WotJ 6

A Jedi had to learn to let go of anger before calling on the Force, Ben had instructed. But he or she also had to let go of fear—for fear led to anger, inviting the dark side in.

  “I’m not afraid,” Luke said, raising his saber again. “I won’t fail.”

  The remote tried to zip around behind him. He whirled, blade humming, and blocked its shot—then turned the other way as it tried to reverse course and target his hip. He deflected a shot
  aimed at his head, then one intended for his knee, then leapt to avoid one that struck at his feet. He smiled to himself but then pushed the elation away, too, trying to see and hear nothing but
  the remote.

  It felt like he and the remote were dancing, like they were somehow connected—man and machine, joined by the energy of the training laser and the blade of Luke’s lightsaber. They
  moved together—first for a minute, then for five, and then Luke lost all track of time.

  When the remote backed away he didn’t register it at first but simply waited, barely conscious that he was breathing hard. Then he realized the remote had stopped attacking and lowered his
  blade, letting his shoulders slump.

  “Well done, Master Luke!” Threepio called. “A most impressive display!”

  Luke smiled at the protocol droid, waving to acknowledge Artoo’s enthusiastic whistles. Then the remote chattered in an electronic language and a second remote rose to float alongside
  it.