#eshan

Master Plo Koon was not a Jedi Seeker, but it seemed the Force had intentions to make him one today. It had only been weeks earlier he’d found a young Togruta girl on Shili and brought her to the temple, and now it seemed he would be bringing back another youngling.

Eshan was a temperate planet, its surface covered in freshwater oceans, wide expanses of forests and plains, and ranges of mountains that stretched high into the sky. Its location in the Inner Rim meant it was well connected, with plenty of trade and opportunities for safe travel, but the people of the planet tended to scare off most visitors.

Echani people were proud of their heritage and culture, but in a galaxy that had coexisted in relative peace for the last thousand years, their fixation on war and combat earned them a wide berth from travellers and sightseers. Civil wars were not uncommon, though often short, so a great many of outside visitors were politicians and diplomats, sent to assist in resolving issues and coming to a peaceful solution, or funding proxy wars for the sake of personal gain and power.

Master Plo was present for the former reason.

Civil war was brewing once more, and it seemed it was to take place directly within the capital, Eshan City, where invisible battle lines were being drawn; mercenaries paid and stationed strategically, law enforcement bribed, black market sales increasing, smuggling going unpunished… on a planet like this, where honour, battle prowess, alliances and lineage were paramount, such things should never go unnoticed, unpunished. But war was brutal, and history would be moulded by the hands of the victors.

It was Master Plo’s hope to deescalate the situation, but politics were synonymous with war amongst the Echani; they fought as much as they spoke. For them, it was their truest form of communication, an art form. To battle with a friend, an enemy, an opponent, an ally, much could be gleaned; their mood, their wishes, their fears, their strongest traits. Loss could mean everything as much as it could mean nothing. A fight that looked to most like it was teetering on the edge of a merciless slaughter could be seen as nothing more than friends coming to an agreement on an issue. Emotions must be read carefully, his words calculated, and his interjections only ever at necessity, if his mission was to succeed.

It was fortunate then that much of it resolved itself. A few well placed words of honour and discipline, of needless danger placed upon elderly warriors too old to fight, and younglings to small to survive from Master Plo eventually snowballed into old allegiances being reborn between old families; matriarchs of families finding ways to secure alliances, favours being called in from powerful politicians and spies being discovered, until a rather convoluted plot to assassinate several members of the Echani Command and replace them with new members was unravelled.

It would be an unstable few weeks while the remaining issues were resolved amongst the Echani, but that was a matter that the Jedi would not interfere with unless it once again grew too dangerous, or the Echani themselves requested them.

His ship was parked on the outskirts in a private shipyard, thoughtfully offered by one the matriarchs on the Echani Command, for she feared his presence may warrant some rather negative reactions from certain people, and she hadn’t wished for him to be blown up upon landing. For the umpteenth time in the last few weeks, he passed by the rundown orphanage that housed at least a hundred children.

An unfortunate area on Eshan, where a rather cruel caste system was still slowly being chipped away at. The lower class, these children amongst them, lived poor lives, destined to either become soldiers, which was admirable in their society, though there was little chance for advancement, or fall prey to the criminal underworld that was right at their doorstep.

“Master Jedi!”

Master Plo halted in his walk, spying a middle aged woman halfway through exiting the entrance to the orphanage. She was nearly indistinguishable from other Echani women; white haired, fair skinned, silver eyed, a few inches shy of 6 feet tall. Their people were all remarkably similar in appearance, thought to be the result of cruel genetic experimentation imposed upon them by Arkanian’s. The Thyrsian’s origins were believed to be much the same.

Her brow was stern, shoulders squared, and her stride was long, but she nodded respectfully to him as he bowed slightly, “I am Master Plo Koon.”

“Riliel Oren. If you aren’t busy, I have a… child I would like you to see.”

“A child?” He stroked his chin thoughtfully, “One you suspect is Force sensitive?” There wasn’t really any other reason she would approach a Jedi about a child.

Riliel Oren nodded, her eyes darting about, as though expecting to find someone listening in, but there were few people around, and none who cared to listen, “Follow me. I will not speak of this any more while outside.”

Master Plo simply nodded, allowing the woman to lead him inside, where a deafening cacophony of laughter, screams, cries and chatter greeted him. Loud, but happy, despite their unfortunate circumstances.

“This youngling,” Master Plo said, falling into step beside her, “How old are they?”

“Just turned six,” Riliel said, “One of the shorter children. She likely won’t pass five and a half feet.”

He nodded silently. That was about as short as Echani could be once they were mature, “And what makes you certain she’s Force sensitive?”

Riliel Oren looked around them again, as though someone other than a child was going to jump from behind a wall. When she spoke, her voice was so quiet Master Plo strained to hear, “When she was three she used to say she could feel invisible hands guiding her own when she would practise or spar.”

Training started early for Echani children, even earlier than Jedi Initiates, who start at four.

“I used to think that was just how she used to describe reflexes, but things never quite add up. She was never very steady on her feet,” she lead them up a flight of stairs, and the noise dimmed slightly, “and she was never any better at sparring than any other of the kids, but then, out of nowhere, sometimes she would block a strike too well, dart back from an attack when she was looking the other way, move her feet before a droid would shoot a stun bolt there…”

Riliel came to a sudden stop outside a closed door, scraped and scuffed, and the handle dulled with use, “And there was a man that used to come and see her,” the tone of her voice gave Master Plo pause, waiting for her to continue, “He never much spoke to me, and I would have never let him come near this place if I had any say, but when I brought it up to the authorities they came back a week later with some politician that said if anyone was willing to adopt one of these kids, I couldn’t say no. Too many orphans after the last war, you see. If I said no I’d lose my job, and… well, I can’t imagine what kind of person they might put in charge here if they don’t care who these children go home with.”

Master Plo nodded, silently agreeing. The children were lucky to have a compassionate woman taking care of them, particularly in such hard times.

“And this man… he was a Zabrak, never told me his name, always wearing a hood… he would show up all hours of the day and night, sometimes I wouldn’t even know, but I’d find Arwen—the child—missing from her bed, or from sparring lessons, only to turn up again, refusing to tell me what happened, because it was a secret. But I’ve noticed she’s gotten better with her sparring since then, much better than she should be. No child should be that focussed at this age, not that precise either…”

“You believe this man was a Jedi?”

Riliel shook her head, lips pursed, “I couldn’t say. I never saw him use the Force.”

“No lightsaber?”

“I never saw one of those, but simply possessing a lightsaber doesn’t make one a Jedi. If he had one, he could have gotten it anywhere.”

“Wise words,” he conceded, “Though it certainly would have helped narrow things down.”

“I’m not worried about who he is,” she interjected, “I’m worried he’ll come back. I’m certain he was teaching her things, whether he could do it himself or not, and there’s just something about him that was never quite right. I could always see it—the way he spoke, the way he stood, the way he moved. Whoever he is, he’s dangerous.”

Echani were exceptional at reading body language, likely having developed the skill when their population had all become startlingly similar in appearance; even parents had issues telling their children apart. Subtle cues and ticks in body language were integral to communication amongst Echani, and unique to individuals in a way that others couldn’t pick up on.

“That is alarming indeed—when was the last time he was here?”

“It’s been four months,” she replied, looking at the metal door they stood before and lowering her voice, “He used to come every two or three weeks or so. She’s been very… withdrawn for the past two months. Arwen said he promised to take her away, but I can’t stomach the thought of letting her leave with him,” she looked at him almost desperately, “There’s nothing I can do for her if he comes back, and I’m certain he will. I know she’s almost too old, and that you Jedi aren’t exactly fond of Echani traditions,” she managed to hide her annoyance well, but not well enough. Master Plo could only wait for her to continue, “but she’s a good girl, very calm, very focussed, I’ve never seen her lose her temper, and I’m sure she’d take well to your training, she’s a good listener—”

“May I see her?”

Riliel looked surprised for only a second, before smiling softly. She turned to knock gently on the door, “Arwen? May I come in?”

He listened for her voice, but only heard a shuffle, then the jiggling of the door’s handle before it slowly swung open.

Arwen was a small child, barely reaching his hip, and looked much like the others; white hair cut bluntly at her shoulders, fair skin with a couple light freckles over her cheeks and nose, and silver eyes, round and slightly irritated, like she’d been crying.

He felt a wave of sympathy. Young enough that he could take her to the temple on Coruscant, but old enough that she would remember life here. Adjustment may be difficult… her eyes flickered over to him slowly, and her brows pulled together. He watched her eyelids flutter, and then her hand reach out slightly, just barely leaving her side.

Master Plo felt a gentle nudge against his mind. Nothing abrupt, nor aggressive or invasive, just there, inquisitive. Surprised, though he shouldn’t have been after what Riliel had told him, he brushed back with his own Force signature, only to feel hers quickly snap back as her back straightened and both her hands went behind her back.

Barely reaching his hip, and little more than skin and bones, she stood like a soldier waiting for orders. She didn’t look at him.

Master Plo smiled from behind his mask, big enough that she would be able to notice if she looked at him. He hoped it might make her feel a little more comfortable. Riliel spoke, “Arwen, this is Master Plo Koon.”

“Hello,” she said quietly, still refusing to meet his eyes.

“Hello, young one. I understand you’ve become quite the little warrior,” he slowly moved down to one knee so he was at eye level with her. She frowned, silver eyes flicking up to Madam Oren, who nodded at her. Slowly, Arwen turned to look at him.

“I’ve been practising a lot.”

Master Plo hummed gently, “And why have you been practising so much?”

He could sense her turmoil immediately; sadness and longing, hope and despair, and her lower lip wobbled slightly. Would she tell the truth, or would she lie? 

It would make little difference to him if she did. If Arwen was willing to come to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, then he would take her. Who was he to deny a child that future, when her heart was so clearly torn between loyalty to a man who promised to her adopt her but disappeared, and to Riliel Oren, who she must have known her whole life?

“If I get good enough, I might get adopted.”

Amused, Master Plo chuckled. A clever avoidance of the question, “And I suppose you already have someone in mind, little warrior?”

It took a few seconds for her to nod.

“And when did you last see them?”

She grimaced, “Madam Oren already told you.”

“Ah, so you were listening? Then I suppose you know why I am here.”

Master Plo waited for Arwen to speak, ask her questions, or make a quick decision, but she only shuffled her feet, toes kicking at the worn durasteel flooring.

“May we have a moment, Madam Oren?” 

“Of course, you can use my office,” she said. Arwen trailed behind them silently, and when Riliel closed the door to the office, Master Plo took a seat on the floor, cross legged.

“Come sit. I can sense your struggle. I will show you how to calm yourself.”

“I already know how.”

“Your mysterious teacher taught you to meditate? What else did he teach you?”

She didn’t say anything, but sat down across from him, legs crossed and hands resting on her knees. He watched her close her eyes and begin to settle herself, observing for a few minutes to make sure she didn’t open her eyes, then falling into his own meditation, allowing his own Force signature to reach out and check her own. He silently commended her—it seemed she was at a similar level to younglings her age in the temple, and he supposed he owed that not only to her mysterious teacher, but also to Echani traditions, who often meditated before and after battles in groups, though it was more for the purpose of reflection on combat, victories hard fought and failures. 

He let himself sink into the gentle ebb and flow of the Force, his mind brushing over the nearby life he could sense; a girl in the next room, happy but calm, a caretaker on the floor below, frazzled and run down, but dedicated, an adolescent boy in the dojo, sore and tired but refusing to stop, Riliel Oren nearby, paranoid but hopeful, and finally, on Arwen; nervous, sad, lonely, but also determined, and very slowly falling into a calmer state the longer she meditated. 

She would do well, he thought. With Jedi Masters and Knights always available at the temple, she would never need to wait for a teacher to become available. She would join a youngling clan, and would grow up alongside them, learning and playing together, undertaking the trials and making a lightsaber at the end of it, and then she would become a Padawan Learner—maybe he would take her on, or Ahsoka, if Arwen was selected by someone else—

But he was getting ahead of himself. Arwen had said nothing on the matter and, even though she was only a child, the decision was hers to make. He would not steal her away to Coruscant if she did not want to leave, and he would have to make that clear to Madam Oren as well. Few Echani were Force sensitive, and those that were became accomplished warriors. Even young Force sensitives, once they were discovered here, were closely guarded and watched. No doubt Arwen would not be permitted to leave if others knew, but she deserved to make that choice for herself. 

“I usually kneel when I meditate,” she broke the silence, but Master Plo did not open his eyes. He could sense that she did not either, “If I leave with you, will I have to sit like this?”

He could hear the smile in his own voice, “No, little one, you may meditate in whatever position you like,” he heard her shuffle for a few seconds, repositioning herself, “Will you tell me what else you’ve been taught?”

“I don’t know much. I can meditate, but sometimes it's hard, and I can’t find my hands--sorry, the Force. It’s easier when I’m sparring or practising, so I’ve gotten better at it.”

Master Plo hummed, eyes still closed, waiting for her to continue.

“I was told there’s a light side and a dark side,” she said quietly, like she was waiting to be scolded, but Master Plo said nothing, “There’s lots of Jedi on Coruscant. I can lift some things in the air without touching them, if I try really hard, and they’re not big… or alive, but not for long,” he heard her shuffle again, and, sensing her focus was lost, he opened his eyes. Arwen sat, hugging her knees to her chest, lips downturned and eyes glassy, “He also said I shouldn’t let my emotions control me, and I thought… maybe… that’s why he hasn’t come back… because I’m always too happy to see him, and he said when he took me away, that wouldn’t make him my dad, just my… teacher. And maybe he left to test me, and when he came back he saw how sad I was, and now he won’t ever come back--”

“Calm yourself, little one,” Master Plo said gently, “Learning to control one's feelings takes a lifetime, and is something you do every day. No one can master it in a day, not even one as determined as you,” she looked up with a small smile, “And I’m sure your teacher never meant to imply otherwise. Was he also a Jedi?”

She looked away again, lips pressing together, “I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone about him.”

“Not even a name?” She shook her head, “Very well, young one. I won’t ask about your teacher anymore, but may I ask some other things?”

He waited until she nodded and looked back at him again.

“Do you like learning about the Force? Yes? Do you think it’s something you want to keep doing? Become good at it?”

“I don’t want to be good, I want to be one of the best,” she said, raising her chin, though she still had her arms wrapped around her knees. Still, Master Plo smiled beneath his mask and grabbed his lightsaber from his belt, extending his hand out before lifting it slightly in the air with the Force.

“This is my lightsaber. Learning to use one is integral to a Jedi’s training; the kyber crystal inside is a conduit of the Force, something that a Jedi must undertake a difficult trial to retrieve before even becoming a Padawan Learner. I imagine you’ll become quite the duelist one day, but there is more to becoming a Jedi than duelling. It’s a difficult life, it requires years of training in the Jedi Temple, and years outside of it, before one can become a Jedi Knight, and longer still to become a Jedi Master like myself, and many younglings choose to leave before even becoming a padawan, or, some are reassigned to the Service Corps, still a part of the Jedi Order, and no less important, offering support and aid throughout the galaxy in other ways. The journey to mastering the Force is long and difficult.”

“I heard some of the older kids say nothing worth doing is ever easy,” she said softly, eyes on the alloy metal of his hilt.

“They are correct.”

He watched the little girl’s face scrunch in thought, then watched her hand reach out towards his hilt, though he didn’t feel her trying to pull it to her. Her eyes closed, frown deepening, and he was acutely aware of exactly when her Force signature made contact with his saber. Confident in her respect for weapons and their dangers, one of the first things taught to Echani children, he pushed it towards her, watching her gently cradle it in her hands before she opened her eyes.

“I… I’ve never held one before. I didn’t expect it to feel so…”

“Alive? Yes, kyber crystals are a curious thing. Something younglings learn before finding their own to make their lightsabers.”

He watched as she ran her fingers over the grooves in the metal almost reverently, turning the hilt over in her hands again and again, though her fingers stayed clear of the buttons, and she never turned it in on herself.

“What do younglings practise with, if they don’t get to make one straight away?”

“The temple keeps low powered sabers for younglings to practise. They won’t cut anyone, but they will sting a little.”

“And if I go with you, I get to make one before I become a padawan?”

“Should the Council accept you, yes.”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“You’re almost too old—”

“I’m six! Everyone always tells me I’m too young—”

“Almost, young one. I said almost. But, if you remain calm,” he said, not unkindly, and Arwen nodded quickly, “focus and pay attention, I’m certain they will accept you. And if at any point during your training you feel as though you made a mistake in joining the Jedi Order, you will be free to leave, and someone will bring you back here. But know that, once you leave, you cannot join again.”

Her eyes went back to the hilt in her hands, but when she looked up again, her eyes were determined, “I want to join the Jedi Order,” she stood up, shoulders straight and held his lightsaber out to him. He stood as well, gently taking his saber from her hand.