The transition from the rainy, industrial grime of Bracca to the lush, emerald canopy of Kashyyyk was like moving from a funeral to a festival. In the early months of 129 BBY, the Black Pearl broke through the thick atmosphere of the Wookiee homeworld, its Sovereign-class shields shimmering as they harmonized with the planet's intense magnetic field.
Revan Shan sat in the pilot's seat, leaning back with his hands behind his head. He had a lemon candy tucked into his cheek and a satisfied, if slightly tired, look on his face. Behind him, the four orphans he'd rescued from the Bracca ship-breakers were pressed against the viewport, their eyes wide with wonder at the towering wroshyr trees.
"Right then, little ones," Revan said, his voice carrying the warm, slightly manic lilt of the 11th Doctor. "Welcome to the greenest neighborhood in the galaxy. According to my 2nd Doctorate in Planetary Ecology, the oxygen levels here are so high you'll probably feel like you've had five cups of caf just by breathing. It's brilliant for the complexion."
Chopper (C1-10P) let out a series of grumpy beeps, swatting at a fly that had managed to sneak into the cockpit.
"Try to be nice, Chopper! Do good! But never fail to be kind!" Revan scolded with a grin. "And that includes being kind to the local insects. They were here first."
The Wookiee Audit: A New Home
The landing at the Rwookrrorro village was a flurry of fur and roar. Revan stepped off the ramp, his black robes looking remarkably clean despite the recent raid. He was met by a familiar face—or at least, a face that would become very familiar in about a century.
Chewbacca, though still a youth by Wookiee standards, stood tall at the head of the greeting party. He let out a low, questioning rumble.
"Hello again, big guy," Revan chirped, patting Chewbacca's arm. "I brought some guests. They're orphans from the Core. Brilliant at climbing, slightly less brilliant at hygiene, but they need a place where the air doesn't taste like rust."
Using his 11th Doctorate in Xenobiology, Revan had already calculated the social compatibility of the human children with Wookiee family structures.
> The Social Integration Coefficient (\sigma_i):
> Essentially, the math favored the Wookiees. Their pack-bonded nature was the perfect environment for children who had lost everything.
>
"Try not to pull their arms out of their sockets immediately," Revan joked as the children were swept up by a large Wookiee matron. "They're a bit fragile, but they're fast learners."
He spent a week on Kashyyyk, helping the children settle in and auditing the Rakatan foundry-node in the Shadowlands one last time. He didn't rush. The galaxy was a big place, and the "Junkyard Almanac" was a long list.
The Scavenger Years: 129 BBY – 125 BBY
For the next four years, the Black Pearl became a ghost of the outer rim. Revan wasn't interested in the High Republic's grand galas or the Jedi Council's increasingly worried summons. He was busy.
He visited Jakku, digging through the carcasses of ancient cruisers to find Kyber-Quantum processors that the local scavengers mistook for scrap. He spent six months on Raxus Prime, navigating rivers of liquid toxic waste to find Old Republic medical droids. He even hit Tatooine, not for the podracing, but to audit a buried Sandcrawler that had been swallowed by a dune in the time of the Sith Empire.
"Adventure is the journey, D6," Revan said to R2-D6 one evening while they were sorting through a pile of Cortosis ore on Bracca. "And the journey is currently telling me that we need more storage space."
By the middle of 125 BBY, the Black Pearl was less of a ship and more of a flying museum of "cool stuff." Revan's Prodigal Knight flagship on Lehon was now receiving regular data-packet updates from the things he'd found, its AI, The Architect, becoming increasingly sophisticated.
Arrival at Lotho Minor
The year 125 BBY found Revan at the most dismal coordinate in the Almanac: Lotho Minor. The planet was a nightmare of acid rain, screaming winds, and mountains of junk that reached into the upper atmosphere. It was a place where the galaxy threw the things it was too ashamed to look at.
"According to my 4th Doctorate in Advanced Engineering," Revan muttered, pulling his black cloak tight against the biting wind, "this planet is 90% structural instability and 10% things that want to harvest your liver for spare parts. It's charming, really."
He wasn't here for the scenery. He had the Sith Archive Data-Key he'd recovered from the sinking battleship on Bracca. It was pulsing with a localized beacon, pointing him toward the deepest junk-canyons of the northern hemisphere.
"Cortana, keep the Invisible Cloak at max," Revan commanded. "The local syndicates here use high-frequency sonar to track 'visitors.' I'm not in the mood for a welcoming committee."
"Statement: Master, my sensors are detecting a high concentration of organic filth approximately two kilometers below our current altitude," HK-47 whirred, his Beskar-Phrik frame gleaming with a dull, predatory light. "Observation: A slaver ring is operating out of a hollowed-out Lucrehulk. Suggestion: We should initialize a 'Kindness Audit'. I have several thermal detonators that are feeling very neglected."
"We'll get to the slavers, HK," Revan said, his eyes turning into the cold, sharp focus of the 12th Doctor. "But first, I want to see what the 'Collector' has found."
The Audit of the Dark Side Collector
Deep in the bowels of a mountain of rusted durasteel, Revan found the archive. It wasn't a library; it was a hoard. A localized Dark Side user—not a Sith, but a man twisted by the garbage and the relics he'd gathered—had turned an ancient Sith temple-ship into a private gallery.
His name was Kravos, a scavenger-king who had spent decades gathering the "teeth" of the Jedi Order.
As Revan stepped into the central chamber, the air grew heavy. The walls were lined with hundreds of lightsabers—broken, scorched, and gleaming—all looted from the battlefields of the Old Republic.
"The Auditor arrives," Kravos hissed, stepping from the shadows. He was a mass of cybernetic limbs and tattered Jedi robes, his eyes glowing with a sickly yellow fire. "You come for the shards? You come for the memories of a dead Order?"
"I come for the data," Revan said, popping a lemon candy and leaning against a pillar of junk. "And I have to say, Kravos... your filing system is a disaster. According to my 8th Doctorate in Ancient Art & Archaeology, you have a Mark VII Guardian's Hilt sitting next to a Sith Acolyte's focus-crystal. It's chronologically offensive."
Kravos roared, a sound amplified by his mechanical lungs, and ignited two cracked, blood-red blades. "I am the King of the Trash! I am the one who remembers!"
Revan didn't draw his lightsabers immediately. He utilized Force Stasis, the air around Kravos freezing into a crystalline stillness.
"Try to be nice," Revan said, his sassy tone replaced by a weary authority. "Do good. But never fail to be kind. And it is very unkind to hoard the memories of others just to feed your own madness."
Kravos broke the stasis with a surge of raw, unrefined Dark Side energy. He lunged, his movements jerky and insectile. Revan moved with the liquid grace of Form II Makashi, his Balanced Purple blade flickering to life only when necessary to parry.
* Tutaminis: Revan caught a surge of Force-lightning from Kravos's mechanical arm and funneled it into the ground, causing the floor to erupt in a shower of sparks.
* Force Repulse: When Kravos tried to close the distance, Revan released a kinetic wave that sent the scavenger-king flying back into his rack of lightsabers.
"You don't understand the math, Kravos," Revan noted, walking forward. "You're anchored to the junk. You're a variable that's stuck in a loop."
With a final, elegant strike, Revan used his Westar 35 to short out Kravos's primary cybernetic lung. The scavenger-king collapsed, wheezing, his yellow eyes fading.
Revan didn't kill him. He utilized Force Heal to stabilize the man's failing organs, then used Mechu-deru to wipe the Dark Side imprints from the stolen sabers.
"I'm taking the archive," Revan said. "And the kids you have locked in the sub-level? They're going to Kashyyyk. You? You're going to get a very thorough 'Kindness Audit' from my droids."
Dismantling the Syndicate
The rest of the week was a blur of calculated destruction. Revan, HK-47, and the 5 Sith Training Droids systematically dismantled every syndicate node on Lotho Minor. They didn't just fight; they audited the supply chains, wiped the credit-servers, and released the captives.
Revan used the Sith Archive Data-Key to unlock a hidden vault within Kravos's ship. Inside was a map of the Deep Core—a localized route that predated the Republic's charts.
"This is the loot I was looking for," Revan whispered, his fingers tracing the holographic map. "The 'Heart of the Galaxy'. Tenebrus has been looking for this for decades."
"Statement: Master, the slaver Lucrehulk has been successfully liquidated," HK-47 reported, his chassis covered in a light layer of acid-dust. "Observation: The meatbags were very surprised by the Mark IV Duelists. It appears they were not expecting ancient Sith combat forms from a group of 'auditors'."
The Journey Continues
As the Black Pearl lifted off from the toxic clouds of Lotho Minor, the hold was once again full—this time with over fifty ancient Jedi lightsabers and a group of dazed survivors.
"125 BBY," Revan said, looking at the date on the console. "The Sith are playing corporate games. The Jedi are still ignoring the shadows. And I've got a collection of hilts that need a proper museum."
He popped a final lemon candy and gripped the Jump-Snap hyperdrive lever.
"R2, prep the Librarian Protocol Droid. We've got a lot of cataloging to do. And Cortana... set a course for Lehon. I think it's time I saw how my flagship is coming along."
The Black Pearl vanished into the stars. Revan Shan wasn't a hero, and he wasn't a guardian. He was just a man with a very long list and a galaxy full of treasure waiting to be audited.
"Adventure is the journey," he laughed. "And the journey is just getting started."