The next morning found Sundari wrapped in a haze of gray dust, the previous night’s battle scars half-buried under drifting sand — though the tension in the air hadn’t lifted with it.
A small landing pad behind the stronghold, half-ringed by towering scrap metal and set apart from the main thoroughfares, had been cleared for the morning — open ground, out of the way, unlikely to be disturbed.
Kurt was already waiting there, helmet off, his short silver-gray hair mussed by the gritty wind.
He’d changed into something easier to move in, though his blaster still hung at his hip — habit, by now, more than caution.
He hadn’t slept well; faint shadows sat under his eyes.
But his focus was sharp, almost — hungry.
Qui-Gon arrived on time, still in his simple Jedi robes, presence calm as ever.
He carried no lightsaber.
“Kurt.” Qui-Gon’s voice stayed even.
“The Force exists in all things — it connects past, present, and future.
It isn’t a tool.
It’s a presence.
A resonance.
You were born able to feel it — that’s your gift.
But feeling it is only the first step.
You need to learn to listen to what it whispers, to understand how it moves, to bring your will into harmony with it rather than forcing it to obey.”
He walked to the center of the pad and picked up a small, wind-smoothed white stone, resting it in his open palm.
“Now.
Close your eyes, Kurt.
Set down your guard.
Set down your thoughts.
Look at it with your heart, not your eyes.
Tell me what you feel.”
Kurt closed his eyes as instructed.
At first there was only wind, the distant grind of machinery, his own heartbeat coming a little too fast.
But gradually, as he forced himself still, a familiar, ever-present undercurrent began to surface — the ocean of the Force.
He felt the wind against his skin sharpen into something clearer, felt the faint vibration of the metal platform beneath his boots, even caught the last dying warmth still clinging to a derelict engine somewhere nearby.
And there, in the middle of it all, the stone in Qui-Gon’s palm sat like a small, warm star — faint, but unmistakably present.
“It’s…
there.” Kurt’s voice came soft, uncertain.
“Kind of warm.
Really still.
Like something…
sleeping.” His words were clumsy, but honest.
Something like relief flickered in Qui-Gon’s eyes. Get faster updates on g.com.
“Good.
You’ve caught its presence.
Now — try to reach out with your mind and touch it.
Gently.
Not push, not grab.
Like a fingertip brushing the surface of still water.”
Kurt’s brow furrowed as he focused, imagining his will as a soft breeze drifting toward the little star.
Nothing happened at first — only the dizziness of straining too hard.
Frustration crept in, and without meaning to, he pushed harder.
“Relax, Kurt.” Qui-Gon’s voice came like cool water, steady and calming.
“Don’t force it.
The Force answers clarity and stillness, not effort.
Picture it as sunlight, falling naturally, without a single push behind it.”
Kurt breathed out slowly, working the impatience out of his chest, letting his focus soften and spread.
This time — he felt it.
The little stone trembled, almost imperceptibly, the instant his will brushed against it.
No eye could have caught it.
But in the Force, that faint ripple came through as clear as a struck bell.
“It moved!” Kurt’s eyes snapped open, a flash of boyish delight breaking through.
“Yes.
It answered you.” Qui-Gon smiled.
“That is the beginning of communication.
Power comes from understanding.
From harmony.”
The lessons that followed built on this — Qui-Gon guided Kurt through basic sensing exercises, eyes closed, learning to distinguish the Force “signature” of different objects around him, practicing how to hold that awareness steady while moving, even beginning simple meditation, learning to drop into focus quickly amid distraction.
Kurt’s progress left Qui-Gon quietly astonished, again and again.
His affinity for the Force ran startlingly deep, his perception razor-sharp, and he learned at a pace that defied explanation.
His approach carried a distinctly Mandalorian bluntness and practicality — he clearly leaned toward treating Force-sensing as a kind of combat sense, something to sharpen his instincts in a fight rather than a spiritual discipline in its own right — but the sheer purity of his talent, driven by an unwavering need to protect what mattered to him, made him drink in everything Qui-Gon taught with something close to hunger.
All of this, Obi-Wan Kenobi watched from the shadow of a tall metal support strut some distance away.
Just as he’d suspected.
He didn’t approach, didn’t interrupt — only watched.
He watched the brief, unguarded smile break across his face the moment he lifted a pebble a few centimeters off the ground.
He watched the stubborn set of his jaw as he strained to hold a Force barrier against the light gusts Qui-Gon threw at him.
The boy’s raw talent, the speed of his progress — it left something cold sitting in Obi-Wan’s chest.
Everything his master was teaching — environmental sensing, basic telekinesis, rudimentary shielding — was elementary by any Jedi standard.
But the student receiving it had never set foot in the Temple, had no youngling’s foundation, and carried deep, unresolved emotional attachments as a matter of course.
This ran directly against everything the Jedi Order stood for.
Jedi training in the Force was meant to happen under the Temple’s strict oversight, a structured curriculum instilling restraint, stillness, and selflessness from earliest childhood, precisely to keep power from being twisted by emotion and desire.
Kurt was no child — old enough to have formed strong emotions and a fixed, personal drive, and here he was, diving straight into Force training with none of that groundwork laid first.
To Obi-Wan, it looked exactly like opening a door that history had taught them, again and again, should stay closed.
Had his master forgotten every lesson the Order had learned from those who’d fallen to the dark side through exactly this kind of uncontrolled power?
Obi-Wan’s frown deepened by the minute.
He understood his master’s admiration for Kurt’s gift.
He understood the tactical value Kurt’s power might hold against Death Watch.
But training an outsider this way — informally, without the Council’s knowledge, let alone its approval — carried too much risk.
It wasn’t just reckless toward Kurt.
It was a betrayal of everything the Jedi Code stood for.
He watched Kurt in the middle of the pad, deep in concentration, willing a scattering of sand grains into a simple pattern midair, sweat darkening the hair at his temples, eyes bright with total focus, while Qui-Gon stood patiently beside him, guiding him on, hope plain in every line of his face.
Obi-Wan’s hands curled into fists at his sides, torn between respect and dread.
He loved and honored his master deeply.
But this time, he felt Qui-Gon walking a path that drifted dangerously off course.
He would need to speak with him — for Kurt’s sake, for the Code’s sake, and for his master’s own.
Far away, on Naboo, another boy was undergoing Force training of his own — a training that made Kurt’s look gentle by comparison, guided by an unnamed Galactic Senator.
“Yes.
Just like that.
Release your dark side.
Think of how the Republic’s Jedi treated your family.
Hate them.
Think of your family on Jabiim — dead because the Republic’s incompetence let pirates hunt them down unchecked.
And the Jedi never lifted a finger to help.
They let the pirates run free.
Think about it, child.” Sidious murmured on, word by careful word, guiding the boy toward the dark.
The boy ended his meditation and opened his eyes — Sith-yellow, rimmed in blood-red.
“The Jedi,” he said.
“The Republic did this.”