Private From Now On

[Risen]

Centin Tillo​

Was this the room where they’d met? It was hard to tell. The bare floor, the weapons rack, they were all the same but — no. No, the scoring on the ground, the patterns on the wall. This place was different.

Risen stood with his back to the door, rearranging the sabers and polearms in order of height. He had no particular eye for aesthetics, but he knew how to keep a room tidy, and it kept his hands busy. When one twitched, almost shaking, he gripped Sail. The weapon gave him strength. It let him believe the nerves he felt were familiar battle-dread of the sort he’d conquered long ago.

He was not so lucky today.

Onderon seemed distant now. Risen closed his eyes and etched each dead face into his mind, angry at himself for forgetting. But the interceding memories were all of Voss. Cato, Centin, and ostensibly Risen had survived the almost slaughter — but it was too close. No one would tell him how long it took the others to recover, but by the time he’d woken up they were already on assignment.

Regardless, Risen had proven to himself and to everyone else how worthless this effort was. The Jedi hoped that he would rise to the challenge of becoming a teacher, a protector. He had failed. He could at least fail gracefully.

Soon Centin would receive the news, and no doubt he’d come to Risen for an explanation. There would be a goodbye — terse — and then a clean break.

The boy would just have to understand.

 

[Centin Tillo]

Risen

The door opened and he slid through the entrance wordlessly.

He’d been occupied with practicing his techniques when he received the notice. Since Voss, his training had kept pace, but only just. Centin had done his best to maintain a routine roughly similar to the usual regimen, though it was difficult for him to train without the motivation of a particularly challenging instructor.

The message surprisingly hadn’t caused his temper to flare. Instead he had stood there, vexed, unable to even decide if he believed the news.

For it to have ended so suddenly, and without Risen telling him face to face? There must’ve been some sort of mishap, he thought.

So, in keeping with his usual choices, he had immediately left to find him without much forethought.

Stepping into the room, it felt reminiscent of the first time they met. And, in similar fashion, Centin was the first to break the silence of this meeting.

“Is it true?” he asked, his composure remaining unbroken.

The look on his master’s face seemed to betray the answer before his response came. The padawan realized that his former desire may have unfortunately come true.

 

[Risen]

Centin Tillo
​

The boy was prompt. Didn’t rattle. That arrogant adolescent from so many months ago left in its absence a fighter as steeled as any Risen had met. Despite everything else, he’d done a good job training the kid.

No, he told himself. You’ve done nothing but see him nearly dead. Or worse.

He tried to keep voice level. “Master Wafai is a capable Jedi. He’ll be able to train you in the Force in ways I can’t.” I can’t. Those words echoed back in his head, echoed around the room, reflected back the true subtext of the conversation. Risen set the last weapon across the rack, and turned to look at Centin askance. “It’ll be better this way.”

The boy should know what that meant.