Saren Wordlist:

Nissan Older brother
Nihan younger brother
Mahte Mother
Nite' brother of the heart
ke'nite' sworn brother of the heart

Chapter One: Interwoven

Dreams are illustrations... from the book your soul is writing about you. Marsha Norman

He shivered, curling further against his nite', as the white snow blew outside their small, broken down dwelling. The snores of his supposed fellow orphans rose in the air, creating a harsh symphony of exhaustion, brought by hunger, and the cold.

By all rights, he should have been asleep as well, and had been, some time before, but worry, and that dream had woken him. Worry, for the two missing ones of their group, his older brother, and Jer'en. Both had left earlier that evening, determined to get something to eat, before another one of their gang died. They had already buried two in the last few weeks. One from the cold, the other had been caught by the guards while trying to steal and had paid for it. Starvation made one weak, and desperate.

He sighed, suppressing a whimper as chill air cut into his throat as he exhaled. He focused away from it, he didn't want to think about the death that had become his life since nearly after birth. He preferred the dream to his reality.

That odd dream. Of being lost, alone in the wreckage and ruin of his world, without his brother or his nite' or even sadistic Jer'en. Alone, as he had never been, with only the darkness and the death around him, trying to consume him.

Till light. Bright, beautiful light, as golden as the sun. And in the midst of that light, a boy, hair as shining as the light he was in, tan of skin, with lively green eyes. And no wings. Which had been as odd as the hair itself. He knew him as human, only humans could have such hair and be wingless.

It was a familiar dream, an old one, from the time he was a infant, till now. He had long since named the boy in his mind, truly, faithfully believing him to be Sala'ne' incarnate, even without his wings.

Keeping that image in his mind, he smiled a little, relaxing as he started to slip back into sleep. Only to awaken at the feel of a rough hand on his arm, before strong limbs picked him up, cradling him against a wet, cold chest.

Looking up, he caught his brother's mix matched blue and gray eyes, as he heard Jer'en yelling to the others to get up. The faint sounds of blaster fire and explosions was nearby. His gut tightened, and his body tensed.

'We have to leave, nihan. The guards have started up another fight, and it's coming this way,' his nissan said softly.

Me'telnen nodded, understanding, as he saw his nite' get up from their sleeping spot, already awake and stretching swiftly.

'Ja', take Me'. Look after each other if we get separated,' his nissan ordered, setting him down so Ja'thernen could take his hand.

The older of the two younger Saren children nodded, holding tight to Me'telnen's little hand, 'Always, Te'.

Te'renthe' nodded, before focusing on the rest, 'Lets go. Meet up at the hide out at the southern side."

There were agreements, before they moved, running out into the thick snow outside. The explosions grew closer, and smoke was thick in the air. A fire burst in the ruined buildings further down, but they moved away, rushing fast through the cold.

Me'telnen kept his grip on Ja'thernen's hand, clinging inside to the remembered warmth of his dreams, of that boy that he had seen.

The Jedi initiate squirmed on his small bed as he lay staring up at the ceiling in the darkness. The room was lit only by the pale glow of his fish nightlight. He listened to the sound of his other room mate sleeping. There was almost no sound to be heard in the quiet stillness. Were it not for the fact that he had something on his mind, he would have drifted back to sleep almost as soon as he had awakened, lulled by the peacefulness of the silence.

He had had the dream again.

He'd been having it off and on for several weeks now and it was most curious. It wasn't a bad dream, really, but it was confusing.

The place he visited in his dreams was bad. It was filled with something he didn't quite understand, it felt dark, and cold. The voices of the people there were harsh and his little ears couldn't understand them. They didn't look like any people he had ever seen before. There was one boy in particular who stood out among his people. His body looked human but he had white wings with blue tips at the edges and they came together at his shoulders. He had blue and gray markings around his neck and dark hair, and sharp pointed claws that could rip him in half if he chose.

The little one had no idea what species he was, but he liked looking at him in his dreams. He was an interesting sort. The Light Force was in him and he was surrounded by the cold and dark on his planet.

"Ky?" a voice whispered to him in the dark.

"Yeah?"

"Did you have that dream again?"

"Yes."

There was a long silence. "Maybe you should tell the Masters," Janek, a Bothan boy, sat up to look at his roommate.

Kyran shook his head. "It doesn't mean anything bad, I don't think."

"But maybe they still ought to know," his friend whispered back.

"Maybe you're right. I might tell them," Kyran replied, yawning as he pulled his covers up to his chin.

"Okay. I'm going back to sleep."

"Me too," Kyran wanted to see the boy again in his dreams. He rolled over and yawned. Within minutes he was asleep again.

He wasn't supposed to be there.

Dark, and cold, the cracked and ruined streets of the city he had been born and raised in were no place to venture out alone in, especially for a young child of only four, who was already ill.

Pale and trembling, bones easy to see under too thin skin, he seemed more ghost then mortal as he traveled, slipping from ruined building to ruined building. Shying from any sound, be it the far off echoes of blaster fire, or the tremble of rocks under his feet from distant explosions, he was quick to keep to the shadows, though his white wings and flesh did little to hide him within their depths.

He kept going, silent on bare, abused feet, ignoring how the stones dug into his toughened skin. Just as he blocked out the occasional body he passed, forgotten in the alleyways of the unfeeling city. His trailing senses, the curse of Theron as so many had said, picked up on the constant flux of emotions in the air, Especially at those places, the remaining fear of dying always made the darkness seem worse.

He focused; keeping whatever small whimper that might have escaped him deep in his chest. He was close now, the sound of fighting proved it, as did the feel of that familiar and comforting hole within the darkness did. Rushing forward, he nearly fell, only to catch the edge of a crumbling wall. Stopping, he looked out to see the scene beyond.

Te'renthe' was fighting again. At twelve, his nissan was massive, at least to him, all fine muscle, despite his painfully thin appearance. At twelve, his brother was a killing machine.

One badly beaten corpse nearby proved it, a deep, thick claw hole where his heart should have been, eyes taken by nails sharp enough to rend flesh and bone. Another lay off to the other side, slaughtered much the same way. It was his nissan's trademark, to take the heart.

But these... were not Sora'sa, or Riku'ian, or even half-breeds. These were outsiders, and judging by the boxes near the large, silver ship nearby, they were smugglers, coming either to take what little resource Saren had left, or to sell their weapons to the Elders of the North.

His heart trembled. His brother had never been foolish to tangle with humans. Even though humans were so much weaker, mere filth as Ja'thernen had once told him, they were almost always better armed. Which was proving to be the case here, as one human, a bulky man with graying hair, smashed his nissan from behind. Lightening arched from the odd club, causing Te'renthe' to jerk violently, till he collapsed at his forward opponent's feet.

Gasping at this, Me'telnen removed himself from the shadows, moving quick and soundless, forward to aid his nissan. Only for the bulky human to turn, and grab him by the back of his neck, lifting his body up easily.

Laughter boomed between the two remaining humans, as words he didn't know were exchanged. He could now see other men, scatted through the area. So his nissan had killed the rest...

The one Te'renthe' had been fighting picked up the elder half-breed roughly, slapping on some odd type of cuff to bind his hands, before clamping on a restraint around his neck. The elder brother struggled as he came from his daze, only to jerk again as the collar flickered to life, sending small waves of lightening across his body.

Me'telnen looked on helplessly for a moment, before struggling, small claws reaching up to rip at the hand holding him. The bulky man snarled, but didn't let go, merely closed his hand tighter about his thin neck, till Me'telnen felt as if he would snap him in two.

Suddenly, he was free of that crushing hold, and flying, falling, then crashing into a few abandoned crates nearby. The wood sliced at him as he fell through with the force at which he had been thrown. Winded, he could do little as he heard further laughter, and what he was sure was his brother's voice calling to him.

Struggling, he tried to work free of the boards trapping him, only to freeze as he heard footsteps. The large shadow of the man who had caught him towered over him, before his eyes centered on the flickering flame in the man's fingers. Dropping the light stick, the human turned away, as the boards around Me'telnen caught on fire.

Screaming now, he could only watch through the cracks of the crate he was trapped in, while they dragged his struggling, calling nissan aboard the silver ship, and its ramp rose. No matter how he struggled, he only found the boards holding him down wedging tighter, refusing him freedom as the flames grew close, hot air already burning his skin, and the sharp smell of burnt feathers and hair alerted him to worse problems behind.

He called again, even though he knew his nissan long gone, stolen from him. He screamed, for his nite', or even Jer'en, wanting only to be free from his confines.

No one answered, and he knew no one would. He was too far from the gang...

Yet, something moved, shifted, answered in him, Something that matched the darkness of the planet of his birth, that contrasted against the light he kept locked in his own heart. It built quickly, in response to his fear, his anger, his hatred for the ones who had stolen his only family, while leaving him to die.

He released it, and it answered violently, striking out and shredding apart his makeshift prison. Sobs came to him, as he lay there, still in the midst of the burning wreckage that had been the crate.

Whatever he had allowed to touch him, to help him, had come too late. He was injured, burned, weakened, and ill. And now alone.

They had taken the only thing he had left in the world.

The Temple gardens were a wonderful place to play. There were bunches of trees spread all throughout the area. The lake was the size of many large rooms put together. It stretched from one side of the garden to the other, running through it to naturally water the plants. The garden had many walkways, paths of laid stones so that one could easily travel from one area of the gardens to another if they had to do so quickly.

The conservatory had a special monitoring system built in to allow light to the gardens. There were panels overhead that had been affixed to the ceiling and covered it. In the daytime the panels showed natural sunlight, complete with fluffy clouds drifting across to give the image of truly being outdoors. To further this image, at evening, the sunlight "set" and stars appeared across the darkened skylights.

The initiates always were allowed time in the gardens to play, with close supervision by the crèche Masters. There were toxins in the gardens from plants that could hurt children especially, so the Masters kept close watch on them. The initiates often dared each other to get close to these plants and grab leaves from them as souvenirs. It was a test of merit and only the bravest would dare do such a thing.

Today though, three-year-old Kyran Josel wasn't interested in bravery or earning merit from his agemates like he was most other days. He was more interested in the fish today. There was a large tree with a branch not too high to reach that sprawled out to just over the lake's edge. Perhaps he could climb the tree and sit on the branch to get a closer look at the fish.

He began to climb, making his way carefully up to the branch, his face flushed with the effort of his climb. Suddenly, he slipped and he gasped, clinging tightly to the branch to keep from falling. He looked down at how high he was in the tree and swallowed hard. He drew on the Force as he'd been taught, trying to hold on to the branch in his sweaty palms. He knew he should call for help, so that one of the Masters could get him down.

He slipped further off the branch, holding on now by the edge of his sweaty fingers. "Master Anya!" he cried, hoping for someone to hear him. Why had he wandered so far away from his age group?

He couldn't hold on anymore. His fingers weren't strong enough to hold him up. He hit the ground with a loud thud and a nasty crack. He began to cry, sniffling as he clutched his arm. He had landed hard on top of it. He soon heard running footsteps.

"Oh, Josel, what happened?" the crèche Master bent down kindly over him checking him over.

"I wanted to look at the fish," he wailed. "I was trying to climb the tree to see them and I slipped," he sniffled.

Master Anya took his arm and felt it gently to see if it was broken.

"Ow!" He cried harder and tried to jerk his arm out of her reach and that confirmed it.

"There now, it'll be alright," she said softly reaching out to the Force to ease the pain. "We'll have to get you looked at in the Healers."

"But I don't like the Healers," he said sniffling.

"I know you don't, " she soothed. "No one likes being hurt or sick, but sometimes it can't be helped."

She helped him up carefully. "It will be alright," she said, drying his tears with a corner of her robe.

He embraced her with his good hand, clinging as tightly as he could to her. "Am I in trouble?" he asked, sniffling.

"No dear one, of course not. This was an accident. Accidents happen even to the best of Jedi," she rubbed his back comfortingly. "You were very brave to try and climb that high, but next time let's keep our feet on the ground and look at the fish that way."

He nodded, his sobs dying to whimpers and sniffles, feeling comforted.

"There now," she said, feeling that he was calming down. "Let's go get you cleaned up and taken care of. "

He kept quiet, though the pain was intense along his shoulder. He didn't move, because he knew it would hurt much worse if he did.

That careful claw moved, slicing easily through the flesh behind his right shoulder, leaving blood, and the faint scent of burned flesh in its wake. His nite' had only just started, the bladed triangle almost complete, or so he felt. It hurt terribly, burned and itched unbearably. But he kept his peace.

This had been what he had wanted. He had begged it from Ja'thernen, as soon as he had recovered from the almost life stealing illness and injuries he had gained at his nissan's taking. He had needed something, desired to hold on to something, and his nite', soon to be ke'nite', was the only one he could.

Especially now. He tugged a little on that warm, dark yet comforting presence in his soul. It answered with a comforting wave, and he could feel his friend's smile. Ja'thernen's presence, linked to him, as a result of the older trying to save him at the harshest point of his illness. Their life force, locked together, or so his nite' had said.

And Me'telnen wanted physical proof of that. Young as he was, at only four, he had already know the paths of inseperation, and the rituals behind them. He had desired more then anything to seal Ke' with Ja'thernen.

Because he had no one left, except Ja'thernen. The other members of the gang rejected him now, because he had survived, where their leader had been taken away. Jer'en hated him, blamed him for Te'renthe's kidnapping. And in a way, Me'telnen believed him to be right. If he had not grown ill, his nissan would not have grown so desperate.

But Ja'thernen didn't blame him. Ja'thernen had calmly soothed his fears, held him in the hours when he could only tremble, and assured him that at least one person on the cursed planet, still loved him. It was enough.

He bit his lip, forcing back the hiss of pain that wanted to come, as he felt what he knew to be the dark twin, Theron's, name carved into him. Theron, was what they called him now, for he was clearly of his blood line, cursed with his gift.

The gift that bound him to Ja'thernen now, which was fine. And before... he had also been able to see things that would soon happen. His mother's death, Te'renthe's kidnapping, he had seen them both before they had come to pass, and had been unable to stop them. He had hated that. But now, the dreams no longer came. Nightmares still haunted him, but he understood nightmares.

He had no one he could cry to for comfort anymore, so he had stopped crying, about the nightmares, about anything. Jer'en grew angry when he did, and Ja'thernen paid the price more often then not. So Me'telnen learned to keep his peace, now that he was well.

Sala'ne's mark now. The dreams of that golden child were faded in his mind now, lost with the other sights of the future he had once had. There was too much sorrow and despair, to think of hope. So the god child that he had longed for all his life, the one he adored secretly in his soul, perhaps even loved, was being shoved aside for the harsh truth.

What couldn't hurt him, wasn't real. Which was another reason for this. Ja'thernen was hurting him, therefore, what he was was real. The mark on his back was bleeding, and burned, thus it was real. The raw, fresh link in his mind pulsed just the slightest bit painfully, thus, it also was real.

He could only trust what hurt.

The great one's name, the name he had never heard in his life. Nissan had told him once, that none could say that god's name, unless they were without blood on their hands. Me'telnen had yet to kill, but he had been raised by those that had killed, to survive. Even his dear mother, who had been lost to the flames so long ago...

It was almost done. The Tel'k mark was complicated, and as Ja'thernen cut into him further, to establish who Me'telnen now belonged to, the younger could only wonder how Ja'thernen had kept his silence when Me'telnen had marked him. Not with La'taine'. Even though he knew it to be dangerous, Me'telnen had put his true name. The gods would accept nothing else.

Which led to the reason why he accepted being called Theron. For the incarnation of Theron from so long ago, the one who had started the war that had engulfed his planet for ten thousand years, was his ancestor. The line of Kemra was cursed. He was only beginning to learn just how cursed.

Finished, Ja'thernen pulled away, and dabbed at the bleeding mark with a wet, dirty cloth he had found somewhere. It had already been stained with his own blood, but it did the trick, and finally Me'telnen lowered his right wing, covering the mark.

He sat up, smiling, though it was empty. Silently, he grasped his ke'nite's right forearm, before speaking, 'Now, we belong to each other.'

'Forever,' Ja'thernen agreed, with the slightest nod as he grasped Me'telnen's forearm in turn.

It was midmorning when they came. Kyran was coloring at a table with his roommate, Janek, when he saw the two Jedi come into the crèche. The oldest one looked happy to be there. Kyran could tell he was the oldest by his white, silver hair. The other had dark brown hair and dark eyes and a serious expression on his face that suggested he'd rather be somewhere else.

They went to the infant room where the youngest children were. Kyran puzzled about why they would be going in there. Nobody took babies as padawans. He was going to go find out what they were doing there. "I'll be right back," he said to his friend.

"Ky, where are you going?" Janek asked, frowning. "I'll be by myself if you go!"

"I'll just be a second," he said and scurried off to the infant room to see the two Jedi closer.

Kyran peered around the corner to the infant room cautiously. The oldest had picked up a small infant and was rocking it gently, while sitting in a rocking chair. The younger Master's face was impossible to read. He caught the younger Master's eyes. They looked so sad, he was unhappy about something, and it wasn't just being around the infants that made him sad. He didn't realize he'd been staring until the older one spoke up, "Hello little one, what is your name?"

He fairly beamed at them as he came further into the room gaining his courage. "Kyran," He said happily. "I'm three," he said holding up three fingers to show the Master how old he was.

The Master rocking the infant smiled indulgently. "I see. You're quite the big boy now aren't you?"

He nodded, a serious expression on his face. "I'm not little," he fairly crowed with delight about it. "What's your name?" he pressed anxiously.

"I am Master Zephir," Zephir said pleasantly. "This is Master Rixar."

Kyran's courage mounted and he came over to stand next to them. He glanced up at Master Rixar who was tall as a Temple tower compared to himself. "You're really tall," he said in awe, looking up at the Master.

The other didn't smile back, and his lips moved stiffly as if he would rather not answer Kyran. "Not really."

Kyran grew shy and left Rixar's side to go back to Zephir's. He looked at the Master for a moment before he repeated what he had said to Rixar, jerking his thumb in Rixar's direction. "He's really tall."

Zephir's eyes twinkled. "That he is. You'll catch up to him one day."

Kyran blinked in surprise at that. "I will? When?" he demanded.

"Oh it will be several years yet," Zephir laughed. The infant in his arms started to wail and he cooed gently shushing the little one, rocking him back to sleep.

"Years! But that's a long time," he protested.

Zephir grinned. "You must have patience little one. You'll get there soon enough."

Kyran mulled that over for a little while before he nodded seriously. "I see," he said as if he knew exactly what the Master was talking about.

Zephir laughed gently. "Well youngling, what is one like you doing in here with the infants?"

"I wanted to see you and him," he said pointing to the other Master who stood as silent as stone, his arms now folded across his chest.

"Why did you want to see us?"

"I wanted to know what you were doing. Babies can't be padawans can they?" Kyran blurted.

Zephir shook his head and chuckled. "No, little one, we are not here to choose any apprentices. I merely enjoy spending time with children."

"Oh, " Kyran's brow furrowed. "I'm going back to my colors," he announced proudly, waving to the Masters before skipping off.

"What did you do?" Janek asked when Kyran rejoined him at their coloring table.

"I just talked to two Masters," he said beaming as he returned to his colors. "That's all."

The blood was thick, and heavy on his hands. The image was still burned in his mind, even as he tried to focus on the rain falling on him, soaking him, making the stains run, till it looked like he was the one bleeding.

But he was not. The body he left in the home the gang had claimed, had been. Heavily, and now he bore the life he had taken. The life of his nissan's closest friend, his ke'nite's nissan, the one he had grown up fearing and possibly loving at the same time. He had murdered him, without thought. Just buried his small, clawed hand through his heart.

He had to do it. There was no doubt in that. The gods' seal on his shoulder demanded that he protect his ke'nite', from anything, and he had done so. Even though he had been propelled by the intense feeling of anger, of fear, he had known he was protecting Ja'thernen.

But the look that Ja'thernen had given him after it was over... After he had risen from Jer'en still body, covered in crimson, nails coated in gore. Ja'thernen had looked at him in horror, and Me'telnen had seen disgust in his eyes. Disgust for the demon he had proved to be.

Theron was his rightful name after all. To be able to murder a ten year old with his weak, four year old body, he could be nothing else but of the demons. Especially such a strong fighter as Jer'en. Jer'en, who only Te'renthe' could defeat...

He didn't shed tears. They were worthless, he had learned that long ago. There would be no one to hear him anyways, in the midst of the roaring rain.

He was alone again, by his own hands. The gang wouldn't accept him at all, after this. He doubted Ja'thernen would either, even if it had been for his sake.

He had only wanted to protect him... Jer'en had been about to kill him, after another angry moment, in which for hours, Me'telnen could only watch as the older Sora'sa beat his younger brother, cursing him all the while. Just like always, except this time, this time there had been an almost insane quality to those hard eyes. Jer'en was going to slaughter his nihan. Me'telnen wouldn't allow it.

So he had chosen, Ja'thernen's life for Jer'en's, the stronger love for the lesser. Now he was lost, pained, and inside, he was feeling himself die. Because he knew he would be alone, from now on. No one could love the darkness that was hardening inside, even if it only reacted when he most desperately needed it. And no one could love the demon he was.

Except perhaps Sala'ne'. But Me'telnen had lost faith in the gods after his nissan was taken, and the dream he had once was nothing more then dust to his mind.

The rain was growing heavier. He shuddered, sinking down against the wall he had taken shelter against. It crumbled a little, against his wings, small chunks of stone falling to the earth as he curled there.

'Theron,' a voice called to him, eventually, after what seemed an eternity of silent torment.

He raised his head, empty blue eyes seeking out and finding the owner of that voice. Ja'thernen stood before him, staring back with an unreadable gaze. His ke'nite' had never called him that before...

A slender hand was thrust out to him, 'Let's go.'

He blinked, unsure, and the older boy scowled, 'Let's go, unless you want to die here.'

It was harsh, but he expected that. Ja'thernen had to be, to his nissan's killer. The gang would accept no less, Me'telnen knew that, and he could faintly see them through the rain, further away, but watching. Watching as their new leader tamed the demon.

He was still alone, but he was at least being offered a chance to survive. On Saren, one couldn't survive alone... And even if there was nothing left for him, he felt he had to live.

His hand took Ja'thernen's, and he accepted that chance as he was hauled to his feet.

Kyran was almost beside himself with eagerness. Today he was going to learn to use the lightsaber for the very first time! The time had finally come! His class would be taken to the gym in the afternoon where they did basic stretches to warm up and then they would learn the first two katas of Form I. He was so thrilled; he could hardly keep his mind on the rest of his lessons that day.

"You're even dreamier than usual today, Josel," a cold, drawling voice said.

Kyran looked up in surprise at the speaker. This boy was a Tarak, which meant he had six arms and was tall and bulky even at the young age of seven. "What's your name?" he asked. "I haven't met you before."

"Rylar Zedriff," the initiate said, holding out a hand for Kyran to shake.

Kyran took it gingerly and shook the other boy's hand. "How did you know my name?" he asked.

"I've seen you around," Zedriff said dismissively. "You looked far away so I thought I'd better bring you back."

"Today we're going to use the lightsaber!" he said, positively writhing with excitement.

A ghost of a grin swept across Zedriff's face. "It's really fun. It's more fun than just doing stretches," he said.

Kyran danced from one foot to the other happily. "How many forms do you know?" he asked curiously.

"Oh I've lost count," the other boy said, finally smiling.

Kyran considered that for a minute and he stared up at the other boy. "How could you lose that? Jedi wouldn't do that."

Zedriff's face turned red and he glared at Kyran. "No one asked you," he said darkly folding one set of arms across his chest.

"Sorry," Kyran said quickly seeing the other boy's face.

Zedriff frowned at Kyran after considering him for a few minutes. "Why don't you come play with us?"

Kyran looked surprised. "Play with you and them?" he asked gesturing to the older boys who were standing close by.

Zedriff nodded. "We were going to play a game of vossball."

Kyran looked interested at that. "Okay," he said brightly as he went over to join them. It would help pass the time till this afternoon at least and it looked like he had made friends with an older group of initiates. Maybe he could impress them and maybe even impress a Master someday if he could impress them with his skill at the game! His mind was whirling with exciting possibilities as the game began.

Later that afternoon Kyran bid the other boys good-bye. It had been very nice of them to let him join their game and he had done very well at it. "I have to go to lessons," he said seeing Master Anya herding his class into a line to leave the crèche.

Zedriff smiled. "Good game Josel, see you around later," he said.

Kyran hurried to get in line with the rest of his classmates. It was finally time! His heart was pounding in excitement as they got into the turbolift to take them to the gymnasium where the Knights and Masters trained. He drew on the Force using his lessons to calm down. It would not do to mess up with the lightsaber because he was too excited.

They came to a small private room off to the side of the gym where about twenty training sabers were in racks by the door. Master Anya bid them all kneel in meditation style as they waited for their instructor to show up.

Their instructor turned out to be a Twi'lekk Jedi Master by the name of Dalla Merasska. She had green skin and her lekku were dangling at her waist. "Good afternoon, children," she said patiently. "My name is Master Dalla," she told the silent class. "Before we begin, we need to center ourselves in the Force."

Kyran was intrigued at that. Did Masters meditate before they fought all the time? He closed his eyes when she told them too and drew on the Force as he had been taught. He stood at Master Dalla's command and went to the rack where the training sabers were. He took a saber carefully out of the rack. He stared at it in his hands, mesmerized by the feel of it in his grip.

His eyes grew wide as he watched Master Dalla go through the first five katas at almost lightening speed and he knew in that instant that he wanted to be able to move as fast as she did and use the saber as skillfully as she had. Someday, he thought wistfully. His mind drifted to the odd winged boy that he used to see in his dreams. He had stopped dreaming about him sometime ago, but somewhere deep in his heart Kyran felt that he would see him again and they would be Jedi together.