In the quiet confines of his modest apartment, a man fiddled with a worn-out lightsaber toy. Its once vibrant blue blade had faded to a sad, milky shade, and the plastic hilt was sticky from countless battles waged in sticky fingers. His eyes grew heavy with each passing minute, the siren call of his bed growing stronger. The apartment was a sanctuary of his youth, laden with Star Wars posters and action figures that bore silent witness to his countless adventures across the galaxy.
He was an ordinary man in his mid-thirties, with a penchant for the extraordinary tales of a galaxy far, far away. He had seen the movies a hundred times, (except the sequels, once was enough). Yet, as he lay in bed that night, the weight of the mundane world seemed to press down on him, suffocating the spark of imagination that had once burned so brightly.
The digital clock on his bedside table flickered the time: 1:27 AM. The man sighed, rolling over to face the wall. He wished for the days when he could immerse himself in the epic battles and heart-wrenching destinies of his favorite characters without the burdens of adult life with how disappointing it turned out to be, nothing more than an endless slog.
As his eyes closed and his breath grew shallow, a peculiar sensation washed over him. It was like he was being pulled through a tunnel of swirling stars, the fabric of his reality stretching and distorting around him.
Maybe the Force from a galaxy far, far away long ago took pity on him, maybe Darth Plagueis's experiment to create life was slightly different, who can say?
But as the man's consciousness swirled through the cosmos, it coalesced into a soon be unborn boy still in her mothers stomach were it layed dormant, but the soon-to-be consciousness was not gone, simply put, the cells that would've been simply Anakin Skywalker, were split in two, not that anyone would know this.
Months drifted by like stars in hyperspace, the man's soul slowly weaving its way back into the tapestry of existence. He felt cramped, unable to see but more aware than he had ever been, he could do nothing about it, was this what a coma was like?
But no, it felt more... primal. He began to detect murmurs, the gentle throb of life around him, a rhythmic beating that grew stronger with each passing moment. It was then that he realized he wasn't lying in his own bed; the softness beneath him was unlike his own worn mattress, were was he a lucid dream perhaps?
As his consciousness grew more defined, he became aware of a second presence, a mirror to his own. It was as if he were two people, sharing a confined space, and yet, distinctly separate. This twin entity grew alongside him, sharing his thoughts and feelings, yet remained a silent companion in the void. He felt a strange kinship with this unspoken other, an understanding that went beyond words. They were entangled, two halves of a whole, bound by an invisible force.
Finally, he understood, he had somehow died, and yet still remembered, were the Hindus right then? But why did he still remember? Was he simply going to forget everything the second he was dully born? Maybe he could be lucky and actually be somebody this time, but if karma was to be believed, hed probably live another painfully average life, maybe he could see his family again in this new life (even if he didn't know them) He felt his consciousness expand further than he had when he was ever alive as the months dragged on, the whispers grew clearer, and the throb grew stronger. He was no longer in the void; he was in a living, breathing world, experiencing it through the eyes of a new host.
The day came when the quiet darkness was shattered by a cacophony of sound. The man felt a sudden rush of cold air and a blinding light pierce through the veil that had shielded him from the outside world. The warm embrace of his mother's womb was replaced by the relative cold, of the Tatooine night, as he barely heard a crying women.
"I don't know how this happen but you two are my little miracles, little Anakin and Arna Skywalker. . ."
'Wait what!'
The man's consciousness reeled at the sound of the name 'Skywalker'. It didn't fit, not at all. Why did he still remember his old life? And why was his name Anakin Skywalker!? His heart raced with confusion as he felt his new body squirm in the sand, the now rising twin suns casting their fiery gaze upon him for the first time. He had seen this before, but from the safety of his bedroom, not from the perspective of a newborn on an alien world.
A world where he'd never see anyone he cared about again. Just then, Arna, the other half of his soul, started to bawl. The sound pierced through the fog of confusion and pain, bringing a shimmer of clarity to his mind. The man felt his eyes widen in surprise, though they remained sealed shut. He had to be lucid dreaming, right? But the sensations were so real, so vivid, that he couldn't shake off the feeling that this was something more.
The cries grew louder, echoing across the desert landscape. He felt his tiny body jerk in response, his arms flailing in a futile attempt to soothe his sibling. The sand was cool against his skin, and the smell of it filled his nostrils. The sensation of being born was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the lifelessness of the void he'd just left. He wanted to speak, to tell Shmi that everything would be okay, but his non-existent voice was lost amidst Arna's wails.
The tired woman's voice grew more frantic, her gentle coos failing to calm the newborn. The man's mind raced with questions and fear. Why was he here? Why was he experiencing this as Anakin Skywalker? Was this some kind of cosmic joke? He felt the panic rising in his chest, his heart thumping in his tiny frame. He didn't know how to be a baby again, and certainly not on a planet like Tatooine.
As the suns continued their inexorable rise, casting longer shadows across the dunes, Anakin's thoughts grew darker. He pondered over the horrors he'd seen in the Star Wars universe: the endless wars, the tyranny of the Sith, and the eventual betrayals and falls of this universe. The thought of living the pain and loss of this life was almost too much to bear. Yet, he knew he had to be strong. He had to protect the galaxy from Sidious, lest trillions die.
He felt Shmi's hand, rough from years of toil, gently stroke his forehead. Her touch brought a semblance of peace to the tumult in his mind. But even her love couldn't silence the whispers of the future. He saw the Clone Wars, the Skywalker Saga, and other such stories. The weight of destiny settled heavily upon his newborn shoulders, a burden that seemed insurmountable, yet had to, for the galaxy, he reminded himself.
The cries of his sister grew softer, a testament to Shmi's whispers. Anakin lay there, feeling the warmth of the twin suns seep into his skin, pondering over the fate of the Jedi Order and the Republic. He knew the path ahead would be fraught with danger and deceit. Palpatine's rise to power, the Sith's insidious plot, and the ultimate fall of the Republic haunted his thoughts. How could he prevent it all from happening?
He knew he was not the Anakin of the original tale, but a piece of a soul born into a different body. Would he have the strength to resist the temptations of the Dark Side despite his knowledge? Would he succumb to similar fear and anger that had led the original Anakin to become Darth Vader?
The cries of his sibling, the whispers of the future, and the echoes of his past life all blended into a symphony of uncertainty. But amidst the chaos, a single thought grew stronger: he would not be a mere observer. He would not let history repeat itself. He would be the one to write a new destiny.
The man, now Anakin, took a deep breath of the alien air. It was thick with grit and the scent of moisture farmers desperately sought. He felt the Force around him, more alive than ever, pulsing with the rhythm of life and the potential for change. It was time to begin his journey anew, to learn the ways of the Force, and to navigate the treacherous path laid before him.
As the suns reached their zenith, casting a harsh light upon the barren landscape, Anakin opened his eyes for the first time. The world was blurry, but he knew that he was not the innocent child he appeared to be. He had the wisdom of a man more than thrice his age, trapped in a baby's body. His mother, Shmi, looked down at him with a mixture of love and exhaustion. He could feel her concern, her fear for their future in such a harsh land.
Anakin made a silent vow to himself, to the memory of his old life, and to the hope of a brighter future. He would not become a monster like he had seen before. He would not let the cycle of suffering continue throughout this era. With a steely resolve, he reached out with his mind, feeling the threads of the Force around him, ready to weave a new tale.