Padmé Amidala, still disguised as a handmaiden, paced nervously outside the podracing arena. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of concern and confusion. She had witnessed Qui-Gon Jinn's unwavering belief in Anakin's abilities, but she couldn't shake the feeling that this was too much to ask of a child.
She approached Qui-Gon, who stood calmly, observing the preparations.
"Master Jinn," she began, "Are you certain this is the right course of action? He's just a boy."
Qui-Gon turned to her, his expression serene. "Anakin possesses a strength unlike any I've seen. The Force is strong with him."
Padmé frowned. "But at what cost? We're gambling with his life and the rest of ours!"
Qui-Gon placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Sometimes, the greatest risks yield the greatest rewards, my queen."
Shocked that he referred to her as the queen she looked at him with bewildering eyes, "You knew?"
Qui-Gon just smirked and continued moving forward.
Padmé stepped back, frowning deeper. Her thoughts were not eased by his confidence. She thought of Naboo, of the invasion, of the lives depending on her. How could this be part of the solution? Entrusting the fate of a queen and a war to a child?! Even if he was a gifted one?
"I don't understand you," she whispered. "You seem wise, and yet this… this feels reckless."
She looked toward Shmi and Anakin again and felt the mother's pain like an echo. No child should bear this burden. And no mother should be forced to watch.
The sun blazed overhead, a cruel twin spotlight that turned the sands of Mos Espa into a sea of heat and shimmering mirage. The crowd had already begun to fill the stone-carved seats surrounding the race arena, merchants, gamblers, outlanders, and Hutt enforcers gathered like vultures for a feast. Laughter mixed with roaring engines. The scent of oil, smoke, and dust clung to every corner of the track.
Anakin stood at the edge of the pit area, the roar of podracer engines reverberating deep in his chest like the pulse of a coming storm. When he had done this race for the first time, he remembers being secretly scared and doubtful of his abilities. But now this whole event was nothing to him. He wasn't afraid.
Not of the race, at least.
He only feared what would happen after the race. The events that might unfold after he saves Qui-Gon.
But for now, all he could hear was the hum of tension in the Force. It coiled like a spring beneath his skin, ready to snap.
Watto hovered nearby, arms crossed, feigning indifference. "Heh. Don't get cocky, boy. Just try not to crash and make me look bad."
His voice was gruff, but Anakin caught the hesitation in it. Watto wasn't risking anything today, not really. And somewhere beneath all the bluster and snorting, Anakin sensed it, the old Toydarian wanted him to win. Maybe it wasn't for the credits or his pride. Maybe he felt that the boy he'd half-raised, half-exploited was about to fly like no one else could, and Watto couldn't bring himself to say he cared.
Not out loud.
Anakin glanced over his shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. "Don't worry, Watto. I'm not the one who's gonna look bad today."
His tone was light, almost playful, but the conviction in his voice was undeniable. Not defiant, not arrogant.
Just certain.
Watto huffed, flapping his wings harder than necessary as he floated backward. "Hmph. Big words for a kid with sand in his boots eh."
But his eyes lingered on Anakin for a moment too long. He wanted to scoff, to laugh it off, but something in the boy's voice made his sneer falter. There was heart there. Not the kind you fake. The kind you earn over countless experiences and losses.
With a grunt, he turned away, pretending to fiddle with a datapad. "Just don't crash. I hate paperwork."
The stands of the podrace arena were already packed, cheers echoing through the sandstone cliffs. The scent of grease, sweat, and anticipation hung thick in the air. Flags flapped in the rising wind, and the engines of dozens of podracers hummed with barely contained power.
Anakin stood beside his podracer, helmet under one arm. He was calm. Focused. Fear did not touch him. He had already died once.
Qui-Gon knelt beside him. "Are you ready?"
Anakin looked up. "Always."
Qui-Gon approached, his face calm, but his eyes alert. "Last chance to walk away."
Anakin didn't even blink. "I'm not walking away from anything."
Qui-Gon smiled slightly. "Trust your instincts."
"I will."
A pulsing beat and a tingling sensation happened when Qui-Gon placed a hand on my shoulder.
"The Force is with you."
Anakin nodded once.
Padmé stood nearby, arms still folded, but something had changed in her expression. She didn't look afraid anymore. Just… uncertain. The Jedi Master turned and stepped back with Padmé, joining Jar Jar and Shmi in the observation stand as the pit crew began final checks.
From a high balcony, Jabba the Hutt slithered forward with a lazy, guttural announcement. The crowd erupted in cheers and jeers as podracers revved their engines. Sebulba's distinctive growl cut through the noise, his modified podracer snarling like a beast at the gates of hell.
The roar of engines filled the air as the podracers lined up at the starting line. Anakin climbed into his cockpit, his heart calm and steady. The canopy closed. The world dimmed. Inside, it was silent but for the low thrum of the twin engines feeding power through the stabilizers.
He glanced over at his mother, who stood among the crowd, her hands clasped tightly, eyes filled with worry.
Padmé stood beside Shmi, sharing in her anxiety. Despite her reservations, she found herself silently praying for the boy's safety.
I've done this before, he reminded himself. I've survived worse. This is nothing.
But even as he reached for the ignition, the ghost of Mustafar echoed in the corner of his mind.
Obi-Wan, lightsaber drawn, eyes full of pain.
Don't think.
Just move.
He powered the podracer to life. Twin turbines screamed to attention, pulsing with energy. Across the line, Sebulba grinned and gave a deliberate shove to the racer next to him, nearly knocking it out of alignment. The Dug was already cheating.
"Hope you said goodbye to your mother, boy," Sebulba hissed.
Anakin didn't flinch.
The starting lights lit up: red… red… green.
The announcer's voice echoed through the canyon. Flags were thrown and waved. Creatures from a dozen worlds cheered. Then the race began with a thunderous blast, and the podracers surged forward.
The explosion of motion was immediate. Engines screamed and the podracers shot forward like blaster bolts, kicking up a cyclone of dust. Anakin's head snapped back as the G-force slammed into his chest. He held steady, arms held tightly on the controls as the podracer shot down the first stretch.
Anakin's pod surged ahead smoothly, the engines humming with precision-tuned harmony. No lurch. No stall. He was already in rhythm.
The other racers launched forward in a metal storm of acceleration. Some weren't so lucky. One racer spun out before even clearing the archway, crashing in a plume of smoke.
Anakin didn't look back.
Dust clouds and sand flew across the horizon.
The canyon walls approached fast, tight turns, narrow gaps, and death waiting at every bend.
They thundered into the Arch Canyon, a jagged cut through the cliffs lined with rocky outcroppings and sudden, blind turns. Anakin knew this route better than most, he had memorized it. The path twisted like a serpent, demanding instant reaction time.
Anakin's pod bucked violently before stabilizing. The world blurred into streaks of sand and smoke. He leaned into every turn, barely missing jagged rocks, surging ahead with uncanny precision.
His focus narrowed to the course, to the whine of engines and the Force humming around him. Sebulba tried to ram him, tried to knock him off course, but Anakin didn't flinch. He adjusted his controls, let go of fear, and pushed forward.
He remembered every trap, every hazard. The rock slides, the Tusken snipers, the sabotaged terrain.
But this time, he was ready.
He knew the rocks before they came. His mind stretched forward, guided by the Force. He leaned into a turn a half-second before anyone else did, banking hard, cutting corners with impossible precision. His podracer weaved through deadly gaps that made seasoned veterans widen their eyes.
Behind him, other racers clipped the canyon wall and spun out. Another pod exploded in a fireball behind a jutting cliff, scattering debris into the path.
Anakin twisted under the debris cloud like he had flown the route a hundred times before.
Out of a side passage, Sebulba surged forward. He had taken a dirty shortcut Anakin remembered from before.
Typical.
Anakin's podracer slid through the bend with perfect grace, the repulsorlifts dancing inches above the jagged surface. He caught Sebulba ahead, his orange tongue licking the air, and his engines belching smoke, blinding anyone behind him.
And behind him, another one crashed. A fellow racer's engine had caught fire. The crowd roared in approval.
Anakin narrowed his focus.
The Boonta Eve Classic wasn't just a race, it was a bloodsport. Survival dressed up as entertainment.
Sebulba veered toward him as Anakin got closer. The two of them became neck and neck, close enough for their engines to clash. The Dug activated a hidden side vent and released a plume of molten coolant toward Anakin's pod stabilizer.
Anakin had already throttled down. The coolant splashed just short of his cockpit, and he used the delay to slingshot around Sebulba's inside.
The Dug cursed and pulled back ahead using raw speed, but the look in his eyes showed the first flicker of doubt.
Sebulba swerved dangerously close, trying to force Anakin into the canyon wall. Anakin shifted, letting instinct guide him. He dipped, letting one engine scrape the dust before pulling hard to the left. Sebulba missed, swearing in Huttese.
They emerged into open air again, racing across the wide flatlands. The sun baked the surface, creating shimmering waves of heat that distorted vision.
Here, Anakin let go of conscious control. His hands relaxed on the controls.
He closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
He listened.
The Force flowed through him, not like before, when it surged out in desperation or instinct. This was different. He wasn't fighting it. He was in harmony with it.
He saw where the tension in another racer's engine would snap.
He knew where the ground would shift in the next few seconds, creating a ripple of lift that would throw careless pilots off-course.
He moved with purpose.
He passed another racer on the left by flying dangerously close to a rock ledge, trusting the Force to guide his pod inches from the edge. Another racer tried to box him in and Anakin killed the left thruster for half a second, dipping beneath the narrow pass, skimming the canyon wall, then reigniting it with a blast that sent him ahead like a comet.
The first lap was nearing its end. Anakin poured power into the thrusters and shot ahead, overtaking two slower racers on a blind turn. He could hear the announcers yelling over the stadium loudspeakers, something about the "human boy" gaining ground.
As he flew past the main stand, he caught a glimpse of Padmé, her hands clenched tight, face unreadable. Beside her, Qui-Gon stood with his arms crossed, he was unmoving, watching. waiting.
Shmi had her eyes closed and her hand over her anxious heart.
The second lap was a bit more challenging.
Racers collided in a fiery spiral. Shrapnel was scattered across the canyon floor from previous racers' wrecks. Smoke filled the air and ahead, Tusken Raiders opened fire from a ridge, their rifles sending bolts of plasma toward the racers.
Anakin rolled his podracer midair, flipping over a spray of fire, using the maneuver to pass another racer struggling with damaged engines. The repulsorlifts dipped dangerously low, skimming the dust.
His vision narrowed. The podracer became part of him, a living machine responding to instinct more than thought.
Every turn, every surge, every jolt, he felt it before it happened. The Force flowed through the engines like a second bloodstream.
Sebulba was just ahead again, using another illegal shortcut. The Dug saw him in his mirrors and snarled. His podracer spewed black exhaust. With a cruel grin, he flipped a hidden switch metal claws extended from his left engine.
This time, he activated another cheat, a metal claw-like grapple designed to hook rival pods. He fired it into Anakin's path.
The hook snapped onto Anakin's right engine.
Sebulba smirked.
The crowd gasped, and Shmi screamed, fearing the worst.
From the observation stand, even Qui-Gon took a step forward and Padmé couldn't bear to look.
But Anakin didn't panic or hesitate. His mind had already traced the outcome.
He triggered the failsafe kill-switch on the right engine, then re-routed power from the right engine to the left side via the override system he had designed. The right engine went momentarily dark, the cable slackening.
Then the engine flared back to life.
The torque of the sudden re-engagement yanked the cable, and the hook snapped from Sebulba's launcher.
Whiplash.
The cable recoiled and wrapped around Sebulba's own support beam, throwing his podracer briefly off balance.
Anakin shot ahead once again.
Blind furious rage was building in Sebulba as he banged against his controls once again, swearing at his failed attempts.
By the time the third and final lap began, only Sebulba remained.
The Dug's podracer was larger, faster, but certainly not better.
They raced neck-and-neck down the home stretch.
In a last-ditch effort, Sebulba activated one last trick. An oil slick dropped straight in front of Anakin.
Anakin leaned back, letting instinct guide him.
"Not this time." Anakin smiled.
The oil burst beneath his pod, but he shifted his weight, rebalanced the repulsorlifts, and jumped, boosting both engines in a vertical launch over the slick oil before touching down again.
Sebulba's head whipped around. He couldn't believe it.
"What is this?! Is this still the same brat from before?!" Sebulba shouted as he gripped the controls with all of his strength.
Anakin closed his eye once again, he reached out with the Force, not to attack, but to listen. Sebulba's engines were overheating and the coolant line he had abused and stressed earlier had a fracture.
Anakin triggered a sonic pulse through his own exhaust, a blast that vibrated at just the right frequency.
The fracture widened.
Sebulba's engine burst into flame.
The Dug screamed as his pod spiraled and flipped out of control, crashing into the canyon wall just short of the finish line.
The final stretch was clear.
He poured every ounce of energy into the thrusters, flames streaking behind him, eyes locked on the finish line as the wind peeled past his face like a living wall.
The moment stretched.
No more visions. No more ghosts.
Just sky, sand, and speed.
Anakin soared across the line with a sonic boom, alone, his pod untouched, engines singing in perfect unison.
The crowd erupted. A sea of cheers, shouts, and disbelief.
Cheers shook the arena with horns blaring and fireworks exploding into the air.
Anakin coasted to a halt, stepping down from his cockpit as calmly as if he'd finished a training lap.
Shmi's eyes welled with tears of relief and pride. Shmi's knees nearly buckled as she clung to Padmé, who she reached out instinctively. Padmé allowed herself a smile, her earlier doubts momentarily forgotten. Both women were speechless, overcome by the miracle they had just witnessed.
Padmé looked down at Anakin as he was swarmed by spectators. She should have felt joy, but a weight lingered. Something had changed.
This boy was no ordinary child. And what he had just done… no ordinary feat.
Qui-Gon approached, awe in his eyes.
"You knew."
Anakin nodded. "I remembered."
Qui-Gon frowned. "Remembered?"
Anakin gave a soft smile and spoke, "Everything."
He had won.
And it wasn't because of fate or because of prophecy.
But because he chose to.
A subtle reminder that he is here once again for a reason, for a new purpose.
--------------------------------------
Unseen by the jubilant crowd, a black-hooded figure stood atop a nearby cliff, watching through a pair of macrobinoculars. The twin suns cast his silhouette across the jagged stone, a flickering shadow against the blinding sky.
Darth Maul's breath was even and cold. The wind tugged at his robe, but he didn't flinch. His yellow eyes tracked Anakin's every movement, from the start of the race to the final victory. The boy's control of the podracer. His unshakable focus and his undeniable connection to the Force.
"He is strong," Maul murmured aloud, more to himself than his master. "Too strong."
"But strength can be... manipulated," he murmured with a sight smile.
The Sith assassin didn't believe in chance. The Queen's emergency landing, the Jedi's presence, this boy's extraordinary performance, it's all somehow connected.
It reeked of destiny.
And destiny was the playground of the Sith.
Maul turned away from the cliff's edge, retreating into the shadows. His next message to Sidious would be clear. The Queen was still within reach. But the boy… the boy was something else entirely.
"A threat... or an opportunity."
He disappeared into the canyon's labyrinthine paths, the desert swallowing his presence. But he would return.