"This," Memily's instructor emphasized, holding up the crystal with two fingers, "is the very core of every lightsaber. It represents more than power, more than peace. The crystal, being the core of the lightsaber, embodies the spirit of the light side. Just as the lightsaber embodies the crystal."
"And as I wield the lightsaber," Memily added, her unblinking gaze still following. "Correct, Master?"
Her uncle, Grand Master Luke Skywalker, smiled his approval. "Yes, Memily. Just as you wield your own lightsaber." He handed the crystal back to her and she held it in her palm, a hefty weight on Memily's shoulders for such a small part. Without putting it in its place within her lightsaber hilt, she knew that the Ilum crystal would produce a soft green glow. She'd chosen the crystal specifically for its color, reflecting an ancient practice of the Jedi Order that died out thousands of years ago. Jedi Consulars, a brand of Jedi who favored peaceful resolutions over the brutalities of war, had once yielded green lightsabers to represent their sect. Memily recalled reading it in a book once, one of the archaic texts her uncle had long ago saved to a datacard. She'd read it when she was much younger, bored and looking for an intriguing read. She remembered asking her mother what the difference was between the Consulars and the Sentinels and Leia had described the Consulars as pacifists.
Her uncle was not a pacifist, though she thought he had the heart of one. Much of the New Jedi Order was made up of proclaimed pacifists, but Memily understood that they had never been able to fulfill such a life. She could rattle off a whole list of the biggest intergalactic conflicts starting with the Clone Wars. The Jedi Purge, Galactic Civil War, bacta war, Diversity Alliance Crisis, Yuuzhan Vong War. She admired warriors for what they did- she couldn't deny that warriors were needed to end injustice before politicians and the likes could bring peace. She'd learned at least that much from her sister who was a great warrior.
Aunt Jaina who is an acclaimed former Rogue Squadron pilot, Lieutenant Colonel, and now a Jedi Master. The galaxy needs her, but it also needs people like Mom who build new governments and write new constitutions and who can fix the mess left behind with words and peaceful resolutions rather than more blood. Even though Mom has always been both, she gets it. Doesn't she?
Master Skywalker continued. "A Jedi's lightsaber is much more than a weapon."
"I understand, Master," she assured him.
Luke held her gaze for a moment, a proud smile fighting to meet his lips. Then, he nodded at her and backed away. "I know you do. You understand many things, don't you, Memily? You are very wise and you understand the one side of a lightsaber that most struggle with. Now, you just need to understand the purpose of its blade."
Except, Master, that I don't think the blade had a purpose in my life. Memily thought it, but didn't say it. She tried to look excited, tried to appear enthusiastic. She nodded, gulping, and picked up the hilt she had also made from her side. She looked to her uncle for permission and he nodded, stepping back as he watched her carefully.
Forcing her eyes to leave him, Memily picked at a crevice in her hilt until it came apart and studied what inner workings were left revealed to the naked eye. She reached out with the Force, reacquainted the piece of fine machinery she'd spent the entire week making. Every micro screw, every piece of durasteel and neuranium, every fine fold that had been creased into the metal. She could see every detail to it in her mind's eye, in the Force, and she saw all of this as she inserted her crystal at its very center, and slowly molded every piece back together, so it all became one.
Memily couldn't be sure how long she remained like that, but was only aware of her gratefulness the moment she knew it was over. She pulled her lightsaber from midair and rose to her feet. She looked at Luke. Now, his smile beamed brightly, not withheld. He prodded her on with another nod and Memily forced her gaze back to the weapon in her hand. Boldly, she raised her chin and gripped the hilt fiercely. She turned her grip on the handle and thumbed the ignition switch, sending a brilliant green blade from one side. Often, this first time igniting the weapon was turned into a show, the new wielder taking their first swings with their craft. But Memily couldn't find the courage to do anything more than hold the weapon before her in reverence. As a weapon, it was beyond her understanding. But as a tool, Memily didn't doubt that she would soon learn to master it.
"Congratulations, Memily," Master Skywalker humbly praised her. "You wield your lightsaber with much grace and courage. You are a true Skywalker."
She knew it was very much a compliment coming from her uncle's mouth, but Memily couldn't help but shiver at the thought. As proud as she was to be a Skywalker, did the Force have to be their legacy?
