Emotion, Yet Peace

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

Sometimes, Laeo regretted being magnanimous.

Those times were few and far between; he rarely ever acted in anyone else’s interest but his own. Still, rarely was more than never, and just a short while ago, Laeonas Tannaras would have stopped at nothing to get what he wanted.

But he hadn’t spent years in exile, steeped in meditation, training and self discipline to backslide so easily.

Nyxia had given him information. She’d told him what her gloves were, she’d told him who she’d bought them from, and she’d told him who she used to work for. It was enough to narrow his search and give him a head start.

That was a year ago.

Black sun’s influence in the outer room was broad, loose, and nearly invisible. Laeo’s modest connections in the criminal underworld gave him some contacts, but he’d never even done business with the black sun. Even if he had, he couldn’t just walk up and ask about a “Crater” and get an invitation to meet him.

Part of him regretted just taking the information Nyxia had offered and leaving at that. Part of him wished he’d taken more– demanded more. How many fruitless dead ends and pointless pursuits had he followed? How much time had he wasted, how many fights had he gotten into? It would’ve been quicker and easier to take all the girl had.

It was thoughts like those that tested him the most. The whispers that urged him to give in. The kind that insisted he was weak, foolish, cowardly for not taking all he could.

It took focus to remember that it was bullshit. Strength wasn’t quick, it wasn’t easy. Following his inhibitions and doing as he pleased was. He’d spent years on his own, lashing out at the galaxy, and that had brought him was pain and weakness. He’d been nothing but a thug who could choke people with his mind when he’d met the the Grandmaster; now, he’d never been stronger. His command over the force, his technique, his reflexes and his actual strength– all of it had grown during his exile. He wasn’t a Jedi any longer, but he followed their teachings more closely today than he ever did while a Padawan.

Whether or not they would’ve approved of his current quest, he didn’t know. Eph had taught him the value of knowledge, and more recently, Nyxia had reminded him of the most important lesson he’d learned.

“In the right hands, they can do some good.”

These were the thoughts that dwelled in his mind as he sat in the back corner of the ratpit of a cantina he now sat in.

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

Laeo had a fairly precise idea of what he ought to expect, seeing as he’d gone through the song and dance of these deals for 11 months. It usually began by sitting for an indeterminately long amount of time at a seedy bar, throwing back pints of high proof beer and ale until he was mildly intoxicated. This was perhaps the easiest part of the job, as this was part of his weekly routine.

Eventually, one of three things would happen. Either he would spot an especially suspicious looking individual, a suspicious looking individual would sit close to him, or a suspicious individual would start looking at him. Accordingly, he would either approach that individual, allow them to approach him, or, in the case of the stalker, would promptly get up and leave– to which there was a chance that the suspicious individual would follow him out.

At that point he would broach either basic conversation, or begin making his way through the seediest, most crime ridden and unprotected part of the tiny trading outpost or urban slum he was currently in. At that point, the suspicious individual would usually try and rob him– and what came next was always some level of brutality that left his assailant screaming.

“AYYYYY!” The Gran screeched as her forearm snapped like a twig. Her blaster had skidded across the ground, far from her grip after Laeo had knocked it from her hand and punched her hard enough to crack her jaw and send four of her teeth flying. When she hit the ground, he had seized one of her arms and brought one of his feet down into her shoulderblade, prompting a howl of pain as the spiked grips cut through fabric and dug into flesh.

She quite large for a gran, only a centimeter shorter than he was and much more broadly built. She probably hadn’t intended for it to come to close quarters; she probably hadn’t intended to be the one screaming by the end of the night either.

Laeonas wore a businesslike calm across his face as he brought the steel toe of his boot careening into the woman’s ribs; the distinct cracking of bones prompted a level of satisfaction that a younger Laeo would’ve found unsatisfactory.

He considered that a good thing.

“Who do you work for?” He asked, enunciating each word in a cold, monotone expression.

“<Nobody! I work alone, alOOOOAAAAAAH!>” The woman screeched as Laeonas casually snapped her pinky, tears pouring from all three of her eyes.

“You’re freelance? The black sun has run the show on this moon for 80 fucking years, and you’re telling me you’re freelance?” Laeonas asked, raising his voice above her cries. He didn’t bother dignifying her with his huttese; it wasn’t like hers was particularly impressive either.

“<I-I’m just a local enforcer! I guard spice deals, collect protection fees! They let me get up to what I want on my own!>” She confessed. The fact that the woman so easily confessed was a surprise to the human; on Brentaal, being a rat got you crucified. “Black Sun’s more merciful, I guess.” he thought to himself.

“And who does the selling during these deals?” He snapped, applying more pressure to her shoulder blade. She let out another grunt of pain, gritting her teeth.

“<Nnngh– it’s a bunch of different people! I haven’t got their names, I barely even– GAAAAAH!” The Gran howled with pain as Laeo twisted, her arm popping out of its socket.

“Names. Or I start taking fingers.” He loudly declared, pinching one of her knuckles.

“<Fuck, I– Jobar, Kolmad, Anren, Crater->” The Brentaalan would suddenly take his boot off the woman’s back, yanking her up by her broken arm.

“Where is he?” He’d ask, leaning in close enough so all three of her eye stalks could take in nothing but his face.

“<I– who–”

“The last one.”

Her eyes widened a little, confusion spreading across her face. “<He– he’s not on planet. I think he’s heading to some backwater moon in the next system.>” She said.

Laeo began applying pressure to one of her knuckles, and he watched. Closely.

How many times had he done this during his youth? The cracking of bone, the agonizing pain of those he interrogated. He’d gotten very, very good at telling when people were lying to him; whether they were ignorant or had something to hide, whether they were giving him everything or holding something back.

The Gran was being honest.

Without another word, he brought his fist careening into her temple. It only took two blows to knock her out cold.

When he arrived at the ICU, the droid at the front desk started chattering away at him. Dropping the woman on an empty sofa, he shuffled a few hundred credit chips into the front pockets of one of her jackets. A younger man would’ve taken her wallet and left her in the alley with a few open stab wounds. He considered this an improvement.

He doubted anyone else would.

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

It was a slow night for Crater– a slow month, really. Black Sun’s supply lines had been constrained thanks to the anarchy spreading across the galaxy. It didn’t matter much to him personally, but it mattered a lot to his business.

He almost considered going back to smuggling. It was easy to convince a naive customer that the junk he sold was actually worth something. He’d been a total smallfry back then, sure, but he made less money these days than he did back then.

Glancing around the dimly lit warehouse entrance, Crater would grab a deathstick from his pocket. Lighting it, he would put it to his lips and take a long drag, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. It didn’t take long for it to run dry, and as he reached for the light again, it slipped from his fingers.

“Kriff,” he grumbled, reaching down, grabbing the now filthy lighter.

When he turned to look up again, the man was standing there.

Crater’s eyes widened, and he stumbled back, clutching at his chest. The Aqualish stared with frightened confusion, reaching down to where he’d holstered his blaster–

“Don’t.” The man called, loud enough to be heard, quiet enough to make it clear that nothing Crater did could stop him.

He decided to keep his fingers hovering, taking a few steps back. How had this guy gotten so close? How long had he been here?

“Who– what the kark are you doing here?!” The Aqualish snarled. The man regarded his question with disinterest, and began to walk forward.

“Stay back!” He barked, fingers reaching for his blaster– right as it violently flew from the holster, and into the man’s hand.

Even through his panic, Crater knew what that trick meant. “Jedi,” he said, before screaming, “HELP! IT’S A JEDI!” He turned to run, before realizing he was blocked off by the fencing and crates surrounding the warehouse. The human, for his part, would drop the blaster and begin to advance again.

“How the fuck did you get here?! GUARDS! GUARDS, THERE’S AN INTRUDER!” The aqualish screamed again, in a full blown panic. How had this one found him? What did he even want? Why wasn’t the Jedi just choking him so he stayed quiet? That was something they did, right?

“They’re not coming.” The man answered, in a flat, icy tone. He didn’t elaborate further. He didn’t need to. Noone was coming to help Crater. Noone else knew where they were.

“Please,” he began to beg, dropping to his knees. “I’ll– I have money. Do you want the deathsticks? You can have all of them, I just got a new shipment-”

“Quiet.” The man said, and Crater was silent.

“Do you remember Nyxia?” He’d ask, in a tone that sounded like he’d done this before. Crater’s four eyes widened further when the human asked his question– not out of fear, but confusion.

“Who– what?” He repeated.

The man took another step closer, and Crater’s hearts skipped a beat. “I- I swear, I don’t know! What’s a Nyxia?!” He asked, pleading.

“You met her.” The human declared simply. “You sold her a pair of gloves– Matukai guantlets.” The man explained. Crater stared like the human had just lost his mind; for all he knew, the man had. The empty look in his eyes, the way he just… stood there. All of it felt off.

And then, in an act of divine pity, Crater suddenly remembered.

“Y-yeah! The devil girl, right? Purple skin, black eyes, huge horns?!” He asked. “Yeah, the Tiefling. You sold her gauntlets.” The man declared. Even if he hadn’t, the way the human just laid down the statement would’ve convinced him that he had.

“I– yeah, they were broken and busted up. Tried to make em work, but I couldn’t do it. I sold them to her like they worked though, for the price they ought to have gone for if they did.” Crater declared, feeling a smug confidence that he’d managed to hoodwink a teenage girl.

“They work.” Laeonas stated simply. Crater blinked again, surprised by that more than anything else. “Wha– they do?”

“Where can I find more?” The man asked, and Crater knew he wasn’t going to get any further explanation. “I… I found them in an old outpost, years ago.” The Aqualish answered. When the man seemed unsatisfied, he added, “On Karvoss! I made a junk run on Duro, took a pit stop on this shitty little backwater before I arrived.” He added.

“There was… we found a few bodies. They looked like they’d died in a fight– we uh… stripped them.” he admitted.

The man didn’t respond. He took another step forward, and, slowly, he asked,

“...are you sure that’s all?”

Crater knew that, if the man didn’t get the answer he liked, that would be it. He’d be dead, and there was nothing and noone who could save him.

“I swear, that’s where we found them. They’re probably still there.”

“Where on the planet is it?”

“Close to the polar region, between this… fuck, these hills. You can only see it with a bird’s eye view.”

The man pulled back, and remained still for a moment. He began to turn, but before he did, he added,

“I’m not a Jedi.”

From what Crater could hear, there was a hint of shame in the human’s voice. As he turned and walked, the dealer stood there, stunned. He was certain that he might die– that his last moments alive would be spent at that human’s mercy, being mercilessly interrogated until he was finally disposed of.

Instead, he’d just left him unharmed– unharmed, and alone.

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

The trip to Karvoss had been relatively short, though it felt much longer. Laeo had been deep in thought and meditation through the entire trip, contemplating the events of the past year, and how he’d gotten to this point.

It felt easier than it should’ve, especially at the end. He’d been reluctant to use violence against after the violent interrogation he’d dealt in that alleyway. He’d planned to go easy on Crater– maybe a blow or two to the stomach to get the point across, but no broken bones, missing fingers or facial maimings.

Bribing the guards to let him through for a “talk” had been surprisingly cheap; almost as surprising as Crater’s cowardice. Back home, even the most spinelest men and women in Laeo’s profession would’ve at least demanded a bribe for Crater’s information. The Aqualish had offered it freely, terrified based on some basic intimidation tactics from his days as a gangster.

After such a long journey, his final challenge had barely been a bump along the road. He dwelled on that for far longer than he should’ve; considering everything, he should’ve been proud. Laeonas had won– he had completed his search after what felt like forever, and the Brentaalan could finally get what he wanted.

When he dropped out of hyperspace, Laeonas could already see that Crater hadn’t been lying about how utterly barren Karvos was. Usually he would’ve picked up holonet transmissions or been contacted by the planetary or local port authorities; all he received was silence. A preliminary scan of the planet showed that there was barely any indications of civilization, the highest concentrations of sentient life not even reaching the tens of thousands.

It only worsened when he broke through the atmosphere and began his extensive search of the polar regions. The mountainous terrain and poor weather left very few places where he could actually land, and whatever outposts or settlements he passed over didn’t seem to have any proper landing facilities. He knew he should’ve been searching for an abandoned outpost, but the endless mountains, already sparsely populated, offered no such ruins immediately.

This was going to take awhile.

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

When he found the outpost, it didn’t look the way Crater had suggested it would.

It was old. The architecture was unlike anything he’d seen before. There was an open courtyard in the center, with a wide, angular gate-arch, standing over what looked like a mile of primitive stone stairs up the side of the mountain; stairs he had just finished walking up. He could’ve tried landing in the courtyard, but, surprisingly, there were lifesigns in there; if they were who he was hoping to find, he didn’t want to risk pissing them off with where he chose to land.

Between the sweat that came with climbing a mile long flight of stairs and the chill of the high altitudes, he was feeling ever so slightly exhausted. He was used to exerting himself on a daily basis, but hiking through the mountains was something completely different. His Mother used to tell him stories about their mountain dwelling ancestors; he could imagine them laughing at him for getting winded after a hike they would’ve found modest.

Reaching the gate, he let out a groan, wiping the sweat off his brow as he wandered through and into the courtyard. He didn’t see anyone initially, but he knew the outpost wasn’t deserted. He could feel something here. This place was old, and enough people strong in the force had come through here that it had made an impression on the force. It was unlike the background light or darkness he found in similar places; there was no subtle malevolence or nothingness like on that cursed world he’d wound up on or the Sith outpost he pillaged. Neither was it like Tython or the temple on Yavin IV, bathed in light and serenity.

It felt more… alive.

Obviously, the force was life, but this wasn’t the kind of presence he was used to. On urban worlds like Brentaal, the force was noise more than anything else. He could feel the thoughts, emotions and presence of every living thing, all around him whenever he concentrated. When he was more inexperienced he’d shut out the profane world and focused entirely on the spiritual; his masters and other instructors at the temple had taught him that was folly. Understanding of the force only came from observing the spiritual and profane in congress.

There… wasn’t much spirituality here. There was no sense of peace, no sense of welcome and understanding. There was no sense of evil, malevolence or foreboding. It felt as if the force itself were a living, breathing thing; like a wellspring of warmth and…

…vitae.

He didn’t know where the word came from as it entered his mind. He froze momentarily, glancing around.

He suddenly felt unease. The hairs on his back stood up as he clutched at the hilt of his sword. Reaching out with the force, he felt nothing but this place; nothing but the undiluted, raw presence of life and physicality that it represented.

Slowly, he calmed down.

When he turned back to where he was facing, he barely managed to avoid the fist that would’ve collided with his face.

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

“HOLY FUCKING SHI-”

He managed to screech those words right before a second blow nearly collided with his head. Rolling out of the way, Laeo tried to draw his sword, but another set of blows pushed him onto the backfoot. He found himself retreating, barely managing to dodge each one as they flew at him.

His assailant moved like a blur, fists moving so fast that he could hardly keep track of them. Avoiding attacks like these were usually a breeze for Laeo; the force gave him the ability to anticipate his opponent’s attacks. He could dodge a punch coming in from his left side because part of him knew it would be thrown at his left side. Instinct and intuition were augmented by the power of the force, and it meant that most normal people couldn’t even hope to touch him.

This was not a normal person.

He realized that as he felt himself pressing into the back of a nearby wooden support beam, having been sent meters across the yard within seconds. He simply dropped, unable to pull the usual elaborate evasive maneuvers he was used to, but it saved his life as the blow meant for him hit the support beam– and it exploded into wood chips.

A look of horror spread across Laeo’s face as he saw the result, and, gathering the force, he let it explode outward in a crude push. His assailant was pushed back for the first time, sent flying several meters and hitting the stone ground with a thud.

He heard a curse escape their lips, and as Laeo looked over, he finally got a proper look at his assailant. They seemed young, perhaps in their late teens. Their skin was pale; not like his, but actually lacking any pigmentation. They had long dreads that cascaded down their shoulders, and they whipped around as they turned, hopped to their feet and launched themselves at him.

Laeo had already scrambled to his feet, and had actually managed to draw his sword– which was battered out of his hand in an instant. The weapon went clattering across the courtyard as he was forced into a backfoot-run, the unrelenting assault of the young, gauntlet wearing assailant.

That was, until a loud, booming voice roared an “ENOUGH!”

Both Laeo and his attacker froze in place, not out of their own volition, but by a very powerful grip in the force. At once, they were hurled in opposite directions, with Laeo slamming into a nearby tree, and his attacker managing to stifle their landing.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” That same voice asked again. Dazed, Laeo would look off to his side, spying a dark skinned, older looking humanoid glaring at his attacker.

“Mistress, this intruder– I found them wandering around the courtyard, bearing steel! I thought he might be a bandit, or-”

“You do not attack trespassers on your own, Caladre!” The woman snapped, before a pair of bright green eyes landed on Laeo.

At once, he was pulled across the courtyard. Laeo’s head had hit the tree pretty hard, and he was halfway dazed, but he still tried his best to resist.

“Lemme go… I ain’t ‘ere fer a fight…” he snarled, but another force-grip of his jaw shut him up.

“Xodkes, Unlam!” She called. Two others, one an adolescent, pink skinned humanoid and a stony skinned male who looked more around his age rushed out.

“Take this one into custody.”

“Wai-” he tried again, but a blow to Laeo’s stomach completely drove the breathe from him, and he promptly vomited all over the stone pavement as the two hauled him off.

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

“Wake up.”

A familiar voice went through one of his ears and out the other. His eyes remained closed, and he remained slumped against a wall.

For a moment, nothing happened; and than, he felt a grip like ice on his bare wrist. Eyes shot open, and he let out a yelp as he scrambled back, glancing around the dimly lit room he had woken up in.

“Wha– who the fu– what’s going-” he began, but his lips were pinched closed with the force.

“I’ll be asking questions,” the older woman from the courtyard snapped, arms crossed as she looked down at him. Laeo took a moment to regard her, along with two other obscured figures behind her. From a cursory glance, it seemed like he was in a cell– a small, cramped room with an open door and a small window above him. Whoever these people were, they had made him their prisoner.

“Who are you?” the woman would ask. From the expression she wore, it was clear that she wasn’t going to ask twice. Though tired and slightly delirious, Laeo knew he had to choose his words carefully if he wanted to get out of here. That teenager hadn’t been fighting to subdue him; they’d been fighting to kill, and if the rest of these people felt the same as they had then he needed to be careful.

“...Laeo. I’m Laeo.” He introduced himself. The woman glanced at the other two for a moment, before turning back. “What are you doing here, Laeo? Why’d you travel out here, in the middle of nowhere, armed and dangerous?”

He frowned at her question, pondering the answer. “I saw this outpost from orbit. There wasn’t a suitable place to land anywhere close, so I landed 10 miles away and walked.” He answered calmly and truthfully.

“You didn’t see anywhere else that was inhabited– and yet you chose to bring weapons? What were you planning to do?” She asked with a hint of accusation. The Brentaalan pursed his lips, answering, “I bring my weapons everywhere. There’s danger traveling alone, and I didn’t know if there were people here– or if they were friendly. Obviously they didn’t do me any good though.” He sarcastically remarked.

He watched as the woman’s expression soured– and then, without warning, she kicked him in the stomach. Hard.

The Brentaalan doubled over and began violently coughing, the force of the blow even worse than the one that had knocked him out of commission. Before he could slip into unconsciousness again however, he felt a hand wrapping around his neck as he was effortlessly dragged up to stand again.

“Listen to me,” the woman whispered in a menacing tone. “The only reason you’re alive is because I can’t be sure you’re an immediate threat to my students– but that won’t mean I’ll tolerate some random pirate’s insolence.” She snapped. “Speak to me like that again, and I’ll put out your tongue.” She declared, before dropping him back to the floor. The man would gasp out for breathe, coughing before finally writing himself, his pale face blushing in a mixture of embarrassment and rage at her treatment.

She was more serious than he expected– he would remember that.

“Now, I’ll give you time to think about your answers. We can continue when you realize the gravity of your situation.” She declared. Turning on her heels, she would leave, along with the others.

“Wait,” Laeo called meekly, eyes widening as the door began to close. His mind flashed back to the weeks he’d spent imprisoned in his youth; the constant indignities, and the isolation.

“Wait, no, no WAIT!” He screeched– and the force would push into his steps as he ran out of the cell.

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

“What i- HEY!” A voice called as Laeonas slammed into a wall. He let out a grunt as the air was driven from his lungs, but his legs scrambled like a fawn in mud to get him back on his feet. Boots dug into ancient stone as he tore down the hall, the sounds of his pursuers gaining on him. The force and all its power drove into him now, summoned up to fuel his muscles and drive him faster than he’d ever been before.

He didn’t know this place, didn’t know where he was running. Every corridor was new, every hall or room he turned to was alien.

But they knew this place, and they were making use of it. The initial shock had left them dumbfounded, until that older woman had shouted, “GIVE CHASE, IDIOTS!” Her younger followers had thus pursued, and now he could feel them on his heels like hounds.

He turned, and a flight of stairs had greeted him. He let out a curse as he started climbing, double, no, triple step. It was like he was making a small leap with every step, climbing until he rounded down another hallway, poorly lit and obviously ill traveled. His jacket fluttered behind him, the slight drag enough to cause him to cast it off. He heard a supernaturally quick woosh, followed by a muffled curse right as he heard fabric slapping against something.

Another turn; another hallway… and it had an end. Plaster, and probably stone behind it. He couldn’t stop running though; they’d catch him, and drag him back to that cell, where they’d hold him for Gods knew how long and do Gods know what to him.

But he had nowhere else to run. He was running out of ground to cover, running down a hallway dimly lit by light coming in from a single window on the side.

A single, paper and wooden window.

His eyes would light up as he continued sprinting, 30 feet, 20, 10 until the end. He could feel them gaining on him, their footfalls and breathe practically in his ears. We have him, they must have thought, right as he turned and ran into the side of the wall.

Without thinking, he turned to the wall, and kicked off it– smashing through the window in a hale of ancient cotton cloth and splintered wood. He covered up his head as he heard branches cracking beneath him until he hit the soil with a painful thud.

Scrambling to his feet, Laeonas looked around wildly. He was back in the courtyard; a completely different side, but the gate wasn’t far. The two who’d been following him– his assailant from the yard and the larger man he’d seen earlier– were standing in the threshold, dumbstruck. It took a moment, but they would regain their focus and leap from the window, gracefully landing with a barely audible clack of their boots.

Laeo’s chest was heaving up and down as the two started to approach him. Turning, he wondered if he could make it to the gate before they apprehended him. Even if he could, how much longer after that? A few hundred feet down the path? A mile? He was exhausted; coming down from the adrenaline and force induced high he’d had while running down the hall, the physical exertion of the day had crashed into him like a speeder. He was bruised, his face covered in cuts from the twigs, aching and panting heavily.

His two gauntlet wearing assailants didn’t even look winded. Their chests rose evenly, and they moved confidently, years of training showing on their brows. These force adepts had physical capabilities that simply outclassed his own. He couldn’t beat them in a test of speed or endurance. He couldn’t escape.

But that wouldn’t mean he’d give up.

The two students were almost on him when he did a leap backwards, summoning the force to put distance between them. His legs locked into a stance, turning on his side as he rose both arms up. They stood guard for his chest, midsection and face, curled fists hanging and ready to strike.

His two assailants stopped in their tracks, surprised. They regarded him with confusion; then, visible amusement. One began to laugh, and then, the other. They were both chuckling heartily, until a familiar, cruel voice cut them off.

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

“What are you two laughing about?” The older woman snapped, her harsh, domineering tone silencing them both. Laeo turned, aquamarines widening as she strode out into the courtyard. Gods, not her. She treated these two like rowdy grandchildren; what was she capable of if she outclassed them by such a wide margin?

“Caladre? Unlam? What’s so funny?” She asked, stepping closer to the two of them. She didn’t even regard Laeo, standing ready to assault the other two.

“Mistress, the prisoner… he tried to escape, and now he’s trying to… fight back.” The larger man– the one Laeo guessed was Unlam– answered.

“Really? I don’t really think that’s funny. Are you two laughing about the fact that you let this trespasser run for two whole minutes like a maniac through our halls instead of bringing him down?” She asked, bearing down on the two with a quiet, cold fury.

“We…” the one who’d assailed him originally, who he guessed was Caladre, stammered. “He just… I mean, there’s no way he can…”

“Match you?” The woman finished, arching a brow. “Yes, you’re right. He shouldn’t be able to match you– and yet he has. You, students of Matukai, couldn’t apprehend an escaped prisoner– a tired, fatigued trespassing prisoner!” She exclaimed, eyes burning holes into her student’s souls.

Laeo watched in bewilderment at the performance before him. It looked like a poorly written comedy skit, but it was real.

More than that, he was gripped by a sudden sense of recognition. He hadn’t had an opportunity to process it before, but now, he could see, plainly. The gauntlets. The endless stamina and supernatural speed.

“Matukai,” he repeated aloud, almost breathless. The two students glanced at him for a moment, their eyes widening– but their mistress seemed uninterested in anything Laeo had to say.

“Caladre! What’s so interesting about that prisoner that you ignore my words?” She snapped.

“Mistress, he– he knows who we are!”

At that, the older woman would glance at him, and she seemed to see him for the first time. She took a moment to regard him, giving Caladre a final, accusatory glance before she turned to him.

“Do you?” She asked, taking a step forward. Laeonas’ stance hardened as he brought his fists further up as a warning– and this time, the mistress joined in her student’s amusement, a smirk playing across her lips.

“Put your hands down, boy. They won’t do you any good.” She said casually. Laeo’s stance didn’t budge.

Her smirk faded. “Surrender. I may consider letting you live if you relent and return to your cell.”

“No,” Laeo answered, his voice a low, roiling snarl. “I won’t be your prisoner. I didn’t come here to be beat down, locked up and put down like a rabid kath hound.” He spat, fire burning behind aquamarines as he straightened his stance.

She stared at him, her look a mixture of curiosity and burning indignation.

“Caladre; you said this force adept knows who we are,” she said, shooting her student a glance. They nodded; “He said Matukai. He knows.”

“Than he knows what we’re capable of.” She spoke, taking another step forward.

“Back off!” Laeo shouted, the force whirling around him like a hurricane, ready to lash out like a whip, coiling in his fists. “I know what you can do– I saw that one shatter hard oak like it was glass! I felt those two running on my heels, ready to run me down like bulls– but that doesn’t mean I won’t beat the ever loving FUCK out of any one of you!” He shouted, eyes blazing in defiance.

“Than why don’t you, boy? Try and defend yourself!” She snapped.

He didn’t need another invitation. With a snarl, he lunged forward, his fist shooting out like a slug from a thrower, aimed square at her chest. Despite the ferocity in his blows and the booming defiance in his voice, Laeo was focused, calm, as close to peace as he could muster. His attack was precise, forceful. If it had hit her, it would’ve likely cracked a rib.

But it didn’t. Almost in a flash, she dodged, and Laeo’s fist tore through the air. Laeo’s eyes widened; noone escaped a punch like that, but the mistress had done it effortlessly.

He didn’t dwell on it as he turned on his heel, his other leg winding up and striking out towards her midsection, but the mistress simply stepped back. Thinking on his feet (or foot in this case) he drove his heel into the stone, lunging with hands outstretched to seize her throat–

But she ducked, and delivered the hardest blow he’d ever felt straight into his thigh.

A scream escaped Laeo’s lips as he fell, but he’d scramble back onto his feet, relieving as much pressure as he could off his leg. Looking over at his opponent, he saw her– smiling at him.

“This is what gave my students so much trouble?!” She mocked, glancing over at his two former assailants, now embarrassed spectators.

“I don’t know who I should be more disappointed in; you for being such a letdown, or them for not apprehending you!” She exclaimed, a cruel grin stretched across her face.

Emotion, yet peace, emotion, yet peace, emotion–

“Shut up.” He snarled. It came involuntarily, instinctively. When she heard it, her smile faded. “I’d thought you would learn to stay down.” She whispered, her tone a low menace.

“What did you come all this way for, boy? To throw shoddy punches and run your mouth?” She asked mockingly, taking a few steps forward. Laeo’s stance hardened, and his eyes burned with indignation.

“Or did you come here to learn?” She asked. He flinched a little, and she grinned this time. Not out of amusement; no, this smile was cruel, harsh.

“Then let this be your first lesson.”

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

It lasted about a minute. Maybe less.

He would throw another punch, one she would dodge. He would bring his knee up as she ducked beneath another blow, hoping to catch her off guard. As if the universe itself wished to punish him for even suggesting that she could be hit, the older woman’s neck twisted out of the way– just as her fist hit him between the legs.

There were no words to describe the pain Laeo felt as her knuckles ground into his groin. There were no sounds either. Laeo had a high enough pain tolerance that he could shrug off the pain of almost any blow, but he was still a man. Not in the “only human” sense, but in the literal fact that he was male.

A high pitched whining noise escaped his lips as he hit the ground, before a ragged gasp for air croaked out of his throat.

“I thought I might actually break a sweat with this one, seeing as the two of you could barely keep up with him.” The mistress purred in a tone full of mockery and scorn. She lazily turned to face her two students, red with shame, one looking down at the ground and one angrily looking over at Laeo, his eyes widening and lips parting. “When we’re finished, I-”

“YYIIAAAAEEEE!”

The screech ripped through the air as Laeo’s arm shot up, veins bulging as fingers curled in a claw meant to wrap around the mistress’ throat. It was a dirty trick he used in the most desperate of circumsta-

Crack.

That was the sound his back made as he was thrown to the ground. The first thing he felt was the bite of her nails in his forearm, than the strain of his shoulder as it twisted upwards. The breathe had been knocked from his lungs, and he drew air in as quickly as he could, gasping and coughing as he writhed, letting out a cry as her grip in his arm intensified.

“Was that an attempt at catching me by surprise?” She’d ask, a look of scorn written across her face. Suddenly, the mistress would squeeze– and with a sickening crunch, the bones in Laeonas’ arms snapped like twigs.

A roar of pain erupted out of the Brentaalan’s throat, screaming louder than he thought possible. She would drop his arm in disgust and bring her boot down on his throat, reducing his cries to a gurgle.

“This is your lesson, filth. Failure and weakness lead to suffering, and I won’t suffer either from my students.” She spat, taking her foot off his neck. Her two other students bowed their heads in shame, recognizing that their own punishments would be due in short order.

But, they also realized something else.

“...begging your pardon, mistress– did you just call him a student?” One of them asked, mostly asking for clarification.

“Do you think I’d misspeak so foolishly?” She snapped, and the student bowed his head.

“I-I… I only meant to… he’s just so–”

“Weak? Pathetic? Foolish? What were– are any of you? What does it say of you that this self taught, shoddily trained amateur outran you? Is it wise to denigrate someone whose already your peer in all but instruction?” She’d ask, stepping closer like a predatory animal.

“No, mistress.”

“Then see that he’s given a bacta dip. Send the droids to disable the hyperdrive of his ship, confiscate his weapons and-”

“No.” a trembling voice spat. The pain had forced tears from his eyes, and his breathes came out ragged and shallow, but he had forced himself up onto two legs again. The mistress wheeled around, and with one blur of motion seized the Brentaalan by the collar and tossed him into a tree, knocking the breathe from him again.

“Perhaps shattering your arm didn’t get it into your head– what about tearing it off?!” she asked.

“NO!” Laeo cried– not out of defiance this time, but fear. Trembling, uncontrollable fear. He’d fought every step of the way since his capture, but the prospect of losing more of himself finally broke him.

“What, boy? Lost your nerve? You know you can’t stop me, don’t you?”

“...yes.” He whispered, voice trembling. “I can’t hear you! Can you stop me from taking all you have?! Can you stop me from breaking you like a twig, from snuffing your life out like a candle?!”

“NO!” He exclaimed again, the tears flowing freely now, the weight of his defeat crashing down on him. His skills, his Jedi training– none of it meant anything in the face of a master of her caliber.

“...and that is the beginning.” she whispered under her breathe, eyes gleaming as he prostrated himself, arm dangling.

“Get him to the medbay, and than return him to his cell. Those will serve as his quarters until he completes his training– or until he dies. Whichever comes first.”

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

Without so much as a pocket chrono or a calendar program, Laeo didn’t know how long it was until they formally “released” him. Not from the compound, ofcourse– merely from the periodic confinement in his new “quarters.” He was taken out of his cell for bacta dips and additional healing, but besides that he was left alone, eating off the trays of food they’d slip beneath his door.

When he asked questions, he was ignored, and he wasn’t foolish enough to try and make small talk with the students who looked like they were liable to pluck out of his tongue if he annoyed them.

So, Laeonas stayed silent. He woke, he ate, relieved himself, went to be healed, and then he meditated for as long as he could before dozing off again. For a man who’d spent most of his youth narrowly avoiding time in a prison cell, he found that the experience wasn’t nearly as torturous as he expected.

The lack of company or conversation was bothersome, but he didn’t let the lack of contact worsen his confinement. He took time to reflect on all that had happened; on the means he’d used to get here, on his conduct since his arrival.

He’d made mistakes. He should’ve gone in with an obviously non threatening presence. Counterintuitive as it may have sounded, looking more dangerous only escalated the chance of violence. It was a lesson he’d learned several times in his youth as a gangster; openly carrying weapons only invited people to use theirs.

His time as a petty bounty hunter and enforcer had numbed him to that lesson. Carrying a lightsaber on your hip kept most in line. The Jedi around him had never taken the presence of weapons to be a challenge.

But these people were not Jedi.

These… students of matukai were more aggressive than he’d expected. They’d taken his demeanor as an invitation to action. From how their mistress conducted herself, it seemed testing and demonstrating that strength was very important to them.

It was a surprise, and an unwelcomed one at that. He’d read as much as he could find about the Matukai in his years of searching. They honed their bodies into the only weapons they needed, and their view on the force differed significantly from the traditional light and dark binary that the Jedi and Sith upheld.

That being said, most of the texts he saw painted them in a benevolent light. They were self interested and didn’t intervene in galactic affairs, but they never used their strength to enforce their will on others either. He’d come expecting a colony of bees– gentle if left unprovoked, violent if disturbed.

Instead, he’d fallen into a hornet’s nest.

His open signs of aggression was almost as egregious as his weakness. His Jedi training had enhanced his reflexes and endurance, but it was nowhere near the level of physical conditioning the Matukai had reached. His weakness had invited their contempt, and so he’d been viciously punished for it.

He didn’t know when they’d let him go, or if they’d let him go. They were keeping him alive now, helping him recover. The mistress had mentioned training, but whatever instruction she was offering was likely far, far different from anything he could’ve anticipated.

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

“Wake up.” a now familiar voice called. The Brentaalan’s eyes would open slowly, focusing on the visage of Caladre; one of the students, and effectively his prison guard.

He knew better then to ask questions of his captors by this point. Laeonas would slowly rise to his feet, and follow the man as he wordlessly guided him down the hall, and out into the yard.

Around him, students of varying ages, sizes and species had paired off, trading blows in constant practice with one another. The sun had barely crested the horizon, but this was where near every one of the mistress’ students would be from now until dusk.

And thus, it would be the same for him, apparently.

He found the mistress standing beneath one of the many large trees spread across the yard. She was barefoot, a single toe pressed to the ground as she seemed to hover, balancing herself as she meditated. Caladre would walk him closer, bow his head, and then walk off to join the other students in training.

Laeonas stood awkwardly while the mistress didn’t pay him any mind, waiting for acknowledgement or instruction. He waited a minute, then a minute more. Patience was a lesson he’d had to learn again and again, but this was ridiculous. If the mistress was going to waste his time, he may as well have gone to meditate.

The thought barely exited his mind before things snapped into place.

His eyes ran over the mistress’ figure– in an entirely analytical sense– taking in the subtleties of her pose. He slipped out feelers in the force, trying to gage her state of mind by how the force moved around her. She was in a tranquil meditation, perfectly balanced on one toe of one foot. The position would’ve made anyone else look silly enough to be laughed at, but he was incapable of taking her any other way but with stone cold seriousness.

Slowly, the Brentaalan began to shift his weight onto one foot, then onto one toe. He had enough grace and mastery of his own conditioning that balance was hardly an issue. It didn’t come to him with the supernatural levels of grace that it reached the Mistress of the Matukai Arts before him, but he reached her position all the same. He took in a deep breath as he closed his eyes, beginning his meditation.

Slowly– more slowly than usual– he began to stretch out with his senses. The Jedi had taught him that putting aside the profane world while meditating was only seeing half the truth, and they were right. He could feel the force around him, surrounding everything and binding them together. He could feel the sweat pooling on the student’s brows, the rush of their pulses as they sparred together. He could feel the wind rustling through the leaves on the tree above him, water flowing through one-

Thwack.

Laeonas’ focus shattered as he was knocked on his ass, and into stunned silence as his eyes shot open. The mistress had wheeled her leg to the side and kicked him, knocking him off balance with a kick that was light enough to not cause any real damage, but hard enough so that when he landed, it hurt.

He winced, gritting his teeth before looking up in surprise. She hadn’t broken from her pose, but for the twisting kick, and her leg would neatly slip back into place.

“Wh-” he began, about to launch into a tirade before biting his tongue. He knew better than to talk back to her. She was liable to break his jaw with another kick– or pluck out his tongue, whichever she fancied.

“If you were about to ask what you did wrong, than I’ll forget what you were about to disrespect your teacher in such a way.” She answered coolly, her eyes remaining closed as she spoke.

“You may speak.” She added curtly.

“...what did I do wrong, mistress?” He said, enunciating every word with as much indignation as he could. She hardly cared about his attitude.

“What you did wrong? Your entire meditation routine is a joke. Jedi are pathetic, but like this? You’ll have to unlearn that shoddy training if we’re to make progress.” She snorted. Laeonas would blink, stunned by her recognition of his techniques.

“You– how did you know I was a Jedi?” he asked.

She snorted again, letting out a sigh. “I knew the second I saw you, boy. The way you fought my students, or ran from them? Even your stance gave it away.” She explained, much to Laeo’s surprise. Her familiarity with Jedi fighting styles was on a level of intimacy he couldn’t match. What experience did she have with the order that gave her such insight?

“...what can I do?” He asked suddenly, and her eyes snapped open, glaring at him. He quickly bowed his head, correcting his mistake. “What can I do to improve, mistress?” He begrudgingly asked, which prompted an approving nod.

“You take in the force completely wrong. You connect to it like it’s some ethereal, otherworldly being you’re communing with.” She said, speaking the words in a mock sage voice, before smacking her hands together. “No. The force is LIFE. You are the force– and not in the faux spiritual sense the Jedi have taught you. Your muscle, your sinew and bone– all of it lives and breathes with the world around you. When you draw on the force to concentrate, it should as if you draw from yourself– not some foreign thing, but your own mind and body.”

The brief lecture ended with her slipping back into form as Laeonas pondered her words. His understanding of the force and his palace in it had changed dramatically from his days as a self taught adept, but this had to be the most radical challenge to his perceptions thus far. He understood that all living things were connected to the force, but the mistress’ view was far more holistic than anything the Jedi had suggested.

It didn’t even feel like part of some ideology or code; from the way she delivered it, the woman. was just giving him advice on how to improve. All she was interested in was teaching him how to better himself, and nothing more.

“Return to your meditation. If you are to learn all I can teach you, you must understand the force as I and the rest of my students do. Until then, you will practice this meditation every day, from sunrise to sunset. When you are able to make it all the way to dusk without being moved, then you will be ready.” She declared, before closing her eyes and returning to meditation. Laeonas did the same.

He lasted about 30 seconds before she knocked him down again.

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

It took a month for him to figure out what he was doing wrong.

A month, spending all day from sunrise to sunset standing outside, getting knocked on his ass as he tried his best to meditate.

It was torturous at first. He couldn’t go a few minutes– a few seconds sometimes– without being topped over.

Any force user with a modicum of training had a touch of precognition they could call upon. In a stressful situation– be it combat, gambling or flying through an asteroid field– the force peeled back the veil of time within the profane world and gave a glimpse of possible futures. It usually manifested itself through a strong instinct that would help the force user anticipate what might come next. They might have a strong, certain feeling that their opponent in the ring would throw a left hook, or that the player across from them was blushing, or that they should take a dive 90 degrees, or an asteroid would probably blow them to bits.

It was a degree of foresight that left fighting non force users a much less challenging affair. Jedi and Sith could bat away bolts from a blaster with ease because they knew where the shots were coming from before they even left the barrel. In a hand to hand fight, a force user’s reflexes might seem supernaturally quick, when in reality they were simply moving according to the instinctive guidance of their sixth sense.

It didn’t make anyone superhuman, ofcourse; no amount of foresight could save you if you were surrounded on all sides by battle droids carrying gatling blasters. If an opponent’s reflexes were sharp enough and their fighting style was unconventional, it could overwhelm the pregognitive advantage of a force user and leave them a battered and bloodied mess.

Laeonas had been taught this lesson again and again. Each time he fell into a meditative trance, he’d have a split second where he knew the headmistress was about to strike– and he could barely open his eyes before a kick to the jaw, an uppercut, a knee to the groin or any other number of blows sent him to his knees, coughing and sputtering.

“Get up!” She’d always bark, grabbing him by the hair and pulling him to his feet. “Look at you! On your knees before me, and only after one blow! It’s no wonder you can’t succeed– you lack any resolve to push forward.” she had told him on the first day, when he hesitated to stand.

That had touched a nerve. Laeonas’ life had been one series of catastrophic misfortunes, and he’d always persisted. No matter how battered or bruised, physically, emotionally or spiritually, he had kept moving forward.

This wasn’t the worst pain he’d felt. This wasn’t the worst injury. This was practice. Perhaps a little more intense than the usual pull ups and squats, but the goal was the same– strength. Physical and spiritual, which, according to the headmistress, were one and the same.

When he got up, he shifted back into his stance accordingly, ignoring the aches from the most recent bruises. He took deep, heavy breaths, balancing as he reached out again. He felt the force around him, passing through him; that was where he began to focus.

He could feel the way it moved through his body. There wasn’t really a way to describe it. Water through a ravine, or heat spreading through a stone. It was from beyond him and within him at once, it pierced and spread and enveloped and dispersed. It was never stagnant, and yet it never changed.

It was life. It was everything around him, and it was him.

When a kick at his ribs came flying towards him, he flipped into a cartwheel, narrowly avoiding the blow– and then a push of the force sent him tumbling backwards, landing on his face.

“FUCK!” he cried, clutching at his bleeding nose while he turned to glare at the headmistress.

“Twenty nine days of getting knocked down. That’s how long it took for you to learn how to dodge.” She spoke. “I expect you’ll be old and gray by the time you learn to land a blow.” She went on, though her ridicule had less of a biting edge than it usually did. The slightest hint of approval; the only consolation prize he’d get for the weeks of torment.

It didn’t sit well with him. Weeks of effort had won him the smallest of possible victories, but she’d shattered his triumph in a single blow. Exasperated, he couldn’t help but exclaim, “How many times do I have to dodge?! You… fuck, you said I can’t be moved until dusk! You’re gonna keep hitting me until the sun starts setting?!”

“Yes.” She replied curtly.

“I… it’ll take forever! You’re going to keep me on this rock until I die, aren’t you?!” He snapped at her, standing up. The headmistress’ expression didn’t change as she stood there, taking in her student’s suffering with icy indifference.

“You can leave,” she began, “When you’re strong enough to escape.” she stated plainly. “The only thing keeping you here is your weakness. I’m only able to compel you to stay because I have power over you.” The woman elaborated. Laeo listened in silence, not sure what to make of her words; over the past few weeks, the only instruction he’d received from her were sharp kicks and sharper insults. The lessons she taught were written in pain– words may as well have been a foreign language.

“You can call that unjust. You can hate me, hate your fellow students, and wallow in that hate and self pity until the day you die– or, you can get up, get strong, and make your own justice.” she declared, before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He knew from experience that any further questions would be met with silence.

Slipping back into position, Laeonas reached out, as he had before.

The next few hours were… a mix. Sometimes he could narrowly avoid a blow. Other times he’d be knocked down instantaneously. At around half past noon, he almost dodged two blows in quick succession– almost.

The occasional comment from his teacher told him he was doing something right, since she actually told him what he was doing wrong.

“When I kick at your ribs, don’t try to stop me from hitting your ribs– stop me from hitting you.”

“Don’t try and tap into the force to anticipate my movements. You don’t try to breathe, you just do. Anticipating my movements should come as naturally to you as filling your lungs.”

“Really? Give it a few years and you might try and block me– you’re not there yet.”

Tempting as it was, the longer their session went on, it became harder and harder to hate the headmistress.

Even if in the moments when he hit the ground, he would’ve done anything to see her do the same.

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

“HYA!”

His cry was weaker this time, as if the reluctance to hit the board was bleeding into his speech. Crack. There were his knuckles, bloody and raw, colliding with the wood.

The first time the headmistress had put him on this exercise, he’d tested the limits of his pain tolerance. There was always a bit of pain that came when you punched something, but the wood his teacher had procured was as hard as duracrete. He was used to the feeling of crushed bones and pulped flesh on his fists. The surgical droid had stopped counting the fractures when it reached his ring finger.

The pain was dulled by now; the past six months had taught him to tolerate the dull agony that came with pounding away at the wood. It didn’t make his task easier; Laeonas had watched his fellow pupils shatter their boards into splinters without even flinching, every day, for hours. They openly mocked his lack of progress, loudly wondering why the headmistress didn’t just put him on menials.

His traditional response to insults like those was to beat the offender within an inch of life. That obviously wasn’t an option when even students half his age could likely shatter his ribs with a glancing blow. Instead, he remained silent, bitterly working until the headmistress sent him back to his cell.

“Is that it?” a familiar, mocking tone graced his ears. Laeo drew his fist back and turned, bowing his head. “I’ve managed to produce a crack, mistress.” He declared, lifting a trembling finger and pointing to the board. The older woman took a few steps closer– and then struck him across the face.

It was a testament to her restraint that his jaw wasn’t ripped off. Laeo instinctively reached up, but he held off halfway, hands trembling in the air as he stood. Slowly, he turned to face her again, blood running down from where her nails had torn a gash in his cheek.

“My instructions weren’t to crack the post. My instruction was to break the post.” She declared, before turning, taking a breath, winding back her fist, and striking. The force of her blow sent wood splinters flying everywhere, and Laeonas turned to avoid them, feeling tiny shards burrowing into his arms and the back of his head.

“I don’t even expect something as elementary as that from you. Split it in half, punch a hole in it, it doesn’t matter– and yet you refuse to do as I instruct.” She declared. The framing of her chastisement caused his brow to furrow. Refused? He had spent hours every day trying and failing to carry out her instruction. He wasn’t choosing not to break the board, he couldn’t break the post.

“Mistress, I–” he began, a hint of indignation snuffed out with a sideways glance. He winced, took a deep breathe, and collected himself before replying, “I’ve spent hours today using all my strength to break this board. Every day, I hit it again, and again, and again, to the point where I can barely ball my fists without falling to my knees from the pain. I cannot do what you ask.”

The expression the headmistress wore was… difficult to read. Genuine disgust was written across her usually stoic face, and The Brentaalan wasn’t sure what to expect from her.

“I… apologize for offending y-”

“Offending me? You haven’t insulted me, boy. You could’ve spewed every venomous little thought in your head you’ve had about me and I wouldn’t have even flinched. Instead, you lied. To me, and yourself.” She declared.

Laeo blinked, glancing down at his hands, then up at her.

“Lied?” he repeated, hands trembling harder as he gritted his teeth. “LIED?! Look at my hands, woman! I–” Before he could break out into the tirade she expected from him, her hand shot out. He felt the air around his throat being displaced, rushing out of the way of her fist.

On instinct, he craned his neck and shifted his weight ever so slightly, the headmistress’ intended blow narrowly missing him. Laeonas’ eyes widened as he stumbled backwards, avoiding the slash of her arm that would’ve hit the back of his neck. He avoided a kick to his side by rolling back.

He was splayed on the ground, eyes wide, staring up at the headmistress in confusion. She glared at him, before drawing back into a simpler stance. “Your mewling over pain was pathetic, but it was honest. Your defense just now was sloppy, but it was honest. Your declaration to the world that you’re a spineless worm without even a modicum of strength was the most offensive lie I’ve ever heard.” She spat, gesturing with a raise of her chin that he was allowed to get back up.

“Anyone– man, woman, child– who did as just did– has the strength to do what your peers have done.” She declared, gesturing at the other students in the yard. “Your potential is only limited by your acquiescence to failure. What did you need to do to arrive here? How many obstacles did you need to overcome to arrive at this point? Are you truly someone weak enough to let pain stop you?”

Her words hadn’t grown any less harsh. Her condemnations of weakness were just as biting. Behind it all, however, was something that Laeo had missed, something present in every teacher.

The desire to see her students improve.

Trembling, Laeonas stood up, righting his posture as his back cracked. The aches of his stance burned, defying him, but he ignored it. He slid one foot in front of him, an anchor into the ground beneath, while his shoulders squared. Arms were raised and trembling fingers curled into fists. For a brief moment, he caught the ghost of a smile playing at the edge of his master’s lips, before she glanced at the wood.

His fist shot out, twisting with his whole body leaned into the blow. Energy from the center of his mass ran up along his shoulder blade, down from the fibers of muscle in his biceps, to his triceps, through his wrist and from the curled fingers of his fist, releasing in a loud THUD as bone and flesh met solid wood.

He could see the cracks in the wood spreading, the post splintering and exploding outwards. The image of his victory tasted better than any sweet wine, was more comforting than the softest sheets, and was more satisfying than any cry– of a lover, or of a foe.

But the image faded with an instant. The cracks spread, the wood splintered– but it did not break. A sickening crunch of bone and crushed skin squelching against wood was barely audible, especially over the loud hiss of agony that escaped Laeonas’ trembling lips.

“For a moment,” his teacher mused, “It almost looked like you did as I commanded. You looked like you actually gave it your all. She declared, a bitterness in her words. Shame roiled in Laeo’s heart, but he clenched his other fist. His form was as flawless as it had been before, and he summoned the force, letting it pour into his punch.

Chips of wood went flying, and a crack ran down the length of the post– but it did not break. “You put on an impressive act, I’ll admit. Perhaps by the time you’re done here, you can star in an action holo flick. You’re mastering the art of making it look like you’re hurting someone.”

“I’m not holding back.” He protested, gritting his teeth as he slipped back into his stance. “Can’t you–” he began, before biting his tongue and correcting himself. “Mistress, you can feel that I’m throwing all I have into these punches. If I hit anyone like this, they’d never find a surgeon that could fix them up.”

“If that’s the measure of your strength, then I congratulate you on achieving your goals. You can go and be a prize fighter for the Hutts if that’s the summary of your ambition.” She prodded further, the barbs in her word stinging as much as the pain in his fists.. He grit his teeth, turning to face her completely.

“Then where am I holding back?! How?! I haven’t tied my hands behind my back, I haven’t strapped myself to a boflex! I don’t understand, mistress!”

“When you had to evade my blows, did you just use your muscles? Did you only use your physical senses? Are you merely a creature of the profane, boy, or do you have a greater strength you can call upon? A natural extension of your being, just as you are its conduit? Is there any true separation between the strength of your body, and the boundless reservoir of life that flows through every pour of your being?”

Laeonas stood, listened– and he understood. Deeper than he had understood any of her previous lessons, because in truth, it had all been this exact teaching. There was a twinge of embarrassment over the fact that she had had to spell it out for him, but it paled in comparison to the rush of epiphany.

The mistress said no more as he centered his footing and squared his shoulders. He drew breathe into his lungs, feeling the nourishment of air spreading through him, the currents of life that held him and the universe itself together.

When he struck next, he struck with all of his strength. All of his strength and the world’s– because there wasn’t any difference.