Why must I suffer life? Jikar asked himself this question every morning upon awakening. While he shrugged on his robes, the answer swam to the top of his brain. They needed him to destroy. He goes along with it, hoping everyday that a blaster shot pierces his heart. Everyday, he is disappointed. Maybe today will be different. Perhaps he won't even need to be killed by the enemy. Today could be the day that he musters up the cowardice to impale himself upon his own lightsaber.

Sighing, Jikar walked forlornly down Processional Way, ascending several steps to the Jedi Temple entrance. He kept his eyes to the floor, blatantly ignoring cheerful greetings on his way to the Jedi Council chambers. Exiting the turbolift at the apex of the High Council spire, Jikar saw that the door to the main council meeting room was closed. Waiting patiently, he pressed his lightsaber's emitter to his neck. His index finger trembled over the activation stud. The door in front of him hissed open as he hurriedly reattached his lightsaber to his belt.

He strode in and stopped in the middle of the room, facing Yoda. He could feel the twelve Masters scrutinizing him. Their piercing gazes stabbed into his heart, sending a shiver up his spine. His lanky frame was tense, causing a knot to form between his shoulder blades. His long black hair partially shrouded his face, cutting off his peripheral vision. Its greasy tendrils clung to his alabaster skin. He stared straight ahead, his eyes matching his dull gray robes.

"Know why you have been summoned, do you?" Yoda asked.

"I assume it's to send me to another insignificant backwater," Jikar answered listlessly.

"Only partially correct, you are," Yoda amended, "A Padawan we have for you."

Jikar's eyes bulged. "A Padawan?" he asked incredulously, "I've done a more than competent enough job by myself. In fact, I dare say I've succeeded brilliantly in my campaigns."

"Indeed you have," Yoda agreed, "but many Padawans, left without Masters, they have been."

"Fine, who is it?" Jikar asked rudely.

"Me," a silky voice said behind him.

Jikar whipped around in surprise. The source of the voice turned out to be a lithe Twi'lek, blue like the sky. She wore a typical Jedi tunic and leggings combo, which did little to conceal her fully developed feminine curves. Her lekku rested on the back of her shoulders. Her seemingly innocent brown eyes combined with her straight nose and full lips to give her face an undeniable allure.

"How did you sneak up behind me?" Jikar demanded.

"Your senses are focused inward," the Padawan replied cannily.

"You have a name?" Jikar asked impatiently.

"Makara Shard," the Padawan replied languidly. "Do you?"

"Do I what?" Jikar asked irritably.

"Have a name, silly," Makara answered, giggling.

"Jikar Loso. So where are you sending us, Master Yoda?" Jikar asked, turning his back on Makara.

"To Yag'Dhul, the planet of the Givin," Yoda replied.

"We have nearly retaken it, but the operation has been stalled for weeks while they await reinforcements. You and the two clone battalions we're sending with you should invigorate the forces holding the line, emboldening them to finish our conquest of the planet," Mace Windu summarized.

"When do we leave and what will be our mode of travel?" Jikar inquired.

"You leave tomorrow and your transportation will be a standard Acclamator cruiser and requisite support ships," Windu supplied, "We own the skies, it's the ground we need to wrap up."

"Very well, Masters. I shall make my preparations and be sure to arrive on time for launch," Jikar said, bowing respectfully.

As he strode from the room, he heard Yoda speak, "Have a question, do you?"

Jikar turned around and opened his mouth to reply and promptly shut it when he saw Yoda's gaze fixed on Makara.

"Yes, Master," Makara answered, "How many Jedi will we find upon arrival?"

"Six, there were. How many remain, we do not know," Yoda replied.

"Thank you, Master," Makara said, bowing.

"Take the rest of the day to familiarize yourselves with each other, as you'll be fighting side by side on the battlefield," Ki-Adi Mundi intoned gently.

"Yes, Master," Jikar and Makara answered simultaneously.

They left the council chambers and made their way to the sparring rooms. Once there, Jikar shrugged off his cloak and drew his lightsaber. Without warning, he lit it and leapt at Makara. She instinctively threw up her left hand, using the Force to try to deflect Jikar. She also drew her own lightsaber and ignited it in her right hand. Jikar allowed Makara's Force push to deflect his body, but left the arm holding the lightsaber extended straight at her. Comprehension dawned on her face as she tried too late to bat his saber away. Easily swinging around her hasty block, Jikar sliced a shallow cut into her stomach. He landed facing away from her.

Makara's face contorted with anger as she swung at his back. He took a casual step forward, avoiding her downward stroke entirely. He disarmed her with a sharp uppercut to her saber and delivered a sharp kick to her abdomen. He looked down on her disdainfully as she sprawled on the floor.

"So this is what they've saddled me with," he said contemptuously, "a mere child that's quick to anger and has the reflexes of a drunken Gamorrean."

Makara lifted herself off the floor and stood to face Jikar, fire in her gaze. "You hold yourself very close," she grated out "It is difficult to discern your intentions through the Force."

"Granted," Jikar agreed, "but that is no excuse for your abysmal performance just now."

"Forgive me, Master, but I have never trained so…vigorously," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"An obvious defect of your former Master. I will train you not just vigorously, but almost brutally. My first Padawan was able to rise to the challenge and ascend to Jedi Knighthood," he said proudly.

"At least I know I'm in good hands," she commented, smiling weakly.

"Indeed. Now, retrieve your saber," he ordered.

Makara stretched her arm out to call her lightsaber to her. Jikar sliced viciously at the arm, nearly striking a vein. Makara's lightsaber fell to the floor as she recoiled, holding her arm to her chest. She glared daggers at Jikar, but made no aggressive move.

"So you can control your anger after all. Now you just need to learn not to remain unarmed in a threatened area. Retrieve your saber," he ordered again.

Without gesturing, Makara called her saber to her right hand and lit it. A split second later, she wildly parried Jikar's sudden overhand strike. He grinned widely at her, and then kicked her legs out from under her. They continued sparring in this fashion, flurries of starts and stops punctuated by Jikar's brittle sarcasm. When they at last finished, Makara was panting with exhaustion while Jikar couldn't stop himself grinning like an idiot. He looked into Makara's eyes with manic glee, eliciting another forced smile from Makara. As he looked away, his eyes roved of their own accord up and down Makara's sweat-soaked clothes. Her heaving chest riveted him for a split second and her shapely legs almost interrupted his eyes' mad sprint to the floor. Mentally berating himself, Jikar swept from the room, leaving a bemused Makara in his wake.