Chapter 2: Wookie Mama
So here's what nobody told me about the Jedi Temple:
It smells like… soap.
Not good soap. Not "I just punched someone and now I'm fresh and dangerous" soap. No, it smells like… rules. Clean floors. Fresh linen. Order. The kind of soap that implies no one has had a good lightsaber fight in years.
Which is ridiculous, because this is the home of the Jedi.
You'd think there'd be at least one broken statue or a scorch mark somewhere. Something to give the place character.
Instead, I'm standing in the world's largest, most peaceful marble hallway, holding my bag of definitely legal belongings and staring up at a ceiling so high it might count as its own zip code.
I'd ask Obi-Dad what to do next, but he left already. Classic Jedi move: deliver the child, vanish emotionally.
The onboarding team was nice enough. The medical droid scanned me (twice), the healer gave me a fruit chew (I asked for five and got two), and someone gave me a tiny beige uniform that looks like someone took all the color out of "fun" and sewed it into a shirt.
And then I was guided—no, herded—down a hall, through an arch, and into the crèche.
...
The crèche is big.
Like really big. Big enough that if I ran in a straight line yelling, I could cause at least three minor incidents and maybe one full evacuation.
Which means I'm already in love.
There are kids everywhere. All kinds—Togruta, Twi'lek, Rodian, some sparkly one I'm afraid to look directly at. Everyone's laughing, running, talking, or—surprisingly often—floating. There are balls made of light zipping overhead, training drones hovering around like confused seagulls, and little meditation pads scattered like someone tried to summon a minimalist demon and gave up halfway through.
And in the middle of it all is a girl.
She's standing on top of a cushion stack with her hands on her hips, yelling at a Nautolan twice her size.
"No, you listen!" she's saying. "It's not a fair game if you keep using your head tentacles to trip people!"
"It's not tripping if they fall on their own!" the Nautolan argues.
She jabs a tiny finger in his face. "That is exactly what tripping is!"
I like her already.
I take two steps in and a soft voice says, "This is your stop."
I turn around just in time to see the Knight who guided me here disappear down the hall like he's allergic to follow-up questions. Rude. But I guess helping others is the path to the Dark Side.
Fine. First impression time.
I sling my bag over one shoulder, puff out my chest, and march straight into the chaos like I was born here. (Technically I was born in a Mandalorian war bunker during a thunderstorm, but that's a story for another day.)
"Hi!" I say, approaching a small circle of kids who are trying to stack blocks using only the Force. "I'm Ben. I'm new. And yes, I do come with accessories."
They stare at me.
One of the blocks topples and hits a kid in the forehead. Another sneezes and levitates a cushion by accident. Someone behind me drops a tray of ration cookies.
"I'm also charming and mysterious," I add.
Still silence.
Well, fine. Time to impress them with skill.
I spot a training ball sitting nearby. One of those little floaty spheres used for light reflex drills—perfectly round, perfectly smooth, and—if the Force is with you—perfectly tossable.
I stretch out a hand, squint just a little for dramatic effect, and reach out with the Force.
The ball trembles.
Someone gasps.
It floats. It spins.
It rockets upward at warp speed and slams directly into a hanging chandelier.
There's a crash. A shatter. An extremely awkward silence.
A few crystals clatter to the ground.
A Togruta boy screams.
"…Oops."
The next thing I hear is a sound like a krayt dragon gargling gravel.
A very large Wookiee emerges from behind a meditation curtain, and I mean emerges like someone summoned her with the ancient rite of "noise." She's huge, covered in cinnamon-colored fur, and wearing simple Jedi robes stretched over broad shoulders. I didn't even know Wookiees wore clothes, so this was surprising. Her eyes lock onto me like I just gratified the Temple steps.
"RRWAAHHHRRHHH!"
Everyone goes dead silent.
Even the training drones stop.
I blink up at her, trying to look innocent. "Uh…"
"WRAHHHHRHHHHAAAHHH!"
"Oh," I say quickly, nodding. "Yes. Very wise. Of course."
The other kids exchange glances.
"That means don't run indoors," says a Twi'lek girl nearby.
"Right," I nod solemnly. "That's what I said."
The Wookiee Jedi narrows her eyes.
She crosses the room in four massive strides, scoops up the training ball and one of the fallen chandelier crystals, then turns to me and points.
I raise a hand. "In my defense, I was trying to demonstrate natural Force talent. Which I did. The target just happened to be… gravity. And also lighting fixtures."
"RAWWWRRHHH."
"Did… did she just challenge me to a duel?"
"Ben," the Twi'lek girl whispers. "That's Master Tyyyvak."
"Oh."
"She runs the crèche."
"Oh no."
"She's the kindest Jedi ever, but she has zero patience for nonsense."
I glance at the shattered chandelier, then back up at the looming Wookiee matriarch who is still pointing at me like I owe her money.
"…Well, this has been educational."
Tyyyvak growls again, then gestures sharply toward the pile of meditation cushions. I scurry that way without complaint. Behind me, the circle of kids starts whispering—some amused, some impressed.
I plop down on a cushion and try not to explode from embarrassment.
The girl from earlier—still perched on her stack of cushion thrones—glances over at me.
She smirks.
Not mean. Not mocking. Just… entertained.
I give her a little two-finger wave.
She raises an eyebrow.
Challenge accepted.
...
Ahsoka wasn't sure what she expected when they said a new youngling was coming today, but it wasn't… that.
She'd seen him from across the room—short, scruffy, too confident. He strolled into the crèche like he already owned it, said something dumb to a group of kids, and then promptly launched a training orb into the chandelier.
There was a crash, a scream, a dramatic Wookiee roar.
And then he tried to pretend he understood Master Tyyyvak like that made it better.
"Did… did she just challenge me to a duel?" he asked.
Ahsoka nearly snorted fruit chew out her nose.
She hopped off her cushion tower, padded across the room, and took a better look at him. He wasn't tall—none of them were yet—but he carried himself like he was twice his size. His hair stuck out in a hundred directions, and his tunic was already wrinkled like he'd been wrestling it before arriving.
Mandalorian. Definitely Mandalorian.
And he had attitude.
She was going to like him.
Or possibly kick him.
She hadn't decided yet.
...
Outside, the training yard was sunlit and wide, its edges lined with soft sparring mats and padded corners for safety. Dozens of younglings were scattered in clusters: some working through the basic katas, others chasing practice orbs. A group of tiny Rodians were stacked in a pyramid for some reason. One had a traffic cone.
Normal day.
Ahsoka stretched, tail twitching, and watched the new boy as he wandered out, trying to look casual while very obviously casing the area like he planned to conquer it by lunch.
She followed.
"Hey, chandelier boy," she called out.
He turned. "Oh hey, tentacle girl."
"I'm a Togruta."
"I'm Ben."
"Not what I asked, but thanks for the update."
He tilted his head, curious now. "You're the one who yelled at the Nautolan."
"He tripped three kids with his head tails."
"I respect that."
Ahsoka crossed her arms. "You want to fight?"
Ben blinked. "Like, real fight, or pretend 'I'm testing your reflexes' fight?"
"Yes."
He grinned. "Awesome."
...
They started slow.
Force tag was a crèche tradition, somewhere between a game and low-stakes sparring. Rules were simple: if you got touched by the Force, you were tagged. Shields up, senses sharp.
Ahsoka ducked left. Ben tried a push. She felt it coming and rolled under it.
"Close," she said, springing up behind him.
"Wasn't trying."
"Sure."
She flicked her fingers, and the Force nudged him off balance. He yelped, windmilled, and landed square on his butt.
"Tagged," she smirked.
Ben groaned. "Alright. No more Mr. Nice Jedi."
"You were being nice?"
"No. But now I'm gonna be dramatic."
It escalated fast.
Ben started leaping off training blocks like a tiny acrobat, flinging himself through the air and trying to catch her mid-sprint. Ahsoka flipped over a floating droid, doubled back, and force-tripped him into a foam wall.
"TAG," she shouted as he hit the mat.
"You used stealth," he accused.
"It's not stealth. You're just loud."
A Force tug whizzed past her ear. She dodged, slid across the polished floor, and countered with a pulse strong enough to make him skip like a stone.
"You've trained before," he puffed, scrambling upright.
"I listen."
"I wing it."
They were both panting now, hair flying, limbs sore. Other younglings had gathered in a loose circle, watching the chaos unfold like it was better than Temple holovids.
Ben vaulted off a bench and reached for her shoulder.
Ahsoka ducked, spun, and—
"WRRAAAHHHHHRRRHHH!"
The sound hit first. Then the Force.
Tyyyvak descended like an angry thundercloud in a robe. One swipe of her massive arm and both initiates were swept off their feet, pinned gently but firmly by the invisible weight of an experienced Jedi Master's Enough Is Enough technique.
Ben landed face-first in a foam ring.
Ahsoka bounced twice before settling in a heap, montrals flopped over her eyes.
"RRRHHHWWWAAARRRRRRR!"
Enough. Training is not an excuse to break half the courtyard. Also, that droid is not a launchpad.
Ahsoka peeled a leg off her shoulder. "Sorry, Master Tyyyvak."
Ben rolled over with a groan. "I declare it… a tie."
"You fell in a bucket."
"It was strategic."
Ahsoka smirked. "You're ridiculous."
"You tripped me into a wall."
"You liked it."
"I really did."
Tyyyvak sighed, deep and long. Then she walked away, still muttering something that sounded like "Loud ones. Why is it always the loud ones?"
Ben sat up, hair sticking out wildly in every direction, and looked at her like he'd just been hit by lightning and decided it was a personal challenge.
"So," he said. "Are we best friends now, or mortal enemies with unresolved tension?"
Ahsoka tilted her head.
"…TBD."
He grinned. "Cool."
...
Here's the thing about Jedi education:
It's terrifyingly organized.
The classroom wasn't even a room. It was more like a giant, circular meditation pit, lined with cushions and gentle humming panels that probably pumped in calming Force vibes. There were no datapads on the floor. No snacks. No knives.
Zero stars. Would not recommend.
I flopped into my assigned spot beside Ahsoka and immediately started taking mental notes:
No windows. Prison vibes. Cushions = deceptively soft. Floor hums. Either meditation field or very large cat. Investigate later.
Ahsoka is sitting suspiciously upright. Possibly possessed.
"Why are you so serious?" I whispered to her.
She didn't look at me. "Because Master Tyyyvak is about to speak."
"What, like in words or in—"
A deafening roar echoed through the chamber like a rancor with a megaphone.
"RAAAAAWWWWRHHHHHRRAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
Tyyyvak stepped into the circle like a majestic, extremely hairy judgment cloud. Her robes rustled. Her claws gleamed. The room fell utterly silent.
I straightened up immediately and tried to look innocent. This took effort.
Tyyyvak cleared her throat with a rumble that sounded like a landspeeder failing to start.
Then she began her lecture.
I had no idea what she was saying.
But I pretended I did.
It started strong. She made a sweeping gesture toward the stars and growled something long and emotional.
I nodded solemnly. And copied Ashoka's notes.
"The Force surrounds us, connects us. Be mindful." Right. Yes. Classic.
Then she slammed one paw against her chest and snarled.
"The Jedi are protectors of peace. Even when it's hard." Deep stuff. Possibly traumatic. Moving on.
She raised a finger like she was about to deliver the thesis statement of the universe.
"RWAAAHHHHHHHHRRRRRAAHHH!"
And I wrote in my notebook, "Don't eat your enemies. Even if they deserve it."
Ahsoka leaned over to read my notes.
"That's not what she said."
"You sure?"
"She said the path of the Jedi requires patience and compassion."
"That's what I said."
"No it isn't."
"She used very aggressive body language."
Ahsoka rolled her eyes and went back to listening like the teacher's pet she absolutely was.
I continued to write, scribbling down what I felt the lesson was probably about:
Ben's Jedi Notes, First Edition
• The Force is like air but moodier.
• Compassion is a weapon? Maybe that was metaphorical.
• Meditation involves breathing, but like, seriously.
• Life Day is a Force ritual (probably).
• Attachment is bad, unless it's to snacks.
• Master Tyyyvak has very sharp teeth.
Halfway through the lecture, Tyyyvak turned and pointed directly at me.
"RRAAWWWRRHHHHH!"
Everyone stared.
I glanced at Ahsoka. "Translation?"
"She said you should let go of your attachments."
I nodded wisely. "Cool. I'm letting go of my math homework. Emotionally."
Another roar.
"She's proud of me."
"She's confiscating your notebook."
"What!?"
A massive paw landed gently but firmly on top of my datapad. Tyyyvak took it and held it up to the light like she was considering whether to vaporize it or archive it as a warning to others.
I looked mournfully at Ahsoka.
"You betrayed me."
"You betrayed yourself."
"You encouraged me!"
"I watched you write 'Force Lightning is probably just spicy empathy.' I chose peace."
Tyyyvak tucked the datapad into a pouch that was, frankly, way too small for such violence. Then she grunted again, one short bark followed by a huff.
Ahsoka translated with zero sympathy: "She says you'll get it back when you show 'respect for the living Force.'"
"…That could mean anything."
"Probably means stop drawing lightsabers with fangs in the margins."
The lesson continued.
To my credit, I listened harder after that. I mean, I still didn't understand any of the words—but the energy was there. You could feel it when she talked. Like her voice pulled the Force itself into the room and made it pay attention.
That's the weird thing about Jedi stuff. It's not all about rules or codes. Sometimes, it's just sitting still, breathing slow, and pretending that you don't want to throw a cushion at the nearest Nautolan.
It's boring.
But it's… also kind of peaceful.
And Tyyyvak—she's scary, but she cares.
You can tell.
She doesn't roar at just anyone.
Class ended with a brief, rumbling hum and a soft tap of her claw against the floor.
The kids filed out in silence. Even me.
I bumped Ahsoka with my shoulder on the way to the door.
"So, how'd I do?"
"You survived."
"I call that a win."
"You made up at least five Jedi rules and invented a holiday."
"Thank you."
She sighed. "You're lucky she likes you."
I nodded. "That's the plan."
Behind us, Tyyyvak roared one final word.
"RAAAAAWWWRHHHHHHHH!"
Ahsoka smiled faintly. "And she kindly requests you stop guessing what she's saying."
"Yeah," I said under my breath, "that's fair."
...
I'd been at the Temple for three days.
In that time, I'd (1) set off a floating orb alarm, (2) invented a new Force maneuver called "accidental backflip into a plant," and (3) gotten my notebook back from Tyyyvak, complete with fur-covered sticky note that read:
"Try again. With fewer disruptions."
Progress.
I had also, apparently, made a reputation for myself—which, look, wasn't intentional. But when you're from Mandalore and your general vibe is "small chaos goblin with Force powers," people start expecting things. Like unpredictability. Or commentary.
Which was why, on day four, we were told to gather for our first meditation-focused lesson—and I was specifically placed next to Ahsoka, who had been specifically instructed to keep me "quiet."
She was not thrilled.
...
The meditation room was dim, quiet, and smelled like incense and responsibility. Light streamed through tall windows, catching the edges of soft floor mats and polished stone. There were no distractions. No training balls. No obvious things to throw.
Suspicious.
Master Tyyyvak sat in the center of the room like a fluffy statue of judgment and wisdom. She raised one massive paw.
The room went silent.
"RRRAAHHHHHHHHHHRRRHHHHH."
Yeah, I still couldn't understand her, and the Force isn't Duolingo. What I did have was a data pad, with the Sci-Fi, Temple approved equivalent of Google Translate.
Today, we begin our study of the Jedi Code.
She let it hang in the air like an ancient riddle. I could feel the other kids tense up with excitement or fear or both. I, personally, was 70% excited and 30% bracing for disappointment.
Sure enough, she growled the first line with reverence:
There is no emotion, there is peace.
I waited a beat.
Then whispered: "Unless it's funny."
Ahsoka elbowed me so hard I nearly shifted dimensions.
"RRRRAWWWWRHHHHH!"
Tyyyvak didn't look at me. She didn't have to.
I coughed. Sat up straighter. Tried again.
"There is no ignorance, only… underpaid archivists."
Another elbow.
Another growl.
A kid across the room started to sniffle.
"Okay, okay," I said quickly. "I'm done. I'm focused. I'm ready to learn the Sacred and Very Serious Code of Not Laughing Ever."
Ahsoka muttered, "You're going to get Force-choked in your sleep."
"Not by her. She likes me."
"Not the point."
Tyyyvak continued the recitation. Her roars came slow and thoughtful, translated with gentle pauses by the Temple's universal translator—or Ahsoka, when the thing glitched (which it did a lot, there's a reason they're rarely used).
"There is no passion, there is serenity."
"There is no chaos, there is harmony."
"There is no death, there is the Force."
Simple. Repetitive. Easy to memorize.
Harder to believe.
I mean, have you seen the galaxy? There's plenty of emotion. And chaos. And death. And passion. It's kind of the entire theme.
But something about the way Tyyyvak said it—like it wasn't just a rule, but a reminder—stuck with me.
Not that I'd admit that.
Instead, I mumbled under my breath: "No death? Bold take for an order with laser swords."
Ahsoka coughed, which sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh.
One point for me.
...
We were told to repeat the Code as a group. Loud and clear. Centered. Still.
I tried. Really.
"There is no emotion…" I began.
And suddenly, I felt something.
Calm. Weightless.
For a half-second, it was like my brain stopped spinning. Like the Force itself pressed gently against my chest and said, "Hey. You're not wrong to be loud. But you don't have to be all the time."
Which, frankly, was rude.
But true.
I finished the line without a joke.
"There is peace."
Tyyyvak glanced over.
Just a glance.
But I swear she nodded.
...
Afterward, we were told to reflect. Quietly. In our journals.
I stared at the blank page.
Thought about chaos. Thought about Mandalore. Thought about Satine's face when she said goodbye, and how Bo-Katan had pressed that (deactivated) vibroblade into my hand like it was a promise.
And I thought:
There is emotion. But it doesn't have to own me.
There is chaos. But I can be louder.
I doodled a lightsaber with wings and labeled it "inner balance."
Ahsoka leaned over to peek at the drawing.
"…You're so weird."
I smiled. "Thanks."
...
Tyyyvak gave her final Wookiee blessing of the day—a low, rumbling hum like the purr of a starship engine—then dismissed us with a raised paw.
We filtered out in silence, or something close to it.
I waited until we were just outside before I said, "So… real talk: what do you think they'd do if I carved the Code into a training mat using only the Force and a spoon?"
Ahsoka didn't even blink. "Ask you to do it again but quietly."
I grinned.
Then walked straight into a doorframe.
Balance.
...
The dormitory was supposed to be quiet by now.
Most of the younglings were already curled up under their thin Temple blankets, soft breathing syncing with the low hum of ambient meditation frequencies piped in through the walls. Outside the tall windows, Coruscant's endless cityscape glowed like a sleeping giant made of light.
Ahsoka was trying to sleep.
She wasn't succeeding.
Too many thoughts. Too much energy. Too much Ben.
He was lying in the bunk across from hers, very pointedly not asleep, one arm flung over his face in a melodramatic sprawl that suggested either deep suffering or severe boredom. Possibly both.
"Psst," he whispered suddenly. "You awake?"
Ahsoka rolled over, blinking. "No."
"Oh. Good."
Yes, Ben. How wonderful for her that she, an aspiring Jedi, can find no rest. Why does she hang out with him, again?
"…Wanna snack?"
She sat up.
He grinned and pulled a crinkling packet from under his pillow like a smuggler revealing contraband.
"Stole it from the cafeteria droid when it wasn't looking. I'm basically a stealth master now."
"You are the loudest child in this Temple."
"And yet somehow, always successful."
She took the snack—dehydrated fruit sticks—and leaned back against the wall beside her bunk. "This doesn't mean we're best friends, you know."
"Obviously not," Ben said, already halfway through his own pack. "We're sworn enemies with snack benefits."
She snorted. "You're weird."
"And you've said that every day since I got here. At this point, it's a compliment." He tossed her a stick, which she was quick to sink her teeth into.
They chewed in silence for a bit, both watching the soft pulse of Temple lights dim toward rest mode.
Ben broke it first.
"So," he said casually. "If you had a lightsaber… what color would it be?"
Ahsoka tilted her head. "Green."
"Ugh, predictable."
"It's a classic!"
"Exactly. I want black."
"There's only one black lightsaber," she said. "And it's missing."
"I know. That's why I want it."
"Are you planning to find it?"
"Or make a new one. Somehow. I don't know. I'm still workshopping."
She shook her head, smiling faintly. "You're going to be a problem."
"Correct."
A few bunks over, someone snored.
Ahsoka tucked the blanket tighter around her legs and looked toward the ceiling. "You ever feel… weird here?" she asked quietly.
Ben blinked over at her.
"I mean, like you're not exactly… Jedi-shaped."
He was quiet for a long moment. "I'm from a place where people wear armor instead of robes and raise kids with knives. Yeah. I feel weird."
She smiled. "Me too. Not the armor part. But I get it."
"I think that's why they stuck us together," Ben said. "Too much sarcasm for one hallway."
"Too much brainpower," she corrected.
"Too much awesome."
"Too much… 'accidentally launched a training ball into the ceiling.'"
"That was day one," Ben said proudly. "A record."
She hesitated, then glanced toward the door. No footsteps. No Tyyyvak. "You think Master Tyyyvak sleeps?"
"No."
"You think she's a ghost?"
"I think she's part of the exhibit wing. Like the old Jedi archives with bones and stuff."
"She definitely has bones."
"Yeah," Ben said. "All of them."
They both giggled.
It wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
...
Ahsoka looked over again. Ben had gone quiet, staring at the glow of the lights outside like he was trying to see something further than the skyline.
"Hey," she said softly. "If we get split up someday—like, if they assign us to different Masters or whatever…"
"…Yeah?"
"Can we promise to look out for each other anyway? Even if we're not together?"
Ben didn't answer right away.
Then he swung his legs out of bed, padded over, and held out his hand.
"Sworn oath," he said. "One Force Pact of Eternal Watchfulness."
"That's not a thing."
"It is now."
She took his hand. Shook it once, firmly.
"We look out for each other," she said.
"No matter what path we take."
"No matter how annoying you get."
"No matter how green your lightsaber is."
"No matter how many chandeliers you destroy."
They smiled.
It was silly.
It was childish.
It stuck.
Ben yawned. Loudly. "Okay, sleep now. Tyyyvak said if I fall asleep during meditation again she'll roll me into the fountain."
"She didn't say that."
"She implied it. With her vibe."
He climbed back into his bunk and flopped over with all the grace of a tranquilized loth-cat.
Ahsoka lay down again, eyes drifting shut, heart a little quieter than before.
Outside, the lights of Coruscant blinked softly.
Inside, two small Jedi dreamed.
Together.