>>5534392>>5534393>>5534396>>5534401>>5534408>>5534410>>5534423>>5534426>>5534428>>5534431>>5534515>>5534604>>5534608>>5534611>>5534756Ceyla looks understandably nervous as the other Jedi take seats on the floor of the cargo hold. She swallows audibly, then tentatively opines: “Master Farren, this…isn’t some sort of test, is it?”
“No,” you say emphatically, but gently. “Today just happens to be a lesson with an audience. But they’ll stay quiet. Only after we finish each exercise will they offer any critiques or criticisms.”
It’s more for her sake than theirs. The others already know how this would look like, and you warned them to stay quiet. Sharing looks is fine, but whispering and muttering would be a distraction. Ceyla would worry herself into a nervous mess with every whisper, fretful that she might have messed up or executed something better.
Not that she necessarily knows that. The weight of the masters’ collective gazes doesn’t slide so easily off her back as it does yours.
You shrug. “Besides, it’s better that they’re here than not where I can’t see them.”
THAT gets them to grumble or complain. The spell is broken, and Ceyla can’t help but snort, then hastily cover her mouth. “<span class="mu-i">Snrk</span>. And, uh...master, what about…?”
Her voice trails off as she mentions for you to bend down. You acquiesce, then she leans into your ear to whisper: “What about Master Potkin?”
“…ruminating in the bacta tank last time I checked,” you answer just as quietly. “Elba rigged a security camera, and Suzel set up a motion detector near the tank.”
Nobody’s getting in or out of the medbay without tripping at least one alarm.
“Let’s run through the katas first,” you say, raising your voice and pulling away. “We’ll move onto blaster deflection training after.”
“Ah…right.” Behind her blindfold, her brow sharpens into a determined expression. Her lightsaber comes up in a high guard, held with two hands above her head. “I’m ready.”
There comes a moment where you genuinely forget that there are others in the room. All of your focus and mental energy goes to your padawan, and in turn, she does the same. The Force flows between master and apprentice as the universe is reduced to only a handful of meters, and the blue-golden glow of your lightsabers.
The defensive postures, overhand strikes, parries and counterstrikes eventually gain speed. Soon, muscles begin to burn from exertion. Perspiration eventually begins to run down the crown of your head, and into your eyes. The sweat stings, and you blink it away and hone your focus, carving the air again and again and again. The physical world and all its limitations are obstacles in the way of becoming more unified with the Force.
(cont.)
