The rain was a cold, rhythmic drumming against the pavement of a modern city—the last thing David White would ever hear. He had been a man of logic and science, walking home from a late shift, when the sky cracked open. A blinding spear of white light struck him, not just stopping his heart, but unraveling the very fabric of his consciousness.
In that final millisecond, David didn't feel pain. He felt static.
Then, there was the Basket.
******
Outer Rim Territory - Planet Lothal
100 years before the Clone Wars
The transition was a blur of warmth and sudden, biting cold. David's mind—a library of Earthly memories, physics textbooks, and Star Wars lore—felt compressed into a tiny, fragile vessel. He tried to speak, to ask where he was, but all that came out was a high-pitched, thin wail.
He was wrapped in a rough, woven blanket. His new body felt heavy and uncoordinated. Through the gaps in the wicker basket, he saw a sky that was too purple to be Earth's, illuminated by two moons that hung like pale ghosts in the dusk.
The basket jolted as it was set down. A pair of calloused hands adjusted his blanket. He looked up, trying to focus his infant eyes, and caught a glimpse of a hooded figure—not a Jedi, but a weary traveler—before they vanished into the shadows of the alley.
Above him, a rusted metal sign creaked in the wind. It bore the crest of a local Orphanage. The door creaked open, spilling yellow light onto the cobblestones.
"Another one?" a weary voice sighed. "Left in the damp. Come here, little one."
As he was lifted into the warmth, David's mind raced. He knew this architecture. He knew the trill of the conveyance droids in the distance. He wasn't just in another country; he was in the Galaxy Far, Far Away.
******
Five Years Later
David was a strange child. He didn't play with the other orphans; he watched the world with eyes that were far too old for his face. He spent his days in the overgrown garden behind the orphanage, staring at the white Loth-cats and the way the wind moved the tall grass.
He knew what was coming. He knew about the Force. He just didn't know if he had it.
The confirmation came on a Tuesday.
A group of older bullies had cornered a younger girl near the well, mocking her and holding her favorite toy high out of reach. David watched from a distance, feeling a familiar Earthly sense of justice flare up. But he didn't run to fight. He stayed still. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the "logic" of the Force he had read about in his past life.
Energy is everywhere, he thought. It's a field. I am a part of the field.
He reached out, not with his hand, but with his will. He didn't feel anger; he felt a calculated, calm intent to move the object.
Suddenly, the air around him grew heavy. The toy didn't just fall—it vanished from the bully's hand and zipped through the air, landing softly in David's lap.
The bullies froze. The girl gasped. David looked down at the toy, his heart hammering against his ribs. It wasn't the "magic" of a movie anymore. He could feel the connection—a humming, vibrant thread that linked his mind to every atom in the garden.
He had found the Light. Now, the real research began.
******
The attic of the orphanage smelled of dry grain and ancient dust, a sanctuary where David White spent his nights rewriting the laws of his own soul. At five years old, his body was small, but his mind was an anchor of absolute, crystalline stillness.
He sat cross-legged, his breathing so shallow it barely stirred the dust motes dancing in the moonlight. Most Jedi spent lifetimes trying to quiet their inner turmoil; David, with the perspective of a man who had already faced death, simply chose to set it aside. He reached into his memories of Earth, gathering every moment of genuine warmth—a sunrise, a shared laugh, the peace of a quiet library—and used them to build a fortress of joy.
"Clear the lens," he whispered to himself.
He didn't just meditate. He reached for a state of Force Enlightenment.
Suddenly, the world didn't just fade—it became transparent. The walls of the attic didn't disappear, but they were no longer solid; they were patterns of vibrating energy. Through the floorboards, he could see the sleeping signatures of the other children, their life-forces flickering like soft candles.
This wasn't a boost in power; it was a total removal of the "ego" that usually clouded a Force-user's vision. To David, the Force stopped being a mystical "will" and became a visible lattice of light.
He raised a hand. He didn't think about "moving" the air. Instead, he analyzed the friction of the molecules through his enlightened state. Without a word of instruction, his fingers began to spark. It wasn't the jagged, angry blue of Sith lightning, but a soft, rhythmic hum of kinetic energy.
The knowledge flowed into him like a river finding a dry bed. He realized that the Force didn't need to be commanded; it needed to be understood. He practiced Telekinesis by spinning a dozen heavy iron nails in a perfect, silent orbit around his head, his face a mask of serene focus. He moved his body with Force Speed, flickering from one side of the room to the other so fast that the air didn't even have time to whistle.
There was no struggle. No "try." Because he had abandoned all negative emotion, there was no internal resistance. He was a pure conductor for the Light.
But as he stared at the glowing lattice of the universe, he saw a gap. A place where the light ended and a heavy, silent weight began.
"The restriction," he realized, his eyes snapping open.
He knew then that his "scientific" mastery of the Light was only half the equation. To truly be free, he would have to find the place where the light met the shadow without being consumed by either. He had taught himself the ways of the Jedi in a dusty attic; now, he needed to find the architects of the Force itself.