There weren't a lot of things one could say truly frightened a Jedi. And there fewer things still that Jedi truly loved; after all, it was difficult to love anything when you were instructed to become attached to nothing. You had to extricate yourself from the object of affection, close yourself in a way that never allowed more than the greater good to pass the imperious gates of your heart, and you had to make sure you remained cold on the inside toward whatever you love. That you were almost indifferent to the world while you were somehow claiming to save it.
And there wasn't a plethora of things one could say truly frightened Obi-Wan Kenobi, either. And there weren't many things you could say he truly loved. But lapsing in out of reality, cocooning in either stifling dark or debilitating light, he discovered that he could a few more things to those lists.
Truth be told, he still didn't have a lot of things assigned to those categories. Not now, at least. Perhaps not ever. As an archaic Jedi philosopher—whose name had been erased by time—had once written, love and fear tended to accompany one another nearly everywhere—even to the grave.
Wafting haplessly through the labyrinth of unconsciousness, Obi-Wan plucked something out of his hazier memories. He hadn't been very old at the, he realized; spindly limbs protruding from a comically thin trunk, bright red hair poking out from his disproportionate head at crazy angles, he guessed himself to have around eight. His too-large robes had flopped about him like a mast in a typhoon, and his cowl—seeming nearly twice as long as his gangly form—kept tripping him up at inopportune moments. He had taken care to keep the billowy garment behind him as he and twenty other younglings settled before Master Rae'An, their eager heads tipped up to devote the Twi'Lek woman their utmost attention.
Unlike most Jedi—even younger, more unorthodox Knights—Rae'An didn't carry a lightsaber. She claimed, the rumors went, that he she didn't have use of one. Her powers, whatever they happened to be, were apparently sufficient to allow her to refrain from typical combat styles; according to some of the older younglings, the Twi'Lek Master could simply lock gazes with you and end your life with a mere wink—or so the story went. Obi-Wan had always doubted that piece of info, but once he finally laid eyes on Rae'An and her winnowing, almond-shaped eyes, he had found himself wondering if there didn't happen to be at least little merit to the tales.
Lavender skin glowing softly in the warm light of the Temple garden, Rae'An smiled a thin, dangerous smile. "Welcome, younglings. I am Master Rae'An, as you may know, and your teachers have asked that read aloud to you some poetry of mine." Her smile broadened. "And I realize that this might not have been what you were expecting to hear from a Jedi Master—especially from one with a reputation such as me. You would all, I'm fairly certain, rather have me reveal the secret of my power, of how I can supposedly slay my enemies with a mere thought or glance. Well…I am going to reveal to you, my young friends, although the source of my power might not herald from the source you expecting it to."
Every single one of the younglings was so enraptured by the woman's words, Obi-Wan had guessed that maybe a few of them had forgotten to breath. He knew he had. The sheer magnitude of what she about to reveal, combined with her the entrancing affect her wild, almost predatory looks had every child sitting up a little taller, eyes large and lips pursed in expectant silence.
Examining them all with striking cobalt eyes, Rae'An produced a thin sheet of flimsi from her immaculate white robes, and began reading:
"Flee, child, from the Shadow,
Whose honeyed voice croons your name.
Flee, child, from the Shadow,
Lest you join its Game.
"Flee, child, from the Night,
Where the wraiths dither and play.
Flee, child, from the Night,
And return with me to Day.
"Flee, child, from the Dark,
With all its alluring wonder.
Flee, child, from the Dark,
Before it drags you Under.
"For the Shadow, this is its unyielding Goal:
That it might take your life, and with it, your Soul."
All of the younglings had frowned up at the feral-looking Twi'Lek, still too undisciplined to keep their disappointment from showing through. They had all expected more, had regarded her words as nothing but stupid, abstract lines and stanzas, which Master Rae'An had probably suspected they would. So her surprise must've been genuine when she'd seen comprehension dawning on his young face, her tail-heads writhing and jet-black gaze growing round in shock, letting him know that he did have something to fear:
The other youngling, sitting a few spaces down, who'd also grasped the meaning of Rae'An's poem.