Chapter I: The Child of Stars and Silence

Kinaya Jikiiti’s story did not begin with grandeur. It did not begin with prophecy, with visions, or with whispered destinies. It began beneath an open sky, where the suns burned golden over endless plains of tall, swaying grass, where the rhythm of life was measured in the silent footfalls of the hunt.

 

She was born on Shili, the homeworld of the Togruta, among a people who thrived in unity, in tradition, in the unspoken harmony between predator and prey. Her father was a chieftain, a leader of their clan, wise and respected. Her mother, a skilled tracker, taught her that the land itself was alive, that the ground beneath her feet was not merely dirt and stone, but a presence, a thing to be honored and understood.

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From infancy, Kinaya was different. While the other children played, she listened. She felt the whispers in the wind, the distant echoes of movement long before she could see it. The hunt came naturally to her, not because of her eyes or her montrals, but because she could sense the pulse of life around her, a rhythm deeper than instinct.

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Her people called it attunement, a gift of the greatest hunters. But it was something more.

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The First Echoes of the Force

The first time Kinaya’s connection to the Force revealed itself, she was no older than six.

It was during a rite of passage, one all Togruta younglings faced—a test to track and capture a small creature without aid, without tools, guided only by instinct and patience. The other children relied on sight, on scent, on the faintest rustling of the brush.

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Kinaya… closed her eyes.

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She let the world come to her, let the heartbeat of the land fill her mind. And then, she felt it—the faint, flickering presence of something small and frightened, its pulse quickening, its tiny body shivering beneath the shelter of roots. She did not hear it. She did not see it.

But she knew.

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With careful steps, she moved through the tall grass, following not a trail, but a presence, an imprint left upon the world itself. She knelt, reaching down before she even saw the creature, and with gentle hands, she lifted it—a trembling, wide-eyed strill pup, its fear washing over her in a wave.

The elders watched in silence. The other children had struggled, had searched for hours. But Kinaya had simply known.

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That night, her father spoke little, but his expression was troubled. Her mother, usually so certain, hesitated before embracing her. Something unspoken passed between them, something Kinaya did not yet understand.

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The next morning, a visitor arrived.

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The Jedi Who Came With the Dawn

Kinaya had never seen a Jedi before.

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Arushi Juk did not look like a warrior. He wore no heavy armor, carried no weapons beyond the slender hilt at his side. He walked among Kinaya’s people not as an outsider, but as one who belonged—as though the land itself had already accepted him. He spoke little, yet the weight of his presence was undeniable.

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He had not come for diplomacy. He had come for Kinaya.

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The discussion was brief, the choice inevitable.

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Kinaya did not yet know what it meant to be Jedi. She did not know of the Order, of the Temple, of the vast, unseen web that connected all living things. But she knew that her father, strong and proud, stood before Arushi Juk and yielded.

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She knew that her mother, when embracing her one last time, whispered words of love but did not ask her to stay.

She knew that her people, though silent, understood that the child before them was no longer only theirs.

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When the time came to leave, Kinaya did not cry. She did not look back.

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She stepped onto the Jedi’s ship, watching the grasslands stretch endlessly beyond the horizon, and reached out—not with her hands, but with her being.

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And for the first time, she felt something answer.

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The Force was waiting for her. And she was ready to listen.

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Chapter II: The Path of a Youngling

Kinaya Jikiiti arrived at Yavin IV beneath a sky thick with jungle mist, where the ruins of an ancient civilization whispered secrets of an era long past.

 

The great temple that housed the Jedi Academy stood solemn against the backdrop of the untamed wilderness, its towering stones worn by time yet unbroken by it.

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She was young, no older than seven, yet as she stepped onto the moss-covered stone of the temple courtyard, she did not feel small. The air here carried a weight different from the open plains of Shili. The Force was stronger here—denser, more present, like the silent breath of an unseen giant.

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Her training began at once.

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Among the Younglings

Kinaya was not alone. Others had come before her, each drawn from distant worlds, each carrying their own burdens and dreams. Among them were those who would shape her journey as much as the Masters themselves.

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Jerris Writte, the human boy with boundless energy, quick to laugh and quicker still in a duel. He moved like water, never still, never predictable.

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Jaipur Meeruti, the Chalactan with a sharp mind and sharper instincts. Though she spoke little, her actions carried meaning, her gaze always thoughtful.

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Zae Soylon, a Miraluka whose precision in saber drills was matched only by his unwavering discipline. He was a perfectionist, and for a time, Kinaya envied the effortless grace in his movements.

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Together, they trained under the watchful eyes of Jedi instructors, learning the fundamentals of the Force, of the lightsaber, of the history that bound them all. And while Kinaya excelled in some areas—her ability to sense things before they happened, her talent in understanding the emotions of others—there were struggles as well.

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For one, she stood out.

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The Girl With Large Feet

Kinaya’s Togruta heritage had always marked her as different, but it was not her montrals or her striped lekku that drew the most attention. It was her feet.

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Even among younglings of many species, she was unmistakable—her feet were large, even for a Togruta. It became something of an oddity, a source of playful remarks from her peers. Some would joke that she left tracks like a Gundark, while others wondered if her connection to the Force was simply because she could feel the ground better than anyone else.

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But Kinaya did not mind.

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She embraced it in ways that puzzled the others—where many younglings wore training boots or soft-soled shoes, Kinaya went barefoot almost everywhere. She relished the feeling of stone beneath her feet in the temple halls, the damp soil of the jungle paths, the cool metal of starship floors during training exercises.

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When asked why, she would simply smile and say, "The ground tells me things."

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It was a simple answer, but the truth was deeper. In her mind, connection mattered—to the earth, to the living world, to the pulse of existence itself. And she would never let anything come between her and that connection.

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Chosen by a Master

Time passed, and as Kinaya grew, so too did her skills. She was intuitive, thoughtful, a quick learner, though she lacked the rigidity of some of her peers. Where Zae Soylon perfected every technique before moving forward, Kinaya learned through motion, through feeling, through mistakes. She was fluid, adaptable.

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And so, when the time came for the younglings to be chosen by Masters, it was no surprise that Soo Laa chose her.

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The Twi'lek Consular had long been a presence in the temple, known for her deep understanding of nature, of life, of the way the Force intertwined with all living things. Where some Masters took on students to mold them, Soo Laa believed in guiding them toward what they were meant to become.

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Kinaya was honored.

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Under Soo Laa, her training deepened. She learned the art of Force Empathy, how to understand the emotions of those around her, how to offer calm where there was fear. She studied Force Healing, though she was never a natural at it, learning instead how to apply the Force subtly—to mend, to encourage, to strengthen.

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And most importantly, she was taken on her first missions.

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Lessons Beyond the Temple

Her travels took her beyond Yavin IV—to diplomatic settlements, where she saw firsthand the delicate balance of peace. To outer-rim worlds, where she met those who had never heard of the Jedi, who only knew the galaxy as cruel and unforgiving. To battlefields, where she learned the harsh reality that not all problems could be solved with words alone.

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Soo Laa never shielded her from the truth. She showed Kinaya the suffering of the galaxy, the weight of responsibility that came with the title of Jedi.

And Kinaya, despite her youth, listened.

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She was not the strongest in combat, nor the most disciplined in meditation. But she was present in ways that others were not. She saw things—felt things—that others overlooked. And that, perhaps, was her greatest strength.

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The girl who once walked barefoot through the jungles of Shili now walked through the galaxy, feeling its heartbeat beneath her feet.

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And with every step, the Force whispered back.

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A Path Begins

By the time Kinaya neared Knighthood, she was no longer just a student, no longer just the youngling with oversized feet who walked barefoot through the temple halls.

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She had become something more.

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A listener.

A guide.

A Jedi in the making.

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And her journey was only beginning.

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Chapter III: The Trials of Kinaya Jikiiti

From the moment Kinaya Jikiiti became Soo Laa’s Padawan, the galaxy felt as if it had opened to her. No longer confined to the halls of Yavin IV, she now had the freedom to explore, to learn, and to grow beyond the structured lessons of her youth. And yet, no matter how many systems she traveled to, one place always called her back.

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Kashyyyk.

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It was here that she would face her greatest trials, forge lifelong bonds, and witness the final transformation of a being who had shaped her very understanding of the Force.

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Among the Wroshyr Trees

The first time Kinaya set foot on Kashyyyk, she felt it—the life, the power, the sheer depth of the Force resonating through the ancient wroshyr trees. Unlike the orderly serenity of Yavin IV, Kashyyyk was wild and raw, a place where the Force was unbridled and untamed. The Wookiees had long since learned to live in harmony with their world, but it was a land of constant trials, where the strong survived and the reckless perished.

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Soo Laa had brought her here to learn, but Kinaya quickly realized that learning on Kashyyyk was not passive. It demanded adaptation, respect, and understanding. She was not just a Jedi here—she was a guest in a far older world.

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Her first challenge came in the form of a Wookiee elder named Kyrommori  Unlike many of his kin, Kyrommori was a Jedi, a wise and patient Master who was a descendent of Sharranta, a Jedi who once trained under the legendary Az’u Fir’al—a Neti mystic whose presence was still deeply felt across Kashyyyk. Though Sharranta had long since passed, she and her descendents remained respected figures among both the Wookiee people and the Jedi who visited their world.

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It was under Kyrommori's watchful eye that Kinaya first began to understand the true depth of the living Force—not as something separate from the physical world, but as woven into the very fabric of existence.

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But it was not Kyrommori who left the greatest mark on her soul.

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It was Az’u Fir’al.

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The Forest Woman

The first time Kinaya met Az’u Fir’al, she did not realize she was meeting her at all.

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She had been sent deep into the jungle to track a rogue Trandoshan slaver, a task she had undertaken alone, at Soo Laa’s insistence. The deeper she went, the more the jungle seemed to shift around her, twisting in ways that made no sense. The trees grew denser, the underbrush swallowed her path, and the Force itself felt thick, as if watching her every step.

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Then she saw the tree.

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It was unlike any wroshyr she had ever seen—ancient, massive, and alive in a way she could not comprehend. Its roots spread out like the fingers of some colossal being, its branches twisting high into the sky.

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And then it spoke.

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"You are lost."

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Kinaya turned, hand drifting toward her lightsaber, but the voice came not from an enemy—but from the tree itself. Or rather, from within it.

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Az’u Fir’al had long since shed her humanoid form, embracing the final transformation of the Neti. Once a wanderer, once a Jedi Master, she had now become something more—a being whose consciousness had merged with the ancient forests of Kashyyyk, her presence woven into the roots and branches of the wroshyr trees themselves.

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For hours, Kinaya sat before her, listening.

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Az’u spoke of patience, of understanding, of the way the Force was not something to be commanded but felt, lived, and trusted. She spoke of her time in isolation, of the merchant who had drawn her from the depths of a nameless jungle, of Sharranta, and of the academy on Yavin IV. She spoke of Soo Laa, and of the teachings Kinaya had yet to understand.

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And then, she told Kinaya something that would haunt her for years to come.

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"You will see many things in this galaxy, child. You will know loss. You will know pain. But if you listen—if you truly listen—you will never be lost."

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And then she was silent.

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Trials of Fire and Shadow

Kinaya’s training under Soo Laa was not without hardship. The missions they undertook often placed them in the heart of danger, and Kashyyyk itself was no exception.

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The Trandoshan slavers were relentless, their hunts growing more daring, their methods more ruthless. Soo Laa believed in understanding before action, but Kinaya quickly learned that not all enemies could be reasoned with. There were moments when diplomacy failed, moments when violence became necessary.

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One such moment came when a Wookiee village was raided, its inhabitants captured and prepared for transport. Kinaya had been taught to find balance, to seek nonviolent solutions, but when she arrived to see children in chains, something inside her snapped.

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She moved before thinking, leaping into the fray with her lightsaber ignited, cutting down slavers before they had the chance to react. She fought with ferocity—not out of rage, but out of conviction.

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When the battle was over, and the last slaver lay defeated, Soo Laa found her standing over the wreckage of a crashed transport, breathing heavily, her hands shaking.

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The Neti’s words echoed in her mind.

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"You will see loss. You will see pain."

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Soo Laa did not chastise her. She did not praise her either. Instead, she simply said:

"You understand now, don’t you?"

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Kinaya nodded.

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Some battles could not be avoided. Some conflicts had no peaceful resolution. But even in those moments, one could not lose themselves. The Force was not a weapon—it was a guide, a presence that whispered even in the chaos of war.

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She had passed the trial.

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The Knighting

Years passed.

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Kinaya grew into a warrior and a thinker, shaped by the lessons of Kashyyyk, by Soo Laa’s wisdom, and by the silent teachings of Az’u Fir’al. She carried the lessons of the jungle with her, the patience of the trees, and the wisdom of the Wookiees.

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By the time she stood before the Jedi Council, ready to be knighted, she was no longer the wide-eyed child who had first stepped onto Yavin IV.

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She had walked the depths of the Shadowlands.

She had fought to protect the innocent.

She had listened to the voice of the Forest Woman.

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When the ceremonial lightsaber touched her shoulders, marking her as Jedi Knight, she did not feel pride.

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She felt purpose.

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And as she left the chambers, ready to forge her own path, she could not help but wonder—

Was Az’u Fir’al still listening?

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She did not know.

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But she did know one thing.

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She would never stop listening.

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Chapter IV: The Last Stand of Kinaya Jikiiti

The title of Jedi Knight had never been the end of the journey for Kinaya Jikiiti. It was merely another step forward, another threshold to cross. Though she had been shaped by her years under Soo Laa, guided by the whispers of Az’u Fir’al, and hardened by the wilds of Kashyyyk, she now had to face her greatest challenge yet—not as a student, but as a teacher.

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She had been a warrior, a protector, a wanderer.

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Now, she would become a Master.

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The Lone Apprentice

Kinaya had never sought a Padawan. Training another felt too great a responsibility, and she had always been haunted by the fear that she would fail them, that she would not be enough. But the Force had its own will, and when it placed Luminas Si’nn in her path, she could not refuse.

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Luminas was a young Zabrak female, quiet but unyielding, with a mind as sharp as her fists. Unlike Kinaya, who had been born into privilege on Shili,

 

Luminas came from the slums of a distant world, where survival was not guaranteed and mercy was a luxury. She was tough, sometimes stubborn, but brilliant in ways Kinaya had never expected.

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The bond between them did not form easily. Luminas had trouble with trust, and Kinaya struggled with the weight of being the one responsible for shaping another’s future. But they found understanding in the jungles of Yavin IV, in the wilderness where Kinaya had once trained as a youngling.

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Kinaya did not teach in the traditional way. She let the world be their teacher.

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"You don’t need me to tell you what the Force is," Kinaya had said, walking barefoot through the vines. "Feel it. Listen to it. Let it teach you."

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And Luminas did.

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For the first time in her life, Luminas learned what it meant to be free—to trust something other than herself, to believe that there was more to the galaxy than survival. Kinaya watched as her Padawan grew, shaping her own unique understanding of the Force, blending Kinaya’s wisdom with her own unbreakable spirit.

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But Kinaya’s time with her apprentice would be cut short.

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Because war was coming.

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Rising as Grand Master

When Soo Laa passed on, there was no doubt as to who would take her place.

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Kinaya had never seen herself as a leader, but the Jedi who had trained alongside her—Jerris Writte, Jaipur Meeruti, Zae Soylon—all agreed. She had spent her life preparing for this, even if she had never realized it.

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She was not the kind of Grand Master who sat within council chambers, making decisions from afar.

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She walked the jungle paths with the younglings, helped construct new shelters with her own hands, and personally saw to the training of each Jedi who came to Yavin IV.

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Even as war swept across the galaxy, Kinaya refused to let Yavin IV become a place of fear. It remained a place of learning, a sanctuary for those who sought wisdom and peace.

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But peace was never meant to last.

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And the storm that approached would not be stopped.

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The Invasion of Zakuul

The Eternal Empire of Zakuul arrived like a shadow that swallowed the stars.

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No warning.

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No mercy.

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When the first ships descended upon Yavin IV, Kinaya knew they would not leave.

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She gathered the Jedi, the younglings, the knights, and ordered an evacuation. There was no hope of victory against an enemy this powerful. They were unlike the Sith, unlike any foe the Jedi had faced before. Against the might of the Eternal Fleet, resistance was a death sentence.

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But not everyone could escape.

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Not everyone would escape.

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As the shuttles rose toward the stars, Kinaya and a handful of Jedi remained behind. There were still students hidden deep in the jungle, still those who had been captured in the first wave of the assault. She could not abandon them.

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She would not abandon them.

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The battle for the Academy was brief, brutal, and hopeless.

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Kinaya fought with everything she had—her movements flowing like the wind, her strikes precise and devastating. She knew every root, every rock, every tree of the jungle around her, and she used it to her advantage. She became the storm, the beast, the huntress.

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But Zakuul’s warriors did not fight like Jedi.

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They did not fight like Sith.

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They fought with ruthless efficiency, their weapons unlike anything the Order had ever seen. One by one, the last defenders of the Academy fell, until Kinaya alone remained.

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She had held them back long enough.

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The younglings were safe.

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That was enough.

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The Torture of a Jedi

She was taken alive.

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For weeks, Kinaya endured torture beyond imagining.

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They starved her.

They drugged her.

They broke her bones.

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And yet, she did not break.

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No matter what they did, Kinaya remained Kinaya—the girl who had walked barefoot through the jungles of Shili, the warrior who had fought for the Wookiees of Kashyyyk, the Master who had once listened to the voice of the Forest Woman.

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She did not beg. She did not scream

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She simply listened.

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Because even in pain, even in suffering, the Force was still there.

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And in the end, they gave up.

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The Last Stand

When they finally dragged her back to Yavin IV, she was barely recognizable—starved, beaten, but still standing.

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The jungle she had once called home was burning. The ancient trees, the sacred grounds—all reduced to ash. The Academy had been razed, its halls now silent.

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And in the ruins, her captors gave her a choice.

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Kneel. Submit. Or die.

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Kinaya smiled.

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And then she took her last step forward.

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She did not fight. She did not raise her blade. She simply walked, slowly, to the heart of the ruins, to the place where the echoes of Az’u Fir’al could still be felt in the roots of the surviving trees.

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She knelt, but not in submission.

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She touched the ground with her fingers, felt the pulse of the Force in the soil, in the wind, in the flames.

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And then, she spoke.

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"I am not afraid. I will never submit. I will never bend.."

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The soldiers opened fire.

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And Kinaya Jikiiti became one with the Force.

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Legacy of the Barefoot Jedi

Kinaya never finished training Luminas Si’nn. But her teachings lived on.

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The Zabrak escaped before the invasion. She would never forget her Master’s words, her lessons, or the way she stood, unshaken, against an empire that thought it could break her.

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Some say that if you walk the ruins of Yavin IV, in the stillness of the jungle, you can still hear Kinaya’s footsteps—soft, quiet, unafraid.

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She had always walked barefoot.

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And in the end, she never stopped walking.