Seabiscuit
Aiden Porte
Dawn had come quietly to Naboo.
It spilled over the cliffs in pale gold light, washing across the domes and terraces of the Jedi Temple. The structure rose from the landscape as if it had always belonged there, with its smooth marble arches flowing into elegant domes, waterfalls threading through gardens of green. Stone, water, and life existed in careful harmony. The Force whispered softly through it all.
Inside the Temple, Oryn faced something entirely different. The chamber's simulation systems had transformed the arena. What once had been an open practice field, now stood enclosed. Rain fell in relentless sheets, hammering against the durasteel floor and turning every step into a treacherous gamble. The downpour blurred the world into shifting gray.
Normally the simulation systems were reserved for special instruction. Today, however, Oryn had taken certain liberties. Permission could come later. Or forgiveness.
The environment should have favoured him. Water had never been a hindrance to a Nautolan. Even in the darkest depths of a murky sea his eyes could find shape and movement where others saw only shadow. This was different. The storm fell in dense, shifting curtains that constantly blurred the boundary between air and water. Vision warped. Distances changed. Even his instincts struggled to keep pace.
Three training droids hovered around him like patient predators. Only three. They circled and shifted, releasing hissing feints and sudden bolts. In the chaos of the fabricated storm, their numbers felt doubled.
Oryn had yet to earn the right to construct a lightsaber, so it was a standard issue training saber he brought up to deflect the incoming shots. He turned. Deflection. A second shot came from behind. Without looking he shifted his stance, catching the bolt. His form flowed like a river responding to erratic currents. Step. Turn. Redirect. Minimal effort. He could do all this, and still he was no closer to becoming a Jedi Knight.
Droids were easy. They could not feel. They could not confuse him with emotion or doubt, nor their pain as he struck them. They were clean and mechanical. A true Jedi should be able to face anything with the same clarity. All that mattered was himself, the present, the Force. And yet, he simply couldn't let go- "FETH!" The bolt struck him squarely in the rump.
He leapt with a startled shout, barely avoiding the next shot. His balance shattered. The rhythm was gone. Before his foot touched the ground again, two more bolts slammed into him, one across the older and the other striking his leg.
The Nautolan collapsed backwards into the soaked floor.
"End! Simulation end!"
The saber slipped from his hand and rolled away across the slick surface. Oryn groaned and dropped onto his back, rain still hammering down.
"Kriffing feth. Sithspit!"
The downpour seized in the next instant. The chamber fell silent.
