The transition from the aristocratic, thin-aired heights of Serenno back to the dense, bureaucratic atmosphere of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant was a localized sensory audit that Revan Shan met with a high-end designer robe, a fresh crate of Naboo spice-latte pods, and a very particular brand of 11th-Doctor-esque pedagogical fervor. As 68 BBY progressed, the "Maverick Master" found himself balancing the role of an academic professor with that of a silent watcher, standing atop a foundation that was statistically 10% more "shaky" than it had been a decade ago.
Revan sat in his Sovereign's Command Chair in the center of a private, high-security training salle deep within the Temple's spires. Calculus was sprawled across the primary navigation dash of the Black Pearl—which was docked nearby—while Theorem, the sleek juvenile, was industriously trying to "audit" the structural integrity of Jaro Tapal's massive shins.
"Right then, Jaro," Revan murmured, his voice a blend of dry rasp and whimsical curiosity. "According to my 1st Doctorate in Theoretical Physics, energy doesn't disappear; it just changes address. Most Jedi treat a blaster bolt like an ending. But according to my heart, a Jedi should treat it like a localized suggestion. Today, we audit your survival. Welcome to Tutaminis and the Force Barrier."
Jaro Tapal, now seventeen and possessing the physical presence of a small mountain range, deactivated his blue blade. His purple eyes were focused, his large hands steady. "The Archives say Tutaminis is a technique of last resort, Master. To catch a blade or a bolt with one's palm is... statistically risky."
"Risk is just a lack of data, Jaro," Revan sassed, clicking his Sonic Screwdriver to activate the localized heating for his latte. "A wall that can only block with metal is a wall that can be broken. A wall that can absorb the kinetic intent of the universe? That's a wall that stays standing. Try to be nice to the energy, Jaro. Invite it in for tea, then show it the door."
The Defensive Synthesis: Tutaminis and the Wall
For the next three months, the training salle was a symphony of rhythmic humming and blue-white flashes. Revan didn't just teach Jaro to block; he taught him the Calculus of Energy Absorption.
"Don't fight the bolt, Jaro. Audit its frequency," Revan instructed, utilizing Mechu-deru to pulse a holographic energy-map into Jaro's mind. "According to my 4th Doctorate in Advanced Engineering, every ionized particle has a rhythmic signature. If you match the vibration of your Force-signature to the incoming vector, the heat becomes a localized non-variable."
> The Tutaminis Absorption Variable (\Phi_{T}):
> By his internal audit, Revan pushed Jaro to utilize his massive Lasat frame as a conduit. When the Ahsoka Protocol remotes fired, Jaro didn't just block with his saber. He began to catch the lower-intensity bolts with his open palm, dissipating the heat into the floor through a rhythmic Force-grounding. He then integrated this into a Force Barrier, projecting a shimmering, translucent shield of Beskar-alloy density that could shrug off a localized grenade blast.
>
"Brilliant!" Revan cheered. "Statistical perfection! You're becoming a walking vault, Jaro. Try to be nice, but never fail to be kind to your own molecules."
The Duel of Cohesion: Three Forms, Two Droids
By mid-year, Revan decided the "Defensive Phase" needed a kinetic stress test. He activated two Mark IV Sith Training Droids and ramped the Ahsoka Protocol up to 7 remotes.
"Jaro! Integrated Audit!" Revan shouted over the hiss of training blades. "Soresu for the foundation, Djem So for the counter-strike, and Niman to weave the Force into the rhythm! I want a cohesive equation!"
The sparring was a masterpiece of Lasat strength and Maverick logic. Jaro stood in the center, a blue blur. He absorbed a droid's strike with a Tutaminis palm-catch, redirected the second droid with a Form VI Niman Force-pull, and used a Force Repulse to clear the seven remotes in a single rhythmic burst. He was no longer just a student; he was a localized siege engine with a Master's degree in survival.
The Shadow Audit: Information and Brokerage
While Jaro spent his afternoons in the Temple's engineering bays—learning to rebuild starship turbines under Revan's "Professor" persona—Revan himself took to the lower levels of Coruscant. Accompanied by D6 and HK-47, he moved through the neon-drenched districts like a ghost in the machine.
"Statement: Master, I find the atmospheric quality of these lower levels to be a localized insult to my internal filters," HK-47 whirred, his photoreceptors glowing orange. "Observation: However, the density of 'Unkind Meatbags' provides a statistically significant opportunity for a 'Kindness Collection'."
"Keep your safety on, HK," Revan sighed, adjusted his Phrik-weave hood. "We're here for the ledger, not the body count."
He met with a series of high-end information brokers—contacts established over decades of being "The Auditor." He paid them in Secret Credits and "Kind" favors, collecting data-packets on random ripples throughout the galaxy.
* Trade Federation: Expanding their influence in the Outer Rim, slaving local economies to Muun-ledgers.
* Serenno: The political discord had calmed, but Knight Dooku was increasingly vocal about the Senate's "rhythmic stagnation."
* Naboo: The House of Palpatine was rising in prominence, with young Sheev becoming a localized star in the legislative youth program.
The Tradition of Shadows: Cortana's Update
Back on the Black Pearl, Revan sat in the quiet dark of the bridge, sipping a late-night latte. Cortana's holographic avatar appeared on his gauntlet.
"Revan, I've processed the deep-space signal from the High Republic sector," the AI reported. "The variable known as Qimir... the logic-loop has closed. He was killed by his apprentice, Mae, following the traditional Sith rhythmic protocol of 'Two'. The ledger on that specific shadow is now balanced."
Revan leaned back, his 12th Doctor gravity settling over him. "Qimir. A localized tragedy of ambition. Followed the tradition until the tradition ate him. Statistically predictable, but remarkably untidy."
He looked at the star-charts, his mind drifting to the next year on the timeline. According to his memories of the movies and his 10th Doctorate in Galactic History, 67 BBY was a year of monumental shifts.
"Cortana, flag the year 67 BBY," Revan whispered. "The year of the Death of Tenebrous. Plagueis is about to become the Master of the ledger. The 'Force Stutter' I warned Yoda about is about to become a rhythmic tremor."
He looked over at Jaro Tapal, who was asleep on a training mat with Theorem curled up on his chest. The Lasat was strong. He was smart. But according to Revan's audit, the galaxy was about to get much, much less kind.
The Sovereign's Nap: End of 68 BBY
The year concluded with the Black Pearl docked in the Temple's quietest hangar. Revan was slumped in his chair, Calculus purring on his chest.
"Status, Cortana," Revan whispered.
"Jaro's academic proficiency in Advanced Engineering is at 98%. His combat cohesion is 92%," Cortana reported. "The 3 Billion credits are stable. And Master Yoda has sent a message: He has 'found' your missing Oraxes-3 report in his pastry box. He found the logic... appetizing."
"Appetizing. Of course he did," Revan yawned, the chair reclining to the Calculated Nap Angle of 134.5 degrees. "Adventure is the journey, D6. And 68 BBY was a masterpiece of kinetic shields and watching the shadows shift. Try to be nice, 67 BBY. I have a feeling the Sith are about to have a very messy funeral."
He closed his eyes. The Maverick was eighty-three, the Padawan was a mountain of blue light, and the audit of the future was moving with the rhythmic inevitability of a collapsing star.