The training hall was empty but for Eli.
He moved through the opening sequences of Form V — Djem So — for the third time that morning, his limbs tight with strain, jaw clenched as he pivoted and slashed through empty air. Sweat dripped down his back, soaking the fabric of his training tunic.
He was too rigid. His movements too harsh. But he didn't stop.
He could still see them — Tavi's eyes widening just before the blade cut him down. Niyala's final cry as she collapsed near the pool. Their deaths replayed over and over, their echoes louder than his breath, louder than his heartbeat.
His grip tightened on the hilt of his saber.
I wasn't strong enough.
He lunged, swung hard, slashed the air so violently the saber's hum cracked with strain. Again. Again.
"Eli."
He froze.
Master Tallis stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the soft morning light. Her expression was unreadable — calm, but with that same edge of concern he'd seen in her eyes earlier.
"You've been here since before dawn," she said. "And this is your fifth consecutive morning training alone."
Eli deactivated his saber, panting slightly. "I need to get better."
"You're pushing yourself too hard. This isn't the Jedi way."
"I don't have time for the Jedi way," he snapped before he could stop himself.
The words hung there, heavy and sharp.
Master Tallis walked forward slowly, her presence steady as bedrock. "That's not a statement I expect from you, Eli."
He turned away, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "I just… I can't afford to fall behind. Not anymore."
She sat on the mat beside him, uninvited but welcome all the same. "There is discipline in urgency, but also danger. The Force is not a well to be drained through sheer will. It flows through us because we are still, not because we demand it to move."
Eli sat next to her but didn't look at her. "What if stillness isn't enough?"
There was silence between them.
Master Tallis clasped her hands in her lap. "Balance is not stagnation. It's not weakness. The Jedi Order teaches us that peace is the goal, but peace is not passivity. It's understanding. Compassion. Trust."
"Compassion won't stop a lightsaber," Eli muttered.
"Perhaps not," she said gently. "But hatred will only turn yours into something worse."
He stiffened.
She watched him carefully now, as if she could sense the shadows flickering just under the surface. "You've changed, Eli. These past days… your presence feels storm-tossed. Like something is unraveling."
He clenched his jaw.
"You weren't always like this," she continued. "You were patient. Clever. Thoughtful. Now I feel only heat from you, like a flame building too fast."
"I have to be ready," he said quietly. "For what's coming."
Master Tallis tilted her head. "What do you believe is coming?"
Death. Every time. Over and over.
Instead, he said, "Danger. I can feel it. Something is wrong in the Temple."
Master Tallis considered him. "Premonition is a part of the Force, yes. But it can be muddled by fear."
Eli's voice was sharp. "This isn't fear. It's knowledge."
She paused, the air between them taut.
"Come with me," she said finally.
They left the training hall in silence and walked the long curved halls of the Jedi Temple. Eli noticed her path diverged from the usual classrooms or meditation chambers. She was taking him away from the heart of the Order — toward the outer gardens.
The Temple's meditation gardens were quiet, serene. Pools of clear water reflected the sky, and wind whispered through ancient trees.
Master Tallis stopped near a low bench, gesturing for him to sit.
"Do you know why this place was built?" she asked as she sat beside him. "These gardens?"
"No."
"To remind us that growth requires more than just struggle. A blade sharpened too often becomes brittle. A mind focused only on war forgets how to live."
Eli said nothing.
"I've known you since you first arrived," she continued. "And I've never doubted your potential. But now, I worry. Because I see you chasing something, not from hope—but from fear."
Eli turned to her then, frustration rising in his throat. "You don't understand. If I don't get stronger, I'll die. And worse — they'll die. All of them."
"The Jedi do not cling to life. We serve the Force."
Eli stood up suddenly, pacing near the edge of the pool. "What if the Force doesn't care? What if it just lets things happen? Maybe the Sith were right about one thing — maybe peace is a lie. Maybe strength is the only way."
Master Tallis stood too, and her voice was firmer now. "Be careful with those thoughts, Eli."
He turned to her, face hardening. "I've seen what happens when we wait. When we believe too much in balance. We die."
He didn't realize how much venom had slipped into his tone until her expression shifted — not with anger, but with sorrow.
"You're not the only Padawan who's ever been afraid," she said. "But you may be the only one hiding a fire you don't understand."
Eli stared at her, throat dry.
The conversation was over.
---
That night, Eli lay awake, eyes wide open in the dark.
He thought about her words. About balance. About peace.
They felt like luxuries — not truth.
In the Temple, he would always be a youngling.
He would always be weak.
Unless he broke the cycle.
Unless he ran.
The realization struck like lightning — sudden, terrifying, illuminating.
He couldn't win.
Not yet.
But he could escape.