Reforging a Blade

[Visser Chernykh]

A mangled cylinder of alloy. Sixty centimeters of blackened chrome. Gouged and scarred by the claw of a great beast. Not worth much now.

The disciple had returned to Avalonia for his convalescence. He’d only this day been cleared for light activity. He sat unmasked in a small meditation chamber.

Beside the hilt were two crimson gems. Kyber crystals. Either one was far more valuable than any other component. They were the keys but the alloy held his attention.

“Starring won’t fix it, boy,” came a voice from behind him.

His head turned to see a thin man in a tattered robe. The hood was drawn up to shadow the face. He opened his mouth to ask the obvious questions. A thin hand was raised to forestall him.

“There’s much of the Force you don’t know,” he said. His tone was amused but not condescending. “You’d have been dead already had I wished it.”

So he’d been standing there some time Mael surmised as he stood. The disciple’s lips compressed into a thin line. The robed one made a dismissive gesture. “It’s of no importance now. I have questions for you.”

His tone brooked no argument so Mael said nothing. A long finger pointed to the hilt. “What purpose does staring at this mangled metal serve?”

There was a purpose to this question. That much was clear. Mael considered a long moment before answering. “I’m reflecting on what happened.”

“What have you learned from your reflection, disciple?,” came the voice.

“This weapon was a faulty design-” he began but was cut off with a raised hand.

“No,” the voice said with finality “It was just a tool. The fault lies in you.”

Mael felt the sting of the words. He felt his anger rise but he stifled it. The hooded man was right. He’d been a fool.

“Yes. I was...a fool. I was weak. I…,” his words came haltingly while the other stood waiting expectantly.

“Weak, yes. A fool, too, but not for the reasons you think. Meet me here tomorrow. Rest well, disciple, you will need it.”

 

[Visser Chernykh]

A day later.

Mael had thought to receive a lecture. Masters often liked to hear their own voices. There too was his ongoing recovery. He'd not been cleared to resume his physical training.

He was still regaining his physical abilities but it irked him. Thus he'd expected self-important talk. Mael hadn't even been allowed to sit before the cloaked one spoke. "You didn't bring your saberstaff."

It wasn't a question and he didn't have time to respond. "You'll retrieve it, but first, listen. Your task for now is to remake a weapon."

"I need new components to-"

"No," came that final tone "The hilt of your first weapon will do. You have all you need. Remake the weapon and let that be your first lesson."

Mael Ren went to his quarters to gather the hilt and kyber crystals. He stared at his helm a moment across from him. He'd not worn it since Vortusa. He didn't feel worthy.

He brought the components to an empty workshop. A closer inspection revealed only one side to be beyond help. The other could be salvaged with some repairs. So he began to formulate his plan.

The weapon had been essentially two hilts forged together. There was enough for a single hilt and he took up a plasma cutter from a rack. Work progressed slowly. It was both deliberate and necessary.

Two days passed before it was done. He sliced off the irreparable hilt and smoothed the remaining hilt with a sander. The disciple reset components dislodged and replaced those damaged. A single crystal was placed in the energy chamber between the activators.

It was delicate work done with fine tools. With that done he cleaned and reassembled the hilt. His final act was to recharge the diatium power cell. He held it now towards the end of the second day before him.

Mael Ren realized that his heart was thundering with excitement. He took a deep breath and pressed down the activator. A single crimson blade hissed to life and bathed the small workshop in red light. His lips twitched into a smile.

"So you're finally done," came a familiar voice from the doorway. Mael didn't jump this time but rose and turned to face him.

"I am, Master," he said with his wolfish smile.

"What have you learned, disciple?," came the expected question.

"My emotions weren't focused like this single blade."

"Yes, but there's more."

Mael Ren wasn't certain exactly how to say it. The hooded figure spoke again. "You hide from the pain of your past."

The student nodded slowly. It was true though he was loathe to admit this.

"Don't hide from it. Let it fuel your anger and your hate. Guilt is useless and weak as are regrets. Focus the pain like the kyber crystal focuses your blade even now."

"The scars on your hilt will serve as a reminder of your past failures. You shall look on it and never forget, Mael of Ren."

All of this was still churning in Mael's mind. He nodded slowly once again and he spoke. "You know my name, Master, but I don't know yours."

"Master will suffice," and there was nothing to do but accede.

 

[Visser Chernykh]

His next lessons progressed slowly. The shadowy Master had him work sequences with a wooden stave. This went on slowly and methodically. Mael was told he wasn't to drop dead in training.

He was too valuable to lose in such a way. The Supreme Leader might require the price of his life at any time. In order to do so he'd need his followers to live. Thus it was explained from master to student.

The student's movements had been based upon the first form. Not exactly textbook with their infusion of his Jedi Master's fifth form. But the shadowy teacher had corrected him sharply. Too sloppy and aggressive with wide and powerful swipes.

The master told him to keep his hilt close to his center line. Wide movements were tightened and naked power became precision. Student asked teacher what form it was. The answer was 'all and none'.

Mael sensed that finality in the delivery. Thus his questions stopped at that. He corrected his techniques as best as he could. Corrections came but gradually with less frequency.

Many hours were spent thus.

 

[Visser Chernykh]

There was a dual purpose to the methodical pace. It served to help gradually build his stamina and strength once again. It also helped to remove bad habits and reinforce new applications. Sequences were practiced with both one and two hands.

He found it strange and awkward at first. The shadowy teacher often had him reset and start a sequence again. He wouldn't have improper technique in his student. It began to feel more natural the more he practiced.

Sessions became longer as his vitality was restored. Rest periods were shortened too. Sweat poured freely and he was made to breathe deeply and evenly. The breathing was just as important as the foundation of footwork and stance.

It was moving meditation and he found it easy to lose himself. The sharp crack of the master's voice would come as he did. His student couldn't afford to lose his presence of mind. To do so would mean losing his head thereafter.