Private Tears and Doubts

[Neriamel Loraya]

Neriamel's Chamber, Jedi Temple, Coruscant

The sobbing had helped, provided some release and relief, loosened the knot that had sat in Neriamel's chest. She remained motionless, sitting cross-legged on the floor of her tiny chamber, and made a point of not wiping her face with her robe. She could feel a slight tingle along the path that the tears had taken down her cheeks. Focusing her attention on these and other sensations in her body, she tried to meditate, to find a happy, or at least peaceful, place.

But time and again, the question cropped up in her mind: what was to happen now?

After several minutes, she admitted defeat and gave up. The question demanded obstinately to be thought about. Why fight it when she could simply do that and then have some peace.

Master Aruun had insisted that what had happened was not as if she had been rejected for knighthood, that it was not the same thing. But wasn't it really? Didn't this already mean she was judged to be unsuitable to be a Jedi?

She really didn't know how to go about finding a new teacher. She would think about this later - for now, to calm herself, it was going to be essential to map out the worse possibilities, to know what choices were available as a contingency, to have the full picture.

It was unthinkable to remain and simply work for the Order as a scientist or engineer or in its administration. She would never be able to be comfortable in this state of half-belonging. It made sense for those who were weak in the Force and knew that they could never had become a knight, but what was she to tell herself?

In the outside world, gifted people were often supposed to become scientists or engineers. It seemed to Neriamel to be a thankless task. These people were essentially archivists of technology, no matter what they told themselves about innovation. Life in the galaxy was constantly changing over time and place, but the range within which it was changing had essentially remained the same for hundreds if not thousands of years. Discoveries and inventions that truly, fundamentally changed existence were not forthcoming. The universe was like that. What people really needed was technicians more than engineers. And almost anyone could be a technician.

She could not go into politics or public service, it was impossible for a person without connections. She was probably, legally, still a Hapan citizen, but she had no ties to the planet. What influence the Jedi wielded was all in virtue of their belonging to the Order, or in some more remote places, the respect the locals had for educated warriors who could do what others couldn't. But she would have no hope of getting anywhere to do any good at all.

Going into business in some manner was a tenuous proposition, for a multitude of reasons, among them the fact that much of what was being made and sold seemed like unnecessary nonsense to her. There was a fundamental empathy gap here between herself and the people involved in such dealings, and to overcome it was simply a wasteful use of her time and talents. The only thing this could have lead to anything good was through money - and there were better ways to make more of that.

It seemed thinkable to go, for example, to Ralltiir and find work in its financial sector. It was a secret, but an imperfectly-kept one, that the Order possessed significant financial means and interests of varying provenance which required shrewd management. It might have been interesting work, but to amass influence and power on behalf of an organisation that would have essentially rejected her did not seem appealing. But if she were to do the same in a manner that could ultimately lead to her directing what the money did - that could be worthwhile. Most things you could do in the galaxy required either the ability to influence people, or a lot of money. And making money on Ralltiir was largely a matter of equations, not of people. She could deal with that. And if it took

She could also forget about doing anything with her talents and live as a farmer somewhere. But that usually required working with the locals, and you were supposed to do it in a family. She clearly wasn't cut out for that. Besides, she probably couldn't meditate enough not to get bored of it after a while. A peaceful, content, bucolic existence was a dream, not a realistic potentiality.

At least she had identified one possibility that seemed realistic at this point. She would have to do a lot of reading, but while she was still with the Order, she would have access to resources. And then, perhaps one nudge in the right place, to the right person's mind, to get a foot in the door, to get herself hired in the first place. That was surely justifiable.

She noticed, by chance, that she was breathing out. She could still sense the remnants of her prior turmoil, but the question of the worst case answered, she felt more grounded. In fact, maybe she should just go that way regardless? What, really, could she do in the Order anyway that did anyone any good?

Razh Sho​

 

[Razh Sho]

Jedi Temple, Private Chambers – Evening


The sun dipped low over Coruscant, casting long golden rays through the high windows of the Jedi Temple. The air was quiet yet heavy with the hum of distant repulsor lifts and temple energy fields—ever-present, ever-watching. Razh Sho stood before the door of Neriamel Loraya's quarters. The silence here was different—more personal, less sacred. His lekku twitched lightly, picking up the emotional undercurrents behind the durasteel door: restraint… tension… doubt.

He pressed the chime once.

A pause.

The door hissed open, revealing a modest chamber lit by the soft glow of a single meditation lamp. Neriamel Loraya, a striking Hapan in her early twenties, sat in the middle of the floor, legs crossed, her bronde hair tied in a practical braid. Her expression was unreadable—polite, but distant.

Razh inclined his head with a practiced grace. "Padawan Loraya!"

Razh studied her for a long moment, not just with his eyes, but with the Force. Her aura was dense, like coiled wire: strong, but wound too tight. "I am Master Razh Sho."

Before she could respond, Razh continued without missing a beat as if she should have known why he was there in the first place. "It is not your beginning that concerns me, Loraya. It is how you were asked to walk."He paused. "And whether your last teacher showed you the ground, or only the path."

Raz watched as her brow furrowed slightly, unsure if it was criticism or insight.

Razh continued gently, "I do not expect obedience. I expect curiosity and courage—the kind that questions, the kind that falters, and steps forward anyway."

He finally stopped before her, his voice lower now."Do you believe yourself unfinished?"

Neriamel Loraya

 

[Neriamel Loraya]

Neriamel's Chamber, Jedi Temple, Coruscant

Neriamel noted surprise at the appearance of a visitor, but rose from the floor with composure to greet him with a polite bow. He did not give her the chance to speak at first, and she was content to be silent and study the man. Determined, steadfast, confident. Not a mystic, the kind of person who felt more than they thought. Neriamel had always found those difficult.

He was not speaking entirely plainly, but neither was he merely using words to gesture in a direction, the way some of the aforementioned types often did - in their defence, by necessity, as words were typically ill-suited to convey what they were trying to convey. If she wasn't entirely deceived, what she was hearing here was merely flourish. Flourish around a most unexpected message.

"Do you believe yourself unfinished?"

That could only be his way of asking whether she was willing to learn. Yes, of course she was - she hoped nobody had got the wrong idea about that! Whether any given person had something to offer that was worth learning, and was capable of teaching it, was another question. If this master came to her under such circumstances, he must think that he did, and after the entrance he had made, she was interested to see what it was. Hopefully he was wise enough not to fall into the pitfall of thinking her just another unruly child to be tamed - though to be fair, most of the masters were wise enough to see that much. They weren't masters for nothing most of the time.

"I do, Master Sho", she said determinedly.

Razh Sho​

 

[Razh Sho]

Razh Sho regarded her in silence for a moment longer—his gaze not hard, but precise, as though weighing the grain of a blade before sharpening it. He stood just inside the doorway of her chamber, the folds of his cloak settling with the stillness of his posture.

He inclined his head slightly to acknowledge her answer, "Good."

His voice was calm, measured—like stone polished by ritual. He stepped further into the room, eyes sweeping across the modest quarters with a duelist's attention to detail, before returning to rest on her face.

"There is no shame in being unfinished. Only in choosing to remain so."

He took no seat, no stance of casual authority. Instead, he remained standing, as if this meeting was not yet a place to rest, but one to declare intent."I have not come to rebuild you. I am not here to make you something you are not, or to demand that you fit the shape of a Padawan I once wished I'd had. That would be vanity."

His hand came to rest lightly on the curved hilt of his saber—not a threat, not a boast, but an unspoken metaphor. "I have come to sharpen you. To temper what already exists—edge, balance, purpose."

He stepped slightly to the side, beginning to circle slowly, like a thoughtful lecturer or a duelist reading the first few steps of a sparring dance. His tone shifted with a shade of dry humor.

"I have seen too many who treat instruction as domestication. To tame is easy—any chain will do."He turned his head toward her again. "But a lightsaber does not become effective because it is tamed. It becomes effective because it is directed."

He stopped just beside the old meditation cushion she'd been sitting on, and looked down at it briefly—then at her.

"And so the first lesson is this: you are not here to follow my path. You are here to discover yours—with my blade beside you, not in front."

Then his tone softened—barely "I have lived through two ages. And I have made enough mistakes to know that most students fail not because they lack ability—but because their Masters fail to see them clearly."

He tilted his head just slightly. "I see you, Neriamel Loraya. And I am prepared to walk with you until you are ready to walk alone."

Then, without pomp or ceremony, he simply added "We begin at first light. Bring no assumptions." And with that, he turned and strode toward the door, offering her silence as his final gift of the evening.

Neriamel Loraya

 

[Neriamel Loraya]

Library, Jedi Temple, Coruscant

Neriamel's eyes flitted over the page on the data terminal before her, her fingers scrolling as if of their own accord without supervision from her consciousness as she eagerly absorbed the information from such sections of Master Sho's file as were accessible to her level of authorisation. She had barely waited until Master Sho had cleared the corridor before rushing here to seek more information about what had just happened. And she had learnt two facts that appeared to be of note to her.

First, the Master had recently had the good fortune to be awakened from a multi-century hibernation. That must have left quite the impression - how was it not akin to death and resurrection? But more importantly, it meant that he was a stranger in this age and in this Order. He had been accepted as a fellow Jedi without issue, the Order considering itself to be in continuity, but he was still, inevitably, an outsider of sorts. Did this mean this was his project to prove himself? Or did one outsider naturally gravitate towards another?

Second, he was on record as being a master of Makashi. Neriamel herself was part of a small minority of Jedi who studied ancient records of this form and kept it alive in practice while it was considered obsolete by many. That had always struck her as misguided. It was understandable that it would have fallen out of favour at a time when adherents of the Dark Side of the Force were not a major force in the galaxy, being, as it was, designed for duelling first and foremost. But these times were long gone, and for some reason, the Jedi were not adapting to this fact and most were sticking to practices considered more modern. But what was considered modern, it seemed to Neriamel, was in fact rigid, stuffy traditionalism. What could be more modern than to adjust to the present time in which the Sith were numerous as of old and wielded great influence in the galaxy - even if it meant learning ancient lightsaber techniques?

This was not a coincidence. Many believed that nothing that happened to a Jedi was ever truly a coincidence - but this wasn't even a coincidence by the standards of ordinary people!

—​

The next morning

Master Sho had shown confidence without arrogance or condescension. He had been respectful. Neriamel appreciated that and had resolved to do something she rarely found herself doing: to suspend skepticism and give him the benefit of the doubt. For a reasonable while, of course - she wasn't going to set herself up to be disappointed, but she also wanted to make absolutely sure she did not miss what there was to be gained. This might, after all, be her last, unexpected chance to avoid derivatives trading.

Still, she had to admit herself that, after yesterday's reading, she was probably already violating his exhortation to bring no assumptions...

The light inside the temple was still dim, soon it would be turned up to full brightness as the sun rose. Neriamel had risen two hours earlier, as she always did, and practiced her morning meditation. She was walking briskly along the corridor to the training room where she was to expect the Master. She felt refreshed, curious, and ready to face what was in store for her.

Razh Sho​

 

[Razh Sho]

Jedi Temple – Training Center, Before First Light


The great hall was still, its polished floors gleaming faintly in the pale glow of overhead lanterns. The vast windows faced the skyline of Coruscant, where the final stars of the night still clung to the edge of the atmosphere, resisting the creeping warmth of morning.

Razh Sho knelt at the center of the chamber, his form motionless, robed in shadow and silence. His hands rested gently on his thighs, the curve of his saber hilt set before him like a quiet guardian. His lekku were draped over his shoulders, still as sculpted stone.

In his mind, the Force whispered—not with clarity, but with echoes.

Faint.
Distant.
Unfinished.

He was back in the carbonite. Again.

He could feel it—not the cold, not the weight—but the void—that unnatural stillness between life and death. The Force had been a distant murmur then, like listening to breath through a wall. Time had stretched into something unfamiliar—days without shape, years without light, centuries of being unseen.

He had not dreamed in the carbonite. But now, he was haunted by what he should have.

And now, as the Force pulsed through him once again, alive and unfiltered, it brought questions, visions, and voices that didn't belong to this age.

—A duel half-finished.
—A friend who had turned away before the strike.
—A student whose name had vanished from the archives.
—The hum of an ancient Temple, now buried by time.
—And a question he still could not answer......

"Why was I left?" His brow furrowed faintly. He did not seek anger—only understanding. But the Force gave him only silence in return. Until—The faintest shift in the room. A presence entering the chamber.

Neriamel.

At first, he did not open his eyes. Instead, he spoke into the stillness, his voice like stone smoothed by wind.

"The training of a Jedi begins not with action…" He rose slowly to his feet, fluid as a river's current, cloak whispering against the floor. "But with intention."

He turned to face her now, eyes open, silver-gray and sharp as forged phrik.

"What is yours, Neriamel?"

Neriamel Loraya

 

[Neriamel Loraya]

Training Hall, Jedi Temple, Coruscant

Neriamel just stood there for a few moments, taking her time to reflect on the question Master Sho posed to her.

The question of her reason, motivation or intention in starting her training to be a Jedi had never been posed - children did not pose and did not answer such questions, they went along with what the competent-seeming adults around them showed them, because they have no alternative. The question could be posed later, in adolescence, when she could, in principle, have left the order for an alternative path in life - but it wasn't a real choice, it would have been absurd to give up what she was, to all appearances, excelling at in favour of a life starting with nothing, no family, no friends, no support. In truth, there was no intention behind her training as a Jedi specifically - it was nothing that she had ever been in a position to affirmatively choose.

Except perhaps now. She was not a teenager now, she had an education and knew something about the world, and she knew that she could learn certain kinds of things quickly. As yesterday's reflection had established, she could have a different life. And it turned out her considerations on that point had been guided by the same principle that still pushed her to become a Jedi if only she could: what could she do with her own particular talents to have the greatest impact? She was not the quietist sort, content to explore her feelings and trust the Force to take care of things. To the extent that the Force did anything, it was through people, and that could be helped along, and it was anyway a dubious notion, given what many Force users were up to. The Force was, at the very least, schizophrenic. No - it was obvious to Neriamel that it was her duty to use her exceptional gifts to help enable people in the galaxy to have fulfilling lives. That didn't mean she expected herself to solve all the problems in the world - but it meant filling the niche she was born into, the niche that nobody else could fill. That, as far as she could see, was to defend ordinary people from the natural predator they had in Force sensitives.

But you weren't supposed to answer these sorts of questions with a long-winded discourse. It had to be compressed.

"To make the best use of my talents."

Razh Sho​

 

[Razh Sho]

Razh Sho regarded her for a long moment, their silence weighted with thought rather than judgment. Then he stepped forward, slowly circling her with the deliberate pace of someone measuring not just words, but potential.

"A practical answer," he said at last, nodding. "And not a misguided one."

He stopped behind her briefly, voice low, "But purpose without clarity becomes ambition. And talent without discipline? Noise."

He moved to face her again, folding his hands behind his back.. "You will find that I do not train to produce power. I train to produce precision of mind, of blade, of purpose." There was a pause, then a softer, thoughtful "Tell me, Neriamel… do you know what your talents truly are?"

He lifted a brow, not dismissively, but like a question meant to sharpen the edge of her introspection."Or have you merely learned to wield what others noticed first?"

Then, after a heartbeat's silence, he added with calm finality, "We will find out. Together."

He gestured toward the sparring floor—a quiet challenge and invitation all in one. "Show me what you believe your talents to be. Let us begin there."

The training floor was silent, bathed in the cool blue hues of early morning light filtering through the high windows. The echo of Razh Sho's footsteps on the polished stone was soft, yet each step held intention, grounded in ritual. He stopped ten paces from Neriamel and unclipped the curved hilt of his saber from his belt with a fluid, deliberate motion. He held it in his left hand for a moment, letting the memory of its weight settle into his bones. The hum of the blade came alive as he thumbed the ignition. A brilliant blue light emerged in a clean, elegant arc, humming with restrained power. The blade cast long, flickering shadows across the floor, mirrored faintly in his silver-grey eyes.

He glanced down, flicked a small switch on the emitter—training mode engaged. The energy would stun, bruise, sting—not maim.

Then, with grace born of centuries and the poise of a master duelist, he raised the blade vertically before him in a Makashi salute—the classic duelist's gesture, crisp and formal.

His voice, when it came, was low but commanding. "This is not a contest of strength, Neriamel. This is a conversation."

He lowered into the Form II ready stance—feet light, one forward, shoulders turned, blade held low and to the side, tip pointed subtly at her centerline. His left hand rose, palm open, fingers relaxed, an invitation and a test. "Speak clearly." His expression was calm, unreadable. But behind that quiet mask, the Force stirred around him like a blade unsheathed.

Neriamel Loraya

 

[Neriamel Loraya]

Training Hall, Jedi Temple, Coruscant

When it came to the bigger picture, it was blindingly obvious where Neriamel's talents lay, and it had been obvious to anyone around her from her childhood. She was smart and she was gifted with the Force. That was something to set her apart from the vast majority of beings in the galaxy, and made it obvious that by the principle she had just stated, she should become a Jedi to make good use of those talents which so many others didn't have.

But suddenly and unexpectedly, the bigger picture had become rather relevant - it seemed that circumstances had changed and it was appropriate again to zoom in, as it were. What was her comparative advantage within the Jedi Order, and how did she know that? It was not obvious which of the things she was good at she was good at just because she had been learning them from early childhood and had two decades of practice under her belt. Was she, for example, particularly talented as a duelist? Maybe not. But at least she was playing to her strengths in that domain, and the results were very passable indeed. The form she practiced was well-suited to her build, allowing her to make good use of the reach of her long limbs without requiring great physical strength of acrobatic prowess, which she did not possess. And it was well-suited to her way of thinking just as well - deliberate, efficient and precise. Not to mention that she agreed with its purpose in overall outlook.

There was also the fact that there was no denying that her mind worked faster not only than that of most beings in general, but also that of most Jedi. In fact, she couldn't see any indication that Force-sensitivity was particularly tied to cognitive ability, though of course the more accomplished Jedi were also intellectually capable, in the same way that accomplished people everywhere must be. By now even she had learnt that the correct thing to say was that she was 'a good scholar'.

There were other things she took herself to have no talent for, leadership and diplomacy among them. She did not know how to inspire people, and it seemed a waste of effort to even try.

Neriamel was about to speak when it became clear that the Master had merely submitted his question for her consideration and did not expect an answer on the spot.

She took a few steps over to the training floor. No words were needed. She unclipped her lightsaber from her belt, held it before her and switched it into training mode for Master Sho to see. Then she took some steps backwards to put the proper distance between them, activated the blade, and returned his salute in a fluid, well-practiced gesture.

And she found herself momentarily at a loss. It was easy for her to speak clearly, but what was she to say? She found it difficult to develop a cogent intent to approach the duel with. Was it because actually winning it was so unrealistic? But what other intent could you meaningful have? At this moment, she found herself wishing that the Master would make the first attack, allowing her to be reactive and execute a riposte rather than taking the first step.

She made a first attack that seemed unconvinced - or at least unconvincing. It was well-executed as a matter of physicality - fluid, without rigidity or undue tension -, but lacking in deadly intent, calculated, if at all, to test the other's reaction more than to end the fight straight away as it should have been.

Razh Sho​

 

[Razh Sho]

Razh Sho's saber was already alive in his hand, its slender blue blade casting sharp reflections along the polished floor. As Neriamel's opening strike slid toward him, precise in movement yet lacking in conviction, he answered not with brute strength but coiled grace. He stepped laterally with quiet efficiency, guiding her blade away with the subtlest of deflections. The hum of contact sang between them for only a breath before the clash dispersed into stillness again.

He didn't press the advantage. Instead, he allowed the moment to settle like dust, his saber angled across his body, relaxed but unmistakably present — like a thought waiting to be spoken.

Then, without raising his voice, he said, "Technique will carry your blade to the target. But intent is what drives it through."

He circled her slowly, footsteps deliberate, his expression unreadable save for the flicker of deep attention in his eyes. "You hesitate, not because you lack the skill… but because you're still deciding whether you're allowed to win."

The final word lingered like the end of a chant. Then, as if to return the test she had offered him, Razh Sho stepped in. No sudden lunge, no reckless charge. A probing Makashi thrust — elegant, surgical, just enough to demand a real answer.

Her lesson had begun.

Neriamel Loraya

 

[Neriamel Loraya]

Training Hall, Jedi Temple, Coruscant

Neriamel shifted her stance slowly and fluidly to turn her body to follow the Master's movement as he circled her. She took in his words, though for the briefest moment, and then had to admit that there was little to argue with. That was both frustrating and oddly satisfying: she liked that he was insightful.

"Point taken, Master."

When he made his move, she sidestepped it and let her blade gently guide his in the other direction. A less practiced student might simply have swatted it away. She pulled back her lightsaber and made a riposte. They exchanged a number of blows, dancing around each other, their blades gliding off each other more than they clashed. Neriamel was erring distinctly on the side of defence and took no chances. She hopped backwards to avoid a horizontal strike of Master Sho's blade, and remained at that distance, momentarily disengaged.

It was then that she suddenly noticed something: a subtle fear of failure. Perhaps a residue lingering from yesterday. Perhaps a new formation in response to what seemed like a last chance. What if she did try to win and made a fool of herself?

Her brow furrowed slightly as she admonished herself. What kind of silly girl was she turning into? She had to put herself back in order. First of all, nobody could expect her to defeat a master swordsman - wasn't exactly that the reason why she had just done badly? -, and therefore nobody could hold it against her if she didn't. Second, Master Sho was eminently reasonable and had just shown himself insightful, and it was unfair and a disservice to him to be in any way afraid. And third, why in the world shouldn't she win, anyway? Stranger things had happened in the history of the galaxy, and many times. If he were a Sith, would she hesitate for a moment to fight for her life - and his death? Of course not. The entire problem was silly affectations that arose from the particular context of this sparring session, its context in her life, its context in the Jedi Order. None of this was, in fact, material to the bladework. It all needed to be cleared out.

The feeling evaporated, just blinked out of existence, and Neriamel's attention, bereft of its former object, redirected itself to the one thing that was left: the dual object of her lightsaber and her opponent.

The next sequence of moves she made was already of a very different character. Less guarded, less constrained - not reckless, but simply free.

Razh Sho​

 

[Razh Sho]

The change was immediate, and Razh Sho saw it. He did not smile, not exactly. But there was a flicker in the sharp lines of his face, a barely perceptible shift in his eyes. Acknowledgment. Recognition. This was what he had been waiting for. When Neriamel came forward, blade no longer a shield but a living extension of her intent, Razh Sho's own saber came to meet it—not to suppress, not to punish, but to meet, as one river meets another.

Their sabers hissed together in a flurry of contact: parry, glide, strike, reverse. She had shed the weight of self-consciousness, and with it, her movements had gained a quiet purity. He matched her, breath for breath, never giving less than he received. The tempo quickened but never became wild. Precision ruled the flow.

He let her take space.

He let her pressure him.

And still, each of his responses remained elegant, restrained — a masterful Makashi display of control. He yielded where strength would have met resistance, flowed where others might've locked sabers. His footwork was crisp, refined, yet minimal, conserving motion, conserving energy. Even in defense, he was teaching.

When they finally disengaged, a second stillness settled between them. His saber held at his side, blade humming softly.

"There." A quiet word, as if they had finally arrived somewhere. "You have not become more skilled. Only more honest."

He stepped forward, not with blade raised, but with something else — presence. Gravitas. "You are not here to defeat me. That is irrelevant. You are here to face yourself without flinching. You've begun."

And with that, Razh Sho raised his blade again — not to end it, but to invite her back in. "Continue."



The rest of the session unfolded in a steady rhythm — not dramatic, but alive with quiet progress. They moved through drills and open sparring, footwork and flow patterns, kata and improvisation. Words were few. Corrections, when needed, were efficient. Neriamel adapted quickly, thoughtful in her execution, sharp in her adjustments. Mistakes came — but she didn't retreat into herself when they did. She responded, refined, kept moving.

Razh Sho noted it all.

By the end, the hall had shifted in mood. The air was calmer. The silence no longer felt filled with tension or unspoken questions — only breath, presence, and the muted hum of the temple walls around them.

Razh deactivated his saber with a hiss and stepped back, offering a slow nod. "That will do."

Neriamel lowered her blade, breathing lightly, focused. She didn't speak — didn't need to.

He regarded her for a long moment, his expression still unreadable, but his stance had softened. Something behind his eyes had changed. A new weight in the way he looked at her — the kind that only came from acknowledgment.

"You are more capable than you know," he said, voice quiet but firm. "And you're closer to being ready than you think."

He clipped his saber to his belt, then added, almost as if it were a passing thought, "I made the right choice."

Then he turned, motioned with a hand for her to follow, and they left the training hall together—not as master and stranger, but as a pair now truly bound by the beginning of shared trust.

Their path forward was long. But the first steps were now behind them.

Neriamel Loraya