As we stepped through the large door, a gust of fresh, crisp air hit my face. The sounds that had drawn me here suddenly intensified, filling the space with life. I blinked in the bright light of the training grounds, trying to take it all in. The open area was massive, far larger than I had imagined from behind the hallway door, and it was filled with movement and sound.

My tiny eyes widened in awe as I saw rows of men and women dressed in white and blue armor, the colors of Alderaan’s noble guard, training with intensity. They held all kinds of weapons—spears, staffs, and even blasters. The clang of metal rang through the air as some practiced hand-to-hand combat, their fists flying at each other with incredible speed, while others stood in a formation, firing their blasters at distant targets.

Mom and Dad stepped out behind me, but I was completely entranced by what I saw. It was like nothing I had ever experienced, and though I was small, barely able to walk, the sight before me filled me with a sense of awe. My heart raced in my tiny chest, and I found myself clinging to Mom’s arm for stability as I stood on wobbly legs.

In the middle of it all was a man who seemed to command the attention of everyone around him. He stood tall and imposing, his muscles rippling under his plain, dark training clothes. His hair was silver, cropped close to his head, and his face was stern and focused. He moved with precision, his body a blur as he demonstrated techniques with various weapons. His every motion seemed deliberate, sharp, and powerful. Even the guards around him watched in admiration as he moved through a set of routines with a staff, spinning it with fluidity and force.

"That’s Scif," I heard Dad say softly to Mom. "He’s the weapon master for the Alderaan guard. One of the best in the galaxy."

Scif. I repeated the name in my head, trying to commit it to memory, even though I couldn’t say it out loud yet. I watched, utterly fascinated, as he moved across the training grounds like a force of nature, directing the guards, correcting their stances, and demonstrating techniques. He was the center of everything, and though I didn’t fully understand what was happening, I could feel that he was someone important.

As we walked closer, I could see the details of the training grounds more clearly. The space was enormous, with open air above us and the distant mountains of Alderaan framing the horizon. The ground beneath their feet was packed dirt, smoothed from years of training, and scattered across the area were various training dummies, targets, and sparring circles where the guards tested their skills against one another. There was an energy here—one of discipline, strength, and readiness.

One group of guards stood in a line, each holding long spears tipped with gleaming metal. They moved in perfect synchronization, thrusting their weapons forward with sharp, precise movements. Scif watched them closely, nodding in approval as they performed their drills. Another group nearby practiced with staffs, twirling and striking against each other in a graceful dance of combat. The air was alive with the sounds of clashing wood and the occasional grunt of exertion.

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Farther back, I saw a line of guards practicing their marksmanship with blasters. They stood still, aiming at distant targets, and with each pull of the trigger, bolts of red light shot through the air, striking their marks with deadly accuracy. The crackling sound of blaster fire echoed around the courtyard, mixing with the thuds and clashes of melee combat.

But what caught my attention most was a sparring match in one of the large rings. Two guards were engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand combat session. They circled each other like predators, their eyes locked in concentration. One of them, a tall man with broad shoulders, launched a series of fast punches toward his opponent. The other guard, smaller and quicker, dodged each attack with remarkable speed, her body twisting and turning out of reach. Then, in a flash, she countered, sweeping the man’s legs out from under him and pinning him to the ground.

I stared, wide-eyed, my little mouth slightly open in amazement. I had never seen anything like this before. It was so... alive. Every movement, every strike, every block seemed to have a purpose, a rhythm that I couldn’t quite understand yet but that fascinated me all the same.

"Look at him," Mom whispered, her voice soft with amusement. "He’s completely mesmerized."

Dad chuckled beside her. "Well, can you blame him? It’s quite a sight."

But I barely heard them. My entire focus was on the action unfolding before me, especially the man in the middle of it all—Scif. He was in another sparring ring now, demonstrating a staff technique to a group of eager young recruits. His movements were so precise, so powerful, that it almost seemed like the staff was an extension of his body. He spun it around him, deflecting imaginary blows before countering with lightning-fast strikes. The recruits tried to mimic his movements, but none of them came close to matching his skill.

Scif stopped mid-motion, his sharp eyes scanning the group. He walked over to one of the recruits, a younger guard whose stance was off. With a firm but patient hand, he corrected the recruit’s grip on the staff, showing him the proper way to hold it. The recruit nodded, adjusting his stance, and Scif stepped back, watching closely as the guard tried again.

This time, his movements were smoother, more controlled. Scif gave a satisfied nod and moved on to the next guard, offering advice and corrections as he went. He didn’t speak much, but his presence commanded respect. Even the seasoned guards seemed to defer to him, their eyes filled with admiration.

As I watched Scif move through the training grounds, something inside me stirred. It was a feeling I couldn’t quite explain, a pull toward the discipline and power that radiated from these people. I had felt something like it before—when I played with my mobile, making the stars spin and dance with the Force. But this was different. This was strength, control, and focus.

I watched as Scif moved into another sparring match, this time against two guards who were clearly more experienced. They attacked him together, one swinging a staff while the other thrust a spear toward his midsection. But Scif moved like water, flowing effortlessly between their strikes. He parried the staff with his own, then spun around, dodging the spear by a hair’s breadth. His movements were so smooth, so fast, that it was hard to keep track of him.

The two guards pressed their attack, trying to overwhelm him with their combined strength. But Scif was always one step ahead. He ducked under a high swing, then spun his staff in a wide arc, disarming one of the guards with a single fluid motion. The other guard lunged at him with the spear, but Scif sidestepped the attack, bringing his staff down in a swift strike that knocked the weapon out of the guard’s hands.

It was over in seconds. The two guards stood there, panting and disarmed, while Scif barely seemed winded. He gave them a respectful nod, then turned to address the rest of the recruits who had gathered to watch.

"Strength is important," he said, his voice low and commanding, "but control is everything. Power without control is nothing more than chaos. Learn to control your movements, your mind, and your emotions, and you will become truly strong."

I didn’t understand all of his words, but I felt their weight. Control. Strength. Power. These were things I had begun to feel in my own way, through the Force, but seeing them here, in the physical world, made them seem even more real.

As Scif spoke, I found myself inching forward, my tiny legs moving me closer to the sparring ring. I was so absorbed in the scene that I barely noticed Mom’s hand holding me back.

"Not so fast, little one," she whispered, her voice soft and affectionate. "You’ll have your time."