Darth Maul was not at all confused by the change in the battle. On the contrary, the Sith clearly believed that the opportunity to destroy two Jedi at once would be good practice and bring him an additional bonus. Besides, his huge staff allowed him to fight several opponents at once. The rocks in this place rose in several levels, and the edge of the platform where the three were now fighting was terribly narrow. A block, a defensive stance, a deft flip in the air, and Phil was already behind Maul, cutting off his escape route, while Plo stood in front, in a defensive stance, ready to parry his attack. Mole flew over them and soon found himself at the very edge.
"That wasn't difficult, I expected more from a pro of your calibre," he said mockingly and immediately moved to the side, but ran into Phil, who jumped right at him from the ledge. The blue and red blades clashed in an instant. Mol spared no one, not even himself, let alone his opponent. His blows were wide and sweeping, coming from both sides, while the Magister fended them off, his green blade sparkling from the Sith's attempts to break through his block. Fortunately, only the swords were hit, and Mol did not deliver any fatal blows. While Plo defended himself from the ground, Eleot preferred to attack from the air, even managing to use his favourite techniques from Ataru. This was not easy in such a narrow space and with the Padawan's height exceeding six feet. At another time, the master would certainly have pointed this out to him, saying that such carelessness could be a serious mistake, but this time, carried away by the fight, he was thinking more about the Sith, about where he had come from and who the second one was, if there were always two of them. There were no answers, but there were two red blades and physical strength, thanks to which Mol kicked Phil away with his foot, sending him flying down to the level below, where he hit his back on the edge of the rock and lost consciousness for a moment. Plo saw this and jumped towards the Sith, doubling his strength to parry the blows of the staff and dodge the powerful thrusts that the Sith sent at him from time to time. Finally, both reached the edge of the platform. Mol raised his hand to push the Master down, but suddenly almost fell himself, receiving a blow to the back from his own sword, which momentarily pressed one of the blades against his side, burning through the fabric of his cloak and robe. Sith let out a loud cry, the pain driving him into a frenzy, which however, was entirely to Eleot's advantage — he temporarily forgot about the Magister, whose sword technique was niman, the most diplomatic of all, aimed more at defence than attack, and therefore he was unable to parry his opponent's blow correctly, finding himself on the edge. However, Mol was not thinking about that now, turning his attention to his second enemy and striking out at him, but the only thing his fury achieved was to cut off the tip of the Padawan's pigtail. Phil had already moved aside and was waving happily at the Master, spinning in the air. He waved and smiled, confident that he had skilfully escaped certain death and helped his teacher. But he rejoiced too soon, for if he had been more attentive, he would have noticed how much Po's stance had changed and how warningly he was raising his hands, but no, all this remained beyond Phil's thoughts and attention, as did Mol, who had grown right in front of him in a beautiful leap towards him. And his staff, flashing before his eyes for a second, then, as he landed, like the sting of a huge bee, pierced his chest. Only when the tip of the red blade appeared between his shoulder blades, spreading a cold and burning pain throughout his body, causing his vision to darken and his legs to buckle, did Phil finally realise that the fight was over. And not in favour of the young Padawan, who never became a Knight. This was marked by a low groan and the quiet sound of Eleot falling to the floor of the platform. His eyes closed before he hit the ground, and his breathing slowed, but immediately quickened when he heard a loud cry full of helpless pain:
"Phil!!!!
His Master shouted, noticing what had happened to his apprentice, and rushed at Mol, striking him wildly. At one point, Plo even managed to break his staff in two, but Mol fought just as skilfully with the remaining half, using the Force with his free hand. With its help, he managed to push the Master off the edge again, but at the last moment, he managed to grab hold of a ledge, leaving his sword on the edge. Mol took advantage of this and with one precise kick threw him into the abyss, making it clear that he would do the same to Plo himself if he did not surrender voluntarily. He had already begun to run his sword along the edge of the platform, cutting away all the ledges, but he underestimated the Magister's experience, and when he was about to cut the ledge that the kel-dor was clinging to, Plow stretched out his arm, used the Force to pull Phil's sword back towards him, and, pulling himself up, found himself once again facing his opponent. Mol raised his sword above him, but before he could strike, he let out a loud, painful cry that echoed off the rocks and flew down into the abyss, breaking into two uneven halves in mid-air, split by the green sword of the Master, who was almost mad with grief and put all his pain into the blow. The cry continued for a long time, echoing off the rocks, but sooner or later it died away, and Plo was finally able to approach his motionless student and kneel before him. Eleot was still alive, and when the Master lifted his head, he opened his eyes slightly, letting tears roll out from under his eyelids, and took a shallow, hoarse breath:
"Master... I beg you... don't leave... Asoka... teach her... please... promise me...
"You can handle this just as well," said Plo, not letting go of his student. "You will recover, and I will immediately knight you. I know you can do it, I believe in you."
"No... you... do it... promise me... I beg you..." Phil's voice grew fainter and fainter, and his last words escaped with an exhalation that was not followed by an inhalation. His eyes began to roll back, and cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
"I promise, Phil, don't worry, I won't abandon the girl, believe me, I already promised her father," Plo finally replied, hugging his Padawan one last time, who, wanting to give his last memory to his mentor, struggled to raise his hand and placed it on Plo's mask, where his cheek had been. Then the hand fell limply, and Eleot's eyes opened wide and closed again, only to open once more in the world of the Great Force, where there is no pain or fear, only peace and grace.
"He was so young. So young and full of hope, why him and not me?" Pluto asked, no one knows whom, as he returned to the ship. A sharp pain drowned out all other feelings. This boy was like a son to him, and he would never be assigned another student like him. Plo knew this, and the guilt for his death would never leave the heart of the aging Master. But the guilt could be lessened if he fulfilled his promise and helped train the one whom the boy loved with all his heart. With all his kind and selfless heart. Tears began to fall down the inside of his mask. Only when he was alone could the Jedi give free rein to his grief, so that later, upon his return to Coruscant, he could calmly report to the Council everything that had happened on Naboo. And this too. Ahsoka held tightly to his hand. As soon as Plo returned to the ship, she understood everything and hugged him, burying her little face in his robe, trying to take away his grief and lessen her own. He stroked her head and sat her down next to him in the cockpit. The girl was silent throughout the flight, clutching a colourful candy wrapper to her chest. This shared silent grief brought the girl and the elderly Master closer together, and the Council obviously felt it too, for it is not known what contributed more to their positive decision. Perhaps it was the fact that she had single-handedly destroyed the droid production centre, or the sanctity of the deceased's last will, or perhaps it was the touching devotion that shone in the girl's blue eyes when she looked at the Master. But in any case, Master Yoda gave a positive verdict, and Asoka was immediately taken to the dressing room, where she was dressed in a burgundy-red tunic tied at the waist with a belt, narrow trousers a shade darker, brown leather boots up to the knees — the traditional uniform of a student — and a thin golden crown with a thin chain hanging between the montralls, which replaced the Padawan's braid. It was in this guise that she appeared before everyone when the entire Order gathered around the ritual fire, in the centre of which lay Phil in a narrow coffin, his figure looking ghostly and ephemeral, engulfed in the haze of the flames. Ahsoka could only see his profile emerging from the tongues of flame. She did not stray from her new teacher, but she could not stop thinking about how things would have been if Phil were with her now. The girl knew that she would long for her lost friend for a long time to come. Or rather, they would do so together. Teacher and student. Two lonely hearts, united by a common misfortune. Plo thought much the same, remembering now how much he had been through with Phil, and even glancing habitually over his left shoulder, where Eleot had always stood. His apprentice was standing there now. But no, it wasn't him. Plo wiped away a tear.
"He had a kind heart. He lived for others. He thought of everyone but himself," said the Kel Dor, paying his last respects to the fallen. Asoka understood that her victory would now always be bitter, and that joy would forever be tinged with the pain of loss.
"As always, two. Teacher and student," said Plo when the conversation turned to the Sith.
"But who was defeated, the student or the teacher?" someone asked, and as before, no answer could be found. But as we know, it was not in the Jedi Code to give in to grief for long, and soon the celebrations began. Nevertheless, the Republic emerged victorious over the Trade Federation. Politicians joined the Order — senators from most planets and the newly elected Chancellor Cos Palpatine. He was particularly attentive to the events that had taken place, as well as to the fact that a new and very unusual apprentice had appeared in the Order.
"Come to me when you are in trouble," he said confidentially to Ahsoka, seizing the moment when she was alone.
The girl liked the attention from such a high-ranking person and immediately promised to do so at the first opportunity. With a smile, he began to ask her about her life. This simple conversation could have had different consequences, or none at all. Just like studying the Code and other Jedi sciences, which Asoka began the very next morning. Thus, the Order gained a new apprentice, and the Force gained a new adept. How would he prove himself and live up to the hopes placed on him? Would his desires always remain the same? The answer lay in a prophecy known only to the Force.
***
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