Chapter 7: Build-A-Blade
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Mad King Kevin
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Chapter 7: Build-A-Blade
I've never thought of a starship as warm before.
That's not what they usually are. They're metal coffins with thrusters attached, rattling through the void while every atom of the galaxy tries to kill you. The only difference between cozy and catastrophic is a few centimeters of durasteel hull and the good graces of a navicomputer.
But after Ilum? After trudging through frozen tunnels, numb fingers clinging to an ice-cold crystal that was supposed to define the rest of my life? Yeah. I'd take a coffin in space over that freezer any day. At least here, when you exhale, your breath doesn't crystallize in front of your face.
The Crucible hummed around us as we filed off the transport and into its belly. Not the shiny white halls of Coruscant, oh no. If you want to make a lightsaber just right, you want to be as close to the stars as possible. Which, of course, means you need a spaceship.
The interior was bronze, almost burnished with age, like the whole ship had been polished by generations of Jedi boots. Pipes ran openly along the walls. Everything thrummed with power, like a heartbeat you could feel in your chest.
Ahsoka gave a soft "whoa" beside me. "It feels… old."
"That's because it is," a voice said — mechanical, crisp, and just a little bit smug.
And there he was.
Professor Huyang.
Imagine if someone had taken the driest old librarian in the Jedi Archives, stretched him out into a spindly metal frame, given him a voicebox that sounded halfway between "lecturing historian" and "polite assassin droid," and then told him to live forever. That was our host.
"Padawans of the Ilum Gathering," Huyang intoned, striding down the central aisle with all the pomp of a king addressing peasants. His photoreceptors swept over us one by one. "For six millennia, I have instructed initiates in the construction of their first lightsaber. From the earliest forgers of Ossus to the High Republic artisans of Starlight Beacon. I have taught warriors who became Knights, Knights who became Masters, and Masters who guided this very Council."
I leaned toward Ahsoka. "Six thousand years, huh? He doesn't look a day over five thousand, nine hundred."
Her montrals twitched as she smothered a laugh.
Unfortunately, the droid's audio receptors were perfect.
His glowing eyes flicked toward me, utterly unimpressed. "I have been called far worse things by Padawans who later became Council members. But your wit, young Kryze, is disappointingly pedestrian."
Ouch. Shot down by a robot grandpa.
"Guess I'll have to up my game," I muttered.
"Please do," he said, and kept walking.
Okay. New goal: get the droid to laugh. Or, failing that, at least short-circuit from exasperation.
We followed him deeper into the ship, our footsteps echoing in time with the Crucible's pulse. I noticed Maris Brood hanging back, her crystal clutched in both hands. She hadn't said much since Ilum—not that she ever said much compared to me or Ahsoka—but she was watching everything. The ship, the droid, even the way the walls seemed to vibrate like they remembered every saber ever built inside them.
Huyang must've noticed too, because when she suddenly blurted, "You've taught every saber-builder for six thousand years?" his tone actually warmed.
"Indeed, youngling. Every Jedi who has constructed a lightsaber since the days of the Old Republic has passed through my hands. Their triumphs, their mistakes, their innovations—I remember them all. And so shall you benefit from their legacy."
Maris's eyes widened. She ducked her head, embarrassed, but I caught the ghost of a smile.
Well, good for her. Someone needed to balance my constant need to mouth off.
Huyang stopped us in a wide chamber where the walls were lined with benches, toolkits, and strange contraptions that looked equal parts blacksmith forge and starship engine room.
"This," he declared, "is where the true test begins. You each carry a kyber crystal, a piece of the Force itself, attuned to your essence. It is not merely a power source. It is your partner. Your reflection. Your future."
He clasped his long hands behind his back.
"But first… history."
Oh no.
"Long before the Jedi Order as you know it, the earliest Force users crafted blades of plasma bound within archaic cells, cumbersome and unstable. The protosabers of Tython, ignited with external packs and heavy cords—"
I leaned to Ahsoka again. "Translation: flashlight with a car battery."
"—eventually evolved into the refined weapon you shall soon create. The lightsaber. Both weapon and tool, defender and destroyer, symbol and reality. And it is you who shall carry its legacy forward."
I raised a hand. "Do we get a quiz after this?"
Without missing a beat, Huyang said, "Yes."
The entire class groaned. Even Ahsoka shot me a glare that said Look what you did.
I shrugged. "Hey, knowledge is power."
"Spoken like someone who has very little of either," Huyang said dryly.
…Okay, maybe I liked this droid.
Still, as he moved on to describing the ritual of "bonding with the crystal," I let my mind wander. My hand brushed the small pouch at my belt where my kyber rested. Green, faintly pulsing, as though alive. Not the black I'd secretly been hoping for—I mean, come on, "Ben Kryze, Wielder of the Darkblade" had a nice ring to it—but green was fine. Green was my favorite color anyway.
Besides, the Darksaber was still out there, and one day it would be mine.
But for now? I'd build my own. A Ben Kryze Original.
Huyang's voice droned on about focusing the mind, steady hands, the dance of crystal and emitter. I barely caught half of it, too distracted by the way the ship seemed to buzz with history. Ahsoka was practically glowing, soaking up every word like it was gospel. Maris still held her crystal tight, as though she was afraid to let it go.
And me?
I grinned, because this was it. The moment I'd been waiting for since the Temple crèche. Not the lectures, not the rules, not the thousand "Attachment is forbidden" speeches.
A lightsaber.
My lightsaber.
And nothing — not the Council, not the Sith, not even this snippy six-thousand-year-old droid — was going to keep me from making it my own.
The workroom aboard The Crucible was silent but for the soft groan of ancient durasteel and the pulse of the hyperdrive beyond the bulkheads. Huyang preferred that silence. It carried weight. A hush sharpened focus far more than chatter, and lightsabers deserved nothing less than reverence.
The initiates stood in a line before him, each clutching the crystal they had wrested from Ilum's heart. The stones were still raw with the echo of the trials, humming faintly in their hands. To the younglings, they were prizes. To Huyang, they were promises.
He reached out his spindly hands, servos whirring with familiar precision, and gestured for the first crystal.
Ahsoka Tano stepped forward, her montrals tilted slightly in that mixture of confidence and nerves he had seen countless times before. She placed her shards in his palm. Huyang rotated them delicately beneath the glow of the workroom's lamp, his photoreceptors adjusting their spectrum until the crystal's inner light bloomed.
"Disciplined," Huyang intoned, his vocoder lending the word a metallic gravity. "Balanced. This crystal, though split, resonates evenly across its lattice. It belongs to a mind that seeks harmony, even when pressed."
Ahsoka exhaled, shoulders easing. Pride radiated off her in the way of all initiates—subtle to them, glaring to him. Huyang had learned not to chastise such pride. The crystal would do it in its own time.
He set her shard gently into a resting cradle. "It will serve you well, Padawan Tano. If you serve it as faithfully."
The Togruta bowed her head in respect before retreating.
Next, Maris Brood. She hesitated—he noted the flicker of her gaze toward the floor, then toward her peers. At last she stepped forward, small hands tight around her prize.
Huyang extended his palm again. "Courage, young one. No crystal bites."
She offered it, and he felt the tremor of her grip. The shard settled against his plating, and immediately his sensors registered the fluctuation. The crystal's resonance did not hum in one clear tone—it stuttered, thrumming irregularly like a heartbeat caught between panic and defiance.
"Ah," Huyang murmured, rotating it gently. "Potential, certainly. Strong, even. But turbulence clouds its lattice. Unresolved energies will challenge its master. Handle with care."
Maris's head bowed, respectfully. Her cheeks colored faintly, shame tightening her lips.
Huyang did not soften the truth, but he adjusted its shape. "Remember, young one—many great Jedi began with crystals far more volatile than this. The blade you forge will temper it, as discipline tempers the self."
She looked up at that, only slightly, but enough. She placed her hands back at her sides and stepped away.
Then came the last.
Ben Kryze swaggered forward with all the subtlety of a rancor in a meditation chamber, crystal pinched between his fingers as though it were a toy rather than the heart of a Jedi's weapon.
"Careful," Huyang said, extending his hand.
"I am being careful," the boy muttered, though he tossed the shard onto Huyang's palm rather than placing it.
The droid adjusted his grip instantly, catching the crystal without a scratch. His photoreceptors focused, scanning the lattice. The hum reached him first—lower than most, uneven, yet strangely… resonant.
He turned it, measured its harmonics, and then leaned closer, adjusting a spectral filter. Inside, the lattice was fractured, yes, but not broken. Two distinct frequency peaks overlapped within its core, creating a dual harmonic resonance that should not, by any measure of crystal growth, exist.
Fascinating.
"Unstable," Huyang finally declared. He let the word hang, watching the boy's reaction.
Ben raised an eyebrow. "Unstable? Like… gonna explode unstable, or moody-teenager unstable?"
The droid did not dignify that with a reply. "Not defective," he continued instead. "Rarer still—this shard possesses a dual harmonic resonance. Few crystals in six millennia of my instruction have done so. Intriguing."
Ben folded his arms. "Translation, please? Because all I'm hearing is that my rock is temperamental, apparently."
Huyang turned his head slowly until both photoreceptors fixed on the boy. "Your comprehension lacks refinement. Still, perhaps… not entirely inaccurate."
Ben smirked as if he'd won something.
Huyang placed the crystal into its cradle with greater care than he had the others. "It will not build itself, Initiate Kryze. When you attempt to channel its energy, you may find it… resistant. Remember this: the bond you form with it will shape your blade—and your path—far more than your jesting."
"Noted," Ben said breezily, though Huyang detected the faint tightening of his jaw.
The droid folded his hands behind his back, stepping away from the row of crystals. Three stones rested now upon the bronze worktable, each vibrating with their own tenor of possibility.
Six millennia, and yet each time felt new. Each youngling believed themselves at the center of the galaxy, and perhaps, in their way, they were—for a single lightsaber at a time.
"Prepare yourselves," Huyang said, voice carrying like a bell through the chamber. "The act of assembly is not a task of hands alone. It is meditation, commitment, and revelation. Fail to respect the process, and the process will fail you."
If the Crucible was old and humming with the ghosts of a thousand Padawans, the Forge was practically singing with them. The room glowed, literally, with a low plasma light that seemed to radiate from the walls themselves. Ancient machinery churned in the background—massive contraptions that looked like they'd been built when the galaxy was still figuring out how to hammer two bits of metal together without blowing themselves up.
The heat wasn't stifling, exactly, but it had a weight to it. Like walking into a story older than you were meant to touch.
All right, Kryze. This is it. My very own lightsaber. A weapon, an heirloom, a calling card. A declaration that I'd arrived. The moment the Force, history, destiny, and my own smug sense of style all came together in one humming blade.
And I had absolutely no idea what it was supposed to look like.
Everyone else seemed to, though.
Ahsoka sat at her workstation like she'd been born in one of these seats. She laid her pieces out with a surgeon's precision, every component perfectly aligned. When she slotted the emitter matrix into the casing, her hands didn't even shake. I don't think her heartbeat even sped up.
Maris, though… her hands were trembling so hard she nearly dropped her focusing lens. She hunched over, shoulders curled in, as though the wrong twist of a screw would set the entire Forge to self-destruct. Her lips moved soundlessly—probably reciting Huyang's instructions word-for-word like some kind of spell.
And me?
I was staring at my pile of parts like they were going to assemble themselves if I glared hard enough. I've seen Starkiller do it. There's precedent.
… yeah, that's not happening. Okay, okay! I'll build it. Just… where to start? The hilt's design?
"Classic," I muttered under my breath. "That's the way to go, right? One-handed, clean lines, Jedi-chic. Very I'll slice you in half, but politely."
But then… I mean, Dooku had a curved handle. Count Swirlycape himself. Elegant. Practical. I think? It was pretty good at dueling. I could try that.
Or I could do Ezra Bridger's weird blaster-saber combo. Very hipster, very off-brand Jedi, very what do you mean I can't shoot AND slice you at the same time?
Crossguard? No. Never. Stupidest design I'd ever seen. The guard wouldn't guard anything. A lightsaber would shear through it in half a second unless you made the whole thing out of Beskar. And if you had Beskar, why waste it on the guard? Just make the whole saber out of it!
Or a knife at least!
Wasteful.
Meanwhile, Ahsoka had already soldered her first connection. She looked so serene she could've been meditating while building.
Maris's hand slipped and her focusing crystal rolled dangerously close to the edge of her bench. She lunged after it, almost spilling half her parts across the floor.
I sighed. Fine. For once in my chaotic little life, I wasn't going to mock someone.
"You know," I said loud enough for Maris to hear, "if you drop the lens again, the Forge spirit is legally required to appear and curse you with eternal flat hair." Well… maybe a little mocking.
Her head jerked up, startled. Then, to my relief, a tiny, reluctant laugh escaped her. Just enough to steady her hands again.
Score one for Ben Kryze, morale officer.
I turned back to my parts. Still no clue. Still no design.
"Instructions," I told myself, "are more like… guidelines than actual rules."
I grabbed the power cell, shoved it into the casing. A snug fit, maybe too snug. The wires didn't line up properly, so I twisted them until they did. The emitter matrix didn't quite want to click, so I encouraged it with the handle of a screwdriver.
The crystal chamber? Well, the little Force-rock was supposed to slide neatly into the slot. Instead, it buzzed angrily like it was offended at my lack of craftsmanship.
"Don't look at me like that," I told it. "You're just a rock that glows. You don't get a vote."
It continued glowing with intense judgment.
Sparks flew when I tried to connect the emitter to the power cell. Real, honest-to-Force sparks that hissed and spat across the bench. I yanked my hands back a half second before the whole assembly discharged with a sound like an angry gundark.
A searing beam of raw plasma cut clean through the air and scorched the corner of my workbench.
"Whoa!" I yelped, jerking back.
Before the half-formed saber could turn me into Ben à la Charcoal, a flickering blue shield shimmered between me and my would-be suicide project.
Huyang didn't even look up from where he was supervising another initiate across the room. His hand twitched once, activating the shield with the grace of someone who'd saved a thousand clumsy Padawans before breakfast.
He walked over with the patience of an academic who'd seen everything. Which, to be fair, he had.
"Improvised assembly," he said, peering down at my crackling hilt. "Imprecise. Rushed. And yet…" He tilted his bronze head to the side, photoreceptors gleaming. "…interesting."
"Again? Really?" I asked, waving away the sparks. "I get we have a whole cryptic mythicism thing to live up to, but come on. All I'm hearing is my rock is moody, my handle's a death trap, and I'm never going to survive to Padawan. Which, okay, fair. But not helpful!"
"Very well. Then allow me to say this," Huyang said, "your saber reflects your path. Beware too much shadow if you walk the light. Beware too much light if you court shadow."
He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy.
I blinked at him. "Right. Of course. Why say something useful, like fix the power cell before you explode, when you can drop a cryptic fortune-cookie riddle instead?"
Huyang didn't even twitch. "Padawans have called my wisdom many things. None have survived long if they ignored it."
"Wow," I said. "That sounded suspiciously like a threat."
"An observation," he corrected. Then he returned to his patrol of the forges, cloak swishing behind him like he was some kind of Jedi librarian Batman.
He doesn't even need that cloak. He's a droid! Droids don't get cold. Do they? I wonder if their circuits freeze—focus, Ben!
I glared down at my half-built saber. It glared back. Or maybe that was just the glow of my crystal, pulsing faintly with an almost alive rhythm.
Great. My first lightsaber, and it already hated me.
"Sorry." I apologized to my crystal, feeling ridiculous for apologizing. But it needed to be said.
It said nothing. Because it was a rock.
"I know I'm being difficult, I just…" I sighed. "I want to do this right. Work with me here. Please?"
It continued to say nothing. But, since it's not trying to blind me anymore, I think I could take its silence as acceptance.
"Okay. Let's try again… with the instructions."
The chamber seemed to hold its breath.
All around her, the initiates stood in small, uneven lines, sabers newly forged and cradled in careful hands. The air still smelled of heated metal and plasma, of oil and ancient machinery cooling down after long use. A dozen crystals pulsed faintly, waiting.
Then Huyang's voice cut through the silence, even but carrying weight:
"Now," he said. "Ignite them."
One by one, they obeyed.
The first snap-hiss cracked like thunder in the stillness, followed by the low, steady hum of a newborn blade. Then another joined it—higher-pitched, almost singing. Soon the chamber was alive with sound, each saber a different voice in a strange and luminous choir.
Maris's breath caught. She had heard lightsabers before, of course. But this—this was different. This wasn't masters dueling in the Temple sparring halls. This was them. The children she studied with, trained beside, argued with in the dormitories. The sound filled her chest like a heartbeat, all uneven and clashing and somehow harmonious.
Ahsoka stepped forward, and when her blade came alive, Maris had to squint. The green shone so bright it almost dazzled, casting a clean, steady glow over the walls. Its hum was perfectly balanced—no flicker, no warble. Strong, confident.
Huyang inclined his head, just barely, but Maris caught it. Approval.
Of course Ahsoka's would be perfect. Ahsoka always followed instructions, always listened. Maris felt a sudden, irrational tightness in her throat.
Then it was her turn.
Her thumb trembled over the ignition switch. She pressed it down. For one terrible second, nothing happened. Then—crack! A jagged line of blue light shot out, unstable, sputtering like a flame in wind. Maris's heart sank.
It's wrong. It's all wrong, I messed it up—
But then the blade steadied. The hum grew firm. Its glow smoothed into a proper line of light, quivering only faintly at the edges.
Maris exhaled, realizing she had been holding her breath the entire time.
Ahsoka smiled at her, and Maris tried to smile back. But she couldn't ignore the unease prickling in her stomach. The others' sabers had sung with confidence. Hers… hers had stuttered.
No matter, she thought quickly. It's stable now. It works. That's what matters.
But her hands still shook faintly as she lowered the weapon.
Then Ben stepped forward.
Maris braced herself. He would either succeed spectacularly or blow something up. Possibly both.
The blade ignited with a sound unlike any other in the chamber.
It didn't sing or hum. It growled. A low-pitched, guttural sound, like the snarl of some sleeping beast disturbed from its rest. The green glow filled the chamber, steady and solid, yet carrying a weight that felt older, heavier, than the other sabers. Beautiful, yes—but unsettling, too, as though the color was the only familiar thing about it.
The room reacted instantly. A few initiates leaned forward, curious. Others recoiled, unsettled.
Maris's pulse jumped. She didn't know why it scared her, only that it did.
Even Huyang seemed… moved. His glowing eyes narrowed slightly as he tilted his head.
"In six millennia of training Jedi younglings," the droid said, "I have never heard one quite like that. Make of it what you will."
Ben, naturally, just grinned. "So what you're saying is, I'm special. Finally, some recognition."
Maris rolled her eyes. Typical.
Before anyone could blink, Ahsoka twirled her blade up into a ready stance. "Show-off."
Ben's grin widened. "Takes one to know one."
The two blades clashed together with a crash of sparks. The other initiates gasped. Huyang's photoreceptors flared red.
"If you lose a limb before you even leave this chamber," he barked, "I am not reattaching it!"
Neither of them seemed to hear. Ahsoka's strikes were quick, testing, playful. Ben blocked sloppily at first, then swung back harder, forcing her to skip backward, laughing. Their blades hummed and clashed, adding wild new notes to the chamber's song.
Maris stood at the edge, saber idle in her hands.
She told herself she didn't want to join. That it was better this way. That the Code said attachment was forbidden, and it was good she didn't share the same easy… closeness those two had. It wasn't jealousy. Of course not.
She wasn't lonely.
She had the Force. And the Force was all she needed.
Then Ben glanced over his shoulder mid-swing, grin bright and wicked. "Maris, you getting in on this?! Come on, I need some backup here! Ahsoka actually exercises for fun!"
Her hearts jolted.
"It's good for your heart, Ben!" Ahsoka retorted. Human problems, in Maris's opinion. Personally, she had two hearts, and she couldn't sit still for anything other than meditation. Adrenalin was too… addictive.
"Then why does it make me feel so miserable?!" Ben argued back. "Maris! Hurry! Save me!"
A dozen thoughts fought in her head at once—It isn't proper. It's dangerous. I don't belong in that kind of bond. Attachments are forbidden. Forbidden. Forbidden.
But her hand was already tightening on the hilt. Her thumb pressed the switch.
The blue blade sprang to life again, flickering at the edges—but steady enough.
"Yes, please," she breathed, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
And she stepped forward.
The Crucible had gone quiet for the night. You'd think a ship that old would creak or groan or rattle when left to itself, but it didn't. It just… breathed. At least, that's what it sounded like to me as I lay on my bunk, staring at the ceiling. A low hum in the walls, steady as a heartbeat.
My lightsaber sat on the blanket beside me. My lightsaber. Mine.
It hadn't left my sight since we'd left the Forge. I'd carried it through supper, kept it propped against the table leg like it might leap up and scurry off if I wasn't watching. Ahsoka teased me about it, of course—"Careful, Ben, you're going to wear the paint off with all that staring"—but I didn't care. Let her laugh. Let them all laugh. They didn't understand.
Now, with the others asleep and no Master Huyang hovering like a judgmental hawk, I picked it up. The hilt was cool in my palm, heavier than it had any right to be. Not just metal and wire anymore. Something deeper thrummed inside, faint but alive. I thumbed the activator.
Snap-hiss.
Emerald light spilled across the walls. Shadows stretched away like they were running from it. The blade growled—low, steady, almost pleased.
"Now you're mine," I whispered, grinning at the ceiling. "My precious."
The words slipped out before I could stop them. I froze, then snorted. Oh Force, really? That's what I came up with? My precious? Somewhere out in the galaxy, some ancient, hunched gremlin was probably suing me for plagiarism.
Still, the words felt… right. Wrong, but right. A private little joke between me and the saber. My saber.
I rose, letting it hum as I gave it a few practice swings. Slow at first, just feeling the weight, then faster, sharper, until the air itself whistled. It wasn't just balance or craftsmanship—I could feel it responding. Not like a tool, but like a partner. Every shift of my wrist, every adjustment of my stance, the crystal sang back to me.
It was alive.
No, more than alive. Aware.
For a heartbeat, I felt its focus brush mine—like being stared at through a keyhole. Not hostile, not friendly. Just… watching. Waiting.
A chill ran down my spine. Huyang's words replayed, dry and too-late: In six millennia, I have never heard one quite like that. Make of it what you will.
I deactivated the blade, the growl dying with a hiss. The cabin plunged into darkness. Only the afterimage of green burned in my vision.
"Don't start spooking yourself," I muttered, dropping onto my bunk again. "It's just a crystal. Just a weapon. Nothing more."
I tried to believe that.
But as I lay back, the hilt resting on my chest like a heartbeat that wasn't mine, I couldn't quite shake the thought that maybe—just maybe—it had chosen me as much as I had chosen it.
And that was fine. Perfectly fine. Absolutely fine. The wand may choose the wizard—even the space wizard—but it was the wizard who was in control.
I was in control.
…wasn't I?
Short answer? Yes.
But, is it something that's going to keep him awake for the rest of the night until he realizes that? Also yes.
By the way, the growl wasn't literal, but have you ever noticed that some lightsaber make different sounds than others? It's the subtle difference of a hum. Even when just igniting it. Like, Sith lightsabers have this distinct hiss, and the Darksaber has this kind of melodical sound. It's an interesting quirk. I thought Ben's could operate on the same way.
Symbolism, baby!
Stay tuned for tomorrow's chapter. Or, screw that. Go check out my Patreon, and read ahead, link below:
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I've never thought of a starship as warm before.
That's not what they usually are. They're metal coffins with thrusters attached, rattling through the void while every atom of the galaxy tries to kill you. The only difference between cozy and catastrophic is a few centimeters of durasteel hull and the good graces of a navicomputer.
But after Ilum? After trudging through frozen tunnels, numb fingers clinging to an ice-cold crystal that was supposed to define the rest of my life? Yeah. I'd take a coffin in space over that freezer any day. At least here, when you exhale, your breath doesn't crystallize in front of your face.
The Crucible hummed around us as we filed off the transport and into its belly. Not the shiny white halls of Coruscant, oh no. If you want to make a lightsaber just right, you want to be as close to the stars as possible. Which, of course, means you need a spaceship.
The interior was bronze, almost burnished with age, like the whole ship had been polished by generations of Jedi boots. Pipes ran openly along the walls. Everything thrummed with power, like a heartbeat you could feel in your chest.
Ahsoka gave a soft "whoa" beside me. "It feels… old."
"That's because it is," a voice said — mechanical, crisp, and just a little bit smug.
And there he was.
Professor Huyang.
Imagine if someone had taken the driest old librarian in the Jedi Archives, stretched him out into a spindly metal frame, given him a voicebox that sounded halfway between "lecturing historian" and "polite assassin droid," and then told him to live forever. That was our host.
"Padawans of the Ilum Gathering," Huyang intoned, striding down the central aisle with all the pomp of a king addressing peasants. His photoreceptors swept over us one by one. "For six millennia, I have instructed initiates in the construction of their first lightsaber. From the earliest forgers of Ossus to the High Republic artisans of Starlight Beacon. I have taught warriors who became Knights, Knights who became Masters, and Masters who guided this very Council."
I leaned toward Ahsoka. "Six thousand years, huh? He doesn't look a day over five thousand, nine hundred."
Her montrals twitched as she smothered a laugh.
Unfortunately, the droid's audio receptors were perfect.
His glowing eyes flicked toward me, utterly unimpressed. "I have been called far worse things by Padawans who later became Council members. But your wit, young Kryze, is disappointingly pedestrian."
Ouch. Shot down by a robot grandpa.
"Guess I'll have to up my game," I muttered.
"Please do," he said, and kept walking.
Okay. New goal: get the droid to laugh. Or, failing that, at least short-circuit from exasperation.
We followed him deeper into the ship, our footsteps echoing in time with the Crucible's pulse. I noticed Maris Brood hanging back, her crystal clutched in both hands. She hadn't said much since Ilum—not that she ever said much compared to me or Ahsoka—but she was watching everything. The ship, the droid, even the way the walls seemed to vibrate like they remembered every saber ever built inside them.
Huyang must've noticed too, because when she suddenly blurted, "You've taught every saber-builder for six thousand years?" his tone actually warmed.
"Indeed, youngling. Every Jedi who has constructed a lightsaber since the days of the Old Republic has passed through my hands. Their triumphs, their mistakes, their innovations—I remember them all. And so shall you benefit from their legacy."
Maris's eyes widened. She ducked her head, embarrassed, but I caught the ghost of a smile.
Well, good for her. Someone needed to balance my constant need to mouth off.
Huyang stopped us in a wide chamber where the walls were lined with benches, toolkits, and strange contraptions that looked equal parts blacksmith forge and starship engine room.
"This," he declared, "is where the true test begins. You each carry a kyber crystal, a piece of the Force itself, attuned to your essence. It is not merely a power source. It is your partner. Your reflection. Your future."
He clasped his long hands behind his back.
"But first… history."
Oh no.
"Long before the Jedi Order as you know it, the earliest Force users crafted blades of plasma bound within archaic cells, cumbersome and unstable. The protosabers of Tython, ignited with external packs and heavy cords—"
I leaned to Ahsoka again. "Translation: flashlight with a car battery."
"—eventually evolved into the refined weapon you shall soon create. The lightsaber. Both weapon and tool, defender and destroyer, symbol and reality. And it is you who shall carry its legacy forward."
I raised a hand. "Do we get a quiz after this?"
Without missing a beat, Huyang said, "Yes."
The entire class groaned. Even Ahsoka shot me a glare that said Look what you did.
I shrugged. "Hey, knowledge is power."
"Spoken like someone who has very little of either," Huyang said dryly.
…Okay, maybe I liked this droid.
Still, as he moved on to describing the ritual of "bonding with the crystal," I let my mind wander. My hand brushed the small pouch at my belt where my kyber rested. Green, faintly pulsing, as though alive. Not the black I'd secretly been hoping for—I mean, come on, "Ben Kryze, Wielder of the Darkblade" had a nice ring to it—but green was fine. Green was my favorite color anyway.
Besides, the Darksaber was still out there, and one day it would be mine.
But for now? I'd build my own. A Ben Kryze Original.
Huyang's voice droned on about focusing the mind, steady hands, the dance of crystal and emitter. I barely caught half of it, too distracted by the way the ship seemed to buzz with history. Ahsoka was practically glowing, soaking up every word like it was gospel. Maris still held her crystal tight, as though she was afraid to let it go.
And me?
I grinned, because this was it. The moment I'd been waiting for since the Temple crèche. Not the lectures, not the rules, not the thousand "Attachment is forbidden" speeches.
A lightsaber.
My lightsaber.
And nothing — not the Council, not the Sith, not even this snippy six-thousand-year-old droid — was going to keep me from making it my own.
...
The workroom aboard The Crucible was silent but for the soft groan of ancient durasteel and the pulse of the hyperdrive beyond the bulkheads. Huyang preferred that silence. It carried weight. A hush sharpened focus far more than chatter, and lightsabers deserved nothing less than reverence.
The initiates stood in a line before him, each clutching the crystal they had wrested from Ilum's heart. The stones were still raw with the echo of the trials, humming faintly in their hands. To the younglings, they were prizes. To Huyang, they were promises.
He reached out his spindly hands, servos whirring with familiar precision, and gestured for the first crystal.
Ahsoka Tano stepped forward, her montrals tilted slightly in that mixture of confidence and nerves he had seen countless times before. She placed her shards in his palm. Huyang rotated them delicately beneath the glow of the workroom's lamp, his photoreceptors adjusting their spectrum until the crystal's inner light bloomed.
"Disciplined," Huyang intoned, his vocoder lending the word a metallic gravity. "Balanced. This crystal, though split, resonates evenly across its lattice. It belongs to a mind that seeks harmony, even when pressed."
Ahsoka exhaled, shoulders easing. Pride radiated off her in the way of all initiates—subtle to them, glaring to him. Huyang had learned not to chastise such pride. The crystal would do it in its own time.
He set her shard gently into a resting cradle. "It will serve you well, Padawan Tano. If you serve it as faithfully."
The Togruta bowed her head in respect before retreating.
Next, Maris Brood. She hesitated—he noted the flicker of her gaze toward the floor, then toward her peers. At last she stepped forward, small hands tight around her prize.
Huyang extended his palm again. "Courage, young one. No crystal bites."
She offered it, and he felt the tremor of her grip. The shard settled against his plating, and immediately his sensors registered the fluctuation. The crystal's resonance did not hum in one clear tone—it stuttered, thrumming irregularly like a heartbeat caught between panic and defiance.
"Ah," Huyang murmured, rotating it gently. "Potential, certainly. Strong, even. But turbulence clouds its lattice. Unresolved energies will challenge its master. Handle with care."
Maris's head bowed, respectfully. Her cheeks colored faintly, shame tightening her lips.
Huyang did not soften the truth, but he adjusted its shape. "Remember, young one—many great Jedi began with crystals far more volatile than this. The blade you forge will temper it, as discipline tempers the self."
She looked up at that, only slightly, but enough. She placed her hands back at her sides and stepped away.
Then came the last.
Ben Kryze swaggered forward with all the subtlety of a rancor in a meditation chamber, crystal pinched between his fingers as though it were a toy rather than the heart of a Jedi's weapon.
"Careful," Huyang said, extending his hand.
"I am being careful," the boy muttered, though he tossed the shard onto Huyang's palm rather than placing it.
The droid adjusted his grip instantly, catching the crystal without a scratch. His photoreceptors focused, scanning the lattice. The hum reached him first—lower than most, uneven, yet strangely… resonant.
He turned it, measured its harmonics, and then leaned closer, adjusting a spectral filter. Inside, the lattice was fractured, yes, but not broken. Two distinct frequency peaks overlapped within its core, creating a dual harmonic resonance that should not, by any measure of crystal growth, exist.
Fascinating.
"Unstable," Huyang finally declared. He let the word hang, watching the boy's reaction.
Ben raised an eyebrow. "Unstable? Like… gonna explode unstable, or moody-teenager unstable?"
The droid did not dignify that with a reply. "Not defective," he continued instead. "Rarer still—this shard possesses a dual harmonic resonance. Few crystals in six millennia of my instruction have done so. Intriguing."
Ben folded his arms. "Translation, please? Because all I'm hearing is that my rock is temperamental, apparently."
Huyang turned his head slowly until both photoreceptors fixed on the boy. "Your comprehension lacks refinement. Still, perhaps… not entirely inaccurate."
Ben smirked as if he'd won something.
Huyang placed the crystal into its cradle with greater care than he had the others. "It will not build itself, Initiate Kryze. When you attempt to channel its energy, you may find it… resistant. Remember this: the bond you form with it will shape your blade—and your path—far more than your jesting."
"Noted," Ben said breezily, though Huyang detected the faint tightening of his jaw.
The droid folded his hands behind his back, stepping away from the row of crystals. Three stones rested now upon the bronze worktable, each vibrating with their own tenor of possibility.
Six millennia, and yet each time felt new. Each youngling believed themselves at the center of the galaxy, and perhaps, in their way, they were—for a single lightsaber at a time.
"Prepare yourselves," Huyang said, voice carrying like a bell through the chamber. "The act of assembly is not a task of hands alone. It is meditation, commitment, and revelation. Fail to respect the process, and the process will fail you."
...
If the Crucible was old and humming with the ghosts of a thousand Padawans, the Forge was practically singing with them. The room glowed, literally, with a low plasma light that seemed to radiate from the walls themselves. Ancient machinery churned in the background—massive contraptions that looked like they'd been built when the galaxy was still figuring out how to hammer two bits of metal together without blowing themselves up.
The heat wasn't stifling, exactly, but it had a weight to it. Like walking into a story older than you were meant to touch.
All right, Kryze. This is it. My very own lightsaber. A weapon, an heirloom, a calling card. A declaration that I'd arrived. The moment the Force, history, destiny, and my own smug sense of style all came together in one humming blade.
And I had absolutely no idea what it was supposed to look like.
Everyone else seemed to, though.
Ahsoka sat at her workstation like she'd been born in one of these seats. She laid her pieces out with a surgeon's precision, every component perfectly aligned. When she slotted the emitter matrix into the casing, her hands didn't even shake. I don't think her heartbeat even sped up.
Maris, though… her hands were trembling so hard she nearly dropped her focusing lens. She hunched over, shoulders curled in, as though the wrong twist of a screw would set the entire Forge to self-destruct. Her lips moved soundlessly—probably reciting Huyang's instructions word-for-word like some kind of spell.
And me?
I was staring at my pile of parts like they were going to assemble themselves if I glared hard enough. I've seen Starkiller do it. There's precedent.
… yeah, that's not happening. Okay, okay! I'll build it. Just… where to start? The hilt's design?
"Classic," I muttered under my breath. "That's the way to go, right? One-handed, clean lines, Jedi-chic. Very I'll slice you in half, but politely."
But then… I mean, Dooku had a curved handle. Count Swirlycape himself. Elegant. Practical. I think? It was pretty good at dueling. I could try that.
Or I could do Ezra Bridger's weird blaster-saber combo. Very hipster, very off-brand Jedi, very what do you mean I can't shoot AND slice you at the same time?
Crossguard? No. Never. Stupidest design I'd ever seen. The guard wouldn't guard anything. A lightsaber would shear through it in half a second unless you made the whole thing out of Beskar. And if you had Beskar, why waste it on the guard? Just make the whole saber out of it!
Or a knife at least!
Wasteful.
Meanwhile, Ahsoka had already soldered her first connection. She looked so serene she could've been meditating while building.
Maris's hand slipped and her focusing crystal rolled dangerously close to the edge of her bench. She lunged after it, almost spilling half her parts across the floor.
I sighed. Fine. For once in my chaotic little life, I wasn't going to mock someone.
"You know," I said loud enough for Maris to hear, "if you drop the lens again, the Forge spirit is legally required to appear and curse you with eternal flat hair." Well… maybe a little mocking.
Her head jerked up, startled. Then, to my relief, a tiny, reluctant laugh escaped her. Just enough to steady her hands again.
Score one for Ben Kryze, morale officer.
I turned back to my parts. Still no clue. Still no design.
"Instructions," I told myself, "are more like… guidelines than actual rules."
I grabbed the power cell, shoved it into the casing. A snug fit, maybe too snug. The wires didn't line up properly, so I twisted them until they did. The emitter matrix didn't quite want to click, so I encouraged it with the handle of a screwdriver.
The crystal chamber? Well, the little Force-rock was supposed to slide neatly into the slot. Instead, it buzzed angrily like it was offended at my lack of craftsmanship.
"Don't look at me like that," I told it. "You're just a rock that glows. You don't get a vote."
It continued glowing with intense judgment.
Sparks flew when I tried to connect the emitter to the power cell. Real, honest-to-Force sparks that hissed and spat across the bench. I yanked my hands back a half second before the whole assembly discharged with a sound like an angry gundark.
A searing beam of raw plasma cut clean through the air and scorched the corner of my workbench.
"Whoa!" I yelped, jerking back.
Before the half-formed saber could turn me into Ben à la Charcoal, a flickering blue shield shimmered between me and my would-be suicide project.
Huyang didn't even look up from where he was supervising another initiate across the room. His hand twitched once, activating the shield with the grace of someone who'd saved a thousand clumsy Padawans before breakfast.
He walked over with the patience of an academic who'd seen everything. Which, to be fair, he had.
"Improvised assembly," he said, peering down at my crackling hilt. "Imprecise. Rushed. And yet…" He tilted his bronze head to the side, photoreceptors gleaming. "…interesting."
"Again? Really?" I asked, waving away the sparks. "I get we have a whole cryptic mythicism thing to live up to, but come on. All I'm hearing is my rock is moody, my handle's a death trap, and I'm never going to survive to Padawan. Which, okay, fair. But not helpful!"
"Very well. Then allow me to say this," Huyang said, "your saber reflects your path. Beware too much shadow if you walk the light. Beware too much light if you court shadow."
He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy.
I blinked at him. "Right. Of course. Why say something useful, like fix the power cell before you explode, when you can drop a cryptic fortune-cookie riddle instead?"
Huyang didn't even twitch. "Padawans have called my wisdom many things. None have survived long if they ignored it."
"Wow," I said. "That sounded suspiciously like a threat."
"An observation," he corrected. Then he returned to his patrol of the forges, cloak swishing behind him like he was some kind of Jedi librarian Batman.
He doesn't even need that cloak. He's a droid! Droids don't get cold. Do they? I wonder if their circuits freeze—focus, Ben!
I glared down at my half-built saber. It glared back. Or maybe that was just the glow of my crystal, pulsing faintly with an almost alive rhythm.
Great. My first lightsaber, and it already hated me.
"Sorry." I apologized to my crystal, feeling ridiculous for apologizing. But it needed to be said.
It said nothing. Because it was a rock.
"I know I'm being difficult, I just…" I sighed. "I want to do this right. Work with me here. Please?"
It continued to say nothing. But, since it's not trying to blind me anymore, I think I could take its silence as acceptance.
"Okay. Let's try again… with the instructions."
...
The chamber seemed to hold its breath.
All around her, the initiates stood in small, uneven lines, sabers newly forged and cradled in careful hands. The air still smelled of heated metal and plasma, of oil and ancient machinery cooling down after long use. A dozen crystals pulsed faintly, waiting.
Then Huyang's voice cut through the silence, even but carrying weight:
"Now," he said. "Ignite them."
One by one, they obeyed.
The first snap-hiss cracked like thunder in the stillness, followed by the low, steady hum of a newborn blade. Then another joined it—higher-pitched, almost singing. Soon the chamber was alive with sound, each saber a different voice in a strange and luminous choir.
Maris's breath caught. She had heard lightsabers before, of course. But this—this was different. This wasn't masters dueling in the Temple sparring halls. This was them. The children she studied with, trained beside, argued with in the dormitories. The sound filled her chest like a heartbeat, all uneven and clashing and somehow harmonious.
Ahsoka stepped forward, and when her blade came alive, Maris had to squint. The green shone so bright it almost dazzled, casting a clean, steady glow over the walls. Its hum was perfectly balanced—no flicker, no warble. Strong, confident.
Huyang inclined his head, just barely, but Maris caught it. Approval.
Of course Ahsoka's would be perfect. Ahsoka always followed instructions, always listened. Maris felt a sudden, irrational tightness in her throat.
Then it was her turn.
Her thumb trembled over the ignition switch. She pressed it down. For one terrible second, nothing happened. Then—crack! A jagged line of blue light shot out, unstable, sputtering like a flame in wind. Maris's heart sank.
It's wrong. It's all wrong, I messed it up—
But then the blade steadied. The hum grew firm. Its glow smoothed into a proper line of light, quivering only faintly at the edges.
Maris exhaled, realizing she had been holding her breath the entire time.
Ahsoka smiled at her, and Maris tried to smile back. But she couldn't ignore the unease prickling in her stomach. The others' sabers had sung with confidence. Hers… hers had stuttered.
No matter, she thought quickly. It's stable now. It works. That's what matters.
But her hands still shook faintly as she lowered the weapon.
Then Ben stepped forward.
Maris braced herself. He would either succeed spectacularly or blow something up. Possibly both.
The blade ignited with a sound unlike any other in the chamber.
It didn't sing or hum. It growled. A low-pitched, guttural sound, like the snarl of some sleeping beast disturbed from its rest. The green glow filled the chamber, steady and solid, yet carrying a weight that felt older, heavier, than the other sabers. Beautiful, yes—but unsettling, too, as though the color was the only familiar thing about it.
The room reacted instantly. A few initiates leaned forward, curious. Others recoiled, unsettled.
Maris's pulse jumped. She didn't know why it scared her, only that it did.
Even Huyang seemed… moved. His glowing eyes narrowed slightly as he tilted his head.
"In six millennia of training Jedi younglings," the droid said, "I have never heard one quite like that. Make of it what you will."
Ben, naturally, just grinned. "So what you're saying is, I'm special. Finally, some recognition."
Maris rolled her eyes. Typical.
Before anyone could blink, Ahsoka twirled her blade up into a ready stance. "Show-off."
Ben's grin widened. "Takes one to know one."
The two blades clashed together with a crash of sparks. The other initiates gasped. Huyang's photoreceptors flared red.
"If you lose a limb before you even leave this chamber," he barked, "I am not reattaching it!"
Neither of them seemed to hear. Ahsoka's strikes were quick, testing, playful. Ben blocked sloppily at first, then swung back harder, forcing her to skip backward, laughing. Their blades hummed and clashed, adding wild new notes to the chamber's song.
Maris stood at the edge, saber idle in her hands.
She told herself she didn't want to join. That it was better this way. That the Code said attachment was forbidden, and it was good she didn't share the same easy… closeness those two had. It wasn't jealousy. Of course not.
She wasn't lonely.
She had the Force. And the Force was all she needed.
Then Ben glanced over his shoulder mid-swing, grin bright and wicked. "Maris, you getting in on this?! Come on, I need some backup here! Ahsoka actually exercises for fun!"
Her hearts jolted.
"It's good for your heart, Ben!" Ahsoka retorted. Human problems, in Maris's opinion. Personally, she had two hearts, and she couldn't sit still for anything other than meditation. Adrenalin was too… addictive.
"Then why does it make me feel so miserable?!" Ben argued back. "Maris! Hurry! Save me!"
A dozen thoughts fought in her head at once—It isn't proper. It's dangerous. I don't belong in that kind of bond. Attachments are forbidden. Forbidden. Forbidden.
But her hand was already tightening on the hilt. Her thumb pressed the switch.
The blue blade sprang to life again, flickering at the edges—but steady enough.
"Yes, please," she breathed, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
And she stepped forward.
...
The Crucible had gone quiet for the night. You'd think a ship that old would creak or groan or rattle when left to itself, but it didn't. It just… breathed. At least, that's what it sounded like to me as I lay on my bunk, staring at the ceiling. A low hum in the walls, steady as a heartbeat.
My lightsaber sat on the blanket beside me. My lightsaber. Mine.
It hadn't left my sight since we'd left the Forge. I'd carried it through supper, kept it propped against the table leg like it might leap up and scurry off if I wasn't watching. Ahsoka teased me about it, of course—"Careful, Ben, you're going to wear the paint off with all that staring"—but I didn't care. Let her laugh. Let them all laugh. They didn't understand.
Now, with the others asleep and no Master Huyang hovering like a judgmental hawk, I picked it up. The hilt was cool in my palm, heavier than it had any right to be. Not just metal and wire anymore. Something deeper thrummed inside, faint but alive. I thumbed the activator.
Snap-hiss.
Emerald light spilled across the walls. Shadows stretched away like they were running from it. The blade growled—low, steady, almost pleased.
"Now you're mine," I whispered, grinning at the ceiling. "My precious."
The words slipped out before I could stop them. I froze, then snorted. Oh Force, really? That's what I came up with? My precious? Somewhere out in the galaxy, some ancient, hunched gremlin was probably suing me for plagiarism.
Still, the words felt… right. Wrong, but right. A private little joke between me and the saber. My saber.
I rose, letting it hum as I gave it a few practice swings. Slow at first, just feeling the weight, then faster, sharper, until the air itself whistled. It wasn't just balance or craftsmanship—I could feel it responding. Not like a tool, but like a partner. Every shift of my wrist, every adjustment of my stance, the crystal sang back to me.
It was alive.
No, more than alive. Aware.
For a heartbeat, I felt its focus brush mine—like being stared at through a keyhole. Not hostile, not friendly. Just… watching. Waiting.
A chill ran down my spine. Huyang's words replayed, dry and too-late: In six millennia, I have never heard one quite like that. Make of it what you will.
I deactivated the blade, the growl dying with a hiss. The cabin plunged into darkness. Only the afterimage of green burned in my vision.
"Don't start spooking yourself," I muttered, dropping onto my bunk again. "It's just a crystal. Just a weapon. Nothing more."
I tried to believe that.
But as I lay back, the hilt resting on my chest like a heartbeat that wasn't mine, I couldn't quite shake the thought that maybe—just maybe—it had chosen me as much as I had chosen it.
And that was fine. Perfectly fine. Absolutely fine. The wand may choose the wizard—even the space wizard—but it was the wizard who was in control.
I was in control.
…wasn't I?
...
Short answer? Yes.
But, is it something that's going to keep him awake for the rest of the night until he realizes that? Also yes.
By the way, the growl wasn't literal, but have you ever noticed that some lightsaber make different sounds than others? It's the subtle difference of a hum. Even when just igniting it. Like, Sith lightsabers have this distinct hiss, and the Darksaber has this kind of melodical sound. It's an interesting quirk. I thought Ben's could operate on the same way.
Symbolism, baby!
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