They’d already reassigned his quarters. Already! It wasn’t like one room in the Padawans’ dorm was greatly different from the others, and the room he’d been assigned as a temporary measure was a lot more luxurious, actually—the sort of place usually occupied by a visiting Master from another temple. But his old room had been near the hall that led to the Archives. Its small window looked out on the sunrise, or what of it could be seen through the thick cityscape. Most important, it was home. Familiarity was what Reath needed more than anything else. Instead he had a finely woven bedspread and a grand vista that looked out on the Galactic Senate, and to him it might as well have been a blank durasteel wall. So he planned to remain in the practice area until he was so tired he could no longer grieve, or even think, and return to his temporary quarters once it was no more than a place to collapse.

He donned a helmet with a blast shield and tipped the shield down over his eyes. With one flick of a finger, Reath ignited his lightsaber; at the very edges of his shield, he could see the faintest green glow. Its hum was familiar in his ears and hand. “Sparring droid,” he called, “activate at level five.”

He heard the whirring of the sparring droid’s treads. While no droid could fully replicate the experience of dueling a sentient opponent, they could test reflexes and aim. Reath sometimes felt he hadn’t sparred against them enough; time to rectify that.

Finding center was difficult. If he had lost only Dez—or only Master Jora—no. Each of their deaths had shaken him deeply, crumbling the very foundation of his life. To have lost them both…

But they would want him to become a good Jedi. A great one. Reath intended to earn that in their honor.

Reach out with your feelings, whispered Master Jora’s voice in his mind. The pain that sliced through him nearly distracted him from the concentration of energy within the sparring droid—

But not quite. Reath swung his saber up, parrying the blast. Ducked low to avoid the spinning bar that had dispersed just enough air for him to hear. Deflected two more blasts, leapt to his feet, and struck. His lightsaber slashed into the droid, igniting a rain of sparks that he could just glimpse at his feet.

When Reath pulled off his helmet, he looked at the droid. He’d very nearly hacked off its head. They were designed to take damage, but maybe not quite this much damage.

“Well done, sir,” said the droid’s dangling head in a surprisingly deep voice. “I would advise your next practice begin at no lower than a level seven setting.”

“Got it. Sorry about, um, your neck.”