The silver desert stretched endlessly beneath the twin moons.It had been weeks, perhaps months, since he awoke in this world of impossible stars. Time felt… inconsistent. Days blurred together like brushstrokes on a canvas half-remembered. The Force flowed differently here, vibrant yet untamed, and his connection to it deepened each time he reached for the faint pulse beneath his skin.
He had begun to walk.
The desert gave way to plains of ash, then forests of violet-leaved trees that whispered when the wind passed through them. At first, he walked to understand the terrain, to map this unfamiliar world. But soon he realized he was searching for something more.
Purpose.
Each night, he camped beneath the alien canopy, wand carved from driftwood in hand, experimenting with the impossible harmony between magic and the Force. A conjured flame could last longer when fueled with intention. A levitated stone could move with precision when guided through the Force rather than brute will.
It was intoxicating, and terrifying.
He knew the stories. Power like this consumed men. Anakin. Sidious. Even Luke, in his loneliness.
But Per Te was not chasing power. He was chasing possibility.
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POV: The Scavenger Child
She had followed him for three days.
At first, she thought him just another mad pilgrim, plenty wandered the Outer-rims these days, whispering about destiny and Force visions. But he was different. He didn't scavenge, didn't beg, didn't pray to the Force like it was a god.
He listened.
He would stop mid-step and close his eyes as though hearing something far away, and the wind would answer. When bandits attacked him near the old trade route, she saw him raise his hand, and their weapons stopped mid-swing, their minds clouded by illusions.
He didn't kill them. He simply spoke to them until they left.
The girl, no older than twelve, kept following. She had no name left worth using, no home worth returning to. So she shadowed him through forest and ruin, watching him conjure water, coax food from dead soil, whisper to stars.
On the fourth day, he turned around.
"You can come out now," he said gently, eyes never opening.
She froze behind a rock. "How long have you known?"
"Since you started following me," he said. "Your footsteps… they're careful, but the Force hums when someone watches."
She hesitated. "You're not Jedi."
He smiled faintly. "No. Not Sith either."
"Then what are you?"
His eyes opened, calm, blue, steady. "Someone curious."
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POV: Per Te Vivebo
Her presence unsettled him at first. He had not spoken to another soul since awakening here. Yet when he looked at her, hollow eyes, dirt-caked face, a survivor, he saw the pattern forming.
All the stories he loved began this way: the teacher and the lost child. But this was no prophecy. It was a beginning of choice.
"What's your name?" he asked.
She hesitated. "Don't have one."
He nodded thoughtfully, then crouched. "Then choose one. Here, now. The first lesson: what you call yourself matters more than what others do."
She looked unsure, then whispered, "Ryn."
"Ryn," he repeated, as if sealing the word in air. "Then, Ryn, if you wish to walk with me, walk with purpose. Everything has weight when you use the Force. Even your steps."
From that day, she followed openly.
He didn't call her student yet, but she learned by watching. She mimicked his gestures when he practiced spells, stumbled through words like Alohomora and Reparo. When she succeeded, even in the smallest spark, she glowed.
And in her, Per Te saw the proof he had been searching for: magic and the Force were not separate arts. They were two languages for the same truth.
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POV: The Exiled Warrior
Far across the barren frontier, smoke curled over the horizon. The exiled Mandalorian watched from the ridgeline, his armor battered, his clan symbol scratched away. He had been hunting a rumor: a man who wielded the Force but refused the Jedi or the Sith.
When he found him, the man was teaching a child to lift stones using words he didn't recognize.
"Use your breath," Per Te said. "Don't command the Force. Invite it."
The Mandalorian had seen Force-users tear men apart with a flick of their hands. He'd never seen one kneel beside a child and speak like that. When the wind shifted, Per Te turned to him.
"Traveler," he greeted. "You look like you've seen war."
"I've survived it."
"Good. Then you must know why I'm here."
The Mandalorian frowned beneath his helmet. "No one knows why you're here."
Per Te smiled, not unkindly. "That's what makes it worth staying."
They camped together that night. The Mandalorian never removed his helmet, but he listened as Per Te explained his dream: a place where the Force could be studied without walls or fear. A place where every being, human, alien, droid, or otherwise, could belong.
The warrior didn't laugh. He simply said: "You'll need soldiers to protect it."
Per Te looked to Ryn, who slept beside the fire, wand still clutched in her hand."No," he said softly. "I'll need teachers. Soldiers only build walls."
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POV: The Fallen Scholar
Weeks later, they found someone, an old Mirialan scholar exiled from the Jedi Archives for claiming the Force had roots older than the Order itself. She had been living among ruins, mapping lost languages carved into stone.
When Per Te introduced himself, she recognized his name from whispers: the man who made light with words.
He listened to her theories, and then simply handed her Ryn's crude wand. "Try it," he said. "Don't use the Force. Speak it instead."
She whispered "Lumos."
The wand flared with silver light, her eyes widening with disbelief. The Force rippled through her, not as power, but as understanding.
"This… this changes everything," she breathed.
Per Te smiled. "That's the point."
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POV: Per Te Vivebo
By the time they reached the crystal canyon, he was no longer alone. Ryn, the warrior, and the scholar walked beside him, an unlikely fellowship born not from prophecy but from shared loss.
He looked at the canyon's glowing walls and felt the Kyber hum in recognition. The same place he first cast Lumos now awaited something greater.
He raised his wand, then his hand, and the crystals pulsed like stars. A new thought took root in his mind, not of power or victory, but of home.
"Here," he said quietly, "Begins everything."
And the Force, like a great tide, stirred in answer.