Chapter VII Part II

I stand at the edge of the landing pad as the ramp lowers, the crisp scent of autumn leaves in the air and the skies tinted with the warm golds of a setting sun. My twin sisters are the first to dart out, their eyes instantly locking on the lightsaber hilt at my belt. They circle around me like curious cats, their questions rapid-fire.

“Did you build it yourself?”

“Can we hold it?”

“Does it hum like Papa’s?”

Before I can answer, Papa appears, descending the ramp with Erza nestled comfortably in one arm. A pacifier bobs in her mouth, and on her head is a freshly knit cap adorned with stitched autumn leaves. Her round, emerald eyes light up the moment she sees me.

“Hi there, sweet pea,” I coo, stepping forward to greet her. I give her a soft kiss on the cheek, and she responds with a delighted squeal, reaching out toward my hair — but I’m quicker this time, pulling just out of reach. She pouts dramatically, her tiny fingers grasping air.

Rebecca, Apollo, and IG-22 follow behind. Rebecca is practically glowing from the excitement.

“Nikko! You totally missed out,” she gushes. “The food stands were amazing, there was this bard troupe doing a comedy play — oh, and someone did a puppet show of the Battle of Cindervale! You would've loved it!” But then her eyes drop to my belt and her breath catches. “Wait… is that—?”

Hovering just behind Apollo, DP-8 emerges from the ship with its familiar trilling chirp, its wide photoreceptors scanning the area before it lazily drifts toward the manor, its sensors clicking softly. Zeke, already outside, silently appears beside me, as if he'd been waiting this whole time. He lets out a soft warble and floats in a slow circle around my lightsaber hilt, curious.

Papa lowers his hood and removes his mask. His eyes find the hilt, and something flickers in them — not just recognition, but deep, quiet pride.

Talia comes up beside him, reaching for Erza — but the toddler burrows into Papa’s chest with a possessive little squeak. Talia laughs and kisses her cheek instead, then plants one on Papa’s lips, prompting our twin sisters to look away in practiced disgust.

“You built it?” Papa asks softly after turning away from the kiss.

I nod. My heart pounds, the weight of the moment pressing on me. They’re all watching now — my sisters, Rebecca, Talia, even Apollo in his stoic way. IG-22, unsurprisingly, has wandered off toward the manor, perhaps uninterested in such sentimental things.

I take a deep breath, unclasp the hilt from my belt, and hold it in both hands. My fingers tremble slightly. What if I disappointed him? What if the blade color says something about me I don’t understand?

I press the ignition switch.

With a sharp hiss-crack, the blade flares to life — a vibrant magenta glow filling the air. The pink-tinted light reflects in my sisters’ wide eyes as their jaws drop in delighted shock. Even Erza looks stunned, nearly losing her pacifier.

“Whoa…” they breathe together.

Rebecca lets out a slow whistle. “That’s a statement.”

Zeke lets out an impressed series of chirps, hovering a little higher to catch the full glow of the magenta blade, while DP-8 pauses mid-hover, emitting a thoughtful set of beeps.

Talia places a warm hand on my shoulder, her smile full of pride. “Well done, sweetie.”

Papa hands Erza over to Talia — and after some reluctant squirming, Erza settles against her mother’s shoulder. “Time for you two to finish your math work,” he says to the twins.

“But Papa—” they protest in unison.

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“No buts.” He glances at Apollo, who silently steps forward, ushering them inside. They drag their feet dramatically but go without another word.

“Why don’t you—” Papa starts, but Rebecca cuts in with a sly grin.

“I’ll help with dinner,” she says, excusing herself.

Zeke lingers for a moment longer, circling me protectively, before letting out a soft digital trill and drifting away. DP-8, without a word, joins him, both seeker droids floating together toward the manor as the last of the light catches on their metallic frames.

That leaves only the two of us.

Oh no.

My tail droops instinctively.

“Come with me,” Papa says, and I nod, silently following him into the dojo.

Inside the quiet space, filled with the soft scent of worn wood and incense, he gestures for me to kneel. I obey, sitting on my knees with my lightsaber resting on my belt.

With a flick of his hand, the hilt lifts from my side and hovers between us.

“Truly impressive craftsmanship,” he murmurs.

Before my eyes, the hilt dismantles in mid-air — kyber crystals glowing faintly, components rotating in place. Then, as smoothly as it came apart, the pieces lock together again and float into his hand. He ignites it.

The magenta blade hums softly, casting a faint purple-pink glow across his features.

“You not only made a well-balanced hilt,” he says, spinning it experimentally, “you added a hidden extension, and a split dual function.” With a practiced twist, he activates the extension and then separates the saber into twin blades. How the hell did he notice that? He spins them once — their humming slicing through the silence — then deactivates both and fits them back together.

He offers the weapon to me again. I take it carefully.

“The grip doesn’t slip. The balance is precise. It’s everything a saber should be,” he says. “Well done Nikko.”

Still, he hasn’t said anything about the color. My chest tightens. I look down.

“But what’s bothering you?” he asks, gently kneeling across from me.

I hesitate. “Aren’t you disappointed?” I murmur. “The color… it’s not like yours. I trained with the idea that yellow would be my color. Power and knowledge, like you. But instead… it’s magenta. What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” he admits honestly. “Truthfully, I’ve never seen magenta before in a lightsaber. Didn’t even know it existed.”

“So that means I failed, right?” I say quickly, unable to stop the lump rising in my throat. “I must’ve done something wrong.”

His hand rests on my shoulder — warm, grounding.

“No. Not at all,” he says. “That unknown? That’s what makes it special.”

He looks me in the eyes. “You didn’t follow a path already written. You forged your own. Perhaps magenta doesn’t have to be defined by others. It’s yours. Maybe it means balance between heart and instinct. Or perhaps it means you don’t seek knowledge or power… but connection. You do move with emotion, intuition — not calculation. After all, the color comes from within.”

My eyes sting. I look away quickly, nodding.

“I am not disappointed,” he says firmly. “I am proud. You’ve taken your next step, and it’s one you shaped with your own hands.”

He steps back, reaching for his own saber. “Which is why… I’d like to duel you.”

My heart jumps. “You—what?”

He smiles. “A proper one. To test your form, your capabilities. Celebrate your milestone.”

I rise slowly, gripping my lightsaber — then pause. My thumb hovers over the ignition. I exhale and reclip it to my belt.

“I do want to,” I say, my voice quiet. “But… I don’t think I’m ready. Not yet. I want to train more. Discover what I can do first. If that’s okay.”

He nods. “You don’t need to be afraid to say no, Nikko. Of course it’s okay.” He pauses. “Your sixteenth birthday is in four weeks. How about then? A proper duel.”

A small smile forms on my lips. “Deal.”

I step forward and hug him tightly.

“Thanks, Papa,” I say into his shoulder.

“Anytime, sweetie,” he replies. “And if you need help — from me, Talia, or Apollo — just ask.”

He ruffles my hair. “Now, you’re welcome to join us for dinner. Or…?”

“Honestly?” I glance around the dojo. “I think I want to stay.”

He nods and heads out, leaving me alone in the warm quiet.

Four weeks. Four weeks to push myself. To grow stronger. To define what magenta means.