Timeframe: Late 33 BBY
Setting: Jedi Temple – Meditation Halls, Outer Training Circle, Archives
Cruel Whispers
Anakin sat alone at the edge of the training field, rolling a small metal part between his fingers—something he'd taken apart earlier, a sensor node from a dummy saber.
The other Initiates were sparring. Laughing. Some too loud.
"He's lucky he even got in."
"Isn't his mom still a slave?"
"He probably cries about her at night."
"I heard he's dangerous. That's why Master Windu keeps watching him."
Cain, Seris, Barriss, and Derren heard the whispers from across the field.
Barriss's brow furrowed. Seris looked confused.
"I see the Jedi failed to teach empathy like always." Cain thought.
Cain immediately stood.
Anakin's fingers clenched the node until it sparked. He stood suddenly, eyes bright and wounded, walking toward the Initiates—quiet, but furious.
"You think I'm weak?" he said coldly.
Several of the Initiates flinched. One stepped back.
Anakin raised his hand—and a nearby boulder, twice his size, lifted into the air with a scream of tension in the Force. Dust rippled beneath it. His teeth clenched.
"Still think I don't belong here?"
The group stared, speechless. Even Derren and Barriss were shocked.
Cain moved.
Fast.
He stepped beside Anakin, calm but firm, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Put it down. Your better than this."
Anakin's jaw tightened. "They don't get it—"
"I know. But showing off proves them right."
Cain's hand didn't push. It grounded. Gently. Like gravity in skin.
Anakin lowered the rock. It hit the earth with a soft thud. His chest heaved.
Cain turned to the others. His voice was low, sharp.
"You mock him for having a mother. But what you're really mocking is something you don't understand."
One Initiate—older, maybe ten—sneered. "We're not supposed to have attachments."
Cain's golden eyes flared. "No. We're not supposed to let attachments control us. But cutting them off? Pretending we don't feel anything? That's not strength. That's fear."
The courtyard was silent.
A Tense Reflection
Later that night, in the lower meditation chamber, Seris approached Cain, who sat with his legs crossed, breathing slowly beneath a hanging light crystal.
"You shouldn't have defended him like that," she said, arms crossed. "He almost lost control."
Cain opened his eyes. "He did lose control."
"Then why protect him?"
"Because the rest of them were making it worse."
Seris frowned. "He should let it go. That's what we're taught. Peace. Detachment. Why is he still clinging to something that hurts him?"
Cain took a long breath. His voice was soft, tired.
"Because he still loves her."
Seris shook her head. "But why? If he let go, it wouldn't hurt anymore."
Cain looked up at her with a sad smile.
"Because it's not that easy. It's never that easy."
She blinked, confused.
Cain stood slowly, walking toward the shallow pool in the center of the chamber.
"You and I… we grew up in the Temple. We were raised without parents. Without families. We were never taught to hold onto anything."
He glanced over his shoulder. "But he had it. A mother who held him. Fed him. Sacrificed everything for him."
Seris was quiet.
Cain turned fully, his voice steady now.
"Letting go is easy when you've never had anything to hold."
A Story the Masters Don't Tell
Barriss and Derren entered quietly, sensing the tension. Cain motioned for them to sit. Seris remained standing, arms tight across her chest.
Seris hesitated. Then: "You talk like you know better than Masters who've lived for decades."
Cain tilted his head.
"No," he said. "But I know they've forgotten something."
He looked up at the dim ceiling.
"Have any of you ever heard the full story of Nomi Sunrider?"
Barriss blinked. "Only pieces. She helped end the Great Sith War."
Cain nodded. "She was a Jedi Knight. Strong. Wise. But she didn't start that way. She was a mother. A wife. And when her husband was murdered, she took up his saber and protected her daughter. Her grief was real. Her love—real."
Seris softened, listening.
"And she didn't run from it. She learned how to wield it. How to balance it. The Council feared she was too attached. But she became one of the greatest Jedi and Grandmaster's of the order in history because she felt so deeply."
Cain paced slowly.
"Or the Qel-Droma brothers. Ulic was a Jedi Knight who fell to the dark side—but not because he hated. Because he thought he had to sacrifice everything to stop the Sith."
Barriss looked up, curious. "And Cay?"
"His brother. A Jedi. When Ulic killed him, he fell to his knees—because Cay never stopped believing he could come back."
Cain turned to the group.
"You're told the Jedi always let go. But the ones who mattered most? They held on. They just didn't let it consume them."
The Shift
No one spoke for a long while.
Seris looked away. Barriss looked deeper. Derren just whispered, "Where did you even learn that?"
Cain smiled faintly. "I read more than the Temple lets us see."
A pause.
And then Seris—quietly, almost ashamed—asked:
"…Do you think we've been learning the wrong way?"
Cain shook his head. "No. I think we've been learning half the truth."
He looked to the stars beyond the balcony window.
"And I think it's time we remember the rest."