Star Wars: I’m in trouble !

The flicker of neon light bathed the damp alleyway in uneven pulses, casting strange shadows over Kyl Luna as he crouched beside a service panel. The tang of burnt ozone and machine oil filled the air, a scent so pervasive in the lower levels of Coruscant that Kyl could hardly remember what clean air smelled like. His hazel eyes flicked over the exposed circuitry in front of him, his gloved fingers deftly manipulating wires. One wrong move, and the crude bypass he was attempting could trigger an alarm—or worse, send a voltage surge through his body.

"Almost there," he muttered to himself, biting his lower lip in concentration.

The job was simple—at least in theory. His client, a reclusive collector from the upper levels, had offered a tidy sum for access to a forgotten vault buried deep in Level 1313. Rumor had it that the vault had been sealed for decades, its original owner long dead. What lay inside was a mystery, but the payout was enough to keep Kyl fed and housed for months, maybe even longer. He didn't ask questions—curiosity often got people killed down here.

The panel gave a satisfying click, and the heavy door ahead of him shuddered. With a low groan, it began to slide open, revealing a dimly lit chamber beyond. Kyl glanced over his shoulder, ensuring no one had followed him, then stepped inside.

The air was stale, heavy with disuse. His boots echoed softly against the metal floor as he moved deeper into the vault. Rows of shelves lined the walls, each packed with relics—data disks, tarnished holoprojectors, and strange artifacts whose purpose he couldn't guess. Most of it looked like junk, but Kyl had learned not to underestimate the value collectors placed on "rare finds."

He ran his fingers over a dusty shelf, pausing when he spotted a small, cube-shaped object nestled among shattered datapads. It was about the size of his fist, its surface etched with intricate geometric patterns that seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light. Unlike the other items in the vault, this one seemed untouched by time, as though it had been waiting for someone to find it.

Kyl picked it up, turning it over in his hands. "What are you?" he murmured.

The cube felt oddly warm, a stark contrast to the cold metal shelves. For a moment, he thought he heard a faint hum, like a vibration just beyond the edge of perception. Shaking off a sense of unease, he slipped the object into his satchel and continued his search

. The rest of the vault yielded little of interest—a few trinkets that might fetch a decent price, but nothing extraordinary.

Satisfied, Kyl made his way back to the entrance.

The door slid shut behind him with a hiss, sealing the chamber once more. He pulled up his commlink and sent a brief message to his client: "Item retrieved. Meet at the drop point in two hours."

The drop point was a dimly lit cantina nestled in the maze of Level 1313. It was the kind of place where questions weren't asked, and deals were made over watered-down drinks. Kyl took a seat in a corner booth, his back to the wall, and ordered a weak ale he had no intention of drinking.

His client was late. Kyl tapped his fingers against the table, his gaze flitting to the satchel at his side. The cube—the artifact—seemed heavier now, as though it were demanding his attention. He frowned and pulled it out, placing it on the table. The etchings on its surface caught the cantina's flickering light, casting faint patterns on the table.

"What's your deal?" he muttered, tracing a finger along one of the lines. The hum he'd felt earlier returned, stronger this time. A low vibration ran through his hand, and before he could react, the cube began to shift. The geometric patterns reconfigured themselves, glowing faintly as the object came to life.

A beam of light shot upward from the cube, forming a shimmering holographic figure. Kyl recoiled, his hand instinctively reaching for the blaster at his hip. The figure was of a robed woman, her features serene and commanding. Her voice was calm, yet carried a weight that demanded attention.

"If you are seeing this," the figure began, "then you have found a Jedi holocron, a repository of knowledge preserved for generations. I am a Master of the Order, and my name is unimportant. The knowledge within this holocron is meant only for those who meet certain criteria."

Kyl's breath caught in his throat. He'd heard stories—whispers of the Jedi Order and their mysterious artifacts—but they were legends, nothing more. And yet, here it was, right in front of him.

The hologram continued. "Only those of my bloodline, with a midichlorian count of 25,000 or higher, and a clear intent for the preservation of peace may unlock the full potential of this holocron. If you do not meet these conditions, the holocron will remain sealed."

The projection flickered and faded, leaving Kyl staring at the now-inert cube. His heart raced. He'd stumbled onto something far more valuable—and dangerous—than he'd anticipated. The weight of the holocron's significance pressed down on him, and for the first time in years, he felt truly out of his depth.

"What the hell have I gotten myself into?" he muttered.

On his way back to his apartment, Kyl's path took him through a dimly lit thoroughfare that had seen better days. He was halfway to his building when the sound of a blaster shot cut through the air. Instinctively, he ducked behind a crate, his hand darting to the blaster at his side. Peering out, he saw two figures huddled against the wall—a man and a much younger figure, barely in their teens.

The man's robes were scorched, and he clutched a wound on his side. The child—no, a Padawan, Kyl realized, noting the braided hair—was frantically trying to staunch the bleeding.

Kyl hesitated. He didn't want to get involved. Whatever trouble they were in, it wasn't his problem. But as he watched, the Padawan looked up, their eyes wide with fear. Something in that gaze stirred a long-buried sense of empathy within him.

"Damn it," he muttered, stepping out from behind the crate. "Hey, over here!"

The Padawan flinched, reaching for their lightsaber, but the older man shook his head. "Help us," the Jedi Knight rasped. "Please."

Kyl didn't respond. Instead, he grabbed the man's arm, slinging it over his shoulder. "Your place is closer," he said, glancing at the Padawan. "Let's move before whoever did this comes back."

The trip to his apartment was tense, every shadow a potential threat. By the time they arrived, the Jedi Knight was barely conscious. Kyl laid him on the couch while the Padawan set to work treating his injuries with a medkit they carried. Kyl watched in silence, the holocron's weight in his satchel a constant reminder of the chaos now surrounding him.

"What happened to you two?" he finally asked.

The Padawan hesitated before answering. "We were ambushed. Separatist forces."

Kyl frowned. Separatists? He'd heard the term before, whispered in the cantinas and alleys, but it meant little to him. "You'll be safe here for now. Just don't bring more trouble my way."

The Padawan nodded, their gaze lingering on Kyl's satchel. "Thank you."

The next day, Kyl found himself alone with the recovering Jedi Knight, who was sitting upright on the couch. The man's presence was calm but imposing, his injuries now less severe thanks to his Padawan's efforts.

"Thank you for helping us," the Jedi said, his voice steady despite his ordeal. "You risked much by bringing us here."

Kyl shrugged. "I didn't do it for thanks. Just… felt like the right thing to do."

The Jedi's sharp eyes seemed to study Kyl for a moment. "You carry something of great importance," he said, nodding toward the satchel. "Something dangerous."

Kyl stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The Jedi smiled faintly. "The Force has a way of revealing truths, even when we try to hide them. Be careful, Kyl Luna. The galaxy has a way of pulling people into its conflicts."

Kyl said nothing, but the Jedi's words lingered long after their conversation ended.

That evening, Kyl sat cross-legged on the floor of his apartment, the holocron placed carefully in front of him. The cube's intricate patterns seemed to shift under the dim light, as though alive. He reached out, placing a hand on its surface. The hum returned, and the holographic figure reappeared.

"You have returned," the Jedi Master said. "The Force surrounds you, Kyl Luna. It calls to you, whether you realize it or not."

Kyl leaned back, crossing his arms. "Listen, lady, I don't know what the Force is, and I'm not interested in whatever it is you're selling."

The hologram's expression remained serene. "You carry my bloodline, and your midichlorian count exceeds the threshold. You are meant to walk the path of the Jedi."

"Yeah, no thanks," Kyl said. "I've got enough problems without adding 'galactic destiny' to the list."

The Jedi Master sighed, her projection flickering slightly. "The path of the Jedi is not an easy one, but it may be the only way to survive what lies ahead. The choice is yours, Kyl Luna, but the Force rarely grants second chances."

Two nights later, Kyl's life took another unexpected turn. While walking home from a supply run, he was ambushed by a group of thugs. They bore the insignia of a local drug syndicate—one he'd crossed before—and their leader stepped forward with a cruel grin.

"Heard you've been playing hero, Luna," the man sneered. "Helping Jedi. That's bad for business."

Kyl barely had time to reach for his blaster before they attacked. The fight was brutal, and though Kyl managed to take a few hits himself, he was quickly overwhelmed. The beating left him bloodied and bruised, his vision swimming as the thugs disappeared into the night.

When he finally stumbled back to his apartment, pain radiating through his body, the holocron's hum seemed louder than ever. He collapsed onto the floor, staring at the glowing cube.

The Jedi Master's hologram appeared once more, her gaze filled with quiet determination. "You are in pain," she said softly. "But pain is often the first step toward growth. Let me help you, Kyl Luna. Let the Force help you."

This time, Kyl didn't argue. His body ached, his spirit felt broken, and for the first time in years, he saw no other way forward. "Fine," he whispered. "What do I have to lose?"

The Jedi Master smiled, and the holocron's light seemed to grow brighter. "Then let us begin."