My vision is hazy, the edges of the world around me shifting, like I''m looking through a fogged window. Colors blend together—browns, whites—swirling in a disorienting sea that makes my heart race. I blink, squinting hard, trying to make sense of what''s happening. Nothing is clear. My mind feels like it''s swimming through thick, murky water.


    "Llamiryl, what''s going on?" My voice comes out shaky, betraying the unease building inside me.


    "Ryu is coming to," Llamiryl replies, her voice steady, though there''s a note of concern she doesn''t bother hiding.


    Before I can respond, the blurred world around me snaps into sharp focus, and I find myself standing inside a small, secluded cabin. The warmth hits me first—stifling, almost suffocating, like the air is too thick. The heavy scent of wood smoke clings to everything, filling my lungs. My eyes dart around the room, trying to take in the details all at once.


    There''s a bed in the corner, roughly made, with a worn blanket thrown over it. It looks like it''s seen better days. Shelves line the walls, cluttered with jars filled with dried herbs, strange powders, and ancient books, their covers worn and cracked. In the center of the room, a dying fire crackles beneath a blackened cooking pit, the flames weak and low. A cauldron hangs from chains, swaying ever so slightly as if it''s been recently disturbed.


    I swallow hard, my eyes catching on something near the doorway. Bird-like creatures, strung up by their necks, hang against the wall. It makes my skin crawl, adding a dark layer to the already unsettling atmosphere. A wooden table stands in the middle of the room, scattered with tools, a half-carved piece of wood, and a single oil lamp flickering weakly, casting long, distorted shadows across the space.


    Everything feels... wrong. It''s too quiet. Too still. My pulse quickens, my unease growing with every breath.


    Then I sense movement out of the corner of my eye. Slowly, cautiously, I turn my head, and there he is—Ryu. But not the Ryu I know. The armor, the mask, the cold, untouchable presence—gone. Instead, he''s lying in the bed, half-covered by the worn blanket. His face, uncovered for the first time since I''ve known him, is exposed.


    I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. He''s younger—eighteen, maybe—but that hard edge, the weight of everything he''s been through, it''s still there, even if softened by his youth. His dark hair is a mess, tousled and falling over his forehead. His jaw is sharp, his features defined, but there are faint scars—scars that speak of battles already fought, pain already endured. His skin is pale, almost sickly, under the dim light.


    Something tugs at my chest, a sharp ache. This is Ryu after the weight of everything crushed him, after his master''s chains bound him so tightly. Yet, there''s an innocence here, in his face—an innocence I didn''t expect, and it hurts to see it.


    I stand there, my heart heavy, watching him. He looks so fragile. So human.


    I wasn''t prepared for this.


    My gaze shifts from Ryu''s face down to his chest, the bandages wrapping tightly over where he had been slashed. The memory flashes vividly in my mind—his master''s blade cutting deep across his chest, the way he had collapsed, how powerless I had felt watching him fall. I bite my lip, trying to push the image away, but I feel the sting of worry gnawing at me. Nikko must sense it too. She''s quiet beside me, her little face scrunched up in concern, though I see a glimmer of relief in her eyes. He''s still breathing, he''s still here.


    My eyes are fixed on Ryu''s bandaged chest, the wound from his master''s blade still fresh in my mind. The gash runs deep, and I can still hear the awful sound of the strike—still feel the helplessness I felt watching him fall. Nikko notices too; I can sense her tension beside me, a mix of worry and relief on her face. He''s alive, but... broken.


    I glance at the chair by the bed, where his armor lies neatly folded. His lightsaber—its hilt dark and worn—is resting next to the familiar mask. The blade that hums with a brilliant yellow glow, the weapon of the man I know. Yet, looking at him now, I wonder who he is without it.


    Ryu stirs, a low groan escaping him as he tries to rise. His movements are slow, strained, every motion a battle against the pain in his chest. His hand moves to the bandages, pressing lightly, as if testing the wound. His eyes, dark and sharp, dart around the room, trying to orient himself in the unfamiliar surroundings.


    The door creaks open, and I instinctively look toward it. The fresh scent of mountain air rushes in, cool and crisp. Beyond the door, snow-capped mountains rise in the distance, surrounding a green field that stretches out, bordered by dense forests. The sight is beautiful, untouched by the chaos we''ve been through. But my gaze snaps back to the figure entering the room—the old man.


    It''s him. The same old man Ryu encountered on Dagobah.


    Ryu''s reaction is immediate. Despite the agony he''s clearly in, he throws his legs off the bed and stands, unsteady but determined. His torso is bare, bandaged, and scarred, but his hand reaches out, summoning his lightsaber with a flick of his fingers. The hilt flies into his grasp, and with a snap-hiss, the yellow blade ignites, casting a golden light that dances across the walls.


    But I can see how much he''s struggling. His breathing is shallow, his movements sluggish. He clutches his chest with one hand, the other holding the lightsaber in a shaky grip, its brilliant glow betraying the fragility of the man wielding it.


    The old man, however, remains unfazed. He chuckles softly, closing the door behind him as if nothing were amiss. His calm demeanor contrasts sharply with the tension in the room. "You''re finally awake," he says, his voice rich with quiet authority, the kind that makes you listen.


    Ryu''s breath hitches, but he keeps the lightsaber raised, though his grip wavers. I can feel the weight of his exhaustion, how his body is begging him to stop, to rest. But he won''t. He can''t.


    The old man steps forward, carrying a small sack over his shoulder. He moves to the table, placing the sack down, and it slumps to the side, spilling out strange vegetables I''ve never seen before. They roll across the wooden surface, their alien colors and shapes only adding to the oddity of the scene.


    "You''re in no danger," the old man says calmly, turning to face Ryu. His staff rests easily in his hand, a simple, unassuming object, yet something about the way he holds it commands respect. "If I wanted you dead, I would have left you in that ravine."


    Ryu hesitates. His eyes narrow, but the strain is clear. Slowly, with visible reluctance, the yellow blade retracts, and the room falls into a tense silence. He collapses back onto the bed, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. The fight has drained him.


    "Who are you?" Ryu gasps, barely able to force the words out. "Why did you save me?"


    The old man shakes his head, as if the question itself is unnecessary. "Because you were dying," he says simply. "And I wasn''t going to just leave you there."


    "But how?" Ryu presses, his voice strained with effort. "How did you find me?"


    "The Force guided me," the old man replies, his tone almost casual. "It brought me to you, and I brought you here."


    Ryu winces, his body shifting uncomfortably. "Where''s here?" he asks, his voice hoarse.


    "Alderaan," the old man answers, watching Ryu carefully.


    "Alderaan?" Ryu repeats, disbelief creeping into his voice. "Why... why here?"


    The old man moves to the fire, kneeling before the dying embers. He blows gently, coaxing the flames back to life, the fire crackling softly. "Because it''s far from the reach of the Sith Empire," he says quietly, his voice steady and full of certainty. He grabs a water pouch, pouring its contents into the cauldron hanging over the flames. Then, he begins to pull jars from the shelf, selecting various herbs, and tossing them into the simmering water.


    Ryu watches, silent now, but his eyes never leave the old man''s movements. I can see the wheels turning in his mind, the tension still simmering beneath the surface.


    Without warning, Ryu forces himself to stand. His movements are slow, labored, but the determination on his face is unmistakable. "Thank you," he says, though the gratitude sounds hollow. "But I have to go."


    The old man doesn''t react immediately. He continues stirring the contents of the cauldron, his posture calm and unbothered. "You seriously want to leave?" he asks, his voice now stern, like a father scolding a wayward child. He turns to face Ryu fully, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "Why?"


    Ryu''s eyes flash with anger. "You wouldn''t understand, old man," he snaps, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "I have to."


    "Oh, I understand far better than you think," the old man replies, his tone unyielding, but not unkind. "You''ve finally realized that your entire life... you were nothing more than an accessory."


    Ryu''s expression hardens. His hand tightens around the hilt of his lightsaber, though he doesn''t ignite it. "The hell do you know?" he snarls, his voice rising with every word. "You don''t know me! You don''t know what I had to do for him!"


    The old man''s eyes soften, but his posture remains steady. "I know more than you realize," he says quietly. His gaze shifts to Ryu''s bandaged chest, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he gestures toward it. "Look at what your reckless behavior has already cost you."


    Ryu freezes, his eyes dropping to the bandages as if seeing them for the first time. His breath catches, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. The fire in his eyes flickers, and for a moment, I think I see something else there—guilt.


    "You fight and fight," the old man continues, his voice heavy with the weight of wisdom. "But fighting is not the answer. You''re not thinking rationally. You''re acting on emotion, on anger. And that is a dangerous path."


    Ryu''s jaw tightens, but he doesn''t speak. His hands tremble, the weight of his own words hanging in the air.


    The old man takes a step closer, his voice low but firm. "I can see the guilt you carry. It clings to you like a shadow, pulling you down, making you believe that fighting your master will break the chains that bind you."


    Ryu''s eyes snap back to the old man, but he doesn''t interrupt. There''s something in the old man''s tone that demands attention, something ancient and knowing.


    "But confronting him will not truly set you free," the old man says, his gaze piercing. "You may defeat him, but the chains are not his. They are yours. They are forged from your fear, your anger, your regret. You carry them with you, wherever you go. Until you confront that, no victory against him will ever bring you peace."


    Ryu''s shoulders slump, the tension draining from his body. His grip on his lightsaber loosens, and for the first time, I see the weight of it all—the pain, the anger, the guilt—truly bear down on him.


    The old man''s voice softens, but it remains steady. "You must find the strength to let go. Not of the fight, but of the need to fight. Only then will you be free."Stolen novel; please report.


    Ryu''s eyes fall to the ground, his breath shaky, as if the truth of those words is sinking in, cutting deeper than any blade ever could.


    Ryu''s arms fall to his sides, his shoulders slumping. His gaze drifts between contemplation and something more—something lost. He turns to the old man, searching for answers he''s not sure he''ll find.


    "Then what am I supposed to do?" His voice is low, filled with a mix of frustration and defeat. "Run?"


    The old man shrugs casually. "You could."


    "Become stronger, confront him again?"


    "You could do that too," the old man replies, his tone unchanged.


    "Go to the Jedi?" Ryu asks, a flicker of desperation creeping into his words.


    "That too," the old man says, shrugging once more, as if the possibilities were endless.


    Each answer seems to frustrate Ryu further, his jaw tightening. He clenches his fists, trying to make sense of the old man''s casual responses. "You seem wise, old man... What the hell am I supposed to do, then?"


    The old man remains calm, his voice steady and unshaken. "That is not up to me," he says, meeting Ryu''s eyes with quiet certainty. "That is up to you."


    Ryu stares at him, his resolve wavering. "I... I don''t know what to do," he admits, the words coming out heavier than before, his voice tinged with defeat. The weight of everything seems to press down on him in that moment, threatening to crush him.


    The old man''s face softens, and with a faint smile, he gestures toward the cauldron. "How about some tea?"


    Ryu looks at him, confused by the sudden change in topic, but the old man moves with purpose. He approaches the cauldron, lifting the lid, the steam rising as the liquid inside boils. "Always helps me when I''m lost and can''t decide," he says, his voice carrying a hint of warmth, like the crackling fire.


    I watch as he moves to a shelf, retrieving a ladle and two simple clay cups. His movements are deliberate, unhurried, like there''s all the time in the world. He ladles the boiling liquid into the cups, offering one to Ryu with an outstretched hand.


    Ryu hesitates, his eyes lingering on the steaming cup, but with a long, weary sigh, he accepts it.


    "Let''s go outside," the old man suggests, already making his way to the door. He opens it with a gentle push, stepping outside with his cup in one hand and his staff in the other.


    ?????


    Ryu follows, though his steps are slow, each one a visible effort. His pain is clear in the way he moves, his body still bearing the weight of his injuries. I can''t help but feel the tight knot of worry in my chest as I watch him.


    I follow them out, stepping into the light—and my breath catches.


    Alderaan is... breathtaking.


    The air is fresh, crisp, and filled with the scent of pine and wildflowers. The land stretches out in front of me, endless and untouched, like something from a dream. Snow-capped mountains rise majestically in the distance, their peaks glowing in the soft light of the afternoon sun. The green fields below roll out like waves of velvet, dotted with patches of wildflowers that sway gently in the breeze. A thick forest lines the horizon, its trees tall and ancient, casting long shadows across the valley.


    But it''s the city that captures my attention—a gleaming marvel that seems to defy everything I''ve ever known.


    In the distance, nestled against the mountainside, is a city unlike anything I''ve ever seen. Its towers rise high, their surfaces gleaming in the sunlight, made of metals and materials that look foreign to me, their sleek, smooth designs utterly unlike the stone buildings and wooden structures of my home. Massive bridges arch between the towers, connecting them like veins in some great living organism. The buildings are layered, rising higher and higher, their bases surrounded by flowing rivers and greenery that blend seamlessly with the architecture.


    A starship glides silently overhead, its metallic hull reflecting the sun as it passes by. Its massive form dwarfs anything I''ve ever seen, moving gracefully through the sky like a bird of prey. The hum of its engines vibrates through the air, and I find myself staring, entranced by its smooth flight.


    I''ve never seen anything like this. The city, the ship, the vastness of the world around me—it''s all so alien, so beyond anything I could have imagined. My heart races as I take it all in, a strange mix of awe and disbelief washing over me.


    The old man takes a few steps forward, his movements slow and deliberate. He lowers himself onto the ground with practiced ease, setting his staff gently beside him. Ryu, still moving gingerly, follows suit, though every motion seems to bring him pain. He sits beside the old man, his gaze lingering on the scenery before him, his yellow eyes clouded with thoughts I can''t quite grasp.


    The old man takes a sip from his cup, his eyes fixed on the mountains, as though the vastness of the world is something he''s come to understand.


    Ryu lifts the cup to his lips, and for the first time since he woke, there''s a flicker of calm in his eyes as he takes a sip. His shoulders relax, if only slightly, and he seems to appreciate the taste. I can''t help but feel a twinge of surprise. The tea... it seems to taste actually good. I didn''t expect a blind man to be able to brew something so... well, decent. Maybe it''s the warmth, the simplicity of the moment, but I see Ryu''s tension ease, if only for a breath.


    The old man, meanwhile, remains silent. He sits with his legs crossed, his staff laid carefully beside him. His movements are deliberate, measured. Every so often, he brings the clay cup to his lips, taking slow, deliberate sips, his blind eyes gazing out toward the mountains and the city in the distance. There''s something peaceful in his silence, like the world could fall apart around him and he wouldn''t be disturbed.


    Ryu, though, is different. The stillness seems to grate on him. He shifts restlessly, his fingers tapping lightly against the side of his cup. I know that look—he''s searching for something, some direction, some answer. But the old man doesn''t offer any, and that seems to frustrate Ryu even more.


    ?????


    Finally, after what feels like an eternity of silence, the old man speaks, his voice cutting through the quiet like a soft breeze. "Tell me," he says, his tone gentle but probing. "What is it you actually want to do?"


    Ryu hesitates, his brow furrowing as he stares down into the tea, swirling it slowly in the cup. "I... I don''t know," he admits, his voice quieter than usual, carrying a strange vulnerability I''m not used to hearing from him. "I never really had the luxury to make my own decisions before."


    The old man nods slowly, as if he expected that answer. "What do you do normally?" Ryu asks, his gaze flicking up to meet the old man''s.


    "Me?" The old man chuckles softly, his voice carrying a faint, nostalgic warmth. "I go wherever the Force takes me. I seek no riches, no fancy titles. I just... travel across the galaxy."


    Ryu''s lips curl into a slight, humorless smile. "Sounds boring."


    The old man doesn''t seem offended. He merely shrugs, taking another sip from his cup. "To some, yes. But to me, it''s a peaceful life. I have no master, no one to tell me what to do. I make my own choices."


    "Must be nice," Ryu mutters, his voice thick with a mix of bitterness and envy. His eyes drift from the old man to the vast, open world beyond. I can feel the weight of those words—what they mean to him. After everything he''s been through, after everything he''s lost, the idea of freedom must seem... impossible.


    "It really is," the old man replies, his voice steady, sincere. He turns his head slightly, though his gaze is still distant, lost in whatever he''s sensing. "I used to be like you, you know."


    Ryu glances over at him, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "Like me?"


    The old man nods slowly, his expression shifting, taking on a gravity that I can feel settling over all of us. "I was lost," he says, his voice soft, but there''s an edge to it—something deep, something old. "Entangled in my own chains."


    I glance over at Nikko, her wide eyes fixed on the old man. She''s silent, but I can see the curiosity there, the way she clings to every word. Llamiryl, too, is watching closely, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly, as if she''s trying to read between the lines of what the old man is saying.


    "What happened?" Ryu''s voice is softer now, almost hesitant, as if he''s asking something he doesn''t really want to know the answer to.


    "I was reckless," the old man says, the admission rolling off his tongue like a confession. "Like you were. And it cost me dearly. Mostly through my own arrogant actions." The old man gestures to his milky white pupils.


    Ryu''s jaw tightens, his gaze dropping back to the ground. I can see the guilt settling in again, like a shadow creeping over him, the weight of his own past pressing down on his shoulders. I''ve seen this look before, and every time it makes my heart ache. He''s always carrying so much... too much.


    "But I was saved," the old man continues, his tone softer now, almost reverent. "By an Acolyte."


    At the mention of the word, Ryu''s head snaps up, his eyes narrowing. "An Acolyte?" He asks, suspicion creeping into his voice. "You''re a Sith?"


    The old man chuckles, a warm, amused sound that seems to roll off him like waves. "No," he says, shaking his head. "I was... but that was a long time ago."


    The admission catches me off guard, and I feel my heart skip a beat. He was a Sith? I glance at Ryu, expecting some kind of reaction, but his face remains calm, his gaze steady, though there''s a flicker of something—confusion, curiosity, maybe both.


    "Acolyte had a different meaning before the Sith," the old man explains, his voice carrying the weight of knowledge that feels ancient, something far older than any of us. "An Acolyte is not just a warrior. They are seekers of knowledge, always walking the line between light and dark, between wisdom and battle. In balance with the Force."


    I glance over at Nikko, her small face scrunched in concentration as she tries to absorb the meaning of the old man''s words. Llamiryl, too, is listening intently, her sharp eyes focused on the old man as if she''s studying him, trying to understand who he truly is.


    The old man continues, his voice gentle but firm, explaining what it means to be an Acolyte—what it meant before the Sith. His words carry a wisdom that feels far beyond anything I''ve ever heard, and for the first time in a long while, I see Ryu... listening. Really listening.


    And for a moment, in the stillness of the mountains, I feel a quiet hope stirring in the air.


    Ryu tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I''ve never heard of an Acolyte before," he admits, his voice carrying a thread of skepticism. "To use both the light and the dark? How is that possible?"


    The old man smiles softly, the kind of smile that comes from years of understanding things others haven''t even begun to grasp. "I had a great mentor," he says simply, his tone humble yet filled with respect for whoever had guided him. "It is possible, but it is a path that requires balance—constant awareness. The light and the dark are not enemies, not as many would have you believe. They are two sides of the same Force. What matters is how you use them."


    Ryu''s eyes narrow slightly, doubt flickering in his gaze. "But isn''t that dangerous? Everyone I''ve ever met who used the dark side... it consumed them. Made them something... else." His voice is quieter now, filled with the weight of personal experience.


    The old man nods, acknowledging the truth in Ryu''s words. "That''s because most who walk that path either fear the dark or crave its power. Fear leads to reckless decisions, and craving power blinds you to its cost. The key is balance. You must channel both the light and the dark without succumbing to either. You let the Force flow through you, not bend it to your will."


    Ryu stares at him, absorbing the words but still visibly doubtful. "So... how do you not lose yourself?" He asks, his tone more curious now, though still laced with hesitation. "How do you keep from falling to one side or the other?"


    The old man takes a long breath, as though he''s drawing wisdom from deep within. "You walk the middle path with intention. Always aware, always grounded in the knowledge that both light and dark exist within you. You must accept them both but be ruled by neither. The light brings peace and clarity, the dark brings strength and resolve. Together, they allow you to see the truth without being blinded by either."


    Ryu''s gaze softens as he considers the words. He takes another sip of his tea, his eyes lost in thought. "I don''t know," he murmurs. "I''ve spent my whole life running from the dark or fighting against it. To embrace it..." He trails off, unsure.


    The old man''s smile remains, patient and calm. "It''s not about embracing it, Ryu. It''s about understanding it. Only then can you truly let go of its hold on you. Once you do, it no longer has power over you."


    Ryu remains silent for a long moment, staring into his now-empty cup as if the answers he seeks might be hidden at the bottom. He finishes the last sip, the warmth of the tea dissipating, and slowly rises to his feet. His movements are still stiff, still pained, but with purpose.


    He turns toward the cabin, but before he takes more than a step, the old man''s voice stops him in his tracks.


    "You know," the old man says, his voice soft but filled with the weight of truth, "if you go back to your master now, you will walk the same path once more. The chains that bind you will only tighten. You may think you''ll break them, but they''re forged from within you, not by him."


    Ryu halts, his back to the old man. I can see the tension in his posture, the struggle in his mind as those words sink in. His fists clench, his gaze fixed on the doorway of the cabin.


    The old man continues, his tone wise, deliberate. "There''s still time, Ryu. Stay with me, for a little while. At least until you heal. Consider your next steps without rushing back into a fight that might leave you broken... or worse. The galaxy is vast, and sometimes the path we think we must walk is not the one that leads to freedom."


    Ryu remains still, as if frozen between decisions, torn by the weight of the old man''s words and the impulse to act. His jaw tightens, his breath coming shallow, but then, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks.


    "You never told me your name," Ryu says, his voice low but clear.


    The old man raises a brow, tilting his head slightly as though he''s pondering this realization. "I didn''t?" He pauses, then chuckles softly. "I suppose I didn''t."


    There''s a brief silence before the old man finally offers a name. "I''m August. August Sinclair."


    Ryu nods slightly, as if testing the name in his mind. "I''m Ryu... Ryu Chikara."


    August smiles warmly, lifting his cup slightly in a gesture of understanding. "Well, Ryu, it''s a pleasure to meet you."


    Ryu gives a faint nod in return, but there''s a heaviness still lingering in his expression. He turns back toward the cabin, stepping slowly, each motion weighed down by more than just his injuries.


    Nikko stirs beside me, her small hand gripping my sleeve tightly as she watches Ryu''s retreating figure. "Is he leaving?" she whispers, her voice trembling slightly with worry.


    "I don''t know," I murmur, watching him as he reaches for the door. My heart pounds, uncertain of what he''s going to do next. I glance at Llamiryl, who is just as silent, her sharp eyes narrowed in contemplation.


    As Ryu reaches for the cabin door and pushes it open, something feels... unsettled. The air seems to shift, as though the world itself is holding its breath.