Chapter Two: The Path of Three
The sky over Coruscant was still dark when the training began.
In the quiet stillness of the Jedi Temple's upper levels—beyond the meditation gardens, beyond the sparring rings—Master Martus Kael Vorran stood before his new apprentice. Not just a boy, not just a former slave—Anakin Skywalker, the storm whispered by prophecy.
Barefoot and wrapped in simple training robes, Anakin looked around, eyes wide. There were no Jedi instructors, no training droids, no rigid forms being practiced in rows. Just him. And the Earthborn.
Martus stood with arms behind his back, the rising sun outlining his frame. He was unlike any Jedi Anakin had met. Muscular. Centered. Calm, but not cold. A storm tamed, not silenced.
"This won't be like Temple training," Martus began, his voice like low thunder. "Most Jedi teach you to listen to the Force. The Sith teach you to command it. But neither understand it."
He paused and turned to face the boy directly.
"Because the Force isn't just something you use. It's a mirror. And if you are weak in mind, body, or spirit… your connection will reflect that weakness."
Anakin shifted slightly. "So what are we doing?"
"We're going to forge the whole of you," Martus said. "Mind. Body. Spirit. That is the path of the Grey."
He stepped forward.
"Your mind must be sharp. Not just quick—but focused. You'll learn to control your thoughts before they control you. We'll build mental shields so strong that no manipulator—no Sith—can tear them down."
He led Anakin to a meditation mat near the open balcony. The breeze stirred softly.
"Sit. Close your eyes."
Anakin obeyed, settling onto the mat.
Martus joined him. "The Force is loud. But so is fear. So is pain. And the galaxy will throw both at you. You must learn to be the silence inside the noise."
They meditated until the city's noise faded into wind.
In time, Anakin learned to build his fortress. Walls. Doors. Quiet corridors of focus. His mind, once a scattered desert storm, began to find peace.
Then came the body.
"You're nine," Martus said one morning. "Still growing. That means we start small—but start right."
They trained at dawn. Light resistance. Controlled motions. Weight training with tools no heavier than a podracer component. Agility, form, and balance. Every step patterned after Earth's greatest warriors.
One morning, Martus activated his holo-phone and showed Anakin a flickering blue projection of a man in motion.
Fast. Fluid. Fierce.
His muscles rippled with grace, not bulk. His strikes were like lightning. His stillness, like stone.
"Who is that?" Anakin asked, eyes wide.
"Bruce Lee," Martus said, reverently. "On Earth, he was one of our greatest martial artists. Maybe the greatest to ever live. He didn't fight for violence—he fought to understand himself. That's the goal. Not just to win battles. But to master who you are."
Anakin stared at the figure in awe. "Can I be like that?"
Martus met his gaze. "You will be."
Weeks passed. Training evolved.
In the evenings, they worked on the Force. Not just lifting rocks—listening. Not wanting. Knowing.
"Feel, Anakin," Martus would say. "But don't just feel. Understand."
Soon, the boy could lift not just pebbles, but stone columns. He could sense the shift in emotions across a room, feel people entering a chamber before they knocked.
One day during meditation, Anakin opened his eyes a second before a knock tapped softly on the door.
"Someone's here," he said.
Martus smiled.
"You're listening now. Truly listening."
Over two months, the change was profound. The skittish child who had arrived from Tatooine was fading, replaced by something stronger. Focused. Grounded.
And then—on the sixty-fifth morning—Martus stood across from Anakin in the courtyard, watching him perform a silent kata beneath the rising sun.
He was ready.
"You've grown," Martus said. "Faster than most ever do."
Anakin paused, catching his breath. "You've pushed me."
"And you didn't break," Martus replied. He stepped forward, eyes locked with his Padawan's. "Your mind is strong. Your body is steady. Your spirit… unshaken."
He let the words settle.
"Which is why," he said, lowering his voice, "it's time."
Anakin blinked. "Time for what?"
Martus didn't need to say it. But he did.
"It's time to save your mother."
The words struck like a bolt of lightning.
Anakin froze. The breath caught in his chest. "You mean… we're going to Tatooine?"
Martus nodded once.
"Not just to free her. To end that chapter of pain. To ensure no one can ever chain her—or you—again. Not while we draw breath."
Tears welled at the corners of Anakin's eyes, but he blinked them away.
"I'm ready," he whispered.
Martus turned, cloak flowing behind him as he walked toward the hangar bay.
"I know you are."