Location: Dathomir - Weavewood
His body remembered. The shorter blade rolled between black fingers before settling into reverse grip. His left foot shifted backward. Shoulders turned. Weight redistributed across his stance without conscious thought.
For a year, Ace had adapted around what he'd lost. He'd learned how to fight with a prosthetic until metal felt almost natural, but this was different. Ace stepped forward and cut through empty air. Pivot. Guard. Counter. His wrist rotated exactly when he expected it to.
He stopped. For a moment, Ace simply looked at the weapon in his left hand. Then he continued. The witch watched from beneath the trees. She hadn't taught him any of this. Eventually, she spoke:
"Again."
Ace glanced at her before extinguishing the shoto. Then he reached into the Force, Threads appearing immediately throughout the clearing. There were still more than he could ever hope to follow, but Ace didn't try. Most faded naturally into the background as he narrowed his attention, leaving the forest visible beneath them. That part was getting easier, but understanding what remained wasn't.
The witch moved and something tightened. Ace's attention caught upon a Thread running between her and a loose stone nearby. For a moment, his instinct was to move the stone. Instead, he stopped.
Yesterday, he would've decided the stone itself mattered. So Ace watched as the witch continued toward it. Her foot came down, the stone shifted beneath her heel--
"You're gonna slip."
She stepped around it. "I was."
Ace smiled faintly.
The days continued like that. Sometimes Ace understood what he was seeing. Sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he opened himself too far and spent several irritated minutes trying to separate the forest from the web beneath it. But every time, finding his way back became easier.
On the final evening, Ace stood alone beneath the red sky. Tic waited nearby while Ace watched the sun disappear behind the trees. His left hand rested against the shoto at his hip.
He'd come to Dathomir looking for an answer. Arris had shown him how much he still didn't understand about his own strength. But also, he had wanted to know what he'd done to the Mother, what the Threads were, and what Vethrisa had spent generations trying to create.
He knew more now. The Threads weren't some trick he'd accidentally discovered. They were pieces of something far larger, connections within a Weave that had always surrounded him. He could open himself to it now. Filter it. Sometimes recognize where consequence gathered before he understood why. Sometimes.
He still had a lot to learn, but that was fine. Ace looked down at the black hand resting at his side, green light moving faintly beneath its surface.
The Final Weave.
Vethrisa had spent generations deciding what those words meant. Lives had been shaped around them. Killed for them. Eventually, they'd shaped Ace around them too. Maybe they were right about what he could become. Or not. He didn't know, but he didn't need to either.Whatever the Final Weave was supposed to become, Vethrisa wouldn't be the ones deciding anymore.
Ace would.
"Come on, Tic."
The little droid hurried after him and together, they left the Weavewood behind.
