Dust. Rubble. Ruins. Little more than the errant wall and pillar remained of the Coruscanti Jedi Temple. Gone was the once-magnificent structure, the once-welcoming home, replaced by the very antithesis of the Order. Disorder. Chaos. Death.

 

From a distance, numerous robed figures looked onward in silent dismay. Fires raged throughout the district and the atmosphere was thick with smoke and Imperial warships. A red haze permeated the vision of all who dared look upon the wrecked cityscape. It was a scene of destruction, of grief, and ironically… peace.

 

A group of Jedi watched from a nearby platform, for that was all they could do. A treaty had been signed. The Great War was over. There was peace between the Republic and Empire. Between the Jedi and Sith. Thus, those without a temple, without a home, watched as it burned, standing beneath the shadows of its destructors.

 

Amongst the onlookers were two men standing side by side, their heads slightly bowed.

 

Osetto Karrehl. Miraluka. Consular. Much of his unburdened visage was obscured by the brown hood raised over his head, and the simple band of matching cloth concealing his species' vestigial eye sockets.

 

Dehros Norrida. Human. Guardian. The cloak he wore surrounded a heavy suit of armor typical of someone from the frontlines, and hid a stern face that knew the hardships of battle.

 

Both were young enough to have been born since the advent of the twenty-eight year war. Expedited to knighthood, because of the war. Master-less, because of the war. Forced to watch their allies die and driven from their home, all because of the war. And now, upon witnessing the true face of peace, none who gazed upon it found solace. For some, emptiness. For others, a despicable fullness that nothing could have prepared them for.

 

"This…" Dehros muttered. "This isn't peace."

 

"I understand the pain you're currently feeling," Osetto calmly said, "but there isn't anything we can do."

 

"There is plenty that we could do, that we could have done,” Dehros replied. “We could've fought. We could've resisted. We could've done everything in our power to prevent our home from falling to Imperial martial law."

 

Osetto continued to cast his eyeless gaze upon the slowly burning rubble in the distance. "That isn't our home anymore, brother."

 

Dehros' hands slowly balled into fists. "Until the last speck of stone is removed from that foundation, I will never give up on the temple… never give up on Coruscant!"

 

"That isn't where we are needed. And quite frankly, I'm not sure that's where we are wanted."

 

"Not wanted?" Dehros balked. "What if there are Jedi still fighting for their lives, opposing the Empire?"

 

"Trust me," Osetto began after a pause. "There's no one left."

 

"And how do you-" Dehros started before being interrupted by the Consular softly laying his hand upon the Guardian's shoulder.

 

"I’ve no eyes, but I am not blind. I see… so much more… so much less," Osetto said, almost at a whisper. "When I look upon the temple, I am forced to witness an indescribable scene. An emptiness that rends my heart. A chaos that wracks my mind. I want nothing more than it to stop. I want nothing more than to be the one to stop it. But it is folly. Not a single spark of life remains in the temple."

 

"You can't… you can't be sure. There still might be…" Dehros muttered, the Consular's hand weighing heavy upon his shoulder.

 

Osetto's head dipped. "I'm sorry. But those Jedi gave their lives so that we could escape. If we stayed, their sacrifice would have been for nothing. We'd be dead, or prisoners in one of the camps…"

 

"To be executed if we didn't accept their damned treaty," Dehros replied, gritting his teeth. "But we just stood by and watched. Our brothers and sisters had guns to their heads, and we did nothing."

 

"What could we have done? Only the smallest of groups escaped the eyes of the Imperials, escaped the soldiers, the bombings, the destruction. Would you rather have marched on the encampments, accompanied only by younglings and Padawans?"

 

"We are Padawans no longer," Dehros declared. "We swore to defend the Republic. The Order."

 

"Then defend something still capable of being defended," said Osetto, maintaining his calm. "These other Jedi need us. As much as it pains me to say… this is peace. It is our duty to preserve it."

 

The Human slowly shook his head. "Peace is a lie. Remember that? That’s their code. We're fooling ourselves if we think this is peace. So long as the Sith remain, we will never be safe. I would gladly die opposing them if it meant it would bring peace."

 

"Bring peace? Or bring yourself peace?" Osetto asked. "Don't think for a moment that I would not sacrifice myself for the good of the Republic, for the galaxy. But right now, all you would be doing is throwing yourself away in the most selfish of ways, not mention endangering the treaty. Don't throw yourself upon a pyre because you cannot handle the world you see before you. If you truly value peace, you'll survive. Persevere. The Order will not rebuild overnight. It needs people who can keep it strong and guide the next generation. Striking out against your foes, blinded by emotion... that is weakness. And you're stronger than that."

 

Dehros paused, taking a deep breath and gathering himself. "There is no emotion."

 

"There is peace," Osetto added.

 

"Ignorance… passion… chaos… death… the Sith certainly succeeded in testing us."

 

"That they did."

 

Dehros lifted his gaze, turning to face his friend. "Do you truly think we can rebuild?"

 

"There are survivors,” said the Miraluka, keeping his eyeless gaze affixed to the horizon. “The Empire will release their prisoners and, luckily, many Masters were off world."

 

"Perhaps we can restore balance," Dehros admitted, almost a whisper.

 

Osetto nodded. "Perhaps. Unfortunately, I don't think we'll be returning to the temple here anytime soon."

 

"Where will we go?"

 

The Consular dipped his head, gently scratching his chin. "Not sure. The Grand Master is calling for the withdrawal of the Jedi. And not just from Coruscant. The newfound peace with the Empire has stirred something of a conflict between the Order and the Senate. What's left of it."

 

"So, we just leave," Dehros muttered, a touch of anger returning. "Coruscant is burning… and we just leave."

 

"I don't want to leave either," Osetto admitted. "But the Order isn't the only thing that needs to be rebuilt. Hardships are likely to plague the planet and its citizens, but if we aren't called upon to render aid, we would be intruding."

 

"Intruding? We've given our lives to the Republic, at the very least we could lend a hand helping the burdened communities."

 

"The people are discontent with the Order. We will likely hold much of the blame for the Empire's transgressions."

 

"Cast out. Not once, but twice," said the Guardian.

 

"We must preserve the balance," replied the Consular. "Marching right back into war or forcing ourselves upon the Republic hurts all of us."

 

"I just wish there was more we could do."

 

"There is. Just not here. Just not right now."

 

"Then where? When?" Dehros asked.

 

There was a pause as a heavy silence hung between the pair.

 

"I do not know," Osetto admitted. "I don't think anyone does."

 

The Jedi watched as a Republic shuttle descended upon their location, one of the first permitted to pass through the Imperial blockade. The transport touched down in a clearing atop the urban platform, resting on its struts and deploying its entrance ramp. Descending the ramp were a pair of Republic soldiers, armed and armored, tasked with escorting the nearby Jedi off world. Tasked with protection. Tasked with assurance.

 

In mournful silence, the flock of Force-users boarded the shuttle, unsure of their final destination.

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

 

Two years had passed since the Treaty of Coruscant when the Jedi finally resettled on their ancient homeworld of Tython.

 

When the Jedi first returned, they found a remarkable world overrun by wildlife. In order to adopt a permanent residence, the Jedi had to clear paths through the overgrown vegetation, erect structures whilst under the watchful eyes of the local beasts. The stone buildings and pathways of old needed to be restored.

 

By the third year since the war's end, the Jedi Order sought to build and rebuild. And they succeeded. Construction on a new temple had begun, despite the attacks by the local natives, the Flesh Raiders. New students were taken on, despite the low population of Masters. The Order persisted, despite the shadows of dissent within its ranks.

 

It was an era of change. And after countless months of pouring their bodies, minds, and souls into the rebuilding effort, Jedi Knights Osetto Karrehl and Dehros Norrida had been granted the right to take on Padawans of their own. Emerging from the Council chambers, the two Jedi walked through the halls of the bustling, yet incomplete, Jedi Temple.

 

In the safety of their own home, both the Consular and Guardian wore more-traditional robes, rather than those suited for war. A pale tunic and trousers, beset by an thick, brown outer cloak.

 

The Miraluka possessed the same strip of cloth matching his robes wrapped around where his eyes would be were it not for his unique biology. The Consular’s brown, shoulder-length hair was neatly restrained behind his head, keeping the soft feature of his face unburdened.

 

The Human bared no overt scars on his visage, but the young Jedi’s still possessed a roughened countenance. The dark hair atop his head, and the stubble upon his chin was at odds with the Guardian’s rigid and orderly emotional state. There was in inner and outer calm about him, one readily apparent.

 

"So today is the day," Osetto stated, the Miraluka almost floating with emotional whimsy as he made his way through the unfinished halls. "Finally, we're responsible for more than just clearing brush and stone."

 

"This is not a decision to be made with haste," Dehros replied, utterly stoic in his delivery. "Is this something we are truly prepared to do?"

 

Osetto offered a warm nod. "If I didn't think so, I would have never suggested the idea to the Masters. This will be good for us and for the Padawans. Besides, no one is ever really ready to take on a student. Our character is judged by how we react to the unknown, rather than the known."

 

As the two Jedi emerged from the Temple's interior, they walked upon a scene of unusual splendor. A large banner hoisted above the entrance of the half-finished structure read "Apprenticeship Day" in bold letters. Amongst the training grounds that lay in front of the temple, numerous Jedi, young and old, populated the area. Scores of initiates who had successfully passed previous trials of the Order mingled with the gathering of Jedi Knights and Masters. Standing under the calm rays of the Tython sun, Dehros and Osetto paused at the top of the steps that led to the grounds below.

 

"I still don't know if this is a good idea," said the Human, still neutral in his tone.

 

The Miraluka passed his eyeless gaze before the proceedings, seeing the gathering of Jedi young and old through the Force. "The Order has been rebuilt and reestablished, but it is still somewhat disconnected internally. We've mended the cracks of mortar and stone but have yet to renew the relationships of tutor and Padawan for much of the Order. We lost our masters to the war, as did some of these initiates. While ready to move on and continue their training, circumstances have halted their progress, which is definitely not easy on a young mind."

 

"So, what," Dehros began, scratching the shortest of stubble that grace his chin, "put a bunch of Jedi in the same area and force them to pair up?"

 

Osetto released a light chuckle. "Lighten up Dehros, this is an event to be celebrated."

 

"Being overzealous with excitement and splendor is not the way of the Jedi," Dehros reminded.

 

Another chuckle from the Miraluka. "And to think, when we were Padawans I was the one quoting the Code."

 

Standing atop the steps leading into the Temple, Dehros received the playful nudging of his friend's elbow into his side. But his stance remained rigid, his eyes unwavering. "We're neither the same people, nor the same Order we were three years ago. Things have changed, Osetto."

 

"And it's time we change them back. Restore the Order. If we stagnate, then we will wallow in fear and negativity, which is just what the Sith want."

 

"I wish for the Order to return to its prime as much as you do, but I do not know if this is the way," Dehros admitted

 

The Miraluka placed s soft hand upon his friend's shoulder. "A few of the Masters were calling for it to be purely a tournament of skill, but I think these children have seen enough pain in recent years. This is a place for prospective tutors to judge these initiates as they were judged. Not just by skill, but knowledge and insight. Saber duels, as well as lectures and philosophy."

 

Dehros stared at the proceedings below before finally turning to the hand gracing his shoulder. Even if he refused to budge from his stoic countenance, there was a subtle shift in the Human's being. "Well, if you feel your student ever requires additional martial training, I would be willing to lend my hand."

 

"And if you feel your student ever requires a lesson in breaking the rules, I would gladly lend mine," said Osetto, retrieving his hand after giving his friend's shoulder a quick pat.

 

"Do try to keep your jesting to a minimum around the impressionable youth."

 

"Not to mention the curmudgeonly elders."

 

"Yes, it would have been a shame had the Council banned you from an event of your own devising," Dehros added, his dry, bordering-on-cold tone making it difficult to distinguish between genuine thought and deadpan snark.

 

"You don't think the meeting went that badly, do you?" Osetto asked. The Guardian’s silent stare was answer enough. "Okay, point taken."

 

"You said we could rebuild… I suppose I always had a hard time believing you," Dehros admitted. "Technically, I still have a hard time believing it. But I'll not have my doubt cloud my judgment, or get in the way, if we can truly heal the Order with this."

 

"Trust me, I don't believe we're going to save the Order overnight with a mere gathering of Masters and Padawans. But every little thing helps."

 

"And I swore to do whatever it takes, no matter how insignificant it might be, if it means finding peace. I only wish this were less awkward. I've been given permission to take on a Padawan, but I don't know the first thing about how to pick one."

 

"We were raised during the war," said Osetto. "Now that it's over, I'd say a lot of us aren't sure how to move forward. I think it best if we used the wisdom imparted upon us by our elders and hope that we can follow in their footsteps."

 

"Choose a Padawan as we were chosen?" the Human suggested.

 

"Perhaps. This is a new age, Dehros. Filled with new peoples and a new home. But we must never forget the past. Our past. The good and the bad."

 

"Now the learners become the tutors."

 

"Oh, we're still the learners," Osetto said, reaffirming his smile. "Now we'll just be receiving insight from students of our own, rather than our Masters. This isn't the end of our training, merely a new beginning."

 

Osetto could see Dehros slowly warming up to the entire prospect. Something almost resembling a smile even graced his face as he looked out amongst the cavalcade of students mingling with prospective Masters. The sight was a pleasant surprise for Osetto, who had steadily watched his friend become more reserved since their departure from Coruscant. The two parted on good terms, walking amongst the larger gathering of Jedi intent on observing the potential students that had gathered, hoping that amongst them was the ideal initiate to take on as a Padawan.

 

 

With a relaxed pace, Osetto gently walked across the grounds in front of the temple, 'taking in the sights' as much as his species was able to. In his mind, the scene was aglow with radiant positivity, Jedi of all kinds finding solace in the proceedings. At the foot of the steps, a pair of Jedi Masters were having their own conversation in regard to the event. Numerous layers of loose-fitting robes in earthen-tones covered their figures, completely absent the armored plates and modifications utilized during the war.

 

"They say the temple's construction won't be completely finished for another couple of years and yet we're expediting the training of our students?" said the Zabrak, a crown of stubby horns sprouting from his unhooded cranium.

 

"The Order is capable of bearing the burden of such progressions. The sooner we can rebuild and return to the Republic the better," the Human colleague replied.

 

Osetto politely cleared his throat as he approached the pair. "Ah, Masters Quanera and Cabaril! I hope the day has been kind to you both.”

 

"Knight Karrehl,” Cabaril offered with a polite nod of his head. The Human met the Consular’s eyeless gaze, before panning his sights about the temple grounds. “It would seem your gathering is off to a good start.”

 

"I'm pleased to hear it, but please, this is hardly my gathering,” Osetto admitted. “I could not have put it together without the aid of several Masters, including yourself.”

 

"Your humility is endearing, but you should be proud of your accomplishment,” said Cabaril. “I have a feeling the Order will be stronger as a result of the proceedings today."

 

"We can only hope," Quanera offered, lacking the other Jedi's enthusiasm. Offering his fellows a quick bow of his head, the Zabrak calmly stepped away.

 

"Don't worry about him," Cabaril said, almost at a whisper. "There are still those whom were impacted greatly by the war. The hardships have not yet been purged from their hearts, understandably. Many have hardened, refusing to take on students for the time being, until the Order has stabilized."

 

Osetto smile grew wide. "Here's hoping this puts us on the right track to stability.”

 

"Agreed."

 

With mutual bows, the two Jedi parted ways. Taking in the immediate scene that rest before him, Osetto saw that small clusters of students and instructors were starting to form. In one of the squared practice arenas, duels were taking place between some of the older Padawans, displaying their skills with a training saber under the watchful eyes of numerous potential masters. Kneeling upon the grass a short distance away, a gathering of young students listened intently to the scholarly musings of a dictating lecturer, with the exception of one peculiar Padawan.

 

The boys and girls that sat upon the grass baring wide eyes toward their superior were comprised of a multitude of species, none over the age of six or seven. However, towering over her neighboring peers, a teenage Cathar sat rather lackadaisically, her head slightly nodding off as if struggling to stay awake. The young adult eventually passed into a slumber, leaning against the perturbed child to her right.

 

"You see, when you take traditional Jedi architecture and combine it with the stylings and characteristics of the Alderaanian noble houses, you can begin to see the marvel of… I'm sorry, is the lecture not to your liking Ryska?" the Human lecturer barked at the snoozing Padawan. Immediately the student snapped to attention.

 

"What? Oh, no sir, uh, Master Strayen!" Ryska hastily replied. The Cathar possessed a slender frame covered with a pale-brown fur. The hair atop her head was a shade darker, kept short, and atypically unkempt for a student, with a singular Padawan braid hanging to her shoulder behind her right ear. Her face was soft and possessed a certain energy that contradicted her somewhat drowsy countenance.

 

Strayen gently rubbed his balding scalp accompanied by a polite shaking of his head. Before resuming his speech, Osetto had placed a hand on the aged Master's shoulder and offered a sincere bow of his head.

 

"Don't worry, I'll take this one off of your hands," the Miraluka whispered.

 

"As you wish," said Strayen, accompanying his words with the passing wave of his hand.

 

"Would you care to join me for a walk, Padawan?" Osetto asked of the embarrassed student. Saving herself from further scrutiny from Strayen, she promptly rose from the grass and patted her basic robes down, following the mysterious Jedi who had already begun his walk away from the circle of students. Catching up with him, the Padawan scratched the back of her head, unsure of how to proceed.

 

"So… uh, sorry about that. Back there. Waking up early doesn't mix well with lessons on architecture, I guess," Ryska admitted. Her words lacked the presentation and forethought expected of the Jedi that usually walked the Temple grounds, but possessed a warm and delightful candor.

 

The Consular offered a soft chuckle. "You needn't explain yourself. Sometimes, it's a hard choice which Strayen you want to put up with. The one that lectures or the one that locks himself away in his work."

 

"There's more than one of him?" Ryska asked, eyes wide with trepidation.

 

"Not physically, no. But we all possess our own allotment of facets and shapes to our personage, do we not?" Osetto offered with an air of whimsy. "I assume there's more to you than the snoozing Padawan I first laid eyes upon."

 

"Oh… well, yeah! You need something done, I'm the girl for the job! I just happen to excel in the field rather than, you know, behind a desk," said Ryska, her tomboyish tone subtly revealing her true nature.

 

"Relax. You need not try and sell yourself or build up a case in your favor," Osetto explained.

 

"Oh, so you're not taking on a student," Ryska muttered, eyes falling to her feet.

 

Osetto placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder. "Now, I never said that.” The Cathar lifted her gaze, meeting the Miraluka’s eyeless visage. Soon, both possessed smiles upon their lips. “Come, there's much to discuss.”

 

The Consular had sensed something curious within the student when he sensed her presence. A rather unique aura. An inner nature, radiant in its outward presence. Positive and energetic, yet shifting and unsure. Hidden behind a veil of indiscipline, there lay a certain potential. A potential that could be tended or ignored, each leading its wielder down a different path. One of light. One of darkness. But deep within the Padawan's heart, Osetto sensed a spirit that sought guidance amongst the chaos. He was determined to provide that guidance.

 

 

Venturing toward one of the miniature plazas that graced the area in front of the Temple, Dehros looked upon the dueling students with more than a passing interest.

 

Two students clashed with one another within the dueling plaza, surrounded by kneeling Padawans and standing Masters watching with an invested interest. In their later teens, the duelists had progressed sufficiently in their ability with a training saber, spurred on by the harsh conditioning of the war. As the combatants swung the energized rods of metal, rather than searing beams of plasma, the onlookers were free to gauge their abilities. While far from mastery, the two had sufficiently studied Shii-Cho, the first form of lightsaber combat, and were beginning to show themselves capable of moving on to more advanced combat practices, much to the fascination of the onlookers.

 

The two combatants varied in many ways, opposing each other in looks, style, form, and presence. The Padawan dominating the fight was a Mirialan, a humanoid baring pale-green skin. Male, athletic build, rigid stance, powerful and effective movements. The other Padawan was a Human doing her best to keep pace. Female, lean, flowing and grandiose movements. Watching the two from the sidelines, Dehros managed to catch the eye of the Jedi Master adjacent to him.

 

"Knight Norrida,” he spoke up. A Zabrak, different from Quanera. Different set of horns upon his head. Different set of tattoos upon his face. Different demeanor, one of warmth. “I figured you would eventually make your way to these parts.”

 

"It is good to see you, Master Travin," said Dehros, usual neutral tone. "The duelists appear to have gathered quite the audience."

 

Travin nodded as he scratched his chin. "Yes, they really are fascinating students. Very progressed for their age. It is a shame they may not find a new Master."

 

"What do you mean?" Dehros asked.

 

The Zabrak released a low, regretful sigh. "As far along they are in their training, it could serve to their detriment. Teenagers who have lost their Masters, lived much of their lives under the chaos that is war… they have a way of accumulating baggage. They are prone to attachment. In more ways than one. To people. To the past. To emotions and beliefs. Not many would welcome the challenges of taking them under their wing. It is my job to oversee much of the field training that Padawans undergo, I know for a fact that I could not also teach a student such as these."

 

Dehros knew the truth in Travin’s words. The older someone was, the less likely it was for them to be inducted into the Order, for fear of their previous life taking precedence over the Jedi teachings. A similar stigma yet remained for the transferring of older students between Masters, had they faced troublesome circumstances. As much interest the gathered Jedi had taken in the Padawans, they all sensed the potential dangers that rested within each one.

 

The students had been tried and tried again. By the Order, by the war, by the galaxy at large. Discipline could either work in their favor or to their detriment, calming them or pushing them over the edge. Many would favor their transfer into one of the lesser servicing sectors of the Order rather than continue their path to Knighthood.

 

As Dehros looked onward, rubbing the stubble upon chin, it appeared the bout was coming to a close. In the midst of one of the teenage girl’s wide, rhythmic swings, the Mirialan countered with a brief, calculated parry, pushing past her defenses and sending her to the flat of her back. Directing his training saber down, the Mirialan paused a brief distance away from the felled student, its tip a safe distance from the fallen duelist. With a grin, the defeated Padawan offered a word of congratulation toward the victor. With a bow of his head, the other duelist offered a hand a help the student to her feet.

 

A curiousness began to rise within Dehros as he watched the Mirialan. A practiced swordsman, utterly focused and efficient in his style and countenance. His face and expression were completely calm and collected, bordering on a cold detachment. A facade attempting to hide the competing forces that battled within his heart and mind. Dehros had expected to sense a chaotic back-and-forth taking place within the student. Instead he felt an internal order, two equal halves settled, on which he stood on the precipitous edge between the two. Light and Dark. A worrisome prospect for a student, but an all too familiar feeling for Dehros. Something he had sensed before… during the war… in himself.

 

After the two duelists had parted ways with a mutual bow, the Mirialan began to step out into the sidelines when he noticed Dehros approaching him. Passing off his training saber to another initiate, the Padawan turned to greet the Guardian.

 

"Master Jedi," the Mirialan softly spoke up, rigidly bowing his head.

 

"I've not yet the privilege of becoming anyone’s master, young one," Dehros admitted. "My name is Dehros Norrida. Might I ask you of yours?"

 

"I am Torzin Varuuz," the teenager promptly stated, straightening out his bowed posture. Everything about Torzin's outer appearance was meticulous and orderly. The dark hair upon his head was utterly tidy and conservatively short aside from the Padawan braid behind his ear. Upon his serene visage, Torzin possessed a series of cultural tattoos, basic geometrical shapes woven into a simple pattern. Starting on his cheekbones and stretching to his ears were a stripe of interlocking triangles on each side of his face, completely symmetrical.

 

"Torzin, I must compliment you on your dueling skills. You were very capable with that training saber," Dehros offered, his tone making it seem more an observation rather than a compliment.

 

The Mirialan nodded his head in respect. "That is very kind of you to say so, sir. If I may speak freely, I would like to state that I had already constructed my personal lightsaber over three years ago. I'm afraid it was lost during the final hours of the war." There was a slight tremor in the Padawan's words as he finished his last sentence. The lightsaber obviously wasn't the only thing lost.

 

"I take it that means you would want nothing more than to continue your training, so that you may acquire another?"

 

"It is not the Jedi way to 'want' something in such a way. But I feel my abilities and capabilities would be severely limited without one," Torzin admitted.

 

"What, to you, is a lightsaber?" asked Dehros.

 

"A weapon… in the most basic of terms,” answered Torzin. “But I know its value lies in matters beyond that of a simple blade. It is a tool, physically and metaphysically. With it, the ability to bring about change. Bring about balance. With it, the ability to protect the galaxy from the Sith. There may be a way to oppose those who worship the Dark without one, and if someone knows of it I will gladly listen, but until that day I will place my faith in something tried and true."

 

Dehros was correct in his assumptions. Torzin was more like him that he had originally realized.

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

 

"I remember my days as a Padawan," Osetto reminisced with the intrigued Cathar, looking outward to the small pond that rest a short distance from the temple. "They were… tumultuous, to say the least. I often wondered what my studies would have been like if we weren't at war. I wanted nothing more than to dive into some of the old archives… read histories, study the plethora of knowledge at my disposal. But with the threat of the Sith looming over our heads, certain teachings understandably took precedence. But even with the Great War, master was accommodating… and he always seemed to possess the uncanny ability to keep a bright outlook. It's funny, even as a student I was the one reminding him of the Code. I was utterly baffled by the way he carried himself back then. All smiles. I think it actually got on the nerves of some of his peers. It's one thing to be calm in a time of war. It's another to be a Jedi cracking jokes. Now I realize that was just his way of operating, fighting through the pain and suffering he was forced to witness occurring around him. To this day, I still believe he died with that wonderful glint of hope in his eye."

 

"He sounds like a wonderful person," said Ryska, a softness in her voice. "Mind if I ask his name?"

 

"Varen Odeya. He and a few others gave their lives during the Sacking of Coruscant, so that we could lead a group of younglings and Padawans to safety. He was a good teacher. And a good friend."

 

Looking over, Osetto saw that Ryska had solemnly lowered her head, on the verge of tears. Forcing a smile, the Consular lowered himself to the ground, where he lay upon the grassy hill on his back. With a subtle wave, he beckoned the Padawan to join him. For a period, the two simply gazed into the calm skies above them, watching the clouds gently pass over the temperate proceedings.

 

"I know it's not the Jedi way, or in line with the Code… but I admit I miss my old master," Osetto stated, not breaking his skyward gaze. "I know we're supposed to reject attachment and accept that death is a natural part of the Force… but I'd prefer if none of this were necessary. That we didn't need to find Padawans new Masters, that we didn't need to hide away on some ancient planet because our previous home was reduced to ruin, that we… didn't have to constantly throw ourselves against the forces of darkness. I can guess you feel the same way… and that's okay. Don't let anyone tell you that you need to abandon all vestiges of feeling to be a proper Jedi. Being a Jedi is perseverance. Adaptation. Moving forward. Having friends and… holding on to memories, that can drive you toward a better future. So long as you can remember that, it's like our masters never left."

 

Osetto looked over to see the Padawan dab her eyes with the back of her hand. However, her once solemn look had given way to a smile. The two remained on their backs as they relaxed under the beautiful scene of serenity that lay above them. At least, Osetto assumed it was beautiful. The distant sky didn't provide much through Force sight.

 

 

"Would you refuse training from someone who forcefully made you repeat past trials?" Dehros calmly asked the Mirialan student.

 

"I would never refuse the offer of training from a proper teacher, even if I had to retake tests I have already completed," Torzin admitted, ducking his gaze slightly to the side.

 

"Then that is the question, isn't it? What to you is a 'proper teacher'?" asked Dehros.

 

"My apologies, sir. I did not mean to question your abilities… I simply believe there might be others who are more suited to take me as their Padawan," Torzin said, still averting his gaze.

 

"I merely seek to understand. What might you consider more suitable traits?" No matter what, there were no alterations in the Human’s stoic tone.

 

"It's just… I've accomplished much despite the hardships of the Great War, and my previous master understood this. He was Mirialan, as I was. These tattoos on my cheeks, they have special meanings. They are a physical record of my deeds and progression. Anyone who understood them could tell you. But, ever since the war ended, it's like everything I've done till now has been… pointless. Forgotten. Rendered inert. What is the point of skill if it cannot be utilized? What is the point of knowledge if no one asks of you? What's the point of looking forward, if it is forever kept out of your reach?"

 

"Sometimes, it is prudent to take a step backward," Dehros stated. "If we always look forward, we miss the enemy sneaking up behind us. If we always keep our heads held high, we trip over the obstacles that lay at our feet. There is foundation in the past. Knowledge. Stability. Moving forward is easy when you have a lightsaber in your hands. Without one, you're forced to stop and think. Take in your surroundings. Realize the road ahead isn't just full of solutions. I understand your frustrations. We need strength. We need knowledge. We need skill. In order to repair the Order. But we also need patience. Understanding. Peace. You are an accomplished individual. One need not be a Mirialan to see that. My friend of many years is an alien who literally cannot see the world as I do. My master was a Zabrak, her cultural upbringing literally imprinted upon her face. And she taught me that true mastery lay within all avenues. That we must look to the past as much as the future to find inspiration and solace. That is why we have returned here, to our Order's ancient homeworld. To rebuild, we must look upon that which made us who we are today. You could find a master who could tell you block for block what your tattoos mean and let you pick up right where you left off… or you could find a master who still understands you, your past, and your struggles, with the added benefit of granting you the proper training someone like you needs. Deserves."

 

The two locked eyes for an extended period of silence. Eventually, Torzin closed his eyes and offered a sincere bow of his head to Dehros, his new teacher.

 

 

"I understand much of what you might have endured for the past couple of years," Osetto admitted, breaking the peaceful silence. "The relocation and rebuilding effort has been hard on all of us, but it must be especially difficult for a Padawan. It might feel as if you've not yet earned a place amongst the Order. However, as much as it is your place to learn, you've also the ability to stand on your own. I know you desire a master. You know I desire a Padawan. The question I ask of you is… what is it that you actually want?"

 

Ryska remained silent for the immediate moment, staring upward at the Tython atmosphere. Then, she took a deep breath before a prolonged exhalation as she scratched the back of her head.

 

"I know… that it is a Jedi's place to defend the Republic and preserve peace throughout the galaxy. I don't know… how we're supposed to do that," Ryska admitted. "I know that we should seek guidance from the Code, but there are so many interpretations. So many doctrines. So many methods. I want to be able to fight the Sith, but I don't want to waste what peace we have preparing for another war. I want to progress my training, but not at the expense of helping out those around me. I know I'm not the best duelist. I know I'm not the most well-read. I know I may not appear the most dedicated, but when I'm presented with something I can believe in, I know I'm capable of committing myself. I want… in simplest terms… to understand. The Jedi. The Force. The Galaxy."

 

"What you seek… is balance," Osetto said as he raised himself from the ground. "I may not have all the answers, but I can certainly put you on the right track toward realizing that goal. And I would like nothing more than to do so."

 

The Consular extended a hand downward, offering it to the Padawan. Ryska grasped ahold of it wearing a smile, and lifted herself off the ground. Together, the duo began their journey back towards the temple, as master and student.

 

 

"You desire training," Dehros stated. "Martial skill. Mystic knowledge. The question I ask is… what are your intentions? Over the course of your training, you will come into the possession of a unique set of capabilities. What is it exactly, that you plan to do with said capabilities?"

 

"I thought you disapproved of focusing too much attention on the future?" Torzin hesitantly suggested.

 

"I disapprove of blinding ourselves by needlessly staring into the 'shining beacon' that we occasionally make the future out to be," Dehros replied. "But ignoring it is just as harmful as ignoring the past. To misunderstand it is to misunderstand our codes, our teachings, our actions. Understanding that… what are your intentions? What is it that you want?"

 

"I want… to be able to combat the darkness. To preserve the light," Torzin declared. "To fight, but also defend. To promote peace, but also possess the ability to end whatever wars we will inevitably be drawn into. To master the forms of combat. To master the Force."

 

"What you seek… is balance," Dehros said. "I can provide you the challenges and training that will put you on that path. If you are dedicated, you just might see those desires through to fruition. And I am dedicated to allowing you that chance."

 

"Thank you, master," Torzin offered as he bowed his head. Dehros provided a reciprocal nod of his own. Beckoning the Padawan to follow, the duo began to walk away from the dueling area.

 

 

Walking along the dirt path stretching in front of the Jedi Temple, the two duos of students and teachers met. Osetto and Ryska strode along, sharing a laugh as they discussed the lighter things. Directing his focus forward, the Consular recognized Dehros with a student of his own, and offered an enthusiastic wave to catch his attention. The Guardian acknowledged his friend's call with a quick nod and approached the enthusiastic couple with his Torzin at his side.

 

"Good day, Osetto," Dehros began, his pleasantries ever marked by his stoicism. "I see you've found yourself a Padawan."

 

The Miraluka smiled, turning from friend to the girl by his side. "Yes. Dehros, allow me to introduce you to Ryska, my new student."

 

The Cathar offered a soft wave of her hand, mirroring her master's warmth. "If you're wondering if there's more, there isn't. It's just Ryska."

 

"And this must be your new Padawan," Osetto said, turning toward the boy to Dehros' flank. "Let's see… young male Mirialan duelist. If I'm remembering the student files correctly, I do believe you are Torzin… Varuuz?"

 

"That is correct, master Jedi," Torzin offered with a respectful dip of his head.

 

Ryska's eyes and smile grew wider. "Wow, do you know every student here?"

 

"I was involved in organizing Apprenticeship Day," said Osetto. "I looked over the records of all the students that would be present."

 

"So… you knew about me before we actually spoke?" Ryska asked, a slight drop in her voice.

 

The Miraluka maintained his smile, placing a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder. "Only what any administrator could know. Only after spending time with you could I hope to come to an understanding of what kind of person you truly might be."

 

"But.. if you saw my file… does that mean you know…" Ryska slowly began to ask.

 

"Yes… I know about the 'holocron incident'," Osetto whispered, maintaining his pleasant tone.

 

Ryska stared into her master's eyeless visage. "And you still wanted to take me on as a student?"

 

"Of course," said Osetto, giving the Cathar's shoulder a friendly shake. "In reality, I actually had a laugh when I read about it."

 

"To be fair, it is not large feat to drive him to laughter," Dehros added.

 

"Oh, be quiet you old curmudgeon," Osetto teased.

 

The Human raised an eyebrow. "I'm only a year older than you."

 

"Hah! This, my Padawan, will most likely be your assistant master," Osetto explained. "When we were students like yourselves, our masters were the best of friends, leading us to spend most of our years training together. Because there are lessons I am ill-equipped to teach, I will count on my friend Dehros here to lend a hand on occasion."

 

The young Mirialan looked to the stone-faced Human. "Am I to receive additional training from your friend, master?"

 

"He is a bit unorthodox," Dehros began, "but Master Karrehl has a greater grasp and understanding of some of the more intricate facets of the Force than I do. He is a capable teacher and can help you get the most out of your training."

 

"We'll likely confer on our teachings, monitor each other's progress, things like that," Osetto added. "As a Padawan, it is good to learn from a number of sources. You'll have the benefit of drawing from the pooled knowledge of two Jedi Knights, and more than likely, your fellow student."

 

Dehros offered a quick nod. "It is good for you to possess a point of comparison. Training alongside Osetto's Padawan will allow us to test you in ways beyond the capabilities of a single student. That is how we were trained, and I believe it will provide satisfactory results."

 

"Glad to see we agree," Osetto said with a renewed smile, rescinding the hand from his student's shoulder.

 

Stepping forward, Ryska offered a grin alongside her extended hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Torzin."

 

Looking down toward the hand, the Mirialan paused for a moment before taking hold. "As am I."

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

 

A week had passed since the pairs of masters and students had been formed, formalized, and unceremoniously confirmed by the Jedi Council. Osetto and Dehros were eager to teach. Ryska and Torzin were eager to learn. But none the less, training was slow to start. The Padawans moved out of the shared dormitories populated by initiates and their previous fellows, into more private accommodations. Cramped and tucked away in a residence hall encroached upon by the surrounding wilds a short distance from the temple, it was still a sign of their ascendance. Inhabiting neighboring quarters, the teenagers now lived in the same vicinity as their masters, symbolizing the new connections being formed. With little material possessions, the moving process was no large feat, but assimilating into their new place took time.

 

After the commotions had finally settled, the four Jedi found themselves amongst the temple ground, standing in one of the dueling squares. Apprenticeship Day long since passed, the surrounding scenery returned to its typical snapshot of serenity amongst the Tython landscape.

 

Stepping toward the center of the miniature arena, the two new masters were ready to begin their first prepared lesson. The Human and Miraluka were garbed in matching robes, numerous layers of dull browns absent the armored reinforcements called upon during wartime, though still fitted for martial movements. The two Padawans sat patiently at the outer threshold of the dueling square in similar attire, though lacking the thicker, outer layers.

 

"Students,” Osetto began, “Dehros and I have decided that due to your progressed natures, we would begin training with more of a demonstration than a typical lesson.”

 

"Correct," Dehros added. "Matters of skill, spirit, and further trials will be conducted in time. For today, a piece of knowledge that all Jedi should learn."

 

"And that all Jedi should teach," Osetto continued. "The medium for which we will part with this knowledge shall be a duel. Between Dehros and I."

 

"An atypical duel," said Dehros. "One in which victory is not earned by merely defeating one's opponent nor driving them toward yielding."

 

"Instead, we've given you, our respective students, a list of five conditions,” Osetto explained. “Five things, that if fulfilled by the opposing duelist, earns the scripter victory."

 

"In other words… Ryska, your list details things Osetto thinks I will do. Torzin, yours details thing I think Osetto will do. First to fulfill all the conditions loses."

 

"So it's a lesson against predictability," Ryska suggested.

 

Dehros nodded. "In a way.”

 

"A Sith desires control. What is it that a Jedi should desire?" Osetto asked.

 

Torzin opened his mouth, but no words came out. Only after a few moments of hesitation did he manage to speak. "Freedom?"

 

"Control." Osetto replied. "Just as Jedi and Sith utilize opposing sides of the Force, we also follow opposing manifestations of control. For them, domination. For us, discipline. They sow chaos, and then intend to manipulate it to their benefit. We seek balance, preserving peace throughout the galaxy by first preserving the peace within our own bodies, minds, and spirits."

 

"Therefore, our first demonstration will hopefully shed light on the intricacies of control," said Dehros. "It is not enough to simply fight an opponent. Striking without purpose is not the way of the Jedi. Instead, even in conflict, we are forever guiding the forces that surround us toward a sufficient goal. All the while preventing ourselves from falling victim to the manipulations of our foes."

 

"When in combat, control yourself, control the battlefield,” Torzin began, “but be wary of opposing forces intending to do the same.”

 

Dehros offered his student a quick nod. "Correct.”

 

"Yes, but this is a lesson that supersedes a Jedi's ability to combat the forces of darkness,” Osetto added. “It rests at the most basic tenets of our Order.”

 

"Since it's so basic, shouldn’t it be part of what we learned back when we were just initiates?" Ryska asked. "I mean, the importance of discipline was drilled into us pretty early."

 

"Yes, as it was with us," Osetto said with a chuckle. "But it is important to remember that most things fade with time. Our intent is to show you both how things can develop when two Jedi of relatively equal standing oppose one another."

 

"Perhaps it would better if we simply proceeded with the demonstration," Dehros suggested.

 

"Quite," Osetto stated, pulling the lightsaber from his belt. His opponent did the same. A moment later, the green and blue beams of ignited plasma presented themselves from the Consular and Guardian respectively.

 

"Whoa, I know you’re trying to tout your 'control' skills… but wouldn't you rather use a training saber?" Ryska asked, genuine worry in her voice.

 

"We didn't bring any," Osetto jokingly offered.

 

Torzin raised an eyebrow as he looked toward the plethora of equipment sitting just beyond the threshold of the arena. "There's an entire rack of them over there."

 

"He is being facetious," Dehros calmly stated. "It is okay, though. We've modified our sabers' containment fields to prevent it from fully passing through material. They're incapable of much more than producing light burns."

 

"And I've a background in Force healing, so I can remedy any errant strikes to my or Dehros' body," Osetto added. "So… shall we begin?" Dehros offered only a brief nod as he raised his saber, gripping the weapon firmly with his two hands, his eyes dedicatedly locked with the Consular's eyeless visage. Much more aloof, Osetto kept a wide stance, holding his saber single-handedly, away from his body. "Students, be sure to yell out when you see your master's opponent perform one of the listed feats."

 

The two students broke their dedicated gaze toward their teachers to study the small sheets of flimsiplast they currently held within their hands. Each student intently eyed the parchment, memorizing their respective lists of five actions so that they could properly focus on the ensuing duel. Reading over her series of expected happenings, Ryska let out a slight giggle at her master's expectations. Leaning over, Torzin tried to sneak a quick peek at the Cathar's list before she teasingly clutched it to her chest. With a raised brow, the Mirialan resigned himself back to his own master's musings. Committing the list to memory, the male student turned his full attention to the duel about to begin.

 

"Ready?" Osetto warmly asked.

 

"Ready," Dehros calmly stated.

 

The two duelists slowly circled one another, taking measured steps as they focused their attention on one another. As the seconds passed, the duelists had maneuvered themselves to opposing sides of the small dueling square. Then, motionlessness. Finally, silence.

 

"The duel begins… now!" the Miraluka called out.

 

Their lightsabers in hand, Osetto and Dehros descended upon one another. The distance between the two shrunk until they finally clashed in the center of the dueling arena. The Guardian, the more physically powerful, was able to come out of the contest pushing forward, causing the Consular to take a quick leap back. Pressing his assault, Dehros eliminated the distance between the two and sought to initiate another clash. Rather than directly block the Guardian's assault, Osetto parried the blow and allowed the charging duelist to continue past him.

 

"One must always remember that there is no singular type of opponent that one might face in the field," Osetto commented, still focusing his attention on his opponent. "You mustn't expect every opponent to give into haste." Dehros remained silent as his eyes narrowed, affixed to the Miraluka. "You've been trained to fight Sith. What you've learned during your previous teachings will likely need to be revised."

 

"Untrue," Dehros spoke up. "We needn't divert our focus from combating the clear and present threat of the darkness. Your training will be expanded upon, but not needlessly revised."

 

"Oh!" Ryska shouted from the sidelines in a shimmering delight. "Number one: Correct Master Karrehl."

 

The Miraluka offered a quick nod of approval to his giddy Padawan.

 

"Osetto, I thought we agreed that our lists would concern matters of combat," Dehros said to his still-smiling opponent.

 

"Number two: Cite rules violation. Does that fulfill that one?" Ryska warmly asked.

 

"I'd say it does," Osetto offered, matching his student’s warmth. He could sense Dehros' cold stare beating down upon him. "What? The purpose of this exercise was to illuminate certain aspects of-"

 

Before he could finish his sentence, Dehros had begun another charge toward the Consular. Brashly reacting, Osetto thrust forward his open palm, sending out a telekinetic shockwave that impacted its full force against the Guardian. Steeling his stance, the shockwave managed to push Dehros back several meters, though the duelist never managed to lose his footing.

 

"Torzin?" Dehros spoke up.

 

"Number two: Force push," Torzin dedicatedly read off.

 

"Hah! Well, someone wasn't being very creative," Osetto teased.

 

"Number one: Master Karrehl laughs," Torzin stated, carrying over his steady tone from before.

 

"What was that about these pertaining to combat?" Osetto continued his verbal prodding toward his fellow Jedi.

 

"To be fair, you do laugh during combat," Dehros plainly stated.

 

The Consular’s smile remained. "I try to restrain myself to chuckles, maybe the errant chortle. Alright, so it's two to two. Shall we continue?"

 

With a nod, Dehros raised his lightsaber, Osetto quickly doing the same. The two masters entered combat once again, clashing blade against blade. The two students watched with interest from the sidelines, eager to see how the duel would develop. Dehros appeared to be physically dominating the fight, but Osetto seemed more than capable of defending himself against the Guardian's advances. When the two were about to connect once more, Dehros permitted a purposeful fault in his strike, sending a blow well past his opponent. Capitalizing on the misstep, Osetto took hold of the Guardian's wrist and with a twist, forced the duelist to drop his lightsaber. Before the metal cylinder had even touched the ground, Dehros had used his free hand to deliver a precision strike with his fist to the Miraluka's chest.

 

"Number Four: Disarming technique," Torzin read off.

 

"Number Three: Unarmed strike," Ryska read, almost speaking over her associate.

 

As Osetto stumbled back, Dehros retrieved his weapon with the aid of the Force. With some distance between the two, the Guardian held the weapon tightly within his hands. Just as the Consular was beginning to recover, Dehros leapt into the air with a Force-assisted leap. Suddenly springing to attention, Osetto flung his lightsaber with a flick of the wrist, sending the still-ignited weapon spiraling toward his opponent with a graceful arc. As Dehros began his cascade, he was forced to bat away the approaching lightsaber, destabilizing his arching descent.

 

"Number Four: Leap more than two meters into the air," Ryska hastily spoke.

 

"Number Five: Lets go of lightsaber of own volition," Torzin promptly listed.

 

Osetto surged forward and out of his opponent's impact zone with an impressive burst of speed, reaching out and retrieving the deflected saber. The two duelists stopped, back to back, before calmly turning to face one another. They each only possessed one strike left. The two proceeded with caution, but not overly cautious lest they be expected to halt their advance. The two continued their combat in the most rudimentary of fashions. No outrageous maneuvers. No uncalculated tactics. Pure martial skill put to the test against one another's. Strike after strike, blow after blow, parry after parry. The two darted around the confined arena, refusing to vacate the premises. As Osetto found himself being drawn toward a corner, he couldn't hope to deflect the Guardian's final advance. With a twist of the blade, Dehros drove the saber from Osetto's hands. Defenseless, the Miraluka found the Guardian's boot sent into his gut, sending him tumbling to the ground. Bringing his saber down upon his fallen opponent, Osetto reached out with open palms. One of the training dummies that lined the arena's exterior entered the fray to block the strike, the Consular telekinetically placing it between himself and his opponent.

 

"Number three: Manipulate environment," Torzin read the final condition off of his list.

 

Shoving the training dummy aside, Osetto look up to see Dehros extending a helping hand. Grasping ahold of it, the Consular raised himself from the ground with a trademark smile. Dusting himself off, the Miraluka retrieved his lightsaber before approaching the center of the dueling square alongside his Human companion. As the two Jedi steadied themselves, they showed little signs of visual fatigue or exhaustion. Looking to their masters, the Padawans wore a renewed interest upon their faces.

 

"All too often, we think of the universe in the simplest terms of action and reaction," Osetto started.

 

"As is customary," Dehros continued. "For understanding the consequences of actions, and what events shall follow, lies at the foundation of preserving balance."

 

"But it is not enough to think of things within the simplicity of a singular sequence," Osetto added. "One must be ready for any number of outcomes, and be able to adapt to the multitude of facets presented."

 

"Combat is not merely a straightforward continuance of action, reaction, action," Dehros explained. "One must account for what could possibly occur across multiple variables. Reactions to reactions. Altering perceptions and driving motivations."

 

"Adaptation,” said Osetto. “We must control the change within ourselves, because otherwise others will do it for us. What occurred in that duel was not just a test of physical prowess, but one's ability to think more than two steps ahead."

 

"Not only being aware of one's own actions and carefully gauging one's reactions, but guiding one's opponent toward something," Dehros continued. "A proper duelists knows the difference between capitalizing on a perceived fault, and being driven toward a trap."

 

"Out of the nearly infinite variables presented to us, we were able to drive one another toward fulfilling a mere five conditions," Osetto offered before a brief pause. "Well… only four in my favor. So that is your lesson for today. One: The nature of control, whether it be of ourselves or toward a foe, is ultimately highly varied and complicated. Two: Things that are ultimately highly varied and complicated can be rendered quite simple, if not predictable, with proper control."

 

"I still don't see how you were expecting Master Norrida to fulfill the fifth condition," Ryska said from the sidelines, restraining her giggling.

 

"Why? What was it?" Dehros asked, ever stoic.

 

"Number five: Dehros smiles," Ryska plainly stated. Dehros offered a raise of his brow as he peered toward the smirking Consular, who offered a slight shrugging of his shoulders.

 

"Three: Rarely, is 'winning' required to prove one's point," Osetto added.

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

 

Silence. Calm. Reflection. Those were the intended effects of meditation, though intention could be a trouble area for some Padawans.

 

Within Osetto's private residence composed of quaint designs and simple features, he and his student sat upon a simple decorative rug, facing each other a short distance apart. The Consular was the model of repose, knees bent, hands together, serene demeanor. The same could not be said of the Padawan. Ryska sat across from her master, eyes closed, knees bent, hands together, but the rest of her seemed quite adverse to conforming to the peaceful stance. She swayed from side to side, sneaking a quick peak at her master every now and again.

 

"It's been a while since I was a student," Osetto warmly spoke up, "but I'm rather sure they teach proper meditation technique as an initiate."

 

"I'm sorry, master," Ryska offered, sufficiently embarrassed. "I've never been too good at, you know, sitting still… completely silent… for extended periods of time…"

 

"You needn't worry yourself too much, Padawan. Inner peace is an importance aspect of being a proper Jedi. This is, of course, achieved through proper meditation."

 

"Which I seem to have trouble with…"

 

"It would appear that way," said Osetto, completely deadpan. Ryska physically and emotionally drooped, prompting a light chuckle from the Consular. "But as we know… appearances can be deceiving. I like to believe meditation to be a state of mind rather than a defined action."

 

"But I thought achieving a certain state of mind was the end result of meditation…" Ryska mused. The Miralukan offered an eyeless stare from behind his simple face-wrapping. "I'm sorry… 'honor thy Master'."

 

The Consular offered another chuckle. "You'll do me plenty of honor if you'll assume I'm not one of those Masters who can't stand to be corrected." The Miraluka's warmth put her mind at ease, allowing her to take a deep breath and set herself into the proper meditative stance.

 

For the moment at least. A few second later, the Cathar released a low sigh as she shook her head. “Sorry, I should really be better at this by now.”

 

“Would you rather do something else?” asked Osetto. “We don’t have to meditate. We could simply talk.”

 

Another sigh from the student, this time one of relief. “That would be great.”

 

“Very well,” Osetto offered with a smile. “What would you care to talk about?”

 

Ryska dipped her head. “I’m… not sure.”

 

“Would you like to talk about why you have trouble meditation?” Osetto asked.

 

The teenager offered a reluctant chuckle. “I’m probably just too energetic. In my blood, you know?”

 

“Energy can move and change,” Osetto offered. “If you’ve an abundance of it, it’s simply a matter of finding a way to utilize it. Meditation ought not be hindered by energy. If anything, meditation ought to be how you come to understand it. A Jedi is many parts. No single one should preclude another.”

 

“I know, I just can’t help it sometimes,” Ryska admitted.

 

“Understandable,” said Osetto. “But what you think of as a burden, should be considered a resource. You’ve the power to guide that energy inside you. Put it to use. It can bolster your resolve. Your perceptions. Your intuition. You simply have to seek to understand it. Don’t control it, but instead guide it. If you do, it will help you, not hinder you.”

 

“We’re… not just talking about hyperactivity anymore, are we?” Ryska asked.

 

Osetto’s smile widened. “Very astute.”

 

 

Within Dehros' private residence, he and his student sat upon a simple decorative rug facing each other a short distance apart. The Guardian and his Padawan both sat utterly still, utterly focused, absorbed within their own contemplative minds. That serenity took a quick pause as Dehros opened his eyes.

 

"I think the other two may have some misconceptions about the nature of meditation," Dehros stoically commented. “Conversation is not typically a proper means.”

 

Torzin broke his trance. "Master?"

 

"I'm sorry, Padawan. A meditative state brings with it heightened senses, and it can be hard to tune out Osetto's banter at times. The walls aren’t very thick to begin with."

 

Torzin’s eyes widened. "You can hear them talking?"

 

"Yes. Quite well, in fact. They preside in the room neighboring this one," Dehros explained, jutting a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the wall behind him. "If you focus, you might be able to hear them."

 

"I will try, master," said Torzin. The Mirialan shut his eyes, his brow furrowing as he focused his attention beyond himself. He took a deep breath, holding it in before its exasperated release. “I’m sorry, master. I’m afraid I can’t.”

 

“You can, it’s merely a matter of practice,” Dehros offered. “The potential rests within you, just as it does every Jedi. The ability to hone your senses, to bolster them with the Force. It is your ally. Your greatest resource. And so long as you do not attempt to overpower it, it will grant you its bounty. That is why we have the Code. It not only guides our actions, but cements our connection to the Force. Through peace, knowledge, serenity, and harmony… the light may shine. You cannot control the Force, but with its help you can control every fiber of your being. Which is good. It’d be rather unpleasant if you could not shut off your enhanced senses. Especially when one such as Osetto is within one’s own earshot.”

 

 

"I think our friends are talking about us," Osetto said with a chuckle. “Well, me at least.”

 

"Really? Master Norrida and Torzin?" Ryska asked, eyes growing as wide as her smile.

 

"Yes, they're on the other side of this wall,” Osetto revealed alongside a quick gesture.

 

The Cathar tilted her head. "You can hear them?"

 

"Not as well as I can see them," Osetto explained. Ryska remained silent, offering only the disbelieving arch of an eyebrow toward her blindfolded, eyeless master. "The same way I can see you making funny faces." Ryska immediately straightened her posture and wiped the smile from her face, prompting the Consular to adopt one of his own. "I have no eyes, that doesn't mean I cannot see. In fact, I'd say my vision is quite clear. Your eyes provide you a valuable range of information, but they are limited in scope. Your vision is conical. Mine… spherical. It matters not whether you are in front of me or behind me. In light or in darkness. In the open or behind a barrier. I can see you. And I can certainly see their lips moving."

 

 

"I afraid I still don't hear anything," Torzin admitted. "What are they talking about?"

 

"Osetto is describing his Force vision," Dehros explained. "It really is a remarkable trait, but any Jedi can achieve a similar effect with proper training. Miraluka simply lack the handicap of relying on their eyes for years before being told to ignore them.”

 

"Do you possess this skill?" Torzin asked.

 

"It requires focus, but yes,” said Dehros. “It doesn't come as naturally to me as it does Osetto, however. He has superior vision, but I have a firmer grasp on other senses."

 

 

Osetto bobbed his head as his lips curled into a grin. "Now he's attempting to downplay my abilities. I think he's trying to impress his Padawan."

 

Ryska let out a restrained giggle.

 

 

"That's not true Osetto," Dehros calmly stated, not breaking his meditative stance. Torzin slightly arched his brow, but focused on maintaining his poise. "I simply believe it important to inform my Padawan that one should not rely on a single sense for information."

 

 

"It's okay to boast every once in a while, Dehros. Or are you just embarrassed that you can only beat me in tests of hearing, smelling, and tasting?"

 

 

"Those can be just as important as sight and touch. But if you want boasting, fine. I beat you three to two when it comes to senses."

 

 

"You're forgetting the sixth sense, which I have a firmer grasp of. So, we're even."

 

 

"If you can't even define something you can't claim victory in it."

 

 

"Of course I can. And I'd take limited precognition over the ability to properly identify what I'm putting in my mouth," Osetto joked.

 

 

"And sometimes I regret my ability to properly identify what comes out of your mouth," Dehros replied. Whether the Guardian was playing along with his friend or not was masked by his continued stoicism.

 

 

Osetto and his student shared a soft round of laughter. "I think managed to pick up that last line," Ryska admitted.

 

"Very good, Padawan," Osetto praised. "Remember, your mental state is vulnerable to outside stimuli. Maintaining calm whilst also participating in conversation with either friend or foe can be daunting. One mustn't lose one's focus, temper, or bearings. It's easy to be at peace when you're alone with your thoughts… not so much when burdened with unwanted company."

 

"Yeah, but I still have trouble with the basics," Ryska regretfully admitted. “I still have a long way to go before I can even meditate properly.

 

"Don't worry. All things in time,” said Osetto. “Dehros wasn't much for meditation in our earlier days."

 

Ryska’s jaw dropped. "Really? Him?"

 

"He wasn't always the man sworn to stoicism,” Osetto explained. “Used to be quite the passionate fellow. I was the one constantly chastising him about following the Code when his master wasn't doing so. But, as you know… war has a way of changing things. For better or worse.”

 

 

"Master?" Torzin hesitantly spoke up. The guardian seemed entrenched in his meditations. Eyes open, but frozen in place, staring into the distance. "I still can’t hear what they’re saying. Master?"

 

Dehros lifted his head, directing his gaze to his Padawan. Only after a series of blinks did the Jedi speak. "Let us continue our meditations. In silence, if you would.”

 

The Mirialan offered a dutiful nod. "Yes, master."

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

I like it!

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

sweeeeet

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

 

Under the soft light of the rising Tython sun, the temple training grounds were warming up as initiates were getting an early start on their training. Jedi instructors tended to small groups of students, instructing them in the basic arts of swordsmanship and Force utilization. Circles of younglings levitated small rocks, their concentration breaking as soon as a Republic shuttle passed close overhead.

 

Traversing the temple steps, Jedi Knights Dehros and Osetto moved with their Padawans by their sides.

 

“Ryska. Torzin,” Osetto began as he walked and talked at a casual pace. “The lesson Dehros and I have planned for the day will take you beyond the usual training grounds.”

 

“And what lesson might that be?” Ryska enthusiastically asked.

 

“Finding out is part of the lesson,” Osetto teased. “As you may know, Tython is our new home, but it is far from developed, especially when compared to the Coruscant temple. When we arrived, there was little more than dilapidated stonework left behind by the ancient inhabitants. Months were devoted to exploring this world, and months more were spent constructing a permanent settlement. Even today, much of the temple still consists of the ruins that occupied these grounds, and won’t see restoration for another year that the least. But even if we do not have a proper ‘house’, the Jedi have found a ‘home’ here. Even with only rudimentary facilities and supplies, we dedicate ourselves to rebuilding the Order and training the next generation of Jedi.”

 

Passing by the makeshift arenas and platforms that dotted the temple’s lawn, the four Jedi began venturing down a stone path away from the students’ usual training grounds. Already, more trees and vegetation began to enter their view as the Tython’s impressive flora accentuated the road.

 

“Dehros and I were amongst some of the first to relocate to Tython,” Osetto continued. “Communing with Force, letting it guide us as we cut through the brush in search of our own history. We were there to assist our fellow Jedi, and it proved as worthwhile an experience as any other in our years of training.”

 

“Further down this path lies a region colloquially titled ‘The Gnarls’,” Dehros explained in his usual tone. “The majority of it remains covered in a thick undergrowth, but the Order has managed to restore the roads and pathways that run through it. The Council would like to see it eventually become another training grounds for Padawans.”

 

“So, our task is emulate your actions,” Torzin suggested. “Combat the harsh brush of Tython to aid in the Order’s recovery.”

 

“An astute observation,” Dehros offered.

 

“If only a bit mistaken,” Osetto added with a subtle grin. “I mean, you two are a bit underequipped to take on the wilds of Tython. We’re not that cruel.”

 

“Your task is to emulate results, not actions,” Dehros explained. “A physical trial that brings with it understanding, an expansion upon what you know about yourselves and the world around you.”

 

“Then what are we doing in the gnarls if not tearing down brush?” asked Ryska.

 

“Your task isn’t about tearing down, it’s about building up,” Osetto replied. As the young Cathar looked upon her master with a mix of curiosity and confusion, the Miraluka continued to lead them down the stone path in silence.

 

As the group ventured deeper into the Tythonian wilds, the Padawans caught their first glimpse of what awaited them in the gnarls. Trees sprouted from the earth, casting shadows upon weathered ruins of an age long passed. Little more than the occasional wall managed to survive the erosion of time, the crumbling stone structures laying toppled and consumed by the spreading of vegetation. Amidst the shade and brush, the astute eye could pick out statues and monuments that managed to remain standing off the beaten path.

 

The masters and their students journeyed further and further from the temple, into the supposed wilds that ought to have abandoned any semblance of civilization. And yet, as they ventured forth, the Padawans began to pick up the subtle sounds of industry. The noises were hard to confirm, however, as they were soon overtaken by the loudening bellow supplied by a nearby waterfall. Seeing the flow of waters amongst the overwhelming vegetation and ruins was a sight to behold, a thing of beauty despite the impediment it ultimately posed.

 

Crossing over an ancient, yet dependable, stone bridge, the Padawans could finally see the fringes of construction ahead, figures moving amongst architectural framework. Operating near a cliff’s edge, workers and droids were establishing the foundation for a small outpost.

 

“As you can see, I used the word ‘building’ quite literally,” Osetto spoke up. “Dehros and I cleared it with the foreman. He agreed to let you two work under him on the condition that he wasn’t responsible for your wellbeing.”

 

“Sooo… what exactly do we have to do?” Ryska asked.

 

“Whatever is needed of you,” Osetto plainly stated. “Lay down some paneling. Pick up a plasma torch. Operate machinery.”

 

“And figure out what our lesson is supposed to be,” Torzin added.

 

“Correct,” said Dehros. “But do not let your desire to appease us distract you from the task at hand.”

 

The two Padawans shared a brief look before affixing their gaze toward the small construction site that developed before them. A small outpost, only a dozen organic workers populated the area, bolstered by a mediocre allotment of heavy loader droids. The Cathar and Mirialan took a few steps toward the site before pausing to procure a final confirmation from their masters. The two adults offered them a brief nod of their heads and the Padawans continued along the stone path.

 

“We’ll return for you at the end of the day,” Osetto called out alongside a comforting wave of his hand. Setting their students on their way, the two Masters turned to head back toward the temple grounds.

 

They continued back along the stone path until they were sure that they were out of earshot.

 

“I still consider this idea rather unorthodox,” Dehros admitted.

 

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it when I suggested it,” Osetto teased.

 

“I didn’t. I still don’t,” said Dehros. “I simply wonder if there was a better way to bring about the intended effect.”

 

“There are some things that every Jedi should know. Things that can’t be learned in classrooms and archives,” Osetto explained. “There’s much to do here on Tython, but that does not mean we won’t be needed elsewhere. A Jedi should be able to adapt and operate in any environment.”

 

“And their lightsabers, you still wish to allow them to begin construction if they succeed today?” Dehros asked.

 

The Consular nodded. “I think they are ready. Besides, hadn't your student constructed one before?”

 

“Yes, but only because of the war,” Dehros explained. “The Council now believes that the construction of a lightsaber should come at the end of a Padawan’s training, when they’re ready to become a Knight.”

 

“The Order changed with the war. It makes sense that it would change with the peace as well,” Osetto admitted.

 

“And yet, you still think it’s appropriate they receive their lightsabers,” said Dehros.

 

“The sooner a Padawan receives their lightsaber, the sooner they can be taught how to live without it,” Osetto explained. “Through choice rather than necessity.”

 

“Ever the model Consular,” Dehros stoically offered..

 

Osetto let out a soft chuckle as he and Dehros continued their trek back to the temple.

 

 

Ryska and Torzin approached the cliff-side construction site with a tempered haste, neither thrilled nor enthused with the task they had been given.

 

As they approached their target, they could better make out the foundations of the outpost, standardized metals and materials covering the grass and stone that dominated the area. A makeshift barrier on the other end of the site marked the cliff’s edge, serving as a substitute until a proper energy fence could be erected. On the left and right vestiges of the outpost, unfinished generators supplied the site some modicum of power.

 

Making the transition from natural ground to metal foundation, the two Padawans scanned their surroundings, seeking out the project’s foreman. The search would prove short-lived, as a rugged Human in civilian garb moved toward the two students. The man showed no delight in laying eyes upon the two teenagers.

 

“Excuse me, sir,” Torzin calmly spoke up. “Are you foreman of this construction site?”

 

“Yeah, I am,” the foreman replied with a low grumble. “They didn’t tell me they were sending children.”

 

“Hey, we’re not children!” Ryska quickly retorted.

 

The other Padawan placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, silently asking her to remain calm. Torzin met the foreman’s eyes with his own, keeping as straight a face as possible. “We are unaware of the circumstances regarding our arrangement, but we pledge ourselves to help you in any way we can.”

 

“Hrmph,” the foreman briskly offered. “I’d rather the Jedi let us work like we’re supposed to, instead of sending us two kids.”

 

Torzin tilted his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

 

“You know how hard it is to work on Tython for us non-Jedi?” the foreman asked, an accusatory tinge to his words. “I’m working with only a quarter of my normal crew. We got only a single shuttle making supply runs. The Jedi are so intent on keeping this place safe that we couldn’t even come here in our own ships. We can’t lay down any infrastructure without one of you people second-guessing our work. We’re one of the few companies willing to work with you and this is how you treat us?”

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize things were so difficult for those outside the Order here,” Ryska admitted, offering a deep bow of her head. “We’ll try and make up for it.”

 

“I’m sure you will,” the foreman muttered. “I got nothing for you two until the next supply drop off, so keep yourselves occupied until then.”

 

The foreman turned and walked away from the students. The Padawans watched in silence as they were stranded, alone amongst the metal framework and construction. Workers scuttled across the site, going about their business, occasionally casting a sideward glance toward the younger helpers. Glances containing little appreciation. The students quickly realized they were intruders.

 

“They don’t want us here,” Ryska whispered, a quiver in her voice.

 

“Then we’ll have to change their minds,” Torzin declared. “Our masters must have expected this. Our trial isn’t to work, but to show ourselves capable of work.”

 

Ryska looked to her fellow Padawan, biting her lip. “You think so?”

 

“Jedi always believe in Jedi. Perceptions and expectations from those outside the Order, however, are far more diverse,” said Torzin. “They don’t know what Jedi, even those as young as us, are capable of.”

 

“I don’t know,” Ryska quietly offered. “He seemed to have a bigger problem with the fact that we are Jedi, rather than our ages.”

 

“All men are not without their prejudices,” Torzin stated. “Our task is to help. So we will help.”

 

“Still, I don’t think the foreman is alone in his feelings,” Ryska suggested. The subtle glares and sneers directed toward the Padawans by the passing workers seemed to confirm her suspicions.

 

Minutes passed as the young Jedi surveyed the site in silence, awkwardly standing around, waiting for some opportunity to lend a hand. But none came. They continued to wait. Continued to watch. It was a curious sight for the Padawans watching the unfolding scene. They had witnessed the Order’s reconstruction efforts underway at the temple, but this was something different.

 

Beings without knowledge of the Force, toiling under Tython’s gentle sky. Figures of varying shapes and sizes, moving and operating with little uniformity in their actions. Some moved and acted with utmost precision whilst other, larger species exhibited brutish power. It was a snapshot of the Republic. Many peoples. Many aspects. Many methods. Working together. And currently, working without Jedi.

 

There was a heavy rustling amongst the nearby brush as a Republic shuttle approached the construction site, a bundle of materials attached to its belly. The vessel lowered itself amongst the small clearing between the framework and the gnarls, hovering a short distance above the bumpy terrain. A number of workers rushed down the hill to greet the shuttle, carefully maneuvering beneath the floating craft. Seeing the workers flock to its side, the Jedi could get a sense of the delivery’s size. Standing as tall as the men who surrounded it, the bundle rivaled the dimensions of a full-sized landspeeder, holding an assortment of panels and rods intended for the construction site.

 

Carefully, the vessel lowered itself until its package made contact with the ground below. The foreman sounded the all clear and punched a command into his datapad, signaling for the delivery’s release. With a soft clank, the shuttle detached itself from the shipment before rising and setting out toward the horizon.

 

“Alright!” the foreman shouted. “Yev. Haruss. Start dividing the materials. Frakes. Get the loader droid down here.”

 

Rushing down from the site at the top of the hill, the Padawans stood at attention beside the foreman.

 

“What do you need from us, sir?” Ryska enthusiastically asked.

 

The foreman cast a sideward glance toward the Jedi. “Seems we’ve got everything under control. We’ll call you if we need you.”

 

The energy had been immediately sapped from the Padawans as they were once more forced to stand and watch others work while they did nothing. Slowly, they trudged back up the hill, struggling to keep their heads high.

 

 

Back amongst the temple grounds, Osetto and Dehros chatted as they overlooked the training areas where young initiates practiced under the watchful eyes of tutors and weaponsmasters.

 

“How do you think the students are doing with their trial?” Dehros asked of the Miraluka.

 

“The task we left with them cannot be measured in terms of good or bad,” Osetto reasoned, casting a subtle grin toward his Human friend. “It is merely an experience, one from which they may learn and advance regardless of any specific outcome.”

 

“I know how little you care for rigidity, but we should make sure we retain control of our Padawans,” Dehros stated. “Sending them out into the unknown this early in their training may yield unpredicted and undesirable results.”

 

“You must remember, this isn’t early in their training,” said Osetto. “They’ve already learned the basics from other teachers, other masters. It is our duty to expand upon that knowledge base, occasionally reminding them of what is most important.”

 

“They were trained under the toils of war,” Dehros declared. “As young as they were, it undoubtedly left a lasting impression.”

 

“I know. Believe me, I know,” Osetto calmly said. “After all, even we have yet not fully adjusted to the peacetime. But just because we aren’t at war, it does not mean we must coddle them. They cannot believe in themselves if we do not believe in them.”

 

“It is not my intention to coddle,” Dehros emphatically stated. “I know they are capable. I know they are worthy of trust. But the war has changed much. Not just amongst the Order.”

 

“Which was the point of this exercise,” Osetto explained. “Good or bad, there are certain things they must be aware of in order to continue as Jedi.”

 

“I will not dispute as much, but uncontrolled knowledge is not without its dangers,” said Dehros.

 

“I know. Believe me, I know,” Osetto calmly repeated. “But some things they must discover on their own. And then we, as their masters, must guide them after said discovery. That is our duty.”

 

“It’s hard to guide our Padawans if we keep sending them out by themselves,” Dehros declared.

 

“Fine, you can decide how we train the day after tomorrow,” Osetto conceded, a peculiar joy in his voice.

 

“Very well, I will… wait, the day after tomorrow?” Dehros asked, tilting his head.

 

“Yes, I already have an idea for tomorrow’s training,” Osetto explained.

 

“And you’ve just decided I’ll go along with what you have planned?”

 

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

 

The day proceeded at the construction site with little fuss. There was no opportunity for it. The Padawans maintained their stations. Sitting on unused crates, heads hung low, they watched the surrounding workers walk about the outpost framework, for that was all they could do. The young Mirialan and Cathar’s offers to help went unneeded and unwanted. They had nothing to do and nowhere to go.

 

“I hate just sitting around,” Torzin stated, calm but firm. “What are we supposed to say when we return to the masters?”

 

“Maybe we just tell them what happened?” Ryska suggested. “I mean, it’s not like we didn’t try to help. We did. They just didn’t want it. Intent’s what matters, right?”

 

“Intent isn’t what get things done. Intent doesn’t change the consequences of our actions. Intent is used by people to justify running away from where you’re needed, and intruding where you don’t belong,” Torzin declared. “It doesn’t change where you are and what you do.”

 

“But we can’t just ignore it,” Ryska replied, voice softer than her fellow Padawan’s. “Doing nothing out of obligation is different from doing nothing out of laziness or spite. The workers refusing our help provides the same results as us refusing to help, but I’m sure our masters would prefer one over the other.”

 

“That assumes a single, binary choice,” said Torzin. “We shouldn’t be thinking of different ways to get to the same result. We should be thinking of different results and the best way to get to the best one.”

 

“I guess that makes sense,” Ryska admitted. “But that assumes we always know the best result or will always choose the best course of action. That’s an assumption we cannot possibly make. As people or Jedi… and especially as Padawans.”

 

“I am not suggesting that I, that we, that anyone, has all the answers, but we have some,” Torzin replied. “And yet, in this situation, it’s like that foreman isn’t even willing to ask a question. The workers already have all the answers they need, or at least that’s what they’d like to think.”

 

“And they are not alone in thinking so,” said Ryska. “It’s not easy to see things from another’s view, especially one radically different. It’s scary to think the answers we’ve held so dear might be wrong. You can’t condemn them for that.”

 

“I can if they’re opposing something that’s for their own good,” Torzin declared. “Besides, it’s not like we’re challenging their worldview or anything. We’re offering to help, which their pride won’t allow them to accept. They don’t want help from us. They don’t want help from Jedi. Do they need it? Maybe not. Would it make things go faster, smoother? Yes. The Republic was built on the ideal of cooperation. Our progress is tied to it. Our survival is dependent upon it. They might think they don’t need our help now, but eventually they will. And when that day comes, their pride is going to get them hurt.”

 

Ryska raised an eyebrow. “Are we still talking about the construction workers?”

 

The pair was interrupted by the roar of a passing shuttle overhead, bringing in a new bundle of construction materials. The vessel cast a concise shadow as it approached the drop-off point, the Tythonian sun at its peak. Even at its brightest, harshest setting, the star could not overcome the planet’s natural temperate temperament. Gently lowering itself and the cargo attached to its belly, the shuttle descended toward the bottom of the hill at the foot of the outpost. The Padawans watched, once more, as the workers flocked to the delivery. The teenagers maintained their sedentary position, knowing the eventual dismissal they’d received were they to move.

 

The foreman sounded the all clear and the shuttle detached the bundle of materials before making its quick ascent. He shouted directions, calling for the workers to divide and sort the package as the loader droid slowly made its way down the hill. The blocky machine hovered a short distance above the ground by way of repulsorlifts in its base, two large prongs extending from its front. A rudimentary droid, it was little more than an automated tool with the basest of artificial intelligences.

 

Finishing its slow, floating gait down the hill, the machine paused and lowered itself as a pair of workers piled numerous metallic rods and beams onto its prongs. After a full load, the droid ran a charge through the two prongs, securing the materials to itself with a magnetic tug. The machine carefully raised itself from the grassy terrain and began its reverse ascent up the hill under the watchful eye of the site’s technician.

 

As the droid continued its slow climb toward the construction site, the pair of workers below readied the next batch for when the machine returned. Everyone focused the entirety of their attention on their respective jobs, all but the Padawans, who offered only their bored stares toward the bustling workers. As the young Jedi continued to slouch on a set of nearby crates, a cold chill shot up the Mirialan’s spine.

 

“Did you feel that?” Torzin whispered to his fellow Padawan.

 

“Feel what?” Ryska asked, straightening her posture. “The only thing I feel is my butt going numb.”

 

The Mirialan remained silent, narrowing his gaze toward the construction workers, pondering the strange feeling in his mind.

 

As the loader droid neared the top of the hill, it came to an abrupt stop a few meters short of its destination. The monitoring technician puzzled for a moment, eye glued to his datapad for a diagnostic. The droid had frozen, still hovering above the ground, but refusing to move.

 

“Frakes!” the foreman shouted to the panicking technician. “What’s the hold up?”

 

The technician was a male Human, younger and thinner than his coworkers. The man in charge of the upkeep and maintenance of the crew’s automated members, he was the least hardened of motley group of construction workers. His gaze bouncing between the immobilized droid and his datapad, the technician frantically tapped the electronic tablet, trying to find a solution.

 

“Frakes!” the foreman repeated.

 

Just then, the loader’s repulsorlifts blew out. The droid fell to the ground, striking the grassy hill with a soft thud. Before the workers below could respond to the noise, the magnetic grip the loader used to hold its cargo failed, sending the bundle of supplies tumbling down the hill. The heavy beams and rods bounced and rolled back toward the drop point, threatening to crush the construction workers in their path.

 

Just as the tumbling materials were about to strike the pair of construction workers below, they were knocked out of the way by a rushing Torzin tackling the both of them. The rolling materials struck the remainder of the bundle of supplies, scattering the once organized pile across the bottom of the hill. The Mirialan and the tackled workers skidded across the grassy terrain to relative safety, stopping beyond the radius of the strewn debris.

 

Torzin quickly picked himself up off the ground, looking over the heavy-built Human and Weequay he had knocked clear as they released their nondescript grumbles and grunts. The Mirialan offered a helping hand, which neither of the workers accepted. Slowly, they moved to their feet of their own accord, brushing off their clothes whilst ignoring young Jedi.

 

As the trio remained locked in silence, Ryska rushed over, eyes wide with a slew of emotions. “Whoa! That was amazing Torzin! You totally saved those guys!”

 

“Yeah, and a thank you would have been nice,” Torzin mumbled toward the workers, trying to maintain a calm and stoic tone.

 

The Jedi watched as the workers made their way over to the scattered pile of materials as if nothing had happened, where the foreman paced around releasing a steady stream of hushed slurs and expletives beneath his breath.

 

"What do you think they’re going to do now?” Ryska asked.

 

“They’re finally going to accept our help,” Torzin declared as he made his way toward the group, the Cathar quickly following behind him.

 

The foreman shot his sharpened gaze toward the technician. “What’s the status of the loader?”

 

“Not good,” Frakes admitted. “Software and hardware failure. I can do on-site repairs, but it’ll take a while.”

 

The foreman mumbled another curse. “We have a schedule to keep. First thing’s first, we need to clear the drop-off point.”

 

“It won’t be quick, but I can the move the pieces up myself one at a time,” said the gruff Weequay.

 

“Alright,” the foreman stated. “While Frakes fixes the loader, Yev will fill its role for now. Haruss, can you organize this mess?” The heavier Human offered an affirming nod before darting off, picking up the bits and pieces strewn about the base of the hill.

 

“We want to help too,” Torzin declared, forcing himself into recently created opening in the huddle.

 

“Sorry kid, got it handled,” the foreman dismissed.

 

“You can’t think that,” Torzin balked. “There’s no way you’re moving all this stuff by the time your next shipment arrives. And if you bring more workers down here, that’ll just mean more jobs go undone. We can help.”

 

“You think you can lift this stuff?” the foreman asked.

 

“I know I can,” Torzin confidently stated.

 

“Hrm. And the girl?” the foreman added. Numerous sets of eyes fell on the Cathar.

 

“Well…” Ryska began. “I know a thing or two about droids. I could help repair your loader.”

 

The foreman released a heavy scoff. “Our technician has it covered.”

 

“Actually…” the technician hesitantly spoke up. “I could use a few extra hands.”

 

Another nondescript grumble slipped out of the foreman. “Fine.”

 

The young Jedi looked to one another, a newfound confidence resting behind their eyes. They were finally given the chance to help. Finally given the chance to prove themselves as more than just a couple of kids in the workers’ minds. A chance they did not intend to squander.

 

The workers dispersed with little fuss, the various individuals heading toward their respective jobs. Torzin and the Weequay set their sights on the nearby metallic beams that littered the grassy terrain, whilst Ryska and the technician made their way up the hill to the broken loader droid.

 

The Mirialan watched as the burly Weequay placed his hands around one of the metallic beams that littered the bottom of the hill, his gray, leathery face wincing as he hoisted it over his shoulder. The item was as long as its bearer was tall, composed of a material known for its high strength to weight ratio. It was lighter than a similar object could have been, but still heavy enough to require a great deal of strength and balance to lift, let alone carry up a grassy hill. But Yev was determined to show himself capable, especially as he shot a gruff glare toward the onlooking teenager.

 

As the Weequay made the first trip up the hill and toward the construction site, the determined Padawan eyed one of the fallen beams for himself. Torzin placed a gentle hand upon the metallic surface, in no rush to lift the hefty object. He close his eyes, concentrated, found his center. Wrapping both hands around the beam, he struggled to lift it from the ground, his stoic countenance threatening to collapse as he slowly raised it into the air. He was young, but not inexperienced. He was smaller, but not weak. He was willing, and thanks to the Force, he was able.

 

Torzin raised the metallic beam, bearing the hefty burden upon his shoulder. He maintained his stance, drawing calm, collected breaths. Setting his eyes on the site ahead, the Mirialan took his first steps toward the top of the hill. He drew upon his connection to the Force, as much as his status as a Padawan would allow him. His body sculpted by martial training and the threat of war, that connection was just enough to allow him to match the Weequay’s strength.

 

Whilst the two men hauled materials from the drop-site, they passed the site’s technician intently eyeing the disabled loader droid, the young Cathar standing by his side. A toolbox sat at the Frakes’ heels, holding an assortment of items intended to disassemble and reassemble the mechanical apparatus, but they went untouched for the moment as the technician and his helper conducted a preliminary examination.

 

“Do we know what’s wrong with it?” Ryska patiently asked.

 

“Somewhat,” Frakes replied. “It seems the repulsors in its base malfunctioned, then overloaded. After that, it was pretty much a cascading failure of all the other systems.”

 

Ryska let out a soft hum as she scratched the fur of his chin. “No isolation safeguards in the droid’s programming?”

 

“There’s supposed to be, but I suppose those malfunctioned as well,” Frakes offered with a sigh. The technician stared at the depowered husk of the stilled machine for a moment before turning toward the teenager. “You seem to have some knowledge of droids.”

 

“It’s not all swordfights and philosophy at the temple,” Ryska replied alongside a soft chuckle. “When kids are brought into the Order, the Jedi take over the role of providing education. Since not everyone is fit for the path of a Knight, they like to make sure younglings still possess the necessary skills and knowledge to live a good life if they don’t pass their trials. Studies in agriculture, engineering, history, the like. I picked up quite a bit in my autonomous mechanics class.”

 

“The studious type, eh?” Frakes asked as he removed one of the loader droid’s external panels.

 

“Not really,” Ryska bashfully admitted. “I actually had the habit of falling asleep during most of my classes. The ones I managed to do pretty good in were ones involving stuff I could get my hands on. If I knew I could go out and do something with what I learned, it managed to hold my attention. At least, well enough for me to pick up a thing or two.”

 

Frakes momentarily tore his gaze away from the machine’s innards to shoot the teenager a quick glance. “I’ll admit, I didn’t take you for much of a machinist when I first saw you.”

 

“I suppose most people just think of us as warriors and diplomats,” Ryska admitted. “At least, with the older Jedi. Your coworkers don’t seem to think much of anything about us Padawans. Nothing pleasant at least.”

 

“They're just a little stressed out,” said Frakes.

 

Ryska released a warm scoff. “A little?”

 

“We’re understaffed and overworked,” Frakes explained. “Our droids were limited to class-fives because they were worried anything more sophisticated might compromise the planet’s security. Like we’d trace the astrogation routes on our way here or something. We were ready to work, but they just kept piling restriction after restriction on us.”

 

“So you wanted to help, but they made it difficult to do so? How about that?” Ryska said with a coy smirk.

 

The technician chuckled. “The irony’s not lost on me. Yeah, I know we weren't the most accommodating. Just thought you deserved an explanation. Right or wrong, these guys have a reason for acting the way they do.”

 

The young Cathar fell silent as Frakes tinkered with the innards of the machine, hands deep beneath the droid’s chassis. She watched with bright eyes as he methodically prodded and disconnected various internal mechanisms, eager and ready to offer her abilities.

 

Torzin and Yev had already made their first trip up the hill and returned to the pile to make their second. The Mirialan and Weequay marched in silence, only diverting their attention from their task to shoot a quick, stern glare toward the other. The next trip proved just as arduous as the first, but neither figure would allow themselves to show any budding signs of weakness. They each hoisted a beam over their shoulder, traversed the hill, and deposited it at the construction site, eager to begin the cycle anew. Eager to prove themselves the more capable individual.

 

They continued up and down the hill, silently enduring the toll the manual labor was taking on their bodies. One more successfully than the other. Even with his enhanced strength, sweat dominated the Mirialan’s brow as his breaths increased in pace and intensity. As the two men made their way back toward the bottom of the hill, the Weequay finally saw fit to break the silence, if only to taunt the young Padawan.

 

“Gettin’ tired?” Yev asked in a suitably gruff manner, his voice as rough as his wrinkled, leathery face.

 

“Not at all,” Torzin replied, trying to invoking his master’s neutral tone. He managed to match the calm, collected candor, but the pace with which his lungs drew breath betrayed his true condition. The Padawan was used to his body being stressed, partaking in and succeeding in all manner of physical trials and lessons imparted upon him by his tutors over the years. But somehow, this task was proving more than a sufficient challenge. Something so simplistic, so menial as carrying cargo up a hill managed to test him more than any practice duel back at the temple.

 

The Weequay offered only a curt chortle as the pair neared the bundle of construction materials. Haruss had done a good job gathering the scattered pieces, meaning the haulers could make a more accurate assessment of their progress. The pile was noticeably diminished, but not by much. At best, their efforts would simply save the droid a couple trips when it was finally repaired. But the thought would stop neither Torzin nor Yev.

 

As he readied himself for his next trip, the Padawan found his eyes stung by the invading sweat that dripped from his brow. Wiping his forehead with his sleeve, the young Jedi paused for a moment before reaching for the folds of his robes. Slipping his arms out, the Mirialan removed the outermost layer, tossing the beige coat to the ground. His torso still garbed in the thinner under-layer, his arms were no longer covered, their green skin exposed to the elements. Looking back toward the path up the hill, the Padawan saw the curious sight of Ryska hastily averting her gaze, seemingly burying her face into the droid to offer it her full attention.

 

The Weequay already had a beam in his arms, and Torzin was not content to fall behind. The young Jedi hoisted the next piece over his shoulder and began marching toward the construction site.

 

“Thought you’d give up by now,” Yev muttered as the Padawan followed in his steps.

 

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m rather persistent,” Torzin calmly offered through careful breaths.

 

“Yeah. Ain’t that like the Jedi. Always persistent,” Yev replied, no sense of warmth in his voice.

 

“Would you rather us do nothing?” Torzin asked.

 

The Weequay stacked his beam with the others he had carried up the hill, and began making his way back down without further delay. Torzin could only offer the arch of his brow to the curt construction worker as he did the same, setting his carried goods down and heading back down the hill.

 

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want real answers to, kid,” Yev offered.

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

Delivery for Osetto:

 

SQUEE

 

The Weequay worker came to a stop at the foot of the hill, leaning against what remained of the pile to catch his breath. For all his strength he could not continue unabated. Torzin sought to capitalize upon the momentary reprieve. He had questions, and he most definitely wanted answers.

 

“What’s your problem with the Jedi anyway?” Torzin directly asked, only a small gap separating the Padawan and the worker.

 

The Weequay offered a gruff scoff. “Y’all are more trouble than you’re worth.”

 

“How can you say that after all we’ve done to protect the Republic from the Sith?” Torzin replied, a sliver of anger slipping through his voice. “How can you hate a group that’s willing to sacrifice so much to help you?”

 

“Because you only see fit to help with the problems you had a hand in creating,” Yev replied. “The Sith attacked us, why? Because they wanted revenge against the Jedi. The reason the Sith even exist, is because a group of Jedi got pissed off way back when and decided to make their own Order. But I guess you don’t expect us ‘normals’ to be aware of that fact.”

 

Torzin lowered his gaze. There was a moment of silence as he avoided eyed contact, but eventually, the teenager found the words. “The Sith exist, because people seek to control things they shouldn’t. Without the Jedi, without the Sith, someone else would just fill their role. Only then, you wouldn’t have people like us to try and stop them.”

 

“Good, then maybe we could actually deal with them, instead of staying our hands, not going all out because you’re afraid you’ll turn to the 'dark side' or whatever,” Yev chided.

 

“We’ve gone ‘all out’ before,” Torzin declared, doing all he could to keep from shouting. “It’s the entire reason the Empire hates us. Because we tried to exterminate them more than a thousand years ago. Because we tried to commit genocide. And not just the Jedi. It was the Republic who wanted it done. It was a mistake then, and we’re still dealing with the consequences today. But it’s our duty to do the best with what we’re given, and not make the same mistakes again.”

 

“Then why’s it seems like that’s all you’re capable of?” Yev asked. “For a bunch of wise and enlightened individuals, you seem determined to screw up in the same ways time and time again. We almost lost Coruscant because you took a warmongering Empire at their word that they wanted peace.”

 

“Nothing we’ve done has been in spite of the senate’s wishes,” said Torzin. “Our actions are the Republic’s actions.”

 

“And what about the fact that whenever conflict springs up, it’s always one of you folks on the other side? Hmm?” Yev pressed. “When you have members constantly ‘turning to the dark side’, you ever stop to think maybe the problem rests with you and not them? That maybe you oughtn’t be taking children away from their families, training ‘em to fight, and then wondering why they flip out after tellin’ ‘em to abandon everything that makes them a sentient being?”

 

“We’re taught the way we are because the Force can be dangerous. Restrictions are needed to keep the peace,” Torzin firmly stated. “We don’t just let anyone and everyone own a blaster, do we?”

 

“No. But we also don’t have to worry about a blaster going off in our hands ‘cause we make it mad, or because it’s greedy, or because we broke its heart,” Yev dismissed. “You’ve had thousands of years to improve, to adapt. But do yah? Nope. You stick to the same codes. Follow the same guidelines. And when everything’s gone to hell, you expect our gratitude when you offer to help clean up a mess you created.”

 

“I’ll admit, we’re not perfect,” Torzin offered. “We’ve made mistakes in the past.”

 

The Weequay released a heavy harrumph. “Good luck getting any of the others to admit that. They’re all the same. Think they’re better than the rest of us because they got some fancy mystical powers. When a soldier commits treason, they’re rightfully punished. When a Jedi does it, so long as they ‘turn back to the light’ all is forgiven. You operate by double standards. You people stand in your temple, deciding what’s best for us, when you can’t even decide what’s best for yourselves. Like we wouldn’t be able to survive without the gracious charity of the Jedi. Despite the fact that you don’t give a damn about things like crime or poverty. Nope, you gotta be in top shape for when the 'forces of darkness' eventually attack. You’re too important, too special to deal with ‘normal’ problems. You got your Force wars to worry about. The fate of the galaxy hangs in the balance every day, doesn’t it? Can’t worry about the insignificant stuff the rest of us do.”

 

“We’re not like that,” Torzin muttered. “Not all of us.”

 

“Really? You don’t think you’re better than those with no connection to the Force?” Yev asked.

 

The Padawan shook his head. “Not better, just different.”

 

The Weequay scoffed. “You don’t say? Because where I’ve been standing, all I’ve seen is some kid trying to do a man’s share of work. Is it really because you want to help this construction along? Or is it because you want to prove that you’re able to do what we can? That because of the Force, you can match the work of a man who’s been doin’ this his whole life, while you’re still a teenager?”

 

“I wanted to prove that I was willing to help,” Torzin declared.

 

“You wanted to prove you were able,” Yev countered. “You proved yourself willing when you marched up to our site. But you couldn’t stand us not accepting the help of the oh so generous Jedi. You wanted to prove us wrong. Wanted to make us regret pushing you away. So you pushed back. Intruded where you weren’t wanted. Just like the Jedi always do.”

 

The Weequay turned from the Padawan, who was left standing silent and frozen. The construction worker picked up his next beam, leaving the young Mirialan behind as he made his way up the hill. Torzin eyed one of the beams near his feet, but he struggled to make himself retrieve it. He didn’t know if he was unable, or unwilling, but the one thing he did know was that he was unsure.

 

Back at the loader droid, the technician had been poking and prodding the disabled machine’s innards, Ryska handing him tools as he was arms deep beneath the droid’s chassis. Reaching deeper into the machine, the technician pushed himself as close as he could before relenting, letting out a quick sigh as he withdrew his arm.

 

“Damn. I can’t reach a component from here,” said Frakes.

 

“Is there another way to get to it?” Ryska politely asked. “From the other side, or…”

 

“There’s another panel on the bottom, but… we can’t exactly flip the droid on its side to reach it,” Frakes explained.

 

“Can I have a look?” Ryska asked.

 

“Go ahead,” Frakes replied. The technician shifted upon the ground, letting the Padawan get in close to the exposed part of the droid’s chassis. As the young Cathar peered deeper into the machine's inner workings, the Human shined a small light, illuminating the scrambled metals and mechanisms that comprised the droid’s core. “I need to swap out a power cell around that corner, but I’m having a hard time reaching it.”

 

“Hey, I’ve got small arms,” Ryska warmly offered.

 

“Unless they’ve got a couple extra joints, they won’t do you any good,” Frakes joked.

 

“Alright then. What’s the cell look like?” Ryska asked as she scratched her chin. The technician reached down to his toolbox and retrieved a small metallic cylinder, edges tapered as if to fit in some sort of socket.

 

“It’s the same as one of these,” Frakes explained. “This is the new one that’ll take its place.”

 

Ryska took the new power cell and held it gently in her hand. Studying the item, the Padawan inserted her other arm into the droid’s open chassis. The technician watched with curious wonder as the young Jedi closed her eyes, drawing careful, concise breaths. Deep within the machine’s core, the Human could hear the subtle sounds of motion, despite the fact that the Cathar could not possibly reach the interior component. But to his surprise, when she withdrew her arm, her hand was grasped around the droid’s spent power cell.

 

Frakes looked upon the extracted unit with wide eyes. “Whoa, that’s amazing!”

 

The Cathar offered a soft giggle. “If you can’t reach something, just have it come to you.” As she spoke, the broken power cell hovered slightly above her palm, levitating through the power of the Force. The technician took the component from the teenager as she went to work installing the other by the same means. Reaching as far in as she could before letting the Force do what she physically could not, telekinetically guiding and connecting the new power cell. Pulling her arm out once more, she shot the technician a confident look. “Alright, try it now.”

 

Frakes offered an appreciative nod before tapping away at his datapad. Hoping the repairs they had made would prove sufficient, the technician remotely fired up the loader droid. The heavy machine offered a mechanical cough as it sputtered to life, but it was functioning as well could be expected of it. As the droid’s repulsors came back online, the machine slowly lifted itself from the grassy hillside.

 

Raising his her hand high into the air, Ryska shared a celebratory high five with the enthused technician. Frakes guided the loader droid back down the hill, those in its path clearing the way. Torzin picked his previously shed coat up from the grass and slung it over his shoulder.

 

Looking back up the hill, the Mirialan saw his fellow Padawan silently beckoning him to join her. Panning his gaze amongst the surrounding scene, the workers had already begun their return to the previous norm, not paying the slightest attention to the young Jedi.

 

The construction was fast getting back on schedule. With the loader droid up and running, the landing site would be clear by the time of the next shipment, and the workers would be free to continue their jobs about the site. The adults went about their business, whilst the teenagers retreated from the eyes and minds of the workers.

 

The Padawans sat themselves atop a grouping of empty crates near the construction site as they had before, watching the scene unfold around them. The motley group of crewmen went about their assigned tasks as if little had occurred in the time prior. No breakdown of the droid. No avalanche of metallic rods and beams. Nothing worth a second thought. It spoke to the men’s character. Spoke of simplicity, but also of resolve, and a willingness to press forward despite any setbacks. The Cathar found it all oddly endearing. The Mirialan, however, found himself dwelling on his previous exchange with the Weequay.

 

Torzin attempted to mask his emotions, but as his eyes lowered and his head dipped, his disappointment found its way to the surface.

 

“What’s the matter, Torzin?” Ryska asked, a tinge of concern in her voice.

 

The Mirialan slowly rubbed his brow as he gathered his thoughts. He didn’t know how to answer that question. He was bothered, because some part of him told him that he should be bothered. Whether he could explain it, or more importantly, could justify it, was another matter.

 

“I don’t know,” Torzin eventually muttered. “It’s just… some of the things Yev said.”

 

“Yev? The big Weequay?” Ryska curiously shot back. “What’d he say?”

 

“That basically the only reason I wanted to help is because it would make me feel better about myself,” Torzin plainly stated.

 

“Come on, that’s not true,” Ryska warmly replied. “I mean, it’s not, right?”

 

“The only reason we were here in the first place was because of our masters. We wanted to be good students, not good people,” Torzin admitted. “I really only wanted to help after they refused it. I wanted to prove them wrong. I wanted to prove I could do something.”

 

“Hey, I didn’t exactly appreciate being cast aside either,” Ryska replied. “Luckily, the technician didn’t harbor the same ill will as some of the other workers.”

 

“Except my problem isn’t with the workers. It’s with me,” Torzin stated, almost at a whisper. “I’ve wanted to prove myself ever since my induction into the Order. Prove that I was able to be a Jedi. All the learning, all the training… was it done because I believed in their purpose, or because I simply wanted to succeed? I mean, you said it yourself, intent matters. If I’m only doing good for selfish reasons, am I really doing good?”

 

“Except you aren’t only doing this for selfish reasons,” Ryska declared. “I mean, is there a part of you that’s a little selfish? Sure. But that’s to be expected. You’re still a Padawan, not a freakin’ Jedi Master. You’ve still got time to figure this stuff out. But for now, you’re doing your best, right?”

 

“I don’t know,” Torzin muttered.

 

“Alright, you said you wanted to prove yourself to these guys. Did you only want to prove how capable you were?”

 

“I guess not. I wanted to show that we could help, even though we were young. I wanted to show that Jedi could help, even though the work might be considered menial for us.”

 

“See? You were looking out for me and the rest of the Order,” Ryska stated. “Defending our good name.”

 

“Except I wasn’t,” Torzin replied. “The more I tried to prove him wrong, the more I proved him right. That Jedi feel the need to intrude in other people’s business. That we think we’re better than those who aren’t Jedi.”

 

“We don’t think that, do we?”

 

“Don’t we? We’re always telling people what’s best for them. Telling the Republic what and what not to do.”

 

“Maybe the Council does, but they’re the wisest, most powerful Jedi in the entire galaxy,” Ryska suggested. “The rest of us, we’re just doing everything in our power to help out, maintain the peace, keep people safe.”

 

Torzin shook his head. “Not everyone sees it that way.”

 

“No, I wouldn’t expect them to,” Ryska stated. “Everyone’s going to have their own way of looking at things. Some will offer praise. Some criticism. Neither will be inherently right or wrong. But there will always be a reason people believe the things they do. The best thing for us to do is not immediately seek to correct that which we think is wrong, but understand why someone might think that way.”

 

“Hate is a hard thing to understand,” Torzin muttered.

 

“Or an incredibly easy one,” Ryska countered. “It’s one of the simplest emotions to trigger, and one of the hardest to be rid of.”

 

“I just wonder what it takes to make someone hate the Jedi,” Torzin stated.

 

“Nothing pleasant,” Ryska softly whispered. “But sometimes, after losing so much, all you have left is hate. Frakes said every one of these guys has a reason for acting the way they do. I think we might be better off not knowing the specifics.”

 

The Mirialan release a low sigh as he push himself off the crate. Removing the coat he had slung over his shoulder, he set it upon where he had previously sat before making his way down the hill.

 

“Uh, Torzin? Where you going?” Ryska asked.

 

“I need to settle something,” Torzin calmly stated without turning to face his addresser.

 

The Cathar’s brow softly furrowed as she remained upon her crate, unable to produce an adequate response as she watched her fellow Padawan marched toward the workers at the base of the hill.

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

 

Yev and Haruss were piling the last of the bundled materials onto the loader droid’s prongs. The machine’s magnetic grip secured, they signaled the technician who directed the droid up the hill for its final trip before the next delivery. The two construction workers walked beside it when they spotted the young Jedi making his way toward them.

 

“What’ya want kid?” Yev asked, momentarily halting his ascent up the hill whilst the other worker continued without him.

 

“I just wanted to say something,” Torzin stated, plain and direct.

 

A quick scoff from the Weequay. “Yeah? What?”

 

“You were wrong. But… you were also right,” Torzin admitted. Yev remained silent, sending a message in the form of his arched brow. “My offers to help weren’t entirely unselfish. I wanted to prove myself. More importantly, I wanted to prove you wrong. I wanted you to be wrong about me. I wanted you to be wrong about the Jedi. And while we do not all act the way you say, I cannot deny that some of us do. And you’re right, we do think we’re better. Or rather, we believe we ought to be. Not that we’re more important, or more valuable, but that we should strive to be better. Because if we are better, then we can fight, we can defend, we can sacrifice, so that others don’t have to. But even in that pursuit, we are not perfect. We make mistakes. We occasionally fail. And you’re right, we are persistent. Because we need to be. Because if we weren’t, things would be much, much worse. We have to push ourselves forward, ignoring setbacks, keeping our eyes on the future. Because like it or not, people depend on us. And we don’t always know who those people are. All we know is, we have to make sure that when the day comes that someone needs us, we are ready, and that person is willing to accept our help. We care. And for every one of us you think doesn’t, countless others do.”

 

“You done?” Yev finally replied.

 

“Yeah. I’m done,” Torzin calmly stated. “Thanks for listening.”

 

The Mirialan offered a respectful bow of his head, and made his way back toward his fellow Padawan up the hill. The Weequay continued to arch his brow as he studied the resolute teenager. Not much could be gleamed from the worker’s rough visage, but he wore neither a glare nor a snarl, which suited the Jedi just fine. As Torzin took a seat next to the young Cathar, Yev returned to his duties, making his way toward the construction site to unload the last of the materials from the droid’s arms.

 

“Well? Did you settle something?” Ryska jokingly asked as her fellow student returned to the crates.

 

“I think so,” Torzin hesitantly admitted. "If only for myself."

 

The Mirialan lifted his coat from his seat and draped it over his shoulder once more. Looking at the other Padawan’s still exposed arms, Cathar placed her hand over her mouth, trying to hide the soft chuckle that passed between her lips.

 

“You planning on getting properly dressed before the Masters return?” Ryska teased.

 

“Sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?” Torzin asked, a touch of red showing through his green, tattooed cheeks. Unslinging the coat from his shoulder, the Padawan slipped his arms back through the sleeves, returning to his typical garb.

 

“Oh, not at all,” Ryska unthinkingly replied, not catching her own eagerness until a moment too late. “I mean, I don’t care one way or another. I barely even noticed anything different.”

 

The sun above continued to cast its rays upon the construction site below as it followed its slow path across the sky. The workers had no need to call upon the Padawans’ aid as the day progressed, leaving them to observe the proceedings as they had become accustomed to. But whereas previously they had wanted nothing more than to leave their mark on their surroundings, now they were content to stand aside.

 

The construction would proceed with or without them. The students had influenced the world around them in manners big and small, direct and indirect. In the grand scheme of things, their additions would prove insignificant, but it was something they could take pride in. In their minds, they had accomplished something, regardless of whether or not it could be measured by others.

 

 

Hours passed by with monotony.

 

As the Tythonian sun drifted nearer and nearer to the horizon, and the soft orange glow of dusk fell upon the construction site, Osetto and Dehros came to retrieve their students. The two pairs of Jedi met at the foot of the hill, Ryska and Torzin greeting their masters with the respectful bow of their heads.

 

“You both seem no worse for wear,” Osetto warmly stated. “I trust the foreman didn’t work you too hard, did he?”

 

“That’s something of an understatement,” Ryska admitted. “They barely asked anything of us.”

 

“Technically, they didn’t ask a single thing of us,” Torzin added. “And they only accepted out help when after things went a bit… awry.”

 

“But you managed to find a way to help?” Dehros plainly asked, delivered with his usual emotionless candor.

 

“Yeah! I helped fix a droid!” Ryska declared with a hearty glee.

 

The Miraluka released a soft chuckle. “I’m pleased to see you so excited. What about you, Torzin?”

 

“I took over for the droid,” Torzin explained, much less enthused.

 

The Human scratched the scruff of his chin. “Did you happen to learn anything over the course of the day?”

 

Torzin and Ryska offered a pair of determine, confident nods.

 

A smile beamed across the Miraluka’s face. “Great! You can tell us the details on the way back to the temple. Are you sure they don’t need any more help here?”

 

The two Padawans shared a brief look before answering simultaneously, “We’re sure.”

 

Together, the two masters and their students walked the stony path back to the temple. Rather than one pair leading the other, they all walked shoulder to shoulder, side by side.

 

“So, what did you manage to take away from your experience?” Osetto asked of the teenagers.

 

“For one thing, we realized that not everyone shares the same opinion of Jedi,” Torzin answered, speaking matter-of-factly rather than out of hostility. “I guess we’ve spent so much time amongst our own we sort of forgot about the ordinary citizens. We’re just used to the masters and our fellow students. You wanted to remind us of the people outside our circle.”

 

“That’s correct, Torzin,” Dehros stated. Though emotionless, the Guardian’s words did manage to instill a touch of warmth in the young Mirialan. “The truth is, many in the Republic blame us for much of the recent troubles that have befallen them. Our ongoing conflict with the Sith has taken its toll on the populace, and our sacrifices have not been ours alone.”

 

“To be a Jedi, you must be able to walk amongst all sorts, and your prime motivation ought to be understanding,” Osetto added. “We can’t be all lightsabers and the Force all the time. We must understand why people think the way they do, act the way they do. Tell me, were you upset by how the workers treated you?”

 

The teenagers shared a brief look as they took the next few steps in silence, dwelling on their answer.

 

“Yes,” Torzin confessed with a gentle dip of his head.

 

“And why was that?” Osetto asked.

 

“At first, pride,” Torzin answered. “We were there to help, and they refused us. My first thought was that they thought us incapable. Because we were young. Because we were just Padawans. Eventually, I learned that wasn’t the case at all. They didn’t want us there because we weren’t one of them. Because they felt like we were forced upon them. Because they wanted to prove they didn’t need us.”

 

“And after learning that, were you still upset?” Osetto continued.

 

“In a way, yes,” Torzin replied, a softness in his voice. “But it was different that time. It wasn’t an angry upset. More like a sad one, I guess. I didn’t want them to think those things, because I thought if we could learn to cooperate, we could really start to get thing done. It became about more than the construction. I wanted them to not be afraid to ask for help. I wanted them to think of us as allies instead of some outside force trying to impose our will on them. I wanted us all to be people working together. Not Jedi and non-Jedi. Not adults and teenagers. Not insiders and outsiders.”

 

“How do you think they feel about you now?” Osetto asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Torzin admitted. “Their feelings ran deep. I tried to convince them otherwise but… now I know why Jedi are taught to ignore their emotions.”

 

“Not ignore… understand,” Osetto warmly replied. “Like I said, always strive to understand. Understand their source. Understand their purpose. Understand how they affect us and those around us. A Jedi does not eschew their emotions, they simply try to avoid letting them take control.”

 

The Consular turned his head as he walked, focusing his eyeless gaze upon the Guardian on the opposite side of the group. Dehros continued the trek back toward the temple unfazed, stone-faced as his gaze remained permanently set upon the path ahead.

 

“We also learned that we cannot view ourselves as different from those we hope to defend,” Ryska jumped in.

 

“Is that so?” Osetto offered, shooting his Padawan a warm smile.

 

“We must hold ourselves to different standards as the general populace,” Dehros stoically offered. “To do the things we must do, and not do the things we mustn’t, we cannot act as a normal person might.”

 

“But we are normal people, right?” Ryska asked, a hint of disappointment in her voice. “I mean, just because we have the gift of the Force, that doesn’t automatically make us better than those who don’t.”

 

“With the Force comes a great many boons, as well as caveats,” Osetto replied. “We must take special care that we do not abuse or misuse or gift.” The Consular looked to his student, her eyes drifting to her feet as her head dipped. “But you are right. We are not as wholly different as some would believe. By no means are we perfect or infallible, and we have much more in common with those untouched by the Force than we are different.”

 

The young Cathar’s gaze lifted as a gentle smile graced her lips. “It’s just that… a lot of the problems people have with Jedi come from the fact that they think we’re different. That we think we’re different. They see us as Jedi who happen to be people, instead of people who happen to be Jedi.”

 

“A very wise observation, Padawan,” Osetto offered. “We hold the fates of countless lives in our hands. A responsibility many would be unwilling to place in the hands of anyone but unwavering paragons of justice and peace. But you’re right. We are people. People with an innate talent, and it’s up to us to see that talent put to use in ways that make the galaxy a better place… but people nonetheless You did well, both of you. The lesson was merely meant to be an inoculation for what you might experience once you leave Tython, but it would seem you walked away with more.”

 

“My only question is, how exactly did you know how the construction workers would treat us?” Torzin asked. “For your test to work, they pretty much had to treat us poorly.”

 

“Wait a minute, you didn’t meet them earlier and tell them to mistreat us, did you?” Ryska added, a slight squeal in her voice.

 

The Miraluka let out a soft chuckle. “No, nothing so sinister. I merely witnessed the foreman’s interactions with the Council in the days prior. He had to finalize the details with Syo Bakarn before the they would let his crew begin construction. The foreman’s words then were… less than pleasant.”

 

“So, does this mean we’re ready to leave Tython?” Torzin asked.

 

“With the accompaniment of your master, absolutely,” Dehros answered. “But just because you are ready, doesn’t mean there isn’t more to be done here.”

 

“Dehros is correct,” Osetto added. “Your training will continue over the coming months, the coming years. The time will come that we begin to carry out missions together throughout the galaxy. But for now, Tython remains the best place to offer lessons and hone your skills. We will utilize the temple grounds for as long as they can be utilized.”

 

“Alright, so what’s our next test going to be?” Ryska asked.

 

“I’d prefer to call them lessons,” Osetto offered with a gentle smile. “These are supposed to be learning experiences. Tasks to expand your minds and broaden your horizons. Test puts too much of a stress on passing or failing, preventing you from focusing on what truly matters. Besides, I don’t really think there was a way for you to ‘fail’ your ‘test’ at the outpost.”

 

“I don’t know, Torzin could have socked one of the workers in the jaw,” Ryska suggested with a slight giggle.

 

“I could have,” Torzin offered. “But I didn’t.”

 

“That’s good to hear Padawan,” Dehros plainly stated.

 

“I mean, I thought about it…” Torzin continued.

 

“Hostility fostered is hostility festered,” Osetto stoically recanted.

 

Ryska offered an interested arch of her brow. “What was that?”

 

“A bit of wisdom from back when I was a student,” Osetto answered alongside a quick chuckle. “One of my teachers had a thing for ‘sayings’. Most of them amounted to nothing and were just excuses to get the initiates thinking about a particular subject.”

 

“With the galaxy being at war, however, pithy slogans and words of wisdom weren’t as stressed as they might have been otherwise,” Dehros added.

 

“After spending hours and hours in the practicing circles, we could stand to hear about how ‘even the most stubborn farmer must admire the tenacity of stone’,” Osetto joked. “But don’t worry, we’ll attempt to provide you two a more balanced training experience.”

 

“Aw, you mean our next lesson isn’t going to be a lecture on Jedi witticisms,” Ryska said with a faux disappointment.

 

“No. At least, not your next lesson,” Osetto clarified with a smile.

 

Torzin looked toward the Miraluka with a determination in his eyes. “Then what will we be doing next?”

 

“You remember how I said we can't be all lightsabers and the Force all the time?” Osetto asked. “Well, the truth is sometimes, we have to be.”

 

A spark of hope washed over the Mirialan’s visage. “Does this mean we’re getting our lightsabers?”

 

“I’m afraid not,” Osetto gently revealed.

 

“Then what? Sparring with training sabers?” Ryska asked.

 

“Still no, I’m afraid,” Osetto answered, a delighted coyness in his tone.

 

The four Jedi continued along the path, nearing the boundaries of the temple grounds. Though the day’s light had not yet been lost, the time for training was over, if not for the rest of the Order then for the two teachers and their students. Walking through the grounds, past spars and training circles, the small group was set on retiring for the evening. The two Padawans needed to rest, and their masters needed them rested. Osetto already had the next day’s lesson planned out in his head and wanted the students to be at their best.

 

The Jedi slept, and as soon as the sun would cast its first rays over the Tython mountaintops, the Consular intended to test their bodies, minds, and spirits.

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

I just want to say I'm enjoying this. I love your namesake, the wit about him and his cheeriness compared to the stoic (word used a lot!) Dehros. The interaction between them, the chemistry, is awesome. The back and forth quips as Osetto constantly tries to get Dehro to break his stoicism. I love it.

I just want to say I'm enjoying this. I love your namesake, the wit about him and his cheeriness compared to the stoic (word used a lot!) Dehros. The interaction between them, the chemistry, is awesome. The back and forth quips as Osetto constantly tries to get Dehros to break his stoicism. I love it.

 

Heh, thanks for the kind words. I kind of wanted to stress the stoicism. Since Jedi are typically calm and relaxed, I needed something for when they go the extra mile to not express themselves. As for Dehros, he's something special. He's not just quiet or reserved, he actually doesn't allow himself to show or be affected by emotion. He takes the first line of the Jedi Code very literally. Osetto far less so.

 

I'm trying my best to keep them from just being Lorrik and Jresh in Jedi robes. There are similarities, as pretty much anything I write concerning a pair of protagonists stems from a similar dynamic. The warm and the cold. The expressive and the reserved. The physical and the mental. But even with different motivations and traits, I'll admit that this story and Acolyte Ascension will possess similar themes, if with a bit of an inversion. That story dealt with freedom and control, perception of worth, even parenthood toward the end. The same will be true in Guiding Lights as the still young Jedi attempt to raise their Padawans in a rapidly evolving climate.

 

Unlike most Masters, Osetto and Dehros don't have all the answers. And the ones they do have might be wrong. And once the four of them leave the sanctuary of the Temple, there could be consequences for their unorthodoxy.

 

The air was calm and heavy in the early morning, dense with moisture. The temple grounds were quiet, its usual inhabitants still in their rooms, tucked beneath their sheets. But whilst the other Padawans rested, two were up and out amongst the dewy hills and trees of Tython.

 

Atop a ridge that overlooked the temple, Osetto stood across from Ryska and Torzin. The teenagers were awake and ready to proceed with the day’s lesson, albeit with a somewhat haggard countenance. Their robes were wrinkled and slightly offset, hanging off their bodies as if sluggishly thrown on. Their eyelids hung as heavy as the surrounding air. Meanwhile, the Consular stood upright and energized, donning a most pleasant expression.

 

“Today, we’re going to learn about the Force,” Osetto revealed. The words were almost lost on the drowsy Padawans, the white noise of the nearby stream filling their ears.

 

The Cathar rubbed her eye with the back of her hand, releasing a drawn out yawn. “Haven’t we been doing that for the past few years?”

 

“Consider this an advanced course,” Osetto delightfully detailed.

 

“Will Master Norrida be joining us for this lesson?” Torzin asked. The Mirialan was the more presentable of the two students, but even his adamant nature could not overpower the lethargy of the early morning.

 

“No, it’ll just be me for this lesson,” Osetto informed. “Dehros is busy seeing to some matters concerning later trials.”

 

“What kind of trials?” Ryska wondered.

 

“Well, since he’ll be handling your martial training, he’s likely procuring the necessary items,” Osetto reasoned.

 

Torzin perked up, a glint in his eye. “Like lightsabers?”

 

“Most likely,” Osetto plainly stated. “But as he trains your bodies, my responsibility rests with training your minds… or rather, your spirits.”

 

The Miraluka began to slowly walk away from his students, leaving the befuddled pair to look at each other before being waved to follow. The Padawans complied, feeling their bodies come to life as their muscles moved, as blood pumped through their veins, as every breath drew in the wet air. The Consular came to a stop a short distance from his original spot, standing beside a gently flowing stream. The clear waters flowed over the various pebbles beneath, following the straight path before falling over the ridge’s edge.

 

Slowly, the Miraluka lowered himself to his knees and silently beckoned the Padawans to do the same. The three of them lined up, side by side, at the edge of the shallow stream. The Consular turned his head to the left and the right, being greeted with the eager face of a Padawan on each side. Within the quaint arrangement, they took a moment to bask in the peaceful environment, locked in an almost meditative state.

 

“The Force flows,” Osetto began. “Water flows. A Jedi is neither the lake nor the mountain. Neither the source nor the terminus. We are the channel. The Force flows through us as water does through the river. It can be gentle. It can be chaotic. It can be natural. It can be forced. It can build. It can destroy.”

 

“You’re talking about the light and dark side, right?” Torzin inquired.

 

“In a way, yes,” Osetto admitted. “But also the multifaceted, and sometimes contradictory, nature of the Force. The Force fuels us, and we can utilize it through near infinite applications. To alter. To sense. To control. Ourselves and others. Whatever limitations we encounter, they reside in ourselves, not the Force.”

 

The calm was broken by the Cathar offering a polite chuckle. “So you're saying it’s our fault if we can’t lift a big rock.”

 

“Precisely,” Osetto replied, equally enthused. “And it’s my job to make sure when the time comes, you can lift that big rock. Firstly, by getting rid of the notion that all the Force is good for is moving heavy objects.”

 

A sharp grin stretched across Ryska’s face. “But you gotta admit, it is pretty good at that.

 

“You have no idea,” Osetto warmly stated. “Everything I needed to learn about the Force, I learn from Master Joren. He was a friend of my Master and a Kineticist. He didn’t use a lightsaber. Didn’t need one.

 

“Was he a pacifist?” Torzin wondered.

 

“On the contrary, he was one of the greatest fighters I’ve ever known,” Osetto revealed. “He walked into battle armed with only the Force and was more than a match for any Sith.”

 

“What happened to him?” Ryska asked.

 

“He was with my Master, as well as Dehros’, during the Sacking of Coruscant,” Osetto answered, noticeably solemn. “He perished in the battle, but not before he kept an entire skyscraper from collapsing long enough for us to make our escape.”

 

“Wow,” Ryska muttered, eyes growing incredibly wide. “I didn’t know a Jedi could do that.”

 

“Like I said, any limitations rest with ourselves, not the Force,” Osetto repeated. “But even if he is no longer with us, I can pass along his teachings.”

 

The Padawans watched as the Consular leaned forward until his face was over the gently flowing stream. Carefully, the Miraluka reached out with his hand, dipping his fingertips into the water. Taking a closer look, the students noticed that not a drop of water managed to actually touch the Master’s fingers. Instead, the stream parted and flowed around his hand before converging on the other side.

 

“Joren used to say that the biggest roadblock in a Padawan’s training stemmed from the fact that they are so focused on moving the motionless,” Osetto declared as he retrieved his hand, still as dry as the moment prior to entry. “The Force is about flow.”

 

“But what about things that aren’t, you know, flowing?” Ryska wondered.

 

“Even if something seems stilled, it does not exist in isolation,” Osetto explained. “Water, air, gravity. When you attempt to move an object with the Force, you are not merely moving that object, you are guiding it through the flows around it. Ignore those flows and you will struggle. Watch.”

 

The students looked closely as the Consular held out his hand, this time flat over the water’s surface. Below, a small pebble resting on the stream’s bed began to slowly lift itself. As it swam toward to surface, it began to wobble and shake before being swept away with the gentle current.

 

“Focus too hard on the pebble, and you lose it to the stream,” Osetto stated. “One must guide it, bending the flows around it so as to remain in control.”

 

“But how do you overcome something like gravity?” Torzin wondered.

 

“The Force exists in all things. Flows through all things,” Osetto answered. “As you strengthen your connection to the Force, you’ll be able to sense such flows and work with them so as to work against them. If you would, attempt to dip your hands without getting them wet.”

 

The two Padawans paused as they gathered themselves, wanting to succeed in their task. They carefully extended their hands, straightening out their fingers before hovering them above the water’s surface. The gentle flow threatened to lap at their digits as they focused their minds.

 

A small indentation appeared beneath the Cathar’s fingers as an invisible force began pressing against the water’s surface. Slowly, she attempted to part the waters, taking things slow and steady.

 

On the other side of the Consular, the Mirialan began exerting his spirit upon the spot preceding his hand. He erected a barrier with his mind, an invisible construct that the stream was forced to flow around. Slowly, he began to expand the barrier until there was a deep enough trench for Torzin to dip his hand in. However, as he lowered his fingers, rather than flow around the Padawan’s barrier, splashes of water began to flow over it, wetting the teenager’s hand.

 

“The trick with the Force is to not force it,” Osetto said with a smile. “I know, an odd concept if you think about it. You aren’t trying to block the stream from reaching you, you’re trying to guide it around you. Do not stop the flow, merely divert it.”

 

“Master, I think I did it!” Ryska declared.

 

The Consular looked over to the Cathar’s hand dipped into the stream, albeit at only half the distance he had done. The water seemed to gently pass around the Padawan’s hand as the air would to a wing.

 

“Very good Ryska,” Osetto congratulated. The teenager wore a bright smile, the water collapsing around her hand as her concentration broke. The young Cathar immediately withdrew her hand, batting off the droplets from her fur. Ryska scrunched her nose in disappointment, but the comforting smile of her Master put her at ease.

 

“I think I’ve done it,” Torzin calmly stated. The Miraluka turned to see the stream successfully flowing around the other teenager’s hand.

 

“Very good, Torzin,” Osetto congratulated. “Remember, not everything is a fight. Do not try to beat the water if you can cooperate with it.”

 

The Padawans watched as the Consular leaned forward once more. He dipped his fingers into the stream again, but this time at an angle. The students were amazed to see a small rivulet of water flow atop the Miraluka’s hand and up his arm. Keeping with the stream’s gentle pace, the diverted string of water went up and over the Consular’s shoulders before coming back down the other arm. Eventually, the water flowed over Osetto’s other hand, resuming its journey back down the stream.

 

It was a completed circuit, as water continued to journey up and around the Jedi, gliding over his flesh and robes, not a drop actually touching him.

 

“The Force is about flow,” Osetto repeated, maintaining the stream of water with almost no sense of effort.

 

The Padawans looked upon the Master with a genuine admiration of his skill. It wasn’t levitating a starship or healing a grievous wound, but somehow, the display proved most impressive. It had resonated with the students. It spoke of a mastery that even they could achieve. Simple and understandable. Soon, the Consular stopped drawing up water and the last drops flowed over his shoulder, rejoining the stream as gently as they had left it.

 

Gazing into the flowing waters of the stream, Ryska carefully reached out, emulating her Master. Dipping her fingertip into the water’s surface, she closed her eyes and concentrated, getting a feel for the motion. Focusing her mind, she reached out with the Force and a small rivulet began traveling up her arm. Opening her eyes, she looked upon her actions with amazement before her lapse in judgment sent the diverted stream of water splashing into her face.

 

The Padawan winced at the soft, yet strikingly cold impact. She muttered a quick curse under her breath as she dabbed her fur with the collar of her robes. As the Cathar regained her senses, she heard a soft chuckle emanate from beside her. Turning her head, she had expected its source to be her ever pleasant Master. Instead, she found the Mirialan hiding his mouth beneath the palm of his hand.

 

The girl’s face scrunched as she sharpened her eyes toward her fellow Padawan. Extending her arm, she made a wide sweeping motion, kicking up a small splash of water upon the Mirialan with the Force. The other Padawan froze as the water washed over his robes and trousers, mouth hanging agape. Turning toward the cause, he saw the Cathar playfully sticking her tongue out at him.

 

Osetto let out a brief chuckle. “Let’s continue… shall we?”

 

 

Back at the temple, the cogs were beginning to turn as its denizens prepared for the day ahead. Masters had awoken from their slumber, ready to tend to their various duties. The sounds of construction began echoing throughout the open chambers of the temple as workers expanded the grand halls.

 

A lone Jedi walked amongst the stirring grounds with calm steps, no sense of eagerness in his gait. The Human wore his usual dulled expression as he would proceed along his path, pause, and resume walking again. Continually scanning his surroundings, Dehros attempted to find his way through the half-finished halls. But the Guardian was patient and in no rush.

 

Passing by unfinished archives and classrooms, the Jedi eventually found his destination in the form of a quaint storeroom. Within, a number of supplies were under lock and key in a number of cabinets and safes. Supplies for students and instructors alike. Resting behind a counter, they were joined by an elderly man garbed in light robes. The aged Human leaned against the flat surface of the counter, thumbing through what looked to be a series of pages physically bound together.

 

“Is that a book?” Dehros bluntly asked.

 

The elder Human lifted his gaze to see the emotionless Guardian standing across from him, stance rigid and unwavering. The storeroom keeper possessed the appearance of a man in his later years, wrinkled and bald of head. He looked upon his guest with heavy eyes, donning a dulled expression of his own.

 

“Never seen a book before?” the keeper countered with a low drawl.

 

“Not in recent memory, no,” Dehros admitted. “Did they not give you a datapad?”

 

The keeper let out a low chortle as his wrinkled face donned a smile. “You ever think maybe I just enjoy reading something not coming out of a screen?”

 

“Sorry, I thought maybe they were making you keep physical records of supplies,” Dehros confessed, not an even a slight intonation of actual guilt.

 

“Jedi may be archaic, but we ain’t cruel,” the keeper joked before returning his heavy gaze to the book.

 

The room fell to silence. The Guardian remained awkwardly standing as the storeroom keeper casually perused his literature. Finally, after letting the quiet persist for a few moments, the younger Human purposely cleared his throat.

 

“Um, excuse me?” Dehros calmly, but firmly, spoke up.

 

“If you need something, you can just go ahead and ask,” the keeper stated, not lifting his gaze.

 

“Very well,” said Dehros, taking a calm step toward the counter. “I was looking to procure some supplies for my Padawan.”

 

Slowly, the keeper raised his gaze from the book, studying the other Jedi with heavy eyes. “Kind of young to be taking on a student, aren’t you?”

 

“We all have our duties to the Order,” Dehros declared. “Mine is training the next generation of Jedi.”

 

The keeper let out a soft chuckle. “Let me guess. You took part in that apprenticeship day, didn’t you?”

 

“That is correct,” Dehros admitted. “In fact, my friend was responsible for organizing it.”

 

“He the same age as you?” the keeper asked.

 

“A little younger, in fact,” answered Dehros.

 

“My how the times have changed,” the keeper replied, a subtle warmth in his voice.

 

“I take it you’ve seen quite a few changes within the Order,” Dehros bluntly suggested.

 

“More than I care to admit,” the keeper offered alongside another chuckle. “You get to be my age, you start to see the change in everything. But enough of my prattling, what sort of supplies were you looking for?”

 

“Power cells, focusing lenses, crystals, casings…” Dehros listed.

 

“Yeah, I got those… but what would you be wanting with them for?” the keeper insistently asked.

 

The Guardian took pause. “I thought it’d be obvious.”

 

“I know to craft a lightsaber, but I was asking why you wanted them,” the keeper clarified. “Don’t tell me your Padawan’s already finished their trials.”

 

“No,” Dehros quickly replied. “He’s still in the early stages of training. But he possessed a weapon during the war. I’d like to continue where his old master left off.”

 

“Understandable,” the keeper said, softly tapping his fingertips on the counter. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I can’t oblige. Council says no lightsaber until a Padawan is finished with their trials. It’s training sabers until then.”

 

“I heard they were entertaining the idea, but I didn’t know they had reached a decision,” Dehros stated.

 

“I’m afraid so,” the keeper replied. “Welcome to peacetime, kid.”

 

“Is there a way I could appeal to the Council? Get an exception for my Padawan?” Dehros patiently asked.

 

“I wouldn’t count on it,” the keeper answered. “Even if they weren’t taking a hardline stance on the issue, the chances of getting an audience with them is slim. They’re rather busy as of late.”

 

The Guardian remained silent, lost in his own thoughts. The keeper expected more out of him, but nothing came.

 

“Would you like to requisition a permanent training weapon?” the keeper asked.

 

Snapping out of his daze, the younger man offered a hesitant nod. With a grunt, the aged man removed himself from the counter, turning his attention to the secured racks and containers along the wall. Unlocking a cabinet, the keeper looked upon a row of metallic rods the length of an activated lightsaber. Slowly, he took one in his hand, removing it and gently setting it back down atop the counter.

 

It was elegantly simple, a shaped hilt and a ‘blade’ composed of a reinforced rod lined with energy arrays. Programmable to various heat settings and capable of generating fields similar to those that surrounded a lightsaber’s beam of plasma. Turning back to the cabinet, the keeper was about to close and lock it before he was interrupted by the stoic Guardian.

 

“Could you get another one? I’d like to pick one up for a friend’s Padawan,” Dehros explained. The keeper’s hand lay stilled over the cabinet’s handle for a moment before complying with the request. Soon, two training sabers graced the countertop between the two men. The keeper paused for a second, waiting to see if the Guardian had anything more to say before finally locking the cabinet.

 

Returning to the counter, the keeper reached beneath the flat surface, returning with a datapad in hand. “Just give me your name and the one of your friend and acknowledge that the chosen items are entering your possession,” the keeper dully stated as he handed the small device to the younger man.

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

 

Dehros entered his and Osetto’s names and signed the release. Staring at the tools, the Guardian recalled his earliest days of training. It was the same weapon initiates had been using, and would continue using, for decades. The only difference being that during his training, he used it only until he had displayed the basest of competencies. In his time, Jedi were expected to fight in the war, and they needed a Jedi’s weapon to do so. But times had changed. The war was over. It was now an era of peace. But the peace needed to be defended. A task for which the Jedi could not afford half-measures.

 

“I know it may sound strange coming from an old salt like me…” the keeper spoke up. Dehros snapped to attention, unaware he had been standing there, staring at the training sabers. “Change is a good thing.”

 

“Pardon?” Dehros politely asked for an explanation.

 

“I take it you were born after the Great War began,” the keeper suggested. “That means the entirety of your training and most of your time in the Order was dedicated to fighting Sith. This transition, from war to peace, might feel jarring… but the opposite was far… far worse.”

 

“Of that I have no doubt,” Dehros admitted, returning his gaze to the training weapons.

 

“Disappointed?” the keeper softly asked.

 

“Should I be?”

 

“It’s just that for some of the Knights, fighting the Empire was all they knew. You might find a few who object to recent changes with the Order,” the keeper explained.

 

“I take it you’re not one of them,” Dehros suggested.

 

“Like I said, change is a good thing,” the keeper repeated.

 

“Change can be a good thing,” Dehros clarified. “But there’s no intrinsic worth in it. Change can be for the better, but it can also be for the worse.”

 

“I suppose that’s true,” the keeper conceded. “But it is inevitable. Rather than resisting the flow, it’s better to guide it toward something greater.”

 

“We’re not in any position to alter our direction,” Dehros declared. “We follow the wisdom of the Council. They guide us and the Order as a whole.”

 

“We’re all in charge of our own destiny,” said the keeper. “Others may affect us, as we may affect others. The Force may offer guidance, as we may offer ourselves to the Force. But we are ultimately responsible for the directions we take. For the paths we follow.”

 

“Our paths are dictated by our superiors,” Dehros countered.

 

“Suggested. Not dictated,” the keeper clarified. “Students are not beholden to the guidance of their masters. That is why we must be extra careful about the paths we offer.”

 

The room went silent as the younger man offered no immediate response. Instead, he lifted his gaze from the weapons, opting to instead study the elderly man behind the counter. He had expected the man to be once more embedded in his book, but instead found him staring right back. Behind his heavy eyes, beneath his calm and wrinkled visage, there was an understanding and wisdom unbecoming of a mere storeroom attendant.

 

“Might I ask your name?” Dehros finally broke the silence.

 

“You might,” the keeper coyly replied. “Of course, you never answered my question.”

 

“Which one?”

 

“Whether or not you were disappointed,” the keeper stated, nodding toward the training sabers resting between them.

 

“No. I’m not,” Dehros declared. “My Padawan might be, though. I understand that things change according to the times, but my student is still young. He fought in the war, barely a teenager at the time. He had earned his lightsaber, but lost it in the Sacking. Now he’ll be told he can’t replace it until he finishes his training.”

 

“Is that such a bad thing?” the keeper asked.

 

“He views a lightsaber as a measure of worth. He had proven himself worthy of carrying one. Being denied the chance to replace it could make him feel like he’s regressed,” Dehros explained. “He could feel like he’s being treated like a child.”

 

“Again, is that so bad?” the keeper asked. “Even without a war enveloping the galaxy, we strip our younglings of much of their childhoods. Giving a piece back now and again won’t hurt.”

 

Once more the Guardian fell silent. Without another word, he picked up the training sabers from the countertop and hooked them both around his belt. The weapons secured to his waist, the younger man offered one final look to the storeroom keeper. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

 

“Verdon,” the keeper plainly stated.

 

The Guardian offered a few brief blinks as he continued to stare at the older gentleman. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’ve not heard the name before.”

 

The storeroom keeper let out a soft chuckle. “Did I give the impression that you should have?”

 

“No, it’s just that… I don’t know… from your words I had expected something more…” Dehros struggled to explain.

 

“More than a lowly storeroom attendant?” Verdon coyly suggested. “Believe me kid, I’m nothing special. Just a man who’s been in the Order a few more decades than most.”

 

“Regardless, thanks for the conversation and the supplies,” Dehros said with a polite bow of his head.

 

“Glad to be of service,” Verdon replied before returning his focus to his book.

 

Turning his back on the storeroom keeper, the Guardian calmly made his way toward the exit. Before stepping out, he gave one final look toward the man behind the counter, watching him contently reading as the compact chamber returned to its natural state.

 

Gripping the hilts of the training sabers, Dehros began his walk back through the unfinished halls of the Jedi Temple.

 

 

As Tython’s sun continued it graceful ascent, the morning hours were giving way to midday. Continuing their lesson atop a nearby ridge, Osetto and his students heard only the occasional echo from the quickly filling training grounds that surrounded the temple.

 

Stepping away from the gentle stream, the three Jedi found themselves amongst rocky grounds, surrounded by stones of various sizes. From pebbles to boulders, this area would provide the means of the Consular’s next lesson.

 

The two students stood patiently under the warming glow of the Tython sun. Though their robes were still damp, neither Padawan was burdened with discomfort. Instead, they were ready to learn, both gazing toward the Miraluka with eager eyes.

 

“Time to move on to something more solid,” Osetto declared.

 

“So we’re going to be lifting rocks after all,” Ryska playfully offered.

 

“That’s right,” Osetto said with a smile. Holding out his hands, the Miraluka drew in a deep breath and calmed his mind.

 

The students watched as their tutor remained stilled, but the world began to shift around him. Slowly, tiny pebbles hovered and lifted themselves from the ground. Dozens of tiny stones rose through the air with grace, halting as they reached their manipulator’s waist. Spread out around the Consular, they rotated and orbited the Jedi by the grace of his will. Rather than a display of strength, it was one of concentration and poise.

 

The Cathar looked with wide eyes, mouth agape with wonder. “That looks so cool, master!”

 

Osetto release a soft chuckle as he maintained the system of orbiting pebbles and stones. “You’ll be doing the same in no time, Padawan.”

 

With subtle waves of his open palms, the circle of pebbles broke their cycle, forming a snaking line of rocks that rose and fell in accordance with the Consular’s movements. Eventually, the string of pebbles was straightened out and stacked upright, forming a thin column in front of the students. Composed of rough and uneven stones, the stack should have instantly crumbled, but under the influence of Osetto, it remained upright and rigid.

 

“If you’d please take a pebble from the stack,” Osetto advised the Padawans. The teenagers took a careful step toward the frozen pillar, reaching out with their hands. Almost afraid to upset the column, each slowly snatched a small stone from the top of the chest high stack. As Torzin and Ryska each held a pebble snuggly within their palms, the Consular released his mental grip on the others, sending the stack of rocks crumbling to the ground.

 

Taking a step toward the students, Osetto neatly tucked his hands behind his back, taking the stance of the wise sage before the young Jedi. “Now, hold out your hand, palm toward the sky, pebble in its center.”

 

The Padawans complied, holding the stones they had taken in the flat of their right palms. Extending their arms, their joints went rigid, locking their stance.

 

“Now, let me see you lift these pebbles with the Force,” Osetto suggested.

 

There was a moment of hesitation in the students.

 

“That’s it?” Torzin calmly asked. “I mean, a child could lift something this small.”

 

“Then you should have no problem, right?” Osetto offered with a knowing smile. The Padawans went along with their master’s direction, lifting the singular pebbles they possessed with the Force. The small stones rose through the air before coming to a gentle stop at eye level. There they remained, secure in the teenagers’ telekinetic grips, not an ounce of wobble in either of them. “One’s strength in the Force comes from understanding, and understanding is achieved through increments. There is no universal application of the Force, but there are underlying principles that carry through whether you are lifting a pebble or a boulder. Understanding these variations and constants allows a Jedi to more efficiently and effectively channel the Force.”

 

The Padawans listened to their teacher, minds unstrained by lifting the pebble. With a couple of nods, the students signaled their understanding, as well as their ability to concentrate on multiple items calling for their attention.

 

“Think about what it takes to lift that pebble,” Osetto continued. “Even if it is so effortless as to seem unconscious, remember that it still draws upon you. Neither you nor the Force is ultimately responsible for your actions. It is a give and take, each guiding one another. One must respect and understand the other. You must know yourself just as much as the Force. How is it you were able to lift that pebble? What was your state of mind? Where did you put your focus? The Force is limited by you, but you are also the one to set it free. Do you understand?”

 

“To use the Force, we have to believe in ourselves,” Ryska warmly offered.

 

“That’s right,” Osetto declared. “Your mental state has the most profound impact on your connection to the Force. That is why you are taught to understand your emotions, to seek out knowledge, to possess an internal harmony.”

 

“Because if we don’t, we risk falling to the dark side, correct?” Torzin suggested.

 

“That’s right,” Osetto calmly answered. “The dark side possesses a natural allure. It is easy to give into anger, into hate. So easy in fact, that some Jedi don’t even realize they’ve done so.”

 

“But people can turn away, right?” Ryska asked. “I mean, if our mental state can set us on that path, it can lead us away from it too, right?”

 

“That’s right,” Osetto warmly repeated. “The dark side is… magnetic. Once within its grasp, it can be hard to tear free. But not impossible. That is why we must never give up on those who fall. It’s up to us to offer our hand, that they may pick themselves up.”

 

The teens offered another pair of nods.

 

“Now,” Osetto perked up, somewhat more chipper. “Time to take things up a notch.”

 

As the students watched the Miraluka turn upon his heels, they allowed the pebbles to drop back into their palms. They waited patiently as the Consular circled around the various stones that littered the ground before he finally stopped beside a large rock. Already reaching up to the Osetto’s waist, the boulder beside the Jedi had even more of its heft buried beneath the dirt. With a solid slap, the Miraluka set his hand upon the immense stone.

 

“You’ll be lifting this next,” Osetto warmly declared. The student’s offered only bewildered gazes.

 

“We can’t lift that!” Ryska balked.

 

Osetto’s smile widened. “Of course you can. Remember, it’s all about incremental changes.”

 

“That’s a pretty big increment!” Ryska exclaimed.

 

“You just have to remember what I’ve taught you,” Osetto calmly reasoned. As the students fell silent, the Consular once more calmed his mind. Maintaining contact with the boulder, Osetto began exerting his will upon the embedded rock. The Padawans watched in amazement as the stone began to stir from its deep rest. The Miraluka showing no signs of visible strain, the boulder began to lift itself from the ground, the Jedi’s hand still resting upon its top.

 

The large stone now floated in the air, its bottom stained with dirt. Slowly, Osetto began walking toward the students with the lifted rock moving alongside him. The boulder, heavier than the three organics’ combined weights, gently hovered beneath the Consular’s hand, guided by the Jedi’s mind. Stopping just short of the Padawans, Osetto set the stone back on the ground with a sizable thud. The impact was enough to make the Cathar flinch. When she recovered, she was left with the smiling gaze of her master before her.

 

“Who would like to try first?” Osetto warmly asked.

 

The Padawans looked to each other and, for the first time that morning, neither seemed too eager.

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

 

The two students stared at the large rock, silence hanging heavy in the dewy air. Finally, one spoke.

 

“I guess I’ll go first,” Torzin declared, trying to evoke a confident tone.

 

Ryska and Osetto each took a step back, leaving the Mirialan with the heavy boulder. The green teenager stared at the rock with a determined gaze. Despite his trepidation, his failure would not be for lack of trying.

 

Placing his feet apart, Torzin adopted as stalwart a stance as he could muster. Digging in his heels, the Mirialan held out his hands, just short of making physical contact with the boulder. With closed eyes and a calm mind, the Padawan went to work trying to lift the heavy stone with the Force. He dwelled upon his tutor’s words, treating the boulder as he would a pebble. But a pebble it was not. It remained firmly secured in its new resting place despite all efforts to move it. No matter how hard he exerted his will, the weight was too much for the Mirialan to overcome. With a burdened exhalation, the Padawan’s arms dropped back to his sides.

 

“I… I can’t,” Torzin admitted, maintaining his calm through his exhaustion.

 

“I see,” Osetto spoke up. “Ryska, would you like to try?”

 

“If Torzin can’t do it, I can’t,” Ryska declared.

 

“And what makes you think that?” Osetto asked.

 

“I saw him lift metal girders back at the construction site,” Ryska admitted. “If he can’t lift this thing, there’s no way I can.”

 

“Is that true, Torzin?” asked Osetto.

 

“A lifter droid broke,” Torzin explained. “I helped drag some of the construction supplies up the hill whilst Ryska fixed it.”

 

The Miraluka playfully began scratching his chin. “Why might you have been able to lift those, but not this rock?”

 

“Well, I was able to get a grip on the beams,” said Torzin.

 

“And how do you think I was able to lift the boulder?” Osetto asked. “You’ll notice I put my hand on it.”

 

“Yeah, but it was just resting on the top,” Torzin suggested. “That couldn’t have helped you grip it.”

 

“And yet it did,” Osetto offered with a smile. “Remember what I said about flow. The Force moves through us. We are the channel. To properly use the Force, we must understand the flows around us.”

 

Ryska arched her brow. “And if we want to understand flows, we should just touch something?”

 

“For a Jedi in training, it can certainly help,” Osetto warmly stated. “When we are instructed in the use of the Force, it is through two avenues. That which affects us. And that which affects the world around us. The closer we can bring those two worlds together, the greater our understanding. And the greater our ability. Tell me, when you lifted the pebble, did it feel different in the air than it did in your hand?”

 

The Padawans offered hesitant nods.

 

“One of the hardest things for a Padawan to wrap their heads around is moving the motionless. The other is reaching the unreachable,” Osetto suggested. “Through the Force, we can reach out beyond the limits of our bodies, but parts of ourselves still refuse to belief as much. That is one of the ways we limit ourselves, and in turn, limit our use of the Force. Breaking down that disbelief can only be achieved through practice and persistence. But we are often unwilling to persist in the face of incapability. Thus, we must prove to ourselves that we are capable.”

 

Taking a knee beside the boulder, Osetto beckoned the students to join him. Kneeling on opposite sides of the stone, Torzin and Ryska eagerly awaited the Consular’s next words. But instead, he silently placed his palms upon the cold surface of the large rock. Taking a cue from their tutor, the students did the same.

 

“Before we can affect the world around us, we must understand it,” Osetto explained. “All you saw before you was a stone. Heavy. Immovable. But what is it really? Feel it. Know it. What are its boundaries? What are its limits? It is the one that possesses these things, not you. The more you know of something, the more you understand it, the more you can influence it.”

 

Picking himself up off the ground, Osetto took a step back, leaving the Padawans in contact with the boulder. Their eyes were closed, their minds were calm, and their hands were pressed against the solid surface of the intimidating stone.

 

“You can do this. You just have to believe,” Osetto calmly suggested.

 

The Miraluka watched his students with his eyeless gaze. Strings and waves of the Force began to flow from the teenagers. A lambent aura of focused energies surrounded and enveloped each student. On each side of the boulder, Torzin and Ryska slowly began exerting their will upon the stilled stone. Emanating from their points of contact, normally invisible energies began to flow and spread across the rock’s surface, eventually covering it in its entirety. The stone was aglow in the Force, manifestations of the Padawans’ wills intermingling across the cold exterior, eventually reaching the other’s hands. Every aspect of the boulder became known to the students as they could feel the echo of one another’s aura.

 

Slowly, the stone began to move under the combined efforts of the Padawans. In unison, Torzin and Ryska began straightening out their legs, raising themselves, bringing the boulder along with them as they maintained their physical contact. As their palms graced the sides of the stone, there was nothing for them to physically grab onto, but they had firmly secured their grip upon the previously unmovable object.

 

Opening their eyes, the Padawans gazed upon their efforts with wonder. They had done what they previously thought impossible. Together, they had moved the unmovable. Under the smiling gaze of their tutor, Torzin and Ryska slowly lowered the boulder back to the ground. Making sure their toes out of the way, the Padawans set the stone down with a soft thud.

 

The Mirialan released the breath he had been holding for what felt like an eternity. Gazing upon the settled stone, he could hardly believe what he’d done. As the feeling of his accomplishment washed over him, something else did as well.

 

Circling around the boulder, Ryska rushed toward the other Padawan, arms spread wide. Colliding with the Mirialan, the Cathar wrapped her hands around Torzin’s shoulders, her feet energetically bouncing off the ground.

 

“We did it! We freakin’ did it!” Ryska warmly shouted, maintaining her grip around the bewildered Mirialan. Eventually, the Cathar settled down and the two students were left staring into one another’s eyes. Ryska wore a beaming smile, one of accomplishment and pride.

 

Slowly, a slight curl began to form on Torzin’s lips. “Yeah. I guess we did.”

 

 

With Tython’s sun at its highest point, the three Jedi cast little shadows as they made their way back toward the temple. Osetto had finished his lesson for the day, and Ryska was still beaming with the thoughts of her success. Beside her, Torzin maintained a cooler demeanor, concealing whatever feelings rest beneath the surface. As their feet tread upon the winding, unbeaten path, the three Jedi navigated the ridges and hills between them and their home.

 

A bounce in her step, the Cathar still wore a toothy grin as she walked alongside her master and fellow Padawan. “I can hardly believe we did that! I mean, did you think we could? You didn’t, didn’t you? Hah!”

 

The Cathar’s enthusiastic words were strung together with nary a pause. Caught up in the moment, she didn’t even realize she had delivered a quick jab of her pumped fist into the Mirialan’s shoulder.

 

Torzin offered a soft wince, unhurt but nonetheless prompted to rub the spot. “Yes. I suppose it was quite the accomplishment.”

 

“How could you not be more excited about that?” Ryska blurted out. “A Padawan shows up and starts liftin’ rocks that size, you know what they say? Prodigy!”

 

“It took the both of us to even get it off the ground,” Torzin patiently reminded. “It was remarkable, but nothing truly beyond belief.”

 

“Doesn’t stop it from being awesome!” Ryska heartily replied.

 

Osetto let out a soft chuckle as he continued leading the students back to the temple grounds. “You’d do well to emulate Torzin, my Padawan. A little celebration now and again is fine, but you mustn’t let things go to your head. Pride can be as dangerous as anger or hate.”

 

“I… of course, master,” Ryska immediately calmed down, dutifully dipping her head.

 

Looking over his shoulder as he walked, the Miraluka offered a gentle smile. “But you did well, both of you,” Osetto stated. “It is a fine line we walk, the one between confidence and hubris. But I’d not have either of you unable to appreciate your accomplishments. Just let them guide you down a better path. The strength we seek is not to better ourselves, but those around us.”

 

“I’ll do my best, master,” Ryska enthusiastically declared.

 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less of you,” Osetto said with a smile. The young Cathar lightly scratched the back of her head, a bashful smile of her own creeping across her face.

 

“So, is our training over for the day, Master Karrehl?” Torzin patiently asked.

 

“I believe so, unless Dehros has something planned for you. Though I’d think he’d like to start fresh and early as I did,” Osetto suggested. “And please, you can call me Osetto.”

 

“Apologies. I only wanted to afford you respect,” Torzin calmly stated with the dip of his head.

 

“You needn’t call upon rank and title to do so,” Osetto offered with a chuckle. “Plus, I’ve never placed much reverence upon my family name.”

 

“Me neither,” Ryska glibly stated. “Then again, that might be because I don’t have one.”

 

“You don’t have a last name?” Torzin curiously asked.

 

“Nope,” Ryska replied. “A lot of Cathar just have a given name and a clan name. No clan, no last name.”

 

The Mirialan tilted his head. “Is that common?”

 

“Nowadays? Yeah, plenty of clanless,” Ryska explained. “We’re kind of a weird people. Some are really close knit. Some fiercely independent.”

 

“Which would you consider yourself?” asked Torzin.

 

“Well, I’m somethin’ fierce, I know that,” Ryska replied with a toothy grin.

 

“Hmm,” Torzin calmly emoted, unfazed by the Cathar’s exuberance.

 

“What about you?” Ryska asked. “I hear Mirialans are pretty big on their culture.”

 

“You could say that,” Torzin admitted. “For the most part, our beliefs mesh well with those of the Jedi. Even those outside the Order are more spiritual that most in the galaxy. We belief in a healthy balance of collective fate mixed with individual identity. That’s the purpose of our tattoos. To tell each person’s unique story.”

 

“Cool,” Ryska offered, suitably engrossed. “What do yours mean?”

 

The Mirialan turned his head as he walked, giving the Cathar a clearer look. He ran a finger beneath his right cheek, underlining the row of interlocking triangles arranged in a stripe. “This row was for being inducted into the Order.” Torzin then passed his finger across his left cheekbone. “This one was for becoming a Padawan.”

 

“I see,” Ryska softly said, scratching her chin. “So, what’ll you get when you become a Knight?”

 

“Likely a matching column upon my forehead,” Torzin explained.

 

“Uh huh,” Ryska nonchalantly offered. “What about when you become a Jedi Master?”

 

The Mirialan took a moment before responding. Straightening his gaze, the male Padawan gently looked upon the horizon before him. “It’d be rather presumptuous of me to assume I’ll attain that rank.”

 

The Cathar playfully jabbed her elbow into Torzin’s side. “Come on, I’m sure you’ll do it someday.”

 

“You think so?”

 

“I know so,” Ryska confidently stated. “Right, master?”

 

The Miraluka let out another chuckle. “I’ll make sure Dehros and I do everything in our power to put you on that path. Both of you.”

 

“Thank you, Master Osetto,” Torzin offered with a respectful nod.

 

On the threshold of the temple grounds, the sights and sounds of training students graced the three Jedi’s senses. Instructors guided younglings wielding training sabers. Teachers postulated, surrounded by kneeling students. Beneath the warm glow of the Tython sun, all was calm, even amidst the bustling action of midday lessons and trials.

 

Walking between makeshift arenas and platforms, Osetto guided the Padawans back to their homes. Beyond the temple’s main structure, past the unfinished construction, the residence halls welcomed the Jedi back to their utilitarian, yet charmingly quaint domiciles. Osetto led his students through the apartment-like complex, passing by sparsely spaced rooms down narrow corridors. The trio finally came to a stop in front of one of the many unassuming doors that populated the hall.

 

With a firm knock, the Miraluka made his presence known to the inhabitant inside. Patiently standing shoulder to shoulder, the three Jedi weren’t forced to wait long before Dehros opened the door.

 

“Osetto,” Dehros stoically greeted. “I take it you’ve concluded your lesson.”

 

“That’s right,” Osetto warmly declared.

 

“And how did my Padawan do?” asked Dehros.

 

“Excellent,” Osetto replied. “He really took everything to heart. A model student.”

 

Behind the Consular, the Mirialan’s head dipped as he tried to maintain a stoic demeanor in the presence of his master.

 

“I see. That’s good to hear,” Dehros admitted, voice lacking any trace of excitement.

 

“What about you?” Osetto asked. “You said something about procuring some supplies?”

 

“Correct.” Without another word, the Human left the trio standing in the doorway as he disappeared back into his domicile. A few moments later, he returned carrying in his hand a training saber. “This one is yours.”

 

The Guardian thrust the rod’s handle out, urging the Consular to take it. Osetto took a firm grasp, passing his eyeless gaze up and down the sturdy device.

 

“The Council’s enacted some new regulations regarding lightsabers,” Dehros explained. “Padawans are to construct theirs only once they’ve finished their training. When they’re ready to become Knights.”

 

The Mirialan’s stance immediately straightened as his eyes grew increasingly wide.

 

“So they finally made a decision, did they?” Osetto muttered, gently rubbing his chin. Handing the training saber to his Padawan, the Miraluka’s trademark smile was absent from his visage. “I’m sorry, Ryska. Seems you’ll be using this for the foreseeable future.”

 

Taking the weapon in her hand, the Cathar instantly recognized its familiar heft. The girl’s lips curled into a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, master. I’m more used to these things anyway.”

 

The warmth slowly returned to the Miraluka’s face as his student clipped the training weapon to her waist. Meanwhile, a look of disappointment overtook the Mirialan’s visage, overwhelming any attempt to hide it.

 

“I’m sorry, Padawan,” Dehros stoically offered. “I know you had your sights on replacing the one you lost, but-”

 

“It’s okay, master,” Torzin was finally able to muster. “I understand. I don’t need a lightsaber right now anyway.”

 

“That’s mature of you to admit,” said Dehros. The Padawan was momentarily consoled by his master’s kind, albeit emotionless, words. Keeping his head raised, Torzin caught Ryska offering her own supporting glance in the corner of his eye. “Well, come on in. You can tell me what you learned today.”

 

Torzin offered dutiful nod as he stepped into his master’s home, leaving Osetto and Ryska standing in the hallway.

 

“Have your lesson planned yet?” Osetto warmly asked of his fellow.

 

“For the most part, yes,” Dehros admitted. “I might make alterations based on today’s lesson. In case you missed anything.”

 

Osetto released a soft chuckle. “Very funny.”

 

The Human’s face remained completely deadpan, offering no evidence of whether or not it truly was a joke. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dehros concluded, softly shutting the door.

 

The Consular stood motionless, eyeless gaze focused forward. Without a word, he placed a comforting hand upon his Padawan’s shoulder. “Come on. We can meditate on what we’ve learned today.”

 

Ryska offered a firm nod and the two made their way to the neighboring domicile. Entering Osetto’s home, the master and student had the rest of the day to reflect.

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto

 

It was a new morning on Tython. The sun was low and the air carried a pleasant chill. In front of the temple, the fields and platforms went unoccupied aside from a single dueling area. Standing within the practice square were three figures. The ever stoic Human, the determined Mirialan, and a slightly groggy Cathar. Absent was the pleasant Miraluka. It fell to the Guardian to teach the day's lesson.

 

There were no sounds of gently flowing streams or trees wafting in the breeze. The three Jedi stood upon hard, metallic flooring, one of the smooth, man-made surfaces etched unto the temple's lawn, stocked with a battered and beaten training dummy. If there was an understanding to be achieved that day, it would not come at the behest of nature.

 

The two Padawans stood as upright as their respective energy levels would allow. Under the dim light of the still-rising sun, each student wore their basic, form-fitting robes of earthen tones. New to the ensembles were the training sabers hooked to their belts. The metallic rods inlaid with energy bands jostled with every shift in the teenagers' stances, heavy and waiting.

 

"Padawans," Dehros began, soft yet direct, engaging yet distant, not a touch of the Consular's warmth gracing his speech. "If you would, please draw your weapons."

 

The two students complied alongside a pair of dutiful nods. Wrapping their hands around their weapons' hilts, the Mirialan and Cathar gripped them tightly before brandishing them. Unignited, they stood as simple shapes of metal, tips pointed toward the sky. They rose unwaveringly in their wielders' steady hands, each student utterly capable of controlling their apparent heft.

 

"Good. Now, set them on the ground. You won't be needing them," Dehros continued, dull as ever.

 

The Padawans puzzled for a moment. They thought maybe they had misheard, but as the Human's eyes wandered toward their feet it became clear they hadn't. Carefully, the two lowered themselves and set their weapons gently upon the edge of the platform. Straightening their postures, the students looked to their instructor, patiently awaiting his next words.

 

"We will be picking up where you left off yesterday, applying your knowledge to martial training," Dehros explained. "But before we move forward with saber practice, there are some foundations I want to lay."

 

With a calm hand, the Guardian beckoned to the Padawans to approach. Taking a step himself, the teacher led the students toward the tiny arena's opposite edge. There stood what appeared to be a humanoid droid chassis, only instead of standing upon legs, it was secured to the ground via a pole embedded in the floor. Inflexible arms sprouted from its matte gray torso, and there was not a spark of life in its eyeless dome.

 

"To what extent did your previous masters instruct you in the martial arts?" Dehros asked.

 

"I was entering advanced instruction in Shii-Cho, as well as developing more focused dueling skills," said Torzin.

 

"I… uh… I was still on basic saber instruction," Ryska quietly revealed, scratching the back of her head.

 

"I see. What about hand-to-hand combat?" Dehros asked.

 

"Limited," Torzin admitted. "Mostly as a means of physical conditioning rather than fighting."

 

"Same," Ryska added. "It was less combat, more active meditation."

 

"That will suffice. Torzin, please approach the practice dummy," said Dehros, waving his hand toward the metallic figure. The Mirialan complied, taking only a few steps before standing face to face with the target's rigid chassis. "Now, I want you to hit it."

 

"Hit it how, master?" Torzin hesitantly asked.

 

"However you feel comfortable doing so," Dehros replied. The Mirialan gulped as he stared toward the unmoving practice dummy. It stood ready to receive whatever he planned to dish out, despite him having no plan.

 

Torzin drew upon his martial knowledge, shifting his feet, placing one ahead of the other. His stance went rigid, intent on keeping himself utterly grounded. With a another heavy gulp, he clenched his right fist. As he wound back, he paused, questioning how exactly to strike the solid surface before him. Rather than dwell any further, the teenager took a deep breath, exhaling a moment later, finding a moment of relaxation. Driving his hand forward, the Mirialan struck the practice dummy directing in its chest with his palm, eliciting a solid thud. The target offered a brief shiver, but ultimately remained unaffected by the blow. His skin still in contact with the metallic surface, Torzin turned to his master, seeking some form of approval or disapproval.

 

All he received was a soft nod from the Guardian. "Ryska, would you please do the same?"

 

Torzin retrieved his hand, taking a few soft steps away from the dummy, his position soon replaced by that of the young Cathar. Staring at the practice dummy, Ryska furrowed her brow, gently biting her lower lip.

 

"Like, do the same as Torzin?" Ryska asked.

 

"No, you may hit it however you like," Dehros calmly replied.

 

The Cathar nodded, an acknowledgement, rather than true understanding. Cracking her knuckles, the girl looked up and down the rigid figure before her. Clenching and releasing her fingers, the Ryska’s movements were far looser than her fellow Padawan’s, limber and flexible. She planted her feet upon the solid ground, before shifting them forward, before shifting them back, before returning them to their initial state. Trying to balance her training with her beastly instincts, the Padawan pondered whether or not to use her claws. Deciding not, the Cathar quickly wound back her right arm before driving it forward with great force.

 

Her fist clenched, she delivered a brutal punch to the dummy's chest, her knuckles clashing with the metallic surface. A sharp knock rang out and the chassis briefly shook, but it seemed unaffected as it had been before. The same could not be said for Ryska.

 

Ryska reeled back, clutching her fist as harsh whimpers slipped past her gritted teeth. As she hopped around in place, the Mirialan rushed to her side.

 

"Are you okay?" Torzin asked, a sense of urgency in his voice. Quickly, the girl's movements began to cease as she calmed herself, still clutching her hand.

 

"Gah… y…yeah, I'm fine," said Ryska, almost whispering.

 

"Are you sure?" Torzin continued, still possessing a touch of concern.

 

"Yeah yeah yeah," Ryska quickly replied, nary a pause between words.

 

Letting go of her injured hand, the Cathar began clenching and releasing her fingers, no signs of any real damage present. The girl closed her eyes as she drew in calmed breaths, slowly regaining her composure.

 

However, that composure was instantly shattered when she felt something touch her fingers, prompting a startled jump. Her eyes shooting open, Ryska saw her hand within Torzin's own. As carefully as he could, the Mirialan examined his fellow Padawan’s injuries, gently caressing the girl's fingers as he rotated her wrist. Ryska watched as Torzin's eyes narrowed, scanning each digit with utter focus.

 

She was speechless. The Mirialan's green flesh poked and prodded her fur with an almost mechanical precision, but she nonetheless felt an emotional depth to his actions. Even as he looked upon her hand through his stoic eyes, there was a sense of care about him. Finally, the silence was broken by the Mirialan releasing quick sigh of relief.

 

"You're not big on restraint, are you?" Torzin stated, a slight curl in his lips as he released control back to its owner. Ryska's attention immediately left her hand.

 

She had heard those same exact words before. From other students. From instructors. But they had always held a bite to them. Always negative, always intending to knock her down a peg. But looking to the her fellow Padawan, she found only warmth in his words, in his countenance. He had spoken from a place of support. rather than condemnation.

 

In control of her hand once more, Ryska began gently rubbing her sore knuckles, a bashful smile creeping upon her face. "Well… like I said, I'm somethin' fierce."

 

Torzin wore a smile of his own, his previous concern giving way to relief. The entire exchange had lasted only a few seconds, but for them, it felt far from fleeting.

 

Meanwhile, the stone-faced Dehros continued to look upon them with his unchanging stare. "Are you okay, Ryska?" The Human offered his inquiry in his usual calm, almost cold manner, lacking the apparent concern his Padawan had expressed.

 

"Yeah, I'm fine," Ryska dismissed with a wave of her hand, trying her hardest to play it cool.

 

"Well, your displays did illustrate what I hope to teach you today," Dehros revealed.

 

"Glad I could lend a hand then," Ryska warmly muttered.

 

"If you'll remember, the first lesson Master Karrehl and I offered to you was in regards to control," Dehros stated. "Most importantly, control of the self. If you can control yourself, you can control your environment. This is a continuation of that principle, coupled with yesterday's lesson regarding the Force. Can one of you summarize what Master Karrehl taught you the other day?"

 

"The Force flows," Torzin spoke up.

 

"Not only that, but pretty much everything does," Ryska added. "Or rather, the Force flows through and around everything."

 

"Precisely," said Dehros. "Most importantly, the Force flows through us. And it is the union between body and spirit that unblocks that flow."

 

The Guardian paused before gently urging the students to take a step back. As they did, the Jedi soon took his place in front of the practice dummy. The teenagers watched through eager eyes as their tutor readied himself. His feet slid upon the ground, never breaking contact. His hands moved with both speed and grace. With not even a fraction of the forethought and attention the Padawans had put into their strike, Dehros pulled back his hand before driving his open palm into the dummy's chest. The flesh and metal met, releasing a resounding thud upon contact. The solid chassis shook to its very core, wobbling upon the pole that connected to the ground. As the two teenagers watched in amazement, they could have sworn they felt the very platform they stood upon vibrate beneath their feet.

 

Dehros removed his hand just as quickly as he had delivered it, no worse for wear. Without an ounce of effort or preparation, the Guardian had demonstrably surpassed the efforts of the students by an exponential margin.

 

"A Jedi is whole," Dehros declared. "Every part of us works in unison and in harmony. As your training progresses, you will begin to break down the barriers between body, mind, and spirit, until they are no longer exclusive to one another. Then, and only then, can the Force be allowed to truly flow through you."

 

"And how do we break down those barriers?" asked Torzin.

 

"Practice and persistence," Dehros listed, echoing the words the students had heard from yesterday. "One cannot proceed without achieving understanding, and understanding can only be achieved through study."

 

Ryska tilted her head. "So, like, reading a holo… or…"

 

"No," Dehros bluntly offered, taking a step away from the practice dummy. "Please, take your positions on opposite ends of the arena."

 

Slowly, Torzin and Ryska made their way toward each end of the dueling square, bouncing their gazes between themselves and their instructor. Dehros patiently remained in the center between the two, arms neatly folded behind his back. There was a stillness and calm in the air as the temperate morning surrounding them.

 

"This lesson is about motion," Dehros declared. "Kinetics are an integral part of Force usage for anyone, even Jedi Masters. The motions of our bodies, our hands, allow us to more freely allow the Force to flow through us. Would you both please take a single step toward each other?"

 

The Padawans offered a brief nod before extending their legs, each taking a single step forward. The Mirialan's was brief and rigid. The Cathar's was wide, almost upsetting her balance as she tried to overstep her reach.

 

"Now, take a single step backward."

 

The students complied, keeping their focus forward, but reaching back with their legs, each taking a step toward their starting point.

 

"Now, take a single step forward."

 

The teenagers offered no protests, knowing in their hearts that the meager commands were undoubtedly leading to something. The Mirialan and Cathar each took another step forward, similar to their first ones.

 

"Now, tell me, are you in the same place you were in after taking your first step?" Dehros asked.

 

"Yeah," Ryska bluntly answered.

 

"Are you really?" Dehros countered.

 

"I mean… pretty much," Ryska softly replied, slightly furrowing her brow. The Cathar's gaze dropped to her feet, surveying the square tiles beneath her feet. Only now did she notice the grid-like design that comprised the platform's surface.

 

"A Jedi must always be aware of their boundaries and motions," Dehros explained. "Every action you take, must be conscious and replicable. To move without thinking is dangerous to anyone not guided by the Force."

 

"Are we not guided by the Force?" Torzin humbly offered.

 

"In a manner of speaking, yes. But as Padawans, your connection is still tenuous," Dehros stated. "Eventually, you will reach a point in which the Force fuels your every action, where you need not consciously call upon it."

 

"But you just said we always need to be conscious of our actions," Ryska spoke up.

 

"That is correct," Dehros replied. "We must always be cognizant of ourselves, but we must also achieve a natural symbiosis with the Force. The more we separate ourselves from the Force, the more we consider it some unnatural part of us that must be called upon, the weaker our connection to it becomes. Thus, we must achieve balance between conscious effort and natural conditioning."

 

"How do we know when we've found that balance?" asked Torzin.

 

"Most often, we don't," Dehros admitted. "But we strive nonetheless. To attain that balance is to allow the Force to best flow through us."

 

"How do we work toward that balance?" Ryska asked.

 

"By understanding the connection between our bodies as the Force," Dehros replied. "Tell me, how do we channel the Force? If you wanted to lift a rock, how do you do so?"

 

"Through concentration and focus," Torzin answered.

 

"But what is it that we physically do?" Dehros continued.

 

"Well, we think really hard," Ryska stated. "We just… like… think about moving something, and if we do it hard enough, it moves."

 

"And that is all?" Dehros asked. "You just stand there, arms folded, and just will that something be moved?"

 

"Well, no," Ryska admitted. "We reach out, move our hands…"

 

"And why do we do that?" Dehros asked.

 

"It help us visualize our actions," Torzin answered. "It lets us channel the Force by providing a proper channel. With our minds alone, we struggle to maintain focus and lose consistency."

 

Dehros offered the slight dip of his head. "Very good, my Padawan. What I hope to teach you today, is that this fact extends to martial training. When you swing a weapon, it is not by the merit of just your arms. Your entire body's movements influence that swing. And for a Jedi, it is not just your body. The Force flows around and through us. It affects our senses. It affects our strength and endurance. It protects us through wards and barriers. In countless ways it influences us, and we influence it… and that is why we cannot limit ourselves to conscious interactions. To manually call upon the Force in all of these facets is impossible for even the greatest Jedi. Instead, we seek to embrace the Force in such a way that our connection and understanding deepens, and we allow the Force to guide us rather than seek to control it."

 

The Padawans offered mutual nods of understanding.

 

"Now, would you both please take another step forward?" Dehros directed.

 

The students steadied themselves, observing the grounds in front of them, offering a moment of consideration before lifting their legs. Carefully, the Padawans extended their limbs before setting them down with precision a short distance ahead. A moment later, they received the command to step backward. With the same caution and patience, the students stepped back toward their point of origin. Hearing the call for the next step forward, the teenagers looked upon the paneled flooring in front of them, running the motions through their minds. With another cautious step, the pair put every effort toward planting their feet in the same exact spot as before.

 

"Tell, me, are you in the same spot as the first step?" Dehros asked.

 

"Yes," Ryska enthusiastically answered. Across from her, Torzin offered his own confident nod.

 

"I see, but this time you valued precision above all else," Dehros stated. "You sacrificed speed and stability. One must balance these elements. No action should exist in isolation. Preparation, execution, and follow-up should blend into one cohesive motion."

 

As the Guardian fell silent, he took a gentle step forward, bending his knee as the sole of his foot made contact with the ground. Leaning forward for but a moment, the Jedi reversed his movement with a continuous flow, falling back upon his heels as he stepped backward. As his feet remained in contact with the solid surface, the Human's hands softly swayed and followed their owner's movements. Taking another step forward, the Jedi ended his motion balanced upon a single foot, his other raised and tucked in whilst his arms folded behind his back. With nary a shake in his entire frame, the Guardian stood tall and enduring upon one leg, maintaining his posture without an ounce of effort.

 

Upholding his balance, the Jedi's hands emerged from behind his back, his right possessing a silver hilt within its grasp. With a smooth flick of his wrist, the Guardian ignited his weapon, and a blue blade extended from the lightsaber's emitter parallel with his outstretched arm. All the while, Dehros' lower body remained utterly stilled. With a smooth arc, the Jedi brought his saber arm in closer, holding it in front of his chest, pointing the weapon's tip toward the sky. His face basking in the glow of the remarkably close beam of plasma, the Human's expression maintained its relentless stoicism. Lowering his raised leg, the Guardian once more stood upon two feet. Wrapping his other hand around the silver hilt of his saber, Dehros shifted the blade to the right, seamlessly moving into a guarded combat stance.

 

Sliding his feet upon the solid surface below, the calm Guardian presented himself as a paragon of martial skill in the eyes of the Padawans, who looked upon their instructor with a sense of interest and awe. Their eyes grew wide as they watched Dehros leap backward, soaring gently through the air before landing lightly on his feet toward one of the practice square's edges. Had he overshot by the slightest degree, he would have caught the lip and fell onto the surrounding dirt. But his movements were are as calculated as they were natural.

 

With a safe distance between himself and his students, Dehros raised his arms before bring bringing them back down with a swift swipe. Before the lightsaber's arc had concluded, it was already on the move again, turning and cutting the air with strength and grace. The Guardian continued, stepping and slashing with an equal showing of flash and substance, wide swings coupled with swift deflections. Watching the Human move, it became evident where Dehros had invested his time and effort. The title of Guardian was well earned.

 

The Jedi manipulated his weapon as easily he would a part of his own body, its burning length never once out of sync with his own movements. Any errant motion, any miscalculated endeavor, could have spelled disaster. But the Human seemed incapable of such. Even as the figure's gently flowing robes trailed his every movement, not a single fiber lay in danger of being singed. Even as the heated blade swung high and low, the grounds beneath the Jedi went unburdened by scuffs and scorches.

 

As Torzin and Ryska watched the martial dance unfold, it felt as if the wind was blowing in accordance with Dehros' movements. With careful study, they began to realize the swift breezes they felt following each swipe of the blade were an extension of the Force. As limited the lightsaber was in length, each swing that cut the air sent a current of wind powerful enough to cross the entire arena. All the while, the Guardian continued to move through seamless actions.

 

When the end finally did come, it was not with a bang or a flourish, but a gentle winding down as Dehros planted his feet. The final swipe of his blade carried no follow through, coming to a swift halt in accordance with the owner's will. And with a gentle flick of his wrist, the lightsaber powered down, its blue blade disappearing back into its hilt. Returning the weapon to his belt, the Guardian left his almost trance-like state, to see his students looking upon him with energized glints in their wide eyes.

 

"Lightsaber combat is designed around motion," Dehros detailed. "Its weapon lacks the burden of weight. Its wielder lacks the burden of limitation. A lightsaber acts as no other sword can. A Jedi acts as no other swordsperson can. With each motion, there is unity between the Jedi, their lightsaber, and the Force. What others may view as flash is our substance. Our grace, our every flourish, is us deepening the connection between our bodies and our spirits. We do not swing a blade just to swing a blade, we do so to channel the Force. Your reach does not end at the tip of your fist. It does not end at the tip of your blade. Your reach is what you allow it to be. Do you understand?"

 

Torzin and Ryska offered a pair of enthusiastic, determined nods.

 

"Good. Then let us continue," Dehros declared.

Edited January 20, 2015 by Osetto