The familiar chime of the door echoed through Bits of the Beyond as Asa stepped inside, brushing the misty rain from her shoulders. The shop felt timeless, as though it existed in a space apart from the galaxy's struggles. Artifacts and trinkets glimmered faintly in the subdued light, each one whispering secrets of distant stars and forgotten eras.
"Asa Torrik," Tula Vemm's soft, melodic voice drifted through the shop like a warm breeze. The Twi'lek emerged from behind a cluttered shelf, her amber eyes glowing with quiet knowing. "You've finally come."
Asa hesitated, her boots scuffing against the wooden floor. "How did you know I was coming?" she asked, her brow furrowing.
Tula's lips curved into a serene smile, her lekku curling gracefully over her shoulders. "I've known this moment would come since you first set foot in my shop, little one. The Force speaks, if one is still enough to listen."
"The Force?" Asa's voice betrayed her surprise. She instinctively touched the hilt of her training saber beneath her coat. "You… knew?"
Tula stepped closer, her movements fluid, almost otherworldly. "From the moment you first crossed this threshold, I could feel it. A quiet hum, like the turning of stars. You were so small, your power barely formed, but it was unmistakable. Chaladdik felt it too."
Asa's surprise deepened. "Chaladdik told you about me?"
The Twi'lek chuckled softly, the sound like distant wind chimes. "Not in words. Wookiees rarely need them, especially when speaking of the Force. He asked me to keep watch, to guide you when the time was right."
Asa's gaze fell to the worn counter between them. "But… why didn't anyone tell me?"
Tula's expression grew gentle, her hands resting lightly on the counter's edge. "Because it was not time. The Force is patient, Asa. It weaves its threads at its own pace. And now…" She turned, her movements slow and deliberate, reaching for something behind the counter. "…it is time."
She returned with a small, ornate box, its surface adorned with delicate carvings of stars and spiraling patterns. The box seemed to shimmer faintly, as if lit from within. Tula set it down with reverence, her fingers brushing the lid lightly.
"This has been waiting for you," Tula said, her voice soft but resonant, each word carrying the weight of ages. "You may not remember, but you were drawn to it once, long ago."
Asa's fingers hovered over the box, her breath catching. A faint memory stirred—of standing in this very shop as a child, her eyes fixed on something she couldn't understand but couldn't ignore. "I… I remember," she whispered. "I didn't know why, but I couldn't stop staring at it."
Tula nodded, her gaze distant. "You weren't ready then. But the Force knows its own, Asa. It called to you through this artifact, waiting for the day you would be prepared to hear its song."
With trembling hands, Asa opened the box. Inside lay a small, intricately crafted cube, its surface etched with ancient runes. It felt warm in her hands, as though it held a spark of life. Her fingers brushed the surface, and the cube responded, its panels shifting and unfolding with a quiet, musical hum.
At its heart lay a kyber crystal, cloudy yet faintly glowing with a soft green light. The moment Asa saw it, she felt a pull deep within her, as though the crystal were reaching out to her soul.
"It's…" Asa's voice faltered, her eyes locked on the crystal. "It's a kyber crystal."
Tula's smile deepened, her tone almost a whisper. "Not just any kyber crystal, child. It is yours. The Force has guided it to you, just as it has guided you here."
Asa looked up at Tula, her brown eyes wide with wonder and uncertainty. "But… how do you know it's meant for me? What if I'm not ready?"
Tula stepped around the counter, her presence calming and sure. "The crystal chose you, Asa. It felt your heart long before you were aware of it. Readiness is not a question of skill or knowledge—it is a matter of trust. Trust in the Force, and in yourself."
Asa clutched the crystal close, its gentle warmth seeping into her skin. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely audible. "For keeping it safe. For believing in me."
Tula placed a light hand on Asa's shoulder, her amber gaze steady and filled with quiet certainty. "The Force has always believed in you, Asa. It's time for you to believe in yourself. This crystal is more than a weapon—it is a reflection of who you are, and who you will become."
Asa nodded, her heart racing but steady. She left Bits of the Beyond with the crystal held tightly in her hand, its quiet hum resonating within her. It was more than a step in her journey—it was a promise, forged in the connection between her past, her present, and the infinite possibilities of the Force.
Asa sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of the ancient Jedi temple, her hands resting just above her knees. Sunlight streamed through the temple's cracked and weathered ceiling, forming golden patterns on the ground around her. The quiet hum of the Force filled the air, thick and alive, making her heart race and her breath catch in her throat. She glanced at the kyber crystal nestled on the embroidered cloth between her and Varan. Its faint, pulsing glow seemed to grow brighter the longer she stared at it.
Varan Melrunn knelt across from her, his expression steady but calm. His green eyes, sharp and unwavering, watched her with the intensity of a mentor who had stood where she now stood. He hadn't said much since they arrived, letting the weight of the moment settle naturally, but now he finally spoke.
"Before we begin," he said, his voice low and deliberate, "I want you to understand what this means. A lightsaber isn't just a tool or a weapon. It's part of you. It represents your connection to the Force and your path as a Jedi. But building one starts here—with your crystal. If you rush it, if you doubt, you won't connect to it. This requires trust. In yourself and in the Force."
Asa nodded but bit her lip, her gaze fixed on the glowing shard. She hadn't dared touch it since the moment she'd taken it from the artifact in Tula's shop. Even now, the thought of holding it filled her with nervous anticipation. She felt the same way she had standing at the edge of a high platform, her stomach knotting at the thought of what might happen if she jumped.
"What if…" Asa hesitated, unsure how to phrase the knot of thoughts in her mind. "What if I'm not ready? What if I mess this up?"
Varan tilted his head slightly, his angular features softening. "Asa, no one's ever fully ready for something like this. I wasn't, and I don't know any Jedi who were. But readiness isn't the point. You're here because the Force has called you to this moment. That crystal—it's yours. It was meant for you. All you need to do is trust in that."
She frowned, her fingers twitching in her lap. "What if it… doesn't want me?"
Varan's lips curved into a faint smile. "It's not about wanting, Asa. The crystal doesn't judge you. It reflects you. It resonates with the Force, and the Force flows through you. You already share a connection—you just need to feel it."
Asa studied him, searching his face for any sign of uncertainty, but he seemed as calm and sure as ever. His composure steadied her in a way she hadn't expected. Finally, she drew in a deep breath, reaching for the crystal with trembling hands.
The moment her fingers brushed its surface, a wave of warmth spread through her, radiating from her palms to her chest. Her breath caught, and she froze, staring at the faintly glowing shard. Its gentle hum grew louder—not in her ears, but in her mind, resonating like the first notes of a song. She looked up at Varan, startled.
He nodded, his expression serene. "Good. That's the Force connecting you to it. Now, sit with it. Let the crystal show you its song."
Varan shifted back slightly as Asa began to center herself, cradling the crystal in her hands. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, her shoulders rising and falling with the effort of steadying her thoughts. The temple grew quieter, the hum of the Force filling the silence between them. Varan leaned against a stone pillar, his gaze steady on her.
He could sense her anxiety still lingering, an undercurrent of doubt beneath her concentration. It was normal for someone so young, especially in a moment as pivotal as this. But he didn't intervene. This was her journey, and she needed to walk it herself.
"Listen," he said softly, breaking the silence. "Not with your ears, but with your heart. The Force is alive in you, Asa, and it flows through that crystal. It's all connected. Trust that."
Her brow furrowed slightly, but her breathing began to slow. The tension in her shoulders eased, and the energy around her started to shift. Varan smiled faintly. She was getting there.
The Force around her became brighter, warmer. He could feel it in the room, the way it pulsed gently, as if responding to her presence. Varan let out a quiet breath, his own mind settling. This moment was hers, and all he could do now was guide her if she faltered.
Asa's breath deepened, her awareness slipping from the stone floor of the temple, the sound of Varan's steady breathing, and even the glow of the crystal in her hands. The moment she fully surrendered to the Force, the world around her seemed to dissolve, replaced by something vast and infinite.
She was no longer in the temple. She stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking a vast valley wrapped in the muted hues of twilight. The Spirewood spread out before her, its towering trees swaying gently as if in rhythm with a silent song. Above, the sky was alive with ribbons of light—the Aurora Storm. The lights danced and twisted, their vibrant greens and blues illuminating the valley below in shimmering waves. Asa's heart swelled at the beauty of it, an overwhelming sense of connection filling her chest.
The air hummed with the Force. It wasn't sound, not exactly, but a resonance that Asa could feel in her bones, in her very being. She stepped forward, the crunch of gravel beneath her boots grounding her in this surreal vision. Every sense was heightened; she could feel the chill of the wind, smell the damp earth, and taste the sharpness of the air. Yet she knew this was no ordinary place. This was something beyond, a realm where the Force itself seemed to breathe.
Asa turned her gaze upward, drawn to the auroras. They swirled like living things, their motion almost hypnotic. For a moment, she thought she saw shapes within the lights—figures moving gracefully, their outlines indistinct but undeniably present. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Who… are you?" she whispered, the question escaping her lips before she could stop it.
No answer came, but the lights seemed to ripple in response, the patterns shifting in a way that felt like acknowledgment. A wave of warmth swept over her, not from the air but from within. It was a feeling of welcome, of belonging. Asa's eyes widened as she realized she was not alone in this place. Something ancient and immense was here, not watching her, but simply being with her. It felt like a vast ocean, calm yet powerful, its currents reaching out to touch her.
The presence was unlike anything she had ever felt. It was deep and timeless, as if it had existed long before she was born and would continue long after she was gone. Yet it didn't feel distant or unknowable. Instead, it felt... familiar, like the comforting weight of a blanket on a cold night or the reassuring hand of a parent.
The auroras swirled again, and Asa felt the presence shift, its attention fully on her. Her heart pounded in her chest, not from fear but from awe. It was as though the Force itself had turned its gaze to her, and in that moment, she understood that she was part of something much larger than herself.
The presence didn't speak—it didn't need to. Its intention flowed into her mind, not as words but as feelings, impressions. Asa felt its welcome, a quiet but powerful assurance that she was meant to be here. She wasn't intruding; she was exactly where she needed to be. The message was clear: she was known, accepted, and trusted to heed the call when the time was right.
A flicker of uncertainty surfaced in her heart. She thought of the times she had doubted herself, the moments she had felt too small, too inexperienced, too fragile to be anything important. But the presence answered her doubt with an overwhelming surge of encouragement, as if to say: You are enough. You always have been.
Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. For the first time, Asa felt a deep sense of peace—peace with herself, her journey, and her place in the galaxy. The auroras grew brighter, their light enveloping her, and in their glow, she saw flashes of her life.
She saw Mira's hands gently braiding her hair when she was small, Raal teaching her how to weave patterns in cloth, Kade laughing with her over some joke only they would understand. She saw Chaladdik's towering frame as he taught her how to focus her mind, Alara's soothing touch on her forehead after a fever. And she saw Varan, his steady hand on her shoulder, his patient guidance like a lighthouse in the storm.
The visions shifted again, showing her the people of Aurora's Reach—their faces, their lives, their hope. They were all connected, she realized. Every thread of her life, every person she loved, every moment of doubt and triumph was woven into the same tapestry. And at the heart of it all was the Force, binding everything together.
Finally, her gaze dropped to the crystal in her hand. In this vision, it pulsed with the same light as the auroras above, vibrant and alive. She could feel its resonance clearly now, its song harmonizing with her own. It wasn't just a crystal anymore—it was hers. It was as much a part of her as her breath, her thoughts, her heart.
The presence around her seemed to recede, not disappearing but settling into the background, a quiet reassurance that it would always be there. The auroras dimmed, and the vision began to fade.
When Asa opened her eyes, she was back in the temple. The glow of the kyber crystal in her hand was brighter than before, its hum more vibrant, more alive. She let out a shaky breath, her fingers curling around the crystal as if it might vanish if she let go.
Varan was still there, watching her with quiet intensity. He didn't ask what she had seen, but his expression told her he knew it had been important.
"It's yours now, isn't it?" he asked softly.
Asa nodded, her voice too thick with emotion to respond. She glanced down at the crystal again, marveling at how something so small could feel so profoundly powerful.
"Good," Varan said, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Now the real work begins."
The dim, cozy shop was alive with the hum of machinery and the scent of oil and metal as Bisk Vi'Kiro worked on a droid's limb. His skilled hands, aged yet steady, moved through the motions as he soldered wires and adjusted pieces of scrap metal, fitting them into place. The shelves were stacked with parts—some old, some salvaged, but all useful for the right project.
When Asa stepped inside, the familiar chime of the door sounded softly, and Bisk looked up, his eyes narrowing with recognition. Despite the clutter of tools and spare parts around him, his gaze was sharp. "Well now, if it isn't Asa," he said with a warm, almost playful tone. "What brings you by today?"
Asa hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to reveal. She felt that tug in her chest again, that pull toward something she couldn't quite put into words. She looked down at her hands, the list of parts Varan had given her pressed into her palm. "I need some parts," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Varan gave me a list."
Bisk's gaze sharpened just a fraction, though he didn't comment immediately. "Varan, eh?" He nodded thoughtfully, not pressing for any specifics. "He's got a way of keeping things to himself, that one. Always been like that. I'd guess he's got something in mind for all those parts, though I doubt he'll tell anyone what he's up to."
Asa shifted uncomfortably, but Bisk's tone was light, almost teasing. He seemed to know something, but Asa wasn't ready to talk about it. "Well, I don't know exactly what he's building. I just know he said these parts will do the trick."
Bisk gave her a knowing look, though he didn't ask any more questions. "Alright, well, I'll get you what you need." He moved across the cluttered counter and began pulling down various bins, selecting the right components—a few rare switches, some wiry bits, and a couple of tools that looked worn from use. "Most of these should do you well. I've had some of them for years, so they've got a bit of character. Perfect for something that's built to last."
As he carefully set the parts aside for her, Asa's curiosity nudged at her, and she couldn't help but ask. "How do you know so much about this stuff? About what I might need?"
Bisk paused for a moment, looking her over with that characteristic knowing look that was both warm and a little secretive. "Well, you learn a thing or two when you've been around long enough," he said with a small shrug, as if the answer was simple. "You're not the first to come looking for parts like these, Asa. People get a certain look about them when they're heading down a particular path. You don't walk in here looking for these kinds of parts unless you've got something big in mind."
Asa blinked, her heart skipping a beat. She knew he was talking about something more than just the parts themselves, but Bisk didn't press. He let the silence linger for a moment before adding, "Sometimes, the pieces you need aren't always the ones you think you're looking for. But I'm sure you'll figure it out in time, just like others have before."
She didn't fully understand what Bisk meant, but something about his words resonated with her. She didn't need him to say more; it was clear that he wasn't going to pry into her personal journey. The shop had always felt like a safe place, and now, more than ever, she felt that sense of peace settle in her chest.
"Thank you, Bisk," she said quietly, taking the parts he had set aside for her.
Bisk smiled, his expression unreadable, but there was a certain kindness in his eyes. "Take your time, Asa. Whatever you're working on, don't rush it. Sometimes, what you're building is more than just the thing you're holding in your hands."
She nodded, feeling both reassured and confused by his words. Asa didn't need to know exactly what he meant, not yet. She only knew that with the parts in hand, she was one step closer to whatever it was that awaited her.
As she left the shop, the weight of the list in her hand felt different—heavier, somehow—but also more like a promise to herself. The path ahead wasn't fully clear, but with every step, she was getting closer to understanding what was waiting for her.
Asa sat on the edge of the workbench, the parts Bisk had given her scattered before her like a collection of puzzle pieces. The metal parts were functional, simple—a solid foundation for the weapon she was about to create. But something tugged at her, a vision of what she had seen in the temple archives: the lightsabers from the High Republic era. Their elegant designs, etched patterns along the hilt, the gilded accents—each one was a work of art, reflecting not just functionality but a deep sense of artistry and reverence for the Force.
She had always admired those lightsabers, the way they captured not only the mastery of the blade but also the spirit of the Jedi who wielded them. They were more than just weapons; they were heirlooms, passed down through generations, shaped by the values and experiences of those who carried them. And she knew, deep down, that her own lightsaber should be a reflection of herself—her connection to the Force, to the past, and to the present.
With this in mind, Asa took a deep breath and began her work. The first thing she did was set aside the standard, utilitarian hilt Bisk had provided. While it was sturdy and would get the job done, it didn't speak to her. It didn't have the elegance she longed for.
She rummaged through the spare parts she'd gathered over the years, pieces that had caught her eye in Bisk's shop—scraps from old droids, bits of metal she thought might be useful someday. Her hands moved quickly, selecting a small, ornate piece of gilded metal she had found hidden in a forgotten box. It was a decorative part that had once adorned an old luxury droid, but to Asa, it seemed like a perfect starting point. She polished it gently, revealing intricate patterns along the surface. A subtle swirl of lines—almost organic in shape—glimmered in the dim light.
She knew that the High Republic lightsabers often had an organic feel to their designs—curves and etchings that mimicked natural patterns, like the flow of water or the intricate veins of leaves. Asa wanted her saber to feel alive in the same way. She attached the gilded piece to the hilt, letting the design wrap around the metal like vines creeping up the side of a tree.
For the emitter, Asa envisioned something that balanced elegance with practicality. She chose a durable, light-gold alloy, its warm color a sharp contrast to the darker metals of the hilt. The gold material had a subtle sheen, catching the light as it reflected off the workspace, reminding her of the soft glow that hung in the air during an Aurora Storm in the valley. There was something about the golden hue that felt... grounding, like it belonged to the Spirewood, to the settlement.
As Asa set the emitter in front of her, she felt a rush of inspiration, as if the Force itself whispered to her, guiding her hands. The work on the shroud had taken hours, but now she knew exactly what to do—she was drawn to the auroras that often danced across the sky in Aurora's Reach, their ethereal light painting the night in vivid swirls of color. The auroras had always filled her with a sense of wonder, like the very air was alive with possibility. She had witnessed their beauty on countless nights, watching from the cliffs, feeling the weight of the galaxy stretch over her. It was a vision of the galaxy itself, in flux, constantly shifting yet always connected.
With a steady hand, she picked up the delicate engraving tool, knowing this part of her lightsaber needed to capture the energy and fluidity of the auroras.
She began etching curving lines, long and sweeping, that spiraled in elegant arcs around the emitter's hood. The lines didn't follow any predictable pattern; they swirled and danced like the auroras in the sky, flowing over the gold with the softness of light blending into the dark night. She wanted to capture that sense of ever-changing beauty, where color shifted and rippled with every breath of the wind, where no two moments were ever quite the same. As her tool moved along the surface, it left behind intricate trails that connected to one another in the most delicate of ways, creating a sense of fluid motion that seemed to breathe with life.
The etching was subtle but striking, with each line tracing out arcs that resembled the flowing tendrils of the aurora, each curve catching the light in different ways. The gold surface gleamed beneath her hand, shimmering with the iridescent glow of the lines as they swirled outward from the emitter in a way that felt almost alive.
The pommel, made from the claw of a Braga Bear, wasn't something Asa had simply stumbled upon—it had been a gift of sorts, one that had come with a story.
It was during her early days at the temple, when Varan had been traveling and not part of her daily life. Chaladdik, however, had remained a constant guide for her. One afternoon, after a particularly intense meditation session, the Wookiee had taken her deep into the Spirewood, into a part of the forest that was rarely seen by outsiders. The trees there loomed like ancient sentinels, their thick trunks spreading high above the ground. The air was rich with the scent of wet moss and the hum of life, but there was an eerie, sacred stillness, too.
The Wookiee had taken her aside one evening, when the sun was setting behind the Spirewood, casting long shadows over the temple grounds. His great hands had guided her down the familiar winding paths, leading her deeper into the forest than she had ever ventured before.
The air was thick with the scent of pine and wet earth, the hum of the Spirewood's ancient life filling her senses. Finally, they had arrived at a secluded clearing where a massive Braga Bear lay, its body half-covered in moss and roots. It had not been killed—it had simply passed from the world, like so many creatures did, returning to the earth.
Chaladdik had watched Asa carefully, his deep, knowing eyes locked on her. He motioned toward the bear, its great claws still curled slightly, its body silent but imposing. "This creature was a guardian of the land," Chaladdik had said in his low voice. "Its strength and power are now part of the forest, part of what continues to grow here."
Asa had felt the weight of the moment, a quiet reverence for the bear's power, but also for its role in the cycle of life. The Wookiee had stepped forward, and without another word, he gently pried one of the massive claws from the bear's form, the talon still sharp and fierce despite the passage of time.
"This," Chaladdik had said, handing the claw to her, "is a piece of the planet's strength. A reminder that true power is not in destruction, but in resilience, in growth. It is yours now."
She had taken the claw, its weight heavy in her hand, but it felt right—solid and grounded, a symbol of something far larger than herself. She hadn't needed to ask why; Chaladdik's intent was clear. The claw, with its sharp curves and ancient strength, would be the perfect complement to the weapon she was crafting. But it was more than that. It was a connection—a piece of the wild world, of the earth beneath her feet, that she could carry with her as she continued on her journey.
With quiet gratitude, Asa had accepted the gift. The Wookiee's words echoed in her mind: "Strength and wisdom come in many forms. Let this be your reminder."
The claw became the pommel of her lightsaber, its sleek, curved form engraved to look like the roots of a great tree, stretching outward as if reaching toward the world she was meant to protect. It was more than just a part; it was a symbol of her growth, a testament to the balance between strength and wisdom, nature and willpower.
The last touch was the button. Asa closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and pressed it. The button gave a satisfying click beneath her fingers, but the blade did not hum to life.
She frowned. It was supposed to work. Everything had been meticulously crafted, each part in its place. And yet, there was no pulse of energy, no brilliant blade of blue.
She pressed the button again. Nothing.
For a moment, Asa just stared at the hilt, feeling the weight of disappointment settle over her. She had spent hours putting this together, trying to build something meaningful, something that reflected who she was. The thought that it wouldn't work—something so simple as the button not activating—felt like a cruel joke.
Her mind spun as she sat back, looking at the lightsaber in her hands. She knew there were no shortcuts to this. It had to come from her, just as her connection to the Force had. This wasn't about the button, or the metal, or the crystal. It was about her intent, her focus, her understanding of herself as a Jedi. The blade would only light when she was ready. When she truly understood her purpose.
With a sigh, Asa set the lightsaber down. There was no rush. She would figure it out. The Force would guide her, just as it always had. The path wasn't clear, but she knew that with time and patience, it would reveal itself. Until then, the lightsaber would remain just a hilt—waiting for her to activate it when the moment was right.
As Asa sat amidst the scattered parts and tools that now made up her lightsaber, there was one last piece that eluded her—a grip. She had everything else: the intricate emitter shroud, the sleek body, the pommel crafted from the claw of the Braga Bear. But she knew that the weapon would be incomplete without a proper grip, one that would feel right in her hand, balanced, grounded.
It wasn't something she had found in the metal and scrap pieces that Bisk had provided, nor in the old temples of the Spirewood, where her thoughts often wandered. The perfect material had eluded her, and no matter how hard she searched, nothing seemed to fit the weight or the feel of the lightsaber she had envisioned.
Then, one evening, while she was working on the final adjustments, her thoughts turned to home. To her family. She had been to the textile shop with her parents countless times, her fingers brushing over the various fabrics her mother, Mira, and father, Raal, would weave. And that's when it came to her—the answer, simple and familiar, like a whisper in the back of her mind.
The grip she sought had been there all along, woven with care by the hands that had raised her
The canvas grip was plain but functional. Her father, Raal, often worked with similar fabric in their shop. It was the same type of cloth he used to make durable bags, work aprons, and other practical items. But Asa knew he had a special piece of canvas tucked away in the back of the shop—a strong, thick material that her father had saved for a project. He'd told her it was for something important, though he'd never explained what.
After a brief hesitation, Asa stood and walked toward the shop's backroom, where her father was mending a torn piece of cloth. Raal looked up as she entered, a warm smile crossing his face when he saw her approach.
"Something on your mind?" he asked, setting aside his tools and wiping his hands on his apron.
"Dad, I need something from the shop," Asa said, her voice a little hesitant but filled with determination. "A piece of canvas. The strong kind you keep for special projects."
Raal raised an eyebrow but didn't question her. He knew Asa had a way of figuring things out on her own, especially when it came to things that mattered. Without a word, he went to a shelf in the back of the room, carefully pulling down a roll of the thick, durable canvas. It had a slight worn texture, but Asa could tell it was exactly what she needed.
"This is the one," Raal said, his voice low. He gave the cloth a final look before handing it to Asa. "It's tough, but it will take some time to break in. What are you making, exactly?"
Asa grinned at him, already picturing how she would transform the material. "I'm working on the grip for my lightsaber. I need it to be strong, but also personal. Something that feels right."
Raal's eyes softened, his expression unreadable for a moment, but then he gave a small nod. "You've got a good head on your shoulders. Be careful with this. It's not like the others. You'll need patience."
"Thanks, Dad," Asa said, her voice filled with quiet gratitude. She felt the weight of his trust, and it grounded her in the knowledge that this weapon—this lightsaber—was not just a tool. It was something that would carry her forward, connecting her to both the past and the future.
Back in her room, Asa sat down with the canvas, examining it closely. The fabric was thick, sturdy, and just the right material for what she had in mind. She carefully cut a strip of it, working out a simple yet functional grip design. Unlike the leather she had originally used, this new material was rougher but durable, perfect for creating something that would stand the test of time.
As she worked, her thoughts drifted to the lightsaber's design. The shroud and emitter, with their elegant etchings and the golden tint she'd chosen, were the visible aspects of the weapon—the parts that would be seen by others. But the grip, the part she would hold in her hands during every battle and moment of reflection, had to feel like a part of her.
That was when the idea came.
Asa took the grip back to her parents, where her mother was busy with a new set of textiles. She hesitated for a moment, then walked up to Mira, who was carefully threading a needle. "Mom," Asa said, biting her lip, "could you… embroider something on it for me?"
Mira looked up from her work, her eyes glinting with understanding. "Something special?" she asked, her voice warm with care.
Asa nodded. "I want it to have something that reminds me of where I come from—something that feels like home."
Mira set down her needle and inspected the canvas. She ran her fingers over it, her eyes thoughtful. After a moment, she picked up a spool of deep green thread, the color reminiscent of the Spirewood's dense foliage, and began to stitch.
She worked in quiet concentration, her hands moving expertly as she embroidered a pattern—an abstract design, almost like the twisting branches of trees stretching toward the sky. It was simple, yet elegant, a design that would only be understood by those who knew what it meant. To Asa, it felt like a reflection of her journey—roots intertwined with the world she'd come from, yet reaching upward, toward the future she was beginning to build.
When Mira finished, she held up the grip with a smile. The intricate stitching looked like the delicate tendrils of vines, alive and growing. "It's yours now," Mira said softly, her voice filled with love.
Asa smiled, grateful for the care her mother had put into the design. The grip felt even more personal now, imbued with the strength of her family's love and the quiet resilience of the Spirewood. The lightsaber was complete.
Asa stood before her completed lightsaber, her fingers lightly tracing over the hilt, feeling the coolness of the metal, the smoothness of the canvas grip, the weight of the pommel. Each piece felt like a part of her journey, a part of her past, and a part of her future. The intricate designs, the etchings on the emitter that mimicked the auroras, the gentle curves of the shroud—each element was a reflection of something she had worked hard to bring together. But still, something was missing. She could feel it in her bones, in the hum of the Force around her. It wasn't just a weapon; it was a piece of herself, waiting to be realized.
She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. The room around her faded, and she focused inward, letting her senses reach out. She could feel the hum of the Force, a gentle tide that moved through everything, and it whispered to her, guiding her hands as they rested on the lightsaber. She felt its call, a surge of energy, waiting for her to unlock it.
Slowly, she reached out with her mind, channeling the Force into the lightsaber. She had done this before with her training, but now, as her fingers wrapped around the hilt, it felt different. There was no fear, no uncertainty—just a deep, calm focus. The pieces came together in her mind, and she felt the connection, the final thread pulling it all into place.
Her hands were steady as she carefully guided the energy of the Force into the crystal within, the one that had resonated with her from the very beginning. She had attuned to it over time, and now, it was ready to respond to her, ready to show her what it could become. She could feel the heat of the crystal growing warm as the Force flowed into it, awakening the blade within.
For a moment, nothing happened. The silence stretched, and Asa's heart beat in rhythm with the pulse of the Force. She focused more intently, her breath steady as she poured her will into the lightsaber.
Then, with a soft snap-hiss, the blade sprang to life.
A brilliant verdant green light blazed from the emitter, the blade shimmering with an intensity that felt alive, like the very essence of nature itself. The glow of it filled the room, reflecting off the walls, the hilt, the intricate etchings that ran along the shroud. The warmth of the blade in her hands was both grounding and energizing. It was perfect.
Asa's eyes widened in awe as she held the blade aloft, the vibrant green light casting a calm, natural glow around her. The blade hummed with a steady pulse, the sound of it alive in the air, singing a song that resonated deep within her. It felt so right—like an extension of her body, of her spirit, a symbol of the path she was walking.
She moved the blade through the air, the hum growing stronger as she tested its weight, its balance. The force of the green energy at her fingertips felt so natural, so familiar. This wasn't just a weapon—it was a piece of her, a symbol of everything she had been and everything she was becoming.
For a moment, Asa closed her eyes again, feeling the Force vibrate around her, weaving through the blade, through her, binding them together. She had done it. She had built this lightsaber with her hands, her heart, and her mind. It was hers. And she knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning.
Her family's legacy, the journey she had already walked, and the future that awaited her all converged in that one moment, in the light of the verdant blade.
Asa held it high, the hum of the lightsaber resonating through her, her heart filled with purpose, her mind clear. It was time for her to move forward, her path now illuminated by the green glow of her creation.
The cool air of the Spirewood surrounded Asa as she made her way up the winding path toward the Jedi Temple. The vibrant greens and blues of the foliage whispered with the wind, and the distant calls of creatures echoed through the trees. She walked with a quiet confidence, the hilt of her newly constructed lightsaber tucked securely in the pouch at her side, the weight of it a reminder of her growth, her journey.
When she reached the temple, the familiar stone walls loomed before her, ancient yet timeless. The grand doors opened, revealing the soft glow of light from within, illuminating the marble floors and high ceilings. Asa stepped inside, feeling the air shift as the Force seemed to hum with a deeper, almost sacred energy. She was home.
Asa's family was already waiting in the temple's main hall, Mira and Raal standing together near the center. Chaladdik was there too, the towering Wookiee watching her with a patient, knowing gaze, his massive form a comforting presence. Alara stood nearby, her usual calm demeanor steadying the air around her. Varan was there as well, standing quietly off to the side, his eyes soft but serious, like always.
Asa approached them slowly, her heart beating faster now that the moment had finally come. She felt a little nervous, unsure of what their reactions would be. She had built this lightsaber for herself, but it felt important that they all see it too. It was more than just a weapon—it was a symbol of her path, of her future, of everything they had given her.
"Mom, Dad…" Asa's voice trembled slightly. "I made something."
Mira and Raal's expressions softened, and they both stepped forward, smiling. Mira's eyes glistened with pride, her hands resting lightly on her hips, while Raal's expression was quiet but full of warmth. Asa could tell they were eager to see what she had brought.
"This is it." Asa pulled the lightsaber from its pouch, the cool weight of it in her hands grounding her. She held it out to her parents, feeling a mix of excitement and vulnerability. "It's… it's my lightsaber."
Mira gasped softly, her eyes widening in amazement. "It's beautiful, Asa." Her voice was thick with emotion. "You really did it."
Raal reached out, gently taking the hilt into his hands. His eyes scanned it carefully, noting the intricate etchings on the emitter and shroud, the careful craftsmanship of the pommel. "You've really thought about every detail."
Asa smiled shyly, her hands lingering near her creation as Raal handed it back to her. "I wanted it to feel… right," she said, her voice steadying. "It had to be more than just a tool. It's part of who I am."
Chaladdik stepped forward, his deep voice rumbling in the quiet space. "You have come far, Asa." His eyes glinted with approval. "The lightsaber is a reflection of you and your connection to the Force. This is only the beginning."
Alara nodded in agreement, her calm presence a contrast to the growing excitement in the room. "It's not just about the blade, Asa," she said, her tone thoughtful. "It's about how you carry it. How it becomes a part of you, just as you are a part of the Force."
Varan, who had been silently observing, stepped forward. His green eyes were intense, though there was a soft edge to his gaze as he met Asa's eyes. "You've done well, Asa," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "A lightsaber isn't just a weapon—it's a way of life. And you've chosen your path."
As Asa stood in the center of the Jedi Temple's main hall, her lightsaber activated and casting a vibrant green glow around her, the soft hum of the blade seemed to settle into the very air. Her family, Chaladdik, Varan, and Alara stood close, each of them looking at her with a sense of pride and reverence.
There was one more person, though, someone Asa had been hoping to see—her older brother, Kade. He had been away, working on a scouting trip with a group of locals in the outer regions of Aurora's Reach, but she had sent word to him. She knew this was a moment that he wouldn't want to miss.
As if on cue, the soft sound of boots echoing down the hallway caught her attention. Kade appeared in the doorway, his tall, lean figure framed by the archway. At seventeen, he was still growing into his frame, his dark hair a little longer than it used to be, but his expression was the same: serious, thoughtful, and always with a hint of protectiveness when it came to Asa.
His eyes immediately found her, and they softened when he saw the lightsaber in her hands. Asa couldn't help the smile that stretched across her face as Kade stepped forward, his gaze flickering to the lightsaber before returning to her face.
"You actually did it," Kade said, his voice quiet but full of admiration. He had always been there for Asa, watching over her since they were children. He had seen her through so much—her time as a child, scared and confused, her struggle to understand her powers, and now this: her first steps into something far greater.
Asa nodded, her grip tightening around the hilt of her lightsaber. "I did," she said, the pride and determination clear in her voice.
Kade's gaze softened further, his lips pulling into a small but sincere smile. "I'm proud of you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he stepped closer. "I knew you could do it."
Mira and Raal stood nearby, watching the exchange between their children with quiet pride. Mira's eyes were a little misty, and Raal's expression was soft but full of love. They had always known there was something special about Asa, something that set her apart. They had worked so hard to give her a home, and now, seeing her standing here, with her lightsaber—her symbol of growth, power, and the path she had chosen—it made everything feel real.
Kade's eyes lingered on the blade, then moved to Varan and Chaladdik. His gaze shifted between them and Alara, and he seemed to weigh the importance of the moment. His protective instincts flared for a moment as he studied Asa, then he met her eyes with a mixture of pride and concern.
"You're really doing this, aren't you?" Kade asked, the words tinged with an understanding that only an older brother could offer. "You're really going to be a Jedi."
Asa felt the weight of his question. She had always known that her journey, her path, was different. She had known she was meant for something bigger than herself, something that would take her far away from the small life they had built in Aurora's Reach. She nodded, her voice firm. "Yes, I am. And it's… it's what I need to do."
Kade nodded back, his jaw setting in that familiar, protective way. "Just don't forget us when you're out there, okay?" he said with a smirk, his voice light, though Asa could tell he was struggling to keep his emotions in check. His little sister—his baby sister—was growing up, and that was harder for him to process than he let on. "You've got a whole family here that's counting on you."
Asa reached out, her hand briefly resting on Kade's arm, a gesture of reassurance. "I won't forget. I promise."
As the quiet reverence of the moment lingered, Asa turned her gaze back to Varan. She had felt his steady presence behind her, watching her, but now, with the blade humming softly in her hands, she wanted something more—his approval. She had looked up to him for as long as she could remember. He had been through so much, yet he was here, standing by her as she stepped into her own journey.
She took a deep breath, the weight of the lightsaber in her hands grounding her. Without saying a word, she deactivated it and held it out to him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of what he thought.
Varan regarded the lightsaber with the same quiet intensity he always held, but Asa could sense a flicker of something more beneath the surface—a recognition, perhaps, or a knowing that came with his own history.
With a subtle nod, Varan accepted the lightsaber from her hands. He held it carefully, almost reverently, as if weighing not just its craftsmanship but what it represented. His fingers traced the familiar contours of the hilt—smooth where it needed to be, textured where it was meant to grip, and when his hand brushed the etching of the auroras on the emitter, his brow furrowed slightly. There was something about it—the flow of the design—something that seemed to resonate with him.
He activated the blade. The hum of the verdant green energy filled the room, casting a light that flickered across the walls. Asa stood quietly, watching his expression, trying to gauge what he was thinking.
Varan slowly swept the blade through the air, testing its weight, its balance. There was a moment of silence, just the sound of the hum and the soft rustle of air as he moved the blade with precise, practiced motions. Then he lowered it and met her gaze.
"You've done well," he said quietly, the words laced with a deeper understanding, not just of the craftsmanship but of the path she was now walking. "The design is unique… you've taken the past and woven it into your own creation."
Asa felt a wave of relief wash over her, her heart swelling with pride. She had always been unsure if she was truly ready—if she could ever truly measure up. But hearing Varan's approval, seeing him genuinely acknowledge the lightsaber she had crafted, settled that uncertainty in her chest.
Kade, who had been standing off to the side, watching intently, spoke up then. "I think that's the highest praise you can get from him." He smiled, the protective big brother in him clearly satisfied by the moment.
Asa's eyes lingered on Varan for a moment longer, a quiet thank you passing between them in the way only the Force could translate.
"You've earned it, Asa," Varan said, returning her lightsaber to her. "And when you're ready to face whatever challenges come next, remember this moment. Remember that you built it—that you are the one who carries it forward."
Asa nodded, taking the lightsaber back into her hands, her fingers tightening around the hilt. "I won't forget."
She could feel the weight of the responsibility, the weight of the Force in her hands, and for the first time, she felt the clarity of her purpose. This was just the beginning.
Author's Note: Hi everyone. Thanks for sticking with the story so far! This is the end of what I would call Part 1 - Origins. It was written to give context for everything that is coming up. Haha I know this has been really long for a fic, but I've actually been working on this story in one capacity or another since like 2010. Its pretty much done on my side of things, so I'll continue with regular updates until its finished but I'm probably gonna switch to Tuesday/Thursday instead of everyday. Also, I've gotten a few requests to work on art commissions and I wanted to address that. Unfortunately I do not have the financial means to work on such projects at this time, but if/when that changes, I will let you guys know. But if you guys still want to do art and for me to see it, use the #aurorasreach on tumblr and I'll be sure to check it out.
Thanks again for reading!
- Renirien