The steady hum of the ship’s engines filled the cabin as Kieran gazed out of the viewport. Hyperspace stretched endlessly beyond the transparisteel, a swirling tunnel of blue light that made the small starship feel even more confined.
His fingers drummed absently on the armrest of his seat. Tap. Tap. Tap. The rhythm was sharp and restless, and after a few moments, Qui-Gon glanced up from where he sat opposite.
“You’re nervous,” Qui-Gon said, the faintest smile touching his lips.
Kieran stopped drumming, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to someone who pays attention.” Qui-Gon’s calm gaze studied him for a moment before he added, “Nervousness is natural. But the Force will guide you, Kieran. You only need to trust it.”
Kieran froze for half a heartbeat, keeping his face carefully neutral. “Right. Trust the Force,” he said evenly, giving a tight, polite nod.
Inside, though, a flicker of discomfort sparked. He hated that phrase. He didn’t even know why—something about it just didn’t sit right. Trust the Force? Like it was some kind of cosmic boss handing out orders? He didn't like the idea of being a tool, some obedient little pawn in a game he didn’t even understand.
But this wasn’t the time to say that. Not to Qui-Gon.
Instead, he forced a small grin, letting his natural sarcasm bubble to the surface. “So what you’re saying is, if I trip and fall flat on my face in there, that’s just the Force teaching me a lesson?”
Qui-Gon chuckled, leaning forward slightly. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s the Force telling you to slow down and look where you’re going.”
Kieran’s grin widened, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Convenient answer.”
“It usually is,” Qui-Gon replied, his tone light. Then, more seriously, he added, “The Gathering is a test, Kieran. But it’s not about success or failure. The crystal you find—or the crystal that finds you—will reflect your connection to the Force. Let it guide you, and it will not lead you astray.”
Kieran nodded again, quieter this time. He could feel the weight of Qui-Gon’s words, even if he didn’t fully agree with them. But he wasn’t about to argue with his Master—not here, not now.
----------------------------------------
The ship dropped out of hyperspace with a lurch, and the swirling blue tunnel outside the viewport dissolved into the glittering black expanse of realspace. Ahead, the icy planet of Ilum loomed like a frosted jewel, its surface blanketed in endless snowfields and jagged glaciers. Kieran leaned forward, his nose nearly pressed against the viewport as the ship descended toward the planet.
“Looks... cold,” Kieran muttered.
Qui-Gon, standing now with his arms clasped behind his back, gave a small smile. “It is. Ilum is a harsh place, but it’s also a sacred one. The cold will sharpen your focus. Remember, the Gathering is not only about finding your crystal. It’s about listening. To the Force. To yourself.”
Kieran shot him a sidelong glance. “So, basically, don’t freeze to death and don’t come back empty-handed?”
Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow, though there was the faintest hint of amusement in his expression. “I’d phrase it differently, but yes.”
He laughed, "Don't worry. I won't die. I have no intention to."
The ship landed smoothly on a flat outcropping of ice. As the boarding ramp lowered, a gust of frigid wind blasted into the cabin, and Kieran shivered despite the heavy cloak draped over his shoulders.
“Definitely cold,” he muttered, stepping off the ramp and onto the icy ground. The crunch of snow under his boots was oddly satisfying, but his satisfaction was short-lived as the wind cut through his clothing like a knife.
Qui-Gon motioned for him to follow, leading him toward the entrance of a jagged mountain. The mouth of the crystal cave yawned before them, dark and imposing, frost clinging to the stone like frozen vines. A faint hum, more felt than heard, resonated from deep within.
Qui-Gon stopped just outside the entrance, turning to face Kieran. “This is your journey, Kieran. I cannot walk it for you. Inside, you’ll find challenges—not physical ones, but those of the mind and spirit. Trust yourself, and trust the Force.”
Kieran resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Another mention of trusting the Force. He gave a small bow instead, hiding his inner irritation. “I’ll do my best, Master.”
Qui-Gon placed a hand on his shoulder, his touch firm but reassuring. “Remember: The crystal doesn’t just choose you. You must choose it as well.”
The air in the crystal was cold, almost painfully so. He carefully walked over the frost-covered stones, his boots crunching.
Kieran frowned, rubbing his arms for warmth. "So, this is it, huh? Just me and... you," he muttered aloud, glancing at the shimmering crystals.
He stopped for a moment, staring into the dark. A memory of Qui-Gon’s words surfaced in his mind, The crystal doesn’t just choose you. You must choose it as well.
He sighed. “No pressure.”
He stopped at a fork in the icy tunnel, staring down two equally dark and uninviting paths.
“Okay,” he muttered, rubbing his hands together. “Here’s the deal. You’re supposed to guide me, right?” He raised his arms as if addressing the cave itself—or maybe something larger.
The Force pulsed faintly around him, but it didn’t give an answer.
“Silent treatment? Really?” Kieran sighed. “Look, I’m not great at this whole ‘trust and obey’ thing, okay? But I’m here, and you’re here, so how about we meet in the middle?”
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus. The hum of the Force was subtle at first, like a distant melody on the edge of his senses. He tried to reach for it—not to bow to it, but to interact with it.
“I’m listening,” he murmured. “I’ll play along if you meet me halfway. Deal?”
The hum grew stronger, a faint pull tugging him to the left.
“See? That’s better,” Kieran said, opening his eyes. “You guide. I decide. Teamwork.”
With a small smirk, he turned left and continued down the path.
The tunnel narrowed as he walked, forcing him to duck under low-hanging shards of jagged ice. The further he went, the stronger the pull became, but Kieran found himself resisting it slightly, like testing the limits of a conversation.
He stopped again at another split in the path, frowning. “You’re pulling pretty hard to the right,” he said aloud. “But how do I know there isn’t something down the left path, too? You can’t see everything, can you? I forgot, of course, you can. You're literally everywhere."
The Force hummed faintly, its presence brushing against his senses like an answerless riddle.
“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t make this easy,” Kieran muttered.
He glanced between the two paths, biting his lip. His gut told him the Force wanted him to go right—but the Force wasn’t infallible. He took a deep breath, letting the pull of the Force guide him, but only after weighing it against his own instincts.
“Fine,” he said. “Right, it is. But if I freeze to death, we’re having a serious talk.”
As he continued down the path, eventually, the tunnel opened into a large chamber. There were countless crystals on the walls and ceiling, but none of them called him. At least, until he saw one that was glowing purple, one that had a vibrant purple hue.
He stepped forward towards it, but the moment he did, he felt the Force wrapped around him, replacing the little warmth he gained from his thick clothing with chills to the bones.
That was when he saw them. Two figures stood side-by-side, waiting for him. One of them was wearing an all-white Jedi robe while the other wore pitch-black armor with a large helmet. The helmet looked very similar to Darth Vader's helmet though he didn't hear any heavy breathing from it. The strange thing was, the white figure had the same features as him, only taller and stronger. He still had heterochromia eyes, one pitch black, one green. As for the other one, he suspected that he would look the same if he wasn't wearing the helmet.
"I am what you could become, Kieran," the white figure said, his posture upright and almost regal. He held a blue lightsaber, its blade humming softly, and his gaze was piercing, filled with an almost oppressive sense of righteousness. "Pure. Devoted. Free of doubt. The Light will guide you, Kieran. It will give you purpose, clarity, and strength. Surrender to it, and you will never falter.”
The second figure stepped from the shadow. He only now noticed the black cloak he was wearing, which was moving despite there being no wind so Kieran felt that he was doing it with the Force for dramatic effect. A red lightsaber crackled in their hand, its light casting jagged reflections across the chamber.
“Don’t listen to them,” the dark figure sneered. “The Light will chain you, bind you to a life of servitude. The Dark Side offers freedom—true freedom. Power, without limits. Take it, and you can shape the galaxy as you see fit. No rules. No restrictions.”
Kieran stared at the two versions of himself, his stomach twisting. He felt the weight of their words pressing down on him, but there was something… wrong about both of them.
The Light version stepped forward, their expression softening. “Kieran, you have the potential to be great. But only if you reject the darkness within you. You must rise above your emotions—your anger, your fear, your attachments. Only then can you truly serve the Force.”
The Dark version scoffed. “Serve the Force? Pathetic. Why serve anything when you can rule? You feel it, don’t you? That fire inside you, that hunger for something greater. Embrace it. Take what you want. The galaxy doesn’t need a servant—it needs a king.”
Kieran’s jaw tightened. “You’re both full of it,” he said flatly.
The Light version tilted his head, frowning. “You would deny the Light? Deny peace, clarity, and purpose?”
The Dark version laughed, his voice dripping with mockery. “And you’d deny freedom? Deny power? Don’t be a fool, Kieran. You’re better than that. We're better than that.”
Kieran crossed his arms, glaring at both of them. “You’re both missing the point. The Light wants me to throw away everything that makes me me. No emotions, no attachments, no fire. And the Dark? You’re just the other side of the same coin. You don’t want freedom—you want control. You’re just as much of a servant as they are.”
The Light version’s serene expression darkened. “You don’t understand.”
The Dark version’s smirk faltered. “You’re making a mistake.”
“No,” Kieran said firmly, his voice rising. “You don’t understand. The Force isn’t about taking sides. It’s not about domination or submission. It's about working together with it," he said, some of his own belief of what the Force should be slipping through. "And it seems that neither of you know anything about that."
The two figures glanced at each other, their postures shifting. For the first time, they seemed to truly notice one another.
The Light version raised his blade. “You are a corruption. A blight on the Force. You must be destroyed.”
The Dark version sneered, reigniting his saber. “Try it, Lightbringer. Let’s see what burns brighter—your sanctimony or my fire.”
Kieran took a step back as the two figures lunged at each other, their blades colliding with a deafening crash. The chamber shook as they fought, their strikes violent and relentless. Light clashed against darkness, their hatred for each other consuming everything else.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
The Light and Dark versions of Kieran clashed in the center of the chamber, their blades illuminating the frosty walls with blue and red light. Their movements were like poetry in motion—two dancers locked in a deadly rhythm, each trying to destroy the other.
Kieran stood at the edge of the chamber, his mismatched eyes fixed on them. The crystal still pulsed faintly at the center of the room, but his attention was drawn to the duel. It was breathtaking—and terrifying.
The Light version wielded their lightsaber with precision, the blade flashing through the air in tight, efficient arcs. He moved like a fencer, every motion calculated and deliberate. His reliance on Makashi was obvious in the way he deflected blows with minimal effort, and his parries were smooth and almost effortless. But when he attacked, it was with the speed and acrobatics of Ataru, his body twisting and leaping through the air like a blur of light.
The Dark version, by contrast, wielded his saber with an intensity that bordered on brutality. He, too, relied heavily on Makashi, his strikes just as precise as his counterpart’s, but there was a feral edge to his movements. Where the Light version used Makashi to maintain control and efficiency, the Dark version used it to manipulate, to lure his opponent into overextending before striking with crushing force.
And that’s where Djem So came in. When the Dark version counterattacked, it was with overwhelming power, his strikes heavy and punishing. He turned his opponent’s strength against them, using his superior physicality to dominate the fight.
He had never seen anyone fight so beautifully, not even the likes of Yoda or Mace Windu could match up to them in pure lightsaber combat. This is my talent in lightsabers? he asked himself.
Kieran crouched slightly, his arms resting on his knees as he studied the fight. His breath fogged the air in front of him, but he barely noticed the cold anymore. He was too focused on what was happening.
The Light version spun away from a vicious overhead strike, his blue blade flashing in an elegant riposte that forced the Dark version to backpedal. He pressed forward, his strikes coming faster, a blur of controlled aggression that seemed almost impossible to counter.
But the Dark version didn’t falter. He caught one of the Light version’s strikes with his blade and twisted, his strength forcing the Light version’s wrist out of alignment. In a single, fluid motion, he stepped forward, his red blade slashing upward in a devastating counter.
The Light version barely managed to dodge, flipping backward with the agility of a gymnast.
Kieran’s eyes narrowed. He could see the strengths of each style—the Light version’s grace and speed, the Dark version’s power and control. They were both flawless in their execution, but…
What if I combine both? The thought occurred to Kieran. He could combine both styles to get his own unique style. But how could I combine them?
As the duel continued, the Light version suddenly disengaged, leaping back and landing lightly on their feet. They turned to Kieran, their expression serene but intense.
“Kieran,” they said, their voice calm and unwavering. “You’ve seen what the Light can offer. Precision. Peace. The clarity to rise above the chaos of the galaxy. Join me, and together we will protect all that is good and pure. Cast off your doubt. Embrace the Light.”
Kieran opened his mouth to respond, but the Dark version cut in with a sharp laugh. They pointed their saber at the Light version, their smirk predatory.
“Don’t listen to them,” the Dark version sneered. “They’ll shackle you, just like the Jedi shackled the Force. Look at them—so obsessed with control that they’ve forgotten how to live. Come with me, Kieran, and I’ll show you what real freedom looks like. Power, without chains. Strength, without compromise.”
Kieran gritted his teeth, "I've said it and I'll say it again. The Light wants me to give up everything that makes me me. And the Dark? You don’t want freedom—you just want control. You’re both the same. Two sides of the same coin.”
The Light version frowned, their serene mask slipping. “You would deny the Light? Deny peace, clarity, and purpose?”
The Dark version scoffed, gesturing to their counterpart with their saber. “And you’d deny freedom? Power? You’d rather follow that sanctimonious fool into servitude?”
The Light version’s expression darkened. “You don’t understand.”
The Dark version sneered. “You’re making a mistake.”
Kieran shook his head. “No. The mistake is thinking the Force is about taking sides. It’s not about domination or submission. It’s about balance. And neither of you understands that.”
The Light version turned towards the Dark version and lunged forward.
“You are a perversion of the Force!” the Light version spat, their calm façade cracking as they pressed forward with a series of rapid strikes. “You twist its will for your own gain. You must be purged.”
“And you’re its leash!” the Dark version snarled, deflecting the blows with heavy-handed swings. “Blind. Weak. A slave to rules that don’t matter. You’re no better than a puppet!”
Their blades locked, hissing as they pushed against each other. The air between them seemed to tremble with the weight of their hatred.
Kieran took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. He could feel their emotions radiating off them like heat—cold, righteous fury from the Light and fiery, unchecked rage from the Dark. They weren’t just fighting each other. They were trying to destroy each other, convinced that the other’s existence was a threat to their own.
And in that moment, Kieran understood something.
They’re the same.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. The Light and the Dark, for all their differences, were just two sides of the same coin. Both wanted to dominate, to impose their will on the Force. The Light demanded submission, and the Dark craved control. Neither of them saw the Force as an equal.
So I'm right!
Kieran took another step forward, his voice cutting through the chaos. “You’re both wrong.”
The figures froze, their blades still locked.
“You talk about the Force like it’s something to serve or something to rule,” Kieran said, his voice growing stronger. “But it’s not. The Force isn’t a leash, and it’s not a weapon. It’s a partner. And neither of you understands that.”
The Light version turned to him, their gaze sharp and judgmental. “The Force is greater than you, Kieran. You cannot make yourself its equal.”
The Dark version laughed, the sound bitter and mocking. “And you think it’s your friend? The Force is power, Kieran. If you don’t take it, it will take you.”
Kieran shook his head. “You don’t get it. The Force doesn’t take. It doesn’t demand. It just… is. And the only way to understand it is to work with it. Not above it. Not below it. With it.”
The figures stared at him, their expressions unreadable. For a moment, the tension in the room seemed to ease.
And then they turned on each other again.
Their fight resumed with renewed fury, their hatred for each other overshadowing everything else. But Kieran didn’t stay to watch this time. He turned toward the crystal glowing faintly at the center of the chamber, its purple light shimmering like a beacon.
The air seemed to hum as he approached, and the moment he touched the crystal, the world around him dissolved into a swirl of light and shadow.
Kieran found himself standing in a vast void, surrounded by swirling currents of the Force. A figure emerged from the haze, their features obscured by a dark hood.
The figure’s voice was calm, yet filled with undeniable strength. “You’ve walked the same path I once did.”
“Revan,” Kieran whispered.
Revan nodded. “You understand what the Jedi and Sith refuse to see. The Force is not light or dark. It is both. And neither. It is balance. Harmony. That is the path you must walk, Kieran. The path between.”
Kieran stared at the figure, his hand tightening around the crystal, "Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be dead? And what if I fall? What if I lose my way?”
Revan’s voice softened, "I am dead. I'm a Force Ghost, a rather neat trick. I am now like this simply because I denied the will of the Force upon death and because I committed a selfless act of sacrifice. As for the latter questions, the Force will remind you, Kieran. It is your partner. Trust it, and it will trust you. I had to learn that the hard way.”
As the vision faded, Kieran felt the crystal’s warmth pulsing in his hand. He smiled faintly, tucking it into his pouch.
----------------------------------------
When Kieran stepped out of the cave, the sunlight was blinding against the snow. Qui-Gon stood waiting, his expression calm but curious.
“You were in there for some time,” Qui-Gon said. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
Kieran held up the crystal, its purple light gleaming faintly in the sunlight. “Yeah. And I think I found something else, too.”
Qui-Gon tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Oh? And what’s that?”
Kieran tucked the crystal into his cloak. “That the Force isn’t just something to trust. It’s something to work with.”
----------------------------------------
The hum of the engines faded into the background as the ship soared through hyperspace, carrying Kieran and Qui-Gon back toward Coruscant. The purple crystal sat securely in Kieran’s hand, its faint glow mesmerizing in the dim light of the cabin. He turned it over carefully, marveling at the way it refracted light.
The crystal felt warm, as though it were alive. It hummed softly, a vibration he could feel in his palm, faintly resonating with his connection to the Force. For the first time, Kieran didn’t feel like he was following something blindly. This crystal—it hadn’t just chosen him. He’d chosen it. And as they went back to Coruscant, he continuously imbued the Force into the crystal, allowing it to attune to him.
----------------------------------------
Back at the Jedi Temple, Kieran stood in the quiet sanctity of the Lightsaber Forge. The chamber was dimly lit, with workstations arranged in a circular formation. Tools and materials gleamed in the light, and faint sparks danced in the air as other younglings constructed their lightsabers under the watchful guidance of Jedi artisans.
Kieran had spent hours here already, studying the schematics and components of the weapon. A lightsaber wasn’t just a weapon—it was an extension of the Jedi who wielded it, a reflection of their connection to the Force.
On the workstation in front of him lay the disassembled components of his lightsaber: a cylindrical hilt of polished durasteel, wires, power cells, and focusing lenses. Each piece was meticulously crafted, waiting to be assembled around the crystal that pulsed softly in his hand.
Master Huyang, the ancient lightsaber construction droid, moved gracefully between the workstations. “Ah, Initiate Kieran,” Huyang said, stopping beside him. His mechanical eyes flickered as he scanned the pieces. “A fine choice of materials. Elegant, practical. And a purple crystal, I see. Rare. Very rare.”
Kieran nodded, feeling a strange sense of pride. “Yeah. I thought it suited me. And I'm a padawan now.”
Huyang tilted his head. “Ah, sorry about that, Padawan Kieran. It’s not just about aesthetics, young one. The crystal’s color reflects the bond between you and the Force. Purple—balanced between the red of passion and the blue of peace. It suggests a path that bridges both Light and Dark.”
Kieran paused, considering Huyang’s words. “So... it’s symbolic?”
“In a way, yes,” Huyang said. “But ultimately, it is a reflection of you. Now, let’s see if you can construct your weapon properly.”
Kieran closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He focused on the pieces in front of him, reaching out with the Force. The components lifted gently into the air, their edges glowing faintly as they clicked together like puzzle pieces.
The power cell locked into place first, followed by the focusing lenses and the emitter matrix. Wires coiled and twisted around the crystal chamber, connecting the pieces like veins. Finally, the crystal itself floated to the center, settling into its cradle with a soft hum.
Sweat beaded on Kieran’s brow as he guided the final components into place. The hilt snapped shut, and the lightsaber floated gently back to the workstation, its polished surface gleaming in the dim light.
Kieran picked it up, his fingers curling around the hilt. The weight was perfect—balanced, comfortable, almost as though it had been made for his hand. Well, it was.
“Well done,” Huyang said, his tone approving. “Now, ignite it.”
Kieran hesitated for a moment, then pressed the activation switch.
With a snap-hiss, the blade erupted to life, a vibrant purple beam of energy that filled the chamber with a soft, glowing light. The hum of the blade resonated in Kieran’s chest, steady and strong.
He stared at the blade, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s... perfect.”
----------------------------------------
The training room was quiet except for the sound of lightsabers humming and clashing in the air. Kieran stood at one end of the room, his lightsaber in hand, its purple blade glowing faintly. Opposite him stood Obi-Wan Kenobi, his blue blade held in the classic Ataru stance. Qui-Gon Jinn observed from the sidelines, his arms crossed as he watched his Padawan closely.
“All right, Kieran,” Obi-Wan said, his tone calm but firm. “Show me what you’ve learned.”
Kieran nodded, taking a deep breath. He had spent hours reviewing the techniques of Makashi and Ataru, the style that the Light side version of him used, determined to combine their strengths. The grace and precision of Makashi, paired with the speed and acrobatics of Ataru—if he could make it work, it would be unstoppable just like the version he saw of himself. And he would only be stopped by another unstoppable force, himself.
He lunged forward, his movements fluid and controlled. His blade flicked out in a series of quick, precise strikes, aiming for Obi-Wan’s shoulders and sides. Obi-Wan parried effortlessly, his blade moving in tight, efficient arcs.
“Good,” Obi-Wan said, stepping back. “But you’re overextending. Watch your balance.”
Kieran adjusted his stance, shifting his weight as he pressed the attack. He tried to incorporate a spinning leap from Ataru, aiming to strike from above, but Obi-Wan sidestepped gracefully, tapping Kieran’s shoulder with the flat of his blade.
“Too predictable,” Obi-Wan said, his voice tinged with amusement.
Kieran gritted his teeth, stepping back to reassess. He needed to mix things up, to keep Obi-Wan guessing. Drawing on Makashi’s precision, he shifted to a more defensive stance, waiting for Obi-Wan to attack.
Obi-Wan obliged, his strikes quick and probing. Kieran deflected them with tight parries, his movements efficient and deliberate. And he counterattacked the same way the Light side version of him had. For a moment, he felt like he was gaining the upper hand.
Then Obi-Wan feinted to the left and struck from the right, his blade slipping past Kieran’s defense and tapping his side.
“Again,” Qui-Gon said from the sidelines. “You’re thinking too much, Kieran. Let the Force flow through you.”
Kieran sighed, wiping sweat from his brow. “Right. The Force.”
He ignited his blade again, trying to clear his mind as he faced Obi-Wan. He whispered to the Force, Guide me. He moved with more instinct, following the advice of the Force and his own intuition, blending Makashi’s precision with Ataru’s speed. He managed to force Obi-Wan onto the defensive, his strikes coming faster and more unpredictable.
For a brief moment, Kieran thought he had him. He lunged forward, his blade aimed for Obi-Wan’s chest—but Obi-Wan spun aside at the last second, his blade sweeping low to knock Kieran off balance.
Kieran stumbled, his blade falling to the ground as Obi-Wan’s blade stopped an inch from his throat.
“Yield,” Obi-Wan said, his voice calm but firm.
Kieran groaned, holding up his hands. “Yield.”
Obi-Wan deactivated his blade, offering Kieran a hand to help him up. “You’re improving,” he said. “But you’re trying to do too much at once. Focus on mastering the fundamentals before you start blending styles.”
Kieran took Obi-Wan’s hand, rising to his feet. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get there.”
“You will,” Qui-Gon said, stepping forward. “But Obi-Wan is right. Precision and speed mean nothing without control. Remember, Kieran—a lightsaber is an extension of yourself. If you don’t have control over yourself, you won’t have control over the blade.”
Kieran nodded, breathing heavily as he deactivated his lightsaber. “Understood, Master.”
----------------------------------------
Later that night, Kieran sat cross-legged in his quarters, his lightsaber resting on his lap. The purple blade had been everything he hoped for, but he couldn’t shake the frustration of his failed sparring session.
He activated the blade, watching the light dance across the walls. The hum was soothing, almost meditative, and as he stared at the blade, he thought back to the duel he had witnessed in the crystal cave.
The Light and Dark versions of himself had been perfect in their execution—flawless, yet flawed. They had been locked in a never-ending battle, each convinced that their way was the only way. And in their endless battles, they didn't realize that they were missing a piece of themselves. The way he saw it, the two styles he saw perfectly complimented each other. One focused on precision and speed while the other focused on precision, power, and defense. He wouldn't even need to combine both styles. He could use two lightsabers, one with each style. That way, they would never be alone, always having a partner to fight with.
He sighed as he caressed the lightsaber hilt, "Don't worry, I'll find my way. Let's give you a name. What about... Duskblade?"
The Force hummed. He smiled, "You like it? Don't worry. I like it too."
He deactivated his blade, letting the room fall into darkness.