The morning light on Aleru filtered in like watered-down flame—burnt orange through layers of dust and old metal. It cast long shadows through the cracks in the outpost's walls, catching motes of debris that hovered in the still air like suspended stars.
Eli woke slowly.
Not from nightmares this time, though he half-expected them. No visions of falling fire or screaming clones. Just a dull ache in his limbs and the brittle stillness of a place too long abandoned by life.
Across the room, Ryen crouched by one of the old storage crates, prying it open with a makeshift lever. His movements were careful but practiced, like someone used to salvaging just enough to get by.
"Found a sealed ration pack," Ryen muttered, voice carrying across the quiet chamber. "Still vacuum-locked. Might even be edible."
Eli swung his legs off the cot and sat up, rubbing at his eyes. "Edible is a high bar. I'll take 'non-lethal.'"
Ryen cracked a dry smile and tossed a foil-wrapped packet his way. "Don't say I never gave you anything."
They ate in relative silence, chewing through the bland meal like it was a shared act of endurance. Neither of them was in a rush to speak—partly because there wasn't much to say, and partly because the silence wasn't uncomfortable. Not anymore.
After a time, Ryen stood and crossed to the outpost's central console. He ran a diagnostic, watching the screen flicker weakly to life, and then turned to Eli.
"We can't stay hidden forever," he said. "Radiation's manageable, we've got a water recycler, and the solar panels are still working, but we're sitting ducks if the Empire sends out long-range probes."
"They will eventually," Eli said quietly. "Maybe not here. But somewhere."
Ryen leaned against the console, arms crossed. "That's why we need to plan ahead. Maybe link into the outer rim relay network. See if we can intercept comm chatter. If any Jedi survived… they might've left a signal."
Eli nodded. "I've been thinking about that too."
Ryen looked at him, eyes narrowing. "And?"
"I want to start training again."
Ryen blinked. "Training?"
Eli met his gaze. "I've been surviving. Running. Hiding. Looping. But I haven't really been learning. Not in the way that matters."
"You think more drills and meditation will stop the clones?"
"No," Eli said. "But I need to be better. Not just to fight. To hold onto who I am."
Ryen turned away, jaw tightening. "Eli… I was never knighted. My master—she died during the purge. She bought me ten seconds to run, and I didn't stop running until the Temple was burning behind me."
Eli's expression didn't waver. "She gave her life to protect you. That means something."
"It means she believed I could survive."
"Then help me do the same."
Ryen exhaled slowly, staring at the cracked floor. "You know the Code's not just tricks and lightsaber forms, right? It's discipline. Control. Patience."
"I know."
"It's not just about being strong. It's about knowing when not to use your strength."
"I know that too."
Ryen hesitated for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright. I'll teach you what I can. What she taught me."
Eli's posture relaxed—not with relief, but something steadier. Gratitude. Focus.
"Thank you."
Ryen nodded toward the door. "There's a flat stretch beyond the canyon ridge. Good footing, no cover. We'll train there."
They gathered what little gear they could find—an old training remote, a pair of battered emitter rods to serve as sparring sabers, and Ryen's tattered datapad filled with fragments of instruction and form schematics.
The wind outside was sharp but dry. The sun already hung high in the ochre sky, bleeding heat across the jagged rocks.
They hiked in silence to the edge of the canyon, where the rock leveled into a hard-packed clearing. Dust swirled in lazy spirals, kicked by the breeze but undisturbed by life. Here, they would not be interrupted.
Ryen stepped into the center and turned, his stance shifting into first position. "Form I. Shii-Cho. It's where every Jedi begins. The fundamentals."
Eli nodded and ignited his blade. The hum was quieter than he remembered—less angry, less wild. Maybe it was the air. Maybe it was him.
Ryen drew his own saber and mirrored the stance. "Feet shoulder-width. Lead with the off-hand. Let the blade guide your arc."
They moved together.
The motions were simple—deliberate sweeps, parries, and resets—but with every repetition, the rhythm settled deeper into Eli's limbs. Muscle memory reawakened. Not just from this life, but something else—fragments. A sensation. Like echoes across water.
Ryen circled him slowly, watching. "You're leading too hard with your hips. Relax into the motion."
Eli corrected.
The next arc flowed smoother.
Hours passed.
They trained until sweat dripped from their brows and the dust stuck to their skin like a second layer. They trained until Eli's arms ached and his breathing came in ragged bursts.
Then they trained a little longer.
At last, Ryen lowered his blade. "Enough for today."
Eli dropped to a crouch, catching his breath.
"You're quick," Ryen said, wiping his forehead. "Raw, but quick. You've retained more than I expected."
"I didn't want to forget."
"That's not the same as remembering."
Eli looked up at him. "It's a start."
Ryen offered a hand, pulling him to his feet. "We'll pick up again tomorrow. Until then, meditate. Recenter. Let what you've learned settle."
They returned to the outpost under the dying light of Aleru's sun. The wind whispered behind them through the canyon, but neither paid it much attention. They were exhausted—but for the first time in days, it was a good kind of tired.
Inside, Eli collapsed onto his cot with a grateful sigh.
Ryen leaned against the far wall, arms folded. "We'll reach out soon. See if any survivors are broadcasting."
Eli nodded, eyes half-lidded. "I want to find them."
Ryen studied him for a beat. "We will. But only if we're strong enough when the time comes."
Eli looked over, eyes clearer than they'd been in weeks.
"I will be."
That night, they didn't speak much more. No grand plans. No dreams of victory. Just quiet rest beneath failing lights and a broken ceiling.
They would wake again.
They would train again.
And somewhere beyond the storms and silence of Aleru, the galaxy still waited—for what, neither of them yet knew.
But they were alive.
And that was enough—for now.