#ForceSensitive | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theetherealbloom · 10 months ago

Text

THE SILVER LINING - CH. 6

Chapter Six: Show Me Where To Find The Silver Lining

Summary: After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families needing medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and the bounty hunters. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has led you to your biggest adventure yet.

Paring: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive!FemReader (Empath)

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths, Awkward, Plot Holes, Flying, Lava, Character Death, Jetpacks, Canon-Typical violence,

Word Count: 11.3k

A/N: I know… I know… I took so long to update this PLS– I went through several revisions for this… idk this episode just gave me insane writers block for some reason??? Like help???

Song: Home by Good Neighbours

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist

NEVARRO CANTINA, 9ABY – NOON

You find yourself caught in a tense balance between desperation and determination, surrounded by stormtroopers. Gripping your lightsaber hilt tightly, you stand ready to ignite it at a moment's notice. However, with no backup in sight, the odds of fighting your way out seem insurmountable.

"Is there another way out?" Cara queries Greef Karga, her eyes scanning the perimeter for any possible escape routes.

Greef gestures toward the outside, where stormtroopers are closing in. "No, that's it," he replies grimly.

Din interjects with a suggestion. "What about the sewers?"

Greef Karga's brows knit in confusion. "Sewers?"

"The Mandalorians have a covert down in the sewers. If we can get down there, they can help us escape," Din explains, seeking a potential exit strategy.

"Yeah, sewers are good," Cara agrees, nodding in approval.

You observe as Din manipulates a few buttons on his left armor bracer, causing it to emit a low hum as his visor begins scanning for access points. After a moment, he announces, "Checking for access points."

"What the hell are they waiting for?" Cara mutters, peering outside once more. Through the broken windows, you catch sight of stormtroopers assembling a heavy repeating blaster. Cara's breath catches, "Hold up. They're setting up an E-Web."

"It's over," Greef Karga remarks, a hint of fear evident in his voice.

Din's visor chimes, and he declares, "I found the sewer vent."

"Let's get the hell out of here," Cara urges, moving swiftly. You follow closely behind as she and Din begin tearing apart the furniture, revealing the sewer vent hidden beneath a seat.

The three of you struggle to pry open the sewer vent's panel, emitting frustrated groans as each attempt proves futile.

"It's assembled! How long until that thing's cleared?" Greef Karga's urgency fills the air.

"Blow it," Cara directs Din, her tone commanding.

"I'm out of charges," Din responds, prompting Cara to gesture towards him while she retrieves her heavy blaster. "Get out of the way!" she orders, attempting to blast open the sewer vent without success. Frustration mounts as she hits the unyielding metal gate.

"Your astute panic suggests that you understand your situation," the voice from outside remarks ominously. "I would prefer to avoid any further violence and encourage a moment of consideration."

"Members of my escort have completed assembly of an E-Web heavy repeating blaster. If you are unfamiliar with this weapon, I am sure that Republican Shock Trooper Carasynthia Dune of Alderaan will advise you that she has witnessed many of her ranks vaporize mid-descent facing the predecessor of this particular model," the Imperial Officer adds with malice.

"Or perhaps the decommissioned Mandalorian hunter, Din Djarin," the Imperial Officer's voice resonates with a tone of menace as he utters Din's name. Din takes a subtle step closer to you, his presence offering a silent reassurance amidst the tension. The officer continues, recounting the horrors of the Siege of Mandalore, where gunships armed with devastating ordnance wreaked havoc upon fields of Mandalorian recruits during the Night of a Thousand Tears.

"Or your Force-sensitive medic who wields a lightsaber," the officer's voice takes on a sinister edge as he delves into your past, revealing the painful truth of your master's abandonment. "Her Master had abandoned her, deeming her too dangerous for her own good. Betrayed by false promises of danger, she was cast aside, left to navigate the galaxy alone, while her Master chose another apprentice." The words cut deep, stirring a whirlwind of emotions within you, shame mingling with the ache of betrayal.

You avert your gaze from Din, Cara, and Greef Karga, unable to bear the heaviness of their curious stares. Shame grips your heart, its tendrils clawing at your soul, as the truth of your past is laid bare for all to see.

"I advise disgraced Magistrate Greef Karga to heed the wisdom of his years," the officer's voice echoes through the tense silence, urging surrender. "Lay down your arms and come outside. The structure you are trapped in will be razed shortly, and your storied lives will meet an unceremonious end."

"What do you propose?" Greef Karga's voice holds a hint of skepticism as he humors the Imperial Officer.

"Reasonable negotiation," the officer replies, his tone dripping with calculated confidence. Greef scoffs loudly at the notion, prompting him to question, "What assurance do you offer?"

The officer's response is chillingly blunt. "If you're asking if you can trust me, you cannot. Just as you betrayed our business arrangement, I would gladly break any promise and watch you die at my hand. The assurance I give is this: I will act in my own self-interest, which at this time involves your cooperation and benefit. I will give you until nightfall, and then I will have the E-Web cannon open fire." With those words, he turns and departs, leaving behind a tense silence.

You release a small sigh of relief, though you know it won't last long. There's the ominous menace of the E-Web cannon lingering over you, a constant reminder of how vulnerable you are.

"I say we hear him out," Greef Karga suggests, his tone cautious yet open to the possibility. Cara, meanwhile, shakes her head as she gathers blasters from the fallen stormtroopers scattered across the floor. "The minute we open that door, we're dead," she asserts firmly.

"We're dead if we don't. At least out there, we've got a shot," Greef counters, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of advantage.

Cara remains resolute. "That's easy for you to say. I'm a Rebel Shock Trooper. They'll upload me to a Mind Flayer."

Greef dismisses her concern with a hint of skepticism. "Those aren't real. That was just wartime propaganda."

"I don't care to find out. I'm shooting my way out of here," Cara declares, determination etched in her features.

Turning to you and Din, Greef seeks your input. "What about you two, Mando?"

"I know who he is. It's Moff Gideon," Din asserts, his voice carrying a sound of certainty. You furrow your brow in concern at the mention of the name. Cara freezes in disbelief. "No. Moff Gideon was executed for war crimes."

"It's him. He knew my name," Din explains, his expression grave.

"So? What does that prove?" Greef queries, searching for clarity amidst the confusion.

Your frown deepens as unsettling memories resurface. "I haven't heard that name spoken since I was a child," Din reflects, his tone distant as if retracing fragments of his past.

"On Mandalore?" Greef probes, seeking to understand.

"I was not born on Mandalore," Din reveals, his words tinged with a sense of identity and purpose.

"But you're a Mandalorian," Greef counters, puzzled by the revelation.

"Mandalorian isn't a race," you interject, offering clarification. Din echoes your sentiment. "It's a Creed."

You turn to Din, who stands motionless, his emotions noticeable even without words. Through the Force, you sense the silver streaks of his emotions deepening into a darker shade of grey. His sadness is tangible, a heavy burden weighing on his shoulders. Every ounce of anger and resentment he harbors towards the Empire, towards the droids that razed his village, his home, and his family, is laid bare. You feel the pressure of his baggage and brokenness, the scaffolding of his inner strength straining to support his weary frame.

Blinking, you find yourself immersed in his memories, transported to the horrors of Din's past. The air is thick with the acrid scent of blaster fire and the piercing screams of civilians. You witness the onslaught of battle droids affiliated with the Separatist Alliance during the Clone Wars, their relentless assault claiming innocent lives. Amidst the chaos, Din's parents shield him in a small bunker before succumbing to the explosion that engulfs them.

Tears stream down your face as you watch the young Din, his fear palpable as he braces for the end, only to be saved by a Mandalorian Clan.

"I was a foundling. They raised me in the Fighting Corps," Din's voice breaks through the haze of memories, bringing you back to the present. "I was treated as one of their own. When I came of age, I was sworn to the Creed. The only record of my family name was in the registers of Mandalore. Moff Gideon was an ISB Officer during the purge. That's how I know it's him. That's how he knows who we all are," Din explains.

Standing there, frozen in place, a myriad of questions race through your mind. How did you manage to delve into Din's memories? Every detail felt so vivid, so real. Tears continue to cascade down your face, overwhelmed by both his emotions and your own.

“Cyar’ika?” Din's voice breaks through the haze, distant yet urgent as your head throbs with pain.

A sob escapes your lips, tears welling in your eyes. "You were just a child,” you manage to choke out in your turmoil.

Din approaches, his hands gentle as they settle on your shoulders. You gasp for breath, hyperventilating as sobs wrack your body. "You were a child, scared and alone," you ramble, the words tumbling out incoherently. "I felt it all—your fear, your anger. It consumed you like wildfire, and—”

Din speaks your name softly, his gloved hand lifting your chin to meet his gaze through the visor. Tear-stained and with puffy eyes, you sob as your eyes meet his. He tenderly wipes away your tears, his touch comforting as you lean into it, placing your hand atop his.

"I'm sorry," you manage to choke out amidst the tears.

"It's not…" Din reassures you gently.

You sniffle, "I'm sorry you were alone. That you had to endure all of that by yourself."

His stomach tightens, a knot forming as he observes your distress. Underneath his helmet, his jaw clenches, a familiar frown settling on his face underneath his helmet. He's realized that he dislikes seeing you cry, feeling powerless to solve the problems that cause your tears.

Pulling you close, he envelops you in his arms as you tremble, offering a gentle shushing sound to soothe you. "It was like you were there in my mind and memories—" he begins, his voice soft.

You sniffle, attempting to regain your composure. "Yeah... I… I’m not sure what that was," you admit, shaking your head. "Never mind. We'll deal with that later. Right now, we should focus on getting out of here."

Din reluctantly releases you and takes a step back, addressing the group. "He says he needs us, which means the child got away safely," he informs them. "I was worried when the Ugnaught didn't respond, but if they'd captured the kid, we'd already be dead."

Cara nods and says to Din, “Hail them again.”

"Come in, Kuiil. Kuiil?" Din's voice echoes into the comlink, but there's no response. He shakes his head in frustration. "Nothing."

"They might have jammed the signal," Cara suggests, retrieving her heavy repeating blaster from across the room. Meanwhile, Greef Karga takes a swig from a blue drink.

Suddenly, the comlink beeps, and the sound of the Child cooing fills the room. Then, the mechanical voice of IG-11 follows. "Kuiil has been terminated."

Din's voice grows stern and accusing as he speaks into the comlink. "What did you do?"

"I am fulfilling my primary function," IG-11 responds calmly.

"And what is that?" Din demands.

"To nurse and protect," IG-11 declares with unwavering resoluteness.

A few moments later, the distant sounds of troopers screaming and blaster fire fill the air. "Look!" Cara exclaims, prompting you to peek out through the window. Outside, you witness IG-11 riding through the streets of the settlement, swiftly taking down stormtroopers with his twin blasters. Even a pair of troopers haggling with a local Jawa are not spared from his onslaught. With precision and speed, IG-11 fights his way through Gideon's troops, throwing a speeder bike at them and causing a massive explosion.

"Cover me," Din commands Cara, who responds by shooting through the broken window, taking out more stormtroopers with her repeating blaster. Chaos unfolds all around you, the cacophony of heavy blaster fire echoing throughout Nevarro.

Following Din out of the cantina's door as it hisses open, you find yourself amid the action. Din swiftly disarms a nearby stormtrooper, taking him down with a precise shot through the helmet. You trail closely behind him, activating your lightsaber. Its purple glow commands attention, causing some stormtroopers to hesitate in shock, which you seize upon.

You and Greef Karga join the fray, swiftly dispatching several death troopers. Despite sustaining a hit to his leg, IG-11 valiantly protects the Child and guides it to safety. Meanwhile, Din skillfully operates the E-web heavy repeater blaster cannon, eliminating multiple stormtroopers with deadly accuracy.

A death trooper detonates an explosive, blowing open the cantina's door. Swarms of death troopers flood in, but Cara skillfully guns them down, buying precious moments.

Your attention is drawn to Moff Gideon cornering the Mandalorian, firing a shot that grazes his shoulder. You cry out, "Din!"

Before you can reach him, Moff Gideon aims at a nearby box of ammunition, setting off a powerful explosion. The blast sends you flying backward, your ears ringing from the force. With a shriek, you scramble to your feet, dodging blaster fire with your lightsaber as you rush to the Mandalorian's side. He lies motionless, wounded and vulnerable.

Cara lends you a hand as you haul Din's injured form into the cantina, seeking refuge. With a determined tone, she reassures him, "Stay with me, buddy. We're getting you out of here."

Together, you carefully lay him down in a safe spot, your heart heavy with worry. "Din, please... Hang on," you plead softly, fighting back tears.

Din lets out a weak whimper, and you clutch his gloved hand tightly, offering what comfort you can. "We'll get you out of here, I promise," you vow, hearing Greef persuade IG-11 to aid in their escape by unsealing the grate.

Despite his pain, Din shifts his helmeted gaze to you, his voice strained as he says, "I won't make it. Go."

Tears blur your vision as you shake your head, refusing to accept the inevitable. "No, you'll be fine. We'll get through this," you sob out, your voice quivering with emotion.

Din's voice is strained as he insists, "Leave me." The warmth of his blood seeps through his helmet as you pull back your trembling hand, stained red. But you refuse to give up, determined to save him.

With shaky hands, you reach for the sides of his helmet. "I need to take your helmet off," you say, your voice heavy with urgency.

Din's grip tightens on your wrists as he protests, "No. Leave me. Keep the child safe, Cyar'ika."

Desperation fills your voice as you try to reason with him, "Din, I—" But he cuts you off, his tone firm and resolute.

"No. I don't… want this to be how you see me for the first time," he murmurs, his words strained with pain.

You don't care about appearances; all you want is to keep him alive. "I don't care. I just need you," you plead, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Din reaches for his mythosaur necklace and hands it to you. "Take this," he says weakly. "Show it to the Mandalorian covert. Tell them it's from Din Djarin. You and the foundling were under my protection. They'll help you."

"We can make it. We have to make it… you can't leave me too… please… Din… Let me heal you," you sobbed out, your voice choked with emotion as you held onto him, your frame trembling.

Suddenly, a red-striped incinerator trooper, armed with a flamethrower, approaches the cantina, setting the furniture ablaze through the broken window. With determination, you throw yourself atop Din, shielding him from the flames, before turning back to look at him.

"Oh, Ner cyar'ika," Din murmurs, cupping your face with his gloved hand. You lean into his touch, seeking comfort in his presence.

"I'm not gonna make it, and you know it," Din admits, his voice heavy with resignation. "You protect the child. I can hold them back long enough for you to escape. Let me have a warrior's death."

The finality of his words sends a pang of sorrow through you. "I won't leave you," you protest, your voice wavering.

"This is the Way," Din asserts, his gaze steady behind his visor. You meet his eyes, unable to find the right words to express your emotions. Pressing your forehead against his beskar helmet, you hold onto his gloved hand, which caresses the side of your cheek.

You kiss the small patch of exposed skin on his wrist, feeling the gravity of the moment. Din takes a shaky breath before saying, "Ner cyar'ika, ni kar'tayl gar darasuum."

Before you could even ask what he was saying, the incinerator trooper strides into the cantina, but the Child reacts swiftly, harnessing the Force to deflect the flames back at the trooper, forcing him to retreat. You witness the surge of power emanating from the Child, and instinctively extend your own hand, aiding in redirecting the flames away from your group.

As the trooper is driven back, the Child's tiny form slumps in exhaustion, overwhelmed by the effort. Just then, IG-11 kicks open the grate, signaling an opportunity for escape as the flames around you is all consuming and melting.

“Come on! It's open, let's go!” Greef Karga's urgent voice echoes through the chaos.

“Go. Cy’are, go,” Din insists, his tone heavy with resolve.

“We have to move! Now!” Greef Karga urges, as IG-11 helps clear the way, lifting the Child with care.

You remain rooted in place, torn between staying with Din and fleeing to safety. The metallic footsteps of IG-11 approach, and the droid's voice breaks through the turmoil. “Escape and protect this child. I will stay with the Mandalorian,” it declares, passing the sleeping Child into your arms.

Meeting the droid's gaze, you plead, “Promise me you'll bring him. Please.”

“You have my word,” IG-11 assures you, and you exchange a final glance with Din. With a heavy heart, you press your forehead to his helmet and whisper, “I need you. Maker, I want you, please… come back to me.”

Before he can respond, Cara pulls you away, guiding you into the tunnels below alongside Greef Karga, the force of uncertainty settling heavily upon you.

Din's mind drifts, overwhelmed by the scorching heat and his own exhaustion. In his haze, he sees IG-11 approaching, a stark reminder of his past and the deep-rooted trauma it carries. Through the chaos, thoughts of you, his beloved Cyar'ika, provide a fleeting sense of solace. Objects tumble in the inferno's blaze, a testament to the chaos engulfing them.

“Do it,” Din gruffly commands, his head throbbing from the impact, blood trickling down his neck.

“Do what?” IG-11 inquires, its mechanical voice cutting through the loud burning flames surrounding them.

“Just get it over with. I'd rather you kill me than some Imp,” Din asserts, his words tinged with bitter honesty. Once, he would have faced this without hesitation. But you changed everything, and now his only regret is not kissing you, not feeling the warmth of your lips against his.

“I told you. I am no longer a hunter. I am a nurse droid,” IG-11 states.

“IGs are all hunters,” Din grumbles, his frustration evident.

The droid pauses before responding, “Not this one. I was reprogrammed. I need to remove your helmet if I am to save you.”

Din's grip tightens on his blaster, his voice dripping with threat, “Try it and I'll end you.” He struggles to breathe, teeth clenched, “It is forbidden. No living thing has seen me without my helmet since I swore the Creed.”

"I am not a living thing," IG-11 states plainly, the truth evident in his words.

With a hiss and a click, the mechanical hands of the IG-11 droid lift Din's helmet. His heart beats heavily in his chest as he awaits what comes next.

"This is a bacta spray. It will heal you in a matter of hours," IG-11 explains as it sprays the upper part of Din's head. "You have suffered damage to your central processing unit."

"You mean my brain?" Din quips.

IG-11 tilts its head. "That was a joke. It is meant to put you at ease."

Din stifles a chuckle. In that moment, he realizes he still has hope. Despite his weariness and desire to depart, he closes his eyes briefly, thinking of you. The thought of needing you pushes him forward. Determined, he knows no grave can hold his body down; he'll find a way back to you, whatever it takes.

There is so much love in your body that you can't hold it in; it pours from your eyes and spills from your skin. As you cradle the Child closer to your chest, muffled explosions echo from above.

An ache settles between your ribs—a yearning for a different destiny and the resilience to keep hoping for a better outcome. You cling to the hope that Din will be alright.

A louder explosion echoes through the tunnels, causing you, Greef Karga, and Cara Dune to spin around. Cara’s flashlight cuts through the darkness, revealing the source of the noise. The heavy footsteps draw closer, and soon, you spot IG-11’s silhouette—along with the glimmer of silver beskar you’ve come to cherish so deeply.

Without thinking, you rush forward, your heart pounding as you reach Din. He’s still unsteady, clearly feeling the effects of his concussion, but he’s alive. Relief floods your chest as you pass the Child to IG-11, and you throw your arms around Din’s neck, tears streaming down your face.

��Oh, thank the Maker,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

His arms wrap around your waist, his leather gloves squeezing you tightly as if grounding himself in your presence. You slide one arm over your shoulder, determined to help him walk.

“I got you,” you murmur, holding him close as you guide him through the dimly lit tunnels.

As you continue down the darkened tunnels, Din leans heavily against you, each step a struggle against the pain that wracks his body. Greef Karga glances around, uncertainty evident in his voice as he asks, "Do you know which way to go?"

Din grunts in response, his voice strained. "No. I don't know these tunnels. I've only entered from the bazaar." His words are clipped, every syllable laced with discomfort.

Greef Karga presses on, trying to find a solution. "Well, if we get the smell of sulfur and follow it, it'll lead us up to the plains where the river flows."

Din's voice cuts through the dark, gruff and insistent. "And the Imps will catch us before we make it to the ship. We need the Mandalorians to escort us to safety."

Your group presses on, delving deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels with each step. The air grows thicker, and the walls seem to close in as the tension between you mounts.

"Ugh, this place is a maze," Cara groans, her voice filled with frustration as she surveys the endless twists and turns.

"Stop. I can stand," Din says, his voice firm despite the strain. He removes his arm from your shoulder, and you give him a hopeful look, noticing the determination in his voice. IG-11 assesses his condition and confirms, "The bacta infusion is working."

Din nods, his determination solidifying. "I'll try to find tracks." He moves forward, the beam of light from his helmet cutting through the darkness. His gaze is focused, scanning the ground carefully. Then, he spots something and points to the left, leading the group as he says, "We're close. Turn here."

The group follows Din's lead, the tunnel narrowing as the beam of light from the flashlights dances across the walls. As you round the corner, a chilling dread settles deep in your bones. The covert lies ahead, but instead of the safety you hoped for, you’re greeted by a harrowing sight—helmets and armor, scattered and lifeless, marking the final resting place of countless fallen Mandalorians.

Din’s steps falter as he enters the covert, his helmet’s light switching off with a click. The darkness seems heavier here, pressing in on him from all sides. Slowly, warily, he moves forward, his exhaustion evident in every sluggish step. Kneeling beside the fallen, his head bows in silent mourning.

He reaches out, picking up one of the broken helmets, its once-proud beskar now marred and empty. You see it in waves of dark grey and sharp silver, a storm of anger and grief brews within him, coiling tightly in his stomach, a heavy silence hanging in the air around him.

You kneel beside him, your presence a tentative but necessary comfort. Din grasps your hand, holding on as if it’s the only thing keeping him from being swallowed by the void. His fingers tighten around yours, the touch grounding him, allowing him to feel something—anything—beyond the pain and loss.

Cara steps forward, her voice calm but insistent. "We should go."

Din's response is immediate, his voice low and gravelly, tinged with grief and fury. "You go. Take the ship. I can't leave it this way." His head snaps to the side, anger flaring as he locks eyes with Greef Karga through his vizor. "Did you know about this? Is this the work of your bounty hunters?"

Greef Karga scoffs, shaking his head. "No. When you left the system and took the prize, the fighting ended, and the hunters just melted away. You know how it is. They're mercenaries. They're not zealots."

Din grinds his teeth, his jaw clenched tight. The emotions rolling off him are palpable, a storm barely contained. He pulls away from you, the warmth of his touch replaced by the cold fury radiating from him as he steps forward, shoving a finger into Greef Karga’s chest. "Did you do this? Did you?"

Before Greef can respond, a new voice cuts through the tension, calm and authoritative. "No. It was not his fault."

All of you turn toward the source of the voice, a female Mandalorian stepping out from the shadows. She is clad in red armor, her gold helmet adorned with a series of horns that curve across the top. This must be the Armorer, the one who forged Din's beskar. The way she carries herself, with quiet strength and wisdom, leaves no doubt.

You rise to your feet, your eyes widening as you sense a powerful aura emanating from her, a blend of gold and red. Through the Force, you glimpse her true nature—patient, wise, and unwaveringly strong.

The Armorer surveys the fallen armor strewn across the covert, her voice measured and steady. "We revealed ourselves. We knew what could happen if we left the covert. The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter. This is what resulted." She lifts a piece of beskar armor from the pile, her tone resigned, as though she is stating a simple fact.

Din’s voice is strained as he asks, "Did any survive?"

The Armorer places the piece of armor onto a cart already laden with salvaged beskar. "I hope so. Some may have escaped off-world."

"Come with us," Din urges, but the Armorer shakes her head, picking up another helmet and adding it to her cart.

"No. I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains," she replies firmly, her choice unshakable.

You watch as she begins to push the hovering cart away, and without hesitation, Din follows her, leaving the rest of you to trail behind. The path leads you to the heart of the covert—the Armorer's forge, a place of deep significance. The air here is thick with the importance of history and tradition, the forge itself a symbol of the Mandalorians' resilience and strength.

You take in your surroundings, noting the tools neatly arranged, the forge at the center, glowing faintly with embers, the table where beskar is shaped and molded, and the computer panel displaying holographic schematics of Mandalorian armor. Every detail speaks of the care and precision that goes into crafting the armor that defines a Mandalorian, a testament to their way of life.

The cryo-furnace burns brightly in the center of the forge, casting flickering shadows across the room. You watch as the Armorer, with practiced precision, uses a pair of magnetic tongs to lift a beskar chest plate. The metal sizzles and hisses as she dips it into the molten pool of the furnace, transforming solid beskar into liquid. Her voice is calm, yet it carries the tone of command. “Show me the one whose safety deemed such destruction.”

IG-11 steps forward, the Child sitting quietly in the brown backpack strapped to the droid’s chest. Din speaks, his voice steady, though tinged with reverence. “This is the one.”

The Armorer steps closer, her gaze fixed on the small creature. “This is the one that you hunted, then saved?”

Din nods, his response curt but sincere. “Yes. The one that saved me as well.”

The Armorer tilts her helmet slightly as she continues, “From the mudhorn?”

“Yes,” Din confirms, his voice clipped as he remembers the near-fatal encounter.

“It looks helpless,” she observes, her tone more curious than judgmental.

The Child coos softly in response, its large ears folding back as if understanding the conversation. Din shifts slightly, protective instincts kicking in as he explains, “It's injured, but it is not helpless. Its species can move objects with its mind.”

The Armorer nods thoughtfully, her tone reverent as she recalls ancient lore. “I know of such things. The songs of eons past tell of battles between Mandalore the Great and an order of sorcerers called Jedi, who wielded such powers.”

You stiffen at the mention of the Jedi, memories of old texts and scrolls you once studied flashing through your mind. Din instinctively steps forward, positioning himself slightly in front of you, a subtle yet protective gesture. You can't help but ask, your voice shaky with uncertainty, “Is it an enemy?”

The Armorer regards the Child, then turns her attention to you, her gaze thoughtful beneath the gold helmet. “No. Its kind were enemies, but this individual is not.” She pauses, her head tilting slightly as she studies you with a depth that makes your heart race. “Including her.”

“I… How…” you stammer, the words tangled in your throat as you struggle to comprehend her meaning.

The Armorer’s voice is patient, her words measured. “You are different. The Force flows through you as well, though not as it does through the Child. But you are not our enemy.”

Din glances at you, his expression unreadable behind his helmet, but you can feel his concern and confusion. The importance of this information is nearly too much for you to take, even while you strain to find your words. Even while you know that everything has shifted in this instant, the armorer carries on with her task, undisturbed, as if she has spoken nothing unusual.

Din watches as the Armorer opens a cabinet, her movements precise and deliberate. The flickering light from the cryo-furnace casts long shadows on the walls, the heat radiating from the molten beskar filling the room. "What is it?" Din asks, his voice low and gravelly, filled with the sudden push of responsibility he’s not yet ready to accept.

The Armorer doesn’t look up from her work as she replies, her tone measured and authoritative. "It is a foundling. By Creed, it is in your care."

The Child, nestled safely in the brown backpack, gurgles softly, its wide eyes shifting between you and Din, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

Din glances down at the Child, confusion and uncertainty lacing his words as he gestures towards the small creature. "You wish me to train this thing?"

The Armorer continues her work, her focus unbroken as she dips the simmering ladle with the liquid beskar, pouring it with precision onto her workbench. "It is too weak," she states plainly. "It would die. You have no choice. You must reunite it with its own kind."

Din’s jaw clenches beneath his helmet, his mind racing with the implications of her words. You stand beside him, feeling the sudden new responsibility settle over both of you. The Child stares up at you both with innocent eyes, unaware of the storm brewing within the Mandalorian’s heart.

"Where?" Din asks, his voice strained with the weariness of the unknown.

The Armorer hums thoughtfully, her focus never wavering from her task. "This, you must determine."

Din feels frustration bubbling up inside him. He gestures helplessly at the Child. "You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this creature and deliver it to a race of enemy sorcerers?" His words rush out, sharp and biting, and you can’t help but wince, though you know the remark wasn’t directed at you.

The Armorer remains unfazed, her hammer striking the beskar with rhythmic precision. "This is the Way," she remarks, her tone calm and resolute, as if the creed alone should be enough to calm his doubts.

Din’s eyes soften under his helmet, realizing the harshness of his words. He turns to you, taking your hand gently in his. "I apologize, Cy’are," he mumbles, his voice laden with regret.

You offer him a reassuring smile, squeezing his hand lightly. "I know," you reply softly, understanding his distress. He didn’t mean to hurt you.

The Armorer, ever observant, takes note of your interaction as she continues her work. The clang of metal against metal fills the silence until Cara speaks up, her tone practical and urgent. "Hey. These tunnels will be lousy with Imps in a matter of minutes. We should at least discuss an escape plan."

The Armorer pauses her hammering, then turns slightly toward the group. "If you follow the descending tunnel, it will lead you to the underground river. It flows downstream toward the lava flats."

Greef Karga looks to Din, concern creasing his brow. "I think we should go," he suggests, the tension evident in his voice.

Din, however, remains resolute. "I'm staying. I need to help her, and I need to heal," he replies firmly, his gaze locking with yours.

You meet his determination with your own. "I’m not leaving you," you state with unwavering conviction.

The Armorer picks up her magnetic tongs and a circular pan, her voice steady as she addresses you both. "You must go. Your Riduur and the foundling are in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father."

The Child coos softly, sensing the affection and bond between you, Din, and itself. The Armorer, acknowledging this bond, turns to Din with a quiet reverence. "This is the Way."

The Armorer steps forward with quiet precision, affixing a signet to Din's pauldron. The emblem gleams in the dim light of the forge, its magnitude both physical and symbolic as it signifies the new identity bestowed upon him. She pauses for a moment, allowing the significance to settle in before she speaks, her voice steady and authoritative.

"You have earned your Signet. For now… you are a clan of two," she declares, her tone interim, as though the value of the galaxy itself rests on this moment.

The words barely register in your mind, their meaning lost as you stand beside Din. Your gaze is fixed on him, watching the way his posture straightens slightly, the way his head dips just a fraction in acknowledgment.

"Thank you," Din says, his voice rough with emotion but steady. "I will wear this with honor."

The forge's flames flicker, casting warm, wavering light on the scene, as Din steps back, the signet glinting on his pauldron—a mark of pride, responsibility, and the bond that ties the two of you together in this perilous galaxy.

The rumble of muffled explosions grows louder, each one sending vibrations through the walls of the covert. Instinctively, your group turns toward the source of the sound, tension tightening in your chest. Greef Karga’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp with urgency. “We should go,” he insists, his eyes darting between the shadows of the tunnel.

The Armorer, however, remains unflinching. She turns to IG-11 and then to you, her voice calm but commanding. “IG and the Jedi,” she begins, and before you can correct her misunderstanding, she continues, “please guard the outer hallway. A scouting party draws near.”

Without hesitation, the IG unit steps forward. It moves to Cara, gently handing the Child over to her. The soldier, caught off guard, stammers, “Hang on. I don't do the baby thing.”

The Child coos softly, and you exchange a quick, knowing glance with Cara, a slight shrug of your shoulders conveying that there’s little choice in the matter. Without another word, you follow the IG unit as it strides purposefully towards the outer hallway. The air grows colder, and the sound of your footsteps echoes against the narrow walls as you leave the others behind.

Just before you’re out of earshot, you hear the Armorer's voice, calm and steady as ever. “I have a few more gifts for your journey. Have you trained in the Rising Phoenix?”

Din looks down at the gleaming silver beskar Z-6 Jetpack in his hands, his breath catching slightly in his throat. “When I was a boy,” he says, his voice thick with the load of memories. “Yes.”

The Armorer’s voice is calm, almost reverent as she holds the jetpack. “Then this will make you complete,” she declares, a solemnity in her tone that acknowledges the significance of the moment.

Din’s voice wavers as he accepts the gift. “Thank you.”

She steps behind him, carefully attaching the Z-6 Jetpack to his back, her movements precise and steady. “When you have healed,” she instructs, “you will begin your drills. Until you know it, it will not listen to your commands.”

Din feels the weight of the jetpack settle onto his shoulders, its presence both reassuring and daunting. He nods, his determination hardening, his voice steady as he replies, "I understand." The words are a quiet promise, a vow to honor the gift he has been given.

The Armorer pauses for a moment, her gaze steady on him. "One other thing," she begins, her tone shifting slightly, "your Riduur… I assume you’re courting her."

The question hits Din like a bolt, and he feels a flush rise beneath his helmet, heat spreading across his skin. He’s never been one for public confrontations, especially not about something so deeply personal. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken emotions, as he struggles for a response.

But the Armorer doesn’t need words to understand. She reads the tension in his posture, the hesitation in his voice, and she nods, accepting his silence as confirmation. Without another word, she turns to her cabinet, her movements measured and precise. From within, she retrieves a smaller version of the Mudhorn signet, its surface polished to a gleaming finish. She hands it to him with the same solemnity that she had with the jetpack.

"You are aware of the customs?" she asks, her voice carrying the value of tradition.

Din takes the signet, its cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth flooding his chest. He slips it into his pocket, the significance of the gesture not lost on him.

"Yes," he replies, his voice firm, yet laced with an undercurrent of emotion he rarely lets slip.

The Armorer inclines her head, satisfied with his answer. "This is the Way," she intones, her words both a reminder and a benediction.

Din nods, the phrase echoing in his mind. "This is the Way," he repeats, the words a binding promise, not just to himself, but to you as well.

Meanwhile, in the outer hallway, you and the IG-11 unit stand alert. The sound of approaching stormtroopers reverberates through the tunnels, a familiar and unwelcome echo. Your hand instinctively reaches for the hilt of your lightsaber, and with a flick, it ignites, casting a purple glow across the darkened corridor. The Force flows through you, heightening your senses as you prepare for the oncoming assault.

Blaster fire erupts, red bolts streaking toward you, but you remain calm, centered. Your lightsaber hums as you deflect each shot with precision, the bolts ricocheting back at the stormtroopers, sending them sprawling—some injured, others unconscious.

Beside you, IG-11 methodically takes down those that remain standing. The droid’s movements are efficient, calculated. As the last of the stormtroopers fall, you and IG-11 exchange a glance. The droid peers around the corner, scanning for further threats, then turns to you and states matter-of-factly, “You are protected.”

"More will come. You must go," the Armorer states with quiet authority as you and IG-11 reenter the forge. The heat from the cryo-furnace pulses through the room, a stark contrast to the cold dread gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.

Din turns to her, his voice firm with concern. “Come with us.”

The Armorer shakes her head with a firm tenacity. “My place is here. Restock your munitions,” she instructs, her voice steady as she gestures toward the scattered supplies.

She turns to the IG unit, handing Din’s newly earned jetpack into its mechanical grasp. “IG, carry this for Din Djarin until he is well enough to wear it.”

The droid nods in silent compliance, securing the jetpack carefully within its arms. Din methodically restocks his ammunition, his focus sharp despite the tension humming through the air.

“Now, go. Down to the river and across the plains. Be safe on your journey,” the Armorer commands, her voice carrying the weight of finality.

Din takes your hand in his, the leather of his glove warm against your skin. There’s a moment of unspoken understanding between you, the bond you share more palpable than ever in the face of the unknown. He turns to the tunnels, not dropping your hand, and with a quiet nod to the Armorer, he says, “Thank you.”

The two of you head into the darkness, leaving the forge and its fierce protector behind, every step forward a testament to the resilience that binds you.

You emerge from one of the tunnels and are immediately greeted by the sight of a large, bubbling river of hot lava, its fiery surface sending waves of heat toward you. The glow casts an eerie, red light on everyone’s faces, highlighting the tension in the air.

“This is the lava river,” Greef Karga announces, his voice filled with a mix of awe and urgency.

You and Din move closer to the boat docked on the riverbank, its hull crewed by a battered and seemingly inoperative ferry droid. Din assesses the damage, his gaze narrowing as he comments, “The ferry droid is fried.”

Greef Karga steps forward, his practical mind already formulating a plan. “Yeah, but if we push the boat out, we can get it to float downstream. Come on,” he says, placing his hands on the boat’s edge and beginning to shove.

Din continues his inspection of the boat, noticing its age and the wear that time has inflicted. “Looks old. Will it take the heat?” he asks, skepticism lacing his tone.

“You got a better idea?” Greef Karga shoots back, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

Din shrugs, resigning himself to the situation. “Guess not.”

With a shared grunt of effort, the two men push against the boat, muscles straining as they try to dislodge it from the platform. But the boat stubbornly remains stuck, the dried lava around it acting as an anchor. Frustration mounts as Din groans and gives the boat a frustrated kick, before grabbing a metal paddle to try and pry it free—still to no avail.

Cara Dune watches their struggle with a growing sense of impatience, finally rolling her eyes before stepping forward. “You guys mind getting out of the way?” she says, her tone dripping with exasperation.

Din and Greef Karga step aside as Cara levels her blaster at the boat. With a few well-aimed shots, she blasts away the dried lava, freeing the boat from its fiery mooring.

“Oh! Good job,” Greef Karga praises, a hint of relief in his voice as the boat begins to shift and move.

Without hesitation, the group clambers aboard the small ferry, the heat of the molten lava almost unbearable as IG-11 issues a warning, “Watch your feet. It's molten lava.”

“No kidding,” Cara mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she settles into the boat.

A tense silence falls over the group, broken only by the sudden electrical humming coming from the droid. Instinctively, Din, Cara, and Greef Karga draw their blasters, aiming them at the ferry droid as it begins to come to life. You stand back, watching as the droid chirps at you, its mechanical sounds echoing in the small space.

Din breaks the silence, his voice wary. “I don't suppose anybody here speaks droid?”

IG-11 steps in, his tone calm as he translates, “I believe he is asking where we would like to go.”

Greef Karga, still eyeing the droid with skepticism, eventually responds, “Downriver. To the lava flat.”

The ferry droid chirps rhythmically, as if in agreement, and with a mechanical whir, it begins to row the boat down the river. Your group holsters their blasters as the ferry glides smoothly over the molten surface, the droid content to fulfill its purpose, and the group can’t help but share a moment of quiet relief as they continue their journey downstream.

You quietly move next to Din, the tension in the air thick enough to feel, but neither of you speaks. Your eyes are fixed on the faint light at the end of the tunnel, the only sign of hope in this dark, foreboding place. You can feel the weight of everything that has happened pressing down on you, yet you hold on to the flicker of hope that you’ll find a way out of this.

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at Din. The Force gently tugs at your senses, and you’re drawn to the swirl of emotions radiating from him in a kaleidoscope of colors. Where once there were dark, muted grays of pain and uncertainty, you now see lighter tones beginning to emerge, a sign that he’s slowly regaining his center after the injury that had shaken him so deeply.

Din turns his head to look at you, and you meet his gaze, staring back at him through the dark visor of his helmet. Though his face is hidden, you’ve always had a way of seeing through that thick, impenetrable black visor, straight to the heart of the man underneath. It’s a connection that runs deeper than words, a silent understanding that passes between you.

A shiver runs up Din’s spine, the feeling of being so deeply understood and seen by you, even through the beskar, is both grounding and unsettling in its intimacy. He’s never quite sure how you do it, how you manage to see him so clearly despite the layers of armor he wears.

Neither of you speaks, the silence stretching on as the moment lingers between you. Eventually, you’re the first to break the gaze, taking a small step closer to him. You rest your head gently on his shoulder, the cool metal of his beskar pauldron pressing against your forehead. It’s a simple gesture, but one filled with a depth of comfort and connection that words could never convey.

Maker. The thought flickers through Din’s mind, almost as a prayer. He wonders what he ever did to deserve you, to be within your orbit. He’s lived his life in the shadows, never expecting to find someone who could see him so completely. And yet, here you are. He holds out a silent prayer to the universe, hoping for the strength to keep you with him, to protect you, to not let this fragile connection slip through his fingers.

The light at the end of the tunnel grows closer, but for now, you both find solace in this small, shared moment.

As the droid methodically rows the hoverboat down the molten lava river, the rhythmic sound of metal scraping against stone echoes softly through the tunnel. The eerie glow of the lava illuminates the cavernous space, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Occasionally, small, skittish mammals dart along the riverbanks, their eyes glowing in the dim light before they disappear into the darkness.

The boat glides steadily toward the mouth of the tunnel, where a faint light shines like a beacon of hope. The group remains tense, but as you approach the entrance, Greef Karga’s voice breaks through the tension with a burst of optimism. He points eagerly at the light, his voice filled with relief. “That’s it! We’re free!”

But Din doesn’t share Karga’s optimism. His instincts prickling, he taps a button on the side of his helmet, switching to thermal imaging. The world around him shifts into shades of red and blue, revealing what the naked eye cannot see.

“No,” Din’s voice cuts through the brief moment of hope, a grim tone to his words. “No, we’re not.” His gaze remains fixed on the entrance, his thermal vision picking up the heat signatures of countless figures lying in wait. “Stormtroopers. They’re flanking the mouth of the tunnel.”

You glance at Din, the unease in his voice sending a chill down your spine. He continues, his voice a low, measured tone as he counts the figures. “It looks like an entire platoon. They must know we’re coming.”

The tension in the air thickens as the boat continues to drift closer to the tunnel’s exit, the light growing brighter but more ominous with every passing second.

“Stop the boat,” Cara orders sharply, turning toward the ferry droid. “Hey, Droid, I said stop the boat.”

The droid only responds with a series of unintelligible chirps, its programming unable to process the urgency in her voice. Frustration tightens Cara’s expression, and without hesitation, she unholsters her blaster, her voice rising with authority. “Hey! I'm talking to you. I said stop!”

A single shot rings out, and the droid’s head is blasted clean off, leaving it a lifeless hunk of metal. The boat continues to drift forward, unaffected by the loss of its pilot. The Child whimpers at the sudden noise, and Cara immediately softens, trying to soothe him with a gentle, “Shh, it’s okay.”

Greef Karga eyes the boat as it glides along the river, still propelled by the momentum it had before the droid was destroyed. “We’re still moving,” he notes grimly.

Cara scans the tunnel ahead, her face hardening as she realizes there’s no stopping now. “Looks like we fight,” she declares, steeling herself for the confrontation.

But Din shakes his head, his voice low and steady. “There are too many.”

Cara’s eyes flash with defiance as she snaps back, “Then what do you suggest? 'Cause I can't surrender.”

Before anyone else can speak, IG-11 interjects, its voice calm and resolute. “They will not be satisfied with anything less than the Child. This is unacceptable. I will eliminate the enemy and you will escape.”

Din scoffs, unable to hide his skepticism. “You don’t have that kind of firepower, pal. You wouldn’t even get to daylight.”

But IG-11’s response is cold and matter-of-fact. “That is not my objective.”

A heavy silence follows as everyone processes the meaning behind the droid’s words. Din’s jaw clenches beneath his helmet, understanding dawning painfully in his mind.

Cara quickly hands you the Child, her eyes flicking to the tunnel ahead. “We’re getting close. Saddle up,” she says, her tone brisk and focused as she readies her blaster, preparing for the inevitable fight.

The tension is palpable as IG-11’s voice cuts through the air with a calm finality. “I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer. If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct.”

Din takes a step forward, disbelief and frustration tightening his voice. “What are you talking about?”

The droid remains composed, its mechanical tone unyielding. “I am not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed.”

Greef Karga’s voice slices through the conversation, sharp and urgent. “Are we gonna keep talking, or get out of here?”

Ignoring the interruption, IG-11 turns and hands the jetpack to Din. “I can no longer carry this for you. Nor can I watch over the Child.”

Din’s emotions churn beneath his helmet, a mixture of confusion and reluctant attachment rising to the surface. For someone who’s always hated droids for what they did to his planet, this particular one has proven itself different. The words tumble out, almost desperate. “Wait. You can’t self-destruct. Your base command is to protect the Child.”

Din’s voice softens, a note of pleading seeping in. “That supersedes your manufacturer’s protocol, right? Right?”

There’s a brief pause, as if the droid is processing his question. “This is correct.”

Relief flickers across Din’s features, even if hidden beneath the beskar. “Good. Now grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out.”

But IG-11 remains resolute, its next words heavy with certainty. “Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The Child will be lost. Sadly, there is no scenario where the Child is saved, in which I survive.”

Din’s frustration mounts, his mind racing for another solution, any solution. “Listen, you’re not going anywhere. We need you. Let’s just… come up with a—”

But the droid cuts him off, its tone firm yet gentle. “Please tell me the Child will be safe in your care. If you do so, I can default to my secondary command.”

Din looks up at the droid, his voice low, almost anguished. “But you’ll be destroyed.”

IG-11 responds without hesitation. “And you will live, and I will have served my purpose.”

“No. We need you,” Din insists, his voice growing tighter, a rare crack in his stoic exterior. The droid’s next words hit him harder than any blaster shot. “There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive.”

Din, ever defensive, tries to mask his emotions. “I’m not sad.”

But the droid sees through him, as it was programmed to do. “Yes, you are. I’m a nurse droid. I’ve analyzed your voice.”

You watch the exchange, your heart heavy with the truth of what’s about to happen. Tears well up in your eyes, the reality sinking in that this droid, one that had grown to mean something to you all, is about to sacrifice itself. It’s a loss none of you are truly ready for, but deep down, you know it’s the only way.

The Child coos softly in your arms, its large eyes full of trust as it peers up at you. IG-11 pauses, glancing at the small creature, and then gently pats its ears in a gesture that almost feels… affectionate. A farewell, perhaps. You feel the sting of sorrow as the droid steps away, its purpose clear.

Without another word, IG-11 hops off the boat and into the bubbling lava, the searing heat beginning to eat away at its metal frame. Greef Karga’s voice breaks the silence, tinged with confusion and a hint of alarm. “IG? What are you doing?”

The droid doesn’t respond, just continues its slow, deliberate march through the molten river, its body gradually melting, limbs faltering as it nears the mouth of the tunnel. Beyond, the light filters through, revealing the stormtroopers waiting, their blasters raised, ready to fire. But they hesitate, unsure of the droid’s intent.

Reaching the river’s end, IG-11 speaks, its voice unwavering, almost serene. “Manufacturer’s protocol dictates I cannot be captured.”

The sound of a pulse begins, low and rhythmic, a countdown to the inevitable. “I must be destroyed,” IG-11 states, its words a final goodbye.

And then, with a blinding flash, the droid detonates, the explosion erupting like a fiery inferno. The stormtroopers don’t even have time to react before they’re consumed by the blast. Their screams echo briefly before being snuffed out, leaving only silence in its wake. The fiery eruption floods the tunnel’s entrance, scattering debris and molten rock, neutralizing the entire platoon in an instant.

As the dust and flames settle, the path ahead clears. The way to the plains is open, and for a moment, all is still. The sacrifice of IG-11 rings heavy in the air, its selflessness ensuring the Child’s safety, and allowing you, Din, and the others to move forward—alive, but forever changed.

You finally emerge from the tunnels, the cool air of the open plains a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat of the lava river. For a fleeting moment, there's a sense of relief—until you hear the ominous roar of an engine in the distance. Your gaze snaps upward, just as Cara shouts, “Moff Gideon!”

Above, the silhouette of the Outland TIE fighter cuts across the sky, its distinct scream echoing through the air. Gideon’s fighter dives down, strafing your group with blaster fire. Instinctively, you ignite your lightsaber, the purple blade humming to life as you deflect the incoming shots, sending them harmlessly into the dirt. Din, Cara, and Greef Karga return fire with their blasters, but the bolts ricochet off the TIE fighter’s armored hull, doing little to slow its assault.

As the TIE fighter pulls up for another pass, Greef Karga shouts, “He missed!”

Din doesn’t look away from the sky, his voice grim. “He won't next time.”

Cara lowers her blaster, frustration etched on her face. “Our blasters are useless against him.”

Greef Karga, desperation creeping into his tone, glances at the Child in your arms. “Let's make the baby do the magic hand thing!” He turns to the Child, wiggling his fingers as if trying to coax a response. “Come on, baby! Do the magic hand thing!”

The Child stares up at him with wide, innocent eyes, cooing softly, clearly not understanding what Greef Karga is asking. The moment hangs in the air, the absurdity of the situation clashing with the deadly reality of the threat above.

Greef Karga sighs, “I'm out of ideas.”

Din's chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath, his thoughts racing for a solution. There isn’t much time—Gideon’s TIE fighter is already banking around, preparing for another attack run. The fighter’s engines scream through the air as it turns, ready to strike.

“I’m not,” Din mutters, almost to himself, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His voice is quiet but filled with purposefulness.

“Here he comes!” Cara shouts, urgency clear in her voice.

Without another word, Din moves with purpose, strapping the jetpack firmly onto his back. You can see the determination in his movements, each one precise, no hesitation. He checks the pack one last time, then ignites it, the blue flames roaring to life with a sharp hiss. The blast from the jetpack propels him skyward, and you watch as he rockets toward the incoming TIE fighter, becoming a streak of silver against the dusky sky.

The TIE fighter roars closer, and in a daring move, Din launches his grappling cable, the wire streaking through the air with a sharp whizz. The hook latches onto the wing of the TIE, yanking Din with it as it surges forward.

Your heart skips a beat as you watch him hold tight to the cable, the wind whipping around him, the ground a blur beneath. The TIE fighter dips and rolls, trying to shake him loose, but Din’s grip is ironclad. With each twist and turn, he inches closer to the cockpit, his movements precise, driven by sheer will.

Unable to force his way into the cockpit with his blaster, Din quickly tries to plant a detonator on the hull of the TIE fighter. But Moff Gideon sees the attempt and executes a sharp maneuver, causing the detonator to slip from its intended position and tumble away. Din barely manages to keep his grip as the ship veers wildly, but he’s not done yet. He moves with quick precision, planting a second detonator on the left wing joint.

You watch from below, heart pounding, as Din releases his hold on the fighter. For a moment, he’s just a speck in the sky, free-falling as the detonator flashes red. Then, with a brilliant explosion, the TIE’s wing disintegrates, sending the ship spiraling out of control. The wreckage hurtles toward the ground, crashing in a fiery plume on the plains beyond.

Din activates his jetpack just in time, the blue thrusters flaring as he regains control of his descent. He lands hard, stumbling slightly as he adjusts to the new weight on his back. But he’s safe, standing tall, smoke rising in the distance where Gideon’s ship went down.

You disengage your lightsaber, the purple blade retracting with a sharp hiss, and holster it at your side. As you pass the Child to Cara, she cradles him protectively, her expression softening for a brief moment before returning to her usual stout-heartedness.

Without hesitation, you sprint toward Din, your heart racing with relief and something deeper. He sees you coming and barely has time to brace himself before you collide with him, throwing your arms around his neck. He catches you with steady arms, pulling you close, the firm grip of his gauntlets grounding you both. For a long moment, the world around you fades, and it’s just the two of you—alive, together, and safe.

You pull back slightly, standing on your tiptoes as your hands find the sides of his helmet. Gently, you press your forehead against the cool beskar, closing your eyes and letting out a shuddering breath. It’s a silent gesture, a keldabe kiss that speaks of everything you both feel but can’t yet put into words.

Greef Karga steps forward, a broad grin on his face. "That was impressive, Mando. Very impressive." He pauses, his gaze flicking between Din and you. "Looks like your Guild rates just went up."

You and Din step back from each other, but his hand finds yours, holding on tightly as if to anchor himself. He nods to Greef’s comment, then asks, "Any more stormtroopers?"

Greef shakes his head. "I think we cleaned up the town. I'm thinking of sticking around just to be sure." Cara nods in agreement, her expression firm. She sets the Child down, and it squeals with delight, waddling unsteadily toward you and Din.

Din watches the Child for a moment, then tilts his head toward Cara. "You’re staying here?"

Greef interjects, puffing his chest slightly as he looks around at the scorched streets of Nevarro. "Why not? Nevarro’s a fine planet. And now that the scum and villainy have been washed away, it’s quite respectable."

Din’s voice carries a note of skepticism even through the modulator as he replies, "As a bounty hunter hive?"

Greef chuckles, tapping Din on the shoulder. "Some of my favorite people are bounty hunters." He then shifts his attention to Cara, placing a hand on her shoulder. "And maybe this fine specimen of a soldier would consider joining our ranks."

Cara snorts, shaking her head. "I’ve got some clerical concerns regarding my chain code."

Greef grins, offering, "And if you’d agree to become my enforcer, clerical concerns would be the least of your worries."

The Child finally reaches Din, gripping his leg with both hands, gazing up with wide, trusting eyes. Din glances down, and even behind the visor, you can sense his heart soften. Greef notices too, then turns his focus back to Din. "But you, my friend—you’ll be welcome back into the Guild with open arms. Go off, enjoy yourself. And when you’re ready to return, you’ll have your pick of all the quarries."

Greef then shifts his gaze to you, his eyes warm. "And you, my dear, will always have a place at the med center. It’ll be there when you’re ready to come back."

Din adjusts the Child in his arms, his tone steady but resolute. "I’m afraid I have more pressing matters."

Cara reaches out, rubbing one of the Child’s large ears affectionately. The Child gurgles in response, and Cara smiles, looking at Din. "Take care of this little one." She then turns to you, her expression softening. "And her too."

Greef adds with a knowing twinkle in his eye, "Or maybe they’ll be the ones taking care of you."

You smile, warmth spreading through your chest as Din nods. He gently passes the Child to you, and as you cradle him, Din wraps an arm securely around your waist. His voice is low, almost tender, as he asks, "You ready?"

Your heart skips a beat, and you glance up at him through your lashes. "I’m terrified. Please don’t drop me."

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through the beskar. "Never."

With that, the two of you take off into the sky, the jetpack lifting you both. The wind rushes past, tugging at your clothes as your stomach flips. You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging to the Child close to your chest and Din as the ground falls away beneath you. Despite the dizzying height and the roaring wind, you feel a sense of peace—a quiet certainty that, no matter what happens, you’re safe in his arms.

The journey back to the Razor Crest is somber, the weight of loss hanging heavily in the air. Together, you and Din wordlessly bury Kuiil beneath the scorched sands of Nevarro. The burial is simple, just the two of you under the vast sky, the only sound the wind whispering through the rocks. Din kneels for a moment, his hand resting on the mound of earth, before rising slowly. Neither of you speak, the silence saying all there is to say.

With the burial complete, Din takes your hand, and together you walk back to the Razor Crest. His grip is firm, grounding you as the reality of the past few days settles in. As you step aboard the ship, the familiar hum of the engines provides a small comfort—a reminder that, despite everything, you’re still moving forward.

In the cockpit, you strap in beside Din, watching as he straps the Child into his seat. The little one’s eyes are wide, curious, and full of wonder. Din gently moves a bit of the Child’s shirt as he looks at the mythosaur necklace around the Child’s neck, allowing it to stay with him. The Child coos softly, fingers grasping the pendant as if it holds some great significance.

Din settles into the pilot’s seat, and with a few swift motions, the Razor Crest rumbles to life. The ship lifts off, the ground falling away beneath you as the stars come into view. The vastness of space opens up before you, dark and endless.

You lean back in your seat, trying to shake off the lingering unease. But as the stars streak past, that sinking feeling in your chest refuses to leave. It gnaws at you, a quiet but insistent reminder that this isn’t the end. This is just the beginning—of something larger, something more dangerous than you could ever have imagined.

The Razor Crest sails deeper into the galaxy, leaving the ashes of Nevarro behind, but the weight of the journey ahead presses down on you. Whatever awaits, you know one thing for certain: it’s far from over.

TAGLIST:

@wastingspaces@avengersheart@lunatic1012@keepingupwiththeskywalkers@mxltifxnd0m@syviiss@luckyzipperscissorsbat@avengersheart @dins-riduur-anthe @lizlil@n7cje @scoliobean @ofmusesandsecrets

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x empath!reader #din djarin x forcesensitive!reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian #the mandalorian rewrite

65 notes · View notes

theetherealbloom · 1 year ago

Text

THE SILVER LINING — CH. 5

Chapter Five: Closing In

Paring: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive!FemReader (Empath)

Word Count: 10k

A/N: I swear I don’t mean to take months to update! I get sidetracked so often by random things and other obsessions. I’m at a point with this story where I get lost with the timeline so then I have to reread what I wrote (try not to cringe at my writing) and then continue on writing the next chapter. Usually, I’m very organized with my outline so I don’t lose track of where I am plot-wise, but Star Wars is— it truly is something else. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! We’re one step closer to the season finale. Love you guys :>

Song: De Selby (Part 2) by Hozier

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – EVENING

It had become apparent to you that Din was touch-starved, even though he never openly admitted it. You could trace the progression of his need for physical contact, starting with subtle gestures like a comforting touch on your elbow or a gentle squeeze of your hand in public. These small interactions held unspoken messages of affection, revealing a side of Din that he rarely showed to the world.

His tactile expressions of intimacy grew more pronounced over time. Your heart skipped a beat the first time he cupped your face, his gloved hand warm against your cheek. The tenderness of that touch spoke volumes, carrying a depth of emotion that words couldn't quite capture. It was a silent promise, a reassurance that you were not alone in this unpredictable universe.

One memory stood out vividly: a day when the three of you found yourselves in a cantina on an outer rim planet. The credits Din had earned were put to practical use, securing supplies and a decent meal for all of you. While Din went to order drinks, you focused on the child, ensuring he was comfortable and fed.

Amid your care-taking, an unfamiliar man appeared, his presence casting a shadow over your booth. You regarded him with skepticism, raising an eyebrow as his words dripped with overconfidence.

"Can I help you with something?" you responded, your tone laced with a mix of caution and annoyance. The stranger's attempt at flirtation was as transparent as the space beyond the cantina's windows.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a place like this?" he purred, his words dripping with unmistakable intent.

Suppressing an inward sigh at the sheer predictability of his approach, you let a subtle, sarcastic smile curve your lips. The galaxy had taught you to navigate these situations with a mix of wits and composure.

As the child cooed beside you, curiosity evident in his innocent eyes, you shifted your gaze back to the stranger, his overconfident demeanor oozing from every pore. Your reply was measured, tinged with a hint of dry amusement, "Clearly, I'm not alone and occupied, so if you could leave, please."

Undeterred, the stranger continued with his advances. "C'mon, baby, don't be such a priss. I'll show you a good time."

You were on the cusp of rising from your seat, ready to firmly reiterate your point when a sudden shift in the atmosphere seized the cantina's attention. It was as if the air had changed, thickened by an invisible tension. The chattering voices seemed to hush instinctively.

Amid the palpable silence, Din materialized like an imposing guardian. His presence radiated authority and raw power, his Mandalorian armor reflecting the ambient light, turning him into an almost mythical figure. His voice cut through the stillness like a blade, sharp and unyielding, "She said leave."

The room held its collective breath as the stranger's bluster crumbled in the face of Din's command. The confrontation became a silent battle of wills, one that spoke volumes without the need for further words. The stranger's retreat marked a victory for the indomitable force that Din embodied, leaving the cantina in stunned silence.

Your gaze shifted from the defeated stranger to Din, who stood there with an intensity that both reassured and electrified the room. His unspoken declaration of protection wasn't lost on you, a testament to the bond forged through shared trials and unspoken connections.

And then, with a swift shift, Din's demeanor transformed. His grip on patience loosened, and his actions spoke volumes where words had been unnecessary. In a heartbeat, he had seized the offender, the loud crack of bone echoing through the hushed cantina as the stranger's resistance was brutally halted.

Your breath caught, a sharp inhale of surprise and a hint of awe, as the resounding crack of bone filled the air. It was a stark punctuation to Din's swift and decisive intervention, a thunderous echo of authority that cut through the cantina's previous cacophony. The clatter of utensils and the discordant symphony of bowls added to the jarring chorus, a testimony to the power that had just been unleashed.

The stranger, once so assertive, now resembled a scurrying insect, his escape marked by a trail of spilled drinks and overturned stools. He disappeared into the crowded haze of the cantina, no longer a contender in this silent duel.

Throughout this confrontation, Din's gaze remained unyielding, a force of nature that had momentarily swept the establishment into a hushed reverence. As the patrons bore witness to the unassailable might he wielded, their earlier bravado had crumbled into hushed awe.

With the situation resolved, Din's attention shifted back to you, and that deep, unspoken connection that had been nurtured through shared challenges seemed to shimmer in the charged atmosphere. His gloved hand gently found yours, prompting you to rise from your booth. You cradled the child securely in your arms, his innocent eyes bearing witness to this display of protective strength.

“I could have handled it,” you spoke, your voice soft and understanding, and Din nodded, a faint hint of gratitude in his voice. “I know.”

A beat passed between you, the atmosphere laden with unspoken words. Then, Din continued, his words tinged with vulnerability, "I could not just stand there and do nothing," he said, “I would... the things I would do to ensure you and the child are safe.”

His voice trailed off, leaving the weight of his unspoken commitment hanging in the air. It was a promise forged in the crucible of their shared experiences. A vow to protect and cherish, even if it meant confronting the darkest corners of the galaxy.

You blinked, your gaze filled with understanding and affection. With a gentle hand, you reached out, placing it over his heart, and whispered, "I know. I would too."

To your surprise, he was the first one to initiate the hug. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you into an embrace that felt surprisingly warm beneath the cool, unyielding exterior of his beskar armor. You still held the child in your arms, creating an intimate tableau of unity. Surprisingly, the hard plate of his chest was comforting, the armor a symbol of his steadfast protection. In his embrace, you felt safe, secure, and trusted, as if nothing in the galaxy could harm you as long as you were in his arms.

Maybe that's why you two ended up where you are now. In the passing days and nights, your connection deepened, communicated through silent reassurances by the simple touch of an elbow or the light squeeze of his gloved hand. Din seemed to always find a reason to be near you, seeking excuses to touch and hold you, even if only for a brief moment.

There were times when you would prepare food for the three of you, and Din would just watch from a few steps away. Despite the helmet, you could feel his gaze as he observed you move around the small workspace, heating the food. You would glance over your shoulder to smile at him, and his heart would flutter wildly.

In those moments, you could see the shimmering outline of his silver aura mixing with shades of reds and maroons, a silent testament to the emotions he kept hidden behind the beskar helmet.

The nights in the cramped bunk leave you no room to move, but you find it surprisingly comfortable, curled up together. The baby sleeps soundly in his hammock nearby, his tiny breaths filling the small space with a sense of peace.

During those nights, Din often surprises you with unspoken acts of service. He'll quietly slip out of bed, leaving you wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, and return with a cup of hot caf. He never says a word, but the gesture speaks volumes, warming not just your body but your heart as well.

Sometimes, he'll softly hum a lullaby, a hauntingly beautiful tune that you've never heard before. The melody dances in the air, soothing both you and the baby, creating a bond that goes beyond words between the three of you.

As you lie there, nestled in his arms, you can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, you've found something exceptional in the vast, unforgiving galaxy.

The peace the three of you had found seemed almost too good to be true. It was a fragile tranquility in a galaxy filled with chaos, and you knew deep down that it wouldn't last long. Still, you couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, you could carve out a small sanctuary for yourselves.

But as you entered the flight deck one day and saw the look on Din's face, you knew that the serenity was about to be shattered. Concern etched your features as you asked, "What's wrong?"

Din didn't immediately reply. Instead, he pressed a button, and a flickering hologram message of Greef Karga materialized before you. His gravelly voice filled the cockpit, delivering a message that sent a chill down your spine.

"My friend, if you are receiving this transmission, that means you are alive," Greef Karga's hologram began. "You might be surprised to hear this, but I am alive too. I guess we can call it even. A lot has happened since we last saw each other. The man who hired you is still here, and his ranks of ex-Imperial guards have grown."

The weight of those words hung heavily in the air, and you exchanged a knowing glance with Din. It seemed that your past had come back to haunt you again, and the peace you had briefly tasted was slipping through your fingers like grains of sand from Tatooine.

Greef Karga's hologram continued to flicker as he outlined the dire situation on Nevarro. His gravelly voice held a tone of urgency as he explained, "They have imposed despotic rule over my city, which has impeded the livelihood of the Guild. We consider him an enemy, but we cannot get close enough to take him out. If you would consider one last commission, I will very much make it worth your while. You have been successful so far in staving off their hunters, but they will not stop until they have their prize."

The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on you and Din. It was clear that this was no ordinary mission; it was a perilous gambit that carried immense risks. Karga's proposal hung in the air, the unspoken words echoing loudly in the confined space of the Razor Crest.

"So, here is my proposition," Karga continued. "Return to Nevarro. Bring the child as bait. I will arrange an exchange, and provide loyal Guild members as protection. Once we get near the client, you kill him, and we both get what we want. If you succeed, you keep the child and I will have your name cleared with the Guild, for a man of honor should not be forced to live in exile. I await your arrival with optimism."

The concern in your eyes didn't escape Din's notice as you voiced your doubts. "This has to be a trap, Din," you asserted, your voice tinged with worry.

Din nodded in agreement, his thoughts mirroring yours. "Possibly."

A small, determined smile graced your lips as you continued, "We're gonna need help... from our friends."

As you glanced at the sleeping Child, the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on both of you. It was a decision that would determine the course of your future and the safety of the innocent life in your care.

After a brief moment of contemplation, Din made his decision clear. Without uttering a word, he steered the Razor Crest toward the coordinates Greef Karga had provided, the ship leaping into hyperspace. The die was cast, and a treacherous path lay ahead, but the bond between you and Din, and the allies you had made along the way, offered a glimmer of hope in the darkness of uncertainty.

SORGAN, 9ABY – DAY

The Razor Crest soared over the lush tree canopy of Sorgan, its engines humming like a contented beast. As the forest gave way to an open area, Din carefully brought the ship down, landing with the grace of a seasoned pilot.

Exiting the ship, you and Din followed a worn path that led to a common house in the distance. The atmosphere was different here, far removed from the cold metal of your ship. It was a place where the rustic charm of Sorgan had found a home.

Inside the common house, the commotion caught your attention. A sizable crowd had gathered, their voices mixing with the clatter of glasses and the low hum of conversation. At the center of the room, a makeshift boxing ring had been set up.

You and Din approached the ring just as Cara Dune, faced off against a male Zabrak fighter. Cara’s movements were swift and calculated, her strikes a testament to her combat prowess. The Zabrak, equally skilled, proved to be a formidable opponent. Each of them tethered to a laser that crackled with energy. The makeshift boxing ring suddenly felt smaller, the tension palpable as the combatants engaged in a fierce battle.

As the bout reached its climax, Cara executed a flawless maneuver, pulling the Zabrak in with the tether that connected them. The Zabrak, caught off guard by her sudden tactic, found himself unable to escape her grasp.

With a swift and decisive motion, Cara forced the Zabrak to tap out, his admission of defeat ringing through the air as the laser tether fizzled out between them.

Cara's triumphant grin illuminated her features as she basked in the adulation of the crowd, her chest heaving with exertion from the intense match. With a playful twinkle in her eye, she extended a victorious finger, punctuating her declaration to the assembled spectators.

"Pay up, mudscuffers! Come on. That's mine, thank you. All right, thank you," Cara exclaimed, her voice carrying over the din of the cheering crowd. In response, several patrons begrudgingly reached into their pockets, producing credits to settle their wagers.

You, Din, and the Child entered Cara's line of sight, drawing her attention away from the crowd. Din's voice, deep and commanding, cut through the noise of the common house as he addressed her directly.

"Looking for some work?" Din inquired as he broached the subject with Cara and you all decided to take a seat and have a drink as you discussed the situation.

"It's a straightforward operation," Din elucidated to Cara, his voice low and measured. Leaning forward, he rested his left forearm on the table, his gaze unwavering as he outlined the details. “They're providing the plan and firepower. I'm the snare.” Meanwhile, you tended to the Child who fussed beside you, keeping one eye on the conversation.

"With the kid? And her?" Cara inquires, casting a glance your way.

"That's why we're reaching out to you," you respond softly, meeting Cara's gaze.

Cara sighs, weighing the risks. "I don't know. I've been advised to keep a low profile. If anyone runs my chain code, I'll be in a cell for life."

"I thought you were a veteran," Din remarks, his silver helmet catching the light as he speaks. The defeated Zabrak fighter drops a credit on the table and nods at Cara, who offers a smile. "Come back soon," she calls after him.

"I've been a lot of things since. Most of them come with a life sentence," Cara explains, her expression serious. "If I so much as board a ship registered to the New Republic, I'm—"

"We have a ship," Din interjects, his voice firm. "I can take you there and back, and there'll be a handsome reward waiting. You can live free of worry."

"I'm already free of worry, and I'm not in the mood to play soldier anymore," Cara says, taking a sip from her cup. "Especially not for some local warlord."

"He's not a local warlord," Din interjects, his voice low and with a growl. You finish the statement, your tone was distant, eyes glazed. "He's Imperial."

Cara takes a deep breath and offers a small smile as she nods. "I'm in."

INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

"Does your contact need to vet me?" Cara leans against the side of the cockpit panel, her arms crossed. Din shakes his head. "Doesn't know you're coming."

Cara raises an eyebrow. "Really? That could be a problem."

"It won't. But if it is, that's his problem." Din shrugs before exiting the cockpit. You give the Child a gentle pat as he sits beside you, then follow Din down the ladder and to the weapons locker with Cara.

"Is he alright up there alone?" Cara asks, nodding towards the cockpit.

Din nods. "Yeah." He opens the locker, the doors hissing as they slide apart. Gesturing to the array of weapons, he adds, "Pick one."

"Do you trust the contact?" Cara inquires, brows raised as she sifts through the locker's contents, a grin playing on her lips.

Din lets out a sigh. "Not particularly," he admits, his tone tinged with a hint of wariness. "He and I had a run-in last time I was there on some Guild business."

"So then why are we going?" Cara questions, her tone laced with curiosity as she glances over at Din.

"I don't have a choice," Din responds, his voice carrying a weight of resignation. He pauses, then reaches out to pull you closer to his side, anchoring you against him as he leans against the ship's panel. "You saw what happened on Sorgan. They'll keep sending hunters," he continues, his gaze steady. "The kid and her... they'll never be safe until the Imp is dead."

"And you're okay with bringing them back there?" Cara asks skeptically, a hint of concern coloring her tone. You frown slightly, your expression conveying a sense of determination as you respond, "I can take care of myself."

"What about the kid? We need someone to watch that thing," Cara remarks, gesturing towards the Child above in the cockpit. Din nods in agreement, acknowledging the need for a trustworthy guardian. "Yeah."

"You got anyone you can trust?" Cara inquires further, her gaze shifting between you and Din.

You feel Din's thumb brush over the exposed part of your hip, a comforting gesture that sends a subtle warmth rippling through your body. He hums softly, his presence enveloping you in shades of silver and grey, a reassuring aura amidst the uncertainty of the moment.

Suddenly, the ship begins to rumble, Cara stumbles, her hands reaching out to brace herself against the wall. Meanwhile, Din swiftly pulls you closer to his body, a protective instinct evident in his actions. With a gruff huff, he releases you and heads back up the ladder.

You and Cara follow Din up the ladder, only to find the Child meddling with the controls, causing the ship to thrash and rumble. Din takes charge, settling into the pilot's seat to stabilize the Razor Crest once more.

"We really need someone to watch over him," you remark, holding the Child securely in your arms while Din nods and agrees, “Yeah.”

MOISTURE FARM, ARVALA-7 — SUNSET

The Razor Crest settles on the desolate planet of Arvala-7, its rocky surface bathed in the warm hues of the setting sun. As the ramp lowers, you step out alongside Din and Cara, the hovering pram carrying the Child trailing close behind.

Your eyes fall on the Ugnaught Din mentioned, a figure named Kuiil, who greets you warmly as you make your way to his home. With a nod, you duck your head to enter the tunnel-shaped structure, eager to get to know Kuiil.

"It hasn't grown much," Kuiil remarks, his eyes fixated on the Child.

Din nods in agreement. "I think it might be a Strand-Cast."

Kuiil shakes his head slowly. "I don't think it was engineered. I've worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly."

"I had a dream recently," you begin, your voice soft but earnest. "A creature like him named Yoda appeared to me… this little one is likely to be one of his kind."

Din listens intently, his gaze underneath his helmet fixed on you as you speak.

"It’s why I followed you, at first," you continue, turning to face him. "Because the last time the Empire had Force Sensitive children…" You trail off, overcome with emotion. "I just couldn’t leave him there."

Din's gauntleted hand gently clasps yours, emanating a comforting warmth that sends a tender sensation coursing through your veins. You feel a soft flush rise to your cheeks as you meet his gaze, the visor of his helmet lending an air of mystery to his expression.

Kuiil clears his throat, his gaze shifting between you and Din. "You and Din make a formidable pair," he says with a nod, his tone carrying a note of respect. "A union like yours brings strength and unity in uncertain times."

A flush of embarrassment warms your cheeks, prompting you to avert your gaze momentarily. However, Din's firm grip on your waist draws you closer to where you sat, anchoring you in his reassuring presence.

Meanwhile, Kuiil turns to Cara with a playful glint in his eye. "This one, on the other hand," he remarks, "looks like she was farmed in the Cytocaves of Nora."

You gesture toward Cara with a smile, introducing her to Kuiil. Cara responds with a nod, her own smile reflecting the camaraderie in the room.

Kuiil's eyes settle on Cara's arm, where the telltale tattoo of a Dropper catches his attention. "You were a Dropper," he observes, prompting Cara to raise an intrigued eyebrow. "Did you serve?" she inquires the Ugnaught.

Kuiil settles onto a stool, his expression taking on a thoughtful cast. "On the other side, I'm afraid," he admits. "But I'm proud to say that I paid out my clan's debt, and now I serve no one but myself."

As Kuiil speaks, the room is suddenly interrupted by the mechanical steps of an approaching figure. You glance toward the entrance and see an IG-11 droid entering, carrying a tray of steaming drinks. Instantly, both Din and Cara spring to their feet, blasters are drawn, their defensive instincts kicking in. Meanwhile, you remain seated, a mix of confusion and curiosity etched on your face.

The IG-11 droid, its metallic voice crisp and clear, breaks the tension with an unexpected offer. "Would anyone care for some tea?"

Kuiil, ever composed, raises a calming hand towards Din and Cara. "Please lower your blasters," he urges, his voice steady and assured. "He will not harm you."

"That thing is programmed to kill the baby," Din asserts, his voice tinged with anger as he keeps his blaster trained on the IG unit.

Kuiil interjects calmly as IG-11 places the tray on the table in front of you, "Not anymore. It was left behind in the wake of your destruction.”

“I found it laying where it fell. Devoid of all life. I recovered the flotsam and staked it as my own in accordance with the Charter of the New Republic. Little remained of its neural harness.” Kuiil recounted to you and you listened intently.

"Reconstruction was quite the challenge, but not impossible," Kuiil reflects, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "It had to learn everything anew. This is not a task for mere machinery. It demands patience and repetition. Day after day, I nurtured its growth with care and affirmation. And as its experiences expanded, so did its personality."

Din remains skeptical, his tone betraying his doubt as he inquires, "Is it still a hunter?"

"No," Kuiil replies firmly, "but it will defend."

As the IG-11 droid offers, “Tea?” Cara grabs the cup and takes a sip while you exchange glances with Kuiil, sensing the sincerity in his words reflected in the warm hues of the sunset. With a reassuring touch, you rise from your seat and place a hand on Din's outstretched arm, gently guiding down the blaster. "He speaks the truth," you affirm softly. "It’s okay. We’re okay."

Reluctantly, Din secures his blaster back into its holster, his tension easing slightly as he acknowledges the reassurance in your words.

"I've encountered some difficulties," Din admits as he approaches Kuiil, who is tending to the Blurrg.

Kuiil emits a thoughtful hum. "Seems like you've been managing quite well. Especially with her support," he remarks, nodding in your direction. You're engrossed in play with the Child, introducing the little one to the droid, while Cara observes with interest.

As Din watches you, bathed in the warm glow of the setting suns, he can't help but marvel at your radiance. Your smile outshines even the brightest stars in the galaxy. In that moment, he feels a profound sense of gratitude for having someone like you by his side.

A warm sensation stirs within Din as he watches you laugh at something the Child finds amusing. The primal urge to claim you as his own surges within him, an instinctual longing he struggles to suppress. Beneath his helmet, his jaw tightens as he fixates on you, momentarily lost in the intensity of his emotions. When you glance his way and offer a smile and a wave, his heart swells with longing, yearning for a world where he could have you all to himself, free from the burdens that weigh upon you both.

Swallowing hard, Din tears his gaze away, attempting to regain his composure. "That's not... that's not why we're here," he insists, his voice tinged with an edge of determination.

"I assumed as much. There must be another reason for your return," Kuiil observes with a knowing hum.

Din's voice carries a low, earnest tone as he addresses the Ugnaught. "I need your services."

"I'm retired from service," Kuiil responds, his voice measured.

Ignoring the subtle refusal, Din presses on, his words tinged with a hint of desperation. "I can pay you handsomely, Ugnaught.”

The Ugnaught, displeased by Din's persistence, harumphs. "I have a name. It is Kuiil."

Din's gaze remains unwavering as he makes his request clear. "I require someone to protect the child, Kuiil."

Kuiil shakes his head, his resolve unwavering. "I am not suited for such work. I can reprogram IG-11 for nursing and protocol duties."

Din's voice grows firmer, his tone resolute. "No. I do not want that droid anywhere near him."

"Why are you so distrustful of droids?" Kuiil asks, his tone curious yet skeptical.

Din's response is matter-of-fact. "It tried to kill him."

Kuiil nods, understanding. "It was programmed to do so. Droids are not inherently good or bad. They are neutral reflections of those who imprint them." He looks to Din, hoping to impart some sense to the Mandalorian.

Din's voice carries a distant gravity as he speaks with a serious tone. "I've seen otherwise."

"Do you trust me?" Kuiil's gravelly voice breaks the silence, his gaze steady on Din.

Din nods thoughtfully. "From what I can tell, yes."

"Then trust my work. IG-11 will join me," Kuiil asserts, his tone resolute. "And we do it not for payment, but to protect the child from Imperial slavery."

A weight seems to settle on Din's shoulders as he exhales softly. Kuiil's continues, "None will be free until the old ways are gone forever."

Din takes a moment to consider, his mind churning with the implications. Finally, he meets Kuiil's gaze and nods. "Okay."

"The blurrgs?" Din queries, a hint of confusion in his voice as Kuiil starts to walk away.

Kuiil pauses, turning back to face Din. "And the blurrgs will join me as well," he affirms, his tone carrying a sense of finality.

Kuiil turns once more and continues on his way, leaving Din standing there with a contemplative expression. As he disappears from sight, his parting words linger. "I have spoken."

INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

After securing the blurrgs in the Razor Crest's cargo hold, Din takes control of the ship's controls, steering it towards Nevarro. With the ship set on autopilot, you and he descend the ladder into the cargo hold, where the Child sits in his hovering pram, eyes wide with curiosity as he emits a soft cooing sound.

As you assist Kuiil with feeding the blurrgs, your attention is drawn to the sounds of grunting nearby. Slowly turning, you find Cara and Din engaged in an arm wrestle, their muscles straining against each other in the dim light of the cargo hold. Despite the intense competition, they appear evenly matched.

As you observe Din's impressive display of strength, a flutter of excitement stirs within you, mingled with a hint of something more intimate. His determination and power are undeniably captivating, igniting a subtle thrill that courses through your veins.

"I got you, Mando," Cara declares with a huff, her voice laced with determination.

Din's response is confident as ever. "Care to double the bet?" he challenges, his voice resonating with a subtle intensity. You catch a glimpse of his gaze behind the visor, sensing his determination.

Intense heat rises to your cheeks at the sound of his gruff grunt, the raw energy of the moment heightening your anticipation. You’ve been buzzing with anticipation for weeks.

But the heat fizzes out as a moment of panic grips you as Cara struggles, her hand dropping abruptly from the arm wrestling match. It startles both you and Din, prompting him to rise to his feet with urgency.

As you rush over to the Child, you hear Din's firm voice addressing the little one. "No! No, no! Stop! We're friends, we're friends. Cara is my friend!" he asserts, his tone authoritative.

Stretching out your hand, you tap into the Force, attempting to gently ease the Child's grasp on Cara. Gradually, the tension dissipates, and you release your hold on the Force, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Eager breaths escape your lips, leaving you slightly winded from the unexpected exertion.

Cara gestures toward the Child and voices her concern, "That is not okay!"

"Hmm. Very curious," Kuiil remarks, his gaze shifting to you and the Child.

"Curious? It almost killed me!" Cara exclaims, her alarm evident.

"The story you told me of the mudhorn now makes more sense," Kuiil adds.

"Mudhorn?" You interject, your curiosity piqued. You glance over at Din, who has now moved closer to you, checking to ensure you're okay as you still catch your breath from the ordeal.

"What is it?" Din inquires Kuiil while keeping you close by his side.

"What it is, I don't know. But what it does, this… This I've heard rumors of," Kuiil replies.

Cara shoots the Ugnaught a skeptical glance. "What? When you worked for the Empire?"

Kuiil stands his ground, his tone resolute. "When I was sold to the Empire, in indentured servitude."

"Yet somehow, you walk free," Cara retorts with a scoff, rising to her feet. But Kuiil remains unfazed. "I bought my freedom through the skill of my hands and the labor of three of your human lifetimes. Do not cast doubt upon what I am nor whom I shall serve."

As the swirling colors of intense emotions overwhelm your senses, you feel a surge of turbulence within. It's a challenge to maintain composure, especially given your empathic abilities.

Sensing your discomfort, Din's demeanor softens, a rare glimpse of tenderness shining through. In a voice touched with kindness, he addresses Kuiil, "Tell you what. I could really use your craftwork right now. Can you pad this container so the child can sleep better?"

Kuiil acknowledges the request with a nod, his expression solemn. "I shall fabricate a better one. Then perhaps this Dropper can see how one can win their freedom with the skill of one's hands."

With purposeful movements, Kuiil sets to work, the hum of machinery filling the space as sparks fly from the welding gun. Meanwhile, the Child observes with wide-eyed curiosity. Feeling Din's comforting touch on your lower back, he guides you back up the ladder toward the cockpit.

You move to take a seat on a nearby chair, but before you can settle, Din swiftly pivots from his pilot chair. His strong hands encircle your waist, pulling you onto his lap in a single fluid motion. You emit a surprised yelp as you find yourself seated sideways, legs draped over his, and your head nestled against the cool surface of his beskar pauldron. Instinctively, you loop your arms around his neck to maintain your balance.

"Din! Cara could walk in any second," you whisper urgently.

He responds with a nonchalant hum. "She won't mind."

"But—"

"You seemed winded earlier, using your..." Din's voice trails off as he adjusts a few controls, and you finish his thought, "The Force?"

"Yes," he confirms.

You release a sigh and reach up to lightly touch the side of his helmet, wishing you could see beyond the reflective visor. "Din, I'm alright. It just took me by surprise. Later, I'll speak with the kid about using the Force responsibly. It's something we need to ensure he understands."

As you utter the word "we," something ignites within Din's chest. The notion of you wanting to stand by his side, to be integrated into his clan, strengthens his need to claim you as his own, to initiate the formal courtship.

With a gentle movement, he leans his helmet closer, as he uses his left gloved hand to hold the back of your neck, bringing your forehead to rest against his. The warmth of your skin contrasts with the cool touch of his beskar armor. You instinctively close your eyes, sharing a moment akin to the gesture known as the keldabe kiss.

You emit a soft sound, unable to suppress it as you sense him gently squeeze the back of your neck, expressing his desire to draw nearer. Din gruffly murmurs, "Soon, Cyar'ika. Soon."

"You better be fully clothed in there, I'm coming in!" Cara's voice echoes through the ship before the doors hiss open and shut, signaling her entrance. She finds you still seated on Din's lap, a sheepish expression on your face.

Wide-eyed, you attempt to slide off Din's lap, but he pulls you closer in a tighter grip. Your embarrassment intensifies, your cheeks burning as Cara smirks at you. Wanting to hide, you bury your face between Din's neck and shoulder, the heat of the moment igniting a mix of desire and embarrassment throughout your body.

Cara meticulously cleans her blaster as she addresses both of you, "So, we're heading to Nevarro?"

Din, still seated with you on his lap, engages in the conversation, "Have you been there before?"

"No," Cara responds, settling into her seat with the blaster and a rag in hand. "We lost a lot of our forces there. The city's dug in pretty deep. No cover when you drop in. It stayed in Empire control 'till the end of the war.”

Din nods in acknowledgment. "The warlord we're taking out was an Imperial officer.”

Cara's curiosity piques. "What station?"

Din turns his chair, keeping you snugly in his hold, as he explains, "Hard to tell. No insignia anymore.”

You attempt to wriggle out of his grasp once more, but his arm around your midsection keeps you firmly in place.

"We took out the safehouse when we snatched the kid." Din continues, his tone grave. "More Imps have reinforced since.”

Apologies for the oversight. Here's the revised text, retaining the original dialogue:

"There's something more going on," Cara remarks as she begins to clean a different rifle.

"Maybe. We'll find out more when we land," Din replies, his gaze fixed on the controls.

The doors hiss open, and IG-11 steps inside, its robotic voice announcing, "I have prepared second meal. Would you care to be served here or below?"

"I'm not hungry," Din says flatly.

The IG-11 leaves.

Cara's chuckle echoes lightly in the cockpit. "You got a real thing for droids, don't you?" she teases.

Din's voice remains monotone as he responds, his helmet reflecting the dim light. "I got a real thing for that droid."

"The Ugnaught said he rewired it," Cara mentions, her tone casual.

Din shakes his head, his expression hidden behind the helmet. "That droid was designed to kill things. I don't care how much wiring he replaced. It goes against its nature."

Cara's departing words linger in the air as she heads back down to the cargo hold, leaving you and Din alone once more.

A hushed quiet falls between you, the hum of the ship's engines filling the space. You break the silence, the words catching in your throat. "We need to get ready..."

Din's voice is soft, barely above a whisper. "Just let me hold you a little longer, Cyar'ika," he murmurs, his tone laden with affection. You meet his gaze, feeling a warmth spread through you, and with a quiet nod, you reply, "Okay."

NEVARRO, 9ABY – DUSK

The Razor Crest descends into a desolate corner of Nevarro, the distant hum of its engines fading as it settles on the uneven terrain. Your pulse quickens, the rhythm echoing in your ears as you adjust the cloak robe to conceal your lightsaber, keeping it out of sight.

The four of you dismount the ship, perched atop blurrgs, and spot Greef Karga approaching, accompanied by three other bounty hunters including a human, Nikto, and a Trandoshan. He strides toward your party, a mix of urgency and caution in his steps. "Sorry for the remote rendezvous, Mando, but things have gotten complicated since you were last here,” he says, coming to a halt a few paces away.

As he surveys the group, Greef Karga remarks, "It appears that introductions are in order. It seems we've both provided a security detail," His gaze shifts to Cara. "I'd suggest the shock trooper stays back to guard the ship. These lava fields are swarming with Jawas."

"She's coming with us," you assert firmly.

"But the town is now run by ex-Empire. If a Rebel Dropper is with us, they'll all get their hackles up," Greef Karga argues, attempting to dissuade you.

"She's coming," Din insists.

Greef Karga grudgingly relents. "Fine," he seethes, then relents once more with a resigned sigh. "Fine." Gesturing to Cara, he adds, "Just cover your tattoo. No need to draw unnecessary attention."

"Now, where's the little one?" Karga inquires. Din activates a button on his bracer, causing the hovering pram to glide forward, its hatch hissing open. Greef Karga leans in to inspect the Child, drawing uneasy gazes from the group. Fingers hover near blasters as tension mounts, and you clench your jaw.

"So, this little bogwing is what all the fuss was about. What a precious little creature. I can see why you didn't want to harm a hair on its wrinkled little head," Greef Karga remarks, lifting the Child briefly before returning it to the hovering pram. Din swiftly closes the hatch with another press of his bracer, bringing the pram back to his side.

As the group prepares to embark on their journey across the lava fields of Nevarro, Greef Karga lays out the plan. "Well, I'm glad this matter will be put to rest once and for all. The sun drops fast on Nevarro. We can walk for a spell, camp out at the riverbank, then make our way into town at first light," he explains. You nod in agreement as your group rides the blurrgs, ready to traverse the treacherous terrain.

NEVARRO, 9ABY — EVENING

As the group settles in for the night, a campfire crackles, casting flickering light on the surrounding faces. You find a spot on the ground, seated cross-legged like the others. Positioned between Din and the Child, Kuiil patiently feeds the young one while you quietly finish your meal.

Across the fire, the three bounty hunters sit, their faces illuminated by the dancing flames. With a keen sense, you observe them, your empathic force powers awakening to perceive shades of darkness and red, hinting at hidden motives and deceit.

As you unconsciously shift closer to Din, preparing to whisper your observations, Greef Karga's voice cuts through the quiet night. He gazes at the Child, remarking, "I guess the little bugger's a carnivore. Never seen anything like it. They were ready to pay a king's ransom for that thing. Must be for some kind of highfalutin menagerie."

"Let's go over the plan again," Din interjects, brushing off Karga's comments.

“We three enter the common house. We show the client the bait. We join him at the table. And you kill him,” Greef Karga explains matter-of-factly, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

Din quickly follows up, “Tell me about his reinforcements.”

“They're all ex-Empire. As soon as they lose their paycheck, poof, they'll all scatter,” Greef Karga replies nonchalantly.

“And what if they don't?” You press further.

“They will,” Greef Karga asserts confidently.

Din shakes his head, “That's not good enough.”

Greef Karga sighs heavily, “If, for argument's sake, a few of them don't realize that I'm their best path to alternative employment and they elect to react impulsively, then these three fine Guild Hunters, along with that battle-hardened shock trooper, and your Jedi will cut down anyone who bucks.”

“I’m a medic, not a Jedi,” you mumble with a clenched jaw.

“How many will there be?” Din asks Greef Karga.

“No more than four,” Karga replies as he rises from his seated position, heading over to the large piece of meat roasting over the campfire. He reaches out to grab a piece, confidently stating, “He travels with, at most, a Fire Team. Trust me. Nothing can go wrong.”

However, his confidence is shattered as a large beast emerges from the darkness. It's a species of winged, predatory reptavians native to Nevarro. With a large wingspan, scaly and dry skin, and a dragon-like appearance, these reptavians have a pointed snout, a mouth filled with sharp teeth, and two brownish eyes.

One of the reptavians swoops down, sinking its teeth into Greef's arm, eliciting a pained grunt from him. Chaos erupts as blaster fire fills the air, echoing against the rocky terrain. Each member of the group takes aim, firing at the winged assailants with precision.

With swift movements, the Mandalorian secures the Child in his hovering pram, shielding the youngling from harm. Meanwhile, you ignite your lightsaber, its vibrant purple hue casting an eerie glow in the dim light. Swinging it fiercely, you fend off the winged creatures with determined strikes.

Amidst the commotion, a blurrg and a Trandoshan bounty hunter fall victim to the creatures' relentless onslaught. As one of the reptavians swoops down to snatch another blurrg, it meets its demise in a barrage of blaster fire, falling lifeless to the ground. Unfortunately, in the chaos, a blurrg is accidentally struck by friendly fire.

After the Mandalorian's flamethrower repels the winged creatures, a tense silence settles over the group, broken only by the occasional groan of pain from Greef Karga. As the dust settles and the smoke clears, everyone remains on edge, waiting to see if the creatures will return.

Moving swiftly, Kuiil rushes to Greef's side, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. "He's hurt badly," Kuiil announces, his voice tinged with worry.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. Ow!" Greef insists through gritted teeth, his bravado failing to mask his discomfort. You kneel beside him, your focus on assessing his injury. The deep bite mark left by the reptavians catches your attention, and you speak with authority, "Hold still."

"They got you good," you murmur, your focus still fixed on the deep wound.

"How bad, Cyar'ika?" Din's voice comes from behind you as you work.

"Bad. The poison's spreading fast," you reply, urgency lacing your tone as you inject Greef Karga with a pen, hoping it will slow the venom's progress.

"So this... This is how it happens," Greef Karga says between labored breaths.

Cara rolls her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic."

"I need another medpac! Got any other medpacs?" you urgently call out.

“Anyone? I'm guessing that's a ‘no’,” you say with a huff, frustration creeping into your voice. You glance back at his arm, noting the venom's continued spread. “It's still spreading. This isn't working.”

“Get this thing outta here,” Cara exclaims, prompting you to realize that the Child had approached unnoticed.

Observing the Child, Kuiil interjects, “Wait.”

The Child extends his tiny green hand and places it atop Greef Karga’s arm. With a wince, Karga cries out, “He's trying to eat me!”

You sense it too—the subtle hum of the Force emanating from the Child. With each focused use, the Child begins to harness his abilities, channeling them to gradually heal Greef Karga’s arm, leaving no trace of a scar. Witnessing such skill from one so young fills you with awe; Force Healing of this magnitude is exceedingly rare. A collective exhale fills the air, each member of the group seemingly sharing in the astonishment of witnessing such a miraculous feat.

NEVARRO, 9ABY – DAWN

As the sun begins to ascend, casting a dim light across the rugged landscape, the group presses onward. Smoke billows from the small volcanic vents scattered throughout the rocky terrain of Nevarro. An uneasy silence envelops the group, with Greef Karga's companions forging ahead, leaving you, Din, Cara, and Kuiil to tread quietly behind on foot, the Ugnaught trailing along atop the last remaining blurrg.

Cara speaks softly, directing her question to both you and Din. "You think they're having second thoughts?"

Din responds in a hushed tone, his voice barely audible. "Could be. I need your eyes."

"I'm watching," Cara confirms with a nod.

An hour later, your group arrives at the outskirts of Nevarro, with Greef Karga leading the way and you, Din, and Cara close behind. "I guess this is it," Greef Karga remarks, gazing out at the view. But something tugs at your gut, a feeling that something isn't right.

Before you can react, Greef abruptly turns around and fires at his associates, sending them collapsing lifeless to the ground. The sudden violence startles you, Din, and Cara. They swiftly unholster their blasters, aiming them at Greef Karga, while you grasp your saber hilt, activating it in readiness to deflect any blaster fire.

Din and Cara keep their blasters trained on Greef Karga, who raises his hands in surrender. "There's something you should know," he confesses as he ensures that both the bounty hunters are truly dead and kicks away their blasters. "The plan was to kill you and take the kid. But after what happened last night, I couldn't go through with it."

Your brow furrows as you listen to Karga's plea. "Go on," he continues, "You can gun me down here and now, and it wouldn't violate the Code. But if you do, this child will never be safe."

Cara grits her teeth and shoots Karga a scowl. "We'll take our chances," she asserts firmly.

"The Imperial client is obsessed with obtaining this asset. You tried to run, but where did it get you?" Greef Karga reasons, causing Cara to grow more agitated. "This is ridiculous," she tells Din.

"Perhaps you should let him speak," Kuiil interjects calmly, while you maintain a steady gaze on Greef Karga.

Karga points out, "Listen, we three need the client to be eliminated. Let me take the child to him and then you two…"

"No," Din interrupts firmly.

Cara clenches her jaw, her blaster aimed at Greef Karga. "Let's just kill him and get outta here," she suggests, her frustration evident.

You feel the Force connecting you through your empathic powers, sensing the true colors of Greef Karga. Taking a deep breath and deactivating your saber, you speak up. "He's right."

Din lowers his blaster, while Cara hisses in disbelief, "What are you doing?"

"As long as the Imp lives, he'll send hunters after the child," Din explains to Cara, who responds with a warning, "It's a trap."

"Bring me," Din suddenly interjects.

"What?" you exclaim, taken aback, while Greef Karga echoes, "Bring you?"

"Tell him you captured me. Get me close to him and I'll kill him," Din states with determination, and Karga nods, “That's a good idea. Give me your blaster.”

As Din hands over his blaster, it prompts you to protest as you take a step closer to him. "No! Hold on, it should be me. Bring me instead," you insist.

Din begins, "Cyar'ika—"

You sharply turn your head to face Greef Karga. "Do they know?"

Greef Karga begins to respond, but you cut him off, your voice tense with urgency. "Do. They. Know?"

"Yes," he confirms.

"Okay," you swallow, your mind racing through the options and landing on a decision. "You bring me in. Say that Cara captured me and convinced Mando to trade me instead of the Child." You then hand over your saber hilt to Greef Karga who pockets it.

"No. Absolutely not. You are going back to the ship with Kuiil and the Child," Din interjects, his tone firm.

"But without her or the Child, none of this works!" Karga exclaims, trying to reason.

"I’m going with you," you assert, stepping closer to Din. As he meets your gaze through his visor, you see the conflict in his eyes. He starts to protest, but you cut him off with a whispered plea, "I am going with you, and there is nothing you could say to convince me otherwise. We face these things together." You reach out and touch the side of his helmet, feeling the cool metal beneath your palm as you press your foreheads together. "Let me be there for you, like you were for me. Please."

Din hesitates, visibly conflicted. Finally, he lets out a shaky exhale. "Maker help me. Fine, fine. But you listen to me, alright? When I tell you to run, you run. Got it?"

You nod, determination in your eyes. "Okay."

Din grunts out his plan. "Kuiil, ride back to the Razor Crest with the child and seal yourself in. Once you're inside, engage ground security protocols. Nothing on this planet will breach those doors."

"Here's a comlink," Kuiil says, handing Din the device. "I will keep the child safe."

Kuiil looks at Cara and advises, "Don't forget to cover your stripes."

"Let's go," Din nods, prompting everyone to prepare. He turns to you, offering a pair of silver binders. You secure your hands in front of him, feeling a flush of embarrassment at the familiar sensation of the cuffs.

With a click, your hands are bound, and he asks softly, "Not too tight?"

Feeling playful, you respond with a cheeky grin, "You could make it tighter."

There's a warmth in his chest, almost like laughter. His mouth quirks into a smirk. "Cyar'ika, you are going to be the death of me."

You freeze, sensing the shift in his demeanor beneath the helmet. It's almost like awe or something.

"What?" he asks, catching your reaction.

"You're smiling, I can tell by your voice," you note, smiling yourself. Your eyes meet the visor of his helmet, and his skin prickles with awareness.

Suddenly, he wants you a lot closer. In his lap. Straddling him, maybe. Your hands in his hair, and his in yours. But there's no time for that. You clear your throat, breaking the moment, and gesture toward Greef Karga, who is waiting for the other pair of stun cuffs to restrain Din.

Din regains his composure, walking over to Greef Karga to be cuffed. As he does, Cara conceals her tattooed arm with a cloth, and Kuiil picks up the Child from the hovering pram. With your group heading in opposite directions, you hope fervently that everything will go according to plan.

NEVARRO, 9ABY — DAY

Greef and Cara escort the bound Mandalorian, you, and the hovering pram toward the town. At the gate, they come across two scout troopers riding 74-Z speeder bikes.

"Chain code?" one of the Scout Troopers demands, eyeing Greef Karga suspiciously.

Greef nods toward you and Din. "I have a gift for the boss."

The Scout Trooper repeats, "Chain code?" with insistence. Reluctantly, Greef retrieves his card and hands it over.

The Scout Trooper scans Greef's card. "I'll give you 20 credits for the helmet," he offers, eyeing the Mandalorian's helmet.

Greef lets out a fake laugh. "Ha-ha! Not a chance. That's going on my wall."

Din leans in to Karga, whispering, "On your wall?" Greef shoots him a pointed look. "Go with it."

"Go ahead," the Scout Trooper says, returning Greef's card. The group proceeds forward into town.

Cara gives Greef a sharp look. "You said four. There are more than four troopers."

Greef explains quietly, "Four guarding the client. Many more here in town. Things got really heated once Mando crashed the safehouse."

Cara suggests, "Slip him his blaster."

Greef shakes his head. "Not yet."

You approach the cantina's entrance, Greef Karga announcing, "Here we are." As the door slides open, the once bustling space is now eerily empty, save for the watchful eyes of the stormtroopers stationed inside, their presence unsettling.

Greef nods towards the troopers. "You see? Four." He then leads you and Din towards the Client, gesturing towards both of you. "Look what I brought you. As promised."

The Client moves closer to Din, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns of Din's beskar chest plate. "What exquisite craftsmanship. It's remarkable how beautiful beskar can be when forged by its ancestral artisans."

Your expression twists in disgust as you watch the Client touch Din's armor. Then, the Client's attention shifts to you, his hand reaching out to grab your face. You meet his gaze with a defiant glare as he remarks, "Ah, the Jedi. Word travels fast whenever your kind is spotted." His tone drips with disdain. "What a waste."

As the Client releases your face, you feel a surge of revulsion. Sensing Din's simmering anger, you brace yourself.

"Can I offer you a libation to celebrate the closing of our shared narrative?" the Client proposes to Greef Karga, who accepts with a nod.

An RA-7 protocol droid sets to work at the bar, preparing drinks for Greef and the Client. Gesturing towards a nearby booth, the Client invites, "Please, have a seat."

As you take your place, the Client begins, "It's regrettable that your people suffered so. Just as in this situation, it was all avoidable."

He turns his attention to Din. "Why did Mandalore resist our expansion? The Empire enhances every system it touches." You let out a derisive scoff, prompting the Client to continue, undeterred. "Judge by any metric. Safety, prosperity, trade, opportunity, peace. Compare Imperial rule to what is happening now. Look outside." He gestures towards the window. "Is the world more peaceful since the revolution? I see nothing but death and chaos."

You grit your teeth and suppress a retort, sensing the Client's emotions swirling before you, a dark maelstrom of black and red hues.

"I would like to see the baby," the Client requests.

Greef Karga clears his throat. "Uh... It's asleep."

"We'll all be quiet. Open the pram," the Client insists, narrowing his eyes. You swallow nervously, feeling a sense of unease. But before the situation can escalate, a stormtrooper approaches the Client and murmurs something discreetly. The Client stands abruptly. "Don't think me to be rude. I must take this call."

A stormtrooper sets up a holoprojector as the Client strides over to it. Under the table, Greef Karga discreetly unbinds his restraints, while Din swiftly does the same for you, his hands deftly removing the cuffs. "Give me the blaster and her saber hilt," he instructs Karga, his tone firm.

"You get one shot," Greef Karga reminds Din as he hands over your saber hilt. Din passes it to you with a determined nod.

Cara leans in close, her voice barely a whisper. "This is bad. You said four."

"Well, there are more. What can I tell you?" Greef Karga replies quietly.

A tense moment hangs in the air, and you sense a shift in the atmosphere. Before you can react, gunfire erupts from outside the cantina, catching everyone off guard. The shots strike the Client and his stormtroopers, sending them sprawling to the ground. Instinctively, you, the Mandalorian, Cara, and Greef dive behind a nearby table for cover. Amidst the chaos, the RA-7 protocol droid is caught in the crossfire and falls to the ground, incapacitated.

Taking cover behind various pillars, you, the Mandalorian, Cara, and Greef cautiously assess the situation. Through the shattered windows of the cantina, a line of death troopers becomes visible, their ominous presence sending a chill down your spine. As if that weren't enough, an Imperial Troop Transport rolls onto the scene, unloading a squad of stormtroopers, further escalating the situation.

"Four stormtroopers?" Cara scoffs, her expression darkening. "This is bad."

The Mandalorian quickly contacts Kuiil via comlink, his voice urgent. "Kuiil? Are you back at the ship yet?" After a tense moment of silence, he presses, "Are you there? Do you copy?"

"Yes!" Kuiil's voice crackles through the comlink.

Din wastes no time. "Are you back at the ship yet?"

"Not yet," Kuiil replies.

"Get back to the ship and get the kid out of here. We're pinned down!" Din's command is sharp and resolute.

The roar of engines interrupts the chaos, drawing your attention outside. An Outland TIE fighter swoops into view, its retractable solar collectors gleaming in the sunlight. The Imperial officer emerges from the cockpit, clad in full black attire, his cape billowing dramatically in the wind. His voice carries over the commotion as he declares, "You have something I want."

"Who's this guy?" Cara asks, her confusion evident.

"You may think you have some idea of what you are in possession of, but you do not," the officer asserts ominously.

"Kuiil, are you back at the ship yet? They're onto us!" Din urgently tries to reach Kuiil through the comlink.

No response.

Din attempts again, growing increasingly desperate. "Kuiil, come in!"

Still, there's silence.

"In a few moments, it will be mine," the officer threatens, his tone dripping with menace.

"Kuiil! Do you copy? Kuiil!" Din's voice echoes with urgency.

"It means more to me than you will ever know," the officer adds, his words sending a chill down your spine.

"Kuiil! Are you there? Come in, Kuiil. Kuiil, come in," Din pleads desperately.

"Kuiil? Are you there? Do you copy? Kuiil? Kuiil!"

TAGLIST: @wastingspaces @avengersheart @lunatic1012 @keepingupwiththeskywalkers @mxltifxnd0m @syviiss @luckyzipperscissorsbat @avengersheart @dins-riduur-anthe @lizlil @n7cje @scoliobean @ofmusesandsecrets

#din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x empath!reader #din djarin x forcesensitive!reader #ethereal writes #thesilverliningch5 #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian rewrite #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian #the mandaloria/reader #pedro pascal x reader

70 notes · View notes