A read-only archive of discourse.darkjedibrotherhood.com as of Sunday May 01, 2022.

Knight Fiction - Revs


Courtyard, Arcona Citadel,
Estle City, Selen, Dajorra System
2201 Hours

“Do you still think my job is fun, kiddo?” Celevon asked with a small smirk, clearly referring to the prevalent limp in every step of the Jedi Hunter.

“I take it back, Master. Being an assassin is not always fun; it’s only fun if you’re a masochist,” Revs answered back with a grin. A scowl took over his features a moment later when the Prelate ruffled his hair. “Oi!”

“Remind me to limit the time you spend around Mako. You’re picking up on his speech patterns,” the Onderonian muttered.

The Miraluka gasped as his vision went black, reaching for the dagger at his waist that had been a gift from the Shadicar. He struck out with a fist when the blade was snatched from his hand, only for it to be halted by a familiar presence. The gloved palm of Edraven’s hand gently returned his arm to his side.

Udesii,” Celevon murmured in his ear, the soothing lilt of the comforting word from his Master telling him that the Prelate knew what was occurring.

“Do you know why you are here, Hunter?”

The emotionless voice was vaguely familiar to the Miraluka, though the identity of the male behind it evaded memory at the moment. Despite the flight or fight response that the presence evoked, Revs held his ground. The Force, as it had always done, informed him that the unknown male would not harm him.

The words escaped his lips as though they were pulled from deep within. “I am unsure.”

A pause. The Miraluka heard his Master’s soft footfalls against the lawn move closer to him.

“Your fate has been decided.”

Fear arose from the depths of his very soul.

“Kneel,” the command was hissed from beside him. It sounded like his Master’s voice, but the tone was different… He had never heard that icy timbre of Celevon’s voice. Nor the undercurrent of power.

Beyond his control, the Miraluka dropped to his knees.

‘What the f-’

“You may finish the ceremony, Prelate Edraven.”

‘Huh? What ceremo-’

“Revs. For the last several months, you have willingly learned everything I have sought to teach you. When you first approached me, you were clumsy, inefficient. In the time since, you have mastered yourself with both blade and blaster. You went beyond the ways of the assassin and have tasted the first breath of a more elite killer. Present your hands,” the Onderonian’s voice had been silky, almost hypnotizing in quality before the commanding undertone escaped the Prelate’s lips.

Revs’ hands lifted, his limbs betraying his lack of control of his own body. His palms faced the sky, cupped together as though he were making an offering to the Gods and Goddesses of ancient times.

“You have proven yourself… worthy. I have opened the door for you; it is up to your discretion to step through. In time, you may even attain the rank of Shadicar.”

The Selenian heard the rustle of cloth as his Master drew something from his robes before placing a cylinder within his grasp.

“This once belonged to me, as it belonged to my Master before me. Only one part of it has changed every time it has changed hands, a tradition that has passed through the ages. Arise.”

Revs rose to his feet in a fluid motion, thanking whoever was listening that his body did not move like a clumsy oaf, despite his lack of control over his own movements. The cool leather of his Master’s gloves closed the fingers of his right hand around the cylinder. His left fell to his side.

“You are now a Shadesworn in your own right, no longer a Shadeling as you were up until this time. But more importantly… Activate!”

The snapped command caused him to flick his thumb over a switch. The snap-hiss of energy bursting to life occurred at the exact same moment as he regained control of his limbs, the veil falling from his vision. A viridian blade lit the darkness of the courtyard.

“You are no longer my apprentice. Congratulations, Knight Revs. You may build your own as soon as you are prepared,” Celevon nodded at the lightsaber in his hand to explain what he meant.

Revs looked beyond the Onderonian and finally placed the voice from earlier. It was their Consul. At the nod, the newly promoted Knight glanced back to his former Master.

“You know the words, my friend.”

The Miraluka took a deep breath, excitement flooding his veins. He felt adrenaline pumping. He had waited long for this moment.

The voices of the Shadicar before him echoed his sentiment as he lifted the beam of energy and roared at the heavens.


Fiction by Revs’ master Celevon