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Bane carefully opened the pages of the ancient volume he had taken down from the archive shelves. It was titled The Rakata and the Unknown World, and according to the date was nearly three thousand standard years old. But it wasn’t the title or subject matter that had grabbed him. It was the author: Darth Revan. Revan’s story was well known to Sith and Jedi alike. What intrigued Bane was the use of the Darth title.

None of the modern Sith used the Darth name, preferring the designation Dark Lord. Bane had always found this puzzling, but he had never asked the Masters about it. Perhaps in this volume by one of the last great Sith to use the designation he could find out why the tradition had fallen into disuse.

He had barely begun to read the first page when he heard someone approaching. He glanced up to see the Academy’s newest apprentice—Githany—striding toward him. She was smiling, making her already remarkable features even more attractive. In the past Bane had only seen her from a distance; up close she literally took his breath away. As she swept into the seat beside him, the faintest whiff of perfume tickled his nose, causing his already racing heart to quicken its beat.

“Bane,” she whispered, speaking softly even though there was no one else in the archives to be disturbed by their conversation. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Her statement caught him by surprise. “Looking for me? Why?”

She placed a hand on his forearm. “I need you. I need your help against Sirak.”

Her closeness, the brief contact with his arm, and her alluring fragrance sent his head spinning. It took him several moments to figure out what she meant, but once he did her sudden interest in him became obvious. News of his humiliation at the Zabrak’s hands had reached her ears. She had come to see him in person, hoping she might learn something that would keep her from falling victim to a similar failure.

“I can’t help you with Sirak,” he said, turning away from her and burying his face in his book.

The hand on his forearm gently squeezed, and he looked up again. She had leaned in closer, and he found himself staring right into her emerald eyes.

“Please, Bane. Just listen to what I have to say.”

He nodded, not sure if he’d even be able to speak while she was pressed so close against him. He closed the book and turned slightly in his chair to better face her. Githany gave a grateful sigh and leaned back slightly. He felt a small flicker of disappointment as her hand slipped from his arm.

“I know what happened to you in the dueling ring,” she began. “I know everyone believes Sirak destroyed you; that somehow the defeat robbed you of your power. I can see you believe it, too.”

Her face had taken on an expression of sorrow. Not pity, thankfully. Bane didn’t want that from anyone—especially not her. But she showed genuine regret as she spoke.

When he didn’t reply she took a deep breath and continued. “They’re wrong, Bane. You can’t just lose your ability to command the Force. None of us can. The Force is part of us; it’s part of our being.

“I heard accounts of what you did to that Makurth. That showed what you were capable of. It revealed your true potential; it proved you were blessed with a mighty gift.” She paused. Her gaze was intense. “You may believe you’ve squandered that gift, or lost it. But I know better. I can sense the power inside you. I can feel it. It’s still there.”

Bane shook his head. “The power may be there, but my ability to control it is gone. I’m not what I used to be.”

“That’s not possible,” she said, her voice gentle. “How can you believe that?”

Though he knew the answer, he hesitated before replying. It was a question he had asked himself countless times while floating in the weightless fluid of the bacta tank. After his defeat he’d had plenty of opportunity to struggle with his failure, and he’d eventually come to realize what had gone wrong … though not how to fix it.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to share his personal revelation with a virtual stranger.