Staring back at the mysterious woman—presumably, the witch Retra mentioned while I was still drifting in and out of consciousness—I process her words. My mind spins with the implications. Retra was never truly a Sith Inquisitor?

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?” I ask, my voice tinged with disbelief.

  Retra’s expression is a mix of regret and determination. “You weren’t conscious long enough after I saved you, and before that... I couldn’t tell anyone. It would have been a death sentence.”

  I nod slowly, recognizing the weight of her truth. “I’m sorry, Retra... about your hands. I would never have done that if I’d known.”

  She offers a faint, almost rueful smile. “If it hadn’t happened, I might never have realized that you’re the man I’m fated to share true love with.”

  I blink, caught off guard by her words. “...You can’t be serious,” I reply, a mix of disbelief and confusion. True love? This feels like something out of a child’s fairy tale.

  Retra’s eyes soften, and there’s a depth to her gaze that’s hard to ignore. “Of anything, I have never been more certain.”

  The witch steps forward, her presence commanding yet strangely gentle. “He shall first take your hands, and in time, your heart will follow,” she intones with a knowing smile.

  I can’t help but scoff, shaking my head. “Prophecy is famous for being misleading.”

  “Perhaps. But I saw you as you are now, young man,” the old witch says, pointing toward me.

  Curiosity gets the better of me, and I lean over the bowl of water she gestures to. The face staring back is familiar but changed—my features sharper, more defined. I had always been slightly above average in looks, but now... now I see a face that is almost sculpted, refined in a way that makes me feel like I’m looking at a stranger.

  “What the heck...” I murmur, reaching up to touch my own reflection.

  The witch chuckles, a sound like rustling leaves. “Did you never wonder why many Jedi are attractive for their race? It may not be true of all, but most Jedi possess a certain... allure. Few without the gift of the Force are born with such gifts. You can thank the midi-chlorians for that.”

  I think back to my time at the Jedi Order. Nearly everyone I’d encountered had a magnetic presence, a charisma that went beyond just their skills. Even those who didn’t stand out physically possessed a certain grace or energy. “I see,” I say, accepting her explanation with a nod.

  Retra’s voice cuts in, hesitant but sincere. “Are you going to tell Teya?”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Yes,” I reply, meeting her gaze with resolve. “I can’t keep this secret from her, and the longer I wait, the more it could harm our relationship. But I’ll wait until we’re back on the ship, away from prying ears.”

  Retra’s expression shifts, becoming more serious. “About that, Roan... we’re being pursued by a Sith Lord. The only reason he hasn’t followed us to Dathomir is that he’s afraid of our Mother’s power. But once we leave, we’ll need a plan to escape him again.”

  I nod thoughtfully, feeling the weight of the danger we face. “Then let’s see what I’ve gained from this ritual.”

  I’ve always dreamed of manipulating my steel bearings in new ways—ways that my previous limitations had kept out of reach. I pull out one of the familiar steel balls and let it hover before me, suspended in the air. Concentrating, I vibrate the molecules within the metal, focusing on their structure until the steel heats and glows red, then yellow, until it reaches a molten, almost butter-like state. Before, this feat would have been impossible. Now, I manage it without breaking a sweat.

  I can’t hide my satisfaction as I keep the metal suspended, maintaining its near-liquid state. “Interesting,” I murmur.

  Next, I draw oxygen from the air, focusing on feeding the molten metal with the gas. A sphere of flame erupts around the ball, sustained by the controlled flow of oxygen I guide with the Force. I realize that I can maintain such a flame as long as I have air to work with, a discovery that broadens my understanding of what I can achieve.

  Letting the fire extinguish, I focus on a different element, drawing moisture from the air until a ball of water hovers above my palm. I manipulate the molecules, cooling them until the water suddenly crystallizes into a solid block of ice. My mind races with possibilities—this isn’t just an impressive trick; it’s a way to guarantee survival on any planet with an atmosphere.

  I shift my focus again, channeling the energy in the air around me, building up a charge through friction against my skin. Sparks dance along my fingertips, but this time, I aim to do more. I gather the charge, oscillating the energy into a concentrated bolt. With a sharp motion, I release it, a burst of lightning arcing toward the ground, where it strikes the sand and melts it into a glassy crater.

  The strain of this effort hits me all at once, my vision swimming with exhaustion. Retra moves forward, catching me before I collapse. “You alright?”

  “I’ll... be fine,” I manage, breathing heavily. “But that last one takes a lot out of me.”

  She smirks, her tone teasing despite her concern. “Are you done playing, then?”

  I grin, pushing through the weariness. “Not quite yet.”

  With a final burst of concentration, I gather a handful of sand from the ground, lifting it into the air alongside the glass sphere I’d created. Spinning the sand in a vortex around the sphere, I wear the glass back down into its base particles, then reshape the molten mass into a new form—a tempered glass dagger. I test its weight in my hand, marveling at the balance and sharpness.

  I may have the potential to be the greatest smith alive, I think to myself, realizing that my powers extend far beyond simple combat.

  I fill a small satchel with sand, an idea forming in my mind. “Tell Teya we need to fill the ship’s hangar with a lot of mud. The type doesn’t matter—just that we have plenty of it. We’ll be releasing it into space.”

  Retra raises an eyebrow but nods, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. “Sure, and congratulations on your new tricks. Looks like you’re a lot more capable now.”

  As she heads out of the tent, I watch her go, feeling the thrill of my newfound powers settle into a quiet certainty. I’ve always believed that with imagination, knowledge, and the right tools, anything is possible.

  And now, with this strength coursing through me, that belief feels more true than ever.

  The possibilities are endless.

  She was never a real Sith Inquisitor!

  Did she say true love? What is this a kid's story? Does such a thing even exist? " ... You can't be serious," I reply.