The stars blurred into endless light as the Earthborn ship left hyperspace. Before them loomed the beating heart of the Republic: Coruscant. Towering spires, endless cityscapes, and the pale gold glow of the Jedi Temple's highest tower stood like a monument to ancient tradition.
But this time, Anakin Skywalker wasn't arriving as a slave rescued by chance.
He returned as a Padawan forged in balance.
Inside the ship, Anakin watched the world draw closer through the viewport. His face was calm. Not because he had no fear—but because he'd learned to command it, not suppress it.
Beside him stood his newest companion.
C-3PO, reborn in Earth-forged alloy, gleamed beneath the soft lighting. His frame was sleeker, taller, with obsidian black and gold plating, glowing blue photoreceptors, and a reactor core that pulsed softly in his chest.
"I must say," Threepio began, "I feel quite… composed. Have you noticed? I believe this is my least nervous arrival to a Jedi stronghold yet."
Anakin smirked. "It's the upgraded anxiety dampeners. Earth tech."
"And here I thought it was character development," Threepio mused.
From the cockpit, Master Martus Kael Vorran didn't look back.
"Anakin," he said, voice firm. "When we land, speak as you are. Not as they expect you to be. You're not here to impress them. You're here to show them the Force they've forgotten."
Anakin nodded once. "Yes, Master."
Jedi Temple – Grand Hall
The ship descended into the restricted landing platform. Martus stepped down first, his cloak catching the wind, followed by Anakin—and the new Threepio, who immediately drew stares from Jedi Knights and Temple technicians.
As they passed through the great halls, younglings whispered. Masters paused. Even those who once dismissed the Earthborn's teachings looked twice.
There was something different about Anakin Skywalker now.
Not darker.
Not brighter.
Just clear.
The Council's Judgment
Inside the High Council Chamber, the room fell into silence as the doors slid open. Twelve Masters sat in a circle. Among them: Yoda, ancient and sharp. Shaak Ti, ever curious. Ki-Adi-Mundi, analytical. And nearby, no longer seated but still present, Mace Windu.
Anakin stepped forward. He bowed.
"Masters."
Martus did not bow. He remained beside Anakin, arms behind his back.
"Returned, the boy has," Yoda said. "Much changed, he is."
"More than you know," Martus replied.
Mundi narrowed his eyes. "Where did you go?"
"To Tatooine," Martus answered. "We reunited Anakin with his mother. And we freed her."
Whispers rippled through the room.
"That was not Jedi protocol," Windu said.
"No," Martus agreed. "It was right."
Silence followed.
Then Shaak Ti turned her gaze to Anakin.
"He's steadier. His aura is no longer fractured."
"I understand the Force now," Anakin said. "Not as something I serve or command—but something I reflect."
Yoda leaned forward slightly. "Ready, you may be. But tested, you must be."
Martus inclined his head. "We agree."
The Call to Ilum
That very night, a message was sent to Ilum.
The next morning, Anakin stood once again aboard their ship, hood up, lights dimmed. C-3PO remained aboard, watching anxiously from the cockpit as Martus briefed him one last time.
"This is your trial," Martus said. "Not a battle. Not a contest. Just you… and the Force."
Anakin nodded.
The Cavern of the Kyber
Ilum was cold.
Silent.
Sacred.
The cavern walls shimmered with millions of tiny reflections—raw kyber growing in clusters like frozen stars. As Anakin stepped inside, the cold passed through his robe and into his bones… but it didn't touch his heart.
He felt calm.
Focused.
He moved slowly through the crystalline halls. Colors shifted around him—green, blue, white, yellow…
Then he felt it.
A pull—not in his hand, but in his chest.
He turned and found a small fracture in the ice. He reached inside.
And there it was.
Half-buried. Almost glowing from within.
Violet.
He didn't choose it. He didn't question it.
He simply knew: it was his.
The moment he touched it, the ice cracked away. The crystal pulsed once in his palm, warm and steady. His breath hitched.
It was not a Jedi's color.
It was not a Sith's color.
It was something else entirely.
The Return
Outside, Martus stood with his arms crossed, snow collecting on his shoulders.
Then the wind shifted.
Anakin emerged—hood down, his eyes glowing with focus, the crystal clenched in his hand.
Martus saw the color.
He didn't react with surprise.
Only pride.
"Purple," he said.
Anakin looked at the crystal. "What does that mean?"
Martus placed a hand on his shoulder.
"It means you're not here to obey. You're not here to destroy. You're here to stand between."
Anakin looked up at him.
"Like you."
Martus gave a faint smile.
"No. Greater."
he stars shimmered above Ilum's horizon as the Forge ship lifted off into the quiet black. Inside, Anakin stood in the central chamber—his purple kyber crystal resting in the palm of his hand, pulsing in sync with his heartbeat.
He'd held many tools in his short life. He'd built a droid from scrap. Repaired engines. Rewired motivators. But this…
This was different.
This was him.
Martus stood behind him at the central Forge console aboard the ship—this was not a Jedi Temple forge. It was an Earth-integrated construction platform, merging Force-guided tradition with Earth technology. A blend of spirit and science.
"This forge was designed for one purpose," Martus said. "To create weapons that protect without dominating. To craft tools that reflect soul, not ego."
Anakin stepped onto the circular platform. It rose slightly, blue energy humming around the edge. Floating holo-arms projected schematics, modular options, and alloy samples.
"You've built machines," Martus said. "Now build yourself."
Anakin closed his eyes.
And he began.
The Hilt
He reached first for the alloy base—Earth-forged titanium-kyberite blend, sleek and dark with silver accents. Lightweight, but unbreakable. The same metal used in the construction of Earth's Arc Reactor towers.
The forge arms responded to his thoughts, aligning the internal core.
Next came the internal housing. He reinforced it with a micro-vibration stabilizer, an Earth innovation to keep the blade smooth and energy efficient.
Then he focused on the grip. No ornate flare, no ceremonial design—just functionality and control. A single ring near the top, etched with two letters:
"A.S."
Not for arrogance.
For remembrance.
Anakin Skywalker.
The boy who was once a slave.
The boy who was now becoming more.
The Crystal Bonding
He placed the kyber crystal into the core housing—hands trembling slightly as it settled into place.
The forge stopped humming.
Silence.
Then—light.
A wave of purple erupted around the platform, flaring outward like a sunrise in deep space. The crystal pulsed with energy, syncing with the emitter, resonating with the internal power cell.
Anakin stepped back as the hilt closed itself around the core, the parts sealing into a single, seamless weapon.
He took a breath.
And activated it.
Snap-hiss.
A brilliant violet blade ignited from the hilt—steady, loud, perfectly balanced between hum and crackle. It glowed in his hand like a reflection of his soul.
Martus watched from across the chamber.
"You feel it?"
Anakin turned toward him, eyes shining.
"I don't feel like I'm holding it."
Martus smiled.
"That's because it's holding you."
After the Blade
C-3PO clapped his metallic hands from the edge of the platform.
"Oh my, Master Anakin! Purple really is your color."
Anakin deactivated the blade, the glow folding in on itself with a sigh.
He looked at the hilt in his hand. At his master. At the stars beyond the viewport.
"I'm ready," he said.
Martus stepped forward, laying a hand on his shoulder.
"You've built your blade," he said. "Now let's see what you're willing to do with it."