The quality of my life, even within the cloistered confines of the Jedi Temple, had improved. Not by a vast margin, but enough to instill a quiet, persistent giddiness in me. The curriculum, sensing perhaps a greater aptitude or simply acknowledging my persistent attempts to access more technical materials, had mercifully splintered into new areas. Instead of being entirely bogged down in galactic politics and historical law, I had been granted free access to a wider range of study topics that genuinely interested me.
Still, this academic freedom was not the primary source of my glee. I had reached the age of four, which in the Jedi Order meant one thing: formal Force studies were beginning. The foundation of all Jedi training was broken down into three fundamental aspects: Control, Sense, and Alter.
"Control is the beginning of everything," Master Feln, a serious Iktotchi with prominent horns, lectured our class. "It is the mastery of the self. Before you touch the galaxy, you must first master the temple within your own mind."
Control was the initial gateway. It opened the user to the Force and allowed me to interact with it, but strictly within myself. The skills under the aspect of Control were designed to enhance one's own physical and mental attributes: making myself faster, stronger, or improving my mental clarity and reaction time. This was personal mastery.
Sense was the next step, teaching the student to feel and utilize the Force outside the body. The combination of possible skills under this aspect would make an individual a superb tracker, detective, or bounty hunter. The skills allowed the user of the Force to pick up echoes of information that should have long vanished into the timeline.
Alter would only be taught after achieving proficiency in both Control and Sense. It was considered a dangerous aspect of the Force that allowed the user to actively bend and manipulate the Force in different, and sometimes unique, ways. It was dangerous because there were times when Alter could inflict great harm on the user themselves if mastery was insufficient. It was a shame, as the best and most interestingly useful manipulative skills were contained within this final aspect.
Concurrent with the new Force training, I and the rest of the Jedi initiates were required to take a field trip to the planet Ilum. This journey was undertaken to perform the ancient ritual of gathering our first Kyber crystal, the power source of a lightsaber. Traveling there was a massive pain. The trip involved a prolonged Hyperspace jump and several jumps in realspace, and this was the first time I actually felt that meditation might have been genuinely useful to help pass the monotonous time. Instead of peaceful contemplation, I was stuck on a functional but stripped down ship with nothing to do but listen to the low hum of the engines.
Our Jedi handler for the trip was a Kel Dor. The species itself was irrelevant, as the galaxy was filled with thousands of different sentient races, but this particular Kel Dor had a known, particularly strong connection to the Force and great skill in telekinesis. When I saw the Jedi use his powers to manipulate cargo and stabilize objects on the ship, many insightful thoughts poured into my mind about just how flexible and useful this one specific skill, basic telekinesis, was.
"Master, why does the cargo sometimes float without your hands touching it?" Gara, the Twi'lek girl, asked the Kel Dor Master, who wore a breathing mask and goggles.
The Master, whose name was Boran, simply tilted his head, the voice modifier on his mask giving his reply a slight mechanical hiss. "The Force is my hand, young one. It binds all things. We merely guide it." He then gently floated a heavy supply crate from one rack to another.
The rest of the trip, once we landed, was miserable. Ilum was a damn cold place, a forbidding planet covered in solid ice and deep snow where the Jedi tradition demanded that we go searching for the crystals on our own. It was framed as some kind of test to overcome our fears and face isolation, which I considered a damn stupid idea for four year olds.
Thanks to my insufficient Control training and limited practice, I ploughed headfirst into a snow bank. I had attempted to use the Force to strengthen my legs and increase my running speed, but I was not used to the sudden increase in momentum and lack of fine control. I tripped on an unseen patch of ice and went flying. It was a quick, humiliating face plant into the freezing snow.
"Slow down, Initiate!" Master Boran's voice echoed distantly over the biting wind.
Finding the actual Kyber crystal, once I recovered, was easy enough; they were scattered all over the place, pulsing faintly with the Force. Mine turned a distinct orange when I bonded with it, a color that caused the Kel Dor Jedi Master to give me what I could only assume was an odd look. I had to assume, of course, because the Kel Dor species wore those unique, cool looking rebreather masks that obscured most of their facial expressions.
On the way back to Coruscant, all the initiates were tasked with constructing their first training lightsabers.
"Focus your minds and let the Force guide your hands," Master Boran instructed, patiently observing us in the ship's cramped workshop. "The crystal knows its place. Do not rush the delicate process."
I made a conscious effort to stay well away from any initiate that held that weapon. Even if the training lightsabers were intentionally dulled and couldn't cut through solid matter, I still wasn't going to chance it, not with a dozen very excited, distracted, and unskilled children swinging plasma blades around.
My life was now structured around a new trifecta of activities: formal Force studies, basic lightsaber combat drills, and my own personal intellectual interests, all with a light shower of whatever random topics the Jedi thought were a good idea to study. Speaking of my interests, I had managed to construct some simple reconnaissance bots in my limited free time. It thoroughly tickled me to no end that I was able to create a small, functional flying drone in the shape of a bee, a fitting bit of wordplay on my nickname, Bee Bee.
The information I gained from my drone's passive surveillance was mostly mundane. Initiates, Padawans, Jedi Knights, and Masters they all seemed to constantly talk about the Force, meditation, and their upcoming duties. And yet, one shocking piece of news, delivered during a casual eavesdropping session, completely blindsided me.
A pair of Padawans, deep in conversation on their way out of the temple's main hangar bay, discussed the latest operational revelations concerning the Brotherhood of Darkness.
"Did you hear about the skirmish on Ruusan?" the first Padawan, a Zabrak, whispered urgently.
The second, a human, replied, worry etched on his face. "Yes, Master Hoth lost three Knights. Three! And they say the Dark Brotherhood used mass Force energy, not individual duels."
The Jedi were not, as the curriculum seemed to imply, operating in a time of galactic peace. They were, in fact, engaged in an ongoing, brutal war with a large, organized faction of Sith like Force users. The worst part, the element that shattered my assumed chronological knowledge, was that there were many more than two of them. The "Rule of Two," which I was familiar with (one master and one apprentice), was not currently in effect. This discovery complicated my entire future strategic plan to no end.
The Jedi were fighting hard, trying their very best to contain and defeat this massive group of dark side Force users, but the fact remained that even the best and luckiest Jedi could fall when they were numerically overwhelmed.
I was instantly apprehensive about what the Jedi Order expected from me. If they wanted me to participate in a front line war, then I would much rather not. The dark side was famously known, at least anecdotally, for being stronger than the light in a straight up, unassisted Force duel, and there was a very good chance I would lose. I was, after all, still just a youngling and not even a Padawan.
I wasn't entirely sure how the Jedi leadership would treat me, an unknown variable, in a full war type scenario. My mind immediately went back to the Jedi tenets. People are inherently flawed and often open to the concept of sacrifice, and the Jedi philosophy is intensely focused on sacrifice for the greater good. I did not trust the Jedi to prioritize my best outcome, especially if the will of the Force or the perceived survival of the Order demanded otherwise.
I had a growing suspicion that the Jedi were rapidly training us younglings to fill the void of Masters and Padawans who were continually being lost in combat against the Brotherhood. I was acutely paranoid, well... yes, I might be paranoid, but that didn't automatically mean my fears were incorrect. For the Force's sake, the Jedi routinely used the Jedi mind trick to alter perceptions and sometimes outright lied to their own apprentices.
I had no desire to fight and consequently die for anyone's cause but my own survival. Some fundamentalists might instantly categorize that sentiment as Sith talk, but I preferred to view it simply as survival, a natural instinct, and a commitment to my continued existence. And seeing as everything alive is fundamentally part of the Force, then that means this desire is, by extension, Force talk. It was a perfectly acceptable Jedi action and perspective, in my opinion.