The Temple woke before dawn.
I learned this on my third day, when the soft chime of the morning bell pulled me from a dreamless sleep. It wasn't harsh or jarring, just a single, clear tone that seemed to resonate through the stone walls themselves, vibrating in my chest like a tuning fork. Around me, the other younglings stirred, groaning and stretching in their beds.
"Up, up, everyone," came a gentle voice from the doorway. A Twi'lek instructor, Master Tira, I'd learned, stood silhouetted against the corridor's soft blue lighting. "Morning meditation begins in twenty minutes. Wash, dress, and meet in the eastern chamber."
Twenty minutes. In my old life, I would have hit snooze three times and still been late. But here, in this small body with its boundless energy, I found myself wide awake almost instantly. My feet hit the cool stone floor, and I padded toward the communal washroom along with a dozen other younglings.
The sonic showers were strange at first, no water, just a vibrating hum that left my skin tingling and clean. I dressed quickly in the simple beige robes that had been provided, tying the belt with fingers that were still learning their own coordination. The fabric was soft, well-worn, and smelled faintly of something floral. Temple incense, maybe.
By the time I made it to the eastern meditation chamber, most of the other younglings were already seated in neat rows on cushions. The room was circular, with a domed ceiling that let in the pre-dawn light through transparisteel panels. The air was cool and still, carrying that same faint incense scent.
I found a spot near the back, settling cross-legged on a cushion between a Rodian boy and a human girl with dark braids. Across the room, I spotted Derren, who gave me a cheerful wave. Seris sat near the front, her posture perfect, her eyes already closed.
Of course she's already meditating.
Master Yaddle entered a moment later, her small form moving with surprising grace. She was even shorter than Yoda, but her presence filled the room in a way that had nothing to do with physical size. Her large eyes swept over us, warm and knowing.
"Good morning, younglings," she said, her voice soft but carrying easily. "Today, we deepen our connection. Yesterday, you touched the light within. Today, we learn to hold it. To nurture it. To let it grow."
She settled onto a cushion at the front of the room, folding her hands in her lap. "Close your eyes. Breathe. Find your center."
I obeyed, letting my eyelids fall shut. The darkness behind them was familiar now, less frightening than it had been during that first meditation. I focused on my breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth, and felt the world around me begin to fade.
"Good," Yaddle murmured. "Now, reach inward. Find that spark. That light. Do not force it. Do not grasp. Simply... invite it."
I reached, and the light came.
It was easier this time. So much easier. The golden warmth that had taken minutes to find yesterday now appeared almost instantly, blooming in the darkness like a sunrise. I felt it spread through me, filling my chest, my limbs, my mind.
This is the Force. This is what I am now.
"Excellent," Yaddle said, though I couldn't tell if she was speaking aloud or through the Force itself. "Now, hold it. Let it settle. Do not let it consume you. You are the vessel, but you are also the guide."
I focused on the light, trying to keep it steady. But it was like holding water in cupped hands—the harder I tried to contain it, the more it wanted to slip away. I felt it surge, growing brighter, hotter, and for a moment I panicked.
Too much. It's too much.
"Breathe, young Cain," Yaddle's voice cut through the rising tide. "Do not fight it. Flow with it. You and the Force are one. There is no struggle. Only harmony."
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to relax. The light responded, settling into a steady glow. Not dimming, but... stabilizing. Like a flame finding its equilibrium.
Harmony. Not control. Harmony.
The realization was profound. In my old life, everything had been about control, controlling my schedule, my emotions, my circumstances. But the Force didn't work that way. It wasn't something to be dominated. It was something to be partnered with.
I don't know how long we sat there. Time lost meaning in that space between waking and dreaming. But when Yaddle finally spoke again, her voice pulling us back to the physical world, I felt... different. Lighter. More centered.
"Well done, younglings," she said as we opened our eyes. "You are learning. Slowly, yes, but learning nonetheless."
She paused, her gaze settling on me. "Young Cain. You go deep very quickly. This is a gift, but also a danger. Remember Master Yoda's warning. The Force is vast. Do not lose yourself in it."
I nodded, my throat tight. "Yes, Master Yaddle."
She smiled, and the warmth in her expression eased the knot in my chest. "Good. Now, to the refectory. Breakfast, then history lessons."
The days began to blur together after that, settling into a rhythm that was both comforting and exhausting.
Mornings were for meditation and Force exercises. We practiced reaching out with our feelings, sensing the emotions of those around us, moving small objects with our minds. I excelled at these tasks in a way that drew attention, sometimes admiring, sometimes resentful.
Afternoons were for academics. Galactic history, mathematics, languages, diplomacy. The lessons were taught in a large, airy classroom with holoprojectors and datapads. I found the material easy, almost insultingly so. My adult mind absorbed information at a pace that left the other younglings struggling to keep up.
But it was the history lessons that fascinated me most. And frustrated me. It was during our second week that the cracks in the Jedi's teachings became impossible to ignore.
We were studying the Sith, or rather, the sanitized, child-friendly version of the Sith that the Jedi deemed appropriate for younglings. Master Yoda stood at the front of the classroom, his gnarled hands resting on his cane as a holographic display showed images of ancient battles.
"Defeated, the Sith were," Yoda said, his voice carrying that familiar backward cadence. "One thousand and thirty-two years ago, at the Seventh Battle of Ruusan. The Brotherhood of Darkness, destroyed. Peace, restored."
Seris's hand shot up immediately. "Master Yoda, the Brotherhood of Darkness was the last great Sith army, wasn't it? Led by Lord Kaan?"
"Correct, young Seris," Yoda said, nodding approvingly. "Studied well, you have."
Seris's expression remained neutral, but I caught the faint flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. She glanced at me, as if daring me to challenge her.
Oh, you want to play that game?
I raised my hand.
Yoda's large eyes swiveled toward me. "Yes, young Cain?"
"Master Yoda," I said carefully, keeping my tone respectful. "When you say the Sith were defeated, are you referring to the Sith Order, or the Sith species?"
The room went silent. Several younglings exchanged confused glances. Derren leaned over and whispered, "There's a difference?"
Yoda's expression didn't change, but I saw Master Yaddle, who had been observing from the side of the room, straighten slightly, her eyes narrowing.
"Explain, you will," Yoda said slowly.
I took a breath. Careful Cain, don't reveal too much.
"The Sith species were a red-skinned, Force-sensitive people native to Korriban," I said. "They were nearly wiped out by the Jedi after the Great Hyperspace War, and again after conflicts with the Eternal Empire. The Sith Order, the dark side philosophy and organization—survived much longer. So when we say the Sith were defeated at Ruusan, we're talking about the Order, not the species. The species was already gone by then."
The silence stretched. Yoda and Yaddle exchanged a long look, and I felt a prickle of unease crawl up my spine.
Did I say too much?
"Young Cain," Yaddle said gently, stepping forward. "How do you know this history? These details are not taught to younglings."
Shit.
"I... I saw it in a vision, Master," I said, which was technically true. The Force vision had shown me stars, connections, echoes of the past. And my memories from my old life—the books, the games, the lore, felt like visions now, distant and dreamlike.
Yaddle studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Visions can be powerful teachers. But they can also be misleading. We will discuss this further, you and I."
Great. I'm already on their radar.
Yoda tapped his cane against the floor, drawing everyone's attention back to him. "Correct, young Cain is. The Sith species and the Sith Order, different they are. A painful chapter in our history, the extinction of the Sith species is. Not our proudest moment."
"Among other things," I muttered under my breath.
Yaddle's head snapped toward me. "What was that, young Cain?"
Damn it. She heard me.
I hesitated, then decided to commit. If I was already in trouble, I might as well make it count.
"I said, among other things, Master," I repeated, louder this time. "The Jedi Order has made mistakes. The genocide of the Sith species. The rigid teachings that don't allow for emotional intelligence. The way fallen Jedi are abandoned instead of helped back to the light."
The room erupted in whispers. Seris was staring at me like I'd grown a second head. Derren looked torn between awe and horror.
Yoda's expression was unreadable. "Strong words, young Cain. Explain, you will."
I swallowed hard. No turning back now.
"The Jedi teach us to suppress our emotions," I said. "To avoid attachment. To let go of fear, anger, and passion. But they don't teach us how to process those emotions in a healthy way. So when a Jedi feels something intense, grief, love, rage, they don't know how to handle it. They either bury it until it explodes, or they fall to the dark side. And when they fall, the Order doesn't try to save them. They just... cast them out. Or kill them."
The silence was deafening.
Yaddle's expression had softened, but Yoda's remained stern. "Dangerous, such thinking is. The dark side, seductive it is. Compassion for the fallen, admirable. But save everyone, we cannot."
"Maybe not," I said quietly. "But we could try."
Yoda studied me for a long moment, then sighed. "Much to learn, you still have, young Cain. But wisdom beyond your years, you possess. Troubling, this is."
He turned back to the class. "Enough, for today. Dismissed, you are. Young Cain, with Master Yaddle, you will stay."
Oh, great.
The other younglings filed out, casting curious glances my way. Derren gave me an encouraging thumbs-up. Seris didn't look at me at all.
When the room was empty, Yaddle approached, her expression gentle but firm. "You speak truths that many in the Order do not wish to hear, young Cain. But you must be careful. Change does not come from the mouths of younglings. It comes from Masters, from the Council. If you wish to influence the Order, you must first earn their respect."
"I know," I said, frustration bleeding into my voice. "But it's hard to stay quiet when I see the flaws so clearly."
"Patience," Yaddle said. "You are four years old. You have time."
Do I, though? I thought. Do any of us?
But I nodded. "Yes, Master."
The Force exercises that afternoon were a welcome distraction.
We gathered in one of the training halls, a wide, open space with polished floors and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Coruscant's skyline. Master Yoda and Master Yaddle stood at the front, flanked by a series of metal hooks mounted on stands at varying heights.
"Today," Yoda announced, "test your control, we will. Simple, the task is. Difficult, the execution."
He gestured, and several training rings, smooth, metallic hoops about the size of a dinner plate, floated into view, hovering in midair.
"Place the rings on the hooks, you will," Yoda continued. "Using only the Force. Begin with one. Then two. Then three. The goal, to move all three at once."
A collective groan rose from the younglings. Moving one object with the Force was hard enough. Three at once? That was insane.
"Impossible, you think it is?" Yoda said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Good. Learn, you will, that impossible is not."
We lined up, taking turns. The first few younglings struggled just to lift a single ring, their faces scrunched in concentration. A Twi'lek girl managed to get hers halfway to the hook before it clattered to the floor. A human boy got his ring onto the hook, but it took him nearly five minutes.
Derren was next. He closed his eyes, reaching out with the Force, and the ring lifted smoothly. It wobbled slightly as he guided it toward the hook, but he managed to slip it on with a triumphant grin.
"Well done, young Derren," Yaddle said warmly.
Then it was Seris's turn.
She stepped forward, her expression calm and focused. She didn't close her eyes, she didn't need to. The ring lifted effortlessly, gliding through the air like it was on rails. She placed it on the hook with precision, then immediately moved to the second ring.
The second ring was trickier. The hook was higher, and the angle was awkward. But Seris didn't falter. She maneuvered the ring with the same precision, slipping it onto the hook with barely a pause.
Then came the third ring. This one required threading the ring through a narrow gap between two other hooks before reaching its destination. It was a puzzle as much as a test of control.
Seris's brow furrowed slightly, and I saw a bead of sweat form at her temple. Her breathing quickened, but her focus never wavered. Slowly, painstakingly, she guided the ring through the gap, adjusting its angle with minute corrections.
It took her nearly three minutes, but she did it. All three rings, perfectly placed.
The other younglings burst into applause. Even Yoda nodded approvingly. "Excellent, young Seris. Strong in the Force, you are."
Seris's expression remained neutral, but I caught the faint flicker of pride in her eyes. She stepped back, her gaze flicking toward me.
Your turn.
I stepped forward, rolling my shoulders. The rings reset, floating back to their starting positions.
Okay. Three rings. Three hooks. One's straightforward, one's high, one's a puzzle.
I reached out with the Force, and the rings responded immediately. But instead of moving them one at a time, I did something different.
I moved all three at once.
The gasps from the other younglings were immediate. The rings floated in perfect formation, moving together like a flock of birds. I guided them toward their respective hooks, adjusting their paths in real-time.
The first ring slipped onto its hook. The second followed a moment later. The third, the puzzle ring, required more finesse. I rotated it mid-flight, threading it through the gap with a smooth, practiced motion.
All three rings settled onto their hooks with a soft clink.
Total time: forty-five seconds.
The room was silent.
Then Derren broke the silence with a loud, "Whoa!"
Yoda's eyes narrowed slightly, studying me. "Efficient, your method was. Unconventional, but effective."
"I just thought it made more sense to move them together," I said, trying to sound casual. "Less time, less effort."
"Hmm." Yoda tapped his cane thoughtfully. "A mind for strategy, you have. Useful, this will be."
I glanced at Seris. Her expression was carefully neutral, but her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. Her silver eyes burned with something I couldn't quite name, frustration, jealousy, determination.
She's not going to let this go.
The weeks blurred together after that. Meditation in the mornings, academics in the afternoons, Force exercises and physical training in the evenings. I adapted quickly, too quickly, if the whispers were any indication.
But it was the lightsaber training that truly set me apart.
We started with Form I—Shii-Cho, the most basic and foundational of the seven classical forms. It was designed to be simple, focusing on broad, sweeping strikes and solid defensive postures. Every Jedi learned Shii-Cho first. It was the bedrock upon which all other forms were built.
Our instructor was a Zabrak Knight named Master Darro, a stern but fair teacher with a scar running down his left cheek. He demonstrated the basic strikes, overhead, diagonal, horizontal, and had us practice them in slow motion, over and over, until the movements became muscle memory.
"Shii-Cho is not about speed," Darro said, pacing between the rows of younglings. "It is about foundation. Every strike must be deliberate. Every parry must be solid. If your foundation is weak, everything built upon it will crumble."
We practiced with training sabers, lightweight, non-lethal weapons that hummed softly when activated. The blades were a dull blue, and they stung when they made contact, but they wouldn't cause serious injury.
I found the movements intuitive. My adult mind understood the geometry of combat, angles, leverage, timing. But my child's body struggled to keep up. My arms were too short, my grip too weak. I had to compensate with precision and efficiency, using technique to overcome my physical limitations.
Derren, on the other hand, was all enthusiasm and raw power. His strikes were fast and aggressive, but his form was sloppy. He overcommitted to his attacks, leaving himself open.
Seris, predictably, was flawless. Her strikes were precise, her footwork perfect. She moved like a dancer, every motion controlled and deliberate.
"Pair up," Darro commanded. "We will practice sparring. Remember: this is not about winning. It is about learning."
I ended up paired with Derren. We faced each other in the center of the training ring, our sabers humming softly.
"Ready?" Derren asked, grinning.
"Ready," I said.
"Begin!"
Derren came at me immediately, his saber slashing in a wide arc. I sidestepped, letting the blade pass harmlessly by, then countered with a quick strike to his shoulder. He blocked, but barely, and stumbled back.
"Nice!" he said, still grinning.
We continued, trading strikes and parries. Derren's attacks were powerful but predictable. I focused on defense, letting him tire himself out, waiting for an opening.
It came when he overcommitted to a downward strike, putting all his weight behind it. I sidestepped, and his blade hit the floor with a dull thunk. Before he could recover, I tapped his chest lightly with my saber.
"Point," Darro called.
Derren groaned, but he was still smiling. "I almost had you!"
"You would have," I said, offering him a hand up. "But you need to work on your parries. And don't overcommit to your strikes. Master Yoda said it before, lightsaber combat is a conversation. You have to listen as much as you speak."
Derren blinked. "A conversation?"
"Yeah. Every strike is a question. Every parry is an answer. If you're only asking questions and not listening to the answers, you'll lose."
"Huh." Derren scratched his head. "That's... actually really smart."
"Good advice, young Cain," Yoda's voice cut in. I turned to see the Grandmaster watching from the edge of the ring. "Wisdom beyond your years, you show. Again."
I bowed awkwardly. "Thank you, Master."
Yoda's gaze shifted. "Young Cain. Young Seris. The center, you will come."
My stomach dropped. Oh no.
Seris stepped into the ring, her expression cold and focused. We bowed to each other, and I tried to offer a reassuring smile. "Let's have a good match."
She didn't respond. She just shifted into her Shii-Cho stance, her saber held perfectly.
Okay. She's serious.
"Begin."
Seris moved first.
She was fast. Her saber came at me in a blur, aiming for my shoulder. I blocked, but barely, and the impact sent a jolt up my arm. She didn't give me time to recover. She pressed the attack, her strikes coming in rapid succession, shoulder, wrist, hand, chest.
She was trying to disarm me.
I focused on defense, parrying and dodging, looking for an opening. But Seris was relentless. Every strike was precise, every movement calculated. She wasn't just trying to win, she was trying to dominate.
She's good. Really good.
But she was also predictable. Her attacks followed a pattern—high, low, high, low. She was testing me, probing for weaknesses.
I decided to give her one.
I let my guard drop slightly, leaving my saber hand exposed. Seris saw it immediately and lunged, her blade aimed at my wrist.
I twisted, letting her blade pass by, and swept her leg. She hit the ground hard, and I pressed the tip of my saber against her arm.
"Point," Darro called.
The room erupted in murmurs. Seris stared up at me, her silver eyes wide with shock and fury.
I offered her a hand. "Good match."
She ignored it, pushing herself to her feet. "Again."
We sparred nine more times.
Seris won none of them.
But she improved with every match. Her strikes became sharper, her footwork more refined. She adapted to my tactics, forcing me to change my approach each time.
By the tenth match, she was drenched in sweat, her breathing ragged. But she didn't give up. She came at me with everything she had, her saber a blur of motion.
I won, but only barely.
When Darro finally called an end to the session, Seris didn't say a word. She just deactivated her saber, bowed stiffly, and marched out of the training hall.
Derren sidled up beside me, his eyes wide. "You beat her nine times out of ten. She must be livid."
"Probably," I said, watching her retreating form.
I hope she's okay.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I slipped out of the dormitory, moving quietly through the darkened corridors until I reached one of the meditation balconies. The night air was cool, carrying the faint hum of Coruscant's endless traffic. The city stretched out below me, a sea of lights and motion.
I sat on the edge of the balcony, my legs dangling over the side, and stared up at the stars. Anakin will be here in a few years. Maybe less.
I'd done the math. I was four, almost five. Anakin was nine when Qui-Gon found him. That meant I had maybe four or five years before everything started.
I have four or five years to prepare. Train and to figure out how to change things. The Clone Wars. Palpatine. Order 66. The Purge. And that was just the beginning. After that came the Yuuzhan Vong. Abeloth. Darth Caedus.
How am I supposed to stop all of that?
The weight of it pressed down on me, suffocating. I was one person. One child. What could I possibly do against the machinations of a Sith Lord who'd been planning for decades? Against an extragalactic invasion? Against a Force entity older than the Jedi themselves?
I can't do this alone.
But who could I trust? The Jedi were blind to the threat. The Republic was corrupt. And I couldn't exactly walk up to the Council and say, "Hey, by the way, the Chancellor is a Sith Lord, and also there's an invasion coming in about thirty years."
I need allies. I need power. I need time.
The sunrise began to creep over the horizon, bathing the Temple in golden light. I took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill my lungs.
One day at a time. One step at a time.
I couldn't save everyone. I couldn't fix everything. But maybe, just maybe, I could make a difference.
In the Temple bathroom, Seris stood in front of the mirror, water dripping from her hands. Her reflection stared back at her, pale skin, silver hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, silver eyes burning with frustration.
She lost. Ten times.
She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. I'm supposed to be the best. It's in my blood. The Green Jedi. The Corellian tradition. I'm supposed to be better than this.
But Cain had beaten her. Effortlessly. Like it was nothing.
He's not better than me. He can't be.
She leaned forward, gripping the edge of the sink, and stared into her own eyes. I will be the best. I have to be. It wasn't just pride. It was necessity. Her family's legacy depended on it. Her own sense of self depended on it.
I'll train harder. I'll push further. I'll beat him. She straightened, wiping the water from her face, and took a deep breath.
Next time, I'll win.