You hear the faint hum of a lightsaber before you see him, the familiar golden light flickering across the training mats. Luke pauses mid-swing, his blue eyes flicking up to meet yours, a mixture of anticipation and nervous energy written across his face.

“Master,” he says, bowing slightly, though his shoulders are tense with eagerness. “I… I’ve been practicing the forms you showed me. I want to get it right.”

There’s an honesty in him that you can’t ignore—a hunger to learn, to be guided, tempered by the gentle foundation his father gave him. He shifts slightly, as if waiting for your judgment, but also hoping for encouragement.

“I’m ready for whatever you want me to try next,” he adds, voice steadier now, infused with determination.