Ask Ajan Kloss The First Dance

[Byron Alduun]

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He didn’t know much about his new student other than what the datapad had told him. And that only told Byron the boy’s name. Though he supposed that was all he needed. Today was all about building the foundation, and the rest – bricks. Before they knew it: a house. It was the beauty of watching another grow.

They were to meet in the clearing on the east side of the grounds. (Byron always thought it was better to work outside. That cool breeze breathing life into your lungs, helping you with every move.) And so he stood there, waiting.

To be clear, he didn’t mind the solace of waiting for his new student. It wasn’t often that he was left to his own devices. His schedule had been filled to the brim ever since he had earned his knighthood. Perhaps that was why he turned up early to everything. It was the quiet moments he had learned to cherish the most.

“Good morning, padawan,” he said, an honest grin at the prospect of training as he watched the boy approach. “My name is Byron Alduun, and I shall be your combat teacher throughout your journey.”

@Seafoam​

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[Cavo Bresk]

His last memory was tumbling into bed the night before after an hour's stroll, a walk in the cool night air with only the chittering of insects for conversation and only the stars to watch him. His many hours of work in the hospital had felt longer than usual. More difficult. Something out there had changed recently, though Cavo could not put it into words. It was as if the tides had begun to turn against them - or, as if the waters had simply begun to roughen. Yes, that was it, it was simply that a crueler wind had begun to blow. The wounds were a little harsher, a little deeper, but the cruelty that had birthed them would pass as all things did. This, Cavo told himself as he lay there with the morning sunshine spread over his face. He could see only a little of the room around him, the bed opposite him with it's occupant, their chest rising and falling with their breath. That was what he assumed he could see at least, as his eyes came into focus, but it quickly became apparent that the bed was empty. If it was empty, that meant...

It took him only a moment to spring out of his bed and hurl himself through the door. Luckily there was nothing he needed for this particular meeting besides himself in high spirits and good health. Currently he was certainly in possession of the latter with his extra hours of sleep in hand. The former had completely deserted him, lost beneath the furious thundering of his feet and the cloying jungle air that nearly suffocated him as he sprinted. Over hillocks he sprang, under branches he dived, dancing in time with the landscape that presented itself. His rhythm was good and so it did not take him long to arrive in the east of the grounds; puffing and wheezing, yes, but ready for work.

"C-Cavo Bresk, sir. Sorry for the wait. Ever so sorry..." If there had been more to his sentence it vanished beneath continued heavy breathing. At least he showed enthusiasm.

@Turtleneck​

 

[Byron Alduun]

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“It is your first lesson,” he says, smiling. It quickly dropped as he transitioned into the next sentence. “But you know where the clearing is now. Do not make a pattern of this.” Byron knew of the beauty of training someone, but also knew of the hurdles he would find in their path together. The smoother the path, the easier the journey. Just as he had been taught. Just as he was going to teach this young man.

He lowered himself down, reaching down to grasp something hidden behind swaying blades of grass. When he rose, he revealed two sticks, each reaching around a meter and a half in length. He threw one across to the padawan, without care of whether he had the hand eye coordination to catch it or not.

“Now tell me, Cavo,” he says, arms folded behind his back. “What do you know of combat?” The winds swept through the clearing, blades of grass seemingly bowing to the both of them. It was as if the world watched the pair of them.

It was as if it knew.

@Seafoam​

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[Cavo Bresk]

There was no reason to fight Byron's words. He was late. Whether or not that was due to his tiredness it mattered not, for as Byron himself had said, he would not be late again.

"There will be no pattern, sir, no, not at all." His breathing slowed as he lifted his hands off of his knees, straightening his back and more closely inspecting this new teacher of his, though he made no great show of it. His eyes rested briefly on his face, then his shoulders, then his knees, all the while managing to look as if they were unfocused rather than calculating this new teacher. "And, er", he continued, managing to make himself sound worried, unsure of himself, "Nothing sir, I know nothing of combat, sir. Unless you count fighting off kath hound pups with a broomstick. O-only pups mind you." A little humour, a little bit of a stammer, arms pressed to the small of his back as he stretched himself, a lazy but welcoming smile.

The stick was caught easily, his right hand moving before he could restrain himself to fumble the act, to obscure his prowess. Peering down at it thoughtfully, he lent himself on it and returned his eyes to his teacher, awaiting further instruction as any good pupil should.

@Turtleneck

 

[Byron Alduun]

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Byron nodded sincerely at the padawan’s response to his scolding. “Then we shall leave it at that, padawan,” he said, eyes scanning over the young man’s posture. A little rough around the edges, but he had seen worse. Far worse.

He would be lying if he said he could relate to the panic pouring out of the boy’s pores. Though that didn’t mean he didn’t understand. The first step was always going to be the hardest. But every step after that was going to get easier. Almost as if your body was learning the motion. Perhaps it had been preparing itself for this moment, whether you had known or not.

“Take a deep breath. Take it all in. You stand on sacred ground, padawan,” he says firmly. Inspiration was the perfect distraction for tight nerves. The jungle planet itself was a phenomenon by itself. He could remember the first time he had felt its air in its lungs. He remembered pressing his ear against the ground. If you listened close, you could swear that it breathed.

He stopped, giving the padawan another look over. “The first rule of combat is calmness. Diving into it with such vulnerable emotions is only going to lead to frustration. And frustration will eventually lead to anger.” Honestly, he was surprised with himself. He had grown a reputation for his impatience, yet here he was, a reflection of those who carried this heavy burden before.

Byron stood beside the padawan, left foot forward, feet a shoulder width apart. He motioned for the padawan to follow him. He took the lower part of his stick in his hand and held it in the same manner one would hold a sword.

“Shii-Cho. The way of the Sarlacc. The most ancient form. And the easiest to learn.” He gave the padawan a look, as if to say: Yes, it’s only going to get harder from here, young one.

@Seafoam​

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[Cavo Bresk]

And don't forget to muck out the stables, don't forget to fill the troughs, we don't need a repeat of last month, and don't forget to smile for your auntie, you know how much she loves you, all those things she brings you from the starport, and don't forget to stand and breath Cavo, don't forget to just take it all in, and love it, enjoy it, work hard for it.

Cavo was mature enough to appreciate each and every one of the lessons given to him. There was obvious care behind Byron's words, the same kind of care he felt in all his best teachers. A smile played with his lips as he listened to the young Knight's words of encouragement and token mystical wisdom. Byron had big shoes to fill. Cavo had seen some of the other instructors, other Knights, almost swaggering about the grounds with their gaggle of Padawans in tow. He hoped that Byron was different.

His only response was another half-mumbled, "Yessir." Whatever else he thought of the Knight's words was forgotten, pushed to the back of his mind for another day. Instinct had already kicked in. Stick in both hands, feet shoulder width apart, his eyes flickering back and forth as he inspected Byron and adjusted his own posture. It was like standing beside his father at three years old and deciphering how a broom worked, at six and working out the most efficient way to scoop up the dung, at eight and working out how his mother could knit so quickly with her needles, at eleven and working out just how that kid in the next field could work for so long tilling the soil when he could only do half an hour. Years on the farm where the strength of the body became profit, health and happiness had readied him for this.

He caught Byron's look as he was turning away from him with a final glance, checking just how he had his neck set. At that moment, his expression became like steel, moving only for the light that glinted across it's surface. And beneath the steely sea, the ocean depths came to a standstill. Even the fronds of those strange trees seemed to slow their dance with the wind.

@Turtleneck​

 

[Byron Alduun]

_

Padawans had become something of a sport among the Knights within the Order. Those eager to prove themselves to the council were sure to attract all of the padawans that they possibly could. Though they had forgotten one key aspect over the process: quality over quantity. Indeed, Byron could have also reached out and attempted to force as many padawans underneath his wing as he could fit. Though to what purpose? No, he wanted to find one he could teach but also learn from. For even the masters had things left to learn.

And so they danced.

Each step slow and methodical, vertical and horizontal strikes interlocking with one another to form a fluid combination of slashes and cuts. You could see the history in their movements. Simpler attacks from a simpler time. “This is the foundation of everything, padawan,” he said, the sentence broken up with sustained, controlled breaths. “Everything you will learn in combat will be built on top of Shii-Cho. Do not forget that.”

He watched the boy with a soft intensity. The same look a father would give as he watched his child take their first steps. The same look a teacher would give as they watched a student pick up their first brush to paint. Almost as if you could see their path drawn in front of them. As if you could see the end goal.

It was beautiful.

@Seafoam​

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[Cavo Bresk]

The padawan's eyes turned inwards toward reserves of energy he had had no reason to call upon since his arrival in this distant jungle. Even working in the clinic had not necessitated that he push himself to his upper limit. Battling here with weapon in hand reminded him of those stories he had heard, of the ghosts he was trying to please, the legacy he had to honour. Though the Knights here may have been a pale reflection of the Jedi he yearned for, Cavo still felt their history urging him forward.

With every passing moment he responded a little more quickly. High, low, right side, back, front, left side, low, front, high. The attacks rose and fell across his body, leaping and bounding like branches swaying in the wind. He could feel the rhythm emerging behind them as the hours went on. They had begun simply, but by this time, Cavo had urged the sparring onward to something a little more challenging. He knew he could do better, and he needed to know how much 'better' was. And yet, Byron's swiftness far outdid his own. He would step into a strong block only to be outdone by a sly counterattack, a well concealed feint that left him open in the worst possible way. By the time Cavo finally spoke, the sun was high above them, shining with midday brilliance.

"H-how are you so fast? One moment you're, there, and then, here." He gestured by blocking, demonstrating where the position of the strikes. "I've never seen anything move that fast. Not even animals." The many hours of work had taken their toll. Cavo sat himself down with his stick across his knees, peering up at his teacher through a thin sheen of sweat.

@Turtleneck​

 

[Byron Alduun]

_

In every dance, someone has to lead.

It was not a case of inequality, but rather of roles. And in this particular dance, it was his responsibility to press the action. To be proactive in his movements and to engage the padawan enough that he would do the same. For the most part – especially for a novice – Cavo kept up well. Compared to most, he was a cut above at the very least.

Byron often underestimated the power he had of choosing to join the Order when he was just thirteen years old. By the time Cavo was his age, he would have still had three years of valuable experience over him. Perhaps that was a flaw of the new system that the legendary Rey Skywalker had implemented, that without the influx of infantile force sensitives there would be an overwhelming sense of inexperience among padawans who had joined as adults.

He thought nothing of it. The more the merrier.

“The Force guides my every move, padawan,” he says, using the stick as leverage to lean on. “Do you not feel it? Close your eyes. Hone it, let it run through your veins.” He wasn’t expecting anything to come out of the good-old Jedi wisdom talk. He could remember when he was a padawan, Oren’s (@TWD26) words deflecting off of him like a brick wall.

Patience was a virtue in situations like these.

@Seafoam​

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[Cavo Bresk]

By pure coincidence, Cavo lifted a a few fingers to rest of the side of his neck, listening to the blood surging within his veins. His pulse was quick and strong. Even without his hand to guide him to it, he could feel it throbbing in the side of his neck, in his wrists, in his stomach. Exhaustion had yet to arrive; instead, he could feel the ecstasy of life, the thrill of combat and the possibility of triumph. These things made a Jedi.

And at this moment they made also his blood. After many years of fantasizing about the warriors-monks of his dreams, this moment allowed him to start down the path to becoming one himself. This realization bid him listen closer still, passed the thin veneer of his heartbeat, to the more essential rhythm that danced in the darkness beneath. To the mysteries of the Force that thrived within all Jedi.

Breaking through into that place of intimate knowledge was like stepping into the sea after years of struggling against his body. He felt no need to fight his sweat, his blood, his bones that tried their damnedest to slow him down. The body that had seemed heavy before now felt light as air, pliable as the fronds of those jungle trees, bending with the wind of time and circumstance. All was suddenly right with the world. Leaning himself on his stick, Cavo stood once again in his warrior's stance.

"I am ready to continue," he announced, voice suddenly filled with warmth and hope.

@Turtleneck​

 

[Byron Alduun]

_

And at once, Ajan Kloss had breathed life into this skeleton of a boy once more.

There was a sense of accomplishment in the air. It was overwhelming. Listen close enough and you could hear the exclamation of a million bones as another was added to its collection. A door was unlocked and opened an inch. On the other side lay a land of unrelenting potential. For now, the only task that remained was continuing to press against it until it edged open. Slowly but surely.

“Good,” he says, noting the padawan’s sense of rejuvenation. “Again.” And again, they began dancing. A ritual melic sung out around them as they repeated the same steps. Again, and again, the clashing of sticks beating like a drum. “This is Shii-Cho, Cavo,” he says, each movement splitting up his words once again.

“Remember these movements. They will haunt you again and again as you learn even the most advanced forms of combat.”

@Seafoam​

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[Cavo Bresk]

The boy fought with more ferocity now, his muscles snapping into action rather than lazily drawing his weapon through the air. He adapted what had been sure, easy to predict movements as Byron continued the routine, watching how his tutor moved. He was standing in the flow of things now. Seeing how his opponents skin rippled when they moved, how their lips twitched when they breathed. Rather than feeling his legs walk him forward, he felt the energy behind them, the will to move them. He was in the lightning of his muscles.

High, advance, twist, attack low, guard middle, zones one, three, two, one again. He did not falter. He did not slow. Though fatigue waited to strike, the Force burned brightly within him and made the beast cower back into the shadows of possibility. He was not tired, nor would he become tired; for his ally was the Force. The thought rattled around inside his head with the associated stories and the weight of history.

"Shii-Cho is meant to be practised with a lightsaber, yes? How different is a saber when compared to, this?" They had come to another lull in the sparring, their weapons rested gently against one another, the quiet sound of their tapping the only thing to be heard.

@Turtleneck​

 

[Byron Alduun]

_

As the boy moved faster, so did he. Before they knew it, they were twirls of flesh, intertwining another in ancient movements.

They had been going for some time, yet Byron was still as dutiful to his student as he had been the moment the boy had arrived. There was a stillness in him, a willingness to devote himself to a cause he himself had not been given. To be a better teacher than his own.

“Your lightsaber is an extension of yourself,” he says, mind travelling back to a simpler time. “Your crystal chooses you, and your construction of your saber is through the Force. It is you in all but flesh and bone.” He could remember the warmth of the crystal in his own palm. Each of its edges a reflection of himself. Almost as if he were cradling a newborn.

Regardless, it was better to quench excitement than to fuel it. It was a dangerous line to tread.

“Not yet. We shall move to training sabers in our next session.”

@Seafoam​

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[Cavo Bresk]

Another bout then. The Sun had fallen a little now, golden streaks piercing through holes in treetop leaves, and in the gaps they made as their branches shook in the wind. A golden ray caught Cavo's weapon as he lifted it. He saw the wood cast in platinum colours, the clefts in the bark now silver rather than black, a saber glowing in the padawan's mind if not in reality. The 'saber' was lifted and the session continued.

With some experience of the motions under his belt, Cavo slowed himself down and probed his teacher with questions. He let his footwork be corrected, the placement of his hands, the focus of his eyes, the curve of his back, the hunch of his shoulders. Nothing was too little to be pointed out. Every word was heard and remembered.

Eventually, Cavo's datapad flickered atop a pile of slowly discarded clothes. He was now standing shirtless and bootless, legs covered in a thin sheen of jungle dirt and dripping with sweat. And yet it was evident that he was called to work elsewhere.

"That'll be," he began, cut off by his need to breath, "the hospital calling for me. My shift starts in..." He turned, peering down at the clock flickering on one half of the screen. "Quarter of an hour. Thank you very much for the lesson sir. When is it that you'd, hah, like to see me again, sir?" Whilst he had stopped sparring, Cavo did not turn away from his teacher. Nor did his weapon leave his hands. Not until he was instructed to do so would he leave.

@Turtleneck​

 

[Byron Alduun]

_

“It is not up to me to decide,” he says, body drooping from its stance. His stick lowered, as did his guard. Some Jedi had never gotten used to transitioning from battle to themselves once more, but not Byron. No, the same passion he felt consuming himself in battle was the same passion he injected into every other part of his life.

“Talk to your master,” he continues. “He’ll make the decision as to where your training will take you. We will see each other again.”

At the end of the day, the boy wasn’t his apprentice. Of the lessons he could teach him in combat, it could not compare to the lessons he would gain from the apprenticeship under a fellow Knight.

“Good day to you, Cavo Bresk. And be sure to bathe yourself in warm water, and stretch out your kinks. Otherwise, you will be very sore tomorrow.”

A smile and a wave was a pleasant way to end their session.

@Seafoam​

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[Cavo Bresk]

"I'll have to find time before I pass out after my shift," he half grumbles, wandering back towards his clothes strewn in the dirt, "Or ask one of masters for a moment to myself. Maybe there'll be some spare bacta... hmph, we'll see." He hesitates at the thought of medicine, staring up at the sky with his arms half way into his shirt. It doesn't take long for him to tug on his last boot and dust himself off, looking much the same as he had when he arrived.

"This has been great, sir. Really enjoyable. It's nice to have something lively to do." He peers over at Byron for a long moment, thoughts suddenly on some distant topic. "Well, sir. Work to get to. Be seeing you." Whatever it was that had distracted him passes as quickly as it arrived, and soon he is wandering back towards the temple proper with a final wave over his shoulder. "I'll see about requisitioning a practice saber from the stocks!"

@Turtleneck​