"Careful," the masked man dodged the yellow lightsaber with ease. "Watch your footwork."
No matter how hard Sev'rance tried, she couldn't land a single hit on her master. Every strike simply sliced through empty air. Feints and tricks did nothing. Sev'rance tried to anticipate Hassan's movements—and she did succeed, partially—but while she predicted one move of his, it felt like he predicted three of hers. It was like playing chess against an AI that could see all your future moves. The yellow saber passed just a hair's breadth from his cracked mask.
After the miss, Tann continued the attack, thrusting her hand forward while leaping back. The Force Push helped her gain distance and should've caused some damage—yet Hassan merely brushed away the weak gust that barely ruffled his sleek black cloak. Cheesecake pursed her lips. In the reflection of his mask, she saw her own face, tense and furious, with a hint of panic. How was this possible? Why couldn't she make him fight seriously? Even Dooku had to push himself during a duel with his former apprentice—at any moment, she could've trimmed his beard.
But Hassan? Hassan seemed utterly relaxed—serene, even. As if he wasn't fighting a skilled Sith with Jedi lives on her hands, but a clumsy youngling who'd just picked up a saber for the first time. This infuriated her. It scared her. She had no idea how to approach him, no idea how to even make him sweat. He clearly didn't see her as a threat—at least not yet.
Don't retreat. This is a training match. Be bold.
Understood.
Sev'rance gripped her saber tighter and charged in! This time, Hassan blocked the strike with his own black-forged blade—not out of necessity, but seemingly just for fun. Sev'rance realized this. She wasn't deluded.
"Watch your footwork," he repeated.
Whose footwork? Hers, obviously! His feet were barely visible under his cloak. When they did appear, it was only to kick. But what was wrong with her footwork? She used Makashi—the same form as Count Dooku. Makashi was designed specifically for saber-to-saber combat, making it ideal against Jedi. It had only failed her once… or rather, it kept failing her against Hassan. Of course, no form was perfect; otherwise, the Force users wouldn't have created six more.
"Watch your footwork," Hassan said again, deflecting another elegant Makashi strike.
Sev'rance didn't understand what he meant. She was using the classic stance of Form II flawlessly. Even Count Dooku wouldn't have found fault with it! But Hassan kept repeating his warning about her feet... Suddenly, he vanished from her field of view, ducking low to let the yellow blade swing over his head. Before Cheesecake could react, he swept both her legs from under her—and just as she tried to roll midair and break her fall with a hand, he delivered a brutal kick straight to her gut.
"Ugh…" She barely managed to tense her abs, reducing the impact.
But she couldn't soften the landing on her back after the short flight. Her stomach throbbed, but it was only a tickle compared to what he'd put her through in the early days. Hassan was clearly holding back, sticking within the bounds of a training match. Still, the acolyte's pride was bruised. Sev'rance had failed to spot the opening in time, and now she lay coughing in the ever-golden sands of Tatooine.
"I told you to watch your footwork," Hassan said, tucking his twin blades back under his cloak—marking the end of the session.
"Forgive me, Master," the apprentice quickly gathered herself and knelt. "I didn't think my stance was that vulnerable."
"Makashi's stance isn't bad, but some of its strikes leave your legs wide open. It's not easy to notice at first—just keep it in mind."
"Yes, Master," she replied meekly.
"Come on," Hassan beckoned, "time for breakfast."
Sev'rance stood, torn between emotions. Her hand clenched around her saber. Most likely, Hassan had completely adapted to Form II—allowing him to dodge her lethal strikes with his eyes closed. His own battle experience and her commitment to a single style made her all too predictable.
In simple terms: he read her like an open book.
She clipped the deactivated hilt to her belt… then said:
"That's enough for today."
Before her stood a small, foggy silhouette. One might think Sev'rance would be surprised—especially by the new metallic interior around her. Wherever she was now, it wasn't the Tatooine desert anymore. It was likely a ship.
Yet everything felt right. Her brain and eyes accepted it—welcomed it. The misty figure in front of her didn't raise a single question. On the contrary… it was an ally? No… more than that.
"You may go," the child-shaped silhouette said, walking away from the training room.
Sev'rance turned and approached a table. Her hand instinctively unclipped the saber and laid it down beside two other items: a combat helmet—not Mandalorian, and certainly not Republic clone gear, but still strong enough to take a small-caliber blaster shot. That's all she needed. The second item was a holographic photo, its image fuzzy and unclear.
Somewhere deep in her mind, a strange but familiar feeling flickered. Her heart pounded. She had seen these objects before—except for the saber. Or… maybe she would see them? No. She was here now. Her mind dismissed the thoughts.
Doubt faded. What mattered most were the footsteps behind her—heavy ones, not like the misty child's. Someone who wasn't afraid of her. Someone she feared. Or should fear. But for some reason… she didn't. A reason that didn't matter right now—because everything felt right.
"Are you done?"
She didn't hear his voice, but his words entered her mind clearly, bypassing her ears. No tone, no pitch—just raw understanding. She already knew who was behind her. She should turn and answer respectfully… but the three objects before her held her gaze. Her hands, guided by a deep impulse, reached out. There was no discomfort. In fact, there was no compulsion at all—she wanted to take one.
Her fingers glided over the photo frame. The image was still blurry, but that didn't bother Tann. It was as it should be. She touched the helmet next. It looked both new and worn, as odd as that sounded. But it wasn't odd—it was right. Finally, Cheesecake stroked the saber's hilt. Her anchor. Her shield. A Jedi's saber is like a spouse.
But she picked up the helmet. Her hands trembled. Goosebumps ran down her back—joy and euphoria surged, as if she'd touched a historical relic. The helmet became just as vital to her as the saber. Her fingers remembered its curves—suggesting something... Something she let slip away.
"Still can't let go of that helmet, huh?" Sev'rance turned to the voice and saw Darth Hassan, clad in his signature cracked glass mask and cloak, hiding armor beneath. "Still feeling nostalgic?" he asked, standing beside her like a mentor more than a master.
"Yeah… maybe," she sighed, her heart racing again, only to go still. "Looking back… my life's like a rollercoaster." A flood of memories flashed through her mind, none staying long enough to hold onto. She remembered her past—but didn't feel it.
"Remember when we ran into your ex?"
"Vandalor," she smiled faintly. "Of course. I was really surprised to see him."
"But you were glad he came for you, weren't you?" Even though she stared at the helmet in her hands, she could feel Hassan's eyes on her. He expected an answer.
"Maybe…" she said uncertainly. "A little…" she added, lost in thought.
"Look at me." Cheesecake looked up, confused. Something clicked. Maybe she realized she wasn't on Tatooine anymore. Or maybe she was surprised by her own reply—something long buried but now set free.
"Now you understand? Relationships—whether friendly, mentor-student, or romantic—can't be built on violence or fear. You can start them that way, but if you keep that up… sooner or later, you'll get stabbed in the back. I'm not telling you to trust everyone. Not everyone deserves it. But that doesn't mean no one does. If you close your heart completely, you'll be alone. And loneliness is the worst companion of all. Do you understand?"
"I… kh…" A sudden pain shot through her head like a nail. She winced. "I… understand…" She opened her eyes—and saw the dark ceiling of a hotel room.
"You slept poorly again," came his voice beside the bed. It wasn't Rafael's tone. It was the voice of a Sith Lord.
Drenched in sweat, Sev'rance turned her head and saw Hassan seated in a nearby chair, staring out at the Tatooine night sky. Her head throbbed, her clothes clung unpleasantly to her body, but she wouldn't complain. She wouldn't show weakness. The Sith and the Dark Side had no use for the weak—like Sha'ala Donita.
"I'm fine. Don't worry about me."
"You look awful," he said without turning, "but if you say you're fine, then fine..." Sev'rance turned to face the wall. Her heart pounded like she'd just run a marathon. The adrenaline had banished sleep, but her eyelids felt like they were filled with lead. She wanted to sleep—desperately—but couldn't. And the headache made everything worse. But the real source of her pain wasn't insomnia.
Her mind replayed fragments of something strange—a dream? She couldn't recall the plot, but she knew it intimately, like something buried in her subconscious.
"Have a little more faith in your teacher," came the quiet male voice again.
Chills ran down her spine. Her eyes widened. His words reminded her of something—something she'd forgotten, but her heart remembered. With a sigh, Sev'rance pressed her forehead to the wall and spoke, led by impulse:
"I'm just… tired…" Three simple words cut away at the chains clinging to her shadow-worn heart. "Mentally… exhausted…" And it helped. So much that she fell asleep instantly.
"Rest, Sev'rance," Hassan said, watching his sleeping apprentice. "I hope our lessons weren't in vain." Then he turned back to the night sky.
Friends, soon I will start posting a lot of chapters here. Today, a larger number of new chapters will be available on Patreon, so if you don't want to wait, you can follow this link — patreon.com/UniverseButter new chapters will start appearing there very soon. Thanks for your support and patience!