One of the first lessons in the temple and meeting the instructor
"So, kids, allow me to introduce myself—Bagiran Naron…" began a tall man in a blue cloak, a sword at his belt, and a fitted combat suit—if not outright armor. But…
"You're the guy who was standing in the corridor!" I came at him right away, stepping to the front. The man clearly hesitated, but still found his footing.
"You must be mistaken…"
"Not once! I remember your aura perfectly. Back then you were really surprised, and now you're downright shocked." Snickers ran through the group, but…
"Alright, calm down. Even if that's true—how did you see?" the guy narrowed his eyes.
"Like I'd tell you everything," I fold my arms across my chest and turn away demonstratively. "Why should I share personal information with someone who not only doesn't say hello, but also vanishes into thin air and won't even admit it? I don't talk to sketchy people!" He choked, and I continued. "Not talking!"
"To what kind of people?"
"Sketchy. Now Master Garos—that's a different story. At least he's polite."
"Pfft-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha…" a bright female voice rang out in the hall. Turning, we saw a young Sith woman who, doubled over by the wall, was cackling like mad. "Ha-ha-ha… oi, amana lusa… ha-ha-ha… asara halun."
"Tsikuna, stop," the newly revealed Master of Disappearing cut in, but the girl couldn't be stopped.
"Oh, I can't… Bagi, they've called you all sorts of things, but to hear that from a child… where did you stand out like that?" that strange creature asked, wiping tears away.
"I just went to see what kind of newcomers we got," the Master looked back at us.
"And he saw you, yeah?" The man didn't answer, but I received an entire crowd of baffled stares. "What's your name, kid?"
"Shade," I answer, squinting at this odd lady. No idea who she is, but the level of the Force in her is huge. Maybe like Mom's…
"And your last name?"
"Aero."
"Oooh… Well, Bagi—pray. You just made HER son look like an idiot. MWA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!!"
"Where did I end up…" I whisper with just my lips.
"Sorry, you're probably confused?" she addresses me. "Relax. My name is Tsikuna. Aara is my best friend. We made the pilgrimage together across all nine temples. Qigong Kesh is my temple. And one more thing—if this 'sketchy'—" she looked at the man, "—gives you trouble, just tell me. I'll put him in his place in no time."
"Uh…"
"Alright then, kids—I can see you're settling in little by little. So, I wanted to say: welcome to Qigong Kesh. Hope you like it here," she addressed the stunned group. "Alright, I have to go. Good luck, Bagi. And remember—it's HER son," the last words sounded like a curse. Or a sentence.
"Yeah, I got that already," the man muttered, hiding the lower half of his face behind a protective collar.
Silence fell in the hall. People exchanged glances and kept peeking at the Master, while the Master himself stared at the passage where the Sith had disappeared.
Taking a couple steps, I tug his sleeve.
"Master Bagi, can I ask something?" He looked at me like he was ready to kill me right here and now, but after a deep inhale-exhale, he answered.
"Ask. Why not."
"What do you specialize in?"
"Managing auras and your own body using the Force. And maintaining your physical condition."
"Got it."
"Listen, kid. How did you see me? I hid my aura—no one can even feel me in the Force."
I think for a moment. Strange: in my "sonar" I saw him clearly. Or rather, his outline, behind which there was emptiness—with emotions.
"Accidentally." I shrug and smile.
"Oh yeah?" he looked at me like Müller looking at Stierlitz.
"Yeah," and I put on the most honest eyes I'm even capable of. Laughter came from behind me—my classmates.
***
You know, the place is clearly not bad. At the very least, it's obvious why Mom insisted on this specific temple. Tsikuna, the Master of the temple, is a very active girl… well, woman. Turns out she has a husband and a couple sons, but they're already Trailblazers. And what's most interesting—she's pushing forty. FORTY by local time is like seventy by what I'm used to. And the main thing is, Mom is the same age—yet by appearance you can't physically give either of them more than twenty-five to thirty.
But alright, that's just lyrical. The point is the temple. After arriving on the planet Tython, the ancient starships—the Tho Yor—scattered to different regions of the planet, near which the temples were founded. One of the Tho Yor came to a mysterious desert whose sand swallowed any sounds. Any at all. Completely. Call out to a person a hundred meters away, and they most likely won't hear you. Closer—they might. But farther—no.
Here, near the ancient ship floating in the air between curved stone spires, the Je'daii Order founded the Temple of Force Understanding. The sheer size of the temple was mind-blowing. The main buildings of the temple were located in a complex system of underground tunnels and natural caverns. Walls protected the cave entrances from desert sand, and the cave walls protected from the scorching sun. The mild climate inside the temple was maintained by six giant air conditioners deep within it, operating on the interface of electricity and the Force.
In the center, there was a spacious inner courtyard, and above it hung the Tho Yor. By the way, this is my first time seeing a ship like that. The ship itself looked like a massive three-dimensional diamond with four main engines and eight maneuvering thrusters. No windows or doors were visible, but the ship was radiating the Force like crazy. Like I'm standing next to a reactor, no other way to describe it. It was physically impossible to get inside the ship, and no one dared damage it, so the vessel became something like a monument.
"Sh-a-a-a-ade!" one of the Twi'leks suddenly latched onto my neck. "Why are you off to the side, friend? Come with everyone!"
The moment people learned my "authority level," I instantly jumped from the "mommy's boy" tier to the "best friend" tier. Damn, it's nauseating. Though not with everyone, yeah.
"Va'al, get off. Enough."
"Why are you so angry?"
"You're annoying."
"N-no, with that attitude toward your neighbor, they'll ship you off to Boganu."
"What if I punch you in the face?" I lift an eyebrow. In a couple takedus in the temple, I'd already managed to get into a fight a couple times—and win. Yeah, Tsikuna and the other Masters tore into me afterward, but at least it got through to many that they shouldn't try to piss me off.
"Oh, they're calling me over there. I'm running. See you," and he vanished. He already got it once when he pushed too far—he's not stepping on that rake again. He bails early.
With a sigh, I turn to Ramira. The most problematic Zabrak you can find in this world—believe it. Shy, soft, insecure. Master Garos is bending over backward trying to rid her of an inferiority complex, but it's not really working. People say kids are like clay: whatever you mold, that's what you get. Her parents were not only non-Force-sensitive, they were also from the lowest stratum, and that's trauma for a child from whom… from whom other lives will depend. The twins avoid her, calling her a pseudo-Zabrak, and the others aren't particularly friendly either. Only Lina is genuinely friends with her, and Vessira sort of supports her. At this rate, they'll literally beat all the potential out of this little one—and she does have it.
"So what are we sad about?" I ask the horned Zabrak girl with her head hanging. By the way, a pretty Zabrak girl.
"Marti told me to get lost. Shade, tell me—I'm a disgrace, not a Zabrak, right?"
"Oh, don't start, alright? You are who you are. Also—Marti is which one?" I hook an arm around her, and point with the other at three guys whispering in the corridor.
"Huh? Th-thanks. A-and… why do you need that?"
"I just want to know who's picking on such a cutie."
"Shade, don't… you're already… not really liked. Some people."
"Rami, either you tell me yourself, or I'll go and ask them. There's no third option. So?"
She blushes, but redirects my hand.
"There. Him. From the older groups. They say he can read people and talk about their talents."
"He can read people, huh? Then let's go—let him read me." I take her hand and pull her along like a tractor.
"Huh? Where?!" the Zabrak girl gawks.
"Where do you think? I won't allow my comrades to be insulted. Especially ones this cute, beautiful, and just wonderful," she turns even redder, but stops resisting.
"…and he says, 'should've slept less,' and laughs. Instead of helping clean up."
"Are you Marti?" I ask the human bluntly.
"Well, suppose I am. And who are you? This little runt's buddy?" he points at the girl behind me.
"But you can read, right? So read," I snap back.
"You're bold, acting like that. Didn't anyone teach you how to talk to your elders?"
"Nope. And anyway—my respect has to be earned. And you, 'pal,' insulted my friend." People exchanged looks and laughed. The whole group was four individuals.
"So you came to dispense justice?"
"Bingo."
"And can you?" At that moment, the whole group gave off a wave of threat at once. But at the same time, I see five figures approaching me. The twins, Vessira, Lina, and Gris (the same Wookiee. I am learning the language, and my 'client' is the teacher.) They walked up and simply stood behind me without saying a word.
"I can," I answer confidently, practically crushing the mental barrier with the Force. One thing is a small scuffle; another is a full-on brawl between two groups. The bully didn't hesitate long, then gave in.
"Fine. I apologize for my words to this young lady. Satisfied?"
"Completely." I turn and look into Ramira's astonished eyes. "What?"
"I thought you'd fight."
"Why?" we both asked at the same time. Trading a look, I wink at the guy; he only snorts, and we turn back to the girl.
"If you remember, fighting in the temple is forbidden," Mark spoke up. "And since you're relatively new, the main blame would fall on us. Your friend knows that very well. Right?"
"Yeah," I nod.
"The conflict isn't worth bruises. And this psycho—" he pointed at me, "—would definitely have taken it there. Right, Aero?"
"Exactly!" I snap my fingers. "Because there's no damn reason to pick on the little ones."
"I didn't pick on anyone. I just stated a fact."
Suddenly, a bell struck, cutting off our dispute.
"Looks like it's time for class. See you, Aero," the group literally dissolved into the corridors of the temple, as did the other students.
…Ramira stared after the older kids.
"By the way, why did you come over?" I ask the ones who gathered.
"They made us," one of the twins grumbled.
"Gru-u-u."
"No way! You threatened to rip our arms off if we didn't come!" the second twin exclaimed.
"But he was kidding," Lina sang softly, lightly bonking the Wookiee.
"Ru-gu-ra-ar," Gris happily patted the Miraluka on the head.
"Don't make excuses, furry doormat on legs. We'd never in our lives go save this useless klutz," I feel a searing wave of hurt flare from Ramira, and her hand squeezes mine a little tighter.
"If I were you guys, I'd carry her around in your arms," I throw in my five pens (local money). The hurt is replaced by surprise and confusion. And that second emotion came from everyone.
"Why?"
"To answer, I have to ask. Who do you think she is?"
"What kind of stupid question is that?"
"Well?" I press.
"Weak, with no talents."
"A worthless useless hack. She can't even say a word. How's she going to survive on Tython?" Another wave of hurt—this time at me. I feel the urge to hide and cry.
"Well, you're partly right," the urge intensifies; tears well up; and the female part of the group looks at me reproachfully. "Yeah, she's so-so as a fighter—but she doesn't have to fight. Her strength is something else." People listen more intently, and Ramira seems to stop breathing. "Healing."
The twins exchanged looks and smiled, but the little one… She was radiating such a cacophony of emotions I won't even try to sort them out.
"Don't grin. If my instinct isn't lying, Ramira has enormous potential in that field. The kind you won't ever see. Now here's a question: you're hurt, you're lying there bleeding out—who do you turn to for help?" People fell quiet, and Ramira's aura turned into an even more nuclear cocktail of embarrassment, hope, joy, and indignation. "That's what I thought. She, just like you, will fight. But while you fight monsters and enemies, she will fight death for your lives. You hurt her without even wanting to know her. I did. Every day, studying Shyriiwook with her, I saw the books she reads. I saw what her talent leans toward. And you know what? I can state with full confidence that despite all your words and all the hurt, this girl will still fight for you," by the end of my speech, it was painful to look at the Zabrak twins. I'd never seen guilt like that in anyone. And Ramira, by that point, had wrapped herself around my arm and was simply pressing close. "Now it's your turn," I whisper, and, freeing my limb, gently nudge that shy girl toward the twins.
"Oh… um…" she looks back at me, then at the twins.
"Listen, Ramira…" the first began.
"We… went too far. With our words."
"Yeah. And… we admit we were wrong."
"Please forgive us?"
"Well… alright. I'm not offended," embarrassed up to her horns, the future medic lowered her gaze.
"Really?" Feng asked, lifting his head.
"Really."
"Thanks! We…"
The guys started chattering and, swarming Ramira, tried to talk her up, giving too much attention to a girl not used to it. The Wookiee didn't stay on the sidelines—he simply scooped the Zabrak girl into a hug, while Lina tried to save her friend from being strangled. Vessira sidled up to me.
"Surprised me," she whispered.
"As usual."
"Can you be more modest?" she raised an eyebrow.
"Nope. Not interesting that way."
"You're hopeless," she rolled her eyes and punched my shoulder lightly.
"I don't remember us becoming such close friends."
"You passed the test."
"A test?" I lift an eyebrow.
"Yeah. Like a probation period. I thought you were one of those golden kids…" she waved a hand in the air, "you know—the ones from Chikaagu, the clan types. You do have… special 'acquaintances,' after all. Like your mother. And people like that don't come from nowhere."
"Well thaa-ank you. I don't even know whether I should be offended by that or happy…"
With that, I turn and head toward the meditation classroom.
"Where are you going?" Vessira was surprised. "Did I offend you?" There was even more surprise in that last question than in the first.
"No. It's just that the bell already rang, and we have class with Master Runa now." Hearing that, the others snapped to attention and hurried over.
"Then why aren't you rushing?" Lina cut in, running around me and walking backward. Sometimes Miraluka kill me with their three-hundred-sixty-degree vision.
"Rush to a meditation class?" I make a skeptical face. "Nope."
After thinking a moment, the group agreed with me. It's the most hated subject in the whole academy. And it's not because sitting and meditating is mind-numbingly boring. No. It's because the entire lesson is accompanied by the irritating droning of the old Twi'lek who teaches it. His monotonous voice is freezing. Like an old recording, he repeats the same words over and over. At first you don't notice, but then students enter a meditative state for one single reason: not to hear him. I'd bet they keep him for exactly that, because dropping into meditation in such a short amount of time—you really have to know how.
***
BANG!
An explosion thundered in one of the Force practice halls. An attempt to create ball lightning and direct it at a target resulted in me creating something that doesn't look like lightning, but has far greater destructive potential.
"SHADE!!!" Master Uval barked.
"Ugh…" I get up off the floor, looking around the hall. My group is coming to their senses too. "Yes, Master Uval?"
"I told you to focus Force lightning in your hand. What did you do?!"
"Um… tried to complete the assigned task?"
"Idiot! How many times did I repeat that to produce Force lightning you need to concentrate on the Force while giving it the proper structure!"
Thump—he smacked me on the head with my own note-book. We don't have notebooks, but we do have books where we write down notes and personal remarks.
"But I tried!"
"You made a Force discharge, idiot—you still need to set polarity! Who was I performing for, describing the process?"
"Master, I'm sorry…" I wilt… I may be a dumbass, but the Master is right.
"Sorry?!"
"Master, breathe deeper. Try to keep your balance—you're already sparking, and your eyes turned yellow…"
"Why, I'll—"
Thump—another smack with my own book to the head. Yeah, Master Uval didn't like me before, and once he started teaching me, it got even worse. What can I do if I can't change the focus?! I just don't understand how to do it—Mom taught me the Force in a completely different way.
"And what are you all staring at?!" he snapped at the others, and the kids immediately started diligently cleaning up.
"Master, I understand you're angry…" he looked at me again. "…very angry, but I didn't do it on purpose!"
"Not in every lesson!" he flared up and raised the book again, and I pulled my head into my shoulders, bracing for yet another blow of fate.
"I'm an idiot, I admit it, I repent—just spare the book!"
The funniest thing is, on the other hand, I was also driving him up the wall. Just in my own way. I was interested in using the Force and the ways to transform it into different forms—and Master Uval was excellent at that. So I kept pestering him on purpose, squeezing out as much material as I could. The other thing is, it was hard for me, and not a single damn thing came out well on the first try. At least not in his classes. Also, I had problems stabilizing stored energy. For example, when the task is to accumulate the Force in a certain sphere but not discharge it into the surrounding space, I constantly get destabilization. Honestly, that's bad. Not catastrophic, but bad. If I can't stabilize energy that's trying to break loose, then Uval was right in some sense—I really do need to meditate more, restoring balance. Yoda said something about a "quick" and "easy" path. Come here, shorty—I'll show you a "quick" and "easy" path.
Because the problem with the dark side isn't that it flatters you. No. It's the equivalent of movement. The light side is the brake. Accelerate too hard—you won't be able to stop. But if you stop, you'll never move again. My problem is brakes, but I understand that, and I try to "slow down" when I really start to skid. Go on, shorty—tell ME it's easy when they periodically throw you into an arena and say, "Beat the critter," just so you'll know how to fight it. What peace—what are you even talking about? It's only adrenaline and hardcore!
And if you accelerate too much, you can enter the planet's field, so to speak—fall into resonance with it, and then all hell breaks loose. Force storms, earthquakes, fire tornadoes formed by those same storms… and all of it can start at any moment, because of you, or because of someone else.
Meanwhile, while I was thinking about the fleeting, Uval cooled down and gave a command in a firm, officer's voice:
"Continue the lesson! And you…" he looked at me, drilled me with his eyes for a moment, exhaled, and waved a hand. "Come on. I hope you've mastered group meditation."
"I have… why?"
"I'll try to guide you."
"Couldn't we have done that right away?" indignation burst out of me.
Thump—textbook to the head.
"Got it. I'm quiet…"
***
It wasn't by the Force alone that my life was lived. Even though Qigong Kesh focused primarily on it, the technical aspect couldn't be ignored. The temple had a small… how to put it, section? Annex? Corner? In short, a zone where representatives of Stav Keshe—the temple of science—had dug in. There was a storage room, several classrooms, and workshops. This little patch of Stav Keshe handled all the technical doodads. They repaired all the equipment of Qigong Kesh, and they also taught a number of classes to the locals regarding technology. You have to know at least the necessary minimum, right? They gave us surface-level lessons about ships, fighters, ranged weapons and melee weapons. Also, in that same corner, they gave us simple lessons in so-called "Force forging."
The information was provided not only for our comprehensive education, but also so we wouldn't end up with our asses bare among enemies if we suddenly didn't have a weapon in our hands. Or so it would be easier to care for that weapon—sharpen it, pour the Force into it, modify it if necessary. And it just so happened that I spent there, whenever possible, a little more time than I was supposed to. After all, I was an isekai'd outsider, and this little corner of the temple of science was my very source of technical knowledge about the world I now live in.
Yes, I understood they wouldn't give me a specialized education. But still, thanks to them, I was able to understand how to work with certain metals, how to use Force-powered artifacts, how to pilot an aircraft. I mean, a real Je'daii aircraft has no buttons. Only a yoke. All the rest of the control is carried out through the Force. How that process happens, how to get into the essence of a machine, how to understand what broke, what can break…
And Master Drags, one of the local luminaries of science, "in secret" shared with me that any machine is, in fact, alive. If it isn't a dry assembly-line build, of course. A craftsman, creating a device—whatever it may be—puts a piece of his soul into it, so such tech will, in a certain sense, glow in the Force. Just a little. You still have to be able to see it, of course, but the fact remains. And if the craftsman is also its owner, then a connection forms between them. That's why devices you personally modified, built—or even just talk to—will be, in some sense, alive.
As an example, he cited a case from his own life. Master Drags had no left arm; instead he had a mechanical arm powered by the Force, and he lost the real one in an accident. He's a pilot, and in one of the conflicts he came under fire. Being linked with his machine, he himself didn't understand what happened—his aircraft suddenly jerked aside, and the burst that should've torn the cockpit apart only shot off a wing. Later, he found out that right before the hit, one of the stabilizers malfunctioned, and that's what threw the machine. But the timing…
In short, he loaded me up heavily. And not just me—my friends, who at first tried to pull me out of there, also got interested. So sometimes you could find us there, for example, disassembling or assembling a comlink, or sharpening a weapon, or doing some other small but useful everyday task.
And they also showed me how a holocron works. A phenomenal device—at the junction of technology and the Force. Only someone who uses the Force can open it, but once the holocron is open, even ordinary people can interact with it by connecting it to a special terminal port. And even though they showed me, explained it, and even let me hold it, I didn't figure the thing out. Too complex. Too advanced. Just… too much.
Though when we accidentally wrecked one of the machines… and a few other small things, but that's not important—of course they got mad at us, then forgave us, but the punishment was terrifying.