Chapter One

It wasn't the frigid cold that kept Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn away from sleep the night on Tatooine. He almost enjoyed the atmosphere of the harsh world, simply for being a relatively backwater planet away from the chaos of society. The planet was full of outlaws and criminals, and Qui-Gon found it was easy to blend in and not be noticed in such a place. The atmosphere didn't bother him; the drastic temperatures didn't bother him.

What bothered him was a boy.

Qui-Gon had stumbled across Tatooine completely by accident, looking to repair a Nubian royal starship that carried himself, his padawan learner, the queen of Naboo, and her assembly. In light of the chaos forming on the world of Naboo and probably the rest of the galaxy with the vile Trade Federation, something simple as landing for repairs had almost been seen as a lighthearted blessing.

Getting parts to repair the ship would not be easy, and Qui-Gon was okay with that; he knew his mission to take the queen to the capital, Coruscant, was important, but he feared war was imminent, and returning to Coruscant would just be signaling the flag that the war could begin.

The journey was being held up by a particularly stubborn junk dealer who had (honestly) pointed out that he was the only one who could provide the necessary parts, and he would not accept simple Republic credits. He wanted something "more real."

Qui-Gon was left with no alternative but to somehow get his hands on money that the Toydarian junk dealer would accept.

That was when the boy had come into his life.

Lying awake had done no good for Qui-Gon, so instead he moved to stand looking out a window of the hovel the boy and his mother lived in. Tatooine was cloudless, so it was easy to look at the stars. Instead, Qui-Gon closed his eyes and meditated. All he could see again was the boy's face, his shaggy blond hair falling into his eyes, his look of fierce determination whenever one tried to challenge him.

There was something about the boy, and Qui-Gon didn't dare speak it out loud. Not yet, at least.

In his entire life, Qui-Gon had never come across a being so sensitive to the Force. This boy, who was nothing but a nine-year-old slave on Tatooine with absolutely no training, was more sensitive than Master Yoda. The thought was almost incomprehensible.

Qui-Gon had almost been sad when he realized the boy would never stand a chance at expanding his powers and becoming a Jedi Knight. The Jedi Order only accepted children as infants, and occasionally as toddlers, if they were not discovered until that age. But this boy, this Anakin Skywalker, was nearly ten years old. He didn't have a chance, despite his dreams and ambitions.

After the boy had graciously invited Qui-Gon, handmaiden Padmé, the Gungan Jar Jar and their astrodroid R2-D2 into his home and out of a sandstorm, he had begun chattering non-stop about himself, the planet, or pretty much anything he could talk about. Qui-Gon had found the boy amusing at first, chuckling to himself at the innocence of youth. But then young Anakin had begun bragging about his most special ability: being the only human ever to be able to compete in a podrace.

The next day, when Anakin had begun preparing for a race that would bring money to the Jedi and his friends, Qui-Gon began to observe closely. Not many Jedi children had the opportunity to compete in one of these podraces, but he supposed for a Force-sensitive child it wouldn't be too difficult. Anakin's mother, Shmi, was worried, of course. She fretted and doted just as any mother should. It was quite apparent that her son was all she had in the galaxy.

Qui-Gon eventually worked up the nerve to ask her about the boy's father. Something hit him deeply when he learned that Anakin had been born without a father, conceived as a mystery to Shmi.

It made Qui-Gon think of a prophecy he had heard long, long ago.

He wasn't a man to jump to conclusions, and he certainly didn't want to take such a big leap of faith on a boy that he had just met. But the fact of the matter was Anakin was extraordinary, and Qui-Gon could almost see the energy and power radiating off of the boy when he closed his eyes. Surreptitiously, Qui-Gon had checked Anakin's midi-chlorian count that night, and it had been off the charts.

According to the boy's blood, he could be more powerful than Master Yoda. The thought was enough to make Qui-Gon's head spin.

Standing in deep meditation, hands clasped behind his back, Qui-Gon let his eyes close and his mind creep out past the walls of the slave quarters. He knew if he went far enough, he could touch the mind of his apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi. The boy was extremely skeptical when it came to such matters, and Qui-Gon was aware he would never get Obi-Wan on board with this "Chosen One" idea unless it received approval from the entire Jedi Council. But Obi-Wan's skepticism didn't change the fact that he was still the being that Qui-Gon trusted most in the universe. His insight was still valuable and interesting, whether it would actually effect Qui-Gon's decision regarding Anakin or not.

The Force was calm this time of night, and Qui-Gon could see little pinpricks of light hovering around wisps of darkness, simulating the life on Tatooine better than human eyes ever could. Tatooine was not alive at night, at least not like other cities. The only life radiated from sheltered homes that protected their residents from the freezing temperatures resulted in the desert after the twin suns had set.

So calm, and so peaceful. Then Qui-Gon felt himself dropping to his knees.

Colors flashed in his mind so suddenly and violently that he didn't have time to call out, or to even process that he was having some sort of vision. The vision hit him with such force he felt as if he were in physical pain. Colors swirled around every crevasse in his mind, making no sense and only finding order when words were suddenly being spoken as if from loud speakers from within Qui-Gon's mind.

"You are right," it whispered, then rose louder.

"You are right! The boy is a key factor in bringing balance to the Force. Only the son of Skywalker can restore the balance. Through light and dark, dark and light, the son of Skywalker is the chosen one."

The vision released Qui-Gon as quickly and as violently as it had first taken hold. He lie on the floor of the hut, panting, exhausted, and heart racing. His normally calm mind could focus on nothing as his eyes darted around the room, searching for some sort of answer to the mental attack he had just endured.

Soft footsteps in the doorway caught his attention, and he snapped back to alertness, picking himself off the floor to see Padmé the handmaiden looking on him with concern. She was all of fourteen years old, tiny and delicate, and dressed in a modest nightgown that Shmi had graciously provided for her. Sometimes she looked like an adult, wise beyond her years. Now she looked like a child, compassionate and dying to help in any way she could.

Qui-Gon thought she must serve the queen well.

"Are you alright Master Jinn?" she asked softly, letting her hand rest on the door's frame, but not actually entering the room. Qui-Gon sensed the she was afraid… afraid that he had suffered something ill and she would not be able to help.

Well, she was mostly right.

"I am alright, thank you," he said, still slightly breathless. He stood up straighter, fiddled on his belt until he removed a comlink.

"If you'll excuse me, I think I need to contact my padawan."