Chapter Text

One

When James died the first time it was almost a relief. 

Over time, he got used to loneliness. 

When he was little, he was a happy boy who would light up any room he went to. His parents had been so proud of him. Always the first one in school races, always the one with best grades in class. It felt good, making them smile with that tilt of pride to their lips, their eyes shining with so much love that it warmed James to the core. 

Those years were good, even as he couldn’t help but shake off the feeling that something was missing. He tried to make friends with the boys in his class, but he never clicked with any of them. 

When he wanted to talk about the fascinating history behind viking runes, or the myths surrounding the Knights of the Round table, he got only uncomprehending looks.

“How do you know so much?” asked one boy that wouldn’t stop trailing after him long after James had lost any interest in a conversation.

He was gesturing with a large sandwich in his hands, and the lettuce had fallen off five minutes ago, but he still hadn't noticed it. It irked James more than he cared to admit. The sandwich didn’t even look that good.

“How do you know so little?” James snarked back, frustrated beyond belief. Wasn’t there anyone in this school that wasn’t completely boring, stupid, or a mixture of both? Every conversation felt like a chore.

As the year progressed, he tried talking to some of the girls too, figuring it couldn’t hurt to try, but it was equally useless. For some reason, they either only stared at him, giggling obnoxiously and preventing any further conversation, or berated him for ‘being too immature’. What? It wasn’t his fault the classes were so easy they circled back to boring.

“Another note from the teacher, James?” his mum said one afternoon when he returned from school, her face forlorn as she read over the reprimand. 

She shook her head slightly, clearly disappointed, the look on her face hitting James straight in his chest. “This can’t go on.”

“I still have the best grades in our year, probably the years above too.” 

Euphemia Potter gave a deep sigh. “If you behave yourself, I’ll look into having you skip a grade. But only,” – she narrowed her eyes – “if you behave yourself, alright?”

James nodded eagerly and his mum finally smiled, brandishing a plate of fresh cookies out of the cupboard. James loved her so much.

She died the next winter. His father too. A car accident, they said. The police officer that knocked on his door said the driver was drunk and didn’t know what he was doing. 

James thought that was stupid; how could he get drunk without knowing what he was doing? He was barely ten.

His parents left behind a small fortune, thanks to his father’s company, and so it went to his grandmother, who didn’t waste any time in sending him to a boarding school. A small mercy, really, with how much that side of the family despised him for existing.

His new classmates weren’t any better, but James had already expected that. The only good thing was that the curriculum was a bit harder, leaving him less time to wallow in self-pity. 

So what if he wanted great friendship like in one of those epic stories? It was better to be alone than with the group of rich posers that frequented this school, each of their opinions more stupid than the next. 

Money, class, gossip. Every conversation was the same. It all blurred together into one large nothing. James went through the motions, even as he couldn’t help but wish for something better, something more meaningful. This couldn’t be all that there was to life, could it?

It was then that he found it. Proud Sith Way. Truth be told, the name was almost as stupid as the story. It was one of those webnovels that could exist only on the internet because no one would pay to print it. 

James wished he was exaggerating but he wasn’t. It had an average rating of 2.5. It was, quite frankly, a piece of shit. And yet, he couldn’t stop reading it.

He had just finished rinsing his mouth after brushing his teeth when his phone vibrated, jostling on the white ceramic. Not wasting a second, he quickly snatched it from the sink, wet finders already pulling up the notification.

‘Alert! Chapter 3245 of PSW just dropped!’ Beamed the bright blue message in his inbox, the font the same obnoxious glow as always. ‘Click here to read’

He wiped an annoying drop of water that got smeared on the screen with the back of his pyjama sleeve, then quickly clicked on the link.

Normally, he liked to pace himself with reading, but not with this story. The fic had already reached a ridiculous word count, ranking amongst the longest stories on the site. Each week, at least one new chapter was added, its count in ten thousands.

From what James gathered by the comments, most people tended to skip the descriptions and the plot and go straight to the spicy romance scenes, which drove him insane. He hated those parts. At first he used to skim them, then started to skip them all together when he realised there really was no lore or development in them. 

No, he really wasn’t interested in what ‘wife of the week’ the protagonist had this time, thank you very much. 

Oh, was it a princess from a faraway planet this time? A pining senator ready to risk her position and social standing for just a night with the hero? A Sith apprentice that captured the protagonist and tried to seduce him? How very original. 

It surely wasn’t the case that each of the girls was blander than oatmeal, having about as much personality as an empty trash bag.

Over the course of posting the story, the harem had grown into hundreds, and the quality of the characters went down with each new introduced love interest. The first were at least slightly interesting, even though their backstory was barely explored, but the last ones made him seethe with frustration.

Who goes to fight droids that shoot lasers in easily-rippable dresses? And why was it that every girl’s IQ seemed to drop to zero whenever they were supposed to do something? And how did the rogue Jedi girl suddenly forget how to fight just so she could get saved? Hell, she even dropped her lightsaber into a lake.

Not to mention the ways they got together with the protagonist. Whenever James thought the author, Howling_on_the_Cheese, already exhausted all their ridiculous wife-plots on how to get them together, he was proven wrong. Yesterday, wife #231 tripped over a loose floorboard, ending in the hero's embrace and before that, wife #230 drank a deadly serum and could be saved only by – you guessed it – the mighty powers of the protagonist. This led to a predictable make-out scene and James’ subsequent scrolling past a large chunk of the chapter.

That of course wasn’t enough. Howling on the Cheese, or just Cheese, as James liked to call them, was as shameless as they come and put in a plot hole after plot hole. 

Their holy tenet seemed to be quantity over quality. The lore didn’t track, the characters moved too quickly between planets, the pacing was nowhere to be found and it was all such a mess that James sometimes wondered why he was reading at all.

But of course, as the new chapter loaded up on his phone, his question was answered with the opening words. 

‘Sirius Black’. The Jedi turned Sith, the protagonist of Proud Sith Way.

James scrolled up to the word count, noting with satisfaction that it had risen another thirty thousand. 

Sirius was just about to confront one of his remaining enemies – or well, he was about to do that since about 20 chapters ago, but then the story got dragged sideways by another wife plot or ten and weird side story about a lizard merchant that wasn’t resistant to the Force which went completely against what was established – well, anyway. It wasn’t like James cared about that, of course.

The point was, Sirius was about to finally confront another mid-level villain. Crouch, the ring-leader of the boys who used to bully him back in the Jedi temple. James has looked forward to that confrontation even since reading the Padawan arc.

Of course back then he had no idea that Sirius would become as ruthless as he had since then, all but lost to the Dark Side of the Force. 

It was maddening. James liked revenge stories as much as anyone else, alright, maybe a bit more, but he never wanted Sirius to end up like this, forever distrustful and hateful. 

Granted, his reasons were more than understandable. He was no longer the cautiously hopeful padawan that first came into the Temple. 

“Lights out,” came a stern voice from the hallway. James quickly scrambled out of the bathroom, shutting off the last source of light in the dorm. 

In practised manner, he soundlessly walked over the wooden floor between the door and the last unoccupied bed in the room, slipping under the covers and hiding his glowing screen. Mrs Thalloway was notorious for sniffing out electronics better than any magnet.

“Everyone better be in their beds already,” she warned, before moving further down the hall, heels clicking loudly against the wooden floors. 

James had been so pulled into the story that he had completely missed the sound before. 

One of his roommates snored loudly. James was betting his money it was the new guy that arrived last week, Steve or whatever his name was; he couldn’t be bothered to remember.

Across him, on the other side of the room, another student turned off his phone, settling to sleep. 

James glanced at the clock on his phone; it was barely half past eleven. He wouldn’t fall asleep that soon anyways.

He scrolled back to the beginning of the chapter, comfortably nesting into his covers. Today had to be the day Sirius would finally deal with Crouch and his gang of cronies, even Cheesy couldn’t drag a side story out for this long. 

Hour and a half later, he was positively fuming. Howling on the cheese had made the brilliant decision to have Sirius be betrayed, again . 

The person who was to take him to Crouch sold him out and Crouch's minions ambushed Sirius and took him hostage. After they violently dragged him to their leader, Sirius was beaten so bloody he couldn’t even walk and was left for dead in his cell.

The howler of the cheese better be glad that people couldn’t interact directly through screens because James had enough rage to want to reach out and strangle the bastard.

Without properly thinking about it, he was already moving into a discussion channel about the novel, his fingers flying furiously over the screen. 

‘What the hell, Cheese?? How much whump can you put in? Weren’t we over this in the Padawan training arc? How can you let them abuse him again? Is there truly not even one person in this world who is honorable and wants to do right by the protagonist? How the hell can everyone be so damn self-serving? It’s no wonder he turned to the Dark Side when everyone is just a useless NPC!’

‘The biggest hater speaks again’ came a quick answer from one of the users.

‘I’m not a hater,’ James replied, for what felt like the hundredth time, ‘I just actually care about the story and the protag?’ 

‘It’s not that serious lol’ 

‘This is just an excuse to have a new nice lady come in and treat his wounds omo <333’ wrote another.

Hearts and fire emoji reactions soon appeared on the message, while his got only downvotes. 

‘Yes!! Can’t wait.’

James blew a frustrated air out of his nose, turning his screen off and letting his phone fall down on the mattress. He stared at the ceiling, the acid taste of unfairness still in his throat.

Why did he even bother? It wasn’t like it mattered that he was one of the few early readers who started to read back when the story still had potential and the author cared.

On some level disconnected to him, he understood that some people just preferred stories like these, even if they weren’t objectively very good; deep down he knew that. But he couldn’t deal with the unfairness of it all. 

The protagonists’ struggle was heartbreaking. No matter how outnumbered he was, he never stopped trying to fight, and no matter how many times he got kicked down, he always got up. 

Yet, among all the people in the vast galaxy, no one ever cared for him beyond their own gain, no one ever helped him or showed him kindness without ulterior motives. James had long ago started to suspect the author had something for torturing people, really.

It seemed that whenever Sirius went, misfortune followed.

His own family had given him away in the effort to gain the upper hand in local politics, only contacting him after he came into power. The Master he was supposed to train under, Alastor Moody, refused him, only relenting when the Head of the Order, Dumbledore, ordered him to take Sirius as his padawan. 

Sirius moved in with his new Master, but it soon turned out he’d be sleeping in only a small storage room. Some of the older kids at the Temple, the supposed hope of the new generation and paragons of virtue, quickly became mean and Sirius had to endure years of constant hardships and abuse, both from his peers and his superiors.

At the start, the wordbuilding was decent, and the perseverance and hardworking character of Sirius was endearing. Of course, then it took a turn for the worse. 

The author started to write in female characters that had about as much intelligence as a folded piece of paper, each of them helplessly fawning over the protagonist. 

James had spent many hours writing essay-length posts as the story elements got more and more ridiculous and it slowly became clear that the story was nothing more than a power fantasy, a harem novel with a stallion protagonist. 

Of course, as the title suggested, Sirius’ time with the Jedi was limited. There were multiple people around him scheming for his fall, trying to trick him to join the Dark Side.

The biggest betrayal then came from his own Master. Sirius was confronted with a galaxy-wide conspiracy, and the Chancellor Riddle revealed himself as a Sith Lord, the one they’ve been searching for for years. Moody then accused Sirius of working with the Siths and not waiting for his answer, he stabbed him through with his lightsaber before shoving him off a cliff, down the fiery depths of Mustafar.

After falling to the Dark Force, Sirius took revenge. Everyone who had ever wronged him, he paid back tenfold, with no remorse. He became a Sith apprentice and then Lord, never returning to the Light side that betrayed him. He started to revel in it, his penchant for cruelty known across all the planets in the system.

Of course, then Cheese had to go and have the snotty Crouch hurt him again? James refused this, he just refused. It was one thing to have the protagonist hurt and then take revenge. It was another for him to be miserable for the rest of his life.

He swiped up to write another one of his long essays on his blog, wanting to let off some steam when he felt his throat constrict strangely.

He cleared his throat. Maybe-Steve snored louder, as if worried the sound would outmatch him in volume. The restrictive feeling persisted. He tried again, this time more urgently. He could already feel his airways constricting. What the hell was– 

He doubled over, coughing heavily.

One of his roommates groaned, sitting up. “What the hell? I’m trying to sleep.”

“Can’t–” James got out before another coughing fit overtook him, wrecking his whole body.

“Be quiet,” snapped the guy, pointedly turning away. “We have morning class tomorrow.”

Another hacking cough shook him. It felt as if his insides were trying to fight their way out of his body. He could swear he could feel his vision blackening at the edges. He couldn’t breathe.

“What’s wrong with him?” came another bleary voice with a thick British accent. 

“Hell if I know. Go to sleep.” 

Another choked gasp left his lips. As if underwater, he could hear the rustling of sheets, but he couldn't see anything, too busy coughing his lungs out.

“Why is he not–”

Then, he saw nothing.

Truth be told, he wasn’t fully expecting to wake up.

Slowly, he blinked his eyes open, staring into a dark black void everywhere around him. A shiver ran up his spine. The pressure that was squeezing his throat and lungs was gone, but he could still feel the aftertaste of it in his mouth. What the hell had happened to him?

A large, translucent screen appeared mere inches from his face

The brightness was so sudden and oppressive he had to immediately squint his eyes.

‘Activation accepted,’ proclaimed the bright levitating square. He must have truly been dead, because he would swear it looked like a video-game prompt. ‘Welcome, User, to a galaxy far far away. We challenge you to do better.’ 

“What?” James said out loud, but the message only flickered before fading away into the void. The darkness felt even more oppressive this time.

“What is going on?” he called out, his voice echoing out into nothing. 

James took a step forward, and then everything shifted. Bright stars suddenly shone in the dark, then tilted and outstretched into long lines as James fell backward, some strange gravity pushing him down.

He hit the ground with a forceful thud that pushed all air out of his lungs. A sharp, agonising pain spread in his side. He couldn’t breathe.

Gasping, he blinked rapidly. The previous darkness was gone, leaving him staring at what looked like pale blue sky. 

Belatedly, he realised someone was yelling. He blinked again, the vision growing hazy. What was going on? There was so much noise around him, but he could barely hear it, all of it muffled.

It didn’t sound safe. He needed to… he needed to do something, he was sure of it. He was supposed to keep fighting, wasn’t he? 

Gritting his teeth, he tried to move his arm. It barely gave a twitch, curling in what felt like rough sand before yet another wave of pain racked his body. He trashed, his vision blackening for a moment.

“– bacta gel, now!” someone shouted, clearly panicked. James tried to turn his head to see them, but found he couldn’t move anymore. Every part of his body hurt, as if his veins were set ablaze.

“Stay with me, Padawan,” came a female voice, much closer. A hand came down to squeeze his shoulder, but he barely felt it.

The only thing he could feel was the pain, oppressive and never ending.  Everything blurred further, and James felt delirious with it, only able to repeat ‘not again, please not again’.

Then, it was dark once more.

When he came to, it was to the distant sound of someone talking and retreating footsteps.

Slowly, fighting the overwhelming fatigue,  James pushed himself to open his eyes. 

The sudden onslaught of light had him immediately squinting his eyes. The fight to not close them again felt harder than it should have. The world spun dangerously for a second, then finally settled.

Immediately, he tried to sit up, but a pair of hands firmly pushed him back onto the bed.

“Stay down, Padawan,” ordered the same voice he had heard before. “The fight is over. You’re safe.”

“What happened?” he rasped out, the figure looming over him finally coming to focus. 

The woman looked to be around her forties, sharp eyes staring at him from beneath a pointy crown of small horns on the top of her forehead. Few of the higher-placed horns were hidden in between dark brown hair neatly tied into a coil at the back of her neck, not a strand out of place. 

For some reason, James got the impression he should know her.

“We were ambushed on our way back to the shuttle,” she explained calmly, while James’ mind whirled with the fact that the horns growing out of her head looked unbelievably real. “Do you remember anything?” 

The image before him finally clicked in his brain. This was Minerva McGonagall from Proud Sith Way, Jedi Master and the only Zebrak on the High Council. She was away from Coruscant on a classified mission in the Outer Rim until about halfway through the Padawan arc.

James discreetly wiped at his eyes. Was this really possible? He glanced around the room, finally taking it in. Small dome ceiling, the walls the colour of sand. And there, in the corner, stood what looked like a powered-down protocol droid, its silver plating dim in the darkness of the room. He felt his eyes widen.

“Well?”

At his lack of answer, Minerva moved closer to the bed, deep brown Jedi robes flowing around her. A small frown had started to form between her brows, and so James quickly pulled his attention back to her, shaking his head.

“I…not much, Master.”

The title seemed to be the right thing to say. The scrutinizing expression disappeared as Minerva leaned back, crossing her arms. “I’m not surprised you don’t, Padawan. What you did was incredibly foolish; it’s a miracle you’re alive at all.” 

James felt another strong shiver run up his spine. As far as he knew, Minerva never had any apprentices.

He cleared his throat. “What did I do?”

Minerva’s lips thinned dangerously. “You overloaded yourself with Force while attempting to protect Countess Nisa. Your midichlorians had almost consumed themselves.”

He opened his mouth, then quickly closed it when he realised he had no idea what to say. Was that why he was here? Had the body he was pulled into died at that moment? Or was this some elaborate hallucination?

The line between Minerva’s brows seemed to deepen. For a moment she only stared at him, something complicated going on behind her eyes. Then, she sighed.

“Come, fresh air will do you good. You’ve slept for far too long.” 

She helped him up and then off the bed. Together, they slowly moved upstairs and out of the building. 

James felt his breath catch in his throat. 

Sprawled around them was a buzzing, living city full of dome-like houses like the one they’d just exited. Many people of different species moved in between the buildings, some of them not larger than up to his waist. 

He recognised Toydarians with their small wings and long snouts, gliding in between humans and small Jawas in brown robes, only their shining eyes visible in the dark of their hoods. On the main road, two speeders rushed by, clearly levitating off the ground. Further ahead, above the sand plains stretching all the way to the horizon shone two bright suns. They seemed to be just setting, bathing everything in a mesmerising red glow.

He was pretty sure that if Minerva wasn’t helping to hold him upright, his legs would have given out. 

Any lingering doubts he had before disappeared. He’d read about this. There was no way any elaborate prank would be able to replicate all this. That was just impossible. Almost as impossible as actually being here.

This was Tatooine, it had to be. One of the few planets in the Outer Rim that got more than a mention in the story.

“Can’t get any air in if you don’t actually breathe, James,” Minerva told him, clearly exasperated. The shock of hearing his own name pulled him back into focus.

Dutifully, he breathed in, silently taking in the view before him. This was insane, unbelievable, and the best thing that has ever happened to him.

Without fully realising what he was doing, he slipped out of Minerva's hold and moved closer to the edge of the small terrace. Surprisingly, Minerva let him.

“Though what you did was inadvisable and incredibly dangerous, the Countess is well and safe,” she told him after a long moment, and he could hear the sound of her robes rustling as she came closer, stopping a step behind him. “But I won’t have it happening again, do you understand me? I trained you better than this.” 

James swallowed, shame pricking the back of his neck even though he hardly knew her. “Yes, Master.”

“Good. The setback this will create in your training should be enough punishment. Your connection to Force has been tattered. We’ll need to be careful in nurturing it back to its original state.”

Her stern gaze fell on him again. James got the impression that she wasn’t an easy person to read. 

“I will guide you through meditation in the morning. Use what’s left of this day to recover. In the afternoon, we shall go through some of the basic fighting stances.” 

He nodded, and she made to leave before turning. 

“And don’t lose this again,” she stressed, pressing something metallic into his hands.

He heard her soft but sure footsteps as she disappeared down the stairs, but he barely registered it.

His own lightsaber. He couldn’t help but stare, fingers reverently wrapping around the hilt.

Maybe he really was hallucinating. Or was he in a coma, his mind conjuring things up to keep him from going insane?

But no. As strange as it sounded, he was sure he had died. He felt it in his bones. Remembered the pain, the chill, the deep darkness. There was also the fact that the way he had died, or rather how, was anything but natural. Something had brought him here. He thought about the bright words that he had seen in the void, then shook his head.

It didn’t matter. He was here. He could do anything, be a Jedi like he has always secretly wanted, explore the world and make a difference, maybe even help– He stilled. 

Maybe he could even help Sirius have a better life than the one depicted in the story.  Hadn’t he always lamented how unrealistic it was that no one in the Temple was nice to him?

Another realization dawned on him as he admired the weapon in his hands. After the betrayal by Moody on Mustafar and his fall to the Dark Side, Sirius would return to raze the Temple to the ground. What more, Riddle would initiate Order 66, killing all but a few stray Jedis, practically annihilating their Order.

Depending on where on the timeline they now were, he might have only a few years left to live. There was no telling how much time would pass before Minerva's return to the city and it was given that as her Padawan he’d go with her. Then, it would only be a few years before Sirius’ descent into the Dark and his revenge.

He took another deep breath, fingers instinctively squeezing tighter around the metal. Right, first things first. He could freak out about the rest later. First he needs to train and get to Coruscant. Provided he doesn’t die before making it there.

The lightsaber in his hand was both lighter and heavier than he expected. The metal felt slightly warm under his touch. Slowly extending his arm, he ignited it.

Green light reflected in his awed eyes. A pleasant hum emitted from the blade as he moved it slightly to the side, the hilt vibrating ever so slightly in his hold. 

Its vibrant color shone brightly against the two setting suns and James couldn’t help the wide, unrestrained smile that spread across his lips at the sight.

A strange sense enveloped him; calmness, yet readiness. It was faint, but ever present. It felt like watching waves wash upon a shore, like a moment when dark clouds part to let in a bright, golden ray of light. The Force, he realised, before the connection faded away, sputtering into nothing.

He frowned, already mourning the connection. That had to be the consequences Minerva was talking about. He now understood her grim expression. It was one thing to not know what he was missing, but after feeling the Force and being cut off from it, he felt strangely empty. 

As he carefully made his way back to his bed, he tried to go over everything he’d learned, piecing together his identity. 

Minerva called him James, but he was pretty sure there wasn’t any character named that in the whole PSW.

There was also the issue of her never having a Padawan in the original story.  Did he truly replace somebody else, the person who died from the overload? Was that why the name was never in the story, because Minerva's Padawan died here and never made it off planet? Hell, did he even look the same? 

The turmoil these questions ignited in him had him searching the house for anything resembling a mirror even though both suns had already set. He had accidentally almost ran over a young man in the corridor leading even further downstairs who turned out to be a local healer.

Unfortunately, it seemed he had many opinions about James not having enough rest. After admonishing him for what felt like hours, James was finally free.

The dirtied mirror above the metal sink showed him he looked about the same as always. Messy dark hair, now with an added Padawn braid, sharp chin and hazel eyes that for once weren’t framed by glasses.

James guessed that part made sense. In a world of flying ships and floating cities, there were multiple ways to enhance sight, not to mention that glasses could provide a risk in a saber fight. Still, it felt so strange to see himself without them that for a moment he almost couldn’t recognise himself. The washed-out Jedi tunic on his body didn’t help. He’s always thought Jedi clothes looked incredibly cool, but seeing them on himself was a strange experience.

Taking a step closer, he peered at himself in the mirror. He looked about the same height and same age, but it was hard to tell. He’d need to search for his identification whenever he gets reunited with the rest of his things. For now he’ll assume he’s still around fifteen. Anything else would make his head hurt even more.

From what he gathered, it looked like this house belonged to the healer he’d met earlier. Minerva also mentioned they were returning to a shuttle when they were attacked. Were they going back to their ship then, or did they live elsewhere on the planet? He had so many questions and no way to ask them without looking crazy. 

Sure, the Force overload did give him a small excuse when it came to his skills at least, but it was not enough to ask what they were even doing here. That would probably only get him a ticket back to his supposed homeworld, whenever that was. He’d need to be careful.