Chapter Text
Viktor didn’t know his mother’s name.
He realized this when he was eight years old, after another Padawan inquired during their afternoon meal. The Padawan—a small boy with teal skin and red eyes from an Inner Rim planet—no longer lived at the Jedi Temple in Piltover. Viktor didn’t know what had happened to him, and admittedly, he couldn’t remember the child’s name either. But regardless, he had asked that simple question that shattered Viktor’s mind all those years ago. What was your mother’s name? Innocently said, with the same childlike curiosity that burned in Viktor’s veins.
Viktor’s mind had blanked, and for a moment, sitting at the long table in the common hall of the Temple, he couldn’t believe that he didn’t know the name of the woman who birthed him. In fact, he didn’t know anything about her, really. He tried to recall what he could, but all he got back was flash images of disconnected body parts—dark hair draped over bird-like shoulders, fair skin freckled like his own, a chin that was more pointed than soft, and fingers that were long and elegant like a painter’s. Her face, much to his dismay, remained blurry and distant.
In a startling bout of clarity, Viktor realized he would likely never know his mother’s name.
After all, Viktor had been found by the Jedi when he was a small child.
Several Jedi had been drawn to the small moon that made up Viktor’s home world of Zaun, following the ever-present pull of the Force. His village had been an industrial one, filled with tall buildings and glowing lights, rife with smog from nearby fissures in the moon’s surface. Viktor’s family had lived near the fissures—or at least that’s what the Jedi medical team claimed, since Viktor’s lungs had never fully recovered from repeated exposure to the gases. When the Grandmaster and the other Knights began investigating Entresol, Viktor’s village, Viktor had been three.
Not quite old enough to have solidified memories of his earliest years, nor old enough to understand that his mother gave him away to a handful of strangers across the galaxy. The Jedi were persistent and persuasive, as Viktor now knew. They spoke beautiful, flowery words about purpose and destiny and served as peacekeepers amongst the galaxy. They were trustworthy and came bearing promises of a better future, a better life for those with the Force. Viktor’s mother had been swayed by their charms, and Viktor had been bundled up and shipped off to Coruscant.
It wasn’t until this conversation with the other Padawans that he realized how bizarre the practice truly was. No matter how much training he received or how many books he read on the subject, Viktor still tilted his head at the idea that a parent would willingly give up their child to a stranger, likely never to be seen again. The acquisition practice had been normalized at the Temple for thousands of years—children often just… appeared throughout the wide halls, looking lost and confused, and Viktor and the others never batted an eye.
Why would they?
They had once been the same lost children.
The Jedi Temple on Coruscant was the only home Viktor had ever truly known, as he had virtually no memories of Zaun or Entresol. However, despite the many years he’d spent in the honored halls, it never really felt like home. It baffled his Master that Viktor had somehow managed to retain his Zaunian accent, which he never grew out of. Some of his words lilted and wavered in other Coruscanti dialects—like Piltovan and High Coruscanti, to name a few—but for the most part, his consonants were sharp and pronounced, and his words had movement unlike those around him.
Viktor’s bad leg and ailing lungs also didn’t help him fit in with the other Padawans. Not equipped for battle like the others were, Viktor did poorly in most of his physical courses. He couldn’t run as fast as the other students, and by the time he was in double digits, he had to use a cane to get around the Temple. He was always on the thinner side, no matter how much food he ate, and when he was young, he towered over most of the other human Padawans. Even after their growth spurts in puberty, Viktor still remained one of the tallest in their creche.
His mind, however, was sharper than nearly anyone’s, which likely had saved his life. When Viktor turned thirteen, he had expected to be sent to the fields. Padawans who were not chosen by Masters were all sent away from Coruscant to find a way to help the galaxy in different ways, never to become full Jedi. But instead of being sent away, Viktor had been summoned to the Council chambers. Surprisingly, it was Grandmaster Heimerdinger who took Viktor under his wing, appreciative of Viktor’s sharp mind and shockingly intelligent grasp of the Force.
His high Midi-chlorian count had helped, too.
This also did not help Viktor make friends. More than half of the Padawans from his creche were sent away—including the teal-skinned Padawan who had inquired about his mother—and the other half ended up under the care of other established Masters, spread out across the Temple. But with the Grandmaster as his mentor, Viktor was shown a new side of the Jedi. He began traveling with Heimerdinger on missions when he was fourteen, and by the time he was fifteen, he was the official meeting annotator for the Council meetings.
Viktor, who had always been mature for his age, began to see the true differences between himself and his peers. Many of the other Padawans focused entirely on retaining their youth, exploring the joys of Piltover’s cuisine and nightlife, while Viktor remained tucked away in the library, reading old tomes about the Mandalorian wars of old. When Viktor was eighteen, he took his Jedi trials at the insistence of his Master. He was Knighted six months later, the first of his creche to reach this achievement for several years.
Viktor, now twenty, stared at the newest creche of Padawans training in the sparring chambers. Amidst the group, a teal-skinned Rodian was playing with Sky. The small boy was what had inspired Viktor’s current line of thinking, as he remembered the conversation he’d once had for the first time in over a decade. He still did not know his mother’s name. He did not know if he had any siblings. He no longer remembered anything about his home world, except for a name and a city. His mother’s face was still completely gone from his memory.
Still, Viktor wondered if he had his mother’s eyes.
Gold like the Sith, the youngest of the Padawans whispered when he neared.
It was foolish, which everyone knew. Viktor wasn’t a Sith, nor could he be—the Sith were hunted quite ardently, and the Jedi would never allow one to simply exist in their midst. As for Viktor’s pale-yellow eyes, it was perhaps an unfortunate genetic trait, but he was unsure. Viktor didn’t know what color his mother’s eyes were. Maybe his eyes were like his father’s, whose memory was so distant that it continually morphed and changed over time—sometimes tall and lumbering, sometimes short and waifish, sometimes simply a dark shadow over a bassinet.
It used to sting—the weight of the missing knowledge. Now, it burned in his heart, a gentle aching reminder that he was no longer Viktor of Zaun, but rather Viktor, Knight of the Jedi Order. Perhaps that was why he was so fond of Sky, the young girl from Zaun who had been picked up five years ago. She was ten, one of the older children in her group, but she made something nostalgic twist in his chest. He felt he owed her, in a way. They were cut from the same cloth after all, and the least he could do was look after her.
She was bright and happy, brilliant when she put her mind to it, though she lacked confidence and stability in her adolescence. Viktor had already spoken to Heimerdinger about taking her on as his Padawan in a few years’ time, to which his Master had seemed delighted. Viktor still felt he was a bit too young, still too new at being a Knight to teach anyone else at this current point, and Sky still had a few years to go until she aged out. There was plenty of time, but Viktor had promised himself that he would not make her wait too long.
Though she was not the best fighter in her class, she held her own well enough. Middle of the road, as the old adage went. When she was defeated by the Rodian boy, she bowed politely, stowed her training saber away, and bounded over to where Viktor sat along the benches. “Master Viktor!”
“Hello, Sky,” Viktor said warmly. “You did well.”
“I didn’t win,” She pouted, clambering up to sit next to him. Her clinginess would have to go when she officially became Viktor’s ward, but for now, he allowed her to lean against his side. She was flushed, her cheeks pink with exertion, and her body radiated heat like a furnace.
“I never won my fights,” Viktor told her conspiratorially. Her eyes widened. “Some things are not always won with the body.”
“Wow,” She breathed, her dark eyes wide in admiration. “How do you win, then?”
“By being smart,” Viktor teased, tapping her lightly in the center of the forehead. She giggled. “And you’re very smart, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am!”
“Master Viktor?”
Viktor and Sky both turned in surprise. One of Viktor’s peers, Elora, a Knight under Master Medarda, was standing timidly in the doorway, her robes brushing the floor. Elora should’ve had seniority over Viktor, but with Viktor being the Padawan of the Grandmaster of the Order, she had always been painfully polite and indifferent. “Yes, Master Elora?”
“The Grandmaster has requested your presence in the Council chambers,” Elora said in her soft, calm voice. Her dark hair was wound back into her signature bun, but her fingers were twiddling nervously under her sleeves. “It is of grave importance.”
Viktor frowned, immediately pushing to his feet. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, my apologies,” Elora nodded. “My Master and I have just returned from a mission in the Mid Rim. While taking a fuel stop in Cynyss, we discovered something… unusual.”
“Unusual how?”
Her eyes flickered to Sky, then back to Viktor. “I believe it’s best to not speak of things here. The meeting will begin once everyone is gathered.”
“Very well, I will be along shortly,” Viktor nodded to her, and Elora tipped her head back in acknowledgement. The older woman dipped out of the doorframe, and Viktor could hear her steps echoing off the Temple floors. He turned back to Sky, still staring up at him with wide eyes. “I must go, Padawan. You should be on your way—you will want to bathe before dinner.
“Thanks for coming, Master Viktor!” Sky stood and hugged his arm, and Viktor fought not to stiffen under her touch. She’s a child, he rationalized, it’s not her fault. Viktor didn’t hate touch, per se. He was just unaccustomed to it.
“Of course, Sky,” Viktor softened his voice slightly. “Run along.”
He waited until she had cheerily rejoined the fringes of her creche, talking animatedly with the other Padawans, before he made his exit. His cane clicked along the stone floors, and many of the Jedi wandering the halls nodded to him in greeting. Even if Viktor was not particularly well-loved, he was at least incredibly recognizable. Between the cane and his connection to the Grandmaster, Viktor was one of the more publicly known Jedi amongst their flock. The attention was something he was still working on getting used to.
The halls of the Temple were as familiar as his own shadow, at this point. The hundred-foot ceilings, the stone columns, the smooth carpets that stretched for miles… all of it made up Viktor’s home. Outside the massive windows, Viktor saw the ships cruising into the Temple’s space port on the eastern wing, dozens of Jedi returning from trips across the cosmos. In the grand hall, Padawans celebrated an early dinner with tales of their studies and exploits. Life ran rampant throughout the Temple, bright and joyous.
Viktor walked, letting the flow of the Force pull him on his way.
It took him fifteen minutes to finally round the bend toward the Council chambers. Viktor could hear hushed voices from inside, talking rapidly. There was something else lingering in the air. Pressure, intense and full, like a storm waiting to break overhead. The Force was anxious, Viktor surmised. Why? He asked it. What frightens you so? He hesitated for a moment at the door, hand on the release trigger. Elora had said they had found some unusual, not threatening, Viktor reminded himself. And yet, the Force trembled with anticipation.
He pushed the door open.
Inside the room, the Council members were all seated in their chairs, ringed in a half circle around the center of the room. Behind them, the large windows showed the Piltovan skyline, the capital city of Coruscant. Ships speeding through the different highways overhead, racing by the windows as Coruscant Prime, the sole sun, began slowly lowering toward the horizon. As Viktor timidly stepped into the room, all eyes fell on him. The Masters he so greatly admired eyed him with indifference, and Viktor tried not to shrink under the attention.
He felt all of their Force signatures rush over him in an instant as he stepped inside. There was the familiar, spicy warmth of Heimerdinger’s signature, which had always reminded Viktor of a fireplace in snow-dappled lands, followed immediately by the smoky, hearty feel of Mel Medarda’s Noxian blood, and the sickly-sweet press of Salo that made Viktor’s teeth ache. But despite the familiarity and despite Viktor’s affinity for the Force, nothing could’ve prepared him for the Force signature emanating from the unfamiliar man in the center of the room.
A supernova of energy and life lived in the center of this man’s body, engulfing and eclipsing everything around him. Through Viktor’s connection to the Force, he could even faintly make out the traces of blue energy that pulsated off the man, licking over the milder signatures within the room. He was dominating everyone and everything inside, without even meaning to. Viktor’s own signature, which was strong in his own right, recoiled away from the man’s curious, seeking reach. When Viktor’s own signature collided with his, the man stiffened.
Even from a brief touch of their metaphysical souls, Viktor could tell this man held power. In an instant, Viktor felt a rush of everything as the man’s Force signature greedily pulled at him. While many Force signatures manifested in feelings, colors, sounds, smells, or visions, this man’s signature seemed to do all of the above. At once, Viktor was dropped into a roaring sea of blue and green, pulled under by thunderous waves and salty brine. He swore he could taste the sand and surf on his tongue as the man’s signature—the current itself—ripped at him.
He was going to drown Viktor, and there was nothing he could do.
“Ah, Viktor, my boy!” Heimerdinger called cheerily, and at once, the waves and riptide released him. Viktor sucked in a ragged breath, blinking rapidly as he forced himself to refocus. “Just the person I was looking for. Do come in, Padawan.”
“Apologies, Grandmaster,” Viktor rasped, swallowing. He made himself look to Heimerdinger, away from the strange man, and bowed politely to the other Council members. He shut the door softly behind him with a wave of his hand and stepped into the room, hesitating at the edge of the circle, wary to draw too near to the stranger. “I was at the creche with the younglings.”
“Do not fret, my boy,” Heimerdinger gestured to the man in the center of the room, who was peeking at him over one massive shoulder. “Viktor, I’d like you to meet Jayce Talis.”
The figure in the center of the room—Jayce Talis—turned expectantly.
Jayce Talis was not a man. He was a boy.
Barely sixteen, if Viktor had to make an educated guess. Tall and wide, he was sculpted of lean muscle and the remnants of baby fat. His jaw line was sharp, but his cheeks were still full. He was half a head taller than Viktor, much to his dismay, and peered down at him curiously with bright eyes framed by thick, full lashes. His skin was tan and sunburnt—clearly from a tropical planet, then—and his hair was dark and untamed, floating around his head like an unruly mop. He was an incredibly handsome young man, Viktor noted offhandedly.
His Force signature was already leaking back into the room.
Viktor tamped back his initial fear as the translucent blue webbing grew closer—Jedi do not feel fear; fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, he repeated to himself—and stepped up beside him, bowing his head politely. He rested his hands atop his cane, aiming for a casual, unaffected look. “Hello.”
Up close, the boy’s signature seemed to be behaving slightly better than it had been before. It still pulsated and twitched with every movement the boy made, but it no longer threatened the others in the room. It was curious, Viktor mused, that none of the other Council members had commented on Jayce’s faux pas. However, in Viktor’s periphery, he could see Jayce’s signature slowly beginning to encircle him once more. Not enough to swarm him and touch him, but enough to loop around him curiously. Viktor sensed no malice or ill intentions, so he simply let the boy explore.
“Hi,” Jayce said softly. His voice still croaked and cracked with youth, but there was a soft baritone under it all. Not as deep as Viktor’s voice, but richer and heartier. “Are you a Jedi?”
The question was bright with intrigue and wonder, and Viktor decided not to judge him too harshly. He was just a child, after all. “Well, I should certainly hope so,” Viktor paused, observing the boy. He seemed anxious in the center of the room, with the eyes of the Council on him. Viktor, in a flash of sympathy, found him to be a kindred spirit. Viktor continued, tone light, “Otherwise, my sense of fashion would be quite abysmal, no?” Viktor held his arms out, letting his brown robes fall open around him, revealing his boring cream tunic and trousers underneath.
Jayce smiled, and at once, the anxiety cracked and began to fade. His Force signature completed its circuit of Viktor’s person, now a lasso around Viktor’s soul. Jayce’s eyes drifted up and down Viktor’s lean frame. “I don’t think it looks so bad.”
“Hm, perhaps your fashion sense is abysmal, then,” Viktor hummed noncommittally. Jayce’s cheeks pinked, and he opened his mouth to say something else, but he was interrupted.
“Jayce, this is my Padawan, Viktor,” Heimerdinger hopped off of his stool and wandered closer, his robes dragging slightly on the floor behind him.
Jayce’s head jerked around at the sound of his voice, and at once, his Force signature snapped and drifted away. Viktor eyed it as it receded back into Jayce’s vicinity, still far larger than anyone else’s. Jayce cleared his throat as he stared down at Heimerdinger. “I—I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what that is.”
“My student, dear boy,” Heimerdinger said kindly. “Though Viktor has long since graduated from his true Padawan days, and now resides as a Jedi Knight.”
“Oh, okay,” Jayce frowned in confusion, but nodded regardless.
Viktor took pity on him. “You wanted to see me, Master?”
“Ah, yes,” Heimerdinger nodded and took his seat once more. “As you know, Master Medarda was on a recent excursion through the Mid Rim. When she briefly detoured in Cynyss to refuel, she found Mister Talis in one of the repair yards. She says—actually, perhaps it would be better if you took over, Master Medarda?”
Mel Medarda pushed to her feet, languid and graceful as ever. Still in her traveling attire, she was a vision in white and gold. Even the bland brown Jedi robes looked elegant when draped over her dark shoulders. “The Force was pulling me there,” she started. “I could feel it aching in my bones before I even landed on the planet. Eventually, it led me to Jayce. After an hour or two of observation, I learned that he possessed incredibly strong control over the Force.”
Jayce flushed again. “Well, I don’t know if I’d say it like that—”
“Nonsense,” Mel waved a hand. “There is no need to be modest, Mister Talis. I would not say it if it were not true.”
“O-oh,” Jayce stuttered, flushing slightly. “Uh, thank you, ma’am.”
“A demonstration is in order, then?” Master Salo asked, head tilting curiously. “To see this… incredible control.”
“Forgive me, Councilor,” Viktor cleared his throat politely, glancing at Jayce out of the corner of his eye. “Is that… necessary? Given the circumstances?”
“And what circumstances would that be, Viktor?” Salo asked, voice dry and haughty as ever.
“Well…” Viktor wavered, unsure. “You can feel him, no? Shouldn’t that be quite indicative of his abilities?”
Heimerdinger tilted his head. “Viktor—you can feel Mr. Talis’ Force signature?”
“I—yes, Master,” Viktor blinked in shock. Around Jayce, the blue energy making up his Force signature slowed and curled around him curiously, like it was waiting. Viktor continued. “I do not mean to imply anything, but… can you not? It is… unlike anything I have ever seen before.”
To Viktor’s amazement, Heimerdinger beamed. “Ah, Viktor, always surprising me! Yes, I can feel Mr. Talis’ signature, though that does not seem to be the case for everyone present. Master Medarda also senses it, though it appears far fainter for her. Tell me, dear boy, what sensations do you feel?”
Viktor peeked in Jayce’s direction nervously, but the young man was already staring at him curiously, and their eyes locked together. Hazel. Jayce’s eyes were hazel. Ringed with verdant green, save for a thin circle of bright amber around the pupil. The effect made his eyes appear golden in the light. Viktor’s gaze flitted away, and he cleared his throat. “An ocean—a storm, more accurately. I could taste the salt of the sea and feel the current pulling me under. It was like drowning. I could feel it from the hallway outside.”
“And what did it feel like?” Mel asked.
“Nervous,” Viktor said, eyes darting toward Jayce again. “Anxious. Unsettled.”
Jayce scratched at the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s fair, I guess.”
“Fascinating,” Mel breathed. Her eyes flickered over Jayce, and the boy shifted nervously, inching closer to Viktor. It was not an unusual reaction to Mel Medarda—her beauty had left thousands stunned across the galaxy. “I experienced a soft rainstorm, though nothing so intense. I felt the water hit my skin, and I could feel the pressure in the air. It was warm, comforting. There was no threat at all.”
“Intriguing that you both found water where I found fire,” Heimerdinger murmured. “A hearth, crackling and burning in a dim room. It smelled of spices and smoke. Homely, welcoming. Does that sound familiar to you, Jayce?”
Jayce nodded slowly. “I work with a lot of metals and materials back home. I craft things, so I work with fire a lot. And it rains a lot—tropical weather, you know?” He turned to Viktor. “I don’t know about the drowning, though. I’m sorry.”
Before Viktor could formulate a response, Heimerdinger cut in. “Do not fret, Mister Talis. Viktor is quite adept at reading the Force—it’s a talent very few Jedi possess. He is unnaturally sensitive to it, that’s all.”
“Oh, alright…” Jayce shifted on his feet, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Uh, I don’t—I don’t really know what any of this means.”
“Do you know what the Force is, dear boy?” Heimerdinger asked him. The question was not pointed or insulting, simply inquiring.
“No, sir,” Jayce shook his head. “I just know the Jedi use it to… do stuff, I guess.”
“Viktor, if you would?” Heimerdinger gestured to him.
Jayce’s eyes locked onto him like a homing beacon. Viktor swallowed again. “The Force is an energy field,” He started, but his attention briefly flitted down to where Jayce’s Force signature was beginning to engulf him once more. Still, it did not dare touch him again. “It is created by all living things. We are comprised of something called Midi-chlorians—microscopic, intelligent life forms through which the Force moves. The more you have, the stronger your connection to the Force.”
“How many do you have?” Jayce asked.
“Around eighteen thousand,” Viktor answered simply.
Jayce paused. “Is that a lot?”
“Yes, it is!” Heimerdinger chuckled. “Viktor’s count is higher than even my own, and I have a respectable seventeen thousand! Viktor is incredibly in-tune with the ways of the Force—probably why he could sense you so strongly!”
“Oh,” Jayce’s eyes were wide. He hadn’t looked away from Viktor at all. “Wow.”
Viktor shifted nervously under Jayce’s fixed stare. “Master,” He turned. “Might I ask why you’ve brought me here?”
“I believe I may be able to answer that,” Mel said smoothly, drawing Viktor’s eye. “It is my belief that Jayce possesses a high Midi-chlorian count—too high to be ignored. Elora?”
From the back of the room, Elora stepped up beside Mel and carefully handed over a tablet. “Master Medarda had me run some scans of Jayce’s Midi-chlorian counts on the way back from Cynyss. It’s… extraordinary.”
Mel passed the tablet over to Heimerdinger, who read through the notes silently. Jayce shuffled his feet nervously, but Viktor’s gaze was on his Master. Heimerdinger’s eyes widened. “Good grief… nearly twenty thousand…”
“Twenty thousand?” Master Salo squawked. Viktor’s jaw dropped, and several gasps echoed throughout the room. Salo pushed to his feet. “That’s unheard of!”
“You’re absolutely certain, Elora?” Master Kiramman asked, though her eyes were alight with intense curiosity. She leaned forward in her seat.
“Yes, Master Kiramman,” Elora nodded. The tablet was slowly being passed around the room, several of the Masters huddling around it like school children. “I took three samples—all were conclusive. Mister Talis possesses an unusually large amount of Midi-chlorians.”
Mel cleared her throat. “I would like to formally request that our Council vote to allow Jayce to join the Padawan program.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Master Hoskel said, which echoed Viktor’s gobsmacked sentiment. “Despite his high count, he’s too old!”
“Jayce has assured me that he is eager and willing to learn how to control his abilities,” Mel continued in his steady, even tone. “I believe it is within all our best interests to see how his connection continues to grow.”
“Pardon me, Master Medarda, but this all feels rather unethical,” Master Kiramman cut in, frowning slightly. “Removing a child from their home is already questionable enough on a good day, let alone a boy who is nearly an adult. Does Mister Talis have any family?”
“My mom is here,” Jayce blurted, flushing when everyone turned to look at him. “Mel—Master Medarda said she could come, too. I don’t have a dad.”
“That’s even worse,” Master Kiramman scowled.
“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” Jayce slumped, ducking his gaze.
“To be rather blunt, he’s too powerful to be left unchecked,” Mel continued calmly. To Jayce, she added, “I’m sure you mean well, Mister Talis, but abilities like yours become dangerous without proper training.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Jayce shrank under her gaze and took another step away from her, closer to Viktor. He could probably reach out and touch Jayce’s arm if he wanted to.
“I’m sure you don’t, dear boy,” Heimerdinger added kindly. “Which is why I am echoing Master Medarda’s recommendation.”
“Master,” Viktor stuttered in surprise. “Forgive me, but there is a reason why we do not take students older than eight. They cannot be trained.”
“I’m willing to learn,” Jayce stammered, reaching out. His hand didn’t make contact with Viktor’s sleeve, but it was close. Viktor couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or not. “Please—I—I want to learn.”
“Please do not take offense, Mister Talis,” Viktor winced, but his tone was kind. “I do not mean to insult you. Our rules here are very strict, and you would be expected to follow them without complaint.”
“I can follow orders,” Jayce protested eagerly.
Viktor sighed and faced the boy once more. “Tell me, would you be able to abandon your mother? To live here, in this Temple, without knowing if you’d ever see her again?”
Jayce paled. “I…”
“As a Jedi, we are expected to not have attachments. This means familial, platonic, and romantic. You will never be able to get married, and should you ever produce a child, you will have to remain an impartial figure in that child’s life. Your existence will be dedicated to the Force, from this day until the end of all days.”
“That’s…” Jayce gulped. “That’s so sad.”
“It’s not,” Viktor corrected softly. “It is our way of living, and truth be told, it is not for everyone. Do you know why we only take children, Mister Talis?”
“No,” Jayce shook his head.
“Because children are malleable. Their connections have not yet formed. Instead of imprinting on mothers and fathers, they imprint on their fellow Padawans and Masters. It is easier to not form attachments when everyone around you does the same.”
“So, what? You have no friends?” Jayce’s brow furrowed as he frowned heavily.
“I did not say that. We still feel affection, maybe even love at times—but it does not consume us. It cannot,” Viktor explained. The Councilors all watched him closely, and Viktor tried not to crack under the pressure of this impromptu lesson. He gestured to Heimerdinger. “My Master, for example. I care for him a great deal, but should the day come when he returns to the Force, I will not be burdened by my grief. I will feel it, but it will not break me.”
“Oh,” Jayce said quietly. “That… that sounds nice, actually. To be so accepting.”
“It is,” Viktor said lightly. “But I think it would be very hard for you, Mister Talis. You love your mother already. It will be impossible to unlove her. Do you understand?”
Jayce nodded slowly. “Yes, but I… I’d still like to try, though.”
“Splendid!” Heimerdinger clapped, and Jayce jumped. “I say we put it to a vote.”
“Wait!” Master Salo cried. “I would still like a demonstration of the boy’s abilities. He might be far beyond our teaching capabilities.”
“Fair enough,” Heimerdinger sighed. To Jayce, he asked, “Jayce, my boy, when you use the Force, what do you feel?”
Jayce blinked. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”
“This room… what does it feel like to you?”
“Uh… a room?”
Heimerdinger’s eye twitched faintly. “Not quite what I meant.”
“Oh, sorry.” The room fell into a standstill. Jayce shifted nervously again. He swallowed thickly and turned to Viktor, whispering, “What does he mean?”
“Through the Force, our sensations can be heightened,” Viktor explained calmly. “We can perceive things beyond the limitations of our eyes and ears.”
“Can you show me?” Jayce asked.
“Close your eyes,” Viktor said lowly. Jayce did immediately. “Breathe in. Now out. No—slower. In. Out. The Force is all around us, Mister Talis. It binds us together. Every individual carries something called a signature—a special sensation specific to themselves. A color, a scent, a memory, a feeling, a vision… For you, I sensed a storm. Reach out with your mind. What do you feel?”
Jayce’s eyes moved rapidly under his eyelids. “There’s—there’s so much!”
Jayce twitched and jerked, and Viktor knew he was losing him. He lowered his voice to be soothing, taking a half step closer. “Mister Talis, follow my voice. Breathe. Focus on one thing. Wait for it to solidify.”
Jayce’s head tilted, but his eyes remained shut. “I see… a canvas. Paint splotches. Ink that hasn’t dried yet. Stains on dark fingers. Wet brushes running under my hands.”
“Do you know who that belongs to?” Viktor asked, voice quiet.
Jayce’s head rotated, searching. “Master Medarda. She paints when she’s stressed. She’s very talented.”
Across the room, Mel Medarda looked startled but pleased. Even on her dark skin, there was a slight blush staining her cheeks. Viktor smiled. “Very good.”
“There’s more…” Jayce said. “A park on the edge of the city. I can see the Temple in the distance. There’s an… animal of some sort, I don’t know what it is. It’s lying in a patch of sunlight.”
Viktor’s eyes drifted to Heimerdinger, who looked delighted. “And who is that, Mister Talis?”
“Master Heimerdinger,” Jayce said, his voice growing more confident. “At the park with his… pet? A bench, near the city walk. He likes it because the birds always migrate overhead.”
“Magnificent,” Heimerdinger breathed.
Jayce’s face softened, his eyes still closed. A smile pulled at his mouth. “There’s a library. Filled to the brim with books and scrolls. A desk with a worn corner and ink staining the wood.” Viktor’s breath caught in his throat. Jayce continued. “It smells like paper and leather, and the air is warm. It’s so comforting. It feels like a home.”
“And who is that, Jayce?” Heimerdinger asked, but his knowing eyes were already on Viktor’s flushed cheeks.
Jayce blinked open, shifting back to face Viktor. He grinned. “It’s you.”
“How wonderful, Jayce!” Heimerdinger clapped. The other Council members nodded in approval, some even looking slightly impressed. “Does that satiate your curiosity, Master Salo?”
Salo, hilariously, looked disappointed. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“A vote it is, then,” Heimerdinger called.
Viktor stepped away from the center of the circle but froze when Jayce’s hand clamped around his wrist. The Force crackled around them. Even under the fabric of his cloak, Jayce’s hand was warm. “Where are you going?” Jayce’s eyes were wide.
Jayce’s anxiety spiked around him. Viktor fought to not be overwhelmed by the sheer mass of him. “The vote is for Council members only,” Viktor told him apologetically. “I do not have a say.”
“I—oh,” Jayce swallowed. His fingers twitched, then released Viktor’s bony wrist. The pressing aura of Jayce’s anxiety faded. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright,” Viktor soothed. “Good luck, Mister Talis.”
“Jayce.”
“Hm?”
“My name is Jayce,” he said.
“Good luck, Jayce,” Viktor amended softly. Jayce nodded back, but the tips of his ears were pink. Viktor stepped off the council floor and ducked behind the chairs, near where Elora stood. Jayce’s eyes followed him the whole way. To Elora, Viktor whispered, “What do you think?”
“Mel wants him, so she’ll fight hard to have him enrolled,” Elora said quietly. “I was thinking of taking on a student of my own soon, anyway.”
“Heimerdinger seems interested as well,” Viktor mused, watching as the lights in the room dimmed. Jayce was still watching him. “He is strong, but woefully untrained.”
“If he’s accepted, it’ll be a brawl,” Elora commented, shifting closer. “They’re practically salivating over him.”
“Well, to be fair, he does have the highest recorded Midi-chlorian count to date,” Viktor shrugged.
“Yeah, apart from you,” Elora raised an eyebrow.
“And yet, there were no such battles to have me enrolled as a Padawan, hm?” Viktor said, but there was a hint of bitterness in his words. Nearly ten years later, and it was still a sore spot for him. The highest Midi-chlorian count since Grandmaster Heimerdinger, and not a single Master had wanted to take him on.
Viktor still did not understand.
Heimerdinger quieted the room, and Viktor and Elora fell into line. “We are gathered here to discuss Jayce Talis’ admittance to the Jedi Order. Despite his age, Jayce possesses an intense connection to the Force. Per Master Medarda’s request, if admitted, he will be accepted into the Padawan program. All those in favor?”
Heimerdinger’s hand went up. Then Mel’s. Then Hoskel’s. Kiramman’s. Salo’s.
It wasn’t long until every Master in the room had lifted a hand.
“That answers that,” Viktor whispered.
Light flooded back into the room as Heimerdinger clapped. “Jayce Talis, you have been accepted into the Jedi program. From this day forth, you shall be a Padawan of the Jedi Order. Here, you will learn our teachings and study the ways to master the Force.”
“Thank you,” Jayce swallowed, but he seemed pleased.
“Now comes the difficult challenge of picking a Master best suited to you. I would like to offer myself for your consideration. As Grandmaster of the Order, I can offer you all three hundred years of wisdom that I have under my belt.”
“I would also like to offer myself,” Mel said carefully. Elora and Viktor shared a knowing look. “I feel as though we formed a good rapport when we met on your home world, and I am especially interested in cultivating your abilities.”
“I would like to offer myself,” Master Kiramman said, which surprised Viktor slightly. “I have a daughter slightly younger than you—taboo, I know—and I believe I could help you acclimate best to the changes here.”
One by one, the Councilors offered their tutelage to Jayce. He listened to each and every one with rapt attention, though he seemed to grow more anxious as the conversations progressed. His Force signature dipped in and out of view, slinking along the floor and pulsing around Jayce’s still form. To Viktor’s amusement, a tendril or two actually wafted across the floor, under the seats of the unknowing Council members, and curled delicately around Viktor’s ankle. Though he could see it, he could not feel it. Jayce was still careful not to touch him again.
“So many offers,” Jayce joked weakly, flushing as Hoskel finished his admittedly weak proposal. His eyes darted around nervously, scanning the expectant faces looking back at him. He licked his lips. “Do I just… choose someone?”
“Yes, dear boy,” Heimerdinger said, chuckling slightly. “Normally, a Master would pick a student, but in your case, we will allow you to choose who you feel is best suited for you. There will be no hard feelings among us, I promise. Pick whoever you feel the most drawn to.”
Jayce tilted his head, pausing. “And it can be anyone in this room?”
“Of course.”
Jayce smiled. “I pick Viktor.”
Viktor choked as every head in the room whirled around to look at him. “Excuse me?” Beside him, Elora was doing her best not to laugh.
“Jayce…” Heimerdinger winced.
“You said I could choose anyone, and I choose him,” Jayce said calmly. “He’s the only one I feel really connected to. No offense.”
Heimerdinger shook his head, but he looked fond. “Perhaps I should’ve seen this coming. Ah, very well. So be it!”
“Master,” Viktor stumbled forward half a step, his cane clicking sharply. He lowered his voice. “What about Sky?”
“Sky? Oh, Viktor, she’ll be fine. Another Master will scoop her up in no time, I’m sure,” Heimerdinger waved a hand dismissively, and Viktor’s heart sank a little. She was going to be devastated.
“Your Midi-chlorians are really high like mine, right?” Jayce asked, blinking innocently. Viktor narrowed his eyes at him, but Jayce continued. “You’re the best qualified to help me, then, aren’t you?”
“That’s not always the case,” Viktor shook his head. “I am sensitive to the Force, yes, but I am not the only one. Master Medarda is also very sensitive, though just in a different way. She senses emotions, whereas I sense everything from visions to feelings. The Force manifests itself differently in all of us.”
“That’s true,” Jayce nodded slowly. “But you also guided me through exploring my abilities, so I already know you can do it.”
“He has a point, Viktor,” Heimerdinger said, his voice ringing with amusement. “You were a wonderful teacher.”
“That was a stroke of luck. I’ve never had a Padawan before,” Viktor said drily. “Unlike all the other Masters here. Jayce, I am flattered that you chose me, truly, but I think one of them would be better suited for you.”
“I disagree,” Jayce said quietly. He shuffled closer. “Please, Viktor?”
Viktor looked to Heimerdinger. Judging by the look on his Master’s face, Viktor didn’t really have much of a choice. He closed his eyes, sighing. “Fine.”
“How exciting!” Heimerdinger tutted. “From this day forth, you shall be Master Viktor and Padawan Talis, a pair truly to be reckoned with!”
Heimerdinger continued babbling while the other Councilors clapped politely. Viktor came to stand next to Jayce, leaning on his cane. Jayce leaned closer, murmuring near his ear. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Master.”
Viktor wished he could’ve ignored the way the words made him shiver.