The Last Day in the Enclave
Chapter Zero - Auratera-
Auratera Enclave
Personal Quarters – Final Evening Before Departure
The chamber was silent except for the careful rustling of fabric and the measured clinking of metal.
Ilaria Morvayne folded each robe with precision, ensuring every crease was smoothed, every item placed in its rightful order. A lifetime of discipline had shaped this moment—no motion wasted, no detail overlooked. Her training saber lay across her traveling case, a symbol of the structure she had upheld, the ideals she had mastered.
Tomorrow, she would leave this place.
The Auratera Enclave had been her world—a sanctuary of order, refinement, and purpose. The Jedi Masters here had taught her that control was the key to strength, that emotion was a tool to be mastered, never the master.
And now, she was being sent to Coruscant.
A world of chaos. Of distractions. A Jedi Temple filled with ideologues and radicals, those who bent the Code to suit their own desires, who mistook freedom for wisdom.
The thought was unsettling.
She would be among Jedi who had forsaken structure for leniency. Who spoke of attachment as though it were a strength rather than a poison. Who saw power as something to be feared rather than understood.
She would endure it.
She would not waver.
A quiet presence stirred at the doorway.
"Padawan Morvayne."
She turned, her expression composed as Jedi Master Ralorin entered the chamber. He was a figure of discipline and precision, his slate-gray robes as immaculate as his measured tone. His gaze was neither unkind nor warm—only filled with the stern weight of expectation.
Ilaria inclined her head. "Master Ralorin."
He stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes tracing the near-perfect arrangement of her packed belongings. A small nod of approval followed.
"You are prepared, as expected," he said. Then, after a pause: "Tomorrow, you step into a different world."
She said nothing.
He studied her for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable.
"The Jedi on Coruscant have forgotten what it means to be disciplined," he continued, his voice calm but edged with quiet certainty. "They interpret the Code to suit their own needs. They allow sentimentality to soften them, to weaken their resolve."
His gaze sharpened.
"You cannot allow them to soften you."
Ilaria did not react outwardly, but her grip tightened slightly on the edge of her pack.
"I will not be swayed, Master," she said, her voice smooth, unwavering.
"See that you are not."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"They will tell you that the Force is not about control. That detachment is an outdated ideal. That connection strengthens a Jedi." His lips pressed into a thin line. "It does not. It weakens them. It binds them to fleeting things, makes them fragile, makes them fall."
She held his gaze, absorbing the warning, committing it to memory.
"You were raised with clarity, Padawan," he continued. "Do not let them take that from you. Do not let them twist your purpose into something lesser."
Ilaria inhaled slowly, then nodded.
"I understand."
Master Ralorin studied her for a long moment, then gave a small, approving nod.
"Good."
With that, he turned, moving toward the door. But before he left, he added one last thing:
"You are stronger than they are. Never forget that."
And then, he was gone.
The chamber felt smaller in his absence, the silence heavier.
Ilaria looked down at her travel pack, her mind turning over his words.
She had always known that she was meant for something greater—that the Force was something to be mastered, not something to submit to.
And she would prove it.
No matter what Coruscant held, she would not be broken.
She would not be softened.
She would remain unshaken.
And in time, she would see if the Jedi on Coruscant were truly as weak as Master Ralorin believed.
