Ryloth.

A strange planet, if you ask me.

Almost half a lifeless, scorched desert. Almost half the desert, too. But it's icy.

And a pretty narrow strip near a spaceport with billions of Twi'lek living on it.

Living on their own, selling their children into slavery. It's called a "life contract" in the Republic.

The parents of this body work in the office where these "contracts" are issued.

Allow me to introduce myself. Forkulen Snowhor, six standard years old. Or Fork, as this body's parents call me.

Ironically, there are two parents.

Of the human race.

Hal and Gianni Snowhor.

Office plankton, ordinary, unremarkable people.

Their salary is average, though higher than that of a simple twi'lek. So I live modestly.

Modest two-room apartment on the outskirts of the capital, access to the hollow, albeit slightly slow, kindergarten at the office.

In fact, it's all that's available to a human cub.

An ordinary, but having in his head the consciousness of an adult, a man beaten with life.

How was I judging?

If I've met this Force Effector, then I must have sensitivity to it.

And what part of the body is the most important for understanding the Great?

Not arms and legs, as Obi-Wan presumptuously thought, cutting off the stupid former padawan's limbs!

That's right. Ass, that's what a gifted master does.

Perseverance, perseverance and perseverance again.

So I was delighted with the kindergarten teachers.

Why?

A kid who just sits in a corner after compulsory lessons and half-cover his eyes like he's taking a nap can't help but be happy.

At first, of course, looked strange, but I answered the questions, I played mobile games, when in a voluntary forced drag.

So soon, they'll be behind me.

At home, when my parents are asleep, drooling and self-education.

After all, at the end of my first year of meditation attempts, I still felt her.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

It's easier from here.

The technique of full rest during sitting on the most important part of the body, came by itself, not even six months later.

I just ran streams through myself and it worked!

Now it's about the holonet.

It's war.

It's not clonic, no.

The meat grinder goes to the Republic with Darth Ruin's heirs.

The debiloids from the sideways rooftop are actively creating their tiny quasi-states, it's not clear what the purpose is.

In addition, they are cutting up Jedi, each other, and the world population is so vastly dispersed.

Squadrons collide in space, armies on planets perform maneuvers, cities burn.

Everything, as always.

And here I am so little, who, first of all, has to survive, and secondly, has to do something with all this. It's not for nothing that I'm here.

And you don't have to rub it in my face about a bug that thinks it's God.

You have to set great goals, because it's hard to miss a big target.

In black, the plan to change everything was ready, especially since the name "Skere Kaan", flashed in the news.

***

Lord Kas'im was walking leisurely through the streets of Lessa, one of the two capitals of Ryloth. Tall, with a mighty turn of the shoulders, he attracted close attention of the women of his race.

Sensitively biting their lips, slender, poorly dressed beauties escorted the figure of the Lord.

At Ryloth there is no taboo on nudity at all, so most wealthy townwomen preferred to dress only in jewelry.

So the Kas'im outfit could be considered very puritanical. Short leather vest, fabric armour pants, tall, under the knee, boots. It's all black. The painting was completed by a black wide belt with a light sword attached.

After a conversation with Lord Kaan and several other masters, the decision was made. The Dark Brotherhood to be!

Now all the powers of the Masters are focused on preparing to overthrow the fucking Jedi, preparing carefully to crush the eternal enemies with one mighty blow.

Kas'im has flown in for an inspection of the secret assassin academy.

Several fencing master classes must be held and those who might be worthy of training must be selected from the academy that Korriban has decided to revive.

Of course, after they've been beaten out of there.

The outwardly relaxed gaze of one of the best sword masters of his time noted a lot.

But even more marked were the invisible threads he used to probe the Force.

And here's the bell.

Somebody's inept use of the Great One.

With a sharp change of direction, the Kas'im went into the air-conditioned coolness of some office.

Twi'lek at the reception desk smiled on duty:

"Anything for the esteemed lord?"

The lord frowned over the room, only at the end of his examination to stop the yellow eyes from looking at the girl who had asked the question.

"I'd like to have a look around."

Crushed by the gaze of Kas'im, the slave trader's disliked eye, the girl flipped through:

"But. So not..."

The eyes of the Lord flashed for a moment and turned into a desolate doll.

"Come on, I'll show you around, sir."

***

I'm sitting on my ass, meditating.

Suddenly, the Great Neighborhood movement. I'm in the neighborhood.

Something will happen, but no threat is felt.

The door to the room of our improvised kindergarten moves away, a secret enters.

It must be noted that the Twi'lek girls wiggle their hips when walking so that men can bravely press with envy.

But this one went mechanically, straight as a stick and with an extinct look.

Three kids who were in the room in addition to me, hammered into a corner, and both babysitters, stopping caressing each other, squeezed into a lump like a straw clinging to the heroic size of a dildo.

Why? Everything here on Ryloth is free enough, and sex lessons are observed by children from an early age.

The girl was followed by a tall twi'lek with the distinctive look of burning yellow eyes.

On the belt is a long cylinder of sword, easily recognizable by all fans.

Two blades, a Twi'lek, the birth time of the Brotherhood of Darkness.

If foolishness does not cheat on me, the Lord of Kas'im is before me.

I must be greeted and polite.

Rising, short bow.

"Come with me."

Split like a team. It's a team, though.

He's clearly not used to persuading. The aura of sith put a lot of pressure on the audience.

With him, so with him.

Farewell, childhood, parents and all that.

New life, hi.

On the brink of consciousness, I caught the wobbling of the Force. A few possible variants of events, wavering, have disappeared. In return, others were added, a kaleidoscope of options slipped.

And disappeared, leaving a slight dizziness, however, immediately past.

So that's exactly what we're doing with the Plan.

That's the way it is.

"When I find myself in times of trouble

Brother Kas'im comes to me."

Let it be.