Weapons: Training Saber
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His small room in the temple was a mess of datapads, physical books, and borrowed holocrons. They were sprawled out all over: on his bed, the small desk against the wall, the dresser, and even on the floor. They covered a wide variety of topics, from lightsaber combat, to medicine, to metaphysical abilities within the purview of the Force, to history, philosophy, the study of cultures—all the topics he was way behind on. And he was behind on everything.
That was what had Gatz hunched over in a chair, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeezed shut to fight back tears.
There was so much to cover. So much to catch up on. And while he was playing catch up, his fellow Padawans were moving forward with their lessons. He was being left in the dust by children, as he tried and failed just to keep his head above water. He still didn't have the first clue as to how to build a lightsaber, nor did he possess any kind of crystal. Oh he'd browsed the archives on information, and the technological schematics were simple enough—except for the crystal housing.
That wasn't technology. Well it was, but it was mostly the Force. And Gatz simply did not understand it. He needed help. But knowledge of building a lightsaber was a thing imparted to younglings. A Padawan in his mid-twenties had no excuse for lacking the knowledge. He was an embarrassment to the Order, and he just couldn't figure it out for himself. He had no one to turn to for the lessons he needed.
Briana Sal-Soren had been the first person he'd thought to ask. But she had just tripled her number of Padawans, on top of her already hectic life. He couldn't bring himself to add to her burdens—especially because he knew she would help him in a heartbeat, no matter what else she had going on. The next person to ask would have been Valery Noble , but hadn't she done enough for him? She had an Order to run, three students of her own to teach, a family to look after, and a war to be concerned with. Already she'd taken too much time out of her busy schedule to impart refresher lessons on him. And besides... her work was done. He'd turned his life around. He'd joined the Order once more. What reason was there for her to stick around now?
So, ignorant he would remain.
He had dozens of questions about everything and no answers. And when he did find a single answer, after hours of studying, he ended up with three more questions. And he had no one to ask, no one to reach out to. He had no Master to turn to—no one wanted a Padawan going on twenty-five. The only people to reach out to were his fellow Padawans, and they only seemed to have the answers to his questions about a quarter of the time.
Which led him right back to where he was now: surrounded by knowledge, unable to gleam anything from it but more questions. And still, he had no answers, and no one to ask.
And that was to say nothing of his absolute failure to pick up Force Healing. He spent more time in the Healing Halls than anywhere else. He understood medicine in theory. He understood how to apply his knowledge with his hands. But when it came to calling upon the Force to do the healing... he choked. Papercuts wore him out to the point of getting sick, and he was making no improvement on his limit of what he could do.
It was humiliating. It was abject failure. And not the kind he was learning from.
Should he have even bothered with returning to the Order? Gatz scanned the state of his room, and considered the mess of knowledge that wasn't helping him in the slightest. He wasn't getting anywhere. He was studying knowledge meant for children—lessons meant for kids—and it was completely overwhelming him.
His eyes turned to the small, empty suitcase in the corner. He had brought all of his personal belongings when he returned to the temple—only enough clothing for three or four days, a digital picture frame with a few pictures of his family, and the boots on his feet. It wouldn't take him more than two minutes to pack back up, and leave the Order for a second time. Why stay when he clearly wasn't fit to be a Jedi?
Gatz let out a shaky breath, whole body trembling. A lump formed in his throat.
So many people had placed their faith in him. Valery, Briana, Amani Serys, Corazona von Ascania, Makko Vyres and the list went on. He was failing them, no question. But to run away now, tail tucked between his legs, would be to spit in the face of all the time and effort they'd sunk into him. Knowing that was the only reason he hadn't given up already; the only reason he was still here.
And the reason he would stay, for now.
With shaking hands, Gatz picked up the nearest datapad, and tried again.
