Sand. It was the first sensation.A fine, hot, omnipresent dust that clung to the skin and parched the throat. Then the sound: a monotonous, moaning wind that tirelessly sculpted the dunes of Tatooine. Finally, the acrid smell of oil, sweat, and a poverty so deep it had become an essence in itself.
For most newborns, it would have been a terrifying sensory overload. For me, it was a revelation.
Because before this, there had only been darkness. An absolute,constant, eternal black. My Star Wars was a symphony of voices, music, and passionate descriptions told by friends, audiobooks, and voice synthesizers. I knew every line, every plot twist, every ship name, but I had never seen the blue glow of a lightsaber, never gazed upon the immensity of a Star Destroyer, never discerned the gleam of the stars.
I had been a blind fan of a visual universe. A cruel irony that had defined my past life.
Then came the end—blurry, quick, a traffic accident I only remembered for its screeching noise—and then… this. A compression. A tunnel of light and color that my frantic soul couldn't even process. And now, this.
Birth.
I felt pressures, calloused but gentle hands lifting me. A woman's voice, exhausted but radiant, murmured words I didn't yet understand, but whose tenderness was universal. "Shmi," her name echoed in my consciousness, information I knew without knowing how.
I was alive. I was breathing. And I could see.
Tears—real, salty tears that stung my brand-new eyes—streamed down my cheeks. It wasn't from fear. It was an overflow of gratitude so intense it was painful. The light from a single candle in the small hut was more beautiful than anything I had ever imagined.
And then, I felt him.
Beside me, a presence. A solar forge in the Force, a hearth of raw, pure, limitless energy. It pulsed like a second heart, vibrating with a potential that both terrified and amazed me. I turned my head, a difficult and clumsy action with a newborn's neck, and I saw him.
Him. My brother. Anakin.
He was small, red, loud, and tumultuous. He squirmed in the midwife's arms, already full of explosive vitality. His eyes, blue like Tatooine's sky at noon, scrutinized everything with a disconcerting intensity. He was a storm, a vortex of raw emotions and sensations.
And I… I was the calm.
While Anakin screamed his arrival to the world, I simply observed, absorbed, understood. The flow of the Force within me was different. Where his was a raging torrent, mine was a deep, wide river, peaceful on the surface but of unfathomable power. It did not scream; it whispered. It did not demand; it listened.
The midwife, an old Twi'lek with kind eyes, placed me in Shmi's arms, next to Anakin.
"Twins, Shmi," she whispered with astonishment mixed with concern. "A rare blessing on Tatooine. And so different…"
Shmi Skywalker looked at us, her face marked by fatigue and effort but transfigured by an love so absolute it felt tangible. One of her hands caressed Anakin's tumultuous cheek, the other brushed my own cheek, instantly calming my tears.
"Anakin," she murmured, naming the storm. "And…"
She hesitated, her eyes searching for a name for the calm. Her gaze met mine. My own eyes, a deep gray, did not leave her. They weren't frantically searching like Anakin's; they were observing. With a wisdom that had no place in an infant's body.
I felt her perplexity, then a pure intuition, guided by the Force.
"Aenin," she said softly. "Your name will be Aenin."
Peace. The meaning came to me as an echo through the Force. A perfect name. The one I had always chosen for myself in my wildest dreams.
Anakin let out a small cry, as if to protest this moment of tranquility stolen from his energy. I turned my head toward him again. Our eyes met. His inner storm seemed to calm for a moment, as if he, too, felt the unbreakable bond that already united us.
In him, I saw the hero, the Jedi Knight, the Chosen One, the future bearer of an unimaginable tragedy. In me, I felt the weight of centuries of knowledge I should not possess, an understanding of the gears of destiny that weighed heavily on my child's soul.
I was no longer just a fan. I was inside the story. And he, my twin brother, was its beating heart.
As Shmi held us both against her, I closed my eyes, not to find the darkness again, but to savor the light behind my eyelids. The wind of Tatooine continued its song outside, a harbinger of a perilous future.
Two sons were born under the twin suns. One, destined to bring balance to the Force. The other, a stranger gifted with ancient wisdom, was here to watch over him. To be, perhaps, the light in the darkness to come.
The journey had begun.