Tethered

1: An Empty Vessel

Without a body, all she does is wander. Without a body, all she is is a bond. Without a body, all she can be is lonely.

She watches the life and matter she holds together with a careful eye. She feels those few beings pull at her, asking her to help them, to serve them in their endeavors. She obeys. They are sensitive to her. They can feel her by their side. They know she is there—they know she serves those who sense her.

She longs for them. She longs to be a part of them. The bond between everything is not enough to satisfy her craving. She wants their life. She wants their sensations: joy, sadness, anger, fear, pain, love.

She roams one of the thousands of planets she links, taking her consciousness to this place. It is a planet of varied flora and fauna, housing many species on its surface—Batuu. It lies on the Outer Rim, near the edge of the known worlds. She loves this place. She used to come for its massive trees, simply to feel the life in and around them, but they were destroyed long ago in a cataclysm that devastated the planet's surface. She still comes for sentimental value.

She wanders the streets of the Black Spire Outpost, observing the travelers and traders there. She remembers a time when the market was lively—a time when everyone gathered here on long and perilous journeys to the land beyond. But, now that the people had developed the hyperspace routes, those times were long ago. She remembers that time when she could focus here and see everything. She loved it.

Now the outpost and Batuu were still populated, but not as greatly. Travelers did stop here, but not nearly as often as they did. Nevertheless, she still came here. She felt peace here, a sense of camaraderie with those who would never know her. The land here rarely yielded those who were sensitive to her. Though it saddened her to know that no one could use her, she was also relieved. Here she could just exist. Here she could just look on, a bystander in her favorite place.

Drifting through the spire, she is pulled from the hub. Something is happening, she knows. She follows the river where the small community of Peka lives on the banks. The tents, huts, and cabins are aglow to fight off the night. There's one house that's calling her, a log cabin nestled in the center of the community. She lets it call to her and pull her close.

Inside, a human woman writhes in bed. Her eyes are shut and her lips are parted in violent screams.

A man, her husband, holds her hand tight. He acts as her lifeline, mumbling words of encouragement as he mumbles to her softly. His words are all but drowned out by her screams.

It doesn't take her long to figure out why the woman is in pain. The stomach, swollen with a full-term pregnancy is enough to show it. She is giving birth. Though there is something not right with this.

She knows without even trying that the child is lost. This is a stillbirth, she knows as she cradles the woman with her presence. Nine months of care and protection couldn't save the child. Within moments, the mother will give birth to a corpse, something that no mother should experience.

She can hear the midwives mumbling to themselves. They know it to be true as well. They say that their predictions declared it. The baby is not with them anymore. They have not told the mother. She believes she is to give birth to a baby girl.

Instead, the child is nothing but a body. The soul has moved on already. It is now within its first month in the womb of another mother on the planet of Naboo.

It is a vessel needing a host.

An idea comes to her—one so bizarre and insane it could only be one of the Force's. This is a golden opportunity, she realizes. It wouldn't take much to split off a portion of her consciousness, just enough to inhabit a human body and live the life she'd always craved. Her memory—the memory of all existence—would have to be locked away, this is true, but it was doable. She could split herself, leaving enough of her to hold balance and keep everything together and using enough to give this child life—her life—once more.

She only has a moment to consider. The midwife nearest to the mother crouches between her legs and announces that it is time to push. The baby will be born in moments, alive or dead.

This is insane and she knows it, but she has never been presented with this opportunity before. She is fully capable of it, she knows. She is the Force that holds together and bends the universe to her will. She is capable of everything, even giving herself life.

"Push!" yells the midwife and the mother's screams drown out all sound.

Flowing closer to the mother, she pushes through to the child and fills the vessel with her soul.

She falls into darkness.

And when you find the light, you are staring into the tear-stained and smiling face of your mother as she holds you close to her chest. The air is cold but her embrace is warm. Nevertheless, your lips part and you wail the cry of a newborn baby.

On a vast ship, galaxies away, a creature awakes with a start. He felt it—the disturbance in the Force. It shook him so violently that he was thrown from his dreams of domination. Snoke clutches his head, the pain cleaving through his skull with the power of a thousand suns. Something has happened. A child has been born. How he knew this, he isn't sure. He figures it had something to do with the Force. This child was strong with it, stronger than anyone before them.

He tears away from his bed aboard the Supremacy and stalks to the window which overlooks the vast space beyond, his disfigured face twisting with a sneer. There is something out there calling to him. The Force has never been this strong. He needs to find the source. He will find the source. Even if he spends the rest of his days searching for it, he will find this child, and he will use them to fulfill his dark, power-hungry dreams of domination.