Private No Hesitation.

[Serina Calis]

Location: Coruscant, Jedi Temple.
Tag: Cerrik

The training courtyard of the Jedi Temple was alive with the rhythmic hum of lightsabers and the focused movements of Jedi practicing their forms. Serina Calis stood at the edge of the sparring circle, her cyan blade ignited and casting a pale glow against the warm afternoon light. Her posture was poised but brimming with restrained energy, her keen blue eyes locked on Cerrik as he stepped into the circle to face her. This duel was to teach her, to help her overcome her lackluster skills with the lightsaber.

This would be her first time sparring with a Jedi Master, and not just any Master—a figure known for his adaptability and calm, oceanic demeanor. Cerrik's reputation had preceded him, and Serina found herself intrigued. Yet she couldn't help but feel a subtle challenge in his presence, as if his very calmness were a silent rebuke of her own restless ambition.

"You've never taught me before, Master Cerrik," she said, her voice smooth but carrying a faint edge of challenge. "So I'll admit I'm curious. They say you flow with the Force like water, but I wonder—can water keep up with the storm?"

She raised her saber in a ready stance, her blade set to burn, a fact she had forcefully remembered after her previous duel. She pointed the lightsaber slightly downward in an unorthodox angle, a subtle nod to the improvisational techniques she favored. Her heart raced, but not from fear—no, this was excitement. Here was her chance to test herself against a Master, to prove that her unconventional approach to the Force and combat could stand against even the most seasoned Jedi.

Serina circled slowly, her steps deliberate, the energy between them charged but calm for the moment. "Don't hold back on my account," she added with a wry smile. "I want to see what makes a Master worthy of the title."

She was ready to learn—or at least, she believed she was. The question lingered unspoken in the air: would this be a lesson in humility or validation of her growing confidence? There would be no hesitation, only the duel would decide.

 

[Cerrik]

Cerrik stepped into the circle with the grace of a man entirely at ease, his brown robes swaying lightly with his movements. He carried no outward display of tension, no grandiose proclamation of skill, just the quiet confidence of someone who had long since mastered the need to prove himself. His lightsaber hilt, simple and unadorned, remained clipped to his belt.

As Serina spoke, Cerrik tilted his head slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint, almost amused smile. He regarded her with eyes as calm and steady as the sea after a storm. When she finished, he nodded, his voice carrying the soothing cadence of a teacher who trusted the lesson to unfold naturally.

"Water does not compete with the storm, Serina," he said, his tone serene yet unyielding. "It adapts to it, moves with it, and shapes it over time. The storm expends itself; water remains. You're eager. Eagerness can be an asset, but it can also blind you."

Cerrik noted her unorthodox stance with her saber and was curious as to what this young girl has to show for herself. He shifted into a subtle defensive stance, his weight balanced, one foot sliding back, hands open and loose, ready. It was clear he wasn't going to use his lightsaber for this exercise.

"Begin when you are ready."

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Coruscant, Jedi Temple.
Tag: Cerrik

Serina raised an eyebrow, her cyan blade humming softly in the tense air between them. A slow smile spread across her face, half amusement, half challenge, as she took a step closer. Her tone, playful but sharp, carried across the courtyard.

"No saber? Brave—or perhaps... overly confident, Master Cerrik." Her voice was laced with precision, each word designed to probe, to test. "They say wisdom comes with age, but I wonder—are you wise enough to see when you're being underestimated?"

She began to circle him, her saber weaving subtle patterns through the air. The faint glow of the blade reflected in her piercing blue eyes as she continued her verbal jabs, the art of Dun Möch flowing as naturally as the Force itself, a skill in which she no longer didn't understand, but rather she could commit to subconsciously. This now was for her the natural way to start a duel, not with her lightsaber, but with her tainted, venomous words.

"I suppose there's a lesson in this," she mused aloud, her tone mock-contemplative. "Perhaps you think I'll learn restraint by seeing how little effort you need to handle me. Or maybe…" Her gaze sharpened, the edge of her voice cutting through the stillness, "... you're underestimating what I'm capable of."

Serina's steps quickened slightly, her saber flicking forward in a feint, only to retreat as swiftly as it came. She wasn't attacking—not yet. Instead, she let the tension hang, her words filling the void where her strikes did not.

"You talk about water adapting to the storm," she continued, her voice low and steady, almost hypnotic. "But what happens when the storm is relentless? When the waves break against the shore, over and over, until the rocks crumble? Patience might keep you standing today, but how long can it hold up when the storm doesn't stop?"

She moved closer now, tightening the circle, her blade flickering just outside of reach. The sharpness in her tone softened, replaced with an almost conversational cadence. "I've read about your past, you know. Lew'el—beautiful place. Oceans stretching farther than the eye can see. Do you miss it? Or have you convinced yourself that detachment fills that void?"

She didn't wait for a response. Instead, she surged forward with blinding speed, her saber cutting a sharp arc toward Cerrik's left side—another feint. The real attack came from her other hand, her fingers twitching in a quick motion as she sent a Force-push aimed squarely at his center of gravity.

Even as she struck, her voice carried on, smooth and unrelenting. "Because me? I think detachment is just another word for fear. Fear of feeling. Fear of losing." Her tone dipped, just enough to suggest something deeper beneath the surface. "I wonder if that fear still lingers in you, Master."

 

[Cerrik]

Cerrik stood still in the center of Serina's circling, the faint breeze teasing the edges of his robes. His deep brown eyes tracked her movements with a serene focus, unbothered by the sharp edge of her words. He remained positioned in his defensive stance.

Her feints, her circling, it was all a dance, and Cerrik remained the eye of the tempest. He didn't flinch as her saber flickered close to him, nor when her voice pressed into the memories of Lew'el. Instead, he responded with a faint smile, as though he found her attempts more enlightening than threatening.

As she surged forward, Cerrik finally moved, his feet shifting in perfect harmony with her assault. His hands came forward, and with an open palm, he redirected her Force-push into a harmless swirl of energy, dissipating it into the air. The motion was effortless, as if he were brushing aside a wayward breeze.

Cerrik's expression remained calm, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes; perhaps recognition, perhaps reflection. His voice, steady as ever, carried a quiet weight as he replied, "Fear is not an enemy, nor is it a weakness. It is a part of us, a reminder of what we value. But to dwell on it, to let it take root, is where the danger lies. I do miss Lew'el, but I'm not going to let it consume me."

He tilted his head slightly, his tone softening with a touch of empathy. "Perhaps the question is not whether fear lingers in me, but whether you see it still lingering in yourself."

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Coruscant, Jedi Temple.
Tag: Cerrik

Serina's blade came to rest at her side, the cyan glow casting faint flickers of light against her determined features. Her feet slowed, her pacing ceasing momentarily as she took in Cerrik's calm words, her sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly. His ability to deflect her Force-push so effortlessly had been expected—he was a Master, after all—but it still ignited a flicker of frustration. Not enough to lose focus, but enough to drive her forward.

"Fear lingering in me?" she echoed, her voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of steel. A faint smile played on her lips, almost imperceptible. "You mistake me, Master. Fear isn't something I shy away from. It's a tool, a guide. When wielded correctly, it sharpens focus, drives action, and separates those who hesitate from those who seize the moment."

Her hand twitched ever so slightly, her presence in the Force shifting subtly as if testing the waters, the flow of energy between them. As she spoke, Serina reached out through the Force, weaving threads of subtle influence, nudging the edges of Cerrik's perception. It wasn't a direct attack—more like the first brushstroke of an illusion. The sensation of faint, distant footsteps echoed at the edges of the sparring ring, the sound of a figure approaching just out of sight.

"You talk of fear like it's a wave that threatens to overwhelm," she continued, taking a slow step forward, her words laced with deliberate, calculated confidence. "But maybe it's the rock that breaks the wave. The unyielding truth that shapes those strong enough to stand against it."

Her saber flicked upward again, tracing idle arcs in the air as she began to circle him anew, her steps fluid and precise. Serina's free hand rested at her side, but her fingers twitched slightly, her telekinetic focus now divided. A nearby training remnant—an old discarded training staff—lifted silently behind Cerrik, floating with careful precision.

"And strength," she pressed on, her tone dipping, words like honey over steel, "strength comes from embracing the entirety of yourself. The parts you fear. The doubts you bury. Even the attachments you claim to let go of."

With a flick of her wrist, the staff snapped forward toward Cerrik's back, aimed not to harm but to disrupt his balance. Simultaneously, Serina darted in, her lightsaber coming down in a deliberate but telegraphed Shii-Cho strike—a test of his response, not an earnest attempt to land a blow. The real attack came a heartbeat later, her saber snapping off in a Tràkata feint before reigniting with a sharp, angled thrust toward his side.

Even as her blade moved, her illusion blossomed further. A faint presence, an indistinct shadow, lingered at the edges of Cerrik's vision. A misdirection—not strong enough to fool a Master entirely but designed to pull a fraction of his focus away from her true intent.

"And you, Master," she added in a quiet, cutting tone as she struck, "are you as detached as you claim? Or do the currents of your past still pull at your mind?"

The storm in her words matched the storm in her actions, as Serina wove her strikes and techniques together with relentless intent. It wasn't mastery—her lack of saber refinement left openings a more skilled opponent could exploit—but it was a showcase of her creativity, her determination, and her willingness to push the boundaries of what she'd been taught.

 

[Cerrik]

"Fear sharpens focus. Until it doesn't. Until it blinds. Until it turns a steady hand into a clenched fist." Cerrik replied, keeping his voice even as he spoke to her. He kept his gaze on her, though he felt the shifting in the Force with whatever she was planning. It didn't feel like anything he had to worry about.

"I'm not saying there is anything wrong with using your emotions. Your attachments, your emotions, your doubts; they can give you power, yes. But power without control is no different than a wildfire. It burns brightly until there's nothing left to consume."

Cerrik's voice softened. "As for me? I never claimed to be detached. But detachment is not the absence of emotion; it is knowing when to let go."

He could sense the staff racing towards his back while she attacked his front at the same time. He took a step back from her, spun around, one hand catching the staff mid-air. The momentum of his turn was seamless, converting defense into attack as he arced the staff low toward Serina's legs, its trajectory sharp and deliberate.

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Coruscant, Jedi Temple.
Tag: Cerrik

Serina felt the shift in the Force as Cerrik caught the staff mid-air, his movements fluid and controlled. The words of Darth Malak echoed in her mind, a reminder of the darker truths she had stumbled upon in the archives: "Power must be seized, for those who hesitate will fall to those who do not."

She saw the staff arcing toward her legs and responded instinctively, her grip tightening on her saber as she leapt back, her movements swift and precise. Her feet found solid ground just outside its reach, and she took a stabilizing breath. Cerrik's ability to seamlessly counter her multi-pronged attack was impressive, but Serina wasn't deterred—if anything, it only fueled her resolve.

"Power without control, you say?" Serina replied, her voice sharp yet laced with a feigned innocence. Her saber hummed to life again, its cyan glow casting ripples of light over her determined expression. "But isn't the act of letting go just another way to avoid responsibility for what you feel? Control isn't about ignoring your emotions—it's about harnessing them, using them as tools to shape the galaxy instead of letting the galaxy shape you."

She reached out through the Force, this time honing her focus with the precision she prided herself on. With a flick of her wrist, the discarded staff twisted in Cerrik's hand, pulled by an invisible grip meant to disrupt his balance. At the same time, she sent a sharp, focused telekinetic shove toward his chest—not strong enough to harm, but enough to push him off-center.

Serina surged forward again, her lightsaber cutting a deliberate, calculated arc toward Cerrik's side. She was fully aware her Shii-Cho strikes lacked the finesse and complexity of advanced forms, but she compensated with the unpredictability of her tactics. As her blade descended, she deactivated it mid-swing, using Tràkata to leave only empty air where he might have blocked, before reigniting the blade in a quick upward slash aimed at his shoulder.

Her eyes locked on Cerrik's, and this time, there was no playful challenge in her voice—only a calm intensity that mirrored his own. "You speak of letting go as though it's a virtue, Master, but what if holding on—holding on to the things that make us who we are—is what allows us to truly live?"

Even as she pressed her attack, she reached deeper into the currents of the Force, her mind brushing against Cerrik's presence with practiced Force Empathy. It wasn't invasive, but it was deliberate—a probe to sense the emotions beneath his calm exterior, to find the cracks where she might plant the seeds of doubt. The words of Malak lingered in her mind like a whisper: "Power is not granted—it is taken. Hesitation is the death of ambition."

Her strikes and words worked together, her Dun Möch flowing seamlessly with her physical assault, each complementing the other. If Cerrik was the calm ocean, Serina was determined to be the storm that left no shore untouched.

 

[Cerrik]

Cerrik's balance shifted from her efforts of pulling the staff in his hand and the blast of Force energy. Though he was still able to use the shift in balance to step away from her swing as she reignited her saber. It still made contact with his shoulder, but it wasn't as solid of a hit as she intended.

"You say holding on makes us who we are, but to hold on too tightly is to drown in the tides you claim to master. Letting go isn't avoidance... it's clarity. It's knowing when to release the weight that anchors us, not because we lack the strength to carry it, but because it allows us to move forward. Your emotions are a storm, Serina, but if you can't find the eye of it, they'll tear you apart."

Even as he defended, Cerrik reached out with the Force, his presence a steady, grounding current against the tempest of her probing. His calm was not an absence of emotion but a harmony, each feeling acknowledged and allowed to pass like a wave rolling back into the sea. It was a silent lesson, one he hoped she would feel as clearly as he spoke it.

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Coruscant, Jedi Temple.
Tag: Cerrik

Serina felt the jolt through her saber as it grazed Cerrik's shoulder, her heart surging with a rush of exhilaration. She had done it—she had struck a Jedi Master. Even if it wasn't the decisive hit she imagined, it was enough to send a cascade of pride flooding through her veins, drowning out the doubts and warnings that Cerrik's calm words sought to instill.

She straightened slightly, her blade still ignited, its cyan glow reflecting the gleam of triumph in her eyes. Her lips curled into a self-assured smile, one that bordered on smug. She let out a slow, deliberate breath, savoring the moment. Malak was right, she thought, her inner voice nearly a whisper. Power is there for the taking, if you have the will to seize it.

"You felt that, didn't you, Master?" she said, her voice carrying an edge of mockery, though her words were measured and deliberate. "For all your talk of clarity and letting go, I'm the one who landed the strike. Maybe the storm is exactly what you're missing."

Her steps were slower now, more deliberate as she circled him again, her saber weaving idle arcs through the air. She didn't press forward immediately; instead, she let her presence simmer in the Force, bold and assertive. Her confidence grew with every beat of silence, her probing through Force Empathy brushing against Cerrik's serene aura with a mixture of curiosity and defiance.

"You call my emotions a storm, but what's wrong with that?" she continued, her tone gaining strength with every word. "Storms shape the world. They carve rivers through mountains, reshape coastlines, and bring life to barren lands. Maybe you've grown so used to your calm, quiet waters that you've forgotten the power of the waves."

Her smile deepened, a flash of teeth as she brought her saber up into a loose guard. "You talk about control, but isn't that what I just showed you? A controlled strike, calculated and deliberate. You think you've mastered the storm, but I'm starting to think you've simply sheltered yourself from it."

She moved again, her blade flashing forward in a testing strike—not with the same precision as before, but with the confidence of someone who believed they could win. It was a simple swing, not a feint or a trick, but it carried the weight of her burgeoning pride.

"And tell me, Master," she added, her voice cutting through the sparring ring like a knife, "if letting go is so important, then why didn't you let go of that staff? Maybe you're holding on tighter than you'd like to admit."

Serina's words were as sharp as her blade, her Dun Möch flowing effortlessly now. The hit had emboldened her, intoxicating her with the idea that she could stand toe-to-toe with Cerrik—not as a Padawan to a Master, but as an equal. In her mind, the tide was turning in her favor, and she was ready to ride it wherever it led, even if her arrogance had blinded her to the fact she stood as nothing compared to the Master.

 

[Cerrik]

Cerrik took a breath while Serina was mocking and boasting for a simple tap on his shoulder. It would seem words alone aren't going to get through to Serina, so he had to switch it up. Using the Force, he quickly pulled one of the training sabers to his hand, as he dropped the staff. Cerrik ignited it in time to deflect her own saber.

"Looks like I need to show you first hand."

He moved then, his blade cutting through the air in a dazzling display of control and mastery. A flurry of strikes, each swing was fluid, effortless, yet carried with it the weight of decades of training. Cerrik's strikes weren't testing, they were precise and purposeful, calculated to expose every weakness in Serina's stance. It was no longer a sparring match; it was a lesson.

"It is not the storm I fear, nor do I shelter myself from it. But tell me; what is a storm without purpose? A wave without direction? Destruction for the sake of destruction does not carve rivers or reshape coastlines; it obliterates indiscriminately."

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Coruscant, Jedi Temple.
Tag: Cerrik

Serina's confidence faltered the moment Cerrik's blade ignited. The hum of the training saber cut through her sense of triumph, followed by the relentless rhythm of his strikes. Each swing was precise, purposeful, and unyielding—a stark contrast to her improvisational, emotion-driven approach. Her cyan blade met his in hurried parries, but the gap in their skill was undeniable.

She tried to find a rhythm, a moment to counter, but Cerrik offered no openings. Every strike pressed her back further, and frustration began to bubble beneath her surface. This wasn't how she imagined it. The pride she had basked in moments ago now felt fragile, cracking under the weight of his mastery.

"Purpose?" she spat, her voice strained as she deflected another strike, the force of it sending a jolt through her arms. "Purpose is power. And power… is control."

Her words were as much for herself as they were for him, a desperate attempt to reassert the authority she felt slipping away. Cerrik's movements were a living demonstration of everything she lacked, and that realization stung more than she was willing to admit.

Serina's frustration flared, and she instinctively reached out with the Force, not to attack but to disrupt. The energy around Cerrik rippled as she pulled at his footing, a subtle attempt to unbalance him. It wasn't enough to stop his strikes, but it was a bid for control, a way to wrest some sense of direction back into the duel.

Even as she fought to steady herself, her mind raced. She couldn't overpower him in saber combat—that much was clear—but there were other ways. Her eyes flickered with determination as she reached deeper into her connection to the Force. The faint edges of an illusion began to take shape around Cerrik: the sound of footsteps echoing behind him, a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to plant a seed of distraction.

"You talk about destruction," she said, her voice sharpening as she pressed into his mind with her words. "But maybe destruction is the purpose. Sometimes, you have to break something to make it stronger. To rebuild it. To make it yours."

She lunged forward, her strikes fueled not by precision but by raw determination. They were clumsy compared to his, the hallmarks of a duelist still learning the finer points of combat, but they carried the weight of her emotions. Her pride, her frustration, her desire for control—they all bled into her attacks.

Serina's thoughts echoed with Malak's voice, a sinister whisper that fed her resolve: "Hesitation is the death of ambition. Strike, or be struck down."

Her strikes were wild, almost reckless, but there was method in the chaos. If she couldn't match Cerrik's skill, she would overwhelm him with unpredictability. Or so she hoped.

 

[Cerrik]

Cerrik moved with fluid precision, his blade meeting Serina's with a steady rhythm. Each parry, each strike, was deliberate; a lesson forged in motion. He could feel the storm within her, the way her frustration crackled through the Force like static electricity.

When she reached out with the Force to disrupt his footing, he shifted his weight seamlessly, stepping into the ripple rather than against it. The faint tremor became part of his flow, absorbed and redirected. Even the illusion, clever as it was, did little more than tighten his focus. He was starting to feel desperation from Serina.

As her next lunge came, wild and overcommitted, Cerrik stepped in. His blade caught hers with a calculated parry, redirecting her momentum. "You believe destruction is purpose?" he asked, the question more a challenge than a reprimand. "Then tell me, when the ashes settle, and you are left standing alone, what will you have built? What will endure?"

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Coruscant, Jedi Temple.
Tag: Cerrik

Serina froze for a moment as Cerrik's question cut through her storm of thoughts like his blade through her clumsy strikes. His words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, and for a brief instant, the whirlwind of her emotions stilled. Her cyan blade hummed in the narrow space between them, its glow reflecting off her face, now set in an expression of deep, conflicted introspection.

What will you have built? What will endure?

The question echoed in her mind, and with it came the flicker of a realization she hadn't wanted to confront. She had always told herself she sought control, mastery of herself, of the Force, of her destiny. But as Cerrik deflected her attacks with an ease that bordered on dismissive, and as his words pressed against her carefully constructed justifications, she felt the cracks in her facade widening.

Control wasn't what she wanted. Not truly. Control implied balance, a mutual shaping of forces. What she craved was something far more absolute: domination. The power to bend not just the world, but the Force itself, to her will. To break apart the constraints of tradition and reshape them into something that would endure as a testament to her strength. To silence voices like Cerrik's, with their calm certainty, and replace them with her own.

Her breath hitched, her emotions teetering on the edge of spilling over into the battle once more. But no—she couldn't let him see it. She couldn't let him sense the revelation that had unfurled within her, dark and unyielding, a truth she wasn't ready to admit even to herself, let alone to him. She needed to bury it, to channel it into something Cerrik wouldn't question. Something he might even mistake for progress.

Her blade dropped slightly, a gesture of deference, and she took a step back, lowering her gaze. Not out of submission, but to mask the storm still raging beneath her composed exterior. When she spoke, her voice was quieter, steadier, as though she had taken his words to heart.

"You're right," she said, her tone carrying a measured humility. "I've been so focused on the storm that I've forgotten what lies beyond it. What comes after." She deactivated her saber, the cyan light extinguishing with a hiss, leaving only the faint glow of Cerrik's training blade to illuminate the space between them. "Destruction without purpose isn't strength—it's chaos. And chaos doesn't endure."

She took a slow, deliberate breath, mirroring the calm she had seen Cerrik exhibit time and again throughout their duel. It was an imitation, but one carefully crafted to look genuine. Her mind raced as she pieced together the facade, wrapping her revelation in layers of false self-reflection.

"Perhaps I've been too focused on proving myself," she continued, meeting his gaze now with an expression that bordered on contrition. "Trying to show that I'm strong enough, clever enough, to hold my own against someone like you. But maybe strength isn't about overpowering the storm—it's about guiding it. Finding balance."

The words tasted hollow in her mouth, even as they rang true to Cerrik's teachings. But she needed him to believe them, to see this moment as a breakthrough rather than a mask. Because while she couldn't tell him what she had truly realized—that her ambition wasn't for control but for absolute dominion—she could use his philosophy to conceal it. To buy herself the time she needed to understand what this revelation meant for her path forward.

"I still have much to learn," Serina added, her voice soft but resolute. "And for what it's worth… thank you. Your patience is more than I deserve."

She extinguished her saber completely now, attaching it to her belt with a quiet click. Her posture shifted, less defensive and more open, though her mind remained a maelstrom beneath the surface. She would play Cerrik's game for now, let him see what he wanted to see: a Padawan humbled, eager to grow. But deep down, the revelation burned like a brand, carving its truth into her soul.

"Master Cerrik," she began, her voice measured and laced with what she hoped sounded like sincerity. "Your movements—they're so fluid, so precise. I see it now, what you mean about balance and clarity. My strikes… they're wild, unfocused. I've been so caught up in trying to force an outcome that I've forgotten to let the Force guide me."

Her stomach churned at the words, each one tasting bitter as it left her mouth. To admit weakness, to acknowledge fault, even falsely—it was anathema to her. And yet, the mask was necessary. Cerrik couldn't know the truth of what burned inside her. Not now. Not yet.

"I want to learn," she continued, forcing herself to meet his gaze with a look of earnest vulnerability. "I've been told my Form I is functional, but only just. I lack finesse, and… well, you've just seen firsthand how easily it can be exploited."

Her fingers fidgeted slightly, a calculated touch to the act, as though she were nervous to even ask. Inside, her mind was cold and calculating, every word crafted with precision. She couldn't afford to let even a flicker of her true thoughts slip through.

"How can I improve?" she asked, letting a faint edge of eagerness creep into her voice. "What can I do to make my movements less chaotic, more purposeful? You've clearly mastered that balance. I want to understand it."

The humility she projected was flawless, but in her mind, the charade was suffocating. She wanted to sneer at her own words, to lash out at the weakness they implied. Pathetic, she thought bitterly. But necessary. If Cerrik believed she was sincere, he would lower his guard. He would teach her what she needed to know. And she would learn. Not to emulate him, but to surpass him.

She had now, even if it was subconscious, managed to hold her mind at bay, it almost becoming scrambled to the force, unreadable.

Control was never the goal. It was too small, too limited. What she wanted, what she needed, was something greater. And while Cerrik had forced her to confront this truth, he could never know its full weight. Not yet.

 

[Cerrik]

Cerrik watched Serina with quiet intensity, his emerald blade humming softly at his side. His expression remained calm, unchanging, but the subtle narrowing of his eyes betrayed his scrutiny. He had seen breakthroughs before, moments when a student truly grasped a lesson, their understanding reshaped. This, however, felt different but he couldn't place it. Or he simply chose not to.

"The first step to improving yourself is admitting your own faults and shortcomings. Only then can you truely have the mindset to better yourself." He deactivated the training saber, his eyes softening as he gazed over to her.

"Earlier, you were mentioning how detached I was with my emotions. That's not true at all. I feel sadness and anger from the loss of my parents and being there for them in the end. But I do not allow myself to drown in them. That is what I've been trying to tell you. Its not wrong to let these emotions fuel you. You just need to know when to let go as to not sink into the depths to far to not be pulled out."

Cerrik walked over to the side, placing the training saber back where he pulled it from. "The physical improving your movement begins with awareness and the intent behind each strike."

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Coruscant, Jedi Temple.
Tag: Cerrik

Serina's lips parted slightly, her head tilting in a gesture of contemplative thought, though in truth, her mind churned with suppressed disdain. Cerrik's words, well-intentioned and laced with quiet wisdom, only deepened the divide between the mask she wore and the storm raging beneath it. His belief that she was beginning to understand, that she was learning from him, only solidified her conviction: he was blind to the reality of what she had become.

Her expression softened, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. She clasped her hands before her, a gesture of humility that she knew he would interpret as genuine. "Letting go," she said softly, her voice steady but tinged with reflection. "I think I see now what you mean, Master Cerrik. In the heat of the duel, when I was losing control… I found a way to detach myself. To quiet the storm. That's how I managed to strike you, even if it wasn't perfect. I let go of my frustration and focused."

The lie came easily, rolling off her tongue with practiced precision. She let her gaze drop briefly, as though in shame, before lifting it again to meet his, her blue eyes gleaming with fabricated sincerity. "You're right, of course. Holding on too tightly… it clouds judgment. I realize now that I've been clinging to my emotions, letting them drive me. But in that moment, I stopped. I stepped back from the edge."

Inside, she nearly laughed at the irony. She had detached herself from her emotions, yes—but not to embrace balance, as Cerrik seemed to think. She had done it to win. To twist her feelings into tools, to manipulate the situation, to take control where she could. She had twisted his lesson to serve her ambition, and he stood there now, congratulating her for it.

"You said awareness is the first step," she continued, her tone thoughtful, almost reverent. "I think I'm starting to understand. Awareness of my emotions, my actions, my intent." She paused, letting her words hang in the air, giving them weight. "I let go of my fear of failing in that moment. It's like you said—emotions can fuel you, but you have to know when to release them, or you'll drown."

Her stomach churned at the taste of her own words. They felt vile, hypocritical, but she swallowed the bitterness and forced the mask to remain intact. Let him believe she was learning. Let him think she was beginning to grasp his philosophy. It would only make him more willing to teach her, to reveal the depths of his knowledge and skill.

Serina took a small step closer, her voice lowering to a tone that conveyed humility and genuine curiosity. "When you speak of intent," she asked, her words measured, "do you mean how each strike must have purpose? That every movement needs to contribute to the flow, like the currents of an ocean? Or does intent go beyond that, to the thoughts and emotions behind the strike?"

Her eyes lingered on his face, studying him as she spoke, but not for the reasons he might think. She wasn't seeking understanding—she was calculating. Every word she spoke, every expression she showed, was part of the game she was playing. Cerrik, for all his mastery, was as much a part of it as she was. A pawn she would use to shape her path.

"I want to improve, truly," she added, her voice softening further. "Not just in my movements, but in my understanding. I think I've been focusing too much on the surface of things, and I need to learn to look deeper."

Inside her mind, the storm raged on, darker and more focused than ever. She could feel the threads of her own manipulation weaving tighter, and the thought both disgusted and thrilled her. She didn't want balance. She didn't want understanding. What she wanted—what she craved—was to rise above it all, untethered and unchallenged.

 

[Cerrik]

At first, maybe he was okay with letting it go on, chalking it up to nerves or a desire to impress, but the longer it continued, the clearer it became that she was laying it on a little too thick. Cerrik couldn't help but have a little grin as he shook his head, his arms folding across his chest in a relaxed but deliberate stance. His tone was warm, carrying a hint of amusement that softened the correction.

"I've taught enough students through the years to know when someone is saying what they believe others want to hear," he said, the corners of his mouth still faintly curved in that knowing smile. His gaze was steady, though not harsh, as if offering her the chance to recalibrate without judgment.

He let the moment linger, the silence stretching just enough to prompt introspection before continuing. "The thing is, the Force doesn't respond to pretense or posturing. It reflects truth; the kind you find when you're honest with yourself. So, let's start again. What is it that you believe, not what you think I want to hear?"

There was no challenge in his voice, only a calm sincerity that invited her to be vulnerable. It wasn't an easy thing, he knew that. Many Padawans, and even some knights, struggled with it. But this, he believed, was where real growth began.

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Coruscant, Jedi Temple.
Tag: Cerrik

Serina froze for the briefest moment, the silence Cerrik left hanging in the air wrapping around her like a noose. Her mind raced, the sharp edge of his words carving through the carefully constructed mask she'd worn so diligently. He saw through her facade—not entirely, not deeply, but enough to make her recalibrate. A flash of irritation sparked within her, quickly suppressed. She wouldn't let him see that either.

Instead, she shifted, adopting a softer stance, her arms falling loosely to her sides, her expression one of faint embarrassment. She let a small, self-deprecating laugh escape her lips, just enough to diffuse the tension.

"You're right, Master," she admitted, her voice quiet and tinged with a humility she didn't feel. "I suppose I've been trying too hard to sound… wise. Maybe to impress you, or maybe to convince myself that I've got it all figured out. But the truth is, I don't. Not really."

She allowed her gaze to drop, as though grappling with vulnerability, while inside, she marveled at how seamlessly the act flowed now. It was exhilarating, realizing how easily she could manipulate the situation, twisting it to her favor while maintaining the guise of sincerity.

"I think," she continued, her voice soft and contemplative, "I've been holding onto this idea that I have to prove myself. Not just to you, but to everyone. To show that I'm not just another Padawan going through the motions. And in trying so hard to prove that, I've lost sight of what really matters."

Her eyes lifted to meet his, and she let a faint smile grace her lips—just enough to appear genuine, but not overplayed. "You said the Force reflects truth, and I think my truth is… messy. I want to be strong. I want to be skilled. But maybe I've been rushing toward those things instead of letting them come naturally. I've been so focused on the destination that I've ignored the journey."

The words felt foreign on her tongue, saccharine and sacrosanct in a way that made her stomach turn. But the thrill of deception, the pride she felt in weaving a narrative so convincing, drowned out the revulsion. If Cerrik wanted honesty, she would give him a version of it—one he could accept, one that would disarm his suspicions.

"I do believe in what you said about emotions," she added, her tone more resolute now, as though she were finding clarity. "That they're not something to be feared, but understood. I think that's where I struggle—finding that balance between feeling them and not letting them control me."

She paused, letting a flicker of uncertainty cross her features, as though she were still working through her thoughts. "It's not easy," she said softly. "But I want to learn. Not just about the Force, but about myself. And I know that starts with being honest, with letting go of what I think I should be and focusing on what I can be."

Serina felt a surge of pride at her performance, the way she balanced contrition with determination, weaving the lie so seamlessly into the truth that even she almost believed it. She could see Cerrik listening, see him processing her words, and she reveled in the thought that he wouldn't see the shadows lurking behind them.

Her voice softened further, the finishing touch to her carefully spun web. "Thank you for your patience, Master Cerrik. I know I don't make it easy, but I'll try to do better. Starting now."

 

[Cerrik]

Cerrik regarded Serina in silence for a long moment, his expression calm, unreadable. His presence, as always, carried the weight of something grounded and unshakable. He had a way of looking at people—not through them, not past them, but into them. And now, that gaze rested on her.

When he finally spoke, his voice was measured, soft, but resolute.

"Your words are thoughtful, Serina. But words can be clever, even sincere in their construction, and still mask what lies beneath. You understand this, don't you? How intention can be layered, like currents beneath still water."

He tilted his head slightly, his tone taking on the faintest trace of curiosity. "You've spoken of honesty, of a desire to learn and let go. Those are admirable things, and I don't doubt the truth in the struggle you describe. But the Force is more than an audience for performance. It doesn't care for crafted vulnerability or carefully placed smiles. It knows."

Cerrik took a step closer, his voice dropping just enough to draw her full attention. "The Force reflects truth, yes. And the truth is not always kind. Not always clean. It's raw, and messy. But what makes it powerful is that it cannot be twisted. Not by cleverness, not by manipulation. It simply is. That's why we must learn to face it, even when it shows us things about ourselves we would rather not see."

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Coruscant, Jedi Temple.
Tag: Cerrik

Serina held Cerrik's gaze, her expression carefully composed as his words washed over her. His tone, calm yet piercing, carried a weight she couldn't deny, but she refused to let even a flicker of her inner thoughts betray her. She felt the tension in the air between them, the quiet challenge in his words, and she knew it was time to end the lesson. To concede, gracefully, and leave him with the belief that she had taken his wisdom to heart.

Inwardly, though, her thoughts were alight with revelation. Cerrik's insistence on the raw, untwistable nature of the Force only cemented her growing conviction. Domination. That was the word that burned at the center of her being now. Not control—control was fleeting, a balancing act that relied too heavily on the cooperation of others. Domination, true and absolute, was unyielding. It was bending the Force itself to her will, reshaping people, events, and reality into whatever she desired.

The thought was intoxicating. She didn't need to deny the truth of the Force, as Cerrik claimed; she needed to master it, to wield it so completely that it bent to her whims. She would be the storm and the calm, the destroyer and the creator. And Cerrik, in his calm, unshakable wisdom, could never understand that.

Her lips curved into a faint, almost wistful smile, and she let her saber hand drop to her side, a gesture of quiet reflection. "You're right, Master," she said softly, her voice carrying just enough weight to suggest sincerity. "The truth isn't always kind. But maybe that's what makes it worth pursuing. Even when it's messy. Especially when it's messy."

She allowed a brief pause, just enough to give her words room to breathe, before continuing. "I think I've had enough for today. You've given me… a lot to think about. And I think it's best if I take some time to reflect on it. To sit with the things the Force is trying to show me."

The words were deliberate, a careful blend of humility and self-awareness, designed to disarm. Inside, though, she reveled in the triumph of it all. Cerrik had no idea. He couldn't see the storm that raged within her, the revelation that had crystallized in her mind. She had won—not in the duel, not in the lesson, but in the game of perception. He believed she was growing, learning. And in a way, she was, though not in the way he intended.

She met his gaze one last time, her smile faint but warm. "Thank you, Master Cerrik. For your patience, and for your guidance. I'll do my best to take your lessons to heart."

With a small bow, she turned and began to walk away, her steps measured and deliberate. As she moved, she allowed herself a moment of satisfaction, the faintest flicker of a smile crossing her lips. Cerrik had spoken of the Force as untwistable, untouchable by cleverness or manipulation. But Serina knew better. The Force was a tool, like any other, and she would shape it as she saw fit. People, like Cerrik, were no different. They could be guided, molded, bent to her will—all they required was the right touch.

Her revelation burned within her, bright and unyielding. Domination. That was her truth. She would not just control the currents of the Force; she would command them, reshape them, make them hers. She would master not only the galaxy but the very essence of existence itself.

-END-​