The Force Always Says Yes [Star Wars]

[Hyenanon]

Spoiler: Author's Note

A/N
Got sidetracked while making a CYOA into working on this old fanfiction I started several years ago, and after some personal life experiences and advice from friends, decided I should post it online somewhere rather than let it rot on my hard drive like I originally planned. I have not posted a fanfiction anywhere on the internet in many, many years, and I have never done so here, so I have fairly little idea of how to do so and I ask that you be patient with my butterfingers. I'll try to figure out how things like how threadmarks work as we go.

This story takes place in 200 BBY, over a century before Palpatine was even born--although Yoda has been Grandmaster for quite some time. It's the last dregs of the Golden Age of the Republic. For the purposes of canon, I'm going by the old EU continuity as I recall it from the games, books, comics, extraneous details like the holonet, and most of all the movies. I don't really consider anything done by Disney, pre- or post-purchase.

I've already written something like 30,000 words of this, but I'll be editing the chapters before I post them, so I don't know how quickly they'll be coming out. Each of the chapters are usually pretty short, and I've named all of them after lines of dialogue in the movies, because...it's like poetry. It rhymes. If you're up for a game, try to guess how it will apply to the chapter in question.

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Chapter 1: Is That Legal?
​

Of all the odd ones—and there certainly were a few—Nerim had to be one of the oddest. This was readily apparent to all of his instructors, and presented itself clearly to the quartermaster of the Initiate Tournament when he provided his request to her.

"I would like a lightsaber, please, as well as those two blaster pistols, and some sunglasses," he politely asked as he pointed.

She raised an eyebrow. The temple on Coruscant was halfway through its annual exhibition, designed meticulously to show off the potential of younglings in the Jedi arts as quickly as possible for the benefit of busy masters and knights looking to take on their own apprentice. Nerim had performed below average in all former categories, and now as it came to combat testing, he asked for a blaster.

Which is why, in this case, she looked at him incredulously. "Child, you realize the meaning of this tournament, yes?"

"Of course," he replied.

"Then why would you bring such a tool? I admit that they are useful in certain circumstances, but the purpose of sparring in this tournament is to show your skill as a potential Jedi."

He frowned. "Nowhere in the Code or any accompanying texts does it say we have to use lightsabers. Trust me, I had to recite half the library backwards earlier today."

"Do not make light of our tenets," she warned while reaching out with the Force to call a training lightsaber to her hand. "Regardless, Masters are here to see that their student can defend themselves in the way expected of a Jedi; and the expected way is through lightsaber combat."

Then, he raised an eyebrow. "What, lightsaber on lightsaber conflict? Isn't that a bit defeatist about this whole Jedi Order thing? I thought everyone with a lightsaber was supposed to be on our side now. And besides, there's no reason a Master would reject a potential Padawan simply because they won or lost in an unexpected way, unless they only want things that they expect, and that's arrogance right?"

"You ask many prickly questions, Nerim."

She carefully handed him the hilt of a training lightsaber, which he daintily took and holstered upon his belt as he watched her retrieve his requested pistols. "I suppose I do," he managed to say.

"I sense an apprehension in you, in regards to the gravitas of this day. Is something troubling you?"

He shrugged. "I do not expect to become a Padawan by the end of the year. If you want me to be honest, there are times I wonder if you're all just wrong and I'm not sensitive to the Force at all."

"The Council does not make mistakes of that nature, young Nerim. You were born with the spark. The Force flows through all beings, but especially you, and the rest of us here. You know this. One need not even be born with the spark to rival a great Jedi born in a temple itself, but you are, and it is a great advantage. So why do you wish to sabotage your own chances?"

His frown deepened, and his cheeks puffed out with restrained annoyance. "I am not sabotaging myself. Do not presume I'm not trying to reach my limits simply because I know they exist. I want to win at least one or two matches, and I am a poor lightsaber combatant, thus I need other options. In fact, I need more options than my opponents, so I may pursue them down an avenue they are also poor at. This is a sound tactical decision."

"For now," she finally relented and handed him a pistol as well, "However these tactics of yours will age poorly. Form with a lightsaber gets better with age and repetition; tricks and deceptions decrease in value the longer they are known."

He took the blaster, unwilling to bargain for more equipment at the cost of annoying teacher-student conversing. "To a point, perhaps, but lightsaber combat is on the same general trajectory of getting worse. I'd think you would be well aware of that," obviously referencing her age.

Though the comment poked at her ego, she retained control and watched him with a serene expression as he turned and moved to his own waiting area. "Wit is not the same as wisdom, nor intelligence, young Nerim," she spoke to him, her voice carrying easily through the wide corridors of the Temple.

He pretended not to hear her as he entered the chamber, wanting little more than to sulk. He convinced himself to keep trying, however, at least a little. He was careful to hide the pistol he picked out, more of a holdout weapon than anything, barely capable of two stun-shots without lengthy reloading. But it was small, and fit in the folds of his tunic where most wouldn't look, instead keeping their eyes on his utility belt, ankles, and other likely places for surprises to come from.

Most of the other initiates had already taken their seats, level to the arena floor, while the prospective knights and masters loitered around on an upper level to look down upon them. The lights were set up on the high ceiling in such a way that it was difficult to make out the faces of any of the hooded masters in the crowd. Nerim often wondered if he would simply forget how ominous-to-the-point-of-parody that seemed once he grew up, as he knew of no other explanation why it would still be that way.

Still, it was easy for him to find his seat, a simple mat on the floor next to another initiate, a human of the name Douno Var-Noim, the prospective opponent for his first match. It was tradition for two opponents to sit beside one another before a battle, so as to feel one another's emotions and quell any sense of hostility, keeping the duel a clean and non-passionate display of skill.

Nerim presumed that actually worked, but as for him, he couldn't sense a damn thing. They both pointedly avoided making eye contact as they waited for the rest of the competing initiates to filter in, and then the opening speech to end.

Once the wisdom of the ancients—a term that started meaning less and less to Nerim as it got thrown around more often—was finished being dispensed like cola from a vending machine, the first duel began. A Nautolan and a Togruta clashed and danced about one another skillfully, coming to a swift end with a false edge feint and a swipe to the legs.

Nerim knew the names to all these techniques he saw. He did not know how to perform any of them.
The instructor watched as the victor helped the loser stand up, and then asked them to explain what they learned in their duel, and why it ended up as it did. Despite not using the Force, Nerim could predict everything they would say. And yet he still doubted he could replicate it.
The malaise of his impending failure began to set upon him. As much as he lacked understanding as to why the Masters thought the way they did, he did understand the end result of their thought pattern: a tradition he could not conform to.

He was born here, on Coruscant, among the trillion permanent residents. It was somewhat of an anomaly, with the thousands of inhabited planets in the galaxy, and surely more in others, that a Force Sensitive happened to be born on the relative doorstep of the Temple. Due to the proximity, his signature in the Force was picked up on almost immediately, and he was in robes before he had even opened his eyes.

You might think that would give him a head start, and one of his greatest anxieties was that it did and he was just that bad. But 15 years of training had not progressed into him being able to so much as lift a leaf with telekinesis, nor jump a story high, nor twirl a lightsaber with the best of his class.

And so, when the initiates bowed to each other and the second match, his match, was called for, he sighed and retreated to the one mindset that allowed him to survive his trials. The hope that he was, if not stronger, if not more powerful in the Force, at least smarter than his classmates. And in a sense, that hope was justified, for his memory was greater and his academic intuition was of higher quality. He remembered being perplexed as a toddler that his peers did not understand multiplication, simply not understanding why the others did not.

He bowed to his opponent, and they ignited their lightsabers. Nerim's was green, a happy coincidence as it was his favorite color, while his opponent's was blue, the traditional color of the Guardians, those who could beat him up any time of the day in a fair fight.

Now, that school memory gave him a sense of confidence. Confidence, despite his apparent lesser nature. Confidence, verging in on a sense of superiority to the simple blank pages that were his peers, accepting the traditions given to them and excelling in the arts of the Force, maturing as Jedi. Well, he had something they didn't.

The match began, and his opponent began a measured charge at him. Nerim waited for his opportunity, and when his opponent swung, he moved to clash with his opponent's blade instead of parry or dodge. His opponent hadn't expected that, because they both knew Douno would win a test of strength, and so their blades stuck together as the plasma fields intertwined and made it difficult to slide or disconnect.

Nerim then mustered the strength he could into his right arm, and let go with his left. With his right arm, he jerked the blade to the side so that both lightsabers went off course, unable to be used against either opponent for a split second. In that moment, he drew his pistol and fired a stun blast into Douno's right hip, sending the boy clattering down onto the ground with his legs locking into twitching fits.

Less than 10 seconds after the battle begun, he stood over his defeated opponent, an opponent that was undoubtedly superior in skill.

It was because Nerim had one thing his 'wise, intelligent' peers didn't. Wit.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 2: The Negotiations Will Be Short

​

With a self-satisfied grin, Nerim offered a hand to Douno, who gracefully accepted it and deactivated his lightsaber, shaking the numbness out of his lower body. They stood side by side, awaiting the instructor's commands. He was an older man of a species Nerim couldn't name off the top of his head, but even with the unfamiliarity, he could tell a perplexed expression when he saw one.

Finally, the instructor asked them. "What did you learn, from this duel?"

Douno was first to answer, with a very 'correct' statement. "I learned to rely more upon the Force, and retain patience so that I do not fall into my opponent's traps."

"Very good," the instructor said, "Such lessons will take you far. And you, young Nerim?"

He thought for a moment. "I figure that, since initiates are not given training in Jar'Kai themselves, they also have a blind spot when it comes to proper defense against dual-wielding opponents."

The instructor sighed through his nose. "Perhaps, but that is a very literal and temporal lesson to learn. Unlike the lesson of patience, which will help regardless of time or location, a lesson on how to fight other younglings shall only get you so far. Any thoughts upon that?"

Nerim tilted his head. "Those who do not experience things, even if they know those things exist theoretically, will not tend to plan for these un-experienced situations. I think the lesson he learned is quite applicable to other situations."
"Very well," the instructor nodded, keeping his expression opaque as to whether he was pleased or disappointed, as Masters so often and annoyingly did. Thankfully, his second sentence confirmed it well enough. "It is good to learn from others as much as from one's own actions. You may return to your seat, Nerim."

Nerim returned to his original position, while Douno sat on the other side of the room where disqualified students were relegated. At this, Nerim let loose a sigh of relief. He was at least mathematically guaranteed to have performed above average in one event of the exhibition.

Idly, he wondered if winning the tournament all together would make him an appealing candidate for Padawan. However, the idea just as quickly made him unhappy. If he was seen as a prodigy in combat, he would likely be taken in by someone focused on combat. As much as he was better at it than tests in Force usage or raw athleticism, he wasn't very interested in it.

Perhaps it was because he knew the quartermaster was right. His tricks would wear off sooner or later. Or maybe it was a general distaste for violence, coming from a pacifist mindset. Or perhaps—and this may seem wild and crazy, but it may have been his rather rational fear of death.

He sighed as he settled in to watch the remaining 14 matches roll by until his next duel. Completely without his notice, his next opponent, the Nautolan sat beside him.

He jumped with surprise when the alien finally spoke as their match neared. "Your thoughts are racing, Nerim. Are you attempting to think up a way to outwit me as well?"

"Nah, don't expect any tricks from me, I'm all out. It'll be a straight up fight," Nerim lied as naturally as breathing, even when it was obvious to such an absurd extent.

The Nautolan, named Tzai, smiled. "I am impressed at how well you hide your deceptions, despite their dishonorable nature. Logically, I know you must be lying to me now, but I feel no ripples in the Force."

"Yeah, you wouldn't, would you?" Nerim raised an eyebrow.

"Hm?"

"I mean, it kind of freaks me out, actually. The Masters must obviously know how to invade our minds or cloud our senses, but they never have."

"Why would they? Such things are methods of the Dark, and the Dark cannot be brought into this sacred place," Tzai frowned.

Nerim hid the desire to give away his liar's smile. Tzai had bought every poetic line and superstition hook line and sinker, even when the Masters didn't mean it literally, as they were fond of saying. "Well, think about it. It's never happened to you...as far as you know. But you have no way of knowing what it's like for someone to try that. Just like how Jar'Kai worked on Douno even though I'm probably horrible at it, he's just never come across it, so it completely swept him away."

Tzai meditated on the information for a moment. "I suppose. But it is not anything we as younglings must deal with, yet. If we were forced into the recesses of our minds too early, it could be harmful."

"Yeah," Nerim chuckled, "I for one am not ready for that kind of conflict. You thought we were scared when we first had to block training droid blasts while blindfolded, but man, I can't imagine anyone here wanting to deal with that kind of Darkness."

"Yes, surely."

"I imagine even the Knights and Masters don't like training in it, honestly. I mean, who would, right? It must be horrible every time, even if you're just training, because if it didn't affect your mind, then you wouldn't be training your mind. It'd be like trying to get stronger by only ever lifting 2 kilogram weights. Your muscles need to be straining, so your brain would have to be straining to get stronger against mind tricks, right?"

Nerim noted the furrowing of his fellow student's brow, as Tzai took a deep meditative breath. "I hadn't thought of it that way. It must be stressful."

"Mm," Nerim nodded, "I can sometime feel cooped up in here, but thinking about things like that makes me thankful I live in a more enlightened time. We don't have to worry about stuff like that, as kids."

Tzai let loose an uncharacteristic, if small, nervous chuckle. "Yes. I now worry that I may have nightmares of such things."

"Oh, you know what the Masters say," Nerim carefully scratched his left cheek with his right hand as he turned to his classmate, "Jedi don't have nightmares. Our dreams are visions the Force shows us, to prepare us for the future."
Tzai blinked, tight lipped as he listened, not saying any of the thoughts hiding behind his alien mask.

"Anyways, I want to wish you good luck." Nerim said, taking his right hand back from his left side to its natural position, just so happening to wave it in front of Tzai's eyes as he did so, in a motion that could very easily be construed as accidental. He then placed his right hand out, in anticipation of a handshake. "I know you'll be keeping a close eye on my hands for any deception, but it's not out of disrespect. Truly, it's out of respect for your skill that I would have to do such a thing. You don't have to fear any hostility from me."

A few seconds passed of the Nautolan staring at Nerim before he reciprocated with his own blubbery hand. "Of...course. Same here."

As if on cue, the instructor turned to the initiates. "Tzai, Nerim, please take positions."

Nerim quickly jumped up, and motioned for Tzai to follow suit. Tzai jumped to his feet as he usually did from strict obedience to the masters, but then stopped for just a split second to doubt himself, as to why he felt so compelled to do such a thing. Nerim contained a grin, having not even planned for that.

They took their positions, bowed, and ignited their lightsabers once more. After a short few moments staring at one another, the instructor called for the beginning of the match.

Tzai immediately began moving forward, while Nerim simply leaned to the side and let gravity carry him to the left, with sloppy footwork following beneath him that would be easy to trip up once Tzai was in range. The boy scrutinized the every motion of Nerim, until they came into contact. Two quick lightsaber clashes, the flashes of bright light from their combined green and blue hues sticking around as discolored splotches in their vision.

Then a third clash, and Nerim carefully angled it into a T position so that his blade hovered over the Nautolan's sensitive aquatic eyes. Without warning, Nerim deactivated his lightsaber and stepped backwards.

By the time his confused opponent had regained vision, Nerim was standing with his arms at his sides, in no kind of combat stance. Still as a statue. Tzai furrowed his brow, as if unable to determine if the fight was still happening. Then, Nerim hit him with one last push.

"You don't want to keep fighting." He spoke in a soft, sing-song voice.

Panic spiked, even for just a moment, in Tzai. He turned to the instructor, not verbalizing his suspicions, but with a silent plea for guidance nonetheless. It was that diverted attention that gave Nerim his chance; for with his lightsaber deactivated and out of sight, the Nautolan forgot the full range of it.

Nerim lunged forward like a fencer, activating the blade once more. It extended quickly, though so did Tzai's reaction catch up. He moved to parry Nerim's lunge, and did so, but only after the very tip of Nerim's lightsaber had made contact with his chest. The parry dragged the lightsaber's point across Tzai's chest and down to his left bicep, bringing out another yelp of pain. With a burn confirmed, though only superficial, the duel came to a halt, and Nerim stood victorious once more.

He may have imagined applause or at least appreciation of some sort, but as always, the hall was silent beyond the whispers of its inhabitants. After all, clapping wasn't very serene.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 3: Out Of Hand​

Nerim could, however, feel dozens of eyes set upon him. The instructor gazed at him with suspicion, while both boys deactivated their lightsabers and stood at attention. Explaining what lessons they had learned was something kept to the first round, for expediency, and so they should have quickly been instructed to bow and return to their seats.

Yet Nerim felt somehow that he was being prompted for an explanation. When he didn't provide it, the instructor turned to the Nautolan.

"Young Tzai, is something troubling you?"

Tzai looked to the floor for a moment, before returning eye contact. "I believe my vision has been clouded."

The instructor placed a hand to his chin, stroking the wispy beard that had formed there. "What do you think has happened?"

Tzai simply closed his eyes and focused for a few moments. "I'm sorry, Master. I do not know."

"There is nothing to apologize for, young Tzai. Eddies and hiccups in the Force come by us all, in our early years. Meditate on this and the answer should become clear with time. You may take your seats."

Nerim knew what Tzai had gone through--He was simply emotionally upset, and such emotions and doubt (so he was told) disrupt one's connection to the Force. He felt almost insulted that the problem was not addressed--it was unclear to him if the Master himself even knew what Nerim had done. The recommendation was just the same thing they always said; meditate. Another one of the things Nerim was not so talented at, and doubted the efficacy of in the first place.

The two opponents turned and bowed to one another, before returning to sit down. It was to be a short rest, as not long after, the final round of the tournament was to be held; a 4 person free-for-all. This is where his plans somewhat fell apart.

He may have been able to outsmart someone one-on-one, but each and every one of his tricks left him wide open. Pulling out the gun during a clash was effective to fight one person, not so much when his tired arm was contending with two, and fake mind tricks were right out. Now it would just come down to how well he could think on his feet, and that depended on how much time he could buy with his lightsaber.

So essentially, he was doomed.

Each of the four moved to the corners of the fighting mat. The long rectangular shape of the arena lead to the four being split into two pairs, making for an easy choice as to who you would combat first.

His opponents were each Human or Near-Human, two boys on one end of the mat, and himself and a girl on the other. They each respectfully bowed towards the center, and ignited their lightsabers one last time. At this point, the best trick Nerim could come up with was to fight normally, and hope that caught them off guard.

And then it began.

He turned to the one across from him, a blonde girl perhaps two years younger, yet light and sure in her step. She lunged towards him, and he used his superior height to ward her away with threatened counters. A difficult facet of lightsaber combat was the extreme ease of mutually assured destruction, where one hit would lead inexorably to a dying counter and kill both Jedi. While it wasn't quite so serious now, it would still lead to a double disqualification.

They stood in a standoff like that for a while, slowly circling one another while occasionally batting at the tip of each other's blade in failed attempts to create an opening. His opponent was patient, seeing no need to rush, as every second that passed favored her.

And not too long after, one of the boys on the other end of the arena was struck, though Nerim did not see how. He quietly stepped aside, while the victor of their duel, a pink-skinned Zeltron, approached.

"Oh great, now there are two of them," Nerim mumbled to himself under his breath. He hopped backwards to gain some distance between the girl and himself, and lowered his blade, holding out a hand to the recently victorious Zeltron. "Hey, hear me out for a second, okay?"

The steady pace of their approach did not waver, and neither responded to Nerim's request. Without a recourse, he decided to keep going. "Listen, I'm obviously not the best swordsman here, but you're both quite good. Perhaps equally, even," he said hopefully, "So how about this. You and me team up on her, and then we have it out fair, and you'll still probably get me. It's the tactically sound decision."

The Zeltron raised an eyebrow. "That goes against the spirit of this competition, and I have no reason to trust you either."

"Don't disrespect this uniform, brother, I am a part of the Jedi Order just as much as you are, and that's enough reason to trust me," Nerim weakly attempted to convince him. However, the Human girl spoke before he could continue.

"Not likely. You'd just pull out your blaster and fire it in his back. You don't see this tournament like we do: A chance to prove our training was not in vain. Yet, you seem fairly convinced that your training was, indeed, in vain."

"Okay, rude," Nerim pouted, "But also not wrong on the last count. I never fancied myself number one material, you know that. Nevertheless, we have to be logical about our—"

Nerim had to cease his conversation, as he desperately ducked underneath the Zeltron's swing. He backpedaled as far as he could without risking stepping out of bounds, and watched as the boy just as quickly switched his attention to clashing with the Human girl.

Catching his breath, Nerim drew his pistol and fired a stun round towards the two, who in unison disengaged from their fight in order to reflect the ring-like blast back towards him. He tossed his pistol—that was its last shot anyways—and reflected the stun bolt once more.

Due to the size of the stun ring, nearly as wide as two fists put together, and its relatively slow movement, the three initiates managed to continue redirecting the ring towards one another with deflection after deflection. They stepped towards each other each time, independently coming up with the idea to quicken the travel time and thus lessen the reaction time of their foes.

However, stun beams quickly lost their energy, and had a maximum range hundreds of times lower than their lethal plasma counterparts. Perhaps his opponents did not study blasters enough to know this, but Nerim did.

While they were ignorant of the signs, once he saw the telltale crack in the magnetic ring, and smelled the heavy exhaust of electric energy into the air, he knew there was only a split second remaining. He deflected it towards the girl, and then without warning sprinted forward, lunging at the Zeltron.

She moved to deflect the ring back at Nerim, but the self-sustaining magnetic seal around the stunning energy came apart at the stress of contact, and dissipated around her lightsaber with an electric hum and the scent of burning ozone.
Caught off-guard, the Zeltron moved to make a horizontal slash at Nerim. Nerim dropped as he ran, sliding the remaining distance and slashing at his opponent's ankles as he moved past the boy. However, the Zeltron dexterously jumped over the blade and landed unharmed with his lightsaber raised, preparing to chop down at the now supine Nerim.

Yet then the Human took her chance, with his back now turned to remain tracked on Nerim. She leaped forward with the assistance of the Force, and chopped down with her own blade, slamming against the Zeltron's shoulder and causing him to flinch and tense up--Though he did not cry out in pain. He gracefully accepted his defeat, simply taking a deep breath and quickly exiting from the mat.

Nerim rolled backwards and onto his feet, smiling wide. 'Second place', he thought to himself, for he had no delusions that he could win a lightsaber duel with her. 'Not bad.'

He readied himself to take one last clash between the two of them. She did the same, using the Force to dart to her left just a slight bit quicker than a Human should naturally. He preemptively swung his lightsaber towards her, and then she darted to her right, even faster than before.

Her feet spun beneath her, causing her arms to whip like a whirlwind, and her lightsaber's afterglow to trail after her. He attempted to swing his blade back out to block her, but knew his wrists likely couldn't take the impact, especially with the hasty handwork he was having to use to get the blade between them in time. And so, he closed his eyes, and breathed out the stress of the fight, patiently awaiting the strike.

"It is decided!" The instructor spoke. Nerim opened his eyes and only barely managed not to roll them, disappointed that the old man didn't even give him time to lose before calling the match.

The girl froze as well, her lightsaber a terrifying five inches from Nerim's side.

"Young Nerim is the victor," the instructor calmly announced.

"What?" He asked, blank-faced. Only a moment later did he think to look where her feet had actually landed.
The heel of her boot had landed a mere inch out of bounds. For all her fancy footwork, and how much it definitely would have ended in a kill shot, the smallest lapse of perception had disqualified her. She unfroze, standing up straight and deactivating her lightsaber, expressionlessly taking the defeat despite the disappointment he knew she must have felt.

Nerim stood still for a few seconds, before deactivating his own blade. "I do not feel like I won the match," his tongue spoke honestly before his mind could stop him. "I feel like I just avoided losing."

The other three students walked back to the mat and stood side by side next to him. The instructor held out his hands. "Interesting. What constitutes 'winning' to you, young Nerim?"

"I'm...not sure," he admitted, "It just doesn't feel satisfying."

The instructor nodded sagely. "Ah, yes. But as Jedi, should we crave to slash other beings with our sabers, or is that simply a means to an end, and it is the end we should be satisfied with? We must ask ourselves what we expect to feel satisfying about dueling. Perhaps we should all meditate on that, this evening."

And with that, the entire group of initiates were brought to their feet, and bowed deeply to one another, to the instructor, and then to the Knights and Masters watching from above. Then, they were shepherded out and back into the corridors of the Temple, each placing their equipment back into the training armory.

Nerim returned his lightsaber and pistol to the desk of the quartermaster, not sharing a word with her, though she did bow her head slightly in respect of his victory. For the first time in a long time, he felt a need to meditate.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 4: No More, No Less​

With their trials concluded, the initiates began to filter back to their living spaces. There was no final grand ceremony or mixing with the Knights and Masters; instead, it was expected that those who wanted to take an initiate as their Padawan would approach the youngling on their own time.

As such, Nerim felt it safe to get lost in his own thoughts as he wandered aimlessly, his legs unconsciously taking him to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. The hot mist rolled out across the duracrete floor of the Temple immediately prior to its entrance, but it was the distant roar of the waterfalls echoing down the halls hundreds of feet that first gave it away.

As he entered the room, his feet found purchase on the moss growing over old stone that was eternally wet with morning dew. The ceiling above him was a rich, orange shade of sunset painted across false clouds, with expertly placed panels and lighting giving the illusion of an open sky. Jedi often wished that it truly was the sky, but opening the greenhouse to the Coruscant atmosphere, especially at this altitude, would be very harmful to the plants. The Living Force flowed through here more than anywhere, and perhaps hinted at the foolishness of intertwining the Jedi Order with the Republic's industrial powerhouse capital--the roaring of the waterfall lamenting the abandonment of far-flung Temples across the Galaxy.

Nerim found himself stopping to gaze into a rather small and unassuming fountain, half-hidden behind a bush. Even still, though the basin was humble stone on the outside, beneath the water it was littered with gemstones, and the light filtered into it and then refracted in a wondrous sparkling manner, sending glittering waves of light across the nearby flora. After a while, he felt a presence closing in behind him, though he did not know how he knew it. Still, his eyes were glued to the water, almost as if he had relaxed too much to bother moving again. He let the jungle air fill his lungs, and the one behind him spoke, the voice of a somewhat bemused older woman.

"Jar'Kai, Tràkata, Sokan, even Dun Möch. You've managed to use nearly every auxiliary form of lightsaber combat, and yet no proper Form of lightsaber combat."

Nerim managed to turn to her, rubbing his tired eyes and sitting down upon a flat boulder. "Yeah, I know, right? I jumped to the advance stuff, don't know the basics, it's gonna bite me in the butt one day, yada yada..."

She smiled down at him. She was a Mirialan, a near-human species, with silvery hair done up in a bun. Her yellowish skin was interrupted every so often by ornate tattoos in the shapes of diamonds and triangles, bespangling her wrists and face like the scales of a dragon. They curled around from her chin and up to her cheekbones, then inwards as if to emphasize her gaze by underlining her eyes. Each tattoo on a Mirialan was to signify some deed they had once done, as complex as a language of its own--one that Nerim never got around to learning, but he could tell she was quite accomplished.

She knelt down in her ceremonial robes, cut and shaped with leather to appear somewhere between an elegant dress and a suit of ancient armor. "On the contrary, I believe you to have the basics down extraordinarily well."

"...Really?" Nerim questioned, his curiosity piqued. Never, repeat, never in his life had a superior told him he had grasped the basics of something well. "How so? We just went over my lack of ability."

"Not at all," she said, locking her muddy-green eyes onto his sharp amber ones. "We've only established your priorities. What is 'Sokan'?"

"The awareness and utilization of environmental advantages and disadvantages," he rattled off the definition like a datapad.

"Exactly. And I, for one, can think of little more basic than the ability to recognize the general structure of the world we live in. One would think that comes far before knowing how to utilize a laser-sword, hmm?"

"I...suppose. But the purpose of the tournament was to show off one's lightsaber skill. If we're being honest, I made myself look worse by competing the way I did," he raised his shoulders defensively and leaned forward.

"Oh, but on the contrary once more, I think you had startlingly good lightsaber control. It's just not your lightsaber you were controlling."

He raised up his eyes to make contact with hers again, and mulled the thought over in his head for a moment. "What is 'Dun Möch'?"

The light of the simulated sunset moved slowly across her face, covering in it speckled light that filtered between the leaves. "It is to your opponent what Sokan is to your environment. The understanding and manipulation of other people. It's an advanced skill, a very advanced skill, that requires significant power in the Force, as other Force users can generally sense deception in those of equal power. And that is why I was so surprised as I studied you."

He felt like a rock was dropping in his stomach. "You uh, studied me talking to him? What do you mean? W-what did you see?"

She grinned and raised a finger to him. "That's right, Nerim. The others might not have realized it--even yourself, maybe--but I caught on to your little trick. You were trying not to use the Force. You failed, of course, but you were trying, and that created such a distance that it was hard to sense."

He looked deeply into her expression for a moment, and then down to his own hand. "I...failed at not using the Force? I don't understand. I thought I was...deaf to the Force. That I didn't have the spark."

She put her hand to her chin, "And that's what fascinates me. You're just choosing not to use it--at least not in the way that we've taught you. You may not realize it now, but even though your development is stunted in certain respects, you could use the Force to a much greater degree than you know. There's just one thing that bothers me. I have heard that you personally believe you will never be a Jedi, and have not for a long time. Why are you participating in the Jedi Order, if you do not believe it to be your path?"

Nerim pursed his lips, looked to the floor of the garden, and thought. He thought for a while, perhaps longer than was polite. Thinking whether he should lie to make himself sound better—thinking about what his honest reason truly was, and if he even knew anymore. In the end, he decided to tell her the reason he had come up with two years ago, and stuck to in his plans since. "I wanted to succeed in my Trials, even though I'm not going to be picked up as a Padawan. They would then put me in the Service Corp."

She blinked in surprise, and then tilted her head in confusion. The Jedi Service Corps was considered almost disgraceful, only a step above total banishment from the Order. The members lived ascetically as the Jedi proper, going from place to place to ply their skills as a sort of charity, so there was no material reward either. It was something done only of the bitterest duty, or by those who were too afraid of becoming normal.

"Why would you want that?" She asked, bewildered.

He smiled a nervous smile, of the type that is done out of embarrassment more than levity. "I was going to join so they would train me in something useful, and then I'd quit before they actually sent me on a job."

She balked, and then laughed. "You were going to steal an education in a material science from our charity? I admit there's a sort of pragmatic charm about that, but..."

She trailed off, and he shrugged in response. "Well, your 'Order' also stole about 15 years of my life, so I'd say 5 or 6 years of education stolen in return is pretty heavily in your favor, actually."

Her laughter quickly turned into a frown. "We 'stole' a portion of your life?"

"You took me here to become a Jedi," he spread out his arms to the wide jungle around them, resentment building up in his voice. "And then you admit that I am stunted in the Force, and not suited for it in the first place. All my life, I've been training to become something that you people took me here to do, and then you people changed your minds and said I'm not good at it. I don't see how that can be classified as anything but stealing."

"Ah," she tapped her chin once more, "Well, besides the litany of other things I could say in response, I will settle with saying this: You misunderstand why I am here. I'm not here to tell you that you cannot be a Jedi."

He rolled his eyes, letting the welled up anger fall out of the bottom of his heart and sink into the atmosphere around him, until he returned to a sort of calm-yet-annoyed state once more. "What, you're going to give me advice on how to clear my mind and everything will work out? I promise, there's already a dozen old guys talking about kicking me out for winning their stupid tournament the 'wrong' way, and you're not going to change their minds."

"No," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. "My name is Arwain, and I want you, Nerim, to be my Padawan."

He stared wide-eyed at her, his mouth opening to form a response, though none came out.

She grinned wide at him. "And don't worry, I'll chase off any of the angry old guys trying to kick you out."

Studying her expression, he then looked back to the sparkling fountain for a moment, only half the basin lit now as the false-sun ducked behind the treeline. "Can I uh, say no? I kind of still like my 'get an education' plan."

"Hah!" She shook her head, "No, I'll tell them all about how shifty and untrustworthy you are and you'll just get banished."

His lip curled back in disgust. "That's kind of...really annoying of you."

"C'mon," she stood up, dragging him by the shoulder to his feet, "Six months of Padawan training won't kill ya, so just give it a shot before you turn me down. I promise you'll get to read plenty of books no matter what happens, so...give me a chance?"

"...Can I ask you the reverse of the question you asked me?" He stepped back, smoothing out the shoulder of his tunic. "Why don't I want to be a Jedi, huh? Well why do you want me to be, so much?"

She crossed her arms and took a long, soft breath in, holding it as she turned and watched the fountain. The last of the artificial sunlight rolled over the lip of the stone, and the sparkles suddenly came to a cease.

She breathed out. "I think you are the best hope the Jedi Order has in this new generation. There's no way to change the Order from the outside, Nerim. It's up to people like you and me to get this ancient beast back on the right track."

He clasped his hands together, and sat back down. "...Why?"

"So many 'whys' you could be referring to. Why do we have to change it? Why is this the only way to change it?" She turned back to him with a new solemn gravity in her expression. "Or why is it up to people like you? The answer is the same. I don't want a future where the Jedi Order spends ten thousand more years like it is now. Old, stubborn, and ever training to fight a war that even our ancestors hundreds years ago did not remember. The war against the Sith has to end some time, Nerim. Or it never had a point. So long as we're still conscripting children in the ways of war and secluding ourselves in a fortress on Coruscant, the war never had a point, because nothing changed when we won it. So we need people who can understand our faults--who see the Force from unconventional angles and yet love it all the same--to help nudge us towards a path of a more holistic view of the Force and our responsibilities to all living beings of the Galaxy. I think you have a possibility to grow into such a guide. For the very same reasons that you do not want to be a Jedi, I believe that you must be."

They shared one, long glance with each other. The artificial moon rose, and the fountain began sparkling and refracting wavy light once more, even if a little dimmer this time.

Nerim felt something, like a buzzing in the back of his skull, a feeling that she was telling the truth, an instinct that she was right. No, it was more than that. It was as if he understood her on a fundamental level, even if just a small part of her. "Come on, Arwain. Don't do this to me," he whined.

She gave him a wide smile, and held out her hand to him. "Hey, it's like I said, a bit of time as a Padawan isn't going to kill you. I can tell you're good at heart. I know you don't want to admit it, but can you own up to it, just for now? For the sake of no more wars, at least in our era? And you'll even get a laser sword out of it. It's a good deal!"

He sighed, stood up, and took her hand. "Fine. But if anything goes wrong, I'm blaming it entirely on you."

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 5: Rethink Your Life​

"Is this an appropriate location for our first mission?" Nerim asked, holding his coarse robes tightly to himself as they passed the belching exhaust pipe of an airspeeder. The mid levels of Coruscant were better than the lower levels, but they were much closer to that anarchic hell pit than they were to the gleaming skyline. As it was, he could only see the sky if he looked straight up, and even then only sometimes.

He had heard that Corellia and Taris had much more reasonably civilized mid and lower levels, barring times of plague, but it was now readily apparent to him why city-planets were so rare. He wasn't sure what these colossal steeples were built to worship, but it seemed to him inferior even to the old Order. It made him wonder from where, exactly, did he come from in this strange world? A glittering skyscraper, a dingy alley? The thought quickly passed though; he felt even less connection to his infancy than he did to the Jedi.

"This is the perfect place, young Padawan," Arwain spoke as she strode forward, here eyes scanning the crowds. "Breathe in the mortal vapors. Sweat, smoke, shouting of foreign voices. These have accompanied sentients since the dawn of time, far before even the most rudimentary spaceflight."

"Barbaric," he shuddered, and she chuckled. "Master, when will you give me the holograph of our target?"

She thought to herself for a moment as they walked. The mission was rather simple; a series of murders and missing persons cases had recently occurred to the southeast and downward a mile or so between the durasteel towers. However, the victims were generally other wanted criminals, and were all from different sectors of crime, suggesting an unlicensed bounty hunter.

A simple database search by the police later brought up a viable suspect, a human mercenary by the name of Jianno Wahl-Dei. Of course, such people are difficult to find, and Arwain decided to swing by and involve herself in the case, for the sake of training Nerim. The police didn't really get a say in it, of course, but they welcomed the help regardless.

"I am not going to show you her holograph," Arwain decided. "I'll give you a description, and I want you to find her with just that."

He frowned. It was obtuse, but if he knew simple things like just the bounty hunter's hair color and species, it would be relatively easy to figure it out, he thought.

"Ah, there, I know where we can find her. Follow closely behind me."

Nerim moved just one step behind her, and moved his eyes up to the bawdy LED screens above the doorway they were about to enter. "A cantina? Really, Master, is this what we have been brought to?"

"Don't dismiss it, Nerim. These are popular meeting spots for the black market, for a variety of reasons. For instance, it's beneficial for your secrecy if everyone within eavesdropping range is mentally impaired and shouting."

"It's all so bothersome," he sighed as they moved in. He half expected to be asked for an ID, but the bouncer seemed to be drunk to the point of unconsciousness as well.

The raucous noise and banging of fists on tables and inebriated mishandling of dishes only got louder as they crossed the threshold into the den. There were flashing lights of red and green and yellow, all warm colors and gentle patterns that seemed designed to put higher brain functions to rest, while the holographic dancers on the small stage to the right and the drinks being pumped out to the left served to overstimulate the lower brain. Nerim could not recognize any music playing; either it was so estoeric and alien so as to not register, or the speakers had been broken halfway through the night, and both seemed equally likely.

Arwain quickly found a booth and slid into it, thumping down on the seat and gesturing Nerim to sit across from her. He did so, finding the booth to be quite a tight fit, the table barely having enough room to rest their hands on without having to overlap each other. Arwain knew—though he did not—that this was a table more for romantic 'socializing' than normal leisure, but its compact nature also proved a useful excuse for why they conspiratorially whispered to one another.

Before he could make to complain, Arwain leaned forward and spoke into his ear. "I've spotted the quarry. She is indeed in this cantina."

Nerim made careful not to scan the room visibly, though he donned a more serious expression. "Alright...any clues?"

Arwain, without looking at her target, still studied Jianno in depth. The Master's use of the Force was such that Nerim could make out no tells as to where she was focusing, only that she was. "Jianno saw us enter, and will shortly get up and leave. Close your eyes."

He balked at her, staring blankly into Arwain's eyes. "You said you were going to give me a description, Master. I'll remind you that it violates the Code to lie to your apprentice."

She smirked. "Yes, yes, but I'm teaching you something right now, so hush up and focus."

Heaving a sigh, Nerim shrugged and closed his eyes. Without the distraction of Twi'lek dancers or sloppy bar-side brawls across the room on his eyes, he was simply left to the sounds of the cacophonous voices, the smells of the fizzing alien concoctions, and the touch of his robes and the old leather seat beneath him, as well as his Master's hands against his.
"She's standing up," Arwain quietly announced to him.

"Okay, can I look?"

"No," she said, holding his hands in hers. "Reach out. Listen."

He sighed through his nose and did as he was told. Boots scuffled the floors, someone bumped into someone else and an argument broke out. A glass was spilled, and a round of laughter erupted from the east corner. There was the soft jingle of a keychain, and—

"That's it!" She softly exclaimed. "That keychain is hers. Focus on it. Think of nothing but that."

Biting back his frustration at the ridiculousness of his assigned task, he did as he was told. It was hard to make it out, at first, only irregular jingles heard in between loud advertisements on the sportscasts and shouted, poorly timed jokes in languages he half-knew.

"Just reach out for it, young Padawan," she gently guided. "Open yourself to it, and the Force will respond."

'Not a peep out of the Force, I'm afraid', he thought to himself. Nevertheless, he tried to at least fake it. He imagined the chain clearly in his head. From the time between jingles and the general pitch of them, he could tell that the links in the chain were minuscule, almost small enough to have been threaded as if the metal were a fabric. Each step the bounty hunter took was steady, none taking longer than the next, making for a monotonous beat as the chain swung back and forth. He imagined the tone of silver it must have looked like, what digital or old-school analogue keys it might have been carrying.

More and more time passed, and he slumped down, keeping his eyes closed and his mind focused as he spoke. "Master, I'm getting nowhere. She's just walking around, that's all I can tell."

"No, Nerim," she gripped his hands tighter, "You are. She left nearly a minute ago."

With a start, he nearly opened his eyes. Still, he managed to maintain focus.

"Expand your awareness," she spoke. "You see the chain. What else do you see?"

It was distinct, the links were just so, and her stride was confident and consistent, content to let other people get out of the way rather than walk around them. From there, he tried to determine ever so slightly more, her face, or at least what weapons she might be carrying, but the jingling was near his limit already. The shape of the belt slowly came to his attention, the leather making it, and the motion of the hips it wrapped around. He found it perhaps easier to focus on the hips, now that they were brought to his attention.

"Careful, young Padawan," his master chided playfully.

He pouted, but continued to reach out. Eventually, he felt her hand come in contact with the belt, and then the chain, pulling out a key. With a start, he found himself able to follow the key, as well as the hand that grabbed it. At first it was just the vague outline of gloves, but then he saw Jianno's hand, young yet occasionally scarred by burns and old wounds. The mechanical key was placed in the docking port of an electronic keypad, and her hand quickly traced out the numbers 243607 before just as quickly ripping the key back out, and walking in through whatever door she had opened.

Nerim left his consciousness behind, and stared at the mental image of the keypad. The metallic dust coating it from the pollution, the faint remains of fingerprints, and the text accompanying a successful code entry. 'WELCOME TO BOGA N'DARO ESTATES'

His eyes opened, and he startled to find himself half slumped over on the table as though he had fallen asleep. It was surreal to find his body somewhere he did not remember putting it. He hastily wiped away a small trail of drool from his mouth, and looked to his Master, who sipped a glowing green drink from a gourd-shaped glass.

"I know where she is, Master. It seems to be a motel of some kind."

"Good work, Padawan! I knew you had it in you."

She smiled and stood up, pulling him by the wrist to follow her. Nerim's eyes newly examined the room in a daze. "I used the Force. I used the Force!"

"Of course you did," she chuckled, walking the two of them outside and then bidding him to lead. "How do you think you learned to deflect bolts while blindfolded?"

He placed a hand to the back of his neck as he walked a path he vaguely recalled, despite never having gone. "There was a lot of trial and error. I just predicted it."

She looked to him curiously. "Of course. That's what the Force does."

"No—I mean," he bit the inside of his cheek as he tried to find the right words. "I mean naturally."

"The Force is quite natural, I assure you," she laughed as one would skipping through a meadow, while she instead dodging puddles of obscure garbage and keeping an eye out for potential muggers.

"No, I was just observing the timing and extrapolating the programming of the simple little droid, where it would target when I made certain movements. Then I used those movements to induce it into targeting somewhere I knew to defend. It was more like a logic puzzle than The Force."

Arwain placed a hand on his shoulder and brought him to a stop, in front of the motel, then turned the Padawan to face her. "Nerim, I see a blockage in your mind. You're seeing the Force as something mystical, while you are the type to eschew mysticism. I don't want you to ignore the spiritual realm, but I'm telling you right now, it's okay to see the Force as a type of logic, a way of understanding the world's crude matter. There are many ways to view the Force, and each is a pathway to different abilities and energies. The Force is in all things, not just the meditation chambers and ancient texts. It thrums through these streets just like it does through the pathways in the Room Of A Thousand Fountains. And besides, the Force has never told you it won't be used as a means of interacting with the mundane world, has it? All of us start with unconscious usage to enhance our mundane abilities, rather than skipping straight to the fantastical and telekinetic."

He thought for a moment, and looked to the wet ground as it reflected the neon lights ever-present in the mid city. Were his teachers wrong all this time? Was he wrong? Everything he knew, he had to relearn and internalize anew. "When will it say no, then?"

Arwain gave him a knowing grin, and placed her fingertips to the keypad. Without the combination or key, she set the mechanical lock spinning and clicking as if an invisible lockpick was placed within, and the discolored screen flashed several warnings, followed by an OS crash. The door beside her opened. "The Force never says 'no', son. Sometimes it comes back with a 'try again', and every now and then it's only 'yes from a certain point of view', but the answer is always yes."

------

Spoiler: A/N

Yes, the quasi-title drop is in the 5th chapter, AND?

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 6: Bigger Fish​

The open door lead to a dingy hallway, with two open doorways, a closed closet, and a closed door. It was all one room, perhaps more like a small apartment than an average hotel room. A small droid at around knee height waddled on its four legs out of one doorway and into the wall across from it. When it made contact, a tacky replica of a Onderonean mimefish fell from its display and clattered to the ground. The circular frame on the fish's back caused it to rotate faster and faster on its rim like a coin, dipping up and down while making a steady patterned noise before speeding up and then coming to a halt.

"Sorry!" The droid said, in a message obviously pre-recorded, "This unit does not have the ability to memorize new information, for absolute privacy! It cannot communicate or even recognize language!"

It slowly readjusted itself, showing one eye to have gone dark with some sort of malfunction. It grabbed the fish and then extended its legs to put it back on the display.

"So much for the element of surprise," Arwain muttered as she carefully walked in, hand on her saber.

So silent were the following movements, that Arwain herself did not hear them over the bustle of the street and the clanking of the droid.

Nerim felt a strong bicep wrap around the left side of his face, shortly proceeded by a sharp forearm locking his neck in place and cutting the air from his throat. In the same swift motion, his attacker's right arm made to snake over his shoulder with a blaster pistol in hand, pointing directly at Arwain's back.

On reflex, the only thing Nerim could think to do was draw his training lightsaber and heave it over his head, smacking the emitter into the glass visor of his assailant with his finger on the activation button. There they froze, in a triple standoff that only two were aware of.

Arwain scanned down the hallway. "I'll take the right, you take the left. I sense no hostility, her mind is occupied...and hazy. She may be inebriated."

The Padawan tried to telepathically broadcast his gripping fear, but his Master remained unaware as she moved inwards, the door automatically closing behind her.

Struggling to breathe in the tight but not-quite choking grip, he tried to crane his neck up to see his assailant. "Let go of me," he weakly demanded.

"I've got nothin' to fear," came the response, a scratchy voice from a woman who had inhaled too much smoke and soot in her life. "I'm Mandalorian. Lightsabers don't work on our armor."

Nerim felt sweat trailing down his back and grit his teeth. His lightsaber wouldn't work anyways; it was still on the training setting. Still, he had to think quickly. He tapped it on her visor. "It works on glass. That's why you froze."
"...Fine. I'm going to let go of you, and I want you to slowly walk forward."

"Drop your weapon first," he ordered. She complied and the blaster dropped quickly to the ground, letting him twist himself out of her grip and keep his deactivated lightsaber pointed towards her head.

Not more than a step or two out of her grasp, he realized she was keeping her fist trained on his center mass. Looking closer, he saw the port of what seemed to be a hose on the back of her hand. A flamethrower.

"Aw, damn," he dejectedly cursed. "I didn't think about that."

"Listen kid, I don't want to fry you, but I absolutely will," she warned. "Why are you tracking me?"

"'Frying' a Jedi is a pretty big offense," he desperately reminded her, "And not something you should do while inebriated."

"I'm not high," she grumbled, "I'm reciting the Litany of The Formless in my mind. It's been passed down for thousands of years and hundreds of wars, to keep you sniveling, pathetic Jedi out of Mandalorian heads."

"...I don't even know what a Mandalorian is," he confessed.

She was silent for a few seconds, unsure what to make of his statement. "You're a youngling."

"Am not!" He protested. "I've been a Padawan for...two weeks..."

"What's a kid like you doing, tracking me down?"

"You're bounty hunting without a license...I think," he grimaced. With the little bit of breathing time he accrued, he attempted to clear his mind and contact Arwain, unsure how to even go about such a thing.

"Ah," she seemed to relax ever so slightly, "Not exactly. I'm on the lookout for scum who have wronged our People. I'm sure you can understand, Jedi."

"Oh," he raised an eyebrow, "So you're not a bounty hunter, you're a vigilante. You know vigilantes are just bounty hunters that don't get paid, right?"

"As are you," she retorted, "You just have the Republic backing you."

He balked. "The...definition of 'vigilante' implies no legitimate backing."

"The Republic isn't legitimate," she snarled. "The Republic is just a business. It doesn't have a People, it doesn't have a Clan, it's—"

Jianno was cut off when, from above, Arwain silently dropped behind her. In graceful, almost dance-like moves, Arwain's left hand circled from below and hooked her fingers under Jianno's helmet, tearing it off while in her other she activated and raised a yellow lightsaber blade.

The Mandalorian whipped around, her flamethrower already spewing fire and globs of immolating fuel, and Arwain countered with a disarming strike. The Jedi's lightsaber blade left only a scorch mark on the gauntlet of her opponent, but the kinetic force was enough to knock her arm clean to the side, and allow Arwain to position the blade at Jianno's throat.

Nerim looked up. Directly above them, to the side of the door, was what could have been an air vent or a garbage chute. Arwain must have found the same passage that lead Jianno behind him.

"Nerim," Arwain began, "We have to have a talk about telepathy soon."

"Agreed," he heaved a sigh of relief, "I'm just glad I finally got through."

"Not what I meant," she replied, gesturing for Jianno to drop to her knees.

She did so, placing her hands on the back of her head. "Alright, you have me cornered. What do you want, scum? To take what little I have from me? To leave me naked and abandoned on some hellish Republic city world? It would not be the first time I've had to hunt and scavenge my way back to the stars, so I suggest you either try to kill me or—"

"Stop being so melodramatic," Arwain rolled her eyes, "I don't want to turn you in."

Instead of focused anger on Jianno's face, her expression began to change to wary confusion. She turned her head very slightly. "What does she mean, Padawan?"

"What do you mean, Master?" He echoed, just as lost.

"The records didn't show you were Mandalorian. You were hiding your armor, too." Arwain raised an eyebrow. "I'm guessing that 'Jianno' is an assumed identity, perhaps of someone you took down?"

She received no response.

"So I'm guessing you're in hiding, and that what I sensed in your mind before was some sort of meditative trance to fool me. That worked the first time, but now that I've got you here and am aware of what you're doing, trust that I can determine when you're lying. Now, tell me what you're doing on this planet."

Jianno didn't respond immediately, but grit her teeth and picked up the conversation. "Hunting. The years have not been kind to my People or my Clan, and several of those connected to the Hutts have...taken advantage of our position. On distant worlds outside of Republic space, I have family that live in something akin to debt slavery. I can't take on those entire planets myself, but I have warned them that I will take out their assets on other worlds until my People are released. And so I am."

Nerim moved forward, his expression a mixture of awe and sadness. "A...one-woman blockade."

As he moved around, he got a good look at her face for the first time. She had short black hair, a strip of her bangs shorter than the rest due to a scar on her forehead, and there were faint scars from burns across her left lower jaw, where flames might curl underneath her helmet. "It is what it is."

Arwain deactivated her lightsaber, though kept the hilt up at a ready position. "Believe me, I do not like the Hutts either. However, you still assaulted my student."

"And tried to kill you," Jianno added. "At least let my list of 'crimes' be complete."

"Not making this better for yourself," Arwain sighed.

"I have nothing to gain from kowtowing to the Jedi. What else would you have me do?"

Arwain carefully took a knee to be at level with Jianno, while Nerim kept his lightsaber at the ready. She looked into the Mandalorian's eyes. "I want you to get a license and come bounty-hunting with us."

Jianno's expression became strained, too offended by the proposition to even be confused by it. "Join you in a hunt? Why would I do that?"

"Because, I could hand you in to the Republic. I already specialize in Outer Rim operations, and spend much of my time stamping out Hutt influence. If you served with us, on our missions, you'd spend a fair amount of time doing what you want: Hunting the Hutts' revenue sources. If you went to jail, you'd spend no time doing that."

Nerim began noticing a pattern in his Master's negotiation techniques, and swallowed some apprehension. He really quite hoped she would stop doing that, at least to him.

Jianno scoffed, almost smiling. "Dirty. But you make the mistake of thinking I'll be spending my years in jail."

"Oh, you may have broken out of a few sheriff's offices in the Mid Rim in your time, yes," Arwain looked up to the blinking neon lights on the metal sky. "But not a high security Coruscanti prison. Especially not after being on watch as a potential Jedi-killer. And trust me," she waved her hand suspiciously, "You would be found guilty."

The Mandalorian looked up at her captor with scorn, spitting on the duracrete ground. "Your reliance on manipulating the Republic and 'Force' is pathetic. Why would you want me around, anyways? I thought Jedi didn't like anyone who didn't walk lock-step with them on every mental roundabout."

Arwain put a finger to her chin, thinking for a moment. "An enemy turned ally is more valuable than ten confirmed kills, and five are the reasons why."

It was almost imperceptible, but Nerim noticed the smallest sharp intake of breath through Jianno's nose. "...Mandalore The Ultimate's The Art Of The Horde. I didn't know Jedi knew how to read Mando'a."

"The smart ones can," Arwain smirked. "Your People have served a powerful rival to us, after all. It's valuable to learn from those who can defeat you."

Jianno frowned. "I regret to inform you that imitation is not considered a sincere form of flattery among my People. Our language was not meant to be spoken by outsiders."

"And I regret to inform you that it was not meant to be spoken by slaves or prisoners, either, so I'd say we're on an even playing field right now" Arwain replied in an even tone, her stare steely and cold. "Still, 'there can be no shame in an honorable defeat, nor arrogance in inflicting one, only mutual respect.' So why not join us for a while, no hard feelings?"

Jianno glared back at her for a few long seconds, leaving Nerim to nervously fidget and glance to the growing crowd of people gawking at the scene. Finally, Jianno spoke. "Fine. But if you touch my armor, or try to use me to fight other Mandos, I'll kill you without hesitation."

"You may try." Arwain gave her a big, friendly smile. "But it won't come to that. I don't think your armor would fit me, anyways. Maybe my Padawan could grow into it?"

Nerim frowned.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 7: Perhaps I Killed A Jedi​

Nerim nervously looked at Jianno from the corner of his eye as she cleaned the scorch mark from her gauntlet, wary that he'd get a bolt in the back at any moment. He knew he shouldn't be: They were in the temple. Anyone who attacked a Jedi in here would be beset by five hundred more. Yet he also somehow felt like that wouldn't necessarily stop Jianno.

"Nerim?" Arwain's voice snapped him out of it.

"Yes, Master?"

"About telepathy. Were you trying to contact me?" She raised an eyebrow.

He frowned. "Uh, yes. I was being beset by an assassin. I was trying pretty hard to get your attention."

"Oh dear. That's not a good sign," she mumbled, before speaking up more clearly, "we should work more on that. I didn't sense anything from you."

"...What, you can sense my emotions only when I don't want you to?"

She tried to hold back laughter. "No, no. I'm not sure exactly why, yet. But we should find out, for our future safety."

"I would also feel safer if I had a lightsaber that could actually cut anything," he complained.

Jianno raised her head up. "What?"

"Nothing!" He quickly said, raising his hands defensively.

"Nerim, you must wait until you can construct your own. It will only be a little while, but until then I don't trust you with a blade," Arwain replied, oblivious to his concerns.

Jianno's helmet stared blankly at him, and then she returned to cleaning her armor, cursing silently.

"Ugh," Nerim rubbed his forehead, anticipating a beating some time in the future. "Okay, but it would be really helpful if we got that worked out. I can carry a blaster, so why am I not trusted with a lightsaber?"

"It's a different beast," Arwain brought hers out and displayed the handle gently. "Not only is it more dangerous to yourself than a blaster is, but it is a symbol of our Order. To wield it ineptly is not only shameful, it also undermines the reputation we have carefully crafted. We want civilians and military personnel alike to respect our ability to handle situations when they see the blade ignite. To keep morale among our soldiers, to calm panic in our wards, and to intimidate foes out of fighting us. If a brandished lightsaber meant anything for our enemies other than graceful disarming or certain death, this would cease being the case."

"So why can I carry a training blade, then?"

She turned her back to him, sheathing the lightsaber once more. "Because I forgot to tell you to put it back in storage before we went out."

Slowly he found his hands pressing against the side of his head, as if his body was reacting to the outrage before his mind could. Finally he settled on asking, "How could you possibly forget that?"

She turned back and nervously grinned. "Perhaps the Force guided me."

"No," Nerim flatly dismissed.

"Perhaps! Perhaps not. Still, you are my first Padawan, allow me to make some logistical mistakes."

"Y—" He began to reply, before stopping himself in surprise, "Wait, I'm your first Padawan? How did you become a Master without knighting a Padawan?"

"There are other ways to be deemed a Master," she shrugged modestly.

"As in?"

"To make it so that there are no reasons for you to not be a Master," Arwain smiled another one of her cryptic smiles.

"We can talk about it some other time. The point that I must emphasize is that you require more training, in multiple avenues."

"Alright," he sighed, "So what do we work on first? Do I choose a lightsaber Form or something?"

"Hah," she chuckled, "Were it so easy. No, you don't, not right away, and especially not when we have more important things to work on. Come, sit down with me. I want you to think of things—shapes, colors, numbers, what have you, and try to broadcast them to me."

Nerim grimaced, desperately wanting to work on anything but telepathy. It felt incredibly awkward to him, sitting down and being told to play make believe until it stopped being play. Every time he was told to 'close his eyes and meditate', it left him sitting there asking himself—

"How long is this gonna take?" Jianno piped up.

"Yeah, same," Nerim mumbled.

"What?" Arwain tilted her head. Jianno was the one to answer.

"I'd like to eat dinner if possible, since you kind of interrupted it for me."

"That does sound like a good idea," Nerim chimed in.

Arwain squinted at him. "You're just saying that to get out of training."

"Oh, see, now you can read my mind!"

----------

Jianno looked with some amount of disgust as Nerim fiddled with his blaster rifle. He had at some point followed her into the shooting range only to miss several shots, fiddle with his sights until they were obviously misaligned, and use the wrong fire settings for the distance he was trying to shoot.

What's worse is that she knew exactly what he was doing, because she had done it herself a hundred times as a child. Step 1 of being a young Mandalorian: Do things deliberately wrong in front of older Mandalorians, so that their obsessive perfectionism forces them to teach you how to do it right.

Her eye twitched as he fiddled with the charge pack, trying to slot a new one in backwards. She glanced to the side, to a Jedi Sentinel who was watching the two of them with some mild interest. Jianno nodded towards Nerim, and the Sentinel shrugged as if to say "Not my Padawan, not my problem."

Finally in frustration she grunted and snatched the charge pack out of the young boy's hands, flipping it around and slotting it in. "You have it backwards," she grumbled.

"Oh, thank you," Nerim said meekly, taking the blaster back in his hands. "...Can you show me how to sight it?"

She glared at him. "You're a Jedi, you don't use blasters."

He lifted his arms up and spoke to the ceiling, as if addressing the room itself. "Why do we have this, then?" his words echoed.

"Vanity," she snorted, "And because the Republic built it for you."

"Yeah, well I use blasters, okay? That's how I won the tournament," he said, puffing his cheeks out slightly in the way he did when he was annoyed.

She grabbed the rifle, sat down, and started sighting it. "What tournament?"

"Every year, we have a dueling tournament among the younglings, to show off so a master will pick us as a Padawan. I won this year. Well, I...didn't lose, might be more accurate."

"You shot the other younglings?" Jianno asked, brow raised.

"Well when you say it like that, it makes me sound like a psychopath," Nerim huffed. "But yes. With stun bolts, obviously!"

"How'd you manage that? They don't teach you to reflect shots until you're twenty or something?" She idly asked, firing a bolt from the rifle to see how far off the sights were.

"Well, the first guy I caught by surprise during a lightsaber clash. He didn't know I had a blaster. Second time I didn't actually hit anyone, I just made us reflect it back and forth until I got close enough to take a swing while they weren't expecting it. It...didn't work."

"How'd you win, then?" She turned another screw.

He shrugged. "Psyched my opponent out, I guess. She was so worked up to get me that she stepped out of bounds, and I won by default. She woulda killed me if it was a real fight."

"Sore loser talk," Jianno scoffed and fired another bolt. "Every fight has its own circumstances. If she failed under the circumstances, then she just failed. Is what it is."

"I guess," Nerim shrugged, "But it certainly didn't make me look good, in a broader context."

She handed the rifle back to him. "At least helps my ego a bit. I had trouble with the tournament champion, not some random Padawan."

Nerim grinned as he took the rifle, lined up a shot at about a dozen meters, and missed the mark. He frowned. "I'm really not good with these things."

She sighed, knowing full well she was trapped now. "You're closing your eye. You shouldn't do that."
"What? How do I aim with both eyes open?"

Jianno shrugged. "You have to learn to see through both eyes simultaneously for what they are. Take the different information from both and form a single 3D understanding of the world. Why do you think you evolved two of the damn things?"

He tried it out. It was worse than the last.

"You'll get used to it," Jianno said. "Unlearning bad habits is harder at the beginning than getting skilled with bad ones, but it's worth it."

"Deja vu," Nerim mumbled.

"So where's the sword? The real one, not the training saber."

He lowered the rifle. "Haven't been to Ilum yet. That's where we get the materials we need. Only a Jedi Master talented at astrogation can navigate there, so all the new Padawans have to wait around until one is ready to take us as a batch. It will likely be another couple weeks."

She snorted. "Like waiting for your first beskar."

Nerim smiled at her, and then felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. Hearing the doors to the range slide open, he turned to see Arwain.

"Good news, Padawan!" She grinned. "Ship to Ilum leaves tomorrow."

He furrowed his brow. "How do you do that?"

"You'll get it," she chided, "Just keep yourself open to the Force. In the meantime, Jianno, it's time for us to set out for Cato Neimoidia. There's a particular slave trafficking ring that I want to take down, and it has ties to some Hutts you might find interesting."

"Finally," Jianno's shoulders slumped in relief. "When do we head out?"

"Mm," Arwain hummed in thought, looking vacantly up at the ceiling. "Well...Now, seems good."

"Wait," Nerim raised his hands, "You're not coming with me to Ilum?"

Arwain laughed. "Padawan, no one is coming with you to Ilum. They're going to set you down in front of a cave and tell you to figure it out."

"Wha--" Nerim jumped from his seat, blaster rifle forgotten on the mount. "What do I do?! You told me I didn't have to study for Ilum!"

"I said you shouldn't study for Ilum," Arwain corrected, finger raised. "You should figure it out when you get there."
"What if I don't?!" Nerim said, running his hands through his hair.

She shrugged. "Then you don't get a crystal, I guess."

"If I don't get a crystal, I don't get a lightsaber! Then what?"

She smiled and pointed behind him. "Practice with the blaster more, is my advice. Good luck, Nerim, and may the Force be with you."

"I..." Nerim's mouth hung open, at a loss for words. Jianno slapped him on the shoulder and walked out, and Arwain laughed again.

"Young Nerim, calm is your ally. You are following in the flow of hundreds of thousands who have come before you. When you let go and open yourself to the Force, it will come to you. I promise."

He took a deep breath. "I will try, Master. But could I at least have a hint?"

She walked up and ruffled his hair. "No, you can't. To be frank, I have no idea what will happen when you get there. This is one of those rare things you have to figure out on your own. Good luck!"

Nerim watched her walk out of the room—what was, for all he knew, the last time he was going to see her before he became a complete and total, certified failure. After a moment, he turned to the Sentinel. "Was your Master this obtuse when you were a Padawan?"

The Sentinel opened his mouth, then closed it, and thought for a moment.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 8: A Fine Addition​

Looking out the window as the Jedi transport ship tunneled through hyperspace, Nerim wondered if he might freeze to death. According to the archives, the entire planet of Ilum looked to be one giant snowball, and while they were landing near the equator it would be of little comfort.

The ship was full of newly-minted Padawans, including all of the former-Initiates who Nerim had defeated in the lightsaber tournament. The ship also contained four Knights and two Masters, all of whom were particularly tight-lipped about the upcoming destination. It was pretty significant to have this many Jedi in once place outside of the Temple, and none of the Padawans' masters had boarded.

The human girl Nerim had defeated in the final moments of the tournament glared at him, her Padawan braid hanging at her shoulder. It wasn't an angry glare, so much as an intensely focused one. She had, evidently, not expected to see him here. She scanned him up and down as if he were about to pull out a blaster pistol again, while he pretended not to notice.

The only Padawan that was brave enough to approach him was the Nautolan, Tzai. He did that thing which Jedi often did, which was to simply approach one another and smile. Apparently, Nerim gathered, the greeting of two Jedi was often made through the Force—something he was not exactly privy to. Nerim nodded to him. "So, what's your master been like?"

He grinned. "Very wise, Nerim. Kayn-Shoon has begun instructing me in the arts of the Guardians, and I'm excited to get my own lightsaber to continue the training. It's a very new experience, to be the only student in the room."

Nerim scoffed. "Yeah, it's a lot of pressure."

"Absolutely, but it's also a lot of opportunity," Tzai nodded. "And what about yours?"

He shrugged and leaned against the window to the blue-streaking hyperspace outside. "Arwain has made more progress than most masters who've tried to teach me, I guess. I'm not sure how confident she is in me, though."

"Oh? She chose you as her Padawan—she must think you have what it takes."

"Yeah, that's the problem," Nerim sighed, "She thinks I can handle 'it', but I never know what exactly it is, and she never seems to be in a hurry to tell me."

Tzai closed his eyes and took a breath. "Hm. That is a difficult question. Sometimes I struggle with it too. I'm sure that it will present itself when we are ready, however."

Nerim rolled his eyes and chuckled. "You're gonna make a great Master one day, Tzai."

The Nautolan would've blushed if he could. Then they both looked back into the interior of the ship, seeing Padawans milling around, meditating, comparing stories. "You shouldn't write them off, you know."

"Huh?"

Tzai turned to him. "I can sense you've written your cohorts off. You never try to interact with them, and there is a noticeable gulf of distance in the Force between yourself and us. Perhaps because you believe they've written you off—and I wouldn't say that you're entirely wrong in that observation. But everything is an opportunity for learning, growth, and mutual improvement. You shouldn't give up on them."

Nerim pursed his lips. "Maybe."

Tzai smiled again. "'Maybe' is all I ask."

---------

The surface of Ilum was freezing cold, especially given the lack of winter-wear beyond their Padawan robes. However, as they entered the Crystal Caves, flanked on either side by Masters, it became curiously tolerable. Not warm, their breath still fogged in the glow of their flashlights, but not immediately painful. It was surprisingly crisp too, fresh and almost fragrant, like it had just blown through a meadow, not a damp cave.

After a short journey, the Masters instructed them to turn their flashlights off, and allow their eyes to adjust. True to their word, there was ambient light in the cave, if only barely. Crystal formations and bioluminescent moss covered their surroundings in a dim glow, though faces were hard to distinguish. Then, somehow simultaneously ceremoniously and unceremoniously, the Masters simply told them to...wander off.

Wander off spelunking through a cave system in the dark. 'Honestly', Nerim thought, 'It's a miracle most Padawans make it out.'

Not having any idea what to do, Nerim stood in place for a moment and looked down to think. By the time he looked up, he realized the rest of the Padawans had immediately gone their own ways, and he was standing alone in the antechamber with the Masters and Knights. Most seemed to be meditating, enjoying the aura of the caves from their youth, eyes closed and serene smiles on their faces.

However, one of the Masters, Gendi, observed him with a bemused look on his face, visible mostly by the slight glint in his eyes. Nerim huffed in embarrassment. "Sorry."

"It does not escape me," Gendi said with mirth while scratching his chin, "That for once, you are the one sitting and meditating while the others rush off ahead."

That got a halfhearted chuckle out of Nerim, and the boy closed his eyes for a moment to decide on a plan of action, and then started walking. He figured without any guidance from the Force, he ought to just take every left turn he could, so he would know how to get back out again. So Nerim wandered forward down a narrow cave, towards the darkness. "Remember the mantra," Gendi called after him.

The tunnel was narrow enough that Nerim could almost feel it scraping his shoulders, and turned pitch black for a time before exiting out into another cave full of crystals. Nerim's mind was caught in a loop, over and over analyzing the situation before coming to the conclusion that he had no idea what to do, and repeating. Heaving an annoyed sigh, he figured that he might as well recite the gathering mantra, given it was slightly more pleasant than the existential dread of not knowing who you were or where you were going.

'The crystal is the heart of the blade', he thought to himself, taking a quick glance around the room. Every crystal looked like every other crystal. Nothing stood out to him. He took another left.

'The heart is the crystal of the Jedi', he continued. This tunnel wound in a spiral, causing him to crawl up it and then slide down the other side. He was thankful that he never experienced claustrophobia.

'The Jedi is the crystal of the Force', it went on in his head almost unconsciously, fading into the background. This hollow was practically identical to the last. Shimmering blue, green, yellow.

'The Force is the blade of the heart.' Another left, another tunnel, this one much wider than the rest. Above him, he saw a somewhat rare sight; a purple crystal. He kept moving, unsure what to do.

'All are intertwined; the crystal, the blade, the Jedi. We are one.'

'We?' He thought. 'Who the hell is we?' He entered another hollow, exiting right next to a massive colony of blue crystals about as tall as he was. He flicked it, and it hummed harmonically in response. Maybe a little off-key. 'I'm one with this thing?' He asked himself. 'Sure doesn't feel like it.'

Another left. He entered a grand chasm. Looking around, he realized he was in the same antechamber they had all entered at. A loop. That complicated his 'always turn left' plan. He had a feeling there were a lot more loops in store, too.
He sighed in frustration. One of the more annoying things is he had no idea what the crystal he was supposed to be gathering would look like. He couldn't simply snap one off the wall and assume it would work; it required a specific shape, a specific composition, and a specific age, or else it would just explode. He had attempted to study beforehand, but the differences were microscopic. You were supposed to just know.

He walked to the front of the antechamber. "Masters, I don't think this is going to work," he grumbled, echoing in the open air.

And yet no one responded.

Turning on his flashlight and pointing it around, he found himself in an empty room. Nerim frowned in confusion, and spun around once more, scanning the room. Perhaps they had gone back to the ship? No, they were enjoying it in the caves. Did they go deeper in? They shouldn't, the Padawans are supposed to be alone for the ceremony.

His mind raced with possibilities, before snapping to the most likely conclusion. Something had gone wrong, and they went deeper in to confront the danger and save the Padawans. If danger had come from the surface, the Jedi would still be here, protecting the entrance; so it must have come from below. And Nerim, like always, had no telepathic skill, and was unable to contact anyone.

Logically, then, the best course of action was for him to return to the surface, and enter the Jedi starship to wait for further instructions. He jogged as quickly as he felt he could without tripping over a stalagmite, and jumped out the lip of the cave entrance.

He found himself in another unfamiliar chasm, this one with more obvious stone structures of the kind that existed in the opening. He had somehow gotten lost. He turned again and traced the walls with his fingers, trying to remember the way out. A twist, a turn, he was back in the antechamber, and took the way out.
And found himself in another chasm.

Back and forth he started running, until his lungs were burning and several minutes had passed. Meticulously tracked, he realized; every path lead deeper in. Either he was more lost than he could comprehend, or the cave had changed. It wasn't unlike the Jedi to do this sort of thing during training. Many training rooms in the Temple could rearrange themselves at the will of the Masters, forcing students to use their connection to the Force to find a way through. But he somehow doubted this sacred and natural cave system would be modified in that way.

So Nerim began looking for seams in the walls, control panels, clues left behind, footprints, broken crystal structures, anything that could hint at sentient life. Nothing. He sat down, hidden as best he could in a alcove in the wall, and tried to catch his breath—tried to decide what to do next. But his mind couldn't provide any answers.

He sat until the fear of possible dangers started to subside. The caves were empty. An entirely new fear set in. Isolation.
Nerim stood out of the alcove and began walking again, taking every left once more. But there were no familiar caves, no sounds beyond his own breathing and footsteps and the occasional crinkle of crystal. Eventually he tried shouting, and yet his voice didn't even echo back to him. He was, as far as he could tell, alone. Utterly, intractably alone.

He finally came to his last possible resort. He sat down on his knees in the middle of another chamber, closed his eyes, and tried to think as loudly as he could towards his master. There he sat for minutes—maybe hours.

Then, a sharp pain off his forehead, the sensation of ricochet. He opened his eyes and looked down, to see a small glowing green crystal. Then his eyes raised, and his breath caught in his throat. Across the room from Nerim, stood Nerim.

The mirror image of himself crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently, as if waiting for the real him to say something.

The boy on his knees opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The one standing reached for another crystal on the wall, snapped it off, and tossed it at him, bouncing off his cheek hard enough to make him check if he had started bleeding. No, thankfully.

"Do something," the thrower demanded.

"D-do what?" The sitter asked incredulously.

"Anything!" The other Nerim said. "Just take one!"

"But I don't know which to take," Nerim pleaded.

The other one huffed, and in place of a verbal reply simply snapped another crystal and tossed it again, causing Nerim to raise his arms to deflect it. The cold made his skin more sensitive, rippling with pain as the sharp crystal clattered against him and then to the cave floor.

"Wh—what, this one?" Nerim asked, picking it up off the ground, rapidly approaching his emotional limits.

"ANY of them!" The other groaned in frustration, putting his hands on his head. "Take any of them! I'm practically throwing them at you and you're not taking them!"

"I don't know if it's the right one!" He protested, his voice cracking. "It has to be the right one or it won't work!"

"Of course it will work!" The standing one said, walking to another random crystal, pulling it off the wall and gesturing with it. "They're made for you, and you're made for them."

"It just—it doesn't feel right," Nerim said, close to sobbing. "It's just a rock, like any other."

"What do you mean it's just a rock?!" The standing one asked, on the verge of shouting.

"S-someth—I, I..." Nerim stuttered, tears rolling down his cheeks. "There's supposed to be a crystal meant for me. There's supposed to be something I have a connection to..."

"No, Nerim!" Nerim finally shouted, echoing off the walls. "They're ALL meant for you!"

He blinked, tears falling as fast as he could wipe them away. "B-but I'm supposed to know. I'm supposed to look at one of them and just know it's special..."

"It's all special!" The standing one said, approaching him and taking a knee. "Everything in this universe is special. You can pick any of them. You can decide, and then you will know."

"T-that's not how it works for everyone else. The other Jedi say...the crystal chooses them."

The kneeling one sighed. "All are intertwined. The others say that the Jedi and the crystal must choose each other. For most, the crystal may make the first move. But not all."

"S-so what?" Nerim said, taking a shaky breath through his tears. "I can do whatever and it will just work?"

"Yes." Nerim replied, firmly.

"Well, can I just break the rules and take two then?!" He asked rhetorically.

Nerim looked down at him, and smiled. "...From a certain point of view."

-------

Nerim's eyes snapped open, and he clutched his head. There was a single point of pain at the top of his skull, and a tink as something hit the ground.

His first instinct was to gasp for air, as if he hadn't taken a breath in hours. He glanced around wide-eyed at his surroundings, breathing heavily. The Jedi were there; Gendi, and the other Master, Knights, and most of the Padawans. Tzai blinked at him with curiosity, holding a blue crystal in the upturned palms of his hands as he sat cross-legged on the floor.

Nerim looked down to find himself sitting on his knees, and lying in front of him, a crystal. He turned to one of the Knights, who looked up at the ceiling with great interest. Following his gaze, Nerim saw a crystal formation directly above him, from which the crystal at his knees must have fallen. It was a color in between green and yellow, hard to place as either.

"Well, I'll be," Gendi said with a chortle. "Do you imagine that's the one?"

Nerim reached down and held the crystal between his index and thumb, looking at it. For a moment, he wasn't sure what to say, but then he decided. "Yes."

"Didn't even have to leave the antechamber," the Knight remarked. "That one must have had a strong connection with you."

Nerim thought wordlessly to himself, gazing into it and letting his emotions settle.

With time, the rest of the Padawans re-entered the antechamber as if waking from a dream, blinking bleary-eyed and each holding a crystal of their own. With everyone rounded up, the Jedi took a moment to meditate on the gratitude they felt towards the Crystal Caves, and then surfaced into the freezing blizzard once more to enter their ship and return to the Galaxy.

The process of constructing their lightsabers was to be done on the trip back. For this, unlike almost every other facet of the Order, there were no rules; a Jedi's lightsaber was their creation, first and foremost. Most of the students had brought along components they expected to use, and there was a large store of potential backups onboard.

While the Masters focused on astrogation, the Knights assisted the Padawans. Most of the components were surprisingly simple and easy to find in myriad variations throughout the Galaxy; the difficulty of lightsaber construction was not its components, but rather how they fit together. A lightsaber could only be constructed from within, with extreme precision, necessitating the use of telekinesis. Small-scale telekinesis, that which a Padawan could comfortably perform, but telekinesis nonetheless.

Nerim had experimented beforehand from time to time with handles and grips, and had found specifications that had pleased him, so he knew roughly what he wanted the lightsaber to look like. He had studied schematics and formulated his own, and presented it to a Knight who gave him an appraising look and then a nod of approval. Now all that he had to do was actually put it together.

By the second day of the journey back to Coruscant, Nerim wanted to smash his head against the workbench, and by the third, Nerim was the only Padawan that did not have a working lightsaber when they landed at the Temple. As they lined up and walked down the ramp to exit the craft, he made no attempt to hide his sullen expression. Each Jedi and the Padawans split up to go their separate ways back to whatever duties they had waiting for them, proudly wearing the lightsaber on their hip, save three.

Nerim stopped at the entrance to the temple, leaning on a pillar and letting the breeze of the open air blow across him before he cloistered himself away in yet another metal can of a room to do yet more fruitless training. The air of Coruscant was home to him, dingy as it might seem. It had a noticeable metal twang to it, and in the lower levels it seemed to leave a thin coat of grime on your face if you looked into it for too long, but by the heights of the Temple it was merely thin, cool, and humid. Rather than hard to breathe, the air was almost over-oxygenated, being closest to the Atmospheric Reclamation Dampeners which recycled carbon dioxide to ensure the planet-city didn't suffocate.

Stopping beside him were two other Padawans; Tzai, and the girl whom Nerim had defeated in the tournament. Tzai looked at him with mild concern, while the girl looked at him with mild interest.

"Fear not, Nerim," Tzai said with a comforting smile. "You are more talented than you know. You've already proven it several times already; the tournament, the gathering...Don't count yourself out."

Nerim gave him a tight-lipped approximation of a smile in return. "Thanks."

"Perhaps you should meditate on why you gained the particular crystal that you did," the girl offered with only a hint of condescension. "Each crystal has its own implications."

"Yes!" Tzai agreed, gesturing to her. "For instance, Chey-Linn and I both received blue crystals, hinting at our nature as future Guardians. Perhaps your crystal contains such mysteries."

'Huh,' Nerim thought to himself, 'So that's her name.' He was awkwardly avoiding having to ask what it was for quite some time now, having forgotten it at some point. He, of course, spared no thought at all to the actual substance of their suggestion.

Tzai clapped a hand on his shoulder and nodded. "I have faith you'll succeed before you even know it."

-----------------

Spoiler: A/N

Definitely the longest and most experimental chapter thusfar. I was quite unconfident in writing the 'Star Wars vision quest' scene, which is largely the reason why I decided to write it. In the immortal words of George Lucas, ' I may have gone too far in places. [...] Hopefully it'll work.'

 

[Hyenanon]

Spoiler: A/N

Despite my general extreme dislike for everything introduced in the The Clone Wars (not to be confused with the Clone Wars cartoon) cartoon, I actually do quite like the idea of Raxus Secundus, so I've adopted it into my canon. Although I can only give half-props to the The Clone Wars, because it seems pretty obvious to me that they were not actually intending to make Raxus Secundus a thing, and this was just another instance of Filoni randomly reaching for a name and attempting to overwrite some bit of canon, and we were saved by later auxiliary material insisting it was a different planet than Raxus Prime.

Chapter 9: The Ability To Speak​

It hadn't been a week, and Nerim was already in another starship. The yacht they traveled in was certainly ostentatious, with its sleek hull shined to a gleaming white and accented with the venerated deep red of the Republic. It was no cruiser, there was only space for a dozen or so—but there were only three regardless. Nerim, Arwain, and Jianno.

As Jianno safely left Coruscant's Mass Shadow and kicked the hyperdrive into gear, Nerim felt that sudden lurch he always had whenever they passed the lightspeed barrier. Raxus Secundus was their destination, a glittering utopian world of the Outer Rim. Owing to its central location on the trade routes, political stability, beauty, and multi-species population, it was selected as the headquarters of the Trade Federation, and the place where negotiations between the Federation and the government of Cathar would take place.

"Hence, our mission," Arwain explained at the end of a rather long and circuitous lecture on the political history of the Outer Rim. "If Cathar were to pull their support from the Trade Federation, it would essentially result in the entire Quelii sector seceding, and that would have a knock-on effect which would likely result in much more skepticism from the northern Outer Rim."

"So we just stand around and hope the Trade Federation does everything for us?" Nerim asked. He was already getting a headache from the fact that the system, planet, and species all shared the name 'Cathar,' and that the plural and demonym of all of the above was also just 'Cathar.'

"Not exactly. We have reason to believe that someone—"

"The Hutts," Jianno cut in.

"—We have reason to believe the Hutts," Arwain corrected herself, "are interested in ensuring that Cathar does indeed withdraw itself from Trade Federation protection."

"Why?" Nerim asked.

Arwain tilted her head. "There are so many 'whys' that you could be referring to."

"Why do we care, why do the Hutts care, why do the Cathar want to secede?" Nerim listed as efficiently as a droid. Arwain smiled.

"The Trade Federation formed the Trade Defense and Exploratory forces in an attempt to solve the perennial issues which cause the Outer Rim to lack the commerce that ensures the prosperity we experience in the Core and Mid Rim systems. That is, a lack of hyperspace lanes, piracy within those few existing hyperspace lanes, and constant conflicts between squabbling petty governments. It has done surprisingly well in this time, and done so in a democratic and harmonizing manner, so we want it to continue. Hutts, meanwhile, thrive off of parasitic actions. Piracy, slave trafficking, obfuscation, and so on. Their interests are in direct competition, and whatever weakens the Trade Federation will strengthen the Hutts."

"Okay," Nerim scratched his head. "So why would Cathar want to leave?"

Jianno snorted and craned her neck around from the pilot's seat. "Your Master was bending the truth a little about the Trade Federation doing its job well."

Arwain nodded in acknowledgment. "It has generally done its job well. However, there have been numerous slave raids in Cathar territory that the Trade Federation has failed to rebuff. If the issue cannot be solved, the Cathar will retract their membership from the Federation and reactivate their own System Defense Force to deal with the issue themselves."

"...Do you think this is a solvable issue?" He asked with a noticeable tone of pessimism.

"Of course, Nerim. The Trade Federation has simply been overextended, and have ramped up production of patrol ships in response, but the construction process takes time, and negotiations must be made with the Republic to bypass Ruusan Reformation laws on standing navies. Indeed, the patrol fleets are already on their way to Cathar, it is simply further guarantees and reparations that are needed to soothe the situation."

"So we stand around and hope the Trade Federation does everything for us," Nerim repeated. Arwain reached forward and pinched his nose, causing him to yelp more out of surprise than pain.

"Pay attention, Padawan," she chided. "Our job is to ensure the Hutts do not somehow sabotage these talks. The Trade Federation are a bureaucratic and naval organization, not the Senate Guard. If anything—anything at all, were to happen to the Cathar diplomats, then the Cathar's sense of honor would demand drastic action. Especially in light of this entire problem starting because of the Trade Federation's failure to protect them. In short, we will be the Cathar's bodyguards."

"So I stand around and hope that you two do everything for us," Nerim sighed.

Arwain couldn't help but chuckle, and placed a reassuring hand on his head. "Nerim, my troubled apprentice, you do not need a functioning lightsaber to prove yourself useful. And beyond that, your main role here is to be mindful and learn."

Arwain then stood up, and moved to the mini-fridge to grab a luminescent green drink of some sort. "Also," she added, "Jianno will not be accompanying us directly."

"Why not?"

Jianno pulled a lever to allow her seat to slide out and rotate towards the two. "Around three and a half thousand years ago, my ancestors beat theirs in a war. They haven't gotten over it."

He frowned. "That's a long time ago, to still be mad about."

Arwain pursed her lips. "Jianno is...bending the truth a little bit."

"Wha?"

Jianno shrugged. "Killed around six billion of them. There were a couple thousand leftovers. Think Darth Revan ended up taking them as pets?"

Nerim blinked. "By the Force..."

Jianno checked the time on her watch. "Yeah, they would not be happy to see me on their team. Gonna go out on my own, see if I can track down any Hutt activity. We found some Cathar slaves on Cato Neimoidia while you were getting your magic crystals, so we know the Hutts are involved in the attacks already. And if anyone is on Cato Neimoidia, they're probably on Raxus too."

Nerim took a deep breath.

----------

Raxus Secundus truly was beautiful, in an understated way compared to the Core Systems. Much of the planet was still agrarian—it was the most in the way of plants that Nerim had ever seen outside of the Room Of A Thousand Fountains, although the plants of Raxus were mostly brownish yellow rather than deep rainforest green.

Stepping out of the ship, he was quite surprised to feel the warm wind rushing against him. Throughout most of his life, wind was only cold; from the heights of Coruscant to the caves of Ilum. Warmth was something you found inside, next to industrial equipment, not tracing its way through the air and filtering through savanna grass and sparse dry leaves. It struck him as silly immediately afterwards, but until now, he hadn't quite imagined that there could be such a thing as a hot wind. Cities on Raxus Secundus were meticulously planned, much moreso than the utterly labyrinthine sprawl of Coruscant. They were glittering white circles which extended superhighways in every-which-way to connect to the other circular cities, endless farmlands between them. Even within the cities, there were many patches of green and yellow where parks and public works sat.

Jianno quickly broke off from the pack, disappearing into a crowd of technicians and dockworkers at the spaceport. Nerim followed closely behind Arwain, attempting not to lose her while simultaneously swiveling his head around to catch any sights he could. It was not long before they had entered a train, and he could finally sit down and focus on observing the world around him.

Arwain was not wrong; there were many dozens of different species on Raxus Secundus. He was used to that, having lived on Coruscant and in the Temple, but he had read before that was something of a rarity. The train was luxurious and comfortable; deep blue upholstery and silver walls with gold trim between them, surrounded on either side by windows displaying the cultivated beauty of the city.

The passengers mostly ignored the two of them. Jedi robes were humble, generic—not at all out of place on the Outer Rim, and although some might raise an eyebrow at what such lower class people were doing in the capital of Raxus if they had spared it a thought, most were too busy with their own lives to think of doing so.

Nerim's brow furrowed at the concept. He was, quite frankly, never that busy with his own life, and he wondered what they must be thinking of. It did not occur to him that they thought about their families, their jobs, their plans for the day, their favorite shows and entertainment, their homes. The Jedi were discouraged heavily from such worries, so as to always live in the now.

A sudden flash of light and an explosion caused him to jump in place. Arwain chuckled. "Relax, apprentice. It's just the rain."

"The rain?" He blinked. "It rains here?"

Arwain turned and looked out the window, towards the cloudfront rolling in. "Apparently, yes."

Nerim smiled. He had never seen rain before. He knew it existed, obviously—had read poems about it, at the very least—but the atmospheric management of Coruscant was so efficient at recycling water for the city that it very rarely made it to the point of rain. As far as he knew, it had been decades since the last storm reached the "surface" of the city world, where the Temple was.

The train came to a stop practically inside the capital building, and Nerim did not have to risk entering the rain—which he hoped was not as unpleasant when the water was liquid and warm, as opposed to frozen in a blizzard. When they entered an elevator and began to rise, Arwain spoke to him without looking.

"Now, Nerim, the Cathar are a proud and ceremonial people. Often, that means they will come off as rude, silly, and/or unintelligent. In the case of the Cathar, they generally lean on the first third of the equation. Especially now, given the circumstances."

"I'll try to keep my cool, Master."

"Good," said Arwain in a slightly uncertain tone, "That is what I meant of course, yes, but also, do not let them bully you. Remember, you are a Jedi, not a retainer. They do not have the authority to issue you orders, and be mindful of how your actions will reflect upon the Jedi."

"Right," Nerim nodded. "Uh, how do I address the diplomat?"

"Elder Jarroa," she replied. "His family are referred to as Highkin by other Cathar of his clan, but you ought not use that title, it's overly familiar for you. Just refer to them by their names, or sir or ma'am."

"He brought his family?"

Arwain nodded. "Yes, it's seen as a sign of great disrespect for an Elder to not take his immediate family with him on diplomatic missions. It would signal distrust. Don't worry, it's just two of his brothers, his wife, his child, and five servants."

"That's...a lot of people to protect," Nerim sighed in exasperation. "Especially with one lightsaber between the two of—"
He quickly closed his mouth as the door opened. The room was almost like a penthouse suite at the top of the Raxus capitol, luxurious beyond measure. Several Cathar sat in a circular couch speaking lowly to each other, and turned to the Jedi as the doors opened, falling silent for a few tense moments.

"That's why I gave you the blaster, Padawan," Arwain gave a delayed reply, filling the silence and stepping in. "Hello, Elder Jarroa. I am Jedi Master Arwain Ash-Kan, and this is my Padawan learner, Nerim."

One of the Cathar stood up, and all the rest immediately stood up with him. He walked over and reached for a handshake. Arwain carefully returned the gesture, and Nerim noticed Jarroa's claws. Cathar were similar to Bothans, it seemed, but far more catlike, almost like walking tigers with uncannily human faces. He couldn't quite tell at first if they were covered in a very short fur coat, or simply had patterns on their skin.

"Welcome, Jedi," Jarroa replied in a growling, deep voice that rumbled his ribcage. "We have great reverence for your kind, but with all due respect, I wish to know—why are you here?"

Arwain smiled. "To ensure the negotiations are uninterrupted, and to protect you in particular."

Jarroa's hard, predatory eyes stared at her with disbelief. "I have been on a thousand offworld diplomatic missions before this, and never have I even seen a Jedi. Why this time?"

The Master thought for a moment how much to reveal. "The Order has reason to believe that there are dissident elements that have been particularly targeting the Trade Federation, and your world..."

While Arwain explained the situation, Nerim glanced at each of the other Cathar. More began emerging from doors in the suite, prowling out and sizing up the Jedi. All were quite tall, and aside from one fat brother, were fit and carried weapons. Blaster pistols and stun rods. There were only two females; Jarroa's wife, and also the child, who looked to be about the same age as Nerim but a foot taller than him.

He had read that the Cathar were a martial species, infamous for their short tempers and physical prowess, and almost universally underwent a trial by combat as a coming-of-age ritual. Duels were common, though rarely lethal. It painted a rather intimidating picture, one that prompted Nerim to attempt to display all the confidence possible in response, so as not to appear as a juicy target. He crossed his arms and looked back at them. This was apparently the wrong thing to do, as they began approaching him.

Still, there was no backing down at this point. Nerim jutted out his chin as the younger girl crossed her arms to mirror his body language. "Nerim, is it?" She asked. "You're a bodyguard?"

"I am a Jedi," he responded.

"A Padawan," she clarified, much to Nerim's chagrin.

"Padawan, yes," he admitted. "You are well read on Jedi?"

She quickly breathed out through her nose. "Our kind were saved by the Jedi, most of us are schooled in the basics of your Order. I was under the impression that Padawans were supposed to be learners, not active warriors."

Nerim quickly glanced to the others, wondering why he was being addressed by the child. Perhaps, his intuition told him, he was 'below' the station of the adults, and not to be addressed so casually. The other child seemed to be the only one free to speak to him. "Generally, yes. I wouldn't call myself Knight material just yet," he said, "But I did win the Initiate dueling tournament."

She tilted her head in surprise, obviously quite curious. "Is that so? You are a lightsaber duelist? May I see it?"

Nerim heard Arwain stumble over her words mid-explanation, trying to hold back laughter. He tried his best not to look at her, because it would be obvious he was shooting daggers. He was suddenly very aware of the incomplete lightsaber hanging from his belt under his robes. "We do not draw our lightsabers unless we plan to use them on something, or someone," he said.

She narrowed her eyes, and nodded in understanding, as if he just said something wise instead of covering his ass. 'By the Force', he thought to himself, 'Is this what Arwain is doing all the time?'

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 10: D'ya Want A Cup Of Jawa Juice?​

Nerim entered the negotiation chambers with little idea of what was happening—but he was a quick learner. By the end of the session, he had surmised that the Cathar were requesting a formal apology, reparations to be paid to the families, the dues Cathar owed to be suspended for a year, and a permanent station above that which other systems of equivalent economic activity received. The Trade Federation was somewhat amenable to all these requests, but not to the degree the Cathar wanted.

The formal apology that had been requested, which included things like 'admittance of ineptitude', would be politically inconvenient for the Trade Federation which was trying to entice other Outer Rim worlds. They had the wealth and will to forgive the dues and pay the reparations in full, and had only minor complaints about the amount of warships Cathar wanted permanently stationed around it, and the command structure under which they would operate.

It became clear to Nerim that this was, indeed, a solvable problem, but one that both sides were going to drag out for at least a few more days to extract as much as they could out of each other. However, they—blessedly—had decided to break for the day, and get back to it tomorrow. The Cathar were invited to enjoy the sights that Raxus Secundus had to offer, and the Trade Federation ambassadors bid them a good evening and excused themselves.

Nerim quickly glanced at the rooftops as they exited the building, halfway expecting to see a sniper. The rest of the Cathar had stayed behind in the suite, while only Jarroa, his fat brother, and a servant had attended the meeting. They walked between the Jedi with Arwain on one side and Nerim on the other.

"There is a wonderful orchestra playing tonight, I have heard," the fat brother suggested.

Jarroa snorted. "I suppose I could care less."

"Oh come now, surely you don't think I suggested we do something fun together," the brother laughed. "When was the last time you ever wanted to do anything? I was suggesting it because it would make your wife happy."

"Mm...Maybe," Jarroa considered as they stopped and waited for an airspeeder.

Nerim leaned forward and grimaced at Arwain, who looked back at him with a slightly concerned furrow in her brow. The speeder landed, and they flew back to the suite, which had its own small landing pad.

As they disembarked Arwain gestured for Nerim to follow inside, while she fished the communicator off her belt and called Jianno for a report. Nerim entered and sat down by a window, scanning the evening skyline of Raxus. There were mountains in the distance, and many glowing lights leading up to the city between. He glanced through the nearby windows of skyscrapers and frowned at how open they were. He had been assured the glass of this suite was reinforced to reflect blaster bolts, but tapped impatiently on the sill regardless.

Arwain entered, and sat next to Nerim. "I sense disharmony in your mind, Padawan."

"It's this mission. I never realized how impossible being a bodyguard would be. Protect a group from all possible sources of harm? I don't know how I possibly could without taking them into deep space."

Arwain smiled. "You're right, it is an extreme disadvantage to be on the defensive in this scenario. That is why it is better to take proactive steps against possible dangers. Jianno has reported that she's made contact with elements of the underworld, and while there are Hutt agents present here, they seem to be common drug smuggling operations. She will be casing the opera house to ensure its safety."

Nerim frowned. "We're going to the symphony?"

Arwain just grinned and nodded her head towards the Cathar. Jarroa finished drinking a tall cocktail and turned to his wife. "So, I was informed there would be a rare orchestra performance tonight..." He trailed off, and they watched as the wife's face lit up.

Nerim rubbed his forehead in annoyance, and Arwain chuckled. "He made up his mind the moment his brother suggested it."

"So what do we do?"

Arwain sat and thought for a moment. "First, we'll get Jianno to try her best to make some plans to assassinate the Cathar. Then, you and I study how to stop her. We have about two hours, now you find some blueprints and I'll fetch some refreshments."

----------

Nerim disembarked from the airspeeder once more, this time outside the opera house. He quickly glanced to make sure everything was safe, and then turned and offered his hand to assist the Cathar out of the craft. One by one they piled out, ignoring his offer as he felt increasingly awkward, until the young one grabbed his hand and dropped out.

"Thank you," she said flatly.

"You're welcome, Miss," he said, attempting to keep a polite face.

"Aesha," she said, finally introducing herself. "Do not take the adults' refusal as disrespect. It is dishonorable for an adult to accept assistance in battle from a child. They are uncomfortable about your involvement."

"It's not a battle yet, Miss Aesha," Nerim replied, somewhat pleased his hunch was right. "Hopefully, it will never be."

She scowled. "Just Aesha."

"Right," Nerim nodded, turning away as it swiftly became too awkward to maintain eye contact, and moving towards the opera house VIP entrance with the rest of the family. The sky cracked again, and drops began falling behind him just as he shuffled in through the entrance.

Several minutes were spent waiting as the Cathar excitedly chattered among themselves, but as the show began, Nerim felt a chill tingle up his spine. The music was interesting—enthralling, even.

There Nerim sat, gently swaying back and forth, trying not to make it too obvious he was enjoying himself so as to avoid castigation from his Master, when Aesha stood up and began to shuffle out back towards the hallway. Nerim quickly glanced to Arwain, who nodded in her direction as if to tell Nerim to accompany her, and so he stood up and followed the Cathar out.

Her ear twitched, and she turned turned around to see him following. "Problem?" She glared.

"Is there?" He asked in reply.

She leaned on the wall. "No. Just hungry. Don't like neoclassical that much. Prefer jatz."

"Jatz?"

She raised an eyebrow. "The...music?"

"I've never heard of it. How does it differ?"

Aesha scoffed. "How have you not heard of it? It practically plays in every corner of the Galaxy."

Nerim frowned. "We do not listen to music in the Temple. At least not very often, and never music from the outside world. Music is generally meant to excite the passions, which is forbidden."

Aesha stared at him for a moment, and then turned and continued walking. Nerim quickly jogged until he was walking by her side, and then spoke. "Hey, where are you going, anyways? It's not like there's a concession stand. Trust me, I checked."

"There's a diner across the street."

"What?!" Nerim said, slapping his hands to the top of his head. "You're leaving the opera house?!"

"Yes?" She smirked rather smugly at him.

"We did not plan for this!"

"Improvise."

There was a pit in his stomach, something cold and slimy that crept up his viscera. "I have a bad feeling about this. Are you out of your mind? You realize there's a reason we were sent to guard you?"

"Then guard me, Jedi."

"We are trying, but this is harder than it looks!" He protested. "When you're out in the open, there's no way I can possibly cover you from every angle."

She rolled her eyes and continued walking, and Nerim's face lowered from a frown into an outright grimace. He had heard before that the children of nobles were impetuous, but having grown up in the ever-obedient Jedi Order, he could scarcely have imagined this level of foolhardiness. His mind raced back to what Arwain had told him: 'Do not let them bully you.'

He raced in front of her and stuck a hand out, stopping her in her tracks. "Hold it right there! I can't allow you to leave. If you absolutely must have something to eat, you can have some of my rations, or I can go pick something up from a place nearby, but you can't leave the building."

She blinked in surprise, and then slowly, one sharp tooth at a time, she grinned. He was once again unaware that he had made the exact wrong move; challenging a Cathar over the pursuit of food.

Nerim felt that shiver race up his spine again, this time much faster. "Don't try it," he warned.

As soon as the words left his mouth, she bounded past him, shoving him aside and laughing as she sprinted down the hallway. Cursing under his breath, he began running after her. Her much-longer legs kept her leaps and bounds ahead of him, and when she reached the staircase, he realized he had no chance of catching up to her.

Turning to the side, he saw another set of balcony seats. He rushed onto the balcony—startling a group of well-dressed Neimoidians—and jumped off the side, grabbing onto a column and sliding down it. His comlink crackled to life and Jianno's voice whisper-shouted over it. "Nerim, the hell are you doing?!"

Once he hit the ground, he started running for the side entrance he guessed (and hoped) she was going for. He grabbed his comlink and pressed down the transmit button. "Aesha's making a break for it!"

"She's WHAT?"

Nerim slid sideways on the highly polished marble floors and entered the hallway which lead to the bottom of the stairs, just as Aesha was scrambling down them. The exit stood between them. They stood still and stared at each other for half a second.

Arwain's voice carried calmly over the comlink. "I told you not to let her bully you, Padawan."

"I'm trying damn it!" Nerim shouted, running towards her—but she was already out the door.

He scrambled out into the dark evening, almost jumping in place in surprise as he felt the heavy raindrops begin to careen into his face. Aesha turned back and grinned at him again, before dodging between parked airspeeders and beginning to scramble over the short fence that separated the parking lot from the wider street. Nerim chased after, jumping up onto the hood of an airspeeder and deftly jumping from cabin to cabin, and leaping through the air over the fence just as Aesha cleared it; she had the speed, but he had the agility—much to his surprise.

He came almost within arm's reach of her as she took off again, immediately widening the gap once more down the sidewalk. They ran until one of the crosswalks turned green, and she cut to the side to cross the avenue. He seriously considered shooting her (with a stun bolt), but worried that falling at speed would cause her to concuss herself on the pavement, and so instead he followed after, losing more and more until she quickly slinked in through a set of glass doors. Drenched in rain, he burst in afterwards, gasping for air only to find her sitting at the bar of what appeared to be a diner, laughing.

"Nice try, Jedi boy!" She grinned proudly, also breathing heavily.

Nerim quickly scanned the interior. There were only a handful of patrons—five, four of which were staring at the two of them with rather concerned expressions, and the fifth was out cold on the table next to a half-empty mug of caf.

A moment later, the doors to the kitchen swung open and an Ithorian wandered out, his eye stalks twisting slightly in suspicion of the two rain-soaked youths that had entered. Nonetheless, he politely greeted them, and Aesha ordered a Bantha burger and potato wedges, before they both turned to Nerim.

He blinked and shrugged, staring at the menu completely disorientated. "I've never had any of this before," he mumbled, feeling a strange emotion. It was like something was slithering across him, but not in an altogether unpleasant way, and perhaps like a bird was trying to escape from his chest. "What is this noise?"

Aesha glanced up at the speaker mounted on the top of the bar, and then looked back at him. "Jatz."

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 11: It May Be Difficult​

Halfway through his Bantha burger, Nerim was convinced he had to leave the Jedi Order. The conscription of his person as an infant was perhaps forgivable, but deprivation on this scale was not.

"This is amazing," he said. The Ithorian puffed up proudly.

"You've really never been to another inhabited planet before?" Aesha asked, leaned over the bar.

He turned and looked out the window back towards the opera house. "I think this is the furthest I've ever been from another Jedi before."

"Don't they take you on some sort of quest to get your lightsaber crystal?" She tilted her head.

He wrinkled his nose at remembering his incomplete lightsaber, and nodded. "Yes. My crystal was in the cave entrance itself."

She frowned. "That must be frustrating, to have your chance to prove yourself cut short."

Nerim didn't quite have it in him to agree. He simply took another bite of his food.

Aesha tapped her fingers on the counter. "I have been awaiting my trials for ages. This trip has only delayed them further. I know I am ready, yet it will likely be months before I am recognized as an adult."

He gently elbowed her. "Patience, Aesha. At least you're confident you'll make it. I was pretty certain I would fail my Initiate Trials, and they came all too soon."

She tilted her head. "You were? But aren't you the best duelist of your generation?"

Each time Nerim's victory was brought up to him, he got a stronger urge to laugh in disbelief. "There's more to being a Jedi."

She looked down at her drink pensively for a few seconds. "Is it true that all Jedi are found at birth?"

He really did chuckle this time. "There's no such thing as a Jedi baby. To be a Jedi is an affiliation with the Order, and a belief. Infants can only be Force sensitive."

"I see...but are they all found at birth?"

Nerim took another bite and thought. "Not all. Anyone born outside of the Republic, or who didn't take standard blood tests at birth can fall through the cracks. There are also some species that generally refuse to give up their Force sensitives," he said, gesturing to the Ithorian behind the bar, who nodded. "It's unknown just how many Force sensitives never join the Order."

"Is it possible I could be a Jedi?" She asked.

"No," Nerim replied instantly, only realizing a split second later that he might have crushed her. He flinched and looked at her, but she seemed to stare at him unaffected. "No one can join the Order after they're old enough to form memories," he quickly clarified, "Not that you should even want to. It's not as pleasant as you would think. It's a life without burgers or music, chasing strange Cathar through rainstorms for reasons you don't quite understand, and on top of all that it's quite thankless."

"Well," the Ithorian rumbled, "Thank you."

Nerim smiled at him. Aesha nodded slowly in understanding before speaking. "But...could I use the Force? If I tried?"

Without warning, the diner slipped away. Nerim rose out of his body, and he was back in the Crystal Cave of Ilum; surrounded by cold, glittering lights, and a breeze that felt like the breath of the world. Just as quickly, he snapped back to the diner, and without quite knowing why, he replied to her. "You already are."

Before she could respond, Nerim felt the crawling sensation again, this time much stronger. In a burst of thoughtless adrenaline, he leaped over the bar and drew his blaster—in the same instant, the doors burst open. He pointed his blaster at the figures entering, his every instinct telling him to pull the trigger; but he hesitated in doubt. By the time his eyes had decoded the information before him, it was too late.

Four aliens entered the establishment, simultaneously reaching under their long coats and pulling out blasters. Three were Weequay, their gaunt and wrinkled hides wrapped around their pronounced cheekbones and temples, each with two glints of light in their sunken eye sockets. The fourth was a Gran, three-eyed goat-like being, quite obviously bearing the marks of exile from his homeworld.

Nerim fired his blaster on stun, which burnt through one of the Weequay's coats and revealed armor underneath that absorbed the blast. The other two fired in a synchronized volley, sending stun bolts directly into Nerim's chest and Aesha's back.

Nerim fell to the ground below the bar as the Weequay began barking orders. His entire body convulsed, straining every muscle he had while playing out a kaleidoscope of colors across his eyes as his photoreceptors misfired. The Ithorian immediately dropped to one knee next to him, attempting to stop him from banging his head on the floor in his convulsions; he noticed the Ithorian also subtly pickpocket the incomplete lightsaber off of his belt, shoving it into his apron.

"Up!" The Weequay who had just been shot shouted at the Ithorian, who raised his hands and slowly raised himself while Nerim lay gasping for air on the floor. One of the shooters slid across the countertop in a fluid motion, pointing his blaster at Nerim's semi-conscious form. He opened Nerim's robe and bared his teeth as he began disarming him.

The Gran leaned over the counter and rolled all three eyes. "Didn't know that Cathar royalty kept such low company," he scoffed, while the Weequay hissed at him. The Gran then activated his comlink. "Targets pacified."

"Good," came a voice through the static, "Detain them and provide backup ASAP, it's gone loud over here."

"...Detain thems?" The Weequay asked. "Detain thems in what?"

The bounty hunters were silent for a moment, before the Gran turned to the Ithorian and gave him a sickly yellow smile. "Have a freezer?

The Ithorian huffed, staring down the blaster pointed at him as if considering if he would rather be shot than have a bunch of dirty bounty hunters stumbling around his kitchens.

Nerim drifted in and out of consciousness as he was searched for weapons and valuables, his utility belt stripped off, and then his body dragged into the back. He was attempting to blink the stars out of his eyes, propped against the wall while the Ithorian began attempting to open his walk-in freezer, when a kitchen droid spun through the doorway and banged into a wall. The bounty hunters jumped and turned to the commotion, while the Ithorian opened the door, slipped a hand under his apron, and quickly threw the lightsaber in. It clattered on the icy floor, no louder than the droid's screams of fear as it had three blasters pointed directly at it.

Upon realizing it was a droid, the Gran breathed a sigh of relief, and one of the Weequay grunted in annoyance and shot it anyways, blasting it onto its side and leaving it spinning its wheels in the air as it screamed louder. A different Weequay grabbed Nerim by his hair and dragged him into the freezer, while the third tossed Aesha in.

Nerim groaned in pain and looked out the doorway, awkwardly attempting to regain control of his limbs. He saw the Gran give the Ithorian a friendly smile and hold out his hand. "The key, plea—" He cut off, his voice interrupted by another blaster bolt, and further droid screams. His smile instantly disappeared as he snatched the key from the Ithorian, and then turned around and shouted "AIM NEXT TIME, BESH!"

Another blaster bolt, and the droid stopped screaming. "Quiet, beast," he heard a Weequay's voice, "We shoot and you not, so have no right to complain about we aim!"

The Gran slammed the door shut, and their arguing became muffled. Nerim closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and forced himself up onto his hands and knees, coughing up phlegm and shaking the static electricity out of his digits. His hand reached out and found his lightsaber, and he hooked it onto his normal belt, thankful to have at least not lost that one thing, however useless it was. When he opened his eyes again, rubbing his hands together in the cold, he looked to Aesha who was still on the floor. "Can you move?"

"Gllgkht..." She replied through involuntarily grit teeth, writhing her numb limbs until she had rolled on her side to face him.

He held his breath and stood up, allowing the pain to flow through and out of him as he had been taught. The room was lit only by a dim, low-power teal fluorescent light on the ceiling, and they were surrounded by boxes of meat and other assorted food items. There were no windows, or vents that looked large enough to crawl through.

Moving to examine the door, he found that it had no safety release from the inside; something that probably would not have been allowed in the more coreward regions of the Republic, but safety regulations were always tacitly accepted to be quite lower in the Outer Rim, even on the more developed worlds—and especially in the Raxus system.

"We're stuck," he said dumbly.

Aesha attempted to scramble up off the freezing floor, forcing more bloodflow through her numb limbs. "Digh—Hrgn!" She coughed in pain and at the sudden discomfort of the icy air in her lungs. "Did t-t-they tagh all your equipmehh?"

He shrugged. "Practically."

She managed to rise to her knees. "Call your hgh-lightsaber! Jedi can do t-that? I have read that their lightsaber always comes to them when they call."

Nerim fought the urge to bang his head into the steel door. "Not exactly."

"Damn! It happened so quickly," she mumbled to herself, rubbing her arms as her fur began to stand on end. "I do not have any technology on me. They took my datapad, my blaster, my stunrod...Only my claws remain."

"And your brain, I hope?" Nerim said, beginning to move boxes around to look for something—anything. A drain, a control panel, even a power outlet that he might be able to short out to cause some sort of emergency release.

Aesha glared at him, scowling with all the anger of which she was capable. Slowly it broke in bits and pieces; her brow wavered, her lips turned down, her eyes were unable to meet his comparatively dispassionate gaze. Rage replaced all too quickly with grief. "What a fool," she muttered, curling into the fetal position. "Perhaps I don't."

Nerim crossed his arms, unimpressed. "I told you I had a bad feeling about this."

She looked up at him, with liquid eyes and trembling whiskers. "I am sorry, Jedi. I did not think we were truly in danger."

He instinctively resisted the tugging sensation he felt in his heart, continuing to stare blankly at her. "We can only hope our counterparts are doing half as well as us," he said sarcastically, recalling something the hunters had said about 'backup.'

Her eyes widened. "M-my parents? They'll be okay ri—..." She stopped, the breath caught in her throat. She jumped to her feet and began pacing, alternating between gasping for air and keeping her windpipe shut to stop herself from devolving into tears. The nervous, useless energy of constantly circling thoughts radiated off of her and almost visibly saturated the room, even to one who wasn't all too sensitive in the Force.

Eventually, Nerim's resolve broke. 'Don't let them bully you', he repeated in his head in a parody of Arwain's voice. "Okay, okay," he said, raising his hands up and beginning the basic procedures for calming another's mind that he had learned in the Temple. "Calm down. Center yourself, breathe deeply. Take in your surroundings. What do you notice?"
She stopped, took a few deep breaths, and wrapped her arms around herself again. "It is cold," she spoke in a small, unsure voice.

Nerim gave her a tight smile and nodded. "Yeah. I can tell you're not used to it. Here," he said, pulling off his robes and gesturing for her to take them.

She hesitated for a moment, and took them with no small amount of reverence, as if she was being handed a holy artifact. He chuckled. "It's just linen."

She managed a weak, broken smile, and began to drape it over herself like a blanket when she looked down at his tunic, and gasped. "Your lightsaber!" She said, her jaw remaining dropped afterwards.

Hanging at his hip, the lightsaber was mostly smooth, with much of the metal tinted to a dark brownish color which reminded her of wet tree bark. It diverged most noticeably from the others she had seen in pictures with its slight curve, an arc across the entire hilt meant to fit the palm more comfortably.

And it was the coolest thing she had ever seen, because it was a laser sword.

Nerim frowned, internally kicking himself for not realizing that taking off his robe would reveal the incomplete weapon. "It's non-functional."

She blinked. "It broke?"

"It didn't break, it's just—ugh," he sighed heavily, sending a wave of fog in front of himself. "It's misaligned. Only the Force can align it."

Aesha practically bounced in place, grinning at him and shivering. "Great! You can use it to cut a way out of here!"

He stared at her, in much the same way he imagined her father must have stared at her when he was trying to tell her that her coming-of-age ritual would be delayed for the Trade Federation negotiations. Without a hint of reservation, she continued toothily grinning at him.

Unable to bring himself to say no, he decided to sit down and try one last time before giving up completely. She sat down next to him, wrapping herself tightly in his robe, her previous tears of panic beginning to freeze on the tips of her fur.
He held the lightsaber in his lap, and took a deep breath, reviewing the schematic he had memorized in his head once more. Each circuit, each and every transistor—they were surprisingly easy to memorize for him, even in comparison to his peers, and yet he had failed at the last leg of the journey so many times. He did what he was assured was called 'reaching out', and attempted to commune with the Force.

'Hey, Force,' he thought to himself, 'Can you help me out? I'm really trying here.'

Nothing. As his mind bounced off the task once more mere seconds in, a sinking feeling found itself in his gut. He opened his eyes, ready to quit, and looked to the side to see Aesha, still smiling at him, observing his every movement.

Something somewhere deep inside Nerim came to a realization, which bubbled up from his core to the front of his mind. She believed he could do it. She believed in him in a way he had never experienced before; for all the certainty of the Temple instructors and Arwain, there had always been certain allowances in their belief. 'At some point', they believed, he could accomplish such things.

But with Aesha, there were no such conditions, no reservations. She believed he could do it; she believed he could do it with the snap of his fingers if he wanted to.

Nerim closed his eyes again. He didn't understand much in his life, but in that moment, he understood that he did not want to let her down. He reached out, to tap into that belief she had. Another deep breath in, with a resolution that he was not going to let it go until the job was done.

He felt her confidence: In her eyes, he was not trying, he was doing.

Even in the frost, sweat began to trail down his brow, as he felt the lightsaber shifting and clicking in minute movements in his hands. He didn't dare to allow himself to wonder whether it was truly working or if he was just shivering. The schematic somehow started to come together in his head, the image moving without his direction, changing in reaction to the lightsaber itself.

When the last component slid into place, he let the breath go, steaming the air in front of himself and opening his eyes. He lifted the hilt in his hand, feeling its weight. Somehow it felt so much more balanced than it had just a moment ago. Its curvature perfectly fit his palm, and the frosted metal felt warm in his grip.

His index finger wrapped around the small trigger he had installed near the bottom of the emitter, and pulled. In a brilliant flash of yellowish-green, a blade extended its full length, slightly more than 3 feet long.

"I don't believe it," Nerim muttered.

"Amazing!" Aesha cooed in wonder. Then she blinked. "Wait, what do you mean by that?"



----------------

Spoiler: A/N

And this marks the end of the pre-prepared content I had already made. I expect updates will have significantly more time between now; I truly have no idea how long between. I can write a chapter in a day or two, the main issue is just having the time to do it. I'm already a writer in the gaming industry, and I have other writing-heavy creative activities like CYOAs I like doing, so finding a day where I'm not pooped on writing and spending it on this may be few and far between. Week or two between chapters, maybe? It will be irregular.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 12: Where The Fun Begins​

"Take cover," Nerim ignored her question, "This is gonna get a little hairy."

She nodded and stood to the side, tying his robe's arms around her waist—seeing as it was too small to wear.
He took a deep breath and visualized cutting the door. He had never actually used a full-power lightsaber before, much less fought with one; the closest he had gotten to cutting something was holographic exercises with the other younglings.
Of course, when there wasn't any alternative, such drastic measures were a little easier to consider doing. He briefly thought about cutting through the wall to escape out the side of the building without instigating a fight, but they weren't the only hostages he had to rescue.

He stepped forward, and in two quick slashes freed the door from its rapidly-melting frame. He kicked it forward, causing it to topple forwards, and caught his first sight of the hallway. The Gran was standing opposite the door, apparently leaning against the wall when the stainless steel Nerim had just freed burst forwards. The door was just tall enough to reach from the doorway to the opposite wall of the narrow hall at roughly neck level with the Gran, landing on his collar while he yelped in surprise.

The Gran began to push the door away from himself to slide it off. Nerim thought fast and jumped on the door, slamming his whole weight into it with a stomp of a landing. It clattered downwards, slamming into the Gran's feet and causing him to cry out in pain, crumpling over sideways onto the floor. Nerim glanced to either side, to see nothing to his left, and the storefront to his right.

"Take his gun!" Nerim called back, moving towards the entrance. Quick as lightning, Aesha leaped from the entrance and landed on top of the Gran, grabbing the blaster off his belt and placing it directly into his back and firing a stun bolt.
Nerim took another few tentative steps forwards, when a Weequay slid around the corner to see what the noise was about, gun drawn. Even the Weequay's sunken eyes seemed to bulge at the sight of the approaching lightsaber wielder, and he raised his blaster pistol and fired; this bolt was blazing red, capable of blowing an arm off.

With a sharp intake of breath, Nerim instinctively swung his lightsaber to the side and caught the bolt, blasting it back into the floor in front of them and sending a number of tiles scattering. He felt a rattling breath escape him in surprise and relief, his hands buzzing at the sensation.Aesha raised the Gran's pistol and fired it back, this time set to full power. The bolt sailed right by Nerim's side and hit the Weequay in the stomach, punting him backwards onto the ground.
Nerim ran forward and held the lightsaber down at the squirming hunter, quickly slashing his weapon in half to render it inoperable. He looked around the front, and found a dozen eyes of the civilians staring back at him—minus the patron who was still passed out on his table snoring.

"Any more?" He asked.

"No, they went across the street," the Ithorian said with a heavy, resonant exhalation of reprieve.

Nerim deactivated his lightsaber, and Aesha ran in, handing Nerim his utility belt back while she quickly put her own holstered pistol back on. "We have to get to the opera house," she hissed. Then she quickly turned to the Ithorian, his robe making a crinkling noise from the frozen rainwater inside it, and tossed the Gran's blaster on the counter. "Take the blaster and keep your eyes on them until the police arrive."

The Ithorian picked up the blaster, visibly uncomfortable at holding the weapon.

Nerim ran to the entrance and pulled the door open, stopping briefly to turn to the Ithorian and hold up his saber's hilt. "Oh, and thank you for this. Claim the damages with the Republic, they'll reimburse you."

The Ithorian's eyes turned upwards slightly. "Thank you for the patronage, Jedi."

Nerim nodded, and then ran out with Aesha into the warm rain once more. When they made it back to the parking lot, they were confronted by a panicked stampede of well-dressed citizens rushing out all the exits.

"Not a good sign," Nerim muttered, looking around. "Half the airspeeders are already gone, they've been evacuating for two or three minutes already."

Aesha made a low whining noise and hopped in place for a moment like an anxious animal, before sprinting forwards and scrambling up a wall, attempting to climb up towards the second floor landing where their airspeeder was. Nerim took a quick look to the push of the crowd through the doors and then decided to follow Aesha's lead, analyzing the easiest way up.

He hopped up to a branch on a nearby tree, climbing up it until he was high enough to jump sideways off of it and land on an awning. He slid for a moment before finding purchase on the fabric, and used it to climb up a light fixture and from there grip onto the railing and pull himself up and over onto the roof, rolling under the safety rails. He noticed their airspeeder was still parked, and stood up just as Aesha hopped over the railing herself.

They shared a glance and nodded, and then ran towards the VIP entrance—just in time for it to open in front of them. Nerim slid to a stop on the rain-slicked roof and activated his lightsaber, and Aesha raised her pistol, as a heavily-armored Mandalorian exited the building.

"Oh," Nerim sighed in relief, "It's you—"

Aesha fired a bolt at Jianno, which bounced off her breastplate and slammed into the concrete roof, creating a crater and sending rubble flying.

"Wait!" He yelped, holding a hand out to Aesha as she fired another round and Jianno dodged to the side. Nerim stepped between them. "She's with us!"

Aesha lined up a third shot and then froze, not letting her eyes leave her target. "...You're working with a Mandalorian?!"

Jianno shook her head. "You two damn fools," she grumbled, looking back in the hallway and gesturing. Shortly afterwards, the Cathar family stumbled out, weapons drawn. Seeing their daughter, the parents rushed forward.

"Aesha!" Jarroa called out in a sharp voice, stepping around Nerim. "Are you hurt?"

Aesha shook her head. "Nothing serious. Are you—"

"We're leaving," Jarroa said, grabbing her by the shoulder and leading her to the airspeeder. Arwain was the last to exit the building, lightsaber lit and suspiciously glancing around, then setting sights on Nerim and straightening up in surprise.

"Padawan! Your lightsaber!" She shouted over the rain and the din of evacuation, walking towards him. She glanced to Aesha as she was shepherded into the airspeeder, then back to him and smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Well done, Nerim. I'm proud of you. Now, let's leave."

They all boarded the speeder and felt it lurch as it took off, Arwain in the pilot seat. It was a tight fit; Nerim sat on the floor, as there were no more seats left with Jianno onboard, who sat opposite the family along with the noticeably-shaking Cathar servant. Arwain opened a link with the local police, who arrived on scene mere a split second after they took off. As she explained the situation to the authorities and requested air escort, Nerim turned to the Cathar family, who nervously glanced between each other and Jianno.

After a few moments, when they were certain they wouldn't be shot out of the sky, the mother began fussing over Aesha, checking her for damage. "What happened to you?!" She asked.

Aesha attempted to bat her mother's hands away. "I'm fine, mother! I was stunned."

"What?!" Jarroa hissed, leaning forward.

"We were both stunned," she clarified, gesturing to Nerim, "But the Jedi got back up very quickly and used his lightsaber to free us! I shot two of them!"

"Three," Nerim corrected, nodding to Jianno as she grumbled and brushed at the light soot on her breastplate.

Aesha frowned, and turned to Nerim. "Why are you working with a Mandalorian?"

Nerim turned to Arwain. "Master, why are we working with a Mandalorian?"

Arwain laughed at him passing the buck. "Who better for the job?" She simply stated in a rhetorical question. "Besides, I didn't expect her to actually have to jump in. It's a miracle no innocents were badly hurt. Such an attack is unprecedented—a multi-man firefight in the middle of a crowded city? That's very nearly a declaration of war."

Jianno nodded. "They must have been desperate. My bet is the Hutts had them on a short leash and it would have been very bad for them if they didn't kill or kidnap at least one of the Cathar. Even odds that the police will open them up and find slaver bombs implanted in their spines. When they saw these little idiots run off," she gestured to Nerim and Aesha, "They figured there was never gonna be a better chance."

"Desperate indeed. Good job drawing them out, apprentice!" Arwain said.

"T-thank you?" Nerim said, nervously turning the rather unhappy-looking Cathar family. "I apologize for the inconvenience."

Jarroa made a sound that was somewhere between an exhalation and a growl, addressing Arwain. "It was an attack that investigations will find to have been undertaken by disconnected, lone-wolf elements, I'm sure."

His wife glared at Jianno alongside him. "Indeed. There would be no action to be taken against such a nebulous foe, just like all the others."

Jianno silently returned the stare, her expression unreadable beneath her helmet. Arwain shook her head. "I wouldn't be so sure, Elder."

Nerim sat up. "Surely the Trade Federation must do something? Even if the Republic as a whole will not be roused against the Hutts, this is a major blow to the Federation's credibility that they cannot afford to leave unmitigated."

Jarroa ignored him, speaking to Arwain again. "And how did this happen under the Trade Federation's nose? How is it that the Republic was so well-appraised of the threat that they sent a Jedi Master to defend against it, but the Trade Federation—a body of the Republic—was so unaware that they let it slip through their fingers!"

Arwain gently corkscrewed upwards in the air to gain altitude in the lead up to their tower landing. "The Jedi Order is aware of many things that the wider Republic finds dubious. We have been conducting our own investigations, not directly related to your case, which have hinted at Hutt interference with the Trade Federation. The evidence that they would strike at you in particular was..."

"A hunch," Jianno said.

Jarroa bared his teeth, his claws noticeably extending in anger. "An entire squad of armed hunters from Hutt space in the heart of the Trade Federation, and the only indication is a Jedi's hunch?"

Nerim frowned. "It's not like being armed is a sure sign. You should well know that it is legal to carry blasters in the Raxus system, as all of us in this speeder do--"

"It is a disgrace that we had to use them!" He replied sharply, standing and exiting the craft the moment it touched down on the landing, then storming into the suite. The others followed after, but Jianno simply leaned against the speeder and looked out over the night. Nerim stopped as he felt his Master's hand on his shoulder.

"Nerim," she spoke gently, "May I ask how you finished your lightsaber?"

He thought for a moment. "We were detained in a freezer, and had no other way out. I found the strength to do it, but...it didn't come from within. I drew from the needs of those around me. I think it was Aesha's confidence in me which made the difference."

Arwain smiled. "Good. Very good. A Jedi draws strength from acting in accordance with the world around him. Remember this, Nerim. The key to the Force is going with the flow."

He looked down at the city. "So often I feel as if the Temple has directed me to go against the flow."

She hummed. "Nerim, do you remember your survival courses? The sailing one, in particular?"

"Vaguely," he answered, confused.

"Good. When the Jedi tell you to go against the flow, they're trying to ask is for you to sail into the wind. You are not expected to sail directly into the incoming wind—or at least, you shouldn't be, if the Masters know what they're doing. You are to move at angles, arcing towards your target, sometimes in circuitous and apparently impossible ways, but always utilizing the natural world around you. You angle your sails and make use of the water to push forward, if also a bit sideways. There are times where you are not allowed to go backwards, but you may always go sideways, and that is often where you will find your answer."

Nerim looked back down at the city and thought for a few moments, and then Arwain pat him on the head. "But, forget all that. You have a lightsaber now, so you're fully equipped to ignore all the important parts of being a Jedi."

Unable to stop himself, Nerim snorted with laughter.

 

[Hyenanon]

Spoiler: An update? Now that's a word I haven't heard for a long time...a long time...

A/N
Doubled the story's length in a week-long fugue state. I've come to realize that I simply do not want to upload updates unless I know there's a whole story arc to post. Anyways, I'm gonna be proofreading and uploading one chapter a day until I run out probably.

Also, I have forgotten my login to ArchiveOfOurOwn, and cannot find any emails from them in any of the addresses I've ever used. Despair...

Chapter 13: Oh, This Is Going To Be Easy​

A few more days had passed without incident, and with Arwain's mediation, a settlement was reached. The system of Cathar would remain in the Trade Federation with—quite frankly—ridiculously favorable terms, and a general consensus among the population of Raxus Secundus that the Trade Federation was in dire need of a larger navy.

It remained to be seen whether the Jedi had accomplished their mission of mitigating a catastrophic strike against the Trade Federation's credibility, but as they escorted the Cathar to their ship for the final time, Nerim was at least thankful that they had not failed at protecting the family.

Their ship was far more impressive than the already somewhat luxurious ship Nerim had flown in on. It was large and sleek, obviously well armed—too well armed for any diplomatic ship he had ever seen, but he supposed he understood their point by now. The ramp lowered and the servants began carrying the last of the family's luggage onboard.

Jarroa turned to Arwain. "We'll be going alone from here."

"Of course," she said. "Good luck on your return journey, and may the Force be with you."

Jarroa nodded, and looked to Nerim. "Thank you, Jedi, for saving my daughter."

Nerim balked. It was the first time one of the adults had looked him in the eye or spoke to him the entire trip. "Uh, you're welcome. My pleasure, really, that diner had great Bantha burgers."

Jarroa's chest rumbled with a growly noise and he made an expression that could have been anything from a sneer, to a smirk, to a barely contained sneeze, and he turned to direct one of his servants to start warming up the engines. Aesha stepped up and held her hands behind her back, looking between Arwain and Nerim. When she finally worked up the nerve, she spoke. "Thank you, for everything. Will we...ever meet again?"

She was looking at Arwain when she said it, but Arwain just smiled, knowing the question was obviously meant for her Padawan. She turned to Nerim. "What do your feelings tell you, apprentice?"

"I-I..." He stuttered. "Master, you know I'm not good at using my feelings."

"And you know that I'm trying to train you," she chided, "So use them."

He sighed and closed his eyes, but his feelings remained distant; all he could think of were raw mathematics, the systems numbering in the tens of thousands, multiplied by billions for every living sapient within them, or multiplied by quintillions for every square mile he might randomly wander to. It seemed insurmountably unlikely. "It cannot be known. Probably not," he finally said, opening his eyes. "But I've been wrong before."

Aesha gave him a sad smile, and nodded. "Then, until next time. Our family will not forget your service."

Nerim managed to return her smile. "I'll not forget that I have some Cathar royalty on my side, then."

With a deferential nod of her head, Aesha turned and entered the ship. The door slowly reeled itself shut, and soon, Nerim and Arwain were alone on the platform, watching the ship slowly cycle through takeoff procedures.

Arwain dusted her hands off. "Another job well done. Mostly. And see, Nerim, you were so anxious about it when we arrived."

Nerim halfheartedly chuckled and shrugged, not quite responding verbally. Arwain raised an eyebrow and glanced down at him, watching him simply stare at the ship while it lifted off the pad and began its flight.

"I sense pain in you, Padawan," Arwain said softly, placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

He furrowed his brow in confusion as the ship disappeared into the clouds. He didn't feel like he was in pain. He could tell he was biting back tears, but he didn't feel it. There was some movement in his soul, flying under the radar, just beneath the surface of the ocean he lacked access to. But he himself remained silent. It was as simple as could be: He had nothing to say.

Arwain watched him for a moment more, and then shepherded him back around, to follow her. "Now that you have a functioning lightsaber, we ought to wholeheartedly commit to training you in its use."

"Oh, I missed the part where you admitted our previous training was halfhearted," Nerim frustratedly grumbled, rubbing his wrists where they had been burned previously by her training saber.

Arwain grinned at him playfully. "What style was I training you in, again? Niman?"

"Yeah, that's what they all call me at the Temple, 'Niman Nerim.' You don't even know that style, do you?" He pouted.

Arwain stopped in her tracks and put a hand to her chin. "Hm. You're right. That does sound wrong. 'Niman Nerim?' It would never work."

"Oh, that's what gives you pause? It sounds silly?"

"Yes," Arwain said in all seriousness. "Padawan, I keep trying to tell you this. You need to listen to your intuition. Things sound silly for a reason, you know. You don't just have feelings for no reason whatsoever."

Nerim cast his gaze downwards, unable to muster up the energy to respond. Arwain put a hand around his shoulder.

"There's a reason you miss the Cathar, too, you know."

He glanced up at his master, an expression somewhere between pleading for her to stop and yearning for her to continue.

She pat him on the back and then continued leading them both to the train station. "They were good people, and they treated you well. They respected you. I can't exactly help you feel better about leaving them behind, but I want you to remember that, Padawan. Your first offworld foray went quite well."

Nerim sighed as he descended the steps. "...Master, this was my second offworld foray."

"Oh, Ilum hardly counts, I wasn't even there," She waved a hand dismissively.


--------------------------


Nerim doubled over and panted in exhaustion, sweat pouring off his body onto the Temple floor. Arwain had been ceaselessly drilling him for two hours now, and he had about reached his limit. The endless whole-body movement of the Ataru Form was beyond any physical activity he had done before.

"This style...is so...bad," he managed to huff out. "Why...would anyone learn it?"

Arwain crossed her arms. Even she had broken out into a sweat. "I admit, it has limited use cases, and requires a decent amount more high-intensity training than the other forms. But it's not bad. Still, maybe not a good fit for you. Requires too much commitment."

"I preferred...Soresu..."

She frowned. "Soresu is terrible for you. It engenders too much passivity. Meanwhile, Makashi fared much better, but—"

Nerim wiped his forehead and kept gasping for breath. "But it's too straightforward...and I don't have the reflexes for endless jabbing."

"Or the mind for memorizing orthodox forms, too predictable." She smiled. "Shien is next. I have a good feeling about this. 'Shien Nerim.' Could almost be a real name."

"Master," Nerim said, suppressing a burp from a combination of gulping too much air and from the nausea of her statement, "Please stop trying to come up with nicknames for me. Besides, doesn't Shien require a lot of bodily strength? I'm not gonna get much bigger, y'know."

She sighed. "Well, to be honest, I am not well trained in Shien either. I neglected Form V in my studies. Niman, too. And Shii-Cho, but we've all made that sin."

Nerim groaned. "Maybe this just isn't for me. Maybe I don't need a lightsaber. You were right all along, Master, all the anxiety over getting my lightsaber working was silly."

"Nonsense, I was completely wrong," Arwain flatly dismissed. "You have far too much talent at dueling to waste. I had refrained from inducting you into Juyo thusfar because it is difficult and dangerous, but as we weigh up the options I think it may be the Form that suits you best."

"Great, let's try the most difficult form, surely that will be the easiest!" Nerim stood up, nearly stumbling backwards as his exhausted knees shook.

She leaned forwards and pinched him on the nose again. "Yes, perhaps! I've come to understand you're the type of student that doesn't do well unless given difficult assignments."

"That's so unfair! You've never even given me an easy assignment!"

Arwain gave him another one of her cryptic, self-satisfied smirks. "Perhaps that's why you've never failed me."

Nerim opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't think of what to say. He wanted to object, somehow, as if he were uncomfortable with the praise. Arwain moved towards the exit, waving a hand. "Anyways, go wash up, apprentice. Remember to study. I have to go see the Council. Blegh."

Nerim frowned. "I've never heard of a Master so uncomfortable with standing before the Council."

Arwain shrugged. "I'm sure there's a Sith Lord somewhere in history who qualifies. Read your books, Nerim!" She called back as the door behind her slid shut, leaving Nerim alone in a puddle of his own sweat.

He briefly considered falling over and passing out, but decided it would be inconvenient. The thought of waking up sticky and with cramps was enough to keep him conscious as he stumbled his way to the showers. He carefully placed his lightsaber hilt upon a counter, haphazardly tore off his training clothes, and then attempted to turn his brain off entirely for the process of washing himself.

Like most times, it didn't work. He faded into daydreams, consternation with his training, and above all the constant flashes of memories on Raxus Secundus. The shock of the savanna winds, the nervous energy in his hands as he deflected incoming blasterfire, Aesha's confident eyes as she watched him work.

Nerim had so long ago given up on being a Jedi that he had never really considered the prospect of being involved in adventures or combat until the moment it actually happened. He still didn't know how to feel about it. Proud? Terrified? Happy? Sad? All of his emotions swirled around beneath that surface he never broke.

Only the select few he allowed would well up. Anger, in the form of frustration and exasperation, he allowed. He didn't know why, exactly; it was just easy for him to control. He didn't fear his anger. Logically, he supposed, that must mean he feared his other emotions. Of course, if he ever thought about it too much, he would reach that retching black wall of self-rejection, immediately changing his course of thought and moving in another cognitive direction.

It was enough to make him gag, but not out of disgust, more so as if he were drowning and swallowing water.

He wordlessly exited the shower, re-dressed, and re-entered the training room. He ignited his lightsaber, turned on the training remote, and continued going through the motions of training, not quite sure why he was choosing to do that over reading his history texts—or even why he had the energy to do so.

He stepped to the left, then to the right as soon as he passed through the axis of the remote's training blaster port. It fired slightly more to the right than he intended to move, letting him easily deflect the bolt. He had done it a thousand times before, having memorized the rudimentary AI of the droid and knowing exactly how to manipulate it.

He thought for a moment, and then activated another remote.


He wasn't sure when he had lost track of time, but when Arwain entered the chamber, he was once again covered in sweat—and a handful of scorch marks. Three remotes circled him, and he desperately twisted and spun with each blast, ducking under one to reflect another, fluidly switching stance to reflect a bolt into the third only to be nearly caught by another blast from the first.

Noticing the intruders, the remotes automatically ceased firing, and Nerim gasped for breath.

Arwain frowned in confusion. Her student, practicing lightsaber techniques? "What in the Force is going on in here? You're supposed to be reading. Why are you going through Forms again?"

Nerim glanced up at her, his dripping hair drooping down his face, eyes wide with anxiety. "Master, I have the strangest feeling I'm going to need these skills sooner rather than later."

Arwain immediately dropped any hint of disapproval, and nodded sternly. "Okay. We will begin Juyo at once."

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 14: Well, Whaddya Know ​

Nerim looked on with mild concern as Jianno affixed a freshly-refueled flamethrower to her gauntlet.

"For the record," Arwain tapped her foot on the metal floor of the starship, "Utapau is not a member of the Republic, and I have no legal authority there. If you get in trouble, I can't bail you out."

Jianno grunted in acknowledgment.

"That goes for you too, Nerim," His master warned.

He frowned. "Do I seem like the kind of person that gets in trouble?"

She grinned and pat him on the head. "Mhm. We also must keep our nature a secret as best we can. Remember, we're simply wealthy off-worlders with a peculiar taste in oddities deemed illegal by the Republic."

"Lying is against the Code, isn't it?" Nerim sighed, fiddling with his new clothes. They were...nice. It was somewhat disturbing. The silky material felt cool and smooth against his skin.

"Mm, none of that is a lie," Arwain said. "We were given quite a few credits, we're off-worlders, and we are very peculiar."

There were several satisfying clicks and clacks as Jianno finished assembling her weaponry. "Remind me again, how much is that silly little thing you're searching for worth?"

"Priceless," Arwain replied immediately. "To a Force User, at least. Maybe a couple million credits, to a collector. A holocron is a useless oddity to the average person. Interesting insofar as they are rare and made of technology they cannot understand. They so rarely appear on the black market that I can't give you a consistent price. But be assured that the type of people who buy holocrons are those who are wealthy and prefer living outside of the Republic's legal system, and that has a very consistent crossover with Hutt cartels."

The Mandalorian sighed. "I can't believe I have to ask this. What does it do? There has to be some sort of function that makes it priceless."

Arwain smiled and tapped Nerim on the shoulder, prompting him to answer. He uncomfortably shifted in place. "Um, they are...libraries?"

Arwain's smile immediately dropped. "Nerim, I told you to read your books."

"I did! Just...not The Jedi Path. I felt the anthropology books would come in better use!"

She glared at him disapprovingly. "That copy of The Jedi Path has been passed down for two hundred years. It's a very useful book. My master's master's master's master held it in his hands."

He shied away under her gaze. "I'll get to it."

"You better! I swear, if you hand that to your student one day and you've never even read it..."

Nerim immediately felt odd, even considering the proposition that he may have a student himself. It was so patently ridiculous that he couldn't stop himself from exhaling a quick laugh. "Goodness. All I know is that the holocrons were in the 'off-limits' section of the archives, and contain the knowledge of ancient Jedi."

"More than that," Arwain emphasized, "They contain a snapshot of the creator's entire psyche. Everything they knew, every facet of their personality—minus anything they wanted to keep out of it. As if they had downloaded their minds into a holographic computer, even traces of their Force signature can still remain."

Jianno snorted. "Sithspit, why would anyone want to talk to a Jedi?"

"Well, not just anyone can," Arwain said, "It requires use of the Force to activate them. For us, it represents a way to access the tutelage of ancient masters. For the average person, well, it could be valuable for any number of reasons. Rarity, beauty, mystery. Some have been known to collect them as a statement of superiority, similar to lightsaber collectors. Yet another reason not to make it obvious that we are Jedi searching for the thing."

Nerim tapped at the ship's computer, checking over all of the diagnostics for the tenth time. "We only have any inclination to believe it's there because there are rumors someone is looking to buy one, so we assume they have information that someone there is selling. If they're looking to sell, why don't we just come in as envoys of the Republic and offer to pay an outrageous sum? It'd be far more convenient for the seller than vetting whatever shady smugglers drop by."

His Master shook her head. "It's always been an open offer, actually. Anyone who turns in a holocron to the Republic could retire the next day off of the lump sum provided. It's happened more than once that some farm kid stumbles upon the ruins of an old temple and uses the reward to become fabulously wealthy. The holocron trade is seldom done for money alone in this day and age."

He hummed in thought and checked once more on their destination. "Ah, the hyperwind storms seem to be dying down as expected. We'll be able to descend into dock in just a few minutes."

"Utapau's storms are a double-edged sword," Jianno noted. "They could make moving across or off the planet nearly impossible for hours at a time, but the same is true for any quarry we find. If you plan to confront someone, keep the weather in mind. Bring us in, would you?"

Nerim sheepishly shrugged into his seat. "I-I don't know how to fly this thing. I barely passed my vehicular classes as it is."

She sighed and wrapped up her equipment, walking over to the pilot's seat. "Okay, I'll do it. But only once, so watch closely. This is the sublight thruster ignition..."

Arwain rested her chin in her hand and quietly watched with satisfaction as Jianno explained the procedure to her student.


-----------------


Nerim stepped out of the docking office and ran up to the edge of the platform, looking out. He was on a structure hanging off the wall halfway down an absolutely colossal miles-deep sinkhole. There were the normal sounds of city, bustling movement and industrial machines and repulsorlift craft buzzing about, but there was something else entirely. Great gusts of wind blew up and then down the sinkhole, like the world was breathing through it. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

For its part, the world also smelled different than anywhere he had been before. It was salty and earthy, like stone that had been baking in the sun, with hints of grass and even floral scents. Half the shaft was bathed in sunlight, while the other half was in cool, calm afternoon shadows. At the bottom of the sinkhole was a cloudy lake of bluish-green water with red tinges on the edges, some sort of combination of algae responsible.

The structures built into the walls jutted out at irregular angles and in numerous shapes, from disc-like platforms to ovals set into the rock like gems, to outward obelisks and more. Many of them had banners and decorations hanging off the side, like thousands of little ribbons fluttering with the breathing breeze.

Nerim leaned on the railing, and Arwain strode up besides him, laughing softly. "Enjoying the view?"

He blinked. "Are all planets like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like...entire worlds," he said dumbly, knowing how redundant it sounded but unable to word it any other way.

Arwain just took a deep breath and leaned on the railing with him, taking in the sights. "Yeah. It's beautiful, isn't it? Sometimes you'll think you've seen it all, you know. But you'll always be wrong."

They stood there in silence for a while, until Arwain managed to drag herself away—and Nerim, too. Jianno had already slipped away to examine the underworld, which left the two of them to examine high society. The Luxorium.

The Luxorium was a small district owned in its entirety by the Commerce Guild, a trade conglomerate that worked both inside and outside of the Republic. It contained parks, swimming pools, casinos, and more, all to seduce any passing business people as they traded on Utapau.

The casinos in particular of interest to them: Though they knew not who was selling this alleged holocron, they knew who was rumored to be attempting the buy, mostly because of his loose lips and gambling habit. According to the rumors, he was gambling in hopes of doubling his money so he could afford to buy the holocron. His name was Yl'gar, a Bith of ill repute and that certain type of infamy which follows new-money that shows no regard for old-money.

It wasn't far from the docks, and it wasn't hard to find. It wasn't quite as garish as the mid levels of Coruscant were, the neon was restrained and the displays were more cultured than bawdy, but it was most certainly advertising itself all the same. The central plaza was filled with sculptures and greenery from across the Galaxy, well fitting for a clientele that is refined, and thinks that it's even more refined than it is.

Arwain turned to Nerim and crossed her arms. "I'll be entering the casino now, but it would be odd to bring a kid your age into the building. So you're going to have to find a lead on your own."

Nerim blinked. "W-what? Where do I even start?"

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, then opened them with that dreaded slight smile and glint in her eyes. "I have a good feeling about this. There's something around here that wants to be found. Trust your instincts."

Before he could think of a way to change her mind, she turned and strode away from him, leaving him staring blankly at her leaving in the middle of the plaza. When she disappeared through the doors to the casino, he let out a rattling sigh and turned around. There was no helping it.

He glanced at the nearby buildings and realized he had absolutely no idea what a wealthy teenager would be interested in. Trying to blend in without being able to follow his Master's lead was a fool's errand. But after the series of experiences he had gone through, he decided to at least attempt to heed her words, and follow his instincts.

So then came the question to ask, where did he want to go right now? A cavalcade of memories and impulses flowed through him, but there was one in particular that stood out. He spun on his heel and began walking in search of a diner. He wanted a bantha burger and fries.

He walked for a while before he found a place he could consider suitable, its walls chromed and sandwiched between larger, more respectable businesses on either side and above. With an uncharacteristic smile, he entered the diner and stepped up to the bar, sitting down and placing his order to the serving droid. The place was small, but most certainly not abandoned. It seemed there were quite a few patrons, most of them youths, enjoying their afternoon along with milkshakes and greasy food. And, of course, there was Jatz playing over the radio.

He was just leaning in for his first bite of the delicious burger when the doors to the diner slammed open with the sound of laughter and chattering, and he felt himself being squeezed on either side as a number of other youths crowded into the establishment. To his left was a particularly weighty Sullustan breathing a little too heavily, and to his right was a wiry Bothan who gave him a quick grin and ordered some sort of acidic yellowish bubbling drink.

Just as he leaned in again and took a bite, he felt a tapping on his shoulder. He turned around, mouth still full, to see a young girl around his age staring at him with her arms crossed. She looked Human, with fair skin and jet black hair worn in double buns on the crown of her head. Her face was expressionless and her eyes were cold, but there was no malice—if anything, just boredom.

She was about to ask him if he could switch seats with her, so he nodded. "Sure," he said, swallowing and picking up his plate. She didn't immediately move out of the way as he shuffled off of his stool. He noticed her eyes immediately changed, an eyebrow raised in interest. Her eyes, just as black as her hair, scanned him up and down.

Her curiosity made him curious, and he took a closer look at the group she came in with. Each of them were carrying swords, each of varying materials and makes, held safely in expensive looking sheathes. He briefly recalled a fencing club he passed on the way here. The strange thing was that none of them were experiencing the aftereffects of exertion—except for the weighty Sullustan. It was his turn to raise an eyebrow at her. "Eating greasy diner food before practice?"

She pursed her lips. "Teacher's involved in a traffic incident, class got canceled. You attend some other school?"

"Sort of," he shrugged, ready to move past her. She still didn't move, staring him directly in the eye. In a Galaxy full of beings of all shapes and sizes, it was rare for him to come across someone who was exactly his height.

"Wanna join us for a spar?" She asked, rather forwardly for Nerim's taste.

"I, uh, don't have a sword."

"Back on Coruscant, right?" She guessed, her expression still mostly blank.

"Is my accent that obvious?"

"Mhm."

They stared at each other for a moment, until Nerim felt the wiry Bothan's hand clap on his shoulder. He spoke in a raspy, but positive tone. "C'mon, Tetha's gut is never wrong about this stuff. It'll be a blast."

"That so?" Nerim asked, intrigued. "You guys often pick up offworlders for your sparring sessions?"

"Oh no," the chubby Sullustan leaned back, "Sometimes it's for ice skating."

"Hah!" The Bothan cackled. "That's how we picked up Tiny here. You should've seen him slide from one end of the rink to the other, nothin' but belly!"

The girl with dark hair, Tetha, blinked. "I'm pretty sure there was a bit of face, too," she said dryly. The Sullustan snorted and returned to leaning on the bar. Nerim was about to ask if he would be similarly humiliated, when she cut him off. "Don't worry, we're not trying to make a fool of you. Actually, I kind of get the feeling you're good at this."

He looked at her, then back down to his plate, then back up to her. "Okay. But can I finish this first?"

"Greasy diner food, right before sparring?" She echoed.

He chuckled. He was starting to believe diners were some sort of magic.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 15: Shoot Her...Or Something! ​

Nerim held the vibroblade in his hand, and it immediately felt so utterly, incredibly wrong. It was certainly not heavy, but it wasn't as light as—well, light. The single-edge was bizarre, but that seemed to be the case for just about all of them. The most edges any of the swords had was two. Imagine that.

He frowned. The handle was straight. The only swords with curved handles were rapiers, which—incredibly—had no edges at all beyond the point. Somehow that felt the most natural to him, and so he placed back the sword he was holding and picked up a rapier.

From context clues, he had surmised these were training vibroblades, which worked on the exact opposite principle as real vibroblades; instead of using sonic generators to vibrate at a frequency that increased cutting potential tenfold, they vibrated themselves to a stop as soon as they touched their target, ensuring no cuts while allowing them to train with blades almost identical to the real thing.

He held the rapier up and waved it from side to side, feeling the blade microscopically bend with the motion. So unbelievably wrong.

Most of the other youths were watching him. The group had grown and shrunk on the way to the training area, most of them breaking off to go do anything else with their free time, until there were about nine of them, and one of him. They were trying to size him up. He was the newcomer, after all.

The wiry Bothan stroked his beard with his claws. "What's the matter, New Boy, not what you're used to?"

Nerim flicked the on switch, and felt the slight hum of the rapier in his hand. "Not even remotely."

"Hah! Core schools trained you poorly for the Outer Rim, then," the Bothan nodded, self-satisfied. "As expected."

Nerim had still yet to catch his name—or for that matter, anyone's name except for Tetha. They seemed to have entirely embraced nicknames. Some Rodian kid was carrying a device of a sort Nerim had never seen and pressed a button, only for music of a sort he had never heard to begin booming out of it. It was similar to Jatz in that there were drums and some sort of bassline, but that was where the similarities ended to his untrained ear. The lyrics were also in Huttese. Still, he kind of liked it.

By that point, they began pairing off onto the two training mats and holding impromptu duels at varying levels of seriousness. Their movements were odd to Nerim's eyes, of a different nature than he was used to. Their form bore some resemblance to Shii-Cho, straightforward and conservative, but also had some elements of Makashi in the footwork, shuffling backwards and forwards to try and trick their opponent as to their range.

The resemblance was tenuous at best, though. Their movements were incredibly sloppy and made at angles a Jedi would scarcely consider worth pursuing. The required power and correct angling required by vibroblades was an extreme disadvantage, he realized.

He turned to the wiry Bothan. "How long have you been training?"

The Bothan shrugged. "Since I was a kit, I suppose. With this group in particular? I dunno, joined the fencing club here maybe...ten standards ago?"

Tiny was still strapping on his kneepads as he huffed. "Tetha and Crybaby dragged me into this a couple months ago."

The wiry Bothan, apparently named Crybaby, grinned toothily. "Smeelya whao toupee upee! For most of us, it was piano lessons or this. And what kid would choose piano lessons over sword fighting?"

Tiny scoffed. "I'm pretty good at piano, I'll have you know."

"You should go up against New Boy!" Crybaby said, punching Tiny in the shoulder to comically little effect. "You'll both be flailing around, it'll be funny."

"Yeah, yeah," Tiny sighed, hefting up his vibroblade and walking over to a training mat. Nerim supposed this was unavoidable, and squared off against him. "So, New Boy, how long have you been training?"

Nerim shrugged. "A while."

"Oh goodie," Tiny chuckled.

Without any referee, they fluidly changed states from talking to fighting, inching forward and threatening with their blades. The weighty Sullustan had a double edged, broader blade which Nerim imagined might be a little difficult to block or parry with his thin, light rapier. In that case, the best defense was a good offense.

He pursed his lips. He did not like how often his Master was right.

Tiny took a conservative slash at him, low commitment and primarily intended to test his defenses. Smart move, but Nerim's reflexes were good enough to take advantage of the minuscule opening and lunge into a stab to the heart. Not that he would, of course. This was a friendly match, and so he simply batted the blade away and responded with his own attempt at stabbing the Sullustan's sword hand.

Surprisingly, Tiny reacted in time, twisting his hand guard to divert the tip of the rapier away. He stepped forward to press the counterattack, so Nerim sidestepped and kicked at his opponent's foot. Tiny toppled to the ground with a rather undignified sloshing motion, and Nerim pointed the rapier down at him. Crybaby began cackling like a broken speeder engine.

"Owww," Tiny groaned, rubbing his leg. "They teach you to kick shins on Coruscant?"

Nerim blinked. "Of course. Sorry, was that against the rules?" He asked, offering a hand to help Tiny back up. Tiny gave a quizzical look and grabbed it. He was a little heavy, but Nerim easily helped him back to his feet.

"Uh, I guess there were no rules against it. But our instructor never taught us anything like that. It's sword fighting, isn't it?"

"Of course, but controlling your opponent's blade is just as important as controlling your own." Nerim smiled. "You're pretty good, for a beginner. Nice job catching my blade with your guard."

"Am I?" He asked. "I get pretty thoroughly trounced by everyone here."

"Well, you surprised me. You must have a good teacher."

Tiny puffed up a little. "Yeah, well, Teach' is good, but honestly I've learned more from Tetha tutoring me."

"That so?" Nerim said, glancing over to the other kids. He made eye contact with Tetha, who was watching him back. He cleared off the mat and two other youths took it, while Tiny sat down on a stone bench.

"Yep!" Crybaby pitched in. "She's the, ooooh, golden girl!" He waggled his claws as he said it. "Teach' says she'll be going to sector-wide competitions before long."

Tetha maintained eye contact with him, and then began walking towards them. Nerim felt that sensation of electricity climbing his spine again. It wasn't slimy or cold like last time, but he knew he was about to get roped into something.

When she got close enough, she spoke up. "You plan on kicking my legs out, too?"

Nerim stared back at her. "You plan on dueling me?"

"Yes," she said, the smallest hint of amusement on her face.

"Then yes," Nerim answered, smiling back. 'Note to self,' he thought, 'Do not try to kick her. She will be expecting it.'

They spent a few minutes waiting for a mat to clear off, silently standing next to one another, Nerim with his arms crossed and Tetha with her hands on her hilt and hip. He was struck with a rather heavy sense of deja vu. He was experiencing that same feeling he had in the Temple, when the Knights and Masters looked down with hooded faces at him, judging him.

Before he could pin it down, the mat was emptied, and Tetha strode up and unsheathed her blade. It was a long single-edged blade, as straight and thin as could be. So thin that he imagined he would have little trouble snapping it. There was murmuring as she did so, semi-sarcastic "oohs" and "aahs" as the youths joked with half-sincerity about how the big guns were coming out. She raised her blade in a quick salute to the standard ready position the other youths had been using for similar blades.

Nerim stood across from her, his rapier held down by his side, his body the picture of relaxation. He always felt too silly taking ready positions. His head was slightly tilted to the side, and his expression was as featureless and pensive as hers was blank and intense. The moment she began moving, he instantly realized what the feeling was.

It was a deep apprehension, and an acceptance of defeat. The same thing he felt during the tournament. But this time he shook it off.

She sprung forward in a lightning fast lunge, and he parried it aside, sidestepping her momentum. She effortlessly danced her feet beneath her, appearing to float along with him as she slashed up diagonally. His nervous system lit up with recognition before the information even made it to his brain, and he stepped backwards to bat it up, before immediately stepping forwards to get inside her range. When he realized what just happened, his breath caught.

She had utilized something startlingly similar to the contentious opportunity, the most basic principle of the Makashi Form, which Arwain had been drilling him in not a few days prior. He responded in the way he had been taught, stepping in as close as possible. While their blades were entangled above their heads, he wrapped his other arm around her in a tight hug and pivoted his body, throwing her over his hip to the ground.

Just as fast, she rolled to one knee and let loose a counterattack. As quick as he could, his rapier flashed forward and snicked her blade's hilt. This did nothing to stop the attack, which slashed across his torso with an flash of pain and an odd rumbling sensation, as if a series of blows were punched into his chest.

There was some laughter among the kids who were watching them, and Nerim realized at some point he had broken out into a sweat. Tetha was frozen in front of him, her eyes wide with just as much surprise as his.

"Ahhh keepuna!" Crybaby cackled. "You only just missed her hand!"

Nerim kept his face as expressionless as he possibly could. He hadn't been aiming for her hand; he was attempting the Sun Djem Mark of Contact, to cut your opponent's lightsaber emitter and disarm them without causing any harm. It was just as reflexive as throwing her.

Tetha's stared at her hilt, and then locked in on Nerim's eyes. For the first time, Tetha smiled—although still a tight, reserved smile. "Close match."

Somehow, Nerim found the mood was infectious, and fought a smirk of his own, before letting it burst open into a smile on his face.


---------------


The group continued sparring and fooling around in equal portions until more and more of them had wandered off, leaving just the four of them. Nerim closely studied Tetha whenever she fought. She had a bizarre style of combat, like some sort of cousin of Makashi interbred with traditional swordfighting techniques, as if every match she partook in fell in the uncanny valley to his eyes. Meanwhile, he had restrained himself, and primarily dueled with the other youths, avoiding showing any more of his hand.

Crybaby turned to Nerim. "So, New Boy, what do you do for fun aside from hit people with sticks?"

Nerim thought about it for a second, then shook his head. "No, that's just about it."

"Hah! Even Tetha has hobbies!"

Tetha glowered at him. "What do you mean by that?"

"I've been meaning to ask," Nerim interrupted, "Why does everyone get a nickname but her?"

Tiny took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Same reason he got the name Crybaby."

"Oh give me a break," the Bothan threw his hands up, "I'm not the only one that screamed."

"You were the loudest," Tiny chuckled.

Crybaby sighed. "Her nickname used to be Four Eyes, 'cause she wore these silly glasses at night."

"Watch it," Tetha's eye twitched.

Crybaby continued unabated. "Then she came by one day with those things," he said, gesturing vaguely to Tetha's hair, "And we started calling her 'Buns'."

Tiny shook his head emphatically. "Uh-uh, mm-mm, nope, no, you started calling her Buns."

"Others joined in!"

"Regardless," Tetha crossed her arms, "It was inappropriate."

"I'll say," Crybaby rolled his eyes, "You barely even—" He froze in his tracks as Tetha's glare became significantly more intense. "Uhh, anyways, she was driving the airspeeder at the time, and the rest is history."

Tetha's glare softened and she bore a half-smile. "He wasn't the only one who screamed."

"He was the loudest, though," Tiny said firmly, throwing his sword over his back. "Anyways, I have to go study. Big exam tomorrow."

"Pff, bootlicker!" Crybaby mocked. "You think one night of studying will do you any good? Da stoopa nechaska, time to hang up your goodie two shoes."

"Skocha sleemo!" Tiny responded while walking away, getting a laugh out of Crybaby. "See ya."

"Byebyeee, Tiny!" Crybaby called out, waving. Then he turned to Nerim. "Say, New Boy, how long are you here on Utapau?"

He remembered the rehearsed backstory he was given. "My mother is here for business negotiations, so, who knows? Could be a day, could be a month."

Crybaby tilted his head and leaned forward. "Ehh? She's interrupting your studies for that?"

Nerim shrugged. "No, vacation is at a different time on Coruscant. She is wasting my summer, though."

"Keepunaaah..." The wiry Bothan shook his head. "Parents are the worst, am I right?" Nerim gave him a slightly uncomfortable stare, and then the Bothan yawned. "Anyways, Tiny's got the right idea for once. I gotta get some winks."

Tetha narrowed her eyes slightly. "Sleep? Now? You? It's barely evening."

Crybaby gave her another one of his sharp grins. "Well I can't get sleepy halfway through the night, can I? Gotta party until dawn."

"Mm," Tetha hummed with a disapproving tone, "That's more like you."

"You know it!" Crybaby cackled, walking away.

Now alone at the corner of the Luxorium plaza, Tetha and Nerim's eyes met. After a short, awkward silence, Tetha spoke up. "So, what is your name?"

"Nerim," he properly introduced himself.

"What's Coruscant like?" She asked.

He took a moment to think. "Everything smells a little metallic. On the upper levels, everything is clean and round and cold, and lower down, everything is dirty and sharp and hot. Everyone is too busy to pay any attention to you, and you always have to be careful not to tumble off of some high place."

She carefully considered his words. "And where do you live, in all that?"

He looked out over the railing into the sinkhole, now mostly bathed in shadows. Twinkling lights began springing to life all over the walls, and spotlights even cast symbols and colors across the barren stone. "Big estate, where everything I mentioned is doubled." He glanced over to her. "What about you?"

She put her elbows on the railing and leaned backwards on it next to him. "Couple levels down from here, nice mansion I guess. Also gotta be careful not to fall."

Nerim considered her word choice for a moment, then asked a question of his own. "You're pretty good with a sword. Where'd you learn that?"

She gave him a small, knowing smile, like he was picking up on some old in-joke. "Fencing school, duh. What, you think I learned from action holos?"

"Something like that," Nerim muttered, studying her expression.

Her smile widened a little, revealing sharp canines. "Cool your jets, New Boy."

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 16: Wait A Minute, How did This Happen?​

Somehow Nerim found himself in the passenger seat of Tetha's airspeeder, while she dropped them down at an uncomfortable speed towards the ground. Nerim felt his stomach lifting up his throat, but kept it under control.

His eyes were glued to Tetha, as she spun the control yoke to corkscrew them down. Even now, he could get almost no read on her whatsoever. She lacked almost any facial expression or body language readable by his mundane methods, and as always, the Force was a fickle stream of information to him.

At this point, he figured there was a pretty good chance Tetha was connected to the holocron trade in some way. At the very least, he was near certain she knew he was a Jedi. That left him two options; disengage and defer to his Master, or stick as close to her as he could to ensure she didn't send off any secret messages or warning signals that could cause it to go deeper underground.

Even a moment of hesitation would have rendered the second option tenuous at best. Right now, she would probably believe he's in close contact with his Master and possibly other assets, maybe even being actively monitored, so she would be hesitant to hurt him in any way. If he appeared uncomfortable or like he was mentally calculating, she would know he was really in danger.

So when she asked him to hop in her speeder and come visit her home, he had to instantly answer "Yes" or "No," and, well, his Master taught him to always say yes.

Obviously he had activated his emergency beacon in the moment between her hopping in the vehicle and him entering, when she couldn't see him. That way, Jianno and Arwain would show up and make his bluff a reality as soon as possible.

"You know," Tetha said in a neutral tone, "I'm pretty sure everyone could tell you weren't a high society type."

Nerim sighed. The wind ruffled his hair and messed up anything Arwain had done to it earlier for the sake of fitting in, although Tetha's buns seemed to keep everything in perfect order on her head. "On the contrary, I've been entirely above society my whole life."

She briefly glanced at him while darting between lanes of air traffic. "This your first time off Coruscant? Or out of your estate?"

"Wha—do I really seem that green still?" He asked. "This isn't even the first time I've been to the Outer Rim."

"It's the second," she guessed.

Nerim silently pouted.

Tetha suddenly let loose a giggle. Nerim was struck by the display, the sudden glint in her eyes and scrunch in her nose. "Don't be so discouraged," she said, her voice warm and soft, "I've never even been off Utapau."

"It's not a bad place to be stuck," Nerim offered.

"Guess there's worse," Tetha said tiredly, the emotion fading away from her face almost as fast as it appeared, leaving her just as blank faced as ever.

"If you don't mind my asking," Nerim carefully ventured, "How does your family make its money?"

She exhaled through her nose. "Utterly tactless."

"I prefer the term 'disarmingly direct,'" Nerim said.

"So uncivilized," She sighed with amusement. "My father is a scientist. That's all."

"Archaeologist?"

Nerim was suddenly pushed back into his seat as the airspeeder rapidly gained momentum and dived down yet further into the gusting wind of the sinkhole. This was most certainly a traffic violation, but he had other things on his mind. The rapidly approaching lake took up more and more of his vision, until at the last possible second, Tetha pulled up and skimmed across the water.

The base of the sinkhole was surrounded by mansions built into the rock, just at the waterline. Each of them were unique and in a multitude of different architectural styles, all of significant luxury. He imagined they must have been the most coveted real estate in the hole, open air and access to water, but far away from the titanic windstorms experienced frequently up above.

Nerim fought the urge to vomit, and Tetha gave him an appraising look. "No," she finally answered. "I'm surprised you can't tell, actually. So you're not the bookish type, either. That narrows it down."

"To what?" Nerim asked.

"Yellow, I'm guessing," She said, glancing at him to gauge his reaction.

Nerim laughed aloud, quite aware of the lightsaber hidden in the folds of his tunic. "That's a funny story, actually."

Her eyes narrowed, and then set track on one of the mansions set down at the waterline. He couldn't exactly tell what was going through her head, but he could tell she wasn't getting the reaction she wanted out of him.

Good. Don't let them bully you, Nerim repeated to himself. He was going to get the hang of this sooner or later.

"I expected a Jedi to be less cute and more intelligent," Tetha said. "I'm not sure whether to be disappointed or not."

Nerim's heart rate immediately spiked. They're outright talking about the Jedi now? Unintelligent? Cute?

As his carefully crafted mental pep talk crumbled, he saw a slight smirk cross her face. It didn't last long before the speeder swung and drifted to a stop over a landing pad, a long flat black marble platform not more than an inch out of the water. It was as he had seen from above, with red algae crawling up the walls and swirling blue-green water placidly sitting in place—except for the wake Tetha kicked up, which splashed over the pad.

She fluidly hopped out of the speeder, one hand on the side of the warm metal door. "That's a new technique I learned, it's called 'disarming directness.' Looks like it's very effective on you."

Nerim pursed his lips into a small frown and stepped out of the vehicle, running a hand through his windswept hair. He fought the urge to look around and see if Jianno and Arwain were following him, although he couldn't imagine they lost track of him.

They briefly held a stare until a door slid open and a small creature of some species Nerim didn't recognize waddled out, wearing a suit a little too dignified for it. It was covered in some sort of plumage, and as it spoke, its mouth opened and did not move, almost like a droid. It was as if all the articulation was happening somewhere within its throat.

"Mistress Tetha," it nodded in deference, "Good to have you back. You are earlier than usual!" It then turned to Nerim, and looked him up and down. "Hm. I'm sorry, but I do not recognize—"

"He's a friend," Tetha waved her hand in front of the creature's eyes.

For a second, those eyes glazed over, and then lit up. "Ah! Welcome, friend!"

Now, Nerim thought, he was having that feeling. The cold slime crawling up his viscera, like something bad was going to happen. Only, unlike in the diner on Raxus Secundus, there was no electricity, no immediacy.

The feathered creature ushered them in, bidding them to take their (wet, thanks to Tetha) shoes off. The entire time, Nerim carefully watched Tetha's eyes, trying to discern anything he could. But there was simply nothing there.

"You still haven't told me what you were planning to show me," Nerim reminded her. "Was it just the shoe rack?"

She silently shook her head. He realized the interior of the building was remarkably bright, especially in comparison to the darkening evening outside. While his eyes were adjusting, he saw no such change in the black circles that dotted hers. He couldn't even discern her pupils from her iris.

The feathered creature puffed up again. "You are in time for dinner today! It will be in about ten minutes!"

Tetha sighed. "I should've made a few extra loops on the way down. I won't be attending, Jints, just send it to my room."

"As you wish," the creature slightly bowed and then marched off with stiff legs.

Nerim waited for it to pass through a door, and spoke quietly to Tetha. "A sentient servant? I take it your father doesn't trust droids?"

She shrugged. "Moreso he takes pride in his own work."

Nerim's mind raced for a few moments, and then it clicked. "Ah. He's a geneticist. A cloner?"

She nodded.

"He's the one with the holocron?"

She nodded again.

He closed his eyes for just a moment, placing a hand to his chin and feeling a sudden flow of information and links between thoughts. "He was paid in a holocron for a cloning project. He's looking to trade it now for something else. And...you don't want him to."

He opened his eyes to look at her, and she gave him that very slight smile. "Perhaps you're not so dumb."

"Are your father or mother Force Sensitive?"

Her smile dropped. "On second thought, perhaps you are."

 

[Hyenanon]

Spoiler: A/N

I'm thankful for the comments, albeit a little surprised by the strong (echoing?) approval of Tetha flirting with Nerim! It can be a little sad just uploading stuff into the void, so any response meaningful.

Chapter 17: Hope You Didn't Kill Anyone I Know For It​

"I don't see any reason to be so rude," Nerim frowned.

As Tetha carefully led him through the complex, keeping a lookout for any other servants or her father, Nerim began to seriously wonder where Arwain and Jianno were. Tetha looked back at him. "I'm a designer lifeform, too."

He blinked. "Nonsense. You can't clone Force Sensitivity. Even its heredity is suspect."

"I don't believe father intended to," she said under her breath, "I imagine whatever quirk that causes normal children to be sensitive to the Force affected me however it normally does."

"And you're certain you're a clone?" He asked, still incredulous.

She stopped suddenly, causing him to nearly walk into her. She turned around with that intense expression again—no different in form from her bored, neutral expression, no visible curve of the lips or twitch of the brow, just somehow more focused. In a scary way. "Yes, he most certainly wasn't lying to me. I correspond to no known species, just like Jints. I have Zelosian and Human genes, among others. Even Miralan. I also have no mother like you dumbly implied earlier."

"Sheesh," Nerim shrugged, unaffected by her aggressive tone, "I don't have a mother or a father and I'm not a clone. I was just asking. Now where are we going?"

She leaned back, slightly taken off guard. "To the holocron. We need to hide it as soon as possible. I don't know when my father will be trading it." She turned and continued leading him.

"What would he be trading it for, exactly?"

"I'm not entirely sure of the specifics," Tetha said, looking down. "To my knowledge, it's called the curiosity trade. Some eccentric types trade in rare artifacts for various purposes. But I believe he plans to receive a preserved Taung corpse in return."

"Taung?" Nerim asked in disbelief. The Taung were the original species of Coruscant, extinct for nearly 4000 years since the end of the Mandalorian Wars. The Taung, in fact, created the Mandalorian culture. "Why that, of all things?"

"Is there any greater achievement for a cloner than to reverse the extinction of a species?" She asked, grabbing his wrist and leading him up a set of stairs just before another small creature rounded the corner. "He also has a weird fascination with Mandalorian history."

"I think your father and my Master would get along disturbingly well," Nerim muttered as she dragged him into a very dim room, its bedroom furniture only lit by a single night light and the blinking of a couple appliances. "Must you really hold my hand?"

She frowned, staring aimlessly into the distance and not letting go. Some small bit of trivia about Zelosian biology clicked in his head.

"Oh, you're night blind," he said as dumbly as she thought he was.

She scowled a little. Her eyes had that intense quality again, like they could cut through steel with enough time. "Not entirely. But I can't see anything I directly look at unless it's well lit."

A lot of her odd mannerisms and expressions suddenly made more sense to him. Especially the shifting of intensity and that feeling that she was staring through him. So did the 'silly glasses' she wore at night. Although, the fact that she stopped wearing them certainly meant she was somehow making progress with this congenital night blindness.

"While we're here, can you explain why you don't want him to make this trade?"

She glared at a spot a foot away from his head. "Isn't it obvious?"

"I didn't ask what the reason was," Nerim said, "I asked for you to explain it."

Tetha took a breath, squeezing his wrist imperceptibly tighter. "I just don't want that thing out in the wild."

He paused. He expected the answer to be that she didn't want to lose access to training in the Force. It was only then that something else occurred to him; teaching a child in the ways of the Force outside of the confines of the Jedi Order was strictly forbidden.

"Sithspit," he cursed, "It's not a Jedi holocron. It's a recording by a heretic of some sort."

"Correct, although as far as my father knows, it's a crystal bonsai tree made by some ancient Jedi." She paused, and then tilted her head. "I sensed no judgment in your voice when you said 'heretic'."

"To be honest, I didn't even know what a holocron was until earlier today," he shrugged. Her jaw dropped half an inch. "Regardless, this makes it even more important we don't let it slip away."

"Excuse me, before we go any farther, I feel the need to ask. Are you actually a Jedi?"

He frowned with some amount of frustration. "I'm sorry, how many Jedi have you met before?"

Tetha slowly shook her head. "It's not that, it's just...You're not at all how the holocron described a Jedi."

"And how did it describe me exactly? Taller?"

She stared next to him for a few seconds, and then sharply exhaled. "It doesn't matter. It's not like it's a reliable teacher, anyways."

"Probably not. Now what's the plan? Did you bring me just to watch you pick up the holocron and abscond with it, or...?"

"Not exactly," she said. "One of the little ironies of this whole situation is that the only way we could think of to remove the holocron from its containment field without setting off an alarm was to use a lightsaber to—"

"Wait," Nerim interrupted, "We?"

"The holocron and I," she mumbled. "Come on, I'll show you when we get there."

"I don't like where this is going," Nerim said, allowing himself to be dragged out of the room and down the hallway. He felt a shiver run up his spine.

"You can sense it?" She asked.

"No, I—" He stopped, staring down the hall to a large sliding door at the end. He felt some sort of rumbling energy manifesting from inside. "Hm. I can. That's...odd."

"How is it odd?"

"Well, unlike you, I'm not really all that sensitive to the Force," Nerim rolled his eyes, continuing to walk alongside her. Tetha's confusion only grew.

The door quietly and smoothly slid open as they approached, revealing a blindingly bright room absolutely full of things, most of which Nerim couldn't identify.

That crawling, sludgy sensation was writhing under his skin. He walked in carefully, eyeing each object, looking for the crystalline polyhedron of a holocron. There were a number of oddities, and for every curiosity of a simple or delightful nature, there was one of a distressingly military persuasion. Suits of ancient Mandalorian armor, vibroblades of doubtless some historical import, half-melted slag from great battleships. "Does he know you're Force Sensitive?"

"Absolutely not, and it needs to stay that way for all of our sakes. I half believe he'd feel compelled to cut me up and study me," she said under her breath, looking from side to side as if to ensure the room was empty. "It's in the back left corner."

He passed by the hull plate of an old pre-Ruusan starfighter when he saw it. A black pyramid, sitting unsatisfied in its glass case, rivulets of the Force almost visible to him as they grew like vines around the podium. It was surrounded by a cube of slightly glowing energy, the containment field.

"That is definitely a holocron," he said. The air was a little too heavy to comfortably breathe. He hadn't felt this close to the Force since he was on Ilum, but this was emphatically not the same feeling.

She rested her hands on her hips. "It is."

"That is definitely not a Jedi holocron," Nerim said firmly.

"I know," Tetha spoke, reaching her hand out towards the holocron. It shifted and crinkled in its case. The outer shell began to peel back, revealing a dark red crystal capstone.

"What the hell are you doing?" Nerim asked, stepping back.

The capstone glowed brighter, and a beam of light extended from the top, exiting the display case. The beam split in two and widened, drawing a humanoid form, until there was a larger-than-life hologram floating above them, standing atop the case. The figure wore dark robes, the limbs and waist tied to keep it from fluttering or catching on things. Similar to an old Jedi combat uniform, Nerim realized.

Underneath the hood was a set of cold eyes, which quickly flicked between the two of them. His face was unremarkable beyond the sharpness of his features, but it carried some sort of malice, seemingly more out of habit than conscious intent. His species was either Human or some form of Near-Human, but the hologram was colorless and enough of his body was covered that it was impossible to tell the exact lineage.

The crawling sensation gained an aspect of electricity. More urgently this time, Nerim repeated. "Tetha, what the hell are you doing?"

She briefly glanced to the hologram, but kept her attention on Nerim. "I've brought another Force Sensitive as we agreed."

The holocron, did not respond—did not even look at Tetha, continuing to examine Nerim with its icy glare. He felt some sort of violation, along with a sense of indignation—like someone was far too deep in his personal space. He wondered if that was the Force, or just the animal instinct of knowing you've been backed into a corner.

"Oh, for the love of—" Nerim drew his lightsaber and ignited it, "And just when I was beginning to think this wasn't a hostage situation."

Tetha's expression was as blank as ever as she slowly drew her vibroblade, and turned it on. The sound it made was different this time; shrill, intense. Not the buffeting noise he heard earlier. It most certainly was not set to a training mode. "Sorry for the misdirection, Nerim. I don't plan to hurt you in any way. Please let me explain myself."

Nerim nervously readied his lightsaber. "It would be a lot more comforting if you didn't have a sword out when you said that."

"You drew first," she said dispassionately. "Regardless, it's not my intention to use it, so calm down."

Looking between the holocron and the girl across from him, a bead of sweat dripped down Nerim's brow. "Holocron, what is she doing?"

The hologram spoke, its voice menacing and yet surprisingly smooth and subdued—again, as if it was only malicious out of habit. "Good question. Tetha, what are you doing?"

Tetha stepped back slightly, raising her blade. "I have been studying under the holocron of Darth Machina for three years, now. Believe me, I know Sith are not to be trusted." Her eyes moved from Nerim to the hologram in a smooth, slicing motion. "And he knows I am not all that enthusiastic about carrying on the legacy of the Sith."

Nerim's heart raced. The Sith? The Sith Order had been entirely wiped out nearly a thousand years ago. He had not been the most avid reader of the history of the Jedi Order, but if there were a single thing he knew, it was that the Sith were the greatest threat the Galaxy had ever faced, and it was the duty of the Order to obliterate them anywhere they cropped up. If so, this holocron was an object of immeasurable importance. It represented a possibility, a vector for the Sith disease to spread, and to possibly form a new Order.

He clenched his teeth. "What have you two been doing the past three years?"

She moved her eyes back to him. While his insides were crawling, she seemed to be the picture of stillness. "He's been teaching me. On certain conditions. He makes me complete...requests, inbetween lessons."

"Requests?"

Tetha blinked slowly. "Ones he presumes will convert me, I think. At first it was primarily just meditations. Then he began demanding I use my powers. For instance, he taught me the basics of Makashi, and refused to teach me further until I won a competition using it. He taught me to mask my presence, and then stonewalled me until I used it to steal something of value. He taught me to influence people's minds, and didn't go any further until I used it on someone."

Tetha's eyes briefly lowered, her tone becoming more contemplative as she continued. "The tasks are always remarkably open-ended, actually. Right now, I'm six months into the latest task. To enter some sort of conflict with another Force Sensitive, and test myself against them."

Nerim's mind raced as he listened. He was nowhere near well-trained enough to know what he was supposed to be doing right now. "And you're just doing everything he says? Why?"

Her eyes raised back up to his, her tone strengthened again. "What's the risk? I can just receive tutoring in techniques from him and then not put any of his philosophical lessons into practice. I'm capable of thinking for myself."

The holocron spoke again, the room seeming to darken every time it emitted sound. "Confirmed, you are one stubborn little brat."

Nerim grimaced. "Why would he possibly teach you if he doesn't think you'll turn? The Sith would never do anything that doesn't directly benefit themselves."

Machina's hologram stared down at him with some amount of visible displeasure. "The teachings of the Sith are the natural conclusion to mastery of the Force. The foolishness of the Sith Order in my time was its insistence on teaching the doctrine of the Sith, thus creating weak and confused apprentices, easily swayed and slaughtered, when simply teaching them the power of the Force would have lead to a stronger and more unified Order. This is, in fact, why the Jedi Order deliberately holds its students back, teaches them to handicap themselves at every opportunity. It's why I doubt you are any significant challenge to Tetha at all."

"See?" Tetha said, the barest hint of a smirk. "Overconfident. Zealous. Foolish."

"You two can't be serious," Nerim's shoulders dropped in exasperation, "This is such a pointless endeavor!"

"For you, perhaps, but this is as of yet my only chance to learn the Force," Tetha countered. "Someday I'll have the autonomy to venture off and try learning from some Ithorian Shamans or Baran Do Sages, but until then I need to make all the progress I can, and this is what I've got."

"Why?!" Nerim shouted. "You could just not! You could just hang out with Tiny and Crybaby, have fun fencing, eat greasy diner food—Why do you need to use the Force?!"

The pointed question hung in the air, as Tetha's eyes widened in surprise and the apparition of the Sith glared down at him. "This is an odd one," Machina finally said.

"The oddest I've ever met," Tetha muttered. "What do you mean why do I need to use the Force?"

Nerim gestured to the room around him. "You're surrounded by two dozen other priceless artifacts! You could have just as easily fixated on any one of them!"

"How could you compare scrap metal to the Force?" She asked, her brow tightening in confusion.

"It's all the Force!"

"Silence," Machina held up a hand with a sense of finality. Nerim felt as though a wave of pressure came over him, as if his ears were about to pop. "I tire of dialectics with Jedi remarkably easy, and I sense no significant power within him. Kill him."

Tetha pursed her lips. "That wasn't the deal. You said conflict, not killing."

"And if I alter the deal?"

Her eyes gained that steely, intense quality again, glaring with deep foreboding energy. "A box more concerned with lying than teaching? I have no use for that. I'd sooner help Nerim slice you in half."

Machina's hologram cracked into a cruel smile. "Good, very good, my student. I'd settle for you just defeating him, then."

Tetha looked back at Nerim, and flipped her vibroblade's switch. The noise changed from that shrill, sharp noise to the buffeting low thunder of the training mode.

Nerim raised his blade. "I could just cut that thing in half."

"Not likely," Tetha said, "It's cortosis-weave. The type Mandalorians used against Jedi during the great war. My father got it for aesthetic reasons, he never could have known it'd come so in handy."

He heaved a great sigh, and switched his lightsaber to training mode as well. "Perfect. Listen, we don't have to fight at all. You were right, the holocron is infinitely more concerned with its religion than your training. We can dispose of it now and advance your understanding of the Force later. Literally any set of teachings is better than this one. This is not a mere heresy, this is no alternative interpretation of the Force or even the mad ramblings of a Dark Jedi, this is a Sith."

"Hmm," she gave him that disapproving hum of hers, "I didn't think you were the zealous type. I thought you might understand my position."

"Oh, I do, trust me," he said, "I know what it's like to feel utterly rudderless in the Force, to have nobody around who is interested in teaching you, and to this day I still do not feel beholden to any doctrine or dogma. But there is no reason to talk to a Sith, except to mislead it and destroy it."

Tetha's eyes softened at his empathy, but at the latter sentence, Machina's cruel smile widened. "I couldn't have said it better myself," he chuckled.

"Oh for the love of—" Nerim took a breath and centered himself. "And what do you plan to do with me if you win? I still have to destroy the holocron."

Tetha gave him that very slight smile. "It would be foolish of me to tell you. But suffice to say, you'll be fine, if a bit disoriented."

"That sounds like you're planning to run away," Nerim said, "Which is something I can't allow. Okay. You've convinced me. We'll solve this with sabers, then."

Tetha wordlessly saluted with her blade, entering her hybrid Makashi stance, one foot slightly forward with nearly no weight on it, blade held forward in a relaxed wrist.

Machina placed a hand to his chin. "I've gathered that the Jedi have lacked foes in the Force for many centuries, and have grown soft in the ways of dueling. Meanwhile, I have relentlessly drilled Tetha in the Rings of Defense and each of the maneuvers of Makashi, its hundreds of stances and strikes, and endless permutations through the Force. From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I could think of a thousand strategies that will inevitably result in your defeat. What has your Master taught you?"

Nerim took a deep breath and entered the stance of Juyo, the Ferocity Form. It was almost audacious in its aggression, the lightsaber held horizontal to the plane of battle as if to emphasize its size, the body twisted and ready to explode into motion. "When encountering another Force User," he recounted Arwain's words, "Run up and hit 'em with your sword."

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 18: That's...Why I'm Here​

With all the ferocity of a coiled up animal, Nerim exploded into motion, lunging forward. Tetha was caught off-guard; she was certain from all her previous observations that his style of fighting was primarily defensive. He rushed forward with inhuman speed and slashed in her direction, and she parried it to the side.

His momentum carried her directly to her side, and when she tried to slash backwards at him, his free arm shot out and grabbed her elbow, strangling her range of motion. He swung at her back, and she jumped above the slice, flipping backwards to land in front of him again. She took the opportunity to seize the initiative and thrust with her blade towards his center mass, which he batted up and away with a wide swing, and then kicked her hand as hard as he could.

Intense pain shot through her as her blade escaped her clutches, flying upward into the air. In a panic, she thrust her hand out, and Nerim felt the pressure around him increase exponentially. Before he knew it, he was thrown off his feet and landed on his back, sliding several feet on the smooth linoleum floor. The vibroblade flew back into her hands as he jumped to his feet.

"I really wish I could do that," Nerim grumbled, his lightsaber humming.

She took a deep breath as she focused on the pain in her hand, aligning herself to it and drawing strength from the sensation. He charged towards her again, their blades clashing four times in rapid succession, sparks flying from the cortosis-weaved blade and fluctuations racking the plasma of the lightsaber as it contacted the exotic material.

He swung quickly and with his whole body, employing his strength, but more importantly employing a constant forward movement that threatened to overwhelm Tetha. She would take a step back, and he would take two forward; she would take another back, he would lunge. At some point, she figured, he had to stop, if for no other reason than that he would be too close to even use his lightsaber. Then he ran directly into her, tackling her to the ground.

They rolled on the floor, each grabbing the other's sword arm and struggling. Tetha placed both her feet into his stomach and pushed as hard as she could, drawing a grunt out of Nerim and separating them. They clattered to the floor and both quickly stood up. Tetha felt a sense of mounting frustration at the incessant madness of his swordsmanship.

Before she could catch her breath, Nerim rushed forwards and chopped from overhead. She blocked it and reared back to do a counterattack, only for him to chop overhead again, and for her to block again. He chopped again. And then again.

Finally she exploded. "Are you out of your damn mind?!" She screamed, desperately thrusting for a counterattack. It connected, and a wave of pain shot out from Nerim's torso as the attack, though dulled, still felt like a heavy right hook directly into his gut. Then he chopped again, his lightsaber slamming into her shoulder with a sizzle and drawing a yelp as she recoiled.

They both stumbled back, Nerim cradling his bruised stomach and Tetha grabbing the top of her burnt shoulder, a slight smell of burning cloth surrounding her. If he had been two inches to the left, he would have slammed directly into the top of her head.

"...Very interesting," the holocron mused, "He's using a Sith style. It's meant to overwhelm you and induce panic. I dismantled many impetuous upstarts who used these exact techniques. Remember the Contentious Opportunity; you cannot allow him to rule the initiative. Aim for his vitals."

She panted and raised her blade again. "A Sith style?"

Nerim was breathing just as heavily, his blade deactivated, hands on his knees and doubled over. "So this 'Darth Machina' must have died at least a thousand years ago, then? Prior to Juyo being canonized in the Jedi Order. According to my Master, it is made up of controversial borrowed techniques from Sith warriors."

"It's not what I expected of a Jedi," Tetha said, regaining her stamina and steadying her breathing.

"You really gotta stop making assumptions," Nerim warned, before activating his lightsaber and charging at her again.

Just before they met, Nerim reared back and began a massive swing. Tetha took the bait and dashed back and poked out with her vibroblade, aiming to catch his arms while safely outside of his range. She realized a moment too late that he had let his feet drop out from under him, his momentum carrying him sliding on the ground.

The swing of his arms pivoted him to the side, and his legs were perfectly angled to kick at hers. She deftly jumped over his attempted trip, but in the time it took her to turn around he had already reached his free hand into his tunic. Her eyes were wide as dinner plates as he pulled out a blaster and fired a stun ring at her.

With nothing but the most brief moment to react with, she instinctively positioned her blade inbetween the stun ring and herself. It crashed against the cortosis-weaved vibroblade, and electricity visibly arced from it in every direction, traveling down and through her hand. She screamed in pain and attempted to drop the blade, but all of the muscles in her right arm had involuntarily clenched from the shock.

He seized the moment and rolled up, slashing at her while she danced backwards. He missed with his lightsaber, and fired again with his blaster, watching her body twist with supernatural swiftness as she leaned out of the way of the shot.

Her expression changed entirely. Her teeth bared, face reddened, and the veins in her face bulged. She held out a hand and clenched it into a fist, and Nerim felt the blaster in his hand rumble in his grip, and then jump out of his fingers entirely. She swung her fist to the side, and the weapon was thrown across the room into some corner.

"Oh, I hate this," Nerim said with dull surprise as he watched it clatter.

This time she charged up to him, thrusting forward. He blocked it by pushing it upwards with his lightsaber, and she performed a sawing motion with her vibroblade. Nerim could feel the plasma field of his lightsaber getting physically tangled with the strands of cortosis in her sword, and it tugged his lightsaber forwards, warping them into a bind.

They each pushed, pulled, swung, and resisted wildly, their entangled blades swinging back and forth together. Nerim launched a swift kick into Tetha's side, slamming into her kidney with slightly off-kilter force. She gasped in pain and pulled his blade forward, enough that she could elbow him in the nose. He was pretty sure it wasn't broken, but it was definitely bleeding. He responded with another attempted kick, and she raised her leg to intercept it.

As they struggled in the bind, they both felt a bolt of electricity shoot up their spines. Machina's apparition suddenly raised a hand. "Cease, you fools!" He commanded, and his hologram swiftly disappeared, the holocron re-sheathing itself back to its normal state.

Without quite understanding why, Nerim deactivated his lightsaber and shoved it back into the folds of his tunic. Tetha stumbled backwards and just as quickly slid her blade back into its sheath, turning the sonic generator off. They were just in time to watch the door slide open.

A middle-aged Zelosian man entered the room, wearing a white cloak on top of a cool blue brocaded jacket and silk pants. Everything about him screamed "meticulous" and "wealthy", even to Nerim's naive eyes. His platinum-white hair and vibrant green eyes briefly scanned the room before settling on the two youths at the far end.

"Tetha, what in the name of—" He began, walking closer, before suddenly stopping and examining Nerim. "...You brought one of your friends in here?"

Tetha lightly bowed, her face having reverted entirely to the bored, implacably neutral expression she usually wore. "I'm sorry, Father. I know it's against the rules, but..."

"This is more than just against the rules, Tetha," He said sternly, "This is expressly forbidden. How did you even get in here? The room is locked—Son," he suddenly stopped, looking closer at Nerim's face. "You're bleeding."

Tetha jumped with feigned surprise, quickly pulling out a handkerchief and pressing it to Nerim's nose. "Oh! I'm so sorry, Nerim. It's still stop and go..." She turned to her father, "The teacher was absent today during practice, and there were a few minor injuries."

Her father began to say something, but then shook his head. "We'll talk about that later, don't try to change the subject. I am very lenient with you, Tetha, and you still manage to break what few rules I have. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Nerim could see Tetha's mind racing. It was lucky her shirt was already black, so the burn on her shoulder wasn't noticeable. "It's just—Nerim is a very good friend of mine, and he's a student of Mandalorian history, so I..."

"He is?" The father asked with curiosity, looking him up and down.

Nerim stared uncomfortably back at him, before looking to the side. "T-that's...exactly right. This is all my fault, sir, I pushed her to show me this. I've been lucky enough to be acquainted with a friendly Mandalorian, and she's been tutoring me on their culture. I've grown a bit of a fascination ever since—Pffth!" He got a mouthful of silk as Tetha placed a hand to his cheek to hold his head still while she helped stop the bleeding. He felt his face flush as she did so.

The father stared at him carefully. Nerim was for once glad that he looked incredibly un-intimidating, especially after having just been dressed in rich boy clothes by his Master for the first time and having his face half-covered with Tetha's hand. He was pretty sure he looked dopey enough to be pitiable. The man turned to Tetha and frowned deeply again. "You are definitely grounded, Tetha. I thought it was entirely beneath you to use this room to impress young—"

"Father!" Tetha objected, showing some small amount of distress on her face. Nerim was surprised to notice she was visibly blushing. "This is embarrassing!"

He considered for a moment, and then sighed. "Very well, we can save it for later," he said, crossing his arms. He turned to Nerim. "I don't want you to think of me as an ungracious host, young man, so I insist you join us for dinner."

Tetha turned to look at Nerim, and as her head turned to where her father couldn't see, her expression turned icy. He felt her beaming daggers at him and he gulped. "Uhmm—of course, sir. Thank you."

As if in a dream, Nerim was escorted out of the room and to a rather large trapezoidal dining table, where he sat down and had a number of objects he assumed were food placed down in front of him. He was sat directly across from the father, and Tetha sat down next to him.

As utensils were placed down, Nerim began to reach for one, only for Tetha to lightly jab him in the stomach—which caused an immense jolt of pain in his body, given the bruising. He simply froze and waited.

"So," the father—whose name Nerim distressingly still didn't know—spoke, "You are studying Mandalorian history? Are you attending a school for it, or is it just a hobby?"

"Oh," Nerim said, nervously glancing to the side, "It's, erm, a hobby. My...mother wants me to study to take over her business."

"I see." He said, picking up his utensils. "And her business is...?"

Tetha began quietly eating and stepped on Nerim's foot, and he quickly picked up his own utensils. "Um, she's an arbitrator, for negotiations between other corporations. Sir."

"Interesting. It takes quite the reputation to serve as an arbitrator," he noted, taking a small, refined bite of blue something.

"Y-yes," Nerim awkwardly agreed. "She also wants me to pursue professional fencing in my off time. But occasionally I get to study Mandalorian culture, too."

"Mm, and is that how you met Tetha?"

"F-fencing? Yeah—er, yes that is," Nerim stuttered, beginning to break into a nervous sweat. He could almost feel the weight of disappointment radiating off of Tetha, that this was so much more nerve wracking to him than a sword fight.

"Well, at least you call each other by your names..." the father sighed. "That fencing club is considerably less cultured than it was when I was a boy."

"I think it's fine," Nerim said quietly. "And everyone calls Tetha by her name, there. They all really respect her."

Tetha's head almost imperceptibly lowered as she knit her brow, but she remained silent. Her father smiled. "Ah, little mercies. I was rather distressed when I picked her up one day and heard them calling her Four Eyes—"

"Father!" She jumped in her seat, glaring at him. Nerim wasn't sure if she was really embarrassed or not.

The man seemed relatively unconcerned either way, perhaps embarrassing her on purpose as punishment. "Where are you from, Nerim?"

"Coruscant, sir," he answered. "This is the second time my mother has taken me to the Outer Rim. We went to Raxus Secundus a few months ago for the Cathar-Trade Federation negotiations."

"Oh, fascinating," her father said with genuine interest, "I read about those. Big business. Big...complications. I saw it reported that there was a terror attack thwarted by two Jedi Knights."

Nerim was quite shocked to hear that anyone at all had been considering his mishaps, but needed to respond quickly to keep up the illusion. "Oh, yeah. I was just wandering around looking for a place to get a bite to eat when it happened. It was all a block away from me, though."

"You'll have to forgive me, I'm not intimately familiar with the concept of a 'block'," He chuckled. "Tell me, did you ever happen to see the Jedi Knights?"

"Yes sir. They were in the same room as us."

"What were they like?"

Nerim glanced over to Tetha, and then back to her father. "Really tall." Tetha stomped on his foot again, and he clenched his muscles to keep from physically reacting. "Honestly there's not much to tell. They mostly kept to themselves."

"Truly fascinating," the man said happily, taking another bite of his food things. He seemed somewhat pleased with Nerim, which was a huge relief. Nerim took an experimental mouthful of one of the things on his plate, and found to his pleasant surprise that it was actually quite tasty. Whatever it was.

The light conversation continued, minus any input from Tetha, until the end of the meal. As the dishes were being taken away, her father—Nerim was still internally panicking over the lack of a name—stood up.

"Well, it was pleasant getting to meet you, Nerim," he said with noticeable sincerity. "It's a relief that not all of my daughter's friends are derelicts. I won't keep you any longer, though."

Nerim stood up and lightly bowed his head. "Thank you, sir, it was good to meet you, too."

Tetha also backed up her chair and stood up, putting a hand on Nerim's shoulder and leading him towards the exit. "Come on, let's—"

"Where do you think you're going?" Her father rhetorically questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Tethan spun around on her heel and clenched her hands into fists. "Father, he rode with me here! I told him I would fly him back to the hotel!"

"Aren't you grounded?" He asked.

She turned beet red, her eyes darting between Nerim and her father. "P-please, dad, I can't just make him call a taxi..."

The man stared at his daughter just as dispassionately as she usually stared at Nerim. After a moment, the illusion broke, and he took a deep breath. "Fine, just this once. Be back in twenty minutes."

She wordlessly grabbed Nerim's arm and dragged him out of the room, and then out of the building onto the landing pad.

Nerim whistled. "You're a better actor than I am."

Tetha glanced at him and then back to her airspeeder, still red. She didn't say anything.

Nerim couldn't prevent a broad grin breaking out over his face. "I can't believe the little Sith Lord in training is grounded."

"Shut up," she mumbled, pushing him into the passenger seat and then rounding over to the driver's.

"What's your plan now?" Nerim laughed from the stomach. "Gonna do a spin and throw me out of my seat into the lake?"

"Shut. Up." She glowered, starting up the airspeeder and taking off.

Before he even knew what he was saying, Nerim spoke as his bout of giggles came to an end. "I've got a good feeling about you, y'know."

Her lips tightened. "What do you mean by that?"

"I sense good in you," he said. There was some sort of dove-white, glowing warmth in his chest. A fluttering feeling that compelled him to smile despite the pain from his wounds. "I still think it's foolish to try and study under a Sith, but you're too fun to be evil."

She made a confused, anxious expression. She still didn't say anything. He noticed her eyes were completely unfocused and moving only in accordance with her internal thoughts, as she instinctively piloted them through the darkness, upwards towards the Luxorium.

"Your father has a soft spot for you," Nerim remarked. "Although I think he's under the impression that we—"

"He's a monster," she interrupted. "Don't let his civility fool you. I'm the only clone he treats remotely like a person. All of the others are just meat droids in his eyes," she spoke sadly. "And also, yes, he is under that impression. Now I have to deal with that. Thanks."

Nerim took a moment to breathe and recenter his thoughts. "This makes both of our jobs considerably more difficult."

"Without a doubt."

"So what, you're just dropping me off where you found me?" Nerim asked, craning his head to watch a police airspeeder rush past them.

She thought for a moment. "Yes. And if you try to get back in my house, I'm going to call the police."

Another airspeeder for the security forces rushed by. And then another. "I think they might all be busy," Nerim idly commented. He suddenly wondered where his Master was.

One of the airspeeders rushed by, and then slowed, swung around, and began following the two youths. Tetha grit her teeth and hissed. "I'm going to lose it."

"Calm down, it's probably—"

The police airspeeder flashed its lights. Tetha growled.

Nerim pulled out his communicator and turned it on, now that he was no longer undercover and was fairly certain Tetha wouldn't kill him for it. "Uh, Master, are you there?"

The response was almost immediate. "Oh, thank the Force!" Arwain's voice had a noticeable tone of relief. "I was worried about you, Padawan."

"So was I. Where have you been? Are you still in the casino?"

"Oh, I never even spoke to Yl'gar," Arwain sighed with audible fatigue. "I caught sight of him, but by that time security was already trying to arrest me and—look, I don't have time to explain, we need to get that holocron and get off-planet quickly. Jianno, can you pick up the boy?"

Jianno's gruff voice answered a moment later. "Not a chance. I have unfinished business with a chakaar on this planet who's been grave robbing my people. I've pinpointed his mansion. Gotta lose the cops first."

"Um, ummm," Nerim's tone became significantly more worried, "He wouldn't happen to be named...Sithspit! A little help, here?!" He glanced to Tetha.

Tetha's eyes widened. "Tosh-Ran?"

"That's the bastard," Jianno hissed. Then confusion. "Wait, how did you know? Who is with you?"

"Uh, that mansion also has the holocron!" Nerim spit the words out as fast as he could. "Also it's not a Jedi holocron, it's a Sith holocron, made by Darth Machina!"

"What?!" Jianno shouted, her voice static-y as if going through a tunnel.

"Haaah!" Arwain's elated voice carried over the comms unit. "Amazing! I'll handle it, you focus on getting into orbit! Great work, Padawa—" The rest was drowned out by blaster fire.

Tetha's jaw hung slightly open. "That's...My entire life is...E chu ta," she cursed with finality. "My father's mansion is about to be stormed by who knows what. They're going to find a Sith holocron, and it'll all be over. Not even Utapau's neutrality can stop the Republic from barging in over that."

Nerim sheepishly shrunk in his seat. "Um, s-sorry?" He apologized, unsure what else to do. The police airspeeder behind them inched closer, and its siren briefly whooped.

Tetha closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Seconds passed by one after the other, slowly drifting through the air. Her breath didn't escape, but her eyes opened and looked in Nerim's direction. She was obviously holding back tears. He reached an arm out to her. Just before his fingertips touched her shoulder, the police airspeeder whooped its siren again.

"Oh, to hell with this!" Tetha let her breath out, pulled a lever on the control, panel and slammed the pedal down. Nerim felt himself rocket back into his seat as the airspeeder took off at full power, the internal repulsorlift squealing loudly.

"What are you doing?!" Nerim clung to his seat for dear life.

"Getting off this trash heap planet!" She shouted as the police speeder ramped up its siren to full volume behind them. She turned to Nerim, tears dripping down her cheeks and eyes full of panic, desperately glancing around, but not directly at him. "Nerim, I need help. Please."

"That's..." Nerim glanced behind them to their pursuer, and then back to Tetha. He felt that fluttering feeling in his chest strengthen. "...What I'm here for."

 

[Hyenanon]

Spoiler: A/N

Thank you guys for the kind words, it means a lot to me!

Chapter 19: I Don't Mind Flying...But​

Nerim felt somewhat thankful that his default response to terror was to lock up, rather than to scream. Screaming would be undignified at this point, and he was most certainly terrified. Their airspeeder screamed across the sinkhole and weaved inbetween buildings and standing structures poking out from the walls, close enough that he could have reached out and touched them—and lost his hand in the process.

Either way, he kept his mouth shut. He didn't want to give Crybaby any competition.

The security forces behind them kept up as best they could, but slowed at several crucial maneuvers, losing time in one pitch and turn after another, until Tetha yanked the yoke backwards and shot straight up between two support wires holding a bridge in place. The speeder's frame shuddered as she pivoted and threw it into a sideways death spiral between two neon-covered buildings towards the platform they were standing on, and the repulsorlift screeched in protest when she pulled up at the last moment.

Nerim could swear he heard durasteel scraping against pavement as they barely avoided crashing headfirst into it. He turned around and saw it confirmed by the trail of sparks they left, already fading from view as they shot upwards again.

He turned to Tetha. "I should have called a taxi!"

Somehow between her tears and grit teeth, a giggle escaped her. It was just as soft and beautiful as her first laugh, and her nose scrunched up the same way. "Get ready to jump, Jedi Boy!"

Nerim donned an expression of indignation. "I really wish strange girls would stop calling me that!"

The airspeeder slid to a stop over some collection of buildings Nerim had yet to identify, about a dozen feet above a rooftop. Tetha stood up and readied herself to jump, so Nerim followed her lead and hopped out. In the split second before falling away, he saw her slam down the thrust, jump and then reach out with her arm. The airspeeder rushed away, and the yoke tugged downwards, causing it to pull into an upwards trajectory.

It shot full-speed towards the top of the sinkhole, and by the time Nerim had rolled to a landing on the rooftop, a handful of police speeders raced after it. Nerim breathed a big sigh of relief. "I think you lost them."

Tetha stood up and wiped the tears off her face. "We need a starship. You have one?"

Nerim moved low and knelt on the edge of the rooftop, trying to get his bearings. They were, in fact, in the docks. There were a number of landing pads with ships of all designs and specifications littered haphazardly, refueling and unloading. He searched his memory for a moment and then looked to dock 314D, where the diplomatic vessel he had flown in on was stationed.

"Bad news," Nerim sighed. It was already surrounded and boarded by security. "I presume my Master must have been identified."

Tetha's had returned to her blank expression. "Okay. Then we steal one."

"Uh," Nerim began to object, "Hold on." He fished out his communicator and spoke into it. "Master, our ship has been locked down."

After a few moments, Arwain responded. "Oh, we're not getting that back. Steal a light freighter!"

"Chakaar," Nerim grumbled under his breath, and put his communicator away. "Okay fine," he took a deep breath, "So which do we go for?"

Tetha crouched next to him, looked out over the docks, and frowned. "Nerim," she said quietly, "You're going to have to describe them for me. I can't really see well."

"Okay," he said, taking inventory of the docks. He didn't know most of the makes or models on display, but as he described them one after another, Tetha was able to identify (and subsequently rule out) most of them.

Utapau was a fairly warm world, but at night on a rooftop with the constantly rushing wind, there was a definite chill. Nerim had felt quite used to nippy winds, but he noticed Tetha shiver and place a hand to her burnt shoulder. "Sorry," he said reflexively.

She slightly smiled at him. "Sorry about your nose. It's bleeding a little again, by the way."

He touched his upper lip and his finger came away with a spot of blood. Tetha pulled out her handkerchief again and began wiping at it. "Um," he froze, not sure what to say.

"It's somewhat frustrating both of our duels ended the way they did," she remarked, placing a steadying hand on the back of his head. "You're good."

He stayed still, feeling her fingers trace his face through the cloth. "My swordsmanship is sloppy compared to yours. Compared to every Jedi, too."

"But you're a good duelist," She emphasized, shaking the handkerchief out and folding it back into her pocket. "I'd...like to spar with you again sometime."

He flushed at the praise, internally happy that she couldn't see it. He pointed out at the dock. "U-um, semi-circular design, central cockpit, visor canopy. Asymmetrical, there's a cut out on the left side of the cockpit."

She rolled her eyes. "That could be any design from the last four thousand years. People have been copying the Dynamic since the Mandalorian Wars. Any more details?"

He tilted his head, squinting to get a better look. It was side-on relative to him, giving him a partial look at both the front and back. "I think there are...sixteen sublight thrusters? They're square. It has six landing legs, big Corellian Engineering Corporation logo on the top."

"Hm..." Tetha closed her eyes. "JT class freighter. They're decent."

"There's a bunch of empty pallets around it. Looks like it's either already unloaded, or freshly loaded."

"Either way, probably means it's fueled," she noted. "Sounds like a winner. Let's get closer."

The two of them began climbing down vents and pipes on the outside of the building, and then scampered down alleyways and between parked loading vehicles. The few dockworkers they did see either didn't see them, or didn't visibly care. Eventually, they made it to the freighter, and Nerim could make out the name emblazoned on the side, in the Huttese script. He did his best to pronounce it phonetically. "Bu...Gusha Wermo?" He asked. He wasn't quite sure what that meant, but it sounded like an insult.

"The Lucky Worm," she translated. "Come on, we're gonna have to climb on top and enter through the service hatch."

"If you don't mind my asking, how are you so confident?" Nerim raised an eyebrow. "You said you've never been offworld."

She smirked. "No, but I may have stolen a training program my father used on the clones that were supposed to be pilots."

He looked at her quizzically. "Pilot clones? How big are your father's operations, exactly?"

She grabbed a cable from the ground, and tossed it up as a makeshift grappling hook onto a sharp outcropping of the ship. "Not big in scale, but wide in reach. He makes personalized beings on commission," she explained, climbing up the rope. Nerim watched her climb, and followed swiftly behind her.

They plodded along the top of the starship until they found the hatch, and she placed her hands against it and closed her eyes. A few moments later, with a series of clicks and groans of metal, the hatch opened. Doors that were simply barred from the inside were among the hardest for ordinary thieves to break into, but the easiest for a trained Force User.

Except Nerim, of course, who still didn't have a handle on telekinesis. He pouted in jealousy and followed as she quietly dropped into the ship. Even the minute noises they made echoed through the hull, and the air assaulted Nerim's nose with the scent of spices and grease, both of the food and engine variety.

An unspoken understanding was reached between them, and they split, each circling the ship in opposite directions to make sure it was empty. The search came to an unsatisfying conclusion when, upon entering the quarters of the ship, Nerim found himself staring at the sleeping form of a strange alien with massive arms almost twice its height and scrawny long-toed legs, hanging half off the bed. He was pretty sure it was called a 'Dug', and he was very sure it was drunk.

Tetha entered behind him, and joined him in blankly staring at the sleeping alien. They stood there for a few moments, and then met each other's eyes.

Tetha was considering taking him hostage. Nerim shrugged, as if to say "We're already breaking the law." She nodded and then they both drew their weapons and Tetha kicked the Dug in the arm.

"Waugh!" The Dug shouted, falling entirely off the bed and scrambling. Its head looked up at them, both eyes slightly unfocused in different directions and nose twitching wildly. Its eyes focused on the lightsaber. "No bata tu tu!"

"Achuta," Tetha said calmly, "Moova dee boonkee ree slagwa."

The alien raised its...legs, above its head and shuffled around on its arms until it was facing the corner of the room. Nerim pulled out his communicator. "We've acquired a ship, Master. Dock 345D."

"Great!" Arwain's response again came startlingly quick. "I have the holocron in my sights, just give me, oh, twelve minutes."

Tetha took a deep breath. "You keep an eye on the Dug, I'll get the pre-flight started."


-------------------


Nerim sat in the main room of the ship, a small area with a booth and a dirty kitchenette covered in a layer of spices in between piles of food things. The Dug sat across from him, twiddling its big toes together nervously.

At exactly 12 minutes on the dot, Arwain slid in through the cargo hatch and entered the main room carrying the Sith holocron in one arm like it was a bag of groceries. "Padawan!" She cried, a wide smile on her face—and a few scorch marks. "My hero!"

Nerim raised an eyebrow. "You didn't just destroy the thing?"

"Oh, no, of course not," Arwain said, wiping her brow. "Also, lower the cargo ramp, Jianno's incoming with a whole cart."

Nerim leaned back and shouted down the hall that lead to the cockpit. "Lower the—!"

"I heard her!" Tetha's reply came back. The ship shuddered slightly and a pneumatic hiss could be heard.

Arwain huffed, catching her breath, and pointed to the Dug. "Sorry, citizen, under Code 46A2J65, we are temporarily commandeering your vessel and detaining you. Don't worry, you will be compensated."

"Whauh—" The Dug's head shot between Nerim and Arwain, and back again, and back yet again. "Me no sitta-sen of repooblic!"

Arwain placed a hand on the seat an inch behind the Dug's head and leaned in, the pupils of her muddy green eyes shrinking. "Do you want to be a non-citizen right now?"

The Dug shuddered. "Me sitta-sen. Geeb mi wa chimpa?" he swallowed.

"Alright!" Jianno shouted from the cargo bay, "Let's get moving now!"

The cargo bay closed, and they immediately felt the lurch of the ship raising into the air. Arwain raised an eyebrow. "Who's the pilot?"

"A friend," Nerim said, "Her name is Tetha."

Arwain turned her head in the direction of the cockpit. "...I sense—Ah. That's what you've been up to this whole time."

Jianno limped into the main room, her armor scratched by what appeared to be...claws. He also noticed tufts of fur caught inbetween some of the armor plates. "Mar'e! Thought that damn zoo was going to be the death of me, hahahah!" She laughed heartily, taking off her helmet and leaning on the counter.

Nerim couldn't help but smile. "I've never seen you in such a good mood."

She grabbed a skewer with something on it and took a bite. "Rare that you get to live so hard and appease the dead at the same time," she remarked with her mouth full. "How's the weather?"

"The what?" Nerim asked, confused.

"Weather?" Arwain echoed, just as lost. Then a piercing silence descended upon the room.

"...Oh you morons," Jianno's grin immediately turned into a scowl, and she tapped at a console on the wall next to the kitchenette. "Shame on me for assuming you'd remember on your own."

"I can make it!" Tetha called down the hallway. "Hold on to something!"

Jianno's eyes widened as she saw the readout on the console. "There's a hyperwind storm!"

"I can make it!" Tetha repeated. Then the ship swung wildly to the side.

Every loose item was thrown into the wall, and Nerim was tossed into the table of the booth he was sitting at—which speared directly into the bruise on his stomach, of course. He nearly blacked out from the sudden excruciating pain, and felt the edges of his vision grow hazy. The Dug was outright tossed into the wall with a splat, although everyone could tell it was still conscious from its hysterical screaming.

Jianno's feet lifted from the floor, but she clung to the counter, preventing herself from being carried away. Arwain simply stood in place, frowning and leaning against the tremendous inertia. The ship shuddered and rumbled and swung side to side, Nerim tossed back and forth in his seat, in too much pain to even scream. The Dug bounced across the interior until Arwain reached out her free arm and caught it, holding it in a similar way to the holocron. She closed her eyes and entered some sort of deep meditation.

The chaos and bruising continued for what felt like hours to Nerim, though the clock told him it couldn't have been more than two minutes. The interior of the ship was an utter mess, covered in the aftermath of whatever the Dug had cooked the previous night. As Nerim regained his vision, he realized that a number of skewers, mugs, knifes and forks, and other dangerous clutter was suspended in the air around Arwain. He didn't even want to think about how bad it would have been if those were able to bounce around freely.

She let out a breath and they all dropped to the floor. She clicked her tongue. "That was reckless. But...I suppose it did work."

Nerim groaned in pain, curled up under the table and covered in new bruises. Arwain smiled at him.

Tetha stepped out of the hallway, checking on the group. Her cold eyes quickly scanned Arwain and Jianno, then Nerim. She rushed over to Nerim and held out a hand, helping him back into his seat while Arwain shoved the Dug back into the seat across from him.

"Are you okay?" Tetha asked.

"Might—Khght—die!" Nerim coughed, letting his head fall onto the table. Tetha frowned and put a hand on his back to comfort him.

Jianno stepped over and looked down at him, then punched him in the shoulder, causing him to yelp. "Calm down, whelp. You're doing great."

"Thank youuu..." Nerim moaned, swallowing what was trying to escape his stomach.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 20: You Might Say We're Encouraged To Love​

Arwain slapped the holocron onto the table in between Nerim and the Dug.

Tetha's eyes widened. "Be careful with that thing!"

The Jedi Master shrugged. "Please, it's lasted a thousand years, it's most certainly not fragile," she said, rubbing her hands together. "Now, you said this is Darth Machina?"

Nerim balked. "Master, don't tell me you're planning on turning it on."

"Why wouldn't I?" Arwain asked, confused.

"Why would you?"

"Because it's there."

Tetha and Nerim shared a concerned glance. "You're absolutely sure she's a Jedi?" Tetha cautiously whispered.

"Well, I...met her in the Temple," Nerim's brow furrowed. "Perhaps I should check a roster or something."

"I'm not going to activate it right now," Arwain chuckled, putting a hand on top of Nerim's head. "Fear not, I know what I'm doing."

"Well I don't know what you're doing," Nerim objected as she ruffled his hair, "In fact I have no idea what you've been doing for the past day! You seem to have gotten into a remarkably dangerous situation!"

"Oh, that hardly counts," she waved her hand, "You weren't even there!"

"Masterrr..." Nerim pouted.

"Young Nerim, I realize that you might be unaware, but I am something of an expert in Sith holocrons," Arwain chided, pushing the Dug over so she could take a seat. The Dug looked extremely uncomfortable sandwiched in the booth between Nerim and Arwain. "It's actually really exciting to find a new one."

"How many Sith Lords have you spoken to, exactly?"

Arwain gave him an enigmatic smile as Jianno filled a thermos with caf and started moving to the cockpit. "I'll set us for Coruscant," she called back.

Tetha watched as she left, and then stared aimlessly at the wall. "Coruscant..." She repeated breathlessly. After a moment, she turned to Arwain. "Is my father dead?"

The Master gave her a concerned look. "Not unless Jianno killed him while I wasn't looking. Jianno! Did you kill this girl's father?"

Jianno's voice echoed from the cockpit. "Who's that?"

"I don't know!"

Jianno did not verbally respond, but Nerim could sense a frustrated scowl.

"Tosh-Ran Rhissa," Tetha answered quietly.

"Oh. No, I don't believe he's dead," Arwain answered. "He's quite the duelist, though. It's been decades since someone came at me with a cortosis-weave vibroblade."

Nerim ran a hand through his hair to try and straighten it out. "Goodness, what is with you people..."

Tetha's eyes dropped to the floor. Arwain tilted her head, and spoke with concern. "You act like you would rather him be dead."

"I don't know," Tetha sighed, "Now I worry that he'll be looking for me."

"Oh," Arwain said, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. "You had an adversarial relationship, I take it?"

Tetha leaned on the wall and crossed her arms. "He has a...professional interest in me."

"How disturbingly vague!" Arwain said, straightening up. "But far be it from me to pry for details. I'll respect your privacy. By the way, have you been training to become a Sith Lord?"

Tetha stared at her for a few long moments, and then glanced to Nerim. "Disarmingly direct, huh?"

Nerim laughed, then immediately cringed in pain and clutched his stomach. "Master, she's not a Sith."

"Not what I asked," Arwain's eyes narrowed.

Tetha turned away and strode out of the room. "Assume what you want," she said bitterly as she disappeared from view.

With Tetha gone, Arwain's eyes focused on Nerim. He sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Go ahead. I can tell something's on your mind, Master."

"Why yes, actually," Arwain smiled. "Lots of things, really. But we can set that aside for right now. I wanted to congratulate you, apprentice."

He raised a wary eyebrow. "Um. Thank you?"

"I sense remarkably little conflict in you," she explained. "When we first met, you didn't want to be a Jedi. Up through our training, your trip to Ilum, and our venture on Raxus, you were wracked with doubts and anxieties. But you seem much more sure of yourself now, and I think it's paying off."

He pursed his lips in thought. Somehow he did feel...at ease. He couldn't believe how smoothly everything went. No—not smoothly. It was a disaster every step of the way, just like always. But somehow he just...went with it, and he handled every problem as it came.

Was a stronger, better person? Probably. But there was something more to it, a sort of inspiration that had taken hold. He was no better suited to resolve the complications that arose on Utapau than he had been on Raxus, but he had suddenly gone from fighting against the current to using it. He was tacking into the wind, just like Arwain had told him he would.

She nodded up to the clock on the wall. "You know what day it is?"

He thought for a moment, and then shook his head.

"This is the sixth month anniversary of me pressganging you into being my Padawan," Arwain smiled fondly. "I told you back then that you only had to give me a chance, I'd let you go if you got to this point and still didn't want to be a Jedi. I planned to keep up my end of the bargain. Honestly, I was hoping to positively influence your decision by making you interested in exploring Utapau and solving the mystery of the holocron," she chuckled, "But it seems that things never go as planned."

Nerim's mouth curled into a tight frown. "You're giving me a chance to quit?"

"Not just a chance," she leaned back, "You're free to quit the Jedi whenever you want. I'm not going to force you to stay as my apprentice. I tried my best to make sure you got to feel the Force, and I think you really have, beyond even my expectations. From now on, you're the master of your life."

She let the conversation grow silent, smiling fondly at him while he examined her for any hint of joking or implication. He couldn't find anything. She was really being as straightforward as she could be.

Nerim cast his eyes down and inhaled, his lungs filling with spiced air and the smell of ozone. There was a familiar lurch and snap as the ship slingshot into hyperspace, and then the smooth, gentle caress of the superluminal lanes. He thought about where he was going, and the word that came to mind startled him: He was going home, to the Temple. It was a home that he didn't particularly like. In fact, he had preferred quite literally everywhere he had ever been other than the Temple. The thought of returning to that building inspired within him with a sort of mild dread. But he had started thinking of it as home.

Perhaps he would find a better home elsewhere. Perhaps he was just the type of person who didn't like being home. But perhaps it was where he belonged for now. And perhaps Arwain was right; there really needed to be some sort of change from the inside of that big, cold, gray building.

He exhaled, and nodded to the passage Tetha had disappeared down. "What's going to happen to her when we get back?"

"Oh, hell if I know," Arwain shrugged. "I don't plan on arresting her, if that's what you're asking. But a Force Sensitive student training under a Sith holocron? Hasn't happened for a century or two at least. Honestly..." She trailed off, "Might just not tell the Council about her. What a teeth-pulling conversation that would be."

Nerim's jaw dropped. "You would keep secrets from the Council? About the Sith?"

She looked Nerim in the eye, dead serious. "Do you trust her?"

He considered the question for a moment. "Yes."

"Then I trust her," Arwain said as if it were as easy as confirming the sky was blue. "Listen, Nerim, I told you this six months ago as well; we must not live our lives jumping at shadows and preparing to go to war with the Sith every moment of our lives, or else winning the war had no purpose. Be honest with me, did you open the holocron?"

He shook his head, and then stopped. "Well, no. But Tetha did."

"Right. Not that scary, was he?"

"He was...terrifying," Nerim shuddered, remembering that inhuman crawling sensation, the pressure in his mind and the sludge in his soul. "He tried to convince Tetha to kill me."

"Precisely, Nerim!" She leaned forward. "But she didn't, and so he still sits in his pyramid, powerless. That is the nature of the Sith. They seek absolute victory with ravenous hunger. It's scary when you first encounter it. The power radiating off of them, the Darkness, that absolute nature, it seems insurmountable, that things could be no other way."

She pulled out a lighter and flicked it open, emitting a small flame. "But Sith always deal in absolutes. That is their weakness," she continued. "Their victory must be total and absolute, or else it is a failure. Total, absolute darkness seems powerful because it convinces you that it is the natural state of things, that it cannot be touched or combated, it surrounds and penetrates all things. But it is the most fragile and tenuous of all forces, because light—any amount of light—utterly overpowers any darkness. And everything in this universe emits light. The Sith cannot defeat a person who can say no."

Nerim sat and thought for a moment. "So I...shouldn't always say yes?"

"And how do you expect me to answer that?" Arwain winked. "With a yes-or-no?"

Nerim thought about how to respond, before settling with an unsure "...Maybe?"

Arwain turned to the Dug sat in the middle of the booth. "Will you get a load of this Padawan?"

"Ahh!" Nerim jumped in his seat, "By the Force, I forgot about him!"

The Dug whined pitifully.

Arwain laughed loudly, patting the Dug on the shoulder. "You know, Nerim," She sighed in contentment and spoke more quietly, "You should probably go check in on Tetha. I imagine she could use a friendly ear, but I don't think she likes me. I think she likes you, though."

Nerim was still for a second, and then nodded and stood up, moving towards the passage. Before he could get past the doorway, Arwain called after him.

"By the way! You still haven't answered my question!"

"Which one?" Nerim turned to her.

"About whether you'll stay as my Padawan or not."

"You didn't ask," he said, rounding the corner. His weary legs carried him down the corridor, towards the cargo bay. The smooth metal hallway twisted around the core of the ship and each footstep made a dull clung as he limped his way down it.

Eventually, he peeked his head into the cargo bay. Along with the numerous crates that were already there, there was a cart that had been filled with the numerous pieces of armor, weaponry, and slag he had seen in the curiosity room at Tetha's mansion. Tetha herself sat on a crate next to it, pensively holding a Mandalorian beskar gauntlet in her hands.

She looked up as Nerim entered. "Hey," he said.

Tetha didn't answer. Her face was as cryptically blank as ever.

Nerim decided to take the leap of faith and sat down next to her. "I'm sorry that things are...hectic for you now."

She shook her head. "They always have been, I guess. I'm not going to miss that hellish mansion, and perhaps it's for the best that the holocron gets locked in a vault somewhere," she sighed, gripping the gauntlet harder. "I just...think I will miss Crybaby and Tiny."

He nodded. "I think I'll miss them, too. I'm developing quite the gallery of people I'll miss, actually," he said, his mind drifting back to watching the Cathar ship depart.

She briefly met eyes with Nerim, and then looked back down. "It's cold and the air is thin in here," she said, fiddling with the gauntlet.

Nerim looked down at it. "Is that glove important to you? I could convince Jianno to part with it."

Tetha shook her head. "No. Not at all. It's just that...when I was very small—just out of the tube, I think, there was another clone. She used to hold my hand when I got upset." She glanced at him, all the ice and steel having melted from her expression. "Stars, I don't know why I told you that. That's so embarrassing."

He frowned. "It is not. What was her name?"

"Oh, I don't think she had a name," Tetha sighed.

"That's..." Nerim tried to search for a word other than 'horrifying', and couldn't find one.

Tetha sat in silence for a moment, and then tossed the gauntlet into the pile. She reached over and grabbed Nerim's hand and held it between hers. He offered no resistance, for his part, letting the moment stretch on. He wasn't sure there was anything he could say, so he just settled on being there.

"Where are you going to drop me off?" She finally asked.

"I don't wanna think about that," Nerim sighed. "I already have too many people to miss. Can we at least spend a couple more hours trying to kill each other?"

She giggled, just a little.

Nerim felt that fluttery sensation in his chest again. "You have a really nice laugh, you know."

Tetha smiled at him, small and reserved but genuine. "You have a nice sense of humor."

He thought for a moment. "My Master tells me that a sense of humor and a sense of the Force go hand in hand. Although sometimes I think she's just trying to get me to lighten up. I've been known to be a bit of a party killer."

"A Jedi? Party killer?" She asked sarcastically. "Hah...what was it like, growing up as a Jedi?"

He took a breath and shrugged, staring at the ceiling. "It wasn't like much of anything. Your first memories are meditation training. You're told your whole life you exist for a predetermined reason. You have no family, you're surrounded by people with no families—hell, you never even see a family. Practically have no idea what it is. You just live in these smooth white chambers, waiting for your next test, and the one after that, and the one after that, watching the people around you succeed more than you and get the privilege of continued status quo, or fail more than you and get washed out..."

She squeezed his hand tightly. He turned to look at her, and though her expression was still muted, tears ran down her cheeks. "I...I understand exactly how you feel, Nerim," she said softly.

He put on his best unimpressed face. "No you don't, you haven't been elbowed in the nose today."

She laughed, and then the laughter turned into crying, and then back into laughter again. She leaned into him, and he leaned back. They stayed there for some time, until Nerim felt her shift in position. He turned to her, and then felt her lips touch his. He began to question the event, and then decided not to, and gently pressed into the kiss himself.

It was somewhat awkward, being that they were both in pain, covered in dry sweat and bruises, sitting on a cargo crate in a hijacked alien's ship, but it only made it more important to return the kiss; where their lips touched was the most comfortable place he could imagine at the moment.

After a moment, they broke, and Tetha looked at him with a wide grin, her nose scrunched in that way he had somehow decided a long time ago he really liked. "Sorry about your face," she said.

"Don't worry, I have a good memory," he said breathlessly. "I'll get you back one of these days."

She giggled.

---------------

They spent some time together, before sleep threatened to take them. Tetha wandered off to the shower, and Nerim meandered back into the main room, to find Jianno and the Dug drinking and laughing together, trading what he assumed were either interesting stories or absurdly long insults with each other in Huttese.

He moved past the party towards the cockpit, where he hoped there was a comfortable seat in a relatively quiet spot. He was right, of course, and so was his master, who was sitting with the Sith holocron in her lap, thumbing through her datapad.

She looked up at him and gave him that coy expression which he knew meant that she was aware of something he wouldn't like. He sighed. No point in turning around now. He plopped in the seat next to hers and started double checking the nav computer and news feeds.

His eyes darted to her and back to the console. He broke first. "Master I get the strangest feeling you have another long lecture for me."

"Oh no," she chuckled, "Don't worry about that. Actually, I got the impression you wanted to tell me something."

Nerim thought for a moment, and sighed. That endless second-guessing and self-examination the Temple had taught him was catching up to him. "I'm somewhat concerned about my senses. I got this...feeling, which I presumed was within the Force. It was a light, fluttering feeling in my chest that I had never had before. I'm starting to worry that it's not a feeling in the Force. It may be..."

"Your concerns are correct, Nerim," she said, wistfully looking out the window into hyperspace, "And so were your original thoughts. It's both. How could it ever be just one or the other?"

He aimlessly tapped at the console, scrolling by traffic reports without actually reading them. "...You're not upset with me?"

"Oh please, don't have one intimate experience and go treating me like an innocent summer child," She huffed, "I've kissed my fair share of Dark Jedi also."

Nerim froze, and slowly turned to his master. "...Are we sure you're a Jedi?"

Arwain grinned slyly at him, her fingers drumming on the Sith holocron in her lap. "You're allowed to pick up anything you can let go, Nerim. No more, no less."


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Spoiler: A/N

I swear I didn't plan to upload the big finale of the arc on May the 4th, but sometimes things just work out, eh? This is the end of my prepared material, and like last time, I have no idea at all when the next updates will come. Like I said, I don't seem to want to upload until I have a big batch. At the risk of sounding self absorbed, this is a very intricate story with lots of looping motifs, and so it's easier to make as big chunks than bit by bit. Any comments at all would be greatly appreciated. I'm already writing outlines for the next arc.