My Unfortunate Fate

chapter 53

Loss is a tragedy, and coping is a virtue.

"Master? Are you all right?"

I turn my attention back to Caleb, realizing I've zoned out for the past minute. "Yes. Come on, let's keep going."

I've been a bit distracted these past few days because of a few things. For starters, the renegade Sith Lord Darth Maul and his brother are being pursued by Obi-Wan and Adi.

Before we left for Onderon, Obi-Wan had confronted them on his own, and they've been causing terror ever since. He, along with everyone else, thought Maul had been dead for twelve years, but he returned recently.

On another note, Anakin has been off-world for a few days now—with Ahsoka—dealing with problems on another front. In summary, the only responsibility I have now is my padawan's training.

"I can't do it, Master," Caleb says in discouragement.

"All right. Then show me what you can do."

He ignites his lightsaber and takes a deep breath before starting.

The blade of his saber swings and slashes through the empty air with no technique or will. Caleb's expression displays more apathy than focus or enthusiasm. Usually, he's excited to learn, but this tedious effort seems tiring.

"Is that enough?" my padawan asks, holding his lightsaber, both of his hands still.

I nod in response and Caleb extinguishes his weapon, releasing it into his right hand.

I walk to one side of the room and pick up a small, round droid, used for target practice. "Here." I turn it on with very little effort, aided by the Force. "It'll help if you're actually working towards something."

I've used these droids in training when I was a padawan myself and when helping to train Ahsoka, though I haven't yet introduced it to Caleb. I find it more worthwhile to practice form this way, in a more realistic scenario.

The droid whirrs and floats towards my padawan while I begin to manipulate its controls through the Force. "We'll start with light fire. Try to deflect it onto that wall." I point to my right, where a target has already been drawn.

"Yes, Master."

I begin with a pace of twenty shots per minute, nowhere near the speed of a real battle, but good enough to practice aim. I watch as the red flares shoot towards him, trying to not let it remind me of every single battle I've fought.

The memories are inevitable. They haunt me; they haunt everyone. Every Jedi, general, commander, every clone, captain, trooper—the war haunts us all. My greatest fear may no longer be this war, but what will happen to me once it's all over. It cannot continue forever, but the aftermath will be everlasting.

Occasionally, I still have dreams of those battles. The dreams usually center around death or a terrible injury. My most prominent dreams are those of the first battle of Geonosis, but they differ from reality.

Sometimes, Dooku is killed by my hand; others, I have to watch Obi-Wan and Anakin lay dead on the floor of the hangar, killed before I had even arrived. Every variation of that dream is horrifying, but the worst variation is the one that actually occurred, the one I have to live with every day. Sometimes these dreams wake me in a cold sweat, but this reality doesn't appease me. The aftermath of this war could really prove that it may be harder to survive than be killed.

Sixty shots: thirty-two missed, five in the central target, and the rest in the outer rings of the target.

"That was great," I say.