Well, that's it — we're in hyperspace. Ten hours to spare. Huh, looks like we can relax a little… Yeah, right. Who's going to train, damn it? And I still need to read and review a couple of holodisks. And I've got to teach and mentor Ahsoka. I'm losing my mind. It's only the second week of the war. Lucky me.
Okay. That's it — something's wrong. I'm already talking to myself. Two hours of sleep. The rest later. Otherwise, I'm done for. Although…
My gaze fell on a pile of clone armor and individual plates. Taking a deep breath, I sat down on the floor and picked up a durasteel plate. If I couldn't rest, I could at least finish something useful.
As soon as she had a free moment, Ahsoka hurried to the training hall. This was her favorite part of training — lightsaber combat. She often neglected other disciplines for it, earning countless reprimands from instructors back at the Temple. Still, she stubbornly held to her opinion.
Minutes turned into hours. She was finishing a Shien sequence, weaving it into her natural Ataru flow, adapting both to her preferred reverse grip. Her movements were fast, fluid, aggressive but controlled. She didn't notice when her teacher entered the hall and began silently observing. When she finally felt his gaze through the Force, she flinched.
Oh no. Here we go again.
"Master!" She deactivated her lightsaber instantly. "I'm sorry, I won't do it again!"
She approached him with the most innocent expression she could manage. His reaction caught her off guard — his eyes widened in genuine confusion.
"Uh… what are you talking about?" he asked, taking a step back.
"Well… the reverse grip. I've always been scolded for it. I tried to change, but it's just more comfortable for me…"
"Oh. That." He exhaled in relief and ran a hand across his forehead. "And here I was imagining something far worse."
"Teacher!" she protested.
"I'm joking. Relax. To hell with the reverse grip. If it works for you, use it."
Her eyes widened. "Really?"
"Of course. Combat isn't about looking correct. It's about surviving."
Yes, yes, yes!
He scratched the back of his head and sighed. "You distracted me. We had an unfinished conversation. Come."
"Um… about what?" she asked, confused.
He nearly smacked his forehead but stopped himself. A slow breath in. Slow exhale.
"About the idea that Jedi are guardians of peace and balance."
He turned and headed for his cabin at a pace that forced her into a near jog.
Why does he always walk so fast? Is he doing this on purpose?
At the door, he stepped aside and gestured for her to enter first. She obeyed — and froze.
What a mess.
An open backpack spilled tools and datapads across the floor. A holoprojector lay on its side, surrounded by scattered holodisks and infocrystals. In one corner was a heap of clone armor plates, helmets, scraps of leather and fabric, and several cans of paint. The bed, however, was perfectly made. Too perfectly.
Does he even sleep?
With a casual wave of his hand, he lifted the clutter with the Force, stacking it neatly onto a table to clear space. Then he sat cross-legged in his usual pose.
"Lotus," he once called it.
Ahsoka sat opposite him. He closed his eyes.
"What do you understand by that concept?" he asked calmly.
"Well…" She searched her memory. "It's one of the seven postulates a Jedi must follow."
He nodded slightly.
"The first postulate states: 'Jedi are the guardians of peace and justice in the Galaxy.'
The second: 'Jedi use their power only for knowledge, to protect themselves and others, and never to attack.'
The third: 'Jedi respect life in all its forms.'
The fourth: 'Jedi do not rule, but serve others for the good of the entire Galaxy.'
The fifth: 'Jedi constantly improve themselves through knowledge and training.'
The sixth: 'A Jedi may take only one Padawan at a time. A Padawan may have only one permanent teacher, though they should listen to others. A student can be of any age.'
And the last: 'To use the Force, a Jedi must remain in harmony with it. Acting in disharmony weakens one's connection.'"
He opened his eyes.
"Not bad. You know the words. But what do they mean to you?"
She hesitated. "It means… we must be an example. Protect the weak. Help those in need. Act for the good of the Republic. Train constantly. Be strong, honest, brave."
Silence settled between them. He studied her, eyes half-lidded. She shifted slightly but didn't interrupt.
After a long pause, he spoke.
"Not bad, Ahsoka. Not bad at all. I expected less."
She grinned. "It's me. Did you forget?"
A faint smirk crossed his face. He clapped his hands lightly on the floor.
"Speaking of forgotten things. I have something for you."
Her head tilted.
He reached toward the stacked armor pieces and pulled out a bundled set of fabric and plates. On top rested a helmet.
"This is for you."
She blinked. "Where did you get it?"
"I made it."
He said it casually, almost dismissively.
Her fingers hovered over the helmet before lifting it carefully. It resembled clone armor but clearly modified — no heavy light filters, lighter plating, reinforced edges shaped to accommodate her montrals and lekku. More mask than helmet. Designed for a Togruta.
"For me?"
"For you."
"May I?"
"Go on."
She grabbed the bundle and rushed toward the door, barely containing her excitement.
She didn't see him remain seated.
Didn't see his shoulders sag.
Didn't hear the long, exhausted groan as he finally let himself fall backward onto the floor.
Two hours of sleep, he reminded himself.
Maybe one.