** Hey! I'm really new to the whole fanfiction concept, and this is my first story for this site, so please please please read and review! Constructive criticism would be great! I'll try to post Chapter 2 soon if it seems like anybody's interested. Thanks =) **

Disclaimer: Like everybody else on this site, I don't own Star Wars. Only own my OC's. Duh. Also, like everybody else, I wish I did, so we could finally get some movies out that are actually GOOD.

Chapter 1

"No."

"Oh, for star's sakes, Tysin, at least give them a chance."

"Stop pushing me, Cura. I said I don't want to take a padawan; let that be the end of it." Tysin Fallis stood outside a training room, hands clasped behind her back as she looked out through a large viewing window. She didn't turn from her observations when Cura spoke.

Cura, headmaster of the Temple younglings, glared at the younger woman and stepped closer. "Need I remind that the Council has directly ordered you to take an apprentice?" Tysin Fallis stepped back, rolled her eyes, and forced out a short, frustrated sigh. Her dark eyes wandered disinterestedly down upon the room filled with young jedi hopefuls, scanning across the sparring matches that had been taking place all day. Cura, noticing her distraction, took the opportunity to speak again. "This is the perfect time to choose an apprentice; the Temple Tournament has just started, and you'll have an entire week to find one you like. And," she added with a wink, placing one hand on the young Jedi's shoulder, "this way the Council won't have to pick one for you."

Tysin, a defeated look on her face, sighed again. "All right. Show me the list."

Cura smiled triumphantly and placed a small datapad in front of Tysin. "These padawans at the top of the list are one that I've decided would be a good match for you. See, the first one, Brek Tanner, he's sparring on the fourth court, with the blue lightsaber. What do you think?"

Tysin watched the duel for a few moments. Brek definitely had the upper-hand, and by all rights the fight should have been over minutes ago, but he was prolonging it to hold the attention of a crowd of knights that was moving his way. Tysin turned from the viewing-port ledge and shook her head. "No," she said simply.

Cura, exasperated, tried without success to mask her irritation. "No? Why not? He's a headstrong-"

"He's just another teenager who thinks that he's invincible," Tysin snapped, cutting her off. "I don't want any more of your help," she added, briskly walking towards the door. "I'll find an apprentice on my own."

"On your own," Cura echoed once she was out of earshot, running a hand through her graying hair. "Just like everything else you do."

Tysin Fallis scowled as she walked through the ranks of sparring initiates. She didn't want an apprentice; she never had. She hated working in teams. Being assigned a mission with a fellow Knight was a displeasure that she could deal with, but this…No. She didn't need the trouble of constantly worrying about some juvenile pest wherever she went. Padawans ruin missions, they get in the way, and they need continuous babysitting during a fight. And that was a nuisance that the straight-to-business Knight didn't need. However, it was inevitable. The Council told her that morning that she was to take an apprentice, end of story. Mace Windu had even mentioned that an apprentice would be good for her, though she couldn't possibly see how.

Suddenly, the flash of an orange, iridescent lightsaber activating nearby caught her eye. Tysin turned her head to get a better look. A young girl, looking scarcely twelve years old had advanced to the semi-final bout for her section, paired against a much taller, older Falleen boy. The boy had his smaller opponent on the defense, landing quick, hard blows that she struggled to parry. What he had in strength, however, she made up for in agility. She danced around the training mat, dodging her opponent's heavy strikes and never letting her heels touch the ground.

The Falleen was visibly tiring, and when he lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, she made her move. Quickly and deliberately she stepped in closer to him, grabbed the hand that was wiping at his forehead, yanked his arm down and swept at his ankle with her own. The boy crashed to the ground as gracefully as possible, but before his back even hit the mat the girl's foot lashed out toward his other hand. His blade deactivated, flew out from his sweaty palm and rattled across the cold stone floor. He didn't even have a chance to reach out with the Force for his lightsaber when hers was swiftly pressed against his neck, the orange blade sizzling against wet flesh.

The movement had been so quick and unexpected that all the spectators stood in a moment of stunned silence before turning to whisper to those around. Tysin, mildly impressed by the girl's unorthodox fighting style, folded her arms and watched the child intently, her eyes never leaving the blond-haired youngling. She watched as the girl helped up her red-faced opponent, bowed to him and to the Masters, and strode matter-of-factly to the locker room.

Tysin nudged a Temple Instructor next to her and asked "Who's that kid?"

The instructor let out a humorless laugh. "That kid?" she inquired, pointing her chin toward the entrance to the locker room, through which the blond haired initiate had just passed. Tysin nodded, and the Instructor laughed again. "That one is Miranda Helo. We picked her up on Nar Shaddaa when she was about three; Master Cario stumbled across her while he was on a mission – purely coincidental."

"Sounds like the Force working in the situation."

"Maybe. She's come a long way for being brought here at that age. Miranda's only eleven, but already she's so advanced in lightsaber training that we allowed her to participate in the tournament."

Tysin didn't respond; she merely bit the inside of her cheek and stared at the door that Miranda had disappeared through. Noticing Tyson's continued interest, the Instructor felt the need to warn her. "Oh, you don't want Miranda as your padawan."

"Why is that?"

The Instructor laughed yet again. "Miranda is…a handful."

"She disobeys the Code?"

"Oh, no, goodness no. Mira follows the Code as strictly as any Jedi. She believes in it. It's just that Mira has her own way of looking at situations and dealing with problems; she's a 'fight first, ask questions never' type. No, you do not want that girl for an apprentice. She's a rebel, that one. Always questioning traditional views and practices-"

"I've heard enough," Tysin interrupted, holding up a hand to silence the rambling Instructor. She started to walk away, headed towards the locker room, when the Instructor's closing, mumbled comment reached her ears.

"Good. You wouldn't be able to handle that girl."

And that was it. Tysin Fallis loved a challenge, and she hated being told that she couldn't do something. The two absolutes combined, there was now no question in her mind that she was going to train this girl.

Miranda Helo sat in the far, dark corner of the locker room, slowly undressing. Five minutes into the task and she only had one boot off – it had been a long day. Thankfully, it was over. She had been beaten and bruised and burned, and now she was exhausted and soaked in sticky sweat. All she wanted to do was get her clothes off, take a shower, and collapse into bed. Tomorrow was a big day: she had to spar in the championship round against a boy two years older and more experienced than her, and it wasn't going to be easy.

Another boot slid to the floor with a 'thud.' She could hear the last of the initiates leaving the locker room, gossiping about the day's events in excited voices and making hopeful guesses to which Master they would be assigned. Miranda didn't much care for gossip, and she didn't much care for those types of girls. A sock fell to the floor, and moments later its partner joined it. The belt was next to fall, and after that came the black wrappings she wore around her forearms.

Miranda stopped to take a breath and rest; every movement she made caused pain somewhere, and the pain made her fatigue. She leaned over, resting her arms on her thighs, and took another breath. A few strands of flyaway, golden hair fell into her eyes and she blew at them in annoyance, causing them to fly up in a cloud and then disappear. Her emerald eyes were glowing in the dark room, and she was afraid to close them for fear of not being able to open them again. Miranda was pretty. Her eyes, coupled with high cheekbones, a defined jaw line and an athletic build drew the attention multiple Temple boys, a fact that she desperately tried to ignore. Her hair was a beautiful, bright shade of blond, but its exquisiteness was pacified by a short cut that hung just above her shoulders. She didn't like the attention her good looks got her, so she did everything in her power – which wasn't much - to make her features unremarkable.

She was about to pull off her obi when a scuttle near the entrance made her stop. The sound of light footsteps coming her way made her back straighten and she subconsciously tucked her hair behind her ears.

Tysin Fallis appeared in the hall and she gave a short nod. "Miranda," she said, crossing her arms and leaning against a row of lockers.

"Mira," She corrected, standing up and giving a quick, sloppy bow.

"Mira," Tysin repeated. "You know who I am?"

"Of course," Mira said sharply, stooping down to straighten up the mess of garments on the floor. "You're Master Fallis. I've heard stories about you." Everyone in the Temple had heard stories about Tysin Fallis, though most were just passed off as rumors. What Mira knew for a fact, however, was that the woman standing before her was a greatly prized treasure of the entire jedi order – at least, that's what she had overheard one of the instructors saying. Why she was such a valuable treasure, however, was unknown to Mira, as well as almost every other jedi.

Tysin arched a brow, but decided to steer from that subject. "I watched your fight earlier," she commented, trying hard to find the right words to say.

Mira shrugged and looked down at her half-dressed self. "This isn't the best time for small talk, Fallis."

"Knight Fallis to you, kid."

"Knight Fallis," Mira echoed, putting special, sarcastic emphasis on the title. "I'm not exactly decent right now."

"You're decent enough," Tysin replied, dismissing the girl's comment with a wave of her hand. "I wanted to talk about you're fighting style. The way you fight is…different."

Mira's green eyes flashed. "Look," she snapped, "If you're here to tell me that I need to change the way that I fight then you can just get out and-"

"Whoa," Tysin lifted both hands in the air. She tried her hardest not to let a smile escapes her lips; this girl had attitude, and she liked it. "That's not why I'm here at all. I like the way you fight. Hand-to-hand is a very useful tool."

Mira cocked her head, confused. "Yeah," she agreed, not sure where the older Knight was headed.

"Look, Mira, I'm gonna cut the crap. I'm not good at all this formal, overly-sentimental garbage so I'm going to give it to you straight, all right?" Tysin was talking faster now, more naturally. Her words before had been forced, as if someone was choking them out of her. She didn't wait for Mira to respond, and instead continued talking, moving closer to the younger girl. "You've got spirit, kid, and that can really take you places. You think outside of the box and it looks like you can handle yourself in combat."

"I can do more than handle myself-"

"I wasn't finished," Tsyin snapped. Mira's mouth shut and she set her jaw defiantly. "I'm going to be watching you at the Tournament these next few days. Impress me some more, kid."

Before Mira could reply, the Knight swiftly wafted out of the room, trailing shadows and scents behind her. Mira wasn't sure what it was, exactly, but there was something that she liked about Tysin Fallis.