Obi-Wan’s muscles ached. Sweat drenched his thick tunic. Bruck’s toughness surprised him. The boy was fighting desperately, as though his life depended on it. Obi-Wan realized that Bruck was just as afraif of not being chosen as a Jedi apprentice as he was.

But Obi-Wan would match Bruck’s toughness with his own, and then push even harder. This was his one last chance.

Bruck’s blade hummed as it angled toward Obi-Wan’s throat. A touch there would signal a killing blow, and Obi-Wan would lose the bout.

A cry rose up from the crowd seated in the shadows surrounding the battle arena. Masters and students had gathered to watch the fight. Obi-Wan could not see them — he could only hear their shouts of encouragement. Overhead, AJTD^ whisked around, monitoring the match as a referee.

“Fool.” Bruck growled softly enough so that others could hear him above the cheering. “You should never have agreed to fight me. You can’t win.”

Bruck’s shocking white hair was tied in a ponytail, and sweat stood out in droplets on his brow. He wore heavily padded black body armor. The odor of burned flesh and singed hair hung heavily in the air. Both warriors had managed to hit one another, but the touches so far had not been firm strikes.

Around the arena, many of the younger initiates cheered, calling out encouragement to Bruck or Obi-Wan. All of them had heard of the fight last night. Obi-Wan heard Bant shout “Courage, Obi-Wan! You’re doing well!” Garen Muln whistled through his teeth.

“You mean that you can’t win!” Obi-Wan told Bruck scornfully, as their training lightsabers tangled and sizzled. “Your failure today will signal to everyone that you are not just a loser, but a liar.”

The Masters had decided the fight would be without blindfolds. Bruck’s face was close, and his eyes glared at Obi-Wan with hate. The moment stretched, extended. In Bruck’s eyes Obi-Wan saw a future mapped out for him, a future in which anger ruled him and he began to hate all who opposed him.