Private Remedial Education

[Drystan Creed]

JEDI TEMPLE: CORUSCANT

He was back in a place he once thought would push his progress forward—the training halls of the Jedi Temple.

Jedi of all ranks filled the space, sabers flashing, Force powers on display as they refined their craft. The hall was large enough for Drystan to carve out his own corner, and his smoldering gaze, paired with his aloof demeanor, kept most from approaching.

Before him, a holoplayer flickered to life on the floor, projecting the image of a faceless Jedi wielding a lightsaber.

Drystan stood across from it, his own blue blade igniting with a sharp hiss.

"Form I." A command.

The hologram took its stance, and Drystan mirrored it perfectly.

It continued through its motions, and he followed—seamless, precise, flawless to any observer. But in his own eyes, frustration brewed, his expression darkening as he moved.

"Form II." Another command.

The hologram shifted, transitioning into the refined, duelist's footwork of Makashi. Drystan followed, the abrupt change in form stark and jarring.

"Form III."

Another sharp transition. His stance tightened, defenses locking into the strong, deliberate movements of Soresu.

And so it continued—through all seven forms, each kata replicated with machine-like accuracy. Every motion, every technique, perfectly mirrored.

By the time the routine ended, Drystan exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling over as he let out a low growl. He turned, dropping onto a nearby bench, arms resting on his knees.

His mistake as a Padawan had finally caught up to him. He had built his foundation on observation, on replication, rather than internalizing each style as its own. It made him versatile, yes, but it also made him hollow. His forms were flawless—yet they weren't his.

He needed a way to fix this.

But he knew now—watching would never be enough.

Sighing, he wiped the light sweat from his brow, grabbed the canteen beside him, and took a swig of water.

Maybe a smoke break was in order.

Switching the holoplayer, he queued up recorded sparring sessions—Jedi Masters locked in combat.

Still, it did nothing to ease the frustration gnawing at him.

Valery Noble

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Training outfit
Weapons: Lightsabers

The training halls of the Jedi Temple hummed with energy — sabers clashing, voices calling out in instruction, the steady rhythm of bodies moving through their forms. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and exertion, and among those finishing their sessions, Valery stood, exhaling as she reached for a towel to dab at the sheen of sweat glistening along her collarbone.

She had just wrapped up an intense sparring session, her body still thrumming with adrenaline. The sleeveless black training top she wore clung to her toned frame, highlighting the defined muscles in her arms and shoulders. And her long hair, usually kept in a ponytail, was somewhat messier now.

But as she turned to leave, something made her pause.

A presence. One she recognized.

Drystan.

She felt his frustration before she even spotted him, a deep well of irritation simmering just beneath the surface of his otherwise controlled demeanor. Her amber eyes flickered across the room until they landed on him, sitting alone on a bench, his arms resting on his knees, watching recorded duels play out before him.

Valery studied him for a moment, taking in the way his shoulders carried a tension that wasn't just physical. This wasn't the exhaustion of training — it was the frustration of something internal, something gnawing at him from the inside out.

Instead of calling out, she moved toward him, her presence steady, unhurried. As she reached the bench, she grabbed a canteen from her own belt and took a slow sip before glancing at him with a knowing smirk.

"You look like you're about to put a hole through that holoplayer," she mused, her voice smooth but carrying an edge of quiet understanding. "Rough training session?"

She didn't sit just yet — giving him space, but making it clear she was here. Jedi struggled for all sorts of reasons, and Valery had seen plenty of frustration in students before. But Drystan wasn't a Padawan. He was a Knight. And whatever was eating at him, it wasn't just a bad day at practice.

Drystan Creed ​

 

[Drystan Creed]

CORUSCANT

Drystan kept his gaze locked onto the holoplayer, the glow of its projection reflecting in his dark eyes. The only acknowledgment he gave Valery was a brief nod, followed by a long, steady silence. He was lost in thought, weighing his words, struggling with the reality he had finally come to accept.

He felt trapped—caged by limitations of his own making. There was nothing worse than realizing you were your biggest obstacle. And that was exactly what he felt now.

Truth be told, he would have preferred to keep this to himself. But this was Valery. If she couldn't help him, nobody could.

A quiet sigh left him before he finally spoke.

"Yeah, rough." His voice was low, laced with frustration. "Rough realizing you've spent your whole life training, learning, doing everything… wrong."

His fingers tightened into a fist before he forced them to relax.

"I always thought my ability to copy any move I saw would be an advantage—a tool that would make me a better Shadow. A better Jedi." A pause. His jaw tensed. "But now I see it's been nothing but a cage."

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"You know, I don't think anyone in the Order—not even my master—ever caught on. But I used it to skip through everything. Not just combat. Everything."

His words came faster, almost venting now.

"Back when I was a Padawan, I cheated on tests by copying the wrist movements of the smartest kid in the room. Never studied, never needed to. If I got in trouble and was confined to my room, I'd sneak out—walking, talking, being another kid to slip past the guards."

Another sigh. His hand raked through his dark hair, frustration bleeding into every movement.

"I think this gift of mine has turned into a curse. And it's my fault."

His voice dipped, quieter now, laced with something heavier.

"I'm a fraud. Just a copy of everything I see. I never stopped to learn the meaning behind what I did—I just did it. And because it worked, I never questioned it. Never took the time to understand. I really am a Shadow in the worst ways imaginable. Just a trick of the light, mimicking anything underneath it without a care."

His fingers curled around the hilt of his saber, thumb brushing against the ignition switch, but he didn't activate it.

His thoughts raced, the weight of realization settling in. He had spent his life conforming, shifting seamlessly into whatever the moment required. Adapting. Blending.

He was everything at once—yet nothing at all.

Valery Noble

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Training outfit
Weapons: Lightsabers

Valery didn't respond right away.

Instead, she exhaled softly, lowering herself onto the bench beside Drystan with a quiet, measured movement. Close enough to be present — close enough to make it clear she wasn't brushing him off — but not so close as to crowd him. She let the silence linger for a moment, allowing his words to settle between them. The weight of his frustration, his regret, his realization — it all pressed into the air like a thick fog. And Valery understood. More than he probably realized.

Finally, she tilted her head slightly, her fiery gaze flicking to his clenched fingers, the way they brushed against his saber, the tension in his frame. "A shadow," she mused, voice smooth but contemplative. She let that thought sit for just a second before her lips curved into something small, knowing.

"Maybe. But have you ever stopped to consider what a shadow actually is?" Her amber eyes met his gaze now, steady and unwavering. "It's not just a trick of the light. It's a reflection of something real. A presence. It may shift and change depending on its surroundings, but it's still tied to the source. It still exists because something solid, something true, is casting it." She let that sink in before she leaned forward slightly, elbows resting against her knees, her hands loosely clasped.

"Your ability to copy… yeah, I get why it feels like a curse right now. I understand why it's limiting you. If you've always relied on it, then adapting — being creative when faced with something truly new — is going to feel impossible. But that doesn't mean you're lost. And it sure as hell doesn't mean you're a fraud." Her smirk softened, something warm and resolute beneath it.

"Everything you've copied? Everything you've learned? It's still yours. It's in your muscle memory, buried in your movements. It's a toolbox, Drystan. Right now, you just haven't been using it the right way. You've spent your life collecting tools, but never actually building anything of your own."

She shifted now, turning her body slightly toward him, her expression more serious.

"That's what you focus on now. Learning how to create. How to take what you know and make it your own. You've been surviving on instinct — now it's time to bring in intent." A slight pause.

"And you don't have to do that alone either." Her tone wasn't soft, wasn't pitying — because she knew he didn't need that. What he needed was understanding.

And what she offered was truth.

Drystan Creed ​

 

[Drystan Creed]

CORUSCANT

Drystan remained silent as Valery spoke, his expression unreadable, listening intently.

"I just don't know if it's too late to steer my ship off this path."

He lifted a hand, staring at it, eyes dark with thought.

"It's hard to stop relying on something that's kept you standing for so long. It's like asking someone to stop breathing—it feels that natural. Knowing I can just watch someone move and do it myself has, ironically, made me stop wanting to learn. It's made me ignorant to how much learning I needed to do. Need to do."

When was the last time he had truly practiced? He trained, sure, but only to keep his body in shape. He never drilled technique, never refined skill—just took what worked and left it at that. The only thing he'd ever developed naturally were his Force abilities.

Valery's words stirred something in him, his mood lightening slightly as he continued.

"I suppose you're right. A shadow without light—without something to cast it—is just a part of the dark."

His fingers tapped against his knee, thoughtful.

"I've been away too long. Ever since my master passed, I cut myself off. Figured I'd handle things on my own. And sure, I've done some good, but looking back… it wasn't healthy. I probably should've leaned on the Order more."

A short scoff left him. His need for autonomy, his desire to be a self-sufficient crusader, had done more harm to himself than good for others. And only now was he realizing it.

"There's… something in my head I need to work through. It's made it hard to get close to people. I talked to Aadihr Lidos about it a little, but I still haven't figured it out. Maybe it's a defense mechanism. Maybe paranoia. I don't know."

The thought lingered, but as he worked through his issues with Valery, another question surfaced—one that struck deeper than all the rest.

Drystan sat up, voice steady, but laced with uncertainty.

"How do I build something of my own with the tools I've taken from others? How do I make something that isn't mine… my own?"

The question settled heavy in the air, weighing on him even as he spoke it.

He hated to admit it.

But for the first time in a long while, he needed someone to nudge him in the right direction.

Valery Noble

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Training outfit
Weapons: Lightsabers

Valery listened in quiet understanding, letting Drystan voice his doubts, his frustrations, his regrets. She didn't interrupt, didn't try to rush him through it — she let him sit in the weight of his own words. Let him feel them, fully, because that was the only way forward.

When he finally asked his question, when his voice dipped into that quiet, uncertain space, she exhaled softly.

Her amber gaze locked onto his, unwavering. "You've spent your whole life copying things that already exist — patterns that have already been created, moves that have already been tested. You've built a foundation, but you've never really had to struggle to figure out what works for you. You've never been forced to adapt in a way that wasn't just mimicking someone else's solution."

She leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms on her knees, a smirk tugging at the edge of her lips. "That's what you need now. A challenge. Something unpredictable. Something that forces you to think on your feet, to create instead of replicate."

Valery straightened, rolling a shoulder as she considered him for a moment. "And lucky for you, I'm very good at making things difficult," she teased, though the glint in her eyes made it clear — she was absolutely serious.

She shifted slightly, stretching out her legs before turning back to him with a knowing look. "Let me help. Train with me. Spar with me. Push yourself in ways you haven't before. I'll throw things at you that you can't just copy, that you have to find your own way through."

A slow, confident nod.

Drystan Creed ​

 

[Drystan Creed]

CORUSCANT

"Yeah, the more I think about it the more right you are."

Drystan mulled over Valery's words, dissecting them piece by piece. Maybe instead of relying on the tools he had taken, he could use them—forge something new. Something that was his.

A culmination—not of what he had taken, but of what he had lived. His gift wasn't just about copying movement. There was more to it. He just needed to find it. To push beyond imitation. To discover what would take his skill to the next level. She was right. He had spent years watching, copying, adapting—but never building. And like any skill, like any gift, his should be able to evolve into something beyond what it was.

"I haven't sparred properly in a long time. I got too comfortable watching instead of doing. And the battles I fight… they're no place for development."

His jaw tightened, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"If I push myself in the right space, maybe I can break through—find what's mine. I just need to throw myself into it and see what my body and mind create."

His resolve hardened, his posture shifting as he stood. He was already warmed up, but now, something inside him clicked. His eyes sharpened, laser-focused on Valery.

"I accept."

His voice was firm, unwavering.

"Push me beyond my breaking point. I want to learn to hold my own in a fight where imitation won't save me."

A nod. Then, a question.

"How do you want to do this? Lightsabers?" He gestured to the practice sabers mounted on the wall.

"Or just martial arts?"

Valery Noble