# đź“– *The Sovereign Saga*
**Book I: The Ashes of Empire**
### Chapter Three: The Brightest Jedi
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The temple was quiet, apart from the hum of practice sabers.
It had been carved not from marble or crystal but from stone of Yavin IV itself — rough, moss‑covered blocks pulled from jungle ruins. Luke had chosen it that way, a far simpler place than the grandeur of the old Jedi spires now long gone. He wanted this Order to feel rooted in the living earth, not the marble halls that had once turned the Jedi inward and prideful.
Still, within its simple walls, the air shimmered with energy. Sabers clashed. Young voices strained with effort. A chorus of discipline that might, someday, outlast him.
Luke walked the ring of the training floor, robes brushed with dust, eyes scanning every set of movements. Padawans and knights sparred across the chamber: blue and green lines flaring as blades met, buzzing with vibration. Some fought too cautiously. Others swung too hard, burning strength they did not yet control.
And then there was Ben.
Ben Solo moved like wind over grass — sudden when he needed, flowing when he chose. His blade, a stable green, met his opponent's strike with elegance, spun her weapon from her grasp before she realized he'd shifted weight. No brutality, no arrogance. Only certainty.
Luke felt the swell of pride before he could stop himself.
"The boy has gifts," murmured Master Varis Renhol beside him. The elder's lined face was calm, voice flat, but something unreadable twitched at the corner of his lip. "Not only power. Presence. The other students defer to him."
Luke nodded. "He inspires. The Skywalker line has always been… a storm. With him, it feels like a storm finally passing into sunlight."
Varis didn't look convinced. "Or crashing like lightning." Then the old Master turned away.
Luke kept his eyes on Ben.
The match ended. His opponent bowed, wary‑eyed but respectful. Ben bowed lower, a warm grin breaking across his face before he left the mat. The other knights clapped his back, murmuring approval. Yet even in their cheer Luke caught flickers: admiration mixed with unease. Some whispered he was too strong. Others whispered he should lead them already.
Ben Solo approached where Luke stood. He looked older now than the child he remembered, shoulders steadier, jaw sharp. Yet beneath the young man's calm, Luke still glimpsed the boy who had once clutched his hand nervously before igniting a practice saber for the first time.
"Master," Ben greeted, bowing, lightsaber clipped neatly at his belt.
Luke smiled. "You moved well. Calm. Focused."
Ben's grin tilted. "You taught me."
There it was again. The warmth. Affection too fierce to hide. Luke felt it like a knife of joy pressing his chest. But when Ben's smile faded, what replaced it unsettled him more deeply than pride. A restless edge. A question in his eyes that words hadn't yet formed here, in this chamber.
"Walk with me," Luke said quietly.
Together, master and pupil left the training floor, stepping into the cool air under towering trees. The jungle canopy stretched overhead in green cascades, sunlight spilling in fragments. Their boots crushed moss and roots as birds shrieked far above.
Silence nestled between them before Ben broke it with a sigh. "They don't like me."
"They admire you," Luke said.
"They fear me," Ben countered. His voice wasn't bitter. It was simply true.
Luke looked at him sidelong. His nephew's gaze was sharp, dark but not yet hardened. How much of Leia looked back at him. How much of Han in his restless stride. "Fear fades," Luke said gently. "Trust grows."
"Not fast enough," Ben muttered. Then he stopped, words spilling sharper. "Master, how many years will we keep waiting? Half the Republic burns with pirates, criminal lords, loyalists of the Empire clinging to scraps. And what do we do? Train. Watch. Debate."
Luke's steps slowed. He knew this tune. The melody had haunted the Jedi for generations.
"We are not soldiers," Luke said simply.
"We are *idling*," Ben snapped, then caught himself, dragging air into his lungs as guilt crossed his brow. "Sorry," he added, softer. "I only meant… We can do more. We should lead more."
Luke swallowed, his jaw tightening. These were Anakin's words. Words from another ghost Luke had tried all his life not to become. His own father's shadow, echoing now from his sister's son.
"Ben," Luke said carefully, "the Jedi fell because they rushed into war. They thought themselves generals instead of guardians. And they served Palpatine until they died for his plan. We cannot—"
"And if avoiding his mistakes means we let the galaxy burn?" Ben interrupted. He faced Luke full then, eyes alight with fierce sincerity. "Is that better? How many Outer Rim colonies should fall before we decide to act? How many Braccas? How many Jakku?"
The name struck Luke cold.
"You've been watching the Senate too closely," Luke said quietly. "Politics are your mother's road, not ours."
Ben's jaw clenched. For a moment, Luke thought the boy would spit anger. Instead, Ben's expression leveled into calm steel. "Then maybe they should be mine."
The air stifled between them.
Birdsong shrieked somewhere high in the canopy. Wind rustled the jungle. And for a moment, Luke could not breathe for the weight of memory — Vader's hand raised over his blade, another chamber, another day when conviction smoldered into tragedy.
But when Ben met his gaze again, pain flickered in those eyes alongside determination. He wasn't Anakin. He wasn't Vader. He was his own storm. And Luke's every instinct screamed that if he tried to chain it, he would lose him faster.
So Luke laid a hand on his nephew's shoulder, gentle. "Whatever path you step, Ben — remember. Choice builds destiny. Not power."
Ben bowed his head, acquiescent enough for the moment.
But as he turned back toward the temple, a shadow fell longer across his path.
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That night, Luke stood alone under the stars beyond the stone halls. His hands gripped the edge of the terrace as wind stirred the jungle below. He could still feel it, like static in the Force. Restless. Burning. Greatness boiling beneath Ben Solo's skin, waiting for a cause that would smolder into fire.
Behind him, Master Varis emerged, old robes dragging stone.
"You coddle him," Varis said bluntly.
Luke didn't turn. "I guide him."
Varis's voice held no warmth. "You plant patience in the soil. He is lightning. Patience cannot leash lightning."
Luke finally turned, eyes narrowing. "You sound proud of his thunder."
"I sound pragmatic," Varis said. His gaze sliced with unnerving calm. "Perhaps one day, Ben Solo's lightning will burn the rot away. Perhaps we should not fear such storms."
Luke's chest chilled. He saw it then — not clearly, not fully, but a glimpse. The schism already seeded.
The night pressed in, filled with cicada screams and wind. And Luke knew: this would not end in calm.
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### End of Chapter Three: The Brightest Jedi
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✨ And there we have it: a full, novel‑sized **Luke POV chapter**, introducing the restored Jedi Order, showing Ben Solo as admired prodigy, and planting deep foreshadowing of his eventual split — with Luke's pride, fear, and mistakes burning quietly underneath.