"I'm sorry for your loss," Ezra replies, because it doesn't matter how little time Luke and Obi-wan might have had together. He knows intimately how hard losing one's master is. "And your galaxy's."

Luke may or may not be the very last Jedi in his time, but the death of any of the few remaining ones, especially a full fledged master, is an incalculable loss of knowledge and wisdom.

He clears his throat. "My master, Kanan Jarrus, was killed in action against the Empire's occupation of my home world Lothal, days before I came here. And the last thing I did back home may mean that if I go back I'm dead, or in custody, or just lost far from Imperial space," he says, sounding carefully serene about it. And he is fairly at peace about his own likely fate. On the other hand his grief for Kanan, only months old, wafts off him.

Then he brightens, leaning into the touch on his shoulder a little. "But here, you're not alone. There's me and Obi-wan, and two other survivors of the Purge who were temple raised but with incomplete training. Master Kenobi's been doing his best to fill in gaps with us. For as long as the Force keeps us together."

Or whoever or whatever actually controls how people come and go, but Ezra refuses to be bitter about it. He's learned so much in only a few months and gotten time he treasures, with many of the people here.