Chương 8: Return from Ilum

62 BBY – 938 ARR – The Crucible The Masters know, the Masters see, They know what's best for you and me. If doubts should bloom, just let them go– The Masters see, the Masters know. The Force is calm, the Force is kind, It takes the questions from your mind. When shadows stir or tempers grow, The Masters see, the Masters know. –Youngling's Nursery Rhyme ~*~*~*~ When the Bear Clan first boarded The Crucible, they had all been appreciative of its warmth as they defrosted.

The Crucible was by far the oldest ship in the Jedi fleet, and potentially one of the oldest still flying in the Core Worlds, almost a living museum. While this did mean that there was a lot of venerable history, it also meant that the hold was smaller than a modern ship and held to design principles literally hundreds of years out of date. In short, the whole ship now felt muggy and damp due to the melting snow and freshly showered Jedi.

Now, several hours later, most younglings were either excitedly chattering or meditating while damp clothes were being washed. The holds were full of energy, the excitement of finally having kyber and being allowed to construct their lightsabers. Master Huyang had given them a rambling lecture on the different general forms that lightsabers had taken over the generations, as well as how to create one.

While it was certainly interesting to hear about the virtues of a curved grip and its utility some Jedi found them to be on Parliock, every youngling just wanted to get to the good part: making their lightsaber. Of course, Master Braylon had forbidden anyone from attempting to construct their lightsabers until they had communed with their crystals. This led to many deciding they would try tomorrow, when they were less tired, while the more determined or eager were now busily meditating.

Rann sat separately from this, drawn into himself as much as he could. He knew that others could still feel the keening of his soul in the Force. Having made a strong bond with his Adegan only for it to be taken had left him reeling. He hadn't even feigned polite interest in Huyang's lecture. It felt like an open wound on his soul. He also realized that this was his first time off-world and that he hadn't visited an ocean, like he'd wanted to. All this and more lead to him curled up on himself on a bunk, sullen.

Master Braylon's Force presence brushed over him. He looked up to see her standing over him.

"Initiate Crys." She pushed a feeling of comfort over him in the Force. It didn't feel like Master Zucul's deep but unspoken love or Yoda's quiet pleasure at seeing yet another generation of Jedi pass through the Creches. It felt unfamiliar and unwanted. Invasive.

"That crystal was too strong for you – too dangerous for an Initiate. I took it because I had to, because you are not ready to bear such a burden. You may feel wronged, but you will accept it. The Order cannot risk losing another bright and beautiful child… not again." He looked up, and for a moment he Saw a young mother sitting in the cockpit of a Jedi Starfighter on the far reaches of the Galaxy, holding a bundle tightly swaddled in her arms, torn between decisions.

Does she return to the only home she has ever known, where she cannot raise and love her son as her own? Or does she leave everything behind for the bundle of possibilities before her? He blinked away the vision and saw Yula Braylon as she was now, choice made, before him.

"It was given to me," he replied at last.

"The Force provides, Initiate, but does not give. We, as Jedi, are provided much but own nothing except ourselves." Master Braylon was shuttered close now, face and Force guarded. Rann, feeling his outrage building, shrugged but said nothing. Any words that came to mind would do nothing but get him in trouble.

"Perhaps, Initiate, you should meditate on the nature of attachment." Rann just turned over on the bunk, unwilling to look at her and instead focusing on the creaks and groans of the antiquated ship. After a while, Rann felt the bunk depress as Mace sat on its edge. His friend didn't say anything but put a hand on his leg in comfort. Then the rest of the clan followed behind his friend and filled the bunkroom with noise and laughter.

Someone tried to ask him about his crystal but cut themselves off at a look from Mace. As this was a terrible atmosphere for brooding, Rann decided to leave. Rann found himself drawn to the quartermaster's section of the ship, where Master Huyang reigned supreme. There, he found the ancient droid assisting some of his clanmates in building their lightsabers. He turned to leave, but Huyang called out, "Initiate Rann, stay if you will."

Rann stopped himself at the door and the bronze automaton made his way over to him in his ponderous gait.

"Initiate Rann, what has happened here is most unusual." The strange two-toned quality of his voice gave his words an almost unsettling quality. Gleaming yellow photoreceptors seemed to pierce into him.

"Take heart, Initiate. Three days and this too shall pass." The second day, Master Braylon announced that she would run them through their Shii-Cho katas. On the first half of the journey to Ilum, every blade had been the sunflower-yellow color of training sabers. Now there were blues and greens interspersed, as a few ambitious Initiates had already managed to construct their lightsabers.

Rann chose to break from his normal, and instead of being on Mace's right side, he placed himself in the middle of the clan directly behind his best friend. He hoped that it would keep Master Braylon from noticing him too much. Rann resented the blade in his grip. Just one of thousands similar to it from the armory, it didn't really deserve his wrath. Still, it wasn't his. What was his swung from the waist of Master Braylon, gleaming.

He closed his eyes, and could almost feel the handle of the lightsaber he was meant to have. He opened them again as Master Braylon called for them to begin, comforted by the familiar ozone tang of sabers that reminded him of the salles. He fell into the first few katas of Shii-Cho cleanly, trying to ignore Master Braylon's scathing corrections to the other Initiates. Focus. Nothing but the blade and you.

Due to his training with Master Dooku, he had more hours with this than any other youngling in the clan except Mace. His motions were clean, precise. Unremarkable. She stopped behind him.

"Your stance is rigid," she said.

"Too rigid." Rann adjusted.

"Better?" Her robe brushed his arm as she leaned close.

"I see Dooku's hand in you. Precision without humility. Style without submission." His chest tightened, but his voice was steady.

"Master Dooku taught me to know my footing before I moved."

"Arrogance," she said, pitched for all.

"You cling to clever words. Arrogance is not wisdom." A flicker of that odd fear he'd felt the night before danced across his senses in the Force. Sweat ran down his temple. He lifted his head, eyes steady.

"And blind obedience is not strength." Too disciplined to gasp, there were still signs of the initiates' discomfort. Sabers slowed. A wobbling form, here. A sidelong glance, there. The Force vibrated with unease. Huyang shifted from his place near the hatch.

"Correction-" he began, voice smooth and measured. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Braylon's head turned.

"Silent," she snapped. The droid froze. His servos whirred once, then went still. His optics dimmed, but they lingered on Rann for a moment longer. Braylon's attention snapped back.

"Your tongue will betray you," she hissed.

"The Council will see that you are not ready."

"Maybe," Rann said. His tone was even, his jaw set.

"But the Force said I was." The words rippled across the line. An Initiate whispered: "He'll be expelled." Another muttered: "Or worse." Braylon's eyes cut toward them. The children had never much appreciated Master Braylon's dictatorial style, but over the course of the trip her coarse use of authority had grated against the youngling's sense of fairness and propriety. The Force fell on the chamber like a stormfront. Shields cracked. Several gasped. One girl clutched her head, teeth clenched against tears.

"Again," Braylon commanded. Rann reset his stance. Feet steady. Shoulders square. He moved through the kata with deliberate precision, every strike an echo of Dooku's lessons. A quiet defiance, to emulate perfectly the teachings of the man who had brought her low. Her voice barked corrections, but the frustration behind them was clear. His form was sound. She could not admit it. That night, no one could sleep. While it wasn't unheard of for a Master to suppress a youngling's emotions, it wasn't supposed to be…

that. What Master Braylon had done felt wrong, even if no one could quite articulate it in the hushed discussions they weren't supposed to be having. Rann couldn't bring himself to participate, just staring upwards and silently replaying each moment of the last two days in his mind. His conversations with Evan, the Sister, and Braylon all swirling in his head and creating a pit in his stomach. Mace placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed as much reassurance as he could in the Force.

Long after the last voice had faded, Rann was still staring at nothing. By the morning of the third day, the whole ship was frayed. The initiates were on edge and tired. They simply wanted off the ship and away from Master Braylon. It all swirled together in the Force like a toxic medley. Braylon sensed it. She stalked the decks, robes swaying, eyes sharp. Each step radiated disapproval. Each glance promised correction. If they would not love her, they would certainly fear her.

She found Rann and Mace near the viewport, their voices low, as Mace tried to draw him in for a round of push-pull.

"Do not try and garner sympathy with your peers, Initiate Crys," Braylon said suddenly. Her voice cracked across the chow hall like a whip. The Initiates froze. She pointed at Rann.

"You are trying to subvert a Master's authority." The hall went deathly still. Dozens of eyes fixed on Rann, then darted away again, terrified of being caught in the blast. He felt heat crawling up his neck but forced himself to hold her gaze.

"I wasn't-" he began, but Braylon's voice cut across him like a blade.

"Silence. You will not make excuses." She paced closer, every step deliberate, robes brushing the deck like the slow drag of a predator's tail.

"Do you think yourself clever? Whispering at windows, gathering pity like crumbs? Jedi do not traffic in sympathy, Initiate. Jedi obey." Rann's fists clenched at his sides. The Force around him churned, sharp with the initiates' shame, fear, resentment. It pressed against his chest like a riptide, dragging him under. Then Mace shifted beside him.

"He wasn't subverting anything, Master," he said evenly, voice pitched louder than usual.

"He was only speaking with me." Braylon's head snapped toward him.

"Initiate Windu," she said coldly.

"Do you imagine yourself his advocate? Do you presume to judge what I see?" Mace didn't flinch.

"I only speak the truth." A dangerous pause stretched. The other initiates hardly breathed. Braylon's eyes narrowed, weighing him, and then she laughed – a brittle sound that carried no warmth. Her Force presence unfurled like a Krayt Dragon rising from its lair, pressing against them, suffocating. The hold held in a tense, awful quiet. Huyang's servos clicked faintly. His photoreceptors glowed, steady on Braylon. But he too remained silent.

"Bold. Perhaps one day that will serve you. For now, it will earn you both double drills when we dock." She swept past them, her disapproval trailing like smoke. The tension in the room eased only after she was gone, though no one dared to speak. Rann let out a slow breath, shoulders tight. Mace leaned toward him, voice low again.

"Don't let her crush you," he murmured.

"She only wins if you break." Rann said nothing, but deep inside he made the same vow. The Crucible descended into Coruscant's vast cityscape with ease, using special Jedi and Senate airways to avoid the interminable traffic that defined life for most of its inhabitants. Repulsors keened as it settled into its uniquely designated berth in the Temple's hangar. As the ramp lowered, they were greeted first by sharp light and soft shadow of the overhead lights and the sounds of mechanical work.

The younglings filed out in silence. Masters and knights waited to receive them, but their faces were grave. No cheers, no warm welcome. As Professor Huyang, the last aboard, stepped off, a knight dressed in the darker robes informally recognized as those of a Council attendant stepped forward.

"Mighty Bear Clan," he began, voice clipped.

"The High Council requests your presence at once." Several Initiates looked around in confusion. Nothing about this was normal. Mace simply strode to the front of the group and didn't look back. The Mighty Bear Clan followed. Master Braylon and the unnamed knight led the way, with Mace and Rann behind them as they made their way to the southwestern tower of the Temple ziggurat that housed the High Council. The lift ride was almost impossibly awkward, but they were soon in the Council Chambers.

A beautiful Coruscanti sunset suffused the space with golden rays. It did not fit the heavy air that hung over the room. The twelve chairs fit for twelve Masters made the room feel smaller. Rann's chest tightened as he stepped into the chamber to see Master Zucul waiting for them. The rest of the clan filed in as he awkwardly placed Mace between himself and the Crèchemaster. The clan was still wary, uncertain why they had been summoned.

The chamber felt colder as Braylon knelt alongside them before the ring of Masters. Master Dooku now filled what had been her seat, silent and inscrutable. The sunset's gold painted her face in half-light, but it did nothing to soften the sharp lines of disapproval around the circle. Tyvokka rumbled low in Shyriiwook, the deep growl reverberating through the chamber. Oppo Rancisis translated smoothly: "The Wookiee Master reminds us that the trust between Master and Initiate is sacred.

To break it so wantonly is to imperil the very foundation of the Creche." Yarael Poof inclined his long neck.

"Indeed. To seize what the Force has given without sanction is a breach not merely of protocol, but of trust. An Initiate is not chattel to be stripped and silenced at whim." Braylon's jaw tightened, but she forced out a bow.

"I acted only for the child's safety. The crystal was too dangerous. Had I done nothing, the Order might have lost him." Oppo's tail twitched sharply.

"And in your zeal, you made that loss more likely. Fear is no shield for a Jedi, Master Braylon. Least of all when wielded against children." Yaddle's ears flicked as she regarded her.

"Understand, do we, your pain. Excuse, it does not." At Yoda's slight gesture, Braylon stiffened. Reluctantly, she drew the Adegan crystal from her belt, its glow limning her fingers. She held it a moment too long before Master Sinube stepped forward and took it from her with a slow, deliberate hand. He carried it across the chamber and placed it before Rann. Rann's breath hitched as he accepted it, bowing quickly. His fingers tingled at the crystal's warmth, feeling the fragile bond begin anew.

Yoda's gaze fixed on him, ancient and unyielding, but his ears flicked towards Mace.

"Returned, your crystal is. But note this well, Initiate Crys. Twice now, this Council's eyes have turned upon you. Rare, that is. Dangerous, it can be, to walk so near our notice. Careful you must be, not to draw it again without cause." The words struck harder than the crystal's weight in his palm. Rann bowed lower, voice hushed.

"Yes, Master Yoda." He straightened and left at their silent dismissal in the Force. It was censure, yes, but Rann felt the currents beneath: this was theater, a message to the Order at large – and to him. He had been made part of it, a pawn in the politics of Masters. The realization sat uneasily in his chest as the clan was ushered out into the fading light. As the Bear Clan filed out of the chamber, the air seemed lighter, though the crystal still pulsed warm in Rann's hand.

Yula Braylon remained behind, looking small as she was ringed by twelve of the most formidable Masters in the galaxy. Her condemnation wasn't over, it seemed. Rann heard the first words of the next act before the door closed. Mace walked beside him, his face set in that careful stillness he used when he didn't want anyone to see how pleased he was.

"See?" Mace murmured once they were alone in the corridor.

"They gave it back. The Council saw what she did was wrong. They'll always do what's right." Rann glanced sideways at him. The words hung too neatly, as if Mace were reciting a lesson rather than thinking it through.

"They did it in front of us," Rann said quietly.

"In front of you. That's what mattered. They wanted us to see it." He thought of Professor Huyang's words. Three days and this too shall pass, indeed. Mace frowned.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rann tucked the crystal into his pocket.

"It means Masters have reasons. More than one, most of the time. They didn't just want to help me. They wanted us to believe in them." Mace shook his head, firm, certain.

"Doesn't matter. Right is still right. They proved it." Rann didn't argue, but the thought stayed with him. In the chamber, the Council had spoken of justice. What he had felt was theater. They had barely stepped off the The Crucible before being summoned. Yula Braylon had become an object lesson, her participation in the actual trial perfunctory. The weight between his shoulders didn't lift until they had left the tower.