"Youngling Derren Talvos, please step forward." Master Windu's voice carried across the grand hall with the weight of ceremony and expectation.
Derren looked at us with a bright smile on his face—the same easy, confident expression he always wore. But through our bond, I felt something else beneath it. A flicker of uncertainty. A question he'd never voiced aloud.
Am I really ready for this?
"Guess it's my turn," he said, his tone light. "Wish me luck, guys."
Anakin grinned. "Good luck, Derren. Even though you don't need it."
I patted him on the back, feeling the tension coiled in his shoulders despite his relaxed posture. "I know you're gonna do great."
Seris didn't look at him directly, her silver eyes fixed on the Trial Chamber's ancient archway. "I expect you to pass with flying colors."
Derren's smile widened, genuine warmth breaking through. "Thanks, Ice Princess. I won't let you down."
Seris, with her back still to him, allowed herself a small, secret smile.
Derren stood tall, his face composed but his hands flexing slightly at his sides, a nervous habit he thought no one noticed. He wasn't sure what he would face in that chamber, but he would face it head-on.
Just like everything else. Even if I'm not sure I'm strong enough, he thought, the doubt surfacing for just a moment before he pushed it down. Even if I'm not like Cain or Seris or Anakin. He took a breath and stepped through the doorway.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
For a moment, there was nothing, no sound, no light, no sense of direction. Just the void and his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. Then the world reformed around him.
Derren found himself standing in a crumbling Jedi Temple. The walls were scorched black, the elegant architecture reduced to broken stone and twisted metal. Smoke hung thick in the air, stinging his eyes and throat. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant crackle of flames.
He looked around, but no one was there. His hand went instinctively to his lightsaber hilt. He ignited it—the snow-white blade casting pale light across the ruined hallway, and began to move forward cautiously.
"Hello?" he called out, his voice echoing off broken walls. "Is anyone here?"
No response. Just the eerie quiet of a place where something terrible had happened.
Derren's unease grew with each step. The Temple felt wrong, not just destroyed, but violated. The Force itself seemed wounded here, bleeding darkness into the stone.
Then he heard it. Footsteps, running, and panicked breathing. Four figures burst from a side corridor, younglings and Padawans, all coughing, one limping badly. Their robes were torn and filthy, their faces streaked with soot and fear.
"Knight Talvos!" one of them gasped, a young Twi'lek girl with wide, terrified eyes. "The Sith are attacking!"
Derren blinked, momentarily disoriented. Knight Talvos? He caught his reflection in a broken mirror on the wall and froze.
The face staring back at him was his own, but older. Taller. Broader in the shoulders, with the lean muscle of a trained warrior. He wore the robes of a Jedi Knight, and his snow-white lightsaber hummed with quiet authority in his hand.
This is a vision, he realized.
"What do we do?" the Twi'lek youngling asked, her voice breaking with fear.
Before Derren could answer, a figure emerged from the shadows at the far end of the hallway. They were tall and wore a hood. Draped in dark robes that seemed to absorb the light around them. And their eyes, glowing yellow, burning with malice and hunger.
A red lightsaber ignited with a sharp snap-hiss, bathing the corridor in crimson light. The younglings shrank back, trembling.
"That's him," one of them whispered. "That's the Sith."
Derren stepped forward, placing himself between the children and the threat. His snow-white blade rose into a defensive guard.
"Get behind me," he said, his voice steady despite the fear coiling in his gut. "And run when I tell you to."
The younglings hesitated, then obeyed, scrambling behind him. The hooded figure began to walk forward, slow and deliberate, each step echoing like a death knell.
Derren didn't wait. He rushed forward, closing the distance in three quick strides, and struck. The duel began with a clash of light and sound that reverberated through the ruined hallway.
Derren opened with a Soresu sequence, tight, controlled strikes designed to probe defenses and create openings. His blade moved in precise arcs, each motion economical and deliberate.
But his opponent was fast. The hooded figure deflected Derren's first strike with contemptuous ease, their red blade moving like liquid fire. They parried the second. Redirected the third.
Derren pressed harder, shifting his stance, trying to find a rhythm. He feinted high, then struck low, a move that had worked against Seris in sparring. The figure didn't even flinch. They sidestepped, their blade coming around in a vicious counterstrike that forced Derren to throw himself backward.
He's fast. Way too fast.
Derren reset his guard, breathing hard. His opponent hadn't even broken stride. They came at him then, and Derren's world narrowed to the red blade cutting through the air toward his head.
He blocked, barely, and the impact sent a jolt of pain up his arms. Another strike came immediately after, then another, each one faster and harder than the last.
Derren gave ground, his boots scraping against broken stone as he backpedaled down the hallway. His Soresu training kicked in, tight circles, minimal movement, deflecting rather than blocking, but it wasn't enough.
The figure's blade slipped past his guard and scored a burning line across his left shoulder. Derren hissed in pain but didn't stop moving. Another strike came for his ribs; he twisted, took the hit on his right arm instead. The training saber's sting was real enough to make his vision blur.
I'm not fast enough. I'm not strong enough.
The thought surfaced unbidden, and with it came a wave of doubt he'd been suppressing for years. Cain would have found an opening by now. Seris would have turned this into a dance. Anakin would have overwhelmed and beat this guy
But I'm just... me.
The hooded figure drove him back with a flurry of strikes, seven, eight, nine in rapid succession, and Derren's defense finally broke. Then sent a kick to his chest sent him flying backward. He hit the ground hard, rolled, and came up gasping for air.
The younglings were cowering behind a pillar near the far end of the hall, watching with wide, terrified eyes. The one with the limp was struggling to keep up with the others.
Derren forced himself to his feet, his body screaming in protest. Blood, or the vision's approximation of it, dripped from his shoulder and arm. His lightsaber felt heavy in his hand. But he smiled anyway.
"Don't worry, younglings," he called out, his voice steady despite the pain. "Everything's alright. I've got him right where I want him."
The hooded figure stopped walking. Their yellow eyes gleamed with amusement. "You shouldn't lie to the children," they said, their voice cold and emotionless. "Especially to yourself."
Derren grunted, standing upright despite the agony radiating through his body. "I'm not lying. I've got you exactly where I want you."
He reached into the Force and pushed. The figure staggered, just slightly, as the invisible wave of energy hit them. But they didn't fall. They didn't even lose their footing. Instead, they began walking forward again, slow and inexorable.
Derren pushed harder, pouring more of his will into the Force, feeling the strain in his mind and body. The figure didn't move back an inch. They just kept coming.
"Is this really the best you've got?" the figure asked, their tone mocking. "Your friends took this more seriously. They put up a better fight before I cut them down."
Derren's eyes widened. "You're lying."
The figure's yellow eyes gleamed brighter. Then, with a casual flick of their wrist, they threw four objects through the air.
Lightsaber hilts clattered to the ground at Derren's feet, rolling to a stop.
Derren's breath caught. He recognized them immediately.
Cain's hilt with black accents. Anakin's with its bulky grip. Seris's elegant hilt. Barriss's simple, yet graceful design.
"No. No, that's not...."
"You know it was Anakin and Cain who fought the hardest," the figure continued, their voice dripping with false sympathy. "They were true duelists. Seris was hard to pin down, very nimble like a dancer. But after I killed Cain, she was easier to break."
Derren's hands trembled as he clutched one of the hilts, Cain's.
"And Barriss?" The figure stopped walking, their red blade illuminating their shadowed face. "She was pathetic. She died protecting those younglings. Just like you're doing."
The figure paused, tilting their head. "But you? You're the most pathetic of all. You don't take anything seriously. You have power, but you waste it. Maybe if you'd been with your friends, they might have lived."
Derren stared at the lightsaber hilts scattered at his feet. And then he started laughing.
"Hahahaha. Now I know you're lying."
The figure's posture shifted, their confidence faltering for the first time. "What?"
Derren stood up, igniting Anakin's indigo lightsaber in his left hand alongside his own snow-white blade in his right. His smile was wide and genuine, his deep blue eyes blazing with conviction.
"I know you're lying," he said, his voice ringing with certainty. "Because Anakin and Cain together are unbeatable. They would have made sure to take you down with them, that's just how petty those two are about losing."
He began walking forward, his dual blades humming.
"And Seris? That Ice Princess? If she was fighting alongside those two, you wouldn't have stood a chance. She's too smart, too fast, too good to fall to someone like you."
The figure raised their red blade defensively.
"And Barriss..." Derren's voice softened, but his resolve didn't waver. "Barriss isn't pathetic. She did what a Jedi is supposed to do, protect those who can't protect themselves. That's not weakness. That's strength."
He remembered Cain's words from months ago, spoken quietly during a late-night training session.
"It's fine to be calm and relaxed, Derren. You're the best at it. But there are times when you need to focus and take things seriously. I believe when you're serious, you could do anything you want."
Derren's smile faded, replaced by something harder. Something resolute. He wanted to protect these children no matter what.
"You're right about one thing, though," he said. "I don't always take things seriously. But that doesn't mean I'm weak."
He moved. The second phase of the duel was nothing like the first.
Derren came at the hooded figure with a ferocity that surprised even himself. His snow-white blade led with tight Soresu deflections, while Anakin's indigo saber struck with aggressive Makashi thrusts, a hybrid style he'd never attempted before.
The figure blocked, but Derren didn't give them space to counter. He pressed forward, his movements fluid and relentless, forcing them back step by step.
I'm not the strongest. I'm not the fastest. But I don't have to be. Right now I just have to make sure this guy loses.
He feinted with his right blade, drew the figure's guard high, then swept low with his left. The indigo blade scored a hit across their thigh. The figure snarled and retaliated with a vicious overhead strike. Derren crossed both blades above his head, catching the blow, then twisted and shoved them back.
I just have to be smart. I have to be me.
They exchanged a flurry of strikes, ten, fifteen, twenty, each one faster and more desperate than the last. Derren's arms burned with exertion, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but he didn't stop.
He couldn't stop. Because the younglings were still there, watching, waiting for him to save them. The figure drove him back toward a pillar. Derren saw the trap, if he let himself get cornered, it was over.
So he didn't. He dropped low, rolled beneath a horizontal slash, and came up behind the figure. Both blades struck simultaneously, one high, one low.
The figure spun, blocked both, and kicked Derren hard in the chest. Derren flew backward, slamming into the pillar with enough force to crack the stone. Pain exploded through his back and ribs.
But he didn't drop his sabers. The younglings were running now, scrambling toward the temple exit. The one with the limp was falling behind, struggling to keep up.
The hooded figure saw them. Their yellow eyes tracked the fleeing children.
"You fought so hard," they said, their voice cold and mocking. "And for what? To let them escape while you die? You know after I'm done with you, I'm just going after them anyway."
Derren smiled through the pain, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
"No, you're not."
"Oh? And where am I going instead? To the grave?"
Derren's smile widened. "Yes."
He reached deep into the Force, channeling every ounce of strength he had left into his legs. The Force surged through his muscles, amplifying his power beyond anything he'd done before.
And then he pushed. Not at the figure. At the pillar behind him.
The massive stone column, already cracked from the impact of his body, gave way with a deafening crack. It toppled forward, and Derren launched himself at the hooded figure, both lightsabers blazing.
The figure's eyes widened in shock as Derren collided with them, driving them both backward. Toward the edge of the walkway. Toward the abyss below.
"You're coming with me," Derren said, his voice calm and at peace.
And then they fell. Derren hit the ground hard, gasping for air. No, not the ground. A floor. Solid. Real.
He was kneeling in darkness, sweat pouring down his face, his body trembling with exhaustion. His training sabers were gone. The ruined temple was gone.
He was back in the Trial Chamber. And standing before him, illuminated by soft golden light, was Master An'ya Kuro.
"Master Kuro," Derren said, his voice hoarse. He recognized her immediately the Jedi who had trained him in secret over the past year.
She had been the one to teach him advanced saber forms when the other Masters said he was too young. She had tested his resolve under pressure, pushed him harder than anyone else, and never once let him take the easy path.
She was so stern and demanding. She almost never compromised. And she cared about him more than almost anyone in the Temple.
An'ya nodded, her expression unreadable. "Youngling Derren. It is good to see you again."
She stepped closer, her dark robes whispering against the stone floor.
"And it's good to see you know when to be serious."
Derren looked down, his hands trembling slightly. The adrenaline was fading, leaving only exhaustion and doubt in its wake.
"Did I make the right decision, Master?" he asked quietly.
An'ya paused, studying him. Then she reached out and flicked his forehead, hard.
"Ow!" Derren yelped, rubbing the spot. "What was that for, Master?"
"For making that face, boy," she said, her tone sharp but not unkind.
"I understand the trial could be frightening for one so young. But I didn't think it would shake you up that much." Her dark eyes softened slightly. "I know you're much stronger-willed than that."
Derren looked down, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to make sure I made the perfect decision. Like Cain or Seris would have done."
An'ya's expression hardened. "You keep saying crazy things."
She placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip firm.
"I know I said I wanted you to take things more seriously. But doubting yourself is not what I meant." Her voice took on a stern, almost motherly quality. "Listen, young one. There are no perfect decisions in anything. Only human ones."
She knelt down so they were eye-level, her gaze piercing. "If you feel like you can't do anything to beat the enemy, then focus on doing what you can."
Derren met her eyes, and for the first time since the trial began, he felt the weight on his chest begin to lift.
"You did well with what you could do," An'ya continued, and then, impossibly, she smiled. It was a rare expression, one very few had ever seen from the legendary Dark Woman. "You prioritized the lives of others even at the sacrifice of your own. In my eyes, you passed your trial, young one."
Derren's face lit up with a bright, genuine smile. "Thank you, Master. I aim to please."
An'ya immediately smacked him upside the head, not hard, but enough to make him wince. "Wipe that smile off your face, young one, and get going," she said, pointing toward a glowing door that had appeared in the darkness. "Your friends are waiting."
"Ow!" Derren rubbed his head, his smile never fading. "Why do you and Seris keep using violence against me?"
An'ya raised an eyebrow. "Who do you think taught her those techniques?"
Derren's eyes widened. "It was you!" He pointed an accusing finger at her.
She flicked his forehead again.
"What did I tell you about pointing?" she said, her tone exasperated but affectionate. "Now go, young one."
Derren bowed deeply, his smile warm and grateful. "Yes, Master."
He turned and walked toward the glowing door, his steps lighter than they'd been in weeks. Behind him, An'ya watched with quiet pride.
He doubts himself too much, she thought. But he has a good heart. And when it matters, he knows exactly who he is.
She turned toward the reflective wall where the Masters observed.
"Well?" she called out, her voice carrying a note of challenge. "Was that enough for you all?"
In the hidden observation chamber, five Masters stood in silence.
Master Plo Koon spoke first, his voice resonant through his mask. "He has learned how to take things seriously. And even more importantly, he has learned to be a shield for others, to protect those who cannot protect themselves."
Master Adi Gallia nodded, her expression thoughtful. "His instincts are sharp. But it's his heart that makes him strong. He didn't hesitate to sacrifice himself for those younglings."
Master Yaddle blinked slowly, her large eyes glowing with approval. "Worried more about others than himself, he was. Dangerous that can be, but trustworthy he is. A true guardian."
Master Mace Windu, after a long pause, finally spoke. "His talents are hidden beneath his easygoing nature. But when the moment demands it, he rises to meet it." He paused, considering. "He will have a bright future as a leader of the Order. If he is guided properly."
Master Fay simply said, her voice warm: "He is gifted and kind. He will be a guardian of the light against the darkness."
Silence fell over the chamber as the Masters exchanged glances. Then Mace nodded once, decisive. "He passes."
Derren returned to the grand hall, his expression carefully arranged into one of exaggerated sadness. Tears streamed down his face as he walked slowly toward us.
We all rushed forward, except me. I could feel his true emotions through our bond. Amusement. Satisfaction. And a hint of mischief.
Seris reached him first, her silver eyes wide with rare, unguarded concern. "Derren, what happened? Are you okay?"
She placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "We are here for you. I promise."
Derren sniffled dramatically. "You should have seen me, Seris."
Seris's expression shifted to one of genuine sympathy. "Tell me. What did you see?"
Derren looked up, his tears suddenly gone, replaced by the widest, most shit-eating grin I'd ever seen on his face. "You should have seen me. I was so cool. I was this handsome Jedi that beat this big Sith guy that not even you could have beaten."
Seris's expression froze. Then it changed.
Her sad, concerned look vanished, replaced by her usual stoic calm. But her silver eyes blazed with cold fury.
"Derren," she said, her voice dangerously quiet.
"Yes, Seris?" he asked innocently.
She grabbed him by the collar, twisted, and executed a perfect guillotine choke hold. Derren flailed and struggled, his legs kicking uselessly as Seris held him in place with effortless precision.
Anakin and Barriss watched in stunned silence. I just crossed my arms and smirked.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Seris released him. Derren collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, while Seris stood over him, dusting off her robes with calm, deliberate movements.
"Glad to see you're still the same Derren," she said coolly.
Then she turned toward the Trial Chamber doors, her silver hair catching the light.
"Now it's my turn."