Star Wars: I’m in trouble !

Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Rebirth



Kyl Luna sat cross-legged on the cold floor of his dimly lit apartment, staring at the holocron resting on the coffee table in front of him.

The room was a cluttered testament to his haphazard life—a worn-out couch, empty takeout containers, and datapads scattered across every surface.

The glow of Coruscant's endless cityscape spilled through the cracks of his blinds, casting long shadows across the walls.

The holocron had been silent since his first interaction with it in the cantina. Its intricate geometric patterns shimmered faintly, as though teasing him to make the first move. Kyl had deliberately avoided touching it since then. Something about the holographic Jedi Master's words gnawed at him. She had insisted that the artifact's secrets were meant only for someone of her bloodline, someone with a sky-high midichlorian count. Kyl scoffed. The idea of midichlorians—or even the Force—was the stuff of bedtime stories in his eyes.

But something had awakened within him. The encounter with the injured Jedi Knight and his Padawan had been the first domino to fall. Helping them had led to a brutal retaliation by a local drug gang, leaving Kyl battered and questioning the choices that had led him to that moment. Despite the pain, the encounter had also unlocked something new—an ability he couldn't quite explain.

He exhaled sharply and rose to his feet, pacing the length of his cramped living room. His mind buzzed with unresolved thoughts.

"You can't ignore it forever," the holocron's voice interrupted his reverie.

Kyl spun around, startled. The holocron had activated on its own, projecting the image of the robed Jedi Master. Her expression was serene but firm.

"I didn't ask for this," Kyl said defensively, gesturing toward the holocron. "I don't want your training or your lectures. I just want to get my life back to normal."

The Master's hologram tilted her head slightly, scrutinizing him. "Normal? After what you've experienced, do you truly believe that's possible?"

Kyl clenched his fists. "You don't know me. You don't know what I've been through."

"I know enough," she replied calmly. "I know that the Force has awakened within you. And I know that denying it will only bring chaos to yourself and those around you."

Kyl shook his head, his voice rising. "Look, I'm not some destined hero. I'm just a guy trying to make it through each day. If you're expecting me to save the galaxy, you've picked the wrong person."

The hologram's expression softened. "I'm not asking you to save the galaxy, Kyl. But the power you possess will not go unnoticed. Others will seek to use you—or destroy you. If you won't accept training for your own sake, then do it to survive."

Kyl turned away, running a hand through his hair. The Master's words stirred something inside him, but he wasn't ready to admit it yet.

The next morning, Kyl began tying up the loose ends of his life. His first stop was a dingy repair shop tucked away in one of Level 1313's less-traveled alleys. The owner, a grizzled old Rodian named Vek, greeted him with a grunt.

"Luna," Vek said, narrowing his large, bulbous eyes. "Heard you got yourself mixed up with the Syndicate."

Kyl grimaced. The Syndicate was one of the many criminal organizations that operated in Coruscant's underbelly. They had a reputation for brutality, and Kyl had become their latest target after helping the Jedi. "Yeah, well, it wasn't by choice," he replied. "I'm laying low for now. Just need my gear fixed."

Vek gestured toward the counter. "Leave it there. I'll take a look."

Kyl dropped off his blaster and a small toolkit he used for his side jobs as a freelance techie. As Vek inspected the items, Kyl's thoughts drifted back to the holocron and the Jedi Master's words. Could he really ignore this new reality? Or was he just delaying the inevitable?

Later that evening, Kyl found himself wandering through the bustling streets of Level 1313. The neon lights and chaotic energy of the lower levels had always felt like home to him, but now, they seemed different—darker, more dangerous. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

His suspicions were confirmed when he turned down a quiet alley and found himself face-to-face with three burly figures. The leader, a scar-faced human with a cybernetic arm, smirked at him. "Luna," the man drawled. "You've got a lot of nerve showing your face around here after what you pulled."

Kyl tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for his blaster—only to remember he'd left it with Vek for repairs. "I don't want any trouble," he said evenly. "Just let me pass."

The scarred man laughed, a cruel sound that echoed off the alley walls. "Trouble? You made plenty of that when you helped those Jedi. The Syndicate doesn't take kindly to interference."

Before Kyl could respond, the thugs closed in. The first punch caught him in the stomach, driving the air from his lungs. He staggered backward, raising his arms to defend himself, but the attackers were relentless. Pain exploded in his ribs as another blow landed.

And then something snapped.

Kyl's vision blurred, and a surge of energy coursed through him. He reached out instinctively, and one of the thugs was suddenly lifted off the ground, clutching at his throat. The man's eyes bulged in terror as he struggled to breathe.

"Enough!" Kyl's voice boomed, deeper and more resonant than he'd ever heard it.

The other attackers froze, their faces pale. The scarred leader dropped his weapon, holding up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright! We didn't mean nothing by it!"

Kyl released the man from his invisible grip, letting him fall to the ground, gasping for air. The thugs scrambled to their feet and fled, their bravado shattered.

Breathing heavily, Kyl stared at his hands, trembling from the adrenaline and the unfamiliar power he had just unleashed. The air around him seemed charged, as though the Force itself was alive.

Back in his apartment, Kyl paced nervously, replaying the encounter in his mind. The holocron activated again, projecting the image of the Jedi Master.

"You've taken your first step," she said, her tone neutral.

Kyl glared at her. "I didn't mean to do that. It just... happened."

"The Force is a tool, Kyl. It responds to your intent, your emotions. But without training, it can become a weapon of destruction."

He sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. "I didn't want any of this."

"And yet, it is yours," the Master replied. "You cannot change what you are. But you can choose what to do with it."

Kyl looked up at her, his expression conflicted. "Fine," he said after a long pause. "I'll train. But I'm not promising anything."

The Master nodded. "That is all I ask."

The training began that night. The holocron guided Kyl through basic exercises to attune him to the Force—meditation, sensing his surroundings, and channeling energy through his body. It was grueling, both physically and mentally. Kyl's skepticism often got in the way, leading to heated arguments with the Master.

"Why does it matter if I use the Force for myself?" he demanded during one session. "The galaxy's a mess. Nobody cares about doing the 'right' thing."

The Master's hologram regarded him with a mix of patience and sadness. "The path you choose will define who you are, Kyl. The Force is not inherently good or evil—it reflects the intentions of those who wield it."

Kyl shook his head. "Spare me the philosophy. I'm not a Jedi, and I never will be."

"Perhaps not," the Master conceded. "But you are more than you realize."

As the days passed, Kyl began to see subtle changes in himself. His reflexes sharpened, his awareness expanded, and his connection to the Force grew stronger. But with these changes came new challenges—nightmares of his past, visions of an uncertain future, and the weight of responsibility he wasn't sure he wanted to bear.

The holocron's lessons pushed him to confront these fears, forcing him to question not only his abilities but also his purpose. For Kyl Luna, the journey was just beginning, and the path ahead was anything but clear.


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