Fandom High School

"The concept of cruelty has fascinated all societies," Kreia began. They would find themselves in a large, grey classroom, bereft of light - the Danger Shop, but not a particularly inspiring creation within it. "Why do men become monsters? One theory this particular world seems enamored with is that power naturally inspires cruelty and abuse."

( Many decades ago, scientists on this planet ran an experiment... )

Today, they would find themselves back in a regular classroom. Kreia sat at the front, on the floor, in the traditional meditation pose.

"Great men must do great deeds, or so many believe," she said. "A hero strikes the villain with their sword, and the villain perishes, and we are all saved."

She looked up - in a manner of speaking - and let out a scoff. "The reality, of course, is not nearly so simple," she said. "We are all heroes and villains both, and our greatest acts can be the smallest of gestures. You pass coin to a beggar that he has not earned, and you inspire others to take that which they have not earned: you deprive him of a chance to prove himself capable of doing something worth that coin, while others fail their own moral tests as they choose to take from him what they cannot earn themselves."

Her mouth set in a thin line. "I have also seen the reverse, of course. A man sees a lesser reduced to their knees, and strikes them merely because he can. He thinks himself strong, when he is weak. And perhaps his lesser endures, and becomes stronger for it. Wiser. In such small choices, our fates are written. I suppose if there is any lesson I hope you take away from this journey this semester, it is to be thoughtful of what you do, to whom, for what reason."

She rose to her feet.

"Too often we mistake the actions that make us feel good for actions that are good," she said. "One must be wary of these things. Consider the point of view of those you are acting towards. That does not mean you must act to their benefit, mind you. But one must be mindful of what-- dominoes, I believe is the term used here, one tips over."

"Could you conceive of a course of action that would help this beggar, knowing now what you know?" she asked. "That violence will be enacted on him, that he will be stripped of whatever you have given him, if you simply hand him this coin? That to enact violence on him would diminish you as much, if not more, as him? Would you ignore him, and hope there is a better test waiting for him? Would you give him greater aid, knowing that in doing so, you are choosing to lift up one man when so many others suffer? I am interested in your choices."

Kreia swept into class exactly five minutes late, her hand folded into her sleeve and her Jedi robe swishing dramatically as she entered. If she was aware of this drama, she did not show it.

( It has come to my attention that some of you are adepts of the Force. )

Kreia had not wished to be here. She had been whisked away from her chosen fate and deposited here like a package, moved around by the hands of fate, her own choices stripped away from her with the simple flex of a multiversal finger.

In other words, the disdain she radiated as she faced the class was nothing personal.

"I did not choose you as my students," she began. "You were forced upon me by powers far greater than any of us. I suppose that in and of itself is an object lesson: that to enact your will on one weaker than you is to strip them of their agency and their power. To take their destiny in your own hands and mold it as you see fit. It is the way of the galaxy that such things occur."

She folded her sleeves together; one clearly held a functioning hand, the other did not. "In this class, we will primarily speak of the considerations that come with wielding such power, but it will not weaken us to consider what it is to be the one against whom power is wielded. How we endure it placing us within conflicts we did not choose, or taking from us challenges that were rightly ours to face."

She considered the faces in her class. "Have you ever been stripped of such choices?" she said. "You all must have. Did it weaken you? Or did you find within it some conflict, some new choice of your own, that made you stronger, more capable?"

This one had certainly made her feel weaker. Intolerable.

"For however long I remain here, teaching in this abominable place, we will discuss what this means to you and your victim, to you and your victimizer. But you will also be tested. Many grand words and declarations are spun, only to perish in silence on battlefields and Senate floors. Be ready. I will not warn you in advance."

Which, by proxy, meant that this class, at least, would be free of tests. You were welcome.