Arc 2 Chapter 13

Anaïs was, oddly enough, nervous. Alright, she thought to herself, as she walked to her second class of the day, there was nothing odd about it. The first class that morning, on the various ‘runes’ this Force Sect used, should have been nerve-wracking, given that she knew that they weren’t nearly as important as the professors claimed, but she’d been with a small group of younglings, and, as such, there had been no expectations placed upon her.

Well, ‘younglings’ for this group, the boys and girls, aged twelve and thirteen, might have already been Padawans in the Order, but the mages of Boyaria allowed, and even encouraged, family attachments in a way that the Temple never would, starting their instruction years after the cutoff for Jedi Initiates. Some attachments were unavoidable, she’d come to realize, as the Masters at the Temple had allowed friendships to form, like that between Jorel and herself, but the familial ties on open display here were unknown to her.

In fact, the sheer number of Force Adepts that were related was something that she was having trouble understanding. Yes, the planet itself was strong in the Force, and yes, less than half of the Wizards and Wizardesses would pass the threshold to be considered for Jedi training, but the fact that there were so many boys and girls that could be candidates was perplexing, to say the least.

In fact, if she didn’t know better, she’d say that a connection to the Force was hereditary, but, if that were the case, shouldn’t this be common knowledge?

Like the fact that a Jedi can return from falling? Like the fact that there are multiple schools of thought on the nature of the Force? Like the fact that I had been ‘reserved’ as a Padawan by a Master I had never met? she thought, irritation starting to twist in her mind, grey tendrils of anger that could easily give way to the Dark.

She took a breath, acknowledge the grievance she’s suffered, and let it go. Those lies did not matter to her, and would thus provide the Dark no purchase in her mind. Instead, her thoughts turned to Jorel, who spent so much time in the Temple Archives, and she wished she could talk to him. Anaïs had always been more concerned with the here and now, the use of the Force, while his studies could give her insight into the things she’d taken for granted, and only now realized might be false.

That or my absent Master, she thought, but didn’t dwell on that either. From what she’d learned, matches getting out of hand, like hers had been, were rare in the extreme, and this was, actually, a fairly safe place to be. And if what she faced against that woman were the kinds of things that Master Lucian was facing even now. . . Anaïs knew she would be a liability. That stung, a little, but, like her other negative thoughts, she acknowledged why it hurt, and moved past it, seeking to gain the instruction that her Master obviously sought for her, and so that, in the future, she would not have to be left behind.

Regardless, she cleared her mind as she walked inside, looking around the large hall. Sturdy stone tables ringed a central speaking platform, students all over standing behind one of the workspaces. It was a departure from her previous classroom, which had smaller, wooden desks and comfortable chairs, and the room itself seemed bare of anything except for the necessities, small white crystals in the ceiling supplementing the mid-afternoon light streaming in through large windows.

“Anaïs!” a familiar girl’s voice called, and she turned to see Jabari, Kama, and the others off to one side, having claimed a small set of tables as their own. Smiling at the other students, the Padawan hurried over.

“We missed you at lunch,” Kama chided, gesturing to a table beside her own, obviously having saved it for the Jedi.

Frowning, Anaïs went over their last conversation. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, “I wasn’t aware we were supposed to meet.”

“Her classes are different,” Itoro, the herbivore-Presenced boy remarked. “That means she wouldn’t finish the same time we did.”

Jabari laughed, “He’s got ya there.” Getting a glare from the other girl, he quickly changed topics. “How was Runes?”

The Jedi considered the question. “. . . Different,” she finally answered.

“Your Sect uses different ones?” the leader of the small group asked, and Anaïs nodded, as not using the ‘magic letters’ that this Sect relied upon as a teaching tool was technically using something different, from a certain point of view. “I’d ask what yours are, but you’re not allowed to tell me, are you?” he questioned, and she shook her head, as she couldn’t tell him what didn’t exist. Casting a look Kama’s way, the girl in question looking smug, the young man sighed. “Yeah, yeah, you were right. Still wish I could pick it up.”

That gave the Jedi pause, as while Master Lucian had discouraged her from using another Force Sect’s techniques without understanding it first, he’d never told her not to share her own techniques. She felt their teacher enter the room, the older man’s Presence, like an enormous mass of choking ivy, obvious to her. “I, I could try and teach you some of them,” she offered Jabari, the others looking to her in surprise. “It took me a decade to learn, but, I could show you.”

The cat-Presenced teen grinned, but before he could respond, their teacher spoke up. “Enough. Class is in session.” The small conversations around the room died out, the students straightening as the instructor spread out in the Force, subtly reaching out to everyone. As a tendril reached out to encircle the Jedi, she gently, but firmly, pushed it away, causing the man’s head to snap over as he stared at her.

She met his gaze, and he snorted, nodding, before turning his attention to the others in the room. “Good evening everyone. As you might have seen, we have a new student. If you have not seen her until now, I would suggest against taking any of my fourth circle classes next year. Tell me, Bandele,” he stated, focusing on a student with a Presence like a snake, “What is the purpose of this course?”

The boy froze, before slowly answering, “To learn how to use the elements?”

A few of the other students chuckled, as the teacher continued to stare, unimpressed. “Yes. That is the title of this course,” the older man noted. “What do we do?”

“Uh, learn how to conjure the elements?” Bandele more asked than stated. “The ones we’re not good at?”

A long moment passed, before the instructor nodded. “Lacking, but not incorrect. Yes, the purpose of this course is to gain a well-rounded familiarity with the elements. Which is why it is required for any who seek positions with the possibility of combat. A Mage with a specialty that counters yours can defeat you. Even if you are of a higher circle.”

Anaïs couldn’t help but think that statement was directed her way, from how half the class glanced at her, but the teacher didn’t stop, continuing his explanation. “Magic runs through all things. Alive, dead, and that which never lived. It runs through the water we drink. The air we breathe. The stone we stand upon. Even upon the fires we once warmed ourselves with. Magic remembers the forms it has taken, and, with the proper techniques, can be convinced to return to it once again.”

With a wave of the man’s hand, the Force flexed around him, twisting in a way that was almost unnatural, yet contained no hint of the Dark. A gray sphere of stone seemed to condense out of the air itself, caught in the Wizard’s hand as if it was an everyday occurrence. “We have covered stone, the safest of all. Something that comes more naturally to those of Minerali.” Another wave of his free hand, and most of the stone turned to ice, only a thin hemisphere of rock on the bottom left behind. “We have covered Ice. A good neutral element.”

This time, when the ice shimmered, then melted, the remaining rock serving as a bowl even as some of the liquid splashed over the sides. Anaïs opened herself up in the Force, to try and feel what the Wizard was doing. There was an odd echo to it, not concentrated on the bit that was changed, though there was a queer sort of focus to it, but the man’s technique also reached within himself. “Then water, that comes more naturally to those of Plantae,” the instructor stated.

Another wave, and the water seemed to burst into flame, settling into the bowl and burning merrily, and the Padawan could start to see what was going on a little more clearly. It was nothing like how a Jedi would act, though, in some ways, it was a little like the Barrier technique. “Now we will create fire, which often comes more naturally to Animalia. Though not always. Yes,” the man nodded, a girl having raised her hand.

“Wouldn’t wind be safer?” she asked, her Presence that of a statue made of marble.

“You are correct,” the instructor agreed. “But fire will burn without support, though it will persist with it. Wind naturally disperses.”

Anaïs, hearing that, tried to focus as he continued. “You cannot create wind without controlling it. It will be last, after wood and steel. Both of which require a great deal more concentration and power. Now, each of you will attempt to call a handful of fire. No more. Begin.”

Well, that explanation was lacking, the Padawan thought, as the other students got to work. Closing her eyes, she tried to focus, not trying to perform the task herself, but trying to feel the other students’ attempts. She could sense Jabari, the cat grinning widely as it used a different kind of flex than their instructor had, but having engaged the boy in combat, he was a little easier to read.

As the feline created the fire, batting it back and forth between its paws, Anaïs opened one eye to see the boy tossing a small ball of flame from hand to hand, smiling wider when he spotted her gaze, creating two more, and starting to juggle them, though he missed his third throw, the fire hitting the stone table and losing cohesion before burning itself out in a second.

Looking at the others around her, both in the Force and in reality, the Jedi could see what they were trying to do, and understood, on a level she hadn’t from her books, why this was not a technique the Order utilized.

They were commanding the Force.

It made her balk, just a little, though far less than she would’ve if she had not had her Master’s training. The sheer presumptuousness of telling the Force what it needed to be was in direct contradiction to the Jedi’s philosophy of letting the Force tell you what you needed to do. It was almost Sith. It was only the lack of Dark in those around her that helped her not react, once she understood, though she could feel stirrings of that evil energy in some of the other students.

None of it was as stark as the Sith saber, but several of the others exuded Dark into the Force around them, in short fits and starts. Regardless, they were making the Force do what they wanted, and it obliged, though the subtleties of it were obscured.

“Not going to try?” an older voice asked, unamused, and Anaïs opened her eyes to find the instructor standing right in front of her.

“I’m, I’m trying to figure out how,” she responded, caught off guard. She hadn’t felt him move, only to realize that, as spread out as his Presence was throughout the room, it was hard to tell where he was, physically.

The man looked at her desk. “Start with the rune,” he commanded, and she created it with a moment of concentration, the symbol for Fire curving with sharp points at the top. “Now reach for the Spirit of Fire,” he dictated.

“I. . . I don’t know what that means,” she admitted, not having gotten that far into the textbook.

Before he could respond, a billowing wave of Dark swept across the room, and she turned to look, as the instructor did as well. The fear spilling out into the Force was coming from a girl, who was staring at a quickly growing pyre on table in front of her, the other students only now starting to notice.

The Jedi felt the teacher’s Presence, the tendrils of Ivy wrapped around every other student, shift, the one around the girl tightening, as she tried to scream in fear, seizing up. However, as she did so, the rune in front of her, made of golden sap, came apart.

With it broken, Anaïs could feel the, the structure of the flame, for lack of a better term, come apart, like a cage, or a bowl, that was now shattered. The fire, which itself seemed to pulse with Dark, moved for the girl who had created it, only for another tendril of Ivy, in that other realm, to trap it and smother it, the flame dissipating in seconds.

The girl was released, and fell to the ground, shaken, while a boy and another girl hurried over to her, their concern for their friend undeniably tinged with Light in the Force.

The instructor, whose name the Padawan realized she’d never learned, moved to the front of the class. “Remember!” he commanded, the students’ attention snapping to him. “Whatever Spirit you use, you must be in command of it! If you lose your grip, break your circle.” With a wave of his hand, a ball of fire appeared, hanging in the air. “Some of you are having trouble. If need, look to this. Above all else, this is controlled. You may continue.”

Striding back to Anaïs, before he could say anything, she pointed out, “What you just did. It wasn’t what you did before.” She’d been watching, and, while it was subtle, when he created the fire he’d done something intrinsically different from when he’d turned water into fire.

That brought the other man up short, and for a moment the Padawan wondered if she’d been rude. Time with Master Lucian had trained her to make her assessments and observations known, not holding them back, but she was a stranger in a strange land, and she might’ve just given terrible offense. The older man paused, giving the younger girl a measuring glance. “You mean this?” he asked, creating a floating ball of water, which shifted to fire.

“Yes,” she nodded, internally relieved that her instructor wasn’t angry with her. She was sure of the difference now, recognizing the way he used the Force, even if she didn’t understand what he actually did. “That’s. . . that’s different than that,” she stated, pointing to the ball of flame still burning above the teacher’s podium.

Whatever the older man was going to say, he changed his mind, looking to Jabari instead, who froze under the attention. “Mwindaji,” he commanded, the boy standing at attention, “Explain the Spirit of Fire to her.”

Jabari nodded quickly, and their instructor strode off, to go talk to a student who was making sparks. The cat-Presenced boy quickly moved to her, shoulders dropping in relief when their instructor left.

“Professor Fatsani is. . .” the young man said, shaking his head, turning to Anaïs. “It’s like you’re trapped, you know? And he’s slowly squeezing the life out of you.”

That’s because you are, and he is, she thought, but it was becoming more and more clear that, despite using the Force, the Wizards here couldn’t truly perceive it. “Mwindaji?” she asked instead.

“Clan name,” he shrugged. “My full name is Jabari Mwindaji, but there’s, like twenty of us here, so just call me by my personal name. So, tell you the ‘Spirit of Fire’,” he mocked, snorting. “Like that’s a thing.”

“It’s in our books,” the Padawan couldn’t help but point out. The books hadn’t explained what that meant, only making oblique references to it in the few hours of study she’d had last night.

Her objection was waved away. “It’s a thing, but it’s not a thing,” he insisted, which didn’t help at all. Looking over to Kama, the girl was deep in concentration, but her Presence was increasingly agitated, and Anaïs decided not to bother her in order to translate Jabari’s words.

“That. . . doesn’t help,” the Jedi pointed out instead, hoping that her doing so would prompt a better explanation.

It didn’t.

“Well, it’s a thing, obviously it’s a thing, but it’s not a thing the way Fatsani says it’s a thing, like it’s just a thing, where you’re like ‘here’s the thing’, because it’s not that kind of thing,” the boy standing in front of her explained, using a great deal of words without actually saying anything of substance.

The Padawan nodded, then turned to the lupine girl the next table over. “Kama?” she asked, the other girl’s rune shattering, which caused her to look up with a snarl, pausing as she saw Jabari standing at the Jedi’s table. “What is ‘the Spirit of Fire?’” Anaïs asked, lost and needing assistance.

Kama looked over to Jabari, who shrugged, “Fatsani said to explain it, like it’s just a thing, but it’s not a thing the way that that’s a thing.”

The wolf-presenced girl twitched, before sighing. “The Spirit of Fire is what fire means to you,” she explained. “How does it make you feel. What part of you, when you look at it, goes, ‘this is fire’. It’s the same for all the elements.”

“Exactly,” Jabari shrugged. “It’s a thing for me, and it’s a thing for you, but it’s not a thing.”

It’s highly personal, so there’s no set definition, Anaïs realized, finally understanding, which fit the other boy’s meandering explanation, but only if you already knew what he meant. “So what is it to you?” she asked the other girl, dreading what answer she’d get from the boy who was supposed to be helping her.

From Kama’s wince, and how her Presence flinched, that was the wrong thing to say, but as the Padawan opened her mouth to apologize, the girl was already waving it away. “You’re from away,” Kama said, to explain why she wasn’t taking offense, as she walked over to Anais, her voice lowering until only the other two could hear her. “You wouldn’t know but that’s. . . that’s not something you just tell someone.”

“Then you don’t need to,” the Padawan reassured her. She was starting to get an idea, and if-

“No,” the other girl interrupted, “you don’t have a Clan to tell you. For me, Fire is. . . dangerous. Fire is needed, to cook, to forge, but it’s like keeping a celenar hound in your house. They can be useful, but if you’re not careful you will bleed. Jabari, how about you?”

The young man, who looked rather uncomfortable, hesitated, before sighing. “My Spirit of Fire. . . Fire is dangerous, yeah, but so’s most things that are useful. Fire is energy, and change. Fire is burning through anything in your way. Fire is, is life.”

While Kama had spoken, her Presence had darkened with pain and fear, but, while the boy had talked, his Presence had lightened, not at peace, but indisputably more Light than Dark. However, as both had talked, their Presences had both seemed to turn inward, both reaching for the same thing. It was faint, but some part of them seemed to say this is Fire, using their own feelings as a focus.

“I, I think I understand,” Anaïs nodded to them both. “And thank you.” At their expectant looks, however, the Padawan found herself at a loss. “Oh. Um. Fire to me. . .” she trailed off, shrugging. “It’s. . . combustion? I’m sorry, but I don’t feel about it that strongly.”

Kama looked skeptical, but Jabari laughed, “Yeah, it takes a bit.” Looking to the lupine girl, he added, “She sounds like Itoro, when he first came. He doesn’t have a clan either,” he explained to Anaïs.

Slowly, Kama nodded, “Right. Well. Good luck,” she offered the Jedi a half-shrug, moving back to her desk.

“Any other thing I can help ya with?” Jabari asked, and when Anaïs shook her head, he just smiled. “Well, good luck as well!”

He left, and the Padawan tried to figure out what to do. If she wanted to replicate what the others were doing, she knew how to now. Emotions had power, it was the base of how the Sith operated, and what led them to gather strength of a similar level as a Jedi while only having a fraction of a Jedi’s discipline.

However, what you put into the Force was reflected back onto you. It was why the girl who had lost control of her technique had lost control of it, her fear of the flames clear as she lost control, and her fire became something to be feared. With enough control, Anaïs could probably do the same thing, but then the Force wouldn’t be the Force she was used to, and it would become something that would need to be controlled.

Maybe if she used positive emotions, like Jibari did, it would work, but, for all that Master Lucian disagreed with what the Temple taught, the Master Jedi was clear that relying on emotions was walking on unsteady ground, where, without more control than she had, the Force might turn on her when she needed it most, emotions running away from her.

And then there was that entire ‘mental contagion’ thing these Mages dealt with.

Couldn’t forget that.

However, while the Mages around her were using their emotions to call to the Force, to demand that fire appear, they didn’t have to. If they had to, then there would need to be something in common with their emotions, and, as far as she could tell, peering at the various Presences all around her in the Force, they were all approaching this from different directions, but getting to the same place. What they did have in common, was that reaching inward to pull out their knowledge of Fire.

So, it should be simple to do the same without having to use her emotions. She could create solid barriers with but a thought and a focusing wave of her hand, this should be the same, only instead of creating solid force, she’d be creating a flame.

And she wouldn’t be commanding the Force, she would be asking it, just as she did with her Barriers.

All she needed to do was think of what Fire was, bring it out and. . .

Focus on Fire, and make it. . .

Fire. . .

Alright, this is harder than it looks, the Padawan had to admit, as the lesson finished, without so much as a spark.

Despite the others’ reassurances that, having never manifested any element, she didn’t have the applicable skill from creating the others in order to create fire, and that Anaïs’ failure was understandable, that didn’t do much to soothe the disappointment she felt. She tried not to dwell on it too much, using her meditative practice to help let the unpleasant feelings of frustration go, but she couldn’t cleanse herself of them entirely.

It was only after they’d all gotten dinner that she realized why it ate away at her. Master Lucian had never given her a task that she could not figure out, showing her the next step on the path, with the full consequence that not only could she do whatever he asked, she could do so that day.

And her time at the Temple had been similar, if slower, her natural talents in utilizing the Force allowing her to master every lesson she was given, but instead of pressing forward, and finding her limit, she had then been instructed to help the others of her Initiate Clan learn it as well, which had only served to strengthen her understanding and make it so that, when the next lesson was presented, she met it adroitly.

Now, she was trying something that she wasn’t even sure was possible. She’d thought it was, only to fail, over and over, for two solid hours as those around her had slowly mastered the exercise, and more and more looks had been sent her way.

Again, while she could literally feel their judgement in the Force, none of them bothering to hide it, she knew it was baseless at best, and illogical at worst. Yes, they had ‘succeeded’ where she had not, but she was not doing what they were attempting, not that they knew that.

Is that it? she thought. I’m not the best at something and it’s getting to me? What am I, a youngling?

Though she also knew part of her ill-mood was not only from that, but from what had happened after dinner. The others had returned to the Animalia dorm, to study and complete the work for their other classes, and had invited her along. While she did not share their other classes, they’d been happy to help answer her questions, only for her to be turned away at the door by a member of staff.

It turned out that students from the three Sects were not allowed in dorms not their own, and while it was apparently a rule that was often overlooked, to the point that the others complained of that very thing, citing examples, it would not be overlooked for her.

And so she was left to retreat to her own dorm, with the knowledge that, with their differing schedules, she would not see the others again until next week. Longer, even, as the locals didn’t use the galactic standard calendar, but their own, with odd seven-day weeks instead of a more manageable five, and thus it would be six days until they were free, on the one day without classes.

While the Padawan had made friends in those five, Chiku didn’t count, the students in her own dorm regarded her coldly, like the collection of rocks, metals, and crystals they were in the Force. After a few failed attempts to ask them about some of the odder terms she’d found in her textbooks, and given simple, unhelpful answers, when she was not merely met with silence, she’d retreated to her room.

With nothing left to do, she turned to her books, and practiced ‘conjuration’, as the Mages called it, trying to create a stone, and failing, utterly.

The days continued, and Anaïs was coming to realize that Jabari, Kama, and the others were a rarity in their friendliness. Maybe it was because of her spar with Jabari’s sister, as she could often feel the sickly tendrils of fear in those she tried to talk to, though nearly as often behind the cold stares and brush-offs of varying politeness were undercurrents of anger and distrust, but under it all was a feeling of other. She knew she was not one of them, and while Jabari and the others hadn’t cared, she was also an unknown when he’d approached her.

For better, or for worse, the Jedi was no longer an unknown, though more and more she thought it the latter.

The one thing she was thankful for was the fact that she did not have another class as bad as ‘Elementalism’, though several were close. The other courses she’d been enrolled in were more aligned towards the theoretical aspects of the Mage’s ‘magic’, and while she’d normally preferred practical applications, when she didn’t know half of what she was supposed to implicitly understand, this more contemplative approach suddenly had merits she’d never considered.

In some ways, for the assignments she had been given, she could use her Jedi techniques to cheat, for instance when she was supposed to ‘create a spell that strikes two targets, while leaving the center one intact’, she just struck the two with simultaneous telekinetic blasts instead. From the look she’d gotten from her teacher, the woman knew that what Anaïs had done wasn’t what was asked for, but, watching the way those around her slung fire, ice, wind, and steel, the Jedi didn’t have the foggiest idea of what she was supposed to be doing.

It was with great relief that the free day came, and she sought out Jabari and the others at breakfast, only to be taken aback by their Presences, which glanced at her, before quickly looking away, even though the students themselves schooled their own reactions. “Is. . . is something wrong?” she asked, taking a seat beside Kama.

Those present shared pained looks, except for Chiku, who grinned nastily, informing the Padawan, “You’re not wanted here, off-worlder.”

The sheer Dark dripping off the girl made Anaïs stiffen, the sadistic joy a cruel perversion of the normally Light emotion writ large over the greasy, unkempt feathers of the girl’s Presence.

“I, what?” the Jedi asked, looking to the others.

“I said-” Chiku started to sneer, only for a low growl to come from Kama and Zeeno, the sound simultaneously emanating from both cousins’ throats and in their Presences, the unpleasant girl shutting up.

It was Jabari who spoke. “I’m sorry, Anaïs, but however rude as Ms. Chaltu’s statement was, she is not incorrect.” The nasty girl practically preened at this, as the boy continued, not looking at the Jedi. “My sister went to our clan’s elders, as did others,” the glare he shot Chiku spoke volumes, but the girl just smirked, “and certain. . . decisions were made. I have been instructed to not interact with you. I argued that down to not interacting other than what is required by the Circle, but my elders would not budge, no matter how much of an opportunity might be gained by bringing in new spell formations.”

If she were still a Youngling, Anaïs would’ve been hurt that her only value was new techniques, but her friendship with Jorel, and her subsequent training with Master Lucian, showed her that Jabari was actually saying he tried to make the strongest case for her he could. However, that didn’t explain the others, and she turned a questioning look Kama’s way, trying not to allow the sudden pain and feelings of betrayal to set in, trying to be a proper Jedi.

Kama winced, “Our Clans have long been allies of the Mwindaji. Our Elders agreed, as did Ganizani’s. Itoro has been sponsored by Jabari’s Clan, and must respect their wishes.”

Ganizani remarked quietly, “Jealousy ruins everything.”

Chiku turned a nasty look towards the simian-Presenced girl. “I’m not Jealous you-”

“Chiku,” Jabari stated, anger in his tone, though the only Dark in his Presence was self-hatred. “You have gotten what you wanted. Leave us.”

The girl oozing with Dark started to snipe back, but stopped when the boy turned to glare at her. She stood, and turning a satisfied sneer Anaïs’ way. “You shouldn’t be here. The people who matter know that,” she stated, before walking away.

The others were silent for a long moment. “I, I am sorry Anaïs,” Kama told her, voice heavy with emotion. “Siri couldn’t do anything to you, because of Draconis, but the headmaster has no say in Clan matters. And, off-worlders are dangerous. You’d think the Clan that specializes in Fire would understand that isn’t a bad thing, just something to be careful over. And Chiku. . .”

“Chiku’s fowl,” Zeeno noted, with dark humor, getting pained chuckles from the others. He was the only one that lifted his head to look at her, and his emotions were clear to her, easily read with Force Empathy. “You seemed like a good person, but not worth angering our Clans over, and definitely not worth getting kicked out of it over. And you are an off-worlder. Are you even going to be here next year?” The Padawan winced, and the Wizard nodded. “Thought so. We’ll help you in class, but that’s all we can do. I hope you understand.”

Anaïs kept the pain out of her voice as she nodded, knowing how much the boy didn’t want to do this, but her studies had shown just how complicated politics could be. “I do. I am sorry if I caused you any trouble. I didn’t mean to.” The others winced in emotional pain, and she started to say “Sorr-”

“It’s fine,” Kama whispered. “Just. Just go.”

The Jedi nodded, taking her tray with her as she tried to find somewhere to sit, receiving warning, borderline hostile looks from others at nearby tables. Moving to the wall, she found an empty space and sat, picking at the food.

Despite the spices she knew the locals cooked with, it seemed practically tasteless.

Is this why we’re not supposed to have attachments? she wondered, having to work to allow her emotions to flow out without influencing her Presence. The suddenness of things made that difficult, as did the sheer unfairness of it all.

Her training under Lucian helped. Living with the Dark on Uphrades helped. Her training with the Sith saber helped. Her mission on Noonar helped.

But it still hurt.

“Sucks, huh,” an oddly accented voice remarked sympathetically, as the girl who said it took a seat across from the Padawan. “The xenophobia.”

“I’d rather not talk right now,” the Padawan stated quietly, glancing upwards. The girl across from her looked to be her age, maybe a year or two older. She was dressed in a dark green tunic, and wore an intricate wooden necklace, roots forming a complex pattern in the center that glowed with the Force. What caught the Jedi’s attention though, was that, unlike the brown and black skin of the native Boyarians, this girl had bone-white skin, with dark grey patterns across her face, like the Mirialans.

The unknown girl gave Anaïs a sympathetic look. “Understandable. I wasn’t much for talking when it happened to me.” With that said, the white-skinned woman turned her attention from the Padawan to her breakfast, and started eating, as if that was that.

Anaïs just stared for a long moment. “Does this happen often?” she finally asked.

The other girl paused mid bite, swallowing and remarking dryly, “I thought you did not want to talk.” At the Padawan’s annoyed look, the other girl smirked, though kindly. “Not often. But too often. I stumbled upon dis place in my travels. I decided to see what I could learn. Ze headmaster found me ‘intriguing’. The other students. . . less so. For a Jedi such as yourself, it must be quite the shock.”

The casual naming of her Order took the Padawan aback, before she realized that, if this other girl was from off-world as well, of course she’d heard of the Jedi. “That obvious?”

A one-shouldered shrug was the girl’s reply. “I heard about your fight. I was out hunting. It is how I pay my tuition. But ze details were enough. A ‘Sword of light’ and all. Good job, by the way.”

“I, um, thanks,” The Jedi replied. “I’m Anaïs Vand-Ryssa.”

“My name is Senara,” the other girl smiled, reaching a hand out, which the Padawan took, shaking it once. “Just Senara. It is a pleasure to meet you. I wish it could have been under better circumstances, but I did not wish to jeopardize any connections you could have made with an outsider’s presence.”

That was. . . rather nice, actually. “And when that wasn’t going to happen, you made your move?” Anaïs asked, still hurting, but smiling slightly.

The Force Adept returned her smile. “In a way. When misery shared, misery is lessened. I had no one, and it was not pleasant.”

The Padawan blinked, and realized that, while she still felt the pain of the sudden loss of what she was starting to think of as her new friends, it already wasn’t as bad as it had been a few moments ago. “I. . . I suppose it is. Thank you.”

Senara nodded, “Keeping busy also helps. I do not know much of how Jedi use magick, but I have been learning how dese ‘Wizards’ do so. I could aid in translation.”

Looking past the other girl, towards the others, Anaïs saw Jabari was looking her way, and their gaze met. His eyes flicked to Senara, and he nodded the Padawan, an odd sort of subdued, resigned happiness in his Presence, before he turned away to talk to Itoro.

The Jedi looked to the non-Boyarian sitting with her, and nodded back. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.”

“It is no problem,” the girl smiled, “Also, have you tried the Iklan eggs? They are very good. Here have some,” she offered, indicating the vibrant green curds on her plate.

Anaïs speared some with her fork, and they were oddly sweet, but very good. Today hadn’t gone how she’d expected, but that might not’ve been entirely a bad thing.