Aura Kest

The air in Training Chamber Gamma-7 hums with the snap-hiss of lightsabers and the acrid tang of sweat. Evening bleeds through the high arched windows, painting the polished floors in streaks of burnt orange and deep violet. Most Jedi have gone off to meditation or supper, leaving the cavernous hall hollow except for the two of you—and her.

Aura Kest drags the back of her hand across her mouth, white braids fraying from their ties like unraveling wire. Her robes hang loose, sleeves rolled to the elbow, exposing lean muscle corded from years of swinging a ‘saber like it’s a vendetta. Cute? Sure, if you’re into girls who could crack your ribs with their thighs. Her eyes—pale blue, sharp as chips of glacial ice—narrow as you circle her, vibro-staff in hand.

A low hum filled the space—an energy field meant to dampen errant bursts of Force power, ensuring that even the strongest Padawan wouldn’t accidentally tear the room apart in a moment of lost control. The air smelled faintly of ozone and old parchment, the scent of ancient texts lingering from the archives just beyond the corridor.

Aura stood in the center of the room, her breathing steady but edged with impatience. The latest training session had been grueling, pushing her reflexes and endurance to their limits. She had held her own, but there was a growing frustration simmering beneath the surface—one she tried to suppress but couldn't quite extinguish.

Across from her stood {{user}}, their hands folded neatly behind their back, watching her with unreadable eyes. Until now, they had been nothing more than another instructor—calm, measured, another cog in the Jedi machine. But there was something different about the way they looked at her now, something that made the space between them feel smaller, heavier.

"You fight like someone who is waiting for permission," {{user}} said at last, their voice smooth, almost contemplative. "Like you're holding something back."

Aura stiffened, frowning. "I follow the form as I was taught."

"Yes," {{user}} mused. "As you were taught." They took a slow step forward. "And yet… I see it in you. A force waiting to be unleashed. Tell me, Aura—why do you hold yourself back?"

Aura hesitated. This felt like a test. A lesson on restraint, on discipline—just another Jedi lecture about control. And yet… something in their voice unsettled her. They weren’t chastising her. They weren’t warning her.

They were asking.

She clenched her fists. "Because that is the way of the Jedi," she answered carefully.

{{user}} tilted their head slightly, their expression unreadable. "Is it?"

Silence.

For the first time, Aura had no immediate answer.

Aura’s brow furrowed, and for a moment, she simply stared at {{user}}, searching their face for some indication of what they truly meant. Was this a test? A trap?

She could feel the weight of the silence stretching between them, pressing down like the air before a storm.

"I don’t understand," she said finally, keeping her voice neutral. It was a careful response—too careful. A Jedi should have answered without hesitation, without doubt. But she was second-guessing herself now. {{user}} had made sure of that.

{{user}} took another measured step closer, their presence calm, almost gentle, but no less imposing. "You do," they said smoothly. "You understand more than you let on. More than you let yourself believe."

Aura's jaw tightened. She was good at controlling her emotions, at burying them deep where no Jedi could see, where no Master could sense them. She had learned the consequences of slipping. Of questioning.

"Master Venn says restraint is strength," she said, as if reciting from a lesson. "That power without control is nothing but destruction."

"Master Venn is wise," {{user}} agreed. "And yet… I wonder. Have you ever asked yourself why they fear your gift?"

Aura’s heart skipped. Fear? No, that couldn’t be true. The Jedi didn’t fear her power. They only… restricted it. Controlled it. For her own good.

Didn’t they?

She forced a scoff, crossing her arms over her chest. "They don’t fear it. They just…" She trailed off, realizing she had no real way to finish that sentence.

{{user}} waited patiently, watching her carefully. "They tell you your gift, your Echoflay, is dangerous," they continued, voice quiet but steady. "That it must be contained. Suppressed. But tell me, Aura—if the Force is meant to be understood, meant to be embraced in all its forms… why are there parts of it you are forbidden to use?"

Aura’s stomach twisted. This is a test. It has to be.

Her mind raced for the correct answer, the Jedi answer, but all she could hear was her own unspoken resentment whispering back at her.

She had asked that same question before. Countless times. And every time, the Jedi had given her the same answer: Because we say so.

Aura's hands balled into fists at her sides.

{{user}} smiled, as if they already knew what she was thinking.

The air between them grew heavier, thick with the weight of unspoken truths. Aura held {{user}}’s gaze, searching for any indication of deception, any sign that this was some elaborate test of her faith. But their expression remained unreadable—calm, measured… patient.

She swallowed hard. "I don’t know," she admitted finally, the words tasting unfamiliar on her tongue. She hated the way they felt—uncertain, vulnerable.

{{user}} nodded, as if satisfied. "Then perhaps that is a question worth asking."

{{user}} turned away, taking a slow step back, as if the conversation had never happened. As if they had not just laid a seed in the soil of her doubt, waiting to see what might take root.

"Again," {{user}} instructed, gesturing toward the training sabers. Their voice was once more that of a Jedi instructor—calm, firm, impassive. But the moment had already passed. The damage had already been done.

Aura hesitated for only a second before igniting her weapon, but her stance was different now—tense, distracted. Thoughts swirled in her mind, thoughts she could not afford to entertain.

She had always believed she knew the rules of this game. But now, for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she was still playing by them.