Defensive Form

Shakka’Dira stepped into the Jedi training courtyard for the first time since her injury. Sunlight filtered through the high arches, casting patterns on the smooth stone floor. The soft hum of practice lightsabers and murmurs of Jedi Younglings filled the air. Her cybernetic limbs glinted softly, capturing more attention than she'd anticipated.

"I'm losing my focus. Too many sounds… too bright. Why won't they slow down?"

M-TDv3 floated lazily beside her shoulder, instantly translating her thoughts into smooth Basic, loud enough for nearby Initiates to pause and stare. She shot the little translator a glare, irritation flaring.

Dave, not now.

Misunderstanding, Dave continued, “Dave, quiet. They’ll all stare. I'm fine… I just need a moment.”

A sudden clash of Initiate blades threw Shakka’s perception askew. Her vision narrowed, her lekku twitched involuntarily. Her breath grew shallow.

Bloodless wounds, sealed by the very plasma that caused them. The cauterization had spared her life, but the lekku damage fractured her perception, memories cascading now in disjointed fragments. In that excruciating moment, clarity struck her… A connection to the Force so profound it sustained her. She existed within an unbreakable current of calm amid unimaginable chaos.

Her pulse surged, hammering loudly, but she drew deep, steady breaths. Her hand drifted instinctively to her saber, activating a single blade. The green glow gently spread across her lavender skin and reflected off her prosthetics. Eyes closed, she began her kata, movements graceful yet purposeful.

Dave intoned mechanically, “Begin routine. Defensive Form. Breathing. One… two… three…”

Her cybernetic limbs, precise and powerful, carried her fluidly through the disciplined arcs of Soresu. Each motion steadied her, grounded her, reconnecting mind, body, and Force. The nearby Younglings watched quietly, captivated by the strength she exuded.

As she flowed through familiar movements, Shakka deliberately revisited the trauma, determined to claim it rather than let it control her.

Heat. Pain. The clash of plasma blades sizzling inches from her face. She steadied herself, feet planted firmly in the dusty soil of some forgotten planet. Snapping her hinged lightsaber into its locked position, she caught the Inquisitor's crimson blade in a glowing trap. Her breath steadied. She was calm, powerful.

Then, too late. A sharp, searing agony erupted through her left side. Everything burned; body and memory shattered simultaneously. Her lekku, once vibrant and sensitive, exploded into unimaginable pain. Collapsing, she summoned discipline forged through endless training. Darkness encroached, but within, a bright flame of resilience flared stronger.

Returning to the temple courtyard, Shakka clenched her cybernetic fist, the rhythmic flex of metallic fingers grounding her once more. The swirl of voices receded slightly.

"Remember the pain. Feel the calm. Center yourself, Shakka’Dira."

The apprentices exchanged confused glances as Dave again voiced her private thoughts aloud. She flushed slightly as her lekku spelled out her inner voice.

Dave. Enough. Her signing was sharp and decisive.

"Dave, you're embarrassing me. Just translate when I actually sign something," Dave echoed tonelessly.

Irritation rising, Shakka paused, catching sight of Dave bobbing cheerfully beside her. Memories softened her expression.

Dave was given to me by my mother. I was in the infirmary bed. She knew I wouldn’t abandon the Jedi path. My body still spoke Lekku, a language of intimacy and family, but my voice, my passage to the outside world, was gone. Her gift spoke volumes of her support to continue my path. Our kind too often lost their freedom. My mother was relieved I had become a Jedi, avoiding darker fates that befall Twi’lek women.

She saw the truth in my mutilated lekku, understanding that only the Force could have kept me alive until my prosthetic was fitted. Recognizing my strength, she put her trust in me.

I will always treasure Dave.

"I am strong," Dave chirped suddenly, matter-of-factly. "Stronger than before. Strong because of the pain, because of the Force."

Shakka stared flatly at the tiny floating translator, then allowed herself an amused smile. Tension among the crowd dissipated noticeably, sensing her mood shift. She gently patted Dave's dome, reclaiming control, both over Dave’s thoughtless translations and the emotional turmoil within.

Retracting her saber and approaching the students peacefully, Shakka bowed to them. One Youngling tentatively signed, “Thank you, Master.”

Shakka’Dira’s organic and cybernetic hand gestured together in Galactic Sign Language:

"Stillness. Strength. Purpose."