Ten-year-old Luke Skywalker sat cross-legged upon his bed on the Tattoine moisture farm he called home, and focused his attention on the three small, shiny stones sitting atop his covers in front of him. He closed his eyes and thought about the stones, rising inch by inch into the air, and slowly opened his eyes. His blue orbs widened in delight as he discovered the stones hovering in the air a few inches off the bed and he let out an impulsive 'wahoo'. The stones fell as his eyes darted toward the closed door of his quarters and he listened with bated breath for any sounds from behind it which would alert him to the nearing presence of either his Aunt Beru or Uncle Owen.

The hour was late and he should have been asleep along time ago, but he was not tired. When a few parsecs had passed and no one appeared at his door, he let out the breath he was holding, and turned his attention back to the new game he had just learned. He had no idea how he was able to manipulate the stones into the air like he had just done by just thinking them flying, but he knew that it was fun nevertheless. He also knew that Uncle Owen would not approve of him spending time on such foolish notions, just as his uncle did not like it when he shared how he knew they would have visitors or instinctively knew something was wrong with a piece of farm machinery or one of the droids before he had even looked them over. Luke wondered if these were things his own father had been able to do and therefore, Uncle Owen did not like to be reminded of his younger brother, Anakin, because it made him too sad.

Luke shook his head to dispel his troubling thoughts, and instead focused his gaze upon the rocks again. This time, to test himself, he kept his eyes open as he thought about the rocks rising up into the air and floating about. When they did as he wished them to do, Luke was filled with delight once again, but this time kept it in check, so as not to test his luck on bringing his being still awake to his aunt and uncle.