Turning Point: A Star Wars Story

Chapter 1

Ben Solo tossed his head back as his hover chair spurted into high gear. His umber mane drifted behind him as he maneuvered the seat around the Jedi Academy's long corridors. His fingers flicked across the control pad on the armrest, jerking the chair around corners and Jedi Padawan alike. He ignored the shouts and warnings behind him as he rushed to the saber training arena at the other end of the hexagonal building.

Pale winter sunlight streamed through the courtyard windows that lined one side of the passageway. The reflection from the snow drifts warmed the passage so much that the fifteen-year-old sweated like he was in the swamps of Dagobah. He wiped the beads of sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his gray Padawan tunic.

After rounding another corner, he used the Force to activate the training arena's sliding door. Darkness greeted him—blessed darkness pierced with streaks of colored lights. He welcomed the blackness that matched his dark mood.

Stale sweat assaulted his nose. The rubber mats and walls retained the stench, and no amount of sanitizer could neutralize it. Not even the air conditioning units could filter it out.

"You're late, Solo." Master Naluma Fau leaned against the safety rail, her Jedi robes wafting around her legs.

Ben sighed. Master Fau. Great. So you're feeling well enough to teach again? As if it wasn't enough that Jedi Ahhzteen nearly killed me in the weight room today in physical therapy.

"What are you waiting for?"

What does Uncle Luke even see in her? Ben rolled his eyes at the Jedi Master.

The dozen humming lightsabers around the room illuminated her tense form. She looks ready to pop right now. When is she going to spawn?

"Engage." Master Fau's terse tone shook him out of his reverie.

The enemy, right. He huffed while he maneuvered the chair into the arena. Like I'm ever going to leave this planet while I'm still injured. And only ones who know where I am are my dad and Uncle Chewie.

He stared at the Padawan in the area. You've got to be kidding me. He scowled at his classmates. Humiliate myself for a defensive drill? No, thank you.

While he backed his chair toward the exit, Master Fau's voice echoed around the chamber. "Padawan, I'm not going to ask you again. Engage your enemy. Soresu."

She must have twisted her hair so many times that her brain cells are oozing out. He crossed his arms and glared at the Jedi in the dim light. "I can't. I'm in a hover chair."

"You think the enemy won't attack you because you're an invalid?" She advanced one step and jabbed her finger at him. "Have you forgotten who you are? Skywalker's scion? You're a target. Now, engage." The pregnant Jedi Master pointed toward the arena. "Or do you want to be the first casualty?" 

Fau's eyes narrowed and her spine stiffened. The two glared at each other for a long minute before Ben relented.

The boy grunted before steering his scooter into the melee and hoisting his weapon. His blue lightsaber snapped to life, adding another hum to the cacophony. The sapphire light cast his glowering features into an eerie hue, accentuating his long nose and large ears.

"Groups of three now," she yelled. "Soresu drill five, two-on-one."

The lightsabers halted as the Padawan adjusted positions.

"Count off." The Jedi Master shuffled along the metal railing that separated the arena from the observation deck while the Padawan stepped into position.