The Council chamber felt colder today.
Whether from the looming storm clouds veiling Coruscant's sun or the unspoken weight in the air, the Temple's highest room sat heavy in silence.
Master Yoda's eyes were closed in stillness, but his brow furrowed faintly, disturbed. Mace Windu paced slowly in measured arcs, arms behind his back, each step more a statement than motion. The rest of the Council sat with practised serenity, but even serenity had fractures.
Master Shaak Ti stood at the center holotable, her silhouette framed by soft blue starlight from the skylight above. She looked calm. Not indifferent — composed.
"It's been one week," she said. "And already he's created fractures in every room he enters."
"You speak of him like he's a fault line," Ki-Adi-Mundi muttered.
"Because he is," Windu said, still pacing. "He draws tension to the surface. He exposes fear in our Padawans. Doubt in our instructors. And silence from those who should speak."
The doors opened. Master Talrun entered.
He bowed once.
"You've observed the subject?" Plo Koon asked.
"Every hour," Talrun said. "He's a student only in title. But in action? He's a sentinel. Watching. Studying. Never unaware."
"What has he learned?"
"Everything we thought he wouldn't," Talrun replied.
Yoda's eyes opened slowly.
"Hateful, is he?"
"No," Shaak Ti said. "And that's what unsettles me most."
She folded her arms, her voice low but clear.
"Kaelen Vizsla does not hate the Jedi. He doesn't mock us. He doesn't challenge us. He studies us. He learns our language. He listens. He never forgets."
"Then we've already failed," Depa Billaba said softly.
Windu turned from the window.
"He is Death Watch."
"He was," Talrun corrected. "They're gone. Burned away. And what's left—"
"—Is something worse?" Windu interrupted. "Something we don't control."
"He's not a Sith," Shaak Ti snapped, more force than she intended.
"No," Windu said. "He's something new. Something in between. And that makes him unpredictable."
"So was Anakin," Plo Koon offered gently.
Windu's jaw tightened.
"Let me ask plainly," Ki-Adi-Mundi said. "Do we believe he can be reformed?"
"That's not the right question," Talrun said. "It's not whether he can be reformed — it's whether he wants to be."
"And does he?"
Talrun hesitated.
"He hasn't decided yet."
Yoda leaned forward, small hands folded.
"Balance, the Force seeks. Echoes… strong, this boy leaves. Paths he may open, unknown they remain."
"He's already fractured our students," Windu said.
"He's revealed their weakness," Shaak Ti countered.
"He's revealed ours," Windu corrected.
The chamber darkened slightly as the cloud cover thickened. Outside, the city lit up under overcast twilight.
Yoda finally nodded.
"Supervised training, we allow. No Force instruction. No independent movement. But test him… we must."
"And if he lashes out?" Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.
Windu's voice was low.
"Then we know the answer we're pretending not to see."
They said nothing more.
The decision had been made.
Cut To:
A training chamber.
Empty. Clean. Neutral tones.
Kaelen stood alone at the centre, flanked by two Temple guards. Before him, a weapon rack.
He stared at the choices.
Training ssabre
Bo staff.
Wrist guards.
Blunt-force tonfa.
And—mounted high—
A Mandalorian-style beskad.
It was a replica. Not his.
Still… they were testing him.
He reached for the sabre—
Paused.
Then took the staff.
Simple. Direct. Non-lethal.
But still dangerous in the right hands.
Kaelen spun it once in silence. Just enough to feel its weight. Then turned toward the doors as they opened—
And waited.
Let's see what they put in front of me.
Let's see what they expect me to be.
And how wrong they are.
The training chamber was a perfect circle — high walls, polished floors, no mirrors. Jedi believed in clarity without reflection.
Kaelen stepped in with slow precision, bare feet making no sound on the stone. The room was brighter than he liked. Open. Exposed.
The way prisons often were.
Three Padawans stood in formation mid-ring, their practice sabres humming low. A fourth stood to the side, adjusting his robes, side-eyeing Kaelen with visible discomfort.
They didn't greet him. They didn't speak.
Knight Vano was already pacing.
His voice was hard-edged and efficient. "Today, we rotate through aggression drills. Controlled momentum. No escalations. Intent is not dominance. Intent is fluency."
He turned toward Kaelen.
"You understand what that means?"
Kaelen shrugged.
"You want me to play fair."
"I want you to learn why we do."
Kaelen looked past him, toward the Padawans.
They were already looking at him like he'd failed.
They want to see if the monster obeys the leash.
Fine. I'll show them the leash. Not the teeth.
The first match began.
Two Padawans sparred with clean, practised rhythm. The room was so quiet, Kaelen could hear their feet scuff the mat, hear the subtle hitch in each inhale before a strike.
He sat against the wall, staff across his lap, and watched.
Not just movement.
Instinct. Tension. Fear. Pride.
One Padawan — a Mirialan girl named Sira — was fluid. Efficient. She pulled her strikes just early enough to stay in form, but late enough to unsettle her partner.
She was the best of the four.
Kaelen liked her.
Not as a person.
As a fighter.
She wants to win but hasn't admitted it to herself.
She calls it "discipline", so she doesn't feel guilty when someone gets hurt.
Next rotation. The human boy took her place.
He was broader, slower, and stronger in his technique. His footwork was two beats behind his swing.
Clumsy. Heavy-handed. He won't last two years in a warzone.
Kaelen didn't blink.
Knight Vano paced in silence, watching Kaelen as much as the students. He was waiting for something. A mistake. A flash of temper.
He got neither.
Just stillness.
"Vizsla. In."
Kaelen rose in one smooth motion. The staff moved with him like it had a will of its own.
He stepped into the ring across from the human boy.
"Standard form four," Vano called. "No modifications. You will mirror your partner's rhythm. Follow his lead."
Kaelen gave a single nod. No salute. No bow.
The boy hesitated — just a beat — before stepping forward and swinging.
Kaelen parried easily.
Another swing. High arc.
Kaelen sidestepped. Redirected.
Third strike. Lunge.
Kaelen pivoted with perfect timing and knocked the saber off-line.
The boy staggered slightly.
Kaelen didn't press.
He stayed in formation. Every move is too perfect.
Vano frowned.
"You're mimicking him," he said.
"You told me to mirror."
"You're controlling the pace."
"Then he should take it back."
The boy gritted his teeth. Came in harder. Faster.
Kaelen flowed around each strike, never retaliating — only guiding the boy's momentum into exhaustion.
The other Padawans were whispering now.
Sira stared with narrowed eyes.
"He's not reacting — he's leading," she muttered.
"He's studying him," another added. "Like… for real."
"He's playing with him."
The boy overreached.
Kaelen parried, stepped in, and stopped just before breaking his grip.
He held the staff across the boy's chest — gently, firmly — then stepped back.
The boy's breath was ragged. His pride was gone.
Kaelen never broke rhythm.
Knight Vano's voice was colder now.
"That was not passive. That was dominant."
Kaelen blinked slowly.
"You told me not to strike first."
"And you didn't. You just showed everyone you could."
Silence.
No one argued.
Because it was true.
Kaelen turned back toward the rack, spinning the staff once behind his shoulder. Fluid. Loose.
It wasn't for show.
It was instinct.
Shaak Ti watched from above. Her expression unreadable — but her hands had tensed.
"He adapts instantly," said the Knight beside her. "Almost too fast."
"He learns like he's preparing for something," Shaak Ti murmured. "Like he knows every room could become a battlefield."
"Maybe to him, it already is."
Kaelen sat again, posture straight, the staff resting against his knees.
The boy didn't return to the ring.
The others kept their distance.
Kaelen didn't gloat.
He didn't smirk.
He just waited.
They think they saw control.
They didn't.
They saw... calculation.
The halls of the Jedi Temple whispered with motion — endless cycles of breath, footsteps, and lessons.
Kaelen moved through them like a shadow with permission.
He had been granted limited access.
Training wing. Cafeteria. Meditation gardens. Library alcoves.
Each with a guard.
Each with a timer.
Each with quiet watchers pretending not to watch.
He noticed all of it.
The Temple wasn't a home.
It was a maze made of silence and pride.
And Kaelen had already begun to map it.
He sat alone in the northeast garden — a rectangular courtyard filled with shallow pools, smooth stone paths, and carefully curated bonsai trees.
A meditation space. Sacred to the Order.
Kaelen wasn't meditating.
He was sketching crudely, on a datapad he wasn't supposed to have reconfigured.
Training wing access.
Security door intervals.
Ventilation grid overlaps.
Hallway blind spots between evening rotations.
His hands moved like a soldier. His eyes are like a tactician's.
Not escape routes.
Just... options.
He paused only when the wind shifted.
Shaak Ti stepped into view from the opposite archway — alone again, as always.
She said nothing at first.
Neither did he.
Finally—
"You're not drawing the garden."
Kaelen didn't look up.
"The garden doesn't interest me."
"What does?"
"The structure."
She stepped closer, slowly, until she stood beside the low stone bench where he sat.
"Is that how you survived Death Watch? Studying structures?"
"I studied weakness," Kaelen said. In buildings. In battle lines. In people."
"And what do you see when you study the Temple?"
He glanced up at her.
"Hope.
Built like a fortress."
She didn't smile.
But she didn't flinch, either.
"It's not wrong to want to understand your surroundings."
"Then why monitor me like a bomb?"
"Because we don't know what will set you off."
"I already told you. Choice."
That made her pause.
"You think we deny you that?"
"You give me paths.
You just don't want me to build my own."
Silence settled again — but it wasn't cold this time. It was thoughtful.
Shaak Ti sat across from him on the edge of a stone platform.
"Have you ever meditated, Kaelen?"
"Death Watch taught stillness. Not serenity."
"And what do you believe lies in stillness?"
"Memory."
"Pain?"
"No," he said. "Memory."
A beat.
"And not all of it is mine."
She watched him closely now.
"You've felt it, haven't you?"
He met her eyes.
"The Force."
Not a question.
A certainty.
Kaelen's voice lowered.
"It listens when I don't speak."
"And what does it say?"
He exhaled slowly.
"It watches you. Just like I do."
Shaak Ti stood.
"There's more to power than control."
"Is there?"
"You might find that out here. Or you might break everything trying."
She turned to leave.
But paused at the arch.
"Don't mistake silence for safety, Kaelen."
He nodded once.
"I never have."
She left.
He stared at the datapad in his hand.
His thumb moved over the temple layout he'd drawn. He zoomed in.
Paused at a junction. A conduit line near the lower archives.
Blind spot.
No Force sensors.
Why would they have one there?
He didn't smile.
But he remembered.
Everything.
The chamber was dimmer than the others. Smaller. No natural light. Four walls of stone and durasteel.
There were no decorative hangings here.
No murals.
No myth.
Just space.
Kaelen liked it.
He stood barefoot on the sparring mat, staff in hand, body relaxed but ready. His posture was too upright for Jedi form, too still. Not the stillness of serenity — the stillness of a coiled blade.
Knight Vano paced between him and three Padawans waiting on the sidelines.
"Controlled conditions. Rotating drills. Strikes are to be measured, responses precise. We are testing coordination, not aggression. There will be no full-contact finishes. Clear?"
"Yes, Master," the Padawans said in near unison.
Kaelen said nothing.
Vano stared at him.
"Vizsla. You understand the rules?"
Kaelen tilted his head slightly.
"They're not complicated."
"This is not Death Watch."
"No," Kaelen said. "They'd be armed."
▪️ Round 1: Kel Dor Padawan — Tactical Flow
The Kel Dor girl stepped into the ring. Light on her feet. Fast. Cautious. Her sabre was clipped to her belt — training drill only. Hand-to-hand plus staff.
She gave Kaelen a short nod. Respectful.
He nodded back.
Her stance is forward-weighted. She'll retreat if pressured fast. She's thinking two moves ahead, not five.
Vano signalled
She struck first — a high jab, testing reach.
Kaelen countered with a shallow deflection, spun low, and tapped her hip with the end of his staff.
Point.
She recovered quickly. Smiled faintly.
Second exchange — more intense.
Kaelen moved around her like water, countering every step, adjusting for her stride length and wrist angle.
She started breathing heavier.
He barely did.
When she slipped, he caught her with the staff in a shoulder hook, not hard.
But deliberate.
"You're too respectful," Kaelen said.
"That's not a flaw," she answered, stepping back.
"It is when they don't return it."
She didn't answer.
Vano called the round.
Kaelen stepped off. She did not meet his eyes.
▪️ Round 2: Nautolan Padawan — Power vs. Precision
The next student was a Nautolan boy — tall, heavy-set, strong legs. He rolled his shoulders as he approached, cracking his neck.
Kaelen rolled his wrists. The staff hummed as it twisted across his knuckles.
"You don't like this, do you?" the Nautolan said.
"I don't dislike it."
"But you're not trying to be part of this."
"That's not what I'm trying."
Vano nodded for them to begin.
The Nautolan came in fast. Full-body strikes. Wide swings.
Kaelen ducked the first. Spun inside. Slammed the staff into the boy's upper thigh — not enough to wound, but enough to deaden the muscle.
The boy stumbled.
Kaelen backed away, calm, still in form.
Next strike — overhead.
Kaelen raised his arms and took the hit on the staff, then turned with the force of the blow, redirecting the entire momentum into a sweep under the boy's legs.
The Nautolan fell hard, hit the mat, and cursed.
"That's not standard Jedi defence
"It's not defence," Kaelen said. "It's survival."
Vano's jaw tensed. "Next."
The final Padawan stepped forward.
Kaelen was already turning his staff slowly in one hand.
▪️ Round 3: Zabrak Padawan — The Breaking Point
It was him.
The Zabrak.
The one who sneered. The one who talked.
He walked to the ring with a visible chip on his shoulder and a fire in his chest. His sabre was clipped. But his fists were clenched.
Vano's voice sharpened.
"Control, both of you."
Kaelen just looked at the boy.
"You're still angry."
"You're still a threat."
"Then hit me like one."
The first strike came too fast.
The Zabrak lunged, closing the distance with a wild shoulder rush.
Kaelen sidestepped and brought the butt of the staff into his ribs — not too hard… but enough to stop the charge.
Second exchange — fists.
The Zabrak struck with his forearm. Kaelen caught it mid-swing, turned with it, and used his momentum to send the boy skidding across the mat.
"Stop holding back!" the Zabrak roared.
Kaelen didn't move.
"You don't want that."
"You think I'm scared of you?"
"No," Kaelen said.
"I think you want to find out why you should be."
The Zabrak lunged again — this time without form.
Kaelen's movements shifted.
The staff became a blur — not lethal, not illegal, but punishing.
He struck the boy's outer elbow, pivoted behind him, and swept his legs again.
This time harder.
The Zabrak hit the ground with a sharp thud.
Kaelen followed — staff at the boy's chest before he could breathe.
Vano shouted — "Vizsla—!"
But Kaelen didn't stop.
He drove the staff down — not into the chest — but beside the Zabrak's throat.
A clean, deafening crack against the mat.
Then silence.
Kaelen knelt, staff pressed sideways against the Zabrak's neck.
Not choking.
But showing.
"This is what you wanted."
The Zabrak was frozen. Eyes wide.
Kaelen stared down at him.
Not angry.
Not proud.
Just cold.
"You're lucky I'm still learning your rules."
Vano's voice cracked. "Stand down. Now."
Kaelen didn't respond right away.
Then… slowly… he stood.
He dropped the staff onto the mat with a loud clack.
The Zabrak rolled away, coughing. Staggered to his feet and backed off without speaking.
Everyone else in the room stood frozen.
Kaelen didn't meet anyone's eyes.
He turned and walked toward the exit.
No apology.
No shame.
Just footsteps.
Heavy.
Measured.
Final.
From the balcony, Shaak Ti's hand was clenched at her side.
The Knight beside her whispered, "If that wasn't aggression, I don't know what is."
Shaak Ti didn't respond.
But her silence was heavier than any words.
Jedi High Council Chambers — That Night
The rain fell hard now. Thunder rumbled somewhere deep over Coruscant's upper levels, muffled by transparisteel. The light through the ceiling pulsed in dull flashes — like a heartbeat fading.
The Council met in silence for several long seconds after the holorecording ended.
The final frame — Kaelen standing over the Zabrak, staff poised, perfectly still — still hovered mid-air before Yoda.
None spoke.
Until Windu broke the quiet.
"He was in control. That's what makes it worse."
Plo Koon nodded slightly.
"There was no panic. No emotion. Every movement was deliberate."
"He disabled the boy. Then chose to continue," Ki-Adi-Mundi added. "Not because of the threat, but because he wanted him afraid."
"It was a message," Shaak Ti said. "To all of them."
"And what do you think it said?" Windu asked, tone sharp.
Shaak Ti didn't hesitate.
"I'm not what you want me to be. But I'm here anyway."
Depa Billaba looked down at her hands.
"Some of the younger students are refusing to enter the training wing."
"Two instructors have requested reassignment," Talrun added. "One submitted a formal petition to restrict Kaelen to non-combat study."
"Not because he attacked," Plo said slowly. "But because he didn't need to."
Windu turned back toward the holoframe.
Kaelen's face was blank. Utterly blank.
"I've seen killers who regret. I've seen soldiers who lost their way. This boy? He wasn't lashing out."
He pointed at the frozen image.
"He was measuring."
Shaak Ti stepped forward.
Her voice was calm, but resolute.
"He is not a Jedi. But he is not a Sith. He doesn't want to destroy the Order."
"Then what does he want?" Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.
"Control," Talrun answered. "Not over others. Over himself. But he doesn't trust anyone else with it. That's why he calculates everything. That's why he keeps score."
"And what happens," Windu asked, "when someone takes that control away?"
Yoda finally spoke.
His voice was quiet.
"A storm, he is. Not summoned. Not shaped. Formed by pain, and sharpened by war."
He looked to each Master.
"Balance, he may carry. But break it, too, he can."
A beat passed. The storm outside cracked louder.
"You fear him," Shaak Ti said, eyes on Windu.
"I respect him," Windu replied. "And I know what people do with power they didn't ask for. They either bury it… or they make someone else bury it for them."
Silence.
Then Plo Koon leaned forward.
"So, do we cage him again?"
"He's already caged," Talrun said. "That's the problem. The room just keeps changing shape."
Yoda's ears twitched.
"Test him further, we must. One-on-one. Real training. Real consequence. Not to change him… but to see."
"See what?" Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.
Yoda's gaze was distant. Ancient.
"If the Force chose him…
…or warned us."
The Council fell into silence again.
But not the peaceful kind.
The kind that waits for something to break.
..........................
The storm hadn't reached this part of the Temple. Here, everything was silent.
Kaelen sat on the floor, legs crossed, datapad in his lap.
He wasn't reading.
He was sketching.
The lower archives. Blind angles. Emergency response delay patterns. Sections of the Temple without regular Force presence.
He paused. Zoomed in. Made a new note:
Vent grid M-7 is unguarded between 0200–0320 hours.
He stared at the screen.
Not planning escape.
Just knowing.
He leaned back.
The overhead light flickered once. Stabilized.
Kaelen closed his eyes.
They think I made a mistake.
They're wrong.
I made a decision.
And now... so will they.