LEILANI SERENNO bridged the past and the present, born into a family of cruelty and then groomed to fulfil a role in the grand scheme of things. She was a puppet manipulated by her brother, ensnared in a larger narrative orchestrated by the Force. Y...
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She steadied her breath, feeling it catch like the last leaf in the wind, barely holding on. Her hands, though trembling, moved methodically, fingertips brushing over the handle of her lightsabre. Her heart was a storm behind her ribs, pounding waves of tension that echoed through her chest, as if begging to be set free. Every inhale tasted sharp, biting at her throat, filling her lungs with a strange, metallic coolness that tightened with every second. She clenched her jaw, feeling the tension creep up into her cheeks, where her pulse beat just beneath the surface, reminding her that she was alive, that her body was as aware as her mind of what was to come. She could feel the weight of it press into her shoulders, spreading like a shadow, yet a fire blazed in her eyes—a flicker of daring, a refusal to yield to the doubt weaving into her muscles.
The lightsaber felt cold in her hand as she lifted it, its weight anchoring her to this moment, to this last stand. She exhaled slowly, grounding herself in the rise and fall of her breath. Then, with a flick of her thumb, the blade roared to life, casting a fierce, unwavering light across the shadows. Across from her, a smaller figure stood, stocky and unassuming, yet Yaddle's deep, wise eyes held a fire that needed no height or physical stature. Her own blade ignited with a snap, its glow illuminating the faint, patient smile that never wavered, not even as the silence stretched between them, taut and heavy.
They circled each other, her opponent moving with the slow, controlled grace of a river that looks still but hides currents below. Her heart hammered, wild and desperate, yet she forced it steady, focusing on every shift in Yaddle's stance, her balanced poise, the subtle dips and feints that hinted at the skill beneath that calm exterior. Then, Yaddle sprang forward, her compact frame a blur of controlled power. She parried and spun, moving faster than her height suggested, striking with short, precise bursts of force.
Their blades met in a crackling collision of light, casting sparks that flared and died between them. She absorbed each strike, feeling the ripples of energy flow up her arm as she strained to counter the smaller Master's surprising strength. Yaddle's strikes were unpredictable, coming in from unexpected angles, her form compact and difficult to read, each blow testing her patience and control. Her lungs burned, her muscles strained, but she held her ground, deflecting, countering, and dancing back, carefully gauging her opponent's rhythm.
With a low, sudden sweep, Yaddle spun beneath her blade, narrowly missing her side, and she stumbled, only just recovering as Yaddle's blade flashed past her face, narrowly missing her cheek. She gritted her teeth, feeling the scrape of exhaustion tugging at her muscles, but her focus remained sharp. She feigned high, then swept low, grazing Yaddle's shoulder, a rare falter in the Master's otherwise flawless guard.
They broke apart, breathing hard, each sizing up the other in the dim, humming glow of their weapons. Her own chest heaved, lungs burning with each sharp inhale, but she held herself tall, meeting Yaddle's gaze with a fire to match her own. The elder Master tilted her head, her gaze unreadable but fierce, as if quietly acknowledging the strength in her, the stubborn resilience that brought her here. This was her test, her trial against one of the greatest Masters alive. And with every strike, every dodge, she knew it was a test she was ready to face until her last breath.
