Time seemed to lose all conventional meaning within the four walls of the dojo.
Minutes dissolved into the steady, rhythmic cadence of our breath, the friction of boots against lacquered wood, and the resonant clack-crack of Corellian ironwood colliding in midair. With my eyes closed shut, and my senses resting in absolute darkness, the physical world ceased to be an obstacle.
My senses and my sight through the Living Force did not merely align, they fused.
Before me, Zakan was no longer an older, blind lightsaber instructor. But through the lens of Force-light, he was an immaculate, concentrated silhouette of pure, blinding white radiance. Every fiber of his presence hummed with decades of refined martial discipline.
I could feel the subtle shift of his center of gravity before his heels even grazed the floorboards. I felt the micro-tensions running along his forearms, the displacement of air currents stirred by his robes, and the unmistakable, razor-sharp focus of his intent rippling through the Light seconds before his blade cut a path toward me.
He launched a lightning-fast forward thrust aimed directly at my solar plexus.
I didn't flinch. I tapped the flat of his wooden bokken aside with a crisp, minimal wrist roll, immediately pivoting to capitalize on the opening with a Makashi counter-slash. But even as my counter began its arc, my Force-sight registered the subtle drop in his right shoulder. He wasn't overcommitted, he was baiting me.
Zakan effortlessly reversed the flow of his weapon, dropping the tip and whipping it upward in a lethal rising diagonal toward my lower ribs.
I reversed my grip in a split second, snapping the ironwood down in an inverted guard to catch his upward momentum.
The impact of ironwood against each other vibrated cleanly up through my forearms, but neither of us gave an inch. We rebounded instantly into a blistering exchange of strikes, counters, binds, and evasions that echoed through the vast, open area.
As the duel stretched on, I found myself utterly mesmerized by the sheer genius of this man's craft.
Zakan was using the seven classic lightsaber forms, yet he had stripped away every ounce of ceremonial flourish and Force-imbued theatricality that the Coruscant Order had spent centuries accumulating. What remained was a brutal, elegant, and a deep economical synthesis that felt closer to high-level martial arts than standard Jedi saber doctrine.
When he engaged with Form I, Shii-Cho, there were no wide, sweeping flourishes or randomized target acquisition. Instead, Zakan broke the form down into hyper-precise, directional striking vectors. He used Shii-Cho's ancient simplicity to measure my reach, deliberately feeding me angles only to read my weight distribution and instantly disrupt my advancing tempo.
His primary stance was Makashi, which made absolute sense for an Echani-blooded master. But where Dooku used Makashi as a weapon of aristocratic arrogance and fencing precision, Zakan wielded it as a profound psychological conversation. He didn't just parry; he used micro-feints to test my patience, anticipating my intent three moves ahead and laying subtle traps that forced me to constantly recalculate my footwork.
His Soresu was the most remarkable of all. It wasn't the static, energy-conserving sphere favored by orthodox temple guardians. It was an active, fluid reading of space. Zakan navigated the dojo floor as if he carried an internal topographical map of my every possible attack trajectory, redirecting blows with fractions of an inch to spare and letting my own energy expend itself against empty air.
And when he transitioned into Form IV, Ataru, he completely discarded the grand, Force-assisted leaps and acrobatic spins. Instead, he weaponized my momentum. Three times I lunged at him with explosive kinetic bursts, and three times Zakan slipped beneath my guard with impossible softness, using sweeping foot sweeps and leverage to nearly send me sprawling across the polished floorboards. After the third near-disaster, I knew it wasn't luck, it was pure, terrifyingly refined technique.
This man is incredible, I thought, a surge of fierce, unadulterated exhilaration burning through my veins. This isn't just a spar. It's a dialogue, the highest mindset of a battle between to duelist like ourselves.
Responding in kind, I stopped treating our bout as a theoretical exercise and leaned fully into my own martial philosophy. I countered his unorthodox minimalism by blending the strict orthodoxy of the Jedi forms with the adaptive pragmatism I had honed under Plo Koon and Windu.
I opened with Makashi, matching his thrusts and binds with surgical precision, keeping my blade light and agile. When he attempted to smother my angles with tight Soresu deflections, I exploded into high-mobility Ataru, driving rapid, striking flurries from unexpected low-line angles. And whenever Zakan attempted to turn my momentum against me, I clamped down into Form V, channeling the ferocious defensive redirection of Shien and the crushing physical counters of Djem So, meeting his wooden sword with heavy, grounded binds that shook the air between us.
"Good, Cain!" Zakan called out over the clatter of wood, his baritone voice laced with sharp, genuine amusement as he parried a crushing downward strike. "Your Djem So carries true weight! But you lean too heavily into your dominant shoulder when you transition from defense to attack, correct it!"
"Then give me the opening to fix it, Master Velor!" I retorted with a grin, spinning out of the lock and driving a low horizontal cut toward his flank.
Zakan leapt backward a hair's breadth, his blade descending in a blinding arc that intercepted my wood with a deafening snap. We traded another ten, twenty, thirty blows in rapid succession, our breath coming in ragged gasps, our footwork tracing complex geometries across the floorboards. Neither of us yielded or slowed down. We were locked in a pure, transcendent state of flow where the boundary between teacher and challenger completely evaporated.
We surged forward for one final, climactic collision, our wooden swords screaming through the air on a direct collision course....
"That is quite enough, you two! It has been four hours!"
A sharp, authoritative woman's voice cut through the dojo, shattering the trance.
Instantly, our practice blades halted a mere centimeter from each other's throats.
The silence that rushed back into the room was deafening, broken only by the sound of heavy, ragged breathing. I stood frozen, my muscles trembling from sustained exertion, before slowly peeling my right eye open. It was an effort just to lift my eyelid; sweat poured down my forehead in rivulets, plastering soaked locks of white hair to my cheeks and temples.
Across from me, Zakan slowly lowered his wooden sword, his white gi drenched through with sweat, his chest heaving as a broad, thoroughly satisfied grin spread across his features.
"Are you boys finished yet?" the voice asked again.
I blinked through the sting of sweat, keeping my scarred left eye respectfully shut as I turned toward the sliding dojo doors.
Standing at the threshold was a formidable welcoming committee: Seris, Sonya, Anakin, Derren, Master Fay, and Sheera.
Sonya and Seris stood side-by-side in an almost comical, mirror-image display. Both mother and daughter had their hands planted firmly on their hips, their striking eyes narrowed in identical expressions of sternness and exasperated disapproval.
"Dear husband," Sonya said, raising an elegant eyebrow at Zakan, "I believe four hours is more than enough time to interrogate our daughter's friend."
Zakan let out a deep, hearty chuckle, resting his wooden bokken over his shoulder. "Ah... it seems I lost track of time again. My apologies, my love. I take it dinner has already been served and cleared?"
"Hardly," Sonya replied with a dry shake of her head. "When Mother informed me of what you were doing down here, I instructed the kitchen staff to delay the family meal. But it is terribly bad manners to keep our guests starving while you indulge your battle lust. Now, go clean yourselves up and come to the dining hall, you impossibly hadsome man."
Seris stepped forward slightly, looking past her father to meet my gaze. The stern facade melted from her face, replaced by a soft, radiant smile and a subtle, relieved breath.
"Follow my father to the bathhouse, Cain," Seris murmured gently. "You look as though you've been dragged through a Tython storm."
Before I could answer, a pink blur surged from the entryway. Sheera threw her arms around Seris from behind, hugging her tightly and pressing her cheek affectionately against Seris's neck.
"Oh, come now, Seris!" Sheera chirped with a bright, flirtatious giggle, making Seris's pointed ears instantly flush a brilliant scarlet. "Why don't we all go together? It would be so lovely if the whole cohort washed up as one big happy family!"
"Sheera, will you....get off me!" Seris sputtered, squirming in the Zeltron's grasp.
"Actually, Sheera, that is a wonderful idea," Sonya chimed in smoothly, placing her hands on both girls' shoulders with a warm smile. "The ladies shall use the private pavilion bath. And as for our young men, then can use the main bathhouse... your friends acquitted themselves splendidly in the courtyard, Zakan. Anakin sparred with all of your senior disciples, defeated them soundly, and then spent the remaining two hours graciously mentoring them on their form transitions. Afterward, he visited the estate repulsor-bays and optimized three of our high-yield transport drives. Truly... how did the Coruscant Temple let such a remarkable mind slip through their fingers?"
Anakin rubbed the back of his neck, a bashful grin breaking across his face. "It was nothing, really, Lady Sonya. I've been tinkering with hyperdrives and engines since I was a kid on Tatooine. It just comes naturally."
"We Sephi pride ourselves on our technological mastery, young Skywalker," Sonya replied fondly, "and you managed to out-engineer our chief mechanics in an afternoon. Take the compliment."
Derren nudged Anakin with an elbow, rolling his eyes. "Seriously, Anakin. I know you've tried to practice humility since we left Coruscant, but learn to accept praise when it's handed to you on a silver platter."
Anakin shot him an amused smirk. "Says the guy who absorbs rare Force techniques at a frightening speed and naturally found a pure white lightsaber crystal. Yet you still constantly compare yourself to me and Cain."
"Hey!" Derren protested defensively. "Your lightsaber is an absurd indigo with a dark core and crackles with white lightning, literally nobody in galactic history has seen a blade like that! Plus, I only know a few esoteric tricks. Anyone can learn them."
"You mastered Battle Meditation and Force Cloak before even attaining the rank of Knight, Derren," Anakin pointed out, crossing his arms. "And I was referring to Cain's blade anyway. That brilliant golden-yellow with the black void hue in the center? It's completely unprecedented."
"Alright, that is quite enough, boys," Sheera interrupted with a sweet, melodious sigh, finally releasing an exhausted Seris. She fanned her nose with a dramatic pout. "I love you all dearly, truly I do... but all three of you smell utterly foul."
Sheera paused, her violet eyes suddenly drifting over to me. She tilted her head, taking a slow, deep breath through her nose, and an intrigued, sultry smile spread across her lips.
"Except you, Cain..." Sheera purred, stepping a fraction closer. "You're giving off a very distinct, fascinating pheromone signature today. It's like your natural scent, but... richer. Darker. Much more masculine. I quite like it."
I raised an eyebrow in complete bewilderment, glancing down at my sweat-soaked tunic. I took a discreet sniff of my sleeve, but as far as I could tell, I just smelled like an exhausted teenager who had spent hours getting battered by a Corellian swordmaster.
"Right..." I muttered awkwardly. "I think that's just the scent of exertion."
Zakan chuckled warmly, stepping between us and gesturing toward the exit. "Let us head to the bathhouse before my wife loses what remains of her patience. Boys, follow me. Sonya, my dear, could you please have house robes prepared for our guests?"
"Of course," Sonya agreed. "We have silk robes in traditional Velor colors: forest green, slate gray, pure white, silver, and obsidian black. What would you prefer, boys?"
"Black," Anakin and I said simultaneously.
We caught each other's eye and shared a quiet, knowing smirk.
"I'll take white, please," Derren added with a polite bow.
"It shall be done," Sonya said. "Now go wash. A feast awaits you all."
As we turned to follow Zakan down the stone corridor, Sheera made a subtle move to casually drift in our direction. Master Fay's hand shot out with blinding speed, catching the collar of Sheera's tunic in an inescapable, gentle grip.
"Not so fast, my dear Padawan," Master Fay said with a serene, unyielding smile. "You will be bathing with the Matriarch, Sonya, Seris, and myself. Furthermore, you and I are going to have a very thorough discussion regarding your concept of personal space, boundaries, and modesty."
Sheera let out a dramatic, exaggerated whine, pouting at her new master. "Aww, boo! But Master Fay, you know full well that Zeltrons have virtually no cultural concept of modesty outside of formal diplomatic off-world functions! Our clothing is meant to be free and expressive!"
"Yes, my dear Padawan," Fay replied, her sapphire eyes gleaming with ancient, unshakeable amusement. "And since you are currently a guest on my ancestral homeworld and within my family's estate, you are going to learn the virtues of self-restraint."
Sheera groaned in defeat as Fay guided her away, while Derren, Anakin, and I followed Zakan deeper into the compound.
The Velor family bathhouse was unlike anything I had ever encountered in the galaxy.
Stepping through the wide stone archway felt less like entering a Republic sanitary facility and more like walking into a sacred, natural sanctuary. To my past-life memories, it bore an uncanny, breathtaking resemblance to a traditional Japanese onsen, yet executed on a scale of organic grandiosity that only centuries of Force-attuned architecture could achieve.
The entire bathhouse was constructed from seamless slabs of Corellian alabaster-marble and a vibrant, emerald-green stone mined exclusively from the deepest oceanic trenches of the planet. The design embraced sweeping, continuous curves, perfectly marrying the fluid, martial lines of Echani aesthetics with the soaring, canopy-like grandeur of ancient Sephi homeworlds.
There were no visible mechanical joints, rivets, or structural beams anywhere. The walls seemed to glide effortlessly into the soaring ceilings. The pale stone floors beneath our bare feet were naturally warm to the touch, heated from geothermal vents deep beneath the estate.
Accenting the stone were living, meticulously trained Corellian Green-Weave trees. Over hundreds of years, their roots and smooth branches had been coaxed by Force-healers to form natural archways, vaulted partitions, and living privacy screens in place of cold wooden pillars.
Above us, the ceiling opened into a colossal crystal dome. It offered an unobstructed view of Corellia's twilight sky, fully protected by a silent, low-energy atmospheric containment shield. A soft, warm mist drifted through the upper atmosphere of the room, while thin sheets of crystal-clear water cascaded down vertical channels of polished green gems along the perimeter walls. The rhythmic, continuous patter of the falling water created a soothing acoustic screen that naturally masked any confidential conversation from prying ears.
"I have never seen the bathhouse with my physical eyes," Zakan said softly as he led us along the stone perimeter, his milky gaze turned toward the mist. "Yet every dignitary, Jedi Master, and traveler who has ever set foot in these waters speaks of its tranquility. The acoustics and the stone carry an echo of every soul that has washed here."
In the center of the grand chamber lay the primary bath, a massive, sunken pool carved entirely from a single, unbroken deposit of translucent Corellian green jade. The water was so pristine and clear that the jade floor beneath it seemed completely exposed to the open air. There were no noisy mechanical jets; instead, subtle repulsor-fields integrated into the bedrock generated a gentle, circular current that kept the water in continuous, effortless motion.
Zakan explained that for House Velor, this pool was where political strategies were forged and martial techniques were evaluated. In a family of half-Echani and Sephi warriors, reading a cousin's subtle shift in posture or a visiting senator's sudden spike in heart rate through the fluid resistance of the water was second nature.
Near the far wall rested a secluded, crescent-shaped pool glowing with a faint, ethereal mint-green luminescence. Zakan pointed toward it, explaining that the water was heavily infused with organic bacta concentrates and native botanical oils. Floating upon the surface were genetically cultivated Corellian water-lotuses that absorbed airborne impurities and released a calming, restorative fragrance. Because the Sephi lived for centuries, this pool was frequently used for deep Force meditation to preserve physical and cellular vitality.
Following Zakan's patient instruction, we engaged in the traditional cleansing ritual before ever approaching the communal waters. We sat on low stone stools, using wooden basins and aromatic botanical soaps to wash away the grime, sweat, and tension of the day's trials.
For Anakin and Derren, it was a fascinating cultural novelty. For me, it was a profound, bittersweet wave of nostalgia, a small, comforting piece of my original world reimagined amidst the stars. I really should visit Eshan one day, I mused, rinsing suds from my shoulders. If their martial culture is anything like this, our New Order could desperately use their insite.
Once thoroughly cleansed, we stepped into the jade pool. The water was gloriously hot, instantly soaking into my bruised muscles and washing away the lingering stiffness in my joints. Anakin let out a long, contented groan, leaning his head back against the smooth stone rim, while Derren submerged himself up to his chin with a sigh of relief.
"Bathing in our culture is meant for silent reflection and communion," Zakan explained, resting comfortably against the jade wall. "Though we also maintain a separate, mixed-communal section for families and couples just beyond the screen—"
Zakan suddenly paused. His head tilted slightly toward the empty air near my left side.
A faint, amused smirk tugged at the blind master's lips. "Though it seems we have an uninvited guest. Forgive me, young lady, but the men's pavilion is currently occupied."
Derren and I blinked in confusion.
Suddenly, the empty space directly beside me rippled. The air shimmered with an iridescent distortion, and out of thin air materialized Sheera.
She stood at the edge of the jade pool, entirely naked save for a single, pristine white towel clutched securely around her torso, her magenta skin glistening with water droplets and her long white hair cascading damply over her shoulders.
"Whoa!" Derren yelped, instantly scrambling backward through the water.
I shoved myself away from the edge, my face burning with sudden heat.
"When the hell did you get in here?!" Anakin demanded, staring in sheer disbelief.
Sheera offered us a dazzling, utterly unbothered grin, opening her mouth to speak....
Before a single word could leave her lips, an invisible, powerful grip in the Force seized Sheera around the waist. With a startled yelp, she was yanked backward into the air, flying horizontally across the bathhouse.
"Wait! No! Can't I just soak with Cain?!" Sheera's desperate, giggling protest echoed off the alabaster walls as Master Fay's telekinetic grip dragged her cleanly through the outer entryway, followed by the distant, echoing thud of a sliding stone door sealing shut.
Silence fell over the bathhouse once more.
Derren stared at the doorway with wide, astonished eyes. "Did she... did she just use Force Cloak to sneak into the men's baths?!"
"I... think she did," I said, rubbing my temples in sheer exhaustion.
"Cain," Derren said slowly, turning to look at me with deadpan seriousness. "Why in the galaxy is that girl so relentlessly obsessed with you and Seris?"
I sank deeper into the hot jade water, groaning into my hands. "Derren, I swear to the Force, I have no idea. And the fact that she got even bolder the second Seris and I became official is genuinely terrifying."
Zakan and Anakin burst into uproarious laughter, their voices echoing merrily off the crystal dome as the warm mist settled around us.
Refreshed, thoroughly relaxed, and free of the day's grime, we dressed in the garments Sonya had provided.
The house robes were masterpieces of Corellian craftsmanship, tailored from gossamer-light, ultra-fine silk that breathed effortlessly against the skin. Wearing the layered black robes felt so weightless and free that it was practically like wearing nothing at all. Anakin adjusted his wide black sleeves with quiet satisfaction, while Derren looked sharp and disciplined in his pristine white silks.
Zakan led us through the tranquil garden corridors to the estate's grand dining pavilion.
The dining hall was an impressive, open-air chamber framed by dark wood columns and glowing paper lanterns. In the center stood a long, low dining table crafted from heavy alabaster-marble. The polished stone was laced with intricate, emerald-green fracture seams, an exquisite local variant of the ancient kintsugi art form from my past life, celebrating the beauty of repaired stone.
Seated gracefully across from us were the women of House Velor, and they looked breathtaking.
Seris wore an immaculate, flowing white kimono-style robe embroidered with the silver star crest of House Velor across the chest. Her spun-silver hair was bound in an elegant, tightly pinned formal bun that accentuated the delicate, aristocratic lines of her jaw and pointed ears. Master Fay, Seronea, and Sonya wore similar traditional robes in varying shades of forest green and slate gray, their hair styled with identical ancient grace.
At the far end sat Sheera. She wore a striking, fitted black silk kimono that made the vibrant magenta of her skin and the brilliant white of her hair pop with stunning intensity. The moment our eyes met, Sheera gave me a slow, sultry wink.
Instantly, Seris shot her a venomous, razor-sharp glare that could have pierced starship armor, while Master Fay leveled a cool, chilling stare at her wayward Padawan. Sheera immediately coughed, cleared her throat, and sat up with exaggerated, saintly innocence.
"Welcome, gentlemen," Sonya said warmly, gesturing toward the open places at the table. "Please, sit. Our retainers have informed us that Lord Noctis wishes to fast and meditate in private tonight, so we shall respect his solitude."
"Thank you, Lady Sonya," I said, bowing respectfully before taking my seat directly across from Seris. Anakin and Derren settled beside me, while Zakan took his rightful place at the head of the table beside his wife and the Matriarch.
Spread across the kintsugi marble table was an extraordinary feast.
Dozens of handcrafted ceramic bowls contained a rich, mouthwatering culinary dishes. There were steaming bowls of fragrant white rice, deep ceramic dishes filled with dark, savory noodles tossed in spiced oils, delicate platters of seared sea-dragon fish native to Corellia's oceanic shelf, glazed root vegetables, and rich, simmering herbal broths infused with rare botanicals.
Virtually everything on the table had been organically grown, harvested, and prepared directly on the Velor estate grounds.
As we began to eat, the sheer depth of flavor made the standard, nutrient paste of the Coruscant Jedi Temple feel like cardboard. The moment we finalize the infrastructure on Tython, I thought, savoring a mouthful of seared fish and spiced noodles, I am importing an entire team of Corellian and Sephi agriculturalists. Our people shouldn't have to suffer Temple rations ever again.
After a few minutes of comfortable, quiet dining, Seronea set her carved wooden chopsticks down, resting her chin upon her hands as her keen sapphire eyes scanned our group.
"Now then," the Matriarch said, her melodic voice commanding the room with effortless authority. "Seris, my dear... and your companions. I have read the sterile, bureaucratic reports provided by the Coruscant Council over the years. But I wish to hear the truth from your own lips. Tell me of your early trials as Jedi Padawans. What were your first missions into the wider galaxy truly like?"
Seris paused, placing her chopsticks neatly across her ceramic rest. She took a centering breath, her silver eyes taking on a serious, reflective weight.
"My first official deployment outside the Temple was to the Outer Rim world of Belderone," Seris began smoothly. "I was assigned to accompany my Master Shaak Ti over the preceding. For two decades, Belderone had experienced an explosive industrial and population boom, drawing billions of migrant workers from across the Rim. But that rapid expansion created catastrophic social inequality."
She looked at her grandmother, her voice hardening with quiet conviction. "The corporate conglomerates held absolute authority. Millions of laborers worked in hazardous, unregulated conditions with zero safety protocols and negligible compensation. When workers were maimed or killed, the companies simply discarded them and brought in new migrants. Civil unrest erupted, leading to violent strikes and localized acts of sabotage."
Seris shook her head slowly. "Master Shaak Ti instructed me that the Jedi must remain impartial, that there are always two sides to a conflict. But when we arrived on the ground, the reality was painfully clear. We weren't sent there to mediate justice. We were sent by the Senate to protect the corporate infrastructure and quell the workers' uprising, purely because the conglomerates held lucrative contracts with the Core and Inner Rim worlds. We were maintaining 'order' at the expense of basic galactic decency. That mission was the first time I truly understood what Cain had been trying to tell us for years. The Jedi had stopped serving the Living Force, and it's people, they had become the peacekeepers of a fundamentally corrupt status quo."
Seronea listened intently, her expression unreadable, before turning her gaze toward the young man sitting beside me.
"And what of you, young Skywalker?" Seronea asked gently. "What was your baptism into the galaxy?"
Anakin set his cup down. Beneath his tailored black sleeve, his gloved right hand subtly balled into a tight fist, the mechanical servos of his cybernetic fingers faintly humming beneath the fabric.
"My first mission with my master Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, as a padawan was to the Smuggler's Moon of Nar Shaddaa." Anakin said, his tone raw and steady. "We operated undercover alongside a Jedi Master Siri Tachi to infiltrate the criminal syndicate of Krayn, a notorious pirate lord and the most prolific slave trafficker in the sector. Our objective was to dismantle his refining operations and liberate the enslaved workers."
Anakin looked up, meeting Seronea's eyes with burning intensity. "I spent my early childhood as a slave with my mother on Tatooine. So the mission was a little personal. Having to walk through Krayn's spice processing facilities, watching children and mothers collar-bound, beaten, and traded like scrap metal... it tore something open inside me. The Jedi spoke endlessly of detachment, of letting go of emotional bias, while preaching compassion in the abstract. But when it came to actually eradicating slavery across the Rim? The Order hid behind Republic treaties and political neutrality."
He released a sharp, bitter exhale. "When Cain told me he intended to build an order and government along side Noctis dedicated to breaking chains and burning the cartels to the ground, leaving the Temple wasn't a difficult choice. It was the only choice that mattered. I wanted to see my mother, and I wanted to ensure no child ever grew up under a master's whip again."
A heavy silence settled over the table.
Zakan let out a long, sorrowful sigh, shaking his head. "I am deeply sorry you had to bear such cruelty, young Skywalker. Had the Corellian Jedi known of your plight on Tatooine, our enclave would have adopted you and secured your mother's freedom without hesitation. But your words strike a painful truth... it demonstrates how terribly isolated we Corellians have become within our own sector."
"Dear husband, we cannot be everywhere at once," Sonya noted gently, placing a hand over his. "Our enclave possesses neither the fleets nor the manpower of the Coruscant Order."
"True, yet Corellia's insularity is its own form of dogma, Sonya. As progressive and family-oriented as our Green Jedi traditions are, we have allowed our comfort and planetary borders to blind us to the suffering of the wider galaxy. Stagnation wears many masks."
"Well spoken, sister," Seronea said with a grim nod. "To think that the prophesied Chosen One was left to languish in slavery, expected to bring balance to the cosmos, while being molded by an Order that had lost its foundational purpose. Is that not precisely what you have been orchestrating your entire life to correct, Cain or so the rumors about you say?"
I met the Matriarch's piercing sapphire gaze calmly, my face settling into an impassive mask.
"I have no comment, Matriarch."
Seronea studied me for a long moment before a faint, knowing smirk graced her lips. "Very well. Keep your secrets for now, young padawan." She turned her attention to the young man on my right. "Derren Talvos. What was your first step into the larger galaxy?"
Derren swallowed a mouthful of noodles, resting his hands upon the table.
"My first mission with my Master An'ya Kuro took place right in the bowels of Coruscant. There were intelligence reports regarding a new synthetic narcotic flooding the underworld, a hyper-addictive euphoric chemical far deadlier and more destructive than death sticks. For two weeks, Master Kuro and I lived in the deepest underlevels of Level 1313."
Derren gave a self-deprecating grimace. "I almost had my lightsaber stolen twice by street pickpockets, and Master Kuro scolded me mercilessly each time. But it forced me to see how the forgotten trillions truly lived. When we finally tracked the distribution hub to its source and breached the laboratory... it wasn't run by hardened syndicate enforcers."
He paused, a shadow of lingering grief crossing his brow. "The chemists and runners were children. Starving, feral street kids, barely ten or eleven years old, doing whatever they had to do to avoid starving to death in the dark. We arrested the syndicate boss and destroyed the lab, but when I asked Master Kuro what would become of the children, she told me the truth: 'Nothing. We cannot save them, Derren. This is their world. They must find their own path to the light, or in ten years, they will point a blaster at your chest.'"
Derren shook his head slowly. "The Order and the Senate forgot those people existed the moment they built the upper towers over them. They only cared when the crime threatened the upper levels. That was the day I realized Cain was right. You can't fix a rotting tree by polishing the leaves. You have to heal the roots."
"Coruscant's lower levels contain trillions of souls," Sonya remarked with a sigh. "Governing such an abyss is virtually impossible under the Republic's current bureaucratic framework."
"Which is precisely the excuse institutions rely upon to abdicate their moral responsibility," Master Fay replied quietly.
Seronea raised a hand, gently bringing the heavy philosophical debate to a pause. She turned her sapphire eyes back upon me, her gaze carrying the weight of centuries.
"And what of you, Cain?" Seronea asked softly. "What was your first trial under Master Plo Koon?"
I took a slow breath, letting my thoughts drift back to that formative campaign. In truth, that first mission had been the moment I realized how little my past-life knowledge of the books, comics, movies and television truly mattered. The real galaxy was vastly more complex, tragic, and unyielding than any fictional narrative. Yet the fundamental truth remained identical across universes: power and wealth would always dictate the suffering of the weak unless someone possessed the strength to intervene.
"My first mission was to the Inner Rim world of Onderon, a savage jungle planet where civilization had retreated behind the colossal, fortified walls of Iziz to keep out the wild beasts. When Master Plo and I arrived, the planet was on the brink of civil war, bitterly divided between remaining loyal to the Republic or aligning with the burgeoning Separatist movement."
I allowed a faint, fond smile to touch my lips as I recalled Plo Koon's imposing, gentle presence.
"Master Plo didn't rush to the royal palace. Instead, he made us walk the city streets for an entire day, feeling the currents of the Force among the populace. We saw how the ruling elite thrived in opulent spires while the working-class citizens in the lower quarters were crushed under heavy tariffs and Republic trade embargoes. When we finally met with the monarch, Master Plo did not demand their loyalty to the Senate. In fact, taking a stance that shocked the diplomats, he told the King to choose whatever path best served the survival and prosperity of his people, warning him that clinging to an ineffective Republic out of tradition would only breed ruin."
I looked across the table at Master Fay and Seris. "When we left the planet, I asked Master Plo why we hadn't enforced the Senate's directives. He looked at me and said: 'Trying to force a world to choose the greater good through coercion will only sow hatred, my Padawan. The Republic must earn its loyalty through justice, or it will lose everything it has built. And the Jedi must never serve as the Republic's enforcers.' That mission taught me that the galaxy didn't need more enforcers. It needed leaders willing to rebuild the foundation."
Seronea sat in silence for several long heartbeats, her eyes shimmering with profound, quiet reverence.
"Even as a child," the Matriarch murmured softly, "you were already thinking about reshaping the minds of the galaxy around you. You carry a heavy burden of awareness, Cain, and since your acting on it things will only get difficult. But I believe it is a burden you were born to bear."
Seronea smiled warmly, raising her cup. "Thank you all for sharing your truths. It has been a long, demanding day. Let us finish our meal in peace and retire. Tomorrow, the true political maneuvering begins."
We finished the exquisite dinner amidst warm, lighter conversation. When the plates were cleared, attendants guided our delegation to our assigned quarters. Anakin, Derren, and I were shown to a spacious, multi-room guest pavilion overlooking the moonlit bamboo gardens, while Seris and Sheera retired to their shared quarters down the adjacent eastern corridor.
Late into the Corellian night, within the secluded master chambers of the estate, a soft, floating globe-light drifted silently near the ceiling, casting gentle golden hues across the floors.
Sitting in a triangular meditative posture on the floor were Sonya, Zakan, and Matriarch Seronea.
"Tell me, husband," Sonya asked quietly, breaking the tranquil silence. "What did you learn from your spar with Cain?"
Zakan exhaled slowly, his milky gray eyes staring into the soft light of the floating sphere.
"The boy possesses a terrifying wellspring of power," Zakan said, his baritone voice solemn and measured. "His presence in the Living and Cosmic Force burns almost as brightly as the Skywalker boy's roaring sun. But where Skywalker is raw, volatile celestial fire... Cain is an anchor. He forms deep, natural resonance bonds with those around him almost effortlessly. I could feel a bond taking root between us during our clash, so natural, yet so profoundly unnatural. It is as if his soul instinctively reaches out and binds others to his orbit."
Seronea leaned forward, her sapphire eyes narrowing with acute interest. "And what else did you sense, son-in-law?"
Zakan's brow furrowed, a rare expression of deep unease crossing the swordmaster's stoic features.
"Surrounding his core of Force-light... there is an outer hue of absolute, impenetrable darkness," Zakan murmured softly. "It is not the corruption of the Sith, nor is it the malice of the Dark Side. It is something far older, far deeper. When he taps into that wellspring, it magnifies his strength and empowers those connected to his resonance. But deep within that shadow... I felt the distinct echo of another presence. A presence so vast and ancient that my instincts screamed at me not to probe any further."
Sonya glanced at her mother, her breath catching slightly. "Do you believe another entity resides within him?"
"Perhaps," Zakan replied carefully. "Or perhaps he carries the cosmic echo of one. Either way, Cain is a nexus in the Force. He will either become the greatest instrument of renewal this galaxy has ever seen... or he will become an engine of total cosmic devastation."
Seronea remained silent for a long moment, nodding slowly to herself.
"It matches my vision," Seronea said softly.
Sonya turned to her mother in surprise. "You mean the vision you experienced right after Seris was born? The one that convinced you to send her to Coruscant against my wishes?"
"Yes, my daughter," Seronea confirmed, her gaze drifting toward the distant stars beyond the window. "In that vision, I saw a brilliant sun rising over the Grand Temple on Coruscant, which then descended upon an ancient jungle world. At the heart of that world was a blazing core framed by the exact same dark hue your husband describes. That light coalesced into a warrior of gold and shadow, and standing directly beside him was a woman who bore the exact countenance of Seris as she appears today, radiating a brilliant silver light that interlocked with his gold. Beside them stood who I believe now to be Chosen One, and together, their light expanded until it engulfed the entire cosmos, washing away the dark and bringing absolute peace and balance."
Seronea looked back at her family, her expression resolute. "That was how I knew Seris was destined to walk beside him."
Sonya sighed softly, resting her hand over Zakan's knee. "She has grown into an extraordinary woman, our Seris. But I wonder... will the Corellian Council and the Green Jedi families truly listen to what Cain and this masked Noctis have to propose tomorrow?"
Zakan offered a faint, confident smile, closing his unseeing eyes. "Only time will tell, my love. And the Force will guide us to the answer."
Seronea nodded in quiet agreement, her eyes hardening with ancient patience. "For now... we watch, and we wait."
The three masters bowed their heads in silent communion, the golden globe-light floating gently above them, as the quiet Corellian night held its breath before the dawn.