The lightsabers clashed with a satisfying hum, a flare of blue and violet streaking across the Jedi Temple's open training hall.
Jason spun low, purple blade a blur as he twisted inside Obi-Wan's guard—only to be caught by the master's counter-parry and forced back on his heels.
"You're leaning again," Obi-Wan chided, calm and firm. "Footwork, Jason. Foundation matters more than flash."
Jason grunted, rolling backward, breathing heavy. "Tell that to the crowd I was trying to impress."
"There was no crowd."
Jason grinned. "I was imagining one."
Obi-Wan sighed and deactivated his blade. "You're faster than before. Stronger. But your instincts still override your discipline. That won't work against someone like Grievous again."
Jason frowned at the mention. His ribs still ached.
"I know," he muttered. "I won't let that happen again."
Obi-Wan studied him for a moment, then gestured to the side of the hall. "Again. This time, maintain Soresu principles. Let the offense come to you."
[Later – Meditation Chamber, Jedi Temple]
A gentle blue light bathed the room, the faint hum of Coruscant's towers muffled by thick stone walls. Jason sat cross-legged, eyes closed, the holocron of the unknown female master before him. Her voice played softly, the projection flickering with age.
"Battle Meditation is not control. It is resonance. Align yourself with those who fight beside you—not to command, but to connect."
Jason inhaled deeply, his mind reaching outward. Across the city, the Force whispered—life, movement, patterns. He could almost feel the Jedi sparring in the lower chambers. The clones training in the barracks. The instructors guiding initiates.
And underneath it all, a thread of emotion—courage, fear, clarity, doubt. Threads he could tug, gently, to bring cohesion.
He didn't move. Didn't speak.
He simply listened.
[Training Arena – Sparring Match]
Jason ducked under a high slash and swept his foot in a low arc—Ahsoka flipped back, agile as ever, and landed with a grin.
"Careful," she teased. "I might be younger, but I'm faster."
Jason flicked his saber in a lazy spin. "I've fought droids that talk less."
"Yeah? I've beaten droids that fight better."
They came together again, blades flashing. Ahsoka struck high, then low—Jason deflected and surged forward, locking blades with her.
She held him for a moment, eyes narrowed. "You're holding back."
"Trying not to embarrass you."
"Big mistake."
She twisted and slipped under his guard, tagging him lightly across the hip.
Jason winced and deactivated his saber. "Point taken."
Obi-Wan, watching from the side, smirked. "She's not wrong, you know."
Jason rolled his eyes. "You're all enjoying this way too much."
[That Night – Jason's Quarters]
The silence of the Jedi Temple at night was total.
Jason lay on his sleeping mat, half-awake, mind still simmering with energy from the day's training. The city lights outside flickered like distant stars.
He closed his eyes.
And the Force opened.
[A Vision – Unnamed, Timeless]
Heat. War. The scream of blasterfire and the roar of starships burning in the upper atmosphere. Jason stood in armor not his own, lightsaber raised, staring down a jagged battlefield littered with bodies.
Dust and ash filled the air.
He saw helmets—familiar, but not clone armor. More brutal. Mandalorian.
Ships soared above, unfamiliar designs—sleek, predatory.
Voices behind him shouted commands—his voice among them, yet not his own. Words of leadership. Words that inspired and divided.
Explosions. Flames. Betrayal.
He turned—and caught a glimpse of a figure beside him. A woman with golden robes, a saber drawn, eyes filled with fire and purpose. She turned to him and spoke—but her words were lost in a blast of static.
Then—
Darkness.
[Morning – Jedi Archives]
Jason stood before the archive terminal, exhaustion lining his face. He scrolled through countless records, categories, and sectors of ancient Jedi history.
He searched by keywords: Mandalorian Wars, Outer Rim Conflicts, Ancient Jedi-Mandalorian Conflict.
Nothing complete. Half-records. Gaps. Glitches. Redacted scrolls. Scrolls that once existed, now scrubbed.
He leaned back from the terminal, frustrated.
"Looking for something, young Shan?" came Jocasta Nu's polite voice from the stacks.
Jason turned. "Historical data on the Mandalorians. Jedi involvement, maybe a past war?"
She tilted her head. "Ah… much of that knowledge was lost in the archives fire. Some during the Sith sieges, even before the Republic stabilized."
Jason nodded, though his eyes remained distant.
"Thank you."
He left without another word.
[Later – Obi-Wan's Quarters]
Jason stood quietly near the window, watching the skyline. Obi-Wan sat nearby, pouring tea with deliberate calm.
"I had a vision last night," Jason said. "I think it was from the past. It felt… real. A war. Jedi. Mandalorians."
Obi-Wan looked up, interested but not surprised. "The Force reveals what it wills. Perhaps it's just the residue of your training. You've been focused on Battle Meditation—a form that connects deeply to mass emotion. Ancient echoes may rise through that."
Jason turned to him. "But I recognized it, somehow. Not the details—just the feeling. Like I've seen it before."
Obi-Wan sipped his tea. "I don't have answers. That war predates the Republic as we know it. The Order lost many records from that era."
Jason didn't speak for a long time.
Then he said, almost absently, "No names. No context. But it felt like I was… someone else."
Obi-Wan's brow creased faintly, but his voice stayed even. "The Force sometimes shows us the past. Other times, it shows us what might have been."
Jason nodded, unsure whether the thought brought him peace—or deeper unease.