The first thing Kaelen felt was pain. Not sharp, not sudden, but deep, aching, and constant. His chest rose and fell in shuddering gasps, each breath scraping his throat raw as though he were swallowing sand. He coughed, hacking until dust spilled from his mouth, bitter and metallic, clinging to his tongue. His head throbbed, his arms trembled, and his whole body felt far too heavy to belong to him.
Slowly, groaning, he pushed himself up on his hands. His palms scraped against jagged stone. The ground was rough and uneven, coated in grit that shimmered faintly green beneath the harsh white glare of overhead floodlamps. He blinked against the light, disoriented.
Then his breath froze in his throat. His hands. They were too small. Thin, bony, the hands of a child.
He stared at them, panic building in his chest. They weren't his. His hands should have been large, callused, strong from years of work, gaming, sports, and everything else that came with being twenty-five years old. But these—these were tiny. Fragile.
"What the…?" His voice cracked, high-pitched, the voice of a boy no older than six.
A shout echoed across the cavern, harsh and commanding. "Move it, worms! Back to work!" The crack of a whip split the air, sharp as lightning, followed by a scream. Kaelen's eyes snapped upward, blinking against the dust-filled haze until the world came into focus.
They were underground. Vast tunnels carved from dark stone stretched in every direction, lit by buzzing industrial lamps bolted into the walls. The air was heavy with smoke and spice-dust, glowing faintly in the gloom. Slaves—dozens, maybe hundreds—moved like shadows, pushing carts, hauling sacks, hacking away at jagged veins of glittering crystal. Their faces were pale and hollow, their clothes rags, their bodies gaunt from starvation and overwork.
Patrolling among them were men in black armor, their faces hidden behind helmets. Electro-whips sparked in their hands, and blaster rifles hung ready across their backs. On the platforms bolted into the rock above, banners of red and black fluttered in the stale air.
The insignia of the Empire.
Kaelen's blood ran cold. He knew this place. He had seen it before, not in life, but in fiction, in film, in games and lore he had poured years into learning. The cavern walls, the glowing spice, the endless labor—it all fit.
"Kessel," he whispered.
The word tasted like ash.
Memory surged back, slamming into him. The squeal of tires. The blare of a horn. The flash of pain, and then nothing. Death. His life as a man of twenty-five snuffed out in an instant. But instead of the void, there was this. A new body. A child's body. A galaxy far, far away.
His stomach twisted with equal parts terror and awe. He should have been gone. But instead he was here, in the Star Wars universe, and not just anywhere. He was in one of the most infamous hellholes in galactic history. The Kessel spice mines.
Something flickered before his eyes. Blue light, sharp and clear, floating in the air where no one else reacted. Words formed in glowing text, impossible but undeniable.
[Holocron Protocol initializing…]
Welcome, Kaelen Veyar.
Reincarnated Age: 6
Location: Kessel Spice Mines (Outer Rim, Imperial Control)
Survival Rating: Dire
Main Objective: Survive.
Secondary Objective: Grow strong enough to alter destiny.
Tutorial Quest Available: Endure One Day in the Mines. Reward: System Activation.
Kaelen stared, frozen. His pulse hammered in his ears. His lips twitched, the hint of a laugh bubbling in his throat even though he knew it would sound mad here. The System. It was real. His system. Like something ripped from the very isekai stories he used to binge in his old life. His chest ached with adrenaline.
This was his ticket out.
A heavy cart slammed against him, knocking him forward. He staggered, barely keeping his feet under him. A boy, older by a few years, snarled through clenched teeth. "Don't just stand there, kid! Push, or they'll beat you bloody!"
Kaelen looked down at the cart. Its handles loomed above him, heavy with glittering spice ore. His thin arms shook just touching it. The guards nearby turned their masked faces toward him, one snapping his whip against the stone floor, sparks leaping.
Kaelen swallowed hard and forced his trembling hands to the cart. His body screamed in protest, but he dug his bare feet into the dust and shoved. The cart resisted, heavy as a starship, but it moved. Inch by inch, it rolled forward.
He gritted his teeth and kept pushing.
Hours bled together. The tunnels consumed time until Kaelen wasn't sure if he'd been pushing for minutes or days. Spice dust clogged his lungs until his chest burned. His arms shook violently, sweat pouring from his forehead, rags clinging to his skin. Every step forward was a battle. His knees buckled, his vision blurred, and still he pushed.
He remembered the glowing words. Survive one day. That was all. One day. He could do that.
At his side, another small figure appeared. A girl, her hair dark and matted, her hands blistered and raw. She pushed her own cart, shoulders hunched under its weight. She glanced at him, eyes dull with exhaustion.
"You new?" Her voice was hoarse, quiet enough not to draw a guard's attention.
"Yeah," Kaelen rasped.
"You won't last long," she said, not with cruelty but with the weary certainty of someone who had seen this cycle many times. "Kids like us never do."
Kaelen's lips curved into something between a smile and a grimace. "We'll see about that."
Her eyes lingered on him, puzzled, before she turned her focus back to her cart.
The endless day wore on. The air grew hotter, heavier, until even standing felt impossible. Kaelen's body screamed for rest, his heart pounded so hard it felt like it might tear out of his chest, but he kept moving. He would not fall. Not now.
At last, the guards corralled the slaves into pens carved from rock and barred with durasteel. Kaelen collapsed onto the cold floor, his arms numb, his back burning, every muscle trembling. The stench of sweat and dust hung heavy in the cramped space as bodies pressed close, desperate for warmth.
He lay gasping, his eyes closing—until blue light flickered before him again.
[Tutorial Quest Completed: Survive One Day in the Mines.]
Reward: Basic System Functions Unlocked.
Unlocked Menus:
– Status
– Skills
– Inventory (Locked: requires weapon/tool)
– Missions
Bonus Reward: +2 Endurance
Warmth spread through him, subtle but undeniable. His arms felt a fraction lighter, his chest less raw. He could breathe without coughing. The ache was still there, but dulled.
Kaelen stared at the words, then let out a shaky breath. It was real. He wasn't hallucinating. The System was his.
Around him, the others slept in broken fits, coughing and muttering in their dreams. Guards paced outside, rifles gleaming in the dim light. Kaelen lay awake, his eyes fixed on the ceiling of stone above, his mind racing.
He had ten years. Ten years before Rebels began—before Ezra Bridger found the Ghost crew, before Kanan revealed himself, before Sabine Wren began painting the galaxy in color and fire. Ten years until the galaxy shifted.
He knew what was coming. He knew the Inquisitors, the rise of the Rebellion, the battles and betrayals. He couldn't waste this.
His hands curled into fists, small but firm. "I'm not dying in a mine," he whispered into the dark. "Not here. Not like this."
The girl from earlier stirred beside him, her tired eyes half open. She studied him for a long moment, then whispered, "You're strange."
Kaelen gave her a faint grin, his silver-blue eyes catching the faint glow of the lamps. "You've got no idea."
She blinked at him, confused, before exhaustion pulled her back under. Kaelen remained awake long after, staring into the dark, his mind alight.
This world wasn't a story anymore. It was real. And he had been given a second chance.
He would survive. He would grow stronger. And when the time came, he would be ready.