Kenobi Chronicles

Episode 1 (part 1)

"KENOBI"

It was an echoey voice—like someone was calling to him from the furthest corner of the Jedi temple.

"KENOBI!"

He grimaced—what could be the matter? What had he done now?

"KEN—"

He sat up and looked around him—something was on his neck. Was it—mud?

"KENOBI!"

He looked behind him. There stood a great figure who towered over everyone else near him.

"GET UP, CHILD!" The figure bellowed. The youngling looked up from where he had fallen and all at once remembered. He had been scrambling over the top of the netted obstacle when he had lost his grip on it—again.

"Good going, farmer—" a voice jeered at him from higher up on the net. The youngling's eyes flashed with anger. He moved to stand up and grasp hold of the net once more which only elicited more goading from that terrible voice.

"I don't see why you even try, Kenobi. You're still coming in last—and anyone can sense that none of the masters are looking at you."

"That's not true!" Was all the youngling could retort with.

"It's true, Obi." A green youngling said simply but kindly before racing up the side of the net only to launch over it and land on his feet with great dexterity.

"See, even fish-face says so." Krell said, climbing down the other side of the net.

"I only mean that he was coming in last—however as far as the masters are concerned—none of them look pleased." The glassy-eyed youngling said. He stood up straight and dusted off his hands, having completed his final lap. "I have a feeling we'll all be looked over this time." He added before walking off the course.

The young Kenobi's eyes flashed again, and his brow hardened. No, he would not be looked over—not this time. He was thirteen—about to turn fourteen. If he was not chosen by a master this time, he would be sent to the Agri-Corps.

A sharp breath in, and the youngling began to climb the net again. No matter how hard he trained—no matter how much time he spent on the obstacle course, the youngling Obi-wan Kenobi always seemed to struggle when it came to testing time. Nothing unnerved him more than dozens of eyes scrutinizing his every move. And all the other younglings knew it.

"Good luck, farmer!" Krell shouted when he reached the bottom of the other side. Then with a powerful pound of his large bantha-like foot, he jolted the side of the netted obstacle, sending a ripple through it that bounced Kenobi up and down like an insect clinging to the side of a speeder.

"Leave him alone, Pong!" Their acrobatic instructor bellowed across the yard. But what did it matter? Obi-wan was already so far behind. Pong Krell and Kit Fisto were the last of the class, besides Obi-wan himself—and Obi-wan still had one more lap around the arena.

With the grace of a young shaak, he finally touched the bottom of the other side of the obstacle and was about to continue on with his last lap when their instructor's booming voice rang out once again.

"KENOBI!"

The youngling froze and looked up to the figure that no longer was standing on the observation platform, but right next to him.

"Master," Kenobi bowed at his waist in respect. The Instructor scanned the dirt-clod youngling from his head to his toes.

"Get to the showers." He finally ordered. Kenobi's eyes grew wide.

"But, Master, I haven't fin—"

"I said, GET TO THE SHOWERS."

The Instructor turned around and left the boy with his head hung in shame.