I don't know how much time passed, but everything was like a fog... Consciousness returned in jerks: unexpectedly, I would perceive a new layer of information about my surroundings. But it overloaded a child's brain. Yes, that strange cry I heard turned out to be a child's cry. And it was the cry of my new body. Quite unexpectedly for myself, I became that very transmigrator. Over the next couple of days, I desperately tried to study the situation. But this damn child's body hindered me... It's physically weak. It took me several days, and I felt like I nearly broke my neck in the process. The breakthrough came when I saw a droid. A real robot...
It had several arms, and a soft blue light emanated from its eyes. The robot moved on wheels... And I quickly understood why it had so many arms. It turned out to be a "jack-of-all-trades." It cleaned the house, fed me, and cooked. Given the surroundings, I had already estimated a list of possible universes... Or rather, the list of possible universes was there, but what if this world was original? New, never described... If I could navigate in known universes, in such a case, hardly. But no... My doubts and fears were dispelled when, albeit slightly distorted, one of my parents uttered the word "Jedi.".. Everything suddenly became clear.
Star Wars, the most legendary universe. If The Lord of the Rings defined the trends of fantasy, then Star Wars defined the trends of science fiction for many years. Initially, this universe was not such an incredible mastodon. But after the release of the trilogy with Luke, endless comics, books, and later even games poured out. The universe was filled with life by hundreds, if not thousands of characters. This universe turned out to be quite cruel to everyone... To both Sith and Jedi and other sentient beings. And honestly, I wouldn't want to end up in this universe. What can I say... I would have just wanted to die... Haven't I suffered enough? Why should I go on living in this dangerous and cruel world?
And... Honestly, a child has a thousand ways to die... To commit unconscious suicide. Or conscious... But for some reason I couldn't or didn't want to... Probably because of my mother. At first, I shunned Mayla Flyingstar; the memory of how my first parents treated me was still fresh. So Dennis and Mayla Flyingstar were the same to me. But this belief shattered like shards of glass. Mayla loved to press me to her and mutter something in the local language. I didn't know then what exactly she was saying; the language in Star Wars is a bit different. Completely different letters, even though SW characters speak English in the original, which I know better than most.
And this behavior from my mother began to change something in me... I started to reciprocate this tall woman. She was beautiful, both to me and to my father. Mayla Flyingstar was tall, slender, with a regular face not belonging to the Caucasoid race. And her ears were pointed, like elves... Yes, she was definitely some kind of elf; I think there were several races with similar traits in the Star Wars world... Her skin color was quite pale. And my father, Dennis Flyingstar, turned out to be a sturdy man of the same race, but shorter than my mother. If I were to estimate, I'd say she was about two hundred centimeters, by my feelings, while my father was barely under one hundred eighty.
What created such an odd couple? Because by my admission, my mother is incredibly beautiful, and the standards of the Galaxy Far, Far Away and Earth aren't that different... Still, there was one notable feature in Dennis Flyingstar. His eyes were purple. And I once noticed my own reflection. For a person of this age, my height was probably standard... A cute, chubby face — so that's what made my mother care for me so much... Besides the standard maternal instinct... And most importantly, besides my pointed ears, my eyes were the same shade as my father's.
And they named me with a telling name... Well, well... The Skywalkers had a telling surname: walkers in the sky. But I have both. Light Flyingstar. Light of a Flying Star — beautiful, damn it. Though I would have preferred my name as Leonid Ivanov, but apparently I'll have to get used to new circumstances... The fact that I have long, pointed ears means I'm kind of an elf... It seems all races with such ears and cute faces, in all possible universes, always live long. Yes... This time I will live long for myself. Maybe I'll even have no problems finding a partner, or with poverty? After all, I now have a family, and they turned out to be quite well-off. The house was beautiful and filled with light; there were many windows. No more mistakes, Leonid Ivanov... No, now Light Flyingstar will live his life with dignity according to his criteria, so that he won't be ashamed anymore. I must change... Become better... So much self-persuasion and zero! Zero result! How many times have I decided that I would be a confident man, living for myself despite everything... And so many times I've failed... But now I must succeed. I have everything. I just need to decide my future...
* * *
"Master Light," came a voice from behind, in which I immediately recognized the droid. I was beginning to understand the language little by little; it was radically different from what I knew, but I quickly drew parallels and by now, at eleven months, could understand speech. "You are forbidden from leaving your territory, the playroom, without my supervision or your parents'. I will be forced to transport you back."
I was scooped up and carried down the corridor back to my room. Damn robot... Though he was right. This world has plenty of dangers... I need to think through my life plan. First of all, I need to decide on a profession. For me, a translator, there's no profession here. After all, there are protocol droids. So I need to choose something else... I need to decide on education. And I could take a long time choosing that. Star Wars has plenty of educational institutions; of course, most that come to mind are military-themed — gotta live up to the name. But I don't want to fight... I don't want to kill, one way or another. I want to live a simple life.
At the entrance, I heard cheerful voices. My parents were back from work. Where did they work? Mom definitely worked as a maid — I'd seen her in a themed costume a couple of times... That definitely wasn't for roleplaying with Dad. Well, and Dad, Dennis, was an engineer... Or a technician? At least, he wore a jumpsuit to and from work. Five minutes later, I heard footsteps approaching. Mother, as was her habit, burst into the room, grabbed me, and almost strangled me with her "arguments" out of joy... I think Father even had to rewire the droid when it — to its misfortune — suggested checking if all my ribs were intact after such a hug. The poor thing took a wrench right to the analyzer. Mom is strong.
And she does this every day when she comes home from work. She loves me so much that Father would look at me with envy. Though a lot of people should be looking at him with envy — he landed such a beauty.
"I'll cook today," Mother told the droid and Father. "My son definitely loves my cooking." I adore it, honestly. A lot of the ingredients are new to me, but Mom cooks wonderfully. I usually eat a kind of analog of salad with fish.
The droid prepares it for me, but Mom's definitely turns out better. She likes to cook, though she can't always find the time. Today, she and Father were clearly let off early. With some strange expression on her face, she handed me over to Father's arms. He was already in his home clothes, while Mom could strut around in her maid costume almost twenty-four seven. Humming something under her breath, she flitted out of the room...
"Let's get back to training, Light," the man looked at me seriously. "It's time you proved your strength! Come on, son... You said 'Mama' when you were five months old. An unprecedented result for a Sephi! Now be a man... Say 'Dada.'"
"Mama," I said, barely holding back a laugh.
"Da-da!" Father said, syllable by syllable, wincing slightly. "D-A-D-A," he said, spelling it out. "Great Sun," he sighed theatrically. "This is wrong!"
"Mama..."
Father facepalmed and apparently wanted to retreat to his workshop, but then Mayla's call came through. Time to eat... Scooping me up, he ran to the kitchen at tremendous speed, trying not to drop me. The kitchen in our house was quite spacious; we ate right there. A table made from local trees stood in the center, with six chairs around it. Actually, just like in my world, handcrafted work has been highly valued here lately. If you have an item made by a master's hand, not by a soulless stamping machine, you have a reason to be proud.
The Flyingstar family was fairly well-off, so we had plenty of such "items," like the table covered in intricate swirling patterns. And Father would periodically make things in his workshop. Along the walls were several cabinets that matched the table's style, a stove for cooking — as I called it (at least, it resembled one) — and a fairly large refrigerator stood opposite that same stove against another wall.
They sat me in a high chair, and I didn't find this particularly humiliating. After all, I could enjoy Mom's cooking... The only thing that humiliated me in the first months of life was soiling myself.
"Bon appétit!" Mayla clasped her hands together, and Dennis repeated the gesture.
I scanned my portion, assessing what had been cooked. A moderate portion combined local fish and local vegetable stew... Why do I say "local"? Because the flora and fauna of the Star Wars world differ from those of Earth. And I don't know the names of these vegetables, fruits, fish, or animals. And that's despite the fact that I know the canon pretty well... Which is exactly why I plan to stay far away from the Jedi, the Sith, and so on... I'm even willing to tolerate Palpatine's power — fortunately, despite his excesses, he won't touch anyone without reason... Or will he? That's Sidious's own quirk, who will soon begin his training under Hego Damask, I think.
After boring a hole in my portion with my stare, I tried to grab the utensil, feeling Mayla's adoring gaze on me. My hands are pretty strong for a child, though not strong enough. Actually, sometimes I felt strange things. My body would literally fill with power, though afterward I would lie there almost groaning in pain... Oh damn... The Star Wars analog of a fork scraped across the plate, slipped out of my hand, and headed for the floor... Yes, come back! And there it is again... Strange sensations spread through my body, the fork obediently jumped back into my hand, and I just realized I have a problem.
I'm clearly gifted. That is, a gifted larva.
"Good job, Light," Mayla smiled softly. "That was beautiful."
Not at all! I glanced sideways at the fork in my left hand. If I can — even unconsciously — use the Force, then my name is already in a holocron. When I hit a certain age — I still don't remember exactly how old — some local monk will show up to send me to the Jedi Temple... To train, study, observe celibacy and poverty. I'd rather have been born gifted on Corellia. The Conclave on that planet is much better than the "Main Jedi." Even though I finished Mayla's food — and she cooks excellently — my mood was irrevocably ruined.
* * *
"And this is His Majesty Alaric, Light," Mother pointed at a holographic photo. "So you know — he has been the ruler of our nation for almost two hundred years now. He is incredibly wise and intelligent."
My parents were showing me holographic photos of some of their acquaintances and relatives. Interestingly enough — everyone in my father's line, the Flyingstar line, had purple eyes, and they were all much shorter than ordinary Sephi. Sometimes we would go out for a walk... And Tustra, as a planet, genuinely fascinated me... No, it had classic urban solutions, like busy speeder lanes. But all of this harmonized beautifully with parks and green spaces. The King perfectly understood the importance of ecology; none of his people wanted to turn their planet into a second Coruscant... Though the capital of the Galactic Republic isn't the worst example; there are planets that have suffered even more from technology.
Speaking of which, this is already about the eighth time they've shown me Alaric — they're probably afraid I'll forget. And that makes sense from a parent's perspective, I suppose. After all, Alaric is their employer. My mother is the Head Maid of the Royal Palace, and my father works there too, in the hangar, as a technician. There were lots more photos flashing by, including one of the Chief Technician, who is also the Head of the Hangar — a shadow passed over Dennis's face; apparently, my father can't stand his boss. Dennis himself is quite reserved. And if his face twists just from someone being mentioned, then that person is beyond ordinary dislike.
"We'll show you the palace soon, Light. As the son of His Majesty's servants, you have the right to interact with the children of other courtiers..."
Children? I'll be interacting with children? Memories unexpectedly surfaced a few pictures of such interaction back at the orphanage.
"It'll be fine, Light," my father stroked me as I grabbed his sleeve. "Daddy will protect you if anything happens."
"I don't want to..."
"It has to be, Light," Mayla said calmly. "You can't live in society and be free from it. Besides, it's interesting."
That's a matter of perspective... I hadn't even recovered from the news about my midi-chlorian count... By the time I was about two, I had stopped messing with my father. Mayla's mother came to visit; aside from the standard mother-in-law nagging — which boiled down to the fact that the Head Maid of His Majesty, descending from an ancient lineage, couldn't marry a simple hangar technician... And Ronim Mirall, my father's boss, was perfectly suitable for Mayla in terms of status — my grandmother marveled at my Force abilities... Strangely, her dislike for my father transformed into love for me... And she was also proud that I could become a Jedi Knight in the future... As if they didn't care that I could die on some mission or that officially I wouldn't be allowed to have children. You can leave the Order, of course, but it seems my family doesn't even consider that possibility... Me, leave the Order? Grand Master Yoda himself is a friend of our King. The leaving option, I assume, was never even considered. And they were preparing me psychologically for...
That someday a Jedi would come for me and take me from my warm home to a huge Temple on Coruscant. To raise me into a monk... But before that, I still had my debut in society. High-born Sephi introduced their children to society at four or five, presenting them to their acquaintances. And the children of servants were also considered high-born — after all, many of the King's servants came from the nobility. Some positions were practically hereditary. Like with my mother, for instance. And my social debut happened two years later, when I turned four.
Up until then, my maternal grandmother — who had moved in with us — had been teaching me everything a child could know. Or rather, everything the child of His Majesty's Head Maid should know. Incidentally, the position of Head Maid was hereditary in my mother's family, which reminded me of certain empires and countries; but I couldn't complain. After all, those who inherited their parents' positions were trained properly from birth. The long-lived Sephi could afford to babysit even their great-grandchildren and, as my grandmother says, "hammer at least a little wisdom into their disobedient heads."
The training wasn't particularly strict, though. They even let me rest, at least three or four hours a day. But I never spent that time resting, remembering that I am gifted — I started heavy training to try and control my gift. Why heavy? Because Force techniques are better learned from professionals, and I could only watch clips of Jedi on the HoloNet — the local equivalent of YouTube — in their natural habitat. Using my datapad, I observed Jedi who had been caught on video while they were working and tried to replicate the most basic thing I had done before — telekinesis. Because that's what I had used for the first time in my life... I was searching for that feeling of interacting with the Force.
When I just wanted to lift the fork... In the end, I have fourteen thousand midi-chlorians. I'm not exactly Skywalker, but I'm incredibly close to that number. According to the information I've gathered, the average Jedi has between three thousand and about seven thousand. Of course, anyone can train up to master level. But training will come easier for me... Although I didn't want to become a Jedi, I later accepted this circumstance as inevitable. I simply have no choice... Only those who don't know the canon can say: just go, run far away and that's it. But... a potentially strong Gifted person is unlikely to find a quiet life. That's a fact... One way or another, I'll end up making a name for myself somewhere.
And honestly, the Jedi ideology suits me best. Despite many flaws of the Order that formed after Ruusan, I still considered and still consider them wonderful beings (Author's Note!!! Attention! THIS IS THE OPINION OF MY MC! IT MAY CHANGE!). So I learned to use the Force... And lately, I've been starting to get the hang of it. It's also about trying to find a way to meditate for comprehending the Force. And each time, I get better and better at it... I should also pay attention to physical body training, but they're already working on that with me, even if not very actively.
My physical training coach turned out to be an old man... They exist among the Sephi too. Roger Mirt had fought in his time and was now living out his days in his homeland. He was almost three hundred and fifty years old... Though all he did was basic body conditioning... They also made me memorize the "Code of Duties of a Future Servant of the King." Even though I don't intend to become one... It covered everything: from personal hygiene to intellectual development and physical skills.
* * *
Alaric's palace looked truly majestic. And it wasn't built that way to inflate the ego of the King I had seen only briefly. Alaric fully deserves this residence, which is tirelessly maintained by a huge number of servants and various workers. As I've already understood, he's a benevolent dictator. A rather rare type of dictator whose goal is the prosperity of their entire people, not just select individuals they're friends with.
I was taken to rooms where children of absolutely different ages were playing. I definitely saw almost adult teenagers sitting apart from the little ones, as well as very young ones, like myself. There were also clearly caretakers supervising the children. At the entrance to the richly decorated room, an average-height Sephi woman met us.
"You brought yours, Mayla," she smiled at my mother.
The woman had dark hair — standard for our people — tied into intricate swirls, and pointed ears. She was also quite tall and towered over all of us like a tower. The woman was dressed in a closed yellow dress.
"My name is Erla," she bent down to me. "I'll be looking after you... Now go and meet your new friends, little Light. Don't be shy, and I'll talk to your mother for a bit."