It was a beautiful morning in Tython. The cool air was crisp and tinged with just the right amount of moisture. Any being that drew breath inhaled the lower atmosphere copiously, and they do so with joy, relishing each icy dewdrop - the natural world in all of its unspoilt glory, so bright and alive from every distant birdcall to each rustling of the leaves. And in it, the Force manifested itself so palpably – all in its warm yet soothing currents.

It was one of the few luxuries that Dja-Ke Saden, Jedi Knight of the Order, allowed himself to savor.

It was for that particular reason that Dja-Ke often found himself sitting cross-legged on a deserted balcony of the Temple Arboretum, relishing the quiet respite of meditation. It was another luxury that has become so precariously scarce among the Jedi who now dwell in Tython; within the limited space of the Order's new Temple.

The thought of his upcoming mission however, did not help him in the slightest in attaining inner peace. His official briefing will be conducted later on in the day and he was almost certain that his next assignment would either take him to more sites of conflict, Balmorra or Ord Mantell just to name a few. The prospect of either one however did not thrill him as missions normally did. Dja-Ke's lack of enthusiasm did not stem from a lack of duty or loyalty, but by the fact that he would not be undertaking the mission alone.

Accompanying him to his next assignment was his new apprentice.

One that was forced upon me, thought Dja-Ke.

Despite his misgivings, the report on Oren Dorr, human male, aged twelve impressed him. Dja-Ke was half-expecting a youngling straight from the academies – not suitable at all for the battlefield – when he viewed the holo-mail from his former Master.

It was a short recorded message, one that told him of his former Master's success in picking a 'suitable' Padawan for Dja-Ke and a written assessment of the boy. Although not especially thrilled, a hastily written "Very competent duelist" from the enclave master caught his eye amidst the average assessment of young Oren.

Jedi or not, war is no place for children, Dja-Ke thought grimly.

It was a view that the Council did not seem to share.

Every standard week came the news of many Knights and some Masters requesting new apprentices; the very same Jedi who took on new apprentices the week before. Images of eager – yet inexperienced – Padawans dead in the hands of Imperial troops flashed before Dja-Ke's mindscape.

With an audible sigh, Dja-Ke banished the thought.

Meditation after all, was designed to aid him in ridding of such… turbulent thoughts. He would just need to tell Master Qaric of his decision to not take a Padawan learner, at least for the time being. But he will do that later - much later in the day. With a silent recitation of the Jedi Code, the young Knight's mind is stilled once more.

Such serenity however, was not present in the mind of a small hooded figure standing behind the balcony's transparisteel door. Adrenaline raced like speeders through the stranger's body and the exhilarating prospect of engaging his target - Dja-Ke Saden, coated his palms with a layer of sweat; he felt no fear, only excitement.

With a sweeping gesture of his left hand, the balcony door went crashing to its electronic hinges, the loud snap-hiss of scorching plasma soon followed. With a running start that could rival a swoop-bike, the hooded figure leapt into the air, his lightsaber ignited, angled downwards to strike the still-meditating Dja-Ke.

A sudden localized ripple in the Force however, was enough to shake Dja-Ke out of his meditative stupor and he rolled to the side with a burst of Force-aided speed.

A loud hiss emanated from the spot where had sat before. A lightsaber – no doubt meant for Dja-Ke - plunged deep into the wooden floor of the balcony, spitting sparks all the while.

To say that Dja-Ke was surprised would be an understatement. At the spot where he had leisurely meditated seconds ago stood a figure – definitely humanoid. The figure wore a brown robe; both sleeves and leggings fluttered freely with the breeze, the article of clothing a few sizes too big. A low-slung hood cast an impenetrable shadow over the stranger's face.

It was an almost comical image, barring the facts at hand.

Dja-Ke immediately brought himself to a standing position and reached for his lightsaber. He was surprised to see that the assailant was smaller than he thought. Standing no more than five feet, Dja-Ke would deduce the figure to be a Gand, or Bothan – although the lack of either a respirator or visible fur proved otherwise.

The mysterious attacker pulled his lightsaber free from the balcony floor. He flicked a small switch on its hilt and held the weapon with a two-handed grip, keeping the blade close to the right side of his head. As if on cue, the assailant dashed towards him with an overhead strike. Dja-Ke met the blow with horizontal parry, only to block another swing – this time aimed at his right thigh.

Sparks flew across the balcony as their lightsabers met. Using the Force to pinpoint his leaps and elaborate flourishes with his lightsaber, he rained acrobatic spins and slashes on Dja-Ke. This was Ataru in its most holotext form, all-encompassing in its aggressiveness. If a spectator had witnessed this fight, he would have commented on how the Jedi Knight - who towered over his assailant for at least a standard foot, was reduced into using his lightsaber to defend himself, only with the occasional riposte or two did he attack the blur that surrounded him.

A particularly light swat against Dja-Ke's defenses however, prompted him to angle a swiping cutat his opponent's lightsaber hilt.

The battle would have been easily won if Dja-Ke's attempt at a disarm was successful. Instead, he saw his opponent tucking his legs in a crouch-jump and only with agility bolstered by the Force that the attacker managed to whirl gracefully in the air not once, but twice. Dja-Ke's singular focus on executing sun djem had inadvertently left his guard open; a fact that he anticipated with silent contempt the moment he felt a leather-clad boot connecting solidly with his jaw.

As if struck by a concussive charge, Dja-Ke sailed through the air. The Jedi Knight had been on the receiving end from a variety of physical strikes one too many times to know that it was not a mere acrobatic kick. The Force surged with it, sending him through the air with its telekinetic buoyancy.

But Dja-Ke too called upon the Force, and with it, he managed to reorient himself in mid-air. He landed scant inches in front of the balcony balustrade in a crouch, only to see his opponent charging at him yet again, lightsaber raised high.

Dja-Ke stood his ground. Practitioners of Ataru were trained to batter through defenses with acrobatic ease, especially with the vast amount of both vertical and horizontal space of the balcony. Dja-Ke's thoughts drifted to Soresu – the Resilience Form, and how he could employ that particularly defensive style to his advantage. Form III however, was notorious for its passivity and Dja-Ke knew that the last thing he wanted was a war of attrition.

Makashi? Dja-Ke thought; surely the deft strikes and counterattacks offered by Form II could effectively halt Ataru's mobility. Dja-Ke's particular expertise however, lay not in those forms; instead, he readied his lightsaber to the side and brought his right foot forward – completing the opening stance of Form VI. With a gesture of his open palm, Dja-Ke called upon the Force to halt his attacker's stride. He allowed himself the smallest of smiles when his opponent's legs buckled under the telekinetic pull.

The attacker however, did not surrender easy. Dja-Ke lost sight of his target momentarily as the mysterious attacker used the falling momentum into a low roll. Allowing no respite, he lunged towards his downed opponent.

Again, his opponent did not yield. Instead, folds of brown cloth fluttered freely as he leapt over Dja-Ke's head and unleashed a scoop-cut that would have cleanly lopped it off, if it connected.

With a slight sway to the left, Dja-Ke felt the fine dusting of hair follicles on the side of his cheek being singed off as the hot hum of a lightsaber whizzed mere millimeters past. It was not a perfect dodge however, for where the saber had missed his head - it grazed his right shoulder.

Ignoring the hot sting, Dja-Ke continued with his plan of attack and from his left arm, he unleashed a Force push – sending his already airborne opponent flying across the arboretum balcony.

After several seconds of free-fall, the figure landed on the wooden floor with far less grace than ever before, messily skidding to a stop with his back against one of the many plasteel doors leading inside. He tried to stand, only to stop in mid-kneel as he felt the heat of Dja-Ke's lightsaber beside the column of his neck. To Dja-Ke's surprise, it was a very thin and most notably, a very human neck.

It was in this very moment that the right combination of barometric pressure and planetary rotation caused Tython's atmosphere to unleash a gust of wind, one that ran from the planet's icy mountaintops through each hollow of its forests and into the Jedi Temple.

The wind blew strong, enough to send both fighters' garments to a quivering mess. It was this gust of wind that swept backwards the hood of the small figure. Staring back at Dja-Ke was neither Gand nor Bothan.

Instead, it was a human boy. His blond hair gleamed white under the sun - cut too short to even reach his ears; cheeks flushed with exertion, his carbonite-gray eyes held a mixture of fear and something else. It was excitement, and the emotion rolled from the boy in waves. Dja-Ke need not use the Force to sense that this was no Sith emotion, this was naked excitement – innocent in its unbridled passion.

"You are skilled. But you are no assassin." Said Dja-Ke with as much authority as he could muster. The boy remained both silent and stalwart in his gaze.

Dja-Ke thumbed off his lightsaber. "What is your name young one?" He added, already half-expecting the answer - his tone softer this time.

"Oren." The boy answered. "Oren Dorr." And before Dja-Ke could reply, Oren said: "And you are Master Dja-Ke Saden. The Peacemaker."

"Yes, but-"

"Am I going to be your Padawan?"

"I don't know just yet." Dja-Ke lied, but hid it well. "Do you always try to kill your prospective masters, Oren?" He offered a hand for the boy to stand.

"Only the famous ones." Replied Oren with a crooked smile. Dja-Ke could not help but return the smile with one of his own.

As he ushered him back inside the Temple, Dja-Ke could not help but notice that his shoulder – which should be in dire need of bacta – was not hurting at all.

The look on Master Qaric's face should be priceless. Mused Dja-Ke.