Sector A-733 had always been a dangerous place, even by the standards of the already blighted Level-1321. Dozens of minor gangs denied even a moment of peace to the few "lucky ones" forced to live in the surrounding hab-blocks. Illegal trade in weapons, spice, and occasionally even slaves flourished in the rotting heart of the Republic's capital.
Shootouts between criminal organizations were a common occurrence, and so locals were accustomed to ignoring the sound of blaster fire and the thunderous concussions of explosions.
However, what was currently happening in the abandoned cantina in Block H-22 forced even the most hardened residents to flee in terror. The building shook violently beneath a horrific crunch of collapsing bulkheads. Walls were sporadically stitched by bursts from a heavy-caliber blaster, or the blast of something very much like a thermal detonator created a new breach in the battered, crumbling structure. Nearby, the speeder of one of the Blind Eyes gang's combat teams, who had flown in to investigate the disturbance in their territory, burned after taking a stray shot.
The locals all wondered who could be causing such a scene in broad daylight? Which of the Coruscant crime lords had suddenly decided to settle a score in the long-suffering Sector A-733?
The question answered itself when a mangled droid carcass was thrown from a hole in the wall, only to be immediately slammed into by another. In the next instant, something silvery flashed in the dark gap of the wall breach and impaled the chest plate of the metal killer, which was attempting to rise to its feet.
Few in this sector had ever seen Jedi, and so only one of the curious onlookers, sheltered in the building across from the cantina, could identify their traditional weapon. But his terrified cry, "Jedi!" was heard by many. The observer immediately bolted from the battle zone, eager to get as far away, as quickly as possible.
No one knew why the petty street thief running down the thoroughfare was so afraid of the Jedi. Yet, when lightning struck the lightsaber hilt protruding from the chest of the assassination droid, a soul-chilling terror was felt by all. And soon, not a single sentient being remained in the vicinity of the beleaguered cantina. Everyone chose to follow the example of the frightened thief.
Watching all this, HK-47 merely snorted, not forgetting to add "Contemptuous statement" beforehand.
"Observation: Master is enjoying himself," the droid stated, assessing the flight of another metal assassin, which Revan had launched through two walls using a Force Push.
"Hey, psycho, what's the situation like?" Tira's voice crackled over the commlink. "A crowd of people is running here like they're escaping a herd of rancors."
"Condescending response: There is no cause for alarm. Master is engaged in negotiations," HK replied.
"...Hm. Understood," Nomad responded after a moment's hesitation. "Then, we wait."
"Affirmative."
Meanwhile, the battle inside the building still raged. In the first moments, Revan managed to repel the majority of the attackers with a radial Force Wave, which only by a miracle didn't hit Maul. However, this bought precious fractions of a second to mount the next attack. The human and the Zabrak darted through the hall like blurred shadows, deflecting blaster bolts and turning the metal assassins into useless piles of scrap.
The crimson blades of the lightsaber staff merged into a bloody vortex, protecting its wielder and bringing doom to his enemies. And a black blade, barely discernible in the dimly lit hall, along with its periodically flashing silver counterpart, rapidly reduced the droid population, creating the impression that they were being wielded by an unseen evil spirit.
Revan reveled in the fight. It had been a long time since he'd had a chance to stretch himself like this. By pitting droids against him, the Sith obviously hoped that the former Jedi would struggle with such an opponent. Metal soldiers are not living beings. They have no feelings, no emotions, no connection to the Force. It was impossible to read them, anticipate an attack, or leverage their anger for his own sustenance. And the more of them there were, the more dangerous it became. Battle Precognition could not always help.
Yet, Revan was accustomed to such adversaries. In his time, he had destroyed hundreds of droids, if not thousands. The Star Forge churned them out at a rate of five hundred per hour. How many of them the former Sith ultimately encountered in the corridors of the Rakatan space station, Revan preferred not to recall.
To his surprise, the ancient Sith noted that Maul also held his own confidently against the droids, despite the indecently large number of tin-cans surrounding them, all armed with automatic blasters. Not to mention the dozen Droidekas interspersed among the attackers. But the Zabrak skillfully moved out of the line of fire, forcing the enemy to engage in crossfire upon their own allies. Periodically, Revan had to divert his blade to avoid hitting the young warrior, who wasn't used to working in a pair. And a couple of times, the ancient one was forced to cover the back of the battle-focused Maul. However, overall, his presence did not hinder the ancient Sith. This suggested that the choice of an apprentice had been a successful one.
The two warriors continued a mesmerizing dance of chaos and destruction, gradually diminishing the droid count. A dash, a strike, a quick retreat, a roll, and a couple more tin-cans crashed to the floor as a useless heap of scrap. By the will of the Force, several ceiling panels collapsed onto a group of Droidekas, overloading their shields and crushing the hideous creations of the Colicoids.
The trap had been excellently prepared, and had anyone else among the Force-sensitives fallen into it, their chances of escape would have been slim. The density of the fire was too great. Only blade masters, who were also gifted in enhancing their own bodies and accelerating perception, had a chance of success.
The organizer himself had left the hall. However, Revan still sensed his presence nearby. Apparently, the Sith wanted to ensure the droids would accomplish their task. A wise move. But in his place, the ancient one would have joined the fray personally. He would not have entrusted the elimination of two Force-sensitives simultaneously, not even to HK.
The current state of affairs, as well as the complete carelessness of the meeting's organizer, worked in Revan's favor. The former Jedi still had plans concerning Darth Sidious, and it was time to finish with the tin-cans.
"Cover me!" Revan commanded quickly, dropping to one knee to give the Zabrak more room to maneuver.
Maul, despite the battle-fever that was momentarily clouding his mind, instantly reacted to the order and positioned himself behind his new mentor.
Revan used the second-long respite to concentrate the Force and, mere moments later, sharply thrust his hands forward. Branching streaks of lightning shot from his palms, striking a pair of droids directly in front of him. But the discharges did not stop there, leaping from one mechanical soldier to another, burning out their processors and melting their armor.
It had been a long time since Revan had used a mass destruction technique against droids. The last time was aboard the Star Forge. As a result, the move was draining. But the wave of fatigue that threatened to crest quickly subsided under the influence of the Force summoned to aid the former Jedi.
Maul watched in stunned amazement as the last assassination droid clattered loudly to the floor, its arms spread out helplessly. Then, he looked at Revan with admiration.
"How?" he breathed out.
"I will teach you, later," the ancient Sith answered. "We still have business here."
At that very moment, the door to the hall scraped aside. Or rather, it was ripped from its hinges by the Force.
"Sidious," the Zabrak hissed, immediately returning to his fighting stance.
Revan used a hand gesture to bid his new apprentice remain calm. Throughout the fight, he had been tracking the Sith who organized the meeting, while simultaneously monitoring any disturbances in the Force that might indicate the intentions of a potential enemy. And everything suggested that Darth Sidious did not intend to enter the fight. At least, not immediately.
"Maul." Revan drew the Zabrak's attention and gestured for him to keep his composure and take no action.
Sidious chuckled, a low, rasping sound.
"Excellently done, Lord Revan," he clapped his hands a few times. "I have heard much about you, yet I never expected to personally meet the legend... of the Sith."
The former Jedi merely frowned slightly in response and said nothing. Maul, however, could not restrain himself. Hatred churned within him like magma ready to erupt.
"Why the change in mood?" the Zabrak roared at his former master. "A minute ago, you were trying to kill us!"
Sidious laughed again.
"What have I been teaching you all these years, my foolish, treacherous apprentice?"
"I presume, pain and hatred," Revan answered instead of Maul. "As is the tradition of the Sith. Gaining self-knowledge and mastering one's capabilities through suffering. Cultivating the darkness within, burning away one's own essence so that no pity or doubt remains. The ideal instrument for wielding the Dark Side, capable of withstanding its temptations."
A smirk appeared on the lower half of Sidious's face, barely visible beneath the cowl.
"Almighty," Revan continued. "Yet so very limited."
The smile twisted into a snarl. The undisguised mockery in the ancient Sith's final words angered the ambitious Lord of the Dark Side. However, he was too shrewd to succumb to his own wrath.
The former Jedi applauded his adversary's restraint mentally. His feint hadn't worked. He had almost thought that the Sith in this era had become pale imitations of their predecessors.
"And such a greeting," Revan gestured around the shattered cantina hall strewn with droid wreckage, "perfectly aligns with the favored salutation of Dark Side adepts. Know your opponent by forcing him to fight for his life. The Sith have always valued power."
"Bravo, my Lord," Sidious clapped his hands again. "I could not have phrased it better myself."
The sneer returned to his lips.
"Furthermore, your former master is no longer observing us. Which means no one is holding the leash," Revan added, trying to discern the face beneath the hood.
The interlocutor was clearly using a Force Concealment technique, preventing the light from revealing his identity. However, the visible part of the face was enough for the former Jedi to realize—Sidious was furious.
Yet, the Sith quickly regained control. Only the floor beneath his feet groaned faintly when the metal plating buckled beneath his fists, which were clenched white-knuckle tight.
"You are correct, Lord Revan," Sidious replied in a calm voice. "My... mentor has indeed ceased observation. And yes, it was he who ordered me to attack you."
Revan raised an eyebrow slightly in surprise, which went unnoticed beneath his mask.
He had guessed right about the master. However, he hadn't expected the interlocutor to suddenly admit it, let alone reveal the plans of his de facto owner. It seemed Sidious had decided to play games with his teacher and viewed Revan as a valuable piece.
"My... teacher," the Sith stumbled over the status of his mentor again, "though strong and intelligent, is old and has lost his touch. His obsession with his own ideas, into which he forcibly dragged me, will lead us to ruin. And by 'us,' I mean all Sith."
Revan mentally smirked. Four thousand years, and the Sith were still the same. Intrigue and betrayal.
"Continue," he nodded to his recent opponent.
"The mentor will undoubtedly try to involve you in his plans as well," Sidious obeyed.
'As if you don't have plans for me,' the ancient one mused.
"But, as much as I would like to eliminate my senile teacher, I cannot defeat him alone."
'Ah, so we're getting to the point,' the former Sith smiled to himself.
Sidious continued to weave his verbal tapestry, painting "bright" prospects for their cooperation. But a strange sense of wrongness suddenly bothered Revan. Something was amiss. Why was this Sith trying to mislead someone he perceived as stronger? Did he really expect Revan to take his word for it and rush off to lop off his enemies' heads? Sidious must perfectly well know that he was facing another Sith, albeit a former one. One who four thousand years ago founded his own Empire and successfully conquered half the galaxy. One who held Vitiate at bay for three hundred years! And yet, he expected obedience from such a being?
'Who does he think he is?' the former Sith thought, and once again tried to perceive his interlocutor.
He suddenly recalled how, on the very first day after his rebirth, he had discovered his ability for Force Sight. Something he inherited from the Miraluka, with whom his new body was likely related. The ancient one concentrated, called upon the Force, and attempted to see what was invisible to the human eye.
Sidious's face was obscured by a black veil. As the former Sith suspected, his interlocutor was using Force Concealment techniques. However, there was something else. Thin, dark-gray threads stretched from Sidious toward Revan, weaving around the latter's head. A faint itch at the back of his neck suddenly became distinctly noticeable. The former Sith had, for some reason, not noticed this unpleasant sensation until now.
However, the ancient one had already understood everything. His interlocutor had masterfully disguised his influence, but now Revan felt it clearly. The attempt to Force Persuade the Jedi's mind had failed. After the incident where his personality was altered by the Jedi Council, the former Sith was highly sensitive to such techniques. A twice-damaged mind was vulnerable. And although Revan could withstand even the strongest telepaths, the influence still needed to be noticed.
"Together, we can bend the galaxy to our will!" Sidious concluded his speech bombastically.
Beside him, Maul was breathing heavily, awaiting his new master's command. The mental attack, it seemed, had not been directed at him.
The former Sith thought that he had been in this exact situation once before. A Sith calls upon him to go and conquer the galaxy. And that time, he had succumbed, albeit briefly. But not now!
"I have already tried to conquer the galaxy once," Revan replied, giving his head a slight shake. "And I am not eager to repeat it. Especially not by someone else's will!"
Sidious curled his lips as if wincing from a toothache. He had hoped to resolve everything here and now, but it seemed he would have to change his plans. But first...
"Then, what is it that you want, Lord Revan?" the Sith asked.
"Peace," his interlocutor answered seriously.
"What?"
"I desire to live peacefully. I was deprived of that pleasure the last time," the former Jedi continued in an even tone.
"And what about the Republic?" Sidious asked cautiously. "And the general situation in the galaxy? There has been no peace here for thousands of years."
"A quiet haven can always be found. As for the Republic... those are the concerns of the Senate, the Chancellor, and the Jedi Order."
The corners of the interlocutor's lips twitched slightly at the mention of the Chancellor, a detail that did not escape Revan's notice, leading him to consider the Sith's control over the Senate. Direct control, at that.
"The Order is weak," Sidious uttered with contempt after a few seconds of silence. "And the Republic and its Senate are rotten to the core."
"There has never been unity among the peoples of the galaxy," the ancient one sneered, recalling the endless conflicts and wars of his own era.
"Unity," the Sith practically spat. "Senators don't even know the meaning of the word. The Republic has never been so fragile. All it needs is a push, and it will crumble to dust. It's hard to believe it once repelled the Great Sith Empire."
Revan hummed in agreement. Such thoughts had occurred to him as well.
"And the Jedi?" Sidious continued. "Obedient puppets who carry out every order of the Senate. And these are our ancient enemies? Adepts of the Force? A disgrace..."
"Stagnation," the former Sith concluded. "Over centuries of peace, sentients have forgotten how to evolve."
"Because evolution is only possible through conflict!" his interlocutor became animated. "A struggle at the limits of strength and capability. Only by knowing one's limit can one transcend it. This is what the Sith teach."
Revan unconsciously nodded. Some part of his essence completely agreed with Sidious's words. He would never have been able to understand the Force so deeply if he hadn't gone to war with the Mandalorians. If he hadn't entered into conflict with the Republic, and later with his own Empire. If he hadn't clashed with Vitiate.
"And you speak of peace?" the Sith asked mockingly. "Do not deceive yourself, Revan. You are just like me. You are a Sith. The thirst for power is in your blood."
"Perhaps," Revan replied hoarsely, just in case, checking again for any hidden influence on his mind. "However, that power is precisely attained by struggling against one's own desires."
"Then your answer is no?"
"No," the former Sith shook his head. "But do not be quick to count me among your enemies. It is foolish to divide the world into only two sides."
"Hmph," Sidious snorted. "Weakness."
"Wisdom," Revan countered.
Silence descended. The opponents stared at each other without flinching. Each tried to read the other, but both failed. Revan was intrigued by Sidious's unusual actions. He lacked the arrogance typical of the Sith of the Old Republic. He was cunning. And very intelligent. Dry, calculating, not an ounce of wasted emotion. In this, the Sith reminded Revan of himself at the beginning of the Mandalorian Wars. When the young Jedi General showed the Mandalorians that the Republic Army could also act ruthlessly but effectively. Yet, Sidious craved power. It was palpable.
"Change is coming," the Sith broke the silence. "The Republic will have to change. Or fall."
"So, conflict for the sake of change? Of evolution?"
"For the sake of the future," Sidious answered.
"For the Sith?"
"For everyone."
"What do you mean?"
"I have already said more than I should have." The Sith began backing toward the exit at the far end of the hall.
"Master!" Maul looked pleadingly at Revan, awaiting the command to attack.
"Let him go," the ancient one stopped the Zabrak with a gesture.
Already in the doorway, Sidious turned and tossed over his shoulder: "Dromund Kaas. All the answers are there."
In the next instant, the Sith left the premises, and soon his presence in the Force was no longer felt nearby.
Revan stood for a few more seconds, pondering the words of his interlocutor. Why did he mention the ancient world of the Sith Empire? What could he have learned there?
"More questions than answers," he murmured softly to himself.
"Master?" Maul hadn't quite heard the words of his new mentor.
"Let's go," the former Jedi waved his hand. "Time to return."
"Yes, Master," the Zabrak obeyed, not asking for directions.
HK, having received the signal to retreat, was already waiting for his master outside. The resourceful droid had requisitioned an airspeeder from one of the local gangs. According to him, "they no longer had need of it."
Along the way, they picked up Tira Nomad, who regarded the Zabrak with suspicion, keeping her blaster firmly in hand the entire time. The droid, meanwhile, didn't care about the addition of useless meatbags. His Master brought him, so it must be necessary. The galaxy's best assassin could certainly tolerate this horned mishap next to him until the Master gave the order for his liquidation. And that, he would execute quickly... very quickly.
The group boarded the Dawn's Eagle just an hour later. HK had prudently executed several false circles and stops in case they were being followed.
"Vaner!" Anakin greeted his friend, and recently his teacher, happily.
"Hello, Ani," Revan ruffled the child's hair. "How's the situation on board?"
"Great!" the boy reported cheerfully. "R2 and I have fine-tuned the right engine. There won't be any more power dips!"
The astromech, rolling out of the side corridor after the child, confirmed the statement with an affirming series of beeps in Binary.
"Well done," the former Jedi praised the boy and the droid.
Skywalker's gaze shifted to the new team member. The red-skinned Zabrak, covered in black tattoos from head to toe, visible through the tears in his clothing, stood glaring menacingly at the child. Judging by the scorch marks, the holes in his clothing were clearly left by blasters, which evoked admiration in the adventure-hungry Anakin.
Maul, however, was not filled with enthusiasm. His master's attitude towards this child was confusing. Who was he? A son? An apprentice? But why was the mentor so affectionate with him? And shouldn't an apprentice show more respect for his master?
Revan noticed the Zabrak's look and hurried to clarify the situation. And, at the same time, adjust the training plan for Skywalker.
"Maul, this is Anakin. He is my apprentice, just as you are. However, unlike you, young Skywalker has only just begun his training and has little idea how to control the Force. Not to mention lightsaber combat," the former Jedi began, which caused an expression of bewilderment on the Zabrak's face. "I want you to handle his physical conditioning. We will leave lightsaber forms for now. I will teach Anakin the fundamentals myself. Afterward, you can join in and bring him up to speed."
"Yes, Master... but..." Maul drawled with doubt.
"Is something wrong?"
"Two apprentices," the Zabrak stated.
"Yes? And what is wrong with that?"
"It goes against tradition."
"Which one?"
"There must always be two. A Master and an Apprentice. One to embody the power, the other to crave it. That is the tradition. The Rule," Maul uttered, clearly recalling something.
To his surprise, Revan recognized his own words, which he had once recorded in a holocron back on Lehon. He hadn't expected to encounter the consequences of his own observations four thousand years later. However, the meaning of those words was far from a prohibition on more than one apprentice, but rather about the level of their instruction. Though, if the Sith had adopted it as a rule, then it was understandable where all the Dark Side adepts had gone. But that could be sorted out later.
"Maul, I am not a Sith. At least, not in the sense you understand. And I will train you as I see fit. The same applies to Anakin. You are both my apprentices. Equals. Accept this. Humility will be your first lesson."
The Zabrak initially flared up with indignation, ready to burst into anger, but under the stern gaze felt even through the visor of the mask, he managed to quickly control himself.
"I understand, Master," he bowed his head in a submissive gesture.
"Anakin, Maul will now handle your physical conditioning. I will focus on your Force control skills and the basics of lightsaber combat," Revan informed him. "Maul, your skill with the blade is quite high. Therefore, we will have daily sparring sessions, except on days when I have more important matters."
"O-okay," Anakin stammered slightly, casting wary glances at the grinning Zabrak. The new team member no longer seemed so interesting to him. Rather, dangerous.
"Yes, Master," Maul snapped confidently.
"I am not finished," Revan drew the Zabrak's attention again. "Your knowledge of Force control leaves much to be desired. It seems your previous mentor did not explain much to you. We will remedy that oversight."
"Thank you, Master."
"Cabin B on the starboard side is free. You may settle in there. Training begins tomorrow. You are dismissed."
Maul bowed again and headed deeper into the ship.
"Ani, you should also rest. Your first training session will be tomorrow morning. It will be difficult. And believe me, no one will go easy on you," the former Jedi said sternly.
The boy swallowed tensely, nodded, and ran off to his quarters. R2-D2 followed him.
"HK, take the Eagle to orbit. It will be safer there. Blend into the flow of commercial ships and disappear. It is possible we were followed."
"Joyful statement: As you command, Master."
The assassin droid headed to the bridge with a brisk, clanking stride, leaving Revan alone with Tira, whose tense posture betrayed her mood.
"Is there something you wish to ask?" the former Jedi turned to her.
"Not here," the Mandalorian turned and walked towards the cabin she occupied without permission on board.
Shrugging, Revan followed.
Once in the mercenary's cabin, the ancient warrior took the chair offered to him near the small table. Nomad meanwhile locked the door and activated a small device. As Revan deduced—a jammer for radio signals and surveillance gear.
"So, what did you want to discuss?" Revan asked when the woman took the chair opposite.
"Our agreement," she began sternly.
Her voice, distorted by the helmet modulator, sounded rather ominous.
"And what about it?" the former Jedi was completely unfazed.
"When will you fulfill your part of the bargain?" Tira asked. "So far, we have been carrying out your orders and doing what you need. You haven't forgotten the payment?"
"I remember," Revan nodded. "I owe you a reciprocal service."
"And when?"
"You haven't named it yet," the man reminded her. "So, I cannot answer you."
"As soon as I state the conditions, you will immediately proceed to their execution, agreed?" The woman was clearly nervous.
Something was bothering her. Apparently, her request had suddenly become time-sensitive. Or something had happened that sharply reduced the time she had available.
"I cannot promise anything until I know what is required of me."
The woman swore in a vaguely familiar language. Revan understood the general meaning of the expression, but the language was clearly not Mando'a. This further confirmed his suspicion that Tira was not a native Mando'ade.
However, the words stirred something important... and not very pleasant in the ancient one's memory. He definitely knew that language. But he was not on good terms with the people who used it.
"My Clan," Tira interrupted his thoughts. "Save them."
"What?"
"I need help saving my Clan," the woman repeated. "You know a lot about our culture and must understand what a Clan means to a Mandalorian."
"Life and honor, quite literally," Revan replied.
"Precisely," Nomad agreed. "We are a Clan of wanderers and have always tried to stay out of the internal feuds between the Clans. After the loss of the Mask of Mandalore, we were left without a leader. Again. Internecine strife began. Everyone vied to unite our people, but bent others toward their own Clan, forcing the rest to abandon their own customs. And not long ago, another schism occurred between the Clans. In the end, Vizsla and Fett nearly wiped each other out."
At the mention of the last name, Revan reflexively clenched his fists. Memories of Carthus Fett's crimes and the ashes of Cathar flashed vividly before his eyes.
"Fett lost; only one warrior remains from his Clan. Which, however, didn't help Vizsla much."
"I heard Mandalore is now a peaceful planet?" Revan interrupted the mercenary.
"Yes and no," Nomad continued after considering her answer. "Officially, a young Duchess rules. But Vizsla founded Death Watch and claims that Satine Kryze has no right to be the head of Mandalore. They call for a revival of the ancient traditions."
"Which were not known for their humanity," the former Jedi recalled the times before "that" war.
"Which doesn't stop him from recruiting more and more supporters. Some by persuasion, others by force. And now the time has come for Clan Nomad to choose a side."
"And what is the choice?"
"The Nomads will never bow to anyone but the true Mandalore," the woman pronounced proudly.
"Who doesn't exist and won't until the Mask is found, correct?"
"Yes," Tira nodded. "My Clan has been searching for it for centuries."
"I can't help you there," Revan raised his hands. "I know nothing of the Mask's current location."
"I'm not asking you to search for it. But help me protect the Clan. We are few, and we are scattered throughout the galaxy..."
"And what is the problem with that?" the former Jedi was surprised. "It's practically impossible to find and subdue you."
"Unless they seize something important to us."
"Hutt..." Revan cursed. "What did they take?"
"An artifact considered a relic of my Clan... and..."
"And?"
"The children of the ruling Triumvirate, who were hidden away."
"In one location?"
"No, on different planets."
"Well," Revan drew out. "Professionally done."
"So, will you help?" the girl, having completely lost her composure, asked with hope in her voice.
Revan sank into contemplation. On one hand, this only added to his existing problems. On the other, having a loyal Mandalorian Clan in reserve—and the prospect of their entire people eventually—was a serious argument.
Besides, Tira... there was something compelling about her. A Mandalorian in spirit, but not by birth. She held clear ideals and a defined sense of honor and morality. This was unusual for an offworlder adopted into the Clan. She hadn't been trained since childhood, had she?
"One question," the former Jedi suddenly asked. "At what age did you join the Nomads?"
"What does that have to do with this?" the woman grew wary.
"Just answer."
"I was eight."
Revan nodded, confirming his internal thoughts. That explained the accent that hadn't been fully eradicated. Her speech patterns were already set and accustomed to another language. The memory flashed of a girl named Sasha, who had hidden aboard the Black Hawk and had been enslaved by the Mandalorians since early childhood. She spoke exclusively Mando'a, and without an accent, as she had fallen into the hands of her tormentors when she was very young.
So, where did Tira's strong desire for honor and glory come from? The thought flickered through his mind that he had encountered a species with similar principles. A long time ago. In his previous life.
"I will help you," he began, but before giving the mercenary time to celebrate, he added: "On one condition."
"Which is?"
"No secrets and no half-truths."
"Fine," the woman agreed, considering her answer.
"Then take off your helmet."
"What?!"
"I want to see the face of the person I am promising aid to."
The mercenary remained silent, studying Revan through her helmet's visor.
"Very well," Nomad conceded, bringing her hands up to the mask's seals.
"And state your full name," the former Jedi demanded, already guessing the woman's true appearance. "Your real name."
Tira froze, having barely touched the latch on the helmet. Then she let out a noisy sigh and pulled off the headpiece of her armor.
"How long have you known?" she asked.
"I'm not certain of anything yet," Revan replied.
Scarlet hair with a fiery-red sheen cascaded over her shoulders. This, combined with her rich blue skin, created a stunning contrast.
"My full name is Aru'Tir'Anude of Clan Nomad, a Mando'ade by naming," the woman stated, her blood-red eyes flashing with a brightly glowing golden pupil.
"A Chiss," the ancient one said with a smile, confirming his deduction.
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