Chapter Text
"Are you certain it's not another one of Skywalker's shenanigans?" Cody asked, a smirk playing on his lips. He leaned against the doorway of Obi-Wan’s quarters, his arms crossed over his chest plate.
Obi-Wan paused, his hand already on the door's panel. He offered a good-natured sigh, his lips twitching into a smile. "If it were, I'm quite sure he would have been summoned as well," he said. "And I doubt they'd require my presence in person for something so mundane."
Cody's brow raised skeptically. It was a silent question—a challenge that Obi-Wan knew all too well. Are you sure about that? it seemed to say. It was a look that communicated years of dealing with Anakin’s particular brand of chaos.
Obi-Wan's smile widened. He stepped closer, reaching up to gently cup the side of Cody’s head. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the distinctive scar that marked Cody’s forehead, just above his eye. "I'll see you later, my dear," Obi-Wan said softly before finally turning and stepping out into the bustling hallway. The door slid shut behind him, leaving Cody alone with the momentary peace of his quarters.
The Council chamber doors slid open with a hiss, revealing not a full assembly, but only two familiar faces: Mace Windu and Plo Koon, standing in the antechamber.
"We won't keep you long, Obi-Wan," Mace said, his voice a low rumble. "This matter didn't require the full Council's attention."
Obi-Wan raised a curious brow. "Then why the summons? Surely a comm channel would have sufficed."
A warm, knowing smile spread across Plo Koon's face. "Because, my friend, we wished to see your expression in person," he said. "Your request for another Padawan… the Council has reconsidered, and we are prepared to approve it. If you are still willing, of course."
A jolt of excitement shot through Obi-Wan. His mind raced back to his conversation with Cody just moments ago, a conversation that now seemed to have taken place in an entirely different lifetime. The prospect of mentoring a new student, of guiding them on their journey through the Force, filled him with a profound sense of purpose and joy. The ache of Anakin’s recent independence was still fresh, but this—this was a chance to build something new.
"Willing?" Obi-Wan repeated, a genuine, unburdened smile spreading across his face. "Master Plo, Master Windu, there is nothing I would be more honored to do."
Plo Koon’s smile grew. "Excellent. The crèche is ready for you."
The walk to the crèche was a long one, and with each step, Obi-Wan felt a familiar mixture of excitement and apprehension tighten in his chest. His mind, usually so serene and disciplined, whirled with a thousand questions. Who would this youngling be? What would they be like? He had no visions, no premonitions, only a profound sense of anticipation.
He thought back to his own journey. He never had the chance that most Jedi were afforded—the quiet contemplation, the patient observation of the younglings to see which one's spirit called to their own. He had been given to Qui-Gon. Not chosen by him, but rather, given. Their bond had been forged in hardship and shared experience, not in a moment of pure, instantaneous recognition. It had been a different path, one he cherished, but it had left a small part of him wondering. What did it feel like, that connection? To look at a hundred eager, young faces and feel the Force resonate with just one?
The apprehension he felt now wasn’t fear, but a different kind of anxiety. It was the weight of responsibility, the echoes of his past with Anakin. He had made mistakes. Had he been too lenient? Too quick to let things slide? He shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. This was a new beginning. He would not let the past cloud his judgment. He would be open, he would be present, and he would trust the Force to guide him.
The polished doors of the crèche came into view, and his breath hitched. He paused for a moment, letting the wave of nerves wash over him and recede. He was a Jedi Master, a General of the Grand Army of the Republic. He could do this. He had to. He reached out with the Force, feeling the bright, vibrant minds of the children on the other side. They were a symphony of innocent energy, a cacophony of potential. He would find his harmony in their song. He would find his Padawan.
Obi-Wan took a deep breath, and the doors slid open. The sudden silence was absolute. Where there had been a riot of childish chatter just a moment before, there was now only the low hum of the room’s ambient light. Every single head in the crèche, a dozen tiny faces filled with wide, curious eyes, turned to look at him. They were a sea of small beings, each one a bright spark in the Force.
Plo Koon and Mace Windu followed him in. Obi-Wan could feel the presence of the two Masters, solid and reassuring behind him. He offered a small, gentle smile to the group of younglings, who were now standing in neat rows, their hands clasped behind their backs.
Plo Koon stepped forward, his voice a calm, gentle cadence. "Younglings, we have a visitor. This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. He is a great Jedi Master, and he has come to meet you."
The children watched him with an intensity that was both disarming and endearing. Plo Koon began to walk slowly down the rows, gesturing to each child in turn. "This is the spritzed Lysa Dree," he said, indicating the small Twi’lek. "And this is a clever young boy, Caleb Dume. Here is a strong-willed boy, Cal Kestis. And this is the inquisitive Reyla Sori."
Obi-Wan looked at each face as their name was spoken, the Force a gentle tide around them. He could feel their spirits, their fears, their hopes. They were all beautiful, all full of potential. The crèche was a sanctuary of pure possibility, and he had the privilege of finding his future here.
Mace Windu stepped forward, his presence as solid and unyielding as a mountain. "Younglings," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of his rank, "retrieve your training katas and practice the basic forms."
Immediately, the children moved with a practiced efficiency. They went to a nearby rack and each took a polished wooden blade, their faces now focused and serious. They found their places on the training mat, a small army of Padawans-to-be.
Obi-Wan’s eyes swept across the group, observing their every movement. Caleb was a study in precision. His form was fluid, his movements graceful, almost perfect. Obi-Wan noted a few minor mistakes—a swing that was a fraction too high, a parry that dipped a hair too low—but they were the kind of mistakes that could be easily corrected. He saw a deep well of talent and a quiet determination in the boy.
Next to him, Reyla performed her katas with an almost flawless, serene control. Every motion was exact, every footstep placed just so. Her form was textbook perfect, but Obi-Wan noticed a slight hesitation, a slowness that kept her from achieving the necessary speed. It was as if she was afraid of making a mistake, of marring the perfection of her movements. He wondered if this caution extended to other parts of her life.
Then there was Lysa, a blur of motion and energy. She moved with an almost frenetic pace, her strikes powerful and her stances confident, but her speed came at a cost. She missed her footing more than once, her blade striking the air where her target should have been. Obi-Wan could see a fiery spirit, one that craved action and maybe lacked a bit of patience. She would need a steady hand to guide her.
And finally, his gaze settled on Cal. The boy was trying his hardest, his brow furrowed in concentration. He stumbled more than the others, his blade wobbling in his grip, his forms a bit clumsy. But even when he made a mistake, he didn't stop. He simply adjusted his stance and kept going, his determination shining through every awkward movement. Obi-Wan felt a flicker of kinship with the young boy; he saw a quiet resilience there, a stubborn refusal to give up.
His mind was already working, weighing their strengths and weaknesses. Caleb’s natural talent was undeniable. Reyla’s meticulous control was a testament to her discipline. Lysa’s fierce spirit was a potent force. And Cal's persistence, his refusal to be defeated by his own mistakes, was perhaps the most powerful quality of all. He was faced with four brilliant, unique children, and the Force hummed with anticipation.
A few moments later, Plo Koon's gentle voice broke the silence. "That is enough. Good work, younglings. Now, we will move to the next stage of our demonstration."
The children stopped their katas in unison, their wooden blades lowered. Plo Koon gestured to a large, open area at the far end of the crèche. "To the training area. You will attempt to reach the top. Remember what you have been taught about trusting the Force."
A collective murmur of excitement rippled through the younglings as they lined up at the edge of the training area. Before them, a series of large, smooth blocks jutted out from the wall, suspended in the air. They were spaced too far apart for a simple jump, and they moved with a slow, deliberate grace, rising and falling, shifting from side to side. It would require a precise and powerful Force jump, a difficult task for even a seasoned Padawan.
Obi-Wan watched from the side with Mace and Plo, his full attention on the children. This task was a different kind of test. It wasn't about form or discipline, but about instinct, about their innate connection to the Force. It would reveal their courage, their trust, and their ability to overcome their own fears.
Mace Windu’s voice cut through the air. "Ready... go!"
And they were off.
The children, a flurry of motion and youthful Force-power, launched themselves into the air. All, that is, except for Reyla. She stood at the starting line, her eyes scanning the blocks, tracking their unpredictable movements with a keen, analytical gaze. She watched for a few moments, formulating a plan in her mind before launching herself into the fray.
Lysa was the first to leap, her movements a blur of confidence and boldness. She jumped without a second thought, her Force jumps powerful and a little reckless. Her ambition was a driving force, but it came with a price. She was halfway up when she mistimed a jump, her foot landing on a block that was moving downward. She slid off, landing with a soft thud at the bottom, her face a mask of frustration.
Caleb was a natural, a study in smooth, efficient movements. He was already nearing the top, his jumps powerful and his landings sure. He seemed to move with an innate understanding of the blocks’ movements, his progress a testament to his sheer talent.
Reyla, having finally started, was moving with a quiet precision. She had already caught up to Caleb, her jumps perfectly timed and her movements flawless. She was meticulous, attentive to every detail, her careful planning paying off in spades.
And then there was Cal. He had seen Lysa fall, and instead of continuing his own climb, he had waited for her. She made it to his block, and he waited for her again, patiently encouraging her to continue. At one point, she almost fell, just barely missing the next block. Without hesitation, Cal reached out and caught her, his hand wrapped around her wrist as he pulled her up. The two of them continued their journey together, his focus on getting them both to the top, not just himself.
Obi-Wan watched, his mind already piecing together the puzzle of each child's spirit. Caleb was a prodigy, a natural talent whose skill was effortless. Reyla was an analyst, her mind a well-oiled machine that sought perfection through study and strategy. Lysa was a firebrand, her ambition a powerful, driving force. But it was Cal who drew his attention the most. He saw in the boy a compassion that outweighed all other instincts. Cal wasn't concerned with being the first to the top. He was concerned with making sure no one was left behind. He was a caretaker, a protector, whose strength was rooted not in his own victory, but in the shared success of those he cared about.
He had a quiet strength, a core of goodness that was a beacon in the Force. Obi-Wan’s heart swelled with a feeling of rightness. This was it. This was the one. He had found his Padawan.
With a final, elegant leap, Reyla landed on the top platform, a hint of a smile on her face. She had studied, planned, and executed perfectly. She didn't have the brute force of others, but her mind was her greatest weapon. She was a natural strategist, a brilliant tactician. A moment later, Caleb landed right behind her, his form as fluid as ever. His quiet strength and innate talent had served him well. He offered her a sincere congratulations, and she returned his kindness, telling him he did great as well.
Then, there was Lysa and Cal. They were nearing the top, their movements in sync. Another ambitious leap, and Lysa almost fell, but Cal was there, his hand gripping her wrist tightly, pulling her back up and onto the platform with him. She was safe. She took one last leap, reaching the top and landing with a proud, exhausted smile.
Cal waited for her to land, making sure she was okay before looking up at the final platform. A moment later, he took a final leap and landed. He wasn't first, but he had made sure everyone got there. Obi-Wan's eyes were fixed on the boy, his decision solidifying with every second that passed. He was kind, compassionate, and brave. A true Jedi, no matter what his skills with a lightsaber would be. He had a strong spirit, one that would lead others to safety and success. Obi-Wan knew then that he would be the perfect one for him.
Plo Koon turned to Obi-Wan, his masked face unreadable, yet his presence radiated a quiet knowing. "Have you made your choice, Master Kenobi?"
"I have," Obi-Wan said, his gaze still fixed on the younglings.
A rare smile touched Mace Windu’s lips. He stepped forward, his powerful voice cutting through the silence. "Younglings, a Master has made his choice. Line up."
Instantly, the four children formed a neat line, their faces a mixture of anticipation and nerves. Caleb stood tall and confident, Reyla was poised and serene, Lysa's shoulders were squared with a hint of defiance, and Cal simply waited, a calm presence in the midst of their nervous energy.