The training hall was still empty and unused, as most Padawans were spending their mornings in meditation. The whole room was missing its usual activity and focused feeling, letting it be replaced with serenity—the kind that perceived a duel. It was the type of peace I'd come to associate with the Jedi Temple—a quiet moment before something big. Before the storm hit the shores.
I stood in the center of the room, my training saber in hand, waiting for Master Aren Solara. I'd been assigned to learn Form II: Makashi, the dueling form from him. Apparently, he was the most trained within it. I was hoping that it would go well, especially because of all the lightsaber styles; it was the one that felt the most familiar to me. Before making my decision, I watched the holos of all of them, studying the records before feeling myself connecting with them and ranking that connection in my head.
Back home, fencing had been more than just a skill—it was a tradition in every Imperial Noble family. Mine, with its obsession with its own heritage, had valued the art of the blade for generations. In an age of blasters, it was always weird, but I never questioned it. I could still hear my instructor's voice, my Uncle, correcting my stance and feel the weight of the vibroblade in my hand. And his wooden instructor's rod, how it landed on my back whenever I made a mistake. Those lessons had been one of the few things I'd loved and hated at the same time about my old life.
The door to the hall slid open, interrupting my thoughts while Master Solara entered; his strides were measured, and his aura felt like the embodiment of precision. I already had a guess as to why he would be the one teaching me. There was no wasted movement in anything his body did. His dark brown robes didn't even sway as he walked, and his lightsaber hung loosely from his belt, swinging just like a metronome for his legs. His calm, analytical gaze swept over me as he approached while I was doing the same to him, albeit with as much respect as possible.
"Padawan Kael," he greeted, his tone unperturbed and composed. "I trust you've reviewed the basics of Makashi in the archives?"
"Yes, Master," I replied, straightening my posture. "It's... different from what we've been learning with Form I. More precise." Listening to me, Master Solara nodded, crossing his arms as he stopped in front of me.
"Precisely. Form II, also known as Makashi, is the most elegant and refined of the lightsaber styles. It was developed specifically for lightsaber-to-lightsaber combat, excelling in precision, footwork, and control. It's no surprise you gravitated toward it, given your background. It will come in handy if you ever run into the acolytes of the new Sith resurgence."
That comment made me blink my eyes. Was there such a thing? We haven't learned about it yet, but I began wondering if it was true. Still, I couldn't just ask, as he had already unclipped his own lightsaber and activated it. The pale blue blade hummed softly, its glow casting faint reflections on the polished floor. I wonder when I will get mine... and what color it will be?
"Makashi requires discipline," he continued. "It's not about power, but finesse. Every strike, every parry, is deliberate. There's no room for wasted movement, no room for brute strength. The lightsaber is an extension of your will, not a hammer. If you wish to learn Form II, you must use it as a scalpel!"
He stepped back, taking a stance that was both graceful and intimidating. One foot slid forward, his blade angled downward in a salute before he brought it up into a ready position.
"This is Makashi's opening stance. Notice how it minimizes your profile, making you a smaller target. Your blade is held lightly but firmly, ready to respond to an opponent's strike."
I mirrored his stance, adjusting my grip on the training saber. It felt... right, like slipping into an old pair of boots. It wasn't identical to what I had already learned once, but that knowledge allowed me to mimic my instructor well.
"Good," Master Solara expressed, his sharp eyes watching my movements. "You have a natural feel for it, but Makashi is not just about instinct. It's about control. Hold it."
He didn't joke. I had to hold it for an hour. He periodically walked around me, correcting my body, which began to lean and go out of line. I involuntarily tensed when he touched me, expecting a hit landing on me, yet it never came. Well... Old habits. I think he also noticed but never mentioned it, which wasn't surprising. It wasn't necessary for our training. After I felt my muscles burning from standing still for so long, he finally nodded, letting me deactivate my saber and allowing me to rest.
"We will repeat this with every movement, stance, and part of Makashi until it burns into your subconscious and into your muscles so you can pull it off without thinking about it. But, before we begin, there's something you should understand about Makashi's legacy."
I tilted my head, curious, because he sounded cautious... Why?
"Makashi fell out of favor long ago," he continued, his tone growing somber. "The rise of blaster technology and the decline of lightsaber dueling made it seem obsolete. Too aggressive for the Jedi, as there were no enemies wielding a lightsaber... only other Jedi. But it wasn't just the galaxy's changing weaponry, the disappearance of the Sith Empire that caused its decline. Makashi's most infamous practitioner—Count Dooku, or as the Sith knows him, Darth Tyranus—played no small role in tarnishing its reputation."
The name made me recall something I had come across while once looking for information on how the old Jedi Order fell into ruins. I'd read about Dooku in the archives—how he'd once been a Jedi, a master of diplomacy and refinement, only to become Darth Tyranus, one of the architects of the Clone Wars, defeated by none other than the Grandmaster's father, Anakin Skywalker! While thinking about it, Master Solara continued, his voice turning into a teacher's, lecturing me about something of utmost importance.
"The Jedi Master, once known as Dooku, was a master of Makashi, and his skill with the blade was unmatched. But his mastery came with arrogance. It didn't originate from the form, but it caused it to solidify and fester in his mind. He believed that his elegance and precision made him superior to others and that pride was his downfall. Like you, he came from a noble origin, Young Padawan."
I wanted to say that it is not the same, but could I? I didn't know. So, I remained silent and listened.
"He abandoned the Jedi, fell to the dark side, and became a pawn of the Sith. Yes, he was just a pawn, playing a role that his superior ego refused to acknowledge. He was blinded by his arrogance." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Makashi is a tool, Padawan Kael. A means to an end. Never let it become your identity. Remember why you fight, and never let your skill blind you to the wisdom of humility. Elegance paired with pride turns into vanity. Do you understand?"
I momentarily closed my eyes, repeating his words before I nodded, sensing the seriousness of his warning.
"I understand, Master."
"Good. Now, let's begin. For real, this time."
We started with the basics. It was not easy, and it took me six months to get the form down to a level he agreed to label as a beginner. When I reached that accolade, it was after he tested me...
"Makashi thrives on three pillars," Master Solara explained. "Footwork, precision, and timing. Without these, you're just waving a blade around, hoping to hit something."
He made me demonstrate the first sequence, a series of measured steps and thrusts, each movement supposedly flowing seamlessly into the next. While doing it, I could compare his previous demonstration to what I was doing now. His blade seemed to dance in his hand, a blur of blue light that moved with effortless grace, something I knew I was still far off to match.
"Your feet are your foundation," he said, repeating a move I did, pausing mid-sequence, looking as if time had suddenly stopped for his body. "If your stance is weak, your blade will falter. Always keep your balance, and remember to adjust with your opponent's movements."
I followed his lead, repeating the sequence where I made a big enough mistake for him to demonstrate. I did it slowly this time. The movements felt natural, but I struggled to match his fluidity. My footwork was stiff, and my strikes were a fraction off balance, off target.
"Relax," Master Solara said, his voice calm but firm. "Makashi isn't about speed. It's about control. Let the Force guide you."
I took a deep breath, centering myself as I'd been taught during meditation. This time, the sequence felt smoother, and my strikes were more precise. It wasn't good yet. But it was okay.
"Better," He stated, nodding his head a little. "Now, let's test your control." He raised his saber, gesturing for me to do the same. "A simple sparring exercise. Focus on your blade and your balance. Don't worry about winning—just maintain your form."
I activated my training saber, the yellowish blade humming to life. I was afraid—he had his real one out! I tried not to show it—he was a Master, and he had perfect control; I knew that much already. Still... I watched him take his stance, his posture relaxed but ready. He struck first, a precise thrust aimed at my shoulder. I parried instinctively, the clash of our blades sending a vibration up my arm, making me groan.
"Good," he exhaled, stepping back. "But don't just react. Anticipate."
I nodded, pushing down my fear and adjusting my stance. I incorporated what I learned in meditation to put myself into a state where my fears wouldn't influence my decision. This time, when he attacked, I saw the strike coming a split second before it landed, and I moved to intercept, deflecting his blade and countering it with a cautious thrust of my own. It was, of course, deflected, and his saber stopped right before chopping off my arm. I think... it was the first time I cursed out loudly.
"Damn..."
But he didn't mind it, and the spar continued, with each exchange teaching me something new where my form was still lacking discipline. Solara's strikes were deliberate, each one testing a different aspect of my understanding. Some I blocked, others I missed, but with each pass, I felt myself improving.
"Excellent," Master Solara said after a final exchange. He deactivated his saber, a faint smile on his lips. "You are worthy of being called a beginner in Form II. You have a talent for this, Kael. But remember, Makashi is a path, not a destination. It will take years to Master."
Listening to him through my heavy breathing, I powered down my blade, feeling a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. Finally, after half a year, I did not miss training on any day throughout, and I finally could say I learned Makashi. What remained is perfecting my knowledge of the form.
"Thank you, Master. I'll do my best."
"I know you will," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "And remember: the Force is your greatest ally. Makashi is an instrument, but the Force is what makes it come alive and sing."
As I left the training hall, the lessons still echoed in my mind. Makashi wasn't just a fighting style—it was a philosophy that required discipline, precision, and humility. I made sure to always remember that.