Timeframe: 34 BBY – Cain is now 6 years old
Setting: Jedi Temple – Main Training Arena, Upper Sparring Hall, Archives, Temple Cafeteria
It started as a whisper.
Initiates and Padawans across the Temple halls spoke of a boy with white hair and golden eyes, who never raised his voice but could quiet a conflict with a glance. A boy who meditated deeper than some Knights, who helped struggling Initiates without condescension, and who moved like the Force guided every step.
At first, it was novelty. Then… admiration.
Cain's reputation had spread—not because he sought attention, but because of how he made others feel. Seen. Heard. Stronger.
Master Dookan Yill heard it too, quietly proud but ever reserved. Selani Varn, now closer to Knighthood herself, often said, "You know they're calling him the White Flame, right?" Cain always rolled his eyes. But even he could feel the pressure rising.
Still, he trained hard. Hours on his own. Pushing, testing, analyzing everything he learned from Fay, Dookan, and Selani. He wasn't chasing perfection—he was chasing understanding.
Duel of Equals
The Bear Clan had grown stronger as a whole under Cain's influence. Seris, Barriss, and Derren were no longer seen as just "other Initiates"—they were a unit.
On a quiet afternoon in the Upper Sparring Hall, Cain and Seris faced off with training sabers. Their wooden hilts clicked softly, energy blades set to low stun.
Barriss sat nearby with Derren, offering subtle commentary.
"She's going for his shoulder next," Barriss said.
Derren snorted. "She always does that."
Cain stepped into a flowing stance—Makashi, with hints of Soresu. Seris took a more aggressive hybrid of Form I and Form III, striking in calculated bursts.
Their duel was elegant—measured, each reading the other's moves almost before they made them.
That's when he walked in.
Cin Drallig.
And beside him—Serra Keto, his Padawan, her training robes marked with light scuffs from her morning drills.
Their presence drew immediate silence.
Seris noticed first and pressed forward. Cain countered, disarmed her, then froze mid-motion as he sensed their attention.
Cin's voice echoed through the hall.
"You two move like you've been dancing together since birth."
Cain and Seris bowed immediately.
"Master Drallig," Cain said, breath even. "Padawan Keto."
Cin smiled faintly. "We've heard much about the 'Golden-Eyed Initiate.' I came to see for myself."
Serra tilted her head, smirking. "So this is him?"
A Lesson of Growth
Cin turned to Serra. "You've trained with Padawans and Knights. Let's see how you do against the rising Initiates."
Serra nodded and stepped into the ring.
First, she faced Seris. Their duel was sharp, intense, but Serra's experience won out within moments. She disarmed Seris mid-pivot and gave a respectful nod.
Next, she faced Cain.
Their blades touched once.
Twice.
On the third motion, Serra spun, feinted, and swept Cain's legs. He hit the mat with a thud—hard, but controlled.
He coughed, then laughed, laying there for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
"…I needed that."
Cin chuckled. "Many do."
Cain sat up, golden eyes focused. "May I ask something, Master?"
"Of course."
"Will you spar with me?"
A pause. Serra blinked. Seris raised an eyebrow. Even Selani—watching from the entryway—smiled.
Cin Drallig walked calmly to the center of the ring.
"Very well. Come, young flame."
The Flame is Tested
Cain took a moment to ground himself. He breathed deep into his core, rea into the Force. He moved through Makashi, trying to flow into Form V's strength—a style he'd studied but never truly used in combat.
Cin didn't draw a saber.
He ignited the training saber, humming a soft blue.
"Whenever you're ready."
Cain moved first.
He struck high, low, spun, and adjusted his footwork as the duel extended—each move learned from a year of study and improvisation.
Cin didn't press. He danced—smooth, minimal, fluid. His blade deflected Cain's efforts like water slipping off stone.
Cain tried to anticipate a rhythm. There wasn't one.
Cin moved as the Force itself.
Finally, Cain overcommitted on a mid-level thrust, and Cin stepped inside his guard—one clean strike tapped Cain's chest.
Match over.
But Cin didn't step back.
"You move well. You adapt. But you're still trying to win."
Cain, catching his breath, nodded slowly.
Cin knelt beside him. "Stop trying to win. Start trying to understand. The blade is not your purpose. The Force is."
Cain met his gaze. "I want to protect people."
"Then master yourself first."
Cain bowed deeply.
Sharing the Flame
That evening, Cain replayed the duel in his mind over and over. He wasn't upset—he was awakened.
Later, in a private training chamber, he stood with his friends—Seris, Barriss, Derren, and a few other Initiates.
He recreated Cin's footwork.
He broke down Serra's feint and sweep.
He walked them through how to feel the moment of overextension—how to listen to the Force mid-combat.
Seris, now more comfortable growing with him, added her own insights from the duel.
Derren laughed and said, "If you and Seris get any better, you'll both be on the Council before puberty."
They all laughed.
But Barriss simply smiled, quietly sensing something in Cain none of them said aloud.
He wasn't chasing power. He was becoming it.