"Did I ever tell you how I came to be a healer myself?"
Mel hesitates before she slowly lowers herself onto the low bench next to him, the datapads pressed to her chest with white-knuckled hands as though they are already something precious. "No, Master."
Robby smiles to himself. "I came here very late, by Jedi standards. Eight standard years old. I was lucky Jack decided not to be a bully and took me in hand instead, though he was even younger."
Mel's eyes drop. "Children can be cruel, the Temple's rules notwithstanding."
"Indeed." Robby rubs at his beard, wondering if even he knows where he is leading the conversation. "I grew up in a - well, the Jedi and others have, over the years, called it a cult. The more appropriate term is a lay order. There are, as I'm sure you're aware, dozens if not hundreds of Force-adjacent sects in the galaxy who have a different relationship with the cosmos either than the Jedi, or than those beings who are non-Force sensitive."
"Your parents... were born into it? Or they brought you there?"
"My mother - born. I still remember some of the mantras, though of course they are very different than what we learn in the creches here, or what we learn here as adults. Perhaps a touch more elemental, though no less philosophical."
"I see." Mel nods, but then just a moment later she shakes her head. "Actually no, Master, I don't see. I'm sorry?"
"I haven't finished the story yet," Robby teases, patting a gentle hand on her back. "What I mean to say is - I spent a long time existing somewhat between two worlds. Though the Force had plans for me, I never quite understood my purpose; in some ways, I am still searching for it now. All I knew is that I could do these things; that I could be a healer. And all these years later, here I am."
He draws Mel in closer, pressing a small kiss to the top of her meticulous braid. "You are extraordinarily set and clear in your purpose, Mel King. If this is where I am, just imagine where you'll end up."
