The training chamber echoed with the hum of training sabers, the occasional clash of blades, and the quickened breaths of initiates as they dueled. In one corner, Kieran leaned against the wall, absently twirling Duskblade in his hand. Its purple glow reflected off the smooth floors, illuminating his face with faint violet hues.
His mismatched eyes darted toward the center of the chamber, where Obi-Wan Kenobi spun in a fluid arc, his training saber sweeping low to catch the ankle of his opponent—a Jedi Knight. Obi-Wan’s movements were sharp and acrobatic, blending speed with well-timed strikes. His opponent barely blocked in time, staggering back as Obi-Wan pressed the advantage with a series of quick, aggressive blows.
Kieran smirked. Show-off.
Obi-Wan’s saber connected with his opponent’s side in a decisive strike, earning him a clear victory. The fellow padawan deactivated his training saber, offering a polite bow to his opponent before turning toward Kieran. His blue eyes gleamed with mischief.
“Well, are you just going to stand there spinning that thing,” Obi-Wan said, pointing at Duskblade, “or are you going to actually use it?”
Kieran pushed off the wall, clipping his saber to his belt. “I was just letting you bask in the glory of your little win. Looked like you needed the confidence boost.”
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Confidence boost? You think you can do better?”
Qui-Gon Jinn, who had been standing nearby with his arms crossed, chuckled softly. “You both have much to learn, but the best lessons come from action. If you’re so eager, Kieran, perhaps you should spar with Obi-Wan.”
Kieran tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “Are you sure, Master Qui-Gon? I’d hate to bruise his ego.”
Obi-Wan scoffed, stepping into the sparring ring and raising his saber. “Let’s see if your blade work is as sharp as your tongue, Kieran.”
Kieran stepped up to the sparring ground and activated Duskblade, the violet blade springing to life with a low hum. He took on an Ataru stance, getting into the same stance as Obi-Wan.
Kieran took a deep breath. He was trying to adapt, to let go of the chaotic whirl of ideas that constantly filled his head. But being "disciplined" wasn't his style. Obi-Wan made it look easy, but for Kieran, it felt like squeezing into armor two sizes too small. He was too mentally active to be "disciplined" in the ways Obi-Wan wanted him to be.
"Ready?" Obi-Wan asked, his tone measured but with a hint of challenge in it.
Kieran smirked, masking his unease. "Always."
With that, Obi-Wan moved. Fast. His blade flashed forward in a series of rapid strikes—pure Ataru, all speed and acrobatics. Kieran backpedaled quickly, his own blade snapping up to deflect the incoming attacks. His movements were less graceful, and more reactive, but effective enough to avoid being overwhelmed.
"You’re not committing to your strikes," Obi-Wan said as their blades clashed. He pivoted, forcing Kieran into a tight parry. "Ataru demands fluidity. Stop hesitating."
"I’m not hesitating," Kieran shot back, deflecting a low sweep aimed at his legs. "I’m... improvising."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, his smirk almost teasing. "Improvising? That’s what you’re calling it?"
Kieran’s blade darted forward in a sudden counterattack, forcing Obi-Wan to step back. "Worked well enough, didn’t it?"
Before Obi-Wan could respond, Kieran shifted his stance, his movements transitioning into the precision-based strikes of Makashi. His attacks became sharper, and more deliberate, and for a moment, Obi-Wan was caught off guard. Kieran saw his chance and pressed forward, his blade slicing through the air in a blur of purple light.
Qui-Gon straightened slightly from his position against the wall, his expression one of quiet curiosity.
But Obi-Wan wasn’t so easily beaten. He adjusted quickly, using Ataru’s speed and agility to disengage and counter with a powerful, spinning strike. Kieran barely managed to block it, and the force of the impact sent him skidding backward.
"You’re trying to do too much at once," Obi-Wan said, his tone shifting to something closer to a lecture. "Ataru, Makashi—you can’t just switch styles mid-fight and expect it to work."
Kieran gritted his teeth, frustration flaring. "Why not? Isn’t that what makes me unpredictable?"
"It also makes you inconsistent," Obi-Wan countered, his blade flashing forward again. "A real opponent will see right through it."
Kieran tried to counter with a Makashi thrust, but Obi-Wan sidestepped easily, using a quick Ataru spin to deliver a precise tap to Kieran’s side. The purple blade wavered as Kieran stumbled, deactivating his saber and holding up a hand.
"All right, fine. You win."
Obi-Wan deactivated his blade as well, and his breathing was steady. "You’ve got talent, Kieran. But talent isn’t enough. Discipline is what makes a Jedi."
Kieran groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Discipline, discipline, discipline. That’s all you ever talk about. Maybe not everyone wants to fight like they’ve got a training manual stapled to their face, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan’s jaw tightened, but before he could retort, Qui-Gon stepped forward, his calm presence immediately diffusing the tension.
"That’s enough, both of you," Qui-Gon said, his tone even but firm. He looked at Kieran first. "Obi-Wan isn’t wrong, Kieran. There is value in discipline and structure. Ataru requires precision, and without it, you’ll struggle to fully realize its potential."
Then, he turned to Obi-Wan, his expression softening slightly. "But Kieran’s creativity and intuition are strengths, not weaknesses. The Jedi Code teaches us to trust in the Force, but the Force speaks to each of us differently. Kieran’s path may not look like yours, Obi-Wan, and that’s not a bad thing."
Obi-Wan frowned but nodded. "I understand, Master."
Kieran shot Qui-Gon a grateful look. "Thanks, Master. I guess... I just feel like I’m trying to fit into a box that wasn’t made for me."
Qui-Gon smiled faintly. "That’s because you’re not meant to fit into a box, Kieran. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t learn the basics. Think of them as tools—not chains. Master them, and you’ll have the freedom to create something uniquely your own."
Kieran considered this for a moment, then nodded. "All right. I’ll try."
"Good," Qui-Gon said. "Now, let’s try again. And this time, remember: Let the Force guide you. Work with it, not against it."
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That night, he sat cross-legged on his sleeping mat, Duskblade resting across his lap. The faint hum of the training session still buzzed in his mind, filled with frustration.
Obi-Wan’s words lingered: Discipline is what makes a Jedi.
He stared at the purple blade as he activated it, the light casting shadows on the walls of his quarters. The hum was steady and soothing, but Kieran felt anything but calm.
He reached out to the Force, letting it brush against his senses. It was like a stream, flowing around him, inviting but elusive. He meditated but the Force wasn't cooperating with him. He said to it, Come on, work with me. Didn't you promise back on Ilum? The Force hummed, now cooperating fully with him as he meditated peacefully.
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The next morning, Kieran found himself in the Jedi Archives. The Archives were dim and quiet, save for the soft hum of holopads and the faint sound of footsteps echoing through the vaulted chamber. Kieran sat alone at a small desk, his brow furrowed as he studied the holographic display in front of him. It showed a diagram of a lightsaber form—Makashi, specifically—and the annotations on the screen highlighted its strengths in precision and dueling.
Despite everything he had learned, Kieran felt restless. His duel with Obi-Wan earlier still lingered in his mind. He’d been improving, sure, but it wasn’t enough.
Flipping the display to Ataru, he studied the flowing acrobatics of the form. Ataru relied on speed and agility, strengths he naturally had, but it lacked the pinpoint control of Makashi. He rubbed his temple, a slight frown crossing his face. “Two forms... two completely different approaches. There has to be a way to blend them. How did my Light side do it?” he muttered, leaning back in his chair.
He glanced over at a group of younger initiates working nearby. Their laughter carried softly through the air as they discussed basic combat forms. For a moment, Kieran smiled to himself. He remembered being in their position—not that long ago. It felt strange to already be past that stage, taking on more advanced techniques as Qui-Gon’s Padawan.
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But there was no denying that he still had a long way to go.
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The meditation chamber was quiet, the air thick with the stillness of concentration. Kieran knelt on the smooth stone floor, his breathing steady as he focused on the objects in front of him: three small stones and a larger metallic sphere.
Qui-Gon sat nearby, his legs crossed, watching with calm detachment. “You’re trying too hard, Kieran,” he said gently.
Kieran sighed, his hand twitching slightly as the three stones wobbled in mid-air. The metallic sphere, however, remained stubbornly grounded. “I’m not trying too hard,” Kieran muttered. “The stupid sphere just doesn’t want to move.”
“It’s not about what the sphere wants. It’s about what you allow the Force to do,” Qui-Gon replied, a faint smile on his face.
Kieran glared at the sphere as if willing it to float. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Slowly, he reached out with his senses, feeling the faint hum of the Force around him. The stones began to stabilize, their wobbling easing into a smooth, synchronized movement.
The metallic sphere trembled slightly, then lifted off the ground.
Kieran grinned, opening his eyes. “Finally!”
The sphere promptly dropped, hitting the floor with a metallic clang.
“You lost focus,” Qui-Gon said, his tone neutral but not unkind. “Don’t celebrate your success until you’ve truly achieved it. Balance and patience, Kieran.”
Kieran sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Balance and patience. Got it.”
“Let’s try again,” Qui-Gon said, leaning back slightly. “This time, don’t think of the objects as separate from yourself. They’re part of the same energy that flows through all things. Don’t control them—let them exist in harmony with you.”
Kieran exhaled, closing his eyes again. This time, he didn’t focus on just the stones or the sphere. He focused on the flow of the Force itself, asking it to lift it with him.
The stones lifted first, forming a smooth orbit around his head. Then the sphere followed, rising steadily until it joined the motion.
The objects moved in perfect unison, their orbits fluid and seamless. Kieran opened his eyes, his smile more subdued this time.
Qui-Gon nodded, his expression approving. “Better.”
Kieran lowered the objects gently to the floor, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “That was... different. It felt natural.”
“Good,” Qui-Gon said, standing. “You’re beginning to understand the importance of harmony. But remember, this is only the beginning. Mastery takes time and discipline.”
Kieran stood as well, rolling his shoulders. “Well, I’ve got the time. And discipline... I’m working on it.”
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Later that day, Qui-Gon led Kieran to a secluded training ground on the outskirts of the Temple. The area was surrounded by tall, ancient trees, their branches casting dappled shadows on the ground.
In the center of the clearing stood a series of training droids, their metallic forms gleaming in the sunlight. Each droid was armed with a training saber, and their movements were precise and relentless.
“Today,” Qui-Gon said, gesturing to the droids, “you’ll face them. Not one at a time, but all together.”
Kieran raised an eyebrow. “All of them? Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”
“Perhaps,” Qui-Gon said, his tone calm. “But it’s not about winning. It’s about testing your limits. Let’s see how well you adapt under pressure.”
The droids activated, their sabers humming to life as they moved into formation. Kieran ignited Duskblade, its purple blade gleaming in the sunlight.
“Great,” Kieran muttered. “No pressure.”
The droids attacked simultaneously, their strikes coming from all directions. Kieran moved instinctively, his blade flashing as he deflected blow after blow. He shifted between Makashi’s precise parries and Ataru’s acrobatic movements, trying to keep up with the relentless assault.
Despite his efforts, the droids pushed him back, their strikes coming faster and harder. Kieran’s breathing grew heavier, sweat dripping down his face as he struggled to hold his ground.
“Focus, Kieran!” Qui-Gon called from the sidelines. “You’re overthinking again.”
Kieran gritted his teeth, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He let his mind clear, tuning out everything except the rhythm of the fight. The Force flowed through him, giving him hints about what should be done and what's coming. It was like playing chess with closed eyes with a grandmaster backseating. What's chess? he found himself lacking.
He sidestepped a droid’s strike, countering with a quick slash that disabled its weapon. Another droid came at him from the side, but Kieran spun low, sweeping its legs out from under it.
One by one, he disabled the droids, his movements becoming more fluid and instinctive. When the last droid fell, Kieran stood in the center of the clearing, his chest heaving as he deactivated his blade.
Qui-Gon approached, a faint smile on his face. “Well done. You adapted. You let the Force guide you without letting it control you. That’s progress.”
Kieran nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Thanks. But those droids weren’t holding back, were they?”
“No,” Qui-Gon said, his smile widening slightly.
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A month had passed since Kieran's first sparring match with Obi-Wan. In that time, his training had been relentless. Day after day, he honed his lightsaber skills, sparred against droids, and deepened his connection to the Force under Qui-Gon’s watchful eye. Though the lessons were difficult—and sometimes frustrating—Kieran could feel the difference in himself. His movements were sharper, and his instincts more refined. Even Duskblade seemed to hum with more confidence when he ignited it.
And now, he was back in the training chamber, standing opposite Obi-Wan once again. A crowd of initiates and a few Knights had gathered to watch the duel, curiosity flickering in their eyes. Word had spread about Kieran’s rapid progress, and many were eager to see how he measured up against Obi-Wan, the skilled and seasoned Padawan who had trained under Qui-Gon for years.
Obi-Wan stood at the ready, his blue training saber ignited. His posture was relaxed but focused, and his stance a perfect reflection of Ataru’s principles—light on his feet, prepared to move at a moment’s notice.
“You’ve been training hard, I hear,” Obi-Wan said, his tone light but carrying a note of challenge. “Let’s see if it’s paid off.”
Kieran smirked, igniting Duskblade, the purple blade casting its glow across his face. He slid into his Makashi stance—blade held low to the side, his weight balanced perfectly on the balls of his feet. “You’ll find out soon enough, Obi-Wan. Just don’t cry when you lose.”
From the sidelines, Qui-Gon chuckled softly but said nothing, his calm eyes flicking between his two students.
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Confident, are we?”
“Let’s just say I’ve been practicing,” Kieran replied, twirling Duskblade once before settling into position.
Qui-Gon stepped forward, raising a hand to silence the murmurs of the gathered spectators. “Remember, Obi-Wan, no Force abilities during this sparring session. Kieran is still developing his connection to the Force, and this duel is meant to test his progress with the blade.”
Obi-Wan gave a small nod of acknowledgment, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “Understood, Master.”
Qui-Gon stepped back, his voice steady. “Begin.”
Obi-Wan moved first, just as Kieran had suspected. His blade came in with aggression and speed. Kieran held his ground, deflecting all incoming blows with sharp parries. Kieran didn't retreat this time but instead, he kept his stance tight, sidestepping and countering with calculated thrusts. Obi-Wan jumped back, avoiding his counterattacks.
“Not bad,” Obi-Wan said, circling Kieran. “You’ve definitely improved.”
“Thanks,” Kieran said, sidestepping another strike and countering with a quick slash aimed at Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “But I’m not here for compliments.”
Obi-Wan smirked, blocking the attack and spinning into a sweeping strike aimed at Kieran’s legs. Kieran jumped, flipping over the blade with a burst of acrobatics he had borrowed from Ataru. As he landed, he transitioned smoothly back into Makashi, his blade darting forward in a precise thrust.
Obi-Wan barely managed to block it, his eyes narrowing. “You’re blending forms,” he observed, his tone impressed despite himself.
“Caught on now, did you?” Kieran shot back, pressing the advantage with a series of swift, elegant strikes that forced Obi-Wan to backpedal.
The crowd murmured in surprise. Kieran wasn’t just keeping up with Obi-Wan—he was holding his own. His transitions between Makashi and Ataru were fluid, almost seamless, and his strikes carried a confidence that hadn’t been there a month ago.
Obi-Wan switched tactics, launching into a spinning attack meant to disorient his opponent. Kieran read the movement and countered with a tight parry, their blades locking for a brief moment. The hum of their sabers filled the room as they pushed against each other, neither willing to give an inch.
“You’ve got guts,” Obi-Wan said, his tone strained as he pressed forward.
“And you talk too much,” Kieran shot back, stepping to the side and breaking the blade lock. He followed up with a quick slash that nicked Obi-Wan’s arm, earning a sharp hiss of pain from the older Padawan.
Obi-Wan stepped back, his expression tightening. He adjusted his grip, clearly taking Kieran more seriously now. “Not bad. But let’s see if you can keep up.”
He launched into another series of rapid strikes, forcing Kieran to move faster than ever. Their blades clashed in a blur of blue and purple light, the sound echoing through the chamber. Kieran could feel the strain in his muscles, the sweat dripping down his face, but he refused to back down. He could see the slight edge of frustration in Obi-Wan’s movements, the way his attacks became just a bit more forceful as Kieran deflected them.
This is it, Kieran thought, his mind racing. If he was going to win, he had to do it now.
Obi-Wan feinted high, aiming to draw Kieran’s defense upward, but Kieran didn’t fall for it. Instead, he ducked low, spinning into a sweeping strike that caught Obi-Wan off guard. Their blades clashed again, but this time, Kieran pushed forward, using his momentum to knock Obi-Wan slightly off balance.
Seizing the opportunity, Kieran stepped in close, his blade darting forward in a quick, precise thrust that stopped just short of Obi-Wan’s chest.
Obi-Wan froze, his blue blade still raised defensively, but it was too late. Kieran’s victory was clear.
The room fell silent for a moment, and then the spectators erupted into murmurs of surprise and approval. Kieran stepped back, deactivating Duskblade and offering Obi-Wan a respectful nod. “Not bad for an improviser, huh?”
Obi-Wan deactivated his own blade, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll admit it—you’ve gotten better. But don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late,” Kieran said with a grin.
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That evening, Kieran sat alone, in the middle of the meditation chamber with Duskblade resting across his knees. While he was proud of the progress he'd made in just a month, the progress in beating his fellow padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, the future master of Soresu. Though he was still using Ataru, Kieran felt slightly proud to beat somebody who would go on to slice off three of Skywalker's limbs. Kieran noted that he had been reckless, impatient, and brash but he knew that he had made a difference. He now knew that he wasn't just swinging a lightsaber, but instead, wielding it. He had always been an advocate of cooperation. He had no idea how he forgot to cooperate with his lightsaber, a weapon he would carry for the rest of his life.
He closed his eyes and reached out to the Force. It was hard at first, to cooperate with it. He had to remind it every day that they were cooperating. Otherwise, it would simply forget about it the next day. But after a week of constant effort, it finally felt natural. It was as if the Force had just accepted him, truly working together with him for the first time.
“Still not perfect,” he murmured to himself, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But I’ll get there.”
The purple glow of Duskblade illuminated the room as he activated it, the blade humming softly. For the first time, Kieran didn’t feel like he was fighting against the Force or trying to prove something. He felt... slightly balanced.
And for now, that was enough.