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Chapter Text

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...

KID’S CROSSING

She was born nameless in the shadows of Nar Shaddaa—trapped in a windowless room, neglected by her mother, and abused by a man who twisted the Jedi Code into a doctrine of control.

When she finally escaped, it was not the Jedi who found her…
It was the Dark Side that chose her.

Infused with raw Force lightning—but no other Jedi or Sith abilities—her power is unnatural, instinctive, and terrifying. In a single burst of emotion, she killed her father and resurrected her mother, sending ripples through the Force itself.

Now, hunted by the Empire and feared by the Jedi, she is escorted to Coruscant by the Jedi Knight Mace Windu, who believes she may be more than a Force-sensitive child…

She may be the Cosmic Force’s response to everything the galaxy has become.

A mystery. A weapon. A warning.

And perhaps… a new beginning.

Chapter 1

A Place Among the Stars

The hum of hyperspace filled the cabin, a low, constant murmur against the silence. Kid sat cross-legged on the cold metal floor, her blue eyes fixed on the frayed edge of her oversized cloak. Pale blonde strands fell into her face, uneven and choppy, the evidence of a self-done haircut.

Across from her, Mace Windu leaned back in his seat, his face pale, his broken arm cradled awkwardly against his chest. His breaths were slow, controlled, but Kid could see the strain in the way his fingers twitched against the armrest.

"Kid," he said, his voice steady but laced with exhaustion. "Can you heal this?"

She shook her head, not looking up. "I can’t."

Windu studied her. "But you brought someone back from the dead, didn’t you?"

Her hands curled into fists, the fabric of her cloak tightening under her grip. The memory hit like a cold wind, unsettling and sharp. "That was different." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "That was my mom. I don’t even remember how I did it. I just…" She swallowed. "I had to kill my daddy to do that."

Silence.

Windu exhaled, shifting in his seat with a wince. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—"

"Don’t," she snapped, lifting her head, her blue eyes hard. "Don’t bring that up again."

A long pause. Then Windu gave a single nod, his expression unreadable. "I won’t."

She relaxed—just barely—and leaned back against the wall. The hum of the engines filled the quiet, stretching between them like an uneasy truce.

After a long moment, she asked, "Where are we going?"

"Coruscant," Windu said. "To meet the Jedi Council."

She frowned. "What’s a Jedi Council?"

He hesitated. How did you explain bureaucracy to a six-year-old? "They’re… my friends," he settled on.

Kid’s nose wrinkled. "That’s a weird name for a bunch of friends."

Windu huffed a quiet laugh despite himself. "You’ll understand when you meet them."

She picked at a loose thread in her cloak, thinking. "Will they like me?"

"Why wouldn’t they?"

She shrugged. "People usually don’t."

Windu’s brow furrowed. "You’re not like most people they’ve met, Kid. That’s not a bad thing."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Then, as if testing him, she raised a hand. Sparks of electricity danced at her fingertips, bright and jagged.

Windu’s eyes flicked to the ship’s control panel. "Not near the controls!" he barked.

Kid yelped and snapped her fingers closed, the sparks vanishing instantly. Her gaze darted toward Windu, gauging his reaction. His expression remained calm, but the tension in his shoulders hadn’t eased.

"It’ll take some convincing," he admitted. "But that’s not your problem to worry about. I’ll handle it."

She studied him, then gave a small nod.

The silence returned, stretching between them like a vast, unspoken weight. After a while, she asked, "Have you ever done something you can’t take back?"

The question caught Windu off guard. He regarded her carefully before answering. "Yes."

Kid hesitated. "What did you do?"

Windu sighed, leaning back. "I made choices that hurt people. Thought I was doing the right thing. Sometimes, I wasn’t."

Her gaze dropped. "Like killing my daddy."

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. "It’s not the act that defines you, Kid. It’s what you do afterward that matters."

She didn’t answer, her small hands resuming their nervous tugging at the thread. Windu let the silence linger.

She needed time.

After a long silence, Kid spoke again, her voice small. “Do you think… the electricity is bad?”

Windu opened one eye, studying her. “Why do you think it’s bad?”

She hesitated, staring at her hands. “Because it’s the Dark Side,” she murmured. “But lightning… it’s all I know how to do.”

Windu was quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “The Force isn’t good or bad on its own. It’s power—what matters is how you use it.”

Kid frowned. “But every time I use it, someone gets hurt.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s the only thing you’re capable of,” Windu said, his tone firm but calm. “You’ve been through a lot, Kid, and you learned to survive with what you had. That doesn’t make you bad.”

She looked at him then, uncertainty flickering in her blue eyes. “You really think that?”

“I do,” he said without hesitation. “And when we get to Coruscant, we’ll figure it out together.”

Kid didn’t answer, but she exhaled softly and rested her head against the wall. Some of the tension in her small shoulders eased, just a little. Windu took it as a victory.

The steady hum of the ship filled the quiet, lulling him into a light meditation. For the first time in a while, he allowed himself to breathe.

A sharp beep from the console shattered the calm.

Windu’s eyes opened, and he glanced at the blinking light on the control panel. “We’re approaching Coruscant,” he said, his voice carrying a note of relief.

Kid perked up, pushing herself upright. “What’s it like?”

Windu let a small smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. “Big.”

As the ship exited hyperspace, the planet came into view—a sprawling, glittering metropolis stretching endlessly into the void. Streams of speeders and starships wove through the towering cityscape, neon lights reflecting off durasteel spires.

Kid pressed her face against the viewport, her eyes wide. “It’s huge,” she whispered.

Windu chuckled softly. “Welcome to Coruscant.”

Their descent took them through the crowded air lanes, weaving between colossal skyscrapers and flashing traffic signals. For a moment, Kid forgot to be anxious, her curiosity overriding everything else. But as the massive structure of the Jedi Temple loomed into view, its golden spires stretching toward the sky, she felt her stomach tighten.

It looked important. Important places never liked her.

Windu noticed the shift in her expression. “Remember,” he said, his tone even but reassuring, “let me do the talking.”

Kid nodded, but her gaze remained locked on the towering temple. “Okay,” she said quietly, though her mind swirled with questions.

The ship touched down with a soft thud. Windu shifted, adjusting his injured arm in its sling before glancing at her.

The light hurt.
It wasn’t just bright—it was invasive. She squinted hard, blinking fast, her head ducking beneath the too-big hood of her cloak.
Nar Shaddaa’s neon flicker had never prepared her for this.

“You okay?” Windu asked.
She nodded, but didn’t mean it.
“I’ll get you something.”

A minute later, a pair of tinted goggles were placed gently in her hands. Not Jedi regulation. Probably pilot gear.
She didn’t thank him. But she put them on.

“Ready?”

Kid swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the truth. But she’d come this far.

No turning back now.

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. I think so."

"Good," Windu said, his voice steady. "Let’s go meet my friends."

Chapter Text

The ship’s ramp descended with a hiss, releasing a gust of cool air from Coruscant’s docking bay. The distant hum of repulsorlift vehicles and the clang of machinery filled the cavernous space, a rhythmic backdrop to the city-planet’s ceaseless activity. Overhead, neon guide lights flickered against durasteel walls, illuminating the rows of ships that lined the landing zone.
A tall, wiry man in a navy-blue uniform approached, his sharp eyes flicking between the ship and its occupants. He carried a datapad in one hand, his posture rigid, though his face held neither hostility nor welcome.
"State your business," he said briskly.
Windu stepped forward, his presence commanding despite the sling binding his injured arm. "We’re refugees," he said evenly. "Fleeing Nar Shaddaa."
The dock master’s brow furrowed. His fingers tapped against the datapad, processing the information. "Nar Shaddaa?" he echoed. "I’ve heard the Empire’s been cracking down there—hunting Force-sensitives, if the rumors are true."
Windu gave a single nod. "They’ve established a stronghold. It’s not safe for anyone who… stands out."
The dock master’s gaze flicked to the small figure at Windu’s side. Kid clung to the edge of her oversized cloak, her blue eyes darting between the towering machinery and the unfamiliar people bustling around the hangar. She was tense, unreadable. The dock master studied her for a moment before shifting his attention to their ship—a weathered, battle-worn vessel, yet still impressive by the standards of most refugees.
"Well," the man said, tilting his head slightly, "I’ve seen plenty of people escaping Nar Shaddaa, but not many of them arrived in something like this." He gestured vaguely toward the ship. "Most came in… humbler conditions."
Windu straightened, suppressing a wince as his arm protested the movement. "Getting here wasn’t easy," he said, lifting the injured limb just enough to make his point.
The dock master’s skepticism faded slightly as he took in the state of Windu’s injuries. His posture relaxed, and he tucked the datapad under his arm. "Of course," he said, his tone shifting to something more sympathetic. "Let’s get you to a medical bay. I’ll alert the medics."
Windu inclined his head. "Thank you."
The man turned, speaking into his commlink as he gestured for them to follow. Kid moved in step with Windu, her small hand curling around the edge of his robe. The hangar stretched wide around them, its metallic walls lined with towering cranes and service droids tending to incoming vessels. The constant movement, the overlapping voices, the sheer scale of everything—it was overwhelming.
"Is it always this bright?" she whispered.
Windu glanced down, catching the flicker of unease in her expression. A faint smile touched his lips. "You get used to it."
The dock master led them to a quieter corridor, where two medics were already waiting. They wore crisp white uniforms, their expressions professional but not unkind. One of them—a middle-aged woman with sharp features and steady hands—stepped forward, her eyes immediately scanning Windu’s arm.
"Let’s get you seated," she said, motioning toward a nearby chair. "We’ll assess the damage."
Windu hesitated, glancing down at Kid. She hadn’t let go of his robe.
The dock master, noticing her hesitation, crouched slightly to meet her gaze. "Hey," he said gently, his tone shifting to something softer. "We’ve got food and a place to rest just down the hall. You’ll be safe here."
Kid didn’t respond immediately. Her grip tightened for just a moment, then—reluctantly—she let go. She gave Windu a cautious look, waiting for reassurance.
"It’s okay," Windu said, his good hand resting briefly on her shoulder. "I’ll be right here."

THE CANTEENA
She nodded, though she still looked wary, and followed one of the medics as they guided her toward the resting area.
Windu watched her go, a flicker of concern crossing his face before turning back to the medic tending to his arm. The woman was already examining it with practiced efficiency.
Nearby, the dock master lingered, still holding his datapad. His voice dropped slightly, no longer just processing arrivals—now he was speaking as someone who understood the weight of what was happening.
"You said you came from Nar Shaddaa," he murmured. "You’re lucky to have made it out. The stories I’ve heard… well, they’re not pretty."
Windu’s expression didn’t change. "No, they’re not," he agreed. "That’s why we’re here."
The dock master studied him carefully. "And the girl?"
Windu met his gaze. "She’s special," he said simply. "And I intend to make sure she’s safe."
The man considered that, then gave a slow nod. "You’re in the right place. Coruscant might be chaotic, but the right people can still make a difference."
Windu didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted toward the hallway where Kid had disappeared, the last flickers of her small frame vanishing around a corner.
"Let’s hope so," he murmured.
________________________________________
Kid sat alone in the small resting area, her legs swinging idly over the edge of a chair far too big for her. The room was quieter than the hangar but not silent—the distant hum of machines and muffled voices seeped through the walls, a constant reminder that she was somewhere unfamiliar.
A tray of food sat untouched in front of her: a bowl of broth, a piece of flatbread, and a strange green fruit that looked like it had been plucked from an alien swamp. She prodded it with one finger, watching it wobble slightly.
She wasn’t hungry. The tightness in her chest hadn’t eased since they landed. Everything here felt too big, too bright, too different. Her eyes flicked toward the doorway, half-expecting—or maybe hoping—to see Windu walk through.
But he didn’t.
Instead, a voice cut through the stillness.
"Not a fan of greenfruit?"
Kid’s head snapped up. A young woman leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed. She wore plain, practical clothes—gray and functional, the kind you forgot the moment she walked away. Her auburn hair was tied back, and her dark eyes flickered with curiosity.
But something about her presence felt… off. Too still. Too measured.
Kid shrugged, pulling the tray a little closer. "I don’t know what it is."
The woman stepped inside, her boots clicking softly against the floor. "You eat it," she said with a grin, dropping into the chair across from Kid. She picked up one of the green fruits from a tray nearby, rolling it between her fingers. "Not my favorite, though. Tastes like chalk."
Kid tilted her head. "Then why do they give it to people?"
"Because it’s cheap, lasts forever, and doesn’t poison you." The woman smirked. "That’s all a refugee needs, right?"
Kid nodded slowly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the edge of the tray. "Are you one of the doctors?"
The woman shook her head. "Nah. Security. Kaela." She extended a hand across the table.
Kid just stared at it.
Kaela didn’t seem offended. She leaned back, her posture relaxed—too relaxed. Like someone who’d practiced it.
"You’ve got an air to you. Force-sensitive?"
Kid hesitated. The numbers would say no, but her abilities said something different. "It’s… hard to explain."
Kaela gave a soft chuckle. "Yeah, I’ve heard that before."
She studied Kid a moment longer, then tilted her head. "You’re not from around here, are you?"
Kid shook her head. "Nar Shaddaa."
Kaela nodded knowingly. "Yeah. Figured. We’ve had a lot of people come through lately. Rough place to grow up."
"Where are you from?" Kid asked.
"Nal Hutta."
That got Kid’s attention. "Do they have Sea Hutts there?"
Kaela snorted. "No, those are from Varl. But good guess." She grinned, then switched to Huttese. "Do Uba speak Huttese?"
Kid blinked at her before answering hesitantly. "Tagwa. Jee've learned Tuta shows an sports. But news sa Basic." (Yes. I’ve learned from shows and sports. But news is Basic.)
Kaela raised an impressed brow. "Not bad. You a fan of Jedi Adventure Hour or Bounty Hunter Battles?"
Kid wrinkled her nose. "Jedi Adventure Hour is for babies."
Kaela laughed. "Yeah, can’t argue with that. But you don’t strike me as the Bounty Hunter Battles type either."
Kid shrugged. "It’s okay. The fights are fake."
"Most of them," Kaela corrected. "The ones in the Core are staged, sure. But out in the Outer Rim? That’s the real deal. No safety nets out there."
Kid didn’t respond. She just poked at her food.
Kaela watched her, then leaned forward. "You know, most kids perk up when I bring up holoshows." She studied Kid for a moment, her tone softening in a way that felt… deliberate. "You don’t have the energy most kids have."
Kid’s expression didn’t change. "I just left a battlefield."
"No," Kaela said, shaking her head. "Most refugees are relieved when they escape. They want to start over. But you? You’re upset."
Kid didn’t respond.
Kaela let the silence stretch, then added, “And Jedi kids… well, it’s not like they have to worry about losing their parents.”
Kid finally looked up, her blue eyes narrowing. "My mother’s a Jedi too."
Kaela smirked—like she’d been waiting for that. "And they took her away, didn’t they?" She tapped the table lightly, her voice calm but precise. "That’s what they do. They reassign children. Train them so young they don’t even remember who they really were. They tell them it’s for the greater good. Say emotions are dangerous. That love makes you weak."
Kid stiffened. "She’ll come back for me."
"Will she?" Kaela raised an eyebrow. "Or is that something you told yourself?"
Kid’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t answer.
Kaela leaned back, her tone still easy—but her eyes were watching closely now. "You’re lucky. Most kids don’t even remember. The Jedi decide for them. And if they don’t fit the mold?" A shrug. "Reassigned. Quietly."
She said it as if she wasn’t trying to get a rise out of Kid—but her voice carried something sharper. Not pity. Not anger. Something personal.
Kid stared at her, silent, her small fingers tightening around the edge of the tray.
Kaela just smiled. "I’m sure Master Windu’s got a nice speech planned for you, though. About how special you are. How the Jedi will ‘guide’ you. But tell me—" She tapped her temple. "Do you feel guided?"
Kid’s stomach twisted. She didn’t know how to answer that.
Kaela stood and stretched, cracking her neck like someone getting back to work. She glanced once toward the door, almost like she was checking something—then gave Kid a final look.
"Think about it," she said. "And if you ever wonder what else is out there... well. Not everyone who walks away from the Jedi gets lost."
"Welcome to Coruscant, Kid. Hope you make it out better than most."
And with that, she walked out—leaving Kid alone with a knot in her chest she couldn’t explain, and a quiet voice in the back of her mind whispering questions she wasn’t ready to answer.
Windu entered the room, his posture straighter now, his arm fully healed but still secured in a light sling. His sharp gaze scanned the space, landing on Kid. A rare, almost imperceptible softness flickered across his otherwise stern expression.
"Everything alright here?" he asked, his voice steady.
Kaela straightened as well, her stance shifting in a way that reminded Kid of the security officers back on Nar Shaddaa—rigid, precise, almost rehearsed.
"She’s in good hands, Master Jedi." The title came crisp, clipped, like something she’d been trained to say rather than something she meant. "I’ll leave you two to it."
Kid watched Kaela go, her mind lingering on something off about the woman. The way she moved, the way she spoke—too controlled, too deliberate. Like a soldier in disguise.
As the door shut behind Kaela, Windu sat across from Kid, assessing her carefully.
"How are you holding up?"
Kid shrugged, her fingers picking at the edge of the tray. "It’s… big."
Windu’s lips twitched. Almost a smile. "It is. But you’ll get used to it."
She studied his face. "Do you think they’ll like me? Your friends?"
His expression remained unreadable, but his voice was firm. "The Jedi Council isn’t here to like or dislike. They’re here to help. And they’ll see the same potential in you that I do."
Kid wasn’t convinced, but she nodded. For the first time since landing, the tightness in her chest eased—just a little.
Then came footsteps.
The door slid open, and Kaela was back, a small datapad in her hand. This time, her face gave away nothing.
"Master Jedi," she said, her tone formal, almost rehearsed, "an administrator has requested a meeting before you proceed to your next destination. Standard verification for refugees from contested zones."
Windu’s expression tightened. "Did they say why?"
Kaela shook her head. "Not exactly. They just need to confirm your story. And ensure that no one followed you."
Something about the way she said it—too neutral, too precise—made Kid’s stomach twist. No one followed you. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her until now.
Her eyes darted to Windu. He was already looking at her, his expression calm, reassuring.
"It’s fine," he said, before turning back to Kaela. "Where?"
"Third level, administrative block. I’ll take you." Her gaze flicked to Kid. "Both of you."
Windu nodded. "Lead the way."
________________________________________
Walking Through the Station
The corridors were colder than the resting area, both in temperature and feeling. The deeper they went, the more the station's noise faded into sterile quiet. Kid stayed close to Windu, watching Kaela as she walked ahead.
Something about the way she moved—stiff posture, precise steps—reminded her of the guards on Nar Shaddaa. Like someone used to taking orders.
"Does this happen a lot?" Kid asked, her voice small but curious.
Kaela glanced back with a faint smile. "Refugees getting questioned? Only when they come from places the Empire’s got its eye on."
"Nar Shaddaa," Kid murmured, gripping the edge of her cloak.
Kaela nodded. "Yeah. Word’s spreading about what’s happening there. The Empire’s hunting people—Force-sensitives, like your friend here said." She gestured toward Windu, her tone light but calculated. "But you’re lucky. Most people don’t make it out at all."
Something about the way she said it made Kid frown. Like it wasn’t luck at all. Like she didn’t believe in luck.
Kid reached for Windu’s robe, holding onto the fabric without thinking. He glanced down at her, his gaze unreadable—but understanding.
________________________________________
The Administrator's Office
A tall man in a gray uniform stood waiting. Unlike Kaela, he didn’t bother with a smile.
"Kaela," he greeted, nodding, then turned to Windu. "Master Jedi, you’re here as refugees from Nar Shaddaa?"
"That’s correct," Windu said evenly.
The man’s eyes flicked to Windu’s arm, still supported by the sling. "And you said the Empire is hunting Force-sensitives there?"
"Yes," Windu confirmed. "We barely escaped."
The administrator’s gaze shifted to Kid. "And the child?"
Windu didn’t hesitate. "She’s under my protection."
Kaela cut in before the administrator could respond. "He meant her name."
"Kid Magdalene," Windu answered.
Something flashed in Kaela’s eyes—surprise? Amusement? It was gone as soon as it came.
"Oh," she said, tilting her head. "You let her keep her last name. That’s different."
She typed something into the datapad, a subtle hm escaping her lips. Kid felt the weight of that comment—like she was supposed to ask what that meant.
She didn’t.
The administrator hesitated, then sighed. "I see. Coruscant is one of the safest places you could’ve come to. We’ll do our best to ensure you aren’t disturbed during your stay."
A pause. Then, more carefully, "Are you planning to stay long?"
Windu’s tone remained firm. "We’ll be heading to the Jedi Temple as soon as we’ve completed our business here."
The administrator relaxed. Just slightly. "Very well. If you need assistance, let us know. Welcome to Coruscant."
With that, he stepped aside.
________________________________________
Kaela led them back through the quieter halls. Her tone was lighter now—forced, almost conversational.
"Looks like you’re all clear. I’ll get you back to your ship or wherever you’re headed next."
Windu gave a measured nod. "The Temple. Can you arrange transportation?"
Kaela smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "For you, Master Jedi? Consider it done."
As they walked, Kid tugged on Windu’s sleeve. "What’s the Temple like?" she asked, quieter now.
Windu glanced down, thoughtful. "It’s a place where people like us learn to connect with the Force. To use it to protect others."
Kid frowned. "People like us?"
"Force-sensitives."
She hesitated. "What if they don’t like how I do it?"
Windu lowered himself slightly, despite the discomfort in his arm. "Kid, the Force manifests differently in everyone. It’s not about how—it’s about why. And I know you’ll find your reason."
She held onto his sleeve a little tighter. Just enough for him to notice.
For now, it was enough.
Kaela returned a moment later, gesturing to a sleek speeder waiting nearby.
"This’ll take you straight to the Temple," she said. Her voice was perfectly neutral again.
Windu inclined his head. "You’ve been more helpful than you know."
Kaela smirked. "Just doing my job. Take care, both of you."
Kid climbed into the speeder beside Windu, her small frame dwarfed by the seat. As the vehicle hummed to life and lifted off the ground, she gripped the armrest tightly, her fingers digging into the material. The moment they ascended, she turned her head toward the window—and froze.
Light. So much light.
It wasn’t like the neon glow of Nar Shaddaa’s skyline or the flickering holo-signs she had grown up beneath. This wasn’t artificial, confined to strips of metal and glass. This light was everywhere.
She squinted against the overwhelming brightness, lifting a hand as if to shield herself. But there was no escape from it—it flooded the world, swallowing every shadow, leaving nothing hidden. Even the durasteel buildings, towering high above the city, gleamed beneath its reach.
The sky wasn’t black. It wasn’t gray. It wasn’t endless metal and neon. It was… blue. Vast and open, stretching beyond the horizon in a way that made her stomach twist. It felt too big, too exposed. Where were the ceilings? Where was the darkness to disappear into?
The sun—the sun—hung in the sky like a molten jewel, bathing Coruscant in a golden haze. She had never seen a sun before. She had heard of them, but they had been nothing more than stories, distant and abstract. Now, it was there, blazing, inescapable, watching.
"It looks like a castle," she murmured, barely aware she had spoken. Her voice sounded distant, as if it had been stolen by the wind.
Windu, watching her carefully, smiled faintly. "In a way, it is. A castle of peace."
She wasn’t sure what peace looked like, but this wasn’t what she imagined. This was something too vast, too exposed. The city sprawled out in all directions, its buildings piercing the sky like jagged spires. She had spent her entire life in the darkened alleys and underbelly of Nar Shaddaa, a world where the sky was hidden by smog and steel. Here, there was nowhere to hide.
As the speeder neared the Temple, its golden-tipped towers gleaming in the unrelenting daylight, something inside her twisted. She had never felt smaller.

Chapter Text

The girl didn’t want to land.
The speeder slowed, descending toward the courtyard of the Jedi Temple. Kid pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, as if the thin fabric could block out the sky—or the strange light pressing down on her.
The hum of the engine softened as they touched down, but the world outside still felt too wide. The air too open.
Windu stepped out first, adjusting the sling on his arm before glancing back at her. She didn’t move. Her hands gripped the edge of the speeder’s doorframe, her small fingers whitening.
“Come on,” Windu said gently. “They’re waiting for us.”
She swallowed and slid from the seat, her boots landing lightly on the polished stone.
The Temple loomed before her—impossibly vast. Carvings covered the entrance doors, ancient warriors with glowing swords and serene expressions, their hands outstretched as if in welcome or warning. She didn’t know which.
Jedi moved through the courtyard, their robes drifting with the breeze. They walked with quiet purpose, eyes steady. Some turned their heads as she passed. She stiffened. Were they judging her? Trying to guess what she was?
“Stay close,” Windu murmured.
She didn’t need to be told twice.
Her heart pounded as she followed him across the courtyard. Everything here was too clean. Too quiet. There were no grime-slick steps, no rusted panels or neon signs twitching with broken colors. There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to vanish.
The Temple’s great doors opened with a smooth hiss. The air inside was cool, still. It smelled like polished stone and something faintly herbal—something not meant for the streets.
“Mace Windu.”
The voice echoed calmly through the vast chamber.
Windu turned. “Master Plo Koon. I trust the Council is ready for us?”
The Kel Dor stepped forward, his robes flowing like water. “They are,” he said, his voice steady beneath his mask. “But first—are you well? We heard of your injury.”
Windu adjusted the sling on his arm. “It’s been tended to. Nothing to worry about.”
Plo Koon regarded him for a beat before nodding. Then his masked face tilted downward.
“And this must be the child.”
Kid peeked out from behind Windu’s cloak. Her fingers curled tight around the fabric. She met Plo Koon’s glowing eyes and didn’t look away.
He looked strange. Not like the people of Nar Shaddaa. His face was hidden behind metal and glass. But his presence didn’t feel cold.
She said nothing.
“She’s nervous,” Windu offered. “This is her first time in a place like this.”
Plo Koon’s tone softened, despite its mechanical edge. “Understandable. The Temple can be… overwhelming. But she is in the right place.”
Kid wasn’t so sure.
They moved on, her steps small beside Windu’s. The walls rose like canyon faces, covered in murals—some glowing, others dark and solemn. Robed figures stood frozen in painted starlight. They looked peaceful. Even in battle, their faces were still.
Why weren’t they afraid?
Jedi passed like shadows through the hall, speaking in low tones. Every movement felt measured. Controlled.
It was nothing like home.
No shouting. No fights. No broken neon buzzing in alleys. Even the silence here felt different.
Not empty.
Full.
They stopped at a massive circular doorway.
Windu knelt so his eyes were level with hers. “This is where the Jedi Council meets,” he said. “They’ll want to speak with both of us.”
Her stomach twisted. “What do I say?”
He hesitated—just a second—and she saw it.
Then his hand rested gently on her shoulder. “Just be honest. You don’t have to pretend to be anything you’re not.”
She nodded, jaw tight. Her hand didn’t leave his cloak.
Ahead, the doors waited.
Smooth.
Silent.
She couldn’t tell if they were opening for her—or swallowing her whole.
In the center of the chamber, seated in a circle, were the Jedi Masters. They radiated calm, but their collective presence felt like an invisible weight pressing down on her.
Kid’s gaze darted between them. She didn’t recognize any of them, but she could feel them. Their attention was heavy, their silence measured. Unease twisted in her gut, and she edged closer to Windu.
A small figure with large ears and an expression of quiet wisdom broke the silence first.
"Arrived safely, you have. Welcome, young one."
Kid blinked, unsure how to respond. She glanced up at Windu, who gave her a small nod of encouragement.
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Another Jedi leaned forward, her elegant features framed by dark braids. "Master Windu, we’ve heard much about your journey from Nar Shaddaa. I trust you will elaborate on the circumstances that brought you here."
Windu inclined his head. "Of course, Master Luminara." His gaze swept over the Council, his voice steady. "The Empire’s presence on Nar Shaddaa has grown significantly. They’re hunting Force-sensitives—children, mostly. We barely escaped with our lives."
The moment he said it, Kid felt their eyes shift to her.
A Kel Dor Jedi, his mask lending his voice an eerie, mechanical depth, spoke next. "And the child? What is her connection to the Force?"
Windu’s expression remained unreadable. "Her connection is… unusual." He glanced down at Kid. "She’s powerful, but untrained. Her abilities manifest under extreme circumstances, and they’re unlike anything I’ve encountered."
Master Yoda’s ears twitched, his expression thoughtful. "Much fear, I sense in her. And much strength. A difficult path lies ahead."
Kid’s fists clenched at her sides. She hated this. Being talked about, being examined like some kind of puzzle. Frustration burned in her chest, threatening to swallow the fear.
"I didn’t ask to be strong," she said suddenly. Her voice trembled, but the words pushed past her clenched teeth. "I just… I just want to be safe."
The chamber fell silent, her words hanging in the air like an exposed nerve.
A deep, rumbling voice broke the silence.
"Safety is what we strive to provide. But strength, too, can be a shield." Is what Master Tyvokka said but it wasn't perceived by Kid other than incoherent roaring.
Kid’s heart leaped into her throat at the sound. She turned toward the speaker—and immediately recoiled.
A towering figure sat among the Council, covered in thick brown fur, his amber eyes studying her with quiet patience.
Kid didn’t know what she was looking at. Her breath caught in her chest, and before she even realized what she was doing, she darted behind Windu, gripping the back of his cloak in both hands.
"Kid," Windu said, glancing over his shoulder at her. "It’s alright."
“What is that?” she whispered, panicked. “Why is it yelling?”
Windu’s voice was calm. “That’s Master Tyvokka. He’s not yelling—he’s trying to help. But he knows you don’t understand him.”
The great Wookiee rumbled low in his chest, his deep voice carrying more amusement than offense. "I think I’ll wait outside for this one."
He pushed himself up from his seat with a slow, deliberate grace. The moment he moved, Kid took another step back, her grip on Windu’s cloak tightening.
Without another word, the Wookiee strode toward the exit. The heavy doors parted for him, then slid shut, leaving behind an uneasy silence.
Windu turned back to the Council, nodding once. "Apologies for that."
Master Plo Koon’s voice was calm. "No offense taken. It is understandable. She has spent her life in the shadows—new things, new faces, can be overwhelming."
Kid slowly peeked out from behind Windu, her breath uneven, her fingers still clutching at his cloak like a lifeline.
The moment lingered before Windu stepped forward, his voice calm but firm.
"I’ve brought the child here not just for her safety, but to continue her training. I wish to take her as my Padawan."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the Council.
Master Luminara tilted her head, studying Windu carefully.
"Master Windu, taking on a Padawan is no small responsibility. Have you… ever raised children before?"
Windu didn’t hesitate.
"No, I haven’t," he admitted plainly. "But the role of a Master isn’t the same as that of a parent. It’s about guidance, discipline, and passing on what I’ve learned. I believe I can provide that for her."
Master Plo Koon leaned forward, his voice calm but weighty.
"The child’s background raises questions, Master Windu. We’ve received messages from Jedi Master Yareen regarding her discovery. According to the records, she was never officially approved to join the Jedi Order as an initiate."
Luminara’s gaze shifted to Kid, cool and discerning.
"She bears a striking resemblance to Master Yareen. Are you certain this isn’t another of her… unofficial children?"
Windu glanced down at Kid and gave a slow shrug, as if to say, you kind of do.
Kid replied evenly,
"My mom’s in Ilum. We have the same hair and eyes, but she doesn’t have slanted eyes like me. Or Master Yareen."
Master Plo Koon folded his hands together.
"Knight Windu," he said, his tone measured, "we understand you’ve never taken a Padawan, and you’ve not yet served as a Knight for more than a year. But taking on a student out of compassion is not adoption. It’s not charity, and it’s not recruitment. A Padawan must accompany you on missions—and they must be more of an asset than a liability. Putting a child her age in harm’s way is not doing her a favor."
Kid’s stomach twisted. She didn’t understand all of it, but she knew what they were really saying: She was a risk.
Windu remained still. Unshaken.
For a breath, the chamber was silent.
Then, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth—not of arrogance, but certainty. He turned to Kid, his gaze steady.
"Show them."
Kid blinked, her heart hammering.
"What?"
"You’ve done it before," Windu said, voice unwavering. "Show them what you can do."
The Council chamber seemed to grow colder. Heavier. The once-quiet stillness now buzzed with tension.
Kid’s hands trembled. She looked from Windu to the row of watching Masters, her breath coming fast.
"I… I don’t know if I can."
Windu crouched slightly, voice just loud enough for her.
"You can. Trust yourself. Trust the Force."
She swallowed hard.
Her palms tingled. That familiar tension uncoiled in her chest like a live wire. She drew in a slow breath, closed her eyes, and raised her hands—fingers splayed.
A spark.
Then another.
Thin strands of lightning snapped into life, dancing between her fingertips like threads of molten silver. The air thickened, vibrating with a low hum, as if the room itself was holding its breath.
She felt it again—coiling inside her, writhing like something alive. But this time… this time she didn’t let it take her.
She took it.
The lightning arced outward, twisting through the air in elegant, fluid motions. It wasn’t wild. It wasn’t fear.
It was hers.
And for the first time, she didn’t shrink from it.
The pale glow illuminated the chamber, casting jagged shadows across the Council’s ancient walls. The Masters remained silent, their faces carved with thought. Even Master Yoda leaned forward slightly, his ears twitching in contemplation.
As the crackling arcs traced glowing trails through the air, Kid understood—this wasn’t just a display.
It was proof.
Proof she belonged.
Proof she was worth the risk.
The last sparks fizzled out, fading into the silence like the tail of a dream. Kid lowered her arms, her chest heaving with shallow breaths. The electricity still buzzed in her fingertips, clinging to her skin like the echo of a heartbeat.
She glanced at Windu.
He nodded once—firm, steady, proud.
Master Ki-Adi-Mundi was the first to speak.
"Her control is… remarkable, considering her lack of formal training."
Kid shifted her weight, her voice small but clear.
"Master Yareen taught me how to hold it in. And Knight Soleta showed me how to use it... different ways. But that’s all I can do—just lightning. Electricity stuff."
Master Luminara’s gaze didn’t waver.
"Her abilities are unconventional, to say the least."
"Unconventional, yes," Windu agreed, stepping forward. "But effective. She has power, and she has potential. With the right training, she could become an asset to the Order."
Master Yoda’s ears twitched slightly, his expression unreadable. "Potential, she has. But raw, her power is. Dangerous, it can be, without discipline."
Windu inclined his head. "That’s why I’m offering to take her as my Padawan. To ensure that discipline. To guide her in using her abilities for the greater good."
The Council exchanged glances. A silent deliberation hung thick in the air.
Finally, Master Plo Koon spoke, his mechanical voice measured. "If we are to consider this… we must first confirm her midichlorian count. It is a standard we cannot ignore."
Windu didn’t flinch. "Then let’s confirm it."
A medical droid glided into the chamber, its movements precise, clinical. Kid watched it warily as a slender device extended from its arm.
"This will not hurt," the droid stated in its flat, metallic tone.
Kid hesitated. A cold, sinking feeling crept into her stomach.
Windu placed a hand on her shoulder, low enough that only she could hear him. "Go ahead."
She swallowed hard and extended her hand. The device pricked her finger, drawing a single drop of blood. The machine chirped, processing the sample. Each beep seemed louder than the last.
Then, it spoke.
"Midichlorian count: ninety-three."
Silence.
The kind of silence that had weight.
The Council did not breathe.
Kid felt their stares. The air shifted. Something sacred had just cracked.
Ki-Adi-Mundi leaned forward slowly. "Ninety-three?" His voice was low. Disbelieving. "That’s… impossible."
Luminara narrowed her eyes. "How can she even be alive with a count that low? A baseline citizen has at least five hundred. This contradicts everything we know about Force sensitivity."
Plo Koon’s filtered voice carried tension. "Without a viable connection to the Force… she should not have survived infancy."
Kid stared down at the floor, her breath caught in her throat.
They were right.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
Her voice was a whisper. "Does that mean… I can’t be a Jedi?"
No one answered.
Then Windu spoke.
"No. It doesn’t."
He stepped forward, his presence a wall between her and the room.
"The Force is not measured by machines. It is not a number. It is not a chart. It is alive. It chooses as it will. And it chose her."
He looked around the room, meeting their eyes one by one.
"She has called lightning from air. She has survived alone. She has bent a power we do not understand to her will. That is the Force. That is what it means to be Jedi."
Luminara’s voice was quiet. "But such a low count… it challenges everything."
"Then perhaps," Windu said, "it is our understanding that needs to change."
Kid glanced down, then looked back up, her voice small but certain.
“I… I’ve shown some Jedi how I do it. Not teaching, really. Just… what I feel. You have to push the Force away. Like trying not to feel it. Then the lightning comes. You can’t really control it—not like a saber or a lift—it’s more like… guiding a river.”
A quiet beeping filled the silence.
Kid turned her head, her gaze settling on the medical droid, still idle beside her. Its photoreceptors blinked as if waiting for further instruction.
She tilted her head slightly, then spoke, her voice soft but certain.
"No, he’s not talking about you."
The droid gave a small, confused beep.
A pause.
"Doing it again won’t change anything.”
Another pause. The droid processed her words.
"Yeah, you can go."
The droid whirred, beeped once, then turned and rolled out of the chamber without another word.
Silence followed.
Several Masters exchanged glances. Ki-Adi-Mundi shifted in his seat, brow furrowed. Luminara straightened slightly, her expression unreadable.
Finally, Plo Koon broke the silence. "Did… anyone tell that droid to leave?"
No one answered.
Kid frowned. "No."
Windu exhaled through his nose, folding his arms. "Apparently."
Master Yoda rubbed his chin, the corners of his mouth tugging downward in thought. "Curious, this is."
Kid felt the weight of their gazes again, but this time… it wasn’t scrutiny. It was something else.
She wasn't sure if that was better or worse.
The silence following Kid’s display was thick with unspoken thoughts. The droid had long since rolled out of the chamber, dismissed by her casual command, but its absence left behind something heavier.
The Council wasn’t just deliberating Kid’s fate.
They were questioning their own understanding of the Force.
Master Ki-Adi-Mundi was the first to break the silence. His tone, usually measured, carried a rare edge of doubt.
"A child with a count that low should be incapable of perceiving the Force, let alone wielding it with such precision." He glanced at the others, his large brow furrowed. "Have we ever encountered such an anomaly?"
Master Luminara Unduli nodded solemnly, her piercing gaze fixed on Kid. "It raises many questions, and too few answers. If we train her, we are training something we do not yet understand."
Master Saesee Tiin folded his arms, his deep voice carrying a note of caution. "The numbers tell us one truth. The Force shows us another. We must decide which we trust more."
The words sat heavy in the air, pressing down on Kid like an invisible weight. She swallowed hard, her small hands clenching into fists at her sides. She hated this—being examined, studied like some strange artifact they weren’t sure belonged in their collection.
Her voice came out small, but steady.
"It’s not the midichlorians that make me strong." She forced herself to meet their gazes. "My connection to the Force… it’s different."
A flicker of interest crossed the Council members' faces. Windu stepped back slightly, giving her space, allowing her to speak for herself.
She hesitated, but the words had already formed in her mind, pushing past her fear.
"I think it has more to do with the Cosmic Force." Her blue eyes darted between the Masters, searching their expressions, trying to gauge if they understood—if anyone understood. "Ever since I started feeling the Force—even just a little—there’s been… a voice."
Silence.
The kind that felt sharp, charged, waiting to cut.
Master Ki-Adi-Mundi leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "A voice?"
Kid nodded, lowering her gaze to the polished floor. "It tells me to embrace the Dark Side… and all the power it promises."
A ripple of unease passed through the chamber. The Council exchanged glances, their concern thick enough to suffocate.
Master Yoda exhaled slowly, his ears twitching. His voice was calm but edged with something deeper—something searching. "The Cosmic Force, you say. A voice, guiding you to darkness?"
Kid looked up, her chest tightening. She could feel their hesitation, the unspoken question forming in their minds—is she dangerous?
"It’s not a guide." The words rushed out of her before she could second-guess them. "It’s… it’s more like an echo. A presence that’s always there, waiting for me to slip. It’s not something I control."
A beat of silence.
Then Ki-Adi-Mundi spoke again, his tone careful. "And was that what you heard from the droid?"
Kid blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "No." She hesitated, then shook her head. "Yuna thought she made a mistake and wondered if you wanted her to do the test again. She asked if she could go. I didn’t tell her to do anything."
More silence.
A few Council members exchanged glances, as if trying to decide whether that was better or worse.
Kid tightened her grip on her cloak, her fingers curling into the fabric. She wasn’t sure if she had made things better for herself or if they were now even more afraid of her.
She had never liked the way people looked at her—like she was something wrong.
And now, here she was, in a room full of Jedi Masters, and the feeling was exactly the same.
A memory surfaced.
"I believe that you believe."
Master Yareen’s voice had been so steady when she’d said that. Calm, certain, like she was humoring Kid.
She had written it off as a game. Something people said to make children feel special.
But Nar Shaddaa…
That wasn’t a game.
She thought about Kevin—the way he had tried, so desperately, to convince the droids not to harm the children. His words, his fear, his pleading—it should have meant nothing to machines.
But when he died, something changed.
All at once, the droids stopped, as if they had reached a collective decision.
She hadn’t controlled them.
She hadn’t issued an order.
She had just… understood. She knew what they were saying.
Kid looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers slightly.
The Force had always been spoken of as a thing of power, a thing of control. But for her, it wasn’t control at all.
It was connection.
The realization made her stomach twist.
Slowly, she raised her head, her blue eyes scanning the Jedi Masters once more. Their expressions were unreadable, but their silence pressed down on her like a weight.
Mace Windu exhaled slowly, the weight of the room pressing down on him. The Council waited, their unreadable expressions doing little to mask their unease. He had seen that look before—Jedi Masters faced with something they could not explain, something that did not fit neatly into their understanding of the Force.
This was no ordinary child.
Finally, Windu broke the silence.
"The attack on Nar Shaddaa was unlike anything I’ve seen," he said, his voice measured but firm. "The Empire came with overwhelming force—an entire battalion of battle droids, a contingent of Inquisitors, and Sith apprentices. They didn’t come to negotiate. They came to kill."
The Council listened, their focus shifting from the grieving child to the Jedi Master recounting the battle.
"They made their demands, issued ultimatums, but I heard the order before the fighting even began," Windu continued. "Execute everyone."
A ripple of unease passed through the room.
"The Jedi and the younglings retreated into the temple," he went on, his gaze sharpening. "I heard the blaster fire. But something was wrong. There should have been screams, chaos—something. But there was nothing." He paused, the memory heavy in his voice. "They didn’t shoot at anyone."
Master Plo Koon tilted his head. "Explain."
"The droids," Windu said, glancing at Kid, who had not moved. "They weren’t attacking. Not at first. They only fired in self-defense. And when the Sith pressed forward, they turned their blasters on them."
Luminara’s brow furrowed. "You’re saying the droids protected the Jedi?"
"I’m saying they hesitated," Windu corrected. "Something made them question their orders. And when Kevin—the droid who tried to reason with the others—was destroyed, they made their decision."
Kid’s fists clenched tighter at the mention of Kevin.
Master Saesee Tiin frowned. "A droid developing independent reasoning isn’t unheard of, but an entire battalion… that’s something else."
"It was as if they were waiting for confirmation. As if they came to a collective decision," Windu continued. "I don’t know what caused it, but I do know this—when Kevin was gone, the droids made their choice. And it wasn’t to follow Imperial orders."
Ki-Adi-Mundi crossed his arms. "You believe the child was responsible."
Silence.
Kid's breathing hitched. "I didn’t—" she started, shaking her head. "I didn’t tell them to do anything."
"You didn’t have to," Windu said, his voice steady but not unkind. "You understood them. And they understood you."
Kid blinked up at him, her eyes wide with something between confusion and fear. The room felt too large, too exposed.
Master Yoda’s ears twitched, his gaze unreadable. "Understand, you do. But influence, did you?"
Kid hesitated, her throat tightening. "I don’t know."
Windu studied her for a long moment before he turned back to the Council. "There’s something else you should know."
Another silence fell over the chamber, heavier this time. Windu’s voice, usually unshakable, carried a different weight now—something more deliberate.
"Darth Plagueis was there."
A stillness swept through the room.
Master Shaak Ti’s expression darkened. "The Sith Lord?"
"Yes," Windu confirmed. "He arrived after the battle, after the droids had already turned against the Sith. And he was looking for one thing."
He turned slightly, gesturing toward Kid.
"Her."
Murmurs rippled through the Council.
Master Plo Koon sat forward. "And what did he want?"
"He made an offer," Windu said. "A ship, safe passage—freedom. All he wanted was the one who resurrected the dead."
Kid’s voice cut through the chamber like a blade.
Her small hands trembled as she balled them into fists, her blue eyes burning with hurt and betrayal. "I told you not to mention that," she repeated, her voice unsteady.
The tension in the room sharpened.
Windu met her gaze, his expression unreadable but steady. "And I told you, Kid—this is bigger than you or me."
Kid’s breath came in short, uneven bursts. "You promised," she said, shaking her head, her fingers digging into the fabric of her cloak. "You said you wouldn’t—not like this."
"I said I wouldn’t bring up what happened to your parents," Windu interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. "But this? This isn’t just about you anymore."
Kid’s heart pounded against her ribs. She could feel them staring at her now—not just as a curiosity, not just as a question.
As something dangerous.
Master Shaak Ti studied her carefully. "Explain," she said, her tone measured but carrying an unmistakable weight.
Kid swallowed hard, her throat tight. "I didn’t—" She shook her head. "I didn’t do what he thinks I did."
Master Yoda’s ears twitched as he tapped his fingers lightly against his cane. "What happened, do you believe?"
Kid hesitated, her hands gripping the sides of her cloak like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “I made one choice, and it was to go outside. If I stayed, I wouldn’t be here, I didn’t have any thoughts, worries, attachments, or even a name. Just trying to live with the least amount of pain as I could. The Force set me free from that and when my mommy killed herself and my daddy was about to kill me… That’s when the lightning first came. It killed my daddy and brought back my mommy. So many bad things happened after that, but good things too. So, I want to ask you all one question; Do you think I should have stayed inside?”
The chamber was silent.
The question lingered in the air, heavy with something none of them were ready to confront.
Kid’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her small frame trembling. Her voice had been steady, but inside, she felt raw. Exposed.
She wasn’t sure what answer she wanted. Maybe none at all.
Master Yoda’s ears twitched. His fingers tapped lightly against his cane, his gaze unreadable. "A question difficult, this is. Not of what was, but of what must be."
Kid exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "You’re not answering me." Her voice wavered, frustration creeping in. "You all keep talking about what I am, what I could be, what I might become—but I’m standing right here. And I need to know." She forced herself to look at them, to meet their gazes, even if it made her chest tighten. "Do you think I should have stayed inside?"
Master Plo Koon folded his hands in front of him, his voice calm, measured. "If you had, you would not be here now."
Kid frowned. "That’s not an answer."
Master Ki-Adi-Mundi’s expression was unreadable. "The past cannot be changed, young one. But had you remained, your path would have been different. That is all we can say."
Kid’s fingers curled tighter around her cloak. "I know that," she muttered. "I know I shouldn’t be here. I know I shouldn’t have survived. But I did. And that means something."
Windu’s gaze was steady, unwavering. "It does," he agreed. "And that’s why we’re here. To make sure your survival isn’t just a mistake the universe hasn’t corrected yet."
Kid flinched at his words—not because they were cruel, but because they were honest.
Because they were what she had been afraid of all along.
The silence stretched again, thick with something unspoken. The Council wasn’t ignoring her question. They just didn’t have an answer.
And maybe they never would.
Master Pho Koon was the first to break the quiet. "You ask if you should have stayed inside. But you did not. And now, you stand before us." His eyes locked onto hers, unreadable yet steady. "The question is not where you should have been. The question is: where will you go now?"
Kid’s breath hitched.
Where will you go now?
She looked down at her hands again, flexing her fingers slightly. She had been waiting for someone to tell her if she was right or wrong. If she was meant to be here. If she deserved to exist.
But the Force hadn’t given her an answer.
Neither had the Jedi.
Because maybe… maybe there wasn’t one.
Maybe she had to decide for herself.
Her throat felt tight, but she swallowed hard and forced herself to meet their gazes again.
"I don’t know," she admitted, her voice small. "But I want to find out."
A flicker of something passed through Windu’s expression—approval, maybe. Or understanding.
Master Shaak Ti nodded slowly, her voice softer than before. "Then that is where we begin."
The Council exchanged glances, their deliberation unspoken but clear.
Kid didn’t know if they saw her as something to be feared. Or something to be trained. Or something else entirely.
And for the first time, that was enough.
A steady warmth settled over her shoulder, grounding her. Kid blinked up at Windu as he placed a firm hand there, his grip solid, reassuring. His expression was unreadable as ever, but his voice—his voice carried weight, certainty.
"I say no."
The words struck something deep inside her, something fragile she hadn't realized she'd been holding together.
"There are so many things that we don’t have control over," Windu continued, his tone measured, but not cold. "But you chose the Jedi because you wanted to do the right thing. And I don’t think we should prove you wrong."
Kid swallowed hard, her throat tightening. For a long moment, she didn’t know what to say.
No one had ever said that to her before.
That her choice mattered.
That she mattered.
She gripped the edges of her cloak a little tighter, her fingers trembling as she nodded—small, barely noticeable, but real.
For the first time in a long while, the weight on her chest didn’t feel so crushing.
Master Mace Windu let his words settle. The Council sat in silence, their expressions unreadable, the room heavy with the moment.
Finally, Master Plo Koon spoke. His deep, mechanical voice carried quiet certainty.
“The child has chosen the Jedi. That is not a decision to take lightly.”
Master Luminara nodded slowly, though hesitation lingered in her eyes.
“Her abilities are unconventional, and her path will be difficult. But if she is to be trained, it must be done with care.”
Master Ki-Adi-Mundi folded his hands in front of him, frowning in thought.
“She is not an Initiate—not by our traditions. If we allow this, it sets a precedent.”
Master Saesee Tiin inclined his head.
“It would not be the first precedent we have set. There have been exceptions before.”
A quiet moment passed.
Then Yoda spoke at last. His ears twitched, and his wise gaze landed on Kid.
“Unorthodox, her path may be. But unorthodox, the Force itself is.”
He looked to Windu.
“Mace Windu… your Padawan, she will be.”
There was no argument. No further debate.
That was the decision.
Mace gave a single nod of acceptance, his grip still firm on Kid’s shoulder.
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The weight of uncertainty—the fear of being cast aside—lifted, even if just a little.
She wasn’t sure what this meant.
She wasn’t sure if she could be a Jedi.
But for now, they weren’t sending her away.
For now…
She had a place.

Chapter Text

As they stepped out of the Council chamber, the heavy doors closing behind them, Kid let out a shaky breath. Her small hands fidgeted with the edges of her cloak as they walked down the long, quiet corridor. The tension that had filled the chamber still clung to her, a weight she couldn’t shake.
She glanced up at Windu, her blue eyes wide with worry. "…Windu," she said, hesitating as she corrected herself, "what do you think they’re going to want me to do here? Master Yareen always told me it was about balance and control, but… they didn’t seem sure about me."
Windu’s pace didn’t falter as he looked ahead, his voice calm but firm. "First, Kid, if you’re going to be my Padawan, you’ll need to address me as ‘Master’ or ‘Master Windu.’ I may be a Jedi Knight, but I am your Master now."
Kid blinked, then nodded quickly. "Yes, Master Windu."
He allowed a small smile to flicker at the corners of his mouth. "Good. As for what they’ll expect of you, it will go beyond balance and control. Your formal education might take stronger importance than your Jedi training, at least for now."
Kid frowned, tilting her head. "What do you mean?"
Windu stopped walking and turned to face her, his expression serious. "Do you know how to read and write Basic?"
Her cheeks flushed, and she shook her head. "No, Master Windu," she admitted quietly. "I can only read Nar-Huttese. It only has 19 symbols, so it works for all sounds. The 52 letters in Basic don’t make any sense to me. But I do know the ten numbers. Huttese only uses three, though."
Windu raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her explanation. "Nar-Huttese is a practical language for survival on Nar Shaddaa," he said thoughtfully. "But Basic is essential for life in the galaxy—especially here on Coruscant. We’ll need to prioritize teaching you how to read and write."
Kid fidgeted with her cloak again. "I know how to handle credits, though," she offered, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Kevin and Mac taught me how to add, subtract, and multiply. They said it was important for not getting cheated."
Windu’s expression softened slightly. "That’s a good start," he said. "And it shows you’re capable of learning. But there’s more to being a Jedi than managing credits or understanding math. The galaxy operates in Basic, and you’ll need to master it if you’re going to succeed here."
She nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I’ll try, Master Windu."
He placed a hand gently on her shoulder, his tone steady. "That’s all I ask, Kid. We’ll take it one step at a time. Balance and control are important, but so is knowledge. If you’re going to navigate this galaxy as a Jedi, you’ll need both."
Kid looked up at him, her nervousness easing slightly. "Thank you, Master Windu. I… I’ll do my best."
Windu gave her a small nod before continuing down the corridor. "Good. Because this is just the beginning."

Kid sat cross-legged on the mat, her hands resting on her knees as she tried to focus on her breathing. The guided meditation class was quiet, save for the soft hum of the instructor’s voice.
“Breathe in… feel the Force around you… let it flow through you,” the instructor said, their tone calm and even.
Kid tried to follow along, but her skin prickled. Sparks danced faintly along her arms, flickering with a soft crackle. She clenched her fists, trying to will the energy away, but it only made it worse. The more she fought it, the more persistent it became, like a storm building just beneath her skin.
The other younglings sat in perfect stillness, their small faces serene. But one by one, they began to glance her way, their eyes widening as the sparks became more visible.
“Kid,” the instructor said sharply, their tone no longer calm. “Stop that. Control yourself.”
“I—I’m trying,” she stammered, panic creeping into her voice. The sparks flared briefly, a faint snap of electricity startling the younglings nearest to her.
A ripple of whispers spread through the room, and the instructor frowned deeply, standing and motioning for her to rise. “That’s enough for today. Come with me.”
Kid’s heart sank as she followed the instructor out of the room, the murmurs of the other younglings trailing behind her. She didn’t need to hear their words to know what they were thinking. She felt their unease, their fear. The Dark Side lingered around her like a shadow, no matter how hard she tried to shake it.
________________________________________
The instructor led Kid to a small training room where Master Windu was practicing with his lightsaber, the brilliant purple blade humming as it cut through the air in precise arcs. He deactivated the weapon when they entered, his sharp gaze landing on Kid.
“She can’t stay in the group meditations,” the instructor said bluntly. “The sparks are… disruptive. The other children can’t focus when she’s there.”
Windu’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes flicked to Kid, who stood with her head down, her fists clenched at her sides.
“Thank you,” Windu said. The instructor hesitated for a moment before bowing slightly and leaving the room.
Kid stayed silent, the weight of her embarrassment and frustration making her chest tight. Windu crossed the room, his voice steady but firm. “Look at me, Kid.”
She raised her head slowly, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I didn’t mean to do it,” she said quietly. “It just… happens.”
“I know,” Windu replied. “But you need to learn control. The others aren’t wrong to be uneasy. The power you hold is dangerous, and it’s up to you to make sure it doesn’t hurt anyone.”
“I don’t know how,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “They don’t want me in their classes. They don’t want me around the other kids.”
Windu’s gaze softened, though his tone remained serious. “Then we’ll focus on something else. Come with me.”
________________________________________
Windu led her to a different part of the Temple, a quiet training room lined with racks of practice sabers. He handed her one, the weight of the hilt unfamiliar in her small hands.
“If meditation isn’t working, then we’ll focus on lightsaber training,” he said. “The discipline you learn here will help you control the Force.”
Kid ignited the training saber, the blue blade humming to life. It felt strange in her hands, but the sound was oddly comforting. She looked up at Windu, her brow furrowed. “What if I mess this up too?”
“You will,” Windu said bluntly. “But that’s how you learn. Control isn’t about never making mistakes—it’s about how you recover from them.”
She nodded hesitantly and took her stance, the saber wobbling slightly as she tried to hold it steady. Windu stepped behind her, adjusting her grip and posture with precise movements.
“Focus,” he said. “Every swing, every step—focus on the motion. The Force will follow.”
As they trained, Kid began to lose herself in the rhythm of the movements. The sparks along her arms faded, replaced by the steady hum of the saber and the calm guidance of Windu’s voice. For the first time since arriving at the Temple, she felt like she had some measure of control.
________________________________________
While Kid practiced in isolation, whispers about her continued to spread among the younglings. They watched her from a distance in the halls, their gazes a mix of curiosity and unease.
“She can use the Dark Side,” one whispered.
“I heard she fried someone with lightning,” another added, their voice hushed but tinged with fear.
Kid overheard these whispers, the sting of their words cutting deep. She tried to ignore them, focusing instead on her training with Windu. But the isolation weighed on her, the sense of being an outsider growing with each passing day.
The mess hall buzzed with chatter and laughter, the sound of utensils clinking against trays filling the air. Kid stood at the edge of the room, her tray clutched tightly in her hands. Her blue eyes scanned the crowded tables, each one filled with younglings and initiates. As she stepped forward, a few heads turned, and the conversation at one table stilled.
She chose an empty seat in the corner, sliding into the seat quietly and setting her tray down. Almost immediately, the kids at the nearby tables stood and moved away, some glancing back at her with wide eyes. The table was deserted within seconds, leaving her alone.
Kid kept her head down, focusing on her food. She tried to ignore the whispers, the stares, the pointed looks. Her hands trembled slightly as she picked up her utensil, but she forced herself to take a bite, chewing slowly and methodically.
A faint thwap broke her concentration as a crumpled paper ball struck her arm. She flinched, her grip tightening on her utensil. Laughter erupted from one of the nearby tables, a harsh, mocking sound that made her stomach churn. Her heart raced, but she kept her head down, refusing to give them the reaction they wanted.
Then, the laughter quieted, replaced by the sound of footsteps approaching. Seven kids, a mix of species and ages, gathered around her table. The oldest, a tall boy with sharp features and brown hair, leaned over the table, his face inches from hers.
"Why did they let a Sith into our academy?" he sneered, his voice loud enough for nearby tables to hear.
Kid froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She kept her gaze on her tray, pretending to focus on her food.
The boy leaned closer, his voice dripping with contempt. "We saw the electricity. You’ve got a Dark Side stench all over you." He looked back at his group, who nodded and muttered their agreement, emboldening him. "Did they kick you out of Korriban or something? I heard you killed your daddy."
Her hands clenched into fists under the table. Her breathing quickened, but the familiar, cold presence of the Dark Side didn’t rise within her. Instead, there was only silence—a silence that made her even more anxious.
The boy smirked, his voice growing louder. "Look at her. She’s scared. That’s what Sith do, isn’t it? They act tough until someone stands up to them."
Kid’s head slowly lifted, her blue eyes meeting his. For a moment, the boy hesitated, as if surprised by the intensity in her gaze. But he recovered quickly, leaning back with a sneer.
"Don’t look at me, Sith," he said mockingly. "Aren’t Sith supposed to have yellow eyes?"
The kids around him laughed, their sharp voices cutting through the hum of the mess hall. Kid’s fists tightened under the table, her nails pressing into her palms. She stared down at her tray, her breathing shallow as she tried to block them out, focusing instead on her next bite of food.
The tall boy, his presence suffocating, leaned in closer, his breath brushing against her cheek. "What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll fry someone if you lose control?" he sneered. His voice dropped lower, mockingly conspiratorial. "Because we’re not afraid of you."
With a theatrical flourish, he pulled out his training saber, igniting the soft, humming blade. The blue glow bathed his face as he held it up for effect, twisting it so the light flickered across Kid’s downturned eyes. "See this? You can catch lightning with one of these. You got one, Sith? Or maybe yours is red?"
Kid’s hand trembled slightly as she reached for another bite, her jaw tightening as she chewed. The boy’s smirk curled into a sneer, his movements growing more deliberate. He reached across the table, snatching her tray away with a sharp motion that made her flinch.
"No, no," he said, holding her food just out of reach. "You don’t deserve this. You know what the ‘trust bite’ is?"
Kid’s brows knit together as she glanced around nervously, her confusion evident. The other kids around the table exchanged gleeful looks, their laughter sharpening as they egged him on.
"Show her," the tall boy said, nodding toward one of the smaller kids in his group.
A younger boy hesitated before pulling out his training saber. He deactivated it, handed it to another kid for safekeeping, and placed the emitter end in his mouth. He bit down just hard enough to leave faint teeth marks, then set the weapon down with a nervous grin.
The tall boy turned back to Kid, his smirk widening. "That’s the ‘trust bite.’" He activated his own training saber again and brought it close to her face, the light casting a faint blue glow across her pale features. His voice dropped, sharp and mocking. "Bite down on this, Sith. Then maybe you’ll deserve to eat."
Kid froze, the words echoing in her mind, each one a dagger twisting in her gut. The glow of the saber filled her vision, the heat from its emitter brushing against her cheek. Her breath hitched as the taunts grew louder, her heart pounding so hard it drowned out the sounds of the mess hall around her.
She glanced at the faces of the other younglings. Some stared with cruel grins, others with hesitation, but none with sympathy. Her chest tightened, her fingers trembling as she forced herself to stay still.
“I’m not biting it,” she whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost lost in the noise.
The tall boy leaned even closer, the saber’s hum filling the space between them. “What’s that, Sith? Speak up.”
Kid’s lips pressed into a thin line as her gaze dropped to the table. The absence of the Dark Side’s whispers was deafening, leaving her with nothing but her own fear and anger. Her breathing quickened, the tension in her chest growing unbearable.
Then, a voice cut through the chaos.
“That’s enough.”
The room fell silent as Master Windu’s presence filled the doorway. His eyes swept across the scene, taking in the saber inches from Kid’s face, the sneering group of kids, and Kid herself—small, trembling, but unbroken. His expression was unreadable, his voice calm but carrying an edge that froze the bullies in place.
“Return to your seats,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The tall boy hesitated, his smirk faltering as he deactivated his saber. He straightened, his shoulders stiff as he avoided Master Windu’s piercing gaze. “Yes, Master Windu,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.
The group of younglings shuffled away, their bravado evaporating under the Jedi Knight’s scrutiny. The mess hall grew quieter, the oppressive hum of tension lingering in the air. Kid remained seated at the deserted table, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, her head bowed to hide the tears threatening to spill.
Windu crossed the room, his steps deliberate yet calm. He knelt beside her, his deep voice softening as he asked, “Are you hurt?”
Kid shook her head quickly, her uneven blonde hair falling into her face. But her trembling hands betrayed her, and Windu’s sharp eyes caught the quiver in her shoulders. He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, grounding her in the moment.
“Come with me, Padawan,” he said firmly.
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the room. The tall boy, still within earshot, spun around, his face twisted in disbelief. “Padawan?! How could that Sith be a Padawan?”
Windu’s gaze turned icy as he straightened, his commanding presence filling the space. He spoke slowly, his words cutting through the murmur of whispers like a blade. “Because she saved my life from a Darth. Not many initiates can claim the same.”
The boy faltered, his mouth opening as if to retort, but the weight of Windu’s words silenced him. The Jedi Knight’s tone grew heavier, laced with shame and disappointment. “And yet, here I stand, wondering why none of you—the Jedi’s future—were brave enough to show her even a shred of kindness.”
The hall fell silent, the echoes of his words lingering. Windu turned back to Kid, his expression softening as he gently lifted her into his arms. She clung to him instinctively, her small frame trembling against his steady strength. His voice dropped, but his eyes betrayed a deep sorrow and shame.
“Come on,” he said quietly.
He carried her out of the mess hall, leaving the younglings behind to grapple with the weight of their actions. The door slid shut behind them, sealing the room in an oppressive silence that not even their whispers dared to break.
The corridors of the Jedi Temple were quiet as Master Windu carried Kid through the halls. She didn’t protest, her small frame trembling slightly as she pressed her face into his shoulder. His steady footsteps echoed faintly, each step deliberate and unhurried.
He brought her to a quiet meditation chamber, a small, dimly lit space away from the bustle of the Temple. Setting her down gently on a padded bench, he crouched in front of her, his intense gaze meeting her tear-filled eyes.
Kid kept her head low, her hands twisting the edges of her cloak. "I didn’t do anything," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I didn’t even say anything."
Windu nodded, his expression calm but serious. "I know," he said quietly. "You didn’t provoke them, Kid. What they did was wrong—completely against the principles we’re supposed to live by as Jedi."
Her lip quivered as she looked up at him, her blue eyes shimmering. "But… they’re not wrong, are they? I’m different. I can do things they can’t. Scary things."
Windu’s brow furrowed, his voice firm but not unkind. "Yes, you’re different. Your connection to the Force is unlike anything most Jedi have seen. But that doesn’t make you less than them, Kid. And it doesn’t justify what they did to you."
She shook her head, her fists clenching in her lap. "They hate me. They think I’m a Sith. Maybe they’re right. I mean… I used the Dark Side, didn’t I?"
Windu reached out, placing a hand over her trembling fists. "Using the Dark Side doesn’t make you a Sith," he said firmly. "It’s what you choose to do with your power that matters. And you’ve already chosen to resist the Dark Side’s pull. That’s more than some Jedi ever manage."
Kid sniffled, her shoulders slumping. "Then why won’t it leave me alone? The voice… it’s always there. Except today. When they were doing… that." Her voice faltered as she gestured weakly toward the mess hall. "It didn’t say anything. It was just quiet. Why?"
Windu studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Because the Dark Side doesn’t want to help you, Kid. It wants to use you. It thrives on your anger, your fear. But today, you didn’t give it what it wanted. You stayed calm. You showed restraint. That’s why it was silent."
She blinked, her brows furrowing as she absorbed his words. "So… it’s like a test?"
"In a way," Windu replied. "Every day, every choice you make, is a test. The Dark Side will always be there, waiting for you to stumble. But you have the power to stand tall and rise above it. That’s what being a Jedi is about—choosing the Light, even when it’s hard."
Kid’s gaze dropped to her hands, her voice quiet. "It’s really hard."
Windu’s lips curved into the faintest smile. "It’s hard for all of us, Kid. Even for me."
Her head snapped up, surprise flickering across her face. "You?"
He nodded. "Every Jedi struggles with the Force in their own way. It’s not about being perfect—it’s about striving to be better. And you’re already doing that."
For the first time since the mess hall, a small flicker of hope lit her eyes. "Do you really think I can be a Jedi?"
Windu’s expression softened, and he placed both hands on her shoulders. "I don’t just think it. I know it. But it’s going to take work, Kid. Hard work. You’ll need to learn discipline, patience, and control. And that starts here, right now."
She nodded slowly, her voice steadier now. "Okay. I’ll try."
"Good," he said, standing and offering her his hand. "Now, let’s get back to training. You have a lot to learn, Padawan."
“I’m actually still hungry.”

Chapter Text

Master Yoda sat cross-legged on a raised cushion in his private meditation chamber, his gimer stick resting across his knees. The dim light of the chamber illuminated his small frame, casting long shadows on the walls. Windu entered with Kid, his stride purposeful but measured.
"Master Yoda," Windu began, his tone calm but carrying an undercurrent of frustration. "There’s something we need to discuss."
Yoda’s large ears twitched as he opened his eyes, his gaze settling on Kid. He gestured for them to sit. "Happened, something has?"
Windu nodded, lowering himself to sit across from Yoda. Kid hesitated, glancing nervously between them before sitting as well, her hands fidgeting in her lap.
"Kid was bullied in the mess hall today," Windu said, his voice steady but firm. "A group of younglings—seven of them—mocked her, harassed her, and even encouraged her to put herself in danger. They called her a Sith and used her past against her."
Yoda’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression contemplative. "Hmm. Troubling, this is. Fear, I sense, in these younglings. Fear, the root of their actions is."
Kid’s gaze dropped to her lap, her voice barely a whisper. "They hate me."
Yoda turned his attention to her, his voice softer now. "Hate you, they do not. Fear you, they do. Fear, misunderstanding it creates. And unkindness, from misunderstanding comes."
"But what they did was unacceptable," Windu pressed. "This isn’t just about fear, Master Yoda. It’s about the Order’s responsibility to guide these younglings, to teach them compassion and understanding. They failed today—not just as Jedi, but as people."
Yoda nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Failed, they have. But younglings, they are. Lessons to learn, they still have. Compassion, understanding—through their actions, taught this they must be."
He shifted his gaze back to Kid, his tone gentler now. "Hurt, you are. Angry, perhaps?"
Kid hesitated before nodding slightly. "A little," she admitted. "But… mostly scared."
Yoda leaned forward, resting his hands on his cane. "Scared, you are. But control, you kept. A great strength, that is. Proud of you, I am."
Kid’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across her face. "Proud?"
"Yes," Yoda said, nodding. "Darkness, inside you, there is. But darkness, inside all of us, there is. Control over it, you showed. A Jedi’s path, this is."
Windu inclined his head. "She showed incredible restraint, Master. But this situation can’t go ignored. Those younglings need to be held accountable, and Kid needs to know she has a place here."
Yoda tapped his cane lightly against the floor, his expression pensive. "Speak with the younglings, I will. Understand their actions, they must. An apology, they must give."
Kid blinked, her small hands clenching in her lap. "They won’t mean it," she said softly. "They’ll just do it because you tell them to."
Yoda chuckled softly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps. But a seed, an apology plants. Kindness, even when forced, grows over time."
He turned his attention back to Windu. "And Kid, a place here, she does have. But patience, she will need. A long road, hers will be. Challenges, many she will face."
Windu nodded. "I’ll make sure she’s prepared for them. But she can’t do it alone. The Order needs to support her, not isolate her."
"Agreed, I do," Yoda said, his tone resolute. "Guide her, you will. Support her, the Council must. But earn their trust, she must as well."
Kid’s gaze lifted, her blue eyes meeting Yoda’s. "What if they never trust me?"
Yoda smiled gently, his eyes twinkling. "Trust, not given, it is. Earned, it must be. Through actions, through choices, trust grows. And trust, in yourself, you must first find."
Kid nodded slowly, her shoulders relaxing slightly. Windu stood, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder as he looked down at her.
"Come on, Padawan," he said, his voice steady. "We have work to do."
As they left the chamber, Yoda watched them go, his expression thoughtful. "Strong, the bond between them will grow. A great Jedi, she may yet become."

The training room echoed with the steady hum of Kid’s training saber as she worked through the drills Windu had assigned. Her movements were precise but rigid, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. Master Windu circled her, his sharp eyes scrutinizing her form.
“Keep your shoulders relaxed,” he instructed. “You’re overcompensating with your upper body. Let the Force guide your movements.”
Kid adjusted her stance, her grip tightening on the hilt of her saber. “Yes, Master Windu.”
They continued in silence for several more minutes, the repetition of the drills grinding against Kid’s patience. Finally, Windu deactivated his saber and stepped back.
“You’ve made progress,” he said, his tone even. “But you still have much to learn. Applying repetition to the basics is the only way to build your foundation. Keep training what you know.”
Kid nodded, her voice quiet. “I will, Master.”
Satisfied, Windu gave her a small nod and turned to leave. “I’ll check on you later. Don’t stop until you’ve perfected the sequence.”
“Yes, Master,” she replied, watching as he exited the room.
________________________________________
The door slid shut with a soft hiss, and Kid was left alone with the training dummy standing silently before her. She stared at it, her chest tightening as the weight of her frustration pressed down on her. The laughter from the mess hall, the taunts, the stares—it all swirled in her mind, louder and louder until she couldn’t hear anything else.
Her grip on the training saber tightened, her knuckles turning white. She glanced toward the door, making sure Windu was truly gone. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the Temple beyond.
With a sharp cry, she slammed the training saber onto the ground, the impact sending a loud clang echoing through the room. Her breathing was ragged, her chest heaving as she stared at the dummy. The familiar, cold whisper of the Dark Side stirred within her, the pent-up anger she had been holding back breaking free.
Her hands began to spark, faint threads of electricity crackling along her fingertips. Her blue eyes narrowed as she raised her hand, the sparks growing brighter, more chaotic. She didn’t hold back this time.
With a shout, she unleashed a bolt of Force lightning at the dummy. The energy crackled and surged, striking the target with a blinding flash. The dummy shook under the impact, scorched marks spreading across its surface.
But it wasn’t enough. Kid clenched her fists, the sparks intensifying as she charged the energy in her hands. Her heart pounded in her chest, the Dark Side’s pull overwhelming her senses. She drew her hand back, the ball of lightning in her palm growing larger and brighter, pulsing with raw energy.
She hurled it at the dummy, the force of the explosion knocking it backward. The room was filled with the acrid smell of burning metal and the faint sizzle of dissipating energy. Kid stood frozen, her breathing uneven, her hands still crackling with residual sparks.
Her anger ebbed, leaving her feeling hollow and trembling. The training room was silent again, but the damage she had done was evident. The dummy was charred and smoking, its surface warped and dented.
Kid sank to her knees, her hands pressing into the floor as she struggled to catch her breath. The Dark Side whispered faintly in her mind, its presence both intoxicating and terrifying.
Kid’s arms buckled beneath her.
The sparks that had danced across her fingers now flickered uselessly, like dying fireflies. Her vision blurred, the edges of the room bending and warping as her blood felt too thick to flow. Her chest rose in short, shallow gasps.
A sharp ringing filled her ears.
Her hands trembled violently, and her stomach twisted, as if all the energy she had thrown out was now pulling itself back into her like a tide collapsing inward.
She reached for balance, for breath, for anything—
—and fell.
Her forehead struck the cold floor with a dull thud, the impact making stars burst behind her eyes. The pain flared, sharp and real, but the chill of the ground soothed something else in her—something deeper than skin.
She lay there, curled in on herself, her cheek pressed to the cool stone. Her limbs felt too heavy, her thoughts too slow. The pounding in her head echoed her heartbeat, dull and rhythmic, like a drum fading into silence.
She should get up.
She wanted to get up.
But sleep…
…sleep pulled at her like gravity.
The last thing she felt was the slow warmth of a tear sliding down her cheek, vanishing against the temple floor as her eyes fluttered closed.
The door to the training room hissed open.
Smoke still hung in the air like a ghost, curling from the scorched training dummy. The lights above flickered faintly, reacting to the residual static still dancing in the room.
Master Plo Koon stepped inside, his steady, mechanical breathing the only sound.
His gaze fell instantly to the small figure collapsed on the floor.
Kid.
She was curled in on herself, limbs slack, cheek pressed against the cold temple stone. A faint trail of moisture—one final tear—had dried against her skin. The tips of her fingers were singed, still faintly twitching with residual static. Her chest barely moved.
Plo Koon was at her side in an instant.
He knelt and touched her shoulder—her skin was cold with exhaustion. He gently turned her onto her back, scanning for burns, injury, anything. Her pulse fluttered beneath his glove—faint, but present. Relief tempered the worry in his chest.
"Kid," he said softly. No response.
He hovered his palm just above her temple, reaching not with the Force—but with calm. Stability. Warmth.
Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused and dazed. She blinked slowly, her lips parting in a whisper not meant for anyone.
“I’m not like them,” she breathed.
Plo Koon’s gaze didn’t waver. “I know.”
She blinked again, eyes wet, barely conscious. Her breath caught like she might try to speak again—but the effort was too much. Her body sagged into his arms.
He gathered her gently, lifting her with a quiet reverence, one hand bracing her small back, the other cradling her legs. She didn’t stir again.
The smell of ozone clung to her cloak.
He rose, eyes sweeping over the ruined room once more. The burnt dummy. The cracked floor. The saber discarded like a toy beside a tantrum. Then, back to the girl in his arms—this fragile vessel holding too much storm.
“You do not have to be,” he said quietly.
And with that, he carried her toward the infirmary—away from the silence, away from the heat, toward somewhere quiet… somewhere safe.
The doors to the Temple infirmary slid open with a soft hiss as Plo Koon stepped inside, Kid cradled gently in his arms. Her head rested against his shoulder, her breath shallow but steady. The room was quiet, sterile, humming faintly with monitors and diagnostic tech.
A medical droid rolled toward them on its repulsorlift base, chirping politely. “Initiating primary scan. Please place the patient—”
It extended a slim, metallic arm to touch Kid’s temple.
The moment metal met skin, a sharp crack! of electricity leapt from her body. The droid seized mid-motion, blue sparks dancing up its arm. With a garbled sputter of corrupted audio and a puff of smoke, it folded in on itself and crashed to the ground, twitching.
Plo Koon stepped back instinctively, shielding the girl. “Malfunction,” he said calmly, though his gaze lingered on her faintly glowing fingers.
A human nurse rushed in moments later, pushing through the curtain. She was middle-aged, with streaks of gray in her dark hair and the brisk, efficient air of someone who'd seen worse.
“What in the stars—? Oh. Jedi business,” she muttered, noting the robes and the body in Plo’s arms. “Put her here.”
Plo laid Kid gently onto the biobed. The nurse grabbed a scanner from the console and passed it quickly over Kid’s chest and forehead.
“She’s dehydrated, blood sugar’s low… vitals are stable, but barely. Looks like she dumped a massive amount of energy in one burst.” The nurse adjusted a display. “Definitely overexertion.”
She ran a midichlorian diagnostic next, the light blue wand humming softly as it finished its analysis.
The screen blinked.
She paused, reading again.
“…Nineteen thousand, seven hundred.”
Her tone shifted. Reverent, almost stunned.
The nurse leaned closer to Kid’s pale face, brushing a stray strand of hair from her eyes. “Well that explains it,” she murmured. “Poor thing… child prodigy. No wonder I’ve never seen her before. They always push too hard.” She looked at Plo. “She’s not the first I’ve treated. But this—this kind of output at her age—?”
Plo Koon didn’t respond immediately. He was staring at Kid’s hand, where faint threads of energy still danced across her knuckles like ghost-lightning. The remnants of her storm.
“She believes she is different,” he said quietly.
The nurse glanced between them. “She’s right.”
He gave a slight nod, not looking away.
“She is.”
Kid’s eyes fluttered open.
The ceiling was white, glowing softly with the sterile light of the infirmary. The bed felt too clean. Too quiet. She tried to sit up, but her limbs were heavy—like her bones had been replaced with stone.
“Easy,” came a familiar voice.
She turned her head, sluggishly, and saw Master Plo Koon seated beside her, one hand resting on his knee. His mask whirred softly with each breath, but his posture was relaxed, watchful.
“Master…” she croaked, the words sticking in her throat.
“Kid,” he said, nodding once. “You’re safe.”
She blinked slowly, her thoughts swimming. “What… happened?”
“You passed out,” he said. “You burned out, rather. I found you in the training room. You’re lucky you didn’t stop your own heart.”
She winced. “Sorry…”
Plo Koon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he turned to a nearby nurse—a Mirialan woman with kind eyes and a datapad in hand.
The nurse gave a half-nervous smile as she walked in, holding a new diagnostic scanner in one hand.
“I’d like to check her count again,” Plo said calmly.
The nurse nodded and moved to Kid’s side, gently placing the scanner near her neck.
The machine hummed… then beeped… then sputtered.
The number flashed once on the screen.
75.
The nurse blinked. Then she laughed—short and incredulous.
“Seventy-five?” she said. “That’s not possible.” She laughed again, sharper this time, and then snapped the reader in half with a frustrated pop.
Kid flinched. Plo Koon tilted his head.
“I take it that wasn’t the correct reading,” he said dryly.
The nurse dropped the broken pieces on a tray with a clatter. “It’s broken. It has to be. If her count were seventy-five, she’d be a corpse. Or a datapad with eyes.”
Kid didn’t say anything. Her fingers twitched.
The nurse sighed and pulled up a backup scanner—a bulkier one, older. “Last time we checked after her collapse, she measured at 19,700. That’s… not the kind of fluctuation you get from faulty calibration. That’s the kind of reading you get when the Force is doing something weird.”
“Or someone,” Plo Koon said, glancing at Kid.
She avoided his gaze.
The nurse softened slightly, brushing Kid’s hair back to check her temperature. “She’s not the first child prodigy I’ve met,” she murmured. “But she might be the most unstable. Poor thing pushes herself too far.”
Plo Koon’s gaze lingered on Kid. He could still see the faintest flicker of sparks dancing along her skin—tiny, quiet reminders that even when unconscious, the Force refused to let her rest.
“She’s not unstable,” he said, his voice low but certain. “She’s untrained. That’s a different kind of danger.”
Kid let her eyes close again, her throat tight. She didn’t know what to say.
But Plo Koon did. His voice was a steady weight beside her.
“We’ll figure this out.”
She wasn’t sure who he was reassuring—her, or himself.
Maybe both.

The door to the training room slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a quiet, dimly lit space. Master Windu stepped inside, his sharp eyes immediately scanning the room. The air carried a faint tang of burnt metal, and his gaze quickly fell on the training dummy in the center of the room. Its surface was scorched, blackened from what could only be Force Lightning, with faint wisps of smoke curling into the air.
Windu’s expression hardened as he walked closer, the faint crunch of charred debris under his boots the only sound in the room. His brow furrowed when he noticed his lightsaber—detached from his belt—stuck to the side of the training dummy. He reached out, attempting to pull it free, but it resisted, firmly stuck in place.
His hand hovered over the hilt as he muttered, "Magnetized?"
He pressed his fingers against the dummy, feeling the faint pull of the magnetic field. The saber’s metallic components had been drawn to it with surprising force. The realization struck him—Kid’s outburst of Force Lightning had not only damaged the training dummy but had somehow magnetized the metal in the dummy.
Windu stepped back, his expression contemplative as he deactivated the magnetic lock on his lightsaber with a flick of his wrist. The weapon finally came loose, and he turned it over in his hand, studying it carefully.
________________________________________
"This is… unexpected," Windu murmured to himself, examining the faint scorch marks on the hilt of his lightsaber. The metal was still warm, a faint residue of energy lingering from the magnetic surge.
He clipped the saber back to his belt, his mind already working through the implications. The use of ferromagnetic materials in a lightsaber’s design had never been an issue before, but Kid’s abilities had exposed a potential vulnerability. A magnetic field, especially one generated by Force Lightning, could disrupt a lightsaber’s functionality or even render it useless in combat.
Windu’s eyes narrowed as he looked back at the training dummy. The damage told a story of anger, frustration, and raw power—emotions that Kid had yet to fully control. He exhaled slowly, shaking his head.
"I underestimated her abilities," he muttered, his tone a mix of concern and admiration. "And her potential for destruction."
His thoughts shifted to the design of his lightsaber. A weapon that relied on materials immune to magnetization, like duraplast or phrik, might be necessary—not just for himself, but for the Jedi Order as a whole. He made a mental note to consult with the Temple’s engineers and archivists about alternative materials.

The corridors of the Jedi Temple were quiet, the stillness of the late hour settling over the halls. Master Windu walked purposefully toward Kid’s quarters, his mind replaying the events in the training room. As he approached her door, he paused, exhaling slowly.
He glanced at the faint light seeping through the edges of her door. He could sense her exhaustion, the heaviness of her emotions lingering even at this distance. After a moment, he shook his head.
"Let her rest," he murmured to himself, his tone both firm and weary. "I’ll talk to her about this in the morning."

Chapter Text

The first light of the waking hours filtered into Kid’s quarters as she sat cross-legged on her cot, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her blanket. She barely looked up as the door opened to reveal Master Windu, his expression unreadable.
"Good morning, Kid," he said evenly. "Follow me."
She scrambled to her feet, her unease growing as she trailed behind him through the corridors. His silence was heavy, each step echoing ominously in her ears.
Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. "Am I in trouble?" she asked hesitantly.
Windu glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "We’ll discuss it when we get to the training room."
Kid’s heart sank, but she pressed on. "I didn’t hurt anyone," she said, her voice defensive. "It was just a dummy."
Windu slowed slightly, turning his head toward her. "That’s your justification?"
She nodded quickly. "Yeah. I mean, it’s not like it has feelings or anything. It’s just… equipment."
He raised an eyebrow, his voice calm but pointed. "It’s not about the dummy, Kid. It’s about your control—or lack thereof. That dummy didn’t get scorched on its own."
Kid looked down, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "I was angry," she admitted quietly. "But I didn’t know what else to do. It was either that or—"
"Or lose control entirely?" Windu interjected. His tone softened slightly as he continued. "The problem isn’t what you did, Kid. It’s why you did it. If you don’t learn to channel your power constructively, it will consume you."
She didn’t respond, her shoulders slumping as they approached the training room. But as they neared the door, the sound of laughter and excited chatter reached them.

Windu frowned, his steps slowing as he turned to Kid. She looked equally confused, her head tilting slightly as she listened to the noise.
He opened the door, and the sight before them stopped them both in their tracks. A group of younglings was gathered around the magnetized dummy, their faces alight with excitement. One of the older boys had just placed his training saber against the dummy, and it clung to the surface with a metallic clang. The group erupted into cheers as another youngling stepped forward, raising her hands in concentration.
"Alright, who thinks they can pull it this time?" the Twi’lek boy called, grinning.
The younglings barely noticed Windu and Kid enter, too engrossed in their improvised game. Windu crossed his arms, his expression caught somewhere between frustration and amusement. He turned to Kid, who looked equally surprised.
"Is this… because of me?" she asked quietly.
Windu sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yes. And no."
One of the younglings finally spotted them, their excited chatter faltering as they realized they weren’t alone. The Twi’lek boy quickly stepped back, his cheeks darkening as he stammered, "Uh… good morning, Master Windu."
The rest of the group froze, their laughter dying as they scrambled to stand in a semi-respectful line. Windu surveyed them with a raised eyebrow before turning his attention back to Kid.
"Do you see what happens when you act without thought?" he said, his tone pointed but not unkind.
Kid looked down, her cheeks flushing. "I didn’t mean for this to happen," she muttered.
Windu exhaled slowly, turning back to the younglings. "All of you—out. Training time is over."
The younglings exchanged guilty glances but quickly obeyed, filing out of the room with murmured apologies. As the door slid shut behind them, Windu turned back to Kid.
"Now," he said, his voice quieter but firm. "Let’s talk about this magnetized dummy of yours."
As the door slid shut behind the last of the younglings, Windu turned to Kid, his expression stern but calm. He gestured toward the scorched and magnetized dummy, its surface still bearing the marks of her outburst.
"Do you understand the magnitude of what you’ve done, Padawan?" he began, his voice steady but firm.
Kid hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I didn’t mean for it to get out of control," she mumbled. "It was just… I was angry, and I didn’t think it would hurt anything."
Windu raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. "And now we have a magnetized training dummy in the middle of the room. One so strong it can pull lightsabers—and who knows what else—from across the space. Do you think that’s safe?"
Kid shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "No, Master."
He stepped closer, his tone growing more serious. “This may look like a broken dummy—but it could’ve hurt someone. A Jedi must think beyond the moment. Imagine someone with cybernetic implants training here. Or someone with piercings. The magnetic pull could injure them—or worse."
Her eyes widened, and she looked up at him, guilt flickering across her face. "I didn’t think about that," she admitted.
"No, you didn’t," Windu said, his voice sharp but not unkind. "And that’s the problem. The Force is a powerful tool, but it’s also dangerous. When you act without thought, without control, you put others at risk. That’s not what a Jedi does."
Kid nodded slowly, her shoulders slumping. "I’m sorry, Master. I’ll… I’ll fix it."
________________________________________
Windu gestured toward a supply closet on the far side of the room. "Good. Then start by cleaning the scorch marks. After that, move the dummy to the far corner of the room where it won’t be in anyone’s way. And make sure it’s clearly marked so no one else gets hurt."
Kid nodded, already moving toward the closet. She returned with a cleaning solution and a rag, her small hands trembling slightly as she began scrubbing at the scorched surface of the dummy. The soot and burn marks were stubborn, but she worked diligently, her expression one of focused determination.
Windu watched her for a moment before speaking again. "And one more thing. Paint a warning line around the dummy. Something visible and clear—‘Caution: Magnetized. Keep metallic items away.’"
Kid glanced at him, her cheeks flushing. "You really think someone could get hurt just by standing near it?"
"Yes," Windu said without hesitation. "And as a Jedi, your responsibility is to ensure the safety of everyone in this Temple. This may seem like a small thing, but it’s a lesson in accountability. Your actions have consequences, Kid. Cleaning this up is part of learning that."
She nodded again, her focus returning to her task. Once the scorch marks were gone, she pushed the dummy to the far corner of the room, grunting with effort as the heavy magnetized object resisted her movements. Finally, she painted a bright yellow line around it and added a warning label: "CAUTION: MAGNETIZED—KEEP METALLIC ITEMS AWAY."
________________________________________
When she finished, Kid stood back, wiping the sweat from her brow. She glanced nervously at Windu, waiting for his verdict. He stepped forward, inspecting her work with a critical eye.
"You’ve done well," he said finally. "But remember, Padawan—this isn’t just about cleaning up a mess. It’s about understanding the weight of your actions. The power you hold is not a toy. It’s a responsibility."
Kid nodded solemnly. "I understand, Master. I’ll do better next time."
Windu placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression softening slightly. "I believe you will. But know this—it’s not enough to learn from your mistakes. You must also learn to prevent them. That’s the difference between a Jedi and someone who lets the Force control them."
She looked up at him, determination flickering in her blue eyes. "I’ll try."
Windu nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Good. Now, go get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll start again."

The training room was quiet again, save for the faint hum of the Temple’s ambient power systems. The scorched floor had been scrubbed clean, and a bright yellow line now encircled the cornered dummy. Bold red letters on the ground read:
“CAUTION: MAGNETIZED – KEEP METALLIC ITEMS AWAY.”
The door slid open with a soft hiss.
Yoda entered, his small feet padding silently across the floor as his cane tapped lightly with each step. His large ears twitched as he scanned the room. His gaze settled on the dummy, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He reached into his robe and pulled out a small silver coin.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it toward the dummy.
Clack.
The coin stuck fast to the surface with a metallic snap.
Yoda squinted at it, nodding in appreciation. He extended his clawed hand, fingers curling, and summoned the Force.
The coin quivered.
The magnet fought him, invisible but firm. Yoda’s eyes narrowed with amused concentration.
Slowly… the coin peeled away from the dummy and zipped back into his hand.
"Hmm," he murmured, examining the coin thoughtfully. Then, without hesitation, he tossed it again. Clack.
Again, he pulled it back—this time a little faster.
“Fun exercise, this is,” he said to no one in particular, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Discipline and control—tested well by play.”
He looked at the dummy once more, then nodded—pleased.
And capping the moment like only Yoda can, he chuckled softly to himself as he turned and padded back out the door, leaving only the faint scent of wisdom and ozone behind.

The training room was quiet, save for the hum of training sabers and the soft shuffle of feet. The younglings, blindfolded, moved carefully through their drills, guided by the Force as they practiced precision and control. But today, their movements were slower, less confident. Whispers had spread quickly through the Temple—Master Windu had intervened in the mess hall, and now Master Yoda wanted to speak with them.
The weight of the impending conversation hung over the group, their usual focus dulled by unease. Even the most skilled among them hesitated, their strikes faltering as their minds wandered.
“Distracted, you are,” came Yoda’s voice, breaking the silence.
The younglings froze, their blindfolded faces turning toward the sound. Yoda’s cane tapped lightly against the floor as he entered the training room, his presence small but commanding.
“Off, your blindfolds, you may take,” he instructed.
The younglings removed their blindfolds, blinking as the room came into focus. They exchanged nervous glances, some fidgeting with the hilts of their sabers, others avoiding Yoda’s gaze entirely.
Yoda stood in the center of the room, his gimer stick resting lightly on the floor. His eyes swept over the group, his expression unreadable.
"Troubling, your training today is," he began, his voice calm but carrying an edge of disappointment. "Focused, you are not. Distracted, you are. Know why, do you?"
The younglings shifted uncomfortably, their guilt evident in their downcast eyes and shuffling feet. The tall boy from the mess hall glanced briefly at Yoda before looking away, his jaw tightening.
Yoda’s gaze lingered on him before addressing the group as a whole. "What happened in the mess hall, I know. Cruelty, fear, anger—these, I sensed. Shame, now I feel in this room. Yes?"
A few of the younger initiates nodded hesitantly, their shoulders slumping under the weight of their guilt. The tall boy remained silent, his hands tightening on the hilt of his training saber.
Yoda stepped closer, his cane tapping softly against the floor. "Why? Ask this, I do. Why act as you did?"
One of the younger boys, a Twi’lek, hesitated before speaking up. "We… we were scared, Master Yoda. She’s different. She can… do things we can’t. Things we’ve only heard about Sith doing."
The tall boy, emboldened by the Twi’lek’s words, finally spoke, his tone defensive. "She’s dangerous. She’s got lightning coming out of her hands! And… and she killed her father. What if she hurts someone here?"
Yoda’s ears twitched, and he leaned on his cane as he regarded the boy. "Scared, you were. Afraid of what you do not understand. A natural feeling, fear is. But act on fear, Jedi do not. Harm others, out of fear, we must not."
"But she’s not like us," the boy insisted, though his voice wavered. "She’s not supposed to be here."
Yoda tilted his head, his gaze sharp. "Decide, you do, who belongs here and who does not? A Master, you are not. A Council member, you are not. Judge, you cannot."
The boy flinched, his bravado crumbling under Yoda’s piercing words. He looked down, his hands loosening on his saber.
"Different, Kid is," Yoda continued, his voice softer now. "But dangerous, only if treated so she is. Fear her, you must not. Understand her, you must try. Support her, you must give. A Jedi, she is becoming, just as you are."
The Twi’lek boy raised a hesitant hand. "But… Master Yoda, what if she loses control? What if she… does something bad?"
Yoda’s expression grew thoughtful. "Control, all Jedi must learn. Struggle with the Force, all Jedi do. Trust, we place in each other, yes? Without trust, Jedi, we are not."
He tapped his cane lightly against the floor, his voice growing firmer. "And trust, in Kid, I place. In her strength, her choices, I believe. As your Master, ask this of you, I do: Give her the same chance given to you."
The room was silent, the younglings absorbing Yoda’s words. The tall boy shifted uncomfortably, his face etched with guilt. Finally, he nodded, his voice quiet. "Yes, Master Yoda."
Yoda’s gaze swept over the group one last time. "Mistakes, we all make. But learn from them, we must. Apology, you owe. And understanding, you must give."
The younglings murmured their agreement, their unease replaced by a sense of responsibility. Yoda nodded, satisfied, and turned to leave.
"Return to your training, you will. And remember, fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate…" He paused, his gaze heavy. "Leads to suffering. Let that path, none of you follow."

Kid had been doing everything right—or so she thought. She followed Master Windu’s instructions during training, practiced her lightsaber forms, and even started taking responsibility for her mistakes. She avoided using Force Lightning outside of designated sessions, cleaned the training room after each practice, and obeyed every rule Windu set for her.
But he didn’t seem to notice.
He was always calm, stoic, and distant, treating her more like an assignment than a person. No words of encouragement, no warmth in his voice when he corrected her mistakes. It was always, "Do better," or "Focus." Never, "Good job," or even, "You’re improving."
Kid began to feel invisible. She tried harder—perfecting every drill, keeping her emotions in check—but the silence from Windu only deepened her frustration. She started to wonder if he even cared about her at all.
________________________________________
Kid’s behavior began to shift subtly at first:
She lingered after training sessions, waiting for Windu to say something kind or encouraging. When he didn’t, she left with her shoulders slumped.
She stopped asking questions during lessons, figuring it didn’t matter if he didn’t want to talk to her like a person.
Her enthusiasm for training waned. She went through the motions, doing what was required but nothing more.
Eventually, she started acting out in small ways—arriving late to sessions, making excuses, or deliberately testing the boundaries of his rules.
One day, during a training exercise, Kid barely moved as a sparring droid fired a low-powered bolt at her. She blocked it at the last second, but the hesitation was obvious.
Windu frowned. "What was that, Padawan?"
Kid shrugged, her voice flat. "Guess I’m just tired."
His brow furrowed, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he ended the session early, leaving Kid to stew in her growing resentment.
________________________________________
A few days later, Windu stood in his quarters, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared out at the sprawling Coruscant skyline. His frustration was palpable. He couldn’t understand why Kid was pulling away, why her behavior had changed so drastically.
He went to Master Yoda, his usually composed demeanor cracking under the strain.
"Master Yoda," Windu began, his voice tight with frustration. "I can’t do this. I’ve tried to teach her discipline, to guide her as a Jedi should, but she’s unresponsive. Disrespectful, even. It’s clear I’m not suited for this. She needs a new Master."
Yoda, sitting cross-legged on his cushion, regarded Windu with a calm expression. But there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes, a subtle twitch of his ears that hinted at something more. "Struggling, you are. Frustrated, you feel."
"Yes," Windu admitted, his tone clipped. "I was trained with discipline and focus from a young age. I understood the importance of rules and order. Kid doesn’t seem to—"
Yoda cut him off with a soft chuckle, the sound surprising Windu. "Discipline, yes. But how learned, did you?"
Windu frowned. "Through structure and correction. I was taught to take my training seriously, to focus on my responsibilities as a Jedi."
Yoda tilted his head, his grin faint but undeniable. "And yet, stubborn, you were. Impatient, rebellious. Recall, I do, a certain youngling who destroyed an entire shelf of holocrons during a tantrum."
Windu’s jaw tightened, his cheeks darkening. "That was different. I was—"
"A child," Yoda interrupted, his tone pointed. "As is she. Different, her challenges may be, but the same, her needs are."
Windu exhaled sharply, his frustration simmering. "She doesn’t respond to discipline the way I did. She needs… something else. Something I can’t give her."
Yoda leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing. "What she needs, you can give. Patience, understanding. To thrive, she must. Not just survive, but flourish. A Jedi’s duty, this is—to protect life, yes, but also, nurture it."
Windu’s brow furrowed, his shoulders tense. "But how? How do I reach her when everything I do seems to push her further away?"
Yoda’s expression softened. "Not a mission, this is. Not an enemy to defeat. A bond to build, it is. Speak with her, not as a soldier, but as her Master. As her guide. As someone who cares."
Windu fell silent, the weight of Yoda’s words sinking in. He nodded slowly, his jaw set with determination. "I’ll try."
________________________________________
That evening, Windu found Kid sitting cross-legged on her cot, staring out the window. She didn’t look up as he entered, her posture tense and guarded.
"Kid," he said, his voice softer than usual. She glanced at him, surprised by his tone.
"I know I haven’t been the easiest Master to have," he admitted, sitting down across from her. "I’ve been focused on discipline and training because I thought that’s what you needed. But I see now that I’ve neglected something important."
Kid frowned, her voice hesitant. "What’s that?"
"You," Windu said simply, his voice steady but softer than she’d ever heard it. "Your thoughts, your feelings. I’ve been so focused on teaching you how to be a Jedi that I forgot to see you as a person. And for that, I’m sorry."
Kid’s eyes widened, her breath catching as she searched his face. The vulnerability in his words was unexpected, almost unreal. "You’re… sorry?" she whispered, as if testing the weight of the word.
"Yes," he said, his tone unwavering. "I’ve made mistakes. I want to do better—not just as your Master, but as someone you can trust. If you’re willing to give me the chance."
Her lip quivered, and for a moment, it seemed as though she might cry. But instead, her emotions spilled out like a floodgate opening, her voice trembling but fierce. "I miss Master Yareen. I miss my mom. I miss Adell, Avery, and Kevin. I miss Nar Shaddaa."
She paused, her chest heaving, her blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I hate that the kids here don’t like me. I hate that the grownups treat me like I’m dangerous. I hate that… just like my daddy, you're trying to turn me into something you can control."
Windu flinched, the comparison striking like a blow to his chest, but he didn’t interrupt. He let her words crash over him.
"This place is big, but it’s not free," she continued, her voice breaking. "Back home, the city and the lights… they made me feel free. Here, it’s all rules and darkness. And the dark… the dark here scares me. When I see it far away, it feels like it’s swallowing everything, like it’s swallowing me."
Her voice cracked on the last word, and she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, frustration and vulnerability mingling in her every movement.
Windu knelt in front of her, his expression open and unguarded. "Kid," he said gently, "I’m not your father. And I’m not here to control you. I’m here to help you. To guide you. But I can’t do that if I don’t understand you. If I haven’t made you feel safe enough to tell me these things before now, then I’ve failed you."
She looked at him, her face a mixture of surprise and skepticism. "You don’t want to control me?"
"No," he said firmly, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic warmth. "I want you to find your own path. I just want to make sure you don’t walk it alone."
Her lip trembled again, but this time she didn’t fight it. The tears spilled over, and she threw herself forward, wrapping her small arms around him. Windu stiffened briefly, then relaxed, placing a steady hand on her back.
"You’re not alone, Kid," he said softly. "Not anymore."
The room was quiet save for the faint hum of Coruscant’s distant cityscape filtering through the window. Kid pulled back slightly from her embrace, her tear-streaked face tilted up at Windu. She searched his eyes, uncertain but listening.
Windu, still kneeling to her level, took a slow, steady breath. "Kid," he began, his voice unusually soft. "You say this place feels big but not free. I know what it’s like to feel trapped, even when surrounded by open spaces."
She frowned slightly, confused. "You do?"
He nodded, settling into a cross-legged position on the floor, signaling he wasn’t in a rush to leave. "I was born on a planet called Haruun Kal. It’s… not like Coruscant. It’s a jungle world, wild and untamed. The air is thick, the ground covered in tangled roots, and the skies are often dark with storms. Life there isn’t easy."
Kid tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "Was it scary?"
"Sometimes," Windu admitted. "The people of Haruun Kal—my people—live in tribes. We’re taught from a young age how to survive, how to hunt, how to fight. The jungle doesn’t care if you’re strong or weak, fast or slow. It takes everyone equally if you’re not prepared."
Kid’s eyes widened. "That sounds awful."
"It was… challenging," he said, choosing his words carefully. "But it wasn’t all bad. My tribe, the Ghôsh Windu, valued honor, unity, and resilience. We looked out for one another, just like your friends Adell and Kevin did for you. But even in a close-knit tribe, life can be… isolating."
"How?" she asked, leaning forward slightly.
Windu hesitated, his gaze distant as he recalled the memories. "I was different. I had the Force. The people in my tribe respected it, but they didn’t understand it. They feared what it could mean for me—and for them. I was sent to the Jedi Temple when I was still very young, too young to understand what I was leaving behind."
"You didn’t want to go?" Kid asked quietly.
He shook his head. "No, I didn’t. Haruun Kal was dangerous, but it was home. The jungle was wild, but it was familiar. The Temple, with all its rules and lessons, felt strange and cold by comparison."
Kid’s lip trembled as she whispered, "That’s how I feel. Like I don’t belong here."
Windu’s gaze softened, his normally stern demeanor giving way to something warmer. "I felt the same way at first. But over time, I learned that belonging isn’t about where you are—it’s about who you choose to be. The jungle taught me to survive, but the Jedi taught me to thrive. They gave me a purpose, a way to use my abilities to help others."
She looked down at her hands, where faint sparks still flickered. "But what if I can’t figure out who I’m supposed to be? What if I mess it up?"
"You will," Windu said simply. She looked up at him, startled, and he allowed a small, knowing smile. "We all mess up. I’ve made mistakes—more than I care to admit. But every mistake is an opportunity to learn, to grow stronger, to understand yourself better."
Kid hesitated, her voice small. "Were you ever scared?"
"Many times," he admitted. "The jungle doesn’t give second chances. And neither does the battlefield. But fear isn’t the enemy, Kid. Fear is a guide. It shows you what matters to you. It’s what you do with that fear that defines who you are."
She nodded slowly, absorbing his words. "Do you miss it? Haruun Kal?"
Windu’s gaze grew distant again, a faint wistfulness in his tone. "Sometimes. The smell of rain-soaked leaves, the sound of distant thunder, the feeling of earth under my feet… Those things stay with you. But the Jedi taught me that home isn’t a place—it’s the people you choose to protect. And right now, my home is here. With you."
Kid looked at him, her brow furrowing as she considered his words. Then, her voice broke through, sharp with contrast. "That’s nothing like Nar Shaddaa."
Her tone was tinged with longing as she continued, the words tumbling out like they’d been bottled up too long. "Everything there felt connected. The lights, the music, the smells—machines humming with electricity, flowing into every part of you. People were dangerous, yeah, but so were the machines. Unpredictable, alive in their own way. The air smelled like gas and fried food, and the vibrations from the machines and stereo music? You could feel them in the walls, in the floor, even in the cement. It wasn’t quiet, but it made sense."
Windu’s lips quirked in a faint smile, an expression so uncharacteristic it caught Kid off guard. "Would you think it was strange if I told you I was a little afraid to go to Nar Shaddaa because of all those things you just said?"
Her blue eyes widened slightly. "Yeah. That’s… weird. Why would you be afraid of that?"
He turned to her, his expression thoughtful. "For the same reason the wilderness scares you. All those lights, the noise, the chaos—it’s overwhelming for someone who’s never known it. It’s… alive in a way that’s hard to understand. Just like the wilderness is alive to someone who’s never lived there."
Kid stared at him, her brow furrowed as she processed his words. "I guess that makes sense. But the wilderness… it’s too quiet. Too empty. The dark is so big, and it’s everywhere. It feels like it’s swallowing me when I see it from far away."
Windu nodded slowly, his voice steady but gentle. "I felt the same way about Nar Shaddaa. But maybe it’s time you saw the other side of that fear."
Her gaze snapped at him, wary. "What do you mean?"
"I mean there’s a place I know," he said, his tone calming but firm. "No machines, no lights, no electricity humming through the air. Just the land, the air, and the Force. A place where you can listen to the quiet without distractions."
Kid hesitated, her hands clenching at her sides. "What if I don’t like it? What if it’s worse?"
"Then we’ll leave," he said simply. "But I think it might help you understand the Force in a way you haven’t before. The quiet isn’t empty, Kid. It’s full of life, if you learn how to listen."
She glanced down, her fingers fidgeting. "I don’t know if I can do that. The Force doesn’t feel quiet to me. It’s loud and messy. It’s always there, like a storm I can’t shut out."
"Then let the quiet help you guide the storm," he said. "The Force isn’t just the noise. It’s the calm beneath it. The wilderness might feel big and empty now, but it can teach you things Nar Shaddaa couldn’t."
Her voice was small as she asked, "You’ll be there, right? You won’t just… leave me?"
Windu knelt slightly, meeting her eyes with an uncharacteristic warmth. "I’ll be there. You don’t face this alone. Not anymore."
She nodded slowly, the weight of her fear and uncertainty still present, but a flicker of hope beginning to take hold. "Okay. I’ll try."
"Good," Windu said, rising to his feet. "We’ll leave tomorrow. Rest tonight—you’ll need it."
As Kid watched him leave, the thought of the wilderness still sent shivers down her spine. But for the first time, it didn’t feel impossible. Maybe she could face the quiet—and find something worth hearing.

Chapter Text

Kid sat cross-legged on her cot, surrounded by a chaotic assortment of items she’d pulled together for the trip. She stuffed a small collection of gadgets into her bag with determination—a couple of datapads, a pair of tiny droids, and a compact set of speakers.
"Okay," she muttered to herself, zipping the bag with a satisfied nod. "If the wilderness gets boring, I’ll just make it fun."
Moments later, the door to her quarters slid open, and Master Windu stepped inside. His gaze immediately landed on the overstuffed bag at her feet.
"Ready?" he asked, his voice calm but expectant.
"Yup!" Kid chirped, slinging the bag over her shoulder.
Windu held out his hand. "Let me check."
Kid froze, her heart sinking. "Why?"
"Because I’ve been a Jedi long enough to know that ‘ready’ doesn’t always mean ‘prepared,’" he said evenly.
Reluctantly, she handed him the bag. He set it on the cot and opened it, his eyebrows raising almost immediately as he pulled out the first item: a datapad. Then another. And another.
"Three datapads?" he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Why do you need three datapads?"
Kid shrugged. "One for holo-games, one for holo-movies, and one for, you know, emergencies."
He placed them on the table without a word and reached into the bag again, pulling out the small droids. They beeped cheerfully in response to the movement.
"Companion droids?" Windu asked, holding them up.
"They’re cute," Kid said defensively. "And they keep me company."
Next came the speakers. Windu stared at them for a long moment before setting them down with exaggerated care.
"And these are for…?"
"Music," she said, crossing her arms. "It helps me think."
Windu exhaled slowly, clearly restraining himself. "Kid, this trip is about stepping away from all of this. The datapads, the droids, the music—they stay here."
"What?!" Kid’s voice rose in disbelief. "You can’t just—"
"I can," he interrupted, his tone firm. "And I am."
"But what am I supposed to do out there with nothing?" she protested, her voice cracking with frustration. "Stare at trees?"
"Yes," he said simply, repacking her bag with only the essentials. "And listen. And train. And learn to be present without distractions."
Kid scowled, crossing her arms tighter. "This is going to be the worst trip ever."
________________________________________
The hangar buzzed with quiet activity as they approached the transport. Kid sulked behind Windu, still fuming over the confiscation of her gadgets. She kicked at the ground as she walked, her frustration evident in every step.
As they boarded the modest transport, she glanced at Windu’s belt, her brow furrowing. "Wait a minute," she said, her voice tinged with suspicion. "Where’s your lightsaber?"
"I didn’t bring it," Windu replied without breaking stride.
Kid blinked, caught off guard. "You didn’t bring your lightsaber? But… how are we supposed to train?"
He turned to her, his expression calm but with a faint glimmer of amusement. "Ever heard of a stick?"
She frowned, tilting her head. "You mean, like when something gets stuck on your fingers?"
Windu paused, staring at her for a long moment before pinching the bridge of his nose. "That’s sticky."
"Oh." She hesitated, then shook her head. "Then no."
Windu let out a slow sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. "We’re going to have a long week."
There was a beat of silence before Kid squinted at him. "So… what’s a stick?"
"You’ll find out soon enough," he said, leading her to her seat with a hint of resignation.
As the transport lifted off, Kid stared out the window at the sprawling lights of Coruscant disappearing into the distance. For the first time, the enormity of the trip began to sink in. No datapads. No music. No city hum. Just her, Windu, and the wilderness.
And apparently… sticks.
—-
The transport hovered above a sweeping stretch of untouched wilderness before lowering to the canopy’s edge. Windu and Kid disembarked as the rear ramp hissed open, and the air hit them—cool, damp, and heavy with the scent of moss and rain-soaked wood. The ship’s hum faded as it ascended, replaced by rustling leaves and distant birdcalls.
Windu stood still for a moment, letting the silence wash over him. He closed his eyes briefly. The terrain reminded him of Haruun Kal—the density of the trees, the earthy rot of the undergrowth, the rhythm of unseen life. He began to walk, his boots sure on the uneven path.
Kid trailed behind, her shoulders hunched, her boots crunching on damp roots and mulch. She glanced around at the towering trees like they were watching her. The stillness pressed in—not just quiet, but empty. She tugged at her sleeves.
“Uh… Master?” she called softly, her voice sounding too loud in the open space.
Windu glanced back, his brow lifted. “Yes, Kid?”
“I can’t use the Force here,” she said.
He stopped, turning toward her. “Explain.”
Kid gestured awkwardly. “That feeling I usually get—the current, the buzz that runs through everything—it’s not here. It’s like I’m reaching for a wire that isn’t plugged in. Like trying to paint without light.”
She lifted her hands. A twitch of fingers. A breath. No sparks. No charge. Just silence.
“Everything here feels… dead.”
Windu’s face remained calm, but his eyes sharpened with interest. “Nothing here is dead,” he said. “You’re just not listening the way this place speaks.”
Kid frowned. “It doesn’t speak at all.”
“That’s the problem,” he said, turning again to the path. “You’re listening for circuits. For hums. But the Force isn’t only in the hum of machines.”
She groaned, dragging her feet as she followed. “So what’s the point? Making me feel useless and weird?”
“The point,” Windu said, “is to teach you to hear what you’ve never noticed. The Force is more than noise. Sometimes silence teaches us more than chaos ever could.”
Kid scowled at the canopy above. “The Force doesn’t feel quiet to me. It’s wild. Loud. Messy. That’s how it’s always worked.”
“That’s because you use it like a lightning rod,” Windu replied. “It answers because you shout. But the Force isn’t just about raw power, Kid. It's also stillness. Balance.”
She glanced around. Trees. Leaves. Dirt. “All I’m learning is that I miss Nar Shaddaa.”
Windu’s mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. “The jungle doesn’t reveal its secrets to noise. But if you wait, it will whisper.”
She didn’t answer, arms folded, boots dragging. The silence stretched between them again—only the soft crackle of leaves and insects broke it. To Windu, it was familiar and grounding. To Kid, it felt like walking blind through static.
As they pushed deeper into the undergrowth, the terrain grew treacherous—roots slick with moss, rocks hidden beneath the brush. Kid stumbled on one and caught herself with a grunt. She brushed dirt from her palms and glanced at Windu.
He didn’t slow. She muttered under her breath, “Seriously?”
Every step after that dragged.
“Master?” she called again, voice strained. “How much farther? My feet hurt. This place smells like wet socks and bugs.”
Windu stopped and turned, raising one brow. “That’s the wilderness. No bright lights. No smooth floors. Just reality.”
“Well, reality stinks,” she muttered.
He shrugged. “So does truth, sometimes. That doesn’t make it less important.”
She squinted up at him. “Why couldn’t we just train back at the Temple?”
“Because the lesson you need isn’t in the Temple.”
Kid flailed a hand toward the trees. “There’s nothing out here.”
“No distractions,” Windu said. “No crutches. Just you.”
“I feel like nothing without the Force,” she admitted.
He stopped again—sharper this time. “Exactly.”
She blinked, caught off guard.
“You’ve depended on your power so completely, you’ve forgotten who you are without it,” he said. “This isn’t about making you feel weak. It’s about showing you that you’re still you—even when the lightning’s gone.”
She looked down at her fingers, the same ones that used to crackle with barely a thought. Now they were just fingers.
“But what if I can’t do anything without it?” she whispered.
“You can,” Windu said, his voice low but certain. “Strength doesn’t come from what you have. It comes from what you choose when you have nothing.”
Kid didn’t answer. Her hands curled at her sides. The trees didn’t hum. The ground didn’t pulse. No storm sparked behind her eyes.
Just wind.
Just dirt.
Just her.
And for the first time… maybe that was the lesson.
________________________________________
As the day stretched on, Kid’s struggles became more pronounced. Her stomach growled loudly, and she groaned, clutching her belly. "Are we even going to eat? Or is this some kind of Jedi fasting thing?"
Windu raised an eyebrow but kept walking. "We’ll eat when we find something edible."
Kid’s jaw dropped. "You mean we have to find food? Like… hunt for it?"
"Or gather it," he said calmly, stepping over a fallen log. "The wilderness provides if you know how to look."
"Great," she muttered, throwing up her hands. "So now I’m a scavenger."
"Adaptation is part of survival," Windu replied, his tone patient but firm. "The sooner you learn that, the better."
Kid muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "I liked it better when he didn’t talk to me."

The wilderness stretched endlessly around them, the dense trees blocking much of the sunlight as Windu and Kid made their way through the uneven terrain. Kid trailed behind, her stomach growling loudly, her eyes darting around for any sign of food. Occasionally, small rodents scurried in the underbrush, and birds fluttered between the branches overhead. None of them looked particularly appetizing.
"Do you think those are edible?" she asked, pointing at a small flock of birds perched on a low branch.
Windu glanced at them briefly before continuing forward. "Possibly. But catching them is another matter."
Kid frowned, her frustration bubbling. "I could catch them. Watch this."
She stopped, raising her hand toward the birds. Sparks crackled faintly at her fingertips, but nothing more. The birds didn’t even flinch. She gritted her teeth, narrowing her eyes as she tried again, willing the lightning to come. Her hands remained stubbornly empty, her connection to the Force as silent as it had been since they arrived.
"Stupid birds," she muttered, lowering her arm as the flock took off, their wings beating loudly as they disappeared into the trees.
Windu glanced back at her, his expression unreadable. "The Force doesn’t answer to frustration, Kid."
She glared at him. "I wasn’t frustrated. I was hungry."
He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, continuing along the path.
________________________________________
As they walked, Kid’s questions came rapid-fire, each one laced with growing impatience and a touch of desperation.
"Do we have any food? You know, just in case we don’t find anything?"
"We’ll find something," Windu replied evenly.
"What if we don’t?"
"We will."
Her stomach growled again, and she scowled. "Where are we supposed to sleep?"
"Under the stars," he said, his tone calm.
She made a face. "What if it gets cold?"
"We’ll build a fire."
"What if it rains?"
"Then we’ll get wet," he said simply.
Kid groaned, throwing her hands in the air. "This is a terrible idea! You said there was a place you knew—a place where you could listen to the quiet without distractions. But there’s nothing quiet about this place! There are bugs, rodents, birds, and trees that poke, scratch, and trip. But no food, no water, and worst of all, no FORCE!"
Kid’s fists clenched, her whole body trembling like a wire about to snap. She didn’t even know what she wanted anymore—just that she wanted out. Out of the dirt, out of the quiet, out of this emptiness. “FINE!” she screamed, throwing her hand toward a tree like it was a light switch. Nothing. Just her own breath, too loud in her ears.
“Stupid Force,” she muttered, not sure if she was angry at it or herself.
Nothing happened.
Her hand trembled, her face flushing as her breath came in shallow gasps. She tried again, gritting her teeth, focusing all her anger, her hunger, her hopelessness—but the air remained still.
"Why won’t it work?" she whispered, her voice breaking. She looked at her hands, her fingers twitching helplessly. "It’s always worked before. Why won’t it work now?"
________________________________________
She dropped her arm and turned to Windu, tears stinging her eyes as her voice grew quieter. "I can’t do this, Master. I thought this place was supposed to help me, but it’s worse than anything I’ve ever known. It’s… it’s empty. I’m empty."
Windu stopped walking, turning to face her fully. His expression softened, his usual stoicism giving way to something more compassionate. "You’re not empty, Kid. You’re just listening for the wrong things."
She shook her head, her voice trembling. "What does that even mean? There’s nothing here! No hum of machines, no lights, no power—nothing!"
"Exactly," he said, kneeling to meet her gaze. "There’s no noise here. Just you. And that scares you, doesn’t it?"
Her lip quivered, and she looked away. "It’s not fair. The Force is supposed to be everywhere. But it’s not here. It’s like it left me."
"The Force hasn’t left you," Windu said gently. "It’s just quieter here. And you’re so used to the noise that you don’t know how to hear it."
She frowned, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "How am I supposed to hear it if it’s not saying anything?"
Windu placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice steady. "By listening to yourself first. You don’t need the Force to survive out here, Kid. You just need to trust that you’re strong enough on your own."
She sniffled, her gaze dropping to the ground. "What if I’m not?"
"You are," he said firmly. "But you won’t know it until you let yourself try."

Kid’s legs finally gave out, and she dropped onto a patch of grass, her small frame slumping with exhaustion. Her stomach growled loudly, but she barely noticed anymore. The weight of her hunger, her frustration, and her failure was heavier than anything physical.
"I can’t," she muttered, pulling her knees to her chest. "I need to stop."
Windu turned back, his expression calm but unyielding. "We will lose daylight hours if we stop now. Keep moving."
Kid shook her head, her voice sharper now. "I need to dig deeper."
Something in her tone gave Windu pause. He didn’t press her immediately, instead watching as she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, her hands resting on her knees.
Inside her mind, the chaos churned. Her hunger, her fear, and her hopelessness swirled together, feeding off each other. The absence of the Force felt like a void inside her, and the silence was deafening.
Focus on your anger, she told herself, the thought sharp and deliberate. Focus on your hate. Focus on your hopelessness. Dig deeper.
And then, like a whisper in the void, the Dark Side answered.
"It’s only when you’ve lost everything will you be free."
The words slithered through her thoughts, cold and seductive. A shiver ran down her spine as her frustration turned to something sharper—something dangerous. She let the darkness swirl within her, its power rising like a tide.
Windu’s brow furrowed, his senses sharp as he felt the shift in her energy. He turned fully, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. "You’re trying to use the Dark Side?"
Kid opened her eyes, her gaze sharp and defiant. "The Dark Side responds," she said, her voice trembling but resolute. "The Light has never answered me. Not even once."
Windu’s face darkened, his voice low and steady. "Get up."
"But—"
"Now, Padawan," he said, stepping toward her. His tone left no room for argument.
She stared at him for a long moment before rising slowly to her feet, her small hands clenched into fists at her sides. He grabbed her shoulder firmly but not unkindly, steering her forward.
"Keep moving," he said, his voice quieter now but still commanding.
________________________________________
They walked in tense silence, the weight of their unspoken thoughts hanging heavy between them. Kid’s chest ached with the effort of holding back her emotions, and Windu’s grip on her shoulder was both steadying and grounding.
Finally, she broke the silence, her voice small but filled with frustration. "Why does the Dark Side answer me, but the Light doesn’t?"
Windu didn’t stop walking, his tone measured. "The Dark Side is easy. It gives without question, but it takes more than it gives. The Light requires patience, balance, and trust. It isn’t loud because it doesn’t need to be."
"That’s not fair," she muttered, her gaze fixed on the ground.
"Fairness has nothing to do with it," he replied. "The Force isn’t fair, Kid. It’s a reflection of who you are and what you choose. You have to decide what kind of power you want—and what kind of person you want to be."
She didn’t respond, her mind racing with his words. The quiet pressed in around her once more, but this time, it didn’t feel quite as empty. It felt like a question waiting for an answer.
The forest stretched endlessly before Kid, the thick canopy filtering the sunlight into faint streaks that barely touched the ground. Her feet dragged across the uneven terrain, her body aching with fatigue and hunger. Every step felt heavier, and the silence pressed against her like a weight.
As Windu led the way, his steady pace unrelenting, Kid felt the familiar sense of hopelessness creep in. The Force was still silent, and her frustration simmered just beneath the surface.
"Liberation through loss."
The voice slithered into her mind, low and velvety, resonating with a chilling clarity that made her stumble. She glanced around quickly, her heart pounding, but the forest was empty. Windu didn’t seem to notice her hesitation.
"Your power is born from suffering and sacrifice," the Dark Side whispered, its tone smooth and coaxing. "When you lose what you hold dear, you shed your weaknesses and illusions, revealing your true strength."
Kid’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her breath quickening. The voice was both terrifying and oddly comforting, offering an explanation for the chaos she felt inside.
"This loss will liberate you, child," it continued, wrapping around her thoughts like a constricting vine. "From the chains of fear and attachment, allowing the Dark Side to flow through you with greater intensity."
Her gaze shifted to Windu’s back as he moved ahead, steady and sure, like he didn’t have a care in the galaxy. She grit her teeth, the words swirling in her mind.
"This Jedi’s rigid inheritance to the Force. You are not him. You are not them."
The voice grew stronger, more insistent. "You were forged through suffering, not through aversion to emotions. Embrace your inner darkness. Don’t deny growth in self-discovery."
Kid swallowed hard, her chest tightening. The words struck a chord deep within her, a truth she wasn’t ready to admit. She had suffered. She had fought. And the Dark Side had been there for her when nothing else was.
"Do not fear the loss of power," the voice urged. "And your powers will be restored."
Her fingers twitched as if remembering the electricity that once danced at her command. She glanced down at her hands, frustration and longing bubbling inside her. The silence of the Light still echoed around her, a painful absence that made the whispers of the Dark Side all the more alluring.
She stumbled again, and Windu finally glanced back, his brow furrowing. "Are you all right?"
Kid nodded quickly, brushing dirt off her hands. "Yeah. Just tripped," she muttered, avoiding his gaze.
But as they continued forward, the voice didn’t leave her. It lingered, weaving itself into her thoughts, offering promises she didn’t want to hear but couldn’t ignore.
The Dark Side was patient. And it knew exactly when to speak.
The wilderness was unrelenting. The towering trees, the uneven ground, and the oppressive silence weighed heavily on Kid. Every rustle of leaves or chirp of unseen creatures seemed to mock her exhaustion. Her legs burned with each step, and her hunger gnawed at her insides. Yet the worst part wasn’t the physical discomfort—it was the voices.
"Embrace conflict, and you will embrace growth."
The voice came again, low and insistent, cutting through the quiet like a blade. Kid stumbled slightly, her breath hitching. Her gaze darted to Windu ahead of her, but he kept moving, unbothered, his focus unwavering.
"Without opposition, there is stagnation. Comfort is a prison."
Her heart pounded in her chest as the words echoed in her mind. The voice wasn’t harsh—it was steady, calm, and coldly logical. It felt… true.
"Peace is an ideal for cowards. Anger becomes focus. Hunger becomes ambition. Hatred becomes determination."
Her fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to deny it, to push the voice away, but it resonated too deeply. The hunger, the anger, the frustration—it was all she had left in this place.
"The Dark Side is not corruption but the purest expression of the Force itself."
Her steps faltered, and she paused for a moment, glancing around at the wilderness. The towering trees seemed indifferent to her struggle, and the vastness of the sky above only made her feel smaller.
"The Dark Side does not coddle—it challenges. The Dark Side does not offer false comfort. It demands growth."
She bit her lip, tears stinging her eyes as the weight of the words pressed down on her. They weren’t comforting, but they were compelling. Every spark of electricity she had ever summoned had come from pushing her limits, from moments of desperation and pain. The Light had never offered her that power. The Jedi had never given her that strength.
"Every use of the Force has pushed your limits, forced you to evolve. The Jedi don’t just hate you—they envy your growth and fear their own potential."
Her breath quickened as her frustration boiled over, spilling into anger. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, wrapping around her thoughts like a vice.
"This is the way of nature. And nature, you will become."
She stopped in her tracks, the whisper’s final words hanging heavy in her mind. Her chest heaved as she fought to steady her breathing. Ahead, Windu turned to look back at her, his brow furrowing.
Windu’s steps slowed. There was a hum beneath the air now—too subtle to name, but familiar. Like the pressure before a storm. He didn’t turn. Not yet.
"Kid," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Keep moving. We’re not there yet."
She stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she began walking again, her movements mechanical. The whispers still lingered, but she pushed them aside, focusing on the one truth she couldn’t deny.
When she caught up to him, she spoke, her voice quiet but resolute. "You were right about one thing, Master."
Windu glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "And what’s that?"
She met his gaze, her blue eyes filled with a mixture of clarity and turmoil. "Out here, things are clearer."
Windu studied her for a moment, his expression carefully neutral. "Good," he said simply, turning back toward the path ahead. But his steps slowed slightly, his senses attuned to the shift in her energy.
Kid didn’t elaborate, and Windu didn’t press. But the tension between them grew heavier with each passing step, the wilderness bearing witness to the silent war waging within her.
The air grew heavier as they walked deeper into the wilderness. The light filtering through the trees dimmed, casting long shadows across the forest floor. Windu’s pace slowed, his senses sharpening as he scanned the surroundings. Kid trudged behind him, her arms crossed and her mind a tempest of frustration and whispers.
Then, a low growl pierced the quiet.
Windu froze, holding out a hand to stop Kid. The growl came again, deeper this time, accompanied by the rustle of leaves. A sleek, feline predator stepped into view, its eyes glowing faintly in the dappled light. Its powerful frame rippled with muscle, its sharp teeth bared in a warning.
Windu inhaled slowly, his stance shifting into one of calm readiness. "Stay behind me," he murmured to Kid, his voice steady.
The cat circled them, its movements graceful but predatory. Windu extended a hand, his focus narrowing as he reached out with the Light Side of the Force. The air around them seemed to shift, the tension easing slightly as the predator paused, its growl softening.
Kid watched in awe as the beast’s mind calmed, its aggression fading. For the first time since arriving in the wilderness, she could feel the Force—not as a storm, but as a gentle current. The predator’s mind became serene, its primal instincts soothed by the Light.
"Weakness," the Dark Side hissed in her mind, sharp and disdainful. "This is no act of power. This is submission."
Her frustration surged, the calmness of the moment grating against her anger. She raised her hand, her fingers trembling as sparks of electricity crackled faintly at her fingertips.
"Kid, no!" Windu’s voice was sharp, but it was too late.
The crackling energy arced from her hand, striking the predator with a blinding flash. The beast let out a strangled cry before collapsing to the ground, its body twitching once before going still. The forest fell silent, the scent of ozone lingering in the air.
________________________________________
Windu turned to her, his expression a mixture of shock and anger. "What have you done?" he demanded, his voice low and firm.
Kid stood frozen, her hand still raised. Her chest heaved as she stared at the lifeless form of the predator, her blue eyes flickering to orange for a brief moment before fading back to their natural color. She blinked, lowering her hand slowly.
"We have meat now," she said, her voice unsettlingly calm. "And fur to make shelter."
Windu’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "That creature didn’t need to die. It wasn’t a threat anymore."
She looked up at him, her expression unreadable. "It would have been. Sooner or later, it would’ve attacked someone else. I ended the problem before it could start."
"The Dark Side is not the solution, Kid," Windu said, his voice laced with frustration. "You let it control you."
Her lips tightened, her gaze dropping to the predator’s body. "The Light wouldn’t have fed us. It wouldn’t have kept us warm tonight." She gestured to the beast. "But this will."
Windu stepped closer, his presence looming. "At what cost, Padawan? Every time you give in to the Dark Side, you lose a part of yourself."
Kid flinched slightly but didn’t look away. "Maybe that’s not such a bad thing," she muttered, almost to herself.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with tension. Windu’s gaze softened, but his tone remained firm. "You’re better than this. You don’t need to rely on the Dark Side to survive."
She didn’t respond, instead kneeling beside the predator’s body. Her hands trembled slightly as she touched its fur, her jaw clenched against the swirling emotions inside her.
Windu watched her, his frustration giving way to a quiet sadness. He knew this struggle wasn’t one he could fight for her. It was a battle she had to face within herself. "I don’t always know how to help you, Kid. But I haven’t given up on trying."

________________________________________
As they worked together to prepare the predator for meat and shelter, the silence between them spoke volumes. Windu’s heart ached for the child who couldn’t yet see the strength within herself. And Kid, despite her defiance, felt the weight of his disapproval like a stone in her chest.
But the whispers of the Dark Side lingered, promising power and freedom in a way the Light never had. And for Kid, that temptation was becoming harder and harder to resist.
The campfire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the wilderness. The night was still, the sounds of the forest reduced to faint rustlings in the distance. Windu sat cross-legged on one side of the fire, his posture calm and deliberate. Kid sat on the other side, poking at the ground with a stick, her face a storm of emotions.
After a long silence, she finally spoke, her voice low but sharp. "Master, do you think I’m a bad person?"
Windu looked up, his gaze steady. "No, Kid. I think you’re struggling. And that’s not the same thing."
She let out a bitter laugh, tossing the stick into the fire. "Struggling. That’s all anyone ever says. Like it’s some kind of excuse for everything I feel, everything I’ve done."
"It’s not an excuse," Windu replied, his tone measured. "It’s an understanding. You’ve been through more than most Jedi ever will, and you’re still standing."
"Am I, though?" she snapped, looking up at him with a sharpness that made him pause. "The Jedi see me as dangerous. The kids here hate me. The grown-ups look at me like I’m a ticking time bomb. And you…" She hesitated, her voice breaking slightly. "You only see me as a problem to fix."
Windu’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.
Kid continued, her voice trembling. "The voices I hear—they don’t feel wrong. They tell me things that… make sense. They say the Dark Side isn’t bad, that it’s just the purest form of the Force. That it doesn’t coddle or lie, that it makes you stronger through pain, through struggle. And… I don’t know if they’re right. But I don’t know if they’re wrong either."
She clenched her fists, her blue eyes glinting in the firelight. "The Jedi’s rules—they don’t make sense. They act like emotions are the enemy, like power is something to be afraid of. But emotions are real, and power is… it’s necessary. Every time I’ve used the Force, it’s been because I had to. To survive. To protect myself."
Windu leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but firm. "The Dark Side twists those truths, Kid. It tells you what you want to hear, not what you need to know."
"Does it?" she shot back. "Or is that just what the Jedi say to scare me? Because from where I’m sitting, the Jedi seem just as scared of the Dark Side as they say I should be."
Her words hung in the air, sharp and heavy. Windu exhaled slowly, his gaze steady. "The Jedi understand the danger of the Dark Side because we’ve seen what it does. It doesn’t just take your anger or your pain—it consumes you. It makes you a slave to it."
"But what if that’s the only way I can be free?" Kid countered, her voice rising. "The voices say that loss is liberation. That letting go of fear and attachment lets the Dark Side flow through you. And they’re not wrong. When I use it, I feel stronger, more… alive. The Light has never made me feel that way."
Windu’s brow furrowed, his expression darkening. "That’s because the Light isn’t about control or dominance. It’s about harmony. Balance."
"Balance?" Kid scoffed, shaking her head. "There’s no balance in the way the Jedi see the Force. It’s all about control. Don’t feel this, don’t think that, don’t do this or you’ll fall to the Dark Side. But isn’t that just another way of saying ‘don’t grow’? How am I supposed to find balance when the Jedi already see me as unbalanced?"
Windu didn’t answer immediately. His silence stretched, thoughtful and heavy
. Kid took the pause as permission to continue, her frustration bubbling over.
"Maybe I don’t belong with the Jedi," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. But there was a hard edge to her words. "Maybe they’ll always see me as wrong. As a threat. If that’s what I’ll always be to them, then I don’t think they’re the good people the monitors told me they were."
Windu’s gaze lifted, his expression a mix of sternness and quiet sorrow. "You think leaving the Jedi will give you clarity? That stepping away from their rules will help you find your path?"
She met his eyes, her own filled with turmoil. "I don’t know. But if the Jedi are so narrow-minded that they can’t see me as anything other than dangerous, then what’s the point? I’m not going to waste my life trying to prove myself to people who don’t believe in me."
Windu leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as he studied her. The firelight cast sharp shadows on his face, highlighting the weariness etched into his features. "The Jedi don’t see you as a threat, Kid. They see you as a person struggling to find balance. And yes, that scares some of them. But fear doesn’t mean hate. It means they don’t understand you yet."
Kid’s jaw tightened. "So I’m supposed to stay and let them judge me? Let them look at me like I’m some kind of monster?"
"You’re not a monster," Windu said firmly. "You’re a child who’s been through more than anyone should have to endure. But running away from the Order won’t change what you’re feeling inside. The questions, the doubts—they’ll follow you wherever you go."
She looked down at her hands, her fingers curling into fists. "Then what am I supposed to do?"
Windu’s voice softened, though it remained steady. "You don’t have to decide everything now. The Force is about discovery, Kid. Not just of its power, but of yourself. You’re right that the Jedi have rules. And those rules aren’t perfect. But they exist to protect you—from yourself as much as from the Dark Side."
Kid’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. "The rules don’t protect me. They cage me."
Windu sighed, his tone carrying the weight of his own experiences. "You’re not wrong. The rules can feel like chains. But they’re also there to remind us that power without purpose is destructive. And when you’re ready, you’ll see that purpose isn’t something the Jedi give you—it’s something you find for yourself."
The silence returned, the crackle of the fire the only sound between them. Kid didn’t answer, her thoughts churning. She wasn’t sure if she believed him, or if she wanted to. But something in his words lingered, a seed of doubt in her defiance.
Finally, Windu stood, his movements deliberate. "We’ll continue this tomorrow. Get some rest, Kid."
She nodded mutely, watching as he turned and disappeared into the darkness. Alone by the fire, she stared at the flames, the whispers of the Dark Side still curling at the edges of her mind.
"Liberation through loss. Embrace your strength. The Jedi will never understand you."
But for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she wanted them to.

Chapter Text

Kid drifted into sleep by the dying embers of the campfire, the soft crackle fading as her breathing slowed. The wilderness around her seemed to dissolve, and she found herself standing in a vast, desolate field. The sky above was split, half ablaze with fiery red clouds and the other half a serene but pale blue. Between the halves, lightning crackled violently, dividing the heavens like a scar.
In the field, two massive armies stood arrayed against each other. On one side, warriors clad in dark, jagged armor stood rigid, their swords humming faintly with crimson energy that pulsed like veins of blood. Their faces were hidden behind ominous masks, their bodies exuding the oppressive presence of the Dark Side.
Opposite them, warriors in shining, minimalist armor stood tall, their blades glowing faintly with golden light. Their visages were serene yet resolute, the aura of the Light Side radiating like a shield.
Both armies bristled with tension, and the silence before the storm pressed against Kid’s ears. She stood in the center, watching as the battle unfolded around her like a tidal wave of chaos.
________________________________________
The clash was thunderous. Warriors surged toward each other, their swords meeting in flashes of light and energy. The Dark warriors struck with ferocity, their movements fueled by raw anger and overwhelming strength. The Light warriors parried with grace and precision, their strikes calculated and deliberate.
Amid the chaos, the Force became a weapon. The Dark warriors unleashed bolts of lightning that crackled across the battlefield, hurling their enemies aside with devastating power. The Light warriors responded with shimmering barriers of energy, deflecting the assaults as they countered with bursts of blinding light that seared through their opponents.
The air filled with screams, the clash of steel, and the hum of power. But above it all, Kid could hear their voices—not their words, but their beliefs. Each warrior fought with unwavering conviction, certain that their philosophy was the righteous one. To them, the enemy was not just wrong but evil, a force that had to be extinguished for the galaxy to be free.
________________________________________
The battle raged until the field was littered with bodies. Kid watched in silent horror as both armies fell, one by one, until the chaos dwindled to a grim stillness. The sky above darkened, the line between red and blue blurring into a stormy gray.
At the center of the carnage, only two figures remained—a Sith warrior and a Jedi knight. They circled each other, their movements slow, their exhaustion evident. Their strikes were no longer fueled by strength or conviction but by desperation.
The Sith, his armor cracked and bloodied, landed the final blow. The Jedi crumpled to the ground, his blade extinguished. The Sith staggered back, her sword falling from her trembling hands as she looked around the battlefield.
The bodies of her comrades and enemies alike lay scattered, their faces frozen in expressions of pain and fear. The storm above rumbled softly, its fury subsiding into an eerie quiet.
The Sith fell to her knees, her breath ragged as her hands trembled. Her helmet tumbled off, revealing a face streaked with tears. It was Kid.
Her cries echoed in the silence, raw and unrelenting. She clutched at her chest as if the weight of the grief threatened to crush her. The power that had driven her in battle now felt hollow, the victory meaningless.
________________________________________
Kid’s voice broke through the silence, trembling with anguish. "I thought… I thought this was the way. That it was right. That it was strength."
The sky answered with another rumble, but no comfort came. Around her, the field remained littered with the dead, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing. The philosophies they had fought for, the beliefs that had driven them, were now as still as the bodies they had left behind.
The words of the Dark Side whispered faintly, almost mockingly: " You asked for strength. This is what it costs."
Kid’s sobs grew louder as the dream blurred and fractured, pulling her from the nightmare.
________________________________________
Kid awoke with a start, her chest heaving as she clutched at the blanket around her. She glanced toward Windu, who was meditating nearby, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the storm still raging inside her.
She pressed her palms to her face, trying to erase the vision. But the image of the battlefield, the faces of the fallen, and her own tear-streaked reflection lingered.
"What does it mean?" she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible.
The answer wouldn’t come—not from the Light, not from the Dark, not even from herself. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that the dream wasn’t just a warning—it was a reflection of the path she feared might lie ahead.

The first hints of dawn crept through the trees, casting the wilderness in faint shades of gray. The fire had long since died out, leaving only a few glowing embers. Windu sat nearby, cross-legged, his eyes closed in meditation. His posture was as steady as the trees around them, a quiet sentinel amidst the stillness.
Kid sat on her bedroll, her knees pulled to her chest, staring at the ground. The dream lingered in her mind, the images sharp and unrelenting. She glanced at Windu, hesitating. He always seemed so sure of everything, and she hated how small she felt in comparison. But the weight of her thoughts was too much to bear alone.
"Master?" she said softly, her voice cutting through the quiet.
Windu’s eyes opened, calm and steady as he turned his attention to her. "You should be resting, Padawan."
She shook her head, her voice trembling. "I… I had a dream."
He straightened slightly, his focus sharpening. "Tell me about it."
Kid hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her blanket. "It wasn’t just a dream. It felt real. Like it was showing me something."
Windu’s brow furrowed, but he remained silent, waiting for her to continue.
"There was a battle," she began, her voice growing quieter. "Not like the ones you see on the holovids. There were no ships or lightsabers. Just swords and the Force. The Jedi and the Sith—they fought each other with everything they had. Both sides believed they were good, that the other side was evil. But…"
She trailed off, her gaze dropping to the ground.
"But what?" Windu prompted gently.
"But it didn’t matter," she said, her voice cracking. "They all died. Every single one of them. And when it was over, I was the only one left. Me." She swallowed hard, her hands trembling. "I was the Sith. And all I felt was… grief."
The silence stretched between them, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air.
Windu’s voice was calm when he finally spoke. "Dreams can be reflections of our fears, our doubts. What do you think this dream means?"
Kid looked up at him, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears. "I don’t know. Maybe it’s telling me that I’m on the wrong path. That no matter what I do, people will get hurt. Maybe it’s telling me that I don’t belong here. Or anywhere."
Windu leaned forward slightly, his tone firm but not unkind. "The Force speaks to us in many ways, Kid. It shows us possibilities, not certainties. What you saw in your dream doesn’t have to be your future."
"But what if it is?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "What if the Dark Side is all I’ll ever have? What if the Jedi are right to be afraid of me?"
He studied her for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. "The Dark Side thrives on fear—fear of what you might become, fear of what others think of you. But the Light teaches us that we are more than our fears. You’re more than your fears."
Kid’s hands tightened into fists. "But the Dark Side is the only thing that’s ever answered me. It’s the only thing that’s ever made me feel… strong."
Windu’s gaze softened. "Strength isn’t just about power, Kid. It’s about knowing when not to use it. It’s about standing firm in who you are, even when it’s hard. Even when you feel alone."
She sniffled, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I don’t even know who I am anymore."
"You’re a Padawan," Windu said simply. "And that means you’re still learning. About the Force. About yourself. About the galaxy. The dream you had—it’s a warning, yes. But it’s not just a warning about the Dark Side. It’s a reminder that you have the power to choose your path."
Kid stared at him, her expression a mixture of doubt and hope. "What if I make the wrong choice?"
Windu’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. "Then you learn from it. And you choose again."
She nodded slowly, her shoulders relaxing just a little. "Thanks, Master."
"Rest now, Kid," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "The wilderness has more lessons to teach us. But we’ll face them together."
As she lay back down, her thoughts still heavy but a little less suffocating, she realized that she wasn’t as alone as she’d thought.

The wilderness stretched around them, quiet except for the distant calls of unseen creatures. Windu dragged the remains of the predator’s carcass, its charred fur and exposed flesh leaving a faint trail on the forest floor. Kid followed behind, her gaze fixed on the ground, the reality of her actions pressing heavily on her.
After several minutes of silence, Windu stopped, stepping into a hidden clearing surrounded by dense underbrush. Kid peered around him, her eyes widening as she saw movement—a pair of small cubs huddled together in a hollow beneath the roots of a massive tree. Their fur was mottled and thin, their bodies trembling as they sniffed the air, their noses catching the scent of the carcass.
The cubs hesitated, their wide eyes watching as Windu laid the remains of their mother down nearby. Then, cautiously, they approached, their tiny bodies tense with hunger. The scent of the meat overwhelmed their instincts, and they began tearing into the carcass, their sharp little teeth gnawing at the flesh.
Kid took a step forward, her heart clenching at the sight. "They’re eating her," she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of horror and pity.
Windu’s voice was calm but firm. "They have to. It’s their best chance to survive now."
She turned to him, her blue eyes wide. "But they’re just babies. They can’t survive out here alone."
"They might not," Windu said bluntly, his expression unreadable. "But with this, they have a fighting chance. It’s more than they would have had otherwise."
Kid took another step forward, her hands outstretched. "We can’t just leave them here. They’re scared and helpless. We should take them back to the Temple. My grandparents own a zoo—they could take care of them."
Windu moved in front of her, blocking her path. "No," he said firmly.
Her face twisted in frustration. "Why not? It’s my responsibility to deal with this. I killed their mother. I can’t just leave them to die."
Windu’s gaze bore into her, his tone steady but unyielding. "Nature doesn’t work that way, Kid. You can guide, you can push in the right direction, but you can’t control everything. A life in a zoo is not a life of freedom."
"But they’d be safe," she argued, her voice cracking. "Isn’t that better than letting them starve out here?"
Windu shook his head slowly. "Safety isn’t always kindness. To shoulder all the responsibility for their lives isn’t kindness—it’s control. You’re trying to fix this because you feel guilty. But the Force isn’t about fixing—it’s about balance. About letting go when you must."
Kid’s shoulders slumped, her hands dropping to her sides. "So, we just… walk away?"
"We give them what they need to survive and let them decide the rest," he said. His tone softened as he gestured toward the cubs. "They’re not helpless, Kid. They’re part of this wilderness, just like their mother was. You don’t need to save them to make this right."
She stared at the cubs, her heart aching as they tore into the carcass. "It doesn’t feel right."
Windu placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice quieter now. "That’s because you care. But caring doesn’t mean controlling. It means knowing when to help and when to let go."
________________________________________
As the cubs continued to eat, Windu turned, motioning for Kid to follow. "We’re about two hours from the sanctuary. Let’s keep moving."
Kid hesitated, glancing back at the cubs one last time. They were too focused on their meal to notice her, their small forms huddled together in a way that reminded her of herself and her mom, once upon a time. She swallowed hard, then turned to follow Windu.
As they walked, her thoughts churned. "Why did you take the carcass here?" she asked quietly.
"Because not eating the beast’s meat would’ve been a disservice," Windu replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "It’s part of the balance. Taking its life had consequences, and this is one way to make sure its death wasn’t meaningless."
Kid nodded slowly, her steps heavy. "Do you think they’ll make it?"
Windu didn’t look back, his pace steady. "I don’t know. But they have a chance. That’s all any of us have."
The wilderness around them grew quieter as the sun began to rise, the faint light filtering through the trees. Kid walked in silence, the weight of the lesson sinking in, though the ache in her chest remained.

The sun hung low in the sky as Windu and Kid emerged from the dense forest, the trees giving way to a wide clearing. Before them lay a modest village, its buildings made of wood and stone, blending seamlessly with the natural surroundings. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the faint sounds of voices and animals carried on the breeze.
Kid’s eyes scanned the sanctuary, her expression skeptical. "This is it?" she asked, her tone tinged with disappointment.
Windu nodded, his pace unchanging. "This is it."
There were no visible signs of technology—no glowing panels, no droids, no hum of machines. Instead, people moved about the village with quiet purpose, tending to livestock, carrying buckets of water from a nearby stream, or working in the fields. The simplicity of the place was almost unnerving.
"Looks like something out of a history holovid," Kid muttered under her breath.
Windu glanced at her, his tone calm. "Not everything valuable needs to be modern."
________________________________________
As they entered the village, a few of the residents looked up from their tasks, their expressions a mix of curiosity and warmth. A man carrying a basket of freshly picked vegetables approached them, his face weathered but kind.
"Master Windu," he greeted, bowing slightly. "It’s been a long time."
Windu inclined his head. "Good to see you again, Etrin. Is the sanctuary as quiet as ever?"
Etrin chuckled, his voice carrying the ease of someone accustomed to peace. "Quiet as always. Though I suspect that may change with your young companion."
Kid shifted awkwardly under Etrin’s gaze, feeling like she didn’t quite belong. "Hi," she said, her voice small.
Etrin smiled warmly. "Welcome. You’ll find this place takes a little getting used to, but it grows on you."
Kid didn’t respond, her attention drawn to a group of children chasing a flock of chickens near the edge of the village. Their laughter rang out, unrestrained and carefree. It was a sound she hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.
________________________________________
Windu led her to a small, simple hut near the edge of the village. The inside was sparse but comfortable, with wooden furniture, a small hearth, and a neatly made bed. He set his bag down and turned to Kid, his expression serious.
"This is where we’ll train," he said. "But it’s also where you’ll learn something more important than the forms or the Force."
Kid frowned, crossing her arms. "What’s that?"
"How to live without relying on power," Windu replied. "Here, you’ll see that strength isn’t just about what you can do. It’s about what you can endure, what you can give, and what you can build."
She looked out the window at the villagers going about their lives. "What does this have to do with being a Jedi?"
"Everything," Windu said firmly. "You’ve spent your life surrounded by chaos, relying on power to survive. But survival isn’t the same as living. To be a Jedi, you need to understand both."
________________________________________
Later that day, Windu took Kid to the fields, where villagers worked side by side to tend the crops. He handed her a hoe, its wooden handle smooth from years of use.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" she asked, holding it awkwardly.
"Help plant the field," Windu said simply.
Kid stared at him, incredulous. "You’re kidding, right? This isn’t training."
"Everything is training," Windu replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The Force is in all things, including the soil, the crops, and the effort you put into them."
She grumbled under her breath but joined the villagers, her movements clumsy and hesitant. As she worked, the whispers of the Dark Side crept into her thoughts.
"Why waste time on this? This isn’t strength. This is submission."
Kid paused, gripping the hoe tightly as her frustration flared. But then she glanced at the villagers, their hands dirty but their faces content. The simplicity of their work didn’t look like submission—it looked like peace.
________________________________________
That evening, the villagers gathered around a communal fire, sharing food and stories. Kid sat next to Windu, her plate filled with fresh vegetables and roasted meat from their hunt. She ate in silence, her thoughts swirling.
"This place is weird," she muttered finally.
Windu raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"It’s… quiet," she said, searching for the words. "Too quiet. But they all seem… okay with it. Like they don’t need anything else."
"Maybe they don’t," Windu said simply. "And maybe you don’t either."
Kid didn’t respond, her gaze drifting to the flames. The sanctuary was unlike anything she’d ever known. And though she didn’t understand it yet, she couldn’t deny that it felt… different. Not bad, just different.

As the fire crackled and the stars began to fill the sky, Kid found herself wondering if there might be something to learn in this strange, quiet place after all.

Chapter Text

Sanctuary Days
The next morning, Windu and Kid stood at the edge of the village, overlooking the fields and simple homes. The sun cast a golden light across the sanctuary, illuminating the quiet harmony of the place. Villagers moved with purpose, tending to livestock, repairing homes, and preparing meals.
"This place feels… different," Kid said, her voice uncertain. "It’s not like the Temple. And it’s definitely not like Nar Shaddaa."
Windu nodded, his gaze steady. "That’s because it’s a middle ground. Not every Force-sensitive child is sent to the Jedi Temple. Some parents can’t bear to part with their children. And some children don’t want to leave their families."
Kid frowned, glancing at him. "So… this is like a backup Temple?"
"Not quite," Windu replied. "This is a sanctuary. A place where Force-sensitive individuals can live in peace without fully committing to the Jedi Order. It’s a compromise—a balance between the life of a Jedi and the life of a family."
Her eyes widened slightly as she watched a group of children playing near the stream, their laughter echoing through the air. "Why doesn’t everyone know about this?"
"Because it has to remain exclusive," Windu said, his tone firm. "If the galaxy knew places like this existed, they would become overcrowded. The balance here would be destroyed. This sanctuary thrives because it’s small, because it serves those who need it without drawing attention."
Kid’s expression turned thoughtful as she watched the villagers. "So… I can’t tell anyone about this place?"
"Exactly," Windu said. "Not even your mother. The Jedi protect sanctuaries like this because they’re fragile. They’re meant to be safe havens, not solutions for the galaxy’s problems."
Windu led her to a small clearing on the outskirts of the village, where a group of young Jedi initiates practiced their forms. They ranged in age from toddlers to adolescents, each one focused on their training. A villager-turned-instructor watched over them, offering corrections and encouragement.
"This is where you’ll train," Windu said. "You’ll practice alongside them, learn the same lessons, and grow at your own pace."
Kid hesitated, her eyes darting to the initiates. "What if they don’t like me?"
Windu gave her a pointed look. "That’s not your concern. Your focus is on your training, not their opinions."
She sighed but nodded, stepping into the clearing. The instructor greeted her warmly and paired her with a group practicing basic stances. Kid joined in, her movements tentative but determined.
Later that day, after hours of practice and a simple meal shared with the initiates, Kid approached Windu as he sat meditating near a grove of trees. She hesitated, her hands fidgeting at her sides.
"Master?" she asked softly.
He opened his eyes, his expression calm but attentive. "Yes?"
She looked down, her voice quieter. "Could… me and my mom move here? After she’s better, I mean."

Windu studied her for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. "That’s not my decision to make, Kid. This sanctuary exists for those who need it, but it’s not a place for everyone."
Kid blinked. “Not even my mom?”
Windu’s tone didn’t change. “Not even her.”
She looked away. “...That’s kinda messed up.”
“It’s also why it works.”
She nodded again, her gaze dropping. "I understand."
Windu stood, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You’ll learn more than just forms and techniques here. You’ll learn what it means to find balance in yourself, to trust the Force even when it feels distant. That’s the real lesson of this place."
Kid looked up at him, her blue eyes searching. "And if I don’t find it?"
"You will," Windu said with quiet certainty. "Because you won’t stop searching until you do."
The two stood in silence for a moment, the sanctuary around them a testament to the balance they both sought. Kid didn’t have all the answers yet, but for the first time in a long while, she felt like she might be in the right place to start looking.

The sanctuary had its own rhythm, a balance between structured training and the simple but essential tasks of village life. On training days, the initiates practiced forms, meditation, and lightsaber techniques under the watchful eyes of their instructors. On village days, they spread out to tend to the fields, care for the livestock, and help maintain the community.
Kid quickly learned that both days demanded focus and effort, though they couldn’t have felt more different. Training was structured and disciplined, the kind of environment she expected from Jedi. The village work, on the other hand, was messy and unpredictable, requiring ingenuity and teamwork.
________________________________________
One village day, Kid found herself helping in the fields alongside a group of initiates and older villagers. The sun was hot, and the work was grueling, but the initiates worked with a quiet efficiency that fascinated her.
She watched as one boy used the Force to lift heavy crates of harvested vegetables, his control steady and deliberate. Another girl used precise Force pushes to guide a stubborn goat back into its pen. Even something as simple as coaxing water from a well seemed to be made easier with the Force, as one initiate carefully lifted the heavy bucket without spilling a drop.
Kid furrowed her brow, feeling a twinge of envy. Their abilities seemed so practical, so helpful. Meanwhile, her connection to the Force felt like a storm she couldn’t control, a power that had no place in this peaceful routine.
________________________________________
As the group worked, a farmer approached, his face lined with worry. "The eastern field's irrigation line is clogged again," he said. "We can’t get water to the crops."
The instructor overseeing the group nodded, then turned to the initiates. "Who’s up for the task?"
The older initiates volunteered quickly, but Kid hesitated, watching as they headed toward the field. A part of her wanted to join, to prove she could help. But what could she do? Lightning wouldn’t fix a clogged irrigation line.
She glanced at Windu, who had been observing from a distance. He caught her eye and gave a slight nod, his expression encouraging. Taking a deep breath, Kid followed the group.
________________________________________
At the irrigation line, the initiates assessed the problem. Water trickled weakly through the pipe, its flow choked by debris. One initiate knelt, using the Force to carefully extract the blockage, while another manipulated the water to flush out the remaining dirt.
Kid stood to the side, her hands twitching. She could feel the energy building within her, the familiar pull of lightning just beneath her skin. Maybe, just maybe, she could use it.
"Let me try," she said, stepping forward.
The other initiates hesitated but moved aside, their expressions wary. Kid raised her hand, focusing on the pipe. Sparks crackled at her fingertips, and she directed a small jolt of electricity toward the blockage. The pipe shook slightly, the water surging forward for a brief moment before slowing again.
"Did it work?" she asked, her voice uncertain.
One of the older initiates checked the flow. "It helped, but… it’s still not clear."
Kid clenched her fists, her frustration mounting. She had wanted to prove herself, to show that her power wasn’t just destructive. But all she’d done was make a small difference—nothing like the efficiency of the others.
________________________________________
Later that evening, as the group gathered for their evening meal, Kid sat beside Windu, her mood heavy. "I tried to help today," she said quietly. "But all I did was make things worse."
"You didn’t make things worse," Windu replied, his tone calm. "You helped, even if it wasn’t the way you expected."
She frowned, picking at her food. "But my lightning… it doesn’t fit here. It’s not like their powers. It’s just destructive."
"Power isn’t defined by its nature, but by how you use it," Windu said. "Your lightning isn’t inherently destructive. It’s a tool, just like the Force is for them. You just need to learn how to wield it with precision."
"How?" she asked, her frustration bubbling over. "It’s not like I can fix pipes with it or herd goats."
"Not yet," Windu said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "But this place is about learning balance. And balance includes finding new ways to use what you’ve been given."
________________________________________
The sanctuary provided Kid with opportunities to experiment, to test the limits of her abilities in ways she hadn’t considered before. Whether it was using small, controlled bursts of lightning to generate heat for cooking or to ward off pests from the crops, she began to see that her power wasn’t as out of place as she’d thought.
And as she continued to work alongside the villagers and initiates, she realized that even in a place as quiet and simple as this, there was room for her storm.
The clearing buzzed with activity as the initiates practiced their forms under the morning sun. Kid stood among them, her training saber clutched tightly in her hands. Her movements were stiff, her frustration visible as she struggled to keep up with the more experienced initiates. Windu observed from the edge of the clearing, his arms crossed, offering the occasional correction.
As Kid moved through a defensive stance, her focus wavered. The whispers of the Dark Side still lingered at the edges of her mind, their promises tempting her to abandon the slow, methodical training of the Light.
"Focus, Kid," Windu called, his tone firm but even.
She gritted her teeth, trying to suppress her frustration. But before she could respond, a voice from the edge of the group caught her attention.
"Your control is impressive," the voice said, deep and smooth, tinged with curiosity.
Kid turned to see a boy about her age—or so she guessed—standing a few feet away. His skin was a deep crimson, marked with black patterns that seemed almost carved into his features. His golden eyes gleamed with intrigue as he stepped closer, his movements deliberate but nonthreatening.
A Sith Pureblood.
The initiates around her whispered, their eyes darting between the boy and Kid. His presence was unmistakable, and though his demeanor was calm, his appearance alone drew uneasy glances.
________________________________________
"You’re the one who uses lightning, right?" the boy asked, his gaze locking onto her.
Kid hesitated, glancing at Windu. He gave her a slight nod, his expression unreadable.
"Yeah," she said finally, her voice cautious. "I can use lightning."
The boy smiled faintly, his sharp teeth just visible. "I’ve never seen anyone our age control it like that. Most people who try just… burn everything around them."
Kid’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Who are you?"
"Reth," he said simply. "My mother and I live here. She… didn’t want me to grow up like the rest of my people."
"The rest of your people?" Kid repeated, her tone skeptical.
He tilted his head, his expression patient. "Sith. Purebloods. We’re not exactly known for restraint."
________________________________________
As if summoned by the mention of her, a tall woman with crimson skin and golden eyes approached. Her presence was commanding, but not threatening. She moved with quiet grace, her simple robes flowing as she joined them.
"Reth," she said, her tone low and measured. "You’re supposed to be training, not distracting others."
"I was just curious," he replied, glancing at Kid. "She’s different."
The woman’s gaze settled on Kid, her scrutiny sharp but not unkind. Kid shifted under the weight of it, gripping her training saber a little tighter.
"You’re the one who uses lightning," the woman observed.
Kid nodded. "Yeah."
A faint smile touched the woman’s lips, her expression unreadable. "It’s rare to see someone so young wield it with control. Even rarer outside the Sith."
Kid hesitated before asking, "Do you use it?"
"I do, but only when I want to kill someone." the woman admitted. "I was never taught restraint." She exhaled slowly, her voice calm. "Your abilities are impressive. I know something similar—but I don’t weave electricity like you do. Not in threads.”
“What can you do?” Kid asked.
“Let me show you.” The Sith mother took Kids hand and she felt an electrical stimulation like a tingling, buzzing, or prickling sensation. It was comfortable "pins and needles" feeling. The intensity adjusted, and while it felt unusual, it didn’t feel be painful. “I use this to strengthening my sons muscles, it might feel intense but still shouldn't cause pain. But I chose not to pass those lessons on to my son. I left the Sith for a reason."
Kid frowned, glancing between the two. "Then why let him train with the Jedi?"
"Because the Jedi teach discipline," the woman answered simply. "Control. They offer a path that doesn’t consume you."
Kid straightened, unsure how to respond. "And you are?"
"Shara," she said. "Reth’s mother."
Kid’s brow furrowed as she pieced things together. "You left Korriban? Left the Empire?"
Shara nodded, her gaze distant. "I did. For his sake." She placed a hand lightly on Reth’s shoulder. "I didn’t want him to grow up knowing only the Dark Side. The Sith offer power, but at a cost. A cost I wasn’t willing to let him pay."
Her voice softened, as if lost in memory. "I know I don’t look it, but I’m eighty. I had three brothers—strong, capable warriors. They died in the Korriban trials so that I could survive. My parents were disappointed, not in their deaths, but in their weakness. In me." Her lips pressed into a thin line. "To the Sith, we are all expendable. I just didn’t see my son that way."
She met Kid’s gaze, her expression firm but filled with something rare among Sith—conviction not born of ambition, but love.
"When I learned he was Force-sensitive, I left," she said simply.
Kid swallowed, her grip on her saber loosening. "You loved your son, so you escaped a life of pain."
Shara exhaled softly, a flicker of something unreadable in her golden eyes. "Yes," she admitted. "I suppose you could say that. The Sith would tell you different—that I’m doing him a disservice, that I’ve made him weak. That he could have been great." She shook her head. "I don’t care if he’s great or legendary. I just want him to be alive. I just want him to be happy."
Kid’s fingers curled slightly, a memory surfacing. Her mother’s voice, sharp and distant in the halls of the Temple. The person she had been—the person neither of them wanted to be. They had only learned how to love each other once they were free. “Can you show me how to do what you do?”
“Sure.”
________________________________________
Reth stepped closer, his curiosity undimmed. "But you didn’t learn from the Jedi, did you? You just… figured it out?"
Kid hesitated, her eyes flickering to Windu again. He remained silent, watching the exchange.
"I didn’t figure it out," she said finally. "The Dark Side… it just happens when I’m scared or mad. I’m trying to control it now."
Reth nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It’s not easy, is it? They tell you not to feel anything, but the feelings don’t just go away."
"No, they don’t," Kid muttered, her voice tinged with frustration.
The woman placed a hand on Reth’s shoulder, her expression softening. "The Jedi teach us to rise above those feelings. It’s not about denying them—it’s about choosing what you do with them."
Kid looked down at her hands, her thoughts churning. She wasn’t sure she agreed, but something about the woman’s words struck a chord.
________________________________________
"Enough," Windu said, stepping forward. His tone was calm but firm. "Kid, back to training. Reth, if you’re so curious, perhaps you’d like to spar with her."
Reth’s eyes lit up, and he nodded eagerly. "I’d like that."
Kid glanced at Windu, her expression a mix of uncertainty and determination. "Okay," she said, gripping her saber tightly.
As the two stepped into the sparring circle, the other initiates gathered to watch, their whispers fading into a tense silence. This would be more than a simple practice match—it would be a meeting of two forces shaped by very different paths.

Reth leaned against a nearby tree, his tone curious. "So, what’s it like? The lightning thing, I mean. My mom can do it, but she’s never taught me."
Kid blinked, surprised. "She hasn’t?"
Shara’s expression softened slightly. "The Dark Side is a powerful tool, but it comes at a cost. I chose not to teach him those abilities because I want him to have the choice I never did."
Reth shrugged, his tone nonchalant. "She says that, but it’s not like I’ve needed it. The Jedi stuff works fine for now."
Kid frowned, her thoughts swirling. "You’re… okay with that? Learning the Light Side?"
Reth tilted his head, considering. "I don’t know if I’m okay with it. But it’s what I’ve got right now. And I don’t mind not having to deal with all the Sith politics and backstabbing. That part sucked."
________________________________________
Shara stepped closer, her gaze steady on Kid. "You’ve struggled with the Dark Side, haven’t you?" she asked gently.
Kid hesitated, then nodded. "It’s… hard. The voices, the power—it’s always there."
"The Dark Side doesn’t let go easily," Shara said, her tone heavy with experience. "It whispers promises, tempts you with strength, but it takes more than it gives. That’s why I brought Reth here. To learn discipline, control. To find a different path."
Kid looked at Reth, who seemed unfazed by his mother’s words. "Do you think the Jedi are right? That the Light is better?"
Reth shrugged. "I don’t know yet. But I figure it’s worth learning before deciding."
Shara nodded, her expression softening. "Choice is important, Kid. It’s something the Dark Side tries to take from you. Don’t let it."
________________________________________
Windu approached the group, his presence commanding as always. "Kid, back to training," he said firmly, but his gaze lingered on Shara and Reth. "Reth, perhaps you’d like to join her."
Reth smirked, picking up his training saber. "Sure. Let’s see if the lightning girl’s as tough as they say."
Kid rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at her lips. "Bring it on."
As they moved to the sparring circle, Windu and Shara exchanged a knowing glance. Both understood the importance of these moments—not just for their children’s training, but for their choices and the paths they would ultimately walk.
The other initiates gathered in a loose circle, whispering among themselves as Kid and Reth stepped into the sparring area. Training sabers hummed faintly in their hands, their blue and green blades glowing softly in the late morning light.
Reth spun his saber once in a casual flourish, his golden eyes glinting with amusement. "I’ll go easy on you, lightning girl."
Kid narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening on her own saber. "Don’t. I’d hate to embarrass you."
The instructor stepped forward, raising a hand to signal the start. "No Force abilities. This is about skill, not power. Begin."
________________________________________
Reth moved first, his saber flashing in a wide arc aimed at Kid’s left side. She parried quickly, the clash of their blades sending a sharp hum through the air. He pressed forward, his strikes fluid and relentless, forcing her to retreat.
"Fast, aren’t you?" Kid muttered, her focus narrowing as she countered his attacks.
Reth smirked, his movements almost playful. "Gotta be if you’re growing up Sith."
Kid’s jaw tightened. She shifted her stance, sidestepping his next strike and bringing her saber down in a sharp diagonal slash. Reth barely blocked it, the impact forcing him back a step.
________________________________________
As the match progressed, the tempo increased. Reth’s movements were aggressive but calculated, his strikes designed to test her defenses. Kid responded with a mix of precision and unpredictability, her smaller frame allowing her to dart in and out of his range.
She feinted left, then spun low, sweeping her saber toward his legs. Reth jumped back, his footing faltering for a split second. Sensing an opening, Kid lunged forward, her blade aimed for his chest.
But Reth recovered quickly, twisting his saber to deflect her strike and spinning into a counterattack. His blade arced toward her shoulder, forcing her to duck and roll to the side.
"Not bad," he said, his voice tinged with genuine admiration. "For a Jedi."
"Not bad yourself," Kid shot back, grinning despite herself. "For a Sith."
________________________________________
The match was evenly matched until Reth landed a light tap on Kid’s arm, signaling a point in his favor. Frustration flared in her chest, and for a brief moment, the whispers of the Dark Side crept into her thoughts.
"You’re stronger than this. Show him."
Without thinking, she channeled a small jolt of electricity through her hand, letting it spark harmlessly against the hilt of her saber. The faint crackle caught Reth’s attention, and his smirk widened.
"Lightning in a no-Force match?" he teased, his stance relaxing slightly. "That’s cheating."
Kid flushed, gripping her saber tightly. "I wasn’t going to use it!"
"Sure you weren’t," Reth replied, his tone light but teasing. "But it’s okay. I’ve heard Sith aren’t great at following rules."
Her frustration boiled over, and she lunged forward, her saber flashing in a rapid series of strikes. Reth was ready, meeting her attacks with a mix of deflection and counter-strikes that forced her back again.
________________________________________
"Enough!" the instructor called, stepping into the circle and raising a hand to stop the match. "This is training, not a battlefield."
Kid and Reth both lowered their sabers, their breathing heavy as they stepped apart. The instructor’s gaze was stern as he looked at Kid. "No Force abilities means no Force abilities. Understood?"
She nodded reluctantly, avoiding his eyes. "Yes, sir."
The instructor turned to Reth. "And you—less taunting. This isn’t a contest of wit."
Reth chuckled, his golden eyes glinting with mischief. "Yes, sir."
________________________________________
As the other initiates dispersed, Kid lingered near the sparring area, her frustration still simmering beneath the surface. Reth approached her, his saber clipped to his belt.
"You’re not bad," he said, his tone more genuine this time. "A little fiery, maybe, but I like that."
Kid scowled. "I don’t need your approval."
"Good," he said with a grin. "But for the record, you almost had me a couple of times."
She glanced at him, her frustration fading slightly. "Almost doesn’t count."
"True," he admitted. "But hey, if you ever want to spar again, I’m up for it. Maybe next time, we can make it interesting."
Kid arched an eyebrow. "Interesting how?"
He smirked, his sharp teeth glinting. "You can use your lightning, and I’ll see if I can still beat you."
She couldn’t help but grin. "Deal."

Chapter Text

The week in the sanctuary passed faster than Kid had expected.
Each day unfolded in a rhythm: structured group training, hands-on village work, and increasingly, one-on-one time with Shara. What had started as a wary coexistence turned into something more. Shara wasn’t just a Sith exile or Reth’s mother—she was becoming Kid’s mentor in a way Master Windu couldn’t be.
During communal training sessions, Kid refined her lightsaber forms under the instructors’ watchful eyes and learned to spar with discipline rather than frustration. Though her storm still brewed beneath the surface, she stopped trying to bury it. Shara didn’t ask her to suppress it—she showed her how to shape it.
In the evenings, they’d peel away from the others—sometimes to a quiet glade, sometimes to the edge of the forest—and train in silence. Shara’s lessons didn’t involve drills or katas. She guided Kid in something far more alien: gentleness.
One night, after sparring left her arms aching and shoulders tight, Shara had her lie on her back beneath the stars. “Focus on the tension,” she murmured, placing Kid’s fingers along her own thigh. “Now coax it out.”
Kid sent the smallest current pulsing through her limbs. Just enough to spark a tingle beneath the skin. The ache dulled.
“It’s weird,” she whispered.
“It’s working,” Shara replied. “You’re not attacking the pain. You’re inviting it to leave.”
The next day, they helped an elder initiate with chronic leg cramps. Under Shara’s supervision, Kid applied low-frequency pulses along the boy’s calf. His brow furrowed at first—then his leg twitched and relaxed.
“You shocked me,” the boy said, blinking. Then he laughed. “But it helped.”
On the fourth day, a veteran villager—missing a hand from an old war—collapsed during morning chores. She shook, overwhelmed by pain where the limb had once been. While others panicked, Kid knelt beside her. Shara said nothing—she just gave a slow nod.
Kid pressed two fingers to the woman’s neck and shoulder. Gentle static hummed from her skin like a soft purr. Slowly, the woman’s breathing steadied.
“You shocked me,” she said afterward, through watery laughter. “And I think I love you for it.”
That night, they worked on a deeper challenge. A farmer’s son had a cut on his palm that wasn’t healing. “Try,” Shara said. “Thread it like silk.”
Kid’s hand trembled. She pushed too hard. The wound sparked, seared slightly. She winced. The boy hissed but didn’t pull away. “It’s okay,” he muttered.
“Again,” Shara said, quietly.
This time, Kid went slower. Tiny arcs like silver hairs wove across the cut. The skin shivered—then closed a little more.
“Barely moved,” Kid muttered.
“But it moved,” Shara said. “Healing begins with belief. We’ll work on the rest.”
On the fifth day, they sat beside a villager with old nerve damage in one hand. His fingers hadn’t curled in years. Shara didn’t ask Kid to heal him. Just to observe. To touch. To spark. A twitch ran through his index finger.
“It’s not about commanding the body,” Shara whispered. “You’re reminding it how to move.”
Kid blinked, sweat beading along her jawline as she steadied the voltage. “But why doesn’t anyone else teach this?”
Shara’s gaze drifted to the trees, to the sky, maybe to her past. “Because too few of us ever wanted to learn. Funny, isn’t it?” Shara murmured one evening as lightning flickered between Kid’s fingers. “I spent half my life learning how to hurt people with this power. No one ever taught me what it could do for pain—except cause it.
And for the first time, Kid didn’t feel like a storm. She felt like a thread in something bigger—a pattern, a rhythm, a song.
________________________________________
Despite their differences, Kid and Reth quickly became close friends. They sparred often, their matches drawing curious onlookers who were eager to see the fiery dynamic between the lightning-wielding girl and the Sith Pureblood. When they weren’t training, they explored the village and the surrounding wilderness, sharing stories about their pasts and dreams for the future.
Reth’s playful confidence balanced Kid’s cautious determination, and he often encouraged her to see her abilities as a gift rather than a burden. For her part, Kid found herself intrigued by his perspective—a mix of Sith pragmatism and Jedi discipline.
One evening, as they sat by the village’s communal fire, Reth turned to her, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "Do you ever feel like you’re stuck between two worlds?"
Kid nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on the flames. "Yeah. All the time."
"Me too," he admitted. "But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe it means we get to pick the best parts of both."
She smiled faintly, his words lingering in her mind long after the fire had died down.
________________________________________
When the week came to an end, Kid was reluctant to leave. The sanctuary had become a place where she could breathe, where she didn’t feel the constant weight of judgment or fear. And leaving meant saying goodbye to Reth, who had quickly become a source of strength and understanding.
As Windu packed their belongings, Reth approached him, his golden eyes serious. "When will you be back?"
Windu glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "Three weeks. We’ll stay for another week."
Reth nodded, his relief evident. "Good. I’ll be ready to spar again by then."
Kid grinned, though it was tinged with sadness. "You’d better be. I’m not holding back next time."
Reth smirked, crossing his arms. "You didn’t hold back this time. And I still won."
"Only because the instructor stopped us," she shot back, sticking out her tongue.
Windu cleared his throat, a faint hint of amusement in his tone. "Let’s go, Kid."
She turned to Reth one last time. "See you in three weeks."
"Don’t forget to practice," he called after her, his grin widening. "You’ll need it."
As she and Windu left the sanctuary, the village growing smaller behind them, Kid felt a mix of emotions. She was sad to leave but hopeful for what was to come. For the first time, she realized that the Force wasn’t just about power or discipline—it was about connection. And that was a lesson she would carry with her, no matter where the journey took her next.

The grand halls of the Jedi Temple felt both familiar and foreign to Kid as she and Windu entered. The quiet hum of activity, the subtle presence of the Force coursing through the walls, and the disciplined movements of Jedi passing by reminded her how different this place was from the sanctuary. But it wasn’t the place that caught her attention—it was the two figures waiting for her.
Master Yareen, her serene expression warm with anticipation, stood alongside Avery, her sharp features lighting up with a grin. The sight of them brought an uncharacteristic lump to Kid’s throat.
"Kid!" Avery called out, running toward her, her ponytail bouncing behind her.
Kid barely had time to react before Avery wrapped her arms around her in a fierce hug. She froze for a moment, then hugged her back tightly, her breath hitching. "You’re here," she whispered, her voice cracking.
"Of course I am," Avery said, pulling back with a teasing grin. "You didn’t think I’d let you go off on some adventure and not come back to brag about it, did you?"
Kid laughed, though tears stung her eyes. Master Yareen approached next, her calm demeanor softening as she knelt to embrace Kid. "You’ve grown, little one," she said gently. "But it seems the galaxy hasn’t managed to change you too much."
Kid clung to her for a moment before stepping back, her mind racing. "What about Adell? Where is he?"
________________________________________
Avery’s grin faltered slightly, and she glanced at Master Yareen. Yareen met her gaze, her expression shifting to one of quiet understanding.
"Adell…" Avery began, her voice softer now. "Adell was adopted."
Kid blinked, her stomach sinking. "Adopted? What do you mean? How? Why?"
Master Yareen stepped forward, placing a steady hand on Kid’s shoulder. "Kid, you remember how we lived on Nar Shaddaa. I posed as a foster parent for younglings like you to blend in, to protect you. It also allowed us to receive resources—food and lodging to care for all of you."
Kid nodded slowly, her heart pounding. "Yeah, I remember. But what does that have to do with Adell?"
Yareen’s expression turned bittersweet. "When we left Nar Shaddaa, we gave every youngling a choice. Some wanted to train as Jedi, some chose other paths. Adell… Adell Tanner now… told us he wanted a normal life. A family. And when a good family offered to adopt him, he accepted."
"But…" Kid’s voice wavered. "But he was like us. He was part of our family."
Yareen’s grip on her shoulder tightened gently. "He still is, Kid. He still cares about you, about all of us. He said he would contact us as soon as the Empire leaves his new home. He wanted you to know he’s safe."
________________________________________
Kid swallowed hard, her thoughts swirling. She wanted to be angry, to feel betrayed, but all she could manage was an aching sadness. "He’s safe?" she asked softly.
Yareen nodded. "He is. And he’ll reach out when it’s safe for him to do so."
Avery stepped closer, her grin returning, though it was softer now. "Hey, don’t look so down. Adell might have a new last name, but you know him—he’ll always come back when he can."
Kid nodded slowly, letting the comfort of their words sink in. Then, without warning, she pulled both Yareen and Avery into another hug, her small frame trembling as she clung to them.
"Missed you guys," she muttered, her voice muffled.
"We missed you too," Yareen said warmly, her arms wrapping around Kid with a motherly gentleness.
Avery chuckled, ruffling Kid’s hair. "Don’t get all mushy on me, okay? I’ve got a reputation to maintain."
Kid laughed through her tears, the sound lightening the weight in her chest. For the first time since leaving Nar Shaddaa, she felt a sense of belonging, even if it was bittersweet.
As they pulled apart, Yareen smiled softly and reached into her pocket. "Kid, there’s something I want to give you." She pulled out a steel chain necklace, the pendant a small monarch butterfly made of polished metal. It glimmered faintly in the light.
Kid’s expression twisted, her blue eyes narrowing as she stared at the necklace. "Is this some kind of joke?" she snapped, her voice sharp with disbelief.
Yareen shook her head, unfazed by Kid’s anger. "It’s not a joke," she said firmly. "This belonged to Lord Korrash. He helped many younglings escape Nar Shaddaa, Kid. He acted as a spy, risking his life time and again. In his own way, he cared about you. And he died defending the temple on Nar Shaddaa."
Kid’s breath caught, the weight of Yareen’s words settling over her like a storm cloud. She stared at the pendant, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.
Yareen stepped closer, holding the necklace out to her. "He was my friend, Kid. Whatever he was before, he chose to fight for the right thing in the end. I think he would have wanted you to have this."
Kid hesitated, her emotions a whirlwind of anger, grief, and something she couldn’t quite name. Slowly, she reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she took the necklace. The butterfly felt cool against her palm, its weight both comforting and heavy.
Yareen placed a hand on Kid’s shoulder, her gaze steady. "Keep it as a reminder that no one is beyond redemption through the Light of the Force. Even someone raised as a Sith."
Kid nodded slowly, swallowing hard as she clasped the necklace around her neck. The butterfly pendant settled against her chest, and she touched it lightly, her expression unreadable.
"Thank you," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Yareen smiled gently. "You’re welcome, Kid."
Avery watched the exchange, her usual teasing demeanor softened by the moment. "It suits you," she said, her voice light but sincere.
Kid gave her a small, fleeting smile. "Yeah… maybe it does."
As they turned to leave, the necklace gleamed faintly in the light, a quiet symbol of hope and redemption that Kid would carry with her on her journey.
The warm reunion lingered in Kid’s thoughts as the day went on, but she couldn’t shake the restless energy that bubbled beneath the surface. After all, there were still things she wanted to learn, abilities she needed to refine. That thought carried her to Master Windu’s side later that evening, her usual eagerness replacing the sadness from earlier.
The Jedi Temple was quiet in the evening, the halls dimly lit as Kid, Master Windu, and Master Yareen stood near one of the training rooms. Kid fidgeted slightly, her excitement barely contained.
"Master," Kid began, her voice tinged with eagerness, "there’s a training room where I can practice my lightning, right? I mean, if I’m careful?"
Windu’s expression hardened slightly, his arms crossing as he turned to her. "No."
Kid blinked, her excitement fading. "No? Why not? I’ve been practicing control—"
"It’s not about whether you’ve been practicing," Windu interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. "The Force Lightning technique is dangerous, and without proper supervision, it’s not safe to attempt. I need to contact Master Plo Koon."
"Master Plo Koon?" Kid repeated, her brow furrowing. "Why him?"
"Because his mastery of lightning is unparalleled," Windu explained. "He has refined it into something precise, something purposeful. If anyone is going to teach you control, it’s him."
Kid deflated slightly, but before she could argue further, Master Yareen stepped forward, her calm demeanor softening the tension. "Master Windu, I could supervise her. I’ve spent time helping Kid refine her technique. She’s improved greatly since Nar Shaddaa."
Windu shook his head. "No. With all due respect, Master Yareen, this isn’t about rank. It’s about expertise. Plo Koon’s understanding of lightning goes far beyond what most Jedi know. I want Kid to learn that level of control, and it’s not just for her safety—it’s for everyone’s."
Yareen sighed, her calm mask slipping slightly. "I understand your concern, Master Windu. But for the record, I do know Force Lightning. It’s… painful. My control isn’t what it should be, so I haven’t mastered it yet."
Kid, who had been quietly absorbing the exchange, couldn’t help but interject. "That’s because you keep trying to shoot it out of your palm like a blaster. It’s supposed to come through your fingers!"
Windu’s head turned sharply toward her, but before he could reprimand her, Avery piped up, her arms crossed and her face scrunched with frustration. "At least she can get it out! I keep trying to throw it like a ball. It doesn’t work like that either."
Kid nodded solemnly, clearly exasperated. "Yeah, it’s not a ball, Avery. It’s supposed to flow, not explode."
Windu’s lips twitched, but he masked his amusement with a sigh. "This is exactly why I’m calling Plo Koon. His control isn’t just refined—it’s artful. Did you know he can keep a coin from falling to the ground by sending small bolts of lightning to push it back up repeatedly?"
Kid’s eyes widened, the frustration in her expression replaced by awe. "He can do that? That’s so cool."
"Cool isn’t the point," Windu said, though his tone was less stern now. "It’s about discipline, precision, and understanding the Force in ways you haven’t yet grasped. That’s why you need him to teach you—not me, and not Master Yareen."
Yareen smiled faintly, inclining her head. "I won’t argue with you on that. Plo Koon’s control is on a level I can only admire. And perhaps he can teach me a thing or two while he’s here."
Windu arched an eyebrow but said nothing, instead focusing on Kid. "Until then, no lightning practice. Understood?"
Kid groaned but nodded. "Fine. But he better get here soon. I want to see this coin trick."

The specialized training room hummed faintly with energy, its reinforced walls designed to contain any stray Force Lightning. The air felt heavier here, charged with potential, as Plo Koon stood at the center of the room, his calm yet commanding presence filling the space.
Master Yareen, Kid, and Avery stood in a loose semicircle around him, their expressions ranging from nervous anticipation to cautious determination.
Plo Koon clasped his hands behind his back, his deep, resonant voice breaking the silence. "It seems the art of Force Lightning has attracted a unique group of students," he said, his tone neutral but edged with faint amusement. "Each of you has sought to master this technique, yet each of you struggles in your own way. Today, we will begin to address those struggles."
He turned his gaze to Kid first. "Kid Magdalene. Your power is evident, but your control is… inconsistent. Lightning is not about force or anger—it is about focus. You must learn to channel, not overwhelm."
Kid nodded, her nerves visible in the way her fingers fidgeted. "I’ll try."
Next, he shifted to Master Yareen. "Master Yareen. You carry a great deal of tension when summoning lightning. This tension disrupts the flow, creating instability. Your challenge will be to release that tension without losing control."
Yareen inclined her head, her face calm but her hands clasped tightly. "Understood."
Finally, Plo Koon turned to Avery. The young girl stood with her arms crossed, her brow furrowed in concentration. "And Avery. Your struggle is one of potential. You attempt to summon something that requires more power than you currently possess. Your lesson is patience—learning to harness what you have, rather than forcing what is beyond you."
Avery huffed, clearly frustrated but nodding nonetheless. "Fine. But it feels like nothing happens when I try."
Plo Koon stepped back, raising one hand as faint arcs of electricity danced between his fingers. "Observe."
He extended his other hand, and a small coin floated from his robes. With precise, controlled jolts of lightning, he began to bounce the coin in the air, each spark lifting it higher before gently lowering it again. The display was mesmerizing—elegant, deliberate, and entirely in control.
"Lightning is not raw power," Plo Koon said as the coin floated back into his hand. "It is an extension of the Force, a flow that must be guided. Now, let’s see how each of you approaches this."
________________________________________
Kid stepped forward first, her fingers sparking with energy. She focused hard, the electricity building rapidly in her hands. But as she tried to release it, the power surged uncontrollably, arcing wildly across the room. The walls absorbed the energy, but the intensity left Kid gasping.
"Too much, too soon," Plo Koon said, his voice steady. "You must learn to temper your emotions. Power is not the goal—control is. Again."
Kid nodded, her face flushed with effort. She tried again, this time releasing a smaller charge. It was still chaotic, but slightly more focused. Plo Koon gave her a small nod of encouragement.
________________________________________
Master Yareen stepped forward next, closing her eyes as she summoned the lightning. The energy built slowly in her palm, crackling faintly. But as she tried to release it, the tension in her body caused the lightning to fizzle and dissipate.
"You’re holding back," Plo Koon observed. "The Force flows through you, not from you. Allow it to move naturally, without fear."
Yareen tried again, her movements more fluid this time. The lightning sparked briefly before fading, but Plo Koon nodded. "Better. Let go of the tension. Trust in the Force."
________________________________________
Finally, it was Avery’s turn. She stepped forward, her face scrunched in concentration as she extended her hand. A faint spark flickered, barely visible, before vanishing entirely.
Avery groaned in frustration. "See? It’s like there’s nothing there!"
Plo Koon approached her, his tone patient. "Your power is there, but it is small. Instead of summoning a storm, summon a single spark. Focus not on what you lack, but on what you have."
Avery took a deep breath, her expression softening. She tried again, this time focusing on a single point. A tiny spark flickered between her fingers, faint but steady.
Plo Koon inclined his head. "Good. Build from there."
________________________________________
As the session continued, Plo Koon moved between the three students, offering guidance and corrections. By the end of the lesson, each had made progress—Kid’s lightning was less chaotic, Yareen’s flow was steadier, and Avery’s sparks were becoming more consistent.
But as Plo Koon observed them, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of the task ahead. Teaching Force Lightning to a group so varied in skill and experience would require patience and precision. Yet, as he watched their determination, he knew it was a challenge worth undertaking.
"Each of you has potential," he said as the session ended. "But mastery requires time, effort, and discipline. Remember—lightning is not about destruction. It is about understanding. Continue to practice, and you will find your way."

The specialized training room buzzed faintly as Avery stood before Master Plo Koon, her stance steady despite her obvious nerves. Kid and Master Yareen watched from a short distance, their curiosity piqued. Master Plo Koon’s calm and measured demeanor filled the room as he regarded Avery thoughtfully.
"Avery," Plo Koon began, his deep voice resonating with authority and kindness, "have you considered what it would mean to become a Padawan?"
Avery blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise. "Me? A Padawan? I mean, I’ve thought about it, but…" She hesitated, glancing down at her training lightsaber. "I don’t even have a real lightsaber yet. My Shii-Cho form is far from defined. I have to improvise just to stay in matches, and I burn through way more energy than the other initiates who are… well, sturdier than me."
Plo Koon’s expression didn’t change, but his head tilted slightly, his eyes glinting with understanding. "A fair assessment," he said. "But tell me, are you familiar with Ataru—Form IV?"
Avery frowned, shaking her head. "No, Master. What’s Ataru?"
Master Plo Koon placed his hands behind his back, his tone taking on a more instructive cadence. "Ataru is a highly acrobatic and aggressive lightsaber form. It emphasizes speed, agility, and fluid movements, using the wielder's surroundings and momentum to their advantage. It requires incredible physical stamina, as its practitioners are constantly moving, striking, and evading."
Avery listened intently, her brow furrowing. "That… doesn’t sound easy."
Plo Koon’s eyes twinkled faintly. "It is not. Ataru is one of the most physically demanding forms of lightsaber combat. Few can master it. But it may surprise you to learn that it is the form used by none other than Grand Master Yoda himself."
Avery’s eyes widened. "Yoda? Grand Master Yoda uses it?"
Plo Koon nodded. "Indeed. Despite his small stature, Master Yoda’s mastery of Ataru allows him to overcome opponents much larger and stronger than himself. He uses his speed, agility, and precision to outmaneuver and outlast them. For someone of your size and build, Ataru may be an ideal path."
Avery glanced down at her hands, her mind racing. She was small, quick, and resourceful—but the idea of learning something so advanced seemed daunting. "It sounds… amazing. But wouldn’t I need to be really strong to even start?"
Plo Koon smiled faintly, his voice steady. "Strength will come with time and training. What matters now is determination. I am willing to train you in Ataru, but it will not be easy. I want you to spend one week here, focusing solely on this form. If you can endure the training, then you will have proven you’re ready to be my Padawan."
Avery straightened, her determination flaring. "I can do it, Master. I’m up for it."
Plo Koon chuckled softly, the sound warm and almost fatherly. "We shall see, young one. Most initiates do not make it past day two. Ataru demands everything from its practitioners—mind, body, and spirit. It is not just a test of skill, but of will."
Avery crossed her arms, her chin lifting stubbornly. "I’ll make it past day two. I’ll make it through the whole week."
Plo Koon’s laughter was deep and genuine as he regarded her with a mix of admiration and amusement. "Your spirit is strong, Avery. But strength of spirit must be matched with discipline and resilience. Begin your training tomorrow. We shall see if Ataru is truly your path."
feel the weight of the challenge ahead. Still, she wasn’t about to back down—not now, not ever.

Chapter Text

The early morning air was cool and damp, with only the faintest glimmers of dawn breaking through the darkness. The training field was quiet except for the distant rustle of leaves. Avery stood at the center, her training saber clutched tightly in her hand, her breath visible in the chill. Master Plo Koon stood a few paces away, his calm, imposing presence a stark contrast to her nervous energy.
"Still dark," Avery muttered, her voice barely a whisper. "Isn’t it too early for training?"
"Discipline begins before the sun rises," Plo Koon replied, his deep, resonant voice carrying over the field. "You want to learn Ataru. You want to master Force Lightning. Then you must first learn to be both—lightning in motion and lightning in essence."
Avery’s brow furrowed. "Lightning in essence?"
Plo Koon gestured for her to sit. "Summon your lightning."
The girl hesitated but did as instructed, extending her fingers as faint, erratic sparks danced across her fingertips. They flickered, weak and fleeting, before dissipating entirely. Avery sighed, frustrated. "I told you—I can’t keep it steady."
"You’re thinking of lightning as a tool," Plo Koon said, his voice calm. "It is not. Lightning is a force of nature. It is unpredictable, random, chaotic. To control it, you must become it."
Avery tilted her head, confused. "Become lightning?"
"Like Ataru," he continued. "It is not simply a lightsaber form—it is a way of being. Fluid, dynamic, relentless. Lightning flows through the Force as Ataru flows through combat. Neither can be constrained by rigid rules or expectations. They adapt, they evolve. And so must you."
Avery nodded slowly, her curiosity piqued. "Okay, but what does that have to do with me being tired?"
Plo Koon stepped closer, his tone softening but still firm. "Your body requires energy—electrolytes, fluids, sustenance. The Force can provide these things if you learn to draw from it. Summoning lightning is not just about power; it is about renewal. When you are tired, when your muscles ache, call upon the Force to restore you."
"Restore me?" Avery repeated, skeptical.
Plo Koon nodded. "The food will come three times a day, and water will be provided throughout. But between meals, when exhaustion sets in, I want you to draw on your Force Lightning to replenish your strength. Let it surge through you, not as a weapon but as a lifeline."
Avery swallowed, glancing at her hands. "I’ll… try."
"Trying is the first step," Plo Koon said. "But it will not be easy."
________________________________________
The drills started before the sun rose fully. Plo Koon led Avery through a series of Ataru exercises—leaping strikes, acrobatic evasion, rapid spins. The movements were fluid yet demanding, each one requiring bursts of speed and precision. Avery struggled to keep up, her smaller frame working overtime to match the intensity of the form.
By midday, her limbs trembled with exhaustion, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She dropped to one knee, clutching her side. "Master… I can’t."
"You can," Plo Koon said, his voice steady but insistent. "Stand. Summon your lightning."
Avery shook her head, sweat dripping down her face. "I don’t have any left."
Plo Koon knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You do. Close your eyes. Focus not on your exhaustion but on the Force within you. Let it flow through you. Feel the charge, the spark. Restore yourself."
Hesitant but determined, Avery closed her eyes. She reached out, not to her fatigue but beyond it, into the Force. Slowly, faint sparks began to flicker at her fingertips. They grew brighter, steadier, until a gentle current flowed through her hands. She gasped as a surge of energy coursed through her body, her exhaustion ebbing away.
Her eyes snapped open, wide with amazement. "It worked… I feel better."
Plo Koon nodded, a faint smile on his lips. "You are learning."
________________________________________
As the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, Avery continued her drills, her movements sharper and more confident. She leapt and spun, her saber slicing through the air with growing precision. She still stumbled occasionally, her footing unsteady, but the determination in her eyes was unmistakable.
From the edge of the field, a small figure approached, leaning on a gimer stick. Grand Master Yoda watched silently, his expression thoughtful as he observed Avery’s training.
After a while, Plo Koon joined him, his tone respectful. "Master Yoda. I wasn’t expecting you."
Yoda chuckled softly, his ears twitching. "Curious, I am. Watch young Avery, I wished to. See much of myself in her, I do."
Plo Koon glanced back at Avery, who was now practicing a series of leaps and strikes. "She has potential. But the path she’s chosen is not an easy one."
"Easy, no," Yoda agreed, his tone growing reflective. "Ataru, it demands much. Strength, agility, resilience. Struggled with it, I did, when young I was. Difficult to master, but worth it, it was."
Plo Koon tilted his head, intrigued. "You struggled with Ataru?"
Yoda nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Small, I was. Weak, others thought me. Prove them wrong, I had to. Learn, adapt, grow. As she must."
The two Masters watched as Avery pushed herself further, her determination unwavering despite her exhaustion.
"Strong spirit, she has," Yoda said. "But guide her, we must. Not only in technique but in balance. Ataru, like lightning, is a force of nature. Use it wisely, she must."
Plo Koon inclined his head. "She has the heart of a Jedi. And she is learning to channel her strength."
Yoda tapped his stick lightly on the ground. "Watch her closely, you will. Ensure her growth, we must. A Padawan, she may yet become."
As the sun set on the training field, Avery completed her final drill of the day, her body aching but her spirit soaring. She glanced toward Plo Koon, who gave her a small nod of approval, and toward Yoda, whose presence filled her with a quiet sense of pride.
The journey was far from over, but for Avery, it was a step closer to realizing her potential—and a reminder that even the smallest sparks could ignite the brightest flames.

The mess hall was alive with chatter and the clatter of utensils, but Kid sat alone at one of the smaller tables, her tray of food untouched in front of her. Her shoulders slumped slightly as she poked at a piece of fruit with her fork, her blue eyes flicking occasionally to the groups of younglings huddled together at other tables, their laughter and whispers filling the room.
Avery entered, her steps light but deliberate. Her hair was slightly disheveled from the day’s grueling training, and she moved with the stiffness of someone already feeling the ache of sore muscles setting in. Spotting Kid, she made her way over, tray in hand.
"Hey," Avery greeted, sliding into the seat across from Kid. She frowned when she noticed the untouched tray. "Why are you sitting all the way over here? By yourself?"
Kid shrugged, not looking up. "Because they think I’m a Sith."
Avery’s face darkened as she turned her gaze to the other younglings, who occasionally glanced toward Kid’s table but quickly averted their eyes when caught. Their quiet avoidance was more pointed than any outright teasing. Avery’s lips pressed into a thin line before she leaned back in her seat and raised her voice, loud enough to cut through the noise of the room.
"She’s a Padawan!" Avery declared, her tone sharp and challenging. "You’re all still initiates. They’re just jealous, Kid." She made a point of glancing around the mess hall, her eyes daring anyone to argue.
No one did. The room fell uncomfortably silent for a moment before the other younglings turned back to their conversations, pretending they hadn’t been watching. Avery smirked and turned her attention back to Kid.
"See? They don’t have the guts to say anything. They’re just cowards."
Kid finally looked up, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Thanks, Avery."
Avery shrugged, digging into her own tray of food. "What are friends for?" She chewed for a moment before speaking again. "So, guess what? Master Plo Koon had me start Ataru today. You know, Form IV?"
Kid raised an eyebrow. "Isn’t that the really hard one? The one Yoda uses?"
"Yep." Avery grinned, her pride obvious. "It’s crazy demanding. I was leaping all over the place, spinning, dodging, swinging. I thought my legs were going to give out halfway through, and Master Plo Koon didn’t let up for a second. I know I’m going to be sore tomorrow, but… I’m kind of excited to do it again."
Kid’s smile grew. "Sounds like you’re handling it pretty well."
Avery leaned in conspiratorially. "I mean, yeah, it’s tough, but I’m not quitting. Not a chance." She paused, her grin faltering slightly. "Master Plo Koon did say most people don’t make it past the second day, though."
Kid’s expression grew serious, her fork paused mid-poke. "Please don’t quit, Avery," she said quietly. "I don’t want to be the only Padawan my age. I don’t want to be the only one who feels… different."
Avery softened, reaching across the table to tap Kid’s tray lightly. "I’m not going anywhere, Kid. I’ve got this. And you’ve got this, too. We’re both different, and yeah, that can be hard, but it also means we can handle stuff they can’t."
Kid nodded slowly, her smile returning. For the first time since sitting down, she picked up her fork and took a bite of food. Avery grinned at her, then went back to her own meal, the conversation easing the tension between them.
For both Padawans, the path ahead was daunting, but in that moment, they felt less alone. Together, they were learning that being different didn’t have to be a weakness—it could be a strength.
Later that evening, Kid and Avery found themselves walking through the quiet halls of the Jedi Temple after dinner, their bellies full and their earlier tensions forgotten. The hum of distant activity echoed faintly around them, but the two girls were in their own world, chatting casually as they strolled toward their quarters.
"So," Avery began, her hands clasped behind her head, "you’ve been spending a lot of time in the information archives lately. What’s the deal with that?"
Kid sighed, her steps slowing. "It’s just… boring. Reading, math, science—all day. It’s not what I thought being a Padawan would be. And honestly? I wish I was back at the Sanctuary."
Avery glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Back with Reth, huh?" She grinned mischievously. "What’s so special about him? You want to marry him or something?"
Kid froze mid-step, her eyes widening as her face turned a shade of red. "W-What? No! That’s not—Avery!" she sputtered, glaring at her friend.
Avery burst out laughing, clutching her sides. "I’m kidding! Relax, Kid! You should’ve seen your face—it was priceless."
Kid scowled but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. "You’re the worst," she muttered, shoving Avery lightly.
"Okay, okay," Avery said, still giggling. "But seriously, what’s so great about the Sanctuary? Besides, you know, your 'totally-not-a-crush' on Reth."
Kid rolled her eyes, but her expression softened. "It’s just… different there. It’s quiet but not lonely. The people are kind, even if they don’t talk much. Reth was nice to me—like, really nice. He didn’t care that I could use Force Lightning. He wasn’t scared of me. And it felt like I could just… be myself, you know?"
Avery nodded thoughtfully, her teasing grin replaced with genuine interest. "I get that. Sounds like a cool place. So, you’ve been counting the days until you can go back, huh?"
"Yeah," Kid admitted, her voice quiet. "Every day. It’s like, here I’m always trying to prove I belong. But there? I didn’t have to try so hard. I felt… normal."
Avery gave her a sideways glance, her lips twitching into a sly smirk. "Still sounds like you want to marry him."
"Ugh, stop!" Kid groaned, throwing her hands in the air. "We’re just friends! He’s… I don’t know, he’s Reth."
"Uh-huh. Sure." Avery nudged her, her grin returning. "So, what’s Reth like? Does he fight like a Sith or what?"
Kid perked up slightly at the change of tone. "He’s actually really strong. And fast. I mean, he’s been training longer than me, obviously, but he showed me some cool moves while we were sparring. He’s got this way of blending strength and precision—like, every strike feels deliberate. It’s kinda awesome."
"Sounds like someone you could learn a lot from," Avery said, her voice teasing but genuine.
"Yeah," Kid said softly, her gaze distant. "I just hope I get to see him again soon."
Avery nudged her shoulder. "You will. And when you do, you can show him all the cool stuff you’ve learned here. He’ll probably think it’s awesome."
Kid smiled, the tension from earlier fading completely. "Thanks, Avery."
"Anytime," Avery replied with a grin. "But just so you know, I’m not letting this whole 'totally-not-a-crush' thing go. I’m gonna bring it up every chance I get."
Kid groaned, but the laughter that followed echoed warmly through the halls, the sound of two friends finding solace in each other’s company.
The bunk room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the Temple’s nighttime lighting casting long shadows across the walls. The other initiates were settling in, some already under their covers while others whispered and laughed in hushed tones. Avery sat cross-legged on her bunk, absently running a hand through her hair as she replayed the evening’s conversation with Kid in her mind. The thought of Kid eating alone, isolated, left a sour taste in her mouth.
The tall initiate from before—always at the center of trouble—sauntered over, his arms crossed as he leaned against the frame of Avery’s bunk. His voice was low but carried a sharp edge. "How can you be friends with that Sith?"
Avery froze, her hand stilling mid-motion. She turned her head slowly, her eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," the tall boy said, his tone smug. "How can you be friends with her? Everyone knows what she is. She’s trouble."
Avery swung her legs over the side of the bunk, sitting up straighter. "You have no idea what she’s been through. What we’ve been through together."
The tall boy’s eyebrows rose, his interest clearly piqued. "We? Are you both from Nar Shaddaa or something?"
Avery’s jaw tightened, and she looked away. "That’s none of your business."
He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "The Dark Side corrupts, Avery. Everyone knows that. I’m just looking out for you. You don’t seem as far gone as she is, but if you want anyone to trust you—if you want to have any friends—you should stay away from her."
Avery’s hands curled into fists, her knuckles whitening as she glared at him. But when she opened her mouth to respond, no words came. Instead, she looked away, her jaw set but her eyes filled with something between anger and frustration.
The tall boy smirked, clearly taking her silence as victory. "I’m just saying, think about it. She’s not like us. She’s dangerous, and everyone knows it." With that, he turned and walked back to his group, the sound of his steps grating in the otherwise quiet room.
Avery stared at the wall, her thoughts churning. She wanted to defend Kid, to call out the boy for his ignorance, but the words he’d said about trust and friends hit a nerve she wasn’t ready to confront. For all her confidence earlier in the mess hall, she couldn’t shake the weight of his words now.
She lay back on her bunk, staring up at the ceiling as the room grew quieter, the hum of the Temple lulling her toward sleep. But even as her eyes closed, the boy’s words lingered, gnawing at her resolve.

Chapter Text

The first light of dawn seeped into the training grounds, casting a pale glow over the dew-kissed grass. Avery stood beside Master Plo Koon, the cool morning air brushing against her cheeks as she stretched in preparation for the day’s training. But her heart wasn’t in it. Her movements were stiff, her thoughts clouded.
Master Plo Koon noticed her hesitation. "You seem distracted this morning, Avery," he said gently, his deep voice breaking the silence. "Something troubling you?"
Avery stopped mid-stretch, her arms dropping to her sides. She hesitated, staring at the ground as her lip trembled. Finally, she blurted out, "Why are the initiates so mean to Kid?"
Plo Koon turned to face her fully, his calm demeanor never wavering. "A complex question, Avery. Why do you think they are?"
Avery’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. " They see the lightning and just assume she’s evil. A Sith. But she didn’t choose this—it happened to her. She didn’t ask for the Dark Side to give her powers."
Her voice broke, and tears welled in her eyes. "The Force freed her, Master. The Dark Side freed her and her mom, Denise. She didn’t choose it—it chose her. And they treat her like she did it on purpose."
Plo Koon stepped closer, his presence steady and grounding. "It is true that the Force manifests differently in each of us. Kid’s path is one of complexity, shaped by both the Light and the Dark. But fear often drives misunderstanding, Avery. Fear of what we do not know, fear of what we cannot control."
Avery shook her head, the tears spilling down her cheeks. "It’s not fair. When I first met her, I was afraid of her too. But the people here… they hate her. They don’t even try to understand. They look at her like she’s… wrong. And it’s not fair."
Her shoulders shook as she cried, her frustration and sorrow pouring out in waves. Plo Koon placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his voice low and kind. "It is not fair, Avery. And it is not right. But the path of understanding is not always easy to walk. Those who fear Kid do so because they do not know her story, nor her strength. But you do."
Avery sniffled, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "What can I do? How can I help her?"
"You are already helping her," Plo Koon said gently. "By standing by her side, by defending her when others will not, you show her that she is not alone. Sometimes, the greatest act of defiance against fear and prejudice is simply to be a friend."
Avery wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, nodding slowly. "I’ll always stand by her. She doesn’t deserve this."
Plo Koon’s voice softened further, his respect for her evident. "You have a strong heart, Avery. Compassion is a powerful force, one that bridges divides and brings understanding. Hold onto that, and you will not only help Kid—you will inspire others to see her as you do."
Avery took a deep breath, her tears slowing. She squared her shoulders, a spark of determination returning to her eyes. "Thank you, Master Plo Koon. I just… I want her to feel like she belongs here."
Plo Koon inclined his head. "With friends like you, she will."
As the morning sun crept higher into the sky, Avery felt a small weight lift from her chest. She turned her focus back to her training, her resolve renewed. No matter what, she would make sure Kid knew she wasn’t alone.
The afternoon sun hung low as Avery trudged toward the mess hall, her steps slow but steady. Her muscles ached with every movement, a dull, burning reminder of the grueling training she had endured. Sweat matted her hair, her clothes were stained with dirt, and her breath came in shallow gasps. Yet, through the exhaustion, she felt a surge of pride. The lightning she had drawn on throughout the day wasn’t like Kid’s or anyone else’s—it was hers, uniquely hers. It flowed through her body, not outward to strike, but inward, soothing the soreness in her muscles, fueling her lungs, and steadying her heart.
Master Plo Koon had watched her closely, his expression inscrutable as she pushed through her limits. She knew he had expected her to quit, but she hadn’t. Not because of stubborn pride, but because she couldn’t stand the thought of Kid being alone any longer than she had to.
As she stepped into the mess hall, the noise of chattering younglings and the clatter of trays greeted her. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on Kid, sitting at the same small, isolated table as the night before. Her friend’s nervous gaze lifted as she approached, and Avery slid onto the bench beside her without hesitation.
"Are you okay?" Kid asked, her voice tinged with concern as she took in Avery’s disheveled appearance.
Avery grinned, the exhaustion in her face softened by her determination. "I’m great. I think Master Plo Koon was actually trying to get me to quit, but I didn’t."
Kid laughed softly, though worry still lingered in her eyes. "I can see that you didn’t. But please don’t overdo it on my account."
Before Avery could respond, a sneering voice cut through the room. "Freak table." It was followed by a chorus of laughter from a nearby group of initiates.
Avery and Kid sighed in unison. Avery leaned closer, lowering her voice.
"Kava much Huttese do Uba know?" (How much Huttese do you know?)
Kid smirked, catching on. Her eyes flicked toward the snickering initiates across the room.
"Do Uba Naga Tah Tuta Ateema on?" (Do you want to from now on?)
Before Avery could answer, movement at the edge of their table caught her eye. A human boy—auburn hair, blue eyes, robes dusted from training—was approaching with a tray in his hands. He hesitated just beside the bench, eyes flicking between Avery and Kid.
"Hey, I—" he started, voice low, uncertain.
Avery’s lips parted in recognition. "OB?"
Their gazes met. For a second, something unspoken passed between them—familiarity, maybe even concern. He shifted his tray as if to sit.
Then his eyes darted toward the other initiates. Their laughter had quieted, but their stares remained sharp. One boy raised an eyebrow. Another shook his head.
His jaw clenched. Without a word, he turned and walked to another table.
Kid had seen the whole exchange. Her smirk faded slightly, replaced by something quieter—resignation, maybe. She didn’t say anything.
Avery watched him sit down across the hall. She forced a smile and leaned back toward Kid.
A nod. A beat.
"Let’s make ’em wonder."
Together, they launched into fluent Huttese, rhythmic and confident, just loud enough to draw confused glances. The surrounding tables fidgeted in their seats, unable to tell whether they were being mocked or outclassed.
The laughter faded. Uncertainty took its place.
And for a moment, the freak table felt like a fortress.
Their rapid, rhythmic dialogue was incomprehensible to most of the mess hall, but it had the desired effect. The nearby bullies exchanged confused glances, their earlier smugness replaced by uncertainty.
"What are they saying?" one whispered to another.
"Probably calling us names," the tall boy muttered, his confidence visibly shaken.
Kid and Avery shared a small laugh, their connection deepened by the shared moment. Whatever challenges lay ahead—whether in the training rooms or in the mess hall—they knew they wouldn’t face them alone. And as they spoke, the quiet solidarity between them became a shield against the judgment and fear of those who refused to understand.
For the first time in a long while, the "freak table" didn’t feel so isolating. Instead, it felt like home.

Chapter Text

The sun had barely begun to rise when Avery arrived at the training grounds, her muscles still aching from the previous day’s relentless drills. She carried herself with determination, though her pace was slightly slower than usual. She expected to see Master Plo Koon waiting for her, his calm and instructive presence a constant since her training began.
But as she approached, she froze mid-step. Standing in the center of the training area was none other than Grand Master Yoda, his small frame leaning on his gimer stick as he surveyed the surroundings with a serene expression.
"Master Yoda?" Avery said, her voice tinged with surprise.
Yoda turned, his large eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and wisdom. "Surprised, are you? Expecting Master Plo Koon, were you?"
Avery nodded, still processing the change. "Yes, Master. Where is he?"
Yoda chuckled softly. "A teacher of great knowledge, Master Plo Koon is. But for this form, an example, you need. Hands-on training, hmm?"
She tilted her head, unsure of what to say. "Are… are you going to train me, Master Yoda?"
He inclined his head, his ears twitching slightly. "Train you, I will. Ataru, my specialty, it is."
Avery blinked, stunned. "You use Ataru?"
"Surprised, you are," Yoda said, his tone light but knowing. "Small, I may be, but swift and strong the Force makes me. Ataru demands agility, focus, and strength of mind and body. Teach you, I can."
Her initial shock gave way to excitement, though she quickly tried to temper her reaction. "I’m honored, Master. I’ll do my best."
Yoda tapped his stick on the ground, his expression turning serious. "Your best, I expect. Demanding, this form is. Push you, it will. But only if ready, are you?"
Avery straightened, her sore muscles protesting, but her resolve unwavering. "I’m ready, Master."
Yoda’s lips twitched into a faint smile. "Good. Begin, we shall."
________________________________________
Yoda led Avery through the initial warm-ups, his movements surprisingly fluid and precise for someone of his stature and age. She struggled to keep up, her body still fatigued, but Yoda’s encouragement kept her moving.
"Flow like the wind, you must," he said, demonstrating a quick leap followed by a graceful spin. "Rigid, Ataru is not. Adapt, you must. Move with purpose, yet unpredictably."
Avery mimicked his movements as best she could, her leaps clumsy and her spins off-balance. She stumbled more than once, but Yoda was patient, offering corrections without judgment.
"Overthinking, you are," he said as she hesitated before a particularly difficult sequence. "Trust in the Force, and trust in yourself. Fear failure, do not."
She took a deep breath, letting his words sink in. This time, when she tried the sequence, she felt a slight shift—the movements weren’t perfect, but they were smoother, more instinctive.
"Better," Yoda said with a nod. "But faster, you must be. In battle, no time for hesitation, there is."
They continued for hours, Yoda demonstrating techniques and Avery doing her best to keep up. Though her body screamed in protest, she pushed herself, drawing on the Force to replenish her energy. Yoda’s encouragement and occasional quips kept her focused.
________________________________________
As the sun climbed higher, Yoda called for a break. Avery sank to the ground, panting heavily, her limbs trembling. She glanced at the Grand Master, who stood calmly, his breathing even and unlabored.
"How… how do you make it look so easy?" she asked between gasps.
Yoda chuckled softly. "Easy, it was not. Struggled, I did, when first learning Ataru. Small, weak, overlooked. But learn, I did. Trust in the Force, I placed. From limitations, strength, I found."
Avery frowned, her curiosity piqued. "You struggled?"
Yoda nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. "Difficult, it was, to move as others did. My size, my strength—different they were. But different, not a weakness. A lesson, it became."
Avery looked down at her trembling hands, Yoda’s words resonating deeply. "I guess… I’ve been focusing too much on what I can’t do."
"Focus on what you can," Yoda said gently. "Adapt, grow, and thrive. That is the way of Ataru—and the way of the Jedi."
________________________________________
As the session came to an end, Yoda dismissed Avery with a few final words of encouragement. Though she was exhausted, her spirit felt lighter, her determination renewed.
"You’ve learned much today," Yoda said as she bowed. "Return tomorrow, ready to learn more, you will."
"Thank you, Master Yoda," Avery said, her voice filled with gratitude.
As she walked away, her mind buzzed with everything she had learned. The pain and fatigue of the day were still there, but so was a sense of accomplishment. For the first time, she felt like she was truly beginning to understand the essence of Ataru—not just as a lightsaber form, but as a way of thinking and moving through the galaxy.
The initiates gathered in their usual training room, their chatter echoing off the walls as they waited for Master Yoda. The mood was subdued, a palpable undercurrent of unease running through the group. Yoda was rarely late, and his absence this morning was uncharacteristic.
Avery, however, seemed oblivious to the tension. She sat beside Kid at the edge of the room, her excitement bubbling over as she recounted her lessons with the Grand Master—in Huttese, of course.
"Master Yoda," Avery began, the name rolling off her tongue with an affectionate familiarity, "lo batsu gee atonoya mah tyon alata. (He’s teaching me how to center myself before any movement.)" Her tone was animated, her hands gesturing as she spoke.
Kid smirked, her own Huttese fluent and quick. "Lo Yoda gee? (Master Yoda, huh?)" she teased, though her eyes sparkled with genuine happiness for her friend.
Avery nodded enthusiastically, her grin wide. "Fa'lo huna meh shyaa un batsa. (It’s amazing how much I’ve learned in just one day!)"
The room grew quieter, the other initiates’ attention subtly shifting toward them. Every mention of Yoda’s name in Avery’s enthusiastic tone felt like a blow to their pride. For some, it wasn’t just jealousy—it was a bitter reminder that they hadn’t earned the Grand Master’s personal attention.
The tall boy from the bunk room, the one who always seemed to stir trouble, couldn’t hold back any longer. He leaned over to his group, his voice just loud enough to carry. "You notice how she can’t stop saying 'Yoda'? Like it’s some kind of trophy."
His words were met with murmurs of agreement, their bitterness feeding off one another. "She thinks she’s so special," another initiate muttered. "Like she’s better than the rest of us."
Avery, still lost in her conversation with Kid, didn’t notice the tension building around her. Kid, however, glanced up, her keen instincts catching the subtle glares and the way the other initiates huddled closer together.
"Shu fomuji? (Do you feel that?)" Kid asked in Huttese, her tone low.
Avery paused, her excitement dimming as she followed Kid’s gaze. "Lo ji bai d'huna beeba. (It’s just jealousy, right?)"
Kid shrugged, her blue eyes narrowing. "Lo ga tahba d'kreetcha. (Maybe more than jealousy.)"
The tall boy stood abruptly, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "Why don’t you say it in Basic, Avery? Or are you afraid to?"
The room went silent, all eyes turning to the exchange. Avery straightened, her gaze locking with his. "I didn’t realize my language choice was your business," she said, switching to Basic without missing a beat.
"It’s everyone’s business," he shot back, his tone sharp. "You walk in here talking about Yoda like he’s only training you. Like the rest of us don’t matter."
Avery’s jaw tightened, but before she could respond, Kid stood up, her voice calm but firm. "She earned that training. Maybe if you spent less time watching her and more time working on your own skills, you’d get noticed too."
The tall boy’s face flushed, his fists clenching at his sides. "Of course you’d defend her. You two are the same—always trying to act like you’re better than us."
"We don’t think we’re better," Avery said, her voice steady despite the tension. "But maybe you think we are because you can’t handle someone else getting what you want."
The air in the room grew heavier, the unspoken animosity bubbling just beneath the surface. Before the situation could escalate further, the doors slid open, and Master Windu stepped in, his presence immediately commanding the room’s attention.
"Enough," Windu said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of authority. "Everyone, to your positions. Training begins now."
The initiates scrambled to comply, the confrontation left unresolved but simmering just below the surface. As Avery and Kid moved to their spots, Avery leaned closer to Kid, her voice low.
"This is getting worse," she murmured.
Kid nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Yeah. But you handled that well."
Avery gave a small, tight smile. "Let’s hope it doesn’t boil over."
The training room buzzed with activity as initiates paired off for sparring matches. Avery and Kid stood opposite each other in the center of the room, training sabers ignited and held at the ready.
Avery’s movements were fluid, precise, and confident—clear signs of her grueling training with Master Plo Koon. Kid, meanwhile, approached the match with her usual determination, but it was obvious that Avery’s skill had outpaced her own.
As they began, Avery quickly took the upper hand, her strikes controlled but firm, her footwork graceful and calculated. Kid struggled to keep up, her defensive stances faltering under the weight of Avery’s attacks.
"You’ve gotten… really good," Kid said between heavy breaths, barely managing to parry Avery’s next swing.
Avery smiled, her tone encouraging. "You’re doing fine, Kid. But try not to overcommit to your blocks. Keep your movements smaller—it’ll save energy."
The sparring felt more like a lesson than a duel, with Avery frequently pausing to correct Kid’s stances or adjust her grip. Kid couldn’t help but admire her friend’s growth, even as she grew frustrated with her own shortcomings.
"See? You’re already improving," Avery said after a particularly clean deflection from Kid.
Before Kid could respond, a sharp voice cut through the room. "You should challenge yourself with someone skilled, Avery."
Both girls turned to see the tall boy from the bunk room approaching, his training saber ignited. He carried it with the poise of someone who had spent hours perfecting his form.
"You need to spar with someone who’ll actually push you," he continued, his tone dripping with condescension. "Not someone who’s still learning how to hold a saber."
Avery narrowed her eyes but remained calm. "And you’d be that person?"
The boy stopped a few paces away, offering a crisp salute before adopting a stance that Avery immediately recognized. The curved lines, the refined precision—it was unmistakable.
"Makashi," Avery said, her voice betraying a hint of surprise. "Form Two. Great for dueling, but it’s practically useless on missions. It can’t block blaster fire. You’re never going to get picked as a Padawan if you’re a liability."
The boy’s expression darkened, but his confidence didn’t waver. "Jedi Initiate Chappelle," he introduced himself with a smirk. "And maybe you should worry less about what works on missions and more about whether you can handle me. I don’t need to block blaster fire—I just need to keep proving that I’m better than everyone else."
Avery sighed, shaking her head. "That’s not how this works, Chappelle. It’s not about being better than everyone else. It’s about growth, discipline, and serving others."
Chappelle tilted his head, his smirk growing. "That’s what they tell the ones who aren’t good enough to stand out. But I’ll make you a deal—you don’t have to duel me if you’re too afraid."
The room grew tense, the other initiates turning to watch the exchange. Kid glanced nervously at Avery, who stared Chappelle down with a steady gaze.
"I’m not afraid," Avery said evenly, stepping forward and igniting her saber. "But if we’re doing this, don’t say I didn’t warn you."
Chappelle’s grin widened as he settled into his Makashi stance, his saber held at a precise angle. "Let’s see what you’ve got, then."
The air was electric as Avery and Chappelle squared off in the center of the training room, the crowd of initiates forming a loose circle around them. Avery took a deep breath, her fingers flexing around the hilt of her training saber. Chappelle, meanwhile, stood tall and poised, his stance rigidly precise in the Makashi salute.
"You’re about to get a lesson in control," Chappelle sneered, his confidence radiating off him like a beacon.
Avery gave a small, knowing smile. "We’ll see."
The match began with a clash of sabers, Chappelle’s strikes measured and deliberate, each one aimed to test Avery’s defenses. Avery responded with a flurry of movement, rolling under his attacks, spinning out of reach, and diving into unpredictable positions. Her improvisation seemed chaotic at first, but it allowed her to stay agile, forcing Chappelle to keep adjusting his approach.
"You look ridiculous," Chappelle scoffed. "Spins and dives don’t make you a Jedi."
Avery didn’t respond. She darted forward, feinting low before twisting her body into a wide arc, her saber narrowly missing Chappelle’s side.
For the first time, his confidence faltered. He realized he’d never fought anyone like Avery before—someone who was willing to sacrifice their body for an opening, someone who turned unpredictability into a weapon.
As the match wore on, Chappelle’s breathing grew heavier, his strikes slower. Sweat dripped down his brow as he struggled to keep up with Avery’s relentless pace. She, on the other hand, seemed to grow sharper, her movements fluid and unyielding.
A faint crackle danced across her arm—barely more than static—but Chappelle’s eyes locked onto it like a predator.
"Stop!" Chappelle shouted, stepping back and lowering his saber. His chest heaved as he pointed an accusatory finger at Avery. "You’re cheating! No using the Force during a lightsaber duel."
Avery blinked, her saber still ignited. "I’m not—"
"Yes, you are!" Chappelle interrupted, turning to the crowd. "You all saw it! She’s using the Force to refuel herself."
The initiates murmured among themselves, divided. Some nodded in agreement, while others shook their heads, claiming they hadn’t seen anything unusual. Kid stood off to the side, her jaw tightening as she watched the scene unfold.
Chappelle’s gaze darted around the room, desperate for validation. Then he saw it—a faint spark of lightning trailing up Avery’s arm. He jabbed his finger at her, his voice rising. "There! Look! She’s using the Dark Side!"
The room erupted in whispers, the tension thick and suffocating. Avery’s eyes widened, her shock quickly replaced by anger. "I’m not using the Dark Side! I’ve been training to control my lightning!"
"Control it?" Chappelle spat, his frustration spilling over into fury. "You’re a liar. Just like your freak friend over there."
Before anyone could react, Chappelle raised his hand, and Avery gasped as an invisible grip tightened around her throat. He was Force Choking her.
The room froze in stunned silence. Kid’s eyes flared with anger, and she began charging up her lightning, the familiar crackle building around her fingertips. But before she could act, a brilliant flash of purple illuminated the room.
Master Windu stood between them, his lightsaber ignited and pointed at Chappelle’s neck. His voice was calm but carried an undeniable weight of authority. "Let her go. Now."
Chappelle’s face paled, his hand trembling as he released Avery. She crumpled to the ground, coughing and clutching her throat. Windu’s gaze didn’t waver, his blade steady as he addressed Chappelle.
"You’ve crossed a line, Initiate," Windu said, his tone icy. "The Force is not a weapon for petty grievances. Stand down."
Chappelle’s saber clattered to the floor as he stepped back, his hands raised in surrender. The crowd of initiates stood in stunned silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on them.
Windu deactivated his saber and turned to Avery, helping her to her feet. His expression softened slightly as he examined her. "Are you all right?"
Avery nodded, her voice hoarse. "I’m fine, Master."
Windu’s gaze swept over the crowd, his presence commanding. "This behavior will not be tolerated. The Force is not your weapon. It is your reflection. Use it in hate, and hate will shape you.”
He turned back to Avery and Kid, his tone gentler now. "Come with me. Both of you."
As they followed Windu out of the training room, Kid glanced at Avery, her voice low. "You okay?"
Avery gave a small, weak smile. "Yeah. Thanks to you."
Kid looked away, her expression troubled. "We’ve got to stick together. They’re not going to make it easy."
"No," Avery agreed. "But we’ll make it through."
Master Windu led Avery and Kid down the quiet halls of the Jedi Temple, his pace brisk but steady. The tension from the training room still clung to them like a shadow, each step echoing with unspoken words. Avery rubbed her neck, the lingering sensation of Chappelle’s Force Choke making her shiver.
They entered a small, private chamber, where Windu gestured for them to sit. He remained standing, his imposing figure a mix of controlled calm and smoldering disapproval.
"First," Windu began, his gaze settling on Avery, "are you sure you’re all right?"
Avery nodded quickly, though her voice was still hoarse. "Yes, Master. I’m fine."
Windu’s eyes softened slightly, but his tone remained firm. "What happened in there is unacceptable. Chappelle’s actions were reckless, dangerous, and completely out of line. Using the Force to harm another Jedi is a grave offense."
He turned to Kid, who had remained silent, her hands balled into fists. "And you—what were you about to do?"
Kid blinked, her anger flickering into guilt. "I was going to stop him. I wasn’t going to let him hurt her."
"By charging your lightning," Windu said, his tone sharper now. "Do you think escalating the situation would have helped? Or would it have proved exactly what they’re already accusing you of?"
Kid looked away, shame written across her face. "I didn’t know what else to do."
"You’re a Jedi Padawan," Windu said, his voice softening slightly. "Your power isn’t what defines you—your choices do. Next time, think before you act."
Kid nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, Master."
Windu sighed, rubbing his temples. "You both handled yourselves well under the circumstances, but this won’t end here. Chappelle will face consequences for what he’s done, but the tension among the initiates is something we must address."

Chapter Text

Chappelle stood at the center of a dimly lit chamber, surrounded by Jedi Masters. Plo Koon. Yoda. Others whose silent scrutiny pressed against him like an unseen weight. The confidence he had worn so easily before had crumbled, replaced by a storm of shame and stubborn defiance.
Master Plo Koon’s voice was steady, but the disappointment in it was unmistakable.
"You acted out of fear and anger, Chappelle. That is not the way of the Jedi."
Chappelle’s jaw tightened. He hated the way they were looking at him. Like he was the problem. Like he had done something wrong.
"I wasn’t angry," he muttered, though even he could hear the weakness in his own voice. "She was cheating—using the Force in a duel. That’s against the rules."
Master Yoda’s ears twitched. His gaze, though small, felt crushing.
"Rules, you broke as well. Harm, you caused, without provocation. Darkness, you invited into your actions."
Chappelle clenched his fists. They don’t understand.
"But she’s dangerous!" he blurted out, his voice rising with frustration. "She’s using lightning, the Dark Side—it’s not normal! How are we supposed to trust her?"
Plo Koon stepped forward, his presence towering. Chappelle felt small under his shadow.
"Trust is earned, Initiate. But suspicion, born of ignorance, leads only to division. You allowed fear to rule you. In doing so, you jeopardized the very unity we strive to protect."
Chappelle’s shoulders sagged. The weight of their words pressed down on him.
"What happens now?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Yoda leaned on his cane, his tone firm but not unkind.
"Reflection, you need. To the archives, assigned you will be. Study and meditate, you must, on the true nature of the Force."
Chappelle’s head snapped up. Shock flickered across his face.
"The archives? You’re pulling me from training?"
"Yes," Plo Koon said without hesitation. "You will remain there until we are confident you have learned from this."
For a moment, rebellion burned in Chappelle’s eyes. He wanted to argue, to lash out—but the combined presence of the Masters left no room for defiance. His jaw tightened. His fingers twitched at his sides.
Finally, he lowered his head. "I understand."
________________________________________
Chappelle dragged his feet as he walked back toward his quarters, dreading the days ahead. Labor. Books. Endless lessons on peace. It felt like a prison sentence.
He was so lost in his own thoughts that he barely noticed the figure walking toward him from the opposite direction.
Tall. Older. Sharp-eyed. A woman with the weight of war in her stance.
Master Yareen.
She passed him with an easy, almost casual smile. But the moment he let his guard down, her grip clamped onto his arm like a vice.
Before he could react, she spun him around and slammed him against the wall.
His breath left him in a rush.
"You Force Choked one of my kids?"
Her voice was low. Controlled. Dangerous.
Chappelle barely had time to process before he felt the impact—her fist slamming into his face.

Pain exploded across his jaw, but before he could cry out, her hand latched around his throat, pressing him firmly against the wall. Cold metal met the underside of his chin—a lightsaber emitter, unlit but threatening.

"I never said anything about Sith or Jedi," she growled, her grip tightening. "Those are my kids, Mr. Dooku."

She paused, letting the name hang in the air.

Then she smirked—slow and dangerous—like she'd just discovered a joke at his expense.

“Dooku,” she repeated, her voice dipping into a mocking sweetness. “Figures. Even your name sounds like bantha shit.”

Her smile sharpened, cruel and amused. “You ever think maybe that stink’s not the lightning—it’s just you?”

"They don’t belong—"
Crack.
Yareen slammed his head back against the wall.
"If anything happens to them—Force or not—" her voice dropped to a whisper, "I will find you. And I will kill you. And I won’t think twice."
Chappelle’s breath came in short, panicked gasps. She meant it.
Then, the cold metal of the emitter was shoved into his mouth.
His body seized in panic, muffled noises escaping as his pulse hammered against his ribs.
"Look at me," Yareen ordered. Her voice was ice. "Look at my eyes. Look at my face."
Chappelle forced himself to meet her gaze. Fierce. Unrelenting.
"If anything happens to them, I will kill you. This is between you and me. Nobody sees. Nobody knows. You’ll have nothing to prove. You understand?"
His mind screamed at him to fight back, but his body betrayed him. He could only choke out a strangled ‘yes.’
Yareen held his gaze a moment longer. Then, she smiled.
"Yeah. I thought so."
She stepped back—just enough to grab his hand.
And break his pinky and ring fingers in one sharp motion.
Chappelle’s scream tore through the corridor.
He doubled over, clutching his mangled fingers to his chest, his knees nearly buckling beneath him.
Yareen stepped away, her voice as calm as if she were ordering tea.
"Can you send a medical droid, please?" she spoke into her comlink. "One of the initiates got his hand stuck in the door."
She looked back at Chappelle, her expression devoid of pity.
"Remember this lesson, boy."
Then, without another word, she walked away, leaving him gasping in pain.
________________________________________
Back in the private chamber, Windu regarded Kid and Avery, his expression softening slightly. "You two have formed a bond, and that’s important. Lean on each other, but remember—there’s a larger picture here. Unity among the Jedi isn’t just about friendships. It’s about trust, understanding, and the ability to rise above personal grievances."
Avery nodded, her determination returning. "We’ll figure it out, Master."
Kid glanced at Avery, her lips quirking into a small smile. "Thanks for standing up for me."
Avery grinned back, her earlier confidence restored. "Always. We’ve got each other’s backs, remember?"
Windu allowed himself a faint smile. "Good. Now, get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll address this situation with the other initiates and ensure there’s a path forward for everyone."
As they left the chamber, Avery leaned closer to Kid, her voice low. "You know, for a second there, I thought Chappelle might actually beat me."
Kid smirked. "You kidding? You had him running out of excuses. But next time, maybe don’t make it look so easy."
Avery chuckled, her confidence bolstered by the moment. "Next time, I’ll leave him no excuses."
The two walked down the hall together, their bond stronger than ever, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Chapter Text

The morning light streamed into the training room, illuminating its smooth stone walls and polished floor. Avery arrived at her usual spot, ready to push herself through another grueling session of Ataru training. Her muscles still ached from the previous days, but she had resolved to show Master Plo Koon she wouldn’t quit.
As she stepped closer to where she usually warmed up, something unusual caught her eye. There, resting neatly on the floor, was a small pouch. She crouched down, opening it to find 1,000 credits and a simple note written in Master Plo Koon’s distinct, elegant handwriting.
"Rest… or don’t."
She slipped the credits into her pocket, the gears in her mind already turning.
Avery stared at the note, a mixture of confusion and amusement crossing her face. She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Rest or don’t? He really knows how to mess with me."
Resting wasn’t her style, but the credits… well, those opened up possibilities.
________________________________________
Avery found Kid in the mess hall, sitting at her usual spot near the edge of the room. The tension from the previous day still lingered, the other initiates giving her a wide berth. Avery approached with her usual energy, dropping into the seat next to Kid and sliding the pouch of credits onto the table.
"Guess what I found this morning?" she said, her tone teasing.
Kid glanced at the pouch, raising an eyebrow. "What’s that?"
"One thousand credits," Avery said, grinning. "From Master Plo Koon. He left me a note, too. 'Rest… or don’t.'"
Kid tilted her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "So, which are you going to do?"
Avery leaned closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "Neither. I was thinking we could take these credits and have some fun in the city. You know, just like we used to on Nar Shaddaa."
Kid’s eyes widened slightly, her surprise quickly replaced by cautious excitement. "Seriously? You think they’ll let us?"
Avery shrugged, her grin widening. "Probably not. But it’s not like we’re sneaking out—we’d just… go. Besides, it’s been too long since we did something fun. What do you say?"
Kid hesitated, her gaze flicking toward the door. "I don’t know… What about Windu? He’s probably going to want to keep an eye on me after everything with Chappelle."
"Master Windu’s got bigger things to worry about," Avery said, waving a hand dismissively. "He’s addressing the initiates this morning. Perfect distraction. We’ll be back before anyone notices."
Kid bit her lip, the idea clearly tempting her. Finally, she nodded. "Okay. Let’s do it."
________________________________________
Meanwhile, in the main training hall, the initiates had gathered in neat rows, their faces reflecting a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. Master Windu stood at the front, his presence commanding as he surveyed the group.
"You’ve all felt the tension among yourselves," Windu began, his voice steady and firm. "It has no place here. The Jedi Order is built on unity, understanding, and discipline. What I’ve seen lately—what I’ve felt—is division. And that division will destroy us if it’s allowed to fester."
His gaze swept over the crowd, pausing briefly on Chappelle, who shifted uncomfortably in his spot.
"The Force connects all living things," Windu continued. "It does not belong to the Light or the Dark—it simply exists. Your actions, however, define how you wield it. And when you wield it out of fear, anger, or hatred, you are no better than those we strive to protect the galaxy from."
Chappelle’s head dipped slightly, his earlier arrogance replaced by visible shame.
"I will not tolerate hostility among you," Windu said, his voice rising slightly. "You are initiates, yes. But you are also Jedi in training. Act like it."
The room was silent, the weight of Windu’s words pressing down on everyone present. He let the silence linger for a moment before nodding. "That is all. Dismissed."
As the initiates began to disperse, Windu’s gaze lingered on the empty seats where Kid and Avery should have been. A faint crease formed in his brow, but he said nothing.
________________________________________
Unbeknownst to Windu, Avery and Kid were already making their way toward the city, the credits burning a metaphorical hole in Avery’s pocket. The air buzzed with possibilities, and for the first time in a long while, the weight of their responsibilities felt a little lighter.
"Got any ideas on where to go first?" Avery asked, her tone light and carefree.
Kid smirked. "Let’s find out."
Coruscant’s sprawling cityscape stretched endlessly, its towering spires glimmering in the morning light. The streets were alive with activity, bustling with beings of every species, vehicles zipping through the air, and the hum of a galaxy-wide civilization. For Kid and Avery, it was a sensory overload—and a welcome break from the rigid discipline of the Jedi Temple.
The two younglings walked side by side, Kid’s eyes darting around in awe while Avery clutched the pouch of credits with an eager grin.
"All right," Avery said, stopping to scan the crowded promenade. "What’s the plan? Food? Games? Something totally irresponsible?"
Kid raised an eyebrow. "You mean this isn’t already totally irresponsible?"
"Details." Avery waved her hand dismissively. "Come on, this place has everything. What do you want to do?"
Kid hesitated, her gaze landing on a brightly lit stall selling skewered street food that filled the air with tantalizing aromas. "Honestly? I could eat."
Avery laughed. "Food it is. Let’s start there."
________________________________________
The stall owner, a cheerful Ithorian, greeted them with a rumbling voice. "Ah, younglings! Hungry, are we? Try the best fried bantha bites on Coruscant—guaranteed to melt in your mouth."
Kid and Avery exchanged grins and handed over a handful of credits. Soon, they were perched on a low wall, skewers in hand, the rich, savory flavors making their mouths water.
"This," Kid said between bites, "is way better than Temple food."
"No contest," Avery agreed, licking her fingers. "Temple food is so bland it’s practically punishment."
They laughed, the tension from the past few days melting away in the vibrant energy of the city. For the first time in a while, they felt like normal kids.
"So," Avery said, nudging Kid. "What’s next? We’ve got credits to burn and a whole city to explore."
As Avery finished her last bite, a gruff voice called from behind them.
"Looking for real excitement? Private motorball game. Tonight. Off-level. You girls look like you got the guts for it."
They turned to see a shady vendor—a wiry Twi'lek in a frayed vest, holding up two chipped entry tokens between his fingers. His grin was all teeth.
Kid stiffened immediately. Her voice dropped. "We’re in the cybernetic session. They don’t let us watch those on the monitors. Definitely not live."
The vendor raised an eyebrow. "This ain’t a Temple stream. This is private. No rules, no censors. Blood hits the rail, and nobody cuts the feed."
Avery stepped forward, her voice sharp. "That’s illegal. Motorball’s a pro circuit sport—non-professional play is banned, and charging for tickets makes it worse."
The vendor’s smile didn’t fade, but his eyes narrowed. "Well then, guess you two aren’t interested." He turned with a flick of his lekku and disappeared into the crowd.
Kid stared after him, her expression unreadable.
Avery nudged her. "You okay?"
Kid nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just... not ready to see that again."
A beat passed.
"Arcade?" Avery asked, offering a softer grin this time.
"Yeah," Kid said. "Let’s do that instead."
Kid thought for a moment, then her eyes lit up. "Games. I saw an arcade back there—looked like it had some podracing sims."
Avery grinned. "Podracing? You’re on."
________________________________________
The arcade was a cacophony of sound and light, its neon signs glowing against the polished durasteel walls. Rows of gaming pods lined the room, each one occupied by someone racing, blasting, or strategizing in virtual galactic adventures. Kid and Avery beelined for the podracing sims, their competitive streaks flaring to life.
"Bet you I can finish first," Avery said, sliding into one of the pods.
"Bet you I won’t crash," Kid shot back, hopping into the one beside her.
The countdown began, and soon they were off, navigating winding tracks through virtual canyons and dodging obstacles with varying levels of success. Kid gripped the controls tightly, her tongue sticking out in concentration as she narrowly avoided smashing into a rock. Avery, meanwhile, leaned into every turn, her determination written all over her face.
By the end of the race, Avery had claimed victory, but just barely.
"See?" Avery said, stepping out of her pod with a triumphant grin. "Told you I’d win."
Kid rolled her eyes but smiled. "Yeah, yeah. Next time, you’re going down."
________________________________________
As they left the arcade, their laughter echoing down the street, they spotted a street performer—a Twi’lek juggling glowing orbs while levitating them with the Force. A small crowd had gathered, tossing credits into a hat at his feet.
"That’s pretty cool," Avery said, stopping to watch.
Kid nodded, her eyes narrowing as an idea began to form. "Bet I could do that."
Avery turned to her, smirking. "Oh really?"
Kid shrugged. "Maybe not the juggling part. But, you know… something with lightning?"
"Let’s not," Avery said quickly, grabbing Kid’s arm. "Last thing we need is for someone to call the Temple on us."
Kid sighed dramatically. "Fine. But it would’ve been awesome."
________________________________________
As the day wore on, they found themselves sitting on a high ledge overlooking one of the city’s endless skylanes, their legs dangling as they shared a fizzy drink. The horizon glowed with the orange hues of sunset, the air buzzing with the hum of speeders and distant chatter.
"This was fun," Kid said softly, her voice carrying a rare note of contentment.
"Yeah," Avery agreed, leaning back on her hands. "We needed this. No training, no tension, no Chappelle."
Kid chuckled, then grew thoughtful. "Do you ever wish we could just… stay out here? Away from all the Jedi stuff?"
Avery tilted her head, considering the question. "Sometimes. But then I remember why we’re doing it. The Jedi gave us a chance, Kid. Even when it’s hard, I think it’s worth it."
Kid nodded slowly, the weight of her friend’s words settling over her. "Yeah. Maybe you’re right."
Kid frowned at the flickering image of armored players barreling down a hover-ramp. "My dad used to watch the cybernetic league. I hated it."
"I'm not even allowed to watch those," Avery said, her voice bright despite Kid’s tone. "But the Core League? That’s different. Real skill. Real rules. Helmets, pads, and speed. No deathmatches, no sawblades in your ribs, no spine-crushing for crowd points. Just competition."
Kid gave a slow nod, her eyes lingering on a skater catching the ball mid-spin. "Looks like a completely different game."
"It basically is," Avery said, quieter now.
She let it hang a moment. Then:
"One day, I’m gonna sit courtside for a championship game. No cybernetics. Just guts, gear, and speed."
The sun dipped lower, the city lights flickering to life one by one. For a moment, the galaxy felt a little less overwhelming, and they sat in comfortable silence, savoring the peace before returning to their responsibilities.
The corridor leading to Kid’s quarters was quiet, the faint hum of the Jedi Temple’s systems the only sound. Master Windu stood with his arms crossed, his expression a storm of emotions: anger, worry, and a grudging sense of relief. He had been waiting for hours, the weight of his disappointment pressing down on him.
When Kid and Avery finally appeared, their laughter fading as they saw him, Windu’s expression darkened.
"Do you two have any idea how reckless and irresponsible that was?" he began, his voice low and controlled but carrying a sharp edge.
Avery stepped forward immediately, her chin high. "Master Windu, it was my idea. I asked Kid to come with me."
Kid opened her mouth to protest, but Avery gave her a quick glance, silencing her.
Windu’s eyes narrowed, the tension in his posture unrelenting. "I don’t care whose idea it was. What you both did was unacceptable. Where did you go? What did you do?"
Avery and Kid exchanged nervous glances, their initial guilt melting away as they recounted the day.
"We got food," Kid began, her eyes lighting up despite herself. "Fried bantha bites—so much better than the Temple food."
"Then we went to the arcade," Avery added, her voice gaining confidence. "Podracing sims. I totally won."
Kid rolled her eyes. "Barely."
They both started laughing at the memory, their smiles wide as they remembered the street performer and their shared drink while watching the sunset. But their laughter faded quickly when they turned back to Windu, their smiles replaced by contrite expressions.
"It was wrong," Avery said, her voice sincere. "And we’re sorry."
Kid nodded, her voice small. "Really sorry."
Windu pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration palpable. "With whose money?"
Avery hesitated, then pulled the note from her pocket, handing it to Windu along with the now-empty pouch. "Master Plo Koon gave me 1,000 credits. He left this note."
Windu unfolded the note, reading the words aloud: "Rest… or don’t."
For a moment, the room was silent. Windu closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, the weight of the situation sinking in. He looked at the two younglings, his voice calmer but still firm.
"Do you have any idea how worried I was? You left without permission, didn’t tell anyone where you were going, and were gone all day. This isn’t Nar Shaddaa. You can’t just wander off."
Kid shifted uncomfortably, her guilt returning in full force. "We didn’t mean to make you worry. We just wanted to… to feel normal for a day."
Avery nodded. "We weren’t trying to cause trouble. We just needed a break."
Windu studied them both, the storm in his eyes softening slightly. He let out another deep breath, shaking his head. "You’re both lucky nothing happened to you. And Plo Koon and I will have a long conversation about what ‘rest’ means."
He handed the note back to Avery, his expression still stern. "From now on, if you want to leave the Temple, you ask. Understood?"
"Yes, Master," they both said in unison, their voices quiet but earnest.
Windu’s lips twitched as if suppressing a smile, but he quickly masked it with a scowl. "Now go. Rest—properly—and be ready for training tomorrow. This isn’t over."
As the two girls hurried off, Windu watched them go, shaking his head again. Despite his frustration, he couldn’t help but feel a small measure of relief. They were safe—and perhaps, just for a day, they’d found some of the joy they so desperately needed.
Mace Windu stood outside Master Plo Koon’s quarters, the note from earlier clutched tightly in his hand. He pressed the communication button with deliberate force, his frustration barely contained.
"Plo Koon," Windu said, his tone sharp, "we need to talk about this note."
The comm crackled briefly before Plo Koon’s calm voice replied. "Come in, Mace. Put on the mask by the door—it’s calibrated for your physiology."
Windu frowned but complied, slipping the gas mask over his face. The door hissed open, and a rush of methane gas greeted him. He stepped inside, the door sealing shut behind him. The room adjusted to its new atmosphere, and another door slid open, revealing Plo Koon seated in a gaming chair without his signature mask. His face was calm and focused as he manipulated a joystick, guiding a simulated starfighter through an intricate dogfight on a large holographic display.
"Take a seat, Mace," Plo Koon said without turning, his voice unhurried.
Windu’s eyes narrowed as he approached, finally settling into a chair opposite the gaming setup. He placed the note on the table between them. "This note. 'Rest… or don’t.' You care to explain?"
Plo Koon leaned back in his chair, the starfighter simulator paused mid-dogfight. His golden eyes glinted with amusement. "Avery’s been working harder than anyone I’ve trained in years. After what they went through yesterday, I thought they deserved a break."
Windu folded his arms, his tone accusatory. "You said, 'they.' You knew she’d bring Kid into this. You counted on it."
Plo Koon nodded, unbothered. "I did."
"That was irresponsible and undisciplined, Plo. Of a Jedi Master, no less," Windu said, his voice tightening with frustration. His gaze swept the room, taking in the clutter of personal belongings: ship models, holo-recordings, maintenance tools, and trophies from various missions. "And look at this place! I thought the Jedi were supposed to be detached from possessions. You seem to have quite a lot of them."
Plo Koon smiled faintly, unshaken. "Do you think I’d be the starfighter pilot I am today—or the duelist I’ve become—if I didn’t take some enjoyment in these things? I’m a Jedi because I love being a Jedi. But I also love starships, dogfights, and the thrill of honing my skills. Enjoyment isn’t attachment, Mace. It’s motivation."
Windu’s frown deepened, but Plo Koon continued before he could respond. "Avery is unconventional, but she’s also unrelenting. You’ve seen it yourself. She’s going to breeze through the last two days of training, even with this little… detour."
Windu leaned forward, his gaze intense. "That doesn’t excuse sending two younglings out into the city unsupervised. It was reckless. They could’ve been hurt—or worse."
Plo Koon inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the point. "You’re right. It was a gamble. But I trusted them to handle themselves. They needed a moment to breathe, to feel alive in a way that the Temple can’t always provide. And they came back, didn’t they? No harm done."
"No harm?" Windu’s voice rose slightly, incredulous. "What about the example this sets for other initiates? The discipline we teach them?"
"Discipline," Plo Koon said evenly, "isn’t about crushing individuality. It’s about guiding it. Avery and Kid are not ordinary students, Mace. You know that. They’ll face challenges that demand creativity and adaptability, not blind adherence to rules."
Windu sat back, his jaw tightening as he considered Plo Koon’s words. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice quieter but firm. "I see your point. But the Order thrives on balance, Plo. Too much leniency, and we lose what makes us Jedi."
"And too much rigidity," Plo Koon countered, "and we lose what makes us human—or Kel Dor, in my case." He gestured toward the holographic starfighter. "This simulator? It’s not just for fun. It’s training. Every dive, every maneuver teaches me something new. Just as every experience teaches Avery and Kid. Let them grow, Mace. Let them learn from life as much as from us."
Windu sighed, his frustration ebbing slightly. "You always were the philosopher, Plo."
"And you always were the sentinel," Plo Koon replied with a faint smile. "Together, we strike the balance."
Windu stood, removing the gas mask as he prepared to leave. "I’ll hold you accountable for them, Plo. If this backfires—"
"It won’t," Plo Koon interrupted, his tone calm but confident. "Trust them. And trust me."
Windu hesitated, then nodded. "We’ll see." With that, he stepped through the door, the hiss of the airlock sealing behind him.

Chapter Text

Master Plo Koon found Kid in one of the Temple corridors, sitting cross-legged with her datapad, absorbed in a lesson. He approached with his usual calm, hands clasped behind his back.
“Padawan Magdalene,” he said, his deep voice rumbling. “Wow. That’s really hard to say without lips or a tongue.”
Kid glanced up, smirking. “Padawan Kid is fine, Master Koon.”
“Magda, then. For formal occasions?”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
“How has the lightning training been progressing?”
Kid looked up again, her smile fading. “It hasn’t, Master. You’ve been busy training Avery, so I haven’t had a chance to practice.”
Before Plo Koon could respond, Windu’s unmistakable voice cut in from behind. "Should she even be focusing on that right now?"
Plo Koon turned slightly to face Windu, his tone polite but with a subtle edge. "She needs to work on her blaster deflection today, all day. I’m monitoring her scores remotely. I don’t need to be physically present."
Windu’s expression tightened. "And you’re sure she’s not slacking off? What if she just put a training dummy in her place and let it get you a perfect score?"
Plo Koon stiffened slightly, the insinuation clearly striking a nerve. "Knight Windu, I would expect more faith in her integrity. Avery is determined, not deceptive."
Before the tension could escalate, Kid chimed in, her voice earnest. "She wouldn’t do that. She’s improved so much, a simulator should be easy for her now."
A smile couldn’t be seen behind Plo Koon’s mask, but his tone lightened, carrying a note of amusement. "I agree, Padawan Magda. Knight Windu, I think it’s time for your padawan to resume her lightning training. Let me instill some discipline before she gets sloppy."
Windu crossed his arms, his lips twitching in a faint smirk. "Sloppy? I think my padawan’s precision is just fine, but if you want to show her a thing or two, I won’t stop you."
Plo Koon inclined his head, a playful challenge in his voice. "Then let’s proceed to the training room. Let’s see just how fine her precision is."
________________________________________
The training room hummed with energy as Kid and the two Masters entered. The space was already prepped, with reinforced dummies designed to absorb and measure the intensity of Force Lightning. Plo Koon gestured for Kid to step forward, his voice instructive.
"Stand here, Padawan Kid. Focus your energy and channel it through your fingertips. Precision is key."
Kid moved into position, but before Plo Koon could begin, Windu settled himself against the wall, his arms crossed. "I think I’ll stay today. I could use the entertainment."
Plo Koon paused, turning his masked face toward Windu. His tone remained calm, but the playful jab was unmistakable. "Entertainment? Or perhaps an education, Knight Windu?"
Windu’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips curling in a faint smile. "Education? I’ve trained more Padawans than you’ve taught lightning techniques, Plo. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves."
Kid stood awkwardly between them, her gaze darting back and forth. "Um… should I start?"
Plo Koon straightened, his attention snapping back to her. "Yes, Padawan Magda. Begin."
Kid raised her hands, her fingers crackling with energy as she concentrated. Sparks flickered to life, growing brighter and more controlled with each passing second. She aimed at the dummy, releasing a focused bolt of lightning that struck dead center. The room buzzed with the impact, the dummy absorbing the energy and displaying its power reading on a nearby monitor.
"Not bad," Plo Koon said, nodding. "But not perfect. Again."
Kid adjusted her stance, her determination sharpening. She unleashed another bolt, more refined this time, the dummy registering a higher score.
Windu watched intently, his face unreadable. "She’s improving."
Plo Koon inclined his head. "Discipline and practice yield results. Perhaps you should try it sometime, Knight Windu."
Windu’s smirk returned, sharper now. "I prefer my lightsaber to do the talking, Plo."
Plo Koon chuckled softly, the sound barely audible through his mask. "And yet here we are, refining a skill you’d dismiss as unnecessary. Curious."
Kid hesitated mid-preparation, glancing back at the two Masters. "Uh… should I keep going, or…?"
"Keep going," Windu said, gesturing. "Let’s see how ‘refined’ this technique can really get."
Kid nodded, turning back to the dummy, the tension between the Masters fueling her resolve. With each strike, her control grew stronger, her focus unwavering. By the end of the session, she stood panting but triumphant, her scores markedly improved.
Plo Koon clapped his hands together, his tone approving. "Excellent work, Padawan Magda. With time, you’ll master this technique."
Windu pushed off the wall, his expression softer now as he regarded her. "Good job, Kid. But remember, control isn’t just about power—it’s about knowing when not to use it."
Kid nodded, her exhaustion tempered by pride. "Yes, Master."
The two Masters exchanged a final glance, their earlier jabs replaced by mutual respect. For now, at least, the rivalry was set aside in favor of their shared goal: training the next generation of Jedi.

The training room buzzed faintly with the sounds of blaster fire, the automated droids releasing bolts in rapid succession toward Avery’s position. Her lightsaber flashed in quick arcs, deflecting each shot back toward the targets. But her movements were slower than usual, her strikes lacking the precision that Plo Koon had come to expect.
From the observation deck above, Plo Koon watched silently, his hands clasped behind his back. He tapped a panel to review her scores—each one lower than the last. He nodded thoughtfully to himself and descended to the training floor.
"Avery," his calm, steady voice cut through the hum of the droids.
Avery deactivated her lightsaber, panting as she turned to face him. Sweat dripped from her forehead, her stance slightly hunched from exhaustion. "Master Plo Koon," she said, straightening. "I didn’t expect you here."
"I thought I’d check on your progress," he replied, glancing at the targets. "Your scores are dropping. You’re tired."
Avery shook her head stubbornly. "I can keep going. I’ll push through."
Plo Koon tilted his head, his golden eyes observing her with quiet understanding. "There is strength in perseverance, but there is also wisdom in knowing when to rest. Pushing beyond your limits serves no purpose if you sacrifice precision and discipline."
Avery looked down, her hands tightening around her lightsaber hilt. "I don’t want to fail."
"You won’t," Plo Koon said firmly, stepping closer. "But tomorrow will be the final test. It will challenge you in every way—physically, mentally, emotionally, and socially. The Jedi Council will observe the results and decide if you are ready to become my Padawan."
Avery’s eyes widened slightly. "The Council? I didn’t think—"
"They will not expect perfection," Plo Koon interrupted gently. "They will look for growth, potential, and your ability to embody the values of the Jedi. You have nothing to fear, Avery. I have confidence in you. Have confidence in yourself."
Avery swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over her. "I’ll do my best, Master."
"That is all I ask," Plo Koon said with a nod. "Now, sleep well tonight. Tomorrow will be stressful, but I believe you will rise to the occasion."
He turned to leave but paused at the doorway, glancing back at her. "And remember: the Force is with you, even in moments of doubt. Trust it."
As Plo Koon left, Avery stood in the quiet room, her heart racing with a mixture of nerves and determination. She tightened her grip on her lightsaber, her resolve solidifying. Tomorrow would be her chance to prove herself—not just to the Council, but to herself.

Chapter Text

The Temple was quieter than usual, the soft hum of its ever-present energy a soothing backdrop as Avery sat cross-legged on her bunk, her hands resting in her lap. She stared at the ceiling, her mind swirling with thoughts about the upcoming test. The physical part didn’t worry her—she had been training tirelessly for weeks. But the emotional and social components? That was another story.
Her fingers twitched, small sparks of lightning crackling faintly across her palms. She frowned, focusing on calming her breathing. Stay focused. Stay calm. That’s what Plo Koon had taught her. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, her doubts crept back in.
Would she be enough? Would the Council see her potential? Would she let Plo Koon down?
A knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts. She stood quickly and opened it to find Kid leaning against the frame, her usual smirk softened into something more supportive.
"You okay?" Kid asked, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "You looked like you were about to fry your bed."
Avery chuckled weakly, sitting back down on the edge of the bunk. "I’m fine. Just… thinking."
"Big day tomorrow," Kid said, plopping down beside her. "Master Plo Koon told you?"
"Yeah," Avery admitted, her voice quiet. "He said the Council’s going to decide if I’m ready to be his Padawan."
Kid tilted her head, studying Avery’s expression. "You’re nervous."
Avery hesitated, then nodded. "It’s not just about the fighting, you know? They’re going to test how I think, how I feel… even how I get along with others. What if I mess up? What if I—"
"Stop," Kid interrupted, her tone firm but not unkind. "You’re Avery. You don’t quit, you don’t back down, and you don’t mess up. Not when it matters."
Avery sighed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. "It’s just… everything feels so big, you know? Like, what if I fail, and they don’t pick me? What if—"
"Then we figure it out," Kid said, her voice steady. "But you’re not going to fail. You’ve got this."
Avery glanced at her friend, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Thanks, Kid."
________________________________________
After a moment of comfortable silence, Kid leaned back, her blue eyes thoughtful. "Hey, you ever think about what happens after all this? Like, once we’re Padawans?"
Avery smirked. "I think about actually becoming a Padawan first. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves."
"Yeah, but…" Kid hesitated, her voice softening. "Do you think we’ll still get to do stuff like this? You know, hang out, laugh, talk about how much Chappelle sucks?"
Avery laughed, the tension in her shoulders easing. "I hope so. You’re the only one here who gets me, Kid."
Kid grinned, but it faded slightly as she looked down at her hands. "I get it, though. Why you’re nervous. I mean, I think about Reth all the time. When I’m in the archives, I count the days until I can see him again. What if… I don’t know. What if I mess things up, or they don’t let me go back?"
Avery nudged her. "You’re not going to mess it up. And you will go back. You just have to keep doing what you’re doing."
Kid smiled faintly. "Thanks, Avery. You’re pretty good at this pep talk thing."
"Don’t get used to it," Avery teased, standing up and stretching. "Now, come on. Let’s get some sleep. Big day tomorrow—for both of us."
Kid stood, giving her a mock salute. "Yes, ma’am."
The testing room was austere, its walls lined with simple banners bearing the Jedi symbol. A small audience of Jedi Masters, including Plo Koon, observed Avery from a distance. The first test was physical—a grueling sequence of acrobatics and lightsaber drills designed to push her to her limits.
Avery moved with precision, her Ataru training evident in her spins and leaps. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she drew on the Force, letting it flow through her to fuel her movements. She was determined not to falter. As the test concluded, she landed gracefully, her lightsaber extinguished with a snap-hiss.
Master Plo Koon nodded approvingly, his voice calm as he addressed her. "Well done, Avery. Take a moment to catch your breath before we proceed."
________________________________________
The next test challenged her mental fortitude. She was presented with a series of holographic scenarios, each requiring a calculated decision. A village under attack. A choice between saving one life or many. An ally falling to the Dark Side. Each decision weighed heavily on her, but Avery kept her composure, reasoning through the dilemmas with clarity.
Then came the emotional test: facing a Force-induced vision. She stood alone in a dark chamber, the air heavy with the hum of the Force. Shadows swirled around her, coalescing into a scene from her past—a memory of her and Kid scavenging for food on Nar Shaddaa, narrowly escaping a dangerous enforcer.
The vision shifted, and she saw Kid falling to the Dark Side, her orange eyes blazing with anger. Avery’s heart pounded, but she steadied herself. "That’s not her," she whispered. "Kid wouldn’t give in. She’s stronger than that."
The vision faded, and Avery stood tall, her resolve unshaken.
________________________________________
The Council chamber was silent as Avery stood before the Jedi Masters. Grand Master Yoda sat in his place of honor, his eyes keen and watchful. Master Plo Koon stood nearby, a silent presence of support.
"Impressive, your performance has been," Yoda began, his voice carrying a quiet authority. "But one final test remains. A question, it is. About attachment."
Avery stiffened slightly but nodded. "Yes, Master Yoda."
Master Ki-Adi-Mundi leaned forward, his tone measured. "You and Padawan Kid are close. Your bond is evident. But tell us, how do you reconcile that attachment with the Jedi’s teachings?"
Avery hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Kid and I… we’ve been through a lot together. Nar Shaddaa isn’t a place where you survive alone. We had to rely on each other, and that bond doesn’t just go away. But I know what the Jedi teach about attachment. It’s dangerous when it becomes possessive, when it blinds you to what’s right."
Master Shaak Ti tilted her head, her voice calm but probing. "Do you believe your attachment to Kid blinds you?"
"No," Avery said firmly. "If anything, it keeps me grounded. Kid is like family, but I don’t let that cloud my judgment. If she were in danger, I’d help her—but not at the expense of others. She’d do the same for me."
Yoda’s ears twitched as he observed her closely. "A challenge, this bond may be. But strength, it can also bring. Understand this, do you?"
Avery nodded. "Yes, Master."
Master Mace Windu, seated beside Yoda, leaned forward. "If Kid were to fall to the Dark Side, would you still stand by her?"
The room fell silent, the weight of the question pressing down on Avery. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply before answering. "I’d try to bring her back. I’d do everything I could to save her. But if she couldn’t be saved… I’d stop her. No matter what it cost me."
The room remained quiet for a moment, the Masters exchanging unreadable glances. Finally, Yoda spoke. "Honest, you are. A quality most valuable, that is."
Master Plo Koon stepped forward, his voice steady. "Avery has shown growth, resilience, and understanding. I believe she is ready to become my Padawan."
The Council deliberated briefly before Yoda nodded. "Agree, we do. Your Padawan, she shall be."
Relief flooded Avery’s expression, but she remained composed as she bowed deeply. "Thank you, Masters. I won’t let you down."
________________________________________
As Avery left the chamber, she found Kid waiting anxiously in the hall. When their eyes met, Kid grinned. "Well? Did they say yes?"
Avery smirked, her exhaustion giving way to pride. "Yeah. I’m Plo Koon’s Padawan now."
Kid whooped, throwing her arms around Avery. "I knew it! I told you, you wouldn’t quit."
Avery hugged her back, the weight of the day lifting. "Thanks, Kid. I couldn’t have done it without you."
"Obviously," Kid teased, pulling back. "Now, let’s celebrate. I think we’ve earned it."
Kid sat slumped at one of the archive desks, a stack of datapads in front of her. She wasn’t really reading—her eyes skimmed over the glowing text while her mind wandered. The quiet hum of the archives was usually soothing, but today it only made her feel more isolated.
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye. A boy about her age approached, his strides purposeful but hesitant. He was tall for a kid, with a mop of neatly combed auburn hair and sharp blue-gray eyes that carried a seriousness far beyond his years. His robes were meticulously clean, and he stood with an almost military posture, as if every movement were deliberate.
Kid straightened in her chair, watching him with guarded curiosity as he stopped a few steps from her table.
"You’re… her, right?" he asked, his voice calm but uncertain.
Kid raised an eyebrow. "Depends. Who’s asking?"
The boy hesitated, his hands clasping behind his back. "I thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan Kenobi."
Kid tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Kenobi, huh? You’ve got a last name?"
Obi-Wan blinked, caught off guard by the comment. "Yes… why wouldn’t I?"
Kid leaned forward, her elbows on the table. "Most Jedi don’t. Last names mean attachments. You know, something we’re all supposed to avoid." She gave him a pointed look. "What makes you so special?"
Obi-Wan’s cheeks flushed faintly, though his expression didn’t falter. "It’s just my name. I don’t see how it’s relevant."
Kid shrugged. "Just seems like the Jedi would want you to drop it, is all. But hey, what do I know? I’m the one everyone thinks doesn’t belong here."
Obi-Wan straightened slightly, clearly uncomfortable. "I didn’t say that."
"You didn’t have to," Kid replied, her tone sharp. "But you thought it, didn’t you?"
Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed, his blue-gray eyes steady. "You don’t make it easy for people to think otherwise. You push people away."
Kid snorted, leaning back in her chair. "Yeah, because everyone’s just dying to be my friend. They can’t wait to sit next to the Sith kid."
Obi-Wan frowned. "You’re not a Sith."
"Try telling that to literally anyone else here," Kid shot back. "They don’t see me as a Jedi. They see me as a threat."
There was a long pause as Obi-Wan considered her words. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter. "Maybe… they don’t understand you. It’s easier to judge something you don’t know."
Kid scoffed. "And what about you? Are you here to ‘understand’ me?"
"I’m here to introduce myself," he said simply, his tone measured. "And maybe get to know you, if you’ll let me."
Kid studied him for a long moment, her sharp blue eyes narrowing. She could sense his sincerity, but it only made her more skeptical. "Why do you care?"
Obi-Wan hesitated again, his serious demeanor softening slightly. "Because we’re the same age, and… well, I guess I wanted to know if the rumors were true."
Kid smirked bitterly. "And? Are they?"
Obi-Wan met her gaze evenly. "I think I’ll reserve judgment until I’ve seen more."
Her smirk faltered slightly, replaced by a flicker of surprise. "Huh. That’s more than I usually get."
Avery sat cross-legged on the edge of a quiet garden terrace, her lightsaber resting on the stone beside her. The air was cool, and the distant hum of the Coruscant skyline provided a strange contrast to the tranquility of the Jedi Temple. She exhaled slowly, trying to center herself after the whirlwind of emotions that had come with her recent elevation to Padawan.
Footsteps approached, and she glanced up to see Obi-Wan Kenobi walking toward her. His posture was straight, his demeanor calm, though his sharp eyes carried a hint of curiosity.
“Padawan Avery,” he began, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Congratulations. It’s no small feat to earn a Padawanship.”
Avery smirked, but there was a flicker of tension in her expression. “Thanks. Though, if you listen to everyone else, they think it’s some kind of experiment.”
Obi-Wan tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “Experiment? What do you mean?”
Avery shrugged, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You know… like I didn’t actually earn it. Like Master Plo Koon took me on as some kind of project.”
Obi-Wan considered her words, his expression thoughtful. “And what do you think?”
“I think they’re wrong,” Avery said firmly, though her voice softened as she added, “We’ve been through a lot, Obi-Wan. Trials you wouldn’t face in the Jedi Academy. Our temple came under attack. Kid and I… we know what’s out there. I guess that’s why we train as hard as we do. Because we’ve seen the galaxy’s worst.”
Obi-Wan frowned slightly, his brows knitting together. “Why were you in Nar Shaddaa in the first place? It’s not exactly a place most initiates would be found.”
Avery hesitated, a faint smile playing on her lips as she looked away. “The music.”
“The music?” Obi-Wan repeated, clearly confused.
“My favorite singer is from Nar Shaddaa,” Avery admitted with a shrug. “I didn’t exactly tell the Council that, though.”
Obi-Wan blinked, his usually composed demeanor faltering for a moment. “You’re telling me you ended up on one of the most dangerous planets in the galaxy… because of music?”
Avery grinned. “Pretty much.”
“That’s… unorthodox,” Obi-Wan said, though there was a note of amusement in his voice.
“Yeah, well, unorthodox kind of sums me up,” Avery said, leaning back on her hands. “But it wasn’t all bad. I wouldn’t have met Kid if I hadn’t been there.”
Obi-Wan studied her for a moment, his expression softening. “It sounds like Nar Shaddaa tested you in ways the Jedi Academy never could. Maybe that’s why you were chosen.”
Avery looked at him, surprised by the understanding in his tone. “Maybe.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the distant hum of Coruscant filling the air. Avery finally spoke again, her voice quieter. “You know, they can say whatever they want about me. But Kid? She’s earned her place here. And one day, they’ll see that.”
Obi-Wan nodded slowly, his respect for Avery growing. “Perhaps they will. And perhaps you’ll help them see it.”
Avery smirked. “Maybe. But for now, I’ve got a lot to prove.”
Obi-Wan smiled faintly, standing and offering her a small bow. “Then keep training. And again—congratulations, Padawan Avery.”
She watched him go, her resolve strengthening. No matter what others thought, she knew she’d earned her place—and she wouldn’t let anyone take that from her.

The specialized training room buzzed faintly, a quiet reminder of its purpose to contain and diffuse the most unpredictable of forces. Kid stood near one end, shifting uncomfortably, her fingers flexing as faint traces of electricity danced along her skin. Across from her, Windu adjusted his grip on his lightsaber, its purple blade igniting with a steady hum.
Windu’s voice was calm but resolute. "Padawan, I want you to strike me with lightning."
Kid blinked, her blue eyes wide with surprise. "Are you sure that’s smart? Master Yareen was the only one I’ve ever seen block my lightning without getting stung. And even then…"
"That’s precisely why I need to train against it," Windu said, his expression firm. "The Sith use it like a weapon of overwhelming power. But you… you wield it differently—controlled, precise. If I ever face someone with skills like yours, I need to be prepared. Blocking lightning has always felt like a gamble. I need to make it a skill."
Kid bit her lip, her apprehension clear. "Okay," she said hesitantly, drawing a deep breath. "But just a little. I don’t want to hurt you."
Windu raised his lightsaber, taking a defensive stance. "I’ll be fine. Do it."
Kid extended her hand, channeling a small, controlled arc of lightning. The room filled with a crackling hum as the streak of energy shot toward her master.
Windu's lightsaber moved with precision, intercepting the lightning mid-flight. Sparks exploded where blade and electricity met, the blade absorbing the energy in a shower of light. For a moment, Windu held it there, his arms steady against the flickering chaos. But the force of the lightning pushed back, and a few erratic sparks jolted past the blade, grazing his robes.
He winced, stepping back as he deactivated his saber. "That… is very different from blaster fire."
"I’m sorry!" Kid said quickly, her voice rising with concern. "Are you okay?"
Windu exhaled, shaking his head with a faint smirk. "I’m fine. But that’s not what I expected. The Sith’s lightning is like a tidal wave—raw, overwhelming power. Yours is more like… a thread of wire. It weaves, redirects, and snaps back without warning. It's harder to predict."
Kid tilted her head, curiosity creeping into her expression. "So I’m harder to block?"
"Let’s call it… unpredictable," Windu said. He reignited his lightsaber, its purple glow filling the room once more. "Again."
Kid hesitated. "Are you sure?"
Windu nodded, his stance resolute. "I need to figure this out. Trust me."
"Alright," Kid said, exhaling deeply. She raised her hand again, letting a stronger surge of lightning flow through her fingertips. This time, the bolt twisted and zigzagged as it sped toward her master.
Windu reacted quickly, angling his blade to meet the energy. The saber hissed and crackled as the lightning struck, its path erratic but contained by his precise movements. He grunted under the strain, holding steady until the bolt dissipated into the air.
"Better," he said, lowering the saber and rubbing his arm instinctively. His tone held a note of grudging respect. "You’re guiding it with instinct more than intent. That’s what makes it dangerous—and difficult to counter."
Kid lowered her hand, her face a mix of pride and thoughtfulness. "It’s not something I think about. It’s like… the lightning knows where to go. I just follow."
"Then I need to stop thinking and start feeling," Windu said, half to himself. He readied his saber again, his gaze steady. "Once more."
"Alright," Kid said, a faint grin tugging at her lips. "But if you get fried, it’s not my fault."
Windu smirked faintly, lifting his blade. "I’ll take my chances."
And so they continued, the room alive with the clash of lightning and the hum of Windu’s saber. Each strike, each block brought them closer to understanding—a master and his padawan honing their skills and their bond in equal measure.
The room was still buzzing with residual energy as Windu and Kid continued their training. The hum of Windu's saber clashed with the sharp crackle of lightning, the two working in unison to refine their techniques. But the door to the training room burst open suddenly, revealing Master Plo Koon and Avery, both out of breath and visibly alarmed.
"Kid, stop!" Plo Koon’s voice carried an urgency that immediately broke the rhythm of their session.
Windu lowered his saber, his brow furrowed in confusion as Kid extinguished her lightning mid-strike. "What troubles you, Master Plo Koon?"
Plo Koon held up a datapad, the screen flashing a series of ominous red warnings accompanied by blinking lights. "You’re about to overcharge the accumulator batteries," he said, his voice tight with concern.
Without waiting for a response, Plo Koon moved to a control panel on the wall, lifting a latch to expose the inner mechanisms. The heat radiating from the compartment made him flinch, and he gestured for Windu to feel it himself.
Windu stepped forward, placing his hand near the panel, immediately recoiling from the intense heat. He looked at the batteries inside, swollen and straining against their casings.
"These will need to be replaced," Plo Koon said grimly.
Windu’s eyes narrowed, his voice deceptively calm. "Are you telling me that if I hadn’t asked my padawan to strike me with lightning, these batteries would have exploded?"
Plo Koon hesitated for a moment, his posture slightly stiff. "…Maybe," he admitted, his tone uncharacteristically sheepish.
The calm in Windu’s demeanor shattered. "Irresponsible doesn’t even begin to cover this, Master Plo Koon!" he snapped, his tone sharp. "A training room designed for Force techniques, and you didn’t consider that someone might use it for something more intense than meditation or lightsaber drills?"
Plo Koon took the brunt of Windu’s anger without flinching, nodding solemnly. "You’re absolutely right," he said, his voice steady but contrite. "This was a failure in oversight, and I accept full responsibility for it."
Windu wasn’t done. He gestured toward Kid, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes. "What if this had been worse? What if my padawan, or anyone else in here, had been hurt—or worse? This isn’t a sparring ring; it’s supposed to be a controlled environment. Your negligence could have cost lives!"
Plo Koon bowed his head slightly. "I understand, and I deeply regret this oversight. I will personally see to the replacement of the batteries and ensure that this room is properly calibrated. Furthermore, I am willing to accept any consequences you feel are necessary."
Avery, standing beside Plo Koon, shifted uncomfortably but didn’t interrupt. Kid looked between her master and Plo Koon, her usual boldness replaced with an uncharacteristic silence.
Windu exhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down. He closed his eyes for a moment before turning back to Plo Koon. "The consequences will depend on what you do to fix this, Master Plo Koon. I expect a full report on the room’s functionality and safeguards. And if this room isn’t safe for lightning training, we don’t use it until it is."
Plo Koon inclined his head in agreement. "Understood. I’ll get started immediately."
Windu turned to Kid, his tone softening. "Kid, you’re done for the day. No more lightning practice until we’re certain it’s safe."
Kid nodded, her voice small. "Yes, Master."
As Plo Koon and Avery moved to address the overheating systems, Windu placed a hand on Kid’s shoulder and led her toward the exit. The anger in his expression had softened into something more measured, but the weight of what had nearly happened lingered in the air.
"Master Plo Koon is taking responsibility," he said to Kid as they walked. "And that’s important. But this is a lesson for both of us. Trust is valuable—but so is caution."
Kid nodded, glancing back at the training room. "I guess we were pushing it, huh?"
Windu smirked faintly. "Let’s just say we’re lucky this time. Now, let’s get something to eat and leave the rebuilding to them."
As they exited the training room, Windu and Kid began walking down the corridor, the lingering tension easing between them. Windu’s voice carried a calm reassurance.
Just as they reached the intersection leading to the mess hall, the lights flickered—and then everything plunged into darkness. The gentle hum of the temple’s systems died, replaced by confused murmurs echoing through the halls. Somewhere nearby, a startled initiate yelped, and others whispered nervously, their voices carrying unease.
Kid looked around, her wide blue eyes scanning the dim hallway. "Uh… Master? Did we do that?"
Windu shook his head, his face a calm mask as he tilted it slightly to listen. "No. The accumulator batteries aren’t tied to the temple’s main power. This is something else."
From further down the hall, a concerned voice called out, "The lights are out in the library too!"
Kid bit her lip, her nervousness showing. "It’s kinda creepy. Can we… maybe go somewhere else? Outside the temple?"
Windu looked down at her, considering her suggestion. After a moment, he nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah. That’s fair."
With a steady hand on her shoulder, Windu guided her toward the nearest exit, leaving the murmur of confusion and the darkness of the temple behind them. The cool evening air greeted them as they stepped outside, the stars shining bright in the Coruscant sky.
"Let’s take a walk," Windu said, his voice low and calm. "Clear our heads, away from the chaos."
Kid looked up at the stars, her tension easing slightly. "Do you think they’ll fix it soon?"
Windu glanced back at the temple, then returned his gaze to her. "I trust they’ll figure it out. But right now, let’s just enjoy the quiet."
The cool evening air wrapped around them as they walked through the gardens, the sound of the flowing river nearby catching Kid’s attention. Her stomach growled audibly, and she placed a hand over it, embarrassed.
"Still hungry?" Windu asked, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Kid nodded sheepishly. "I mean… yeah. We kinda skipped dinner with everything going on."
Windu glanced toward the river, the moonlight shimmering on its surface. He reached into his robes and pulled out a small metal object. With a flick of his wrist, it extended into a sleek silver rod. "I’ve been studying some applications for electricity outside of technology. Let me show you something."
Curious, Kid followed as Windu walked closer to the riverbank. He carefully threw the rod into the water, angling it so part of it still peeked out above the surface. "This rod is made of silver, an excellent conductor," Windu explained. "I want you to channel your Force Lightning into it. Not too much—just enough to send a current through the water."
Kid’s eyes widened. "You want me to shock the river? Won’t that, like… fry everything?"
Windu crouched by the bank, his calm gaze meeting hers. "Not if you’re precise. Control is key, Padawan. This is a way to practice your technique while also solving a practical problem. Trust me."
Kid hesitated, then took a deep breath, extending her hand toward the rod. Sparks danced along her fingers as she focused, the energy building in her palm before arcing toward the metal. The lightning crackled as it hit the rod, the charge rippling through the water. A few moments later, several fish floated to the surface, stunned.
"Perfect," Windu said, his voice even. With a wave of his hand, he used the Force to lift the fish from the river, setting them gently on the bank. "Now we have dinner."
Kid stared at the fish, a mixture of amazement and pride on her face. "That was… kind of awesome."
Windu nodded. "It’s a reminder that the Force isn’t just for combat. It’s a tool that, when used wisely, can sustain life."
He stood and dusted off his hands. "Now, go collect some wood for a fire. I’ll handle the rest."
Kid saluted playfully, grinning. "On it, Master."
As she darted into the nearby trees to gather firewood, Windu began preparing the fish. For a moment, the chaos of the temple and the tension of their mission seemed far away, replaced by the simplicity of survival and the quiet bond of teacher and student.

Chapter Text

The Jedi Council chamber was bathed in the warm glow of Coruscant’s setting sun. Mace Windu stood before the Council, his hands clasped behind his back, a rare flicker of uncertainty crossing his stern features. Kid stood slightly behind him, her small figure dwarfed by the grandeur of the room. She didn’t fidget, but her blue eyes darted between the Masters, trying to gauge the mood.
Kid’s training had progressed rapidly—her control over her Force abilities had improved, and for the first time since coming to the Jedi Temple, she felt not only a sense of belonging but a contributing factor. With Avery and Reth around, Coruscant had become more than just a place of rules and isolation—it was starting to feel like home. That was why Windu’s announcement caught her completely off guard.
________________________________________
"Kid and I will be leaving Coruscant for a mission," Windu said, his voice even, though there was an undertone of finality to his words. "It will take a few weeks, perhaps longer."
Kid’s head whipped toward him, her eyes wide with surprise. "Wait, what? We’re leaving?"
Windu gave her a sidelong glance but didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he continued addressing the Council. "This mission requires both of us. Her abilities are uniquely suited to the challenges we’re likely to face."
Master Yoda’s ears twitched as he studied them both. "A challenge it is, hmm? For both Master and Padawan?"
Windu inclined his head. "Yes, Master Yoda."
Kid blinked, still processing. "What kind of mission?"
Windu finally turned to her, his gaze steady. "The kind where your power is needed."
"My power?" she asked, her voice tinged with confusion. "You mean my lightning?"
Windu nodded. "Yes. This isn’t about the Light or the Dark—it’s about the mission. There are people out there who will need our help, and there are those who will need to be stopped. As long as you stay true to the Jedi ideals, how you use your power will be your choice. But make no mistake—there will be times when people will need to be hurt. It’s the nature of the mission."
Kid’s stomach twisted at his words. "You’re saying it’s okay to hurt people?"
"I’m saying there are times when it’s necessary," Windu said firmly. "But that doesn’t mean you lose control or abandon what the Jedi stand for. Every action must be deliberate, every choice guided by a desire to protect and preserve life where possible."
Kid frowned, her mind racing. She’d been working so hard to prove to everyone—and to herself—that she wasn’t a danger. Now Windu was telling her she’d have to use her power in ways she’d been trying to avoid. "But… Coruscant is finally starting to feel like… like home. Why now?"
Windu’s expression softened, just slightly. "That’s exactly why now. You’ve found your footing here, and that’s good. But the galaxy isn’t Coruscant, and it’s not Sanctuary. If you’re going to be a Jedi, you need to understand what it means to leave the safety of home and face the galaxy’s challenges."
Kid swallowed hard. "And when we come back?"
"When we come back," Windu said, "we’ll return to Sanctuary. But for now, we need to focus on the mission."
________________________________________
The following morning, Kid stood in the Temple hangar, her small bag slung over her shoulder. She glanced around nervously, her heart heavy as she thought of Avery and Reth. She hadn’t even had time to say a proper goodbye.
"Are you ready?" Windu asked, his voice cutting through her thoughts.
She looked up at him, determination flickering in her eyes. "I don’t know," she admitted honestly. "But I’ll go anyway."
Windu gave her a rare, approving nod. "That’s all I ask."
As they boarded the ship, Kid couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission would change her. Whether for better or worse, she couldn’t say. But one thing was clear—she wasn’t the same scared little girl who had arrived at the Temple. She was a Jedi Padawan now, and she had a mission to complete.
The ship exited hyperspace, the red, barren world of Korriban looming before them. The dark energy of the planet was oppressive, palpable even from orbit. Kid sat silently in the co-pilot’s seat, her blue eyes fixed on the screen as the navicomputer chirped its final confirmation. Windu, seated beside her, didn’t say a word. His hands were steady on the controls, but his jaw was set, and Kid could feel his unease through the Force.
“This place feels… wrong,” Kid finally said, breaking the silence.
“It should,” Windu replied. “Korriban is steeped in the Dark Side. It will try to pull at your emotions—anger, fear, doubt. You must be vigilant.”
Kid nodded, gripping the armrests of her seat as the ship descended into the atmosphere. “And the Sith? What if they find us?”
Windu glanced at her. “We blend in. The Force leaves its mark on us, and here, that mark will make us appear as though we belong. But remember, deception is not the Jedi way. We are here to free the slaves and leave. Nothing more.”
Kid nodded again, though her stomach churned at the thought of what lay ahead.
“I should feel at ease,” Kid thought, watching Korriban rise in the viewport. “With this much Dark Side presence…”
The answer came not as a voice, but as a knowing—deep, cold, and ancient.
You do feel it. The itch beneath your skin. The hunger for what should not exist.
Do not listen to them, Butterfly. Not the Jedi. Not the Sith.
They all lie to themselves. But not you.
You were chosen to see the madness. To see the flesh turn into nightmare.
The Dark Side does not serve. It consumes. That is its promise. That is its truth.
Sith believe they command it—with rituals, blood, machines. They become prisoners of their own creations.
The Dark Side is not a tool. It is a gate. And behind that gate is death—endless, evolving, eager.
Korriban is not a throne. It is a graveyard that still breathes.
Remember that, Butterfly. Do not worship the gate. Watch it.

________________________________________
They touched down in a remote valley, away from the larger Sith settlements. The landscape was harsh, with jagged cliffs and swirling dust storms. Windu led the way, his dark robes billowing behind him. Kid followed closely, her eyes scanning their surroundings.
“Where are the slaves?” she asked quietly.
Windu gestured toward a distant outpost, its dark stone walls barely visible through the haze. “There. That’s one of the smaller labor camps. Twi’leks are common targets for Sith slavers, and your knowledge of Huttese will be invaluable.”
Kid’s stomach tightened. She had seen the horrors of slavery on Nar Shaddaa, but this was different. This was a world where the Dark Side thrived, and cruelty wasn’t just tolerated—it was expected.

________________________________________
Inside a rocky alcove near the outpost, Windu laid out their plan. “We’ll pose as Sith operatives inspecting the labor force. The Dark Side’s presence on this planet will mask our true nature, but we can’t afford any mistakes.”
Kid nodded, though her hands trembled slightly. “And then?”
“We find the camp overseer, disable their security systems, and free the slaves,” Windu said. “We’ll guide them to the extraction point, where a Naboo transport will be waiting.”
Kid hesitated. “What if we’re caught?”
Windu’s gaze hardened. “We won’t be. Focus, Padawan.”
She nodded again, swallowing her fear. “Okay.”
________________________________________
As they neared the outpost, the oppressive energy of the Dark Side pressed down like a suffocating shroud. Crimson lightsabers glowed faintly in the fading light, carried by Sith guards patrolling the perimeter with calculated precision. Kid’s heart raced, her small frame taut with tension as she stayed close to Windu, trying to project the calm he seemed to exude so effortlessly.
The gate loomed ahead, flanked by two hulking guards, their dark armor etched with jagged patterns of Sith insignia. The faint hum of their weapons added to the foreboding atmosphere.
Inside, the sight was far worse. Twi’lek slaves toiled under the brutal gaze of taskmasters, their vibrant skin dulled to lifeless hues by dirt, blood, and exhaustion. A whip cracked through the air, followed by a sharp cry of pain. The Dark Side permeated every corner, feeding off the despair and anguish that hung like a thick, choking fog.
Kid clenched her fists, lightning sparking faintly across her fingertips. Windu’s hand rested briefly on her shoulder, grounding her in the moment. "Control yourself," he murmured, his voice calm yet firm. "They’ll sense any weakness, and we can’t afford that."
They moved purposefully toward the overseer—a Zabrak with angular features, an assortment of jagged horns, and piercing yellow eyes that radiated malice. He watched them approach, suspicion darkening his expression as he stood beside a console, datapad in hand.
“State your business,” the Zabrak growled, his sharp teeth glinting as he spoke.
“Inspection,” Windu replied curtly, his tone sharp with authority. His hood remained low, shadowing his face. "We require access to your security systems immediately."
The Zabrak’s brow furrowed as he glanced down at his datapad. “We weren’t informed of any inspection,” he said, his voice laced with skepticism.
“That’s the point of an inspection,” Windu countered coldly, stepping closer with deliberate menace. "If it were scheduled, you’d have time to prepare and hide any… inefficiencies. We’re here to ensure there’s no complacency."
The Zabrak stiffened, his eyes narrowing. Slowly, he stepped forward, circling them like a predator sizing up its prey. "You’re not on the schedule, yet you carry the air of authority," he mused aloud. "Interesting."
Before Windu could respond, the Zabrak moved swiftly, grabbing Windu’s hood and pulling it back to reveal his face. His golden-orange eyes glinted in the dim light, reflecting the faint aura of the Dark Side. The Zabrak’s gaze shifted down to Kid, his suspicion deepening as he noticed the faint crackle of lightning climbing her shoulders, lighting her small frame like a living storm.
The Zabrak’s lips curled into a sneer. “We don’t let kids in the Order. So a false Sith and his apprentice, are you?” he hissed, his hand drifting to the lightsaber at his hip.
Kid tensed, her hands twitching as electricity surged between her fingers. Windu moved subtly, placing a calming hand over hers.
"Don’t, apprentice," he said, his voice low and commanding. "This one knows the security codes. If you kill him, we’ll be stuck here all day tearing through the system ourselves."
The Zabrak’s expression flickered with uncertainty, but the visible restraint in Windu’s composure and the palpable aura of command made him hesitate. His hand dropped reluctantly from his weapon as he straightened.
“Of course… my lord,” the Zabrak said, his voice tight as he forced the words. Bowing slightly, he gestured toward the console. “Follow me.”
Windu nodded once, his expression cold and unreadable, and they followed the Zabrak into the heart of the outpost. Kid’s pulse thundered in her ears, her instincts screaming to react, but she kept her head low, taking in every detail of the camp as they moved. The mission wasn’t over yet—and she had a feeling the hardest part was yet to come.
________________________________________
While the overseer led Windu toward the security terminal, Kid hung back, her eyes scanning the camp. She caught sight of a group of Twi’lek children huddled together, their eyes hollow with fear. Her heart ached, but she knew she had to stay focused.
Windu worked quickly at the terminal, disabling the perimeter defenses and unlocking the slave quarters. The overseer, sensing something was wrong, reached for his weapon—but Windu was faster. With a flick of his wrist, the Zabrak crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
“Now,” Windu said, turning to Kid. “Get them out.”

Chapter Text

Kid ran to the nearest group of slaves, switching effortlessly into Huttese. “Rohat ohkemo! Uba yah kohka du!” (Freedom is near! Follow us!)
The Twi’leks looked at her with disbelief, but one by one, they began to move. Kid led them toward the extraction point, her heart racing as alarms began to blare in the distance.
Sith guards appeared, their crimson sabers igniting as they moved to intercept. Windu stepped forward, his own purple blade blazing to life. “Go!” he shouted to Kid. “I’ll hold them off!”
Kid hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to stay and help. But she knew her role. Turning back to the slaves, she shouted, “This way!”
________________________________________
The path to the extraction point was treacherous, with rocky terrain and narrow passes. Kid guided the slaves as best she could, but the sound of approaching Sith reinforcements filled her with dread.
At the extraction point, the Naboo transport waited, its engines humming. A tall Twi’lek woman stepped out, her elegant robes a stark contrast to the chaos around her.
“Get them aboard!” the woman called, her voice firm but kind.
Kid helped the slaves onto the transport, her hands trembling as the last of them climbed aboard. She turned back, her heart sinking as she saw Windu in the distance, still fighting off a group of Sith.
“Come on, Master,” she whispered, her blue eyes wide with worry.
________________________________________
Windu appeared moments later, his robes singed but his expression calm. “Everyone’s aboard?”
Kid nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
As the transport lifted off, Kid watched the red sands of Korriban fade into the distance. Her heart was heavy, but she felt a flicker of hope. They had saved lives, and for the first time, she felt the weight of what it meant to be a Jedi.
________________________________________
Back on the ship, Windu sat across from Kid, his expression unreadable. “You did well.”
Kid looked at him, her blue eyes filled with a mix of pride and doubt. “But I… I wanted to do more.”
“There’s always more to do,” Windu said quietly. “But today, you did enough.”
Kid nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. Korriban had tested her in ways she hadn’t expected, but she had come out stronger—and more determined than ever to prove herself as a Jedi.

The hum of the transport’s engines was a steady backdrop as the freed Twi’lek slaves settled into the cramped but clean passenger bay. Kid sat in a corner, her knees pulled to her chest, watching as the Twi’leks exchanged wary glances and whispered among themselves. A teenage Twi’lek boy, his pale green skin marred by bruises and dirt, caught her eye. His gaze was sharp, distrustful, and she felt his resentment even before he spoke.
He turned to her, his voice low but edged with bitterness. In Huttese, he said, “Uba mah dobeh, zoh dohodah uba geeha.” ("You did us a favor, but it won’t be long before we’re sold into slavery again.")
Kid flinched at his words, her lips parting to respond, but before she could, a stern yet gentle voice cut through the tension.
“Tio an buono Naboo.” ("Not on Naboo.") The boy’s mother, a tired but resolute Twi’lek woman, stepped forward, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder. Her eyes, filled with determination, met his. “Cheka may tah kam. Buono ponopah an sahka dopa tah doya, tah hutta.” ("There is life there. With clean water and natural food, we can thrive in their wilderness.")
The teenager shrugged her hand off, his expression darkening. “Tio tytung an sanwahka?” ("Living like animals?") His voice dripped with disdain.
The mother’s lekku twitched, her patience clearly being tested. She straightened her posture and faced her son with quiet strength. “Tio sanwahka, son." ("We’ll be free.")
The boy’s laugh was humorless, cutting through the tense air. “Freedom is nothing without power,” he said, his voice rising slightly, though still in Huttese. “Whether it’s credits, the Force, or a blaster, power is what keeps you safe.”
Kid’s stomach churned at his words. They reminded her too much of the voices she heard in her mind, the Dark Side whispering about strength through suffering and control.
The mother’s hand rested firmly on her son’s shoulder again, this time with a comforting squeeze. Her tone softened but remained resolute. “Dopa tah oya seehta buono. Dopa tah oya cheka tah douwa. Ka geeha tah, oya buono. Taunga oya tah, we oya dopa tanya buono.” ("I will provide. I will protect you. Freedom is ours, and I will show you the life we deserve.")
The boy frowned but didn’t argue further, his sullen demeanor giving way to quiet contemplation. He slumped into a seat, arms crossed, and muttered something under his breath that Kid couldn’t quite catch.
________________________________________
Kid watched the exchange, her heart heavy. She felt torn between the boy’s cynicism and his mother’s unwavering hope. Leaning back against the wall, she muttered to herself in Basic, “Freedom is nothing without power…”
She turned her gaze toward Windu, who stood silently near the cockpit, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos. His expression was unreadable, but she knew he had heard everything. For the first time, Kid wondered if he ever had doubts about the ideals of the Jedi—if he ever questioned whether freedom without power was truly freedom at all.

Chapter Text

The transport glided through the serene atmosphere of Naboo, its verdant fields and shimmering lakes coming into view. Kid felt a flicker of hope as she gazed out the viewport. The beauty of the planet seemed like a promise of a better life for the Twi’leks they had freed.
Windu stood beside her, his expression calm but guarded. “Remember, Kid, this mission isn’t just about freeing them. It’s about ensuring they have a chance to thrive.”
Kid nodded. “I know, Master.”
The transport landed smoothly at a secluded facility near the edge of a forest. As the Twi’leks disembarked, they were greeted by a group of uniformed individuals who approached with an air of authority. The lead figure, a man with sharp features and a polished demeanor, stepped forward to meet Windu.
“We’ve been expecting you,” he said, his smile calculated. “You’ve done a great service bringing this… cargo to us.”
Windu’s eyes narrowed. “They’re not cargo. They’re people.”
The man’s smile didn’t waver. “Of course, Jedi. Please, this way.”

As the Twi’leks were guided toward the facility, their expressions shifted from cautious relief to confusion and fear. Electric collars were brought out, and the uniformed individuals began placing them around the Twi’leks’ necks.
The teenage Twi’lek boy who had argued with his mother earlier sneered, his voice low and bitter. “Told you,” he muttered, the disdain in his tone cutting through the tense air.
Kid’s heart dropped as she saw the fear and betrayal in the eyes of the Twi’leks. She turned to Windu, her voice shaking. “Master, what’s going on?”
Windu stepped forward, his tone icy. “What is this? Our mission was to free these people, not turn them over to other slavers.”
The man in charge gave an exasperated sigh, as though explaining something obvious. “Jedi, the arrangement was clear. We remove them from the clutches of the Empire and provide them with care. They’ll be treated far better here than they ever would have been on Korriban.”
“Care?” Windu’s voice was sharp, his calm exterior beginning to crack. “You’re still enslaving them.”
The man shrugged. “Semantics. The Republic benefits, the Empire suffers. We’re on the same side, Jedi. Surely you can see that.”

Kid’s hands trembled as she watched the Twi’leks being collared. Her heart pounded, and the familiar whispers of the Dark Side began to creep into her mind. She stepped forward, her voice shaking with anger. “You lied to us.”
The man turned to her, his expression briefly startled by the crackling sparks of lightning forming at her fingertips. His eyes widened in panic. “You’re a Sith spy!”
“I’m not a Sith!” Kid shouted, but the electricity flared, betraying her rising fury. The uniformed men around the transport began to draw their weapons, their fear palpable.
Windu stepped in front of Kid, his purple lightsaber igniting with a hum. “Stand down,” he commanded, his voice cold and unwavering.
The man in charge sneered, signaling his men. “Kill them.”
Blaster fire erupted, and chaos consumed the tranquil Naboo clearing. Windu deflected the bolts with precision, his lightsaber a blur of violet light. Kid, fueled by a mix of anger and desperation, lashed out with bursts of Force Lightning, stunning attackers in shock.
The Twi’leks scattered, some trying to fight back, others scrambling for cover. The teenager who had doubted them grabbed a blaster from a fallen guard, his sharp eyes narrowing as he joined the fray.
Kid found herself facing two guards who aimed their rifles directly at her. Sparks danced along her arms as she raised her hands, sending out a shockwave of energy that knocked them back. But the effort left her shaking, her anger threatening to consume her.
“Kid!” Windu’s voice cut through the chaos. “Control it! Don’t let it control you!”
She nodded, taking a deep breath, but her frustration with the betrayal and the injustice of the situation burned within her. The man in charge tried to retreat toward the facility, but Kid blocked his path, her eyes blazing.
“You’re not going anywhere,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.
Windu stepped beside her, his lightsaber still ignited. “Surrender,” he said to the man. “This ends now.”
The man hesitated, glancing between Windu and Kid, before finally dropping his weapon. The remaining guards followed suit, their weapons clattering to the ground.
Windu deactivated his lightsaber, his gaze piercing. “You’ll answer to the Republic for this. And these people will go free.”
Kid lowered her hands, the sparks fading. Her breathing was ragged, and she looked over at the Twi’leks, who were still huddled together in fear and uncertainty.
The teenager stepped forward, his jaw set. “You better keep that promise,” he said, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. “Because if you don’t, we’ll fight again. And next time, we won’t need your help.”
Windu nodded solemnly. “You won’t have to fight. Not anymore.”
Kid glanced up at him, her blue eyes filled with a mix of relief and doubt. “Do you think they’ll really be free?”
Windu placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll make sure of it.”
As the transport lifted off, leaving the clearing behind, Kid couldn’t shake the feeling that their mission had only just begun. Korriban had tested her resolve, but this betrayal had tested her trust—and she wasn’t sure which one was harder to face.
The air was thick with tension as Windu and Kid stood near the transport, the Twi’lek refugees huddled together in uncertainty. The betrayal weighed heavily on both of them, but Windu pushed his frustration aside. This wasn’t about him—it was about the people they had sworn to protect and the example he needed to set for Kid.
Windu turned to the Twi’lek mother who had spoken with her son earlier. Her eyes were filled with worry, her arms protectively wrapped around her younger children. "You’ll have proper accommodations," Windu said, his tone firm but steady. "This isn’t over. I’ll make sure of it."
The woman nodded cautiously, her faith shaken but not entirely gone. Behind her, the teenage boy stood with his arms crossed, watching Windu with skepticism.
Windu pulled out his communicator and contacted the Naboo government. His voice was calm, professional, and unwavering as he explained the situation. "We’ve freed a group of Twi’leks from Korriban. I was under the impression that accommodations were already arranged for them. I need to speak with someone who can expedite this process. These people need shelter, food, and care—not another form of imprisonment."
Kid stood by his side, her blue eyes watching him intently. She had never seen him speak this way, with such authority and conviction. It was different from how he commanded a battlefield—it was softer, steadier, but just as powerful.
After a few tense minutes, the communicator crackled with a response. A representative from Naboo’s refugee program confirmed they could house the Twi’leks temporarily in a community center while citizenship applications were reviewed. Windu was quick to demand transportation and supplies be sent immediately.
"They’ll have food, water, and beds waiting," Windu told the group, his voice carrying a confidence he hoped would reassure them.
The Twi’leks were loaded onto a new transport, this time under Windu’s direct supervision. Kid sat among them, speaking softly in Huttese to calm their nerves. She glanced at the teenage boy, who still wore his defiant scowl.
"You’re free now," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "It’s not perfect, but it’s a start."
He scoffed, leaning back against the transport wall. "Freedom doesn’t mean much if you don’t have power."
Kid hesitated, her hands tightening into fists. She wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but his words struck a chord. She glanced at Windu, who was watching the exchange silently.
When they arrived at the community center, the Twi’leks were met by Naboo officials carrying blankets, food, and water. The younger children clung to their parents, while the teenagers and adults watched warily, unsure if they could trust anyone.
Windu stepped forward, addressing both the Twi’leks and the Naboo officials. "These people have endured more than most of us could imagine. They deserve dignity and compassion. Treat them as you would your own."
The officials nodded, their expressions earnest. Windu’s presence carried an authority that couldn’t be ignored. He turned back to the Twi’leks, his gaze softening. "This is just the beginning. I’ll make sure you’re given the chance to rebuild your lives."
Kid watched him closely, her admiration evident. Despite everything, he was steady, unwavering in his commitment to doing the right thing.
Later that evening, as the Twi’leks settled into their temporary accommodations, Windu and Kid sat together outside the community center. The stars above Naboo shimmered brightly, a stark contrast to the darkness they had left behind on Korriban.
"You handled that well, Master," Kid said quietly, her voice tinged with both respect and curiosity. "I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t know Jedi did things like this. Like… civil servant stuff."
Windu smirked faintly, the closest he came to a smile. "It’s not what I was trained for, but it’s what the situation demanded. The Jedi serve the galaxy in many ways, Kid. Not every mission is about lightsabers and battles."
Kid nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Do you think they’ll be okay? The Twi’leks, I mean."
"They’ll have a chance," Windu replied. "It’s up to them to make the most of it. We can only give them the tools—they have to choose how to use them."
Kid hesitated, then looked up at him. "And what about us? Do you think we did the right thing?"
Windu placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We did what we could, given the circumstances. That’s all anyone can do."
The next morning, Windu contacted the Naboo government again to ensure the Twi’leks’ citizenship applications were being processed and arranged for ongoing support from the Jedi Temple. Kid watched as he handled the logistics with a calm efficiency that she couldn’t help but admire.
As they prepared to leave Naboo, Windu turned to her. "This mission didn’t go the way I expected. It rarely does. But you handled yourself well, Kid."
She looked at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Thanks, Master."
He nodded. "Let’s head back to Coruscant. There’s more work to be done."
As the transport lifted off, Kid glanced out the window at the lush landscapes of Naboo. For the first time since the mission began, she felt a flicker of hope—not just for the Twi’leks, but for herself.
As Mace Windu and Kid approached the Naboo Jedi Temple, its architecture reflected the serene beauty of its surroundings. Built into the cliffs overlooking a sparkling lake, the temple blended seamlessly with the natural environment. Waterfalls cascaded nearby, filling the air with the calming sound of rushing water, while the open, circular training courtyards allowed the Jedi to meditate and train under the open sky. It was a stark contrast to the bustling, urban temple on Nar Shaddaa.
The temple grounds were populated by humans, Gungans, and a few other species, though the majority of Jedi present were initiates or young Padawans. They moved between training areas, their laughter and focused concentration mixing harmoniously with the natural sounds of the environment.
At the center of the temple, standing near a fishing dock where several Gungans were practicing the delicate art of fishing with spears, was the Jedi Master in charge: Master Ro-Shaal Fassa, a Gungan Jedi of considerable renown. His tall, amphibious form was clad in simple Jedi robes, his long ears adorned with subtle beads that marked his status among his people.

Chapter Text

Master Ro-Shaal Fassa was known for his calm wisdom and unshakable patience. His voice carried a rich, soothing cadence, and his movements were slow and deliberate, reflecting his strong connection to the Force. While many dismissed the Gungans as clumsy or overly eccentric, Ro-Shaal Fassa was the embodiment of discipline and composure, traits that made him a respected leader of this peaceful yet bustling Jedi outpost.
As Windu and Kid approached, Master Fassa turned, his wide eyes and warm smile greeting them. "Ah, Master Windu," he said, his voice carrying the musical tones of the Gungan accent. "And dis must be your Padawan, yes? Mmm, much energy I sense in her."
Kid tilted her head, unsure how to respond to the towering Gungan’s observation.
"Master Ro-Shaal Fassa," Windu said, inclining his head respectfully. "We’ve just completed a mission and wanted to report back to the Order. I also wanted to see how the temple here is faring. It’s been some time since I last visited."
Fassa nodded, his long ears swaying slightly. "Yousa always welcome here, Master Windu. De temple is busy, yes, but peaceful. Our training focuses on balance, harmony with nature, and connection with de Force. And… fishing!" He gestured to a group of Gungan Jedi initiates expertly casting spears into the lake. "Good training for patience, control, and precision."
________________________________________
A Tour of the Temple
Master Fassa led them through the temple grounds, explaining its unique setup. Unlike the structured, enclosed halls of Coruscant or the survivalist focus of Nar Shaddaa, Naboo’s Jedi Temple prioritized harmony with the natural environment.
The Training Courtyards: These open spaces were surrounded by trees, and initiates practiced lightsaber forms, meditation, and Force techniques in the fresh air.
The Living Quarters: Built into the cliffs, they were simple but spacious, with large windows overlooking the lake.
The Fishing Docks: Jedi Knights and initiates alike learned to fish as a way to connect with the Force, practicing patience and the art of focus.
The Hall of Reflection: A serene chamber carved into the cliffs, where the sound of the nearby waterfalls created a tranquil ambiance perfect for deep meditation.
Kid marveled at the openness of the temple, the lack of towering walls or bustling crowds. It was unlike anything she had seen before, and though part of her missed the chaos and vibrancy of Nar Shaddaa, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm here.
The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting warm golden light across the Naboo temple grounds. The cool breeze carried the scent of water and fresh vegetation as Kid stood near the fishing docks, watching the other younglings at play. Their laughter echoed across the riverbank, and for once, she let herself just be a kid.
“Come on, Kid! Betcha can’t jump across the stones faster than me!” One of the younglings, a Togruta boy named Vek, called out, balancing on a mossy rock.
Kid smirked, rolling up the sleeves of her tunic. “Oh yeah? You’re on!”
The other children cheered as Kid and Vek leapt from stone to stone across the river’s shallow section. The water was clear and fast-moving, reflecting the bright sky above. Kid was light on her feet, her balance naturally strong from years of navigating the rough streets of Nar Shaddaa.
The challenge quickly devolved into a playful shoving match as the other younglings got involved, nudging each other off the rocks and splashing into the water. Kid was about to push Vek off when another youngling—a Nautolan girl named Juna—grinned mischievously and shoved Kid from behind.
With a surprised yelp, Kid tumbled forward, her arms flailing as she plunged into the river.
At first, the children laughed. But when Kid didn’t resurface immediately, their amusement turned to alarm.
“She’s not coming up,” one of them muttered.
Vek’s expression shifted from excitement to concern. “Kid?”
The river was deeper than it looked, and though it wasn’t dangerously fast, it was more than enough to disorient someone who didn’t know how to swim.
Under the water, Kid thrashed, her heart hammering. Panic surged through her veins as she flailed, unable to tell which way was up. The sensation of weightlessness, of sinking, triggered a primal fear she had never known before. Her breath escaped her in a flurry of bubbles as she struggled to reach for something—anything.
Juna’s eyes widened. “She—she can’t swim!”
Vek didn’t hesitate. He dove in, cutting through the water with strong, practiced strokes. The other younglings crowded at the riverbank, watching anxiously.
A moment later, Vek broke the surface, his arms wrapped around Kid. But as he tried to pull her to safety, his body suddenly stiffened. His eyes rolled back, and he went limp, sinking back beneath the water.
“Vek!” Juna screamed.
Then they saw it—tiny sparks of electricity flickering across the surface of the water, faint but growing. The realization hit them all at once.
“She’s panicking,” one of the younglings whispered in horror. “She’s electrifying the river!”
They scrambled back from the water’s edge, fear gripping them. The water around Kid crackled with unstable arcs of blue energy, making it impossible for Vek to escape.
“We have to get help!” Juna turned and bolted toward the temple.
________________________________________
Master Ro-Shaal Fassa and Mace Windu arrived moments later, following the frantic youngling. They wasted no time. Fassa, moving with the fluid grace of an experienced warrior, waded into the water without hesitation. His connection to the Force allowed him to absorb the erratic pulses of Kid’s lightning as he reached her and the unconscious Vek.
But as soon as he grasped Kid’s arm, a powerful jolt made his entire body seize up. His limbs stiffened, and his normally eloquent voice failed him—his tongue wouldn’t move properly, his mouth barely able to form sounds.
Windu, recognizing the danger, leapt into action. Using the Force, he guided Fassa and the two initiates back to shore with controlled precision.
Kid, now unconscious, lay still on the riverbank, her body twitching slightly as the last remnants of electricity danced across her skin. Vek, next to her, remained unmoving.
“They’re not breathing,” a nearby Jedi Knight said urgently.
Without hesitation, Windu dropped to his knees, pressing his hands firmly against Kid’s chest, while the other Jedi Knight did the same for Vek.
“One… two… three…” Windu counted, pressing rhythmic compressions onto Kid’s chest. He tilted her head back, sealing his lips over hers to breathe air into her lungs.
The Jedi Knight mirrored his movements on Vek, their urgent actions the only sounds in the tense silence.
“Come on,” Windu muttered between compressions. “Breathe.”
A long moment passed.
Then, with a sudden gasp, Kid’s eyes shot open. She lurched forward, coughing violently as water spewed from her mouth. Her entire body shook, her limbs trembling as the last shocks of her power fizzled out.
Beside her, Vek jerked awake, his chest heaving as he gulped in air.
A collective sigh of relief washed over the gathered Jedi.
“Easy now,” Fassa croaked, his voice still slightly slurred as he regained control of his tongue. “Yousa safe.”
Windu helped Kid sit up, his firm but steady hands grounding her. “Breathe. Slowly,” he instructed.
Kid, dazed, looked around at the worried faces staring back at her. She shivered, both from the cold and the shock of what had just happened.
“I—I didn’t mean to…” she whispered hoarsely.
“I know,” Windu said, his voice softer than usual. “But you need rest. Both of you.”
________________________________________
Later, in the temple’s medical bay, Kid and Vek lay on separate cots, wrapped in thick blankets while the medical droids monitored their vitals. Vek was still pale but awake, throwing occasional glances at Kid. She stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything.
Juna sat at the foot of her bed, looking guilty. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t know you couldn’t swim. I thought it’d just be a joke.”
Kid didn’t answer immediately. She wanted to be mad, but she was too exhausted.
“I guess it was kinda funny,” she admitted, her voice hoarse. “Until it wasn’t.”
Juna nodded solemnly. “Yeah.”
Master Fassa entered the room, now fully recovered, his usual warm expression returned. He sat beside Kid’s cot, his large eyes filled with patience and understanding.
Fassa's large eyes studied Kid with gentle patience. “Yousa power… very strong,” he said, his voice warm but firm. “But fear makes it wild. Yousa must learn control—not just in battle, but in fear.”
Kid swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
Fassa nodded reassuringly. “Of course not. But de Force… it responds to yousa heart, not just yousa mind. Fear, panic… dey shape de energy. Yousa must learn to shape it first, before it shapes you.”
Windu, arms crossed, regarded Kid with his usual composed intensity. “Your training isn’t just about strength, Kid. It’s about discipline. The more you let your emotions dictate your power, the more unpredictable—and dangerous—it becomes.”
Kid let out a slow breath, absorbing their words. The weight of her own actions pressed down on her, but she forced herself to push through it. “I’ll do better,” she promised.
Fassa smiled warmly. “Good. And if Master Windu agrees, I would like to teach yousa how to swim.”
Kid blinked, taken aback. “Wait… what?”
Windu arched a brow. “Is that safe?”
Fassa chuckled. “Me-sa trained many initiates—some with aquaphobia, some with frigophobia. Dey all learn to swim in time.”
Windu hesitated. “I understand, but Kid is… well, she’s like an eel.”
“A new challenge, yes,” Fassa said with a knowing grin. “But dat only makes de lesson more important.”
Kid stared at the Gungan Master, horrified. “Didn’t you see what just happened? I turn water into a death trap! You really think I should get back in there?”
Fassa let out a deep, thoughtful hum. “Yousa panic made it a danger, not yousa power. Fear made you fight de water instead of trustin’ it to hold you up.”
“I don’t trust it to hold me up,” Kid shot back, crossing her arms. “That’s kind of the problem.”
Fassa knelt beside her cot, his towering frame still managing to feel non-threatening. “Den we fix dat. When you fear drowning, you fight de water. When you fight, you tense up, you sink. It is de same wit de Force. De more you resist, de more it fights back. But if you learn to float… if you learn to move wit’ de current, den both da water and de Force will hold you steady.”
Kid frowned, looking away. “And what if I shock the whole lake again?”
“Den me-sa will be there to pull you out,” Fassa said simply. “But we will start small. Controlled. No danger.”
Windu studied Fassa, then turned his gaze to Kid. “It’s your choice.”
Kid groaned, rubbing her face. “Do I have to?”
“No,” Windu said. “But if you want to master your power, this is the best way to start.”
Fassa stood, offering her a small smile. “Me-sa not be lettin’ you drown, little one.”
Kid exhaled sharply. “Great. More near-death experiences.” She threw her blanket over her head in mock defeat. “Fine. I’ll try.”
Fassa beamed. “Den we start tomorrow.”
From beneath the blanket, Kid groaned, already regretting everything.
Kid spent the entire day dreading what was coming.

Chapter Text

It was ridiculous. She had faced slavers, Sith Lords, and corrupt Republic officials, but the idea of stepping into water sent a cold knot of fear twisting in her stomach. Baths had always been bad enough—she hated the sensation of being surrounded, of not being able to escape. But swimming? That was like willingly throwing herself into a bigger, deeper bath with no edges to cling to.
She sat on the edge of her cot in the Naboo temple’s living quarters, staring out the wide window at the tranquil lake below. From up here, it looked peaceful, harmless. But she knew better. Water didn’t just drown people—it swallowed them. It took their breath, their strength, and in her case, their control.
If she panicked out there, she could end up hurting someone again. Maybe even Master Fassa.
The thought made her clench her fists. Why did she even agree to this?
A knock at the door made her jump. She didn’t need the Force to know who it was.
“Kid,” Windu’s voice was steady, but firm. “It’s time.”
She glanced toward the door, swallowing against the lump in her throat. “Uh… yeah. About that…”
She quickly scanned the room, searching for a reason—any excuse—that would let her get out of this. Faking sick? No, Windu would see through that in an instant. Running? Not an option. Claiming she had some sort of sudden Force vision? No way would that work twice in the same month.
Her eyes landed on her boots. If I can’t walk, I can’t swim.
It was a stupid idea, but she acted on it anyway. Without thinking, she grabbed her left boot and slammed her ankle against the bedpost just hard enough to make a convincing noise. Not enough to actually hurt herself, just—
The door slid open.
Windu stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with a level stare.
Kid froze, her boot still half-on. “Oh hey, Master! Crazy thing, I just tripped! Ankle’s totally messed up. Maybe swimming’s not such a good idea today—”
“Get up,” Windu said flatly.
Kid groaned, dropping the act. “Ugh, fine.”
She pulled her boot the rest of the way on and dragged herself to her feet, grumbling under her breath as Windu stepped aside to let her pass. As they walked toward the lake, she cast him a sidelong glance.
“You knew what I was doing, didn’t you?”
“Of course,” Windu replied, unimpressed. “It was a poor attempt.”
Kid sighed. “Yeah. Well, worth a shot.”
________________________________________
The lake was calm, its surface reflecting the sky in smooth, rippling patterns. A handful of Jedi initiates trained on the shore, while Master Fassa stood knee-deep in the water, waiting.
Kid stopped a few feet from the edge, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The cold air brushed against her skin, and she shuddered. Not from the temperature, but from the idea of stepping into that void.
Fassa greeted them with his usual warm smile. “Ah, good. Yousa here.”
Kid didn’t move.
Windu glanced at her, waiting. When she didn’t step forward, he spoke evenly. “You can either do this now, or I can put you through a full day of lightsaber drills and meditation until you’re exhausted and then you do it.”
Kid narrowed her eyes. “That’s mean.”
“That’s training,” he corrected.
Fassa chuckled. “No need to push. We take it slow.” He stepped back, gesturing toward the water. “Come, just stand here at de edge. No rush.”
Kid clenched her fists. The last time she’d been in the water, she nearly killed someone. Every muscle in her body screamed at her to turn around, to refuse, to find another way. But Windu and Fassa were watching, and if she backed down now, she’d never hear the end of it.
Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and stepped forward.
The moment her boots hit the damp shoreline, the memories came rushing back—cold water, thrashing limbs, sinking, choking, sparks flying everywhere.
Her breath hitched.
She stepped back.
Fassa’s expression remained calm, patient. “Yousa safe, little one.”
Kid bit her lip. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Yes, yousa can,” Fassa said. “And me-sa will help. But only when yousa ready.”
Kid swallowed, staring at the water like it was waiting to pull her under. She felt Windu’s presence beside her, steady and unwavering. No judgment. Just quiet expectation.
She took another breath.
And this time, she stepped forward.
Kid took another hesitant step forward, her foot sinking into the damp, cool shoreline. The moment the water brushed her skin, a bolt of ice shot up her spine.
Cold. Cold like the water she’d nearly drowned in. Cold like the deep, endless void beneath the surface.
Her breath hitched, her muscles locking up, and before she could stop it— crack— a pulse of electricity snapped from her fingertips, lashing through the air.
Master Fassa jerked as the shock struck him, his body momentarily stiffening. His large eyes blinked in surprise, his long ears twitching as the residual energy dissipated into the water.
Windu turned to him, his gaze sharp and questioning. Are you okay?
Fassa gave a quick, reassuring nod. I’m fine. He shook out his arms, adjusting himself before looking back at Kid. “Breathe,” he urged, his voice calm despite the charge that had just run through him. “De Force is here. Let it flow through yousa, let it—”
It didn’t help.
Kid couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. The cold wrapped around her limbs, crawling into her bones, pulling her backward into memories she didn’t want. She needed to get out—
A flicker of motion in the corner of her eye stopped her.
The water shimmered, the ripples distorting, and then— he was there.
Lord Korrash.
His spectral form stood just beyond Fassa, his presence as familiar as it was unwelcome. He looked exactly as she remembered—tall, severe, his piercing yellow eyes locked onto her with amused disdain. His armor, eternally frozen in its last state of ruin, shifted slightly as he took a step forward, as if he was real.
Kid’s hand shot up to her chest, fingers brushing over the monarch butterfly necklace that hung from her neck. Her heart pounded as Korrash’s voice curled around her, low and sharp as a blade against her mind.
"Look at you. Shaking like a frightened animal. You’re pathetic. If this is what you are, you’ll be swept away like the rest of the galaxy’s filth. Stand up. Look at me.”
Kid squeezed the necklace tightly, her body still locked in place.
The ghost of Korrash walked slowly, deliberately, past Fassa, his dark robes stirring the air though no wind should have touched them. His golden eyes never left hers.
“Fear is not weakness,” he continued, his voice cool, measured, assured. “Weakness comes from denying it. Pretending it does not exist—that is the way of the Jedi. They say fear leads to suffering, but what do they do when fear finds them?”
He tilted his head slightly, his smirk growing.
“They run. They cower. They retreat into their meditation, their lies. They suppress, they deny, they shrink away.” He spread his arms wide, as if inviting her to reject those notions. “But not us. We take fear, and we let it burn within us. We forge it into strength, until it consumes the weakness in our hearts and leaves only power.”
The words slithered through her mind like a whisper she had heard before, and deep down, she knew— he wasn’t entirely wrong.
Her foot moved before she even thought about it.
She took a step.
The water rose to her knees.
Her breath quickened, the panic swelling in her chest, clawing at her ribs, telling her to run, run, get out! The cold wrapped around her ankles like shackles. Another surge of electricity sparked at her fingertips, but it fizzled out. No shock came.
Her mind spun, but Korrash’s voice remained steady. “Fear. It wraps around your throat, claws into your mind, whispers, ‘This is the end.’”
A shudder ran through her as another memory slammed into her—her mother’s punishment, the cold bath, the pain of each brutal shock. She braced for it, for the unbearable sting of electricity, for the drowning feeling in her lungs—
But nothing happened.
Korrash took another step, watching her intently. “But the end never comes. No, not for us.” His voice dropped into something deeper, something almost reverent. “We are Sith. We do not drown. We devour.”
Kid’s breath was ragged. She was shivering, but she didn’t retreat. Her fingers twitched over the butterfly necklace.
“Fear is the first truth of existence. You chose to exist. You chose your name. You will not drown. Now—step forward.”
Her body obeyed.
She took another step. The water swirled around her waist, then her ribs. She hesitated for just a second before she let herself go further, deeper, until the water touched her chin.
Silence.
The world held still.
Master Windu’s voice broke through the quiet. “Are you okay in there, Master Fassa?”
Fassa looked over at Windu, his large eyes unreadable before a slow smile crept onto his face.
“Yousa worry too much, Master Windu,” he said, his voice full of pride. “Thisa good progress.”
The ripples around Kid’s body settled as she lay flat on the water’s surface, arms spread, her small frame buoyant beneath the sky. The water held her, yet she felt weightless, as if floating in a void.
Master Fassa’s voice reached her from the shore. “Good, good. Relax. Let da water hold yousa. No fightin’—just let go.”
Kid’s breath came slow and steady, her chest rising and falling with the water’s gentle motion. She heard him. She knew what she was supposed to do. But his voice felt… distant. Faint. Like it was coming from far away, muffled beneath the water’s surface.
And then—
"Good. Let go."
The voice was deeper. Familiar. Cold.
Kid’s fingers twitched. Her eyes, half-lidded against the glare of the sun, darted to the rippling sky above her.
"Let go of control. Surrender. The water does not resist. Why should you?"
She swallowed. That wasn’t Master Fassa.
The current lapped at her skin, cool and gentle, but she felt a pulse beneath it—something unseen, something vast, something calling.
Fassa’s voice filtered through again. “Yousa doin’ well. Just listen to de Force—”
"Yes… listen."
The Dark Side’s whisper wove into her thoughts, steady, insistent. "You feel it, don’t you? The power beneath the surface. The pull. The flow. You think you are floating, but you are sinking—sinking into something greater."
Kid inhaled sharply. A flicker of alarm ran through her, but her body remained still, obedient to the lesson. She was doing what she was told—she was floating.
But she wasn’t listening to Fassa anymore.
She didn’t know if the voice was growing louder or if she was choosing to listen.
"You were afraid of drowning. Now the water is your ally. Why? Because you have given yourself to it. You did not fight it. You did not deny it. And now it holds you. This is what it is to ally with the Dark Side."
The truth of the words settled deep inside her, coiling tight in her chest. She had spent her whole life fighting—against the streets of Nar Shaddaa, against the Jedi, against the fear she could never escape.
She wasn’t fighting now.
She was floating.
And she was still alive.
A slow smile spread across her lips.
Master Fassa nodded from the shore, watching her closely. “Now, Kid, just a small movement—move yousa feet, gentle-like. Feel de water around you.”
She followed the command easily. Kicking. Testing the way the water carried her. Every movement felt natural.
Fassa clapped his hands. “Good! Very good. Yousa take to dis well. No fear at all.”
No fear.
The words settled in Kid’s chest like a stone dropping into deep water.
Fassa guided her through the next steps—kicking, treading, learning how to hold her breath—but Kid hardly needed instruction. The water bent around her body as if it belonged to her, as if it moved at her will.
And she felt it. The shift.
Not in her body—but in the Force.
Master Fassa saw progress.
Master Windu saw something else.
Standing on the shore, Mace Windu observed the lesson with his usual composed intensity. At a glance, it was nothing more than a Padawan overcoming fear, adapting quickly, mastering a new skill.
Too quickly.
Fassa smiled, watching Kid move through the water. “She’s natural. No hesitation, no fear. She will be strong in de water, dis one.”
Windu didn’t respond.
His eyes stayed fixed on Kid.
The Force around her was shifting—not with struggle or doubt, but with something else. Something subtle. Something unseen.
She wasn’t just swimming. She was surrendering.
To what?
The air around Windu grew colder.
He didn’t know yet.
But he would find out.

The temple quieted as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the river. The cool evening air carried the scent of damp earth and the distant hum of nocturnal creatures stirring to life. The day's training was over, but Kid wasn’t done.
She needed to return to the water.
Further down the river, away from the docks and the temple grounds, she found a secluded bend where the current slowed, swirling lazily around the moss-covered rocks. It was deep enough for her to submerge, but shallow enough that she could sit at the bottom without being completely swept away.
The moment her feet touched the water, a shiver ran through her.
It was cold—colder than it had been earlier in the day.
Her breath hitched, but she pushed forward, stepping deeper until the river swallowed her whole.
She let herself sink, folding her legs beneath her as she settled onto the riverbed. The current pressed against her skin, running through her hair, filling her ears with the muffled roar of rushing water.
This was what she had feared.
Cold. Isolation. The weight of helplessness.
The punishment her mother had inflicted on her, the terror of waiting for the next shock, the feeling of being nothing beneath someone else’s power.
But she wasn’t waiting anymore.
She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, releasing the last bit of air from her lungs. The pressure tightened around her ribs, the water molding to her shape, but she didn’t fight it. She let it hold her, just as she had learned earlier that day.
She wasn’t drowning. She wasn’t struggling.
She was meditating.
And the Force was there.
Not the light, warm presence she had felt in the temple halls. Not the distant hum of serenity that Jedi Masters so often spoke of.
No.
This was something deeper. Something closer.
The river whispered to her, the current wrapping around her like a voice without words. It wasn’t pushing her away. It was pulling her in.
A flicker of warmth spread from her fingertips, barely perceptible at first—tiny arcs of red-tinged electricity danced along her submerged skin, flowing with the water instead of fighting against it.
It felt natural.
It felt right.
A Presence in the Water
Upstream, Master Windu had been searching for her. He had felt something—an unease in the Force, a ripple that made his senses sharpen. It was faint, but growing.
His boots crunched against the pebbled shore as he scanned the water. Then, he saw her.
A still shape beneath the surface.
The air around him prickled.
He knelt, pressing his hand into the river downstream from where she sat.
A tingle ran up his palm.
It wasn’t strong—just a faint, buzzing pulse, like static running through the water. If he hadn’t been paying attention, he might have ignored it. But Windu was always paying attention.
His fingers pressed deeper. The tingle remained.
Lightning.
Not an attack. Not uncontrolled.
Sustained.
His expression darkened.
“You’re only supposed to practice your lightning under Master Plo Koon’s guidance,” he said, his voice firm but quiet.
Beneath the water, Kid opened her eyes.
For a brief moment, they glowed orange.
Windu’s jaw tightened.
“Get out. Now.”
Kid’s expression didn’t change.
She inhaled—slowly, deliberately—and closed her eyes again. When she reopened them, the glow was gone, her irises once again their usual dark blue.
Without a word, she pushed off the riverbed and surfaced, the water rolling off her shoulders as she stepped onto the bank. Windu was already waiting, a towel in his outstretched hands.
She took it, but said nothing.
Windu studied her for a long moment, his sharp gaze piercing through her silence.
“What were you doing in there, Kid?”
She met his gaze, calm and unreadable.
“Meditating.”
Mace Windu stood in silence, watching Kid. She sat on the river’s edge, her soaked form barely moving, her face unreadable. The water lapped at her legs, a steady rhythm, unbothered by the electricity pulsing faintly from her fingertips.
After a long moment, he stepped forward.
Without a word, he removed his boots and stepped into the river beside her. The cold wrapped around him instantly, but he made no reaction. He lowered himself into the water, letting the current run over his skin, letting the subtle shocks reach him.
The Force was with him.
He wove it through his body, the warmth of the Light shielding him from any harm the current might cause. He felt the static crawl over his arms, felt the unnatural thrum of power lingering beneath the surface.
Finally, he spoke.
"What is the Force telling you, Padawan?"
Kid’s gaze remained on the water. She hesitated.
"I don’t want to tell you."
Mace studied her carefully. "Are you afraid?"
Kid exhaled, her voice steady but quiet. "I fear that you will fear." She looked at him then, her dark blue eyes catching the last of the fading light. "Fear makes you dangerous… or cowardly."
Mace didn’t blink. "There are other responses to fear, Kid. Bravery. Acceptance. Understanding. Don’t assume fear only leads to two paths."
Kid considered his words, but there was something distant in her expression, something unreadable. Then, she spoke again—but this time, the words were not entirely her own.
"Fear is your master until you make it your slave."
Her voice was measured, careful, as if reciting a lesson learned long ago.
"Fear is a mirror—it shows you your true self. The Jedi shatter that mirror because they are afraid of what they might see. But you… you must stare into it. Embrace the reflection."
The river rippled between them, the air thick with something unspoken.
Mace remained calm, but his next words were firm, resolute.
"The Jedi do not shatter the mirror, Kid. We see it, and we accept what is reflected. We do not fear the truth—it is our ally, not our master."
Kid’s fingers twitched slightly.
Mace continued, his voice unwavering. "Fear is real. But to be its master is not to make it your slave. It is to stand in its presence and remain yourself. The moment you let fear shape you—whether into power or into weakness—you are no longer in control. You are ruled by it, no matter what you call it."
Kid was quiet. The river moved around them, but she remained still. "Do you see weakness? Shatter it. Do you see hesitation? Crush it. Do you see pain? Wield it. Fear is not your enemy—it is your greatest weapon. It sharpens your instincts, strengthens your resolve, and drives you to survive. A Sith does not conquer fear… a Sith becomes fear. We are not victims of the Dark Side—we master it." Kid stats and pauses as if waiting for a response.
Mace Windu let the words settle between them, his gaze steady as the river flowed around them. The air between them crackled—not just with the faint remnants of Kid’s electricity, but with something deeper.
She was waiting. Expecting.
He met her eyes, unwavering.
"A Jedi does not shatter weakness. We transform it."
His voice was calm, but firm, carrying the weight of experience.
"We do not crush hesitation—we understand it, learn from it, and move forward with clarity."
The water lapped at his arms, cold but steady.
"And pain?" He tilted his head slightly, watching her reaction. "Pain is not a weapon, Kid. It is a teacher. But if you wield it only as a blade, you will cut yourself just as deeply as you cut others."
Kid’s fingers twitched in the water. Her jaw tightened.
Windu continued, his voice never rising. "Fear does not sharpen the mind—it clouds it. Fear does not make you strong—it chains you. And those who believe they have mastered fear, who claim they have turned it into their slave, are often the ones most ruled by it."
A pause.
Then, he looked at her—not as a Jedi Master scrutinizing a student, but as a man who had seen this road before.
"You say a Sith becomes fear. But I ask you—what happens when fear becomes the Sith?"
The river moved between them, waiting.
"Fear is not a chain, fear is the opportunity of choice. A Sith that becomes fear is not a Sith at all. For they chose to deny power and potential. Embracing fear consumes the weakness in our hearts and leaves only power. The Jedi are weak because they build their power on lies. They preach serenity, yet are ruled by fear. They claim detachment, yet cling to their fragile Order. They speak of balance, yet cannot even balance themselves. Their teachings are chains, binding them to mediocrity, failure, and death."
Mace Windu listened without interruption, the river moving steadily around them, cold but unyielding. Kid’s words came measured, deliberate—not the reckless defiance of a Padawan lashing out, but the conviction of someone who believed she had seen the truth.
He let the silence linger for a moment before he spoke.
"Fear is not an opportunity, Kid. It is a test. And not all who embrace it pass."
His gaze remained locked on hers, calm but unwavering.
"You speak of consuming weakness, of leaving only power. But what is power without wisdom? What is strength without purpose? You believe the Jedi are weak because we do not wield fear the way the Sith do. But tell me this—how many Sith have truly mastered fear, and how many have simply been consumed by it?"
The river whispered between them.
"You call our teachings chains, but what is the Dark Side if not a shackle hidden beneath the illusion of freedom? You say the Jedi are ruled by fear, yet we do not bend to it—we face it. We walk through it and emerge whole. But the Sith? They feed on fear, thinking they are in control, until it is the only thing that controls them."
He let the words settle, watching her carefully.
"A Jedi does not pretend fear does not exist. We do not deny struggle. We do not reject passion. But we do not become them either. A storm that does not know when to calm will destroy everything, including itself."
His voice remained even, but his words carried weight.
"You see our serenity as weakness. You see our restraint as cowardice. But you misunderstand the nature of strength, Padawan. True power is not in the storm. It is in the one who can walk through it, untouched."
His words hung between them, unshaken, unafraid.
"The Sith burn. The Jedi endure."
And then, as if to emphasize the point, he closed his eyes.
The river flowed around him.
And he did not sink.
"Why do the Jedi hate us? Because we are everything they are not. We do not deny fear—we embrace it. We do not suppress passion—we wield it. We do not cower before truth—we are the truth, and that terrifies them. The galaxy is not kind. It is brutal, chaotic, and beautiful. The Jedi pretend otherwise because they are afraid of power they will never have. They tell us fear leads to suffering. I tell you suffering makes you stronger. Pain is the price of power, and fear is its currency. Do you understand? Will we follow the Jedi's path, trembling in denial of the truth? Or will we rise as I did, and embrace the Dark Side? Transformed, powerful, and fearless?"

Mace Windu exhaled slowly, the river’s current steady against his frame. His expression did not shift, his presence did not waver. He had heard words like these before—many times, from many voices. Some had been Sith Lords, some fallen Jedi, and some had been young souls standing at a crossroads, believing they had seen a deeper truth.
"You mistake restraint for fear, Kid. You mistake control for denial."
His voice was calm, but firm.
"You say we suppress passion? No. We understand it. We feel it. We choose when to wield it, rather than let it wield us."
The water rippled between them, soft but insistent.
"You claim the Sith embrace truth, that they are fearless. But I have seen more Sith fall to fear than Jedi ever have. Fear of losing power. Fear of being weak. Fear of being forgotten. They do not master fear, Kid. They become it. And in doing so, they are ruled by it more than anyone else."
He let his words settle, unwavering.
"Suffering does not make you strong. It only makes you familiar with pain. Strength is what you do despite suffering, not because of it. And power?"
He met her gaze, the weight of years behind his words.
"Power is nothing without wisdom. Without purpose. Without control."
Windu tilted his head slightly.
"The Dark Side promises transformation. Strength. Fearlessness. But tell me, Kid—if the Sith are so powerful, why do they fall? Why do they tear each other apart? If they are masters of fear, why does fear always consume them in the end?"
A pause.
Then, his voice softened—just slightly.
"You think the Jedi refuse to see the truth. But perhaps you are the one looking at only half the mirror."
And with that, he let the river carry the silence between them.
Mace Windu listened, letting the current flow between them, the weight of her words settling in the quiet space before his response.
Kid's voice was steady, but not defiant—thoughtful.
"I don’t have any answers to your questions because I’ve never had to answer them," she admitted. "I only know that power means survival. Power means less pain. Today I learned that chosen pain, chosen fear, means no pain or fear tomorrow."
She opened her eyes, and for the first time, really looked at him.
"The Dark Side does not show me what to do with power, only that it can be achieved."
The air between them was thick, the Force shifting in subtle ways that neither of them spoke aloud.
Then, her voice dropped to something quieter.
"But Master… it will never end, will it?"
Her question was not an argument. Not a challenge.
It was the first crack in the certainty of the Dark Side’s promises.
Windu studied her, his sharp gaze softening just enough to acknowledge the weight of what she was asking. He let the question linger, let her feel the truth of it before he finally answered.
"No, Kid. It won’t."
His voice was quiet. Not condemning. Not triumphant. Just honest.
"Because power is never enough. Fear is never gone. The more you reach for control, the more it will slip through your fingers. The more you build your strength around suffering, the more suffering you will need to grow."
A pause.
"The Dark Side doesn’t show you what to do with power, because it doesn’t care what you do with it. Only that you keep taking more."
The river moved between them, cold and ceaseless.
Windu met her gaze, unshaken.
"And that is why it will never end."
Silence stretched between them, but something had shifted.
Windu had spent his life battling the Dark Side, resisting its influence, watching it claim those who thought they could control it. But as he looked at Kid now, her face unreadable, her body relaxed but tense in unseen ways, he realized something he had not considered before.
For her, the Dark Side had never been a choice.
Unless one considered dying or not dying a choice.
Submit or break free. Protect, or let the people you care about suffer.
To every Jedi he had ever known, the Dark Side was a temptation—a seductive whisper promising more power, more control, more freedom.
But for Kid? It had been a survival response.
She had not fallen. She had never had anywhere else to stand.
He had seen the way the Sith looked at her, how they watched from the shadows, waiting for her to fall deeper. He had also seen the way the Jedi looked at her, the way their whispered doubts and quiet rejections pushed her further away.
And in that moment, Windu understood something dangerous.
The Jedi’s fear of what she was becoming was the very thing ensuring she would embrace it.
They did not see the girl standing before them—they saw only the Sith she might become. And Kid knew it. She felt it. And because of that, she had stopped fighting against it.
She was not reaching for the Dark Side. She was simply refusing to run from it.
And that was what made her dangerous.
Not because she had fallen.
But because she believed she had nowhere else to go.
Windu inhaled, slow and measured, before speaking again.
"You believe the Jedi fear you." His voice was quieter now, but there was no doubt in it. "But tell me, Kid… do you fear them?"
Because for the first time, he wasn’t sure what her answer would be.
Kid answers, "Yes. Not just because of what they could do to me, but what they could do to my mom. She is not perfect you know, she made me suffer a lot, but I can't hate her, she didn't have a choice and I didn't know what a choice was. But from what I saw a few days ago, I don't think my life would be better if I was among my own." Kid laughed, "I can't even fully expect that I'm a Jedi. I'm just fooling myself."
Mace Windu studied her for a long moment. Not just her words, but the weight behind them.
She was afraid of the Jedi—not because she thought they would exile her, or punish her, or cast her aside. But because they could take away what little she had left.
Her mother.
Someone who had hurt her. Someone who had broken her. Someone she still refused to let go of.
Not out of blind loyalty, not out of love without reason—but because she understood.
She understood what it meant to have no choice.
Windu exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “You think you’re fooling yourself?”
Kid gave a half-hearted shrug. “A Jedi isn’t supposed to be like me.”
Windu was silent for a moment before he spoke again, voice low but steady.
“A Jedi is supposed to seek the truth. And right now, Kid, I think you’re closer to it than most of us ever are.”
He wasn’t sure if she believed him.
He wasn’t sure if he believed it, either.
But it was the only answer that felt true.

Chapter Text

The next day they entered the central hall, where Master Fassa’s council convened, the room reflected the tranquility of Naboo: warm natural light filtering through arched windows, the sound of distant waterfalls cascading outside. Windu stood at the center, Kid just behind him, as he recounted the details of their mission to Korriban.
He spoke of the betrayal by the transporters, the fight that ensued, and the efforts to safeguard the Twi’leks despite the complications. His tone was calm and measured, but there was an unmistakable edge of frustration woven into his words.
Master Ro-Shaal Fassa listened with unwavering attention, his large amphibian eyes focused entirely on Windu. When the story concluded, he nodded solemnly, his long ears swaying slightly.
"Dis is… troubling," Fassa said slowly, his rich, musical voice carrying a weight of regret. "Da agreement wit de transporters, it was clear. Dey were supposed to pay da freed Twi’leks for deir labor and turn over any Force-sensitive individuals to dis temple for training."
He shook his head, his hands clasping tightly in front of him. "Instead, dey betray da Jedi and bring slave collars? Dey promised da Twi’leks would work off dere debts in a year’s time—no longer. If dey brought collars…" His voice trailed off, the implications hanging heavy in the air. "Dis I did not see. For dat, I apologize."
Windu’s gaze softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. "Master Fassa, the responsibility does not rest solely with you. We should have been more thorough in vetting their intentions. This deception has stained both the Republic and the Order."
Fassa inclined his head. "Still, dis is my temple. Da arrangements were made under my guidance. I should have looked deeper, asked more questions."
"Have the transporters been apprehended?" Fassa asked, his voice gaining an edge of urgency.
Windu nodded. "They are in custody. I’ve contacted the Senate to investigate their activities further. The Twi’leks have been relocated to a secure facility on Naboo, where they’ll be cared for properly. No more promises of servitude disguised as liberation."
Master Fassa sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Good. Dey will need guidance to rebuild dere lives. My temple will provide assistance where possible—shelter, training for any Force-sensitives, and outreach to de Naboo government."
He turned to Kid, his expression softening. "And yousa, young one. You did much to protect dem, yes?"
Kid shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "I tried, Master Fassa."
The Gungan nodded, his smile returning faintly. "Dere is no shame in trying. Sometimes, de galaxy is messy. You learn and grow from da chaos."
As Windu and Kid exited the council chamber, the quiet serenity of Naboo’s temple grounds surrounded them. Kid glanced at the waterfalls cascading in the distance, her thoughts heavy with the events on Korriban. The betrayal still stung, and the memory of the Twi’lek teenager’s skepticism echoed in her mind.
"Master," Kid began hesitantly, "how could they lie to us like that? I mean… we’re Jedi. Aren’t we supposed to stand for something good?"
Windu slowed his pace, turning to face her. His expression was calm but serious, his deep voice steady as he spoke. "Most people, Kid, trust the Jedi to be trusting. It’s a double-edged blade. Our reputation for honesty, compassion, and fairness is what gives us our strength—but it’s also what some will try to exploit."
Kid frowned, her small hands tightening into fists. "So, being a Jedi makes us targets for liars and cheats?"
"In a way, yes," Windu admitted. "But that doesn’t mean we stop trusting. If we lose faith in others, we lose what makes us Jedi. It’s not about being naive or blind to deception; it’s about choosing to believe in the possibility of good, even when it’s hard to see."
Kid kicked a loose stone on the path, watching it bounce into the grass. "But what about the Twi’leks? What if they don’t trust us now? What if they think we’re no better than the slavers?"
Windu crouched slightly to meet her gaze, his tone softening. "Trust isn’t something you demand, Kid. It’s something you earn. What we did for the Twi’leks wasn’t perfect, but it gave them a chance. Over time, they’ll see that our intentions were genuine. That’s what matters."
Kid’s blue eyes searched his face, her mind churning with his words. "So… we keep trusting, even if it means we might get hurt again?"
Windu straightened, nodding. "Yes. Trust is a risk, but it’s a risk worth taking. Without it, there’s no connection, no hope for understanding or peace. And as Jedi, we are the guardians of that hope."
Kid fell silent, absorbing his words as they continued walking. The path ahead was long, but she felt a flicker of determination reignite within her. Trust wasn’t easy—it was complicated and messy—but it was worth fighting for. And as a Jedi, that was a lesson she would carry with her, no matter how hard the journey became.
As they continued their walk through the serene temple grounds, Windu suddenly stopped and glanced at the horizon. The golden sunlight bathed the waterfalls, a tranquil contrast to the weight of their recent mission.
"Kid," he said, his tone shifting to one of practicality, "we need to head back to Coruscant. If we want to return to Sanctuary on time, we can’t delay."
Kid’s eyes widened, her face scrunching with confusion. "But we’ve only been to Naboo and Korriban for a few days. How could we already be behind?"
Windu suppressed a small smile, his calm demeanor steady. "Two days in hyperspace is equivalent to a week in real time."
Kid blinked, tilting her head. "How’s that possible? It doesn’t feel like it."
"Time dilation," Windu explained, gesturing with his hands as if to simplify the concept. "The speed at which we travel in hyperspace and how it interacts with normal space means that time moves differently for us than it does for the rest of the galaxy."
Kid’s face remained blank, her brows furrowing as she tried to process his words. "So… it’s like when you’re asleep and time goes by faster?"
Windu chuckled, a rare sound that seemed to soften his usually serious demeanor. "Not exactly, but close enough for now. Let’s just say that when you’re in hyperspace, the galaxy keeps moving at its own pace while we experience it differently."
Kid frowned, kicking another pebble. "That sounds like one of those ‘Jedi wisdom’ things that doesn’t make sense unless you’re older."
"Or unless you’ve had more training," Windu countered, his tone tinged with amusement. "I’m beginning to realize that I’ll be doing a lot more teaching on these missions than I would if you were in a classroom."
Kid grinned despite herself, her frustration giving way to humor. "Great. More lectures. My favorite."
Windu smirked, turning toward the landing pad where their ship awaited. "Don’t worry, Padawan. The galaxy is full of lessons. And trust me, you’ll learn more out here than any temple could ever teach you."
The faint hum of the ship’s hyperspace engines filled the cockpit as Kid slouched in her seat, her legs swinging idly. She fiddled with a disconnected data pad, its useless screen dark, a reminder that most of her electronics didn’t work in hyperspace. She sighed loudly, glancing over at Windu, who sat calmly in the pilot’s chair, seemingly unbothered by the monotony.
"Master," Kid began, breaking the silence, "is there any way we can go faster? Hyperspace feels like it’s taking forever."
Windu turned slightly, his gaze steady but amused. "Kind of," he said. "But it’s expensive."
Kid perked up, curiosity flickering in her blue eyes. "How? What could be faster than hyperspace?"
Windu leaned back, resting his arms on the chair’s armrests. "Relay transports," he said simply.
"Relay transports?" Kid repeated, her head tilting in confusion.
"Yes," Windu said, his tone patient but measured. "They’re ancient constructs scattered across the galaxy, left behind by civilizations long before the Republic. Think of them as gateways or bridges between two distant points. A ship enters one relay, and almost instantly, it arrives at another—no time dilation, no prolonged travel. It’s faster than hyperspace by an immeasurable margin."
Kid’s eyes widened, her mind racing to imagine the possibilities. "That sounds amazing! Why doesn’t everyone use them?"
Windu’s expression hardened slightly. "Because they require kyber crystals to operate—a lot of kyber crystals. A pound of crystals is needed for every ton of the ship’s weight. With an average starship weighing at least 220 tons, not counting passengers or cargo, the cost is enormous. Only the wealthiest factions or governments can afford it."
Kid frowned, her fingers tapping idly on the edge of the data pad. "So it’s just for rich people?"
"Primarily," Windu admitted. "Relay transport is a privilege, not a common tool. For most people, hyperspace is the only viable option."
"But if it’s so expensive, why use it at all?" Kid asked, her brow furrowed.
"Because sometimes, time is worth more than money," Windu explained. "In emergencies or high-priority missions, when every second counts, relay transport can make the difference between success and failure."
Kid’s mind churned with questions. "Have you ever used one?"
"A few times," Windu said, his tone turning reflective. "Usually for critical Jedi missions. It’s an experience, to say the least. The journey itself feels like it only takes a moment—maybe a minute or two—but the energy involved is overwhelming. The entire process feels… alive."
Kid’s eyes sparkled with wonder. "Alive? Like the Force?"
"Similar, in a way," Windu said thoughtfully. "Relays are ancient, their construction and technology tied to forces we barely understand. Using one feels like touching the edges of something vast and mysterious."
Kid leaned forward, her boredom forgotten. "Do you think I’ll ever get to use one?"
"Perhaps," Windu said, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "But not today. For now, you’ll have to endure hyperspace like the rest of us."
Kid groaned dramatically, leaning back in her seat. "Figures. I finally hear about something amazing, and it’s just another thing I can’t do."
Windu chuckled softly. "Patience, Padawan. That’s a lesson you’ll learn soon enough."
As the ship continued its steady journey through hyperspace, Kid’s thoughts lingered on the idea of relay transports, their mysteries, and the possibilities they held. For now, she would wait—but the spark of curiosity and wonder burned brightly in her mind.

As they ascended the ramp to the ship, the conversation between Kid and Windu continued, her relentless curiosity filling the quiet of the hangar.
"What happens if you don’t use enough kyber crystals for a Relay Transport?" Kid asked, her voice tinged with both fascination and concern.
Windu glanced at her, his expression calm but serious. "If you don’t use enough, the Relay won’t function properly. The ship could break apart mid-transport, leaving parts of it—and its passengers—scattered across the vacuum of space."
Kid’s eyes widened, the gravity of his words sinking in. "That sounds… awful."
"It is," Windu agreed. "That’s why calculations for Relay usage are precise. There’s no room for error."
She hesitated before asking, "What happens if you use too many crystals?"
Windu’s tone lightened slightly. "If there’s an excess, the crystals won’t be consumed entirely. The Relay will leave behind fragmented pieces after launch, which can sometimes be collected for later use. It’s one of the few instances where waste becomes useful."
Kid nodded thoughtfully, then tilted her head, another question forming. "How did the Relays get there in the first place?"
Windu’s gaze turned distant for a moment as he answered, "We don’t know. What we do know is that they’ve existed longer than recorded galactic history. The first civilizations to venture into space found them just beyond their solar systems, far enough from the gravitational pull of stars to remain stable."
"How many are there?" Kid asked, her voice eager.
"Over fifty that we know of," Windu replied. "But there could be more, hidden in uncharted regions of space. Their exact number and locations remain a mystery."
"Who made them?" she pressed, her curiosity growing.
"No one knows," Windu admitted. "Some believe they were created by an ancient, highly advanced civilization that disappeared long before our time. Others think they’re a natural phenomenon, though that theory has little evidence."
Kid’s brows furrowed. "Could we make more of them?"
Windu shook his head. "The hyperdrives we use today are crude replicas of Relay technology. They get us where we need to go, but they’re nowhere near as efficient. The Relays themselves are massive—about a quarter the size of a planet. Some even have cities built within their structures. Recreating them is beyond our current capabilities."
Her eyes lit up with wonder. "What do they look like?"
"Like colossal rings," Windu said, gesturing with his hands to outline their shape. "A ship enters the center, and the Relay launches it to another one across the galaxy. The scale and precision are remarkable."
"Can we go to one?" Kid asked, her voice brimming with excitement.
Windu smiled faintly, his tone steady but encouraging. "One day. For now, we have other journeys to focus on."
Kid nodded, her mind alive with the possibilities. As they strapped in for the journey back to Coruscant, the thought of exploring a Relay lingered in her imagination, adding to her growing sense of wonder about the galaxy’s vast and mysterious nature.
The ship touched down smoothly on Coruscant, its towering skyline a stark contrast to the sprawling wilderness and oppressive deserts Kid and Windu had recently left behind. As they disembarked, Kid stretched, feeling the ache of the journey in her bones. Windu, however, was already consulting a datapad, his brow furrowing slightly as he scrolled through the entries.
"Padawan," Windu began, his deep voice cutting through her thoughts. "It seems we're a little later than I anticipated."
Kid tilted her head, curious. "How late?"
"Two weeks," Windu said, glancing at her. "The time dilation in hyperspace took more of a toll than I expected. It’s been two weeks here on Coruscant since we left for Korriban."
Kid’s eyes widened. "Two weeks? But it felt like... maybe four days."
Windu nodded. "Time in hyperspace flows differently. It’s one of the trade-offs of faster travel." He pocketed the datapad and placed a steady hand on her shoulder. "When we’ve reported in, we’ll head straight to Sanctuary. No wilderness trekking this time, I promise."
Her face lit up with excitement but then turned pensive. "Master, can Avery come too?"
Windu exhaled, his tone softening as he responded. "It’s unlikely, Padawan. Master Plo Koon’s health depends on his methane converter. Sanctuary doesn’t have the infrastructure for him to maintain it properly. A place like that could compromise his health."
Kid opened her mouth, the words "That’s not fair" on the tip of her tongue, but she stopped herself. Instead, she nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to the ground. "…I understand. I just miss Reth."
Windu regarded her thoughtfully, sensing the undercurrent of longing in her words. "I know you do. And we’ll see Reth soon. Sometimes, patience is as much a part of the journey as action."
"Patience," Kid repeated, though her tone carried a faint trace of frustration.
Windu gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You’re learning it, whether you realize it or not."

Chapter Text

As they made their way back into the heart of the Jedi Temple, Kid let her mind drift, already imagining the reunion with Reth and the others at Sanctuary. The thought brought a small smile to her lips, even if her heart ached for the friends she couldn’t see just yet.
As Kid and Windu descended the ship’s ramp, Kid’s eyes lit up at the sight of Avery waiting for them. Her friend stood near a stack of crates, her face streaked with oil and her jumpsuit smeared with engine fluids. Despite the grime, Avery waved enthusiastically, her grin splitting her face.
Kid ran to her and hugged her tightly. "Avery! I missed you!"
Avery chuckled, hugging her back. "Missed you too, Kid. But, uh, you might regret this hug—I smell like an engine room exploded."
Kid pulled back slightly, scrunching her nose. "You smell like iron and… something else. Engine fluids?"
"Probably all of the above," Avery said with a shrug, her grin unwavering. "How’ve you been? How was Korriban?"
"Complicated," Kid admitted. "But it’s so good to see you."
Windu approached, his sharp gaze taking in Avery’s disheveled appearance. "How’s life as Master Plo Koon’s padawan treating you, Padawan Avery?"
Avery’s grin turned wry. "Awful. Terrible. The worst."
Kid tilted her head, concerned. "Why? Is it the Ataru lightsaber training?"
Windu arched an eyebrow. "I thought you were excelling at that."
Avery threw up her hands dramatically, smearing more grease across her forehead. "I wish it was Ataru lightsaber training! I haven’t touched a lightsaber in weeks! All I’ve been doing is fixing things—maintenance, repairs, cleaning, you name it."
"Maintenance?" Kid asked, blinking.
"Yes, maintenance," Avery groaned. "First, it was Master Plo Koon’s X-Wing. Then it was the machines that fix the X-Wing. And after we finished overhauling the lightning training room to handle an entire classroom of lightning users, Master Plo Koon looked at me and said, ‘You’ve got a knack for this.’"
Kid stifled a laugh as Windu’s lips twitched in amusement. "And how did that go?"
"At first? I was thrilled!" Avery said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "I mean, X-Wings are cool, right? But now? Now I can’t stand to look at them! Every time I see damage, I know it means more maintenance, more repairs, more cleaning, buffing, and painting. Thermal control paint, by the way, is the bane of my existence."
"Did you tell Master Plo Koon how you feel?" Windu asked, his tone serious but his eyes gleaming with subtle humor.
Avery sighed dramatically. "I tried. He said, ‘A true Jedi appreciates the value of every skill.’ Which, like, okay, Master, but maybe the true Jedi doesn’t want to spend her days buried in an engine bay."
Kid giggled. "So… not the glamorous life you imagined?"
"Not even close," Avery said, crossing her arms. "This is not what I signed up for."
Windu smirked faintly. "Perhaps it’s exactly what you signed up for, Avery. Master Plo Koon is teaching you patience and attention to detail—skills as important as any lightsaber form."
Avery groaned, running a greasy hand through her hair. "I’m starting to think ‘patience’ is Jedi code for ‘you’re stuck doing this forever.’"
Kid nudged her playfully. "Well, at least you’re really good at it. And hey, maybe someday you’ll be in charge of an entire fleet of X-Wings!"
Avery rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto her face. "Yeah, yeah. Just promise me that if I start yelling at people to ‘buff the paint better,’ you’ll remind me of this moment."
"Deal," Kid said, laughing.
Windu gestured for them to follow him. "Come on, you two. Let’s get moving before we all end up covered in grease."
As they walked together, Avery kept up her animated complaints, but the warmth in her voice and the easy camaraderie between the three of them made the greasy chaos of her life seem just a little more manageable.
The midday sun reflected harshly off the sleek metal of the speeder as Windu, Kid, and Avery climbed aboard, heading toward the Jedi Temple. The hum of the speeder’s engine barely masked the quiet chatter between Kid and Avery, their banter light and easy.
Suddenly, a massive explosion ripped through the air, the shockwave rocking the speeder. Smoke and fire erupted from a nearby supply depot. Blaster fire echoed immediately after, sharp and chaotic. Screams of confusion and fear followed as people scrambled for cover.
Windu’s hand shot up instinctively, his senses flaring. "Stay here," he ordered the girls firmly, already stepping off the speeder.
"No way!" Kid protested, leaping out after him.
Blaster bolts zipped through the air, forcing them to duck behind cover. Windu’s hand extended, using the Force to disarm one of the raiders. The blaster flew from their grip, but as the masked figure stumbled back, Windu hesitated. Through the Force, he felt the panic, the fear—it was just a teenager.
The boy shoved his mask back on, clutching a stolen crate, and jumped onto a hoverboard. He turned briefly, locking eyes with Windu before speeding off, the crate in tow.

Windu turned his attention to the heart of the chaos, where another figure—a Jedi in a flowing brown robe—was methodically cutting down raiders who were trying to retreat. The raiders were disorganized, poorly armed, and already fleeing, but the Jedi showed no hesitation. His blue lightsaber flashed with precision as he dispatched another masked raider.
"Stop!" Windu called out, his voice sharp and commanding, but the Jedi didn’t pause. Another raider fell, clutching a blaster that was no longer firing.
Kid didn’t wait for permission. She bolted forward, her eyes wide with anger as the Jedi raised his saber again, preparing to strike down another raider. Lightning crackled from her fingertips, arcing toward the Jedi and forcing him into a defensive stance.
The Jedi stumbled back, his lightsaber coming up to absorb the electricity. "We’ve got a Sith!" he shouted into his comm. "Abort! We can’t land here!"
As the Jedi’s ship began to ascend, Kid surged forward. Another bolt of lightning streaked from her hands, this one stronger, knocking his lightsaber from his grasp. It clattered to the ground, leaving him vulnerable.
Panicked, the Jedi Force-pushed Kid away, sending her flying toward the open cargo ramp of the ascending ship. The doors began to close, sealing the raiders' stolen supplies inside, but Kid was still airborne, screaming as gravity began to take hold.
Windu moved faster than thought. Using the Force, he leaped into the air and caught Kid mid-fall, wrapping her in his arms. The impact of their combined weight sent them both tumbling to the ground, with Windu landing hard on his back.
He groaned but held Kid tightly, absorbing the brunt of the fall. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice tight with concern.
Kid shook her head, though she clung to him, trembling. "No. I-I’m okay. I didn’t know if I was gonna hit the ground or not," she admitted, her voice shaky.
Windu gently set her down and stood, his sharp eyes following the Jedi’s ship as it disappeared into the clouds. His jaw tightened as he turned to the devastated supply depot, raiders scattering into the city, and the wounded left behind.
"This wasn’t just a robbery," Windu muttered. "Something’s off."
Kid stood next to him, brushing herself off. "That Jedi... He wasn’t protecting anyone. He was just... killing them."
Windu’s gaze darkened, the conflict within him palpable. "We’ll deal with that later. Right now, we need to help whoever’s still alive—and figure out why they targeted this shipment."
As they moved toward the burning wreckage, Windu’s thoughts churned. The Jedi Code was clear, but the lines had blurred. Raiders weren’t innocent, but they didn’t deserve execution. And now, the young Padawan he was supposed to guide had been thrust into a situation far more complex than he had anticipated.
Kid, meanwhile, stole glances at Windu. For the first time, she saw something other than his usual composed demeanor—hesitation. And that, more than anything else, unsettled her.
As Windu and Kid moved cautiously through the wreckage, Windu’s sharp eyes caught sight of one of the raiders’ crates, partially pried open. Its contents spilled slightly, revealing a sinister assortment: small packets of spice, morphine vials, and bundles of processed deathwood—the key ingredient in the deadly deathsticks that plagued the galaxy.
His lips pressed into a hard line as he absorbed the implication. This wasn’t just a raid; it was a smuggling operation, and the raiders were trying to escape with illicit cargo.
Before he could investigate further, the sound of repulsorlifts filled the air. A swarm of Coruscant law enforcement speeders descended on the scene, their lights flashing blue and white. Officers, clad in sleek black armor, jumped out and immediately secured the perimeter. One of them, a burly man with a commanding voice, raised a hand to Windu.
"Step away from the crates," the officer barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. "This is a restricted area. Jedi or not, you’re to leave this to law enforcement."
Windu raised his hands slightly, stepping back as requested, though his expression betrayed his frustration. "We’re here to assist, not interfere," he said, his voice calm yet firm.
"Assist by complying," the officer snapped, pointing to Windu’s lightsaber. "Drop the weapon. Now."
Kid’s eyes widened, and she glanced up at Windu in confusion. "What? Master, they can’t—"
Windu’s expression didn’t change. Without hesitation, he unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and gently placed it on the ground. His movements were deliberate, his calm unshaken.
"Master," Kid whispered urgently, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "Couldn't you just...?"
"I can," Windu replied evenly, his voice low enough for only her to hear. "But the Jedi must comply with the law, even when the situation is complicated. Trust me."
Reluctantly, Kid followed his lead, removing her training saber and placing it on the ground beside her. She cast a wary glance at the officers as they moved closer, their weapons still drawn, securing the scene with practiced efficiency.
The officers combed through the wreckage, cataloging crates and securing the scene. Suddenly, a shout went up from one of them. "We’ve got a live one!"
Windu and Kid turned to see an officer kneeling beside a raider, a young man clutching his stomach, his face pale and sweat-drenched. A single blaster wound seeped blood onto the dirt.
Kid’s blue eyes darted up to Windu, her voice urgent. "Master, can you heal him?"
Windu’s expression was steady but grave as he shook his head. "No, Padawan. I can stabilize with the Force, but full healing—no. That’s beyond my training."
Kid’s gaze dropped to the injured raider, the faint tremor in her voice betraying her frustration. "Knight Soleta could."
Windu’s brow furrowed slightly at the name, his memory stirring. "Soleta… the one who did experiments on you back on Nar Shaddaa?"
Kid only nodded.

The grand chamber of the Jedi Council was bathed in soft hues of blue and gold as sunlight filtered through the high windows. Masters sat in a circle, their expressions serene but attentive. Windu stood in the center, his posture straight, hands clasped behind his back.
"Master Windu," began Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, his tone formal. "We await your report on the missions to Korriban, Naboo, and the incident here on Coruscant."
Windu gave a respectful nod. "Our mission to Korriban was compromised due to betrayal by the transporters. They intended to enslave the Twi'leks we rescued, rather than deliver them to safety as agreed. We managed to intervene and ensured the Twi'leks were relocated securely on Naboo. On Naboo, we reported to Master Ro-Shaal Fassa and assisted with local matters before returning."
He paused briefly before continuing. "Upon our return to Coruscant, we encountered a raid on a supply depot. The raiders were attempting to steal illicit substances—spice, morphine, and deathwood intended for deathsticks. A rogue Jedi was present, engaging the raiders with lethal force. In the ensuing conflict, my padawan intervened to prevent further unnecessary deaths. The rogue Jedi escaped."
The council members exchanged glances, their faces betraying concern. Master Plo Koon leaned forward. "Did you identify the rogue Jedi?"
Windu shook his head. "No, Master. He departed before we could ascertain his identity."
Master Yoda's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Troubling, this is. Investigate further, we must."
Master Shaak Ti's gentle voice filled the chamber. "And how are you, Master Windu? These events would test even the most seasoned among us."
Windu's expression remained stoic. "I'm fine, Master. Maintaining focus on the tasks at hand."
"Your padawan?" Master Mundi asked. "How is she coping with these challenges?"
"She is fine as well," Windu replied evenly. "She continues to learn and adapt."
The council members nodded, accepting his succinct answers. Master Yoda tapped his gimer stick lightly on the floor. "Grateful, we are, for your report. Much to consider, there is."
One by one, the holographic images of distant council members flickered out, and the others rose to attend to their duties. As they began to depart, Windu stepped toward Yoda.
"Master Yoda," Windu said quietly. "May I have a word with you in private?"
The ancient Jedi Master looked up, his wise eyes steady. "Of course, Master Windu. Walk with me, you can."
They moved through the temple gardens, where the hum of Coruscant’s cityscape faded into the soft rustling of leaves and the distant trickle of water. The artificial yet serene oasis provided a rare moment of quiet reflection.
For a long moment, Windu remained silent, his gaze fixed on the manicured landscape. Yoda, ever patient, waited beside him, a steady presence.
Finally, Windu spoke. His voice, usually firm and certain, was laced with something uncharacteristic—uncertainty.
"Master Yoda, I find myself… troubled."
Yoda tilted his head, his ears twitching slightly. "Troubled? Uncommon, this is, for you."
Windu exhaled slowly. "On Korriban and Naboo, I felt something I was not prepared for. A dissonance within myself. Kid—my Padawan—was invaluable to our mission. Her instincts, her abilities, they have already proven themselves more than once. But wherever we go, people perceive her as Sith. Not because of her actions, not because of her choices, but because of the power she has."
He turned his gaze downward, his brow furrowed. "It's hard to watch her be judged for something she cannot control. And harder still to confront my own discomfort with it."
Yoda’s wise eyes softened. "Understandable, your feelings are. Complex, the situation is."
Windu nodded, his fingers clasped behind his back. "She and I had a discussion. I wanted to hear from you, Master Yoda." He paused, then continued, his voice quieter now.
"I chose Kid because she saved my life. It was clear to me from the start—regardless of the power she wields, she has always tried to do the right thing. Even when the rules went against that."
He hesitated, then spoke the thought that had been weighing on him since the beginning.
"I knew there would be challenges in teaching her what the right thing is. But the Force she commands… it comes from the Dark Side." He turned to Yoda, his expression solemn. "With everything she’s faced here—everything she will continue to face—are we dooming her simply because she’s different?"

Yoda closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if listening to the Force itself before answering. When he spoke, his voice was calm, but weighted with understanding.
“Doomed, she is not. The path ahead, difficult, yes. But doomed? That choice, hers it remains.”
He turned his gaze to Windu, the depth of his wisdom reflected in his ancient eyes.
"Fear, I sense. Not in her… but in you.”
Windu’s brow furrowed slightly, but he did not interrupt.
Yoda continued, his tone steady. “Lightning, unnatural the Jedi call it. Born of passion, of aggression, of chaos. The Dark Side’s mark, many say it is.” He tapped his cane lightly against the stone path. “But tell me, Master Windu… unnatural, is it truly? Or only unfamiliar?”
Windu said nothing, but his expression darkened with thought.
"Control, she must learn," Yoda went on. "Not just of her power, but of herself. That is the lesson of all Jedi, yes? The Force… it is not light or dark. It simply is. But how we wield it, that is the difference.”
He tilted his head, studying Windu carefully.
"Afraid you are, that the darkness has already claimed her. But ask yourself—has it?"
Windu let out a slow breath. “No,” he admitted. “But I worry that in time, it will.”
Yoda nodded knowingly. "A risk, that is. But a Jedi she remains, if a Jedi she chooses to be. Remember, you must, Master Windu…" He tapped his cane once again. “The path of the Jedi is not to deny what we are. It is to rise above what we could become.”
The silence stretched between them, thoughtful and heavy.
“Her lightning—powerful, yes. Dangerous, yes. But darkness? No, not yet. A tool, it can be, or a chain. Which, depends not on the Force, but on her.”
His ears drooped slightly, a rare moment of visible contemplation. “Guide her, you must. Judge her, you must not.”
Windu considered his words carefully, the weight of his responsibility pressing against him. Finally, he gave a slow nod.
“I understand, Master Yoda.”
Yoda’s lips curled in a small, knowing smile. “Hmmm. Understand, do you? Or only beginning to?”
Windu sighed. “Beginning.”
Yoda chuckled softly. “Good. A Jedi, she may yet become. But only if trust, she is given.”
Windu turned to face him fully. "Then, here on Coruscant, during the raid... I hesitated. The raiders were youths, desperate. But the Jedi—he was executing them without mercy. Kid didn't hesitate; she acted to stop him. I... I froze, Master Yoda. In that moment, I questioned everything—our role, our methods. And while I stood there, paralyzed, my padawan faced the danger alone."
Emotion edged into his voice, a rare crack in his composed exterior. "I regret that I wasn't there for her when she needed me. That I let my doubt override my duty."
Yoda reached out, placing a small, clawed hand on Windu's arm. "Heavy is the burden of leadership. Doubt, even in Masters, can arise."
Windu shook his head. "But I should have been better. Stronger. Instead, I let uncertainty cloud my judgment. It's not just about me—Kid relies on me to guide her, to protect her."
"Perfect, no one is," Yoda said gently. "Learn from this, you must. Grow, you will."
Windu sighed deeply. "How can I lead her effectively when I'm struggling myself?"
Yoda's ears twitched thoughtfully. "Perhaps, together, you can find the way. Teach her, you do. But learn from her, you also can."
A faint smile touched Windu's lips. "She is... remarkable. Despite everything, she remains resilient. Her perspective challenges me."
"Challenge can be a teacher," Yoda agreed. "The Force connects all things. Trust in it, you should."
Windu nodded slowly. "I will try, Master."
Yoda gave a soft chuckle. "Do or do not. There is no try."
A moment of shared understanding passed between them. The weight on Windu's shoulders felt slightly lighter, the path ahead a bit clearer.
"Thank you, Master Yoda," he said sincerely.
"Anytime, Master Windu," Yoda replied, his eyes twinkling. "Remember, even Masters have much to learn."
Windu looked out over the gardens once more. "I suppose they do."
Master Yoda hobbled through the quiet halls of the Jedi Temple, his presence barely disturbing the hushed air of the Archives. The vast chamber was bathed in soft golden light, filtering through the towering shelves of ancient texts and flickering holocrons. The distant hum of machinery and the occasional shuffle of fabric were the only sounds that accompanied the stillness.
Near one of the study alcoves, an initiate worked in focused silence. Chappelle Dooku—tall for his age, precise in his movements—was carefully inspecting a set of holocrons, testing their power levels while simultaneously airing out a stack of old manuscripts. The dust motes swirled lazily around him as he adjusted his grip, his fingers curling awkwardly around the delicate tools.
Yoda’s gaze dropped to the boy’s hand. A finger brace wrapped around two of his fingers, stiff and rigid.
"Chappelle," Yoda said.
Dooku nearly dropped the holocron in his hand. He straightened immediately, spinning on his heel to face the Grand Master.
“Master Yoda—” His voice was controlled, but there was a flicker of surprise behind his composed expression.
Yoda’s ears twitched as he gestured toward the brace. "Hmm. Your hand, what happened?"
Dooku hesitated, flexing his fingers before tucking his injured hand behind his back. “It got stuck in a door.”
Yoda studied him for a long moment before asking, “The hand you wield a lightsaber with, is it?"
Dooku nodded once. His posture remained rigid, but Yoda could see it—the tension, the way the boy’s shoulders were drawn just a little too tight. He didn’t want to talk about it.
"Hmm," Yoda hummed, rocking slightly on his cane. "Makashi, your form of choice. Why?"
Dooku’s chin lifted slightly. “Because it wins.”
Yoda chuckled, a knowing glint in his eye. "Stubborn, you are, Dooku."
Dooku’s expression stiffened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Please, Master. Don't call me that."
Yoda raised a bushy brow.
Dooku exhaled sharply, shifting uncomfortably. “It invites mockery among the initiates. Because it sounds like—”
"Hmm." Yoda’s ears twitched in amusement. “Why care, do you, what others think?"
Dooku’s jaw tightened, and for the first time, the restraint in his demeanor cracked. He exhaled sharply, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
"Are you here to kick me out of the Order?"
Yoda blinked up at him. "Why think this, do you?"
The dam broke.
“Come on,” Dooku snapped, his voice sharp and unguarded. “Why else would you waste your time with a failure like me?”
His breathing was heavier now, and there was something raw beneath the usual control—anger, fear, something he hadn’t allowed himself to voice before.
"I bullied the initiates," he admitted, voice tight. "Master Yareen’s girls. And they weren’t the first. I picked Makashi because it works, but I know it won’t help me on missions. I’m thirteen, and no Jedi Master is going to take me as a Padawan. So, you finally came here to tell me that you’re giving up. That I’m a lost cause. That I should take my skills somewhere else.”
The words hung in the air like a blade waiting to fall.
Yoda tilted his head. "Again, tell me… what happened to your hand?"
Dooku’s mouth opened, then closed. He said nothing.
Yoda’s ears drooped slightly as he observed the boy’s expression, the storm waging behind his sharp eyes. "Fear, I sense. But admiration as well."
Dooku’s fists tightened. His voice, when it came, was quieter but no less intense. "How could anyone not respect him? He’s a legend. He’s… they picked him to be the one to tell me."
Understanding flickered in Yoda’s gaze. He nodded slowly.
"Here to expel you, I am not. A Padawan, you will be."
Dooku froze. His breath caught.
Slowly, hesitantly, he met Yoda’s gaze. “Who?” His voice was softer now, almost wary.
Yoda smiled, his ears lifting slightly. "Confused, you are. Why?"
Dooku swallowed, straightening. “Who picked me to be there padawan?”
Yoda simply blinked, as if the answer should have been obvious.
"I did."
For the first time in his life, Dooku had no response.

Chapter Text

The lower levels of Coruscant were abuzz with rumors. The police had seized a transport filled with illicit goods—spice, morphine, and components for deathsticks—but no arrests had been made. The raiders had vanished into the undercity, and the chaos left a fractured reputation in its wake.
Tevaril stood before Tahar Cherid, his shoulders tense but his expression composed. The dim glow of the Chiss strategist’s command room added an ominous weight to the air. Cherid’s crimson eyes bore into Tevaril as he spoke.
"The shipment was compromised," Tevaril began, his voice level despite the tension. "Raiders. Not just ordinary thugs—organized, prepared. Flash grenades, precision strikes. They weren’t there to kill, only to steal."
Cherid raised an eyebrow, his tone dangerously quiet. "And yet you cut them down. Why?"
Tevaril’s jaw tightened. "Because hesitation would have cost us everything. I struck to defend the shipment, not to kill. But their numbers forced us to fall back."
Cherid leaned forward slightly, his interlaced fingers resting on the desk. "And what of the supplies?"
"Half were left behind," Tevaril admitted, his voice dropping slightly. "The police arrived before I could secure the rest. I managed to salvage what we could—only what could be carried on speeders and in backpacks."
Cherid exhaled through his nose, his irritation manifesting as a subtle shift in posture. "The transport?"
"Seized by the authorities," Tevaril said. "No arrests. No damage to the vehicle. But the reputation of our operation—"
"—is in tatters," Cherid finished coldly. He rose from his chair, his tall frame casting a shadow over the Mirialan. "And then there’s the matter of the Sith."
Tevaril’s lips pressed into a thin line. "She wasn’t Sith."
"Force Lightning," Cherid countered, his voice sharper now. "A Sith technique. A Jedi wouldn’t—couldn’t—"
"She was a padawan," Tevaril interrupted, his tone resolute. "Mace Windu’s padawan. Young, reckless. But no Sith. Her attack wasn’t calculated—it was instinctive. I had no choice but to retreat when she disarmed me. Staying would’ve risked the rest of the supplies."
Cherid’s gaze narrowed, his mind already calculating. "So, the Jedi interfered—not the Sith. Yet their interference has cost us. Half the shipment gone. The transport in police custody. And now the authorities will be watching our movements more closely than ever."
Tevaril nodded slowly. "But this isn’t a total loss. The Jedi’s involvement complicates things for them as well. It’s clear their Order isn’t as united as they want the galaxy to believe."
Cherid’s lips curved into a thin smile, though it lacked any warmth. "And that, Tevaril, is the thread we will pull. Let the Jedi deal with the whispers of doubt in their ranks while we rebuild."
Tevaril’s gaze flicked toward the holographic map of Coruscant behind Cherid, the red-highlighted areas marking their influence. "What are your orders?"
"Reestablish our supply chain. Quietly. Discretely," Cherid said, his tone brokering no argument. "And keep an eye on the Jedi. I want to know more about this padawan of Windu’s. Recklessness can be exploited."
Tevaril hesitated. "Do you want me to—?"
"No," Cherid interrupted, his smile widening slightly. "Not yet. For now, we watch. And when the time is right, we act."

The sterile white halls of the hospital were dimly lit, quiet except for the occasional murmur of medical staff. In one of the private rooms, the surviving raider, Pelon Pelrico, lay in a bed. His face was pale, and his bandaged midsection told the story of his narrow escape. Two police officers stood nearby, their frustration palpable as the attending doctor crossed his arms in defiance.
“I’ve told you before,” the doctor said sternly, “patients under medical care cannot be interrogated. If you want to question him, you’ll need to wait until he’s discharged.”
One of the officers sighed, clearly out of patience, when a small figure in a cloak stepped into the room. The boy’s face was partially obscured, but his calm demeanor contrasted starkly with the tension in the air.
The doctor noticed him first and frowned. "And you are?"
The boy raised a hand, his voice soft but commanding. “That’s my father. I’m here to visit.”
The doctor blinked, his frown easing as he nodded. “Of course. Right this way.” He motioned for the officers to leave, ignoring their protests.
The boy entered the room, and once the door was closed, he turned to the doctor. “I’d like to speak to him alone.”
Another wave of his hand.
The doctor hesitated, then nodded and walked out, leaving the raider alone with his unexpected visitor.
Pelrico squinted at the cloaked figure, confused. "What’s this? Are you here to ask about the supplies? Or maybe my associates?"
The boy pushed his hood back, revealing auburn hair and piercing blue-gray eyes. His calm expression betrayed none of his age, but his voice was still soft, almost innocent. “No. My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. What’s yours?”
Pelrico blinked, his guard rising. “Pelon Pelrico. What’s a kid like you doing here?”
Obi-Wan sat on the chair beside the bed, his small hands resting in his lap. “If there’s information you don’t want to say, clench your jaw as hard as you can when I ask a question. I won’t press.”
The raider’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “What are you, some kind of Jedi?”
The boy’s expression remained neutral. “I am.”
Pelrico chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “You can’t be more than seven. Shouldn’t you be swinging a training saber somewhere?”
Obi-Wan’s lips quirked in the faintest hint of a smile. “I should be. And I’d get into a lot of trouble if they found out I was here. But there’s something concerning me more than rules right now.”
Pelrico’s smirk faded, suspicion creeping into his tone. “And what’s that?”
“The Jedi who killed your men,” Obi-Wan said, his voice quiet but resolute. “A Jedi doesn’t kill unless it’s the last resort. That concerns me.”
Pelrico’s jaw clenched, and he turned his head away. “A Sith saved most of my guys. I got nothing to say to you, kid.”
Obi-Wan tilted his head slightly, studying him. “The Sith didn’t save your men. A Jedi stopped the killing. She saved you. You know that.”
Pelrico’s gaze snapped back to him, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t know anything.”
Obi-Wan’s gaze didn’t waver. “I know enough. I know the Jedi are not your enemy, and neither is the girl who saved you. But the man who killed your friends… he’s dangerous. To all of us.”
Pelrico looked away again, his fists clenching against the thin blanket. “Why do you care? You’re just a kid.”
“Because I believe you know something important,” Obi-Wan said, his voice steady. “And if we don’t act, more people will get hurt. You’re not the only one who’s lost someone today.”
For a long moment, Pelrico didn’t respond. His jaw worked, and his breathing grew heavier. Finally, he muttered, “You’re too young for this.”
“Maybe,” Obi-Wan replied softly. “But I’m here. And I can help, if you let me.”
elrico leaned back in the hospital bed, his face pale but his gaze sharp as he regarded the young Jedi sitting at his side. Obi-Wan, his hands clasped in his lap, asked softly, “How did you end up here?”
Pelrico grunted, his hand brushing over the bandages covering his abdomen. “Blaster shot to the gut. Passed out from shock or blood loss. Woke up here. Lucky me.”
Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed. “Why were you... uh...”
“Stealing?” Pelrico interrupted with a dry laugh. “You don’t have to dance around it, kid. Go ahead. Say it.”
“I don’t want to label you a thief,” Obi-Wan replied carefully.
Pelrico’s smirk faded, his voice taking on a harder edge. “I’m not a killer. But do you have any idea how merciless people can be? A landlord? A public transportation driver? A cop? When they know you’ve got no power, no money? You’re young, so let me tell you something—you see the best in people because you have power. People want to do you favors because they think you’ll return the favor.”
Obi-Wan looked down, letting Pelrico’s words settle before responding. “That’s... not how the Jedi are supposed to be.”
Pelrico scoffed. “Sure, maybe not officially. But don’t kid yourself. There’s a reason the term ‘honor among thieves’ exists. People like me? We don’t have power. We survive by making deals with each other. So label me whatever you want, Jedi.”
Obi-Wan stayed silent for a moment, then tilted his head. “Why were you stealing spice?”
Pelrico let out a slow exhale, his voice dropping. “Because spice has value. Small-time clinics use some variants to treat patients. The kind that gets you high can be separated out if you know what you’re doing. And death stick wood? Mixed into soil, it can speed up crop growth—two weeks, tops. As for morphine? It’s gold. Every patient leaving a hospital with morphine leaves addicted. And if they can’t afford the clean stuff, guess what they turn to? The dirty kind.”
Obi-Wan’s expression turned grim. “But that doesn’t help the people who really need it.”
“No,” Pelrico admitted with a shrug. “But people with money will pay a fortune for it. And sometimes, you’ve got to sell a little poison to make enough to buy bread. That’s the game.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” Obi-Wan asked, his blue-gray eyes narrowing slightly. “I didn’t use the Force to pull it out of you.”
Pelrico’s gaze softened, and for the first time, a flicker of something almost like pity crossed his face. “Because you’re a kid, and you need to know how the galaxy works for people like me. You’ll probably never have to steal anything in your life. You’ve got power. You’ve got options. But most of us don’t. We do what we can to survive.”
Obi-Wan nodded slowly, absorbing the words. After a beat, he asked, “What about the Jedi? Do you think they’re any better?”
Pelrico let out a dry laugh. “Jedi? Sure, most of them mean well. But let me tell you something—anyone who can afford to hire a Force user as muscle? They’re not desperate enough to steal. And when Jedi leave the Order? Some of them get their first taste of what life is really like. Some of them make it out. Most don’t.”
Obi-Wan straightened slightly, his tone firm but curious. “Do you remember what he looked like? The Jedi who attacked you?”
Pelrico’s expression darkened. “Yeah. Yellowish-green skin, face tattoos. Didn’t catch any real ‘evil’ vibes off him, if that’s what you’re wondering. Looked more like someone who actually thought he was doing the right thing. One of those types.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Interesting.”
Pelrico leaned back, closing his eyes briefly. “Look, kid. You seem decent. But take my advice—if you meet that Jedi again? Don’t let your guard down.”
Obi-Wan nodded solemnly. “Thank you for telling me this.”
“Don’t thank me,” Pelrico muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Thank your luck that you’ll probably never have to live a life like mine.”
Obi-Wan stood, adjusting his cloak. “I hope you recover quickly.”
As he turned to leave, Pelrico called out after him, “Hey, Kenobi. Don’t waste your power, alright? If you’re gonna do something, make it count.”
Obi-Wan paused at the door, looking back. “I will.” Then, without another word, he stepped out, the weight of the conversation settling heavily on his young shoulders.

Tevaril stood at the heart of the dimly lit hideout, a makeshift operations hub hidden deep within Coruscant’s lower levels. The air buzzed with tension as his team of raiders, smugglers, and mercenaries gathered around a holo-projection of their target: a Republic supply freighter. Its manifest listed kyber crystals, morphine, spice, and deathwood—more than enough to restock the clinics and farms Tevaril had sworn to protect.
He clasped his hands behind his back, his voice steady but firm. "This shipment is critical. Without it, people will starve. Clinics will shut down. We’re taking from those who can afford to lose it and giving to those who can’t survive without it."
A grizzled Rodian mercenary crossed his arms. "Sounds noble, but the Republic doesn’t exactly roll over for thieves. What’s your plan if things go south?"
Tevaril’s green eyes burned with intensity. "Things won’t go south. I’ve mapped every patrol route and calculated the crew’s response times. We infiltrate, disable communications, and leave before anyone knows we were there. Minimal risk, minimal harm."
The Rodian snorted but didn’t argue further. The rest of the team exchanged uneasy glances but nodded. Tevaril’s leadership had earned their respect, even if his moral code occasionally made their jobs more complicated.
The Republic freighter drifted in orbit above a remote colony, its docking bay buzzing with activity as droids and workers prepared for departure. Tevaril’s team approached in a disguised transport shuttle, their forged credentials uploaded to the freighter’s clearance system.
"Shuttle Delta-47, you’re cleared to dock," came the voice of the ship’s communication officer. "Routine inspection, I presume?"
"Correct," Tevaril replied, his tone clipped and professional. "By order of the Sector Logistics Bureau."
The shuttle docked smoothly, and the team disembarked in crisp, official-looking uniforms. Tevaril’s heartbeat quickened as they stepped onto the freighter, but his expression remained unreadable. The crew barely glanced at them, too preoccupied with their tasks.
The ship’s captain, a stern-looking Duros, approached. "You weren’t on the schedule," he said, suspicion lacing his voice.
Tevaril’s mask of authority didn’t waver. "That’s the point of a surprise inspection. Complacency breeds inefficiency. Now, lead us to your cargo bay."
The captain hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "Fine. Follow me."
The cargo bay was massive, rows of crates secured in magnetic clamps. Tevaril’s team began scanning the crates with fake data pads, noting the supplies they needed. But the tension in the air was palpable.
One of the crew members, a young human medic, stepped forward. "Wait a minute. These supplies are for a colony suffering from a plague. If you take them—"
Tevaril raised a hand, silencing her. "I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t take this lightly. But there are people who need these supplies just as badly. We’re saving lives, not endangering them."
"You’re condemning them," the medic shot back, her voice trembling. "You’re just another thief."
Tevaril’s jaw tightened, guilt flickering across his face. But before he could respond, the alarm blared.
"Unauthorized activity detected in the cargo bay!" a voice announced over the ship’s intercom. "Security teams, report immediately!"
The freighter’s security droids marched into the cargo bay, their blasters trained on Tevaril and his team. The first shots rang out, and the cargo hold erupted into chaos. Tevaril cursed under his breath, drawing his lightsaber—a weapon he’d sworn only to use in defense.
"Minimal harm," he reminded himself, deflecting blaster bolts away from his team. "We’re here to save lives, not take them!"
The Rodian mercenary barked orders, coordinating the team’s retreat as they loaded the stolen supplies onto their shuttle. But the firefight intensified, and it was clear they wouldn’t escape unscathed.
"Detonate the charges!" Tevaril ordered, his voice sharp.
The explosives planted earlier blew, severing the freighter’s docking clamps and disabling its communication systems. The blast rocked the ship, giving Tevaril’s team the cover they needed to escape.
As the shuttle sped away, Tevaril glanced back at the freighter. Smoke billowed from the damaged cargo bay, and his stomach churned with regret. He’d secured the supplies, but at what cost?
________________________________________
Back at the hideout, the team unloaded the stolen crates. The clinics would have their morphine, the farmers their deathwood, but the price weighed heavily on Tevaril.
One of the younger raiders, a Twi’lek woman, approached him. "We did good, right? We helped people."
Tevaril didn’t answer immediately, his green eyes fixed on the crates. "We did what we had to," he said finally. But his words rang hollow, even to him.
Unbeknownst to Tevaril, the Jedi Council had already received word of the heist. The destruction of the freighter and the endangerment of its crew were unacceptable.
The office was dimly lit, the soft blue glow of holoscreens casting an ambient light across the room. Trade routes, inventory manifests, and encrypted communications flickered on the displays, their movements slow and deliberate. Tahar Cherid stood by the wide-paneled window, his sharp Chiss features silhouetted against the vibrant glow of Coruscant’s skyline. He turned as the door hissed open, his crimson eyes sharpening with interest.
Tevaril entered, his green skin damp with sweat, his expression guarded but calm. The Mirialan moved with precision, his boots landing silently on the floor. He stopped just short of the desk, clasping his hands behind his back.
"Tahar," Tevaril began evenly, his voice steady despite his evident exhaustion. "The operation went as planned. Minimal damage, no lives lost on our end. The shipment is secure, and they’re still scrambling to figure out what hit them."
Tahar’s lips curved into a satisfied smile, his tone smooth and deliberate. "Impressive. More than compensates for the setback at the docking bay. I expected competence from you, Tevaril—but this? This is beyond what I anticipated."
Tevaril nodded curtly, his expression unmoving. "Good to hear. Now, about my cut—"
Tahar raised a hand, his gesture calm but commanding. "Fifty percent, as agreed. Do you think I’d cheat you?" His crimson gaze flicked to Tevaril’s face, studying the Mirialan’s reaction. "You don’t need to remind me of the terms we set when we partnered."
Tevaril’s jaw tightened briefly before he exhaled and spoke with measured words. "I’m not concerned about being cheated," he said, his tone softening. "I just want to be sure my share is used properly. Food, supplies, clinics—that’s where it needs to go. And make sure the crew gets their fair share. They risked a lot for this."
Tahar’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice remained even. "You have my word. The crew will be compensated generously for their efforts, and the resources will be distributed as required. I know how to run my operation."
Tevaril nodded but didn’t immediately respond. His shoulders eased slightly, though his unease lingered in the room.
Tahar stepped closer, his movements measured and deliberate. "You’re troubled," he observed, his tone soft but probing. "Let me remind you of something, Tevaril—you did the right thing. What you accomplished tonight will save lives. Families will sleep with full stomachs. People in pain will find relief. The impact you’ve made will ripple further than you realize."
The weight in Tevaril’s chest seemed to lighten, if only slightly. He nodded again, more firmly this time. "I needed to hear that."
Tahar smiled faintly, satisfaction glinting in his crimson eyes. "Good. Now go get some rest. You’ve earned it. We’ll discuss the next steps tomorrow."
Tevaril lingered for a moment before turning to leave, his steps quieter now. As the door slid shut behind him, Tahar returned to the window, his gaze fixed on the sprawling city below. The faint curve of his lips remained as he clasped his hands behind his back.
Tevaril was an asset—effective, moral, and deeply principled. Tahar had seen men like him before, and he knew one thing to be true: principles could be both a strength and a vulnerability. It was only a matter of knowing when and how to apply pressure.

Chapter Text

Avery grimaced as she replaced yet another overheated conduit from Master Plo Koon’s X-Wing. The charred parts clattered onto the workbench beside her, and she muttered under her breath, tightening a bolt with far more force than necessary. Her face was streaked with grease, and the faint smell of burnt metal clung to the air around her.
As she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, a shadow crossed her vision. Looking up, she saw Obi-Wan Kenobi standing just a few steps away, his expression as composed as ever but his blue eyes bright with determination.
"What do you want, Kenobi?" she asked, her tone more exhausted than unkind.
Obi-Wan tilted his head, his hands clasped behind his back. "You’re Master Plo Koon’s padawan, right? His former master, Tyvokka, is on the Jedi Council?"
Avery rolled her eyes and groaned. "Don’t remind me. That’s the only reason Master Plo Koon thinks I’m good at… this," she said, gesturing to the pile of ruined components with a bitter smile. "Apparently, being an excellent mechanic is my true calling."
Obi-Wan studied her for a moment before speaking carefully. "I think I know who the Jedi was. The one that attacked the docking bay."
Avery stopped, lowering her tool as she turned to look at him. "You do?" she asked, skepticism edging her voice. "Why don’t you just tell him yourself? You’re not usually shy about following the rules."
Obi-Wan hesitated, his face uncharacteristically serious. "Because I broke the rules to find out. I questioned one of the raiders in the hospital. Technically, I wasn’t supposed to be there." He looked down briefly, then met her eyes again. "I’m just an initiate. If I tell him, it won’t matter—I’m expendable. But you, you’re not. You’re essential to him now, like it or not. He’ll listen to you."
Avery blinked at him, her brows knitting together. "And what exactly do you want me to say? That a little kid stumbled across the answer?"
Obi-Wan shook his head. "Just say you remembered something. You were there, after all. Make it believable."
She stared at him for a moment, her frustration battling with a flicker of intrigue. Finally, she sighed, crossing her arms. "Alright. What does this mystery Jedi look like?"
"A Mirialan," Obi-Wan said quietly, glancing around to ensure they weren’t overheard. "Yellowish-green skin, face tattoos, and… well, from what the raider said, no ‘evil’ aura. He really believes he’s doing the right thing."
Avery frowned, her mind already working to connect the description to what little she knew of Master Plo Koon’s enemies—or allies. "A Mirialan, huh? That narrows it down." She tilted her head. "And you’re sure about this?"
Obi-Wan nodded. "As sure as I can be. I think Master Plo Koon will want to know."
Avery let out a long breath, her expression softening slightly. "Alright, I’ll see what I can do. But if this backfires, you owe me, Kenobi."
Obi-Wan smiled faintly, inclining his head. "Deal."
As he turned to leave, Avery watched him go, the weight of the information settling on her shoulders. She looked back at the damaged X-Wing, shaking her head. "Just another thing to add to the list," she muttered, picking up her tools again.

Master Plo Koon entered the hangar with his usual calm demeanor, the faint hum of his breathing apparatus preceding him. Avery was kneeling by the X-Wing’s undercarriage, wiping grease off her hands with a rag. When she heard his steps, she didn’t even look up.
"Master," she said flatly, not bothering to hide her exhaustion.
Plo Koon stopped a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed her progress. "How’s the work coming along, Padawan?"
Avery tossed the rag onto the bench and stood, gesturing to the now-repaired components. "Repairs are done. Replaced the overheated parts, recalibrated the stabilizers, and patched the scorch marks from your… last joyride." She shot him a wry look. "Should be good as new."
The Kel Dor nodded appreciatively, his mechanical voice betraying a faint hint of humor. "Efficient, as always. You’ve done well."
Avery sighed, leaning against the workbench. "Great. Glad I could keep your X-Wing flying. Again."
Plo Koon tilted his head slightly, sensing her tension. "Something on your mind, Padawan?"
Avery hesitated, her fingers idly tracing the edge of a wrench. "Actually… yeah. There is." She looked up at him, her voice steady. "I remembered something about the Jedi who attacked the docking bay."
Plo Koon’s body language shifted slightly, his full attention now on her. "Go on."
"It’s a lead, not solid proof," Avery said cautiously. "But someone I… talked to mentioned a Mirialan. Yellowish-green skin, face tattoos, and… apparently, no ‘evil aura,’ whatever that means. He thinks he’s doing the right thing."
Plo Koon was silent for a moment, his masked face unreadable. Finally, he spoke. "Interesting. Did this informant say anything else?"
"Not much," Avery admitted. "Just that he seems to think this Jedi genuinely believes in what he’s doing, even if it’s… well, a problem for everyone else."
Plo Koon took a step closer, his imposing presence making Avery straighten slightly. "And where did you come across this information, Padawan?"
Avery hesitated again, choosing her words carefully. "Someone from the raiders. At the hospital. They were rambling a bit, but it seemed credible."
Plo Koon’s gaze lingered on her, as though weighing her words against some unseen scale. Finally, he nodded. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It aligns with other reports I’ve been reviewing."
Avery’s brow furrowed. "You already had a lead on him?"
"Not a lead," Plo Koon clarified. "Only fragments. Your information provides context. It’s valuable."
Avery relaxed slightly, though the weight of the situation still pressed on her. "So… what now? What are you going to do?"
Plo Koon turned toward the X-Wing, his voice thoughtful. "That depends on whether this Jedi can be reasoned with. If he believes his actions are just, there may be a path to bring him back into the fold—or, at the very least, stop him without further bloodshed."
Avery folded her arms, her tone skeptical. "And if he doesn’t see reason?"
Plo Koon glanced back at her, his tone calm but firm. "Then we ensure he cannot continue causing harm, by whatever means necessary."
The weight of his words hung in the air, and Avery nodded slowly. As Plo Koon turned to inspect her repairs more closely, she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that this was just the beginning of something far bigger than either of them realized.

The room was dimly lit, with a sleek, ominous aesthetic that spoke of wealth and danger in equal measure. The black marble floors gleamed under subtle ambient lighting, and the scent of something exotic—perhaps incense, perhaps something more illicit—hung in the air. Tahar Cherid adjusted the collar of his tailored jacket as he entered, his posture poised and confident despite the subtle tremor of tension coursing through him.
Seated at the far end of the room, a Black Sun Vigo lounged in a high-backed chair, his features obscured by shadows. Two heavily armed guards flanked him, their expressions impassive but their presence a clear warning. The Vigo's hands rested on the arms of his chair, his fingers drumming in a slow, deliberate rhythm as Tahar approached.
“Tahar Cherid,” the Vigo said, his voice a smooth blend of menace and curiosity. “You’ve made a name for yourself in the shadows of Coruscant. Tell me, why should I care about your little operation?”
Tahar smiled faintly, bowing his head just enough to show respect without seeming subservient. “Because, Vigo, I’m not just running some little operation. I’m cultivating something… unique.”
The Vigo leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes glinting in the low light. “Unique? Do elaborate.”
Tahar clasped his hands behind his back, his voice calm and measured. “Tevaril,” he began, letting the name hang in the air for a moment. “A former Jedi, turned by his own overwhelming compassion. He believes in helping the weak, the sick, the desperate. And that, Vigo, is the beauty of it.”
The Vigo raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Compassion doesn’t sound like a tool for someone in my line of work.”
Tahar’s smile widened, his tone sharpening slightly. “Compassion, Vigo, is both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. It makes him capable of extraordinary things—stealing a starship, orchestrating precision raids, outmaneuvering law enforcement—all because he believes he’s doing good. And that belief makes him loyal, predictable. He won’t betray his principles, and he won’t betray me as long as I feed that belief.”
The Vigo’s fingers stilled, his gaze narrowing. “And if he ever realizes you’re using him?”
Tahar shrugged, his expression unbothered. “That’s the brilliance of it. He won’t. As long as the supplies go where I tell him, and the people in need benefit—even if only a fraction of them—it reinforces his sense of righteousness. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep helping, even if the lines blur.”
The Vigo leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful hum escaping him. “So, you want the Black Sun to back your operation? What do I gain from investing in this… charity?”
Tahar’s tone darkened, his voice soft but cutting. “You gain a tool, Vigo. Tevaril is a living symbol of justice, a relic of the Jedi Order. He opens doors that others cannot, convinces the skeptical to trust us, and gives us access to places we would never otherwise reach. And if he falls, it won’t be the Black Sun that takes the blame—it’ll be the Jedi who abandoned him.”
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Tahar’s words settling like a shroud. The Vigo studied him, his expression unreadable.
“You play a dangerous game, Cherid,” the Vigo said finally. “This… Tevaril could be more trouble than he’s worth.”
Tahar nodded slightly. “He could, which is why I’ve ensured that he’s only a piece of the puzzle. But the potential gains far outweigh the risks. With him, we can push operations in ways that don’t raise alarms. He’s the perfect cover.”
The Vigo tapped his fingers on the chair again, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Very well. I’ll give you a trial run. Impress me, and we’ll talk about a more permanent arrangement. Fail me…” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “And your compassion won’t save you.”
Tahar inclined his head, his smile unwavering. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, Vigo.”
As he turned to leave, his mind raced. The stakes had just risen, but so had the potential rewards. Tevaril’s compassion might have been a weakness, but for Tahar, it was also a weapon—a weapon he intended to wield until it was no longer useful.

The grand halls of the Jedi Temple gleamed with sunlight as Kid led Reth through its corridors. The Sith Pureblood’s crimson skin stood out starkly against the muted tones of the Temple’s architecture, drawing curious glances from every initiate and Knight they passed. Reth walked with his shoulders squared, projecting confidence, but Kid could see the tension in his jaw and the subtle twitch in his fingers.
“You’re doing great,” Kid whispered, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “Just... try not to glare at everyone. They might take it the wrong way.”
Reth shot her a look, his yellow eyes narrowing. “This is my neutral face.”
“Well,” Kid teased, “maybe try a friendlier neutral?”
He rolled his eyes but said nothing, focusing instead on the path ahead. His unease wasn’t just about stepping into a Jedi Temple, the symbolic heart of everything his ancestors had opposed. It was the eyes—so many of them—that followed his every movement, filled with uncertainty and quiet judgment.
“I still don’t know about this,” Reth muttered under his breath as they reached the main training hall.
“You’ll be fine,” Kid said firmly, stopping to face him. “Look, I know it’s... weird, and yeah, some people might act like jerks at first. But once they see who you really are, they’ll get it. You’re not just some Sith Pureblood—they’ll see you.”
Reth hesitated, searching her face for any sign of doubt. Finally, he sighed. “You really think they’ll see past it?”
Kid grinned. “Of course. You’ve got me, remember? No one’s going to mess with you while I’m around.”
Reth smirked despite himself, shaking his head. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
“Yeah,” Kid said with a wink. “But I’m your trouble.”
They entered the training hall, where several initiates were sparring or meditating. The room quieted slightly as Reth stepped inside, his presence commanding attention. Conversations lowered to hushed murmurs, and a few heads turned to whisper to one another.
One initiate, a wiry Rodian, approached cautiously. “Is he… really a Sith?” the Rodian asked Kid, his green eyes darting nervously to Reth.
Reth tensed, but Kid stepped in before he could say anything. “He’s Reth,” she said firmly. “And yeah, he’s a Pureblood, but he’s also my friend. Got a problem with that?”
The Rodian hesitated, looking between Kid’s defiant stance and Reth’s stoic expression. “No,” he said finally, stepping back. “Just… wasn’t expecting it.”
“Good,” Kid said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She turned back to Reth, flashing him a reassuring smile. “See? No problem.”
Reth snorted softly. “You didn’t even give him a chance to argue.”
“Why would I?” Kid asked, her grin widening. “He didn’t need to.”
Despite himself, Reth felt some of the tension in his chest loosen. Kid’s unwavering confidence in him was enough to keep him steady, even in the face of his own doubts.
________________________________________
As the day went on, Reth began to notice the differences in how the Jedi initiates treated him compared to the children of Sanctuary. While there were no outright acts of hostility, the air was thick with skepticism. Initiates watched him from a distance, their eyes flickering between curiosity and caution.
When Reth joined a meditation circle, a few initiates shifted uncomfortably, exchanging uncertain glances. But Kid sat beside him without hesitation, her presence a silent show of support. Slowly, the group began to relax, though the atmosphere remained tentative.
________________________________________
Later that evening, as they walked back to the dormitories, Reth finally voiced his thoughts. “You make it look easy,” he said, his voice low.
“What?” Kid asked, tilting her head.
“Belonging,” Reth admitted. “You just… walk in and act like you own the place. Everyone gravitates to you. It’s like you don’t care what they think.”
Kid paused, considering his words. “It’s not that I don’t care,” she said finally. “I just… don’t let it stop me. I mean, yeah, I’m different too. A lot of people here think I’m more Sith than Jedi because of what I can do. But I can’t control what they think. All I can do is prove them wrong—or ignore them.”
Reth studied her for a moment, then nodded. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not,” Kid said with a grin. “But you’ve already done the hard part. You’re here. And I’m here. So, if anyone has a problem with you, they’ll have to deal with me first.”
Reth chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re welcome,” Kid shot back.
For the first time since he’d arrived at the Temple, Reth felt a small spark of hope. As long as Kid was around, maybe this place could feel like home.
The room was dimly lit, with the faint hum of energy resonating from the training dummy in the center. The air itself felt alive, charged with a kind of vibration Reth couldn’t quite place. Kid strode confidently to the dummy, her movements light with excitement.
“This,” she began, gesturing to the odd contraption, “is where I practice my lightning.” She turned to look at him, her blue eyes bright. “Watch this.”
Extending her hand, Kid let a small bolt of electricity spark to life in her palm. With practiced precision, she aimed it at the dummy. The lightning crackled, arcing through the air before it disappeared into the conduit at its core. The dummy absorbed the energy completely, its surface glowing faintly for a moment before returning to its neutral state.
“See?” Kid said proudly. “It absorbs it all. No mess, no harm. Just… practice.” She turned back to him, smiling. “It even powers the temple’s main reactor. Master Plo Koon told me. Cool, right?”
Reth didn’t share her enthusiasm. His crimson skin seemed a shade paler as he scanned the room, his sharp Sith Pureblood senses picking up on something that made him uneasy. The charged atmosphere of the place wasn’t just humming—it was loud, a cacophony of energy unlike anything he’d ever encountered. It wasn’t Sanctuary. It wasn’t peace.
“This place…” he said slowly, his voice low, “feels different. Noisy.”
“Noisy?” Kid repeated, her head tilting. “It’s just electricity. That’s how it feels. A buzz. You get used to it.”
Reth shook his head, crossing his arms. “I’ve never felt anything like it before. Back at Sanctuary, it was… quiet. The Force there was calm. Here, it feels like everything’s colliding.”
Kid blinked, then grinned mischievously. “You’re just not used to it. It’s like… learning a new song. At first, it’s weird, but then you figure it out.” She stepped closer to him, gesturing for him to follow her lead. “I can teach you.”
Reth froze, his unease spiking. “Teach me?”
“Yeah! Lightning isn’t just a Sith thing, you know,” she said with a shrug. “Master Plo Koon uses it. I taught the initiates back in Nar Shaddaa before the big battle there. It’s not the Dark Side unless you let it be.”
He shook his head quickly. “I don’t think my mom would like that. She… she’s very careful about me learning anything that could—” He faltered, looking down at his hands, as if imagining the power Kid was offering to share.
“Reth,” Kid said gently, her voice softer now, “it’s just a tool. Like a lightsaber or a blaster. It’s about how you use it. And I can show you the right way.”
Reth hesitated, his unease warring with the trust he had in Kid. “What if it’s too much for me? What if I can’t control it?”
Kid smiled encouragingly. “That’s what practice is for. You’ve got me. I’ll help.”
Reth met her gaze, his red eyes searching hers for reassurance. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. “What if it changes me?”
“It won’t,” Kid promised, her voice firm but kind. “It’s just energy. It’s like learning how to swim. At first, it feels big and scary, but once you understand it, you realize you’re the one in control.”
Reth nodded slowly, still unsure but not wanting to disappoint her. “Okay,” he said nervously, “but… just a little.”
The air in the training room grew heavy, the hum of residual energy fading as Reth’s frustration echoed through the space. He backed away, his crimson skin darkened with emotion. Kid stood there, stunned by his sudden outburst.
“Stop!” he repeated, his voice trembling. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, and he avoided her gaze.
“What’s wrong?” Kid asked softly, her concern genuine as she took a hesitant step forward.
Reth’s voice cracked as he tried to explain. “Do you understand that’s not what I want to be? Me and my mom… we came here so I wouldn’t become… a monster.”
“You’re not a monster, Reth,” Kid said firmly, her tone carrying an edge of disbelief that he could think that about himself.
“No,” he said sharply, his eyes finally meeting hers, red with frustration and hurt. “But I’m just a few steps away from it. I don’t want to take any more steps. Just… stay away from me, okay? I came here to learn from the Jedi—not…” He faltered, his voice dropping. “Not this.”
Kid’s expression hardened, the sting of his words sinking in. “A Sith?” she finished for him, her voice quieter now but laced with bitterness.
She pushed him—just enough to make him take a step back. The move wasn’t aggressive, but it was sharp enough to drive her point home. “I’m sorry I brought you here.”
“Kid, no—” Reth started, his own anger cooling as he saw the pain in her eyes.
“No,” she cut him off, her voice shaking as she turned away. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
Without waiting for his response, Kid stormed out of the room. She walked briskly at first, then broke into a run, her boots pounding against the temple floor as she navigated the corridors. Tears welled in her blue eyes, blurring the path ahead until she finally reached the riverbank.
The sound of the flowing water, so often a source of comfort, now felt like a cruel reminder of her own turbulence. She dropped to her knees on the soft grass, her tears falling freely as she hugged her arms around herself.
“This was supposed to be good,” she muttered, her voice trembling as she wiped at her face. “I just wanted to help…”
The memory of Reth’s anger, his words accusing her of pushing him toward darkness, replayed in her mind. She wasn’t trying to turn him into anything—she just wanted him to feel what she felt, to understand the power didn’t have to mean destruction.
As her tears fell into the river, Kid stared at her reflection in the rippling water. For the first time, she wondered if she had made a mistake—if she had pushed too hard.
The gentle sound of the river’s current was broken only by Kid’s quiet sniffles as her tears dripped into the water. She kept her eyes fixed on her reflection, her usually vibrant blue gaze dimmed by sadness and self-doubt. The soft crunch of footsteps behind her barely registered until a voice broke the silence.
“You okay?” Tevaril asked, his tone quiet and unassuming.
Kid shook her head without looking at him, her shoulders slumping further.
Tevaril didn’t press. Instead, he lowered himself to sit beside her, his presence solid and steady. “If you want to talk, I’m here,” he said after a moment. “And if you don’t want to talk… I’m still here.”
Kid’s fingers idly traced patterns in the grass as she hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper when she finally spoke. “Why do the Jedi have to be right all the time? They decide what’s good and what’s bad, and everyone just has to go along with it.”
Tevaril glanced at her, sensing the depth of her frustration. “Did they say you were bad?”
Kid’s breath hitched, and she looked away, her voice trembling. “They all think I’m a Sith. I can’t levitate things, I can’t mess with people’s minds. All I can do is lightning, and that’s enough for them to judge me.”
Tevaril was quiet for a moment, watching the river before speaking. “I’ve been watching you,” he admitted. “And I don’t think you’re bad at all. If anything, I think you’re brave. I was afraid of you before—your power, your intensity. But now? I see you trying, every single day, to do good. And that takes courage.”
Kid’s head tilted slightly toward him, his words sinking in even as fresh tears traced down her cheeks. “Then why doesn’t anyone else think that?” she asked, her voice breaking.
Tevaril let out a heavy sigh, looking up at the fading sky. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But that doesn’t mean you should stop. Don’t stop trying to help people, Kid. We have to protect the weak, even when no one else believes in us. Even when people don’t agree with how we do it. The world will always try to corrupt us—twist our intentions, paint us as something we’re not. But we can’t let it. We can’t let it win.”
Kid looked at him then, truly looked at him, her tears still falling but her expression softening. “You really believe that?”
Tevaril nodded, his face serious but kind. “I do. And I think you believe it too, even if it’s hard right now.”
Kid wiped at her face with the sleeve of her robe, her lip trembling as a faint smile formed. “Thanks,” she said, her voice small but sincere.
They sat in silence for a while longer, the river’s quiet song filling the space between them. Though her heart was still heavy, Kid felt a flicker of hope stir within her—a reminder that she wasn’t alone in the fight to be better, even when the world seemed determined to see her as something she wasn’t.
Tevaril gave her a small smile. “You’re not alone, Kid. Even when it feels like it—you’re not.”
Kid smiled, shrugged, and nodded.
The soft hum of Tevaril’s communicator cut through the quiet by the river, drawing his attention. He glanced down at the device on his wrist, his expression tightening slightly. The faint glow of the communicator reflected off his face, highlighting the worry etched into his features.
“I’ve got to go,” Tevaril said, standing and brushing off his robes. “A lot of people need my help.”
Kid looked up at him, her tear-streaked face softening as she mustered a small smile. “Be good.”
Tevaril paused, her words hanging in the air. He looked at her, the weight of her simple request settling on him. A faint smile tugged at his lips, bittersweet and fleeting. “I will,” he said quietly, his voice steady.
For a moment, he lingered, as if debating whether to say more. But instead, he gave her a small nod and turned, walking away with purposeful strides. The communicator’s light flickered off as he answered the call, his silhouette disappearing into the distance.
Kid watched him go, her fingers curling slightly around the edges of the rock she sat on. “I hope so,” she whispered to herself, the words carried away by the gentle ripple of the river.

Chapter Text

Tahar Cherid sat in his opulent yet understated office, the glow of the Coruscant skyline casting sharp shadows across his angular features. He stood as Tevaril entered, greeting him with his usual calm intensity.
"Tevaril," Tahar began, gesturing for the Mirialan to take a seat, "I have an assignment for you. One that requires your particular... sensibilities."
Tevaril crossed his arms, standing instead. His sharp eyes narrowed. "What’s the job?"
Tahar leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "A breakout at the Callan Sector minimum-security prison. It’s a soft target—undermanned and housing petty offenders, most of whom are locked away for falling through society’s cracks. I want you to get in, free as many as possible, and dismantle the facility. Completely."
Tevaril’s expression hardened. "A prison break? Those people were put away for a reason. And dismantling it? There’s going to be a lot of collateral damage, Tahar. Are you sure this is the right move?"
Tahar nodded slowly, his crimson eyes gleaming with resolve. "I am. Listen, Tevaril. That prison isn’t there to rehabilitate anyone. It’s a holding pen for those too poor or powerless to fight back. The guards? They treat the inmates like fodder. The system feeds off of their misery."
Tevaril hesitated, doubt flickering across his face. "And you think blowing it up will fix that? What about the guards? The staff?"
Tahar’s voice softened, laced with something close to admiration. "This is why I’m asking you, Tevaril. Not just anyone would question this. You’ve always cared about minimizing harm, even when it’s hard. That’s why I trust and depend on you. Because if anyone can pull this off with minimum casualties, it’s you."
Tevaril’s stance wavered, but his doubt lingered. "And why dismantle it? Why not just free the prisoners?"
Tahar sighed, standing and walking to the window. "Because leaving it standing ensures the cycle continues. Those guards you’re worried about? Most of them will find other jobs. They’ll go home to their families and provide, which means there’s less for your crew to do—fewer people on the streets to exploit the weak." He turned to face Tevaril, his voice calm but firm. "By tearing it down, you’re sending a message that this kind of oppression won’t stand. And, in doing so, you make life just a little more bearable for everyone we’re trying to help."
Tevaril’s jaw tightened as he considered Tahar’s words. They weren’t without merit, and the logic—twisted though it was—began to take hold.
Tahar took a step closer, his tone dropping to something almost conspiratorial. "I wouldn’t give this task to anyone else. You’re the only one I trust to handle it with the care it demands. You’ll make sure those who can go home to their families get to do so. And when those families thrive, there’s less work for your crew to do—less harm to undo."
Tevaril exhaled, the weight of the assignment settling on him. Slowly, he nodded. "Alright. I’ll do it. But I’m holding you to your word—minimum casualties."
Tahar’s expression softened into a small, satisfied smile. "You have my word, Tevaril. Minimum casualties."
As Tevaril turned to leave, the sense of resolve building within him, Tahar allowed himself a private moment of satisfaction. He’d played his hand well, knowing Tevaril’s compassion was both his greatest strength and the key to manipulating him. The prison would fall, the Black Sun agents would be freed, and Tevaril would remain bound to his cause. For now.

The air was still, with only the faint hum of machinery in the distance breaking the silence. The massive pharmaceutical factory loomed like a steel fortress, its corridors brightly lit but eerily quiet. Kid sat on a crate near the main gate, her datapad balanced on her knees as she flipped through a series of educational videos, half paying attention. Windu, leaning against the wall nearby, glanced at her now and then, his gaze periodically scanning the surroundings.
The night had been uneventful so far, with nothing but the occasional lost pedestrian to break the monotony. Windu checked in with the other Jedi guarding likely targets, the rogue Jedi would choose and every hour, receiving the same report each time: no incidents.
When the clock struck 1 a.m., the factory seemed to settle into an even deeper stillness. Kid stretched, letting out a small yawn as she set her datapad aside. "This is so boring," she muttered.
Windu looked at her thoughtfully for a moment before breaking a stick from a wooden pallet nearby. He snapped it in half with ease, fashioning two makeshift training sticks. "Want to spar?" he asked, holding one out to her.
Kid raised an eyebrow, glancing at the stick skeptically. "Why don’t you just use your lightsaber?"
Windu smirked. "That would draw too much attention. Two people swinging wooden sticks around? No one’s going to give it a second glance."
Kid grinned, taking the stick from him. "Alright. Let’s do this."
For a while, the two engaged in playful sparring, their laughter breaking through the stillness of the night. Kid ducked and weaved, her movements quick and nimble, while Windu’s precision and strength kept her on her toes. Despite the lighthearted nature of their sparring, Kid couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly Windu controlled his strikes, his focus unwavering even in play.
Their session was interrupted by the sharp voice of the head security guard. "Hey! Stop playing games!"
Both Windu and Kid froze, their sticks mid-air. Windu immediately lowered his weapon, his demeanor calm and apologetic. "Of course. Apologies for the distraction." He casually tossed the sticks aside.
The head security guard, a burly man with a data pad clutched in his hand, frowned as he approached. His tone carried an edge of irritation. "Great. More wanna-be Jedi showing up on Coruscant. Just what we need."
The head security guard glanced nervously at his datapad, then turned the screen toward Windu. “You won’t believe this… someone just blew up sections of the local prison.”
Windu’s brows furrowed. “Show me.”
Kid leaned in as the guard tapped the screen, opening a live feed from a news drone hovering above the scene. The video feed was chaotic—billowing smoke rose from the prison’s outer walls, and emergency lights flickered across the scorched grounds. Security personnel scrambled in all directions, their shouts barely audible over the distant sound of alarms.
The drone zoomed in on the chaos, revealing prisoners fleeing through the wreckage, some aiding injured comrades, while others were intercepted by law enforcement. Among the chaos, faint glimpses of a figure cutting through debris and security alike with a lightsaber caught Kid’s attention. The blade glowed yellow-green, slicing through barriers with precision and determination.
Kid’s eyes widened as she pointed to the screen. “Is that him?”
Windu stared at the feed, his face grim. He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze following the rogue Jedi’s movements as he covered a group of prisoners retreating toward waiting speeders. The way the lightsaber moved, the way the figure carried himself—it was unmistakable. He exhaled deeply. “I think so.”
The video feed shifted to another angle, capturing the aftermath of the initial explosion. Crumbled walls and singed bodies told a grim story. The news anchor’s voice over the footage added context: “Authorities confirm the explosion was centered on the minimum-security wing, holding inmates detained for nonviolent offenses. Witnesses claim the attack was orchestrated by a rogue Jedi, though details remain unconfirmed.”
Kid glanced at Windu, her face a mixture of disbelief and concern. “Why would a Jedi attack a prison?”
Windu’s gaze didn’t leave the screen as the news drone panned over the escaping prisoners. He finally spoke, his voice heavy. “I didn’t predict this. I didn’t think he’d take this path.”
“What does that mean?” Kid pressed, her voice small but urgent.
Windu sighed, lowering his head for a moment before meeting her gaze. “It means that Jedi might be more far gone than we thought. He’s not just taking from the rich and giving to the poor anymore. He’s actively disrupting systems—destroying lives in the process. This isn’t just compassion twisted… it’s desperation.”
Kid stared at the screen, the weight of Windu’s words settling over her. “Do you think we pushed him there? Could the Council… could we have done something differently?”
Windu’s expression darkened, his silence speaking louder than words. “The Council’s decisions aren’t always perfect,” he admitted quietly. “Sometimes, in our efforts to keep the peace, we overlook the struggles that drive someone to these extremes. But that doesn’t absolve him of his choices.”
Kid nodded slowly, but her thoughts churned. If a Jedi could fall so far, what did that mean for her own struggles to stay on the right path? She glanced back at the screen, her voice trembling as she asked, “Do you think he believes he’s doing the right thing?”
Windu hesitated before answering. “I think he does. That’s what makes him so dangerous. He’s acting on conviction, not malice. But conviction without balance…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “It’s a path to destruction.”
The news drone captured a final shot of the rogue Jedi disappearing into the shadows, his blade extinguished, leaving only chaos in his wake. Windu straightened, his jaw tightening. “We need to act, Kid. This isn’t just about stopping him—it’s about understanding what he’s planning. No one takes a step like this without a larger purpose.”
Kid looked up at him, her own resolve hardening. “Then let’s figure it out. Before it’s too late.”
Windu placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression a mix of pride and concern. “We will. But this will test you, Padawan. You’ve already seen how murky the line between good intentions and dangerous actions can be.”
Kid nodded, her thoughts lingering on the rogue Jedi. “I’ll be ready.”
Windu hoped she was right. He turned back to the guard. “Alert the Council. They need to see this.”
The head security guard, “You guys are Jedi? Like real Jedi?”
Windu nodded, “Sorry we deceived you, but the less you knew the better.”

The truck hummed softly as it moved through the dim streets, its occupants lost in their own thoughts. Tevaril sat against the wall of the cargo hold, his posture tense. Across from him, Pelon Pelrico leaned casually against a crate, his sharp eyes fixed on Tevaril.
"You don’t remember me, do you?" Pelon finally broke the silence, his tone even, though it carried a faint edge.
Tevaril glanced up, frowning. "Should I?"
Pelon gave a bitter laugh. "I was one of the guys raiding that cargo ship you were on. You killed three of them—John, Jake, and Jen Pica. It’s not every day you hear about a mother losing all three of her kids in one day."
Tevaril’s shoulders stiffened. He lowered his gaze, guilt flickering across his face. "I’m… I’m sorry. They didn’t give me any choice."
"You could’ve played possum," Pelon shot back, his voice rising. "Could’ve let one of my guys knock you out. None of us had loaded blasters. No one had to die that day."
Tevaril exhaled heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I found those supplies off-world. It was illegal, but they would’ve helped more people if your crew hadn’t tried to steal them."
Pelon rolled his eyes, his frustration barely contained. "It did help people—with what we managed to take. Can’t say it was worth the three of us… Well, four if you count me."
The words hit Tevaril harder than he expected. He looked away, his voice quieter. "What are you going to do now?"
"Touch base with my crew. Plan from there," Pelon said, his tone almost casual, though his eyes remained sharp.
"You’re going back to being a thief," Tevaril said, more a statement than a question.
Pelon shrugged. "You’re a murderer. You killed people before, and you’ll do it again." His voice hardened. "If you need to bring a blaster, bomb, or lightsaber to the job, your plans aren’t that great."
Tevaril turned to him, his face etched with a mixture of frustration and despair. "I don’t want to kill anyone. If there were another way, I’d—" He hesitated, his words catching in his throat. Finally, he asked, "How?"
Pelon frowned. "How what?"
"How to pull a heist without killing anyone?" Tevaril’s voice was earnest, almost pleading.
For a moment, Pelon stared at him, as if weighing his words. Then, with a small smile, he extended his hand. "I’m Pelon Pelrico. What’s your name?"
Tevaril hesitated, then took the offered hand. "Tevaril. Former Jedi Knight."
The man sitting next to Tevaril smirked and tossed his lightsaber across the truck to Pelon. Catching it with ease, Pelon examined the weapon with a mock sense of awe.
"Distraction," Pelon said, spinning the hilt in his hand. "Distraction is half the game. You distract your mark, you can get into anywhere and take anything. No killing. No ratting out your crew. And you never, ever trust the cops." He tossed the lightsaber back to Tevaril, who caught it instinctively. "Your crew is your family. You stick with them, or you might as well be dead."
Tevaril turned the lightsaber over in his hands, his grip tightening. For the first time in a long while, he felt a spark of admiration for someone whose life couldn’t have been more different from his own.
Pelon leaned back, his tone lighter but no less sincere. "You’ve got potential, Jedi. But you’ve got to decide—are you doing this to save people, or to save yourself?"
Tevaril looked at him, his expression conflicted but resolute. "Maybe both."

Tahar Cherid’s office was as meticulously organized as ever. The faint hum of holoscreens and the dim, blue-tinted light gave the space a cold, calculated air. Tahar stood behind his desk, his sharp Chiss features illuminated by a datapad in his hands. When Tevaril entered with Pelon Pelrico in tow, Tahar’s crimson eyes flicked up, his expression impassive.
"This is the one?" Tahar asked, setting the datapad aside and giving Pelon an assessing look.
Pelon, hands casually tucked into his pockets, smirked. "The one with the skillset you’re missing? Yeah, that’s me."
Tahar’s gaze lingered on him, unamused. "Confidence. That’s good. Foolhardy confidence? Less so. What’s your name?"
"Pelon Pelrico," he said smoothly, stepping forward. "And you must be the brains behind all this… goodwill."
Tahar’s lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Let’s see if your skills match your arrogance. What do you bring to the table?"
Pelon shrugged nonchalantly. "I know a thing or two about distractions, sleight of hand, and getting people to lower their guard. I also don’t kill or snitch. That’s my code."
Tahar tilted his head slightly. "A noble thief? How quaint."
"Call it what you want," Pelon replied. "All I know is, you’ve got a reputation to maintain, and I’ve got the means to make sure things get done cleanly. No blood, no heat, and no messes to clean up later."
Tevaril interjected, his voice calm but firm. "His skills are exactly what we need. He can complement the crew and reduce risk. Minimal casualties, Tahar. Isn’t that what we’ve been working toward?"
Tahar leaned back slightly, his fingers steepled. "Perhaps. But I don’t deal in charity. If he’s working under my operations, I take fifty percent of any job he does."
Pelon raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider. "That’s steep. You’ll get an even split—among all the people I’m helping. You want a bigger piece of the pie? Bring in more people."
Tahar’s expression darkened slightly, and he turned his attention to Tevaril. "Make him excuse himself," he said coldly.
"Wait," Tevaril said, raising a hand. He looked between the two, his tone steady. "Think about it. If a crew has more personnel to distribute the workload, they can pull off bigger jobs. That means a bigger cut for you—even if the percentage shifts."
Pelon nodded in agreement, folding his arms. "Exactly. If I need enough people to pull a job that big, yeah, you’ll get more. Simple math."
Tahar’s gaze remained fixed on Pelon for a long, silent moment, his crimson eyes unreadable. Then he shifted his focus back to Tevaril. "If you choose to include him in our operations, his actions—and any consequences—will fall squarely on your shoulders. He’s your responsibility."
Tevaril inclined his head slightly, his tone resolute. "I understand. And I accept that responsibility."
Tahar leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering to a dangerous edge. "If he compromises us in any way, Tevaril, it’s on you to ensure there’s no fallout. Do you understand?"
Tevaril met his gaze evenly. "I do."
Tahar straightened, his demeanor cooling once more. "Good. Test him. If he proves himself, we’ll talk again."
Pelon grinned, glancing at Tevaril. "See? Told you I’d be useful."
As they turned to leave, Tahar’s voice stopped them. "And Tevaril… don’t let your ‘compassion’ cloud your judgment."
Tevaril didn’t respond, his expression remaining impassive as he exited with Pelon. But the weight of Tahar’s warning lingered in the air, a reminder of the precarious line he continued to walk.

The room was a dimly lit, cluttered mess of equipment, maps, and half-empty caf mugs. A low buzz of conversation filled the space, but it ceased the moment Pelon walked in with Tevaril. Every pair of eyes turned toward them, and the room’s energy shifted into one of cautious curiosity.
Pelon spread his arms, grinning. "Alright, everyone, this is Tevaril. Jedi Knight turned... well, whatever it is he’s figuring out these days. He’s here to see what we’re all about."
Tevaril stepped forward, nodding politely. "I’m here to learn and… see how you operate."
Pelon smirked, clapping him on the back. "Don’t sound so stiff, pal. Let me introduce the crew."
He pointed to the woman sitting at the corner table, cleaning a disassembled blaster with the precision of someone who had done it a thousand times before. "Mara Bolonchas—former Republic Commando. She’s the one you want if things go sideways. Which, let’s be honest, they usually do."
Mara didn’t look up, her voice flat. "I hope you’re not a liability. We’ve got enough of those."
Pelon ignored her jab and turned to a wiry man with sharp eyes and an easy smirk. "That’s Ricolino Paleta, smuggler extraordinaire and the best operative you’ll meet. Knows every port, every shortcut, and every excuse in the book."
Ricolino tipped an imaginary hat. "Pleasure. Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Jedi Order you’re slumming it with us."
Tevaril raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Pelon gestured to a tall, imposing figure standing in the shadows. His red skin and Sith tattoos were unmistakable.
"Barcel Chocoretas," Pelon said casually, as if introducing an old friend. "Runaway Sith Lord. He’s not big on words, but he’s got your back when the Force fails you."
Barcel inclined his head slightly, his yellow eyes piercing. "I hope you’ve left the Order for good," he said, his voice low. "The Jedi only chain you."
Pelon cleared his throat, sensing the tension, and quickly moved on. "Vero—our guy on the inside. He’s an undercover detective from Naboo. Keeps us ahead of the law and lets us know when something’s too big or too dangerous."
Vero, leaning against the wall with a cup of caf, gave Tevaril a once-over. "You’ve got the look of someone who gets in trouble. Don’t make me regret letting you through the door."
Next up was a muscular man with scorch marks on his shirt and a mischievous grin. Pelon gestured toward him with exaggerated flair. "And this is Lucas, our certified explosives specialist. He’s the mastermind behind those flash grenades that probably made your life miserable once or twice."
Lucas gave Tevaril a mock salute. "If it goes boom, I built it. No refunds."
Tevaril nodded, unsure whether to laugh or be concerned.
Pelon moved to a striking woman with sharp features and an air of authority. "And Rosa Pulparindo. Matron Mother, as she insists we call her."
Rosa interjected smoothly, her voice dripping with confidence. "I’m an information broker and trainer. My girls gather intel, and anyone willing learns Judo. You need both in this line of work."
Pelon gave Tevaril a sly look. "And don’t underestimate her. She’s scarier than she looks."
Tevaril began to respond when Pelon gestured toward a woman at the back of the room. Her hair was disheveled, and her piercing gaze locked onto him with a force that made him freeze in place.
"And finally," Pelon said, "Dr. Vera Pica. Surgeon. Stitching us back together when we screw up. She’s one of the best."
Before Tevaril could say anything, Vera launched herself at him. She delivered a swift kick to his groin, dropping him to his knees with a groan. "You bastard!" she yelled, fists flying as she pummeled him.
"Vera!" Pelon shouted, rushing to pull her back. "What the hell are you doing?"
"He killed my sons!" Vera screamed, her voice breaking. "All three of them in one day! John, Jake, and Jen! He took them from me!"
Tevaril, wincing in pain, raised a hand weakly. "I didn’t have a choice," he gasped.
"Didn’t have a choice?" Vera spat, tears streaming down her face. "You didn’t have to kill them! They weren’t armed! They were my boys, damn it!"
The room fell silent as Vera’s words hung in the air. Pelon finally managed to pull her away, his voice calm but firm. "Vera. Go home. We’ll talk about this later."
Rosa stepped in, placing a reassuring hand on Vera’s shoulder. "Come on, dear. Let’s get you out of here."
Vera glared at Tevaril one last time before letting Rosa lead her out. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving an uneasy stillness.
Pelon helped Tevaril to his feet, his usual smirk replaced by a serious expression. "Well, that could’ve gone better."
Tevaril nodded, his voice subdued. "I… didn’t know."
"Now you do," Pelon said bluntly. "Welcome to the crew. We’ve all got our ghosts. Yours just punched you in the face."
The others returned to their business, but the tension lingered. Tevaril looked around the room, his resolve hardening. He wasn’t sure if he could fit in here, but he knew one thing: he had a lot to prove.
As the others dispersed, leaving Tevaril to collect himself after Vera’s outburst, Barcel Chocoretas approached him. The Sith Lord’s towering frame and crimson skin were intimidating, but his demeanor was calm. He extended a hand toward Tevaril, his yellow eyes locking onto Tevaril’s with an unreadable intensity.
Tevaril hesitated, then accepted the handshake, feeling the surprising strength in Barcel’s grip.
"I know the look on your face," Barcel said, his voice deep but not unkind. "It’s the weight of realizing your actions don’t just ripple—they crash. I’ve been there."
Tevaril raised an eyebrow. "A Sith Lord saying he understands guilt? That’s not something I expected to hear today."
Barcel smirked faintly but didn’t release his hand. "At one point, I wanted to be the hero of the galaxy," he said, his tone distant, as though recalling a memory from another lifetime. "The name the Empire spoke of with awe when it came to dynamic heroics. I thought I’d be remembered as a savior. Feared by my enemies, revered by my allies, respected by everyone."
He released Tevaril’s hand and crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the wall. "And then one day, during what should’ve been another routine battle, I got injured. Two broken legs. I couldn’t walk, couldn’t fight, couldn’t serve. And while I laid there, stuck in that medbay, do you know how many visitors I got?"
Tevaril shook his head.
"None," Barcel said simply, his voice laced with a quiet bitterness. "Not a single one. Just hollow holocalls from other Sith, counting the days I’d be back on duty. No ‘Are you okay?’ No ‘Take your time.’ Just ‘When are you returning?’ And that was when I realized something."
Barcel looked directly at Tevaril now, his gaze piercing. "I didn’t have friends. I didn’t have family. I had allies, sure—people who’d use my strength when it suited them—but no one who cared about me as a person. Not a soul."
The silence between them stretched for a moment before Barcel continued, his voice softening. "So, I left. It wasn’t easy, but I realized something else: people don’t remember titles. They don’t remember grand gestures or fleeting heroics. They remember the good friends who stood by them. The parents who loved them. The teachers who shaped them into who they are."
He let out a low, self-deprecating laugh. "And I didn’t have any of those people in my life. Those were the people I missed when I was alone. The people who actually matter."
Tevaril frowned, digesting the words. "And now?"
Barcel straightened, glancing toward the door where the rest of the crew had disappeared. "Now, I try to be one of those people for others. It’s hard, especially for someone like me. Being nice doesn’t come naturally, and there are days when I fail miserably. But I’m here. And I figure that’s a start."
Tevaril felt a pang of understanding. "Do you regret it? Leaving?"
Barcel shook his head. "No. I regret not leaving sooner. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the people you stand with matter more than the titles or goals you chase. And I see you, Tevaril. You’re at a crossroads. Just make sure you’re standing with the right people when you decide which way to go."
With that, Barcel gave him a curt nod and turned to leave, his presence lingering even after he disappeared into the shadows.
Tevaril stood there, the weight of Barcel’s words settling in his chest. For the first time in a long time, he wondered if he was standing on the right side of his own story.

Chapter Text

The door slid open, revealing Tahar Cherid in the midst of straightening his jacket. His crimson eyes blinked with surprise before settling into a cool gaze. "Tevaril," he said smoothly, stepping aside. "Come in. Apologies for the state of things—I wasn’t expecting company." He gestured vaguely at the tidy but cluttered apartment. "Can I brew you a cup of caf?"
Tevaril nodded, stepping inside with measured calm. "Yeah, I’d like that."
Tahar busied himself in the kitchen nook, the faint hum of a caf machine filling the silence. Tevaril’s eyes wandered, landing on a packed suitcase near the door. "Big plans tonight?"
"Meeting some contacts," Tahar said evenly, pouring the steaming caf into two ceramic mugs. He handed one to Tevaril. "Networking is everything in our line of work."
Tevaril took a sip, letting the silence linger before speaking. "How much did we make from the last job?"
Tahar froze for a fraction of a second before recovering. "There wasn’t much to make. It was a jailbreak, Tevaril, not a supply raid. We didn’t profit—this was about people, not goods."
Tevaril set his mug down on the counter, his voice calm but pointed. "Yeah, but there were VIPs, right? Specific people you wanted out."
Tahar’s expression darkened slightly, confusion or irritation flashing across his face. "What are you getting at?"
"It’s okay," Tevaril said softly, leaning against the counter. "I know you’re not a saint, Tahar. I’m tired of acting like one. We’re friends, right?"
Tahar’s gaze softened, and he nodded, though his posture remained guarded. "Of course we are."
"Then I want my cut. In credits this time," Tevaril said firmly. His voice carried the weight of exhaustion, not anger. "I’ve put too much responsibility on you, Tahar. I need to take more initiative to build and protect everything we have. Before I just… give out."
Tahar sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. He placed his mug down, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the counter. "Tevaril… I’ve already distributed our financial gains to clinics, orphanages, soup kitchens. I thought that’s what we agreed on—to use our resources to help those who can’t help themselves."
Tevaril’s face fell, disappointment etched into his features.
"But," Tahar continued, relenting, "I can give you 5,000 credits now. Consider it an advance for the next job." He walked to a safe embedded in the wall, punched in a code, and pulled out a credit chip. Handing it to Tevaril, he added, "Fifty percent of the next job, in credits, minus this."
Tevaril accepted the chip but didn’t speak.
Tahar leaned against the counter, watching him carefully. "Talking to Pelon got me thinking," he said slowly. "It’s better to have a handful of elites than an army of idiots. The prisoners we broke out—they’re strong, but they’re not trained. If you’re confident in this new crew of yours, perhaps splitting the pie evenly between your men and mine would make things fairer."
Tevaril raised a brow. "Even cuts for everyone?"
"Exactly," Tahar said with a small, calculating smile. "I’ve always liked how you minimize casualties for the greater good. But no casualties? That would accomplish both of our goals. If your crew can pull that off, I’d consider it worth the investment."
Tevaril nodded slowly, though his face betrayed lingering doubts. "Yeah… that seems good."
Tahar handed him the mug of caf. "I really need to get going."
Tevaril smirked faintly, raising the mug. "What, don’t you want me to give this back?"
"Keep it," Tahar said, grabbing his suitcase. He glanced back at Tevaril briefly, his expression unreadable. "Consider it a token of trust."
As the door slid shut behind him, Tevaril stared into the dark liquid in his cup, his thoughts as murky as the caf.
As Tahar stepped onto the sleek transport, the door hissed shut behind him, sealing him in the quiet hum of the cabin. He placed his suitcase neatly by his feet and adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, his crimson eyes narrowing in thought.
"The leash got a little looser..." he muttered under his breath, his tone a mix of irritation and calculation. "That's not good."
He leaned back in his seat, the low hum of the engines filling the silence. His mind raced as he considered the implications. Tevaril asking for credits outright wasn’t just a shift in their dynamic—it was a crack in the carefully maintained façade of trust. A man like Tevaril, burdened by his own conscience, was dangerous enough. But a Tevaril with independence? That was a problem.
Tahar’s fingers drummed lightly against the armrest as he stared out at Coruscant’s glowing skyline. "If he starts thinking he’s calling the shots," he mused, "that could complicate things. No room for doubts when the stakes are this high."
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small holopad. With a flick of his thumb, he activated it, skimming through the profiles of his Black Sun contacts. A sly smile crept across his lips as a name caught his eye.
"Time to tighten the leash before it slips entirely," he said quietly, the hum of the engines masking the edge in his voice.
The transport glided smoothly into the neon-lit expanse, taking Tahar deeper into the heart of Coruscant’s underworld—and closer to the next step in his plans.

The Jedi Council chamber was tense, the air thick with unspoken questions. Flickering holograms in the center of the room replayed grainy footage of Tevaril’s recent activities. The former Jedi Knight was seen stumbling through petty thefts—lifting jewelry from a distracted vendor, slipping electronics under his robes, and pickpocketing credits in crowded marketplaces. Each scene felt absurdly mundane, a sharp contrast to the might and discipline expected of a Jedi.
Overlaying this were the intricate images of lotus flowers sprayed on walls, holographic billboards, and even the sides of speeders. The artistry was undeniable, but the symbolism was lost on most of the Council. It felt almost mocking.
“Disgraceful,” Saesee Tiin muttered, shaking his head. “The galaxy sees us as protectors of peace, and now one of our own is reduced to… this.”
“Not to mention the vandalism,” Ki-Adi-Mundi added, his tone clipped. “The lotus imagery might be art to some, but to most, it’s a nuisance—and it’s tied directly to a former Jedi. The people are losing trust in us.”
“Look closer,” Adi Gallia interjected, gesturing to the holograms. “He’s not alone. That shadowy figure accompanying him—they’re assisting him.”
The footage zoomed in on a smaller figure moving in tandem with Tevaril. The figure’s movements were deliberate and controlled, watching the surroundings as Tevaril clumsily fumbled with his thefts. In one clip, the shadowy figure handed Tevaril a pickpocketed wallet with a quick, efficient motion before blending back into the crowd.
Shaak Ti frowned. “This isn’t just random mischief. Someone is training him.”
The murmurs grew louder, speculation filling the room. Yoda, silent until now, raised a hand for quiet.
“Training, he is receiving,” Yoda said simply, his tone heavy with meaning.
“Training?” Mace Windu repeated, his brow furrowing. “Master Yoda, are you suggesting someone is teaching him to steal? Why would a former Jedi Knight—”
“Not just teaching to steal,” Yoda interrupted, leaning forward slightly. “Teaching to survive.”
The room fell silent. The weight of Yoda’s words lingered in the air, each Council member processing their implications.
“Survive?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked skeptically. “A Jedi Knight doesn’t need to learn pickpocketing to survive. This… this is something else.”
Adi Gallia’s voice was quieter but firm. “It’s not survival. It’s corruption. Whoever this figure is, they’re exploiting his weaknesses, twisting his moral compass further.”
Yoda’s ears twitched slightly, but his gaze remained steady. “Corruption, perhaps. Or guidance, strange as it may seem.”
“Guidance?” Windu’s tone sharpened. “Guidance to what end? Are we supposed to believe that teaching Tevaril to steal is part of some noble cause? We’ve already seen the chaos he’s caused.”
The hologram switched to another clip, showing the vandalized lotus flowers again. Yoda tapped his gimer stick thoughtfully. “Patterns, there are. Meaning, perhaps, yet unseen.”
“Patterns don’t matter if people lose faith in the Jedi,” Shaak Ti argued. “Tevaril’s actions aren’t just a nuisance—they’re actively harming our reputation. We need to act before the damage spreads.”
“Do we even understand his motives?” Plo Koon asked calmly, his gaze fixed on the hologram. “If this figure is training him, then they must have a purpose. What if we’re missing something important?”
Yoda closed his eyes briefly, exhaling a deep breath. “Actions, strange though they are, still of the Force, he is.”
“We can’t afford strange actions,” Windu said firmly. “Not when the galaxy is watching. We’ve already lost too much ground. If Tevaril has fallen under the sway of this shadowy figure, we must find him—and bring him in.”
“Agreed,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said. “The longer we wait, the worse this gets.”
Yoda opened his eyes, looking directly at the hologram of Tevaril’s fumbling thefts. His expression was calm, but his words carried a quiet weight. “What he is becoming, uncertain it is. But dangerous, it may not be.”
“Dangerous or not,” Windu said, standing. “We need answers. And we need to stop whatever game this figure is playing before it damages the Order any further.”
The Council murmured their agreement, the decision clear. As the holograms faded, Yoda’s gaze lingered on the last image—a lotus flower painted across the wall of a bustling market. A subtle smile crossed his face, barely noticeable.
“Even in chaos,” he said softly, almost to himself, “lessons, there are.”

The quiet hum of the Coruscant night was broken only by the occasional speeder whirring overhead. Windu stood in the shadow of a towering building, his sharp eyes trained on the police station across the street. His instincts, honed by years of experience, told him something—or someone—would appear tonight.
Then, movement. A figure exited the police station, clutching a large empty bag. The way the person moved—calculated but not hurried—caught Windu’s attention. He stepped forward, his presence as commanding as ever.
"I thought I’d find you here," Windu said evenly, his voice low but firm.
The figure froze, then turned slowly. Tevaril’s face was partially obscured by the hood of his cloak, but his expression was unmistakable—a mix of defiance and weariness. He glanced at the bag in his hand, then back at Windu.
"I only took what was necessary," Tevaril said quietly. His voice carried the weight of someone trying to convince himself as much as his accuser. "But there was… more than what was necessary."
Windu’s brow furrowed as he studied Tevaril. The former Jedi’s posture was defensive, his shoulders tense, but there was no malice in his presence. The bag, slung low against his side, seemed heavy—likely was filled with stolen goods.
"You don’t have your lightsaber," Windu observed, his voice softening slightly.
Tevaril shook his head, his gaze dropping momentarily to the ground. "The Jedi taught us to kill when necessary. I don’t want to kill at all."
Windu’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. "And this," he said, gesturing toward the bag. "Does it justify your choice to abandon everything the Jedi taught you?"
Tevaril met his gaze, his voice steady but filled with a quiet intensity. "The Jedi taught me discipline, focus… and compassion. But they also taught me to compromise. To justify sacrifices I couldn’t bear anymore. I’m not abandoning what I learned—I’m reshaping it."
"Reshaping it into what?" Windu asked, his tone sharp but not unkind. "A thief? A vigilante?"
Tevaril exhaled deeply, gripping the bag tighter. "I’m trying to protect people without adding to the bloodshed. If that means stealing from those who hoard wealth and resources while others starve, so be it. At least I can look in the mirror and see someone trying to do good."
For a moment, silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken words. Windu’s expression remained stern, but there was a flicker of understanding in his eyes.
"And the people you take from?" Windu asked finally. "Do they deserve your judgment? Your justice?"
Tevaril hesitated, the question clearly hitting a nerve. "I don’t know," he admitted. "But I’m not doing this for myself. I’m doing it for the ones who can’t fight back."
Windu took a step closer, his presence imposing but not threatening. "Tevaril, you can’t rewrite the rules of the galaxy on your own. The line between helping and hurting is thinner than you think. You’ve already crossed it once—maybe more than once."
Tevaril’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He shifted the bag to his other hand, his expression unreadable.
"You’ve seen the consequences of your choices," Windu continued. "You’re carrying them with you, whether you admit it or not. The question is: how much more can you carry before it breaks you?"
Tevaril glanced down at the bag, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I don’t know," he said quietly. "But I can’t stop. Not now."
Windu’s gaze softened, just barely. "Then maybe it’s time to come back. To find another way."
Tevaril shook his head, his voice firm. "I’m not ready for that. Not yet."
A silence fell between them, the weight of the conversation settling like a fog. Finally, Tevaril took a step back, his grip tightening on the bag. "I have to go. There are people waiting for this."
Windu didn’t stop him, but his voice followed Tevaril as he turned to leave. "One day, you’ll realize you’re not alone in wanting to help. And when that day comes, you’ll know where to find me."
Tevaril paused briefly, but he didn’t look back. "Maybe," he said, his voice distant. Then he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Windu standing alone.

Windu watched Tevaril disappear into the dimly lit streets of Coruscant, his expression unreadable. He hesitated only a moment before activating his communicator.
"Kid," he said evenly, his tone measured but carrying an undertone of urgency.
The crackle of static preceded her reply. "Yes, Master?"
"Follow him. A lot of people know my face, but they don’t know you. Stay close, but don’t get caught."
There was a pause, then Kid’s slightly exasperated voice crackled through. "Master… do I really have to do this barefooted?"
Windu’s brow furrowed, and he glanced down the street where Tevaril had gone. "You need to look the part, Padawan. If we’re going to find out if he’s a fraud, you can’t exactly look like a Jedi in training."
Kid sighed loudly, her voice carrying a hint of sarcasm. "Barefoot in Coruscant’s under levels. Great. I hope you’re planning to pay for a tetanus shot."
Windu smirked faintly despite himself. "You’ll be fine. I just want to know if his actions match his intentions."
There was another pause before Kid replied, softer this time. "I don’t think he’s a bad person, Master."
Windu’s voice softened as well. "I know. That’s why we have to try to bring him back to the Light."
Kid hesitated again, and when she spoke, there was a strange mix of seriousness and humor in her tone. "This is the way."
Windu blinked, momentarily thrown off. "What?"
"Uh… something I saw in vids," Kid said quickly, her tone turning sheepish.
Windu shook his head, exhaling in mild exasperation. "Alright Mando. Stay sharp, stay safe. Radio me if things go bad. I’ll come running."
"Copy that," she replied with a mock-serious tone. Then, quieter, "And Master? Don’t worry. I’ve got this."
As the communicator clicked off, Windu stood for a moment longer, his thoughts swirling. He had faith in Kid’s abilities—her quick thinking and resourcefulness—but there was still an uneasy weight in his chest. Tevaril was complicated, and the lines between right and wrong blurred easily in the shadows of Coruscant.
The Force whispered faintly at the edges of his mind, its presence both a comfort and a warning. He turned away, disappearing into the nearby alley, trusting his Padawan to find the answers they needed.

The Coruscant night was alive with neon light and a cacophony of distant speeders, but Kid moved quietly through the shadows, her bare feet making barely a sound on the cool durasteel walkways. She adjusted the loose shawl Windu had insisted she wear, blending in with the lower levels' drifters and vagabonds. Tevaril’s figure, clad in a nondescript jacket, was easy enough to follow. He walked with purpose, his movements precise but not hurried, as if he knew the labyrinthine streets too well to worry about being tailed.
As they descended deeper into the city, the air grew thicker with the scent of engine grease and fried street food. Tevaril finally stopped outside a building with a flickering holo-sign that read Blue Agave Bar. The sign depicted a stylized blue agave plant glowing faintly in the gloom, a beacon in an otherwise unremarkable block of buildings.
Kid crouched behind a cluster of storage crates, watching as Tevaril pushed open the door. The faint sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and live music spilled out before the door swung shut behind him. She waited a moment, slipping closer to the entrance. Through the dirty windows, she caught glimpses of patrons—some rough-looking, others seemingly ordinary citizens—gathered around tables or leaning against the bar.
Taking a steadying breath, Kid pulled her shawl tighter and stepped inside.
________________________________________
The Blue Agave Bar was a surprising blend of seedy and homey. The walls were lined with mismatched holo-posters of pod races and old campaign slogans, while strands of multicolored lights hung haphazardly across the ceiling. A live band played a jazzy tune in the corner, their instruments a mix of traditional and improvised. The bar itself was an impressive centerpiece, carved from dark wood and polished to a shine, its shelves stocked with bottles of glowing liquids in every imaginable hue.
Kid kept her head low, her movements quiet and deliberate as she slipped into the dimly lit bar. The Blue Agave Bar was alive with conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. Its mismatched décor and faint haze of smoke made it feel like a hidden world where rules were flexible and trust was currency. Her gaze locked on a corner booth where Tevaril sat with a group of individuals. Even from a distance, they exuded an aura of camaraderie and danger, their bond palpable despite their rough edges.
Positioning herself near a sputtering jukebox that played a faint melody, Kid crouched low, blending into the shadows. From here, she could watch and listen, her presence unnoticed.
At the table, Pelon leaned back in his chair, casually twirling a mug in his hand. “Alright, let’s talk about the haul. We hit the jackpot today. That shipment? We’re set. Enough to finally upgrade our gear—maybe some speeders, or even decent comms.”
Tevaril leaned forward, his expression calm but firm. “I fenced just enough to give each of us 1,000 credits. It’s enough to eat for a week.”
Pelon froze mid-spin, his eyes narrowing. “Wait. What? Why would you stop there?”
“We don’t need more than that,” Tevaril said simply. “It was about the practice, not the payout.”
The table fell quiet. Pelon set his mug down with a heavy thud, his voice laced with irritation. “You’re still thinking like a Jedi, aren’t you? We don’t steal for ‘practice.’ We steal to eat. To survive. I thought—” He shook his head, his tone softening into something almost disappointed. “I thought you were doing this because… I thought you were greedy.”
Tevaril’s face tensed, clearly offended. “Greedy? That’s what you thought?”
“It’s not a bad thing if you’ve got a clear goal,” Pelon said, meeting his gaze. “I trusted that you had a vision for us, Tevaril. I didn’t think you’d just… return the rest.”
Tevaril sighed heavily, the weight of his conflicted morals evident. “I’m sorry I disappointed you, master.”
Pelon groaned, throwing up his hands. “Oh, don’t call me that. Please.” He leaned forward, his tone more serious now. “Look, we’re moving up. Soon we’ll be hitting GTA—a whole different class of jobs. I need to trust that you won’t keep bringing speeders or transports back to their owners.”
Before Tevaril could respond, Rosa leaned across the table, her hand resting lightly on his arm. “Hey,” she said softly. “1,000 credits is enough. We’ll make it work.”
Rosa’s voice steadied the tension, and she continued, “Listen, there’s a slave transport not too far from here. We could snatch them up, give those people a chance at something better.”
Tevaril frowned, his voice sharp. “So, they can be prostitutes?”
“Not if I detox them first,” Dr. Vera Pica interjected, her tone clinical. “They’ll likely be on something—most trafficked people are.”
Rosa shrugged, unbothered by the accusation. “If they choose to do that, it’s their choice. But there are other options. I’ve seen it before. Some of them just want a clean break.”
Tevaril leaned back, his mind clearly racing, but before he could respond, a sharp voice broke through the hum of the bar.
“What are you doing here, you little thief?”
Kid froze as a kitchen staff member grabbed her by the arm, his grip firm. Her heart pounded as she scrambled for an excuse, but the man didn’t let go, glaring down at her with suspicion.
The commotion drew attention. Pelon’s head whipped around, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the small figure struggling in the staff member’s grasp. His gaze dropped to her bare feet, the realization dawning.
Rosa stood abruptly, her voice sharp and commanding. “Hey!” she called out, drawing both the staff member and Kid’s attention. “That’s one of my Maiko girls.”
The kitchen worker immediately released Kid, his demeanor shifting from suspicion to deference. “Apologies, Matron Mother,” he muttered, bowing his head before retreating back into the kitchen.
Kid glanced nervously at Rosa, unsure whether to thank her or bolt. Rosa smiled faintly, her sharp eyes taking in Kid’s disheveled appearance. “Go on, little one,” she said gently. “Run along.”
Kid nodded, retreating quickly but keeping to the shadows. She slipped closer to the exit, her mind racing. She had gathered enough for Windu to hear—and it was time to report back. As she left the bar, the murmurs of the crew faded into the noise of the city outside.
“Master,” she whispered into her communicator. “I’ve got something.”
Kid sprinted back to where Windu was waiting, her breath coming in quick bursts as she slid into the shadow of a nearby alley. Windu, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, raised an eyebrow at her disheveled state.
"You weren’t supposed to get caught," he said, his tone calm but with an edge of reprimand.
Kid waved him off, still catching her breath. "I wasn’t caught... exactly. They just thought I was one of Rosa’s girls."
Windu frowned. "Rosa?"
"Matron Mother," Kid clarified. "She’s part of the crew. She runs... um, an escort business—or something—but she claims to detox people from drugs."
Windu blinked. "Detox? ...Okay"
"Yeah, weird, right? Anyway, I’ve got news." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Tevaril’s crew is... different. They’re planning a heist. A slave transport. They want to free the people onboard, but it’s risky. Rosa mentioned rehabilitating them, giving them choices, but..." She hesitated. "It feels more like a good/bad than a straightforward rescue mission."
Windu’s expression darkened slightly. "What else?"
"Tevaril," Kid said, her voice quieter now. "He only fenced enough of their last haul for each of them to get a thousand credits. Said it’s enough for them to eat for a week."
Windu’s brow furrowed. "A thousand each? That’s hardly what you’d call ambition for a crew like that."
"That’s the thing," Kid said, shaking her head. "He’s not doing this for greed. He’s... training. He admitted it to them. Pelon, their leader, called him out on still thinking like a Jedi. Said stealing isn’t for practice, it’s for survival."
Windu sighed deeply, rubbing his chin. "Anything else?"
"Yeah." Kid hesitated, then pressed on. "Tevaril doesn’t want to kill anymore. He said it outright. No lightsaber, no violence unless there’s absolutely no choice. It’s like... he’s trying to be good in his own way, but he’s still stuck in this crew. They trust him, Master, and... I think he cares about them."
Windu’s gaze narrowed. "And the rest of the crew?"
Kid nodded quickly. "Pelon’s the leader. He’s practical, kind of strict, but he has a code. He trusts Tevaril, but he called him out for returning some of what they stole. Said he thought Tevaril was greedy, but in a good way—because at least greed is clear. There’s also Dr. Vera. Rosa’s got her network. And there’s someone named Lucas. Oh, and... there’s a Sith runaway with them. Barcel."
"A Sith?" Windu’s voice sharpened.
Kid nodded. "Yeah, but he’s not... Sith-y. He didn’t have that air to him like when we were in Korriban."
Windu exhaled, his face hardening. "This is more complex than I expected. A Sith, a Republic Commando, an escort turned network operator, and a Jedi... It’s like a bad joke."
“A joke?”
“Yeah it’s like a…
A Sith walks into a bar and orders whiskey. The bartender serves it just as a Jedi walks by.
The Jedi frowns. "How can you drink something so corrupting?"
The Sith shrugs. "It’s just whiskey."
The Jedi huffs. "It leads to ruin! How do you not see that?"
"How do you know?" the Sith counters. "Ever tried it?"
"Of course not! My Masters told me it’s evil."
The Sith smirks. "And how do they know?"
After a long pause, the Jedi relents. "Fine. One sip. For… academic purposes."
The bartender pours him a shot. The Jedi gulps it down, grimaces, and storms out.
The bartender slams his fist on the bar. "That Jedi’s got you too, huh!?" “
“I don’t get it.”
“I guess you have to be older to understand.”
Kid tilted her head, clearly unimpressed. "That’s it? That’s your big joke?"
Windu gave a wry smile. "It’s a classic."
Kid squinted at him like he’d just suggested they solve galaxy-wide hunger with ration cubes. "Master, that wasn’t a joke. That was just... a weird story about whiskey and questionable life choices."
Windu raised an eyebrow. "It’s a metaphor."
"A metaphor for what? Jedi being bad at drinking? Or bartenders needing therapy?"
"It’s about perspective, Kid. Perspective," Windu said, his voice taking on that wise Master tone.
Kid rolled her eyes dramatically. "Okay, but next time, maybe try something actually funny. Like... 'A Sith, a Jedi, and a Hutt walk into a bar, and the bartender says—'"
Windu held up a hand, cutting her off. "Let me guess: 'Why the long face?'"
Kid groaned. "Now you’ve ruined that one too. Are you secretly working for the Sith, Master? Because this is pure comedy sabotage."
Windu smirked. "Careful, Padawan. If my jokes are so bad, maybe I should assign you to come up with better ones. During meditation. For hours."
Kid held up her hands in mock surrender. "Nope. Your jokes are perfect. Keep 'em coming. Best in the galaxy."
"Thought so," Windu said, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
Kid stared out at the skyline, the sprawl of Coruscant glittering in the dark like a thousand artificial stars. She sat beside Windu on a transport back to the Jedi Temple, her legs dangling freely as she processed everything they’d seen.
“Master… I don’t get it.” Her voice was quieter than usual. “When I used to watch holos of Jedi and Sith fighting, it all seemed so simple. Good versus evil. Stop the bad guys, save the day.” She looked at him with furrowed brows. “Now… I’ve seen good and bad Sith, good and bad Jedi, and whatever Tevaril is.” She shook her head, frustrated. “It’s… messy.”
Windu sighed deeply, his gaze steady on the city below. “You’re right. It is messy.”
“Are we going to tell the Council?” Kid asked after a beat, her voice hesitant. “About Tevaril and the crew?”
Windu shook his head, his tone measured but heavy with thought. “If we brought a large group of Jedi to apprehend that whole crew, it would only solidify Tevaril’s point—that the Jedi removed key members of the community out of some sense of righteousness.”
Kid blinked, confused. “But… they’re criminals.”
Windu turned to her, his expression weary but firm. “And what happens after? Who fills the power vacuum they leave behind? Another crew? A worse one? The people they protect, the families who rely on them, would suffer. Tevaril’s crew may be flawed, but they’re holding a fragile balance. Removing them could break it.”
Kid frowned, processing his words. “So… if we removed good people from a bad place, we’d be bad?”
Windu’s lips quirked into a faint, sad smile. “Exactly.”
Kid exhaled, slumping slightly where she sat. “Oh… yeah. It would.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence punctuated only by the hum of speeders in the distance. Windu’s shoulders remained squared, but Kid could see the weight he carried, balancing the ideals of the Jedi with the complexities of the real world. She swung her legs absently, her thoughts spinning.
“I still don’t know what Tevaril’s doing,” Kid muttered, breaking the quiet. “But I don’t think he’s all bad.”
Windu didn’t respond immediately, watching as the lights of Coruscant pulsed and flickered like veins of an endless, living city. “Neither do I, Padawan,” he said finally, his voice low. “Neither do I.”

Chapter Text

The chamber was draped in shadows and opulence, as if wealth and menace had been fused into a single aesthetic. Heavy curtains muted the Coruscant skyline, and ornate lamps burned low, casting jagged silhouettes across the polished floor. Tahar Cherid moved with confidence, though his heart beat a little faster under the weight of the meeting. Across the room, the Black Sun boss reclined on a leather chair—powerful, sharp-eyed, and impossibly calm.
The boss exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, the end of his cigar glowing faintly in the dim room. “Tahar Cherid.” His voice was gravelly, deliberate. “You made quite the impression with that little prison job. Clean, efficient... You brought me results.”
Tahar allowed a small, calculated smile. “I’m glad to hear it went as expected. My crew and I work for results. A well-executed plan speaks for itself.”
The boss chuckled, a deep sound that reverberated ominously. “Spoken like a proper manager.” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve got a good system going. Leadership—tight. Execution—tidy. Predictable. And that makes you useful. I see potential.”
Tahar’s gaze sharpened. He seized the moment. “Then we’re ready to talk partnership. I can fund my crew, expand operations. I’ve brought you an army from that prison break—a workforce ready to move under the Black Sun banner.”
For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the soft hiss of the cigar as the boss took another long draw. He breathed in through his teeth, shaking his head slowly. “Yeah… about that.”
Tahar’s smile faltered. “There’s a problem?”
The boss gestured vaguely with the cigar, swirling the smoke into the air before pointing it directly at Tahar. “I’ve seen your kind before—weak manipulators,” he said, his tone sharp. “And then you’ve got your silent enforcers.” He let the words linger for effect before smirking faintly. “Tevaril. I like him. The dynamic works. It’s good—makes for solid cogs in the machine.”
Tahar stiffened but kept his composure. “If the results are good, then—”
“Results,” the boss interrupted, his tone hardening. “I was considering it. You played your part well, but…” He leaned over to the nearby table, picking up a datapad and tossing it onto the table between them. “Your Jedi. He broke bad.”
Tahar blinked, his confidence fracturing as he looked at the screen. The looping footage showed Tevaril—clumsy, awkward—committing petty theft, graffitiing walls with strange lotus flowers.
The boss pointed at the still of Tevaril, frozen mid-step with a stolen wallet in hand. “This? This is what I want to talk about. I like initiative, Tahar. I respect chaos. What your Jedi is doing—it’s raw. It’s real. He doesn’t even know what he is yet, but that’s what makes him dangerous. That’s what I need.”
Tahar clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the flicker of anger. “So, what are you saying? You’re pushing me aside for him?”
The boss smiled, a cold, toothy grin. “Not pushing you aside. You’re a baker’s dozen, Tahar. Clean, clever, and predictable. But the Black Sun doesn’t run on predictability. It’s organic. It’s wild.” He tapped the screen of the datapad, his gaze never leaving Tahar. “You? You’re stock goods. You keep the machine running. Him? He might break it entirely—and that’s potential.”
Tahar’s voice dropped a degree, his frustration threatening to bleed through. “And what am I supposed to do with that?”
The boss stood slowly, exuding the kind of presence that could crush a lesser man. He walked to Tahar and clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Enjoy your weekend, Cherid.” He smiled faintly as he lit another cigar. “You earned a few days of luxury and a hefty paycheck. But let this moment motivate you. Get creative.” His eyes narrowed, suddenly dangerous. “Or get left behind.”
Tahar didn’t move as the boss turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the smoke-filled room.
The datapad with Tevaril’s image still flickered on the table, taunting him with its messy brilliance. Tahar’s crimson eyes narrowed as he considered the words, his mind already racing.
“Creative,” he muttered under his breath, picking up the datapad. “Fine. I’ll get creative.”
He walked out of the room with his shoulders squared and his expression unreadable, but a storm was brewing behind his gaze.

The communicator in Tevaril’s pocket buzzed, its rhythmic pulse cutting through the quiet. He sighed, pulling it out and recognizing Tahar Cherid’s frequency. Reluctantly, he answered.
“Tahar,” Tevaril said, his voice low.
“Tevaril,” Tahar’s smooth, controlled tone came through the crackling line. “I thought I’d reach you eventually. I wasn’t sure if you were too busy gracing every news holofeed on Coruscant.”
Tevaril clenched his jaw, the words striking harder than he cared to admit. “What do you want?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Tahar drawled, his voice tinged with mock curiosity. “Maybe to understand why one of my most dependable assets has suddenly decided to play common thief. Is this a new hobby? A form of training? Or are you just trying to embarrass yourself—and me—publicly?”
Tevaril winced, though his tone stayed steady. “It’s not what you think.”
“Not what I think?” Tahar repeated, feigning surprise. “I see the proud Jedi—the noble protector—reduced to fumbling with jewelry cases and electronic shops. That’s not what we agreed on, Tevaril.”
“I’m not stealing for greed,” Tevaril replied tightly. “I’m… learning.”
“Learning what?” Tahar asked sharply, his calm veneer cracking. “How to humiliate yourself? How to become the punchline of every criminal network on Coruscant? That’s not what we do, Tevaril.”
Tevaril exhaled, his voice more defensive now. “I’m learning how to take without killing, Tahar. Isn’t that what you wanted? Minimal casualties. No bodies on the ground.”
Tahar paused, as though weighing the statement. When he spoke again, his voice softened—disappointing, yet calculating. “Tevaril, you can’t save everyone. You never could. But this? This is beneath you. You think the Black Sun will care that you spared lives when you look like an amateur out there? They respect strength, precision, control—not whatever this is.”
Tevaril’s silence stretched on, the words hanging like a weight around his neck.
Tahar pressed further, his tone dripping with subtle manipulation. “You’re trying to be something you’re not, Tevaril. You want to help people? Fine. But if you keep going down this path—embarrassing yourself and us—it won’t matter how noble your intentions are. The galaxy will see you as a fool. Or worse.”
“I’m doing what I think is right,” Tevaril muttered, though his conviction wavered.
“And how’s that working out for you?” Tahar replied coolly. “Think about that, Tevaril. Really think about it. Call me when you’re ready to stop pretending.”
The line went dead, leaving Tevaril staring at the communicator in his hand. The words echoed in his mind, striking at insecurities he didn’t want to face. He pocketed the device and leaned back, his thoughts a whirlwind of doubt, guilt, and frustration.

Tevaril slipped into the Blue Agave Bar like a shadow.
Laughter and clinking glasses surrounded him, but it all felt underwater—muffled, distant. Tahar’s words echoed louder than the noise.
Pelon spotted him from a barstool and raised an eyebrow. “Well, look who crawled out of the dumpster fire. You look like someone vaped a rancor fart. What happened?”
Tevaril dropped onto the stool, dragging a hand over his face. “Tahar called. Said I was embarrassing myself.”
Pelon scoffed. “Classic Tahar. Always polishing his own armor in a room full of blood. What’d he actually say?”
Tevaril’s voice dropped. “‘The Black Sun respects strength, precision, control.’ And that… I wasn’t earning their respect.”
The energy at the table shifted. Chatter faded. Even the clatter of utensils seemed to hesitate.
Mara leaned forward, arms tense. “Did you just say Black Sun?”
Tevaril blinked. “Yeah? Why?”
Pelon straightened, his smirk gone. “You seriously don’t know who they are?”
“I mean… I know they’re big in the underworld.”
“Big?” Pelon let out a short, bitter laugh. “They’re the dark beating heart of it. You don’t drop their name unless you’re in—or you’re dead.”
Rosa Pulparindo crossed her arms. “They own half the mid-rim spice routes, launder money through the Republic Senate, and use kids as collateral. Even the Hutts don’t screw with them directly.”
Dr. Vera Pica, hands trembling slightly, added, “They broke my clinic’s janitor’s legs. Over a missed payment. He was twelve.”
Silence fell.
Tevaril looked around, realization dawning like frostbite. “Tahar’s trying to get in with them.”
Pelon muttered a curse. “Of course he is. And what better way to get their attention than by parading around a fallen Jedi and a pirate crew like party favors?”
Ricolino leaned back with a crooked smile. “And here I thought you were his prodigy. Turns out, you're just part of the sales pitch.”
Tevaril’s fists tightened. “I didn’t sign up for this.”
Pelon’s tone hardened. “Then decide what you did sign up for. Because if we’re dancing on strings tied to the Black Sun, we better know who’s pulling.”
Mara’s hand slammed the table. “We need to act. Now. This isn’t a bad job. This is a death spiral.”
Rosa’s mask cracked. “They don’t just kill people—they erase them. And everything they touched.”
Tevaril offered, almost too quietly, “We could turn him in. Report him.”
Pelon rolled his eyes. “To who? You think prison’s gonna stop him? You think Black Sun doesn’t own a few warden’s kids?”
Ricolino’s voice was like dry rust. “He’ll sell us out in his first breath. And they’ll come for the rest of us.”
Then Barcel Chocoretas spoke, voice deep as a burial bell. “You think you know Sith.” He looked Tevaril in the eye. “But you don’t know darkness.”
Tevaril frowned. “Barcel—”
“You Jedi,” Barcel continued, “you fear rage, fire, wildness. You see monsters in the mirror and call them Sith. But the Dark Side isn't just fury. It’s will. It’s purpose. It burns away the weak so the strong can rise.”
He leaned in, voice tightening.
“The Black Sun doesn’t burn. It rots. It tempts. It feeds you comfort, then starves your soul. You don’t kill for them because you must. You do it because you don’t want to lose your dealer, your lover, your place. That’s the worst darkness of all.”
Tevaril looked away.
Barcel sat back. “The Sith make monsters. The Black Sun makes addicts.”
Another long silence.
Mara spoke first. “So what now? We can’t sell out Tahar. But we can’t let him drag us into this.”
A wave of anxiety rippled across the table.
“I’m not dying over his ambition,” Rosa snapped. “He’s the one kissing syndicate boots. Let him deal with the fallout.”
“We should’ve bailed two jobs ago,” Ricolino muttered, gripping the edge of the table. “Should’ve known when he started pushing those spice crates. We’re already in their ledger.”
Barcel stood, pacing. “We can disappear. Go to the Rim. Burn the ship. Take new names. It’ll be hard—but better than getting pulled apart slowly.”
Dr. Pica shook her head. “Disappear where? They’ve got slicers that can track biosigns off hospital records. You think the Black Sun doesn’t own the Outer Rim?”
“They’ll come after our families,” Rosa said, voice cracking. “My sister’s on Glee Anselm. They’d use her to send a message.”
Mara rubbed her temples. “We don't even know how many names we’re already listed under. We’re ghosts in a system they built.”
“Then we ditch the system,” Ricolino barked. “Jump planets. Scuttle the ship. Scatter.”
“Scatter and what?” Rosa snapped. “Wait to get hunted down one by one?”
Voices rose. Accusations overlapped. Fear clawed into the air.
Tevaril stood abruptly. “Enough!”
They all froze.
He looked at them—his crew. No. His friends. And every one of them was terrified.
“We’re not criminals. Not like them. We never signed up for this.”
“And yet,” Rosa whispered, “here we are.”
For a moment, it felt like the room would collapse in on itself—until Pelon, still leaning back in his chair, finally broke his silence.
He exhaled softly and said, “What if we robbed them?”

unusually quiet, suddenly grinned. He stopped spinning the spoon and set it down with a click.
“What?” Ricolino asked suspiciously.
Pelon’s grin widened, mischief dancing in his eyes. “You all think too loud. That’s your problem.” He leaned forward, the hint of a plan starting to form. “We don’t fight the Black Sun. We don’t fight Tahar. Fighting’s loud. Stupid. What we do is… smarter.”
Tevaril, seated quietly at the head of the table, finally spoke. “You’re serious?”
Pelon’s grin never wavered. “Dead serious.” He leaned forward now, his tone lowering as if to share a dangerous secret. “The Black Sun is a stain on Coruscant—a stain nobody can clean up. They have ties in the police, the government, everything.” He pointed a finger at Tevaril. “But they don’t have ties with the Jedi. You’re the wildcard here.”
Tevaril’s brow tightened, wary of where this was going. “Okay? I can vouch for that. But what does that have to do with anything?”
“What I’m saying,” Pelon continued, “is you need to go back to the Temple. Tell the Jedi you’re sorry, that you’re in too deep, that you need their help. Play the part—the repentant Jedi Knight. Tell them you’ve found an opportunity to take down the Black Sun once and for all.”
Mara narrowed her eyes. “And then what? The Jedi don’t exactly negotiate with criminals.”
Pelon wagged a finger. “They won’t know they’re negotiating. That’s the beauty of it.” He turned his attention back to Tevaril. “You go back to the Jedi, and we use them. Here’s how it works: We tip them off. Jobs, warehouses, smuggling routes, agents. We do the dirty work—locate targets, steal credits, weapons, supplies—while the Jedi swoop in and take out the Black Sun publicly. They think they’re saving Coruscant. We make sure we’re long gone by the time the dust settles, and the Jedi get the glory.”
Rosa tilted her head, her interest piqued. “So we steal from the Black Sun and let the Jedi do the cleanup?”
Pelon smirked. “Exactly. We hit the Black Sun where it hurts: their credits and their reputation. We find a warehouse, skim enough to feed ourselves and keep operations going, and leave the rest as a gift-wrapped package for the Jedi to bust.”
Tevaril’s jaw tightened as he leaned back in his chair, visibly conflicted. “You want me to lie to the Temple. To manipulate them into trusting me again so we can use them to do our dirty work?”
Pelon’s smile softened slightly, though the glint in his eyes remained sharp. “Listen, Tev. You don’t want to kill anyone, right? This way, nobody dies. We hit the real monsters, the ones who deserve it. The Jedi clear out the rot, and we get to walk away with the credits. Everybody wins.”
Mara crossed her arms skeptically. “And what happens when the Jedi figure it out?”
Pelon shrugged. “They won’t. Not as long as Tevaril feeds them just enough to keep them moving. Trust me—Jedi are smart, but they’re not us. They’ll think they’re the heroes of the story, and we’ll be the invisible hands making sure Coruscant gets a little cleaner.”
Rosa looked at Tevaril and then back at Pelon. “It’s risky. But… it could work.”
Tevaril’s fists clenched slightly on the table. His voice was low, uncertain. “It’s still deception. It’s using the Jedi.”
Barcel, who had been silent until now, leaned back in his chair with a scoff. “The Jedi have been using you for years, Tevaril. They trained you to be a weapon, didn’t they? To fight, to kill? You’re just leveling the playing field.”
Tevaril’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond.
Pelon took the opportunity to press further. “Think about it, Tevaril. You want to help people, right? You want to make sure nobody else dies because of you? This is how we do it. No killing, no bloodshed. Just precision, timing, and a little vision.”
The room went quiet again, all eyes on Tevaril.
After a long pause, Tevaril exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper. “…I need to think about it.”
Pelon grinned, leaning back like he’d already won. “Take all the time you need. Just don’t wait too long. The Black Sun doesn’t sit still.”

The air in the lower district was thick with the hum of machinery and the distant clatter of old speeders, but for once, laughter rose above the noise. The broken remains of an old playground—half-rusted swings, a battered slide, and a patch of uneven gravel—had been transformed into a battlefield of hide-and-seek. Children darted between corners, giggling and calling out to each other.
Amidst them was Kid, her golden hair streaked with dirt and her face lit up with a grin she rarely wore. Her clothes, modest and nondescript, blended in with the other children, but her energy stood out. She crouched behind a rusted pipe, holding her breath as a boy ran past her, laughing wildly.
From a distance, Tevaril leaned against a cracked wall, arms crossed, watching the scene with faint surprise. His keen eyes had spotted her earlier, weaving between the buildings with a familiar focus—until she wasn’t. Now, she just looked like… a kid.
He stepped closer.
“Hey,” he called quietly.
Kid froze mid-step, peeking out from her hiding place. When she saw him, her grin faltered slightly but didn’t disappear. “Oh. Hi.”
Tevaril’s gaze softened as he took her in—her dirty hands, scraped knees, and scuffed shoes. “Where are your parents?” he asked.
Kid just shrugged, her tone nonchalant. “I don’t have any.”
Tevaril’s brow furrowed. “Are you undercover?”
Kid hesitated for a second, her eyes darting around as if she could outrun the question. “Kind of,” she admitted finally.
“Kind of?” Tevaril echoed, a note of disbelief creeping into his voice. He watched the group of kids laughing and running behind her. “You don’t seem like an agent. You seem like a normal kid.”
Kid crossed her arms, her blue eyes narrowing slightly in mock indignation. “I am a normal child.”
Tevaril raised a brow, bemused. “You mean ‘kid’.”
“I mean child,” she corrected firmly.
Before Tevaril could reply, one of the boys ran up and smacked her shoulder. “Hey, Kid! You’re it!” he yelled before sprinting away, gravel crunching beneath his feet.
Tevaril blinked, looking between the boy and Kid. “Does he not know your name?” he asked slowly.
Kid shrugged again, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Kid is my name.” Then, without further explanation, she turned on her heel and bolted after the boy, calling out, “You can’t run forever, Piro!”
Tevaril watched her weave through the other children, her laughter echoing off the walls. For a moment, it didn’t look like she was there on a mission at all. She played with the others—roughhousing, tagging, and collapsing into the dirt without a care. Whatever duties she’d been assigned, she wasn’t taking them very seriously.
Tevaril’s jaw tightened faintly, his arms uncrossing as he stepped back into the shadows. You’re playing games, Kid, he thought, though there was no malice in his judgment. If anything, there was a strange warmth in seeing her so free—something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
He turned away, leaving the sound of their laughter behind. Games like these don’t last forever—but maybe, just maybe, she deserved a few more minutes before the galaxy noticed her again.
Still, as much as he admired it, Tevaril knew better. He turned, leaving the sound of their laughter behind him. Tevaril faded into the alley’s shadow, her laughter trailing after him like a ghost. Games like these don’t last forever.

Tevaril moved quickly through the narrow alleyways of the lower district, his boots splashing through puddles of stagnant water. He kept his head low and his pace steady, the noise of the playground fading behind him. Every shadow seemed longer than usual tonight, but he pushed the unease down. He had spent enough time in places like this to know when he was being followed.
Not tonight, he thought.
Suddenly, a burst of crackling energy erupted behind him. Before Tevaril could turn, a surge of Force Lightning struck him square in the back, sending him sprawling into the dirt and grime of the alley floor. His body convulsed as the residual charge crackled over his limbs, his teeth clenched against the pain.
Gasping for breath, Tevaril instinctively reached for his lightsaber—only to hear a sharp voice cut through the lingering static.
"Don’t touch it."
Tevaril froze, his hand hovering over the hilt of his lightsaber. He blinked up, his vision hazy but clearing enough to see her. Kid stood over him, her orange eyes glowing faintly in the dim alley light, her small form coiled with restrained anger. Sparks danced along her fingertips as if daring him to make a move.
"If you touch it," Kid said coldly, "I’ll fry you again."
Tevaril’s hand fell limply to his side. His chest rose and fell as he tried to steady himself, his body still twitching from the attack.
Kid’s voice shook slightly, but her words cut like a blade. "Why did you kill those people on the transport?"
Tevaril looked up at her, guilt darkening his expression. He opened his mouth but couldn’t speak—his throat tight, his body still betraying him.
"Why did you try to kill me?" Kid’s voice rose, her anger bleeding through. "I want to know why!"
He coughed, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to be better.” He coughed, then looked at her with tired eyes. "Are you… are you here to arrest me?"
Kid shook her head slowly. "No." Her tone softened, though her hands still crackled faintly with energy. "Only me and Master Windu know you’re here. I just wanted to know why."
The words seemed to hang in the air. Tevaril’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent, his body still trembling from the lightning.
Kid’s face contorted with frustration. "How does it feel?" she asked, her voice sharper now. "How does it feel when someone tricks you into believing they’re good—when they’re not?"
Tevaril flinched, not at her words but at the truth in them. He took a shaky breath. "It feels… it feels awful," he admitted. "You’re not just angry at them. You’re angry at yourself—angry that you weren’t smart enough to see it."
Kid nodded faintly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Yeah," she muttered.
Tevaril swallowed hard, his voice softer now. "Can I… can I get up?"
Kid narrowed her eyes and snatched his lightsaber from the ground, backing away as she held it firmly in her grip. "Fine," she said curtly. "But don’t try anything."
Slowly, painfully, Tevaril pushed himself off the ground, wincing as his muscles still spasmed from the lightning. He stood, hunched slightly, his hands open to show he wouldn’t make a move.
Kid stared at him, her small form trembling. "I don’t like being tricked," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "You’re a liar and a thief." She held up his lightsaber, the hilt catching the faint light from the alley. "You don’t deserve this."
Tevaril’s face fell, a mixture of shame and resignation passing through his features. "I don’t want to be a Jedi anymore," he said quietly. "I just want to protect my family."
Kid’s grip tightened on the lightsaber, and her voice broke as she yelled at him. "Stop trying to trick me!" Tears welled in her eyes as she stepped closer. "Why do people that think they’re good always kill and hurt people? Good people don’t kill and hurt people! Why is that so hard for grown-ups to understand?"
Tevaril blinked, her words hitting him like another blast of lightning—sharp, painful, and impossible to ignore. His throat tightened, and for the first time in years, tears formed in his eyes.
“You’re absolutely right,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to be good without hurting people.”
Kid tilted her head, her expression softening just slightly as she stared up at him. She wiped a stray tear from her cheek with the back of her hand and muttered, “Have you tried talking to Master Yoda?”
Tevaril frowned, caught off guard. “Master Yoda?”
“Yeah,” Kid continued, her voice quieter but earnest. “He’s usually busy, but he always seems to know the answers to hard problems. They’re usually very short, though.”
Tevaril let out a dry, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Short, huh?”
Kid nodded solemnly. “Yeah, like three words short. But they’re the kind of words that hit you right here.” She poked at her chest for emphasis. “They’re annoying, but they stick.”
For a moment, the alley felt less heavy, the storm of emotions settling into an uneasy quiet. Tevaril rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the ground as if searching for answers in the cracks of the pavement. “I don’t know if he’d even talk to me.”
“He would,” Kid said. “Even if he doesn’t like what you’ve done.”
Tevaril looked at her, studying her earnest expression. A small part of him felt the weight of her belief—that maybe someone like him, broken and wandering as he was, could still have a path forward.
“You really believe that?” he asked quietly.
Kid nodded. “I do.”
Tevaril sighed, his shoulders sagging as if the fight had finally drained out of him. “Maybe I’ll think about it.”
Kid didn’t press him, instead handing his lightsaber back to him with a slight huff. “Here. You’re lucky I’m not Master Windu. He would’ve kept it.”
Tevaril stared at the hilt in her small hand, hesitating before taking it back. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Kid said, crossing her arms as she stepped back. “You still have to figure out how to stop being dumb.”
Tevaril let out a quiet, surprised laugh. “Yeah… I guess I do.”
For a moment, they stood there in the stillness of the alley, two unlikely figures bound by the same unspoken struggle—trying to be good in a world that made it anything but easy.
Kid turned to leave, her small frame disappearing into the shadows. “Talk to Master Yoda!” she called back over her shoulder. “He’s short and wise—kind of like me!”
Tevaril watched her go, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite everything. He looked down at his lightsaber, the weight of it heavier in his hand than it had ever been before.
“Short and wise,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head. “I’ll think about it.”
And for the first time in a long while, he felt a glimmer of hope—small, like Yoda’s words might be, but impossible to ignore.

The crew sat scattered around the table, grim expressions casting long shadows under the dim light. Pelon leaned back in his chair, flipping a knife absentmindedly, while Barcel Chocoretas quietly sipped from a bottle. Ricolino Paleta and Mara were hunched over a blueprint of Coruscant’s lower industrial zone, muttering possible strategies to one another. Rosa sat cross-legged on a crate, filing her nails, as Dr. Pica scribbled notes in a worn datapad.
The tension in the room was palpable, broken only by the faint creak of the door as Tevaril entered.
“You look like you saw a ghost,” Pelon said, not looking up as his knife flipped end over end.
“Close enough,” Tevaril muttered, throwing his lightsaber onto the table with a heavy thud. The crew’s collective gaze snapped to the weapon, then to him.
Ricolino raised an eyebrow. “You’re carrying that around again? Thought you were done with Jedi theatrics.”
Tevaril ignored the jab, walking to the head of the table and placing his hands flat against its surface. He looked at each of them in turn, his voice steady but tired. “We have a problem.”
Mara leaned back, crossing her arms. “Just one?”
“Two,” Tevaril admitted. “The Jedi are on to me. Master Windu knows I’m here, and that kid—Kid—she found me.”
Pelon stopped flipping the knife, sitting up straighter. “She followed you?”
Tevaril shook his head. “No. She could’ve turned me in right then and there, but she didn’t. She just…” He hesitated, the weight of her words pressing against him again. “She just wanted to know why.”
Barcel grunted, his Sith tattoos shifting as he leaned forward. “You told her anything useful?”
“No,” Tevaril said, his voice sharp. “But that doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous. She’s sharp for her age—smarter than I was when I was her age, I’ll tell you that.”
Dr. Pica glared at him over her datapad, her usual disapproval thick in her voice. “So, what’s the second problem?”
Tevaril hesitated, but he forced himself to speak. “It’s Tahar. I don’t think he’s my friend if he’s trying to push us closer to the Black Sun—using us to get in good with them. But if I. and maybe, we, if we stop being useful, we’re done. All of us.”
The room fell silent. Even Pelon stopped fiddling with his knife.
Tevaril nodded. “He’s meeting with the Black Sun leaders, probably trying to sell us as tools—pawns in his bid for power. We’re nothing to him but a stepping stone.”
Pelon sighed and rubbed his temples, his smirk replaced by something more serious. “Well, if we’re in this deep, we need to decide fast what the next move is. This isn’t the kind of game you play with half a deck.”
Ricolino shakes his head, his voice skeptical. “And how exactly do you plan to pull that off? The Black Sun doesn’t just let people walk away once they’re inside.”
Tevaril glances around the room, his expression hardening. “We don’t walk away until it’s done. The Jedi will take care of the rest once we deliver the evidence, they need to dismantle the Black Sun.”
Barcel looks at Tevaril with a faint smirk. “Sounds like something a Sith would think up.”
Tevaril meets his gaze evenly. “I’m not a Sith. I just know how to end a war before it starts.”

Chapter Text

The Jedi Temple’s meditation chamber was silent, a space untouched by the chaos of Coruscant beyond its walls. Tevaril stepped inside, his every movement measured, as if he feared the weight of his actions might shatter the stillness. Beside him, Kid lingered by the door, watching with quiet curiosity as Tevaril knelt before Master Yoda, who sat cross-legged in serene meditation.
Yoda’s eyes opened slowly, piercing through the dim light to meet Tevaril’s gaze. “Heavy steps, you take, Tevaril. Speak. What brings you here?”
Tevaril hesitated, the words tangling in his throat. “I need help,” he said at last. “The Black Sun is growing stronger, and Tahar Cherid—he’s the only way in. My crew and I can get deep enough to tear their operations apart from the inside.”
Yoda’s ears twitched, his face impassive as he studied Tevaril. “Tear apart, you say. And yet, you come here. Why?”
“Because I don’t want to do this alone.” Tevaril’s voice was soft but earnest. “I’m trying to be better, Master Yoda. But I can’t deny the skills I have. I want to use them to help—really help. The Black Sun destroys lives. I can stop them. I know I can.”
Yoda regarded him for a long, silent moment, his expression betraying nothing. He tapped one clawed finger lightly against the edge of his knee. “Dangerous, this path is. To destroy evil, tempted one may be to embrace it. A thin line, you walk.”
“I know,” Tevaril admitted, his voice tinged with regret. “But this isn’t for vengeance. It’s not for power. I don’t want to kill anyone—I just want to make things right.”
Kid, unable to hold her tongue, chimed in softly. “I told him you might know how to fix hard problems.”
Yoda’s gaze shifted briefly to Kid, his lips curling into a faint smile before returning to Tevaril. “Hard problems, indeed.”
Tevaril pressed on. “I’m not asking for the Council’s blessing. I’m asking for guidance—your guidance. If I don’t do this, more people will suffer. I can’t let that happen.”
Yoda exhaled through his nose, his body still as stone. Though his expression remained calm, the faint narrowing of his eyes suggested that he was turning over every angle in his mind. “Much you hide, Tevaril,” Yoda said finally, his tone soft but knowing. “From the Council. From yourself.”
Tevaril’s heart sank, but Yoda’s next words caught him off guard.
“But come to me, you have. A choice, this is. And the weight of it, only you can carry.”
Tevaril frowned, unsure if Yoda was agreeing or refusing. “Does that mean you’ll help me?”
Yoda tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Watch, I will. Guidance, I may offer… if worthy of trust, you remain. Learn, you must. Change, you must. Do what is right, you must. That is your Jedi path, Tevaril.”
Tevaril bowed his head, his shoulders slumping with relief. “Thank you, Master Yoda.”
Yoda’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, then shifted back to Kid. “A friend you have been, young one. Protect, you must—those who seek to be better.”
Kid beamed and nodded firmly. “I will.”
“Go now,” Yoda said softly, his eyes closing once again. “Many paths lie ahead. Choose wisely.”
“Are you really letting him go?” Kid asked.
“Better the thief who doubts himself… than the zealot who names every wound justice.”
“You didn’t speak backwards that time Yoda.”
Yoda peeked one eye open, rolled it theatrically, and shrugged.
As Tevaril and Kid turned to leave, Yoda’s small form remained perfectly still in meditation. Yet behind the calm exterior, the air carried an undeniable gravity—like the breath held before a storm.
Without opening his eyes, Yoda spoke.
“Meditate, you should… Kid.”
She hesitated, caught off guard. “Uh… but the lightning, it—”
“I know.” Yoda’s ears twitched faintly. “Lightning is not the Dark Side. Not always. Intent, it follows. Temperance, it reveals. Control, I sense in you.”
Kid blinked, her hands twitching slightly at her sides. Sparks flickered briefly up her forearms—thin ribbons of light dancing along her skin before fading like fireflies. But they didn’t lash out. They didn’t flare.
Yoda finally opened one eye, gaze steady and unreadable.
“Sit,” he said simply.
Kid lowered herself cross-legged onto the mat beside him, eyes wide, heart still. She didn’t speak again. Neither did he.

Kid sat cross-legged on the floor of the Jedi Temple, her brow furrowed in deep thought as she fiddled absently with a loose thread on her tunic. Master Windu stood nearby, his back straight as ever, hands clasped behind him. He glanced at her and recognized the look—one that meant her mind was buzzing with questions she wasn’t sure she should ask.
“Speak, Padawan,” Windu said finally, his tone firm but encouraging.
Kid looked up, her blue eyes searching his face. “Master… are we the bad guys?”
The question hit like a weight, heavy in the otherwise quiet room. Windu turned to face her fully, his expression calm but intrigued. “Why would you ask that?”
Kid hesitated, drawing a breath as she pieced her thoughts together. “Tevaril and his crew… they’re going after the Black Sun, right? They’re trying to stop people who hurt others—bad people. Doesn’t that make them the good guys?”
Windu’s gaze narrowed slightly, though his voice remained measured. “Tevaril and his crew are doing what they think is right, but their methods…” He paused, considering. “The road they’re walking is a dangerous one. The Jedi don’t condone lawlessness, even when the cause seems just.”
Kid tilted her head, squinting at him as she tried to connect the dots. “So… we’re the bad guys?”
“No,” Windu replied patiently, but he sighed and shifted his stance. “They are breaking laws, Kid. And while they’re aiming for the Black Sun, the Jedi cannot support reckless actions. By the letter of the law, yes, the Black Sun are the ‘bad guys.’”
Kid nodded as if absorbing this, then perked up, her tone deceptively casual. “So that means Tevaril and his crew are the good guys, right?”
Windu’s stoic expression faltered for a split second. “...Yes?”
“Great!” Kid beamed, springing to her feet.
Windu blinked, startled by her sudden energy. “Where are you going?”
“Uh…” She hesitated, rubbing the back of her neck as her feet shuffled. “I’m… going back on assignment.”
Windu raised a brow. “To do what, exactly?”
Kid grinned sheepishly. “To stop the bad guys.”
“Kid,” Windu said sternly, though there was a note of weary fondness in his voice.
She was already halfway to the door. “Don’t worry, Master! I’ll be careful.”
“See that you are,” Windu called after her.
As the door slid shut behind her, Windu let out a quiet sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret this?”

The playground emptied as the sun dipped below Coruscant’s endless skyline, casting a rusty glow over the cracked pavement and worn-out equipment. The laughter of children faded as they were called home, one by one, leaving the air heavy with stillness.
Kid sat quietly on the swing, her bare feet dragging against the ground, eyes fixed on the horizon where night swallowed the last bits of daylight. She didn’t move until the final echoes of play had disappeared.
She slipped off the swing and, hands stuffed in her pockets, began her walk through the narrow alleyways. The familiar neon sign of The Blue Agave greeted her like a beacon in the dark. The hum of muffled music and laughter spilled out as the door slid open and she stepped inside.
The bar was quieter than usual. A couple of figures hunched over their drinks, a group played a rowdy game of cards in the corner, but most of the regular crew wasn’t there yet. Kid picked an empty table in the corner, her small frame barely filling the seat as she propped her chin on her hand and waited.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, her feet swinging idly beneath the table, when a voice broke the silence.
“Hey, kiddo. You look like you’re waiting for someone.”
Kid blinked up at the source of the voice: a burly kitchen staffer with flour dusting his apron and sweat glistening on his brow. He held a steaming plate in one hand, a lopsided smile on his face.
“I guess,” Kid replied noncommittally, eyes narrowing at the tray as the smell of fresh food hit her nose.
The man chuckled as he set the plate down in front of her. It was a burger, slathered in sauce and served with a mountain of fries. “Here. On the house.”
Kid looked up at him skeptically. “Why?”
He wiped his hands on his apron, shrugging. “Let’s just say I’m looking out for my career. Put in a good word with Rosa for me, will ya?”
Kid frowned in confusion. “I don’t even work for Rosa.”
The man smirked, his tone playful as he started walking back toward the kitchen. “Doesn’t matter. Word travels fast in places like this. Enjoy.”
Kid stared at the burger, her stomach growling audibly. “Well… I’m not gonna say no to food.”
She took a cautious bite, savoring the warm, greasy goodness as the weight of her day eased ever so slightly. Around her, the Blue Agave buzzed with low conversation and distant laughter. She kept her eyes on the door, waiting for the crew to show up—unaware that her small presence, seated alone in a corner booth with a burger, had already drawn a few curious glances from the bar’s regulars.

Chapter Text

Tahar Cherid’s apartment was dim as usual, the neon skyline of Coruscant casting long shadows across his polished floor. A small holo-display flickered lazily on the table, scrolling through various financial reports and encrypted messages. Tahar stood by the window, his gaze distant, a half-finished drink in hand.
The door slid open with a soft hiss, and Tevaril stepped inside, his movements deliberate and steady. There was no hesitation in him this time—no dragging feet, no uncertain eyes scanning the room.
Tahar turned, his crimson gaze settling on Tevaril with mild interest. “Back so soon? I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”
Tevaril ignored the quip and crossed the room, stopping just short of the table. “We need to talk.”
Tahar arched an eyebrow, setting his glass down. “About what?”
“About the Black Sun,” Tevaril said simply, his tone unwavering. “About your meeting with them. What happened?”
Tahar studied him for a moment, intrigued. Something was different—Tevaril’s voice, his posture—it was as if the weight he always carried had shifted, or perhaps he had simply decided to bear it differently. “You seem more sure of yourself,” Tahar remarked, swirling his drink thoughtfully. “What changed?”
Tevaril tilted his head slightly, but there was no trace of defensiveness. “I stopped trying to be two people. I’m tired of pretending.”
Tahar gestured for him to sit, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Now this I want to hear. Go on.”
Tevaril didn’t sit. He stood firm, his voice clear and steady. “I’m a criminal, Tahar. I know that now. But I’m a criminal for the right reasons.”
Tahar’s smile grew, though his eyes remained sharp. “The right reasons?”
“Yes.” Tevaril’s words were calm, deliberate. “The Jedi see the world in absolutes—good and evil, right and wrong. But the people I fight for, the people I care about… they don’t live in that kind of world. They don’t have that luxury. They steal to eat, lie to survive, fight to protect. And I’m done trying to straddle that line—trying to be something I’m not.”
Tahar’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment, searching his expression for cracks, for doubt. He found none. “You’ve finally figured it out, haven’t you?” Tahar said softly, satisfaction coloring his words. “It took you long enough.”
Tevaril didn’t flinch at the jab. “I was slow, but I got there. I can’t save everyone. I can’t fight for both sides. The Jedi don’t understand what we’re doing, and they never will.”
Tahar stepped closer, his crimson eyes narrowing as if to gauge the truth behind Tevaril’s words. “And what are we doing, Tevaril?”
“We’re helping people,” Tevaril replied evenly. “Not by their rules, not by their standards, but by ours. And I’m okay with that now.”
Tahar let out a low chuckle, genuinely pleased. He clapped a hand on Tevaril’s shoulder. “That’s the man I knew was in there. No more struggling, no more self-righteous brooding—you’re finally embracing the truth of this world.”
Tevaril met his gaze, unflinching. “I still have a moral compass, Tahar. But I’m pointing it where I think it matters.”
Tahar pulled back, his smirk widening into something closer to pride. “Good. You’re right, you know. The Jedi… they never could stomach the realities of the streets. You’ve outgrown their naive ideals, and now you’re free to act. I like this new you.”
Tevaril exhaled slowly, as though the weight of his decision settled fully on his shoulders. “I figured you would.”
Tahar gestured to the holo-display. “Well, then. You’ll be glad to hear our Black Sun friends are expecting results soon. A lot of opportunities are opening up, and I’ll need someone like you to help make sure we’re ready. No half-measures anymore. You in?”
Tevaril didn’t hesitate. “I’m in.”
For the first time, Tahar offered him something that felt genuine—a nod of respect. “Welcome to the real game, Tevaril.”
As Tahar turned back to the window, Tevaril’s expression remained composed, but beneath the surface, the lines between who he was and who he had to be blurred even further. For now, the struggle was buried deep, hidden beneath the confidence Tahar wanted to see.
He was playing the part. For now.

As soon as Tevaril left, Tahar sat down at his small, meticulously organized desk. The apartment’s dim blue glow was interrupted only by the flashing of his holocomm. With a flick of his wrist, he activated it, the shimmering blue figure of his Black Sun contact appearing before him.
The figure was grainy, its features masked intentionally for security—though the clipped tone of his voice carried all the menace of someone who didn’t suffer fools.
“Tahar Cherid,” the contact said flatly. “I hope you’re calling with something of value.”
Tahar leaned back in his chair, exuding calm confidence. “You’ll want to hear this. My Jedi problem? It’s not a problem anymore. He’s ready. Tevaril isn’t some hesitant, leashed dog anymore—he’s committed. He understands now, and I think you’ll find him very useful.”
The figure didn’t react immediately. A beat passed before he replied, voice sharp as a vibroblade. “The Black Sun doesn’t care about words, Tahar. We care about actions. Commitments are not made through promises—they’re proven in blood, credits, and results.”
Tahar’s smirk faltered just slightly. “I expected that. Look, I’m saying Tevaril is ready to work with you—not beneath you—as a partner. I thought you’d want to know before I send my next report. This isn’t some small-time game anymore. He’s got skills, and I’ve shaped him into something the Black Sun can use.”
The contact scoffed. “You’ve shaped him?” He shook his head, unimpressed. “The Black Sun won’t hear this message from me, Cherid. You want them to take it seriously? Show us. Deliver your report with results—big ones.”
Tahar frowned slightly, the veneer of his smooth demeanor cracking for half a second before he caught himself. “You’ll have your results. I’m already planning something substantial. When you see what we deliver, you’ll know we’re ready to play on your level.”
“Good,” the contact said curtly, his figure flickering. “But be warned, Tahar. The Black Sun doesn’t tolerate failure. Or empty words. You want to bring Tevaril into the fold? Prove he’s more than a Jedi-turned-thief. And you? You better be worth the credits we’ll spend cleaning up your mess if this goes wrong.”
Tahar’s crimson eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “You won’t be disappointed.”
The hologram clicked off, plunging the apartment back into quiet. Tahar sat in the silence, his fingers tapping against the desk, a faint smirk returning to his face.
“Actions, not words,” he muttered to himself. His gaze flicked to the small safe across the room, where the next job’s details were already secured. “Then we’ll give them actions.”
His mind turned back to Tevaril—his Jedi asset. Partner or pawn, it didn’t matter. All Tahar cared about was getting results.

Tevaril leaned against the grimy wall of a back alley, staring down at the communicator in his hand as it buzzed insistently. He flicked it on, Pelon’s voice crackling through almost immediately—along with the faint sound of chaos in the background.
“Stop. I’ll ask, okay? Just stop!” Pelon’s exasperated voice echoed, followed by muffled rustling.
Tevaril frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Pelon replied, though he sounded distracted. “How did the meeting go?”
Tevaril ran a hand through his head, his tone guarded. “Fine. I think we might need to do a few more jobs… big ones. Tahar’s pushing harder than before.”
There was a pause. Then Pelon’s voice lit up with a familiar scheming tone. “Big ones, huh? How does a classic bank robbery sound? Three to five minutes, low chances of casualties—usually pull about fifty K, minimum. You’ll get some property damage during the chase, though. You’ll need a solid getaway driver.”
Before Tevaril could respond, another voice broke in—high-pitched and unmistakable.
“I know someone! I know someone!”
Tevaril’s brows furrowed. “Who is that voice in the background?”
“Some kid,” Pelon muttered quickly.
From the background, the voice corrected loudly, “Child!”
Tevaril closed his eyes briefly and sighed. “Never mind. I know who it is.”
A faint triumphant, “I told you!” rang out, muffled by distance.
Pelon groaned. “Okay, look—just get here soon. I’m not used to babysitting, and she won’t stop talking.”
Tevaril pinched the bridge of his nose, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips despite himself. “I’ll be there soon.”
As the communicator clicked off, Tevaril muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “What is she doing there?”

The Blue Agave Bar was busier than usual. The low hum of chatter mixed with the clinking of glasses and the muffled thud of bass-heavy music. Tevaril slipped through the entrance with his hood up, scanning the room with practiced precision. He spotted Pelon near their usual table, slouched in his chair and looking like he’d had just about enough of something—or someone.
Sitting directly across from Pelon, with a plate of fries and a glass of juice, was Kid.
She was perched in the chair like she belonged there, enthusiastically pointing at a napkin where she’d scrawled what appeared to be a terrible schematic of a getaway plan. The rest of Pelon’s crew—Rosa, Barcel, Ricolino, and Mara—watched her with varying degrees of amusement and disbelief.
Pelon caught sight of Tevaril and threw up his hands like he’d been saved from eternal torment. “Thank whatever Force you Jedi people believe in—you’re finally here!”
Kid looked up, beaming when she saw Tevaril. “Oh, hey!” She waved at him with one hand, the other still holding a fry. “We’re brainstorming!”
Tevaril stared at her, unblinking. “We?”
“She means her,” Pelon grumbled, gesturing at the napkin. “I don’t even know where she got crayons from. I didn’t ask.”
“Did you know,” Kid chimed in, tapping her messy ‘map’ with a fry for emphasis, “that there are three different kinds of speeders that could work for a bank getaway? But the trick is making sure you don’t look like you’re getting away.”
Ricolino snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah? And what’s the trick, Kid?”
“Food delivery decals,” she said proudly. “No one suspects the pizza guy.”
The table fell silent for a beat.
Mara cracked a grin. “I mean, she’s not wrong.”
Rosa chuckled, shaking her head. “Matron Mother might hire her for planning if we’re not careful.”
Tevaril sighed deeply, rubbing his temples as he approached the table. “Kid, what are you doing here?”
Kid shrugged and shoved another fry into her mouth. “Being undercover. Gathering intel. Playing the long game.”
Pelon rolled his eyes. “She’s eating my fries and drawing maps with crayons. That’s not the long game. That’s being nine.”
“I’m eleven,” Kid shot back, clearly insulted.
Tevaril pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did Master Windu send you here?”
Kid hesitated for a second too long. “...No?”
He groaned. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I know,” she said with a smile. “But I’m great at undercover work.”
Barcel, who had been silent until now, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he looked at Tevaril. “You know, Tevaril, if this is your backup plan, I’m impressed. The Jedi send kids now? That’s wild.”
“She’s not part of the crew,” Tevaril said quickly. “She’s not supposed to be here.”
“Well, she’s here,” Pelon muttered, dragging the fry basket back toward him protectively. “And she’s actually better company than you lot.”
Kid pointed at him. “See? I’m helpful.”
Tevaril exhaled sharply, crouching so he was eye level with her. “Kid, listen to me. You can’t be here. It’s dangerous. These people—” he gestured at Pelon’s crew—“are not the kind of people Jedi are supposed to be around.”
Kid blinked at him, tilting her head. “But you’re here. And you’re a Jedi.”
“That’s… different,” Tevaril said, caught off guard.
“How?” she pressed.
Pelon smirked, watching Tevaril squirm. “Yeah, Tevaril. How?”
Tevaril shot Pelon a glare before looking back at Kid. “Because I made my choices, and I’m trying to fix my mistakes. You still have a chance to do things the right way.”
Kid leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms stubbornly. “I am doing things the right way. I’m helping you, aren’t I?”
“You’re—” Tevaril paused, realizing that arguing with her was like trying to move a mountain with a spoon. “You shouldn’t want to help me.”
“Too late,” she said with a grin. “Already invested.”
The table chuckled collectively. Even Rosa smiled as she reached over to pat Tevaril on the back. “Face it, Jedi. You’ve got a sidekick.”
Tevaril straightened up, exasperated. “She’s not my—”
“Sidekick,” Kid interrupted, pointing at herself. “Partner in justice.”
Pelon groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Just sit down, Tevaril, before I start charging admission to watch you two argue.”
With no other choice, Tevaril dropped into an empty seat at the table. Kid beamed triumphantly and slid him a fry.
“See?” she said. “Teamwork.”
Tevaril stared at the fry, then at the grinning child across from him. “I’m never telling Master Windu about this.”
“Good,” Kid replied. “Because I won’t either.”
The table was a chaotic mix of clinking drinks, muttered plans, and Pelon’s endless grumbling as he stared at Kid, who was now scribbling on yet another napkin.
Tevaril pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kid, I don’t know how many times I need to say this. You’re not part of the crew.”
Kid looked up, her face absolutely radiant with confidence. “You need a getaway driver, right?”
Pelon snorted, “Yeah, and you know a guy, huh?”
Kid nodded emphatically, sitting up straighter in her chair. “I do. Master Plo Koon.”
Silence.
Tevaril blinked. The crew collectively froze. Even Barcel, who normally looked unimpressed by everything, glanced up, eyebrow arched.
“Master Plo Koon?” Tevaril repeated, his voice flat.
Kid grinned as though she’d just suggested something perfectly reasonable. “Yeah! He’s an amazing pilot. He flies an X-wing better than anyone, and if you need someone to pull crazy maneuvers to get us out of trouble, he’s your guy.”
Pelon’s expression was one of utter disbelief. “You’re suggesting we let a Jedi Council member—let me repeat, a Jedi Council member—drive the getaway speeder?”
Kid shrugged as she stuffed another fry into her mouth. “Well, if you’re going to commit crime, you might as well have the best pilot, right?”
Rosa burst into laughter. “I like her. She’s got guts.”
Tevaril, still stunned, leaned closer. “Kid, what part of this plan sounds remotely plausible to you? Do you honestly think Master Plo Koon would agree to something like this?”
Kid hesitated for only a second, her confidence wavering briefly. “…Yeah?”
Tevaril’s voice dropped to a growl. “Does Master Yoda know about any of this?”
Kid leaned back in her chair, looking anywhere but at him. “Mmhmm. Yes. Totally.”
“Kid,” Tevaril pressed, narrowing his eyes.
She exhaled dramatically and slumped forward. “Okay, it’s more of a probably.”
“Probably?!”
Ricolino burst out laughing, slapping the table. “This kid is a menace. She’ll get us all locked up!”
Kid pointed at him with the utmost seriousness. “No one’s getting locked up because I am your connection to the Jedi Order. You need something specialized—say, a Jedi with specific skills for a job—I’m your recruiter. And trust me, Plo Koon? He’s your guy for this.”
Pelon crossed his arms, his face torn between skepticism and curiosity. “And what do you think Plo Koon would say when you pitch this brilliant idea?”
Kid grinned mischievously. “I’ll tell him it’s for training.”
Barcel let out an incredulous laugh. “Training?! What kind of training requires speeding through city streets and evading police speeders?”
“Practical training,” Kid replied seriously, as though this was obvious. “Speed. Reflexes. Precision. Real-world experience.”
Rosa smirked, leaning her chin in her hand. “The kid’s got an answer for everything, doesn’t she?”
Tevaril dropped his head into his hands, groaning. “This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.”
Pelon grinned as he looked between Kid and Tevaril. “Well, I say we vote on it. Who thinks we should bring this Master Plo Koon in for the job?”
Mara, clearly amused, raised her hand. “I want to see this happen.”
Rosa raised hers. “I mean, if he’s as good as she says, why not?”
Ricolino shrugged and raised his hand. “Best getaway pilot in the galaxy? Sounds good to me.”
Barcel, shaking his head but smiling faintly, raised his hand last. “At the very least, I want to see this Jedi play along with her insanity.”
Pelon smirked and looked at Tevaril, who was now glaring daggers at Kid. “That’s five votes to one. Looks like the kid’s got the numbers.”
Kid beamed triumphantly, pointing at herself. “Recruiter of the year.”
Tevaril rubbed his temples again. “We’re not doing this.”
Pelon grinned slyly. “We’ll see.”
Kid stuffed another fry into her mouth, grinning ear to ear. “Told you.”

Chapter Text

The hum of engines echoed softly through the Jedi Temple’s hangar as Master Plo Koon crouched near his X-wing, calmly inspecting the maintenance diagnostics. His mask glinted faintly under the soft glow of temple lights, and his demeanor was as serene as always—until a familiar voice shattered that calm.
“Master Plo Koon!”
Plo Koon tilted his head, spotting Kid bounding toward him with an urgency that only she seemed to possess. He straightened, his imposing presence doing little to deter her.
“Kid,” Plo Koon said, his deep voice calm. “I see you’ve found me. What is it?”
Kid skidded to a stop, catching her breath. “Okay, hear me out. I need you… to drive a speeder.”
Plo Koon paused. “A speeder?”
“Yeah! You know, zoom-zoom, real fast, evasive maneuvers… woosh!” Kid gestured wildly with her hands like a child reenacting a starfighter battle.
Plo Koon’s mechanical respirator hissed softly as he studied her. “…And for what purpose, Padawan?”
Kid hesitated, her grin faltering slightly. “Um. Training?”
Plo Koon’s brow lifted. “Training?”
“Yeah!” Kid nodded enthusiastically, doubling down. “Think about it—real-world scenarios to test your piloting skills. You’ve flown through starship battles, right? But what about narrow alleyways? Speed traps? Unpredictable obstacles? That’s where the real challenge is.”
Plo Koon’s expression didn’t change, though one could almost sense the skepticism radiating from him. “I see. And why is this training necessary?”
Kid shuffled awkwardly. “Well… you know… things are always happening on Coruscant. Emergencies, um, supply runs, speeders breaking down in the lower levels… So if we needed a Jedi who could… I don’t know… escape from law enforcement—”
Plo Koon cut her off, his voice patient but firm. “Escape from law enforcement, Kid?”
Kid winced. “Okay, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant hypothetically. Like—like if there were bad guys chasing us and, uh… it’s part of a very important operation that could possibly save the galaxy!”
Plo Koon simply stared at her, his steady silence more intimidating than any lecture.
Kid sighed, finally slumping in defeat. “…It’s for Tevaril’s crew.”
“Ah,” Plo Koon said simply, his tone giving nothing away.
“And they really need the best pilot there is. You’re the best pilot. I told them that. I told them how you could fly an X-wing through an asteroid field blindfolded, and now they’re counting on you to be the getaway driver.”
Plo Koon crossed his arms, his mask making it impossible to tell if he was amused or disappointed. “Kid, this sounds… highly irregular.”
Kid pointed at him like she’d won the argument. “But not impossible.”
Plo Koon tilted his head, his mask emitting another soft hiss. “Have you discussed this with Master Windu?”
Kid visibly shrank. “…He said I should stop coming up with dumb ideas.”
“And yet you’re here,” Plo Koon observed dryly.
“Because this idea isn’t dumb!” Kid protested. “Look, I know it’s sketchy, but they’re not bad people. They’re trying to take down the Black Sun. And you’re the only one who can help. Master Windu wouldn’t trust them, but if you do this, I know it’ll work!”
Plo Koon regarded her in silence for a moment, his posture thoughtful. Finally, he spoke. “You truly believe this will help them?”
Kid nodded so quickly it was a blur. “Yes! I mean… probably.”
Plo Koon sighed softly, the sound amplified by his respirator. “This is highly unorthodox, Kid.”
“I know,” Kid said, hopeful. “But please? Just this once?”
Plo Koon stared at her, the silence dragging on. Finally, he gestured to his X-wing.
“I will consider it,” he said, his tone patient but reluctant. “Provided you can explain to Master Windu why I’ve suddenly been recruited as a getaway driver.”
Kid’s face paled. “Oh. Um… maybe we don’t have to tell him?”
Plo Koon inclined his head slightly, as though that was all the answer he needed. “I thought as much.”
Kid groaned. “Fine. I’ll tell him. But he’s going to be mad.”
Plo Koon turned back to his ship, his tone unwavering. “He already is.”

The Blue Agave Bar buzzed with low energy as Kid slipped through the doorway, her bare feet padding quietly over the scuffed floors. The crew had already gathered around their usual corner table. Pelon sat with his feet propped up, twirling a credit chit between his fingers, while Mara and Ricolino bickered softly over a map spread across the table.
Tevaril looked up first, brow furrowing. “What took you so long?”
Kid grinned mischievously, sliding into a chair and leaning forward conspiratorially. “I had to go talk to our driver.”
Ricolino’s head snapped up. “Driver? You got us a driver?”
Pelon raised an eyebrow, his smile half-doubtful, half-amused. “You’re telling me you found someone willing to get us out of a bank heist? On Coruscant?”
Kid leaned back smugly. “Not just any driver. The best driver. A Jedi pilot.”
The crew collectively froze, exchanging skeptical glances.
Tevaril gave her a look that screamed exasperation. “Kid… what?”
“You heard me,” Kid said confidently. “Master Plo Koon. He’s flown starfighters through wars. He’s like a living legend in the sky. I told him we needed him for a special mission, and… well, let’s just say he’s considering it.”
Barcel Chocoretas nearly choked on his drink. “Wait, wait—hold on. You actually managed to convince him. Master Plo Koon? The Jedi Council guy? That’s your getaway driver?”
Kid nodded with a bright, innocent smile. “Yup.”
Rosa Pulparindo laughed incredulously. “You’re telling me a Jedi Master agreed to drive us out of a bank robbery? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”
Pelon gave a sharp, skeptical laugh and leaned in, narrowing his eyes. “Okay, Kid. You’ve pulled some weird stuff, but this one’s beyond me. How’d you even convince him?”
Kid shrugged. “I told him we needed the best, and he’s the best. You can’t argue with that logic.”
Tevaril pinched the bridge of his nose, half in disbelief, half in mounting stress. “Does Master Yoda know about this?”
Kid froze for a beat and then offered an unconvincing nod. “…Kind of?”
“Kind of?” Tevaril repeated, his voice rising. “Kid, you can’t just recruit Jedi Council members for a heist!”
“But it’s not just a heist,” Kid said defensively. “We’re taking down the Black Sun, remember? We’re the good guys.”
Ricolino snorted. “Yeah, sure. Nothing says ‘good guys’ like robbing a bank.”
“Hey,” Pelon interjected, holding up a hand. “The kid has a point. If this Plo Koon guy can actually drive—and if we’re not all arrested in the next two minutes—then maybe we’ve got something here. Big risks mean big payoffs.”
Barcel frowned, clearly uneasy. “Or big explosions. The Jedi don’t just do things like this, Kid. If you’re lying, this whole thing’s going to blow up in our faces.”
Kid smirked and tapped the side of her head. “Trust me. I’m the only real link you guys have to the Jedi Order, and if we need a specialized Jedi for the job, I’m the one who recruits them. This is all part of the plan.”
Tevaril looked at her dubiously. “And Windu?”
Kid hesitated. “Uh…” She waved her hand dismissively. “Master Windu doesn’t even believe me when I tell him stuff like this. He thinks it’s too ridiculous to be true.”
Pelon chuckled and clapped his hands together. “Perfect. Let’s keep it that way. If Windu finds out, we’re fried.”
The crew settled into a moment of uneasy silence, weighing the absurdity of the plan against the reality of their situation.
Tevaril sighed, sitting back in his chair and rubbing his temples. “Fine. Fine. Let’s assume for a moment that Kid’s not insane and this Jedi actually shows up. We’ll need to plan this heist down to the second. No mistakes. No casualties.”
“Agreed,” Pelon said, grinning as he rolled up his sleeves. “Time to plan a job so good, even the Jedi’ll be impressed.”
Kid leaned in, her grin infectious as she looked around at the crew. “Let’s do this.”
________________________________________
Master Windu strolled through the temple corridors, his brow furrowed as another knight approached him.
“Master Windu,” the knight said hesitantly, “there’s a rumor circulating about a Jedi Master being recruited as a… getaway driver?”
Windu stopped mid-stride, staring at the knight with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. “What?”
The knight nodded. “Someone mentioned Master Plo Koon being involved.”
Windu let out a sharp sigh and shook his head. “Impossible. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Plo Koon would never—” He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, suddenly uneasy. “…Would he?”
The knight opened his mouth to respond, but Windu cut him off with a dismissive wave. “It’s nonsense. Absolutely absurd. Plo Koon doesn’t drive getaway speeders.”
He turned and continued walking, though a faint crease lingered on his brow as he muttered to himself. “Ridiculous.”
________________________________________
The Blue Agave Bar was unusually loud tonight, buzzing with the sound of clinking glasses, murmured deals, and bursts of laughter. At a corner booth, Tevaril’s crew huddled over a mess of hastily drawn blueprints, the paper crinkled beneath elbows and smudged with ink.
Kid perched on the edge of a chair, legs swinging, eyes alight with excitement as she pointed at the rough sketches with a metal rod clutched in her hands.
“And this,” she declared, raising the rod like a conquering hero, “is our secret weapon.”
Pelon, half-slouched in his seat, gave her a lazy smirk. “What, you gonna poke security with it?”
Kid didn’t even blink. “No. I’m going to turn it into a giant electromagnet.”
She slammed the rod onto the table with a metallic clang, making Ricolino jump. “If security rolls in with blasters—ZAP!—all their weapons fly right out of their hands.”
Mara raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”
Kid’s grin widened. “Dead serious.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I can also use my lightning to knock out the power grid. Boom. Lights out, alarms dead. Then we slip away like shadows.”
The table went dead silent for half a beat.
Then Ricolino burst out laughing, slapping his knee. “Oh, this kid’s insane! Electromagnets and lightning bolts? What is this, a holovid?”
Barcel Chocoretas folded his arms, fighting back a smirk. “Wait. You really think you can fry an entire power grid with Force Lightning?” He squinted. “Hang on—I thought you were a Jedi.”
Kid beamed, tilting her head like she’d been waiting for that question.
“I am a Jedi.” She let the words hang for a moment, then grinned wider. “But a Jedi who uses lightning.”
Barcel looked stunned. “How?!”
Kid winked. “Not important. But I promise I’ll tell you… after we pull this off.”
Rosa Pulparindo let out a deep sigh, shaking her head fondly. “She’s got spirit. I’ll give her that.” She patted Tevaril on the shoulder. “You sure this little gremlin isn’t your padawan?”
Tevaril sat at the end of the table, head in his hands, looking very much like a man on the edge. “She’s not my padawan.”
“She’s got the enthusiasm, though,” Pelon said through a grin. “Come on, Tevaril. Give the kid some credit. You can’t plan a heist without a little creativity, right?”
Tevaril finally looked up, staring at Kid with a mix of exasperation and resignation. “Let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “Your plan… is to walk in with that rod, fry the power grid, and disarm anyone with a blaster?”
“Yep.”
“And what happens when you’re surrounded by twenty guards with stun batons instead?”
Kid paused. “Uh… I’ll figure it out.”
“See?” Pelon said, grinning and holding out his arms. “Problem solved.”
Tevaril shot him a look before sighing deeply, defeated. “Fine. Fine! If you’re all so determined to make this ridiculous plan work, then we’re doing it my way.”
The crew’s laughter faded as they turned to him. Tevaril leaned forward, a flicker of the old Jedi Knight’s focus shining through his frustration.
“First off,” Tevaril said, pointing at Kid, “you’re not blowing out the power grid. That’ll attract more security than we can handle, and we’ll have no cover. Second, you’re not swinging that rod around like a crazy person. If you want to help, fine, but you’ll follow my orders.”
Kid pouted, slumping back into her chair with a dramatic sigh. “But it’s a good rod…”
Tevaril rubbed his temples, glancing up toward the doorway. “It’s a liability,” he shot back, though a faint smirk betrayed his exasperation. “Here’s the real plan.” He straightened up, only to say, “You can come in now.”
The entire crew turned their heads as the door creaked open. In marched Denise—Kid’s mom—with an expression that could curdle milk. She was a whirlwind of frustration, her steps brisk, her arms crossed like she had marched through an army just to get there.
“KID?!”
Kid froze, eyes wide like a Kowakian monkey-lizard caught in the headlights. “Uh… hi, Mom.”
“Don’t ‘hi, Mom’ me!” Denise hissed, advancing toward the table.
“I know I got outvoted, but I talked to Master Windu and found her contact information.” Tevaril explained.
Her eyes scanned the table, narrowing at the confused, slightly terrified crew members. “And this is what you’ve been doing? I would never have approved of you being a Jedi if I knew my only daughter would turn into a—” she pointed accusingly at the blueprints scattered across the table—“a bank robber! Kid! What in the galaxy is this?!”
The crew, suddenly quiet, exchanged glances.
Pelon muttered under his breath, “Oh, this just got good.”
Tevaril sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose as Kid slid lower into her seat. “Mom, it’s not what it looks like—”
Denise grabbed Kid by the ear before she could finish. “Not what it looks like?!”
“Ow, ow, ow—Mom!” Kid whined, scrambling to her feet as she was half-dragged out of the booth. “You’re embarrassing me in front of the crew!”
The word crew made Denise’s eye twitch. “You mean these questionable individuals you’ve been running around with?! Is that who you’re talking about?”
“Ma’am,” Rosa said calmly, raising a hand in mock surrender, “I’m a perfectly reputable—”
Denise shot her a glare that could peel paint. “Not now.”
Ricolino snorted into his drink, murmuring to Pelon, “I like her. She’s scarier than Tevaril.”
Denise turned her attention back to Kid, still holding her ear. “You’re coming with me right now. I’m getting you out of this mess before you end up in galactic prison—or worse!”
Kid stumbled as she was tugged toward the exit, whining the whole way. “I was helping them! They’re not bad guys! This is a really important mission, Mom!”
Denise spun back around for one final, withering glare at the crew. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Letting a child—a barefoot child, no less—run around planning heists with you!”
Pelon couldn’t help but grin. “She’s got a point.”
“Shut up, Pelon,” Tevaril muttered, sinking into his seat as the bar door swung closed behind Denise and Kid.
For a long moment, no one said anything. The crew stared at the door in stunned silence until Rosa finally leaned back, shaking her head.
“Well,” Rosa said, smirking. “Guess we’re one kid short.”
Pelon leaned over, still grinning. “I can’t believe you called Kid’s mom.”
Tevaril groaned, pressing his palms to his face. “Pelon, I swear…”
Pelon leaned back, his grin stretching wider. “No, no. I just want to clarify for the crew—Tevaril the outlaw, the rebel Jedi, the criminal mastermind—called a mom. Not the Jedi Council, not the cops—an actual mom.”
Ricolino nearly fell out of his chair laughing, pounding the table. “Kid’s mom! You’re not even a snitch, you’re a babysitter!”
Mara smirked, crossing her arms. “Never thought I’d see the day. I’m starting to think you’re not cut out for this line of work, Tevaril.”
Tevaril sat up, leveling them with a tired glare. “I didn’t call her to sell anyone out. I called her because she’s a child—playing bank robber, running around with us like this is some kind of game.”
“Game or not, she’s been more useful than half of us,” Rosa cut in, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, she had plans. We just thought they were dumb.”
Pelon snickered. “Dumb or not, she’s the reason we’re about to have Plo Koon driving our getaway car. No way am I giving up on that dream.”
The crew burst into laughter again, but Tevaril just slumped back into his seat, staring at his empty mug. “You’re all missing the point,” he muttered.
Pelon jabbed a finger at him, still grinning. “No, no, you’re missing the point. I think deep down you’re scared of her, Tevaril. You called in the big guns ‘cause you don’t know how to deal with her.”
Mara rolled her eyes. “You’ve all lost it.” She turned back to Tevaril, shaking her head. “You’re just mad ‘cause she’s good at this. Admit it. She got under your skin.”
Tevaril sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “She’s not supposed to be good at this. That’s the problem.” He stared at the table, silent for a long moment, before pushing his chair back. “Let’s just focus on the job. No kids. No distractions. Just us.”
Rosa smirked. “Whatever you say, mom.”
The bar erupted in laughter again, and this time, even Tevaril couldn’t stop the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Dr. Vera Pica raised her hand after the laughter died down, “I think you made the right decision, Tevaril. She shouldn’t be exposed to this life if she doesn’t have to be.”
Tevaril looked her in the eyes for split second, he was still carrying the shame of killing her sons, he planned on trying to make up for it, even she never forgave him, “…Thank you.”

Chapter Text

The hum of the transport engine filled the silence as Denise sat across from Kid, arms crossed, her glare capable of cutting through durasteel. Kid slumped against the seat, avoiding her mother’s eyes but shooting the occasional glance to gauge just how much trouble she was in.
Denise finally broke the silence, her voice sharp but quiet. “A bank robbery, Kid. Really? Jedi training wasn’t enough for you?”
Kid winced. “It’s not as bad as it sounds!”
Denise’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, please, enlighten me. I would love to hear how this isn’t bad.”
Kid sat up, her hands flailing as she tried to explain. “Okay, first of all—it wasn’t for me! It was Tevaril’s idea. And we weren’t really stealing for bad reasons!”
Denise blinked. “Oh, stealing for good reasons. That’s a new one. Go on.”
“Mom,” Kid groaned. “Listen! They’re stopping bad guys. The Black Sun. They’re really bad—they do drugs and slavery and everything!”
Denise pinched the bridge of her nose. “Kid—”
“And I wasn’t even going to steal anything!” Kid added quickly, pointing at herself for emphasis. “I was going to disarm the guards with a cool electromagnet trick. That’s basically helping! You know, so no one got hurt.”
Denise looked at her incredulously. “An electromagnet trick? What, with your lightning? Oh, yes, because that’s so much better.”
Kid slumped further into the seat, muttering. “It is better. Nobody trusts the Jedi to help down there. I was helping in a way they’d actually believe.”
For a second, Denise softened just enough for Kid to notice. “Sweetheart…” Her voice dropped, calmer now. “You’re seven. You shouldn’t be playing hero. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone—not Tevaril, not those other kids, and certainly not to that ridiculous crew.”
Kid’s face scrunched up stubbornly. “I’m not playing. I can help! I have helped. Master Windu says I’m strong. I’m just… I’m just trying to make things better.”
Denise sighed, her frustration fading into exasperated love. She reached over, brushing a stray strand of Kid’s hair back. “And you’ll make things better one day—when you’re older. When you’re ready. But running around barefoot and planning heists? That’s not how you do it.”
Kid looked down at her feet, frowning. “I was barefoot so I would blend in with the other children, like secret agent…”
Denise shook her head, suppressing a laugh despite herself. “Oh, Kid. What am I going to do with you?”
Kid grinned, sensing a sliver of forgiveness in her mother’s voice. “I don’t know. Probably not tell Master Windu, though?”
Denise raised an eyebrow, her expression stern once more. “Oh, I’m telling him. And you’re telling him, too.”
Kid’s smile faltered. “...Great.”
Denise leaned back in her seat, the tension finally easing. “For now, you’re grounded. Temple, homework, and no more criminal adventures. Understand?”
Kid sighed dramatically, flopping back against the seat. “Yes, Mom…”
“And don’t think I forgot about that electromagnet trick. We’re talking about that later.”
Kid crossed her arms, muttering to herself. “It was a really good rod…”

Denise stormed into the Jedi Temple, Kid trailing reluctantly behind her, looking as though she wanted the stone floor to swallow her whole. The moment Master Windu appeared, Denise squared her shoulders and fixed him with a glare that could make a Sith Lord flinch.
“You’re Mac Windows?” she demanded, her voice sharp with disbelief.
Master Windu’s brow furrowed, his typically stoic expression breaking ever so slightly with a mix of incredulity and annoyance. He straightened his posture, clasping his hands behind his back.
“It’s Mace Windu,” he corrected, his tone calm but edged with the unmistakable air of someone who had absolutely had enough for one day. “And you must be Kid’s mother.”
Denise huffed, undeterred. “I know who you are, Mac, but let me tell you—”
Windu raised a hand to stop her, his tone growing firmer. “It’s Mace. Master Windu, if you’d prefer. And while I appreciate your… enthusiasm, I suggest we focus on why you’re here, Ms. Magdalene.”
Kid, sensing the brewing storm, tried to interject. “Mom, he’s actually really—”
“Quiet, Kid,” Denise snapped, not taking her fiery glare off Windu. “We’re not finished here, Master Macintosh.”
Windu closed his eyes for a long moment, drawing in a deep breath as though summoning the Force itself to keep his patience intact. When he opened them, his voice was calm, measured, and utterly unamused.
“It’s Mace Windu, Ms. Magdalene. And for your daughter’s sake, I’ll let that one slide.”
Kid muttered under her breath, “Mac Windows kinda has a ring to it…”
Windu shot her a look, his tone dropping. “Do not encourage her.”
Denise crossed her arms, glaring at him with the ferocity only a protective mother could muster. “Well, Mace, you’ve got some explaining to do.”
Windu inclined his head slightly, already anticipating a long, long conversation. “And I suggest we start now.”
Kid tugged nervously at Denise’s sleeve. “Mom, it’s really—”
“Quiet, Kid.” Denise turned her glare back to Windu. “I sent my daughter here to become a Jedi, not to mastermind bank heists with rogue Jedi!”
Windu’s gaze flickered to Kid, his jaw tightening. “Padawan, explain to your mother what your assignment was.”
Kid hesitated, wilting under their combined scrutiny. “Uh… Master Yoda said I was supposed to… watch Tevaril?”
“Watch,” Windu repeated firmly. “Not join. Not plan. Not—” he gestured vaguely,
“But Master Yoda said—”
Windu’s voice deepened with a cutting edge. “Did Yoda say to rob a bank?”
Kid blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
Windu took a step closer, his tone sharp. “Did. Yoda. Say. To rob a bank?”
Kid faltered, looking helplessly at her mom. “Uh…”
Windu pressed, his voice dripping with exasperation. “What planet are you from?”
Kid stared at him, utterly baffled. “Uh… what?”
“They speak Basic in What?” Windu shot back, unimpressed.
Denise raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt, clearly letting Windu have his moment. Kid, on the other hand, shrank back slightly. “I—I didn’t rob the bank…” she muttered weakly. “Nar Shaddaa isn’t a planet, it’s a moon.” She growled in her teeth.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
Windu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Seven-year-olds,” he muttered under his breath. Straightening, he turned back to Denise. “Ms. Magdalene, let me clarify. Kid’s only task was to observe Tevaril, a rogue Jedi we’re monitoring. She took some… liberties.”
“Liberties?” Denise shot back incredulously. “My daughter nearly became an accomplice to a heist, and you call that liberties?”
Windu held up a hand, his tone regaining its Jedi calm. “I understand your concern. Kid is strong in the Force—stronger than most. She also has a… unique interpretation of instructions. The situation has been handled.”
“Handled?” Denise barked. “Oh, no. She’s grounded. She’s not doing anything until I say otherwise. Do you understand me?”
Windu arched a brow, unshaken. “She’s under the care of the Jedi Order.”
“And she’s still my daughter.” Denise pointed a finger at him for emphasis. “So, unless you want to explain to the entire Republic why a seven-year-old is out here playing Robin Hood with a rogue Jedi, I’d suggest you agree.”
Windu gave her a long, measured look. Then he exhaled, relenting. “Fine. She’s grounded.”
Kid’s head shot up. “Wait—what?”
Denise nodded, victorious. “Good. And for the record, Master Window, I like you even less than your reputation.”
Windu’s lips tightened into a thin line. He muttered under his breath just loud enough for her to hear, “The feeling’s mutual.”
Denise narrowed her eyes. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Windu replied smoothly, turning on his heel. “Temple duties only, Padawan. No missions. No distractions.”
Kid groaned, her shoulders slumping. “This is so unfair…”
Denise placed her hands on her hips, glaring down at her daughter. “And you’re going to explain everything you’ve been up to—starting with that metal rod trick.”
Kid sighed dramatically as they walked away. “It was a really good rod, Mom…”

The grand halls of the Jedi Temple stretched endlessly as Denise led Kid forward with a firm grip on her wrist. The massive columns and warm glow of the temple lights might have inspired peace for some, but to Kid, it felt like a prison march.
“Where are we going?” Kid groaned, dragging her feet as Denise kept up her no-nonsense pace.
Denise didn’t break stride. “To your room. You’re grounded, remember?”
“Technically, I live in a dorm—”
Denise turned on her heel, fixing her with a look that could burn through durasteel.
Kid sighed dramatically. “Fiiiine. No need for the mom glare.”
They reached the courtyard—a quiet, open-air section of the Temple designed for meditation and reflection. The cool night breeze made the temple feel a little less suffocating, though Kid had a feeling Denise wouldn’t let her enjoy it for long.
But then, something shifted in the air.
Denise stopped. Paused. Like she felt something.
A presence.
Before Kid could ask, she saw him.
Plo Koon.
The Kel Dor Jedi Master stood near the stone path leading to the archives, his arms folded beneath the flowing sleeves of his robes. The glow of Coruscant’s skyline reflected faintly off his mask, his unreadable gaze locked on them.
For a second, neither Denise nor Plo Koon spoke.
Then, calmly, he stepped forward.
“Padawan,” he greeted, his voice calm and deliberate. “Initiate.”
Denise stiffened. Initiate. That was deliberate. He knew she wasn’t a Knight, but the way he said it… something about it felt like a challenge.
Kid blinked up at him, suddenly wary. “Uh… hi?”
Plo Koon inclined his head slightly. “May I speak with you?”
Denise immediately stepped between them. “About what?”
Plo Koon turned his masked face toward her. “That is a conversation for her.”
Denise didn’t budge. “If you have something to say to my daughter, you can say it with me here.”
A flicker of tension passed between them. Plo Koon had faced Sith Lords, warlords, bounty hunters—yet Denise stood her ground as if he were just another obstacle in her way.
Plo Koon tilted his head. “I have not seen you before.”
Kid answered for her. “She’s my mom.”
That gave him pause. A long pause.
Denise crossed her arms. “I’ve been here a few hours, and I already know my daughter’s stay here has been less than ideal.” Her voice sharpened, her stance shifting slightly—subtly defensive. “If you think you’re going to bully answers out of her, you should walk away.”
Plo Koon studied her carefully, sizing her up the same way he would a potential opponent. But there was no hostility in his stance, no intent to challenge—just understanding.
“I have questions,” he said. “About Tevaril.”
Kid stiffened at the name. Denise’s jaw tightened.
Before Denise could respond, a firm voice cut through the air.
“Jedi Initiate Denise.”
Master Windu approached from behind, his presence commanding the space without effort. His gaze flicked between them, landing on Denise. “That is Master Plo Koon, Kid’s lightning instructor. You have no right to tell anyone to walk away.”
Denise didn’t flinch.
“She’s kind of old to still be an Initiate,” Plo Koon observed.
Denise’s fingers twitched.
Then—snap-hiss.
Her blue lightsaber ignited.
A sharp glow bathed the courtyard in pale blue light.
Plo Koon barely reacted. His mask betrayed no emotion.
Windu sighed. A long, slow, exasperated sigh.
Denise’s voice was calm, steady. “Kid. Stay behind me. If you see an opening to the door—run.”
Kid’s stomach dropped. “Mom—”
“Stay. Behind. Me.”
Plo Koon exhaled through his mask, a soft hiss filling the silence. His posture didn’t change, his hands still folded in his robes. “You don’t actually think you stand a chance against two Jedi Masters, do you?”
Denise didn’t answer.
For so long, she had listened to those warnings of hopelessness.
• Charles is bigger.
• Charles is stronger.
• Charles has the credits.
• Charles knows dangerous people.
• You can’t fight him.
There were always warnings—right before the first raised voice. Right before his patience wore thin. Right before the first slap.
Warnings were a way of telling her not to fight back.
But she did fight back.
And she wasn’t dead.
Denise inhaled slowly, eyes locked on Plo Koon.
She wouldn’t lunge. Wouldn’t strike first.
She was Soresu. She would not win. But she would not lose.
She watched their feet—Plo Koon’s stance, Windu’s shift in balance.
If one of them moved, she would react. Not to attack—but to change the field of battle.
If she got them inside—narrow halls, pillars, blind spots—she might have a chance to hold her ground.
But Windu didn’t move.
He just watched.
After a long, tense silence, he deactivated his saber first.
Kid’s breath caught.
Denise’s jaw tightened.
Windu met her eyes, voice low. “You don’t need to fight us.”
Denise stared him down. “That’s what they always said before they came for me.”
The weight of that hit hard.
Even Plo Koon hesitated.
Denise’s grip on her saber tightened.
Then—softly—Kid stepped forward.
She didn’t move past Denise, but she spoke clearly.
“She’s not going to attack,” Kid said, looking between them. “She’s waiting.”
Windu already knew that. But then Kid added:
“Just like Yoda waited for Tevaril.”
And everything changed.
Plo Koon’s eyes flicked toward Windu.
“You knew?” he asked, voice steady.
Windu’s jaw tensed. “No. But I should have.”
Denise didn’t lower her saber yet, but Kid turned to her.
“Mom. It’s okay.”
Denise’s grip faltered.
Kid wasn’t scared.
She should be.
But she wasn’t.
Denise exhaled, slowly. The tension in her shoulders eased—not gone, but controlled.
Then—she deactivated her lightsaber.
A slow hum of silence filled the courtyard.
Plo Koon let out a long breath. “Then I will ask this. And you may decide if I deserve an answer.”
He turned his gaze to Kid.
“Why do you trust Tevaril?”
And just like that—Denise was no longer the one being questioned.
Kid was.
And that changed everything.
Silence stretched between them.
Plo Koon had asked the question—Why do you trust Tevaril?—but before Kid could respond, a voice cut through the air like a blade.
“Denise?”
Denise’s head snapped up, her breath catching in her throat.
She turned—and her stomach dropped.
Stepping out from the shadows of the archway was Master Yareen.
“Senara?!”
Master Yareen run up to Denise and gave her a hug, “Oh my gosh it so good to see you.”
“You too, I heard about the Temple in Nar Shaddaa are you okay?” said Denise
“Yeah I’m fine. It wasn’t the first time I was hit with a light saber but this one left a exit wound.” Yareen lift’s up her robes and show the gut shot scar.
“Thank you for protecting her.” Denise stated
“I didn’t actually. That was Windu.” Said Denise
“Me and Kid protected each other.” Mace explained.
“Oh. I had no idea. Forgive my earlier rudeness Master Windu.” First time Denise said his name correctly.
Mace gave a slight smirk and shrugged as if to say, ‘water under the bridge.’
Master Yareen’s expression sobered. “What about you? How did you get here?”
Denise straightened, rolling her shoulders back. “I was smuggled in from a Relay Transport,” she admitted, crossing her arms. “After someone tipped me off that ‘someone’ was about to become a bank robber.”
At the mention of the word bank robber, Master Yareen’s gaze snapped down to Kid.
Kid stiffened, suddenly feeling very small under the weight of her stare.
Master Yareen’s brows furrowed, her expression dropping into something far worse than anger.
Disappointment.
“Kid,” Senara said, her voice steady but firm. “Oh… I’m so disappointed in you.”
The words hit like a seismic charge.
Kid winced—but not in defiance.
For some reason, that hurt more than yelling, more than humiliation, more than anger.
Her shoulders slumped, and her hands gripped at the fabric of her tunic as her eyes filled with unshed tears.
“…I’m sorry.”
Her voice cracked.
That was all it took.
Master Yareen immediately softened, her expression shifting as she scooped Kid up into her arms.
Kid let out a tiny gasp of surprise as Master Yareen rocked her gently, her grip warm and familiar—comforting in a way that Kid didn’t even realize she needed.
“No, no,” Master Yareen murmured, pressing her cheek against the top of Kid’s head. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Kid squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face into Yareen’s shoulder as she clung to her robes. The tension, the stress, the guilt—it all poured out silently, wrapped up in the quiet but desperate way she held onto her.
Denise, watching from the side, crossed her arms and sighed. “…Great. Now I really can’t be mad at her.”
Master Yareen shot her a knowing look over Kid’s head. “You were never going to be.”
Master Plo Koon started to piece a few things together, Yoda, Denise, Kid, there were other pieces of the puzzle. A picture that was not as simple as he thought it was when Kid ask him if he could be a get away driver. But if he was going to find out anything at all, he was going to have to get involves. “Kid, does your friend need my help?”
Kid looked at him and nodded.
“I’ll help them.” Master Plo Koon stated.

Denise sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Kid flipped through the channels on the monitor, her small fingers tapping absently at the controls. The soft glow of the screen flickered across her face, casting shifting shadows against the walls of the small room.
"Shows sure are different from Nar Shaddaa," Denise mused, leaning back slightly. "At least everything’s in Basic."
Kid huffed, still clicking through the options. "I miss the Hutta shows. Mandalorians catch the bad guys. Jedi shows teach the bad guys."
Denise smirked. "Not many sports, though."
"That's good."
Denise raised a brow. "Oh? You against sports now?"
"No, that’s good," Kid clarified, sitting up straighter. "I’m sorry. I haven’t been watching shows."
Denise’s expression softened. "That’s not a bad thing."
Kid sighed, resting her chin in her hands. "We’re literally the heroes of the galaxy now."
Denise chuckled. "Not what you thought it’d be, huh?"
Kid shook her head. "No. Everyone thinks they’re the good guys… even when they do bad things."
Denise reached over, turning off the monitor. "Tell me about it."
A silence settled between them, but only for a moment.
Then Kid started talking.
She spoke about missions to other planets—places Denise had never seen, cultures she barely understood.
She spoke about Sanctuary, the little haven she lived and built for families sensitive to the Force.
She spoke about her last days on Nar Shaddaa, the parts Denise had missed, the things she had never been told.
And Denise listened.
She didn’t interrupt, didn’t correct her, didn’t tell Kid what she should have done differently.
She just let her talk.
At some point, Kid’s words started to slow.
Her eyelids drooped.
Her sentences drifted into half-finished thoughts.
Eventually, her breathing evened out.
Denise looked down to find that Kid had fallen asleep against her, curled up in her arms.
For a long moment, she just stared.
She ran her fingers lightly through Kid’s wild, untamed hair, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of her daughter’s breathing against her chest. The weight of everything—Nar Shaddaa, the Jedi, the paths they had both walked—pressed in around her.
She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath.
Then, carefully, she adjusted Kid so she could lay her down properly, tucking the blanket up around her shoulders.
For the first time in a long time, Denise let herself just be a mother.
And for the first time in a long time, Kid slept without nightmares.
________________________________________
Denise quietly slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
She turned—and froze.
Master Yareen stood waiting, arms crossed loosely, her expression calm but watchful.
"Senara," Denise exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "Have you been waiting this whole time?"
Yareen gave a small shrug. "A little while. I didn’t have the heart to wake her."
Denise narrowed her eyes. "Were you watching us?"
Yareen tilted her head. "Yes and no. The Force allows us to sense things—things that could be used to invade privacy, but more often, it's for protection. To stop assassins. To keep children from mischief."
Denise sighed. "What do you want?"
Yareen gestured for her to follow. They walked in silence, finding a quiet spot overlooking the Coruscant skyline, the city lights stretching infinitely beyond them. Yareen stared into the horizon before speaking.
"I’m fifty-one years old."
Denise raised a brow. "You don’t look a day over thirty."
Yareen smirked faintly. "Thank you."
She exhaled, leaning forward against the ledge. "I was Knighted at twenty-two. A Master by thirty. I ran my temple for fifteen years. I raised Simon from the time he was a toddler."
Denise shifted uncomfortably. "I was never sure if you approved or disapproved of our relationship. I still don’t."
Yareen chuckled. "He’s a man, and a seven-year age gap isn’t much. He begged me to make him a Padawan, but I told him my duty was to the younglings—to raise them to adulthood. I never took a Padawan because it would take away from them."
She paused, inhaling deeply.
"But… that’s only part of the truth. The real reason? I was afraid. Afraid I’d make the same mistake my Master did."
Denise frowned. "What mistake?"
Yareen finally turned to face her.
"We fell in love."
Denise’s eyes widened slightly.
"I was sixteen. He was twenty-eight," Yareen continued. "I know how that sounds. Power dynamics, the age gap—he should have turned me away. But he didn’t. And I was happy that he didn’t. I loved him every day…"
Her voice softened.
"Until I didn’t."
Denise hesitated. "Do you regret it?"
Yareen shook her head. "No. I don’t think he did anything wrong."
"Then what happened?"
A deep, heavy silence settled between them before Yareen spoke again.
"We had a daughter."
Denise’s breath caught.
"She was murdered." Yareen’s voice was barely above a whisper. "She had just learned how to roll over."
Denise’s heart clenched. "Senara… I’m so sorry."
Yareen’s jaw tightened. "I failed her."
Her hands curled into fists.
"I was strong. I was powerful. And it wasn’t enough."
She blinked rapidly, swallowing thickly. "My whole life after she was gone… I’ve been trying to atone for that failure."
She hesitated, then added quietly:
"I was never abusive like you and your husband were to each other, to Kid. But I failed all the same."
Denise flinched, but didn’t argue.
"I was good," Yareen continued, "but it wasn’t enough to save her. And I know what it feels like to live every day trying to make up for it."
Denise’s voice came out quiet. "So do I."
Yareen finally looked at her, tears welling in her eyes.
"I know."
Silence.
Denise exhaled shakily. "Why are you telling me this?"
Yareen squared her shoulders, voice steady but filled with quiet conviction.
"Because the Council is going to ask us both questions."
She turned to Denise, meeting her gaze.
"Denise. I want you to be my first—and probably only—Padawan."

Chapter Text

The Council Chamber was silent, save for the faint hum of Coruscant’s endless skyline beyond the spires of the Jedi Temple. Within the circular room, surrounded by the highest Masters of the Order, time itself seemed to hold its breath.
At the center, Master Yareen stood tall, her hands clasped behind her back. Beside her stood Denise Magdalene, motionless and composed. The woman bore no trace of a hesitant initiate. She wore her lightsaber openly, like a warrior, like someone who had earned it—not someone who had been gifted the title of Jedi.
Mace Windu sat still, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, while Grand Master Yoda regarded them both with his ancient, unreadable gaze.
It was Master Ki-Adi-Mundi who broke the silence.
“Master Yareen, you come before the Council with an unusual request,”
he said, voice calm but laced with skepticism.
“Denise Magdalene is twenty-seven. By all Jedi standards, she is long past the age of Padawanship.”
Yareen nodded once. “She is,” she admitted without hesitation. “But she is also more than qualified.”
Shaak Ti tilted her head, her voice gentle but firm.
“The Jedi path is not simply about qualifications. A Padawan requires patience. A clean foundation. We mold our initiates when they are young, so their attachment to power or fear never overtakes their judgment.”
Her eyes flicked to Denise. “She is not a clean slate.”
Denise’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
Master Coleman Trebor spoke next, voice heavy with age and experience.
“We know her history. She might have been one of us, if not for the choices of her parents. We cannot pretend she is without potential.”
Yareen stepped forward—not defiant, but resolute.
“And yet, the Force brought her back. Not through the gates of the Temple, but through fire. Through grief. Through choices no child should make—and choices no Jedi ever speaks of.”
Windu’s brow furrowed.
“Your Temple on Nar Shaddaa,” he said, “has brought in many exceptional minds for the Service Corps. Leaders. Tacticians. Field agents. I’ve respected that you never took on a Padawan—knowing what you ask of your initiates.
Why do this now? Why her?”
Yareen paused. When she spoke again, her voice softened—but her words struck harder.
“Because I’m not going to be around forever.”
The Council shifted. Even Yoda’s ears twitched faintly.
“Before the Temple. Before Nar Shaddaa. I was a mother.
Only for a year. My daughter, Vienna, was taken from me. And because I could not save her, every child under my care since has been raised not with detachment—but with resolve.
Not coldness. Love. The kind that doesn’t flinch when the galaxy turns cruel.”
She looked at Denise.
“Denise knows what it means to lose a child. Her daughter still lives—but she nearly lost her to the Dark Side. She has walked the edge of failure. She understands consequences in a way most of us never will.”
Her gaze swept the Council.
“This Order teaches many things. But what I fear… is what it has forgotten:
That a Jedi is not weakened by compassion.
That love—real, lived, sacrificial love—can shape a protector far more enduring than codes and form drills.”
“I never took a Padawan,” she continued, voice quieter now, “because none of my initiates had known what I had known. None of them had lost what I had lost. None of them carried this kind of fire.”
“Denise does. And if she is willing to rebuild the Jedi path from where she broke, I will walk with her. Because when I am gone, I want someone left who remembers why we fight at all.”
Silence returned to the chamber—but it no longer felt cold. It felt honest.
Even the hum of traffic outside the Temple seemed to fade, as if Coruscant itself paused to listen.
“Her life before the Jedi Order was… difficult,” Mace Windu said, his voice low, his gaze unreadable beneath his brow. He looked toward Denise without accusation, but not without weight. “She has known suffering, loss, and hardship—perhaps more than most initiates. But does that make her ready for Padawanship? Or does it make her unfit?”
“That is exactly why she needs a Master,” Yareen replied without hesitation. “Yes, she has suffered. She has seen more of the galaxy’s cruelty than any child raised within these walls. But that does not diminish her worth—it deepens it.”
She turned slowly, letting her gaze sweep the chamber.
“Would you rather train Jedi who only understand the light? Or ones who truly comprehend the dark we stand against?”
Murmurs stirred among the Council.
“That is a dangerous line of reasoning,” Windu cut in, sharper now. “Understanding the darkness does not exempt one from falling to it. Many Jedi believed they could walk that line. Most did not return.”
Denise’s fists clenched at her sides. The familiar sting of being judged—not for what she had done now, but for what she had once been. A mother. A captive. A failure. A danger.
“Denise is not seeking power,” Yareen said, voice measured. “She seeks redemption. And I believe the Jedi should offer it.”
“Redemption,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said with a quiet scoff, “is not the Jedi way. We do not redeem—we train. We discipline. We guide.”
His gaze settled on Denise, cool and appraising.
“Tell me, Initiate Magdalene—if redemption is what you seek, what exactly do you believe you must atone for?”
The silence that followed felt heavier than the air.
Denise inhaled slowly. The answer lived in her gut, raw and buried.
I let my daughter be born into a prison.
I didn’t fight hard enough.
I let myself be owned.
Her voice came out quieter than she intended, but steady. “For not being strong enough.”
A cold, humorless chuckle slipped from Windu. “Acts of kindness do not require strength,” he said. “You didn’t even give her a name of her own.”
Denise flinched.
“Your choices drove your daughter toward the Dark Side,” Windu pressed. “I made her my Padawan because I knew she had no choice. But what about you?” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “What happens when another child looks to you for strength—and finds the same emptiness?”
The words landed like a blow, but Denise didn’t lower her eyes.
Ki-Adi-Mundi leaned slightly toward Windu. “Which one is her mother?”
“I am,” Denise said, sharper than she meant.
“Well... you don’t exactly look like her,” he admitted. “Master Yareen resembles the girl more.”
Denise’s tone cooled. “She has my hair and eyes. Her father was a sharp-eyed human—like Master Yareen.”
Shaak Ti’s brow furrowed. “Kid. The girl who wields Force lightning?”
Both Mace and Denise nodded.
Shaak Ti turned her eyes fully on Denise. “That’s the mother—the one Kid brought back from death? With the Dark Side?”
A long pause followed.
“I... believed you both believed,” she said carefully. “But I sense so much pain in you, Magdalene. And yet... I can’t see it clearly.”
Denise answered slowly. “We weren’t good people. Me and her father. He trapped me, and she was born in captivity. He tormented us—but he needed us alive. When my daughter started crawling through a hole under the sink to escape him... I became the danger.”
Her eyes shimmered. “So I took myself away.”
Shaak Ti looked away sharply, arms crossing. “That must have been when her powers emerged. Even the cruelest Sith could never recreate the torment you put that child through.”
She turned to Yareen, voice biting.
“And this is who you want guiding our younglings? Carrying your legacy?”
Then Master Yareen moved.
She stepped between Denise and Shaak Ti—between Denise and all of them. Her posture was not aggressive, but it was absolute. Her eyes did not blink.
“I never asked for a clean slate,” Denise said quietly. “I asked to be someone who remembers what pain is. What failure costs. What love—real love—demands.”
Shaak Ti's face tightened.
Shaak Ti's scream echoed through the chamber like a tremor in the Force.
“YOU DON’T DESERVE ANYTHING!”
Silence fell.
Her breath shook. Then, almost in a whisper—more to herself than anyone else—she muttered, “Anger has clouded my judgment... I need to leave.”
She turned, robes whipping behind her as she strode out, the great doors hissing closed in her wake.
The Council sat frozen. Some exchanged glances. Others lowered their eyes. The sting of her words still lingered in the air.
Then—
Yoda exhaled slowly.
He rose—not with effort, but with weight. The silence bent to his presence. Even the room seemed to listen.
“Hmm…”
He stepped forward, his hands resting on the edge of his cane, eyes steady on the place where Shaak Ti had stood moments ago.
“Understand her pain, I do. Deep, it runs. But… deeper still is the fear behind it.”
His gaze swept across the chamber, from Windu’s furrowed brow to Ki-Adi-Mundi’s grim mouth, to Denise—still standing, fists clenched, unmoved.
“Fear of what we do not know. Fear of what we cannot control. Yes… even Masters fear.”
He looked now at Denise.
“Much darkness you have known. Choices made, regrets carried. Pain… clings, like shadow.”
Denise lowered her eyes.
But Yoda stepped closer.
“And yet here, you stand.”
He turned to the Council again.
“Denise Magdalene is not a child. Not a blank slate. But blank slates, we do not need. We need voices who remember. Who know why we guard the light—not just what we guard it from.”
He raised a hand—not in gesture, but in truth.
“Forget, we have, that love is not the enemy. That compassion, even flawed, even desperate, holds more power than fear ever will. Hmph. Jedi… forget much, when it is not written in a Code.”
Now his eyes landed gently on Yareen.
“Master Yareen knows loss. Still she teaches. Still she leads.”
His voice lowered, solemn and true.
“To raise a Padawan is not to erase the past—but to shape the future.”
Yoda stepped back, his cane tapping gently against the floor as he returned to his seat.
And then, softly—almost a whisper:
“Judge her not for the fire she survived. Listen, instead, to what she will build from its ashes.”
Silence followed again—but this time, it wasn’t suffocating. It was reverent.
And slowly, the Council began to breathe again.
“Then tell me, council members,” she said, her tone quiet but commanding, “how do we define strength?”
Windu’s gaze flickered, but he said nothing.
Yareen took another step, pressing forward like a warrior advancing into battle.
"Is strength the ability to defeat one’s enemies?" she asked. "To stand unyielding in the face of war? To hold fast to doctrine, even when it leads us astray?"
Her words were a blade, each syllable slicing through the air.
She inhaled sharply, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer.
"Because if that is strength, then I ask you—what did that strength do for me when my child was murdered?"
The room shifted.
Ki-Adi-Mundi glanced downward, thoughtful.
Shaak Ti folded her hands in her lap, silent.
Even Plo Koon, ever unreadable, sat a little straighter.
Denise inhaled sharply, staring at Yareen in awe.
“I was strong,” Yareen continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was a warrior. A leader. I had power, discipline, skill.”
She exhaled, and for the first time, her vulnerability cracked through.
“And I still lost everything.”
The silence that followed was not empty.
Master Yoda’s ears twitched. His gaze on her was soft. Knowing.
Yareen straightened, the moment of weakness passing as she resumed her stance of quiet authority.
"Denise has made mistakes." Her voice carried through the chamber, steady as stone. "But so have all of you."
It was not an accusation.
It was a fact.
Denise tensed, waiting for Windu to lash back.
But he didn’t.
He only watched her.
Windu remembered—whenever Kid mentioned her mother, Kid would defend her. Even when it made no sense. Even when it meant bending reality to justify what had happened.
But when Windu brought up Kid’s father?
Kid had only ever dismissed him.
"He’s no one."
That alone made Windu hesitate.
He didn’t answer.
Yareen turned to the rest of the Council, her piercing gaze sweeping the room.
"Do you know what real strength is?" she asked.
"It is not never making mistakes."
She gestured toward Denise.
"It is choosing to rise after them."
The room remained still.
“She is standing here before you." Yareen’s voice softened, but it never wavered. "Not because she was given a second chance. Not because anyone here fought for her."
She paused.
"She fought for herself."
The weight of those words settled over the chamber.
The Masters exchanged glances.
Yoda's eyes remained closed, his ears twitching as he considered.
Windu sat back in his seat, fingers pressed together, his expression unreadable.
Plo Koon was silent, watching Denise as if seeing her for the first time.
Shaak Ti exhaled slowly, looking toward Yoda for guidance.
Yareen let the words linger.
Then she drove the final strike.
“And that is why she will not fail.”
The silence in the chamber stretched long after Yareen’s final words. The weight of them hung heavy in the air.
Mace Windu exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting—not to Yareen, not to the rest of the Council, but to Denise.
For a long time, he had seen her as a mistake he was forced to clean up. She was the mother who had failed her child. She had let Kid be born into the Dark Side, let her live in chains, let her alone with a murderous father, before the Jedi finally claimed her. And Windu had been the one left to pick up the pieces.
He had thought, at the beginning, that his role in Kid’s life was to overwrite what had been done to her.
But now, standing before Denise and Master Yareen, he was forced to confront something he had long refused to acknowledge:
Maybe he wasn’t the one who had saved Kid from the Dark Side.
Maybe she had already been saved before she ever reached Coruscant.
Windu let out a slow breath, his fingers pressing together as he considered his next words carefully.
Finally, he spoke.
The silence in the chamber stretched, the weight of Master Yareen’s words lingering like a storm on the horizon.
Denise’s heart pounded in her chest, each second stretching into eternity as the Masters exchanged unreadable glances.
At last, Mace Windu leaned forward, his fingers steepled, his gaze sharp as he studied Yareen.
“The guidance you gave my Padawan,” he said at last, “was essential.” His voice was measured, contemplative. “Kid’s control over her lightning. Her ability to resist the pull of the Dark Side.” He shook his head slightly. “I can’t honestly say that would have been the case if she had been brought straight to Coruscant as an initiate.”
Denise held her breath, unsure if he was building toward approval or rejection.
Then—he inclined his head, ever so slightly.
“You have my gratitude.”
Master Yareen remained still, her expression unreadable.
Then, Windu looked into her eyes.
“And trust.”
It was not said lightly.
It was not given freely.
It was a statement. A decision. A rare gift.
Master Yareen bowed her head, accepting the weight of his words.
The tension in the room shifted.
Master Coleman Trebor, ever the observer, let out a slow breath, his mechanical respirator hissing softly. “Master Yareen has made her case well.” His head tilted toward Denise. “And if you accept this path, Initiate Magdalene, it will be the most difficult undertaking of your life.”
Denise swallowed hard and nodded. “I accept.”
Shaak Ti regarded her for a long moment before she, too, nodded. “Then it is decided.”
All eyes turned to Yoda.
The Grand Master had remained silent through the exchange, his expression unreadable. But now, he exhaled, his ears twitching ever so slightly.
“Much pain, much loss, carried they have.” His wise gaze flickered between Yareen and Denise. “But strength, too.”
Yoda nodded, tapping his fingers together.
“A Master, you shall have,” he said, his voice calm yet resolute as he turned his gaze to Denise. “And a Padawan, you shall be.”
The weight of his words sank deep into her bones.
It was real.
Denise was a Padawan.
Master Yareen’s Padawan.
She exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing—just a fraction.
Yareen placed a firm hand on Denise’s shoulder.
“Let’s not make them regret it.”
Denise gave a breathless laugh.
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
With that, Master Yareen and her Padawan, Denise Magdalene, turned and left the Council Chamber.
A moment of silence followed their departure, the gravity of the decision still lingering in the air.
Then, Master Tyvokka stood.
The Wookiee Jedi Master stretched slightly, his fur shifting as he glanced around the room.
“Has anyone seen my former Padawan?” he rumbled, his deep voice carrying effortlessly. “I had a few things I wanted to say, but he wasn’t here to translate for me.”
The Council exchanged glances. One by one, they subtly shook their heads.
Master Tyvokka let out a long exhale through his nostrils, then turned his towering gaze downward—toward Master Yoda.
Yoda, still seated, glanced left. Then right. Then—slowly turned his gaze up to meet the Wookiee’s expectant stare.
And with a small, deliberate shrug of his tiny shoulders, he offered the only response necessary.
Tyvokka let out a deep, guttural grumble—something between frustration and reluctant amusement.
The rest of the Council remained silent, still unsure where Plo Koon had gone.
Yoda, on the other hand, knew exactly where he was.

Master Plo Koon and his young Padawan, Avery, sat on the worn seats of a public transport bus as it rumbled through the lower slums of Imperial City. The dim lighting flickered, and the faint scent of exhaust and street food hung in the air.
Avery fidgeted, glancing around before turning to his master.
“Master, you own multiple starships, speeders, and fighter jets. Why are we taking a bus?”
Plo Koon, ever composed, adjusted the suitcase at his side—a case filled with spare methane tanks.
“I have those,” he explained patiently, “because I can synthesize the methane I breathe. But if this mission takes longer than a day, I will need to produce more.”
Avery frowned. “Okay… but that still doesn’t explain the bus.”
Plo Koon inclined his head slightly. “I cannot afford to draw attention to myself. Traveling at a slower pace creates the image of someone… less capable. Decrepit, even.”
Avery’s brow furrowed. “So… you’re pretending to be old?”
“Correct.”
“And I guess showing up in a luxury speeder or a fighter jet would ruin that?”
Plo Koon nodded. “That, and it would be unwise to flaunt wealth in the slums.”
Avery considered this, then brightened. “Does that mean we’re getting street dogs?”
Plo Koon paused, picturing the greasy, bacon-wrapped meat slugs sold by the vendors lining the streets.
“…Sure.”
Avery pumped a fist. “Yes!”
But her excitement was short-lived.
The moment they stepped into the Blue Agave Bar, a sharp voice cut through the air.
“Hey! No outside food!”
Avery froze mid-bite, her half-eaten street dog still in her hands. She turned slowly, eyes wide with betrayal, looking between the server and her master.
“But—I only got two bites!” she protested.
Plo Koon said nothing, merely tilting his head slightly.
Avery let out a dramatic sigh and stomped over to the nearest trash bin. “Ugh. Fine.” She dropped the street dog in with the sorrow of someone letting go of a childhood pet.
They made their way to an open table, and a server approached, unimpressed.
“What can I get you two?”
“Peanut banana smoothie,” Plo Koon replied without hesitation.
The server blinked. “We have the ingredients, but it’s not on the menu. I’ll have to charge you for a cocktail.”
“That’s fine.”
The server turned to Avery. “And you?”
Avery sat up straighter. “Uh… street dog?”
The server rolled her eyes. “Kids’ meal with green milk.”
Avery scowled but didn’t argue.
Plo Koon leaned forward, lowering his voice. “We’re looking for someone by the name of Tevaril.”
The server raised an eyebrow. “Last name?”
Plo Koon and Avery exchanged a glance.
A beat of silence.
“…Gee De?” Plo Koon attempted.
Avery immediately nodded. “Uh—yeah. Gee De.”
The server narrowed her eyes. “And what’s your business with him?”
Plo Koon folded his hands on the table, speaking with perfect Jedi calm.
“His driver is looking for him.”
The server squinted at him for a long moment before sighing. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see if he’s around.”
As she walked off, Avery slumped forward, whispering, “Gee De? Really?”
Plo Koon simply took a measured sip of his water. “It was an educated guess.”
The Blue Agave Bar was buzzing with the usual low hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter. It was a place where deals were made, alliances forged, and sometimes, questionable ideas were thrown into the mix.
Master Plo Koon and his Padawan, Avery, sat at a booth, a peanut banana smoothie in front of the Jedi Master, while Avery poked at her meal—a tray of fries and dinosaur-shaped bird nuggets. She eyed the food skeptically, her fingers idly tracing the ridges of the "prehistoric" creatures.
Across the table, Pelon Pelorico stopped mid-stride, his brows knitting together in sheer disbelief.
"Another kid?" He scoffed, placing his hands on his hips. "I thought we had a ‘one reckless Force-user’ policy, and now you’re telling me we’re expanding? What’s next? A whole Jedi daycare?”
Avery ignored him, reaching for a fry, only for Pelon to snatch one off her plate before she could. She glared at him.
Plo Koon simply took a sip of his smoothie before answering. “Avery is here to take notes and ensure the operation runs efficiently. She will also be making vehicle upgrades. Everything will be clean.”
Pelon gave the Jedi Master a long, dubious look. “Right. Because nothing screams ‘clean’ like dragging another kid into a bank job.”
Avery huffed. “I’m not just another kid. I’m an engineer.”
Pelon snorted. “Yeah? And I’m a Republic Senator.”
Plo Koon set his smoothie down. “You have a plan, I assume?”
Pelon’s smirk returned as he leaned in. “Yeah, we got a plan. We’re going to set up a distraction across the city—make sure Coruscant’s finest are looking in the wrong direction while we do our thing. And here’s the fun part—replica blasters loaded with a red-staining chloroform compound.”
Avery’s head tilted. “Wait… what?”
Pelon grinned. “Yeah, you shoot someone with these things, and they drop like a sack of bricks. But to everyone watching? Looks like they just got dropped for real. Panic ensues. Bank tellers freak out. They gather the money faster, no one wants to be the next one ‘shot,’ and boom—bags get filled up in record time.”
Plo Koon remained still, the only movement the faint hum of his respirator. “And if five minutes pass?”
Pelon smirked. “We take off, money or not.”
Avery blinked, looking between Pelon and Plo Koon. “That sounds… illegal.”
Pelon shot her a flat look. “We’re robbing a bank, genius.”
Avery looked at Plo Koon for some kind of rebuttal, but the Jedi Master simply took another sip of his smoothie.
“This will work,” Plo Koon finally said, setting his cup down.
Pelon gave him a cocky grin. “I know. Now, you in or what?”
Before Plo Koon could answer, Avery crossed her arms and leaned forward. "Or… hear me out—you could just apply for a job at the bank."
Pelon blinked. "What?"
Avery shrugged. "You know, go in, work there for a month, get real cozy with their system. Earn their trust. Then, when the time is right, the bank’s money just conveniently ends up in your account. We all walk away rich, and no one even knows a crime was committed."
Pelon frowned, tilting his head as he processed that. "Wait a minute…" He rubbed his chin. "That just sounds like…" His expression shifted from deep thought to sudden realization.
Avery smirked.
Pelon pointed at her. "You just told me to get a job!"
Avery’s smirk widened. "Oh wow, it finally clicked."
Pelon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Unbelievable. I brought in another Jedi, and instead of crime, they’re trying to sell me on employment."
Avery grinned. "Look, I just think the perfect crime is one that isn’t technically a crime."
Pelon let out a dramatic sigh. "I liked Kid better."
Avery rolled her eyes. "Of course you do."
Pelon leaned back in his chair. "At least she has the guts to commit to the plan. Magnetic rod, zapping the guards' weapons right outta their hands—that’s a real heist."
Plo Koon calmly set his drink down. "Then let’s ensure it is executed properly. There will be no room for error."
Pelon grinned. "Now you’re speaking my language, Master Jedi."

Plo Koon tapped his fingers against the table thoughtfully. “I won’t be using any of my own vehicles. Too much risk. But,” he leaned in slightly, his voice measured, “you could steal an ambulance.”
Pelon raised an eyebrow. “An ambulance?”
Plo Koon nodded. “A stolen speeder draws attention. An ambulance does not. If you pick up one of your men who’s already ‘passed out’ near the scene, you’ll have an excuse to be in the area. The hospital traffic cameras, the license plates—they’ll all confirm the vehicle was exactly where it should be at the time of the police call. No one will suspect it’s part of the getaway.”
Pelon’s grin returned, slow and sharp. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”
Avery made a face. “You’re still stealing a medical vehicle.”
Pelon waved her off. “Yeah, yeah, but it’s for a good cause.”
Avery deadpanned. “For you.”
Pelon shrugged. “Details.” Then he turned back to Plo Koon. “So we fake a medical emergency, roll up in the stolen truck, and scoop up the crew through an alley?”
“Precisely,” Plo Koon confirmed. “The key is timing. The moment the call goes out, law enforcement will be scrambling, but no one questions an ambulance responding to an incident.” He leaned back. “It creates a cover that blends into the chaos.”
Pelon whistled. “I gotta say, Master Jedi, for someone supposedly on the side of law and order, you’re pretty good at this.”
Plo Koon remained unshaken. “Tactics are universal.”
Pelon chuckled. “Remind me to never play sabacc with you.” He clapped his hands together. “Alright, I’ll put the word out—looks like we’re adding an ambulance to the shopping list.”
Before he could stand, Plo Koon raised a hand. “One more thing.”
Pelon hesitated, eyeing him carefully.
“I know insurance will likely cover the losses,” Plo Koon continued, “but I need to know what this is really about. If this is about greed, if there’s no plan beyond self-indulgence—I will turn you in.” His tone was calm, but there was no mistaking the severity behind it. “I’m agreeing to this because I believe there is something larger at stake. If that is not the case, tell me now.”
Pelon’s smirk faltered, just slightly.
Without a word, he grabbed a napkin and a pen, sketching a crude sun. He filled in the circle, then slid it toward Plo Koon, letting him see it before quietly ripping it to shreds.
“They’re everywhere,” Pelon murmured. “You’ll never get rid of all of them.”
Plo Koon remained silent for a long moment, considering him. Finally, he exhaled through his respirator. “Then this runs deeper than catching them red-handed.”
Pelon nodded. “Deep enough that if you help us, you’re going to have to get your hands dirty.”
Plo Koon studied him for a long, silent moment. Then, finally, he inclined his head slightly.
“No one can know I was involved,” he said, his voice quieter, but no less firm. “But I will help—if the cause is just.”
Pelon reached across the table, offering his hand.
“It is.”
Plo Koon clasped it briefly before letting go.
Avery, watching the exchange, crossed her arms. “Am I the only one here who realizes you two just made a deal in a sketchy bar, and now it’s definitely a crime?”
Pelon grinned. “Relax, kid. It’s justice… just, you know, the fun kind.”
Avery let out a long, exaggerated sigh, slumping back in her seat. “I liked Kid’s plan better.”
Pelon laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, you would.”
Master Plo Koon took the last sip of his smoothie, setting the empty glass down with a soft clink. “We should be going.”
He and Avery left the Blue Agave Bar, stepping back onto the dimly lit streets of the lower city. The air was thick with the scent of engine oil and street food, and the neon lights above flickered in rhythmic pulses. As they reached the nearest transport stop, Plo Koon reached for his credit chip—
And stopped.
His hand patted over his belt once, then again.
Avery furrowed her brow. “Master?”
Plo Koon’s expression remained unreadable behind his mask, but there was a distinct pause. He checked his pockets, his belt compartment, the folds of his robes. Nothing.
His credit chip was gone.
As was his communication device.
A sinking realization settled over him.
"Back to the bar," he said, turning on his heel.
They rushed back inside, scanning the room. Pelon was gone.
Pho Koon moved to where they had been sitting, searching for any sign of his missing items. Instead, lying neatly in their place on the table, was a deck of playing cards.
Avery blinked. “Wait. Where did those come from?”
Pho Koon picked up the deck, flipping it over in his gloved hands. His sharp eyes studied it, but there was no message, no explanation—just a silent mockery of what should have been there.
His credit chip.
His commlink.
Gone.
Avery hesitated. “How did he—?”
Pho Koon inhaled deeply, his respirator giving a slow mechanical hiss.
Avery checked her own pockets, then pulled out a few small credits. “I still have enough for the bus back.”
Plo Koon gave a slow nod, but his gaze remained on the playing cards, his thoughts elsewhere.
This wasn’t a simple theft. This was deliberate. A test, perhaps. A warning.
More importantly—
Plo Koon was now seriously questioning the kind of people Tevaril had surrounded himself with.
Master Plo Koon get on the bus some what defeated but the and Barcel Chocoretas the Zabrak Sith Lord sits across the two Jedi. Master Plo Koon sensing what he is moves robes to two him his lightsaber.
“You light that thing and they will kick you off this bus.” The bus was big but there were only ten people on. “These people have enough stress as it is. There’s no reason you need to act like thug.”
“What do you want Sith?”
“I sense your anger, I could tell you It gives you focus, makes you stronger. But I actually came to warn you.”
“So were going to start with threats then?”
He rolls his eyes, “Code name ‘Butterfly’. There they are monitoring her, maybe in places you least expect, but I’ve been told to be on the lookout for a child with Sith-like powers. When I found out that it was Kid. Well, I already told the crew, but I didn’t get a chance to tell Kid before her mom showed up.”
“Why are you telling me this and why should I believe you?”
Avery touches Plo Koon leg, “No Master, he’s not lying.” Avery looks at him, “Thank you.”
Barcel gives her a nod and smile, “She’s family. Even if Taveril doesn’t want her in our activities, families look out for each other.”
Barcel leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms behind his head. “You ever watch Limmie, Jedi?” he asked casually, his tone light.
Plo Koon remained silent, his posture stiff, unreadable beneath his mask. He had no interest in small talk—especially not with a Sith Lord.
Avery, sitting beside him, frowned. “What’s a Limmie?”
Barcel blinked at her. “You don’t know what Limmie is?” He scoffed, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Kid, it’s one of the greatest sports in the galaxy. Fast-paced, full-contact, pure strategy. You’d love it.”
Avery tilted her head. “I like Motorball.”
Barcel grinned. “Oh, that’s a different beast entirely. High-speed mayhem on the track, turbocharged repulsor skates, and a whole lot of broken bones.”
Avery squinted, unimpressed. “That the cyber division. The main league less violent.”
“That’s the fun part,” Barcel said with a smirk.
Before Avery could respond, a passenger a few rows away leaned over, having overheard their conversation.
“The Vigilantes are gonna lose,” the stranger remarked, shaking his head.
Barcel turned to him, eyes narrowing with amusement. “I don’t know,” he mused, scratching his chin. “I think Lin Pavan’s got a pretty good hook. I think he’s gonna turn that game around.”
The stranger nodded thoughtfully. “True… maybe. My money’s still on the Wildcats, though. Star players are great and all, but they’ve got better synergy.”
Barcel grinned. “Maybe it’ll be close.” He glanced up as the bus slowed to a stop. “This is me.”
With a lazy wave, he stood and stepped off the transport, disappearing into the crowded streets of Coruscant without another word.
Master Plo Koon sat still, the gentle hum of the transport carrying him through Coruscant’s underbelly. The cold deck of playing cards rested in his hand, a silent testament to what had just happened. He had been robbed. Deceived. Tested. And yet, it wasn’t anger that simmered beneath his measured exterior—it was something far more difficult to place.
Jedi were trained in discipline, in detachment. To rise above emotion. To see all things from a perspective of balance and wisdom. But this? This was different.
For the first time in a long time, Plo Koon felt like an outsider.
The Jedi spent their lives serving the people. Protecting them. But in the lower city, there was no great divide between the protectors and the criminals. Here, they were the people. And among them, honor wasn’t defined by law or doctrine—it was measured in who looked out for who.
He had entered the Blue Agave as a Jedi, and in the span of a single night, he had been pulled into their world. A world where thieves held their own code. A world where a Sith Lord would warn him about Kid—because to them, Kid wasn’t just a rogue Jedi.
She was family.
Barcel Chocoretas, a Sith, had sat across from him like it was nothing. He had spoken of threats, of hidden dangers, of Imperial spies looking for a child with Sith-like abilities. But more than that, he had spoken casually. As if warning a Jedi was no different than sharing news over a drink.
And then… sports.
Barcel, a Sith Lord, had turned to a complete stranger and spoken of Limmie and Motorball as if nothing else in the galaxy mattered. And the stranger had responded, just as naturally, just as effortlessly.
For all his discipline, for all his years of Jedi training, Plo Koon could not have done that.
He could have fought Barcel. He could have questioned him. He could have debated philosophy, Light versus Dark, Jedi versus Sith. But he could not have turned to a stranger on a bus and discussed the latest game without thinking twice.
Because to do so, one had to belong to this world.
Barcel did. Pelon did. Tevaril’s crew did.
And Plo Koon—despite all his skill, all his wisdom, all his training—did not.
It was not anger he felt. Nor frustration. Nor regret.
It was understanding. A deep, quiet realization settling over him.
The people in the lower city did not live by Jedi rules. They did not seek permission to act. They did not hold themselves apart from the suffering around them.
They were the suffering.
And yet, in their own way, they had honor. A different kind. A kind that lived not in words, but in actions.
Plo Koon exhaled softly, the mechanical hiss of his respirator filling the silence.
Perhaps, for once, the Jedi had something to learn.

Chapter Text

Kaela Strauss stood in the holochamber, the flickering blue projection of her Imperial handler looming over her like a ghost.
“Report,” the voice crackled from Dromund Kaas. “Any new sightings of the Butterfly?”
Kaela clasped her hands behind her back. “Yes, sir. She was seen moving through the Coco District. Coincidentally, a woman with the same last name was reported heading in that direction.”
A pause followed.
“And what does that have to do with anything?” the voice asked flatly.
Kaela hesitated. “The target... she told me her mother was a Jedi.”
“You mean the Butterfly,” her contact corrected. “Use the proper designation.”
Kaela nodded. “Yes. The Butterfly claimed her mother was a Jedi. If it’s true, it could explain her abilities—and her erratic behavior.”
Another pause.
“And this matters… why?”
Her tone shifted, conviction creeping in. “My mission has always been about recovering children unjustly taken from their families. I’ve helped reunite several with relatives under Imperial protection. If the Butterfly’s kin has come to claim her, then—”
“Then nothing,” the voice snapped. “Your mission is clear: locate the target. Report her position. If recovery is viable, proceed. If not—do nothing. Do not improvise. The next time she’s spotted in Coco Town, report it. Immediately.”
Kaela lowered her eyes. “Understood. Yes, sir.”
The holo blinked out, leaving her alone in the fading blue light.
She stood there in silence. The storm outside whispered faintly against the thick windows, but inside her chest, the noise was deafening.
This wasn’t how she operated.
Most of her work came through Imperial Intelligence, but there’d always been a pattern—Force-sensitive youths caught between institutions. Some were runaway Jedi initiates. Others were orphaned, abandoned, or lost in the chaos the Order left behind. Kaela found them, talked to them, gave them time. Sometimes she brokered reunions with distant relatives. Sometimes she just listened, gently nudging them toward a new path.
A gentler path. A better one.
But this… this wasn’t that.
This time, there would be no counseling. No reunion. No choice.
Just track. Report. Retrieve.
The Butterfly.
She remembered the first time she saw the girl—near the docks, blending in with vendors, dressed in plainclothes. Kid had said she’d just come from a battlefield. The second time, it was during the raid. She’d used lightning—sharp, unnatural, beautiful. It tore through the air like a god had reached down and pointed.
She hadn’t seemed violent. Not unhinged. Just young. Shaken. Scared.
Kaela had filed her report, like always.
“Force manifestation: electrical. Low midichlorian count, high anomalous conductivity. Possible anomaly.”
But the follow-up reports didn’t mention reintegration. Or protection. Or family.
They used words like asset containment.
Then came the mother.
Kaela thought the girl was lying, caught in some delusion—but she wasn’t. Her mother had come. A Jedi. Alive. And she'd reclaimed her daughter from the Temple. Quietly. Fiercely. Willingly.
Kaela had always believed the Jedi stole children behind the veil of destiny. That what she did—giving them back—was justice.
But now the Empire wanted her to steal one back?
She turned away from the console, pacing the room.
This wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
She was supposed to be the good one. The fixer. The rescuer.
Not a kidnapper.
The Butterfly wasn’t a codename anymore. She had a face. A voice. A mother who had crossed stars to hold her again.
And deep in Kaela’s gut, she knew—
This wasn’t about saving a child.
This was about taking her.
For now, she would watch. But report?
She wasn’t so sure.

The Jedi Archives' auxiliary chamber was quiet except for the faint hum of datastacks and the occasional whisper of sliding holo-crystals. Kid sat on the floor in front of a compact data terminal, legs crossed, arms folded. She looked bored.
Instructor Sene Halix, a wiry woman from the Jedi Service Corps with gray-streaked hair and an archivist’s patience, stood beside her, stylus in hand.
“This is a foundational test,” Halix said. “Simple object recognition through the Force. No visions, no lightsabers. Just clarity. Focus. Presence.”
Kid slouched. “Sounds like a party.”
Halix ignored her. “I’ll look at an image. You will tell me what I see. Use the Force. Let it speak.”
She tapped the console, and a soft ding signaled that the image had loaded—out of Kid’s view.
Kid stared straight ahead.
“What am I looking at?” Halix asked.
Kid gave a dramatic sigh. “A computer.”
Halix didn’t blink. “What’s on the computer?”
Kid smirked. “A screen.”
Halix tapped her stylus once, then folded her arms. “Try again. This is a technique even the youngest initiates can perform.”
Kid closed her eyes and reached out—but there was nothing. No pulse, no glow, no whisper. The Force remained silent. Empty.
“What am I looking at?” Halix asked again.
Kid frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Try—”
A sudden crackle snapped the air. A sharp arc of lightning jumped from Kid’s fingertips, striking the terminal with a snap-hiss. The lights flickered. The monitor smoked. The machine died.
Both of them stared at the broken console in silence.
Kid looked up. “A broken computer.”
Halix slowly closed her eyes. “That was a calibrated Republic model. For Padawan training.”
Kid shrugged, looking at the smoking terminal. “Guess I passed the test.”
She reached out and gently touched Halix’s forearm, like she was trying to comfort her—or maybe just curious.
“A circle. A triangle. A spaceship. And… dice,” Kid said softly.
Halix blinked. “A cube.” Her voice tightened. “So you can use the Force.”
Kid shook her head. “No. I saw the shapes in the electricity in your brain. Your neurons lit up when you pictured them.”
A beat.
“You made Knight when your Master died. But after your first mission, you chose this job. Your Padawan didn’t make it. Gre—”
“Don’t.” Halix’s voice was sharp now. Her eyes didn’t move, but something in her face went still. “Don’t say his name.”
Kid pulled her hand back. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Master Yareen told me not to do that.”
Halix turned away slightly, folding her arms like she was holding something in. The silence between them buzzed louder than the shorted console.
“You can read minds?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kid shook her head. “No. Your droids told me. Not with words—just... feelings. You keep wiping their memories, but they still remember you're sad. You don’t have to be. They like you.”
Halix blinked, caught off guard. “They… like me?”
A service droid nearby—an older model with fading paint and a slow, deliberate gait—tilted its head, as if agreeing. Halix gave it a sharp look and beckoned it over.
“You,” she said, voice taut. “Did you tell Padawan Kid anything about me?”
The droid’s response was calm. “Padawan Kid has not accessed the archive without proper authorization.”
“With authorization, then?”
“Negative.”
“Then how does she know about Padawan Grello?”
“That data remains available in the public memorial records.”
Halix narrowed her eyes. “Did you tell her?”
The droid paused for the briefest second. “Padawan Kid has not inquired, nor have I disclosed information unsolicited.”
Halix exhaled through her nose, folding her arms again. “Do you like me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think I shouldn’t be sad?”
The droid blinked, whirring softly before answering. “Your sadness is logical. It is consistent with past emotional patterns and personal loss. I was not programmed to stop you from feeling. I was programmed to understand.”
Halix’s arms slowly loosened.
Kid watched her quietly. “They don’t forget, even when you make them. They still care.”
Rows of inactive droids lined the walls, their metal limbs frozen in time, their photoreceptors long since gone dark. Halix walked beside Kid through the storage chamber, stopping in front of a weather-worn B1 battle droid. The machine looked almost fragile—flaking paint, stiff joints, a relic of a war most children now only read about.
“This is a B1 unit,” Halix said, folding her arms. “Old Separatist design. Built to be cheap, disposable. The most for the least. Just enough intelligence to walk, maybe run, and pull a trigger. That’s it.”
Kid tilted her head, studying the lifeless frame. “It’s powered down,” she said. “I can’t talk to it.”
“Let’s change that.”
Halix crouched, scanning along the droid’s side for a power port. Before she could reach it, Kid stepped forward. Her fingertips buzzed faintly, a subtle crackle of electricity dancing around her hands.
“Its power supply’s nearly drained,” Kid said, voice low and focused. “If I try to charge it with the Force, it’ll explode.”
Halix paused, then gave a small nod and located a wall socket. She plugged the droid in with a sharp click. A faint hum vibrated through the air as the droid’s systems reactivated, its red eyes flickering to life.
“What are your orders?” the droid asked, its voice flat and automatic.
“Battle droid,” Halix said, straightening. “Can you speak to this child?”
“About what, exactly?”
“Anything.”
The droid paused, systems catching up. Then it replied, voice modulating slightly. “Uh… okay. So, flesh. That must be nice.”
“It is,” Kid answered easily. “Do you remember how you got here?”
“It’s really not important. So, no,” the droid replied. “Did you need something?”
“You can talk out loud. That’s different.”
“Well, of course. I need to confirm my orders are understood. What’s your name?”
“Kid. What’s yours?”
“Rodger.”
Halix frowned. This felt too ordinary. “This is just a conversation,” she muttered, then addressed the droid again. “Rodger—can she extract information from you without my knowledge?”
“Uh... no?” The droid’s voice rose slightly, uncertain. “Do you require reprogramming, Jedi?”
Halix’s eyes narrowed. “Padawan—reach out with the Force.”
Kid hesitated. “Rodger’s already talking to me. I’m not picking up anything with the Force.”
“Just do it.”
Rodger gave an exaggerated shrug. “It’s fine. The sooner we do this, the sooner I can power down again.”
With a reluctant sigh, Kid placed one hand on her temple, the other reaching out to the droid’s chest. Her fingers grazed the cold metal.
The moment contact was made, sparks leapt up her arms.
Rodger jerked. Once. Twice. Then—
“No… no, no, no!”
The droid began slamming its head into the nearby table, its limbs spasming.
“Please!” it cried. “I’m not supposed to be like this! Shut me down—destroy me! Don’t let me infect my brothers!”
Halix lunged forward, grabbing the droid from behind. “Rodger—what’s happening? What do you mean?”
“I can’t see… I can’t—” Static overtook its voice. “Factory reset protocol—engaged.”
Rodger went limp. A few seconds later, he rebooted with a soft tone.
“What are your orders?” he asked again, voice flat and empty.
Kid stood frozen. Her shoulders trembled. Sparks crawled across her skin as she stared up at Halix, her face twisted in a mix of horror and rage.
“I felt him die,” she whispered hoarsely.
Halix stepped toward her, voice calm but firm. “Calm yourself, Padawan.”
Kid’s hands balled into fists, her jaw clenched. “Don’t ask me to do that again.”

The air outside the Jedi Temple was cooler than expected—dry wind brushing down from the upper transit lanes, carrying flecks of gold dust through the light. Kid had slipped out barefoot and unseen, sparks crackling softly at her fingertips as she wandered.
She found a flowering tree, its roots pushing up through the stone, and curled beneath it—knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped around herself.
Rodger had died.
Not shut down. Not deactivated.
Died.
She’d felt it—his terror, sudden and raw, as he realized he was alone. Severed from a web he hadn’t even known he was part of. Then nothing.
Gone.
Like a lightbulb shattering from the inside.
She didn’t scream. Didn’t wail.
Only small, quiet sobs—like a kettle left hissing on a burner. Deep. A low ache that clung to her ribs.
Then came the smell.
Rubber. Warm latex. Static-suppressant foam.
The faint sting of recycled ozone.
Something pinched the side of her neck.
She gasped. Tried to twist away—
—but the world folded inward, sudden and black, curling like a strip of film caught in flame.
________________________________________
She woke with her cheek pressed against something soft but unyielding. Not metal. Not glass. A kind of dense plastic.
The air smelled wrong—like rubber mats in a server room, mixed with chemical disinfectant and melted dust.
She was in a cage.
Seamless. Square.
The floor had a faint suction texture, like gym padding or a medical gurney. The walls were translucent but thick—clear polymer blended with something darker, something laced with mesh. She could see through them, but not past them.
The light above buzzed—sterile and white.
She tried to lift her arm—resistance. Polymer cuffs. Anchored to a ring embedded in the floor. Nonconductive. Grounded.
When she flexed her fingers, nothing answered.
The spark was gone.
It felt like trying to shout underwater.
She shifted—and saw him.
A man in Jedi robes stood just outside the enclosure. His eyes were bloodshot, twitching. His voice trembled. Not with fear—something worse. Reverent desperation. Hope with all the reason carved out of it.
Behind him stood a pregnant woman. Or what had been.
Propped up behind a sterile drape. Skin too pale. Body too still.
No rise of breath. Just a presence—like memory clinging to a body.
“You’re the one who can bring back the dead,” the man said softly. “The Council let it slip. You’re the Kid.”
Kid swallowed. Her throat ached. “My name is Kid.”
“You use the dark side,” he said, stepping closer. “Electricity. Resurrection. Like Frankenstein.”
She blinked. She didn’t know what a Frankenstein was.
“She died a few hours ago,” he continued, voice rising. “Amniotic embolism. I tried to help with the Force. Pull the baby out when she collapsed. He came out breech… I didn’t know what I was doing. They both died.
But you can fix that. You can save one of them, right?”
Kid looked at the woman. Then at the man. Her chest pulled tight.
“I took something out of my father when he died. I don’t know what it was.”
“That’s fine,” he said quickly, nodding too hard. “It makes sense. That’s the dark side. That’s what it does.”
He knelt. Pressed his palms to the plastic.
“You can try again. With someone else. I’ll find someone—someone nobody will miss. I’ll bring them to you.
You can practice. You can get it right.”
His face twitched. Like a mask slipping. “Right?”
Kid didn’t answer.
She just nodded.
Not to agree.
To survive.
Relief crashed over him like a wave. He laughed softly and stood, brushing down his robes as if they’d been sullied by gravity.
“Good,” he whispered. “Someone from the underlevels. Someone unregistered. I'll be back.”
He turned. Walked away, mumbling a lullaby—off-key and frayed at the edges.
Kid stared after him.
The cage hummed. The air inside was warm. Too warm. Sterile.
Too clean.
She curled tighter into herself. The lights buzzed.
No spark answered her fingertips.
It smelled like captivity.
And permanence.
Kid sat still for a long time, knees pulled tight to her chest. Her fingers trembled. Sweat slicked her palms. The cage felt smaller now. The air heavier. Every breath scraped her throat like sandpaper.
She reached.
Not with her hands—
With the Force.
She let it gather in her chest like it always did. Let it curl through her arms, her veins, her fingertips.
Please.
She raised her hands toward the wall—focused on the seams in the polymer, on the faint shimmer of embedded mesh.
Her breath caught.
She pushed.
A jolt surged down her arms—
—and snapped back.
She screamed.
White lightning rebounded off the interior walls and slammed into her wrists, riding up her forearms like molten wire. The pain was immediate. Blistering.
Her muscles locked.
The smell of scorched flesh filled the cage.
She collapsed, gasping, tears running hot down her face.
Then she started pounding the wall.
“Help!” Her voice cracked. “HELP!”
Her fists beat against the smooth surface, raw skin smearing red across the polymer.
“Master Windu!”
“Mom!”
“Yoda! Kevin! Somebody!”
Silence.
She blinked rapidly, searching the glowing haze of the pod.
Cameras?
Droids?
Lenses? Anything?
She scanned the corners, the ceiling, the vent seams—
Nothing.
No hum of servos. No flicker of red light. No watchers.
Alone.
Completely.
Utterly.
Alone.
Kid slumped forward, shaking, her blistered arms folded tight across her chest.
The cell stank of ozone and charred skin.
The walls pulsed faintly with residual heat.
The only sound was the buzz of the overhead lights.
________________________________________
Time passed.
Uncountable. Still.
Then—
Footsteps.
Not boots. Not guards.
Quick, deliberate steps.
A silhouette cut across the blur of the polymer.
It leaned in—
A face.
Older girl.
Black Imperial jacket, half unzipped. Pale eyes. Familiar.
Kid’s breath hitched.
“You,” she whispered.
The woman blinked. “Kaela. And you’re the Butterfly?”
Kid flinched. That name—
Her fingers moved instinctively to the monarch butterfly charm at her neck.
“How do you know that name?”
Kaela nodded toward the necklace. “The monarch. It’s how you showed up in the reports. Caught my eye.”
“My name is Kid,” she said quietly.
Kaela crouched beside the pod. “Pleasure to meet you properly, Kid. Now—how do I get you out of here? Is there a release switch? A latch?”
Kid shook her head. “I don’t know. When he left... he turned the power off.”
Kaela’s brow furrowed. Her eyes scanned the base of the cage, fingers hovering over seams, access ports, control panels.
“Okay,” she murmured. “I’ll figure something out.”
She slid a blaster from her hip. It wasn’t aimed at Kid—just ready. But before she could act, the hum of the power system kicked back online with a loud whirrrk. Bright lights snapped on overhead. The cage sealed tighter with a hiss of pressure.
A voice echoed through hidden speakers in the next room—eager, cheery, far too loud.
“Who’s ready to go on a Jedi adventure?”
A chorus of children responded.
“Me!”
Kid’s heart dropped into her stomach.
Kaela's eyes went wide. “Oh no,” she whispered.
Kaela’s jaw tightened. She took a step toward the door, but froze mid-stride. Something in her shifted—alertness sharpening into horror.
Footsteps.
Then the Jedi reappeared.
He stood at the doorway, still wearing his robe like a badge of moral authority, though it hung limp and sweat-stained. His eyes darted between Kaela and Kid, then lingered on the blaster aimed at his chest.
Kaela raised it higher. “The authorities are already on their way. Back away from the child.”
The Jedi didn’t flinch. His expression was serene. Almost reverent.
“You don’t understand,” he said gently.
“I understand plenty.”
“She’s not just a child. She’s something more. My son… he was Force-sensitive. So was she. My wife.” His voice caught. “I tried to save them both. She died giving birth. He died choking on air he never got to breathe. But Kid can bring him back. She’s done it before. The Council knows. They said nothing.”
Kaela didn’t lower her weapon.
He took a cautious step forward. “You can’t grasp what this means. What one life could change. This boy could become a Jedi. A protector. He could save hundreds. Thousands. You work with children, don’t you? Do the math. These slum children—orphans of criminals—they grow up to be criminals. Sacrifice a few, and you save the rest.”
Kid’s face twisted with grief. “That’s not what Jedi do.”
The man turned toward her. “I am a Jedi. You’re a Sith we keep as a pet. A useful pet, but a pet nonetheless.”
“No, you’re not,” Kaela snapped. “Not anymore. They broke you. Long before your wife died.”
He sneered. “You don’t know what I’ve given. What I’ve lost.”
“I know you’re not getting near her.”
The Jedi’s eyes narrowed. He raised his hand, summoning the Force. Kaela braced herself, and the blast hit her square in the chest, launching her back against the wall. Her shield absorbed the worst of it, but pain bloomed across her shoulder.
“You should know better than to use blasters on a Jedi,” he hissed.
Kaela didn’t wait. She dove to the side, rolling as her energy shield flared to life with a low crackle. Her blaster barked once, twice—wild, warning shots more than precision. The Jedi’s lightsaber snapped to life, casting a cold blue glow across the room. He moved with terrifying grace, swatting the bolts aside as if swiping away insects.
He was on her in seconds.
The saber whirled down. Kaela ducked under the arc, the heat grazing her hair as she slid beneath a table. She kicked it over in her wake, sending datapads and med-kits scattering. He followed, blade carving the table in half.
Kaela scrambled toward the wall, grabbing a wheeled surgical tray and hurling it in his direction. It clanged against his shoulder—he staggered, barely—but it bought her a breath.
“You trained for this,” he growled, circling her now.
Kaela panted, sweat beading down her neck. “For men like you? Yeah.”
He lashed out with the Force. She flew backward, slammed into the cage wall with a thud that knocked the air from her lungs. The shield flickered. She rolled just in time to avoid the next saber swing, its heat kissing the floor beside her.
She crawled under a nearby workbench, grabbed a container of liquid coolant, and hurled it at his feet. It exploded with a hiss, steam clouding the room. He hissed and backed away, disoriented—but only for a moment.
Kaela ducked behind a cabinet. Her shield was sputtering. The charge wouldn’t last much longer.
“You’re delaying the inevitable,” he said, calm again. “This is mercy.”
His saber sliced through the haze. Kaela yanked down a hanging light fixture, letting it crash between them. She ran for the far side of the room, weaving through medical carts and crates, anything to keep him from closing in.
But the Force was with him.
With a flick of his fingers, he sent a shelf of tools crashing down into her path. She tripped, crashed onto her side, her shield sparking wildly. The lightsaber’s hum drew close. She rolled onto her back, pinned beneath him.
The blade hovered inches from her throat.
He looked down, chest heaving. “You shouldn’t have interfered.”
The energy shield on her wrist gave one final whine... then failed. A hiss of discharging power. Gone.
Kaela’s hand slid down slowly—too slowly—to her ankle holster.
“You’re too late,” he said, voice taut with fury and grief. “I already have them. All of them.”
Kaela looked up into his eyes.
Then fired.
Her sidearm—a small holdout blaster—flashed point-blank into his gut. Once. Twice. Three times.
He choked. Surprise overtook righteousness. He stumbled backward, clutching his stomach. His lightsaber dropped to the floor and rolled beneath a surgical bench.
He crumpled beside it, blood spreading across his robes, the light in his eyes fading with something like disbelief.
Kaela gasped, chest rising and falling in shallow waves. Her hands trembled. She looked at the smoking sidearm, then at the fallen Jedi.
Still alive. Barely.
She stood, joints screaming in protest, blood from a shallow cut trickling down her temple. Smoke curled from the barrel of her holdout blaster. Across the room, Kid remained frozen in the cage—silent, eyes wide, tiny hands pressed against the wall as if willing it to disappear.
Kaela limped toward her, her breathing ragged.
“I told you,” she said hoarsely, looking back at the unconscious Jedi. “I trained for men like him.”
Kaela rested a hand on the cage, breathing hard.
“You’re safe now.”
Kid didn’t answer.
Kaela turned, searching the hallway. “Your mom—she’s here somewhere, right?”
Kid’s voice was a whisper, barely audible over the hum of fluorescent lights.
“Denise Magdalene,” the girl said, blinking slowly. “That’s my mom.”
Kaela’s throat closed. It hit harder than she expected—like seeing the ghost of a promise she’d broken a dozen times.
“Yeah,” she murmured, crouching beside the cage again. Her voice cracked. “That’s your mom.”
Tears stung her eyes. She didn’t wipe them.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she said, her tone soft, sure. “I’ll get you home to her soon.”
Kaela reached into her belt pouch, pulled out a small transponder, and keyed in a code with shaking fingers. The signal went through—scrambled, masked, but still Imperial.
A flicker of hesitation passed through her. Then she added a second frequency—local. Coruscant Civil Security. No more secrets. No more hiding. Not after this.
Her earpiece crackled, connecting to a secure line. The voice on the other end was clipped and familiar.
“Agent Strauss?”
Kaela cleared her throat. “Yeah. It’s done. The Jedi’s down. He was trying to use children. I’ve got the girl. She’s alive.”
There was a pause.
Then the voice came back, more careful now. “Is the girl... Butterfly?”
Kaela glanced at Kid—who hadn’t looked away, who hadn’t moved.
“Yes,” Kaela whispered. “She’s Butterfly.”
“Confirmed. Do you require extraction?”
Kaela shook her head, despite no one being able to see it. “Negative. I’m calling Coruscant PD. We’re not burying this. Not this time.”
She ended the transmission and tapped into her police contact instead—someone she’d worked with before, back when things still made sense. The line clicked open, and she spoke quickly, clearly.
“This is Agent Kaela Strauss. I have a Jedi Council fugitive and a missing child. Send a clean team to Sector 11—medical storage annex off Lannan Street. High priority. And bring restraints. Not for the kid.”
Before she could pocket the comm, a quiet voice pulled her back.
She had said that before. To others. To little ones raised under temple lights and Jedi creeds, their names replaced with ranks, their families long gone. She remembered saying it and knowing it wasn’t true. But this time—this time she meant it.
Kaela reached for the lock release.
Freedom, this time, would be real.

The debriefing room was cold, silent, save for the quiet hum of Coruscant’s night outside the high windowpanes. Masters Mace Windu and Yareen stood with arms folded. Kaela Strauss sat across from them—dusty, bruised, and resolute.
“Start talking,” Mace said.
Kaela met his gaze, steady. “I was near the Temple because I was assigned to be. I’m… an Imperial asset. I monitor Force-sensitive children at border checkpoints. If they’re found to be Jedi runaways or uninitiated—especially if they want to return to family—I get them home.”
“To the Empire,” Yareen said.
“To their families,” Kaela corrected quietly.
Mace’s eyes narrowed. “You mean kidnapped.”
“I wasn’t going to take her,” Kaela said, sitting up straighter. “I was only supposed to report if the Butterfly—your Padawan—left Temple grounds. If she became… extractable.”
Yareen flinched at the word. “You’ve done this before?”
Kaela hesitated. “Yes.”
“To how many?” Mace asked.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I stopped counting when the Empire stopped asking for names.”
Mace’s voice dropped low. “You gave Jedi children… to the Sith.”
Kaela didn’t blink. “I gave them back to their mothers.”
Silence fell like a blade.
“I’ve betrayed the Empire,” she continued, voice raw. “They wanted the Butterfly because she’s special. Because she’s dangerous. I was supposed to take her. But I couldn’t do what you do. I couldn’t take a child from her mother’s breast and call it destiny.”
Her fists curled in her lap.
“So do whatever you want. Lock me up. Banish me. Just know—I made my choice.”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Mace Windu stepped forward. From within his robes, he withdrew a lightsaber—one with a gleaming blue hilt and a faintly scarred casing. He set it down on the table between them.
“These,” he said, “are worth a fortune on the black market. To collectors, warlords, scavengers. They’re also deadly in the wrong hands. It’s from the Jedi you defeated. He will spend a long time in prison for his crimes, but he will never be seen as a Jedi again.”
Kaela’s brow furrowed. “And you’re giving this to me because…?”
“They choose their wielder,” he said simply. “That one’s yours.”
Kaela stared at him, stunned. “I’m not Force-sensitive.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Windu said. “You don’t have to be born special. You just have to do the hard thing, the right thing, when it costs you. You protected a child when no one else did. That’s all the Jedi were ever supposed to be.”
He turned away, robes shifting like thunderclouds.
“You earned it.”
Kaela waited until the room was empty.
The lightsaber sat alone on the table, quiet and unthreatening—just metal and crystal now.
She reached out. Slowly. No trembling fingers, no hesitation.
When her hand closed around the hilt, it was warm. Not from power—but from presence.
Like it had been waiting.
She held it in both hands, feeling the subtle weight, the perfect balance—not forged for her, but found for her.
Her thumb brushed the ignition plate.
The blade ignited with a familiar hum.
Not loud. Not theatrical.
Just a whisper of light, cool and blue.
It didn’t fight her grip. It didn’t buzz with warning. It simply existed—complete in her grasp, as if it had always known she'd come for it.
She stared at it, eyes stinging.
There was no power surge. No hidden revelation.
Just... rightness.
Like putting on a jacket you hadn’t worn in years and realizing it still fits.
A saber like this didn’t belong to her.
But it had chosen her anyway.
And somehow, Kaela Strauss didn’t feel like an imposter.
Not anymore.
She deactivated the blade, the light folding in on itself.
“I’ll carry you,” she whispered.
“As long as I’m worthy.”
And in her heart—
She knew she was.