New Beginning: Star Wars

I was reborn on Kamino. If you can even call being created in a pod, growing within it for eleven months, "being born." Technically, it was more of an accelerated genesis—a quickening of life that defied the conventional understanding of birth.

My first year, after being removed from the growth chamber, was almost like what you'd consider "normal." But, considering the circumstances of my unconventional upbringing, I suppose the word "normal" was an illusion.

I didn't have a mother. Not in the traditional sense. I wasn't nurtured or birthed by a woman as most sentients were. But that didn't mean I was alone. The Kaminoan doctors, highly meticulous and precise, took excellent care of me. They were cold, clinical in their approach, but I could tell there was a care beneath their sterile professionalism. They had spent countless years perfecting their craft, and I was their greatest achievement.

I wasn't just another clone. I was a breakthrough. A new life form that represented the pinnacle of their scientific knowledge. I wasn't just a soldier or a specimen—I was the culmination of their ambition.

And yet, despite the detachment of science, I could feel their eyes on me, watching me grow with an intensity that spoke of something more. I had no biological mother to guide me, but if you asked me if I had any maternal or paternal figures, I would say yes, with complete certainty.

Her name was Nala Se.

Nala Se was more than just a Kaminoan scientist; she was a figure of quiet authority and deep compassion in my life. She wasn't just there to monitor my physical health or teach me how to speak; she cared for me. Nala Se was the closest thing I had to a mother. Her pale, elongated features and cool, measured voice never wavered in their commitment to me. In the sterile, isolated world of Kamino, she was my anchor. She was the one who guided me, not with the rigid hand of a scientist, but with the nurturing touch of someone who believed in my potential—who, in a way, believed in me.

At just one year old, I surprised the Kaminoan doctors by speaking fluently. The very notion of a one-year-old speaking with such clarity was, in their terms, a miracle. They had expected me to develop quickly, but not like this. They attributed my rapid development to my extraordinary genetic makeup. The combination of Jango Fett's combat-honed DNA, that of the Jedi, the enhanced physiology of the Zabrak, and the regenerative powers of the Gen'Dai was far more than just a recipe for resilience. It was the birth of something entirely unique.

When the Kaminoans tested my mental capacity, their expectations were shattered. They assumed that my mind would be sharp, yes—but nothing could have prepared them for how deeply I comprehended the concepts they introduced me to. Whether it was advanced mathematics, complex theories of genetics, or historical battles fought across the galaxy, I absorbed it all with unnatural ease. No subject was too difficult, no theory too complex.

After all, my mind was crafted to be a weapon as potent as my body.

It was then that Nala Se began my formal education. Her lessons spanned across every conceivable field of study, but there was one common thread that bound them all: science. For the Kaminoans, science was everything. It was their religion, their guiding principle, their very way of life. And it became mine as well.

They didn't teach me what most children might learn—stories, culture, ethics. No, I was immersed in science. Biology, chemistry, physics, genetics, artificial intelligence—their knowledge of these fields was so deep, so vast, that no one living could hope to grasp even a fraction of it in a single lifetime. They believed in the pursuit of knowledge, and I became a willing participant in that relentless quest.

Five years flew by, each one packed with lessons and discoveries. In those early years, the days blurred together. I grew taller, stronger, my mind expanding as I consumed more information. Still a child by most standards, but in the Kaminoan's view, I was an advanced being, a creation born to fulfill a singular purpose: to be the perfect soldier.

Now, at six, I stood in my room—an expansive, sterile chamber designed for both comfort and function. The walls were adorned with holoscreens that displayed data streams constantly running, and sleek, reflective surfaces stretched from floor to ceiling. I could see myself in the high-tech mirror that extended from the wall. The mirror was not simply for vanity; it provided a real-time analysis of my appearance, showing every minute change in my body as I grew.

I stood at 1.3 meters tall (about 4 feet 3 inches), which, for a child, was tall—very tall. For a human, it was abnormal. Even though I wasn't particularly athletic yet—my growth was still being controlled—I had a kind of quiet strength that was already beginning to manifest. My skin was pale, almost unnaturally so, with an almost otherworldly sheen to it, but it was the sharpness of my features that truly set me apart. I had medium-length black hair that reached my shoulders, straight and sleek like a perfect curtain of dark silk. My eyes, vivid blue, stared back at me with an intensity that almost seemed out of place in a child.

But it wasn't just my human traits that made me unique. No, the true signs of my hybrid nature were far more striking. My sharp canines—the upper and lower pairs—gave me an almost predatory look, and my claws, short but unmistakably sharp, replaced the usual nails humans possessed.

Today was significant. Today, the Kaminoans decided to remove the growth restrictions that had kept me restrained physically. I was finally going to begin my training. For years, I had been growing mentally and physically, a marvel of science, but now, I was going to be tested.

The scientists had designed a rigorous training regimen for me—one that spanned across every conceivable field of combat and tactics. There would be lessons in strategy, hand-to-hand combat, marksmanship, and military leadership. They wanted to know not only how I would handle myself in a fight but how I would think, how I would plan, how I would command.

But what excited me the most wasn't the courses they had designed. It was the training room they had created just for me.

This wasn't just any combat room. It was a high-tech, purpose-built facility designed to test my abilities in the most extreme conditions. Here, I could experiment. I could push myself, test the limits of my body, and challenge my mind. And in doing so, I would discover what I was truly capable of—what made me unique, what made me more than the soldiers the galaxy had seen before.

Of course, there was a catch. Everything I did, every discovery, would be monitored. The Kaminoans were not just interested in training me—they wanted to understand me. I was their creation, and they would document every aspect of my development.

I didn't mind. I owed them. They had taken care of me, and they were the ones who had given me a purpose.

The excitement bubbled inside me, and for the first time, I felt something that I couldn't quite name: anticipation. The possibilities were endless. What could my hybrid biology do in combat? What new strengths could I uncover? How would my mind react when tested against the most challenging scenarios?

"I can't wait to start," I thought to myself.

Today would mark the beginning of something incredible. A new chapter in my life—a life that had just begun.