The Dathomir sky was bruised red as dusk settled over the forest. The Nightsisters' torches hissed low, flickering against stone and ash. The ritual grounds had grown quiet since the healing of the sister earlier that week. Magic still lingered in the air—but tonight, it would not be fire or shadow that was taught.
It would be something… forgotten.
You stood barefoot on the stone circle. Your robes were folded on the edge of a nearby altar. The cold air kissed the scars across your arms and chest—etched reminders of wars fought without lightsabers.
Anakin Skywalker stood across from you, breath controlled, muscles tight, lightsaber at his side—still unused.
You held out your hand.
"No saber. No Force. Not tonight."
Anakin blinked. "Then what are we doing?"
You dropped into a stance—feet planted, arms up, hands loose.
"We teach the body."
Earth's Forgotten Art
You circled slowly around your apprentice as the torches flickered.
"The Jedi rely too much on their sabers. The Sith on their powers. But what if your blade is broken? What if your connection to the Force is severed?"
You moved. A flash of motion—three precise strikes, faster than Anakin could follow. You stopped just short of his throat, chest, and jaw.
"What if that happens?" you asked again, calmly. "What will you do?"
Anakin was quiet.
You stood tall again and walked toward the fire, gesturing to the training ring.
"On my homeworld—Earth—there were no lightsabers. No space magic. Just people… surviving. And from survival, came mastery. Martial arts."
You demonstrated:
Jeet Kune Do — fast, explosive, formless form.
Krav Maga — lethal, direct, born from war.
Wing Chun — fast, close-range strikes and defense.
Jiu-Jitsu — locks, holds, and leverage over strength.
Each move flowed from the next, your body moving like liquid steel. Every strike was controlled. Deadly. Beautiful.
"These are not styles to memorize. They are languages. Languages your body will speak… when your weapon is gone."
Training in the Ash
Over the next several days, Anakin trained from dawn to dusk.
He learned how to move without tension, how to fall without harm, how to strike without mercy—but with discipline.
He bruised.
He bled.
He fell.
And then… he began to flow.
A Conversation by Firelight
By the end of the seventh day, you sat beside the fire, eating dried meat and roots. Anakin sat across from you, silent. He rubbed his wrists, his forearms.
Then he asked:
"Why teach me this? I have the Force."
You stared into the fire, voice low.
"Because one day, your saber might fail. Your powers might be stripped. You'll be hunted. Wounded. Alone. And I want you to still win."
You looked at him.
"The Jedi train warriors. I'm making you unbreakable."
The Force Flows Through Flesh
The next night, you brought him to a large stone slab just beyond the ritual circle.
You stood beside it.
"You've learned control," you said. "Now channel the Force through your strikes. Not outward. Not thrown. Through you."
You inhaled.
Then—BOOM.
Your kick connected with the boulder, and it exploded into a million shards, dust rising like smoke.
Anakin's eyes widened. You lowered your leg.
"The Force is not a crutch. It's not outside you. It is you."
He stepped toward a smaller stone.
You guided his breathing.
You taught him the Force language phrase:
"Rin'shaal." — Flow.
He whispered it.
Focused.
Struck.
CRACK.
The stone split cleanly in two.
Not shattered.
Disciplined.
Final Thoughts
That night, as the stars stretched above, Anakin moved through kata without a saber. His footwork had rhythm. His balance had poise.
You watched from the shadows, pride in your heart.
The Nightsisters stood at the edge of the woods, whispering.
"He's becoming something… new," one said.
"He's still dangerous," another warned.
The High Priestess only smiled.
"He's dangerous… because he's free."
You whispered to yourself, unseen:
"No. Because he's becoming whole."