Seriously. Have You TRIED the Cookies?

[Mad King Kevin]

Chapter 1: Twin Suns of Mandalore

I maintain that if Korkie hadn't looked at me like that, I wouldn't have done it.

It was the smugness. The little arch of the brow as he scooted his seat closer to the table. The sanctimonious way he reached—reached—for the fruit bowl like he hadn't just called me a "gremlin with jam on his face" five minutes ago. Which I was. That's beside the point.

He wanted the meiloorun. The big one. And I wasn't about to let him have it.

So I did what any emotionally well-adjusted four-year-old with mysterious telekinetic powers would do: I lifted the entire fruit bowl off the table with my mind and hovered it just out of his reach.

Korkie froze mid-grab. His fingers curled around empty air. His mouth stayed open like he forgot how to finish the sentence "Auntie will hear of this." To be fair to him, he's four. His language skills aren't that developed.

Not calling him dumb. Just saying, it's not like he reincarnated into a baby, full memory in tact. Did he?

Stare.

"Ben!" he squawked, swiveling toward me like I'd kicked a puppy.

I put on my best innocent face—wide eyes, sticky cheeks, hands folded like I hadn't just summoned the power of the Force to win brunch.

"I didn't do anything," I said sweetly. "Maybe you just didn't want it badly enough."

The bowl hovered gently behind me, untouched and spinning ever so slightly like a trophy on display.

Bo-Katan was across the table nursing her morning caf like it was the only thing holding her together. She stared at the levitating fruit, blinked once, then took another long, slow sip without breaking eye contact.

"Mmm," she said blandly. "Just like his father."

I'm pretty sure she meant Obi-Wan, even if she still refused to say it. But she always said it in that tone—the one that meant "This is why I drink."

And for the record, I don't think she's the mother. Despite whatever claims "Auntie Satine" wants to make. Bo-Katan would have been like fifteen by the time we were born. Which… okay, biologically speaking could be possible. But thankfully, me being Force-Sensitive puts the horrifying implications of that theory to rest.

No way Bo-Katan would ever sleep with a Jedi.

Korkie slammed his tiny fists on the table like a baby senator delivering his first filibuster. "That's not fair! He's using—he's doing weird stuff again!"

"It's called strategy," I said, trying to scoot the bowl closer without wobbling it. "Also, he called me a gremlin. Which is rude and speciesist."

"You are a gremlin!"

"You're a nerd."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Ben, put the bowl down before I throw you out an airlock," Bo-Katan muttered, still not looking up from her caf. "And Korkie, stop tattling. If he wanted to hover produce in defiance of natural law, that's between him and his future therapist."

"She means Jedi," Korkie whispered at me accusingly.

I stuck my tongue out. "Does not."

"Does too."

"I will set this fruit on fire with my brain."

"You can't do that!"

"…Yet."

The bowl trembled slightly, enough that a bright yellow jogan apple rolled to the edge. I reached to catch it—physically this time—but it slipped through my fingers and thumped onto the floor.

Look—space magic isn't as easy as they made it look. I'm doing my best, here.

Bo-Katan sighed, set her mug down with a clink, and finally looked at me.

"You know this is how it starts, right?" she said. "One minute it's breakfast levitation. Next thing you know, you're declaring yourself ruler of the Outer Rim in a cape made of wookiee pelts."

"That sounds amazing," I said with awe.

She rubbed her temples. "I should've let Death Watch take you."

I grinned. She didn't mean it. Mostly.

Korkie looked between us, equal parts scandalized and smug, like he was calculating whether telling on me would score him enough points with Aunt Satine to get extra dessert.

I popped a meiloorun slice in my mouth. "If you're gonna tell, at least wait until I finish chewing."

"I'm telling."

I held up a sticky hand and waved the fruit bowl just out of his reach again, smirking.

"Then I'm hovering."

...​

Obi-Wan Kenobi was not nervous.

He had passed his Trials. He had been knighted. He had a padawan of his own. He had stopped an arms smuggler ring two days ago without so much as a burn mark on his robes. He had also, recently, grown a beard. All the hallmarks of maturity.

He was not nervous.

Except he was also standing on Mandalore. In front of her. And they had kids. Two of them. Twins. Small, terrifying ones. And he was reasonably sure one of them had caused the Force anomaly they were sent here to investigate—by levitating a fruit bowl, if the report was accurate.

Truly, he could only blame the Will of the Force for it. How did he always find himself in the most awkward position in the most inopportune time? Simple. The cosmic energy that binds and penetrates the entire galaxy has it out for him.

Shockingly unsurprising.

He cleared his throat and straightened his tunic. "Duchess."

"Knight Kenobi." Satine's voice was calm and cool and perfect, as always. Her back was perfectly straight. Her hands were perfectly folded. Her eyes were a little too dry.

He hated how well he knew her tells.

"It's not often the Jedi Order comes knocking unannounced," she said, voice sharp as a vibroblade wrapped in silk. "I suppose we should be honored."

"This isn't a diplomatic visit," Obi-Wan said, doing his best to keep his voice level. "We detected a significant Force signature in this region. Untrained and… erratic. We traced it to your estate."

"And what a surprise, it turned out to be a member of my household," she said, arching a brow. "A child, no less."

"Yes, quite the coincidence," Obi-Wan replied stiffly. "As the… not-father of these children—"

"Yes," Satine said crisply. "Because that would be absurd."

They stared at each other.

Bo-Katan, leaning against a pillar behind them, let out an exaggerated sigh and muttered into her cup, "I'm going to become a terrorist out of spite."

"I heard that," Satine snapped.

"You were meant to."

Ben and Korkie were a few meters away, sparring with sticks. Well, Korkie was sparring. Ben was making lightsaber noises and spinning wildly, eyes alight with glee.

Obi-Wan watched them for a moment. The smaller twin—Ben—was practically vibrating with energy. He was grinning like he'd invented happiness. Korkie, by contrast, looked like he had memorized the Art of War and resented being pulled into such chaos without proper planning.

"I'd like to evaluate the boy," Obi-Wan said, clearing his throat again. "We'll need to confirm the strength and source of the signal we detected."

Satine nodded, tightly. "Of course."

"You can use the courtyard," Bo-Katan said lazily. "It's already scorched from last week's training accident. Ben tried to make a rocket out of caf beans."

"He succeeded," Satine muttered.

...​

They gathered in the courtyard. Ben plopped cross-legged on the ground and immediately began humming to himself. Korkie stood nearby, arms crossed, watching like a disapproving uncle.

Obi-Wan knelt before the boy and produced a small device from his belt. "This is a kyber resonance reader," he explained gently. "I want to see how your energy interacts with it."

Ben tilted his head. "Are you gonna do the glowy hand thing?"

"Not unless I have to," Obi-Wan said with a small smile.

"You're old," Ben observed. "But not like old-old. Just regular boring-old."

"I see your manners are well-developed."

Ben beamed. "Bo taught me sarcasm."

Bo-Katan raised her cup. "You're welcome."

Obi-Wan turned the reader on. It hummed—then whined. Then sparked. The display blinked red and shut down with a sad little chirp.

"Oh," Obi-Wan said.

"Told you I'm awesome," Ben said smugly.

"That thing broke last time too," Korkie said, shrugging. "He touched it and it caught on fire. I think he's cursed."

Ben rolled his eyes dramatically and reached behind his back to yank a meiloorun slice from his pocket like it was a reward snack. "I'm not cursed. I'm gifted."

"Gifted in chaos," Korkie muttered.

"Well, you are Mandalorian," Obi-Wan said under his breath, then immediately felt Satine's gaze burn two holes in his skull.

"I heard that," she said.

"You were meant to," he muttered back.

...​

The formal "tests" lasted all of ten minutes before Obi-Wan gave up.

Ben knew where objects were without seeing them. He nudged a pebble across the ground just by scowling at it. At one point, when asked to focus on a sphere hovering above his palm, he accidentally burst it. Into confetti.

Not literal, mind you. He quite simply rendered a solid metal sphere into shreds.

"This is going splendidly," Obi-Wan muttered.

"I like the Jedi stuff," Ben said. "Will I get a lightsaber?"

"Eventually," Obi-Wan replied. "After training."

Ben nodded, chewing on his fruit. "Cool. Can I have a black one?"

"That's… rare."

"Cooler, then."

Korkie crossed his arms. "They're monks. You're gonna have to shave your head."

Ben froze.

"What," he said flatly.

"Jedi all have bald heads. That's what monks do. Bo said so."

Ben narrowed his eyes. "You're lying."

"Nope. No hair. Not even eyebrows."

Bo-Katan, smirking, let her own thoughts on that matter be known. "This is so much better than breakfast."

Ben looked at Obi-Wan. "Is this true?!"

Obi-Wan opened his mouth—and then Ben lifted Korkie three feet into the air.

The Force surged around him like a gleeful ripple. Korkie yelped, flailing his arms as he floated above the courtyard like an offended balloon.

"Ben!" Satine called, half-panicked.

"I will not be bald!" Ben shouted. "I look weird without eyebrows!"

Bo-Katan snorted caf through her nose.

Obi-Wan reached out with the Force and gently brought Korkie back to the ground. "Ben," he said, as calmly as he could. "That's not how Jedi resolve conflict."

Ben frowned. "Then how do they?"

"Through diplomacy. Wisdom. Patience."

"I like the floating better."

"I can see that."

...​

Obi-Wan stood beside Satine on the veranda, watching Ben dart around the courtyard in circles while humming something rather sinister, though he certainly couldn't place it.

"He's strong," Obi-Wan said quietly.

"I know."

"He should be trained."

"I know."

They stood in silence for a while.

Then Satine said, too softly, "You'll look after him?"

Obi-Wan hesitated. "As much as I'm permitted."

"You're not his father," she said, with a small, sad smile.

He turned to her. "Of course not. That would be… absurd."

Below, Bo-Katan kicked a helmet off the steps and muttered, "I swear, if I have to co-parent another Jedi, I will blow something up."

...​

The walls were quiet again.

Not just the stone—cool and polished in the Mandalorian tradition—but the silence beneath the silence. No boots scuffing down the hall. No bickering twins. No Bo-Katan cursing under her breath. No Jedi Knight hovering in her orbit like a ghost from an unfinished past.

Satine closed the door behind her and rested one hand against it.

She stayed there a long moment, simply breathing.

She hated quiet. Hated what it gave her the space to remember.

Her quarters were modest by noble standards. A darkwood desk against the far wall, one stack of reports still open. A tall narrow window allowed the suns to cast angled light across the floor. Shelves lined with datapads and legal texts and framed holos—none of which featured her children. That had always seemed… safer.

And there, on the low reading chair by the hearth, sat the plush tooka toy Ben had dragged around since he was three. Its left ear had long since been gnawed flat. Bo-Katan had threatened to vaporize it once, during a diplomatic summit.

Satine crossed the room, sat down, and picked it up.

It smelled faintly of dust and fruit jam.

She held it to her chest like it was something fragile and precious, and let her mask fall.

...​

They had been young. So young.

The galaxy had been on fire, and she and Obi-Wan had somehow thought they could outrun it.

They'd spent weeks moving between safehouses, sleeping with a blaster between them and the door. She had braided his hair once, just to see if she could. He'd complained bitterly, then refused to take it out. When she asked him why, he said, "Because you put it there."

And yet, they had never spoken the words aloud. Not then. Not even later, when she'd stood in front of the High Council and smiled like her heart hadn't been shattered three times over.

Obi-Wan had bowed, then turned his back.

She didn't blame him. Not really. He had chosen his path.

And so had she.

But then there had been the sickness.

The birth.

The miracle.

Twins. Unexpected. Unplanned. And for the first time in her adult life, Satine Kryze had been utterly unprepared.

Ben hadn't cried right away. He had come into the world silent and still, like he was already listening. The medics thought he wouldn't survive. They were wrong. By the next morning, he had knocked over an entire tray of instruments without touching them.

It had been Bo-Katan who said it first, cradling the squirming boy in one arm while Korkie chewed on her sleeve.

"He's his father's child," she said, softly.

Satine hadn't answered.

...​

She traced the worn fabric of the tooka's nose with one thumb. It was frayed from years of affection.

"He always has to win, you know," she said to the empty room. "Even when it doesn't matter. Especially then."

Ben would be leaving. Soon. Perhaps by nightfall. She had given her blessing—what else could she do? They would take him to Coruscant, to the Temple, to the Jedi. He would learn discipline. He would learn restraint.

But he would also learn distance. Detachment. The same cold, noble masks that had turned Obi-Wan's love into silence.

She feared what the Jedi would make of him. Not because she didn't trust them—but because she did. Because they were so good at molding children into ideals.

And Ben was not made for ideals.

He was bright and burning and wild. He belonged to Mandalore in ways Obi-Wan never had. He screamed when he was angry. He laughed with his whole chest. He ran too fast and tripped too often and loved things before understanding them.

He would either break the Jedi or be broken by them.

Satine closed her eyes.

"I thought we'd have more time," she whispered.

...​

The door buzzed. Once. Twice. She didn't answer.

Bo-Katan let herself in anyway.

Her boots were loud—deliberately so—and she paused only long enough to glance at the tooka in Satine's lap before she spoke.

"They're loading the ship."

Satine nodded.

"Obi-Wan's hovering."

Satine did not look up.

Bo-Katan sighed and walked over to the window. "You going to say goodbye?"

"I said what needed saying earlier."

"He's four."

"I know."

There was a pause.

"Do you want me to—?"

"No," Satine said quietly. "You'll only make it worse."

Bo-Katan leaned against the windowsill, arms folded. "He won't forget you."

"He'll be trained to."

"No," Bo said, more firmly now. "He won't."

Satine finally looked up. "He's not like Obi-Wan."

Bo-Katan huffed. "No, he's not. He's not like you, either."

"Then what is he?"

Bo-Katan smirked. "Yours."

Satine smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I just hope he keeps his hair."

"You know he's going to come back with a dramatic cape and an attitude problem."

"That's our boy."

Bo-Katan snorted. "I give it ten years before he tries to conquer a star system out of spite."

Satine set the toy down, smoothed its ears. "Then I hope it's a good star system."

Bo-Katan's voice softened. "He'll be fine, you know."

Satine said nothing.

Bo-Katan crossed the room, placed a hand on her shoulder.

"He's going to terrify the Jedi."

Satine finally smiled for real.

"Good."

...​

Okay, so here's the thing about Jedi transports: they're cool, but not that cool.

They don't shoot lasers. They don't have rotating plasma turrets or atmospheric thrusters that flip upside down mid-battle. They definitely don't have flamethrowers. Or a rear-facing cannon mount. Or a kitchen. I asked.

This one just looks like a big sad metal egg with a light-up ramp.

I'm supposed to be excited about it—this whole "You've been chosen by destiny to be a peace monk in space" thing—but mostly I'm just wondering if Jedi get to wear capes. I'm four, not stupid. Priorities.

Bo-Katan walked beside me, and by "walked," I mean stomped like the ground had personally offended her. I think she was hoping if she glared hard enough, the shuttle would combust from fear and she wouldn't have to say goodbye.

"I told Korkie you'd cry," I said.

"I don't cry," she snapped, not looking at me.

"You sniffled that one time during the holodrama with the sad Loth-cat."

"I had allergies."

"To emotions?"

She glared down at me. "Say one more word, and I will become a terrorist."

I grinned. "You always say that."

"Because no one believes me."

"Korkie says if you haven't done terrorism by thirty, it's just a phase."

Bo-Katan narrowed her eyes and muttered, "Not a phase. Just waiting for the right target." She didn't even deny it this time. Progress!

The shuttle was still powering up, humming softly as Jedi people with important robes pretended not to watch me. I waved at one. He flinched. Excellent.

Bo-Katan stopped at the edge of the landing platform and crossed her arms. That was her version of "I'm feeling things and refuse to let them out except in the form of property damage."

I kicked a rock toward the ramp. "So, this is it."

"Apparently."

"You gonna miss me?"

"No."

"Liar."

"Tiny gremlin."

"Angsty space bat."

"You're lucky I don't believe in corporal punishment."

"I'm lucky you love me and are terrible at hiding it."

She looked at me for a long second—then snorted, rubbed a hand over her face like I gave her a migraine, and crouched down to my level.

She didn't say anything at first. Just looked. Like she was trying to memorize me in case the Jedi tried to give me a personality transplant.

"You don't have to be like them, you know," she said eventually.

"The Jedi?"

"The quiet ones," she said, gesturing vaguely at the nearest robe cluster. "The ones who never laugh. Who wear beige on purpose."

I squinted. "What color is beige again?"

"The color of sadness."

"Ah."

She reached into a side pouch and pulled out something small, metal, and very illegal.

My eyes lit up. "Is that a—"

"A vibroblade," she said, pressing it into my hands. "Deactivated. No power cell. Don't tell the Jedi."

"Sweet!"

"Think of it as a Mandalorian keepsake. Or a last-minute act of extremely poor judgment."

I turned it over in my hands reverently. It was slightly too big for me, but it felt right. Like it belonged.

"Are you sure I can take this?" I asked.

"No," she said flatly. "But I'm not your real mom, so it doesn't count."

I grinned. "You said it! You admitted you're not my mom. Oh, I'm so telling Satine."

"I was fifteen when you were born!" she snapped. "It was a dumb lie, anyways!"

It really was. If Satine really didn't want to admit she slept with a Jedi—which if we're being honest is pretty fair—she should have just said we were adopted. We're actually super supportive of that here on Mandalore.

This is the way.

Of course, so is messing with your family.

"Then who's our real mom, huh? Duchess Satine and Obi-Wan the Jedi definitely never—oh wait, yes they did."

She groaned. "If I hear one more person whisper that I'm the mother, I will punch a senator."

"You already punched two."

"Harder."

I laughed and tucked the blade away into my satchel. Bo-Katan stood up again, hands on her hips like she wanted to fight destiny itself.

"You'll come back, right?" she asked, but very casually, like it didn't matter.

"Obviously," I said. "I have to show you my cool lightsaber."

"Don't make it beige."

"I'll make it black."

"Good."

We stood there a minute.

Then, softer, she said, "Aliit ori'shya tal'din."

I blinked. "Family is more than blood."

She nodded once. "Make some friends while you're gone. Tell me about them when you come home."

"…You'll want names and tactical weaknesses?"

"Exactly."

I looked up at her. The wind tugged at her hair. The sky was too blue.

"If the Jedi mess you up," she added quietly, "I'll take it personally."

"Even if they mess me up in a character-building way?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I'll build your character with explosives."

I threw my arms around her legs.

It was quick, and I played it off like it didn't mean anything, but I felt her hand settle gently on my head before she ruffled it hard enough to make me yelp.

"Get out of here, brat," she said.

I walked toward the ramp, the vibroblade in my bag and my chest feeling too full. Just before stepping inside, I turned back and yelled:

"Bye, Mom!"

Bo-Katan's whole soul left her body.

"Say that again and I'll blow up a planet!"

"You better pick one with a good name!"

...​

The inside of the shuttle smelled like metal and floor polish.

Not exciting, legendary floor polish. Not "wiped-down-after-a-duel" kind of polish. No lightsaber scorch marks. No blaster pockmarks. No bones. Just smooth floors and boring chairs and weird humming from somewhere in the wall that was probably normal but sounded like a depressed gundark.

I sat near the viewport with my forehead against the transparisteel, watching Mandalore shrink below us.

It didn't look like home from up here. It looked like a coin. One you'd forget in a pocket and only find later, after it'd already been through the wash.

Korkie was down there somewhere, probably throwing a fit. I hadn't even said goodbye.

Mostly because he said if I did, it meant I wasn't coming back.

So obviously I had to skip it. For narrative tension.

Also, I wanted him to be dramatic about it. Maybe write a manifesto. Or a tragic poem. Or a play. The Tragedy of Korkie Kryze, Whose Twin Ditched Him for the Space Monks. I'll read it at his wedding someday.

Bo-Katan had stayed until the very last moment, arms crossed and eyes like she was memorizing me just in case. Then she walked off without a word. Classic.

Satine hadn't come.

…Which was fine.

Totally fine.

She was busy. Duchess stuff. Definitely not crying in her room with a cup of tea and one of my stupid stuffed toys. Nope. That would be weird.

The ramp had hissed shut behind me and I hadn't looked back.

Because I'm brave. And independent. And I don't cry in front of Jedi.

Mostly because this one might actually be my dad.

...​

He was sitting two rows over. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Knight of the Jedi Order. High-functioning disaster.

He was doing the "brooding in a tunic" thing that I think came standard with the beard. Like he was trying to be mysterious, but just looked constipated with feelings. His arms were folded. His eyes were closed. But every thirty seconds, he peeked.

I know because I counted.

"Hey," I said.

He didn't open his eyes.

"Yes?"

"You don't blink a lot."

He cracked one eye open, slowly. "Jedi discipline."

"I think it's a medical condition."

He huffed. "You're very observant."

"I know. I'm going to be the most powerful Jedi ever. Or something. I'll figure it out. I'm still workshopping."

That got the tiniest twitch of his mouth. Not a smile. More like a tiny hostage note from the muscles on his face.

I shifted in my seat and pulled my knees up. "Do you think I'll get a cool title?"

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "A title?"

"Yeah, like—'Ben the Blade,' or 'Wrath of Mandalore.' Something with dramatic flair."

"You'll be given a name when you become a Knight."

"I'm four."

"Yes, well. Let's take it one step at a time."

I looked out the viewport again. Mandalore was just a speck now. Like a freckle in space. A memory.

"Hey," I said quietly. "Do you miss her?"

There was a pause. Then:

"Who?"

I turned to look at him with the most unimpressed expression a child could possibly muster. "Don't make me say it. We both know the game."

Obi-Wan looked away.

After a moment, he said, "More than I can explain."

And that was the most honest thing anyone had said all day.

...​

The rest of the ride was quiet.

The other Jedi chatted softly in the background. Someone passed around ration bars. I took two and stuck one in my bag next to the (definitely legal) vibroblade Bo-Katan gave me. I wasn't planning to stab anyone. Unless the cafeteria food was bad. Then we'd talk.

I didn't fall asleep, even when they dimmed the lights. Just watched the stars smear past like slow-burning fireworks.

The galaxy was big. Way bigger than I thought.

And somehow, it felt like I was already chasing something. I didn't know what.

Power? Family? Purpose? Probably all of it.

I just knew I wasn't done yet.

I pressed my forehead to the window one last time.

Mandalore was gone. Out of sight.

"I'll be back," I murmured. "With drama… And possibly a cloak." I grinned to myself, heart weirdly heavy and full at the same time. "I really hope a cloak…"

...​

Hi there, hello!

If you like what I write, please feel free to read ahead, and support me on my Patreon, link below:

My Patreon

 

[Synfth]

nice!

 

[Ghostcraft19]

Interesting

 

[Smurfpapa]

Watched with great interest.

 

[PepeDeLosPalotes]

I cant wait for him to meet anakin, maybe knowi g his master dealt with the same emotionsas him,añbeit in a different way, might help anakong come clean and avoid Vader, also could open the door to learn about Siri tachia nad all the adventures his jedi lienage had.

 

[Mad King Kevin]

Chapter 2: Wookie Mama

So here's what nobody told me about the Jedi Temple:

It smells like… soap.

Not good soap. Not "I just punched someone and now I'm fresh and dangerous" soap. No, it smells like… rules. Clean floors. Fresh linen. Order. The kind of soap that implies no one has had a good lightsaber fight in years.

Which is ridiculous, because this is the home of the Jedi.

You'd think there'd be at least one broken statue or a scorch mark somewhere. Something to give the place character.

Instead, I'm standing in the world's largest, most peaceful marble hallway, holding my bag of definitely legal belongings and staring up at a ceiling so high it might count as its own zip code.

I'd ask Obi-Dad what to do next, but he left already. Classic Jedi move: deliver the child, vanish emotionally.

The onboarding team was nice enough. The medical droid scanned me (twice), the healer gave me a fruit chew (I asked for five and got two), and someone gave me a tiny beige uniform that looks like someone took all the color out of "fun" and sewed it into a shirt.

And then I was guided—no, herded—down a hall, through an arch, and into the crèche.

...​

The crèche is big.

Like really big. Big enough that if I ran in a straight line yelling, I could cause at least three minor incidents and maybe one full evacuation.

Which means I'm already in love.

There are kids everywhere. All kinds—Togruta, Twi'lek, Rodian, some sparkly one I'm afraid to look directly at. Everyone's laughing, running, talking, or—surprisingly often—floating. There are balls made of light zipping overhead, training drones hovering around like confused seagulls, and little meditation pads scattered like someone tried to summon a minimalist demon and gave up halfway through.

And in the middle of it all is a girl.

She's standing on top of a cushion stack with her hands on her hips, yelling at a Nautolan twice her size.

"No, you listen!" she's saying. "It's not a fair game if you keep using your head tentacles to trip people!"

"It's not tripping if they fall on their own!" the Nautolan argues.

She jabs a tiny finger in his face. "That is exactly what tripping is!"

I like her already.

I take two steps in and a soft voice says, "This is your stop."

I turn around just in time to see the Knight who guided me here disappear down the hall like he's allergic to follow-up questions. Rude. But I guess helping others is the path to the Dark Side.

Fine. First impression time.

I sling my bag over one shoulder, puff out my chest, and march straight into the chaos like I was born here. (Technically I was born in a Mandalorian war bunker during a thunderstorm, but that's a story for another day.)

"Hi!" I say, approaching a small circle of kids who are trying to stack blocks using only the Force. "I'm Ben. I'm new. And yes, I do come with accessories."

They stare at me.

One of the blocks topples and hits a kid in the forehead. Another sneezes and levitates a cushion by accident. Someone behind me drops a tray of ration cookies.

"I'm also charming and mysterious," I add.

Still silence.

Well, fine. Time to impress them with skill.

I spot a training ball sitting nearby. One of those little floaty spheres used for light reflex drills—perfectly round, perfectly smooth, and—if the Force is with you—perfectly tossable.

I stretch out a hand, squint just a little for dramatic effect, and reach out with the Force.

The ball trembles.

Someone gasps.

It floats. It spins.

It rockets upward at warp speed and slams directly into a hanging chandelier.

There's a crash. A shatter. An extremely awkward silence.

A few crystals clatter to the ground.

A Togruta boy screams.

"…Oops."

The next thing I hear is a sound like a krayt dragon gargling gravel.

A very large Wookiee emerges from behind a meditation curtain, and I mean emerges like someone summoned her with the ancient rite of "noise." She's huge, covered in cinnamon-colored fur, and wearing simple Jedi robes stretched over broad shoulders. I didn't even know Wookiees wore clothes, so this was surprising. Her eyes lock onto me like I just gratified the Temple steps.

"RRWAAHHHRRHHH!"

Everyone goes dead silent.

Even the training drones stop.

I blink up at her, trying to look innocent. "Uh…"

"WRAHHHHRHHHHAAAHHH!"

"Oh," I say quickly, nodding. "Yes. Very wise. Of course."

The other kids exchange glances.

"That means don't run indoors," says a Twi'lek girl nearby.

"Right," I nod solemnly. "That's what I said."

The Wookiee Jedi narrows her eyes.

She crosses the room in four massive strides, scoops up the training ball and one of the fallen chandelier crystals, then turns to me and points.

I raise a hand. "In my defense, I was trying to demonstrate natural Force talent. Which I did. The target just happened to be… gravity. And also lighting fixtures."

"RAWWWRRHHH."

"Did… did she just challenge me to a duel?"

"Ben," the Twi'lek girl whispers. "That's Master Tyyyvak."

"Oh."

"She runs the crèche."

"Oh no."

"She's the kindest Jedi ever, but she has zero patience for nonsense."

I glance at the shattered chandelier, then back up at the looming Wookiee matriarch who is still pointing at me like I owe her money.

"…Well, this has been educational."

Tyyyvak growls again, then gestures sharply toward the pile of meditation cushions. I scurry that way without complaint. Behind me, the circle of kids starts whispering—some amused, some impressed.

I plop down on a cushion and try not to explode from embarrassment.

The girl from earlier—still perched on her stack of cushion thrones—glances over at me.

She smirks.

Not mean. Not mocking. Just… entertained.

I give her a little two-finger wave.

She raises an eyebrow.

Challenge accepted.

...​

Ahsoka wasn't sure what she expected when they said a new youngling was coming today, but it wasn't… that.

She'd seen him from across the room—short, scruffy, too confident. He strolled into the crèche like he already owned it, said something dumb to a group of kids, and then promptly launched a training orb into the chandelier.

There was a crash, a scream, a dramatic Wookiee roar.

And then he tried to pretend he understood Master Tyyyvak like that made it better.

"Did… did she just challenge me to a duel?" he asked.

Ahsoka nearly snorted fruit chew out her nose.

She hopped off her cushion tower, padded across the room, and took a better look at him. He wasn't tall—none of them were yet—but he carried himself like he was twice his size. His hair stuck out in a hundred directions, and his tunic was already wrinkled like he'd been wrestling it before arriving.

Mandalorian. Definitely Mandalorian.

And he had attitude.

She was going to like him.

Or possibly kick him.

She hadn't decided yet.

...​

Outside, the training yard was sunlit and wide, its edges lined with soft sparring mats and padded corners for safety. Dozens of younglings were scattered in clusters: some working through the basic katas, others chasing practice orbs. A group of tiny Rodians were stacked in a pyramid for some reason. One had a traffic cone.

Normal day.

Ahsoka stretched, tail twitching, and watched the new boy as he wandered out, trying to look casual while very obviously casing the area like he planned to conquer it by lunch.

She followed.

"Hey, chandelier boy," she called out.

He turned. "Oh hey, tentacle girl."

"I'm a Togruta."

"I'm Ben."

"Not what I asked, but thanks for the update."

He tilted his head, curious now. "You're the one who yelled at the Nautolan."

"He tripped three kids with his head tails."

"I respect that."

Ahsoka crossed her arms. "You want to fight?"

Ben blinked. "Like, real fight, or pretend 'I'm testing your reflexes' fight?"

"Yes."

He grinned. "Awesome."

...​

They started slow.

Force tag was a crèche tradition, somewhere between a game and low-stakes sparring. Rules were simple: if you got touched by the Force, you were tagged. Shields up, senses sharp.

Ahsoka ducked left. Ben tried a push. She felt it coming and rolled under it.

"Close," she said, springing up behind him.

"Wasn't trying."

"Sure."

She flicked her fingers, and the Force nudged him off balance. He yelped, windmilled, and landed square on his butt.

"Tagged," she smirked.

Ben groaned. "Alright. No more Mr. Nice Jedi."

"You were being nice?"

"No. But now I'm gonna be dramatic."

It escalated fast.

Ben started leaping off training blocks like a tiny acrobat, flinging himself through the air and trying to catch her mid-sprint. Ahsoka flipped over a floating droid, doubled back, and force-tripped him into a foam wall.

"TAG," she shouted as he hit the mat.

"You used stealth," he accused.

"It's not stealth. You're just loud."

A Force tug whizzed past her ear. She dodged, slid across the polished floor, and countered with a pulse strong enough to make him skip like a stone.

"You've trained before," he puffed, scrambling upright.

"I listen."

"I wing it."

They were both panting now, hair flying, limbs sore. Other younglings had gathered in a loose circle, watching the chaos unfold like it was better than Temple holovids.

Ben vaulted off a bench and reached for her shoulder.

Ahsoka ducked, spun, and—

"WRRAAAHHHHHRRRHHH!"

The sound hit first. Then the Force.

Tyyyvak descended like an angry thundercloud in a robe. One swipe of her massive arm and both initiates were swept off their feet, pinned gently but firmly by the invisible weight of an experienced Jedi Master's Enough Is Enough technique.

Ben landed face-first in a foam ring.

Ahsoka bounced twice before settling in a heap, montrals flopped over her eyes.

"RRRHHHWWWAAARRRRRRR!"

Enough. Training is not an excuse to break half the courtyard. Also, that droid is not a launchpad.

Ahsoka peeled a leg off her shoulder. "Sorry, Master Tyyyvak."

Ben rolled over with a groan. "I declare it… a tie."

"You fell in a bucket."

"It was strategic."

Ahsoka smirked. "You're ridiculous."

"You tripped me into a wall."

"You liked it."

"I really did."

Tyyyvak sighed, deep and long. Then she walked away, still muttering something that sounded like "Loud ones. Why is it always the loud ones?"

Ben sat up, hair sticking out wildly in every direction, and looked at her like he'd just been hit by lightning and decided it was a personal challenge.

"So," he said. "Are we best friends now, or mortal enemies with unresolved tension?"

Ahsoka tilted her head.

"…TBD."

He grinned. "Cool."

...​

Here's the thing about Jedi education:

It's terrifyingly organized.

The classroom wasn't even a room. It was more like a giant, circular meditation pit, lined with cushions and gentle humming panels that probably pumped in calming Force vibes. There were no datapads on the floor. No snacks. No knives.

Zero stars. Would not recommend.

I flopped into my assigned spot beside Ahsoka and immediately started taking mental notes:

No windows. Prison vibes. Cushions = deceptively soft. Floor hums. Either meditation field or very large cat. Investigate later.

Ahsoka is sitting suspiciously upright. Possibly possessed.

"Why are you so serious?" I whispered to her.

She didn't look at me. "Because Master Tyyyvak is about to speak."

"What, like in words or in—"

A deafening roar echoed through the chamber like a rancor with a megaphone.

"RAAAAAWWWWRHHHHHRRAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

Tyyyvak stepped into the circle like a majestic, extremely hairy judgment cloud. Her robes rustled. Her claws gleamed. The room fell utterly silent.

I straightened up immediately and tried to look innocent. This took effort.

Tyyyvak cleared her throat with a rumble that sounded like a landspeeder failing to start.

Then she began her lecture.

I had no idea what she was saying.

But I pretended I did.

It started strong. She made a sweeping gesture toward the stars and growled something long and emotional.

I nodded solemnly. And copied Ashoka's notes.

"The Force surrounds us, connects us. Be mindful." Right. Yes. Classic.

Then she slammed one paw against her chest and snarled.

"The Jedi are protectors of peace. Even when it's hard." Deep stuff. Possibly traumatic. Moving on.

She raised a finger like she was about to deliver the thesis statement of the universe.

"RWAAAHHHHHHHHRRRRRAAHHH!"

And I wrote in my notebook, "Don't eat your enemies. Even if they deserve it."

Ahsoka leaned over to read my notes.

"That's not what she said."

"You sure?"

"She said the path of the Jedi requires patience and compassion."

"That's what I said."

"No it isn't."

"She used very aggressive body language."

Ahsoka rolled her eyes and went back to listening like the teacher's pet she absolutely was.

I continued to write, scribbling down what I felt the lesson was probably about:

Ben's Jedi Notes, First Edition

• The Force is like air but moodier.

• Compassion is a weapon? Maybe that was metaphorical.

• Meditation involves breathing, but like, seriously.

• Life Day is a Force ritual (probably).

• Attachment is bad, unless it's to snacks.

• Master Tyyyvak has very sharp teeth.

Halfway through the lecture, Tyyyvak turned and pointed directly at me.

"RRAAWWWRRHHHHH!"

Everyone stared.

I glanced at Ahsoka. "Translation?"

"She said you should let go of your attachments."

I nodded wisely. "Cool. I'm letting go of my math homework. Emotionally."

Another roar.

"She's proud of me."

"She's confiscating your notebook."

"What!?"

A massive paw landed gently but firmly on top of my datapad. Tyyyvak took it and held it up to the light like she was considering whether to vaporize it or archive it as a warning to others.

I looked mournfully at Ahsoka.

"You betrayed me."

"You betrayed yourself."

"You encouraged me!"

"I watched you write 'Force Lightning is probably just spicy empathy.' I chose peace."

Tyyyvak tucked the datapad into a pouch that was, frankly, way too small for such violence. Then she grunted again, one short bark followed by a huff.

Ahsoka translated with zero sympathy: "She says you'll get it back when you show 'respect for the living Force.'"

"…That could mean anything."

"Probably means stop drawing lightsabers with fangs in the margins."

The lesson continued.

To my credit, I listened harder after that. I mean, I still didn't understand any of the words—but the energy was there. You could feel it when she talked. Like her voice pulled the Force itself into the room and made it pay attention.

That's the weird thing about Jedi stuff. It's not all about rules or codes. Sometimes, it's just sitting still, breathing slow, and pretending that you don't want to throw a cushion at the nearest Nautolan.

It's boring.

But it's… also kind of peaceful.

And Tyyyvak—she's scary, but she cares.

You can tell.

She doesn't roar at just anyone.

Class ended with a brief, rumbling hum and a soft tap of her claw against the floor.

The kids filed out in silence. Even me.

I bumped Ahsoka with my shoulder on the way to the door.

"So, how'd I do?"

"You survived."

"I call that a win."

"You made up at least five Jedi rules and invented a holiday."

"Thank you."

She sighed. "You're lucky she likes you."

I nodded. "That's the plan."

Behind us, Tyyyvak roared one final word.

"RAAAAAWWWRHHHHHHHH!"

Ahsoka smiled faintly. "And she kindly requests you stop guessing what she's saying."

"Yeah," I said under my breath, "that's fair."

...​

I'd been at the Temple for three days.

In that time, I'd (1) set off a floating orb alarm, (2) invented a new Force maneuver called "accidental backflip into a plant," and (3) gotten my notebook back from Tyyyvak, complete with fur-covered sticky note that read:

"Try again. With fewer disruptions."

Progress.

I had also, apparently, made a reputation for myself—which, look, wasn't intentional. But when you're from Mandalore and your general vibe is "small chaos goblin with Force powers," people start expecting things. Like unpredictability. Or commentary.

Which was why, on day four, we were told to gather for our first meditation-focused lesson—and I was specifically placed next to Ahsoka, who had been specifically instructed to keep me "quiet."

She was not thrilled.

...​

The meditation room was dim, quiet, and smelled like incense and responsibility. Light streamed through tall windows, catching the edges of soft floor mats and polished stone. There were no distractions. No training balls. No obvious things to throw.

Suspicious.

Master Tyyyvak sat in the center of the room like a fluffy statue of judgment and wisdom. She raised one massive paw.

The room went silent.

"RRRAAHHHHHHHHHHRRRHHHHH."

Yeah, I still couldn't understand her, and the Force isn't Duolingo. What I did have was a data pad, with the Sci-Fi, Temple approved equivalent of Google Translate.

Today, we begin our study of the Jedi Code.

She let it hang in the air like an ancient riddle. I could feel the other kids tense up with excitement or fear or both. I, personally, was 70% excited and 30% bracing for disappointment.

Sure enough, she growled the first line with reverence:

There is no emotion, there is peace.

I waited a beat.

Then whispered: "Unless it's funny."

Ahsoka elbowed me so hard I nearly shifted dimensions.

"RRRRAWWWWRHHHHH!"

Tyyyvak didn't look at me. She didn't have to.

I coughed. Sat up straighter. Tried again.

"There is no ignorance, only… underpaid archivists."

Another elbow.

Another growl.

A kid across the room started to sniffle.

"Okay, okay," I said quickly. "I'm done. I'm focused. I'm ready to learn the Sacred and Very Serious Code of Not Laughing Ever."

Ahsoka muttered, "You're going to get Force-choked in your sleep."

"Not by her. She likes me."

"Not the point."

Tyyyvak continued the recitation. Her roars came slow and thoughtful, translated with gentle pauses by the Temple's universal translator—or Ahsoka, when the thing glitched (which it did a lot, there's a reason they're rarely used).

"There is no passion, there is serenity."

"There is no chaos, there is harmony."

"There is no death, there is the Force."

Simple. Repetitive. Easy to memorize.

Harder to believe.

I mean, have you seen the galaxy? There's plenty of emotion. And chaos. And death. And passion. It's kind of the entire theme.

But something about the way Tyyyvak said it—like it wasn't just a rule, but a reminder—stuck with me.

Not that I'd admit that.

Instead, I mumbled under my breath: "No death? Bold take for an order with laser swords."

Ahsoka coughed, which sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh.

One point for me.

...​

We were told to repeat the Code as a group. Loud and clear. Centered. Still.

I tried. Really.

"There is no emotion…" I began.

And suddenly, I felt something.

Calm. Weightless.

For a half-second, it was like my brain stopped spinning. Like the Force itself pressed gently against my chest and said, "Hey. You're not wrong to be loud. But you don't have to be all the time."

Which, frankly, was rude.

But true.

I finished the line without a joke.

"There is peace."

Tyyyvak glanced over.

Just a glance.

But I swear she nodded.

...​

Afterward, we were told to reflect. Quietly. In our journals.

I stared at the blank page.

Thought about chaos. Thought about Mandalore. Thought about Satine's face when she said goodbye, and how Bo-Katan had pressed that (deactivated) vibroblade into my hand like it was a promise.

And I thought:

There is emotion. But it doesn't have to own me.

There is chaos. But I can be louder.

I doodled a lightsaber with wings and labeled it "inner balance."

Ahsoka leaned over to peek at the drawing.

"…You're so weird."

I smiled. "Thanks."

...​

Tyyyvak gave her final Wookiee blessing of the day—a low, rumbling hum like the purr of a starship engine—then dismissed us with a raised paw.

We filtered out in silence, or something close to it.

I waited until we were just outside before I said, "So… real talk: what do you think they'd do if I carved the Code into a training mat using only the Force and a spoon?"

Ahsoka didn't even blink. "Ask you to do it again but quietly."

I grinned.

Then walked straight into a doorframe.

Balance.

...​

The dormitory was supposed to be quiet by now.

Most of the younglings were already curled up under their thin Temple blankets, soft breathing syncing with the low hum of ambient meditation frequencies piped in through the walls. Outside the tall windows, Coruscant's endless cityscape glowed like a sleeping giant made of light.

Ahsoka was trying to sleep.

She wasn't succeeding.

Too many thoughts. Too much energy. Too much Ben.

He was lying in the bunk across from hers, very pointedly not asleep, one arm flung over his face in a melodramatic sprawl that suggested either deep suffering or severe boredom. Possibly both.

"Psst," he whispered suddenly. "You awake?"

Ahsoka rolled over, blinking. "No."

"Oh. Good."

Yes, Ben. How wonderful for her that she, an aspiring Jedi, can find no rest. Why does she hang out with him, again?

"…Wanna snack?"

She sat up.

He grinned and pulled a crinkling packet from under his pillow like a smuggler revealing contraband.

"Stole it from the cafeteria droid when it wasn't looking. I'm basically a stealth master now."

"You are the loudest child in this Temple."

"And yet somehow, always successful."

She took the snack—dehydrated fruit sticks—and leaned back against the wall beside her bunk. "This doesn't mean we're best friends, you know."

"Obviously not," Ben said, already halfway through his own pack. "We're sworn enemies with snack benefits."

She snorted. "You're weird."

"And you've said that every day since I got here. At this point, it's a compliment." He tossed her a stick, which she was quick to sink her teeth into.

They chewed in silence for a bit, both watching the soft pulse of Temple lights dim toward rest mode.

Ben broke it first.

"So," he said casually. "If you had a lightsaber… what color would it be?"

Ahsoka tilted her head. "Green."

"Ugh, predictable."

"It's a classic!"

"Exactly. I want black."

"There's only one black lightsaber," she said. "And it's missing."

"I know. That's why I want it."

"Are you planning to find it?"

"Or make a new one. Somehow. I don't know. I'm still workshopping."

She shook her head, smiling faintly. "You're going to be a problem."

"Correct."

A few bunks over, someone snored.

Ahsoka tucked the blanket tighter around her legs and looked toward the ceiling. "You ever feel… weird here?" she asked quietly.

Ben blinked over at her.

"I mean, like you're not exactly… Jedi-shaped."

He was quiet for a long moment. "I'm from a place where people wear armor instead of robes and raise kids with knives. Yeah. I feel weird."

She smiled. "Me too. Not the armor part. But I get it."

"I think that's why they stuck us together," Ben said. "Too much sarcasm for one hallway."

"Too much brainpower," she corrected.

"Too much awesome."

"Too much… 'accidentally launched a training ball into the ceiling.'"

"That was day one," Ben said proudly. "A record."

She hesitated, then glanced toward the door. No footsteps. No Tyyyvak. "You think Master Tyyyvak sleeps?"

"No."

"You think she's a ghost?"

"I think she's part of the exhibit wing. Like the old Jedi archives with bones and stuff."

"She definitely has bones."

"Yeah," Ben said. "All of them."

They both giggled.

It wasn't loud.

It didn't need to be.

...​

Ahsoka looked over again. Ben had gone quiet, staring at the glow of the lights outside like he was trying to see something further than the skyline.

"Hey," she said softly. "If we get split up someday—like, if they assign us to different Masters or whatever…"

"…Yeah?"

"Can we promise to look out for each other anyway? Even if we're not together?"

Ben didn't answer right away.

Then he swung his legs out of bed, padded over, and held out his hand.

"Sworn oath," he said. "One Force Pact of Eternal Watchfulness."

"That's not a thing."

"It is now."

She took his hand. Shook it once, firmly.

"We look out for each other," she said.

"No matter what path we take."

"No matter how annoying you get."

"No matter how green your lightsaber is."

"No matter how many chandeliers you destroy."

They smiled.

It was silly.

It was childish.

It stuck.

Ben yawned. Loudly. "Okay, sleep now. Tyyyvak said if I fall asleep during meditation again she'll roll me into the fountain."

"She didn't say that."

"She implied it. With her vibe."

He climbed back into his bunk and flopped over with all the grace of a tranquilized loth-cat.

Ahsoka lay down again, eyes drifting shut, heart a little quieter than before.

Outside, the lights of Coruscant blinked softly.

Inside, two small Jedi dreamed.

Together.

...​

Aw! It's all so sweet. Like those puppy shorts I can't stop watching. Too. Addicting! Not the typical kind of writing I'm used to, but I thought I'd try out something new for a bit. Though, with that said, this wholesome childhood imagery will more than likely end before too long, so don't get too attached. Shouldn't be a problem.

The Jedi hate attachments.

Was that foreshadowing? Who know?

If you'd like to find out the answer early, you're more than welcome to check my patreon, link below, where I have a whole bunch more chapters available. If that's not your thing, no worries, everything will still get here eventually. But if you want to show your love and support, please do! Just know that I appreciate every single one of you!

Huh?

What's that?

Sorry, I was just informed by the Jedi Council that I'm not allowed to express my feelings of gratitude. I take all of your appreciation and admiration with due diligence and indifference. You all mean nothing to me.

(Okay, they're not looking: love you guys!)

My Patreon

P.S.

Sorry for the late update. My wi-fi was not my friend today.

 

[Sceptic]

The Jedi hate attachments.

Click to shrink...

That's what they claim, but try taking away their laser sword and see how attached they are.

 

[PepeDeLosPalotes]

Thanks for the chapter

 

[Mad King Kevin]

Chapter 3: Lessons in Misconduct

The Jedi classroom was the most peaceful place in the galaxy.

Which meant it was designed to crush the soul of every child inside.

The walls were smooth and gently curved, with dimmable light panels and a full 360-degree sound field calibrated to promote "receptive learning." The seats were arranged in concentric circles like we were about to perform a ritual or be judged by a tribunal. Probably both.

The instructor was a human Knight named Master Solin, and she had the calm, focused voice of someone who had not been raised around Mandalorians, explosions, or me.

"This morning," she said, "we'll continue with galactic civics, followed by Jedi ethics, and then Temple history before midday meal."

The chorus of "yes, Master" was murmured with robotic devotion. I said nothing. I was busy balancing a stylus on my nose.

Ahsoka elbowed me.

Rude.

I dropped the stylus onto my datapad and gave her my most innocent expression.

"Pay attention," she whispered.

"I am. I'm absorbing the lesson through osmosis."

She didn't dignify that with a reply.

...​

Master Solin gestured and the holoprojector lit up, showing a calm blue map of the Republic's Core Worlds.

"Who can tell me why Coruscant holds both symbolic and practical power within the Senate?"

Hands went up. Everyone wanted to impress her.

I did not raise my hand. I answered anyway.

"Because it's the only planet where politics, money, and crime live together in a beautiful, dysfunctional space triangle."

Pause.

Solin stared at me for a second.

"Ben," she said carefully, "please only speak when called upon."

"Right. Sorry. That was just a vibe-based answer. I'll wait next time."

...​

We moved on to Jedi ethics, which, in fairness, sounded exciting—but was mostly just memorizing the same three principles in increasingly vague wording. "Service to others. Harmony with the Force. Selflessness of spirit." Which are all great concepts if you're a monk with no hobbies.

"Why don't Jedi vote?" I asked, halfway through the second slide.

Solin blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Well, like—if the Jedi are peacekeepers, and peacekeepers operate under the authority of the Republic Senate, shouldn't we vote on laws? Or at least influence policy? Seems like it'd make more sense than sitting in a tower going 'hmm yes the war is troubling.'"

Several kids gasped.

Ahsoka slapped a hand over her face.

Solin's smile stayed frozen in place like a carefully chilled dessert. "That's… a complicated question."

"It feels like a simple one."

"Well," she said slowly, "Jedi serve as neutral agents of the Force. We do not hold political positions, lest we become entangled in agendas."

"So the answer is 'yes,' we're powerful enough to make a difference, but we choose not to because it's awkward."

She blinked. "We believe in leading by example."

"Hm. Cool. Totally clear."

"Ben."

"Yes, Master?"

"…Please take notes."

...​

I doodled a senator with four arms holding four briefcases. Then gave him little speech bubbles that said "We value the Jedi's input" and "Please stop breaking our windows."

I moved on to Temple history, which was mostly a bunch of ancient names and battles with very few lightsabers involved. I tried to engage. Really. But when the question came—"What does the Rule of Two mean in Sith philosophy?"—I didn't even hesitate.

"It was invented at a party," I said.

A beat of silence.

Solin squinted. "Pardon?"

"Yeah, some old Sith Lord—Darth… Spiral or Spinach or something—got drunk on power, looked at his apprentices, and thought: 'Two's a good number. Like a buddy system, but mean.'"

Ahsoka looked ready to combust.

"That's not even close to correct," she hissed.

"It's closer than you'd think."

...​

Eventually, Master Solin stopped calling on me, which I took as a reward.

But honestly? Underneath all my nonsense, some of it was interesting. The Jedi didn't just fight—they protected trade routes, mediated civil wars, settled disputes that spanned whole systems. They were like diplomats, warriors, and therapists rolled into one… which, honestly, sounded exhausting.

And the Code—stupid as it sometimes sounded—wasn't about never feeling things. It was about what to do with those feelings. Like anger. Sadness. Or the very specific emotional experience of being four feet tall and told you couldn't have a lightsaber yet because "your inner peace is undercooked."

We finished with a short reading on Jedi lineage and the passage of teaching through generations. There was a whole bit about legacy and reverence that I totally skimmed.

"Ben," Solin called, as the class filed out for midday meal.

I paused. "Yes, Master?"

"…I appreciate your curiosity."

That was a dangerous sentence to give me.

She continued, slowly, carefully: "But I encourage you to consider the wisdom in learning before questioning."

"Oh," I said. "I question while I learn. Saves time."

She closed her eyes. Breathed very slowly.

I bowed, as respectfully as I could manage without falling over.

"Thank you for the education," I said, sweetly. "The part where I asked about voting was my favorite."

Then I sprinted for the hallway before she could assign me reflection meditation.

...​

Ahsoka caught up with me at the lunch queue, arms crossed.

"You know that someday you're going to be too tall to escape consequences."

"That sounds like a tomorrow problem."

"You're lucky Master Solin didn't feed you to the archives."

I grinned, grabbing a tray. "I don't know, I think she likes me."

"She patted her lightsaber when you said Darth Spinach."

"A show of trust."

"She muttered 'the Council's going to hear about this.'"

"A sign of admiration."

She shook her head.

But she was smiling.

...​

Ahsoka Tano took her training blade the way a warrior might accept a gift from a king: reverently, seriously, and with the mild expression of someone trying very hard not to bounce in place from sheer excitement.

She gripped the smooth hilt with both hands, let it hum softly to life—just a focused blue training beam, not a real saber yet, but still—and settled into her opening stance.

It was finally time.

Lightsaber Day.

Most of the initiates around her were still fumbling with foot placement, or shifting nervously like the saber might ignite backward and take out a kneecap. Ahsoka just adjusted her weight forward, knees bent, elbows high, jaw tight with focus.

She had been waiting for this.

Ever since arriving at the Temple—ever since hearing stories about Master Luminara's precision, or Master Windu's unbeatable form—she'd imagined the moment she'd finally hold one.

And she wasn't going to waste it.

Which was why the sound of Ben Kryze humming the Galactic Heroes theme while spinning his blade like a carnival baton was, frankly, unbearable.

"Ben," she hissed.

"What?" he asked, mid-spin. "I'm practicing flair."

"It's not supposed to twirl."

"It could. What if I get surrounded by enemies and need to distract them with interpretive movement?"

She stared.

He smiled. His lightsaber slipped out of his grip and smacked him in the knee.

Ahsoka sighed and turned back to the instructor.

Master Tyee was tall, Togrutan like Ahsoka, but older and more elegant—her montrals curled down like polished stone, and her voice cut like sunlight through still water.

"The blade is not a toy," she said, without looking at Ben. "It is not a dance partner. It is not an accessory. It is a truth."

"Yes, Master," the class chorused.

Ben raised a hand. "What if the truth has a nice rhythm?"

Tyee closed her eyes like she was asking the Force for patience.

Ahsoka didn't even bother looking at him. She just muttered, "You're going to get flung into the ceiling again."

The students fanned out into lines across the dojo floor, matched by height and experience. Ahsoka squared off with a Rodian girl who looked as serious as she felt. They went through the forms slowly—one step at a time. Guard. Cut. Parry. Guard again.

She adjusted her grip instinctively, holding her blade with the emitter slightly angled back—less defensive, more redirective. She didn't know the names of the forms yet, not really, but her hands were already learning.

Shien, a little voice whispered in the back of her head. The path of deflection. The path of return.

Across the mat, Ben was… improvising.

Ahsoka caught sight of him mid-lunge, spinning sideways with far too much enthusiasm, nearly crashing into his sparring partner—a Duros boy who promptly dropped his blade and fled sideways like a startled Tooka.

Ben froze mid-pose, one foot in the air.

"I meant to do that," he called. "That was a test of spatial awareness. He passed."

"Ben Kryze," Master Tyee called. "Form. Now."

"Yes, Master!" he chirped, dropping into a wildly exaggerated ready pose that looked like a cross between fencing and jazz hands.

Tyee rubbed her temples

...​

Later, as the class paired off again for flow drills, Ahsoka ended up across from him.

She tried to hide her smirk.

He noticed anyway.

"I have improved," he declared. "Witness my form."

He lunged again—faster than before, surprisingly fluid—then stumbled as his foot caught on his own robe.

Ahsoka grabbed his arm and yanked him upright before he could fully faceplant.

He blinked at her.

"You are the wind beneath my footing," he said solemnly.

"You're holding the hilt too low."

"What?"

She stepped behind him, adjusted his grip with both hands, and nudged his elbow up.

"There," she said. "Better balance. Less risk of smacking yourself in the face."

Ben raised the blade. Tried the move again. Slower. Cleaner.

"…Oh," he said. "That does feel better."

"Told you."

"Do I owe you my life now?"

"You owe me lunch."

"Done."

They stayed like that a beat longer than necessary. Twin sabers buzzing quietly, not yet dangerous—but full of future potential.

Ben turned to face her again, eyebrow raised.

"You're kind of good at this," he said.

She didn't smile. Not really. But her grip tightened.

"So are you," she said. "When you're not pretending you're in a holo-drama."

He grinned.

Then immediately dropped his blade again.

The Jedi Archive lecture hall was as quiet as a tomb and twice as intimidating.

Polished stone walls. A holoprojector the size of a starship engine. Rows of tiered seating built for initiates who didn't swing their legs, fidget constantly, or kick the chairs in front of them.

So naturally, Ben was all three.

Ahsoka adjusted her seat and straightened her spine. She liked lectures. They were structured. Logical. There was usually a test afterward, and she loved tests.

Ben, beside her, was already tilting sideways.

"I think I can see my soul leaving my body," he whispered, voice low and dramatic. "Tell my snacks I love them."

Ahsoka elbowed him without looking.

The doors slid open, and the room sat up straighter as a tall, robed figure entered—long beard, longer face, and the kind of forehead you could land a speeder on.

A few students gasped in awe.

Ben leaned over and whispered, "Behold, Master Forehead. He sees all. Especially droid attacks on wookiees."

Ahsoka covered her mouth with her hand and pretended not to snort.

"Good morning, young ones," said Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, bowing his head solemnly. "It is an honor to speak with you today about Jedi diplomacy, responsibility, and the moral burden of authority."

Ahsoka sat forward, ears perked. Her montrals twitched with interest. This was important. This was real Jedi stuff. She could already feel her mind focusing, drawing in the knowledge like sunlight through a lens.

Ben poked her side with the stylus he wasn't using.

"Moral burden," he whispered. "Translation: 'Oops, we accidentally caused another galactic incident.'"

"Shhh," she whispered back.

"I'm helping you internalize the lesson."

"You're going to internalize my fist."

"Compassion, Ahsoka. Jedi virtue."

Ki-Adi-Mundi spoke in long, careful sentences.

He described the role of the Jedi in planetary disputes—how they must remain impartial, even when injustice seems obvious. How the Council must weigh each intervention with solemn clarity. How peace, not politics, is the goal.

It was… inspiring, in a way Ahsoka hadn't expected.

She already knew she wanted to be a Knight, but this was more than lightsabers and stances. This was about wisdom. Knowing when not to act. The restraint to let the Force guide you.

She raised her hand.

The Master nodded.

"Yes, young one?"

Ahsoka stood, speaking clearly. "If the Jedi serve peace, but the Republic chooses war, how do we serve both without compromising either?"

A quiet passed through the room.

Ki-Adi-Mundi smiled—not the patronizing smile adults gave when kids asked a "good try" question, but something… thoughtful.

"A valuable inquiry," he said. "One that even Masters must meditate upon. The answer lies in our intent. We do not serve power. We serve balance."

Ahsoka felt the words settle in her chest.

They mattered.

Then Ben's hand shot up.

Ahsoka's eyes widened. No.

"Yes, young one?" the Master asked.

Ben stood, completely composed.

"If the Jedi Code is about principles," he began sweetly, "why are most of our rules about procedures? Like, are we wise monks… or space librarians with lightsabers?"

A beat.

A long, long beat.

Ki-Adi-Mundi's face was a lesson in composed confusion.

"…That is a… very interesting way to phrase it."

"I'm workshopping," Ben said, nodding. "But seriously—how much of the Code is the Force, and how much is committee meetings?"

Ahsoka groaned softly into her sleeve.

Ki-Adi-Mundi gave a deeply Jedi answer: "There is wisdom in tradition. But not all tradition is wisdom. What matters is the will of the Force."

Ben sat down slowly, nodding like he'd just solved mortality.

"Translation," he whispered: "'Yes.'"

The lecture wrapped after several more high-concept metaphors and historical footnotes. Ahsoka kept her eyes front and center, even while Ben continued passing her little datapad sketches—one of Ki-Adi-Mundi's head orbiting a council room like a moon, another of a Jedi duel with the caption "Emotion is forbidden, but swordfighting is encouraged."

She was going to confiscate his stylus one day.

But later. For now… she was sort of glad he was here. Even if he never shut up.

...​

After the class ended, Ahsoka was collecting her notes when Ki-Adi-Mundi approached her.

"You asked a very mature question," he said kindly. "The Temple needs minds like yours."

She beamed. "Thank you, Master."

He glanced behind her, where Ben was pretending to be tangled in his own robes. "This is most severe."

"…Is your friend always like that?"

Ahsoka didn't even pause. "Only when he's awake."

...​

There are few moments in life when one can truly say: I have peaked as a person.

One of them is sneaking into a restricted meditation chamber, rewiring the ancient swivel base of a High Council meditation chair to rotate exactly 30 degrees every fifteen seconds… and living to tell the tale.

I am a legend.

I am also trying very hard not to laugh while Master Mace Windu discusses the sanctity of inner stillness.

"This chamber," he said in his Very Serious Voice, "is a place of discipline, control, and attunement. The Force cannot speak through chaos. Only calm."

Thirty seconds passed.

His chair turned slightly.

Nobody noticed. Yet.

I breathed through my nose, zen as heck.

We were seated in a wide circle of plush floor cushions, bathed in soft natural light filtering through transparisteel skylights. Everything smelled faintly of temple incense and expectations.

Mace Windu sat in the central instructor's chair—one of those big meditative ones with the carved base and unreasonably perfect posture enforcement. Probably designed by a team of Jedi chiropractors.

The thing was ancient. And now, slightly motorized.

"You must learn to release distraction," Windu continued. "To breathe with purpose. To hear the Force not as a whisper, but a current. Always flowing."

Whirrrr.

The chair moved again.

A full thirty degrees now. He was no longer facing the class. Just… slightly to the left.

Ahsoka kicked me under the cushion.

Don't you dare, her eyes said.

I am innocent, mine replied.

Windu paused, slightly adjusting his shoulders. He didn't turn the chair back. Just kept going. Like a professional.

I was sweating from the effort of not bursting out laughing.

"Emotion is not the enemy," Windu said next. "Attachment is. The inability to let go."

I nodded sagely, like I hadn't spent the morning requiring a High Council Jedi Masters seat as a joke. If anything, my ability to let go may be a little more compromised than most.

The chair turned again. A little more noticeable this time.

Now he was at a three-quarters angle. Speaking to a wall.

No one dared comment.

A few students were visibly holding their breath.

Mace didn't even twitch. He just kept going.

"In your future training," he said slowly, "you will be tempted to act from impulse. To embrace your instincts without discipline. This is the path to failure."

I don't know, Master. Acting on my impulses seems to be working pretty well, for me.

His chair turned again.

Now he was facing the back of the room.

He didn't move. He didn't speak.

Silence fell.

I did not blink.

Slowly, very slowly, Master Windu rotated the chair back to center. By hand.

Or rather, with the Force.

He looked at each of us in turn.

Measured.

Serene.

Terrifying.

Then his gaze landed on me.

He stared.

I stared back.

This was the final duel. The arena of wills. The Force may bind the galaxy, but this—this was personal.

The seconds dragged on. Students began to squirm.

Windu didn't blink.

Neither did I.

We were locked in combat.

Somewhere, a bird called. It was probably judged.

But, it was at this point, staring directly against the Master of the Order, that I remembered this was the Jedi with the secret bullshit ability of shatterpoint. I may have chosen a poor target.

At last, Windu stood.

"I trust," he said softly, "that you will reflect on this lesson."

He left the chair slightly turned to the side.

Message received.

...​

That evening, I found a note on my bunk.

No signature. No handwriting.

Just a single line, printed with eerie precision:

You are being watched.

I taped it to my wall like a trophy.

"Worth it," I whispered.

...​

Obi-Wan stood silently at the back of the room, arms folded behind his back, posture carefully neutral.

Just observing.

Not interfering.

Absolutely not checking in on the child he had definitely not fathered during a deeply inadvisable offworld affair with a Mandalorian duchess during their late teenage rebellion years.

He was simply… present. A supportive presence. For morale.

Master Solin, seated cross-legged at the front of the class, continued her lecture on the intersection of Jedi philosophy and planetary law. The initiates around her listened attentively, datapads balanced on their laps.

Well.

Most of them.

Ben Kryze was seated off-center, one knee tucked under the other, his pad held diagonally like it had personally offended him. He appeared to be doodling a lightsaber duel between two Senators.

Ahsoka Tano—smaller, straighter, sharper in posture—kept glancing between her notes and Ben's sketchpad like she was silently weighing the merits of homicide.

Obi-Wan allowed himself the faintest twitch of a smile.

They balanced each other. Force help them all.

"…And in systems where local marriage law conflicts with the Republic standard," Solin was saying, "Jedi neutrality must be maintained. You are not arbiters of morality—only of peace."

Ben raised a hand.

Solin hesitated.

"Yes, Initiate Kryze?"

Ben looked entirely innocent. That alone should have been cause for alarm.

"So. Not to, like, derail the entire class. But—hypothetically—what happens if a Jedi does get married?"

Obi-Wan stopped breathing for exactly one second.

Solin blinked. "They… don't. Jedi are forbidden from forming attachments."

"Right, right. That's the rule." Ben nodded, faux thoughtful. "But what if the marriage happens before they join the Order? Like, baby wedding. Weird, but legal in some systems."

Ahsoka sighed so hard montrals twitched.

"Also," Ben added, "what if it happens offworld, under a different name, and no one tells the Council? Would that still be attachment? Or is it just… aggressive privacy?"

Solin was staring like her soul had briefly exited the building.

"I—Initiate—"

"Or," Ben continued, "let's say two Jedi fall in love, but they never marry. A proxy does it. Technically it's a union. Does that count? Do they have to divorce? Do we even have divorce paperwork?"

Ahsoka's head hit the desk with a gentle thunk.

"I swear," she muttered, "this is your third loophole question this week."

"I'm a scholar," Ben said.

"You're a menace."

Obi-Wan rubbed the bridge of his nose, face angled just enough to remain hidden behind a decorative pillar. He was pretty sure his ears were red. Which was impressive. For someone with a beard.

Solin attempted a response: "The Jedi Code—"

Ben cut in cheerfully, "—is mostly interpreted by the Council, right? So, technically, if the Council allowed it—"

"Stop," Ahsoka begged.

"—then it's not a violation. It's an exception. In fact, what about the legend I heard of Master Ki-Adi-Mundi's wives—"

"Rumor!" Ahsoka snapped.

Ben blinked. "What?"

She turned to him, exasperated. "It's a rumor about Master Mundi having a harem, not a legend! How could you have a legend about someone who's still alive?!"

Ben leaned in, solemn. "Ask Mickey Mouse."

Ahsoka blinked. "Who?"

Ben stared at the ceiling. "The most powerful being in the universe. But we're getting off topic."

Solin had begun blinking very fast. Obi-Wan suspected she was dissociating.

Ben sat up straighter, undeterred. "All I'm saying is—if love is forbidden, but marriage is legally binding, where's the line? Couldn't two Jedi marry under local law, live in separate systems, and just… emotionally detach about it? What are the rules, here?"

Obi-Wan looked up at the ceiling and said a prayer to the Force.

It didn't answer.

Of course it didn't.

The lesson ended shortly afterward.

Solin dismissed the class with what was clearly a fabricated excuse—"self-study hour," she called it, but it had the tone of "I need a nap and a drink and maybe to scream into a pillow."

The initiates filed out quietly.

Ahsoka gave Ben a sideways shove as they passed him.

"You're going to get us banned from lectures."

"I'm helping us all learn," Ben said, grinning.

"You are not."

Obi-Wan watched them go. He couldn't help it.

Ben glanced up as he passed.

Their eyes met.

Ben gave a subtle, raised-eyebrow look that said I know.

Obi-Wan gave a subtle, exasperated nod that said No you don't.

Then Ben winked.

And Obi-Wan Kenobi—Jedi Knight, galactic peacekeeper, veteran of the Melida/Daan and Naboo crisis—swore under his breath.

"Force help me," he muttered. "He's mine."

...​

I think questioning the Jedi Order's stance on marriage and sex is completely valid, as they definitely seem to gloss over it every time someone asks. Their general policy is love is good, attachment is bad, and certain species have more privileges than others, if Master Forehead's harem of wives is anything go by. Heck, baby Yoda's dad is the Grandmaster of the Order.

Lot of double standards, here.

Makes you wonder, if Anakin was more open about his marriage, would there have even been any consequences?

The Chosen One already got the nepo-baby privilege of being a late-in-life Jedi, after missing the drop-off age. Chances are pretty good that he would have just gotten a pass on this, too. Must be nice having the Force as your dad.

But, I digress. Thank you all for reading! Stay tuned for tomorrow's chapter.

Or, if you despise waiting, you can always check out my Patreon, link below:

My Patreon

 

[Despacitoleo]

Haha he has to raise his bastard sone he sired

 

[HoxShorelight]

The day Ben meet Anakin Skywalker is the day the light side is gonna cry while the Dark side will rub his hands like Mr Burn and crackle "excellent"

 

[Rustic]

The day Ben meet Anakin Skywalker is the day the light side is gonna cry while the Dark side will rub his hands like Mr Burn and crackle "excellent"

Click to shrink...

What if.... The council makes an exception and both are Anakin Skywalker Padawans.

 

[HoxShorelight]

What if.... The council makes an exception and both are Anakin Skywalker Padawans.

Click to shrink...

Then Sky Guy might turn to the Dark Side faster than canon by 2 years

 

[oscar e Sampedro Lopez]

Thanks for the chapter. Great so far, we need Anakin POV

 

[Mad King Kevin]

Chapter 4: Letters from Home

Meditation was a sacred Jedi discipline, meant to center the soul, still the mind, and banish distraction.

I was currently hiding behind a statue of an ancient Jedi Master with half her nose chipped off, typing as fast as possible on a datapad I had most definitely not borrowed permanently from the Temple Archives.

So yes. I was technically meditating. On the consequences of being raised in a political lie.

And maybe also on regional unrest.

With a side of passive aggression.

Encrypted Message: Outbound / Level-2 Disguise Layer: Academic Inquiry

TO: Duchess Satine Kryze, Mandalore (allegedly my aunt)

CC: Korkie "Technically My Twin, Even Though We're Not Identical" Kryze, Age 7, Aspiring Political Martyr

FROM: Temple Student "Ben" (Codename: Definitely Not the Child of a Jedi and a Duchess, That Would Be Ridiculous)

SUBJECT: Regional Ethics and Mandalorian Domestic Law, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Start Hacking the Archives

Dear Aunt Satine,

Meditation is going great. I'm very centered. Enlightened, even.

Today's lesson was about surrendering emotional attachments to achieve true peace, and nothing says inner serenity like pretending your own family doesn't exist.

We also studied the concept of legal non-involvement in planetary conflict. I raised my hand and asked if that extended to family civil wars. Master Windu blinked slowly and told me to reflect on my silence. I found that very meaningful.

Also, unrelated question: If someone hypothetically trained me in diplomacy and gave me an heirloom vibroblade, what kind of message would that send?

Asking for a me.

The screen blinked at me, waiting for more.

I shifted, knees folded beneath me on the cold marble floor, one hand tucked in my sleeve so I could hide the datapad if someone walked by. My cloak was bunched up behind me like a nest. I called it strategic camouflage. The archivists called it "a tripping hazard."

From beyond the statue alcove, I heard footsteps and a distant lecture voice droning about "unified balance in posture." The other initiates were doing their actual afternoon meditation. I was doing emotional recon and encrypted intergalactic communications.

Everyone has their role.

"You know you're the worst at hiding," Ahsoka's voice whispered.

I didn't jump. I almost jumped, but I didn't.

She crouched down beside me, montrals twitching slightly under her hood.

"You weren't followed, right?" I whispered dramatically.

"Obviously," she said. "I used the baby Rodian decoy plan. She lives to cause distractions."

"Nice."

"Also, Master Tyyyvak thinks you're in solo meditation. I may have implied you were working through inner shame."

"Even better."

"Did you at least write something poetic and angsty?"

I showed her the datapad.

She squinted. "'How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Start Hacking the Archives.' Seriously?"

"What? It's catchy."

"You are so lucky Jedi can't get grounded."

...​

She leaned her head against the statue, watching me edit.

"You miss her?" she asked.

I didn't answer right away.

Instead, I kept typing:

Korkie,

If Bo-Katan actually blew up a mining cruiser this time, you are legally required to describe it in detail and include the splash radius.

Also, if she says she's not your mom again, she's right. Stop arguing with her. She legally couldn't have twins at fifteen, and this whole plan to blame everything on her is falling apart.

I know "aunt" Satine says we're her nephews, that's because she probably doesn't want to admit she's our mom, but still wanted us to live with her. It's not that complicated. I really don't know what you want me to say. Maybe you should be more likable if you want that parental recognition?

It's fine. I'm fine. Enlightenment, et cetera.

"I miss all of them." I admitted. "But my place is with the Jedi."

For now.

Ahsoka sighed. "You really think they'll read between the lines?"

"Oh, definitely." I smirked. "Satine loves subtext. It's how she communicates. That and pretending everything is diplomatic procedure."

"Sound familiar."

I ignored her.

From the hall, a soft set of boots approached.

Ahsoka's posture straightened instantly. "Someone's coming."

I flipped the datapad under my cloak and crossed my legs like I had always been meditating and wasn't hiding behind a statue illegally texting a Duchess.

The approaching figure turned the corner.

A Knight. Human. Tall, tired, not too observant.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Everything alright here?"

"Yes, Master," Ahsoka said smoothly. "Ben's in personal reflection."

The Knight looked at me. I made my most serene face.

"I'm meditating on the consequences of regional unrest," I said.

Ahsoka kicked me.

The Knight gave us a look that screamed I don't get paid enough for this, nodded, and left.

We exhaled.

"I can't believe that worked," I whispered.

"I can't believe you said that," Ahsoka muttered.

We huddled back down. I resumed typing.

P.S. Please tell Bo-Katan that if she wants to join a violent insurgency, fine. But I want royalties on the family scandal if it ever gets turned into a holodrama.

P.P.S. Master Tyyyvak says to be mindful of one's breathing. I would like to add: easier said than done when your lungs are full of unresolved childhood questions.

Ahsoka peeked over my shoulder again. "You're going to get caught eventually."

"Probably."

"And then what?"

I shrugged. "I'm seven. What are they going to do? Arrest me?"

"You'd probably talk your way into juvenile Sith detention and like it."

"I'd unionize it."

"Ugh. Just finish your secret manifesto, idiot."

I grinned.

Final lines:

Mandalore may be neutral, but my feelings aren't.

I hope the revolution is interesting.

Please don't let Korkie touch any explosives. He means well, but he's also Korkie.

With restrained affection,

—Ben

P.S. (Last one) Tell the guard who reads this that she has nice hair. But also, this message self-erases in 30 seconds. Just so everyone knows I'm serious.

I hit send.

The datapad blinked twice, encrypted transmission dispersing across six offworld relays.

Gone.

Ahsoka leaned back, arms behind her head. "You're lucky I like you," she said.

"Don't lie," I said. "You like the drama."

She smirked. "I am the drama."

We stayed there behind the statue for a few extra minutes.

Meditating, maybe.

Just a little.

...​

The datapad screen flickered to life under Korkie's pillow. He squinted at it, then pulled it out with the air of a spy receiving urgent orders. The encryption cracked itself open with a satisfying chirp, and there it was.

Ben's message.

Korkie sat up straight in bed, ignoring the muffled sounds of arguing adults from the palace hall and the faint crump of something exploding somewhere on the lower levels. (Hopefully not the laundry room again.)

He tapped open the message, read it twice—snorted—and immediately opened a reply window. The dim light cast dramatic shadows across his face, which he did not notice but would have appreciated.

His fingers flew across the screen:

TO: Jedi Temple Student "Ben" (Codename: Still Probably My Brother)

FROM: Korkie Kryze, Official Heir to Satine's Passive-Aggressive Legacy

SUBJECT: RE: Your Pathologically Calm Correspondence

Dear Ben,

Bo-Katan did not blow up a mining cruiser. She blew up a mining shuttle. It was only mildly explosive. She says it was "a precision strike" and not "a mood." I said maybe her mood should involve fewer concussions. She threatened to enroll me in a live-fire exercise.

Anyway, she's been wearing this black and red armor lately, which she says is "the aesthetic of serious intent." I think it looks like she lost a bet. But don't tell her I said that or I'll have to write my next message from the ceiling ductwork.

Korkie paused and added a crayon-sketched map—messily scanned and digitally attached. It had HERE THERE BE TRAITORS written across one corner and a stick figure labeled "Bo?" holding a lightsaber and a mug.

Included Map: "Where I Think the Revolution Is Probably Happening"

(Note: May not be to scale. Or geographically accurate.)

So. Updates. Satine's been doing the whole "I'm too dignified for emotions" thing lately, which means she's either going to cry or declare a planetary summit. Possibly both.

Also, I saw what you said last time, and no, Satine is definitely our aunt. She told me, and she never lies, except about snacks. And bedtime. And her actual feelings. But not about this.

So if we're twins, which we are, and Satine is our aunt, which she is, that means Bo-Katan is our mom. It's basic math, Ben. I don't know why you keep making it weird.

Outside his bedroom, something thunked against the wall. Korkie didn't flinch.

He added a new paragraph:

Bo says I should focus less on "conspiracy theories" and more on "survival training." I said knowledge is survival. She muttered something about training you both to be Mandalorians anyway, if the Jedi don't "muck it up." Then she threw a vibroknife into a table leg. It was very cool. I clapped.

I tried asking her if she's ever stolen a baby. She said I was being "unhelpful" and then grounded me. Not that grounding works when you have a datapad, and a network, and a deeply encrypted comms relay installed in your wall sconce. Which she still doesn't know about.

From the doorway, a faint voice called, "Korkie! Lights out!"

"Already did!" he shouted, and then dramatically hit dim mode. The screen lowered its brightness like a conspirator.

He finished with flourish:

Anyway, tell your Jedi friends that if they give you a buzzcut I will personally write a speech about hair freedom and read it on the Senate floor. I think we're still technically royalty, so I'm allowed to do that. I have a sash.

Stay safe, don't join the Sith, unless it's for infiltration purposes, and remember: if you go dark side, I call dibs on being your dramatic foil.

With definitely platonic brotherly affection,

—Korkie

...​

In a quieter corner of the palace, lit only by moonlight through a tall pane of crystalglass, Satine Kryze sat reading the letter on her own tablet.

How her son—nephews thought he could get away with encrypting anything under her roof, was a mystery beyond her, and most parents.

She didn't laugh. But the corner of her mouth twitched.

When she reached the line about being a war criminal, she closed her eyes for a long, deep breath—and then gently tucked the tablet away inside the folds of her robe.

She didn't answer aloud.

But later that night, her personal aide noticed that the Duchess requested a diplomatic communique "with embedded cultural queries" to be drafted for Coruscant.

One that included a footnote on the Jedi Order's stance on attachment. And a second on whether Jedi children were allowed to correspond with "extended family."

...​

Obi-Wan Kenobi was not one to check flagged Temple communications. That was the work of droids, archivists, and the occasional overzealous Knight with too much time on their hands.

But the alert had come through a discretionary filter—anonymous tip, high-priority keyword match, "external correspondence." It wouldn't have drawn his attention, if not for the name embedded in the encryption header:

Kryze, Satine.

His hand hovered above the terminal. The message hadn't been fully decrypted yet. He didn't know who had sent it. Not officially.

But he knew.

He exhaled quietly and slid his access card through the reader.

The Temple hallway behind him was quiet, dim in the late evening. Most initiates were in their dormitories. Most Masters in meditation or review.

He tapped the screen.

A message began to unfold.

Encrypted Outgoing Transmission

Origin: Temple Crèche Subnet / User Alias: "Ben"

Disguise Layer: Academic Inquiry – Mandalorian Domestic Law

Attached Metadata: Timestamp, relay trace, emotion tag (masked poorly)

Primary Recipient: Duchess Satine Kryze

Secondary Recipient: Civilian – Kryze, Korkie

Content Preview:

"…if Bo-Katan wants to join a violent insurgency, fine, but I want royalties if this ever gets adapted into a holodrama…"

"…tell the guard who reads this she has nice hair. But this message self-erases in 30 seconds…"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes.

Of course it was Ben.

He hadn't seen the boy for several days—not closely, not outside his regular updates from Master Tyyyvak and the crèche instructors. Ben had been… stable. Energetic. Argumentative. Brilliant. Troublesome in that very specific way that left instructors shaking their heads and muttering, "He's got so much potential."

And now he was writing letters to Mandalore's ex-leader. To Satine.

No. Not "to." He was writing to her. Not as a political figure.

As something closer.

Obi-Wan closed the access log. He didn't read the entire message.

He didn't have to.

The metadata said enough.

Ben had been communicating with her for a while. Carefully. Encrypted. Slipping through Temple systems just cleverly enough to avoid daily detection—until now.

The system only caught it by coincidence: an anonymous report from a cranky protocol droid who flagged the term "violent insurgency" during a random scan. Lucky. Or not.

Obi-Wan rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

The hallway was too bright.

His chamber was simple. Clean. Empty in the way that Jedi quarters always were: uncluttered, unassuming. A meditation mat. A shelf of texts. One plant he forgot to water. A lightsaber hilt on the table.

He keyed the door shut behind him and sat.

He let the silence settle.

Then pulled up the message again.

Not the text this time. Just the header. The encryption trail. The metadata.

A youngling had no business knowing how to route through offworld relays.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

"You're too clever for your own good," he muttered.

It wasn't just the message.

It was the intent.

Ben knew the Code. He'd been raised in it, lectured in it, recited it—badly, rebelliously, but often. And yet he was still doing this. Still reaching back toward home. Still writing.

Still attached.

The Jedi taught that attachment led to suffering. That clinging invited fear. That even love—particularly love—was a path to chaos.

But what about the ones born from it?

What about the ones left behind?

Obi-Wan remembered Satine's voice as they watched the children, playing in the courtyard.

"You said the Jedi take them young," she whispered, after her sister left earshot. "You didn't say how young."

"I never wanted to worry you." He whispered back. "We don't have to take him. He can still be raised here. With you."

"It's not about me." Satine's hands had shaken. "It's about what's best for Ben. He needs help. The kind that I can't give him. But you can. He needs you. Be there for him. Please."

She hadn't cried.

Not then.

But Obi-Wan remembered thinking she might.

He looked back at the terminal.

The message sat waiting. Flagged. Archived. Labeled for report.

He hovered his fingers above the alert window.

Then closed it.

He deleted the security flag. The message itself? He left untouched. Just… archived.

For now.

He would not report it. Not yet. But he would keep an eye on Ben. More than before. More than the usual careful Jedi watchfulness.

This was not detachment. It wasn't indulgence, either. It was something else.

Responsibility. Maybe even… guilt.

A chime echoed faintly in the corridor outside—lights dimming for night cycle.

Obi-Wan sat motionless.

Then, slowly, he turned off the terminal.

The chamber smelled like dust and clean steel. The ventilation hummed softly overhead. Somewhere in the distance, someone was arguing over shipping permits. Satine barely registered it.

She sat at her desk, posture regal, datapad in hand—held at just the right angle that a passing guard might think she was reviewing a diplomatic report. That was what she'd told them, after all.

"Routine foreign update. Communications from Coruscant. Standard trade brief."

Not technically a lie. There was a trade brief embedded in the footer.

But her eyes were on the message above it.

For the fifth time.

TO: Duchess Satine (Aunt Extraordinaire, Ruler of Reasonable People)

FROM: Definitely-Not-Your-Son (Codename: Jedi Hopeful, Chaos Edition)

SUBJECT: Political Memo (Definitely Not Personal)

Dear Duchess Satine,

Please note that your recent remarks on Republic infrastructure were not well-received by the eight-year-old Senator I'm being forced to study. He called you "intense." I called him "unqualified to comment on Mandalorian policy." Master Tyyyvak made me mop the hallway.

The Jedi say attachment leads to suffering, but I think they've never read one of your speeches. I reread your comments on regional unrest while pretending to meditate. If Master Forehead asks, I was contemplating the Force. Or maybe agriculture. Something boring.

Temple life remains strange. The robes itch. Ahsoka beat me at Force tag. Again. The archivist droid hates me. (Not because of what I did. Because of who I am.)

If Bo-Katan tries to blow up another ship, please remind her I want royalties.

Yours in absolute legal compliance,

—Ben

The words were pure Ben.

Sharp-edged, clever, full of half-jokes and exaggerated deflections. Reading it hurt. It reminded so much of his father… and herself.

Satine blinked once, slowly, then reached for a stylus and began composing a reply—aloud.

For the benefit of the guard still standing near the entrance.

She didn't look at him, of course.

Merely kept her voice even.

TO: Initiate Ben (Jedi Temple)

FROM: Duchess Satine Kryze (Officially Your Aunt)

SUBJECT: Re: Political Memo / Diplomatic Clarifications

Ben,

Your insights into senatorial literacy are—as always—provocative. I recommend caution when critiquing Republic representatives, especially those who cry easily. Diplomacy demands both restraint and tact. Though, I concede, mopping does build character.

Your meditations on the Force (and/or agriculture) are noted with interest. In future communications, feel free to expand upon your theories on regional stability, or at least include footnotes. I'm told the archivist droid appreciates proper citation.

Bo-Katan has been informed of your concerns. She laughed. Then muttered something about napalm. I'll… keep you posted.

Strength is not silence. You are not alone.

Yours, in accordance with all Republic protocol,

—Satine

She tapped the send key, and the encryption folded the message into its layered mask of political formality.

When the datapad blinked its green confirmation light, she finally exhaled.

Her fingers remained pressed to the screen.

"You're still pretending," she murmured, almost too quiet to hear. "Still pretending to be someone else, my child."

The words slipped from her like breath—half-smile tugging at her mouth.

Four years wasn't long. Not in galactic terms. Not in war. Not in policy. But for a mother…

…For a mother, it was a lifetime.

Even if no one called her that.

If only she told Obi-Wan how much she wanted him to stay. Both of them. Would they be able to raise their boys together? Would Satine have had the family she so desperately craved, and needed. Especially after the tragedies hers has endured already.

But one could spend a lifetime looking back. It was a curse to imagine "if only". Obi-Wan has his duties. She has hers. And Ben will have his, too. Though, perhaps, if she truly believed that, she would not be responding to his messages.

… everyone can be a little hypocritical sometimes.

...​

The blanket over my head made it hard to breathe, but at least it muffled the glow of the datapad. The Force teaches patience, serenity, inner peace.

I had none of those right now.

I tapped the screen again. Just once more.

TO: Initiate Ben (Jedi Temple)

FROM: Duchess Satine Kryze (Officially Your Aunt)

SUBJECT: Re: Political Memo / Diplomatic Clarifications

Ben,

Your insights into senatorial literacy are—as always—provocative. I recommend caution when critiquing Republic representatives, especially those who cry easily. Diplomacy demands both restraint and tact. Though, I concede, mopping does build character.

Your meditations on the Force (and/or agriculture) are noted with interest. In future communications, feel free to expand upon your theories on regional stability, or at least include footnotes. I'm told the archivist droid appreciates proper citation.

Bo-Katan has been informed of your concerns. She laughed. Then muttered something about napalm. I'll… keep you posted.

Strength is not silence. You are not alone.

Yours, in accordance with all Republic protocol,

—Satine

I stared at that last line.

Strength is not silence. You are not alone.

That wasn't a diplomatic line.

That was her.

That was mine.

"Still up?" A voice mumbled near my elbow.

Ahsoka shifted next to me, half-asleep and warm. She always curled like a loth-cat in winter, fists tucked near her face, head buried under her pillow. And with the terrifying habit of sneaking into my bed. Seriously, I have the Force. How can I not sense her? Was I really that distracted?

On the bright side, now I knew she was there. But on the downside, I had to deal with her eyes blinking open under the blanket, catching the blue screen's reflection, as she stared at me, unrelentingly.

"Just… checking for regional instability," I whispered.

She squinted at me. "Is that what you call homesickness?"

I rolled onto my back and sighed. "Don't Jedi not get homesick?"

"We're not Jedi yet," she muttered. "So I think we're okay… probably. Maybe don't tell anyone."

I didn't answer. Just passed her the datapad.

She read it quietly, her mouth twitching a little at the bit about Bo-Katan. By the end, she didn't smile. She just nodded and whispered, "If she's not your mom, she's the best fake one I've ever seen."

I didn't say anything for a moment.

"Yeah. She's… trying."

...​

You know, I'm not saying if the Order just let Anakin occasionally exchange messages with his mother, that she wouldn't have been tortured and killed by Sand People. But I'm not not saying that, either. If you catch my meaning.

Not that it excuses the excessive amount of child murder Anakin went on to do.

#JusticeForSandPeople

Anyways, that's it for today's chapter. Sorry it's a little short, the next one will have a bit more content, I swear. Stay tuned to check it out, tomorrow.

Or, if you don't want to wait, feel free to support me on my Patreon and read ahead, link below:

My Patreon

 

[HoxShorelight]

I'm both want Ben to stay a Jedi until the first battle of Genosis maybe until his "aunt" almost got murder on Coruscant to quit go back home , take over Death Watch and protect Mandalore from Dooku , Pre Vizla and Maul , forge himself an armor while he at it.

 

[PepeDeLosPalotes]

Thanks for the chapter

 

[Mad King Kevin]

Chapter 5: Obi-Wan Kenobi and the Disappointment Spreadsheet

Obi-Wan Kenobi had faced many trials in his life: Sith Lords, galactic disputes, ankle-biting Senators. But none compared to the silent, soul-draining torment of updating the Jedi Progress Tracker.

The datapad flickered in front of him, its pristine white interface glowing like the judgmental smile of the Force itself.

He tapped the stylus against the edge of the pad. "Let's begin the pain."

The first row: Initiate: Ben Kryze

Lightsaber Forms: Intermediate progression, favored Soresu.

Meditation Log: Cryptic. (Entry 7: "The river flows upstream when you punch the stream hard enough.")

Disciplinary Actions: None—though several eyebrow raises were noted.

Recurring Question: "Can Jedi marry if it's for political reasons?"

Obi-Wan sighed, dragging his stylus over the last entry and tapping "delete." The screen gave a sympathetic chime. He didn't appreciate the tone."I am raising Satine with a lightsaber," he muttered.

The Force did not disagree.

Next row: Padawan: Anakin Skywalker

Lightsaber Forms: All of them. Simultaneously. On fire.

Meditation Log: Absent. (Excuse: "Meditation is for people who don't have rocket boots.")

Disciplinary Actions: Forty-two incidents and counting.

Notable Entry: "Confiscated pod-like speeder from lower levels. Claimed it was 'educational.' Crash resulted in minor Senate panic."

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd only looked away for an hour. An hour.

A polite cough echoed behind him.

"Master Kenobi," came the voice of Jocasta Nu, ancient and judging. "Still logging emotional disruptions in place of actual progress?"

He gave her a bland smile, the kind that only barely concealed the internal screaming.

"Master Nu," he said, "your wisdom is, as ever, sharp enough to trim my patience."

She leaned in, peering over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. "I see Skywalker's log is… colorful."

Obi-Wan flipped the screen discreetly, revealing Ben's entries again. "Just taking a break from the fireworks."

"Mm. The younger one," she said, adjusting her spectacles. "The Mandalorian. Precocious. Tends to sit upside-down in the Archives and quote the Jedi Code backward."

Obi-Wan gave a defeated nod. "Yes, he refers to it as 'Sith-proofing.' I believe he's joking. Most days."

Jocasta sniffed. "A Jedi does not joke."

"He does," Obi-Wan muttered, scrolling down to a note labeled: Ben built a paper mâché Holocron titled "Definitely Not a Trap."

The silence stretched long and uncomfortable.

"I had to confiscate it," Obi-Wan added, in case she assumed he encouraged the behavior.

Jocasta's expression suggested she assumed it anyway. "You'll need to monitor him more closely. We've received reports of encrypted outbound messages from within the younglings' dormitory. I'm sure you're aware."

His stomach sank. "I am."

He didn't mention that he'd already seen one—had, in fact, quietly removed the flag on it. The sender was technically anonymous, but the encryption was stylized in such a way that only one small Mandalorian menace could be responsible.

The fact that Ben's encryption header included the phrase "Aunt Satine's Completely Legal Homework Assignment" was… not subtle.

Still, Obi-Wan had chosen not to intervene. Not yet. Not unless it crossed a line.

"Have any of the messages been read?" he asked, carefully neutral.

"Only the headers," Jocasta said, sharp eyes still boring into him. "But should we discover emotional compromise, the Council may be forced to reconsider certain placements."

He smiled again, brittle as a Hoth sunrise. "Understood."

Jocasta wandered off, robes sweeping the floor with the arrogance of a librarian who believed herself omniscient. Obi-Wan waited until she was out of earshot before sighing and slumping against the archive terminal like a man defeated.

He tapped his stylus again. The datapad blinked at him, waiting.

He scrolled back to Ben's file and added a new line:

General Status: Meditating. Probably scheming.

Then he walked out of the Archives, datapad tucked under one arm like a physical weight. The hallway outside was sunlit and quiet, the stone warm beneath his boots.

He didn't trust Jocasta Nu. Well—he did. In the same way one might trust a vibroblade to be sharp and placed exactly where you would sit down without looking.

The truth was, he didn't know what he was doing.

Ben was different. Smart—dangerously so. Not just bright, but aware. Like he already knew the rules of the game and was waiting for someone to catch up.

He had his mother's eyes. That terrifying blend of wit and weariness. And Obi-Wan had no idea how to reach him without either hurting him—or being hurt himself.

He stopped walking.

Then, on impulse, he opened the Progress Tracker one more time and typed a private note under a locked field.

Personal Observation (Hidden):

"Ben Kryze is highly intelligent, emotionally guarded, and prone to questions that Jedi doctrine is not built to answer. He is neither lost nor disobedient—but he is watching me, and I think he knows more than I do about how this ends. Force help me, I hope I don't fail him too."

He stared at it for a long moment.

Then, after a hesitation, he added:

"Also, confiscated a crayon drawing from Anakin titled: 'Me vs. Every Sith Ever.' His lightsaber appears to be on fire. Again. I don't think he understands how Kyber crystals work."

With a grim smile, he clicked the datapad shut.

It was going to be a long week.

...​

It started, as these things usually did, with someone bigger than me trying to hit me in the face with a training saber.

Not that I blamed him. Kylan was twice my size, all gangly limbs and righteous Padawan posture. The sort of kid who took every kata like it was life or death, and every correction from a Knight like it was a personal insult. His lightsaber style was clean, controlled, and—unfortunately for him—entirely predictable.

Which is why I ducked under his third overhead strike, pivoted past his left side, and tagged him in the ribs with a flourish that might've been unnecessary. Might've.

He stumbled back, panting. "You were taunting me."

"Incorrect," I said. "I was demonstrating superiority."

The training sabers powered down with a hiss. Master Tyyyvak let out a low Wookiee huff from across the mat, somewhere between "sigh" and "grumble." She didn't even have to say anything. Her disappointment could probably be weaponized.

"Okay," Kylan snapped. "Let's hear it. What was wrong with how I fought this time?"

"Well," I said, twirling my saber in a way I knew would annoy him, "it was competent. But also—how do I put this—embarrassingly derivative?"

"Derivative?" Kylan echoed, voice rising like I'd insulted his entire bloodline.

"Look, you're clearly doing Soresu," I said, "but watered down with Ataru footwork and Niman blade arcs. You've taken three elegant forms and combined them into a stylistic crime."

From the other mat, Ahsoka called out, "He's not wrong. You fight like a droid with commitment issues."

Kylan looked like he was about to combust. "This coming from you two?"

"I'm not saying we're better," I lied. "I'm saying we're interesting."

Ahsoka grinned at me across the sparring circle. "Speak for yourself. I am better."

Tyyyvak banged the end of her staff on the floor, a sound that echoed through the gym like a thunderclap. Even the older Padawans paused their drills. Somewhere in the rafters, a training droid beeped in alarm and powered down out of sheer instinct.

The silence was almost peaceful.

And then, the door hissed open.

Yoda entered.

That, by itself, would've been enough to make most younglings swallow their tongues. But what made it worse was that he didn't say anything. He just walked in, leaned on his gimer stick, and stared at us like we were a bad poem written on temple walls in permanent ink.

He looked from me, to Ahsoka, to Kylan. He sighed. Long. Deep. Spiritual.

Then he turned around and left.

"I feel like we just failed a test we didn't know we were taking," I muttered.

"Speak for yourself," Ahsoka said. "I've made him sigh worse. I'm a personal project."

Master Tyyyvak raised both furry arms and barked a full sentence in Shyriiwook, teeth visible, expression wild with Wookiee exasperation. Every syllable came out like thunder, low and textured and slightly singed at the edges.

Ahsoka lifted a hand to translate, then paused.

"Actually," she said, turning to me, "why don't you try translating? Let's see how much you've picked up."

Oh, great.

Okay, brain. Time to impress the only Wookiee Master who hasn't tried to throw me off a balcony yet.

I closed my eyes for a second and replayed the tones in my head. Shyriiwook wasn't a language so much as an avalanche of meaning. Pitch, volume, breath. Everything mattered. Which was cool… until you messed up one vowel and accidentally told a Wookiee their mother smelled like warm Bantha milk.

"She says," I began, cautiously, "that we fight well… but talk too much."

Tyyyvak nodded. That was a good sign.

I hesitated. "Especially me."

Tyyyvak crossed her arms. Still nodding.

"And… I can't argue."

A beat. Then she grunted a soft sound—amusement, maybe—and clapped a paw on my shoulder so hard I nearly folded in half.

Ahsoka gave me a thumbs-up from across the room. "Nice! She likes you."

"I think that was an affectionate death-threat," I whispered.

"You're learning."

Kylan groaned and sat down hard on the edge of the mat. "I still don't get how you two keep winning duels."

"It's because we're small," I said, flopping down next to him, "and low to the ground. Like chaos in compact packaging."

"It's because you get in our heads," Kylan muttered.

I looked at Ahsoka. "Should we tell him?"

She nodded solemnly. "Yeah."

We both leaned forward and said in perfect unison: "We live there now."

Kylan made a sound like a dying droid and fell back dramatically. "I give up."

Tyyyvak gave another long growl from the edge of the mat and began pointing to the next group of sparring pairs. Everyone scattered like they were fleeing a thermal detonator. Training resumed.

I stayed seated a moment longer, watching them move.

It wasn't that I didn't like sparring. I did. A lot. But sometimes, when I was still, I could hear the rest of the Temple humming—like I was plugged into something deeper than just footwork and saber arcs.

And today, something was off.

Maybe it was Yoda's sigh.

Maybe it was the way Master Tyyyvak's shoulders were just a bit too tight.

Maybe it was the knot in my stomach I couldn't quite explain.

I looked down at my training saber. The glow strip flickered gently, still warm from the spar. I ran a thumb over the emitter, thinking about how it wasn't real. Not yet. Not like the ones we'd build someday on Ilum.

Someday soon.

My gut twisted again.

"Hey," Ahsoka said, dropping down beside me, "you look like you're about to write a poem."

"Don't tempt me. I've got a whole notebook labeled 'If the Jedi Let Me Feel Things.'"

She laughed. "You okay?"

I shrugged. "Yeah. No. Maybe. Just thinking."

"Dangerous habit."

I bumped my shoulder against hers. "You're telling me."

She leaned back on her hands, squinting up at the skylight. "You know we're gonna be Padawans soon, right? Like, real ones. Chosen by a Master. Sent on missions. Given responsibilities."

I grimaced. "Don't remind me. I still can't even reach the top shelf in the cafeteria."

She snorted. "Obi-Wan's going to pick you. Everyone knows it."

I didn't answer right away.

Because the thing was—yeah. Probably.

But knowing it didn't make it safe.

And some part of me still wondered if it was a good idea. If he thought it was a good idea. Or if he was just… stuck. With me.

"Hey," Ahsoka said, nudging me. "You're doing that face thing again."

"Which one?"

"The one where you act like your brain is eating itself."

"Accurate."

I looked over at her. She was watching the other younglings train with this expression I couldn't quite read. Half proud, half sad. Like she was already somewhere else.

"You think we'll still be friends?" I asked, softly. "After we get assigned?"

She glanced at me. "Ben. We're already bonded for life by trauma and sarcasm."

That made me smile. "Good."

"Yeah," she said, her voice lighter now. "We're gonna be fine."

We both looked up at the rafters. A training droid sparked and spun in circles above us, completely unsupervised.

I thought about Ilum. About the kyber crystal calling my name.

About whatever was waiting on the other side of all this.

And I nodded. "Yeah. We are."

...​

There's a spot in the Jedi gardens where the stone paths loop around in a lazy circle, like whoever designed it got bored halfway through and just decided to copy-paste the same curve over and over. I liked it because it was quiet, shaded, and had benches you could sit on without someone judging your posture.

That's where I was heading when I spotted her.

At first, all I saw was a pair of boots hanging in the air. Just… dangling there.

It took me a second to realize there was a whole person attached, suspended upside down from a branch like a Zabrak-shaped fruit. She had her arms folded, eyes shut, horns catching dappled sunlight, and a look on her face like gravity was something that happened to other people.

Weird.

But not that weird.

Yoda once made Luke Skywalker meditate while doing a handstand. Or… he will. It's weird to reference future events in the past-tense, but who even knows if that future will come to pass. But, I'm getting off track. There's lots of ways to meditate, as long as it clears your mind. I'm not the best at sitting still, but moving katas always helps me to center myself. Ahsoka prefers the more traditional criss-cross applesauce approach, but to each their own.

So maybe this was just… her thing. Maybe some people connected with the Force better while all their blood rushed to their heads.

I leaned against the trunk. "So, uh… you okay up there?"

She didn't answer right away.

Finally, without opening her eyes, she said, "I am listening to the currents of the Force."

"Cool," I said. "I'm listening to the currents of blood pooling in your face. Who are you?"

"You don't know?" One golden eye cracked open. "You're in my crèche."

"I am?"

She blinked at me slowly, like she was deciding whether to acknowledge my existence or throw me into a bush. "You've been here for years."

"Sure, but that doesn't mean I remember anyone. Besides Ahsoka."

Her other eye opened, and now she was staring at me with both of them, which was worse. Zabraks always looked intense, but this one was weaponized intensity.

Something about her tugged at my brain. Not in the normal "I saw you in the cafeteria line once" way. No—this was the other kind of familiarity. The one that made you feel like you'd accidentally stepped sideways into a different franchise.

A presence I have not felt since… 2008.

Earth years, of course.

I have no idea what the year is in this galaxy. It's so hard to explain to everyone the concept of BBY when the Battle of Yavin hasn't happened yet. Maybe I should start using "ABN" — After the Battle of Naboo. That sounds reasonable. Ish.

What was I talking about?

Meh. I'm sure it was nothing important.

"Ben," she said suddenly. "That's your name, right?"

"Yep."

"I'm Maris Brood."

I nodded slowly. "Nice to meet you." Okay, it's seriously bothering me. Where do I know her from? Ugh. You'd think being a zabarak Jedi would have narrowed it down. Pretty sure she's the only one in the entire Order.

Don't quote me on that. I'm an initiate! I don't know everyone.

She didn't offer to shake my hand—hard to do upside down—but she gave a short, stiff nod like we'd just signed some kind of mutual non-aggression pact.

"So, Maris," I said, "is this a… regular meditation thing for you, or…?"

"I find the inversion sharpens the senses," she said, closing her eyes again. "It forces the mind to adjust to a different perspective."

"Yeah, I get that," I said. "I once did a meditation session while hanging halfway out of an air duct. Master Tyyyvak was not impressed."

Her brow furrowed slightly. "You sound… unserious."

"That's because I am," I said. "If I took the Force as seriously as it takes itself, I'd never sleep again."

That earned me a tiny smirk—just for a second, but I caught it.

I pulled myself onto the branch below hers. "So, what's your story? You've got the whole 'intense, aloof, possibly in training to overthrow the galaxy' vibe going."

She raised one eyebrow without opening her eyes. "And what vibe do you think you have?"

"Me?" I said. "I'm the guy who points out when someone's fighting style is embarrassingly derivative. Or," I added, "the guy who distracts people while Ahsoka wins the sparring match."

"Hmm." She tilted her head slightly, as if considering. "That explains the… energy."

We sat in silence for a bit. I listened to the leaves rustle, the faint hum of temple life drifting in from far away.

Finally, she asked, "Why are you here?"

"In the garden?"

"In the Temple."

"That's a big question," I said. "You first."

She didn't answer right away. Then: "To prove myself."

I snorted. "You and every other kid in the crèche."

Her eyes opened again, sharp. "Not like them."

There it was again—that flicker of something I couldn't place.

I shrugged. "Fair enough. I'm here because… well, because I'm supposed to be. And because they keep feeding me. That's really all it takes."

Her lips twitched like she was fighting another smile. "You're strange."

"Pot, meet kettle."

She shifted on the branch, flipping gracefully to land beside me, perfectly upright, not even wobbling. Her gaze lingered on me for a beat too long, like she was trying to read a page she half-remembered.

"See you around, Ben," she said, before walking off toward the inner courtyard.

I watched her go.

Yep. Definitely something off there.

The fun kind of off.

...​

Obi-Wan stood in the middle of the chamber, hands folded neatly into his sleeves, surrounded by twelve of the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy—most of whom were currently wearing the same expression: the polite but unmistakable face of someone bracing for bad news.

This was… not the most encouraging start to the conversation.

Still, he had a mission.

He'd come here intending to speak of Anakin's progress—his genuine progress. The boy had come far since Naboo, grown into his training, learned control. Well, learned some control. Enough, Obi-Wan thought, that he could begin to consider… alternatives.

The sooner Anakin was knighted, the sooner Obi-Wan could fulfill his promise to Qui-Gon and do right by his padawan. And the sooner he could turn his attention to a certain Mandalorian youngling, whose chances of aging out into the Service Corps grew with every passing year.

Ben deserved more than that. He deserved the chance to reach his potential—to be trained properly, by someone who would understand him. Someone who would not mistake sharp wit for arrogance or independence for defiance.

Even ignoring Ben's brightness, his determination, Obi-Wan made a promise to Satine that he would be there for his s—Satine's… nephew. Yes. Her nephew. And if Obi-Wan had to keep reminding himself of that, well, that was between him and the Force.

He owed it to the boy. The least he could do was train him.

Obi-Wan drew a calming breath and began.

"Masters, I wished to speak briefly regarding Anakin's development as a Padawan learner. He has shown marked improvement in the past year—"

"He stole a Republic StarCraft," Mace Windu interrupted, "and used it to 'podrace' in the lower districts, Kenobi."

Obi-Wan hesitated. "…In fairness, he did win."

Mace's eyebrow twitched.

A poor defense. Even to his own ears. But he was already in too deep. Best to double down… and this is why Jedi shouldn't gamble. As much as he adored his Master, he really did seem to pick up Qui-Gon's worst habits, hadn't he?

"And," Obi-Wan added, "he donated the winnings to an orphanage."

"That may be," Ki-Adi-Mundi said, leaning forward, "but in the process, he caused a six-speeder pileup. The pilots are still recovering."

"And," Mace said, "he renamed the craft 'Skyhopper Supreme.'"

Across the room, Plo Koon's mask shifted in a way Obi-Wan had learned to interpret as barely contained amusement.

Yoda's ears drooped slightly. "Fine line, there is, between valor and idiocy."

Obi-Wan inclined his head. "A line I am attempting to teach him to recognize. And I believe he is… gradually… learning."

Several of the Masters exchanged looks that suggested "gradually" was a charitable reading.

Depa Billaba spoke up. "We appreciate your dedication, Obi-Wan. But knighting a Jedi prematurely is dangerous. Even more so when that Jedi is…" She trailed off delicately.

"The Chosen One?" Obi-Wan supplied.

A faint smile tugged at her mouth. "Your words."

Obi-Wan kept his expression politely neutral. "If you wish my honest opinion, Masters, I believe Anakin is—"

"He also," Mace said, "attempted to negotiate peace between two swoop gangs last month by challenging both leaders to a race. Simultaneously."

"In his defense," Obi-Wan said smoothly, "that did work."

"Until," Mace said, "the gangs joined forces to try to recruit him."

Plo Koon made a low, thoughtful sound. "A certain… creative diplomacy."

Ki-Adi-Mundi pinched the bridge of his nose.

Yoda rapped his gimer stick lightly on the floor. "A Knight, young Skywalker is not. A handful, he is. Much work, still there is."

Obi-Wan inclined his head again, forcing himself not to sigh. The Council was immovable on this. They always were, until the moment they weren't—and Obi-Wan had no way of knowing when that moment would come.

Still, he couldn't help glancing at the chamber doors as if he might find Ben standing there, waiting to be told he had a future beyond the Service Corps.

One day, Obi-Wan promised silently. One day, he will make this happen.

...​

The best part about living in the crèche was that bedtime didn't mean actually sleeping. It meant piling into the communal space, sprawling across cushions and beanbags, and talking until one of the night caretakers gave up trying to enforce quiet hours.

Ahsoka sat cross-legged on the floor, enjoying her role as center of attention. She had an audience. And an audience deserved a story.

"So," she began, drawing out the word for maximum suspense, "Ben went into the gardens today and met—wait for it—" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "The weird tree girl."

Half the group gasped.

Ben, slouched in a corner with his arms folded, groaned. "This is exactly why I can't tell you anything."

"She was meditating upside-down on a branch," Ahsoka continued, ignoring him. "Like, full-on hanging by her knees. And apparently, she talked to him."

One of the younger initiates whispered, "Did she curse him?"

"No," Ahsoka said, eyes sparkling. "But she could have. Ben, tell them—didn't she give you, like, the 'I know your deepest secrets' look?"

Ben glared. "She was just looking at me."

"That's what someone under a spell would say," muttered Kavi, a human boy about their age.

Now the room buzzed with speculation.

"Maybe she's a mind-reader."

"She could be a Sith runaway."

"Swamp witch."

Ben threw his hands up. "She's in our crèche. You all see her at meals. She's just… quiet."

Ahsoka tilted her head. "You're defending her?"

"She just seemed lonely," he muttered. "Not my fault everyone here acts like they've never seen a quiet person."

That only lit the gossip fire higher.

"Oh no," Kavi gasped theatrically. "He's in love with the swamp witch."

A chorus of "Oooooh"s went up.

Ben buried his face in his hands. "I hate all of you."

"No, you don't," Ahsoka said sweetly. "You'd be bored without us."

Before he could argue, one of the night caretakers popped their head in. "Lights out, younglings."

They all groaned in unison. The gossip fizzled into muffled giggles as the room began to scatter, but not before Ahsoka caught Ben's eye and mouthed, swamp witch.

He mouthed back, never telling you anything again.

And, of course, they both knew he would.

...​

At some point, it felt like I needed a dynamic trio.

Good things come in three, after all! A few candidates were considered for this role, Cal Kestis, Barriss Offee, but I ultimately went with Maris Brood. Why? Because I was playing The Force Unleashed at the time, and she just kind of stuck. What can I say? I like goth girls.

Besides, I couldn't use Cal, we already had an orange kid. I also couldn't use Barriss, because I've heard mixed things about her age, and I don't know if she'd canonically be in their class. So, I went with a Legends au. Not the last time I'm going to do that.

But if you want to understand what that cryptic line means, you'll have to stay tuned for tomorrow's chapter! Unless you're reading this far into the future, and the next chapter's already posted, I guess. But if you're not, or you're re-reading, or whatever, you should know, that there is a way to save the ones you love—

I mean, read the next chapter.

Ahem.

Go check out my Patreon, and read ahead, link below:

My Patreon

 

[Hilight]

This update came during my break during extreme overtime. It gave me a reason to laugh today, so please keep making more. Work sad

 

[Starman25]

I'm loving the interaction between Ahsoka and Bo Kryze.

Ben Kryze's brother is, in the canon, an Easter egg hinting at a possible child between Obi-Wan and Satine Kryze.

 

[Starman25]

The MC could have Ahsoka play pranks (or jokes) on her future master.

 

[Haydos]

Very funny story. Obi-wan gaslighting himself about his fondness for Ben is pretty funny. Mace Windu seeing a shatter point in Ben is a little concerning tho...

 

[Mad King Kevin]

Chapter 6: A Song of Ice, Snow, and Crystals

The viewport was just a sheet of white. White sky. White clouds. White snow whipping past so hard it looked like someone had dumped a bucket of flour over Ilum and then hit "whisk" on a galactic scale.

I tugged my hood up higher, though the ship wasn't even on the ground yet. It was the principle of the thing. If a planet was this cold from orbit, the surface could only be worse.

Master Tyyyvak lumbered down the transport aisle, all fur and authority. She clapped one paw the size of my head against a youngling's scarf, tightening the knot.

"Scarves tight. Hoods up. No licking the icicles, Tallo. I see you thinking it." I like to think that over the years, I've finally managed to grasp her language without the use of a translator, or Ahsoka's helpful cues. I'm still not sure, though. At least one in ten words get lost in translation.

It's still manageable, for the most part.

"Ben, remember, please don't grrrrhhh. If you do grrrrhhh, I'll know." Except for now. Seriously?! Why is it always the most important word that slips through the cracks?

As I contemplated that conundrum, Tallo, a Mon Calamari boy with the guilty look of someone who had definitely licked an icicle before, wilted under her yellow-eyed stare. Don't worry, she's not a Sith. Just a Wookiee. Which is equally intimidating to some people.

Tyyyvak harrumphed and moved on, checking cloaks like a Wookiee mother hen. Her fur was so thick she looked more comfortable than any of us—probably thinking of this as a brisk autumn afternoon. Makes you wonder as her people evolved to have hair like that on a planet like Kashyyk.

Yoda waddled along behind her, his cane thumping against the deck plates, ears perked in amusement. He gave no actual directions, just cryptic commentary, like always.

"The journey, cold it is, yes. But warm, your hearts are, mmm. Cold cannot touch the flame of the Force."

Translation: He is thoroughly enjoying watching Master Tyyyvak herd us around like unruly loth-kittens.

Ahsoka snickered from where she sat buckled in across from me. "You look like you're going to war with that hood."

"I am going to war," I muttered. "Against frostbite. It's a noble battle." Don't get me wrong, I still prefer it to heat. But let's be honest, when they're both in the extremes, they're both equally terrible.

She rolled her eyes. "It's just snow."

"'Just snow,' she says. Easy for you—your montrals probably work like built-in earmuffs."

"They do not!"

"Do too."

She kicked my boot under the bench, grinning, which only proved I was right.

The ship rocked as it pushed lower through the storm. The engines groaned, fighting turbulence. My breath fogged the air, and I huddled deeper into my cloak. A thought crossed my mind, half complaint and half epiphany: why did the Jedi never issue heroic blankets?

You could still look dramatic striding into danger if you wrapped it properly. Hooded blanket, trailing behind like a cape. Jedi Symbol embroidered. Cozy on the inside, intimidating on the outside. Perfect.

Instead, we got lightsabers. Which, admittedly…

I tapped my chin, considering. A lightsaber probably gave off a decent amount of heat if you held it close. Probably not recommended, though. "Master, can I use my lightsaber as a portable hand-warmer once I build it?" sounded like a fast-track ticket to detention.

The ship bucked again, dropping us half a meter before catching itself. A few younger initiates squeaked. Tyyyvak rumbled something reassuring in Shyriiwook, her tone equal parts "don't worry" and "if you fall out of your seat I'll personally glue you back in."

I gave Ahsoka a sidelong glance. She was leaning forward, bright-eyed, watching the viewport like the snowstorm was an adventure waiting to happen instead of a recipe for hypothermia. Typical.

I tried to picture what Ilum's crystal caves would actually look like—whether the Force really spoke to you like the Masters said, or if it was more of a vague "trust your gut and don't freeze to death" situation.

Either way, I was starting to wish the Force handed out free coats.

...​

The shuttle touched down with a crunch that rattled through my teeth. The moment the ramp hissed open, the wind howled in like it had been waiting just to punch us in the face.

Snow whipped sideways, stinging my cheeks and working its way instantly into my hood. My heroic blanket fantasy from earlier felt about ten times more justified now.

"Scarves tight!" Tyyyvak bellowed over the storm, spreading his furry arms like a snow-drenched wampa. "Hoods up! Tallo. What did I tell you about those icicles?"

Tallo, predictably, looked guilty.

Yoda hopped down the ramp last, staff in hand, and stood planted against the storm like it wasn't even there. His ears flapped in the wind, but his expression was all serenity. Probably on purpose. Jedi loved pretending weather didn't exist.

"Here, the heart of Ilum beats," he called, voice carrying clear despite the blizzard. "Sacred, this place is. To young Jedi it whispers… calling, guiding, testing. Fear not the storm—for within, shines light."

He gave us his best wise-cryptic smile, like he'd just solved the galaxy's hardest riddle, and then gestured toward the looming shape ahead.

Through the storm, the Temple finally came into focus—half-buried in the cliffside, massive ice pillars marking its entrance. The doors were shut tight, glowing faintly with veins of frost. The whole thing radiated ominous homework assignment.

Ahsoka leaned close enough to shout in my ear. "So, do you think we get graded on this?"

"Probably pass/fail," I muttered, pulling my hood tighter. "Hope the Force is a generous grader."

Tyyyvak herded us down the ramp like a pack of freezing banthas, checking hoods, tugging mittens, glaring at any exposed wrists. The snow crunched deep under my boots as we trudged into the whiteout, toward the waiting Temple.

It loomed ahead, carved straight into the mountainside like some giant had taken a chisel to the ice. Smooth pillars of frozen stone framed the entrance, their surfaces shimmering faintly in the pale light. It was beautiful, sure, but mostly it just looked cold. Colder than outside. Which seemed unfair.

The giant doors groaned open as if they hadn't been touched in centuries, even though I was pretty sure Yoda and Tyyyvak dragged kids here every year. Probably just for dramatic effect. The Jedi did love their drama.

Inside, the air shifted—still, heavy, colder than before. The shadows swallowed the last of the light from outside.

Tyyyvak stopped us at the threshold, snow melting in his thick fur, and spread his arms wide like he was about to hug the entire group. His voice rumbled low.

"No one can walk this path for you."

That alone might've been enough, but then Yoda just had to pipe up from somewhere around knee height. "Yet beside you, the Force walks always." His eyes twinkled like he'd just delivered the greatest punchline in the galaxy. "Though separate your paths lead you, alone you are not."

I folded my arms. "So… Force babysitter. Got it."

Tyyyvak huffed, maybe amused, maybe just exasperated. Hard to tell with all the fur.

One by one, the others stepped inside. The shadows seemed to swallow them whole. Ahsoka shot me a quick grin before disappearing through the archway. Maris went without a word, her hood pulled low over her eyes. The rest followed, and suddenly it was just me, Yoda, and a wall of darkness.

I swallowed. My boots crunched on the frost. Then I stepped forward, into the caves.

...​

The storm's howl dulled the moment the ice doors shuddered open. A sharp, crystalline crack echoed through the cavernous chamber, like the Temple itself was sighing awake.

Inside was shadow and silence. The only sound was the crunch of our boots as we stepped onto the frost-glazed stone. Our breaths misted in the cold, curling pale against the dark.

We bunched together instinctively, thirteen small shapes wrapped in oversized robes. The storm still battered the mountain outside, but in here, the silence pressed heavier than the snow ever could.

Ahsoka flexed her fingers, fighting the urge to grab Ben's sleeve. The caves loomed ahead like a yawning throat, dark tunnels branching off in every direction.

"Creepy," Ben muttered, voice just loud enough to carry. "This is literally every horror story setup ever. Group of kids in the haunted cave system. Step one: don't split up."

A nervous ripple went through the group. No one moved forward. The tunnels waited, black mouths gaping, and for a moment the only sound was the wind moaning faintly through the cracks in the door behind them.

Maris broke the silence. "That's not what Master Tyyyvak said." Her voice carried sharp in the stillness, colder than the ice under their boots. She pushed back her hood, pale features stark against the gloom. "Remember? 'No one else can walk this path for you.'" She glanced from one face to the next, amber eyes steady. "We can't huddle together like scaredlings. If this is a test, then it's ours alone."

Ahsoka bristled at the certainty in her tone. Maris always spoke like that—like she already knew the right answer, like she was two steps ahead of the rest of them. It grated on her, especially when the others seemed to take her words as gospel. But at the same time… Ahsoka couldn't deny there was conviction there, a kind of quiet steel she hadn't found in herself yet.

Suspicion and irritation curled in her chest, but so did something else. Curiosity. Respect, maybe. Not that she'd admit it out loud.

Ben opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but his eyes flicked to Ahsoka and then back to Maris. He shut it again with a huff, shoulders slumping.

One by one, the others began peeling away into the tunnels, drawn by something only they could sense. Ahsoka lingered, torn between sticking close and stepping out on her own. Maris was right—no one else could walk this path for her.

She just hated that it was Maris who had to say it.

The stupid, fiend-stealing little—Jedi thoughts, Ahsoka. Jedi thoughts.

She took a deep breath, to center herself. And lingered a moment longer, to steal a glance at Ben.

He shot her a look that was half a smirk, half a grimace. They were both thinking the same thing. Dumb idea. But they're doing it anyway.

And that was the thing about Ben. He always said the thoughts she tried to bury—the sarcastic, the skeptical, the worried—and somehow it made the weight easier to carry. He didn't make the fear go away, but he made it less lonely.

Still, there was no use clinging to him now. No one else can walk this path for her.

So she squared her shoulders, tightened her hood, and stepped into the dark.

...​

The cold deepened as she walked, sharp enough to sting in her chest. The tunnel shifted around her, the walls of ice catching flickers of reflected light that weren't there a moment ago. Her own footfalls seemed to echo too loud, as though the cave itself was listening.

Then the pressure came. Not physical, not entirely—it was the Force pressing against her skin, against her thoughts, as though it wanted to peel her open and look inside.

She inhaled slowly. Just the cave. Just the Force.

But then the tunnel changed.

The shadows sharpened, reshaping themselves into jagged outlines. Ice under her boots cracked and turned to dust. Frosted walls melted into metal bulkheads scorched black with fire. The air filled with smoke.

Ahsoka froze.

Blasterfire rattled down the corridor. Shouts cut through the haze. Shapes surged around her—armored figures in white, with helmets that gleamed like bone. They moved in unison, their steps loud, their rifles snapping to aim.

"Commander!" one of them shouted over the chaos. "Your orders?"

She blinked, startled. Commander?

And then she saw him.

Ben, just a few steps ahead, igniting a lightsaber that wasn't there a moment before. His expression was tight with focus, the usual easy humor gone. He looked at her like he expected her to know what to do.

Her mouth went dry.

"Commander!" another armored soldier called, voice sharp with urgency. Enemies—dark shapes—were charging down the smoke-filled corridor. Too many. Far too many.

Her heart thudded. She had no idea what to say. No plan. No clue who these soldiers even were.

I'm not a commander. I'm ten.

But they were looking at her like their lives depended on it.

"Uh—hold formation!" she shouted, forcing the words out. Her voice cracked, but the soldiers obeyed instantly, lining up, rifles firing into the advancing shadows.

For a heartbeat, it worked. The enemy stumbled.

Then the left flank broke. Screams. Armor crumpling under blasterfire. One soldier fell, then another, and another.

Ben yelled something she couldn't hear, diving forward to block a strike. A blade of red light clashed against his.

The battle dissolved into chaos.

Her chest heaved. This was wrong. Every order she gave seemed to make it worse. Too slow, too hesitant. She shouted to retreat, and more soldiers fell in the scramble. She ordered them to hold, and they were overrun.

One by one, the white-armored figures collapsed, their voices cutting off into silence.

"No," she whispered, throat tight. "No, no, no—"

Through the ringing in her ears, Yoda's voice cut like a bell.

"The burden of command, heavy it is. To lead… is to risk. To choose… is to bear."

Her knees hit the ground. The acrid smoke burned her lungs. Around her lay the fallen, faceless soldiers, and Ben among them—still, silent.

Her vision blurred. "I—I didn't mean to—"

The guilt coiled sharp in her stomach. A weight heavier than the storm outside, heavier than anything she'd carried before.

But beneath it, another voice stirred. Not words. Just the quiet sense of the Force pressing close. Waiting.

She bowed her head, clutching her fists. "I won't let it happen again," she whispered hoarsely. "Never again."

The smoke thinned. The sounds of blasters faded. Slowly, the battlefield melted back into the icy cavern, leaving only silence.

And in the silence—light.

A shard of crystal jutted from the ice wall ahead, glowing faintly, as though it had been waiting for her all along. Its glow was small, but steady. Warm.

Her breath caught. She reached out.

The moment her fingers brushed it, the cave seemed to exhale. The light flared, brighter, pulsing with her heartbeat. The guilt in her chest didn't vanish, but the crystal seemed to answer it: You can grow. You can lead. You can become worthy.

Ahsoka closed her eyes, pressing the crystal to her palm. She wasn't ready yet. Not even close.

But she would be.

...​

The others' footsteps faded almost as soon as they began. One moment, the group had been clustered in the frozen antechamber; the next, the tunnels shifted around them, narrowing and twisting like living veins of ice. Maris felt the separation like a door slamming shut.

She stopped, head snapping back over her shoulder. The faint outlines of the others were gone, swallowed by shadow and frost. The only sound was the crunch of her own boots on the frozen floor.

Good.

Her jaw tightened, though she forced her pace to remain steady. She didn't need them. She never had.

The tunnel curved deeper into the mountain, walls glittering with shards of frozen crystal. Her breath puffed white in front of her, quickening despite her attempts to steady it. With each step, the silence grew heavier. Not empty silence — thick, suffocating, like something waiting just beyond her perception.

Then came the whisper.

Maris.

She froze. The sound didn't echo — it slipped into her ear like breath against her skin, intimate and cold.

Her fingers curled. "Who's there?"

The tunnel did not answer. But the shadows in the ice seemed to shift, curling in long, dark tendrils. Shapes almost formed — clawed hands, reaching, retreating. And then, words again:

No one will ever look down on you again.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

No one will ever dismiss you. Scorn you. Forget you.

Her teeth clenched. She knew that voice. Not the tone — the tone was soft, insidious, coaxing. But the meaning behind it, the promise? She had heard it all her life, unspoken in the way Masters corrected her too quickly, in the way peers avoided her gaze, in the way even Tano looked at her sometimes like she was a problem waiting to happen.

The shadows coiled tighter.

Take it. Take your place. Power is yours if you want it.

The ice walls ahead shuddered. Out from them stepped a figure — tall, cloaked, the hood shadowing a pale face.

Her own face.

Yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness, sickly bright. The double's lips curved into a slow smile.

"You know what we could be," the shadow-Mariss said, voice deeper, resonant. "If you stop clinging to their approval. If you stop waiting for them to see you."

Her hand extended, pale fingers tipped in frost.

Maris's throat dried. She stared at the hand, her own hand, offered like a lifeline. The shadow radiated confidence, certainty — the kind she forced herself to mimic every day, but never quite felt. This other version wore it naturally, like a second skin.

"Take my hand," the double coaxed. "No one will ever look down on us again. Not Jedi, not Masters, not anyone."

Her own fingers twitched upward.

She imagined the look on Tano's face — on Ben's face — if she came out of these caves glowing with a crystal already attuned, strong enough to silence every whisper behind her back. They would have to respect her. They would have no choice.

The shadow smiled wider, sensing the crack. "Yes. You've always known the truth, haven't you? You're meant for more."

Maris's breath came fast, clouding in the frigid air. Her hand rose higher, almost meeting its twin.

And then—

Tyyyvak's voice echoed in her mind. Calm. Deep. Certain.

"No one leaves Ilum without the crystal meant for them."

Her hand stopped an inch short.

The shadow's smile faltered.

If she took that hand, what would she be holding? It wasn't a crystal. It wasn't hers. It was a shortcut — a promise built on chains she couldn't yet see.

"No."

The word cracked in the air, sharp and loud.

Her hand dropped back to her side.

The shadow's yellow eyes flared, rage boiling through the false calm. "Fool." The tendrils lashed out, striking toward her — but the ice walls shuddered again, fissures of light breaking through the dark.

The ground trembled beneath her boots.

And there, in the fracture of the frozen wall, something glowed. A shard of crystal, small and faint, its light hesitant. As though uncertain if she deserved it.

Maris staggered toward it, breath ragged. The shadows clawed at her ankles, but the glow grew stronger the closer she came. She dropped to one knee, pressing her palm to the ice, and the shard broke free into her waiting hand.

It was warm. Against the cold, against the dark, it pulsed gently, steady and alive. Not triumphant — not blazing like the others might find. But it was there.

Hers.

Behind her, the shadow hissed, retreating into the walls. Its yellow eyes lingered longest, burning holes into her as they sank back into the frost.

Maris clutched the crystal tighter. Its glow was fragile, but real.

She wasn't free of the whisper. Not yet. She could still feel it coiled somewhere deep in her chest, waiting.

But for now, she had chosen.

And the cavern released her.

...​

The cave closed in around me faster than the others. One second I was squinting through shadows with the group, the next I blinked and—bam. Nothing. Just me, my own breath, and a tunnel that looked like a frostbitten gundark's throat.

"Great," I muttered. "First rule of scary caves: don't split up. So naturally the cave itself splits me up. Fantastic start."

The walls shimmered faintly, catching some glow that didn't have a source. Every crunch of my boots echoed like it belonged to someone else. I hugged my robe tighter, more for nerves than warmth, though Force knew I was freezing.

Then I heard it.

"Ben."

My stomach plummeted. That wasn't a cave-echo. That was Satine. Her voice, careful, clipped, but carrying a warmth I hadn't realized I'd been starved of until now.

"Ben!" Another voice joined it. Korkie. My idiot twin. Brash and loud and already sounding like he'd gotten himself lost again.

My heart just about somersaulted into my throat. I bolted forward before my brain caught up.

"Korkie? M- Aunt Satine?" My voice cracked like I was back in prepubescent Temple choir. "Where are you—"

And then he was there.

Obi-Wan.

Blocking the tunnel like the world's politest roadblock. His silhouette was lit from nowhere, beard neat, robes exactly as they always were. He looked younger than the real one—less tired—but his eyes… his eyes carried centuries.

"Stay," he said softly. "Please."

I skidded to a stop, boots scraping ice. "What?"

"The galaxy will tear you apart if you walk away. You are safer here, with us. With me."

I blinked at him. My pulse was still thundering, but sarcasm filled the gap panic left behind. "Oh, so we're doing the cryptic trauma theatre thing today? Excellent. Ten out of ten, very immersive staging. Truly, Master Kenobi, the Academy would be proud."

He didn't so much as twitch a smile. Which, honestly, was peak Obi-Wan.

I gestured vaguely at the walls. "You're not real. And no offense, but the real you would've already sighed at me by now. Possibly rubbed your temples."

"Ben." His tone sharpened. "Listen to me. You cannot leave. You will lose everything if you do."

I froze. Because the thing about visions? They always know how to jab at your ribs where it hurts most.

And stars help me, he looked almost desperate. Like the real Obi-Wan when he tried not to show he cared too much.

But still—Satine's voice called again. Korkie's too.

I shook my head, throat tight. "Sorry, Kenobi. Family trumps theatre." I sidestepped him and ran.

The moment I turned away, the cave warped.

The ground dipped, ice cracking beneath me like glass. I stumbled, tried to steady myself—but when I looked up, I wasn't in a cave anymore.

I was standing in Mandalore's throne room.

I'd only been there a few times, but I knew those soaring arches, that cold marble floor. Except now, it was darker. Shadows clung to the corners like cobwebs. And on the throne—

"Ah." My voice went dry. "Well. That's… not supposed to happen."

Maul sat there.

Red-and-black tattoos gleamed beneath the throne's pale light. His horns glinted sharp as blades. His yellow eyes locked on me like a predator sighting dinner.

"So," he purred, voice rolling like thunder over glass. "You have chosen a new path."

I swallowed hard. "…Hi. Love what you've done with the place. Very cozy."

He rose slowly, deliberate, like a krayt dragon stretching its claws.

"Shun the light," he said. "And darkness will follow."

Shadows bled from the floor around him, coiling like serpents. And then—they weren't shadows anymore.

They were people.

One by one, figures stepped out of the dark. Dooku, looming with aristocratic disdain. Ventress, pale grin sharp enough to cut glass. Savage, hulking brute, eyes blazing. Sidious, crooked and cold, every inch of him whispering corruption. Vader, faceless mask breathing like a nightmare. Inquisitors fanned out, sabers hissing to life.

I was surrounded.

"Oh." My laugh came out thin. "The whole family reunion. Lovely. I don't suppose you brought catering?"

They didn't answer. They just closed in.

Each one was a storm of power and rage. I could feel it through the Force, pressing down on me until my knees wobbled.

Dooku's voice slithered over the rest. "So much potential, wasted on childish defiance."

Ventress chuckled. "He won't last a day."

Vader's respirator rasped like a death knell.

Sidious leaned forward, grin splitting. "You will be ours."

My chest tightened. They weren't just Sith. They were every insecurity I'd ever tried to laugh off. Every failure I hadn't lived through yet but already felt looming.

It was too much.

Too many.

"Right," I breathed, pulse hammering. "Survive first, therapy later."

I didn't wait for them to strike. Instinct roared, and I bolted for the throne's side passage. I'd been here before. I knew Mandalore's palace had hidden ways—Satine had whispered it once with that little half-smile.

My boots pounded marble, then stone, then ice again as the passage warped beneath me. The Sith shadows followed, but I ducked and dove and scrambled like a rat in a maze.

The Force screamed danger at me every second. Blades hissed too close, lightning cracked near my back, snarls echoed through the walls.

But I didn't stop.

Because stopping meant letting them win.

And if there's one thing I'd learned about myself? Even against nightmares, I was too stubborn to quit.

...​

Ahsoka's boots skidded slightly on the frost as she rounded a corner in the caves, her breath puffing white in the air. The crystal was warm in her hand—strange, considering the endless chill around her—but she clutched it tightly, afraid that if she let go it would vanish like the rest of the visions had.

The corridors all looked the same. Smooth ice, jagged crystal, light bending in ways that made her feel dizzy if she stared too long. Somewhere between finding her kyber and trying to retrace her steps, she'd gotten turned around.

"Great," she muttered, eyes flicking back. "Lose myself after I succeed. That's a Jedi first."

She slowed, holding the crystal up as if it could act like a lantern. It didn't. At least, not in the practical way she wanted. The glow just refracted and multiplied, bouncing off the walls until it seemed like she was carrying a whole fistful of green sparks.

That was when she saw movement—someone sprinting through the hall ahead.

"Ben?"

Sure enough, he barreled into view, cloak askew, hair sticking out, eyes wide like he'd just been chased by a pack of gundarks. He skidded to a halt when he spotted her, shoulders rising and falling with ragged breaths.

"Oh good," he said, voice too casual for how panicked he looked. "Friendly face. Don't mind me, just—uh—running. From… stuff."

Ahsoka blinked. "From what?"

He glanced over his shoulder, then back at her. "Not important. Good news, though—whatever it was, it's not following me anymore. So I think we can call that a win."

She frowned. "You were being chased?"

"Yes. Hm. Allegedly. Possibly." He coughed into his sleeve. "Visions of… Let's not get bogged down in details."

She crossed her arms. "You know visions can't actually hurt you, right?"

"Intellectually? Sure." He jabbed a thumb at his chest. "Biologically? Tell that to my fight-or-flight response, which rudely activates before my brain does any analysis. Just because my heart doesn't know it's fake doesn't mean it isn't convinced I was about to die."

Ahsoka stared. "…Was it really that bad?"

He gave a weak laugh. "It was pretty bad, yes."

"So what did you see?"

Ben froze mid-step, then very deliberately looked at the ceiling. "Um. You know. Can't really remember. Snow, ice, Force stuff. That kind of thing."

Ahsoka tilted her head, montrals twitching. He was lying. He was terrible at lying. She always knew when he was lying—because he had this thing he did with his voice, stretching syllables just slightly too long, like he thought he was buying time. Plus, he never looked anyone in the eyes when he fibbed. Once, he'd tried to convince her he hadn't stolen extra ration bars from the Temple kitchens. Except he said "Nooo, I didn't," while very obviously chewing.

This was the exact same tone.

Right. He was hiding something.

Ben quickly barreled ahead before she could call him on it. "A-anyways, I see you got your crystal! Congrats! Don't suppose you had to go through some vision-quest nightmare too, did you?"

"Yeah," she admitted. "Not fun."

"No kidding. What did you see?"

Ahsoka hesitated. Her throat tightened, thinking back to the flickering shadows of her own fears. But if he wasn't being honest, why should she? "…Um, you know. Can't really remember. Snow, ice, Force stuff. That kind of thing."

Ben squinted. "You stole my line."

"You didn't copyright it." She smirked.

He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning a wound. "Betrayal. At least let me look at your prize."

She opened her palm, letting the green crystal catch the light. It gleamed brighter than ever now, alive somehow in her grasp.

Ben leaned close, even going as far as to pick it up with his near frost bitten fingers to study it. "It's very… green."

"…Is that it?" She scowled, crossing her arms.

"I didn't want to say anything, but…" He squinted. "…is it cracked?"

Her eyes widened. "What?!"

She snatched it back, heart hammering. For a terrifying second she thought he was right—the crystal did look fractured. A faint line ran across its surface, growing deeper and deeper before, with a faint crack, the stone split into two. Ahsoka gasped. Both halves shimmered, identical, humming with energy.

"I broke it," she blurted. "Ben, I broke my crystal!"

He held up his hands quickly. "Whoa, calm down, calm down. That's not a bad thing. Sometimes kybers do that. Means they're—uh—multipurpose."

"Multipurpose?!"

"Yeah! You know. For when someone wants to… dual wield."

She blinked at him. "Seriously?"

"Look, I don't make the Force rules, I just… report them." He gave a helpless shrug.

Her panic faded into awe as she turned the two crystals over in her hands. Two lightsabers. The idea made her grin despite herself.

"…Okay. That's actually kind of amazing."

"Told you." Ben rocked back on his heels. "You're welcome."

She gave him a look. "You didn't do anything."

"Emotional support counts," he said, grinning.

Rolling her eyes, she tucked the crystals safely away. "So. Do you want help finding your crystal now?"

Ben hesitated, then gave her a lopsided smile. "I appreciate it, but no one else can walk this path—"

"—for us," she cut in. "Yeah, Ben. I was listening to the masters, too." And Maris. "But they didn't say anything about walking the path together. Huh?"

Before he could reply, the caves themselves shifted. A sheet of ice-crystal surged upward between them, cutting across the hall like a barrier. The wall was translucent—she could see Ben's outline on the other side, hear the muffled sound of his voice—but the path was closed.

Ahsoka pressed her palms against the cold surface. "Great. Perfect timing."

Ben leaned in on his side, face distorted by the crystal. "Guess the caves don't like loopholes."

She groaned, resisting the urge to bang her head against the wall. If she had her lightsaber already, she could've cut through. She held up her twin kybers in frustration. "I really wish these worked right now. Hold tight. I'll find a way to get to you."

Ben smiled faintly, though his voice was quieter. "Don't bother. You've already got what you came for. That's the important part."

She narrowed her eyes. "What about you?"

"I'll manage." He gave a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. "Besides, the door's only going to stay open so long. You should head back before it closes."

"And just leave you?"

"Not leave," he corrected. "I'll see you there—when I've got my own crystal."

She hesitated, still pressing her palm to the wall. His silhouette wavered, the ice distorting his shape until he looked smaller, farther away.

"…You'd better," she whispered.

Ben's outline lifted a hand, palm pressed against the same spot as hers, separated only by the crystal wall. "Deal."

...​

So is my selfless, confident, heroic moment over? We good? Good. Now then. What am I supposed to do?!

Seriously. I have no idea where I'm going. These tunnels all look exactly the same—icy walls, glittery reflections, faint whispers of "mystical destiny." It's like walking through the galaxy's most confusing jewelry store. "Yes, I'll take the aisle that doesn't end in an existential crisis, please."

Okay, calm down, Ben. Just. Breathe.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. That's what Master Tyyyvak said, right? Focus. Listen to the Force. And… follow.

Hopefully, this time it won't leave me surrounded by half a dozen Sith Lords.

That memory makes me shiver harder than the cold does. All yellow eyes and sneering voices, whispering that I was already theirs. I ran before my brain caught up. Classic me. It's fine. It's fine. That was just the cave being… cave-y. The Force trying to make a point. A scary, nightmare-inducing, "you're doomed" kind of point, but still.

…Force, I hope Ahsoka's doing better than me.

I trudge deeper, boots crunching against the frost, and after what feels like forever, the tunnel widens. My breath fogs as I step into a cavern that opens into—oh. Oh, no.

A chasm.

The tunnel floor just… ends. Like the galaxy's biggest rug pull. In front of me is a vast crack in the ice, yawning open into nothingness. On the far side, a cluster of crystals glimmer faintly, like stars caught in frozen webs. One of them pulses. Just once. A small, but brilliant flash, timed perfectly with the frantic thud in my chest.

That's mine. I know it.

Of course it is.

Of course the Force decided my soul-bonded crystal would be dangling over a bottomless pit. Because why make things easy? No, no, let's make the ten-year-old Jedi youngling prove himself by not plummeting into oblivion. Ten out of ten safety rating. Would definitely recommend to a friend.

I crouch at the edge, squinting into the void. Nothing but shadow. I grab a small rock, flick it off the edge, and wait.

One… two… three…

Seven seconds later, a faint clink.

"Right. Seven seconds deep. That's… probably not good."

I lean back from the edge, swallowing hard. The funny thing about Star Wars—people fall into chasms all the time. It's practically a rite of passage. Darth Maul, Mace Windu, Obi-Wan—seriously, half of Jedi training could just be summarized as "you're gonna fall off something tall eventually, try not to die when it happens."

But here's the thing: falling is easy. Surviving the fall? Fine, use Force Slow, tuck and roll, whatever. Getting across? Whole different story.

So. Options. I could try to jump. Which… would be the stupidest idea ever. I'd make it maybe halfway, even with the Force helping me out. Then it'd be "Ben Kryze, child prodigy, tragically flattened by physics."

Or. Hear me out. Maybe I can use the Force to build… something. An ice-bridge? That's a thing, right? Ice is solid. Bridges are solid. Put the two together, presto. If it works for Elsa, it works for me.

I kneel at the edge, close my eyes, and reach.

The cold bites at my fingers, creeping under my tunic, but beneath it there's something else. A current. The same whispering tug that led me here. The Force doesn't speak in words—not to me, anyway—but it hums, steady and patient, like a heartbeat in the ice.

I stretch my hand out.

The snow shifts. Frost cracks. A shard of ice quivers loose from the wall, hovering in the air like it's waiting for instructions. Another follows. Then another.

My eyes snap open. I'm doing it. I'm actually doing it.

Piece by piece, chunks of ice float into place, stacking, slotting, fusing together. My breath hitches as a narrow span begins to take shape, stretching out over the abyss. It's shaky, uneven, but it's real. A bridge.

"I'm either a genius," I mutter, "or about to be the dumbest obituary in Temple history."

I put one boot on the first slab. It creaks.

I put my weight on it. It holds.

Okay. Okay. This could work.

Step by step, I inch across, arms out for balance. The bridge sways under me like it knows how nervous I am. I try not to look down, which of course means I look down. Straight into seven seconds of empty.

"Focus, Ben. Focus. You've got this. Totally got this. Yup. Just… don't think about falling. Or dying. Or how Obi-Wan's going to kill you again if you die before him."

Halfway across. My heart's hammering, but the crystal is right there, glowing brighter with every step. Like it's cheering me on.

I reach the far side and drop to my knees, panting, fingers brushing the icy rock. My hands are shaking, but I made it.

The crystal hangs in front of me, half-embedded in the ice wall, faintly luminous. It pulses again, perfectly in rhythm with my racing pulse.

For once, I don't feel the need to make a joke.

It's… beautiful.

Carefully, I reach out. The glow swells, warming my fingertips even through the cold. And the moment I touch it—

—everything else fades.

The cave, the cold, the chasm. Gone.

It's just me. And the crystal. And the Force, singing through both of us, like a chord finally striking true.

The light flares, bright enough to blind. I feel it thrumming in my chest, in my bones, in every part of me. It's not just a rock. It's a promise. A partner.

Mine.

When the glow fades, the crystal rests in my palm. Small, but steady. I cradle it carefully, like it might vanish if I breathe too hard.

For the first time since stepping into these caves, I'm not scared.

I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

Exactly where I want to be.

…Except for solid ground. Which is looking a lot more appealing than a self-constructed ice bridge that relies on my complete concentration to stay in place. In hindsight, maybe I should've just Force Pulled the crystal to me.

Live and learn. Hopefully.

The thought barely finishes before the ice beneath me groans. A sound like glass cracking. My stomach drops faster than my feet.

"Aw, come on—"

The bridge shatters.

And then I'm falling.

I don't even have time to scream. Instinct takes over. My arms fling wide, and the Force surges, thick and cold around me. Not a shield. Not a wall. Just—slowing. Like invisible hands dragging at my tunic, at my boots, tugging me toward the ground with a stubborn, sticky kind of resistance.

It's jarring. My knees still buckle when I hit the icy floor, but I'm not a smear on the chasm wall. Small victories.

"Okay," I pant, leaning forward, hands braced on my knees. "New rule. Next time there's a bottomless pit? Just throw a rock in it and walk away."

"Ben?"

The voice makes my head snap up. Not Satine. Not Korkie. Smaller. Nervous.

Maris.

She's hugging herself against the cold, wide-eyed, her steps hesitant as she emerges from a side tunnel. The snowflakes sticking in her hair make her look even more lost.

"You too, huh?" I say, exhaling a long breath. "Got the 'wander around until everything looks the same' tour package?"

Her mouth quirks like she wants to smile, but can't quite manage it. "I… I think I took a wrong turn."

"Join the club. Membership fee's just mild hypothermia."

She blinks, then actually laughs—a quick, nervous burst, but real. I grin despite myself.

"Come on," I say, offering a hand. "Force says this way."

She stares at my hand like it's a lifeline, then takes it. Her palm is icy cold. I give it a squeeze, then start tugging her along.

The Force thrums in the back of my head again. Not words. Not visions. Just a pull. A certainty. I follow it.

Turns out it's better than any star map. We weave through frozen corridors, each one narrower, darker, as if the ice itself wants to push us out. The rumble starts low—a grinding, cracking sound that shakes the frost from the ceiling.

"Uh," I say. "That doesn't sound good."

The tunnel trembles. Ice walls start shifting, slabs sliding into place like the world's angriest puzzle box.

Maris gasps. "It's closing!"

"Then we run!"

We sprint, our boots slapping against slick ice. The corridor ahead is shrinking, walls shoving together with terrifying speed. The entrance—a jagged break in the blue glow of the caves—is still far. Too far.

The kids ahead of us are already squeezing through, scrambling out into the wider chamber. Ahsoka's orange skin is the last flash of color before a wall of ice nearly slams her in.

"Ahsoka!"

She's stuck. One leg through, the other pinned by a narrowing gap. Panic spikes through me—her panic, my panic, mixed together.

Without thinking, I shove Maris forward. "Go! Get through!"

She stumbles, vanishes into the opening.

I stretch out my hand, the Force roaring in my chest. Not gentle this time. Not careful. Just raw instinct.

"Move!"

Ahsoka yelps as she's yanked forward like a doll, tumbling into the chamber beyond. But at least she made it.

Me? I barely had time to do a Force Enhanced Indiana Jones style barrel roll back through, before the temple door behind me.

I stumped back to my feet, knees wobbling, lungs burning, but alive. The ice groans behind us, snapping and sliding into place with finality. I glance back once. The last slab of the door locks shut, a jagged wall of crystal and frost. Silence fills the tunnel, heavy and echoing.

Breathing hard, I straighten, brushing frost off my robes, squinting at the chamber beyond. Every crèche kid accounted for. Hearts pounding, shivering, some laughing nervously, others still staring at the ice as if it might reopen and swallow them whole.

"Everyone… survived?" I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.

Ahsoka claps a hand on my shoulder, smirking, though her eyes are still wide. "Barely," she says, voice teasing but tinged with awe. "You were… not subtle."

"Subtlety is for people who don't almost fall to their deaths," I reply. "I prefer dramatic flair. Very Jedi. Very heroic."

Maris stands beside me, still clutching her crystal, eyes shining with relief. "Thanks… for not letting me get lost," she says quietly.

"Force said follow me," I shrug, "but I take credit anyway. Hero points. Probably. Somewhere."

We all shuffle forward, the chill biting less now that the adrenaline's fading. The cave doors behind us are nothing but frozen memory. Ahead lies the temple chamber, warm lights reflecting off icy stalactites and stalagmites, welcoming, safe.

I glance at our little group. Thirteen kids, thirteen crystals, thirteen paths converged again. Somehow, all thirteen made it through the trials. Somehow, we didn't leave anyone behind, and somehow, I didn't die. That counts as a win.

I tuck the crystal carefully into my robe pocket, feeling its pulse sync with my heartbeat. A quiet, personal victory. Step one complete. Step two… well, figuring out the rest is tomorrow's problem.

Maris nudges me lightly. "We… did it."

"Yeah," I say, smiling, "we did it."

...​

The warm glow of the Temple stretched around us like a blanket, melting the cold from my bones before I even realized it had been there. Frost-crusted boots crunched against the stone floor as our little crèche trudged forward, tired but triumphant. Tyyyvak was already there, arms wide, fur bristling with pride.

"Ah… my younglings," she rumbled, sweeping us all in a massive, slightly suffocating embrace. "Maris… bravery grows in your heart. And you, Ben Kryze are most… Inventive. Clever… but reckless."

I chuckled despite myself, pulling back just enough to breathe. "I prefer… 'heroically innovative,' thank you very much." Reckless tends to disqualify you from Jedi of the Year.

Her eyes glimmered with amusement—or maybe that was just the ice still clinging to her fur.

Yoda, perched nearby, chuckled in his tiny, knowing way. "Survived, all did. Great potential, all of you show. Keepers of harmony, you will be."

I shot a sidelong glance at Ahsoka, who was dusting snow off her robes with a casual flick of her wrist.

I muttered under my breath, holding my crystal tight. "I cannot wait to have a nice, warm lightsaber in hand. I never knew it was possible to hate the cold this much."

Ahsoka gave me a sly grin, tilting her head. "Hey, you know you had it easy, right? Humans live on cold planets all the time. Togrutas? Not so much. Do you see any fur on me?"

I waved a hand vaguely, dramatic. "It's called hair, Ahsoka! And can't you see how much I've suffered? Look at how red my nose is!"

Her smirk widened, and she gave me a gentle poke. "Aw, poor little baby. I'm sorry, is your nose red? Well, all of my skin is orange!"

I blinked, trying to process her logic. "…Isn't it… isn't it always?"

"Not the point, Ben."

Kinda feels like it is, I thought, ignoring her correction.

She leaned closer, curiosity sparking in her blue eyes. "So… what color kyber did you get?"

I froze for a moment, inwardly groaning at her obvious deflection. But… fine. I had been wondering too. Didn't really get a good look at it earlier, between the running and the falling. And the saving. I totally deserve to be Jedi of the Year.

I pulled the crystal from my pocket and let it catch the light. A vivid green flared, calm and steady, perfectly synced to my heartbeat.

"…Green. My kyber color is green."

Ahsoka's grin softened, pride and amusement mingling. "Green. We're twins! Or… triplets? You'll do well with it."

I nodded, letting a quiet warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with escaping the icy tunnels. The Force hummed gently, the crystal's pulse echoing in my chest.

The other younglings were chatting among themselves, comparing colors, recounting visions, trying to make sense of the trials. I could see a glimmer of awe in their eyes at each other's courage, at the paths each had taken. Somehow, in the midst of snow, ice, and visions of potential doom, we had all made it back. Alive. Stronger. Changed.

I shifted my weight, feeling the small weight of the crystal in my palm, familiar now, almost like an extension of myself. A quiet smile tugged at my lips. Tomorrow, the real work would start—training, lessons, everything. But for now…

For now, we survived the caves. And I had a magic crystal that felt like it belonged to me, and me to it.

Ahsoka nudged my shoulder lightly, and I looked up at her grin. "You know," she said, "you're probably going to have to explain that 'heroically innovative' thing later."

I rolled my eyes, smirking back. "Yeah, yeah. Step two, I suppose."

The warmth of the Temple, the calm of the Force, and the faint thrum of the crystal in my pocket reminded me of one thing: even in the most impossible situations, even dangling over chasms or facing visions that make your stomach drop, there's a way forward. And we'd found it. Together… in our own ways.

Pretty cool.

...​

I did consider Ben making the second Dark Saber in history.

But then I thought, nah! Green is good. He can always steal the Dark Saber, later. But having your own, meaningful, original lightsaber? That's special.

Hope you all enjoyed. This was, hands down, the longest chapter I've written in quite some time. Enough so, that I seriously considered splitting it in two. But that would have definitely made it a cliff hanger. Which is something I never want to do. I hate that feeling, of wanting to know so desperately what happens next, but having to wait a week to know for sure.

Speaking of, if you hate that feeling too, feel free to check out my Patreon, link below:

My Patreon

 

[Starman25]

Regarding Ahsoka's nightmare: it would be good if she studied military tactics well and had good relations with what's left of the Republic's military to be more efficient in leading troops in the war.

 

[Stelarwand030]

You started calling master Tyyyvak as if she was a male part way into the story.

From here on: "Scarves tight!" Tyyyvak bellowed over the storm, spreading his furry arms like a snow-drenched wampa.

 

[Sceptic]

But having your own, meaningful, original lightsaber? That's special.

Click to shrink...

Right up until you manage to lose your third or fourth original meaningful lightsaber. *coiugh*Anakin*cough*

 

[HoxShorelight]

if i was right, Maris have some weird Tonfa thing as her weapon right , Light Tonfa ?
Ben could make a long sword type of Lightsaber as well not always have to use the same type as other Jedi

 

[PepeDeLosPalotes]

Thanks for the chapter, was expecting blue tbh

 

[DeviantSix]

Already giving Ahsoka a taste of the child soldier trauma I see. Nice.

Great chapter btw, and I very much agree with the lightsaber idea. A second darksaber could've been fun, but doing it this way feels right. I like how he doesn't even have anything to say about his prior hope for another darksaber type crystal too, this one feeling right and perfect for him.

 

[lancelot]

But then I thought, nah! Green is good. He can always steal the Dark Saber, later. But having your own, meaningful, original lightsaber? That's special.

Click to shrink...

Let it be green but shape the blade like the dark saber. Call it a Mando style blade.