A black plain stretched around Caleb in every direction, wide enough to feel like the floor of a silent, endless world. The surface carried a smooth sheen, almost mirror-like, as if shaped from cooled obsidian. Each shift of his boots sent faint ripples of light across it, thin silver waves sliding outward until they faded into the dark.
Above him, a sky full of stars arched in a sweeping canopy. Each one shined bright and sharp, clearer than anything he had ever seen through night-vision gear or desert air. Clusters drifted together like slow-moving embers, forming patterns his mind couldn't place. Thin trails of color—violet, blue, deep gold—hung between them like strokes from an artist's brush.
A faint wind moved across the plain. It carried neither temperature nor scent, just a soft push along his skin. Far on the horizon, a shimmer rose and fell like heat waves dancing above a sun-baked road, even though this place sat beyond warmth or chill.
The sky stretched with a depth that felt endless. The plain carried a similar weight, as if he stood on the surface of something vast and ancient beneath him.
Caleb sat down, palms against the smooth ground. It felt firm, steady, offering no hint of warmth or coldness. He studied the world around him—this place without buildings, trees, or movement—just open sky and open dark merging far away into a seamless line.
Quiet settled over him, a level of silence the living world never granted. His thoughts landed with the clarity of footsteps on an empty floor.
He considered walking, but something deep inside told him the idea carried zero purpose. His instincts had shaped every smart call he'd made in life, so he respected them here.
He stayed where he was.
And he waited.
He waited for a long stretch of time. He felt each moment pass, steady and clear, yet his body stayed the same. Hunger never crept in. Fatigue never settled. Caleb had endured long waits in boot camp, on missions, in hide sites that squeezed his patience thin. This place offered a cleaner version of that discipline, free from the aches and demands of flesh. At some point, while sitting with his elbows on his knees, he realized his old body probably didn't sit with him anymore.
Meh.
He stayed there, quiet and alert, until a blue orb formed about ten yards in front of him.
It shimmered into existence like a drop of paint falling into water. A sphere the size of a basketball, bright cobalt at its center, lighter around the edges. Its surface carried a swirling pattern, slow and steady, like clouds drifting through a summer sky. Faint strands of white light pulsed through it, rising and fading in a rhythm that felt alive.
The orb hovered a few inches above the plain. A soft hum radiated from it, gentle enough to settle into the air rather than cut through it. Each pulse caused the surface of the obsidian ground to gleam with a faint blue reflection.
Caleb watched it float, steady and unblinking. A thought flickered across his mind that it could be dangerous, but that idea carried zero weight here. He had nothing to brace, nothing to ready, nothing to draw.
So he simply watched, calm and patient, waiting to see what this strange thing planned to do.
He waited a full minute, the silence stretching wide and calm, before the orb finally spoke. Its tone carried a smooth, computerized quality, yet a lifelike softness threaded through it. If Caleb had to pin it down, the voice leaned feminine.
"Hello, Caleb Rush. Designation Seven–Alpha–Nine–Delta–Three–Six–Four–Zero–Theta–Two–Five–Kappa–Forty–One–Infinity–Spiral–Twelve."
The string felt endless, like a VIN stretched across entire realities.
"Your patience is appreciated. I am here to guide your transition into your next life. You may call me Olana."
Each word brightened the orb to a vivid cobalt glow; each pause dimmed it back to its softer blue.
Caleb raised an eyebrow at the tone. A thank-you? From a floating cosmic golf ball? And it even sounded polite.
"You're welcome," he replied, steady as ever.
The orb drifted in a slow circle, light pulsing in a calm rhythm. Neither of them spoke for a few breaths, the quiet settling again across the obsidian plain.
Then Olana's glow deepened, as if gathering something.
It spoke again.
Olana's glow shifted, the pulses turning rhythmic, almost like a loading bar made of light.
"Selection protocol initiated… pause… calculating… pause… calculating…"
The orb brightened in a steady bloom.
"Calculation complete. Karma reading: overwhelmingly positive."
A soft chime followed, clear as glass.
"Result: Reincarnation.
Location parameter: any multiverse.
Memory status: retained.
Race setting: default human, alternate options available.
Major perk allotment: one.
Minor perk allotment: two.
Restrictions: multiverse dependent."
Caleb blinked, staring as the orb delivered the list with the same calm tone someone might use to read a grocery receipt.
Olana's light shifted toward him.
"Host may select a destination multiverse. State your choice."
Caleb tried to take it in—reincarnation, perks, multiverses—like some cosmic RPG menu had just loaded in front of him.
He cleared his throat. "Can I pick Earth? A year after I died?"
Olana brightened once again, the glow turning steady.
"Earth stays locked to you for this stage of existence. A soul recently terminated within a verse passes through three full cycles before entry becomes possible again to verse a soul mortal body was terminated in."
Caleb sat with that for a second, one eyebrow lifting.
Figures, he thought. Oh well… when life—or death—hands you lemons, make lemonade.
The orb hovered in front of him, patient and almost polite.
"Host may select any alternate multiverse for immediate assignment," Olana said, voice smooth as a touchscreen prompt.
Caleb exhaled, long and slow.
This whole thing felt wild, like stepping into a dream with rules that didn't bother explaining themselves.
He looked at the orb. "Alright… what exactly counts as a multiverse? What choices am I staring at here?"
Olana pulsed once.
"Multiverse: a complete reality shaped by collective imagination. Stories from Earth—films, comics, books, games—frequently reference available verses. Accuracy varies across sources."
Caleb blinked. "So… you mean like One Piece? Or Naruto?"
"Those exist," Olana replied.
"Pokémon?" Caleb asked.
"Available."
Caleb gave a small nod. "Star War.. I pick Star Wars." His voice held no hesitation as he voiced his choice firmly.
He and his sister had loved that galaxy. She knew every detail, dug into lore like it was treasure. He enjoyed it at a steady pace—movies, battles, that sense of adventure. She pulled him deeper into it over the years, and he learned plenty through her excitement, even if he sat far from expert level.
If he picked a verse, it had to be theirs.
"Selection received," Olana said.
The orb spun once and projected a hologram across the dark.
Location: Star Wars
Timeline: 19 years before the Clone Wars
Race: Human (alternate options available)
Do you wish to continue?
Yes or Yes
Caleb rubbed his chin as he studied the hologram, a sharp edge rising in his voice.
"Human…" he said. "Alright, just tell me this. Will you tie my bloodline to the Skywalkers or the Palpatines?"
Olana's glow brightened.
"Affirmative. Do you hold a preference?"
Caleb made a face. "Yeah. Zero interest in either."
Trillions of beings across a whole galaxy, endless species, endless worlds… and every big story kept circling two human families like the universe had a spotlight addiction. Total headache. Easily one of his biggest gripes.
"I want distance from them," he said. "All of them."
Olana pulsed in a steady rhythm.
"A minor perk can secure this outcome."
Caleb blinked. "Hold up. How is that a perk? Perks usually help."
Olana hummed, a soft vibration through the air.
"Perk value varies by host priorities. Many entities desire symbolic attachments to key lineages for narrative synergy, inherited legacy, or probability spikes in destiny-oriented environments. A perk adjustment removes these pathways and anchors the host in a branch free from legacy entanglement. Thus, the system views this selection as a structural advantage."
Caleb stared at the orb.
Inside he rolled his eyes so hard he felt it.
Narrative synergy? Probability spikes? Destiny branches?
The cosmos apparently ran on the logic of a drunk screenwriter.
Caleb raised a hand. "What if I switch my race? That burn a perk?"
Olana pulsed bright.
"Negative. Race selection remains free of any perk cost."
Caleb nodded. "Alright then. I choose to change my race. Show me my options."
The orb rotated, light spilling outward in a slow spiral. A list appeared in front of Caleb, each choice floating like a bright line of text against the black plain.
Olana spoke in her smooth, almost musical computer voice:
"Available species catalog:
Olana brightened and projected the species wheel once more.
"Seven race options registered," she said, each word crisp.
The icons settled into place, rotating in a slow circle.
1. Human
Galactic baseline. Balanced height, adaptable body, and strong range of potential skills. Found across every major trade route.
2. Wookiee
Massive frame, thick fur, tremendous strength, deep chest power, and fierce endurance. Famous for towering height and unmatched grappling ability.
3. Ewok
Small tree-dweller from the forests of Endor. Light fur, round eyes, quick hands, agile climber, gifted with simple traps. Limited reach and low weight.
4. Gungan
Long-limbed amphibian from Naboo. Flexible movement underwater, wide stride on land, large ears, and durable cartilage plates. Ungraceful when sprinting over uneven surfaces.
5. Jawa
Small, hooded desert scavenger from Tatooine. Glowing amber eyes, skilled with machinery, light step, excellent at slipping through cluttered spaces. Fragile physical structure.
6. Gamorrean
Broad-shouldered pig-warrior from Gamorr. Thick muscle layers, strong tusks, heavy footwork, tremendous raw power, and a stubborn streak.
7. Hutt
Giant slug-like body, immense durability, thick hide, and stunning longevity. Movement limited to a powerful crawl with towering upper-body mass, capable of crushing force and extensive stamina.
Each hologram spun in front of Caleb, glowing brighter with each rotation.
Olana hovered at his side, voice smooth as ever.
"Selection awaiting input."
Ewok.
He refused to become a living teddy bear. The image hit him like pure comedy—fur, squeaks, tiny legs, and a spear that looked more like a toothpick. Caleb could already picture himself rolling downhill like a fuzzy bowling ball.
Gungan.
His eyes lingered on the long-limbed silhouette. Jar Jar's old theory always cracked him up—the one where that floppy fool played the entire galaxy like a violin, hiding a Sith Lord brain behind clumsy hops and cartoon charm. Hilarious idea. Zero appeal for Caleb's future body.
Hutt.
A giant slug person with a royal crawl and a mountain-sized torso. That life felt like a punishment from the cosmos. Caleb pushed that option aside without hesitation.
Jawa.
A hooded desert gremlin with glowing eyes and a mystery face hidden under layers of cloth. Life inside sandstorms, scrap piles, and cramped transports. Caleb drifted past that choice in an instant.
Gamorrean.
A pig humanoid with tusks, a heavy gait, and a grunt for a greeting. Caleb erased that option from his mind the moment he saw it.
That cleared the board fast.
Only two choices carried real promise:
Human… and Wookiee.
Human offered familiarity. Hands with reach, feet shaped for fast strides, lungs tuned for long runs, posture that lived inside his bones.
A Wookiee offered raw power. Explosive muscle stacked high, a towering frame built to lift speeders, fur thick enough to stop a blade, strength capable of ripping metal.
Caleb rubbed his jaw, slow and thoughtful. His fingers brushed across the ghost of a beard he once kept, the old habit sliding back as comfortably as a worn glove.
His gaze drifted between the two glowing icons.
Olana hovered beside him, a calm pulse rising and falling inside her light, like circuitry breathing.
Caleb exhaled through his teeth, studying his two final paths with a growing spark in his eyes.
He loved the Wookiee option the instant his eyes landed on it. That choice carried weight and heart. Their culture held roots deeper than starship hulls, and their strength felt ancient, the kind that shaped stories across centuries. What the Empire did to their homeworld burned in his memory as pure trash behavior, and stepping into that legacy stirred something fierce inside his chest.
The potential stretched wide.
A Force-sensative Wookiee?
That idea hit like fuel. A giant frame fused with the Force, a lightsaber humming in his grip, battlefields trembling under each stride. Pure fire. Pure chaos. Pure glory.
And the Wookiee path carried more than strength.
They built starships with their hands, repaired engines, understood machines, crafted weapons, worked with droids, and flew vessels with surprising finesse. Real talent lived in their bones.
He pictured a Wookiee pilot ripping through space in a starfighter, roaring into his comm like a storm rolling through steel.
A Wookiee engineer bending metal with one massive grip before easing it into place with calm precision.
A Wookiee Force-user swinging a saber with enough power to shake stone.
Every direction looked open. Every path bright.
Then his thoughts drifted toward the Jedi Academy.
Training halls. Sparring rings. A temple humming like a living thing.
He wanted their discipline, their techniques, their edge.
A few reservations flickered through him—Order 66 waited in the distance like a loaded tripwire—but the chance to fight in the Clone Wars carried a heat inside him he couldn't ignore.
A thought rose up.
"How old will I be when I reincarnate?"
Olana answered with steady light.
"You will arrive through natural birth."
Caleb did the math. That placed him at nineteen when the Clone Wars ignited.
Wookiee growth moved slow and steady. At nineteen he would stand young for his species, though his strength and speed would rival a full-grown human soldier.
Order 66 sharpened in his mind again. A razor storm waiting to break. He accepted that risk with a steady pulse.
He wanted that era.
He wanted those battles.
Caleb squared his shoulders, a charge climbing through his chest.
"I choose Wookiee."
Please choose your perks."
Caleb raised a brow. "Do I get to pick my looks too?"
"Yes," Olana replied. "A minor perk covers appearance."
Caleb sighed under his breath. "Stingy setup…"
He rolled past it.
"Alright. First perk: I want Force sensitive."
Olana brightened in a steady glow.
"A major perk grants power on the level of Obi-Wan Kenobi."
Caleb felt a flicker of interest.
Olana continued, voice smooth.
"A minor perk grants power on the level of Chirrut Îmwe. Strong intuition, subtle Force instinct, limited reach."
Caleb breathed out through his nose, steady and thoughtful.
Obi-Wan-level power carried reach, clarity, and refined technique.
Chirrut-level power carried instinct, luck, and a lighter touch.
Caleb sat with it for a moment. His mind drifted across what he wanted for this new life. A Wookiee frame carried plenty of muscle already. Enough to fight, enough to build, enough to stand tall on any battlefield.
But the Force…
He wanted to enter the Jedi Academy.
He wanted to fight in the Clone War as a Jedi.
He tapped his thigh once.
"I'll take the major perk," he said. "Give me the Kenobi-level package."
Olana brightened in acknowledgment.
"Major perk registered."
Caleb leaned back slightly, almost amused.
"Alright. What's next?"
"The host may now select two minor perks," Olana said. "Appearance control remains available."
He gave the perk choice a final once-over. Talent on the level of Yoda or Anakin sounded wild, sure, but the Force ran deeper than raw gifts.
A persons will was an essential factor for force users along with discipline and focus.
Caleb trusted himself in all three.
Looks didn't interest him. He cared about ability. He cared about the pieces that shaped the bigger picture. Skills came from work, but attributes? Attributes set the ceiling.
That thought clicked.
Attributes.
Caleb leaned forward a little.
"Can I allocate my attributes? Like I'm building a character in an RPG?"
Olana flickered, then answered,
"This is acceptable."
A pale-blue interface unfolded before him, hovering in the dark like a living projection. Rows of light organized into a neat grid of glowing text.
ATTRIBUTES — BASE LEVEL: 5
AVAILABLE POINTS: 15
Each stat pulsed softly as he read:
Strength — 5
Dexterity — 5
Constitution — 5
Intelligence — 5
Wisdom — 5
Charisma — 5
Olana's voice filled the stillness, calm and exact.
"Host profile recognized. Each attribute begins at five. Wookiee physiology grants natural advantages in strength and constitution but diminished social aptitude. For comparative reference, a Wookiee's charisma rated at five is considerably lower than that of a Twi'lek rated at the same number."
Caleb studied the glowing lines, the cool light cutting faint across his face. It looked simple, balanced—exactly how he liked it.
Olana continued, tone steady.
"Final note: Wookiee physical attributes scale above human baseline. A value of five in strength or constitution exceeds human maximum potential by a significant margin."
Caleb nodded once. "That makes sense."
The screen floated in front of him, soft blue light steady.
ATTRIBUTES — BASE LEVEL: 5
AVAILABLE POINTS: 15
He went to work.
Strength first—Wookiee bread and butter. When life gave you lemons, you didn't make orange juice.
Strength — 9
AVAILABLE POINTS: 11
Next came Dexterity. He put it high; he might not be the quickest, but he didn't want to be slow by Wookiee standards.
Dexterity — 9
AVAILABLE POINTS: 7
Endurance mattered. He figured with Wookiee talent, seven was plenty.
Constitution — 7
AVAILABLE POINTS: 5
Brains helped too. There was a wide universe of possibilities, and while he wasn't going to be a genius, he had no intention of being dumb.
Intelligence — 8
AVAILABLE POINTS: 3
Wisdom should be essential to understanding and the Force, so definitely an eight.
Wisdom — 8
AVAILABLE POINTS: 0
Charisma he left at five. Wookiees were stunted there to begin with, and he intended to lead by example. As for mind-tricking people, intimidation worked just as well.
Charisma — 5
Final layout glowed across the display:
Strength — 9
Dexterity — 9
Constitution — 7
Intelligence — 8
Wisdom — 8
Charisma — 5
Caleb sighed and dropped Dexterity to eight, raising Wisdom to nine instead. Not only was it essential to understanding and instinct, he really believed it would help him with the Force. At least that was how it worked in Knights of the Old Republic—one of the best damn games he occasionally played on his phone.
Dexterity — 8
Wisdom — 9
The screen dimmed, the soft light fading back into the void.
Olana's glow steadied. "Host has one minor perk remaining."
Caleb thought for a moment. "Where am I going to be born?"
"Kashyyyk," Olana replied, voice even.
He nodded. The Wookiee homeworld—made sense. It wasn't the Jedi Temple, but if he showed enough talent, the Jedi would probably come. He was pretty sure Yoda was friendly with the Wookiees. If not, he'd figure something out.
He considered using the perk to make sure the Jedi came for him, but that felt like a waste. He'd rather earn it.
Choices, choices.
Then something clicked. His sister used to read novels like this—reincarnation stories where people always got some kind of advantage. She called it a "golden finger."
He wasn't totally sure what that meant, but it sounded useful.
"Olana, can I have a golden finger system thingy?"
Her light pulsed once before she answered. "Negative. That would qualify as a greater perk. However, host may claim a silver finger under a minor perk."
"Oh." Caleb thought about it. "Alright then. Make it a system that rewards hard work."
Olana brightened slightly, the tone of her voice softening. "Affirmative."
A faint hum passed through the air, like circuits locking into place.
Caleb took a slow breath and felt something close to air move through his chest. Excitement buzzed under his calm—it wasn't fear, just curiosity mixed with a soldier's readiness.
Olana's glow brightened, sending faint rings of light across the glassy plain. "Caleb Rush, I wish you good luck in your next life. This process has been easier than many others."
Caleb raised a brow. "Easier?"
"Yes," she replied, voice smooth but carrying something like approval. "Many souls resist. They deny, bargain, or panic. The waiting period tends to break them. You accepted it. This has been… cordial."
He gave a small shrug. "Guess I've done worse. Wasn't so bad. I get to go to another verse and keep my memories."
"Not every soul receives that," Olana interrupted gently. "It is a reward for overwhelming karma."
Caleb blinked. "Overwhelming karma?" He huffed. "How'd I get so much? All I did was go to college, join the Marines, and kill people."
Olana drifted closer, light reflecting faintly off the mirrored floor beneath them. "Your sister, Mira Rush, will develop an affordable means of producing synthetic organs—revolutionizing medicine and extending human life."
Her glow flickered softly as she went on. "A squad member you saved, Sergeant David Kim, will have a child who engineers a seed strain capable of thriving in barren soil. It will end global hunger."
Caleb's eyebrows climbed. "That's… impressive."
"Additionally," Olana continued, "Lance Corporal Sarah Whitfield will become a senator, then president. Her work will establish the foundation for global peace, completed by her successor."
Caleb blinked at the orb. "Well, damn. Guess I—"
He hesitated, squinting a little. "Still feels like I got shorted on perks though—"
"Goodbye, Caleb Rush," Olana said, cutting him off mid-thought. "And good luck."
He opened his mouth to argue, but the world answered first.
Light folded in, the air humming like a jet engine just before takeoff. The floor rippled under his boots. The horizon bent.
"Hey—wait a sec—"
The pull came sharp and sudden, dragging him forward into blinding white.
And Caleb knew no more.