The biting cold of the morning air no longer gnawed at my exposed skin or seeped into my bones. Through the Force, I perceived it differently now—not as discomfort, but as raw kinetic energy suspended in the atmosphere, waiting to be drawn in through my breath or redirected along the invisible currents that flowed through all living things.
Two years.
It has been two years since the pit, since the cold dirt, since I was abandoned here.
Two years of silence, discipline, and the omnipresent thrum of the Force.
Ever since then, my body had grown quite solid and capable, forged by bodyweight exercises done in the dim, humid air of the lower temple cavern. My shoulders felt wide, my core tighter than normal. The training I endured was harsh and gruelling, but it brought results.
I squatted by a patch of rich, damp earth I'd dug out near the stream. I pressed my palm flat against the soil, focusing. The air around my hand warmed instantly. I drew upon the Force, channelling it into the ground.
The seeds, planted just hours ago, responded instantly. I felt the cell walls swell, felt the desperate, rapid reach of the roots. Green shoots burst from the dirt, thickening into stalks, then leaves, and finally into tight, nutrient-rich heads of cabbage and kale.
The process, which would have taken weeks naturally, was completed in less than a minute.
I felt the drain of my energy, but the yield was immediate. I harvested only what I needed for the next week and a half, leaving the rest for animals around here and to sustain the patch.
Consitor Sato was an interesting Force Power available to those on the Light Side. It altered the growth of plants to extreme levels, causing them to grow near instantly via drawing on the Force and the channelling of life energy into plants and as such was part of the Altar abilities.
I only learned it early on, so I could do this. It was done for survival, in other words.
Later that day, I was deeper in the woods, the forest floor silent beneath my careful feet.
I felt the pulse of a boar—large, old, and currently distracted by a patch of sweet acorns. My bow, carved patiently from ancient cedar, was light in my grip. I drew the string back, the movement economical and still.
My eyes were closed as I focused on the creature.
It's breathing, it's heart beat, the slight tremors in the leg, the subtle shift in its spine, calculating the precise point that would ensure it would not suffer. A clean, painless death.
I could perceive what were called Shatterpoints; a sense that wasn't sight yet sight was the best word to describe it. It is a perception, a perception of how I feel of how what I look at fits into The Force and how it binds it to itself and everything else.
I had an innate talent for it and so with the Force guiding me to the boar's weak point, I let go of the string.
The arrow had cleanly entered it by the time I opened my eyes sticking there.
I approached slowly, offering a moment of true gratitude—not a ritual, but an honest acknowledgement of the life I had just taken for my own survival.
The protein it would provide was essential for my development. I never killed for sport, only for necessity. I carried the dead boar back to the temple, the burden heavy but manageable.
The bulk of the animal settled awkwardly across my shoulders, making my spine lock instantly into a rigid, controlled posture. The weight was significant—perhaps seventy kilos—and the ground was uneven, a tapestry of sharp stones, treacherous moss, and fallen cedar trunks.
One, two, three.
I didn't count steps in my mind, but heartbeats. I regulated my breathing, slowing the intake of air until the oxygen felt cool and crisp in my lungs. This was Moving Meditation—the physical exertion was the key, the labour a forced path to stillness. When the body screams, the mind must find silence to survive the task.
The path I took was unmarked, a deliberate challenge. I did not rely on muscle memory or sight. I relied on the currents of the Force, flowing around the obstacles, guiding my bare feet (I rarely wore shoes now) to the safest patch of earth. Each footfall was a precise landing, a calculated transfer of weight.
The forest was silent, save for the crunch of my own passage. Two years ago, this silence had been terrifying—a vast, indifferent emptiness mirroring the hole left by my parents' betrayal. Now, it was a profound library. I felt the slow, steady life of the ancient cedars, the frantic scurry of subterranean life, the distant trickle of the stream. They were all connected, and so was I.
My senses, once scattered by the sheer volume of external data, were now filtered through the lens of the Force and the basic Force Sense power.
The smell of pine needles, the faint, metallic scent of iron-rich stream water, the damp coolness on my skin—they were all notes in the larger symphony. I moved not as an individual fighting the load, but as a part of the environment, drawing strength from the boundless energy that unified the system.
I felt the dull throb in my left trapezius where the weight pressed hardest. Irrelevant. That was the first lesson of true focus: acknowledge the pain, but refuse it authority over the task.
I passed a massive, grey granite outcrop, the stone etched with ancient weathering patterns. This area was thirty kilometres from the nearest known access road. The world had swallowed this place whole. There was no sign of humanity—no plastic, no tyre tracks, no sound of distant machinery, only the untamed wild.
As I walked, my mind turned the animal's death over, not in remorse, but in analysis. The arrow had hit precisely where the energy signature was strongest and most central. The moment of impact, viewed through the Force, was a perfect, clean transfer of momentum. It confirmed the Jedi doctrine: a life taken for necessity must be taken with minimal suffering. This was the practice of selfless action, adhering to the Will of the Force above personal desire or convenience.
The Shiroganes killed out of convenience. I kill to sustain. The difference is absolute.
The memory of the Shiroganes was a faint, cold whisper now, stripped of its ability to inflict pain. It was a data point: Betrayal. Avoidance Strategy: Self-reliance. The anger had been consumed by the fire of discipline. The restless energy, once chaos, was now fuel. The physical exertion was its own form of Moving Meditation, purging the last lingering traces of that old, turbulent life.
I continued the steady, rhythmic walk, the sun now high enough to send faint, silver shafts of light through the canopy. The world was simplified into tasks, and my mind, once a lightning storm of scattered thoughts, was a focused beam. The temple was close now. I felt the ancient, quiet power of the stones below me—a steady beacon in the wild.
The physical exertion was its own form of Moving Meditation. The world was simplified into tasks, and my mind, once a lightning storm of scattered thoughts, was a focused beam.
I spent the rest of the day in ritual. The boar was expertly butchered, the meat prepared for smoking and drying in the cooler recesses of the temple—another necessity learned from the ancient texts on survival left behind.
The remaining non-edible parts were returned to the forest as tribute, ensuring the cycle of life continued. I was not conquering the environment; I was integrating myself into it.
—————
The Holocron, a simple cubicle made of blue and bronze rested silently on the mossy ground in its polyhedral state. The Hologram of the Owner was speaking to me, explaining the lesson. This unknown master of the Intergalactic Order, had repeated the lesson countless times in life and repeated it through his Holocron: "There is no greater concentration than simply letting go. Feel the object as an extension of yourself."
I was balanced entirely on my right arm and the side of my foot, my spine straight, my body taut. Beside me, a small pile of stream-smoothed stones waited. I closed my eyes, dismissing the physical strain entirely. The cold from the grass, the burn in my tricep—irrelevant.
I reached out with my mind.
It wasn't reaching out to the stones; it was reaching out through them. The first pebble felt like a small, dull weight. I focused all my being on the frantic, analytical part of my consciousness that always wanted to find the answer pouring it into the connection.
Lift.
The pebble twitched. Then, with a soft scraping sound, it rose. It floated, spinning slowly, suspended a metre above the earth. I opened my eyes. The stone was stable.
The ancient master's voice had said to pause, to breathe, to recentre. But my mind had already found the answer. It had found the perfect neural pathway, the precise mental command, the exact feeling of the connection. Now that I knew the method, the process was immediately obsolete.
I didn't stop. I couldn't.
My mind surged ahead. The first stone became two. Then four. Then the entire pile. Soon, ten river stones, each roughly the size of my fist, were orbiting my head like a planetary ring. The sight was irrelevant. The feeling was everything: a complex, interlocking network of forces, each stone requiring a slightly different tension. The complexity was intoxicating.
I felt the connection deepen, the mental effort becoming less a calculation and more an extension of my will. The very air around me seemed to hum with the energy I was drawing in. The stones began to move faster, tracing dizzying patterns, weaving themselves into a tight, impossible knot.
I didn't hear the warning strain in my lungs or feel the sweat freezing on my brow. I didn't see the blood vessels popping in my eyes from the intensity. I saw only the problem: How much more can I move?
I snatched a nearby boulder—easily fifty kilos—and added it to the rotation. The stones shuddered, but held. The complexity of the new system was a puzzle I had to solve, a calculation that demanded every ounce of my focus.
The energy was a hot, thrilling wire running through my head. The stones sped up, the boulder joining their dizzying dance.
Then, the wire snapped.
I slammed down onto the mossy ground, my right arm collapsing instantly. The air rushed back into my lungs in a ragged, painful gasp, and the world exploded back into reality. The cold, the aching exhaustion, the throb behind my eyes—it all hit me at once, like a physical blow.
The stones, the ten pebbles, and the fifty-kilo boulder, all hit the ground with dull, heavy thuds.
I lay there for several seconds, my chest heaving, listening to the terrified flutter of a small bird nearby.
My chest heaved, sucking in oxygen that felt too thin to satisfy the burning in my lungs. My right arm, the one I had been balancing on, trembled violently, the muscles seizing in protest.
Hypoxia. Acute muscle failure. Force depletion.
I catalogued the symptoms detachedly as I stared up at the canopy of the cavern, the bioluminescent moss blurring in my vision.
I had failed.
No. Correction. I had exceeded structural tolerances.
I rolled onto my back, wincing as the movement sent a fresh spike of pain through my shoulder. The stones lay scattered around me—inert, heavy, mocking in their stillness. I had lifted them. I had controlled them. But I had allowed the hyperfocus to consume the reserve energy required to sustain the connection and my own consciousness.
"Limit found," I whispered, my voice raspy.
I didn't stay down. To stay down was to accept the weakness. I forced my body upright, my limbs feeling like lead weights. The walk back to the main chamber of the temple was a blur of sheer will.
I didn't use the Force to aid my steps; I had nothing left to draw from. I simply walked, one foot in front of the other, until I reached the cool, smooth stone of the meditation mats.
I collapsed onto the cushions, sleep claiming me not as a comfort, but as a biological imperative for repair.
Time Skips
Speed
The forest was a blur.
I was running. Not jogging. Running.
To a normal observer, I would have been a smear of motion, a gust of wind that rustled the leaves. Force Speed.
I navigated the dense tree line at eighty kilometers an hour. My perception was dilated; the world moved in slow motion. I saw the falling leaf, the drop of dew, the squirrel freezing on the branch.
I reached the cliff face—a vertical wall of granite thirty meters high.
I didn't slow down. I accelerated.
Force Leap.
I launched myself upward, defying gravity. I ran along the vertical surface for three steps, then kicked off, twisting in the air, landing on a protrusion, and jumping again.
I crested the top of the ridge in seconds, my chest barely heaving. The freedom was absolute.
Tutumanis.
The storm outside was violent—a typhoon that had swept in from the coast, battering the forest with rain that felt like bullets.
I stood on the ridge, exposed to the elements.
Thunder cracked, shaking the ground. A bolt of lightning arced down, aiming for the tallest cedar near me.
I didn't flinch. I raised my left hand.
I didn't try to stop the energy; I caught it. The lightning struck my palm, a blinding white impact that should have stopped my heart. Instead, I became the conduit. My veins glowed beneath my skin, a spiderweb of blue fire. The heat was agonizing, a physical scream, but I breathed through it, rotating my internal barriers.
I channeled the raw voltage down my arm, through my core, and out of my right hand, blasting a sphere of pure energy into the sky that dissipated the clouds above me.
Electric Judgement
The experience of the Lightning made me reconsider something. I remembered Luke Skywalker firing a Light Side variation of Force Lightning before and now that I was hit with real lightning...
I brought my fingers forwards focusing on righteous anger at what happened to me. The abandonment of my parents drew the power forth and soon yellow bolts of lightning shot forwards impacting a tree and searing it.
Figured. In the EU the best way to learn Force Lightning was to have been hit by Force Lightning, so applying the same principle I learned Electric Judgement.
Animal Bond
The black bear was hungry. It lumbered out from between the cedars, its fur bristling, breath steaming in the cold morning air. It rose slightly onto its hind legs, assessing me. A small girl.
An easy meal. Prey.
I didn't reach for the Force Push, Pull, or anything violent. Instead...
I raised my hand, palm forward.
Telepathy. Animal Bond.
I didn't dominate it. I didn't shove fear into its mind. I projected an image instead—simple, instinctual, something a bear would understand: I am not food, I was too dangerous and not worth the effort.
The bear's growl quieted. Its ears tilted back. The predatory drive hesitated, confusion flickering through the animal's mind before giving way to wary acknowledgment.
Then I layered another suggestion: A feeling of fullness. The scent of fat and meat.A deer carcass lying three kilometers east.
The bear huffed once, a deep, rumbling exhale/It lowered itself back to all fours, stared at me a moment longer, then turned and lumbered off toward the east, crashing through underbrush without urgency.
Mind Trick wasn't about control. It was about a suggestion. The weak-minded obeyed while the strong-minded... negotiated.
Four Years Later
I had managed to master the Youngling Training schedule by the time I turned 10. And so, I was ready to build my own Lightsaber. However before that came a Crystal.
The hum of the Crystal Forge—a specialized Geological Compressor—was a low, resonant baritone that vibrated in the marrow of my bones.
I had prepared for this for months mining both graphite and coal preparing the raw slurry that now sat inside the crucible of the machine.
The Holocron had been specific about this process.#
"The Sith use synthetic crystals to dominate the Force, pouring hate and bleeding their will into the lattice to create the red blades," the holographic figure of a Jedi Master that looked familiar to me had explained. "But this Order recognised that the Force is not limited to geology. We guide the crystal's growth not with hate, but with communion. We meditate upon the lattice, allowing the Force to dictate the refraction."
It was a path frowned upon by the Jedi Order normally who viewed it as a shortcut to naturally occurring crystals but here, in a galaxy far, far away from their own, a Synthetic Crystal was the only option for me to use for my Lightsaber.
That was why this Order let it be here, the Holocron I was listening to was made for the exact purpose of teaching potential Jedi how to create their own Crystals and eventually Lightsabers.
I sat cross-legged before the forge. The machine was active, the heat radiating from it intense enough to blister skin, but I held it back with a layer of Tutaminis, absorbing the excess thermal energy and feeding it back into my own stamina.
I closed my eyes.
I didn't look at the machine. I looked into it.
I saw the carbon atoms dancing in the superheated pressure chamber. They were chaotic, formless potential. I reached out with my mind, not to force them into shape, but to suggest order.
'I am the Guardian,' I thought, the image of my shield protecting the innocent flashing in my mind. The atoms aligned, sharp and rigid.
'I am the Consular,' I countered, the image of understanding the mysteries of the universe soothing the heat. The atoms softened, becoming fluid and deep.
Truth was, I had imagined myself with both Green and Blue blades. The Sapphire of a Guardian called to me just as much as the Green of a Consular did. My training had been in both.
I knew Force Speed, Force Enhancement, Force Leap, Telekinesis with Pull, Push and Grip all there with Force Repulse, Blast, Burst and even the Force Barrier, Second Wind for when I got tired, Force Valour, Enhance Attribute. My own self training was preparing my body for the path of a Guardian, to bring peace through action.
However, my focus on the Force taught me many skills such as Force Illusions, Mind Tricks,Levitation, Psychometry (which I had also been born with but had to learn the basics to gain access to), Animal Bond, Force Heal, Purification and far more. Even the diplomacy skills that many Consulars had.
For three days, I did not move. I did not eat. I did not sleep.
I poured my essence into the furnace. My restless energy, the ADHD that made my mind a hurricane, I fed it into the crystal. The chaos became vibration; the vibration became harmony. I felt the crystal singing back to me, a high, clear note that resonated with the very frequency of my soul.
On the fourth morning, the machine hissed and powered down.
I waited for the cooling cycle, my heart beating a slow, steady rhythm. When the chamber opened, a cloud of steam hissed out.
I reached in with the Force and pulled the gem into my hand.
It wasn't the "bloodshine" of a Sith.
It was Seagreen.
A perfect, impossible blend of the Guardian's blue and the Consular's green. A teal depth that seemed to hold the ocean and green grass at once.
(Slight A/N mid chapter, I tried to get the AI to generate the image of her with a teal blade but it kept going to Green, so to show you what her colour actually is here's a picture I'm adding.
I stared at it, turning it in the dim light. Hybrid. I was not one thing. I was the scholar who fought. The warrior who studied.
Now came the saber itself.
I moved to the center of the room. Laid out on the mat were the components I had machined over the last year. The emitter matrix, the diatium power cell, the focusing lens, the dual-phase switch, and the casing of pale silver alloy and dark leather.
I was designing my Lightsaber to not have power regulation in the normal sense, it would have two modes: a lethal mode and a mode for a Hero. As a Hero killing wasn't allowed so I designed the Dual-Phase mode myself.
It was quick and easy to use, I had an ignition switch which also deactivated the Saber and a switch which would enable the two modes at will. One was red and the other green.
I didn't pick up a single tool.
I sat in the Lotus position, my hands resting on my knees, palms open. I breathed in, and the components floated.
The hilt casing drifted into the center, hovering at eye level. The power cell slid into the base with a soft click. The wiring, delicate as spider silk, wove itself through the interior, guided by my telekinetic will. I could feel every connection, every solder point fusing under the microscopic pressure of the Force.
The seagreen crystal floated toward the chamber. It pulsed in time with my heartbeat. As it settled into the focusing mount, I felt the snap of a joint popping back into place.
The leather grip wrapped itself around the lower hilt, pulling tight. The emitter shroud screwed down, locking the assembly.
The lightsaber hovered before me, silver and brown, elegant and lethal.
I reached out and took it.
It was light, solid yet very warm from the assembly. It felt like an extension of my arm.
I stood.
My thumb found the square red activator.
PSHEEEEEW
A beam of pure, seagreen plasma erupted from the emitter, illuminating the cavern in a cool, underwater light. The hum was deep, a steady, predatory thrum that vibrated in my teeth.
I swung it once. The blade left a trail of light in my vision. It was perfectly balanced.
Then, I pressed the green secondary switch.
The hum changed. It went from a deep growl to a higher, thinner whine. The blade's intensity dimmed slightly, the searing white core softening. I tapped the blade against the stone floor. Instead of slicing through the rock like butter, it bounced off with a shower of sparks and a scorch mark.
Training mode. Non-lethal. Hero mode.
I switched it back to full power. The deep thrum returned.
I closed my eyes.
The energy inside me—the restless, chaotic lightning of my mind—needed an outlet. It wasn't enough to just hold the weapon. I needed to move.
I fell into a stance.
Not the rigid, defensive posture of Soresu. Not the acrobatic crouch of Ataru.
I stood loose, my feet wide, the saber held low and back.
I realised a long time ago that my own restless energy made it impossible for me to use Forms 1 to 3 with Form 4 being too acrobatic for me and both Form 5's were too different from one another... Form 6 was too balanced for the restlessness.
Therefore when my Lightsaber moved... it wasn't a Kata. It was a release.
I spun the teal blade around with a blur of motion. I wasn't thinking about the next strike; I was feeling the energy demand release and letting my body answer. A slash, a pivot, a thrust. I was moving faster than thought, the blade weaving a chaotic, unpredictable web of light around me.
Each swing arced with another in a dance. A dance which by all accounts would look like I was using far more than 1 Lightsaber to do so.
Juyo. That was the Lightsaber Form I was using and will be mastering.
Form 7 was typically associated with the Dark Side due to its requirement of being guided by controlled passion, energy demand, emotions being used and the fact that it led close to the Dark Side itself. Sidious himself called it a Sith Form.
However for me? It's more of a channel for the intense emotions that constantly circulated inside me. Emotions I had to regulate during my meditation. And I always was best at that when dancing around with the movements of Alchaka letting the Force guide me in an intense dance.
So like I was doing with Alchaka, I was doing with Juyo, the Ferocity Form.
The teal blade whipped forward aimed not to cut, but to shock the air. The speed alone created a deafening, high-pitched whoosh as the plasma field ripped through the cavern's air, a pure discharge of kinetic and emotional energy.
I didn't recover from the lunge. I used the momentum of the forward slash to pivot instantly, executing a tight, reverse spin. The saber followed, tracing a low, protective arc that transitioned immediately into a vicious, backhand cut.
The movement was too fast, too erratic for any conventional opponent to track. My feet hardly seemed to touch the ground; they skimmed the polished stone, relying on Force-enhanced balance rather than traditional footwork.
I snapped into an extreme crouch, the saber held vertically, point-down, before exploding upwards in a brutal, overwhelming attack designed to force an immediate response. The teal blade was suddenly everywhere, occupying space, dictating the tempo, demanding chaos.
I was running a perfect, predictive simulation in my mind: If an opponent were here, the next strike is required to be an orbital overhand to clear their defense, followed by a double-tap reverse grip at the flank.
My body executed the simulation. The blade spun over my head, crashing down in a blur, only to recoil and pivot into a sudden, deep thrust, all without breaking stride. The sequences were illogical, beautiful only in their relentless efficiency, and they gave my mind a task so complex, so demanding of immediate attention, that there was no room for any other thought.
I didn't stop until my lungs burned and the muscles in my arms screamed a genuine, physical protest, overpowering the mental focus. The blade stopped mid-air, held steady by sheer will, before I deactivated it with a soft shroup.
I stood there, panting, the adrenaline slowly receding. My mind, now emptied of its restless energy, was profoundly, perfectly calm.
Yeah, all was right.