Re: Star Wars

The stones of the Temple courtyard were cool beneath Eli's bare feet as he stepped into the early morning light. The Torian statues around the reflecting pool glimmered with dew, but their stone faces stared impassively into the dawn. Eli drew in a steady breath, willing himself to feel as the Jedi taught—centered, calm—but the subtle hum of tension in the Force gnawed at him.

He found Master Tallis speaking in low tones with Knight Elbrin near the eastern gate. He wasn't supposed to eavesdrop, but he couldn't help himself. The fragments he caught threaded through his mind like needles in fabric.

"…Trade Federation escalation…"

"…Senate divided—military creation act…"

"…Jedi must prepare…"

He had no business listening in. Yet he lingered until the masters parted ways, leaving him with ripening unease.

Inside the Council spire, voices echoed as the Council reconvened. Masters Ki-Adi-Mundi and Plo Koon stood apart, their silhouettes flickering in the glow of datapads. Why did the Jedi speak of political risk in whispers? He was just a youngling—why did this feel like his concern?

He didn't stay to find out.

Mid-morning, the entire Temple was invited to observe a short demonstration in the Senate briefing chamber—a rare privilege. Heliost Clan, along with others, shuffled into the hall, taking seats in a raised gallery overlooking the dais.

Below, holographic senate proceedings flickered into view. Senator Lott Dod, representing the Trade Federation, stood before the Galactic Senate with authoritarian energy.

"These are troubling times," Dod intoned, his voice smooth. "Yet I remind this honorable assembly: the Commerce Treaty of 1647 promised the Federation neutrality in times of conflict. We urge restraint. We urge dialogue."

Eli recognized the arguments from memory—handmaids, treaties, blockades. He'd seen these in the old films. But here they were, real and urgent.

Senator Bail Organa took the floor next. "We cannot allow corporate interests to hold the Senate hostage," he said. "We need unity. We need purpose. We need vision."

Eli clenched his fists. These weren't just stories. These were the lines that would be spoken just before war.

Back at Heliost's training hall, Eli struggled to refocus. The usual footwork, the grasping of the Force—today, his body rebelled. He swung his training saber, but the rhythm was off, hollow.

Master Tallis noticed. She approached silently, observing from a distance until Eli's third strike overreached and spun awkwardly.

"Eli?" she asked softly. "Your body is tense."

He lowered the staff, breath uneven. "I… I can't focus."

She nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder. "When the storm approaches, the strongest tree bends. Trust the Force. Not your fears."

The words struck him with power. He closed his eyes, breathing through the tea-scented air. Center. Expand. Not fear.

The tremble in his hand still lingered, but the echo of his vision began to recede.

Later, Eli returned to the Archive's holobook section, where Master Ryven Tallis and Knight Pell stood before a group of older Padawans discussing the Separatist movement.

Padawan Meda spoke, voice confident: "Count Dooku was once a Jedi. If he's converted worlds to his cause…it means distrust runs deep."

Knight Pell nodded solemnly. "He left ten years ago—his address on Raxus Prime condemned the Republic. Many systems have seceded. Coruscant must decide whether to build an army. And soon."

The words hovered in Eli's mind like smoke. Raxus Prime—yes, he remembered that planet—and secession, federation, war.

His datapad lit in his backpack. Conserving energy, he made mental notes. Every name. Every event. These weren't random facts. They were history—and he was living through it.

Evening fell with a distant hum. The Temple gardens shimmered as lenno lights flickered on along the paths.

Eli sought a moment of stillness in a hidden alcove, the kind only older students knew. He knelt before a small life tree and bowed his head.

I am here.

He reached outward. The Force spoke—not in voices, but in textures: anxiety. Unrest. A thousand tiny currents tangled into one.

If I stay hidden, I'll just watch as history unfolds.

He didn't want that.

But Master Tallis's words echoed—trust the Force, not your fears.

He unclasped his datapad and typed:

Training. Force. Preparation.

Memory ≠ action.

He tapped the stylus and let it float on the desk surface. The first step—clarity.

The night meal bell clanged. Eli slipped away before it ended, heading to the youngling dorm where he found Niyala softly reading a story scroll, the upper bunk lights dim.

She looked up as he entered. "Back late."

"Needed quiet," he murmured.

She nodded, returning her gaze to the scroll. She wasn't pressing. That was all the trust he needed right now.

He climbed to his bunk and lay awake, the scroll unfolding tales of ancient Jedi diplomacy.

Master Tallis was right: those trees bent, didn't break. He would bend—but not fold.

Late that night, shadows moved through the Council spire again.

Eli followed on silent feet, curiosity guiding him. Around the corner, in a lip-shaped alcove carved from stone, he glimpsed Masters Yoda and Windu speaking quietly.

"Send investigation teams," Yoda murmured, voice low. "Trade Federation influence grows… and with it, danger."

A brief image flickered—a path to war, unspooling before him.

Mace Windu replied softly: "Kenobi and Skywalker have begun. But we will not act only in reaction. We will watch. We will learn. We will train."

"Train?" Yoda echoed. "Wise."

Eli leaned back, heart pounding. The Council respected his mentors. Training—what he needed.

He slipped away unseen.

The next morning, birdsong echoed through the courtyard as dawn broke over Coruscant. Eli stepped forward, staff in hand, robe shifting with breeze.

He didn't seek answers today—not yet.

He sought mastery.

The world was breaking. Tensions flared in Senate chambers as Palpatine's influence tightened and the Trade Federation snarled in silent opposition.

But Eli Kaen had chosen his path in that dark alcove.

He would stay.

He would train.

Because the Force was shifting—and when the storm came, a bent but rooted tree could still stand.