Re: Star Wars

The Jedi Temple woke before the sun. By the time the light of Coruscant's daystar crept through the high windows, younglings were already stretching in formation on the east training floor, guided by soft-spoken instructors and the occasional flicker of a practice saber.

Eli Kaen stood among them, feet bare on smooth stone, robe cinched tight. Morning air kissed the nape of his neck as he moved through the motions of Shii-Cho.

Form I. Basic. Fundamental.

But every strike felt weightier today. Every step anchored deeper.

He closed his eyes.

Let go. Feel it.

The Force rippled through him like a tide barely beneath the surface. It wasn't loud. It didn't speak in words. But it moved, and he moved with it.

This time, he didn't try to understand it. He let it guide the arc of his saber, the rotation of his shoulder, the steady placement of his heel.

It wasn't perfect. Not yet. But it was real.

When the lesson ended, Master Avenya passed him with a glance that lingered half a second longer than it should have. She said nothing, only gave a curt nod.

Eli exhaled. Progress, then.

Midday found the members of Clan Heliost in a side hall of the meditation wing, where they were arranged in pairs for a Force-sensing exercise.

Their instructor, a calm-faced Mirialan Knight named Vorn Pell, held out a small woven sphere, no larger than a fruit. Each pair would take turns—one blindfolded, the other guiding the orb through the Force.

When it came to Eli's turn, the blindfold pressed lightly over his eyes, he sat cross-legged and waited.

Nothing.

Then a pull. Gentle. Faint.

He reached with something deeper than thought.

A tickle of awareness passed over his skin, brushing like static.

He could feel the orb moving. Not the weight of it. The intention. A presence distinct from his own, shaped by the mind of his partner.

He raised his hand slowly, fingers trailing through the air—and found the sphere mid-air, catching it with a quiet precision that drew murmurs from nearby younglings.

Knight Pell offered a faint, unreadable smile.

Eli lowered the orb, removed his blindfold, and took his seat again without comment.

He didn't understand how he'd done that.

But he had.

Later that afternoon, while returning from a study session, Eli passed an open hallway leading toward one of the holocron viewing chambers. Two older Padawans leaned against the wall, voices hushed but urgent.

"...said there was an attempt on her life. Docking platform explosion. Senate's rattled."

"Master Kenobi and Skywalker are being dispatched. Temple's trying to keep it quiet."

Eli kept walking. Slowly.

His fingers trembled slightly.

Senator Amidala. Explosion. Jedi sent to protect her...

The details swirled in his mind like smoke from an old campfire. He couldn't hold them clearly. Only fragments came through—a silver ship exploding in the night, a young Jedi chasing an assassin, a mystery deepening in the shadows of Coruscant.

This is it. It's beginning.

He didn't know how he knew. He just did.

And that scared him more than anything else.

Evening came with a hush.

In the Temple Archives, Master Ryven Tallis spoke to a gathered circle of younglings from several clans, her tone calm and deliberate as she traced the holomap of the Republic's Core Worlds. She spoke of regional alliances and recent trade disputes—routine lessons. Neutral.

But as her projection displayed contested routes in the Mid Rim, Eli caught the name Raxus on the map.

The hair on his arms prickled.

Another whisper in the dark corners of memory.

He looked down quickly and focused on his breathing.

One of the other younglings asked a question about planetary blockades.

Master Tallis gave a scholarly answer, but her expression tightened almost imperceptibly.

There were things happening in the galaxy. Things even the Temple couldn't ignore.

That night, the dormitory was still. The others had drifted off to sleep one by one, soft breaths and twitching limbs beneath woven sheets.

Eli lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

He didn't feel like going to the balcony again. Too exposed. Too predictable.

Instead, he rose and padded quietly to the Temple's inner library annex. The lights were dimmed, and only the soft hum of the archive servers filled the room.

He found a quiet booth and activated a personal data terminal.

He keyed in a search on political records.

The results were heavily redacted, and many files required higher clearance. But he found mention of Senator Amidala's recent return to Coruscant, along with vague statements from the Senate Security Committee.

He leaned back, brow furrowed.

The signs were there.

He didn't know what would happen next. But he remembered what came after.

War.

He hoped he was wrong.

He feared he wasn't.

When he returned to the dormitory, he found Niyala sitting on her bunk, legs crossed, datapad glowing in her lap.

She looked up and blinked at him.

"You look like you just saw a wampa in the Archives."

He gave a tired half-smile. "Just late reading."

"Well, if you go blind, I'm not helping you in staff drills," she said with a mock-serious tone.

He chuckled once, quietly.

She returned to her pad, and the moment passed.

No questions. No probing.

He appreciated that more than she knew.

As he lay down, pulling the blanket over his shoulders, his eyes lingered on the ceiling once more.

No fire. No smoke. No blades.

Just silence.