aerial
Infatti chissà da chi ho preso spunto per questo pezzo di storia star-warsiana
Absolutely! Here’s a richly detailed, thoughtful, and lightly ironic meditation sequence, as Tarin seeks answers in the Force:
In the Shadows of the Ship: Meditation and Memory
After the chaos and heartbreak of Black Maw, the old ship was a cocoon of silence and flickering hyperspace light. Tarin sat on the narrow bunk, legs folded, palms up, lightsaber resting cold and heavy in his lap. His friends kept respectfully away—though Drelos occasionally peeked in, no doubt curious if Jedi meditation ever resulted in snacks.
Tarin closed his eyes and reached for the Force. At first, there was only static—his own shame, fear, and the image of Rina’s scarred face, those yellow-tinged eyes that no longer belonged to the friend he’d once dreamed of saving the galaxy with.
Why? he pleaded in the silent spaces between thoughts. How did you lose yourself, Rina? What did I miss?
The Force answered as it always did—not with facts or words, but with memory, half-formed, urgent, and aching.
A Lesson from the Past
Suddenly, Tarin was back in the sunlit dojo of the Jedi Temple. The air smelled faintly of wood polish and dust, and Master Jalen stood before him, lightsaber already ignited, adopting a pose so grand, so stately, that even the ancient statues seemed to nod in approval.
To Tarin’s young eyes, it was the pose of a legend—a true Jedi Knight, not just a teacher who always found stray crumbs in his beard.
Jalen smiled, one eyebrow arched, “Ready, Tarin?”
Tarin lifted his training blade, nervously echoing the same posture. He always did. In every duel, he imitated Jalen’s stance, hoping some of that gravitas might transfer through sheer willpower.
They circled each other, blades humming quietly. Tarin lunged, trying a trick he’d seen Rina use—only to be effortlessly disarmed, his blade spinning away with a dramatic clatter.
He groaned, sitting hard on the mat. “I lose every time, Master. I don’t even know why you do that whole ‘great warrior’ thing. You could win with your eyes closed.”
Jalen lowered his weapon, face kind but not patronizing. “I like to keep the forms alive. And besides, you’re getting better.”
Tarin huffed, thinking about the playful duels with Rina, and the times he sparred (and usually lost) with the Wookiee padawans in the garden.
His Master caught the flicker of guilt. “Who else do you train with, Tarin?”
Tarin swallowed, thinking fast. “Oh, um—just the Wookiees. You know, those two in the initiates’ group. They’re… very strong.”
Jalen nodded, as if considering something profound. “Ah, yes. They have an advantage you don’t.”
“Because they’re twice my size?”
Jalen chuckled, shaking his head. “No, because they’ve taken a step you haven’t. That’s why you find these matches difficult.”
Tarin pretended to understand, giving his most serious Padawan nod. “It’s… hard, Master.”
Jalen glanced out the high windows, voice gentle. “Think how hard it was for them, Tarin. They didn’t understand Basic when they arrived. Imagine trying to learn the Force—our rules, our lessons—when the words themselves are foreign. And yet, here they are, learning and growing. Sometimes, the hardest part is letting go of what you think you know.”
