Within the endless white void that I’ve come to recognize as my subconscious space, I sit cross-legged, facing the spectral form of the Bith Master. His presence feels both familiar and unsettling, like a memory that refuses to fade.

  “What now?” I ask, my voice echoing through the emptiness around us.

  The Bith Master gazes at me with eyes that seem to pierce through the layers of my mind. “In the outside world, your girls have brought you to Dathomir. A ritual that will empower you permanently with the Force is underway.”

  Relief washes over me, a reprieve from the constant tension that’s become my life. “That’s good, right?” I ask though a part of me lingers on the term he used—your girls. Did he mean Teya and Retra?

  But the Bith shakes his head, his expression darkening. “No, now comes the dangerous part.”

  “Huh?” My heart tightens, the sense of foreboding creeping back in.

  “You must survive what is essentially a transplant of midi-chlorians and accept this new power for the right reasons. If you embrace this power only to protect others, you’ll become bound to the Will of the light side, and it will shape your destiny. But if you accept it for personal gain or a desire for power, you’ll find yourself bound to the Anti-Will. It is a force I once believed to be a mere myth... until I learned otherwise,” he explains, his voice carrying a heavy weight of regret.

  I blink, trying to process his words. “So what do I do if I want to walk between both paths?”

  A faint smile curves the corners of the Bith’s mouth. “That is a wise choice, seeking balance makes you invisible to either side. But to walk that path, you need a foot on each. Welcome the power with the desire to protect, but also embrace your need to be stronger.”

  “That sounds easy enough,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.

  The Bith chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that makes the void shiver. “Does it? Well, it’s not!”

  I sigh, the weight of doubt pressing down on me. “Then what hope do I have?”

  Before the Bith can respond, another voice interrupts. “More than you think,” says the voice of the flower, the Murakami Orchid residing on my neck.

  Startled, I look down into the reflective pool that has appeared between me and the Bith Master, locking eyes with the golden flower. It shifts slightly as if mirroring my own movements, its petals shimmering with an inner light. I wait, tense, for its explanation.

  A significant pause stretches between us before the Orchid speaks again, its tone almost amused. “Isn’t it obvious? I am linked to your mind, and I can bring your memories and feelings to the surface. I can help you control and guide your thoughts.”

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  A shiver runs down my mental spine, cold and sharp. The idea of another being having that much influence over my mind fills me with a deep, primal terror.

  Sensing my fear, the Orchid’s voice softens. “Relax, I am here to help you, not control you. I am not a parasite. I can’t make you think or do anything against your will. I can only help you find the path you seek.”

  I narrow my eyes at the reflection of the Orchid. “What if I don’t trust you?”

  “Unless you want to fall to the dark side, I suggest you have a little faith.” The Murakami Orchid’s tone shifts, carrying an underlying threat, and the tension in my chest tightens. The dark side—the self-consuming path that has lured in and corrupted countless Force users. Could I resist its pull forever?

  “Fine,” I grit out through clenched teeth. “But if you let me fall, I’ll rip you off my neck, even if it kills me.”

  “Relax, Roan. This is about choice. Let it flow, and I’ll help you find your way,” the Orchid replies, its voice coaxing me into a sense of calm.

  I take a deep breath, leaning back and allowing my connection to the Force to open fully around me. For a moment, there is peace—until the sensation of thousands of tiny legs crawling up my skin shatters it. They aren’t real, of course, but my mind’s representation of the influx of midi-chlorians.

  Their voices flood my thoughts, a cacophony of whispers and memories, like a river overflowing its banks. Images flash through my mind, each trying to pull me in a different direction. I can sense their predispositions toward the light or the dark, shaped by who or what they were a part of before coming to me.

  The Orchid steps in, pulling a memory to the forefront of my mind—a moment when I chose to protect Teya over saving myself. “Focus on this,” the Orchid’s voice guides me. “You regretted your lack of strength, not wanting to be a burden. You chose to protect her, but you also desired the strength to do so. Let this moment speak to them.”

  The midi-chlorians show me images of ancient Force users—great masters and terrifying warriors—each one an attempt to sway me. So, I am to do the same? I think. Fine.

  I replay the memory of my impossible battle against the Droidekas, letting them feel my fear, my frustration, and the fierce love for a friend that drove me. I let them feel my yearning for power, but also the selfless desire to protect. The voices gradually quiet, the images fading as if the midi-chlorians are considering my story, weighing it against their own. I sense that they are creatures of stories—relaying their favorite experiences and emotions to each new bearer.

  The realization settles into me like a puzzle piece clicking into place. How much of a person’s nature is shaped by this bond? How much is the Will of the Force, and how much is the will of these microscopic beings? The questions spin through my mind, but the answers remain elusive.

  Finally, the chaotic flood recedes, leaving a sense of balance. Power flows into me like a tide, filling the gaps I hadn’t known existed. I feel a new strength, raw and potent, settle into my bones. I drift away from the white space and back into the haze of consciousness.

  The dim interior of the Dathomirian tent comes into focus around me, blurred and unfocused. Voices reach my ears, words that seep into my awareness.

  “Did you tell her you were pretending to be a part of the Empire?” asks the voice of an unfamiliar woman, her tone cutting through the fog in my mind.

  Retra’s voice answers, strained and heavy with emotion. “I... I can’t. She’d never believe me, and...”

  “You should have told her that you always captured the targets alive and gave them a way to escape after handing them to incompetent troopers,” the other woman replies. Her voice holds the authority of command, like a parent chastising a child.

  “Mom, I can’t. She thinks I tried to kill her,” Retra says, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  The other woman—turns slightly, and she meets my gaze before she glances back at Retra.

  “Well, now she will know the truth,” Alima says, a faint smile curving her lips. Retra’s jaw drops as she realizes I’ve heard every word.

  "What now?" I ask

  "In the outside world your girls have taken you to Dathomir and a ritual that will empower you permanently with the Force is underway," the Bith explains.

  I sigh in relief," That's good right?" I ask while inwardly questioning what he meant by " your girls".

  "No, now comes the dangerous part." The old master corrects.

  "Huh?"

  "You have to survive what's essentially a transplant of midi-chlorians and accept the power for the right reasons. Accepting it only to protect others will bind you to the Will of the light side while accepting power solely for personal gain or desire for power will bind you to the Anti Will. Something I once did not believe existed but now I know better," The wise Bith lectures.

  "So what do I do if I want to walk in between both paths?" I ask.

  "That's a good choice, balance makes you invisible to either side. To walk that path you need a foot on both paths. Welcome the power to protect and out of a desire to be stronger".

  "That's sounds easy," I reply.

  "Does it? Well, it's not!" The older Bith chuckles.

  I sigh, "Then what hope do I have?"

  "More than you think," responds the flower residing on my neck.

  I stare back into the reflective pool between me and Master Bith. Locking gazes at the plant and waiting for further explanation.

  A significant pause passes between us," isn't it obvious? I am linked to your mind and I can pull images and memories to the surface. I can help you control and guide your own thoughts."

  A shiver goes down my mental spine. The sheer thought of another being having that much control over me is pure terror.

  "Relax, I'm here to help you. I'm not a parasite and I can't make you do or think anything. I can only help you do what you WANT," The Orchid explains.

  I squint at the flower," What if I don't trust you?"

  "Unless you want to fall to the dark side, I suggest you have a little faith." The Murakami Orchid threatens.

  I feel dread at the idea of it. That is a self-consuming path that has corrupted nearly everyone who has touched it. Can one resist their desires forever?

  "Fine! If you let me fall to the Dark side I'll rip you off my neck even if it kills me," I threaten.

  "Relax, this is about choice. Just let it flow and I'll help you find the way to your chosen path."

  I lay back allowing my connection to the force to reach out around me. The relaxation is only momentary because as soon as I do thousands of ants begin crawling up my skin. Only they aren't ants but my minds representation of Midi-chlorians.

  Immediately my mind is overwhelmed by their voices. Countless images and voices trying to sway me in one direction or the other. I could tell that the microorganisms had predispositions for one side of the Force based on who or what they had been a part of before.

  So I am to do the same? So be it!