As Scif finished his speech to the recruits, his sharp eyes turned toward us, instantly recognizing Mom and Dad. His demeanor shifted from that of a strict instructor to something more formal, respectful. With a fluid motion, he brought his fist to his chest and bowed slightly.

"My lord, my lady," he said, his voice deep and steady. "And the little lord," he added, casting a glance down at me with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "How can I be of service?"

The moment I heard him acknowledge me, a surge of energy shot through my tiny body. I didn’t fully understand the words he spoke, but something about his presence drew me in. There was power in this man, and I felt an inexplicable urge to challenge it.

Before anyone could stop me, I broke free from Mom’s gentle grip and ran toward Scif. My legs wobbled with excitement, but I moved with purpose, determination blazing in my heart. In my little mind, I had only one goal: to hit this man who was so powerful, to see if he could handle me.

Scif raised an eyebrow but stood completely still as I barreled toward him. My little fists were clenched tightly, and I swung at him with all the strength my one-year-old body could muster. I aimed for his knee, thinking that was the best spot to strike someone so much bigger than me.

But before my fist could connect, Scif shifted, so subtly that it almost seemed like he hadn't moved at all. My fist swung through the air and missed completely. I stumbled forward, trying to regain my balance, but I was undeterred. With a determined grunt, I turned and swung again, but once more, Scif dodged effortlessly.

His movements were smooth, almost graceful, as he sidestepped my tiny attacks. Each time I lunged or swung, he would shift just enough for me to miss. It was as if he knew exactly where I was going to strike before I even thought about it.

I tried again and again, each miss fueling my frustration and determination. My little legs carried me in circles around him, and with every swing, Scif moved like a shadow, always out of reach. His face remained calm, a faint smile playing on his lips, but there was no mockery in it—just patience. He never taunted me, never laughed at my attempts. He simply moved, like a rock in a stream, allowing my energy to flow around him without ever truly touching him.

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The guards who had been training nearby began to notice the scene unfolding. Some of them stopped their drills, chuckling softly at the sight of the little lord trying—and failing—to land a blow on the great weapon master. But Scif didn’t let the attention distract him. He was completely focused on me, watching my every move, reading me like an open book.

I swung wildly again, this time trying to use both hands to hit his leg, but it was like trying to punch the wind. He sidestepped so smoothly that it felt like he disappeared for a moment. My fist hit nothing but air, and I nearly fell forward from the force of my own effort.

Frustration built inside me. I could feel my cheeks burning as I huffed, determined not to give up. I planted my feet firmly on the ground, staring up at Scif with wide, intense eyes. He didn’t say a word, but his gaze was calm, patient, as if he was waiting for something.

Then it happened.

A feeling I hadn’t quite experienced before stirred inside me, a sensation that began in my chest and spread through my arms. It was that familiar energy—the Force—welling up inside me. I didn’t understand it fully, but I could feel it coursing through me, pushing me forward, guiding me.

This time, when I swung my fist, I could feel the difference. There was a connection, something deeper, something more. The world seemed to slow down for a moment, and I could sense Scif’s movement before he even made it. I could feel where he would dodge, the exact spot where he would move.

With all my might, I pushed that feeling, that energy, through myself. My fist moved faster, more precisely. As Scif shifted to avoid my punch, I adjusted mid-swing, aiming for his leg with renewed strength and focus. The Force guided me, and for the first time, my little fist connected.

The impact wasn’t hard—it couldn’t have been, given how small I was—but it was enough to make contact. My tiny hand hit Scif’s leg, and for a split second, the guards around us fell silent. My heart pounded in my chest as I realized what had just happened. I had actually landed a hit on him.

Scif looked down at me, his expression unreadable at first. Then, slowly, a small smile spread across his face. It wasn’t a patronizing smile, nor one of surprise. It was a smile of approval, of recognition. He nodded once, acknowledging the blow.

“Well done, little lord,” he said, his voice full of quiet respect. “You have the makings of a warrior.”

I stood there, panting, my fists still clenched, but a grin began to spread across my face. I did it. I hit him. I, Alexander Alde, had managed to touch the untouchable Scif, the weapon master of the Alderaan guard.

Mom and Dad stood nearby, both watching with amusement and pride. Dad chuckled softly, shaking his head. “It seems our little Alex is already showing some promise.”

Mom smiled down at me, her eyes warm with affection. “Yes, but maybe we should hold off on the combat training for a little while longer.”

Scif knelt down to my level, his piercing eyes locking onto mine. “Strength and skill can come with time,” he said quietly, “but what you have, young one, is something special. You listened. You felt the moment. That’s more important than any strength.”