personally affected. Talan had been just another soldier, stationed too far from the front lines to ever matter. There had been no connection between him and the former Dark Lord—none that he was aware of, anyway.

So why did he keep dreaming of him? Why did it feel like Revan was whispering inside his own mind?

A voice from behind startled him. "This morning just keeps getting stranger," Carth said, stepping up beside him.

Talan turned, trying to school his features into something resembling normal. "Stranger how?" he asked, keeping his voice even.

Carth crossed his arms, watching him carefully. "First Bastila storms out of here looking like she's seen a ghost, and now you. What's going on with you two?"

Talan swallowed. That hit a little too close to the truth. He wasn't about to tell Carth about the dreams—not when the man already looked at him with a level of suspicion he didn't fully understand. If Carth knew he was dreaming of Revan, he'd probably have his blaster drawn before the conversation was over.

"Just had a rough night," Talan said dismissively.

Carth didn't look convinced, but he let it go. "She went to the enclave," he added. "Probably still in there, discussing Jedi secrets with the Masters."

His voice carried a bitter undertone, but Talan barely noticed. For the first time, he found himself agreeing with Bastila. If anyone had answers, it was the Jedi Council.

Talan had barely stepped into the Council chambers when he realized they had been expecting him.

The last time he stood before them had been two days earlier, when they had formally thanked him for his role in rescuing Bastila. Now, they regarded him with unreadable expressions, their eyes weighing him as if they could see right through him.

Master Vandar was the first to speak. "Bastila has informed us of a most... unusual development," he said in his slow, deliberate way. "She claims you and she have shared a dream—of Revan and Malak within the ruins not far from here."

Talan stiffened. "Shared a dream?" He repeated, his mind struggling to grasp what he was hearing. "How would she even know that?"

"She claims she felt your presence within it," Master Dorak explained. "Such visions often manifest as a sign of Force sensitivity."

There it was again. That phrase. He was growing tired of hearing it.

"It seems there is a bond between you," Zhar continued. "A connection formed through the Force. A rare occurrence, but not unheard of. Such bonds are usually found between Master and apprentice. But yours... formed rapidly. And with an intensity we have rarely seen."

Talan's gaze flickered to Bastila. She stood rigid, her expression neutral, but she refused to meet his eyes.

"You and she are linked," Zhar said. "What affects one of you will affect the other. Your destinies are now intertwined."

Talan took a slow breath, trying to process what he was hearing. "But how?" he asked. "I barely even know her."

"That is what we must determine," Dorak said. "Perhaps your abilities were stirred during the events on Taris. Or perhaps the Force has willed your paths to converge for a greater purpose."

Talan ran a hand through his hair. "A greater purpose," he echoed. "I already pulled her out of that cage on Taris. As far as I'm concerned, I've done my part."

He didn't need to look at Bastila to know she was glaring at him.

"The Force works in ways beyond our understanding," Zhar said. "We believe it is guiding you toward the Star Forge. Towards a confrontation with Malak."

Talan exhaled sharply. "That's insane. I'm just a soldier. What am I supposed to do against Malak?"

Master Vandar's gaze sharpened. "That is why we wish to train you."

Talan's breath caught in his throat. "Train me?" he asked, as if saying the words aloud would somehow make them less absurd.

Master Vrook, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, his voice lined with skepticism. "Master Zhar speaks out of turn. We cannot act without definitive proof of his abilities."

"Proof?" Bastila interjected, her voice unusually forceful. "Surely you can feel the power within him. I have already relayed what I witnessed on Taris."

"Perhaps it was luck," Vrook countered.

"There is no luck," Zhar shot back. "There is only the Force."

Talan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hold on," he said. "Why me? Why not send a Jedi Master after Malak?"

"A Jedi Master would draw too much attention," Vandar explained. "And Jedi are falling to the Dark Side at an alarming rate. The Force has chosen you to walk Revan's path. That is why you are having these visions."

Talan's stomach twisted. That was the last thing he wanted to hear.

"Sending this one could be dangerous," Vrook said. "If Revan were to return—"

"If Revan were to return?" Talan interrupted. "Why do I feel like I'm missing something here?"

A silence fell over the chamber.

"These are matters best discussed in private," Vandar said. "You and Bastila must return to your ship until we summon you. And do not speak of what you have heard with the others."

Talan clenched his fists. Nobody had asked if he even wanted this. If he wanted to be trained. The Jedi spoke as if his fate had already been decided, as if he were just some pawn in a game he hadn't agreed to play.

He turned to follow Bastila out of the chambers, wondering how many people could pinpoint the exact moment their lives changed forever.

Because for better or worse, he had a feeling this was his.