To my lingering frustration, the Gathering proved laughably easy once I had finished the "reading material" Anakin provided. I had felt myself inching closer to success with each volume I finished, but the finality of it made me wonder why I had struggled so much in the first place.
I wouldn't go so far as to say I completely understand the depths of human darkness—not by a long shot. But compared to my previous life, my perspective has undoubtedly broadened. I have learned to pull back the veil of the Dark Side, even if only by a fraction.
By the time I reached this breakthrough, my first year as a fourth-grader was nearly over. From there, my time was consumed by the bureaucratic nightmare of grade-skipping rather than building my lightsaber. I wasn't able to truly start my work until the new school year began, and I found myself enrolled as a first-year middle schooler.
Now, at last, came the construction of the lightsaber. Like the Gathering, this is a core pillar of Jedi training.
Every Jedi's lightsaber is entirely handmade—or more accurately, self-made. One creates a weapon to which they will entrust their life, guided not by blueprints or schematics, but by the Force itself. The process involves letting the Force dictate which components to use and how to align them. It is a supreme test of attunement; simple mechanical skill isn't enough to see the project through. It is a tool for a Force-sensitive, built by a Force-sensitive.
Because of this, no two lightsabers are identical. Training sabers for Younglings are mass-produced exceptions, but a weapon belonging to a Padawan or a Knight always bears the distinct mark of its creator. This goes beyond mere aesthetics; it can result in radical designs like double-bladed sabers, or even cane-sabers where the mechanism is entirely concealed within a walking stick.
The blade's color is determined when the user awakens the Kyber crystal through a shared harmony. For Jedi, who resonate with the Light, the result is typically blue or green. Red, conversely, is the mark of the Sith—a "bleeding" of the crystal through the Dark Side. Under normal circumstances, a Jedi's blade will never turn red.
As for truly unique colors... there was Master Windu's purple blade. That was a color born of his specific mastery—a combat form that danced on the very edge of the Dark Side. I don't expect to reach such heights.
But I digress.
To build the saber, I had to follow the Force's guidance for materials. This made procurement a nightmare. I couldn't just go to a hardware store and buy a box of screws; if the Force didn't "choose" that specific batch, they were useless to me. Being an eight-year-old with no significant personal wealth made this even more difficult. Construction is progressing, but I suspect I won't finish until sometime next year.
As for my other studies, my Quirk has seen significant growth lately. Originally, I could only "Amplify" things I touched with my hands. Now, I can affect anything in direct contact with my skin. I've also gained finer control over the output, increased the duration of the effect, and slightly reduced the metabolic cost.
However, the core flaw remains: the Quirk consumes my own nutrition as fuel. No amount of training seems able to change that fundamental law.
Because of this, my body refuses to grow. While I no longer face the immediate threat of starving to death, every training session burns through my caloric reserves. I live in a state of chronic malnutrition. I've recently started "Amplifying" my own digestive system to allow me to consume massive quantities of food, but even then, it's a losing battle—especially when I use "Permanent Amplification."
The grocery bills for our household must be astronomical. If I hadn't managed to secure a patent for the childcare droid I built for my sister, my family might have been financially ruined. I feel a pang of guilt every time I look at my younger sister.
To solve the money issue, my current hobby is developing a universal electronic translator. It started as a way to translate Droidspeak into human languages, but it can be adapted for the countless regional dialects on this planet. Given the linguistic diversity here, it should be a lucrative source of income.
I'm also trying to build a speeder, but I've hit a wall with the "Repulsorlift" technology. I used to take anti-gravity for granted; now, I realize just how miraculous that invention truly was.
My middle school life is, for the most part, going smoothly. I have no trouble with the coursework and maintain polite, if distant, relationships with my peers. I don't belong to any clubs—my training is too demanding for after-school socializing. Besides, since I plan to skip more grades next year, I've resigned myself to the fact that any friendships I make now will likely be short-lived.
However, something has been bothering me. It was subtle at first, but as the second semester drew to a close, I finally pinpointed it.