Master Yoda stepped through the doorway like he belonged there, because he did.
His cane tapped once on the stone threshold, a dry little sound that cut through the soft fidgeting in the room. Ten younglings sat in a loose half-circle on floor cushions, legs tucked under robes, feet swinging, toes flexing against the smooth floor. A training droid waited against the wall with its optic light dimmed to a patient glow, arms folded in, joints humming faintly when it shifted its weight.
Aavruun sat on the left side of the half-circle, back straight, hands on his knees the way the caretakers liked. His white fur still held the after-smell of breakfast—warm grain and fruit mash—caught in the braids along his shoulders. His ears angled forward when Yoda entered. He tracked the small Master's pace, the way Yoda's robe hem brushed the floor, the way the fabric stayed clean despite Temple life.
Ferus Olin sat two cushions over from Aavruun, human, small and upright, with short light-brown hair that kept sliding toward his eyebrows. Ferus pushed it back with quick fingers the moment it tickled his lashes. His attention stayed locked on Yoda like he was trying to memorize the exact angle of every step.
Yoda's eyes moved across the circle, taking in faces, species, posture, the restless energy that lived in seven-year-old bodies. He paused long enough that the room settled a notch just from habit—younglings had seen older Jedi do that, and their bodies learned to match it.
Master Yoda lowered himself onto an empty cushion at the front of the circle. He set his cane across his lap. He clasped his hands over the knob of it and looked at the younglings like they mattered.
"Early, you are," Yoda said, voice rough and calm at the same time.
A few kids nodded like that was a compliment they wanted to keep. A small Twi'lek child lifted her chin, lekku tucked behind her shoulders like she'd brushed them into place. A Rodian boy clicked his teeth once and then went still.
Aavruun stayed still. His chest rose and fell slow. His eyes stayed on Yoda.
Yoda tilted his head. "Why here, you come? Hmm?"
A couple of kids glanced at each other. The question landed bigger than "what's the Code" or "what did you eat." It sounded like one of those questions adults asked because they wanted to see how you thought.
A human girl on the right side raised her hand halfway, then dropped it and just spoke. "To be Jedi."
Yoda's ears flicked. "To be Jedi," he repeated, like he tasted the words. "And a Jedi is…?"
Ferus's hand shot up fast and straight. Ferus leaned forward on his cushion, eager and tight. "A Jedi serves the Republic," Ferus said. "A Jedi keeps peace. A Jedi follows the Code."
Yoda looked at Ferus for a long breath. "Serve the Republic," Yoda echoed. "Keep peace." He gave Ferus a small nod that looked like approval, then shifted his gaze back to the whole circle. "And why peace? Hmm? Why serve?"
A Rodian boy blurted, "So people don't fight."
A Twi'lek child added, "So they can go home."
Aavruun watched Yoda's face as the answers came. He saw the corners of Yoda's mouth move a fraction like he liked hearing it from children's mouths instead of adult speeches.
Yoda tapped his cane lightly against the stone once. "Good," he said. "Home, they go. Work, they do. Sleep, they get. Fear, less." He let the words sit. "Peace is not… a word only. It is food, it is safety, it is a child who sleeps."
Several younglings shifted, like that picture made sense.
Yoda's eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful. "Now," he said, "question for you. To serve peace, you will meet people. Many people. Some you will like." He glanced at a child who smiled without thinking. "Some, you will grow close to."
Aavruun felt his jaw tighten a touch. He held it there. He kept his face neutral. He listened.
Yoda lifted two fingers. "Tell me. When you like someone, what happens inside you?"
A small human boy frowned, searching. "You feel… happy."
"Happy," Yoda repeated. He nodded.
A Mirialan child with faint markings along the brow said softly, "You want to stay with them."
Yoda's eyes shifted to that child. "Stay," he said, and his voice carried weight without rising. "Yes."
Aavruun's throat made a low sound before he meant it to. A rumble sat behind his teeth, rough and quiet.
Yoda's gaze slid to Aavruun immediately, like he heard everything. "Hmm?" Yoda prompted, gentle, inviting.
Aavruun kept his eyes on Yoda. Aavruun spoke in Basic because that's what the room ran on. "Aavruun wants to keep what he likes," Aavruun said, voice low. "People. Things. Time."
Ferus glanced at Aavruun like he was checking whether that answer broke rules.
Yoda nodded once, slow. "Keep," he said. "Hold."
Yoda leaned forward a little. "Hold too tight," Yoda continued, "and what comes?"
A Twi'lek child said, "Angry."
A Rodian boy clicked and said, "Fight."
Ferus lifted his hand again. "Fear," Ferus said quickly. "Fear of losing."
Yoda's ears tilted toward Ferus. "Fear of losing," Yoda repeated. He let that land. He looked back around the circle. "Fear turns into…?"
"Anger," the human girl said.
"Hate," the Rodian boy added, a little too proud of the big word.
Yoda's eyes stayed steady. "Anger," he agreed. "Hate." He rested both hands on his cane knob. "Suffering follows."
Aavruun listened and kept his face still. Inside, he tracked the logic like a map. Hold tight → fear of loss → anger → bad decisions. The Jedi had a clean chain for it. They used it like a fence line.
Yoda shifted his weight and sat taller, robe folding neatly around his legs. "A Jedi's job," Yoda said, "is to care. Help. Protect." He looked at each youngling as he listed the words, like he handed them out one by one. "A Jedi's job is also to choose with a clear mind."
Yoda raised a hand, palm up, small and open. "When you cling," Yoda said, "your mind narrows. You start to serve one thing." He pointed gently toward the floor between them. "Your want. Your fear."
Ferus nodded hard, like he wanted to carve it into stone.
Aavruun kept his posture. He watched how Yoda taught: questions first, then a simple chain, then duties. No dramatic threats. No scary stories for kids. Just a line you could follow.
Yoda's eyes crinkled slightly. "So," Yoda said, "how do you care… and still serve peace?"
A Twi'lek child squinted. "Share?"
Yoda nodded. "Share," he said. "A start."
A human boy said, "Be nice."
Yoda gave a tiny huff that might have been a laugh. "Nice," he said, like he accepted it as a child's word for a bigger thing. "Kind. Patient. Honest."
Yoda turned his head toward Ferus. "Ferus," Yoda said, pronouncing it cleanly. "Tell me the part you like to say."
Ferus sat up straighter. "There is no emotion, there is peace," Ferus recited, voice proud.
Yoda lifted a finger. "Good," he said. "Now tell me what it means, in your words."
Ferus blinked. The reciting part stayed easy. Explaining took work. Ferus looked down at his hands and then back up. "It means… you don't let feelings boss you."
Yoda nodded. "Yes," he said. "Feelings will come. Your job is to see them, and choose anyway."
Aavruun's ears shifted. That was more honest than the slogans looked on the wall.
Yoda leaned forward slightly again. "In this Temple," Yoda said, "you will make friends. You will like them. You will laugh with them." He glanced at the Rodian boy whose mouth twitched like he tried to hold back a grin. "You will train with them. You will help them when they fall."
A human girl raised her hand, smaller, hesitant. "What about… family?" she asked. Her voice came thin at the end.
Several kids went quiet. Even Ferus's mouth closed hard, like he was trying to be brave with his face.
Yoda looked at the girl. Yoda's expression stayed calm, and his eyes carried something older than the room. "Family," Yoda said. "A strong word."
Yoda placed his cane on the floor beside him. He put both hands on his knees. "Miss them, you will," Yoda said plainly. "Think of them, you will. Love them, you will." He let the words sit like they belonged there. "A Jedi learns to love… without chaining."
Ferus frowned at "love," like he wanted to raise an objection, then stopped himself.
Aavruun watched Ferus and tracked the rule-follower pattern: Ferus measured every word against the Code.
Yoda saw Ferus's face shift and called it out by inviting him. "Ferus," Yoda said. "Speak."
Ferus swallowed. "Attachments lead to the dark," Ferus said, careful and firm. "We're supposed to avoid them."
Yoda nodded, like Ferus spoke a true piece of it. "Avoid attachment," Yoda agreed. "Yes." He lifted a finger again. "Avoid attachment does not mean avoid people."
A few kids blinked like that mattered.
Yoda's voice stayed steady. "Attachment," Yoda said, "is when you hold someone like a possession. When you say: mine." He paused. "Compassion is when you say: I will help you."
Aavruun felt his mouth curl slightly. That was clean. Possession versus duty. The Jedi liked clean categories.
Yoda looked directly at the younglings. "You can sit beside a friend," Yoda said, "and feel happy. You can miss someone and still do your duty." He tapped two fingers against his knee. "You can want something and still choose what is right."
A Rodian boy asked, "What if someone takes your thing?"
Yoda's eyes shifted to him. "Your thing," Yoda repeated, and a few kids snickered. Yoda waited until they settled. "Tell me," Yoda asked the Rodian boy, "when someone takes your thing, what happens inside you?"
The Rodian boy's shoulders rose. "I get mad."
Yoda nodded. "Where do you feel it?"
The Rodian boy rubbed his chest. "Here."
Yoda leaned forward. "Good," Yoda said. "You know where it is." He looked around the circle. "Each of you," Yoda said, "learn where feelings live in your body. Hot face. Tight jaw. Claws that want to grab." His eyes flicked to Aavruun's hands, big even for a youngling, claws kept short and clean. "Then you breathe. Then you choose."
Aavruun kept his hands still on his knees. He felt the "tight jaw" part like Yoda called him out without saying his name.
Yoda's gaze moved across the circle again. "You serve the galaxy," Yoda said. "You serve peace. You serve people who will never know your name." He paused. "You serve each other also."
Ferus nodded again, like he liked that framing.
Yoda's tone stayed practical. "A Jedi who clings," Yoda said, "starts to pick favorites. Starts to bend rules." He pointed to the floor again, like he laid the idea down. "One person becomes more important than peace. One fear becomes more important than truth." He looked at Ferus. "Then a Jedi serves self."
Ferus's lips pressed together. He absorbed it like it was a lesson he could apply.
Aavruun's mind ran its own track: soldiers, orders, mission, duty. He'd lived a version of this on Earth. He knew what happened when someone let personal attachments rewrite the mission. He also knew what happened when leadership pretended people didn't have attachments at all. The Jedi tried to solve it with philosophy and routine.
Yoda shifted slightly, robe rasping. "Now," Yoda said, "I ask you another question."
Yoda looked at the circle, eyes steady. "What happens when someone you love… leaves?"
The room tightened. The human girl's fingers curled into her robe. The Twi'lek child's lekku shifted as she swallowed.
Aavruun kept his face neutral. His chest stayed steady.
Ferus answered carefully, like he wanted to say the right thing. "We let go," Ferus said. "We accept it."
Yoda nodded. "Yes," he said. "We accept."
Yoda's voice softened just a hair, still grounded. "The Force," Yoda said, "is living. Moving. All around us." He lifted his hand slightly, palm open again. "You feel it when you breathe in a quiet room. You feel it when you run. You feel it when you sit still."
The younglings stayed quiet. Even the Rodian boy held still.
Yoda continued, "When someone leaves your sight, they do not vanish from the Force." He looked at the human girl who asked about family. "You can remember them. You can carry what they taught you." He tapped his chest lightly with two fingers. "You can feel them in the living world—because they shaped you."
Aavruun listened. He recognized what Yoda did: he took the deepest concept and translated it into something a kid could hold. No slogans. No scary talk. Just the idea that separation did not equal erasure.
Yoda's eyes moved back across the group. "So," Yoda said, "how do we train?"
The human boy said, "Meditation."
The Twi'lek child said, "Practice."
Ferus said, "Discipline."
Yoda nodded at each one. "Meditation," he agreed. "Practice. Discipline." He pointed gently toward the cushions. "Here, we train mind." He pointed toward the door, toward the hall beyond. "There, we train body." He pointed toward the younglings themselves. "Here, you learn to care… and still choose duty."
Aavruun's throat rumbled again, low, like agreement. It came out rougher than a human "yes."
Yoda's eyes flicked to him. "Hmm," Yoda said. "Aavruun agrees."
A few kids looked at Aavruun like his growl was funny. Aavruun kept his face calm and looked back at Yoda.
Yoda shifted the lesson down to kid level without changing the point. "You will have friends," Yoda said. "You will want to sit beside them. You will want to train with them. Good." He raised a finger. "And when the lesson says sit here," Yoda added, "you sit here."
Several kids nodded. They knew that feeling—wanting to sit by a friend, getting told to sit elsewhere.
Yoda continued, "When a friend loses," Yoda said, "you help them stand." He looked at Ferus. "When you win," Yoda added, "you stay humble." He looked back to the whole group. "You do not take your friend's win and make it your pride. You do not take your friend's pain and make it your anger."
Ferus sat straighter. The rule-follower in him loved clear rules.
Aavruun tracked it as training language: regulate your reactions, keep mission focus, support teammates.
Yoda rose from his cushion with a smooth push of his cane. The motion looked practiced, like he'd done it for decades and decades. His robe fell back into place without fuss.
Yoda looked over the circle. "Questions," Yoda said.
A Rodian boy raised a hand. "If we care about people," the boy asked, "why can't we stay with them?"
Yoda nodded once. "Because larger than one person, your duty is," Yoda said. "Because peace needs you where you are sent." He pointed lightly at the younglings. "A Jedi goes where help is needed." He let that sit. "Sometimes that means leaving someone you like."
A human girl asked quietly, "Does it hurt?"
Yoda's eyes shifted to her. "Yes," Yoda said, simple and honest. "Hurt comes." He tapped his cane once, gentle. "And you learn to carry it without letting it steer you."
Ferus watched Yoda like he wanted to store that sentence and repeat it later.
Aavruun sat with the answer in his chest. It felt familiar in a different uniform.
Yoda's gaze swept the circle one last time. "Today," Yoda said, "we begin a lesson." He gave them a small nod. "Next time, we practice it."
Yoda turned toward the door. His cane tapped softly as he walked out, the sound fading into the corridor hum.
Aavruun stayed seated for a breath after Yoda left. Aavruun's ears angled forward. Aavruun's mind ran clean: purpose first, people always, clinging never. A seven-year-old lesson shaped like adult truth.
Ferus exhaled and rubbed his hands on his robe like he was resetting himself. Ferus looked toward Aavruun and spoke in a small, practical voice. "We should write the key points," Ferus said.
Aavruun looked at Ferus, then down the line of cushions, then back at the doorway where Yoda had been. Aavruun rumbled once, quiet and approving.
Aavruun stood when the caretaker signaled the end of class, fur brushing the edge of his cushion as he rose. Aavruun filed out with the others, feet soft on stone, the filtered air cool on his nose, the lesson riding in his head where he kept all the useful things.