I don't own anything. Disney and Lucasfilm own Star Wars. Anything else you recognize belongs to the owners of its own franchise.

A/N This is one of those stories I wrote up on a whim, and have no plans whatsoever. Updates will be inconsistent as I will write this story only when my creativity flares up or I get an idea or something. that means you could get three chapters a week or one chapter in six months, no guarantee. So do give any and all suggestions you can think of as there is a VERY high chance it will make it into the story.

Dropped in

The first thing I felt was a sharp, searing pain in my head, like someone had taken a hammer and pounded it repeatedly against my skull. The second thing I noticed was the sensation of the cold, unforgiving floor beneath me, and the echo of a voice—angry, insistent, and loud—ringing in my ears. The voice was shouting at me, though the words were a garbled mess in my groggy state. I opened my eyes slowly, squinting against the harsh light, and took in the figure looming over me.

It was a man, probably in his mid-forties, with a complexion that suggested a Mediterranean heritage. His dark hair was slicked back, and his face was lined with a mixture of fatigue and frustration. There was something peculiar about him, though, something that I couldn't quite put my finger on in my current state. He was yelling in English—or at least, I thought it was English—but the pounding in my head made it difficult to comprehend what he was saying. Before I could muster a response, the man abruptly turned and stormed out, slamming a heavy metal door behind him. The sound reverberated through the room, leaving me alone in the oppressive silence.

I groaned, pushing myself up to a sitting position, my head still throbbing. As I looked around, I realized that the room I was in was unlike anything I had ever seen. The walls were made of dull, gray metal, cold and uninviting. The only light came from a flickering fluorescent fixture overhead, casting eerie shadows across the floor. The air smelled faintly of oil and something acrid that I couldn't quite place. My eyes were drawn to the barred door at the far end of the room, the only visible exit. A sense of unease crept over me.

As I stood up, a strange realization hit me like a punch to the gut. Everything around me seemed disproportionately large. The barred door, the walls, even the cot in the corner—they all towered over me in a way that felt completely wrong. I frowned, rubbing my eyes, hoping it was just a trick of the light or a lingering effect of whatever had knocked me out. But as I brought my hands up to my face, I froze. My hands… they were small, far too small. They were the hands of a child.

Panic surged through me, my heart pounding in my chest. I stumbled back, pressing myself against the cold metal wall, trying to steady my breathing. "What the hell?" I whispered, my voice trembling. I looked down at myself, taking in the sight of my tiny limbs, my child-sized clothes. "This… this can't be real."

I forced myself to take deep breaths, in and out, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind. "Okay, okay," I muttered to myself. "Calm down. I need to calm down." I closed my eyes for a moment, centering myself. When I opened them again, I focused on analyzing my situation. The facts were undeniable: I was in the body of a child, in a strange, metal room that resembled a prison cell. I had no idea how I got here or why.

There were a few possibilities, none of them comforting. Either someone had drugged me and subjected me to some bizarre, unethical experiment, or I was in some stupid shitty Isekai scenario. The latter seemed absurd, but given my current predicament, I couldn't dismiss anything out of hand.

Escape. That had to be my priority. I couldn't let myself get bogged down in questions I didn't have answers to—not yet, anyway. I needed to find a way out of this place, wherever it was. I scanned the room again, more thoroughly this time. It was bare, save for the cot and a small, bolted-down table. There was no window, and the only source of air seemed to come from a vent high up on the wall.

I approached the barred door cautiously, peering through the gaps. Beyond it, I could make out a dimly lit corridor lined with more cells like mine. Inside each one, there were other people, all of them looking just as bewildered and defeated as I felt. The ceiling of the corridor was low, the space cramped, suggesting this was a smaller facility—perhaps a transport of some kind. But why was I alone in this cell while the others were grouped together?

I stepped back, my mind racing. I needed something—anything—that could help me escape. I patted down my clothes, hoping to find some clue or tool. To my surprise, my fingers brushed against two objects in my trouser pocket. I pulled them out, examining them closely. They looked like pens, ordinary enough, but in this strange situation, they could be more than they seemed.

Over the next few days—or at least what I assumed were days, based on the lights being turned on and off—I observed everything I could. There were four distinct guards, each with a different demeanor, and they mentioned five names, including a captain, which meant there were six of them in total. I listened carefully to their conversations, piecing together fragments of information. This was a slave ship, and we were currently in hyperspace.

The revelation sent a shiver down my spine. Hyperspace? Weapons that looked like blasters? Could it be? The more I listened, the more it all pointed to a singular, mind-boggling conclusion: I was in the Star Wars universe.

So, to sum it up: I was in the body of a child, stuck on a slave ship, headed to who-knows-where, in freaking Star Wars. Yeah, not exactly what I'd call ideal. But hey, it could've been worse, right? At least I knew a fair bit about this universe. It wasn't generally the worst place to live... generally.

Alright, back to the problem at hand. The guard who had been screaming at me that first day was named Rhugo. Now, Rhugo was a real piece of work. Short temper, almost always drunk, and, conveniently, on tonight's night shift. He also had a penchant for beating up prisoners when he thought no one was watching. On the surface, that sounded pretty grim, but for me, it was the perfect opportunity to make my move. Sure, the risk was high—worst case, I'd end up beaten to a pulp and dragged off to some slave market. But best case? I'd have a ship, maybe even a crew, and most importantly, freedom. That was worth the gamble.

I waited. The lights dimmed, signaling the start of the night shift, and soon enough, there was Rhugo, swaggering down the corridor with a bottle in hand. His steps were uneven, his speech slurred. Perfect. I needed him drunk, stupid drunk, to pull this off. So, I sat in the shadows, waiting patiently, letting him drink himself deeper into a stupor.

When I figured he was drunk enough, I made my move. I started shouting, hurling every curse and insult I could think of, and trust me, I knew a lot. I was loud, crude, and unrelenting, targeting his family, his pride, especially his mother—nothing was off-limits. The colorful language I'd picked up over my 21 years of life came pouring out, each word designed to get under his skin. It didn't take long. Rhugo stumbled toward my cell, red-faced and furious, unlocking the door with clumsy hands.

The door creaked open, and he stumbled in, fists clenched, ready to teach me a lesson. But I wasn't planning on being a punching bag tonight. I backed into the corner, pretending to cower, my eyes wide with fear, my small body trembling. He grinned, clearly enjoying the sight of me terrified. He took a few more steps toward me, and that's when I struck.

In a flash, I drove the first pen into his throat. The soft resistance of flesh gave way, and hot blood spurted out, coating my hand. Rhugo's eyes went wide with shock, his hands flying to his neck in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. I didn't hesitate. With my other hand, I jabbed the second pen straight into his eye. He let out a strangled scream, but it was over quickly. His body crumpled to the floor, twitching for a moment before going still.

I stood there, breathing heavily, staring down at my bloodied hands. The metallic smell of blood filled the room, and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. I told myself I had no choice, that this was the only way out. But the guilt settled in, a heavy weight in my chest. Planning to kill someone was one thing; actually doing it was something else entirely.

But I couldn't afford to dwell on it. Not now. I had to move. Fast. Wiping my hands on my trousers, I knelt down and picked up Rhugo's blaster. I strapped the weapon to my side, the cold metal pressing against my hip, a constant reminder of what I'd just done.

I slipped out of the cell, the corridor eerily quiet. My heart was pounding in my chest, adrenaline surging through my veins. I needed to be smart, careful. There was no turning back now. I was committed. It was time to escape.

I examined the blaster in my hands, its design straightforward and utilitarian. A simple weapon, with a slider to switch between stun and lethal modes. I needed to be sure it was set to lethal—I couldn't afford any mistakes. Aiming at Rhugo's lifeless body, I pulled the trigger, the first shot hitting with a dull thud. Nothing. I adjusted the slider and tried again. This time, the shot burned a hole through his chest, the smell of scorched flesh filling the air. Lethal. I tucked the blaster against my side, the cool metal reassuringly solid against my hip.

Moving carefully, I crept down the dimly lit corridor, every step deliberate and silent. The ship was small, just as I had suspected—a light freighter, judging by the cramped halls and low ceilings. I kept to the shadows, pressing against the walls, my ears straining for the slightest sound. Every corner I approached, I paused, peeking around cautiously before proceeding. The hum of the ship's engines was the only constant noise, a low, rhythmic pulse that seemed to echo my own heartbeat.

I checked each door as I passed, cautiously turning the handles and peering inside. The first door opened into a small cantine, its tables and chairs bolted to the floor. The room was empty, save for a few dirty plates left behind. I moved on. The second door revealed a maintenance room, cluttered with tools and spare parts, the smell of oil thick in the air. Nothing useful for my immediate escape.

The third door opened to a cramped bathroom, a single sink and toilet crammed into the tiny space. I paused for a moment, considering the layout. Each room I checked helped build a mental map of the ship, every detail potentially crucial. I continued down the hall, my fingers brushing against the cold metal of the walls.

The fourth door was different. As I opened it, my eyes immediately landed on the rows of bunks lining the walls. Sleeping quarters. Three figures were sprawled across the bunks, their breathing deep and even. I acted quickly. Raising the blaster, I aimed at the first figure, squeezing the trigger twice. The blaster hissed, the shots hitting their mark with deadly precision. The second figure barely stirred before I dispatched them in the same manner.

The third one, though, was quicker. The sound of the blaster had jolted him awake, and he sat up groggily, eyes wide with confusion. But he was unarmed, and I had the advantage. Before he could react, I fired, the shot silencing him before he could utter a word. The room fell silent once more, save for the hum of the engines and the faint smell of ozone from the blaster's discharge.

I took a moment to steady myself, my hands trembling slightly as I wiped the sweat from my brow. Three down. Now, for the captain.

I moved to the last door at the end of the corridor—the captain's quarters. My heart pounded in my chest as I approached, the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I pressed my ear against the door, listening for any signs of movement. Nothing. Taking a deep breath, I steadied my hand on the handle and pushed the door open.

Empty. The bed was scrambled, someone had been sleeping but now wasn't there, the room devoid of any occupants. I stepped inside cautiously, scanning the room for any clues, any signs of where the captain might be. My mind raced with possibilities, my nerves on edge. And then, before I could react, a sharp, searing pain exploded in my back.

The force of the kick sent me flying across the room, my small body crashing into the wall with a sickening thud. I gasped, the wind knocked out of me, stars dancing in my vision. I struggled to push myself up, my muscles screaming in protest, but the weight of my tiny frame felt heavier than ever. A shadow loomed over me, and I knew I had made a critical mistake. The captain had been waiting.

"You little shit!" the captain bellowed, his voice thick with rage. He towered over me, his face twisted in fury, veins bulging from his neck. "You killed my crew! Rhugo, that moron!"

I barely had time to catch my breath before his fist slammed into my stomach, the impact driving the air from my lungs. Pain radiated through my body as I doubled over, clutching my midsection. The captain didn't stop. His boot connected with my side, sending me sprawling across the cold, metal floor.

"You think you can just waltz in here and take out my men?" he snarled, each word dripping with venom. He grabbed me by the collar, lifting me effortlessly off the ground, my feet dangling as I gasped for air. "You're just a kid. A weak, pathetic kid."

He threw me across the room, my body colliding with a nearby table. The edge dug into my back, and I crumpled to the floor, every inch of me screaming in agony. I tried to push myself up, my arms trembling under the weight of my battered body, but the captain was already on me. He kicked me again, the force of it rolling me onto my back. I could barely see through the haze of pain, my vision blurring with tears.

"I'll make sure your death is slow," he spat, pacing the room, his heavy footsteps echoing off the walls. "Painful. You'll wish you never set foot on this ship."

He picked up a knife from the desk, the blade gleaming under the dim light. He turned it over in his hand, testing the weight, a sadistic smile creeping onto his face. "You'll be a message to anyone who thinks they can cross me."

My heart pounded in my chest, fear gripping me tighter with each step he took toward me. I was out of options, out of strength. I backed into the corner, my small body shaking uncontrollably. The captain loomed closer, the knife glinting menacingly as he raised it, ready to deliver the final blow.

Desperation surged through me, a primal instinct to survive taking over. I threw my hands up in a last-ditch effort to shield myself, my eyes squeezed shut, bracing for the inevitable. But instead of the cold bite of steel, there was a sudden rush of air, a loud crash, and the sound of the captain's body slamming into the far wall.

My eyes snapped open, my breath hitching in my throat. The captain lay sprawled across the room, groaning in pain, his knife clattering to the floor a few feet away. My hands were still raised, trembling in front of me. An invisible force had thrown him across the room.

I stared at my hands, disbelief and confusion flooding my mind. What the hell had just happened? I didn't have time to process it. The captain was already stirring, his face contorted in rage and disbelief as he struggled to get back on his feet.

Adrenaline kicked in. I scrambled to my feet, my body protesting with every movement, and reached for the blaster lying on the floor. The captain was on his knees, shaking his head, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He wouldn't stay down for long.

The captain glared at me, his lips curling into a sneer. "You... What the hell are you?"

I didn't answer. I didn't know the answer myself. All I knew was that I had a chance—a slim, fragile chance—to survive this. I couldn't waste it.

He lunged for the knife, but I was faster. My finger tightened on the trigger, and a single shot rang out, the blaster's energy bolt striking him square in the chest. He slumped to the floor, motionless, the room falling into a tense, suffocating silence.

I stood there, my breathing ragged, the blaster still aimed at his lifeless form. My mind raced, struggling to comprehend what had just happened, the power that had surged through me. The fear, the pain, the confusion—all of it swirled together in a chaotic storm. But one thing was clear: I had survived.

For now. Wait… I had the force… F*ck me!

~~~~XXXX

It took me a while to fully process what I had done. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving me trembling and hollow. The weight of it all hit me like a crashing wave. I had killed people—three crew members, Rhugo, and the captain. It wasn't self-defense anymore; it was calculated, intentional.

I might have broken down a bit, tears streaming down my face as I sat on the cold floor of the captain's quarters. My small, childlike hands were still stained with blood, and the sight of them brought a fresh wave of nausea. But I didn't have the luxury of time to fall apart. There were still people locked up, still a ship to commandeer, and I needed to move.

Wiping my face with the back of my hand, I stumbled over to the wash basin. The water was ice-cold as I splashed it on my face, trying to scrub away the guilt and fear clinging to my skin. My hands shook as I washed them, the blood swirling down the drain in a sickening spiral. I stared at my reflection, the face of a five-year-old staring back, wide-eyed and pale. The eyes were mine, though—haunted, exhausted, determined.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. No time to fall apart. I had people to free.

The walk back to the brig was a blur, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts. When I reached the cells, I saw the prisoners—humans, mostly, but there were a few aliens as well. A Zabrak with those distinctive horns, two Twi'leks with their lekku twitching nervously, and one alien that I vaguely recognized as being from the same species as that green Jedi master with the starfish face and black, beady eyes. Look, I can't memorize every Star Wars species, alright? I know the important ones.

I approached the control panel, my fingers finding the right buttons almost instinctively. One by one, the cell doors slid open, the prisoners stepping out hesitantly, their eyes wary and cautious. I couldn't blame them. After all, what kind of five-year-old hatches and executes an elaborate escape plan from a slave ship?

The humans were a mixed group—men, women, even children. Real children, not like me. Their eyes were wide with a mix of fear and hope, clinging to each other as they stepped into the dim corridor.

"Who are you?" one of the Twi'leks asked, his voice thick with suspicion. His lekku twitched as he looked me up and down, trying to make sense of the small figure before him.

"I'm the one who got us out," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. "We don't have time for questions. We need to get off this ship. Now."

There were fourteen prisoners in total, counting myself. As I looked around at their gaunt faces, their hollow eyes, a spark of anger reignited in my chest. These people had been treated like cargo, like less than human. The crew I had killed—they deserved it. They were scum. Monsters who trafficked in lives. The guilt in my chest eased, just a little.

"We need a pilot," I said, my voice firm. "Does anyone know how to fly this thing?"

One of the Twi'leks stepped forward, his expression still guarded but more hopeful now. "I'm Ooc'vida," he said. "I can pilot. I used to fly freighters before... before all this."

"Good," I nodded, relief flooding through me. "We're going to Coruscant."

A murmur rippled through the group, some looking relieved, others wary. I could feel their uncertainty, their fear of the unknown. But I wasn't about to take any chances. Cuz I am not going to risk being a unaffiliated force user as a 5 year old. I'd either starve to death, or end up in slavery. Or discovered by one of the myriad non sith darksider gangs. And I don't want to deal with any of that.

~~~~XXXX

It took us four more days to reach Coruscant—four long days that I spent exploring every inch of the ship, getting to know the others, and trying to make sense of everything that had happened. The ship, a light freighter, was in surprisingly decent shape, though clearly built for function over comfort.

During my search, I stumbled across a hidden compartment in the cargo hold. Inside was a modest stash of credits, some miscellaneous trinkets, and a few datapads. I gathered everything, taking inventory of what we had. When I showed the others, they agreed that I should keep the credits and trinkets. They had the ship, and any bounties on the slavers would be theirs to claim once we reached Coruscant.

We also concocted a cover story. It was simple enough to be believable: Ooc'vida had orchestrated the escape, taking down the crew with the help of the other prisoners. I had been a helpless hostage, a bargaining tool for the captain. During a scuffle, my latent Force abilities had manifested, giving Ooc the opening he needed to finish the captain. It wasn't a flawless story, but it was good enough. After all, who was going to dig too deeply into the deaths of a few slavers, especially with a child involved?

One of the more surprising discoveries during those four days was the date: 58 BBY. When Now I'm pretty sure Ooc said something different when he said the date, but I heard 58BBY. Weird, but I guess it's due to the same reason I was stuck in the body of a child, on a slave ship, in freaking Star Wars!

I also, managed to get a good look of this body in the mirror. Yep, This was a 5, maybe 6 year old at best. Light brown skin, brown eyes, black hair, just like my old self. Hell, the face also almost looked like a child me. Almost. There were differences, this body a slightly taller thank I was at this age, and the face also was slightly different. The biggest difference however was the fact that my left ear, was pointed. Like an Elf! Yeah! This body wasn't human, at least pure human. Now I only needed to find out which of the bajillion named and unnamed near human star wars species I was. Thoughts for later I guess.

Finally, we reached Coruscant. The planet came into view, a massive sphere of lights and towering skyscrapers stretching as far as the eye could see. It was breathtaking, a mix of awe and anxiety washing over me as we approached. As soon as we entered the system, we were hailed by patrolling security ships. Ooc'vida relayed our story, and after a brief moment of tense silence, we were met with sympathy and understanding. They directed us to a landing platform close to the Jedi Temple.

The descent was smooth, the freighter gliding into a designated landing spot near the towering spires of the temple. The sight of it sent a shiver down my spine. This was the heart of the Jedi Order, a place of history and power. I felt a strange mix of excitement and dread.

As the others disembarked, I stood with Ooc'vida at the edge of the platform, watching the hover taxi pull up to take him and the rest of the group to the spaceport. Ooc turned to me, his expression softening.

"So, that's it, huh, kid?" he said, his voice carrying a hint of sadness.

"Yeah, I guess so, Ooc," I replied, shifting awkwardly. "It was nice knowing you. Maybe our paths will cross again someday."

He smiled, ruffling my hair affectionately. "Yeah. You take care now, kid."

I hesitated for a moment before adding, "Ace. My name's Ace. And uh… thanks."

Ooc'vida chuckled, his eyes crinkling with warmth. "Gee, kid, took you long enough to tell me. And it's me who should be thanking you. If it weren't for you, I'd still be chained up in that hellhole, waiting to be sold off."

With that, he stepped into the hover taxi, giving me one last wave before the vehicle lifted off, disappearing into the bustling air traffic of Coruscant. I stood there, watching until it was out of sight, a strange sense of loss settling in my chest.

Turning back to the Jedi Temple, I took a deep breath, my small fists clenching at my sides. This was it—the moment I had been dreading and anticipating in equal measure. I started walking, my steps hesitant but purposeful, the grand entrance of the temple looming before me.

And to be honest, I could feel it. The veritable mountain of energies emmanating from the temple. Almost singing to me. There are no words that can describe the feeling. Just standing there, I could feel myself tapping into the force. I could feel the flow of energies through my body. And in that moment, I knew I had made the right choice. I breathed in, letting the force wash over me and calm my heart, almost instinctively. While in the four days of travel, I hadn't managed to manifest any fancy force powers except lifting small objects, with great difficulty and focus. I did however notice that I could use the force to control my emotions almost instinctively. The same way I was doing now.

The temple doors were massive, carved with intricate symbols and patterns. As I approached, they began to open, revealing a vast hall bathed in soft, golden light. Jedi of various species moved about, their robes flowing gracefully as they went about their duties.

A tall, stern-looking human Jedi approached, his sharp eyes locking onto me. He wore the traditional brown robes, a lightsaber clipped to his belt. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze softening as he took in my small, battered form.

"Welcome to the Jedi Temple," he said, his voice calm and reassuring. "What brings you here, young one? Are you lost?"

I swallowed hard, the weight of my journey pressing down on me. "My name is Ace," I began, my voice trembling slightly. "I… think I might have the force."

The Jedi's eyes narrowed slightly, probably in suspicion. He nodded slowly, gesturing for me to follow. "Come with me, Ace. We will help you."

As I stepped into the temple, the doors closing behind me, I felt a strange sense of destiny unfurling before me. I didn't know what lay ahead, but I knew one thing: my journey was far from over. I knew what was coming, what was out there. And I made a promise… I will survive… no… I will Thrive.

~~~~XXXX

The Jedi led me through the expansive halls of the temple, each step echoing in the vast, serene space. The air was filled with a quiet hum of energy, a subtle yet undeniable presence of the Force that seemed to seep into every corner. It was both calming and intimidating, a constant reminder of the power that dwelled here.

We passed Jedi of all kinds—humans, Twi'leks, Mon Calamari, and other species I couldn't immediately identify. Each one moved with a sense of purpose, their expressions calm, their movements deliberate.

The Jedi leading me, who hadn't yet introduced himself, guided me to a smaller chamber off the main hall. It was a simple room, sparsely furnished with a low table and a few cushions. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of Jedi history—epic battles, meditative figures, and celestial landscapes.

"Sit," the Jedi instructed, gesturing to one of the cushions. I obeyed, folding my small legs beneath me, my hands fidgeting nervously in my lap.

He took a seat across from me, his piercing eyes studying me closely. "My name is Master Dren Kael. Now, tell me everything—from the beginning."

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. Over the next hour, I recounted my cover story—the slave ship, the escape, and the moment my Force abilities had erupted, saving me from the captain. I left out the more brutal details, focusing instead on the events that had led me here. As I spoke, Master Kael listened intently, his expression remaining calm and unreadable.

When I finished, there was a long silence. Master Kael seemed to be deep in thought, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. Finally, he spoke.

"You've been through much, Ace. More than any child should have to endure." His voice was gentle but firm. "And I can sense a great power within you."

I nodded. "So, what happens now?"

"We must go to the council now. They will decide what is to be done." He replied.

As we walked through the temple, my mind buzzed with questions and doubts. What if they discovered I wasn't really from this universe? What if they rejected me? The thought of being alone again, adrift in this vast galaxy, sent a shiver down my spine.

We arrived at THE grand chamber, the council chambers from the shows and the movies. After a small wait, the doors opened silently to reveal the Jedi Council in session. Twelve Jedi Masters sat in a semi-circle, their expressions serene yet focused. I could identify most of them, though some I didn't know.

Master Dren told me to wait outside and went in. After a while of waiting I was called in. "Now, story to tell us, you have. Yes?" Yoda asked. So I recounted my tale, again.

"And thats how I got here." I finished, calmly, having just retold everything for the third time today.

The Council listened, their expressions unreadable as I recounted everything—my escape from the slave ship, the moment my powers first manifested, and my arrival on Coruscant. When I finished, there was a heavy silence. The Jedi Masters exchanged quiet glances, their eyes flicking to one another in that strange, wordless communication that only they seemed to share.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Master Yaddle spoke again, her voice calm but firm. "Discuss your situation carefully, we need to."

"For now, we will provide you with guest quarters. Master Dren will escort you to your room," Mace Windu said, his tone thoughtful.

~~~~~XXXX

The Council's decision hadn't taken long. Despite being two years older than the typical age for training, they determined that the difference wasn't significant enough to impact my overall learning. According to them, I demonstrated a level of intelligence and adaptability that would allow me to catch up with the others swiftly. And catch up I did—though not too quickly. I couldn't afford to draw too much attention to myself. I needed to blend in, to remain unremarkable, at least for now.

I was sorted into the Wolf Clan, which was something. The other kids were kind, enthusiastic, and welcoming. But they were still kids, and while they were good-natured, they didn't offer much in the way of stimulating conversation. I found myself maintaining a polite distance, engaging enough to be liked but never so much that I formed close friendships. I played my part, offering help when needed, and coaching them through challenges, but I always kept a part of myself reserved.

Then came the midichlorian test, which revealed that I had a count of 22,000. That number caused quite the stir. Whispers and sideways glances followed me for days. It was higher than most, almost touching Anakin's level—something that hadn't been seen in decades. The Council took note, but beyond a few raised eyebrows and hushed discussions, they didn't act immediately.

Four years passed in this manner. I was nine now, though I still felt much older. I decided to keep my birthday the same as it had been in my previous life. It was a small comfort, a way to maintain a connection to who I had been before. Most of my time was spent immersed in the archives, absorbing every piece of knowledge I could find. The vast history of the Jedi, the intricate philosophies of the Force, the tactical nuances of combat—I devoured it all.

My training lightsaber became an extension of myself. I gravitated toward Form I, Shii-Cho, for its foundational simplicity and effectiveness. It provided a solid base from which to build. Form II, Makashi, intrigued me with its elegance and precision. I admired the way Count Dooku wielded it in the films, his movements refined and calculated. It felt natural in my hands, a dance of grace and control.

Form III, Soresu, didn't capture my interest as much. Its defensive nature felt too slow for my tastes. I preferred the fluidity of offense over the rigidity of defense. Form IV, Ataru, with its acrobatic flair, was even less appealing. I wasn't particularly drawn to the aerial maneuvers—it seemed impractical for someone of my stature and physical capabilities.

Form V, on the other hand, was something I began to explore. Its philosophy of power and counter-attack appealed to me. It was a work in progress, but I was slowly incorporating its principles into my training, finding a balance between aggression and control.

The day of the Jedi Initiate Trials arrived, and I was more than ready. The obstacle course, which was meant to test our agility and mastery of the Force, felt more like a playground to me. I set a new record using Force Phase and Force Teleport, techniques that had taken me a painstaking year to master. They weren't traditional, but they were effective. Thank you, USS Explorer, for the inspiration.

The Council, predictably, made a fuss. They called me in, questioned me about the techniques, and expressed their concerns about the unorthodox methods. But in the end, they commended my ingenuity and allowed me to continue. I accepted their praise with a polite nod, hiding the satisfaction that bubbled beneath the surface.

Next was the Push Feather tournament, a test of telekinesis. Four years of diligent practice made this challenge a breeze. My control over the Force was sharp, refined through countless hours of discipline and focus. The other initiates struggled to match my precision, and I advanced through the rounds effortlessly.

But it was the lightsaber dueling that truly excited me. This was where I felt alive, where the hum of the blade in my hands resonated with something deep inside me. The duels were intense, each opponent bringing their own unique style and strategy. Three duels, in particular, stood out—each one pushing me to my limits and forcing me to adapt and grow.

The first was against a Twi'lek named Liren, known for her agility and speed. She moved like a dancer, her Ataru strikes coming in fast and from unexpected angles. It was a challenge to keep up, but my mastery of Makashi allowed me to parry and riposte with precision, exploiting the openings her overextensions left.

The second duel was with a Zabrak named Torin, a brute of a boy who favored Form V's strength-based approach. His strikes were powerful, each one designed to overwhelm. But strength wasn't everything. I used Soresu's defensive techniques to wear him down, waiting for the right moment to counter with a flurry of precise strikes.

The final duel was the most exhilarating. It was against a human named Jax, a prodigy in his own right, I'm sure would have been the best of not for me. His blend of Form III's defense with Form IV's agility made him a formidable opponent, even for me. But having my mind of twenty one, in the end, it was a calculated feint followed by a swift riposte that secured my victory.

The free for all was where my shii-cho skills showed the best. While most would ignore it as the most basic of forms, it was the best suited for dealing with multiple opponents. Thus by using Form I with a sprinkling of techniques from Form II and V, I won the free for all pretty handily.

That coupled with my overall phenomenal record, meant that a lot of Jedi masters were scrambling to take me as padawan. Most Notably Dooku and Windu. And there were a lot of benefits to both. Windu would give me access to learning Vapaad, which would massively buff my combat skills. With Dooku, I could not only perfect my Makaashi, but also deprive old Palps of a powerful minion. Now the question was, who should I take as my master?