Obi-Wan threw himself back on his sleep-couch. He had let Master Yoda down. He had thrown away his one last chance by letting anger cloud his mind. Now his worst fear had come true. After all his years of training, he was not good enough to be a Jedi Knight.

Yoda had always told him that anger and fear drove him too hard, that if he didn’t learn to control them, they would lead him down a path he didn’t want to follow. “Befriend them, you should,” Yoda had advised. “Look them in the eye without blinking. Use faults as teachers, you should. Then, rule you, they will not. Rule them, you shall.”

Yoda’s wisdom was engraved on his heart. How could he have failed to follow it?

Outside his door, he heard the rest of the initiates prepare for sleep. Goodnights were exchanged, shouted from chamber to chamber. Finally, the lights powered down, and the halls were silent.

Obi-Wan felt surrounded by the peaceful energy of the sleeping students. It did not sooth his raging heart. His fellow initiates could rest. They did not have thoughts that tormented them. Obi-Wan tossed and turned, unable to stop imagining the sight of Bruck’s triumphant face when he learned of Obi-Wan’s fate.

There was a soft knock at his door. Hesitantly, Obi-Wan rose and opened it. Bant stood, not saying a word, just looking at him. The young Calamarian girl wore a green robe that set off her salmon colored skin. Her clothes smelled moist and salty, for she’d just come from her room, which was always kept as steamy as the air off a warm sea. She was small for her ten years of age, and she watched him steadily with her huge silver eyes.

She took in his bruises and burns, all with an expression that said, You’ve been fighting again. Then she looked past him, to his bags packed on the floor.