He did not draw his blade.
Even as the Flesh Raiders charged down the slope, teeth bared and weapons crude but effective, he stood still at the edge of the forest, eyes half-closed, listening. Not to them. To the world. The birds had fled. The leaves were whispering warnings. The Force here was thick with imbalance churning beneath the surface.
A padawan near him shouted. Someone ignited a saber and met the rush with a panicked cry. He didn't move.
When a Raider came too close, he sidestepped fluidly, touching its chest with a single hand. The creature seized up mid-lunge, breath caught in its throat, then fell backwards, unconscious.
He sighed.
Another mind twisted by rage. Another body shaped by pain. He hated this. Not the fighting, not even the suffering. He hated the waste. The needless cycles of fear, of violence, of silence.
They were taught to seek balance, but no one ever told them what to do with grief. No one explained what it meant when you looked at a charging monster and felt pity instead of fear.
"You're not like the others," Master Silu had told him once. "You hesitate because you see too much. You listen too closely. That can be dangerous."
He hadn't argued. It was true. But it wasn't hesitation. It was understanding.
More screaming. A Flesh Raider was using a broken vibroblade to drag down a young Twi'lek initiate. The boy moved forward calmly, and deliberately and pulled the attacker away with a wave of his hand. The air trembled as the creature slammed into a boulder. This time, he didn't hold back.
The Twi'lek looked up, shaken but alive. "You… you're not even a Padawan yet, right?"
"No," he replied, voice quiet. "Not yet."
He didn't smile. Just helped the initiate to his feet, then turned his eyes toward the deeper wilds of Tython, where the corrupted tremor in the Force pulsed strongest.
He'd follow it soon. Not because someone told him to. But because something out there was pulling at him. And he wanted to know why.
-----------
The last of the Flesh Raiders fell without a sound. The hum of her saber faded, and the glade went quiet. Just breath. Just blood on the leaves. Just the tremble of the Force easing back into stillness.
She deactivated her weapon, eyes scanning the treeline. Two initiates were helping each other limp away, bruised but alive. Another sat with a broken arm, clutching it but keeping still. Training had drilled discipline into them, but barely. Without her, most would've died here.
She exhaled. Too many raids. Too close to the temple.
From the corner of her eye movement, silent and unhurried. "Kaelen," she said without turning.
He stepped out from behind a low tree. Not a scratch on him. No saber drawn. His robe was slightly dirty like he'd sat down to watch the fight rather than take part.
"You didn't help," she said flatly.
"I didn't need to," he replied, voice soft and oddly musical. "You had it under control."
"That's not the point."
He walked toward the fallen Raider leader—its crude armour marked with tribal etchings and knelt beside the corpse.
"She was calling for something," he murmured. "Not in words. Not even to the others. But in the Force. Like… a beacon. Like she was afraid."
"They always fight like they're afraid."
"No," Kaelen said. "This one was different. She wasn't hunting. She was warning. And she died before she could finish."
The Shadow trainee—Nerai, that was her name—folded her arms. "You say things like that, and the Masters think you're insightful. You say them too often, they might start to wonder if you're hearing the wrong voices."
He looked up at her, expression unreadable. "And you don't hear anything at all?"
She didn't answer. He rose and looked down at the Raider again, brow furrowed like someone reading a difficult text.
"She kept reaching out before she died. Not toward me. Toward the caves, in the south. Something is stirring out there. Not Flesh Raiders. Something darker."
Nerai frowned. "You sound like a Seer."
"I don't see the future," Kaelen said. "I just listen when everyone else is shouting."
She regarded him for a long moment. Too calm. Too still. Like the Order taught him stillness but left out the part where he was supposed to live.
"I finished the mission," she said. "Reported to Master Yuon. They'll send knights to clear the path and post guards. The valley's secure."
Kaelen nodded, distracted. "They'll be too late for what's coming."
And he walked past her, heading deeper into the woods. She watched him go, brow furrowed.
Strange.
They were both initiates. Same age. Same training schedule. But he felt like something the Jedi hadn't meant to find. And she wondered if she'd follow him into the dark or try to pull him back from it.
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They slipped into the ravine under the cover of the early morning haze, sunbeams fractured by Tython's high canopy. Smoke still rose from the ruined meditation enclave behind them, faint against the blue sky, but Nerai didn't look back. Her focus was on Kealen—walking just ahead, stepping carefully, almost too calm. He hadn't drawn his saber once on the way here.
She'd chosen to follow him.
Not because she trusted him. Not yet. But because she needed to know where he was headed. And whether she was strong enough to keep him from falling—or worse.
They moved quickly through the wilderness, deeper into the Flesh Raider territory than the Order normally dared go. Patrols had vanished here. Masters warned initiates off the trail. But the attacks had grown worse, and more organized, the whispers of a dark presence guiding the raiders could no longer be ignored.
Nerai deflected another bolt of crude blaster fire with a sharp flick of her saber, spinning low to disarm a Raider lunging from the underbrush. He fell, groaning, and she pressed forward—fast, efficient, her style marked by disciplined aggression. Kealen hadn't moved. Not a step closer. Not a single swing of his blade.
He watched.
She carved through the last of the patrol at the base of a jagged cliffside—five attackers in under thirty seconds, leaving only heavy breathing and the flicker of scorched leaves in her wake. Sweat clung to her temples, and a shallow cut bled from her forearm, but she was steady.
When they reached the cave—dark, ancient, and wrong—he finally walked beside her.
At its centre stood the source.
A man once Jedi, now cloaked in bitterness and rot. His lightsaber sputtered to life red and angry like a wound still bleeding. Yellow eyes gleamed from beneath his hood.
"You're too late," the dark Jedi rasped. "The Flesh Raiders are mine. Their rage, their hunger—it answers to me now."
Kealen stepped forward, gaze steady. "Then they were never yours. Rage doesn't obey. It only burns."
The dark Jedi lunged. But Nerai was faster.
She intercepted the first strike, their sabers colliding with a crack of light and force. The duel was fast and aggressive—Nerai giving no ground, her blade moving in precise arcs. She fought like someone trying to outpace the fear in her chest.
But the dark Jedi was powerful—erratic, yes, but dangerous. He lashed out with a sudden burst of Force lightning, fingers crackling with raw energy. Nerai gritted her teeth, bracing her saber to absorb the blow—but she couldn't stop it in time.
Then he was gone.
Flung backwards as if caught in a silent storm.
Kealen stood between them now, hand extended, lightsaber finally lit—its green blade humming softly like it had always been waiting. His expression hadn't changed. Calm. Focused.
"You'll find no victory here," he said.
The dark Jedi scrambled upright, fury overtaking him. "You think you're stronger than the dark? You don't even fight!"
"I don't waste energy on dying things."
Kealen stepped forward. The duel lasted less than ten seconds.
One exchange. One red slash parried and turned. A twist of the wrist, a soft pivot, and then the green blade pressed against the dark Jedi's heart—silent and final. He crumpled without fanfare.
Nerai approached slowly, wiping her brow. The cut on her arm stung, but it was shallow. Nothing broken. Nothing bruised. Just sweat, adrenaline, and the fading smell of ozone.
"That was… efficient."
"You bought the window," Kealen said. "I simply used it."
She eyed him, unsure. "Why wait so long?"
He looked at her for a long moment. "If you'd been at risk, I would have stepped in sooner. You weren't."
Nerai nodded, still catching her breath. "Let's get back. The Council will want to hear how this ended."
Kealen extinguished his blade and fell into step beside her. "And prepare for whatever comes next."