"That," Cin Drallig preaches, "is the open stance."
Jurr's lightsaber is angled toward the ground off of his right side, his dominant side, his thumb resting apart from his other fingers in an open grip upon the pike. His feet are apart, rigid at shoulder width, leaving his stance wide, almost in invitation for an opponent to attack. There is nothing aggressive about Makashi's opening position.
Other than the slow cadence of the Code coming from behind that mask, the room is silent, younglings and trainees alike watching him with rapt attention. Jurr does not move from where he stands, patiently listening for the Battlemaster to instruct him onto the next kata.
A full repetition goes by before Drallig nods him on.
The yellow blade rises, coming up parallel with the walls, just inches from the mask. It sits there for perhaps a moment too long, allowing the newcomers a chance to study it, and, then- in one very rapid motion- Jurr swings it back down to the side, where it rests again in the open position.
"And that was the Makashi salute," Cin explains to the gathering. "It is typically used both as a greeting and a challenge to your opponent- it is an act of recognition. If the opponent is close enough, users will often bring their blade downward in an X shape to begin their attack- the Makashi flourish, if you will. But we will not practice that today, you all are in much too close quarters for that. Combat will be practiced when you are back among your own units.
"In fact, we actually have a rather proficient Makashi user among us now," the Battlemaster praises, and a stab of warmth hits the Sentinel through the Force with the physical gesture that reaches him.
He merely inclines his head in acknowledgement of the commendment, something inside of him settling as he finally understands why he was summoned to this year's assembly. As the Temple's Head of Defense, Cin Drallig has spared no expense in teaching the younger generations to defend themselves; Rakesh will be expected to provide a demonstration before they are set loose again.
Wonderful, his thoughts let slip, and he conveys his understanding to the Battlemaster through their bond.
As the Sentinel centers himself, his focus shifts inward, allowing the verses of the Jedi Code to permeate his being. The familiar words resonate within him, grounding him in the present moment and aligning his thoughts with the tenets of the Force.
There is no emotion; there is peace.
There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.
There is no passion; there is serenity.
There is no chaos; there is harmony.
There is no death; there is the Force.
While the Sentinel finds solace in the cadence of the Code, his eyes remain fixed on Jurr as the Tholothian captain performs the stances of Makashi flawlessly, golden blade cutting through the air with precision and grace- not quite the same precision that the Sentinel himself would use, but such is only noticeable to those that regularly work with the pair of them.
Nonetheless, the trainees and younglings watch with wide-eyed wonder, captivated by the masterful display before them. They soak in every detail, their eyes following along the path of Jurr's blade, trying to absorb as much as they can.
"In combat, Makashi," Cin eventually says, gesturing for Jurr to cease his movements, "relies on balance and mobility. Those who use it must master not just the stances, but the footwork. Form II is about understanding your opponent, their intentions, and finding the most efficient way to neutralize their attacks. That will be something for you all to practice on your own, if you choose to take Makashi up as your main lightsaber form in your apprenticeships. For now, I believe it is time that all of you join Jurr practicing the katas- for even if you do not uptake Makashi, at least you will know how to recognize it shall it ever be used against you.
"Unit Arrel." The Battlemaster nods. Then he smirks, just a little. "My apologies for deploying you so early. Now, you may aid the trainees."
Beneath his mask, Rakesh Brem rolls his eyes. Finally, he thinks, as he watches the Guards-in-training remove their gleaming new pikes from where they had been hanging from their belts. He can sense the barely-contained eager tension within some of the individuals, the burning desire to prove their worth to the Temple Guard.
The Sentinel pushes a wave of calmness into the Force to relax them, to remind them of the behavior expected of a Guard. After all-
There is no emotion; there is peace.
"Open!"
Pshhhooommmm!
A couple of the trainees attempt to move faster than Jurr; one of the two nearly whacks the person behind them- nearly cuts into them- with how fast their arm snaps downward, eliciting a chorus of laughter from the audience of younglings on the side. But even though a handful move in-time with the captain, the majority are a few paces behind- deliberate or not, it's hard to tell; the masks do their job well.
With that done, Cin instructs them to hold their positions, and the Sentinels move to right their errors- and, oh, are there quite a few. It seems that most of the trainees had selected other lightsaber forms as their primary. Thank Force for this group lesson, then.
Rakesh is speaking even before he starts forward. "Straighten your backs. You have no reason to lean forward."
Several of the younger trainees startle at his modulated voice, quickly jumping to obey, a sense of embarrassment flooding into the air around them.
He sighs, the sound muffled beneath his mask, and begins to patrol the ranks, observing each individual closely, his sharp eyes entirely unseen but felt by the others all the same. The Sentinel moves with purpose, his steps measured and deliberate as his feet take him through the rows- and only after a first once-over does he begin to correct those that Tindri and Brakan haven't yet gotten to.
The trainees, though eager, are noticeably tense. It's rather ridiculous how many times the words "loosen your body" must be said as he walks among them. The only relief is that some of those who've yet to be checked begin to catch on and hurry to let their shoulders drop while they have the time to let them.
Other than that, most of the corrections seem to be adjusting the new Guards' blade arms and the width of their feet. In fact, one girl actually trips over herself when she forgets to heed his advice between stance changes.
He's right beside her when it happens. He lets her fall anyway.
"Why didn't you catch me?"
The Sentinel pauses. "As a reminder that, even though you are one of us now, you won't always have someone at your side. You need to be able to work alone, as well as with others. We are far more independent than the other Jedi- from them, and each other. The sooner you learn that, the better for those under our charge.
"A simple slip up can spell disaster for the entire Order."
Her shoulders drop, and the voice that comes from her vocoder isn't quite as harsh. "I understand."
"Do you?" He asks, genuine, just before Cin calls the stance again.
"Open!"
The girl moves, and the result- well. Everything seems to be in the right place. Her body seems a bit looser than before, her feet evenly spaced, her blade angled the right direction- Rakesh hums approvingly. "Very good. You have potential yet."
Her hooded form bows in appreciation, and, with no more to be said, the Sentinel moves on.
There is no emotion; there is peace.
There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.
There is no passion; there is serenity.
There is no chaos; there is harmony.
There is no death; there is the Force.
"You need to practice your Ataru," Rakesh remarks once the Hall has been cleared and masks have been removed.
The younglings and their crèchemaster have gone, no doubt to have a meal and then check in for some more textbook learning. And the trainees, on the other hand, have either returned to their units to practice combat or have headed off to Maker-knows-where while they await the return of their on-duty unitmates.
A few of them hang around, seeking more knowledge about Makashi from Jurr and Drallig, but the Guard Hall is quite literally a ghost town in comparison to how crowded it had been before. Even Brakan has scurried off to get some rest in Arrel's living space. With the others occupied, that leaves Rakesh and Tindri alone to talk about the results of their combat demonstration- he had won, of course. He usually does, against her.
"Maybe you should have gone easy on me," Tindri suggests, falling into line beside him. "It was only a demonstration for the kids, you know."
He hums, mock-thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should have," he shrugs. "But the enemy wouldn't. It's very possible that the war may find its way here, one day. To Coruscant, to the Temple. The others need to understand that, no matter what, we will never be completely safe here; Coruscant may be the heart of the Republic, but it's not invincible."
With that, what lingering lightheartedness that had filled the Guard Halls falls beneath a heavy cloud, the reality of the galaxy's war-torn state settling back over them. Rakesh and Tindri exchange a somber glance, silence stretching long and morose between them. The war is creeping closer, and the Jedi Temple- their sanctuary, their home- could very well become a battleground.
They stop at the edge of the Hall, turning to watch the room. And while Tindri watches Jurr and Cin talk to the few trainees who've stuck around, Rakesh finds his gaze landing on the clouds brewing on the stormy horizon beyond one of the windows.
"You know," Tindri speaks softly, "if you never joined the Guard, I think you would've made an admirable Master."
If the Jedi survive this war, nothing will be the same.
Nothing.