Coruscant's night was never truly dark. Even through the Jedi Temple's great windows, the city's lights bled upward in rivers of gold and white. Kaelen stood on one of the upper balconies, the hum of traffic far below blending with the whisper of the wind against the spires.
He had hoped sleep would come after the Tatooine campaign, but rest had grown rare. Every time he closed his eyes, the visions returned.Tonight was no different.
He gripped the railing until his knuckles whitened. The Force rippled through him, heavy and cold, and the world shifted.
He stood not on Coruscant but amid ruin—skies black with ash, oceans of fire below. Warriors in beskar fought Jedi in robes of gray and white.Ships blazed through the clouds, falling like dying stars.And in the distance, a lone figure watched: a man in red-black armor, masked, his presence vast and sorrowful.
"Revan…" Kaelen whispered.
The vision changed. The battlefields faded into silver towers that pierced storm-clouds—the shining world of Zakuul, though Kaelen did not know its name. He saw golden-armored knights kneeling before a pale emperor whose eyes were endless void. Worlds crumbled at his gesture.Then everything shattered, collapsing into shadow and silence.
Kaelen jolted awake on the balcony floor, breath ragged. His saber lay beside him, unlit, but his heart still pounded with the echo of that dark power.
The next morning, the Temple felt colder.Kaelen moved through the training halls in silence, ignoring the curious looks from other Padawans. His thoughts spun with the images from the night before.
When Obi-Wan entered the chamber, Kaelen straightened. "Master, may I speak with you privately?"
Obi-Wan studied him, reading the tension in his posture. "Of course."
They walked to one of the meditation rooms overlooking the city. Light streamed through the latticework windows, painting soft lines across the floor.
Kaelen hesitated before speaking. "I've been seeing things in the Force. Battles… planets I don't recognize. A man in a mask. They feel ancient—older than the Republic."
Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. "Describe them."
"Warriors in Mandalorian armor fighting Jedi. Entire worlds burning. Then another place—metallic, gold, full of energy. And a presence stronger than anything I've ever felt."
Obi-Wan folded his arms, thoughtful. "You're certain they're not simply fragments of memory from your heritage?"
"No," Kaelen said quietly. "They're… clearer than memory. More like echoes."
Obi-Wan paced once across the room. "The archives hold little from that era. After the fall of the old Republic and the first Jedi Purges, most records were lost—or sealed beyond access. But I recognize the name you spoke: Revan. He was… a figure of legend."
"Legend?" Kaelen frowned.
"Yes. Some say Jedi Knight, others Sith Lord. Perhaps both. The Council deemed the full accounts unreliable centuries ago. If any truth remains, it's buried deeper than even I can reach."
Kaelen's frustration bled into his voice. "Then how do I make sense of what I'm seeing?"
Obi-Wan considered, then gave a small nod. "There is one who might help. Master Yoda. His understanding of the Force surpasses all of us. Tell him exactly what you've told me."
Kaelen hesitated. "Do you believe me, Master?"
Obi-Wan met his gaze. "I believe the Force speaks in many tongues. Sometimes it chooses strange messengers. Go to Yoda. Listen carefully to what he tells you."
Coruscant's Jedi Council Chambers
The Council chamber was quiet except for the hum of repulsor panels keeping the seats aloft. Kaelen knelt in the center, the sunlight from the high dome spilling around him like a halo.
Master Yoda's silhouette stood against the light."Visions, you say. Of Mandalorians… and wars long past."
"Yes, Master," Kaelen answered. "And of a world of gold and shadow. I don't understand them."
Yoda's ears drooped slightly as he leaned on his cane. "Understand, you may not. But listen, you must. The Force remembers what minds forget."
Kaelen frowned. "Then these visions are real?"
"Real, and not real," Yoda said. "Echoes, perhaps. Whispers of old conflicts the galaxy would rather bury."
"I saw a man named Revan."
Yoda's eyes half-closed. "A name not spoken here for many generations. Records lost, they were. Erased, perhaps. Dangerous, perhaps."
"Why would the Jedi erase their own history?"
"Fear," Yoda said simply. "Fear that knowledge of darkness will call darkness again." He tapped his cane once. "But the Force—forget, it does not."
Kaelen bowed his head. "Then what am I supposed to do with these visions?"
"Observe. Do not chase them," Yoda replied. "Seek balance within, before seeking truth without. When the time comes, the Force will show what must be seen."
"But what if these wars return?"
Yoda's gaze met his, ancient and kind. "Then face them, we will. As Jedi always have."
That night, Kaelen meditated in the archives. Around him, endless shelves of data crystals glimmered softly in the dark. He searched the index for Revan, Mandalorian Wars, Zakuul—each query returned the same response: NO RECORD FOUND.
Frustration gave way to resolve. If the truth was gone from the archives, then he would learn it another way—through the Force itself.
He closed his eyes, breathing slow.
The Force stirred, vast and deep, and for an instant he felt the echo again: a voice half-familiar, whispering across time.
"The galaxy forgets. But blood remembers."
Kaelen's eyes opened.Outside the archive window, lightning flashed over Coruscant's towers.
He didn't know whether the vision was warning or invitation—but he knew this was only the beginning.