Luke just stares at his arm for several long moments, before his gaze shifts to where his arm should be. Then, when his mind finally realizes what that means, he screams.

Master Van sighs and shakes his head. “Your parry was pathetic.”

All he can do is stare up at Van in shock, while his remaining hand clutches at the bleeding stump his arm used to be. Tears are streaming down his face but he can barely notice. “M-Master?”

Van raises his sword again, preparing for another strike. “You dropped your sword. In a real fight you’d-“ He thrusts and the sword goes straight though Luke’s chest. “-Already be dead.”

Luke responds by coughing up blood.

Van pulls the sword out, letting it clatter to the ground, and catches Luke before he falls. Then he starts singing, though Luke’s mind is too numb to make out any of the words. But whatever it is, it helps ease away the pain.

When he wakes up, the wound in his chest is gone, his arm’s back where its supposed to be and Van’s looking down at him.

“Now then, Luke,” he says with a smile, “Shall we work on your defense?”