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.