The Republic cruiser cut through hyperspace, stars blurring into streaks outside the viewport. Kaelen sat strapped to a narrow bunk in the passenger hold, a blanket wrapped tightly around his small shoulders. The hum of the engines filled the silence, steady and soothing, but his heart still pounded with memories of fire and screams. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his mother falling, her robe catching fire; his father collapsing with a blade through his chest. He buried his face in the coarse blanket to block it out, but the images refused to leave.
Across from him sat Yoda, hunched and still, his cane resting across his knees. The Grand Master's eyes were closed, his breathing deep, as though he had become part of the ship itself. Kaelen tried to mimic him, closing his eyes and pulling long breaths, but instead of calm, he heard the voices again.
They came like echoes through a cave—low Wookiee growls, slithering Sith whispers, harsh Huttese curses. One voice was clearer than the rest: neither dark nor light, but strong, commanding, almost… familiar. It told him, without words: Survive. Endure.
Kaelen's small hands clenched around the blanket. He dared to whisper: "Why me?"
Yoda's ears twitched, but he did not open his eyes. "Ask the Force, you should. Not me."
The boy's voice trembled. "The Force doesn't answer."
"Always, it answers," Yoda replied. "But quietly. Listen, you must. Hard to hear, when fear shouts loud."
Kaelen's throat tightened. "I'm not afraid."
One of Yoda's eyes cracked open, the corner of his mouth quirking. "Hmm. Brave, you are. Honest, you are not."
Kaelen looked away, cheeks burning. He didn't reply again.
Coruscant blazed before them, the city-world sprawling endlessly across the horizon. From orbit, it looked like a jewel of durasteel and light, brighter than anything Kaelen had ever imagined. The cruiser pierced the atmosphere, the hull trembling as they descended.
Kaelen pressed his forehead to the viewport, wide-eyed. Mandalore had been open skies and plains of gold, but this—this was a mountain of fire and glass. Towers rose like forests of metal. Speeders zipped in every direction, like insects weaving through light. He could not see a single tree, not a single field of grass. The sight was both awe-inspiring and suffocating.
The ship angled toward the Jedi Temple, a pyramid rising above the cityscape, crowned with five towering spires. Kaelen felt something stir in his chest as they approached—the hum of the Force, thick and heavy, like the current of the river that had carried him. It pulled at him, whispering louder than ever.
"Big, it looks," Yoda said beside him. "Bigger still, its purpose."
Kaelen clutched the beskad shard tied at his belt, the only piece of his father he had left. "Is this where I'll stay now?"
"Perhaps," Yoda murmured. "Decide, the Council must."
The halls of the Temple were unlike anything Kaelen had ever seen. Polished stone gleamed beneath his bare feet. Windows stretched high overhead, casting sunlight across intricate mosaics. The air smelled faintly of incense and old dust. Jedi moved quietly in every direction—Knights in their simple robes, Padawans trailing behind Masters, younglings in groups led by instructors.
Kaelen shrank beside Yoda, clutching his shawl. He caught snippets of language as they passed: a Nautolan speaking Nautila with his peers, a Twi'lek giggling in Ryl, a Wookiee padawan huffing soft Shyriiwook grunts. None of them looked like him. None of them felt like home.
Yoda led him to the great doors of the Council Chamber. They opened silently, revealing the vast circular room, its floor of polished stone reflecting the morning light. Twelve chairs lined the perimeter, occupied by the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy.
Mace Windu's sharp gaze fixed on Kaelen immediately. Shaak Ti inclined her head with quiet curiosity. Plo Koon's mask concealed his expression, but his presence radiated calm. Ki-Adi-Mundi stroked his beard thoughtfully.
Yoda guided Kaelen to the center of the chamber. The boy's small figure looked swallowed by the vast space, the towering Masters staring down at him from every side. He swallowed hard, clinging to his shawl like armor.
"This is the child?" Windu asked, voice clipped.
"Found him, I did, on Mandalore," Yoda said, settling into his chair. "Strong in the Force, he is. Very strong."
"Too strong, perhaps," Ki-Adi-Mundi muttered. "Mandalorian by blood. Dangerous enough without the Force."
Kaelen stiffened. He understood enough to know they were talking about him, judging him. His cheeks burned, and his fists clenched.
Plo Koon's deep voice rumbled. "He is only a child. Fear does not dictate destiny."
Windu's gaze narrowed. "And yet destiny has betrayed us before." His words carried weight, and even Kaelen felt the unspoken name—Anakin Skywalker.
Shaak Ti leaned forward. "What did you feel when you found him, Master Yoda?"
Yoda closed his eyes briefly. "Grief. Anger. But beneath… balance. Not dark, not light. Both. Like the river itself."
"Balance," Mundi scoffed. "Or conflict. Mandalorians are bred for war. And you propose to place one among our younglings?"
Kaelen couldn't hold his tongue. "I didn't choose to be Mandalorian!" His small voice cracked in the chamber, echoing. The Masters turned their eyes on him, some surprised, some disapproving. He forced the words out through clenched teeth. "Death Watch killed my mother. They killed my father. I don't want to be like them."
The silence that followed was heavy. Yoda's ears twitched.
Windu's tone softened, but only slightly. "You are angry. That anger is dangerous. The Code warns us of this."
"I'm not dangerous," Kaelen snapped. "I just want to live."
Shaak Ti tilted her head, studying him. "The will to survive can be strength. Or it can become obsession."
Plo Koon spoke gently. "Tell us, child—when you were alone, what did you feel?"
Kaelen hesitated. The voices still echoed in his mind. He licked his lips. "I heard… whispers. Different tongues. The big hairy ones at the market… the slug people's words… and others. Old ones. They told me things."
The chamber murmured. Ki-Adi-Mundi frowned. "Hallucinations, surely."
But Yoda's eyes sharpened. "Not hallucinations. Visions. Strong in foresight, this child may be. Stronger than most."
Windu folded his hands. "Or unstable. Such power can be corrupted."
Kaelen's throat tightened. He felt like a stone being weighed and found lacking. He thought of his mother, who told him knowledge was armor, and his father, who said strength was survival. He thought of the fire, the blood, the way both of them had died. He refused to let these strangers decide he was worthless.
"I can be both," he blurted. "Strong and wise. A protector and a warrior. Like you say Jedi are. Like my parents wanted me to be."
The Council sat in silence again. Even Windu seemed unsettled.
Yoda tapped his cane. "Hear this, you do. His choice, he speaks. Not ours."
Ki-Adi-Mundi shook his head. "He is too old to begin the training."
"He is younger than Skywalker was," Plo Koon countered.
Shaak Ti looked to Yoda. "Do you truly believe the boy can walk the path of balance?"
Yoda's gaze fell on Kaelen, who stood trembling in the center of the chamber, fists clenched, eyes shining with determination and grief. The Grand Master saw the shadows of countless futures branching from him—some bright, some dark, all tangled. He could not know which path Kaelen would walk. But he felt the truth deep in the Force: this boy mattered.
"Believe, I do," Yoda said softly. "A chance, he must have."
Windu's jaw tightened. "If he fails, his blood will be on your hands."
"On all our hands, it would be," Yoda corrected. He tapped his cane once. "Decided, it is. Jedi, the boy will become. My watch, he will be under, until ready for a Master."
Kaelen gasped, staring at him. His heart pounded with relief, fear, and something new—hope.
The Council's vote was not unanimous. Windu and Mundi's disapproval lingered in the air like a shadow. But it did not matter. Yoda had spoken.
The boy bowed awkwardly, mimicking what he had seen the others do. His voice shook, but it carried. "Thank you, Masters."
As the session ended, Yoda rose slowly and approached Kaelen. He placed a small, clawed hand on the boy's shoulder. "A long path, yours will be. Hard, it will become. But not alone, you will walk it."
Kaelen looked up at him, eyes wet. For the first time since the fire, he allowed himself to believe he could survive. Not as a lost child of Mandalore. Not as an orphan. But as something new.
As a Jedi.