[POV: Ngani-Zho]
The flight back to Coruscant was… interesting. Satele had volunteered to monitor the child, who remained blissfully unconscious in the back of the shuttle, wrapped in a Force-field blanket to prevent any unexpected awakenings. The blanket was rated for a Wookiee, but I felt it was barely adequate for the primal energy radiating from the small form.
"He twitched again, Master," Satele reported, her voice a mix of awe and trepidation. She was sitting a safe distance away, occasionally poking the field with a long, sanitized stick. "And I swear I just heard a growl from inside that thing."
"He's dreaming, Padawan," I said, though a part of me wondered if the child was mentally wrestling a Force-ghost rancor in his sleep. His Force signature, even subdued, felt like a roaring campfire in a quiet library.
The journey was thankfully uneventful, but the anticipation of introducing the 'Boar Kid' to the austere order of the Jedi Temple was a heavy weight. I pictured the usual protocols for a newly discovered Force-sensitive child: gentle introductions, warm meals, basic hygiene lessons. Then I pictured the boy. The two images clashed violently.
Upon arrival at the Coruscant Temple, we bypassed the usual intake for new younglings. This was not a usual youngling. I had already sent a priority transmission to Master Tera Sinube, head of the Jedi Medical Corps, detailing the unusual circumstances, though I had intentionally omitted the part about the child trying to climb my head. Some things were best explained in person.
We escorted the Force-field blanket directly to the deepest, most secure bay in the medical wing. A team of protocol and medical droids awaited, their optical sensors blinking with curiosity. Among them stood Master Sinube, his usual calm demeanor barely concealing a flicker of intrigue in his ancient eyes.
"Ngani, Satele," Master Sinube greeted, his voice a low rumble. "Your transmission was… concise. A five-year-old of immense, raw Force sensitivity, found feral on Tython. And he prefers… a boar's mask?"
"He is the boar's mask, Master," Satele clarified, her expression perfectly serious. "We believe it is psychologically critical to him."
"Indeed," I added. "We have been unable to remove it without provoking an… aggressive physical reaction, even while he was unconscious."
Master Sinube stroked his beard. "Fascinating. Begin the sedation sequence, Droid 72-Y, and prepare for a full diagnostic scan. I want a complete biological readout, from cellular structure to a comprehensive Force sensitivity evaluation."
The medical droids, accustomed to exotic alien physiology, approached the Force-field blanket with sterile efficiency. A gas was gently introduced. Slowly, the hum of the Force-field died down, and the still, small form of the Boar Kid was revealed.
The first thing they did was try to remove the mask.
Droid 72-Y, a tall, spindly medical droid with multiple manipulators, reached for the boar's head. Its metallic fingers had barely brushed the fur when a sudden, low growl, utterly out of place for a sedated child, vibrated through the air. The small hand, previously limp, snapped out and gripped 72-Y's wrist, squeezing with enough force to make the droid emit a startled, high-pitched whirr.
"Remarkable," Master Sinube mused, pulling the droid back. "His subconscious mind is fiercely protective of it. Very well. Scan with the mask on. We can prioritize internal diagnostics."
The diagnostic process was slow, complicated by the child's unusual resistance to standard medical sedatives. He wasn't fully awake, but his body was twitching, his muscles flexing under his tattered clothing. The medical droids had to constantly adjust the dosages.
"His heart rate is profoundly elevated, Master," Droid 72-Y reported. "Roughly three times that of an average human child. His respiratory system is working at an incredibly efficient rate, far beyond baseline. And his skeletal structure… his joints appear to possess a flexibility that defies standard anatomical limitations. It's as if his bones are designed to dislocate and relocate without damage."
Satele, who had been watching with growing alarm, murmured, "He really is a beast, isn't he?"
I felt a pang of sympathy. "He's survived a harsh life, Padawan. His body has adapted to an extraordinary degree. It's pure, primal survival."
The next challenge was hygiene. He was… incredibly dirty. Layers of Naboo's mud, animal droppings, and who-knew-what else clung to his tattered clothes and expose upper body skin. The droids tried to lift him for a sonic bath, and even in his heavily sedated state, the Boar Kid bucked, thrashed, and let out a series of distressed snorts and snarls.
"He is exhibiting extreme aversion to being touched, beyond the mask," Droid 72-Y reported. "And his skin is surprisingly tough. Standard sonic cleaning is having limited effect."
"Try a less invasive method, then," Master Sinube instructed. "And use a mild solvent. We are trying to help him, not traumatize him further."
It took three droids, a specially designed low-frequency sonic shower, and a very long time to get him superficially clean. Even then, the mask remained on. They couldn't force it off.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the diagnostics were complete. Droid 72-Y displayed the data on a holoscreen. Most of it was a jumble of extraordinary physiological anomalies, but one number stood out.
"Midi-chlorian count," Droid 72-Y announced in its monotone voice, "is nineteen thousand, eight hundred per cell."
A stunned silence fell over the medical bay.
My old heart skipped a beat. Satele gasped, her eyes wide. Master Sinube leaned closer to the holoscreen, his face suddenly alert.
"Nineteen thousand, eight hundred?" Satele whispered, reverence creeping into her voice. "That's… Master, that rivals the confirmed counts of the greatest heroes of the last century. That is in the range of Revan and Meetra Surik."
"A concentration this high is almost unheard of in a living child," I confirmed, feeling a tremor run down my spine. The great heroes of the Mandalorian Wars and the Sith conflict were few, and their Force power was legendary. This small, feral, boar-masked child was approaching that tier.
"This is unprecedented," Master Sinube stated, his voice now devoid of any humor. "A count this high, coupled with such… chaotic life energy. It speaks of a profound, raw connection to the Force, utterly untempered by any training or cultural understanding."
I looked at the small, twitching form on the medical bed. The mask still on, the little chest still heaving with that incredibly efficient breathing. He was a creature of pure instinct, a being whose very existence was a Force anomaly.
"This explains his resistance to our calming techniques, Master," I said, connecting the dots. "His Force presence is so intensely focused and integrated into his physical being an unwavering discipline of instinct that it acts as a natural, subconscious shield. It's an absolute, unwavering focus on survival."
"Indeed," Master Sinube agreed. "His body is a vessel of pure, unrefined Force. Any attempt to directly manipulate his mind would likely be met with that same physiological defiance."
Satele slowly approached the bed, her earlier trepidation replaced by a fascinating mix of curiosity and protective fervor. She looked at the mask, then down at the tiny, clawed hand that had so easily fended off a droid.
"He isn't just strong, Master," Satele said, her voice soft, but with a new, dangerous sparkle. "He's… a survivor. And, look at his little abs, Master Zho! He's five years old, but his core strength is phenomenal. He's like a tiny, aggressive statue."
I stared at the child's exposed midriff, where tiny, albeit rock-hard, muscles were indeed visible despite the sedation. "Padawan, we are analyzing a profound Force anomaly, not a fitness model."
"But it's adorable, Master! In a terrifying, feral way," Satele insisted, gently nudging his bare shoulder with a hesitant finger. "All alone, out there, surviving by his wits and sheer muscle. He must have been terrified, but he just decided to be the strongest thing in the forest instead."
I nodded, sharing her sentiment, though not her choice of vocabulary. We had found a being of astonishing power. But beneath the mask, beneath the aggression, was a child who had known nothing but the brutal struggle for existence. No family, no comfort, no guidance. My earlier annoyance at his antics had completely dissipated, replaced by a profound sadness.
"He is more than just his Midi-chlorian count, Padawan," I said. "He is a life that has been forged in the crucible of raw nature. Our task now is not merely to train him, but to understand him. To show him that there is more to the galaxy than simply surviving."
Satele clapped her hands together once, a loud, decided sound that made Master Sinube jump. "I want to train him, Master Zho! I'll teach him the acrobatic maneuvers! We can call his style Form VIII: The Boar's Fury! Forget standard Ataru; he needs vertical movement and unpredictable lunges. I think I could teach him to use the Force to enhance his leaps. Imagine a Force-powered double backflip into a duel!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose, preempting a headache. "Padawan Shan, you are still completing your own knighthood trials. And we have yet to see if he even comprehends Galactic Basic, let alone advanced lightsaber forms."
Master Sinube adjusted his robes, a tired look in his ancient eyes. "She has a point about the raw potential, Ngani. But he is a challenge that requires stability. I believe this youngling will require your specialized, steady attention. Your… patience."
I sighed, a long, weary exhalation.
"Very well, Master Sinube," I replied. "I accept the responsibility. But I may require a stronger sedative for myself. And perhaps a very large, Force-resistant helmet."
Satele flashed a blinding, eager smile. "I'll get the helmet, Master! And I'll start preparing his special high-protein, jungle-foraged diet. We should order extra rations; he looks like he could eat an entire bantha after a workout."
I had a feeling she was right. Our little Force-sensitive warrior was going to consume more than just food. He was going to consume our patience, our understanding, and perhaps, in the process, teach us all a new definition of what it meant to be Jedi. The Temple, I suspected, was about to become a lot more… chaotic.