Time flowed differently beneath the Great Temple now. Kai's days were marked not by schedules or commands, but by the rhythm of meditation, exploration, and the slow unraveling of mysteries long buried beneath moss and stone.
The crystal he wore around his neck had changed.
Where once it was a dull, inert pearl, it now shimmered faintly with life. A swirl of soft reds and cool blues danced beneath its surface, neither color dominating—each gently feeding into the other, as though in dialogue. Kai had grown accustomed to its subtle warmth, its gentle hum in the Force. It was no longer just an object. It was an extension of something greater.
When he meditated with it, he felt clearer. Stronger.
The Force flowed through him more naturally, more deeply, as if the crystal served as a conduit, a tuning fork that brought his thoughts into harmony with the unseen energy around him. The jungle's breath, the echo of distant creatures, the pulse of the old stones—it all aligned when he centered himself with the crystal in hand.
It was during one such session, within the echoing quiet of the obelisk chamber, that Naga Sadow appeared again.
"You've bonded with it," the specter said, manifesting without the usual fanfare. His voice carried a note of intrigue, almost curiosity. "Interesting."
Kai opened his eyes, still seated, the crystal resting in his palm. "It's... different. I can feel something deeper when I meditate with it. It helps."
"Of course it does," Sadow said. He circled slowly, arms folded behind his back. "You've unknowingly begun to form a kyber connection. Not all kyber is shaped for the same purpose—but yours... was forged in trial. Violence. Challenge. It remembers."
"Remembers?" Kai looked down at the gem. "You mean it's sentient?"
"Not quite," Sadow replied. "But kyber is not inert. Through the Force, it can reflect, absorb, imprint. That crystal has witnessed battle—clashed with a creature whose strength shaped it. You have the ability to see that history. A rare talent."
Kai nodded slowly. "Psychometry. You mentioned it before."
"Indeed," Sadow said, his form sharpening with intensity. "It is more than mere memory reading. With practice, you can reach into the soul of an object, draw out its purpose, its echoes. For a crystal, it can reveal the path to truly align with it—and, in time, to construct a lightsaber of your own."
Kai's breath caught.
He'd considered the idea before, in fleeting moments. But hearing it spoken—especially by this figure of ancient power—made it real.
"How?" he asked.
Sadow raised a hand, and a vision bloomed in the air between them—schematics etched in light. A cylindrical form, a focusing chamber, power conduits. But beyond the mechanics, there was a spiritual diagram: alignment, harmony, the moment when crystal and wielder became one.
"You will need components," Sadow said. "Metal. Power cells. Focusing lenses. But none of it matters unless the crystal chooses you. Only then will the blade be more than a weapon—it will be an extension of your will."
Kai looked back down at the stone.
"It's not ready yet," he murmured.
"No," Sadow said. "But it is waking. As are you."
The specter faded again, leaving behind only the gentle swirl of red and blue in the crystal, and the quiet certainty that the time would come—when knowledge and choice would become action.
Until then, Kai trained. And waited. And listened.
The Force still had much to say.
Kai centered himself and let the Force pour gently into the gem. He didn't force anything—just let his awareness sink like water into its depths. The crystal responded.
The vision took hold.
He stood once more on a sun-scorched cliff, overlooking a canyon that stretched endlessly beneath twin suns. The roar of a monstrous beast echoed through the dust. A krayt dragon, its scales catching the harsh light, bellowed a challenge across the stone.
And there he was again—the Mandalorian.
Crimson and gold beskar armor glinted beneath the blazing sky. But this time, the vision was fuller, clearer. It wasn't just a memory—it was an echo, repeating the original event, but with more clarity, more detail. Where before there had been flickers, now there were textures: the crunch of sand under boots, the dry air cracking with each roar, the deep, rhythmic breath of a man steeling himself for battle.
The Mandalorian—silent, methodical—moved with purpose. Each step measured. Each feint and counterstrike felt not like improvisation, but instinct. A dance of survival, of precision, of control. He used the terrain, drew the dragon into a trap of its own momentum. It was brutal—but there was a strange grace to it.
The battle ended with a thunderous collapse. Dust settled.
And then the Mandalorian approached the carcass. Reaching into the beast's chest cavity, he withdrew a radiant pearl, still faintly aglow with energy. The kyber crystal. The same one Kai now held.
As the Mandalorian turned, he pulled off his helmet just for a moment.
Just long enough.
There was something in the way he looked out across the canyon—eyes burdened but resolute—that stirred something in Kai. The tilt of the brow, the set of the jaw, even the quiet way he breathed in the silence... it all felt strangely familiar. As though looking through time into a version of himself shaped by war and hardship.
The name rose, quiet and unbidden.
Gar Saxon.
The vision faded. Slowly, the canyon gave way to stone and shadow, to Kai's quiet chamber deep in the Yavin ruins. He blinked, breath held.
In his palm, the crystal glowed faintly, the swirl of red and blue deepening, almost shimmering as they bled together—not in conflict, but in resonance.
He stared at it for a long moment.
There was power in its past.
But more than that, there was purpose.
And perhaps, even, a legacy.