JM-909's sleep was restless, disturbed by fragments of memories and sensations he couldn't identify. In the isolation of his cell aboard the Imperator's Will, he found himself adrift in a sea of vivid dreams, a tapestry of images and emotions that left him confused and disoriented. That night, however, the veil between sleep and reality seemed exceptionally thin, almost nonexistent, and the Force, unbeknownst to him, wove an intricate pattern in his slumbering mind.
He saw himself back in dusty Mos Eisley, the amber glow of the cheap drink in his glass, the stuffy heat of the cantina pressing against his skin. The murmured conversations of the other soldiers echoed around him, the fear and uncertainty of the Death Star's destruction hanging in the air like smoke. But, this time, there was something different. The words he heard were not mere rumors, but echoes of a greater truth, a truth that pulsed with an ancient and powerful energy. He heard whispers of "Jedi" and "Force," not as children's tales, but as tangible realities. And he saw, in the shadow of the bar, a tall man, in tattered clothes, his face enveloped in an aura of serenity and power: Ben.
The scene dissolved, and JM-909 found himself back on Liphtu II, the air thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and fear. The images accelerated, like a holovideo on fast forward. He saw faces contorted in rage and despair, the red glow of blaster shots, the moment the boy fell, a small figure motionless in the middle of the carnage. And, in the midst of the chaos, he heard a voice, deep and resonant, echoing in his mind: "Remember, JM-909. Remember who you were."
Suddenly, the scene shifted dramatically. JM-909 was no longer on Liphtu II, but in a different place, a place of green fields and blue skies. He was a child again, running through the fields, the breeze on his face, a happy laugh escaping his lips. He saw a face, a gentle and familiar face, the face of a woman. His mother? The images were fleeting, but full of warmth and love. He felt a deep connection, a sense of belonging he hadn't felt since joining the Empire.
But the peace did not last. The blue sky darkened, and the green fields transformed into a grey and desolate battlefield. JM-909 saw soldiers falling, heard the sound of metal against metal and the scream of agony of the wounded. Fear invaded him, a primal and overwhelming fear. And, in the midst of the chaos, he heard a voice screaming:
"No! Don't leave me!"
It was a scream of anguish, of pure terror. A scream that seemed to pierce the very fabric of the dream, hitting JM-909 in the core of his being.
Amidst these fragmented visions, another image burned into his mind: a young man with a scar over his eye, locked in fierce combat in an environment consumed by fire and lava. His opponent was an older man, his face etched with age and power. The clash of lightsabers, the heat, the raw intensity of the struggle – it was a moment of epic conflict, a battle that felt both ancient and deeply personal.
He awoke with a start, his body drenched in sweat, his breathing accelerated. His eyes widened in the darkness of his dormitory, and he sat up in bed, his heart pounding uncontrollably. He was confused, disoriented. The dream, or whatever it was, felt so real, so vivid. The emotions – fear, joy, loss – still overwhelmed him.
Tears welled up in his eyes. Tears he couldn't explain, tears of sadness, of loss, of a yearning he couldn't name. He pressed his hands against his head, trying to order his thoughts, but the images from the dream continued to flood his mind. The woman, the boy, the scream...
"What was that?" he murmured to himself, his voice a trembling whisper. "What is happening to me?"
He looked at his hands, as if expecting to find in them the answer to his questions. But his hands were empty, just like his mind, still haunted by the ghosts of the dream. He felt lost, isolated, as if he were adrift in a dark sea.