Jesus save me, I feel like one of those monkeys with a typewriter. I'd spent ages figuring out how to purposefully type the word 'apple', and I was immensely proud of it. Then someone walked up, handed me a copy of Hamlet, and pointed out that all the letters he used were on the exact same keyboard I had.
It had felt so unbelievable that I hadn't even noticed it correctly the first time. I was so focused on the what—the impossible speed, the graceful jump—that I completely missed the how. It was only later, reviewing the sensory data my Hyper Perception had vacuumed up, that I realized what bullshit was happening.
It was something so profoundly simple, yet so complex and completely outside my frame of reference that I never even thought to attempt it.
The funniest part? The person who did it, my dear Master Kenobi, most likely didn't even know what was happening inside his body on a microscopic level. He just did it. It wasn't his fault, to be honest. My Hyper Perception was just so ridiculously overpowered in observation that even I had moments of disbelief over what it showed me.
The human body, in the metaphysical layer where the Force existed, was a song. It was a symphony of a trillion notes, each singing at its own frequency, yet all combined so naturally to create the beautiful, flowing harmony I saw when I looked at the Living Force inside myself.
Over my course of forced research on Lothal, I had learned how the Living Force rippled like a wave. The base wave was the same throughout the body, but the frequency changed from cell to cell. It was like an intrinsic property, unique to each tiny component, which was why every strand of the Living Force sang its own distinct tune. The nearer two regions were physically, the closer their frequencies were.
This had also nearly made me prematurely gray. Never in my combined studies over two lifetimes had I learned of any principle where trillions of random, disparate frequencies, even if close in value, could combine to create a single, stable, periodic wave. It just wasn't possible. It was like throwing a hundred different cans of paint at a wall and ending up with the Mona Lisa.
For a moment, I'd thought it was just the meta-physical nature of the Force fucking with the laws of science. But after many sleepless nights, I landed on a hypothesis: maybe the frequencies weren't random at all. Maybe they were all multiples of a certain fundamental frequency, one so infinitesimally small that it gave the illusion of a continuous and random spectrum.
It was like looking at a high-resolution screen from a distance. You see a smooth, continuous image, but up close, it's all just individual pixels. If the smallest possible increment of frequency was 0.00001 hertz, to the naked eye, or even to most instruments, it would appear to be a continuous, analogue scale.
Sadly, this was a theory that remained a theory. I couldn't exactly biopsy a billion cells and run the math to find their least common multiple. I had better things to do, like not go insane.
Ah, I digressed again. Old habits die hard.
As I was saying, this was all stuff I already knew. The foundation. The boring part. But what I had totally, completely, utterly not expected was what the "Control" part of Jedi training actually meant. And it was the key to how Obi-Wan made all that dashing and jumping around possible.
I'd also been feeling a bit weirded out by the whole 'Control, Sense, Alter' framework. It sounded like something ripped straight out of an old Star Wars game, which might not even be canon anymore.But who knew? Maybe the movies just never bothered to show the boring classroom parts. It made sense, in a way.
Now, back to Control. By "Control," they literally fucking meant to control the Living Force itself.
And how did you do that?
By hammering the trillion individual frequencies inside your body to become numerically closer and closer together. By forcing the entire symphony of your Living Force to vibrate in the same wave pattern.
And how did they do it? With the most asinine, circular logic I had ever encountered. They did it by using the Force.
It was insane. How the hell can you, by any means, alter trillions of individual frequencies to bring them into a state of near-resonance?
But boy, that near-resonance... the state of every single part of your body singing a single, unified tune... that was beautiful.
It was as if the body became a single entity. The term "near-resonance" was a massive over-estimation of the gap. For that moment, the body was one. Nerve impulses traveled far faster than they did normally. Every muscle could output power far beyond its natural limits, because the strain wasn't localized. It was automatically and instantly distributed over the rest of the body.
When you jump, it's your leg muscles and bones that are under pressure. My old friend Newton's third law: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. You slap a booty, and the booty owner slaps you back. Simple physics.
But what if, instead of slapping you, the booty owner aggressively hugs you? That's a win-win, if you ask me.
That was the same principle here. The "reaction" of the jump wasn't just absorbed by the legs; it was spread across the entire synchronized system. The result was a movement that defied normal biology.
And that brought me to the present. Nearly five hours since the demonstration. Five hours of countless attempts whose success varied from 'downright failure that made me want to kill myself' to 'slight happiness that gave me a faint hope of one day burying my face in a plump booty.'
I was lying ass-flat on the sands of Tatooine, completely exhausted. The twin suns had finally decided to dip below the horizon, and the scorching heat had mellowed to a tolerable warmth.
Obi-Wan had left about an hour ago for some purpose he didn't feel the need to share with me. Of course, he took Akkani with him, citing how his "old bones" couldn't travel across the sea of sand on foot. The guy definitely seemed smug watching me practice fruitlessly, occasionally chipping in with useless advice like, "Calm your mind," and "Let the Force guide you."
He definitely wasn't angry about the little incident earlier. The one where he was carrying me while doing a Force jump, and I yelled "Eureka!" mid-air, causing us both to crash face-first into a sand dune. It wasn't my fault. I needed to maintain close physical contact for the entire process so my Hyper Perception could record it all in glorious 69k resolution.
That guy definitely had a multi-year training plan for me, and I had a feeling the majority of it involved me listening to his vague Force bullshit. Hell no. I wasn't going to chill here for that long. I had plans to execute, one of which required the arrival of a certain person on this dustball of a planet.
Until then, I would absorb as much knowledge as I could.
The thing I was most proud of was that I had finally figured out how to do this asinine technique with a sane mind. The trick was realizing that you could only control the sea within yourself to a certain degree just by calming your mind. That was the kiddie pool.
The true secret all boiled down to telling your body what you wanted it to do. "I want to jump high." Of course, it was never that simple.
You can shout your desire from the rooftops, but that doesn't mean your body will listen. The ones responsible for translating your mundane will into action on the meta-physical plane were those tiny little fuckers in your cells. The midichlorians.
It all came down to how friendly you were with those little unfriendly fuckers. And no shit, I was not on their good side. This was probably what they meant by "oneness with the Force" or whatever.
So, I had to blare my intent at them through a metaphysical loudspeaker at full volume. And eventually, they listened.
Lo and behold. Making the dog carry its own leash. The Living Force, forcing itself to be controlled.
And you know what made me very, very happy about all this? The entire process happened within my body. There was no signal traveling to my brain, getting scrambled by the broken transformer of Ezra's soul, and fizzling out. That disaster only happened when I needed to reach out and touch the Cosmic Force. This was all internal.
Hahahah. Finally, my time to shine.
"Let's try it again."
I raised my exhausted body up from the ground and took a deep breath. My body settled into a low posture, every muscle in my legs taut and compressed, like a drawn bowstring waiting for release.
A spark of pure intent came from my mind. It blazed through my nervous system, a command sent to each and every cell in my body.
I whispered, "Now..."
The trillion symphonies listened to the call. Like charged particles in the clouds gathering before a lightning strike, they moved in the same breath. It lasted for only a single moment, but that single moment was all that was needed.
For that instant, my body was a singular instrument. The string of the guitar had been plucked.
A strength that did not befit my scrawny frame pushed against the ground, and pushed it did.
The bird left the nest, to reach for a sun that was never there.
---
[Obi Wan's POV]
It was the fourth day of the eight-year plan Obi-Wan had mentally drafted for Ezra.
He had it all mapped out, a slow and steady path designed to build a foundation where there was none. A few more days of this fruitless, frustrating practice with Control, and then, when the boy's ego was sufficiently bruised, he would introduce the art of meditation. They would spend months, perhaps a full year, simply learning to quiet the mind, to feel the self, to build the inner sanctum that was essential for any Jedi.
From there, they would move to the lightsaber. Form I, Shii-Cho. The basics of attack and defense, not as a tool for combat, but as a moving meditation, a way to extend that inner control outward. Over the next couple of years, he would slowly introduce more of the fundamentals. Only then, perhaps by the boy's tenth or eleventh birthday, would he be ready to attempt something as advanced as a Force-assisted leap.
It was a good plan. A solid plan. A plan built on centuries of Jedi pedagogical tradition.
And this boy had just taken that eight-year plan, rolled it into a tight little ball, and incinerated it in the first week.
Obi-Wan stood by the mouth of the cave, his arms crossed, watching as Ezra dusted the sand from his trousers with a triumphant grin. He had been gone for a little over an hour, a short trip to a moisture farm to trade for supplies and to clear his head of the boy's incessant, probing questions. He had returned to find Ezra not sitting in frustrated defeat, but coiled like a spring.
Then, he had watched the boy leap.
It wasn't a graceful arc. It wasn't the practiced, effortless movement of a trained Knight. It was a raw, explosive burst of power that sent the child ten feet into the air, landing in a clumsy but undeniably successful heap.
What do you mean this boy had not received a single bit of training?
Obi-Wan considered himself a good teacher. He had guided a Padawan to Knighthood. He had been a General, a Master, a member of the Jedi Council. But he was not so arrogant as to believe he was great enough to teach an initiate, even one with a deep connection to the Force, to perform such a feat in a matter of hours.
Even Anakin...
The thought came unbidden, as it often did.
He remembered Anakin in the Temple, a boy bursting with more raw power than anyone Obi-Wan had ever seen. But his learning pace, for all that power, was only a tad faster than the other younglings who had been training since they were three or four. Being older, Anakin had struggled.
He had questioned the teachings, chafed against the discipline, his mind already shaped by nine years of a different life. He had to be taught, guided, and sometimes dragged, kicking and screaming, toward understanding.
It was understood to be correct, not just because it was what was happening since centuries, but because it showed result. Intiates progressed by listening to the words and practising though countless hours.
But this boy... this boy seemed to be skipping all the steps.
For a moment, it had led Kenobi to question whether the way of Jedi was the only way to train.
The boy came staggering back toward the cave, covered in a fine layer of dust and breathing heavily, but his face was lit with a grin that was pure, undiluted childhood glee. It was the look of a boy who had just discovered he could fly, or at least fall with style. The sheer joy of it was so potent, so genuine, that it was almost infectious. Almost.
"Hey, Master Ben, what's for dinner?" Ezra panted, collapsing onto a worn blanket near the cave entrance. "Please tell me it's not another bowl of that beige-colored sadness you made yesterday."
Obi-Wan raised a skeptical eyebrow from where he was sorting through the new supplies. "It was not 'beige-colored sadness.' It was a nutritive broth with hidden depths of flavor."
"Hidden flavor my ass," Ezra shot back, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "You hid the flavor so well nobody could find it. Just admit it, you have no idea what to do with that spice rack I bought."
"The purpose of a meal is sustenance, not a sensory assault," Obi-Wan retorted, his voice dry. "A Jedi should not be a slave to such base attachments."
"Says the guy who probably thinks water is too spicy," Ezra muttered, before flopping onto his back with a groan of pleasant exhaustion.
In the hour since he had returned, he had seen the boy repeat the feat no less than a dozen times. Each leap left him panting, his small frame trembling with exertion. That, at least, seemed normal. The physical cost to channeling the Force in such a dynamic way, one that made even masters like him restrain themself to use only in the moment of necessity.
But even that was when compared to initiates years older than him who had just learned the technique. Ezra's recovery time was unnervingly fast. He would be on his feet again in minutes, ready to throw himself skyward once more.
Obi-Wan's carefully constructed plans were now just a pile of sand, scattered by the impossible reality of the boy in front of him. His future, which Obi-Wan had envisioned as a small, quiet presence on the galactic stage—a hidden spark to be protected—was now rapidly expanding. A flame this bright could not be hidden for long. It would either illuminate the darkness or burn everything down.
And that brought a cold knot of fear to his stomach, a feeling he hadn't truly felt since the smoke cleared over Mustafar.
He saw another Anakin in the boy.
It wasn't the raw, untamed power, the sheer overwhelming presence in the Force that Anakin had possessed. Ezra's presence, while strong, was different. Quieter. More focused. No, the danger here was something else, something his previous apprentice had never had.
The Jedi way was not just about ability. It was about the wisdom and discipline that encased that ability. It was a lifetime spent learning why not to do something, a philosophy built to temper the immense power they wielded.
What happened when you gave that power to someone who learned the how in a single afternoon, without ever needing the foundation of why?
He had failed Anakin because he could not control his heart. He feared he might fail Ezra because he could not keep up with his mind.
No, this...wasn't the Jedi way. How could he let himself be guided by the fear of what could be.
This was the path he had walked before, the shadow of fear that had clouded his judgment with Anakin. To see only the potential for failure was to ignore the will of the Force itself.
He took a slow, deliberate breath, the dry desert air filling his lungs, as if taking a new resolve.
The boy had been led here. The boy had been given knowledge no child should possess. And now, the boy had been given a talent that defied all convention.
Was that not, in itself, a sign? The Force did not make mistakes. It had not sent him a broken tool, but a uniquely sharpened one. His duty was not to fear its edge, but to learn how to wield it. Perhaps, for the first time in a long time, he could allow himself a sliver of hope. The Force had not brought Ezra to him to be hidden, but to be prepared. And for that, his old, tired plans would simply have to change.
---
[Image]
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A/N: Yoho, how was the chapter?
Ezra doesn't seem as weak now, does he?
Well, he is weak, no doubt bout that, but perhaps its time for readers to begin doubting the no doubt.
Also, you guys might have gotten aneurysm trying to make sense of all the force mumbo-jumbo, thats why I have decided to make an guide of sort, that would be updated as Ezra keep discovering more about Force and its mechanism.
Posted after this chapter, but would later be moved to the appenix maybe.
Also, REGARDING THE POLL ahem ahem
There was some confusion regarding it all in various sites (webnovel, discord, scribblehub) so I thought to clarify it a bit. I had taken the hera in harem poll to test reader's view before introducing the 'different cuz young' hera and then let the story go naturally.
The current poll has no at large effect on the story direction, other than giving me idea of how receptive readers are toward it (other than giving me idea of how receptive readers are toward it later on, (it does have indirect effect of making me more lean toward that idea). Later on, maybe have another poll to see what readers feel at that time, before committing to any one of the choices.
Polls are a way for me to see how readers would be receptive to an idea, not a story deciding element as I cannot write with any constraints, being someone who lets the characters write themselves.
Btw current age of Hera is 20 years and that of Vasha is 25-26. So infact Vasha would be the onee-sama between both lmao
The future poll could be done via google forms if you guys like
Also, don't forget to vote with stones. We fell a bit down the rankings. Lets aim to go back into top 20s!
Also, small news but my patreon 2 month ban time is coming to an end on 29th, so perhaps I would begin advanced chapter there again. if you interested....
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