Cerys walked along the quiet courtyard, her feet light on the ground, but her thoughts weighed heavily on her. Her lekku twitched, betraying the calm she tried to project. She had tried to mask it, but Brandyn’s words still echoed in her mind: “You’re not ready.”
Her hand subconsciously tightened around the hilt of her lightsaber as she stopped in front of a stone fountain. The cold mist from the water barely touched her skin, but she felt the heat rising beneath it, a reaction she knew all too well. Her lekku stiffened, she noticed, feeling the vibrations run up to the tips. That was how her emotions manifested—sharp, almost instinctive. Her montrals flickered too, a subtle sign of her agitation. She knew Brandyn had noticed her body’s response before. He’d been teaching her to control it, but it wasn’t always easy.
“You’re not ready for Knighthood, Cerys,” Brandyn’s voice rang again in her ears, “You still have much to learn.”
His voice wasn’t harsh; it was steady, calm. But it dug at something inside her, something she couldn't quite put into words. Her mind fought back—I'm more than capable. I’ve proven myself time and again. Why does it feel like that’s never enough?
She had learned to hide her frustration, but she couldn’t escape the deep sense of inadequacy that gnawed at her. She had been a Padawan longer than she cared to admit. Wasn't her skill enough?
No, it wasn't.
Brandyn always spoke of balance, of learning not just the Force but the emotional depth of being a Jedi. That meant more than skill—it meant understanding others, being kind, showing tact.
But that was where the conflict grew sharp. Cerys wasn’t against kindness or tact. In fact, she could be as compassionate as any Jedi when the situation called for it. It was when the connection became more personal, when someone began to matter, that she felt the walls she had carefully built begin to crack. That was when her control faltered. When they mattered, when she mattered to them, that’s when the danger of attachment crept in.
The danger of loss.
Her eyes clenched shut for a moment, and she could feel her montrals vibrating again, a subtle but unmistakable sign of the emotion stirring beneath her calm. She hadn’t meant to let her frustration slip out like this. But there it was—just the thought of forming another bond, another attachment, twisted something deep inside her. That feeling was dangerous. Loss, grief, anger. She had seen it in others, and she knew it too well.
Her late master, Master El-Vana, had been a rock for her, a steady guide. But the more she thought about her, the more it hurt. The pain of loss was still fresh, despite the time that had passed. She missed El-Vana in ways she refused to admit to herself. And that, too, felt like a weakness.
No. She shook her head, the motion sharp. The tension in her lekku tightened. It wasn’t weakness—it was strength. She had to be stronger than this.
But her body betrayed her as her emotions bubbled beneath the surface. She hated this. She hated how much she missed her master, how much she longed for her presence. That wasn’t the Jedi way. She had sworn to let go of such attachments, to live without them. It was the only way to protect herself from the darkness that followed loss.
Yet, there it was. Her mind’s quiet whisper that she could not quiet: Could it be that the very thing she had rejected was the key to becoming more?
She turned her gaze to the horizon, the first light of dawn just beginning to break through the trees. Her chest tightened as she breathed deeply, trying to calm the storm rising within her. Her lightsaber was still in her hand, but she no longer grasped it with the same intensity. She relaxed her grip, letting it fall lightly in her palm. There were times when letting go wasn’t a weakness.
But could she truly accept that? Could she let go of the vow she had taken—her fear of attachment?
The voice of Master El-Vana rose softly in her memory, "Attachment brings suffering. Do not allow it to bind you."
No, she thought firmly, her jaw setting with determination. She had sworn to forgo attachment, and it had served her well. Master El-Vana had taught her this for a reason. She would honor her master’s teachings, as they had been the foundation of her life.
Yet, as the words lingered in her mind, a quiet truth began to creep in, one that she could not deny. Her defiance—her unwavering commitment to the teachings of Master El-Vana—was not just about the path of a Jedi. It was about honoring her master’s memory, holding onto the only bond she had left. She realized, even as she rejected it, that her adherence to these teachings was, in itself, a form of attachment. The very thing she had vowed to resist.
But she would not admit that. Not now. Not ever. She could not afford to weaken herself with emotions, not when so much was at stake.
With a final, forceful exhale, Cerys straightened her back, her stance resolute. She would continue to walk the path her master had laid before her, even if it meant enduring this internal conflict alone. No attachments. No distractions. She was a Jedi. And she would remain one, by any means necessary.
OUTFIT: Silver-blue Jedi robes with gold trim | EQUIPMENT: Vowsake (Blue-bladed lightsaber), Dyn’s Mercy (Blue-bladed shoto)
