"Duty. Discipline. Serenity."
TAG: Oryn Selvar
It was perfect.
Truly, Ilaria could not have asked for a better opportunity to begin making inroads into this new Order. A young, promising Padawan already well-regarded by those around him, skilled enough to earn respect yet seemingly grounded firmly within Jedi principles? The duel ahead promised to be... enlightening.
The only remaining question was which version of herself she intended to unleash upon the poor Padawan. Makashi risked revealing too much refinement. Soresu, while safer, lacked the elegance she wished to project. In truth, lightsaber duelling had never been her preferred method of combat. If she was to engage in melee, she much preferred polearms—if not claws.
The former was what she had been trained in for most of her life. Polearms controlled distance beautifully. They dictated tempo, spacing, fear. They allowed one to dominate the battlefield without ever truly surrendering control of it. Claws, meanwhile, were different.
Claws were intimate. Very, very intimate.
No matter. Those were not emotions or thoughts Ilaria should entertain. She buried them quickly beneath the calm discipline expected of a Jedi Padawan. She would trust in her training, trust in experience, and avoid becoming overly concerned with victory itself.
Makashi it was, then.
The room she had selected rested deep within the lower levels of the temple. The lighting had been manually dimmed, casting long shadows across polished stone and reducing the harsh glare that brighter chambers often carried. No windows allowed outside light to intrude upon the space. The architecture itself belonged to another age entirely, older than most of the temple above.
Ilaria had chosen it precisely because nobody came here without reason, also because the darkness suited her.
The Padawan would be arriving soon enough. It might be wise to let him win. A carefully measured loss could make her appear more approachable, perhaps even endearing. Though perhaps he was the sort who preferred honest defeat over hollow victory, or perhaps she was simply overthinking everything again.
Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, toward her old Order. Long hours spent duelling training droids in silence. Knight Wright standing across from her again and again.
Wright had shaped far more of her worldview than she cared to admit.
She remembered the satisfaction she once took in slipping past his guard, forcing him to question himself, leading conversations exactly where she wished them to go. The subtle manipulations. The careful provocations. The quiet enjoyment of attention earned through precision and affection.
Wrong person, Ilaria.
The thought came quickly, sharp and corrective. Still... they had been good times. Simpler times. Before everything drowned in darkness. Coruscant was no longer the world she remembered. It had been overrun by anarchists and Sith alike, its order shattered beneath endless conflict. The Jedi had been forced to Naboo like refugees clinging to the remains of a dying age.
And here she was, in it's shadow once more.
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