Force Shadow

by RurouniNoKage

Both the Jedi and the Sith make one fundamental mistake – the Force is not purely dark or light. There is many shadows and shades of grey. Finding the balance between them while staying true to the greater good is the true challenge for a Jedi to face /Prequels AU/ thanks to SeverusSnapers and Yesac for inspiration / In progress / rated M for language and graphic content

29. Force dawn

Author's notes and answers to reviews

Dear scarease…well, sometimes, great minds think alike? Just joking, I don't think I'm great, but I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Dear monkeywrench…thank you for your comment, and I'm very glad you enjoyed the show!

Dear Guest…Thank you, those are interesting thoughts as always. Ah, Mace and Kenshin and their history…I won't spoil the chapter in the author's note already, let's just say – Kenshin is not one to easily forgive, and yet, he finds himself learning an important lesson from his favourite contrary.

And Sidious? Through legends and canon, the beta on essence transfer isn't all too coherent. I'm sticking with Matthew Stover's novelization of ROTS, where Sidious wasn't really sure how to gain that power of eternal life – as he admits to Anakin in that novel, right after his fall, and that he needs the Chosen One's powers to figure it out. So, you have Sidious not really knowing how to accomplish an essence transfer, and on top of it he is desperate and stressed in that moment in the archives – the Chosen One has just destroyed the artifact he had hoped to use as a source of power; and Sidious himslef has taken some damage, too – since Kenshin has just given him more than a run for his money! Sidious is exhausted, injured and so consumed by his rage and despair at this point, and so focused on Kenshin and Anakin, that he never senses Padmé approach – and the death by blaster shot is instant. He wouldn't have time to conduct a ritual, for which he lacks the skill to begin with. In the Darth Bane Trilogy, Darth Bane attempted an essence transfer while duelling Darth Zannah, and also failed (which author of the trilogy himself revealed), and I imagine Darth Bane was presumably more knowledgeable than Sidious.

At the end of the day, other authors may handle it differently, but in this story, I can assure you: Sidious is very much and for all eternity dead. That doesn't mean that all is well in the galaxy, and that everything would be love, peace and harmony from now on…

This is the forelast chapter, and the war is over, but the struggles for the Jedi Order, the Republic and Kenshin himself have not yet come to an end.

~ Ch. 29 ~

Force dawn

~ You can die at any time, it is living that takes true courage ~

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Pain dragged Mace Windu from the depths of unconsciousness, each pulse of his body a reminder of the lightning that had coursed through him. Shadows twisted in his mind—Sidious's malicious grin, the snap-hiss of igniting lightsabers, and the agonized cries of his fallen comrades. His eyelids fluttered open, and a rush of dread clenched his chest as he took in the Chancellor's office.

Shattered transparisteel littered the floor like frozen starlight, reflecting Coruscant's faint skyline glow. The air was dense with the smell of ozone and scorched metal. Flickering light panels cast erratic shadows over the destruction.

It wasn't a vision. It wasn't a dream. This was reality.

Mace's gaze locked on the bodies of Kit Fisto, Agen Kolar, and Saesee Tiin, lying lifeless among the debris. He swallowed hard, grief swelling within him. They had come to stop a Sith Lord—to protect the Republic—and now they were gone. The duel played out in flashes—Sidious's overwhelming power, Anakin's sudden appearance, and his own body hurtling against the wall. How long had he been unconscious? And…where was Sidious? Where was Skywalker?

Pushing himself upright, he grit his teeth against the pain screaming through his limbs. His steps were unsteady as he made his way to the corridor, his hand trailing against the wall for support. There was something new, something strange in the Force—a peculiar lightness, as though a veil of darkness had been lifted. Yet, the confusion remained.

He stumbled into the Senate hangar and commandeered an abandoned speeder. As the vehicle weaved through Coruscant's towering spires, the temple's silhouette loomed ahead. The sight that greeted him as he landed twisted his stomach.

Scorch marks streaked the once-pristine façade, smoke rose into the sky. Sections of the great walls bore holes and impact marks of grenades, and shattered stone littered the courtyard. Young Knights and Padawans moved like specters through the destruction, tending to the wounded and clearing debris.

Mace approached a Knight, her face streaked with ash and exhaustion. Relief flickered in her eyes as she recognized him.

"Master Windu—you're… you're alive!" she said, her voice barely a whisper. „Thank the Force! We couldn't find any of the Council members…"

"What happened here?" His tone was firm, though his heart sank as he took in the damage.
"Sidious… the Sith Lord…and the Clones... Troops attacked the temple, trying to reach the archives. He issued Order 66. The clones turned on us, but we had a warning—a signal went out. Many of us escaped, and we managed to defend the temple."

Mace's brow furrowed. "Sidious?"
She nodded. "He is dead. But it cost us dearly. The archives… the artifact…" He thanked her, and went on a short patrol himself, and realized that the battle was over. After confirming the chaos was under control for now, Mace made his way to the healers' wing. Nobody could give him the whereabouts of Skywalker, or anyone else for that matter, so he might as well try and get the medical attention his own injuries required.

A healer greeted him, her expression softening as she saw his condition, and went on to wrap a bacta-soaked bandage around his scorched shoulder. Her touch was steady but gentle, and he caught her eye.

"Do you know if Master Drallig made it through the attack?" he asked. Maybe the Battle master, as head of temple security, could tell him more about what happened – if he had survived.

The healer's face softened, and she gave a faint nod. "Master Drallig… he's still with us, Master Windu. But… his injuries are severe." She glanced down the corridor. "He's in one of the inner recovery wards. I can guide you, if you're able."

Mace took a slow breath, testing the strength in his legs before nodding. "Take me to him."

Cin Drallig lay motionless on the medbed, gaunt and pale, bandages swathing his torso. His eyes flickered open at Mace's approach, the resolute spirit still burning faintly within.

"Master Windu…" Drallig rasped, attempting to sit up. Mace placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Rest, Cin. Tell me what happened."
Drallig's voice was hoarse but steady as he recounted Anakin's warning, the Ghost's release, and the desperate defense of the temple.
"It was Skywalker… his warning saved us. And Kano…" His breath hitched. "…he stopped Sidious. I…released him…because he was the only one with the power to do so. If not for them, we would have been lost."

Mace's jaw tightened. "Kano…" He looked at the wreckage around them, struggling to reconcile his past doubts with this new truth.
Drallig's hand trembled as he gripped Mace's arm. "Mace… I'm not going to make it," he murmured. „The Ghost – has he survived?"

„I don't know." Mace Windu's mind reeled, processing that the one whom he had regarded an enemy, an uncontrollable, loose cannon, had been the one to save the Jedi Order. „The temple is in chaos, many Jedi unaccounted for, there is very little we know."

"Promise me this, Mace… if he is still alive…make him the new Battlemaster. Our Order has been blind too long to what the Force truly is. Master Kano sees beyond light and dark, beyond rules and restraints. We need his vision if we are to find our way again."

Mace's eyes darkened with sadness. Cin Drallig had been a venerable Jedi, and a friend. But what he was asking…"I am not sure if I can make this promise, my friend."

"The Jedi Order needs to change! If this last stand, this battle against the darkness, that we nearly lost, hasn't taught us this, then we are truly lost! We must learn to see, Mace!"

„Yes, we must learn to see. I will promise you this: I will do what I can to learn from our past mistakes, and if he's still alive, I will see to it that Kano is given the chance to share his lessons."

Cin's expression softened, a glimmer of peace settling into his gaze. His grip on Mace's arm loosened, and he closed his eyes, letting his breath escape in a slow, final exhale.

Mace stayed by Cin Drallig's side for a few moments longer, allowing the profound weight of the moment to sink in. At last, Mace drew himself upright, brushing a hand over Drallig's shoulder as if to seal the promise he'd made.

As he stepped back out into the corridors, Mace's mind turned to the words Cin had shared in his final moments. Skywalker had issued the warning, and Kano—the Ghost—had taken up the fight against Sidious. He couldn't shake the sense that there was more to understand in these final moments in the temple. Determined to understand the full picture, Mace accessed the archive's security footage. The images flickered to life: Kano confronting Sidious in the shadowed hallways, the brutal duel, and Anakin's pivotal choice to destroy the artifact. Then—Padmé Amidala's blaster shot ending the Sith Lord's life, followed by clones storming into the archives.

Mace leaned back, his gaze heavy on the now-dark screen. The events he'd witnessed challenged everything he believed about the Force, about the Jedi. Kenshin Kano had wielded the Force with a precision and mastery that defied the Order's dogma. Skywalker had made a kind of choice the Jedi Order had feared he wouldn't.

In the end, they had won. But the cost, and the future, remained uncertain. Had he, Mace, not hesitated in that office, had he not argued with Skywalker and instead put a swift end to Sidious, Sidious would never have been able to trigger Order 66 – Had he acted with swift resolve instead of reluctance, how many Jedi would still be alive, that had now fallen?

He had missed his own shatterpoint. He had been so blind! A sense of guilt washed over him in a cruel, bitter wave. How wrong had he been!

There still was the burning question: Why had Skywalker tried to keep Sidious alive? And why had Senator Amidala appeared in the archives? Where was Skywalker now? And was Kano still alive?

He tried Skywalker's commlink, to no avail. He then managed to find a code to contact that old, obnoxious astromech, R2D2, and that, finally, led him to Skywalker's location – in the halls of healing, not far from where he had received treatment himself a short while ago.

The young man sat, slumped in a chair, the image of worry and defeat, next to a bacta tank. Inside, he identified the other person he had set out to find. At least that question was now answered.

Mace's voice cut through the quiet hum of the healer's wing. "Skywalker."

Anakin jolted from his chair. His wide eyes met Mace's, and for a moment, he seemed unsure if he was facing a specter. "Master Windu…"

The surprise in Anakin's face gave way to a flicker of relief. Mace didn't miss it, but he kept his tone measured. "I had hoped to find you here."

Anakin gestured weakly toward the bacta tank where Kenshin floated, motionless. "You survived…I thought…."

Mace stepped closer; his expression unreadable. "I could say the same about you, Skywalker." He folded his arms. "There are many questions that need to be resolved." He fixed him with a piercing look. "Tell me everything. Start with the Chancellor's office. Why did you do what you did?"

Anakin hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting Mace's stern eyes. "I…" He exhaled heavily, gathering his thoughts. Then, with measured words, he gave a detailed recount of the events in the Chancellor's office, his attempt to warn the Council, his decision to confront Sidious, the artifact, and the battle in the archives.

Mace listened without interrupting, though his brow furrowed deeper with each revelation. When Anakin finished, Mace's voice was low, tinged with both disappointment and curiosity. "So, you defended a Sith Lord. You hesitated to kill him. Why, Skywalker?"

Anakin's shoulders sagged. "I thought… I thought he had the power to save Padmé. I thought…" His voice cracked, and he looked away. "I was afraid, Master Windu. I was afraid of losing her."

Mace's gaze sharpened. "Padmé Amidala. So it was indeed her, in the archives? I've seen the security footage."

Anakin hesitated again before nodding. "Yes. She…" His voice grew quieter. It was all over, and sooner or later, he couldn't have kept it a secret any longer anyways. He might as well unveil the truth now.

"She's my wife, Master Windu. We were married in secret. And… she's carrying my children. Twins. Before I rushed back to the temple, I went to warn her and ordered her to stay safe in her apartment. But she…she feared for my life…for what I would do…and she followed me to the archives, without my knowledge. And it was her who killed Sidious."

The revelation hung heavy in the air. Mace's jaw tightened, and he drew a slow, deliberate breath. His voice, though firm, was devoid of the condemnation Anakin had expected. "You've broken the Code, Skywalker. Deceived the Council. Put your attachments before your duty."

"I know." Anakin's voice was barely above a whisper. "I won't deny it. I'm ready to face whatever punishment you see fit. I'll accept the consequences."

Mace's lips pressed into a thin line. "It's not as simple as punishment." He stepped closer, his voice softening slightly. "Skywalker, we all made mistakes. Myself. The Council. We've been rigid, blind to our own failings. Perhaps if we had listened more, been more willing to adapt…" He trailed off, his expression hardening again. "But that doesn't excuse your actions. You endangered the Jedi Order, the Republic."

"I know," Anakin repeated, his tone heavier now. "But I also helped stop him. In the end, I made the right choice. And I'll keep making the right choices, whatever it takes, to protect what's left. I can still help!"

Mace studied him for a long moment before nodding, a reluctant hint of approval in his gaze. "I think you can, yes. But you won't do it alone. This… this mess we're in—it's something we'll have to find a way out of together."

The weight of the conversation lingered in the room before Mace's gaze shifted to the bacta tank. Kenshin floated in its healing solution, pale and motionless, his body marred by the aftermath of his battle.

"How is he?" Mace asked, his voice quieter now.

Anakin followed his gaze. "Alive. Barely. He's been in a coma since the battle." He shook his head, a flicker of guilt in his expression. "If he hadn't been there… if he hadn't fought Sidious… none of us would have made it."

Mace's lips pressed into a thin line. "He fought with a strength and perspective few Jedi possess. I've seen the footage. What he did…" Mace's voice trailed off, tinged with something almost like respect.

"He saved us," Anakin said firmly.

Mace nodded. "Rest, Skywalker. You'll need your strength for what's ahead." He turned to leave but paused, glancing over his shoulder. "And Skywalker… for what it's worth, I'm glad you made the right choice."

Anakin looked up, surprised, but before he could respond, Mace had already stepped out of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts and Kenshin's faint presence.

---

********Coruscant, Jedi temple, three months after the Coruscant inferno

Gazing at the cityscape with its dense speeder traffic, that went on and on as if nothing had ever happened, Anakin stood silently in the hallway outside the High Council chamber. His hands were clasped loosely behind his back, but his stance betrayed tension, a mixture of unease and anticipation. The intricate carvings on the chamber doors, so familiar from years of entering this very room, seemed different today—more imposing, almost forbidding. The air was heavy with the scent of charred stone and durasteel, lingering remnants of the battle that had nearly destroyed the Temple three months ago.

Three months. A lifetime ago and yet still vivid, the echoes of the battle, that had been dubbed the Coruscant Inferno, reverberated through the galaxy.

The shock of Palpatine's betrayal had not yet subsided. His revelation as Darth Sidious—the Sith Lord who had orchestrated the Clone Wars—had sent tremors through every corner of the Republic. The man who had been celebrated as a guardian of democracy, who had been trusted implicitly by countless beings, had been unmasked as its greatest enemy. The Republic had been left reeling, grappling with the enormity of its deception.

The political aftermath was both fragile and contentious. A new government had been formed, helmed by Mon Mothma, whose reputation for reform and idealism had made her the clear choice for Chancellor. Her election had been swift, almost unanimous, as the Senate sought to restore stability. Padmé… A flicker of pride crossed Anakin's face. Padmé, despite the controversies surrounding her role in Palpatine's death, had been nominated as Vice-Chancellor. Alongside her stood Bail Organa, the other Vice-Chancellor, both balancing Mothma's vision with their own distinct strengths. Together, they had begun the delicate work of reuniting a fractured galaxy.

But it was no easy task. Peace talks with the remnants of the Confederacy of Independent Systems were underway, with former Separatist leaders attempting to negotiate terms. The war had ravaged countless worlds, and wounds—both physical and political—ran deep. The restructuring of the Republic itself had also begun, with significant debate over how to prevent another concentration of power like Palpatine's. Safeguards, accountability, decentralization—all were on the table as the Senate worked to reshape the galaxy's governing systems.

Yet, not all questions had answers. What would become of the Clones, now that the war was over? Once celebrated as heroes, they were now regarded with suspicion, even fear. Some argued for their decommissioning, others for their integration into society. For now, they remained in limbo, their fates as uncertain as the galaxy's future.

And the Jedi Order? The Temple was a far cry from its former glory. The attack by Sidious and the subsequent Clone assault had left sections of the structure in ruins. Repairs were underway, he had spent most of his own time in those past weeks to support the efforts of rebuilding. But the damage was not merely physical. The Order itself had been shaken to its core.

The warning about Order 66 had come in time to save many Jedi, but not all. The losses were staggering, and the survivors struggled to reconcile the enormity of what had occurred. Among the Knights and Padawans, a sense of vulnerability lingered, coupled with an unspoken question: How had the Jedi failed to see the darkness that had festered at the heart of the Republic for so long?

Within the Order, debates raged. Sometimes, Anakin questioned why these discussions were so heated. Shouldn't they be glad they still had something to debate at all? Some argued that the Jedi had strayed too far from their original purpose, becoming too entwined with the politics of the Republic. Others contended that the Order's rigid adherence to outdated principles had left them unprepared for the realities of war and blind to the complexities of the Force.

One point of contention was the Jedi Code's strict stance on attachment. For centuries, attachment had been viewed as a path to the dark side, yet recent events had cast doubt on that belief. Attachment had driven Anakin to the brink of destruction—but it had also been his love for Padmé, and his connection to others, that had given him the strength to resist Sidious at last and destroy the artifact that could have enslaved the galaxy.

Attachment had not been his undoing. Detachment, however… His mind turned briefly to the Order's failures, to the isolation he had felt, the distrust that had festered between him and the Council. Detachment had nearly destroyed him, had left him vulnerable to Sidious' manipulation.

He exhaled slowly, grounding himself in the Force as his thoughts turned to Padmé. She had given birth to their twins just weeks earlier: Leia and Luke. Their children. The very thought of them filled him with a sense of wonder and purpose. He wanted to build a galaxy where they could thrive, where they could grow up free of the darkness and chaos that had plagued his own life.

His gaze returned to the doors. The Council would summon him in a few moments, and he was certain this would be the moment of reckoning. The topic of his future had been conspicuously absent from conversations over the past months. He had thrown himself into the reconstruction of the Temple, lending his strength wherever it was needed, but the Council had yet to address his actions in the Chancellor's office, his attack on Mace Windu, or his marriage to Padmé.

What would they decide? Would they see him as a hero who had made the right choice in destroying the artifact and defying Sidious, or as a Jedi who had violated the Code and betrayed their trust?

He straightened as the chamber doors slid open with a soft hiss. A Jedi Knight stepped out, inclining their head respectfully.

"The Council will see you know, Knight Skywalker."

As he entered, the Council chamber was quiet. He noted the changes immediately. Shaak Ti now occupied the seat once held by Yoda, her serene presence a steady beacon among the familiar faces. Several seats were still empty, silent reminders of those who had fallen in the Coruscant Inferno or fallen victim to Order 66.

Yoda sat nearby, his gaze resting on Anakin with an unreadable expression. Though no longer Grand Master, his presence was no less profound, the weight of centuries of wisdom emanating from him.

Mace Windu rose slowly to address the gathering. His posture was as formidable as ever, but his tone carried a reflective gravity Anakin hadn't heard before.

"Brothers and sisters of the Order," Windu began, his deep voice resonating in the chamber, "the Jedi have faced great trials. We have suffered loss, betrayal, and failure—failures not only in battle but within ourselves. The time has come to restructure the Order, to confront what has been, and to lay the foundation for what will be. To grow, we must understand our mistakes, and learn from them."

He turned his gaze to Anakin, steady and probing, before continuing. "Today, we address the events of the Coruscant Inferno. And we decide the fate of one who has walked a path both shadowed and illuminated—Anakin Skywalker."

Anakin stepped forward, his back straight despite the weight pressing on his chest. He met Windu's gaze squarely, then let his eyes sweep over the rest of the Council. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that made every breath feel heavier.

When he spoke, his voice was calm but filled with earnestness. "For everything I've done, I am deeply sorry, and I acknowledge that my actions were wrong. I am ready to answer for my actions and am willing to face the charges that the Council deems right."

A murmur passed through the room, soft and fleeting. Mace Windu inclined his head, his expression thoughtful.

"We all made mistakes, young Skywalker," Windu said, his voice more measured than Anakin had anticipated. "How wrong we were about Palpatine. How wrong we all were, about too many things." He paused, his gaze sweeping the room, then returning to Anakin. "It is of the greatest importance that we learn from the error of our ways. I see that now. We all see that now."

Anakin's breath caught, his hands instinctively clenching at his sides.

"In our most critical hour," Windu continued, "you, Anakin Skywalker, assumed responsibility and demonstrated wisdom and strength well beyond your years. You have played a crucial role in averting Sidious seizing ultimate power, and you have shown the maturity and qualities that go beyond the rank of a Jedi Knight."

Mace's next words sent a jolt through Anakin's chest. "The High Council hereby bestows upon you the rank of Jedi Master."

For a moment, Anakin stood frozen, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind. He had hoped for a fair judgment, one that would weigh his mistakes against his merits, but this? This was more than he had dared to dream of. He thought of his confrontation with Sidious, of the darkness he had nearly succumbed to. Was he truly deserving of this?

"The High Council also wishes to assign you the role of a High Council member," Windu continued, his tone steady yet carrying an air of ceremony. "You are to assume the role I have previously held—as advisor to the new Grand Master. I will soon step down from my position and remain only as a temporary guide until all roles on the Council have been filled."

Windu paused, letting his words settle over the room. "To allow the Order to grow, more open, less rigid minds, less bound to tradition, must lead us into the future."

The chamber was silent save for the soft hum of the Force that seemed to vibrate through the walls.

"You may take your seat, Master Skywalker."

Mace stepped forward, and then reached to unfasten the decorative sash of his Council seat. Holding it with both hands, he bowed slightly before extending the sash to Anakin. "This seat is yours now," he said, his voice solemn, the gesture heavy with symbolic weight. "It is not given lightly, but with the trust and hope of the Jedi Order."

Anakin stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest. He accepted the sash with trembling hands, bowing deeply in return. His head was throbbing with this surprising turn of events – yet one question remained: How could he be a Jedi, AND be married? He would not give this up.

Clearing his throat, he finally broke the silence, his voice low but steady. "What… what happens now?" he asked, glancing briefly at the sash before lifting his gaze to the Grandmaster. "I mean… to my marriage? To my family?"

All eyes turned to Shaak Ti, her calm presence commanding the room. She inclined her head slightly, the Lekku that framed her face twitching ever so faintly as she regarded him.

"You must always remember, Skywalker, that duty to the Order and the galaxy must come before all else," she said, her voice both firm and understanding. "But your choices, and your steadfastness in both love and responsibility, have shown us something we have long ignored. Attachments can bring strength. They can teach us compassion, resilience, and hope."

She paused, letting her words resonate across the room before continuing. "You and your family will remain a part of this Order. Your journey shall serve as a lesson for us all, a reminder that balance is not found in denial, but in understanding and harmony."

Anakin blinked. Was this really happening? Was he, at last, being accepted, for who he was? Did the Jedi, as a whole, acknowledge that all his life, he had given his best to help? He was stunned. And finally, for the first time in years, he felt as though the weight of his secrets—the fear of losing everything—was beginning to lift. The light he was beginning to feel still was darkened, and he prayed to the Force, that the bright future she had laid out before him would include the one he still considered his brother.

---

The Jedi Temple's Halls of Healing were beautiful. While the battle of Order 66 had parts of the Temple destroyed, the halls had been miraculously untouched and still exuded serenity and nurturing spirit.

They had lofty ceilings and enormous windows that spilled golden light over the blue and green and rose-pink walls and floor. Imbued with the Force's most gentle aspects, with love and nurturing and peace, they were full of perfumed flowers and green growing things, with the music of running water and the vibrancy of life renewed. They were the perfect retreat for those who were broken in body and mind, a place where the ugliness of suffering was washed away.

Broken was an understatement to describe the current state of Kenshin Kano. A former Jedi Master turned political assassin, terrorist and anti-war partisan, he had fulfilled his purpose and fully expected to die in the process. Survival hadn't factored into his plan.

The aftermath of deep healing was an odd sensation. Floaty. Disconnected. An almost unpleasant feeling of being adrift. There was pain, somewhere nearby. Hazy memories shifted behind his closed eyes, like cloud-shadows dancing over an empty meadow.

Why had he survived? It made no sense. He had felt his end coming, in a deeper sense than just the blaster bolts he had sensed approaching, before the Echani youngling had masterfully deflected them. The healers, as they had countless times before, had performed a miracle. The injuries he had sustained—the Force lightning, the impalement by Sidious' lightsaber, the near-fatal blaster wounds—should have been beyond even their capabilities.

Perhaps it was the will of the Force. But why? He was no longer a Jedi. He had left the Order in disgrace, abandoned everything to pursue a path he'd deemed necessary, and failed in ways that still weighed heavily on his soul. Or had he succeeded, after all? Did it even matter? Sidious was gone. Palpatine's deception was uncovered. The war was over. Whatever deeds he had done, good or ill, they were finished.

What was left for him now? Anakin would never forgive him—of that he was certain. And, in truth, he wasn't sure he deserved forgiveness.

The pain pressed closer, no longer a distant echo. His body was cold, unbearably so, and despite the serene energy of the Halls of Healing, he felt as though he floated on the edge of a vast abyss, teetering between life and death.

The first time Kenshin's consciousness surfaced, he was alone. His eyes fluttered open, and at first, he didn't recognize his surroundings. The memories of the battle returned in fragments: Sidious's hate-filled lightning, the artifact's destruction, and then… an E'chani girl. The image of the youngling wielding his old Padawan lightsaber, deflecting blaster fire with relentless skill, surged forward. Panic gripped him.

What had happened to her? To Anakin? To Padmé?

He tried to move, and agony tore through him. His choked cry was enough to summon a healer, who rushed to his side. A middle-aged Zabrak with dark skin and gentle, brown eyes placed a calming hand on his shoulder, sending waves of reassurance through the Force.

"Easy, Master Kano," the healer said softly. "You're still hurt. You must rest."

"What…" Kenshin's voice was hoarse, barely audible. He grabbed the healer's arm with trembling fingers. "What… what happened to her?"

"Who?"

"Echani… youngling… Nari…" The words came haltingly, each syllable an effort.

The Zabrak's gaze softened. "Ah, you mean Initiate Chang. She's safe, Master Kano. She visits every day. You'll see her soon."

Relief flickered across Kenshin's face, but the panic returned. "Anakin? Padmé?"

"They're unharmed. Both have been here, checking on you frequently."

At those words, Kenshin's expression fell blank. His hand slackened, releasing its hold on the healer's arm.

"Master Kano?" The healer's voice was gentle but edged with concern. "Can you hear me?"

Long moments passed before Kenshin focused again, and now, the look in his eyes sent shivers down his spine. The glance was so bleak, and at the same time so full of pain - unspeakable pain.

"You should have let me die!" he croaked out.

"What?"

The words came quieter now. "Why am I here?"

The healer crouched closer. "You're alive, Master Kano. You've survived."

"It hurts …so… much…" his voice faded into a quiet whisper. "I'm so cold…please…let …me go…let me die!"

His voice became lower and weaker as he drifted back into unconsciousness.

Time was an abstract blur. Floating between lucidity and the murky recesses of his mind, Kenshin felt cold, unbearably cold. He drifted in a strange liminal state—not dead, not alive, unable to grasp either. Yet, the sensations around him gradually grew sharper. Through the Force, he began to perceive presences nearby.

Some were fleeting—Yoda's ancient wisdom, Obi-Wan's steady calm, and Mace Windu's righteousness. More prominent, more often, Anakin's fiery passion. One presence returned the most frequently, bright and persistent, shining with youthful vibrancy. It anchored him, drawing him closer to consciousness. Even in his fractured state, Kenshin recognized that light.

The soft hum of the Halls of Healing was broken only by the gentle whispers of healers tending to the wounded, and Anakin's steps faintly echoeing through the corridor. His rumpled robes hinted at hours spent without rest. His gaze sweeped over the quiet rooms before settling on the Zabrak healer he had come to know over the past days. The healer looked up from his datapad, his expression guarded but professional as Anakin approached.

"Master Skywalker," the healer greeted, inclining his head.

"Has there been any change?" Deep worry resonated from his voice. Kenshin had spent three months in a bacta tank, and another week in a comatose state by now. Anakin was beginning to lose hope.

The Zabrak hesitated, the memory – and shock - of his patient's despairing plea still fresh in his mind. Not ever, in the twenty-odd years he had been a healer, had any of his patients begged him to let them die…

"Master Kano's condition remains… complicated," he began cautiously. "You know that his injuries are severe. The Force lightning inflicted deep trauma, not just to his body but to his energy pathways. The damage is unlike anything I've seen before."

Anakin's jaw tightened. "But he's strong," he said, almost as if willing it to be true. "If anyone can survive this, it's him."

The healer's hesitation deepened, but he nodded slowly. "He is strong. That much is clear. The fact that he survived the initial trauma at all, and then went on to battle clones after that, is nothing short of miraculous. His resilience, both physically and through the Force, is remarkable."

"Is…Is there any chance he will he recover?"

"Anakin – there is always a chance, but there is little we can say at this point." It wasn't lost on Anakin how the healer had switched to his first name and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know you've been close to him…"

"He was my best friend," Anakin said, his voice quieter now. "He still is."

The Zabrak gave a knowing nod. "Then don't lose faith. Stay close. Bonds like yours… they matter more than we often realize. The will to fight and recover doesn't come from healing alone—it comes from the people waiting for us to return."

Anakin took a deep, steadying breath. I cannot lose you, Kenshin. I just cannot lose you!

The healer fixated his boots for a second, then looked back up. "He has woken up once, as far as I have witnessed. He was panicking, disoriented, and he wasn't lucid. That's why I first didn't want to tell you. But he did say your name, he asked about you before he drifted off again. It's much too early to predict anything at this stage of the healing process. But he has retained a recollection of who you are, which is a good sign. There will be irreversible damage, but there is also reason to hope that he will recover, at least to some extent. Not all is lost just yet!"

---

As the days passed, Kenshin woke up more frequently, and he stayed awake for longer periods of time. A few minutes here and there at first, which eventually extended to maybe half an hour. A sense of who he was had returned. What hadn't been changing was that each time he had felt miserable – cold and in pain.

But this time was different.

He felt a bundle radiating comfortable warmth at his side, the usually ever-present pain only a faint sensation in the background. The blanket draped over him was unfamiliar—soft and thick, its pastel hue catching the faint light shining into the room. For a moment, he clutched it closer, savoring its comforting weight. He hadn't asked for this. In that strange kind of detachment from his physical form, he had kept suffering through various levels of discomfort, and his brain had never made the connection that he could call for a healer or ask for any kind of help. Exhaling, he relaxed and enjoyed the warmth and comfort it provided.

Then, something shifted beside him. The source of the heat moved, pressing slightly into his side before retreating. Kenshin tilted his head and found a small figure curled up against him, silvery hair glowing faintly in the dim light.

The girl stirred, her small frame twitching as though caught in a dream. A faint whimper escaped her lips, and she sat up suddenly, her wide silver eyes scanning the room in disorientation. Panic flashed across her features, quickly replaced by the softness of recognition as her gaze met Kenshin's.
"Master Kenshin?" she whispered, her voice tentative but filled with relief.

Kenshin blinked, sluggish thoughts attempting to piece together the scene. The gaze from the silver eyes which locked onto his was more like a persistent stare. Very persistent, and that persistency began to feel somewhat familiar. He blinked a few more times, his mind trying to connect to reality, and eventually, a fuzzy recognition of the child dawned.

Then, with a vengeance, memories rushed back to the surface. The girl's face, illuminated by a green-gold light. The sound of blaster fire ricocheting through the hallowed halls. The smell of smoke, the acrid tang of ozone left by Sidious's lightning. Pain coursing through his body as he crumpled to the floor. Danger….and the terrifying thought of what could have happened.

She had saved him. And to save him, she had thrown herself into battle, into the midst of a blaster fight.

"It wasn't a dream…it really was you…" Kenshin murmured, staring back at the girl in disbelief.

She gave back a questioning glance.

Kenshin's face contorted in a flash of anger.

"You stupid, reckless child!" he snarled, his voice rough and low, but laced with fury.

Nari flinched, her small hands clutching the blanket tightly. "What did I do wrong?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"It was you, in the archives…you stormed into the battle…Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I… I just wanted to help!" Nari stammered, her eyes wide, tears beginning to pool.

"Help?" Kenshin's voice rose, as much as his weak condition allowed for. "What made you think I needed your help?"

"The clone troopers were about to shoot you!" she cried, her voice breaking. "You would have died!"

"Yes," Kenshin said sharply, his words cutting like steel. "I would have died. I should have!"

Nari gasped, recoiling as though struck. Her lip quivered, but she forced herself to speak. "You don't mean that!"

"For this," Kenshin pressed on, ignoring her protests, "you risked your own life? You could have gotten killed!"

Nari's tears spilled over, her voice cracking as she shouted, "I had to! I couldn't let them hurt you!"

She stood, frozen and rooted to the spot, and trembled, as tears rolled down her cheeks. Then, she heard footsteps, and turned to see who was coming. It was the Zabrak he faintly remembered.

"Good morning," he greeted them and turned toward Nari, whose small frame still trembled as she tried to stifle her tears. "Nari," he called softly, his tone warm and understanding. "Would you like to help me with something important?"

Nari sniffed, wiping her face with the sleeve of her tunic before looking up at him. "What… what do you need?"

"I need a medicine from the repository," he explained. "It's a green vial marked Selyn-X. Healer Artha will know exactly where to find it. Can you fetch it for me?"

Eager to be useful, and perhaps to find a distraction, Nari nodded vigorously. "Yes, I can get it!" She dashed out of the room, her silver hair catching the light as she sped away.

As the sound of her footsteps faded, the healer turned his attention back to Kenshin. He approached the bedside and began a quick medical check, his movements efficient and practiced.

"Tell me," he began, "what's your name?"

"Kenshin Kano." He replied with a questioning glance, before fixating empty space infront of him.

"How are you feeling?"

Kenshin's gaze remained distant, his voice hoarse as he answered. "Cold. Weak. Everything hurts. Tired of questions."

"Already? But I've asked only two!"

His patient shot him an unnerved look and he gave a faint chuckle, not unkindly, as he placed two fingers gently on Kenshin's wrist to check his pulse. "Fair enough," he replied. "But I have to ask anyway. Can you tell me how many days it's been since you first woke up?"

Kenshin frowned, his brow furrowing. "I… don't know. Time feels like… mist."

"That's normal," the Zabrak said with a nod. "Now, focus on me. How many fingers am I holding up?" He raised three fingers in front of Kenshin's face.

After a brief hesitation, Kenshin replied, "Three."

He set down his hand and made a few notes on his datapad. "Good enough for now. You're improving, even if it doesn't feel that way."

Kenshin's weary eyes met the healer's. "Who are you?"

"My name is Jero Burren," the Zabrak said, his tone calm. "I'm one of the healers assigned to you. And the questions? They're just to see if your actually with me. The first time I talked to you, you appeared to be hallucinating."

Kenshin's lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded faintly. Jero shifted slightly, leaning his weight on one hip. "So, why was the little girl crying?"

Kenshin stiffened, his jaw tightening as his gaze drifted toward the door where Nari had exited.

"She….she risked her life to save mine. She shouldn't have done that. She stormed into a battle that wasn't hers to fight. She could have gotten killed. I scolded her, and …..I said things I shouldn't have."

Jero folded his arms, his expression neutral but firm. "Let me tell you a little something." He crouched slightly, bringing himself closer to Kenshin's level. "Despite the trauma she's endured—and trust me, it's more than any child her age should—Nari is still a chatty little girl, as she should be. So it came that over the past weeks, I got to know her quite well. She's told me a great deal about what's been on her mind. There aren't many people left for her to talk to. Too many of her friends and teachers were lost in the battle."

Kenshin's expression darkened, but he remained silent.

"And when she talked, she would often go on and on about you." Jero continued. "How she first met you, how you were the only person to take her seriously at a time, how a few years ago, you taught her to wield a lightsaber when even her teachers had given up on her. How you explained the Force in a way that made her believe in herself. Do you know what that means?"

Kenshin swallowed hard, his gaze faltering.

"It means that you are the reason she survived. When the Clones stormed her class, she took out every single one of them with just a training saber. She saved many of her classmates. When she made her way to the archives, she fought more Clones—I believe, even more than Skywalker himself—and came out without a single scratch. Her flawless technique and courage? That's because of what you taught her."

Kenshin's breath slowed, his eyes glistening as Jero's words settled over him.

The healer rose and adjusted his tunic. "Whatever mistakes you've made, Master Kano, remember this: her survival—and the survival of many others—is your doing."

A tear slipped down Kenshin's cheek. "What else happened… during Order 66? Tell me."

Jero's tone softened as he answered, "The Jedi suffered heavy losses. But it was your intel, that Depa Billaba had revealed at the time, that at last allowed for an alarm to be raised. Before Darth Sidious activated Order 66, Skywalker could still send out a warning. Your more than questionable attitude aside, you're the reason many Jedi could be warned and subsequently survived."

Kenshin's eyes closed briefly, but he didn't say a word. The sound of quick, light steps interrupted the moment, and Nari reappeared, clutching the green vial tightly in her small hands. "I've got it!" she announced proudly, holding it up for Jero to see.

"Thank you, Nari," Jero said warmly, taking the vial from her. He poured its contents into a mug, along with some hot water, and stirred the mixture before handing it to Kenshin. "Try to drink this. It'll help ease the pain."

Kenshin accepted the mug silently, his hands trembling slightly.

"I'll see you later for the mid-day check-up," Jero added before turning to leave. As he walked out, his gaze briefly met Nari's. He gave her a small nod, one that seemed to carry both approval and reassurance, before disappearing into the corridor.

His gaze followed Jero, and then fixated the mug clutched in his hands, before he dared to meet Nari's eyes. She still stood there, her glance both questioning and dubious.

He still couldn't condone what she had done—her reckless bravery could've cost her life. But the sight of her tear-streaked face touched him in a way he hadn't expected. She hadn't deserved his anger, not after all she had endured.

"I'm sorry," Kenshin murmured, his voice heavy with regret. "What I said to you—it was wrong. I had no right to speak that way… I'm sorry."

Nari blinked, her silver eyes wide with puzzlement. "If it was wrong, then why did you say it?"

Tears pricked at Kenshin's eyes, but he held her gaze, unflinching. "Because… you're the bravest person I've ever met. But you put yourself in so much danger."

"You needed help," she replied, matter-of-factly. "What was I supposed to do? You would've done the same—I know it!"

"I'm an adult," he countered softly.

"Yeah, but you still needed help!" she shot back, her tone firm and unyielding.

Kenshin shook his head, the movement sending a twinge of pain down his neck. He winced but pressed on. "The thought that you could've been hurt… or worse, killed—it scares me. And if something had happened to you, it would've been my fault."

"But I didn't get killed," she said, her voice steady, her expression resolute. "I didn't even get a scratch! And it wouldn't have been your fault anyway! Nobody told me to help you—I did it because it was the right thing to do."

Kenshin exhaled deeply, the weight of her words sinking in. "And what I said was still wrong. I'm sorry."

Her expression softened, her small shoulders relaxing. "I forgive you," she said quietly. "I wasn't mad at you. I was just… sad. I thought maybe you didn't like me anymore."

His gaze fell on the blanket draped over him. He held it up slightly, examining it with a faint look of curiosity.

"Yours?"

Nari nodded, a sheepish little hum escaping her lips.

"How did you end up here, sleeping in my bed?" he asked. "Don't you have your own space?"

"I do, but…" She hesitated, her small hands fiddling with the edge of her tunic. "I had a nightmare. I get them all the time now, since the attack on the temple. But this one—it was worse. It felt so real… I was so scared… so I came here."

"Why here?" he inquired, a little confused.

"With you," she admitted, her gaze dropping to the floor, "I feel safe. Like nothing bad could ever happen to me." Her voice wavered. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come…"

"It's okay," Kenshin said, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Do you want to talk about it? About your nightmare?"

Nari hesitated, biting her lip. "The creche master said Jedi don't have nightmares," she said finally. "We're supposed to release our fear into the Force."

Kenshin let out a long breath. "Nari… that's not entirely true," he said, his voice tinged with weariness. "It's… very hard to do. It takes years and years of training. And even then…" He looked away briefly, his face shadowed. "Even then, it doesn't always work. I sometimes have nightmares, too. And I get scared."

"Really?" she asked, incredulous. "You have nightmares? You? And you get scared?"

"Yes," he said simply, meeting her gaze with an honesty that made her pause.

She frowned, trying to process the revelation. A Jedi Master could be scared? And he admitted it—to her, a child? It was hard to believe. But Master Kenshin was not one to lie. If he could admit to his fears, then maybe—just maybe—she could share hers.

"In my dream…" she began haltingly, her voice trembling. "The Clones are attacking again. Everything burns. People die. I try to help, but there are so many…" Her voice broke, and she buried her face in her hands as sobs overtook her. "All I see is fire and chaos, and all I hear are screams and blaster shots… and…"

Kenshin's chest tightened as Nari's sobs filled the room, raw and unguarded. For a moment, he felt utterly helpless. He had faced countless enemies, stood against overwhelming odds, but this—a child breaking under the weight of trauma—was something else entirely.

He set the mug carefully on the bedside table, ignoring the protest of his aching limbs as he shifted to sit up straighter.

Gently, he reached out, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder. "Nari," he said, his voice softer than she had ever heard it. "You're safe now."

Her small frame shook beneath his touch, and her tears streamed faster. She curled up against him again, burying her face into the fabric of his tunic. He let her cry, his hand resting lightly against her back. Tentatively, he reached into the Force…gratefully realizing that he could still touch the Force, and pulled it around her like a veil of reassurance, to steady the storm within her.

Her sobs began to slow, though hiccups still punctuated her breath. "I… I keep thinking they'll come back," she choked out. "That it'll happen again."

Kenshin exhaled slowly, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head. "I know that fear. I've felt it, too. But listen to me—what happened was real, but it's over now."

He gave her a small, reassuring smile, his hand coming up to brush a stray silver lock from her damp cheek.

Her tears began to slow completely, replaced by a quiet sniffle. She wiped at her face with her sleeve, nodding slightly, though her eyes were still clouded with uncertainty.

"I'm sorry I cried," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Never apologize for your feelings, Nari," Kenshin replied firmly. "Crying doesn't make you weak. Facing what frightens you—finding a way to keep moving forward, even when it's hard—that's strength."

She sniffled again, leaning back against him as though the weight on her small shoulders had finally lessened. For a while, neither of them spoke, the silence broken only by the faint hum of the Halls of Healing around them. Kenshin's arm remained around her, a steady anchor as she finally let herself rest.

---

He must have drifted off again. When he opened his eyes, the room was quiet, and he found himself alone, but he had a feeling he wouldn't have to wait long for Nari to reappear.

True to his instinct, not much later, the girl walked in, bundled in a thick cloak over her usual Padawan robes. She hesitated in the doorway, her eyes darting around the room as though ensuring they were truly alone. Satisfied, she stepped closer and reached into her cloak to then present a lightsaber hilt to him, and not just any lightsaber. "I should give that back, I guess."

His breath hitched. It was indeed his old weapon he had wielded as a Padawan. It had not been a hallucination appearing while his consciousness was already disconnecting from the world, it had not been a feverish dream in the haze of the healing trance.

A shiver coursed through him as his mind dragged him back to the last times he had held that blade.

It's in the past.

He still remembered the thrill of finding the Force-sensitive crystal unique to his homeworld, he still saw the barely recognizable Yashkaru trails before his inner eye, that he had followed through the thick, lush jungle for days at a time, until he found the cave, and inside, the crystal. He still felt the satisfaction of justice in the moment he killed the dark side warrior, as he had been but 13 years old, and the all-erasing pain that had followed when he realized he couldn't save his Master.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, his voice carefully controlled to mask the turmoil within.

"Roku—your astromech—spat it out," Nari explained. "When the Clones attacked, all I had was a training saber. I needed something real to fight with, so… I took it."

"You did the right thing," Kenshin replied after a pause.

"It's yours, isn't it?" she asked, scrutinizing him.

"It was mine. A long time ago."

His glance fixated on the lightsaber in her hands. Anticipating excruciating pain, he squeezed his eyes shut, and began to tremble as he reached for it. Nari noticed his reaction, but couldn't make sense of it, and watched with questioning eyes. Summoning all his courage, and energy, he closed his hand around the hilt.

Only as a finger poked him, he heard Nari's gentle, high-pitched voice..."Master Kenshin...Master Kenshin! What's wrong? Are you ok?"

He stared at the child as if he was seeing her for the first time. Then, he stared at the lightsaber hilt in his hand. Nothing had happened!No fireworks of pain had exploded in violent sparks in his mind.

"Master Kenshin?"

He took a deep breath.

"Thank you."

"What just happened? You looked really scared for a second. Are you mad at me?" Her tone was tentative, but her eyes remained piercing. He slowly shook his head.

"No, no, I'm not mad at you. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry."

"What's wrong then? You don't look ok!"

Another deep breath, as if to brace himself.

"I can't tell you. Not now, at least."

Her glance became discontent.

"Why not tell me now? I may be a child, but I'm not stupid. I'll understand!" she insisted.

"That's not it." Kenshin gave a faint, tired smile. "You're smarter than most adults I know."

"Even smarter than Master Skywalker?" she asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

He chuckled faintly. "Don't tell him."

"I won't. But why can't you tell me what's wrong?"

"I can't tell you because I'm not ready to talk about it yet. I need time. I'm not as strong and brave as you are."

She stared at him, her head tilting slightly. "But… you're an adult. A Jedi Master."

"I'm not a Jedi anymore." Kenshin corrected. "I left the Order. Also, that doesn't mean anything. You'll find that many adults - me included - know very little, understand very little and make many mistakes."

She furrowed her eyebrows, scrutinizing his face for a moment.

"Then why should children listen to adults?"

"Honestly? You shouldn't!"

She tilted her head and her eyes became even wider.

"You should question everything. You should learn from your teachers - but you must never blindly believe what someone tells you. Adults, teachers, even when they mean well, they aren't always right."

Kenshin studied the lightsaber for another moment before igniting it. The green-gold blade flickered faintly before settling into a more yellow hue. With a small smile, he deactivated the weapon and handed it back to her.

"It's yours now." he said. "If you want it"

Her mouth fell open in shock, and she took the hilt and turned it, looking at it from all sides as if she had never seen a lightsaber before.

"Really? I can keep it?"

"You earned it. The crystal inside bonded with you. It's yours."

Her face lit up with a radiant smile, and she clutched the hilt tightly. "Thank you! I'll take good care of it—I promise!" A flicker of relief den glinted in her eyes. "Does this mean I don't have to go to Ilum again?"

"Not unless you want to," Kenshin replied with a faint grin.

"Thank the Force! Ilum is so cold, and I hate the cold!" she exclaimed, wrinkling her nose

"I understand. I wouldn't like it there neither."

"What was it like when you gathered the crystal there?"

"I've never been to Ilum."

"But…how did you get the crystal then?"

"It's from my homeworld. It's not kyber, but it works the same way."

"What's your homeworld like? Will you tell me about it?"

"Another time." Kenshin said, exhaustion creeping into his voice. It was crazy how much it fatigued him to simply talk.

Nari glanced at him, her expression determined.

"I will need someone to teach me how to wield a real lightsaber. I will pass my trials soon, to become a Padawan."

"Then I wish you the best for that."

She frowned again. That was not what she wanted to hear.

"I want you to be my Master!" she demanded.

"That won't be possible."

"Why not?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing.

"For once, I'm too sick, and too injured to resume duty, let alone train a student."

"You'll heal!"

"I'm not sure I will. And second, I'm not a Jedi anymore. I told you, I left the Jedi Order, even before the war ended."

"You left and became the Ghost. I know, Master Skywalker told me…but…you can come back! You just have to ask Master Skywalker, he's now a full Council Member and everything!"

"That's right!" a familiar voice said, and Anakin walked in, a timid smile on his lips.

"Hey, Nari, would you mind and excuse us for a moment? I would like to talk to your Master for a moment – if you let me borrow him."

"Of course, Master Skywalker," Nari said, bowing slightly before darting out, clutching her new lightsaber tightly.

Anakin stepped further into the room. Kenshin's gaze met his briefly before shifting away, both men weighted by the unspoken words between them. The silence stretched, heavy with tension, a shared acknowledgment of their mistakes, but neither seemed ready to shatter it just yet.

Finally, Anakin took a seat beside Kenshin's bed, his posture stiff, his eyes a mix of determination and quiet unease. Kenshin exhaled, his grip tightening briefly around the edge of his blanket, as if bracing himself for the conversation to come.

"I'm not her Master," Kenshin said, his voice neutral, betraying little.

Anakin studied him for a moment. His relief to see him alive and awake was beyond words but it was tempered by concern. Kenshin had gotten much too thin, and his skin looked sickly and pale, contrasting sharply with the long strands of pitch-black hair that framed his emaciated face. Only his eyes were as intense and piercing as he remembered them.

"Soon, you could be!" he replied, in a forcedly light-hearted tone. "What she said is true. I never believed this would happen…but they promoted me to the rank of Master, and they gave me a seat on the Council!"

Kenshin offered a weak but genuine smile.

"It was about time. How is Padmé?"

"Oh, you mean Vice Chancellor Amidala?" Anakin's smile widened. "She gave birth to healthy—and way too energetic—twins a few weeks ago. Leia and Luke. Now she's casually restructuring the Republic in between changing diapers. When she's in the Senate, it's me or her handmaidens who watch them."

Kenshin's smile turned mischievous, a spark of humor lighting his pale features. "I know the father, and he's full of shit. I can only imagine how much poodoo his offspring produce."

Anakin burst into laughter, the sound warm and unrestrained. "You're a bantha-brained nerfherder, you know that?"

Then he leaned forward, and worry etched itself across his features again. "How are you? How are you feeling?" he asked.

Kenshin sighed, tilting his head back against the pillow. "Do you remember that vile, watery bantha stew they used to serve in the temple refectory?"

Anakin's nose wrinkled instinctively. "Ugh, do I ever. That sludge was the stuff of nightmares. Why are you even bringing that up?"

"That," Kenshin said dryly, "is how I feel."

Anakin smirked. "Well, you're lucky to be alive. If you ever feel better, I'll personally make sure you never have to eat anything that terrible again—consider it my Masterly promise."

Kenshin allowed himself a faint chuckle, though it was brief. He exhaled slowly, a flicker of something deeper crossing his expression.

"Anakin," he began, his tone serious now … " I'm grateful to see you again. I never thought I'd get the chance. What happened between us… the choices we made… I abandoned my duty to you. I can't ever make up for that, and I understand you won't forgive me…I'm just glad I get to say sorry!

Anakin's smile faded, his own emotions rising to the surface. He looked away briefly, gathering his thoughts, before meeting Kenshin's gaze.

"I'm sorry too, Kenshin. I failed you as much as you think you failed me. I should have trusted you. You saw what I couldn't… and I let my doubts and my fear blind me."

"I should not have walked away from you."

"We made mistakes. But we also made choices that mattered—choices that saved lives." He hesitated before adding, "You saved the Jedi Order, Kenshin. Without you, none of us would be here."

"You destroyed the artifact," Kenshin countered quietly. "You made the harder choice, one that no one else could have. It takes courage to face that weight, Anakin. You should never doubt your strength."

For a moment, neither man spoke.

Finally, Kenshin's voice broke the quiet. "Perhaps we have more to learn from one another than either of us realized."

"Perhaps," Anakin said with a faint smile. "But for now, let's focus on getting you back on your feet. I'm not letting you off the hook that easily."

---

Once Anakin had left, Kenshin closed his eyes and pulled the blanket up to his chin, ready to embrace the rest his battered body craved. But his reprieve was short-lived. To his surprise—and mild annoyance—the suction hiss of the door heralded another visitor. Light, quick steps approached, and the familiar presence radiating brightness and excitement stirred the Force around him. He sighed inwardly. While he didn't want to send her away again— he still felt guilty for having been so harsh with her—he wasn't sure he could summon the energy to entertain her any longer for this day.

As she came into view, she was wrapped once again in her thick cloak. Then, with a cheerful smile, she produced two small bundles wrapped in a worn cloth from within her robes.

"Hello, Master Kenshin," she greeted, her voice chipper.

"Hello," he replied with a faint groan. "And you really should stop calling me a Master."

She brushed off his rebuke with a smile, and he watched as she began to unwrap the first bundle.

"What is that?" he asked, his fatigue now mixing with curiosity.

"Something that belongs to you, I think," she said, her smile widening.

The first bundle revealed a crystal, dark and faintly gleaming, its presence in the Force unmistakable. The second contained metallic shards that shimmered delicately, their reflections dancing under the ceiling lights. Among them lay a round phrik disk with a slit in its center, engraved with delicate sakura flowers. It was the tsuba, the handguard of his katana. Alongside it were the menuki, small decorative ornaments from the hilt, and the kashira, the end cap.

He froze, staring in disbelief. The weapon he had thought lost forever now lay in pieces before him.

"You… you gathered all of this?" His incredulous gaze darted to her face.

"I did!" she replied with a radiant smile.

"When… how… why…" He struggled to find words. "You went back to the battlefield? That was reckless! Incredibly dangerous!"

"I lost my lucky charm during the battle," she explained, her smile faltering as her eyes glistened with tears. "Mintula gave it to me. She was my best friend. After the battle, I found out she'd been shot by the clones…" Her voice broke, but she quickly braced herself and continued. "So, I went back to find it. And while I was there, I felt this crystal—it was like it spoke to me through the Force, telling me to pick it up. And near it were the parts of your sword. I thought you'd want them back—or at least, what's left of them."

"That was reckless," Kenshin said, his tone sharper than intended. "You could have stepped on a blaster and triggered a shot, or worse, you could have been…"

"Master Kenshin," she interrupted, her tone firm but not disrespectful, "I'm not stupid. There was no danger, not after the clones were gone. After the battle, I stayed to help get you to the medcenter and then I helped with the other injured people. I went back the day after."

Kenshin fell silent. He stared at the crystal and the fragments of his katana. Relief and gratitude mingled with disbelief.

"What's the crystal?" she asked, her voice cutting through his thoughts. "Why does it feel so strange in the Force? I've never seen anything like it. And why isn't it in your lightsaber?"

"My lightsaber exploded when I fought Darth Sidious."

"Why? How could that happen?"

"I don't know," Kenshin admitted. "Both his lightsaber and mine were destroyed during the fight."

"And then what?" she pressed, her curiosity insatiable.

"We both wielded secondary weapons."

She gestured to the fragments of his katana. "Is that what this is? Why did you have a metal sword anyway?"

Kenshin's gaze softened. "My first teacher gave it to me. It …meant a lot to me. I'm glad to have these pieces back. Thank you." He paused, his eyes lingering on the shards. "Did you find your lucky charm?"

Her shoulders slumped, and she shook her head sadly. "No."

Kenshin picked up one of the menuki. It was painted in black and light pink, depicting three sakura blossoms. Holding it out to her, he said, "I know it's not the same, but… you can have this, if you'd like."

Nari's eyes widened as she took the tiny decoration into her hands, examining it with awe. "It's so pretty!" she whispered.

"What are these flowers? Do they mean something? What is it made of?"

"What about we talk about that another day?"

"You keep saying that!" she huffed.

"Yes, I keep saying that, because I'm very tired, and would like to sleep."

"But you sleep all day, every day, you've slept for three moths!"

"I was impaled by a lightsaber, shot at with blasters, and deep-fried by Force lightning by a Sith Lord. I imagine it'll take a while to get better."

She reluctantly accepted that explanation, but then complained again. "And you don't talk much!"

"You talk enough for both of us."

"That's because you'd lay here like a rock if I didn't!"

---

Getting back on his feet proved far harder than Kenshin had anticipated. Under Jero's meticulous care, his recovery progressed remarkably, but the process was still slow and grueling. He began taking short, halting walks through the temple and its tranquil gardens, to build back some strength. On many of those walks, he had a grey-skinned, silver-haired little shadow following him around.

If he was being honest with himself, he had begun to enjoy her company. Nari's presence, at first mildly irksome, had grown strangely comforting. He wasn't sure when it had happened, but he found himself no longer wishing for her absence. Still, he told himself, it wasn't right for her to spend so much time with him. Each time he suggested she find something else to do, her response was the same: "There isn't much to do."

This time, her light footsteps echoed behind him almost as soon as the door slid shut.

"Master Kenshin!" she called, her tone bright as she caught up to him. She fell into step with practiced ease, her cloak swirling around her legs. "Where are you going?"

"To the workshop."

"To do what?"

"Rebuild my lightsaber."

"Can I come and watch? I want to know how you do it!"

He pondered for a moment. "I don't think you should spend so much time with me!"

She frowned, her silver eyes narrowing in confusion. "Why not?"

"I'm not a good person," he replied, his voice low.

"I think you are!" she countered, unflinching.

He sighed. He wasn't sure if a child like her could digest the truth. How could he explain? Did it even matter?

"Nari – I'm the Ghost. A criminal, a terrorist, an assassin…I don't think a child should spend time with someone like me!"

"But…you only tried to do the right thing, you only tried to help. And you saved us! Master Skywalker said that himself!"

"That doesn't change the things I've done, the mistakes I've made."

"You told me everyone makes mistakes. You said it's important to learn from them."

For a moment, he had no answer. Her stubborn gaze bore into him, and finally, he relented with a sigh. "It seems I cannot convince you to go elsewhere."

She shook her head, giving him a content grin.

"Fine. Then come."

The lightsaber workshop was dimly lit, its shelves full of ancient tools and parts. With a flicker, the overhead lights brightened, casting a pale glow over the room as Professor Huyang's voice stirred from the shadows.

"Ah, Master Kano," the droid greeted, his mechanical voice a little higher with surprise. "It has been many years since I've last seen you. And Initiate Chang! What a pleasure to see you safe and well."

"Hello, Professor Huyang," Nari said cheerfully.

"How may I be of assistance to the both of you?" The droid offered.

"No assistance needed, thank you, Professor." Kenshin interjected politely, retrieving tools and placing them on the workbench alongside the crystal and the parts of his katana.

"Very well. I shall observe quietly," Huyang replied, his glowing eyes narrowing as he retreated to a corner.

Kenshin laid out the pieces carefully, arranging them with deliberate precision. Between the crystal compartment and the emitter, he positioned a shard of the katana's blade, to act as a magnifier.

He searched his thoughts and realized that he couldn't quite explain why he did that – it was a feeling, an urge, somewhere from deep within.

He also knew it was a measure of significant risk. The katana had been a Force artifact, and using a shard of its blade in combination with his crystal could result in an incredibly powerful weapon with unprecedented properties, but it could just as easily render the weapon dangerously unstable.

Nari watched in awestruck – and unexpected - silence, her wide eyes following every movement of his hands as he worked.

When all the pieces were prepared, Kenshin stepped back. Closing his eyes, he let the Force flow through him.

The air seemed to hum with energy as the parts of the lightsaber floated into the air, suspended in a gently shimmering halo of light. Each piece glowed faintly, the metal reflecting the ethereal gleam of the crystal. Slowly, they began to move, aligning and interlocking with fluid grace. A faint, harmonious sound filled the room, like the echo of distant chimes.

Nari held her breath, mesmerized. It was as though the Force itself were weaving the weapon together.

With a subtle flick of Kenshin's wrist, the pieces clicked into place, the hum subsiding as the completed hilt floated gently into his waiting hand.

The lightsaber resembled his old katana, its tsuba serving as the handguard, and its design a seamless blend of elegance and purpose. Kenshin examined it briefly before turning to Nari.

"Stand behind the table and duck," he instructed.

"Why?"

"It could explode when I ignite it, and I don't want you to get hurt."

Her eyes widened. "What about you? What if you get hurt?"

"I can manage," he replied.

"How?"

"One can learn to contain small explosions with the Force."

"Can you teach me that?"

"Nari." His tone turned firm. "Behind the table, now."

Reluctantly, she obeyed, crouching behind the table with a pout.

Kenshin held the hilt in the air, hovering it before him with the Force. There was no ignition switch; the blade could only be activated through connection with the Force.

With a deep breath, he extended his focus, and the blade ignited with a deep, resonant hum. It materialized in a pale grey hue, with faint undertones of purple, its shape mirroring the katana's blade. It barely emitted any light and its subdued glow cast faint shadows over the workshop.

The room seemed to hold its breath. Kenshin summoned the hilt into his hand, the weapon's weight both familiar and new.

"Wow," Nari whispered from behind the table, her voice filled with awe, breaking the silence that followed the lightsaber's ignition. "It's beautiful."

"That, it is," Kenshin replied, his tone calm and measured, though it concealed the tangle of emotions stirred by seeing the blade come to life.

"Is your crystal from your homeworld too?" she asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.

"Yes." His reply was curt as he moved the blade in slow, deliberate arcs, testing its balance, the hum of the weapon resonating softly in the quiet workshop.

"Why did you get a new one instead of keeping the one you gave me?"

He stilled and made his new blade retract. The girl's questions were rooted in innocent curiosity, she had no idea that she had just laid a finger in a deep, still raw wound. The memories it dredged up burned with an almost physical intensity, and he had to steady his breathing to keep from being overwhelmed.

"When I was very young…I was thirteen…I lost someone very close to me." His voice was low, almost distant, as if the words came from somewhere far away. "I wasn't fast enough to protect her…and I lost my connection to the crystal."

He paused, gathering himself, his hand tightening briefly on the hilt. "So, I had to find a new one."

Sensing the weight in his tone, Nari, to his relief, didn't press further.

They thanked Professor Huyang and left the workshop. As they walked through the corridors, Nari looked up at him with determined eyes. "Now that you have a lightsaber again, does this mean you'll be a Jedi again?"

"I don't know," he replied, his tone guarded. It was that very question he tried not to think of. Anakin wanted him to rejoin the Order, but … Would it be the right thing to do? Was it what he wanted for himself? For the time being, he was in no state to travel yet, so he pushed the question away.

"I think you should rejoin the Jedi Order," she said with conviction. "And I think you should be my Master!"

"I told you, that's not possible."

"You keep saying that, but your answers don't make sense! I don't understand!"

He stopped walking and turned to face her fully. His shoulders sagged under the weight of her words. The sincerity in her eyes made it harder to speak, but he knew he had to be honest.

"You know…for so many years, terrible things have happened," he began. "I've done terrible things. I've made mistakes trying to do what I thought was right. I've lost too many people who meant something to me, and most of the time, I don't even know what I could have done differently. I have to live with that, and I don't know how. It's overwhelming. How could I train an apprentice when I don't even know what to do with myself?"

"That's okay, Master Kenshin. We could figure it out together!" she said earnestly, her youthful optimism shining through.

"No, Nari." His voice softened, but his expression remained firm. "It's not your job to help me. It shouldn't be. You deserve better."

"But I want to help! And I don't think there's someone better. I want you to be my Master!"

"I'm not a good teacher, Nari. I'm not the right Master for you. If I were to teach you, I'd do my best, but my best wouldn't be enough. I've failed one student…I can't fail another."

She frowned, her brows knitting together in frustration. "But Master Skywalker was your Padawan. And now he's a Council Member! That doesn't sound like failure to me."

A bitter smile crossed Kenshin's face. "Even if I rejoined the Order, the Council—and many Jedi—don't agree with how I see the Force. To them, I'm a heretic, a disgrace, or even a threat to the Order. If you became my apprentice, you'd face the same rejection. People would judge you, mock you, criticize everything you do, just because of who your Master is. You deserve better than that."

"But…I don't care what people think! I like you, and I think you'd be the best teacher!"

"No." His tone was final, but she pushed on.

"But—"

"Nari, I said no!" His voice rose. "You're a good person. You're kind, brave, intelligent, and talented. You'll be an incredible Jedi one day. But you need a teacher who's worthy of a student like you. I'm not. I've failed too often, and I won't risk failing you."

"But…"

Kenshin fixed her with a stern look. "It's not possible! I won't train you! And don't ask again!"

His words hung in the air like a blade. He hated how they sounded—how much they hurt her. But it was the truth, or at least the truth as he saw it. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the hallway.

Back in his room, he crawled into his bed and pulled the blanket over his head, hoping the world—and its questions—would leave him in peace, at least for a little while.

Over the next few days, Nari didn't make any more appearances. Kenshin realized he missed her but told himself it was for the best.

When he had some extra energy, he'd take up his newly constructed lightsaber and go through basic katas. Although, extra energy was putting it boldly. He more like forced himself through these exercises on days when he felt the effort wouldn't outright kill him. Even such light movement, that his former self wouldn't have even registered as exertion, now felt arduous and draining.

That was before getting half killed by a Sith lord, he thought frustratedly.

Despite everything, the hum of the lightsaber was soothing. The blade responded to his guidance, though not as precisely as it once had. He noticed the tip wavering where it shouldn't, his angles off, and sweat dripping from his brow despite the slow pace. Earlier, he had singed the sleeve of his tunic, as he had failed to control a backwards thrust. Perhaps he should be using a training saber instead of a live blade…or maybe it was too soon to resume training altogether. His balance was unsteady; every joint and muscle screamed in protest. With a sharp exhale, he hung his head and let his shoulders sag, frustration and defeat washing over him. He felt so weak.

"Can you teach me how to do that?"

The unexpected voice made him turn sharply, his heart giving a small jolt. There she was—Nari, looking up at him with bright, admiring eyes that sparkled with curiosity. He hadn't sensed her approach; all his focus had been consumed by the kata.

"What… show you what?" he asked, startled.

"What you were doing just now! It was so beautiful!" she exclaimed, her voice brimming with awe. "Like… really beautiful! It was so smooth and fast, like the blade was just a part of you! How do you do that?" Her words tumbled out in a rush, her tone a mix of wonder and envy. "What form was that?"

"It's called Kage no Ryu—the Way of the Shadow."

"Can you teach me?"

He extinguished the blade and lowered himself to the ground, burying his face in his hands. He was utterly exhausted.

"Don't you have something better to do than follow me around?" he muttered, the words coming out sharper than he'd intended. He winced inwardly at his own tone. "I'm sorry… forgive me, I'm…"

Her silver eyes scrutinized him, a look he was already too familiar with. It was unnerving how perceptive she could be.

"You're in a lot of pain. And you're exhausted." Her statement wasn't a question; she said it with quiet certainty.

He nodded reluctantly.

"Did you eat anything today?"

He blinked, the thought hadn't even occurred to him. After a moment, he shook his head.

Without another word, Nari spun on her heel and sped away. A few minutes later, she returned, carrying an assortment of snacks in her arms.

"Healer Jero said you need to eat several times a day to heal properly," she said matter-of-factly, placing the food beside him.

Stunned, Kenshin confusedly stared at her. "Thank you," he said, his voice uncertain. Only now did he realize the dizziness he felt was from hunger. It had been more than a day since his last meal.

The healers had allowed him to move back into his old quarters and reduced his time in the medbay to once-daily checkups. That meant he had to manage his own schedule, including meals, and well, he hadn't.

Nari settled down beside him. "I don't have many classes right now," she said. "Some of our teachers… well, they didn't make it through the battle. So, I've got plenty of free time."

"And I've already told you I'm not good company," Kenshin replied dryly.

"You're a bit grumpy," she said with a shrug. "But that's okay. Healer Jero says adults are sometimes grumpy when they're in pain or tired. And you're always alone. It's not good to be alone so much. On top of that, you're not taking care of yourself!"

"None of that is your problem," he said, his tone clipped.

"But you need help, so I'm helping," she replied, squaring her shoulders.

"I don't need help."

Nari planted her hands on her hips and gave him a stern look that reminded him of a particularly strict crechemaster. It was comical, and despite his annoyance, he struggled not to laugh.

"With all respect, Master Kenshin, you do need help. It's very obvious. Have you looked at yourself lately?"

"No…?" he admitted. The freshers didn't have mirrors, and he didn't see the point in looking at himself anyway.

"Then don't, because you look really bad. Like… dried bantha poodoo."

An incredulous laugh escaped his lips. "Excuse me?"

"It's the truth!" she said indignantly. "And if something's true, we're allowed to say it. You told me that yourself!"

He sighed, rubbing his temples. She wasn't wrong—about any of it. She was right far too often for his peace of mind, and her memory was alarmingly sharp. It was exasperating.

The temple garden lay tranquil under the afternoon sun, its stillness marked only by the faint murmur of a breeze threading through the trees and the soft rustle of leaves. The air carried the faint scent of blossoms, a soothing balm to the tensions that clung to Kenshin like a second skin. He rose from the ground, and looked at Nari. "You said you wanted to learn the kata?"

She jumped to her feet and nodded excitedly. Silently, he moved to the center of the courtyard, his posture shifting with deliberate precision into the opening stance of the kata. He slowed down his movements even more than before, so she'd be able to see what he was doing, and motioned for her to follow. She obeyed without hesitation, stepping into the stance with the same intensity of focus that had first drawn his notice. Her small frame wavered, her balance unsteady, but she mimicked his movements with surprising accuracy. Kage no ruy was very different from the lightsaber forms taught at the temple, and required a unique kind of discipline and attention. It was a sequence of subtle transitions, movements that shifted like smoke from one form to another, blending grace and unpredictability. Kenshin's brows furrowed slightly, and he stepped closer, correcting her stance with a measured hand on her shoulder and a nudge to her foot placement.

Despite her inexperience, she adapted swiftly, her errors few and quickly corrected.

As they practiced together, Kenshin found his thoughts drifting. There was a natural agility in her steps, but more than that, a sharpness of mind that set her apart. Her determination to master even the smallest detail reminded him of his own early days, though her presence in the Force carried a brightness he could not claim.

He extended his awareness through the Force, brushing against her presence with caution. What he sensed took him aback. The Force flowed through her with a vitality that was unrestrained, a raw purity that felt untouched by fear or doubt. But it was more than power that made her remarkable. Compassion radiated from her being—a depth of empathy that was rare and potent, but also fragile.

The thought unsettled him. Her compassion, while beautiful, would one day put her at odds with the Jedi Code. Non-attachment was a cornerstone of Jedi doctrine, yet here stood a child who embodied attachment in its most selfless form. That dissonance would not go unnoticed, nor would it be easily reconciled. She deserved guidance, the kind that would not stifle her nature but nurture it. Yet, he knew he could not be the one to provide it. His hands bore too much blood, his mind too many failures. He was no longer a Jedi, and even if he were, he could not claim the purity or clarity needed to guide someone like her.

And yet, there was an undeniable pull. Teaching her, even this simple kata, filled him with a kind of warmth and joy he hadn't felt often in his life. As Nari stumbled through the final movements, her small face lit with quiet triumph. Kenshin watched her, his expression unreadable, hiding the bout of sadness that washed over him. He was a swordsman, a warrior, nothing more. He was something she should not ever become.

At the end of their training, both were exhausted—Kenshin much more so than Nari—and they settled beneath the fireleaf tree. The red leaves swayed gently in the breeze, casting dappled patterns of crimson and gold over the temple garden floor. Kenshin leaned back against the trunk, his breath steadying, while Nari plopped down beside him, her energy seemingly endless.

"That was fun!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up with excitement. "I wish we could train together more often." Her silver eyes sparkled as they turned toward him, her expression brimming with hope.

He didn't answer. He hated repeating himself, hated the words he always seemed to fall back on to deny her. Instead, he stared at the tips of his boots, hoping she'd leave the matter alone. Of course, Nari being Nari, silence only encouraged her.

"You often say you're a bad person," she started, her tone matter-of-fact. "You really sound like you hate yourself! Is it because of what you did as the Ghost?"

"You really want to know everything," Kenshin said, giving her a sidelong glance.

The girl crossed her arms and gave him a smug grin. "Well, duh. Why else would I ask?"

"No," he said after a moment, his voice quieter. "I did terrible things as the Ghost, but I did them because they were necessary. I don't regret those actions." His eyes darkened. "But I abandoned Anakin when he needed me most. That's what I regret."

"You said you don't want to fail another student," she said, leaning forward, her gaze unrelenting. "Are you scared? Is that why you don't want to train me—because you're scared of yourself?"

Kenshin's head snapped toward her, startled. How did she always manage to cut straight to the truth? That sharp insight of hers was unnerving. He didn't want to go down this road again, didn't want to repeat those painful words of rejection.

"Nari, we talked about this…"

"You only said to stop asking you to train me," she interrupted, her expression defiant. "You didn't forbid me from asking why!"

Kenshin groaned inwardly, running a hand down his face. By the Force! Bounty hunters, assassins, even Sith Lords hadn't undone him—but this child? She was going to be the death of him – or of his nerves, at least.

"How old are you again?" he asked, exasperated.

"I'm ten," she replied with mock pride, her chin lifting.

"You and your mouth—you're putting even Master Kenobi, the negotiator himself, to shame."

"Thank you!" she said, beaming with a wide, cheeky grin.

Kenshin couldn't help but huff a laugh. But before he could redirect the conversation, she pressed on.

"You also said we should face what scares us, even when it's hard. You said that's what strength is."

"Yes," Kenshin admitted with a sigh. "I did say that. I am scared. But I'm not strong."

"I think you are. Maybe not right now, but you'll be strong again when you get better!"

"You always say exactly what you think, don't you?"

"Is that bad?" she asked, tilting her head, genuinely curious.

"No, it's a good thing. Just… not many people do that."

"Why not? That doesn't make sense," she said, wrinkling her nose.

Kenshin exhaled, letting the question hang unanswered. She asked a lot of questions, too many sometimes, but her persistence was strangely endearing.

"You promised to tell me about your homeworld," she reminded him, her tone suddenly bright. "You haven't yet! That tree with the red leaves—it's from your planet, isn't it?"

"The fireleaf tree? Yes. How did you know?"

"In the Force, it feels different than the other trees. Wilder. Like you."

Kenshin blinked, momentarily stunned. How could a child sense that? How could she be so attuned to him, even through the veil he carefully maintained?

"Did you bring it here?" she asked.

"Yes," he said softly. "Many years ago, when I first became a Jedi Knight. I thought it might help me feel more at home here."

"And does it?"

"A little."

Nari fidgeted suddenly, shifting her weight and playing with the hem of her tunic. Kenshin recognized the signs instantly—she had something on her mind.

"What is it?" he prompted, his tone not unkind. "Stop fussing and just say it."

"There's a tournament in a few days—the initiate trials, for those who want to become Padawans."

"And?" He raised an eyebrow, already suspecting where this was going.

"I'd like you to come and watch," she said, her voice tentative but hopeful.

Kenshin sighed, long and deep. "How many times do I have to repeat myself?"

"I know, I know!" she said quickly. "I'm not asking, ok? But you could at least come watch. As a friend. You're my friend, Kenshin!"

She didn't wait for his reply. Instead, she jumped up, brushing imaginary dust off her tunic, and bounded off, her cloak billowing behind her like a makeshift cape.

Kenshin leaned back against the tree, closing his eyes. "That girl…" he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

---

The fireleaf tree's crimson leaves swayed gently in the evening breeze, their movement casting shifting shadows across Kenshin's face as he sat beneath its gnarled branches. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, and before long, his meditative posture slackened. His head dipped forward, and his breathing slowed into the shallow rhythm of sleep.

"Kenshin."

The voice was distant, barely more than a murmur, as if carried on the wind. He stirred slightly but didn't wake, his mind caught between rest and awareness.

"Kenshin."

This time, the voice was clearer, tugging at the edge of his consciousness. It was familiar—achingly so. He opened his eyes, blinking groggily. The dim light of the temple gardens hadn't changed, and yet…something was different.
A feminine voice. Soft yet commanding. It couldn't be. Suddenly, he was wide awake, and realized he was still alone. Where had that voice come from? He jolted upright, the sudden movement sending a jolt of pain through his entire body. His lightsaber flew into his hand with a practiced reflex, the pale gray blade igniting with a hiss.

"It pains me to see you so broken," the voice spoke again, ethereal and resonant. "That your instinctive reaction to hearing your name is to draw your weapon."

"Master?" he recognized the voice at last.

Before him, the faint blue glow of a Force ghost began to coalesce. The figure's features grew clearer: a woman of dignified presence, her expression both serene and sorrowful.

Relief washed over him, followed immediately by suspicion. His eyes narrowed, and his grip on the hilt tightened.

"Where were you all these years? What do you want now?"

This couldn't be real, could it? Was this just his mind playing tricks on him? Force be damned, he couldn't even be sure if he could trust his senses anymore.

She tilted her head, her translucent form shimmering faintly. "I know what you're thinking," she said gently, "and I can assure you, I am real. It took me a long time to learn how to manifest this way. But I was with you, always. You were just too consumed by your pain to hear me. Except once—in the desert."

Kenshin's jaw tightened. "Are you here to scold me? It's a bit late for that, Master. And I'm already doing that myself."

The Force ghost sighed softly, her ethereal glow flickering with her motion. "You've always taken responsibility for things that weren't yours to bear. That's a lesson you still refuse to learn."

His voice turned bitter. "A lesson you would have taught me, had I not failed to protect you."

Her expression softened, though her gaze remained steady. "My death was never your fault, Kenshin. You were a child. You couldn't have foreseen it, much less prevented it. You didn't fail me, not on that day.'

"But I did fail you, in everything else I have done. In what I have become. Is that what you're saying?"

"That's your very own misguided belief, and you cannot blame me for your erroneous thoughts, my old Padawan." The ghost stepped closer, her translucent form faintly illuminating the space around her. "You see failure because you look only at the mistakes. You refuse to see the good you've done, the lives you've saved. Yes, you've made questionable choices. But you've also done what no one else could. You stopped Darth Sidious. You gave Anakin Skywalker the courage to fulfill his destiny. When I trained you as a child, I knew you were different and powerful. In the end, you have become much more powerful and dangerous than I would have dared to foresee, rejecting any master, following only your own instinct. You've walked a path few could survive, let alone endure. Does the good outweigh the mistakes? That is for you to decide! Whatever conclusion you will come to, you have no right to use it as an excuse to give up, and it is also not an excuse for hating and neglecting yourself. Did it ever occur to you that you have a purpose, that the Force has use for you, and that you have a duty that goes beyond your weapon?"

"A purpose you're about to tell me? I don't want to hear it! All that's left of me is a wreck. I'm done! I wish I had died in that battle—at least then, I wouldn't be failing anyone else. If it weren't for Anakin, I'd..."

Her gaze grew intense, her words sharp as she interrupted him. "A child risked her life to save you, Kenshin. Is this how you honor that?"

His head snapped up, his eyes blazing. "She shouldn't have done that! She could have been killed."

"But she wasn't. And you will heal—in time."

"What is your point?" he snapped, his frustration boiling over.

She shook her head slowly, her ghostly features radiating a quiet serenity. "Ever so impatient! Did Yoda teach you anything?"

"I never had much care for his riddles," Kenshin shot back, folding his arms.

"Clearly," she said, her tone carrying a wry edge." You wouldn't recognize the will of the Force if it stood right before you!" She paused, her gaze softening. "That Echani youngling..."

"Oh no. Stop right there." Kenshin raised a hand, his glare sharp. "I won't explain to a Force ghost..."

The faintest hint of a smile touched her lips. "Says the man who is known as the Ghost himself..."

"I can't take an apprentice," he said, his voice heavy with finality. "The only thing I am is a bad example."
Her expression grew stern, her voice unwavering. "You've walked paths no Jedi dared tread, and you've paid a price for it. You've made mistakes, yes, and you still have much to learn. Most of all, to let go and to stop hating yourself! You are not a failure.

As for the girl? You and her, you have a bond, and you better let her see that you care for her – oh yes, we both know that you do! Don't worry - she isn't stupid enough to repeat your mistakes. She's intelligent, and strong with the Unifying Force. Much stronger than you, in fact. But she is special and different – not unlike a certain little boy I once found on a jungle planet! She needs someone who will let her be who she is, who will see her for her strengths and guide her with wisdom. Someone who will defend her when she cannot yet defend herself. Tell me, Kenshin, who in this Order, that never managed to look past their rigid Code, could be that kind of teacher?"

The glow around her began to dim, her form fading into the cool night air.

Kenshin clenched his fists, glaring at the empty space where she had stood. Leaves swirled in the breeze, falling softly to the ground.

Even in death, she managed to make him feel like a chastised youngling.

---

He was late. Of course, he was. How fitting, given his history with the Council. This time, though, it wasn't out of disrespect or carelessness. Just moving—something as simple as walking—was still a trial. It had taken much longer than he'd anticipated to make his way from the temple garden, where he spent most of his time, to the Council chamber.

Anakin had delivered the message personally. They didn't see much of each other anymore. Between his new role as a Council member, helping rebuild the temple, and raising twins, Anakin's time was stretched thin. He still checked in on Kenshin when he could, though his visits were always brief. The day before, Anakin had found him, his expression unusually enigmatic, and handed him the summons. He hadn't given any hint of why the Council wanted him, but Kenshin didn't need it. The subject of his alleged crimes had never been addressed, so he suspected this meeting would finally give clarity.

When he at last limped into the chamber, he was greeted by a palpable tension—a strange mixture of skepticism and hope. The full Council was assembled. Some faces were unfamiliar; Order 66 had left its mark here, too. New members now filled the empty seats. In the Grandmaster's chair sat Shaak Ti, her dignified presence commanding the room. Beside her hovered Yoda, his chair floating serenely at her side.

Anakin sat in what had once been Mace Windu's seat. The younger Jedi shot him an encouraging nod, his usual mischievous smirk tempered by an undercurrent of something else—anticipation, perhaps? Kenshin's gaze swept over the others, lingering on one face with relief: Depa Billaba. She had survived Order 66.

"Master Kano," Shaak Ti's voice carried the serene authority of a seasoned leader, her lekku curling slightly as she inclined her head in welcome. "Thank you for answering our call. We understand that you are still healing and that this summons may not have been easy for you. Your presence is appreciated all the more."

He said nothing, his jaw tightening at the offer of a chair. The last thing he wanted was to appear weak, even though his limp and the effort it had taken to get here betrayed the truth. He declined the offer with a curt shake of his head, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood straight, despite the obvious strain. He knew this would be a reckoning, and he would face it on his feet.

Shaak Ti continued, her tone steady and deliberate as she addressed the Council and Kenshin alike.

"Many of us owe our lives to the warning that prevented our annihilation during Order 66. Intel that we now know came from you, Master Kano. Your courage and resourcefulness ensured that countless Jedi escaped the trap set for us."

She paused, her gaze sweeping the chamber before returning to him.

"We also owe you gratitude for your heroics in the battle against Darth Sidious. By your actions, alongside those of Anakin Skywalker, you stopped the Sith Lord who orchestrated the war and our near extinction. Without your efforts, the Jedi Order would have fallen entirely."

Her voice softened, though the weight of her words remained.

"You had left the Order, but in its most dire time of need, you chose to help. That is not something we take lightly. Today, we acknowledge the choices you made, the burdens you carried, and the sacrifices you endured."

Kenshin stood unmoving, his brows furrowed, his expression growing darker with each word. Every flowery sentence dragged on like a millstone around his patience. What was the point of this sanctimonious speech? 'Cut the crap and get to the point,' he thought irritably, already regretting not accepting the chair.

"The Jedi, specifically the Council, have made many grave mistakes," Shaak Ti continued, her voice measured but carrying an undeniable weight. "You warned us, and we did not listen. Of the many we have failed, we have also failed and wronged you. This will not make up for anything, but the Council expresses, with utmost respect and sincerity, our apology. We are sorry. For everything."

Kenshin grinded his teeth. He almost laughed.

All it took you to understand was a galactic war and narrowly escaping your extinction? he thought, but did not say. What good would it do? Hundreds of years of tradition—if "tradition" was even the right term for their narrow-mindedness and dogmatism—stood behind the Jedi's failures.

The Jedi Council had been blind and stubborn, and their mistakes had paved the way for a galaxy-wide catastrophe. He had made mistakes, too, and he could imagine how much it had cost them to admit this failure, even to themselves, let alone publicly. The thought tempered his anger—but not his resolve. Whatever they were building toward, whatever they wanted from him, he wasn't going to buy into it without a fight.

"You may, of course, not accept our apology," Shaak Ti said carefully, her expression unreadable. "We would understand—"

"Shut up," Kenshin snapped, the venom in his tone silencing the room. The collective intake of breath from the Council was palpable, and more than a few eyes narrowed in indignation.

He ignored them, his gaze locked on the Grandmaster. "Words are cheap, and this apology is pointless. I am but an individual, insignificant in the greater picture. If things are to change, the Jedi must change—not in words, but in your minds and hearts."

He straightened, his voice rising in intensity. "Palpatine—Darth Sidious—didn't create the problems in the Republic or the Jedi Order. He exploited what was already there, and his seeds grew because the soil was fertile. Do you want to know what got us into this mess?" His eyes blazed, daring anyone to answer.

"It was the complacency and blind loyalty of the Jedi who never dared to question him. It was the hypocrisy of taking on the mantle of soldiers in a war while still calling themselves peacekeepers—failing miserably at both. It was the Jedi Code itself—rigid, unrealistic, and narrow-minded, denying the true nature of the Force and disrespecting its reality."

He crossed his arms with his last words, his eyes blazing.

How you're planning to get your shit together and clean up this mess that is the Jedi Order, I have no idea, he added in his mind.

The chamber erupted into murmurs and protests, some voices rising in anger. Kenshin's arms tightened across his chest as he waited, watching the discontent ripple through the Council.

Shaak Ti raised a hand, her calm yet commanding presence cutting through the noise. "Enough," she said firmly, and the voices fell silent. Her gaze swept the room before settling on Kenshin. "What Master Kano says is undeniably harsh—and undeniably true. The mistakes of the Jedi are many, and we must face them if we are to grow. This journey of change will challenge us in ways we have never imagined."

She turned back to Kenshin, her tone steady. "However, Master Kano, we do not believe you are as insignificant in this picture as you claim. In fact, the Council has a proposition to make."

"I'll be honest," Mace Windu's deep voice cut in, his tone even but laced with an undercurrent of urgency. "This is us asking for your help. Before he died, Cin Drallig suggested it."

Kenshin froze, his breath catching in his throat. "What?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "Master Drallig…?"

Mace inclined his head, the usual steel in his gaze softening. "Soon after the battle, he succumbed to his injuries."

The words struck Kenshin like a blow, the room seeming to blur around him. Cin Drallig—strong, steady, unyielding Cin—was gone. The thought was almost incomprehensible. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on Mace's next words.

"It was his parting wish," Mace continued, his voice briefly faltering before he composed himself. "You are the finest swordsman the Jedi Order has ever known, and you understand the reality of combat better than anyone. More than that, your unique understanding of the Force—though unconventional—could help the Jedi adapt to the challenges of this new era. Master Drallig believed that you are the reason the Jedi Order still has a future."

Mace paused, his voice thick with emotion. "He wanted us to honor that. Even if it's for the purpose of protection and defense, the way of the sword entails violence. To deny that reality is to embrace ignorance—an ignorance the Jedi have clung to for too long. You never succumbed to that foolishness. If you choose to remain with the Jedi, he wanted you to take his place."

Shaak Ti nodded solemnly. "The Council agrees. We wish to instate you as the Jedi Battlemaster."

The words hung in the air, and Kenshin struggled to process them. Battlemaster? Him? The title sounded foreign, almost laughable, and the idea absurd. His astonishment was quickly snuffed out by a surge of frustration.

He clenched his fists, his thoughts racing. How many years had he tried to warn the Council? How many times had they dismissed him, ignored him, or worse, condemned him? And now—now, after everything, they had the audacity to offer him this?

It felt like a cruel twist of fate. The very people who had refused to listen, who had cast him out, were now asking for his help. Were they truly willing to change, or was this just another attempt to placate him while keeping their precious traditions intact?

He stared at the Council, their faces a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

"The last I heard, I was sentenced to death for high treason and an assortment of other charges," Kenshin said, his voice sharp, cutting through the chamber like a blade. "Justified charges, too—I shattered the Jedi Code and the laws of the Republic into pieces, and I would do so again! I do not renounce the Ghost or any of my actions, and I never will! And now, you want me to not only rejoin the Jedi Order but also take on a position of responsibility?"

"It has been a time of war," Shaak Tii replied, her tone measured. "In light of your critical role in ending the Galactic conflict and preserving the foundations of democracy in the Republic, you have been granted a full pardon for your crimes. Vice-Chancellor Amidala herself has issued your official redemption."

Kenshin's lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. "Redemption?" he repeated, his tone laced with mockery. "Is that what you call it? Tell me, how do your lofty graces imagine this will work? My mind has never been anything close to sane, and now my body is a wreck, too. I don't believe this talk about change—do you even believe it yourselves? Whatever the case, I no longer have the strength or the will to fight you."

Shaak Tii didn't waver. "We have consulted the healers, and while there will be lasting damage, they predict you will regain a good level of functioning. Furthermore, you will be granted an extended period of recovery before resuming any duty. It will be ensured that—"

Kenshin's eyes narrowed, the faint quiver of his hand the only outward sign of the storm raging inside him. "What in all seven Corellian hells makes you think I would agree to any of this?

He didn't wait for an answer, his voice rising with passion and scorn as he stepped forward. "For centuries, the Jedi have justified their galactic dominance in the name of peace, all while tolerating only their singular, myopic view of the Force. Are you so certain that this rigid adherence to lifeless, reality-denying ideals didn't stem from a hunger for power? And wasn't it that same blindness, born of your so-called 'principles,' that led this Order to be manipulated into war, into that fatal hypocrisy? You became warriors without admitting it, enforcers who refused to take responsibility for the role you were playing!"

He paused, his voice lowering to a simmering growl. "If being a Jedi means to disrespect the Force by labelling one side as good, and one side as evil, and if being a Jedi means being a hypocrite, being an enforcer without being allowed to actually be one –and latest news I have, exactly all of that means being a Jedi - then I do not want to be one. I never did. I never belonged here."

Kenshin took two deliberate steps backward, his eyes blazing with defiance. Some Council members lowered their gazes in shame, others visibly bristled, struggling to maintain their composure.

Yoda's ears drooped, his expression heavy with consternation. Kenshin could sense the ancient Master's silent acknowledgment—there was truth in his words, as uncomfortable as it might be. But Kenshin had no illusions. Centuries of entrenched dogma were not easily discarded, and he dared not hope that even now, the old troll would truly change.

At last, Kenshin's gaze locked with Anakin's. The hopeful, excited smile that had brightened his former Padawan's face had faded. In its place was something raw and vulnerable, a silent plea written in the depths of his eyes. Kenshin didn't see a Jedi Master or a decorated General looking back at him. He saw a young boy—one begging his older brother not to abandon him again.

"Kenshin," Obi-Wan began, his voice low and measured, tinged with empathy. "We—I—understand this must be overwhelming. What the Council is asking of you, the changes we're proposing, are monumental. We are challenging traditions that have endured for centuries. It will be a difficult road, not just for you but for all of us." He paused, his hands clasped in front of him, his gaze steady. "You need not make your decision now. For the moment, all we wish is to let you know where the Council stands. Should you choose to accept, your rank as Jedi Master, along with all its privileges, will of course be fully reinstated. But beyond titles and ranks… Kenshin, we want you to stay. The Jedi need you. We need you back. We want you back!"

"Grave mistakes, the Jedi Order made. Deny them, we cannot," Yoda interjected, his voice heavy with both sorrow and resolve. "Learn from these mistakes, we must. Teach us, you can."

Kenshin stared at the ancient Master, doubt flickering in his stormy gaze. He felt the weight of the room pressing in on him, the eyes of the Council like an unseen net tightening around him.

It was too much.

The overwhelming tide of emotions—regret, anger, exhaustion, and confusion—he felt like he was drowning. His breaths came shorter, his pulse quickening.

Without a word, he turned and strode out of the chamber, his steps uneven but determined. The pain in his body flared with every movement, but he pressed on, desperate to escape the stifling atmosphere. The polished floors of the Council chamber blurred into the subdued tones of the corridor as he fled.

Back in the chamber, silence lingered like a heavy fog after Kenshin's departure. The Jedi Masters exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of unease, disappointment, and contemplation.

"Well," Anakin broke the silence with a tone of exasperation, leaning back in his seat. "That was... not at all what I expected. I thought he'd at least hear us out." His hand moved absently to the sash of his Council seat, fingers fidgeting with its edge. "I mean, I get that he's mad, but …"

Shaak Ti cast a measured glance toward Anakin. "Intensity is a double-edged blade. It has served him—and us—well in battle, but it also cuts deep in moments of reflection."

"Deep enough to drive him away," Depa Billaba said, her tone uneasy.

Mace Windu steepled his fingers, his face unreadable but his words sharp with frustration. "He remains as resistant as ever. Aggressive, impulsive, dismissive of any authority but his own. These are qualities unbecoming of a Jedi."

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed, and he gave Mace a sidelong look. "Perhaps, but they are also the qualities that made him uniquely suited to confront Sidious and survive. His anger is a defense. He has always wielded it to shield himself from pain, not to harm others."

"Not always," Mace countered. "Let's not forget his time as the Ghost. He embraced methods no Jedi should condone."

"Methods that kept us alive," Anakin said sharply, his eyes narrowing as he looked around the chamber. "Do you really think any of us would be here right now if he hadn't done what he did? He risked everything, even his own soul, to warn us about Order 66 and stop Sidious."

"Still," said a younger Council member, one of the newer faces. "His behavior now is unbecoming of a Jedi Master. His hostility, his open disregard for the Council—these make him a liability. He's not someone I would want training the next generation."

Anakin's fist clenched, but before he could retort, Obi-Wan lifted a hand to calm him. "We're not discussing who Kenshin is at this moment," Obi-Wan said with steady resolve. "We are discussing who he could be, and what he might bring to the Order if given the chance to heal and grow."

Shaak Ti leaned forward, resting her chin on interlaced fingers, her expression contemplative. "The question is not whether Master Kano fits the mold of the Jedi we once knew. That mold has already been shattered. If the Jedi are to survive, we must reshape ourselves. Kano may hold the key to that transformation."

"And may I remind you, " Depa Billaba interjected, her sharp gaze fixed on Mace Windu, "of Haruun Kaal. Of Kar Vastor. Of the lessons we failed to learn then. Lessons we had no right to ignore and that we are now forced to face—because of him. Kano should not have to teach us this, and yet here we are."

Mace's posture stiffened, the mention of Haruun Kaal slicing through his composure like a blade. He didn't respond, but his silence spoke volumes.

Yoda's ears drooped slightly, his voice tinged with somber wisdom. "Accepting him back, dangerous it may be. But not to try? A greater danger, that would be. A path forward, together, we must find."

Depa Billaba's voice was soft but firm. "I rather wonder, do we even have the right to ask this of him? To demand so much of someone who has already given everything?"

Anakin's voice cut through the discussion, firm and resolute. "He saved the Order, even when we failed to save him. He's right—we need to change. And he's the only one who can help us truly understand what that means."

The chamber fell silent again. For a moment, all that remained was the sound of the wind brushing against the windows, carrying with them the faint echoes of a new and uncertain future.

---

Riding the elevator down from the Council tower, Anakin stared blankly at the polished floor, his reflection shimmering faintly against the surface. What had just happened? He had believed this meeting would mark a turning point, a reconciliation. The Council had extended a hand, offering Kenshin not just a role but an honor, a chance to make a profound impact. Surely, Kenshin would have been surprised—maybe even resistant at first—but in the end, Anakin had been certain his former Master would see the opportunity for what it was.

Instead, Kenshin's reaction had been explosive. Violent. It hadn't just been a refusal; it had been a rejection of everything the Council stood for, past and present. Anakin understood the pain and anger fueling it, but he couldn't shake the memory of the bitter words, the fiery glare. Even now, as the elevator doors opened, his mind replayed the scene, searching for some moment where he might have intervened, said something to soften Kenshin's fury.

Stepping into the hall, Anakin was lost in thought, his boots clicking softly against the marble. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a shadowy figure materialized in front of him.

"Kenshin!" he exclaimed, taking a quick step back. "I hate it when you do that!"

"I know," Kenshin replied, his tone dry.

"That's why you do it. Nerfherder," Anakin muttered, his initial irritation melting into a tentative smile.

"Can we talk?" Kenshin's voice held an edge, but there was an undercurrent of vulnerability that caught Anakin off guard.

"I was about to ask the same thing. Walk with me?"

"Sitting would be better," Kenshin said, grimacing.

Anakin led the way to his quarters. Once inside, Anakin set about arranging some comfort for his guest, grabbing a few snacks and steaming cups of caf from the kitchenette before settling across from Kenshin.

"You don't really mean to decline their offer, do you?" Anakin asked, his tone light but edged with worry. What he truly wanted to say—Don't leave. I want us to be brothers again—remained unspoken.

"The Council knows full well how I see the Force," Kenshin began, his voice sharp. "They know I will never accept their Jedi Code as it has been. Now, such a change of heart? And they want to entrust me with this kind of position, and this kind of responsibility? Battle Master, really?"

He paused, hesitating before voicing his deepest doubt. This was Anakin, still Anakin, and Anakin still was his best friend. "What if I don't want to be a Jedi anymore? What if I'm done fighting?"

"I understand, Kenshin," Anakin replied softly. "I'm tired of fighting too."

Kenshin's gaze drifted to the steam rising from his cup, but his mind was far from the present moment. Anakin's pleading eyes from the Council chamber lingered in his thoughts, a silent, desperate call that pierced through the wall he'd built around himself.

I failed him before, Kenshin thought bitterly. By returning, perhaps I can avoid failing him again. But how can I exist within an Order that still sees me as an outsider, as an enemy?

Anakin's voice broke through the silence, low and pleading. "I... I'm being selfish, I know. But I need you, Kenshin. I still need you. Would you... Would you come back for me?"

Kenshin looked up sharply, his eyes glistening. When he spoke, his voice trembled. "I don't want to abandon you again, Anakin. I just don't know how to exist in this Order anymore."

"Things are changing, Kenshin!" Anakin said, leaning forward, his tone urgent. "The Council, the Order—they're finally willing to admit their mistakes. You heard Yoda! They've realized the errors of their ways. Even Mace admitted it! They've already started finding ways to change. And one of those ways is putting you in a position where you can make a real difference. Where you can teach an entire new generation of Jedi what you know, what you've lived through."

"Uh-huh," Kenshin said with a derisive snort, his tone dripping with skepticism. "And who exactly wants the Ghost running temple security and have a say in how Jedi train? I appreciate that Obi-Wan is on my side, but I won't endure another fifteen years of the rest of the Council opposing everything I do."

"Of all twelve Council members," Anakin said, his voice steady, "ten voted in your favor, and the fact that it was Cin Drallig's parting wish had the least to do with the Council's decision."

"What?" Kenshin's voice cracked with disbelief.

"Yes, ten!" Anakin repeated, leaning forward. "And it was Master Windu who brought the suggestion to the table! The Council at large understands now—truly understands—that their blindness and rigidity, their abandonment of what it means to be Jedi, led to this war. They allowed Sidious to hide in plain sight for years! They've realized they must evolve if the Order is to survive."

Kenshin's brow furrowed, his gaze dropping to the floor as if searching for some hidden truth in the polished tiles. "I have a hard time believing that," he murmured.

"I know," Anakin replied gently. "I know how hard it is to trust them after everything. But they've asked for your help, Kenshin. They want you to guide them through this change. And you have me—you can trust me. You know that."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the unspoken bond they shared was enough to bridge the chasm of doubt.

"Please, Kenshin," Anakin pressed, his voice quieter now but no less fervent. "Accept the Council's proposition. They need you. I need you."

Kenshin exhaled, his breath heavy with weariness. "If I were willing to do it... I'm broken—my body's an even bigger mess than my mind, and I doubt it'll ever get better."

"Grandmaster Tii meant what she said," Anakin countered. "The Council has already considered that. Depa Billaba will take on most of your responsibilities until you're ready, and even after, she can serve as your second-in-command if you want—or you can choose someone else. The healers say you'll never make a full recovery, but you'll regain enough strength to function well."

"You sound like you're talking about a droid."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know," Kenshin replied, a faint smirk crossing his lips. "I was just giving you shit. I wish I were a droid—a droid can be fixed." His shoulders sagged, and his voice dropped to a near-whisper. "I'm tired, Anakin. So tired."

"I understand," Anakin said softly. "Believe me, I understand more than you know."

"Thank you," Kenshin replied, his voice barely audible.

Anakin hesitated, then ventured cautiously, "There's something else… I have a proposition. What about taking a retreat on Naboo? Padmé has that house in the lake country. You could stay as long as you want—do nothing but enjoy the views, eat the best food the planet to offer, and believe me, it's great food. If you ever get the chance to taste Padmé's mother's cooking—"

"Anakin," Kenshin interrupted, his tone half-exasperated, half-amused. "Be honest. What in the blazes am I supposed to do on Naboo?"

Kenshin studied Anakin closely, sensing there was more behind this suggestion. Through the Force, he could feel a mixture of hope and hesitation, as if Anakin were building toward something deeper.

"So," Anakin said, a small, shy smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Padmé and I are getting officially married. I mean, we already are married, but we're having a small, formal ceremony. Just family. Her family, I mean—her parents, her sister, her nieces…And on my side…" He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, there's Cliegg Lars and his son, Owen, and Owen's girlfriend. They're good people, but they're not really family, and I doubt they'd find their way off that dustball of a planet anyway. I'm sure Ahsoka will come, but…what I wanna say is…I'd like my brother to come to my wedding.

Kenshin blinked "What do you mean?"

"That means you, you nerfherder!" Anakin grinned, his bright blue eyes brimming with warmth.

A slow grin spread across Kenshin's face, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. "I always wondered what you'd look like in Nubian formal wear."

"What?" Anakin asked, caught off guard.

"The most burning question of my life. Even while I was slicing up Sidious with my lightsaber, that was at the forefront of my mind."

"Oh, please," Anakin shot back, rolling his eyes. "If your goal is to make me regret inviting you, you're doing an excellent job." But his playful tone quickly gave way to seriousness.

"Will you do it? Will you come back?"

Kenshin's grin faded, replaced by a solemn expression. "I won't abandon you again, Anakin," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Maybe I survived and was given this new chance at life to remedy that mistake. But I need time to digest all of this. And I'm not sure about that Battle Master position."

"Take all the time you need," Anakin assured him. "If it doesn't feel right, we'll find someone else. I'm happy just knowing you'll be by my side, no matter what role you choose." Tears welled in his eyes as he added, "I'm so sorry, Kenshin. I should have trusted you."

"I should never have abandoned you," Kenshin replied, his voice breaking.

Anakin nodded, then leaned forward, his gaze intense. "The Jedi only revere the light, and the Sith are obsessed with the dark. But in the shadows between, the truth can be found. To make the Jedi understand that... I'll need your help."

---

The temple gardens stretched serene and inviting under the soft glow of Coruscant's sun, but Kenshin found no peace in them today. His lightsaber hissed and thrummed as he moved through the katas, though each step felt like wading through quicksand. He wasn't even sure what still drove him to try and train - he made no progress, it seemed so pointless. Pain pulsed through his muscles, and his balance wavered. At last, with a frustrated grunt, he extinguished the blade and settled onto the grass.

His gaze fell on the fireleaf tree. Once a reminder of home, the tree now seemed to mock him with its unshaken resilience. His sharp eyes bored into its gnarled bark as though willing it to crumble under the weight of his frustration.

"Now, what has that poor tree done to you, that you're trying to burn it with your eyes?"

The voice was far too cheerful for Kenshin's mood, its clipped Coruscanti accent grated at his nerves already. He glanced up, unsurprised to see Obi-Wan Kenobi standing a few paces away, his arms loosely crossed over his chest, a faintly amused expression on his face.

"Can't I enjoy a moment of peace?" Kenshin snapped, his tone flat and unwelcoming.

"Glaring at an innocent plant seems a peculiar idea of peace," Obi-Wan remarked lightly, stepping closer. He exuded an effortless elegance, a stark contrast to Kenshin's battered form and slumped posture. "Where's your young friend?"

"What do you mean?"

"The E'chani youngling, who saved your life." Obi-Wan settled into a more relaxed stance. "I couldn't help but notice she keeps you company quite often. She seems not only to admire you a great deal, but also to have grown quite fond of you." His tone carried an edge of knowing amusement.

"Yeah, looks like it," Kenshin muttered, his gaze returning to the tree, though a flicker of unease crossed his features.

"She's a truly special initiate," Obi-Wan continued, undeterred. "Strong with the Force, headstrong too, stubborn and kind. Compassionate. If she were trained by the right Master, she'll become an exceptional Jedi."

"Yes," Kenshin replied curtly, his voice colder now. It didn't take a Jedi to see where this conversation was heading.

Obi-Wan took a step closer, his expression softening as his voice adopted a more earnest tone. "It is a new generation of Jedi that we need. One that won't repeat the mistakes we made. One that dares to feel and see and think for themselves, don't you think?" He paused for emphasis. "This girl has the potential to become one of these new Jedi. I dare say she might very well become one of their greatest—if she has a Master who allows her to be herself and helps her find a path that deviates from the old ways."

Kenshin's lips twisted into a faint sneer. "Obi-Wan, why are you even carrying a lightsaber? You could simply talk your opponents to death." His tone was biting, but there was no real malice behind it, only weariness.

Obi-Wan's composure didn't waver. Meeting Kenshin's sharp gaze with calm resolve, he said, "You know exactly what I'm saying. I think you should train her. And you should know that the Council not only supports the idea but actively encourages it."

Kenshin leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. His voice, gravelly with bitterness, was low but deliberate. "I'm not a good teacher, Obi-Wan. I'm a terrorist, an assassin—the opposite of what a Jedi is supposed to be. And you think someone like me should be entrusted with a child? Are you out of your mind?"

Obi-Wan tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "You sell yourself short, as always," he said evenly. "We're here because the Jedi Order is finally acknowledging its own failures. And responsibility? Who better understands its weight than someone who's borne it, even when it nearly broke you?"

Kenshin looked away, his jaw tightening.

Obi-Wan took another step closer, his voice lowering with quiet insistence. "You see her strength, don't you? Her potential. You see her vulnerabilities as well. And you care for her, whether you'll admit it or not."

Kenshin said nothing, but the way his shoulders stiffened betrayed him.

"She doesn't need a perfect Master," Obi-Wan continued. "She needs someone who sees her for who she is. Someone who can guide her to find her own balance in the Force—not one bound by dogma, but living and evolving. Who else could do that better than you?"

Kenshin's head dropped, his hands tightening into fists. Couldn't they all just leave him alone? Nari had pestered him relentlessly, the Force ghost of his Master had chastised him, and now Obi-Wan came, delivering that very same lecture? Wasn't it enough at some point?

"Well," Obi-Wan said after a moment, stepping back with a measured nod. "Ultimately, you must make that decision for yourself. But for what it's worth, I have a good feeling about this." He turned to leave but paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "And you know—at least I hope you're aware—that there will always be a cup of tea ready for you in my quarters, should you need a listening ear."

Kenshin watched as Obi-Wan strode away, his cloak billowing slightly in the breeze. The garden fell silent once more, save for the rustling of fireleaf branches above.

---

Not long after Obi-Wan had left, Kenshin once again heard approaching footsteps. Slow. Measured. Deliberate. He groaned softly under his breath, muttering an obscenity. The temple gardens were supposed to be a haven of quiet and contemplation, yet today they were busier than a Coruscanti marketplace.

He didn't need to look to know who it was. The Force signature was unmistakable.

Kenshin's fingers twitched toward his lightsaber hilt. Anakin had told him everything—what had really happened in the Chancellor's office. He had to respect what Mace had done—or tried to do—but that didn't mean he wanted to speak with the man. Not now, not ever.

The mere thought of Mace Windu sent a wave of anger bubbling to the surface. Self-righteous. Blindly obedient to a crumbling Code.

Kenshin hated him for his hypocrisy, for the Council's inaction and arrogance, for their handling of Ahsoka's exile. She had been loyal to the Jedi, and yet they had betrayed her and cast her away without batting an eye. How Mace could hold lifeless ideals, an abstract reputation, higher than a living person's fate – it was and would always be beyond him.

Maybe the Korun was just taking a contemplative walk through the garden…To Kenshin's great discontent, Windu stopped indeed beside the fireleaf tree.

"Citizen Kano…" he began.

Kenshin's eyes opened a sliver, one brow twitching upward. Citizen? That's a new one… He had to give it to him, the nitpicking this man had knew no limits.

"I had hoped to find you here. I need to talk to you." The baritone voice continued.

I don't give a bantha's backside about what you need. I respect what you did, at last, but I do not want to talk to you, Kenshin thought.

When it became clear that Mace wasn't going to leave, Kenshin sighed sharply and forced himself upright. Pain shot through his side, and he winced. The Korun Jedi Master watched as he struggled to rise from the ground, extending a hand to offer support. But Kano backed away, and the next thing Mace knew, he was staring at a lightsaber blade hovering inches from his chin. He didn't flinch, and his sharp eyes merely narrowed as they took in the weapon, scanning the curved blade and its unusual construction. It radiated violence, its energy crackling with a volatile hum unlike any traditional lightsaber. The tip of the blade was deliberately held far enough from his face to not singe him, but the message was clear nonetheless. He also noticed how the tip slightly wavered, as if Kano were struggling to keep it steady. He appeared to be in truly bad shape, but his glance was venomous.

"And why, exactly, do you think this is necessary?" Mace asked, his tone sharp with disapproval, though he remained calm. Kenshin didn't reply.

Mace resisted the urge to let his frustration show. This behavior is… barbaric. A lightsaber drawn in such hostility, especially in the temple gardens? It was beneath the dignity of a Jedi. Kano's behavior was erratic, uncivilized, and this action? Utterly unnecessary.

And yet, Mace reminded himself, this was exactly why the Council had summoned him. Kenshin Kano was an anomaly—a man ruled by pain and anger yet able to wield both with precision. That combination had made him indispensable in the fight against Sidious but in peace? It rendered him an unpredictable powder keg!

But why challenge me like this? Was it bitterness? A need to prove something? Or was it simply that Kano despised him, and this was his way of making that abundantly clear?

Mace folded his hands behind his back, suppressing the instinct to snap at the smaller man. He would not stoop to his level of provocation.

"I came to talk," Mace said finally. His voice remained steady, though a flicker of irritation crept into his tone. "I came to apologize."

"Ah. And here I had hoped for one last duel, and maybe to die by your blade. I do not wish to exist in the same space as you!" he hissed. "You should take me up on it, Mace. This time, considering my condition, you might actually win."

"You're sick, Kano," Mace retorted, his brows furrowing.

"That, I am. Both in body and in mind," Kenshin replied with a sardonic grin. "But then, I suspect you already knew that."

Mace's jaw tightened. He's testing me. Trying to provoke a reaction. And he's getting much closer to his goal than he should be able to…

"You were right about Palpatine," Mace said at last. "And I was wrong."

Kenshin's blade lowered an inch, though his glare didn't waver. "Take that apology," he spat, "and shove it up your ass! Oh, wait. That's where you've already stuck your lightsaber, isn't it?"

The insult stung more than it should have. Is this what the great Jedi Order has come to? Yet, Mace couldn't deny that the man's hatred was well-founded. His mistakes had contributed to the Republic's collapse, the Jedi's near-extinction, and the rise of Sidious.

He swallowed his pride, his voice steady but quieter now. "I made mistakes. We all did. But I'm here to admit them and to ask for your help to ensure we don't make them again."

"You were wrong about a great many things, Mace," Kenshin said, extinguishing his lightsaber at last, though the venom in his tone remained. "So was I. I'll say it again – Palpatine didn't cause the problems in the republic, or the Jedi order – all he had to do, was to exploit what he found. It's our very foundations that need to change. The corruption, the rigidity, the complacency." Kenshin's voice dropped, his words cutting like a blade. "If being a Jedi means denying reality, disrespecting the true nature of the Force, labeling one side as good and the other as evil—if being a Jedi means living a lie—then I will never be one. I've accepted my darkness. You never could."

Mace's expression darkened. "Truth of the Force? Or darkness? What do you stand for, Kano?"

"There is only the Force," Kenshin replied, his voice quiet but sharp. "And until the Jedi understand that, they will never truly see."

"Then guide us toward understanding! This is precisely why the Council made its proposition—to give you the opportunity to shape the change you've been calling for.

You say you hate me and reject the Jedi, yet you risked everything to protect the Order from destruction. Whatever you may claim, your actions speak otherwise. You care about the greater good and the survival of the Jedi. Deny it if you wish, but we both know the truth lies in what you've done, not what you say.

Hate me if it gives you solace; I will not contest it. But this is not about me—or you. It is about something far greater than either of us.

I will soon step down from the Council, and I will dedicate myself to atoning for my failures. That is my responsibility, my duty, no matter how insurmountable it may seem. But the burden of rebuilding the Order cannot fall on one person. It will take all of us.

And you, Kano, you have a role to play in that. Whether you admit it or not, the Force has brought you here, and it has not done so without reason. You have a duty, too, and you know it."

Once again, Mace's words were met with silence.

"You may at last dismiss what I've said," Mace continued, his voice low but resolute, "but I have to speak it, at least once: I was blind. I was a coward. For that, and for everything else, I am truly sorry, Kenshin."

Kenshin's gaze lingered on him, sharp and inscrutable. He said nothing, offered no response, only turned and walked away.

In the quiet solitude of his quarters, he sat cross-legged on the floor, his lightsaber resting idly at his side.

Coward. The word had struck a chord. It wasn't just Mace's admission that gnawed at him—it was the uncomfortable resonance it found within his own heart. For years, he had dismissed Mace Windu as the embodiment of everything flawed about the Jedi Order: rigid, unyielding, blind to its own hubris. And yet, here was the man, baring his failings with a vulnerability Kenshin had never thought him capable of.

He exhaled sharply. His thoughts drifted to a silver-haired child, her voice echoing in his memory:
"We should face what scares us, even when it's hard. You said that that's strength."

The memory pierced him like a blade. If he accepted the Council's offer, he would face opposition from the Order he distrusted so deeply, and it scared him. And if he took on Nari as a Padawan, the fear of failing her—of losing her—was a weight he wasn't sure he could bear. The thought terrified him.

But duty was not something one could cast aside so easily. Mace had spoken of his own.

The Ghost, he thought bitterly. A name whispered in fear across the galaxy. A name tied to rebellion, violence, and defiance. The Ghost was many things, but not a coward!

His hands tightened into fists as he exhaled slowly. Perhaps, just this once, he should heed his own words.

---

The next day, a firm knock echoed through the quiet of Mace Windu's quarters. He frowned, momentarily surprised. He hadn't sensed anyone approaching—a rarity that unsettled him slightly—and he'd been looking forward to a rare moment of solitude with a pot of freshly brewed tea. Setting the teapot down, he crossed the room and opened the door. When he recognized his visitor, he slightly jumped, though he quickly masked it. Standing there was Kenshin Kano, the last person he'd expected to see. Even in his diminished state, there was an edge to him—a predator's aura sharpened by pain and weariness. His emaciated frame and dark, piercing eyes gave him an almost spectral presence.

"A cup of tea?" Mace offered, gesturing to one of the chairs at the small table inside.

Kano gave a curt nod and stepped in. He moved stiffly, but his posture remained composed, almost defiant. Lowering himself into a chair with controlled precision, he exhaled softly, his expression impassive.

"How are you?" Mace asked, his voice carefully even, though tinged with genuine concern.

Kano let out a faint, humorless chuckle. "Maybe we should indeed wait before crossing blades again." His tone was composed, but the weariness etched into his features betrayed the truth. For Kano, this was as close as he would ever come to admitting how unwell he still was.

Mace poured the tea, sliding a cup across the table. His guest accepted it with a nod, sipping slowly. His eyes closed briefly, and when he reopened them, there was a glimmer of approval in his otherwise unreadable expression.

"There's a depth to it," he said quietly. "The bitterness is bold, but not overpowering. It lingers just long enough to be remembered. And beneath it, a subtle sweetness—delicate, but unmistakable." He set the cup down gently, his sharp gaze meeting Mace's. "A tea like this speaks of discipline and care."

Mace allowed a small smile. "High praise indeed. But I doubt you've come just to compliment my tea."

"No," Kenshin replied, setting the cup down. "I've realized I owe you my thanks."

Mace's eyebrows rose slightly. "You? Thanking me?"

Kenshin gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "You made me realize something important."

Mace leaned forward, his tone curious. "And that is?"

"That I have a duty."

Mace's eyes narrowed. "Ah…?"

"We can't stand each other, and I doubt that will ever change. But you're right—this is bigger than us. And I cannot be a coward. You made me understand that. For that, I thank you."

Mace studied him for a moment, his usual sternness giving way to something more thoughtful. "I'm glad my words inspired insight. I confess, I should have learned that lesson myself long ago." His voice grew quieter, carrying the weight of regret. "Perhaps from Skywalker, or perhaps earlier still. I've carried this guilt—this thought that, in the chancellor's office, if I had acted more decisively, if I had moved swifter, maybe I could have ended Sidious before he activated Order 66. Perhaps the galaxy would never have burned."

Kenshin's sharp gaze lingered on him, unreadable at first. Then his voice, quieter now, broke the silence. "You tried to do what was right. Often, we don't see the full truth until it's too late. And even when we do, the path forward isn't always clear."

Mace blinked, clearly taken aback by the unexpected note of comfort.

"Did you know?" he asked, after a moment. "That Palpatine was Sidious?"

"No," Kenshin admitted, shaking his head. "Not until Cin Drallig released me from that cell. My plan was to assassinate Palpatine to force Sidious to reveal himself, to draw him into the open, and then destroy him."

"And the battle with Sidious?" Mace pressed gently. "What was your plan there?"

"To win any battle," Kenshin said, his voice steady and matter-of-fact, "you must fight as if you were already dead. You cannot lose if there is nothing left to lose—not even your own life."

Mace frowned. "That was your plan? To die?"

Kenshin lifted the mug, holding it in front of him as though inspecting the way the steam curled upward. His voice, when he spoke, was quieter, almost introspective. "You can die at any time. It is living that takes true courage. I'm learning that now."

He took another sip, then drained the cup. Slowly, he placed it back on the table, the movement deliberate. His sharp gaze met Mace's for a lingering moment.

"I thank you for this lesson, Mace. And the tea…" A faint smile ghosted across his lips. "…was exquisite."

Without waiting for a reply, Kenshin rose with a measured effort and left. Mace remained seated, the faint warmth of his tea forgotten as he contemplated the man's parting words

---

The Jedi Temple, still running on provisional protocols, was quieter than usual, though the hall where the initiate trials were being concluded buzzed with a muted energy. The solemn occasion carried a sense of weight, heightened by the losses the Order had suffered. This was a step forward, a chance to rebuild—but for Nari, it felt like everything hung in delicate balance, the anticipation pressing down on her like a physical force.

The announcement ceremony was underway. One by one, the names of initiates were called, revealing which of them had been chosen by knights or masters, or assigned to one by the Council, to begin their Padawan training. Nari stood among her peers, her small frame rigid and her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her hands fidgeted at the edges of her cloak, the fabric twisting under her fingers. Around her, the other initiates shuffled with barely-contained nerves.

She tried to keep her breathing steady, to center herself in the Force, but her thoughts swirled, refusing to settle.

The tournament had gone well for her—better than she could have imagined. Despite her young age and small size, she had placed second in the overall rankings. Masters and knights had congratulated her, their words carrying respect and recognition she had never dared to expect. Yet, despite the nods and the murmurs of approval, no one had approached her.

No one had chosen her.

Her throat tightened at the thought. She knew what they must be thinking. She was too young, too inexperienced. The Council had made an exception even allowing her to participate in the tournament. A ten-year-old initiate, competing among older and more seasoned candidates—it was a rare opportunity, one she had fought for fiercely. She suspected Anakin Skywalker's influence had helped sway the decision in her favor, but now it felt like a hollow victory.

It didn't matter how well she had done. The knights and masters who watched must have decided she wasn't ready, and even then – it wouldn't be the master she wanted.

Don't cry. You're stronger than that.

Her gaze darted to the others standing beside her. Each time a name was called, an initiate stepped forward, their faces a mix of hope, joy, and sometimes overwhelming relief. But when she sought comfort in their eyes, she found none. They were too focused on their own fears and desires to notice her quiet turmoil.

The memory of their conversations haunted her. When they had discussed which masters they hoped to train under, her answer had drawn laughter—or worse, loud disapproval.

Kenshin Kano? The Ghost?

Their reactions had stung more than she cared to admit. Who would want to train under someone like him, some had asked—an assassin, a rogue Jedi who walked the edges of the dark side? Others had laughed outright, the sound sharp and cutting in her ears. One had jeered, "You're just a kid! And he's Kenshin Kano! The hero who fought Darth Sidious! He's the best duellist the galaxy has ever known! Why would someone like him pick a little runt like you?"

She hadn't told them about the Coruscant inferno, about how she had saved him. No one knew what had happened after Darth Sidious fell. The Council had kept it secret, and Nari had kept her silence.

But the mocking echoes of her peers' words gnawed at her now. Perhaps they had been right.

Her heart sank as the final names were read. Only four initiates, including herself, remained. She could feel the weight of the room pressing in on her, the judgment of unspoken words. Her shoulders slumped as tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill. She blinked furiously, trying to will them away.

She glanced toward the back of the hall, where she had seen him during the tournament. His presence had been like a storm in the Force—untamed and electrifying, filling her with courage she hadn't known she possessed. She had felt his gaze when she disarmed Rocco, an older Nautolan boy, defeating him with a precision and determination that had surprised even herself. But by the time the match ended, Kenshin had disappeared.

He wasn't coming. She felt foolish for hoping. He had told her, over and over, that he didn't want an apprentice. If he were to rejoin the Jedi at all, why would he choose her?

Her chest tightened as the last few names echoed in the hall. She couldn't bear to stay any longer. Turning quietly, she stepped away from the line of initiates. Her small footsteps were almost soundless against the polished floor, but each one felt heavier than the last.

Fighting back tears, she slipped out of the hall.

As she was about to turn into the corridor leading to the initiate quarters, hurried footsteps echoed behind her. She turned to see Master Imara, the tournament organizer, striding toward her with a stern expression, one hand pressed to her side as she caught her breath.

"Initiate Chang! Where do you think you're going?" Master Imara scolded, her tone sharp and reproachful. "I would think I have more important business to attend to than chasing after you!"

Nari froze, her mouth opening and closing for a moment before blurting out the only response she could muster. "Uhm, I don't know!"

You're panting like a bantha. You could use the exercise, she thought wryly, though she wisely kept the observation to herself. Instead, her gaze dropped to the floor.

No Master had chosen her, especially not the one she had longed for above all. Did she even still want to become a Jedi?

"Ah, you don't know," Master Imara said, her voice dripping with exasperation. "Well, had you stayed and awaited your instructions like everyone else, I would not have to repeat myself, nor come running after you! I suggest you drop these bad manners immediately and adopt a more appropriate demeanor from now on. I imagine your new Master won't take too kindly to you doing however you please, young Padawan!"

Nari's head snapped up, confusion flashing across her face. "Padawan? My new Master?"

Master Imara's eyes narrowed. "Given your young age and obvious immaturity, I find this questionable to say the least. But you have indeed been chosen as Padawan."

"Really?" Nari whispered, her voice barely audible, as if she feared breaking the fragile moment.

"Yes, young one, really."

"But…how? By whom?"

Surprise rippled through her, mingling with a cautious hope. She wasn't entirely sure if this was good news. The idea of being trained by an unfamiliar Jedi Knight was daunting, and the weight of it pressed heavily on her young shoulders.

Master Imara sighed, her tone taking on a hint of irritation. "Had you waited and listened, I wouldn't have to tell you everything twice! You're assigned to Kenshin Kano, upon his specific request. There actually were several Jedi listing you as their first choice, but since Master Kano will be appointed as the new Battle Master, his request had the highest priority. He is waiting for you in the…"

Nari's heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. Master Kenshin…HE CHOSE ME!?

Before Master Imara could finish her sentence, Nari let out a shriek of pure joy and leaped into the air, her excitement erupting like fireworks.

"…temple gardens," Master Imara concluded, shaking her head. "And may the Force help you."

But Nari didn't hear her. She was already running, her silver hair streaming behind her like a comet's tail as she sped through the halls. She knew exactly where in the garden she would find him.

Kenshin chose me!
The thought blazed in her mind, filling her chest with warmth so intense it felt as though the Force itself was shining directly within her.

As Nari raced through the temple halls, the world blurred around her, her heart pounding with a mix of exhilaration and disbelief. The garden's entrance loomed ahead, sunlight spilling in through the high windows and dappled shadows playing across the floor. She pushed herself faster, her breath coming in quick bursts, her boots skidding slightly on the polished stone.

Bursting into the garden, the soft rustle of leaves and the hum of the Force greeted her, grounding her in the moment. Her eyes scanned frantically until she spotted him, standing beneath the familiar fireleaf tree. Kenshin's silhouette was unmistakable, his black robes in stark contrast to the fiery red of the swaying leaves above.

She darted toward him with such speed that she almost couldn't stop. Her boots scuffed the grass as she skidded to a halt, teetering for a moment before regaining her balance. Breathless and wide-eyed, she looked up at Kenshin, her excitement radiating like a charged field around her.

"Is this real?" she asked, her voice high-pitched with disbelief. "Did you really choose me? I'm your Padawan now? This isn't a joke?"

Kenshin turned to face her fully, arms crossed, his expression calm but not cold.

"You were the one who chose me," he said simply, his voice low and steady. "But yes. It's real. It's not a joke."

Her silver eyes widened further, shimmering as emotion welled up inside her. She took a sharp breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly as if she couldn't quite contain the feelings threatening to spill out. "What made you change your mind?" she asked, quieter now.

Kenshin's gaze flickered past her, settling briefly on the distant temple walls. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought. "I realized," he said, his voice measured, "that I'm not always right. And sometimes, I should listen to my Padawan."

The words had barely left his lips before she launched herself forward, wrapping her small arms around his waist. Her hug was fierce, nearly knocking the air out of him as she buried her face in his tunic. "Thank you, Master Kenshin," she murmured, her voice muffled against the fabric. "Thank you for believing in me."

For a long moment, Kenshin didn't react. His hands hung awkwardly at his sides as if unsure where they should go. Then, with a quiet sigh, he rested one hand on her head, his fingers brushing lightly through her hair. The gesture was tentative, but not insincere.

"You believed in me first," he said quietly. "You taught me that lesson. But maybe," his voice took on a dry note, "you should let me breathe."

Nari pulled back, blinking up at him with a grin so wide it looked like her face might split in two.

"When will we go on our first mission?" she asked, her excitement reigniting in an instant.

Kenshin shook his head, the faintest trace of a smile playing on his lips. "Easy, little Sparkplug. I still need time to heal, you know."

She tilted her head, frowning. "Why are you calling me Sparkplug?"

"If you're not careful," he replied, his voice touched with dry humor, "you're going to set the whole temple on fire with all that energy."

---

*******Naboo, Naberrie lake house, a few weeks later

Warm sunlight cast the gentle ripples of the crystalline lake into gleaming gold and glinted off the pale stones of the terrace, where the wedding ceremony would soon take place. As Kenshin and Nari made their way toward the gathering, she curiously eyed him up and down.

"What are those clothes?" she asked, her tone laced with both intrigue and playful scepticism.

He had forgone the traditional Jedi robes. Instead, his attire consisted of wide, flowing pleated pants, entirely black, tied with an obi belt at the waist. Over a simple, cropped-sleeve tunic, also black, he wore a simple jacket that reached down to his thighs. The jacket's fabric appeared a muted gray in most light, but when the sun hit it just right, subtle undertones of deep purple shimmered, giving it a striking, almost ethereal quality.

Kenshin had rediscovered the ensemble just before departing for Naboo, tucked away in a forgotten storage box on his ship. It was traditional attire from Nanta, his homeworld. In preparation for the occasion, he had embroidered a small symbol onto the fabric: a circle with two intertwined triangles—the sigil of the Ghost—placed over the back and flanking each side of the jacket's front.

It wasn't exactly Jedi-like, to mark belongings, let alone have a sigil, but it wasn't pride that had led him to mark the garment. It was acknowledgment. A tribute to the battles fought, and the struggles—both external and internal—that had shaped him. He had not, and would not, renounce the Ghost. This was his way of reconciling who he was with who he was becoming.

"It's what people wear on my homeworld," he explained, his voice calm but steady as they walked.

Nari raised an eyebrow. "So why aren't you wearing normal Jedi robes?"

Kenshin paused, considering his response. "Because…" He hesitated, weighing whether she was old enough to grasp the truth. In the end, he decided she was clever enough. "...I'm a Jedi again, but what being a Jedi means—this will be different now."

"What does it mean to be a Jedi? And why is it different now? And what does it have to do with what you're wearing?"

He gave her a sidelong glance, impressed by her relentless curiosity. "Legitimate questions," he admitted, "but not ones with easy answers. And at least in part, you'll have to define it for yourself—what it means to be a Jedi."

Her brow furrowed as she pondered his words. "What does it mean for you, then?"

He looked out over the lake as they rounded a corner, the crystalline water shimmering like glass in the sunlight. "To protect and fight for those who can't fight for themselves," he said simply.

She tilted her head, her expression contemplative. "To fight? But our crechemasters and lightsaber instructors always said that Jedi are peacekeepers."

"Did they explain what being a peacekeeper meant?" he challenged gently.

Nari shook her head.

"See? It's not so simple," he said. "As for me, I'm not a peacekeeper. I never was. Sometimes, you reach a point where negotiation fails, and you must defend peace with a weapon. I wish it weren't so, but that's the reality of the galaxy. Until wiser people than I create a world where peace doesn't need to be fought for, I will pick up my weapon and fight for it."

For a rare moment, Nari remained silent. Her eyes searched his face as if weighing his words, and Kenshin allowed himself a brief moment to savor the birdsong that filled the quiet. Then her voice piped up again, a thoughtful yet stubborn edge to her tone.

"That still doesn't explain what's wrong with Jedi robes."

"There's nothing wrong with Jedi robes," he said with a wry smile. "I just prefer these. They're more comfortable. And they remind me of home."

"Will you take me there one day?" she asked, her eagerness returning. "I want to see your homeworld! Every time you talk about it, you seem less ...sad. Or at least, less grumpy."

"Did you just complain about me?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Not a complaint. Just stating facts," she replied airily. "You're like a tooka that someone woke up from its nap—always hissing and ready to swipe at people!"

Kenshin exhaled, shaking his head in mock indignation. "A tooka? That's the best you can come up with?"

"Fine, maybe not a tooka," she mused, tapping a finger to her chin in mock thought. "More like a gundark. All grouchy and stomping around, but deep down, you probably just need a snack."

He snorted despite himself, unable to suppress a small, begrudging grin. "You're not wrong."

"See? You should listen to your Padawan, you said it yourself!" she shot back with a triumphant grin.

"Fine. One day, we'll go to Nanta. But only if you stop comparing me to wildlife."

Her reply was a very mischieveous grin.

They had arrived on Naboo a few days earlier, the planet's serene beauty a welcome change from the stark, metallic sprawl of Coruscant. Exploring the grand streets of Theed had been a revelation for Nari. Everything seemed to capture her attention—the cascading waterfalls, the graceful architecture, the gentle hum of the city's canals. With Padmé's nieces to run and play with, she also had companions her own age to match her overflowing energy. If Nari's boundless enthusiasm could be harnessed, Kenshin imagined, it might power a Jedi cruiser through hyperspace. Yet it wasn't just her energy that overwhelmed him—it was the attachment.

Her boundless affection was a warmth he hadn't expected—and it unnerved him. For years, Kenshin had fought to keep people at arm's length, believing it was safer for everyone that way. But Nari needed more than a Master; she needed a guide, a protector, perhaps even a father, and he had not the faintest idea how to fulfill that role. He had failed to protect those who had depended on him before—how could he promise he wouldn't fail her, too? Yet, for all his doubts, he couldn't push her away. She had already suffered so much. The least he could do was try.

She had witnessed unspeakable loss—friends and mentors killed before her eyes. Yet, she had summoned the courage to act, saving whom she could. Kenshin knew a child shouldn't have to endure such horrors, let alone carry them alone. If she found even a sliver of comfort, of solace in his presence, then he owed it to her to offer it.

Her nightmares were still frequent. Some nights, he would wake to find her standing at his bedside, her small frame trembling, silver eyes wide with fear and tears. It broke his heart every time, and he would let her cry in his arms until the trembling subsided and she drifted back to sleep.

When Nari didn't have nightmares, she would sneak into Kenshin's room at dawn, poking him awake with relentless enthusiasm. The gesture being endearing in its own way, her timing left much to be desired. It had taken weeks of negotiation to convince her that her Master was decidedly not a morning person. Even with her vibrant energy lifting his spirits, keeping up with her was exhausting. He still needed nearly twelve hours of sleep just to get through the day without crashing, a stark reminder that his body wasn't ready for the demands of full training.

Kenshin was glad to be here on Naboo—and even more so to have brought Nari along. Despite being months away from medical clearance for active duty, the change of scenery felt necessary. Chief Healer Che and Jero had made it abundantly clear that he was to avoid exertion—or, Force forbid, combat action. But staying cooped up in the Jedi Temple had done nothing for his mind, and Nari deserved more than the gray walls of Coruscant.

He had convinced the Council to authorize a light training mission, knowing full well he had no intention of seeking out any such thing. They were here for the wedding and the chance to breathe. For now, that was enough.

She tugged lightly at his jacket, her small fingers brushing the edge of the fabric as if to inspect it more closely.
"You look nice," she said, the words almost too casual.

Kenshin raised an eyebrow, sensing through the Force that her compliment was genuine, but heavily laced with mischief. For a ten-year-old, she was impressively adept at keeping a straight face. Still, she had yet to master concealing her emotions in the Force, and her bubbling amusement gave her away instantly. His gaze drifted to his seat, where an oddly plump cushion had mysteriously appeared. He fought to suppress a grin, the corners of his mouth twitching as realization dawned.

"I see you've prepared an extra pillow for me. How thoughtful," he said evenly.

"You're always complaining that everything hurts, Master," she replied with exaggerated innocence. "I thought you'd appreciate a softer seat."

"Ah," Kenshin mused, a dry humor lacing his tone. "And you thought a whoopie cushion would be the best choice?"

Her silver cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of pink, and she stiffened, her wide eyes betraying her mortification. He hadn't known that Echani could blush, but the sight was undeniably amusing.

"But… how did you know?" she asked, her voice rising in a mix of embarrassment and curiosity.

"Your feelings betray you, Nari," he replied with mock seriousness. "I'll need to teach you a thing or two about stealth if you're going to pull off pranks like that. Besides…" He leaned in slightly. "I did the very same thing once, when I was about your age."

Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. "You did? What did you do?"

He folded his arms, his smirk growing more pronounced. "I hid one of these on Master Yoda's Council seat."

Her eyes widened to the size of saucers. "You pranked Master Yoda?" she gasped, her voice tinged with disbelief and awe.

Before he could reply, a ripple of movement drew their attention. The Naboo holy man had arrived, exchanging pleasantries with Padmé's parents.

The terrace buzzed with quiet activity as the final preparations unfolded. The afternoon sun cast golden rays across the lake, turning the water into a shimmering canvas of light. Lush green hills surrounded the scene, dotted with flowering trees that swayed gently in the breeze. Birds sang their melodic tunes, their songs weaving through the murmurs of conversation.

In the center of the terrace, Anakin stood beside Padmé, holding little Luke and Leia, one in each arm. Their bright eyes sparkled with curiosity as they glanced between the gathered guests and their parents. Nearby, Padmé's sister, Sola, chatted animatedly with her husband, while their daughters played a small game with Ahsoka, who had come bearing a rare, relaxed smile.

Kenshin leaned back slightly, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of the sun wash over him. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt something approaching peace. The memories of war and loss began to fade, making space for the simpler joys of the present. Perhaps, he thought, being alive wasn't so bad after all.

A sharp poke in his side snapped him from his reverie.

"Did you really prank Master Yoda?" Nari asked, her tone insistent.

Kenshin winced, twisting slightly to rub his ribs. "Stop poking me; it hurts," he grumbled. Then, lowering his voice, he added, "And don't tell anyone. To this day, he doesn't know it was me."

Her giggle was equal parts delight and disbelief.

"Now," Kenshin continued, his tone softening, "calm yourself. The ceremony is about to begin."