Chapter II Part I

I wake to the soft hush of dawn slipping through the old arched windows of my room. Pale sunlight spills across the wooden floorboards, climbing up the small shelf where my training saber rests. Its simple hilt catches the early light like it knows — just like me — that today is the day everything changes.

I lie there for a moment, ears flicking at the faint rustle of the orchard outside. The breeze rattles the branches against my open window, carrying that crisp edge that means autumn is creeping closer. Soon we’ll have to harvest all that fruit — apples, pears, cherries, peaches — and I already dread how sore my arms will be. I can almost see it: the ancient tree standing tall in the yard like a quiet guardian, the swing creaking gently when the wind picks up just right. The greenhouse sits off to the side, its white frame catching the dawn light like a crystal shell, and beyond that, rows and rows of orchard trees stretch out — neat, steady, brimming with the life we’ve nurtured here.

I grin. Today. The word thumps in my chest like a heartbeat. Today isn’t just another day practicing forms with the training sabers Papa transmuted for me. Today, I build my true lightsaber — the one that’s mine alone.

I toss my covers back, my tail flicking behind me like an exclamation mark. I almost trip over my boots on the way to the washroom, but I catch myself with a laugh. I lean in close to the old mirror above the basin and freeze for a second, studying my reflection. My hair’s a mess — all tangled and wild — and there are shadows under my eyes because I barely slept last night. I’ve really grown, I realize. I remember when I needed a stool just to see my face in this mirror. Now, I’m nearly eye to eye with Talia. Hard to believe this is real — my life, my family, this home that loves me back. If it weren’t for Papa... I catch myself smiling, but I shake it off before I get all misty-eyed. No time for that, I tell my reflection. Today’s the day.

I shower quick and hot, scrubbing away the last bits of sleep clinging to my skin. When I’m done, I tie my hair back tight — high and sleek, long strands trailing down my back, parted just right around my ears. The style makes me look a little older, a little stronger. I like that.

I pull on my work clothes — sturdy cotton pants, my favorite soft tunic that I embroidered myself, and my worn boots, scuffed from a hundred rounds in the yard and too many trips up the orchard ladders. I pause by the small wooden bowl on my dresser. My kyber crystals rest there like tiny shards of frozen moonlight. Even now, they seem to pulse faintly in the morning light — waiting for me.

I press my fingertips to them for luck. We’ve got this, I whisper, then bolt for the door.

I almost slam straight into SD-5, one of the manor’s old protocol droids, halfway down the hall. Its metal arms flinch around the laundry basket piled high with Mira and Liz’s clothes.

“Good morning, Miss Nikko,” SD-5 says in that prim, chipper tone as it steps aside, servos whirring. “Do be careful not to injure yourself at the start of the day.”

“Sorry, SD-5!” I shoot back, ducking around the basket before it topples. I catch my tail just in time, and the droid mutters something about youthful energy as I hurry off.

At the landing, I pause by the wide window. The orchard unfolds below me in gentle rows — fruit hanging heavy on the branches, almost ready for harvest. Apples, pears, peaches, and cherries. I can smell them from here. Almost ready for harvest. Past the orchard, I spot the squat garage where Papa and I tinker with old droids and speeders. The landing pad beside it is empty — no Crucible gleaming under the dawn sky. Where’s Papa? I wonder, ears twitching. And Apollo too?

But then the smell of breakfast drifts up the stairs — warm bread, eggs, something sweet and sharp that makes my stomach rumble. I push my thoughts away and race down the steps, braid bouncing against my back.

The dining room is already alive with soft chatter. Sunlight filters through the tall windows, catching on the polished oak table. Talia looks up first, platinum hair falling loose over her shoulder as she wipes a smear of squash from Erza’s round cheek. Mirajane and Lisanna sit across from her, both of them halfway through their plates already — and both grinning at me like cats who got into the cream. I spot Zeke, my seeker droid, hovering near the corner. It chirps a cheery “Good morning,” but I barely register it. Papa and Apollo are gone. That means one thing: no distractions left except the saber.

“Morning, Talia! Morning, Mira! Morning, Liz!” I rattle off, ducking to plant a quick kiss on Talia’s cheek and another on Erza’s soft, chubby face. She squeals, little hands flailing, and Talia just shakes her head with that gentle look.

I grab a warm roll from the basket and spin for the door — or I would have, if Talia’s voice didn’t snap through the room like a well-placed saber strike.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

I freeze mid-step, roll halfway to my mouth. “Uh… gonna build my lightsaber, of course!” I say, my tail flicking hopefully.

Talia crosses her arms, that single eyebrow rising like a blade. “Not before you finish your morning chores.”

I let out a groan, ears drooping. “But Talia—”

“No buts.” She pulls a folded note from her apron pocket and holds it out. “Your father left you a list. Once you’ve done everything, then you get to build your lightsaber.”

I snatch the note open with one hand, my roll sagging sadly in the other. My eyes skim down the neat lines:

Pick fallen fruit. Run diagnostics on the service droids. Vacuum the halls. Clean the training weapons. Pick up materials from Elara’s forge. Get groceries from Estelle. Fix the swing at Mrs. Whitaker’s Orphanage. Pick up Erza’s clothes from Faelan. Cake from Erza’s cake shop.

I look up at my sisters, who look away, trying to stifle a giggle. They knew of this. “This much? Can’t Mira and Liz help?”

Mirajane just sticks out her tongue. Lisanna giggles behind her juice cup, the little traitor.

Talia smiles, serene as a queen. “They have their own chores. And their training lessons. You’re a big girl now, Nikko. You can handle it.” She pats my shoulder like that settles it. “Now sit. You can’t run errands all over the caldera on an empty stomach.”

I slump down with a dramatic sigh. Talia sets a full plate in front of me — fluffy eggs, crisp bacon, orchard fruit sliced up just the way I like it. She pours me a glass of juice, the scent sharp and sweet.

I shovel in a bite, ignoring my sisters as they giggle behind their hands. I flick my tail under the table, swatting Mira’s knee. “Shut it,” I hiss. She squeaks, but it doesn’t stop her grin.

I let my eyes drift to the window — to the orchard rows stretching out, the old tree with its swing that needs fixing, the garage, the empty landing pad. The caldera holds our home like a secret tucked away from the world. All the chores, all the practice swings, the transmuted sabers — they’re just steps leading to today.

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One more day, I tell myself, finishing the last bite of bacon. One more day of chores. Then it’s real. My saber. My path.

I poke at my eggs, ears flicking back. “Talia, where’s Dad?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

She pauses mid-spoonful. Erza squeals, patting her tray like a tiny drum. “He and Apollo left for Nevarro early this morning,” she says, brushing a bit of squash from Erza’s cheek. “They’re picking up more droid parts and running errands.”

I grunt around a mouthful. “He’s not even on Elasier?” My tail gives an annoyed flick. “When’s he coming back?”

“Tonight,” Talia says calmly, her smile never wavering. “He wants to be here when you forge your saber. He wants to see you do it — properly.”

I lean back, crossing my arms over the list still crumpled on the table. A slow, half-defeated smile tugs at my mouth. So that’s why, I think, glancing out at the orchard’s sunlit rows. The chores. All to keep me busy.

I look down at Erza’s giggling, smiling face. Talia’s soft humming drifts around me, mixing with Mira and Liz’s giggles and the faint whisper of the orchard trees beyond the window.

One more day of chores. Then it’s real.

After breakfast, I help Talia with the dishes. The warm soapy water feels good against my hands, grounding me for the day ahead. When the last plate is stacked on the drying rack, I roll up my sleeves and set to work.

First, the halls. I drag the old vacuum out from the storage closet and move from room to room, weaving around the polished floors and thick rugs that line the grand corridors of the manor. The machine hums like an old friend. Dust bunnies and dirt dragged in by the twins don’t stand a chance.

Next are the service droids. I gather all six in the squat garage, one by one, and run my checks. SD-1, SD-2, and SD-3 pass their diagnostics with barely a hiccup. SD-4’s processors stutter, though — definitely needs a tune-up. SD-5’s shoulder servos creak with every spin. I make a note to adjust them later. SD-6 just stands there blinking, perfectly smug about its spotless record.

When they’re done, I shoulder my gathering baskets and head outside. The orchard air hits me first — cool, sweet, laced with that earthy scent of leaves just starting to yellow for fall. I tug my gloves tight and move row by row, picking up fallen fruit: apples speckled with tiny bruises, pears slumped into the grass, cherries dotted red like little drops of blood, and the peaches from the new trees, fuzz soft beneath my fingers.

It’s sweaty work. I wipe my brow with my sleeve more times than I can count, my ears twitching at the low buzz of bees moving through the branches overhead. The buckets fill fast — heavy with fruit that, rotten or not, still have uses. I carry them to the distillery shed tucked behind the orchard fence, where the squat brick building hums with life. The distillery’s complex press and still gleam in the dim light as I dump the fruit in.

Papa always says nothing goes to waste. What can’t be used for the sweet, smooth brandy that fills the taverns and inns of Arroyo and Eldoria will be turned to mulch for the farmers. I run my hand over the distillery’s controls before I leave. The gentle thrum of the machine feels like another promise: our orchard will give and give again.

I check the sun’s angle as I head back. Two hours gone — just like that.

Next stop, the dojo. Papa’s pride, my second home. It’s tucked beside the squat garage, all dark wood and tall, sliding doors. Inside, it smells like oiled wood, old sweat, and the faint hum plasma. It looks almost like the training rooms Papa described from the Temple Guards — open floors, simple mats, racks of staffs and practice swords, the hilts for our training sabers lined up in neat rows.

I roll up my sleeves again and get to scrubbing. I dip the sponge into warm soapy water and wipe down each staff, each blade, each battered training shield. I work slow but steady, humming under my breath. The metal training dolls get a fresh polish until I see my own tired reflection staring back at me. I mop the floor last, pushing the grime of a hundred practice matches into the bucket.

When I’m rinsing out the last rag, I hear the soft squeak of the door. Talia’s silhouette fills the frame, Erza perched on her hip like a giggling little monarch. She’s balancing a tray in her free hand — a sandwich stacked thick and a glass of fresh juice.

“Done already?” she says, surprise softening her voice.

I straighten, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm. Erza squeaks when she sees me, pudgy hands reaching out. I take her carefully, bouncing her in my arms.

“Yeah. Just gotta run the errands and then I’m done,” I say, poking her round belly until she hiccups a laugh. She tries to grab my hair — she always does — but I twist just in time, catching her fingers.

Talia smiles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Then I’ll pack your lunch to go,” she says, reclaiming Erza from my arms.

“Is there anything you need help with?” I ask before she can turn away. I know her. She does more than any of us — the greenhouse, the twins’ lessons, the meals, the washing, caring for Erza day and night even with the droids to help. It never stops.

She tilts her head, her smile warm but unyielding. “Oh, I’m good,” she says, bouncing Erza gently. “But thank you, sweetie. Now go shower. I’ll have your gear and lunch ready by the door.”

I can’t help myself. I lean in and hug her — sweat and all, arms wrapped tight around both her and my giggling baby sister.

She lets out a quiet laugh, surprised. “Where’s this coming from?” she teases, patting my back as Erza joins in on the hug with a loud giggle.

“Nowhere,” I say, pulling back with a grin. “Just… thankful, that’s all.”

She cups my cheek, eyes crinkling. “Well, I’m thankful for you too. Now let go. You’re all sweaty.”

I roll my eyes and head for the washroom, shedding my orchard clothes along the way. The shower is quick and hot — scrubbing away dirt, dust, the sticky scent of fallen fruit. I pull on my fresh clothes: dark fabric, fitted but easy to move in. My leather chest plate hugs my torso, the knee guards and shoulder pads snug. Boots laced up tight. The short sword slides into its sheath at my hip, the holstered Model 13 blaster clicks into place at my thigh. My wrist gauntlet fits perfectly — Papa’s design, just like his.

At the front door, everything waits for me — just like Talia promised. My hood, my belt pouch, my gear pack. Talia’s there too, Erza snuggled into her shoulder, half-asleep now.

“Be careful, okay?” Talia says, pulling me in close. She plants a kiss on my forehead, her hand warm against my cheek. “Be back before dinner.”

“I will.” I kiss Erza’s cheek. She cracks open her eyes and squeaks, tiny fist waving.

“Bye-bye,” she murmurs, voice muffled around her pacifier.

I step out into the afternoon light. No sign of the twins — probably buried in their lessons, or plotting new mischief for me to stumble into later. I whistle for Zeke, and the little seeker droid comes zipping along the orchard path, settling on my shoulder with a soft whirr.

“An adventure. Finally,” Zeke chirps in its clipped, cheerful tone. I roll my eyes — it’s been itching to stretch its circuits since dawn.

We cross the yard to the squat garage, its heavy door half-open. Inside, nestled between stacks of spare parts and half-assembled droids, sits my pride and joy: the speeder bike.

Its frame is sleek and low, painted a deep charcoal gray that makes the chrome accents gleam in the light. The handlebars are wrapped in worn leather, the seat molded perfectly to my shape. Twin stabilizer fins curve back like raptor wings, and the rear thrusters look ready to spit fire at a moment’s notice. Papa says it’s modeled after an old Outer Rim design — efficient, silent, built to outrun anything short of a starship. To me, it’s freedom. My freedom.

Zeke chirps as I swing my leg over the seat and fire up the ignition. The bike purrs beneath me, that low rumble stirring something alive in my chest.

Ahead, the path winds through the orchard. The stone wall of the caldera looms tall, but as I approach, the ancient rock splits open — a wide, well-lit tunnel revealing the road beyond.

I lean forward, one hand gripping the throttle, the other brushing over Zeke’s metal dome. “Ready, partner?”

Zeke whistles once, excited. “Let’s go.”

I grin, twist the throttle — and the speeder roars to life beneath me, shooting forward into the tunnel. The orchard, the manor, the caldera — they slip behind me as the open road ahead calls my name.

Arroyo awaits. One more day of chores before I can finally craft my very own lightsaber.