Floating in the cosmic void ahead was a structure that defied every law of physics Cass had ever learned. His breath caught in his throat, and his artist's eye struggled to process what he was seeing.
It was a monumental deep-space foundry, a fusion of industrial might and cosmic grandeur. The structure looked like something that shouldn't exist outside the realm of imagination, yet here it blazed before him in impossible reality.
At its heart pulsed a supernova-like furnace, its molten core churning out starships and technologies beyond comprehension. The facility was jagged and asymmetrical, like a blackened iron crown forged in zero gravity. Massive towers pierced the void like the broken teeth of some cosmic deity, while the distant hammering of stellar forges created a rhythm that seemed to echo through the vacuum itself.
Glowing veins of energy pulsed across its surface, illuminating ancient runes etched deep into the metal. The symbols felt hauntingly familiar to his trained eye, as if he'd sketched them a thousand times in half-remembered dreams.
"What is that place?" he whispered, pressing his palm against the transparent aluminum.
"The Stellar Forge," the vessel replied, and for the first time, its mechanical voice carried something resembling reverence. "Where gods craft worlds and empires are born and destroyed in the same fiery breath. Also where we're obtaining certain... enhancements... for our mission."
As they approached the foundry, smaller craft became visible. Some were no larger than fighters, while others were massive enough to dwarf city blocks. All maintained a respectful distance from the forge's docking arms, like pilgrims approaching a shrine too sacred to touch.
"What kind of enhancements?" he asked, though part of him wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"The kind that will let you survive in a universe where people deflect laser bolts with glowing swords and throw objects with their minds." The ship's tone grew matter-of-fact. "Physical improvements, Force sensitivity activation, combat reflexes, everything you'll need to pass as someone who belongs in that galaxy far, far away."
The craft began its approach to one of the docking arms. He watched in fascination as the mechanical appendage adjusted to accommodate their vessel, massive gears grinding with sounds that somehow reached him through the hull. Up close, the runes carved into the forge's surface seemed to writhe and shift, telling stories in languages that predated human civilization.
"Will it hurt?" he asked.
"Define pain," the craft replied with what might have been amusement. "You're already dead, so traditional concepts don't really apply. Think of it more as... aggressive optimization of your spiritual matrix."
As they docked with the forge, he felt his consciousness being gently pulled toward something vast and ancient and utterly alien. The sensation was like being drawn into a cosmic web of stars and possibility. The last thing he heard was the ship's voice, now strangely distant:
"When you wake up, you'll be ready to save a galaxy. Try not to break it instead."
And with those words, everything dissolved into starfire and infinite potential.
Consciousness crept back into his being like sunlight filtering through venetian blinds, slowly, then all at once. When awareness fully returned, his eyes opened to a sight that made his heart skip several beats: the sprawling majesty of the Star Wars galaxy stretched out before him like a cosmic painting come to life.
Through the massive viewport, he could see star systems twinkling like diamonds scattered across black velvet. Nebulae swirled in impossible colors, purples that had no earthly name, blues that made Earth's oceans look pale by comparison. And there, hanging in space like a dusty marble wrapped in golden atmosphere, was Tatooine.
"Holy bantha fodder," he whispered, pressing his face against the cool surface. "It's actually real."
But something was different about his reflection in the transparent aluminum. He looked... translucent. Like he was made of shimmering energy rather than solid matter. When he held up his hand, he could see through it to the stars beyond, but there was definitely something there, a presence, a form that existed but wasn't quite physical.
"Perfect," he muttered. "A Force ghost. Just call me Obi-Wan Kenobi's budget understudy."
That's when he felt it, a tingling sensation deep in his chest, like carbonation in his soul. It was warm, electric, and somehow familiar, as if he'd been carrying it his whole life without knowing it was there. Power. Raw, untrained, but definitely power.
"Finally awake, are we?" The vessel's voice sliced through his wonder like a rusted blade. "I was starting to think your primitive consciousness had crashed permanently."
"What's happening to me?" he asked, flexing his fingers and watching energy ripple between them like heat waves. "I feel... different. Stronger. Like I could bench press a speeder bike."
"No more questions," the craft replied with finality. "I'm leaving you on Tatooine, and you can figure out what changes occurred in your spiritual matrix by yourself. Consider it a learning experience."
"What? You can't just"
But the vessel was already moving. Outside the viewport, space began to warp and twist as they approached another wormhole. This one was smaller than the others, barely large enough for their craft, and it pulsed with an ominous red light that reminded him of an angry eye.
The transition was smoother this time, though he still felt his consciousness stretched like taffy across dimensions. When they emerged, Tatooine filled the entire view, a world of endless sand dunes and rocky mesas, dominated by twin suns that turned the atmosphere into a shimmering curtain of heat.
It was exactly as he'd imagined it in his illustrations, but somehow more real than real. He could practically feel the dry heat radiating through the hull, could almost taste the gritty sand that got into everything on this Force-forsaken rock. The acrid scent of recycled air began giving way to something else, something wild and desert-dry that spoke of endless horizons.
"It's beautiful," he breathed. "In a harsh, unforgiving, trying-to-kill-you sort of way."
"How poetic. Now get out."
Before he could protest, the vessel was descending toward the planet's surface. They skimmed over vast expanses of golden sand broken by massive rock formations that jutted up like the bones of buried giants. In the distance, he could see the sprawling settlement of Mos Espa, its adobe buildings and moisture vaporators creating a patchwork of civilization in the wilderness.
The craft touched down in a relatively flat area of desert, kicking up a massive cloud of sand that obscured everything for several moments. The twin engines' whine faded to silence, and when the dust settled, he found himself standing on solid ground, or as solid as sand could be, watching his ride prepare to abandon him.
"Wait!" he called out, running toward the vessel as its engines began to warm up. "At least tell me Where exactly am I in the story?"
"Discover it yourself," came the straightforward reply, the craft's voice already growing distant as it prepared for departure.
"Are you kidding me?" His translucent fists clenched at his sides. "You killed me on Earth, dragged me into this mission, and that's how a partner responds?"
The vessel paused in its takeoff sequence, and when it spoke again, its tone carried the mechanical equivalent of an eye roll. "You died a natural death, old man. And I'm not forcing you into anything, you still have the choice to abandon this mission. Then you will just vanish into cosmic radiation like a forgotten tale. Don't forget that I'm the one giving you a second chance at existence."
"But"
"I had many options, producers, writers, colleagues from star wars industry. But I chose you because you've spent more time immersed in Star Wars than any other person, living or dead. I won't provide you any more information, and that has a purpose: you can't become dependent on me. You need to learn to stand on your own metaphysical feet."
With that pronouncement, the craft lifted off, leaving him standing alone in a cloud of settling sand and existential confusion. The metallic taste of its exhaust mixed with the dry, desert wind that already seemed to be finding its way into places he didn't know spirits possessed.
"Go impale yourself on a lightsaber!" he shouted at the disappearing vessel, his voice echoing across the empty desert.
The twin suns beat down on him mercilessly, and he quickly realized that being a spirit didn't make him immune to discomfort. The heat was oppressive, the sand was somehow managing to irritate his ethereal form, and he was completely alone on an alien world with nothing but his wits and apparently some kind of Force sensitivity to keep him company.
"Okay, Cass," he said to himself, brushing sand off his ghostly form. "You wanted adventure? You got it. Time to figure out what the hell is going on."
He started walking toward Mos Espa, or at least what he hoped was the spaceport city. The settlement was visible in the distance, a cluster of domed buildings and tall moisture vaporators that shimmered in the heat like a mirage. But after about ten steps, he realized something remarkable: he didn't actually need to walk.
"Wait a minute," he muttered, concentrating on the strange energy he could feel building in his chest. "If I'm some kind of Force ghost..."
He closed his eyes and imagined himself floating, just a few inches off the ground. To his amazement, when he opened them again, he was indeed hovering above the sand, his spirit form crackling with barely visible energy.
"Holy Sith Lords," he whispered. "I'm actually doing it."
Emboldened, he tried moving forward while floating. The sensation was incredible, like swimming through warm honey, but faster and infinitely more graceful than his arthritic old body had ever managed. He glided over the sand dunes with increasing confidence, leaving no footprints behind.
The more he moved, the more connected he felt to this universe. It was as if invisible threads were weaving themselves between his consciousness and the very fabric of reality around him. The Force, he could actually feel it flowing through everything. The sand beneath him pulsed with microscopic life. The rock formations hummed with ancient energy.
"This is incredible," he laughed, executing a loop-de-loop in mid-air just because he could. "Fifty years of writing about the Force, and now I can actually sense it. It's like... like being connected to the universe's wifi network."
But as he experimented with his new abilities, he also sensed their limitations. He could feel the Force, yes, but it was like trying to drink from a fire hose with a straw. The power was there, vast and infinite, but he had no idea how to properly channel it. It would take training, practice, maybe years of meditation to become truly proficient.
As Mos Espa grew larger on the horizon, he began to make out individual buildings. There was the familiar dome-shaped architecture he'd drawn countless times, the moisture vaporators standing like metallic trees in the desert, and the bustling cantinas and marketplaces where aliens from across the galaxy came to conduct business both legal and otherwise.
The city was exactly as he'd imagined it, but somehow more alive, more vibrant. The air shimmered with heat and possibility, and he could sense the presence of hundreds of beings going about their daily lives, each one a unique pattern in the Force.
"Time to find out when exactly I am," he said, setting his sights on a particular building complex that looked suspiciously familiar.