Caleb drifted in the warm dark and a new screen slid into his awareness like text appearing on the inside of his eyelids.
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STATUS
Race: Wookiee
Attributes:
Strength — 9
Dexterity — 8
Constitution — 7
Intelligence — 8
Wisdom — 9
Charisma — 5
LIFE FORCE: 100%
SYSTEM TYPE: DOPPELGANGER
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A small push of intent shifted the view.
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SYSTEM: DOPPELGANGER
PERKS
CONSCIOUSNESS
Description: Ability to share experiences and thoughts
GRADE: E
UPGRADE COST: 20% LIFE FORCE
Current Abilities:
— Vague sharing of each other's thoughts during shared experiences
— RANGE: close proximity
— EXPERIENCE SHARED: 7 days
— COOLDOWN: 30 days
RANGE and TIME scale with GRADE. Improve GRADE to enhance effect.
NOTE: Host can mentally sense / feel doppelganger direction. Higher GRADE increases accuracy and allows precise distance estimation.
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Caleb watched the lines scroll through his mind. Some of the mechanics stayed fuzzy, yet one thing sat firm: a second person existed now, tied straight to him. An extension cut from the same root.
Each would move on their own, live separate days, chase separate choices, yet answer to the same core will. His will ran through the doppelganger. The doppelganger's will fed back into his.
In the corner of his awareness, he felt the other mind ping in agreement. The copy held the same system, same layout, same starting point. It would learn alongside him, screw up alongside him, adapt alongside him.
Thinking through all that felt heavy for a brain that technically hadn't grown yet.
He let the weight roll through him, then relaxed into it. Fine. When life handed out lemons, you drank the lemonade. Everyone would assume they were twins anyway.
Did Wookiees even normally have twins? Hopefully they did, because that was about to happen for his mother.
Mother. Another strange thing to think about—new Wookiee parents.
He put the thought away and focused elsewhere.
Another tab pulsed.
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LIFE FORCE
Life Force: 100%
Life Force fueled abilities and perks. Higher GRADE unlocked more ways to spend it. His current GRADE sat too low for active skills, yet an upgrade option glowed at the edge of the display:
Upgrade GRADE cost: 20% LIFE FORCE
Which meant twenty percent of his actual life on the table.
He pushed the question at the screen and the reply snapped back fast:
SYSTEM: I RUN ON POWER THAT IS NOT HOPES AND DREAMS. HOST PAYS THE PRICE. HOST ONLY HAS LIFE FORCE.
When Caleb thought about it, it kind of made sense. The system needed something to burn, and that was what he had.
A second line followed:
Good news:
Host can gain additional LIFE FORCE through FEATS or by defeating CANON CHARACTERS.
Good luck, Host. You will need it.
Caleb let the jab slide. The framework looked workable. As his GRADE climbed, so would his options.
One last line blinked at the bottom:
LIFE FORCE may exceed 100%. Negative side effects begin beneath 25%. Positive effects begin above 250%.
He filed that away. Plenty of time to gamble later. For now, staying at a clean hundred felt fine—especially while he still floated unborn in the dark.
Caleb drifted, warm and weightless, with the steady presence of someone else curled beside his awareness.
The doppelganger felt like a second heartbeat tucked up against his own—close, familiar, sending out flickers of emotion that clearly came from a mind separate from his.
Curiosity pulsed from that other spark.
Then boredom.
Then a lazy, floating contentment that answered his own mood like an echo with its own personality.
They pushed feelings back and forth in soft waves instead of words. Impressions, lean and simple. His twin-self enjoyed the heat, the slow rocking motion, the constant pulse around them. It shared his quiet amusement at the whole "reborn Wookiee in a womb with a system" situation. That small agreement eased something inside him. Hard to complain when the only other person in existence at the moment seemed pretty chill about it.
Every so often, his attention slid back to the CONSCIOUSNESS perk hanging in the corner of his awareness.
GRADE: E
UPGRADE COST: 20% LIFE FORCE
The upgrade tugged at him. A stronger link sounded tempting—clearer thought-sharing, deeper overlap, maybe full conversations inside that frozen mindscape the system hinted at. He weighed it the way he used to weigh bad mission ideas: tempting, risky, better with more information and more tools.
He let the urge pass and shelved it for later. First, grow a body. Then start spending life like a currency.
For now, he slept, grew, and let two small sparks of self drift side by side in the dark, trading quiet feelings in the warm quiet between heartbeats.
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A Wookiee bent over a cradle big enough for two cubs, broad hands moving with easy care as she checked each joint and curve. Her husband had shaped the frame himself from wroshyr wood, cutting and sanding the pieces atop the great branches of their village platform. Asharra added the last details now—braided cords threaded through the side rails, small carved beads of dark sapstone, a soft lining of woven moss-fiber and fur.
Among her people, the name Asharra carried quiet weight. Her fur ran in a deep, glossy black from crown to heel, catching the lantern glow along its edges like polished stone. Dark eyes held steady warmth and a sharp, measuring awareness elders often praised. Spirit, mind, and body aligned around her with rare balance; for many seasons, hunters and craftsmen from distant trunks had offered gifts and promises, seeking her as a mate.
She had chosen one—a broad-shouldered warrior whose roars carried through the canopy during hunts and feasts. Seasons passed beside him. Seasons turned to years. Years slid into long cycles beneath the wroshyr crowns. Strong arms, strong hearts… yet no cubs.
Whispers drifted along the walkways and rope bridges. Always soft, always respectful, framed with sympathy and respect—yet still whispers. Asharra carried that weight in the set of her shoulders and the long, quiet moments when clan gatherings ended and lanterns dimmed. Her mate hid any hint of disappointment behind steady humor and gentle touches, yet she felt it all the same.
Now her claws rested over the swell of her belly, fur shifting as movement answered her touch. The curve felt heavy and full, a living promise under her palms. Clan healers had pressed careful ears to her abdomen and rumbled in subdued delight. Cousins and aunties had passed by with low, pleased growls that rolled through the branches like distant thunder.
Two heartbeats answered her own.
Two cubs, the midwives had said, with wide eyes and teeth bared in fierce, joyful grins.
Asharra glanced from her stomach to the cradle. The wroshyr wood gleamed under a thin coat of oil, the grain catching light in slow, flowing lines that echoed the great trees outside. The bedding lay smooth and ready. Space waited for two small shapes, two small bodies that would fill a silence that had stretched across decades.
She drew a long breath through her teeth, chest rising beneath the loose band of her sash. A full standard year she had carried them, each passing week marked by clan hands offering food, steady arms guiding her along bridges, elders blessing the path beneath her feet. High above Kashyyyk's shadowed floor, on platforms woven among the immense trunks, her name traveled from home to home:
Asharra, who had waited a lifetime for one cub… and now prepared a cradle for two.