Chapter Text
--
Obi-Wan sits in his cabin, slowly turning his lightsaber over and over in his hands. A thousand tiny scratches and scuffs on durasteel and leather catch in the harsh overhead lights.
(your lightsaber is your life, his master told him over and over and he repeated this to his student like he knew what it meant)
He thumbs the switch, the perpetual background hum of the kyber singing to life as the bunk washes blue. Obi-Wan knows what lightsabers sound like to those without the Force, a low fluttering hum. He’d tried once to explain how kyber feels and sounds to a jedi, sound and touch and taste and sense memory bleeding in somewhere deeper than their marrow, how finding the crystal that was theirs meant one that meshed with their own signature.
Satine had indulged his exhausted rambling, moonlight streaming from the boarded up window of their hiding place painting deep shadows under her eyes.
Like a song? she’d asked. There had been a quiet hope in her voice, both their ears still ringing from blasterfire and bombs even hours later.
Yeah, he’d replied, instead of how sparring with Bant was to hear crashing waves clattering against stone and everything would smell taste faintly of citrus and how his own gave the impression of mint of all things and used to make Garen sneeze and-
Like a song.
Now he sits and listens to the hum blend into the sounds of the cruiser- of his cruiser. There’s a slow pulse in the feel of the kyber now, like a hyperdrive’s vibration in his bones. There’s still a faint impression of mint and feel of wet stone- but the low wail of wind through canyons has been joined by the heartbeat of a Jedi Cruiser engine.
(your lightsaber is your life and that means more than blocked blaster fire and slices of molten metal-)
Given enough time, enough experience as life wears through the stone like rivers the song can change. It’s not considered damage, to have new notes, new textures in the kyber, all things change given enough time.
(sith kyber don’t scream, things must be alive to scream but there is something wrong about the sound they make-the noise of hulls ripping bone snapping crackle of lighting, blades made of the sound of things breaking)
Cody had slapped his lightsaber into his hand earlier, exasperation in every line of his body (so much better than the wary respect and awe of their first weeks together before obi-wan had stood teeth bared and bleeding over downed droids that would not get to the injured men behind him-).
“Your life, sir,” he’d drawled.
---------