[POV: Ngani-Zho]
The jump from the Coruscant Temple to the Naboo system was long. I had brought only one companion: my Padawan, Satele Shan. She was, as always, a picture of disciplined readiness, her face set in that determined expression she uses whenever she is thinking deeply about the weight of the galaxy.
"Master, the analysis from the Temple sensors was unprecedented," Satele said, adjusting her tunic as we dropped through the landing hatch of the small utility transport. We were descending into the deep, humid grasslands bordering the Lianorm Swamp. The air smelled of sweet water and strange alien pollen. "The energy signature is localized, massive, but… confusing. It registers as a raw explosion of life force, almost like a nexus point of instinct. And on Naboo? It makes no sense."
I nodded, stepping onto the spongy, bright green ground. The Force was strange here. On other words beside Naboo, the Force sang an ancient, wild song. Here on Naboo, it was usually a soft, barely audible hum. But near us? It was a cacophony of frantic drumming.
"It fits the profile of untamed power, Padawan, far removed from civilization," I replied, drawing my cloak tight against the damp air. "Naboo may be quiet, but its deep swamps are untouched. We are searching for a highly sensitive child, likely living in solitude. Their Force signature would be as wild as their environment. We are here to bring calm to that storm, Satele, not to fight it."
Satele looked out into the dense, root-tangled forest, her brow furrowed. "I understand, Master. But usually, even the wildest life-forms have a rhythm. This feels like a frantic, constant pulse. It makes my head ache."
I felt the same, but chose to project calm. "Then let us proceed with open minds and careful steps. The child is alone, vulnerable, and likely terrified. We are a huge variable in their simple existence."
We spent the next hour tracking the signature through thickets of towering grass and damp, twisting roots. Satele was silent, using her Force Sense to navigate, while I tried to communicate my peaceful intentions into the Force a sort of sonic greeting to the wilderness.
The source was pulling us deeper into a narrow, muddy defile, a forgotten corner of Naboo. The air grew thicker, heavier, and the scent of sweet water and moss was suddenly overwhelmed by something else: animal musk and wild perspiration.
"Master," Satele whispered, drawing my attention to the shadow of a massive, split-open root. "I sense movement. Low to the ground. Very fast."
I focused my senses. The raw energy was practically vibrating the ground now, and I saw it too: not movement, but the sudden cessation of movement. A predator had frozen, perfectly still.
"It knows we are here," I murmured. "Try to project non-aggression, Padawan."
I took a deliberate step forward, projecting warmth and peace into the Force. I wanted the child to know that the gigantic, cloaked figures approaching were not threats.
This was my mistake.
For the child, whose mind had been trained from birth to perceive all living things as competitors in a brutal mountain survival game, the scent of calm was the scent of treachery. It was the smell of a creature feigning weakness before a lethal strike.
A high-pitched, inhuman shriek more like a hyena's laugh than a child's cry erupted from the shadow of the root.
"Heeeeeh! Found ya, ya ambush freak!"
A small blur of boar-headed aggression launched into the clearing.
I had been prepared for a child, terrified and lashing out with untrained Force powers, a rockslide, maybe, or a minor tremor. I was not prepared for a five-year-old in a wild pig mask to use what appeared to be acrobatic parkour to cover twenty feet in a single bound, his tiny, filthy legs tucked up beneath him like a catapult spring.
Satele gasped. "A human boar! And… he's running on his hands!"
The child the Boar Kid, as my mind instantly dubbed him didn't slow. He hit the ground running on all fours, his spine unnaturally flexible, before suddenly leaping into a vertical backflip that twisted into a perfect, aimed drop-kick.
His foot collided with my chest.
Despite his diminutive size and weight he couldn't be more than forty pounds the strike was delivered with an explosive muscularity and focus that was utterly abnormal. It felt like being hit by a small, but incredibly dense, padded stone. I took a surprised half-step back, resisting the urge to check if any ribs were broken.
"Unorthodox," I managed to cough out, more in surprise than pain.
"Master, he's… Feral!" Satele had drawn her training saber, but held it low, clearly bewildered by the sheer, chaotic energy.
The Boar Kid landed, did not pause, and launched immediately into his next assault. He was a whirlwind of unpredictable limbs and flailing aggression. He tried to bite my calf, deliver a series of ridiculously fast, open-hand slaps to my knees, and then, inexplicably, he tried to climb my robe like a particularly stubborn vine.
I began to cycle through my limited options:
Option 1: Force Push. Risky. His resistance to my initial mental probe suggested his concentration was too high. I might hurt him.
Option 2: Lightsaber. Absolutely not.
Option 3: Negotiations. Impossible. He was communicating only in shouts and growls.
I settled on Force Defense and Evasion. I was an experienced Jedi Master. I could handle a five-year-old, no matter how much raw strength his muscles contained.
He launched into a series of terrifyingly fast slashes with his hardened fingernails, aiming for my face. I instinctively shifted my center of gravity, a basic move from Form III: Soresu.
"Fang III: Devour!" the child shrieked, clearly naming his absurd attack.
I managed to lean back just far enough that his clawed hand ripped a strip of cloth from my collar instead of my skin. The sheer speed was the most terrifying element.
He was using the Force to accelerate his entire being, unknowingly.
Satele, meanwhile, had found an excellent defensive position. Behind a tree. "Master, his force energy is pulsing! He smells like a rancor that hasn't bathed in a year!" she observed, her hand covering her mouth.
"He is a child, Satele, not a beast! Just… an intensely focused one," I corrected, even as the child managed to wedge his tiny, rock-hard foot into my tunic pocket and try to use the leverage to spin me off balance.
This is going nowhere. I needed to end this immediately before my composure or my clothing was completely ruined.
I allowed the child to leap onto my back, a deliberate choice.
"I am the strongest! You lose! Pig Assault!" he howled in triumph.
As he was distracted by the view from the top of my shoulders, I seized the opening. I didn't push him away; I simply reached out with the Force and snapped the air around him. It wasn't an attack. It was a complete shuttering of all sensory input sight, sound, and smell while simultaneously bathing him in a wave of overwhelming, pure, white calm.
The sudden, absolute silence shattered the child's Concentration like glass. His primal mind, which relied on the cacophony of the wilderness to survive, was utterly disoriented by the void.
The tiny, furious form went instantly slack, slumping onto my back like a sack of damp fur and muscle. The Boar Mask tilted slightly.
"I believe he has succumbed to the exhaustion of his own overwhelming will," I said, gently pulling the child off my back and cradling him in my arms.
Satele slowly emerged from behind the tree, her hand still on her saber. She looked from the terrifying, still-active energy signature I was holding, to the tiny, sleeping form, to the shred in my collar.
"Master," she said softly, walking closer. "He's… so small. And filthy." She reached out, hesitantly. "He's all muscle, Master. Like a tiny, feral pit fighter. Why is he wearing a dead animal on his head?"
"I suspect it's his comfort object, Padawan. Or perhaps, his protection," I said, gently stroking the rough fur of the mask. The child's breathing was deep, his little chest moving with unnatural speed even in sleep.
I could feel his mind now that the aggressive, conscious barrier was down. It wasn't a mind full of Dark Side ambition or Jedi discipline. It was a beautiful, terrifying void pure instinct, untainted by philosophy. He was fighting for his life, every moment of every day, and the Force was simply the mechanism he used to win.
"We must remove this mask, Satele, and treat his cuts and scrapes," I instructed, moving toward the transport.
"Shouldn't we check for identification, Master?" Satele asked, reaching for the strap behind the mask.
As her fingers brushed the coarse leather, the child's small, sleeping hand shot out like a striking viper and fastened onto Satele's wrist with the grip strength of a grown man.
"Ayyiiep!"
Satele yelped in surprise.
"I believe," I sighed, adjusting my grip on the small, unconscious warrior, "that the mask is staying put. For now. This boy has fought the Naboo's wilderness and won. It is the Temple that will have trouble winning this next battle."
I looked down at the peaceful, twitching form in my arms. He was lost, alone, and completely unknown to this galaxy. And he was powerful.
We found our Force sensitive child, Satele. Now, how do we teach a wild boar to sit quietly in the garden?
The thought of attempting meditation with this particular youngling filled me with a weariness that even the Force couldn't fully mitigate.