ALDERAAN
Caltin's words fell on hungry ears—Drystan absorbed them keenly, leaving little to waste. He was like a sponge, eager to improve, and more importantly, to do so the right way. A lesson instilled in him by his master during his Padawan years.
With those words echoing in his mind, he joined Caltin in meditation. He would learn through the Master's guidance, reflecting on the ideas given to him.
Wisdom and compassion—two things he searched for each day. Wisdom, to understand the right course of action. Compassion, to recognize the suffering of others and help shoulder their burdens. But he knew he still had far to go. He was young, a blink in the grand eye of the galaxy. And ever since his master's passing, that compassion had eroded, replaced by a rigid sense of justice that often flirted with vengeance.
He was aware of this flaw. He had to work on it. And now, he wasn't alone. He never was.
The nature of the Force wasn't unknown to him, but he understood how deep its well ran. He felt it—how his connection to it had grown with the years. His will was unwavering, his intent resolute—sometimes to a fault.
As he continued to meditate, his thoughts began to drift, visualizing in his own way. Perhaps the Force guided his mind… or perhaps it was something deeper.
The states of matter.
First, solid—what he was. In body and spirit. Coiled, tight, like a spring wound to its limit. He needed to let go, to soften, to relax the rigidity of his soul.
Then, liquid—he imagined himself melting, loosening, letting his form flow and be immersed in the Force. Soaked in it, like a child yet to be born, surrounded by the warmth of something far greater. His spirit flowed, becoming viscous and malleable.
Then came gas. He expanded. He let go even further. He imagined himself as vapor—weightless, invisible, filling the air around him. His awareness drifted, spreading through the very breath of nature, floating where wind carried him. He began to rise—his body levitating softly, hovering a foot from the ground.
And then—plasma.
The fourth state. A realm that could only be reached through complete transformation. His soul excited, his energy alive. Cells danced. Nerves sparked. And then, a golden arc.
A single strand of electric light jumped from his chest into the air. Then another. And another. Small arcs of gold danced and multiplied, growing, spiraling in the air around him. He remained seated, unmoving—but he was immersed in it. He focused, refined, and welcomed it. Made it his.
Electric Judgment.
He was beginning to understand.
Caltin Vanagor