Padawan pilgrimage

Wim entered the cargo hold, the space dimly lit by the ship's internal lighting. The air was cool and slightly metallic, carrying the faint scent of recycled air and the lingering aroma of the ship's last cargo. He began his stretches, his movements fluid and precise, the worn mop handle twirling in his hands, a silent dance against an unseen adversary. He closed his eyes, focusing on the subtle vibrations of the ship, the gentle hum of its systems, trying to expand his awareness, to be truly present in the moment.

"You're early," a familiar voice echoed through the hold. Wim paused, opening his eyes to see Ezra standing near the entrance. "Jacen will be here soon, but I wondered if you might want to try something new while you wait."

Wim nodded, intrigued. "What did you have in mind?"

"I want you to sense what I'm feeling," Ezra said, his voice calm and steady. "Not what I'm thinking, but what I'm feeling."

Wim frowned, closing his eyes again, trying to reach out with the Force. He felt a faint warmth, a sense of calm, but beneath it, a deeper current of something else, something he couldn't quite grasp. "It's... difficult," he admitted. "It feels like... like when I felt KB's pain. It's an emotion, but it's not mine."

Ezra nodded. "It is. It's the echo of what you saw, what you felt. The empathy you felt for KB. That is a strong emotion." He then used the force to pull the other broom handle from across the room into his hand. "Now, focus on my left foot," Ezra instructed. "Watch."

With a swift, sharp motion, Ezra slammed the broom handle against his own shin. Wim winced, a sympathetic pang shooting through him. "Focus on that pain," Ezra said, his voice tight. "Feel it."

The pain lingered, a dull throb in Wim's own leg. "What else do you feel?" Ezra asked, his voice low.

Wim closed his eyes, his senses expanding, reaching beyond the physical pain. He felt a deep well of loneliness, a lingering grief, a simmering anger. "You miss your friends," Wim said, his voice barely a whisper. "Sabine... you were away for years."

Ezra's breath hitched slightly. "Yes," he admitted, his voice rough. "And Kanan... I miss him every day."

"And you're angry," Wim continued, his voice gaining confidence. "Angry at Thrawn, for escaping."

Ezra nodded, his jaw clenched. "He's a threat to the galaxy," he said, his voice filled with a quiet fury. "And he's still out there."

The cargo hold was silent, the only sound the gentle hum of the ship. Wim opened his eyes, his gaze meeting Ezra's. He saw a flicker of surprise, a hint of vulnerability in Ezra's eyes, quickly masked by his usual calm demeanor.

"You're learning, Wim," Ezra said, a hint of pride in his voice. "You're learning to see beyond the surface, to feel the currents of the Force."

"Teaching the Force isn't as easy as Kanan made it look," Ezra admitted, rubbing his leg with a wince. "But I knew I had to get you to focus on the pain first. The Force isn't just about anticipating and countering an opponent's moves. It's about understanding them, feeling what they feel. Making that empathetic connection before you even think about fighting."

He paused, his gaze meeting Wim's. "Sometimes," he continued, "you'll find that there's no reason to fight at all. Peace and compassion – that's what the Jedi of the Old Republic taught. Violence is driven by emotion, and emotion can cloud your judgment, become your weakness."

Ezra's voice dropped to a near whisper as he quoted Yoda: "Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering." He looked at Wim intently. "Remember that, Wim. Feel their suffering before you raise a hand against them."

"Kanan and I learned a lot from Bendu," Ezra continued, his gaze distant, lost in memories. "He taught us that the Force is more than just light and dark. It's a spectrum, a balance. There are shades of gray, areas where the light and dark blur."

"He showed us that even the most righteous Jedi can be tempted by the dark side, and even the most hardened Sith can find redemption. It's not about being perfect, about never making mistakes. It's about learning from those mistakes, about striving to be better."

"Bendu also taught us about the Living Force," Ezra said, his voice filled with reverence. "He showed us that the Force is not just an energy field, but a living entity, a consciousness that connects all living things. It's about being in tune with that consciousness, about understanding your place in the grand scheme of things."

"Alright, Wim," Ezra said, breaking the silence. "Let's try something Kanan taught me. It's a technique Bendu used to help him focus."

Ezra led Wim to the center of the cargo hold. "Close your eyes," he instructed. "Take a deep breath. Now, imagine a single leaf falling from a tree. Follow its descent with your mind's eye. Feel the air around it, the gentle breeze guiding its path."

Wim closed his eyes, his breathing slow and deliberate. He pictured a leaf, vibrant green, detaching from a branch, twirling and swaying as it fell.

"Good," Ezra said, his voice soft. "Now, imagine that leaf landing on your hand. Feel its weight, its texture, the coolness of its surface."

Wim imagined the leaf settling on his palm, feeling its delicate veins, the smooth, cool surface against his skin.

"Now," Ezra continued, "imagine that leaf turning to dust, dissolving into the air. Feel the energy dissipating, becoming one with the Force."

The leaf in Wim's mind crumbled, its particles floating away, merging with the air, the ship, the very fabric of the Force.

"Open your eyes, Wim," Ezra said.

Wim opened his eyes, feeling a sense of calm, a stillness he hadn't felt before.

"That's just the beginning," Ezra said with a smile. "Bendu taught Kanan and me that the Force is all around us, within us. It's about being present, being mindful, being aware of the interconnectedness of all things."

"Who was Bendu?" Wim asked, his curiosity piqued. "You mentioned him before, but you never really said how you and Kanan met him."

"Ah, Bendu," Ezra said, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. "He was... unique. An ancient being, neither Jedi nor Sith, but something in between. He resided on Atollon, in the Lothal sector, where Kanan and I sought refuge after the fall of the Jedi Order."

"He was like a force of nature," Ezra continued, "a living embodiment of the balance between light and dark. He taught us things about the Force that we never learned in the Jedi Temple. He helped us understand that the Force is not just about good and evil, but about the delicate balance between all things."

"He also taught us how to connect with the Living Force," Ezra said, his voice filled with reverence. "He showed us that the Force is not just an energy field, but a living entity, a consciousness that connects all living things."

"That's how you were able to connect with my feelings earlier," Wim realized. "You were connecting with the Living Force."

Ezra nodded. "Exactly," he said. "It takes practice, but with time, you'll be able to do it too."

KB and Fern joined Jacen in the cargo hold, settling in to watch the rematch. Ezra perched atop two crates filled with old Republic credits, his gaze fixed on the sparring area. Wim and Jacen, broom handles in hand, faced each other, ready to begin.

Wim closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He focused on the present moment, on the subtle vibrations of the ship, the faint hum of its engines. But he also remembered Ezra's teachings, the importance of feeling, of connecting. He reached out with the Force, trying to sense the emotions of those around him. He felt the lingering warmth of KB's presence, the quiet strength of Fern, the steady observation of Ezra. Then, he focused on Jacen, feeling a vibrant energy radiating from him – his living force, reaching out in anticipation. He also felt admiration, and love for his friend.

The sparring began. Jacen and Wim moved in a fluid dance, their broom handles twirling in opposite directions, a blur of motion. Jacen, with a flick of his wrist, levitated his handle, sending it soaring up and across the room before returning to his grasp. He then levitated himself, settling into a cross-legged sitting position in midair, facing Wim.

"Show-off," Ezra chuckled, but Wim's eyes widened in impressed awe.

The two sparred, their movements coordinated, each attack met with a precise block. The rhythm of their duel quickened, the clacks of the broom handles growing louder, more forceful. Sweat beaded on their foreheads, their breaths coming in short, sharp bursts.

KB, her gaze sharp, quietly pointed out subtle moves to Fern, explaining the nuances of their technique. Ezra, his eyes narrowed, commented on Jacen's form, recalling the early lessons he'd imparted.

Wim, his senses heightened, began to feel Jacen's emotions more clearly – a friendly rivalry, a playful challenge. He felt Jacen's rhythm, his energy, and he tried to match it, to synchronize their movements. The clacks of the broom handles became a beat, a percussive symphony, punctuated by their grunts and the soft whoosh of air as they moved.

The cargo hold became a stage, the dim lighting casting long, dancing shadows that mimicked the fighters' movements. The air crackled with energy, a tangible manifestation of the Force flowing between them. Wim's heart pounded in his chest, a drumbeat echoing the rhythm of the duel. He felt a sense of exhilaration, a thrill in the dance, a connection to Jacen that transcended words.

After the sparring session, the energy in the cargo hold slowly dissipated, and the crew dispersed. Wim and Jacen headed back to their shared quarters, the rhythmic clacking of their broom handles still echoing in their minds.

"That was... something else," Jacen said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm still surprised how you caught on to my rhythm, Wim. It was like we were reading each other's minds."

"It was incredible," Wim agreed, a wide grin spreading across his face. "We gave them a pretty good show, didn't we? And a great workout."

"Definitely," Jacen chuckled. "We weren't even trying to win, just complimenting each other's moves. It was like... a dance."

"Your rhythm was amazing," Wim said, his voice filled with admiration. "Where did you learn to move like that?"

"It was an early training session Ezra and I started," Jacen explained. "He wanted me to focus on fluidity, on letting the Force guide my movements. It seems to have stuck with me."

"Ezra taught me something similar today," Wim said, his brow furrowed in thought. "He said it's not always about winning, but about feeling your opponent, understanding them."

"That's what it felt like out there," Jacen said, nodding in agreement. "Like we were learning from each other, improvising, without breaking the flow. We were taking turns creating parts of the performance."

"It was like we were connected," Wim said, his voice filled with wonder. "Like our movements were part of the same song."

"Exactly," Jacen said, a smile spreading across his face. "And I think we just wrote a pretty good one."

Jacen, buzzing with anticipation, began preparing for bed, his mind already racing with visions of Ilum's crystal caves. "Imagine," he said, his voice filled with excitement, "walking into those mines, choosing your own kyber crystal. It's like... like destiny."

"I can't wait to meditate within the caves," Wim replied, his voice hushed with reverence. "To feel the Force in such a sacred place, to connect with it on a deeper level."

The day's sparring session, coupled with the anticipation of their journey, had left them both exhausted. They settled into their bunks, the gentle hum of the ship lulling them into a peaceful sleep.

Wim's dreams were vivid, filled with images of crystalline caverns, shimmering with an ethereal light. He imagined the feeling of the Force, a palpable presence, resonating within the caves. He envisioned the echoes of countless Padawans, their footsteps and whispers lingering in the air, their hopes and dreams woven into the very fabric of the place. He imagined feeling their excitement, their trepidation, their unwavering dedication to the path of the Jedi. He saw himself walking those same paths, feeling the weight of tradition, the responsibility of wielding the Force. He dreamed of the moment he would find his crystal, a moment of profound connection, a symbol of his commitment to the Jedi way.

After the intense sparring session, KB and Fern left the cargo hold, a shared sense of awe lingering between them. They made their way to the galley, the familiar clatter of Chopper and the whirring of SM-33 filling the air. The two droids seemed to be engaged in a heated debate.

"Routine maintenance is essential for optimal ship performance!" SM-33 declared in its monotone voice.

Chopper responded with a series of indignant beeps and whistles.

"Chopper says that subverting enemy systems requires more finesse than polishing bulkheads!" SM-33 translated.

KB smirked at Fern at those words.

Fern chuckled. "Sounds like the usual droid disagreement."

They settled at a nearby table, pulling out their strategy game. "Care for a rematch?" KB asked, a glint in her eyes.

"You're on," Fern replied, a competitive edge to her voice.

They set up the dejarik board, its pieces arranged on the board. Fern made her opening move, a bold maneuver that seemed to catch KB off guard.

"Surprised?" Fern asked, a smug smile on her face.

"Not bad," KB admitted, her eyes scanning the board. "But you left yourself open."

With a swift series of moves, KB countered Fern's attack, turning the tables in her favor. "Checkmate," KB announced, a triumphant grin spreading across her face.

Fern groaned. "I thought I had you that time!"

"You almost did," KB conceded. "But you got too focused on the attack and forgot about your defenses."

"Just like Wim," Fern mused, her thoughts drifting back to the sparring session.

"Exactly," KB said, nodding in agreement. "He was so focused on reading Jacen's moves, on keeping up with his rhythm, that he wasn't trying to win."

"I think he was waiting for the right moment to attack, but it never came," Fern argued.

"Or maybe it did, and he chose not to take it," KB countered. "He could have overpowered Jacen at any time, but he chose to stay in sync with him."

Chopper chimed in with a series of beeps, and SM-33 translated, "Chopper agrees with KB. He believes Wim was reading Jacen's intentions, not trying to defeat him."

"See?" KB said, a triumphant smirk on her face.

"But I saw it differently," SM-33 interjected in its monotone voice. "Captain Fern's assessment is also valid. Wim was observing, waiting for an opportunity that did not present itself."

Fern nodded. "Thank you, SM-33."

"It's just a difference in perspective," KB said, shrugging. "But I think Wim was more interested in understanding Jacen than in winning."

"Perhaps," Fern conceded. "But I still think he could have taken him if he wanted to."

The debate continued, the friends analyzing Wim's actions, their voices blending with the whirring of the droids, the galley filled with the comforting sounds of camaraderie and friendly competition.

The debate in the galley continued, the air buzzing with friendly disagreement. Fern, determined to prove her point, initiated another round of their strategy game. This time, she adopted a different tactic, mirroring Wim's approach during the sparring session. She played defensively, patiently waiting for KB to make a mistake, to overextend herself.

KB, used to Fern's aggressive style, found herself growing impatient. She studied the board, her brow furrowed in concentration, searching for an opening, a weakness in Fern's seemingly impenetrable defense. But Fern remained steadfast, her moves precise and measured, her gaze unwavering.

Minutes ticked by, the tension in the galley building. Even Chopper and SM-33 seemed to sense the shift in strategy, their whirring and beeping momentarily subsiding as they observed the game.

"Are you just going to sit there and wait for me to mess up?" KB finally asked, a hint of frustration in her voice.

Fern smiled, a serene expression on her face. "Isn't that what Wim did?"

KB conceded the point with a nod. She recognized the parallel between Fern's strategy and Wim's approach during the sparring match. He hadn't attacked to win, but to understand, to feel the flow of the duel.

"It's actually quite enjoyable watching you concentrate so hard," Fern said, a playful glint in her eyes.

KB rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "You're enjoying this too much."

"Perhaps," Fern said, her gaze returning to the game board. "But it's also fascinating to consider Wim's finesse. He countered Jacen's moves with such ease, such grace. It was as if he anticipated every action before it happened."

"He was reading him," KB said, her voice filled with admiration. "He was feeling his energy, his intentions. It was like they were connected by the Force."

"But he has so much power," Fern countered. "He could have overpowered Jacen at any moment. He needs to learn to use that power at the right time, to strike with precision."

"He's still learning," KB said, her voice softening. "He's pushing the boundaries of his abilities, exploring the depths of the Force. It's intriguing to watch."

"Intriguing, yes," Fern agreed. "But also a little concerning. He's growing so powerful so quickly. He needs to learn control."

The droids chimed in again, Chopper beeping excitedly, SM-33 translating, "Chopper agrees with KB. Wim's connection to the Force is remarkable. He has the potential to become a great Jedi."

"But he must not let his power consume him," SM-33 added, its voice monotone but carrying a hint of warning. "Control and discipline are essential for a Jedi."

The debate continued, the friends and droids exchanging their views, their voices filled with a mixture of admiration, concern, and curiosity. The galley, once again, became a haven for their discussions, their shared experiences weaving the threads of their growing camaraderie.

The droids, Chopper and SM-33, retreated to the engine room, their earlier debate forgotten in the face of more pressing mechanical concerns.

Fern leaned back in her chair, a comfortable silence settling between her and KB. She replayed the sparring session in her mind, considering KB's earlier conjecture.

"You know," Fern began, her gaze thoughtful, "I think you might have been right about Wim."

KB raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"He wasn't fighting to win," Fern continued, her voice filled with newfound understanding. "He was enjoying himself, learning, trying to understand Jacen."

A soft smile touched Fern's lips as she admitted, "This has been the longest game of dejarik we've ever played."

KB chuckled. "You're not even trying to win, are you?"

Fern shrugged, a playful glint in her eyes. "Maybe I'm just enjoying your company too much."

KB laughed, a genuine, warm sound that filled the galley.

"It's like you said," Fern continued, her voice turning serious. "Wim's compassion for people, for relationships, is stronger than his need for power."

She paused, a flicker of admiration in her eyes. "You and he understand each other so well."

KB's smile softened. "We've been through a lot together," she said, her voice filled with affection.

Fern nodded, a sense of understanding washing over her. She realized that Wim, with his growing connection to the Force, would need his friends, their support, their unwavering belief in him.

"We should probably head to bed," KB said, breaking the comfortable silence. "We can continue this game another time."

"Agreed," Fern said, a hint of reluctance in her voice. The game, the conversation, the shared laughter – it was all too enjoyable to end.