Eli moved through the next form, arms tight with tension as the training saber swept through its arc. The blade's hum cut cleanly through the silence of the canyon outpost. Dust drifted through shafts of morning light, catching on every motion he made.
"Don't fight the weight," Ryen said from across the chamber. "It's not about swinging harder. Let the saber guide the flow."
"I'm trying," Eli gritted, adjusting his footing.
Ryen approached, keeping his tone calm. "You're still rushing the transition from Form I into III. Try it again—slow this time. And breathe."
Eli exhaled, frustrated, and reset his stance. The last hour had been filled with starts and stops, corrections and stumbles. He wanted progress. He needed it.
Ryen watched carefully, his arms crossed. Despite the fact that he'd never finished his own Jedi training, he remembered what his Master used to say: when you couldn't see the future, you taught what was right in front of you.
And what stood in front of him now was a boy too angry to listen to the Force clearly.
They repeated the form again. Then again. A fourth time. The air grew thick with the hum of repeated swings.
And then a tone chimed from the old communications panel on the wall — unexpected, sharp. Ryen turned instantly, eyebrows furrowed. The panel buzzed with flickering blue light. Static hissed softly.
Eli's saber shut off. He moved to Ryen's side as the screen steadied, coalescing into the image of a man in brown Jedi robes — weary, worn by exile, but unmistakable.
Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Eli's breath caught.
"This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi," the recording began.
Ryen leaned closer, silent.
"I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen. With a dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place…"
Eli took a step back, the words hitting like impact tremors.
"This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi: trust in the Force. Do not return to the Temple… that time has passed. And our future is uncertain."
Obi-Wan's voice cracked slightly — restrained grief behind practiced control.
"We will each be challenged. Our trust. Our faith. Our friendships. But we must persevere. And in time, a new hope will emerge."
The message ended simply.
"May the Force be with you. Always."
Silence.
Eli stood frozen, heart pounding, jaw tight.
He turned slowly, eyes blazing. "He said nothing about Anakin."
Ryen's expression shifted, wariness creeping in. "Eli—"
"Nothing!" Eli shouted. "He didn't name him. He didn't say who led the clones. Who turned on us. He called it a 'fall,' like it just… happened."
"Kenobi's message isn't for assigning blame," Ryen said quietly. "It's a warning. A guidepost."
"But we know," Eli snapped, pacing. "We saw him. I watched Anakin Skywalker walk into the Temple with the 501st. I heard him. Felt him. He was supposed to be the Chosen One. And he slaughtered everyone."
Ryen didn't respond immediately.
Eli's voice dropped, rougher now. "He killed the younglings. The Masters. He… looked me in the eye."
The Force around him crackled with heat. Anger, sharp and unfiltered, surged outward. Not like a firestorm — not chaotic — but focused, tight, like a blade being drawn from a sheath.
"I trusted him," Eli said, voice low and shaking. "He was everything we were told to believe in."
Ryen stepped forward. "I know what it feels like to be betrayed by someone you admired."
"You didn't know him like I did."
"No," Ryen said. "But I know what it feels like to stand in the wreckage of something you once believed would never break."
Eli's fists clenched at his sides. The power building in him wasn't wild — it was sharp. Controlled, but not Jedi.
Ryen felt it. The shift. The dark edge beneath Eli's words, the way his presence in the Force seemed to flare outward and collapse inward at once. Grief and rage, layered too closely to separate.
"You need to let it out," Ryen said. "But not like this."
Eli looked at him, breathing hard.
"You don't know what I need."
"I know you're angry," Ryen said. "And you have every right to be. What Anakin did — it's not something we'll ever forget. But if you let that anger lead you… it won't end with him. It'll consume everything."
Eli stepped back. "Maybe that wouldn't be so bad."
"You don't believe that," Ryen said firmly.
Eli's face twisted, then dropped, eyes burning but hollow. "I want to do something. Anything. I'm tired of running. Of hiding. Of training in the dirt while the galaxy burns."
Ryen was quiet for a long beat.
"Then train to stand for something. Not just to strike something down."
Eli didn't respond right away. He lowered his gaze, swallowing hard.
"I don't know if I can forgive him."
"You don't have to," Ryen said. "Not now. Maybe not ever."
That surprised Eli.
"But you do have to understand what letting that hatred in will cost you. The Jedi way — it's not about suppressing feeling. It's about choosing what guides you."
They stood in silence for several long moments. Then, finally, Eli let out a long breath and stepped away from the comm unit. The intensity around him faded — not gone, but buried again. For now.
"Alright," he said quietly. "Let's keep going."
Ryen nodded once. "Back to the sequence?"
"Yeah." Eli ignited the saber again.
And with slower, more deliberate steps, they returned to the mat.
The weight of Obi-Wan's message still lingered, heavy in the air. But the choice of what to carry forward — and what to let go — had begun.